Book 1: Chapter 1 - A First Step

“Oy, de’ deck o’ de’ ol Nestor ai’n a ‘otel bed, mate”, a less than cordial means of morning greeting was accompanied by a boot-tip into the side of the ribcage. It met with the unsuspecting, sleep-deprived, and very uncomfortable body of a late twenty-year-old human man. He grunted and rolled from his shoulder to his stomach, one hand releasing from a subconscious lock on the ships railing to cover his eyelids from the light of the new day. His other hand remained tightly gripped on the railing as if holding on was the only thing keeping him anchored to the deck itself. “You don’ wi’ yer sic’?”

Preston, with eyes still closed, just shot back a quick, “Yeah, fuck off…”.

He didn’t dare open his eyes though, as he could still feel the sloshing of his ale addled mind not recovered or ready to challenge the morning quite yet. His head bobbed a bit with the waves as the ship creaked and moaned, mocking his own groaning muscles and sore joints. The liquor from the night before was either still doing its unholy work, or his body was fitfully and mightily expressing its disdain at the amount he had ingested. It was hard to tell. The young man knew that, either way, he was sure to feel the bile that was lying in wait somewhere halfway between his mouth and stomach come up quick as a whip if he was not careful.

He lifted his head a little, felt it sway, even with his eyes closed, and decided just to let it rest for a little longer on the deck of the ship. The smell of the salt water, both on the air and on the deck was refreshing. He pulled it in through his nose and exhaled through is mouth trying to calm to urge to vomit. Every so often he would feel the gentle, warm spray of a fresh wave splash across his face and his soft, long fingers would wipe the lingering sea foam from his cheeks. Laying like this for some time, it was easy for him to regain his peace and comfort, despite the hangover from whatever it was he was drinking – and he had no clue what it was the crew had him drinking while playing cards the night before…

“Oh shit, cards,” Preston said under his breath, with a bile-laced hiccup.

He suddenly remembered that he had bet a significant amount of his purse on a hand of cards the night before, after drinking several rounds of the grog from the crew. While fun, he had definitively lost from what he could remember.

He slowly sat up while trying to check his pockets as quickly as he could. He located his coin purse, very much worse for wear with only a handful of coins left in it, as well as his long knife at his side. He slowly pulled himself up along the railing and straightened his vest. After mismatching a couple of the buttons twice, it was straightened out, the sleeves of his blouse were buttoned at the cuff, and Preston was once again looking at least half decent. The boy pulled on the sleeve of the crewmate that had woken him. “Mate, how far are we out from Scara Brae?”

The man just laughed and planted a big, calloused hand on the slim boy’s shoulder and turned him around in the process. He pointed a fat finger out with his other hand and said, “Yer already ‘ere’.”

With a bit of excitement, anxiety, and surprise, Preston’s overwhelming emotions took hold. The quick spin, a flash of sunlight, sudden wave, any number of factors could have been at play… whatever the case he leaned over the side of the ship and began throwing up. The deckhand rapped him on the back rather hard and grunted as Preston straightened up, trying to clean himself up as best he could. “I’m going to wash up and grab my stuff from my cabin. We’ll be at port soon?”

“Aye, ‘roun ‘bouts shortly,” the portly man responded curtly and walked off.

Preston started walking below deck, towards one of the few private cabins available on the small ship to where he would gather the rest of his things before departing. Meanwhile, the ship, Nestor, slowly began making its way into the harbor of Scara Brae where the new adventurer would see what this new world could offer him and what new adventures he could find.

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Open to anyone, no plot just see what happens and I’m good to go with whatever…

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On shore, a day later.

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Shinsou Vaan Osiris loved two things in life. He loved his work, despite the dangers it often brought him, and he loved distractions.

Distractions made him forget about some of the more unfortunate events he had experienced recently. They washed away a little bit of the loneliness, and tempered the edge that the Arius Mephisto campaign had given him. They made him feel more human at a time when his day to day business dealt mostly in trying to make him less so.

One of his favourite distractions was cards, when he could find a tavern friendly enough towards him to allow it. His closest friend, a certain electromancer and self-proclaimed connoisseur of whisky and women alike, had taught the Telgradian how to play on their travels. Of course, he had been careful not to teach Shinsou every trick in the book, for self preservation, but the wily Osiris had watched Storm Veritas play long enough to pick up his best habits whilst having the nounce required to avoid his worst ones.

It was Saturday evening in Scara Brae's favourite watering hole, the Silver Wolf inn. So comfortable and clean was the board that the tavern tended to lend itself as a rest stop to travellers and traders who journeyed the route between here and abroad. More importantly, it was one of a handful of taverns who hadn't bought into the guff surrounding the Shinsou after the siege of Radasanth, presumably because the inn was situated smack bang in the centre of Brotherhood stomping grounds and could do without the trouble.

Tonight, it was the venue for a hastily called brag tournament.

There were five players, including the infamous Shinsou Vaan Osiris, seated around the table. The Telgradian had been following them carefully with those hawkish eyes and predatory instincts, but it was clear that each person had experience in either the game or deception in spades. Some of them simply stared down at their hands, consciously giving nothing away, not even a twitch of the fingers or a fluttering of the eyes. Storm Veritas would usually have been seated to the Telgradian's left, but as the wizard had more carnal matters to attend to elsewhere, the position was instead filled by a rather charming blonde woman this evening, curiously. She smiled at him before calmly gazing down at the cards in her hand, and as he sipped his honey malt whiskey in the deliberately confident way he always did, Shinsou contemplated his next move.

His hand, this time, was strong. A straight, but of mixed suite. Unfortunately, his pot was weaker than normal, and the woman to his left had just raised two hundred gold in an instant. The inevitable round of folds followed until the onus was on Shinsou to respond.

"You've put me in a bit of an awkward position here, my dear," Osiris glanced casually at the mound of silver the curvaceous lady had just pushed to the centre of the table, and then to his own, slightly more anaemic pile. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you a question. Do you have better than a straight?"

Nonchalantly, the woman, her baby blues set firmly on her cards, folded her arms after taking another sip of her drink from behind her own sizeable portion of the coins. "Who knows? Why don't you take a chance and find out. Maybe you'll get lucky tonight."

Background chatter mixed with the thumping of footsteps pounding the floor. Those seated around the table exchanged glances behind their discarded cards as a few more patrons gathered to spectate and speculate on what Shinsou would do next. His ever calm expression never wavered for a moment as he decided to he throw in his lot, pushing his silver towards the pile to match her ludicrous raise.

"Two hundred. I'll take my chances with these."

Shinsou tapped his cards, upending them to reveal the straight. It was almost the strongest hand in the game.

Almost.

The woman, unfazed, flicked a strand of blonde hair from her face and flashed him a smile as she laid her parting shot to him out in sequence. A royal flush, suited.

"Looks like your luck's just a little short this time, Mr?"

"Shinsou Vaan Osiris. Yeah, that seems to be a bit of a theme at the moment." Shinsou started, folding his cards inside his palm before sliding them towards the grinning woman. "Thanks for the game. Enjoy the winnings - keep them warm for me."

It was then he got up from the table, folding his somewhat depleted coin sack into his pocket, and unfolded a note between his finger and thumb. It was a treasury bill from the Brotherhood's vault, one that he carried with him to such events in the unlikely situation that he got cleaned out. Though tonight his purse may have been emptied at the table, the man was not short of coin by any stretch and the paper at the very least guaranteed his meals, board and drinks for the weekend, if he needed it.

Money, however, wasn't the be all and end all of his life. As he leaned on the bar and ordered another honey whisky, Shinsou felt just a little bit of that isolation creeping back in. He turned to look back at the table he had left, watching as the woman who had beaten him entertained a new player in his place. For the few hours he had been there, it had been home for him. A warm, familiar place that he could be himself in, if only for a short while. Now, even just stood a few feet away, it was like a door had been closed.

Shinsou sighed, turning back around to the bar, and sat. He didn't want to go back to Tylmerande today; not to that depressing, militant place, and especially not whilst they were still trying to extract bits of obsidian from his kitchen wall. For now, he was content to sit and drink until he couldn't feel his legs anymore.

Or anything else, for that matter.

Scara Brae was supposed to be some sort of untapped resource. A fresh mine with routes already conveniently nestled through it waiting for someone with the wits to bring the metaphorical pick-axe of business acumen and just gently tap on the walls. The veins of fresh silver, gold, iron, Delyn, and mithril were waiting to be plundered to the cunning merchant who literally just haphazardly swung in any direction… Or, at least, that was the way the gilded dream of the small island nation had been spun to Preston. It was the entire reason he had left his families business behind in Radasanth, that and because he was not going to inherit it and needed to find his own way.

Instead, what he found was a subdued and somewhat quieter version of the big city he had called home for his entire life. The streets were mostly laid out in a similar grid like pattern within the districts, with circular and wide thoroughfares that allowed for larger traffic to pass along the outside of the city until you found your area. Some of those streets wound into narrows, some turned into courtyards of estates, and he found no matter which way he went it was hard to get a true bearing on the city. In the end, he gave up and returned to the inn he had decided to make his base of operations, the Silver Wolf Inn.

It was a good inn, costing him five gold pieces a night. Luckily, he had been able to use his bank notes to acquire what little money he had left to his name from his personal accounts back home after the debacle of cards on the way to Scara Brae. It was nestled in the market district, perfect for the budding merchant, and even before the sun rose Preston could hear the hawkers start calling their wares outside. Out the window he was facing he could see the small walled yard adjacent the inn where a little garden might have been once. Now it looked like it was just a tenth of an acre of grazing for a handful of goats and the smell of them wafted through the room windows open, or closed.

He was on the second floor, in a comfortable but not very large room. It had a small vanity, a truck where he had put his bow, and a rather large bed with a feather mattress and two pillows. Preston pulled out a small notebook and sat at the vanity. He awkwardly tried to shift the stool so that at least one of the three legs would place firmly but it was obvious that it was repaired at some point and not correctly. With a delicate tap of his quill he brushed off the excess ink and began penning his thoughts:

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Day 1: Scara Brae
This is not the place I thought it would be. It is established. The merchants of the city are shrewd and crafty. They do not negotiate for export, not interested in their middleman or process being industrialized or expanded to export, and are untrusting of me. Is it my accent? It is easy to tell I am a Radasanthian and not a Braean.. Braeian… whatever they are. I will have to redouble my efforts and maybe explore outside the city to deal with those that do not live within the civilization. I have heard of dwarves to the North, elves in both forests, and a host of other foul creatures that I should stay away from in general. Updates to come.

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Preston closed his notebook and listened to the din of the people gathering for the night in the common room beneath his feet. He could almost feel the warmth of the bodies and mirth calling to him. As much as he wanted to resist, wanted to say he was a good boy and go to bed so he could start early, he decided to tuck his knife behind his cloak and take a trip downstairs.

At the bar the innkeep, a stout but energetic halfling met him with a beaming smile. Ziri was an old adventurer from what Preston could half remember of him talking. He had a mixture of mostly gray hair with streaks of his remaining black laced through, a mustache and goatee that was almost all white, and a scar across the left side of his face. He did love exotic coins and random small trinkets though, and had a keen eye for the lot, it was one trait that Preston and him had bonded over well at check in.

“Preston my boy,” he said with a chuckle as the din of the crowd began to grow, “the night is young and the women are pretty. You already have a room, why not enjoy yourself? The blonde is back and she’s winning at cards again…”

“My skill with cards goes so far as to give money to other people,” Preston said with a laugh. Ziri laughed far too hard, almost forcefully so, while placing a big tankard of house ale in front of him.

“That may be what she wants.”

“Not tonight my friend. How about a slice of stewed pork on bread, with a piece of date pie on the side tonight?” Preston, while not particularly impressed with the establishment as a whole or district, was surprisingly pleased with the food. Ziri and his wife Luage were either wizards or masters in the kitchen as far as he was concerned. "Oh, and if you have the blue cheese for the pie on top?"

“Lemme get this guy another whiskey and I’ll have it right out.” Ziri said with a wink. He walked over on the makeshift platform around the bar and poured a taller gentleman with golden eyes a whiskey and rushed off to the kitchen leaving the bar to his staff. Preston looked at the man for a moment, having seen him leaving from the tables with the blonde card-shark. He straightened his collar and vest, cuffs to look presentable and not like some random drunk rambling. He took a swig of his tankard and moved over a couple seats, but remained a respectable two away.

“Did she fleece you?” Preston asked of the man, with a thumb back towards the table. “I’ve been here only a day, second night really, and I’ve seen her do it to a few… the name’s Preston, how’s it going?”

Shinsou considered the man who introduced himself as Preston for a moment, running his eyes and his senses over his well-presented form once to measure him up, and then followed the man’s thumb over the golden-flecked rim of his tumbler to glimpse the table he referred to. Within the steady hum of idle chatter, the regular thump of boots pounding onto creaking timber floorboards was interrupted only by the crescendo of clinking glasses and cheers from revelling crowd. Indeed, some of those seated around the table started to lean in, cupping their ears to catch the bets as they rose. One folded accidentally, not realizing the bet was lower than he thought.

“It depends on how you look at it.” The Telgradian responded with a slight smile, sipping from the glass just enough that the honey malt liquor warmed the creases of his lips. “She took some money, for sure. But, today was about the long game.”

A thin blanket of tobacco smoke had finally fully coated the ceiling of the room when another one of the players was pulled away abruptly from the table. The woman made a remark to hook him back, but player was out before she could talk him out of it.

“Let me give you some advice. The trick is to happily drop a few coins, setting up small tells after maybe the third whiskey.” Shinsou turned to Preston now, leaning in to impart this knowledge with a nod. “Scratch your nose when you have a little doubt; or fix your seat just so slightly when your hand is strong. I made these moves today, and I’ll make them tomorrow. These guys will bleed me slightly while I slowly raise the stakes. In three or four nights, when their jaws are dripping with enough saliva, I’ll tighten up and string them. By then, I’ll have already caught most of their tendencies just watching. By the end of the week, I’ll have their worst habits and darkest secrets hung on my wall in golden frames that their money paid for.”

With a few extra rounds of weak ale and strong whiskey, Shinsou started loosening up. Part of the web he had spun the card players was the tried and tested one that Storm Veritas used; he was a traveller who traded currencies, which left his pockets a little heavy and his company welcome. It was always easier to remember a simple, repetitive lie than invent a new story for every tavern, so this was the one he stuck with when it came to the table. Here, at the bar and away from the cards, he had no such inclination to lie about his name. Whether his new acquaintance was able to put two and two together was a matter for Preston.

“It's a trick I've learned in cards, and in life. But, just so we're straight, I'm not in the business of deception beyond the card table. My name is Shinsou, and you can take me as you see me. It's good to meet you, Preston."

His lips once again tasted the heat of the malt. The wash of placidity that the amber liquid provided him settled his lungs and heart into a certain smoothness that aided his decisions, and settled some of his budding thoughts. The Telgradian signalled over the bar staff, and laid a sheet of minted paper down in front of him that brought forth two additional glasses of the honey liquor. Taking one for himself, Osiris slid the glass past the two empty spaces next to him and gestured for Preston to drink.

"Always nice to have a bit of genuine company. So, if you don't mind me asking, what brings you to Scara Brae?”

Preston listened to the man’s response as he sipped his ale and brushed the froth from his upper lip. It was as if the man was spinning a tale, weaving an intricate web. At first Preston was looking at the thick head of the ale popping, but as he spoke he found himself looking up to catch Shinsou’s expressions instead. He leaned in and it was impossible not to smell the honeyed liquor on his lips as he imparted equally sweet and bitter knowledge.

The young merchant could not help but wonder who he had happened upon by chance. In the mercantile business this type of cunning fellow would be looked at as a shark, but the way he spoke, and what he said did not quite fit. No, not quite. Preston felt that he was more akin to a spider weaving a web that connected to each of the other players. He could tug on the silken strings as needed, but also used them just as a means of knowing when those players were moving and in just which way they were doing so.

Goosebumps ran up his arms and across the back of his neck, but Preston smiled despite himself. He nodded to the man’s salutations, “Nice to meet you as well, Shinsou.”

Preston put his hand out and stopped the small glass of liquor as it slid on the worn bartop surface. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass slowly before bringing it to his nose and inhaling the scent. The sweetness came to his senses first, followed almost immediately by the feeling of the back of his tongue salivating as if preparing for a rare piece of steak. There were notes of honey of course, but lingering in the background he could pick out a streak of maple wood and oak barrels. He took a sip and those notes were expounded upon and joined by flavors of vanilla and a slight smoky undertone.

“That is a fine liquor,” he said with a slight cough that he tried to suppress. As, even though the flavors were great, the proof was still high and the refinement still left a bit of a raw alcohol aftertaste that was a bit undesirable. “I’m just here from Radasanth. Come over looking for some trading opportunities and some business ventures. I was told there was a good opportunity to make connections in Scara Brae to start my own place and work my way up. It has been only a day so far and been going… well.”

“Matter of fact,” he said as he took another sip of the liquor, followed by a good gulp of his ale. “As a matter of fact, I was told there were plenty of opportunities with connections in distribution of lumber and other trade goods. I might start looking into something like that. Not entirely sure though. Right now, I just need to get some money together to invest in something…”

“I’m sorry… I’m rambling…” He said with a dismissive wave to himself. Preston downed his liquor and plopped down on the bench next to Shin.

As the effective trading hub for Stonevale, the Headquarters for Revenue and Commerce on the outskirts of town often played host to a variety of people and races, ranging from passing traders looking to apply for merchant permits to high-level officials. Today, people quite literally packed the building from wall to wall. The sunnier season had meant that seas were calmer and trade routes were packed, and those who had been side-lined by recent stormy weather were now wanting to take advantage of the divine conditions for sailing.

The main hall opened up to a roofed balcony walkway that was intended for observation of the port, but so unprecedented was the occupancy of the building that men and women were crammed into it with only thin cushions for comfort and small portions of basic food and water for sustenance. In the main administrative offices, a Goblin named Kablah sat opposite one of the female customs officers for the Stonevale port authority at a desk on the far side of the room. Her features were creased with concentration as she carefully checked Kablah’s permit application, and reconciled his business ledgers and cross checked sums.

“Excuse me, but will this take long?” The Goblin eventually said after a prolonged silence, watching as the officer thumbed through a three page report.

“Not much longer.” She replied, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’ll be honest, Mr Kablah. There is a discrepancy. Your timber is being traded at our standard tariff of fifty a kilo. Here, we have two kilos being paid at a hundred. So, that stacks up to our normal tariffs. But then, ten lines down, we have some sort of adjustment. It looks like you’re trading your timber at triple what you’ve declared to us.”

Kablah took the opportunity to glance at the account from across the desk. He grimaced.

“Yeah. Times have been hard, I’ve had contracts cancelled. I had to trade out of book.”

The sun rose higher into the cloudless blue sky and drowned the pair in uncomfortable heat, magnified through a glass pane window. As the negotiations went on, the whole application threatened to unravel. Further discoveries of fraudulent anomalies had been made. By the time the last of the paperwork had been checked, the sun had almost reached the horizon. Pools of soft orange light cast uneven shadows amongst the office interior as the authority officer finally tucked the last report away.

“I’m sorry, but it is our decision that your permit is denied.” Her fingers rasped on the desk. Kablah’s hackles on the back of his neck rose he realised that his commodity trading business had gone, just like that. “You’ll have to keep your trading to the mainland.”

She ignored the snorts that echoed on the edge of her hearing as Kablah stormed out to find a tavern. His problems had just multiplied, and now he had to sell on the front lines. No true money-man would be so careless. What a fool he had been.

Preston was feeling the whiskey just enough to question if the crown of his head was beginning to tingle and the tips of his ears were warming. He had finished off a second shot of it, and Mr Ziri was back to fill his tankard of ale. He quickly took a big swig of it before turning back to Shin. “You see, here’s the thing,” a finger was rapped against the bar angrily, “I helped my dad build his business as I grew up. I’ve got a keeeeen eye for things that are worth a lot of money to someone, and I can almost smell when there’s a deal waiting to happen.”

The young man paused for a moment as Ziri placed his stewed pork on bread and a slice of date pie in front of him. Almost immediately the would-be merchant’s stomach began to groan. The succulent piece of pork was a flush pink hue and the meat looked like it was pulling away from itself without him having to put a fork or knife to it. On top of the warm, flaking pie crust was a piece of gooey bleu cheese that was as melted as it was going to get over the thick, rich date and walnut filled center. “Now this looks great,” he muttered as he scooped a piece of meat and jus soaked bread into his mouth. “Another whiskey for Shinsou here, on me.”

After a few bites, mostly to satiate his stomach that was being emptily filled with alcohol, he looked back at Shin. “If I had an opportunity, I could make it far. I just need the right doors to open.”

The door to the Silver Wolf kicked open and a draft blew in almost ominously. Preston leaned back on his stool and had to quickly grab the bar to steady himself from falling. He was looking over the heads of a few different tables between himself and the entrance and there was nothing there. It was almost as if a ghost had slammed open the door in response to his request for an opportunity. He quizzically looked at the door as it was pushed shut, still unsure of what closed it. All around him nobody else seemed to care one bit, as the chatter at the card table never stopped, the music in the corner was still playing slowly, and people at the tables were still talking.

Eventually, around the corner of the tables, appeared a goblin with a very sour demeanor. He was small, even for a goblin, but looked as atypical as they came. Preston had some run-ins with them in Radasanth in the past and in his experiences they were greedy, conniving, and cutthroat. This one looked a mixture of angry and downtrodden, as he scratched at his oily, bald green scalp with long fingernails. He was carrying a pouch with a couple of scrolls that were loosely rolled back up and hastily stuffed back into the sack.

“What?” He said with a sneer at Preston, who had been staring far too long. Quickly, the boy looked away and back to his food. He motioned to Ziri and suggested to get the goblin, who took a seat at the end of the bar, an ale on him.

Shinsou watched as the goblin took Preston’s offering of ale without a word, and swung his stubby legs back towards the bar top. There was something odd about this one – the Telgradian couldn’t exactly place what, but definitely something out of place.

“Thank you.”

The goblin turned, looking around quizzically and scratching his algae coloured cheek with a clawed finger as he almost missed Shinsou’s reproof. His blue eyes flitted left to where the Telgradian was seated, and travelled up his thin face to meet his golden eyes. A frown crossed Kablah’s face as he finally recognised where the voice had come from.

“What?”

“You meant to say thank you to this fine young gentleman. I was just helping you find your manners.” Shinsou said, taking a swig of his new ale, his hand brushing a crop of brown hair out of his eyes whilst nodding towards Preston. The goblin pressed his back down into his chair.

“Hey, he offered. I didn’t ask.” The goblin shook his head sheepishly. “I never ask. I work hard for everything.”

There was a moment’s pause before Shinsou spoke up again. “Yet, we should be grateful we receive all the same. Especially in these times.”

The goblin shrugged and sat back in his chair. “I haven’t got much to be grateful for receiving. The port saw to that. Most of my business flows through here, and now it’s gone. This ale is shit, too.”

The trio were still seated in at the bar off the main corridor, and now all sorts of clientele were walking in and out of this establishment. It was in Kablah’s interest to keep his affairs somewhat discreet, lest an interested party pick up on his loose lips, but his frustrations were being forced out. He eyed a few patrons as they got their drinks, and their girls, conduct whatever business they had to, and left without a fuss. Shinsou, meanwhile, side eyed Preston.

“Issues with the port authority eh? Bad luck.” Shinsou watched one guy walk past, his right arm full of mugs of ale and his left full of what was quite obviously a Gilded Lily whore. “Don’t have that issue much myself, trading out of Tylmerande. The Brotherhood sort me out a fair tariff and keep the ships safe.” He continued, almost chuckling at his pathetically abridged attempt to disguise himself and shamelessly plug his trade. If only it had all been that simple.

“I can’t trade down there now,” Kablah said as he took a sip of his drink. “No distribution network or buyers willing to take those rates on. I guess I’ll be looking for someone who can help me offload my timber on shore, otherwise I’ll be serving tables in one of Philomel’s brothel’s before long.”

Shinsou set his half-emptied drink down on the table, letting the warm ale swill nicely in his stomach. He dropped his voice into a whisper as he leaned over to his new goblin pal, seeing an opportunity to do a good turn. “Nothing wrong with Lady Philomel’s brothels, sir. But, if you really want to keep the business afloat, why not talk to Preston here?” The Telgradian thumbed at his drinking partner. “Onshore distribution’s his thing.”

The goblin crossed his arms on the bar and leaned forward. “What’s the catch? Why should I trust him? I don’t even know you.”

Shinsou waved him off with a smile. “You folk are always so fucking suspicious! Seriously. We’re all in this shit together, right?” The Telgradian’s eyes flashed and a smile widened as he held his hands up. “Alright, alright. Look. Of course he’ll want a slice of the action. That’s the name of the game, right? But find me a man in his line of work who won’t want to try and string you up the second you let your guard down.” The Telgradian leaned forward in kind and pointed a finger at Preston, smiling as he spun the tell. “He won’t. I’ve traded with the man for years. Trusted him with everything from bullion to buttons, and I’ve never seen a cut off the top. Every penny accounted for. All onshore. I’m not saying you’ll turn a huge profit straight away, but if you have the volume, this guy can find the demand.”

Shinsou, sipping from his mug, held his gaze tightly on the goblin. Preston was probably wondering what the fuck was going on. After all, why would the Telgradian do that for him?

After a moment, Kablah scratched his nose. A tell. He was thinking about it, weighing up his options. The little green bastard was probably halfway to giving in and going with it.

He looked at Preston suspiciously, taking a swig of ale. “I need some convincing about the kind of man you are. Come back here, tonight, 8pm. We'll see for sure then.”

Preston was not a shy child by any means growing up, nor was he as a young adult. He did not mind a little attention and when it came to the right time and place actually enjoyed it. Behind the counter of a shop, hawking wares on a corner, or bartering for a slight discount on a piece that he knew he was making profit on… those were the times when he was in his element. At a bar, in a town he did not know well, with a man he just met, feeling tipsy, and a little bit of what felt like conflict - that was a recipe for anxiety.

The young man tapped Shinsou on the arm as he began to ask the goblin to be grateful for the ale that had been provided. He could feel the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end and goosebumps rising on his arms. It was not a feeling he enjoyed. But, as the mention of the port authorities and the sly side-eye from Shin caught his attention he began to relax. Preston exhaled, heavily, realizing just then he had been holding his breath in an almost fight or flight mode without realizing.

This guy really knows how to talk. I have no clue what he wants out of this, but I will deal with that in time. Preston thought to himself as he adjusted his vest and collared button-up shirt. His clothes were still very clean, though his boots had gotten a little scuffed which had annoyed him. Otherwise, he looked the part of a respectable, though hardly well-off, individual. Just have to pull my end of the bargain and let him know that I know the trade and see what he has to offer.

By the time Kablah agreed to meet and discuss further, Preston was somewhat lost with what had happened. The conversation had moved so quickly. There was an exchange of words in the most tactical of ways that was still fluid. The type of conversation he had overheard between the two was something different than a negotiation between merchant and distribution, this was something that felt shady. The goblin knocked back the rest of his ale and nodded towards Preston.

“Tonight, the back room,” the boy responded, trying to sound confident but feeling like he sounded like an idiot. He waited for the goblin to leave, keeping a blank face the entire time. As soon as he was sure that the door had closed behind him, or as sure as he could be since he was unable to see Kablah through the crowd, he looked at Shin with wide eyes. “What was that?!”

Preston slammed a huge swig of ale and put the mug down. He stared at the swirling liquid for a moment, heard Shin begin to inhale as if to speak, and raised a hand towards him without looking his way. With his hand raised he downed the rest of the ale as quickly as he could and signaled for another. “Before you answer,” he said as quietly as he could, burping and feeling a bit of the ale trying to come back up into his throat with the bubbles. “Let me say first that I am grateful. Second, that I don’t know what you want out of this, and third… I need to find out what I would need right now to get this off the ground and only have maybe an hour.”

Shinsou smiled. "Well, you never know when our interests might...intersect. This isn't so much about 'wanting something' from you, as it is about 'laying foundations' with you. We'll see what gets built on those foundations after this."

Ziri walked over and leaned in between the two, his halfling eyes twinkling with mischief. He was gently pulling at his white goatee with one hand twirling a roughly circular gold coin in the other. He smirked as he approached, but made sure he looked around to see if any ears seemed to be especially interested when they should be elsewhere. Satisfied that it was only him, Shin and Preston the barkeep whispered. “So I didn’t hear anything, but it seems like you might need the back room and a little advice from an old collector?”

“I’ve done my research on the Revenue and Commerce department. They are a stickler for protocol and very uptight on getting the proper permits for distribution. Buying goods is not as strict though from what I heard?” Preston responded. In his head he was trying to make sense of why, but had not gotten that far in the day he had been in Stonevale. “Also, I’m going to need transportation which means purchasing a boat, or borrowing one and losing money there too.”

The halfling laughed and shook his head. “They have their hands in everything that comes and goes. The thing is, anyone can buy goods and leave as long as the goods are sold by an approved vendor or distributor. If you want to buy in bulk, you need to get an exportation license. That is the regulations. Distributors have to have a permit, which comes with a seal that is needed for the official paperwork to show authorities. You can get those things, you are good to go. As for the boat…” Ziri looked around and leaned in even closer to whisper, “...I know a guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. For the right price, I’m sure you can get yourself a nice little cog to offload some lumber and gently sail it back to Radasanth.” The halfling pulled away from them with a wink and a smirk. At the same time his wife, Luage, walked around the corner and walked up to him.

“What do you think you are doing? This looks like trouble to me, and you said…” the two of them began muttering at each other as they walked away back towards the kitchen. Luage punching Ziri in the arm every so often, Ziri flinching when she rose her hands as she spoke.

Preston spent the time getting ready for the meeting with Kablah in his room. He had quickly pulled out his notebook and been thumbing through past notes for any clues as to how to deal with the issue at hand. With only an hour to prepare he was left with very little in the way of an artful approach and would have to go in somewhat impromptu. As he was in a new land, he decided he would begin adding onto the notes he had started previously.

In his notebook he wrote what he knew so far, which was that he needed seals that were given to distributors that were approved to sell goods to merchants, though as a merchant who was buying he would still need to get a permit to export himself. Those were two things he would have to figure out afterwards as it seemed that the former was missing for the goblin already.

The second piece of the puzzle was that he needed to figure out how to move the goods if he could get them. Ziri had elusively offered a suggestion on a lead for a cog, which Preston knew would be plenty big enough to transport a good amount of cargo. Having been around his father’s distribution in the past, cogs were the preeminent vehicle of affordable transportation. They were flat-bottomed boats that could go through shallow water, easily slide into almost any harbor to load and unload, and were wide enough to accommodate near any cargo. However, the boy didn’t even know how much lumber he was working with, the price, type, or quality. Those figures would have to be worked on the fly.

He blew on the ink so that it would dry in his notebook, waiting for it to soak into the rough parchment before he closed it and wrapped and tied it closed. It was tucked into the inside pocket of his black vest. Unlike before, he put on his elbow-high black leather gloves and pulled them all the way up, folding them at the cuff. He did the same with his knee high boots and made sure that this time his wide bladed kukri was not tucked away secretly but showing at his side.

*** The Meeting Time ***

The backroom was a decent sized meeting room, obviously used for more than just shady dealings. Preston was the first to arrive and thought that it looked like an old dry storage area that had been converted into a multi-use area. There was a round table at the center of the room that was big enough for at least ten adult humans to comfortably sit at. Hanging above the table was a set of chains with lanterns hanging from them to light the table itself, and a lantern on every corner of the square room as well. The walls were a bit dusty, and worn in places where it was easy to tell shelves had been in the past for a long time but removed to create more space.

Preston took a seat at the far end of the table, furthest from the door that led to the common room of the Inn. Shinsou entered soon after and was sat next to him.

Finally showing up late, came Kablah, and not alone. The rotund little goblin walked in wearing a coat that was slightly too big for him, with a collar lined with fur that looked a few years past its prime. He pointed his crooked, wide finger at the table and his escorts walked past him to put scrolls on the table. The escorts were reptilian-like creatures that Preston could not quite place. They were almost four feet tall, a full foot taller than the goblin, with dragon-like faces and scales, but were standing on two clawed feet. Each was a slight green-gray in color, with gold eyes, and fully prehensile hands. They were wearing what looked like a loincloth on their lower half, along with banded together steel armor, and a large sword handle protruding above their shoulder.

“You’re late,” Preston exhaled. It came out as if annoyed, but was also one of inner relief and disquietude. “Let's talk a deal.”

Kablah waved the boy off and looked at Shin. “So here’s the thing. I have a venture that can get lumber to you, you just need to get it to whatever market you want to get it to. The catch is, I can’t get through the port authorities without a permit, and i don’t have a permit. You,” he said swinging his attention back to Preston who for a moment darted his eyes to Shin and back to the goblin, “need to figure out how to make that happen and you have yourself a deal.”

He snapped and waved and the scrolls were opened, leaving Preston to look over the details that Kablah felt was necessary to know. Which, as the merchant scanned it quickly, was not a lot. He could see with a quick glance that there was a vague amount of information about the location the wood would come from and how it would be transported to Stonevale. He also noted that there were previous contracts and pricing that had been scribbled around. By the looks of it not by a goblin, and very recently, with notations stating discrepancy and fraud? were clear.

“Take a look, I’ll be back in an hour. Once I’ve eaten you tell me what you can do and then we’ll see if we have a deal.” Before Preston could look up from the scrolls to answer, question, or protest Kablah was out the door. He raised a hand but one of the reptilian creatures, he assumed a kobold, snorted at him and closed the door behind itself.

Shinsou had been listening with a mixture of mild scepticism and strong intrigue towards the goblin Kablah. Once the talking had stopped, and the miniature man had exited to leave them to their task, a cursory check of the latest ledger annotated by the Stonevale Port Authority confirmed what the Telgradian had suspected. There were a number of shady deals that seemed to fit the reasons why a permit had been denied. Having had a hands on role in the Brotherhood’s much more upscaled operations out of Tylmerande, Shinsou was adept enough at his economics to see that there should have been a very healthy income out of these contracts; especially the off-book ones.

“Off the mark,” Shinsou turned to Preston, pointing at the red scribbles. “Kablah is obviously very good at his work, but look at these numbers. He’s as useless as a limp dick at a brothel when it comes to massaging the figures properly. It’s too late now to do anything about the permit on his file, and those red marks will follow him around for a while, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t feed the figures through a different supply line.”

The weather had turned miserable as the rainy season hit Stonevale hard. Through the sound of the driving rain drumming against the thin pane of glass, Shinsou silently mouthed an idea and then shot a sideways glance at Preston, who was seated calmly at the table.

“To get a permit on a fast track, we’ll need to have a business with a solid history. Something untouchable, unquestionable from a trading point of view.” Shinsou paced, placing his hands on his hips. “This is where I come in. I am the leader of the Brotherhood of the Castigars in Corone. Our trade routes originating in Tylmerande were negotiated very thoroughly with many ports around the continent to ensure a favourable outcome for the Brotherhood, and I personally took care of most of the overseas ones. We’ve never defaulted on our tariffs, and we’re…shall we say, careful, about our declarations.”

Money was the very lifeblood of the Brotherhood; it was used to feed the families of the soldiers, buy food and weapons, and pay "maintenance" costs (as Storm called them) to any relevant authorities. Without it, quite simply, they were fucked, as was any business. That’s why they had taken good care of themselves, and why the Telgradian was confident the next part of his plan was to everyone’s mutual benefit.

"Here’s my ‘three step’ proposal," The Telgradian held three fingers up for a visual reference, "One, we convince Kablah to franchise his business and merge it into the Brotherhood’s income stream for better rates than he would earn as a sole trader. He would retain ultimate control, keep the deeds and the name, but his profits and trading history would be amalgamated with ours enough to be able to hide all these little “discrepancies”. Two, we apply for a trading permit in the Brotherhood’s name, which would allow him to sail and distribute however he likes under our flag. He can pay us a small “management fee” to deal with things like port administration."

"And three? Preston asked, producing a notebook from within his jacket.

"The Brotherhood pays you for distribution, and pays you a generous finders fee for any future business. The end result is this; Kablah gets his permit, you get your foot through the door in Stonevale, and the Brotherhood gets a trade route to Stonevale. And, perhaps, a friend or two here."

After the fiasco of losing Whitevale, Shinsou had made sure to do his business right from then on. He had kept himself largely out of operations, and enacted firm, fair rules that the people who dealt with him ostensibly seemed content with. His lips sank around his tumbler of whisky as he tasted the sour-sweet flavour of the liquid. The calm that it brought him settled his lungs and heart into a certain smoothness that aided his decisions.

"Preston, before we carry on," The Telgradian began, his white coat whipping beghind him, "I understand today has been a bit of a whirlwind. This isn't a routine trade deal - you're hemmed in between two people you don't even know, and trying to make the best of the situation. So, here."

Shinsou placed a cloth purse on the round table. Some gold pieces spilled out, their metallic echo music to the trader's ears.

"A good faith payment, for this and future business with the Brotherhood. A thousand gold pieces."

Quote:

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OOC: Shinsou Vaan Osiris transfers 1,000 GP to Preston

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Preston looked at the red annotations and sighed. He leaned forward on the table after the door closed and put his head in his hands. The slimy little goblin wanted to off-load his goods but had already burned bridges, and these were the bridges that the authorities knew about. He pushed the papers back and forth casually, almost absently, as his mind wandered. “Why would he even present this to them knowing that there was off-book stuff like this on here?”

The budding merchant had pulled the figures up and was looking through them when Shin spoke. He poked a finger at the red circles and the numbers that were not circled. Some of them were skewed from what Preston could tell and it appeared that whoever had looked over the document had not even caught them. It looked to him, at least, that there was a good profit to be had if there was a loophole that could be exploited.

Shin explained his plan and Preston listened, but not mindlessly. Quite the opposite. Goosebumps were rolling up his arms and the hair on the nape of his neck was standing on end. He had explicitly stated he wanted to lay foundations for the future, but when he began to outline the plan suddenly Preston wondered what bed he was making. The Brotherhood of the Castigars, that was a name that was not without depth.

As a much younger boy, years prior, he had heard the name when they had assaulted Radasanth - his hometown. As far as he knew, and what his father had told him, The Brotherhood were just ’a bunch of knuckleheads’. That was the most damning that Mr. Fletcher would call anyone, and it came with a warning to stay away. Preston listened to Shinsou speak but in the back of his mind wondered if the enemy of The Corone Empire and someone his dad had warned him away from was the best person to be doing business with.

Despite being lost in his own thoughts, he was able to keep up halfway with what was being said. Preston pulled out his notebook and licked the end of his thumb before turning to a blank page. He slipped a quill from his vest pocket and a very small ink well and began jotting down the plan.

Quote:

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Step 1 - ‘Franchise’. By that The Brotherhood takes over. Kablah keeps name, deeds, but books are merged.
Step 2 - Brotherhood trading permit. Will need management fee for port admins
Step 3 - Profit?

---

He found himself underlining The Brotherhood in second step subconsciously and then noticed that he had written over the same word in step one to make it more bold. when he saw Shin turn in his pace to start back towards him he turned over his notebook and left it open to dry with the pages turned down to the table.

“Well,” he said as the gold coins clammored on the table, “I don’t quite know what to say.” It was the truth. The money before him was a generous gift from a man who was handing out favors to someone he did not know before that night. It was, in a way, making Preston feel uneasy. Especially since his knowledge of the organization that Shinsou represented was one diametrically opposed to the government that he was tied to, and his father was aligned with. There was a bit of a moral dilemma, but Preston needed the money in the moment more than he needed to understand the politics of Corone. “I cannot thank you enough, and I’ll be sure to make the money back enough to pay it back someday soon. I don’t like being in debt one bit.”

“Well it’s not debt -” Shin began but Preston waved him off immediately and began to spread the papers across the table.

“So look at this. Here’s my thoughts.” He pushed the ledger aside and unrolled the other scrolls instead. “This one says that he’s looking at a 50 gold a kilo tariff. I don’t know how they’re calculating that when it’s a tree we’re looking at but with a thousand gold I would only be able to move 20 kilos. I’m going to have to move more than that to make any kind of profit. I need to move a metric ton of wood, and that would be at least 5000 gold in tariffs.”

He sat back in his seat and with laced fingers, bent them backwards to crack them. There was no going to his dad for help on his deals as he had been cut loose to the world. Preston knew he if he put the one thousand gold into the cog rental he could get the lumber back to the Bazaar to sell, it was a matter of paying the tariffs… or…

“So, what if we don’t pay the tariffs? What if we load offshore? I heard in the north they have this place called Neverscale Beach, and there are a bunch of grotto’s up there pirates used to use? Lets just ship out of there and skip the tariffs and permits and everything…” Never. Never in his life had Preston thought about going outside of the law and regulations of trade, but he also had never had to consider how to make thousands of gold in no time at all. “We do one run with a good cog and crew, we pay them off with the thousand gold, and from there we use the profits to finance future trips legit?”