Casually glancing over her shoulder, a young and attractive woman weaves her way through the Bazaar of Sails. A plump black cat trots beside her. Dodging carts being loaded and awnings coming down, she turns sharply next to a fruit stand, seemingly distracted by the succulent plums on display. Yet her eyes scan the crowd more than the fruit. "Madam, I am closing up for the night. Can I help you find something?" says the man behind the stand. She hands him a penny, and takes a plum, still watching the thinning crowd.
Lynnda, you're a lucky duck tonight. I don't think I've been followed. Moving east through the now-closing bazaar, she dodges a gaggle of Sabriyya's boys. No need to talk to them-- the Princess won't get her cut of this deal. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.
Ducking into the back alleys of Dockway, she approaches her employer's headquarters-- a nondescript trading company called The Bronze House. She scoops up her cat and it sits on her left shoulder like a furry parrot. Walking into the small office behind the front door, the clerk looks up at her with a surly expression. "I have an opportunity in Qadira." she says, speaking the current passphrase. "The desert sands ate far away," counter-signs the clerk. "That's why we need the fastest ship in the fleet, completes Lynnda. The clerk gestures to the burly Shoanti standing by an inner door, who openes it. Lynnda steps through, retrieving the small package from her décolletage, and mentally prepares to give her report to her superiors in the Aspis Consortium.
A beautiful woman with pale amethyst skin steps onto the Magnimar docks and takes in the sights of the city. She is followed by a figure swathed in cloth wearing a mask and a large hooded-over coat.
"What a droll town we have found ourselves in, Morris. Be a dear and carry my bags."
"Ahhhh.."
The dying moan filled the room as Abramov observed how the man slipped away into Pharasma's embrace. He fidgeted with his pen while thoughts formed into coherent sentences. A good minute later he scratched something into his notebook. One line in particular pleased him,The last breath is sweetest.
He shook his head and slammed the book shut by bringing his fingers together. The notebook went back into the pocket of his coat. Cold eyes peered over the mortal coil of the smuggler. "Now, my dead friend, it is best you close your eyes. I'd ask for your forgiveness, but you DID sign up for this.."
With the use of his trusty scalpel, Abramov started operating on the dead body. Somewhere inside the man should be a pair of eggs stashed away in a bag made of demon gut. A nasty way to go, that is. Demon gut bags have a tendency of attaching to the innards when someone is stupid enough to swallow them. A quick look inside the man's belly confirmed his suspicions. Sigh, he thought without actually sighing. Now it will take a good hour extra to get it out of you..
But Abramov's employers expected him to take care of this package today and there was no argueing with that.
A tall man with a slightly wild look to him stares casually out the dingy tavern window as the sun slippes behing the imposing profile of the span.
Sighing, Kalam turns back to his elven companion sitting across the table, "Listen, it's not that I don't appreciate you finding us some honest underhanded work, gods know I'm become bored with beating nobles at cards these past few days.", He pauses to take a deep drink of his mead, "But it seems to me that a proper friend would have at least haggled on the meeting time. Eight bloody bells? At this rate we'll lose half the night...to sleep of all things."
Daeron looked across the table at his...yes, I suppose they were friends now...friend and rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps you'd prefer if all of the Magnimar underworld made plans around your schedule? Or all of Golarion's seedy underbelly? Drink yourself an ale or three and let me do the talking—I assure you, it'll be worth your inconvenience."
It's so nice to have someone to spar with—verbally of course. This mind is not worth risking with hand-to-hand combat.
Kalam smirkes, "Oh yes, I'm sure you would love me to arrive bleary eyed and hungover tomorrow. I suppose one of our contacts is a fellow knife-ear then? You'll by dying to roll your eyes and seek silent sympathy for the trials you both must endure at the hands of us mere mortals..."
This was perhaps the best part of having a proper business partner: freedom to gripe and antagonize without risking real offence. Still it seemed he would be forced to retire before dawn tonight...lets hope it doesn't become a habit.
Still deadpan without the slightest twinkle in his eye, Daeron retorts.
"You and I both know it would take more than three drinks to make you anything near hungover or bleary-eyed."
"As for our contact and my desired silent sympathy—you have guessed correctly, and we will grin and bear our trials as is befitting the noble, knife-eared people."
After a brief pause, Daeron cracks his first grin of the morning and chuckles softly.
"Knife-ears, for Desna's sake—you truly have a way with words, Kalam."
Kalam gave a knowing smile and a quick wink,"I've a way with many things."
Draining the last of his mead, Kalam moves to his feet, "As much as I could blame a lack of decorum on er...piety, I'll not be the one to further denegrate humanity's reputation in those keen elven eyes."
Gesturing towards the door, he bows mockingly, "Shall we then, oh noble knife-ear?"
The Aspis Consortium is different things to different people. To most, they're a simple trade organization with the willingness and means to do whatever it takes to accomplish their goals. To others, they're little more than an elaborate ruthless crime-family with a network that spans Golarion and resources to take what they want by force when necessary.
By one means or another, each of you has been called to the Bronze House for Aspis business. The Bronze House is a large well-appointed building at the border of the Vista district. It's facing is ostentatious and bold, complete with the larger-than-life masonry that is so popular in Magnimar. Within, dozens of merchants, importers and wholesalers alike, busily move about the displayed wares trying to complete a sale or unload product.
Those in the know make their way to the rear of the building, past the House's offices, and further still past its heavily fortified vault. It's here inside a dusty and seemingly unused storeroom that each of you wait for contact. Others enter one or two at a time.
Daeron left the tavern with Kalam and led the way to the Bronze House. Moving around to the back, he gestured toward Kalam, allowing his companion to go through the door first.
He looked around the plain room, whispering under his breath to Kalam.
"Really rolled out the red carpet for us, didn't they?"
Yolanda delicately sneezes into a perfumed clothe. The tall, bald woman with limpid golden eyes casually surveys the storeroom. Her masked porter follows behind her.
"Dust? Morris, darling, it looks like they are trying to kill me. The shade of it all!"
Kalam leads the way into the room, quickly marking exits in his mind, a bored expression on his face.
He turns at Daeron's comment, "Oh certainly, we're important people after all."
Kalam takes up position lounging against the wall near the door they had entered through.
A man who has the poise and bearing of a doctor entered the room. He eyed the men, blinked at the woman as he unabashedly eyed her up and down and then registered the lackey. "Heh", he snorted under his breath. How he hated waiting. Already a thousand questions were racing through his head..
Kalam had been eyeing flashy woman's concealed companion with increasing suspicion but his attention was pulled away as the fastidious seeming man entered the warehouse.
Shooting a glance at Daeron, he casually moves from his place on the wall and walks a circuitous route towards the newcomer that takes him past the motionless figure in the mask. As he passes, Kalam pauses briefly and takes a tentative sniff in it's direction before moving on.
Retrieving a hip flask engraved with a tankard from his pocket, Kalam finally moves alongside the man in the white coat. He takes a swig from the flask before offering it in the other man's direction, "And I suppose you would be the doctor? ...or perhaps the consortium is in need of a new accountant?"
The door opens, and in slinks a smallish but plump housecat with sleek jet-black fur and amber eyes. They seem to glow in the dim light of the storeroom. Immediately behind the cat strides a young woman with long auburn hair tied back with a brilliantly-patterned silk Varisian scarf. She is wearing a button-down white blouse under a tight leather vest, with the top two buttons undone. She wears loose blue woolen trousers and knee-high leather boots. You notice a dagger at her hip, and another in one of her boots.
She looks around at the assembled people, nods, and with a wry grin says, "Well, hi there! I wasn't expecting so many people." She glances around the room, and remarks, "You'd think the Bronze House would have a more appealing meeting-room. I guess we don't rate... yet."
At that, she notices the cat approaching the masked man standing near the exotic bald woman. The cat approaches gingerly, seems to sniff at him, then flattens its ears against its head, narrows its eyes and hisses. The woman seems momentarily troubled by this, but she quickly steps over and picks up the cat, setting it on her shoulder.
"Now, Shadow, be nice. That man didn't do anything."
Addressing both the manservant and his obvious master, the woman apologizes, "Sorry about that. I'm called Lynnda, and this is Shadow." She extends her hand. The cat continues to glare at the manservant while it starts to slowly lick its front paw.
--Wrong-- Lynnda felt the emotion from her cat, which was still staring balefully at the servant. "Now, now, Shadow. Don't be afraid of him. He's just a man," murmured the woman to her pet. She then fixes the man with an odd glance. Or is he?
The tall woman smirks at the cat and waves her hand.
"Fah, it is nothing! Morris just has a terrible skin condition, don't you, darling? That's why your charming companion doesn't like him. Morris is my porter; he doesn't say much, but, if you ask me, the best help does not. I am the Lady Yll. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."
"Meow!"
A few moments later, heavy footsteps can be heard coming down the hallway. The door opens and a mammoth figure enters. The ulfen man stands well over two meters tall and half as broad, dwarfing even the biggest common man and making even his brawny kinsmen look like children. His frame hulks with bulging sinew and his massive limbs and chest are thick with corded muscle. He's bare-chested and wears little more than furs across his hips putting his scarred and tattooed torso on display.
He visibly counts each of you.
"Good. You're all here", he finally says in a coarse growl. "Do you know why you've been called?"
With a grin, and absently scratching Shadow between her ears, "Why don't you enlighten us, sir."
What is this fugitive doing here? Are the rumors of his involvement with the Aspis Consortium true?
Giving a knowing glance toward Kalam, Daeron speaks.
"Why are we here, Ursus? I, at least, was given no more information than the location."
The question irked him. Abramov had no clue what the specifics were of their upcoming job and if the intent was to make them feel stupid and in the dark, the big man had succeeded. Sharp eyes registered everything as he waited for the big man to elaborate.
Kalam glances at Daeron but makes no move to speak. Taking another sip from his flask, he waits patiently for the big man to continue.
Whatever the reason it seems that they rated no more attention than from the hired muscle.
"No, but I so dearly hope it involves a party. You don't have any wine do you, you fine specimen of a man? All this dust has simply left me parched."
There never is a fainting couch when one needs one.
The huge ulfen raises a bushy golden brow at the rogue's question though it's unclear if he's impressed by the elf recognizing him or his willingness to ask such a bold question.
He smirks briefly at Yolande but quickly becomes all business a moment later.
"You're here because you've proven yourselves to be skilled and loyal enough to be considered for regular employment by the Aspis. Whatever work you've done in the past, forget it. Things are different, starting now."
"That sound like something you're interested in?"
"Regular employment sounds excellent, it's obvious that the Aspis keep their agents well fed if nothing else."
Kalam moves alongside the purple skinned woman, purposely approaching from the side opposite her porter. He offers his flask with a graceful bow and a smirk, "Alas not wine, but I think those of a discerning palet would agree blackcurrent mead makes a worthy substitute."
He turns back to Ursus, "I'm to assume those of us here would be working in some proximity then?"
Yolanda taps a finger on her plump, glossy lips before giving the Ulfen a sweet smile.
"Aspis? They do throw such lovely parties. I, the Lady Yll, would be interested in the specifics. It cannot be too much labor as Morris' back isn't what it used to be."
"Mead? From a flask? How delightfully rustic!"
She drinks from the flask daintily but deeply. This is a woman who takes her pleasures early and often.
Ursus gives the lascivious aasimar another hungry glance before turning his attention back to Kalam. ”You’ll be working together. A lot. At least to start. I suggest you get to know each other.”
Casting a quick glance and smirk at Kalam as he offers his flask to the woman, Daeron recovers quickly and turns back to Ursus.
"Working for Aspis, you say? What more information can you give us? I don't make a habit of agreeing to things blindly."
The doctor eyed his soon-to-be companions. Fit specimens, an apparent readiness to do the Aspis' dirty work, and portraying a certain sense of drollness..
"I am interested.", comes out of Abramov. He shifts from one leg to the other and impatiently awaits the next words from the Ulfen.
It looks like I'm finally being upgraded from delivery girl! This could be our lucky break!
The cat casually steps off Lynnda's shoulder into her arms, and the woman holds the creature to her chest, stroking the creature's head and back all the while. "Count me in. I've been wanting a promotion for a while!"
Shadow closes her beautiful amber eyes as her master strokes her head.
"Purrrrrrrrrrrrrr"
Seeing the others around him agree, and remembering his prior jobs with Aspis, Daeron is willing to agree.
"You know well, Ursus, that I have respect for the Aspis Consortium and its business. I'd be honored to be involved."
Ursus studies each of you closely before replying with a grunt and nod. ”Good, but before you’re in, the boss wants to see you work – as a team. I’ve got a job for you.”
”We have a brothel in Lowcleft – the Kitten House. The takes have been noticeably lower than usual the past month. I want you to visit, find out what’s wrong and fix it. You’ll impress me if you can recover the coin the House is behind and impress me more if you can do it without making a mess.”
”Any questions?”
"When you say mess, do you mean any dead bodies or any that people not us ever find, handsome?"
The musclebound ulfen clears his throat and adjusts his furs.
"I just mean that you should avoid wrecking the place. It's our building and our people. Killing or driving them away hurts the Aspis bottom-line. If possible, handle the problem in a way that causes as little a disturbance as possible."
"Who runs this place, and is he the connection with Aspis?
While he has no problem gathering information the old fashioned way, Daeron believes that asking questions of the right people is always the best way to go.
Kalam raises an eyebrow at Yolanda'a comment, "I'm sure we can get to the bottom of things peacably. No matter your care, tongues will wag in a brothel regardless and even the rumor of blood tends to be bad for buisiness."
A wicked smile bows the (noble)woman's lips, "Circumspection will be our watch word. We cannot be having injured bottom . . . lines."
Turning to her new retainers (err . . . companions), the Lady Yll continues, "You two gentlemen," obviously referring to Kalam and Daeron, "look like you know a lot about circumspection. How does this sound? We take a leisurely visit to this 'Kitten House' and the two of you turn your clever little minds to why it isn't turning its profit. Of course, I would be delighted to whisper a sweet word on your behalf or use a kindly touch. But since we are keeping the dead bodies to a minimum, I think my special skills would be better used sampling the wares. Getting an inside view so to speak."
She will give them a moment to process her instructions (err . . . suggestions), and glide over to Abramov. Linking her arm with his she gushes, "You, sir, look like a man of learning. I do so love a scholar -- such delectable minds. I could eat them right up. Would you tell me of your research as we meander to the 'Kitten House' it would so ever lift my spirits?"
”Cedrick Lamm runs the Kitten House and has for four years now. He works for the Aspis but he’s no agent. He tried his hand at it a few years back but he didn’t have the balls for it”, Ursus explains.
”He’s done a good enough job managing the place until now. He’s kept the law of his hair and the coin moving.”
A pleasant warm sensation encroached upon his arm and all of a sudden the alarm bells in his head were ringing. With visible uncertainty he cleared his throat and took a step back before answering her question.
"I am but a simple doctor. My research pertains to the inner workings of living creatures and currently, I am trying to improve my approach. You'd be surprised to hear where one should cut a patient in order to get to the parts that make them tick."
While Yll's warmth is a pleasant one, the rapid advance caused Abramov's mind to close the gates. For now.
"I have my gloves with me and if need be, I can see if there are bugs or beasts infecting the wares of the ladies. Though I suppose that the financial deficit that needs to be undone most likely does not lie within their nether regions."
Yolanda laughs at the doctor's apparent discomfort. It is not a mocking laugh; rather is a warm, throaty laugh like warm chocolate or stroking a rich fur -- dark and inviting.
"You might be surprised, doctor, at what I find surprising. La, I guess I will have to escort myself."
With a snap of her fingers, Morris begins porting her baggage.
The Lady Yll takes another dainty swig of the mead and glides out of the dusty room. Few fail to notice the sway she can imbue into a few elegant motions.
Kalam shoots a grin to Daeron as Yolanda lays out her suggestions, "An excellent idea my lady. Though as an expert in circumspection I firmly believe an insiders view is most useful when seen from multiple perspectives."
He chuckles softly and shakes his head at the doctor's obvious discomfort.
Adressing the hulking form of Ursus again, "Any other insights about the Kitten house you'd care to provide us with before our departure?"
Seeing Yolanda begin to depart Kalam calls after her, "My lady...", he points to the flask still in her hand, "Surely you'd not deprive a holy man of his succor now would you?"
”Just that Cherry and Diane are the best whores working there”, the massive bare-chested man offers with a shrug.
"Oh dear, I have a terrible tragedy to report. The mead is all gone. Morris, darling, give this generous holy man his flask back. I'll remember your kindness in my prayers."
"I'm quite sure my friend will survive without another flask full of mead—he's had quite enough."
"I do agree with him, however—the best circumspection is from all angles. Here's what I propose—perhaps the good doctor and I can each...sample the wares. My good lady Yolanda, if you wouldn't mind having a conversation with this Mr. Lamm, I would be much appreciative. Kalam, sneak inside and see what you can find without being caught, sound good?"
Looking over to Lynnda, Daeron thinks for a moment.
"And you, m'lady—where do your talents lie?"