A grey sky hung over the seaside city, the chalky white stone contrasting greatly with the sky and the green-blue sea. Brittle wooden docks jutted out defiantly against the sea, sticking out from the city in all directions. Wind swept spray up from the docks and threw it as a fine mist into the faces of those who gazed out over the waters. Those who watched for pleasure seldom stayed, although there were always some who waited for ships to stop, refreshing supplies and cargo as they brought passengers from one side of the Sea of Storms to the other. The grey pall from the sky fell on the sea as well, the grey-green constantly reflecting the melancholy skies.
The Island was a rock of limestone and chalky earth, and was situated between the cliffs of two continents. The lands converged there, and though the island had always wanted by each of them, its autonomy had always been ensured by it's surroundings. The seas there were far too wild for any armada to sail; any fleet foolish enough to try and brave the narrow channel would be destroyed utterly, by both rock and wave. The cliffs were no help to any attacker either, being too far from the island to mount an attack of any significance, and the constant winds formed by the storms would render large artillery completely inaccurate, if not ineffective. The cliffs also served to protecting the island itself from the excessively bad weather, and although wind and rain were simply a fact of life there, the city had never been washed away. The eternal storm was a blessing more than a curse - it kept even wizards at bay, for no wizard was mad enough to try levitating across the void between the rocks, either by themselves or with an army. The Island was was a place unto itself.
It's people were a unique folk of transients. It had been founded as merely an intermediary place for ships to drydock, or wait in shelter for the storm to settle enough to move on. Eventually, someone had the foresight to leave behind a group there permanently, and the Island's true history began there. The unique geography kept it safe from large-scale interference, and like most places that evade the notice or authority of the larger nations, it became haven to those who had no place to return, and no place to go. It became a place of in-between, a place of sleep, a place of rest and peace, even unto the times of today. It was a place of transients, people always moving on, or moving back, yet going nowhere in particular, or going nowhere at all. Trade was important, but it was hardly the Island's lifeblood - those who lived permanently on the island made their living providing lodging and food for those who passed through. The people peddled sleep and rest - and this they did well.
The place would have been Mediterranean in feel, but for the sea - no calm, warm and happy ocean lied there, but rather something cold and mournful. The houses themselves were made with varying degrees of skill. Some were roughshod, little more than rough stone lied on atop another; others had slatted pieces of rock fitted together to form buildings and stores, although the best of them had bricks and mortar of the stuff. Most, however, were made merely of cobbles and gravity.
In one such building, the smell of cooking fish was strong, and around the back a rather flimsy looking deck sat above the grey-blue sea. Sitting at a table was a single man, clothed in black and looking out silently over the sea. He wore a pair of shades lined in silver, and his hair seemed to be starting to gray, although from the ends to the scalp, going from the red-brown that hung down to his shoulders to a silver: yet for this, he was young, no more than 20 from looking. His coat was black, and leaning on the table was a drab, brown-hilted sword, tied with a rust-colored cord at the sheath. He was waiting for his fish.
The man who watched him grinned, and his eyes faded from a purple glow to their natural gold. They were slitted eyes - cat's eyes. He walked softly on the deck, the old wood strangely silent beneath his feet. He stood still a little distance away from the man.
"Yes?" the man in black said, unmoving. His gaze never left the roaring sea.
The other man grinned, and strode into the open chair across from him, eyes twinkling. "My, what good ears you have! There aren't so many anymore that hear footsteps that make no sound." he said, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand, looking straight at the man in black. "It makes one wonder."
The man narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean." he said, carefully.
"Oh, I think you might. Tell me, did you hear my feet? I don't think you shouldn't have.", the tiger said.
"If I've insulted your sense of stealth, I apologize. I assure you, next time I won't ask why you're behind me." the man said, his words somewhat sharp.
"No, no, you misunderstand. I know my feet didn't make a sound." he said, his eyes suddenly glimmering. The tiger's hands made a subtle gesture, and his fingers twisted as if seizing something. The saltshaker shook from across the table, and did it's best to make itself available to him, flying through the air.
The man stared at the tiger for a moment, and then turned back to watching the waves. "You didn't make a sound." he said finally, pausing a moment. He looked at him from the corner of his eye. "The wind. It blows from the east. That way." he said, pointing behind the man. "You were blocking it."
"Of course!" the tiger said, grinning and setting the saltshaker down. "I should have known. Still, disappointing. If you had heard me, it would have indicated an precognitive gift of some sort." The man's teeth glinted in the light. "Of course, precognition isn't really a known attribute of werewolves, is it?"
The man stared silently at the tiger. He seemed to squint for a moment, and as he reached to take the shades off his face to rub his eyes, he moved his other hand to the sword that leaned by his side. The tiger opened his mouth to speak, when he noticed. It clapped shut, and he raised a hand in defense. Cog stopped moving the hand, and simply set his shades down on the table. Yellow eyes stared back at the tiger's golden ones.
The mage relaxed, and leaned forward again. "Come now! I didn't think you'd kind who would kill so easily." he said, suddenly standing and grinning. "Although, in a way, I was somewhat hoping you were...Oh, worry not, I'm not here to 'burn the cursed one'." he said, muttering in distaste. The man in black narrowed a single eye.
"Very simply, I need someone of your particular...skill." the tiger said, walking back and forth. The man in black raised an eyebrow, but the tiger waved a hand. "No, not like that. I need someone who is proficient in the more...physical aspects of combat." he said, pointing to his sword. "But of course, as a man of dedicated aesthetic, I have little gold." he said, obviously lying. The rings on his fingers, and the ornate, silken robe on his body told spoke of a great deal of gold indeed.
The man in black decided not to object. The tiger continued.
"So, I need someone who would appreciate the kind of help an accomplished wizard can provide." he said, his voice inflecting somewhat with a touch of pride, a smirk plastered on his face. He leaned in close to the lychanthrope and whispered in his ear.
"I'm sure there's something I might provide for you, Mmm? A night of the full moon means something entirely different for you, eh?" he said, laughing softly. He whispered in the man's ear. "Surely, an exchange could be in order? I can make the wolf silent, and the moon nothing more than a pretty silver ball..."
The man in black suddenly frowned and grabbed the tiger's neck, pulling his face down into the table and then right in front his his own. Black shades slid down the ridge of his nose to reveal burning yellow orbs that stared right through the man.
"Are you stupid?", he said. His mouth contorted, and one feeble human canine suddenly lengthened, an inhuman growl escaped his throat. "A cure? Just how stupid do you think I am? Do you think I don't know how the wolf works? Do you think I NEED a cure? That I WANT one?" he said, tightening his grip. "That I would even believe that you can cure a race?! It's one thing to offer, but it's another thing to think I'd be so stupid as to believe you." he said, throwing the man back into the railing. The tiger smacked into it with a dull thud, and coughed as he regained his balance. When he had caught his breath, he stood straight again. His former mocking demeanor had left, and was replaced by something ugly.
The tiger bared his teeth as he spoke."You misunderstand me, sir. I don't mean 'cure' you. We both know that's impossible." he said, again obviously lying. The man in black kept silent. "I can give you something that might help on those long moonlight walks, doggy." he said, taking a seat again. The man looked down, and pushed his shades back up his nose. He turned to stare out at the sea, and the white limestone cliffs. The tiger kept quiet for a moment, then continued.
"A book." he said, grinning ear to ear. "The last writings of a certain Weretiger, of the Chiba clan."
The man in black flinched involuntarily at the name, and reluctantly turned to look at the wizard. "...Chiba." He said. "Reizeskshan Chiba. The Twin Daggers of the Tiger's Eye." he said, recalling that his title. "Legendary for his speed." he said, his eyebrow raised. "And his willpower. He was able to stand in moonlight as easily as he stood in sunlight, they say."
He looked at the wizard quietly for a moment, than laughed. "You expect me to believe that you have his last writings?" He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back. "So what if you do? How could it possibly help me?"
The Wizard grinned at the man, and scooted close to him.
"The writings are titled 'Musings in Moonlight', little doggy."
The man bristled at the wizard's words, but he kept silent, musing. He finally spoke, whispering softly.
"Even if you do have it. What is this service you want?", he murred. The wizard merely grinned all the wider.
"What's your name, doggy?" he asked. The man's mouth twisted in distaste. "Cogidubnus. Cogidubnus Mithlome."
The wizard extended a hand, and the grin on his face faded just slightly.
"Arcturus Lein, Archmage Emeritus of the township of Parch." He said, and made a minor flourish with his hands, standing and bowing. "Supposing I did have those writings, I'd need no great service from you at all, little doggy. You see, I have a problem with a certain individual who trespasses on my lands..." he said, inwardly laughing at the fool.
Lying did come so easily to him.