Shady Business Practices: (Closed to Red <3)

[Cards of Fate]

The House of Cards, First Floor, Library

Vincent Cain growled as he ran a hand through his hair. Ever since the slaying of the forgotten one Pode, the scholar had picked up more and more responsibilities. At first his promotion to the Emperor had been awesome, everyone was treating him better and giving him extra space to let him study. Then Leona begun dumping reports in his lap. “An Emperor should always be aware of what is going on the world…”

His candle flickered, sending shadows dancing across the room eerily. Bookshelves once filled with ancient texts had been replaced with tomes and tomes of transcribed knowledge. Every fact or story Vincent had ever read or learned was stored on these neatly dusted shelves. It was a bittersweet feeling, preparing what had been his home for so long for his own replacement.

His bloodshot sapphire eyes scanned the worn out document for the thousandth time. Documents about the cotton yields of Corone had very little interest for Vincent. He paused for a moment. He did however, know someone who would find use out of that information.

He rose to his feet and kicked his chair away. Growling he adjusted his wrinkled purple robe and sighed. He would need to go hunt down his favorite merchant turned assassin.

[redrout]

Joseph was asleep when he heard the knock on his door. He grunted, fumbling around in the dark for a moment until he found the latch for the door. It rose, and he opened the door, revealing Vince, who seemed quite upset. He stomped in, holding a candle in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. He set both down on the small table and fell into one of the chairs with a huff, folding his arms.

“Something vexes thee?” Joseph asked, reaching into the chest at the foot of his bed to grab a shirt, which he pulled over his head, wincing as his shoulders turned. He pulled up the other chair and sat down.

“I fail to see how any of this means anything to me,” Vince said, quite visibly irked. “Maybe you can make some sense of it,” he continued, sliding the papers toward Joseph.

Joseph pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped his eyes. “Vince, how late is it?” it was sometimes hard to tell when underground.

“Actually, it’s early right now,” Vince said, smirking a bit despite his gloom.

Joseph grabbed the stack of papers, holding them against the light. Hmmm, cotton production, ore movements, shipments of grain; aren’t these confidential reports? “How do you have these? These are only supposed to be used between buyer and seller.”

“Consider them, benefits, of membership in the Heirarchy, Joe,” Vince said. “We have people in a lot of places.”

Joseph turned his attention to the top report in the stack. Hmm, Corone is producing less cotton this year. If I could get my hands on some from Raieria and move it south, then….

Joseph looked up at Vince. “Do you think you could get your hands on some cotton from Raieria?”

Vince smiled. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

[Cards of Fate]

Several hours later the two were both buried among stacks of papers, each taking careful notes as they went about their work. The candle the scholar had previously brought in had melted down to it’s base and had been replaced. Outside several members had begun to audibly stirr going about their morning routines.

“Evenfar is exporting more Iron the normal.” Vincent commented as he passed a report over the barricade of papers between the two. The merchant took it and ran a cursory glance over it.

“Then we should try and buy it while it’s cheap there instead of in Salvarian mines. Then we sit on it and let the price go back up before we sell it…” the merchant mused jotting down a note. “This should be illegal, we’re going to make so much money…”

“Where I’m from it’s called insider trading,” Vince responded. “It’s very illegal, but we’ve killed people in the past. I don’t think we care do we?”

“We’ve peddled Salvarian Cotton, Piss, and death.” Joseph nodded. “No we’re going to swindle a whole lotta people out of a whole lot of gold.”

“We’re going to need some employees to do all of this.” Vincent mused. “And not just traders and sailors. This amount of gold needs some steel to protect it…”

[redrout]

“We need big guys then,” Joseph said, chewing on his pipe, which was smoldering quietly amid a haze that surrounded his head. “The bigger the better,”

Vince leaned until he was visible from behind a stack of papers, looking quizzically at Joseph.

“Initial gold won’t buy us much steel; and we need mean faces more than we need skilled mercenaries. We hire mean enough looking people and we won’t have to protect our shipments.” Joseph slid a paper into a smaller pile of the more lucrative prospects they had.

“We’re going to need trained mercenaries if we’re going to make any real money off of this,” Vince retorted, tossing three more papers on the less productive pile. He made a good point.

Joseph nodded, “And we can do that after we build some startup capital. We’ll need to start smaller anyways; we need to minimize the risk we’re taking.” He plucked the pipe from his mouth and tapped it out. Joseph was a merchant, after all. He grabbed the pile of their likeliest deals and pushed the rest aside. “I’m going to go over these, see what we should start with. See if you can find us some guys to help with the transport and security; I should have something for you after I get a little sleep.”

Vince nodded, grabbing their other papers and books. “Good. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,”

Joseph paused. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked after Vince as he left.

“It’s from Casablanca!” Vince shouted back.

Vince bagged his pipe. “What the hell is a casablanca?”

[Cards of Fate]

Sometimes living in a world without the internet frustrated Vincent. A lot of things could be solved in the simplest of ways. Instead of needing to walk over to Joseph’s room with a fuck ton of papers he could simply have sent him a text reading “Ayy Lmao dude check this out” and sent him a bunch of files over skype or dropbox.

But no, he couldn’t.

Now he needed to find some mercenaries, and there was no Althanian craigslist to browse and hit up local unemployed strong-arms looking for cash. Instead he returned to his office and began to write. None of his current reports had any form of mercenaries on it, so instead he drafted a letter requesting these sorts of things. He wasn’t quite sure who he was addressing though, Leona had yet to let the fledgling leader in on all of her secrets. After several moments of thoughtful writing he nodded to himself and affixed his new seal to it, a large ornate E made out of red wax.

Then it was time to play the waiting game.

Over the next few days Joseph and Vincent met several times over pizza and ale to discuss things while they waited. During this time the scholar took time to explain his sense of humor.

Finally the missives arrived.

[redrout]

(Note: the misspelling of fajitas is intentional, as Joseph has no idea of their origin)

“What about this one? He says he’s recorded over one hundred duels,” Vince said, handing a piece of paper over what he called ‘faheetas’, no doubt another creation of this alternate world. Joseph took the paper, giving it a once-over before placing it in a pile.

“I would say yes, but if he’s really been in a hundred duels, which I doubt, then he’s either lying to us or he’s going to need way more coin than we’ve budgeted out."

“We’ve already allotted two thousand gold pieces to the mercenaries we’ll be hiring, how much more coin could he ask for?” Vince asked, frustrated.

“One man is far easier to kill than four men, even if that one has won a hundred duels,” Joseph said, grabbing a faheeta. They were good, if a bit on the sloppy side. They had already dripped on several of the pages they were going through.

After a few minutes, Vince spoke again, handing a piece of paper over the food. “What about this one? He’s huge, says he’s over seven feet tall here. Painfully short description though, says he doesn’t want to fight but he will if he has to, that’s pretty much it.”

Joseph smiled. “Great, that’s just what we need. I dunno if he’s actually seven feet tall, but he’s probably still pretty big. And we hardly want the RRI to have a reputation of violence.” Joe grabbed the stack of their prospects. “And that leaves us with what, four? Yeah, four, all of whom are big, scary, cheap, and close to Radasanth; You want me to send the letters out? I know you’ve been pretty busy lately.”

Vince smiled, a little wearily. “Nah, remember, I’ve got that pesky magic that gets me around,” he said, grabbing the plate of food and the papers, walking out the door. Joseph gave chase.

"Hey, leave some of those for me!"

[redford]

There was a smooth rhythm to the clang of hammer on steel that rang out from John’s workshop in the early evening. The dual swords that some lord’s son wanted to show off on a mantlepiece somewhere were shaping up nicely, and if he put in a good day tomorrow he would be able to finish them and maybe start on some basic swords for the people around town. The dragon’s attack two weeks previous left a lot of buildings in cinders, and a lot of folk painfully aware of their lack of protection. He turned his attention back to the steel.

The striking of his hammer had a pleasant sort of repetition, and he made sure no energy was wasted. satisfied with how this one was shaping up, he doused it in water, the hiss silencing the crickets that gathered around his house in the twilight. He built the small residence away from most of Radasanth, the clang of hammer on anvil that was enjoyable to him tended to be irritable to others, especially at times such as these when most were just getting to their beds. The house itself was more of an addition to the workshop and not the other way around. A bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were attached to rooms dedicated to his craft, with a large workshop bordering the house on one side. He’d been working this forge for nigh on ten years, and his skill brought good money, though he had little use for most of it.

He grabbed the other sword lying in the coals with a gauntleted hand, still feeling no heat or pain from it. It was odd, the gauntlets had never come off his hands once in twelve years, and yet they never lost the look of highly polished steel. He selected a hammer and began to strike at the red-hot metal with as much precision as he could muster. He was getting good coin for this steel, and he wanted to give a good product, no matter how little use the swords might actually see. After they were forged and sharpened, they would need to be engraved with the requested sigils, polished, then delivered. When he went into town to deliver them, he’d also need to get some fresh steel for more swords; but those were tomorrow’s worries.

Another hissing sounded the end of work for John, and after making sure they were dry again, he brought them inside and set them on a bench, ready for a hilt and pommel, and eventually some engraving. John moved to the small kitchen and grabbed a chunk of bread, taking a bite of it before noticing the letter on his table. He looked around suspiciously; no one usually came out to his place unless they wanted work done, and those people didn’t come in the evening. The letter was sealed with a large glob of wax, stamped into an ornate E. John looked around again, outside his windows, but the evening was settling fast, and it was already quite dark. He looked down at the letter again, tracing the E with a metal-clad finger. Eventually he cracked the seal, leaving dark smudges on the paper as he opened it and read:

To whom it may concern,

I am prepared to offer five hundred gold pieces for the safe transport of goods from Radasanth to Ettermire. There is a ship, the Irillien, docked at port, and it contains the goods to be protected. The ship leaves one week from today. If you present this letter at the boat you will be paid one hundred gold pieces upon setting sail and the remainder upon delivery of the goods.

Thank you for your consideration,
The Raierian Restoration Initiative.

John thought, his brow furrowed as he set the letter back on the table. Ettermire is pretty far away, but five hundred gold pieces would buy a lot of good iron, or a few pieces of finer stuff. He turned it over in his mind. He could probably finish two swords before the boat left, and if everything went according to schedule, it would be a fortnight before he returned to his home. He tried to think more on it, but ever since he sat down to read the letter, the aches of a hard day’s labor were sinking in, drawing him to bed. He could consider the proposal more tomorrow, perhaps figure out how it had mysteriously appeared in his house.

[Cards of Fate]

It didn’t take an expert to see that the Irellian was a fine boat, after all it had been given to Vincent as a gift by Leona’s adoptive father and was one of the last ships built at the peak of Raiaeran power. Capable of out sailing any “modern” vehicle this long sleek trade ship was Raiaera’s treasure, and it had simply been given as a gift to the Hierarchy. That spoke heavily of the respect the elder noble families had for the shadowy organization and its power, even if it was still in its infancy in this era.

Now docked in Etheria port Vincent and Joseph had begun there ruse. The scholar had abandoned his usual finery for a set of rough leather trousers and a heavily stained cotton shirt that was often unbuttoned enough to expose the beginnings of a burly bare of any hair. His usually well-kept golden hair was now a salt soaked mane, and his jaw bore the faint scruff of a beard. In short he was playing every part of the young sailor amongst the crew.

Joseph had adopted a rather…unpleasant attitude. Bearing the finest furs and silks he had been nothing but trouble for the crew, unleashing a barrage of insults whenever someone messed up. Meanwhile Vincent had wormed his way into the hearts of the crewmen as a lovable new hire who seemed eager to prove himself.

It was the perfect case of good cop, bad cop.

Finally they arrived at Etheria port, a dark and dreary town coated in enough coal dust to make the native dark elves looks colorful in contrast. After the goods had been loaded the crew found themselves playing dice to pass the time.

“Com’ on laday luck! Gimme two threes.” Vincent grunted with a mouth full of jerky as he shook a fistful of dice.

“Fat chance Vinnie!” a larger man with two barrels for arms growled. The scholar grinned and threw his dice and all were silent as two threes were revealed.

“OH EAT IT DONNIE!” Vince roared raising to his feet. “Gettin’ luckier than yer ugly ass brother in a convent full of blind nymphomaniacs!” The young “sailor” strutted around a bit as the other men laughed and chuckled at the boys flamboyant display.

“You’d swear Jomill herself favored this boy!” The older man, Donnie, managed as he rose to his feet. “I mean at this rate none of us are gonna go home with any of our money!”
Vincent bowed and scooped up several coins and dropped in his pocket. “Ill stop betting with y’all if you want, but you lose your chance to get yer money back.” Suddenly all voices and laughter stopped as a large man in ornate clothing towered over them from the helm.

“You better pray you’re not gambling on MY ship!” A giant of a man spat between clenched teeth. His eyes scanned the crew and settled on Vincent before his gaze wavered slightly. “Look alive mates, we have a new crew member joining us, his name is John.” He gestured to an even larger man with massive gauntlets.

“Oi look at the mitts on that fuckers fists…” Vincent muttered. “Oi Mittens, where did you get the fancy bling?”

[redrout]

Joseph paraded himself across the deck of the Irillien. His silver-capped walking cane tapped on the beams, and he occasionally stopped to look out across the water. His other arm was tucked behind his back, and he kept his head high, short though he was. Joseph considered his position for the hundredth time that day.

The air of a noble was not one of richness, nor of pride, though those were important. The air of a noble was one of invincibility, of power so rooted in society that it could not be taken away. Then, pride and riches followed. And Joseph played the part perfectly. The sailors without exception turned their gaze away when he looked at them, and looked at him with disdain when they thought he would not notice.

Honestly, this is easier than I thought. Joseph had often played the part of a noble in the past, but it was mostly just to get close to a target, which meant that he needed the disguise for only a few minutes. However, this situation was different. He’d be spending several days with these sailors and mercenaries, and that required a much more convincing forgery.

Joseph tilted his head back a little to see under his wide-brimmed hat with a feather. It matched his trousers and jacket, all of them a dark green. His socks and vests were gold-colored, giving him a flamboyant air. Vincent had called him a ‘pimp’.

He looked back toward the gangplank, and there stood a man. It was the largest human being Joseph had ever seen. The stranger was so overwhelmingly massive that Joseph nearly broke character as he examined him. He was large everywhere, large legs, large hips, and he tapered up to wide shoulders and a thick neck. Joseph absently wondered how he fed himself, or for that matter, just how he’d managed to find a shirt and trousers that actually fit. Vincent shouted at him, and the large man’s eyes narrowed. It was then that Joseph noticed the gauntlets. They hugged his forearms tightly, and from a cursory examination seemed to be made of polished silver.

How odd… Joseph thought as he approached, overhearing the man’s name.

“Now, Vincent, let’s not make the man angry, especially since he’ll be making more in this week than you will all season,” Joseph said. He grabbed a pouch of coins from one of his pockets, tossing it to John. “Now, John, if you’re quite done with these ruffians, we can talk business.” Joseph finished as he tossed the pouch to John, who caught it deftly. His metallic gloves seemed elastic, almost. Perhaps they were magic, the damnable stuff seemed to be everywhere of late. He looked to his side for a second, brushing a mote of dust off his shoulder before turning to the ship’s stern, where his cabin was.

“Now," John said firmly, "Captain Marshe, I think I’ll retire for the afternoon. Do send any more mercenaries that show up into my quarters, if you please,” he said as he walked back toward his room.

[redford]

The gangplank creaked under John’s weight as he walked up it, following the captain, Daniel Marshe onto the Irillien. It was a magnificent ship, built of good hardwood, well-maintained and engraved around the windows. There was a great painted wooden lady at the bow of the ship, wings for arms stretched behind her forming the rails at the foredeck. She was a beautiful ship, of that there was no doubt. She was accented in dark green, but most of the hull of the ship was simply beautiful polished wood.

The sailors, however, were not as dignified as what they rode upon. Several of them were playing at dice when he crossed onto the boat proper, and several looked up, not having the sense to look away again. One of them was of the more daring or foolish sort, and commented on his size. John paid no heed to the heckling, and followed the captain, who scolded the men thoroughly.

A smaller man to the side, dressed as lavishly as possible, and began smoothly condescending to the sailors. It was the derision only a noble could muster, and as he tossed a purse of coins to John. He was pompous and callous, and afforded the rest of the crew, captain, and John with only the amount of respect required by one of John’s standing. It was disdain, plain and simple, and it ground upon John’s nerves like a millstone. Even his voice was annoying. But, the coin was good, and it seemed he’d be spending the time in relative comfort, so it would be bearable.

The small man motioned for him to follow, walking toward and through a door to the bridge of the ship. The place was lavishly furnished, and a pair of nice lanterns sat at either side of the wide room. It was a triangular shaped room, with two curved walls that were parts of the hull. Two windows gave a view out into the harbor, and John was barely able to stand upright in the room. Joseph sat down behind a finely carved wooden desk as the door opened and a burly man stepped through, a giant axe strapped to his back. Joseph spoke.

“Excellent,” he tossed the other man his bag of coins. “Let’s talk business, shall we? Have a seat.”