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    1. Templar Knight 11 yrs ago

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Having rested his weary feet and indulged in some of Mr. Wines' signature product, Gideon took the opportunity to have a more serious look at his surroundings. The Ruinous Captain had no love for gossip or courtesy, but this 'soiree' was at least more palpable than many he had seen. He'd still prefer to be enjoying harder liquor and listening to the bawdy songs of the Dockers and Zailor down at the Medusa's Head, the kind of lifestyle that would make the Presbyterians fume, but he found the atmosphere tolerable.

Besides, when not engaging in any particular streak of ambition, it often paid to remain a more silent observer of these sorts of affairs. Tittering sycophants and scheming spiders could often cause one trouble if one wasn't careful, which many weren't. Hence why the population of pests in London is booming, both real and figurative.

Not intending to look like he'd noticed, Gideon espied a particular gentleman who'd taken an interest in him and where he sat, before the man's interest evidently shifted elsewhere as he moved to chat with some of the ladies. Gideon suspected him to be a man of some means, but not necessarily one to get his hands dirty, and one who's mind was constantly in motion. Likely a Bookie or some kind of High-Roller. He lacked the well-rehearsed grace of a Noble.

All the same, he didn't fully appreciate being appraised like a piece of meat by a buyer he wasn't familiar with. So, quickly downing the rest of his glass in a bitter swig, The Ruinous Captain got out of his comfy seat and carefully approached, stepping past various party-goers. Not too close though, he leaned against a nearby wall and crossed his arms with in an expression of amusement beneath his mask . . . towering, dour, and almost fiendish amusement as he watched the gentleman exchange pleasantries with two ladies and a Cat.

With any luck, he wouldn't frighten or intimidate the man too badly whenever he realized he'd moved.
Ardent's Fall Mercantile District, Outside the Temple of Cristos




Barris approached the small beggar tent he had spotted built against the outside of the Temple as he left the main drag of the city marketplace. He dug his hand into his coin purse and withdrew a single piece of silver, one of High-Mist variety he thought at a glance and flipped it more casually than his mind would betray as he stopped in front of them. He addressed the old man sitting in the tent as he approached.

“Ser, you and your kids looking for a meal? I got an easy way to earn it.”

The older man is covered in dirt with rags where clothes should be. His hair was long, but completely missing on the crown of his head. His tanned skin from the summer sun was covered in wrinkles and aged scars. The two boys wore clothes that looked to be some abominable patch work from an assortment of worn clothes.

The younger of the two boys eyed Barris, one eye closed tightly to protect his gaze from the sun as he looked to the dwarf in front of him. He was young enough to still be shorter than Barris. “We aren’t his kids,” the younger boy protested as his meager little common folk accent shown through. The older boy, who looked to be his sibling, hushed him before pulling him back down to the pillows and ragged blankets they called home.

“Hush up, boy, ‘course you’s are!” As the elder spoke his decaying teeth creeped out from inside his mouth. He seemed far to tired either from age or the rising heat to stand for the dwarf. “The older one’ll be 5 gold pieces, and the little one 10.”

The older boy looked to the old man, an uncertain look etched onto his face. He looked to be no older than 12 years, and his hair was a sandy brown. His brown eyes studied the dwarf before him.

For the second time today Barris cocked his eyebrow. So THAT kind of business was alive and well in Ardent’s Fall, he made a mental note to think about that the next time one of his companions tried to argue why this Viceroy’s killer was so important to track down. But he shook his head as he closed his fist around the silver coin in his hand.

“No, no, ser. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in them for another purpose.”

He looked down at the two boys who’d reacted to him with different responses.

“You two saw that big lady in shining armour just outside here? The She-elf talking up a storm to the Priest just a minute ago? Reckon you could find her for me? You don’t even need to approach her, just find her, find out where shes goes, and tell me. Think you two or anyone you know could do that?”

He glanced up at the old man.

“There’d be a fair reward in it for you all, and for nothing other than simple information.”

“The price stands,” the elder’s voice was hoarse and gruff as he interjected. These were his kids whether by blood or circumstance. After eyeing the dwarf he looked to the eldest boy. “Thomas, don’t just lay there like a whore in heat. Arse up, and do as the wee man says.”

With that the Thomas stood cautiously. “I, think I can do that mi’lord,” the boy let out a modest and meek reply to his newest client. “I heard that was Lady Evangeline! She’s a royal protector, I saw her heading towards the south of the city,” the boy’s eyes widened as he explained the woman’s status and location.

His younger brother stood up pushing his arms lazily into his brother’s gut. “I serve thee realm, with this breath, until mi last,” the younger boy belted out playfully. He extended his hand as if ready to do battle.

“Sit your arse down, Kevan, can’t ye see yer brother has work he’s needin’ to do.” The elder looked scornfully at the fantastical would-be-knight.

Barris smiled.

“A lord no longer, lads, sadly. Master Barris will do just fine.”

“Oh, a master ye say? That’ll be 20 gold pieces,” the man’s coy expression couldn’t hide the lustful greed that lay beneath it. He looked quite proud of himself.

Barris’s smile dropped as he looked back up at the old man with a more dour look.

“Raise that price one more time and I’ll see to it someone else will be paid more handsomely to make these poor boys orphans . . . or at least now having a father with broken legs . . . I’m a generous Dwarf, ser, but by the God who watches over this temple, do not think you can take advantage of it.”

He counted out 10 coins out his purse, unconcerned as to any expressions his captive audience may have just gotten, his palm was full of silver.

“That’s a start. Find me where she exactly is, and any other information you can, and you’ll get something even better.”

“I can do that Master Barris,” Thomas exclaimed before reaching down into a pile of dirty pillows and pulling out a small leather cap that was about the same quality of much of his belongings.

“Fine, ye damn, dwarf. Greedy little bastards.” You hear the elder man mutter racial pejoratives and curses to Faust under his breath. Patting the boy roughly on the backside the elder let out a cough before yelling the boy. “Be quick, boy. Ye haven’t eaten yet, and it looks like fish is on the table. Along with my damn ale. Now ‘git!” With the man’s shooing the boy was off. His small frame easily squeezed past the market which seemed to be picking up some speed.

As the boy faded from distance the homeless man looked towards the dwarf. “Viceroy dead, and all these little flies still cling ta’ their shitty little lives. Goes to show ya that there ain’t no one better than the next. A dead noble be just the same prick with nicer clothes. Astoria moves on.” The old man coughed again a wheeze following close behind it. “Ye got anybody digging your graves, little man?”

Barris watched Thomas run off and gently tossed the coins next to the old man.

“Nay, ser. I’d say I’d make my own, but then I’d have to be one of the undead, and I despise them as much as some of the living. In any case, you can settle for more than fish and shitty ale, young Thomas comes back, you lot stop by The Wrangled Drunkard, ask Mira if I’m not there, tell er Barris sent yea, and he’s paying for your meals. You’ll get the rest of your pay when he gives me what I want.”

“What a benevolent patron.” The old man’s spit hitting the ground like venom, and his bitter words serving an even harsher poison. “I suppose ye be wantin’ a thank ye, dwarf.” The man looked forward at the market, he shook the thought quickly. “Or perhaps just what ye paid for; whaddya want with that big bitch, anyway? Surely not to bed ‘er; gal like that would leave you deader than ‘ol Cadby,” the vagabond said as he let out a wicked hoot.

Barris smirked and shook his head with a chuckle.

“To answer both parts of your question, no I honestly don’t care what you think of me, or your thanks, or even your curses, you can despise me for all I care, so long as you do the job I ask and do it well, that’s all I want, and I’ll pay well for it. No different from many of the nobles around here who you’re familiar with, I suppose, though I’d like to think I’m asking for far less. As for the other part, heh, she’d hardly be the biggest woman I’ve ever bedded, laugh all you like at the thought. But I have business with her employer, actually, a Lord who’s made himself remarkably tricky to find lately. I wager she knows where he is.”

Before the elder can continue Barris feels a large weight attempting to push him against a wall. The sound of clanking metal armor, and the feeling of it’s oppressive sharpness push down on Barris. The force had come from a direction that seemed random, not exactly from the direction that Thomas had run off too.

“Where is he,” a femininely rugged voice demanded; its harsh baritone was enough to strike fear into the heart of the largest of armies. The weight was coming from a rather brutish elven woman. She was quite larger than most women, let alone elves, for her size. Shimmering short auburn hair glistened in the sun and betrayed her foreboding demeanor. “By Cristo, and the nine below him, speak dwarf.” The woman’s voice challenged Barris.

A few glances from the nearby townsfolk left the tension ever-rising. The scene would’ve been entirely silent if not for the laughter of the elder man looking on at the scene from his fortress of dirt and rags. “Looks like ye found her, little man.”

Evangeline’s gaze was one of piercing annoyance as she let her focus train onto the beggar for mere seconds before once again locking eyes with Barris. Given the disparity in their sizes the scene was quite uncomfortable.

A sheepish Thomas poked out from behind Evangeline with the eyes of a boy who had gotten himself in the marmalade jar again.

Barris, now with his back against the wall of the temple and looking around at the unexpected turn of events, swore under his breath this time, glaring over at the beggar at roughly the same time as Evangeline. How much bad luck could he get in one afternoon? He didn’t try to reach for any of guns, still tucked under his cloak, but decided to try and play this out.

“Evangeline, I presume? I intended to ask you the same question, but unfortunately you’ve not made me aware as to Who you are referring to. So, pray tell, by the same God whose temple we stand in the shadow of, illuminate me.”

The woman’s right hand tugged at the sword in its holster at her waist while the left hand attempted to hold the dwarf in place. “By the ten true do not test my patience.” The irony of her statement would’ve been lost on her if not for the wide-eyed glares of the crowd gathering around the two. Recognizing her callousness in dealing with the situation she adjusted herself before pushing off of the dwarf, though her sword was still at the ready.

“I think we both know to whom I refer,” staring at the dwarf she sighed to herself. “By the ten true gods I, Evangeline Swiftrend, am honorbound to Lord Caldwin von Gudeiur in both virtue and arms.” Despite her best efforts to remain stoic her voice cracked with a particularly biting sorrow. “If,” Her voice strained with an uneasy shaking. “If you’ve summoned me then you must know where he is.” Her anger had melted into what seemed almost a desperate plea as her green eyes studied the dwarf.

Barris, on his own part, furrowed his brow in confusion. After the elf-knight had let him go, he had readied to draw his pistols, but this threw him for a total loop. He glanced over at the crowd of onlookers, somewhat stunned before looking back at Evangeline.

“Wait . . . You mean, you don’t even know where he is? I was looking for you because I thought you would know. What kind of Lord leaves his sworn knight and protector and goes on his own, you know? That’s what I thought.”

Evangeline’s hand left the hilt of her blade in defeat. “In my foolish piety I spent the festival in prayer, here at the temple.” It was clear from her strained voice that Evangeline was holding back tears. “But, where are the bloody Gods now?” Regaining her composure she continued. Lord Caldwin assured me the city guards would suffice in escorting him to the estate. Cristo,” The woman’s body looked as if it was ready to crumble. Her youthful face looked tired and worn with grief. “I knew I’d erred by leaving him alone.” Her expression shifted slightly as if enlightened by a thought.

“But you seek out my Lord, as well? I must find him lest I fear he share the same fate as Viceroy Cadby. Is there anything in your search you’ve come across that might aid me in my search, please,” the woman’s demands had softened but still carried a fierce weight to them.

Barris’s heart melted a bit to see the knight in such despair. He hated seeing women upset, even if the moment previous he was prepared to shoot her. He shook his head sadly.

“You were my first lead, ser-knight, and I’m no closer to finding him than you seem to be. Though I will tell you my employers have a bunch of others looking for him besides me.”

The Dwarf reached into his cloak and showed the Knight his badge.

“Talon Company, we seek your Lord for similar reasons. Perhaps we might be able to mutually assist each other? I can suggest either returning with me to where we’re meeting and await the return of the others, or I can assist you in searching now until dusk, though I am honestly doubtful he’ll be so easy to find now with what limited information we have.”

The knight eyed him wearily, but her body and face gave indication that she could accept the dwarf’s proposal. “I suspected much the same,” there was a slight shift in her voice. It was more careful than before, and her eyes carried in them a sense of uneasiness. “I will accept your proposal, ser.” She paused for a moment. “ I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” Barris could see the tears begging to part from the corners of the women’s lower lids. She fought them back as brave as any knight was expected to. She met his gaze with a half-hearted smile.

Very briefly, Barris checked in his coin purse again and pulled out the emerald he had placed within it, and tossed it over to the old beggar and Kevan before putting his purse away and walking over to Evangeline, carefully taking her right hand in the two of his in an attempt at a comforting gesture as he would start leading her away, the whole thing looking somewhat comical, but also sweet in its own way to onlookers.

“Come along them, Evangeline, we’ll go and try and sort this out. I hope a tavern doesn’t offend your sense of piety, nor the company of one such as I.”

“So long as Lord Caldwin is returned to my care such company would be my comfort.” Before the two can walk away Thomas tugs on the brown cape of Evangeline’s armor.

“Ye sure do love yer promises, don’t ye dwarf,” the old man slowly rose to his feet with the sounds of groaning and cracking bones following every movement. “Ain’t got no fancy titles, but ye can call me Thaddeus Greene...well just Greene be fine. ” The man’s wide-eyed look of excitement at the thought of a warm meal shifted quickly between Evangeline and Barris.

“C’mon boys, Master Barris and ‘is fancy friends promised us some juicy lamb bits!” At Greene’s command both Thomas and Kevan followed behind him whilst they chanted rowdily among themselves. The beggar and ‘his’ children followed closely behind the knight and the rogue.
Gideon Zanhast, the Ruinous Captain, emerged out of the London streets like a tall and menacing shadow as he approached the address his invitation had given him to this strange Masquerade Ball. His black overcoat, worn leather Tricorn hat, and mask (a bird-mask emulating a Raven), made him quite literally almost a walking shadow.

It had taken him some time to walk from his apartment in the Wolfstack Docks to the location, but he preferred to save echoes while he wasn't tired, and he wasn't afraid of being accosted in the streets by any body, constable, thug, or urchin. Most knew better than to get in his way without good reason, or incredible foolishness. But for those who fell in the latter category, he had his fists, or a well-worn derringer in his coat pocket to deal with them. He'd be damned if he'd survived the Zee for so long only to be fleeced by some two-bit street scum and tossed into the Canals.

Though in truth the most troublesome part of his evening had been finding proper clothes, it had been a while since his last attendance at a formal event such as this, and Gideon could hardly remember where he had put any clothes remotely fitting for such an event away. But he'd managed to dust off a nice set of dress trousers and a dark suit vest. Not the height of fashion, but nothing entirely improper or unfitting of a Zee Captain of his reputation when coupled with his hat and coat. The mask was also a relic, he couldn't recall who had gifted it to him, one of the Masters as part of a repayment for a favour? A Noble as a disguise to slip into a similar ball to meet? A gentleman whose face he'd taken it off of after he'd laid him flat in the street after a punch, Or even one of the Urbane Devil's associates at the Embassy adding an ironic addition to a gift for services rendered? He couldn't remember, the memories were starting to meld into one another over time. The fact of the matter was that he had them, and could at least not walk in looking like a total salt-soaked bum.

Stalking his way into the townhouse their benefactor had obviously rented out for the night, Gideon showed the Doorman his invitation, and espied the venue as he was allowed in. Everything he'd expected, but yet not at the same time. Certainly too many odd characters here for the standard High Society affair, yet the place was decked out with enough valuable shit to make it seem like one, at least to his untrained eyes. He waved off the coat check, he would rather defy custom and be the odd man out with a coat on than to diminish his own imposing stature. Not that he had much information as to why he'd been invited here at all, but he figured he may as well take advantage of it and be himself, within the bounds of good taste for this affair.

Silently, he walked over to a wiry Bartender they had on hand, Gideon wagered they hired him off of Mr. Wines, the old Master would want a cut regardless of whether or not he was actually throwing this party or not. The gentleman poured the Captain a glass of Greyfields 1882, not Gideon's favored drink of choice, but definitely one of his go-to picks for Wines. The glass looking like blood in his hand as he strolled over to a a nice cushioned seat and relaxed his weary feet for a moment and calmly survey the attendees, not seeking anyone in particular, but moreso taking a view of the room.
Name: Gideon Zanhast

Title: Captain

Moniker: The Ruinous Captain

Age: 38

Race: Human

Appearance:

Not a particularly flattering artist's depiction of the Ruinous Captain, but not necessarily one he'd disapprove of either.

Primary Attribute: Dangerous

Secondary Attribute: Shadowy

Connections:
-The Masters: Worthy Patrons and business partners, though most of my business with them is, or was, with Mr. Fires, and Mr. Irons. Have run odd jobs that likely benefited some of the others' schemes, knowing The Masters, but I wouldn't say I KNOW many of the others.
-Bohemians: Bunch of arrogant and pompous artists who've hardly worked a day of real work in their lives. Leave them to their poetry, plays, and paintings.
-Constables: They know me, whether I was on a Master's payroll or not they'd always look to come sniffing in my business. Sometimes we're able to reach a "mutual understanding", other times its a bit rougher. Now's one of those times with their Ministry of Public Decency.
-Criminals: The Cheery Man and his boys are old running mates and we get along famously, and all respect is given to the Gracious Widow. The Topsy King can join the Drownies for all I care.
-Hell: Half of the source of my moniker and a couple of my current working partnerships. The Urbane Devil and his Embassy pay a fine price for souls, and those willing to smuggle them in and out of London. Even visited the Iron Republic a few times, one of the strangest places in all the Neath, and like as not to drive a man mad, but exhilarating nonetheless.
-Revolutionaries: Foolish dreamers with dynamite, led by arrogant fools who name themselves after the months. But if they pay nicely, I wouldn't turn them down. Just don't expect to see me waving their banners out of faith.
-Rubbery Men: Seen a few in my time, always got along well enough with them. Stranger things than men with Octopi for heads.
-(High) Society: In their eyes, I wouldn't be fit to clean their boots, now. So unless one wants something exceptionally dirty done, they'd not see me, and certainly not in their Sunday best.
-Church: Bunch of old men and cloistered women in rags who don't know the true Gods that rule here, Salt, Stone, and Storm are the only Gods I know. And my associates in the Embassy don't really lend myself well to men of God, they're as like to curse me as a Sinner as I'm to knock them in the street for peddling their false religion.
-Docks: Wolfstack's my home, and always will be. More real of a place as you'll ever find in the Neath, the perfect place to find a bunch of lads either fearless or foolhardy enough to take on the Zee, and the same place to help one forget or fondly remember everything you see out there. Though the more respectable captains turn away when I come, all zailors know me by reputation, with equal parts respect and fear to my name.
-The Great Game: I know I'm a Pawn, and I don't rightly care. Let the Players play their game, I'll serve whoever gives me the best offer.
-The Tomb Colonies: Decent folk, regularly delivered many to Venderbight in my time. Many possess more wisdom than most of High Society in London, and its a good thing our Mayor's one of them.
-Urchins: They know not to touch me, lest they risk it be their last purse they try to grab with that hand. Not that I'm heartless, but more so that even I respect money earned rather than stolen or inherited. They stay out of my way, and I don't get in theirs.

Background:

A Zailor of London, Gideon escaped down into the Neath from a past he'd rather forget when he was 24. A physically capable and daring man, he took work aboard a ship named The "Victoria", while being named after her Imperial Majesty it was hardly so majestic, merely a cutter with faded hints of glory, but he took a bunk aboard and for years earned wages as zailor. Seeing both wonders and horrors in the Unterzee, coming face to face with death and madness around him on several occasions. One of which changed his fortunes for the better, though it was a harrowing process.

He had ascended to First Mate by this time at the age of 32, and it had been a long voyage out to the Carnelian Coast to then take a turn to the Isle of Cats when the ship was set upon by Rat-Barges out of Ratsey, pouring out of a bank of fog as cover. The small flotilla of resourceful rodents battered the Victoria with fire, with the Zailors exchanging salvos and ultimately winning the fight, but the ship being in bad shape, and and a quarter of the crew dead or dying from shrapnel and wounds, the Captain had been thrown clear from the ship, and no cries had rang out, leading Gideon and the remaining crew to believe him dead in the water. Half of the remaining men descended into panic, being out in the middle of the open Zee with no captain, a wounded vessel, and dead and dying men aboard. But Gideon stood firm, and after dispensing with one of the more panic-struck zailors by shooting the man dead and therefore stilling any more dissenters, he forced the remaining crew to their posts, and set about steering a safe way home.

By the time the ship arrived in Wolfstack Docks, the crew were a sullen and silent bunch, but many were alive, and gave curt thanks to Gideon for taking command and control of the situation. Now they could drown their fears in the pubs and relive them in nightmares, Gideon was left to his own affairs, and with nobody to contest his position, Gideon assumed ownership of the Victoria. Though the vessel was not worth his time to repair, he sold the ship and its parts in exchange for a new vessel, putting in a good chunk of his own savings he'd made over the years into a new Corvette, which he named "Jackdaw". For the last 6 years he's zailed the Unterzee, his dour countenance making as many friends as enemies, and made his name known for taking less than savory business offers for the right price, no questions asked and with more subtlety than the average brute. His reputation as a Captain is one of brutal fairness, you'd work to earn every echo you got, and obey his commands, but you'd hardly find a more honest Captain. Some say the Zee made as much a monster out of him as any that lurked beneath the waves, but he'd say that such moral busy-bodies would never be successful Zee-Captains, much less Zailors. The Zee is a unforgiving mistress, and one cannot be weak if they're to actually make a living on it.

Though in recent months, the Ruinous Captain has been stuck ashore, the Ministry of Public Decency taking an abnormally long time to investigate him on another trumped up case, and having impounded The Jackdaw, he's currently unable to return to the Zee. He's busied himself with odd-jobs around London, and was thus surprised to find an invitation to a particularly unusual Masquerade Ball. Normally he'd not even bother with such affairs, but the Masquerade did not seem to be the usual High Society affair, and the potential offer of a job tempted him to at least give it an ear.
Name: Gideon Zanhast

Title: Captain

Moniker: The Ruinous Captain

Age: 38

Race: Human

Appearance:

Not a particularly flattering artist's depiction of the Ruinous Captain, but not necessarily one he'd disapprove of either.

Primary Attribute: Dangerous

Secondary Attribute: Shadowy

Connections:
-The Masters: Worthy Patrons and business partners, though most of my business with them is, or was, with Mr. Fires, and Mr. Irons. Have run odd jobs that likely benefited some of the others' schemes, knowing The Masters, but I wouldn't say I KNOW many of the others.
-Bohemians: Bunch of arrogant and pompous artists who've hardly worked a day of real work in their lives. Leave them to their poetry, plays, and paintings.
-Constables: They know me, whether I was on a Master's payroll or not they'd always look to come sniffing in my business. Sometimes we're able to reach a "mutual understanding", other times its a bit rougher. Now's one of those times with their Ministry of Public Decency.
-Criminals: The Cheery Man and his boys are old running mates and we get along famously, and all respect is given to the Gracious Widow. The Topsy King can join the Drownies for all I care.
-Hell: Half of the source of my moniker and a couple of my current working partnerships. The Urbane Devil and his Embassy pay a fine price for souls, and those willing to smuggle them in and out of London. Even visited the Iron Republic a few times, one of the strangest places in all the Neath, and like as not to drive a man mad, but exhilarating nonetheless.
-Revolutionaries: Foolish dreamers with dynamite, led by arrogant fools who name themselves after the months. But if they pay nicely, I wouldn't turn them down. Just don't expect to see me waving their banners out of faith.
-Rubbery Men: Seen a few in my time, always got along well enough with them. Stranger things than men with Octopi for heads.
-(High) Society: In their eyes, I wouldn't be fit to clean their boots, now. So unless one wants something exceptionally dirty done, they'd not see me, and certainly not in their Sunday best.
-Church: Bunch of old men and cloistered women in rags who don't know the true Gods that rule here, Salt, Stone, and Storm are the only Gods I know. And my associates in the Embassy don't really lend myself well to men of God, they're as like to curse me as a Sinner as I'm to knock them in the street for peddling their false religion.
-Docks: Wolfstack's my home, and always will be. More real of a place as you'll ever find in the Neath, the perfect place to find a bunch of lads either fearless or foolhardy enough to take on the Zee, and the same place to help one forget or fondly remember everything you see out there. Though the more respectable captains turn away when I come, all zailors know me by reputation, with equal parts respect and fear to my name.
-The Great Game: I know I'm a Pawn, and I don't rightly care. Let the Players play their game, I'll serve whoever gives me the best offer.
-The Tomb Colonies: Decent folk, regularly delivered many to Venderbight in my time. Many possess more wisdom than most of High Society in London, and its a good thing our Mayor's one of them.
-Urchins: They know not to touch me, lest they risk it be their last purse they try to grab with that hand. Not that I'm heartless, but more so that even I respect money earned rather than stolen or inherited. They stay out of my way, and I don't get in theirs.

Background:

A Zailor of London, Gideon escaped down into the Neath from a past he'd rather forget when he was 24. A physically capable and daring man, he took work aboard a ship named The "Victoria", while being named after her Imperial Majesty it was hardly so majestic, merely a cutter with faded hints of glory, but he took a bunk aboard and for years earned wages as zailor. Seeing both wonders and horrors in the Unterzee, coming face to face with death and madness around him on several occasions. One of which changed his fortunes for the better, though it was a harrowing process.

He had ascended to First Mate by this time at the age of 32, and it had been a long voyage out to the Carnelian Coast to then take a turn to the Isle of Cats when the ship was set upon by Rat-Barges out of Ratsey, pouring out of a bank of fog as cover. The small flotilla of resourceful rodents battered the Victoria with fire, with the Zailors exchanging salvos and ultimately winning the fight, but the ship being in bad shape, and and a quarter of the crew dead or dying from shrapnel and wounds, the Captain had been thrown clear from the ship, and no cries had rang out, leading Gideon and the remaining crew to believe him dead in the water. Half of the remaining men descended into panic, being out in the middle of the open Zee with no captain, a wounded vessel, and dead and dying men aboard. But Gideon stood firm, and after dispensing with one of the more panic-struck zailors by shooting the man dead and therefore stilling any more dissenters, he forced the remaining crew to their posts, and set about steering a safe way home.

By the time the ship arrived in Wolfstack Docks, the crew were a sullen and silent bunch, but many were alive, and gave curt thanks to Gideon for taking command and control of the situation. Now they could drown their fears in the pubs and relive them in nightmares, Gideon was left to his own affairs, and with nobody to contest his position, Gideon assumed ownership of the Victoria. Though the vessel was not worth his time to repair, he sold the ship and its parts in exchange for a new vessel, putting in a good chunk of his own savings he'd made over the years into a new Corvette, which he named "Jackdaw". For the last 6 years he's zailed the Unterzee, his dour countenance making as many friends as enemies, and made his name known for taking less than savory business offers for the right price, no questions asked and with more subtlety than the average brute. His reputation as a Captain is one of brutal fairness, you'd work to earn every echo you got, and obey his commands, but you'd hardly find a more honest Captain. Some say the Zee made as much a monster out of him as any that lurked beneath the waves, but he'd say that such moral busy-bodies would never be successful Zee-Captains, much less Zailors. The Zee is a unforgiving mistress, and one cannot be weak if they're to actually make a living on it.

Though in recent months, the Ruinous Captain has been stuck ashore, the Ministry of Public Decency taking an abnormally long time to investigate him on another trumped up case, and having impounded The Jackdaw, he's currently unable to return to the Zee. He's busied himself with odd-jobs around London, and was thus surprised to find an invitation to a particularly unusual Masquerade Ball. Normally he'd not even bother with such affairs, but the Masquerade did not seem to be the usual High Society affair, and the potential offer of a job tempted him to at least give it an ear.
After he’d changed into his gear, strapped on his other pistols, and threw on his red cloak, Barris made one last move to open his chest and select on a decently sized coin-purse. His chest had been specially designed to act his own portable safe, essentially, and all of the Dwarf’s most valuable possessions were within it. It was also where he stored the raw components for his gunpowder, tools, and any items or fetishes he held dear.

Counting out a suitable stack of silver coins of a dozen different currencies, no need to stick out too much with gold, and a couple choice gems in a sapphire and emerald, he tied the small pouch off and stuffed it in his pocket. He grimaced at the chest afterwards, though not financially dire, it had been quite a while since Barris had actually added to his coffers. He hated whenever that happened, he liked seeing his piles of quantifiable fortune grow bigger, not shrink. His last job was supposed to do that, but instead he was now several months out with no material wealth of any kind coming in. He was lucky in that the Talon Company was paying his expenses, he’d regret having to pay for all of this himself.

Looking over his shoulder at the door in a paranoid habit, he shut the lid on his chest, locking it with a key he kept on his person, and resetting the position of the patterns on it to a random configuration. Even if one were to steal his key and chest, they wouldn’t open it in a hurry.

Barris then briskly walked out of his room, but not before remembering to grab his new badge on the way out. He stuffed it under his cloak, no need to show it off unless he felt it’d be useful, and no need to stick out like a stiff prick.

Giving a casual salute to Mira on the way out, the dwarf gunslinger threw on his hood and entered the muddy streets of Ardent’s Fall as his unlikely companions had done earlier, and headed off towards the Mercantile District.

Several blocks and a few winding paths took him right to the heart of it.

The markets weren’t as busy as they normally were, especially considering that the festival was just last night. Still, Barris could hear a cacophony of sounds ranging from hammer meeting steel to the loud shouts of various merchants peddling their wares. There was many a whisper to be heard for the perceptive ear. If Barris wasn’t mistaken he’d swear he’d heard one of the merchants proclaim to have one of Viceroy Cadby’s ears for sale. Lucky for him the guard patrol seemed to be stretched rather thin.

Throughout the marketplace are smells both inviting and horrendous. The livestock paraded about the square via farmers looking to sell their produce wasn’t helping. There was a particular melancholy that hung over the morning air. There was a thin cloud of smoke that hugged that same air just above the marketplace. The smells of burning wood accompanying the fog. Most of the townspeople seem fearful, but most also seem determined to hide it. One woman in particular, with a paranoid look about her face, just seems to be sweeping a rug over and over again in front of her homely shop.

Looming over the marketplace like its protector is the Temple of Cristo. The church itself is rather imposing given its more humble surroundings. The greyed bricks are stained with age, but carry with them an elegance one might expect of a noble estate. Banners hung about the various walls that made up the temple. The blue and gold banners were adorned with a sigil in the shape of a sun pierced by a spear. Barris would recognize this symbol as representation of Cristo. Officially, the religion of the dwarves of Viguard was that of the Stone Testament, but practically many dwarves were converted to The Faith of the Ten by human missionaries in the earlier years of the Owl Age. Outside of the church you see a priest, dressed in modest robes, having a rather animated conversation with a woman clad in silver armor.

((Barris is too far away to make out any of their conversation. ))

Barris, spied the temple past the anxious stalls and shops, and who he assumed his mark was outside it, because how many other women in shining armour would there be at the same temple he was looking for? He’d have to make sure she was elf, he supposed.

But first thing’s first, while Barris kept his eye on the temple and who he likely suspected his mark to be, he idly walked around the various stalls, tapping his fingers against the pocket where his purse was, pretending to browse various wares or entrances to shops, but really the dwarf was looking for one of the other main stains of major cities, street urchins. He’d not been in Ardent’s Fall long, but if this city was like any other in the world, he was willing to bet that there were more than a few kids or individuals down on their luck and looking to make some quick cash, on charity or otherwise, and he was in the market looking for at least one of such individuals before getting to his formal business. What better place to look for urchins then beside religious temples, or in the most likely place in a city for people with cash to spend to be hanging around a market? Barris had the complete package here.

Looking again to the church, Barris can see a group of petty beggars assembled under a makeshift tent across the small road. They appear to be asking random passers-by for coin. There is an older man, along with a few children and a dog huddled underneath the tent. Their body language doesn’t imply any particular closeness, and the elder doesn’t seem to resemble the children in any remarkable fashion.

Barris’ gestures instead caught the attention of a nearby vendor. “Hello, fine sir,may the [Stone] Mother bless you,” the merchant started. His curly black hair was tinged with grey as was his goatee. He had a pudgy face, but one that was clearly, at one point in his life, quite handsome. He had a small gut, but was mildly fit considering. His robes were foreign, and his accent was Dalic. “Might I interest you in my fine treasures? Many a great secrets lie hidden within my inventory, that’s the Mocenigo guarantee,” the merchant gestured to behind him. The stockpile of barrels and containers was masked by the shadows of the tent.

Barris, coming to a stop as to not look too out of place, and because he enjoyed a little banter, chose to humour the Merchant Mocenigo for a moment, turning to formally face him and his stall after making sure his mark was still where he left her.

“You got half a minute, Master Moncengio, after all, you’ve got a whole bazaar of competitors all vying for my money and time. What do you have over all of them that would most interest me?”

The merchant’s grin grew wider with a puckish maliciousness. “I have honesty, and an assortment of weapons and armor that might actually keep you alive. You’ll forgive for my presumptuous nature, but I noticed your stride. I can tell that you’re a mine of the future. You needn’t waste your time on petty merchants that offer you bows and swords.”

“Crafted, by the infamous Mar Vladwell Branchstock of Gnomish fame, is a rather explosive weapon to suit your needs.” The merchant reaches into a small trunk, as if routine, and brandishes before Barris a rather intricately designed pistol. “Don’t let it’s pretty design deceive you. This dragoon firearm is enchanted with the hardiest of magics. Its silver bullets leave a pretty corpse, and halt the hordes of undead that plague the fogs of Vicelles.” The merchant gestured Barris closer. “I’ve heard the fogs have breached Riverrun, and threaten to bring with it the terrors of that wretched country, here,” Moncenigo warned with hushed whispers. He backed away returning to a rather delighted demeanor.

“Branchstock drew the schematics for this beast of a weapon after falling in love with the beautiful Gabriella Driskell. You’d be quite the lucky man to possess such a firearm. I’m sure the gnome wouldn’t look too kindly on you, but this transaction will be our little secret.”

Barris raised his eyebrows as the Merchant peddled his story, while it was certainly a good pitch and he found it uncanny how he’d have guessed to play to his distaste for the undead, Barris was still skeptical. He’d been out of the loop on the firearm manufacture for a while, much less on the news out of Vicelles, so for all he knew it could be bullshit . . . but there was a way he knew to prove if the firearm at least was genuine, his old master Chartwick had taught him so.

The dwarf extended his hand to Moncengio.

“If I may? A firearms enthusiast such as myself aught to least gauge the function as much appearance of this piece. I assure you, I won’t bring the guard on your head with actually firing it.”

“Of course, good sir. Just be mindful of fingerprints. My reputation for diligence keeps the coin steady.” The merchant carefully removed the firearm from its casing. The wood was slick, and gleamed slightly in the morning sun, the silver plating served as the weapon’s decorative statement. “Silver is more precious to a Vicellian woman than a rose,” the merchant said as if marveling at his own product.

In Barris’ hands the gun felt sleek, and while there was a heaviness to it it felt more lightweight than most contemporary models.

The dwarf gunslinger tested his aim with the pistol, mimicking his usual movement for drawing and moving with it in his hand in slight motions, using the opportunity to turn and check on the temple entrance, after which he’d check the side of the gun for any kind of marks of identification. For Gnomes, like all proud craftsmen, loved to print their marks on their works of art. Whether singularly from Masters, or merely their Union marks, he knew enough to know that either a very clever forgery or the real deal would have one or the other upon it.

While there was no such branding on the weapon perhaps the more dire observation that Barris had made was that the woman was no longer standing at the Temple entrance. Instead, it was only the priest from before. Even from the distance Barris could read the discomfort on the priest’s face. One arm extended outward past the marketplace for a moment before the priest withdrew it in defeat.

“Oh,” the merchant fumbled. “I assume you’re looking for the brand of authenticity,” the merchant sighed to himself, not it nervousness, but rather in defeat. “I..have an explanation for that.” No doubt the story he’d meant to tell was long.

Barris sighed, he would have swore openly if he wasn’t trying to be a bit more subtle. He carefully placed the pistol back on the counter.

“Unfortunately I don’t have time for that at the moment. But hang on to that thought til later, I might stop back on my way when I actually have some. Hopefully it’ll be bereft of needless exaggeration too. Until later, perhaps, Master Moncengio.”

With that, the dwarf briskly walked away from the stall, not listening to anything else the merchant might say, straight for the Temple.
You guys open for newcomers? I may be interested in coming up with a sheet if that is the case.
Barris had woken up in a cold sweat, that nightmare he saw, a little bit too clear to be merely a result of his drinking, and was one that didn't sit well with him since he had no headache indicative of a hangover either. The Dwarf was not a particularly religious sort, nor did he put much faith in dreams, but that didn't mean they couldn't make one uneasy, especially when whatever it was within it had known him, and spoke his doom.

He shook his head and stepped out of bed. Everything of his had been moved in neatly by the stable hands the previous day, and in his addled state he had removed his cloak, braces of pistols, and other equipment before slipping into bed. He was impressed with himself that he'd merely hung the braces on one of the hooks for coats and that they hadn't landed on the floor, the rest of his clothes weren't so lucky and were scattered around besides his simple shirt and trousers which he'd fallen asleep in. Mira had awoken him though, saying that he, and evidently everyone else he was working with, was expected downstairs in ten minutes. Finally he'd learn exactly what business the Talon Company sought him for, and he'd meet everyone else he'd be working with. He fondly recalled the Bard Raux from last night, and less fondly the vain noble warrior Lady Wolfram, but beyond that he knew little.

Making himself presentable, he didn't bother with putting on too much, merely fixing his shirt and pants, quickly combing out his hair and beard, and strapping on his two hip holsters to show he wasn't just some random Dwarf but their actual gunslinger, and opened his door to head downstairs.

As he walked down the main stairway, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around at the sparsely filled bar compared to yesterday. He muttered half to himself, half to anyone else listening.

"I don't suppose we're this empty on account of Mira running a bad breakfast."

He saw an Elf woman who matched the description of his supposed contact, sitting at a table set aside, and patiently awaiting him and the others, he walked over and leaned against one of the beams supporting the tavern.

"I'd ask you if you were Talis, but then what would the odds be of two different people having the same exact name and description? . . . Two beautiful city-born elvish sisters I suppose, or a doppelganger. Though I doubt either is the case here."
Barris Isengrim walked his faithful mule Victor through the crowded streets of Ardent's Fall, the Dwarf Gunslinger being in a state of mental contrition. For while the sights, smells, and overall jubilation of the Festival of Broken Conquerors were great enough to merely begin to approach the average day of controlled chaos within The Charred Republic, he was in no immediate mood to partake in the Festivities or even take much notice of much since he'd passed the city gates.

For Barris was here on business, particular business that perplexed him greatly. He had previously been tailing a mark he'd been assigned to from a client, a fellow who'd ratted out on his fellow gangsters with the Constabulary in Redcliffe. Unfortunately for the mark, at least one of his former compatriots had escaped to the Charred Republic and had set about seeking a hunter who'd be willing to exact vengeance on him, Barris being available, and not being particularly picky on jobs, had taken the job as the client offered a a fairly tidy sum in a pouch of rubies as reward.

It hadn't taken Barris long to find his target when he got to Redcliffe, though the city was vast, every active criminal knew where the mark was, what with the snitch having become a paranoid individual with city watchmen having a patrol guard his house and check all of his visitors. He waited for a week, in an inn down the street, watching his target's routines and tailing him when he could, and had thought of a few appropriate times to make his move. Unfortunately for Barris's plans, his mark threw a snag into them, as he overheard a conversation among watchmen entailing that they were to move the mark into protective custody, apparently someone had found out that he was a wanted man with hunters out to kill him.

Barris had no choice, he'd not wait however long the proceedings would go, or for the man's paranoia to finally break before getting the job done, and he wasn't going to drop a job and disgrace his name to his clients. So, he decided to be bold. A contingent of watchmen had come to escort the mark to their headquarters in Redcliffe, and Barris raced through the streets ahead of their route to cut them off, and stepping his way through the slightly crowded streets, waited for them to pass, his hand ready and guns loaded. The escort passed and within a moment faster than one could blink, a pistol cleared leather, a crack and flash like lightning and thunder, and with a smell of gunpowder filling the air, Barris shot between the guards, his shot catching his target in the chest, he didn't know if he even killed the man on the first shot but he didn't have time to check. Everyone on the street panicked, horses bucked riders off their mounts and general chaos ensued, but the trained and veteran Town Watch of Redcliffe moved with purpose, sounding the alarm and giving chase to the Dwarven hitman, who fired a couple more stray shots at the tailing Watch while bolting.

In his rush to get Victor and his belongings, he ran back to inn where he had been staying, only to find Watchmen there. The innkeep must have tipped them off this morning and suspected the Dwarf was up to no good. They surrounded Barris, who surrendered himself and was taken into custody. His charges were murder of a civilian, the attempted murder causing injury of 2 watchmen, inciting mass panic causing minor property damage, and criminal conspiracy to commit murder being the most notable charges. Combined all of which carried a hefty sentence, he wasn't executed. Barris' luck had run out, his impatience and greed had led him to take a job he probably should have dropped and had led to him making stupid mistakes.

He was resigned to almost pleading guilty and accepting a slightly lighter sentence, or even worse, offering the watch his entire savings as a massive bribe, but then something very strange happened. The officers released him, and the charges were dropped, with his belongings all returned to him and a sealed letter bearing the Talon Company's emblem was with them. Barris knew of the company by name, but knew actual little of their business or their interests, merely that they had a great deal of power within the world to get what they wished. Which in his case was evidently true if they were able to leverage his charges into being dropped. He felt immense relief but also curiosity as to why the Talon Company would do this, Barris wasn't ungrateful, but he was suspicious as to who specifically he was indebted to.

Regardless, the letter's content proved his suspicions that this was not out of charity, the Talon Company wanted him for a job in Ardent's Fall, with all expenses being covered by them, and for him to arrive on the 18th of Summerhill of this year. Though for what this job entailed, the letter was incredibly vague, and only seemed to imply that there would be others working alongside him, and that they were asked to enjoy the Festival of Broken Conquerors.

Knowing better than to cross people with the power to exert great influence over constabularies and Gods knew what else, Barris set out for Ardent's Fall as soon as he had been able. His client in The Charred Republic could wait, it would take too long for him to get to that underground paradise of libertines beneath High Mist from Redcliffe and get back to Ardent's Fall in time for the stated date. And he'd done the job anyway, if his client didn't have his payment ready for him or it had mysteriously vanished when he got back, he'd take it and more out of the bastard's cheating corpse, maybe his relatives too, that would depend on how pissed Barris was.

These were the thoughts going through Barris' head as he led Victor along the waterfront of Ardent's Fall to where they were supposed to meet and be staying: "The Wrangled Drunkard", a fairly impressive-looking inn by Barris's standards which looked to be fairly bustling within with all manner of drunkards, gamblers, and patrons of all kinds brought here by the port and Festival. His kind of place. Walking over to the stables adjoining the inn, he showed his letter to the stable-hand and asked that Vic be given a spot and looked after. The mule, loaded with luggage as he was, was led into the stables by the hands, while Barris walked through the front door of the inn, pulling back his hood and looking around at the liveliness of the place. Grinning beneath his red beard as he approached the bar and climbed up to a recently vacated stool. Not even interested in a drink yet so as getting off his feet from the long road.

He had no fucking clue as to what he was going to be asked to do, or who he was going to be working with but even he could admit that anything was better than his circumstances before this.
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