The Trollskullers had hours to prepare - it was well after luncheon by the time the Brands showed up. The group might have been intimidating to other poor folk or perhaps children but in truth they were a handful of skinny, dirty, angry teenagers armed with weapons- a couple with what were probably stolen smith's hammers and the others with big knives or small swords- that looked like they'd been stolen from bins of scrap waiting to be recycled into something useful. They swaggered into the courtyard with an inflated sense of confidence, staring down people waiting for their loved ones and threatening anyone who didn't look away.
Snow stood out. He was skinny and dirty, too, but already had a man's height and under his somewhat nicer, newer, and cleaner clothes it looked like he might not be as malnourished as the rest of his crew. The origin of his nickname was obvious- even with most of his white-blonde hair shaved off and the rest pulled back into a long ponytail. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons at all.
He leaned inside the clinic's door. "Hey, Milly. What you got for me today?"
Once they'd let her know why they were there, the nurse hadn't given the Trollskullers any trouble about hanging around the clinic, even inside, but it seemed that she'd reserved that hostility for Snow. She bared her fangs at the gangly gangster. "I've got a beating for you if you step inside my clinic, boy."
Snow smiled broadly at the intake nurse. "That's cute. So do we just need to take what we want again or do you have coin this time?"
Alas, at some point, the tasting of cheese and Goggh's "pub cheese" in particular, had to come to an end. So too did the fantasy of just lazing around the manor all day, nibbling and questioning Ash on what he'd been up to all night. Oh well, there was a new mission that had been agreed on. The ratfolk wasn't quite up to speed on the reasoning and justification, but if anyone needed a friend who could sneak and hide, then she'd definitely not deny them her expertise!
Jixel was down the alley somewhere when this supposed "Snow" kid arrived. He looked like a cocky and nasty piece of work, but by the end of this maybe he'd be put in his place. Anyway, Jixel waited, wanting to keep the element of surprise, and also not wanting to give away their true numbers too early.
He leaned inside the clinic's door. "Hey, Milly. What you got for me today?"
Once they'd let her know why they were there, the nurse hadn't given the Trollskullers any trouble about hanging around the clinic, even inside, but it seemed that she'd reserved that hostility for Snow. She bared her fangs at the gangly gangster. "I've got a beating for you if you step inside my clinic, boy."
Snow smiled broadly at the intake nurse. "That's cute. So do we just need to take what we want again or do you have coin this time?"
...
"No, I don't think you're getting coin today, son." Dec stepped out from around the corner where he had been waiting and stood in between Snow and the receptionist. His hand rested lazily on the hilt of his thornblade, just waiting for an excuse to draw it. He hoped Snow would see wisdom, however.
He pressed his tongue against his teeth and whistled, the cue for the others to make themselves known.
"Your days intimidating the clinic are over. But that doesn't mean we will leave you empty handed. We have an... opportunity for the Brands, we just need to meet with The Boss to make the offer."
Idrassa, Dock Ward, Clinic
Idrassa stood up behind the barrel where she had been crouching, raising her crossbow high enough for it to be seen but keeping it pointed at the nearby wall rather than the gang members. She gave a mental signal to Tweety, and the latter slipped to the mouth of the alley before rearing up on her coils. She unfurled her wings, revealing the bright gold feathers that lined their undersides, and opened her fanged maw in a loud hiss.
Ash stepped out of the alley with his Templar sword held casually on his shoulder. Unlike the pathetic arms the gang sported, it was kept in sterling condition, the geometric patterns on the blade in crisp clarity. He let the implication of the bared weapon do the talking.
He might have been more intimidating if he hadn't been watching Tweety out of the corner of his eye, but the message was clear.
As the others revealed themselves, Jixel remained hidden, wondering if all their cards should be shown quite yet. Was Snow and his team getting the message? Were they looking worried and likely to stand down? The ratfolk peeked out, trying to get a sense of if she should remain hidden as a wildcard, or just hop out and act mean...
Field Ward, Hope Clinic - All
"No, I don't think you're getting coin today, son." Dec stepped out from around the corner where he had been waiting and stood in between Snow and the receptionist. His hand rested lazily on the hilt of his thornblade, just waiting for an excuse to draw it. He hoped Snow would see wisdom, however.
He pressed his tongue against his teeth and whistled, the cue for the others to make themselves known.
"Your days intimidating the clinic are over. But that doesn't mean we will leave you empty handed. We have an... opportunity for the Brands, we just need to meet with The Boss to make the offer."
Snow smirked at Declan with all the misguided confidence of youth. He certainly didn't seem worried about the stranger's hand on the hilt of his weapon. "That so? I don't even know you. Why would you have an... opportunity for us?"
Ash stepped out of the alley with his Templar sword held casually on his shoulder. Unlike the pathetic arms the gang sported, it was kept in sterling condition, the geometric patterns on the blade in crisp clarity. He let the implication of the bared weapon do the talking.
He might have been more intimidating if he hadn't been watching Tweety out of the corner of his eye, but the message was clear.
One of the younger, smaller Brands reached back to pat Snow urgently on the arm. "Bro, they got a giant snake-bird thing out here," he hissed. Apparently the Church's catechism wasn't well known in Field Ward. As Ash stepped up, most of the other members of Snow's crew shifted to spread out facing the alley where Idrassa, Tweety, Ash, Illendur, and Jixel were. "Crossbow," said another one. A couple of them looked uncertain but with the rest of their crew there weren't willing to run just yet.
Only one- one of the bigger ones with a stolen smith's hammer- had the presence of mind to stay at Snow's back and keep watching the rest of the courtyard.
As the others revealed themselves, Jixel remained hidden, wondering if all their cards should be shown quite yet. Was Snow and his team getting the message? Were they looking worried and likely to stand down? The ratfolk peeked out, trying to get a sense of if she should remain hidden as a wildcard, or just hop out and act mean...
[dice=Perception]1d20 + 2
Illendur casually steps out from the alleyway, his weapons and armor worn openly in the field ward, in stark contrast to the improvised weapons the Brands held. Snow, you are now in the 'find out' part of the equation, and there are several ways to proceed. But we're interested in talking to who's in charge, and offering a proposal which is beneficial to your group, and leaves you and your friends quite alive while other options may not leave everyone with coin in their pockets and in such reasonable health.... So let's go meet the boss. Illendur doesn't overtly threaten anyone, just lets the implication hang in the air.
Zander also stepped out, the blue triangle of light glowing at his chest, visible even in the daylight. His armor was activated, halberd extended and in one hand, while his other hand was extended, another crystal glowing blue in his palm.
"Tactically, you are in an untenable position," he said to the nearest Brand member, even as his glowing palm came to settle at eye level to the undersized combatant. J'r-V'zz was busily updating the tracking plot in Zander's mind.
"Had we not given you warning of our presence, the likelihood of any of you surviving a physical confrontation was statistically indistinguishable from zero. With the warning, given the probability that at least fifty percent of you will immediately attempt to flee the scene, the odds that one of you successfully escapes has risen to..." there was a pause as he listened to J'r-V'zz supply the math, "approximately double the previous number. Which is still statistically indistinguishable from zero. It would seem that your only significantly likely chance of survival in this encounter is to agree to escort us to the leader of the organization known as the 'Brands.'"
Snow smirked at Declan with all the misguided confidence of youth. He certainly didn't seem worried about the stranger's hand on the hilt of his weapon. "That so? I don't even know you. Why would you have an... opportunity for us?"
Declan smirked under his gaiter, the fabric crinkling just so to indicate the motion. "You are not likely to give up the clinic without something to compensate for it. We do not come empty handed, as it were." His eyes looked over Snow's shoulder to the others emerging into the courtyard. He didn't say anything, just returned his attention to the kid before him. But you, you are merely the errand boy. We need to speak to someone who makes decisions."
Snow smirked at Declan with all the misguided confidence of youth. He certainly didn't seem worried about the stranger's hand on the hilt of his weapon. "That so? I don't even know you. Why would you have an... opportunity for us?"Declan smirked under his gaiter, the fabric crinkling just so to indicate the motion. "You are not likely to give up the clinic without something to compensate for it. We do not come empty handed, as it were." His eyes looked over Snow's shoulder to the others emerging into the courtyard. He didn't say anything, just returned his attention to the kid before him. But you, you are merely the errand boy. We need to speak to someone who makes decisions."
"Yeah? I don't make it a habit of taking every stranger with a crossbow and a giant snake to meet my boy. I don't know s~&# about you except you and your people look ready to kill somebody." Snow cracked his neck. "Might as well be me if you're out for some blood."
"Unless you got something to prove you're not just here to kill Cleon?"
"Tactically, you are in an untenable position," he said to the nearest Brand member, even as his glowing palm came to settle at eye level to the undersized combatant. J'r-V'zz was busily updating the tracking plot in Zander's mind.
"Had we not given you warning of our presence, the likelihood of any of you surviving a physical confrontation was statistically indistinguishable from zero. With the warning, given the probability that at least fifty percent of you will immediately attempt to flee the scene, the odds that one of you successfully escapes has risen to..." there was a pause as he listened to J'r-V'zz supply the math, "approximately double the previous number. Which is still statistically indistinguishable from zero. It would seem that your only significantly likely chance of survival in this encounter is to agree to escort us to the organization known as the 'Brands.'"
Surrounded, with a well armed nobleman and a golden warforged emerging from the alleys, Snow's crew looked thoroughly cowed. They started to back up toward the clinic's door, with the taller hammer-wielder muttering to Snow "Chief, there's a buuunch of a&&+!%&s out here."
Aside: The Cat and the Couatl
As the meeting broke up, Idrassa quietly excused herself and slipped out of the common area. The exchange had left her tense. At least some of the group had been receptive to her logistics proposal, however crazy it seemed, and maybe they could sell the Brands on it. But the first step would involve an ambush at the clinic.
Idrassa sighed. She hated violence, even though she knew it was sometimes necessary. But the truth was it felt...hypocritical somehow. Tweety was a child, and Idrassa felt she was supposed to take care of the creature. But where there was bloodshed the young woman had no choice but to rely on the serpent. Tweety loved her human and would take on an army to protect her. And it always felt to Idrassa like she was exploiting Tweety when it happened.
She looked wearily at the stairs to the garret, and then thought better of them. There was no need to climb all the way to her room, which was hot and stuffy during the day in any case. She just needed a minute of privacy, so she ducked down the hallway and knelt in a corner.
Her hands reached out to the space in front of her, but her mind refused to follow as her concentration drifted. Idrassa's unease about the upcoming showdown mingled with the guilt at having left Tweety *away* so much for the past few days. The human had been on the run and had needed to move about discreetly, so there had been no choice, but Idrassa could not help feeling badly at abandoning her friend for so long. And there was the nagging suspicion that Tweety somehow drew sustenance from Idrassa's presence, that her growth these past three years had been made possible by her existence in the material world and her proximity to the human. Denying her those might be like starving her.
Idrassa shook her head violently. Stop wallowing in guilt and solve the problem! She remonstrated at herself. Bring Tweety here. Make sure she's OK. She'll feel better after she's had some time with you. And so will you.
The human eased into the ritual, pulling her hands slowly apart as if stretching taffy. A tiny patch of silver appeared in the space they had passed over, light gleaming through as if reflected from a rippling surface of quicksilver. She worked her hands around the edges, pulling them further apart, widening the weird silver nothingness. When the patch was perhaps a palm's breadth wide, there was a flash of red feathers and then a single, serpentine eye seemed to press itself up against the barrier of nothingness that separated the here from the there.
"Yes, yes, I'm moving as fast as I can," Idrassa said a trifle irritably in response to a voice in her mind. A few pulls later, and the space was large enough for the snakelike body to slip through, wings furled tightly inward.
Idrassa let the magic of the portal lapse as the last of Tweety's coils slipped onto the hallway floor. The snake's eyes met hers and something passed between them. "Yes, I've missed you too," Idrassa assured the serpent, gently running her hand along the feathers of her ruff. "I'm sorry it's been so long, I know you don't like it. I'm fixing things. I'm going to find a way to make it better for both of us." She leaned in and put her arms around the snake. Tweety reciprocated by resting her head gently on Idrassa's shoulder for a long, tender moment. Then the ophidian outsider mischievously ran her forked tongue through Idrassa's short, dark hair.
"You!" exclaimed Idrassa, laughing and pulling away.
***
One foot in front of the other.
A simple enough concept, one Ash had been told over and over in training. “Just put one foot in front of the other,” drills, jokes, advice of a serious and less-serious nature, from back before his name had been Ash. Before this life. Ha! He’d have made a great kalashtar. But he had found the phrase to have many applications, both literally, when he had a confusing number of limbs, and metaphorically, in his life. Today, those feet were, to use an apt phrase, dog tired, and it was hard to know where to stand. What had been going on in the city, all around him, while he’d been here in… in hiding?
Cowardly. There were so many people here, even children, who dealt with such threats to their lives and sanity every day. At least he was in the right place, he thought sourly. Nowhere else to go. The teeming city held a safety, of sorts. In the right - or rather, wrong - districts. He’d thought he could disappear here, but it hadn’t been so easy. And now, with a second sudden change in his life - people counting on him again, by the folly burned by the Flame - and his shifting allegiances were… still unclear.
One foot. In front of the other. One more time. One more.
His eyes were gritty and his head and heart wrung out. All around him he could hear the creak of the inn, the muffled voices of the people living here, the bustle of even nighttime streets. Some kind of reptile smell to it. Everything had a scent. Even the Templar longsword he carried on his back; the dyed leather grip that smelled of the human hand that had owned it, more than the dye; its aesthetic grooves didn’t just smell of metal, but of the blood of everyone it had ever killed.
That he had killed, with it.
If he’d been desperate before, his circumstances certainly hadn’t changed, despite appearances! Appearances, he knew all too well, could be deceiving. It was the kind of night you got to whip yourself with quotes, mantras, and hackneyed idioms. Well, what was one more? He’d done everything he was supposed to do. If only he had a clear sign!
He paused, trying not to hear the world around him. Trying to hear more deeply - inward, outward, it didn’t matter.
Trying to hear the divine.
But no one ever really had a sign. They received visions, if they were holy enough. They got bilked, if they were naïve. Maybe some soul in Karrnath could contact the dead, and get their opinion on one subject or another. But a sign, for some schmuck on the street? No.
What he had was a room. Maybe a bath, later, if he was lucky. By the Flame, he hated all this fur! Fine, hair, whatever. Concentrating, he could make it subside. Make the stripes on his back stand out. Make his hidden tattoos rise like truth from under murky water, sheltered by his high-collared, long-sleeved shirts, a necessity even in the heat of summer.
But he couldn’t get rid of it. Not all the way.
So he put one foot in front of the other, up the stairs, clawed hand dragging on the banister, feeling the grain of the wood, padding around into the hallway where he could hear Idrassa chatting…
…and came face to face with an angel.
***
Tweety looked over and cocked her head, ruff rippling up slightly at the sight of an unfamiliar face. Idrassa turned to follow the creature’s gaze, and found the big shifter she had seen earlier had stopped in the hallway. Ash, she reminded herself, fumbling momentarily with the name.
He seemed startled by the serpent. Idrassa could hardly blame him, with how big she had gotten. Still, Throneport held lots of oddities. Experience had taught the human that the best way to handle those put off by Tweety was to be matter of fact about things.
“Hello, Ash,” she greeted. “I don’t think you’ve met Tweety yet. Tweety, this is Ash.” The outsider bobbed her head in a greeting.
Ash stared, stunned. He looked like a cat about a split second from leaping into the air and bolting. “You… is that… a couatl?” he finally managed in a strangled voice. “Tweety?”
He sank to one knee, then the other, hands outstretched.
Then he squinted. “A… a mechanical couatl? You… you built….?”
The serpent pulled back and cocked its head in a way that suggested indignation, though no threat of violence. Idrassa held up a soothing hand in its direction as she replied to Ash. “Oh, no, Tweety’s not mechanical, she’s very much a living thing. I mean, what artificer could ever create someone so beautiful?” She added.
The ophidian seemed mollified by this rather transparent flattery, and Idrassa continued. “I just call her Tweety because her real name is so hard to pronounce. This is the best I can do.” The young woman half-sang, half-whistled a string of notes, demonstrating a lovely singing voice but nothing that seemed terribly coherent to the shifter. Tweety responded - somehow projecting the air of one destined to keep helping with a painfully simple task for the rest of her life - with an elegant, deep-throated trill that seemed like birdsong rewritten by the finest musicians of House Phiarlan. Idrassa nodded to the serpent gratefully, then gestured to her as if indicating to Ash that this was the correct pronunciation and he was welcome to try it.
“I… if she prefers Tweety to our butchering of her name, that seems reasonable,” Ash managed weakly. “My musical talents are entirely imaginary, I’m afraid.” Still on his knees, he gazed up at the serpent in wonder, eyes dilated and ears flat.
“How did you… are you…?” Regaining a modicum of caution in the midst of being awestruck, Ash was becoming keenly cognizant of the absurdity of the situation.
“Why is she here?”
He quelled a spasm of jealousy. An angel, and it was called to someone else’s destiny! Hubris, he warned himself. You asked for a sign, and you got one. Why so petulant?
Maybe they’re here to judge me. That was an uncomfortable thought.
Idrassa’s eyes narrowed, a motion Tweety followed almost instantly with confused glances at both the human and the shifter. The conversation was not progressing as the young woman had expected, and the shifter was still on his knees. He appeared almost…penitent? Since Tweety had grown so large she had begun to dread the chance she might cross paths with a worshiper of the Silver Flame, and had avoided the Thranish quarter carefully. But a shifter who worshiped the Flame? Was that possible?
“She’s here because she wants to be,” replied Idrassa, trying to keep her tone casual. “I mean, I’m her human, and I’m here. So where else would she be?” The outsider bobbed its head in a vigorous nod, clearly endorsing this logic.
“Of course,” Ash acknowledged, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to presume…” He gazed up at Tweety with that awe still on his face. And his accent fell into place for Idrassa.
He sounded Thranish.
Ash, meanwhile, was absorbing every detail of the beautiful couatl’s presence. It - she - was real, there could be no doubt. He could smell her, that reptilian smell he’d noticed earlier, but thought nothing of. He could hear the slither of scales, the soft sound of feathers brushing together. He must believe his eyes.
The angel was here to protect and aid Idrassa. That could only mean…
Idrassa was, somehow, destined to aid the Flame.
Well, he had asked for a sign, and here one was. Who could complain about their prayers being answered?
Ash transferred his intense greenish gaze to Idrassa. Studying. Who was she? Why was she with this group, of all people in the world? She seemed a bit… hmm. That body language suggested deception, now that he thought about it. But he was hardly one to make a fuss about that. So young! It must be because she had much to do in the Flame’s service. Should he ask what she wanted to do? That seemed a bit presumptuous, somehow. And he’d already brought the couatl’s ire on himself - he hadn’t missed how she had narrowed her eyes, it had nearly sent him flat on the floor. But he would make up for it. Yes, that was it.
Whatever Idrassa wanted to do, it was clearly his duty to aid her.
That was his purpose here. How magnificent the Flame was, how intricate Her plans! How forgiving She was!
What he hadn’t considered was how it might feel to be on the other end of an intense stare from a tense shifter, particularly for an extended period of silence.
He was an odd one - seemingly some sort of cat-shifter, primarily, to judge by the eyes and faint stripes, and the claws, but there were hints of… something else in him. Other beasts as well. She couldn’t place her finger on what, exactly; maybe it was his body language.
Idrassa kept a carefully neutral expression, but Tweety tensed, reading her human’s mood and eyeing the shifter with renewed suspicion. “Ash,” the young woman said gently. “Tweety is not a couatl.”
There was an uncertainty in the words that was atypical of the practiced grifter, a point further emphasized by the serpent’s seeming confusion at the words. “She’s a magnificent being,” Idrassa continued, trying to push past that. “And an outsider. But don’t mistake her for anything more than that.”
An unexpected twist.
Ash stared at what was, to his knowledge, the very personification of a couatl.
Then he turned his eyes back to Idrassa. Was she… not aware of what a couatl was? Was she lying? Was he having a stroke?
In the end, it didn’t matter. She didn’t want the couatl identified as one, so he would play along.
“All right,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. A more comfortable position than his knees, though it did give him the look of a predator about to spring. He cleared his throat, a growling noise.
“You’ll be staying with us some time, then?” he asked, awkward. What he knew in his heart was, he must not let Idrassa get away. Destiny awaited her! He would be a proud disciple!
He briefly considered showing them his hidden tattoos, the better to put Idrassa at ease as to his intentions… but finally decided against it. He would stand on his own merit, not the value of the past.
A brighter Church. A better tomorrow.
Grinning widely with a white set of fangs, he stood and offered them an incongruously genteel bow. “Well, have a good evening!” As a matter of fact, his speech patterns weren’t very… well, shifterlike.
He’d sit watch by his corner window, which had a view of the alley on the same side as her room. A plan! Surely if she intended to abscond with the angel, she wouldn’t use the front door? But he could see that, too, from the other window.
With a sudden spring in his step, and feeling lighter than he had in years, he trotted into his hot attic room, bare but for his meager accoutrements and bed, and began to set up a nest by the windowsills. Even the complex stink of the city couldn’t bring him down!
Idrassa watched Ash go, profoundly disturbed. Tweety picked up on this immediately and was about to hiss loudly after the shifter, but Idrassa reached out and gently placed a reassuring hand behind the serpent’s ruff. The outsider responded with a long look at the woman before rubbing the feathered top of her head against the human’s cheek. Idrassa received the reassurance with distracted gratitude, still pondering the shifter.
This might, she reflected, be a more dangerous situation than her quarrel with the Brands. Again, she considered the prospect of flight, and again she rejected it. Whatever this was, here in Throneport she knew the terrain and she had contacts. If this were a threat, she could run, hide, or fight better here than anywhere else. When all was said and done, a misguided Flame cultist was a manageable problem. Just a question of working it. Just a question of finding the angle.
The idea that the shifter might not be wrong tried to worm its way into her mind but she squelched the thought with the ease of long practice. Instead she turned and went back to the common room in search of a drink, Tweety trailing after.
"Yeah? I don't make it a habit of taking every stranger with a crossbow and a giant snake to meet my boy. I don't know s%~& about you except you and your people look ready to kill somebody." Snow cracked his neck. "Might as well be me if you're out for some blood."
"Unless you got something to prove you're not just here to kill Cleon?"
Declan's expression changed, though it was difficult to tell behind the gaiter. He tapped his weapon's hilt in thought. After a moment, he crossed his arms, his hand leaving his weapon for the time being. He knew if it came to it, he'd be able to draw it in time anyway.
"We're not going to kill anyone," he said with the shake of his head. His eyes met Snow's meaningfully, "But if forced, we can make it extremely painful."
He sighed at last, Look, I will level with you. Extorting the clinic only makes things worse in the district, including for the Brands. It must cease. In exchange, we have an alternative revenue source. But only Cleon will be able to make it work. We must speak with him."
Snow looked at Declan for a long moment, considering the older man's words. Eventually he nodded. "Alright." He glanced at the glowering nurse. "Let's get out of the way, then." The gangly teenager turned and patted the taller hammer-wielder on the shoulder.
"We're good, guys. Let's head back home." Coming to the door, Snow finally saw the adults (and Jixel, Tweety, and Zander) arrayed against them. "Khyber below, somebody's got some money. How much they pay you to come scare a bunch of little kids?" The scorn (and envy?) in his voice was palpable.
He shook his head and gestured south toward Flipcoin Alley. "We're gonna go across Burnt Inn Street right there and take you someplace you can talk to Cleon. Won't take more than a couple minutes." Snow stopped to say something to one of the smaller kids, one of the dagger-wielders. "Go grab Cleon and Swan. Tell them to meet us at the house soon as they can get there."
"Slow down there, kid!" called Idrassa to the runner. Then she looked at Snow. "We can talk to Cleon just fine here. He can bring as many people as he wants, armed if he wants. But here is good."
The young woman kept her expression carefully neutral, but it was obvious she did not want to walk into the heart of Brand territory, even in force.
The messenger held fast, looking back at Snow for direction. For his part, Snow cocked his head and looked at Idrassa for a few seconds without saying anything. Finally, though, he nodded. "Okay." He turned to the runner.
"Go get Cleon, Raman, Chise, Vermin, and Ajax. Tell 'em to come here." Snow patted the kid on the back and he ran off, then the teen gangster turned back to Idrassa. He gestured at one corner of the square around the clinic. "That's gonna take a little more time. If we don't get out of her door, Nurse Milly's gonna start smacking people. Let's move over there."
Illendur strides across the square with the confidence of a born noble, even if he didn't feel that himself, he knew he had to play the role. Plus, his armor would protect him from whatever improvised tools these kids had. Reaching the shade in the corner, he leaned his armored form against the brickwork of the building, trying to keep the sun from warming his armor enough to be uncomfortable. He hooked his gauntleted hands into the arming belt which held his blades, and looked nonchalantly across the area fanning that aloof presence he was trying to cultivate in this moment.
Ash sheathed his blade on his back, but he hesitated in following Illendur's lead. Instead, he shifted to where he could keep an eye on the alley and the corner the tough Snow had chosen - and, more importantly, Idrassa and Tweety. Already sweating in his long sleeves and high collar, he too kept to the shade.
Inwardly, he was also relieved not to be entering Brand territory. While he didn't think Blaze would cause any trouble for him, shifters were a hotheaded and often individualistic people, and there were a lot of them in the poor quarter.
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Declan followed the group, keeping himself between Snow and the clinic. Meeting here was smart, he was glad Idrassa recommended it. He was about to agree to Snow's suggestion when she said it.
But now it was just a matter of waiting. Hopefully Cleon was smarter than the average bear.
The first sign something was happening was when that kids started filtering into the square from the north and the east. A couple of scraggly youngsters from the north, one from the east- scouts, clearly, as they surveyed the area, noted Snow's crew with the group, and headed back the way they came.
After a few minutes came a crew from the north, a group of scrawny but scrappy looking children led by a wiry teenager with short, unruly dark hair barely contained by a threadbare beanie. His deep brown eyes were sharp and observant, scanning his surroundings with the wariness of an experienced survivor. His face bore a few scars, testament to the rough nature of his environment. He wore a faded denim jacket over a threadbare shirt, along with baggy workpants and worn-out workboots that had probably been scrounged from a workman's garbage. Despite his lean frame, there was a certain resilience and determination in his posture that commanded respect from the teens and kids arrayed around him. "Ho, Snow."
Snow nodded at the crew leader. "Ho, Raman."
The people in the square had already been skittish at the party confronting Snow's crew, but with Raman's group taking up a spot on the north side of the square even the most dedicated family member waiting for someone at the clinic decided to go wait somewhere else.
Then from the east came another group, led by a slender teenage girl with an air of toughness about her. Her short, choppy black hair was tied back by a bandana to keep it out of the way. Her piercing green eyes seemed harder than Raman's wary, observant ones, and from her expression she seemed the tougher of the two. She had a few visible tattoos on her arms, visible because the brigandine hauberk she was wearing had lost both of its arms at some point and was now little more than a vest.
"Ho, Snow."
"Ho, Chise."
The Brands loitered around the north and east sides of the square as they waited for their leader to show. Nobody seemed to feel the need to say anything, content to just look intimidating. While they might not be much at an individual level, the party was outnumbered by better than 3 to 1 now and even a rusty knife could draw blood.
Then finally Cleon appeared from the south, along with two young adults who Sky and Declan knew were the gang's main enforcers- Vermin and Ajax. Cleon was tall, dark skinned, with close cropped hair and lean muscle. He seemed cool and confident, not worried about being summoned out of the blue for who knew what reason.
Vermin, walking in front of his leader, was a wiry and agile-looking young man with a street-hardened look that was echoed but not matched by many of the younger Brands. His shaggy blond hair falls messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his intense blue eyes- in fact, seeing them together you could see that Vermin and Snow were somehow related, if not brothers. He wore worn, well used leather armor and a sword that looked like it had been bought off an entrepreneurial City Guard.
Ajax, walking behind, was a burly and muscular young man who looked like he could lift Zander over his head. He had a shaved head and several faded face tattoos, emphasizing the contours of his strong facial features. His dark brown eyes were like Chise's- intense and hard, ready to fight. Also like Chise, he wore a sleeveless shirt that showcased his muscular arms, along with canvas pants and sturdy hobnailed boots.
Cleon, Vermin, and Ajax walked right up to Snow and the party. "Got your message," he said to Snow.
Snow nodded at Declan. "He said he has a deal for us that only you can make. Something about the clinic."
"Yeah?" Cleon looked at Declan.
Cleon, Vermin, and Ajax walked right up to Snow and the party. "Got your message," he said to Snow.
Snow nodded at Declan. "He said he has a deal for us that only you can make. Something about the clinic."
"Yeah?" Cleon looked at Declan.
Declan looked each of the enforcers in the eye and offered a nod of respect. He understood enough to know they wouldn't have gotten to their positions without skill or talent. He gave a slightly deeper nod to Cleon.
While waiting for the Brands to show up in force, Declan had gone over what he was going to say. Somehow, he had become the voice of the Trollskullers, despite being in their company for no more than a couple days. But he had quickly found that their sensibilities aligned nicely with his own (and Sky's). It seemed a natural fit.
"Like with Snow, I'm not going to b&*@+&@% you," Declan said frankly. "If I tried, you're smart enough to see it anyway, and we wouldn't talk for long." His wry smile was difficult to discern under his gaiter. "We want you to leave the Clinic alone. Extorting it for what few sovereigns they have only hurts the district as a whole, including the Brands. But we also don't expect you to give it up without something in exchange. So, we have another potential revenue source to propose. A sort of... tariff avoidance scheme." He paused for a moment, he wasn't privy to all of the details.
"As I am being completely honest... The clinic is under our protection from today regardless. One path forward allows the Brands to replace it with alternative, possibly more lucrative, revenue. The other path is... less friendly. You may be able to take us all down, but how many of you will fall in the process? Would you be able to stop another rival from finishing the job?" He shrugged.
"This is your choice. If the exchange is of interest, we may continue negotiations."
Cleon glanced over at Snow. From his expression- mild annoyance- it didn't look like Declan's spiel had gone over very well. "How much did you take from the clinic last month?"
Snow frowned and shook his head. "No galifars, a handful of silver, but a bunch of alchemicals. Nothing magic, but s!!& like soothe syrup and that hangover stuff. That khyber-burning wound paste. We used some, traded some." The tall young man shrugged. "Call it a couple hundred galifars worth."
Cleon nodded and looked back at Declan. "More lucrative than 200 galifars a month?"
Idrassa watched with dismay. Declan was pitching to Cleon like he was a sensible man, and he could be sensible, but his gang was watching. If it looked like he was taking a loss to get out of a fight he would suffer for it. He could not look like he was backing down, especially in front of someone who looked like a credible threat. As Declan did.
Cut the audience, she concluded. Put him in a position where he could make the gang believe he knew something they did not.
"Cleon," called Idrassa. She unloaded her crossbow and put the quarrel back in her quiver, though she did not uncock the bow. "You and I have business on top of this. Let's talk, solve it as a package deal." She gestured toward an empty patch of courtyard, away from where the others could hear.
She stepped forward. Tweety started to follow but the young woman gestured to her gently and the serpent held its place, warily gazing around the courtyard. Instead, Idrassa made her way into the open space, seemingly making note of the positions of the gang members but not showing great concern over it.
Cleon gave Idrassa a hard look but followed, stepping into the open area.
"OK," said Idrassa quietly, with a businesslike air. "I don't know which of your guys you're protecting by pretending to believe those were my docs, and I don't care. Your troops, your problem. But these guys," she gestured to the Trollskullers, "Are serious about fighting for the clinic. And even if they weren't, how long before someone else moves in on it? There aren't that many good spots to hit in the Ward, and if you lose the clinic in a fight that means you can't get help there when you need it."
She gave him a square look. "This deal we're setting up is a cash deal. It'll put gold in your pockets - hard coin, not wound salve. Not 200 a month, but a good chunk of that. And it'll buy off the other gangs to keep the clinic free from them too, so you'll have it when you need it." Idrassa looked up at him, serious. "Take the deal, Cleon. It's the best offer you've gotten in a long time."
Ash didn't like it when Idrassa stepped away from Tweety, and he liked even less that Cleon was in close proximity to her. Rusty knives could kill her too, after all.
But there wasn't much he could do without screwing up the deal she was trying to make.
Maybe a visible reminder of the shifter presence nearby could underscore her words? The gang really did stand to lose more than they could win by fighting, if only because the Twelvedogs would smell blood after, win or lose.
Ash leaned against the wall with a soft thump, arms crossed (coincidentally showing off his claws), drawing attention in the most mild way he could think of. Notice and dismiss, he willed Cleon.
But consider.
LMAO. The dicebot wants us to die.
Cleon frowned and pointedly didn't look back at his people. Idrassa couldn't spot any telltale signs of guilt on any of the lieutenants but she remembered from Jack Straw's dossier that Cleon had a second in command called Swan and there were 2 other crews that weren't here. They had probably been left behind in case this had been an ambush.
He shrugged. "So what are you asking me to do for this money? Or are you just out here passing out coin to all the gangs to keep the clinic free? Does that charity really have that much money?" In spite of his skepticism, Idrassa was pretty sure she had Cleon hooked.
Idrassa did not show her relief, and reminded herself this was far from over. There was still plenty of track for a derailment, as the Orien saying went.
"No, the money's not coming from the clinic," she explained, wanting to be sure Cleon and his people would not believe they could get that much cash in a shakedown. "It's a customs avoidance scheme. You and the rest of the gangs in the Ward need to guarantee safe passage for some carts. They move between Aundairan and Karrnathi territory without paying customs dues, and pass a cut of the savings on to you. Our cut," she added, "Is that the clinic stays neutral ground, and you and I are square."
She settled back and let him digest that for a minute before she went on. "We just need a meet with you and the rest of the gang chiefs to get them to go for it. Here is good, make it neutral ground from the start. Everybody gets a stake in the coin, so everybody has a reason to play nice." Idrassa let the last part go unsaid, that if one gang crossed the others they could face united retaliation.
Cleon whistled. "You don't aim low, do you? How in khyber are you going to get all the gangs from the Trollyard to Farwatch to even meet, much less all agree to do the same thing all at once?" He shook his head. "S@$@, I'll come to your meeting just for the free entertainment."
Jixel had remained hidden as best she could during the exchange. No point these Brands knowing everyone they were dealing with. Would a ratfolk lass and her pet chicken be able to even up the numbers or swing the tide of a battle? Nope. This kind of open-air negotiation wasn't a situation that Jixel was... comfortable, nor well versed in. Better to trust one's instincts. Keep hiding!
Listening in, it sure did sound like the chat had gone well, though it seemed that this part of the overall plan might be the easier piece of the pie. Pie? Cheese pie! Jixel wanted to go home.
It wouldn't be just cheese that Jixel would be working at, back at the manor though. She had a feeling that it was time to throw some bones around, just in case some insights were of use.
LMAO... yeah... the Twelvedogs are mad at him
Illendur watches the street, seeing who goes where, and who they are talking to, pointing the smooth talkers in the right direction!
Once in the meeting, he snaps into professional mode, getting people lined up and placed just so.
Declan uses his skills first day to scout out the other gangs, and see what he can find out about their operations and needs.
At the meeting, he applies strategic pressure in the negotiations, given what he learned the previous day.
There were no doubt some tough choices to make, as the group planned out who to talk to, when, how, and with what method of carrot-dangling preparation. Alas, the ratfolk lass, being a relatively new resident of Throneport, was sorely lacking in knowledge of local personalities, goings on and street-politics. But that didn't matter! She could still help... or at least Peekee her chicken familiar could.
When at one point the team seemed undecided on if a particular course of action was wise or not, Jixel exclaimed, "I have the answer! Or, at least, I can get it!"
She smiled and patted the head of Peekee gently then, before tossing a handful of small bones onto their communal table, and inviting her avian friend to choose one. A tiny vertebrae from a spine! Indeed! Surely that meant that they should approach a key member of one of the groups, who was but a link in the chain of command, yet essential for keeping the outfit's financial balance from slouching over into a realm of... well, begging other gangs on hands and feet.