Zuul bursts into laughter. "Ha, ha, ha! I like your style of negotiation, young lass. Very feisty!

"I'll split the difference with you three." Zuul reaches into his vest and flicks out three glittering gold coins, which chime and spin on the table before coming to a rest near the purse. "Twenty eight pieces." In a more sinister voice, the grinning fence continues, "and I do suggest you take it."

He sits back in his stool and blows the candle out on his desk. "We can barter over the rest of your loot tomorrow. You can leave it where it sits."


[Private to Frank the Fiddler: OOC: They are flesh and bone.]

The three gold coins skipping across the table makes Gaiven hesitate. Sure, there were twenty five more in the purse, but that had been intellectual knowledge, easily overshadowed by the worth the merchant had put on the stone. However, those three coins were unmistakably real. Zuul's earlier quip that they had never seen 30 gold in one place wasn't far from the truth in Gaiven's case. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had 3 gold worth of coins at any one time. If he ever had.

Hesitating behind his two companions, Gaiven tries to gauge their reaction, without giving Zuul too much of an indication how the coins has affected him.

Iridia withdraws, beckoning her partners into a huddle. "I say we look for another fence.." Iridia whispered to them. She hated the Gargoyle, he toyed with her pride and her patience, and would be willing to take no gold in order not to please him. The possibility that he was tricking them was very high. "Or, alternatively, we ask around for the diamond's real worth, then come back."

Gaiven's face screws up in a complicated expression. Either he just heard something he doesn't like, or he outright disagrees. He raises his hands, as if to sign, then hesitates and looks frustrated. Making an irritated shrug, he raises his hands and this time fires off a series of signs half of which you haven't seen before.

[Private to Iridia Silvermane: He seems to be disagreeing, but you don't really understanding the message.][Private to Frank the Fiddler: You're not sure, but he seems to indicate that no one else might want the diamond, and that you might not be able to come back.]
[Private to Stripe: Applied a -4 modifier to the Int roll to understand, since I figured its a pretty complicated message.]

"Yeah and if we don't take his offer now, he'll pay even less next time. But if you want, I can at least offer de small mohal victohy of having seen 30 gold... if dere really is 25 gold pieces in the bag."

"So its two against one. Lets do sell it then. But I am looking for another fence for the next job." Iridia said to her companions. Eight gold pieces each wasn't really that bad, to a novice poor theif, not that Iridia wasn't, but she keeps comparing it to what she used to play around with long ago. She may have lost a battle against that fence now, but she is not ending the war.

Frank steps out of the hurdle and grabs the gold. True to his word, he takes out 2 other gold coins and shows all of them to the group. "Not only have I seen it, I've actually touched it." He puts his 2 coins back in his pouch and takes out some silver, and divides the money evenly.

"Pleasure doing business with you," the gargolye says with a wicked grin as he accepts the diamond from the not-so-pleased Iridia. "Be back here at midnight tomorrow and I'll let you unload that other junk off on me. Oh, and I gots someone who wants to meet you three. So, don't be late."

---

^{OOC: I don't have time to write more at this time. We'll continue in this thread at midnight the next day. If you have anything more to post IC, that's fine too.}

The next day, the three meet up and spend some time together, but keep a low profile. Soldiers seem to eye them with suspicion, and the Guard's patrols seem to have been increased in the area.

"Hey, I need a new knife, and some things other dings form de market, yous gois wanna come?"

"Hey!" Iridia greeted her fellow thieves cheerfully. She wore the same gray top and light shoes from the last day, but had replaced her permuda trousers with a knee-length white plain skirt. "I really don't think its such a good idea, Franky. The investigators must know that one of us have lost his knife back in that pig's villa. They may have tipped off the weapon merchants. You never know... Why don't we go shop for cloths instead? I am dying for a fur coat. Or maybe long leather boots."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:24, Thu 09 Oct 2008.

"What's whong wid de stuff yous werin? You look dang fine to me. Besides I just need a few dings, dings dat won't be missed. At least not while I'm still around."

"Thanks." Iridia smiled and blushed lightly as she rubbed her chin, pondering on what to do. "Well, let us go see what you want to buy. Although since we have the gold, it ain't a really good idea to risk getting the lash for a knife barely worth a couple of silver coins."

Gaiven looks out of the window of the rundown room that he is renting in the bad part of the lower ward. The place might have a bit of a draft on windy days, but it was cheap and it was home.

Having agreed to meet the other again at Raven's Claw Pawn and Consignment a bit later, the mute thief considers a bit of shopping. Rent had been paid, beforehand for one, and savings had been squirreled away in various safe spots, but he still has some silver coins adding weight to his pouch. For once he won't have to shrimp and save, he can go out and buy something.

After the last misadventure, a lantern is pretty high on his list. He has the extra money for a special one of the kind too, and knows just where to get it. Still being in the good graces of Zuul is handy. However, there also are some other items he might want.

Rolling up the warm blanket on his bed, he stuffs the roll through a hole in the wall. He liked the blanket, and in this part of time, there always were the chance that somebody would check out his room for valuables while he was gone. For some, a warm blanket was counted as valuables

Feeling to make sure that the pouch is still stuffed safely within his tunic, out of reach from pickpockets, he leaves the room, walks down the stairs, and exits into the alleyway that holds his tenements main entrance. There wasn't a proper general store in his neighborhood, but he had to time to make the trip.

To Gaiven, who's so familiar with the slums of the Lower Ward that he can navigate them blindfolded, it seems as if there are an awful lot of soldiers on patrol today. Perhaps it's his imagination over reacting on account of last night's caper.

...Perhaps.

When Gaiven rounds the next corner, he nearly runs into the rear flank of a horse... An Imperial centurion's horse. The helmeted soldier, seated atop his black steed like an ebony statue in the capital city, turns to cast a haughty glare down at Gaiven; the wanted burglar can practically feel the soldier's seething contempt radiating from the slits of his visor.

"Move along, urchin." His voice is stern and commanding; no doubt he is well practiced giving orders on the battlefield.

Gaiven needs no further cue. The mute does his best impression of a law-abiding "urchin" and leaves.

When he's assured that no ones following him, he begins to make his way through the winding streets and back allies to the Raven's Claw. He finds the crotchety old gargoyle at the front desk. The bull's-eye lantern was in the same spot it had been for the last few years, a heavy layer of dust settled upon it's hood.

"That, my boy, isn't just a lantern; it's a piece of history!" Zuul begins, and starts in telling Gaiven about how this, his favorite lantern, was used by a supposedly-well-known constable to track down a famous murderer some twenty years ago. Gaiven had heard of the murderer, The Butcher of Rimuldar, but whether or not the lantern played any part in his capture was doubtful. Of course, Zuul starts off asking an outrageous sum for it, and when Gaiven finishes haggling, he probably still manages to get it: two and five. Outside the store, Gaiven inspects the light and finds it to be of the finest quality -- it makes no clinking or rattling when shaken -- perfect for what he wants. It's light but sturdy. There's no rust on it, it just requires some cleaning and a bit of butter on its hinges.

Gaiven has much better luck with the clerk at the closest general store. He finds three one-pint bottles of lantern oil on sale -- buy two, get one free -- and a tiny box of 50 matches. The matches sell for two coppers and the bottles of oil for four total. He also selects a nice, new backpack for six pieces of silver. The store owner throws in two canvas sacks for free since Gaiven was spending so much. The clerk even volunteers to write out a proper bill of sale, "...since the Guard's on the prowl today. We don't want those buggers hasslin' a nice young man like yourself, now do we?" Gaiven makes it out of the store six and six lighter.

Soon, he is back in the Lower Ward, having evaded any trouble from the law or other gang members.

Now, whether or not Frank and Iridia share such luck remains to be seen...


[Private to Gaiven the Dumb: OOC: Notice that you spent a bit less than was decided in OOC.]

Noon. The sun shines down on the hustle and bustle of Market Street as merchants hawk their wares from carts and wagons. "Fresh fish!" one calls near Iridia, who walks near frank. "Today's catch! Walleye! Catfish! Fesh today!"

Over the din of the crowded street, another holds up a ham and yells, "Roasted! Glazed! Sweat as you like! Roasted ham! Get your roasted ham!"

There are several dozen carts and wagons, with hawkers selling and trading everything from fur to fine silk; jewelry to candle sticks; nuts, berries and eggs to... knives.

Frank sees a knife maker's stand he's eyed numerous times before for the gleaming blades on display. Some were stuck point first into two stumps, one on each side of the two-wheeled cart. Most were under glass in cases beneath the wagon's roof. Frank had spoke with the man before. The merchant said he travels to Garinham where he buys knives imported by boat from Cantlin, a town far to the south renown for its steel.

Actually, the merchant didn't tell Frank any of that; he overheard him telling a customer. The knife maker wouldn't give frank -- a skinny, squirrelly-looking hoodlum in threadbare rags -- a second's notice except to eye him cautiously lest he make off with one of his knives.

Iridia, on the other hand, spies one of her favorite coat stores nearby. When she thinks of fur coats, this is the shop that sells her heart's desire. Once, she even saw a well-known noblewoman come out of the store, escorted by four towering bodyguards, wearing a gorgeous lynx coat that had been on display.

While the department store has its fair share of traveling furs, more rugged and practical than beautiful, it also has carries a lavish selection of fine coats that only the most wealthy can afford. Beaver, fox, rabbit, mink, wolf -- this store has it all with price tags ranging from a gold piece to more than ten crowns.

---

^{OOC: You're neither at the knife stand nor in the fur shop. You'll have to tell me where, if either, you go. Of course, you can split up if you wish.}

[Private to Iridia Silvermane: This place has a lot of pictures of fur coats if you want to show me what you're looking for: http://www.furcenter.com/shop.asp]

Frank was thinking things over. There were a lot of guards around, and he really couldn't use trouble right now. Maybe he should just buy it. But a slob like him would draw suspicion buying a knife at any time, here he'd stand out like a sore thumb. He could wait for latter in the evening, when the saleman start packing up their goods for the night. But then all the other shoppers would have gone home, making him that much more obvious, and there wouldn't be enough time left to buy a backpack at a general store. Maybe if there was some sort of distraction, like a very rich and demanding customer. Maybe... maybe Iridia could pass for one once she has her new coat?

[Private to Iridia Silvermane: OOC: I'm not sure about Gaiven, but Frank has no bonuses for appearance.]

"Don't act agitated Frank, you would draw the guards' eyes." Iridia told Frank, "Just be upright, we have the money, and I have the looks. Try acting like my bodyguard or servant. You can act, can you?"

While Iridia was confident in her acting skills, she wasn't too sure about Frank, and considered separating from him if she wanted to go in the fur shop as his plain looks would draw unwanted eyes.

"eh, no, I'm a poor actor. But I don't dink bodyguads are supposed to do anyding other dan stand around and look mean, so we'll be alight." Franks draws a face like a bulldog, but on his skinny frame, it just looks like he ate a sour apple.

[Private to Iridia Silvermane: Wait, hang on, are we going to buy or steal a knife?]

"Well, its not really that hard. Just broaded your shoulders, stand behind me, and don't let anyone near me. Try to give off a meany aura." Iridia eyed Frank. He was skinny and plain, certainly not her type, nor a bodyguard type. "On second thoughts, put that hood on, hide your eyes, try and look more sinister. Here, let me do it." Iridia approached Frank, and started adjusting his clothes accordingly, "The rest is just the same. Just don't talk a lot."

Iridia, followed closely by Frank, walked towards the knives shop. She took a place directly opposite to the salesman, politely shoving away any customers. She then tried to get the merchant's attention with a bright smile and an adorable wave.

"Good day, my lady!" the merchant says, returning Iridia's smile. She does catch a glance over at her shadow, however. But, he starts right in on her, guessing that she's looking for a blade to skin game or butcher meat. Most of his knives are hand crafted in his shop in a neighboring village.

He has a wide assortment of blades, from those used in the kitchen to those used on the trail, but he doesn't mention the knives that could be considered defensive weapons. They are in a glass case to the top.

A large, stag-handled bowie knife has a price tag of four and four. A plain-looking bowie with a brass cross guard has a price tag of a little more than half that: two and six. The butcher knife he showed Irirdia has a price of two and four.

Frank doesn't pay much attention to the merchant as he talks about knives for slaughter. His eyes are captured by two, long, thin, kriss-bladed daggers -- both acid-etched and blackened. Their hilt is stained black and their cross guard is a dark silver. The snaking, wavy blade is complemented by a pommel decorated with a black snake; its scales and coils giving the wielder a better grip. They do not have a price tag.

There are other fine blades in that case, one large, threatening knife has a spider etched into it's pommel. It's four and four. A set of three matching throwing daggers, with skulls decorating the end of the pommel, have a price of six and six for all.

"Good day, mister." Iridia returned the greetings, "I'd like to see what kind of dueling blades do you have. You know, ones that are used on the off hand to parry and stab. Stilettoes are what they are called, I believe." While Iridia had her fair share of knowledge of knives and short blades, she tried to come across as relatively new to them.

Without waiting for the merchant's response, Iridia started eyeing the collection, hovering her finger quickly over the blades one by one.

[Private to GM: Iridia Silvermane rolled 10 using 3d6. Acting. ]

The merchant obliges.

Frank watches the blades as the merchant pulls them from behind the counter. Time to make his pick. The Large Knife he had lost was of mediocre quality, but this merchant seemed to be seemed proud of his stock, and should all to gladly show his very finest to a nice young lady. It would be worth the extra effort of waiting for a real ringer to be drawn from storage.

[Private to Stripe: I'm not sure how to go about picking a target and then stealing it. So I'll roll for Filch and if you need any more specific detail, I'd expect you'd let me know.
Frank the Fiddler rolled 14 using 3d6. Filch: 13.
Oh crap.]

Midnight. Casting bright silver rays down upon the city of Rimuldar, a full moon sits atop its throne of darkness.

Gaiven waited alone outside the Raven's Claw for his two friends to arrive, but they never showed. Like he had done a dozen times before, the cat burglar slips through a window in back of the shop and into Zuul's workshop.

The gnarled old gargoyle sits at his workbench. He looks up when Gaiven arrives.

"Where are the other two?"