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Ben d'Tarkanan TWO DAYS AGO

    The lightning rail pulls into the Landing, the gateway to Sharn. It is late at night, and the cabin is briefly awash in the sounds of groggy travelers waking up, as interior lamps come on, and the conductor gives his intercom shpiel. Ben hasn't been back home in some time, having been gallivanting around the Multiverse on adventures with the Concord. Electing to take the scenic route home gave him plenty of time to think, but the sights of the Tapestry passing by his window have only made him more eager to be back in the City of Towers.

    As he blinks the sleep from his eyes, he slings his traveling pack (a bedroll, a canteen, a lantern, and a tent) over his back. It's cool outside. Before he can stretch, or take a deep breath, the night air is rent with a scream of anguish and frustration. Shaking off the bleariness of travel fatigue, he rushes towards the source of it, not because he wishes to help, but because his mind is excited with the possibility of an act that others will admire.

[BGM] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAN4HkZhO3U

Hey baby, whatcha know? Good
I'm just gettin' back but you know I would


    The source of that scream is... Ben blanches as he rounds the corner. It's Falko Kessler. Short black hair, beard. A countryman. They served together, but neither were happy with it. Kessler mistreated him as soon as he found out about Ben's aberrant mark, and encouraged the others to do the same. Thus started the long trend of spending the war shuffled between postings, as word of his mark always arrived ahead of him. Eight years of anxiety is bad enough with the company of the living, but relegated to the undead portions of each regiment, with only glassy-eyed, mouldering stares for company...

     Kessler's been robbed, clutching a single gold coin in one hand, a spilled bottle of spirits in the other. The man is clearly holding back tears of rage.

War is hell. When will it end?
When will people start gettin' together again?


    Ben freezes, worried that Kessler might recognize him, might give the lie to his carefully put-together persona--

    "Tannerson...?" The exhausted man blinks. It's too late. "Keep walking," growls Kessler shakily, his anger now directed towards something else. Something he feels easy to hate. "Try to rub this in my face and I'll tell the guards you did it." There's a mirthless chuckle. "If they even come. Yeah," he spits, his chest heaving as he gets to his feet. "I know who you are. My shoulder might be gone, but my eyes sure aren't."

Are things really gettin' better, like the newspaper said?
What else is new, besides what I've read?


    "You were... wounded?" asks the necromancer, frowning, shaking his head as his brow furrows in confusion. His eyes glance to the shoulder. It looks fine. A torn tendon, maybe? Nerve damage? Either way... People are supposed to like that, aren't they? They're supposed to respect it, if you're not... His hand traces across the scar-like mark on the back of his neck. "I don't understand. You should have had a hero's welcome..."

    "I sure had a lot of thank-yous that didn't put food on my table. Turns out there's no work here, either." For a moment, there is an awkward silence between the two. Kessler seems to expect that Ben will gloat, but Ben doesn't know what to do.

Can't find no work, can't find no job, my friend.
Money is tighter than it's ever been.
Say, man, I just don't understand what's goin' on across this land.


     Mistaking Ben's silence for something else, Kessler shoves him, his lips curled into a snarl. "You don't *get* to be ashamed of me, freak. Get lost--I'm not looking to meet the Dragon Below. Or whatever nightmare gives you lot your wicked powers." He turns and drunkenly staggers back to his too-small home, entering and slamming the door. There's no answer when Ben knocks. So he leaves without a word.

What's happening, brother?
Ben d'Tarkanan YESTERDAY

Are they still gettin' down where we used to go and dance?
Will our ball club win the pennant?
Do you think they have a chance?
And tell me, friend, how in the world have you been?


    The exclusive rooftop play has some of the finest musicians, actors and illusionists that House Phiarlan can hire out--but it might as well be the bawdry copper comedies the dockworkers howl at in Cliffside, for all that it holds his attention. Ben just can't get his mind off of Kessler.
Tell me what's out and I want to know what's in
What's the deal man, what's happening
What's happening, brother?


    "Breyten," Ben asks, as applause for the play's conclusion rings out around them. His aberrant-marked henchman, himself applauding, looks over from his adjacent seat. "What is it called when... no. That is, what are you supposed to do when... someone treated you badly, but you feel badly for them? But... you know that they won't accept your help."

    "I dunno, boss. You sure they won't? You're pretty convincing."

    Ben winces. Lia, to his left, is learned enough to recognize his mind control for what it is, and smart enough to stay quiet. But Breyten... Ben looks away. "Thank you, Breyten. That's kind of you to say," he hollowly replies.

I wondered, for so long, how good might it feel to see someone from home. To rub it in, like Kessler said... I knew better than to hope anyone would change their minds about me. But I don't even feel happy to see him getting what I imagined he deserved. I... simply feel tired.

    He fakes a yawn, knowing well it isn't the type of tired he is. "Do you know, chums," he offers, looking between Lia and Breyten. "I think I shall turn in early. Breyten, be sure and check with Darvel for any new postings. Ah, and Lia, if you'd stop by this evening before you leave town, I've a message I need sent..." TODAY

    The letter is undoubtedly from Ben. It bears his signature and the mark of his beholder signet, upon its wax seal. The postage indicates it was sent urgently. Without his usual flowery language, it seems 'off,' reading simply:

    There is a man in Tavick's Landing--the neighborhood around the Warpgate and the lightning rail. His name is Falko Kessler. Slightly taller than myself, black hair. We're around the same age. He's a Karrn like myself, pale as snow, and he seems to have kept the accent more than I have. If you ask around the low-cost housing that's sprung up at the Landing, you'll find him, I'm certain. He won't speak to me, but it's very important that I understand him. I'm not certain what he's done wrong. Would you please help him? Bring friends, if you like.
Majima Goro     EARLIER TODAY

In the middle of a cleared construction yard sits a single portable. Within that portable sits a single desk, with a single telephone on it. It exists purely for arcane tax purposes, but for today, a man in a snakeskin jacket has boots upon it, a metal folding chair leaned back far further than it should be. A hard hat is tipped over his face, and he is obviously deep in thought.

Until the door suddenly busts open. "Oyaji! Boss!" An envelope is waved wildly in the air, and the burst of activity sends Majima Goro sprawling ass over teakettle onto the floor.

A knife is suddenly drawn, held to the messenger's neck. The poor man, known only as Nishida, stands wide-eyed. The letter shakes in his grasp, like a tender leaf.

A pause between the two men, before Majima claps him on the back. "Ahhh. Knock first, won'tcha? Ya scared the shit outta me!" Majima plucks the envelope out, sliding the tanto along it to crack it open.

"'Bring friends, if you like'." He taps his head, before looking to Nishida.

Nishida's eyes widen. "...Wait, you're not dragging me wherever this is, are y--"

NOW
Majima's brought two men with him, wearing snazzy black suits. One of them looks distinctly nervous, though Majima's happily resting a baseball bat across his shoulders and swaggering through this peculiar pop-up slum. His free hand is holding a bag of the local currency. "Hey! Which one of you fucks wants to find me a guy?" He calls out, jingling coin. Is this a stupid risk, liable to get them mugged?

Uh, yeah, obviously, why the fuck else would he be doing it?
Tamamo     While Ben d'Tarkanan may be a frequent Concord gallivanter, and this particular divinity is not, such details of affiliation don't feel at all important to her. She's had nothing but positive impressions of him. (Yes, even that time.)

    'Falko Kessler.'
    'It's very important that I understand him.'
    'What he's done wrong.'

    "A terribly vague request, is it not? And yet, there is a distinction between this and merely requesting 'an investigation.'" Tamamo saw no need to come alone. Not when she could take a trip while enjoying company. "To see a motive clearly stated as a desire for understanding an individual, and one not of intimate acquaintance, is quite rare, I should think. To feel such need as to request it of myself, I wonder, is this a matter of trust, reliance, or only..." She doesn't say 'desperation.' "Ah, but to question further would be quite rude. It is by no means an ill thing, to seek understanding."

    Eberron is a wholly new sight to her, and someone looking at Tamamo could fairly easily guess her a tourist. Strange, then, to see her heading into this neighborhood. The opera is in an entirely different direction.

    About to do... something, Tamamo is distracted by the unexpected sight of several Japanese men, one of them loudly proclaiming a goal not unlike her own. She's reasonably certain that she's never seen any of them, though that voice sounds a bit familiar. Curious.
Lilian Rook     A letter from d'Tarkanan shouldn't be all that surprising. Lilian does have some brief, but not inconsiderable, history with the man and his homeworld. It'd be difficult for anyone to forget that matter with the lord, the lady, the baby, and the soul-mulching machine. Recent matters may have called the exact nature of that familiarity into question, from a previous point of uncomplicated gratitude, but she believes the nobleman to be a few cuts above the type who couldn't separate This from That.

    Potentially, he might even might even be able to do both at once, but the brusque, vague, insistent tone of the message doesn't strike her that way. Potentially, *she* may be able to do both at once, which is her stated implication when asked. In reality though, it's mostly irresistible morbid curiosity regarding who the hell Falko Kessler is, and why he's so important to Ben. Especially if he's poor.

    Lilian gives an emphatic fuck-you to public transportation and arrives via offscreen mystery means that are actually kind of a mystery. Her plus one is *absolutely* not a mystery in the slightest. She sort of matches, in a certain regard, wearing a particularly eastern-styled red and white outfit, layered over something black and accentuated with a great many points of gold, including a sort of braided red silk choker ostensibly there to hold a heavily spell-rune engraved gold strip. It goes well with the lighting. "You don't have to trust, rely on, or feel any particular way towards someone, to recognize that they can do something you can't." Lilian says offhandedly to Tamamo. "Well, I suppose you have to feel something other than seething sour grapes."

    "Oh, hello Majima." Lilian spots and greets him at ostensibly that very auspicious moment. It'd be hard to miss his yelling and purse-jangling though. "You know, I distinctly recall you saying that you can't get two blocks in your hometown without being assaulted on the street. Have you considered that this might be why?" At the moment, she isn't doing much more than routinely glimpsing through the beady black eyes of especially large and ominous crows perched on various peaks and rails, looking as if they're trying to find the right house to foretell superstitious doom on.
Ben d'Tarkanan Tamamo: See the Sights

    The city of Sharn is the largest city on the continent of Khorvaire, but not in the way you might think. The city is perched atop, and in some cases carved into, a plateau overlooking the Dagger River, and its tributary, appropriately named the Hilt. This plateau is split into five sections, by chasms so deep that a fall would not only be fatal, but long and in its own way agonizing. Among many other things, Sharn is called the City of Towers, and looking at one of two central portions of the plateau, it is easy to see why. Even in the eastern part of the city, where you first step through the gate, you are surrounded by them. Some of them don't even connect with the ground, instead hovering in the air, connected to the rest of the city through bridges and walkways.

     Exiting the warpgate places you in Tavick's Landing, a district on the eastern side of the city. Means of flight within the city are for sale here at affordable prices, though these trinkets do not function outside of Sharn. Why flight? Because the city has developed mostly along vertical lines, with most districts boasting upper, middle and lower wards. As a rule, the affluence and quality of life decreases the further down you go, with those at the top being the most obviously wealthy, and those at the bottom largely consigned to poverty.

     The Landing is Sharn's gateway to the continent at large, and to the Tapestry--there is something resembling a train here, as well as a trade road leading out of the city, and of course, the Warpgate. Services for travelers such as inns and guides mingle with housing that is apparently built for those with very little. It becomes fairly obvious, fairly quickly, that these people are refugees of some sort. Even in its largest city, the continent of Khorvaire has much healing to do from the century-long war only two years past.

Majima: Who Wants to Find a Guy?

     The promise of money in a place like this is one that no one will turn down lightly. Things don't look -terrible- here but neither do they look great. More than a few people are without even the modest homes, and are either wandering about or resting from doing the same. Some hawk scavenged trinkets, others pieced-together handmade goods, none of it too sturdy or valuable-looking. Accordingly, several people come forward offering to find someone, each clearly from a different part of the world. But the loudest among their voices, and the most physically boisterous, is, for lack of a better term, a Robot, with bright blue light-eyes, an expressionless face, wooden skin and metal plates.

     "I'm the best there is short of a House inquisitive." Muscling past the others, "The name's Strut. Who're you looking to find, mister?" ... "Falko Kessler? Easy. Guy's a creature of habit. He's not in his house, he's gonna be in the Cogs looking for work," a wooden finger pointed towards a downwards sloping hill, where heat mirages begin to accumulate the further down it goes. "Or Under-Sharn, in the Flayer's Head Pub." Strut's blue lantern-eyes dim slightly, and though his face is incapable of frowning, Majima and Tamamo alike can hear a bit of sadness. "I'd try the Cogs or the pub, today. Word is he got robbed the other day. Heard he'd been saving for months."

Lilian: Lightly Chastise Majima

     "Yeah," says Strut, rubbing the back of his bald, metal-plated head with a hand big enough to fit over Lilian's. "She's got a point there, mister. Daytime hours aren't so bad up here at the Landing, but I wouldn't wave that coin around Under-Sharn." He approximates a throat-clearing. "Speaking of money... tip's free. I don't charge when it's that easy--but the Cogs and Under-Sharn are confusing. If you wanna get there quick and easy, I'm available." He extends his wooden hand.
Majima Goro     Majima's gambit has worked. Lilian steps up behind him first, apparently, and the bag of money spins back into his palm. He pivots on his heels, giving an over-exaggerated bow. "Oh? And aren'tcha always tellin' me that places ain't normally like Kamurocho, Lily-chan? Eehahah! But, nah. You were in Sotenbori, ne? You know what it's like!" His face momentarily turns pleading, his one eye wide, lip wobbling...before he resumes his grin.

"...and for you to be chiding me about waving wealth around... that's a little pot and kettle, isn't it?"

Nishida, for his part, very courteously bows to Lilian. Like, twice. It's at a solid near 90 degree angle. So does Majima's other black suited man, though he looks distinctly discomfited to be doing it. He's got a very strong Young Punk look to him. Spiky lip piercing. One eyebrow piercing, one hole where one should be.

And now, Strut. The negotiations go as expected. "Well, eh, Lily-chan said this money was dangerous, hm? And I wouldn't want to subject these lovely two ladies to danger," He says, tossing the bag in his hand a little, before idly lobbing it to Strut. Not hard, just in the 'catch the bag' sense. He indicates Tamamo and Lilian with a hand, before putting both hands on his hips.

"I'll have to bring more money to wave around later, when I'm less busy, ne? Nehahahahahahahaha!" A gloved hand waves to Nishida. A pack of cigarettes is brought out. A hand waves to the other man. He doesn't immediately respond. "Daisuke, yeah?" Majima says, "Didja forget how this shit works? Just cause it ain't Yakuza doesn't mean ya shouldn't follow decorum!"

The lighter is produced, and Majima takes his smoke.
Tamamo '...to recognize that they can do something you can't.'

    "Oh, of course," Tamamo says, "but between believing that one can help, and believing that one *should* help, if asked for a favor, the second is the more complex. Come to that, rarely do I find petitioners calling my name, rather than Hers."

Sharn.

    "To build up and down, rather than outward... ah, but that is not so different, for its part. To this degree, perhaps, I may call it impressive, or unusual. Is it because of the chasms, or is it the type of land this is built upon? Is it both? Oh, or else, is it because they fly quite easily, here? That would explain the direction, if they were not troubled by thousands of stairs. To walk those day by day is a training few but monks and pilgrims would ever claim to enjoy." Tamamo keeps up a stream of tourism-related commentary for Lilian, not stopping at the broad strokes of the city's construction, but including anything that catches her eye for sale, or among the varied citizenry.

    "Not quite so like I4 and S6, that one. I wonder, still, why they look as they do, being made as they are, as I wonder the same of others. Surely, it was not merely for the ego of their human creators? The sculptor may wish to carve a likeness of beauty, and judge personal triumph by that success, but miss S6 does call herself a weapon, and it would be they who told her she was one. Did they believe a weapon must be beautiful?" Conversing (ostensibly wholly) about people who aren't here just makes it easier to enter the realm of gossip. Potentially being overheard explicitly questioning why the present robo-man was built the way he is would be far less politely acceptable. You can't just ask someone why they're metal.

    Now aware of his identity, Tamamo nods to Majima by way of greeting. The other two in suits she registers as his servants, or... employees? He did just say they were 'not' Yakuza... Well, that's probably not important right now.

    "A guide would be most helpful, I think. Wherever we should first look. Oh, to move toward those areas, must we fly? We should consider preparations, if so." Tamamo's prep consists of putting a hand around to Lilian's shoulder.
Lilian Rook     The touristy vibe accompanying Tamamo is fine with Lilian. Actually, it's preferable to paying her full attention to the streets. It takes her no time at all to ascertain that the ground is where Those Folk dwell, and become immediately conscious about not flying right at this instant. Standing out as obviously foreign is for the best in this case, as it exudes an exception from the local implication of social standing.

    "Verticality is always more difficult, so it's done as a space-saving measure. That said, the bedrock itself must be something to support this much weight without modern lightweight materials. Though, you can see where they've put the burden on magic instead. Those districts might be reaching their limit." "I would assume the converse. With the necessity of getting around, I imagine means of flight must have become an exceptionally important industry here. The need would have grown along with the steady increase in height, and it seems a great many of those floors just weren't built to be accessible from the ground at all. It'd certainly sharply limit where the underclass goes." "It certainly is a little rustic. Perhaps the tools for the artwork simply aren't there yet? Or perhaps it's a 'been there done that' affair? Material scarcity? Though in the first place, why that world insists that their servants be as human as possible, whilst at the same time vehemently refusing any relation, was always a little 'off' wasn't it?"
    But Majima shortly has the floor for a moment. "Well, as far as places go, this is one of the furthest I've seen from your little slice of Tokyo. Or would you like to argue that they're practically one and the same? Because you'll find that the disagreement solves itself one way or the other." says Lilian. "Regardless, you'll find that money, poor streets, and people, are essentially universal in that little triangle. Though, then again, I suppose it's pointless to explain it. I wouldn't bet money that you don't look for those little brawls on purpose."

    Nishida and the unnamed youth bowing to her in extremely Japanese fashion, though, actually elicits a look of very pleased surprise from Lilian, and a tiny clap of her hands. "Oh but your men are so well-mannered! I'm astonished! Are these the ones who keep you in business? Pleased to meet you! Do continue to take good care of Majima, would you?" Yes, including punk kid. The sight of seeing a man with a lip piercing crammed into a suit and stiffly rehearsing his manners is one that Lilian appreciates rather than mocks.

    "And, as an expert at waving wealth around, let me give you a tip. You don't show them the money outright. Then they know exactly how much they'll get, and begin forming little object plans. You have imply that you have more than you care to count, and their imagination will do the rest. The big numbers their brain writes tend to keep them cautious and cooperative. You're fortunate you ran into such a disciplined gentleman straight away."

    This is the point at which Lilian approaches Strut, certainly not bowing back to someone of this apparent social class, though she does favour him with an excessively polite wave. "Certainly. It'd be a shame to decline. Or perhaps I should say it would be unacceptable to simply walk away with a free favour? Now, when you mention 'the Cogs' . . ." Lilian glances unfavourably at the heat mirage in the distance. "What should we be expecting? Because if it's about to be a grimy smithy or boilerworks, I think we'd best split up."
Ben d'Tarkanan Lilian: What Should We Expect?

     "It's pretty much exactly that," says Strut to Lilian. "It stretches out laterally pretty far," he says, spreading out his hands to illustrate. "Thing is, the pub's in a neighborhood called Khyber's Gate," he says. She can tell by the way he said it that it may as well have been 'Satan's Doorstep.' "You gotta go through the cogs, or the Depths to get there. So, boilers and smithies, or sewers." His expressionless face is unsympathetic, but his tone is far from it. 'Sorry,' it seems to say. 'Them's the breaks.' He can at least give her directions, if she still wants to split up.

    Majima: Deliver Coin

     Strut accepts the money, and catches the bag with ease. He then promptly portions it out to each of the other would-be inquisitives, who apparently know him well enough to stick around when he scores a mark. His own cut is 'stay alive and sheltered' money. "Thanks very much," he says to Majima. "We'll swing by the Cogs first, since you can get Under-Sharn that way."

LAST NIGHT [BGM] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ok2oEoGfuM

     Kessler gets up from his bed, unable to stare at the ceiling any longer. The gold coin in his hand won't be enough for what he needs, by far. It'll take months more of this misery to get it. What's the point? With bitter huff, he heads into town to seek a little comfort.

Flying high in the friendly sky
Flying high without ever leavin' the ground, no
Rest of the folks are tired and weary
Oh Lord, and have laid their bodies down

He knows a way Under-Sharn that the pickpockets and muggers avoid. Dumb Brelish superstition. This gold ought to be good for some of that gnome apothecary's good stuff, some middle-shelf spirits at the pub, and maybe some company, if the right ones are working.

I go the place where danger awaits me
Oh Lord
And it's bound to forsake me


TODAY

    The boundaries of the Cogs are less well defined than the districts above them. There are portions under several of the five plateaus that comprise other districts, and so the general rule of thumb is 'if it's hot, dark and smells like coal, it's probably the Cogs.' This place is the beating heart of Sharn's manufacturing industry, but no one who has a choice *lives* here. Sadly, it appears that many people don't. "Kessler can't do any of the work available down here, with that shoulder of his," explains Strut. "But he still came down on the regular, hoping something would open up for him. Sometimes there'd be odd jobs, but... I dunno how he kept going, on that. I got here after him, and he's never accepted anything from me."

Tamamo:Why Vertical? Will We Need to Fly?

     Eventually, Strut has to provide lighting--none of Kessler's 'regular' spots are bearing any fruit, and so that means going deeper Under-Sharn, where light is scarce between thoroughfares. He does this with an orb of radiant light which apparates in his outstretched hand. "The chasms are from the War of the Mark. Hundreds of years ago." Things do appear to be getting older-looking, the further down they go, and in places, cavern walls give way to ancient brick and mortar. "When Halas Tarkanan and his Lady made their last stand here, he shook the place to the ground to take the invaders with him. We shouldn't need to fly, the way I'm taking us."
Ben d'Tarkanan And I go to the place where good feelin' awaits me
Self-destruction's in my hand


     The Flayer's Head Pub is a two-story thing of ramshackle construction, and whether you arrived here through Strut's guidance or through patient deciphering of centuries-old tunnel networks (stinky sewer or grimy forge), it is easy to spot. This is related to its name: someone clearly stole the head from a statue of a mindflater (squidhead) and fastened it to the storefront. Khyber's Gate is dark, with lava flows and torches providing the light. The air is clean enough to breathe but stinky enough to be unpleasant. Everything here is *dirt* cheap, to the point that relative to the other citizens here, what Strut kept of Majima's fee could allow him to live like a king. "He's probably gonna be in one of the beds on the second story. I'll wait out here for you."

     Sure enough, a human man matching Ben's description of Kessler is found sleeping off cheap drugs and cheaper booze, lying on a filthy, aging bedroll. Once shaken awake or otherwise roused, he brusquely slurs,

     "What in Khyber do you want? I'm tryin' to sleep." It is the equivalent of two P.M.
Majima Goro Majima gives Tamamo a wide, shit-eating grin by way of response greeting. Nishida and Daisuke repeat the same deep bow. But, you know. Lilian's talking more. That deserves More Words.
"Eh, it ain't got the shabby neon lightin' everywhere, and I sure ain't seen a place to get a bowl o' ramen yet," His arms stretch upwards, the man taking the time to pop his vertebrae. "But a city's a city, yeah? Ya got the shitty slum part, and ya got the rich part o' town. Sounds like there's a bar, though, yeah? Maybe we'll just leave you at this 'Cogs' place and me and the boys'll handle the bar for ya, yeah? Ya sound too refined for a place like that."

Strut gets his money, and Majima watches *very* closely to whom the money is split, and how much. That's good to know. There's a system. There's a hierarchy. There's an understanding. That's his kind of deal.

What's following is, vaguely to his dismay, a *tour*. Through the smoky, hot industrial section. He can't /blame/ the guy, it's not like he's got a tracker on this Kessler fellow, but he still isn't too fond of...all of this. But, Ben's helping with important shit. This is Concord. You put up. He's more than happy to step into the room first, with Nishida and Daisuke standing guard. Nishida is very enthusiastic about Not Encountering The Strange Man, and Daisuke's pulled out his cell phone idly. Will they stop Lilian and Tamamo from entering? Not meaningfully. But they /might/ manage to protest enough to buy the man thirty seconds of time.

"Nehehah. I'm fuckin' Santa Claus, yeah?" He puts on almost a terrifying grin. "I'm lookin' for people willin' to fuckin' work, is what I'm lookin' for. And I heard you used to be some big time soldier, till your shoulder fucked up. Name's Majima Goro. President of Majima Corporation." He passes over a business card, which he keeps in a business card holder because he's a fucking professional, unlike some gunblade-wielding motherfuckers.
Lilian Rook     Lilian sighs a big, sad, exasperated sigh between Strut and Majima. "It's true. That really isn't the sort of place. But then, Kamurocho and Sotenbori are far beneath me, yet I somehow managed then. I'll be brave." The *only* means of determining that she is, in fact, not genuinely distraught, is past context and a few seconds of thinking hard about it. "Certainly I am absolutely sick of constantly dodging secret sewer routs everywhere. But what is there to do?" That part is purely truthfyl, though.

    Allowing Strut to lead the way, Lilian walks an extremely close vanguard to Tamamo, where the point is little more than to visibly be In The Way of whoever else might be along the path. She is, especially after giving Majima grief, not exactly oblivious to the amount they stand to get from the wrong people in company dressed as she. It helps that that the procession now inexplicably radiates a certain aura of ill-omen. Even someone as well-liked and well-known as Strut wouldn't be casually approached while the small group exudes a menacing anti-random-encounter field.

    "So what's this about the man's shoulder?" she asks only after Majima has separated from the group (really making it less of a group in total). She seems to be in no rush to try and get past Nishida and the other guy. Certainly, most of that must come from not wanting to go anywhere near the building. But if one of them is actually from the Yakuza, they should be able to at least uneasily recognize that look of someone who expects to see someone coming out On Time. "I assume it has to do with how he lost his previous employment, whatever godforsaken thing that might have been." Frankly, the fact that the area has transitioned to ancient chasms and ominous statue pieces, as opposed to a loud, sweaty, smoggy industrial works, seems to have raised her mood. "Mmm, Lord Tarkanan. That sounds familiar."

    Given there isn't a lot to do though, Lilian finally breaks off a short distance to walk around the grounds, stopping every so often to, ostensibly, examine something on the rocks. She doesn't actually leave line of sight from the door guards, though Tamamo does quickly end up with a surprise mail.
Ben d'Tarkanan Majima: Ho Ho Ho

    "Santa Claus?" It's such a flippant response that it briefly shocks Kessler out of his affected gruffness. "What, is that, Gnomish?" He blinks away the sleep in his eyes, sitting up straight and peering at the card. He wipes his eyes, rubs his temples. "Yeah," he groggily answers. "Two tours as a scout, 12th Karrnathi Infantry. I used to be fire and brimstone with a bow." He shakes his head. "Anyway, that's a nice card, but I can't read, and some godless Warforged robbed me outta the money I was gonna use to learn--so I'm just gonna assume it says what you say it does."

     He attempts to stand, and largely succeeds, though he has to lean on the banister near the stairs to keep from stepping on the sleeping form of a goblin. There are... notably more goblins and ogres here, than in other, higher parts of Sharn. They seem to share a common desperation with the other beings here, be they humans like Kessler, elves, dwarves, or even the odd mechanical being like Strut, outside.

     "So. What kinda work are you offering, and where'd you hear about me? Those funny coats you Earth people wear--" He gestures to Majima. "Usually mean 'money.' Why come all the way down here for a washed up Karrn?"

Lilian: Inspect the Grounds

     This is gangland. It has to be, because all the signs are here. People watch her, Tamamo, and Majima's guys too willfully, in too coordinated a fashion, to be pure coincidence. Of particular note, there are a pair of red eyes. Circular, exacting. Like Strut's. At the sight of her, or perhaps at the sight of all of them poking around the tavern, the mechanical being departs. Maybe they're not part of whatever group runs this place?

The Shoulder

    If Majima asks, or if Lilian should muster the will to enter the pub: "Lots of people have stories about Cyre," he says. "About being there when the mist started. I've heard some crazy shit. Raining teeth, spells that have wills of their own, the ground melting people alive. I got off easy, or so I thought. I'd already spent my commission on keeping my folks' farm running by the time I noticed it. Temple healers can't fix it, Jorasco's too expensive. So here I am."
Tamamo '...always a little 'off' wasn't it?'

    "It did seem a strange contradiction, beyond the question of why form should not clearly follow function, in that created for dire straits. Oh, but I do not know whether the danger was so great at the time of their first design. Perhaps not, then."

    Majima's flunkies are well-mannered. Maybe that's just the impression caused by contrasting with their boss, but Lilian thought otherwise, so maybe not. Tamamo has a pleasant smile.

'...to get a bowl o' ramen yet,'

    "As yet, no, though I should not be surprised as we find one."

    Tamamo isn't well-versed with the business usual in areas where shantytowns come close to airports, so she watches with interest as the fee is split. The purpose, in regards to maintaining good will among those lacking in locking doors, is clear enough.

    Afterward, she sticks by Lilian, and as Lilian does follow down through the non-sewery route, she also sticks with the others. Tamamo's keeping all of her own auras low, as is most usual, so there's no interference with the one likely to keep others' heads down. There's only her naturally foreign appearance, her touristy behavior, and the natural richness of her dress. Focusing on Strut constrains further neck craning, giving Tamamo something else to focus on, but that doesn't stop her from, quietly or otherwise, filling dead air. "Hundreds of years ago, was there much of the city as it is now? Oh, but it does seem these passages are quite old. Did they always dig downward, even before the chasms opened, to let the air reach this deeply? The deep underground, and sturdy fortresses alike, oft had issue with such, no?"

'That sounds familiar.'

    "Hmm." Yes. It certainly does.
Majima Goro     Majima nods once or twice, listening thoughtfully as the man speaks. "Heh. Readin's overrated shit anyway." There's a chuckle, and he brings forth another alien Artifact--this time, a can of sake. He cracks it open first, at least, as to not have poor Kessler figure out what's going on. There's definitely a lot of sleeping forms. Lot to step over. "Why? Heh, that's a funny story, but you sure as /shit/ ain't the furthest I've gone out to find a guy, yeah? But hey. I lost an eye, I get what losin' a shoulder's like." He touches at his eyepatch. "Fuck happened to you?"

He gets the explanation. "...well, shit, if you can deal with all *that* crazy shit, you can deal with the bullshit I get. I'm construction work. Building. Tall shit, like you got here, but I /also/ got motherfuckers constantly comin' in to wreck things. So. You're not a fuckin' idiot, illiterate or not, so...found you the same way I found half my fuckin' employees. Random bullshit got me your name." He pauses.

"Shit from where I'm from's weird, man. I know a guy who once bought and sold properties. Hired a chicken once. The chicken was /real/ good at its job somehow. So I take chances like that."

He stretches out. "Anyway. You can take it or leave it, but there's two girls outside that're also wrapped up in--this kinda political bullshit rich guys like me get involved in. If you like their deal better, go for it." He tilts his head towards the entrance.

"But, if ya like to work hard and crack heads, y'know who to get outta this shithole with."

With that, he starts walking towards the entrance. He's made his spiel. "Lily-chan, Lily-chan's friend, floor's yours, yeah?"
Ben d'Tarkanan Tamamo: Were the Chasms Always Here?

     "That's a good question," admits Strut. "If I had to guess, I'd say most were here back then, yeah. But," He points a metal-tipped finger in the direction of a lava flow which bends around a corner out of sight. "I think that they were also mostly natural, and just got discovered by accident."

     He clinks a finger against his metal-plated jaw, an imitation of an organic gesture. "As for how much of the city was here back in Halas Tarkanan's day... well, quite a bit. It was a goblinoid city, to begin with. Then his people came in. Then it got invaded... then..." He makes a 'climbing-stairs' motion with his hands, and little 'tut, tut, tut' sounds. His eye-lamps brighten. "And, of course, the earthquake really... shook things up." His eye-lamps brighten. "Sorry, terrible joke. Anyway, that's why the architectural style here's basically... a riot."

    "So..." Strut watches Lilian work. "Your Friend there. What's her story? Seems like she's not usually the protective type, but..." He glances at Tamamo, then back at Lilian. "It's different, for you, isn't it? Did you guys fight together or something?"
Lilian Rook     Even ignoring literally every single other piece of context available, Lilian knows better than to let spooky red eyes glowing in the dark wander off from you. Rather, she knows that any sane normal person should absolutely be glad that they do, and to not chase them, and she knows that it is her god-given ancient duty to do the exact opposite.

    Of course, Tamamo is here, and she *needs* Tamamo to be specifically *here* for the immediate future, so she can't slash won't just run off. Lilian crooks her arm like a falconer, and an inky black crow flutters to it from the nowhere shadows of the district. She whispers to it for a second, and then it takes off in the direction of the departing Warforged(?), alternating between sitting in place for a long time, and flying well ahead. There's the very distinct possibility that someone really wary of being followed may try to attack or evade the bird in the shadows, but then at that point, Lilian has their last location, and literally zero travel time, if she needs to.

    "Her name is Tamamo no Mae." Lilian then replies, by automatic reflex, when Majima announces himself coming out. She hasn't bothered to correct 'Lily-chan' before. "Your boys were well-behaved. You should try to be a little more like them." A pause. "Though, since we are, technically, here for the same reason, what on Earth could Ben want with someone who slums it here?"
Ben d'Tarkanan Majima: Encourage Kessler

     "Hey," he says, with a sigh-grunt of effort to fight through his headache. "I'm not the kinda guy to be picky about that kinda thing. I'll start right away, if you really want. Just gotta get back to the landing and get my things." He huffs, heading down the stairs ahead of them.

Lilian: Use Crow to Tail Red Eyes

    "Oh, wow," says Strut, watching it fly off, impressed. "I've heard crows are pretty smart, but I didn't know people tamed them."

    ...it is indeed another Warforged, and they're in lighter plating than Strut's. Where his talents seem more in line with investigative work, hers are evidently on the other side of the fence. Yes, 'hers--' the solitary, aged goblin she seeks out refers to her as 'little lady' even though she's easily just as tall as Strut.

    Taking place within a secluded shack that's evidently a smithy, there's other business being conducted between the two. The exchange is easily heard by the crow, should it but perch on the ramshackle excuse for a chimney. "Can't you get me out of here any faster?" she asks.

    "Gate's free," says the vendor lazily, evidently picking his teeth with something. Scrape, scrape, scrape. "Just keep your head down. You can't do that, that's your problem." He's old. Used to this.

     "I--" She nearly raises her voice in frustration, but the crow can pick up her modulated, synthetic 'whisper.' "I stole just to afford his rate and your cut--and this guy's got offworld friends who came all the way down here to help him. You want me to *make* it your problem?"

     The goblin sighs.

Kessler: Ben?

     "Ben," he says, glancing towards Lilian as he exits the front of the place with Majima's guys. "You don't mean... brown hair? Weird arm? Mustache?" He points to the back of his neck, hesitantly. Gears are turning.
Tamamo     There are a lot of people around. A lot of eyes. Tamamo is used to being visible. The disappearance of one pair of odd color and shape doesn't particularly stand out to her, even if it should. The gang attention is just expected. She remains largely where she is, spending the time until Majima reappears subtly checking for the area's spirits. In a place this noisily filled with people, she can't expect to find many loud, independent wills dwelling in wood or earth, but she's been surprised, before. The health of a mountain's spirit often relates to those that dwell on or within it.

    There is, too, the advantage that checking for magic requires magecraft of her own, while checking for spirits is closer to a natural ability.

    "'Lily-chan?'" she repeats, at Majima's address. While it's only one or two morae off from Lili-an, the distinction is important. "In respect of my fondness for lilies, and their wealth of meanings, I suppose I shall allow this."

'Then it got invaded... then...'

    "Ah, stories upon stories. I know the way of these."

    Strut asks a question. It's rather a rare one, in fact, at least to be asked aloud, and Tamamo has to think about it. "'Fight together?' Oh, no, I am not so fond of combat. I suppose, however, that such has occurred, on some occasions. My Lilian is many things, 'my shrine maiden' among them. Ah, perhaps 'priestess' is a more familiar term?"

    She turns her full attention to Kessler. It's time for an introduction, made also to Majima's benefit, and to immediately double down on the likely unusual implication of the answer she'd just given. "I am Tamamo no Mae, as told, the bunrei of Amaterasu-omikami, She of the White-Gold Face, Goddess of the Sun." And for Kessler, and for anyone else standing close enough nearby to be caught in the same sight, this statement appears to be clearly and obviously true, without minding what relation 'bunrei' precisely represents, because Tamamo is clearly and obviously honest, trustworthy, and radiating flawless, solar grace. The only other possibility is that she's implanting all of the above into people's minds just by fixing her eyes onto them, but the two are not, precisely, mutually exclusive options.

    "Someone did ask us to aid you, though that is not all he asked, and I find that other portion more interesting. Oh, but that is nothing that need concern you." She's still, for the moment, supernaturally convincing, at least to the extent that *she* believes it. "Healing of the wounded, the maimed, and even the ill-fated is within my power. This would, for myself, be a simple matter, to give you the heartiest body you have ever possessed, and likewise a boon of luck, and a Charmed Fate. That would resolve, I think, the request for 'help.' It would leave, then, only that other matter."

    It's not the yellow of a paper lantern, nor the stone-steady light of a machine, but the shine of a golden sun, in Tamamo's eyes, something at once natural and otherworldly. "Though a great favor shall be owed, you need not pay in full, yourself. I shall consider the first part paid if you merely satisfy my curiosity on this matter. In your own, deepest truth, why are you here, and what have you done wrong?"

    There are many feelings one may experience, in that light, though 'judgment' is not among them. It is much too far away, too vast a difference, to take offense at whatever occurred here, deep beneath the city. Even the spires and towers are far beneath the Sun. And yet, she spoke of curiosity. That may be all it is, but it's waiting for an answer. Expectantly, anticipating, awaiting a story drawn up from the soul. The responsibility to satisfy that expectation falls down to mortal shoulders.
Majima Goro     Majima's just staring at the ground. The name's been dropped. His game's up. He's probably about a foot behind Kessler as everything's going on, rubbing his good eye impatiently. His steel-toed shoe digs into the dirt.
"...f'k." He lets out under his breath. Alright. Plan. Plan, Majima. Tamamo's talking about the symbolism of lilies, and he just, he doesn't have TIME for it. He turns around, not even wanting to watch the remainder of this. Plan. He needs a plan.

"Someone did ask us to aid you..." Blah, blah, blah. Okay. Why the hell was he helping Ben? Ben and this guy are enemies. Was there some shit about his arm? A Mark, right? Some kind of bad guy mark. Ben does weird necromancer shit. Probably doesn't fly too well around here...

He's going to spend this time thinking *hard* about what he's read on Kessler thus far. That's all he's got, while the other two take their turns to throw everything in the trash.

Daisuke has not stopped looking at his cell phone. As Tamamo finishes speaking, Nishida slowly steps forward. "I...I'm here because Majima paid me to be! ...I, uh, I took a twenty minute break yesterday instead of a fifteen minute one! It was a call from my mother! I'm very sorry!" He immediately bows apologetically to Tamamo.

"...Wait, um, I also..." He's probably going to keep going, but we don't really actually care about a long list of loyal Nishida's completely irrelevant sins. Good job, Nishida.
Ben d'Tarkanan Tamamo: Persuade Kessler

     Tamamo's supernatural powers of persuasion work wonders, when someone is giving her their full attention. Kessler has never met someone so clearly divine before, and seems unsure of what to do with himself, until her prompt.

    "So it was him..." (But that is nothing that need concern you.) "Well... if you can take care of my shoulder and turn my fortunes around," says the former soldier, "And he can get me standing on my own two feet again, then yeah. I still wanna know *why...* but I guess it *doesn't* concern me."

     Why is he here? he runs a hand through his back hair, sucking in a breath. "Winters are long, back home. Farms come up short, sometimes."

     "After I blew most of my commission on fixing my folks' place up, I knew they'd need money coming in. More than they could get even with me working the fields with 'em." He sighs. "But, everybody was coming back from the war," he says with a frown. And, a shrug: "And there just... wasn't work. Army was getting downsized, never had the mind for necromancy. Laborin' jobs like mister Majima's there filled up real quick, because the bosses were spoiled for choice. 'Why hire her when he'll work for less' and that."

     "So, I figure, okay... I'll go to Sharn." He makes a grandiose gesture with both hands, like someone describing top billing for a play. "Gateway to Xen'drik and the Tapestry. Maybe get work with House Deneith sell my bow arm out, or a letter of marque from Morgrave University to go pillaging ruins... and, well." He taps his injured shoulder.

     "That whole time, mom and dad are supporting me, and I got no idea what they're sacrificing, to do it, 'cause postage costs money too, and I ain't got that. I figured if I could just learn to read, I'd get something, anything, anything, and pay 'em back. So..."

     "When you ask me what I did wrong," he says earnestly, "I really don't know. *I* thought I did everything right. The Blood of Vol says you don't need a divinity's help to unlock your inner greatness. But I kept trying... and kept getting knocked down inches from the finish line."
Lilian Rook     Well if that isn't a whole lot of very juicy detail, Lilian wouldn't be able to say what is. It seems their thief isn't a professional after all, but another would-be refugee. A fellow companion in squalid desperation, turning on her own to get a shot at escape.

    Well, *right now* that technically isn't any of Lilian's concern. The fact that this Kessler guy had been robbed wasn't something that d'Tarkanan had asked to be fixed; given where he lives, Lilian can only assume that Majima chucking another bag of change at him would fix that right away. There's not technically a need to bust down that door right now.

    The 'his rate' part, however, is interesting. She stations the crow there for just the time being, saying "I'm particularly fond of them. You'd be astonished what they can get up to" to Strut, because right now Tamamo is taking her vague outline and blowing her expectations out of the water.

    Lilian heroically withholds her immense disgust at Kessler's 2pm binge drinking look and smell. "Ah, you know him?" she replies, with the most *damningly* convincing 'mild surprise', though she very subtly glimpses over his shoulder to Majima for just a moment. "Apologies, but I don't have any sort of special offer from him for you. We're here as part of a matter of shared interest. I'm not quite sure *why* he has an interest in this area and its people of all places, but he's quite suddenly developed a mind to hold out a fist full of gold and pray it won't be bitten --to be slightly metaphorical. I'd wonder if you could tell me what he could hope to gain by scouting these people. Some special talent? Shared history? Does he hope to develop the place? Or does someone happen to know something he'd rather not spread?"

    It's more or less a prelude to Tamamo's true thrust, and it certainly comes with a small amount of 'warming him up', as Lilian gradually increases her personally 'surreal' charms. But much more than that, mundane socialite skill is being brought out like a cannon. 'I didn't specifically name you', 'Here's a prompt to tell me what you know about Ben', 'Would you like to gossip about his opinions of Sharn?', 'By the way, there is some vague prize on the line', 'No, of course, since he isn't after you specifically, you'll have to qualift', 'Maybe you could think about this as pulling the gold out of his hands', 'We have a common interest in being vaguely suspect of him, so please radicalize me with your no doubt ferociously heated takes'. Endless layers of lead-ons, folded like a katana worthy of a Yakuza boss' office.

    "If you're not interested, or if you don't qualify, I'd like us to be on our way. This is, after all, a stop along the way. A detour I didn't mind making too much, since I'm already in the area for a particular ring of thieves and smugglers active in the area, and I don't want fresh intel to go cold."
Ben d'Tarkanan Majima: Discover Kessler's Deal

    What IS his deal? Well, what he's read so far is pretty telling.

     Both Ben and Kessler are from a cold, inhospitable country with very large armies (at least half undead). There is a religion there known as the Blood of Vol, which, based on Ben's remarks on the broadband, and Kessler's here, seems to value self-empowerment over praying for help.

    Their country, along with every other country on this continent, was part of a war that lasted over a century. Most people with human-ish lifespans alive today consider peace to be a new and uncertain thing, and are unaccustomed to life without the constant gnawing background radiation of being at war. He'll also recall that numerous technological developments happened during this war, which likely means that Ben and Kessler both saw all manner of new and terrifying developments during their deployments, to say nothing of the 'fog' they both witnessed.

    One final pertinent detail is that 'mark' of Ben's. A scar-like thing, at the back of his neck. When he fights, or moves in certain ways, his collar and hair reveal it. It was a man with one of those marks who sunk this entire city to the ground with an earthquake, centuries ago, and an ally of his, the Lady of Plagues, rendered it unlivable for a time afterwards.

    For someone as canny as Majima, the picture begins to make sense clearly. Kessler felt powerless in a culture that venerated the individual, locked into a war he inherited and unable to escape the anxiety of life as a soldier. His coping mechanism, at the time, was to demonize the first easy scapegoat he found, elevating himself by othering Ben until their commanding officer simply moved Ben to a different regiment, starting a trend of the necromancer being shuffled from place to place.

    House Tarkanan, an organization by, for and of the aberrant marked, makes its headquarters in Sharn, and so, surrounded by them, he's had plenty of opportunity to stew in his resentment of them. That Ben, someone with the 'advantage' of 'external help' should have what he does while Kessler himself is in the same boat as many veterans simply proves to him that the aberrant marked are the instruments of Khyber.

     Despite all that... so many people coming to help just because Ben asked has definitely got him thinking, even if he can tell the motives appear different from person to person.
Majima Goro     Crack. Pop. Majima's stretching out his limbs again, having finally had a chance to put everything together. He's not sure what all in all to -do- with it. Tamamo's got it under control, and, uh. Nishida.
Nishida is also under control, for some reason. His tongue rolls uncomfortably around in his mouth, once, He's not going to ask. It's not worth it. The cigarette comes out. Daisuke lights it. Nishida's still busy.

"...Offer's still open," He says. "Even if you take that healin' or whatever. I got a lot of work that needs doin'." He's still relevant.
Ben d'Tarkanan Lilian: Work Kessler for Answers

     "I served with him, my first tour. I think it was his first, too." Kessler scratches his beard. "He was from some noble family, I know, because he wouldn't shut up about it. I already didn't like him, because he talked too much. So, naturally, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of being stationed at Fort Zombie with him." He crosses his arms. Yes, Fort Zombie.

     "It's a pretty important posting, because it's on the border to a traditional enemy of ours. So--one day, the fort's overrun with 'em. Thranes. They'd brought a couple of mercenary wizards, I think, for mass invisibility and water breathing spells, and snuck across the river. I dunno how they got past the wards and traps that're sposed to be there, but... by the time I spotted movement in the river and called it out, they were already there."

     He shudders. "Sorry, just... gimme a sec." Kessler rubs his face, and takes a seat on the "Easily three hundred of 'em, all dropping out of a mass invisibility spell, and just... ran us roughshod. If I'd have stayed a second longer, I'm sure they woulda been on the ramparts with me. Ben, he ran, too. I followed him, as far as I could, but eventually, he just vanished, and didn't even leave footprints in the snow."

     "I asked about him, once." There is suddenly a look of shame, as if his recollection has knocked something loose. "After he was transferred. Brass told me it was thanks to him we got that fort back. Apparently, he... made it to Karrlakton, warned them, and came back with a platoon to wipe the Thranes out before they could capitalize."

     He steels himself and stands up straight, meeting Lilian's gaze with bloodshot eyes. "I'd... rather just forget about him." Majima might suspect it's because he feels guilty about what he did, now that he's actually talked to someone about it. He did mention that postage costs money he doesn't have, and he doesn't seem the social type.

     "So I think I'm gonna take Mister Majima up on his offer, and... try to do that."
Lilian Rook     Lilian listens to the whole thing, and does not feign her look of receptive interest. Arms crossed, expression mild, ear turned, she absorbs the entire backstory, bordering on confession, with exactly the kind of patient examination that 'qualify' may have implied, though it certainly serves a very different purpose.

    "That's a surprisingly intimate way to know the man." she begins, evenly. "No wonder you reacted to the name. I'll admit, I was wondering if you weren't about to try and take me for a ride, all things considered about this neighbourhood. I wonder if any more of you ended up here?" she says, the 'you' seeming to imply 'other militarymen, politely not saying 'deserters''.

    "Then I imagine he might be scraping around for nostalgic old peers, or at least men he feels he shares something in common with, and should be giving back to. Age and time tend to tint military memories, most of all, special, hazy shades; and they're always either pretty pastels or charcoal nightmares. I won't pretend to know whether the man is driven by blithe pride or old guilt, though. That is, if I'm even right about 'why here?'."

    "Oh, but I think you're already paid your part of the offer with Tamamo, haven't you?" Lilian grins, ever so slightly. "Don't go waltzing off just yet. I appreciate your charity and humility, but it's a matter of pride that you don't just give the offering requested and turn your back. Especially after all about 'unlocking your inner greatness', I'd hope you'd aim higher than a one-armed labourer."

    "Now, since I'd like us to be quickly on our way, to attend to the aforementioned matter of business . . ." She points to Strut. "Double whatever he just gave you to take me where I want to go next; don't worry, it's just a few streets over." Then she points to Kessler. "And the same amount to you, if you can correctly finger a certain problem when you see her." The female pronoun is an intentional bait drop, to see how he reacts.
Tamamo     Kessler admits to a lot of things. There's no sudden or twist or about face in Tamamo's attitude. She asked for a story, and she received it. Understanding doesn't require judgment of the rightness of one's actions. Whether she does believe any of those admissions is the wrong that Kessler thinks he hasn't committed, she doesn't say. Only, "I see," and "I understand."

    The conversation reaches its conclusion. Tamamo's supernatural radiance drops down to significantly subtler levels, though she is still, certainly, the same figure.

    "That is quite alright," she finally says to Nishida. Understandingly, "It is important not to worry your mother."
Tamamo     It's not especially, obviously impressive, the paper talisman Tamamo draws out. It's a little more so when she flicks it, and it attaches itself to Kessler's back. She could have used something more ordinary, a charm kept beneath a pillow, something pressed to the back while he slept, a mixed medicine, a pill, or any of a number of other, easier means of giving him the minimum of what she'd offered.

    But that wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a nearly instant, full-body cure that hits like a full meal, a jolt of caffeine, proper setting of every bone, exorcism of any lurking spirit, banishment of a host of illnesses, and a breath mint. She does, as it happens, prefer people to clearly know she did something.
Ben d'Tarkanan Lilian: Search for Culprit

     "Sure, you're the boss," says Strut. "Where to?" ... "Rezzik's Budget Armory?" He knows the place, is clearly baffled as to why Lilian would want to go there--but he won't turn away her money.

     Kessler appears skeptical, opening his mouth to give some excuse, until...

Tamamo: Complete Bargain

     He appears, after Tamamo's intercession, a new man. His bloodshot eyes are healthy and practically aglow, his complexion clears up, the drug and alcohol induced bleariness whisked away as if by strong wind. He blinks, momentarily stunned into silence. He tests his shoulder, mimicking the tug of a drawstring... there is an instinctive wince, but... "No pain... not even a little... and my arm goes back all the way. What you've just done, no healer without a Mark woulda touched. So sure, I'll help your friend," he says, gesturing to Lilian.

     "One thing, though... you ought to know my last girl said I was *really* bad at it."