Post by phulishone on Sept 6, 2007 20:28:34 GMT -5
Planet of Nexus, the land of Dray, City of Anasylum.
Year of our Relief 234, Septerate 5th, on a Threeday (Wednesday)
Working as a messenger in the city of Anasulym is easy. You take a letter from one person, and run through the city, possibly handing the letter off to other messengers along the way, so that it inevitably ends up in the hands of another person. Your job is useful and relatively safe.
Getting work as a messenger is hard, however. The criteria is that you must be young, you must know enough about at least one quarter of the city to take messages to without asking directions, and you must, above all else, be unable to read. The moment you learn to read is the moment you lose your job. As a precaution, all messengers are retired once they reach adulthood.
As one of the few full blooded elves in the city, Illiannesti has been a messenger for almost two decades and still has not hit puberty. He mumbles and complains about this a lot, but nothing says job security like being put it a ‘kids only’ occupation while having been born as a race whose childhood lasts for close to a century. Illiannesti figured he could keep working as a senior messenger for at least another six years before someone noticed that he was as physically full grown as most humans.
Until then, he’d continue to be content with the steady salary of a silver piece every other week, and continue to pull in the perks of being a messenger boy. One such perk, so far as Illiannesti figured it, was that even though messengers were forbidden to read… no one said anything about writing. Sure, Illiannesti had no clue what he was writing, and sure, it was probably not what any customer wanted… but if Illiannesti took the copied pages to a pale looking human at a certain place every Oneday, he’d get paid a copper piece per letter! That was just smart business, as far as Illiannesti was concerned.
So, in the middle of his shift, Illiannesti would stop in at a little shop that a friend of his owned, walk into the back room and make careful copies of the most important looking messages he’d been asked to deliver. Today’s scrolls were especially interesting. Illiannesti promised himself he’d hold out for three coppers a piece for one of them. It’s not every day you get a message from a Captain Scabbard.
It did bother Illiannesti to make money off a possibly official document. He wasn’t sure he should copy it, so he started with the florist shop’s message first.
Dearest Uncle Elan,
It has been two years now since you have sent me to work for Mr. Bloom. I must say that he is quite pleased that you decided to invest in his company, and I have learned much under his impressive business sense. It is with great pleasure that I serve him as his gentleman’s gentleman, and with even greater pleasure that the floristry thrives under my personal care in my spare time.
He has wondered aloud to me, however, if, as an investor, there were any directions you wished for the company to take. I of course have told him about your letter to us some months ago, and he was quite pleased to tell me days later that your suggestions were implemented quite instantly. They have helped he and his associates a great deal, and so he is eager to hear more, should you have any.
It is with great sadness that I report that a recent death has happened in the family. Two of our cousins passed away just this day, not too long ago, from a rare sickness, Ferrum Cavus. A horrible disease that pops up throughout the city now and then. Mr. Bloom is just now hearing about the deaths, and I do not expect him to be happy. I expect his grief will be reflected throughout the family, and the mourning period will be difficult.
So I am afraid that with this news, I shall have to cut this letter short.
Yours truly,
-Reginald[/color][/I][/font]
Illiannesti finished this odd scrawl and thought of how strange the human was that handed it to him. The head florist of ‘Careful Arrangements’ was always so prim and proper, so it only followed that his writing should look flowery. It was so careful and thoughtful looking, Illiannesti almost wished he could read it. He moved on to the Captain Scabbard’s letter.
High Scabbard Bynes,
I am sorry to hear that Advocate Noggish died. High Sword Lockson will make a fine new Advocate of Prosperity, and I had the distinct pleasure to serve under Captain Vashley, excuse me, High Sword Vashley during my training years.
So it should come as no surprise that he has asked me to step into his old position as a sword captain. Bynes, sir, you must understand what an opportunity this is. You and Advocate Corginn are young, younger than myself. I doubt that I will ever have a chance to advance further in the Scabbards, and New Turnmark is well contained. We have very few criminal problems, except for the minor gangs here and there. But my men and women are well equipped and able to take care of anything that those rabble can come up with. I have extreme faith in either of the Lieutenants posted here, and leave it up to you to decide who shall become the new Captain, as is your right.
Srg. Major Grumms would be my recommendation for promotion to the lieutenant vacancy left. He is currently is charge of my old Barracks #5, and doing a fine job. A very straight and narrow fellow is Grumms. He’ll keep a tight ship in my absence, no doubt about it.
But that’s not important. This is, I suppose, a letter of transfer request. I’d do the formal sheet, but you know me, Bynes. Hope this message gets to you before I see you tommorow. I’ll still be around long enough to take your money at poker at Marrie’s place, because I wouldn’t miss that for all of Nexus!
-CaptainScabbard Sword Nathsmith
The Scabbard that had handed this message to Illiannesti had looked excited for some reason. The messenger elf couldn’t figure it out, but he was happy to finish copying his letters and checked the sun. Still only a short time past midday. Illiannesti wouldn’t even be missed, he’d worked so fast. He exited his friend’s shop, and hummed to himself happily, already thinking about how much extra money he’d make this week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Same time, elsewhere,
“So, nephew, what have you learned in your lessons today?” Opulence was a word that Baron Lennard of Anasylum stayed away from. Casual was more his style, and the most expensive thing he wore on his person while he worked in his study were the pair of spectacles that the Alchemist’s Guild had made for him as he grew older.
“Oh, uncle, must we go through with this?” Lennard’s nephew, the young Stewart Lennard, was the complete opposite. Every piece of clothing killed a whole team of tailors, as they threw their lives away to see that Stewart’s very breeches were studded with jewels. His mother has pampered him from the day he was born, and the Baron was having a real headache trying to undo his sister’s spoiling. It was not that he disliked his nephew, but the boy could be something of a brat if he didn’t keep a firm hand.
“Yes, dear boy, we must. You are not yet twelve, and yet I hope to see you take my place some day. So you will have to know everything I know.” Relenting, Baron Lennard smiled. “I’ll help you along, if you need it. Now, tell me about the nobility of Dray.”
“Bottom up, or top down?”
“Oh, I’ll make it easy upon you. Top down.”
“Gee. Thanks uncle.” Stewart sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, not caring that the wall’s dust was ruining his platinum embossed tunic. “We start with the Duke, then. He’s at the top, with the five Earl’s of the land immediately below him. And then come the Barons. All thirteen of them. Two Barons for each Earl.”
“And what of the other three?”
“Well, Baron Northwood, Baroness Ferhwit, and yourself are all special, so you report right to the Duke, as the Baron of Commerce, the Baron of State, and the Baron of History respectively.”
“Correct. Why is that, do you know?”
“Uhhh, because…” Here Stewart faltered, but with a little thinking, soon recovered. “The Earls all take care of the rest of Dray for the Duke, and give parts of their lands over to their Barons so they don’t have such a big job. The Duke does the same with you three. He gives you important tasks so that his job is easier.”
“Well, I would not have put it quite so… inelegantly, but you are correct. Continue, nephew. Who reports to us Barons?” Lennard smiled. The boy was doing well.
“The Counts and Countesses, of course. Do you want me to name all of them?”
“You know all twenty seven names?”
“No.”
“Then no. It is enough for now to know that they are next. But who is below them?”
“Well, for the twenty Counts that are under the Barons who work for the Earls…”
“Yes? Go on. No matter how awkward that statement is, it’s a good lead in.”
“They have Knights.”
“How many?”
“Uh… up to five?”
“No, dear boy, the law says up to four per Count. But good try. And the other seven counts? Who do they report to, and who reports to them?”
“Four of them work with the Baron of Commerce, two of them work with the Baron of State, and Lukas works with you!” Stewart smiled. He liked Lukas.
“Did Count Dallish tell you you could call him by his first name?”
“…yes.” Stewart lied.
“All right then.” The Baron let him. Lukas wouldn’t care. “And who reports to those seven?”
“The Magistrates.”
“Very good, Stewart. Last question, and then you may go.”
“Finally.”
“How many Magistrates are there, and what do they do?”
“There are… uh… sixty six of them, right?”
“Yes. And what is their job?”
“They settle legal disputes, right? And they vote in the Council when it’s called? And act as judges against criminals?”
“Very very good! That’s enough for today. Go on. Have Fredman take you out into the market. You may buy something, if you like, but not too expensive, mind you.”
“Thank you, uncle! See you later.” The boy ran from the study, and left his uncle to his work.
Leaning back into his chair, the Baron smirked and sipped a glass of wine. Great Levis… The boy has a mind on him! He’s spoiled rotten at the moment, but with some work…
Sighing, Lennard returned to his papers. I wish this city had a use for a Baron of History. Every day, I feel more and more like a Baron of Politics. And I really wish there was only one government here… Without the gangs, we wouldn’t need that awful Swirl to drop them in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Still elsewhere, in Market Square, right outside the north gate into Perfect Manors
“Here ye, here ye! Gather about for the witnessing of the punishment of one Sydnuss Portentte the halfling, also known as Sydnuss the Sly, alias the Sliperry, alias the Gutter Fox! Magistrate Yoland has found him guilty, and his thievery has condemned him to the Swirl!” The crier stood atop a tall, dark wooden platform. Being brought out – carried, really – by two Half-orc Scabbards was the guilty man, sobbing quietly to himself.
Sydnuss had done well for himself in Anasylum. He’d lived here all his life, and he’d even managed to only give a token of acknowledgement to any of the gangs. He’d chosen one of the three ways of the thief and stuck with it. He muttered them to himself now, a kind of final words of comfort.
“A thief must choose his way. The way Above Notice, the way Underfoot, or the Obvious way. A thief must choose his way. The way Above Notice, the way Underfoot, or the Obvious way. A thief must choose his way. The way…” Sydnuss murmured to give himself strength and opened his eyes to the huge pit below him. The crowd had no need to stay away from Sydnuss’s death, as he would be tossed into the Swirl.
No one knew what it was, or where it came from, but the dark black, blue, and purple swirling gasses looked like a whirlpool of sinister colors, and were the ultimate form of punishment in Anasylum. The Duke disliked executions, so he opted out of it by causing permanent banishment, just as his forbearers did all the way back to the first Year of our Relief. When the dangerous Swirl was found, it sucked up three people before they could contain it. It was worse than death, just cleaner.
Ever since, threat of the Swirl has been used to keep the populace in line. It was more terrible than simple execution, as no one knew precisely what happened to those thrown in. They did not return. Their bodies were never found. Their last words were often wracking sobs of horror. Their screams, however, could be heard for days after, long terrible utterances of dread and death, slowly joining the menacing mist as it twirled around in a terrible dance of colors. Those who tried to remain quiet as they dropped down into the indefinite eddy that was the Swirl soon began their days long scream. No one remained quiet for long.
“Do ye, Sydnuss the Gutter Fox, have any last words before these two unfortunates complete your sentencing?”
Sydnuss stopped mumbling and looked the crier right into the eyes, and whispered, “I chose Above Notice.”
“So be it. May Spectra find and guide your soul.”
With this, Sydnuss’s single scream began. It will last for days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bloom and Brutus
Yet once more, but a few moments later, in a flower shop known as ‘Careful Arrangements: Florists Extraordinaire’
“We, we just found ‘em outside, sirs. The back entrance. Gouie and I was standing there, and we turned for a second, and there were Burpp and Gunzio when we turned back, dead as a door nail. X’s for cheeks.” A little halfling named Ned nervously talked to three men. To the right was a pale human, tall as terror, and twice as deadly. To the left, a shorter man holding a silver tray stood at the ready.
Ned was nervous not because of either of these two, though he’d seen the pale human do terrible things to other people, and the shorter man coax poison from a harmless tulip. No, Ned was nervous because the one in the middle was Boss Leo Bloom, the Made. Ned knew one word from this powerful man, and Nervous Ned would become Quite Dead.
It didn’t have to be one of the three people standing in front of him to kill Ned, either. The whole warehouse was full of people that frankly scared Ned every other day, and a nod was all it took from the Made to have anyone of them do him in. It was the other days, the days between when Ned remembered that he was in the same group as these people, and that they’d be more than willing to help him out… if they felt like it.
“I s-s-swear, Boss, it was only for a second that me and Gouie turned away, and as soon as we looked back… we we we came and found Reginald. Oh geez, and the scars! How could they have…” Ned broke out in a sweat and was soon sobbing under stress and grief. “Burpp was - was gonna ha-ha-help me break into, into the Baker’s Shop tonight! How could he be…”
“Ned? I do believe that it would be wise of you to fall silent.” The short man with the silver tray could not possibly stand any straighter, nor hold his head higher. His black bow tie shined in the darkness it was so clean, and his well pressed suit and fine polished shoes were quite possibly the second most immaculate pieces of clothing in the room, following only Boss Bloom’s own silk. “Forgive me sir, if I speak out of turn, but I dare say that Master Bloom cannot think with you quibbling so.”
Ned shut up. Quickly. It was wise to always listen to Reginald Wodehouse. No one knew the boss’s mind better than the Butler to the Bloom.
“Will you require the others, Master Bloom? I can have them brought in. Sir Shade is outside Above Notice watching the roof with Sir Widowmaker, Sir Draco and Sir Hawk are Underfoot in the sewers, checking on the, er, leak. Lady Emilia is working the Obvious today, tending the shop, but Ned might benefit from some time with the flowers. Sir Hunter is carefully, echum, attending to yesterday’s breach of policy, with help from Sir Black, but they should both be on their way back in.” Reginald carefully ticked off his fingers one by one as he listed the known whereabouts of the prominent members of the Crimson Orchids. There were at least sixty other members, but those names were the important ones. Those individuals were the most looked up to within the gang, and the most feared in the city quarter of New Turnmark.
Though it was really only Reginald who called them Sir and Lady. Once met, the titles just didn’t seem to fit. Wodehouse was strange like that, but no one bothered to correct him, except perhaps the Boss.
And it was at the say so of Leo Bloom that the skills of those particular individuals were used.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emilia
Emilia was bored. Bored bored bored bored BORED.
But Reginald had asked her, in his polite, slightly wordy way, to watch the shop while he went with Nervous Ned and Gouie the Goop to talk with Boss Bloom. So here she was, sitting behind the counter, staring at the door. Someone had to keep up the front of the shop being a real shop, and not a secret hide out to the Crimson Orchids. It was the Obvious way. The way that was right there before everyone’s eyes and no one noticed until after.
Emilia stared at the pink flower on the counter in the little pot. As if to wave it in everyone’s face, the single crimson orchid grew right there, in full view of the customers. No one ever noticed. After all, who’d question a flower in a florist’s shop?
The bell on the door rang. A customer?
No. The man that entered was a big, burly human. He wore a red cloak, a leather belt studded with steel, a fine pair of gloves, a muddy pair of boots, a pair of black tights, no shirt and…
Emilia was anything but stupid. She noticed right away the Red Hammer held tightly in the man’s belt.
“I’m looking for the owner, sweet cheeks. Is Leo about? I just wanna talk to him.” The man was bald, but had a scraggily beard and a smile for, what he thought, was just the pretty shop girl. “And maybe after, I can talk to you?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco and Hawk
Underfoot, the thieves’ slang for the sewers that provided access throughout a lot of the city, was also a perfect place to take care of… delicate matters.
Such as a whiny little kobold that didn’t know enough to keep his mouth shut about a planned robbery on one of the local Magistrates. Kr’kikkik had been found in the Crazy Pickax, talking to some of the Youngbloods, one of the smaller gangs in New Turnmark, about the Crimson Orchid’s latest idea.
He was the ‘leak’ that Reginald had mentioned.
“Hhhk. Please, no kill Kr’kikkik, Draco and Hawk! Hhhk. Kr’kikkik keep teeth clamped from now on! Please!” The kobold pleaded, his eyes darting back and forth down the tunnels. If Hawk and Draco didn’t stay on either side of him, it was obvious that he would bolt.
“Hhhk. Kr’kikkik didn’t know that plan wasn’t done yet. Kr’kikkik thought it was last Fourday, not this Fourday!” The kobold was trying desperately to convince his captors that he was telling the truth. Boss Bloom had let them decide what punishment was to be dealt… for the moment. He might change his mind later - IF Kr’kikkik was alive. “Hhhk. Please no kill Kr’kikkik!”
{{Sense Motive from Hawk and Draco.}}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shade and Widowmaker
Staying upon the roofs was typically called Above Notice, for more than one reason. It was a third set of roads for those that knew how to get about them (Underfoot being one, and the normal alleys and streets being the other), and it was metaphorical for those jobs that no one ever expects. After all, who looks up?
On the top of ‘Careful Arrangements’ at the moment were two of the more prominent members of the Crimson Orchids; the man known as Shade and the… man… known as Widowmaker.
Shade was whispering to something, and it wasn’t Widowmaker.
Widowmaker was probably happy about that.
Widowmaker was eating something, and it wasn’t Shade.
Shade was probably more than happy about that.
For now, the two were just watching those others Above Notice. Various members of the gang were dipping in and out of the rooftops, and various members of other gangs were not. And that’s how it should be.
{{Spot checks from Shade and Widowmaker. Also, please allow me my humorous wrangling of your character’s thoughts. I promise not to do it very often, and never without an indefinite like ‘probably’ or ‘might be’.}}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Black and Hunter
Quelter the Cynic is a con man. Well, technically, Quelter the Cynic is a con half-man. He is also half-elf, and more commonly thought of in that regard. He is good at being a con man, and likes it a lot… up to a certain point.
He was great at word play, excellent with card tricks, not so stellar but none the less respectable at disguises, and he could play a mean bit of music on the lute… up to a certain point.
Yesterday, on Twoday, he’d had a nice chat with some Scabbards, and Quelter the Cynic wasn’t trying to con them. Quelter had been talking to them about some people he knew in a gang that may or may not have been named after a particular pink flower. Quelter swore up and down to the Scabbards that he didn’t know where this alleged gang might be found, but he knew of some places where some of the people in this alleged gang hung out. It was thanks to Quelter the Cynic that the Scabbards found and raided a small cache of stolen goods that had not belonged to the four people that more than likely belonged to the organization known as the Crimson Orchids. The Scabbards had paid Quelter the Cynic a large bag of silver, and it had made Quelter very happy… up to a certain point.
Because, if we were truly being technical about Quelter’s race, we might as well be truly technical about everything else. You see, Quelter the Cynic is no longer a con man, nor con half-man. Quelter the Cynic was a con-man. Quelter the Cynic was thought of more commonly as a half-elf. Quelter the Cynic was good at being a con man, and he had liked it a lot…
Up till a certain point buried itself in Quelter’s chest about twenty minutes ago. Krasus Rhonin, alias Mr. Black, calmly wiped off his Kusarigama as he and the tracker known as Hunter walked back towards ‘Careful Arrangements’. After an hour of searching, Hunter had found Quelter twenty-one minutes ago, and one minute later Mr. Black had stressed the ‘certain point’ right into the now dead Cynic.
The two of them were calmly counting out a bag of silver, and splitting it into four piles. One for each member of the Crimson Orchids who is spending the next several nights at Scabbard Barracks #6 lock up before they are released.
The two of them would be back to the hideout in about five minutes, as they walked south along Main Street. Or at least, they would if they weren’t stopped by the pesky little annoyance dressed in a page’s outfit. The little halfling that suddenly popped out in front of them stared straight at the two of them without concern for himself or the world.
He spoke in haughty tones, rolling his ‘R’s in the fashion that some nobles find rrrrrremarrrrrrkable. “I have seen the two of you beforrrrrre. You both worrrrrk for that flowerrrr shoppe called ‘Carrrrre-ful A-rrrrangements’, do you not?”
His clothes marked him as someone from inside Perfect Manors, and the human and half-orc that stood near by wore the same livery and seemed to be carrying stacks of important looking scrolls under their arms.
Year of our Relief 234, Septerate 5th, on a Threeday (Wednesday)
Working as a messenger in the city of Anasulym is easy. You take a letter from one person, and run through the city, possibly handing the letter off to other messengers along the way, so that it inevitably ends up in the hands of another person. Your job is useful and relatively safe.
Getting work as a messenger is hard, however. The criteria is that you must be young, you must know enough about at least one quarter of the city to take messages to without asking directions, and you must, above all else, be unable to read. The moment you learn to read is the moment you lose your job. As a precaution, all messengers are retired once they reach adulthood.
As one of the few full blooded elves in the city, Illiannesti has been a messenger for almost two decades and still has not hit puberty. He mumbles and complains about this a lot, but nothing says job security like being put it a ‘kids only’ occupation while having been born as a race whose childhood lasts for close to a century. Illiannesti figured he could keep working as a senior messenger for at least another six years before someone noticed that he was as physically full grown as most humans.
Until then, he’d continue to be content with the steady salary of a silver piece every other week, and continue to pull in the perks of being a messenger boy. One such perk, so far as Illiannesti figured it, was that even though messengers were forbidden to read… no one said anything about writing. Sure, Illiannesti had no clue what he was writing, and sure, it was probably not what any customer wanted… but if Illiannesti took the copied pages to a pale looking human at a certain place every Oneday, he’d get paid a copper piece per letter! That was just smart business, as far as Illiannesti was concerned.
So, in the middle of his shift, Illiannesti would stop in at a little shop that a friend of his owned, walk into the back room and make careful copies of the most important looking messages he’d been asked to deliver. Today’s scrolls were especially interesting. Illiannesti promised himself he’d hold out for three coppers a piece for one of them. It’s not every day you get a message from a Captain Scabbard.
It did bother Illiannesti to make money off a possibly official document. He wasn’t sure he should copy it, so he started with the florist shop’s message first.
Dearest Uncle Elan,
It has been two years now since you have sent me to work for Mr. Bloom. I must say that he is quite pleased that you decided to invest in his company, and I have learned much under his impressive business sense. It is with great pleasure that I serve him as his gentleman’s gentleman, and with even greater pleasure that the floristry thrives under my personal care in my spare time.
He has wondered aloud to me, however, if, as an investor, there were any directions you wished for the company to take. I of course have told him about your letter to us some months ago, and he was quite pleased to tell me days later that your suggestions were implemented quite instantly. They have helped he and his associates a great deal, and so he is eager to hear more, should you have any.
It is with great sadness that I report that a recent death has happened in the family. Two of our cousins passed away just this day, not too long ago, from a rare sickness, Ferrum Cavus. A horrible disease that pops up throughout the city now and then. Mr. Bloom is just now hearing about the deaths, and I do not expect him to be happy. I expect his grief will be reflected throughout the family, and the mourning period will be difficult.
So I am afraid that with this news, I shall have to cut this letter short.
Yours truly,
-Reginald[/color][/I][/font]
Illiannesti finished this odd scrawl and thought of how strange the human was that handed it to him. The head florist of ‘Careful Arrangements’ was always so prim and proper, so it only followed that his writing should look flowery. It was so careful and thoughtful looking, Illiannesti almost wished he could read it. He moved on to the Captain Scabbard’s letter.
High Scabbard Bynes,
I am sorry to hear that Advocate Noggish died. High Sword Lockson will make a fine new Advocate of Prosperity, and I had the distinct pleasure to serve under Captain Vashley, excuse me, High Sword Vashley during my training years.
So it should come as no surprise that he has asked me to step into his old position as a sword captain. Bynes, sir, you must understand what an opportunity this is. You and Advocate Corginn are young, younger than myself. I doubt that I will ever have a chance to advance further in the Scabbards, and New Turnmark is well contained. We have very few criminal problems, except for the minor gangs here and there. But my men and women are well equipped and able to take care of anything that those rabble can come up with. I have extreme faith in either of the Lieutenants posted here, and leave it up to you to decide who shall become the new Captain, as is your right.
Srg. Major Grumms would be my recommendation for promotion to the lieutenant vacancy left. He is currently is charge of my old Barracks #5, and doing a fine job. A very straight and narrow fellow is Grumms. He’ll keep a tight ship in my absence, no doubt about it.
But that’s not important. This is, I suppose, a letter of transfer request. I’d do the formal sheet, but you know me, Bynes. Hope this message gets to you before I see you tommorow. I’ll still be around long enough to take your money at poker at Marrie’s place, because I wouldn’t miss that for all of Nexus!
-Captain
The Scabbard that had handed this message to Illiannesti had looked excited for some reason. The messenger elf couldn’t figure it out, but he was happy to finish copying his letters and checked the sun. Still only a short time past midday. Illiannesti wouldn’t even be missed, he’d worked so fast. He exited his friend’s shop, and hummed to himself happily, already thinking about how much extra money he’d make this week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Same time, elsewhere,
“So, nephew, what have you learned in your lessons today?” Opulence was a word that Baron Lennard of Anasylum stayed away from. Casual was more his style, and the most expensive thing he wore on his person while he worked in his study were the pair of spectacles that the Alchemist’s Guild had made for him as he grew older.
“Oh, uncle, must we go through with this?” Lennard’s nephew, the young Stewart Lennard, was the complete opposite. Every piece of clothing killed a whole team of tailors, as they threw their lives away to see that Stewart’s very breeches were studded with jewels. His mother has pampered him from the day he was born, and the Baron was having a real headache trying to undo his sister’s spoiling. It was not that he disliked his nephew, but the boy could be something of a brat if he didn’t keep a firm hand.
“Yes, dear boy, we must. You are not yet twelve, and yet I hope to see you take my place some day. So you will have to know everything I know.” Relenting, Baron Lennard smiled. “I’ll help you along, if you need it. Now, tell me about the nobility of Dray.”
“Bottom up, or top down?”
“Oh, I’ll make it easy upon you. Top down.”
“Gee. Thanks uncle.” Stewart sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, not caring that the wall’s dust was ruining his platinum embossed tunic. “We start with the Duke, then. He’s at the top, with the five Earl’s of the land immediately below him. And then come the Barons. All thirteen of them. Two Barons for each Earl.”
“And what of the other three?”
“Well, Baron Northwood, Baroness Ferhwit, and yourself are all special, so you report right to the Duke, as the Baron of Commerce, the Baron of State, and the Baron of History respectively.”
“Correct. Why is that, do you know?”
“Uhhh, because…” Here Stewart faltered, but with a little thinking, soon recovered. “The Earls all take care of the rest of Dray for the Duke, and give parts of their lands over to their Barons so they don’t have such a big job. The Duke does the same with you three. He gives you important tasks so that his job is easier.”
“Well, I would not have put it quite so… inelegantly, but you are correct. Continue, nephew. Who reports to us Barons?” Lennard smiled. The boy was doing well.
“The Counts and Countesses, of course. Do you want me to name all of them?”
“You know all twenty seven names?”
“No.”
“Then no. It is enough for now to know that they are next. But who is below them?”
“Well, for the twenty Counts that are under the Barons who work for the Earls…”
“Yes? Go on. No matter how awkward that statement is, it’s a good lead in.”
“They have Knights.”
“How many?”
“Uh… up to five?”
“No, dear boy, the law says up to four per Count. But good try. And the other seven counts? Who do they report to, and who reports to them?”
“Four of them work with the Baron of Commerce, two of them work with the Baron of State, and Lukas works with you!” Stewart smiled. He liked Lukas.
“Did Count Dallish tell you you could call him by his first name?”
“…yes.” Stewart lied.
“All right then.” The Baron let him. Lukas wouldn’t care. “And who reports to those seven?”
“The Magistrates.”
“Very good, Stewart. Last question, and then you may go.”
“Finally.”
“How many Magistrates are there, and what do they do?”
“There are… uh… sixty six of them, right?”
“Yes. And what is their job?”
“They settle legal disputes, right? And they vote in the Council when it’s called? And act as judges against criminals?”
“Very very good! That’s enough for today. Go on. Have Fredman take you out into the market. You may buy something, if you like, but not too expensive, mind you.”
“Thank you, uncle! See you later.” The boy ran from the study, and left his uncle to his work.
Leaning back into his chair, the Baron smirked and sipped a glass of wine. Great Levis… The boy has a mind on him! He’s spoiled rotten at the moment, but with some work…
Sighing, Lennard returned to his papers. I wish this city had a use for a Baron of History. Every day, I feel more and more like a Baron of Politics. And I really wish there was only one government here… Without the gangs, we wouldn’t need that awful Swirl to drop them in.
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Still elsewhere, in Market Square, right outside the north gate into Perfect Manors
“Here ye, here ye! Gather about for the witnessing of the punishment of one Sydnuss Portentte the halfling, also known as Sydnuss the Sly, alias the Sliperry, alias the Gutter Fox! Magistrate Yoland has found him guilty, and his thievery has condemned him to the Swirl!” The crier stood atop a tall, dark wooden platform. Being brought out – carried, really – by two Half-orc Scabbards was the guilty man, sobbing quietly to himself.
Sydnuss had done well for himself in Anasylum. He’d lived here all his life, and he’d even managed to only give a token of acknowledgement to any of the gangs. He’d chosen one of the three ways of the thief and stuck with it. He muttered them to himself now, a kind of final words of comfort.
“A thief must choose his way. The way Above Notice, the way Underfoot, or the Obvious way. A thief must choose his way. The way Above Notice, the way Underfoot, or the Obvious way. A thief must choose his way. The way…” Sydnuss murmured to give himself strength and opened his eyes to the huge pit below him. The crowd had no need to stay away from Sydnuss’s death, as he would be tossed into the Swirl.
No one knew what it was, or where it came from, but the dark black, blue, and purple swirling gasses looked like a whirlpool of sinister colors, and were the ultimate form of punishment in Anasylum. The Duke disliked executions, so he opted out of it by causing permanent banishment, just as his forbearers did all the way back to the first Year of our Relief. When the dangerous Swirl was found, it sucked up three people before they could contain it. It was worse than death, just cleaner.
Ever since, threat of the Swirl has been used to keep the populace in line. It was more terrible than simple execution, as no one knew precisely what happened to those thrown in. They did not return. Their bodies were never found. Their last words were often wracking sobs of horror. Their screams, however, could be heard for days after, long terrible utterances of dread and death, slowly joining the menacing mist as it twirled around in a terrible dance of colors. Those who tried to remain quiet as they dropped down into the indefinite eddy that was the Swirl soon began their days long scream. No one remained quiet for long.
“Do ye, Sydnuss the Gutter Fox, have any last words before these two unfortunates complete your sentencing?”
Sydnuss stopped mumbling and looked the crier right into the eyes, and whispered, “I chose Above Notice.”
“So be it. May Spectra find and guide your soul.”
With this, Sydnuss’s single scream began. It will last for days.
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Bloom and Brutus
Yet once more, but a few moments later, in a flower shop known as ‘Careful Arrangements: Florists Extraordinaire’
“We, we just found ‘em outside, sirs. The back entrance. Gouie and I was standing there, and we turned for a second, and there were Burpp and Gunzio when we turned back, dead as a door nail. X’s for cheeks.” A little halfling named Ned nervously talked to three men. To the right was a pale human, tall as terror, and twice as deadly. To the left, a shorter man holding a silver tray stood at the ready.
Ned was nervous not because of either of these two, though he’d seen the pale human do terrible things to other people, and the shorter man coax poison from a harmless tulip. No, Ned was nervous because the one in the middle was Boss Leo Bloom, the Made. Ned knew one word from this powerful man, and Nervous Ned would become Quite Dead.
It didn’t have to be one of the three people standing in front of him to kill Ned, either. The whole warehouse was full of people that frankly scared Ned every other day, and a nod was all it took from the Made to have anyone of them do him in. It was the other days, the days between when Ned remembered that he was in the same group as these people, and that they’d be more than willing to help him out… if they felt like it.
“I s-s-swear, Boss, it was only for a second that me and Gouie turned away, and as soon as we looked back… we we we came and found Reginald. Oh geez, and the scars! How could they have…” Ned broke out in a sweat and was soon sobbing under stress and grief. “Burpp was - was gonna ha-ha-help me break into, into the Baker’s Shop tonight! How could he be…”
“Ned? I do believe that it would be wise of you to fall silent.” The short man with the silver tray could not possibly stand any straighter, nor hold his head higher. His black bow tie shined in the darkness it was so clean, and his well pressed suit and fine polished shoes were quite possibly the second most immaculate pieces of clothing in the room, following only Boss Bloom’s own silk. “Forgive me sir, if I speak out of turn, but I dare say that Master Bloom cannot think with you quibbling so.”
Ned shut up. Quickly. It was wise to always listen to Reginald Wodehouse. No one knew the boss’s mind better than the Butler to the Bloom.
“Will you require the others, Master Bloom? I can have them brought in. Sir Shade is outside Above Notice watching the roof with Sir Widowmaker, Sir Draco and Sir Hawk are Underfoot in the sewers, checking on the, er, leak. Lady Emilia is working the Obvious today, tending the shop, but Ned might benefit from some time with the flowers. Sir Hunter is carefully, echum, attending to yesterday’s breach of policy, with help from Sir Black, but they should both be on their way back in.” Reginald carefully ticked off his fingers one by one as he listed the known whereabouts of the prominent members of the Crimson Orchids. There were at least sixty other members, but those names were the important ones. Those individuals were the most looked up to within the gang, and the most feared in the city quarter of New Turnmark.
Though it was really only Reginald who called them Sir and Lady. Once met, the titles just didn’t seem to fit. Wodehouse was strange like that, but no one bothered to correct him, except perhaps the Boss.
And it was at the say so of Leo Bloom that the skills of those particular individuals were used.
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Emilia
Emilia was bored. Bored bored bored bored BORED.
But Reginald had asked her, in his polite, slightly wordy way, to watch the shop while he went with Nervous Ned and Gouie the Goop to talk with Boss Bloom. So here she was, sitting behind the counter, staring at the door. Someone had to keep up the front of the shop being a real shop, and not a secret hide out to the Crimson Orchids. It was the Obvious way. The way that was right there before everyone’s eyes and no one noticed until after.
Emilia stared at the pink flower on the counter in the little pot. As if to wave it in everyone’s face, the single crimson orchid grew right there, in full view of the customers. No one ever noticed. After all, who’d question a flower in a florist’s shop?
The bell on the door rang. A customer?
No. The man that entered was a big, burly human. He wore a red cloak, a leather belt studded with steel, a fine pair of gloves, a muddy pair of boots, a pair of black tights, no shirt and…
Emilia was anything but stupid. She noticed right away the Red Hammer held tightly in the man’s belt.
“I’m looking for the owner, sweet cheeks. Is Leo about? I just wanna talk to him.” The man was bald, but had a scraggily beard and a smile for, what he thought, was just the pretty shop girl. “And maybe after, I can talk to you?”
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Draco and Hawk
Underfoot, the thieves’ slang for the sewers that provided access throughout a lot of the city, was also a perfect place to take care of… delicate matters.
Such as a whiny little kobold that didn’t know enough to keep his mouth shut about a planned robbery on one of the local Magistrates. Kr’kikkik had been found in the Crazy Pickax, talking to some of the Youngbloods, one of the smaller gangs in New Turnmark, about the Crimson Orchid’s latest idea.
He was the ‘leak’ that Reginald had mentioned.
“Hhhk. Please, no kill Kr’kikkik, Draco and Hawk! Hhhk. Kr’kikkik keep teeth clamped from now on! Please!” The kobold pleaded, his eyes darting back and forth down the tunnels. If Hawk and Draco didn’t stay on either side of him, it was obvious that he would bolt.
“Hhhk. Kr’kikkik didn’t know that plan wasn’t done yet. Kr’kikkik thought it was last Fourday, not this Fourday!” The kobold was trying desperately to convince his captors that he was telling the truth. Boss Bloom had let them decide what punishment was to be dealt… for the moment. He might change his mind later - IF Kr’kikkik was alive. “Hhhk. Please no kill Kr’kikkik!”
{{Sense Motive from Hawk and Draco.}}
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Shade and Widowmaker
Staying upon the roofs was typically called Above Notice, for more than one reason. It was a third set of roads for those that knew how to get about them (Underfoot being one, and the normal alleys and streets being the other), and it was metaphorical for those jobs that no one ever expects. After all, who looks up?
On the top of ‘Careful Arrangements’ at the moment were two of the more prominent members of the Crimson Orchids; the man known as Shade and the… man… known as Widowmaker.
Shade was whispering to something, and it wasn’t Widowmaker.
Widowmaker was probably happy about that.
Widowmaker was eating something, and it wasn’t Shade.
Shade was probably more than happy about that.
For now, the two were just watching those others Above Notice. Various members of the gang were dipping in and out of the rooftops, and various members of other gangs were not. And that’s how it should be.
{{Spot checks from Shade and Widowmaker. Also, please allow me my humorous wrangling of your character’s thoughts. I promise not to do it very often, and never without an indefinite like ‘probably’ or ‘might be’.}}
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Mr. Black and Hunter
Quelter the Cynic is a con man. Well, technically, Quelter the Cynic is a con half-man. He is also half-elf, and more commonly thought of in that regard. He is good at being a con man, and likes it a lot… up to a certain point.
He was great at word play, excellent with card tricks, not so stellar but none the less respectable at disguises, and he could play a mean bit of music on the lute… up to a certain point.
Yesterday, on Twoday, he’d had a nice chat with some Scabbards, and Quelter the Cynic wasn’t trying to con them. Quelter had been talking to them about some people he knew in a gang that may or may not have been named after a particular pink flower. Quelter swore up and down to the Scabbards that he didn’t know where this alleged gang might be found, but he knew of some places where some of the people in this alleged gang hung out. It was thanks to Quelter the Cynic that the Scabbards found and raided a small cache of stolen goods that had not belonged to the four people that more than likely belonged to the organization known as the Crimson Orchids. The Scabbards had paid Quelter the Cynic a large bag of silver, and it had made Quelter very happy… up to a certain point.
Because, if we were truly being technical about Quelter’s race, we might as well be truly technical about everything else. You see, Quelter the Cynic is no longer a con man, nor con half-man. Quelter the Cynic was a con-man. Quelter the Cynic was thought of more commonly as a half-elf. Quelter the Cynic was good at being a con man, and he had liked it a lot…
Up till a certain point buried itself in Quelter’s chest about twenty minutes ago. Krasus Rhonin, alias Mr. Black, calmly wiped off his Kusarigama as he and the tracker known as Hunter walked back towards ‘Careful Arrangements’. After an hour of searching, Hunter had found Quelter twenty-one minutes ago, and one minute later Mr. Black had stressed the ‘certain point’ right into the now dead Cynic.
The two of them were calmly counting out a bag of silver, and splitting it into four piles. One for each member of the Crimson Orchids who is spending the next several nights at Scabbard Barracks #6 lock up before they are released.
The two of them would be back to the hideout in about five minutes, as they walked south along Main Street. Or at least, they would if they weren’t stopped by the pesky little annoyance dressed in a page’s outfit. The little halfling that suddenly popped out in front of them stared straight at the two of them without concern for himself or the world.
He spoke in haughty tones, rolling his ‘R’s in the fashion that some nobles find rrrrrremarrrrrrkable. “I have seen the two of you beforrrrrre. You both worrrrrk for that flowerrrr shoppe called ‘Carrrrre-ful A-rrrrangements’, do you not?”
His clothes marked him as someone from inside Perfect Manors, and the human and half-orc that stood near by wore the same livery and seemed to be carrying stacks of important looking scrolls under their arms.
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