Drowned Rats (Late Evening, 11 Hend Moon 1352)

[NeoTiamat]

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Tell nothing to a friend that you wouldn't share with an enemy.
--Ourian proverb

 

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Breakneck Hall was located well in the interior of the Eaves Derrick, on the second lowest level. It existed in a state of perpetual twilight, illuminated by the ghostly, bioluminescent glow of the sea urchins in their aquariums, and by the malodorous fish oil candles. (According to Ilsejzan, the perpetual fishy smell was something of an advantage--no one, but no one, wanted to smell like thieves. She was probably joking.) It also existed, in the typical course of events, in a state of sublime indifference to questions of the weather. What did it matter if there was wind or rain? Who cared if the heavens had opened up outside? Inside, it was all the same.

Usually.

"Ilse, that's a waterfall I'm seeing?" Goldfang observed, regarding the sluice of water falling through a hole in the ceiling. In theory, Hold Bressephen kept these sorts of things from happening with regular maintenance of the thousand-year-old drainage system. In practice, Hold Bressephen kept these sorts of from happening to tax-paying citizens. Goldfang did not belong to this category.

"Yes," Ilsejzan Dar said, hands folded primly behind her back. The grimy water was coming down in buckets, and a tub had been scrounged to minimize the spill, but Breakneck Hall, had definitely acquired a new water feature to complement the fine selection of nooses hanging from the rafters.

"Right. Just checking," Goldfang said, his gaze distracted by something in the air. He stared for a while in a way that reminded you quite strongly of a cat fascinated by a mote of dust, then shrugged. "We'll do this in your study then. Come on you lot."

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Ilsejzan's study deserved that name only in a relative sense. The studies of the rich and prosperous were places of silk tapestries and mother-of-pearl desks, with cubbies for scrolls and neatly laid inkstones and brushes. Ilse's study, on the other hand, had about a dozen wicker baskets full of paper scraps, and a wide range of chewed upon pencils.

"Pull up a cushion, prop your feet on something what'll get you hanged," Goldfang said, setting himself down on a magnificent gold-and-scarlet cushion that was in no way legally acquired. It was a known fact in the Guild that Goldfang had qualms about keeping what amounted to scrupulous notes on a dozen criminal conspiracies. Ilse, who actually kept the books and thus made sure the Guild had actual money, ignored him.

"We've got wind of an interesting job," Ilsejzan said, leaning against a wall behind Goldfang.

Edited April 17 by NeoTiamat (see edit history)

[UncleNiamat]

Gulichd takes his customary place in the corner, crouchhed in the Votive fashion. His hairless eyebrows raise at "interesting job." He pulls a toll roll of pale red leather from his belt, unfurls it on the floor, and begins checking his equipment. Lockpicks, jelly, shot, and the other paraphernalia of violent crime, all tucked neatly in their places. Along with the little vials of powder in red, gray, and dirty white. And the fishleather tubes.

The motions pull and stretch the interlocking crescents of his skin, exposed at the shoulders by his battered green tunic. The noose of his Guild association is a raised welt like snakewood blight.

 

 

[virsamajor]

Zef saunters in with her brother and perches impishly on a chest from which she can see both the door and the window, setting down a mechanic's toolbag—though who knows what's in it, really—with a clunk. She adjusts her fingerless gloves, then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a handful of salted crispy sea urchins, tossing them into her mouth and crunching just a bit louder than necessary. They seem to hang in the air a split second longer than they should.

[chezident]

Song-in-Strings never goes anywhere without a little presentation, and the man strums his lyre even as he follows his sister into the room. It's not until they're both situated that he secrets the little thing somewhere away in his coat and, resting his elbows on his raised knees, steeples his hands in a bid to look conspiratorial as possible.

[e.callahan]

Tégla, most comfortable when vertical and at-the-ready, leans back against the wall to the left of the doorway, crossing her arms. 'Interesting' she can take or leave. 'Job,' however, is one of her favorite words.

[NeoTiamat]

"Burglary," Goldfang said, leaning back with both heavily muscled arms behind his head.

"Piracy, actually," Ilse corrected. He wrinkled his nose at her, then waved for his consigliere to keep talking. "We're still piecing together the details, but here's what we know. About four months ago, just before the monsoon season hit, Hold Sorulien got their hands on something choice. Some kind of Preboreal artifact, probably dug up in the Relic Lands and brought in on one of the last cloudcutters before the winds changed."

"No clue what the gewgaw does," Goldfang added.

"No. But we do know is that whatever it is got the Soruliens excited," Ilse said. "They've been keeping it under wraps, but we know they consulted several experts in the Preboreal, and that messenger birds have been flying fast and furious between Hold Sorulien and the mainland. They must've been negotiating for a buyer, and they must've finally got one."

"Tell them how we found out," Goldfang said. "And how much it's worth."

"Getting there," Ilse said with a fanged smirk. "They're planning to ship this out on the morning of the 15th. And they waited till the last minute, but two days ago Velche hel Sorulien took the artifact down to the Pearl Market, along with a small army of guards. Talked to a dozen of the biggest brokers, and they raised a surety for the transfer. One of the brokers' agents owes us a favor or two, and passed along just how much the surety is for."

"Four. Hundred. Thousand. Sthaler," Goldfang said, enunciating each word with care.

There was a little pause as everyone did a spot of mental math. Even if you figure a massive loss on fencing and fees, the Broken Guild could collect a hundred thousand sthaler on the artifact. That wasn't enough to start your own spikehold, perhaps, but you could buy a good cloudcutter for that kind of money, and a full hold of cargo to go with it, or set yourself up as a Senator. Your shares, even subtracting Goldfang and Ilse's shares, would be several thousand sthaler, more than most people saw in a lifetime.

And if Ilse could find a good buyer, or if the Soruliens had undersold the surety bond... the possibilities multiplied.

"Right now, the trinket's back in Hold Sorulien and no one's getting near it without a cannon and a square of pike," Goldfang said. He sat up now, looking at all of you, a slow smile forming on his face. "But early morning on the 15th, it's going to Ven Kalisz on the St. Kelszei's Mercy. You're going to be on that cloudcutter."

"And somewhere during the trip," Ilse said, her voice a purr. "You're going to steal it."

[UncleNiamat]

“Threes,” exclaims Gulichd in a breathy rush. His fingers pause in their inventory.

“Do we have any details? Size, weight, if it lights up or makes noises?”

[chezident]

"Sorry, point of order," says Song, glancing sidelong at the Blood man to his right. "Are we stealing the - what'd you call it, boss, the gewgaw? - or the cloudcutter? I'm all for taking whatever you point us to, of course, but I'd hope we have a plan if we're stealing the Mercy, because if we muck that up, there won't be any Mercy for anyone, I imagine."

 

[UncleNiamat]

“The gewgaw, Song-in-Strings. The whatsit, the doodad. The old relic.” Gulichd nods to the consigliere. “Else she would have spent less time talking about it.”

 

It’s not an unkind statement, just the focus of long years doing difficult and illegal things. If the crew isn’t all on the same page, things go rancid, and that means being serious when the boss talks.

Edited April 18 by UncleNiamat (see edit history)

[virsamajor]

Zef tilts her head and narrows her eyes at Gulichd. "Steady on, Grandpa, it was an honest question."

Her eyes flick to Song and she smirks. "Some of us have experience stealing airships, after all."

[UncleNiamat]

Gulichd dips his head in a nod. "Steady on, then."

[tectonomancer]

Valivia followed her guildmates into Ilsejzan's study. Within the safety and privacy of Breakneck Hall, the disgraced spiker removed her mask for once and hid her eyes behind a pair of red-tinted spectacles instead. Her pistol, usually concealed beneath a tailored wool coat, was for the moment out for anyone to see or gawk upon, holstered beneath her right arm in a leather harness. She held her skirts with one hand, lifting their hem above the puddled ground that besieged her within the hall just as it had without.

Still far too polite not to sit when bade, Valivia knelt gingerly on a pillow, then sat with her legs twisted just off to one side, keeping the bottoms of her boots from dirtying the pillow or her skirts.

She listened attentively, perking predictably at the mention of Hold Sorulien; then again at Preboreal; at the mention of the Relic Lands; at experts of the Preboreal; Pearl Market; brokers; the surety of a transfer... a halo creeped in around the corners of her vision and she narrowed her eyes, pushing out the chatter to focus instead on a million more important calculations, drawing up whatever recollections she could about the Soruliens, about who might broker a deal with a buyer in Ven Kalisz for a Preboreal artifact, or who might be buying them.

She was too quiet. Her eyes drifted, behind her glasses, to the indistinct middle distance. Her lips parted in a small smile. She understood.

(ooc: should I roll any of my lores to see what kind of establishing background information Liv might have about this?)

Edited April 19 by tectonomancer (see edit history)

[tectonomancer]

Mercantile Lore

[NeoTiamat]

21 hours ago, UncleNiamat said:

“Do we have any details? Size, weight, if it lights up or makes noises?”

 

"Nobody's seen it yet, but when they took it to the Pearl Market, it was in a wood chest about this big," Goldfang traced in the air a box about two by two by three feet. "Took two armsmen to carry it. So it's not bigger than that. Whether it just barely fit in the chest, or it's the size of a tooth and they just wanted to make it hard to run off with, no idea."

The chest, in mechanical terms, is Bulk 6. The artifact is presumably smaller, though by how much is anyone's guess.

21 hours ago, chezident said:

"Sorry, point of order," says Song, glancing sidelong at the Blood man to his right. "Are we stealing the - what'd you call it, boss, the gewgaw? - or the cloudcutter? I'm all for taking whatever you point us to, of course, but I'd hope we have a plan if we're stealing the Mercy, because if we muck that up, there won't be any Mercy for anyone, I imagine."

 

"Artifact, not ship. The Senate gets overexcited when piracy comes up," Goldfang said. This was true. The punishment for larceny, even really, really grand larceny was flogging followed by exile. Pirates, however, were a whole separate legal category, subject to summary execution when captured. It was a whole different area of crime, and one sensible gangsters avoided. "If anything, we want to keep this quiet-like. Guild? What Guild."

"We did manage to get some useful information," Ilse said, digging out a paper with her distinctive and improbably calligraphic words on it. "Copy of the passenger list. Also managed to get the last six tickets to the mainland."

You now have access, IC, to the information in the Kelszei's Mercy thread.

[chezident]

2 hours ago, NeoTiamat said:

"Artifact, not ship. The Senate gets overexcited when piracy comes up," Goldfang said. This was true. The punishment for larceny, even really, really grand larceny was flogging followed by exile. Pirates, however, were a whole separate legal category, subject to summary execution when captured. It was a whole different area of crime, and one sensible gangsters avoided. "If anything, we want to keep this quiet-like. Guild? What Guild."

"We did manage to get some useful information," Ilse said, digging out a paper with her distinctive and improbably calligraphic words on it. "Copy of the passenger list. Also managed to get the last six tickets to the mainland."

"We can do quiet-like," Song murmurs, taking the list. He pores over it; two Soruliens and - and a salt-eaten Ilphalssem. Dammit. He doesn't immediately recognize the name but that doesn't zero out the chance of this getting...complex. That's to say nothing of the clergy who might have questions about Song's moniker, should they meet. He keeps his expression as carefully flat as he can manage and passes the list onward.

"Who's this Ras Sorulien? Velche was the one who get their hands on this thing first - not likely they're going to let it go easily, but maybe another Sorulien, sufficiently motivated, could open up a path to the whatsit," he says. "Best to do this sans violence, I imagine, if we're going to be stuck in the air."