Breathe deeply - steady the shaking. I need to maintain my focus if Fade Away is going to do anything for me. If I let my concentration slip even a little that could be the end of me.

Abruptly, the doors to the hall open, and 2 men walk in, followed by three lightly-armoured guards wielding steel polearms. Both men are relatively old as humans go. They make an odd pair, with the shorter of them dressed smartly in the latest local fashions, while the other, proud as a peacock is dressed in filthy rags that wouldn't be out of place on a tramp in the dirtiest, most squalid slum.

I bite my lower lip, clenching my eyes shut and praying to whatever gods might be watching that they buy the bluff.

"Hajo," someone growls, "It would appear the snare has failed. Find the girl. NOW!"

I peek an eye open, and the beggar chuckles, "That part of the plan was ridiculous from the start. And I told you as much, Fillip."

"My name isn't Fillip to you, Hajo, it's 'Boss'. Now don't make me repeat myself," The short-arsed baldy snaps back.

"Oh, I heard you. I just think this is hilarious. How much has this scheme of yours cost you now, compared to the much more reasonable and straightforward approach I suggested?" Beggar guy - Hajo -smirks.

Fillip apparently does not share in Hajo's good humour, and faster than I could ever have expected from the thin old man, jabs the taller guy in the stomach, making him crumple to his knees, where Fillip grabs onto his skull with both hands.

I can't see the expression on Fillip's face, but from the way Hajo completely stiffens up, I can imagine it's quite scary. If nothing else I can feel the intensity of Fillip's bloodlust and it's making my hair stand on end.

"Without the correct leverage, the profits I stand to gain from the deal are substantially lowered," Fillip says, quietly yet harsh, "And if I lose those profits, I will personally tear out your heart with my bare hands and crush it in front of you. I may be retired and ageing, but I am still very, very dangerous. That cheap swill you insist on drinking must have rotted your memory for you to forget that. So..."

The beggar chokes back a scream of pain as the other man squeezes his head, "FIND. THE. GIRL."

Hajo coughs, "R-r-right."

Fillip lets go of the beggar abruptly, retrieves a handkerchief from a pocket inside his pastel purple waistcoat and wipes his hands with it, staring daggers at his subordinate.

Hajo, meanwhile, stands up unsteadily, one hand clutching his stomach. Taking a deep breath, his posture relaxes again, and he turns around to regard the vandalised Feast.

"The door was never opened after the table was set. Correct?" He asks the guards behind him.

"Aye, sir."

"Yessir."

"Aye."

Hajo nods, "Then she's still in the room. The windows aren't damaged and there's no other exit she could take but the door. There wouldn't be enough time to do all this extra embellishment and sneak out with the serving staff. Even I'd struggle to pull that off."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I fucked up. I didn't think about how the theoretical escapee supposedly pulled off their escape. I just assumed they'd take it at face value and question it later. I was naive.

Now what? Make a run for it? I doubt I can make it to the door with those guards there. Can I distract them? Maybe, but how? They're already on guard now, a second bluff won't be as effective.

I close my eyes. Think, Yemesvel, come on. What can I do to get out of this? If I make a noise in the rafters maybe I can trick them into thinking I'm up there. That would be the smart place to hide right? Not easy for them to get to, either. While they're looking up there I can make for the door.

While I'm thinking about what I can use to make that noise, my nose twitches at a strong smell of lavender.

Confused, I open my eyes to see, entirely too close, the face of the beggar, smiling at me.

"Greetings!"

Shocked, I can barely muster a resistance as the stronger Hajo drags me out from behind the statue by the scruff of my neck.

"Here she is!" He calls out happily, throwing me one handed to the floor in front of the guards. Two of them level their polearms at me before I can recover, while the third pulls out a pair of manacles, a length of rope and a sack.

Realising that I'm well and truly screwed, I don't bother offering any resistance as my arms are wrenched around my back and manacled, with the sack pulled over my head and tied on tightly at the neck.

Someone I can only assume is the head of the Dwast Clait, Fillip, sighs in relief, "Good."

I'm grabbed by the arms on either side by two guards and dragged to my feet, where someone leans into whisper into my ear, "Now, I'd much prefer to present you in pristine condition, so behave yourself and keep your mouth shut. You're not worth much to me dead or crippled, but if that's what it takes to keep you in line, then so be it."

A third pair of hands removes my belt, then pats me down for any hidden weaponry and removing a few hidden throwing knives.

"Now, let us go begin the negotiations. You two, bring her to the guest parlour, and as for you, tell the kitchens to bring up the refreshments. Hajo, for the sake of the gracious gods, change into some real clothes. Then inform our visitors the meeting is ready to start."

With that, I'm dragged off into the darkness.

----------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Yprus takes a seat at the head of a fair-sized table. The room is one of three guest parlours available on the second floor of the Dwast Clait's Manor, and out of every room in the building, it is by far the most lavishly furnished, serving as a demonstration of wealth and good taste, meant to impress and relax visitors in to potentially lowering their guards in negotiations.

Paintings of stunning vistas, vibrantly coloured Ironsilk drapery and the subtle scent of burning floral incense pervading the room - along with the beautifully carved Klennockwood furniture - are all meticulously arranged for this purpose, and lit by the soft glow of enchanted crystal lamps bracketed to the walls between each of the paintings.

Yprus stares at his trembling right hand. It has truly been many years since he last needed to strike someone personally. Though time had done only little to diminish his skills, the consequences of that disuse effect even those with combat Classes. Perhaps it would be wise to recommence his old training exercises before he loses his touch completely. 

Musing on the matter is interrupted, however, when Hajo opens the door. Now dressed more appropriately in the uniform of the serving staff, a cool blue tailor-fitted jacket and leggings, with a ruffled red cravat. The ensemble is a little hard on the eyes, perhaps. Alas, keeping in with the latest fashions is an important factor to consider when presenting yourself to potential clients and business partners.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

If nothing else, seeing Hajo dressed the harlequin is a small source of amusement.

Hajo stands to one side, hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed in supplication. A procession of humans in long white robes with bronze plates sewn into patterns around the hem enter, headed by a sharp-faced woman with tightly braided blonde hair.

They arrange themselves into a wedge formation at the end of the table, and the woman performs an elaborate sweeping gesture with her hands, bowing slightly. The men behind her follow suit in perfect sync.

"Blessings of the Saints upon our endeavours, here today," intones the woman, holding the ritualistic pose.

"May we attain the same success," the men respond.

The grace and piety drain from the woman, and she assumes a more relaxed posture, smiling thinly at Yprus, "My word, I was starting to worry you'd take all evening before remembering to call me. I assume you are Yprus Fillip?"

Steepling his fingers, Yprus responds evenly as his guests take their seats, "Correct. I will be representing Dwast Clait as it's Dost in this meeting. My man over there is Hajo, he will be joining us as my secretary.  If you desire any of the refreshments you see prepared for our pleasure, please ask him, and he will oblige. We have two blends of tea, Julpberry & Watergrass from the Yolsa Teahouse Association on the central continent, and a blend created by my brother using our own personal gardens. It is slightly acidic, and it leaves you wanting to drink more. Rest assured it is neither poisonous, nor addictive. At least, the ingredients aren't; but it's quickly become a favourite of mine."

He ends off with a small joke, smiling - with care taken not to appear artificial. The guests settle into their cushioned chairs but remain silent, each looking to the woman.

"The Yolsa's Masters are well-regarded, to be certain, but I must confess a curiosity in this blend you claim is a match for theirs. What is it made from?" She asks, deliberately ignoring the stares.

"I admit to not being entirely privy to the recipe. Jilm is rather protective of it. Should you try some and take a liking to it, perhaps you can negotiate a separate deal with him for the purchase of a box."

"Perhaps we will. I shall have a cup, in that case," The woman smiles, turning to regard her entourage, "Any of you wish for the same?"

Two out of the five men agree to try the tea. Hajo moves over to the silver tea set and begins to brew the tea, a new scent wafting over the room, reminiscent of red wine without the headiness.

Yprus takes a deep draft of the smell, and places his hands on the table, "But to continue with the introductions; I know you to be the current Lantessa of House Flom, Ulrissa Flom, but your associates have yet to introduce themselves formally."

Naturally, Yprus is already fully informed of their identities and personalities, but there's no reason to admit to knowing that. Better to play the gracious, courteous host, if there is hope for them to do the same. This too, is a way of enticing negotiating partners into being more open; by playing on their sense of propriety.

The first man to speak, is an older man, with a neatly trimmed white goatee, and a hoarse voice, "I am Haldon Flom. I am here as escort to my niece, and empowered with the same power to negotiate. I have elected to allow her to take the lead, for the sake of gaining experience."

Second to speak up is a younger man barely out of his teens - black hair tied into a looping ponytail away from a boyishly handsome face.

"I am Galt Matherson, recently appointed as milady Lantessa's Prime Blade - or bodyguard, to use the local vernacular. The others here hold similar positions as my subordinates. We will not be participating in the negotiations, for the most part."

Yprus nods, "A pleasure to make your acquaintances. You have been invited here today to finalise the agreement proposed by the Lantark prior to his sudden and unfortunate illness. I'm sure I do not need to stress the importance of it for both parties."

"Quite so," agrees the Lantessa.

"Then shall we begin by confirming the contents of the agreement so far?" Yprus offers. Reminding and repeating reinforce ideas and encourage their adherence, after all.

Ulrissa laughs delicately behind a dainty hand, "By all means."

"Very well. Through my branch offices in the Santocracy's capital, Verent, Dwast Clait was contacted with the offer to negotiate a deal concerning the Klennock Woods which lay near the border of our two nations. If we assist you in your reclamation of this territory, we of the Dwast and Thynnwirk Claits will be allowed preferential treatment when negotiating trade Tariffs for the region's produce. Correct?"

"Just so."

"Good, good. Oh, how is the tea? To your liking, I hope?" Yprus asks, deliberately derailing the conversation. Muddying the flow and returning to a previously established point of companionship to prepare for the next stage of the negotiations.

"It is quite excellent," admits Haldon, perhaps the most important person to convince. His niece, though shrewd, is far less experienced, and her authority - even as the heir - is second to his. No, she is not a cause for concern in Yprus' eyes.

"I'm sure my brother will be pleased to hear such praise," Yprus beams, "But, onto the matter we are here to discuss today. Simply put, we of Dwast Clait wish to be given exclusive, and permanent access to the logging operation in Klennock."

Lantessa Ulrissa's fingers tighten around the handle of her teacup, "That's absurd. For what reason would we give up that which we aim to acquire?"

Unphased, Yprus meets her glare with a smile, "Milady, you misunderstand. We do not seek to take away your birthright. Rather, we wish to add Thynnwirk Clait's share to our own."

Ulrissa maintains her frown, but relaxes her grip, taking a slow sip of the brew, "My apologies for speaking in haste. However, I must repeat my question. On what grounds do you make this...request?"

Yprus raises three fingers, "The first, and simplest reason is that we desire greater profit from the deal. Thynnwirk Clait's contributions to the endeavour have been rather lacklustre. It is only fair then, that we of Dwast Clait, bearing the brunt of the legwork gain greater credit, no?"

The Lantessa remains silent, as does her entourage, so Yprus continues, "Second, is that the asset we loaned you to be the foundation of your acquisition as a token of our good faith, was destroyed earlier today."

Shock appears on the guests' faces, and Galt can't resist the urge to speak up, interrupting his mistress before she has a chance to speak, "Already?! The beast was released into the Woods only yesterday! There shouldn't be any Adventurers nearby, either!"

"Galt, be silent. Never steal the words of your charge," commands Haldon, glaring at the far younger man, who has the presence of mind to at least appear self-conscious, and shrink back from his senior.

"Ill-manners aside, Galt has the right of it," Ulrissa cuts in, supporting her Prime Blade, "Such a creature would not be easily bested. Is it known how it was slain, and by whom?"

"Unfortunately, I only just received word of the commodity's destruction. Thus, information has yet to arise as to the circumstances. My employee's talents are in the raising and care of such valuable commodities for sale and loan, not in deepening their personal bond, as is typical of Beast Tamers."

"I see..." Ulrissa murmurs into her cup, placing it back onto the saucer.

"As such, compensation for the mishandling of goods is but a simple courtesy. One we are prepared to overlook as part of the additional rights, as well as a renewed interest in seeing your acquisition succeed."

Stroking his goatee, Haldon speaks, "In other words, you'll commit more resources?"

"Milord, we of Dwast Clait will do everything we can to protect our ventures and ensure a profitable outcome for all involved."

Haldon grunts, "And the third point?"

Yprus chuckles, grinning wide enough to show teeth, clapping his hands twice.

The door to the room opens again and two guards, polearms now absent, enter the room with a third person who has a sack tied over their head.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ulrissa demands.

"Why, honoured guest, this is the commodity we have acquired to serve as the linchpin of our argument," Yprus laughs harder, "Through much expense, I might add."

The Flom delegation continues to stare at him, waiting for a proper explanation.

"Please do not worry yourselves. I am quite aware of one of your other motivation for this venture. Perhaps the one of most interest to your country," Yprus continues, his smile taking on the qualities of a predator at play.

"What other motive do you speak of?" The Lantessa asks, painted lips twisting.

"Access to the mountains of course. And, by extension, a trade route with the Elves that doesn't require going through our government as proxies and losing a hefty percentage in handling fees and such."

The Lantessa flinches, her inexperience showing.

"Now, we of Redault have our own ways of accessing the commodities on offer by the Elven people. But direct access to them that cuts us out of our share, and gains you a slice of extremely lucrative land to boot? I see little of the profits available being handed to us with the agreement as it stands, do you not? Rather, by the exhaustive research and calculations I've made, we actually would see a 31% decrease in annual revenue on average. Simply unacceptable."

Yprus leans onto the table, resting his chin on his hands, smug, "But I'm willing to be quite generous. In the interests of creating a closely knit relationship, going forward you see. So, if you are willing to give us the logging rights, we will also be willing to sell you this commodity in such a case for a substantive sum, whether in goods, cash, or further concessions should you lack either."

"That's asking a lot. What makes you confident we'll agree to buy this stranger?" Haldon interjects.

"Patience, my good man," Yprus chuckles, snapping his fingers.

One of the guards nods, then removes the sack, revealing a young, beautiful half-elven girl with pale skin and vivacious red hair staring defiantly at the gathered people in spite of the manacles and twisted linen gag.

"A half-elf..? No, that hair...wait..." Ulrissa mutters, before her eyes snap wide, exclaiming, "A High Elf's bastard?!"

Surprise spreads throughout the room, even to the girl in question.

The only ones not affected by this revelation, of course, being Yprus and Hajo.