This sounds amazing! It also seems to have a bit of longevity which is always nice. Are you still open to new participants? I'll have a read to get updated with current events and try to get a character together!
Hoekstra smiled broader, and their was a hungry glint in his eye at Valrel's explaination. Spark crystals were as good as stone, and in the small sizes required to put the fire into a rifle they were easy to transport and sell. He gave an understanding and acquiescent nod, hooking his thumbs on the wide black belt that kept his patterned navy overtunic in place. Having his suspicions proven true - that there were alterior motives involved in the transaction ahead - Hoekstra could proceed in a well informed way, maximizing his chance of success and gain.
"It is always my pleasure to serve the Dusthawks in capacity, Adnos," said Hoekstra in a honeyed tone. "I'll surely be able to facilitate the less bloody side of things." Valrel had nodded in return, then continued the discussion and the dwarf made his way out of the centre of the room. The discussion continued, until the gang leader layed out the details of the commodities exchange, peaking the fence's interest once more.
βThe trade-off is set to occur in two daysβ time, late in the eveninβ by Sidhole Cross. All you lot thatβd think to lend your sword-arm or are bored enough to take apart a few Tarn-worth of spark rifles, feel free to stay late and Iβll assign you a role."
As the majority of the Dusthawks filed out in staggered singles and pairs, there was a few minutes of quiet socializing amongst the crew. Stone changed hands twice between Hoekstra and yellow coloured 'Hawks, once for services rendered and once for money owed. In time, it seemed as though all who were going to leave had left and Hoekstra approached Valrel and his beancounter, Lotkey.
"Quite a score you've found us, Valrel," began Hoekstra in a less formal way, making a point to pay the elf no mind. "Well done, that. I reckon you'll need two houses - one to disassemble the rifles and as a fallback, and another to lay in wait for those gutter rat Thorns. I reckon I've got a bead on a place near enough to Sidhole Cross that would suit with a few kind words. You have a location in mind as a sorting house, or shall I use my wiles to secure that as well? It should be easy enough sorting a meet with a Resistance contact soon enough after we get the goods to pass on the dead wood. That said, you have an idea on what to do with the crystals once you've got them?"
Hey team, I'm back from Spain but my phone ended up with a bit of water issues (classic!) so I'll be off discord until that's been fixed. Should get a post up tonight or tomorrow, hopefully!
Edit: As pointed out, I posted in the wrong tab! I should be able to get a post up today while I work. (I'm at an escape room and can split my attention a bit while I watch people flounder XD)
After a bit of small talk with a Dusthawk or two, Valrel finally started to say his piece. Hoekstra hung on every word, for it was in the details that he thrived; you never knew what you could learn by an inocusous phrase, or even the words that weren't said at all. The news of the Resistance wasn't news at all to the dwarven crook. Indeed, he'd done plenty of business with them and acted as a middle man for Valrel and the Dusthawks. Stone, weapons and even things as mundane as clean silk for bandages and lasting foodstuffs flowed into the Resistance safehouses, and there was good money and contacts to be made in facilitating such things. The gang had done well in these deals as well, gaining wealth, and the recruits and prestige their boss had mentioned. The admission that Valrel didn't know what to do with with such things smelled of weakness at first, but Hoekstra knew better. Adnos Valrel as a clever man, and chose his words carefully and had not gotten to where he was by showing cards he didn't want seen.
The true anouncement brough a smile to Hoekstra's scarred face. There had been a young Blood Thorn named Orten Hall, a foundling and aspiring tough lad who had a long way to go. He'd bragged too loudly about a big score he'd been allowed to help in - a trade deal with the Resistance. That conversation had been heard by the publican of the bar known as Thumb, who'd mentioned it to Hoekstra while he'd popped in to check on a last minute delivery of crockery to replace what had been broken during a brawl the night before. Hoekstra had made inquiries with the Stoneleg twins; dwarven members of the Resistance that had been introduced to their current mistresses by Caradoc at a mutual friends gathering. They'd confirmed the nature of the transaction: Spark Rifles to the Blood Talon gang. Hoekstra had immediately sold this information for a fat fee to Tamas the Snitch under the condition that Valrel of the Dusthawks was the first to learn of it, before Tamas invariably told everyone he knew for as much stone as he could gather. Shortly after, white chalk marks had begun to bear around the lower districts of Glimhallow.
The plan was what made Caradoc Hoekstra furrow his brow. It didn't seem like good business to get into a scrap with the Blood Thorns, steal their swag and then just give it up to the Resistance for no fee of any sort. Was it a power play to show Lex they were the true force in Lower Shenul? Was it part of a larger scheme that Valrel hadn't deigned to share with the majority of the gang? It was certainly possible.
The first to speak was one of the most stand-out members of the gathering. Arelia Bastian held a complicated place in the mind of Caradoc Hoekstra. He loathed her for her upbringing, envied her for her wealth and status and yearned to be in the Sky District, whereas she seemed to delight in slumming it. On top of that, he occasionally found himself competing indirectly with her endeavers as she worked the business side of gang affairs. Hoekstra listened as she and Valrel began on the start of a plan, that of getting a hold of the Spark Rifles themselves. Before adding his voice to their efforts, he had questions.
"This all seems well and good Valrel, and I'm certain Miss Bastian is up to the task," he began, the flattery grudgingly honest. "Surely the Blood Thorn's shouldn't have these rifles. It would shift the balance too far in their favour should they use them against us or any of the other gangs. Worse, those fools might have a go at the Juggernaughts, and as soon as Spark Rifles are brought to bear on them, then the Jugs will crack down on all of us!" Hoekstra looked about his rooms, making an inclusive gesture with his hands and illiciting a few nods of agreement.
"Acquiring such goods is obviously in our best interest," he continued in his characteristically businesslike manner. "Yet I wonder why you would turn around and simply give them back to Lex? Surely the Dusthawks could benefit from such an arsenal, or if you've no desire to have such volatile goods in your care, then at least we should sell them back to the Resistance! As a... tax, for trying to undercut the Dusthawks and push us out for the Blood Thorns of all people."
Hoekstra had moved forward through the assembled gang, and now stood before Valrel and those who'd been closest to him in the room, looking up at the man as dwarfs were forced to do, Caradoc put on a friendly enough smile on his scarred face. This wasn't the time to be undermining Valrel's authority and he'd kept his tone conversational, but nor was a stock of Spark Rifles something that should be idly given away.
βMintyβ Yames sat opposite Hoekstra with the look of someone trying very hard not to look nervous, but in so doing managed to look very nervous indeed. Despite his thin build, Minty stood full foot taller then the Dwarf yet he couldnβt help but be unsettled by the scar-faced racketeer. It was how he sat, with his right elbow resting on the back of the plain wooden chair and head turned in such a way that the milky white orb stared Minty down until the man could hear his blood bumping through his ears. Minty perked up when he heard a bubbling sound, looking to the small cooking hearth on the other side of the room.
βThatβll prol'ly do it, sir,β declared Minty with a nervous smile revealing his namesake. Mintyβs teeth shone a pearlescent white with a hint of green, similar to a rich childs candy; a sure sign that he partook of Dennerβs Resin, one of the many ways a person could βescapeβ the toil of lower city life. It bleached a users teeth, but also worked itβs way into their brains slowly bleaching their memories as well.
βLetβs see it then,β stated Hoekstra, adding a bland gesture towards the hearth. Minty used a towel to pull a clay pot off its rack and brought it to the middle of the floor. He poured the contents through a wire strainer into another such receptacle, steam rising gently from the transfer. Leaving the pots on the dirt of the floor, Minty brought the strainer to the rough, waxy topped table in the centre of the small workshop they stood in. Inside were a collection of seamingly strange objects: a bronze ring, a small knife, several colours of stone coins, a bacelet of silver chain and most valuable of all, a tiny spark crystal.
"See?" declared Minty with enthusiasm. "Y'see Mr Hoekstra? Everything's in great shape, knife still sharp an' all. The wax melts at so low a temp'rature that even a spark crystal won't set off, but when it's hard it's so tough that even your proper Jugg captain-type wouldn't bother digging through to the bottom. Juggernaught's are lazy, y'know."
The man looked at Hoekstra with the hopeful eyes of a puppy as the dwarf ran the silver chain gently through his fingers. It had a slight dullness of wax instead of it's proper sheen, but was otherwise in fine shape. Reveling for a moment in how Minty's hopeful expression began to drain the longer he remained silent, Hoekstra eventually tossed the chain towards him. Minty grabbed it out of the air hungrily, relief showing on the set of his shoulders for a moment before stuffing the treasure quickly into his trouser pocket.
"Well done, Yames," congratulated Hoekstra illiciting a bright grin. "I'll admit I was skeptical at first, but it seems as though you're on to something. A man could move quite a few things this way... This is your sister's shop isn't it? Name of Gwin?"
"That's right, sir" nodded Minty. "Gwin's my half-sister. She's a Mul - er, a half-a-dwarf, sir. No offense meant. She makes candles for all over, mostly tallow down here, but she uses proper beeswax when she can. Wants to start making fancy candles with different colours and things for the nobs higher up."
Hoekstra took a moment to look at the candles on the workshop walls, and hanging from wicks along lines strung between the rafters. Most were simple, guttery things made from used and used again tallow fat, but he could see the workmanship used in others of the smooth wax variety that were cut and carved in flowery patterns. Some had stripes like an exotic cat and he suspected the use of ash or charcoal used as colour. It was impressive work for Lower Shenul, and he felt a moment of empathy for the woman who wanted to do better then this place. The dwarf placed the bronze ring on the table before Minty.
"Be sure Gwin get's this for her troubles as well, then," he said, knowing that Minty James would never pass something of value on to anyone other then his Denner source. Hoekstra had not intention of dealing with the man, and would come by the shop tomorrow to purchase a few fine beeswax candles for his office, and have a chat with Gwin in person. As a middle man himself, Hoekstra was quick to cut out anyone trying to fill the same roll, especially unreliable leeches like Minty. He stood from his chair, patting Minty on the shoulder by way of goodbye and left to his next appointment.
- - - - -
The white talon od the Dusthawks hadn't been seen in some time, and while curious, Hoekstra hadn't paid much mind to the chatter about town. It wasn't until he'd returned to his home and office for dinner that day that he'd seen the curved chalk mark on his own door. It was a curiousity; while Hoekstra often worked closely with the members of the gang, he wasn't himself a full member. Certainly not enough to wear the yellow colours of the group. Still, an invitation to the Nest was not something to be idly ignored and, forgoing his meal, the dwarf went swiftly to the meet.
He certainly wasn't the first to arrive, and the Nest had begun to look like more of a crowded rookery. Hoekstra saw a few unfamiliar faces but most he knew, returning a few nods as he entered. In a situation such as this, in which he found himself in a large group waiting for the leader to speak, it was often best to keep a low profile. Being the only dwarf, that was both easy and difficult at the same time. Naturally a suspicious person and now surrounded by a veritable gallery of rogues, the canny dealer chose not to partake of any offered drinks, instead waiting patiently and -strangely for him - quietly for Valrel to enlighten them on their purpose there.
Name: Caradoc Bryn Hoekstra Race: Dwarf Age: Fifty Two Appearance:
Hoekstra takes great pride in his appearance and makes a point of being finely dressed, effecting the look of a well off merchant. He keeps his head shorn smooth without any stubble and maintains a tidy umber beard with the use of large bronze beads. Itβs in the details that the cracks in his facade begin to show; his trouser cuffs show the dust of Lower Shenul and the stump of one leg speaks of hardship not usually found in the merchant class. Beside his moderately polished shoe is a metal rod in place of the dwarfs left foot, capped by a steel semi circle similar in look to an upturned mushroom. Not the only sign of hardship, Hoekstra prefers to wear soft brown or black gloves altered to hide a few missing digits on each hand, and a rough scar bisects his pale sightless left eye. Always with a mind to focusing others gaze, he has a preference to wearing blues, greens and greys to bring out the colour in his remaining eye.
Personal
The child who would become Caradoc Hoekstra was born in Upper Shenul to a well off mining family with interests in the lower deeps Glimhallow. His story wouldnβt truly start until he was a young boy and a series of minor setbacks snowballed into disaster to the Hoekstra family fortunes, culminating in the death of his father. While the loss was considered a tragic accident, it was the nail in the coffin heralding the final end of the widow Tegwen Hoekstraβs life of comfort. By the time Caradoc was in his adolescence, he and his mothers downward spiral had ended them in the Grey District with the young dwarf doing his best to get by and look after his mother.
Having little advantage other then strength and will, Caradoc fought and scrapped and stole as well as any of the poor sods in Lower Shenul. Running with one gang or another was inevitable, and it was on those pale dusty streets and alleys that the young dwarf made his first connections. The trick was getting involved, but not too involved. Living rough a man gains scars, and Caradoc gained his fair share until his face fit that of the most hardened street thug.
Feeling his star was on the rise, young Hoekstra became bold and stretched his means too far. When those he owed came to collect, they found neither hand entirely full and not worth chopping off, so decided to be creative. They pulverising the mans left foot with hammers so thoroughly that a chirurgeon could do nothing but amputate.
After a long recovery, Caradoc walked the dark streets of Lower Shenul again. Heβd long been ambitious, but now he had to use new means to make his way and found he was actually quite good at acting as a middle man - a neutral party that could broker deals, facilitate the fencing of goods and launder stone through otherwise legitimate businesses. No longer Creep-Eyed Caradoc, the businessman known as Hoekstra had made his way back to Upper Shenul, clunking conspicuously as he walks. Now, his misshapen fingers were in many pockets and his one eye was on many prizes.
Money flows upwards, however and Hoekstra has those he owes stone to as well. Due to a long history of working alongside the Dusthawks in their territories, he sets aside a percentage of his monthly income as tribute to their coffers. Itβs merely a cost of doing business.
βI want to be so high and mighty that the little people canβt even see whoβs spitting on them.β
Prime Motive: Climbing the Ladder; Hoekstra wants to be Better Than, and strives ambitiously to increase his station and prove heβs not just another undertown rat. Accessory Motive(s): To get where he wants to be, wealth and prestige are both tools and byproducts of Caradocβs ambitions. Internal Conflict: Hoekstra longs for legitimate success, but his felonious origins are hard to shake. The criminal methods can have bigger and quicker payoffs, but working in that world often closes as many doors as it opens and despite his better judgement, Caradoc often cant help but take those risks.
Vocational
Occupation: βLegitimateβ Businessman. Hoekstra has been everything from a fence to a launderer and owns shares in several legal and illegal businesses, and has recently financed a Sparkboat, Captained by Bundrod Steelbrow. Talents:
Negotiator - Following the loss of a foot and thus a mans reputation as a fighter, one must find alternative ways to get by. For Hoekstra, this meant using charisma and guile.
Connections - If thereβs somebody Caradoc Hoekstra doesnβt know, he probably knows somebody who does - even if theyβd rather not admit their relation to him in certain circles.
Pugilist - Hoekstra is a member of a gentlemanβs boxing club, participating bi-weekly to keep his skills up. His footwork isnβt the cleanest, but he hits like a smiths hammer.
Flaws:
Mobility - Even with a quality prosthetic and much effort to adjust, two feet just work better then one.
Reputation - A person canβt fully escape their past, as itβs a part of them. Everyone who knows Caradoc Hoekstra knows heβs still a little shady and probably always will be.
Hubris - Though always seeming confident, Hoekstra manages not to come off as arrogant in his dealings. In his own mind, however, heβs always the smartest in the room.
Luxury - The balance between frugality and the love of finer things is a constant struggle, both for his own enjoyment and to be seen enjoying them.
Equipment: -A mid-length knife of the traditional Dwarven βseaxβ style, with a tastefully decorated handle. -βDucks Footβ Spark Pistol, though kept in his office desk. It wouldnβt do to walk around with such a threatening weapon. -Steel capped prosthetic foot. -Specticals for reading, kept in a case in his jacket. -Fine clothes that give the appearance of wealth and success, but would not pass muster in the upper districts of the city.
Supplemental
Secrets: Caradocβs middle name is Bryn, which means βfairβ or βfineβ in the Dwarven tongue. His mother calls him Brynbachgen, or her βbeautiful boy.β Caradoc dotes on his ageing mother Tegwen and fears she could either come to harm or be used as leverage against him. Quirks: Somehow being both proud and irreverent of his Dwarven heritage, Caradoc makes a point of going by his true family name: Hoekstra. Most Dwarves of Glimhallow carry on the tradition of translating their names into the human tongue, being known as Bloodaxe, Ironbeard, Strong-in-the-Arm and such. Nobody has ever learned why he prefers it this way. When Hoekstra negotiates, he has a habit of turning his head in such a way that his white sightless eye peers at the other party. He enjoys their unease.
Ah, apparently I made my edits to a previous draft. These are the fun things they donβt tell you about when you need to do all your writing on a phone. π
With requested modifications! After your final approval Iβll add him to the Characters tab. Meanwhile Iβll catch up on IC posts.
General
Name: Caradoc Bryn Hoekstra Race: Dwarf Age: Fifty Two Appearance: Hoekstra takes great pride in his appearance and makes a point of being finely dressed, effecting the look of a well off merchant. He keeps his head shorn smooth without any stubble and maintains a tidy umber beard with the use of large bronze beads. Itβs in the details that the cracks in his facade begin to show; his trouser cuffs show the dust of the [BLANK] District and the stump of one leg speaks of hardship not usually found in the merchant class. Beside his moderately polished shoe is a metal rod in place of the dwarfs left foot, capped by a steel semi circle similar in look to an upturned mushroom. Not the only sign of hardship, Hoekstra prefers to wear soft brown or black gloves altered to hide a few missing digits on each hand, and a rough scar bisects his pale sightless left eye. Always with a mind to focusing others gaze, he has a preference to wearing blues, greens and greys to bring out the colour in his remaining eye.
Personal
The child who would become Caradoc Hoekstra was born in Upper Shenul to a well off mining family with interests in the lower deeps Glimhallow. His story wouldnβt truly start until he was a young boy and a series of minor setbacks snowballed into disaster to the Hoekstra family fortunes, culminating in the death of his father. While the loss was considered a tragic accident, it was the nail in the coffin heralding the final end of the widow Tegwen Hoekstraβs life of comfort. By the time Caradoc was in his adolescence, he and his mothers downward spiral had ended them in the Grey District with the young dwarf doing his best to get by and look after his mother.
Having little advantage other then strength and will, Caradoc fought and scrapped and stole as well as any of the poor sods in Lower Shenul. Running with one gang or another was inevitable, and it was on those pale dusty streets and alleys that the young dwarf made his first connections. The trick was getting involved, but not too involved. Living rough a man gains scars, and Caradoc gained his fair share until his face fit that of the most hardened street thug.
Feeling his star was on the rise, young Hoekstra became bold and stretched his means too far. When those he owed came to collect, they found neither hand entirely full and not worth chopping off, so decided to be creative. They pulverising the mans left foot with hammers so thoroughly that a chirurgeon could do nothing but amputate.
After a long recovery, Caradoc walked the dark streets of Lower Shenul again. Heβd long been ambitious, but now he had to use new means to make his way and found he was actually quite good at acting as a middle man - a neutral party that could broker deals, facilitate the fencing of goods and launder stone through otherwise legitimate businesses. No longer Creep-Eyed Caradoc, the businessman known as Hoekstra had made his way back to Upper Shenul, clunking conspicuously as he walks. Now, his misshapen fingers were in many pockets and his one eye was on many prizes.
Money flows upwards, however and Hoekstra has those he owes tribute to as well. Due to a long history of working alongside the Dusthawks in their territories, he sets aside a percentage of his monthly income as tribute to their coffers. Itβs merely a cost of doing business.
βI want to be so high and mighty that the little people canβt even see whoβs spitting on them.β
Prime Motive: Climbing the Ladder; Hoekstra wants to be Better Than, and strives ambitiously to increase his station and prove heβs not just another undertown rat. Accessory Motive(s): To get where he wants to be, wealth and prestige are both tools and byproducts of Caradocβs ambitions. Internal Conflict: Hoekstra longs for legitimate success, but his felonious origins are hard to shake. The criminal methods can have bigger and quicker payoffs, but working in that world often closes as many doors as it opens and despite his better judgement, Caradoc often cant help but take those risks.
Vocational
Occupation: βLegitimateβ Businessman. Hoekstra has been everything from a fence to a launderer and owns shares in several legal and illegal businesses, and has recently financed a Sparkboat, Captained by Bundrod Steelbrow. Talents:
Negotiator - Following the loss of a foot and thus a mans reputation as a fighter, one must find alternative ways to get by. For Hoekstra, this meant using charisma and guile.
Connections - If thereβs somebody Caradoc Hoekstra doesnβt know, he probably knows somebody who does - even if theyβd rather not admit their relation to him in certain circles. Heβs long been an associate of the Dusthawks.
Pugilist - Hoekstra is a member of a gentlemanβs boxing club, participating bi-weekly to keep his skills up. His footwork isnβt the cleanest, but he hits like a smiths hammer.
Flaws:
Mobility - Even with a quality prosthetic and much effort to adjust, two feet just work better then one.
Reputation - A person canβt fully escape their past, as itβs a part of them. Everyone who knows Caradoc Hoekstra knows heβs still a little shady and probably always will be.
Hubris - Though always seeming confident, Hoekstra manages not to come off as arrogant in his dealings. In his own mind, however, heβs always the smartest in the room.
Luxury - The balance between frugality and the love of finer things is a constant struggle, both for his own enjoyment and to be seen enjoying them.
Equipment: -A mid-length knife of the traditional Dwarven βseaxβ style, with a tastefully decorated handle. -βDucks Footβ Spark Pistol, though kept in his office desk. It wouldnβt do to walk around with such a threatening weapon. -Steel capped prosthetic foot. -A seeing lense to be held before his good eye. He found it useful for reading in ooor light, and appraisal of precious goods. -Fine clothes that give the appearance of wealth and success, but would not pass muster in the upper districts of the city.
Supplemental
Secrets: Caradocβs middle name is Bryn, which means βfairβ or βfineβ in the Dwarven tongue. His mother calls him Brynbachgen, or her βbeautiful boy.β Caradoc dotes on his ageing mother Tegwen and fears she could either come to harm or be used as leverage against him. Quirks: Somehow being both proud and irreverent of his Dwarven heritage, Caradoc makes a point of going by his true family name: Hoekstra. Most Dwarves of Glimhallow carry on the tradition of translating their names into the human tongue, being known as Bloodaxe, Ironbeard, Strong-in-the-Arm and such. Nobody has ever learned why he prefers it this way. When Hoekstra negotiates, he has a habit of turning his head in such a way that his white sightless eye peers at the other party. He enjoys their unease.
Member
