Clock the Police (Gaelin)

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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Murko Muelton
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 2:45 pm
Topics: 4
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Galdor
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Writer: Satyr
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Sun Mar 24, 2019 5:34 pm

22nd of Intas, 2719
"Hey boyo, Hawke's got an assignment for ya,"

Murko Muelton heard the summons in the distance, the Sanctum ringing with the voices of the Bad Brothers. Murko himself was just stopping by, trying with varying degrees of success to rope in some boys to go out to sea with. However, immediately his plans went out the window and he moved towards a much taller and broader human messenger.

"What is it, then?"

"We've got a lady who ain't payin' her rent on time. Go rough the place up a bit. Get the money and come back," he answered. Then, he handed Murko a slip before making his way off without another word. The galdor knew that people didn't love being around him. Almost 10 years in the Bad Brothers had the galdor's reputation secured, but people still hated gollies. They took out their frustration by being short with him. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. The golly made bread for the rest of them at the end of the day and that was that.

"Understood," Murko said to no one in particular before making his way out of the underground fortress and back into the Harbor proper. Closing the grate that led towards the Sanctum, Murko rose up and brushed away the excess of dust that sprinkled his shoulders and along his shirt. The sorcerer allowed his pitch gaze to fall forward, getting himself re-acquainted with where he was before looking to the slip of paper.

The paper featured and address and the name of his quarry, and he committed it to memory before a quick syllable in Monite ignited the slip in the middle. He held it by and end as it began to burn, then let it fall towards the floor. He persisted in the spell's upkeep, monitoring the fire. Once the name crumbled into nothingness, he pulled the oxygen from the vicinity of the flame. It sputtered out, leaving ash in its wake and with that, the galdor went off.

The shop Murko was pointed towards defied expectations. Listed in the slip as 'Isa's Interests' he'd expected some sort of fixed location. Instead, he was at a wick's kint modified to have glass displays with numerous baubles and curiosities for the eye to feast upon. Clearly, 'Isa' was a talented glassworker. Murko almost felt bad, knowing just how easy it might be to grease this woman for her money given the fragile nature of her wares. He shrugged and went on with it, pushing the inkling doubt aside in favor of a more direct approach.

"Oi, Isa. Why aren't ye payin' your due to the King, hm?"

"Excuse me?" she mustered, the wick's features clearly twisted up in panic. The galdor allowed himself to caprise her field, and he felt the anxiety welling up within her. It was clear a moment later that she felt the galdor's probing, and she furrowed her arms in distaste, pulling back on her own field as she said,

"What's a golly doin' working for a human, anyway?"

"Lady, I'm not here to answer questions. I'm here to get what ya owe and leave it at that. How bout we cooperate?" he asked, almost beseeching in his tone. He really didn't want to break her shit, but he placed his hand at the hilt of his cutlass and drew it in a swift, practiced motion. He tapped at the nearest display with the point, forming the tiniest crack in the surface as he said,

"Or, if ye insist on it... we can get inta' some aggressive negotiating."

Wide eyes grew wider still, and a sob escaped the woman's lips as he begged, "Please, I don't have the money right now!"

"I bet you do," he assured her, applying more pressure to the display until the glass ruptured, sending it crashing down on her wares. None of the denser glass would break apart, but the message was clear.

Don't lie to a Bad Brother.


word count: 704

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Gaelin
Posts: 22
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 1:15 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Writer: Thaumaturgy
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Sun Mar 24, 2019 11:01 pm

Isa's Interests • Old Rose Harbor
On the 22nd of Intas, 2719
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Being the source of curious stares and hushed whispers was nothing new to Gaelin. Walking down the street in his Investigator uniform was generating quite an effect on the people that he was walking by. With hands held behind his back, Gaelin was meandering through the city. It was only his third week living here, and he was still trying to grow familiar with the layout. Also, he was patrolling. Head swiveling from side to side looking for any signs of trouble. The Seventen presence was severely lacking, since there was only one Patrol squad and less than a handful of Investigators, including him. From what the other Seventen have told him, he'd have to perform almost as many patrols to discover crimes.

Gaelin was walking through an area that he had been through before. It was different though, as wicks had torn down and erected new kints since he was last here. Not all of them were shops, as a few were obviously temporary living arrangements. People were idly tampering with instruments or creaking smoke clouds after taking deep puffs of their pipe. Many of them were giving the blazed hair galdori looks of contempt. Part of him wished one would step forward and give him a reason to make the feeling mutual.

A heavy exhale helped to calm his thoughts. Being here was not doing his mental state any favors. His superior was not overly thrilled by his arrival to the outpost. And the others seemed to have a similar opinion. To make matters worse, the locals were not subtle in showing their opinions of him. Whether it was the uniform, or something else, he couldn’t be sure of yet. But all of the animosity was raising his hopes for some sort of confrontation. It would serve as a good excuse to vent some of his frustration.

As though he were receiving an answer to an unspoken prayer, a sound caught his attention. The sudden scrape of a blade against its sheath as it was being drawn. Gaelin turned his head towards the direction he thought he heard it come from and stopped. A voice speaking in a low tone was coming from inside one of the kints. Gaelin stepped toward the one indicated as Isa’s Interests. When he stepped inside, he noted that he was surrounded by glassworks of both simple and intricate designs. What caught his attention, was the man with the drawn cutlass, as well as the shattering glass display.

The woman, Gaelin presumed to be Isa, was attempting to keep control of herself despite her distraught breathing patterns. Sapphire eyes locked onto the back of the head of the dark toned man holding the cutlass. No smile blossomed on his face, but Gaelin felt a surge of excitement. His first chance to exercise his authority in what looked like a fairly cut-and-dry situation. Gaelin drew his broadsword, a long straight blade that was sharp on one side. Holding it down by his side in a more exposed stance, the recruit investigator narrowed his gaze at the other man.

“Sheath your weapon.” He declared. “And prepare to reimburse the woman for damages.” Gaelin forced himself to keep a straight face, despite the adrenaline coursing through him. Years had been spent training for a moment like this. It was challenging keeping his ego and his imagination of how the situation could unfold favorably in check. A shallow breath followed by a long exhale assisted with that. Stick to your training. Without looking too far from the vandalizer, Gaelin scanned the rest of the kint’s interior. No one else was present. No bystanders nor any other assailants then. Unless people were waiting outside and behind the kint, the other galdor was alone.

Gaelin furrowed his brow slightly once he realized the other man was a galdor by the presence of his Field. He reached out to sense the other man’s Field, while trying to maintain an imposing type of presence in his own. Masking the anxiety and exhilaration from his Field was a conscious effort. Idealy, the vandal would yield without resistance. But this was not Vienda. Nor was it Numbrey. Gaelin sensed that Old Rose Harbor was going to either toughen him up, or kill him in the process. “Last warning,” he growled, “sheath your weapon.”
Code Credit to Graf!
Last edited by Gaelin on Tue Mar 26, 2019 6:52 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 779
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Murko Muelton
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 2:45 pm
Topics: 4
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Satyr
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Tue Mar 26, 2019 9:35 am

22nd of Intas, 2719
The sound of the door opening certainly entreated the pirate to the idea of a threat. Anyone could hear the scuffle going on outside, but it was the mark of the hero or the fool to jump in without assessing the situation first. A chuckle escaped Murko's lips as he stepped forward, allowing the other galdor room behind him. The kint was far too small for them to have an excess of space and in truth... Murko didn't want to cause more trouble than was necessary to finish the job. Wicks had a special place in the Mugrobi's heart, his own lifestyle of piracy taken inspiration from the nomadic and freedom-loving ways of the Tek speakers.

I can't be a Wick, but I like what they're going for, he'd always told himself. Life had different plans for Murko Muelton, and while he'd dug his own grave, he did it gladly and eagerly in the pursuit of his greed. The movement of the longsword being drawn cut its way through the air, cutting off the pirate's thoughts as he allowed himself to caprise the field behind him. Without turning around, Murko already knew a number of things about his would-be opponent. He was eager underneath it all. But, more importantly...

A galdor. What kind of bullshit is this, huh?

The Bad Brother didn't listen to the other golly. Instead, he pressed forward, gesturing for Isa to move forward with the threat of his cutlass as her motivation. Then, he turned around, his lips formed into a smirk as he looked over the Anaxi golly while continuing to caprise his field. The other galdor looked to be several years younger, and though his height soared over to a point that he might well be Gioran, Murko Muelton wasn't afraid. However, the Mugrobi also wasn't a fool.

Getting into fights with a Seventen, he began his thought, looking over the familiar uniform with a measure of disdain, Ain't exactly how I wanted to start my morning...

"Last warnin' for what, Inspector?" he sneered. The Mugrobi's field was filled with overt defiance, his beaded black stare looking over the Anaxi before he cocked his head towards the wick, who still had Murko's blade pointed at her.

"If anyone here's defyin' the law, it's this bitch. She's usin' up the King's space without payin' so much as a bird in rent? Unacceptable. How bout ya put yer sword away and we go over this like men of the law?"

The galdor could hardly conceal his laughter at the idea, but in truth, he was no farther than defying the laws of Old Rose Harbor than this Seventen patroller was in enforcing them. Two galdori stared at one another in a moment of silence before Murko at last, in good faith, sheathed his cutlass. He kept his left hand near his hip, where his pistol was held in a discrete holster.

"There, there. I did what ye asked, gollyboy. But I ain't about to fess up any 'compensation' for this. Jus' doin my job, sir," he added, the mockery rising farther and farther. Murko always had the habit of running his mouth a little longer than needed, and his arrogance was often left unchecked. A galdor among humans and wicks... they often left him untested.

But what's another golly gonna do? he wondered.

Will he listen to reason? Or will he try to feed his blade some blood?

Isa herself took the opportunity of distraction to slide to the floor. There, the woman crashed her fist into the floor. The floorboards broke under the force of her assault, and Murko, while curious, didn't take his eyes of the Seventen right away. Isa sobbed loudly, too much so given her relative calm since the arrival of the other golly, and that in it of itself drew the Mugrobi's suspicion. He allowed his gaze to falter and saw the sheen of silver drawn from beneath. The woman lunged towards Murko, a dagger in hand.

Clearly unpracticed and in a bid of desperation, the woman's lunge from her knelt position was a fatal blow if unchecked. However, Murko wasn't defenseless. He pulled back his arm, and using his elbow he checked hers. His hand extended, grabbing at her wrist and twisting with force. In the effort, Murko's hips shifted and the concealed holster may no longer be so, exposing his firearm to the Seventen patroller as he pushed off from the woman.

"See what I've got to deal with, kenser? Bitches refuse to pay their dues to the King, then they try to kill a Brother? C'mon, man."



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Gaelin
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Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 1:15 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Writer: Thaumaturgy
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Tue Mar 26, 2019 11:34 pm

Isa's Interest • Old Rose Harbor
on the 22nd of Intas, 2719
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Roll Results
A) Physical Magic: Rolled a 3 for Minimal Success.

B) Combat Disarm: Rolled a 5 for Success.


The environment for a sword fight, or even a magic duel, was certainly less than ideal. Glass was likely to be shattered everywhere in the process, making it just as dangerous to fall as it would be to get cut by a sword. With any luck, it wouldn’t come to that. The galdor before him did not bother to turn around immediately, but Gaelin felt the man measuring his Field. Really now? He flexed his Field by pushing outward, attempting to discourage the stranger from reading him any further. Seems as though this man is a bit short on manners.

Isa was ushered more into the corner by the cutlass as the galdor finally turned around to face him. Gaelin locked onto the man’s dark eyes, seeing what looked like mirth in them. The man mocked him, which was infuriating. It was not just his words but his body language that was overly brazen. Holding a weapon towards someone that was out of sight wasn’t the wisest idea. Which gave Gaelin an idea. The recruit stepped to the side a bit, to position the other galdor more in between him and Isa. Gaelin’s gaze did shift over to Isa when the vandal described what was going on in his own way.

The King. You’re a Bad Brother then? Clock it all.

Maybe this was his opportunity though. While the government as a whole may condone Silas for his influence on the economy, that did not make him a king in any right. The most baffling thing was the idea of a galdor working for a human. Even one as influential and rich as Silas. For some reason, that was enough to grant the impression that the dark toned galdor was a man of authority. Gaelin did not raise his sword, but kept it close to the side of his leg. Moving it now would likely seem as an aggressive action. “’Men of the law’? A bit pretentious to say that your status is equal to mine, isn’t it?” his tone had a harsh neutrality to it.

The tension built for a moment. So much that it turned into a physical force, pressing on Gaelin’s back as though to urge him to take the initiative. To try and suppress the urge, he tried thinking of a spell that could assist with the situation. But then the tension was cut dramatically by the Bad Brother sheathing his weapon. Gaelin was a little taken aback by that. Is he trying to trick me? But Gaelin smirked in response to the man’s remark. “Just because it’s your job, doesn’t make it legal.”

To help defuse the situation further, Gaelin raised his broadsword to return to its scabbard. Before that happened, Isa knelt down suddenly. Where it had come from, he wasn’t sure, but the wick had procured a dagger and was thrusting it towards the Bad Brother. There wasn’t anything he could do or think of doing in the instant of her attack. Gaelin stepped diagonally to be closer, raising his broadsword up to hold vertically. The dark toned galdor deftly avoided the blade and got himself away from the wick. During the struggle, a strange shape caught Gaelin’s eye, pulling it to the man’s waist to see the firearm tucked away somewhere he didn’t see before.

When the two of them were separated, the wick held up the dagger towards the Bad Brother to keep him away. “I’ll pay when I have the ging!” she angrily pleaded. Gaelin’s eyes narrowed at the wick. Now the situation is only much more complicated. Clocking wick! With a quick glance, Gaelin looked to the lights in the kint. They were set at a comfortable level to help sell the crystal-like appearance of some of the wares. Perfect.

Gaelin spoke softly to the physical mona, requesting their assistance to gain control of the situation by creating a bright flash of light. The mona of his Field seemed reluctant to enact his spell, but they did not refuse him. The particles of light coming from each source in the kint were intensified to an uncomfortable brightness. It was not a flash the way he had desired, but a gradual rise that taxed his concentration more as the illumination increased. As the wick began to squint and cover her eyes, Gaeling twisted his grip on his broadsword and swung down at the hand holding the dagger.

The dense, flatside of his weapon struck her on the back of the hand, shocking the bones and tendons holding the dagger. Gaelin cut his concentration and the light drastically dimmed back to normal levels as the dagger fell from hand. The recruit continued to move in and grabbed the underside of her arm with his freehand. “Get your clocking hands off me, brigk!” she shouted while struggling against his grip. Gaelin held tightly and forced her against one of the glass displays. Turning his head towards the other galdor briefly, checking to see if the man was drawing his sword or firearm, he pointed at his feet for an instant with the tip of his sword.

“Stay there!” Then he turned his sapphire gaze back to the wick. “Isa, I’m placing you under arrest. And you will be charged with malicious use of a weapon against a galdor. You will be imprisoned until your trail at the Seventen outpost here in Old Rose Harbor.” Isa glared at him with a worse hatred than how she had looked at the other man only minutes ago. She was cradling her hand, which likely had a broken bone flanges or two. Then Gaelin looked at the other man. His expression hard, and filled with annoyance. Whatever inconvenience he could’ve provided to the Bad Brother was now shot. Stupid Wick.

But there was still something. Gaelin rose his blade towards the galdor again, holding it flat at shoulder height while pointing at him. “Remove your firearm, and set it on the display,” he indicated with a gesture of the sword. Firearms were very illegal, but that was the most he could do to the Bad Brother for the moment. “And tell me your name, sir. Your testimony will be necessary for this wick’s trail.”
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word count: 1137
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Murko Muelton
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 2:45 pm
Topics: 4
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Galdor
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Writer: Satyr
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Thu Mar 28, 2019 2:27 am

Timestamp
The flex of the other galdor's field brought an immediate sensation that the Anaxi didn't like being measured. It was a reasonable dislike. After all, Murko himself found certain measurements in quite poor taste. The measure of his temper, the measuring of the length of the row of glasses left in his wake... Certainly, the Mugrobi knew what it was to dislike measurements that sought to expose one's nature. However, that didn't mean that Murko was going to heed the silent request. Instead, beady black eyes looked over the Anaxi, his full lips curved into that undelicate smirk.

As the scuffle with Isa unfolded in full and he pushed himself away, Murko intended to leave it at that. There were other Bad Brothers to finish this job. It wasn't to his taste to leave an assignment pending, but it was also outside of his interests to escalate the issue. Disarmed and on her knees, Isa was no longer a threat and yet... she held the dagger towards him

"I'll pay when I have the ging!" she snarled out, and then the Anaxi did his work. Light flared within the kint, and the Mugrobi took a step back, an arm over his eyes in a makeshift visor as it grew brighter and brighter. Then, the Anaxi brought the flat of his blade against Isa's hand. Murko almost imagined hearing the cracks as she shouted and struggled, and he crossed his arms in amusement as the Seventen patroller proceeded to rough her up for him.

"Next, we ask them for the money and threaten them some more," he chided, looking over the Anaxi with a false sort of pride in his eyes. The verse imbibed into him with a decade of life among humans wilted away allowing him to speak somewhat more clearly to the Anaxi. To complete the poor facade of educating a younger Bad Brother recruit would've been ideal, but then the patroller went forward with what might well have been a practiced utterance.

"Aw damn, then you gotta ruin it with the spiel, didn't you?"

Malicious use of a weapon against a galdor? Wasn't much of a galdor five seconds ago, was I?

Any reason to take out a bit of anxiety,
he reasoned. At least, the Mugrobi could understand that, but he left it at that. There was no reason to feel any sort of empathy for a Seventen, particularly empathy build on an impression. At the mention of imprisonment, the Mugrobi coughed once, but realized that the Seventen wasn't quite done with his grand intervention.

"Remove your firearm and set it on the display,"

"Excuse you, sir. I ain't about to listen to some pup with no backup. I can shout out and have two brothers on your ass in a minute or two. You? I bet you don't got shit for gollies to count on," he added, his words part bluff and all for show. The galdor didn't live for these conflicts, but as they transpired... it was very difficult to de-escalate. Adrenaline surged through the Mugrobi's system, his eyes wide as he placed his hand on the revealed holster without taking out his weapon.

"Name's Murko, sir. Don't you fancy patrollers have to introduce yourselves, as well? Who's to say you're not just some gangster in a fancy getup?" he challenged. The command of the situation resumed, and Isa, who continued to hold her cracked and injured hand close to her chest... well, she likely wasn't much of a factor anymore. Slowly, the formality seeped out of his throat, and he allowed the normal cadence of his time in the Harbor to return.

"Yer not takin' her before I get what I need, right? It'd be a shame to have to throttle it out of her from behind the bars of a jail cell."

Murko had no intention of taking this to any kind of jail. The taxes imposed by the King weren't obscenely high, and this one... with a kint like she had... She probably earned that sort of keep pretty quickly. Unless she was roped into all sorts of drugs, she was bound to have the funds on hand. Instead of listening to the other galdor, Murko used his field to gauge the man's location, and started using his foot to push aside the remnants of glass from the shattered displays.

"Where's your lockbox, Isa?" he asked, but the answer needn't come. The wick kept her lips sealed, and the galdor quickly found an ornate casing. He shook it much to the complaint of the wick, and an 'ooooh' escaped his lips as he looked over to the galdor.

"Ye forget about the gun... Let me walk off with this and we can call it a day. No one gets hurt, everyone goes home happy. I'll even give ye me home address, and ye can hit me up when the bitch stands trial. Savvy?"

Murko did have his times when the sassiness that a decade under the banner of the Bad Brothers threw upon him wilted away. A good thought or two could slip through the cracks, and his all-too-present sobriety had him even trying to negotiate with the galdor. Excess conflict had its uses, but also its faults, and Murko did his best to 'satisfy the beast' of mortal nature while also keeping himself from going too far over the edge. Here, he toed the line, disobedient and abrasive, but also placating and willing to negotiate. By all accounts, this Seventen was new. Murko had seen others before him, floating through Old Rose Harbor as if in between assignments. He didn't know anything about Gaelin, but he knew that this place might not be his first choice of habitat.

Who are you, gollyboy? he wondered as he turned the lockbox in his hand, switching his gaze from Gaelin to Isa and back again.


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Gaelin
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Race: Galdor
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Writer: Thaumaturgy
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Sat Mar 30, 2019 2:19 pm

Isa's Interests • Old Rose Harbor
on the 22nd of Intas, 2719
Image
The Bad Brother’s little joke was rather unsavory. Breaking the small bones of the wick’s hand hadn’t been intentional, but she was taking aggressive action against another person, a galdor at that. Even if the man was the sort to find amusement in rattling someone else’s nerves. Gaelin didn’t know the man, but felt that he had for most of his life. It was the disrespect. That bitter sense that had followed him all his life like a shadow. Everywhere he turned, there it was. Even in a galdor that he was forced to side with by legal necessity.

To make matters worse, the vandal was being uncooperative. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, getting resistance from someone who believed that they were in the right. Until coming to the Old Rose, the authority of his uniform had managed to provide the clout needed for people to follow his directives. Then again, those had been people that wanted to be law abiding citizens. Bad Brothers believed that they were their own law, which had led to this inevitable contention. Gaelin did and didn’t want to start an altercation. But there were consequences to consider.

A young pup was he? Gaelin’s eyes narrowed and filled with disdain. As inexperienced as he was, Gaeling wasn’t going to allow a lone thug to feel they could thumb his nose at the Seventen. But the other thing he had said was true. There likely wasn’t a member of the Patrol Division nearby that he could count on for support. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen any of them take their chroven out of the stables. That mattered less as the man set his hand on the handle of his fire arm. Gaelin lifted his blade to point more aggressively at the Bad Brother.

A smirk crossed Gaelin’s face as he stared at the vandal. “Go on then,” he softly goaded. “Call for your Brothers. They can find out who’s still standing in a minute or two. But you better hope that it’s not you,” he said lifting his eyebrows. “Because killing an Investigator of the Seventen would not bode well for you or the rest of your Bad Brothers. The Government allows your precious King to have his control because he keeps the trade flowing smoothly. But do you think they’d tolerate a spit in the face by one of Silas Hawke’s men?”

Gaeling pressed his lips together and slowly shook his head. “Resisting now would only cause more Seventen to be sent here. And that probably wouldn’t make your little king very happy.” With a little twist of his wrist, he gestured towards the glass display once more with the tip of his sword before bringing it back on the man. “Lose the gun, and you get to keep what control you have.”

A dry laugh cleared his throat at Murko’s implication that he was some sort of imposter. “Inspector Gaelin. And from my observations, it wouldn’t serve anyone very well to try and impersonate a Seventen officer here, would it?” As Murko’s attention went elsewhere in the kint, Gaelin glanced back at Isa. If he could he would’ve put a set of restraints on her wrists. But with Murko still wandering around with his firearm, he couldn’t afford sheathing his weapon to engage in the two-handed procedure. The hand he had struck with his weapon was already beginning to discolor. Unless she used her other hand, she wasn’t going to be holding a weapon before getting treated.

Pulling on her arm to make her follow, Gaelin moved closer to the exit just to prevent Murko from taking his leave. Eyeing the ornate box, Isa whimpered a soft, “no” when Murko shook it. “Put it back vroo!” She demanded while flailing to be released from the recruit’s grip. Gaelin tried to think of something that he could do to impede the Bad Brother’s intentions. At the man’s suggestion on how to make everyone happy, Gaelin got an idea, though it might now work. He released Isa’s arm with a little bit of a shove.

“Sit down,” he told her with a tone that brooked no argument. Then he did something that went against every instinct he had. Gaeling sheathed his sword. He took two steps to stand directly between Murko and the exit. Hands behind his back and standing with a straight posture. “You want everyone to leave happy? Then this is what’s going to happen, Mr. Murko. You’re going to open that box and take out exactly what Isa owes in taxes. Then, you’re going to put your gun inside and leave the box. Once you do that, you can leave. Isa will be happy that her finances are set with Mr. Hawke, I’ll be happy that I’ve removed a gun from the streets while making one arrest at least,” he inclined his head towards Isa, “and you’ll be happy because you successfully did your job.”

The seconds of silence that followed were nerve wracking. It was far from ideal, but it provided Murko with a graceful out. If the dark skinned galdor didn’t take it, then things were probably going to get interesting.
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Murko Muelton
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 2:45 pm
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Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Galdor
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Writer: Satyr
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Fri Apr 05, 2019 5:14 am

Timestamp
"Go on then, call for your Brothers. They can find out who's still standing in a minute or two. But you better not hope that it's you."

This kov's got some balls. I'll give him that, the pirate mused. It wasn't just his by-the-books mannerisms that clued the Bad Brother to the fact that this galdor was but a whelp thrust into his first days in Old Rose. He didn't afford Murko the proper respect, either.

Most of this kenser's people would've left me be by now. Clearly, I'm in the right. Least, by the rules of 'Rose, ay?

Murko drew away from spewing everything that he thought, allowing himself to hold his cards close to his chest. His field drew inward, the galdor forming a wall around his thoughts. Even the smirk and the desire to snort at his "opponent's" assessments were muted. Murko Muelton, after all, didn't need the Seventen knowing too much about him. The galdor shrugged his shoulders as he listened to the Seventen rattle on, the picture of galdori self-righteousness as he took the name of the King and proceeded to spit on everything that Hawke worked for.

Big balls or not, this piece of shit ain't gettin' no leniency from me, he realized as the statements came to a close. There was a brief moment of clarity, and Gaelin even made a mockery of Murko's own mocking suggestion. Of course it wouldn't. Don't understand a joke either, do you, ruminated, doing all that he could to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The galdor crossed his arms, drawing his hand away from his gun. Gaelin's attention shifted momentarily to the wick, commanding her to sit before at last he threw the straw's that broke the kenser's back.

"Oh yeah, every kov's gonna leave 'ere happy. 'Cept me gun, who'd be lamentin' the wretch grasp of a sorry ignorant, hmm?"

At last Murko spoke, and every semblance of the calm intake that'd been the past few moments was gone entirely. Anger welled within the Mugrobi's throat, and he lowered his hand to his waist, pulling the pistol from its holder. He didn't point it at the other galdor, but certainly, he had it out and prepared for use.

"Here's what's really gonna happen," he corrected. The galdor in his outrage lost every bit of the accented speech he'd adopted in his decade in Old Rose. He spoke with the Mugrobi tint in his speech, his back straight and his head even raised somewhat. The picture of a galdor turned to anger, and the face he wore when plundering the seas. The Mugrobi's grasp on his field wilted in turn, and the flex of his presence showed the impatience that threatened violence without fear.

"You're gonna look the other way, just like every other vroo that comes here with your colors and your purpose. I'll take exactly what this assassin wannabe owes the King and nothing more from her lockbox." After all, the pirate's greed didn't extend to him making widows and destitutes out of wicks. Even if their 'innocence' was painted in red.

"And you can walk away with a prisoner and a life lesson on how this lovely little port works, won't you, Mr. Inspector?" The only ones scared of you are the sorry wretches who don't know any better," he assured the Seventen, nodding towards Isa before staring back at the golly.

The pirate was tired of speaking this way. Negotiation wasn't his way, certainly, but neither were long verbal exchanges without blood spilling on the deck. Murko Muelton held a strange affection for violence... but this would cause him trouble if he were to enact it now.

"None of your Seventen will weep for you if you die, Inspector. Nor will they weep for the wick if she goes. If you have the gall to strike down a Brother, however... there's no one who'd weep for me, either. More severe consequences would come out of that, he threatened at last. The Bad Brother wasn't looking for a graceful out to this little skirmish of words. His blood boiled with offense at the utter disrespect shown.

It's just like a gollyboy to shove their nose so far into the sky that they forget what the sea looks like, he thought at last. The irony being that Murko Muelton only truly felt like a galdor on the big blue. The galdor probed at the air around him, curious to feel the movement of the monic particles around him. From his experience, the mona was capricious with him on land. He'd avoid casting if he could... he always did. But to be unprepared was to die.


word count: 839
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Gaelin
Posts: 22
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 1:15 pm
Topics: 6
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Gaelin's Templates
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Thaumaturgy
Contact:

Wed Apr 10, 2019 10:22 pm

Isa's Interests • Old Rose Harbor
on the 22nd of Intas 2719
Image
A change had occurred with Murko. The mockery and cockiness were no longer painted plainly on his face. Even the galdor’s Field was being suppressed to disguise the sort of thoughts the man must have been thinking. That alone indicated that Gaelin had managed to touch a tender nerve. What it was, Gaelin couldn’t quite discern though. Personal pride, or perhaps even loyalty to Silas Hawke. One or even both of the things the recruit had belittled could have shaken Murko’s sense of control of the situation. Which meant that the situation was not going to devolve easily then.

Murko’s first response was a clear indication that he wasn’t going to accept the compromise that Gaelin had offered. It was a shame in a way. Gaelin wasn’t going to give any more ground than he already had. But he was one man with two criminals to deal with. The less dangerous one had already been handled. When the recruit was ready to speak, the other galdor had released his hold on his emotions and Field alike. The utter fury that was laced throughout the Field had a bitter flavor to it. The flex also made Gaelin really sense Murko’s heavier infusion of Static Mona. It was a small trick that he had been taught in Numbrey during his training, getting someone to flex their Field to really probe where their talents were in a subtler way. Gaelin only wished he could’ve claimed that having Murko flex for him had been intentional.

His eyes were focused more on the barrel of the gun, rather than the anger coursing over the man’s face as he spoke. Now he couldn’t draw his sword, he realized. It was a much slower action than aiming and firing a pistol. And it was Gaelin’s turn to be stoic and to repress his Field, as opposed to trying to flex back competitively. It didn’t seem that Murko hadn’t realized that he was asking for something that wasn’t going to happen. If Gaelin was going to turn a blind eye to the situation and leave, then he would’ve done so already. It seemed that Murko was going to be just an entitled thug, expecting things to work his way just because people were afraid of his superiors. It was an ironic thought, because the same could be said of Gaelin.

At least Murko wasn’t going to rob Isa. A small trace of civility, but not enough to really have a hope anymore for a peaceful outcome. Gaelin took his gaze away from the firearm and locked onto Murko’s dark eyes with his sapphires to begin a battle of wills. Hands were still clasped behind his back and his posture was still straight, though his head was tilted forward and his gaze was narrowed. How am I going to handle this now? There was less confidence now that he had sensed the potency of the Static Mona the Bad Brother had in his Field. Any attempt to us Static himself did not seem likely to succeed, despite how it was likely the best tactic.

What was clear now, after Murko’s outburst, was the man thought he was in the right of the situation. Even if he acknowledged that he had no lasting value with the other Bad Brothers. Gaelin was currently the same way with the Seventen. It wasn’t a competition between man-to-man, but a contest between the reputations of the organizations they represent. Personal threats were of no use then. So, let’s not make a completely personal threat.

“Do you realize that firearms are illegal?” Gaelin asked as calmly as he could. “They are tools for the humans to be used against galdori. Especially by those involved with The Resistance. Tell me,” he lifted his head just a littled, “Is Silas Hawke a sympathizer to The Resistance?” The unspoken threat rested in his tone. After a short moment of silence, Gaelin asked, “Are you?” Perhaps instead of monitoring the markets for unsanctioned spells, he should be focusing on the presence of firearms instead. With the government’s small presence in the harbor, there could be a large presence of Resistance operations here.

“I’m not going to stop you from leaving. But that pistol is another matter.” Gaelin’s chest grew tight as he thought about the action he was about to undertake. It seemed foolish to consider, but also the most efficient way of dealing with the problem. All the anxiety came from thinking that Murko was likely going to be able to stop him. He started speaking Monite softly to disguise his intention as much as possible from the other galdor. Gaelin addressed the Static Mona, asking them to change the structure of the pistol.


“I request a small change to the firearm. That the barrel be compressed at one point so that a bullet could not pass through it. That way it is rendered useless.”
Magic RollShow
SidekickBOT 4/10/2019 at 10:06 PM
Thaumaturgy: 1d6 = (4)

Static: Bending Spell to bend the interior of the pistol's barrel. Success.

The mona seemed to have considered it a reasonable request, one that posed no harm to anyone while changing the dynamics of the situation. They sought to fulfill his request. As Gaelin had spoken to the mona, he very slowly drew his broadsword from the sheath again. When it was done, the tip of the blade was pointed at the ground, but the recruit was ready to move and use it.
Code Credit to Graf!
word count: 1012
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Murko Muelton
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri Mar 22, 2019 2:45 pm
Topics: 4
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Satyr
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Mon Apr 15, 2019 7:10 pm

22nd of Intas, 2718
At this juncture, Murko Muelton had nothing to hide from the other galdor. Whether Gaelin liked it or not, he had an enraged Bad Brother to deal with, one that had the knowledge to deal with him with or without the edge of 'human' weaponry. Every bit of the situation urther embroiled the pirate, but more and more he kept his cool rationale. He knew if he stepped too close, he'd endanger himself, as the Seventen were trained to deal with threats. This was no helpless witch with a knife, and he treated the adversary accordingly.

"No fuckin' shit I realize it, ye ninny," he answered, laughter escaping his lips at the utter gall of the question. The metre of the common rabble flowed back into his voice, the utter absurdity of the Seventen's line of questioning allowing him a semblance of emotional control.

"Ye think any of us give a rat's ass about yer little war? Ye ask more questions about the King and I'll have yer tongue in me hand to lick his boot with the next time I see 'im, aye?" was his rebuttal, his lips curved into a smirk. The questions that were thrown at him seemed irrelevant to him. A decade in the service of the King and he'd all but forgotten the Anaxi politics that sought to embroil the entirety of the country in conflict. Murko'd lived much of his time at sea, doing the good work of raiding opium to propel the money grabbing machine that was Hawke's empire.

Die Rolls. Counterspell and Phase Change
SidekickBOTToday at 3:56 PM
Satyr: 1d6 = (5) = 5
SatyrToday at 4:04 PM
/r 1d6
SidekickBOTToday at 4:04 PM
Satyr: 1d6 = (6) = 6


Then, Gaelin adjusted the volume of his speech, and it was obvious that he was entreating the mona to do something for him. Murko allowed his field to unwind from his person, the density of emotion no longer present as he sought to ascertain exactly what it was that the quiet Seventen was trying to do. He felt the task come into effect, and the concentration of the mona around his weapon began to unnerve him. Murko Muelton uttered his countermagic, entreating the mona to cease its pursuit.

Murko felt the dispersal as the Static mona scattered, though the action also had the mona pushing back and away from the pirate.

Tis what I get for usin' magic on land, innit? More magic isn't going to be very effective, he mused as he raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Gaelin's face. He pulled back on the hammer, the sound of the bullet loading into the chamber audible for the both of them.

"If ye quiet down or speak a syllable of Monite, I'll push this round straight into yer chest, knave. Now, get. Take the bitch with ye, and we'll just call it even," he entreated. His words were almost a plea, not one made from fear, but nonetheless, he wished to leave this fool alive.

Good men don't deserve to die like dogs, he thought as he shifted the trajectory of the weapon, aiming directly at the middle of his adversary's chest. Then, Murko turned the lockbox in his other hand, looking over the intricately carved surface before he uttered a phase change spell. The lock liquefied before their eyes, devoid of the shift in temperature that a lesser Static practitioner might rely on. the metallic goop fell to the floor, resolidifying on the ground to the many protests of the shopkeeper, Isa.

"That's all I've got! Don' let im--"

"Oh shut up. Pay yer fuckin' debts when ye get out of prison, aye?" he advised her. He set the lockbox down, digging through it to find two birds among the assorted pennies and scraps left in there. He took nothing else, pointing his pistol at Gaelin as he clung to the walls of the kint, making his way closer to the still blocked exit.

"Stand aside, and we can call it a day."


word count: 722
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