The Laughing Gull is a thoroughly disreputable tavern situated near the docks in the roughest part of the city of Belthaar. Widely known as the unofficial headquarters of the Gerozzo crime family, the place is best avoided, but here is where you ended up, after your travels left you penniless and with no means of travel or work.
The city of Belthaar is located west of the Ophrat river, is one of the smallest city-states of Susrah, with a population of only 12,000 people, yet its foundations are ancient, and its gloomy, serpentine streets wind their way between mighty monuments and hoary towers. There are temples and ziggurats dedicated to Belet-Lil, Baal-Khardah, Yadar, and a multitude of others.
Belthaar is currently ruled by the petty king Simashattar III, whose army of 2,000 pikemen and 500 charioteers is involved in a three-way war with its bigger neighbors, Zhaol and Ghezath. The war is cause of most of your misfortunes to date. The city is on curfew, and the only ones allowed to leave, have some sort of letter of recommendation, which you have no idea how to get or where it’s crafted.
The tavern occupies a ramshackle two‐storey wooden building built on the end of a pier, sitting above the waters of the harbour. A couple of dodgy‐looking Gerozzo family soldiers loiter outside, but most people stupid enough to come here without an invitation are admitted with little more than a shrug of the shoulders. Inside, the main bar is on two levels; stairs lead up to a first‐floor balcony where Orzo Gerozzo and his lieutenants look down on the action below in some comfort. Common thieves, low‐level enforcers and teenage pickpockets drink at rough tables and benches on the lower floor.
In the center of the room is a large round hole in the floor, surrounded by a low wooden railing. The dark waters of the bay are just five feet below the hole, and occasionally a large dorsal fin breaks the surface of the water. Every night, a barrel of fish heads and guts is poured into the hole to entertain Gull patrons with a glimpse of one or two sharks.
Hardjoy, tends the Gull’s bar while living up to his epithet “the unsmiling.” Hardjoy is missing half his nose and gets very angry if anyone asks him how he lost it (his ex‐wife bit it off). Several women work as tavern wenches; the younger ones flirt with Orzo and his men to keep in with the crime boss and get the best tips. Hild, has just started work at the Laughing Gull because she is deeply in debt to Orzo and is horrified as to what she has gotten herself into. Most of the clientele terrify her and she has already fended off several inappropriate advances.
Arrak strides through the tavern, making for the bar. He wears his weapons, a large, decently decorative axe, strapped across his back over a small light shield, at his hip swings a Flail. Secured under the shield are 3 light javelin.
He sits at a seat and asks for a drink, using his last bit a coin left. After being given his drink, he speaks to Hardjoy. His voice is deep, gravely, but also attractive in its accent.
Hah, what earned you that look? Get into a fight with a snapping turtle?
At her table with the enlightening Ib-Shuet, Samanra looks up from her teasing of the scholar, pausing her obscene hand gestures with a chuckle "-ust remember to give the wal- Mhmm?"Her head tracked round to give the strappingly large man stride across to the bar.
Zothur forgive her, she couldn't keep a faint spray of blush from tinting her makeup as she looked across the newcomer's broad back and tilted her ear to the gravelly timbre of his tones, recognition flickering in her eye.
"As if from across mountains, two nostalgic remembrances in a night. Would I be so blessed~" the woman turned back to Ib, pulling a hand mirror from a pouch on her silk scarf, fingers delicately adjusting hairs and tracing her makeup. She shifted the set of her bosoms and pulled the veiling strips down to expose the nipples and frame the mounds, moving her hands along to tie the ribbons behind her neck, adjusting her clothing to look as it did so many Years ago.
"How do I look?" She queried in glottal, informal Yar-Ammonite, looking to Ib with a white toothed smile. she idly spread a subtle shimmer of Perfume from a bottle in her kilt pouch.
Khnum looks up from a back table, his reverie with Samanra fading. He is a Yar-Ammonite of middling stature, wearing the robes of a scholar of the sands, but there is the tell-tale bulk of some armored padding beneath his cloak, and he has a few darts and a club slung casually on his person, in addition to some odd nodules on a baldric.
This should be interesting, he thinks. "If I had any coin left I'd put it on the Tharagian," he whispers to his fellow Yar-Ammonite, who appears to not be ready to kill Khnum after all.
Samanra snorts faintly at the bet, turning to give Khnum a faintly icy look. He was still a heretic, and a curiously mysterious one.
"I'm not in the business of making bets against old friends. I never forget a face."
Urlok stands outside the Laughing Gull, making a short study of the dubious looking building. By reputation this place may hold the answers I seek. It squats upon the waters - perhaps it has heard them whispered in their ebb and flow. The tall Tharagian walks through the entrance without sparing a glance at the disreputable toughs loitering about the exterior, men of such obvious inferiority not worthy of his attention. He steps inside the main room and pauses for a few long moments to let his eyes adjust to the dim, smoky interior and to survey the scene, including the nefarious hole.
A den of rats playing at being sharks, and above them a gull posing as an eagle in it's eyrie. Yet there is a wolf amongst them. Urlok walks up to the bar alongside his fellow northman, studying him a moment before speaking in their native tongue.
"Greetings, cousin; it is unexpected to see another of our land caught within the trap of these filth-filled walls. How fare thee?"
Khnum calls to the hulking Tharagian, shaking his head at Samanra. As if she recognized me! I was a youth. He is, however, still a youth besides.
He turns to Samanra triumphantly. "See, I can entice a fellow over as well...wait...Gods, now there are two of them? This place will come down around our ears." He goggles at the sight of another Tharangian; two surely spells trouble for the Gull.
Arrak turns his head to regard the man that called him cousin before speaking in their tongue.
Hmph, a warmer greeting than I ever received growing up. I was traveling, on my way back to Zul-Bazzir to partake in an upcoming tournament. He downs another drink. As Khnum calls out, he glances towards him.
Suppose he talks to you or me? He asks Urlok, waiting but a moment before walking over. As he approaches, he sees Samanra, a mild recognition from a night long ago causes a very small grin to form on his lips.
As he approachs, he looks to here and speaks in a heavily accented Khazistani
Greetings, some part of me tells me I know you, or knew, hahah, I believe it was quite the good night when we met. I might yet be convinced of the thing called fate.
He then responds to the man that called to him. Speaking in Lamuran and glancing towards him only for a few moments before looking back to Samanra after he finished speaking.
I suppose you will offer me more entertainment tonight then?
As the broad tower of Arrak drew closer in long strides, Samanra spared Khnum only a lightly reproachful glare through eyes half lidded. "Watch your mouth of this one, Scorpion-Ib. He is a friend of old, and may find time to cut it out, had he learned the sand tongue in our time apart" Her tone was subtly biting, voice softening only as she turns to take in Arrak again.
She smiled while he spoke, blushing and having the manners to cast her gaze down, hand touching her heart's side as she laughed, to indicate it's truth.
The pit fighter's last drew a gentle snort of warm amusement through Samanra's nose, her body reclining back with shoulder's set to frame her chest. Her voice came out warm, accent light as she spun words in poetic Khazistani.
T'would be better to be asked than to offer, great Wolf, for my heart sings to see your return. Your bright attentions found both the gold sun and silver ankh when last we bedded together. The ankh is a thing not often noticed by the boars that amuse themselves upon me~."
She made no secret of her smile, cocking her head and patting the seat at her hip.
"I ask for neither sun nor ankh in payment, were we to again entertain one another. Only your companionship in this time, trapped in this den of rats~"
Of Urlok, Samanra simply looks once and looks not again, flinching at the cast of those deep eyes. Something squirmed in her blood at the look of him.
Arrak lets out a hearty laugh then moves and wraps his large arm around Samanra's waist and gently, but forcibly pulls her to his side.
Well then, let me make that offer. Surely if memory serves me, it would be a far better night than any girl working here could hope to offer. What great fortune of mine would bring you here?
he pauses a moment. Then looks towards khnum the semblance of an Idea on his face. Perhaps a test of endurance, a drinking contest! The loser buys the drinks! After a moment he adds, The lady's included
The group of foreigners attracts more attention than warranted, one would say; the exotic and seductive Yar-Ammonite, the savage and brutal barbarians from the north, the mysterious Yar-Ammonite scholar.
Whatever their plans, drinking contest or not, it’s obvious something changed in the laughing gull. Everyone seems to be silently watching the outsiders, thugs quietly moving around. The smell of trouble is evident in the air. The outsiders notice as well that Samanra caught Orzo Gerozzo attention, and it’s evident what his intentions are. Worse, a quick movement of hands and the Gerozzo family soldiers start moving, trouble indeed.
Arrak takes notice, but doesn't immediately seem to react, after a moment he stretches, then takes his greataxe from his back and slams it a bit into the table right beside him, just enough for it to stay held.
Ah, much better.
Samanra does her best not to react to the battleaxe but for a flinch and a wary look
Then she simply shifts back and half slips onto the barbarian's lap, playing the part of the slut by reclining back and whispering playful nothings.
She pretended to not notice any danger, even as one hand slid down towards the hidden handle of a dagger.
"I keep something good for me to drink right on my person," says Khnum in flawless Lamuran, smiling at the Tharagian. "Let's see if our friends up there want something to drink as well."
I think the resident big fish desires me to join his tank... To speak of trying to fish the river, only to pull up a crocodile."
Zul-Bazzir? He watches as Arrak walks off at the hail of the small, bronzed-skinned man and woman. A wolf long away from his pack, it would seem. Urlok watches the trio for a few moments. There looks to be more in him of these civilized lands than of the cold north; with a common tongue, he may be a good source of information. Urlok then notices the unsubtle shift in the crowd’s demeanor. The rats circle at the gull’s call, over the woman no doubt. Such are the concerns of lesser men.
Urlok remains still, wrapped in his furs, gazing unconcerned at the men moving towards him.
"The wise practice hospitality; it affords protection against the stranger, whose true nature is unknown."
"Chaos is our friend. If need be I'll set their stairs on fire."
Khnum pulls a vial from his baldric and drinks it down with a smile. "The drinking contest has begun," he says to Arrak in a mix of Lamuran and Khazistani, his eyes a little unfocused. He suddenly appears bulkier, bestial, and somehow wolfishly lean in the lines of his form.
Hah, what earned you that look? Get into a fight with a snapping turtle?
Lamuran, Khazitani and then finally Thulian. With each word, Hardjoy face gets uglier, and altho he doesn't know what's being said, he knows enough from experience that the barbarian is asking about his deformed face. Then he smiles evily cleaning a mug with a dirt, ragged cloth, pouring more beer to the man he couldn't understand.
The foreigners, grouped, talked and flirted. The crowd gathered around them, silent threats have been made, obscure preparations. For a moment there, some steps faltered, they talked in whispered hushes among themselves but they were in greater number, protected by their patron, dealing with foreigners.
Finally, half dozen thugs stopped besides your table, eyeing the Yar-Ammonite with envy and lust. "It's your lucky day b&@+@." one with a crooked nose and sour breath says moving to grab Samanra's arm "Orzo is waiting."
All around, they pretend do ignore, or stare in open envy, rezignation, fear or anger
Arrak will grab the mans hand. And only glance towards him a moment before looking back to Samanra but keeping the man who's arm he grabbed just in sight from the corner of his eye.
I assume they want you? I can not understand their tongue. If so, the Choice is yours. You can go, or you can not go. its clear that Arrak will accept whatever She decides to do. While he isn't afraid of these thugs, He is at least smart enough to know that causing to large a ruckus could be bad.
A shiver of relief, however brief, ran through Samanra's frame as the Northerner's hand snapped out in her defense, pushing the rotten mawed thug's paw away.
She took a moment to stroke Arrak's bicep and gift him a grateful kiss on the shoulder as she rolled her legs to sit side-saddle then stand. "The big dog of the den desires me... Such is life. I must at least be polite, and pay some attention. If they attempt to force anything, I may require some aid, for blood may need be spilled."
She gave the thug a thinly pleasant look with nose crinkled at the scent of his halitosis. "Then I would of course delight to meet with the great man himself, but not with dogs harrying my heels or pressing their noses where they aren't welcome." She stood with with hand on hip, idly holding the handle of her hidden blade.
Urlok watches as the men pass him by with little more than a look they intend to be threatening as they surround the three's table. He can't quite make out what his distant kinsman says to the woman, nor her response, but she remains calm and composed - it seems that the need for violence may have been averted. I will not seek battle with these foreigners - it may be their leader can help me escape the city - but nor shall I avoid it!
He calls out to Arrak in a deep, resonant timbre. "I like not the looks these fools give me - what is their complaint?"
"I'll be going with her. That's not a question." Khnum speaks perfect Susrahnian, and rises smoothly and gracefully, perhaps a touch of wry malice on his lips, and stands to one side of Samanra. "Lead on, gentlemen."
The dogs, being called so by Samanra, didn’t mind it in the slightest. Some even pretended to bark, laughing out loudly soon after their own practical joke, they also doesn’t seem to care that Khnum Ib, declared himself protector of the courtesan. Ugly, unfocused and hazy eyes just looked, smiled an ugly smile and lead them on towards the high floor, to meet Orzo.
Or so is what they would have thought, but when trying to climb the stairs to the private area of the Laughing Gull, the guards, guarding the stairs, stepped on Khnum’s path, blocking his advance. The guards are big blokes, carrying curved blades openly in their hip, dressed in dirt blood stained cloths and armor. They reek of booze and blood and piss.
”You ain’t the one invited.” one of the guards says in a bored voice. ”Piss off.”
Though he doesn't understand their speech, the men's yapping is clear enough. Of what value can a man who employs such servants really be? 'Wolves do not play with dogs,' as my mother says.
”Playn’ dumb? Dinnae hear what he said?” the other guard says putting his hands on the curved sword hilt, when Ib doesn’t show any reaction.
”F!&$. Off.”
Samanra shifts out of her dazed wait at the motion towards the sword hilt, shifting a half step forward, grateful for Ib's declaration, but more importantly unwilling to have him cut. It would set an awful precedent.
The woman Steps closer to the guard, hand coming out as if to forestall the blade emerging.
"Loyal man" She spoke with feigned panic, shivering as she addressed the speaking guard, using a rather archaic honorific in 'loyal man' to address him. "Please, mercy. To invite me is to invite him" a bitten lip quickened her thoughts "I am the lamb, he is my shepherd. He is my chaperone, my 'guard' and keeper."
It wasn't too big of a lie to sell. She just hoped Ib didn't mind her implying that he'd been eunuch-ed. She didn't cringe back after her explanation,hanging still and trying to maintain eye contact, selling the untruth.
Khnum takes a step back, and then a dagger materializes from his scholar's sleeves.
"Make one false move up there and the balcony will come down." He nods to Samanara.
Urlok watches the events unfolding on the stair with intense interest. I was warned that the laws of these southern lands were used to keep their people enslaved and to trap unwary foreigners; certainly that has been the case in my attempts to leave this cursed city. It seems within these walls one cannot leave, however, men have free reign to do as they will. Perhaps they only apply these laws to outsiders?
This erstwhile northman seems well-traveled in these lands - I shall look to him for example.
The guards look at Samanra, indecision about what she just said: should they allow the man up as well? Fortunately, for them, Ib steps back whispering something to Samanra, which they don’t understand. And so she goes, up and about, to face Orzo, while old and new friends, all prepare to wreak havoc, if needs arise.
Carefully and slowly, you climb the steps which lead to the second floor balcony. Up there, is almost a different world. You remember the glamorous balls and parties you attended, the celebrations and festivities, the cult and orgies dedicated to Belet-Lil, the Moon-Goddess of Susrah. There you see nothing of sorts. It’s a precarious copy of a sacred ritual. All around, desperate looking girls, trying their best to earn favor of the corrupt.
You walk among them, and after what seems to be an eternity you face Orzo. Fat, sweaty and wearing massive jewelled rings, he looks at you up and down then motions you should sit, at one of the at his side.
”Glad you saw the wisdom of my invitation.” he says.
--
--
Not much time later, Ib returns while Samanra went to meet Orzo, alone. There isn’t much to be said, except prepare for any eventual hostility. One of the serving girls, the one you noticed fending off several advances from the patrons and the fear when Orzo called for Samanra, brings you more beer, even if you didn’t ask for it.
She seems faltering, and it’s clear she wants to say something, but at the last moment she turns and begins to leave, without saying a word.
Arrak will glance towards her before looking back. Then a say.
If one has something to say, they should speak. Otherwise their voice will never be heard over the blowing wind of life.
The woman looks at Arrak but the meaning of his words didn’t register, as they don’t share any common language.
At Orzo she sent a smile, taking in his corpulent form with a faint sniff, her hips swinging and chest bouncing as she stepped to slide into the indicated seat. She reclined facing him, arm on the bench's back and other hand on her lounging leg, her kilt falling off her bent leg to show off the bottom edge of her shift.
"When swimming in a river, no matter how murky the water, one must always give mind and attention to the wishes of crocodiles~. Especially the River Kings"
'River King' was Khazistani slang for the enormous saltwater reptiles that ruled the deltas of Yar Ammon, but Samanra had heard it used before when walking the docks of this foetid city. Usually in reference to the larger predators of the underworld there.
Urlok shrugs, the situation apparently defused. He ignores the beer he's been given along with the wench who brought it, then seems struck by a thought. Picking up the tankard he approaches Arrak's table.
"May I share your table? I am new to these southern lands, and you obviously are not. I would hear what I can of them," he sets down the full tankard within Arrak's reach, "and I have no taste for alcohol."
Khnum catches the woman by the arm. "Tell us what troubles you. No eyes are on us now. If you dare not speak now, we will do so outside." He says this in Khazistani, hoping that is her native tongue.
"Poet of the North." He speaks to Arrak in Lamuran. "It seems we have a common cause in impotent waiting." He cracks a small grin. "We should keep our female friend in plain sight if possible, but perhaps your friend here can join us. Or we can find out what this serving girl has to say. Girl, what is your name?"
Inwardly, Khnum is stewing, feeling very much like a useless youth. So much for my kemia and my Black Book. And my phial wasted. I shall steal away when I can and brew another. It crawls in my veins, useless.
Arrak motions for Urlok to sit.
I've not taste for anything unearned. Or not paid for. Such things lead down dark paths. What is it you seek here? What brings you down from the north? Most the dogs there fear moving south.
Urlok sits, giving a nod to both men. He repays the Yar-Ammonite's courtesy and speaks in a mutually shared language, though he leaves the man to his conversation with the serving girl and addresses Arrak. "I am no dog, and conversation will be payment enough for me. I come to see the world and to learn the truth of it for myself; who lives where, and how, and what they have to offer."
Orzo eyes lit with barely concealed anger at the woman’s word. Is she mocking him? With all this talk of river and crocodiles? The anger doesn’t fade from his eyes, clearly the man has no idea what Samanra is talking about, a creepy smile surfaces on his face.
”Yes, yes. River and kings.” the man repeats after the Yar-Ammonite girl. ”What you think of my subjects?” he says mentioning all the depraved, drunk, poor and desperate that are the common patrons of the Laughing Gull.
The woman flinch, scared when Ib grabs her arm. She seems ready to fend any advance from him, but his words give her a brief pause, until her eyes meet his. The wild, unnatural air about the man makes the bargirls recoil even more and shutter with fear.
”It… no.. nothing my lords.” she says trembling in fear ”Do y..you nee…d anything ..else?” she says almost preparing to flee from them.
Anger... Such a horrid emotion. She hid her flinch from the big man's angry glare behind a shift closer, extending delicate fingers to touch the fleshy shoulder. Her tone came out sweet. I meant no offense, great Orzo, words failed to convey my respect for your power in this place...
The Courtesan listened attentively to the question, looking around and humming before she answered Your subjects? A varied crowd. A few dogs among them, a few wet pups with no ambition, a few predators. Tis a service that you keep them all to heel."