Health to the Company (closed)

[Scarovese]

OOC: Closed to Leopold Winchester

Krystyn knocked on my door for the fourth time that afternoon, bashfully poking her blue head around the doorway instead of walking inside. Her pointed ears were flushed, turning them an awkward shade of purple. She knew these sorts of interruptions were a nuisance to me, that much was evidenced by her downcast eyes and her rushed tone. “Mr. Matthews?” she began, “There's a man here to see you? He wasn't on your schedule, but he said to tell you anyway...” her voice trailed off as if that would justify this interruption. When I didn't respond immediately, her amber eyes finally rose to meet my cold stare.

“What did I tell you this morning?” I replied levelly, not allowing my annoyance to creep into my voice just yet. Getting as emotional as my assistant would only spur her into a breakdown. Although she had ignored my instructions, reprimanding her would only make things worse. “I have three contracts to draw up this afternoon and barely enough daylight to finish them!” Dropping my eyes back down to my work, I assumed she would take care of this for me. After all, it was her job.

“Ummm... Mr. Matthews?” her voice was even quieter this time and as I raised my head once again, I realized she hadn't moved from the door in nearly a minute. “He's quite insistent... I really don't know what to say to him... Could you... ?” I sighed in exasperation, her lack of backbone really crawling under my skin. I could only imagine what half-hearted pitch some young merchant had used to get past her defenses. I scoffed; defenses, as if she made even the slightest effort to stop visitors from bothering me.

“Very well, send him in.” I threw up my hands after she had turned to leave, I needed a better assistant. Sighing, I made a half-hearted attempt to quickly straighten the papers on my desk, for one could hardly see the polished oaken surface through all the shipping orders, warehouse manifests, factory requisitions, and property contracts. It was s shame really, for I had commissioned this desk to be a near-replica of the one at the center of Ankhas, the great library in Ettermire. Granted, it was significantly smaller, but the ornate carvings along the front and sides were a near match. I remembered my first days in the city with a wisp of a smile; Germeroth had taken me there mere hours after I had unexpectedly found myself in the nation of Alerar. How far I had come from those meager beginnings.

I had purchased the crowded office space from an aging alchemist nearly a year before. It had been the move to cement my place in Ettermire among the drow who called it home. Germeroth, a dwarven tutor, had encouraged me to branch out and treat the city as my own. At his behest, I began contacting local businessmen and doing favors for them. As my reputation for service grew, so did my influence over even more avenues of income. I had moved from running supplies for local vendors to discussing trades between traveling caravans and established stores. True, I had run into a bit of luck before my latest move, but the connections I had formed were the basis for my thriving business. I had been a realtor on Earth and my dream was to become a realtor on Althanas. By coming across the deeds for three small houses in the poor district of the city, I was beginning to see that dream solidify into something more real.

“It's certainly a start,” came a gruff voice from just inside the door. Startled, I was snapped from my reverie and thrown back into reality. My eyes darted to the door, anxious to see who this visitor was. What I saw brought a smile beaming to my face.

“Germeroth!” I called, standing and crossing the distance between us to grasp his arm as a friend. “It's good to see you, it's certainly been too long.” The dwarf chuckled at my expense, patting my arm reassuring as he did.

“With your head in the clouds how does anything get done here?” He motioned down the hall behind him to where Krystyn's desk greeted any visitors. “And where did you find her? Lovely child, not terribly organized though."

I gestured to the papers all over my desk, to the books sitting atop their shelves rather than put away where they belonged, and to the state of the small office in general. “You don't need to tell me,” I grumbled. I made a full circle, taking in all the disarray of my work space. It was a shame, but I probably overworked the young dark elf. I made a mental note to talk to her about it and turned my attention back to my first friend in this world. “So what brings you here after these long weeks?” I asked, hoping that the work with the Rilasciare was behind us.

Germeroth caught the hint of worry in my eye as he began his reply, but he made no further mention of it. “I've been in contact with an old friend from my time in Scara Brae. He made mention of a young businessman gaining a significant reputation across the land, similar to what you're trying to do. Now, he deals primarily in shipping materials rather than contracts, but still... he's worth keeping an eye on.” Here the dwarf leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper that barely made it through his beard. “I asked the Rilasciare if they knew anything of his affiliations, but none of them have heard even a morsel about him in that regard. He could prove to be either a powerful ally or a fierce rival, so be careful.”

“Why must I be careful?” I inquired gingerly, not caring to poke around matters where the Rilasciare were indeed concerned. I had done my time with them; I was not eager to go back.

Before Germeroth could expound, Krystyn burst into the room. “Sir,” she wheezed, barely able to speak around her breathing, “Outside... come... please... see...” And with that glorious explanation painting a picture of what was transpiring beyond my office doors, the young drow collapsed to the floor.

“Go,” Germeroth reassured, “I'll see to her safety.” Grabbing my jacket from its place on a stand near my desk, I carefully stepped over my assistant before rushing to the front door. Thoughts of this shipping tycoon and the Rilasciare floated in my mind as my fingers closed on the handles. It seemed I wasn't going to finish those contracts today.

[Leopold]

Leopold Winchester was not having a particularly splendid week, by all accounts. If prattling princes and pragmatic portals were not hard enough to deal with, he was now face to face with a prattling dark elf and a rather pragmatic looking blade. He was now quite tired of both types of interference. Men of a paler complexion were not as welcome in Ettermire as he had been lead to believe by his business compatriots.

“Give me your gold, outlander,” said the thief, or at least, the elf Leopold assumed to be a thief. Long cloaks and deep hoods were all the rage in Ettermire, and exposed as the businessperson was, he did not want to question his astute assumptions. He was having a hard enough time riffling through the many layers of the elf’s thick Tradespeak accent.

“I am afraid you are quite out of luck good sir,” Leopold replied, affording the man the entire curtsy’s of a more traditional transaction of gold for services rendered. “I have no gold to give.” Naturally, this was a lie. The thief hesitated about it for a moment, before choosing not to believe what was clearly an attempt at deception. “I assure you,” he said, after a long, awkward pause. He turned the pockets of his overcoat inside out, just to prove a point.

“What are in your other pockets?” the elf leered. He edged forwards a few foolish steps towards his prey, sword glinting in the dancing light of the city’s steam ridded machinations. His flaxen hair, silver with strands of red thread hung loosely over his shoulders, protruding out from beneath a cowl black as the encroaching night.

The Maester of the Winchester Rose Trading Company was used to that question. He had only set foot in the Elvin capital that morning, after a long and woefully uneventful journey across oceans and inland from the trade port to Ettermire proper. He had put up with checkpoints, racial slurs, and of course, envy all the way. For his journey to come to a stop on the doorstep of the individual he had taken considerable risk to visit was irksome to him.

“My pockets are full of nothing more than fond memories and mementos to loves long dear,” was his reply. He tugged on his jacket’s lapel, and hung his rock like fists there as if holding on to invisible breeches.

It was a truthful enough answer. He dared the elf to test his honesty with a stern gaze that could have split diamonds. The crowd, by now quite intrigued as to how the scenario would play out began to form a cautious semi-circle around the front of the erstwhile Mr Matthews’ business premises.

As intended, the thief scooted in to Leopold’s proximity. With total silence, he slipped a slender set of digits into the right pocket of Leopold’s coat. It was only the first of many layers of pockets, pitfalls, and printed fabric that kept the Scara Brae born man comfortable in a strange climate. The awkward silence only served to highlight the fact that he was unnaturally prepared, and quite willing to let the elf mug him in clear view of half a dozen people. Someone in the crowd, a woman no doubt, gasped exuberantly. There was a soft thud, and the thief flinched. Somebody had fainted.

“I did tell you, my good sir. That pocket is where I once kept my wedding ring,” he held out his left hand slowly and wiggled his band finger. “You’ll sadly need a saw to remove it now, though.” Too much bourbon and a continued supply of heavy labour had seen to the band’s cementing on his hand. It was, at the very least, a rather convenient way to never forget it.

With a virulent sneer, the dark elf reached into the second pocket, and instantly regretted it. Leopold Winchester was, by all accounts, not a particularly lithe man. He was more the guttural punch sort, as opposed to the dancing riposte and prancing parry type. With the force of a gin-stained hurricane, he lurched forwards, punched up into the elf’s ribcage, and knocked the brigand back ten feet. He seemed to floating the air, arm’s flailing, sword eschew, for just long enough to burn into Mr Matthews’ memory as he stepped out onto the slate porch of his premises.

“That pocket contains a handkerchief,” Leopold said, quite flatly. Whilst the elf writhed on the floor, seemingly not so tough, he produced a silver hipflask from beneath the fur lined hem of his jacket and downed it with a toast. The bourbon, from Berevar, was hot in contrast to the countries cold heart. It had an aftertaste like cherries, toasted on a roaring fire and a hearth that could have consumed continents. He felt quite homely.

“Good grief,” Mr Matthews said mouth agog. “Mr Winchester?” he cocked his head. His voice, though meek, carried well over the cacophony of hushed mutterings and disapproving whispers.

Leopold turned on a sharp heel to the left, and looked the man over. From the dwarf’s description, the individual he was looking at was the exact man he had come to see. He had to wonder what strange deception was afoot, for the man to know him by site, but he did not let one small comeuppance faze him. He tucked away his hip flask, and in a swathe of black fur, black hair, and a black heart towards Alerar’s natives, he approached the door.

“The one and the same,” he extended his hand, the right, as was custom in Scara Brae. Mr Matthews took it and shook it enthusiastically. The man was jittery. Jittery man, exuberant jittery man especially, did good business. Leopold immediately felt relieved to have finally arrived. “Am I to assume I am being addressed by Mr Matthews, of the establishment behind you?” Leopold’s eyebrow raised, and did most of the questioning of its own accord.

“Indeed, my business associate told me to expect you today. Are you…” he looked over Leopold’s ample shoulder at the elf, which by now was upright, dusting himself down, and under the duress of half a dozen disapproving eyes, “Alright?”

Leopold followed his gaze, looked over his shoulder, and chuckled. “Ah, yes, I am quite well.” He turned back. “I was just showing the good gentlemen how to defend himself should he ever encounter such wonderful hostility in a strange land.” He waved Mr Matthews through his own door, and they walked inside. “Apparently, you get mugged in some countries just for the colour of your skin!” His boisterous guffaw danced out into the street, and when the door closed, so did another exciting chapter in Alerar’s long, introverted history. The crowd dispersed, and the thief vanished along with it.

[Scarovese]

Part of the process of doing business in Ettermire was learning all about your contacts; their habits, their associations, their character, and their business sense. Enough people looking to unload a boat full of valuables were doing it at odds with the law. Learning about the people behind these transactions was key and as Mr. Winchester followed me into the reception area, I felt as though I had learned more than a few important things about him. For one, the man could hold his own against the unsavory characters of the city. This boded well for his business sense and I felt an equal mix of relief and fear. Germeroth had not yet told me why I should be wary of this man and so if his intentions were less than honorable, it was not to my favor that he had a good head on his shoulders. Plastering a smile on my face as I shrugged off my jacket, I offered an arm in Winchester’s direction. “I’d offer to take your coat, but I don’t want to meet the same fate as our young visitor in the street,” I joked, truly only half kidding. I was glad to have this man in my office as a guest, but I was still worried about the untold information from my friend.

“So long as you don’t aim to relieve me of my gold,” he quipped in reply, “I have no qualms.” His easy smile made me willing to forget my fears for the moment. I walked over to take his coat and quickly checked that the front door was firmly closed behind him. I was regretful that he had met such open hostility on his journey, but it would be foolish of me to invite it in. Giving the matter a second thought, I threw the lock; without Krystyn to screen our visitors, I’d rather just have none.

“Forgive me, Mr. Winchester,” I explained, walking past him and toward the hallway back to my office. “Without my assistant to turn away any… undesirables, I’d rather close for business temporarily. I do hope you understand. We can talk more comfortably in my office, it’s just back this way.” Motioning for him to follow, I walked briskly down the short hall.

“Lead the way,” he graciously responded, falling into step behind me. We passed under the archway just behind Krystyn’s desk, our footsteps thumping lightly along the wooden planks of the floor. Portraits and paintings hung along the walls, half of them gifts from grateful clients and the other half beautiful works that I had purchased for myself. Two doors lined the walk, the one on the right locked securely while the one on the left merely led into my storage room. Old contracts, sundry items, and various paperwork filled that tiny room; it had been weeks since I had even set foot in there. The door to my office at the end of the hall was still standing partially open, neglected as I had rushed to see what the noise in the street was. Swinging it the rest of the way open with one arm and stepping to the side, I gave Winchester a half-bow.

“After you.” He gave a nod as he passed me and I followed close behind. A whiff of bourbon floated after him and an honest smile spread across my face. Here was a man to my liking! “Can I offer you a dram to warm up?” I offered as I closed the office door and turned to face the room. Germeroth sat at my desk, his filthy boots propped up on the ornately carved wood. Krystyn, the color very much returned to her face, bustled about with a stack of papers and books in her arm. Apparently her little fainting spell had done her some good; she was finally straightening up the office! “Krystyn, Germeroth,” I stated, gesturing to them each in turn. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Winchester.”

[Leopold]

When Leopold Winchester bowed, he meant it. When he pleated his legs at the knees to curtsy the woman, he meant it. When he wrinkled his nose at the companion of Mr Matthews, shook his hand, and exchanged secretive hand gestures that, to the nonprofessional, appeared to be from a cult, he meant it.

“I mean it when I say,” he began, as if to reinforce his own intensity, “that you have already been a lot more accommodating than many have been in Ettermire.” If the evening progressed to night, and alcohol appeared from somewhere, Leopold was certain his recollection of the dockworkers reaction to his raven form would have his hosts in stitches.

Mr Matthews nodded enthusiastically. “I always endeavour to bring a little of home to the business meeting,” he gestured to a rather lavish looking armchair by the small, yet roaring hearth. It warmed the room and Leopold’s pallid complexion nicely.

“Why thank you,” Leopold said, shuffling across the alpaca wool carpets to take the seat gratefully. It was an ornate, wing back chair (as ever they were), with deep purple cushions clad in leather straps to stifle any excessive gathering. It was every bit the Alerar design spectacle he imagined it to be, with gothic etchings ornately edged with gold leaf up each of the wings. “I would absolutely love a dram,” he added, remembering he asked only after he found himself suited for the matter at hand.

Mr Matthews and his accomplice exchanged glances, and both crossed to the drinks valet to pour three measures. The valet itself was as old as the esteemed Mr Germeroth was, though the gnarled knots in the wood of the furniture had a rather more charming quality to them than the dwarf's chiselled features. Leopold took a quick scan of the surroundings, identified several all too familiar stacks of invoices and parchments, and then pressed his fingers together, mocking a rooftop.

Mr Matthews turned following a clash of a decanter lid back into its channel, and then Mr Germeroth. The dwarf strangely held a small glass of wine, some strange vintage from the Fae kingdom of Dheathain, no doubt. Mr Matthews, as one might expect from a businessperson from the West, held in each hand a crystal whiskey glass. He crossed the room in comfortable shoes, and quick time, and extended a drink to his guest. Leopold nodded curtly as he took it, and cupped it in both palms as if were a holy relic.

“I can already take an informed guess that his is Oakheart,” he said flatly. His scholarly tone raised Mr Matthews’s eyebrow, which he took to mean ‘how did you know?’ “I drink…a lot, a little too much my wife would say.” He grinned. “This,” he raised the glass to his nose and tipped it slightly, to take as much of the heady vapour in with a single inhalation as he could, “is one of the finest north of the Shield.”

Mr Matthews made no reaction to the mention of the Shield. Leopold made to explain, but Germeroth approached them both, and pulled two equally elaborate chairs along with him. He arranged them side by side, opposite Leopold, and sat in his own. Mr Matthews, standing awkwardly for some time afterwards, sat only when the silence became awkward.

“Forgive me, I am all too often pre-occupied with the intricacies of my,” he waved a hand around the office flippantly, “operations.” He paused, for dramatic effect. “So tell me, Mr Winchester…” he pursed his lips pensive. “What brings a man such as you, to a tarnished part of the world ablaze with paranoia and war like Alerar?” Both his would be investors stared at him, without malice, but with plenty of pressure.

“Well, I am first and foremost not here to steal, to beg, and certainly not to borrow.” He was well and truly beyond such petty measures. “I am, however, here because your colleague here,” he tipped the glass to Mr Germeroth, “has distant connections in the Guilds-man Circle of Scara Brae.” This time, Leopold rolled into expiation after he received a quizzical expression. “It is the legal body of Maester that govern the many varied guilds of the island. I am part of the council of the Guild of Merchants, a Maester as mentioned, and I am very, very interested in real-estate…” he downed his glass, and set it onto the coffee table to his right.

“Real-estate, you say?” Mr Matthews curled his satisfied lips into a jittery, almost malefic smile. The firelight illuminated a twinkle in his eye Leopold was already beginning to admire. Mr Germeroth remained, as ever the dwarves did, flippant.

“Indeed, and I have it on good authority you are the man to talk about such a venture. Have I been,” he crossed his right leg over his left with considerable effort, “correctly informed?” If Leopold Winchester had been listening, and if he had not been so out of the loop, caught with his finger off the pulse of the wider business world, he would have heard his own two hearts skip a double beat. He had not felt this excited in months.

[Scarovese]

The warning Germeroth had been about to utter moments before Winchester’s arrival plagued me as I got comfortable with my prospective business partner. The dwarf’s concerns could have ranged anywhere from ‘This man is an enemy of the Rilasciare’, which I could have cared less about, to ‘This man is actually here to kill you.’ Obviously I cared a great deal for the latter. As Winchester spoke about his connections in distant lands, I decided Germeroth would have to be more forthcoming about his objections if he wanted me to act on them. Whatever our ties to other organizations, Winchester and I could certainly handle ourselves as businessmen.

“Indeed,” I felt myself mimicking Winchester’s actions out of habit. I resisted the urge to cross my own legs, feeling sure that would give him the wrong impression. “I have plenty of associates with holdings all over the city. Given the proper time and the correct… motivation,” I felt my smile widen, “I’m sure that we could convince them to part with something which suits your needs. Now, I have a specific way of doing business, so if you’ll humor me…” My voice trailed off as I inclined my head toward Winchester and motioned for Krystyn to approach the sitting area.

“I defer to your expertise, my good man,” he heartily proffered. His demeanor had noticeably changed since his encounter outside. While he had dealt with the would-be thief admirably, I realized that it had set him on the defensive. Clearly the fire, the whiskey, and the company were softening him up. I was glad; I would much sooner have this man as an ally than a rival.

“Is this your first time in Alerar?” I began my litany of questions as Krystyn refilled our glasses.

“Indeed, my business keeps me quite busy and there are rarely times for leisurely visits to neighboring nations.” He picked up his dram and cradled it once more as though the drink were liquid gold.

I took a sip of my own, allowing a brief moment to enjoy the intricacies of the blend on my tongue. Germeroth, however, threw his head back and gulped down his glass of wine. Rising from his chair, he nodded to Winchester and looked pointedly at me. Tapping his breast pocket, he turned and walked away. I heard Krystyn follow him out, relocking the front door behind him. “I guess he has somewhere else to be,” I apologized for my friend. “I’m sure farewells just slipped his mind.” I placed my glass back down and resumed my questioning. “Does the district this property is in make a difference to you?”

Winchester followed my lead this time and set his glass down on the coffee table. Holding his weathered hands before him to soak up the ambient heat, he mulled my question over before speaking. “Being around other establishments would be good for business,” he pointed out with a shrug. “So either the merchant district or the dockyard would do nicely. I require only a finger on the pulse of the city, wherever you think that would be.” I heard the soft rasp of his calluses as he slowly rubbed his hands together in front of the fire. The door gently creaked open as my assistant returned, this time with a case of cigars in her hand.

“What is the nature of your business?” Running my hand through my hair and down my neck, I slowly massaged my skin. The fire and whiskey were beginning to loosen me up too. I blinked widely and flexed my jaw, several ideas of possible properties forming in my mind. Narrowing them down would be dependent on his response now.

“Brokering trades and shipping materials,” he said smartly. “I’ve shipped timber and metals to help rebuild war-torn cities and I’ve dealt in antiques and spices for avid collectors. I’ve had limited success in dealing with Ettermire, so I decided I needed to come to the city and establish an outpost here.” He shifted in his chair and brought his hands to lay on the armrests on either side of him. Settling down further into the cushion, I noticed a slight flush on his cheeks. Perhaps two drams of the Oakheart had been a little much.

“Excuse me for just one moment, Mr. Winchester,” I stood quickly, eager to shake the lethargy forming and walked back to my desk. I opened several of the drawers in rapid succession, searching for information on four specific properties to show my new associate. “Ah ha! Here we are,” I returned to the sitting area, standing next to Winchester’s chair instead of sitting in my own. “Descriptions and locations of four separate properties within the city limits, one of which I own outright and the other three owned by associates of mine who owe me favors. Take a look and give me your thoughts!” I offered the four sheets to him for his perusal; hopefully one of these would be just what he was looking for.

[Leopold]

Leopold leant in to the moment, swaddled himself in exuberance, and began to look over the plans as if his life depended on it. Offered four snippets of Alerar architecture so soon, he lost his composure, or perhaps, the whiskey stole it from him in broad daylight. All the same, this was business, and thus, Mr Winchester felt obliged to conduct it as if he could stomach nothing else.

“This is a little small,” he said, as flippantly and abruptly as Mr Gemeroth’s departure, he set the plans down almost immediately. He did not need to read the price, or the small print, to know that he could not effectively operate to his own exacting standards in two rooms and an ornately modelled porch. Even his smallest office, in the depths of the wild tundra of the Ahyark in Berevar had three guest bedrooms, just in case.

He watched the man’s finger as it began to trail over the details of the second property. Something about the way he mouthed every word, yet took in four lines down amazed him. He was quick himself, by all means, a natural born realtor on all accounts, but he was not so quick as to put his trust in brick and mortar on instincts and flights of fancy. He contemplated the dwarf’s warning once more, a deep pit of what ifs and half-truths.

“Now, this is a prospective purchase.” Leopold set the plans onto the coffee table, set his glass next to it, and then started on the third. The first had been in the wrong location. The second was in the right location, but did not have a master bedroom sized room (he expected very much to have to do conversion work regardless of what property he acquired – Alerar style was not befitting of his wife’s high tastes. They were high, haughty, and expensive tastes). “I will very much have to insist on a visitation,” he added, before devoting his attention to the third in full.

Mr Matthews nodded from side to side. That was part of the course of a business deal in his industry. No true merchant would ever lay down a cheque without seeing the goods he was bartering for. Even on Earth, there was a long process to go through and endure before the keys jangles from the seller to the buyer’s palm. He pictured the pile of gold and the respect the sale would bring all the same, to pass the time.

Leopold read the schematics of the third, set it aside, and then read the address of the fourth. Leopold wanted to move in the moment he read about it. Mr Germeroth, after all, had promised to ensure Mr Matthews would, at the very least, put it in front of him when they met. Leopold’s private wine cellar was now considerably emptier for the privilege.

“This one, too, is more what I am looking for.” He set the second of his selections atop the first, and then leant forwards with both in a granite fist to hand them back to his associate. “Mr Matthews, I would very much like to see them…” he paused. “Tonight, if you would?” he leant back into the chair. Though tired, Leopold Winchester was beyond mortal weakness if it meant The Winchester Rose Trading Company[ could thrive in good merits on another continent before sun’s rise.

“I dare say a bottle or two of whiskey is yet to be drunk, and I can make it more,” he clicked a finger, “than worth your while.”

From nowhere, or rather, somewhere unexplainable, a small leather purse appeared. It dropped onto Leopold’s lap in a flurry of crimson ribbons and ageing, warped, dimension streaks, the merchant scooped it up, rose from his seat, and jangled it enticingly as he swayed life into his hips. “What do you say?” he added, letting the money do all the talking.

[Scarovese]

I allowed Winchester’s excitement to infect me, and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was unlike me to be unable to handle my drink, but I didn’t have time to wonder about that now. Moving over to Krystyn, I motioned for her to stay at the office. I gathered a few supplies, grabbed the case of cigars, and tucked the two parchments Winchester had approved of into my satchel. I took our coats from their place next to my desk and handed my guest his. “Well sir,” I drew out the words as I looked around the office. “There’s no sense in waiting since I can happily oblige right now!” Recognizing that there was nothing else I needed for this brief journey, I gestured for my associate to follow me into the hall. We left Krystyn at her desk, her amber eyes full of worry and anxiety as usual. The cold evening air nipped sharply as we stepped out of my office and I pulled my jacket tighter around me. The merchant district would be closed now, but most of the vendors lived in apartments just above their establishments. I knew that raising Wilfred wouldn’t be a problem at all.

“So tell me,” I implored my new friend as we began the short trip to Wilfred’s humble abode. “What’s it like in Scara Brae? Like you said, I haven’t had much occasion for leisurely trips.” Our boots thudded softly on the cobbles, but the sound echoed along the warehouses lining the street. We were very close to the factories that pumped the city’s signature smog into the air. It wasn’t the best place for an office, but it had been very reasonably priced.

“Well it’s very much like your charming city here,” he chuckled as he followed along beside me, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his overcoat. “Except people don’t try to mug you in the street and you can see the sky. Minor differences, old lad, nothing you’re missing here.” I looked over to see if he was serious, for I could not tell from his tone. But I was at ease, a great smile beamed from his face. “Doesn’t business just put a spring in your step?” I laughed with him and cut down a side street. Wilfred’s shop and apartment lay just a few blocks away.

[Leopold]

Leopold hesitated on the corner of a long, winding junction between two districts. The path diverged into three continuances, each unfamiliar, and each woefully threatening. Though he had laughed away Mr Matthews’ enquiry about Scara Brae, the truth was, Ettermire was far from the madding crowds of his homeland. Everything was a new experience for him, and for a man centuries old, if not millennia, he felt utterly exposed.

“To the right, Mr Winchester,” Mr Matthews urged, patting the man on the back encouragingly. He peered out from behind his bulk, and pointed down the road. “It’s not that far from here.” Far was a relative term in a city of millions.

Begrudgingly, Leopold continued onwards. He took a deep, sluggish breath as he turned another corner, and then another. Steam works and palisades of thick, soot-laden iron jutted up from every wall, boardwalk edge, and residential limit. The density of the place was scary enough, but to think that every room behind every blacked out window of ornate glass and thick bulwark steel had occupants was bewildering. The sound of Ettermire was a cacophony of industry, and Leopold was not entirely sure if he could quite stomach it for long.

“I am still taken in by it all,” Leopold said loudly, speaking with his head cocked over one shoulder, so that his voice carried over the whir of cogs and the chatter of crowds as they passed them by. Oblivious to their presence, the lavishly attired elves and the goggle-adorned engineers that made up the bulk of the populous treated them as insubstantial nothings.

“There is quite a lot to be taken in by,” Mr Matthews replied, arm darting to point out another turn in their short road. It did not take long for them to pull up outside a small property, compared to the remainder of the square they had broken out into, and wave a regal hand over the doorway. “The first property, as you selected, most humbly awaits you!”

Leopold looked up at the roof, and then at the ground, and then at the roof again. It seemed pleasant enough to house his intended facilities, and it was a flat, industrial frontage with plentiful windows from which to spy potential customers. With some small adjustments, he could do away with the half-moon stairway that rose up to the red panel door and replace it with two runway slopes, for smaller logistical deliveries, and he could already see the signature Winchester Rose Trading Company signage above the entrance.

“Unitary associations by builders have been influential throughout history,” Leopold said flatly. Mr Matthews craned his neck, a sort of quasi-thinking gesture that perplexed men naturally resorted to in lieu of just asking for an explanation. Leopold chuckled as he strode up to the door. “I believe we will do good things here, Mr Matthews, if my back-up choice is already impressing me so wondrously!” he slapped his thigh, a dog summoning motion, and Mr Matthews followed in a fluster.

He produced a key from within his pleated pocket, and approached the door to give the short man a tall tale or two about Crescent Lane Conclave.

[Scarovese]

I let myself into the shop, leaving the door open for Winchester to follow as I shouted to the ceiling, “Wilfred, you dog! Are you up there?” I waited to hear a response and was greeted by a thud and creaking of floorboards. “I have a client here who may be interested in your store!” I turned to Winchester and flashed him a smile. It would never do to have the owner present while we took our tour, but I couldn’t very well kick Wilfred out of his own home. Then again, that was essentially the deal we had. The proprietor of the store was looking to expand and so we had arranged a deal that allowed me unrestricted access to his current location. He needed to sell this shop before he could afford a larger one; a transaction that I was also a part of. Wilfred had been a good friend this year while I established myself, never hesitate to give me another job and introduce me to another vendor around the city. He was a well-connected man, even if his appearance did hide his business acumen.

“Whaddid you say?” came a voice from the top of the stairs as Wilfred was roused from his apartment. “Thought I ‘eard you boastin’ about managin’ ter find some innerested party?” he grumbled as he plodded down the stairs. His dirty shoes were the first thing we could see as he descended to the ground floor, their soles barely hanging on as they slapped against each board. His dingy pants came next, stained in numerous spots by some unknown dark liquid. Patches dotted his shirt and coat, looking as though they had been repurposed several times now. He shot a hand toward Winchester as soon as he had laid eyes on him, a fingerless glove waiting ready for a handshake. “’Ello,” he greeted the well-dressed man heartily, “Name’s Wilfred, welcome to the workshop.”

Winchester, ever the amicable gentleman, clasped the hand offered to him despite the soot lining the old ratty gloves. “Thank you, sir, it’s a lovely establishment. I understand you’re looking to sell both the shop and the apartment?”

“At’s right,” Wilfred replied, tottering away further into the store. “No sense in livin’ above someone else’s place, eh?” He dragged a hand across the various broken machines littering the shelves around him, making a full circle of the room before turning to face us again.

I took my opening, stepping forward from the entryway and gesturing at Wilfred and his machines. “Mr. Winchester, Wilfred is a tinkerer by trade. He purchases defunct machines from those who either don’t want to make repairs or simply can’t afford to and he repurposes them for vendors all across the city.” Wilfred nodded and walked to the entryway, passing Winchester as he did.

“At’s right,” he repeated, “Got enough business to expand me venture now, I do.” He flashed a smile at his guests and grabbed his hat from a stand near the door. “Well, I’ll let you get on wiv it.” Nodding to us both, he stepped outside and gently shut the door behind him. “Apartment’s all tidied, Mr. Maffews,” he shouted through the door. Winchester chuckled as the proprietor clomped his way down the stairs outside and then down the street. When his footsteps had finally faded away into the general din of the city, he turned to me.

“Charming gent,” he mused. “On any other day I might wonder more about these machines,” he walked past me and ran his hands over a few as Wilfred had done. “But not tonight, we have work to do!”

“Indeed,” I exhaled sharply and strode into the center of the room. “This is a great space, as you can see. The walls have built in shelving which are sturdy enough to hold Wilfred’s toys. I believe the former owner used them for books instead.” I waved a hand dismissively, “Wilfred wanted none of that.” I gestured behind Winchester and continued my description, “The front windows in this room are bay windows. They don’t open, but they let in the morning light splendidly. Over here,” I continued as I walked further into the room, “we have a small alcove which is currently being used as an office. No door at the present, but that wouldn’t be too hard to install. Should you want to, I can recommend a few handymen.” We walked through the doorway at the back and into a short hall.

“This connects to a few important sections of the house; namely the storage, the basement, and the back stairs to the apartment above.” I stepped to the left and opened the door at the end of the hall, immediately regretting it. Gears, pipes, and sheets of metal, all stained in oil and soot, came tumbling out to accumulate around my feet. Luckily, Winchester hadn’t been following right behind me and had time to step back and avoid the cascade. Looking down at the mess by my feet, I reassured him, “We’d tidy this a bit before you arrived.”

Winchester chortled and clapped me on the back, “Hazards of the profession, my boy!” I was glad the incident hadn’t dampened his spirits and I waded from the broken machines to point out the other end of the hallway. As I had told him, it opened into a crowded stairwell with stairs leading down into the cellar and up into the apartment.

“Let’s take a look at Wilfred’s quarters,” I suggested, moving to take the stairs. They didn’t creak or buckle at all, a telling sign in an older house such as this. Much like its current owner, the disheveled appearance merely masked the genius beneath. “The accommodations are fairly standard,” I explained as I walked backward down the hall, pointing out the rooms as we went. “Remember that we are going through this backward, as those stairs are not the main thoroughfare. So here we have the master bedroom on your left, the study there on your right, a sitting room here on the left, and finally a small washroom in the final door on the right.” Truthfully, each of those rooms was the exact same size, but giving the space a purpose was a key to success. I wanted my clients to see themselves using the space instead of having to guess at its intended purpose. Although, Winchester was a quick man and I’m sure he’d been mentally dissecting the entire building since we’d arrived. I half wondered if my efforts were in vain when he spoke.

“Bit of a crowded layout,” he lamented, his gaze fixed to the current master bedroom. His voice fell to a quick muttering as he worked it over in his head, “might need a remodel, yes, and this wall goes, no, this wall…” His hands darted out, making clear that he was visualizing himself in the space just fine. I smiled and pointed out the last of the rooms on the second floor, a small kitchen area and the landing for the main staircase. The front rooms were something he liked better, the windows apparently becoming a big selling point for him. He walked over to them and gazed out into the night, thoughts no doubt whirling in his head. I felt as though he had made his decision and was merely waiting on me and so I spoke up at last.

“The cellar is also fairly standard for a building in the city, but we can take a look if you’d like. Regardless, how do you feel about it?”

[Leopold]

“I have to say, Mr Matthews,” he paused, turned to Wilfred, and bowed, “and you Mr Wilfred, that this is quite the property.” To highlight his compliment, he rested both hands on his hips and did one last twirl through the archway that lead into the largest of the downstairs reception rooms. Even with the cluttering pipes, steam, and Webway of lattice and Liviol wood accents, it was every bit as resplendent and sturdy as the rest of the house. “It certainly has…character,” he erred on character over charm lest he give too much away about his intentions.

Leopold Winchester liked the property very much, but it was not his property. He had already made up his mind about which he was going to purchase, and Mr Matthews’ dwarven colleague had kept his word to keep the matter from the realtor. All Leopold had to do now was play his part.

“You like it d’ya?” Wilfred said, a little loudly. Leopold plunged his ears and flinched. “It goin’ cheap!” the man shuffled up behind Leopold, smiled, and went about polishing his glasses as if he had all but forgotten he had guests. He started tinkering with the wall a moment later.

“Forgive him, Mr Winchester, he has a peculiar way by all means, but he is the finest tinker without pointed ears in all of Ettermire.” Leopold had to wonder what he tinkered with to earn such a reputation. “I assume you’d like to know the asking price?”

Leopold nodded. It did not hurt to keep his options open. He doubted very much business would prove exceptionally profitable until at the least, the third quarter after opening, but expansion was very much on the long-term cards of his company. He waited for a few moments with a pensive expression before answering. Every time he made to buy property, he liked to play a guessing game. The figure in his head was four figures, though he expected the conversion rate between Scara Braen currency and the Alerar coinage to be excessive.

“Go on…” Leopold smirked. He scratched his bourbon-blemished beard. “Put me out of my misery…”

Mr Matthews flipped a small notebook open, one that had not been in his hands last he looked. With lightning reflexes, he trailed a long line of figures, tapped the appropriate sum, and walked across the black and white marble tiles that decorated the entrance hall. His footsteps were hallowing, but rhythmic at the same time. Leopold looked at the sum, and frowned. It was an exceptionally low figure, given he had made up his mind. He did all the required oohs and ahhs, and clapped his hands together.

“Is that agreeable?” Mr Matthews asked meekly, seemingly taken in by Leopold’s entrusted façade.

Pensively, Leopold pulled out a small leather bound notebook of his own. It emerged from the very same pocket he had declared contained his handkerchief. In truth, due to his somewhat umbra nature, his pockets could contain anything he so desired. All he had to do was dip into them, draw on the legacy of the Old Gods that gave him life, and conjure the desire item into his eager fingertips. He flipped it open, the scent of liquorice still thick in the air as the magic faded, and checked the final balance of the net profit gold he had made the month prior. He smiled.

“There is an adequate float of gold in the coffers to make this a very attractive offer indeed.” Wilfred twitched at the prospect, but continued to hammer enthusiastically on the wooden wall with gnarled, hairy fists. He was, quite clearly, as mad as a hatter. “You will of course excuse my cautionary approach to business. Despite the bourbon plied to me, and the bottle or so on the journey here, I would very much like to investigate the second property I chose.”

Mr Matthews nodded encouragingly.

“Well then, thank you Wilfred. We will be in touch?” he asked the question to Leopold, but looked between the two men two widen the audience. Wilfred paid them no attention, but Leopold nodded, and then ushered Mr Matthews towards the door. The ‘tinker’ was starting to put his teeth on edge.

“Does he leave the house?” Leopold whispered, as he pulled the door to and stepped to one side to allow Mr Matthews to close the elaborate, archaic, and overwrought brass lock. It hissed and sealed away the strange property from the industrious heart of Ettermire.

“Not often enough, I am afraid. His family has dealt with Gemeroth’s associates for decades, and as a new so called progeny of the dwarf acumen for gold, I have…” Mr Matthews bit his lip begrudgingly, “’acquired’ Wilfred’s estate.”

Leopold chuckled heartily. As the two men walked away from the property, Leopold just a few steps behind Mr Matthews as he lead the way, the darkening skies darkened further still. The chill in the air was unnoticed by Leopold in his winter fare, but Mr Matthews began to chatter between his chatter, and the eyes in the dark that followed them sparkled with murderous intent, like hunters tracking unprepared prey through the most inhospitable tundra Althanas had to offer.

[Luned]

Plot ~ 15/30

Story ~ 4/10 – Unfortunately, you suffered a lot here in the fact that this very much seems to be an incomplete thread. I was sorry not to get a full reveal of the little scheme Leopold seemed to be operating under, concerning something discussed with Mr. Matthews' associate but that the realtor himself was not privy to.

Setting ~ 6/10 – There was some effort put into establishing Ettermire as a city and Wilfred's shop, including a couple good lines here and there, but I never quite felt immersed. Scar's office could have used some personalization.

Pacing ~ 5/10 - The pacing in the office slowed considerably, especially following such a breezy introduction, to the risk of losing the reader's interest.

Character ~ 21/30

Communication ~ 7/10 – Dialogue was clear and flowed fairly smoothly. Nothing popped out at me as particularly remarkable in the dynamic between characters, but overall it showed some level of proficiency as all characters engaged with each other at a meaningful level.

Action ~ 7/10 – Though the office scene needed some TLC in a general sense, the intros were quite engaging –– particularly Leopold's run-in with the mugger and the moments after –– and the tour of Ettermire's streets and Wilfred's shop was a breath of life.

Persona ~ 7/10 - Leopold is absolutely delightful, I laughed at a couple of his antics in his first couple posts. However, there was a bit of a discrepancy in characterization between writers' portrayals of Mr. Matthews. He seemed fairly cool in his writer's posts, but when bunnied was described as "jittery", which seemed a bit off. This was a minor issue, but worth mentioning as this is one of the common pitfalls of fairly liberal bunnying.

Prose ~ 18/30

Mechanics ~ 6/10 – Minor typos and similar issues, but you guys obviously have a good, conscious handle on mechanics in general. The problems found were mostly things spellcheck likely wouldn't pick up. Be sure to proofread carefully for a higher score, you're definitely capable of it.

Clarity~ 5/10 – There were a couple lines where I think there may have been a swapped word by accident and resulted in reduced clarity, giving me a pause. Example: [“I would absolutely love a dram,” he added, remembering he asked only after he found himself suited for the matter at hand.] It sort of makes sense this way, but did you mean "seated"? I think clarity also suffered a bit as not all of the plot points were fully played out, perhaps some of the loose ends were unused setups. Please also be careful with continuity, as there is an issue concerning whether or not Wilfred left the house (posts 9 & 10).

Technique ~ 7/10 - Technique-wise, this was a very straightforwardly composed thread. Though without much done in the line of the adventurous, the prose was effective and generally well-done.

Wildcard: 5/10 – The fact that I would have liked to see a bit more is telling that you had a good start here. I felt like the story was going somewhere interesting.

Total ~ 59/100


Scarovese earns 464 EXP and 59 GP

Leopold Winchester earns 464 EXP and 59 GP

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.