"God damn it Naïlar! I hate it when you do this!" Exclaimed Serrin Bularn, his red scales rustling as the Githyanki guild master appeared in his office while he was counting out reports.

"We must speak", the Githyanki, clad in his perpetually shining armor, adorned with its arcane gems, said without emotion, though a slight glint of amusement shone in his eyes. Naïlar, though emotions felt as if trivialities to his brain, still felt the slight sting of humor at inconveniencing this fellow Guild Master in the midst of his busy work.

"About what? Is this to do with the Fenthris situation? I have it under control - the undead are not coming-"

"No," again Naïlar's expressionless face matched his neutral tone, "This is about your proposal to the Grove District. It is sloppy work. It must be rectified."

Within a instant, Serrin Bularn's face went from incredulity to rage, a huff of smoke bursting from his snout, then to the calm demeanor of a merchant understanding the nature of the trade.

"Ah. What about it must be rectified? From what I understand, this was a simple arrangement between myself and High Druid Thu-Thu."

"He will not accept it." Again Naïlar's expressionless face almost seemed to add weight to his approach, as if it meant nothing to him but a favor given, one Guild Master to another.

Bularn, knowing his competitor, didn't buy it. But neither could he read the angle.

"You've overplayed your hand," continued Naïlar, anticipating the question, "I have it on good word from his son that it reeks of greed and overreach. His son -" pausing to raise a single eyebrow of shared understanding "- who happens to be a member of the Bee Team. He will not allow his father to accept the proposal."

Ah, the pieces come together, thought Bularn, Funny how quickly the 'brave' lizard seeks the cool of the cave when the first ember lands on its snout.

"Fine - it was out of pity I offered the deal in the first place. If he rejects it, they are alone against Le'Moar. And I hear the Redblades have geared up a hefty supply of goods from distant lands, curtesy of Hammelstark himself. It will be a swift and bloody battle."

"Indeed," Naïlar stepped closer as he spoke, "But where's the profit in that? Serrin, you know as much as I do that this would be a major loss to Dianmallo. The loss of the trees alone would destroy the balance of this city. We would be weakened against external threat."

"That's what will lead them to accept my proposal, in the end," Bularn huffed with a snort of self-approval. He knew where this was going. Naïlar wanted in on the deal. Somehow, he thought he had the reigns on how this would go. But Bularn had handled thousands - if not tens or hundreds of thousands - of such deals. He would come out on top.

"I suspect with the terms you have given them that they would rather be burned alive for their independence guaranteed." At this, the stoic Gith looked directly into the slitted eyes of his peer. "And what a loss of all that potential profit that would be. You don't simply want their trees. You want what these druids can do."

"Okay, let's say that is the case." Bularn found himself conceding, "they still wish to live. They didn't reject me outright. Next tenday, I'll adjust the contract, and give it back to them. But make no mistake," The older, crafty businessman found himself feeling more himself as his gaze blazed with defiance toward the expressionless face of the esteemed fighter, "I will make my cut out of this deal. If you have come to cut me out, then consider yourself already failed."

"Perhaps," Something about Naïlar unsettled Bularn. He didn't seem to budge or give in. He was working something else. "I would imagine, however, that the time to settle on a deal closes sooner than you might wish for. I am sure your spies have told you as mine have that Figaro Cenn will be nominated for King within the tenday. He will be the target of assassination. From multiple sources. If the bridge does not blow up before then. I'd say your opportunity for taking what you can get is dwindling faster than a merchant selling holy wares out of Galaxis."

Damn it, he speaks the truth. Naïlar was no merchant. Bularn had worked with many a scheming businessman, and this Gith was not one of those. No, Xandar negotiated like he fought. With swift blade cuts, once after another, until the time was right for a final blow. Never an ounce of deceit, but always just one cut away from holding your own innards in your hands.

Bularn knew the reports he had gotten. Any day now the bridge could trigger the bloodshed plunging the city into civil war. Pending that happening, this whole charade with Figaro that Gurgax had come up with was just devilishly wicked. The High Lord would essentially paint a target on the only real claim to the throne just to make a point that he was relevant. Cenn would be dead the day he was raised, and both Bularn and Naïlar knew it. Likely Le'Moar would, too. Perhaps he was counting on it.

The bottom line was that Naïlar had called out Bularn's hand, and exposed the fragile timeline to ensure it actually played out in his favor.

Getting up from his seat, the Guild Master put aside his reports; they would wait for a different evening. He moved to his liquor shelf, pulled out a glass of fine bourbon, and poured a long draw into his pair of negotiation glasses. Though he was caught, he would still come out ahead at the negotiation table.

"Okay, Naïlar. I see your game. What do you propose?"

A slight smirk gave rise to the side of the champion's face. Negotiations were like combat. Two individuals competing for dominance over one another until one conceded. Combat, he knew. And this was just one more battle he had to fight to win.