Closed [Baroque Bay] Fire and Oil

[Fallon]

42nd Winter 513 AV

Fallon stamped her feet upon the cold ground. It was chilly again, the snow having grown compacted and flat, the soft lying layer now having been replaced by sheets of ice. Her furs had been pulled up around her neck, her chin burrowing down into the layers. Orvin had been left behind - he would only be a liability during her ground work, and a major attractor for attention. Shoulders rolling, she gave a long look along the dock. Vessels were moored up, the painted names upon the hulls of the vessels catching the morning light. Her form for the most part was hidden beneath the folds of the cloak, her blades and equipment kept safe from the immediate view of others.

Her gloved hand was tightly clasped around her notebook, a gentle step out into the view. Sailors were already making a move, the gentle movement of cargo to and fro upon some gangplanks. But for the moment, there was little going on. For the best really, it meant she could get some quick drawings and plans down whilst it was relatively free of bodies. Things would be clearer, more visible to the eye and laid out clearly. That was the first step of setting things in motion.

The other would be the grabbing of her additional set of eyes and ears - Noven and Senghor, if the pair showed up - before sending them out into the world to check the boat stocks - slaves were today's target. Perhaps she could wheedle out the stock by posing as a potential buyer or agent. It would allow them to get in close and personal, let them see the numbers and count them. The notebook was flipped open to a blank set of pages, her eyes averting down to the pale surface she would soon mark.

Baroque bay itself though consisted of several piers, the busiest heading towards the south - closer to the markets and nestled in supposedly greater safety. Numbers, people, strong all gathered together to watch the backs of others - or leave a dagger in it. Whatever the preference was really. Lips pursed into a line, her slow walk down towards the collection of vessels. Her steps were firm, the chink of metal sounding out. With her chin lifting she began her work, firstly however by drawing a line down a third of a page and marking out the piers. It was time to see what and who's vessels were up for grabs.

"Come on gents, could show some face. Haven't got all day."

[Noven]

Nov sat bolt right on his lumpy mattress, a sheen of sweat covering his clammy, shirtless form. He was panting as if he'd run the length of Sunberth and back as the hint of another telltale headache inched its way forth into his hazy consciousness.

Gods, how he hated sleeping.

The bed creaked and groaned as he swung his legs over the side and put his head in his hands. It was getting to become unbearable, these nightmares. Not many more sleepless nights and heart-pounding, rage filled mornings before he'd start feeling his sanity unravel more than it already had. Maybe he should cough up the coin to get something to help him sleep without dreams. Plenty of substances out there to choose from. He sure as petch needed it, anyway.

Nov shuffled over to pick up various articles of clothing strewn about his tiny apartment. He stuffed numbed limbs into the fabric, not bothering to open his threadbare curtains and check on Syna's progress. He knew what bell it was already--a minor perk of getting wakened by horrific nightmares at more or less the same time every morning.

Grabbing a mealy apple as he shrugged on his coat, the cook took one look at his sweat sodden sheets, scowled, and slammed his door shut. He locked it with a quick twist of a key and made his way down the rickety stairs.

It was time to begin his first real job for the enigmatic Hound.

They hadn't rounded up their two Daggerhand bodies yet, but that would come soon enough. For now, they had simply been told to meet Bitzer at the docks. What this job entailed, he hadn't a single clue.

A blast of chilled air met his grim face as he stepped out into the streets. As soon as Seng showed up, they would set off together and see what sort of business Bitzer and the Hound had in store for them. Nov, for one, was looking forward to doing work near the docks. It meant that he could get rid of this petching headache before it had the chance to return full force without so much as raising a complaint.

Sailors got into brawls all the time. This would be a piece of cake.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Timeless machinations span at each interconnecting tendril of brain matter, each pulsating wave passing by with thought and simple rage laced within each idea as Seng sat at his table, alone and bestowed by the bosom of darkness, her majestic shroud as if he was enthroned about corpses of both flesh and bone. As the Vilhjalmr leaned into his table, clasping his palms together whilst a warm cloud of air trailed out the confines of his lips, his knuckles ached, throbbing as they were slightly bruised. Not so long ago had he returned home and taken out his frustration on his cottages walls, his thoughts caged within like the reincarnation of rage seemingly dwelling within. How was he always dragged into these situations?, An now, some trimmed and proper bastard was telling him about some grand scheme to take down the Daggerhands, though he too hand nothing but utter disperse for the gangs in Sunberth, nothing but slavers, murderers, rapists, killers and all forms of disease wearing human flesh, walking with the most exalted status... Mere scum, yet this Wren character, the bastard even put a knife to his damned throat to incite intimidation into him. "Prick..." he said to the hollow emptiness of his home, his deep soothing voice, enriched with nothing but anger and disappointment. Senghor had read the book, the 'Journal', his forefathers had seen true intimidation, they'd seen the faces of hell themselves and made them call to their gods for help! Yet there he was, not so long ago sitting in his seat and nearly, ever so slightly, daring to flinch at the sight of a mere dagger. 'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me...' he recited in his thoughts as he looked down at his hands and unclasped them. Wrangling his palms together and letting blood flow, he turned towards two-three pages he'd had the leisure to accustom himself with when he returned and had time to read about his predecessors. It was about Baral (Vilhjalmr), he was a sellsword like Senghor himself and he'd fought against a few of the scourges that plagued his path. Baral knew that wherever he threaded his blade and his raged laden the earth with rivers of blood and gnawing trees of corpses. An yet, one think he said that stood out amongst his writings and teachings, were the words : "No path is as dark as the hearts of men... And this to you my son I teach" Senghor repeated in the cold, Baral was right and true to his word. All his predecessors had seen it, all of them knew it and ever so openly would they knowing walk the path... A true Vilhjalmr would know what the cryptic message and saying would mean, and that was all the encouraged the dark skinned warrior needed to caused movement to come from him, he'd been sitting there, pacing around his home and punching the walls since he'd walked into the house, so many precious chimes wasted one thoughts and ideas... A few ticks later his closet swung open and the welcoming bosom of his coat grasped his aesthetically pleasing physique and harbingered warmth. It didn't take even a tick, for him to strap onto him his sword and walk towards his door. It shut with an aging creak and a rattling of locking mechanisms winding and dancing as one to close his door. 'Eleazar better not sneak into my house... Thieving bastard' he thought darkly as he hid his key and turned towards the alleys of the Sunset Quarters. In his mind Seng was looking at this entire dilemma as a intriguing form of strategical game, a hunt if one were to depicted it in its most raving form. He'd do as he was told, he'd act out as if he compiled with the Hound, yet if that bastard ever dared try to hurt him or Noven in any shape or form, half of Sunberthian dogs would be devouring his very entrails for starters by the next chime. It was truly a double edged sword the business they carried out, and anybody needed leverage over the other, a simple sell-out wouldn't work for Seng, no, if he was betrayed he'd gladly devise the most diabolical methods of death for anybody that even tries to place a knife at his side. Yet for now, he observes, listens and dances with the melody, the depressed laden symphony of death... As the harsh steps of his trudge echoed in the footsteps it didn't take long for him to zip past Noven, he inclined his head slightly to the side and spoke... "Let's get a fuckin' move on... We haven't got all day..."

[Fallon]

Fallon paced and turned, studied and analysed. To begin with she positioned herself at the busy mouth of the 'Cherry Bay' - as it was nicknamed by the locals - with its pair next door to it. In comparison to the other piers it seemed in relatively good condition, and by far the largest in comparison to its dwarfed siblings. Her head only gave an incline as she scribbled down the name awkwardly upon the page. The nib of her quill gave a rise, a quick point to the moored ships and the stillness of the early morning still dawning upon them. She gave the ink vial a shake, hoping to keep the liquid from freezing in the air - that was one thing she definitely did not want thrust upon her in the early morning. The inability to write.

Clicking her neck she gave a count, her eyes looking upon the tall masts of the vessels. There appeared to be at least five, at present gently bobbing up and down in the low tide. So, noting that down she gave a gander round. Men stood upon the deck, eyes staring down into the bowels of the ship, at what was beyond her at present - she would find out in time. That was today's task however. After that was done, well all the stops could be pulled out. But before that, she had to wait for the men. Wherever they were.

Book snapping shut she turned to face the city proper. Her lips had formed into a curl, her eyes burning bright with a deep set determination. Excitement seemed to turn within, deep and pulsing at her core. Business would finally begin, the start of their revolution in Sunberth. The calm before the storm of change. Maybe she did not agree with all the methods they were going through, yet the effect was still there. The chaos and corruption would be lifted, the people brought and aligned for one cause. Who would not be ecstatic at this possibility?

Maybe people who were not morning people. It seemed like some people needed to fix their sleeping habits. When Noven and Senghor - she presumed - finally came into sight. Shoulders squared up, the ink and quill being placed away in the safety of her pockets. Hands snapped behind her, an approving nod to both of them as they closed in. Patiently she waited for a closer approach for both of them before finally speaking.

"Noven, pleasant to see you again," her eyes slid to the taller man, "And this is Senghor I presume? We have not officially met I believe. I am Bitzer." Left hand uncoiling she offered it forward to him, eyes looking up and locking at him. She did not have much of a choice but to look up at him, he was indeed head and shoulders above her. Then again, they did say the bigger they are the harder they fall, "I take it you both received the message to meet me here? Good. Now onto business."

Pivoting round she gave a broad gesture to the length of the dock, "This is the goal for today. Study, analysis, and gathering of information of the docks. For today, we are serving as traders and curiosity seekers. Least, we are for the moment." Her book flipped open the pages turning to where she was previously working, "Numbers are needed, not only of vessels but man power. Checks, routines and most importantly stock." She then gave a shrug, "Oh, and where the Daggerhands are floating. But we'll get to that in time."

Fallon - no - Bitzer, gave a glance over her shoulder at them her brow rising from behind her mane of shaggy hair, "Tell me, what is the biggest industry of trade in Sunberth?"

[Noven]

His friend was in a right foul mood today, but Nov was in no place to judge. He was in a somewhat foul mood himself, though likely for entirely different reasons. Hell, everyone in Sunberth was usually in some unpleasant state of mind or other. Even the "Homewrecker" and his trollop of a daughter, with their full bellies and fancy clothes and three storied home, were firing off their tempers every few chimes. It was simply the way life ran in this festering city. Floated about in the very air they breathed.

By the time they reached Cherry Bay, Bitzer was, as expected, waiting for them with a book in one hand and a quill in the other. Her wolfish pal was notably absent. So, a subtle job it would be then. Scratching at the back of his neck, Nov hoped he wouldn't be expected to write anything. His handwriting was shyke.

When they finally approached the shaggy haired girl, she was surprisingly diplomatic as she greeted both of them. Nov had half expected her to snap at them or growl her acknowledgement of their presence, but she was as civilized as can be. The cook nodded, both to return her greeting and to confirm they had received the note. He was still unsure of how to view all of this--The Scars, The Hound, and now Bitzer and their first job--and tread the grounds of their relations warily. One never knew another's true intentions until the prize was in their grasp.

Nobody waltzed into Sunberth with the goal of taking down one of its strongest gangs without powerful reason. In fact, nobody waltzed into Sunberth with said goals, ever. Period.

If it hadn't been for one glaring attribute he had witnessed so far of the Hound's representatives, he would have turned back in an instant. They didn't seem the type to stab you in the back. More likely, they would stab you in the front. But, Nov preferred that to the first.

As Bitzer explained the basic goals of their job for the day, the cook frowned. He was never good with words or numbers, but at least he and Seng knew how traders behaved. Plus, they could look intimidating and play the part of mercenary guards without flaw as they counted how many men manned the various crews and labeled the thugs and hired hands apart from the simple sailors. That they most certainly could do.

When she asked what the biggest industry of trade in Sunberth was, he almost wanted to say sex. Brothels were never out of business, even more so with Winter having rolled into the city so fiercely. But that was the wrong answer and he knew it. Most whores were whores to survive, and though they brought in streams of coin to their mistresses, that same coin never contributed to the city as a whole. No, there was only one type of trade big enough and prosperous enough to attract so many ships and traders at the bays.

"Slaves," Nov answered with a sour note in his tone.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the two friends moved dimly through the alleys of Sunberth, Senghor's thoughts never shifted from his goal, the Daggerhands, it seemed that his steps were each precisely set and predicted as they made their way towards the docks. It was a deafening between the two, occasionally the clang of his blade, the rustle of their coats and attire killed off the silence by echoing off the walls and narrow walkways of their lovely city. An when they reached the complex field before them, Seng's eyes narrowed towards the small figure ahead, an when they neared the scenery heightened and cleared. Bitzer, or whatever the hell her name was, seemed to turn and nod in their direction. Hence Seng assumed that she knew that they were coming, she spoke and said his name, his jaw stiffened as he reassured himself that after such an incident, people shouldn't truly know his name, it was not his predecessors way, hence it was now not his and he'd have to tell Noven about his decision. His golden brown trailed down and looked at her outstretched hand and his brow slightly arching, a pull of muscle here seemed to clarify his inquisition. She wasn't expecting a hand shake was she?, such formalities weren't allowed, especially on a job like this. Seng shrugged the gesture and turned towards the docks, "Let's proceed, shall we?" his gruff voice laced with chill of cold whilst he looked at Bitzer. It didn't take long for her to say wha... 'What?... Study, analysis and information gathering, what manner shyke was this?' he questioned himself darkly, he wanted to spit out his budding rage before a intriguing question came from her, Noven didn't even take a tick to answer... Slaves... The thought seemed to cause the Vilhjalmr to clench his fists within the hearts of his coat, the very idea of demeaning a living breathing entity to such standards, and within even he didn't know the dark truth, one threading so thinly within his blood that it seemed like a joke. In his silence the dark skinned male could only incline his head and bring it back, Continue... He thought darkly

[Fallon]

"Correct," she pivoted round, clapping both her hands together to address them, "As far as I can see, it is the biggest market in this city. And has the most income, even with its somewhat... unethical approaches. Never the less, they are today's target. We will be posing as Slavers looking for stock, and whilst I study them for my client you two gentlemen will be weighing up the boat guards and their numbers. You two do look as if you could handle yourselves after all." She gave a shrug, her hands wringing and flicking away the thought. Neither looked too impressed - the giant more so then his shorter companion. She lifted her chin up, firstly looking to Noven and then landing her gaze upon Senghor. She knew how the former worked, she had spoken and questioned him before. But the other, he seemed a lot more brooding. Her hands shifted beneath her cloak, the fingers resting ready on the hilt of her blade.

Her neck gave a click, her eyes finally lifting and meeting his, "You know, if you're not interested now is the time to walk away. If you do not want part of this, then now is the time to walk away. If you have doubts, walk." She addressed both men this time, "Because the moment you start, there is no turning back. Your hands will be stained by the actions. So, as I stated, now is the time."

She held the gaze for a while, then turned away. For a long few chimes she was silent, her eyes staring along to the vessels and into the distance. It allowed them time to collect their thoughts, and decide if they truly were ready for getting their hands dirty - even if it was outside of their usual violent preference. Looking back only once she exhaled, and begun her firm steps down 'Cherry Bay'. Shoulders turned as she slipped and bobbed through the crowd, the rattling of steel in its sheath with every step. Her fingers opened the note book, her eyes scanning over them as she focused on jotting down the names of the vessels with a quick hand where possible. The ink vial however had to be continually shaken - a nagging thought that it would freeze within if left still for too long in the open air.

Lips twitched, the occasional mouthing of a word as she spelled it out on the page, lids narrowing down as she watched the deck hands as they swamped about. Their shouts and cries touched the air, the pitched whistle breaking out as the sailors came up from below deck. It was upon the Amber Wave that her attention was first taken, the rattling of chains and the pulling of another up onto the deck. Even the captain was giving a shout of orders. Fallon gave a mumble, "There's our first target. Keep sharp. Let me talk." Fallon gave a wave up to them, an open gesture up to them, "Yeh al'right Gentlemen?"

The captain flinched, a quick step over to the side of the boat as he stared down at them with surprise. Or at least until he regained composure, "What you want 'berthian?"
"Ah, rumour has it yeh got a new shipmen' of chainers in. Well my boss Mister Smith is looking for stock, wants good flesh and strength. Sent me out to see who's got what. Yeh mind if we come and gander?" it was at that point she held up a gold miza to him with a wicked grin upon her face, "Make it your while."
Waving her up, he spoke to her, "So what does Mister Smith want exactly. Got a lot of muscle for you..."

[Noven]

A muscle jutted along his jaw and his brow darkened, but Noven gave no signs of dissension as he met Bitzer's gaze in silence. Her words added even more tension to the miasma of distrust and uncertainty around them, with most of said miasma coming from Seng himself.

Nov knew from the moment they had laid eyes on the Hound's other, lanky representative that the proud Vilhjamlr would be at odds with him. Being cursed by Krysus made the cook wary of attracting attention to himself and he never butt heads unless he needed to, but Seng was different. The Vilhjamlr not only had the lineage of his family to bolster to his confidence, but the physical presence as well. No one at the height of six feet and eight inches could hide or cower in a city like Sunberth. Hell, it was probably why they got along as well as they did, with one lying low-key while the other stood comfortably in the limelight, and they hadn't been friends all these years for nothing. Nov knew that, aside from himself, if there was anyone who deserved to harbor righteous rage against someone butting in and screwing with his life as though he were nothing more a bumpkin to be toyed with, it was Seng.

The fire, his home, his parents...Nov understood the hate, the resentment, the guilt. But, more importantly, he understood the thirst for vengeance. To get these pieces of filth back tenfold for what they did...well, it was worth more than their comfort and pride. Perhaps this Hound could do what he promised. Perhaps he could not. Either way, he had power, power than neither of the two mercenaries possessed. It was a game of using one another at this point. And, as much as Nov disliked doing things underfoot, it was a game he opted to play for stakes he'd be a fool to ignore.

It was now or never. He could only hope Seng chose to set differences aside for the time being. Bitzer, on the other hand, seemed unworried about their answers and went on with business as planned. Nov watched where her gaze rested on and tucked away the name of the ship for later use. Amber Wave. How pleasant for a slave ship.

After tinkering with her notebook and ink a bit, the wolf girl mumbled, "There's our first target. Keep sharp. Let me talk." The cook had no objections to this; whenever he opened his mouth at the docks, he tended to piss off the first scallywag he met. Which, he was hoping to do, but at a more opportune time. For now, he played the part of mercenary he knew so well.

His eyes made subtle work of a first-glance head count--four regular sailors so far bustling about on the deck, with two rather burly, mean looking fellows pacing idly back and forth, whips coiled loosely at their hips. Those must be for anyone below decks foolish enough to try and make a run for it. That was all he could see from his angle and he hoped Seng could catch anyone he likely had missed. It always worked better that way, to have two sets of eyes instead of just one. And they'd survived enough scrapes to know that as a proven fact.

Slaves tended to give Nov an oily, unpleasant taste in his mouth. He hoped there would be no children on that boat, because the last thing he needed right now was one more reason to get rid of his headache sooner than later.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

With the embrace of his coat the chill of winter had no effect on the dark skinned warrior, when Bitzer spoke and uttered her words in the direction of both men Seng could sense the tension that Noven emitted, some would say it was pride, courage and outright arrogance yet Seng was unshaken by her stare. His eyes narrowed as the woman looked up at him, the golden glint within his brown globes began to shift into twisted landscape of rage and hunger yet he kept it within, he let it simmer and stew whilst the rattle at the cage of his being settled, eased itself and suddenly ceased. Senghor was many things, he was a fighter, a warrior, a mercenary, and many more things wrapped within themselves yet what he didn't know what that he was ambitious and his ambition wasn't towards making the quickest Miza, no that could done by anyone with a weapon, his ambition was towards knowledge and unbridled freedom. He had what little freedom Sunberth could give yet what of the knowledge, the teachings of his predecessors was going to be a long rigorous journey to understand and by than it'll still be but a fragment of truth. It was than that his subconscious did what he wouldn't consciously, it agreed with a simplistic goal yet that goal he'd utilize and make his own... As he inclined his head towards Noven who's already taken the initiative and stepped ahead foolishly, he turned his head towards the ship they were to scout and let his footsteps soon follow. Senghor cursed himself at ever tick that they were there, as his eyes turned towards the men that Noven had possibly spotted, his eyes shifted more and he was graced with the image of two men, they seemed like an intriguing pair to him yet he couldn't make out who they were or what they were doing, he'd merely caught a glimpse before he heard the woman talk to someone, the distraction cost him valuable information because by the time his eyes returned back to the figures, they were gone. 'Shyke!...' he mentally spat before his hand outstretched and grasped the back of Noven's coat, it wrapped its way around his neck as Senghor tugged and pulled his friend to him... "Two guys... Far east" he whispered in his friends ear before letting him go, Seng couldn't help but see the distress on his friends face and he knew it well, it was either the thought of a child or that blasted mark of his... He sighed heavily and mentally thought. 'This isn't going to end well...'

[Fallon]

Whatever was going on behind her however was beyond the observation of the mercenary. Her job was to look at the stock - not to count the amount of guards about. The planks groaned under her footfall, the captain giving a signal to one of the deck hands. And then the pair promptly began to talk business. Hands were shook, the note book open upon the page and the a polite gesture to the captain, "Thank yeh for yeh time Captain. Mister Smith like I said wants muscle, mayb' with a pretty face tah boot." She gave a shrug at that point, then leaned in to whisper to the captain, "Between you and me, I think he'd like a strong lad. If you get what I'm sayin'."

There was a crooked grin, as one of the deck hatches was hooked open and the low squeaking, frightened gasp sounded out. There was the clinks of chains, as the wood groaned. Lifting her chin she gave a firm step to the edge and peered on down into the cramped underbelly of the ship. Those hollow eyes stared on up, hungry and scrawny, that nervous energy surrounding them and that deep set stench - rotten, fowl and bloody. With the ink vial tightly grasped between her fingers she gave a quick look down at the 'stock'.

She could hardly call them human, it made her life worse thinking of them as sentient beings. No, for the moment they were little more than numbers and values - disassociated objects that were simply to be displayed. She gave a blink, a steady head count over them and then promptly started jotting down figures. Ten slaves wallowing in their own filth, cowering to the dull winter light. Wetting her lips she gave a point to a male, olive skinned and seemingly better built then the rest, "Let me look at that one. Mister Smith migh' be interested in that sort."

It was with a shout and groan of metal that she watched one of the sailors from below enter, and yank the man free from it all. Squirming, the lad was hauled out the definite click of his mother tongue sounding as he was firmly presented before her. Forced onto his knees, the mercenary looked upon him noting only those every turbulent eyes and the deep swirling colours within. Her jaw tightened for a moment, a forced wall of disassociation put up between them. He was older than a boy, and even a lad - but in no way was he a man. Stuck in that strange grey area of youth, and Fallon could simply not help but pity him. Right now however there was nothing she could do but listen to his trembling mumble of words.

Leaning down she stared into his eyes, then followed it round to his jaw line. Or at least until her fingers went out and grasped it firmly. A turn to the left, then the right and then a firm pace around the specimen as she studied him. Her skin crawled all the while, the hairs rising as she looked upon him. She gave a firm pinch at his muscle, a worried mumble of words before she pulled back and seemed to take more notes down. Eyes snapped once more upon the stock, narrowing down upon him, "Open your mouth, let me see your teeth."

He did not object as the woman peered in at his teeth, judging and studying - badly mind you - the state of them. To her they would have seem fine, but she was neither a doctor of a dentist. Pulling away, she jotted down a few more notes then turned her head up to the captain, "Mister Smith will need to hear abou' this one. Maybe to his taste. Hafta let 'im know about it first, may want to see 'imself first."
"Aye 'Berthian, sure. Everyone has their own tastes." Giving him a respectful nod she turned her attention back to Noven and Senghor, her eyes fixing upon them as the lad cried out in the midst of his return to the dark underbelly of the ship.

oocSo, gentlemen. Feel free to act out whatever is going on behind - this is just Fallon's focus after all so let's spice it up and see yours.