Darkness rises in Korvosa, the Jewel of Varisia. The delicate balance of power between the ruling factions is failing, along with King Eodred II's health. His new young bride Queen Ileosa has yet to produce an heir - no ruler of Korvosa has ever passed the crown to their child. The locals talk darkly of a curse, and speak ill of their rulers - be they monarch, priest, or aristocrat. Tension grows between citizen and citizen, between Varisian, Chelaxian, and Shoanti. Yes, Korvosa is in want of heroes...
...but as the great philosopher-bard Mikael Jegarre pointed out in another age: "You can't always get what you want...."
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EVELYN
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The halfling's smithy is warm (no surprise, really) and dry, a safe refuge from the spring rain, which is hammering down outside; and from the night's memories, of calling skeletal minions from the void to satisfy Lamm's demands: to threaten, to control... If only memories could be as easily washed away.
The hammering inside stopped when you entered, Alynis setting aside the glowing piece of metal she was working on, and turning towards you with a wry look. "Hello again, girlie; you'll be wanting a cup of tea, I'm guessing?" Not waiting for an answer, she lifts the kettle (of course there's a kettle) onto the stove built into the forge, giving you time to muse on being addressed as 'girlie' by someone so much shorter.
In addition to a large chipped enamel mug of hot, sweet tea, Alynis has magicked up some breakfast - bread, cheese, seedcake - from somewhere. Her green eyes - exactly the same shade as Evelyn's - have an appraising look to them: "Not been eating properly, have you, my girl? Don't mind the weather: 'rain before 7, fine by 11' as we used to say back in Cheliax..."
She toys, absently, with the metal 'bracelet' (her old slave-shackle) on her left wrist. For some reason, despite being a smith and therefore - presumably - capable of removing it in less than a heartbeat, she persists in wearing it. "So, while we wait for the rain to pass, why don't you get some food down you and tell me what's on your mind?"
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JULIET
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Ugh. Morning already? Hazy memories of last night parade themselves: your father took you to the Chelish ambassador's birthday party, as one of his guests; and of course Lamm insisted you take Grease-Fingered Ladzlo with you... and of course Ladzlo insisted that you create a 'distraction' so he could sneak away unseen... a distraction that proved to be a complete success, judging by the look on your father's face (he left shortly afterwards).
Ladzlo didn't say what he found, but he had the smug expression of someone who has struck gold. As you left the party, he sneeringly handed over a wrap of shiver "trust you know what to do with that..."
Ugh. Memories. Well, it's still early; time enough to go back to-
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap tap. Nobody, nobody, knocks on a door quite like your brother Ty. "Jules?" He puts his head around the door, looking at you sidelong with those full-colour elf eyes of his, in that way he perfected during your addict phase: just enough for his peripheral vision to check that you're breathing, but not so much that he'll see anything if you're not properly dressed - or with someone. Satisfied that you are indeed breathing, his lean, starveling face looks around, scanning for drug paraphernalia - whether out of concern for you or need for himself, is hard to say.
He backs in to your room, carefully not looking at you "OK, Jules - I'm gonna go grab some coffee and pastries, and when I get back, you'd better be dressed, OK?" Having said his bit, he rummages quickly through your stuff until he finds a few coins (he never has money) and darts away. He returns a few minutes later with coffee and sticky spiced cinnamon rolls, most of which he wolfs down himself - he looks thinner even than when you last saw him. "So, how you doing?"
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VAENATHIS
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A rattle of pebbles against your window shutter brings you to full consciousness. "Hey! Half-ears! It's ####ing p!ssing it down out here! Is this ### a tavern or a ##### Pharasman funeral home?! Lemme the ####### in, you queer half-breed piece of otyugh-crust!" The mixture of inventive cursing in both Taldan and - mangled - Varisian tells you it can only be Timmor.
Your mother Alina is obviously already up; before you can react, there is a creak as the door to the tavern opens. Timmor's mood and tone change immediately: for some reason Alina is the only person he speaks to with more than token respect. "Thank you Mistress Alina, good day to you, I'm here to see your worthless layabout - oh, f- I mean, oh thanks, yeah, breakfast'd be amazing thank you!"
By the time you are down, Timmor is on at least his second (possibly third, but who's counting?) bowl of porridge and is slurping down coffee like it's in short supply. He turns in his chair "Hey half-ears, nice of you to join us! You gonna make your ma do all the work? Don't fashing worry if cooking makes you look gay - I already know you are, but your secret's safe with me!" He taps the side of his nose, thereby coating it with porridge; he doesn't seem to have troubled himself to use a spoon.
Alina looks away, affecting not to hear, but her violet eyes are mirthful. You have no idea what it is she sees in Timmor that makes her do anything other than box his ears and kick him out, but mothers can be odd like that. Best not to question.
Vaenathis rolls his violet eyes theatrically, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he reaches the common room. Giving his mother a look that can best be described as puzzlement mixed with an apology, he then turns to Timmor.
"Do you even know what half of those words mean, Tim?" The question is asked in a tone of mock exasperation. "Or better yet, do even half of those words actually have any meaning?" He shrugs then as if accepting his lot in life, at least where the boy is concerned. "Well, they are colorful, I will give you that. But you do on occasion make me wonder what lapse of my judgement is responsible for my helping you out that day..."
It seems as if he is about to say something more when he notices what Timmor is drinking. "Are you not a little young to be drinking coffee?" He does not wait for an answer before then turning to Alina. "Mother, really? As if he is not... energetic enough? At least tell me it does not have sugar in it as well."
As he talks, he moves to grab a plate of porridge and a cup of coffee of his own, planting a gentle kiss on his mother's head in the process.
"You have a little something there," he adds with a slightly bored look as he indicates to the boy where he has covered his nose with his breakfast; this is hardly the first time he has done so, being quite the... enthusiastic eater.
"And what pray tell is otyugh-crust exactly, anyway?"
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
Tybalt, Juliet thinks, with an inward groan. Its early, Ty. What are you doing up? Or probably still up... Listening as her brother's counterfeited key slides into the lock, Juliet turns her head and squints into the morning light just in time to see Ty's head poke through the door, his brilliant eyes glancing at her sideways. "Yeah, yeah. OK. There's some coin on the table-" but Ty's already backed out the door, money in hand...
The singer throws an arm over her head and turns to her side, trying to will herself back to sleep. You can't always get what you want, Juliet thinks, the chorus of Jegarre's eternally popular ballad running through her head.
Sighing, young woman sits up. Four hours, judging by the sun. Four hours sleep. Wiggling into a pair of black leather pants, then adding a light white blouse from her closet, her black leather walking boots, a dagger in her boot, and lastly Spite, her fencing blade, attached to a thin black leather belt, Juliet then picks up her dress off the floor, and the small leather handbag she took with her to the ambassador's party. Immediately, almost unconsciously, Juliet's hand slips into the handbag and clasps the wrap of shiver, and holds onto it tight, spurring memories of the previous evening; Juliet's father, the fight, and Grease-Fingered Ladzlo.
Ugh. Grease-Fingered Ladzlo. If there was a more obvious Pesh-head in Lamm's stable of thugs, Juliet didn't know him. When Juliet showed up with Ladzlo, all glassy-eyed and unkempt, dressed in ill-fitting noble's clothes, her father had just rolled his eyes, as if to say, This is who you're spending your evening's with? Juuuulllieetttttt... She could hear her name, spoken as her father would when he was filled with disapproval or disappointment, long and drawn out, trailing off into nothingness.
Ugh. Her father. There was going to be some explaining to do. After Ladzlo demanded her distraction, Juliet had made sure to find the ambassador's son, Elrick all nervous gestures and smiles, holding court with several eligible young ladies. At a particularly suspenseful point in the young man's story, Juliet backed her rump right into one of Elrick's gesticulating hands. One yell of "Pervert!" later, a punch, more yelling, a thoroughly confused and bloody-nosed ambassador's son, a half-hour of more yelling, one chastened and red-faced father leaving silently without his daughter, and a beaming Ladzlo back from who-knows-where, and Juliet could finally withdraw herself from the party. At least Ricci had given Juliet the night off work on such short notice...
Rolling the wrap of shiver around in her fingers, Ladzlo's parting words echoed in Juliet's mind. Yeah, Grease Fingers. I know what I'll do with this shiver. Shove it up your-
Tybalt was back, with cinnamon rolls and coffee - day-old rolls and burnt coffee, but it would do. Obviously, Ty had skimped on breakfast and pocketed the rest of the change, hoping his sister wouldn't notice, or not caring, Juliet wasn't sure which. Juliet drops the wrap of shiver in her pocket, figuring its the last thing Ty needs to see.
"Tired, Ty. I'm tired. How are you?"
The unspoken part of the Juliet's answer - a question really - hangs in the air between the siblings, as obvious as Juliet's change jingling in Ty's pocket.
And what do you need this time, Ty?
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GEHENNA
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Last night was bloody, in the literal sense of the word: Lamm decided to punish one of his minions - either for something they'd done, or (just as likely) to remind everyone who's the boss. At least he didn't make you do it, this time - he passed that duty on to one of his other lieutenants, a girl named Sia. She did it of course, because the alternative, well...
The early morning rain hammers down on the roof of the hovel, somehow failing to hide the noise of Takis' armoured fist against what passes for your front door. Of course: early morning, second and fourth Toilday of the month. Punctual as Hell. The Hellknight lets himself in and removes his helmet, running a hand through his tousled black hair (it's the only bit of him that's untidy, presumably due to his helmet messing it; whether that humanises him or just makes him even more annoying is a matter of perspective). He looks around in disgust. "See this dungheap hasn't burned down, with you inside it. Shame." He gives you one of those particular smiles.
Could things get worse? Apparently, yes: one of the Little Lamms chooses this moment to arrive in a hurry, looking in past the open door (Takis doesn't seem to believe in closing doors, telling you when you ask that you're lucky he doesn't just kick it down - which, oddly, he's never done); breathless and clearly terrified of 'the Witch,' he blurts out his message - "Boss wants you. Before lunch, he said, or you'll be lunch." - and runs off. Thankfully, he didn't see the armoured bulk of the Hellknight: no way could you explain that to Lamm in any way that would leave you alive...
Takis looks at you, incredulous. "You'll not go, of course. Not on a motherless urchin's say-so." He waits expectantly for you to agree with him.
Men.
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JULIET
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Ty beams at you, shamelessly. "Oh, me? I'm good Jules, I'm great! Found this great new flophouse that's just starting out, so they're offering discounts on product, you know? Much cheaper than what Lamm sells it to me for." (And that Ty then cuts with flour, brick dust, pretty much anything; and sells on again, taking Gods-only-know how much himself - this goes unsaid).
He snaps back into focus, in that disconcerting way that the truly addicted can manage. "But right now, I'm here to help you, Jules - heard you had a ball yesterday; worried, in case you'd - you know..." This is as tactfully as he can put it that you might relapse into addiction again. "Cos if you had, you'd need me to chivvy you along - Lamm said to be there before lunch or you'd be lunch."
The elf blinks, slowly. "Oh, did I not say that bit? Yeah, Lamm wants to see you real bad - got something for you to do. Sorry, sorry - distracted; he did one of his little shows last night, you know? Feeding his pet." He shudders. "Had the poor bastard dangled upside down and fed him in bit by bit. That b**ch Sia was on the winch, course, she loved it, you could just tell. Gods I'd love to put a knife in her back one day..."
He takes a breath. "So I came by in a right bloody panic, in case you were - you know - out of it; I was gonna drag you there if I had to. He really wants to see you, Jules; and he's really not happy." Tybalt doesn't do scared, exactly; whatever he's been on for so long has made him pretty much fearless - or uncaring, it's not clear which. But he's worried, more worried than you've seen him in a long while - certainly since you quit the drugs.
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VAENATHIS
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Alina smiles at her son: "My starting offer was tea; his was beer. The coffee was our compromise."
"Hey! I'm still here! 'S bad manners to talk about me when I'm here! And it's not a compromise, anyway - I wanted it with whisky..." Timmon protests. He scowls when Vaenathis points out the porridge on his nose, and rubs his sleeve on it; it's unclear whether this makes his nose dirtier, or his sleeve marginally cleaner. "Anyway, least you could do is say you're glad to see me, ask how I am - didn't you teach him any manners at all?" This last is directed at Alina, who smiles enigmatically and leaves the two of you to talk: "I'll go and see if there's any more porridge and coffee..."
"Anyway, you missed the show last night: Lamm fed his pet! It was amazing! Screams, blood, all of it..." He recounts the whole thing with childish glee.
The nature of Lamm's 'pet' is unknown - well, that is not entirely correct: there are a large number of people who have found out first hand, but they are not in a position to report back.
"But that's not what I ran through all that chissing rain to tell you - Lamm wants to see you. Today. Before lunch, he said, or he'll be feeding his pet again. You'll be feeding his pet."
"And what pray tell is otyugh-crust exactly, anyway?"
Timmon snorts coffee all over the table. "Where did you come from?! They live in the sewers, right, they dig through #### all day and it sticks to them, the nastiest, horribelist bits of it, and it builds up... to a crust, get it? Knew you were queer, but I didn't think that made you stupid..."
He shakes his head in a world-weary fashion.
"I am sure it was," Vaen retorts drily as Timmor talks of Lamm's pet and of the person its master fed to it.
With his porridge almost finished, the half-elf takes another sip of coffee to chase what drowsiness remains away. As it appears, he will need to be awake and alert, what with Gaedren summoning him. An unmistakeable look of distaste distorts his features for a moment and then it is gone as quickly as it appeared; although it cannot be helped for now, the fact that the crimelord is in a position to order him around is not something that sits well with him.
"Before lunch, is it? Well, at least I have some more time to finish my breakfast," he says calmly enough. "Will you wait for me or do you have other... errands to attend to?" He smiles. "After all, I would hate to deprive you of the spectacle of having him feed me to his pet if I manage to be late somehow."
He leans against his hand for a moment or two as he looks at Timmor intently before winking. "You know. The screams, the blood, all of it..."
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LORICK
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It's not the sound of the spring rain hammering on your roof that wakes you; it's the slow realisation that someone else is in the room. When you open your eyes, you can see that Sia has done her little trick of sneaking in quietly through the window. A quick glance around the room confirms that yes, she has again gone through your very minimal - but carefully ordered - possessions and rearranged them out of alignment. It seems to amuse her, and it is (possibly) one of her ways of showing that she likes you.
Seeing that you're awake, Sia gives one of her familiar little half-smiles - or tries to, anyway: it falters badly. Has she been crying? Nothing in her eyes gives it away, and she'd probably die rather than admit it, but it doesn't take a genius to see that she's really upset about something.
"Hey. So how's my favourite wannabe monk?" Even her voice - normally so confident, so controlled - is letting her down.
Wannabee nothing Lorick grouses as he comes up out of his sleep I'm monkier than the whole...
The familiar rejoinder dies on his lips as her wavering tone finally gets through his sleep addled consciousness. Squinting at her in the darkness of his poorly lit shack he notices the odd grimace of her attempt to smile.
This jolts him to full wakefulness. He rolls up out of his mat and closes the distance between them. Giving her a quick glance over confirms that she isn't hurt... well, not physically anyway. He cups her face gently with a large, meaty hand and leans down to look her in her eyes.
Hey, hey, are you okay? he asks, genuine concern radiating from his voice.
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EVELYN
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Evelyn considers for a moment how she should respond. The night had been long to say the least and part of her yearned for the opportunity to vent her feelings. Of course, this presented the perfect opportunity to do just that. If only she weren't so damn proud. Instead, she chooses to deflect the question away.
"I appreciate the meal Alynis, and you can add it to my tab. I'll have coin plenty soon enough. For now though, tell me: how is the forge?"
Digression, pause, on-point, aimless staring, on-point, digression but good to know, on-point. Juliet follows the peculiar ebb and flow of Tybalt's conversation, nodding her head and trying not to show the agitation - and then dread - she's feeling. Downing the last of the coffee, the singer kicks her legs up on the table and rubs her eyes. Was really hoping Lamm would leave me alone a few days. Looks like I'm headed to Eel's End today.
Juliet crosses her arms and looks at her brother. Her curious, addict brother. Was he looking after her, genuinely concerned? Probably. Was there something in this errand for him that he wasn't spelling out? Likely. Taking her feet off the table, Juliet leans forward and grabs her brother's hands from across the table, holding them and looking at them for a few moments. Pale. Long fingers. Scars - nicks and burns. Raising her eyes to look into her brother's, Juliet holds his gaze until she can see him start to fidget.
"Ty, what's got you agitated? You're more... unfocused than usual."
Standing, Juliet stretches her arms and looks out the apartment window, across the rooftops to the north. The apartment was a real otyugh's a%#$%#@, but the view... the view was worth it. High enough to give a glimpse over the wall and across the narrows, where cooking fires rose through the shingles and drifted lazily into the air. Well, they would be if it wasn't raining, anyways. Today the view was just mist and drizzle.
"Great morning to trudge on over to Eel's End, huh? Don't be so worried about me, OK? If you're hanging at another flophouse, its probably best that you don't even chivvy with. Choose a bed to hop into, and stay the hells away from your other suitor, or you'll get the wrong kind of f*++ing. Understand?"
Grabbing the last of her roll, Juliet heads for the door. "I'm going. Gonna scout the place out, see if I can get a handle on what Lamm's got in store for me. Lock the door when you go." Grabbing the door knob, Juliet pauses and turns back to her brother one last time. "You wouldn't know what's got Lamm all hot and bothered, would ya?"
Gehenna starts terribly as Takis enters the hovel in his usual fashion, greeting her with a familiar air of derision. She had been expecting him, of course, but has lost the time in a pitched struggle with the gourmand.
Although mentally haggard from last night's events, Gehenna had been looking forward to the Hellknight's routine visit. She had even thought to clean up a few cups; perhaps offer him some morning tea. The gourmand, a red and black king crab, covered in horrid looking spikes, had seemingly been set against it. As soon as she had filled the wash basin, the creature immediately seized on the opportunity to immerse itself and had fought back with considerable fervor against Gehenna's attempts to remove it.
Too late now she thinks, the gloom setting in comfortably now; much like the gourmand was in her wash basin.
She turns to Takis as he removes his horned helm and smiles. Gehenna knows he doesn't like it when she smiles at him, but she can't help herself. Having known the man for over a year now, the Hellknight qualified as her closest, and longest running friend... such as their "friendship" was.
"Takis!" she says in a tired, husky voice that nevertheless conveys some small amount of warmth. "I-I was just seeing to the.. for tea you see, I-"
She glares at the gourmand briefly and sighs, the strength going out from her shoulders.
"Would you like to-" he words are cut short again, this time by the arrival of a dirty looking young child. She puffs her cheeks slightly in frustration, but quickly becomes anxious as she hears the boy's message.
Lamm. The name hangs in her mind, like like a portal to the Abyss, swallowing up everything meaningful in her life.
The Little Lamm vanishes, quickly as he came once his message is delivered; no doubt fearful of the consequences for lingering. Takis says something to her that she doesn't quite hear, the name Lamm swallowing up sound as sure as thought, but Gehenna knows exactly what the dark haired man seeks from her.
Her smile becomes strained and her darkened eyes dip downward.
"You know it doesn't work like that. There's laws that we all have to follow. You understand, right? Of all...
Slightly pleading, that last bit. Gehenna knows he won't like that. Hold on all you like, you fool. It won't make a bit of difference.
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EVELYN
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Alynis smiles at Evelyn's promise of payment 'some day', her forge-ruddied face wrinkling at the thought of it. "No problem, girlie, I'll add it to the list..." she makes no effort to write anything down. She gives Evelyn a wry look as the girl deflects her question, turning it back at her; but she's learned not to press too hard.
"The forge? We do OK, you know - there's not many that buy from a halfling smith, but we get by with the odd visit."
She smacks her forehead. "Speaking of visitors, one came by for you earlier, plain forgot about it! Left you a note, he did." Rummaging around in her leather satchel, she produces a bit of paper, folded over.
Opening it, you read: Got another job for you. Be at my place before lunch. L. His place. Eel's End. Again. Joy.
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GEHENNA
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Takis looks exasperated. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he then fixes the witch with a glare. "You could be so much more than you are - but you're tied to the apron strings of a common criminal! And you talk to me about the Law - arrrgh! Why am I bothering!?" This is normally the point where he storms out, but he doesn't move.
There's a long pause. He doesn't say anything.
Time passes.
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JULIET
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Ty doesn't like it when you grab his hands, but he doesn't pull away. He holds your gaze uncomfortably, looking away, and then back, and then away again.
"Oh, it's just - uneasy out there, you know? You and dad, you live at the top, near the roof; when the roof leaks, it's a pain, but nobody dies... I'm in the basement. Things are getting ugly, Jules. Can't put my finger on it, but when the basement falls in, that's it for the house, you know? And you - you flit between the two worlds, and that makes me uneasy too..."
He sighs. "Be careful out there, Jules. Not just with Lamm, I mean."
Breaking the moment of (slightly cryptic) lucidity, the elf stands and stretches, unconsciously mirroring Juliet's earlier moves. He smiles. "Nice. Think I'll crash here for a bit. You got any more to eat? Haven't eaten since..." He pauses. "What day is it, again?"
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LORICK
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Sia blinks at Lorick's expression of concern; a single tear tracks its way down her cheek. She gulps. "I - I - I had to help him with the punishments last night." Sia never says Lamm's name, if she can help it. "He made me operate the winch, lower them down to his - his pet. Made me stop every so often, too, make it last longer. I just had to stand there, everyone watching me, everyone hating me for doing it - I hated it too, but you can't say no to him, you know that..."
She dissolves into hiccuping sobs. Sia's a tough cookie, but her heart's in the right place and being forced to do something like that has really torn her up.
Eventually, she gets control of herself. Sniffing slightly, she adds "But that's not why I'm here. He wants to see you - before lunch, he said. Didn't say why. Sorry."
It's not entirely clear what the 'sorry' is for, but it's heartfelt.
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VAENATHIS
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Timmor rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I got other errands - them pockets don't pick themselves, you know! But in that ######## rain, no one's gonna be out there 'less they have to." He grins at you. "Think I'll stay here a bit, see if your ma will agree to add some whisky if I keep asking... If not, fair do's, I'll just grab some more porridge and be off once it stops chissing down."
As Vaenathis leaves, he calls after you. "Hey, Half-ears - don't go doing anything stupid, 'kay? This place is a dump, but the grub's not bad - and it's free... Can't come back if you get yourself killed."
"Stupid? Come now, Tim," Vaen quips as he leaves his mother's establishment, bidding the older woman goodbye on his way out, "when have I ever done anything stupid?"
Since he has some time, the half-elven rogue begins a walk around the city. He could stop by the tailor's store, but Petronicus is hardly the best small talker, and Key, though always happy to see him, is probably resting at this hour, her type of work being done mostly at night. The rain certainly does not deter him, actually serving to wake him up even further. Still, he is in no hurry to get drenched and thus makes good use of the cover the various buildings provide.
'Not many people around,' he thinks to himself. Hardly surprising given the weather, of course.
Still, the shops are opening up. The rain may very well subside later on, and even if it does not, people will still have to buy and sell goods, eat and drink, or at least window-shop to pass the time. And soon enough, men and women start to make an appearance in the streets, coming and going to conduct whatever business or pleasure they may have in mind. Quite a few of them seem to avoid the half-elf. It may very well be due to the sword sheathed across his back; though partially hidden by his hooded cloak, it is still seen each time a bit of wind blows the fabric aside. Or it could be because they know who he works for. Or even because they know he associates himself with a "murderer" like Alina. 'Probably a bit of all three,' he ponders with a sigh. He is a very friendly person once the time is taken to get to know him.
Time passes and soon enough only an hour or two remain before lunch. "No more time to waste, I suppose," Vaenathis mutters to himself softly as he makes his way to meet Gaedren Lamm, his... boss.
There is much Lorick could say, wants to say. But there will be time enough for that later.
"Toilday, Ty. Its Toilday." Sighing, Juliet digs into her pocket, pulling a couple of gold sails from it and tossing them to her brother. "Get yourself some food. Food, Ty."
Juliet pauses again, and shuts the door in front of her. She walks back over to her closet and grabs a worn wool cloak, a second-hand piece that was once a brilliant cerulean blue, now faded by time and wear. It is raining out, dummy. Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, she stands for a second and regards her brother, frowning, and not trying to hide it. Better than Ty see her agitation than her worry. Then she turns and leaves her apartment, and this time makes out the door, throwing one last glance over her shoulder. "What I said about hopping between beds, Ty? Take it to heart."
Out on the street, its raining heavier than it had appeared from her window. Scowling some more, Juliet throws the cloak's hood over her head and makes her way into the city. No large stores or manors here - just small ground floor shops, with tenements rising above them. Single-purpose storefronts - hardware, books, shoes, bakers, butchers. Keeping her gaze low, and her hood pulled lower, Juliet picks her way as far east as she can and still remain in Northpoint, hopping over puddles - nothing is worse than wet boots. Eventually she turns north, across the Narrows into Old Korvosa, and then east again, winding up the side of the island towards Eel's End.
Eel's End. Gaedren's base. Juliet would have to get him out of there, and hopefully alone, or alone as possible, to end her service to him. Stab him in his home, and Juliet would be jigsaw bait. Until the opportunity presented itself, she'd have to play nice. But he wasn't making it easy. Grease-Fingers Ladzlo? Seriously?
Normally, if Juliet had the time, she'd put off being at Eel's End as long as possible. Do some shopping, or at least window-browsing. See what rubbish is playing at Pilt's playhouse. The End was a dangerous place to be, especially for those who swim in the deep waters of Korvosa's underworld. Games within games. And, well, there were the drugs too.
The singer's hand digs into her pocket, and closes again around the shiver wrap there, pressed up against her thigh. She's surprised to feel that she doesn't have any feelings towards it - no copper taste in her mouth, no quickening of the heart, no grin. None of the signs of anticipation she used to get. Of course, it was probably because this wrap was reserved for Ladzlo. Still, she'd rather avoid the scene if possible.
Which it wasn't. She'd make the in and out, chinny with some old friends, see what's got Lamm so hot. Hit the other boats too. And before that, she'd climb up into the shingles, get a good view of Eel's End from a safe distance, and see if she could spot anything amiss.
Eel's End. Ugh.
Evelyn reads the note and, despite her best efforts, a hint of a scowl grows across her face. Shaking it away just as quickly as it came she returns her attention to the Hafling.
"It appears that I have business to attend to later but for now I welcome you hospitality. For now let's enjoy the meal and then I'll help out around here for a bit. What do you say?"
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EVELYN
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Alynis winks. "I think I can find a few things you can help me with, for sure, my girl. You just make sure you eat that up first, hmmm? Don't want my labourers passing out!"
You pass a pleasant morning, working companionably alongside the halfling smith. The noise prevents much conversation, but that doesn't seem to bother either of you.
Eventually, however, time presses, and you must be on your way. At least the rain has stopped - indeed, the sun is out, just as Alynis promised. She beams "See? What did I tell you, my girl. You listen to old Alynis and you'll go far."
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JULIET
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Tybalt's eyes follow the gold sails as though they're magnetic. "Food! Sure, Jules, no problem, food, yeah, great stuff..."
"What I said about hopping between beds, Ty? Take it to heart."
Your brother looks at you pityingly, with his head tilted to one side. Closing one eye, he considers for a few seconds. "No offence, Jules, but you either need to get high, or get laid; if your shoulders tense any more, you won't fence properly. What happened to the last one, anyway - or is there someone you're keeping from me?" His elven eyebrows rise quizzically.
...
Gradually, the rain slacks off and the sun comes out; from your vantage point on the shingles, the wet roofs glitter in brilliant Spring sunshine. You look down on Eel's End, which looks pretty much the same as it always does.
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LORICK
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It's later. Sia gives you that half-smile of hers that's so familiar - she looks much more like herself now. Clambering out of bed, she dresses - throwing you the occasional glance - and wanders over to look out the window. "Sun's out. Rain's gone. Looks nice. Don't be late for him, will you?" With that, she's gone.
You should probably get up, too.
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VAENATHIS
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"Stupid? Come now, Tim," Vaen quips as he leaves his mother's establishment, bidding the older woman goodbye on his way out, "when have I ever done anything stupid?"
Timmon thumps one porridgey fist onto the table "I mean it, knipelhead! Things are bad out there... I might be a gutter rat, but it's the rats that are first to know the ship is sinking - which it is, by the way, case you hadn't realised."
He belches, lavishly, before looking pleased with himself. "Anyway. If a mob puts your queer head on a spike, I'll do my best to make sure it's buried properly."
As you make your way across the city, the rain slowly stops and the city is soon bathed in Spring sunshine. The wind still blows a little, but you have your cloak and all is well (apart from the - considerable - bits that aren't, of course).
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Lorick rips the card into tiny pieces. Gem, 3 Lancet Street, Tomorrow... Friends was all he needs to remember. The last word makes Lorick smirk as he rolls out of bed for the second time that day. He only has three people that he ever counted as friends and he wasn't so sure about two of them. You didn't have friends in this business. At best you had temporary allies and as few outright enemies as possible. It seems like Lamm had made an enemy angry enough to make some sort of a move against him. If Lorick could use this to get Miyoto out and safe then he was all ears. Afterwards.. well the thought of that makes Lamm crack his knuckles.
Going through a quick set of stretches and an abbreviated kata he throws on one of the few sets of clothes he owns. Loose in some places, tight in others, and not armored. It wasn't the usual outfit of an enforcer but it suited him fine. Armor only slowed him down. Much better to avoid pain then take it. When it came down to it though Lorick was very good at both.
Dumping the shreds of paper in the nearest convenient puddle the monk makes his way to Lamm's lair in Eel's end. He'd been there plenty of times and strides right there by the most direct route. The only person he has anything to fear from this close to Lamm's heart of power is Lamm himself. Everybody else has a sense of who he is, who he works for, and what he does. Being an enforcer for the local crime boss isn't a low visibility occupation by any means, quite the opposite in fact. He was supposed to be big and loud and visible; A physical manifestation of the power that the crime boss wielded and a projection of his terror onto the downtrodden people of the old part of the city. When Lorick came pounding on someone's door it wasn't just to punish the poor people cowering behind it for whatever slight they may have caused to Lamm but to make sure everyone around knew exactly what was happening. Broken bones, smashed furniture, livelihoods destroyed.
The ugly scar running all the way down the right side of his face only added to the fear he caused. It was large and obvious enough that anyone who looked at him wondered what had caused it. Lorick never told anybody and oddly enough Lamm didn't spread that particular fact around either. A bit of mystery enhanced the fear and it was much better to let people come to the obvious conclusion themselves.
This was the way Lamm broke people. This is the way he made those stupid enough to resist him serve him. Much easier to just give him whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, yeah?.
If he was a different sort of man Lorick could have enjoyed the way people avoided his gaze. Made use of that fear to carve out his own mini fief of exploitation under the larger rule of Lamm as the other thugs did. Sometimes Lorick wondered if he would have turned into such a man if he hadn't met Miyoto. It would have made his life much... easier.. certainly but he most likely would have lost Sia in the process.
Sia. Skilled, nimble, sardonic, beautiful Sia with the light fingers and the good heart hidden under an armour of thick skin and cutting words. One of Lamm's hidden hands as opposed to the obvious clenched fist that Lorick is. Thinking of her makes him sigh with a mixture of emotions that he would find impossible to put into word and so never tried.
The sense of right and wrong and the restraint he had gained from Miyoto's training had made it hard for him to sleep at night, but it had allowed him to remain the kind of person who Sia would actually want to be with. Getting the girl of his dream in exchange for a whole lot of self-loathing was a fair bargain as far as he was concerned.
Ironic then, that Lamm had forced her to kill someone before he'd ordered Lorick to do so. It made sense in a horrible way. Lamm didn't have as much of a hold over Sia as he has over Lorick... until now. There were some things you just don't come back from and torturing a person slowly to death is one of them. Lorick's mouth twists down into snarl. Lamm had gone far too far this time. The knowledge that Miyoto and Sia would suffer from any foolish assassination attempt by him was the only thing that had kept Lorick from trying to throttle the life out of the twisted bastard. He was close to the edge of losing control now though. The voice of the mysterious woman settles him Lamm will answer to fate, for I am weaving the threads now. Past time that Lamm answered. Way past time.
Standing in front of the entrance Lorick rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck before pounding on the door.
Evelyn works alongside the halfling in the physical sense, but her mind couldn't have been farther away. She had been quite popular today; a letter from Lamm and a mysterious message from a stranger to boot.
She's finished her chores by noon and waves goodbye to her friend. Without anything further she heads towards Lamms lair, confidently walking the streets despite her appearance.
An uncomfortable, but familiar ache spreads throughout Gehenna's body, emanating from the withered stumps that should have grown into wings at her back. The pain told her that today would likely be one of her worst in quite some time. How could it not? Although she would have hated to see him leave under normal circumstances, she relied on Takis' short temper to relieve her of the stress that this particular conversation topic engendered.
Why today of all days must Lamm send for her? Why now, when she could have been enjoying tea with an old friend (you're delusional, Gehenna), and most of all why wouldn't he leave her so that she could feel defeated and hopeless in peace?
Tracers of silver shimmer through her long, inky black hair for a moment, but then subside.
"Just what... would you have me do?" her voice is thick with frustration, but also genuine wonder as her mind beings to work through the possibilities. "Stand up to him? If I don't see Lamm before lunch, I'll be dead by dinner.
An opportunity this one waits patiently for she thinks in reference to the spiky crustacean peering at her from the wash basin.
"Appeal to the law? The Guard certainly won't lift a finger against him. He's too entrenched, too clever. He has always made sure not to force their hand," she says before shaking her head. "They're more likely to arrest me, simply by association. Then Lamm has me murdered in prison, instead of on the docks. Or worse, he arranges for my release."
Gehenna looks up with angry eyes, having seen no satisfactory end to this train of thought.
"So what then?" she doesn't yell, but her voice is haggard. "Any dignity I might find in resisting him... He'd strip from me with glee."
Images of Lamm's pet flash in her mind.
"I used to think that his twisted way of doing things was untenable. I hoped that, if enough people came to hate him as I did, something would surely happen. Hope was what proved untenable, not Lamm. What could happen now that hasn't happened in the twenty plus years I've endured him?"
Gehenna's resolve was spent now, and it almost seemed as if all the shadows in the hovel now clung to her body, forming a dark haze. She'd have to fortify herself with some half-way decent food and drink before going to see him. Just... not anything that would be too dreadful coming back up again.
Finally reaching Lamm's abode, he pauses for a few moments. "I wonder what it is this time," Vaen mutters softly, essentially thinking out loud. His mind goes back to minutes earlier and Tim's words. "Whatever one may call the boy, he is certainly no idiot," he concludes. "Ship sinking, huh?"
He shrugs then and, sighing softly, he finally moves to enter and meet up with the crimelord who holds his leash. It is an apt analogy, even if it is one he really does not like.
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GEHENNA
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Takis frowns, shaking his head. "Words, words, just words! You cannot expect me to sympathise with those who permit themselves to be victimised."
He pauses, again. This is not like him. "But I did not come, for once, to bandy words with you. I have something."
Reaching into his pack, he pulls out a sealed package of rations and a canteen of wine. "Here. Take these before I change my mind. I'm not doing this for you, understand," he adds hastily. "I cannot have you stealing to maintain yourself - the association would tarnish me. So I do this for myself. And the wine is purely medicinal - Gods alone know what filth you wallow in around here."
His eyes flash, and - spinning around hastily on one heel - he strides out the door without listening to your reply.
Juliet doesn't miss a beat. Of course she doesn't need to get high - wasn't Ty just dancing around this very subject? Laid, on the other hand... "Same as the others, Ty. That relationship just went its course. No worries - there'll be more I'm sure."
---------
Juliet's heart skips a beat as she pulls the card from her pocket. Her first thought, Ty, what game are you playi- is cut off by the voice in her head, spilling some cryptic salutation.
And then she just stands there. For a long time, like minutes, in the rain, card in hand, turning over the possibilities in her head. Magic? Most certainly. A trick? Possibly. Jewel of Great Price? No chivvin' idea. Flipping the card over and back, Juliet brings it close to her face, looking for markings, signs of ownership, anything. Harrow card. The courtesan. Probably a Varisian. Great, the Moths. Szcarni? The courtesan? What are you trying to say anyways, lady?
Well, whatever, she's got no Jewel of Great Price anyways. And the Moth gave Juliet an address to scope out before tomorrow, see what the shinny is before she walks herself into somebody's trap. And, most importantly, she's got a hornet's nest to scope out now, before she meets with an apparently very angry crime lord. Moths. Lamms. Eel's End. F#!% me.
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EVERYONE
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And so, travelling individually, you all arrive, at the last, at Eel's End. A sprawl of light and sound marks the first (or last, depending on your orientation) pier of Old Korvosa. Glowing lanterns in the shape of dream spiders and gods' eyes hang from pilings or lampposts, flickering through all hours of the day and the night. Eel’s End never truly sleeps. Here is a place that caters to the vices and base needs of all Korvosa at all hours.
Eel’s End is open and welcoming of nearly everyone - only those who are obviously affiliated with the Korvosan Guard, the Order of the Nail, or the Sable Company aren’t welcome. Since Lamm pays his vice taxes and self-polices Eel’s End well enough that trouble here never impacts the city at large (including a strict policy of handing over anyone he realizes is trying to use Eel’s End to hide from the law), the guards rarely have any cause to visit.
Besides, you're known here, and expected: nobody gives you any trouble.
The pier itself is 70 feet long, although its last 30 feet widen into a large square platform on the water. Five ships are moored to the pier—the largest of these is the Eel’s End, a warship that serves as the stronghold of Gaedran Lamm and the administrative center of his entire operation. Each of the other four barges are owned by various peddlers and captains, and they pay regular rent for the honor of attaching to Eel’s End (those who fail either to pay or to abide by Lamm's laws find their ship cut loose in the middle of the night, often in flames or infested with deadly spiders).
The Goldenhawk (a single-masted Chelish sailing ship) is of little interest: it's where those whose endurance has been taxed by the wild cavorts of Eel’s End’s various delights can retreat to sleep it off. Not comfortable, but Lamm's presence ensures that nights spent here are relatively safe.
The Twin Tigers is a hut-like barge/gambling den; even at this hour, the raucous sound of laughter and periodic roars of victory can be heard from within. A number of Lamm's enforcers stand on deck, in their nondescript functional armour and their nondescript functional weapons.
The House of Clouds is a single-masted long, elegant whore-ship, whose interior structure sits open to reveal a large room decorated with throw rugs, large pillows, and air thick with incense and lit by red paper lanterns. The scent of anise, rosewater, and cinnamon pour forth from smoking bronze braziers set on silver stands carved in the likenesses of slit-eyed serpents and proud hunting birds. Several scantily-clad men and women loiter on deck.
The Dragon's Breath is a once-proud Tian trading vessel, now painted in gaudy red. A sign at the aft entrance reads simply, “Pass Into the Dreams of the Dragon.” Thick, pungent smoke assails the nose from belowdecks, the open interior of which is partitioned with silken curtains and filled with large beds and couches. Glossy-eyed patrons loll about and mewl, their minds burning with shiver, pesh, qat, flayleaf, and other exotic drugs.
Making your way to Lamm's ship, you are met by a large burly half-orc with one large tooth protruding from his mouth like a tusk - he glares evilly at Vaenathis as he arrives, but is neutral(ish) to the rest of you. He ignores any attempts at conversation, slurring only "Ish 'ay. 'Ollow me." He leads you below decks, to the lower levels of the ship and to a bare, wooden room perhaps 15 feet across. A lantern burns fitfully on a stand; there is no other furniture. The half-orc glares at you. "Shtay 'ere." It appears you are to wait until Lamm is ready to see you.
Others arrive, until there are five of you all waiting in the room. You look around closely. Are they potential rivals? Or are these the 'new friends' that your mysterious voice told you about?
And so, you wait. Time passes, slowly.
A large man who looks about thirty years old, apparently the first to arrive, stands near the center of the room. He stands a shade over six feet tall and has a lean and muscled frame. The slight swaying of the ship doesn't seem to bother him as he seems almost supernaturally well balanced.
His large rectangular face is more eye grabbing though. A prominent nose that looks as if it has been broken a few times sits below two green eyes that are narrow but still manage to stand out because of their piercing colour. They aren't overshadowed at all by a pair of very well defined eyebrows that separate them for a very substantial forehead whose size is enhanced by the slicked back silver hair, cut short, on top. Beneath off of this is a massive chin that looks like it can take a lot of punishment.
A large and cruel scar runs down he right side of his face. Maybe the cause of this scar is what gives the mean his bearing of barely contained rage.
He ignores the rest for a little while but as time stretches he gives the other four in the room a once over.
You lot fond of cards? He asks in a rough voice but neutral tone
Juliet pauses before she enters Eel's End. Reaching into her pocket, she grabs the Harrow card and shoves it down the front of her pants, putting it by her right thigh, trusting the snug fit of her breeches to hold it into place. Best not let anyone find this until you know more about it.
----
Nodding to the orc, Juliet makes her way below decks, to the bare wooden room. Nowhere to sit, nowhere to hang this wet cloak. Just a lantern and legbreaker. Beautiful eyes, but that face is wrecked. Stay clear of him - he looks like he's good at using those hands.
----
As you enter, you see a woman, mid-twenties, with a wiry, but curvy frame, a stange combination of lithe and solid. If you catch a glance under her worn blue cloak, you see that she's dressed in the manner of a proper Chelaxian woman, stylish and functional, in a manner that accentuates her assets. She's obviously an athlete of some sort - she carries herself as if coiled, whether to strike out at someone, or strike a dance movement, you can't be sure. Hanging from her belt is a scabbard holding what appears to be an ornate fencing blade - definitely more expensive than anything else with her. The basket hilt is ostentatious and silver, or silver-plated at least.
Despite the manner of her dress, the woman's features are distinctly Varisian. Curly black hair, kept long and free. Deep brown eyes, olive skin. Her face is striking, attractive really, but not beautiful by any means - her mouth is too small, her face a little thin.
The woman has a nervous energy as she waits, which of course could be expected, if she's here for the same reasons as you. After awhile, she starts singing - almost under her breath - a classic ballad, Snowmelt on the Jeggare River, a song that metaphorically tells the tale of the House Jeggare, and the great deeds with which they flood history. The singing is probably a nervous tick , but you can't help but notice that it is good. Snowmelt is a particularly difficult song, with great range, and the woman hits every note perfectly, nerves and all.
-----
Others enter. Lots of standing. Juliet sings under her breath. Then, legbreaker talks, and Juliet, she cocks an eyebrow. A trick?
"Love 'em, actually. Gamble every chance I get. Like Harrow too. A skilled Moth can tell you a lot. Just got a reading today, actually. Not sure the Moth was so skilled, though. It was pretty cryptic."
There's more going on with that legbreaker than just a pretty face. It could end in a kick or a kiss, but he and Juliet would definitely be chinnying.
Lorick lets his lips turn up in a smirk. The comment from the fencer - rich accent.. fancy song... used to slumming... desperate? could mean anything but then again so could his. That's the way pretty much every conversation went in a crime lord's den. Unless you were a fool of course.
Readers are either cons or don't tell you anything useful till it's too damn late. Lorick snorts. Either way just get you into trouble. Lorick gives the fencer a look over sharp as that blade... could know how to use it... heart stabber if I ever saw one before continuing Now gambling's a good way to pass the time. All the interesting games got real expense buy-ins though.
The group gathered within the hull of the Eel's End could have been forgiven for not the noticing woman with frayed black hair when she first entered. Not because the tall, spindly woman had employed any sort of tradition stealth, but because of how utterly unremarkable she appears at first glance. In keeping with her body type, the her facial features are long and angular, with thin lips pursed with grim anticipation, and dark eyes which seem to stare at nothing in particular.
She wears long brown dress which, despite its the intricately woven designs, tall turtleneck, and rumbled sleeves, appears rather prosaic on her. The only striking thing she seems to add to it are two curious lumps which protrude form her back (and even seem to quiver no and then). Beneath the dress she appears to be wearing black, linen trousers with knee-high boots. Braided into a few locks of her hair (which overall falls at about elbow length on her back), are white and red threads. Perhaps they were meant to add color to her otherwise drab ensemble, but they only serve to draw extra attention to the hair's unkempt state.
Yet, despite her overall humdrum appearance, keen observers are able to spot a strange, lilting grace in her swaying walk. An even closer study reveals that, while clearly anxious, she appears unperturbed by the swaying of the ship or the strange gathering of folk around her. As if it were all old-hat.
Perhaps more noteworthy than the woman herself however, is that she is accompanied by a large (for one of it's kind) king crab, all black, red, and covered in spikes. As as it enters the room, the thing moves into a shadowy corner, navigating the terrain with unnerving intelligence.
---
Gehenna half-listens as two of the other individuals nearby strike up conversation about gambling or some such. Doesn't matter much what she thinks. Most of these people will probably be dead by the end of the day. Nothing new when it came to special meetings called by Lamm.
Still...
Nervous hands reach into a pouch hanging around her waist and feel for the card.
"Fufu...," a quiet laugh escapes her lips. "We must be partial to it. After all, we're all here gambling though, aren't we?"
Meanwhile the young deGrey girl can barely muster the concentration to add to the conversation. With each roll and jerk of the Eel's End her stomach rolled in turn. It was all she could do just to keep from dry heaving; how she hated this thrice-damned ship.
She holds the card she recieved earlier in her off hand, apparently making no real effort to hide it. That, combined with the well-worn longsword hanging at her side and leather armor that looked as if it was originally intended someone half her size, likely sends the message that she is not particularly experienced with this sort of business.
"Gambling *ugh* is hardly a noble pursuit. Too much is already left to chance for one to tempt fate further, I think."
*Hrk*
She leans against a wall to help cement herself, though it does little as it continues to move alongside the rest of the ship.
Keeping his eyes on the haf-orc as he ushers in the last of the people gathered and then leaves, Vaenathis then turns to look at the others, taking their measure of sorts as he does so.
Fair-skinned, the half-elf, who stands five feet and ten inches tall, is slender yet fit, combining traits from both sides of his family. His shoulder-length silvery white hair and pointed ears he has clearly inherited from his elven parent, while his violet eyes are not unlike those that more than a few Varisians are born with. Dressed in comfortable fitted attire of black, midnight blue and light gray, complemented with short gloves and knee-high boots made of soft black leather, his armor is a simple and functional suit of leather partially covered by his clothes. It appears that he carries but a single weapon; a two-handed sword with a slender gently curved blade and of decidedly elven craftsmanship rests in its scabbard secured across his back, mostly hidden under his black hooded cloak.
'An interesting group of people, to be sure,' he thinks to himself before the large man's question catches his attention. 'Oh, my my my...'
"Cards? Sure, I have played now and then," he replies with a shrug, his tone showing mild indifference. "I usually lose though. The one I play against is pretty good at it. Why? Are you looking for a game?"
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EVERYONE
__________________
When enough time has passed and Lamm is good and ready, the tusked half-orc returns and leads you to the main hold of the ship. Lamm famously never bothers to have guests searched for weapons - the clear implication being that others should fear him.
The main hold of the ship is one large chamber, strewn with tables and benches. Normally there are raucous 'games' being put on for Lamm's entertainment, cruel games like 'knivesies'; one part of the floor is cut away, with a pair of manacles suspended from the ceiling via a winch. Now, all is silent: the assorted minions perch on benches, watching as you are led in before your 'host'.
Gaedren Lamm, cruel, callous snake, plague on Korvosa’s forgotten children, drug dealer, extortionist and all-around despicable wretch, is seated on a raised chair built into the bow of the ship. The self-styled 'King of Spiders' is a lean, compactly-built half-elf with close-cropped iron-grey hair and blue eyes. His black sculpted armor is accented with a steel spider-shaped shoulder baldric and a thick chain criss-crossing his chest, linked together in the shape of a spider’s web. His signature weapons - gauntlets fixed with blades over the knuckles - glisten with poison. Now and then, spiders clamber over his skin, but he takes no notice. Whispers say that Lamm has the blood of fiends in him, and that he can communicate with spiders telepathically.
Well-schooled in the credo, “secrets can kill,” Lamm earned his 'King of Spiders' moniker by collecting the secrets of many powerful personages throughout Korvosa and bending them to his influence. Another key to his success lies in the regular shipments of shiver he supplies, the funds from which ensure that his vice taxes are always paid on time. Now a presence in Korvosa's underworld for over 30 years, and no one daring provide reasons for the Korvosan Guard to object too loudly to his operation, Lamm is living proof that, sometimes, crime does pay.
He smiles warmly at you. "Well, look what we have here." The voice is soft, like a growl: Lamm famously never shouts, and rarely raises his voice. He doesn't have to. "Bar-stewards, poor-sons, cluck-wits, kiss-pots, and motherless pitches." Lamm also doesn't swear: instead, he takes perfectly innocent words and twists them to his obscene purposes. It's somehow worse than if he used an honest swearword.
There is muffled laughter from the minions seated behind you: Lamm likes an audience, but nobody dares draw too much attention to themselves.
He pauses, looking intently at each one of you, before continuing. "As it happens, I'm not happy. Now, which of you miserable, worthless bits of dog-skit is going to ask me why I'm not happy?"
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On any other day, Gehenna would have kept her silence. On any other day she would have let some other poor fool have the first word with Gaedren Lamm, "King of Spiders." On a normal day she'd stare blankly at familiar sight of the floorboards of Lamm's "throne room," and wait for misfortune to come to her. Perhaps it was the magicked card which the gourmand had bandied about, Takis' unusual persistence this morning, or his uncharacteristic act of charity that made today different.
Or maybe Gehenna was just tired of simply letting things happen.
There was once a time where everyday was spent mentally exploring her options. How she might escape this life that she'd been saddled with. Yet, no matter how intently she focused her mind on the problem, it always looked futile. All paths converged toward failure once she'd seen them through to their logical conclusions. This latest oddity that had arrived in the form of a card, seemed more than a little dubious in her mind. More likely to be a trap than an opportunity. But there was a limit to what a person could forecast, predict, and ascertain through their own thoughts alone.
It's all one big, stupid gamble she reflects with baneful mirth.
Her eyes raise to meet Lamm's own, "Why are you not happy, Gaedren Lamm?"
For once in her life, Gehenna decides to avoid the safe bet. Win or lose, Takis would be hard pressed to scowl at her so next time they met. If fate should allow it.
He stands a shade over six feet tall and has a lean and muscled frame.
Yep. Definitely a legbreaker. Looks like a man likes to get hit almost as much as hit others. How'd you get the scar, Chin?
Fair-skinned, the half-elf, who stands five feet and ten inches tall, is slender yet fit...
Maybe a burglar, with that sword more likely an assassin. You're supposed to see Chin coming a block away. This guy, if he's good, you'll never see him at all.
...sends the message that she is not particularly experienced with this sort of business.
Poor kid. Probably the chum.
...two curious lumps which protrude form her back (and even seem to quiver no and then)...
Whoa. Its like her and the king crab came from the set of one of Pilt's plays.
So, you've got the hammer, the scalpel, the bait. What's King Crab's and pet? The creatures under the bed?
Juliet sighs and looks around the room again. What's that old saying? Look around the room, and if you don't see the sucker, you're it? Welcome back to Eel's End, sucker.
Silence. Lamm's playing to the crowd. Building tension. Psycho should've been a theater director.
What did I do? Everything Lamm wanted, that's what. Got Grease-Fingers into that party. Grease-Fingers left with a big ole grin on his smarmy mug, so things went well, at least as far as I know. Maybe Ty did something, but I don't know what. Or mostly I don't know what, anyways. I'll lie through my teeth if it comes down to that. But whoever put that pea under Lamm's mattress, it wasn't me.
Which means I'm not the sucker. I've got another role to play here. I'm safe.
Juliet opens her mouth to ask Lamm about the pea under his mattress when Nightmare beats her to the punch. Gods, girl, hope you're not the sucker!
Lamm smiles evilly at Gehenna. "I'm very glad you asked that, my widdle witch. Someone - some really very stupid punt - is stealing my property. My addicts. Some flashy alchemist from Absalom has come all the way over here and is cooking up in my city." He shakes his head and chuckles. "Well, you have to laugh at some people's nerve, don't you? It's almost sweet, really: he's set up in Midland, just off Warehouse Way - seems to think if he stays away from Old Korvosa I won't notice. That's where you lot come in."
He glares at you. "You lot can go pretty much anywhere in the city without trouble. So, when this little brass-hole opens up for business at 7 o clock tonight, you're going to waltz in and shut him down. Don't care how. Open him up if you have to. And his cronies. But." He waves a finger at you all. "Those addicts there are my property. I won't have them harmed, understand? Bad for business if you hurt your customers."
"Oh yeah. One more thing. The drugs he's put together. Dump 'em in the river. Destroy his lab. Don't want anyone getting their hands on his stuff and getting ideas."
Lamm sighs with satisfaction at the prospect of violence well done. "Any questions?"
Once it's clear that the audience is over, the noise levels return to normal; games resume, and the various denizens of the ship go back to their habitual activities.
The alchemist has set up in an abandoned fishery: see the X on the map link. Lamm is able to provide directions to it.
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JULIET
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Grease-Fingered Ladzlo makes a point of bumping into you: "Hello, girlie." He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Put in a good word for you after last night, I did. Seems you're gonna survive the interview after all. You wanna show grateful, you know where to find me..."
With a final leer, he shuffles away.
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VAENATHIS
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Davor looks even angrier than usual - he was really hoping to see you wind up as food for Lamm's pet: instead you've landed a chance to impress the boss. He digs a sharp, filthy nail into your chest. "Better not screw this up. I'll be watching you to see. Just make one slip-up, pointy. Just one..." With a snarl, and a blast of halitosis, he strides off.
As Vaen looks around at the others, hearing them talk of gambling and perhaps meaning something more than simply that, he catches the woman with the fencing blade more or less doing the same. 'Varisian, from the looks of her,' he thinks as her eyes move from the big man to him. His only response is a little smile, his expression one of amicability.
He briefly wonders if he has seen any of the others around town before. After all, they all appear to be working for the same man. But, it is a very large city.
'Ah, a team effort,' he thinks as soon as Lamm has told them of the job and what it entails. 'Which means that the alchemist is probably far from ill prepared to deal with rivals should they appear.' Another look at his new 'friends' and another thought. 'It also means that these fine folks may not be entirely trustworthy. Lamm is their -our- boss, after all.'
His musings are interrupted by a thick finger, a sharp nail and more than a little bad breath. Looking up, he sees the familiar and ugly face of a certain half-orc. "I will do my best not to then, Davor. I would hate to disappoint you, after all," he quips with another amicable, though perhaps less than honest, smile.
Evelyn lingers in Lamms presence for a few moments longer than the others. Her eyes are locked on the vile man and she wears a visible scowl as she dwells on all the things she'd like to do with him.
That is, if there weren't all these thugs around.
So instead she is forced to slink away quietly along with her new companions.
Every second, every instant, that Lamm had turned his full attention toward Gehenna had made the woman want to recoil violently in an act of self-preservation. Would do just the opposite, however. Even after he'd begun addressing the entire group proper, the emotional effects of the simple exchange lingered. He whole body wants to shake, but somehow she contains it. Here, of all possible places, Gehenna knew she needed to at least appear composed.
O-Off Warehouse Way she thinks on the specifics to calm her nerves. I should be able to find it easily enough with an address. At least once a week, Gehenna would walk up Harborview Boulevard en route to Bookmaker's. Occasionally she would divert to Warehouse Way and give the gourmand a chance to immerse in the waters of the Jaggare River.
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Juliet's eyes meet the Sword's. Half-elven, half-Varisian, judging by his features. Keep him close. Returning his smile with a quick nod, she moves onto studying the next one.
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Stepping forward, the opera singer gives Lamm a low bow. "I'm honored, King of Spiders, to be chosen by you for this job, as I'm sure my new friends are. For those of you that don't know me, I'm Juliet. Let's meet a half-hour before the cook opens his shop, at the nearest street intersection to the south of the fishery."
"King of Spiders, I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out, but perhaps you can save us some time. Do you have a name for this cook, or a description?"
As she listens to Lamm's answer, Juliet continues studying the others. The kid. The kid's no bait, she's part of our team. What is she? Young, obviously homeless. A former Lamm? Doesn't add up that she's here with the rest of us. Which means, she could be the most dangerous one of all. Giving the girl a final once-over, Juliet notices the Harrow card clutched in the girl's hand, and a shiver runs over Juliet's skin. First the Jaw and his cards, now the Kid with a Harrow of her own. Someone's playing a dangerous game.
As the interview breaks up, Juliet makes sure to get herself near to the Kid as possible. The light is dim, but Juliet can just make out the size and styling of the card gripped in the Kid's hand. Yep. Same deck, gods damn. "Kid! Put that card in your pocket! Best not draw too much attention to yourself here!"
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Walking towards the exit to Lamm's throne room, Juliet spies Greased-Fingers lurking in the shadows of the room. Perhaps it is the range of emotions that have been wracking the singer all day - worry and agitation with Ty, fear of Lamm, and finally, when it became clear she'd survive this interview, a flood of relief - but the sight of Ladzlo brings on another swing of emotion - most notably rage. Rage at the man for his wrap of shiver, rage at him for the proposition or threat before the interview started. Still here, eh? I'll give you a proposition, Chel.
Turning and raising her voice so that it will carry to every corner of the room, Juliet again address Lamm. "There's something else, King of Spiders. When you asked the question a few minutes ago - Why aren't I happy? - the thought crossed my mind, just for a second, that it could be something that happened last night." Juliet continues, purposely screwing up Ladzlo's nickname. "Something that happened with Greasy-Fingers here... King of Spiders, I know that I am a minor cog in your machine. But, I should state, I am still a cog - and one that has to function cleanly for other parts to work. One that shouldn't be compromised by anyone's personal agenda. King of Spiders, you may not know this, but Fingers here does - I used to be a shiver addict. I am clear-headed now, and that's a good thing for you as well as I - a shivering one can hardly be counted on for much - access, distractions, legbreaking, or anything else that you need."
Removing the wrap of shiver from her pocket, Juliet holds it up for Lamm to see. "Look familiar? It should. It's yours. Greasy gave it to me last night, with a sneer and a proposition. King of Spiders, I ask you, how useful an asset can I be as a junkie? To get you the access you want, I have to be clear-minded, not asleep or near-comatose from your product. And I'm sure you know this. Greasy doesn't hold your interests above his own, uh, baser instincts. And of course he should, as we all should. It is not my place to tell you how you should impress upon your men the importance of putting their motivations second to yours."
Juliet nods to the hole in the floor of the ship. "But were I you, I know what I'd do."
Juliet leans in close to Ladzlo, and whispers in his ear, "I'd berth a whole litter of otyughs before I'd let you into my leggings."
"Kid! Put that card in your pocket! Best not draw too much attention to yourself here!"
Current events had put Evelyn in a sour mood. She didn't like Lamm, she didn't like this stinkin boat that made her stomach turn, and she didn't like being employed as some common thug. She also didn't know any of the other ruffians she had suddenly been cast in with. So when one of her new "allies" felt the need to give her advice, the young girl replied with a sharper tongue than normally would:
"Do not call me 'kid'. My name is Evelyn, and you will refer to me as such. And I am hardly concerned with what these vermin see of me; I am here to work, not make friends. Even if I were have you forgotten that we were the center of attention not but a minute ago? One could hardly hope to remain inconspicuous in the face of such scrutiny."
"Let's meet a half-hour before the cook opens his shop, at the nearest street intersection to the south of the fishery."
"Very well. In the meantime I will gather my family and we will reconvene."
Silence falls as Juliet addresses Lamm in this outspoken fashion. No one dares speak. No one dares be heard breathing too loudly.
Lamm's eyes glitter in the half-light, as he looks at the wiry, curvy-framed young woman.
Time itself seems to stop.
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Very powerful, or very dense. Either way, she's unaware or uncaring of the peril she's in. And that makes the kid dangerous to you.
"Of course, Evelyn. My sincere apologies." Juliet's eyes travel downwards, to the card. "And, its just friendly advice - people can't take interest in things they can't see."
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Juliet flexes swallows and flexes her hand, mentally preparing herself to draw Spite and make a run for the door.
Balls.
Now that the words were out of her mouth, Evelyn felt somewhat guilty about having spoken so strongly. Alinys was always telling her to stop being so stubborn.
Reluctantly she slides the card into her pocket. "I will keep it in mind..." she mutters.
Moments later Juliet was giving her impromptu speech to the entire Eel's End.
Best not to draw too much attention to yourself, indeed. she thinks with the slightest hint of satisfaction.
Closing his eyes momentarily and pinching the bridge of his nose, Vaenathis breathes in sharply before letting the air out slowly. 'On one hand, you have this Evelyn and what a nice and friendly girl she seems to be,' he thinks as he studies the two women. 'And then Juliet and her oh so forward manner she talks to Lamm with.'
Leaning his back against a wall, he rests his head against his clasped hands. He certainly seems relaxed enough, but it is not simply a comfortable position he seeks, but to also bring his hands a little closer to his sword's hilt in a way that is at least a little inconspicuous. He does not plan to draw it, of course, but with the type of people gathered here... well, one never knows when one may need to get a weapon in one's hands quickly.
Otherwise, he makes no move to interject, at least for the moment, letting the scene before him unfold and the interaction between the swordswoman and the crimelord continue.
Eventually, Lamm speaks: his tone conversational. "Ladzlo? Did you know she'd quit the drugs?" He keeps his eyes fixed on Juliet, as a snake regards its prey.
"No, Boss, honestly I - I didn't - I gave her the wrap last night just as you said - I -" he falls silent as Lamm holds up one hand.
"Clever girl, wriggling off the drugs hook from under my nose. Not so clever, talking to me like that. Think you're free of me? Think I don't have a hold on you?"
His voice hasn't risen in tone at all; indeed, it has if anything got softer.
Murderously quiet.
"Think again, my girl. I still own you. One word from me - one - and bad things happen: to you, to those you care about. And you think you can give me advice?"
Another pause.
"Or maybe I misheard what you said. It can happen - there's a lot of noise in here, you get strange echoes occasionally. So, maybe if you tell me what you actually meant to say, maybe I won't make you take that shiver right now; and maybe I won't give you to Ladzlo for the next day. Or two."
His eyes hold Juliet's gaze, waiting.
Juliet casts her eyes down, listening to Lamm intently, her mind turning over the situation her mouth has gotten her into. It hadn't occurred to her that Lamm was the one that wanted the her to have the shiver. Think, girl, think! You talked yourself into this, now talk yourself out of it!
All the confidence that she had when she first spoke up gone, her voice comes out little more than a whisper, shaky. "Forgive me. It had not occurred to me that the wrap was meant as a gift. I know that you own me, and I mean no disrespect to you, King of Spiders. I merely mean to serve you in the best manner that I can." Shaking, the singer moves forward to the hole in the ground and peers over the side. "Doubt me? Ask me to jump, and I will."
Raising her head to look Lamm in the eyes, fear and pleading on her face, Juliet does her best to read his intentions...
Lamm smiles. "Yes. That's what I thought you said. Good girl. Ladzlo? Stay away from her."
"O - of course, Boss." Grease-Fingered Ladzlo gives Juliet a look like a thrown knife, but he obeys.
Lamm answers your other questions: he doesn't know what the alchemist looks like, but he's human. He gives you the address and exact location of the laboratory.
Then he dismisses you all. Time to go.
You emerge, blinking, into the warm light of a sunny Spring afternoon.
With nothing better to do (or nowhere else to go) Evelyn decides to enjoy the pleasant weather while also getting some scouting done; two birds with one stone, as it were.
She heads towards the address Lamm had given them and does some walking around, trying to get a sense of the area and the people there.
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Out of the throne room, as fast as Juliet's shaking legs can carry her, and then up topside and off the ship, Juliet makes it a few more feet and then collapses. She vomits her breakfast onto the pier in great heaving wretches and then rolls to her back, staring up at the sun and taking in greedy, ragged breaths.
Jewel of Great Worth. New Friends. Lancet Street. The Kid had a card. Maybe the Legbreaker too. You need new friends, girl.
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EVELYN
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Your reconnaissance takes you past several rows of derelict warehouses, right on the riverfront itself. The building Lamm has directed you to is an old fishery: a two-story building to which a decaying ship is still moored.
From a distance it looks as if the place is still abandoned. Only on getting close - and knowing what to look for - can you see that the double doors on the street-level entry and the doors to either side of the building are reinforced, and fitted with very good locks. A clear indicator that whoever is inside does not want to be disturbed, but wants to be subtle about it.
Tired. No sleep, girl, no way. Sleep now, and you'll crash - and then you'll sleep with the jigsaws. Nope. You can sleep tonight, after you deal with the cook and get to the Ricci's for your paying job.
Juliet feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the cook - an unnamed, unknown sucker she may have to put down, at the request of the rabid dog that owned her. Stop it. Better the cook than you.
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Juliet clambers up a nearby direlect, and perches for a couple of hours, studying the layout of the of the warehouse, and looking for any comings and goings. By midafternoon, her emptied stomach is raw and rumbling. Leaving her perch, Juliet heads to the nearest fishmonger, grabs a tuna kabob, and heads to her apartment, to see if her brother is there.