NathanGPLC on 24/10/2008 at 13:48

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Here the cobbles were more recently laid, making the footing more even. The owners of the Gilded Lily wanted to be sure their customers felt secure and comfortable---almost as if they weren't in the City at all, save that the same clinging fog from the sea drifted everywhere.

The building itself occupied an entire half of a city block, rising to three stories and actually built like a big '0' around an enclosed courtyard reserved for the guests. The wide streets on three sides of it were brightly lit and fairly well traveled, even an hour before midnight. The fourth side, ostensibly the rear of the building, faced the narrow alleyway that separated it from the other half of the block, a stretch which mainly consisted of a large counting-house and the offices of several assayers and art dealers.

Even dab in the middle of a high-class haven like this, there's always one dark alley... Tibault never ceased to be amazed at what lengths the city planners seemed to have gone to in order to make the City so utterly devoid of reliably safe streets. Well, of course, most of the City hadn't been planned at all. It had just sort of happened, and like so many such things, had gone wrong from the start.

The buzz and glare of the electric lamps made Tibault twitchy; they were useful for keeping down the crime rates, granted, but the young Inspector found the noise irritating. Moving through the thin crowd of upper-middle-class youth engaged in their perpetual nightlife, Tibault headed for the Lily's main entrance. At least one steward would still be on duty, and the kitchen's night staff would most likely still be cleaning and preparing for the morrow's meals, but many of the servants and patrons would be asleep. Perhaps he could get a look at the guest registry and find out where the Count's man was staying...

Xenith on 25/10/2008 at 09:22

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The Gilded Lily had been for a long time the main attraction for those who could afford a room there. It was becoming an independent establishment that sometimes didn't follow city rules, but... no harm ever came from that. After all, other businesses already had they're very own laws, so something as unique as the Gilded Lily couldn't possibly say no to what was now "common sense".

Brother Bartholbi: - "I demand an audience with thy master, now!"

The voice of the Hammerite echoed through the halls as he stood firmly in front of a half blind old servant.

Servant: - "You can't sir... I already told you..."
Brother Bartholbi: - "This is preposterous!"



(OOC: Yes, Brother Bartholbi is Eyeplants char :) )

Peanuckle on 27/10/2008 at 04:18

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- "Move yer legs boy! We got to get them barrels of wine fer the count on time!"
- "Moving sir, moving!"
- "If the count don't have drinks on time for them nobles, the count don't pay us right!"
- "But the party doesn't start until later sir! There's plenty of time for.."
- "Just shut up and move it!"

*Bump. Bump. Bump*

Bradon prayed to the Woodsie Lord, with thanks for giving him the intuition to drain one of the wine barrels and hide inside, and pleading with him that the cobblestone road be smoother up ahead. He was going to have a terrible headache.

His plan was simple, if a bit crude. The barrels would be deposited in the wine cellar, and the workers would not notice his barrel was any different thanks to his underfed weight. The party would not begin for some time, so he would be able to get out of the barrel before anyone came for the wine. Hopefully, the party would keep everyone distracted until he could find where the head butler's room was. He was no sneak, but surely the patrons would be too drunk to notice a poorly dressed man wandering about. And if they did, they would probably mistake him for a servant. Bradon was planning on grabbing a dinner tray to complete the ruse if need be. As he felt the cart grind to a halt, he absentmindedly felt his trusty knife in his coat, just out of habit.

"Alright, unload these barrels! Party starts in a few hours and we need these down in the cellar! The head butler himself will be coming down to inspect the stores soon, so hurry!"

Is this good news, or bad? Wondered Bradon. On one hand, the butler was coming to him. On the other, he might end up popping out of the barrel in the middle of a host of guards. Well, his hand had been played, and all he could do now was wait for the butler to arrive, and hope he was alone.

Jarvis on 30/10/2008 at 21:35

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The drunks were starting to get boisterous. You could set your watch by the behaviors of the drunks. They all woke up at the same time, started drinking at the same time, started fighting at the same time, and throwing up, passing out, and so on; all at the same time every day. Now their voices could be heard from the pubs. Bad singing and worse jokes kept any man of repute well away. In another hour, they would be arguing over a deck of cards.

That meant that it was almost time to meet Slim. Jarvis had an unusual arrangement with Slim, and all the fences for that matter. He wasn't at all their favorite contact. Not in the slightest, but they all recognized him for what he was good at. Paranoia. They say that perfect paranoia is perfect awareness, and Jarvis says that his greatest weapon is his awareness. So why not be paranoid of everything and everyone?

Therein lay his paradoxical relationship with his fences, a relationship was was usually grounded in a businessman-like trust. Trust that neither would turn the other in. That was trust Jarvis afforded no one, and so he had no permanent address. Slim nearly laughed him out of the office when Jarvis first proposed his preference for communication and meetings. The only thing that kept the business relationship alive was the rare level of productivity Jarvis possessed. The few people who got to know Jarvis over the years always marveled at his way of life. He literally never stopped scheming or working. If he had ever decided to go legit and start a business, he would have had a comfortable life a long time ago.

The arrangement that so perplexed Slim was simple: Jarvis would pop in at a semi regular intreval, checking in for work or the appraisal of stolen goods. No notes. No messages. No warning. On Slims end, he didn't have to be present or change anything about his life. Rather he would just occasionally have Jarvis drop in on him. Despite its strange nature, it had worked so far and brought the both of them no insignificant amount of income.

Slim operated out of a pub, the Chandelier, not too far away. The money he lifted off of a few of the lesser nobles might prove useful. After all, Slim's motivations weren't very complex. He'd do almost anything for the right amount of money.

The Chandelier was a surprisingly well to do establishment. Not so much a pub, but rather a “conference” hall with mild entertainment. The target clientèle were the very nobles he had been pilfering from all evening. “Noble” was perhaps too strong a term. This was the crowd that tried very hard to appear rich, but in truth they all lived on debt. It was a short existence to be sure. The wardens were not kind to those who didn't pay up. To each their own.

Never the less, they came to the Chandelier to make deals, discuss politics, gossip, and suffer delusions of grandeur. At first, Jarvis had been surprised to find a fence operating out of such an establishment, but the he came around the more he understood it. Everyone here was too busy focusing on their own lies and false realities to see what was plainly before them; reality.

It was the same tonight. Jarvis, a thief, didn't at all look the part here. He got the usual glances and points, and could hear the insults and see the sneers being passed around. He payed them no mind, and moved straight for the conference room Slim used. Slim's “office”.

The door was shut, but that was usual. Jarvis could hear voices on the other side. Slim and someone he didn't recognize. Out of professional respect, he waited away from the door until the meeting was done. Eventually, Slim opened the door and a mildly well dressed man exited. Jarvis took the opportunity and stepped forward.

No words were exchanged until the door was shut behind them.

“Crackatoa Slim.” Jarvis said in mock endearment, the fence's full alias. Slim was a thin man as well, but dressed up well in order to consort with the general atmosphere of the pub.

“Eh it's you. I told you, I don't like your face.” Slim replied.

Jarvis ignored the comment, as he ignored most of the things Slim said. “Where's Horris?” Horris was slim's right hand man, an accountant of sorts and a wizard at appraisals.

“What's it to you?”

“No matter,” Jarvis raised his hands in peace.

“What do you want?” Slim asked pointedly.

“Guess.” Jarvis sucked on his teeth as he waited for a response. A piece of apple skin was stuck between a couple of them.

“Oh. I guess you want work don't you?”

“Bingo.”

Slim plopped down behind the table he called his “desk”. “I've heard of some things.” He said noncommittally.

Jarvis took his place in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from Slim. “Dellamorte?”

“Well you're certainly fast on the uptake aren't you?” The was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“The fat ones won't stop talking about him. I figured you'd have a hand in it.”

“Why should I give it to you?” Slim crossed his arms.

“Because I'm the best you've got.”

“Ha! Hardly.”

Jarvis leaned forward in his chair. “I hit Umway in a night. One night. Remember that statue?”

“You took too long on the imprint though.” Slim pointed his finger at Jarvis.

“Give me a break slim. Name anyone else who could've hit the coinery safe like that?”

“Garrett.”

“Practically a fairy tale at this point.” Jarvis threw a hand up as if Abominable Burrick-man had just been mentioned. Slim had a deal with Garrett once before, and a long time ago as far as Jarvis knew. Ever since Slim strutted around like the most prestigious fence in the City.

“You get my point.”

“Whatever,” Jarvis rolled his eyes. “You wanna make a deal or not? I'm a busy man.”

Slim looked at him for a long time before speaking. “Yeah all right. Fine. Dellamorte. Ya satisfied?”

“What about him?”

“Donal got a tip. He's making a move on Dellamorte.” Slim suddenly seemed excited, and spoke now in a hushed voice.

“The Downwinders?” Jarvis clarified.

“Yeah.”

“What do they have?”

Slim shrugged. “I don't know. That's where you come in mate. I want to mark Dellamorte first.”

“Any tips?”

“I don't know much, but Dellamorte has a...”

Jarvis cut him off. “A party right? I heard.”

“Yeah, but get this. Dellamorte is so worried about security that he's pulling about eighty percent of his personal guards inside the manor for the party. He's hiring out freelance to guard the grounds and courtyard. I got the tip when one o' my boys in the 'Winders told me that Donal is filling as many of those freelance guard positions as he can.”

Jarvis' brow tightened. “How sure are you about all this?”

“Are you kidding mate?” Slim acted indignantly. “You're talkin' to Slim. Guaranteed, Dellamorte has somethin'. I heard he made a deal with the Watch too. I heard they're ramping up patrols in the district. This is big mate. You'll see.”

“Fine. So what exactly are you paying me for? Information?”

“Taff, no! That's my job. I don't just want to know the 'Winder's take. I want their take. You know, let them do the leg work, and like a good couple o' thieves we take it from them.”

“I doubt it'll be that easy. So what's my take? You don't even know the profit yet. I want a percentage this time.”

“Thirty.” Slim crossed his arms.

“Eighty.”

“A bit ambitious aren't we mate?” Slim laughed. “Thirty five.”

“A bit greedy aren't we mate?” Jarvis mocked. “Seventy.” This was the part Jarvis hated the most.

“Forty and not a jot higher or nothin' doin'.”

“I heard Bertha was looking to expand...” Jarvis threatened.

“forty five and not a jot higher!”

“Another five percent danger pay?” Jarvis asked with a salesman's grin and a shrug.

There was a pause between them. “forty five,” they both said at once and shook hands. It was a decent cut for a thief, actually. Given the circumstances though, it could hardly be any other way. They would both incur the wrath of one of the largest guild's around for a take they neither knew existed. Much less the amount.

“Anything else I should know?” Jarvis asked.

“If you want to know more about the freelance guards, check New Quarter square. It's posted there. The party is invite only of course, but given how new Dellamorte is to the City he doesn't know who is who yet. The noble families are all petitioning for invites at the Gilded Lily. It's a long shot, but there it is if you know anyone. I think you know where to find the 'Winders. That's all I know so piss off.”

Jarvis nodded, and wordlessly took his leave of the room. There was much to do and little time.


* * *

Character bio:


Name: Jarvis (An alias, but one he adopted as his own name)

Birth name: Kain Silkfist

Age: 31

Class: Thief

Appearance: Tall, 6'4', with gaunt features. He has long black hair, with a receding hairline. He rarely shaves and has scruff on his face or a very short beard. His body, though fit, shows the wears of a life on the run in the form of scars, a tan, general uncleanliness, and thinness due to mild malnutrition.

Biography: Born to a pagan tribe of proud warriors and strong barbarians, he was a family black sheep due to his lack of physical strength and disdain for authority. His family disowned him at a young age due to his lack of prowess in combat training and his disinterest in the "warrior" way of life. Instead, he was a prankster and a goof off. By the age of 11, he had stolen for the first time. Upon being caught, he was exiled from the village.

He wondered the wilderness for some months, scraping by with what he had learned about wilderness survival, until he came upon the City. He settled in the back alleys and the streets, stealing food where he could and running from the Hammers and town guards to remain free. This continued for a few months until he caught the attention of a small guild of thieves known as the Hallowed. He worked with the Hallowed until he was 17, learning the ways of the cat burglars.

During a job in New Market, he crossed the Downwinders by stealing some booty they had their eyes on. Upon being followed back to the Hallowed hide out, the Downwinders tipped off the City Watch. The Watchmen raided the Hallowed safe house, killing some and arresting the rest. Kain fled the City, and created the alias "Jarvis" to conceal his identity from both the Downwinders and the Hallowed.

On the road, he met a traveling Monk by the name of Mihnsage Cloud. Cloud was a strange fellow of 34 years of age, a drunk, and a martial artist who had long ago abandoned his monastery. The two outcasts made fast friends and traveled together for years to come; despite their difference in age. Jarvis taught Cloud how to sneak and use subtlety to deal with confrontation, as well as how to justify thievery. Cloud, intrigued, taught Jarvis to use his body for self defense.

By the time Jarvis was 26, both he and Cloud were wanted for several crimes and for disturbing the peace and inciting rebellion and general unrest. The pursuit came to a head in an encounter in which Cloud lost his life. Jarvis, in despair, lost his will to resist. He was incarcerated and imprisoned in the city of Nine Dusks.

There he remained for three years, until a rumor reached his cell about the deputy that killed his friend. According to the rumor, that deputy moved to The City. Inspired to seek revenge, Jarvis concocted a plot to escape his prison with the help of his cell mates. After several months, they were successful.

Jarvis, then 29, bid farewell to his former cell mates and set out to return to the City and seek revenge for his late friend Mihnsage Cloud. He has spent the previous two years working the criminal underworld as an independent thief, while looking for the Deputy. He had only a name: Gary Cornwall.

Peanuckle on 18/11/2008 at 17:36

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(seems to have died. I've been busy with some FMs *Curse you, DP2!* but I'll try to get back into this and see if it revives.)