Däina thinks frantically. Fen. They expect to see fen. Hadriss...Fen... She looks down, brows furrowed in concentration as she quickly mutters all the variables. Däina moves back to their mounts, then whispers frantically to the party what she understood of the tokens. "I'm going to create a false image of Fen on one of the kanks. Our story is that he's sick with something extremely contagious, that way they don't want to touch him. As you guys know, I'm a horrible liar so one of you needs to sell it." Däina makes sure nobody is watching, then makes the image of Fen appear underneath a blanket, him looking feverish and very sick.
Grit interrupts the wizard. We have a moment to discuss this. Better for Safia to take his form if that is the plan. Will you play the role of Fen's slave?
Däina stops before she finishes the spell, looking relieved. "Yes, that will probably work better. Yes of course, shouldn't be too hard since that's what I have been for the last few weeks."
"I'm not sure if I can make Fen exactly, but I can get very close. These fellows probably haven't seen him before so that should be enough. Just cover me so I can be out of sight." This was exciting. Normally she used her ability simply to enhance her combat ability but this was something new, something fun.
Däina watches Safia's alterations closely, critiquing it.
<<If you need to agree on a lie, you can use the clutch to communicate at the speed of thought>>
<<I can set up a screen on one or all of our thoughts that should make it more difficult for people to discern a lie...>>
<<That sounds great Gorkhan. You might be our best liar too. Safia is good at diplomacy, but this might be a time for bluffing. >>
Safia's form shimmers as she steps behind one of the kanks, emerging as a fat, dark-haired merchant clad in silver and red robes. She doesn't look exactly like Fen, but could pass for a sibling or cousin - and certainly matches the limited description on the Tyrian token.
Gorkhan activates his psionic screen as the group ahead of you is ushered through the gate. One of the black-robed templars turns and beckons you forward.
"Do you have a marker?" he asks as he directs the 10 kanks in your train to the inspection area.
Without waiting for you to answer, another templar bearing the long scroll begins spouting questions of his own: "How many loads of trade goods? I see six in your party - how many slaves and how many freemen? What is your purpose in the city?"
Däina keeps her head down, mostly because she isn't doing the talking but also because she's playing the part of a slave.
Grit stands quietly, looking forward and tries to look like a caravan guard.
Nnn'tkklik'l says nothing, and just observes what is going on.
Safia in her new guise gestures for Däina to come, <<You'll need to help me out here, I need the marks and the caravan information.>>
The fattened Safia scratches her head, "One slave and five free men, three of which hired guards. We are here to deliver goods for Hadriss and perhaps pick up a new load. My slave has memorised all the details." She once more gestures for Däina to join her, a little more impatient this time. She pulls the marker she was handed earlier out foa pocket and hands it to the first templar.
Raun has remained noticeably silent throughout the whole discussion, but the others should be fairly used to that now. Having had such a closed upbringing she lacks any real knowledge of the outside world beyond what was deemed necessary for her protection duties.
This changes little when they approach the gate and templars themselves, the half giant reflexively clutching and loosening her grip on the end of her hammer.
The half elf moves up deferentially and begins listing off the caravan information. She keeps her head bowed, saying what is needed and nothing more.
The templar's bored expression changes as Safia mentions Hadriss. He takes a closer look at her as he turns Fen's identification marker over, but seems satisfied that her corpulent form matches the description.
"This must be your first time in Tyr," he says, voice dripping with condescension. "Hadriss doesn't buy goods - he rents warehouses. Show your token to one of the guides beyond the gate and they will show you where to turn it in for a key."
The templar continues writing in his scroll as the others take stock of the goods on the group's kanks.
"So, only the half-elf girl is your slave? Hmmm. We see few free muls or half-giants in the city. We'll have to press markers for them, or they'll be assumed to be runaways and press-ganged to work on the ziggurat. That will add to the tariff you owe. And this cat. I assume you control it, but it will have to be leashed if you take it on the streets of the city. There is a fee for that, as well ... And tell your thri-kreen there's to be no hunting in the city. If he develops a hunger for elf flesh, there's a place in the Bard's Quarter run by a halfling that caters to his kind."
Satisfied with the search of the kanks, the templar scratches a few symbols into a pair of glazed ceramic medallions before handing them to Raun and Grit.
"The toll for the cargo is 20 ceramics, plus another 10 for the markers and 5 for the beast, for a total of 35 ceramics. We'll take silver, as well," he says, hand outstretched.
You count out the coins from Fen's pouch then proceed through the cool tunnel beneath the city walls. On the other side, you hand two more ceramics to one of the dozen small children working as guides. Heading off at a brisk pace, the young boy leads you along Caravan Way, pointing out various shops and landmarks as you pass.
(City map, with Caravan Way at the top.)
Storefronts selling exotic hides and furs, armor, wine and other goods line both sides of the wide, dusty street. Most are one or two story buildings of plaster-covered mud bricks.
"That there is Grik's shop," the child calls out, pointing to one storefront with thick agafari bars across high, narrow windows. "Best weapons in Tyr, if you've got the coin. Steel even, and sharp as can be - Grik's got an old dwarf that sits and sharpens 'em all day. Not right in the head, got whacked by a half-giant in the arena."
Farther on you pass a boarding stable where dozens of kanks and crodlu mill about in large enclosures. Past that, mouth-watering smells waft out of an inn marked with a sign bearing a gold-colored inix.
Eventually the shops give way to warehouses and the offices of the major Merchant Houses such as Stel, Vordon, Wavir and Shom. The road loops around several larger structures to form a square. A stone's throw southwest, the massive, multi-colored ziggurat looms above you, slaves crawling over the upper levels.
"This here's Iron Square," your guide says. "Hadriss's office is over there - you can turn in your marker and they'll set you up in one of the warehouses off to the side. Anything else I can do, or show you before I go back to the gate?"
He stretches out his hand, indicating that an extra assistance wasn't included in his earlier fee.
Däina kneels by the boy. "My master wants me to pick him up some writing equipment. Could you show me to a place where I could buy some?"
The kreen remains silent, eyes taking in the sights. They think i do not know common speech. Best to play along.
Gorkhan takes in the sights and smells of the city. Ahh the 'bureaucracy' and their infinite tarifs. It seems like forever since I've been in a city yet it really hasn't been so long.
Grit affixes the glazed ceramic medallion license around his next for all to see, hoping to avoid any confrontations, and recommends Raun do the same. He does not like it but dutifully leases his tigone, likely having to push it to allow him to lead it through the city.
Grit winces slightly when Däina asks about the writing supplies, but says nothing. At least she only asked the slave.
<<When this delivery is complete, do we keep or sell the Kanks? Is it our lot to continue to play at being merchants?>>
The boy remains quiet until Daina places another ceramic coin in his outstretched palm.
"Uwago, two blocks back toward the gate, sells parchment and ledgers for keeping accounts," he says, then leans in. "If that won't do, try the elven market. Ask for Ta'albis at the Red Kank. Ris, too - she does tattoos, but sells some of her ink to those that need it."
Seeing no other questions, the boy points you to Hadriss's office and leaves. A deeply-tanned dwarf in a stained vest and leather breeches stands as you approach, examining the token you provide.
"Number nine, is it. Hmm, haven't swept it out since the last rain, but don't expect there's too much to worry 'bout. Been locked up nice and tight - no vermin, at least none of a size to cause problems," he says, leading the way down one of the side streets forking from Iron Square.
Stopping at a set of wide, wooden doors, he fishes a thick ivory key from a pouch at his waist and fits it into the bone cylinder that fastens the lengths of giant-hair rope securing the doors. He twists and the ropes separate, allowing the doors to swing back into the warehouse with a puff of dust and stale air.
Inside, a few piles of old, musty fodder lie on the dirt floor, as well as a few sacks of grain that long ago dried into dust. A battered table and chairs sit in one corner of the otherwise empty space, but there's plenty of space for you and your kanks to bed down.
Handing over the key, the dwarf departs, but not before noting that a trench for waste is located around back, while water is available (free but slowly) from the public fountain in Iron Square or (faster, for a price) from the porter who passes through just before high sun.
You have enough time to herd the kanks inside the shadowed warehouse but haven't started to unpack them when a group of almost a dozen men comes around the corner, stopping at the door of the warehouse. All are armed, with the hard stares and lazy swagger of paid fighters. Glaring, bestial eyes - the symbol of House Tsalaxa - are sewn onto black patches on their sun-bleached hide armor.
The one in the lead steps forward, pale arms rising to throw back the hood of a gossamer black cloak. A half-elf, his head is shaved down to chalk-white skin decorated with flowing, indigo tattoos.
"Has Fen already gone looking for a wineshop, then?" the half-elf says, his face splitting into a smile that reaches nowhere near his black eyes. "Left you lot to tend the cargo while he tries to replace some of the pounds lost during the desert crossing? Well, I don't suppose his expertise is needed for the transfer, though I'd looked forward to his groveling, I must admit."
His hand resting on the polished, ebony hilt of a sheathed sword, the bald half-elf directs half of his men to retrieve the pack kanks and lead them from the warehouse, leaving your gear and the remaining four beasts inside. The others stand outside, watching your group closely as the transfer is made, hands never straying from their weapon hilts.
"Tell Fen he can pay his respects at House Tsalaxa if he wishes - and has the stones for it. Otherwise our business is concluded," the half-elf says. With that, he pulls his cloak back up over his pale scalp and turns away, leading the column away toward Iron Square.
Däina almost openly stares at the other half-elf before catching herself and looking back down.
Raun straightens from loosening the straps on her kanks' packsaddle when the fighting men arrive. She looks at them warily as they talk, but when they start to move to take the kanks her hammer comes to her hands and she steps between the beasts and the soldiers, glaring at them warily. A look of discomfort passes briefly over her face before her voice can be heard across the link <<Who are these? Trying to steal?>> she demands.
"Down girl," the tattooed half-elf says as Raun steps between his men and the kanks. He turns to the rest of your group: "You'd best get a handle on your half-giant, if you want to keep her."
"Of course, we could call for the templars, if you'd like," the half-elf says, drawing a bone scroll case from his cloak. "I have the bill of receipt right here. You're welcome to have a look - I'm sure the templars would be very interested to learn that you could read. It's such an ... uncommon ... skill these days."
Gorkhan watches from the shadows as the procession of thugs moves in to take their shipment. His eyes narrow and he leans forwards, pulling the hood of his burnoose further across his features as he recognizes something carried by one of the mercenaries.
{{What's that?}} the voice of the psicrystal slides through his mind.
<<It's mine,>> he thought back to it, the words fildering through to the collective.
Grit tries to remember his role as a caravan guard but he dislikes everything about the half elf and commits his visage to memory. [<<Claim a copy of the receipt.>> he thinks quickly as the half elf flashes the receipt. Stepping forward he says I do not have to be able to read to have a look. And seems like good sense to get a copy of that receipt before you go running off. I would not like to have to prove you were here and picked up the caravan without it.
The kreen stands on edge towards the back of the caravan, paying keen attention at the threat to Raun and with Grit stepping up, it looked like it might be a fight. Leaning on the staff, he payed very rapt attention to the incoming ruffians.
Däina's eyes flicker back and forth for a moment, then she also steps up and puts a calming hand on Raun's...elbow. "Hey, nobody wants a fight, we can just talk this through. Fen didn't tell us everything so you must understand our confusion, but I'm sure we all want this done quickly and the right way. So if you could just tell us what the exact business you have with Fen is we can make the exchange and we'll tell him about it when he gets back."
"Templars won't be necessary, but I would like to see the receipt. A copy would indeed be very helpful." While her words were coherent it was clear that her mind wasn't fully focused on the conversation at hand. <<Death travels with some of them, not sure whether it's their own or someone else's.>>
Raun lowers her weapon slightly, but keeps a firm grip on it as talk of something called a receipt goes back and forth. She remains ready to fight but will likely only do so if at the behest of one of the others.
The bald half-elf turns reptilian eyes on Grit.
"A talking mul. And a sharp one, at that. Next thing you know King Kalak will appear in a flash of smoke to hand out broy to the common folk."
The half-elf stares for a moment, seeming to memorize Grit's features. He glances at the bone scroll tube, then flips it end over end to the mul.
"There, give that to Fen. He knows the deal, and he knows better than to try to renegotiate now."
With that, the half-elf orders his men to gather the kanks and herd them back up the alley to Iron Square.
As the dust settles, you crack the seal on the bone scroll tube. Within is a small sheet of parchment and an intricately carved finger-bone.
The scroll includes a general description of the goods carried on Fen's kanks. A short message is scrawled below:
In exchange for the above-mentioned goods, and others previously provided, all debts owed to House Tsalaxa as of the 3rd day of High Sun, this year of Priest's Defiance, by the Merchant Fen of Urik are declared paid in full. In addition, Fen and those in his direct employ, by presentation of the enclosed token, may make use of those forts and way stations maintained by House Tsalaxa and purchase goods for trade from its emporiums in the various city-states of the Tyr region.
Raun remains vigilant, watching the soldiers distrustfully, standing ready for any sign of betrayal. Only when the men have left and the doors shut behind them does she let out a grunt as she relaxes. She briefly peers over Grit's shoulder at the bone, but loses interest quickly when she looks at the incomprehensible document, returning to taking care of the kanks.
<<I would like to go to the way academy.>>
Gorkhan watches the agents of House Tsalaxa leave, his gaze focused on the one with his old weapon, an dangerous look in his eyes. I wonder if that House is behind it or if he is just a mercenary that was hired previously. I shall have to ask him...
I am an outsider in this city. Both my race and my ways will draw attention to me. Raun and Nnn'tkklik'l are in similar positions. If we do not wish the attention of other we need to not be seen often.
I am an outsider in this city. Both my race and my ways will draw attention to me. Raun and Nnn'tkklik'l are in similar positions. If we do not wish the attention of other we need to not be seen often.