Heist Awry

((SOLO))

((I'm not approved, but I think I'm allowed to post anyways, just not judged for experience until I am? Pretty sure I read that somewhere. If I'm not allowed to post yet, PM me, and I'll just stockpile posts for after! This message will self-destruct after character approval))

Clad in brown coveralls, a dwarf of mean age, sat on a crate that was rife with mildew. He smoked from a battered pipe. A cultivated brown moustache grew down to a patch on the breast of his uniform, which read “Krunt” in blue italicized script. He spoke in drawl.

“Didja hear the thing aboot the boss?”

A much older, much fatter dwarf looked up from fretting about the sewer lichen on his pleated jacket. He was a beaurocrat. A money counter. Not a Johnny Do-Task like the others. His moustache was much less dignified, but his beard was long, the color of a pumpkin, and a pair of tiny spectacles perched on his warty nose. He was educated, and well spoken.

“What thing could you mean?”

An olive-hued creature, a head shorter than the present dwarves, had beady black eyes with no pupils, and the breadth of his ears made his head twice as wide. He had only one eyebrow, but it was more than enough to suit each eye with fur to spare. The funny little creature wore a brown jumpsuit, and his patch said “Lewis” even though it wasn't his name, and the uniform was far too large for its spindly arms and legs. It was a goblin, and it did not have a generous grasp of the common tongue yet.

“Ye know... Dat 'e buggers opponents dat he beatses in battle...”

The third dwarf, the fourth and final member of the conspiracy was tall for dwarven measure. His hair was cropped down to the scalp, and his black beard and moustache were nothing impressive, but he had a wicked gleam in his eyes. He was the hardest working among them, and their leader when the troupe was unsupervised. His patch said “Lib,” and he wasn't particularly bright, nor quite as dull as the goblin.

“I heard 'e buggers opponents that 'e KILLS in battle.”

The first dwarf, “Krunt,” bawled with laughter. It was an unpleasant sound. He stopped, and his manner sobered.

“...The way I heard it, 'e kills his opponents in battle, by buggerin' 'em.”

The gathering was sombre for a moment as they considered the implications of that statement. The steady drip and trickle of water and Lewis' asthma were the only sounds. Then, there was the dull thud of iron-clad boots. The tarnished brass knob on the only door in the small closet turned. Bugsy Stonecutter, founding member of the Stonecutter Cartel, dominated the room with his dour presence. He was shorter than Lib, but his stature declared him the largest one in the room. They were all strong from years of practiced labour and long hours of hard work, but he... He was powerful. The weapon Bugsy had strapped to his back was of almost unreasonable weight, but they had seen him swing it. Lewis had nightmares about it.

The Stonecutter overboss unslung his ax and Krunt tipped his pipe, then cleared from his seat so Bugsy could take it. Fear, mixed with respect. Bugsy had never steered them wrong, and had never suffered perceived insolence without exacting harsh punishment. The gathered cartel members had been working together a long time, and knew very well what actions were punishable. They took great care to avoid setting off their volatile leader.

Condensation from the stonework ceiling dripped onto Bugsy's clean-shaven head, and he took no notice. Sewers were always quite a bit warmer than the surface during the winter months, and a degree cooler in the summer. Twelve feet above their heads, the snows were just beginning to thaw and baronies were starting to repair the damage to their infrastructure from the winter months. The droplet ran down Bugsy's temple and tickled his bushy sideburn. He brushed away the annoyance and smoothed out the hair into the slate-grey beard that ran all the way down his torso, and ended tied in a knot on his belt to keep it from straying in combat.

“Listen up, milk-sucks. You're not initiates anymore. You're full-fledged members of the gang. This is the real thing. If you fuck-ups fuck up, you'll be arrested, or worse. Ain't nobody comin' to pick yer carcasses out of lock-up. You get caught, you're out. Any questions?”

There were no questions.

“Targos will fill you in on the job, and I'll fill you in on the heist,” he gestured to the pumpkin-bearded dwarf wearing spectacles. The dwarf beaurocrat cleared his throat.

“We've been hired by Mayor-Under-the-Baron, Edwin Brasscok III, to clear the waterway of brick-a-brack. Its the same job we've done a hundred times, just on a much larger scale.”

“Same job WE'VE done a hundred times. You just sit in the wagon and get fatter,” Lib interrupted. He interrupted Targos as often as he could because he wasn't allowed to interrupt Bugsy.

“May I continue? The Barony of Bradbury has agreed to pay us one-hundred pieces of gold to clear the entire waterway before the spring rains so the gutters don't flood. Bradbury proper is four miles wide and three miles deep, so our, sorry. YOUR work is cut out for you. Blockages will most likely be the usual – discarded furnature, sticks that washed in through the gutters, the occasional dead body stashed by the local guild – you know, the usual. Are there any questions?”

Lewis had a question.

“Are da waterways da ones with da poop?”

Targos frowned.

“No, the waterways are not the ones with the “poop.” They're the ones with the grey-water.”

Lewis politely raised his hand.

“Yes, we know grey-water is brown. It is called grey-water because its the collected rainwater and run off from irrigation,”

Lewis raised his hand again.

“Irrigation means farmers watering their crops.”

The goblin raised his hand once more.

“Tom-fuckery!” Bugsy shouted, his face flushing.

Lewis put his hand back down.

“Clean the sewers. Same as every other time. Inn rooms are paid for till the end of the month. You wanna drink yer nights away, go nuts, but its on your dime. No company tabs,” the dwarven leader stated firmly, meeting eyes with Lib who quickly looked down at this work boots. “Krunt, you're going to take the North-Eastern Sector with Broski. Once that's clear, the real job starts. The job that makes the hundred coins town-council is paying us look like some school brat's lunch money. If we nail this, we wont have to work the whole of next winter, and we can lay low in the best whorehouses in Radasanth!”

There was a much excited exchange between those gathered. Winter was by far the worst month for sanitation work. And Radasanthian prostitutes had a hard-earned reputation for being the best. The shrewd cartel leader had no intention of dumping their coffers into booze and wenches though. Not all of it anyways. There was a much bigger picture.

The gathered gang leaned in close as their leader laid out the plan for the heist.