(...I couldn't think of a title so I went with alliteration)

If it had been up to her, she never would have taken this goddess awful job that took her to this goddess awful desert with its goddess awful heat. Grarhi Ovaig wiped the sweat from her brow for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. She’d finally pinned her black braided ponty-tail into a lopsided bun, because each time the hair to much as brushed her neck, she seriously consider chopping all of it off. Of course, she had a sinking feeling she’d regret that as soon as she was out of this blasted sun.

The technology and monuments, so far advanced beyond anything else she’d seen in her travels, had impressed her for all of fifteen minutes before the overbearing sun drove away her ability to feel anything but irritation once again. It was almost enough to make her wish she’d never left home and the freezing heights of the Yeleken Mountains.

Almost.

That fool bard who was always tagging along would have been starry eyed in the face of the wonders of this desert civilization, though. Pushing the thought away, Grarhi she picked up her pace, hurrying the horse she led on reigns along. The sooner she found this Tsillu-Assur, the sooner she could return south to collect her heart-sister, her warg, and that silly, chattering fool of a minstrel.

Her employer had given her information on the artifact she wanted, but Grarhi hadn’t so much as rifled through the envelope with its pages of research and descriptions. Tsillu-Assur, according to said employer, was an archaeologist of some kind who would likely be looking for this particular rarity, if he did not already have it or know who did. With any luck, Grarhi thought, he would already have the artifact in hand and be willing to part with it for the gold her employer had sent her with. Without luck, she would have to help him find it before convincing him to part with it. Or not be able to convince him to part with it, thus being forced to offer him more gold, which would mean sending word to her employer and waiting for the delivery of more coin or gems or whatever it was Tsillu-Assur wanted in exchange. That would mean several weeks of languishing in this scorching weather, taking what mercenary and healing jobs she could find.

Worst of all, perhaps, would be if she had to take it by force, and flee an unfamiliar desert, pursued by people that presumably had better tech and resources than a lone orc riding a horse that she didn’t much care for.

Well, that or if this archaeologist decided to cheat her. Grarhi didn’t know enough to tell the difference between a real and a fake, and if she brought back a phony… Well, her employer was patient, and sickly sweet to hide her barbs, but Grarhi had a feeling she was very much a ‘shoot the messenger, and the messenger’s friends, and the messenger’s warg’ sort of woman.

Pulling her hood up to better shade her face, Grarhi hurried on, towards the place she had been told to go in response to her inquires about the tengu she was looking for.

Tsillu burbled softly as he was wont to do, strutting slowly over his site. Ropes and cords of various colors hung from the tops of little wooden stakes driven carefully into the ground at various points. In one clawed hand blackened by race and repeated exposure to ink and coal, he held both what seemed to be a large artist's brush and a stick of charcoal, precariously balancing both tools in a way that both would have been usable at any given time. In his other, he held a massive, yet thin book of plain paper held in a thick, hard binding that functioned as a mobile desk. Above, several ever-burning torches lit his site, jammed into cracks and crevices in the pyramid's wall. The focus of his past several day was an unassuming two-and-three-quarter meter square. If it weren't for the colored ribbons marking out a dense grid pattern on the ground, it would have looked like any other stretch of ground in this tomb. That might have been why it was left. It was an unassuming pyramid to begin with, out in the middle of nowhere. Not many had been desperate or well-equipped enough for strike out this far. Or, rather, the well equipped ones were not that desperate to spend days hiking across the desert to get to a single tomb of a time-lost pharaoh.

But the diviners had told him this would be the place... then they had made some prophetic speech about adversity and the harshness of the desert. Tsillu had to bite back a scoff. The elves of Ansalok knew little of harshness. At least this kind, he added to his train of thought.

Tsillu was a local. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of the shadows and darkness that he so often cloaked himself in. It was one of the few ways to cut the blinding sunlight and silver-gold sands of The Expanse. "Thrun'valak." Tsillu let the native name of the desert slip from his beak, grateful that the back sixth or so of his mouth had evolved to allow the pronunciation of his home's name. Still, his keratinous beak got in the way of enough, such as close examination of artifacts, he mused as he bent down at the waist, tail feathers high in the air, and turned his head to the side, sketching a particular facet of one of the three hundred and forty-two squares that made up his site. He had blown each fifteen centimeter by fifteen centimeter square up to cover a sixty-centimeter square paper, each fine detail like a mark on a cartographer's map.

History would thank him. He swapped tools and brushed a bit of dirt out of the way, blowing lightly on the patch. The very corner of something worn, yet obviously sentient-made and meant to withstand the centuries appeared from under the pinkish-grey dirt. Tsillu's heart skipped a beat. He let out a soft, half-relieved, half-disbelieving exhale, eyes glittering in the torchlight.

As she drew closer to the tomb, Grarhi found herself wondering even more who in their right mind would decide to spend days hauling a ridiculous amount of water and supplies across the desert for something so… inconspicuous looking. It was nothing compared to many of the other wonders she’d seen since her arrival in The Expanse. Surely not every other place with archaeological discoveries to be made had been researched or plundered to the extent that someone would resort to this?

After craning her neck to look up at the pyramid for a moment, she glanced around, looking for a sign of life. “Hello?” Her low voice was rough from disuse. Behind her, the horse, a sleek, black mare with a mane and tail the color of cream, snorted impatiently. She turned to glare at it , and it stared blankly back. When she had stopped to board her pack horse at the edge of The Expanse, she had received this one after handing over a letter and pouch of gold from her employer. “She very generous, to outfit you with such a fine animal,” the horse merchant had said as he handed her the reins. “Thrun'valak horses are one of the finest breeds the gods ever saw fit to give this word.” He had gone on and on about their intelligence and grace and endurance and ability to move and survive in the desert far better than any other breed, and his sentiments had been echoed by many admirers in the towns and cities she’d since stopped in. Grarhi was not inclined to agree.

Grarhi wandered closer to the tomb. She wasn’t sure what to do with the horse. Tying it to a random post was likely an awful idea. If the archaeologist she was looking for was anything like the lore keepers of her clan, he would work himself up into a full blown state of hysteria if anything with potential historical significant was so much looked at wrong, let alone used as a place to tie an animal. She supposed the thing must be smart enough to know that it would die of starvation or thirst without her, but if something spooked it…

At a loss, she wandered towards what looked to be the tomb’s entrance, the mare still following. More than anything, she wanted to walk in, out of this blasted sun, somewhere where she could shed the outermost, protective layer of clothing she wore. Without it, her skin, a dark green that made her look unobtrusive and at home amidst the coniferous forests she’d grown up in, burned a deep, sickly purple that peeled and itched for days if she exposed it to the desert sun for so much as ten minutes.

“Hello?” she called again, hovering outside the entryway.

Tsillu snapped out of his satisfied daze as the formerly oppressive silence was broken. Someone was outside. Fearing the worst, Tsillu brushed dirt back over the corner of whatever it was that he had found, narrowing his eyes. The Society's guidelines for archaeologists included a warning about tomb robbers and what to do in a situation that involved the na'er-do-wells of all walks of life.

None of the opposition Tsillu had previously faced ever... well, essentially knocked.

His mind flicked over the possibilities. If it was a na'er-do-well, why didn't they enter the tomb and attempt to take him by surprise?It wouldn't end well for either party, but why announce their presence? And why here? The desert was full of richer temples and easier bait. If they were robbers and knew about the portents, they would have to be smart enough to know you don't let a Society archaeologist know you were going to attack. Tsillu's hand brushed against his belt, a fine, flexible blade of elven make that bent like a whip and could be tied like a metallic sash.

If it was a wanderer of the waste, what could be the harm of helping out?

If it was Society help, they would know who he was and, arguably more importantly, his employment number.

Tsillu shook his head. Better go see what they wanted. He plucked a feather from his upper arm with a soft grunt and held it out in front of him, bowing his head slightly. With a hushed voice, he chanted the ancient tengu incantation he had been taught since hatching and shrunk down to a fraction of his usual size. A nondescript crow stood where he had been, his book, stylus, and brush hidden under a sand-colored tarp with the rest of his supplies. With a flutter of black feathers, he launched himself back up the tunnel, veering through the sharp turns, and, squinting against the sudden glare, out into the blinding sunlight.

He cawed several times, looping over the orc and her horse.No, the Society didn't employ orcs. Not for normal business anyway. Certainly not for work around here. Too hot. It was a nice horse though. Local breed. Expensive. Not a wanderer. Probably. Robber? One well off could afford the supplies to get out this far. But robbers usually got good and went home. Again, she had called out to see if anyone was inside. Strange tactic for people who thought they owned the past. He eventually settled between her and the entrance to the tomb, staring up at her. He cawed again, shifting his wings and planting his feet in the sand.

Grarhi looked up as the crow shot out of the tomb, hood falling to her shoulders with the motion. She squinted her eyes, entirely blue but for the pinprick of a black pupil in the center, against the light and watched it circle. Well, that was... Probably not normal. There was nowhere for miles for it to get food or water, as far as she could tell. So that must mean it was… a familiar? A pet? Perhaps the desert contained such creatures as guard crows.

…Hopefully not a regular crow gorging itself on the results of an unfortunate accident. But again—where would it have come from?

When it landed, the horse seemed aware of the bird, but didn’t react to it. Well. Point one for horses over wargs, finally. Luthteg would have had the crow in her mouth before it even touched down. And if it was somehow related to Tsillu-Assur, or any of his associates… that would be a disaster.

Grarhi raised her brows as continued to stare at her. Strange animals ranged in The Expanse, that was sure. Keeping a wary eye on the crow, Grarhi started to step around it, towards the entrance of the tomb. She'd call in once or twice more. If there was no response, she'd figure out what to do with the horse and venture in herself.

Tsillu screeched, once again fluttering between Grarhi and the door. He raised spread the upper parts of his wings defensively, keeping them folded but puffing up in an attempt to look intimidating. "What do you want?" He cawed, voice shrill from both size and beak shape. He ended his demand with a sharp caw for good measure. "Thief?" His voice jumped an octave. "Assassin?! This is a Society site." Tsillu added for good measure. "Under the care of Harun Sattar, local Society magistrate. As local as Thrun'valak gets anyway." The name of his home sounded strange without through a crow's mouth. High and cawing, almost weak even. But still, Tsillu postured, wary of his new visitors. "Off limits to anyone but qualified locals and Society personnel."

Stopping in her tracks, Grarhi opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I," she began, then shut her mouth a second time, cocking her head as she stared down at the crow. Aside from a few surprised blinks, she managed to keep her expression remained more serious and thoughtful than taken aback. A talking crow. Delightful. Not like those featured as grim portents I'm every tale she knew.

Finally, she opted for a polite gesture she'd seen often used since she arrived in The Expanse. After placing her left hand over her heart, she lowered it as if in offering, and bowed over her upturned palm. "I assure you," she said, straightening back up, "I am here on legitimate business. My name is Grarhi Ovaig. I come on behalf of High Lady Vania Eletheyin," (a fake name, she was sure, though perhaps the title was legitimate,) "of the Kingdom of Rewen. I'm looking for a Society Archaeologist named Tsillu-Assur."

Perhaps it would have been tactful to offer to remove the axe strapped her back or the dagger at her hip, but she did not. Who knew what else lurked in the tomb, beyond wary crows? She kept one hand on the reins and the other raised, hoping this was appeasement enough.

Tsillu stopped posturing, sleeking his wings back down against his sides, staring first at the axe, then the dagger, then back at her for a moment. "For...?" He led her on, swinging his head to either side to check the surroundings. How many rogues would give up their hiding positions to what may as well be a familiar? But if he could just spot them first... if they did exist, that is. "You seek Tsillu-Assur, but he is very busy. He is a Society Archaeologist, after all." Tsillu liked the title. He specifically liked it when other people said it for him, but he digressed. The second quickest way to a tengu's heart was through flattery.

The first was, of course, shiny objects.

And there was a very shiny object that he would very much like to get back to excavating.

"I understand," Grarhi said, carefully. If she had spent the last three weeks ahorse for Tsillu-Assur to not even deign to see her because he was 'busy'... She would have been furious no matter the situation, though after a week or three of waiting and pestering, she would have thrown up her hands and been on her way again. Demanding, fighting, thieving... That was all well enough if the ones being bossed about, fought, and stolen from were thieves themselves. She was rarely hired as a middle man for 'honest' transactions. Though she was businesslike, quick-witted and polite (albeit aloof), she could not be relied on to turn devious when the deal did not go her employer's way. If someone lawfully possessed something, only special circumstances could lead Grarhi to extremes to procure it.

She thought of her heart-sister, of Luthteg the warg, and of the chattering minstrel, currently 'guests' in Vania Eletheyin's manor.
These were special circumstances.

Of course, she was thinking too far ahead. Her companions were not in immediate danger. Her employer was a patient woman, and Grarhi even moreso. She could do the song and dance of waiting for an audience, of negotiations, of sending word back and waiting for instructions before things turned drastic.

"Lady Eletheyin has a scholarly interest in an artifact she believes your Tsillu-Assur is familiar with. Courtly obligations kept her from making the journey herself, I am afraid, but she would like to purchase it from him, or The Society, or whoever its rightful owner is. She is willing to pay," she paused, wondering how much to tell this crow. "Handsomely," she finished.

Ah. Tsillu paused, cocking his head to the side. He narrowed his eyes. Ahhhh. He had never heard of this Lady, even in all this travels to the corners of the world under the Society's commission. Possibly underworld, possibly shady, but very possibly simply some obscure lesser noble who happened to have enough money to dump into someone who was willing to go out into the field and do all the dirty work for them. If his at-that-point invisible muddy clothing and well-worn leathers were any indication, he had never been one for courtly obligations. The 'courtly' scientists were always the ones (typically under-) paying archaeologists such as himself to go out into the field and look for the artifacts that they would then claim credit for in the long run. Belonging to a verified guild was the only way to protect yourself in a world.

The Society had approached Tsillu in his early days. While he had attended the Valakian Bardic College off and on as he could afford it, most of his learning was done on-the-fly, with many weeks' worth of hours logged at the high libraries, looking into the history of the region. He scratched notes in tengu into many miles-long scrolls. Just one boiling summer day, a man dressed in long, white robes approached him, a large coat of arms displaying the Rune of the Open Road emblazoned on the chest approached him with an offer he could not refuse: Part-time sponsorship under one of the lead anthropologists from the Society of Adventuring and Exploration. He would receive all the training a normal adventurer would under Society guidelines, then be sent into non-combat sites to aid in note-taking and scholarly endeavors. One thing led to another and there he was, with his own site and dig in a diviner-located spot, all alone because no one actually wanted to spend the necessary weeks out in the middle of Thrun'valak.

Scholarly types.

"She will have to take the matter up with the Society itself. Tsillu-Assur has been sponsored to perform the dig and excavation by several higher powers. He would not be keen to cross them for something so replaceable as... payment." Tsillu ducked his head down, pulling his beak into his breast.

Minus point one for horses. The bird being eaten would have saved a headache.

Grarhi bit back several arguments. Given the heat, and the sand, she was quite pleased with herself for not letting her irritation show. She wished she could at least pull her hood back up, but she did not want the crow to misconstrue the motion as her reaching for her axe.
"Please," she said, dipping her head, "if you would be so good as to at least let Tsillu-Assure know I would like to speak to him personally, I would appreciate it. I have documents regarding the artifact Lady Eletheyin seeks, and what she is willing to pay or trade. There must have been some reason she's sent me to him specifically, rather than the heart of the The Society." She cleared her throat. "No doubt you can tell, I am quite far from home, Ser... Crow."

A bit of a stretch of the truth. Most would assume from her accent and the fact she was an orc that she was ranging far, far away from her home from the Yeleken Mountains. In reality, she'd left those snowy peaks years ago, and now made her home farther south. Still, if letting the crow assume she'd traveled for two months instead of three weeks garnered sympathy, she would take it. That is, if he had any idea how long it took those without the power of flight to travel. Blast.

"I... eheh... 'Assure' you he already knows." Tsillu laughed, croaking softly. He already felt the druid magic slipping. "Pardon me. I will retrieve him." Tsillu darted back into the tomb, flitting around the first sharp corner before landing roughly. He waited several minutes before emerging, wiping his hands on a rag. "Pardon my messanger. The tunnels are long and hard on the feet and I wanted some of whatever business you have out of the way before I saw to it. Like he said, I am busy and I'm sorry if I cannot help you and your... hefty coin purse, but... This was entirely funded by the Society and-- ech, pardon." Tsillu rolled his back as the intense growing pains set in. "I would... prefer to stay in the good books with them, if you, ahem... catch the metaphor." Tsillu tapped his claws together, laying his palms against each other and leveling his forefingers at Grarhi.

He continued before she could start. "Or, rather. Not a metaphor. I have seen those books. The good books and the bad. The good books are registries of employ and the bad... are bounty lists with numbers neither you nor I can comprehend." Tsillu was very careful to never mention a damn thing about the artifact itself. Maybe if he out-talked the orc's patience... no, she would attack and Tsillu had yet to use his status-granted resurrections from the Society yet. Better get it all over with the the orc sent home so he could get back to his work. "So! What is her ladyship's offer, just for curiosity's sake?"

Taking advantage of the few moments alone, Grarhi pulled her hood back up and produced a painstakingly transcribed copy of Lady Eletheyin's documents, bound in a brown vellum folder. There was a bulging pouch of a hundred gold danars as well, to assure Tsillu of the buyer's seriousness, but Grarhi left it in the saddlebag for the moment. The last thing she wanted was for him to be offended by what he might perceive as a bribe.

When he emerged, Grarhi flicked her eyes over him in a quick assessment. She had not been expecting a tengu, but at least the fact he had some sort of crow familiar made sense. Strange it hadn't returned with him. He looked just as unkempt and unwashed as she had expected him to look. All in all he appeared fairly unassuming, though the fact he was out here almost alone indicated that he was no bumbling fool who couldn't take care of himself. Besides, despite his shabby outfit, she could not help but notice the belt- people who owned such things typically knew how to use them.
"Understood," she managed, before Tsillu barreled on with his yammering. She waited for him to finish, raising an eyebrow at the description of these Society books. She wasn't sure if he was serious or not.

"Her offer is fourteen thousand gold danars," she said, opting not to waste time with pleasantries. She enunciated carefully, lest the traces of her Yeleken accent with its clipped vowels made the number unclear. "But she is willing to barter. I have papers, detailing objects in her collection that she is disposed bargain with, if money does not tempt you." Even as she extended the folder of said papers towards him, Grarhi could not fathom why anyone would want to exchange dusty relic for dusty relic instead of fourteen thousand gold danars- a sum so large, she couldn't quite fathom what it would even be like to possess it. She supposed she would know for a moment, if Tsillu accepted the deal. She would have to take the writ Lady Eletheyin had given her to withdraw the sum from her bank account to get the money for him. Truly, it was an exorbitant price, but then, not unexpected from a self-professed intellectual with a massive fortune. She had a feeling Lady Eletheyin would be willing to fork over more, if Tsillu asked it.

However... she had a sinking feeling it would not be enough to sway him. That would mean letters and back and forth and waiting and waiting. If she found she did have to go to the Society after all, and treating with Tsillu was completely pointless after the time wasted riding out here... And goddess above, it would mean more talking. She felt as though she'd had to use more words since arriving at this tomb than she had in the last year!

"Fourteen? Why such an odd number?" Tsillu took the papers from Grarhi and rifled through them, careful, decades-practiced movements keeping his sharpened claw tips away from the paper, his pure black eyes giving no indication of actually reading any of them. He absorbed the information quickly, pausing on a page now and again, cocking his head from side to side as he read over the sheets on either side of his beak. All these artifacts in the hands of a private... collector? Author? Scientist? Oh, that was a nice one. Obviously no outside documentation, that one was supposed to be lost in the sinkhole of Fehl'ala, twenty years ago. If that lady just sent these documents around willy-nilly, then someone in the Society must know that it wasn't at the bottom of a miles-deep hole. Tsillu had never visited what used to be Fehl'ala, so he had assumed the estimation to be an exaggeration.

"I mean, an even fifteen would have made the numbers nice at least." Tsillu blinked, continuing to rifle through the document. "But, you see, your lady has put you in an awkward situation, just as you have me. I don't own this dig. Honestly, no one does. The Society went through all the local customs centuries ago and has generations-long pacts with the locals, such as my family," he splayed one hand across his chest, the other holding the folder open in front of him. He continued to gesture softly as he spoke, "and has the blessing of our descended pantheon to choose sites around Thrun'valak that it can produce verifiable evidence that the site contains... eh," he waved his claws in the air to emphasize, "'potent' artifacts that might have some impact on the world order if they fall into the... eh, wrong hands. You understand my dilemma, yes? Yes. We cannot barter over things we do not own ourselves."

Tsillu started to turn back into the tomb, his legs crossed defensively, ready to turn back if the orc made a movement he didn't like. He paused. "That is... If I can't make you a deal."

Her only response to his initial question was to shrug—she had wondered that herself, but perhaps such a relic was simply worth what it was worth. An extra thousand gold danars was nothing to sniff at, after all. Of course… it wouldn’t have been a strain on the Lady’s coffers.

As Tsillu explained the complexities of the situation, Grarhi could not help but clench her jaw. There was no way Lady Elethelyin didn’t know all of this. However this worked out, Grarhi would not be making friends, that was certain. And if she managed to procure this relic, what was she to do if—or rather, when—her acquisition of it pissed someone off? Lose it again? Be arrested? Executed? Perhaps Elethelyin was expecting Grarhi’s sheer desperation to prevail, or maybe she had something up her sleeve.

And as for the supposed ‘potency’ of some of these artifacts, whatever that vague statement meant… She would not be surprised if one of those was precisely what Eletheyin wanted. Grarhi did not like the idea of her having one. No, she did not care for the notion at all. No wonder Elethelyin had ensured that Grarhi had tangible motivation to follow through on this task, no matter how grim it became.

Unable to cross her arms with the reins still in hand, she placed her other hand on her hip, shifting her weight to the opposite foot. She drew a deep breath of the hot, still air as Tsillu paused, clutching the black leather reins harder. The mare snorted and tossed her head, prompting Grarhi to loosen her grip again. “What sort of a deal?”

"Alright, so what I've worked out so far is that your... 'lady' is how should I put this...? Sketchy to say the least. I don't know how to word this in a way that I haven't already." Tsillu paused. "The final decision is out of my hands. Honest. I'm sorry to have been an inconvenience, but she has obviously sent you to try and intimidate me." Tsillu, standing at his full height, was only about four and a half feet tall. Of course, though, he had been trained with swords, his race's weapon of choice, of all kinds and sizes since he could barely see. "But two opposing forces negate each other. So here's my deal. I need to return to town tonight for supplies from the Society emissary there. I could only carry so much with me at a time. There, I can access resources and contacts I don't have out in the wilderness. Maybe the ambassador and Sattar can work something out. Sattar was... very useful in locating this temple and identifying its history. He would know more about the artifact than me. But, as magistrate, he was required to remain in town." Tsillu explained. "Oh, do come in." He gestured toward the tomb, raising a feathery arm into the shadows in the doorway. "The site is very deep in the catacombs and I doubt the sun is terribly comfortable for either of us. I have a camp set up if you would like somewhere to rest."

'Sketchy.' That was polite of him. More than polite, really. Grarhi, in turn, called on each and every proper manner she'd ever learned from any culture, and stopped herself from saying, 'I am going to flay that woman alive.' She wouldn't be able to stomach doing such a thing anyway, and besides, the Lady was too well protected.

Saying it would have felt good, though.

She was unable to help closing her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, and heaving an exasperated sigh. Realizing how that looked, she stopped immediately and looked back up at Tsillu- or down, rather. "Sorry, it's not- Yes. I understand the difficulties you are facing. I will follow you back to town and compensate you for putting me in touch with whoever it is I need to be in touch with to work out this... mess."

Grarhi peered warily into the dimness of the tomb. Going 'very deep into the catacombs' with a stranger was not particularly high on her list of things she was keen to do. It was probably foolish to go with him. But then... waiting around in the heat and the scorching sun wasn't much smarter. She could already feel that her nose and cheeks were warm from sunburn from just the short amount of time her hood hadn't been shading her face. Besides, she had a well-honed sense of direction and had grown up navigating caves and old ruins. As long as she paid attention to the route they took, surely she could find her way back outside if need be. And while Tsillu must have some confidence in his abilities to invite an armed, potentially angry stranger into his camp, she was still a skilled warrior herself, strong, and easily a foot and a half taller than him. A bit on the short side for an orc, but here, that wasn't an issue. But if there were traps... nonsense, she though, he wouldn't be freely traversing the passageways himself if there were traps, would he?

"Thank you," she said after a moment of calculation. "I would like that. Ehm," she glanced at her mare, then back at Tsillu. "Do I bring the horse?"

"Oh, just tie her off somewhere. These posts look too modern to be part of the original structure. Some amateurs probably tried to raid the catacombs already. They didn't have a decent enough rogue with them, I noticed." Tsillu's mouth quirked up softly at the back of his beak. He stepped in and continued to run his mouth. "I have a camp set up not far in. It's only a few hours until sunset. I do not tend to travel in the day. It's odd, I know, for a tengu, but I have this, ah, affinity for the night hours. Plus, it seems that you would not be inclined to disagree, as it gets much colder out there at night. Your... kin are from the north, yes? From the mountains? I do apologize on behalf of your boss. That must have been quite a journey. Three months or so? Ah well..."

Tsillu shook out his feathers, fluffing himself up under his light cotton clothes, and stepped into an antechamber that branched off the main hall. "Please, come in, sit. Do your people do tea?" He asked, flicking on a small, modern brazier with a grate laid across it. His camp was minimal. A bedroll was laid on one side of the room, lined with pillows that had been sewn into the edges, giving the whole thing a very nestlike appearance. Against the wall, behind the bed were stacks of supplies and crates, each marked with a stamped black feather letters "T-A". In the center was the brazier, just flickering into life as Tsillu prepared himself a pot of tea.

On the other side, maps and charts of all kinds and sizes had been pinned to a cloth and wood structure that looked like one wall of a tent had been repurposed. Each one detailed the one section of Thrun'valak. Notes had been scribbled on the maps in a nigh indecipherable mix of shorthand and tengu. They were marked with long black lines of graphite and charcoal. Each line linked with another on a different map in a long, fluid motion. Some had been rotated to odd angles and pinned by their corners. Tsillu had gone as far as to get a few meters of red ribbon and link several locations. Each of the red ribbons intersected at an otherwise nondescript point in the middle of the vast desert that made up the majority of Thrun'valak.

This tomb.

As Tsillu spoke, Grarhi quickly tied off the horse and made sure she had food and water. Uneasy leaving such an expensive (and useful) animal unattended for a few hours, she activated the alarm spell that had come with the reins. While it wasn't fool proof, it was better than nothing. If anyone touched them without the spell being deactivated, a small glass sphere she kept on her person would begin to glow blue, spin, and make an awful keening noise. If it wasn't buried too deep in her pack, it would worm its way out to the open air where it could be seen, and would move in the direction of the reins up to a mile away. (Grarhi had forgotten to deactivate the spell before touching the reins herself exactly once. Never. Again.)

She nodded in confirmation that she was from the mountains as she worked. "The journey was long, but not so long as that." No sense in playing half-truths for sympathy if he wouldn't be making the decision anyway.

As she followed him in, she was careful to remember the way, she could not help but pay some attention to the architecture of the pyramid its self- even this seemingly unimportant place was designed and built with a sort of grace and precision she did not often see in ruins. Once at his camp, she removed her pack and set the saddlebags down next to them in as unobtrusive of a pile as she could. With relief, she shed her white (under the grime, at least) robe, folded it, and set it on top of her other things. Beneath, she wore plain brown trousers covered in pockets, a sleeveless black top, and sturdy walking boots.

At the phrase 'your people' Grarhi remained stoic, but winced internally. She would give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that 'your people' meant 'your clan' and not 'orcs as a whole'. Goddess, how she despised 'your people, as in, all orcs' questions, even when they were about innocuous, innocent topics like tea.
'Don't orcs wear septum rings? Where is yours?' Only one clan does that universally. Not mine.
'You're a healer, but aren't orcs warlike?' Eight of the forty six Yeleken clans could be described as 'warlike.' Mine is not one of them.
'Aren't orcs xenophobic?' Some clans more than others. Mine, outrageously so.
'But if your clan-' 'Clan' isn't shorthand for 'hivemind.'
'Orcs are so violent! You won't start a brawl and ruin my inn, will you?' Well, I might not tip.

And on. And on. And on.

"My clan does tea, yes," she said, eyes wandering toward the conglomeration of maps and papers and scribbles Tsillu had made on his makeshift board. As he busied himself around the brazier, she motioned to his extensive handiwork. "May I?"

"Your clan, yes, yes. I have not worked with the orcs from the north just yet. There has been so much activity in Valak, as you can see there," he nodded to the maps, "that I simply cannot keep up with my home, let alone branch out into other societies. And but of course, I would not have brought you down here if I had anything to hide. Then again, shorthand and tengu are an... odd mix, even if you are a linguist. Which, you know... If you are, I might need some help deciphering some of the notes I made about a month ago. I think I had a bit too much irep and ah... things got a little wonky. Right ah..." He pointed vaguely to a mass of black scrawls, "to the right... right there. Yeah, that's... that's ink on an irreplaceable map. Aha..." Tsillu trailed off.

Tengu were no better off. Oriental in nature, their presence on the mainland meant they were immigrants. Like many immigrant groups, they congregated and formed ghettos and formed their own slums. It had been that way for over two hundred years. Rogues, thieves, and con artists seemed to be the norm from an outsider's perspective. But from the inside, one could watch each of the hundreds of nested families existing while mother or father struck out to make a pittance a day, doing what they could. Tsillu's family had retained their oriental ways, sending their firsthatched back east for training. Best to save one family member rather than doom them all to exist in squalor for their drastically shortened lives.

"But alas. Drunk Tsillu cares not." Tsillu finished, frowning wistfully at the black scrawlings.

The corners of Grarhi's mouth quirked up as Tsillu described his mishap. Though she was careful not to touch any of it, she leaned in close to examine the notes, to admire the diligence involved more than anything. She couldn't make head or tails of most of it, though she could appreciate a labor of love such as this, ink splatters in unfortunate places and all.

"I'm afraid all I know about language is speaking, reading and writing," she said, linking her hands behind her back as she looked everything over. "And I know only a few basic words of tengu." In fact, arriving in The Expanse had heralded her first conversation of any length with a tengu. She'd encountered a few in the Eirney Islands, which were known for the profusion of different races that lived there, but even in those lands, there weren't many. Her travels in the northern mainland were extensive, but she was sorely lacking experience everywhere else.

"I do have an associate who might be of some use," she said slowly, "but he's weeks away. A minstrel, not a scholar, but he's knowledgeable about linguistics. He would love all of this." As she spoke, she motioned with her hand at all of Tsillu's work, then broadened the gesture to encompass the entire area.

"Ah, yes, yes, I considered being a bard, but alas. I was told I had to work with more than one performance and would generally have to travel with a party to protect me. So I went a... believe it or not, a quieter route. But those who revel in knowledge are generally not scholars. We archaeologists and bards are out in the field, working, gaining knowledge for the sake of it, for the love, not sitting in a stuffy study with our noses in a dry book, written by a dry author, in a dry study. No, no, my-- our place is out here, in the field, getting muddy and really connecting with our work. Debate is not my forte. Being the subject and propagator of debate is." Tsillu tittered away, eventually plopping down next to the brazier. He sat on his knees and the balls of his feet, working with the ceramic tea pot. "Do you have a preference?" He produced several small crates from the otherwise massive stack. "Chai? Green? Black? Herbal?"

A ghost of a smile still on her lips, Grarhi bit back a chuckle at his describing a 'quieter' route. While she preferred less wordy companions, chatty ones didn't bother her terribly, so long as they filled the silence themselves. Tsillu was quite adept at doing so, it seemed. Half listening as he prattled, she continued to look after his work, eyes running along the ribbons.

"Hm? Oh, herbal, if it's no trouble," she said. She'd grown up on mostly bitter or earthy herbal teas- never had developed a taste for anything else, though she'd never come across any tea that was entirely undrinkable.

Hoping that by nowTsillu wouldn't be hyper alert to every movement she made and mistake the motion for reaching for a weapon, Grarhi reached up and pulled out the pins that held her misshapen bun in place. From a quick touch, she could tell that her once sleek and efficient braid was now a wreck, strands sticking out at odd angles and some pieces beginning to slip free. With minimal humidity and wind, she had expected that keeping her hair contained wouldn't be such a chore. Alas, sweat and hasty, heat-induced hairstyle changes were just as detrimental.

"Is this this excavation site?" she asked, pointing at the intersection of the ribbons. Must be awfully important, wherever it was. Perhaps, if The Society didn't already have this relic in their possession, that's where it would be. Not that she knew the first thing about how to find it or remove it safely if it was.

"No trouble, no trouble at all. I would not have offered if it was!" Tsillu's eyes darted around Grarhi's head as she moved. Hairpins were an efficient weapon in the right hands, but they had to be correctly weaponized first. Although he had neglected his daily rituals in the past few days, his own claws that worked so delicately with the teapot and brazier were usually sharpened to a fine razor's edge on a daily basis. Not this time though, as, before he had washed them clean in the bowl of recycled water beside his bedroll, they had been caked with dust and mud from digging and brushing.

Tsillu made a motion to look up at the map when Grarhi indicated the site. "It is, it is. Like I said, there has been a lot of activity in the region, with many indications that this is the site of something important. Pointers. Statues. Hundred-meter tablets buried flush with the ancient sand, refraining from being scrubbed clean by primordial magic. The kinds of things that tell the Society to send at least someone out here." Tsillu rolled his eyes, his face and beak following the movement through. "It's all been terribly interesting, like a massive, millennia-old puzzle left by the aboriginal ancestors of this desert. I'll... Ill miss it when it's done. After all the tracking down of sites and the dig itself, there's kilometers of paperwork and weeks and weeks of desk and laboratory work to be done with the diviners and scryers and it's just uuugh." Tsillu sighed, resting the back of his head against the folds of his hood that had been folded onto his shoulders. "I respect their work and everything, but the Society elves are just to tedious."

"And they trusted one archaeologist to to see to that?" Grarhi asked, now thoroughly distracted from her inspection as she turned to face Tsillu, brow bearing a slight furrow. "I am sure you're more than qualified, but..." Perhaps that was just how they did things here? The Ovaig Clan didn't have archaeologists, specifically, though their lore keepers were the closest thing. The keepers tended to act as a cohesive unit and rarely divided tasks amongst themselves. Besides (and perhaps it was rude to acknowledge it) the keepers tended to be old. When they went off to examine once-bustling caves and ruins and the like, they needed the help of other clan members to get to the site and transport what was needed, as well as for protection.

What Tsillu was describing was only stirring her sense that there was deeper trouble brewing. She needed to actually look over the information Lady Eletheyin had sent her with, so she knew at least a bit about what she was dealing with, and if her growing suspicions were correct. But that certainly sounded like the sort of item the Lady would want for her collection. And that Grarhi had been sent to Tsillu specifically, who was here, excavating the item Vania probably wanted... That would be a striking coincidence.

She did not think Vania Eletheyin dealt in coincidences.

"How widely known is all of this, exactly? Clearly not a secret, but doesn't the Society worry about... well. People like me with fewer scruples?"