What Some Men Will Do For Gold

An unexpected opportunity yields unexpected results.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Graf
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Tue Sep 03, 2019 12:31 am

The Blackthorn House, Uptown Vienda
On the 19th of Roalis, 2719, during the Late Evening
Sebastian Blackthorn was, for all anyone knew, a self-made man.

Self-made, of course, in that way that galdori always are. He grew up in a country estate near Fen Kierden, to a family of no great political consequence; before Brunnhold, he had never been to Vienda, and his father – a widower with no other heirs – expected him to return to the east of Anaxas and manage the estate. Blackthorn, or so the whispers said, forsook all that for a life in Vienda. He married up, they said, a Clément daughter, a prominent socialite – when his father died, he invested –

That was the story, in any case, and that was all that could be gleaned from the relevant contacts. Fortune was what the birds sang; happenstance. Blackthorn had risen through good galdor cleverness and happenstance, and had married well. Blackthorn had been in the right place at the right time.

But Serro’s men and women did not believe in happenstance.

At any rate, aside from the opportunity that had just fallen into Firebrand’s lap. Even that was unusual. Blackthorn, courting the favor of upstart merchants with a sensational performance from a wick? It meant two things: he was secure in his position – much more secure than he should have been – and he wanted to cause a stir. Blackthorn had friends in high places, and it was more than worth investigating.

Approval came to Firebrand quickly in the form of a note, delivered only the night before Blackthorn’s party. He’d have found it in an agreed-upon drop, tucked away by an unseen hand near another nondescript public house in the dives.

Firebrand –

You’ll need to move fast. Slip away however you can. As soon as you can, look for the first window on the right side of the east-facing wall, in the shade of the apple tree. We have ensured that it is unlocked and unguarded.

Don’t tarry. Office on the second floor. Get out before the party is over.

– Feather



Practically,” purred Ms. Blackthorn, “a caoja.”

“Indeed.” Ms. Rousseau shivered. Even in her high-collared dress, she could feel the night’s chill; the breeze was still warm, having lost the bracing cold of the early parts of the year, but the evenings still felt like spring. “Veronica,” she said, half-laughing, “can this really have been Sebastian’s idea?”

Ms. Blackthorn laughed, taking a sip of champagne. Her perceptive field was a warm blush against the other woman’s, a playful caprise. “Come, Francine!” She touched Ms. Rousseau’s shoulder lightly. Her face was very flushed underneath her freckles. “They will be speaking of it for years.”

“But how will they be speaking of it?”

“It matters only,” Veronica replied, with the slightest hint of a slur, “that they speak of it.”

It was a true Roalis evening, despite the faint chill. The crickets had roused from winter’s sleep, and they were singing loudly in the bushes and the grass. A gentle wind rustled the branches of the budding trees. An auspicious night, they had said – providence, perhaps, as Aodh Elzo might have put it – with both Benea and Osa full and bright in the sky, with only a few quickly-moving clouds to block the moonlight.

Moonlight sang silver in the whispering leaves, limned the silhouette of Blackthorn’s fine, Uptown house. It glinted in the flutes of champagne glasses and in the silver of heavy-laden trays carted to and fro by harried servants.

Lanterns had been lit all along the winding paths round the garden, but they were dim and warm, and shadows clung thick wherever one looked. They were deepening, now, after sunset, with the moons in the sky. Still, the party showed no signs of being over. How could it? Blackthorn’s choice of entertainment was on everybody’s lips, from Uptown investors to visiting businessmen from Mugroba and Hox and everywhere along the Vein.

He had hired a tsat – and such a wild-looking one! Everyone was positively dying to know what he would play, and how he would play it, and what would happen once he had.

Mr. Cavendish wasn’t sure how he felt about it; he had said so many times to Margaret Winthrop, and each time with a bit more vehemence. He had heard the wick speak once tonight, and the rasp of his voice, and that common accent – well, he couldn’t imagine how the man sounded when he sang. He had said so, and Ms. Winthrop had laughed, and Mr. Cavendish had felt rather pleased with himself. Still, it was embarrassing, wasn’t it?

Mr. Blackthorn was a buzz of nervous energy, a small, round man with bright red whiskers, bustling here and there. He had been sharp with his staff, sharp with the wild-haired tsat musician, and a little sharp, even, with some of his guests. Was it any wonder? Even the visiting merchants from Mugroba, resplendent in their pale silks – and who knew what those liberal-minded people thought – even they were watching and waiting, expectant.

And so, as the night drew on and the music started, there was an expectant lull. Whispers rippled through the gathered galdori.
Last edited by Graf on Sat Mar 20, 2021 2:50 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Aodh Elzo
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Tue Sep 03, 2019 12:34 pm

Image
19th of Roalis, 2719, Late Evening
The days after Aodh had paid a visit to Ava had been busy. His days spent as normal, going about his legitimate business, which took him all over the Dives and sometimes into Uptown. Delivering orders of brushes or repaired items and the like, which also let him check in with his various contacts. His evenings were spent learning what he could about Blackthorns comings and goings and the best and quickest ways to leave the house and the area around it and get to safety.

By the time Aodh received the letter he was almost frantic, it was on Sarro had given him the go ahead. Firebrand went into the tavern by the drop point and allowed himself a pint of local black beer to celebrate, and a glass of gin to steady his nerves.

On the 19th Aodh presented himself at the servants entrance to the Blackthorn residence. He'd shaved, used sandalwood scented hair oil, which gave his wild hair a glossy shine and dressed in his finest clothes. A black double breasted waistcoat with pewter buttons and velvet lapels, a wine red sash around his narrow waist a red shirt wore open at the neck and sleeves rolled to the elbows, a pair of tapered black trousers and highly polished black boots. Though the finery was worn and out of fashion he wore it well, though he knew the galdori would only notice his race and judge him for that. He stood out in the crowd at the party, the more so because he was a head taller than some of the guests.

As the daylight fades and the light of the moons filled the garden and servants lit lanterns Blackthorn waved at Aodh with a sharp impatient had to begin. Still Aodh took his time walking over to the low bench in the center of the garden and opened the fine leather case he carried and took from it the Elzo Mandolin.

It was a thing of beauty, carved from dark wood, mother of pearl inlays and silver chasing caught the moon light and reflected it. When all eyes were on him and an expectant hush fell over those gathered Aodh allowed himself a small smile and then started to play. The mandolins notes were sweet and clear and Aodh's long fingers danced on the strings, a few local galdori in the crowd smiled, they knew this tune.

"If you ever loved me, you loved me in Vienda!
We walked along the boulevard at night,
Hand in hand we took in all the sights—
The time of year, the atmosphere and lights!"


Aodh's voice as he sang was unexpectedly soft, deep with a warm smokey quality and none of the hardness of his speaking voice.

"When the morning came, well, I called your name
Only to hear echoes in reply.
Darling, I remain, in solitude and pain
And all Vienda now can hear me cry."


There was true feeling and all those who heard it could believe this man had known love and loss.

As the song went on a few of the guest gave Blackthorn appreciative nods and he allowed himself a smile in response. He'd heard Aodh perform before at Crosstown Court and been taken with the wild looking wick's skill.

"In the moonlit shadow of the palace walls,
Underneath the icy colonnade
Darling I will tread, sleepless out of bed
Wondering when the memories will fade.

Now I wait alone here, aching in my bones here,
Hoping against hope I'll hear you say:
"I loved you in Vienda, so darling in Vienda we'll stay!"


As the last words and the tune faded the assembled galdori allowed themselves to clap in appreciation, though not too enthusiastically, he was still a wick after all.
The few serverts still in the garden clapped as well and shot Aodh smiles and nods.
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Wed Sep 04, 2019 11:27 am

The Blackthorn House, Uptown Vienda
On the 19th of Roalis, 2719, during the Late Evening
For the duration of Aodh’s first song, an unexpected hush fell over the party. Blackthorn was plucking at his moustaches, smiling a little, nodding at the appreciative nods of his fellows; all this hadn’t quite banished his anxiety – there was still quite a bit of party left to go – but he certainly felt a swell of satisfaction. His choice in entertainment was, after all, having the intended effect. He had to admit, even the time it took for the blasted wick to get to the bench created an unbearable suspense; it was as if he’d cast some sort of spoke’s magic over the gathering, to steal away the breath of every onlooker.

And then, just like that – captivated. Did they feel the love and loss in the wick’s smoky voice? In his Northern burr? If one thing was certain, it was that he’d picked the right song to open up his set. Nearly everyone present was familiar with it, even if the voice that climbed its winding melody was unexpected.

A number of galdor ladies had even alighted to perch like birds on the stone benches near where Aodh played, watching his long, nimble fingers dance over the strings of his mandolin, delicate chins cradled contemplatively in their hands. More than a few of them seemed terribly interested in his instrument: a flock of eyes traced the chasing, lingering on the mother of pearl.

Mr. Cavendish wondered where a wick had gotten such a thing. The city of Vienda, he had always thought, gave its tsat population far too much freedom; this was only evidence of the fact. A little fancy fretwork and a charming voice (if untrained: the man was no Basil York!) could not fool him, at least. The man was well-dressed, but only for a tsat. Cavendish found his worn waistcoat rather distracting, and it was nothing compared to the state of his hair.

Beside him, Margaret was unusually quiet. “What next?” he scoffed, his voice just above a whisper. “Tribal spokes performing at the next king’s inauguration?”

She said nothing. As they followed the stone path’s graceful arc round a shrubbery, the tsat came into view, and Cavendish snorted quietly again. But when he shot Ms. Winthrop a sideways glance, she was staring at the musician, and there was a faint smile on her face.

“I don’t know, Jonathan,” she replied. “It is really something, isn’t it?”

That was all it took.

A third of the way through his fourth song, Mr. Jonathan Cavendish could be seen at the elbow of Mr. Sebastian Blackthorn, interrupting his conversation with Mrs. Lucretia Urquhart to murmur an agitated-sounding something in his ear. Mr. Blackthorn stiffened; they could be seen arguing, but not for long. Soon enough, a servant, a dour-looking old man in a neat suit, was called over, and more agitated somethings were murmured in his ear.

Two thirds of the way through Aodh Elzo’s fourth song, said servant could be seen standing just at the edge of his glamour, ramrod-straight, his hands clasped behind his back. Waiting politely, presumably, for him to finish his song. Once he did, the servant did not give him time to begin another.

He moved in somewhat anxiously, more than a little reluctantly, playing with the cuff of his sleeve. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Elzo,” he began, voice almost inaudibly quiet underneath the crickets and the whispers and the scattered clapping of galdori and servants alike. “Mr. Blackthorn wishes me to convey his gratitude for your altogether satisfactory performance, and his assurance that you will be compensated generously. However, he thinks it best if you wrap up early.”

The servant’s frown deepened.

“You do, of course, know the way.” He nodded gracefully toward the garden gate, where the stone path wove into shadow around the side of the house.
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Aodh Elzo
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Wed Sep 04, 2019 6:53 pm

19th Roalis, late evening
As Aodh played he forgot about where he was, who he was playing for. The music was what mattered, and those around him were an audience. Music had always been his escape, no apprehension could follow him here. His anger at the state of the world flowed away as the music filled him, made him think of a simpler time.

The fourth song he played was one of his own devising, it had no words. The tune told a story of a wick riding hard being pursued by a mounted Seventen patrol, starting slow and soft but building to crescendo, his fingers flying over the strings.
When the song faded he opened his eyes and saw a servant hovering at his elbow, he wiped a light sweat from his brow with a green kerchief and returned it to his waistcoat pocket.

Aodh glanced slightly over to where Blackthorn and Cavendish stood.
'Oh he knew the way well enough.

"Aye, I'll show m' self out. Hope you enjoyed the show."

He gave the servant a warm grin, he had meant it, couldn't give bent penny if the jenk enjoyed his playing, long as they paid. He had played for the staff.
With that Aodh turn to the crowd help the beautiful Elzo Mandolin out to one side and his open hand to the other and bowed deeply.
Because even if his host and his cronies couldn't be graceful then at least he could.

He took his time over packing the mandolin back into its case and walked towards the exit.

As soon as Aodh was out of site in the shadows of the house however he slung the case tight to his back and crept until he found the window on an east-facing wall under the shade of the apple tree. It was unlocked, as the letter had promised!

Without a sound he eased it open and climbed inside, as quiet as a shadow. While the letter had said it would be unguarded Firebrand still moved with utmost caution.

He made his way through the moonlight corridors of the house, light feet silent on the thick pile of the carpets. The house seemed to be empty, all the staff and residents outside in the garden.

Then after a search that to Firebrand seemed to take an age and get more frantic by the second he finally found it.

Blackthorns study, a lavishly decorated room on the first floor. All oak paneling and dark hangings, with a great mahogany desk before the window.
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Wed Sep 04, 2019 10:55 pm

The Blackthorn House, Uptown Vienda
On the 19th of Roalis, 2719, during the Late Evening
Firebrand’s caution had indeed paid off.

If there were any servants in the house, he crossed paths with none of them, and nobody was any the wiser that Blackthorn’s tekaa guest had overstayed (and overstepped) his welcome.

The house was dark and quiet, save the distant clamor of the party. The clink of glasses, murmurs, laughter. Perhaps it was just the way the twisting halls warped and muffled the noise, but the party seemed to have dampened a little in its performer’s absence; it might’ve sounded tired.

As for the halls themselves, if they had secrets, they weren’t sharing. Aodh passed what must have been a dozen portraits in frames that ranged from simple to ornate, but in the dark, their inhabitants’ features were indistinct – the features of ghosts, faded and made frighteningly inscrutable by time. They stared down at him as he passed, but their eyes were only vague suggestions in the deep pits beneath their brows. Moonlight traced the swirls of gilt frames, glinted on flat, still glass.

Then: Blackthorn’s study, finally.

It was even quieter in here, save the cricketsong from outside. The window was open, and the windy night ruffled the drapes.

If Aodh approached the desk, he’d see that there wasn’t much on top. If there had been, doubtless it would’ve blown away in the wind. In fact, there was only a blank page, and it was fluttering at the edges, held to the polished mahogany by a brass paperweight. On the other side stood an oil lamp, which, if Aodh risked to light it, would cast a thin wash of wavering, warm light against the cold shadows and the pale moon.

A chair, a fine, well-padded, sturdy thing, leather-upholstered and obviously well-cared-for, stood before it. It was flanked by three drawers on either side.

If Aodh inspected these, he’d find the first drawer on the left side empty.

In the drawer beneath it, he’d find a few large, flat books. Some were choked with dust; some looked as if they had been opened more recently; all, however, had the loose binding of books that had been consulted many times. If he opened them, they might seem to him like accounts. They were in Estuan, and he might even recognize a few names, here or there. Nevertheless, not being an accountant, Aodh would be hard-pressed to spot anything fishy in the investments – or anything that would be of interest to him. At a glance, it all would seem to have been on the up and up.

The drawer beneath that one Aodh would find somewhat heavier. If he pulled it out, a strange-looking lodestone would roll to the front, edges clattering against the wood. It was very evenly cut, and highly reflective.

On the other side, in the first two drawers, Aodh would find a great deal of correspondence. He might recognize a fair amount of names he’d seen in the account books, if he remembered. None of them were remarkable in content, as far as he could tell. The second drawer was for personal correspondence, and on the very bottom was a letter that had been rather roughly torn in quarters.

If he put it back together and attempted to read it, this is what he would see:

Sebastian,

Please give Veronica my compliments – what a magnificent dinner she arranged last week. I am pleased to have seen you both in such good health, and I look forward to seeing you again in a scorenight, when I am returned to the city.

I have not forgotten the matter we discussed, of course. I must apologize: there is nothing I can do. It has been decided, I am afraid, that you are simply not a good fit for our group. Do not think that I was not your advocate; I remember my promise, too, and I am determined to keep it: you have my recommendation for any number of other societies with which I am in high standing. In this, however, my hands are tied.

I hope you will not permit this to stand in the way of our friendship. Will you come to dinner with Diana and myself on the twentieth of Roalis? We have invited Peregrine Gillespie, with whom I believe you have been acquainted, along with his wife; and the Cavendish family, of course. If your doubtless busy schedule permits, we look forward to seeing you.

Your dear friend,
Anatole


On the back of one of the quarters was drawn – as roughly as the page had been torn – a strange symbol. Difficult to make out in the low light, it appeared to be a darkly-shaded spoon in a thick circle.

The bottom drawer on the right was locked tight. If Aodh tried to unlock it, he wouldn’t get a chance to finish. At that moment, a keen ear would hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from down the corridor outside, along with a woman’s voice, soft and muffled and complaintive.

The window above the desk was open, of course. Other than that, there were a few options. The room was sparse of hiding spots; the back of the grandfather clock was flush with the wall near the door to the hall, and the other walls were lined with bookshelves. There was only one other door, and if Aodh tried it, he would find that it led to a small closet.

The footsteps grew nearer.
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Aodh Elzo
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Thu Sep 05, 2019 1:03 pm

19th Roalis, late evening
Aodh went through the desk he got more frustrated, not yet desperate, he'd been a burglar long enough to know that would to making a mistake. In this situation he could not afford mistakes. He went through the accounts ledgers, nothing of use there either.

When he found the letter, torn up with its strange symbol on the back his heart leapt.

'Reckon we have ya now bastard.'

Aodh crouched in front of the locked draw, as he pulled the set of lock picks from inside his waistcoat he heard the steps.
'Shit!' He said softly, no time. Quickly he checked the desk making sure everything had been returned to its place.

Accept for the torn letter, which was safe in a pocket, satisfied he cast about for a hiding place.
A heartbeat he dismissed, under the desk, he tried the other door, just a cupboard.

Well that just left the window.
With the ease of a dancer he went up over the sill and pulled himself up to crouch on the lintel above the window. Taking care so he could not be seen from within and waited.

As he crouched he did not look down, he knew a fall from this height would likely kill him.

Firebrand grinned in the dark, now this was living.

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Thu Sep 05, 2019 3:49 pm

The Blackthorn House, Uptown Vienda
On the 19th of Roalis, 2719, during the Late Evening
From outside, nearly at the moment he clambered up onto the lintel and out of sight, Aodh would hear the sound of the door click open. Much closer, now, the pair of footsteps creaked the floorboards, one of them significantly more uneven than the other. “Who left this burning?” hissed a woman’s voice, surprised. It was a different voice from the one Aodh had heard earlier; it sounded much older, with the hint of a northern burr not unlike his own. There was a little tch.

The other voice, a thin whisper of a sigh. “Oh, Martha, I must sit.”

“There you are, mistress” – the complaint of leather upholstery as someone, presumably Ms. Blackthorn, was lowered into Mr. Blackthorn’s chair – “there.”

“Utterly impossible, all this. My head! I simply cannot…”

“Let’s put out this ghastly light, then.” A faint, warm light had leaked out of the window, illuminating the brickwork; it was extinguished, and the only light on Aodh was that of the moon and stars.

There was silence for at least a minute.

“Feeling any better, mistress?” came the maid’s voice again, more softly.

“I think so,” murmured Ms. Blackthorn, with an effort; the leather creaked as she sat up. A long sigh. “Thank you, Martha. It is much more quiet in here.”

“Can I get you anythin’?”

A pause, then, “No, no, I – only stay with me awhile, please?”

“Of course, mistress.”

Another silence.

“Positively loathsome,” then: “I have worked myself to the bone, Martha, to the bone, and Sebastian has not said a word to me – not spared me a single glance tonight. I swear that he has spent the whole evening in conversation with that – that tart –”

“Mistress!”

“You know it,” said Ms. Blackthorn, somewhat more sharply. Then, more pleading, “He’s become almost obsessed. The mere sound of another – another dinner, another soiree – and this time, with that wick! As if that would help his cause. I swear that he has no other aim now than to ingratiate himself to those men.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Martha said, tonelessly demure.

“And he’s always pointing them out to me, such-and-such from some-other-place, a true, self-made man like myself” – her voice lowered, an exaggerated imitation of Mr. Blackthorn’s – “my dear, things are changing, he says – I couldn’t care less! I couldn’t care less about the Urquharts, or Cavendish, or blasted Vauquelin, or Gillespie… or any of those merchants.”

“You’ll make yourself faint, mistress. I’ll go an’ fetch a cuppa.”

“What was I thinking? He seemed so charming.” Veronica Blackthorn’s voice was so quiet as to be nearly inaudible underneath the wind. “Such a gentleman.”

“And who in Vita left this window open? You’ll catch cold,” muttered Martha. There was a sound of shuffling, and then, if Aodh was in the position to see, a round, pale face in the window, a pair of dark eyes. If she saw the wick, she gave no indication of it.

She pulled the window shut, and then, with a click, locked it.

No more of what went on in the room could be heard – save muffled voices, shuffling. The moon illuminated a low wall in a wash of pale grey, and lanternlight, along with the sounds of the garden party, leaked around the corner distantly to Aodh’s right, where the path twisted round the house. A little more distantly, albeit perhaps too close for comfort, a dog barked, and a chain rattled.
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Aodh Elzo
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Fri Sep 06, 2019 12:40 pm

On the 19th of Roalis, 2719, during the Late Evening
Crouched on the narrow ledge, mandolin case strapped tightly to his back Aodh listened closely to what was said. Not a lot of it made sense to him and he knew, somehow that it was worth remembering, as the window was closed and the sound of voices faded he was left alone in the night.

Now however it was time to go, now he looked down. By his reckoning he was on the second floor, there was a narrow stretch of shadowed lawn between the house and the wall which surrounded the property. All that was fine, what worried him though was the sound of a guard dog somewhere in the dark down there, he was mortal afraid of dogs.

Aodh climbed down the side of the house, carefully. Moving from window sill to ledge to drain pipe after what felt like an age he was just above \the top of the garden wall and about eight feet from the ground. He wasn’t in a great position, clinging to a drain head craning around, but he had no other options.

‘Well, here goes.’
Roll for jump
1D6=1
He braced his legs either side of the pipe, gathered himself in like a spring and launched himself backwards from the wall.

His plan had been to turn himself in the air, however his foot caught on the pipe which threw him off course and sent him smashing chest first onto the top of the wall.

Winded he couldn’t arrest his fall as he plummeted to the ground.

Aodh managed, mostly through instinct to bend his knees as he hit the ground, though he still twisted his right ankle pretty badly as he rolled to his feet.

That was when he heard the deep angry growl from behind him.

"Shit!"

With that he launched himself forward just as the dogs jaws closed on his trailing right calf.
Thankfully he was quick enough to stop it from getting a proper hold him, but he still felt his skin and trouser leg tear.

Aodh ran and launched himself at the wall, terror seemed to lend him wings and caught hold of the top and pulled himself up and over.
As he lowered himself to the street he heard from beyond the wall, the barking of the furious guard dog.
That sound chased him down the street, not waiting to see if anyone investigated.

Only when he reached the alley ways that lend back to the Dives did he slow, which was when the adrenalin wore out and the pain finally hit him.

He was in a bad way, he needed a doctor or the like, he could only think of one place.

With that Aodh limped towards Painted Ladies.
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