The Auction: Part 2

 

((This tale is based on Chaosium’s Call of Cthulhu adventure “The Auction”. Thank you to Jon’s player for the excellent RP collab, and the patience to work around my studies.))

The fellow known as Stavros DarKoven took one final look at his appearance. After all, it was rare for the man to be amongst such esteemed company, his normal associates including those in the ammunitions and slavery professions, and while they would not balk over a shifted eyepatch, his new friends certainly wouldn't be as subtle. The fellow was of medium height and a solid, muscular build. Thick, coarse black hair came down to mid-neck, giving him a somewhat shaggy appearance despite his best attempts to tame it. Over his customary crimson colored cuir bouilli leather armor, colored a deep crimson, was a heavy and long collared coat and vest of similar color. Under it was a high necked white dress shirt. Mayhap too many layers for the fashion conscious, but it allowed him to hide the pair of thick steel daggers on his person without problems. 

Assured in his appearance, Stavros DarKoven (who was actually a disguised Jon Chess), knocked three times on the heavy wooden door before him. A man wearing thick boiled leather armor opened it shortly after, looked him over, then extended his hand.

“Your invitation, sir.”

Jon pulled the folded parchment from inside his coat, and passed it over to him. The guard unfolded the paper and tilted it in the moonlight until the paper shimmered. Jon could see the faint outline of the Babington crest at the bottom. So that is how they ensure the privacy they so flaunt. 

Tucking the parchment away on his own person, the guard opened the door wider for the arriving guest.

“Come in and be recognized, Mr. DarKoven.”

The main reception room was magnificent, even for Dalaran standards. Polished tile floor contrasted the mahogany stairs that cut the building in half and led up to the second floor. Other wooden accents in the floors were interrupted only by deep purple runners that protected them from regular foot traffic. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the pristine white alabaster walls in a soft, cozy glow. To the right of him was the kitchen. At this level, the sounds and scents coming from that direction was unmistakably food. Pandaren of origin, if the spices he was smelling as they wafted through the door was any indication. Servants wearing something akin to the traditional Brewfest attire hurried around them, never getting too close as to be considered in the way. 

Frederick Babington

From the receptionist desk on the left stepped forward the major-domo, a man Jon knew to be Frederick Alberta Babington by the lapel on his coat jacket in the form of the House crest. The fifty year old, partially balding man was the perfect example of a gentleman. Elegantly mannered, clean gray hair, and impeccably dressed in a suit, he carried himself with an air of seniority. Frederick relied on the diamond tipped cane in his hands to keep a steady gait. He bowed before addressing Jon.

"Good evening, Mr. DarKoven. I am glad you could join us on such short notice. Those Mail-lementals are so unreliable. This is why I prefer to use traditional courier, but I'm told none of the ones on staff could seem to reach you."

"My business makes me something of a mobile target, but I apologize for any inconvenience to the House," Stavros replied. "Is the viewing over? I did not make quite as quick a passage as I had hoped; my usual mage was quite indisposed in a Booty Bay house of... discrete activities, and given her state of undress and inebriation, I would not have trusted her not to land me a half-mile above the transition target." He chuckled, and imagined how "his usual mage" would have reacted - possibly by teleporting him to the frigid waters of Northrend. Or worse, a hundred feet above the Dalaran Crater.

Fredrick gave a diplomatic smile, "I understand the sentiment. We lost our sublime pastry chef in the last move." He motioned to one of the servants, who stop in their tracks to join them. "But, no, you have not missed the viewing, in fact, you have just arrived in time for dinner in the Green Room. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?" 

"Some Dalaran Port would be quite refreshing, unless you have Northrend Sangria?", asked Stavros, knowing full well that a Dalaran Port was a dessert wine, and not something to drink over appetizers... Jon would pair it with Stormind Brie, but Stavros was a buyer and seller of the flesh of beautiful women, not an Agent of Cheese.

"Excellent choices. Sara upstairs will fetch you your drinks. If you excuse me." He turned to the servant, "Karl, please show Mr. DarKoven the way." 

With another gentile bow, Fredrick departed, and the servant beside him who had been identified as Karl extended his hand towards the stairs. Karl was a man of average build, with dark-brown to black hair, a rough but trimmed beard, deep brown eyes, and olive-brown skin. His hair was styled, but only to keep his bangs away from his eyes. He kept looking back at Stavros as they climbed the grand staircase. A overly helpful smile was flashed when he was caught by Mr. DarKoven.

The second story had eight rooms surrounding a central gallery for the other, more traditional items the Babington House had for sale, mainly sculptures and a few choice pieces of art. These were roped off to encourage distance between the viewer and the wall. From the passing glance into the rooms, four were superbly furnished auction parlors, elegantly and uniformly furnished to match the basic color of which they were named after, each with their own adjoining preparation rooms. 

The Green Room certainly held to the trend, reminding Jon of the jungle forests of Stranglethorn or the Un'goro Crater with the amount of green shades blended into every cushion, drape and carpet. Only the gold accents on the furniture and the white walls broke up the foliage. The crystal chandelier above them illuminated everything like the morning sun. The decorations here were more substantial than downstairs. Various exotic plants decorated the tables, with a fern taking up one of the corners by the windows on the north wall. The paintings in here were grouped around nature and the mighty beasts slain by intrepid hunters. A harp was being strummed on the stage that would usually hold the auctioneer. There was even a bouquet of ethereal Talador Orchids as the centerpiece to the buffet table in the back, and a screeching baboon berating one of the servants from the couch she was lounging on.

"Stupid girl. You spilled the Dalaran White on my hand!" 

"My apologies, Countess Blackveil."

Countess Syndel Blackveil

Countess Blackveil was everything Jon did not like about the Ren'dorei, and given the history of lovers before he married, that wasn't a very large list. Dark, shadowy robes bound to her skin with loose straps made of even lighter material contrasted her twilight skin. It was more reminiscent of the tunic-dresses worn by harem girls than anything suiting a noblewoman, but the silver clasps and amethyst jewelry of an avian theme did elevate her choice in apparel somewhat. She reminded Jon of an inverse nightingale; beautiful and lush on the outside, rotten and horrid on the inside. She was likely just as much of a bitch when she was a Sin'dorei and nothing of her personality changed when her eyes did. She cared less about Horde or Alliance, but more about privilege and power - especially power over the "lesser races'” upon which she was now uncomfortably dependent on for her safety. Did she marry some human lord as well, to ensure she'd maintain her standard of living across faction lines? Was that poor sod still alive, or had she somehow engineered his death so that she could assume his titles, fortune, and raise her lifestyle to 'merry widow'. He wouldn't have put it past her.

It was a shame, because he really had a thing for void elves. 

Karl quietly cleared his throat before announcing, "Introducing Mr. Stavros DarKoven...of Booty Bay."

The Countess' head snapped around, and her previous scowl was instantly replaced with a pleasant grin so smoothly it could have been poured into a glass. "Mr. DarKoven! So you are our mysterious last minute attendee. Babington said so little of you, I was half-convinced you weren't real."

Jon didn't turn to address her but moved purposely instead toward the beleaguered servant girl. He took her hand from where it had been clutched with the other in abject misery. The human servant looked up then, and saw DarKoven for the first time. Her face became almost-comically incredulous as DarKoven pressed a Stormwind-minted gold coin in her hand

Blackveil's eyebrow twitched, but the opportunistic smile remained intact. "Oh, I am sorry for shouting; I become quite irate when the servants need to be taught their task; it is such a trial finding competence in the serving class, I have found. Would you not agree, Master DarKoven?"

Jon let the silence stretch the length of a full breath before pressing another gold coin into the girl's hand. "Thank you for your patience."  

"But really, to be so clumsy as to spill wine! It is lucky that it was only my hand which was soiled, and not my sleeve!"

Stavros placed another coin in the servant's hand.

"Back in Silvermoon we would have taken the damages out of the servants pay..." She stopped mid-sentence when Jon added still another coin. "For Fel's sake, Master DarKoven, why do you keep handing that dollymop coins?"

"Madame, as long as you continue to ply this woman with slander, I shall keep increasing her gain from your abuse; it was an accident, as might befall anyone, but being a good, well-trained servant, she has to endure silently under your ill treatment," Stavros explained.

"Well I hardly-"

"Under such provocation,” He continued, “I doubtlessly would have turned to violence; my gold is merely expressing my admiration for her in a tangible way. Please, don't let me spoil your mean-spirited enjoyment; I am grateful to have gained insight into the nature of your true self and not be blinded by your great beauty."

The Countess' jaw went slack for a moment, before snapping shut like a Dragon Turtle. She turned instead to enjoying her glass of White. "Please... see that this servant is not punished; the verbal warning was quite enough, I think."

Karl, who had stood there frozen at the door during the altercation, pulled himself together and bowed swiftly before escaping back downstairs to the front door.

Confident that his message had been received, Jon turned back to the girl in front of him, "Thank you for your service."

"You're too kind, sir."

No longer occupied with teaching a lesson, Jon looked at the woman for the first time, and what he saw made the Jon Chess behind the DarKoven mask pause; from her manner to her appearance, she bore a striking surface resemblance to his own beloved Alia. It was difficult not to stare and count the differences and similarities. Her hair was a darker brown than Alia's, nose slightly longer as well, and her eyes were green instead of the brilliant purple of his dreams, but her body was the right curvy shape and build. She was tall enough she could possibly be a sister to Alia (if she had one). No freckles to trace with his fingers, and her smile had a falseness to it that came from a life a service; Not that it was her fault. Regardless, it did leave claw marks of longing on his heart for the real thing, which only his Beloved could give. 

Sara Goodman

"What is your name, my lady?"

"I am no lady sir, but my friends call me Sara." 

"I hope you consider me a friend, Sara. My friends call me Stavros. Do you have a last name?"

"Goodman, sir."

"Goodman, Stavros." Jon corrected.

Sara echoed his words back to him with a smile, "Goodman, Stavros."

"It is a beautiful name you have, Sara Goodman."

"Thank you. It is an honor to serve you this evening. What can I get for your drink?"

"A Northrend Sangria, if you have the time, Sara."

"I always have the time for friends, sir-" Sara's smile grew, and she winked before turning around to get his drink. "Stavros."

Jon followed her to the bar, which was placed as the foot of the L made by it and the buffet table, and took a seat to watch the bartender work, first by perusing the arrangements of fruit for a [Goldenbark Apple] and [Tropical Sunfruit], and then reaching under the counter for a bottle of [Ethereal Liqueur] and [Rumsey Rum Black Label] to go alongside the fruit. A paring knife in hand, she started dicing and pouring into a mixture that went into a metal cylinder that was barely recognizable as such due to all the rivets, bolts and wires sticking out of it. It rattled and hummed in Sara's hands and she placed it on the floor, where the noise was less noticeable.

"Those gnomish inventors are coming up with all sorts of new contraptions nowadays, huh?" Jon nodded to the contraption as it rattled suspiciously louder. "Hopefully this one won't be as explosive as the others."

Sara chuckled. It sounded hollow to Jon's ears. "Hopefully. Mr. Babington just got it yesterday, so we haven't really tested before... tonight." 

"I am honored to be a guinea pig, if the drink is being served by such a beautiful woman. Forgive me, I am far too forward, which is forgivable under normal circumstances, but I don't want you believing that my earlier behavior was a ploy as a pretext for seduction. My apologies."

She shrugged Jon's words off, leaning forward so only the two could hear, "To be fair, it will probably be the most charming 'pretext for seduction' I've ever seen." The gnomish device stalled momentarily, and Sara only needed to give it a swift kick to get the thing running again. "Your drink is nearly done sir."

"Stavros." Jon corrected.

Sara rolled her eyes, but it was playful. "Your drink is nearly done, Stavros."

"I look forward to it... angering pretentious patrons of the House is thirsty work," informed Stavros. He waited until his drink was prepared, and took a sip. "Delicious... that there were no explosions is a bonus." 

She gave him a sly look, "Yes, well I hope this will be enough of a reward for your... brave defense on my honor."

Jon smiled, sipping the Northrend Sangria that needed a little sweetener, but was otherwise delicious. "I'll take it!"

"Introducing Lady Margaret Jameson of Stormwind and Mr. Vladk Thorne of Gilneas." Karl had once again taken his place at the precipice between the viewing gallery and Green Room, and disappeared just as quickly as the couple entered.

Lady Margaret Jameson

The two walked arm in arm, which seemed a polite gesture more on the woman's part than the man's - Lady Jameson seemed uncomfortable on his arm. She was a whole head shorter than Vladk beside her, but that was only the second thing Jon saw of her. The first was her eyes. Blue eyes. Blue, like the sapphire around her neck. A soft blue, like the lace in her dress, but her gaze would have been more at home on a doll or oil painting than a woman. They never focused on anything, never paused to consider or really register the person in front of her until they were directly in her line of sight. They were lifeless, weightless, until they saw you, and all at once you were an ant under the magnifying glass, hoping without warning that you wouldn't burn as bright as her auburn hair under the sun. Her lips curved in a firm but benevolent smile when she saw Countess Blackveil. A cool splash of sophistication without any insecurity.

"Syndel! I wasn't aware you'd be coming to tonight's auction!" Like a ribbon on smooth skin, Margaret's arm glided out of Thorne's and her legs floated over to the void elf.

"Margaret! Darling! So good to see you again!" The Countess moved aside on the couch, and the two women embraced.

"I am well, Syndel. Father wanted to thank you for your promotion of the charity ball, but you disappeared so suddenly!" Goodman approached from the front, and the Lady calmly asked for a glass of [Stormwind Tawny]. She thanked Sara when the drink was brought promptly. 

"Ah, well, my husband was quite tired towards the end, and he wanted to turn in early. The import and export business works different hours then most, you know." 

"I can imagine. You have to be ready when the ship comes in." Lady Jameson sampled her Tawny, her fleeting gaze finally catching Jon in her sights. "Oh, Syndel, you are a bad influence on me. Please excuse me for not making introductions sooner, Mr...?" 

"For a smile from you, I would forgive a thousand such transgressions, Lady Jameson," answered Jon-as-Stavros with a fluid bow; of course Jon-the-Spy knew who she was, and that she might attend the auction. Lady Margaret was the daughter of a prominent member of the House of Nobles, who could date her family all the way back to the founding of the knights of the Brotherhood of the Horse. Prestigious bloodline indeed. "My name is Stavros DarKoven, of Booty Bay, a humble merchant by trade."

"A merchant?" Margert's eyebrow raised, "Then surely you must know Countess Syndel? Her husband is one of the largest traders in Stormwind."

"Not all merchant's know each other, Margaret, let alone know their competitions wife." Blackveil's responded suggestively.

"I am well-acquainted with the Count's mercantile operations," confirmed Stavros. "We do not do business often, having different spheres of interest, but he is said to be a canny and shrewd fellow, with a reputation for making sound investments, at least as far as his business goes." Stavros quickly glanced at the Ren'dorei and looked away with an exaggerated shudder. Jon had to confess that he was looking forward to getting called out by the Countess. To scream 'dishonor' and demand he fight her husband or another champion in a duel to maintain her 'good' name. His darker impulses wanted to see her blanch when a well meaning staff member informed her that the last three to challenge Mr. DarKoven mysteriously died the night before the duel. 

Thankfully (or disappointingly, depending on one's point of view), Syndel concealed the bearing of her teeth behind a sip of wine, and Jon was content to leave the energy there.

From the far side of the room came the calm, stern voice of Vladk Thorne, who had taken watch at the windows which overlooked the city proper. "Mr. DarKoven, you are a long way from Booty Bay. What is your interest in the magical?"

"As to that, the world of profit is my interest, and my business; sometimes I speculate for my own interests, other times I act as an agent for others," Stavros informed Vladek. "Sometimes I buy a present for a woman, as a token of respect and esteem."

"I see. Any particular item catches your... or a woman's, fancy tonight?" The gentleman intrigued, his eyes passing over his shoulder to peer at the other guests. 

"Why yes, several items, but you will forgive me for declining to be specific as to the details; part of the game is determining how dedicated people are to their bids, after all. Being the mean-spirited bastard I am, I have, in the past, bid up others' desired objects just for the joy of costing them a fortune."

"How does that not surprise me?" Syndel's eyes threw a resentful dagger back at Jon, challenging him to respond. 

Vladk Thorne

Stavros looked over at the Countess with an amused look. "Possibly because you judge others by your own behavior? I have few pretensions; I am a rat bastard, and do not pretend to be of the gentry because I seduced one."

Sara, who up till this point had been quietly helping the other staff in the background clear the buffet table, gasped in incredulous glee. Syndel whipped her head around, but only found the girl handing a bowl of fruit over to another of the staff.

"I can respect Mr. DarKoven's reasons." Vladk's nod was almost imperceptible as he emerged from his window to properly join the conversation. Under the light of the chandelier, his face seemed to elongate, and the repellent tone of his voice carried on in his chrome eyes, which his course hair was cut away from. As if being fired from a crossbow, his eyes snapped to whoever was talking, always on alert, but his body moved with a bulk that he hadn't learned to master yet. His frame seemed strong and capable, so where the weight would come from was unclear. His long captain's coat was thick, conceivably thick enough to hide a small weapon if Thorne so chose. Perhaps this is where the extra weight had come from.

"Thank you for understanding my reasoning, milord," Stavros said with a polite bow.

"As can I, but that doesn't make for very good conversation." Margaret added.

"Don't worry Margaret honey, I will entertain you." The Countess replied with a venomous smile. "I confess, I am here for the pleasure of friends and good company, as well as seeking assets to add to my husband's portfolio. Don't worry Mr. DarKoven, I will try not to step on your sensibilities again."

He looked over at Blackveil with an amused look. "No please... you don't need to withhold petty comments or insipid observations on my account; I only pay attention to people whose opinion matters."

"And tell me, whose opinion does matter to you, Stavros DarKoven of Booty Bay?" She put extra emphasis on the 'B's. 

"People whose intellect is the size of their open heart, of which you are lacking in both counts, Countess Syndel Blackveil."

"Well!" Syndel sputtered. "Well! " She flounced to her feet, and regardless of how little Stavros thought of her intellect, he body was even more appealing animated by anger. He suppressed a smile, which seemed to enrage her more.  "Well, " she said a third time, "I am not one to linger where I am not wanted!"  She strode to the gallery door in high dudgeon.  

"I wonder if she intends to leave Azeroth then?" Vladk added, voice low enough as to not be heard from anyone save the three remaining guests.

Lady Jameson sat there, mouth agape  for only a moment before she regained composure, clutching her hands tightly as she chimed in, "Mr. DarKoven!... Could you elaborate further on your earlier point?"

"I can." Stavros's loosened his lips into the smile he had denied earlier. "As in warfare, conducting a successful mercantile campaign requires, at times, a certain amount of deception and misdirection."

"And you Mr. Thorne? What about the arcane interests you?" Margaret continued, shifting her attention to bulky man opposite her. 

"Alchemy." He grunted. 

"The transmutation of things from one form to another? Forgive my ignorance, but that is more of an understood science than anything magical." 

"On it's own perhaps, but are the engineers not finding new machines to make? Are mages not finding new spells to cast?"

"Oh, so you wish to push the limits and discover something new then?"

"My interest is merely a passing hobby." Vladk waved away the idea. 

"Isn't any of our interests?" The Lady countered.

Over the hum drum of conversation came that of Karl virtually running up the stairs, as if the bounding of the man's steps could hide the hurricane of higher pitched voices hurling insults at one another that floated up the gallery behind him. His chest heaved as he caught his breath in-between his speech. "Introducing Mr. Pasa Gardabell of Gnomeregan and Ms. Klimpsi Goldeyes of the Steamweedle Cartel." 

Jon as Stavros was not ignorant of the ways of gnomes and goblins, but these two were something else. 

Klimpsi Goldeyes

The goblin introduced as Klimpsi made it through the door first by a fraction of a second, her hand holding down her gorgeous, dark purple, wide-brimmed hat to her pixie-cut blonde head. True to her name, she had eyes that shined with bright, Light-spun gold; Stavros might have even mistaken her for a priest, but he had never known any priests that wore their evening lingerie as daily habits. Her high-necked gold and black Mageweave suit was clearly made for her by a skilled tailor, as it perfectly conformed to her tanned body and highlighted her bare shoulders. Most eye-catchingly, she wore "pants" which fit more like thick stockings that copied the style of the jacket both in color and pattern and perfectly matched her slippers. The large, gaudy gold belt buckle in the style and shape of a skull around her narrow waist helped accentuate her hips. Jon recognized it vaguely as coming from the Vrykul of Stormheim. In perfect combination to the suit was her elbow-length gloves, topped off with several lavish gem piercings and modestly sized ear plugs.

Her racing legs came to a halt when she locked eyes with the three humans, and her short, upturned nose regarded the room smartly, sizing up the competition before her. Dark painted lips smiled up at the tall-ones.

Klimpsie placed a hand on her chest in shock, "Well hello there! I didn't realize that Gradabell had made me late for the function, I do apologize-"

"Oh please, you've never sincerely apologized for a thing in your life, Goldeyes!" The gnome that was earlier identified as Mr. Pasa Gardabell pushed his way passed Karl, face as bright red as his hair was clover green and enormous. Stavros struggled to understand how it was all contained in the top hat he carried under his arm as he stormed right into Klimpsi's face. 

"Like you're one to talk! How's MRS. Gradabell doing? Oh, wait, I forgot." The golden goblin locked eyes with him, accusatory finger at the ready. 

"There'd still be a MRS. Gradabell if you had informed me that the bionic dorsal was offline!"

"I would have known the bionic dorsal was offline if YOU hadn't forgotten to re-invert the molecular ion stabilizer!"

"I told you I couldn't get to it because there was a plasma surge in the damaged pulse drive pedals."

"You would have noticed the nanowave frequency shift in the mercury ram defragmentor, that would have told you the pulse drive pedals were busted if you weren't busy staring at my ass." 

"Please! I've seen pulse straighteners larger than that thing.”

"Well your shadow circuits are nothing to sneeze at either! I get more of a buzz from a FTL charge core!"

"At least my Fel Capacitors is cleaner then yours!"

"Pasa! Take that back right now!" Kilmpse's thick lip jutted out in a pout. 

Like a orphan matron trying to wrangle children without being accused of shouting, Karl remarked as his back foot started to ease him out of the Green Room, "We are awaiting two more guests. Dinner will be serve shortly afterwards... ah, Mr. Babington apologizes for the delay."

“I wouldn't take that back if there was a series of nanowave pulse signatures in the sensitive bipolar portal housing of my Mechanostrider.” Pasa proclaimed proudly. 

Klimpse shoved her hands on her hips, pushing her large chest forward, “Oh yeah, well your osmium ram is offline!"

"Your damaged quantum vacatur is offline!" Pasa countered. 

"You couldn't decontaminate the chlorine antigravity capacitor if you had the manual open.”

 "You couldn't uncrumple a carbon glob impulser if the inventor walked you through it!”

"Radioactive gremlin!" Spat Klimpse.

"Troll-bait!" Fired Pasa.

Pasa Gardabell

Lady Jameson, who had silently shifted from the couch to hiding behind Stavros, leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Should we break this apart? I wouldn't know where to start..."

Stavros murmured softly to Lady Jameson. "Allow me."  Stavros sauntered until he was right behind the goblin woman, and whispered in her ear in fluent but accented Goblinese. "If you can stand to allow him the last word in this educational if esoteric conversation, I have a half-dozen Fel Capacitors and a synchronized pair of Shadow Circuits I can let you have for a low, low price..."

Mr. Gradabell was too busy ranting about nanowave pulse signatures and xenon microfilament propulsion in relation to the size of a goblins ego to notice Stavros move, but goblins were born with long ears for a reason, and Klimpse put hers’ to good use. She heard out Stavros's offer with a hungry glint in her eye. With a sharp nod - which for goblins was as good as a notarized employment contract with a sign on bonus - she grabbed an apple from a bowel beside the couch and shoved it into the gnome's mouth.

"Quantum breakdown this, you pig!" Klimpse said triumphantly as her opponent nearly choked. "Bartender! A [Steamwheedle Fizzy Spirit] please!"

"See me after the auction and we will fulfill the contract..." Stavros said quickly before returning to his place beside Lady Jameson. 

For her part, Lady Jameson looked impressed, "What did you say to get them to stop?"

Stavros chuckled. "The offer was based on an equitable commercial exchange."  Stavros did not mention that he had personally stripped the Fel Cannons of parts, thus obtaining the components for free.

“I’m not sure what you could even mean by that," she admitted, taking a drink rather than listen to any explanation. 

“Why… I did what every self-respecting man of peace does in such circumstances… I bribed the goblin,” admitted Stavros.

Stavros had made his comment with exquisite timing, waiting until she had begun a long swallow of her drink, and had the satisfaction of watching Lady Jameson spit out part of her drink with an undignified explosion of mirth.

Fortunately for her sacrificed dignity, everyone’s attention was distracted by the arrival of the largest Kul Tiran Stavros had ever seen. The fellow, dressed in a very loud assemblage of yellow leather cut in the style of a Kul Tiran sea captain, had swarthy, sunbaked skin, indicating that he was from the Jorundall island. His massive frame - Jon could have sworn he was seven feet tall if an inch - was thickly clad in well-muscled bulk that moved with an adroitness belying his size. His pale-blonde hair was cropped quite short, and his clean-shaven face left no difficulty in counting his multiple chins. Jon counted at least three concealed blades in addition to the scabbard of a removed heavy ship’s cutlass and the holster of a flintlock the fellow would have carried at his waist. 

“I trust I am not too late?” he announced to the servants in a loud voice, one accustomed to being heard across decks in foul weather. 

“Not at all, Captain Crestfall, we have not yet sat down to dinner,” assured Karl, voice muffled from behind the man.  “What would you like to drink? Sara here has a wide variety of vintages and other potables?”  Karl steered the fellow to where Sara stood, attentive, at the bar.

Captain Crestfall

"A pint of Badlands Bourbon, then. And please, call me Borsavin."

“Do you know that fellow, Master DarKoven” asked Lady Jameson. “He is rather... colorful.”

DarKoven knew many people from many different walks of life, but he had yet to have the pleasure of meeting this 'Captain Borsavin Crestfall'. Stavros had never seen Crestfall's face around the docks of Booty Bay or Ratchet, and Boralus was far too big of a port - of a city - to know for certain. He did recognize the tell-tale sign of a suspicious sailor; multiple leather cords hung from his neck, and it would be a sure bet the end of those cords were amulets and medallions of protection from every religion or power that could be fit into a wearable trinket. 

“I confess, I do not; knowing all the ship’s captains in Kul Tiras would be like knowing the names of all the courtesans in Goldshire, and I bet they come and go as frequently as well.”  

"Well that is hardly polite, Mr. DarKoven." the Lady scolded, but her tone indicated that she was of the same disposition.

Stavros was about to continue when a dwarf in servant’s livery tooted a short set of notes on a brass trumpet before announcing the arrival of his Master. Karl, who had been busy seeing the Captain comfortable, was visibly unpleased by this. 

“Presenting the Lord Toudolug Greathorn, Master of Coalfang, grand marshal of the Explorers’ League, and Hoarder of the Occult!” announced the dwarf as Greathorn himself entered the hall. The gnome Gradabell immediately rushed forward to give Greathorn an embrace, which the dwarf seemed to indulge with a frowning ill-grace. 

“Stinky, I am glad you could make it after all!” said the gnome with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“Och, Grady, I hae asked ye afore now tae leave that name in the dust of the past where it belongs!” admonished Greathorn. “Naebody who treks through the Strangelethorn in the summer for four weeks in plate armor would nae smell any better, and I daresay many a mickle worse!” 

“Of course, of course, forgive me!” begged the gnome in irrepressible good spirits. “It was the excitement of seeing you here that overwhelmed me!” 

"Och, aye, I ken how ya get."

The goblin Klimpse also came forward, sketching a proper curtsy. “You honor us with your presence, milord; your adventures are very well-known to my people.”

The gnome spun on his heels, his hands out in a defensive position in front of the dwarf. "Oh no you don't you cheap skating, intellectually lacking-" This was the first good look Stavros had gotten of the gnome underneath his green main, and he was glad that there wasn't anything to see. Under all the hair was a simple gnome in sharp tuxedo dress, complete with a snazzy bow tie he was wearing. 

“Is there a slight field variance in the cadmium charge drive, or is that your voice buzzing in my ear PASA?”

“You should decrease power to the nitrogen quantum shift teleporter bracket known as your attitude, KLIMPSE!”

"All right ye jaw-waggin' bit o shrubbury, lets gang thae drink we want afore thae huge mucking galoot aye drinks thae bar dry!" Toudolug grabbed the back of the gnomes jacket, and lifted him up with the ease of a grown man lifting a kitten, and just as over it. Together they walked to the bar.

Klimpse giggled at her work, and Stavros smirked; of course Lord Greathorn’s adventures were well known - he paid a small gaggle of bards to tell them throughout Azeroth, and the famous author of steamy romances, Noah Scribeson, had published a series of fictional “true story” adventures full of cartoonish violence and lurid sex. At least some of Lord Greathorn’s fortune rested on the royalties he had been paid to not take legal action. Greathorn didn’t really mind though. He could withstand his reputation becoming tarnished, so long as there was gold attached. What Greathorn couldn't stand though was mention of the other half of said fortune. After a middling career with the Explorer's League that was more publicity than archeology, what legitimate findings there were became lost off the coast of an island in the Great Sea, after an opportunity had been taken as a surefire bet, and his deeds, promissory notes, and relics floated down to the bottom of the sea. After the ship, Emperor of the Waves, was said to have been seen still sea worthy and sailing along the Broken Isles, Toudolug had barked up every mast and sailing rig in Boralus looking for someone to take up the salvage job. DarKoven wished those fools the best of luck - they'd certainly need it. 

Toudolug Greathorn

Stavros waved over Karl, who was more than happy to abandon Sara at the bar to escape the escalating conversation between the three men getting their drinks poured.

“Is that all the guests, Karl?” He asked.

Karl counted the patrons silently before nodding, “Yes sir, that is all of them. Mr. Babington will announce dinner as soon as it is finished.”

Good, I'm not sure this room could hold any more egos.

“Thank you Karl.” Stavros tipped the man, and the grateful servant scurried out of the room.

Under the guise of admiring the art displayed within the Green Room, Stavros took a back seat to the mind of Jon Chess as he weighed the strength of his competition, now that they had all arrived; A stuck-up, gold-digging void elf playing at being a countess, a human woman with old ties to the Stormwind House of Nobles, a Gilnean alchemist, an argumentative gnome, and priestly goblin (whatever that is supposed to mean), a Kul Tiran captain with spiritualist tendencies, and a dwarven explorer who would throw his mother under the keel of a ship if he thought it would bring him more fame and fortune.

Jon had worse cases, but that didn’t paint this scenario in a better light either.

The clinking of metal against glass called the separate attentions of the patrons back to the front. Babington stood on the stage, toward the front of the room, looking noticeably more tired than when Stavros met him at the door. The job of a major-domo never ends. “Thank you very much Sara, go help the others.” Sara, who had been doing impressively well keeping up with the demands of the Kul Tiran and Dwarf at the bar, nodded to her employer and began the process of closing the bar. “It looks like we are ready for this evening's meal,” Babington continued, “Tonight's meal will be buffet style in the Pandaren tradition. No need to wait for an escort, so please, take your seats at the table and remain there until someone comes to you for your order.”

The patrons made their way to the table, drinks in hand, but someone was missing.

“Mr. Stavros, where is Countess Blackveil?” Mr. Babington stopped alongside Stavros, leaning on his cane with most of his weight. 

Of course, she went outside after our “misunderstanding”. “I believe she went out to admire the rest of your beautiful establishment while we all waited. I will go look for her.”

Stavros was out of the Green Room into the larger second floor gallery before Babington could answer one way or the other. The activity of the servants had increased, as food made its way up from the kitchen and the lots for the auction were being prepared. Amongst the controlled chaos, there was one room they seemed to avoid; the Blue Room, across the lobby, where DarKoven was sure he saw a darkly dressed woman looking out one of the windows. 

The Blue Room, much like the Green Room, was decorated floor to ceiling in the namesake color, though rather than the lush jungle it was the crystalline beauty beneath the waves that he stepped into. Carpet rugs tan like sand, couches and their cushion reflected the deep abyss beyond any mortal could look into, and sculptures of coral reefs and paintings of fish filled out the aquatic themed decorations.

When he was close enough, The Countess gave him one look before saying, “Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is no."

“I suppose then that you plan to give me your undergarments for free then?”

“I- what- how dare you-”

Stavros continued, “Or was your plan to slink back into dinner like a dog who knows she’s been bad?”

The proud Void Elf tried to stifle an amused smirk, but Jon caught it's ghost before she snarled "Are you calling me a bitch, sirrah?" 

"First of all, I rarely compare people to canines, for the simple expedient that few people can live up to my opinion of dogs as they really are. Dogs are invariably kind, patient, obedient, loving, protective, playful, and deeply grateful to kindness shown - unless they've been mistreated or trained to an unnatural viciousness. Very few men or women of any race deserve to be compared to dogs - I don't know which mean-spirited genius thought to use it as a slur... but I digress." Stavros grinned, charmingly. "No, I just thought that perhaps I might offer some small amends for my boorish behavior earlier."

"You were beastly!" said the Countess.

"Agreed, although not dishonest... but you had given me no provocation to lash you with my tongue that way; I usually reserve a good tongue lashing for quite a different context," Stavros continued.

This time the Countess did smile.

"So if you will allow my apology and my attempt at amends, I would be honored if you would allow me to show you into dinner on my arm, a public apology showing you to have tamed the beast." Jon offered her his arm.

Syndel paused for a moment, looking him over like a predator. “Very well.” 

She took his arm and together they returned to the Green Room. When the pair entered, Ms. Goldeyes was captivating the crowd with an in-depth, technologically thorough analysis of the Mechanocat racing scene, complete with statistics and rating to boggle even the most avid Footbomb fans mind. The table where they were to dine from was round, set in space between the couches and the buffet table, and all were seated in a clockwise manner by the alphabetical ranking. Countess Blackveil took her seat between an utterly exasperated Mr. Gardabell and Lord Greathorn, and Stavros sat between her and Mr. Gardabell.

With all his guests finally seated, Mr. Babington declared dinner served.