Flashback [Solo] Tools of the Trade

[Kelmar Hedos]

83rd of Spring, 509 AV Merchant's Ring It was one of those occasional nights in Ravok when it was actually raining, the droplets splashing in the rooftops and dripping on the walkways and plopping into the canals. Not many were out usually at this time of night - even fewer because of the weather - but there were always at least two kinds of people that needed to carry on regardless of the circumstances. One was the Ebonstryfe, for the city needed its guardians and protectors at all hours come rain or shine, the dutiful followers of Rhysol performing their responsibilities for the good of all. The other was the kind of people who traveled at this time to be safe, to answer calls and hold meetings without fear of being seen by too many people. While the 'nobles' enjoyed their privileges late into the night and most families were tucked into their homes until dawn, these agents moved freely around the small city of twisting canals and bridges, only needing to be wary of each other should they come across a rival or, worse yet, another from an enemy employer. Drenched from head to toe, Kelmar made his way through the magnificent city, stepping quickly and keeping his head down along one of the major canals in the Merchant's Ring. Because of the hour, the entire place seemed to sit still without a sign of its usual bustling activity, an aspect that anyone new to walking through it at night might find unsettling. No citizens roaming the streets, no slaves shuffling across the walkways, no ravosalas drifting down the canals, it was so unlike the Merchant's Ring that it seemed alien. After so many times through however, the young Hedos had gotten well used to the emptiness, the lack of life in this usually lively place. He took a familiar turn onto one of the smaller canals leading off the main one and instinctively knew when to turn and look up. Before him was the private residence of Xerin Galatos, an old merchant who once was known throughout most of the markets of Ravok. His home was a pretty small estate, but even the small ones exuded a sense of wealth. An impressive lacquered door with a stained glass looking window returned Kelmar's gaze, set in a marble door-frame with intricate designs carved along the edge. Such a threshold said much about the owner, but it wasn't as classy or pompous as some that Kelmar had seen in the Noble District. Turning the copper handle, the young Hedos reentered the familiar building, taking a second to marvel at the the tiled granite floor that was polished to a near mirror sheen, the clean white marble walls near spotless as they held aloft the next floor, the wide main staircase covered with velvet carpet and flanked by gold-plated railings. Despite the impressive appearance and expensive materials however, the rest of the decorations seemed rather quaint. Small tables along the walls, some with vases full of flowers on them, a simple pairing hung up here and there. They were the tastes of an aging man, but that isn't to say only Xerin liked it. Despite it's obvious expensiveness, the simplicity of it gave the room a quiet power, a quality that Kelmar found admirable. Walking through one of the doorways on the first floor, the lad entered a large sitting room that had a more quaint feel than the main hall. Instead of marble and granite, the floors and walls of this room were made of wood - varnished wood, but wood nonetheless. Bookshelves sat against one of the walls, packed end to end with tomes and novels and works of both fiction and non-fiction. In the center of the room was an oval carpet, on top of which was a knee-high table resting conveniently between two comfortable sofas. It was obviously a room with a more enclosed purpose, the inside of which Kelmar had seen many times before, the usual place where he talked with his handler and received his tasks. "Thank you for coming, Kelmar," a familiar voice greeted from the couch. "Please, make yourself comfortable." The lad moved to take a seat opposite Xerin, but hesitated when he remembered that he'd just come from the rain. He looked to his handler for permission, who casually waved him down. He sat straight and with his eyes focused on the man before him, peeling of his hood while doing so. The old merchant was in his more casual attire, a simple white cloth shirt with soft leather trousers, both comfortable and practical. His gray hair and beard were trimmed and neat, his blue eyes as welcoming as ever. This seemingly old and innocent man was the same one who came to Kelmar over two years ago with an offer - perform illegal tasks for the Galatos family, get paid. At the time it was a no-brainer, as Kelmar had just been forced out of the only home he had after the murder of both his parents. With no future prospects besides maybe intentional slavery just to get by, it was a miracle that he received such an offer so soon. For the past couple years, he'd been running jobs and tasks for Xerin and the Galatos family in general, training himself in the skills of analysis and stealth while recruiting others to help him from time to time. Since then, after seeing the success that one agent was making them, the Galatos had begun recruiting all sorts of destitute types with unconventional skills and a knack for working without getting caught. Kelmar had brought them their first few recruits, but soon the number of people he didn't know was larger than the number of people he was acquainted with. He was still the favored agent though, having a personal relationship with the old codger who ran the illegal operations. "What needs doing, Xerin?" the lad asked without hesitation. Nodding, the older man cut straight to the point, passing a pile of papers across the table towards the young agent. Kelmar looked through them, leafing through the small stack as efficiently as he had all his resources in the past, first skimming and then reading the information. The documents ranged from newspapers to ship manifests from the ferries to observations from some of Xerin's other contacts. One name kept cropping up however: Trimlan. "Their family has been rising quickly," Xerin told his accomplice, as if reading his mind, though he was aware of how smart the youth was and had reasoned he would have guessed by now who his target was. "We're getting rough competition from them in the trade of attire, both common clothes and nobler robes and vestments. They import the raw materials, rolls of thread of various types of cloth along with some dye now and again, then have their slaves create the goods and sell them cheaply, yet still much higher than their cost in raw resources. Since the crafting is done by their slaves all their clothes cost virtually nothing to make. They can't produce finer vestments as quickly as we can import them, but they can constantly produce a variety of common clothes for those of middle class, most of whom flock to their lower prices like geese to bread." While listening to his handler, Kelmar kept leafing through the papers. One particular piece of news caught his eye, an article that detailed how they had sold a large number of fine-quality if plain attire to the Nitrozian family, who presumably were using them to clothe their slaves. However, one of the sons of the family itself had bought a large number of high-quality vestments, all that the Trimlans had at the time. "That's right," Xerin commented, looking over at what Kelmar was reading, "they're supplying the Nitrozians. With that name associated with the Trimlans, they're getting all the publicity they could possibly want, and people all across the spectrum of society are buying from them. The commoners buy several sets at a time while the nobles buy simple clothes in bulk for their slaves and compete for their finer vestments. We're at risk of shutting down our entire operation in the trade, as they're making that business front almost more expensive than it's worth." Kelmar listened, his mind running over the facts he read on the papers before him. His handler seemed mildly worried at shutting down on of the family investments, but Kelmar had not time for worry, only work. His job was to analyze, and that was what he was doing. "Do you have any specific objective for me to achieve?" Shaking his head, the old merchant looked across at his young agent. "Anything that can slow their business will be beneficial to us, no matter how small. They haven't quite warranted stamping out their entire business yet, but we'll see how things develop." Kelmar nodded, half-listening, while double-checking one of the documents that had caught his attention. One of the shipping manifests declared several dozen crates of thread bound for the Trimlan warehouse, but it didn't specify whether the ferry dropped off the goods at that particular part of the docks or whether it was carried there by workers or slaves. Leafing through the rest of the stack, he found several other manifests with the same information, one every five days, along with another document that reported the findings of an observer for the Galatos family. The report said that she noticed a small procession of poorly dressed individuals, slaves most likely, carrying lots of crates between them into the Trimlan warehouse twice a day every five days, the exact same days the shipments arrived. Sensing an opportunity, he voiced his thoughts. "According to these manifests, the Trimlans import their resources once every five days, and these reports say that the contact sees slaves carry plenty of crates to the Trimlan family warehouse. Is that where the slaves also weave the clothes?" "We believe so," Xerin said, leaning forward and looking at the documents Kelmar had mentioned. "We haven't managed to get anyone inside yet to take a look however, as there's always a watch slave troop posted just outside the door. Not professional, but at least competent at what they do. Anyone trying to get in will have to get past half a dozen armed and possibly trained guards." Deep in thought, Kelmar looking back at the reports. "I might be able to take a look inside, but I'll need some help to do so. We can still take a step or two towards your goal though. Cross-referencing the reports with the manifests, it looks like the crates of thread on the boats are the same crates that are carried to the warehouse along the docks. I'm thinking that we can somehow disrupt the movement of the goods, throwing the crates into the lake before they reach the warehouse. According to the reports, most of the movement happens during the day, but sometimes when a shipment is late it happens when no one else is watching. If that's the case, then this will be simple. If not, maybe we can create a ruckus and contrive an excuse to start pushing things off the docks. I'm thinking Heldora." Slowly nodding as Kelmar explained his plan, Xerin took a look at the reports himself. "Yes, that sounds good. The contact watching might be able to help as well, he knows the area and can pick a good place to set it up. I'll ask him to meet you at the Silver Sliver tomorrow at the nineteenth bell so you two can get acquainted. If Heldora's going to help out, you should bring her along too." "That sounds good, thank you," Kelmar said, already looking at the next few papers. Most of them were useless, price lists at the various Trimlan stores and quantity of items sold, but the number of daily visitors at one of the stores seemed really high, which gave Kelmar another idea. "Do you anyone else good at acting?" he asked his handler. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Xerin answered. "I believe I may know a few people who I can talk into it or who owe me some favors. Why do you ask?" Shifting the parchment until Xerin was able to read it, Kelmar pointed at the store name and the number of daily customers seen walking in and out every day. "That's a really high number," he said, "and they'll all be buying things. If you can get some people to go in there and create another kind of ruckus, maybe complain about the clothes or the service, that will drive away potential customers, slowing down business in that particular store. With the help of a few spread rumors, by myself or one of my acquaintances, we could easily slow down the sales. Add to that the lack of resources they'll get from our interruptions, and they'll be panicking." "Now why didn't I think of that?" Xerin asked jovially, smiling widely. "Because you're a good and honest man," Kelmar answered without a trace of insincerity. He stood up and straightened out his cloak and trousers, announcing his intention to get started. "Hold off on having them actually execute it though, we want our disruption of their deliveries to have some impact before they start losing customers, and maybe we can preemptively spread some rumors that will prove true when you're people make a scene." "What about getting into the warehouse?" Xerin asked as he began to re-stack the papers and documents. "Do you have a plan for that?" "I have some ideas," Kelmar replied as he made his way over to the door, "but I want to see how the Trimlans react to the pressure first. I'll get started on spreading those rumors and observing the warehouse myself, then meet your other contact at the Silver Sliver tomorrow night." "Sounds like a plan to me, lad." Standing up, Xerin followed Kelmar out into the main hall, which looked horribly drained of color with its marble and granite walls and floor as compared to the rich wood furniture and materials of the sitting room. "I'll let you know when my end's done so we can meet again, and hopefully discuss further plans to stunt the Trimlans' growth. Thank you for coming, and good luck with what you have planned." "Same to you, Xerin," Kelmar replied before stepping out of the well-decorated threshold and into the rain, lifting his hood up to cover his head and face. It was annoying before he'd gone in, but now there was a sort of comforting feel to it that mixed with his pleasure of being on another job. He would be able to focus on something again, returning to the norm. Days off didn't suit him, he needed a task, and now that he had one he almost felt like smiling. As it was, he simply started making his way back to his loft, the water falling from the sky drenching him again.