Lords of RPG

An unusually thick fog rolled off the river and onto the docks of Emerald Bay.  The fence, Gregori, pulled his cloak tighter around him to ward off the moist, cold air.  Gregori was short and reedy, with a nervous energy.  First meetings with new customers always made him nervous, but a quick glance backwards eased his nerves a bit.

        His right-hand-man Pol loomed dangerously behind him, ready to protect his boss.  Pol was a bear of a man with thick blonde hair and a beard.  A huge paw of a hand was wrapped tightly around a large club.  Pol preferred a club rather than a blade.  Gregori taught him early on that injuries caused by a club could often be misread by the city guard as accidental – the result of a fall, perhaps.  A blade through the ribs left little doubt, even to the dim city guards, that the victim was murdered.

        Gregori and Pol had been waiting for half an hour now.  Their new customer was late.  Gregori hardly ever waited for a deal.  If you sat too long in one place, the more likely it was that you got caught.  It was a good rule, but his curiosity got the better of him this night.  He was too intrigued by the potential purchase to abandon the deal.  He shook his head.  No, Gregori wouldn’t let this slip through his fingers.  Or worse yet, to be snatched up by that bitch Stella.

        He shifted back and forth, one foot to the other, until he saw a silhouetted, cloaked figure suddenly appear from the fog. As the figure drew closer, Gregori could make out more details in the dim light of the docks.  A faint glint of light off the metal studs of the leather armor the man wore.  A rapier slung low on a sword belt on the man’s right side.  Gregori made a mental note – the man was left-handed.  Peering closer, Gregori saw daggers strapped to both of the man’s forearms, as well as his thighs.

        As the man approached within a few feet, he slowly pulled down the hood of his dirty, brown cloak.  The first thing Gregori noticed was a short brown beard, split in two and curled up on each side.  The long, thick brown hair on the man’s head was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. 

        He had strong features, which individually, would seem off-putting, but added together on this one’s face, seemed to make the man intriguing.  No one would call him handsome, but he was not unpleasant to look at.

        Gregori sensed Pol tense up behind him, ever present to threats.  Pol leaned forward and spit on the ground in front of the man and growled out “Dis bata’s mada was a right queer mort.  His fada was a nom masisi, too.  This is just some rum bite, boss.  Let me tuck this scapegallows into bed.”

        The man gave a quiet chuckle.  “At least I know who my father was, friend,” he responded in Common, tinged with a slight Swanluke accent. Pol raised his club, ready to bash the man’s brains in, but desisted at a subtle head shake by Gregori.

        “I don’t know how you all do business around here,” the man said.  “But I can think of few things less wise than breaking into thieves’ cant out here in the open where anyone can hear.”

        Gregori gave a snorted chuckle.  “You have a point, my friend.  Or should I call you ‘Seigneur de la Dague’?  That is you – Lord of the Daggers, no?”

    A look of annoyance crossed the man’s face, but quickly faded.  The man shrugged and gave a slight chuckle.  “It appears that I am not as anonymous as I thought.”

    Gregori smiled.  “We are not the provincial hicks you might believe.  It wasn’t hard to deduce.  You turn up right after the carnival comes into town.  You’ve got daggers strapped all over your body.  And, of course, you have a certain item to sell from the carnival itself, no?”

    The man smiled and nodded.  “There appears to be no more reason for subterfuge.  Yes, I am Lucien Renault, the Lord of Daggers,” he said, and gave a small bow.

    “I am Gregori, which you know, since you asked for this meeting,” the fence replied.  He did not bother to introduce Pol.  “Now that we’re fast friends, can we get down to business?  Do you have the item?”

    Lucien looked around to make sure they were unobserved and pulled an item from his pack.  It was wrapped in sailcloth.  He held it out and pulled the cloth back with a theatrical flourish.

    “As promised, the jeweled hairbrush of the Witch of the Wonders!” he exclaimed.  "If you look closely, it still contains numerous strands of hair from her unholy head."  Gregori gave a silent whistle as he looked at the item.  It was clearly expensive.  He'd heard the whore charged a hefty sum to warm her bed.  It did seem to have precious and semi-precious stones encrusted on the back.  But those were irrelevant.  The hairs were the real treasure.  And there were so many!  He could get rich selling one lock at a time.

    Gregori reached out to touch it, but pulled back as he remembered where it came from.  “How did you come by it?”

    Lucien smirked.  “When everyone was entranced by the witch’s actions and the accusations against her, I ran to Famke’s room and stole everything I could find!  The ship’s crew was so intent on seeing a real witch that no one ever saw me enter or leave her quarters.”

Gregori nodded absent-mindedly.  He barely heard the explanation.  He was already pondering how much he make from the artifact of an actual witch.

“Is it enchanted in some way?” Gregori asked.  “Did she imbue it with some of her power?”

“I have no idea, honestly,” Lucien answered.  “And no way to determine that, either.  I wouldn’t even know who to ask.  Frankly, the thing makes me uneasy.  So, I come to you.  A man of your...resources would be better placed to find if it has a mystical nature.”

Gregori stared longingly at the object, but tried to appear nonchalant.  “I will give you ten good Grey Kingdom coins for it right now.”

Lucien gave a startled laugh and re-wrapped the cestus.  “Sir.  I am a thief, a liar and a scoundrel, but even I couldn’t make such an offer with a straight face.  Not for a one-of-a-kind item such as this.”  He shook his head.  “No, I thought you were a serious man, but I see I was wrong.  There are other ports, and other buyers.  Good day.”

He turned and started to walk away when Pol grabbed him roughly by the arm.  “You don’t leave until the boss says you can leave!”

Lucien looked up at the big man with calm assuredness.  “You really should come see my act while we are in town, my large friend.  If you did, you would see how quickly I can throw a dagger, and how precisely I can place the blade.”  He motioned down with his head.  Pol looked down to see Lucien holding a dagger near his crotch. 

“Enough!” Gregori whispered, looking around.  “Pol, let him go.”  The big thug reluctantly let him go and stepped back behind Gregori, but continued to glare at the young thief.

“Perhaps there is room to negotiate,” Gregori said.

Lucien smiled as he walked back to the Jour De Chance.  They had eventually settled on 50 gold pieces for the hairbrush.  Gregori was happy, thinking he had acquired a “one-of-a-kind” item for cheap.  Lucien was happy because he was already making plans to sell the whore’s other hairbrushes at the next port of call.