In Luminaris there is no shortage of public houses, clubs and salons of many developing types of repute, and on a given day of the week a smoke-filled backroom of one such house hosts one Mr. Crivelli, or somebody much like him. Behind closed doors one may find quite a lucrative trade in many an eye-catching antiquity, and many more "antiquities" beside that. Banal conversation between anonymous gentlemen with goods of interest, their equally anonymous partners with a good deal of excess gold and Mr. Crivelli in the middle, acting on behalf of one or the other, assessing veracity, backing up prices with hard facts gleaned from a whole human lifetime of study and providing concise explanations backed by an arcane gesture here, a Draconic word of power there. Clients tend to leave satisfied more often than not, and when they are not it tends to be through no fault of Mr. Crivelli's, being a man of professional pride if not outright principle.
Mr. Crivelli is a gentleman who hosts many an evening appointment, and in this burgeoning time of arcane discovery he stands on the emerging frontier of the black trade of artifacts few have bothered to categorize, name or even fully understand. It is a job he enjoys, and one for which he needs not dress up or, indeed, part from his beloved pet skunk Andariel, which he keeps underneath his shirt much of the time, to the occasional (in these days largely whispered) consternation of clients and acquaintances alike. His stiff bearing suggests a military background, which combined with his apparent fluency in as many as four languages (actually six, as Goblin and Orc, while difficult to distinguish to the untrained ear, are most certainly distinct, and he has not tended to use Sylvan in polite conversation) would peg him as likely an Antiplosian military interpreter - Mr. Crivelli has confirmed such suspicions on occasion, but declined to comment further. Unpleasant memories, apparently. Or trade secrets. Perhaps both, even.
An establishment or two kindly provides Mr. Crivelli with room and board in return for the business he provides and a complimentary portion of his take, and the man is indeed clothed, fed and housed in conditions certain members of the Luminaris underground would envy, if only because of his frequent exemption from the "no pets" guideline. He is thought of largely as an eccentric, as you would expect of a man who has a deep and abiding respect for bowcraft, has long philosophical discussions with his pet skunk, leaves a slightly unseemly odor in any places he frequents and spends up to an hour every morning checking and re-checking last night's notes on the nature of void and the interplay of matter, thought and the fundamental forces while making gestures and imitating the ominous howling chants of the ancient dragons as he conducts the necessary rituals to suffuse his very soul with increasingly potent occult secrets. Needless to say, he prefers to rotate his establishments of preference, if only for the peace of mind of their publicans and serving staff.
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Topic: Mystery in the City of Starlight (Pathfinder) (4/4) (Read 13807 times)