"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.