The Wisdom of Tea

One of the cafe's near the university is home to a most peculiar sight, a chrome clad hobgoblin with enormous artifice gauntlets is sipping tea from a fine china cup, the individual chrome fingers holding on delicately. On the table in front of him a heavy tome with diagrams and blueprints. Of course the individual, Stirling, is no stranger to the area but he is not often seen at the shop.

Off to the side of this particular hobgoblin is a tall blue-scaled sith-makar who in spite of his size is surprisingly unobtrusive. He simply doesn't really draw attention to himself. Perhaps it's the dark robe, or the artful slouching that makes him seem smaller. Either way several people have passed by him without seeming to notice his conundrum. Which seems to be finding a place to sit. The cafe is rather busy today, and every table has someone seated at it, and it seems that someone brought him his teapot whilst he was still standing in place looking for somewhere to sit. So there he stands with a teapot in hand with one dangling tea cup carefully hanging from a finger looking totally forlorn.

Stirling looks up from his tome, his one artifice eye an unblinking and emotionless red lense. "Sit." he says with a word gesturing to the empty seat across from him as he returns to his book. "Can't let the tea go cold before you enjoy it." he says delicately picking up his own cup and sipping from it.

Zeke startles at the sudden invitation slightly, blinking his green eyes in surprise before making his slow careful way to the offered seat. As he walks it becomes quickly clear that his left leg is made of crystal rather than flesh and bone, and briefly as he sets his tea cup, then tea pot on a clear portion of the table - as small a portion of the table as he can manage - that his left arm is made of the same material. Though he quickly pulls his cloak around himself to hide the limbs in question. With his tea pot and tea cup safely settled he takes the staff held in the crook of his right elbow and leans it against the chair offered to him before taking the seat himself with a low bob of his head to Stirling. "Thisss one offerssss you thanksss. Peasssce on your nesssst."

Stirling looks up briefly "Oh yes, peace on your nest and all that." he says dismissively as he returns to his tome. "Interesting limbs by the way, did you turn a limb to crystal or is it a replacement? I assume the later but you never know with magic." he comments having his own mechanical limbs.

It would be hard to miss looking at Zeke the way that he freezes at the question, the way he suddenly grows totally still as if he might disappear right then and there on the spot. Then his head ducks down and his right claw fusses with the folds of his cloak to be certain that the limbs are not showing. There's only so much that can be done, the cloak can't hide his crystal clawed foot. "Thissss one wassss born... without the blesssing of two armsss and two legsss. Thisss one earned sssuch blessssssing later in life."

Very politely, Zeke does not offer any such questions about Stirling's mechanical limbs. He instead pours himself a shaky cup of tea and sets the pot down with extra care for his unsteady hand. Behind him, his tail is still stiff. "The weather isss lovely today yessss?" It is at that, but it's a poor change of subject.

Stirling nods "Not bad, not bad." he comments still reading his tome as he talks. "I ask about your limbs because I consider myself something of an expert on replacing them. My own were taken from me and I am glad to know there are others who build quality replacements." he places one of his titanfists on the table, as he does it emits little puffs of steam and plates recede back as Stirling pulls his hand out of it. His arm from elbow to finger tip is entirely adamantine and of intricate mechanical construction. "Some sort of knife demon." he says by way of explanation.

The blue-scaled sith blinks at the explanation twice. Once with outer lids and once with the inner before taking a too-soon sip of his tea. The resulting burn brings him back to reality and he shifts his weight and his green eyes flicker toward the titianfist that steams as it is taken off to reveal an arm of remarkable creation. "Thissss one issss ssssorry that you lossst your arm." His cup is on the table again, his right claw clenched into a fist. "It issss... hard issss it not? To be without?" He isn't quite looking at Stirling as he speaks.

Stirling looks up at Zeke "Its not like you took them from me, no need to be sorry. It definitely makes things challenging." he says with a dismissive shrug "I had to commission my arm from another artificer because I couldn't manage making my own with only one hand. But it has... become something of an expertise for me." he says closing the book so he is fully paying attention to Zeke. He places his arm back into the titanfist as is closes over his arm with a series of clicks. "They have become part of me now and in some ways they are better than the original."

It is clear that the topic of conversation is not a particularly easy one for Zeke. His tail is still ridgid behind him where he is perched on the chair a bit awkwardly. The back of the chair is off to his left side of course, or where else would his tail go? His tea is cooling now before him; so that he doesn't burn himself on it again. "They have become... part of you." He reiterates Stirling's words more softly and then finally meets the other's eyes with his own. "How did you accomplissssh thisss? To make them a part of you?"

Stirling clearly doesn't do social hints but shrugs as he leans back a bit and sips at his tea "Much the same way as my armor is. Practice, refinement and every day use. If you like, I would gladly take a look at yours back at my workshop." he says gesturing back to the artificer's guild, "Perhaps fit or function can be adjusted or even improved in some cases. My leg lets me run faster for example."

"Ussse." Zeke says the word comtemplatively, as if he'd never really considered it before. He glances down at his cloak and rolls his right shoulder in a sort of half shrug. "Thissss one hassss never thought of it before. You would... look?"

A delicate shudder runs through Zeke but he straightens his spine and then nods. "Yesssss. Thissss one thinksss that thisss one would like to make thesssse a... part. If you are amenable." He ducks his head again politely.

Stirling shrugs "No harm in looking and I personally would gladly like to inspect the craftsmanship. I could then see if there is anything I could do, I have never worked with crystal structures like that before so I cannot guarantee anything. However I have created a number of limbs and do most of the work on my own."

Zeke sits at a table covered in papers and books with Stirling, his own teapot and tea cup set quite close to himself so as to take up very little space. The sith-makar's tail gives a little flick from where it had been quite stock-still for a few long moments and nods to Stirling. "Thisss one undersstandsss. Thissss issss not metal after all." He makes a half-way aborted motion to his covered limbs and glances aside briefly. "Thisss one... appreciatessss your help."

From the sound coming from Seldan as he strides up the path from the south, well-wrapped in warm clothing against the winter winds, one might easily think that it were an entire group of people.

"Your paramour is positively insufferable," says a gruff, middle-aged voice with a khazadi sound to it.

"Not to mention Gobbo," chimes in an older female voice with a nasal note to it.

"Both of them were quite disrespectful," agrees the first voice. "Really. Threatening to throw us into a snowy canyon without even a scabbard. The cheek of it."

"To be fair, they were all quite upset, and were not precisely in a listening mood."

To this point, Seldan himself has been silent as the unseen discussion swirls around him, but finally he stops, and speaks. "Do the lot of you always talk this much? I begin to think that the bag of holding will be needful, else I'll not get a wink of sleep."

The sound of a group coming up the path draws Zeke's attention, so it is no surprise really when he is surprised to realize that it is Seldan alone. Not wanting to be rude to the person he is already talking to, Zeke does not rise to his feet, but he does lift his right hand in greeting to the man. Even going so far as to pull the hood of his cloak down to reveal that it is him making the greeting. Not that his blue-scaled snout poking from the dark hood doesn't already do that, but Zeke is nothing if not polite.

"That will not be necessary," the older female voice says. "We can be quiet enough."

"I hardly think that shoving us in a bag of holding is--" That's the gruff male voice, and agreement comes from a new voice, an old man in a higher register.

The third voice chimes in, a younger woman with a lower, no-nonsense voice. "With as much as you talk, Golain, it just might be. I might have done the same."

An argument at this point appears to erupt, in at least a dozen voices, from ... nowhere, except that it is definitely coming from somewhere around Seldan, and it is somewhat muffled. Exasperated, Seldan looks down ... at his sword in its scabbard? "_Enough._ Can you not argue amongst yourselves in private? Must you draw the eyes of all?" Only then does he look up, and smile as Zeke's blue snout is revealed. "Peace upon your nest, Zeke, and I would have you forgive me. It is ... complicated." Another, sharp look at the sword at his hip.

Zeke blinks twice at the swirl of voices around Seldan, his own green eyes falling to the man's sword. It is the obvious source of the disturbance if only by observing Seldan which... Zeke is perhaps not the best judge of others body-language, but he does better than most. "Peassssce on your nesssst Ssseldan. There issss nothing to forgive. Perhapsss you care to join ussss for tea?" He motions to the fact that there is another chair nearby. There isn't much room on the table, but there's still room enough around it.

"I would be most pleased to do so. It has been some time." Seldan takes the offered chair, seating himself easily and without concern for the crowded table, and nods to the quiet Stirling in the way of people who have met but no more than that. "I would think that there are warmer places to take tea, but it is well to be outside, chill or no."

The blade, somehow, is mercifully silent for the moment.

The blue-scaled sith lifts his right hand for another cup for tea and it is brought quickly and he pours Seldan a cup of his own brew for the man. Setting it on the only empty space on the table. The sith picks up his own cup then and drinks a small sip, finding that the cold air has done its work of quickly chilling his tea. Which is just as well. "There may be warmer placesss, but thissss one agreesss that it isss good to be /out/. To relax for a little bit. It sssseems that you know thisss onesss hosst, but we have not been introduced. Thisss one issss called Zeke." He nods politely to Stirling.

Stirling looks up from his tome, giving Seldan a nod but little more. "Oh, Stirling Ironheel, Master Artificer." he says by way of introduction. "How is the armor treating you?" he asks of Seldan as he continues to read and sip his tea.

"We have met. The armor I wear here in Alexandria is his work." Seldan explains, taking the cup of tea politely between gloved hands and sipping carefully. "It has seen me through several jobs now, and a fine piece of work it is," he tells the artificer. "You have my thanks ... as do you, Zeke, for a well-made tea." He sips again, then lowers the teacup. "Would you have me warm it again for you?"

"Reheating would only make it bitter, bessst to drink it inssstead." Zeke offers back warmly with a touch of gratitude for the offer in his voice. He has something close to interest in his eyes when he turns them back to Stirling. "Thissss one hassss ssseen your armor, and it ssshowsss ssskill in itsss making. Thissss one hasss alwayssss had an interesssst in thosssse that can craft sssuch thingsss. Thisss one hasss no ssssuch ssskill of courssse."

Stirling nods to Zeke with appreciation. "I can craft and improve all kinds of weapons and armor, though my own I could not replicate for anyone. It is of custom fit and design and never completely finished. Honestly I am not sure I could even if I wanted to." he notes with a sigh. "But if you have something you wish me to build, please feel free to look me up. I take an interest in anything related to artifice or in items of a magical nature." he says as a sort of sales pitch. "What is your skill then?" he asks of Zeke, the large chrome fingers of his Titanfist delicately lifting the teacup to his lips.

"Nor I," Seldan agrees, drinking the tea as instructed with a nod of acceptance and understanding. "Between my studies in the Dreamer's Wisdom, arms training, and student studies of the arcane, I have little time to pursue such things. I do not begrudge it to others." He had lowered the tea long enough to drink, but raises it again.

It is halfway to his lips, when a voice chimes in, a gruff male one with a khazadi sound to it. "You should learn, lad. It is a fine profession."

There is amusement twinkling in Zeke's eyes at the sword's addition to the conversation. Though he's not sure if it's addressing himself or Seldan about learning the craft of making artifice and magical creations. He suspects it is talking to Seldan however being his weapon. "Thisss one isss in ssservice to the Dragonfather. Thisss one heals otherss of what illss them; when one can." There is a tightness to the end of that around his eyes. Everyone knows of the plague and the fact that it can not be cured. He has no need to speak it. "Thisss hasss been thisss onesss sskill if you will for many, many yearssss."

Stirling nods to Zeke as he answers, though as the voice follows up on Seldan he looks over at the paladin. His artificial red lense of an eye whirs a little as if its doing something before he looks down at Seldan's sword. "I see, a unique weapon." he comments after several moments. "I should have noticed earlier."

Seldan's lips press together as if suppressing whatever remark came to mind, and he contents himself with a nod. "Yes, a family heirloom, although I must confess that I do not yet fully understand its nature." He looks down at it. "My time is better spent working to the Dreamer's ends," he tells it firmly. "Crafting can be left to others. It is not your place to tell me my path." There's a battle of wills there, if the look that Seldan wears is to be believed, but it ends quickly enough, and peace reigns again - for the moment. "A fine skill that is, Zeke. I am grateful to the Dragonfather, and to his people. Their work is needed."

"It issss, thisss one issss happy to ssserve." He glances toward Stirling. "It issss thanksss to the Dragonfathers blesssingss that thisss one hasss..." He trails off with a motion toward his left side that is again half-aborted; he takes up his teacup halfway through the motion and takes a drink of the tea as if nothing had happened. "We all have our plasssce and our tallentssss."

Stirling nods to Zeke "Just so, the Dragonfather is a worthy deity to follow." he comments despite he has a super obvious tattoo on his shoulder of Serriel. "I can help identify the sword if you like." he offers to Seldan. "My eye has a number of enchantments that help me identify magical properties in items. I could scan it properly."

"As you like." Seldan nods agreeably, and draws the blade, laying the sharpened end across the back of his left wrist and holding both arms out to Stirling, to let him see it better. The movement, to those trained in such things, is gingerly done, and his pressed together lips coupled with the slow and stiff movement indicate that the movement is not entirely pleasant.

The sword itself is of an older make, functional with an ornately carved pommel, in a style that is no longer popular, and especially not in Alexandria. It is razor-sharp, polished, and meticulously cared-for.

Zeke settles back with his tea cup to drink as the two men discuss the sword and inspecting it. Its clear he's interested, but also somewhat cautious. His tail flicks behind him back and forth, back and forth. He doesn't interrupt them, but he does motion to a passing waitress for more tea in case they are here much longer.

GAME: Stirling rolls spellcraft+8+5: (14)+25+8+5: 52

Stirling plays his red lense over the weapon, small whirs can be heard of something moving inside of it. "Hrm... old, few hundred years at least but cared for, Myrrish craftsman more than likely. Its not often I see weapons with personality, this one quite literally has one. The enchantment itself is pretty straightforward but serviceable." he comments as he sits back, nodding for Seldan to put the sword away. "There is still room for it improvement but despite that a quality weapon. Did you find it? Or an heirloom perhaps? Since its so well cared for."

"An heirloom," Seldan explains, giving the sword a meaningful look and a quiet snort of laughter and sheathing it again with a rasp of leather on metal. "It has ... more than one, I think. It has only just manifested." His eyes lower, as if he is ... embarrassed? "It refers to itself as we. I ... may be able to coax more from it, but it seems to choose what it wants to be."

"Perhapsss it doesss have more than one." Zeke offers his words cautiously, exchanging his old pot of tea for the new one arriving and offering tea all around. His own steams nicely and he holds it in his right hand close to his body as if he will soak up the warmth of it. "Perhapssss thesse voicesssess are the voicesss of thossse that came before trying to aid you. Like the eldersss do for the young." He smiles in the sith-makar way which is mostly with his eyes.

Stirling shrugs "Hard to say, it may grow in power yet and weapons with personalities do their own thing. They can be enormously powerful or a detriment." he says with a shrug. "Up to you." he says standing and gathering up his tome. "But thats for you to figure out quite frankly, never much gone in for that kind of thing. Have a good day." he says leaving the table.

Seldan nods politely to Stirling when the man stands. "Her light be on your path," he acknowledges formally as the arvek stands to leave. He holds out the cup willingly, setting it on the crowded table in front of Zeke for a refill. "So Mother said." There's a tinge of worry and sadness in that. "Family legend holds that it remembers every wielder it has ever had, but that it would only wake for one it found worthy." His speech slows as he repeats the story, automatically, and his eyes lower. "When it was given me, it was a wall ornament, and was blunted."

Zeke rises for Stirling, nodding and promising to come by later. Then before sitting refills Seldan's tea cup. Only then does he sit down at their now-cleared table. "Thissss one doesss not underssstand why thisss would caussse sssaddnesssss. You have been chossssen by thisss weapon then yesss? It finds you worthy and thisss is not a bad thing issss it?"

Quickly, Seldan shakes his head, loose hair flying as he does so. "Not bad, but ... a heavy thought, to continue to be worthy of such a thing. And ... the one who told me its story lies ill." The words are simple, quiet, but charged.

This it seems that Zeke understands. "The weight of onesss calling can be a heavy burden. It can sssseem... as though it can not be carried, but remember that you do not carry it alone Sssseldan. You are an adventurer." He carefully and reveretly slides Seldan's tea cup closer purposefully. They both belong to that strange group. "Tell me of thisss one that liesss ill. Perhapssss thisss one can be of aid."

This time, Seldan's shake of the head is slow. "My mother ... she has the plague. Malik will not tell me how she got it, but ... I have a guess." Eyes lower again. "But ... I cannot dwell on that. I focus instead on finding its cure. There are those who know how, but ... at a price none should pay, and too many will. If I can but learn their secret, it would strip them of much of their power, and their hold over the city."

Zeke does not have ears, but if he did they would have perked at Seldan's comment. "A cure, but at a cossst that none sshould pay? You ssspeak in riddlessss Ssseldan. What cure have you learned of?" He lowers his voice though, because speaking of a cure is dangerous these days. Particularly if there is indeed some kind of cost to this one.

"The denizens of the Hells know how, and ask a favor later to be named in return." Seldan lets those words hang in the air for the space of a breath or more, to give Zeke time to think about that. "Consider you. Such as they do nothing that is not to their own benefit. They gather such favors, and were I to guess as their method, they set this scourge upon us, then offer their benevolence to cure the very thing they set among us, in return for favors. What they mean to use them for ... I fear to guess, but seek to learn, ere whatever nefarious plan they have laid comes to its fruition."

The blue-scaled sith's tail ceases to twitch and comes to a suddenly frozen state. Sith can not pale, but Zeke's widened eyes and slightly opened mouth are sure indicators that he is completely shocked by Seldan's words. "Thisss isss a terrible thing you ssspeak of. To give unknown thingsss to the dark. Be careful what you think however, to usssse weaknessss to their advantage is their way, but creation isss not. Thissss one wisssshess one knew more of ssssuch creaturesss, but more in fact of thisss one that did indeed make the plague. To know that the missstresss even is a demon or devil would be to our advantage!"

He rumbles low in his throat and rubs a spot on the table thoughtfully. "What if the missstresss isss not? Have you sssspoken with thissss... Menel? The one that wassss brought in from capture by her?"

"We have been able to learn ... something of the one who made it, but ... not enough." Seldan draws a deep, steadying breath, and finally takes the tea that Zeke had pushed his way, wrapping hands around it in the way of one giving themselves the time to think. A sip, and he lowers it again before he speaks. "Menel is a name not known to me, but I shall seek that out. This one was captured ... and retains memories of having been so?"

"Thissss one doess not know what he knowssss. Thisss one was bussssy when he wassss brought into the Sssoldier'sss Defensce. I know that he sssaved many from her tower, and that he himsssself wasss brought in by Mikilossss. He was releassssed quickly assss he wassss quick to heal, though I was told hissss injuriesss in hisss essscape were grave. It would be besssst to ssspeak to him." Zeke takes a drink of his tea and peers at Seldan. "Hasss anything been learned that thissss one doesss not know of? Thisss one hasss been ssso busssy with the plague that thissss one hass not had much time for... ssssosscialiszing."

"We have learned ... several things." Before Seldan can continue, though, there's a disembodied voice, a young one, from the sword at his hip. "Not enough, clearly." The older woman immediately hisses, "Hush. This is important." The paladin gives the weapon a _look_, but opts to take a sip of his tea in place of a retort. "You know of the attack on the Temple of Vardama, I am certain. Few know that Kol Demontry had a goal there. A tomb was desecrated, the body and the items with which it was buried missing."

Zeke shakes his head at the name of the vampire which has plaughed the city nearly as much as the plague itself has. "Ssshame that no one hasss put an end to that thing yet." His words are a bit of a hisss and he dips his head in silent apology for his vehemance. "Does thisss tell ussss anything about her though? Or isss it merely another clue to ssssomething elsssse that we know not of?" He sighs. "There sssseem to be many plots and plans around this missstresss."

"That is what we seek to learn." The tea appears to help focus Seldan, and he takes another sip. "So there are ... and what connection she may have, or not, to the Duke of the Hells Eclavdran, and to the white tower. All of these are yet to be understood. You make a good point, though, that we do not fully know her nature, or indeed much of her. And ... just who this Nenarulo Calanalata was. From what we have been able to learn - he was not of this plane either. Nor was the son of the mage who created this thing." He just stops, every line of his form betraying confusion.

"What we do know, issss that sssshe harborssss a hatred of Alexandria, and moressso of the sssildanari. We know that sssshe hasss abducted people, and for ssssome purpossse. That ssshe isss aware of thesssse thingsss that come from other worldssss. Thingsss that thossse who lived here did not know of. Sssshe isss then, patient, cunning, and knowledgable." Zeke seems to be thinking himself. "Thissss one hasss never heard that name before, but that isss not sssurprisssing if they are not of thisss world."

"We know one more thing," Seldan says slowly, still cradling the tea in callused hands. "The snowflake scar that some bear ... appears to be a mark of the bargain made. It is found on those who had the plague and were cured by either the Mistress ... her name is Yukia ... or by the minions of Eclavdran. The mark is the same, either way. Why it is a snowflake ... I cannot say."

GAME: Zeke rolls knowledge/religion: (6)+14: 20

"Yukia?" Zeke rolls the name in his mouth and looks at Seldan in curiosity. "Yukia is a familiar name to me, but I can not think of where it comess from. An old story... ssssomething to do with the cold."

Zeke makes a motion with his right hand as if to aid his thought process, but the name flickers away from him and he sighs instead. "Ah old age. To know sssomething and to have it fade from your grasssp before you can remember it. Thisss one knowsss thissss much from Mikilossss though, that the ssssnowflake issss her mark."

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/religion: (18)+11: 29

The commentary, nonetheless, seems to trigger Seldan's memory, and he snaps his fingers, sitting up a little straighter and transferring the teacup to one hand. "The demon ... takes the form of a beautiful woman, lives on a mountaintop, and lures men to their deaths by crying for help, then summoning a storm to freeze them on the mountain. I have heard such tales, although if she is such a one, she would not be Eclavdran's equal in power." He subsides. "So ... why, then, does she hate the sil, and Alexandria? This Nenarulo Calanalata ... was executed for demon-worshipping, but seemed innocent enough. There was no trial that I have been able to find record of, although whether it is but too old ..." He spreads a hand, leaving the question on the table. "Was he truly a worshipper of demons, or was he targeted for some reason?" Another sip of that tea, and he sets the cup back down on the table finally.

A warm light shines in Zeke's eyes. "Yessss that isss the ssstory. The quessstion we mussst asssk then, if thissss demon isss not equal to the other in power, if ssshe iss the missstresss or merely another pawn of that entity. A dissstraction." He considers however Seldan's words, specifically about this person that seems to be on his mind. The one who's grave was robbed. "Thisss one doesss not know. But that he wassss sssomeone that ssshe wanted, or had ssssomething ssshe wanted; thissss sseemss certain."

"Or both," Seldan nods, leaning back in his chair. "That she sent Kol to rob the grave certainly suggests that. What was it that she wanted ... that, we yet work to learn. What was buried with him. It seems certain to me that Yukia is but one of Eclavdran's many minions. He has others, that we know for certain, many that serve him. If she is not so, if Eclavdran serves -her- ... then we must learn how that came to be, and how she keeps him enslaved, for demons do not engage in cooperation. The strongest rules, among such as they. If it is her mark that is used ... yes. We must understand who is truly in charge, and how that came to be so. And ... the mage who made this. Was his tower simply stolen? How did he come to have the power to bind a Duke of the Hells to guard it?" He seems to think stream-of-consciousness now.

"Of the one who made the tower, thissss one isss not sssurprissed that he wasss able to control sssuch as Eclavdran. He could move through time they ssssay yesss? Perhaps he defeated a ssstill-young demon and entrapped him. Thisss wasss a thoussssand yearsss ago after all. Even demonsss gain power over ssso much time. Though you are right, it makessss no ssenssse for a weak demon to control a ssstrong one. There isss much we do not know happening here." He stretches his tail and finishes his tea. "Thisss one hass much to do yet thisss day, ssso musst carry on. Thisss one isss to ssee Ssterling at sssome point again." His tail flicks.

"He has a point." Finally, the sword pipes up again, the voice of the older female. Seldan's expression is that of the long-suffering as he does, but he nods. "A good point, indeed. I imagine that Eclavdran would wish to be rid of such a bond, if he is not already with the wizard's destruction." At the sith-makar's indication that he must go, he straightens. "You have my thanks once again, Zeke, for your ear and your wisdom. I should seek evensong and my evening prayers, but you give me much to pursue, and much to ponder." Indeed, the paladin seems to have found some clarity in the conversation, and his smile is genuine, reaching his eyes. "Peace to you, in the name of the Dragonfather.

"Peassce to you asss well, and blessssingsss of the Dragonfather." Zeke bows his head to Seldan and then turns. Stops. "Sssseek out thissss Menel. Thisss one hasss a feeling that even if hisss memory isss not all there, he may have anssswersss." With that the sith-makar leaves, his tail flick-flicking thoughtfully behind him and a few coins to pay for the tea on the table left in his wake.

-End