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Thanks for the selection!
Nod.
[ooc]Milah, see discussion thread please. ;)
Another day in Port Shaw, another day of fishing around for salvage off of the Old Docks. Today's haul was meager, consisting of a few scraps of castoff metal amid flotsam... this might be enough to keep the flophouse able to feed you hard tack and stringy, gristle-laden meat. Or at least, you hope it will, for hunger gnaws at your belly.
Still, you make do the best you can, understanding that you are quite blessed for a Lizardfolk, living in a comfortable city rather than a fetid marsh where you would likely have your head bashed in during mating season my another male.
You reflect on these things as you head back to the Run Aground Tavern, a ramshackle cabin of a tavern in the Tide District that serves as a flophouse of sorts for many of the homeless and destitute. You wonder just what sort of mystery meat is in the stew Falgor Finney has whipped up, but no matter what, at least the cheap, watery ale will wash it down relatively fast. The kind old Dwarf tries his best to help as many people as possible, but his idealism has left him almost as ragged and penniless as those who depend on him.
You open the door to the tavern, casting such thoughts to the back of your mind. A few dirty urchins tug at your legs, asking what you have in your bag and bombarding you with questions. Many of the people in the tavern look to you, their joy at seeing you apparent. Your appearance has won you few friends in Port Shaw, but these haggard, destitute people see you as more than just a reptilian monster because you've kept some of the more troublesome people in Port Shaw from harming those destitute who live here.
Glancing around, you see a strange sight. A man in black and silver clothing of finest silk, wearing a broad black hat of some velvety material sits at the bar, his back to you. He is chatting with Falgor, who is pretending to be preoccupied cleaning a glass, as he always does.
You reach down in your purse to tip the local bard at The Pig's Whistle, one of the most lively taverns in the bawd district, and sigh as you notice most of your gold from your last venture is gone. Ah well, even though you lost a lot of gold last night, it was worth it just to play cards with Jaq 'Goldfingers' Tumerin, one of the most renowned gamblers in the entire Razor Coast region and one of the few 'old guard pirates' left in the region.
You sometimes lament that there aren't as many true pirates and followers of the goddess Besmara in Port Shaw, but with all the stuffy colonial types, their large garrison of military-trained Dragoons, and one of the largest naval fleets in the entire world, you can't realistically expect any but the most brave, or insane, pirates to prowl the waters.
You snap back from your thoughts and glance around, eager to take in the atmosphere while you still have the coin. A burly Halfling man by the name of Naughty Nick, an infamous lothario with a truly stunning voice, sings a jig about Besmara while fiddling like a madman. The sound barely manages to drown out the dozens of conversations that resound in the packed tavern. The wooden clock, shaped like a pig dressed in a naval officer uniform with a monocle and rapier , opens its mouth and squeals, signaling the new hour.
A comely, buxom barmaid with long blonde tresses and perhaps the most low-cut piece of topwear ever, saunters over to you, a tray in her hand with a large silver stein no doubt holding enough rum to put under your average Dwarf. You begin to protest, for you had ordered no rum and scarcely have the money to afford it, but she speaks, her husky voice a purr, "No money necessary honey, it's already been taken care of!" after leaving the tray and stein next to you, she saunters off.
You sit there confused for a moment about who would buy you a drink, but you shrug and pick up the stein, taking a nice chug of rum... and it seems to be the best too, Beached Kraken Rum, if you recall from the taste. As you go to sit the stein back down, you notice a small paper note lay folded under where the stein once sat.
A throaty reverberating croak escapes the reptilian's taught lips.
Everything alright, Fal?
You sit, foot propped up on the chair next to you, in the Broken Skull Tavern, waiting for your match to begin. Sure, pit fights weren't the most glorious activity for Kasatha such as yourself, but neither was it the lowest activity either. It doesn't hurt, of course, that you have an extra set of arms to pummel the opposition with, but you often wonder why it was that other races weren't born with four arms as well... perhaps their gods intended them for something other than battle?
You catch a whiff of the air, which smells of sweat, blood, and urine, smells that you thought you had acclimated to an hour ago. It is not a particularly pleasant smell, but for an underground fighting ring in the Bawd District, you weren't expecting much more. At least the Dragoons do not head by, not since a Dragoon tried to break up the ring a few weeks ago and was promptly beaten to death and dropped into the water around the docks. Though the Dragoons ceased their attempts to break up the fighting ring, you have seen the owner hand a bag of gold to a suspiciously dressed 'patron' several times in the past week, bribe money no doubt.
Your match comes up soon, so you take a moment to view who would be facing you tonight. The two combatants within the ring now are two experienced pugilists with a great deal of wins under their belt. The first, Scarlet Petals, is a beautiful yet fierce Elven woman who fights with a ferocity seldom seen in the soft races of Port Shaw. She is rumored to be an enforcer for one of the local gangs, something supported by the tattoo on her right arm, a rose dripping petals. You recall hearing of tattoos like this, with the petals representing the numbers of targets eliminated. You swiftly count 24 red petals... quite a collection for such a seemingly frail woman to hold. The other combatant is a hulking beast of an Orc, wearing a large mask of pitted iron with a fierce visage, that goes by the name of Garthokk the Scarred Strangler. You have not seen his fighting style, but he is rumored to have caused more deaths in the ring than any other combatant, killing some in a single blow, breaking several necks, and, living up to his adage, crushing the windpipes of several others.
The match begins and Garthokk charges at the Elven woman, his gauntleted hands balled into fists. He swings savagely, the Elven woman deftly dodging them, her face bearing a smirk. After dodging several more swings, she leaps over the Orc then turns around, he hand flat as a blade and brings it down on the base of his skull, knocking him out in a single move. You make a mental note to yourself of her skill, for she will be a worthy combatant.
"WE HAVE A WINNER! SCARLET PETALS WINS!" The announcer yells. You stand, ready to face the firce Elven woman, but you notice a man talking to the announcer. The man, dressed in black and white finery, hands a large pouch to the announcer, who nods his head and jingles the coin pouch. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MEET YOUR NEW CHAMPION, MISS SCAAAAAAAAARLET PETALS!!! Wait a second, champion? She did not even face you! You look at the man and the announcer and know something just happened, but what it is that happened, you do not know.
You make your way to the outskirts of Port Shaw with your companion, Tekongo, who insists on you calling him Tek. How fortuitous is was for you to find one of your people who knows the sign language you need to communicate effectively, for such individuals are all too rare.
Many of the local Tulita received you coldly as you arrived for reasons unknown to you. When you finally found Tek and he acted as a translator between yourself and the local chieftain who has been forced into submission by the colonials. You spoke to him about your vision and, honestly, you were shocked at his reply, "Honored Bocor, you receive visions of truth, visions of problem, yes. But did you see plight of our people, plight of the Tulita? Until you see plight of Tulita, you not see all there is to see." He pointed at Tek, the scrawny translator and spoke again, "Tekongo, take Bocor Woefully Fat to Duntisi Plantation, take him to see our people. Once he sees, bring him back to us, bring him back so we may speak again. Go now and see true suffering, Bocor."
You had heard of the suffering your people face, but now you would see it firsthand. You make your way down the dirt road, which gradually widens as you near the plantation. Finally clearing the edge of the trees, you stand at the plantation. At first, you marvel at the stately white home, larger than even a whole village your people have constructed. Then, you see the plight of your people. Droves of them walk amongst the sugarcane plants with machetes, their fatigue apparent as they hack the plants and place the canes in large burlap bags. You see a colonial man dressed in finery, two Tulita women dressed like harlots at his side. A Tulita man falls under the burden of what must be over a hundred pounds of sugarcane he is carrying. A nearby Dragoon walks by the man and begins beating the man with a riding crop.
Tek makes his sign language, "You see now why Chieftain send you to see? This is plight of Tulita under Mother Pele. The Prophecy is beginning to come true. Our people lie under heels of those who wearing finery and bearing thundersticks. Our people suffer, Bocor." Suddenly, you see the colonial man look to you and Tek from the distance and he shouts at you, "You there, servants, get back to work if you want ANY pay this month!"
This makes the third day you've been in the Slippery Oyster, one of Port Shaws most 'well-stocked' brothels. A few days ago you finished with your latest job, acting as bouncer for some spoiled little colonial and his friends, a status symbol for him to parade around. You were paid well, but after the job was over, you felt dirty, felt the shame you have been holding back for so long. How many years has it been since you lost to your rival for the woman of your dreams? How long since you were cast out from your people and made to wander the world alone?
The days of constant drinking and little sleep wear on you, but you don't dare stop, for fear the memories will return to you and reveal the gaping hole in your heart.
You clutch the small, soft human woman like a toy as you rut with her furiously, trying to cast your inner demons out with each thrust. Jalissa, as you learned her name when you first arrived, was the only one of the women to approach you at the Slippery Oyster. Whether out of desperation for the coin or some instinctive understanding of your state as you walked in, she agreed to service you. Whatever the case, the two of you have spent the last three days together and both of you are beginning to tire.
After some time of furniture-shaking intercourse, the two of you finally finish and lay there on the red velvet sheets. You stare at the ceiling, half-asleep and almost at peace, taking the time to enjoy the calmness that has come over you. Your powerful chest breathes in and out slowly. Suddenly you feel Jalissas fingernails lightly brush you as she caresses your powerful shoulder. You almost fall asleep, almost succumb to peaceful oblivion, and then there is a knock on the door and an old womans voice can be heard, "Mr.Ruul? Mr. Ruul? I hate to interrupt you, but there's a man here to see you."
Jalissa looks at you, her blue eyes contrasting her red hair and ivory white skin. She speaks to you, her voice soft like a whisper, "You don't have to get up, Mr.Ruul, I can see what the man wants. Why don't you rest? You look like you need it more than I do, sugar."
You feel the cool water splash on your fur, calm and relaxing, as you stand in the river. As the water washes over you, you feel a sense of serenity as the blue begins to run red. It had been what seems like an eternity ago since the brigands killed your kin, but now you had revenge and it felt GOOD. All the hatred you had in your heart now began to flow from you, washing away as surely as the blood being washed from your fur.
The man at the tattoo parlor was right, the tattoo he gave you really WAS lucky. You remember doubting it when he first mentioned it, but what else could it have been BUT luck that led you to the murderers? The recent storm had forced the brigands to take shelter near where you had been staying, a storm which appeared out of nowhere seemingly. And then, when you spotted them, they did not hear the snapping of a treebranch you stepped on as you were stalking them because of a peal of thunder at just the right moment. And then, as you killed them, one man had his gun leveled right at you and pulled the trigger... only for the gun to backfire and take off half of his face. You would have to thank the tattoo artist later, you muse to yourself.
After you finish cleaning all the blood and gore off of you and your equipment, you head to the memorial you built for your family, just in the forest of tropical plants near the Duntisi Plantation.
You look at your surroundings now, the tropical plants and every other facet of the environment looking much brighter and lovelier, but perhaps that is simply because of your mood.
You reach the monument, a small handcarved slab of rock you used to mark the spot. You look over the remains of all the flowers you had placed on the memorial and see something unusual... a small sealed letter with a single white rose laid across it.
The bocor called Woefully Fat had come a long way. He had walked, ridden, and sailed leagues to stand beneath the shadow of Mother Pele. His people, the Aizanes-Tulita, had long given up the sole worship of the more traditional gods of the Tulita: Great Pele, Lakua Mao, and the Totem spirits. He would still give tribute to the western gods as was appropriate, but he served the Loa, foreign gods carried across the sea by Libynos traders; spirits of life and death, earth and air, the duality of humanity and nature. They were what he drew his strength from, but they were not well known here. Woefully Fat hoped that this would not make him a pariah among his lighter-toned brothers.
And so the bocor listened when brought before a local Tulita shaman, or at least he listened as well as a deaf man could. His hearing had been gone for many years, stolen by the vengeful orisha Legba for his arrogance, but Woefully had learned to cope. He could read lips well enough and understood the sign language brought by the new pale immigrants to the Razor Coast.
One such pale-skinned man was shouting at him now, while the helpful young Tekongo showed him the plight of the Razor Coast Tulita. Woefully couldn't hear him, but he read his intentions easily enough. The colonial took him for a slave, despite his appearance.
Woefully Fat looked different from the typical Tulita in a number of ways. First of all, he was a giant. The bocor had never met a man as large as he, standing well over six and a half feet and easily cresting 25 stones in weight. He was also strikingly dark, his skin closer to ebony than the teak tones of his cousins, a hallmark of a century of Libynos mingling with the Aizanes-Tulita. Finally, he was dressed strangely. He wore little more than light cotton shawl tied loosely about his waist and a pair of hemp sandals to keep his feet from burning on the sun-baked ground. His enormous gut and chest were bare, the better to show off countless scars from blades and fire, symbols of his devotion to the Loa. Around his waist were a number of odd items: a hefty driftwood cudgel, a razor sharp knife, an assortment of pouches and bags containing ritual components, a human-shaped poppet, and his mask.
The slave-driver didn't concern him. Woefully Fat feared no man, for he had stood against the will of a Loa and felt the cold embrace of death itself. A mere mortal could not hope to equal that power. The only whip the bocor would jump to was his gods'. Still, it wouldn't serve to stir up trouble so early after his arrival. He turned his back to the advancing colonial and addressed Tek. "Dat mon thinks weuh slaves. We should guh before trouble finds us." Woefully Fat's speech, like most Aizanes-Tulita, is colored by the Libynosan language and is heavily accented.
One hand reached up and idly scratched behind an ear as he carefully scanned the crowd. He didn't particularly care to be fighting for the enjoyment of others, but it did keep his skills up, and he needed the coin.
Which he'd just seen disappear. With him and Scarlet as the last two contenders for the championship, she would have still received some coin for losing to him. Now though, well this just wasn't going to sit still.
Maneuvering through the crowd, Kawai wasn't afraid to use an extra hand to nudge and push his way to the announcer.
A worthy explanation is mandated! Kawai glares at the announcer, his eyes drifting to stare pointedly at the bag of coin.
Etiel raises an eyebrow at the piece of paper. Before visually acknowledging it she takes a slow, casual look around. Who's watching this? Who knows what I'm about to read? Will that barmaid nod toward anyone?
With practiced casualness, she takes another long slug from the rum, savoring the taste of the Beached Kraken. Then she unfolds the paper and takes a look.
Milah thought vengeance would ease her pain, but now the is a hole inside her. Milah is missing a goal and begins asking herself what now.
Curiousss, who elssse knew of this sssite and what do they have to sssay
Milah will open and read the letter left behind.
You open the door and speak to Madame Coriander, the proprietor of the Slippery Oyster. While she was once quite beautiful, her face is easily the match for a diseased harpy. She's dressed in a rich red velvet gown, which hugs her body, the curves of which are still ALMOST attractive. She speaks to you her voice creaking with age, "Yes, so sorry Mr. Ruul, but the man wishing to speak to you is, as I'm sure you're aware, not a man to be kept waiting."
She motions with her right arm, hand outstretched, towards a man standing near the entrance of the brothel. A tall and dapper man dressed in the style of the colonials, elegant waistcoat and all with a powdered wig, steps forward, his white-gloved hand outstretched. He speaks to you in a rich, baritone voice, "Ah, Mr. Ruul! My apologies for ousting you from your... diversion, as it were, but my lord requests your presence in the Jade District. He has a matter for which your, no doubt exceptional, services are required. So, what say you?"
Tek replies in sign language, "Yes Bocor, now you see? You see why it so important you behold with your eyes? Words can only speak so much of suffering. Come now, let us go before misfortune comes upon us!"
Tek begins walking back on the trail that you used to get here, his pace slightly faster than it was coming here, as if he were eager to get away from the plantation and the pain that it represented.
By the time you reach the announcer, the well-dressed man he was speaking to seems to have vanished into the crowd. Your anger shows, because the announcer looks VERY nervous. "Ok, look, I know it looks bad, but... well, look here. I was paid to give you this letter after forcing you to sit out. I think you'll be very pleased by what it says. And uh, please don't hurt me, I'm only the messenger here!"
The announcer hands you the letter, which is neatly folded over. The golden foil design stamped on the back shows that whoever delivered this had a great deal of money. So perhaps that worm of an announcer was telling you the truth? Only one way to find out...
Milah opens and reads the letter, which is made of some brown parchment. It reads...
Milah,
First of all, let me apologize for this letter being placed in such a manner, but I figured you would be coming here after you wrought your just revenge upon those butchers. If you are reading this, I am glad the tattoo helped you in dealing with the men who took so much from you.
They owed a debt to you, a debt of blood, which has been repaid. But we all owe debts, dear girl, and so I have had this letter placed here to repay one of my own. A, shall we say, good friend has a problem that has come up and he needs people who are up to the task of helping him with it. Seeing as how I have helped you, I was hoping that you could help me, repay the debt you now owe me.
My friend, whose name shall be withheld for discretion's sake, would like for you to meet him at the Jade District tomorrow, bright and early in the morning. Speak with the Elf gentleman wearing a lotus amulet, who will be standing near the water fountain and tell him that Sleeping Tiger sent you. He has promised to pay you quite a large sum of money in exchange for your assistance and discretion. From what I hear, that sum is about a years worth of pay to most people, so I encourage you to go and exploit this opportunity to its fullest.
Hoping this letter finds you in good health and I wish you well, in all things!
Sincerely,
Yashimoto Hazama, Sleeping Tiger
Woefully Fat follows the young Tek down the path silently. He wasn't sure where they were going, but it had to be better than the plantation.
Tek does more sign language as he walks, "Come Bocor, we go back to Chieftan. He will tell you rest of what you are to do, explain more about plight of Tulita in Port Shaw."
The man's face bears a slight look of distaste, "Oh, do you need a... kerchief, Mr. Ruul?"
After reading the letter, Milah stows it away in her pack. Milah then heads to first inn she sees in the Jade district.
With one eye on the announcer, Kawai opens the letter.