|
Post by Flanwaw on Dec 25, 2015 12:39:52 GMT
Another year of scrupulous saving and hard work for Gregor Psalm was coming to a close - but at least it was being sent off with a sizeable commission. The Taldane merchantman ship he'd been hired on for had recently come into a particularly strange transportation contract, the terms were bizarre and highly specific by the standards of nearly any vessel - too strange for most to even consider taking... Yet they had. Though the exact amount was never shared with the crew, it didn't stop them from making quietly made postulations about the wild sum that must have been paid for this particular commission. Most of the crew judged the potential size of the sum by the weight of their potential bonus of a platinum each... A bonus that massive for a single transport must make the total purse to be in the hundreds of platinum, maybe even nearing a thousand - the sort of sum that would make a Taldane merchantman take some borderline-traitorous action.
The terms of the contract were as such: They were to visibly load up a full load of stone filled boxes marked as silks and glasswork from Thuvia, two of these boxes held their real cargo - a strange pair of men and a sealed case. The two men would be quietly shuffled off to the cook's quarters - as it was separate from most of the crew but out of the way enough for people not too search it - and would not be expected to leave for the duration of the trip. The two men would be transported in featureless heavy cloaks and face masks so no one could discern their identity or features. The only members of the crew that were allowed to interact with them were the cook and the captain - as the two wanted an eye on all the food that would be prepared for them. They would transport the men to Absalom and unload them the same way they loaded them on, while the fake crates would be unloaded in a specially chosen storage house. None of the crew were ever to speak of what occurred there as anything but a normal trade run, the merchantman was never to report their actual movements to the Taldane authorities, and every member of the crew would only receive their promised bonus if they consented to a magical binding to secure their oaths of silence. The crew would then continue on their way as if nothing had happened, and not return to Absalom or Thuvia for at least a full year unless they had to in order to deflect suspicions/it was given as a direct order... and they would spend as little time there as possible. Finally - they must. MUST. Arrive in Absalom in the early hours of Foundation day
Yet, despite these insane demands - the deal had been struck, the 'cargo' as well as the cargo had been loaded on a half-week prior and the ship was making full sail at double shifts to Absalom in order to make the tight deadline. They were within a single evening's hard sailing to their port of call and the two heavily disguised men had hijacked Gregor's private cook's quarters at the captain's orders - forcing Gregor to bunk in the mess hall.
Gregor would find himself preparing his final meal for these two stranger's as the shorter and broader one watched him cook with a hawkish persistence... as per usual his stares were obvious even through his hard blank mask. The other, taller, one sat quietly at the back of the mess gripping the edges of the compact black case he hadn't parted with for as long as Gregor had seen him. As part of their contract the duo ate separate of, and after, the rest of the crew and Gregor had to prepare the cargo's meals specifically for them. The few words the short one had shared with Gregor, in his thick Thuvian accented Taldane, were instructions for their meals and short demands delivered with impatient tones. They both ate strictly vegetarian and had very exacting demands about the spicing on their food and the strength of their ciders. Gregor had likely never dealt with such... specific tastes - but if he could tolerate them and their demands he could pocket an excellent payday.
Something was a little different today though, the taller man was failing to hide his nervousness - twitching and rolling his shoulders, his grip on the case tighter than ever before. He began staring at Gregor as well - the hollow fake eyes of his mask settling on Gregor's cooking knives like they were an executioner's axe.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Dec 29, 2015 23:10:25 GMT
This wasn't a job Gregor was keen on doing, what with all the subterfuge and underhandedness and the fact that none of it was from his end. Still, if it paid as well as it promised, he would suffer through it with a smile on his face. And suffer he would, it seemed, with the bastards back-seat spicing for him. As though this were his first time preparing a meal for a couple of up-tight landsmen. He was in the navy, he cooked for Officers! Captains! Whichever rank it was that was better than those two, even! Not once had any of those men complained. Thuvians were always rigid, though, the desert sucked all the fun out of them. The one in the kitchens with him now, he was a jumpy thing. It unnerved him a bit. Gregor looked up from his slicing, fingers curved away from the edge of his knife, to take in the empty gaze that was burning a hole in the back of his head. He then found it more concentrated on the blade in his hands and made an attempt at disarming the tension, "If I were going t'stick you with something, it wouldn't be the good knife, y'know. Bone doesn't treat the fruit knife too good." He makes an attempt at a laugh despite the unease, "I got my cutlass for that. If I were inclined. Which I'm not." (Diplomacy: 14+1=15) He rubbed at his bearded chin with the back of his wrist, mindful of the juice still on the fingers of his free hand. (Sense Motive: 17+0=17 on the reaction to the diplomacy, I guess? gyazo.com/94f523298cf6fd72b37227bb1a3c9d56)
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Dec 29, 2015 23:53:49 GMT
Gregor cut through the silence like his knife would cut through the fruits for a lovely parfait, though it didn't do nearly as much for tension as a delicious parfait would... perhaps as much as a an average parfait. In simple parlance; Gregor's words found better purchase than usual, but the usual wasn't setting a high bar for Gregor and diplomatic dealings. They certainly didn't seem to appreciate the joke.
The shorter man grew visibly tense himself when Gregor spoke, seeming to struggle as to a response; something seemed to be turning in his head at least. His masked face glanced over to the tall man and they simply stared at eachother for a short while, eerily - a little too long to just be a curiosity of body language. The short man moved his hand in strange obtuse ways after the overlong pause, the tall man responded with similar, strange, gestures. Whatever was happening, Gregor was able to determine that it was the tall man who won out; the short man's robed shoulders slumped and he turned back to Gregor with a small bit of hesitation.
"He can't understand you," the man said in Taldane, made rubbery and slow by his Thuvian accent, "You must look at him when you speak."
The short man paused again, his eyes drifting to the food and then back up to Gregor. "He wants to apologize for our behavior and these circumstances." The short man's tone didn't suggest he shared the tall man's sentiments. "He..." the short man gestured with his hands, grasping for the right words, "understands these arrangements may be troubling for you."
The short man rubbed at his color, looking increasingly uncomfortable - the tall man was staring at the back of his head now, unswervingly. "He would like to ask you some questions, if you wouldn't mind." His tone, never quiet matching his words, betrayed a command more than a question.
The boat creaked over a larger wave and the short man tilted awkwardly on his feat, bracing himself on a table. The tall man maintained his strange capacity to avoid all movements forced upon his body by outside sources.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Dec 30, 2015 4:29:30 GMT
Having never seen gestures like these, Gregor grew curious. He watched their hands fly back at forth, which seemed more efficient than talking with the molasses-tongued Thuvians given how much he seemed to say with just a few flicks of fingers. Which was weird, being able to say so much with just a gesture. (SM: 20+0=20) He decided to keep a weather eye out for anything funny coming from the tall one, at least. (Perc. 11+0=11 on the tall man resisting the ship's movements) "I seen a man take a boom to the back of the head during rough winds and a loose sail, took his hearing. Something like that happen to him?" he asked, canting his chin at the taller of the two. "Can't seem t'reckon he'll be able to get much answers if I'm talking to you when he finger-asks stuff. 'Less he wants me to answer you while looking at him while making your supper with my hands behind my back."
Gregor figured there was no sense trying to pretend he wasn't uncomfortable when they clearly understood that he was. A lie isn't worth much when it's caught before it's used. He figured there was no sense thanking him for understanding when they put him in the position to begin with, either. Money is money is money is money, how it's gotten and through what means is pretty irrelevant.
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Dec 30, 2015 5:23:14 GMT
There was a drawn out silence for a time; both masked faces staring blankly at him for, once again, a moment beyond comfort. By the grace of every good god the short man finally said, "Oh." He actually laughed for once, it was like chalk on rough walls - what one may call a 'bad laugh' with little need for elaboration. "Oh, you mean a part of the ship... not an explosion. Yes. Yes... something like that."
Despite the awkward situation it was honestly the most normal-sounding the short man had been for the entire trip. The short man turned to face the tall man and made more of those curt little hand motions, to which the tall man nodded and made more hand motions in response. They were marginally less tense than before, marginally.
The short man made a dismissive wave of his hand and proclaimed with all sorts of princely authority, "Dinner can wait, it seems - so the questions can be given your full attention. Again, he insists; if you do not mind." He looked back at the tall man, as if for confirmation, "He only wishes to talk if you want to; we can freely have dinner and never see eachother again if you'd please." It was becoming clearer to Gregor when the short man was speaking for himself or speaking for the tall man, his tone made pretty sizeable shifts towards pomposity when he spoke for himself.
"I shall be his voice and relay his questions, you may speak to him directly." His tone became venomous and Gregor was able to catch the man's hands tensing into a coiled ball as he looked again at the tall man, "Just pretend I am not here."
The tall man deliberately, almost cautiously, turned in his seat to better face Gregor - positioning himself so that he was angled directly towards Gregor. His hands never left that black case.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Jan 11, 2016 19:45:40 GMT
"Yeah, alright," Gregor said, carefully, wiping the knife on a rag to keep the juice from corroding the metal. He watched the exchange between the two and settled on it being none of his business whatever spat these two might be having behind closed doors. Masks. Whatever. Wood was present. He kept the knife apparently out of reach, but if need be, there was always the sea knife in his boot, or the starknife in his belt pouch. "You're the boss, sorta, what do you want to know exactly?"
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Jan 12, 2016 22:59:20 GMT
"Good." Stated the short man, "Yes." A pause, looking at the tall man and nodding in the affirmative, "Good." Some silent exchange occurred between the two, punctuated by the occasional hand motion - eventually the short man sat down too, taking a seat some distance from the tall man but still well within speaking distance of Gregor.
The short man cleared his throat, and took a more neutral tone - the tall man's blank face intent on Gregor's, and he continued his unerring capacity to remain as still as he wished. "Have you ever visited Absalom before?" The short man started, "What do you know of it... what does the city - it's name - hm, 'mean' to you?" The short man's managed to sound skeptical about his own question, the boat lurching with particular pitch over a heavy wave.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Jan 19, 2016 8:43:57 GMT
Even Gregor would have difficulty keeping his balance over a swell like that, which he acknowledged was pretty weird for the tall guy to withstand effortlessly when he himself had to brace against the nearest chair. (SM: 3) "I suppose I have," he began slowly, "don't be thinking I ever spent much time here, though. It's 'the city at the center of the world,' but I can't say my world's ever gone much beyond the shores of the Inner Sea. Pretty sure Ardent founded it? Arodent? It's all magic and treasures, to be sure." He puzzled over the last question, paying note to the change from 'the city' to 'the city's name' (SM: 17). "I suppose it's... Mixed? People say it means buried treasure. Don't know that I much think about the meaning of names."
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Jan 19, 2016 20:35:59 GMT
As the ship continued to keel from the harsh weather outside - reaffirming the small blessings of his job keeping him off the deck a good deal of time - the small man had to physically grip the table he was sitting near and brace against the chair to keep from tumbling down to the back of the mess (fortunately like most galleys these things were attached to the floor), the tall man seemed to just... flow; leaving him completely unperturbed by the shifting ship. Gregor had full rights to be suspicious of this, but the method or source of this strange skill still escaped him.
But while the short man had been able to grasp at the table it had left him woefully unprepared to keep his mask in place - it slid off his face and clattered on the ground, sliding across the floor back up against the wall. In a moment of what may well have been sheer panic the short man literally slammed his face into the wooden table, hands preoccupied with bracing against the wave; producing a nasty, slightly wet, sound. "Lamashtu's BLOODY tits! AGH". The short man quietly cursed as the ship began to right itself, but he hadn't reacted quickly enough to hide himself completly if Gregor chose to look - but their secrecy could very well have been for a good reason. It was up to Gregor if he decided to make an attempt of seeing what was under his heavy hood.
The Tall man quietly watched the mask slide across the floor, his hands tightening around the already tightly held black case. He looked at the short man and the short man shuttered and sighed - speaking between mufflings and groans, "Excuse me." The short man still didn't move, "But could you... get that for me... please." He sighed, "Also, he thinks your answer was interesting." And then he groaned - it appeared he was bleeding.
"Its name has a lot of meanings, actually." His voice went back to that slightly neutral tone that he seemed to take when speaking for the tall man - made odd with the muffling of wood. "That one is actually my favorite as well, 'City of Buried Treasures'." Flicking a finger at the tall man. "Where better to bury a treasure amongst a thousand others? Who'd notice the difference, who'd care to notice?" The short man grumbled, his 'own' tone returning, "Someone, i'm sure."
The question was certainly probing - and the specificity very much intentional, at least that's what the short guy made it seem like. The Tall man was definitely searching for something in particular with his questions - a specific answer or perhaps trying to lead into a particular topic in a subtle way.
The short man groaned again, weighing the cost/benefit of risking letting go of the table so that he could probe whatever happened to his face. "Ugh... Uhm. So that's what most of the people you've met have called it then? The city... mmm.... of buried treasures? Is that because they look for them, or... just take pride or - let us say inspiration - in their city or... hmg... that city, holding so many wonders?" The tall man motioned to the mask with a loose hand, the other hand gripped the case tighter and the robes shifted on his hand.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Jan 19, 2016 22:23:51 GMT
Gregor would, as would most, take a quick glance at seeing the mask clatter to the floor. (Perc. 16) The short man didn't appear particularly malformed or afflicted, as Gregor had expected, but that made it all the more strange that he would take to hiding his face so extensively. He was all around fairly unremarkable. Still, he made a slight attempt at not watching as the man bashed his face against the table (Bluff: 10). "Eh, you want I should get you something for that," he offered softly as it became clear he was getting blood and mucous onto his eating table where he put food. The blasphemy reddened his ears a bit, his brow furrowing (SM: 7) as he tried to distinguish a true calling to the Mother of Monsters from a generic expletive. It was, in the end, none of his business who they chose to worship either way. He bent down, keeping his eyes on the tall one as he picked up the mask, (Perc. 11) then made to hand it back when the questioning resumed. (SM: 16) He puzzled over the translation, coming from the short man who was, unnervingly, not looking to the tall one as he dictated the new questions. "Putting treasure with other treasure sounds all well and good until it gets lost," Gregor said solemnly, crossing his arms over his chest with the mask folded under his upper arm. "If nobody knows how important it is, what's stopping it from getting picked up and moved around. Or stolen? Aye, and if someone did notice, you've handed them your own crown.
When the tall man gestured at the mask, Gregor jerked and unfolded his arms to seem marginally less defensive as he slid it onto the table and dutifully turned around to let the man replace it as he answered the last of the questions. "I suppose enough people have called it that, enough that I remember it being called it. "Mayhap they call it that because there's a chance for anyone to find riches if they look hard enough, or some nonsense like that. Nobody wants to work for their bounty, they all want to stumble upon it." (Dip: 21)
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Jan 21, 2016 0:47:04 GMT
Though the robes were heavy, Gregor got a good look at the short man's face for the brief moment it was available to see. Though the man was clearly well within the second half of his lifetime, the structure and form of his face was strong and well defined - with a particularly strong chin. And yet, despite a solid framework his skin sagged and eyes drooped; possessing that uniquely sallow and languorous quality that a person's flesh only gains after too much stress and not enough time for it. Gregor may have tried his best to disguise his peek at the man's face, and if the tall man or the short man had noticed they weren't reacting yet - though it was tough to gauge much about their reactions with those masks on and those heavy cloaks. Yet even though he had no evidence of this, some subtle instinct gave Gregor the impression the Tall man had very much noticed and just hadn't reacted in any obvious way. As for whether or not the short man's cry was a harmless expletive or a very harmful sincere exclamation to a very dark god; Gregor couldn't tell. Probably - and hopefully - the former, but the fellow likely wasn't a man of much faith or consideration to say such a thing in any case. One shouldn't use the mother of monster's name lightly, if at all. At Gregor's generous offer of assistance the short man quietly lied, "I'm fine, thank you." and dutifully performed his translations between groans. The brief display of the tall man, his almost frail movements, spoke of age or illness - what Gregor could see of his hands was deeply gnarled and frightfully bony, emaciated even. But perhaps more relevantly the focus of the tall man was almost exclusively on Gregor and yet the short man still able to translate perfectly well, despite the changing circumstances. This may have all but confirmed the use of magic or supernatural ability in the methods of this strange transcription of the tall man's thoughts that the short man was providing. When Gregor placed the mask back on the table the short man groped and scrabbled for the mask and quietly reattached it to some sort of strap with an audible 'snap' when Gregor politely turned away for the sake of his perceived privacy. The Tall man watched this considerate display and listened to Gregor's words with clear attention - perhaps he was even being impressed if his face could be judged for intent - the fellow even emitted a sort of low toneless hum which could could have been a noise of consideration. As the mask was re-clasped the short man made the somewhat pathetic motion of attempting to probe his nose to check for damage, his fingers pointlessly feel around where the mask blocked his nose, only to realize the folly of it and hiss, frustrated and pained. "Damn it all." A small dabbling of blood was trickling out from under the mask. He groaned, exasperated "Can I go back to my room and deal with this?" He looked at the masked man, who shook his head in the negative, and the short man sighed and readjusted himself for some more translation. "You have a fair point," the short man said neutrally, tilting his head at the tall man to reinforce that it was him speaking again, "I chose to discount the possibility of its accidental discovery, as its value is not apparent. And I accepted the chance of a purposeful discovery by one who thought it worth finding amongst the other treasures an acceptable risk." The short man paused, obviously not wanting to say what came next but rolled his head and did so anyway, "For, as it was always obvious, this is indeed a treasure." The tall man ran his hands over the black case and the short man turned to face him, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in some anxious gesture. "But maybe the real danger is the people of Absalom, that they're always looking to... stumble upon wealth. That for them even the littlest thing is an opportunity; a treasure hidden in a city of treasure hunters. A frightful thought." The short man mumbled something in a language that Gregor did not know, he then continued translating, "He - erm - I liked your answers, and fair is fair; any questions for me?" The tall man spread his thin shoulders and pulled his chest back, beckoning a response.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Jan 31, 2016 7:27:38 GMT
Gregor parsed what information he could from his now growing number of interactions with these two men. Their interest in hiding a treasure, their carefully concealed identities, their particular interest in Absalom of all places. It was disconcerting, but then, this was truly none of Gregor's business. He was intelligent enough to know the limits of his lack of understanding, which was to say, he was aware of his own stupidity in certain... aspects. Things did not come easily to him, but he more than made up for it with tenacity and patience, able to weather the storms as they came. And no good would ever come from poking his nose in where it didn't belong.
He studied the gnarled hands as they appeared, (Heal: 2), but couldn't place any particular ailment aside from the man being generally old. Old, versed in some kind of voodoo, generally not someone Gregor wanted as an enemy. That somewhat limited his line of questioning. "I suppose I got a question, if you don't mind me asking after it. This... subterfuge," he managed, garbling the word slightly. "If you're doing something unsavory and it gets back to you then gets back to me... Just how fucked am I?" He asked, rather gracelessly (Diplomacy: 2).
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Feb 1, 2016 17:00:58 GMT
The tall man rolled his shoulders and the short man made some guttural noise, stating - in what was likely his words, "They say if you plan for failure it's doomed to happen." He continued, his voice notably changed by whatever damage his face managed to suffer, "I'd prefer if others not do it fo-" He stopped, suddenly - and turned to look at the tall man, whose mask was directed back at him. The short man nodded once and sighed, making some more lethargic hand signs - to be swiftly returned.
The ship made a soft pitch, and the wood creaked. The short man had been ready for it this time though, and braced well.
"Fair is fair," said the short man, returning to his neutral tone, "But i'd like to clarify - while what we are doing is not... appreciated or," the short man paused, sighed, "legal" sighed again, and continued - still toying with his mask. "it isn't unsavory. I'd argue it to be the proper thing to do." The short man shrugged, "As" he pointed to himself, "I suppose I would as well." This strange mouthpiece-ing he did made it difficult for the short man to express what he meant, but he reemphasized that both himself as well as the tall man, seemed to believe in whatever venture this was.
"But to answer your question." The short man continued, "Spectacularly so - and even more spectacularly if," the short man pointed to the black case, and the tall man tapped it with long, gnarled fingers, "you were ever able to discover what was in that case." The short man made a motion towards his waist, looking to have adjusted something hidden under his robe. "And this leads me into my last hm... question, and request, for the evening."
The tall man stood up shakily, walking towards Gregor with the same composed and controlled frailty they always managed to move with, he held up the case in front of Gregor, "Would you like to know what is in this case?" The short man said, standing now as well - his hand still toying at his waist. "If I asked you to do something foolish for the potential of reward unimaginable, would you? With nothing to trust but my word and the clear... severity... of our circumstances?" The tall man would stop well outside of arms length of Gregor, with the case held towards him, "What I suppose I am asking is if you'd like a job?" The short man made a slow approach up behind the tall man, towards Gregor.
Something about this scene was more than a little threatening.
|
|
|
Post by ryebread on Feb 1, 2016 18:33:40 GMT
Gregor took a step back at the short man's tirade, but resisted reaching for a proper weapon. As the stakes in this game of theirs rose, Gregor had a moment of panic tempered by the prospect of greed. The chance of making a big score got men killed. Throwing away everything on the chance it might get them what they wanted in an instant because work was too slow. He set his tongue between his left molars and worried it there for a moment as he considered the very dire outcome of the next words out of his mouth.
Take the job and set himself up for an abrupt end, he thought, but also set himself up maybe for life. He didn't know how much this "treasure" was worth, but if there was this level of secrecy and subterfuge going on to protect it, surely it was worth quite a bit. Then again, it's magic being tossed around here some how, and that never led to anything good. He gathered they were being honest with him, but carefully so. Deliberate in their use of it. (SM: 19) If it came to it, and they did try to screw him, he knew enough. He had a face and some physical description, plus their means of entering Absalom. That gave him some meager leverage, but perhaps more than he could be sure of, what with their care to hide their faces.
"I think I can manage another job," he said, attempting confidence (Bluff: 6), "but I gotta ask about payment for something so. Delicate. And whether it would be worth the risk, once you have what you want. Upfront insurance," he clarifies (Dip: 12). He glanced around, searching for prying eyes or listening ears, (Perc: 18) before continuing. "Failure comes at the worst times, unexpected and sometimes random, those who don't prepare for it are those who drown. Think of it as making sure I can swim away after if this all goes tits up." (Dip: 17)
|
|
|
Post by Flanwaw on Mar 18, 2016 19:12:21 GMT
The short man chortled, mood suddenly, inexplicably improved, "Didn't expect a sailor's-cook to silver his tongue between garnishing the gruel." He produced a small pouch from his waist with a flourish - a very practiced motion for him. The purse itself was far more ornately decorated than a purse had any reason to be, decorated with a sigil and swirling patterns, a purse for display. "But asking for pay a-fore? That makes me trust a man's intentions."
While the short man fiddled over pursestrings the tall man's masked face continued to rest on Gregor - he seemed to have noticed Gregor's tension, the consideration of putting a blade in hand. Gregor got the feeling the masked man hadn't taken particular offense. The tall man made some motions to the shorter one, who proceeded to pinch a few coins out of his purse. The short man adopted his translating affectation, "I can only imagine this to be a fair advance - though I assure you that, if we succeed, you'll find yourself with far more than pockets full of gold - even with the considerable number you seem to have." The short man produced five platinum pieces (we'll be going by the 10-10-10-10 coinage valuations, so that's 50 gold.). "Knowing how Taldor treats their sailors... that's two month's pay, three?"
The short man held the coins aloft and tucked his purse away, he made no signs of passing the coinage just yet. The tall man approached Gregor and held out his hand - old, gnarled, and frail. The short man added, "Do we have your word, to take this endeavor in good faith and full effort? I put a great deal of value in oaths - too much, perhaps." The short man rolled the coinage in his hand, an over-exaggerated attempt to tempt.
Prying eyes though - it's tough to say. Ships cast a great many shadows, but it was late, and most hands were up on deck. If someone was listening in, there was no sign they were doing so from within the room - and the waves were quite loud.
|
|