Impromptu invitation

Old Rose Harbor is Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld.
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Wed Aug 07, 2019 5:45 pm

Old Rose harbor - Year 2709
Srangely quiet. So was the deep of the night in Old Rose Harbor. The night realm eternal serenity was barely disturbed by the occasional giggle of the ladies of pleasures pushing their last costumer out to finally reach a well-deserved haven within the chaos that was Old Rose Harbor: Sleep.

Amidst this pleasant nocturnal freshness, as all was quiet and dark, Kirrah was instead burning the proverbial midnight oil.

To the young lady, night and day were merely concepts, the “hole in a wall” shack she was inhabiting being below ground, she never enjoyed the light of day anyways, nor she cared.

Kirrah was gently pondering, lightly batting her nailed and tapping her foot as she was considering the results of her last batch.

She had started fiddling with narcotics lately, as some sort of hobby.

To be honest, it might have more to do with her accidentally finding some low-quality product and taking as a challenge to do better than the run of the mill apothecary of Old Rose Harbor. Her own cursory education on the subject might not be vastly better than those snake oil vendors, but she was dedicated: Hell would freeze over before she submitted to low standards.

As of late, she made different batch of product, working mostly with opium. She got some raw product through illegal channels and was trying to refine it to higher degree of purity, also accounting problems like transport and such in her mind.

A light knock rung on the door to her “lair”, distracting Kirrah from her current activity. She frowned: Are those junkies already back? I told them the next batch wouldn't be ready for a few days.

Kirrah wasn’t herself too big on using: Muddling her brain was the exact opposite of anything she tried to accomplish in life, so she had to find some junkie to do the actual testing for her and offer her feedbacks.

Those, despite being annoying and smelly, still proved quite useful: Kirrah made some adjustment after observing them, considering that higher purity didn’t equaled higher pleasure, at least not directly, the high ending up becoming too strong and too short to really wallow in it. Kirrah last batch was refined with it in mind, still focusing on purity, but by using some other food regent aimed at slowing the action of the narcotic to reach longer high.

As for the junkies themselves, the quality of Kirrah first few batches and the cheap price that came with being guineas pigs made them quite insistent about the next “trial”.

Kirrah sighted, and went to the door, opening it to chase the needy drug addicts away, but instead of the expected ragtag, it was a burly man clothed in black that stood opposite to her.

Before Kirrah could open her mouth, a powerful punch sunk into her stomach, sending her tumbling to the ground vomiting bile. A rough voice, but with a foreign accent, said playfully:

- Someone haven’t been nice it seems. I’m here to deliver an invitation. It say this :

Instead of talking any further, the man starts delivering some kick into the barely breathing Kirrah, taking care not to overdo it though as he could easily have killed her.

The young teenage Kirrah lost consciousness after a kick hit her face.

When Kirrah woke up, she was being carried like a bag of flour, a bag tied over her face barely let her breath, especially with the bit of blood starting to accumulate inside. Kirrah was starting to wonder if she would die from her kidnapper carelessness when she was finally dropped on the ground, hitting hit heavily in a soft grunt of pain, her whole-body aching.

The bag was taken of, finally letting her breath freely. Kirrah quickly took a deep intake of air.

She looked like a sorry mouse in the gutter. One black eye barely opened, blood coagulated over her face from a burst lips and bloody nose.

Her link were cut down, liberating her hand, which allowed her to stand up with difficulty.

word count: 710

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Thu Aug 15, 2019 9:49 am

38th of Roalis, 2709
The King of the Underworld had not reached his position of power by mere violence or simple manipulation, no. Silas Hawke was a ruthlessly calculating and careful planner who'd risen in the ranks of the Bad Brothers first as a young Black Hand—or so the story went, anyway, though no one living in the tribe had ever claimed him as their own—and then as part of the small, disorganized original gang's inner circle, making a name for the Brothers with both charm and cruelty. Once he neared the top and began to admire the view, the sly wick's plans came together quickly and he emerged from the bloodshed and fire in Old Rose Harbor to declare himself its patriarch.

He spent the next several years creating his kingdom: pruning out rivals, murdering entire gangs, sinking ships, and setting fire to the criminal world of both the Kingdoms of Anaxas and Mugroba especially, sewing seeds in a struggling economy that he hoped would pay off as they grew and blossomed. Like some Hessean wildfire, hot and fast, he burned away the undergrowth and put down roots so that when the smoke cleared and the sun broke through, his place was firmly secured.

So secured, in fact, that when the Symvoulio cycle changed, Anaxas had no choice but to accept his presence, but to welcome him as purseholder and trade dictator.

It was good to be the King.

Although, some times, not everyone agreed to acquiesce to his rightful rulership and other times, not everyone lived properly under his laws. When such things happened, he sought to exert his authority, and those that didn't find him agreeable? Well, they usually ended up dead. Not entirely merciless, however, there were occasions that stirred his curiosity and led Silas to offer the rare kindness of second chances or alternative opportunities—

Young Kirrah was a shining example.

The Bad Brothers weren't unaware of her activities once a few of their regular buyers of opiates like King's Crop or other illicit goodies began to go elsewhere. Careful observation led to a few of Hawke's trusted craftsmen to become curious. Curiosity led to investigation. Investigation led to a beaten child at the sly wick's feet at some clocking annoying hour of the evening.

Silas didn't enjoy being dragged away from his rare moments of distraction, and the hastily-dressed, somewhat disheveled King of the Underworld had poured himself into his throne in the Palace while Remses poured him a glass of wine and two of his better thugs dragged the pale youth through gilded doors and over expensive carpets to drop Kirrah roughly into the room. One of them, a broad-shouldered human with green eyes and a shaved head, was even kind enough to cut her bonds.

No one offered her a glass of wine, and the wick curled up in his bejeweled mockery of a royal throne sipped from his glass loudly, dark eyes taking in the bloodied young thing,

"I ent sure I asked either of ye t' beat her." He purred, a hint of displeasure in his voice at the mess they'd brought before him. It wasn't the tribute he preferred and it gave him very little room to negotiate when his opponent was already bleeding.

"But, Silas—"

Fingers waggled to silence the thug and he leaned forward, hands weighed down by silver rings glittering in the lantern light coming to rest on his knees,

"Good evenin', lass. I s'pose yer wonderin' what garnered ye such a lovely invitation, eh? Trust me, it ent 'cause you've ne been payin' yer taxes, but mayhaps ye should sign up an' start. Ye got a name, bochchild?"
word count: 659
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Thu Aug 15, 2019 1:37 pm

Somewhere between the begining and the end of times
Kirrah's ear were ringing, and she still visibly had some difficulty to focus, her eyes looking a bit vacant at the moment. She was also wobbling a bit, as her body slowly filled back up with oxygen. She looked around here:

The room was … “grand” … to say the least. She was somehow disconcerted by the view, it was as if she just went back six years in time to end up straight into her old household, with a tackier sense of decoration that wasn’t without its own flair though.

From an exterior point of view, it was obvious that Kirrah was slowly coming to her senses after both a beating and a slow asphyxiation.

She muttered to herself, while unwittingly a bit too loud which made her audible by everyone, if slightly:

– That’s not at all what I imagined …

Silas broke her reverie by directly asking her a question, which startled Kirrah, visibly still a bit out of it and not quite remembering all the in and out of being right in front of the great kind of the underworld.

She turned, seemingly needing a second to phrase her thoughts, before answering with an unwavering voice:

– Name’s Kirrah, Kirrah Grey.

She started hesitating, weighting her words before adding:

– Sorry about my previous assessing comment, I was just surprised.

She then reminded herself of her position, and added:

– Sir.

From this short exchange of words, two things could be clearly gathered from Kirrah’s countenance:

First, despite her sorry state, she had some innate sense of elegance beaten into her bone, proof of an early education of the highest etiquette.

Second, despite her position, the young passive seemed strangely fearless. Not in a defiant way by any account, but more in the “Did we hit her too hard on the head?” kind of one. As if the she didn’t quite understand the situation she was in, or at least as if the notion of dying had never really crossed her mind.

Suddenly recalling the other part of the question as her mind slowly cleared up, Kirrah added visibly embarrassed to admit it:

– I kind of operated at a loss so far … I was only doing some experiments, out of curiosity, to see if I could manage to do better than the product that was available on the street, which I did, but I also sort of wasted quite a lot of poppy seeds while testing my ideas, especially the second batch which I ruined by mistake, roofying myself with the fumes in the process for two days straight …

word count: 463
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