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Cairns on the Wine River [FIN]; [ST05][Signups Closed]
Topic Started: Sat Sep 17, 2016 1:22 pm (8,272 Views)
Luca
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I made a deal with the Ethereal.” She grimaced when she said that. Dealing with something like that felt unclean. A transgression against the way the world should work. The fact that it had been done in a moment of passion didn’t ease the fact, but what was done was done.

I know you went right to the manager. I know you told them where we were planning on hitting.” A vicious smirk that was all teeth crossed her face. “I also know that in a delightful sense of justice that manager happened to be the sheriff who did not want to work out a deal with you. I did not forget your comment on zakona trading other zakona in the cells, either. That is a little different in the light, knowing you already tried to sell us to the sheriff before.

Mister Dalca,” Anci didn’t specify which one she was talking to, keeping her eyes on Keter. “How much would this zakona be worth, do you know?

- - - -

The Second Path of Pain

She laughed, a little too hard at the comparison to a Unionist.

Oooh, I am not familiar with these doctrines! I do not mean to pry too much, but I would like to hear about them if you do not mind?
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Lorica
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"Oh that's interesting," Lorica murmured, straightening with deliberate nonchalance. The movement had the side effect of giving her more room to draw a knife, if needbe. Her right hand hovered near the grip of her throwing blade, the other carefully laying the empty food bowl on the bench.

"I thought that went belly-up too quickly to be a coincidence. Ironic that you tried to sell us the river and ended up along for the ride." She leaned forward with a wolfish grin, her pupils seeming impossibly dark. "Come on monkey, nothing to say in your own defense? I bet that zakona money would but me some really nice fur boots."
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Glug Photall
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So that was it: a deal with the ethereal plane. That was how she knew…granted, a plane of existence might not be all that trustworthy. But it all made sense now. Who better to hire for private security than a sheriff native to Balefire, and what better way for him to walk around right in plain sight than as a manager? Of course…and Keter had set them all up. Glug’s hand tightened upon his bow. He had no arrows, but the bone splinter would be just enough of a weapon to function as one. It was long and jagged, and it was just straight enough that he could get off a clean shot in an instant if he needed to. But a question remained, and he asked it aloud now as he stepped forward.

“What price were you paid, you bloody jackrabbit?” he said quietly, dangerously. “What was promised in return for your advice? Whatever it was, you clearly didn’t get paid. Or maybe you did…is one of us your true target? I’d speak the truth, if I was you, traitor…I don’t think I’m the only one itching to wrench the heart out of your chest right now.”
Edited by Glug Photall, Fri Oct 7, 2016 8:16 am.
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Storyteller[ST]
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Dalca Brothers

Viktor's just smiling and smiling as the Wine River Pariahs grow tense, as Anci calls out Keter. Anci, you ask him how much a zakona like Keter would be worth. "Who knows?" he says innocently, opening his palms. Keter, you decide it best to keep your mouth shut.


Ansgar

Anci, Ansgar launches into a detailed description of the Doctrine of the Second, Abnathea's policy of institutionalized necromancy. You now have an understanding of the relevant section here. "Ahh, it was great chatting with you, Singunth'Anci. I'm afraid I must rest now. If you would like to continue this conversation at a later time, I would be more than willing."


Everyone

The freezing rain gets worse before it gets better. Raindrops mixed with sleet pound the deck of the twin barges so hard that it's difficult to hear yourself think if you're indoors. Viktor Dalca, understandably, gets less chatty for the fifteen or twenty minutes the weather's this bad. But after that, the bad weather dies down over the course of a few minutes. Beaten-down, shivering crew members slump outside with their deck-scraping tools and start at it. The layer of frozen rain is lumpy and rough, making its removal a tough job.

You have an hour of clear weather to venture outside and finally get a good look at where you are. In these parts of Gloomwood, the Ethereal Plane doesn't line up with Chaon quite right. A layer of ghost water is bobbing a few feet above the real water's surface, making the ever-present mist look even thicker. You could easily reach your fingers down into the ghost, and they'd pass through it -- even disturbing that false "water" with tiny ripples.

All around you, the Wine River widens and narrows in different places. In the shallows, cypresses dyed pitch black or dark blue grow straight out of the water, trailing alien afterimages of bark-covered tendrils twisted into postures of agony. The shore itself is lined with bulky mangroves, their external roots visibly sucking up ghost water. After the storm, more wildlife has come out. You can't see most of them, but you can sure hear them. All kinds of wild calls. One sounds like a tortured scream. Another sounds like a group roaring back and forth in rapid succession. Chitters, cawing, cackling, low-pitched huffing and bugling -- it's like the swamp has come alive. Not quite as loud as you might expect, though. All the noises are spread out. In this oppressive darkness and the vastness of the darktrees and the rolling hills beyond that, sound carries.

On multiple occasions you spot shore spirits with spindly limbs and lines of beady eyecups wrapped around their heads. Each one is draped in rags: scraps of furs, old cloaks, strips torn from banners, things scavenged. They make meticulous work of the river stones, arranging them into piles so intricate that you're not sure how they manage to stay balanced.

"They've been making cairns on the Wine River since I was a boy," Viktor says, leaning on the rim of the deck and watching. "Even if you push them over, they keep building them. Not sure why. Just another mystery that'll never be solved. After all my years living in Gloomwood, I'm sick of mysteries."

The gently rolling hills become sharper and more dramatic as time goes on. Quaking bogs cluster around the drainages to the river, and you occasionally spot lakes and isolated waterbodies between the darktrees. The Wine River cuts into a few of the banks, baring patches of white stone. The Dalca Brothers Gang are starting to gather at the fore of both barges, watching. You approach the final bend. The barge's frosty rudders creak as they turn.

As the forest opens up into a sweeping vista, and as the twinkling lights of a city cascade down to the water's edge, Viktor Dalca turns to you with a smile. "Welcome to Nine Angels. Good luck."


Nine Angels

Cairns on the Wine River


The city of Nine Angels is peppered across a vast open space of the backswamps, a bowl-shaped depression of a region. Towers of uncut natural marble stone reach toward the sky, unevenly eroded to give them a twisted appearance. On the south side of the valley is a tremendous hairpin bend in the river, defined on one side by a cliff. Rivulets of water flowing down the cliff's surface have carved thin notches into the stone and left behind layers of bulbous ice. If that cliff isn't Pureblood Point, you don't know what is. Turning your gaze to the city itself, it has the appearance of a festering wound on the landscape. The land has been shaped and paved and built up. It isn't picturesque. The silhouettes of almost-unlit buildings -- with tiny motes of light, what you assume to be bonfires -- expand far beyond the main masses of lantern-light.

Your barge passes directly beneath the bend. Looking up, you spot a few dark forms hanging off the sheer ice and stone. "Corpses," Yevhen explains. "The executioner golem likes to decorate Pureblood Point." Now that you know what they are, you can see them better now. Though they appear to be hung off the top from ropes, their limbs are frozen against the surface of the cliff now.

The Dalca Brothers gang and the crew of the barge rush around you to prepare for imminent docking. Mist has concentrated in the little swampy alcove, one dock among many. A group of men and women in long riding coats are waiting by their horses, smoking and eating. Seeing your barge's approach, they start looking alive, although their eyes on you aren't just hard: they're dead to fear. Viktor speaks as he gets ready. "Those are Bacek's jackalheads and lionesses. I'll do all the talking with them. Just get out and go straight up the road. Don't look at them, don't talk to them, and definitely don't screw with them. Howling Dogs Saloon is a mile up this road, near the middle of town, can't miss it. Do not split up and go poking where you shouldn't, at least when you're fresh off the boat. That's the last advice I'll ever give you. Bye now."

Ice crunches against the hull of the barge. It pulls right up to the dock. As the Dalca Brothers work to get all the prisoners in line and ready for loading, you, the Wine River Pariahs, climb onto the rickety boards and toward solid ground. You feel the stare of Bacek's people on you. Viktor had been speaking literally; they're men and women with the heads of Istani jackals and lions ranging from ruddy colors to tan and black. Though some of them have eyes lined in kohl, the eyes of a few are surrounded by genuine black marks similar to Alexandra's scratches.

The short climb up the hill from the docks puts you through a tunnel of scruffy darktrees with drooping branches, and then you're out in the open. Warehouses, trading posts and waystations mark your path when you're close to shore. One of the trading posts isn't even completely in this world; a few sapient senka in traditional garb chat at the entrance there. It's a dirty, crowded neighborhood, this place for travelers. Posters nailed to every lantern-post and drifting in the wind advertise a circus featuring "the world's most terrifying living creature," a "savage enkaida man-eater," whatever that is. Less prevalent posters advertise the upcoming bareknuckle boxing season at the Lucky Cleric Gambling Hall and the horse races at the flat-track near the outskirts of town. Despite all the people in the streets, it's fairly quiet around here. Most people keep to themselves.

You make it out of the neighborhood most travelers don't leave and enter the real city via the main drag. Single-story buildings with architecture built to withstand the backswamps' weather look old and dilapidated; about two out of every ten buildings around here is either abandoned or collapsed. The streetsides are caked with muddy, half-melted snow drifts and crumpled-up marketoria. You can tell from the smell that the city's plumbing is either inadequate or nonexistent. Many of the lantern posts are filled with dead glow-worms and barely work.

The storefronts you pass are not promising. One sign depicts the silhouette of a shapely woman, though her feet appear to be tipped with insect's claws; it's a message that doesn't require text to get across. Another says "WEAPONS" in Bridgetongue, but the door is barred and the windows are boarded up. The potions shop is having a going-out-of-business sale, but the entrance is guarded by a huge minotaur who constantly glances at the secondary sign that says "Theft attempts will be met with lethal force" in no language except Bridgetongue. You pass the livery stable, where you could board your horse if you had one. It advertises separate living quarters for horses and non-horses.

Besides the stores on the main drag, the people are likely to catch your eye, and not in a good way. You're getting stared at quite badly. Unlike the traveler's area of town closer to the river shore, people aren't leaving you alone. Frostbitten vagabonds in thin rags hold out their cups and dishes to you, begging for notes or food or work. The blood-peddlers are getting right up in your face, trying to offer you jars of their own blood while telling you all about what species they are and how few deals they've made with the Shadow Plane. Prostitutes of varying shape, size, species and gender are scattered on almost every streetside and intersection, and they're not shy about propositioning the new people in town. Indeed, you pass a flourishing brothel called Alkaev's Home with a huge sign: "Human males and females, clean, just for you." They must keep the humans hidden, since you don't see any on the streets.

Perhaps more worrying than all of this isn't the vagabonds or blood-sellers or prostitutes or even that one doomsday preacher screaming about the Infinity Flame on the street corner. It's the "middlemen." You probably thought they were beggars at first. But they come up to you, maybe hobbling on crutches or staring at you with blindfolded eyes or wiping blood off the corners of their mouths. "I'll be your middleman," they say, sounding desperate. "Money for parts, parts for deals. I'll get you any info you want, anything at all, about anyone." You don't have time or money to take them up, so you'll need to keep going.

After that long tour through town, you reach a rather large building far livelier than anything around it. It's relatively well-lit and someone inside is playing the fiddle with great enthusiasm. A mini-livery is fenced off just to the side of the building, where a few horses in traveler's tack are grazing on darkgrass. Even more horses are tied to the hitching post near the double swinging-door entrance. While there is a man-sized hole in the east wall, it's been sealed off with boards. The sign on the front of the building depicts a quartet of hunting hounds with their snouts craned toward the twin moons in a permanent howl. All the text says is "SALOON" in Bridgetongue. You've found your place.

Almost every seat is taken. The interior is full of talk, song, and laughter. On the west side of the building is the bar, on the opposite corner is the space for the musicians including a piano, and the rest of the area is packed with square tables. Some groups have pushed tables together to make a bigger space for cards or a meal. Though the overall atmosphere of the tavern is lively and upbeat, it isn't universal. As all of you funnel into the building, you start getting a lot of unfriendly attention. People aren't even hiding how much they're staring at you. In fact, is it just your imagination or did the whole room get a bit quieter after your arrival?

The only person sitting alone at a table is near the corner, her back to the wall. A heating lantern sits close in front of her, and she's studying some thin book bound in shoddy leather. Beneath her cold-weather flatbrim she's got a mane of long, wavy blonde hair bound into a loose bun. Long, pointed ears poke out from between her hat and her heavy dark grey scarf, the latter of which covers almost her whole face. One of her ears is black on the tip from frostbite. While most patrons of Howling Dogs have removed their outerwear, this woman has kept everything on: heavy fur-lined riding coat, thick scarf, fingerless wool gloves, cold-weather trousers.

"They're staring at Czajka," you hear someone nearby murmur.

"They with the Gentlemen?"

"Don't look like it..."

"Oy!" a man on the other side of the saloon calls to you. "You [removed] with Czajka, you [removed] with all of us, you hear? This is supposed to be neutral ground."

Several patrons are not-so-inconspicuously keeping their hands resting on something in their pockets or on their belts, eyes burning into you.

Czajka senses you approaching and closes her book, putting both arms over it to cover up what it is. Her head tilts up. Red eyes with slit pupils hover in the middle of voids of darkness clinging around them. There's a hint of some black markings on one cheek, but that's all you can see. "Who are you people and what do you want?" she asks evenly, studying all of you in quick succession.


OOC
 
The next ST post cutoff will be Tuesday, October 11 at 4:00pm Mountain.

Remember that from now on, ST will only post IC in the OOC Discussion once per day (usually in the evenings). This gives everyone an equal opportunity to rapidly chat with NPCs such as Czajka above. The next IC ST post in OOC Discussion will be this evening (October 8).



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Glug Photall
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The weather worsened, and Glug somehow managed to keep himself from spilling blood upon the barge’s nice, clean planks. When the rain had died down, he left the cabin and wandered the deck, pondering what to do about Keter and about his former employer. At the moment, all he could do was wait and complete this job for the Dalca brothers. Payment up front…that was always a good thing. But as the storm died completely, he swiftly became aware of the familiar sounds of the swamp. He had not done much hunting in the Gloomwood, so he couldn’t identify specific calls; but he was comfortable in knowing the wilderness was about him once more, a place even more uncivilized in many ways than people were. There was an excitement in the air in a place such as this, one that was quickly gotten used to by those that were often forced to live off of the land.

When the barge crossed the path of the river spirits building cairns along the shore, he watched them for a while. It was then that Viktor spoke once more, calling their actions a mystery. Indeed, the Gloomwood - and Balefire itself - seemed to have many mysteries that would probably never be solved. It was part of the charm of the darkness-covered city and swamp. To never be able to safely return to this place…it was a travesty at best. Glug would have to end that travesty when he could…but first, he needed to end Antonio Krupin. He didn’t know exactly why he had been set up; all he knew was that he had been. That would not go unpunished.

Finally, white stone began slowly to replace the tributaries and small lakes that the Wine River and the surrounding Gloomwood broke into. And when the lights of the city slowly came into view around the final bend along the barge’s journey, Glug felt some small satisfaction. While he didn’t mind being on the river, he wanted to get off of this barge and away from the other Pariahs - except that he wouldn’t completely be able to escape them, he knew. He had a job to do, and apparently, others had taken that same job. When Viktor turned to the pariahs and welcomed them to Nine Angels with a smile, Glug nodded curtly.

“Finally,” he muttered.

Glug’s first impression of the city as the barge approached it was that of an abyssal hole in the ground that had grown too big for its breeches. That wasn’t unlike some of the cities various goblin tribes had assembled underground. He wasn’t surprised by the corpses frozen into the rough marble above him, somehow; it almost seemed a fitting tribute to the city’s implied depravity - an undoubtedly fitting welcome into the streets that passed between the jagged spires. Lowering his eyes to the distant bonfires and not-so-distant lanterns, he was also unsurprised. Popping his muscles a little, he wondered exactly how unlike a goblin city this was going to be. So far, he hadn’t seen anything new, except perhaps the ice. The marble was interesting, at least. But no, Pureblood Point didn’t impress Glug thus far…not really.

When they came upon the dock, a mist had sprung up. Horsemen and horsewomen stared at the passengers and crew of the barge in stark terror, silent in their fear. Glug’s left ear picked up what Viktor said about ignoring this lot altogether and going straight up the road to the Howling Dogs Saloon. With thirty fresh notes in his pocket, Glug was ready to get off this boat and get a drink - and a cigar. But first he had to deliver these papers and this letter. Then he had to get some arrows. He nodded again as Viktor said his brief farewell to the pariahs. He got a good, long look at Bacek’s men and women before the barge finally came to a halt. They were animalistic in the literal sense, lions and jackals, every one. Odd black markings streaked out from the eyes of some, and the hardness of those eyes was something that Glug ignored coolly. He had seen such stares before.

Glug eyed the posters as he passed them going into the city. He wondered how entertaining it might be to see two people beat each other bloody with their bare fists for a change; maybe he could even pick up some more notes, wagering on a fight or three. But that was for later. He had necessities first, and a job before that. Had to keep focused…

Many of the signs were in Bridgetongue alone, and many of the shops they were attached to were either dead or soon would be. The minotaur he exchanged a long look with, but neither said a word. Glug was no thief, and he wasn’t about to piss off a minotaur either. His eyes, like the rest of him, moved on. This place, though…it definitely wasn’t anywhere near what a goblin city would be like. For one thing, everyone around the group of pariahs was staring unabashedly. That kind of thing would have gotten you killed or worse in a goblin city faster than your heart could skip a beat. One of the first things a newcomer to a goblin city had to learn was not to stare - or, at the very least, not to stare openly. Then there were the beggars…far too many of them. In a goblin city, you took what you needed and hoped you didn’t get caught - or if you did, that you could kill the other guy and get away. You didn’t sit there with a tin cup in hand, shaking it at passersby; that was just asking to be murdered for the fun of it, publicly and to the amusement of all in attendance.

One blood-peddler nearly knocked Glug over, and he forcefully pushed him away with a glare that sent him away from the pariahs entirely. The prostitutes weren’t all that good-looking, and none of them were his type anyway. He did note, however, that the humans were nowhere to be seen - and yet, Alkaev Home advertised them specifically. Glug did notice one girl that had nice, dark, green skin - but her legs were way too long, and so were her arms…and her neck, for that matter. He shook his head and moved on. Besides, he wasn’t interested at the moment - merely curious. He did wonder what the Infinity Flame was, but he wasn’t particularly religious and when he thought about it, he didn’t really care. The middlemen were just as annoying as the blood-peddlers, although Glug managed to ignore them without too much trouble. Besides, if he was ever going to consider getting a right ear graft, he certainly wouldn’t do it here, of all places. Just didn’t seem…clean.

The Howling Dogs Saloon was, as Viktor had said, impossible to miss. The screeching of a fiddle issued from within, and horses were tied up as well as paddocked in a livery nearby. The place was huge, easily larger than every other building in its immediate vicinity. The four canine snouts raised toward a pair of twin moons were as much an indication as anything else. The interior was as busy as one might expect from such a huge place, and just as noisy. But it seemed slightly less so than it should have been, and Glug immediately knew why: word of their status as zakona had to have spread here already. How long had he been on that barge, really? Did it matter? The point was that people seemed to know who they were. That was a little more dangerous than Glug was comfortable with. He gripped his bow just a little tighter as he searched for his target.

He found her quickly. It had to be her. She was the only one that didn’t really belong: alone at a table, quietly reading, a single lantern for company. The card-players and drinkers and what-not, they were all together…but not this woman. She was on her own, a dangerous thing if you didn’t know how to handle herself. Yes, that had to be Czajka. Glug semiconsciously adjusted his flatbrim, shading his eyes a bit more, as he gazed at the flatbrimmed woman before him. He could just barely see the blond bun she wore beneath that gray scarf, the cold prevalent upon one of her ears; clearly, she had been out in the frigid weather far too long. It was starting to turn black. In fact, the woman as a whole seemed rather odd. She was in full cold-weather gear, unlike most of the rest of the patrons of this particular tavern.

The tavern called out, both verbally and nonverbally, to the pariahs. Glug knew at once that this was the woman, and she was not someone that anyone here would survive attacking. Black marks barely visible upon her face reminded him vaguely of Bacek’s people. Glug nodded curtly when she addressed him, hiding the book she’d been reading, and pulled out the papers and letter he was carrying. He dropped them unceremoniously upon the table.

“A delivery from Viktor Dalca,” was all he said.

He then settled into a neutral posture, not interested in trying to fight his way out of this place simply because he’d looked at someone the wrong way.

OOC
Edited by Glug Photall, Tue Oct 11, 2016 4:08 pm.
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Mobster Man
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A traitor... Yurim thought of drawing his dagger and murdering the guy... but that wasn't his style, selling a traitor however... that was very much Yurim's style. He looked back to the Dalca brothers and spoke, "I'll help with the job, I need money, don't see why I should turn it down."

The rain got worse as the day went by. Yurim remembered this place, these rivers and swamps had been his home for quite a while. Yurim didn't want to count the years, he wasn't even sure he was as old as he thought he was, he only knew 'Time' in the traditional sense was never going to be a big factor for his looks, but time had definitely hit this place pretty hard.

Yurim took a deep breath, he could smell the Shadow Plane. He smiled and even began to tap his foot, "God damn it's good to be so close to my second home. I remember some preacher I robbed as a kid told me the Shadow Plane permeated my being like a second skin, and I'll admit I will never get tired of feeling the shadows creeping around me, for it is a darkness that holds no secrets from me. Like blood... blood... ah god damn it."

Yurim spouted another set of swear words before speaking, "I made a deal with the Ethereal before, he took my blood. Shit. Ten notes says somehow some of my blood makes it into the hands of the Guard, a single test and they find out more about me than I'd like, and me without that blasted Mask to hide behind. Looks like I already know what I need to buy." The Guard would without a doubt know that Yurim was in fact the One Shadow, a notorious masked phantom thief that had alluded capture, but not injury. One of his first jobs had left him with bolt in his side and a blood trail to the shadows. He would need to plan his next heist, if people knew he was the One Shadow then he might as well be the One Shadow all day every day.


_______________________________________________________________________

Walking through Nine Angels was not pleasant. Beggars, fools, less fortunate sods trying to talk them into picking them up, useless peons to ignore for now. Finally they arrived at the Salloon, Yurim walked in after a few of the others and followed them to the person to receive the package. He could feel the dagger-like glares and the hate filled words did not phase him. Instead when Czajka asked them something, Yurim sat down, "As my friend said, we've got a package for ya."

With that Yurim knew he needed to talk to the woman, he had questions for this... Czajka.
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Tian
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The road winds on, endless.

How many times had he been here, in his dreams? In truth? The Assassin did not really know, and could not in this place. Behind him, the road wound on, across valley and hill, through forest and marsh and plain. Countless branches had come and gone, the echoes of decisions made or not made, of paths taken. Sometimes despite his better judgement, sometimes, in fact, to his great distress.

And now another. It was no different than any of the others. He could sense the decision to be made here, but there had never been any decision at all The only way forward, as had always been, was to follow the Code he had been brought up to follow, and damn anything that got in his way.

Including the woman that sat slumped at the cairn in the fork. He knew who she was, was haunted by her ghost even centuries after slipping his blade into that lovely back, her heartblood hot on his hands. A heart that he had prized beyond much, it would seem...but not beyond necessity.

And thus is my love a double edged blade, that even the hilt has a keen edge. Words that floated in the misty void. Even knowing it could lead to sorrow, there was but one choice.

He turned, then, to seek vengeance. And a cold hand reached out and clasped his leg as he began down that dark path. Her words were scarcely human, and he flinched as if struck by them.

Swallowing hard, he shrugged that alien hand off. Why? No matter the path, ruin always comes a-calling, dear. You should know that more than any.

Her haunting laughter followed him, cutting him worse than a knife ever could.





Nine Angels was, more or less, like any of a dozen other hell-holes he had crawled into after a particularly bad run of events. Unlike other times, though, he had an entire troop of unwilling baggage to mind, no few of whom would end up seeing him dead, swinging in the frigid breeze on the Point with the others who had lost their way and, in so doing, been condemned for their error.

It was easy, then, to ignore the peddlers and the others, no matter how they tried to attract his attention or interest. He was not here for them, not yet. There were other purposes to be about, and he was intent on getting down to business. He did not relish the thought of talking with his 'companions', but it would have to be done. The naivety displayed would have to be banished, as was only proper, so that ruthlessness could be carried out. Because, one way or another, he sought to bring down Krupin and his entire empire, and whatever else of Balefire he could throw in as a bargain. It was rage. It was prudence, animalistic survival. If he wounded them badly enough in retalliation, then they would leave well enough alone and flee.

Perhaps.

The rabble in the streets, though, spoke in whispers to him. These are tools to be used, one and all. They would have to be. With thirty notes to his name and aught else but his weapons and his wit, it would be a miracle indeed if he could affect a proper disposal of the man who had started this whole scene. If he could reach the Commander, other resources could come to his hands but, well, there was no Company presence in Balefire, and for good reason. He would have to do this under his own power, with the allies he had been given. It was just a shame that out of the entire lot, only two or three were worth the effort. The rest, he would find a use for.

The saloon was more or less like dozens of others he had been in over the countless years since he had been cut adrift. The patrons didn't ruffle him any, the threat of their nearly drawn weapons dismissed for the moment. His dark eyes rested on the woman they had come to see, and on her alone. One of his companions spoke first - one of those who bore watching - and Tian grimaced. Bearing information, yes. And I, for one, come offering such services as I may. Not that you likely have any need for such. He didn't look around the room so hard he may as well have stared at everyone there.
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Anci
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Reptar

"I agree! Good luck in finding somewhere warm here!"

~ ~ ~ ~

On departing the boat Anci gave her thanks to the Dalca brothers with a bit of trepidation at entering Nine Angels.

They were outsiders here even more than they were in the city of lanterns. Anci was afraid it would play out the same way as it had in that city, stepping into a viper's nest without being aware of it until discovering their foot was caught.

"I am Singuth'Anci. I do not know the brother's business, but Viktor said it was a good idea to go with strength in case of trouble."

She waved her hand and glanced at the rest of the room briefly before turning back to Czajka.

"Your friends showed a lot of concern there over what we were doing here, if we were with some gentlemen. I am guessing there are some people who are out to get you, people that would..." She paused, trying to work out the right word. "Desecrate this safe place to get to you?"
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Arthur
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Arthur had just sat and ate his mind focusing inward trying to subdue the memories. He had some success on that but the memories still lingered. He paid little attention to the talk on the Etheral Plane. He had close to using the Etheral on this trip but perhaps it was to his luck he had not. Then talk of a traitor arose and his focus came to that. Keter was a suspect, he did not know Keter well enough to judge on this so stayed out of it. Still he would be watchful in the future.

Arthur would not have a collar on him again and if it was proven Arthur would have a few words with Keter. When the weather slacked off Arthur walked outside onto the rolling deck. Arthur got a good look at where they were. But paid little attention it felt good to be free again. He closed his eyes and smelled the air. This was freedom and he would not lose it again. The anger was still there of course but it could be held in check for now. Viktor Dalcas joined him as well as the others on the deck.

Arthur saw the Cairns on the riverside. He found that odd but gave it little thought. He would have liked to know more if he were more focused but he was not. They finally reached Nine Angels a little while later. The city looked like a hive of scum and villainy if he ever saw one. It was a wound on the landscape and he doubted the people were much better. Arthur saw the bodies on Pureblood point and made a mental note to not get on the badside of whoever did that. When they docked Arthur noted the jackalheads and lionesses with eyes that looked harder than steel. Yes a dangerous place that was what this was.

During their boat ride Arthur had donned his adamantium armor once more and his sword was again buckled to his side. He also again had the Cutter on his back, he figured he might need them later. Dalcas gave them some last advice which Arthur found a little obvious. This was not the place one should come alone. Even he a half-dragon might be hard pressed to make it alone.

Arthur stepped off the boat and started walking. He paid only enough attention to where he was to make sure he was headed the right way and if he needed to to make it back. When they got to where the eyes followed them Arthur put his hand on his sword. That made people look away quickly enough if his eyes did not. They finally got the saloon after walking through that interference. The words above the Saloon were in Brindletongue and it was a dive if he ever saw one.

Still he entered Arthur studied the people there. They were a rough looking bunch and he noted the lone woman in the back. When the people in the Saloon saw him and the others staring they threatned the group. Arthur said," We don't want any trouble. We have a package for the lady. No threats are necessary".

Arthur then went up to the lady and the others joined him. The lady then asked who they were and what did they want. Arthur said," I am Arthur, Arthur Mandraeg and we are from the Dalcas brothers and he have a gift for you from them." Arthur then waited on the one who had the gift to give it to the lady.

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Lorica
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OOC
 
Lots of this post is from interactions with the ST in the OOC discussion.

Lorica grinned at Keter. “Remember monkey boy: I have an eye on you.” She took out her long-bladed throwing dagger, nimbly tossing it back and forth between her hands. “See, right now it might seem like you have nothing more to lose. You’re wrong.” She made a little jabbing motion with the knife, giving it a sharp twist. Then she shrugged and leaned back, making the blade disappear into its sheathe.

“Are we there yet?”



Lorica eventually found herself up on the deck with the stormie she’d acquired, watching the banks slide by. She’d never been that fond of Gloomwood. It wasn’t the dark that bothered her, but rather the odd nature of the flora and fauna. Darkplants were stunted, twisted things… and the animals of the region were worse. Looking at them now reminded her of the Wellspring’s corruption. It left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

The barge meandered down the frozen waterway, eventually bringing them to Nine Angels. Lorica strolled down the deck to the fore, standing near the Dalca crew. The banks were studded with docks, rickety structures extending into the water. The pole-men guided the boat into the berth, allowing them to disembark. She virtually skipped down the gangplank, waving back at the Dalcas. “Don’t be a stranger! I won’t forget, Yevhen.” She patted her breast pocket, where she’d put his note for Czajka.

The march into Nine Angels revealed exactly what kind of town it was: a shithole. Lorica’s eyes were in constant motion, scanning her surroundings, reading the posters and pamphlets nailred up on missive boards. There was a skip in her step, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. This is my kind of town. This was the sort of place she’d often frequented during her time as a Keeper, taking advantage of brothels and taverns scattered across the Gwilikiths. She openly carried a knife as they walked through the town, using the sharp edge to pare off her fingernails.

Lorica flashed a wide smile at the prostitutes they passed, but the middlemen were another matter. They made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t difficult to determine what they were offering. The Ethereal sure [removed]s with people, doesn’t it? Her own payments had seemed paltry by comparison. She was willing to part with some shitty memories if it helped keep her and Anci alive.

The Howling Dog Saloon was everything she was hoping for: rowdy, bustling, and warm. Lorica rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet, reading the crowd. Not everyone looked friendly, not by a long shot. Lorica smirked and sheathed the knife, not wanting to seem overly aggressive. Their contact was singled out by her isolation, a blonde woman seated alone at a table in the corner. The Wine River Pariahs made their way over to her booth, earning some more disgruntled stares and even threats from the crowd. The Keeper ignored them. If anyone tried to start something, she would finish it.

Tanya started the conversation up with indicating they had information. Lorica quickly chimed in. “Actually, not just information. A letter too. That Yevhen fellow seemed mighty keen to get it delivered.” She glanced at Glug. “Hand the lady those reports so that her friends don't see fit to gut us like a fish, alright?” She offered the bounty hunter the sealed envelope.

“He sent me a letter?” Czajka's eyes looked nervous. She nodded down toward the table in front of her. “Set it there. Open it up, read it out loud to me.”

Lorica gave her a sidelong glance, recalling Yevhen’s juvenile enthusiasm. “Uh, only if it's not a love letter.” Czajka just shrugged at that. Lorica followed the instructions, setting it down and opening it up, but the scrawled, childlike text was in Bridgetongue, a language she didn't understand. She scowled at the writing. “I swear this stuff looks like chicken-scratch.”

Tanya protested at her attempt to read it. The Keeper shrugged, gesturing at the bounty hunter. “He said to deliver it. I delivered it. It's not my fault she wants someone else to dictate. Is anyone else less squeamish about privacy? Or, you know, willing to not make the lady angry?”

She put the missive down on the table for anyone else to take a turn deciphering the Bridgetongue text. No one stepped forward to take the offer, leaving Czajka sitting awkwardly with the letter in front of her. She slowly reached out, studying everyone's faces, and pulled the parchment toward her. “I guess I'll... read this later or something. Not a problem.”

“Now then, Miss. I don't suppose you have any advice for someone interested in making some notes in this lovely little place?” Lorica was actually comfortable in the saloon. She was used to dives and flophouses; this was her natural environment. The reek of alcohol, vomit, and sweat was sweeter than any perfume... and there was always money to be made.

Her eyes went back to Lorica. “Finding a job is easy. Getting fair pay is not. I hope you're good at negotiating. And selling yourself -- no, not that way. Being marketable. Like the boxers at Sheriff Bearkiller's casino. They gotta get the crowd going. Things like that.”

Lorica rolled her eyes when somebody finally offered to read the letter. Czajka had pulled it away, but thankfully she seemed willing to still share it with them. It's like they don't realize a lucky break when it slaps them in the face.

“Good to hear. I'm Lorica.” Lorica rubbed her hands together, sparing a glance at the half-elf's book. It was doubtlessly written in Bridgetongue, which meant she didn't have a chance of determining its contents. I really need to stick to areas where I speak the language. Still, it was interesting the lengths the woman was going to to hide it from sight.

Luckily, she did speak one language fluently: opportunity. =“Ah, please ignore the humbleness of my friends. They're still a bit out of sorts from recent events. The Marquise has cemented her hold on Balefire with a bit of a military action. It got bloody.”

“In any case, we're a group with a vested interest in the matter, to put it mildly. We're looking for chances to prove ourselves. The Dalca brothers mentioned that if anyone knew a way to climb to the top in this scene, it was you.”
Her smile was as sharp as a razor's edge. “I guarantee this will be more interesting than your book. You have my word on that.”

When the Keeper explained that she was called Lorica, Czajka seemed a little surprised but was quick to accept the preferred nomenclature. “Ah, so that's why it's called the Taming of Balefire. Sounds like a horror story, but not surprising. The Marquise can go burn for all I care. She's taken reform too far. Wants Balefire to be like those other countries, wants places like Nine Angels torn to the ground because we're all filth or something. Sees people like my family as nothing but victims who need to be 'helped.' Surely you get where I'm coming from, if the whispers are telling the truth about you.”

When Lorica suggested that Czajka knew how they could climb the ladder of influence in this place, the bounty hunter chuckled softly. “The Dalcas have a mean sense of humor. I'm no big shot about this stuff. People say I'm famous, but I'm really a nobody. I just know this town pretty well. Lived here all my life. A few high-profile jobs don't hurt, either, I guess. ...And people making a big deal about my eyes being in my skull still.” Subtly, while speaking, she maintained a firmer guard of secrecy over the book in front of her now that Lorica had pointed it out.

Carmen finally provided a translation of the letter. The contents were… frightening, to say the least. Lorica mused on it, frowning. That poor kid is half crazy, eh? More interesting to her was Czajka’s reaction. If anything, Lorica was more convinced that they needed her assistance. Surviving in Nine Angels would be much easier with someone who already knew how the settlement function.

“I don’t think you’re doing yourself justice.” Lorica jerked her chin at the surrounding patrons. “These guys were quick enough to jump to your defense earlier. That’s not a reaction some ‘nobody’ could earn. That’s respect.” She shrugged easily. “No pressure, of course. I’m just giving you a chance to get in on the ground floor, Czajka. Think about it, alright? That’s all I can ask for. Everything wants something. Maybe we can help each other out.”

“Now… I’m gonna check out this Lucky Cleric place. A gambling hall sounds fun. So does some old-fashioned boxing. I’d love to work off some steam.”
She waved at the half-demon. “I’ll be seeing you, Bookworm.”
Edited by Lorica, Tue Oct 11, 2016 5:06 am.
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Tanya
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By the time they touched down in nine angels, Tanya's arm had grown back and was fully functional. She'd opted for a beastlike arm with long claws. She suspected that blood would dye the claws many times before her troubles were over.

Despite these grim predictions, she could barely restrain her excitement at seeing the middlemen lining the streets. "A whole untapped market," she hissed to Caelum, eyeing a blind man with blood dripping from his mouth. "How many of these poor bastards do you think end up regretting their choice of vocation? We could come in and, for a small fee, offer eyes to the blind, limbs to the lame, healing to the... the generally ill. And it wouldn't just be profitable, it would be a public service!"

The air elemental gave a tight smile. "Yeah..." Clouds rolled along his body, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. "Can we please hurry, Madame Tanya? I don't like the way they look at me. Not at all."

She swept by the middleman, but got caught up among a group of blood salesmen just a few steps later. "What species did you say you were? How curious! And that's all carried in the blood, is it? How much are you charging for a couple of vial's worth?"

Caedis was equally fascinated, though for different reasons. "That smells... delicious. But you're lying about not having made deals with the ether. You're practically saturated. No, don't go. Deals with the devil are just seasoning."

Caelum had to physically pull Caedis away before the rest of the Pariahs got too far ahead. He refused to lay hands on Madame Tanya, but once Caedis had snapped out of his fit of hunger, they were able to persuade her that her business dealings could wait.

The three of them hurried after the rest of the Pariahs and caught up in time to speak with Czajka, who asked what they were doing there. The whole atmosphere of the room was tense. "Easy," Tanya said to Czajka. "We've come from the Dalcas brothers. We've got some information for you."

Czajka's eyes looked more curious than anything when Tanya mentioned the Dalca brothers. "They're awful quick to pay debts," the bounty hunter quipped. "What is it?"

"They're reports pertaining to the zakona and the Taming of Balefire. Viktor said it should give you an edge over the competition. What does he owe you for, by the way?"

One of the other Pariahs had already opened Czajka's letter and tried to read it. Tanya turned to Lorica. "Caedis can read Bridgetongue, but Yevhen was very clear that only Czajka should read it, and Viktor said this delivery was largely a test of how far they can trust us." She looked at Czajka. "Not that I'm not curious, but maybe it would be better if you read it and, if you're willing, told us what it's about, rather than the other way around."

"Never heard of zakona or the Taming of Balefire, but it sounds like a big deal. Thanks." At the question about what Viktor Dalca owed her for, Czajka squared her shoulders a bit more. "I saved his little brother's life. They made a big deal out of it... kind of embarrassing. I'm glad we're even now."

The prospect of reading the letter herself and sharing the contents to its deliverers made Czajka visibly uncomfortable. Lorica chimed in before she could say anything, but nobody in the group stepped forward to read the letter until it and the reports were in Czajka's possession. The half-demon flicked through the reports. "Shit..." Elbow leaning on the table, she shaded her eyes with her palm. "With this 'gift,' me and the brothers aren't even. It makes me in debt to him now." Czajka's eyes, now blatantly suspicious, scanned the Wine River Pariahs. "...And why did he hire so many people to make this delivery? Who the hell are you people, even?"

Tanya silently cursed her own reticence. "I didn't mean that Caedis' services were off the table if Czajka wants them, only that Yehven's letter was intended to be confidential. I apologize if I was unclear."

"As for why he sent so many of us--well, I'm sure part of it was just security, but he also seemed to think you might have some work for us. We have some rather unusual skills between us, and we're all unfortunately out of work at the moment. My name's Madame Tanya. These are Caedis and Caelum. I'll let the rest of my associates introduce themselves."

"I work alone. They probably sent you to me because I'm local and don't charge notes for every helping word that comes out of my mouth. Far as jobs goes..." she breathed out slowly, a cloud of vapor misting around the front of her scarf, "...try the Lucky Cleric Gambling Hall. The owner is also the Sheriff-of-the-Dispatch, Ithuen Bearkiller. Corrupt as anything, but what does that even mean in a place like this? She'll have jobs. You could also see if Alkaev's Home needs some protectors. Customers get stingy sometimes and try not to pay what they owe, or they're violent to the employees. But if you work there, be extra careful. They're my family and I only want the best. If neither those places seem good, just look around town for others."

One of the others, Carmen, approached late and offered to read the letter. Tanya listened to the translation and the offer of help penning a reply. "Here," she said, scratching yet another of her runes onto a piece of paper with the communiquill and handing it over to Czajka. "I left two of these sheets with the brothers. Anything you write on it will be passed on to them immediately, and vice-versa. Saves you the trouble of spending three or four hundred notes on messengers each time you want to send a message."

She looked at her employees. "Caelum, you stop by Alkaev's, all right? See if you can get a good, honest job. Caedis and I will go explore the town and see if we can find some more lucrative offers." Caelum nodded, looking grateful to escape the messy business. She didn't have the heart to remind him what exactly Alkaev's sold.

Work wasn't the only thing she was planning to look for. The city had some rather remarkable shopping opportunities as well. Between her and Caedis, they had sixty notes to spend on interesting blood samples and bargain potions from the going-out-of-business shop. And, of course, there were the middlemen. She couldn't afford much information, but it was never too soon to start making contacts.
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Keter
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It seemed that the fellow Zakona were aware of the Black Monkey's failed attempt at betraying them from right off the bat, and in turn that the Ethereal was a truly neutral entity that anybody could do business with for any bit of information it had available. While that may have put a strain on his already thin relationship with the group, it did give Keter a valuable bit of information regarding the availability of information in this shadowy place.

Their hands went to their weapons, but they did not draw, and the Black Monkey merely continued consuming his soup as if he had not a care in the world, for as far as he was concerned there was nothing for him to worry about. His health and his life were fleeting things stolen from a child that never had the chance to grow up, his current existence was little more than a testament to loss, so if they were to do whatever it was they decided upon then he could just look forward to his next life and hope that the next child had its chance to learn about the world before remembering the Black Monkey. They were people who he did not know, could not trust, and most of them he did not even particularly care for. He had no reason to try explaining himself and he definitely felt no reason to defend himself, so if they wished to actually attempt to punish him for his betrayal, then they could feel free to draw those weapons and try to enact their petty vengeance then and there, otherwise. . .

Keter held up his empty dish towards the Dalca brothers and said, "More soup, please."




The weather grew intense as time went on, eventually marking the world with a near silence of heavy freezing rainfall. With time inside, Keter was glad that he had decided to scavenge warm clothing from the ship's original workers that kept the heat trapped to his body just a little longer than if he had been running around in nothing more than the prisoner rags that they had all been equipped with. Once the storm passed, the swamp seemed to awaken with a chorus of sounds, beasts of mysterious manner that found themselves at home in the dark calling out. Maybe they were simply singing a welcoming song to Nine Angels, or maybe it would be more accurate to say they were shouting out warnings about the place from the darkness.

Keter had to admit that the bodies being frozen to the cliffside seemed to be a charmingly unique touch.

The one Dalca brother gave a good bit of advice to zakona group, useful information derived from a local who seemed to actually want to put them to use other than as bait for a sheriff.

Boxing at Lucky Cleric Gambling Hall. You might fare well there, maybe even find a challenge. The Shade whispered crackling words into Keter's mind as they passed by the posted papers. The other bits were hardly interesting to either of them, and the Shade had no real knowledge as to what an enkaida was supposed to be, maybe some form of creature immigrated or imported from one of the other continents of Chaon.

Overall the place looked like nobody had informed it that it was essentially just standing ruins at this point, buildings run down and the dredges of society trying their damnedest to make whatever sort of living they could at whatever expense to themselves it would take. This was easily one of the worst parts of the civilized world that any incarnation of the Black Monkey had the misfortune of laying eyes upon, but this place called Nine Angels was far from being any direct concern of his. Perhaps the saddest and most interest parts of this abyssal hole were the so-called middlemen who seemed to be self-sacrificial lambs working as information brokers, giving up parts of themselves to deal with the Ethereal on the behalf of whoever would pay them. When they had money accrued, it might be worth it to make one of these pathetic fools pay the price for something down the line, but for now they were unnecessary.

Fortunately the journey to the saloon seemed to be mostly uneventful, and most interestingly to Keter he seemed to have weapons on the verge of being drawn towards him once again. At least this time so, too, were those who had begun distrusting him within the Zakona sharing in the attempted fatal gazes. There were no telling what sorts of dangerous individuals could be lurking in the dark, and surely by their reaction they were not taking the new entries to their gathering place lightly either. The Black Monkey could understand and appreciate that sort of mutual mistrust and caution, it kept things on-edge but at the same time could help keep people from making any stupid first moves simply by fear of what sort of retaliation might be returned.

The person that they were sent to meet with was easy to spot, but what drew Keter's attention was her eyes, similar to his own in the darkness that clung to them. He had this feeling that she may actually be the most dangerous person in this room, even if everyone were to gang up against her. Maybe that was just a trick of his mind, but at any rate it was nothing that he wanted to test.

The rest of the group found reason and words to chatter with the woman, but Keter just found himself a clear spot to lean against eh wall while he listened to the exchanges going on and kept his eyes peering outwards to the rest of the saloon for anything threatening. Fortunately things seemed to go on without much of a hitch, and when the meeting with the woman was over with it appeared that some members of the group were ready to split.

Well then, if that was the end of them needing to be bunched together for now, Keter saw no reason not to check out the place where the boxing would be held. Interestingly enough, one of the people who seemed ready to gut him on the mere notion of treachery also seemed interested in making her way there.

OOC
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Carmen
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Carmen kept to the back of the group as they walked through Nine Angels. Whoever these angels had been, they had left this place long ago, she quickly determined. The town was a menagerie of various horrors, but what made her blood run cold was not the shocking and gruesome sights, but the townsfolks' nonchalance; to them, this was all perfectly normal.

She was delayed entering the saloon by a wave of patrons, and was too timid, and too scared for her life, to try and force her way past them. By the time she was inside, she'd missed several key pieces of conversation between some of her companions and a woman who could only be Czajka.

"Everyone talks about first impressions; how important they are, how carefully you must choose your words. I've taught you the subtle mannerisms of a dozen races to keep you from insulting them by some miscalculated turn of your wrist. Now it is time to learn the hard truth; the first impression is made long before you open your mouth."

Carmen and her father were in one of the receiving rooms. He sat in a regal chair with oak and walnut trimmings, a half-filled glass of wine in one hand. Carmen stood upon a small, cushioned ottoman, wearing only her underclothes, her arms outstretched like a cross, while a master tailor and three seamstresses swarmed over her. They measured every inch of her, chattering about colour combinations, fabrics and weights of thread.

"Match your attire, your style, and your elegance to the occasion. No one ensemble can serve this purpose, so you shall have hundreds," he said, as if it were nothing. The man could spend ten fortunes on her clothes without drawing the ire of his bookkeepers.


Here and now, Carmen had only the clothes she'd taken from the ship. Thankfully, it was the most ornate among her companions, with embellishments due to the man's rank, and a tall-feathered Capitano to her group's flatbrims. She shook the ice and rainwater from her clothes, straightened the feathers on her hat, wiped her face clean and approached the table confidently.

"Good morrow," she said with a bow of her head. "My regrets for not arriving with my compatriots; the patrons at the door were less than willing to let me pass through in turn. My name is Carmen, and I see our delivery has been made, which is pleasant news. If you might forgive my boldness, as I approached I heard some talk about reading Bridgetongue," she indicated Glug. "If you need any of these documents read, I can do that for you."

"A gentlewoman. Good for getting bedtime friends, not necessary for talking to me. You can cut the crap and relax. Yeah, translate this to Common and read it out loud, will you? Guess that twitchy vampire can take a stab at it if it offends your city-slicker morals or something."

Carmen blinked, unused to having her courtesy rebuffed quite so bluntly. She ought to have known better, she chided herself; people who live in places like Nine Angels don’t spend time in the royal court learning etiquette and protocol. She smiled, took the letter, and scanned the page.

It was a painful translation, with the numerous errors in spelling and grammatical oversights, but she managed all the same, guided by years of expensive classroom tutelage. She wet her lips with her tongue and, seeing no reason to hide the truth of the letter, for better or worse, began to read it, just loud enough for those gathered near to hear her.

"It says ‘Help me, Czajka. Please. Reality keeps going wrong, and not just when I am sleeping anymore. It hurts. I am so scared all the time. They will eat my eyes or worse. I don’t want my eyes to see things wrong or be stolen. You said, sometimes it is the future. Well it did happen like you said.

I slept and my dream had Viktor and Nadi and all the others tell the plan. I knew it before he said it in real life. I had seen it in my dream. It was all the same. I know there are people jailbreaking on the barge, but I can’t tell my men because they already think I am crazy. It will happen, and I will be prepared.

The worst is a recurring dream. I need your help; I don’t want it to be true. I will pay you lots of notes and silver to make it stop. In my dream, Wine River Transport builds a scorchline through Nine angels. The town dies. The wolves make me afraid.

It is just like when Torsten and Viktor died. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to die. Please help. We need to save the city. Don’t tell Viktor or anyone else. He thinks I am crazy, but I’m not. Please believe me, Czajka.

Please write back or we can meet and negotiate a price. Name it. I will pay whatever I have to stop everything. The dreams. The pain. The future. Everything. I don’t want it all to change."

Carmen let out a soft breath and handed the letter back to Cjazka, allowing a moment for the weight of what she'd said to sink in.

"If you'd like," she offered. "I'd be happy to help you pen a reply."

And for only a small fee, she kept to herself.
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Alexandra
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Alex leaned over the side of the ship - and almost fell in when she tried to use her left arm to support her - to watch the strange spirits go about their work of building cairns. She stood back up and looked to Zuraw. "This is a strange place. Back home in Cascadia, we had the flying beasts and the strange pseudofish of Richimon, like the clawed ithyfish." She rose to look at the coming town, at the towering cliff face covered in pinned corpses. "Executions were fairly rare." Alex finagled the mask around to cover her face.




Nine Angels was a slum, as bad as the worst of Richimon. She had taken Zuraw along, careful to move quickly through Bacek's group before they could plausibly notice the unnoticeable half-were. She didn't need to cover her nose. The stench wasn't far removed from the smell of the deepest slums when the wind was just right to carry it to her own nice, middle-class house. They walked by a variety of failing businesses and successful bordellos - Alex wondered how such an economy even functioned - before reaching the tavern. Alex waited before introducing herself. It was time to learn more.

"I'm not much of anyone. But I do have some questions." Alex lifted the mask, revealing her black-scarred eyes. "How far can I push this, Czajka." Czajka's response was forceful. "I didn't want to hurt anyone at the time, they were bystanders to an orchestrated fiasco. I took a risk." Alex took the documents from Glug's hands to get the delivery completed. "Help me, Czajka. We'll get you a real bounty to adorn your wall." As the rest of the group introduced themselves, Alex stopped dancing around the issue. "We are the Wine River Pariahs, a fitting title." She looked to Zuraw.

"You a fair hand at gambling? I think I can't help but agree that we need to go to the Lucky Clover for a quick meet and greet."
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Storyteller[ST]
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Everyone

Besides completing your delivery job, a few of you take a moment to chat with Czajka. The famous bounty hunter comes across as a bit less than larger-than-life, answering your various questions with a generally plain demeanor. The occasional backswamp rudeness -- Alexandra's question, Carmen's formality -- comes out, but otherwise she actually seems to be tolerating the presence of almost a dozen people bothering her. Seems almost too comfortable. Like it's actually preferable over how she was before: sitting alone. Could be just a fluke.

A few of you offer your services to Czajka. "I'll keep that in mind if I need help."

Anci, you ask Czajka about the trouble she might be in, the gentlemen who might be after her. "Viktor Dalca's got the big-brother-worrying thing going on too heavy. It don't help I'm the same age as Yevhen. I'm fine, don't worry. Just owe a little money to some folks. With these zakona bounties, I'll be out of debt in no time."

Carmen, you translate Yevhen's letter quite well, managing to push past the distractions of the spelling and grammatical errors in order to string together the fundamental meaning of the message. Its dictation is audible to all of the Pariahs hanging out nearby. Czajka listens with her eyes focused on the table, tense the whole time. You conclude with an offer to pen a reply, and Tanya hands over a communiquill, but the bounty hunter is quiet and thoughtful for several long moments.

"Some people are way too damn lucky for their own good," Czajka repeats from an earlier explanation she'd made to Yurim. "Poor Yevhen. Glad I don't get the future very often." Those couple lines sound like she's talking to herself, working through the horrible revelations of the note. "Yeah, I'll need to reply. Need to think on it first. Gimme a night or two, Carmen. You can find me here, like always." Looking away, the half-demon pulls her hat up high enough to run her fingers through her hair. She curses in Bridgetongue. "How do you even respond to something like that? Damn it all. I'll figure something out. You folks just focus on surviving. Fish out of water don't last long round here usually."

Touching the brim of her hat in a polite gesture, Czajka gives a nod. "Good luck out there, Wine River Pariahs. Be seeing you--"

Before she can quite finish her goodbye, you hear a commotion outside. So does everyone else in the saloon. Shoulders twist and hats turn as people's attention moves to the swinging doors. You catch glimpses of pounding hooves, hear the sound of whooping and hollering over the neighing of horses. A few saloon patrons are already shifting their weight like they're gonna stand up, hands on their weapons. Czajka is calm but does take in a long, uneasy breath through her nose, eyes fixed on the Howling Dogs' entrance.

"Gentlemen gang. Eight riders total," she says. "Their names are--"

"Good evening, Howling Dogs!" The speaker bursts into the room like he owns the place, flanked by a woman wearing a huge grin. They're both genasi clad in ostentatious outfits, a uniquely backswamp spin on the glamorous Balefire formalwear that's currently fashionable in the city. Between the first two arrivals and the few other people following them into the saloon, they're wearing mixtures of things like vests, bowties, cravats, suspenders, feathered scarves, color-smoked glasses, top hats, greatcoats, flat caps, fur-lined capes, sparkling amulets, and carved canes.

The bartender makes a shooing motion. "<Go take your stinking hides somewhere else,>" he growls in Bridgetongue.

"Pardon me," the woman in front says, grabbing the lapels of her fur-lined coat, "but we got a public message to deliver to your girl Czajka. And we go where we please."

"Oh! She's got company tonight! That's strange," the man in front chimes in, looking over the top of his circular, red-tinted glasses. "Who're you people?"

"Nobody," Czajka interjects. "S'what they told me."

The pair in the front saunter through the saloon, pushing aside anyone who's in their way. Several bar patrons slip outside. "Looks like a bunch of fish to me! Better go back to the river -- y'all don't last very long out of water." The well-dressed folks behind them chuckle. "You got the money yet, Czajka?"

"Soon."

"You said 'soon' three weeks ago, lady! We want our money by the end of the week. No exceptions, no extensions. That's our message," the woman says.

"Hey Czajka, I like this little fish gang you got going around you. A few're pretty cute," the man at the front adds, to the chagrin of the one in the fur-lined coat. "Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"How long you think they'll last? A week? Maybe two, from force of numbers?"

The man scoffs. "Numbers don't help any, they'll just tear each other apart. I give 'em three nights."

More insistent hollering outside. One of the Gentlemen pokes indoors. "Oy bosses! Sheriff just turned the street corner!"

"Who the [removed] cares?" Nevertheless, the couple at the front adjust their coats and hats and turn as if preparing to leave. They point at the half-demon. "Don't forget, Czajka. End of the week. Or there'll be trouble."

She stares at their backs as they leave, almost unblinking. As soon as the couple push outside, they're all grins and 'Good evening, miss Bearkiller' and other platitudes about coming in peace and making little visits around town. If you try to leave too early, Czajka makes a harsh noise to stop you. A few more seconds of chatter go on outside before they're wishing the Sheriff a good night and moving on.

"Okay. You can go now," she says. "Sorry about that. You can visit me later if you have more questions, but I'd like some time to myself right now. I got a lot to think about."



Free from your initial task in Nine Angels, the town is your oyster. Barring the unique social dynamics that you're not currently aware of, you can go virtually anywhere and do anything. Some realities of your situation are apparent, however. Basic survival is going to be your top priority right now: food, water, shelter, and warmth. A few of you are also eager to start making notes, possibly as a means to those ends, and are heading toward the Lucky Cleric. A description of the gambling hall will be posted in Discussion (and reposted here in an edit) a bit later. To request descriptions of other locations in town, post in Discussion.

All the people you've spoken to so far have expressed concern or even doubt about your survival of the first few nights. Those nights aren't critical just because you're new to town and trying to get on your feet; you also know that news of the Taming of Balefire is traveling slowly into Marble County. Considering the lot of you are the first zakona, and considering that you have no entitlement to property and can be killed at any time by anyone, you strongly suspect things are going to get more complicated as soon as Nine Angels is aware of your nature. If you can build a solid foundation for yourself before that happens, you'll be improving your chances of survival later.

Time to make some choices. Time is money, and you've got a limited amount to spend. (Click the link for information on this round's special activity, Fish Out of Water.)

Click here to view copies of location descriptions posted in Discussion.


OOC
 
The next ST post cutoff is this Friday, October 14, at 4:00pm Mountain.

Edited by Storyteller, Wed Oct 12, 2016 11:33 pm.
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