Almund is a thriving township with a dark side. With houses made from the wooden bodies of decommissioned ships, there are many opportunities here, coupled with many dangers.
It was finally getting cold. Really cold. Not the kind of cold that made you want to snuggle up with that someone extra special, either. At least not in Max's opinion. It was the sort of that warned of its intentions to usher in the teeth-shattering, bone-rattling frigidness that was soon to come.
Why couldn't the ship have been going to trade with a nice, warm, tropical place? The universe just couldn't drop me off in paradise could it?
Max folded her arms across her torso to keep her cloak from blowing outward in the wind. Her curious caramel eyes peered up at the squeaking wooden sign hanging on the relatively new-looking building before her. It was an old thing to behold, the two-headed white hound that signaled the location of Almund's famed Kennels. She couldn't help but notice the thick black collars tightened around the beast's neck. They stood for ownership, control, and domestication. The girl pressed her lips together. Eventually, both cold and lack of options convinced her to push through The Kennel's doors.
The girl hardly had time to appreciate her new surrounds (and the warmth the building afforded) before her visual field was dominated by one man in particular. He was tall. Really tall. While this man was probably like most of the vertically gifted that often remarked how irritating it was to be reminded of their height, something told Max it wasn't the feature that perplexed those in his presence the most. His skin was an unmistakable stone-grey. His dark hair, clothes, eyes, and flesh seemed to make him a monotonous individual. Had he not moved his head up from the desk he was standing over upon her noisy entrance, Max wondered if she would've distinguished him from his dimly lit background at all.
"Yes," the strange man addressed her softly from across the room. "May I help you?" For a few moments too long Max was silent, doing little more blinking as she took in the unique person she shared the air with. The grey man sighed and stood up straighter, apparently unsurprised by her initial reaction. Max shook herself back into awareness. "I'm sorry," she voiced with almost uncharacteristic sincerity. There seemed to be no further need to point out the obvious. Best to get on with it. "Are you a man I should be speaking with? For a job, that is?" "Indeed," the grey man confirmed with a slow nod. "My name is Dana. I'm the Kennel Master and Gibney's partner in the business." The quill in his hand was gently placed down on the desk's surface beside a scrawl-ridden piece of parchment, which Max couldn't have read even if she wanted to. "And who might be inquiring?" "Max." "Max who?" "Just Max."
Last edited by Max on Fri Dec 01, 2017 10:13 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 486
Dana stood as solid as as the grey rock he looked, eyes meticulously roving the prospect's body. His gaze wasn't like a bar rat's that left you feeling violated by the time, gods willing, he looked away. Dana's felt more like the stare that looked into you rather than through your clothes. Suddenly Max felt a bit under siege. The Kennel Master knew nothing about her besides her face and her name. It still felt like he could see each and every one of her flaws all the same.
"Well 'Just Max'," Dana said with a touch of mirth. "We are currently contracting more Hounds, but no one carries out our services just to fill an opening in our ranks. Come sit." Dana swiped dust from the seat of the chair at the desk before settling into it. Max glanced about the room before agreeing to approach. She seated herself in the chair facing the desk. All of a sudden she became acutely aware of the fact she had no idea what to do with her hands. That and she'd never been properly interviewed before. Dana folded his grey fingers upon the desk's surface with an expression that was, in a word, underwhelmed.
"Obviously you speak Common well enough," he observed. "That's good. Any other languages?" "Rakahi. A good bit at least." "That's useful here. I noticed you carry a sword?" "Yes, sir," she replied earnestly, fighting off the sarcastic comment that begged her to breathe it life in a professional response's place. "Can you properly wield it?" "Better than a virgin in a brothel." Dana's brow raised. If Max could've given the interview pause to drag herself out back to whoop her own smart ass, she would've. "That is to say I can wield it well enough. Sir." The grey-skinned man blinked incredulously at her, leaned back in his chair, and sighed. For several moments he was painfully silent.
"I"ll be frank with you, Max," Dana admitted. "You're not very imposing. I think you know that." Her fingers curled around the edges of her chair's arms and she forced a polite smile. "That being said, you're not useless to us. You won't get the prestigious contracts either. Not before you prove me wrong." Max sat up a bit straighter in her chair at the realization she wasn't being shot down after all. She smoothed the front of her pants, finding the gesture ridiculous and impulsive only after the fact. "Every Hound we hire represents The Kennel, and I'll be damned if I allow this decision against my better judgement to tarnish it. Your jobs will be simple for now: couriering, minor guarding, and certainly nothing with our larger clients. Understand?" Max nodded rapidly.
Dana rose from his chair with pressed lips and extended his hand. Max reached out to take it, surprised to find it a bit colder to the touch than most. Maybe he really was just a big, sentient rock. "Thank you, Dana," she replied quickly. Before she could say anything else cheesy or unwarranted, Dana released his grip. "You'll be here at sun-up tomorrow," he instructed firmly. "By then I should have something within your parameters." "Should I bring anything?" "Just your sword and your wits. You'd be surprised how uncommon the latter of those two are."
Routine wasn't really her thing, especially when it was one demanded by others. When the sun rose, however, Max was posted up outside The Kennels just as she'd promised. Even Dana appeared surprised by her ability to merely show up on time when he arrived with the keys. "Rough night?" the Kennel Master looked her up and down. Her hair was a bit unkempt. Speckles of loose eye liner essentuated the dark bags beneath her lower lids. "Well," Max groggily began. "I'm here aren't I?" "Indeed you are," Dana allowed. With a quick turn of the key in the lock, The Kennel's doors were opened for the starting trial. Its master beckoned the Mixed Blood to follow inside.
"Does this mean I'm officially on the payroll?" Max asked while Dana went about lighting the lamps scattered about the front room. She rested the heel of her right palm on the pommel of her sword. The Kennel Master vanished into the back, leaving her to aimlessly wander near the desk. "I even brought my sword like you asked." "Yeah?" Dana returned with a scroll in hand. "What of your wits?" "Time will tell." "Unfortunately that's often the case. Here." Dana slipped the scroll into a worn leather case. For a few trills he seemed to hesitate before handing it over. "Your job is simple. Deliver this to the Buckle and Chain Tavern. There'll be a woman in a black hood in the far corner of the quiet section. Say nothing. Just hand it over and return with the empty case here." "Easy enough," Max piped up as she slung the case over her shoulder. "I'll be back within the break then." "Let's hope."
Max offered Dana a respectful nod before turning on her heels and making strides for the door. Just as she grasped the door knob, the Kennel Master's gentle voice filled the room. "One last thing," he said earnestly. "Discretion is everything to us, Max. Don't let curiosity break that seal." She lingered in the doorway a moment before yanking the door open, and vanishing into the daylight.
Don't break the seal, deliver to the silent stranger. Easy day.
When it came to written word and discretion, Dana probably didn't fully realize he couldn't have chosen a better agent to send on his behalf. Curiosity might've been her bane from time to time, but Max had little incentive to scour the scroll to decipher letters that were worthless to her eyes. Any false accusations laid at The Kennel's feet regarding her integrity in this regard would be easily thwarted by her illiteracy. There was little reason for her to fret over the job going south at all, truth be told. It was one probably best left in the hands of even the simplest errand boy. At this point, a job was a job. Max meandered around a sleeping drunk and hooked the corner onto one of Almund's main paths. She imagined there must've been a better, more direct way to the rowdy tavern, but she was still fresh meat in every sense. It was the only route she knew.
Before long Max was carelessly throwing open the doors to the Buckle and Chain. The stench of old ale and body odor greeted her with enough potency that her face scrunched. How drunk had she been the night before that she'd adjusted to the aroma? She shook her head and persisted inside, searching for her destination despite the small collection of booze hounds and whores already posted up despite the early break. She licked her lips and nonchalantly wandered toward the quiet section. It felt like a forbidden zone in Almund. Even the roughest, toughest brawlers she'd seen throw down in the tavern never dared to cross into that room. It was as though, at all costs, no one had interest in pissing on the tavern owner's few restrictions.
The Rusalka's eyes spotted an isolated diner in the far shadow of the quiet section. The figure of the hooded individual suggested they were likely a woman, and as far as Max was concerned, the easy fit to Dana's description was good enough for her. She hardly hesitated before she paced over to the woman's table, slipped the scroll free from the holder, and rested it on the table's surface. She didn't even bother to peer under the veil to glimpse the woman's features. Instead she turned on her heels, mentally wiping her hands clean of the simple task, before she exited the tavern bound for The Kennels via the street she'd last taken.
Easiest Nels I'll ever make.
She never saw it coming. One moment she was righting the empty scroll holder strap on her shoulder, and the next a hand was cupping her mouth and dragging her into an adjacent alleyway. More hands arrived to prevent her fingers from finding the hilt of her short sword. Unarmed and out-numbered, the Rusalka still had no intentions of becoming an easy victim. Her muffled screamed raged against the hand that silenced them. Legs kicked wildly and arms thrashed. Her eyes took on a profoundly darker tint, and once or twice her captors had to regain their grasp upon her for risk she'd break free. At some point a sack was dropped over her shaking head. She was dragged along a brief distance before she heard the sound of doors whining shut. Then the hands forced her down into a chair and she felt the firm restraining power of ropes about her body.
'Alrigh'," a voice instructed. "Yank off tha' sack." The sack was promptly removed and Max's eyes blinked about her surroundings. The room was small. Too small for whatever it was they were trying to pull off. Various tools like shovels and hoes lined the walls, but other than that, there was little nefarious about the place. It seemed like nothing more than a simple shed. One man stood firmly in front of her, his fingers stroking his large, scraggly beard. "Take off yer hand. She won't scream." Again, the instructions were followed immediately and the hand vanished from over her lips. Max grit her teeth.
"Let me the fuck go, you ugly prick," she growled, body straining against the ropes that pinned her arms to her sides and body to the chair. "Don't ya have a mouth on ya!" the man chuckled. He crouched down before her with a broad, yellow-toothed smile. "No need to struggle. I'll be happy to let ya go. First, ya have to do somethin' for me." The Rusalka's expression darkened. If he whipped anything out, he could be sure to expect her to use nothing but teeth to change his sick mind. Lucky for him, he continued speaking instead. "Just tell me about that scroll you just delivered."
Oh, fuck you.
Max could guess how this was going to go. He'd ask. She'd deny, deny, deny. Eventually, he'd give up and let her go. Maybe snatch up Dana or that hooded woman for further questioning most likely. She was growing bored with the narrative already. Until the man responded with a five-fingered slap that left a fierce burn upon her cheek. Her head turned with the blow. The Rusalka's eyes blinked at him with a bit of shock. Anger quickly took surprise's place.
"Care to try again, Hound?" the bearded man inquired darkly. Her tongue probed the inside of her mouth. Had the side of one of her teeth cut open the flesh? She could faintly taste iron. Her response was cold silence and the most dagger-like stare she could properly muster. "No?" Another slap turned her cheek. Her fingers curled into tight fists. "I don't know about any gods damned scroll, alright?" "Tha' so?" the man asked incredulously. He yanked the scroll holder around her body so she could see it in her peripheral vision. "What's this then?" "Something you can shove right up your hairy ass."
This time it was a fist that came in contact with her face. This time she blinked hard to right her mind. Even the faceless people standing behind her seemed to audibly cringe. Red dripped from her lips. Her eyes stung. "Well?" the man coaxed. Max only turned her face to spit a generous amount of saliva into his. He rose and stepped away, his hands furiously trying to rid himself of the liquid. Max's fingers practically dug into her palms. Her shoulders once again tested the restraints. She was snugly set into that chair and doomed to the whims of everyone in that small shed. Still, she threatened, "You're going to live to regret this."
The man offered a big-bellied laugh to her threat. "Oh?!" he challenged. "Given the circumstances I really do think one of us is going to live much longer in general than the other, wouldn't ya say?" He stroked his stupid beard smugly. One of his filthy palms gave her bruising cheek an affectionate pat. "Unless of course ya wanna change your tune. Just tell me. Ya don't owe them nothing, right?" Max pulled away from his touch and averted her eyes. For the first time it seemed like the man genuinely had a point. Was a beating really worth protecting the secrecy of some scroll? They hadn't even officially hired her at The Kennel. Logically, the scroll couldn't have been that important if they trusted an outsider with it. She owed her would-be employers nothing. There was always another bridge to burn. Yet she hated these strangers more.
"Go on," she spat. "Go on?" the man repeated with a cock-eyed expression. "Go on and hit me again. I'd rather you knock me out so I don't have to keep listening to all this bullshit about some scroll. Try it like you really mean it this time." Maxine spit more blood onto the worn wooden floor. Her dark eyes wandered up to spot the transformation of shock to fury on her assailant's face. Her cheek throbbed. It was hard enough to blink away the tears that were already stinging at her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for any of her kidnappers to see her cry. Yet as his fist drew back, it was looking like an outcome she wasn't going to be able to really control.
"Enough!" a shadow moved forward from behind Max to clench the wrist of her attacker's readied fist. The scraggly-bearded man immediately relented to the stranger's will and slipped his hands respectfully behind his back. Then, he promptly vanished from view to stand behind Max with his brethren. The stranger slowly turned in a cloud of smoke as grey as Dana himself. He plucked a cigar from his lips and crouched before the Rusalka, searching her face. "What's your name, girl?" Naturally, Maxine only glared. The stranger sighed, took a long puff on his cigar, and procured a dagger from his hip. Her heart sank. "What's the matter?" she hissed bitterly. "Did you dog's hands get too tired? You hear to cut me up now?" "No," the stranger grumbled. He leaned toward her with the dagger pointed at her torso. "I'm here to hire you as one of my Hounds." He cut the ropes binding her to the chair one-by-one. Max sat there in a daze. "Name's Gibney Conneck. I'm the Hound Master at The Kennel. Dana is my business partner." "Max," she answered dumbly. She rubbed at her arms as though she'd already forgotten the feeling of freedom. Then she shook her head and her stare turned dark. "Wait a damn minute. I was running that scroll for you! You--you hired these pricks? To do what? Beat me into telling you about a scroll your business gave me?" Forget the pain in her face. Now she was ready to rumble.
"Dana wasn't sure you were up to it," Gibney explained as though everything should've been very obvious to her. "My methods are unorthodox. I apologize for that...but this sort of test is invaluable." "Yeah?" Max growled. She had half a mind to reach for her short sword. "And how's that?" "You can't teach someone how to keep their mouth shut even when it doesn't suit them," Gibney shrugged, shoving his dagger back in its sheath on his hip. "Can't teach loyalty either. You showed both. That's good enough for me." "I'm...hired? Because of all that?" "If you like. I recall your orders being to bring that empty case back to Dana." "Oh," Max blinked and turned to spy the scroll holder still resting across her back. "Right." "Off you go, Max." Gibney extended a calloused hand toward her, which Max took with surprise. It had been a while since a man had shown her enough respect to shake her hand like an equal. Even more significant, she couldn't remember the last time she genuinely found herself in the presence of someone she suddenly wished to make proud.
Wow what an interesting and well written thread. Nicely done! I enjoyed your writing here, liked how you set the scene and made it clear what was happening. You handled the dialogue well, too. All in all a well written and engaging thread!
Points
XP: 10
Fame: +3 (timely delivery!)
Loot
Bruises to face. Will take up to 10 trials to heal fully.
Knowledge
Non-Skill:
Location: The Kennel
The Kennel: First Place of Scalvoris Employment
Dana: The Kennel Master
Gibney: The Hound Master
Skill Knowledge:
Endurance: Functioning Through a Hangover
Discipline: Refusing to Break Under Mild Torture
Endurance: Taking a Beating
Detection: Spotting an Expected Target
Unarmed Combat: Thrashing Body to Hinder Kidnappers
Deception: Denying Knowledge of Interest to Another
