Beyond the docks, on either side, are the massive markets where fish are imported to the city from the countless fishing boats that went out constantly. Those were bastions of commerce on the docks along the water as well, that catered to the fishermen and countless small trading wharfs. Though fairly lawless, there was still money there.

Beyond that however, was a no mands land where the soil was too sandy and rocky to do anything with. That area was run down, filled with myriad shacks made of driftwood and piled stone, the only real virtue of the place was that it was cheap. Without the strong influx of resources of the sea or the vast plains beyond, there was no real reason for people to be here other than the fact the land was cheap.

There were some places here: cheap warehouses filled with questionable goods, some rotted, others flagrantly illegal or stolen: a myriad of pleasure houses, and a brugeoning industry of chandlers and salvage men. However, there were far more people than jobs here.

Some have banded into gangs of youth. Eventually they will die, be thrown in prison, or perhaps join one of the pirate crews. Others have no talent for sea life and simply veg. More than a few ex sailers due to disability beg here. Ironically, many could return to work with a clockwork prosthesis, but their lives simply are not worth the money that would take.

Here, jobs were rare, and life was cheap.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:33, Fri 02 Nov 2018.

Instructing Kanua to stay back with the group, Plaga decided to take a stroll to the more dangerous part of the city, going beyond the markets. She felt more at home among bandits and outcasts, since she had been among them practically her whole life. Before studying necromancy, she had intended to help them. Afterwards, she added "control" to her intentions. The lowest circle of the social jerarchy was often ignored, but Plaga could see the potential hiding inside. You can't afford morals when you can't afford a place to sleep. And you can't think properly when you have an empty stomach, or are lacking the nutrients to do so. Her servants had never been given a chance before, and after some rough kindness, they learned to respect her and one another. But all that had been taken from her. Lady Malusvir was her only lead, but patience was required. Her priority was to start rebuilding her organization.

You walk the shanty towns, standing out against the squalor. The lame, crippled and ill beg as you walk past. You see many starving or quite ill, and countless beggers.

The illicit markets of this city are unfamilar to, but they are not well hidden here, in this weeping sore of poverty, and you quickly find a variety of criminal enterprises.

Naturally, there are the press gangs, who take young men and women to ships and press them into involuntary service as slaves. Around here, some of them even come volentarily, though you wonder what is the point of recruiting some of these wretches due to their ill health. They were spectacularly unpopular, and did not advertise or appear in the day, but their activites were whispered of.

There is, of course, a thriving market of "salvaged" and "used" goods from ships, wreckage and (lets face it) stolen goods available in a variety of stores, from semi-decent pawn shops a semi-respectable merchant might visit, to hasily bundled silverware sold out of a blanket.This seemed to be the place where non-top end items were being fenced.

And of course, there are drugs. Sargasso red seaweed, processed into a smokable herb like tobacco (only the stench was far worse), was technically illegal due to the fishy stink but was commonly smoked downwind. Flashpowder form the howler lands was snorted, and of course, milk of the poppy was readily available from the northern fields for those who had the money.

There were beurocratic related criminal enterprises which didn't quite interest Plaga quite so much, dealing in forged documents, papers and permits to deal with the cities guilds and families. That really was more of a theives guild thing, and those involved looked quite connected.

Most of these operations were allowed to operate with a degree of independence, provided they paid a cut to the thieves guild - there didn't seem to be an overarching criminal organization running all this. However, there were a few gangs.

The two most interesting to Plaga were the cutters - the small gangs of roving youths who had banded together for mutual protection. They were poor, violent, and ran light protection rackets on the merchants who were too poor to hire competent guards. They were less an organized criminal enterprise and more of a street gang. You might be willing to work with them.

There was also an old abandoned church that had been taken over by "lay monks" called the order of the Saintly. The monks had declared themselves a non-affiliated holy order but were not officially priests of the one, and offered a wide range of criminal services and protection for nearby buildings.

Finally, there were the shellbacks, a group of theives smugglers who took messages across the ocean in small boats at night. This also allowed them to access boats and pier warehouses, or for particularly enterprising ones to raid foreign ships directly. They had their own useful criminal niche.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:09, Tue 06 Nov 2018.

Building her organization took her a long time the first time, but now she counted with experience and her new skills. It was best for her to approach the local gangs. It should be easy enough to get rid of the leader of one of this gangs, and after that it was such a matter of time before she started absorbing the other gangs. This would be the first step towards rebuilding her former glory.
Having heard about the cutters, Plaga decided this was a good place to start. Being on her own, since Kanua was left behind, she had no choice but to wander the streets looking for members of the gang. And it just happened that she had excellent eye sight.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:46, Tue 06 Nov 2018.

The younger cutters are hard to spot amongst the crowd, working as cutpurses and spies when they are not begging. The older ones are all too easy to spot, groups of 4-5 lanky youths known for carrying small bladed weapons.

You are not harmed, possibly because you are a doctor, possibly because you look odd, possibly because of some innate sense that messing with you would be a very bad idea.

It didn't take long to spot one of their hangouts- a large disheveled tent behind an actual building marked as a pawnshop, almost large enough to be a house off the main strips of road that winded up landward of the shore.

As you made your way, a few not so hiddencs outs related a signal, and a  couple youths came out to challenge Plaga, dressed in girded robes and their hands casually tucked away to weapons.

They didn't immediately attack though. This was one lone woman, not a turf attack of a cop. Something weirder, which made them cautious.

"Cutter turf. Turn around unless you got business with us. And if you do, well, here we are."

Some of the scouts circled round, not quite blocking Plaga's escape, but ready to assist if a fight broke out.

"I may have, actually. Would you be so kind as to tell me why I should talk about anything with you in particular? Are you the leader around here? Or a goon full of himself who things that being part of a street gang makes him somewhat important? If it's the latter, just save both of our times and take me to the head. Or we could do it my way, and I'll make sure to get the boss' attention. And, oh, you won't like my way".
This message was last edited by the player at 17:11, Thu 08 Nov 2018.

He stood for a few moments in surprise, but recovered quickly. The others seemed to be supporting him by body language.

"I'm in charge as much as anyone else. I'm also a goon with a knife. Screw with one of the cutters, and you get slit, no matter how "unimportant" you think any of us are."

He looked her over again. No way was she a guard. No fear either. Guild rep? Seemed unlikely, they were paid up. Better dial it back now that they'd shown their teeth. If she worked for someone serious, picking a fight would be disastrous.

He backed away and gestured.. the other cutters backed off a bit, and he

"So, like I was asking: what do you need from the cutters? Maybe I can make it happen."

"Oh? You have no leader? That does surprise me. It is rare to find a gang that functions with no organization. Since you are in charge as much as anyone else, perhaps you can enlighten me. I'm new in town, and I'm searching for willing men to join my enterprise. I heard rumors about the cutters, but aside from how much of a scum you are and how I must keep away, I haven't heard much about how you do things. Really, no leader... You must be terribly inefficient".

Plaga tosses a small bag towards the Cutter member that had yet to identify himself. If he opens it, he would find silver powder inside. Depending how well he knew drugs, he may identify that as highly refined Silver Petals, a popular drug in Vissian territory, used recreatively.

"That's what I do. Have a taste, I assure you it will be the best one you have ever tried"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Thu 08 Nov 2018.

"We get shit done when we need to. For this bunch, I'm the leader.

I run the protection and headbashers, cause I know how the racket works. Makes sense to have the whores run the whore business, right?

Plaga noticed that the cutters tended young, and pretty poor by gang standards.

He took a cautious look at the powder. Not like he could say no after that challenge. He took a look.

"This.. is this Pearl?" He took a dainty taste of the stuff. His eyes widened almost instantly. It was hard to tell if that was just wrong or a local name.

"Shit. You know what those fat assholes back in the city pay for this?"

Actually, Aran didn't know. He'd never seen the stuff except in minute quantities off victims though, and it was worth real money. He turned to a flunky. "Get Dara. She'll wanna try this."

As one of them runs back to the tent, Aran turns back to her.

"This stuff is a little rich for around here. We mostly smoke Sargasso red. Dara's got a smoke pit set up inside.

Dara comes out a few minutes later, dressed in thick leathers, a couple sizes too big. She's at first upset to be taken away from a delicate process of smoking, but a brief taste of the drug gets her even more excited, and it's not just because of the stimulant effect.

She takes a tiny amount of residue inside to verify it, after dumping a few pails of sand on her current project inside the tent.

Aran nods, and takes a deep breath, gauging his own heartrate. He already was feeling a rush.

"Oh, you definately got my interest now. Dara can spot a fake by looking at it, though she'll test it just to be sure."

"I don't know what rudiment tests she is gonna do, but I'm willing to be my honor that it will be close to perfect purity. And yet, it doesn't kill you on the spot. I'm not exagerating when I say that you have never seen anything like it. But you seem to have got it wrong, Mr Cutter. I care not for what you usually use to get high. That's not how I do bussiness. You will all get high on what I decide you will. Even without the Cutters help, I'll eventually take control of this place. You can join me now, and start our relationship as friends, or ignore my offer and fade out as a small gang. This is your chance to come play with the adults. And if there is something I can assure you..."

Plaga makes a dramatic pause, grinning behind her mask.

"Is that it's gonna be fun".

Aran takes a step back.

" Fuck red, we'll deal in pearl or whatever. Cutters do what they gotta do to survive."

"I was just saying that if you sell this stuff here, at what it's worth, no one will be able to afford it.

You want to undersell and take over, it's your product. You gotta know though, the guild is gonna want a cut.  You play the heavy with them, things get real dicey.

Shit, what do I call you anyway? This is a crazy way to do business." He grinned.

So, how much of this stuff you moving?"

"I'm glad we could strike a deal. You let me handle the supplies. For now, let's keep it subtle. I don't intend to antagonize with the guild either, I'm not interested only in money. I want rumors to start spreading. Along with pinches of Pearl at half the market price, to those that can afford it. Make sure other dealers hear about this, and get a taste of my product. And let them know that they are more than welcome to join the party under my wing, or they can continue running their little bussiness before I eat them. This place is gonna change a lot. You seem smart, so you must realize already that my plan means little income for you, as it is for now. Patience will be rewarded however, and in due time the cutters are gonna be the first to harvest the fruits of my work. My name is Plaga. In my home, most know me by The Doctor of Death, and i grew to like it despite it's simplicity".

He nodded.

A few days later, a messenger lets you know that they have additional buyers if you are interested, and that they'd like to meet again at your convenience.

Plaga, who had installed herself in town and sent Kanua to inform the others about it, was starting to see things fall into place. And she liked what she saw.
When she got the message, she went to meet them right away. One of Plaga's customs was to go herself from place to place when meeting her subordinates (the cutters weren't yet at that point, but they were headed there). This was an oddity that had been given many meanings by rumors, but ultimately had to do with Plaga wishing to avoid boredom. It was more fun this way.

"You called for me. What do you got?"

This time, Plaga was brought into the back of a pawn shop. There was a table with the leaders of the Cutter's individual rackets.
There were a couple you didn't recognize. All were quite young.

Dara, a pale young woman (out of the protective leathers she was wearing) spoke up.

"It's mostly sold already, or promised to.

The Saints nearly lost their damn minds when we showed them this stuff.. and certainly lost the rest when they tried it.

A young man, better dressed than the others spoke up "If you keep it at that rate, I can sell way more to the other messengers and workmen and aprentices."

The youngest, a haunted looking girl who looked like she hadn't slept much in weeks "Everyone likes it. Though people are already asking questions. I've seen the guards and the guild pressing the usual sort asking questions. Won't be long till they start asking the right ones.

Aran spoke "One of my boys got sloppy on the stuff, had to bust him up. That shit's heavy. Watch your people."

The well dressed one put a bag on the table. "That's what we pulled in. There's anorher 3rd or so coming in, secondary payments and changing goods real money. I noticed we never discussed cut.."

He gave the slightest look to Dara and Aran.

Without saying a word, Plaga reaches out to the bag, and starts counting the coins. She then divides them in two neat equal piles, and slides half of it forwards on the table.

"That's your cut. Half of the earnings. The other half..."

From the other half, Plaga proceeds to remove 10% of the total earnings.

"... this is for the guild..."

She then forms a pile with 30% of all the earnings, and another with the last 10%.

"This one is my cut. And this last one is a reserve, for eventual losses. I'll trust you with this one, but if a single coin goes missing, I'll consider it betrayal. And I hate traitors. What we got here is pocket change. But as i mentioned, our earnings are not what matters. For now. People asking questions are dangerous, but are potentially good for us. Or are you going to tell me that the guards are a problem to you? Because as far as i know this place was a hell hole before i step foot on this side of the ocean. The only think that changed is the quality of the goods. And your job is to make sure that is what reaches the ears of the people".

Plaga reaches inside her cape, and takes out yet another bag, in similar size to the last one.

"Here is another batch. Again, small size. The guide hasn't come my way, when it comes for the money make sure to send them my way. Best to keep things clear from the start. You are doing a great job, keep it that way. And remember, patience will be rewarded. If you raise the price of the product now, it will backlash at us later."

At Plaga's serious pronouncement, Aran speaks up, looking deadly serious "We're gonna be good about this, right?" He looks deadly serious at the others. There's a chorus of nods and affirmatives from everyone in the room. "You even hear someone overcharging or holding on our partner, you let me know."

There's some grimaces there, but no one complains.

The young tired looking girl speaks. "The guards around here.. most of them look the other way for things, just take a freebie once in a while, or a tip, and it's fine. Some of them even used to be cutters. Others of them work for other gangs and have their own patrons." She shrugged.

Dara spoke up again, angrily. "If they realize how pure that stuff is, they'll grab someone and beat them till they cough up names. Trust me."

Aran nodded "I'm going to cut back on the racket, pull some of our people back. This is way more profitable anyway. A couple people are behind on payments. We deal out of there and agree to forgive some debts, it'll save time. And we won't pick a fight with the guards, but they might not grab someone if there's five armed bullyboys."

There were some nods across the table, though Dara still looked a little worried.

The only decently dressed one speaks up "Your terms are... very fair. We'll make sure no one overcharges or holds out on you. If you want to take over big, you'll want to recruit the saints though... and the shellbacks."

There were a few groans across the table.

"She's going to have to, eventually." He insisted.

Aran spoke up again. "Anyway, we'll sell this for you. Won't take more than a week unless something truly fucked up happens."

"Very well. I'm glad to hear that. If you absolutely need to give a name, The Doctor of Death should suffice. Swear that i never revealed my true name to you. The best lies have some truth in them. If the guards want to meet me, let them come. I'll make sure

I get from your tone that the shellbacks are problematic. I'll deal with them first. Any suggestions? Would they respond better to a good deal or... tough love?"

After hearing their input, Plaga would hold them no longer and head straight for shellback territory.

"They act like they are freaking guild reps." A formerly quiet young boy said.

"Yeah, but.. there's a reason for that." Said the well dressed one. "They own a pretty big chunk of the smuggling racket, all the rowers that take skiffs out to the traders and outlying settlements. They also make a side line undercutting the Chandler's Guild. And there's no way they'd get away with that if they weren't paying up in deep with the guild. They rake in tons of money, but it's not like they own this town or dress in silks."

"They sure as hell ACT like they own the town." Said Aran, and there was some muttering and agreement. He didn't look happy, and neither did Dara, but he let the well dressed one take the lead on this one.

The tired young woman spoke up. "I'd pay money to see them get leaned on for once, Niln." There was a murmuring of agreement.

He looked around for anyone to speak up, but no one did. "They make enough money for the guild that if you lean on them, the guild might do something if they complained to them. It's happened before."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as they all remembered that.

"I'd offer them a deal in your shoes. Of course, I'm not the 'doctor of death.'" Said the young man, who was apparently named Niln.

Plaga listened to what each of the cutters had to said about the matter, and headed for shellback territory. It seemed like she'd need to be more straightforward on her approach to them. But the objective was clear: she needed to show the shellback that not even the guild's aid would save them of Plaga's expanding organization.

The Shellbacks are not as easy to track down as the Saints (who operate out of a convent/monastery) or the Cutters (who are in a bunch of neighborhoods). The Shellbacks operate on the private docks, taking out skiffs and small vessels to ships in harbor at night.

They don't really have much "territory" to work with, operating instead in a series of docks and warehouses and small club houses on the piers - which are privately owned and closed to outsiders.

There's also the small bars along the strand that have a few contacts and fixers that might get you in contact with them (it's how they get jobs). The fixers are not technically members of the gang and are probably guild members.. putting the lean on them might be very risky.

Finally, you could just wait until they go on a bender after a bunch of good jobs. The latter will probably require co-ordination with the cutters, since they are best at

Your new contacts within the Cutters may help with the latter. They could just call you when one of them spot the Shellbacks.

When being pointed at the harsships of locating the shellbacks, Plaga agrees to have the cutters be on guard and call her when they spot one of them out of their... Well, shell. She goes instead to the other gang, the saints. She had intended to leave them for last, since religious folk and their friends tended to be quite hard to convince. Hopefully some demonstrations would be enough.

The Saint's by contrast, was pretty easy to spot: it was a huge stone church, almost a fortress, visible even from the beach. It was quite old, one the oldest buildings outside of the city, built with a solid stone foundation to keep it from eroding. It must have been insanely expensive to construct, and was probably built using some of the same gear used shortly after the sundering.

It's a fair distance from the shore one one of the few hills near the city: even with a stone foundation, no one was silly enough to put the huge stone building on shifting sand. The back of the place was designed to be a huge walled winery, however, the climate is uniquely terrible for growing grapes, and the "winery" now grew other crops.

The local church had moved out, replaced by lay brethren, out of some political deal from a hundred years ago designed to limit the power of the church. Reclaiming the place had been a low priority for the church, as they'd constructed a citidel inside the city for major functions, and as the town's population had spread out to farms, the church had needed to build more, smaller churches to accommodate the spread out population.

The holy symbols had been stripped form the outside, as lay orders were not permitted to display them (and were in fact somewhat of a contentious legal existence). Between the lack of holy iconography and the stark stone walls, the place looked more like a fortress than a church.

As Plaga made her way up the hill, she noticed a number of drunken sailors and townsfolk staggering up and down the winding path up the hill. A few had collapsed and were passed out along the side of the path. She was, of course, able to identify them as being massively drugged and intoxicated. A few were showing signs of recent injury.

A man stood outside the Saint's, staring at the injured and intoxicated with a smile of mild bemusement on his sharp features.  His skin was darker than that of most Vissians, though not so dark that he stood out.  More it suggest many long afternoons on the deck of a ship, with sun and spray lending depth and color to him.  A finely trimmed mustache and goatee framed mouth, a thin leaf of rolled paper sending a cloud of grey smoke out through his nose whenever he exhaled.  A wave of black hair partially obscured his face, well kept and cared for, though it did little to hide the three dots that had been tattooed onto his brow just over the vicious cutting line of his black eyebrows.  He was dressed in a fine coat with a high collar, the midnight blue suggesting wealth to buy such exotic dyes, which made his choice to bear no obvious weapons all the stranger.  He wasn't exactly standing in a fashionable part of town, there were plenty of cut throats about who could do with a new coat, particularly one so fine.  Yet he didn't look out of place either.  He looked like he belonged there, standing outside of the fortress-like church, he looked natural.  Perhaps one of the guild then, or some other well connected member of the city's underclass.  It was hard to say, as he bore no mark or insignia.

As Plaga approached, he turned and threw her a wink, throwing a thumb back at the injured he'd been watching.

"Yours then?"

His voice was a rich baritone, deep and self satisfied.  It complimented him perfectly.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:50, Mon 12 Nov 2018.

Plaga inspected the stranger carefully.

"Possibly. Are you with the guild? Or perhaps with The Saints? I'm known as The Doctor of Death.

The man turned so that his broad shoulders were facing Plaga, but was still glancing at the staggering drunks and sailors.

"They look rough, but not so rough that a good night's sleep and some water won't see them through to the other end of it.  With a name like that, I'm not sure which of your services they might require!"

He turned his head to face her, the mirth shining through his shockingly grey eyes.  He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, Vissian for sure, though his skin was as dark and tan as that race of people's could be.

"Unless you are here as a representative of the Razors of God, in which case I must commend your order on their vigilance, and ask how you discovered me so quickly."

He presented her with a flourishing bow, arms spread wide to embellish to performance.  If her intentions were warm or even neutral, it was a welcoming if slightly over dramatic gesture.  A further sign that he bore no weapon, and that he too had no ill intent towards her.  It spoke a second message as well, though only one she would likely see if she meant violence towards him.  If such were her purpose, then the gesture was clearly a duelist's bow, a silent challenge born of confidence mixed with experience.   Without so much as a spoken word, it screamed....

Try me.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:21, Tue 13 Nov 2018.

Plaga had no quarrel with the strange guard The Saints had appointed at their base. And so, with a light bow of her head, she stepped inside, willing to meet the gang that may be the next step to take on the rebirth of her organization.

"Oh...."

Vasati said, as the plague masked woman walked past him into the Saint's.  He awkwardly shuffled behind her, scratching at the back of his head with an embarrassed expression on his features.

"Sorry, it's ummm.... it's been a while since I've had anyone but myself to talk to?  My apologies if I gave offense, I appear to not be nearly as witty as I give myself credit for.
I'm Vasati."

He nodded seriously, as if that meant something.

"I'm not with the guild or the Saint's, but there is change in the wind, who knows what the day may bring?  Why did you say those poor bastards might be yours?  If I may ask?"

He appeared to be genuinely contrite.

The front door was flanked by two very big, very stern looking monks carrying what looked liked shepards crooks. A younger woman with more inviting features waited just inside the door, sitting at a desk with a ledger.

"Good evening! Welcome to our monastery, travelers, and the Order of the Saintly is currently welcoming those who wish their spiritual needs fulfilled. Will you be attending private or public services tonight?"

Her voice oozed customer service, but her eyes shone with the light of a true believer.. and if Plaga was any judge, a light touch of Silver or something damn close to it. Two of the goons/monks gave a slight gesture with their shoulder.

"Sir, if you are not with the lady, could you back off a moment? It is an article of faith that those who wish to pray do so unencumbered by the burden of shame or ridicule, and the lady is clearly here incognito."

She was very polite. The guards didn't change their demenor or body language, they were just.. quietly aware.

Vasati put both hands up in an apologetic gesture and backed off.

"Be at ease, you have not offended me, Vasati. There is change coming, indeed. You are quite perceptive. When i said the one laying down were possibly mine, I was referring to them as my clients. My product is the kind that would do that to a man, if consumed irresponsibly."

After reaching the desk, Plaga adressed the woman first, and then the monks.

"Private would be best. I wish to discuss bussiness matters"

"It is ok, I don't mind his presence. In fact... do you wish to come with me to the meeting, Vasati? It may shed more light on the changes that are coming, and I'm sure you could use the insight, to choose a path for the future".

"Ha!"

Vasati kept his voice down, but his mirth appeared genuine.  It appeared he was capable of at least a little discretion.

"And now the title doesn't seem nearly so ostentatious, given your chosen profession. Though,  in all fairness I am hardly one to speak in that regard."

He scratched at his goatee as the doctor made her offer, his smile widening.

"I would be honored to join you, good Doctor."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:48, Wed 14 Nov 2018.

A few seconds as her eyes refocus a bit. "Oh.. you are here on business then. A provider, perhaps. Very well." She considers a moment,  then considers. This is not her business. But a thought occurs to her as she sends a nearby monk to fetch a more senior member. She bites her lip slightly.

"By any chance, did you provide the new shipment of pearl?"

She asked.

Plaga shrugs. "Perhaps. Why do you want to know?".

She smiles "Oh, it's just clearly touched by His Divine Hand! You should try some if you have the chance. I'd offer some, but I'm afraid the last of it was used at the divine sacrament."

She's given a signal a moment later, and the pair are quickly shown inside the monastery. The front room is a small receiving alcove with several doors, rather than a grand central mass that you might expect in what you'd expect of a church.  As they come in, a mild familiar buzz touches Plaga and Vasati as they enter [OOC: Two Point Mundus Ward].

"Some of our brethren are just finishing a service. If you do not mind, we will take you to a meditation hall, for privacy."

There are several doors from the alcove, with clearly marked areas for "public mass" "penitence chambers" "prayer rooms" "meditation halls" and other religious sounding areas. Music from an automated organ seems to permeate the place. There's a hint of other sounds covered by the music for those with truly astute hearing, though it's very hard to make out.

When the clerk complimented the quality of the Doctor's wares, Vasati went to no effort to disguise his delight.  Indeed he expanded upon it as they began to walk down the hallway.

"If you're even half as good as that woman seemed to think you are, then Fate has truly smiled on us both today."

He said as he strode down the hall, practically dancing with each step despite his rather substantial size.

"When your service is complete, I think there might be some exciting opportunities for us to discuss."

With a bit of legerdemain, he had produced from seemingly nowhere what appeared now to be a rather sizable emerald.  It danced along his knuckles, back and forth, until disappearing into the void from which it had come.  He laughed, and only part of the laugh was to disguise the discomfort he felt walking into the Mundus Ward.

Another prison to be escaped then, he noted, testing its strength and finding it frustrating but not impossible to overcome.

You are brought through a corridor to a "meditation chamber". A few sailors and a man in the suit are being walked down the hall, their eyes glassy.

The chamber itself is a wooden room that looks like it was not built with the rest of the monastery. It's a small stone alcove that's been closed from the other corridors. The wood work is non-decorative, but was created with careful carpentry to make it functionally soundproof.

The door leads into a stone chamber that's utterly austere, completely without decoration. The floor has baffling so that not even the slightest sound of the odd music reaches this place. There's no scent, either, which is an interesting and difficult goal to acomplish in a small room such as this that's supposedly used as a drug den. A small lantern provides the light in this place, mostly centered around a table.

A monk sits at the center of the table. As the door opens, he swivels around to face you like there's been a gunshot. After a moment, he calms himself. He speaks slowly, but it sounds almost as though he's forcing himself to remain calm. "I am brother Silence. Please come in, and sit."" The woman from earlier leaves, and two monk guards wait outside.

It's a little cosier than you'd like, but at least there isn't much chance of people listening in here.

It was impossible to tell, but behind the mask, Plaga's lips twisted into a smile.

"An interesting proposal. Let's keep together when we are done here then, Vasati".

Upon entering the room, Plaga takes a seat, facing Silence.

"I greet you, brother Silence. You may have heard of me already, as I go by "The Doctor of Death", a name that is surely becoming popular among gossipers. I'd be direct with you: I wish for The Saints to work for me. I'll soon take over the market, and my influence will extend quickly within the city. The cutters already took my deal, and i believe they would agree that things are looking bright for their future. This is as much an offer as it is a warning. If you were to decline, then you should start preparing for what's coming. It won't be easy to resist me, that i can assure you. I won't take long to have the favor of the guild, and the shellbacks will soon follow aswell. I hope I was taken seriously, and you are someone with a position high enough to be able to give me a clear answer. I'd be mildly upset if my time was wasted with this meeting. In any case...".

Plaga reaches into her cape, and with a swift motion produces a little leather bag, which she gives to Silence. The contents were not the same she had offered to the cutters, but it was a crimson powder, that was reminiscent of spices from The Oasis States.

"Have a taste".

Plaga made a motion as if she dipped her finger into something and took it to her mouth. If Silence or some of his fellow monks were to taste it, they will notice nothing for about 5 minutes. And then it would kick. Every muscle in their body would relax, and any stress or tiredness will fade away, a comforting slumber taking over them. With just a pinch of it, the effect wouldn't be strong enough to have them pass out, but their judgement will likely get clouded for it.

Vasati stayed quiet, watching the exchange play out.  He had no cards to play then and there, and so he kept his hand close to his heart.

He held his suddenly throbbing temples at the tension in the room.

"Please. Desist.

I thought I was sampling and buying product for our faithful."

"I will summon one of our most senior brethren for you who is suited to dealing with.... this."

He rose to leave, moving very slowly and carefully, stopping at the door.

"I would.. caution you against this tone. You are, from what I understand, quite talented. I will pray God blesses you with safety and wisdom."

There is a brief interlude between his departure and the arrival of a more senior monk.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:59, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Plaga sighs as Silence exits the room. She had quickly lost interest in negotiating with The Saints. But she couldn't just leave now, that would be most impolite.

When the senior monk arrived, she introduced herself again.

"Greetings. I'm the one they call Doctor of Death. I have apparently offended your... younger brother. However, instead of an explication i got a warning and a new host, as I see here. My product is still here, if you wish to taste it for yourself. I'll repeat myself, at risk at offending you aswell: My intent is not to be a dealer for your group. I have greater ambitions, and I think us cooperating is better than a simple dealership. I'll stress it to make myself clear: I do NOT look for a buyer. I can get plenty of those myself. What I'm looking for is people willing to aid in the growth of my organization. And, from the tone of Brother Silence, i inferred a threat. As so, before anyone here makes an unfixable mistake, i advice against antagonizing me. I may be restrained here, but I'm not working alone. Perhaps it's a needless warning, but I think it's better to be cautious, considering the treatment i'm recieving. If you have no interest in what i offer, say it plainly and I'll leave without a fuss. Remaining here is a waste of both of our times if my offer doesn't interest you, i'm not willing to negotiate anything else".
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:24, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Two monks game in this time. One really was a shaggy haired senior monk - 60 at least, though he looked to be in good health. The other was a far younger, huger and crazier looking woman. Her eyes reminded her a bit of Kanua. The woman's robes were modified to leave her impressive arms bare, and they were covered in tattoos and religious iconography.

She remained silent, impassive, and angry, large nostrils flaring. She s

He just smirked. "Really? You'll have to forgive Brother Silence. He tries new blessings on a light does of Nower. It makes him very good at sniffing out impurities.. and also makes him rather excitable.

But my manners. My name is Brother Ras. This is sister Kn'ohpe. You see, Brother Silence got the ridiculous idea that YOU'D come in here to take over everything, said that you were warning us you we wouldn't be able to resist you, that you had friends in powerful places, that sort of thing."

He laughed and took a smoke from his pipe.

"Now that would be ridiculous. Who would try and convince a humble monastery such as ours about taking over the trade? The cutters, bless their youthful hearts, are a street gang. We are a religious order. We're not concerned with temporal matters, but attempting to understand God through certain experiences.

We'll serve council members, guardsmen, guild staff or street merchants. I think we have some downstairs right now, and operate as a legitimate business with a city charter. No, I'm afraid there's been a miscommunication here. Why don't we take one of God's blessings to reduce the tension?"

Kn'ohpe remained angry and impassive. Ras removed a pipe from his jacket, lit it, and passed it around the table to any who would partake of it, before smoking himself. Kn'ohpe took a polite toke, but doesn't exactly look happy about it.

"Not that you aren't welcome here, or that you might gain temporal aim with a degree of co-operation. You should join as a member, or at least take a complementary evening to see what we do here. Perhaps you could speak to some of our other members, if nothing else, who may help you gain what you seek.

We'd be happy to compensate you for the evening so you can understand us better. It's the least we can do to defuse this.. misunderstanding. And if you still feel slightest afterwards, well, keep in mind, we won't oppose you 'taking over'. It's not our place. So long as the blessings are readily available, and seekers are welcome, well, if you take over the shanty town, want to run it better, that's fine."

He pauses to take another drag of his pipe and gauge a response.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:57, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"Good Doctor..."

Vasati intervened, taking a long and satisfied hit of the pipe as it passed and then passing it along.

"... I know that my presence here is not a surprise to all, quite the opposite in fact, as I am an unknown factor.  No reputation proceeds me that I am aware of.  That does not mean I am unfamiliar with this city, or its innermost workings.  Quite the contrary.  In fact I think you will find that there are few more informed than I, as time passes.  As the Senior Monks here have done their best to explain, the Saint's are a neutral organization when it comes to the various factions at play here in the city, honored and respected by all.  My apologies if you have been misinformed, and if such was the case then I think we do indeed have much to talk about when your business here is concluded, but they do not take sides.  They have refused offers from many well established institutions and organizations, prestigious guilds and merchant houses..."

That word was emphasized, its meaning clear.

"... all have been politely but firmly declined.  It is simply not how they operate.  I think you will find that they are as intractable in their unwillingness to negotiate the matter as you are."

He was playing peacemaker, but he wasn't sure it was going to be heard.

"That is not to say they are without powerful allies.  They are a venerated institution within this city, and can call on many friends should the need arise.  Any looking to cause trouble for these esteemed monks without friends in many important places would quickly find themselves... well... it would be a fairly one sided conflict."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:03, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Plaga slid her mask slightly sideways, bringing the pipe to her mouth and breathing in the smoke. This was merely a formality for her hosts, as she didn't let the drug affect her judgement. There was a long, tense silence before Plaga spoke up again, but she was surprisingly humble, given her initial approach.

"I must apologize. Not for what i've said, but because of my ignorance to your order. My customs are different to those of your people, and so is my way to do bussiness. But that is not excuse. I said what i said, and I'm not willing to deny it. I take back my warning. I clealry misjudged The Saints, and acted imprudently. I'll kindly take your offer, about instructing myself about how things work here. Perhaps once I get rid of my ignorance, we may strike a deal that will please both partida."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Ras shrugged. "It's forgotten. Sometimes one must be resolute. We can certainly appreciate that. "

You are both shown around and given the "tour" by Raz. As you leave, you notice that there are about 20 monks, some concealing weaponry, outside the sell. Ras waves them off, quickly, reduced to K'noeph and another single bodyguard.

Essentially, it's a brothel and drug den, but with religious significance attached, elevated, in fact, to practically being a sacrament. No wonder the church absolutely hates this group. You are shown some of the out of use rooms by Ras.

The "penetence cells" are a little terrifying at first, filled with whips and chains and a variety of objects that look like they belong in a Lomite inquisition office or some church torturer. The floor has a slight red tinge.

"Oh, it's red paint, for atmosphere. Any blood, from say the whip, is incidental and minor bleeding. Participation is entirely voluntary, of course, and the tools do not do permenent harm in expert hands. And of course, all the monks who use this chamber must be."

The "prayer chambers" are essentially bordellos, only they start with a confessional style set up, built into what must have been novice initiate chambers at one point. They are quite spartan.

"Our least popular feature. We also cater to clients who arrange private trysts."

The "meditation chambers" are drug dens. The one you are shown is a stark contrast to the one you were negotiating in a few minutes ago. Where it was spartan and dark, this one is lit intensely, and the walls are covered in reproductions of Vissio's most famous religious art.

"Each chamber is devoted to a particular experience. The one you were in was for Nower, a sense enhancing drug. This is for experiencing religious visions from hallucinations." He ran his hands over the relief. It's quite a striking mix, and must be overwhelming when under the influence of hallucinogenics. "Brother Silence did most of the work. It took three years to get this chamber right. Under the influence of nower, he can do fantastic detail work when he's coming down. He's quite good, wouldn't you say?"

There are sections devoted to baths and laundry of course, and we occasionally have feasts in the 'vineyard'. Grapes don't grow in this land, of course. We normally keep a variety of blessings growing that require little maintenance. It's also where we maintain a small area for achieving religious bliss through martial confrontation. We don't talk much about that, though. We also hold some festivals for staff on particulalry holy days, but I'm afraid right now thre's not much going on tonight in the vineyard, tonight."

The 'tour' of the vineyard is simply to view it through a second story courtyard. The ground is indeed far too scrabbly for grapes. The vineyard is still totally closed off to the public due to the high walls though, and there's a variety of plants growing wild across the grounds. You are welcome to see it, of course if you really wish.

He takes you back around to the main part of the building by the entrance you came in. It looks essentially like an oversized pub, only with very good construction and a truly bizarre crosssection of humanity.. and is that a damned Autocossack in the corner?! The place has a large number of people for a "quiet" night.

"This is the heart of our order. Here is the 'public room' and the'mass' halls.

In the public room, members and guests gather to enjoy tamer experiences and engage in philosophy with our monks... or each other if they wish. This is an area as much as any for guests to "recover" between experiences, but some of our members enjoy it so much they seldom visit other areas. Hard drugs and open nudity is discouraged here.

There are smaller more private sections as well for private discussions."

As he does so, a monk leads a hooded guest away to another room, hand in hand.

"Beyond that door is the room for Mass. It is quite.. intense. Non-participants are generally not permitted in the mass room: we have found that it breaks the  atmosphere conductive to the religious experience.  I believe tonight it is a mixed company event, and the sacrament is some silver acquired a few days ago from the cutters. There is also a crash room and infirmary, regrettably sometimes needed."...

It all sort of blurs together after a while. However, the advantages of the public areas for discussion is obvious: no guards are permitted in here. You get the idea that a lot of underworld dealings have been brokered in the private alcoves for meetings.

Vasati's grey eyes flashed from room to room, chamber to chamber, his expression one of barely constrained delight.

"This is fantastic!"

He said, his motions still somber and calm despite the joy in his deep basso voice.

"Dear Doctor of Death, I'd be curious what your plans are now that you have a better idea of what you are dealing with here? I have many of my own schemes in mind, but given what I've seen so far I think my own goals might be best served in helping yours. I'll lay it all out on the table once we've got a little privacy."

He looked to the monks at that and winked.

"No sense in asking you your plans and keeping my own close to the chest, that would be pointless and rude."

He laughed a little, running a hand through his hair.

"Speaking of.  Brother Ras, would you be so kind as to help a man out with a little of the formality here?  If I spot someone who I'm looking to do some business with here, how rude is it for me to approach?  How do I keep things diplomatic?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:08, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"It takes a little getting used to.

If someone is in this section of the monastery you may approach them.

If they are incognito, any kind of mask, do not say their name out loud. Most have a nickname they use while here that their friends will pick up. This applies even if it's obvious who they really are.. after all, masks are all one wears in some masses."

He doesn't grin or smirk as he says this. To him, it's quite serious.

"Outside of the public area or certain group events, it's generally impolite to approach someone, as they are usually seeking a private experience. If someone doesn't want to talk to you, you don't. And obviously, asking personal questions unwarranted is a gross violation of the principles here.".

He looks slightly strained as he says the next part.

"However.. WE know who comes here, and our overall goal is the happiness and fulfillment of our members and guests. So, should it be very important that someone contact one of our members for a meeting, we can arrange that.

On occasion, some of our lay brothers, when presented with a problem from a member,  have taken it upon themselves to  believe a certain member of the flock may be able to help them with. "

Vasati clapped their hands together and began rubbing them rapidly.

"I love it."

He added enthusiastically.

"Doctor, typically I'd be abashed to not know the answer to a question, but this seems like your area of expertise.  What's Silver?"

Plaga listened attentively to the explanations given during the tour, but aside from the occasional comment she didn't interrupt their host.

"To be completely honest, I'm not quite sure. The street names for the drugs around this parts are different from the ones where I used to operate. If I had to guess, it would be another name for 'Pearl'. Or as I know it, 'Silver Petals'".

"Excellent."

Vasati steepled his fingers together.

"Brother Ras, when The Doctor of Death has concluded her business with you, I believe the two of us will require a private room.  There is so much to discuss!"

"Of course. If that is what you wish. I'll confess, I'm not terribly sure who you are, but I somehow suspect you are a person of interest to our humble monastery. Perhaps this meeting was ordained."

The larger monk makes a light respectful nod to Ras.

"I'm afraid I have an appointment that I must attend to for about an hour or so. As I said, you are welcome to attend services tonight. Consider yourselves guests of the monastery."

You have the run of the place for the evening.

After taking one of the rooms (presumably lead to an available one by the monks after requesting it), Plaga finds a seat to make herself comfortable. This is done more out of custom than need, as she has become untirable after her resurrection.

"So, Vasati. You seem rather keen on talking about bussiness with me. Perhaps I have intrigued you in some way?"

The man looped his thumbs through the pockets of his jacket, easing back into the seat and letting whatever herb he'd smoked earlier take effect.

"If the front desk is impressed by your wares, that means you've got some seriously good product."

He said in confirmation, though it wasn't a strict acknowledgement.

"You certainly tried to make some waves with the monks, so I'm guessing you've got some pull.  But I don't know you, I haven't heard about you.  Trust me when I say this.  I hear about everyone.  If you were a mover and shaker, I'd know you."

He tapped his earlobe with two fingers.

"Which means... either you're very new here, or this is all an elaborate con."

He threw is arms out wide and swirled both his hands about theatrically, encompassing the entirety of the doctor.

"If it's the former, and your wares are as good as the front desk thinks they are?  Well, I want to be the one introducing you to this fair city.  The sort of operation you're talking is going to attract attention, and while you seem the confident sort, confidence without eyes and ears is a sure way to make a whole bunch of powerful enemies.  Success is enough to earn them too, but you back up that success with solid intelligence and no one is gonna be able to do anything about it."

A mirthful smile was resting on his face.

"If all this is a confidence trick?  Well then Signora?  You are an artist, and I want to be a part of that as well."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:13, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

"It's an interesting proposal. You were right with one of your assumptions: I am indeed a new arrival to town. I could certainly use the intel, but there is a major flaw in your plan: I have no reason to trust you. Or you to trust me. You have made the slip, whether intentional or not, of mentioning you are inclined to the art of deception. How should I know that you will not lie to me, instead of for my sake? I could easily prove the quality of my products right now, if you wished to. What proof do you have to offer in return, Mr Vasati? Can you offer me truthful information in exchange for the proof i offer?"

Something seemed odd about Plaga's choice of words, but other than that the Doctor appeared to be genuine on her intentions.

Vasati settled in, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a hand rolled cigarette.  He lit it on one of the table's candles, taking a deep and satisfied puff.  Plaga detected tobacco, but little else, within the cloud of smoke that emerged.

"You'd be a fool to trust me,  Signora.  One can never truly trust a thief, after all.  If I am anything, I am that.  Perhaps I am the one who is the player of confidence games, no?  So what is one to do with a thief offering gifts?  Take them, of course, but take them in such a way that one is protected from any fallout that might arise should said gifts come with their very angry previous owners attached.  One must be a fence with them, something I do not doubt you are comfortable with."

He chuckled, throwing one hand behind his head, and holding the rolled piece of lit paper between finger and thumb with the other.

"So, I offer you some of what I know freely.  If it proves useful to you, maybe you come and ask for more?  Cautiously of course, so that you don't over expose yourself on any front.  In many ways, your interactions with me will be similar to your interactions with the guild.  That will only grow, as time passes, particularly if I am able to achieve my own ends.  So, with that in mind.  What is it you wish to know?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:36, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Plaga adjusted her position on her seat, clearly amused by the exchange.

"Very well, then. Let me start with an easy one. What is the Guild's biggest weakness?"

In truth, Plaga had no interest on defying the Guild. The question had two objectives.
The first one was to check if the rooms were truly private. She had not to fear the guild's investigation, as she did not plan to conspire against it in truth, and becoming a target of said investigation could mean that the private rooms of The Saints weren't as private, making the order a big hoarde full of valuable information.
The second objective was to judge Vasati in a variety of ways. Would he be surprised at the question? Would he take an aggressive stance? Would he comply? Or perhaps, would he figure out Plaga's true intentions when making that question? Grinning behind her mask, Plaga's hidden eyes carefully observed every detail of Vasati's movements. He was a book hard to read, no doubt, but perhaps she could decipher the man. And if not, then that would only make him more interesting to her.

Vasati scrunched up his eyebrows.

"That's a rather subjective question, isn't it?"

He took a hit of his cigarette, then began waving it about as if to illustrate each point.

"You could argue that their lack of council representation is a major flaw, or the fact that any territory outside of the turf they already control is cut off to them by the great houses.  Neither of those are necessarily exploitable weaknesses though, more design flaws in their organization as it relates to the major powers around them.  Except...."

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"If I had to say their biggest weakness?  I'd say that any great house who wanted them could have them in a day by offering an alliance.  It wouldn't even have to be a good offer, as long as they made it to the right guild bosses.  Being locked out of any opportunity for expansion?  They're desperate for even of a glimmer of a chance."

Plaga nods slowly, taking in the information. It didn't seem like Vasati was being dishonest, but she couldn't tell if that was all he knew or if there was more to it.

"You seem to know some of what goes on in this place. I suppose it's my turn to show I'm serious about my bussiness."

Plaga bring a small pouch out of their cape, similar to the one Vasati saw before, and slides it towards him.

"You may test it or take it to someone you trust to analyze it. Either way, you will learn if I'm boasting or my product is really THAT good."

Vasati pocketed the pouch, making it vanish with a showman's flourish, but didn't ingest any.

"What sort of high should I be looking forward to tonight?"

He said, though he hadn't actually committed to taking it himself.  He probably would, if he was honest with himself, but the doctor didn't need to know that.

"Woman with that sort of confidence, that sort of product?  You're going to have the guild all up in your business.  Not necessarily a bad thing, they can be an important business partner and ally if you've got the mindset for it, but given your earlier speech I imagine you're going to be pushing for a little more independence than that.  I have a proposal for you then, if you're interested.  Guild feels safer when they have an inside man on any new operation, I'd like to be that man for both them and you.  Slip them just enough to keep them happy, while not actually revealing anything that might put your growing business in harm's way.  Give you a chance to really establish your power base free of interference, so that you can truly be the master of your own destiny."

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, enjoying himself.

"How are you doing on capital, by the way?  I'm going to take it on good faith right now that the product is good, but establishing yourself in any market takes some pretty hefty initial buy in.  Gold, not drugs.  Do you have the gold on hand to get your initial supply chains up and running?  If not, I'd be open to discussing me investing much more heavily in your operation than just playing the role of 'double crossing informant'.  Not like that alone isn't fun, but I didn't get where I am today by letting opportunities pass me by."

Plaga's body language seem to indicate she is very interested on the proposal, as she reaccomodates on her seat.

"That sounds too good to be true. I am indeed not at my best regarding funds. And while I have my ways to keep the product coming, some amount of gold to kickstart the project would be perfect for my bussiness. After all, my men won't work if they don't eat. A good standing with the guild is invaluable aswell, if half of what i heard about them is true."

"I take it you won't do such a favor out of the kindness of your heart. And perhaps I'm misjudging here, but you don't strike me as one to have a lust for gold, or drugs. So, what is it that you seek Vasati? What do you hope to win with this alliance?"

"Connections."

He dragged the word out, luxuriating on it even.

"While this city has been my home for a very long time, and my roots to it grow deep, I have been away for far too long.  My name doesn't carry any of the weight it once did, and many of my former allies have forgotten about me entirely.  I still have my fingers to the pulse of the street, every corner still holds my little whispers, and they came back into the fold ever so quickly.  But those are minor things, easily bought, I don't have the ins with the major players like I once did."

He stared long and hard at Plaga.

"You're right, money is no object.  I have enough wealth hoarded away that I'll never need know want.  I could buy myself status, title, and all the friends I could ever want a hundred times over.  There is no prize in that though, no thrill.  It would be terribly dull.   So much better to build it myself from the ground up, or wrest it from others..."

His fingers clutched the edge of the table at that, knuckles going white with eagerness.

"... and make it my own.  Why the desire for theft, you may ask?  It is not an instinct that makes me a particularly trustworthy ally, if one were skeptical.  If I am so eager for allies, why not reach out with my wealth to the heights of power and buy a seat at the table?  It's simple, really.  Deep seated powers don't like to share, they are too worried about losing what they have.  I don't have that problem.  Connections require trust, and nothing builds trust quite like a beginning together.  Starting from the bottom and reaching the throne together, as it were.  So, I have a dichotomy in front of me, a choice to make with every major new player I encounter.  Are they a powerful potential connection to be cherished and nurtured?  Or are they an established power to be stolen and claimed?  You are ever so obviously the former.  The guild?"

He let that hang in the air unspoken.

"You have an interesting perspective. I'm indeed glad that we met at this circumstances. If you had been already established upon my arrival, who knows what kind of relationship we two would have. But then again, why worry about speculation? Our reality is that our meeting happened on remarkable conditions. And as such, I believe the answer to the question is clear. I'm currently operating within the cutters territory, you may come by anytime you wish to see me."

Plaga extended her hand for Vasati to take, and stood up ready to leave. Perhaps it was a coincidence, or perhaps fate, but it was clear meeting Vasati was a strike of good luck. The Saints had turned out to be a tougher bone than she thought, but instead she had gained an interesting ally.

"Oh, I almost forgot. 'Doctor of Death' is good enough for the public, but my partners may call me Plaga. Let's make things fun together, Vasati".

"If but I had another name to have given you, Plaga.  Alas, any that I might have given have long since lost any real purpose.  I am, and I remain, Vasati."

He said with a flourishing bow, similar to the one he had first greeted her with out on the street.

"I'll be by tomorrow with my initial investment, and we can talk then about what our future may hold."

Once he was alone, he rose, and sought out Brother Raz.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:30, Wed 28 Nov 2018.

During the following days, Plaga made sure things had reached a stable point. With a non-agression relationship with The Saints and a neutral unspoken pact with the guild, Plaga supplied the cutters with enough product to last a few days, and readied herself for a trip. She was eager to see what her old territory looked like, and if there were any remnants of her former organization around.

After informing the higher ups of the cutters of her future absence, and leaving Kanua in charge of the operations (whether she liked it or not), she took her leave, deciding to travel by foot, as she had no need to rest, and a horse would only slow her down and demand food (which she also didn't need).
When she found herself alone in the road, Plaga took off her mask and carefully hid it inside her traveling backpack. She had a new face now, and while she never wore the mask before, she didn't know how far the news of her new enterprise would have traveled.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Tue 04 Dec 2018.

Somehow, Vasati found Gaja at the theaterhouse at which she had chosen to hide from the dawn.

It was an odd thing, and clearly not a matter of mere chance.  The slums of the city were simply too large for him to just stumble upon her by anything but the most fortunate of circumstances.  He had to have known she were there, though how was next to impossible to determine.  She'd spotted no eyes on her as she'd reentered the city the evening before, at least none more than the sight of her immense Sunchaser drew.  Better to say that she'd not seen the same set of eyes on her the whole night.  No spy or informant following her as she moved from alehouse to house of ill repute.  Either whoever had been following her had been extremely discreet, or Vasati had employed some other means to divine her location with the dawn.

He wore different flesh than he had when they had first met.  His skin was weathered and darkened by the sun, and age had touched his hair with grey.  He was dressed in a tattered cloak of red, with the hood pulled up high to cloak his eyes in shadows.  The only sign of wealth about his was a tarnished silver chain which he wore about his neck, though what it held was lost in the depths of the dull grey shirt he wore.  There was a cruel look to the set of his lips, one which would have utterly disguised him had he not flashed her both his palms as had taken the seat across from her.  In each palm had flared the same blue sigil of the man she had met upon the countryside road, the rune of Vasati the Infinite.

"Well met, Broken-Chord."

His voice was cracked and rough, but there was still a deep rumble to it reminiscent of the joyful man whom she had met before.

"It appears I might be in your debt.   I know not what you ended up doing yesterday afternoon, but whatever it was did no harm to me in my aims, and likely helped more than a little.  A successful heist is a successful heist, and one for which I am ever grateful.  You will find I am not a man who enjoys being in anyone's debt, I much prefer the situation be reversed.  Thus, I would be only to happy to learn if there is any way in which I might be of service to you."

He was careful not to speak in absolutes, not binding himself to any pledge, yet his intent was clear.

He wished to settle accounts.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:45, Sun 06 Jan 2019.

  When Vasati first locates her, and triply as he approaches, Gaja is still playing the barbarian Exotic.  She'd traded her cut-up sailor's rags for a choli and pantaloons in carmine silk, plus a collection of gauzy veils tied to float after her movements.  It would be bad oasis-state pastiche, in any other circumstances, but she inevitably turned it into the ideal such clichés aspired to.  She washes into the seat across his table, like the last wave before the tide is too high to be held by the rim of the pool.  And for just an instant, the movement is too fluid, pushing far enough into Uncanny that it spoils the Seductive.  The look in her eyes is provocation, but it doesn't settle on a type.

  The performance falls away utterly when he gives his sign, and in its place is a delighted suspicion that becomes a more sincere welcome than before.  "Another face entirely!  You're even more of a scoundrel than Sarnai thinks, aren't you?"  She looks even more pleased at his shade of a debriefing.

  "So you've named the loss you feel?  Perhaps even remembered what was stolen?  Roberta told me quite a few valuable things have gone missing lately.  You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, rajachura Vasati?"  The smile didn't suggest any actual doubt in the matter.  "She has told me about some very interesting secrets, and a few boring ones that will lead me to the good ones.  If you like, I will tell you what I know, you can help me collect from the Falchetto in even trade, and I think we both benefit from the things we discover along the way.  No debts at all."

He threw back his hood, revealing his features to be pockmarked and weather beaten.  Reaching into his cloak, he drew out a sealed scroll case and cracked the lid, emptying the contents onto the table.  A half dozen rolled leafs of tobacco fell out, as well as nearly twice that many matches.  He gathered most of them back into the scroll case, but offered Gaja one if she wanted it.

"Oh Signora, is this not what I was wearing on the road?  So many faces, so many stories, I lose track of them after a while.  It's why I try and keep it to just the one name, when I can."

He winked at her, and struck one of the matches along his boot heel, drawing up one of the loose leaf rolls to his mouth and cupping his hands around it.  A moment later, a puff of heady smoke emerged.  He took a long draw, then leaned back in his seat.

"Speaking of, I see you learned their names after all!"

He chuckled at that, though in this body the laugh seemed more sinister than jovial.

"And you speak Kasirutan, that's quiet scholarly for a barbarian.  Though you've missed the mark slightly.  The Raja's Eternal Flame tells the story of the king of kings, a great man who wasted his final years seeking vengance after his most precious secret was stolen from his very tongue by a devious scoundrel.  Now, of those two figures of legend, which do you think I'd have chosen for my namesake?"

He flashed her a grin that looked more like a grimace at first glance.

"If Signora Roberta Falchetto knew of my indiscretion, then she certainly was slow in doing anything about it.  I use the singular there quite intentionally though.  Yesterday was in fact my first heist since stepping out of retirement.  Any recent thievery, while I would be only to happy to add to my story, isn't mine to claim.  Perhaps I can find the culprits for you though, that might be fun.  More secrets to share betwixt us, always a good time."

He laughed at that, and despite his grim features the sound was resonate and pleasing.

  "I know what you mean when you say it," Gaja responds. The cigarillo she's holding with her lips muffles it a bit, and she pauses to hold the other end into the lamp-flame.  "Really every voice. But it's not the same as knowing the words. You don't really even need to speak - you say so much when you move."

  Gaja settles into the seat a bit lower, looking suddenly self-conscious. Her hair obligingly falls over her eyes when she ducks her head. "Not specifically you. But not not... It's all very new." She fidgets with her smoke enough to shake the ember onto the table, and grabs it with her fingertips to relight.

  "I couldn't find you yesterday under the sun's eye, and I doubt Falchetto can see further than that. I got their best fighter called out to meet me, so I don't think they had any idea there was another danger at all. You should be fine." Pride seems, again, to distract her from any discomfort. She's preening just a bit. "She thinks someone stole 'the bits', whatever that means, and she wants to know if this means danger is coming, who to blame maybe. If it's important enough to scare two of this place's chief families at once, I might want to know the same thing. Different reasons, perhaps."

"Oh Signora, you certainly pick the fun ones, I knew I'd like you."

He threw a hand behind his head, his jovial tone utterly at odds with his harsh looking demeanor.

"All that my whispers were able to dig up on the Bits was that our dear Del Schiavone said that the they had been used for magical research in that little college in the mountains, that they'd vanished along with some of their members, and that they'd very much like all of it back. Their soothsayers had said that it was very important that it be found.  I'd already set my whispers to searching and... well... they got caught.  Never had that happen before, and that means whoever is guarding it knows their way around some pretty scary wardcraft.  I know they are stashed somewhere in the howler deserts in a cave, I could even take you there if you wished. Ha!

He slapped his knee.

"Was that the plan all along?  Help me liberate that which didn't belong to the Falchetto's in the first place so that I would help their retained barbarian queen find the one cave in all the The Golden Waste that had what they truly desired?  The Arch Key for the Bit, that's quite the trade!"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:46, Mon 07 Jan 2019.

  "Vasati!" she yelps in exaggerated indignation and presses a splayed hand to her breastbone.  "Retained?  I'll have you know I got this information without guaranteeing any service.  I even told them I might decide not to give it to them in the end, and I still have a list of names to start looking for.  Tsk, such a harsh judgment between friends."

  Then she leans forward over the table, drags heavily on the tobacco he gave her, and speaks in smoke-clouds.  An exultant grin manages not to get in the way of that.  "And it, here, is only secrets.  They don't trust the Del Schiavone, and they think I'll find proof.  No one said anything about recovering any artifacts.  That would be part of what you and I decided between ourselves.  Although..."  The smoke must be turning her voice husky.  Abruptly, she falls back and begins to examine her nails nonchalantly.  She'd applied some kind of dye to them, in the same freehand whorling style as her tattoos.

  "I was only going to ask you to ask your whispers while I traveled north, like I planned to yesterday.  But if we're heading the same way, I think the best way to find out what happened to these bits may be to ask the people who took them, don't you agree?  Much better for me than wasting weeks making uptight scholars jealous of each other.  And if you weren't feeling up to braving the wastes after all—"  She looks up with a cocky smirk as she needles him.  "This way, you ride with a chief."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:24, Mon 07 Jan 2019.

Vasati hissed through his teeth.

"Would be a shame to leave the city so soon after coming back to it, I don't fancy being away from my whispers for so long.  Still though..."

He fidgeted idly with his own rolled paper cigarillo.

"...with all the buzz about these Bits it might make a mighty fine legend.  You wouldn't happen to know someone with a more scholarly persuasion who you might be able to convince to come along?  We got our chief, we got a scoundrel, but we need a mage if we're going to have a fair shot at getting past those runes.  Someone who knows their way around dusty tomes and carved wards."

He tapped a finger on the table.

"Yeah, a mage is what we need.  Know anyone who would fit the bill?  I'd need a day to settle accounts here, but I think this could make for a tale for the ages."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:24, Mon 07 Jan 2019.

  "You've met Plaga already, but she seems to be more of a physician than a priest.  You also have a history with her that may decide what you want her to know.  The new boatwright, who bends stone with his hands, is very confident in his wisdom and might owe me a favor.  He's hard to read sometimes, though."  She drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table, and the rattle of a wagon going by outside fell into her rhythm briefly.  She shook her head and gave a little shrug before continuing.  "It's a shame the fairy left.  She had a power over locks that I don't think cared what kind."

  She paused for a moment at that.  "What a thing to say as though it's real.  Or to take your faces for no more than they seem.  It is still very strange to be a god.  When did...  Well, no."  Gaja forced down the contemplative mood and stood, shifting noncommittally toward the door.

  "A day then.  I'll find Increase and at least have his answer by tomorrow morning.  I trust you'll be able to find me again."  The glance back over her shoulder as she started to turn away said the idea tickled her.

"As long as you stay within the city, yes."

He answered in reply.

"Maybe another warrior too, can't imagine it's going to be an easy fight!"

He called out at her as she walked away, pulling his hood back up over his head and rising once she had left.  He set out in the direction of the Saints.  As he did, he started whispering to himself.  Well, not to himself, but to the city.  His city.  He was going to miss it, even if they were only gone for a few days he was really going to miss it.  Still, a legend was a legend, and he couldn't let this one go by.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:15, Tue 08 Jan 2019.

"You seek guidance and council?" Asked Raz. They were gathered in a small side alcove.

Two monks were brewing some tea, one working kettles with rapt attention, the other grinding some kind of leaf in a pestle.

Vasati had, technically, had to pay to get in, but it was, of course, a trifle. Really, it was more a token of respect than anything else, and besides, the Saints needed money to keep their services going.

Getting the attention of a senior brother was not something that happened routinely for most people - at least that's what the monk had warned Vasati when he came in, but Raz had agreed almost immediately, and taken him aside.

Vasati pulled back his hood, revealing a gruff face markedly different than the one that had spoken to the guild brother the first time.

"Indeed I do, Brother Raz, indeed I do."

No matter the thief master's reaction, Vasati bore both his palms and flashed the same glowing arcane symbol that he had shown Gaja out in the countryside.

"My apologies, but I seem to have forgotten my face.  I hope this one will do in its place, and I very much assure you that I am indeed Vasati.  You will have no doubts soon, I think."

He threw him a grin, revealing that the teeth on the left side of his mouth were all gold, which combined with the rather prominent scar at his cheek suggested he'd taken a rather heavy blow there sometime in the distant past.

"My whispers have already found two rather juicy leads, an I'm trying to decide which to pursue.  I figured a man in your position might know who is in the know, and could set me straight on the path where my efforts could best be spent.  I'll start with the first, and let it be first, as it would be the easiest to retrieve.  Do you know anything about the Arch Key?  Not where it is, that's my whisper's job, but what it is?  I've already heard the urban legends and old wive's tales..."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"... but I'm interested in hearing the real deal from a man or woman of authority.  Someone respectable, who knows their way around the histories of magic and artifice.  Do you have anyone in mind?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:13, Thu 24 Jan 2019.

"Interesting. IF there's one thing I've learned after years of study of perception, it's that the essence of something is not what one can infer from their senses.

There was something odd about your face, but it doesn't show to the eye. God moves in mysterious ways.

The Arch Key? I'm afraid it's not my specialty. I am aware that it is highly sought after, an item from early in this city's forging, stolen from those who founded this city. I know it was an item originally possessed by the mayor and council, and was stolen. Those who are desperate dream of finding it one day and selling it for a king's ransom.

Of course, there are a few scholars in our ranks, and we have more than a few members who are willing to help us for some minor considerations. We could attempt to find this information for you. Of course, we normally do not attend to secular matters."

Ah, a bribe. Or donation really.

"What if I told you not only who had it, but who has it now, and exactly where it is?  Would that sort of information be worth your scholar's time?"

Vasati leaned forward, pulling his tobacco pouch out of his jacket pocket and beginning the elaborate ritual of rolling a pair of cigarillos.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:31, Thu 24 Jan 2019.

At this point, he paused to take a bite of some bitter root, wincing at it's flavor, before responding.


"Wow, that information would be very valuable!

The council have a large reward for it's return, and would go to significant lengths to acquire the key if they thought there was a chance of getting it back. Others would no doubt want to possess it.

This puts me at somewhat of a dilemma.

Or order attempts to avoid too great a connection in temporal politics, though. As an item stolen from the council, we'd feel obligated to relay that information to them."

He considered further.

"Of course, if you truly know the location and who possesses it, we would be happy to put you in touch with a council representative if you had that information so that it could be returned to it's rightful owners. I can't see any moral issues with that, though we still would not want to know the details ourselves. We are happy being facilitators.

The council would be very pleased, after all, just to have the key back."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"But, of course, we are speaking hypothetically.

If your knowledge is theoretical, and you just need some information or wish an introduction for someone, that's another matter entirely. We'd be happy to ask a few scholars and have some of our order pour through some books for a nominal fee. The sacraments and our charity outreach is always expensive."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:23, Thu 24 Jan 2019.

Vasati finished rolling a cigarillo, lit it, and offered it to Raz.

"You're a wise man, Brother Raz."

He set to work on the next one, regardless of if Raz accepted or not.

"In that case, I would be honored to make a donation to the Saints for any and all information on the Carnalian, the Arch Key, and the Cross of St. Erasmus.  Their history, yes, but specifically what it is that they are rumored to do.  As a holy man, perhaps you can educate me on how much would be an appropriate tithe?  Once I have that, my whispers will be much better able to determine what information would be useful to your organization and what information would be dangerous."


He smiled up at the man, and there was a dangerous edge to the smile.

"I trust that, at this point, you do not think I'm bluffing?"

In reply to Vasati the Infinite (msg # 79):

He smiled, and happily took a hit of the pipe.

"We're just having a hypothetical conversation. I am assuming that you need this knowledge of highly sought after lost and stolen property for your spiritual fulfillment.

We will only take a small fee, but to gather all of that knowledge will require we make some inquiries with members who happen to be scholars. I assume you need this knowledge in a timely manner, and with discretion....."

"Well then.  I will need to step outside for a moment to retrieve something, I will be right back.  "

Vasati was gone less than a half hour, just long enough to go to the Estervault and back.

When he returned, he reached into his jacket, his hand passing over the chain that bore the Arch Key, and resting on a small scroll case within its innermost pocket.  He drew it out, cracking the seal of the Malatesta noble family and emptying its contents.  Within was a single rolled piece of paper of the very finest quality, gold leaf in incredibly intricate patterns gilding the edges and corners.

"I would be honored to present a small tithe to the Saints, for my continued spiritual development."

He carefully unrolled the soft velvety paper, revealing what appeared to be a deed to one of banks of the inner city, as well as all its holdings.  It was one of the smaller banks, yes, but it was still a vast fortune of almost unimaginable worth.

"And if you could, I'd love to speak to that charming little gambler you found for me the last time I was here.  I assume you have rather a lot on your plate to deal with now, and I don't wish to take up any more of your valuable time."

He took out a quill and ink from the nearby table, and began the laborious process of signing the deed over to the Saints.

"Do I make this out to you, or to the Saints itself?"

He said as almost an afterthought.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:13, Fri 25 Jan 2019.

In reply to Vasati the Infinite (msg # 81):

"The Saint's of course. It would be innapropriate for a brother such as myself to receive this kind of wealth. What I own, is in the order's name."

He seems quite pleased. The transaction is completed swiftly. You are also a lifetime VIP member, though your shifting appearance may result in some interesting questions about proving who you are with the doormen.

A short time later, you are taken to the tavern where you can talk with the guild rep.

*** Note: This scene is going to be soft play so we can get stuff back on track for the rest of the party***
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:18, Sun 27 Jan 2019.

"Greetings, Signor Dealer."

Vasati said with a swift bow.

"My apologies that I didn't introduce myself properly last time.  I had been retired for quite some time, and I'll admit that some of the little social niceties have escaped me."

He made little fiddling motions with his hands, before turning them over to flash his sigil.

"I believe the good brother here can verify my identity though, should you be overly cautious.  Care for a private game?  I have ever so much interesting news to discuss."

A raised eyebrow from the man.

"Of course, Signor Whispers. I was getting tired of solitaire. Please, pull up a chair."

He dealt out a game and offered typical bar snacks.

The monks had let it be known that if you wanted something, you were to receive it, that you were not just a member, but a patron of the place. Though, of course, that was somewhat difficult to verify at times with Vasati's changing face.

"Well then, deal me in."

Vasati took out a small pouch and set it down onto the table, it clinked with the satisfying sound of coin meeting coin.


"I have been thinking a great deal about the riddles you have given me, Signor Dealer.  I will allow myself a moment of pride and admit that I've already solved one of them, and that my whispers have solid leads on two of the others.  But it got me to thinking. As the answers to these riddles have been lost for generations, how would you even know if they had been solved?"

As he spoke, he opened to top buttons of his shirt, pulling aside the cloth to reveal a key hanging on a chain.  The key was small and plain looking, with a sigil written in an old Patrian script on the base.

"How would you even go about verifying the truth of my claim?  Particularly when the whole exercise is more a demonstration of my skill than it is a quest for a reward.  If I were interested in handing over the answer, that might be one thing.  Your scholars and sages would have all the time they needed to pull it apart and make sure that I'd found the right solution.  I don't know if that is yet the case though, as I never truly promised such a thing.  Perhaps I would keep the answer to this riddle to myself, maybe give your esteemed organization the answer to a different riddle.  If I did such a thing, selfish as it may seem, I'd still be more than willing to explain to you just how I got to the answer.  Every little step of the way, as a demonstration of my own wit and talent, of course.  As would be befitting a journeyman of your organization."

His smile was devious as he drew up his first hand.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:32, Wed 30 Jan 2019.

He raised an eyebrow and carefully considered.

"That is a indeed a conundrum. And it raises another interesting ethical and philosophical questions for myself.. I suppose the big riddles usually do."

He paused and considered.

"The sensible thing to do would be to bring in an outside specialist. It would be terrible if there were misunderstandings over who's property this was.

An independent contractor could be arranged. There would be a price, of course, to ensure no one.. inappropriate found out about it.

Are you sure you wish to take this course if action? The buyer would be happy to pay verification fee if you went that route."

"If you can ensure said independent contractor's complete discretion, I think that would be an excellent route to take.  I'm sure payment could be arranged tomorrow.""

Vasati placed the key back under his shirt, and proceeded to start losing round after round of cards.  The coin purse was the bribe for this conversation, and the goal was to empty it of its last coin the exact moment said conversation was over.

"I would of course be more than willing to provide an extensive background on where the secrets to solving said riddle have been kept all these years, with the understanding that said secret guardians would be considerably displeased to learn that they had failed in their stewardship.  They might have figured it out already, but they certainly don't know who solved it.  I trust this will not change?  Roberta is a lovely woman, or so I have been told, but she does like to keep her secrets buried as deep as the bones of her ancestors."

His voice was quiet and low.

"She keeps the key to her heart as close as I do the key to mine, but my whispers might have been able to find a way around all those ever so dangerous conversations one would encounter if they tried to take the traditional route.  Barbed words and vengeful parents, one can never be too careful when one seeks a woman's affections.  Sometimes knocking on the front door is the worst move you can make, especially is she isn't home."

It felt good to play the game, and he hoped the Dealer before him was sharp enough to catch that he was playing it.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:28, Wed 30 Jan 2019.

The dealer took about 15 long seconds to consider his response carefully, before laying a card down.

"Of course, you have to be discrete when seeking discretion. It will take a certain amount of time to arrange someone who won't speak to either of the concerned parties. One day will not cut it."


He took another card and considered his words carefully.

"That's an interesting story. Personally, I'm too low born and a bit too old to find much interest in such tales of noble women's scandalous behaviors. The stakes are a little too high for me. However, if it's a tale you wish to tell, I do know another table of players who would love to hear it.... though you'd have to proven that you'd sealed the deal.


Damn, looks like I lose again. You are a fine player. To good for my level, in fact. All and all, the stakes you are playing for are playing are getting a little too rich for my blood. If I were you, I'd just buy into their game with your stake. They play for keeps, but they run as fair a game as you'll find at that level."

Once again, he took a chew of the root of his pocket.

"I'd not have thought it, you seem like a well put together Dealer.  I won't challenge you on your knowledge of yourself though, that's a fool's game.  Who would I best be served speaking to, if I wished to keep playing?"

He took a deep sigh, and shrugged.

"Well, it's your money. If you want in at the table, like we discussed the first time you sat down, I can introduce you to them.

Otherwise, I will ask to find a few people who can give you the info on whatever game you are playing, ensure your stake is acceptable.

Either one will take a while to set up though.

The first is easy, but there are some pretty big names involved, and convincing them that you are really playing for keeps with what you say is going to take a bit of convincing and set up.

If you want to make your own game, it's a different sort of player you need. That'll take time to find someone who isn't going to ruin your game by talking to the wrong people.

You just send me a message as to whether you are interested in the first type of game, or the second. If it's the second, there's a substantial buy in."

"I think we'll both find it's much easier to convince people that I've more than earned a spot at the big table if the other players all know I've solved a riddle that's remained a mystery for generations."

Vasati tapped out the ash on his lit cigarillo, before grinding the thing onto his boot heel.

"Name a price and give me a location, and I'll make sure it's met tomorrow.  I'm going to be out of town for a few days, but when I return we can meet with your loremasters to verify the voracity of my boasts.  Once that's done, I think the others will be all too interested to deal me in a round, no?"

OOC: Sorry for the inactivity, have been busy/distracted for some time now. I'll start getting back into things.

After she was done with the cave adventure, Plaga returned to her new base of operations, the cutters hideout. With a fortune donated by Vasati, she had enough to skip a lot of hard work and start raising her empire again. But first things first, she seeked Kanua to know what the current situation was on the city.

(OOC- So, shall I carry on with a report from Kanua on how the city's underworld is going?)

OOC: A briefing would be good. I'll have Plaga simply acknowledge it for now, and move her to Vasati's negotiation thread.

So, the Cutters have been under attack from the Shellbacks for the past little while.

The Shellbacks genearlly consider themselves superior to the Cutters, and have a number of VERY good fighters among them. Kanua reports that the might have died to one of their attacks - her lungs were fille with water, but this was not a big deal to her.

The Cutters however, are not stupid, and simply avoid open conflit near the water where the Shellbacks operate and travel with impunity. Disrupting their new drug trade has been difficult, simply beacuse the Cutters can sell to wealthier patrons that the Shellbacks can't risk attacking. They've banked a fair amount of cash, even accounting for the bribes they've had to pay to guards and the like.

They are quite willing (and want very badly) to strike back at the Shellbacks, but tangling with them near the water is a nightmare (a lot of the Shellbacks know drowning style) and the guilt has protected them from the cutter's new found wealth.

The Saints do nothing. They are normally friendly with the guild, but they don't work for them, and they are very happy buying large amounts of product from the Cutters, so they (as usual) remain neutral. This technically favors the Cutters, allowing them an avenue of drug sales in a relatively safe location.

Incidentally, the Saints have seen a MASSIVE upscale in importance, and have been throwing around a huge amount of money. Numerous long term reconstruction loans they took were paid off in their entirety, and membership in their group is up. There's apparently some new drug (Kanua smirks) that they've been using that's become very popular with their sacraments.

There are a LOT of guild inquiries as to where these drugs are coming from, and they may be funding some of the Shellback's attacks and inforamtion gathering. The cutters are very good at avoiding them tough, and casualties on both sides havebeen liht.

It's known that Falchetta reps have been looking around for someone who sounds a lot like Gaja.

Fishing harvests are down and food has become more expensive. Fishermen report sea monster attacks weekly from oversized versions of normal fish, and boats are coming back damaged. The council has decreed restrictiosn on harvesting in certain areas that are particually bad, but the problem seems to be getting worse. Lorenzi is worried.

There's growing talk: The guild is getting worried about all this money and drugs that have shown up, and have taken some extreme measures. A guard ship went out to Bastard Isle without prisoners, and came back in the dead of night. No one talks about who was aboard, but you'd imagine it's headbreakers of some sort.

The city is on edge.

Note: It would be pretty trivial for most of you to find this stuff out, particularly Vasati.

After her meeting with the guild representatives, Plaga returned to the Cutter territory to inform the gang of the news. As soon as she arrived, she asked Kanua to gather the heads so Plaga could explain to them the benefits the guild offered, and the peace made with the Shellbacks. Once that was done, Plaga added:

"All that said, I want you to immediately come to me if the Shellbacks attack us or our trade. Likewise, stay away from their territory. Any unnecesary conflict would prove troublesome to our agreement with the guild. I'm sure you understand what the 1% cut means for our operations, and I'll make sure to punish anyone that endanger it, be Shellback, Cutter or third party. Keep Kanua informed of any irregularities you see, and our bussiness shall steadily keep expanding"

There is a collective look from all of your lieutenants when you announce this, from the excitable headpounder you first met, to the careful amateur chemist who handles your drugs.

The look says "HOW IN THE NAME OF GOD DID YOU PULL THAT OFF?"

It fades though, after they look again. You are the one who does impossible things, after all.

Profits kick up significantly. Incidentally, it is not the loss of the cut that makes the biggest difference, it is the lack of bribes and harassment.

After initial exhilaration of the product had worn off, the Saint's prices had begun to decline, just slightly, as they realized that you were their only customer, and much of the outlay went to bribing guards so that the cutters could deal free of the Shellbacks. Not a lot, but the Saints weren't... saints exactly (pun intended) and recognized that they should get a "bulk discount" if they were the only market who would buy from you.

Without harassment, the cutters are able to deal with anyone, and don't have to bribe the guards. Soon, profit increases drastically. The cutters no longer quiet resemble roving bands of beggars in terms of their clothing, and they begin to carry more weapons. Nothing too ostentatious, but it's certainly a recognisable difference.

The biggest issue right now in the area is, annoyingly, inflation.

The saints have been on a mad purchasing spree, and spending money like wildfire. Local timber supplies have been stretched to the breaking point, bought up by Incresae Scholar's new students. The price of fish has skyrocketed due to the ongoing issues with the fish supply from deep water fishing (though shore line fishing and shallow boats are still mostly unaffected).

Vasati emerged from the root cellar of a decrepit inn, dusting himself off as he adjusted his collar.  The well oiled leathers and dark satin cloak were gone, replaced with grey woolen breeches, tunic, and a long coat.  The cloth was well made, but had seen some wear and tear, to the point where it would not immediately draw unwanted attention withing Shantytown. A discerning eye would see the quality, but only if they looked closely.  Vasati gave them no time to look, stepping quickly into his beloved alleyway and across three neighborhoods until he hit one of the main streets.

Only then did he step out into the light, addressing the denizens of Shantytown in the manner to which they were most accustomed.  He caught no strange looks, no double takes, despite his eccentricities.  Even approaching a number of the more talkative common folk with a handful of questions.  Strangely, all seemed only too happy to answer his questions, which all centered around if there had been any recent collapses of buildings that entailed a significant loss of life.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:54, Fri 19 June 2020.

You are able to find the tale eventually, though it takes some time.

The collapsed buildings are in a poorer section of the inner city, inside the walls where they stack buildings.

Once he had what he was looking for, he wasted no time getting there.  The alleyways took him into their embrace, leading him on a path well away from prying eyes, where none could follow.  The closely stacked buildings would serve him well, with many nooks and alcoves for the citizenry of the city to emerge from unexpectedly.  Despite all his bluster and bravado, he was not intending to create a scene here.  He had a need, and the city would provide.

Thus it was that he found his way to the aftermath of the collapse, and surveyed what awaited him.

Limbfisher's Pier

People died. Accidents happened. On ship and loading cargo, these accidents happened a lot, leading to a frequent need for medical aid for sailors and longshoremen. It could take vital hours to get inside the walls and get to a hospital, so a few medical piers had been established, where sawbones practiced their very literally minded trades.

Amputations were depressingly common. On one famous occasion, a bad accident that required multiple amputations and had left many dead bodies had resulted in a cart of the dead and mangled limbs spilling directly into the harbor, and they'd been fishing limbs out of the harbor for weeks.

There were a number of doctors and barbers that practiced medicine on the docks, but Limbfisher's pier contained the emergency services that dealt with true disasters and long term care for sailors beached due to injuries. The pier smelled of primitive antiseptics and pungent herbs, and the doctors frequently wore plague masks, as the sailors were known to occasionally carry advanced illnesses if the medical treatment aboard ship had been lackluster.

Plaga was ignored as she entered: it seemed there had been an emergency. Specifically, a crane had broke, utterly crushing one longshoreman and the leg of another, and the whipping rope and fleeing longshoreman had lead to a number of broken bones and near drownings.

The most senior marked of the doctors, was in the midst of preparing a man for amputation while other doctors were working with the less serious cases, patching and cleaning wounds or setting bones. He looked sevearal social classes higher than most others in shantytown, and wore actual glasses. He worked swiftly and looked a little busy.

A priest was administering last rites to a dead man who'd been fished from the harbor.

Plaga could not help but notice the lack of pain medication.

The place was not quite a pig sty: efforts had been made to keep the place minimally clean, and the doctors and nurses seemed to know what they were doing, but it was an extremely no thrills service: the linens were extremely course, and there didn't sem to be any magical healing or clockwork augmentation involved. From the screams of the man about to have what was left on his leg removed, there wasn't anasetetic or drugs, either. At least the place was clean.

Plaga would ask around for directions, and head to Dr Brokenblade's clinic. With any luck, she would get to see the doctor's work for herself. If he found him working on a patient, she would not keep the patient alive with her abilities, as she wanted to see what the good doctor could do with his own skill.

They checked to ensure that the man was lashed to the bed as tightly as permitted, and that the man's teeth were firmly planted on a bite stick, and then the doctor began to operate.

The doctor's hands are deft as he brings down the blade, and then goes to work with the hacksaw. The scream fades into incoherence as the man mercifully faints, and defter still when he and his assistant quickly finish the cut. The bleeding is quickly controlled with a small hot iron, and then the wound is washed with boiling wine. The man works with deft practice, despite the gloves and mask he's wearing.

"Check the spine and abdomen for contusions or the marks internal bleednig." The doctor said as he put his gory blade asside. He looked over the man's color and felt his clammy skin. "This man's humours are dangerously out of balance. Bring the salt solution immediately, and extra blankets.... but he is breathing at least."

A very odd rack was brought out with some kind of metal vessel on the top. A rubber tube ran from the thing down to a bronze syringe. It was checked carefully by both nurse and doctor before the man's arm was wiped and then the syringe carefully entered.

The doctor swore "no, try again" and there was a bit of bleeding. After a moment, the thing settled. The nurse stared at some instrumentation on the rack, and a mechanical clockwork whirr began. "It's running, standard flow.".

Nurses checked the man's pulse and breathing and recorded them on a small slate, occasionally glancing back at a mechanical clock to record the exact time. From

Plaga's observation of heartrates and breathing, the man would probably live if he didn't have any other obvious injuries at least for a few days. It was pretty good work, considering that this was the sort of injury that practically demanded low magic to stabilize.

The doctor and nurse checked him for other injuries but quickly confirmed that the bruising on the man was just bruising, and not some hideous internal injury. Finally, the doctor's worktools were placed in a bucket of coals by a small fireplace. It looked like someone had placed some kind of tile over the wooden floor so that there wouldn't be a fire hazard. The stones had a light reddish tinge.

By the time that was done, the nurse reported that the man's breathing and pulse was returning to normal, and that he was no longer pale and clammy. The doctor nodded, and stepped away from his patient to clean up, finally noticing plaga.

"Thank you for waiting... ma'am." He tried but could not identify her. "I'm Dr. Brokenblade. May we please speak outside? I need some air and this patient should avoid contact with anyone who's not their doctor." He really hoped she wasn't there for treatment for some infectious disease.. though given her attire, that seemed unlikely.

He did sound a little shaky after that, though from Plaga's judgment he'd done a good job. Amputations were not a pleasant business, of course.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:32, Sun 21 June 2020.

"Of course, let's talk outside"

Plaga followed the doctor outside, pleased with the work she had seen him perform.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the recently apointed Signora Plaga. As a newcomer to the city, I was seeking to make myself an acquaintance of those that I deem could benefit my work, and could in turn get benefited by my own. I came today to you to see your skills first hand, Dr Brokenblade, and I must say I believe you to be an excellent professional. As such, I would like to know if you would be willing to hear my proposal to improve the quality of life of those that leave at the edge of civilization."

Brokenblade, finally free of the thick leathers and mask with pungent herbs, took a deep breath of the salt-sprayed air, and a sizable drink of cold tea.

He was a younger-looking fellow, probably not in his 4th decade, though he did have a few scars more commonly wore by duelists, and seemed in better shape than most academics. He took his pulse and took a few deep breaths before giving Plaga his full attention, and a brief bow.

"A pleasure to meet you, Signora Plaga. I'm always interested in improving quality of care here.

Though I must warn you, we don't have a lot of available funds for advanced care. We were fortunate enough to get the fluid transfusion machine.

I may have to run in to fix something in a hurry if more patients come in or an existing one worsens, but I'd be happy to hear you out."

"Well, for starters, I'd like to be clear that I don't plan to change your work etiquette. You may continue to choose what patients to treat, and how to treat them. I could always offer my knowledge if you need a consult, but otherwise the clinic will keep being yours to run. However, it is my intention to improve the conditions of the people outside the walls, and for that it will be important to have more doctors taking care of those in need. I would also donate funds for new equipment and medicine to be acquired. Initially, I was thinking this sum could get things started."

There and then, Plaga offers Brokenblade 1 wealth, from the 2 she got from Falchetto.

"All I ask in return is that when asked, you reveal that I am your benefactor. If you are willing to take my money, I'm willing to keep supplying you with the resources you need to properly treat the people."

Brokenblade smiles. "It's good that people are taking an interest in this sort of thing. There are few patrons around here with coin and interest.

The captains, Lorenzi and guilds send some money our way when sailors or dock workers are injured. However, we have to turn away too many of shantytown's inhabitants. There are a few non-sanctioned practices in shantytown itself, but what little medical care available is truly dire.

Licenses are not enforced in the city. Sometimes, this is good, as it gives the talented a place to practice. However, it does lead to conmen, quackery and lunatics posing as physicians, herbalists and "healers".

We save a little for truly dire cases, and sometimes they save enough to see us, but as you can see, we have little room for charity.

I of course will be happy to add you to our list of Patrons, Signora Plaga.

I am afraid that I am rather unaware of your position. Are you a citizen of this city? Do you own a shipping concern? Have you joined one of the familes or guilds?"

"For now, I'm just a newcomer. I bring with me changing winds, and I fear the city will have to adapt to me and those that came with me, and not the other way around. I plan to stand on my own, but I'll always offer a reaching hand to those that seek an alliance.

As for those defiling the sacred practice of healers, I wouldn't worry about them for much longer. Shanty Town will be a place where people should not be afraid to die on the streets. Those that wish to take advantage of those desperately in need will be slowly purged. It is my belief that money follows work, and work follows health. The city just needs an outsider to break the cycle of poverty. For now, spend my money wisely, and prepare for the new times."

He thanks you again.

(OOC- This will further cement your position as a new patron of Shantytown.)

This message was deleted by the player at 01:23, Tue 23 June 2020.