A Company needs employees...(OPEN)

The Minstrel’s Perch had an odd sort of reputation to it. For whatever reason, whether by luck or happenstance, the inn seemed to be constantly flooded with patrons looking to take up a cause larger than themselves. It was not unheard of for several men and women drinking and talking amicably around a table to randomly band together; united by a common belief or problem. It was an atmosphere that promoted the type of fervor most recruiters could only dream of generating on their own...

So why stand on your soapbox in the street, calling at passerby on the off chance they might stop and listen, when all of the interested parties were gathering for you?

Teric took a brief moment to stop and enjoy the sights and sounds of the inn's main room as he first entered the door. He politely moved far enough out of the way to allow patrons entering and exiting to pass him by, but close enough to the entrance to appreciate the fresh air that flooded in every time someone opened the door. Tonight he was relatively unarmed, save for the dirk in his boot, and dressed to the nines. He was here to impress, impose, and possibly to inspire, but any and all of that depended on the mood of the crowd tonight.

Letting one more man pass by to go outside, Teric stepped up behind the door as it closed. He stuck a flyer from his coat pocket over one of the dozens of small nails securing posters, advertisements, business cards, and job postings. It was a simple, uninformative flyer at best, but it was designed to generate interest only from those actually looking for something...

WANTED
Mercenaries, fighters, agents, spies, diplomats, and contractors!

Inquire in the back...

The veteran strode over to the bar casually, his first order of business complete. The chatter, laughter, and general ambient noise of the main room was invigorating, and bolstered the old man's spirits. Ever since founding The Company with his nephew Rayse, Teric had been finding it harder than he'd imagined to get his dream enterprise up and running. A few investors he had, and the capital generated by their investments was sure to aid in the short-term, but he needed manpower if anything outside of his or Rayse's abilities and schedule was going to get done. Amongst all of these people, surely he could acquire some of that manpower tonight.

"Any clear spirit." Teric ordered simply from the balding, sweaty barkeep. "Surprise me."

When his drink came, Teric paid the man graciously with a coin and a business card that Rayse Valentino, ever the contractor, had designed and had printed up. The barkeep, probably accustomed to such shameless self-advertising put the coin in his pocket and dropped the card in a glassware jug full of similar cards on the side of the bar. No matter. Teric turned away with his drink, nonplussed. Someone in here will read it.

Drink in hand, and a mission in mind, Teric strode through the main room towards one of the darker corner booths in the back of the room. Such booths were notorious in their almost cliché appeal to lone travelers and people looking to do business privately without leaving the jolly atmosphere of the main room. All the way there, smiling and nodding at inquiring faces, Teric flicked business cards from his pocket onto the surface of almost every table in the room.

Someone in here... He thought optimistically.

Quote:

---

Open and IC recruitment thread for The Company. I'll answer any OOC questions via PM or AIM.

---

Woshington stepped into the Minstrel’s Perch; he was a sore thumb wherever he went in Althanas. His gaudy topical wares drew a squelching chorus as almost all present stared and blinked at once. Unbuttoning his bright yellow shirt, with blue and green trim, took only a moment of work for his bony digits. It was long enough for those present to settle their eyes somewhere else. Catching sight of a black man in these parts was rare enough. It was even more of a rarity to see one so bare-chested and exotically dressed: Woshington was certainly raising eyebrows.

The atmosphere definitely possessed particular qualities and Woshington had arrived specifically to harvest what he could. In his former life he had learned that the word on street was, in some cases, utter bullshit, but in others it was the lifeblood of society. A dynamic network of vital information. Woshington had heard that this was the place for a new clique. Accustomed to being top dog he was nevertheless ready to accept something more junior considering his unceremonious fall from the crown.

“This is easy.� he thought, as the mess of tatty advertisements confronted him on first step inside.

WANTED
Mercenaries, fighters, agents, spies, diplomats, and contractors!

Inquire in the back...

The crispness of this advertisement's paper caught his eye, while the direct nature and ultimately vague message alluded to some kind of elite—a status his ego demanded.

His figure was lithe as it deftly navigated the bulging crowd. Following a tête-Ã*-tête with the barman he knew exactly who he needed to speak to. It was the ageing silver fox across the room, the one doling out business cards.

“I want in, brudda.� he declared boldly, “you want a fighter, a killer . . . I’m your man, boss.�

The drink in his hand was halfway to his lips, and Teric had just been about to take a seat at his chosen table when an interesting voice called from behind. It didn't take a wise man to realize the accent was addressing him, but Teric found himself almost immediately more interested in the sounds of that voice than the words said sounds were carrying. There was a foreign, exotic quality to it that betrayed any hopes of such a voice fitting in with the crowd...

Turning to face his addresser only added to Teric's interest and surprise, as his trained eyes instinctively scanned over the dark skinned man for weapons or potential threats. The man's color, paired with the excessively brilliant shirt he wore, and the odd array of gear hanging about his waist, made sure that this man stood out in the crowd. There was a swagger there too, a charismatic sort of self-confidence in the manner in which the newcomer handled himself that told Teric his new acquaintance knew he stood out, and took a certain degree of satisfaction from it.

"You're my man, huh?" Teric replied casually, finally taking a sip of his drink. The potent spirit burned fire down the back of his throat as he lowered himself into a seat in the corner booth. He indicated for the stranger to join him, gesturing with a small flourish the seat opposite him. "What's your name, killer?"

“Woshington. Just Woshington,� as he declared his name he beat his bare chest with an open palm. Each thump reverberated in a hollow thud; Woshington’s lungs were full of air. The bombastic individual was literally full of hot air, “and yours, boss?�

Before he sat down he unbuckled his belt, slid it from his waist and laid it down on the table causing the metal cans to clang against each other. Running both of his bony hands over his bouncy 'fro a was precursor to a typically self-absorbed monologue.

“I want to make the money, boss. For myself and for you, boss.� Forthright and unashamed, he continued, “I want to be seen to be making the money.� It was no surprise that a man this flamboyant was fuelled by an overpowering vanity. “I want to fuck with anybody who gets in my way. I want to be part of something big, boss. Something that shakes the ground—like an earthquake. I have to be part of this, I want to be part of something like a planet. I want that gravity to consume all of their shit, brudda.�

Woshington gave a mischievous smile to conclude his declaration of intent. Some individuals are so distinct that they soon take on the quality of an exaggerated self-parody. And by providing an encore performance Woshington successfully attained that quality. He stretched his bright eyes to their widest and parted his fleshy lips to a gaping degree before extending his pink tongue into the open air of the Minstrel’s Perch.

As if to say, "What now . . . "

"Well, Woshington," Teric emphasized the odd name just to make sure he was saying it right, "it sounds like you're a man who wants to get things done."

Teric glanced around the establishment to see if he could attract the attention of one barmaid or another; someone to take care of Wosh's needs should he want a drink or a bite to eat. All of the Perch's servers were otherwise indisposed, however, so Teric was left to hope Woshington wasn't a man who also wanted his drink in a hurry.

"Teric Bloodrose." The veteran extended his hand to Woshington in greeting before adding, "Are you afraid of doing what it takes to change the world, Woshington? It can be a messy business, altering the face of Althanas."

Woshington leaned back with his shoulders splayed, like an open book, while his cohort struggled with the name. Woshington smiled with a simple warmness and reassured, “don’t worry, mista, I’m from abroad.� As if the fact wasn’t obvious. The grandiose posing from earlier began to evaporate. Woshington clearly he felt he had made his point as he settled forward. Further absolution was required when the lithe black man, following Teric's eyes, realised he would not receive his beverage of choice. Or any refreshment of any kind for that matter. “Don’t worry,� he said for a second time, “I’m not here to drink anyway.�

Whilst listening intently Woshington picked up on a key phrase, “change the world�. “Change the world? Shit… all it takes is willing. I’m willing, man—I’ll do whatever it takes to bring in the money and the power.�