8th day of Fall, 518 AV
He was getting that feeling again.
That upsetting, all too familiar rumbling in his gut that said ‘somethings wrong, and its only gonna get worse from here.’ It was the same unease he’d felt a thousand times before; he had got it the moment he decided pickpocketing the guard captain's purse would be a good idea, the day he stepped onto the altar and married his first wife, and that time he’d been convinced to invest all his coin in a friend’s gambit to make cattail tobacco the ‘future of the smoking business all across the world.’ He should have listened to it back then like he should have been listening to it now, but if Guldo Barsavi had been accused of anything, being sensible was not on the list.
He didn’t let the paranoia slow his pace however, nor did he permit it to slow that of their ‘guest’ that early evening. Mazrim Taim was a tall and gaunt man, light of complexion but dark of eyes. His fine black coat and greasy, slicked back hair marked him as something reminiscent of the higher class. The way he carried himself, chin held high and studious gaze unwavering as it stared down his hawk of a nose, only helped sell the air of aristocratic nobility even more.
A light shove kept the slaver moving in close tandem as they drew nearer to the smithy that was their destination. Taim merely grunted under his breath at the rough manhandling, beady black eyes turning ever so slightly to consider the bigger, broader brutes who were his shepherds. Flanked by two of the Bastards on each side, Guldo included, the slaver wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew it. The group walked with purpose through the gathering crowds that filled Ravok’s merchants ring that day. None gave pause or consideration to the odd assembly of thugs and criminals surrounding the well dressed and clean-cut gentleman as they pushed their way through the throngs of shouting peddlers and haggling housewives. For his part, and much to Guldo’s relief, Mazrim never made an attempt to escape, nor even gave the impression he even intended to. He didn’t seem the type who enjoyed to notion of getting himself entangled in some street brawl, let alone risk having himself seen in public as he was dragged, kicking and screaming across the entire quarter. No, instead the sharp chinned businessman seemed more like a man who considered his options like he considered his business ventures. He studied his opponents and rivals alike, making notes of their surroundings, remembering faces, seeking out secrets, all so when he did decide that the less ‘elegant’ side of his work was needed, those that had crossed him would never know what hit them in the end.
Guldo wondered if that was why his gut was in such a blasted tizzy, but he knew better. It wasn’t Mazrim that had him on edge, it was the man they were taking him to.
The group arrived at the front door of the Defiled Blade without incident, each gang member carefully and studiously searching about to make sure the store was still closed and undisturbed as they had left it. Once they were certain all was copacetic, they began making their way round back where another, less conspicuous entrance awaited them.
Instead of impertinently shoving Taim in ahead of them, Guldo instead opened the door and graciously invited the slaver in with a wave of his meaty hand. He wasn’t above manners after all, and it wasn’t if the man had any more of a chance after this. It was far too late to escape now. Perhaps Mazrim would realize the embarrassment and scandal of being seen carried off by bandits in the middle of the day would have been worth it if it had meant that he’d had even the slightest chance of avoiding what was about to happen next.
A bitterly warm wind brushed by his cheek as the door swung open, and what followed was a conflation of all the smells one could expect from an establishment like this; tanned leather, smoldering flames, tortured steel and crafting oils. As they made their way inside, Guldo was immediately greeted by the hard, wary eyes of more than dozen others staring back at him. They lined the walls of the brightly lit back room like some sort of honor gaurd. Standing at attention with hands at the hilts of their weapons, it was clear they were all restless. Like him, most were members of the gang, big, brawny and bearing the kind of ugly mugs only a mother could love, just as had been requested. He nodded at them and in turn they nodded back, deflating ever so slightly at the sight of their boss. There were others though, deeper in the shadowy corners of the room who did not unwind nor let the tension fade from their harsh gazes. Though these few wore better armor and carried themselves with militant grace, they were far more disconcerting than the criminals and reprobates they shared the room with. Seeing members of the Ebonstryfe rarely ever put Guldo at ease, and especially not so when there were so many of them in the same place, and all with the same purpose.
No one spoke at first, and the rhythmic sound of hammers working and bellows blowing were distant, faded, but ever present in the room next door.
Over it all, a voice finally cut through the din.
“Ah, Master Taim!”
Came a dry and hollow greeting from the center of the room, drawing all attention there if it wasn’t already. Standing at the upon a slightly raised dais was a dark figure, arms outstretched as he gazed nonchalantly at the large reflective mirror placed before him. Another man, much older, short in stature and about as solid looking as the various suits of armor and blacksmithing equipment scattered about the room was practically crawling all over the Ravokian with a length of knotted rope set firmly in his grasp. Guldo realized he was taking measurements, essentially preparing his pale skinned patron like one would a groom at his fitting. Taim, on the other hand, noticed that though he had not turned to address him, cold blue eyes were watching him all the same via his reflection, and the slaver promptly made a courteous and well-practiced bow to the stryfer’s back.
“You’re a difficult man to get a hold of, sir.”
“Not that difficult…” Guldo overheard the slaver muttering to himself as his scrutinizing gaze surveyed the room once more. Always watching, this one. Like a falcon on the hunt. The kingpin thought to himself. He was going to have to remember that.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I’d greet you more properly, but as you can see…” The stryfer motioned with his head at the red armed Isurian pacing about him. “I find myself somewhat compromised at present. Never the less, I assure you, I’ve been looking forward to this introduction ever since I first learned of your name.”
Taim shifted his weight, perhaps in an attempt to distract from the discomfort he no doubt felt. “I’m afraid,” he began, licking his thin lips, “you have me at a disadvantage. You clearly know who I am, but I can’t say the same for you. I’ll admit, I’ve been in suspense ever since your man here came to so kindly escort me from my chateau. I hope now I can finally have a name and perhaps even a reason for all this mystery and excitement as of late. So please, enlighten me... who petch are you?”
Guldo saw a grin flash over the stryfer’s wicked visage reflected in the mirror, and that feeling he’d been having since this whole thing had started was suddenly back and worse than ever.
WC - 1332
