The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn, the most prominent watering hole in the city for all sailors, dock workers, and scallywags. An extremely vibrant place for such a dimly-lit establishment, it was always teeming with life. A favorite for the working man, just a few blocks from the docks, it was a prime location and took in a great deal of coin. The grog is plentiful and cheap, and everyone knows how to mind their own business. The room fares aren't high and the hearths are always warm. Home to many a thief and pick-pocket, and one well known fence, Lord Vargas, and is a great place to do a bit of business dealings towards the back.

It was a large establishment, and was said to have been around since before the first pylons were pounded into the sea. A massive structure, standing a full five stories tall, it loomed over the corners of Watershed Lane and Center Street, and had an adjacent building that was attached by an indoor breezeway on the second floor. The adjacent building's first floor is used for the bulk storage of the tavern, and has a rather large cellar beneath that, stocked to the brim in spirits. The second floors, and those above that are rooms which can be rented, and can accommodate any size party.
The Faded Lantern is not without it's own troupe of working girls either, all very eager to lighten yer purse. They had one job, and that's to get you full on the grog, talk yer ear up, and bleed yer pockets dry. Bloodsucking leaches, every damned one of 'em.

The tavern was always bustling, but it was extra busy this time of the summer for it was preparing for the Festival of The Crescents. It is a celebration commemorating the second crescent moon of the summer. The celebrations last for three days from dawn till dawn again, and was a very lucrative time for Lord Vargas. So much wine and grog, tipped and poured, and then repeated. It was much to prepare for and seemed to get worse with each passing year. At last year's festivities three people died. Lord Vargas was less than thrilled about that, even less enthused when it's brought back up again... but he was soon to forget his woes once he counted all his coin. If Vargas was anything, he was a greedy bastard. That being said he was about the most straight flying, crooked arrow one could run across. He may have been a criminal, but he was a gentleman about it. He wasn't the sort that would stab you in the back, or even do you dirty, so long as his end of it was square he was as civilized as they come.

A little past five and the tavern was already full. Two galleons and a brig just ported, all with full crews. The galleons were a trading vessels full of goods for the city. One from Liros that would be returning soon, and the other from Guillan is to be switching crews over the next few days. The brig was from Zabuzah, a large mining town to the east. They've just opened a new zinc mine and the ship is to be filled with workers destined for a job at the mines. Vargas knew all of the comings and goings of the docks. He was a well connected man with many retainers. Nothing came in or out of port without him getting a whiff of it first. It suited him, he was great with logistics, and he could manage a great many things all at once. A very Keen man indeed.

A traveling bazaar selling all sort of trinkets and wares has come into the city as well. Talk has been circulating questioning the quality of some of the vendors there, and a few of the taverns patrons seemed rather unhappy about it. The more they drank the worse it got too. All sorts of rumors or tidbits of information could be overheard here. It was the birthplace of many a scheme, and many more to come, no doubt. All one had to do was pay a bit of attention and not step on any toes, and one could all sorts of lucrative ventures to take on...



Currently a little after five in the evening. Forecast expects bouts of rain on and off for the next few days. Festival of the Crescents officially begins at midnight tonight...

Lord Vargas is currently busy checking in a shipment of wine and some barrels of grog and will be making sure that everything is stocked up for the upcoming festivities. He will be making rounds with his staff and barkeep to ensure that everything is running smoothly. The front desk is steadily signing in guests and showing them to their rooms. The Barkeep is fully staffed, as is the kitchen. Hurdy-gurdies and lively piano music can be heard throughout the first and second floors of the tavern.

All services are available and are listed below, along with the current menu for the day:

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The pen slashed like a switchblade in the hands of a streetrat, bleeding out ink upon the page as a long finger idly traced the rim of her wine glass. Solange couldn’t remember when she had exactly picked up the habit that blocked other fingers from getting near the rim, but she imagined it had to be sometime after she’d spiked her first drink. She remembered standing next to the lavatory door with her ear cupped against the grain, holding back a smile as she heard the sobs and wretches from the otherside before giving away her position with a gentle knock. A few kind words, a hand to hold back the greasy locks of hair, and one embroidered handkerchief she never got back later and Solange had turned a rival into a lifelong friend. It was a shame that whatshername’s life didn’t end up being so long, but what could one expect from someone foolish enough to attempt to steal from Fontaine?

Solange never wanted to find herself in that girl’s spot, so desperate for the kindness of another person that she’d waste her life just because they offhandedly mentioned how they’d love to wear Fontaine’s necklace. She huffed dismissively and lifted the wine glass up to her mouth, nostrils flaring ever so slightly before she pressed her lips to the rim. Cautious, yes. Paranoid, perhaps. Safe, certainly. Solange took the smallest of sips, her face wrinkling ever the slightest at the swirl she had ordered. It was yet another thing the Red Sail had over the Faded Lantern. She set the glass down on the counter, twisting it ever so slightly so that the embellishment faced her, and returned to tracing the rim as she wrote.

“Whatcha writing?”

Solange closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and smothered the sigh in its infancy. Another thing the Red Sail had over the Faded Lantern: the girls there knew when to not pester the customers. Solange opened her eyes, fixed a soft smile on her face, and looked up. The tavern had filled since she had sat down. Tables were crowded with sailors and dockhands drenched in a potent mixture of rain, sweat, and spilled grog. A game of cards was going. Solange smirked as one of the men slipped an ace out of his sleeve before her attention turned to the woman who had sidled up against the bar, her black hair chopped sloppily at her chin, her heavy makeup, the branding used by all of her peers, rivaling that of a court jester.

Solange shifted in her seat. Comradity wasn’t a common occurrence amongst the competition—the daggers the girls had first shot Solange when she’d entered the tavern made that clear. Perhaps the other prostitute had noticed the shift in the shoulder when a man had approached Solange earlier and made a show about dropping his coin purse on the counter to make the gold jingle. Perhaps she, like Solange, was trying to avoid work. Then again, the way she was marketing herself by folding her arms underneath her bosom and pushing up meant that perhaps she was the kind who didn’t limit her market. Perhaps it was just muscle memory. Solanged snapped her book shut.

“Why do you ask?” asked Solange, her hand completely cupping the top of her wine glass.

“No reason. Just don’t see whores writing much.”

“Careful, love. Imagine how insulted I would be if I were a lady,” said Solange, fully aware that no lady would drink alone or even desire to step foot through the doors of the Faded Lantern. “Things considered, I feel like you wouldn’t see many other kinds people writing in this place either.”

Solange gestured toward the card table as emphasis, where one man was now yelling and pointing at the card sharp. Seems like he noticed the color on the back of the card was off, too. The woman shrugged. She seemed to be waiting for Solange’s reply to her original question. Flipping the book back open, Solange twisted the page so that it was easier for the other woman to read as she began to explain her process of categorizing and budgeting medicinal herbs for a quick-acting muscle relaxer she was working on. She neglected to mention that the relaxer would, ideally, make it impossible for a man to stand upright or defend themselves, turning them into a pile of bones and flesh long enough for someone to ventilate a jugular.

She caught the woman’s eye as she continued to explain about her process and saw a familiar look. It wasn’t the usual look of confusion or distrust she received when gushing about the marvels of medicine, but rather the familiar look that Fontaine’s girls gave her when something was off. Solange snapped her book closed, drained her drink, and snatched the woman by the hand. “Oh you pretty thing, why didn’t you interrupt me?” “I wanted to be sure it was you. I—” “Shush, not where others can hear. Lead me to your private chamber.”

Solange allowed the woman to drag her out of the common room right as a crack cut through the chatter and was followed by cheers as the card sharp ate a right hook like a champ. Solange wrinkled her nose; something always came up just when things were getting good. She heard a surge of energy, a bellow, a pause in the music, and then several echoing shouts behind her as the fight was carried outside as the music picked back up without even missing a note. Solange cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure they were not being followed as the woman led her up three flights of stairs and into a dimly lit room.

Solange joined the woman who sat on the bed and gave her hand a squeeze. This close she could smell the alcohol on the woman. Even in the lowlight and with the makeup it was clear that the woman was much older than Solange, perhaps twice her age. Tears ruined her rouge. Something about all of this was crushing, as if a door had been laid on top of her and weighted down with stones. Would this be Solange’s future, drunk and seeking comfort from a stranger, if she did not get out of the trade? Thoughts of how she could exploit the woman surfaced in her head next; she pushed them to the side for now and wrapped an arm around the sobbing older woman.

“There, there. Seeking help is the hardest part and you have already climbed that mountain. What’s your name, dear?” asked Solange, her low like a lover’s whisper.

“Magarette.”

“Okay, Magarette, we’re going to get through this together. Now then,” she said, the warmth in her voice falling away as she produced her journal. Solange shifted on the side of the bed, pulled back from the other woman, brushed a wisp of red hair behind her ear, and tucked a leg under her knee. “Tell me everything and I will make it all right.

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“Can you read? asked Solange, her voice punctuated with the sharp thunder of a sheet being torn from her journal. Scratched upon it in fine, flowing script was a detailed list of ingredients and instructions. Magarette shook her head no, to which Solange folded the sheet into a triangle and pressed it in the woman’s hand with a single gold piece.“Go to Thistleleaf Apothecary and give this to the man behind the counter. Don’t worry, he’s discrete, but do not give the letter to his wife unless you want the whole town to hear about your ailment. The gold will cover the components with enough bits to spare to get a scone from the bakery next door as he prepares the order. Just get the paper back once he is finished. If none of the girls here can read then ask for Renata at the Red Sail if I am not there. Garlic and acacia can be used to prevent it from happening again, although know that you know what to look for I imagine prevention will happen earlier.”

“Thank you, thank you. I have no clue how to repay you.”

Solange smiled. Fortunately she had a dozen methods already planned, but there was only one she could cull and knowing the woman could not read made it all the better. She reached into her bodice and plucked out the letter, sealed with wax to make it look official and spritzed with her perfume to entice interest. “Do you want to watch your boss polymorph into a giving man?” asked Solange, winking as Magarette took it from her. “Tell Lord Vargas it’s from his secret admirer and that she refuses to allow you to deliver that letter unless he gives you the night off. Mark my words, love, he’ll give you the week.”

Solange watched as Magarette carefully tucked the letter into her shirt and quickly left the room to do as she was told. A sweet woman, but a stupid one. Solange shifted down the bed until she sat next to the nightstand and tried the handle. It jiggled, but didn’t slide open. Solange smirked. The old hag was smarter than she had thought. Reaching back, she plucked a single pin from her red waves of hair, crouched down beside the bedside table, and slid the pin into the tiny keyhole. With a flick of the wrist and a light bump against the handle, Solange’s face fell as the hairpin snapped. A second and third attempt saw equal amounts of failure. Anymore she was risking not looking her best for Lord Vargas.

Frustrated, she slid the broken hairpins under the bed and returned to the bar. The music was still a lively jaunt, and the empty spot at the card table had been filled once more. Even her seat at the bar was still open, as if the world dared to not inconvenience her any further. Fine, she would forgive it for the day. Solange ordered another glass of red, which she guarded as dearly as the last, and flipped open her journal to review the notes on the men who had last slept with Magarette. Potential piggy banks each and every one of them, assuming she could ever find them based upon her largely useless descriptions to even try to crack open their porcine and porcelain bodies for the bounty hiding inside. Still, a girl could dream. She sipped her wine and schemed her schemes, humming quietly to the tune as she waited to hear word from her latest victim.

Location: Baron Devalal Astly’s estate, Guillan
Time: Late morning
Interacting with:

It was unusually busy around baron Astly’s estate. The usually quiet courtyards were now bustling with activity. Gardeners were laying the last hand on the elaborate mosaic patterns of flowers while other workers were setting up various tents and other assets on the neatly mowed lawn in front of the baron’s luxurious estate. Everything had to be in perfect order because the festivities of the Crescents were only a few days away.

The celebrations revolving around the second crescent moon of the summer was a tradition among the inhabitants of Guillan. Many would hit the streets and visit the many taverns and inns of the city but not the high and mighty. The Guillan upper class would host their own private parties. The one more grandiose then the other. The wealthy would leave no coin unspent in an attempt to outdo each other. Throwing the most memorable party of the Celebration of the Crescent would uplift anyone’s status to infinity, at least until the next round of parties was due.

Needless to say that such an exorbitant amount of spending has a certain appeal to a certain kind of people. Where the coin rolls in great numbers people with less honorable intentions are bound to show up. That’s why we find Neh’miah Heron under the employment of Baron Devalal Astly.

“My lord, I have found a wine merchant who is capable of supplying 20 barrels of the most exquisite wine in Guillan. He does ask a hefty price but in my honest opinion, I believe it’s worth it. Those barrels were intended for Lord D’arta’s The Crescent banquet. Imagine the humiliation he suffers when he is unable to serve his guests the finest of wines.” Spoke Neh’miah resolute as he made a deep bow as a sign of respect towards the baron.

The young thief was well aware that he had made the baron an offer he could not refuse. Status was everything in the highest echelon of Guillan society and Neh’miah had just offered the baron the opportunity to publicly humiliate one of his rivals. He was sure that Baron Devalal Astly would take the bait.

The old baron had stoically observed the preparations for his feast when Neh’miah approached him. His festivities had to be the best of the city this year. He could not afford to lose again against Lord D’arta. With a inquisitive look he stared at his servant. The young man had only been in his server for slightly less than a month but he had proven his worth on more than one occasion. Where most new servants would act timidly this man showed confidence in his own abilities and was well informed about what was going on in the city. Neh’miah was certainly trustworthy in the eyes of the baron.

As the old man turned his head towards the servant in front of him his stoic look on his face did not disappear. “What is the price?” Asked Baron Astly swiftly.

Neh’miah looked his employer right in the eye. This was the moment he and his compagnon had been working towards for the past two months. Without even flinching his eyes the thief named the price. “He’s asking 18 gold per barrel, my lord.”

The thief knew that this price was outrageous. A barrel of exquisite wine would change hands for slightly more than half that price so close up to the festivities. Something the baron was well aware of and yet, this was the first offer he communicated to the Astly. Throw in some fake haggling and Neh’miah was sure that the baron was willing to pay 12 a barrel just to spite one of his competitors.

Before Baron Astly could respond the thief continued to speak. “It’s an outrageous price, my lord. I am well aware of that. The merchant is playing you against lord D’arta to drive the price up. I’m sure we can negotiate a better price than D’arta can offer. Your estates are far more profitable, my lord. Lord D’arta’s coffers pales in comparison to yours.”

For those who are in the scamming business, it was more than clear what game Neh’miah was playing. He had been working hard to gain the baron’s trust. All in preparation for the grand finale, the sale of 1 barrel of wine and 19 filled with seawater. In order to accomplish that, Neh’miah had made sure that the transaction would have a personal touch for the baron. Feelings of animosity towards a rival would cloud the man’s judgement and make him more eager to close the deal. What the old man didn’t know was that the wine merchant was actually an accomplice of Neh’miah.

The young thief could see Petrov, his accomplice waiting patiently near the gate of the estate. Even though Neh’miah had done such scams numerous times, he could feel his heart pounding. This was the part where it all came down to. It was make or break. That break would be literary if the old baron would catch wind of the scam at this point. Baron Astly had a reputation of fierce retaliation to whomever did wrong to him. Nonetheless, Neh’mian took the risk. For a master thief like him, no risk was too great and no target too dangerous. Or at least, that was what he was telling everybody including himself.

A smile filled his face when Neh’miah approached Petrov. He could see that the man had followed his instructions to the letter and dressed himself up in the most expensive garment that he could lay his hands on. Just like the nobility, merchants tend to flaunt with their wealth as much as possible.

“My lord, allow me to introduce Petrov peroski, wine merchant and sommelier from Bavoria” Spoke Neh’miah even more resolutely as before to mask his nervousness as this was all or nothing. If things would go south here he would be in deep shit, six feet of deep shit to be more precise.

Petrov bowed deeply towards the old baron. “It’s a great honor that such an exalted baron is willing to consider my services, my lord. I’m willing to sell these 20 barrels of exclusive Bavorian Wine for a fair price of 18 gold per barrel.” Spoke Petrov politely.

Baron Astly looked agitated at the merchant in front of him. To the old man it was clear that he tried to get a ludicrous price out of him. Such ways he would not tolerate on his estate. “It is indeed an honor to you that you are allowed to my estate with your wares only to insult me with your outrageous prices! Get out of here right now!” Shouted the baron agitated, as he was clearly a man not to be tempered with.

“My lord, wait. Please keep in mind that these barrels were intended for lord D’arta and allow me to negotiate with the merchant. I have worked at the docks and I am well aware of how these men think. I’m confident that I can get you a fair price for these barrels and a victory over your rival.” Said Neh’miah swiftly when the baron responded in a way he did not anticipate. The young thief had to speak out of turn and go against the judgement of the baron. Something that was extremely uncommon among servants to any highborn or even wealthy merchants.

Baron Astly turned his head towards his servant. First he looked agitated and Neh’miah feared that it was because he went against the high born’s wishes however the old baron’s face quickly changed to a smile. “You certainly are a bold one, mister He’ron. But that is what I like about you. Your audacious nature reminds me of my young days. With your attitude you will do well in life.Go fetch me a good price.”

The baron turned his head towards the merchant and spoke again. “My servant. Mister He’ron will conduct the business. But before he can negotiate prices, we need to check your wares.”

Neh’miah could feel the tension in his body skyrocket as he knew that only 1 of the barrels actually was filled with Bavorian wine. The others contained just seawater. For a moment he exchanged glares with Petrov as he could only hope that he had remembered to place the right barrel in front. He had to keep the charade up at all costs, there was no room to cross the path of the baron here. If he would somehow try to talk Astly out of a preemptive tasking it would surely cast suspicion on himself. With his heart pounding Neh’miah quickly spoke. “My lord, I agree with your judgement. It would be sensible to taste the wine before purchasing it. I do not wish to question mister Petrov’s honor but I have heard of occasions where shady merchants tried to sell poor quality wine as exquisite Bavorian wine. With your reputation at stake, it is certainly wise to rather be safe than sorry.”

The young thief’s eyes followed Petrov’s moves as the man calmly bowed before the baron. He could feel his sweat run beneath his fine clothing as he heard his accomplice acknowledge the high born’s request. Neh’miah’s brain went in overdrive as he contemplated different scenarios. He knew that at this point he could still try to ditch Petrov if the ruse got exposed. Try to convince baron Astly that he had nothing to do with Petrov’s scam and walk out unscaved. Some might consider that a dick move but the only person you could truly trust is yourself after all.

Neh’miah’s head felt like it could explode any second now as watched his accomplice bring out a fine crystal glass and approche the front barrel. With a swift move of his hand, Petrov opened the crane and the young thief could see the purple liquid flow from it into the crystal wine glass. His anxiety flowed away as he watched his master taste the wine with content.

“Aah, nothing tastes like the fine Bavorian wine. One of life's few true delights. Mister He’ron. You have my authorization to negotiate a fair deal.” Spoke Baron Astly resolute as he was delighted in the prospects of putting some rain on Lord D’arta’s festivities.

Neh’miah knew he had reeled in the big fish. He and his accomplice quickly went into their act of bantering about the price. Neh’miah and Petrov had practised this routine numerous and after 15 minutes of acting out a fake negotiation, both men finally settled on the price of 11 gold per barrel. The price was above market value but Baron Astly was willing to pay that none the less because he believed that he was setting a competitor back in his place.

With the deal done, the baron paid Petrov 2200 gold for what he assumed was 20 barrels of fine Bavorian wine. Neh’miah had to keep his smile in check as he realized that he had just made the biggest score out of his thieving career so far. A huge sum of money fitting for a master thief like himself. But as far as his own imagination goes, this was just the beginning.

Neh’miah brought the barrels to the wine cellar of the estate. There they would remain untouched for the coming few days. More than enough time to slip away before the scam gets noticed. The only thing left to do now was to meet up with Petrov this afternoon in the Faded Lantern and split the loot. What could possibly go wrong at this point?

The Faded Lantern was now in full swing, and the festivities were well under way even though the festival had not yet officially begun, though the people of Guillan need little in the way of coaxing when it came to having a good time. The rain now fell as a consistent barrage of hefty cool droplets, forming puddles in the lows of the cobbles, and the crowds had changed out once already, save for the stragglers, already bound to bench by the grog, Merry, and very, very drunk. This was all normal for the tavern, festival or not. but the streets were still unbelievably crowded, even with the sudden downpour. Festivals always seemed to draw the most magnificent crowds, at least this was the way in Guillan.

Lord Vargas Had finished making his rounds and left the rest to his capable staff to finish while he retired himself to his private quarters to prepare for the evening. Upon finding his door he was stopped by a young girl who forwarded him a letter, one which changed his demeanor the instant it hit his fingers. He would recognize that sweet fragrance anywhere... Solange
He had been after this one for quite some time. Vargas was attractive enough, and he had his way with plenty of women, rest assured. But something about Solange made him buckle. What ever it was, it could melt his arrogance in a single moment. A man who was otherwise quite a hard man to deal with, reduced to a bumbling wreck with a batt of her eyelashes.
He smelled the envelope intensely, in a single and most awkward sniff before putting it in his coat pocket as he fumbled with the keys to his room, to which he finally retired.
Once inside he opened the letter and began to read it as he got undressed to prepare for the night to come. He would surely have to put on his best now after receiving word from Solange. He was interrupted by a great deal of commotion outside. A large wagon filled with the King's guard had pulled up to the square just across the street from the tavern. They began to dismount and dispersed in the crowd in separate directions, while another headed towards the inn. It was hard to make out through the water cascading down the windowpanes but he could surely wager that it was sheriff Gerranti. Vargas scowled and hurriedly dressed and went to meet him downstairs.

The music was loud and the crowd pulsated with it. The stench of ale and alcohol was already thick and stifling. Vargas finished sheathing his arm in his jacket just as he stepped out into the rain. Gerranti stood at the threshold already drenched and sopping.

"I'd offer you a seat and a full horn, though I doubt you'd accept it." Vargas said, forcing a friendly smile, playing as though there was not a shared feeling of contempt between them.

"Aye, and you'd be right too." said the sheriff. "You might not be on the straight and all but you're not as daft as they say." sneering as the half insult shot forth from his lips like a bolt set forth from bowed string.

"So it's the business then?" Vargas said, as if it would ever be anything else.

"Aye. Looking for someone. Seems Baron Astly has had a run in with one of your lot. A Neh'miah He'ron, frequents this area and 'roundabouts here an' all, thought maybe you'd keep an eye out or might point us in the right direction. Baron says he made off with a hefty sum, some 2000g or thereabouts. got us working round the clock now a'lookin' for 'im."

Lord Vargas winced at the number. "Ouch, that's a good bit of coin to be losin' indeed." he said, finding a good bit of joy in the Baron's misfortune. "But you know that you an yer fellas don't do a lot to bring the crowd in 'round here. I don't suppose you and the fellas could fuck on off for a while, you know, make yerselves a bit more scarce, like maybe get the fuck away from my tavern?" he said, jingling a small purse as he did. Money was a universal language in Guillan, and everyone spoke it...

The sheriff smiled. He knew that Vargas was always good for at least a small purse, it was half the reason he went there in the first place. A crooked smile formed on his face, like a rotting picket fence.. "Well now, I suppose we could make our presence a bit less felt then, maybe keep a low profile for a bit. Can't just up and leave, Von Brandt is breathing down our backs on this 'ere fella, but we'll keep it down.. for a while." he said, as he took the small purse from Vargas. He turned and faded back into the crowd. Vargas could here him rallying the rest of his goons as he did, and he went to make his way back inside.

It was hardly even getting dark out and the guard were already out in numbers. Going to be a wild evening for sure, and this would pick at his thoughts for the remainder of the evening.

All services available.

New info circulating in the tavern:

A rather large shipment of grain from Marth was discovered to have gone bad in transit due to mold. The entire shipment (2.5 tons) was wasted due to mold spores and now sits at the docks. The quartermaster for the ship has been fired and was nearly beaten to death by the overseer down at the Black Lion Trading Co. earlier in the afternoon to which many bore witness to. Lots of dockworkers have reveled in it for the better part of half an hour now.

The sheriff of the district and 5 guards are now circulating in the square just in front of the tavern, which is to hold a couple of pyres for the festival. A massive crowd has already formed despite the rains, and the guards are making rounds. A sketch on a wanted poster of Neh'miah has been posted on several posts around the square.

The concept of 'fate' was an interesting thing to have around. It was like a bright star in the limitless darkness that laid beyond what a human's mind could understand,. It gave guidance to the intrinsic desire to find a reason for everything and to deny the possibility that anything could exist without causality. Even the greatest misery felt better if one could somehow believe in it being part of a greater plan and not just an act of sheer randomness. And yet there was another way to look onto fate: It was both a quite handy scapegoat one could blame for anything one didn't want to see in the scope of one's own responsibility and it was something one could put pretty much any kind of hope in.

So far the decision not to return to Marth might look like a bad one, but fate would decide what would come next!
There would have been plenty of other, less crowded settlements with less salt water around, but outer circumstances had kept nudging him into the direction of Guillan! Maybe he was just destined to go at sea ?
All the dirt, filth, crime and other hardships one had to endure in this place on a daily basis would not make him suffer, they would only make him harder!

Agreed, Skarsat's views on things were not quite as extreme as this, but he too would feel glad if somebody just came and told him that it wasn't all the result of his own decision and that things would indeed improve. Today though would certainly not be the day. The man who had taken Skarsat under his wing gave the impression of having a better and warmer heart than most people around here, but just like with most people around here his primary interest still was the state of his coin purse. And the spectators around him ? Their giveaways went straight into the pockets of said man's collectors and not Skarsat's own.

Money! One of the things that so far had failed to conquer the tribes of Marth. Sometimes it felt more like an infection that could make people rot while being alive than a useful and harmless invention. He too had started using it, but simply because the methods of trading he was used to didn't work here. One was nothing if one had no coin. One could and would die if one had no coin, so he had to make some, too.

And so Skarsat was standing at one end the Market District's main plaza, near a place that called itself 'The Faded Lantern', and focused in on the target that had been put up near the plaza's other end. Between it and him was a narrow-cordoned off corridor besieged by spectators. They wanted to see the next shot or they wanted to be given an explanation of how it worked and maybe have a try at hitting the bull's-eye themselves -- for a small price, of course. It was tedious work, but orders were orders. The more entertained his spectators felt there longer they'd stay and the more willing they'd be to make his employer's balance sheet look good.

The intensifying rain had actually given people another thing to look at as Skarsat had decided that a drenched shirt was even worse than no shirt at all. Now they had two things to marvel at: The precision of his arrows and the obscene amount of muscles on his body.

Unexpected commition started to set in though as the king's soldiers started to pull off a show on their own. He could see the collector's grimace as it was clear that this would only help to disperse the crowd. Even if the soldiers would disappear soon it would take much longer for people to come back, and given the worsening wheather they'd probably not at all. So... that would be it for the day ? The Tork man put down his bow on a nearby table and looked around, trying to find the person he was looking for. Yet his employer, a rich man who called himself not just 'Ivor', but 'Lord Ivor', now had his hands full shutting down his other small businesses around the place first.

While Skarsat waited, he dressed himself back up. His clothes were clinging to him like an ugly second layer of skin, but hopefully a stay inside would make them dry quickly. His sharp eyes darted towards a big tavern sign slightly wobbling in the wind.

---

Sheriff Gerranti had barely finished getting away with yet another example of successful bribery when Skarsat ducked slightly in order to get through the door. What hit him first was not air, but something that would have deserved to be burnt and buried forever had it not been gaseous. Wasn't it that alcohol, if concentrated highly enough, could burn ? If so: At which point could the stench of cheap beverages actually pose a fire hazard ? Maybe the people in here had to keep drinking in order to distract them from the fact that all the drinking had made the immediate environment next to unbearable ? A vicious circle, albeit probably a very lucrative one.

Skarsat decided not to join it, not this day. There was an interesting-looking poster on the wall and he stopped in front of it. Deciphering it would be a good exercise as the weird symbols and shit used by those Easteners still posed a vertiable barrier for him. After an amount of time that would have sufficed for others to read the whole thing several times he could make out a name: Neh’miah He’ron. Or was that strange thing even a name and not just an artifact produced by his own lack of skill at reading this ? Further down on the parchment the talk was about some kind of betrayal it seemed.

Skarsat smirked... This would have been a good job for him if it hadn't been for that damn festival. Everything had to be 'official' for these three days, then the more hidden massacre started afterwards when so many rich people suddenly noticed just how much they didn't like some other rich people or the guests who had not understood how to behave at their party. By that time the king's guards would already have found that guy, wouldn't they ?

The Tork sat down near the fireplace, trying to pick up some warmth in order to get himself dry again.

Maréngo - North Sea

Greed can make even the most reasonable man do extraordinarily unreasonable things. It can make him act against his own self interest and regard his peers as nothing more than tools and steps to use and step on in pursuit of his desires. And if he's not careful, he might be swept away in the tide of his obsession, such was the case with Captain John Redgale and the crew of the Devil's Providence. All signs pointed to a monster hurricane moving into their path but they refused to lose an entire week of sailing. They had heard rumors of slow and fat merchant ships passing through the North Sea and wanted a cut. Attempting to outrun the storm was a fool's errand but they tried anyway for the promise of riches. The winds alone threatened to capsize the ship and tore the sails to shreds before the crew could tie them down. One rogue wave took five men overboard in a single swipe. The next wave reached for the heavens and Maréngo fell to his knees, his palm to the sky as he cried out to Leathe for salvation, for mercy in the wake of his captain's deadly sin. He begged for his life and clutched the amulet around his neck, a symbol of the god he beseech carved from driftwood and strung on a leather cord. In the next instant the towering wave swept the whole galleon away like a child's toy as it crashed down on doomed sailors below.

Darkness engulfed Maréngo for a moment and he was sure he'd died until he opened his eyes and found himself floating below a carpet of splintered wood and cargo. With burning lungs he made for the surface and gasped for air as another wave swept him away. The waves slammed into a section of mast and didn't think twice about clinging to it for dear life hour after hour as the storm raged around him. Just as he began to make peace with his looming death, the waves carried him into the eye of the storm over a small archipelago. By chance or by the will of his god, Maréngo didn't waste time pondering. He moved like a man possessed and steered his poor excuse for a life raft toward the island chain.

Within an hour of his landing on the beach, the storm descended once more and battered the island, ripping tree branches clean off, throwing sand all about, all the while the wind howled like a demon as the rain pelted the half drowned sailor. He prayed once more for his salvation and eventually fell unconscious with the amulet clutched tightly to his chest. He awoke to a late morning sun and devastation all around. Entire trees uprooted, branches and leaves scattered all around, and no other land but the archipelago in sight. Maréngo searched the island but found no one else. He alone had survived the sinking ship, but that didn't mean he was safe in the slightest.

==========

Maréngo - City of Gullian, The Faded Lantern

It was almost two weeks before a passing ship happened to pass by and the man in the crow's nest spotted him waving his arms on the beach. The ship was headed for the city of Gullian and so that's where Maréngo decided to celebrate his miraculous survival. He had planned to make his coin last a bit until he could find a proper job but that plan lasted a whole three days. Women and wine took the lion's share of his coin before he even stepped foot in the Faded Lantern. He passed a brawl in his way in and smiled to himself. Something told him this was going to be an interesting night. Low on coin, he thought to try his hand at a gambling table.After all, he'd cheated death twice already before the full moon. Perhaps his luck would hold.

He spotted an empty seat around a card table and made himself known by clearing his throat with a friendly smile.
"Mind if I join you lads for a few hands?"
One of them looked up and chuckled with a thumb gesturing to the front door.
"Only if you don't try to stiff us like the last one."
Maréngo laughed and made a point of shaking out his sleeves.
"You won't find a more honorable man in all the 9," he replied, lying through his teeth.
Satisfied, the man gestured for him to sit down and dealed the pirate in. Cards were always a favorite of Maréngo's or the blend of luck and skill. More often than not he even played fair, not out of any moral obligation, but for the thrill of a fair game. In this case he made off with a good bit of coin which he immediately took to the bar after shaking hands with the other men at the table, wishing them good fortune in the future.
"Bartender!" Maréngo called with merriment in his tone, "A glass of your best for one of Leathe's favored."
The boast seemed to get the man's attention and they exchanged words. Maréngo sipped his drink and told the man his story between customers. Once he was done, Percy as the bartender introduced himself, directed the pirate upstairs to who was apparently a friend of his.

Finding her wasn't hard given the bartenders description of her. He put on his best smile as he approached the table, leaning on an empty chair but not yet taking the seat.
"Evenin' to you. Your friend at the bar said you'll be needin' a crew for a job, a big one at that. My sword and the skills of a sailor are yours if my pay is mine."
He grinned and patted the cutlass on his hip for emphasis.

---

---

Solange seemed a paragon of patience as she lounged at the bar, her scientific note taking shifting into a rough, idle tracing of Percival the barkeep. The faintly sketched image was marked with the occasional heavy, dark line, brought upon by the brief moments when her actual frustration at being kept waiting seeped through to the surface. She was quick to cool her head with a sip of wine and a nibble of cheese. The cheese, like the wine, was an expected disappointment, but she felt obliged to attempt to eat it anyway.The food had been a collective gift from the girls, paid for by the coin of the sailors.

Solange hadn’t intended for her visit to the Faded Lantern to turn into a chance to expand her market, but it seemed that word had spread amongst the girls of the tavern. A few more of them had drifted over to her individually after the first one, all with different approaches to similar problems. The exchanges were more brief than the first, and by the time the fourth or fifth girl had sauntered over to drape an arm across her shoulder Solange already had a fold sheet of paper ready, the prescription sliding up from between her long fingers to quickly be plucked away by the other girl as she whispered into Solange’s ear.

Her wrist felt like it was cramping from all of the writing by the time Vargas finally entered the bar proper. She straightened her back and turned in her chair to smile at him, a look that wavered as he turned towards the door. Silently seething, she snatched her goblet and sauntered through the crowd to see what future dead man was keeping her payday away. She lingered behind Vargas, far enough to not be seen as eavesdropping but close enough to attempt to get a bead on the conversation. However, a swell of music and a rowdy cheer from the card table made the task a difficult one. By the time Solange made a move to close in, the other man was already gone.

“Miss Belgard! It has been too long,” said Vargas, stepping in to embrace her.

“My Lord Vargas! I was beginning to worry it would be longer still, darling,” said Solange, welcoming the hug and giving Vargas a quick peck on either cheek. She pulled away rather abruptly, keeping up the act that she was afraid Fontaine would do something if she saw them being friendly. In reality, she didn’t enjoy the company of Lord Vargas very much. Sure, he was a bit handsomer than a majority of the men she dealt with and certainly wealthier than a number of them, but there was just something about him that just annoyed her. She leaned back and looked towards the door. “What was all of that ruckus about?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about, my dear. I took care of it, as I always do. Let us talk in private,” he said.

Solange allowed Vargas to take her arm in his and lead her through the tavern. He started to hold a conversation with himself, interrupted by her occasional probe to continue his mindless prattling, as she began to iron out exactly what it was about Vargas that she did not like. Part of it was his condescending nature that he thought to be chivalrous in the way he’d protected her pretty little head from the dark details of something interesting. Part of it was how he had the pretense to call himself Lord, a title he’d bestowed upon himself instead of others giving it to him. A lot of it was how easy he had been to snare, proving to Solange that he didn’t deserve to be a pawn in the game, let alone a major player. Vargas was in love with her lie, and she loathed him for it. Solange motioned to Percival to bring them drinks, the thought of listening to Vargas fawn over her while sober beginning to prove to be a daunting task, as she was pulled upstairs to his personal table.

“...and, I must say, it was truly a marvelous letter, but why didn’t you just come and find me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Solange, pausing at the top of the balcony to look down at the crowd below. It always felt right. One of the working girls waved at her. She smirked, and turned to Vargas. “That reminds me. You know the woman who delivered the letter?”

“Yes?”

“She confided to me in secret, and while it pains me to betray her trust I couldn’t possibly allow for such a thing to go on behind your back and ruin the reputation of your fine business. You see, she’s got—oh, I’m too embarrassed to say,” said Solange with a choke, dramatically turning her face so that her hair hid her smile as she swallowed a laugh. “She’s got a gift that no man would want, and if they learn that present came from here then it’d be a disaster. I worry not only for your business, but her life as well. I’ve heard stories of men who kill women over less. If one of your girls was taken out for something like that it’d just be absolute ruin. I don’t want you to fire her, but it’s the best thing for her safety and the safety of your business”

“Oh you precious thing, I can see on your face how difficult it was for you to tell this to me. I will take care of it, as I always do,” said Vargas, biting into the bullshit sandwich Solange had fed him. The only thing difficult was to not guffaw at her own ingenuity—serves that woman right for bothering Solange when she was trying to have a nice evening.

“Could you make up some other excuse? I would die if she found out her trust was misplaced. She’s a bit advanced in age, perhaps you found a younger girl that would draw more of a crowd...”

“If I had that I would’ve fired her years ago,” said Vargas.

“I have a few I know. Can you from any lost profits.”

“Then consider it done.” As they continued towards the table Vargas said, “As always, I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“The appreciation can wait until after everything I do to you, love,” she said with a wink and a sing-song voice as she spun free of Vargas’ arm, grabbed the sliding partition to the private table and open it with her back to it, and then gestured towards the table where her business proposition would be agreed upon .“But first —” Solange’s voice fell flat as she looked into the room to notice a man and a woman in their spot “—ugh! Why are you here?”

It was precisely at this moment that Percival arrived with the drinks Solange had ordered, allowing for the situation to be explained briefly before Vargas grabbed him by the arm and escorted him out to the hall. She heard Vargas yell at Percival from the hall, asking him if he knew what the word “private” in “private table” meant. The corner of her lip twitched up. She liked Percival, but not as much as she liked hearing someone get belittled. From the lambasting that was happening outside, it seemed like it would be a moment before Vargas joined them.

Solange saw an opportunity and took it. She walked to the head of the table and took the seat that was normally reserved for Lord Vargas. She sat straight, shoulders back, her fingers bridged as she looked down the table at the two. She tilted her head up towards the sailor and gestured for him to take a seat, and then she turned her head to the woman. Solange lifted her nose ever so slightly and smiled at the woman as she acted as if she were a person of any sort of importance instead of just a frustrated prostitute looking for a new gig.

“I apologize for the uncomfortable moment there; Lord Vargas and I had this room reserved for our own private meeting. Seeing as how busy we always are it’s rare for the two of us to have a moment alone to consult one another on operations. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas’s business partner. Anything you want to say to him can be said to me,” lied Solange, her eyes twinkling with the slightest bit of amusement while sitting with an otherwise affirmed stance that portrayed the fabrication. “Don’t worry, dear, as a favor from one woman to another I will convince Lord Vargas to not give either of you the same treatment he is giving to poor Percival right now.”

“So!” Solange clapped her hands and rubbed them as she leaned back with a hungry grin. “What were the two of you discussing before we so rudely interrupted?”

Location: The Faded Lantern

It surprised Neh’miah how smooth the scam went. The Baron was still clueless when he left the estate and even the splitting of the loot went without any fuss. His plan was truly a masterpiece crafted by a thief who’s skill and intellect was one in a million, at least in his own mind. The young thief was certainly convinced he had just pulled off the perfect crime.

Laden with his new found coin, it was time to celebrate. It was the festival of the Crescents and the ale should flow like swollen rivers during the autumn rains, or at least as heavily as that fucking rain outside. Quickly Neh’miah pulled the hoodie of his leather coat over his head to protect himself from the downpour that was falling from the sky.

The young man was barely around the corner when a small crowd staring at a wall attracted his attention. Apparently they were all staring at some wanted poster and arguing about what the criminal had pulled off that the king's guard was this busy hanging up posters all over town. Quickly he looked over some men’s shoulders just to see who’s mug was on the piece of paper and much to Neh’miah’s own surprise, he was staring at his own face.

The baron and the sheriff were moving a lot faster than the thief had anticipated. If they were hanging up wanted posters at this hour the streets would be closely monitored by the king's guard. Not that those losers would pose any threat but still, he’d better be careful not to get recognized by those government dogs or law abiding citizens.

Quickly he continued his journey to the Faded lantern. Lord Vargass was a shrewd businessman who certainly realized that too many guards around his place would be bad for business. Neh’miah was certain that the self-entitled lord would have paid off the sheriff to not sniff around too much at his tavern.

Much to the young thief’s relief he did not spot much guards on the Sea-side market square. With only a handful of people and a huge crowd on the streets, Neh’miah deemed it unlikely that the guards would spot him when he undertook his casual stroll towards the Faded Lantern tavern and inn.

As the young thief entered the tavern he could see that the atmosphere was already joyfull. The grog was certainly flowing wildly already and most people were too busy in their conversations and activities to notice the next patreon entering the establishment, not that he feared that someone would alert the guards of his presence. Thieves don’t rat eachother out. It’s bad for your reputation to sell the competition to the law.

As Neh’miah made his way towards the bar he dropped his hoodie while passing some muscular Tork guy warming up near the fireplace. He had never seen the man before so Neh’miah did not give him much attention. After all, it was probably some foreign sailor biding his time before he would depart again.

As the young thief arrived at the bar he noticed that Percy was not on his usual spot. One of the other bar keepers informed Neh’miah that he was upstairs, doing some business with lord Vargass himself. Knowing both men, that usually involved some shady dealings and the prospects of coin.

However when he reached the top of the stairs, a scene that he preferred to stay out of involved in front of his eyes. The self-entitled lord was giving his employee a proper scolding. Apparently poor Percy had given the private table to some drunken sleaze without consulting the boss. However what happened at the table peeked Neh’miah’s interest. The story of an ancient tomb teeming with loot sounded like a good opportunity to gain more coin and boost his reputation. Not to mention that being eighty kilometers away from the sheriff for a while would not be bad either. However the missy seemed clearly out of her league.

”That’s an interesting tale about an ancient tomb you’re telling, it certainly piqued my interest. So please continue your story. If the prospect of loot is good enough I might offer my help and that is far more valuable that what the gods have to offer.” Said Neh’miah with a bit of a smug on his face as it sounded that the lady was navigating uncharted waters and had no clue how to do it.

Maréngo looked up when the door opened, a hand moving half way to his cutlass out of habit. The hand dropped back down when he took the measure of the woman who walked through the door and what a woman she was. Her beauty was unquestionable but what got his attention was the mention of her being Lord Vargas' business partner. Even in his short time in Gullian, the pirate heard tell of who he assumed was their benefactor for this job. Such a pedigree attached to the job gave Maréngo a great degree of confidence beyond his need for coin. A small twinge of sympathy for that Percival man crossed his mind seeing as he was technically, partly involved in why he was getting verbally lashed but the thought passed quickly. There was nothing he could do a anyway and it was best not to dwell on the woes of every stranger who crossed his path.

He had meant to greet the newcomer right away but saw his fellow low life (he'd been around the type long enough to know them) trip over herself at the sight of Ms. Belgrad. His eyes moved from Solange, to the thief, to Solange and back again and made no effort to suppress a mischievous chuckle. The mention of coin, however, proved more than sufficient to distract him and bring his attention back to task, but not to forget what he saw. Maréngo grinned, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture as he smiled and tapped his own chest.
"Find me a ship and I'll get her where we need to go. As for the favor of the gods," He reached into his shirt to display a wooden amulet roughly depicting a bearded man with furrowed brown and stern expression. "Remind me to tell you how I got to this city in the first place."

Solange managed to maintain the air of confident authority she’d set forth despite the telling stare from the other woman. It was a look that Solange was all too familiar with from working in the brothel. She still found herself annoyed by it even after realizing the power that look gave her, but she’d still take that card and tuck it up her sleeve to turn a losing hand into a winner anyway. Solange didn’t break eye contact from Y’vanna until she fumbled her words, and then instantly she looked away. She shifted her interest onto the sailor, both to drive a little spike of jealousy into the other woman’s heart and to get a sense of him. The sailor chuckled; he had clearly caught on too. Solange smiled at him, unable to resist sharing the moment of superiority.

Naturally the word “lucrative” drew both of them back in. She imagined greed was something all of them at that table shared in common. Solange’s shone eyes as bright as the oil lamps they reflected as the woman spoke of the job. She looked away just once to acknowledge the presence of a new arrival and give him a head nod, as if she was giving him permission to join them at her table. As she listened she idly traced her thumb along the bottom of her lip, her other hand resting over the top of her glass of wine. The thought of an untapped treasure horde was enticing, but there were a few things that concerned Solange. She held them for now and lifted an eyebrow as her latest admirer poured another horn and toppled the empty pitcher upon the table.

“Allow me to take care of that, love,” said Solange. She rose from her seat—Vargas’s seat—and leaned over the table to grab the pitcher and set it down gently.“Once we have come to terms my partner will provide funding for the ship and I will accompany the crew to represent our interest. Oh, my apologies. We haven’t had the pleasure yet. I’m Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas’s business partner,” she said to Neh’miah. The more times the lie was repeated the more comfortable it felt. “I believe what you said about being more valuable than any gods to be true,” said Solange with a smile and a once over. She’d always found value in stroking those with a big ego. Now if only the sailor would reveal himself to her. In due time, she supposed. She glanced through the partition, saw the Vargas was pretty much out of hot air and would have to wrap up shortly, and remained standing.

“We can burn all of the offerings and say all our prayers, but I rather make our own fortune by relying on talent than hoping for a miracle,”she said as she began to circle the table, leaving the chair for Vargas as if it had not been touched at all. She paused behind Maréngo. “Now, we have the captain and myself to get us there.” Solange moved on to the empty chairs, stared at them with a frown, and twisted her hair. “We’d definitely want some more muscle if that other crew pulls together.” Finally, she walked behind Neh’miah and traced a finger along his shoulder as she stared past him to Y’vanna. “And I have an idea as to what the two of you are capable of doing.”

“However, before that—!” Solange twisted around Neh’miah and gingerly slid into the seat opposite the head of the table. That knocked pitcher had given the redhead another theory, and she just couldn’t resist the temptation to toy with it. Solange’s brow darkened as she set her full glass of wine on the stained wood of the table and gently pushed it towards Y’vanna. Her eyes narrowed as she gave the woman a mischievous smile. “Your drink is low, dear. Have mine, it’s untouched." Her face lightened as she leaned back and glanced between the pair of thieves. “Now, I’d love for either of you to tell me that my hypothesis is correct.”

Y'Vanna was just finishing her last horn as Solange nudged the glass of wine towards her. She took one look at it and scowled.

"Eww... wine, I never touch that stuff... hate that shite..." she said, slamming her horn down on the table and swiping for the glass of wine. She took a healthy sip before she continued. "Well, a sailor we may have, and aye, ye sound confident in your own right, but just how can ye be certain things will run so smoothly, eh?"

She could feel the warmth of the alcohol flooding her face and belly, oh the sweet embrace... A dance she had danced nearly every night for as long as she could remember. The bluntness of her speech was a dead giveaway.

"I mean, eighty kilometers is a good bit of distance to be traveling with people I just met, and to be trusting them takes it even further out to sea for meself... Especially when I'm to me making deal with Vargas... or his business partner either."

Y'Vanna had barely got the words out as Vargas came through the open doorway and into the room. Percival followed him in as well with a broken look about his face and his shoulders sloping off in a sulking manner. Vargas's attire was well over the top, A beautifully gilded royal blue frock with gold threading, exceptionally tailored. His shoes and gloves, both of black leather and very well kempt. His mustache and facial hair was waxed and groomed, and that smell... she couldn't put her finger on quite what it was but it stung at the nostrils. The room fell eerily silent for a moment, the only sound was the hardened leather bottoms of his shoes as they fell on the planks below. Even the ambience of the tavern seemed to muffle slightly.

"What's this I am hearing about a proposition, hmmm?" he said, placing a gloved hand to his face inquisitively. "It had better be lucrative, whatever it is. I don't take kindly to intrusions... especially at MY OWN TABLE!" he said rather loudly in Percy's direction, but did not turn.

"Well, then ye're gonna love this one Varg- Lord Vargas." Y'Vanna said with a bit of a shaky voice. "I was just telling your business partner-"

"Partner?" Vargas said abruptly, cutting her off before she could continue. He looked to Solange as Y'Vanna was gesturing at her when she spoke. "Oh, right.. aheheh.. Yes indeed, my partner." He said, a warm smile gathered on his face as again locked his gaze on her. "Please, do continue. It's no secret that my associate and I are quite fond of the prospect of making a bit of money... Percy, get your worthless ass downstairs and get us a few rounds for everyone. I'll foot the tab if this takes to my liking" he said, snapping a finger before moving to take his chair, which he graciously eased into. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, eager to hear this tale.

"Aye, yer partner was saying that she could get us a ship to Gnok island, some eighty kilometers west of here." Y'Vanna said as she tore through the glass of wine.

"Oh, and Percy. Fetch Nora for me while you're at it." Vargas added "Please, continue."

Percival nodded and took his leave, and not soon enough after what he had just endured...

It took an agonizing while, but ultimately even the nose of a Tork man was able to adapt to things that simply didn't exist among the nomads: the scent of sweat, vomit and cheap ale concentrated in a badly ventilated, enclosed space way too tiny. Nothing against the hearth though -- that thing was rock solid, burning much better than an open fireplace and would likely provide a lot of warmth well after the flames had ceased. Unfortunatenly it had to be incredibly heavy, so no tribe could afford to move such a thing around...

Anyway. His clothes had become dry, which meant Skarsat could start concentrating on other things. Saving himself from a nasty cold and an empty stomach were not the only reasons why he had decided to come here, but while the first issue was already solved and the second problem was about to find its end in the form of a enticingly good looking barmaiden delivering a large piece of roasted meat, his bosses' boss still was not showing up. Or was the man actually Lord Ivor's boss ? Lord Ivor had claimed so with a mixture of both reverence and fear, but who was a simple Tork to know for sure ? It could just as well be a trick to influence his whole mindset in advance about this 'Lord Vargas'.

Skarsat kept waiting. First until he had finished his meal, then until the card of games he had been watching from the distance had ended in yet another brawl and then an uncounted number of minutes further... Enough! Whoever this Vargas guy was, he'd have to talk now! Luckily mister Ivor had given him a hint about the bartender. The wooden chair creaked with a lot of relief as Skarsat raised himself to his towering height again and moved over towards Percival. The latter appeared to be in a bit of a hectic move and certainly looked like this was not the best evening for him, but Skarsat happily ignored this fact for the moment.

"You..."

One really couldn't say that Skarsat would have been the most charismatic person, but rather one whose dark voice and overall appearance gave reason to feel intimidated. Running a place like The Faded Lantern however was not an easy job either and unpleasant approaches were more like an everyday business, so combined with the fact that Skarsat actually tried to provide a friendly intonation Percival perceived the man's method of addressing him without feeling too much disturbed. He instead presented as much of a gentle smile as he could muster after what had happened earlier this evening.

"Someone told me that the man behind the bar knows more about a certain Lord Vargas. Now if my eyes don't betray me the man behind the bar is you. So could you tell me more ?"

Maybe it was a good thing that Skarsat lacked the ability to read other people's minds, otherwise he would have been able to witness an entire stampede of thoughts about his kind going off in the bartender's mind right now: often big, often bad, and more often than not even not so nice looking. Also Percival didn't hesistate to make an internal statement about the Tork standing in front of his counter being a good example for all of those aspects. None of this could be seen on the bartender's face however. He, after all, was somewhat prepared by this not being the first occasion of its kind.

"Could be, yes. Who wants to know ?"

"Skarsat. I have an... erm... what it's formally called ? Appointment! Yes, I have an appointment with Vargas!"

Percival let go of a sigh he didn't even bother to try and hide somehow. Lord Vargas was a busy man and even someone as miraculous and cunning as him could not just divide himself and keep up to several appointments simultaneously. Yes, he had told him something about another rendezvous with some Tork guy, but right now Vargas was upstairs with a bunch of people and it didn't look like that things would be over in that room anytime soon! One of the perks of being a Lord was that it was clear who'd have to wait in such cases, but unfortunatenly it was not the perk of a simple Tork man to know that, was it ?

"The schedule has gone a little haywire today, so please accept the Lord's apology for letting you wait. Nobody of us expected the king's soldiers to show up today! I'll take you to the Lord once he's ready!" Percival kept smiling. He had survived Lord Vargas not having a good opinion about his actions earlier this evening, so an unnverved Tork could not do any harm to him! He cut off any further potential of interrogation by just turning away from Skarsat, instead firmly dedicating himself to the lot of drinks people upstairs were waiting for.

Yet the stare didn't go away. The tork man kept nailing Percival with his glare and started to tap his fingers on the table. His lips more and more narrowed down to a thin line and his facial muscles started to flex slightly. As Percival did his best to resist, Skarsat grabbed himself a stool for comfort and watched the bartender dashing around and piling up beverages on his plate at a rather bewildering speed. As interesting as this was to watch, as little did it help Skarsat's interests though.

"You know, I can search for Vargas myself. Thanks for services not rendered!"

Percival's body felt as if one had tossed him from the overheated atmosphere of the tavern right into the cold waters of the harbor. No, not another session with Vargas just like the one before! If this guy would just stumble into that room... With one quick move that told a story about his experience as a barman since none of the drinks on his plate lost a single drop, Percival positioned himself in front of Skarsat before the latter could reach the stairs. Just... just how big was this walking tower of a man ?

"No need to, I am ready! I just need to pick up someone else, too! You know... you're not the only one he wants to talk to today!" He had almost forgotten about Nora! Hopefully she was somewhere around here, too...

Location: The Faded Lantern

”Yes, the one and only. No better thief on this side of the ocean then me.” Spoke Neh’miah joyous. As he looked at Y’vanna while listening to her sarcastic remark ”You’re Y’vanna, the head that consumes more grog than an entire brigg crew on a daily basis, right? Anyway, I don’t have a ship…...yet. We could always steal one” Spoke Neh’miah confidently as if he was stealing ships on a regular basis.

However before the thief could cook up some elaborate scheme to steal a ship, his attention was attracted by the other women at the table. Neh’miah did not know the woman who introduced herself as Solange and yet there was something familiar about how she spoke, her mannerisms and her body language. In a way, it reminded him of his mother.

For a moment Neh’miah followed her movements with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. There was something off about what this woman said, however the young thief could not entirely pinpoint out what it was. However, Solange was right about one thing. Having Neh’miah on your team is more valuable than the gods.

As Solange traced her finger around the young thief's shoulder, he could not help but to feel that she was playing him. This kind of behaviour Neh’miah had seen many times before. Solange shared the profession of his mother. And yet while knowing this, he still bought kinto her game.

”Oh? Vargas wants to pay for a ship? That could be interesting, depending on what the man, I mean lord of course wants in return for his investment.”

MUSIC

Y'Vanna's face and brow twitched a bit at Neh'miah's slick words hit her like a bat. Unfortunately, it was not a sobering blow...

"Aye, that be me indeed, love." she said, "least I be having the coin to spend it.. you know, on a daily basis."

Her tone was sharp but it was only a game. She had seen Neh'miah several times and this banter seemed to be a common form of greeting for the regular patrons of the Faded Lantern. All this talk of the grog was making her rather thirsty and she began to ponder what was keeping Percy, and her horn. A fleeting thought next to the details of their proposal.

"I don't think that steali-"

"No one is going to steal a ship and run it just off the coast to Gnok Island and expect to get back unscathed by the authorities." Vargas, abruptly cutting Y'Vanna off. "Hell, I doubt you lot could make it out of the harbor."

Vargas was quiet for a minute. His hand coursed through his well groomed facial hair as he glanced over those at the table, sizing them up. Neh'miah was a bit too proud, but he had always been what Vargas would call a "decent earner". So was Y'Vanna, who was nearly a pickle and less than ambitious with her loot. She was still very capable, none the less. And then there was Solange... Despite his ever growing lustful passions for the woman did not cloud the fact that she was as sinister, and as dangerous, as they come. She was absolutely capable of keeping Y'Vanna on track... his track. He was also aware that Solange was toying with him. He was no idiot, nor did he seem to mind it entirely. It was something that he had always envisioned that she would eventually get over, and would one day come to her senses. This little endeavor here that she managed to include herself in only fortified his grip on the woman, or so he thought anyway. She managed to do so as his partner no less, something he wasn't prepared to let go of entirely.

"This little trip will require rations and gear as well or did you not tally that into the equation as well? Eighty Kilometers is no short distance by sea no less. You'll need rations for at least a week, possibly two. Then you'll need proper gear for your tasks once you get there." Vargas said. His tone was more professional now. "I bet this fine sailor here has some inclination of what that sort of trip might cost a small group, were they so inclined to do so, Morangi?? is it?." (@Jarl Coolgruuf)

He pulled a small journal booklet from his coat pocket along with a small piece of folded cloth which had a small quill and inkwell in it. Vargas was a busy man and always kept this with him. His journal, a most prized thing, held all his dealings and balances. He produced the inkwell and set it on the table neatly before him, carefully undoing the top of it. He then placed the journal square in front of him. He undid the little leather strap that kept it securely closed and began to flip through the pages, stopping towards the end on a blank sheet. He dipped the quill and began to write.



NARARATOR-

The Faded Lantern is now in full swing. A fight erupts below and a group of patrons howl in delight. Vargas seems to be unmoved by this as it is normal behavior for the tavern. The rain has finally subsided and Large pyres reach into the growing darkness of the evening sky. Drums and wild music can be heard from the streets as the festival takes form in the square below.

The sailor gave a patient smile as he took his seat, aware of his foreign name.
"Maréngo, sir and give me just a moment to think. I'm no quarter master but..."
He tilted his chair back at a precarious angle and mumbled to himself as he counted on his fingers, staring off at nothing. Literacy may not have been his strong suite but numbers came easily to him. After a long pause he turned to Vargas.
"Two weeks small crew, room for equipment, I'd say somewhere more than likely between fifty-eight and sixty hundred gold. No more than sixty five hundred or you're bein' robbed blind."