A junoesque Altmer with long, silky hair the hue of moonlight pulled up and back through a silver band strode by. Wystan bit his lip to keep from smiling. Azuyia, she had been to the beaches once or twice along her country's southern coast, and however much or little summer garb didn't phase her. Wystan was more trying to avoid busting out in a laugh at Denthryd's face, and Azuyia's look askance. His eyes hadn't taken a moment to drop and raise openmouthed and speechless.
"Ahem," Azuyia cleared her throat looking straight at him as he stared.
"Wyssss," Denthryd asked, "what sort of magic is this?" The Altmer had Breton tattoos all over her body, and at least one pronounced scar on her arm. She wore an Imperial dagger at her hip on a thin leather belt with an heraldic order repeated on its entire surface, that and, well, a little bit of magenta enameled steel in addition to her mid-shin leather boots with high heels.
Wystan couldn't take it anymore and sputtered a laugh, holding his forefinger knuckle to his mouth. "It's illusion, man. Haven't you even heard of it?"
"Yes," Denthryd replied vaguely, "I haave ... but, this. Is an illusion?"
"Man, are you from," and then instead of antagonizing the other Nord yet again about his upbringing, he changed directions fast. "Yes, um, take her," he motioned at the Altmer walking away, "that constume she's wearing. Her target doesn't see her like that."
The other man blinked widely.
Azuyia's foot tapped a bit.
"Heh, and what does she appear to be for this target?"
"All I know is what I have seen at these before. I got dad to let me go to a couple when we were in Imperial City a couple years ago, wow. That was a convention! Take the scene here in this little bulwark and place it in a freakn palace. Hundreds of people from all over working their illusions, trading. This is just play time for adepts. You prrob-ably won't find anyone at our grade doing much here, heh, illusion can get dangerous, too." He grinned and took in the scene.
"We know the term, Wys," Azuyia broke the spell, "but what is this 'targeting' you're referring to? How do those," she motioned at the Altmer, "strings aid her cast? And if she looks like that to us, what ... "
"Relax, Zu," Wystan said, still trying not to laugh, "she looks like that to everyone in the room except someone who's agreed to practice the illusion with her. Know how we sat up a week ago in Southall on that oh-so fun conjuration?"
"Will I ever forget," Azuyia replied with a grimace, "pulling a wet hound out of the ether at four a.m. who proceeds to wake up the marm with his barking? I get a letter on my breakfast plate two hours later, not that we slept while the blessed pooch lit up the hall, and I have to answer to the centuriana about keeping sound morals in the girls' dorm in front of magistra, then the three of us get dishwashing for a week? Yeah, I remember."
"We got the talk, too, Zuyi," Denthryd mumbled.
"If we hadn't taken that measure, all three of us together, Zuyi, we might have poofed another glowing slaughterfish to flop all over the floor in front of the entire novitiate."
"Yeah, I know," she said.
"So what does a passable conjured animal have to do with," Denthryd exclaimed, "this?"
"Different form of magic, different form of collaboration, man. I don't know illusion yet, myself, I've only been to a few of these parties to observe," he grinned loudly, "like I told you. From what I've worked out of a player or two in those big Imperial bashes," he pointed at the gorgeous Altmer, "her spell probably has something to do with the appearance of a Whiterun soldier. See the horse head over an abased black fesse on a yellow shield all over the belt? I'll bet she looks like a typical deputy. Could be male or female, could be larger or smaller, somewhat, than her physical form. She's been talking to that one," he chuckled, "with her this entire time."
Azuyia rolled her eyes and asked, "Is there something I am supposed to take away from this? I can see what you two are, hm?"
Standing with the Altmer in the belt and trim was a fairskinned woman from Cyrodiil with seafoam green hair spiked out on one side and draping over her left eye on the other, slightly shorter and shaped like a dancer, wearing undyed fur moccasins over her knees and a blacksmith's apron dyed to match her hair. Denthryd had shaken off his disbelief at this town hall meeting of dragonbone and masks.
"And what," Azuyia continued archly, "do these, heh, get-ups contribute to a good illusion, if I hear you right, since all but the targeted audience are looking at," she pointed at the Imperial woman, "nightwalker's boots and a smith's apron sans the dress that goes with the apron?"
"Heehee," Wystan glowed, "my dad told me about that particular cast. He'd had to learn about it, at least, very early on in starting his business. The name for that it would seem, from what he told me, in all languages translates to something like 'hot blacksmith.'"
Azuyia scoffed. "Oh, that's bloody funny. So we walk around tarted in order to, what? Make it look like we have a profession that we actually work standing up?"
"The unfortunate recipient of that one, the very effective 'hot blacksmith' which dad told me is employed by adepts of both sexes, that one on hitting the target has two results. First, any selling prices asked by the poor sot to whom this, well," he rubbed his stomach lightly.
"Will ... you ... PLEASE!"
Wystan's smile faded, and his tone became everyday. "The man or woman under her influence believes they are seeing the head of an international company like the ones whose stamps you find on crates from the capitals. We're talking groups with assets in caverns of gold and other commodities. That performer will look the part and deliver the lines perfectly, have the air, probably appear to be wearing several thousand septims' in cloth and accoutrements. That brings the main effects. The target will lower prices as far as the caster's ability to channel the magicka will get her, and fork over a similar percentage if she offers to sell something. Yet another reason a Nord businessman tends to distrust those like us," he turned to her. "Mara love the dumbarse who overestimates the time limit of his or her abilities. Let it expire in a deal, and you can enjoy the inside joke with the wise money's staff holding wootz stilettos to your throat. As for the costumes, haha, I think that's just part of the game. Take that one over there," he redirected Azuyia to look at the immense figure in a robe of foreign make she couldn't identify by national origin or purpose. "That's definitely not intended to have someone seeing a serene lady of the river and skip work to go have cakes." It was the one who had walked by with the horned dragonbone mask.
No, she thought, it would be a stretch to imagine that one having a fun, lighthearted outcome.
"Let's go mix, Zuyi," Wystan gestured towards Denthryd, who had wandered over to a table piled with sliced meats and fruit, and they had a silver goblet of something with a male Argonian dressed in scarlet and gold harlequin.
