The Company: Shareholder Meeting

[Bloodrose]

On any given night of the week, the main room at the Starlight was a hive of activity centered around the wide bar that hooked like a big, backwards 'L' into the center of the room. Patrons would normally be clamoring at the tables, shouting and laughing and enjoying a general sense of merriment as they unwound from the day's labors. Staff would have normally been darting to and from tables, delivering to the merrymakers a variety of fine drinks ranging from hot cider to cold chestnut beer. Tonight, at the Starlight, was not a normal night however. Tonight the main room was reserved for a special function hosted by one of the tavern's favorite regulars.

Teric had set up shop on the east side of the room, dragging a big table in front of the fireplace so that he had the warmth at his back while he conducted business. Arranged in two rows in front of the table were a couple dozen chairs, a few of which that were already occupied, reserved for the Shareholders of Teric's project venture, The Company. Tonight was to be the first official 'Shareholder Meeting', and Teric hoped to see most of the investors show up for the event.

Of the faces already gathered in the crowd, Teric recognized a few. He recognized Richard Pembleton, the Company's financial advisor, as well as a few of the newer investors. Faces that he would have recognized, or had hoped to, appeared to be missing, as not all of the shareholders had arrived yet.

"Paid that messenger a small fortune to deliver all those letters." The veteran grumbled as he sat at his head table and sifted through several documents Pembleton had provided. A lot of legalese mumbo-jumbo that made no sense to a hardened career fighter like Teric, but the mercenary trusted that the accountant had put everything in prime order for the evening. On the docket of business was the election of a Board of Directors, as well as a couple of items Teric wanted to square with the people who's money he planned to start spending in abundance...

Where is Rayse? Teric wondered suddenly, realizing that his associate, partner, and nephew had run off somewhere. Knowing Rayse it was either to a dark corner where he could smoke in peace, or perhaps he'd nipped off to the cellars to root out a nice bottle of liquor. Suppose I'll wait until he gets back here before I get this meeting underway. The veteran thought, eyeballing some of the gathered shareholders. Most seemed content for now to just mingle and get acquainted with one another, but Teric didn't want to take up more of their time than he had to.

[Melancor]

The nasty fire burned brightly, embracing the chamber with its horrid warmth. It was a medium-sized room, fitting to host the night activities the human populace was always fond of. Quiet as it seemed today though, an unwavering feeling of antagonism towards this, otherwise neutral, organization kindled dimly below Melancor’s best interest. This was the crouching hand that had been hired by the New World Order; thwart Imperial, to which he remained as a broadly unaccepted figure-head.

Hinder my segregate house, sneered Melancor, his head rested on his knuckles, heartened by his arm who took support on that of the brusque oak chair, daring. His furious frown loosened as he opened his eyes and emerged from his meditation. I am not apathetic to know what lies under the lion's mane, should he face prosecution by his own swine then… leave it to the Erinyes. He doubted such feeling could be inspired through his broken house in any case. However… I cannot say the same about the Dirks Estate.

It was almost irony that brought him to attend the call of a group he himself had quarreled with. Whatever. Melancor was attracted to powere like bees to a field of flowers. Having to mingle with Humans was a minus, but by now he had gotten used to this other unworthy swine. These creatures where frivolous, forcing their way through the obstacles, resorting to hysteria and their massive numbers. By nature: greedy, ambitious, vile like vultures who stawlk their pray to later attack where one is most vulnerable.
Melancor snorted, as his face lashed away from the table, where a soft rattle of murmurs consumed the silence, the dark frown again cut through his forehead.

Vampires, though more vile, rely on their ancient knowledge that rots through their skulls. His mercurial nature manifested again: Sly creatures. In no way was Melancor a benevolent divinity, let me be a cynic hypocrite, I guess I too am a frivolous vulture, a soft twitter slipped through Melancor’s sharp lips, uncovering his grin. He paused. Speaking of vultures…

What was now the purpose of this summoning who had so boldly intruded in his daily affairs? Sure, sure, they where boring affairs, nothing more than walking through the same old nations and this haggard soil, but affairs nontheless. If he remembered clearly, they sought to come to terms on who would head their band of mercenaries. “They” apparently it’s now “Us” , There was no “Us” Melancor was the least interested to find himself in the precarious condition of holding a title of leadership. He loaned the true blind devotion that had been entrusted to him for 25,000 years, being a plain “leader” was in no ways consolation, it had proven true with Imperial. As long as they properly worked the capital he had taken from the temples of Istraloth, and invested in “The Company” then he would have no problem with it. Though, standing below their entangling affairs would be difficult when he held such a ‘modest’ number of stocks.

The room was silent, empty. The meeting had not even begun and he had already grown impatient. “This reunion holds such importance, even the invisible fiends of the wind themselves come hence forth.” His gaze ran through the empty seats, to halt above the dark silhouette that sat before- crowned- by the spiteful fire. A silent mirth ran through the room to be quickly appeased. Melancor sat at his left, his dark garments covered his body, and a dim shimmer emerged from beyond the shadow, the metal of the sleek plate that guarded his chest. His eyes held weary, his face again rested on his hand, his fist pressed against his cheek as Melancor stared gravely to the figure sitting at the head.

Curious Man. This smells like coal.

[Heart of Zaga]

“I am not so sure of how safe it will be in there, Zaga. You mustn’t leave my side.” A timid voice attempted to break the silence of the mute and cold night. It came from a petite figure elegantly dressed in a black gown that covered every inch of her skin. Waves, curves and edges of meters and meters of dark satin harmoniously bordered to recreate the costly garment that she so unwillingly wore a-day, and though most unconventional, had proven a frivolous tool to command respect and proper carriage toward her persona. However, that was at the capital.

“For that very same reason I should not stray behind the hide,” exclaimed the small demon as it coiled about the inside of her chest. She could feel him, tearing with black claws like a feral cat against his leather cage, “…Let me out and my own impatience will not hurt as much-“ he sunk an intangible, though a more unkind claw, against the soft inside of her bosom, “yer’ lovely mistress.”

With the most subtle modesty, one that she had no intention of breaking before long, especially in a public place, she unhooked her two hands that had so far rested before her waist in the cold. From her right palm, in a swift motion that might otherwise be appreciated as that of a juggler, she drew the fan into her palm and pressed her two fingers firmly parallel to the object, placing the higher end of the folded device below her brow. She growled as the hot-knifing pain drilled through her chest. “Pestering swine, scorn of hell, dare to come out and kill you in the spot.” Selene whispered with loathing haste.

“Dare to die by your own hand?” Zaga replied in a tone of awe that bled sarcasm, “It seems as though to dare and stab one’s body holds just one, and that is I. And only do I bare with this-“ Selene felt as if the metal, hot as the blade of Hares himself, of a thick dirk was slowly digging through her skull. The roofs of her eyes shrieked with the heat, that burnt through their core. A grave frown assailed Selene’s meek, expression. a sneer illuminated putridly through her meek, creamy, porcelain face. her snub nose rose like hills in wrinkles, and her eyes never did so forcefully retracted into their shadowy wall in the eve of this 'self inflicted' repugnant and spiteful pain.

“My tongue cannot rear the obscene abhorrence in which I regard you, my ‘soul’. A thousand times I accurse you, and a thousand do I desire the king of vile, fire and darkness to set his fangs upon you and devour every single trace of this-you, my soul. For eternity to cut through your disdainful meat, and live putrid until not even God himself would collect enough powder of heart to pity you!” With this hasting whisper she issued surrender, and finally yielded to the sprite’s dangerous request.

With a flick of the wrist, her fan opened, slashing the cold wind of the Coronean street. She covered her face as her eyes, looking beyond the fabric, set to the east and west, searching for any casual witnesses. The street stretched wide from side to side, paved with the wet rock of the last rain, and disappeared prematurely from her sight under the gray mist.
The damp face of the buildings seemed to bend forth to spy. Cool droplets of fell from unknown vicinities from which they slyly escaped. She had been standing there for a little while, to untrained eyes, talking to herself or apparently suffering of a vertigo assault. She was alone. Aside from the occasional vagabond that briefly appeared at the edges of the streets just to turn once more and avoid this path, having haggard coughs, a crouching posture and the slender figure of a bottle as their only company. Surprisingly enough, she had not claimed too much attention.

Alone. With two idle fingers of the hand before her, she dug into the cloth, grasped the cords and indifferently pulled them hard enough to reveal her bosom, thus explosing her skin to the chilly wind.

A hesitant breath escaped her mouth as she released the peevish monster into the air. From the shadows of the night a fiery glow illuminated the porcelain face behind the dark fan. A thread of fire escaped her chest and swiftly condensed into sphere of amber blaze. Her expression now relaxed into her fine and more favorable original appearance. The toil had ended, for now.

“Get off” Selene thundered in a whisper as her gaze was yet to recover from the ground.

By obligation more than fear or command the sphere shot into the air directed to the west. It had not gone more tha a few meters away, when the shimmer extinguished into the night, and was replaced by the grave sound of plucking feathers, who’s dark color aided its escape from Selene’s idle gaze. Few ,small, garnet embers ran through the fabric of her breezing shield. A quick snap to close it and a rapid tap with her hip expired the minute threads leaving behind the slight smell of burnt silk. She released her fan to raise her hand, the crow decended from the dark and sat upon her finger.

“Fancy you” Selene sneered, “change into something more presentable, bastard”

The crow snapped it head. Its body broke with a sinister crack, its body inflated, the beak sunk beneath the skin, the plumage bleached and shattere. The body grew slender and lighter as Selene drove her hand into her chest and placed the other underneath the horrible morphing mass. Selene could only sigh after witnessing the final results.
“I guess this is as presentable as you can get…” The gray face of a ferret emerge from between her arms. Zaga had a thing for rodents.

Ten steps where enough to reach the door which she hurried to knock to be received by a pair of haggard eyes which demanded, without a word, some sort of proof. From one of her many hidden pockets she drew the worn letter that had been delivered to one of the replaceable manors she rotated from to keep distance from the tracking hounds –the secret police- that had been dispatched in order of her father. She hurried to spread it open with her quivering hand and present to the eyes. The heavy wooden door crackled throughout its ragged surface until it had opened.

Her steps echoed above the chatter of the dim room, while she crossed the idle side of a venue that seemed to have been pretended to lodge celebrations, in the nightlife of the busy city. She rid herself from her cloak and handed it to a man who seemed weary of her silent petition. He did nothing more than throw it into a chair nearby with a growl and later vanish into a dark corner. Unrecognizable adornments hanged from the walls, some plains and other with disorientated visages. Her body heated at the realization of the precarious situation she had dug herself into. Selene was to meet with men, and men alone to discuss matters that only a widowed liberal madam could dare to handle in their social life. Her two hands twisted the fabric of the fan without remorse.

At last, after a walk that had seemed endless, she turned to a room dominated by a fire that warmed the cold evening. Glances fired up, as they perceived her with the corner of their eyes as if a shadow had materialized into a black siren. A long and robust table stretched across the gray room, faces craved by the light of the fire, and the major lack of the same, crowned two rows of chairs- of a material equally tough. A few still remained unclaimed as the guests had distributed themselves unevenly through. She swiftly, though not clumsily, moved to the third seat right from the silhouette sitting at the head of the table, one that she, for now, had chosen to disregard until the parade that was her persona had been properly fastened onto it’s seat.

And so she did, discretely as her already galoric garments would allow her. Letting Zaga sink under her sleeve she released the tight grip on her fan to take hold of a chair and slowly pull out to then be pushed inwards by a deceiving motion that made her appear as a limber master of the arts of wearing heavy gowns, once she had positioned herself. Zaga’s weak kinesis came handy in situations like these, where she had not expected to have received a hand (or not dared to ask for one) from the gentlemen around her. The back of the porcelain doll was in perfect position.

“Evening” She muttered quickly, and not with the timid and scared nature that laid behind her proud, severe and stoic façade. She did not glance at one single man, however. Before the quick waver of her hand again opened the modesty shield that was her black fan, the gaze was held upon the wood. Then after with her cover she threw quick glances upon the faces of her companions: The silhouette’s hair shimmered silver, and so did that of the man before her. This one’s face held more recognizable, a handsome and sharp face.

This, was the Company, she was sitting among aristocrats, who had managed to establish this mercenary organization, and recently carried out a mission successfully, against a group not too far from Radasanth. She had spent not more than fifty Graces - four months of bread rations worth- but she sought this a window to carry out the scheme that should secure her a place in the court of Salvar. Her cousin, Iorlan I Rathaxea, was not such an unyielding fellow once advisers held for treason. A plot so detailed that if properly executed, could shake the foundations of the sole super-power to its core.

The silver ferret moved its way back into her embracing arms, between the warm satin. “As beautiful as it schemes, Vedevich,” Zaga interrupted with a tone of discomfort “you are getting ahead of yourself.”

“Indeed,” she replied indifferently, “first I need some pawns to do the vile work.”

Her eyes closed to meditate behind the flutter.

[Rayse Valentino]

"Spill it."

Those were Rayse's first words of the evening. Leaning against the wall in the non-descript hotel room, he casually smoked while facing a familiar face.

"Yes, sir," Spoke Dan, Rayse's messenger from Salvar.

Dan had escaped Knife's Edge a week or so back, and detailed what had gone on there while Rayse was gone. Apparently, Denebriel had taken over The Sway and was now wrecking havoc upon the royalist forces. Up until that point, even with the premonitions, visions, the library in Ettermire, and his own gut feeling, he still didn't believe in Denebriel. An ancient being from an ancient time fighting an ancient war, it all sounded like a fairy tale to him. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't of even believed Dan then. However, since he had, and since someone other than him had mentioned the name Denebriel, Rayse knew it was all true. Everything he saw must've really happened, which made his plan of kicking her ass seem a bit out of reach. There was still time, he thought.

Although, right now his focus was on a different matter entirely as Dan spoke, "I confirmed what really happened. Imperial had contacted the Ai'Brone monks to work outside their jurisdiction to reduce casualties. It's quite precedent-setting, sir, there is no other case like it."

Rayse had mixed feelings about the monks. On one hand, they seemed to provide a way to settle differences without death, but at the same time their motives were mysterious. The Contractor didn't like not knowing what someone was up to when it affected him. By operating outside The Citadel and not telling him, those monks showed clear favoritism. What if they were, to say, join with anti-government forces? They wouldn't need too much of an army if nobody could die.

"Also, I couldn't track the guy you mentioned," Dan lamented. "Sorry, sir."

He was referring to Ashiakin, who Rayse couldn't find after the battle. It wasn't until afterwards that he discovered Ashiakin was tied to the royal throne of Salvar somehow. Although, he had a feeling that he knew his appearance for a different reason.

"I hate to be a prude, sir, but isn't there a meeting you should be attending?"

Rayse snapped, "Shut it, Dan." He took a drag on his cigarette and reached down onto a small bed stand with an oil lamp on it. He put the lamp on the bed, pulled out a sheet of paper from one of his pockets with a writing utensil, and scribbled something down. "You take this message and bring it to the old man. I might come later, I don't know."

Rayse handed Dan the sheet of paper and the messenger folded it into his pocket. Dan's speech had improved since he got to Radasanth, but the happy tone that used to accompany it was now gone. He was more reserved, quiet, and only showed any real emotion when he was around Rayse. The Contractor didn't want to think what could've happened in Knife's Edge to make him this way. Dan left the room, which now reeked of smoke, and made his usual quick run to Starlight.

Rayse looked around the room. It wasn't anything special, and that's how he preferred his rooms. He hasn't had a permanent living location since leaving Knife's Edge, so he has been bouncing around various hotels for a while now. At the very least, it makes him difficult to track for any hostile outside parties. Even though he was a mercenary and operated in the battle at Dirks Estate as one, he expected those seeking vengeance to come knocking on his door. After he learned of the intervention by the monks, he realized that the damn lizard man and archer must still be alive. In fact, checking over the list of shareholders revealed a composite drawing of the archer itself! Melancor, he was called. What he was after was unknown to Rayse, but he had already warned Teric about it just in case.

As for the meeting itself, Rayse wasn't in any rush to get there. The purpose of the meeting- choosing a Board of Directors, pandering to shareholders, company purchases such as a headquarters and such- it didn't really matter much to Rayse. That kind of bureaucratic crap was better left to people with desk jobs. However, he did feel a tinge of responsibility being one of the leaders of it all. After all, he had essentially pushed it all towards Teric in this case. He eventually had to accept his role, but for now he was being immature about it. He put out the cigarette into a nearby ashtray and walked out of the room.

He wasn't sure why, but something made him feel like he wasn't going to make that meeting even if he tried.

[The Prophet]

Your enemies mass before you, Teric Bloodrose. The majority of our stocks are controlled by men outside the Company – do you really know what you’re doing?

Arkham murmured something incoherent from his post near the guildmaster, his robed body shrouded in a cloak of invisibility. Faint whispers from things – horrible things that dwell beyond the bounds of reality - echoed within the depths of his mind, distracting him from the events at hand.

The Old Ones needed him.

The bearded guild master, the brooding archer, the prim and proper porcelain doll – all were ignored as the prophet retreated within himself.

-

Visions of another world swam within his mind. Vague outlines of places outside even his understanding were revealed to him. Colors never before imagined by a mortal mind swirled in a dizzying, nebulous vortex before him. The sensation of flight overtook him as a single object gained clarity in his vision - a great, three-lobed eye that seemed to gaze into his very soul.

My servant. It spoke without speaking. It's power was overwhelming; even after years of exposure to such outre creatures, the prophet felt a twinge of fear every time the Truth was exposed to his frail being.

"My master. What would you have me do?"

-

After several minutes, the wicked saint’s introspections were interrupted by a clamor near the front door. The visions of the otherworld faded and were replaced by the grungy, humdrum interior of the inn. A breathless messenger had just jogged into the Starlight, his skin glistening with fresh sweat. He strode through the assembly hurriedly, muttering a few ‘excuse mes’ and ‘pardon mes’ as he gently forced his way through the crowd to the guildmaster. A folded scrap of paper was promptly removed from a pocket of his shirt and offered to the bearded President – hopefully, this event would mark the beginning of the meeting. Arkham felt obligated to be here as both a shareholder and a member of the Company, but he was eager to get the proceedings over with; his dark, unfathomable Gods wished to commune with him, and it was exceedingly difficult for him to speak to Them in public.