0. The Silver Kettle Inn

Dorian strikes out his arm. "A bargain! What a remarkable turn of events."

He pulls out most of his coin and piles it on the table. "We'll buy it from you, sir. A deal?"

"Deal," Zix accepts, then produces a purse and begins counting the coins, adding them to the pile.

The merchant leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then nodded. "A deal, indeed," he said, his voice carrying the smug undertone of a man walking away with a tidy profit. He pushed the box across the table, his fingers lingering for a moment on its intricate surface before pulling back.

Dorian grinned as he and Zix pooled their coin onto the table, the clinking of gold and silver punctuating the exchange. "A pleasure doing business with you," He said, his tone light but triumphant. He reached for the box, running his fingers over its polished surface, feeling the faint hum of enchantment beneath the wood.

Zix inclined his head toward the merchant, nodded and returned to the stage. The bard’s voice rose once more, weaving tales and melodies that lifted the inn’s mood. The earlier tension dissolved into laughter and song as the patrons settled back into their cups. Dorian, still seated with the box now resting before him, couldn’t help but smile at Zix’s stories.

As the night wore on, the two of them exchanged a few glances, silent acknowledgments of their new partnership. Dorian, for his part, felt a flicker of excitement—not just for the box but for the road ahead.

Over the next couple of days, Dorian and Zix traveled together, the box carefully stowed in Zix’s satchel.

Along the way, Zix proved to be a jack of all trades, master of none - unremarkable in any given field, but impressively versatile. Equally at home in towns and on the road, it tended to take up bradic work, but was open to doing other odd jobs of the evening so long as the pay was decent, preferred modest but tidy lodgings, and food that wasn't luxurious yet wasn't entirely bland either.

Its bird companion proved to be an odd one: there seemed to be a cycle to its activity, as for much of the time it would behave as a tamed but not particularly outstanding corvid, but then it would settle on Zix's shoulder to take a nap, and in minutes it would rise again and behave very differently, engaging in clearly thoughtful actions and conveying its opinions to the humanoid companion. At times the two would seem to even engage in a sort of conversation, albeit predominately one-sided one - it was rare for Critic to produce words a human could comprehend. And then, at some point, the bird would snap out of such a state, and behave normally again until the next time.

Dorian as a travelling companion is both a blessing and a curse. He's not very jack of any trade, and instead relies upon his keen social skills, and a general sense of belonging in places that open doors that would be closed to the typical street ruffians. He insists on finer inns and meals, and somehow the coins needed are there to pay for his tastes, although secretly he grumbles at the diminishing purse. Alas, poverty is only a potential problem to be faced by a future version of himself, and one that is not certain. By the time they arrive at Misthaven, he'll likely be entirely broke.

His chatter will involve mainly a serious of ridiculously unrelatable anecdotes that none the less are entertaining and likely less than truthful. From helping a prince of the realm steal a visiting princesses headdress, to building a small cabin entirely out of loaves of bread that a small army of servants had to bake, he always comes out free and clear of any blame, and yet never quite manages to achieve his true goals.

One evening, when nobody else was nearby, Zix would lean in and say teasingly. "You seem quite the tall talespinner. Would your stories perhaps be less dubious if someone played along?"

"Dubious? Ah but there is the magic! For in the realm between the absurd and the banal lies life itself, and who is to say if the improbable is impossible?"

He laughs at his own wit, before his eyes darken. He isn't prone to these moods but it is clear after a while in his company that the mien of frivolity and gaiety might be a mask for deeper thoughts.

"You'll let me attempt to use magic to increase your skills tonight, yes? Our partnership similarly lies between the skills we both share and those we can lend each other, making us greater them we are apart. May the sounds of angels lend you their choir invisibule."

"The improbable is indeed possible, even when not plausible, which can make it all the more spectacular when it happens,"
Zix smiled.

"And yes, I will let you. In fact, it would probably be best if we joined our efforts weaving such an enchantment, since both of us seem to could benefit from support and cooperation in such matters in light of both of us having more youthful enthusiasm than wizened experience."

And so the partnership took shape.

My kingdom for a smokebomb! he thinks, and searches desperately for a rear exit. Seeing he's cornered, he stands up.

"The lovely Princess Lyandra! My heart beams to see you again. Come come, sit and join me for a fine wine." He looks at his cup which is empty. "That is, if you've coin, I'm entirely broke."

He's avoided the question about the tiara. She won't fall for it, at least not for long. His mind races for a suitable story.

Dorian reluctantly tears his gaze from the beautiful but terrible wrath of the princess, and wishes Zix was here. He pulls out the bard's chair, and 'requests' the corvid sit on his own shoulder or fly away.

"Your tiara, you say. I confess to having thought that it was for a masquerade, what with the feathers and the ..." He stops, realizing that insulting her headdress would be counterproductive.

"I see now that it was so exquisite that I understood it to be a costume piece, for who would be so bold as to travel with something so priceless!" He bows deeply. "Only one from your proud nation, as I have come to learn."

He raises an eyebrow at that, wondering what he missed that night. "Let us recall that night together, and perhaps the mystery shall be resolved. It was the King's fete. Nobles from across the land had gathered for the celebrations, and to negotiate their own arcane needs. Those of us who are merely heirs and scrions of our great families were left to our own devices and this came about our own party."

His storytelling mind clouds over with dark thoughts as he realizes something he'd never put together before, and how that might had changed his life so irrevocably. "My true plans for that night had failed of course. You see, I possessed a draught made of exotic but mostly harmless poisons that I admitted to the punch shared by the chaperones. Somehow it must have been detected and replaced, for contrary to my intentions they did not become complacent and accepting. The ten of us had enough champagne in us that had we been left unsupervised I fear the very destiny of the continent would have been rewritten that night."

He leans forward. "I recall a certain mole you have and while modesty and propriety ruled the night, as you and I fed each other strawberries and cream in the pool, I wondered if your lips would taste more of strawberries, or of cream."

He runs a hand through his hair and leans back. "Of course, I've never discovered that mystery though it torments me so. Alas, you and the prince were in negotiations, and I'd never betray a friend, nor would you."

He snaps his fingers. "The tiara. After the chaperones had finally had enough, we ten were sent to our rooms to cool off, and that's when the plan hatched."

He pauses. "Does this match your own memory, princess?"

Dorian chuckles. "You've got me straight, but to skip to the end, our mutual the friend the prince was going to bridegift it back to you as a sweet sort of joke. I haven't seen it since that night, although I do understand that your betrothment has not yet occurred. At least, I've not heard it being announced. Did you ... change ... your mind?"

He bows and stands slowly so an to not alarm the sharp beaked corvid, then offering her his arm to get up.

"He suggested it would be fun to snatch something from your boudoir. It was my plan entirely after that, I'm afraid to say. I hope you don't.... hold on, did you say, 'other spouses '?"