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An hour spent screaming (both internally and externally) has not treated Tiny particularly well, and she storms out the bah room as soon as she can like a wild cat that just got plunged in a bucket of water.
" Holy s+@$. Holy s~%$, holy s$!$, holy s*~#," Litsy looks in horror at her reflection in the mirror, inspecting the damage done while trying not to hyperventilate.
It's not just the dress (though it's mostly the dress) or the scrubbed skin and the perfume (though both of these are equally bad). It's the absolute certainty that she can't go out like this. People would laugh.
Some of them, she notes, are already laughing. Her jaw tight, she glares daggers at the cackling tengus, then at each of the men, daring them to open their mouths. Even so, it's pretty obvious she's fighting back tears. The dress has no pockets, and she has to carry her old clothes by hand because they fit in her already crammed backpack. Her steps are made unsteady by the shoes she was given to wear with the dress, and she's starting to suspect that whoever woke up one morning to design "proper" clothes for women didn't intend for them to be moving around much. More alarmingly, nothing seems to fit on more than a surface level, and she has the same betrayed look on her face as a poodle made to wear a dog's suit.
"Don't," she snaps, then add with a cold seriousness: "Mention Shelyn in front of me again. Ever."
She turns back to the mirror, looking at her reflection up and down, inspecting it once more.
"Okay," she takes a deep breath in, then out. "[b]Okay. I can pull it off. I just need... [/smaller]"
She kicks off the shoes, putting her magical leather boots back on. The dress is long enough to conceal them.
She ties her hair in a ponytail so it doesn't fall in front of her face, and experiments with movement, making sure that she'd be able to climb a wall or sprint down a hallway in case things go awry.
Once she's pretty sure she won't be hampered by her costume, she turns to Beorn, and stomps by his side.
"Right. Let's not f$$% this up. You decided on a fake name yet?"
Furnok of Ferd, or just Furnok. A good common name. Beorn smells of cinnamon and pastry.
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Variel raises his eyebrows at Litsy's entrance. The corner of his mouth turns up as he can't quite hold back a smile. Why look at you...a regular lady. He stops talking and steps back away from her with his hands held up. Using his fingers to create a frame with her face inside he finally lets the smile fully come forth. Smile Litsy. It is a good look on you! He then notices the distress she is in and stops all his bantering. Sorry Litsy, I didn't think this would bother you so much. My apologies. I do think this will be a good disguise though. Here, hand me your stuff and I will put it in my pack so you are not encumbered. I can keep your knives on my belt as well for easy access for you should you need them.
As Beron comes up with his false name Variel looks on, Furnok, huh? Not sure how common it is but it should keep people from looking for the truth. Are we ready to head out?
Slowly, carefully, the group exits the coffeehouse ensuring none could see them that saw them entering. As you leave Laria provides some advice to the budding entrepreneurs. Mainly that salt from the saltworks is typically purchased through shops or wholesalers by the small sack, usually a couple of pounds a piece and usually quite expensive. So if he wished for his ruse to work he would need to pose as a wholesaler or otherwise some other individual looking to purchase large quantities for shipment to other parts.
To Tiny's brief relief she spots none of the children, rival gangs, or familiar beggars that usually mark out the street corners and change based upon the complex politics of life below the poverty line. She almost starts to smile and slip better into character as a flash of strawberry red hair catches the corner of her eye darting down an alley ensuring nothing but the worst possible version of events would spread through the microcosm of tiny's world.
For Pollux's part he finds the limitations of magic frustrating amd his experiments in combuatible rodentry. While bearing fruit, did not produce the immediate results he was hoping for. The spell certainly made translation faster than even the linguistically talented Rexus could manage but before long the spells run out and Pollux is forced to try and decipher what has already been translated, a frustrating endeavour in and of itself. After a few hours of awkwardness a baggy eyed pale Rexus clears his throat.
The saltworks itself is not a particularly big complex. A small building to the east is dearfed by a larger warehouse connecting to a large silo like structure billowing smoke from 3 separate chimneys. The smell of brine is thick in the air and their is some difficulty in breathing even here just outside the saltworks itself. A simple gate large enough to allow in a cart is the only noticeable entrance to the saltworks. At the ebtrance to the saltworks stands a single guard bearing the distinctive black and red uniform of the chelaxian citizens group only differing in that he is wearing what looks like a black executioners hood. He notes your approach and as you come within firty feet he draws his mace and halts you with a hand gesture.
"That's quite close enough sir. State your business."
Borgan looks passive and stoic as the group approaches the guard. Mace hanging on his side, his hand on the hilt. He looks around as the group halts in front of the guard eyeing the surroundings, then fixates his eyes on the guard himself in a deadpan-stare, but doesn't say a word to him.
As soon as Litsy spots Cori in the crowd on the group's way to the salt mines, her smile is gone along with her countenance.
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFffff-" she grits her teeth, trying not to break character. "Ffffine. It's fine. Everything's fine."
Not even a foot set in the mines yet, and she had already got recognized. This con truly was starting out well. To make matters worse, she felt utterly uncomfortable without her handcrossbow, rapier, knives, bow, or anything that might gouge out someone's eyeball out of their skull. At least, spellcasters like Variel never found themselves unarmed, she realized. Perhaps that was why he kept insisting to teach her some magic. It might come in handy.
Or turn her into Pollux.
Perhaps no magic, then.
As they approach the entrance, she does her best to get into character by channeling her inner spoiled brat. At least the role of a teenager meant she could stay mostly silent. Doing her best to play out the role of a bored teenager (young and harmless, think really young and harmless), she turns to look up at Beorn.
"This is the cool place you wanted to show me?" she pouts. "It stinks!"
Beorn looks at Litsy. I am very well aware of the odor, you should visit the leatherworkers to experience true slinkiness.
Turning to the thug, Beorn smiles. Why greetings!
I am Furnok, a wholesaler who wishes to purchase some salt from here. This is just my niece Litsy, just teaching her the trade.
Inside the saltworks Variel can count about five men in the yard including the gate guard. Two are up against a wall of the warehouse having a chat while occasionally sparing glances to you or to the rest of the yard. One lanky fellow is holding a whip and standing at the entrance of the silo itself when he turns to look at the gate at you for a long tense moment befofe turning back and yelling pointed insults at the people sweating within. The kast masked guard paces back and forth across the yard keeping a close eye on two shirtless and bedraggled men sorting and loading bags of salt between two carts presumably for delivery.
The gate guard turns to one of the men on the wall and calls out,"Rohld! Rohld! Get the boss we have customers!"
Nodding one of the men peels himself from the wall and disappears into the warehouse for a minute before he reemerges trailing behind a stocky blonde dwarf quite well armed in asmodean iconographic armor, though his demeanor suggests more of brute thuggery than piety. The effect of his presence is immediate the remaining man on the wall stands erect and alert, the man at the silo cracks his whip into the door though the effort seems more theatrical than punitive.
The dwarf stands just behind the gate assesing you briefly before speaking, "I run these saltworks. You said you were lookin to buy?"
Indeed! I am a wholesaler who wishes to sell your salt to shops. Several bags suitable for seasoning food.
The dwarf gives a long stony stare as if waiting for more before responding. "Forty five P a sack, forty eight if you want it delivered outside the city. If you put in your payment today I should be able to fit your delivery in for wendesday of next week."
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Appraise Is the salt actually worth that much?
Variel notices the 5 men and doesn’t like the odds. They were outnumbered and the dwarf was heavily armored. While they had surprise it wouldn’t last long. Variel watches to see how the ‘workers’ were being treated. Verbal insults were tolerable but he wanted watch to see if they were physically being beaten.
The price set by the man sounds really expensive, and Litsy wonders how reasonable it really is.
More worryingly, she's starting to wonder how long they can keep the charade up.
"Is this why you can't buy me a pony?" she complains aloud to "Fernok" (why Beorn had decided to use her REAL name, she couldn't fathom). "This sucks!"
Furnok hastily pats his niece's shoulder. Now now dear. I am sure there will be enough left to buy you a pony.
It's pretty clear to the both of you that the dwarf is trying to drive off Beorn in the gentlest way possible or at least shake down some hapless fool for his coin. There might be a bit of deliberate misspeaking here to test the half orc's knowledge and bargaining skill. Something that it seems our poor opera star lacks in this particular scenario. If he doesn't display some mercantile shrewdness soon this may be the extent to this avenue of intelligence gathering.
After a few hours of awkwardness a baggy eyed pale Rexus clears his throat.
“Man? … been worse … been better .. the same?” Pollux shakes their head and releases a held det. magic at an annoying bit of code. “A task, yes a task is welcome to stave off ennui and salt. But what would you set in motion with your ink stained hand. What path would you have us walk down alone?”
Castor emerges from the paper clutter and joins Pollux awaiting their probationary master’s voice.
. Smile Litsy. It is a good look on you!
Pollux ignored the costume changes. Unless it was on fire, or should be, clothing rarely captured the strangers attention. “I once told a woman to smile more. She went mad, or cut my throat. Have to ask Castor if he remembers the order there. Lovely singing voice. Pity we didn’t know her before she met us. Opera is a cruel mistress. “
"Then a horse," Litsy makes deliberate eye contact with Beorn. "A big one! And a new riding outfit. With extra ribbons!"
Beorn:
GM:
Beorn looks baffled at Litzy and pats her head. Now now dear, just be patient. He arches an eyebrow at the dwarf and speaks to Variel. I don't expect you my good fellow, they say they will deliver.
Now good salt-seller, I know that merchants must make a profit by marking up the prices because breaking even just won't do when it is time for getting dinner. But that amount is quite unlikely, surely we can get to serious discussion about purchasing?
The dwarf chuckles mockingly a point punctuated by thw crack of a whip.
"Apologies good sir what price may tell do you think you should pay? This isnt a pony stall, just salt, it stays salt when you bring it home or sit it in a dry cellar for a month."
"It's a rather embarassing task. I'd normally have it undertaken by servants, not that I think you one apologies if I gave that impression, oh dear I made a mess of it. What I'm trying to say is that I'm not well. And the nature of my illness is such that it takes some rather difficult to get ingredients. I have sufficient coin to pay now thanks to the tengu though I pale to think where they got the money. In any case I need you to go around to the apothecaries and alchemists around the city and see if you can retrieve these ingredients. Some are quite rare and expensive."
He passes you a list as well as a coinbag.
"It's rather important for me to continue this work. And I would ask the other but they've been very busy and I don't want to keep you here in the dark."
Five gold a pound
The look Tiny gives Beorn is almost impressed. Not do naive after all. Or he's a really good guesser.
Maintaining his mocking smile but seeming to at least to start taking Beorn serioualy the dwarf pulls a large ledger from his belt and takes out a charcoal pencil.
"Very well, I suppose we can live with the discount for a new customer. How many pounds are we looking for? In multiples of twenty. We run an efficient operation and the help isn't suited for cuatomised amounts."
See Litsy?! We managed to get the deal going. Now how many pounds do you believe we will need?
"It's your stupid business, not mine," Litsy shrugs, trying to resist the urge to break character and yell at Beorn for both using her real name, and asking a bratty teenager for advice in investing.
She missed Connor.
"But who spends hundreds on goods they haven't seen? I bet he's just trying to scam you again."
Beorn sighs. Alas, I seem to have been in error getting her some sweets earlier. Sugar and youth makes for impatience.
My apologies good sir, it seems my attempt at instruction in the business must wait. To not waste your time. I ask for sixty pounds of salt.
”Of course Mr. Rexus we are glad to help.”
Here follows a bit of business where Pollux pulls a LONG leash made of stiff reddish string only to find a severed cat’s paw tied to the end.
”Hmmm I think someone is trying to say something. I wonder who it is?”
“Come along Castor, Mr. Rexus seeks chemical entertainment and or inhument. We are enabling!”
The merry pair scurry about the frightened city. Each merchant directing them to the next as the coin bag empties and the shopping sack fills
The dwarfs scribbles in the book, "Alright, and where are we delivering this?"
Beorn thinks. Several days before delivery will give them some time to set up a proper front where they fought the snot monsters so it looks like a proper warehouse/supplier. He then gives the address to the dwarf.
Nodding and taking down the address he asks for Beorn's name. Taking down the fake 9ne he scribbles a bit more before speaking up again, "Alright, give me a moment to set up everything and I'll be out to collect the gold and give you the receipt. Just have them produce on arrival and they'll give you the goods. Three hundred gold in total I believe. Be back in a moment."
With that he shuffles back to the warehouse likely to make arrangements. In the silence that follows the prisoners continue loading sacks of dried salt into the cart. The last one is loaded and the two men who were originally by the cart start leading over a pair of draft horses quietly chewing oats in the corner of the yard. As they start getting the horses tied to the cart one calls to the man at the silo door.
"Connor! Stop pretending like you're doing something and help us with the shipment we're making a boat run!"
The lanky man at the door turns whip still in hand, "Boss told me to mind the prisoners."
"No, he told you to crack the whip every five minutes to keep pace."
Scratching the back of his head sheepishly the youth replies, "Sorry sir I really only know how to count up to ten"
"Five is less than ten."
"Right, right, but is it less than three or more than nine? I never could get the order right you see."
The man at the cart paused while his partner and a couple of the prisoners resting in the shade of the silo held back snickers. Staring at the boy for a solid minute before barking out.
Get in the damn cart!" With a snappy and sloppy salute the boy tosses the whipto another masked guard who barely catches it before it hits the ground. With another bark the man causes him to stumble and sprint into the warehouse, "And get your crossbow it's dirty lying foreigners we're dealing with!"
As the men finish getting the horses tied the boy sprints back out of the warehouse crossbow and a fist full of bolts in hand hopping into the back of the cart. The gate opens and the cart starts making it's way out of the yard when the dwarf comes back out with a stamped corner of paper.
** spoiler omitted **
Pity that only counts as a total of 10.
. Well at least Pollux will see whatever it is coming.
and on we go...
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When the dwarf leaves and the guards are preoccupied Variel leans forward and whispers to the others, If they are making a salt run and leaving the compound this might be the best time to free everyone here. Make a show of looking over the contract and give us more time for them to leave. Then we knock out the dwarf and go from there.
Beorn nods.
"Whatever, as long as we can leave this stupid place," Litsy turns her back on Variel and Beorn, petulantly kicking a pebble.
She's saying that quite loudly, actually. And taking a few steps away from the group, while affecting boredom. Her gaze remains insistently fixed on the cart.
GM:
Ahh yes, the contract, let me just check this out. Hmm..Hmm... Are you sure this is the correct price? I believe you miscarried a number.
I just want to check the salt as well, not implying anything of course, but bags tend to leak if rats get to them
Ahem..Ahem.. Beorn waves the cart off There you go good fellows. On your way. Beorn flips through the contract some more. Oh just double checking. Excellent work you have done here. Keep things ship shape after that horrible ruckus that was kicked up. The mayor should be proud of your work.
Beorn delays and chatters as he goes through the contract until hopefully the cart has left.
Borgan stands closeby, looking out over the yard as the others pretend to look over the contract.
He looks over his shoulder as Variel mentions trying to break out the guard and break everyone free, then in reply solemnly nods.
"Just give me the sign."
Business that is kept relatively fair as you can an eye on scales and denominations being very quick to vaguely threaten when scales seem a bit off, loads seem a bit light, and ingredients seem a bit mixed.
Your last stop is one located not too far from the opera house. From the little you've heard the store has something of a reputation. Previously the apothecary helped actors and actresses deal with some of the hazards of their culture and work. Whether it was a salve to deal with a particularly uncomfortable costume or a snorting powder to help keep a diva focused on her work.
With the new administration and the night of ashes the original apothecary's owner disappeared and his assistant took over the shop. He is known to be somewhat belligerent and highly supportive of the new lord mayor and the queen.
The rumors seem all but confirmed when the first thing you see isn't the usual row upon row of various medicines herbs and more exotic dried, preserved, and floating fare but a chelaxian flag nailed to the wall just above a large and freshly painted portrait of queen Abogail in all her infuriatingly haughty glory. The man behind the counter grunts a greeting before returning to a careful study of the tome in front of him, his lips moving slowly with each and every difficult word.
Litsy surreptitiously walks behind Variel's back... Forgetting about rule number one of any successful sleight of hand: focusing on what you're doing instead of staring at something else.
The dwarf gives Beorn a puzzled look as he starts rambling about a contract.Guiding him back out the gate as the cart starts to trundle through taking up nearly all of the space the dwarf addresses the half orc merchant.
"It's just a receipt sir, and no it's 300 gold as we agreed. If you don't have it on you now you can send one of your slaves up with it since we already have you scheduled. Just make sure to do it by the day before or you'll be marked off and you'll have to reorder with the payment up front. As for the salt sir.
The dwarf makes a shrill whistle causing the cart to stop a little over half way through the gate blocking your passage and making the men on the cart quite alert and nervous. The prisoners in the yard in the meantime get escorted back into the warehouse no doubt to finish the days packing before the next wet cart comes in.
Hopping up the side of the cart the crossbowman in the back slides o er qhile the dwarf hauls up one of the sacks and undoes a portion of the stitching to reach in and pull outs a small handful of coarse grayish salt smelling faintly of peat.
Neon looks over the salt and sniffs. Good product indeed. And yes, I have the payment for you right here, I'll just need to get a suitable surface to count on. Beorn pats his money bag.
Litsy follows closely behind the dwarf, looking at Variel for the signal that she can shiv the guy between two ribs.
The bell over the door to the apothecary shop rings as Pollux enters, the strong orange sun of late afternoon following our stranger into the gloom.
"Good morning fair subject of Cheliax!" Pollux begins in a loud voice. "I am here to bolster the economy of our free and vibrant city to the tune of a dose of {insert name of last ingredient}"
Pollux does a quick double-take as the gifted abstract above the bar resolves into an execrable portrait of the queen.
"So honored assistant to the past and servant to the present let me cross your palm with silver so you can return to your erudite esoterica."
Out of idle curiosity Pollux attempts to see what the up-jobbed assistant is reading. Castor thinks it is a bound connection of "Amateur poisoners monthly' but you can't trust a rat when it comes to technical literature
Assuming no diverting ultraviolence Pollux buys what the man is selling and wends a wandering way to lairward.