Roldheim does not respond, continuing to ignore Gristav.
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"Now, do I have to show the badge to get an answer? I need a document in proper Dwarven form. Who in this town can do it for me? Only the scribes in your employ? Or who else?" The dwarf sneers unpleasantly. "If you approached Zincher with the same offensive manner you're employing here, I'm not surprised his men didn't take kindly to you. I haven't heard any complaints from our other couriers. Of course, if a man's qualified to carry a commission or payment overland, one would think he could handle a couple of thugs. You'd also think he'd be intelligent enough not to accuse those that provide his bread and butter of conspiring against him." "We employ an office staff capable of handling our legal affairs. I believe that's all the information you're entitled to. Good day." He pointedly turns his attention back to the surface of his desk.
The dwarf frowns at Gristav's vaguely accusatory insinuations. "We have an office staff that handles all our legal matters. What's it to do with you?"
Gristav enters the small and bare office complex which represents the only aboveground portion of the Gas Forges apart from the massive chimneys which vent its fumes. At the same plain desk and chairs from which he was directed to Cleg Zincher's tenement, Tromard Roldheim is seated, looking up in startlement at the half-elf's abrupt query. "Here now, what's all this about? Do I know you? Wait ... you're one of our couriers; I remember you now. Didn't have any trouble getting your badge, did you?"
The dwarf sighs, annoyance evident, but manages with an effort to keep his tone and demeanor polite. "Sir, all we're doing is providing you with a means to show your customers that you are better, better than your competition: that you're trusted and officially licensed by the Gas Forges to carry their commissions. From our point of view, if we lose the business of a distant customer through the criminal behavior of a courier, well, that hurts our bottom line; from our customers' point of view, if they're robbed by an unreliable courier, that's money out of their pcokets; and from your point of view, an official Riddleport Gas Forges courier badge can only heighten your reputation and help you distinguish yourself from unlicensed and inexperienced competitors. No one loses here. But if you're still unconvinced," he slides the completed letter of recommendation across the desk to you, "by all means, feel free to request further explanation from Mr. Zincher's people; he's your representative in this matter, after all."
"Now, now," Roldheim responds placatingly, albeit with a glare over his shoulder at Gravin, "you've just had things explained to you poorly, sir. These forge grunts, they can't wrap their thick skulls around the fine details." He pushes open the heavy door and enters the front office, beckoning Gristav to follow. "A moment, and I'll light the lamp." Doing so as a concession to his guest's lack of darkvision, he gestures him to a chair across a wooden desk in a rather bare room, its walls decorated by sample weaponry produced at the Forges. Seating himself behind the desk, he goes on, "We value our couriers here at the Riddleport Gas Forges. It's to protect your own livelihood that we've instituted these changes. You get a badge that says you're an officially licensed courier with the Gas Forges, and customers know that you're not some fly-by-night opportunist who'll take their money and not deliver their commission -- or worse, abscond with their finished product. Not a thing changes, except that you're carrying one of our badges -- and you've got a little less competition from every yokel upstart with a mulecart, eh?" He grins and pulls a sheet of creamy parchment and a quill from a drawer on his side of the desk. "Now, what we'll do is, I'll write you a nice recommendation attesting that you're a trusted courier that we've worked with many times in the past, and you take it to Cleg Zincher's tenement where they'll issue you a badge."
"Oh, aye," Roldheim's manner grows more conciliatory. "Not gotten his badge yet then, has he? Follow me, sir," he invites Gris as he continues up the stairs and fishes at his belt to unlock the door. "I'll take your commission and explain to you our new system and how it benefits you." |