POV: Rourke, Smuggler and Informant
The card game in the back room of the "Splintered Mast" was a side quest with very real stakes. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Rourke watched the other players over the rim of his glass, his face a mask of relaxed indifference. He wasn't here to win; he was here to collect.
The main story—the Crystal, the Institute, the Stavo Family—was a tide that lifted or sank all ships. His job was to stay afloat. And right now, that meant collecting a debt from a low-level Stavo enforcer named Finn.
"Your turn, Rourke," Finn slurred, his confidence fueled by liquor and a weak hand.
Rourke laid his cards down. A straight flush. "It seems luck is a fickle friend tonight, Finn."
The color drained from Finn's face. The debt had just doubled.
"I... I need more time," Finn stammered.
"Time is a currency I don't deal in," Rourke said softly, gathering the chips. "But I'm a reasonable man. I hear things. Your bosses are very interested in a certain seeker. You give me something useful about their operations in the Under-District, and we can consider this matter closed."
This was the true side quest: turning a financial loss into an information gain. It was a small, dirty transaction in the grand scheme, but these small transactions were the grease in the gears of the city.
Finn's eyes darted around, looking for an escape that didn't exist. "There's... there's a safe house. In the Rust Gardens. They're holding a Spore-Speaker. Trying to learn the mycelial paths, to cut off escape routes."
Rourke filed the information away. It was a small piece, but pieces had value. He knew a certain seeker who had recently developed a keen interest in the Rust Gardens.
He stood, patting Finn on the shoulder. "Pleasure doing business with you." He left the room, the debt cleared. He hadn't moved a crystal, fought a Hound, or decoded a prophecy. He'd simply played a hand of cards and learned a secret.
Stepping out into the neon-drenched street, he looked up at the distant, illuminated spires of the upper city. The great and the powerful were playing for the soul of the world. He was just a man in the gutter, turning over stones to see what scuttled out. But sometimes, the things that scuttled out could change the course of empires. Or, at the very least, save one seeker's skin. For a price, of course. There was always a price.