The Company: Stomping Grounds

[Bloodrose]

Solo effort - for now...

A small wooden podium had been erected in front of the charred remains of 515 Elm Terrace in Radasanth's influential Pine Circle neighborhood. The fresh construction, a wood beam stand upon which the auctioneer could gaze out over the crowd, was a stark contrast to the blackened and shriveled fingers rising out of the ash on the half-acre plot. Had he been the more poetic type, Teric Bloodrose might have commented on the symbolic nature of the old bakery's skeletal remains still clinging for life against the dreary overcast sky...

The veteran, however, wasn't standing in a crowd of nobles, city officials, and enterprising business men to admire the macabre beauty of the destroyed building. He was here to bid on said building, or rather, the coveted plot of land beneath it.

"I'd like to start the bidding at thirty-five hundred crowns." The auctioneer had to speak loudly out over the assembled crowd, the most of which spilled out into the cobbled park in front of the property and its neighbors. A half-acre plot in what was practically the center of Radasanth had certainly attracted a great many bidders, and Teric surmised that the land's current owner could only be giddy with anticipation.

"Thirty-five hundred." A balding man near the front of the crowd raised his stylish cane into the air, drawing the attention of the auctioneer and the crowd watchers spotting out bids.

"Four-thousand." Was the almost instant response from Gregory Dumble, one of Radasanth's more famous entrepreneurs. It was said that the man's goal in life was to purchase the famed Citadel and rent out it's magically chambers as customized "vacation packages" to the wealthy and elite. Teric always wondered if that was true, and just how the monks of Ai'Brone would respond to such a proposition.

"Forty-five hundred." A third bidder now in quick succession. It had been said before, but it bore repeating that a half-acre plot in Radasanth's Pine Circle was certainly a plot worth coveting. A few minutes’ walk in one direction ended you on the outskirts of the famed Bazaar, while a short carriage ride in the opposite direction took you into the heart of the business and bureaucratic heart of Radasanth’s downtown.

"Five-thousand." The first bidder jumped back into the running, only to be shot down by an almost simultaneous bid of fifty-five hundred from a man in the back.

"Six thousand." The familiar, nasally tone of one Richard Pembleton Jr. drew Teric's gaze to the edge of the crowd. The man was dressed to the nines in a soft brown tweed suit coat and pants, the chain of a fine golden pocket watch draped from vest to pocket. Some of the other bidders might have recognized the man as one of Radasanth's more successful accountants, but Teric was probably the only one to recognize him as the proxy bidding on behalf of The Company, Teric's enterprising young business venture.

"Sixty-five hundred." A sixth bidder now, or perhaps one of the earlier bidders again. Teric turned his head to find out, but it was hard to keep track of everyone now that the bidding was in full swing. The going price had already shot up three thousand crowns in the opening minute of the auction, and already Teric felt the pangs of doubt.

"Eight thousand crowns will practically bankrupt us." Teric recalled from his conversation with Pembleton the night before. "And if the price goes above nine-thousand, we'll have to remove ourselves from the bidding."

"Seven-thousand crowns." The first bidder again. For such a large crowd, there were only a handful of serious bidders making their interest in the property known. Another thousand higher and the price would be closing in on the total sum held in the Company's purse. Another two and the exercise in bidding would prove useless.

"Seventy-one hundred." Another bid, this one less aggressive than the others. Seventy-two and seventy-three hundred rolled passed in the third and fourth minute of the bidding, and the other interested parties seemed willing to limit the increases at this juncture to one hundred crown intervals. It gave Teric a slight bit of breathing room, as the smaller intervals gave his venture's money a little more stretching room...

"Seventy-five hundred." Came the eventual second bid by Mr. Pembleton. The financier stated the number firmly, as if daring anyone to outdo him. The bravado of his bid was dismissed almost immediately however. The bids climbed above eight-thousand crowns within a couple more minutes, and within five of the auction starting Teric was already afraid his venture was out of the running...

[Bloodrose]

"Ten thousand, four hundred crowns." Pembleton whistled through his teeth appreciatively. "The cost of real estate has certainly risen since I purchased the land for my offices." The accountant was stirring a spoonful of sugar into a cup of tea, holding the tiny silver spoon with two fingers as though he might break it if he stirred too quickly. Opposite him at the table sat Teric, sipping glumly at a cup of coffee as dark and as black as his mood.

"A plot of land didn't cost a man nearly as much, back in my younger days." The veteran mercenary replied, his tone bitter. Subconsciously he reconsidered having purchased the beverage, not only because it seemed to be rubbing off on his mood, but because the quantity of the drink was not nearly representative of the cost. While never one to pinch pennies, as evident by the gratuitous amounts of money he'd frittered away in his lifetime, Teric liked to get some value of his coin...

"Price is representative of demand." Pembleton, ever the economist, shrugged. "The number of people immigrating to Corone is fast rising, and a lot of them end up here in Radasanth. Just look at the state of things: Salvar fighting a civil war, Raiaera under the swords of the undead. The whispers even speak of trouble brewing in Alerar these days. The people want to get away from it all, and Corone and Fallien are their only choices."

"I can't imagine there are many immigrants coming into the city with ten thousand crowns on them." Teric shot back.

"You'd be surprised." Pembleton wasn't moved by the mild hostility in Teric's voice. It hadn't taken long for the accountant to peg what kind of customer a mercenary was going to be. "A good number of those making their way to Radasanth belong to the wealthy, the nobility, or both. They are the ones with the means to make good a hasty escape."

"So one of these immigrant nobles snatched the property I need out from under me?" Teric asked, finishing off the last half of the small coffee in a single shot. The bitterness of it gave him a twitch, but he was past the mood for sitting and sipping at the beverage leisurely.

"Geoff 'Valiance' Manning," Pembleton answered dryly, "a local business man here in Radasanth. He used to be a Corone Ranger, but now he runs combat schools for the children of wealthy aristocrats. I'd imagine he's looking to build a new school closer to his target consumer."

Teric rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Why are you telling me about immigrants if the man who won the auction already lives here in Radasanth?"

"I was merely commenting on the circumstances that have led to increased land prices." Pembleton quipped, casually.

"Yes, well..." Teric decided to let the subject drop. It was obvious that the account was going to speak aloud whatever he was thinking - no matter how loosely related to their current situation said thought was. It was no use arguing with the man about it either, because it was equally obvious that the mercenary was the only one irritated by the state of things. "Immigrants or no immigrants, we still need to get our hands on that land deed somehow."

"Why are you so settled on this one plot of land?" Pembleton asked the obvious question, taking a long sip of his tea. "I would think it'd be far easier, and far less costly, to just buy a scrub patch of dirt outside the city limits."

"Location, location, location." Was Teric's answer. "Rayse wants to see us develop a presence in the city, and Pine Circle is the perfect location to do that from. It's literally dead center in the hub of Radasanth's activity, giving us direct inlets into the Bazaar and the downtown area." Pembleton was nodding, absorbing everything Teric was saying. "If this was just about doing things cheaply or easily," Teric added, "I could wander down to the slums and raze a few buildings myself - and then purchase the land there when it comes up for sale."

"Well," Pembleton sighed, "unless you can come up with a sum of money large enough to tease the land deed from Geoff's fingers - unlikely - then you might want to get out your matchbook and start walking towards Beggar's Square."

[Bloodrose]

An hour's time found the two men away from the small street cafe where they had taken tea, and inside Pembleton's cozy offices on the other side of the Bazaar. The building was a narrow, two story brick affair wedged between a bank and a "George B. Sellings Emporium of Things" warehouse. Although the accountant technically owned the land and the building, his offices only occupied the second floor. The downstairs he rented to a butcher and his wife, and if Pembleton was to be believed, they prepared some of the finest cuts of beef in the city.

"I suppose a loan for the amount we're short is out of the question?" Teric asked, looking up from the heavy ledger laid out on Pembleton's desk. The leatherbound book was a summary of the Company's finances, which up to this point consisted almost entirely of shareholder money. It was a sizeable chunk of cash to have on hand, and the mercenary was eager to put it to use in some way...

"I doubt any reputable bank would be willing to extend The Company the line of credit necessary here." The accountant replied, sitting comfortably on the other side of the desk while browsing through papers for other clients. "And besides, even if you could raise the money, do you think Mr. Manning would be willing to part with the deed for the same price he paid for it? My guess is that if he were willing to pay over ten thousand crowns for that deed, he'll likely keep it for himself."

Teric's shoulders slumped, defeated. No matter what idea he came up with, the accountant sitting opposite him was quick with a counter. The growing sense of failure in the situation, and right now Teric felt as though he were trying to walk up an icy slope in his stocking feet, wouldn't have been so trying were Pembleton's counterpoints not always so astute. Despite the fact the man kept shooting down his ideas, Teric was glad for the accountant's keen perception in these matters.

"I give up then." Teric sighed, shutting the ledger and tossing it on top of a neat pile Pembleton kept on the corner of his desk. The accountant gave him a condeming glance over the rim of his golden spectacles before reaching over and straightening the book to keep in line with the others beneath it. Clean and organized were the only descriptive words anyone would find for the office, while anal and compulsive described the space's owner quite nicely.

"I was wondering when you'd run out of ideas." Pembleton replied. "Matches are in the third drawer of the filing cabinet over there."

"Good, make your fun." Teric snorted. "You're my accountant, aren't you supposed to be coming up with ideas that will actually help me?"

Pembleton leaned back as far as he could in the cushioned, crimson chair behind his desk. As the accountant delved into thought, he made a steeple with his fingers in front of his chest and narrowed his brow in concentration. Sitting there, in that high-backed, antique chair of his, the financier looked for all the world like some evil mastermind plotting his next grand scheme.

"As far as I can figure it," Pembleton replied after a moment's thinking, "the land deed is already securely in the hands of its new owner. I imagine he will be loathe to part with it, and if you are going to get a hold of it, the window of opportunity is fast closing."

"What do you mean?" Teric sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he extended his head out towards the man. "I don't follow you."

"Whenever a property transaction takes place in Radasanth," Pembleton explained, "the transaction must be registered with the City Clerk's office. It's a bureaucratic step to keep track of who owns what property and where inside the city limits. Such information is useful to have in property disputes, and in matters of zoning."

The accountant got up from his chair and made his way over to the solitary window offering a view of the street from the building's second floor. The accountant stood there for a moment, arms crossed behind his back, before continuing with his explanation. It seemed almost as if the man was working the finer points of a plan over in his head as he explained them, making everything up as he went along.

"Once the property is registered with the City Clerk's office, then simple stealing the land deed won't do any good. Mr. Manning would simply be able to go down to the Clerk's office and, as the property's legal owner, get a new one - in effect rendering the current dead null and void."

"What says he hasn't registered with the City already?" Teric asked. The old mercenary was beginning to piece together Pembleton's train of thought for himself.

"Government says he hasn't." Pembleton retorted. "Radasanth's local governing bodies are so wrapped up in their own paper-pushing nonsense that the backlog is never shorter than two or three days. That's why I say there is a closing window of opportunity. Tomorrow and the day after are about as long as you can hope before the property transaction is registered in Geoff's name."

"So you're telling me that if I can get my hands on that land deed, and silence Geoff, then I can go in his stead and register the property transaction for myself? That's all well and good, but it seems like a fairly flimsy sort of plan." Teric said, thinking as he spoke.

"Yes, and let's not forget the numerous illegalities to be committed in the execution of such a plan." Pembleton replied. Both men knew well enough that Teric wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty to get what he wanted, but the question was likely to become how dirty was the mercenary willing to get them. "Just so you know," the financier added as an afterthought, "this conversation never happened."

"What conversation?" Teric replied with a grim half-smile.

[Bloodrose]

That night Teric made his way to a shady little tavern called the Trade & Blade. It was the kind of place travelers and wayfarers always told stories about, where the local ruffians and thieves crowded together to drink, brawl, and plot their misdeeds. It was the kind of place most respectable mercenaries steered well clear of; because it was common knowledge that such places attracted the City Watch like shit drew flies...

"Can I take your coat, mister?" A rough looking woman, if she even qualified as such, asked as Teric ducked his head through the low door into the establishment. A simple warning glance was all it took for the hefty broad to back off, retreating back to a small table just behind the door. Like most everything else in the place, both the woman and the table were covered in dirt, grime, and stained with spilled grog.

Been a long time since you've had to come to a place like this. The mercenary thought as he made his way to a back table, bypassing the bar completely. It could do a man serious harm to trust the swill they served in these sorts of places, and Teric's aging constitution didn't fancy a try at the foul smelling beverages visible everywhere. To think that you got your start in a place like this, roughing up people who didn't pay their debts.

Thinking about his humble beginnings in the muscle-for-hire trade didn't exactly bring a smile to the veteran's face, but it didn't really make him frown either. There were a great many youngsters who never made it long enough in the business to get past the simple things like breaking knee-caps and stabbing gang leaders in the streets. Too many never raised high enough to start fighting in honest campaigns, standing alongside proper heroes and soldiers who just needed a helping hand. Honestly, it wasn't a lifestyle Teric would ever wish to go back to, but thinking about it did bring a nostalgic twinkle to his eye.

Arranging himself at a back booth with a clear view of the door, Teric performed a series of maneuvers that, to the casual eye, might seem completely innocent. First he coughed loudly into his hand; three loud, barking coughs that were probably much louder than they need have been. Following that he crossed his legs, the knee of his right leg now pointing towards the door. Lastly, and with much less fanfare, the veteran produced a single silver coin and placed it squarely in the center of the table.

It was an old mating ritual of sorts, a choreographed sequence of mild gestures that broadcast his attentions to anyone knowledgeable enough to decipher them. Like secret knocks and passphrase riddles, the 'dance' was simply one of the little things people picked up working in a trade that prospered through secrecy. Anyone could walk into a shady tavern like this one and hire a thug at the bar, but Teric wasn't in the market for a thug. He was in the market for someone at least slightly more refined. Someone who understood the basic rules of mercenary work. Someone, perhaps, who reminded of a younger version of himself.

A couple of moments passed before a bearded man who had been sitting nearby casually made his way to Teric's table and slid into the seat opposite the old merc. He was young, perhaps half Teric's age, but there was a confidence in the man's eyes that told Teric everything he needed to know.

"Maybe you're looking for someone to do something for you?" The man asked quietly, glancing down at the coin on the table.

"Smash and grab." Teric cut right to the chase, eager to get the gears turning and get out of this dump. He produced a single scrap of paper with a Radasanth address on it and slid it across the table. "You don't need to know his name, or mine. Somewhere in the house, likely an office, will be a land deed to a Pine Circle property. Two-hundred and fifty now, another two-hundred and fifty when the deed is in my hands."

"The deed's current owner?" The man asked calmly, professionally.

"Expendable."

"Family, if any?"

"Expendable."

"When and where?"

"Tonight. The corner of West and Hightower - I'll be waiting there for what's mine."

The bearded man seemed to ponder the entirety of the proposal for a moment, leaving Teric to contemplate what was about to occur. He was about to pay this man to break into someone's home, possibly to kill said someone and their family, and steal something that didn't belong to him. He was in essence about to unleash the dogs of Misfortune and Misery upon an unsuspecting and altogether innocent man who just happened to purchase the wrong piece of land at the wrong time. It was the type of proposal that offended all sensibilities, shattered one's faith in humanity, and could shrivel the souls of moral men. It was the type of proposal that might have once sent Teric reeling into the street to retch in disgust...except that Teric had witnessed to many atrocities, and met too many men worse than himself, to be sensitive to what he was asking a complete stranger to do...

"Deal." The bearded man intoned. Teric tossed a small pouch containing two hundred and fifty crowns to the man and got up from the table. One after the other, young mercenary followed old out the front door of the Trade & Blade, disappearing into the night and each going their own separate ways...

[Bloodrose]

Maybe I'm getting to comfortable with this shit. Teric had been thinking ever since he left the tavern, and it was starting to give him a headache. Standing beneath the streetlight at the corner of West and Hightower, Teric closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. It was the kind of headache that originated right behind your eyes, growing until the pressure threatened to pop your eyeballs right out of your head. Where did my mother go wrong, so as to raise a son capable of this sort of thing?

Chalk it up to the pitiful shreds of decency still left in an old man far over the line of redeemable, but Teric was having second thoughts on this whole business. Throughout the entirety of his career, the mercenary had relied personally on his own standards of conduct. A veritable "Teric Bloodrose's Things To & Not To Do" code of ethics that served as the mercenary's conscience. It was a short list, and heavily revised in an ever slimming fashion, but it was the palisade that kept the veteran from labeling himself as an evil man. Independent, that was the label Teric preferred; a man free of political or personal affiliations. In a business where the right amount of coin can convince a man to do anything, a man quickly tosses personal hang-ups and the 'law' to the wind...

Yet tonight the guilty qualms of his actions were a little more bothersome than just a personal hang-up. Rule Number 2: If you're not capable of doing your own dirty work, don't ever get someone else to do it for you. It was one of Teric's more longstanding rules, directly in line behind the Golden Rule: Self-preservation before all else. It was funny, in a way, that Rule Number 2 had two distinct intentions behind it. The first was an issue of trust; henchmen only mean one or more people who know what's going on, and who's involved. Teric had seen, and been an active participant in, more back stabbings that he cared to remember, and he knew that more people equaled more liability. The second intention of the rule was to act as a moral compass. If one wasn't capable of doing their own dirty work, i.e.: didn't have the stones to do it themselves, then one should never hire someone to take care of it for them. In a roundabout way it was worse to get someone else to do than if you did it yourself, or at least that's the way Teric saw it...

...and now he was contemplating whether or not tonight's actions broke only one or both of Rule Number 2's intentions.

The first is obviously broken, Teric's train of thought was running, because Mr. Henchman knows enough to land both of us in serious hot water. Now what about the second part, could I have done it myself? The mercenary sorted over his personal conundrum carefully, turning the problem over again and again in his head. Break into the man's house, I could have done that. Stolen the deed, sure. Killed him? Probably... It was the family aspect that was bothering him, Teric decided. While he could justify Mr. Manning as being in the way, the family would have been innocent bystanders in the whole ordeal. It wasn't their fault that the Father, Husband, or whoever Geoff was to them, bought that property...

Could I have killed the family?

Movement caught the mercenary's eye as he quit thinking long enough to take a glance around. It wasn't the kind of movement that makes you wonder if someone is stalking you, but was instead the blatant kind of movement anyone can detect. Walking confidently down the street, hands in his pockets and innocence plastered on his bearded face, was the man Teric had hired earlier. At least he knows a suspicious man always draws suspicion. Teric thought, distracting himself from his moral quandary with an old bit of mercenary knowledge. It was easier to talk your way out of a tight spot if you acted innocent the whole way through, rather than just after you've been caught sneaking through the shadows...

"Nice weather tonight." The man said as he stopped in front of Teric. Mercenary slang to initiate a conversation about a job. "Should be a sunny, pleasant day." More slang, loosely translatable as "The Job was a success."

"That's good." Teric motioned over his shoulder to a dark alley just down the street, and the bearded man gave him a questioning glance. Were this one of his experienced mercenary buddies, someone like Robert Ness or 'The Ballista', they wouldn't have budged. Experienced mercenaries who'd been in the trade long enough to see their fair share of backstabbing attempts knew better than to take meetings into dark places. Better to stay in the light, where it was safe...or safer, at least.

The bearded man obviously hadn't been in the business that long, or maybe the greedy need for that second payment of two hundred and fifty crowns drove him to do something stupid. Either way he followed Teric into the dark alleyway - well away from any prying eyes that might roam the streets.

"How'd it go?" Teric asked, speaking candidly in their new spot.

"Good." The bearded man looked a little shifty, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting a trap.

So maybe he isn't completely stupid, Teric thought with a disarming smile, just an idiot. The veteran raised his hands to chest height to show that he was unarmed. "Did you have any unexpected problems? With the family maybe?" He didn't really need to know, for the purposes of the job, but Teric's earlier contemplations on Rule Number 2 just begged the question.

"No," the henchman shook his head, "wasn't any family there. There was an older guy there, not as old as you, but he didn't put up much of a fight. He was in his office, like you said there would be one, and he was looking over the deed when I came in."

"The deed?" Teric asked, a mighty burden falling off his shoulders as the man spoke. Mr. Manning wasn't a problem, as he had decided, and it was good to know that the man wouldn't be reporting any theft to cast suspicion on the Company's recent property acquisition. In a moment there wouldn't be a single link tying Teric or his business to Mr. Manning's murder either...

"I got it." The bearded man spoke. "But I want my money fi..."

The man didn't finish his sentence, his voice trailing off into a choking noise as Teric punched him squarely in the throat. He might have been old, but the mercenary was both quick and strong. The lightning quick jab collapsed the bearded henchman's windpipe in one go, dropping the man where he stood without an ounce of blood spilt. Backstabbing and killing henchmen weren't items on Teric's list of Do Not Do's, so there was no moral quandary to deal with when his iron-shod boot fell on the unlucky thug's neck - killing him.

"Rule Number 6," Teric muttered out loud to himself, "never bring the goods to the meeting place." The mercenary found the land deed tucked into the front of the man's pants, hidden just under the front of his shirt. Shaking his head, Teric tucked the official document into the inside of his coat, and dragged the body deeper into the alley. Satisfied that no one would find his handiwork until morning at the earliest; Teric strode casually down the alley and out the other side on a nearby side street off of Hightower. He went around the long way; purposefully avoiding either street he'd been seen on and doubled back towards the Bazaar where Pembleton's offices were.

Satisfied that he was back in line with the conditions of his own Rule Number 2, Teric whistled a tune to himself as he strolled the dark streets of Radasanth...

[Bloodrose]

Breakfast was a simple affair. Eggs scrambled in a pan and cooked fluffy and yellow, a few pieces of toast, and a nice pitcher of fresh milk. All of it cooked and brought upstairs by the butcher's wife, a pleasant middle-aged woman that catered to Pembleton's cooking and cleaning needs in exchange for a discount on the rent. It was certainly a fine meal, simple and yet better than most any breakfast Teric had found for himself in a long while, but the veteran wasn't in the mood for eating...

"What do you mean it's useless?" Teric spat, nearly choking on his milk as the accountant browsed over the land deed in front of him. The mercenary's knuckles were white, so tightly was his hand clenched around his glass.

"Look at the signature and date." Pembleton pointed with one hand, his other holding a piece of buttered toast. The financier nibbled on the crunchy crust, a disheartening look in his eye. "Obviously Mr. Manning paid someone down at the City Clerk’s office to rush him through. The deed has already been signed over to the Manning Estate, and the City Clerk was a signatory witness."

"So you're telling me that this deed is worthless?" Teric wasn't just upset, he was downright livid. While his qualms about last night didn't necessarily bring themselves back to the forefront, the thought of all that wasted effort and unnecessary risk, bothered the veteran to no end.

"Unless you can get Mr. Manning to register the sale with the City Clerk, as the previous owner did before the auction, then walking into the Clerk's office and trying to get the deed signed over to your name won't do you much good. You'll most likely be arrested, I'd imagine, once it comes out that the property's current owner has been murdered." Pembleton took a larger bite of his toast, chewing over the morsel thoroughly before shrugging and leaning back in his chair. "Good show, on fetching the deed for us, but we were too late."

Rather than fume and storm about the office like a typhoon, Teric let the anger boiling in his gut rush down his legs and out his toes. A deep, heavy sigh tore itself from the veteran's throat, leaving him flushed, tense, and still gripping a cool glance of milk. The furrowed brow, tight-drawn lips, and deep thought in his eyes betrayed that the mercenary wasn't happy, but that he was already trying to come up with a plan.

"I don't supposed I want to know how you came by the deed." Pembleton was saying, rhetorically almost. "Probably messier business than I'd like to be involved in. I imagine..."

Plausible deniability was the name of the accountant's game, but Teric wasn't paying him any mind. He was toiling over a feverish plan in his head, trying to factor in all the variables despite his temper.

"How would one go about registering a sale with the City Clerk?" Teric asked, finally feeling calm enough to try taking another drink from his glass.

"One would go down to the Clerk's office and submit an "Intention to Sell" form." Pembleton replied almost immediately. In addition to his extensive accounting knowledge, Pembleton also seemed to possess a great deal of helpful legal knowledge. "The City uses them to keep track of which properties might soon be changing hands. Sort of a queuing system to get the paperwork started before any sale is actually made. No one inside the city limits may sell their property without filling one out, and no land transaction is honored if the form for that property doesn't exist. It's a bureaucratic mechanism, really, designed to give a couple more citizens a measly City salary."

"If I were selling a property, would I myself have to fill out the form? Or could a proxy fill out the paperwork for me?" Was Teric's next question, and it seemed to give away enough of the mercenary's forming plan to pique Pembleton's interest.

"Normally you would have to fill out the forms yourself." The accountant replied, putting his toast down and leaning forward in his chair once more. "It's not unheard of, though, should you be otherwise indisposed, for an official proxy to handle the task."

"Otherwise indisposed?"

"Sick, out of the city, on your honeymoon, that sort of stuff." Pembleton was smiling. "Any plausible excuse that would prevent you from making a trip to the City Clerk's office really." The accountant must have guessed Teric's next question already, for he launched right into the answer. "To be considered an official proxy, one would need a letter from the property's owner, signed and sealed in duplicate. One letter to be carried by the proxy, and another to be carried by the purchaser of the property."

"One letter for me, and another for you then." Teric was smiling at this point as well. In the back of his mind he was thinking...I certainly hope that bearded buffoon didn't make too much of a mess!

[Bloodrose]

Immediately after breakfast, Teric left for the home of Geoff Manning. It was a small place, just outside the Pine Circle community where the coveted property sat. Pembleton had used his deep ties to the financial community to learn the whereabouts of Mr. Manning's home, and it had been that information that Teric passed along to his now deceased henchman. It was that same information that Teric now used to navigate the streets of Radasanth and make his way to the dead man's front door...

In the interest of appearing above board, the mercenary approached the door in full daylight, paying never mind to the few folks walking the streets outside the abode. He knocked, as would be expectant of any guest unawares that the master of the house was dead, and waited several seconds before trying the door. It was unlocked, unsurprisingly, and Teric's only suspect action was opening the door and stepping in unannounced. I doubt anyone on the street will notice something that mundane. The veteran hoped. Not if they're minding their own business.

Geoff Manning's home was a fairly simple affair. It was a small, two story home in a decent neighborhood - typical of people with money who don't want to flaunt it. Downstairs the front door opened into a joined kitchen/dining area, and a doorway led into a sitting area beyond. On the left of the dining area was a stairwell, and Teric wasted no time in mounting said stairs and ascending to the above floor. At the top of the stairs was the lavatory, and a narrow hall was interrupted by only two closed doors. The first he opened (there really was no need to knock since he knew the owner wouldn't mind), turned out to be a lightly furnished master bedroom. It was obvious why Manning had so much money, at least in Teric's mind anyways: The man didn't seem to splurge on much of anything outside the normal amenities.

The second door opened into the office, once probably a second bedroom, and it was here that Teric found the late Mr. Manning. The poor bastard was dressed in his nightclothes, propped back in his chair with a throwing knife stuck in his ribs. Other than the red, sticky mess spilt all over the front of his sleeping gown, the office was in immaculate condition. One wall was lined with neatly organized bookshelves, the contents ordered not only by the color of their bindings, but also by their height.

"Whew." Teric whistled, making that noise people sometimes make when they've stumbled across something weird or unusual. Mr. Manning it would have seemed, aside from being a stingy man, was also compulsive and obsessive over his few belongings.

Wandering around the heavy oak desk that sat near the middle of the small room, his footsteps quieted by the nice velvet carpet, Teric came to a surprising discovery. The top-left drawer in the desk was pulled halfway open, almost as if Geoff had been opening it when he was interrupted by the thief Teric had hired. Curious, the veteran pulled the drawer open...and whistled again.

Or maybe he tried pulling open the drawer when he was interrupted. Teric amended his earlier prediction. Inside the drawer was a flintlock pistol, one of the variety not often seen outside of Alerar. While having no first-hand experience firing such a weapon, Teric had been on the receiving end enough times to know that the cocked-back hammer meant serious business. Had he gotten the drawer open in time, Teric was considering, my friend might not have been coming back to see me with the deed...

Gingerly, almost reverently, Teric picked up the pistol from inside the desk and wielded it fancifully. The heavy wooden grip and the shape of the weapon was typical of what Teric had seen of simple firearm technology. Unlike the ridiculous and tremendously powerful contraptions certain men were rumored to carry, men like the infamous Max Dirks or Godhand Striker, the flintlock pistol was an entirely different beast. Its muzzle-loaded round was a hand-cast lead ball, and it fired on the premise of loose powder, not cartridges. A potent, if not inaccurate and slow, weapon. Teric whistled again, a third time, in appreciation of the craftsmanship as he pointed the weapon around the room and contemplated taking the weapon with him.

Knocking at the front door of the Manning home pulled the mercenary almost immediately from his reverie...

[Bloodrose]

Shit, shit, shit! Teric's mind was losing it, even as the mercenary calmly stowed the flintlock pistol away in the drawer and closed it tight. Measured footsteps, far more calculating than his frantic mind would betray, carried the warrior back to the stairs. Who the hell could it be? He was thinking, descending the steps quietly and making his way to the window closest to the front door. More knocking was the background noise to which Teric pulled back the curtain, gazing out at his unwelcome guest.

Of all the luck I haven't got!

Teric strode over to the front door and pulled it open casually, a welcoming smile on his face. Standing on the doorstep was a housekeeper, dressed plainly in the blue and white gown typical of one of Radasanth's Maid Guilds. She was a homely young thing, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, but possessing none of the beauty men enjoyed in women that age. Were he interested in drawing an appropriate analogy, Teric might have noted that she'd do well amongst the half-orc crowd - despite her obviously human parentage. The mercenary was in no mood to joke with her, or himself for that matter; he just wanted her gone as quickly as possible.

"Excuse me?" The girl said meekly, trying to glance over Teric's shoulder into the home. "Is Mr. Manning home?"

"I'm afraid Geoff is indisposed at the moment." Teric purposefully used the man's first name as a show of familiarity. Plant the seeds of deception early. The first rule of subterfuge came to mind as Teric maintained that disarming, friendly smile. "We were discussing a business matter when you knocked."

There were few instances where Teric was glad for his expensive looking garb - aside from moments of vanity - but this was one of those instances. Had he opened the door dressed in boiled leather brigandine and vambraces like any common mercenary or knave, the cleaning girl would have likely been much less accepting of such a story. As it was, in his coat, shirt, and vest, with his chainmail hidden beneath his clothes, Teric could pass for a noble if he had to.

"Oh." The girl started, now glancing over her shoulder towards another nearby house. "Did Mr. Manning still want me to clean today?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, my dear. Mr. Geoff is planning to leave the city for a few months, so he's been very studious in his keeping up the place. Wouldn't want to leave a dirty home, you know?"

"Oh, Mr. Manning is going on holiday?" The girl seemed interested now. "He didn't mention anything to the Guild about going away."

The ruse had been laid over the trap to disguise it, and now Teric's furiously thinking brain was getting ready for the final sell. If he could convince the girl that the home's owner was going to be gone for a while, all the better to defer any questions of his whereabouts. A cleaning maid would certainly make a credible witness should anyone come looking for Mr. Geoff Manning.

"That old bugger." Teric rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive him that. We old men, we tend to get a little forgetful in our advanced years." The fake smile dissolved into a chuckle, and the cleaning girl smiled back. Hook, line, and sinker. Teric willed, fetching a gold coin out of his pocket. "Here, take this for your troubles." The veteran pressed the coin into the girl's palm, watching as her eyes lit up like the rising sun. A gold crown was likely more than she made in a day's labor, so to get one for nothing must have seemed a generous treat.

"Thank you, sir!" The girl gushed, spiriting the coin away in a pocket. "Please tell Mr. Manning that I hope he enjoys his trip!"

"I will, Dearie." Teric smiled and waved to the girl as she took off, moving on to the next house and knocking at the door. Crisis averted, most expertly at that, Teric closed and locked the front door, moving quickly back to the upstairs. You've still got it! The veteran was thinking, pleased with himself. Charisma always one of your finer points...

[Bloodrose]

Geoff was still sitting where Teric had left him, slumped back in his chair staring lifelessly at the ceiling of his office. Into the room the mercenary strode, pushing aside the chair and it's occupant to make room in front of the desk. That task accomplished, the veteran proceeded to pull open ever drawer in the desk, scouring the contents for two things.

The first, the sky blue wax that Pembleton claimed Geoff used to seal all of his correspondence, was easy enough to find. There was a veritable brick of the stuff sitting in the second drawer down, a small knife used to cut useable portions from the block stuck in the surface. How Pembleton had correctly identified the color wax Geoff used, without knowing the man personally, was a mystery to Teric, but the mercenary was beyond doubting the information that fell out of his accountant's mouth these days.

"So I've got your wax." Teric said out loud to the corpse, talking more for his benefit than for that of the deceased man. "But where is your seal?"

"It will likely be a bronze, pen looking instrument with a broad tip." The veteran recalled Pembleton's words. "Either that or a stamp. It will have an eagle on it, one clutching a four leaf clover."

Several minutes of fruitless searching yielded no results, and Teric stood behind the desk, flustered. There was no stamp, and no broad tipped pen anywhere on the desk. Of quill pens and paperweights there were plenty, but nothing bearing an eagle insignia. It's got to be around here somewhere. The warrior was thinking, glancing over at Geoff's corpse. "What say you, you miserable bastard? Where is it?" Grim silence was Geoff's only reply, and Teric shook his head despairingly. Forging a letter in Mr. Manning's name would be fruitless if he couldn't seal the document with Geoff's mark...

Teric moved to dump Geoff's body on the floor, suddenly envious of the dead man's seat and having the urge to sit down. He grabbed the corpse by the collar of its nightgown, shifting the body's weight forward enough to pitch Mr. Manning's remains headlong onto the floor. On its way, Teric noticed something he hadn't seen before - something hidden by the far side of the chair when the corpse's arms had hung over the edge.

"Pen or stamp, my left foot!" Teric grumbled as he bent down and pulled a heavy gold ring off the corpse's right hand. It was a chunky, ugly thing, but the eagle and clover on the face - still accented with a sliver of sky-blue wax, was the most beautiful sight Teric had seen all day. "Guess the accountant can't always be right..."

Grabbing the ring, the wax, a few sheets of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from Geoff's desk, Teric packed the items away in his pockets and readied himself to depart. On his way out, though, a thought struck him. It was the kind of thought that forced him to turn back and look at the corpse on the floor with a thoughtful stare.

"Can't just leave you there, can I?" The veteran asked the corpse, giving the mercenary cause to question his mental state. Talking to dead people generally wasn't a sign of sanity, but Teric comforted himself with a reminder that the talking was purely rhetorical. If the corpse started to talk back, the fighter reasoned, that was cause to worry...

Striding down the short hall to the bedroom, Teric proceeded to empty a footlocker sitting in its rightful spot at the end of the bed. It was an unassuming and utilitarian thing, bearing no fanciful or eye-catching features. Just a footlocker, emptied quickly of the clothes and small objects contained within. These things were shoved under the bed where they would go unnoticed, and the mercenary dragged the footlocker into the office. Into the footlocker went one former Geoff Manning - his limbs contorted in a fashion that would have proven painful in life. Not the most dignified way to be interned, but certainly an improvement over being left to rot on his office floor.

Pushing the footlocker against the far wall, Teric took the final step of wiping up as much blood as he could with a shred of Geoff's nightgown. He didn't take an overly long amount of time to ensure his work was decent, but with as much of the sticky mess off the floor as possible, Teric tossed the rag on top of the corpse before shutting the lid and locking the box.

"My the Goddess take you to her bosom, and give you life in the Eternal Forest." The mercenary stated solemnly, bowing his head and touching two fingers to his forehead. While not a religious person, per say, Teric had been raised by his mother in ways outlawed by Salvar's Church of Ethereal Sway. The first line of the Forgotten funeral rites came to mind, and since it seemed an appropriate time, Teric had uttered them without giving it much thought. Without a second more of pause, the warrior strode briskly out of the office and down the stairs. Exiting by the front door, assured that a cursory search of the house wouldn't betray much evidence of Geoff's demise, Teric headed back in the direction of Pembleton's offices...

[Bloodrose]

"What do you think?" Pembleton pushed the official looking document across the table toward Teric's seat, a pleased grin on his face. It was the grin of someone who's just accomplished something difficult, and stank of self-satisfaction.

"Well, it certainly looks legit at a glance." Teric replied, scanning the letter happily. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

The accountant chuckled softly to himself as he took the letter back, looking over it proudly. The penmanship wouldn't have been passable as Geoff's if scrutinized by a professional, but Pembleton had taken special care with the signature. The accountant had shown Teric a special device he kept in his desk; a tiny glass top table with an alchemical light in the base. When activated, the light illuminated the tabletop, and when one placed two pieces of paper over the light, the illumination shone through the paper and made it child's play to trace what was beneath onto the sheet on top...

"One of my finer forgeries, I must admit." The accountant revealed, scratching the underside of his chin as he lit a candle with his free hand. Cutting off a slice of blue wax, Pembleton dropped the slice into a spoon and held it carefully over the flame. A seconds the wax was melted, and Teric took the letter long enough to fold it in thirds. Onto the outside edge went a spot of wax, and Pembleton punched the gold ring into the glob before it could cool. When peeled away, the ring left a slightly smeared but still acceptable imprint of an eagle clutching a clover. "And viola!" There was a flourish as Pembleton rose from behind his desk and took a mock bow.

"Very nice," Teric admitted, offering up gentle applause, "but now you have to do it again."

"Easy as apple pie." The accountant gloated, settling down with pen and another sheet of parchment. "I'll have it done by lunch, and tomorrow we can waltz into the City Clerk’s office and claim our prize."

"I'll send the first letter out now." Teric replied, picking up the letter and dabbing the wax to ensure that it was cooled. "It should reach the Clerk by this afternoon, and at least be on file by the time we arrive."

Departing Pembleton's offices, Teric headed downstairs and out of the building. Next door was the bank, and as was usual for normal business hours, a couple messengers sat patiently on the stone steps outside. Should the bank need to contact another branch in the city, or perhaps another bank entirely, the messengers were the first line of communication.

"You there, boy!" Teric called out to a young gentlemen sitting quietly. The boy was no older than fifteen, but the mercenary cared less about his age and more about the yellow and blue striped tunic that marked him as a messenger employed by the City.

"Yes, sir?" The boy stood up and began habitually bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet, warming his legs as messengers in the city were wont to do. His long blonde hair was tied back behind his head, and the slight points of his ears hinted at some elven heritage.

"You a swift runner boy?" Teric spoke gruffly, flashing the letter in one hand while producing a gold coin in the other.

"Fastest in the city, sir. Or so they say." The messenger beamed, accepting both the letter and the coin when Teric handed them to him. The coin vanished into a pouch, and the letter slid into a deep, wide pocket sewn into the front of every messenger tunic. The boy fastened the button at the top of the pocket, and patted the letter comfortingly to ensure it was secure against his chest.

"Don't be modest boy. Flaunt the skills you've got." Teric fished another coin out of his pocket and flipped it towards the boy. "The first is for the City's fee, the second is for you. Make sure that letter reaches the City Clerk's office before noontime today. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The boy responded, before taking off at a brisk pace. Teric stood by for a moment to watch the boy speed down the street and around the corner, before heading back to Pembleton's office to see how the accountant was progressing with the second letter.