[IC] Devils of the Slate, a Dyomi tale

[Jasper19]

Dyomi City 11:00 Am

Dyomi city was quite busy even at eleven AM shops of various kinds were opening and the merchants were taking their morning strolls it was a picture perfect morning. If you lived on the north side meanwhile in the city the gangs were organizing their way to loot tourists and guide people to the dens that they owned. Now most of the gangs dens were out in the open , usually the gambling dens and brothels the only crime was it you were caught counting cards though gangs would take care of you before the police did it you were caught doing that. Though the city has its faults the inhabitants are a proud people once again welcome to the city of Dyomi.

A young man walked the streets of the slate taking out a matchbox as he did fishing out a paper cylinder as well. Lighting the match the young man held it up to the cylinder which now had one end held securely by his mouth. After making sure the cylinder which around Dyomi was called a Bushel usually holding the illegal drug known as Parem, the young man promptly took a puff which it anyone could see him would notice that the puff caused his whole body to suddenly relax. Pulling his coat tighter around him as he smoked the Bushel some more the young man ran a hand through his hair as he avoided some men with a tattoo of a black Gull with white tipped wings. This tattoo identified them as part of the gang known as The RazorGulls a gang which he wasn't on the best of terms with. " Hello Waylan beautiful winter day isn't it? " a cheerful man called out as he set up a shop "Quite if you call freezing cold beautiful" Waylan called back smiling as he took another puff of his Bushel.

Waylan sighed softly watching the smoke tumble out of his lips as he walked he wasn't particularly happy about who he was meeting but a job was a job and a job from Jonathon Morris wasn't one you refused easily. Smirking when he got to the building, a large green one among the usual brick with a Lion across the left wall. After smoking the rest of his Bushel Waylan walked inside the building and took the steps up to Jonathon Moriss's room or "office" as he called it. Waylan hadn't been dealing with the DimeLions for long but they payed good even if they held an air of superiority as if they weren't just some street gang from the Slate , but today they needed a demolitions expert and Waylan as the best there is. At least the best there is in the Slate he mused a wry smile coming across his face as he entered the "office".

" Waylan so glad you could come" Jonathon said with a shark-like grin, one that never reached his eyes. Waylan just looked at the man and lit another Bushel " You said you had a job? " he asked taking a puff, usually when he had dealings with the DimeLions Waylan liked to keep them short. Jonathon nodded " Yes I do I would like you to accompany some of my men as they break into a merchants house , there is a tunnel into the house and we need someone to blow up the wall blocking it. ". Waylan nodded and thought about it as he puffed his Bushel " How much will I be paid? " Jonathon smiled " Fourty Kruge". Waylan blew out some smoke Fourty Kruge , the currency of Dyomi was good money it could buy Waylan a bed for tonight and some food for dinner and the morning. " ok I'll take the job what time and what day do I need to be there? " he asked. Jonathon smiled and rapped his knuckles across the desk " Tonight at twelve AM". Waylan nodded then left the DimeLions bulding.

[Sharidi37495]

A young woman walks along a back alley, hoping to avoid the men with tattoos of a black gull with white-tipped wings. She sighs softly as they pass by her, and slips into the morning crowds of the slate. To hide her face, she pulls the hood of her coat up, inconspicuous in the cold. She passes a brick building with a lion gracing the left side, and pauses for a moment, before she ducks into a tavern beside it. She sits at the counter, tossing her hood back. The bartender grins when he recognizes her. “Good morning. A room, if you please.” The woman’s light accent distracted anyone watching from where the golden coins had come from, until she slid them onto the counter.

When she had settled down in her usual room, she takes out a wrinkled piece of paper. Her likeness was on it, alongside big black letters: WANTED- Lost Daughter of a rich and prominent Mavikan merchant. In small letters under her picture: Fedosia Markov. Fedosia lights a match and uses the paper to light the fireplace. She cleans up and leaves, keeping her hood up until she reaches the northern area of the city.

[Entlein]

A plain door in a dead-end alley. A closed speakeasy door set at eye-level is the only feature, but such hatches are commonplace nowadays. The main door opens, and a hooded figure steps out. They lean against the brickwork and cross their arms with a quiet groan. A few minutes pass, and the hood comes down so that Jay can adjust one of her shoulder straps from its spot on a newer tattoo. Satisfied, she pulls back up the hood and waits.

These jobs are usually quiet, and she's not expecting anything different from this one. A few hours of protection, an unspecified "business" exchange, and she'd be paid decently. Easy enough. The only thing that worried her was the time that her employer had insisted on. Eleven in the morning seemed risky, for a couple reasons. For one, broad fucking daylight doesn't discourage prying eyes. For another, lunchtime means more movement on the streets, which means more eyes. She doesn't like eyes, but her employer didn't hire her to worry, so she peels her own open and scans the alley.

[ningal700]

Geez, it's fucking cold out here, Natalia thought to herself, as she pulled her grey shawl more tightly around her shoulders, bracing herself against the wind. As she surveyed the area, only just preparing to start her day at nearly noon, she couldn't help but notice a man (or really, a boy, although in the current climate all of the citizens of Dyomi had likely had to grow up as fast as she had). He seemed to be making observations himself, and when his eyes flickered in her direction, she took cover behind one of the several stands local merchants boasted. She watched as he took a puff out of a bushel, and envied the man, as she was looking to get her own fix of Parem. Just when she thought about approaching him and asking what exactly she could do to earn a puff or two of that bushel, the man disappeared into a nearby building, and Natalia rounded the corner just in time to bump into a member of none other than the Razorgulls. Natalia swallowed hard.

Luckily for her, though, this particular Gull had been one of her previous... 'clients', and he recognized her. "Hey, you'd better watch where you're going, Lady N. You know well enough that this side of the tracks is tougher than your rich-bitch, fairytale town on the upper side. You're lucky it's me that you ran into." He winked at her, and made a sly attempt to wrap his arm around her.

"Not today, pal." She gave him a quick smile, even flashing teeth, and he sighed, letting go of her and walking off with a grumble. Natalia let out a sigh of relief of her own, and then continued toward her destination. She did, indeed, have a destination, she just wasn't expected to be there for another couple of hours; but, since her attempt at sneaking a puff off of a local's bushel had been thwarted, she decided that she might as well enter the small bar/inn that was tucked away in an alley, just off of one of the main streets of the Slate. On her way in, she passed several of the tavern's regulars, along with some other unfamiliar faces, and when she reached the door there was a hooded figure standing against a wall nearby.

"Excuse me," Thalia muttered in the direction of the hooded figure, knocking on the door three times and waiting for someone to open it and let her in so that she could await her newest job assignment, which would hopefully pay rather nicely. She needed all the money and resources she could carry, if she were ever to get out of this wasted city and reunite with her sister...

[Sanity43217]

Clovis was sitting at a bar. Sure it was early, but work was slow, and he had nothing better to do. So, here he sat, a tankard of shitty ale, in one hand, and his cane in the other. "Another." Clovis said placing the now empty tankard back on the bar. "Easy there Clovis, tis barely before noon. You might want to slow down." Clovis chortled. "Slow Down? I don't earn my keep by going slow." "No, you earn yer keep by being sober enough to fight the other drunkards. I ca'not have yer being drunker than the drunkards you kick out." Clovis nodded. Raising a single finger. One more to help shake off last night then?" The bartender nodded. And poured another tankard. "After last night, you earned it. This caused Clovis to Chortle again. "Hey, you know I cherish every opportunity to crack a few skulls.

The bartender motioned him to move away from the bar. "Go on, Clovis. Your seat is by the door. I let you drink for free because you keep gang violence out of my bar. Not sit here in the morning and talk about night's past. Clovis stood up and nodded. "I'm going. He said in an upbeat voice. It was a good side gig, while work was slow. So, he went and took a seat at the table near the door, and rested his game against the table. Sipping slowly from his tankard, waiting to be needed.

[KZOMBI3]

It was annoying to say the least, any time Rowan was "summoned" by Jonathon Morris. Just because he supplied her with an abundance of hired work didn't mean he owned her. So when the rapping at the door of the small room she rented stirred her from her slumber, she was less than cordial to the one on the other side. The person spoke, obviously not caring that they had disturbed her, "Mr Morris wants you in his office as soon as possible," and with that she could hear the heavy footsteps retreat at an ungodly pace. A smirk crossing her ethereal features. It would have been unwise to remain at the door of a pissed and groggy assassin's door.

That was nearly five hours ago and the reason of her summoning was to 'Keep me company,' Morris' words. Rowan, in any other mood would have fought against his wishes not giving a shit about what it is he wanted of her. Though, her tune was easily changed the night before when she was given free range of the booze and quarters he so generously prepared for her. 'I'm strictly here to observe... for now,' she continued to remind herself as she took internal notes on all the souls that waltzed through those heavy doors to speak with Morris. In the time that she was there, Rowan was privy to a myriad of bodies coming and going from Morris' office ranging anywhere and everywhere from drunkards, common whores, junkies looking for their next Parem fix and the like.

However, there were a select few that caught her attention and instead of her just leaning against the back wall, shrouded in the shadows, eyes closed in boredom and disinterest; she was alert and focused.

A young man, no younger than herself if she were to be honest, tanned skin - that she could discern even in the low lights of Morris' office gazed at Jonathon, lighting a bushel as their conversation began. While they spoke, Rowan focused in on his features. He was too familiar to her and the fact that she couldn't place him in her subconscious, was annoying her. Something that doesn't happen to Rowan Tallstagg. Morris mentioned a job and a merchant's place and an explosion? Why was this all news to her. She would have broken out of her hiding spot to hit the man upside the head, however giving away her position too soon would be unrewarding at best. So, she kept quiet, though leaned forward, ears open and listening.

As soon as the room was cleared and it was just the two of them once again, Rowan emerged from shadows a scowl gracing her features as she glared daggers at her... employer. "The hells Morris," a hand slammed down on the top of his mahogany desk, ink well jostling and nearly tipping over onto some important looking files. "Why wasn't I consulted on a job? Hells, why haven't I been given anything aside from your personal guard?" Her tone was acidic, yet calm. If it had been any other patron of the bar they would have submitted to her line of questioning. But this was Jonathon and he knew her and her tricks too well.

Their conversation was soon interrupted when a lower tiered lackey, one that she had recognized as a regular during her nightly recon as she sipped her ale in a dark and shadowed corner booth. Jonathon motioned for his employee to enter and get settled, turning to Rowan, "You're more than welcome to stay, or if you would like, enjoy some food and ale below." The newest warm body that joined apologized, lightly dipping his head and body out of the way as she sauntered her way out of the office calling over her shoulder, "You and me, Morris, we aren't done yet."

A nice cold ale sounded too good to pass up right about now.

[Jasper19]

Waylan had sat at his favorite Parem den and had gotten high while dodging RazorGulls to pass the time until it was about an hour before the job."Whelp guess I need to get my stuff. " he said taking another puff before getting up and left without paying saying his usual response of " put it on my tab! " . Waylan then walked to his little place he called " home" if you could really call it that, more so it was just an alleyway he stashed his bag full of explosive and flammable compounds. " Fuck I'm getting low. " he said to himself frowning as he checked his stash. Guess that isn't Waylan would be paying the Slates local black market a date. Using his matchbox again Waylan lit a bushel to numb out the cold and began to walk to the black market putting and blowing out smoke the whole way.

Once Waylan arrived at the market he looked around , it wasn't impressive looking just a bunch of people in rickety old stands ment to be put up quickly and collapsed quickly if any guards came. Walking to his usual stand Waylans face broke into a smile his bushel hanging from his lips. " Donnie how's my favorite illegal contact? " Waylan asked to small Zhu Hanian man. The man turned to Waylan and scowled but then smiled as he joked around and parted Waylan on the back." I'm doing good now that my best customer is here! " he said heartily and went back behind his stand. Waylan made a "awww shucks" gesture and began to negotiate the prices for his supplies. Once arriving at ten Kruge which Waylan was thankful for as he barely had twenty Donnie gestured to Waylans right index finger which turned out to be a prosthetic.

" need any lighter fluid for that? It will be on the house. " Donnie asked Waylan as he got out a cansiter. Waylan smiled and said " Aww in fact I do Donnie old pal thank you very much." he took the canister and pocketed it then took his supplies and put them in his bag before leaving. In fact Waylan didn't need the lighter fluid he had just bought some a few weeks ago but when you lived in the Slate you don't turn down free stuff. Chuckling as he took some hits off his bushel and blew out smoke Waylan began to walk to the North side so he could do his job. Upon getting to the house Waylan would notice two things, one the DimeLions had some big guys as their muscle two the merchants house was incredibly nice which probably ment the man was incredibly wealthy.

Once he reached the two gang members he smiled and walked up to the door. " Alright boys this is where the magic happens" he said and took out four things from his bag sticky putty, a clear liquid , some fine metal dust, and a empty glass vial. Pressing the putty on the edge of the door where the handle met the frame Waylan then opens the empty vial and pours the liquid in there and some of the metal dust. Corking the vial he then shakes it and pressed it into the putty." Stand back" he tells the DimeLions as he backs up a few feet. After a minute a small not very loud but quick and forceful bang! is heard as the vial explodes breaking the door frame rendering the deadbolt lock useless.

Waylan smirked as he walked inside and began to take his share of any valuables he could sell or any loose Kruge he found." Like taking candy from a-" he made a muffled noise as a bag was thrown over his head. Suddenly blind Waylan was pushed until the kidnappers told him to step up, doing so he then got pushed in what he figured out was a carriage by the clopping of horse hooves. Lurching to a stop Waylan was then pushed into a small house and down the stairs where he was forced to sit in a chair as they shackled his hands behind the chairs back. They then took the hood off and after squinting for a bit to get his vision back from the blinding light Waylan saw a man in a expensive suit staring at him.

The man frowned and walked up to Waylan until his leather shoes were a couple of inches away from Waylans boots. After clearing his throat the man smiled and said " Pardon me for taking you like that but I guess it is fair seeing how you were robbing my house. " the merchant said. Waylans face got pale and all he could think was 'oh shit'.

[Sharidi37495]

Fedosia walks around the North side. She ‘trips’ over the pavement, falling into the arms of a slightly older man. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry.” She smiles apologetically, allowing herself to shiver a little; her thin coat wasn’t near enough to ward off the cold and wind. “Would you like to come inside, warm up?” Fedosia uses her practiced smile of gratitude, but her attention is elsewhere. Sounds of a struggle was heard from a nearby house, a merchant’s house that she’d been invited to on occasion. She looks up just as a man in a sack is being thrown into a carriage, and she gasps softly. Her target looks in the same direction, but now that the carriage was pulling away, doesn’t see anything. “What are you-? Hey!” Fedosia had taken advantage of the man’s distraction, and she’d taken a money pouch hanging from his waist and taken off. The man follows her, and she ducks into a small shop in a side street. She watches the carriage from the window, wondering what on earth was going on, and if there was maybe a way she could benefit.

[antman0623]

Viktor Morgan walks down a dimly lit dark back alleyway, in pursuit of a man who had stolen a pocket watch, a watch once belonging to his father. He had tracked the man down on a tip from a local street vendor who had seen the man several times, passing his stall and playing with the watch each time. The watch itself never worked and was more a sentimental piece, as it was all Viktor had left of his father. And he was determined to get it back at all costs.

The one thing Viktor always wondered about the watch was what was the design that was carved into the case. It was the symbol of the PitVipers, the coiled rattlesnake. Hi father always said that he stole the watch from a watch maker, but Viktor knew there had to be more to the story.

Following the tip, Viktor made his way down the dark alley, to what seemed like a dead end, only to find a small protrusion in the alley wall, which to the untrained eye would look like just part of the wall, but as Viktor could tell, some by sight and more by feeling, he noticed that it was a door set into the alley wall. He tried to push on it, but it didn't budge. Feeling around, he as able to make out a panel, which he assumed slid open enough for someone to look through and find out who was at the door. Viktor clenched his fits and pounded the door. He didn't normally do this, but seeing as there was nothing else around, he figured the only way to get in was to lie to the doorman and somehow slip into the shadows once he was inside.

As expected, the panel on the door slid open and a pair of beady eyes look him up and down. "What do you want?" The voice was deep and raspy. "I'm here to see a guy about a job." This was partially true as Viktor was here for the guy who had stolen the watch, but he wasn't looking for a job, at least not at the particular moment. "Who sent you?" The voice sounded suspicious. Viktor paused a moment and had to come up with something quick. "James, something or other, didn't catch his last name. Spoke to him at the tavern just up the road. Said if I needed work he had a job for a "guy like me" and told me to seek out a door in the back of this alley." The eyes widened and the panel slid closed. Viktor could hear some rustling and the door opened inward.

"Please step inside. We may have some use for you." Viktor stepped inside and the door closed behind him. It was dim and dark in the hallway behind the door, perfect for him to blend in the shadows and slip way. "Follow me." Viktor followed behind close, but not too close. He was inside now and he could feel like there was something else going on here, more than just him taking back the watch. Viktor kept following down the narrow hallway, but noticed it turned off to the right and thats when he made his move, slowly and quietly slipping away down the hallway, as the doorman ket on walking straight.

[Entlein]

There's a pretty lady (sorta familiar) making her way down the alley. Jay tightens her grip on the box on her hip, but the woman doesn't seem to notice. She approaches the door and murmurs a quiet "excuse me" in Jay's direction. Nope. Jay's hand closes around the brunette's wrist, pausing her mid-knock.
"Can I help you?" she growls, letting her low voice drop further than usual. Strange sense of familiarity or not, her client (and by extension, her paycheck) is on the line. Who the he-. Her hand drops, and she takes a step back apologetically.
"Lady N. Didn't recognize you, ma'am." Jay'd been notified that she'd be involved, but they hadn't been expecting her for several hours. Jay bangs on the door, and the hatch swings open. She exchanges quick words with the man on the other side, then turns back to Natalia.
"You're early, so they're not quite ready for you. Would you mind waiting here with me?" She pulls off the long coat to reveal another coat underneath and offers it to the poorly insulated woman.
"It may be a bit."

[ningal700]

Natalia was taken aback when the stranger grabbed her wrist tightly, and she gasped, looking at the hooded figure with not only shock but also malice. Just when she was about to go into fight or flight mode, the figure addressed her by name (or, a least, her street name). Letting go of her wrist and taking back her cloak a bit, the figure turned out to be a female. Natalia was surprised yet again, but she decided to remain calm since her opponent had released her.

Hearing that she was early and would have to wait a while, Natalia decided that it was likely in her best interest to respond to this shadowy woman, if she wanted to keep her job and receive her pay when it was over. “Sure, I suppose I can wait here with you...” Natalia had her guard up, but she tried not to act too sketchy, for fear of being dismissed from a payout that she desperately needed. “And thanks,” Natalia took the coat tentatively, examining it fully before donning it herself, in case any Tom-foolery happened to be taking place, “It sure is a bit frigid out here today, isn’t it?” She asked her.

[KZOMBI3]

mentions of Viktor @antman0623

Rowan sat in the furthest booth that allowed her vision of the entire shady pub. Light barely filtered through the grim infested window panes, covered exclusively with left-over rags from the brothel down the wharf. 'Definitely wouldn't touch any o' those,' she remembers thinking when first she stepped foot inside the dingy hole that she's now come to frequent. All with a pouch full of coin.

As she sat there sipping her second canter of ale, her sharp eyes caught sight of all the traffic bustling through. There were definitely more coming and going today than there have been the last few weeks. She was highly curious to say the least. However, she wasn't getting paid and therefore, could stave off her curious nature. At least for now.

It wasn't until a man was being lead towards the side room, having entered through one of the code enforced doors. Rowan all but rolled her eyes into her drink. Though, it was the man and how he slipped away, seemingly without anyone's notice. But she did. It was kinda her job. And even though she wasn't being paid at the moment, she decided it was time to scratch that itch she'd been meaning to scratch. Her ale was also finished.

Setting the empty canter down on the table as silent as a mouse - not that it mattered much, with the amount of noise taking place around her, she doubted anyone would have heard her had she slammed it down on the solid oak. With her drink discarded she moved like the wraith she was and followed the male down the narrow hallway. He had slipped through a side door and it was only a matter of time before he would emerge. However, she was impatient and decided to slip inside the room after him. A blade of hers already at the ready.

Skillfully slipping in, the door closed with a hush of a whisper - she doubted he would have heard it - and stuck to the shadows of the room using them to her advantage. 'Just what was he doin in here?'

[ouTland01]

He was a little bit dizzy.

Steely eyes drifted to the side, focusing on the window and then past it, out the freshly cleaned panes and faded sash bars. Over-trimmed trees and dying flowers in planter boxes around lampposts. Vendors, criers, loiterers, passersby. Some faces he recognized; most he didn’t. A few he wished he didn’t. The street was filthy, he observed, and he wished the city workers would come by and do something for it. Alas, they never seemed to; and with how cold it was, he doubted there’d be rain rather than sleet or snow. His gaze tracked idly to the left- a new store a little ways down the street was being fixed up. When had that been sold? When had it been bought, for that matter? He supposed it didn’t matter. A sign, listing its opening date about a month out, advertised little clocks and watches. How quaint.

What was he doing? Right, of course, being dizzy. Well, no, not quite even that. Lightheaded. Standing up and feeling like he'd left his brain in his chair. Maybe he shouldn't drink so much so early in the day. He rose from the cherrywood stool behind the counter, and oh, yes, there was a lovely feeling of not-quite-vertigo that almost dragged him back down. He exhaled and steadied himself.

His hair was neat, laid back in a twisted braid, secured by twinkling silver rings. Carefully and meticulously done the whole way down, it didn’t betray how much whiskey he’d had while affixing it that morning. He brushed it back over his shoulder and spared a glance at the little brass entry bell over the front door. It hung, merrily as always, exactly where it was fucking supposed to be. He sighed and quietly turned to the stockroom. On his way, he passed rows and rows of neat shelves, all stained that same smooth, cherrylike color (but they were cypress, he knew- sturdy and long-lasting, but less damn expensive) and stocked painstakingly with seemingly endless books. He ran a fingertip over the edge of one and was satisfied to see it come up clean of dust. Good. As it should be. He inspected a display, next. A new nonfiction detailing a look at the relation of agricultural and environmental conservation achievements of his homeland. He noted with a hint of almost-pride that they were selling so quickly that he would already need to restock it.

Dizzy, bored. Dizzy was never good. Bored was, so long as he wasn’t idle about it. So, he opened the door of the backroom, laid his waistcoat to the side, and rolled up his sleeves.

It had been a productive week for Mordred. He and his people had picked up a substantial amount of information on quite a few prolific groups and figures. But for as careful and neurotic as he was, Mordred and Gabriel might as well have been two different people. The folders here, where Gabriel worked, were low-risk, light, and trivial, and the heavier stuff was hidden well away. Though he itched to dig through the more important side of things, he had been doing this for long enough that he knew the value of patience. Besides, it meant that he had plenty of time to go through the files he’d relocated last night and make it to a nearby café for lunch.