Tale Seven, Therion

Weaving in and out of the crowd in the cramped tavern in Bolderfall's commoner district was a distinct thief in a purple shawl carrying a flagon of ale. Simple, hearty, a little watered down, perfect for the so-called 'riff-raff' of the lowest level in the Cliftland city. Much like the social structures of most societies in Orsterra, Bolderfall, in its layered districts of upper-, middle-, and lower-classes, was a visual representation of this hierarchy. It suited this thief, Therion, just fine, allowing him to know where to find information and whom to steal from in an almost clerical fashion.

His nimble fingers, unable to keep still, seemed to work their magic on the more despot denizens of Bolderfall. Though Bolderfall's levels made it known who was worth stealing from, never did the thief believe that the victim's role in thievery should be left to the upper class. That was an unconventional and, some would say, prejudiced way of thinking that was frowned upon in a thief's progressive world.

All the while, three of the six people who had helped him infiltrate Ravus Manor watched with earnest interest, the remaining three travelers who found Therion's profession unjust having retired for the night already. Even with the fool's bangle firmly clasped on his wrist, the thief was met with no trouble sneaking his hands into the pockets of the unsuspecting patron or perturbed drunk, relieving them of the leaves that weighed down their pockets.

"Quite the deft fingers he has, no?" Primrose purred appraisingly, watching the thief more intently than her fellows. "Could prove useful."

"Seems like a good 'nough guy, but I kinda question his reasons," Alfyn admitted, rubbing the back of his head before chuckling. "Then 'gain, is it really my place to judge?"

Cyrus, meanwhile, studiously examined their newest companion over his drink. "Hm… do you not also believe he has a keenness for watching and learning about his query? Why, if I did not know the man, I would say Therion could have been a prodigy of the academy."

"What makes you say that, Professor Albright?" Alfyn inquired.

"It's in his eyes. Calculating and sharp, like a predator ready to pounce. His skills are what sets him apart from the rest, however," Primrose smirked. "Quite the thief we have found."

"My dear, I believe that is admiration I hear," Cyrus intoned, smirking his own coy smirk.

"Can a woman not watch a man so?"

"Not without any underlying intent."

Playing down the professor's insinuation, Primrose's cheeks were not immune to the hint of pink that warmed her face. "Calm now, Professor. Appraise first, we shall see what comes from that."

"Now you two've lost me," Alfyn mumbled dejectedly.

Before either Cyrus or Primrose could explain, Therion had arrived at their table, flipping one of the coins he purloined between his fingers before ultimately tossing it to Alfyn. "There you go, Doc."

The apothecary, for his part, caught the coin and smiled, subconsciously pocketing the leaf without a thought as to where Therion had found it. "There's the man of the hour! Took ya long enough to get back over here, though."

The thief shrugged as he sat down. "Business is business, and in taverns business is always booming. Whether its information or leaves, there's plenty to be stolen without anyone noticing."

"How perceptive of you, Therion," Cyrus commented evenly.

"Have to be when you're in my line of work, Teach. Comes with the territory."

"I would assume so. With your perception and obvious knack for learning as you practice, you may make an excellent student of mine."

Therion chuckled before sipping his ale. "If you can keep me sitting for more than five minutes, I'll play along."

The scholar made a sound of satisfaction. "Easily done." Without a second thought, Cyrus flexed his fingers, allowing miniature icicles to form around his hand. "Simply rooting your feet with some ice should absolve us of your tendency to disappear."

For a brief second, the thief stared at the professor before chuckling. "You really are an odd one, Teach. Think I will sit in on one of your classes. Who knows? Maybe I'll hear of a dungeon or something to sack."

Cyrus sighed, beaten at the word game by a simple threat. "In that case, perhaps I will forgo taking you on as one of my students."

"Wise words."

All while this conversation was happening, Primrose was examining the young man before her, trying to figure out what lay locked away behind his green eyes that were deceptively shimmering like emeralds. She smirked, keenly interested by the mysterious figure in front of her.

"Something in my hair, Twinkle Toes?"

It seemed her examination had not gone unnoticed.

She smoothly replied. "No, just trying to discover the man behind the thief. Nothing more."

"You'll have to do a little more digging than that. There's lot to be uncovered there, and I'm not in the mood for sharing."

"At this moment?"

"Ever."

Primrose pouted, resting her cheek in her hand as her other hand's finger played with the rim of her mug. "No fun."

"Not here to share, Twinkle Toes," Therion explained before taking a swig of his mug. "Here for business."

Aiming to take another drink of his ale, the thief was interrupted as Alfyn threw his arm around Therion's shoulder, causing him to spill some of his mug's contents.

"Aw, shucks, Therion, you don't mean that!"

"Think I do," he replied curtly, breaking from the apothecary's one-armed hug.

"Not when there's more alcohol involved, I think."

A twitch of Therion's lips gave away all Primrose needed to know. He tried to hide it by finishing off the remainder of his mug, but the dancer saw it all too quickly. "You think that's how it'll work, suit yourself. I'm a man of simple tastes after all."

"And an even simpler constitution, mayhaps?" Primrose chimed playfully, fingers interlaced.

"Is that a jab at my size…?"

Before Therion received an answer, Alfyn stole the thief's mug – ironically – and everyone else's before trudging up to the barkeep to procure another round of drinks. At this point, Therion was able to start painting the picture of the woman next to him.

She was pretty, he'd give her that, but there was something more behind her brown eyes and apart from the revealing, red dancer's outfit she wore. Her mind was a puzzle, he realized, and it was analyzing him as much as he was analyzing it. Like a snake playing a lizard, Primrose's and Therion's dance of wits was to be put to the test as the other searched for the reasons behind their actions.

Therion wasn't much for dancing, but he had been known to be light on his feet.

Nodding his head towards his newfound rival, the thief only received a knowing giggle in response from the dancer.

"Remember, Twinkle Toes, dancing and constitution go both ways," Therion commented.

"Then we shall see who has the best of both, hm?" she rejoindered mischievously.

"You're on."

"A challenge, hm? Might I be the judge?" Cyrus interceded, intrigued by his companions' mannerisms and innuendos in their hidden meanings.

"We would be honored, Professor," Primrose agreed, not turning away from Therion.

Just as Alfyn appeared with their drinks, the thief quickly swiped his mug from the apothecary. Startled by the sudden theft, the blond man handed out the drinks to his remaining companions before sitting down and exclaiming all the while, "Whoa! Did I miss somethin' here?"

Keeping his eyes locked with the dancer, Therion replied, "Just a friendly competition. That's all."

"Competition? Like back in Clearbrook? I want in!"

"This is between them and them alone, I am afraid," Cyrus chimed. His eyes were eagerly locked on the word duel about to take place before them. "A battle of wits and words, it would seem. I am eager to see the results."

"By the end of this we will have all of Therion's secrets, you have my word," the dancer said with a deceivingly sweet tone. "Shall we begin?"

Removing his scarf and placing it on the table gently, Therion took a swash of his ale. "It's already started."

Having watched his actions carefully like a snake, Primrose smirked knowingly. "Then I shall make the first step. You don't mind a woman taking the lead?"

"Go right ahead."

"Well, Therion, the way you handled that scarf says a lot about the way you view that particular article of clothing," Primrose began. "Did it belong to someone cherished? Or someone you wish to see dead, and this is your final token to them, as if it were the last vengeful words spoken at a rival's funeral? Do not deny my words, your actions will speak the answer."

Mouth now visible to his companions, they could see the clear smirk that hid a direct answer. "Impressive, should've known you would see that. But like you said, I won't answer."

"Yet you take care of that, or those, who are precious to you, yes? Under your brusque nature, I sense someone wishing for friends."

His face became dour at Primrose's insinuation. Therion only replied, "My turn. Drink."

"Gladly."

Following her answer, the dancer slowly, yet patiently, sipped from her ale, falling back into the persona of a dancer. Truly a snake, coiling her body and preparing her fangs. Patiently tempting her prey and waiting to strike. Where she was a snake, Therion was a lizard: light on his feet, ready to retaliate if needed. Which was his plan now.

"The way you fight with your dagger is carefully thought out. Makes me think that weapon means something more than you let on."

The dancer's expression subtly lost a bit of its mirth, something many would not catch. But the keen eyes of a lizard could even catch the movement of a fly. So too could Therion pinpoint the little nuances of a person's shifting emotions in their face.

"Right on the mark. Peanut gallery, am I on the mark?"

"Quite so," Cyrus answered quickly, filling in the brief silence where Alfyn was still deciding if it was his information to share.

Therion chuckled victoriously. "Thought so. Parent's heirloom?"

"Watch carefully where you tread, thief." Primrose's tone shifted venomously, making her emotions clearer to the world.

Raising his hands placatingly, Therion relented. "Then I shall, Twinkle Toes."

Tense silence hung over the table. Stares, like daggers, bore their way into the opposing party. Everything seemed to tense up at the moment, causing an unease between the apothecary and scholar, who traded glances with each other, wondering what they should do. Where Cyrus' eyes spoke of patience, Alfyn's wished for action to end the ensuing argument before it began. Yet they were mistaken in their thoughts, for this was where the dancer and thief felt most alive.

Neither had felt this way in quite some time.

Alfyn made to break the argument, ignoring Cyrus's silent warning. "Um, guys… I think we should, ya know, drop this? Let bygones be bygones?"

His words went unheeded for quite some time. If his nervous chuckling indicated anything, the apothecary knew that he was being ignored. Making to speak again, he was immediately silenced as he heard a strange sound familiar to his ears only after traveling with Primrose for such a short length of time.

She was giggling, almost purring, and it was in mirth.

Hearing this sound, Alfyn and Cyrus couldn't help by skeptically eye the dancer to see if she had gone mad. But, judging by her pleased complexion, she had not.

Not long after, they could hear quiet chuckling from Therion, who shared the same expression as his opponent. They reveled in their laughter, enjoying the game they had just played it would seem.

"You are a skilled rival, Therion," Primrose commented jovially. "One I have not met in quite some time. Your ability to read a person is almost on par with mine."

"Stole the words right out of my mouth. Doing that to a skilled thief is about as hard as stealing from a heavily-guarded carriage," the thief agreed. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy either challenge."

"A toast to that."

The thief and dancer brought their mugs together amicably, finishing their drinks in their own manners.

"A draw, then?" Primrose affirmed.

"For now, Twinkle Toes. I have my sight on you, so don't think you'll be able to pull the wool over my eyes again."

Smirking ruefully, Primrose commented, "My dear Therion, do you not know that a dancer performs best when all eyes are on her?"

Mirroring her lips with his own, the thief rejoindered, "And a thief is at his best when watching his mark."

A challenge lain and met would be carried out through the travelers' journeys across Orsterra. Many times would this duo play with each other in such a way. Between Cyrus, the scholar, and Alfyn, the apothecary, this fact would be glossed over by both of them. So, that night, seeing that things had worked themselves out in their own confusing way, they continued drinking and slowly brought their companions back into the fold of their conversation.

Gladly they joined, as, for once, Therion was eager to speak with someone again.

The thief, Therion, was a man scarred by his experience with befriending people, yet it would seem he had taken a step in relearning how to welcome them in that night.

Slowly, but surely, this group of travelers would bring the seventh member of their group out of his shell.

But, for now, he was happy to sate his curiosity on a certain dancer, uncharacteristically hoping he would receive a similar chance in the near future.

From here, in the Cliftlands, would the travelers embark to fulfill Teller's prediction and discover the eighth, and final, member of this fledgling band of vagabonds…