Rogue Trader Chyril 23rd ET

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Jack Farrell
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Rogue Trader Chyril 23rd ET

Post by Jack Farrell »

Dust curled about his feet like a vapour. It whipped about, teased into life by the breath of his passing. He opened his eyes, the world shimmering into view like some ghostly visage made whole. It was an unnatural thing this Magick. To tear a man from one place then create him anew in another. Not something he would choose again in a hurry, Caravans were just easier.

The Arsenale. It was all he could do not to stare in wonder. The Fortress loomed above him like a behemoth of stone, more intimidating - if not larger - than the vast domed tents of Sabata. He swallowed, leading Amile from the event horizon of the portal and off to one side. It was stunning, he reflected. The river twisted past him filled with barges and yachts. The road that spanned before him was easily as busy as Sabata's had been yet these streets were lit not by flame, but by some western craft beyond his understanding. He shivered and tugged his crimson greatcoat closer about his shoulders. The nights were warmer here, but it still felt... wrong.

He grunted and swung himself up into the saddle, the leather of Rezon's coat whipping about him as he moved. He tugged his hat on tighter as he sat back in the saddle and wheeled the steed about to face the great doors of the Arsenale. He knew that beneath him hundreds of Inns stretched out, lighting the streets with their inviting ambiance, he yawned in anticipation of a downy bed for the night. But not yet.

This seemed to be a fortress, what better place to find the Condotierre? He slipped the heavy knife from his belt and sidled Amile over to a nearby guard. "Excuse me Signor, I found this in the great desert to the east. I wondered to whom might I return it?" He twisted the blade to catch the light, clearly showing the sigil of the Condotierre.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Wed Jun 13, 2007 9:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[i]They tell you never hit a man with a closed fist. But it is on occasion Hillarious[/i] - Mal

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Post by Morg »

It was not difficult for Jack to locate a guard... indeed, the street outside the Arsenale seemed to be buzzing with them. Obviously there was no way for Jack to know what was normal in the Mouth, but the sheer density of brightly dressed guards in the area - at perhaps one every fifteen paces - was unlikely to be normal in any city. It was obvious that they were trying very hard to look as if there was no particular reason for their presence there in such concentration. They were on edge, too, as could be seen from the fact that, when Jack produced the blade, the man he was addressing flinched visibly - taking a half-step backwards and his hand drifting to his belt. He waited a good few flickers, his grizzled face suspicious, before he replied, confident that the mounted man before him meant no harm.

"Ah, that is a Condotierre blade, signore," the guard replied carefully. "The legion Condotierre are based at the Nashorn complex, in the East End. Head into town and... er... and..." The guard stopped for a flicker to try to decide how best to direct Jack through the maze of streets that was the Mouth. Although the city had an Office of City Planning, and even a Magister for it, Carmine Conscellius, the greater part of World's Mouth had ballooned organically outwards without any planning at all. The man eventually settled on a simpler solution. "Follow the yellow smoke." The Nashorn Institute had of late been emitting billowing clouds of smoke of a vivid ochre hue, day and night.

"Of course, I could return the blade to them myself, if you wish," he added. "For a small administrative fee."
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack's smile shone beneath the brim of his hat, a sparkle in the shadow. In one fluid motion the blade disappeared beneath his coat. He reached into his pocket and, suddenly, in its place a bronze lance shone. Jack flicked the coin, making a satisfying ping as he did so. "For your help beshi."

Nodding to the guard Jack tugged gently on the reigns, steering Amile about and urging her gently down the main street. A seconds glance at the sky and Jack could see the smoke, flaring brilliantly in the last dying embers of sunset. Jack shook his head. He did not understand, when he had left it had been well into the gravetide... Magick, it messed you up. He coaxed a little more speed out of his mount - it would be nice to find a warm bed before he collapsed completely.

What, by the ancestor's dying breath, am I doing here? It's not as if I am just going to be able to waltz onto another airship welcome as glad news... And I doubt that they are just giving them away at the docks. He shook his head. There was little direction in Jack's life, just an overwhelming lust. Still, If I enlist I stand more of a chance of crewing a vessel. From there... Jack smiled, the idea of flying as another's lackey did not appeal to him. He would bide his time, learn more of these ships. Then - when the time came - he would take his destiny in hand, so to speak.

He felt the excitement stir his heart, the nashorn institute couldn't be far. That was the idea of cities was it not? To make everything close together. He smiled and urged Amile on. Not far now.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sat Jun 16, 2007 6:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Morg »

The guard accepted the lance gratefully, catching it clumsily against his brightly dyed tunic. "Grazie, signore. Have a pleasant eveningtide!" Sadly he'd been unable to con the foreigner into handing over a quality blade as well as some small change, but no offence had been taken, so it had been worth the attempt. Besides, the lance went a good way towards alleviating his disappointment.

Indeed, the Nashorn was not too far away, and after a quarter of a mark trotting through the busy streets towards the columns of sulphuric smoke Jack was at his destination, deep within the Industrial and dirty East End borough.

While the place was once a school, it no longer served in that function, though many great and unusual things might be learned by those curious enough to explore its secrets. A difficult place to find, the massive Nashorn seemed to hide within the narrow, winding streets of the dangerous and oppressive East End, where most of the city's housing could be found as well as a good portion of its workshops and bonds.

The Nashorn was a number of buildings, all facing the same street and joined by makeshift causeways that blocked up and eliminated what alleys might have separated them originally. It had apparently began its life as a single building, but through time its expansion and space needs had caused it to overflow into the neighboring buildings, each time resulting in a new causeway to be built and a new front entrance to be added to the overall building. Most of the complex had a second story, and a high public wall separated a massive yard behind the complex from everything else in the city, a wall that was undecorated and bleak in appearance, with no doors or gates.

The main entrance, if such a place could have such a thing, seemed to be the door that was flanked by the city's magnificent, multicoloured standard. The Nashorn was not a government building, but its involvement with public and government works had earned it great consideration as a valuable government resource subject to protection. At least one military organization, the famous Condotierre, was based within its many, mismatched walls.

Within these doors, no reception desk or attendant waited. Only a pair of immaculately dressed soldiers were waiting, each armed with the finest of weapons and bearing the standard of both the Mouth and the Condotierre. This was the first sign that the Nashorn was unique, for no city guards protected it: the soldiers themselves saw to that.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack's nose itched at the caustic scent to the air. Whatever that smoke was, perfume it wasn't. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to sneeze, the facecloth he wore was not a good thing to sneeze into.

He looked around, trying to take in all he could see in the dying light. The buildings were strange to him, brickwork was not something he was used to even having visited the fortress of Dragon's Keep, these twisting looming structures were... strange. The Nashorn institute. From here, all airships are born. Strange, I expected more. Jack reigned Amile in, bringing her to a gentle halt before the entrance and the two Condotierre.

Jack choked.

Seeing those uniforms again, all he could see in his mind's eye were hundreds of blue uniformed corpses littering the sandy floor. The Scillus, or the ruin that had once been an airship lying splintered on every side. He could hear their screams as Aeis tore through their ranks, feel the dull THUD as the cannon sounded once again. He fought the urge to wretch and steadied himself in the saddle. This was not the time for this.

He dismounted and removed his hat and facecloth. A face was easier to talk to than a shadow. He smiled companionably as he lead Amile up to the door.

"Good evening Signores," Jack began, using his hat to complete a sweeping bow. He smiled and looked up expectantly at the guards. "I trust the Institute has not yet closed for business?"
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Thu Jun 21, 2007 5:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

The two Condotierre at the door were virtually carbon copies of each other, both dark-haired and olive-skinned, tall and muscular, dressed in impeccably groomed uniforms of blue and silver. Both wore the same cautious expression as Jack approached. It wasn't an expression of distrust, exactly... more one of wary readiness. Jack's appearance and accent quickly marked him out as a foreigner, something which meant much to the inward-looking Mouthies and which no amount of charisma could entirely dispel. It was understandable, too, that the wariness would be even more pronounced in those set to guard a critical, controversial government facility.

"Since Yulember the Institute has been in operation at all marks, signore," the guard to Jack's right replied. "You're unlikely to find these doors closed. Please state your business at the Nashorn."
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

State your Business

Jack paused. What the hell was he going to say? I want to join your club? Can I play too? No, this had to be handled smoothly. Jack had to get past these guards and talk to a superior, that way he had more of a chance. It wasn't like there was going to be an application form he could fill in, this would take something more - a little persuasion and a little love to make the wheels turn. He considered his options, Jack didn't want to drop the Scillus card unless it was necessary. After all, Sailors were notoriously superstitious and Jack saw no reason that airships would be any different. How then, would he convince a xenophobic elitist military to take him in? Somehow, he would have to show his worth.

But first the guards. A lie was always easier than the truth. His mind raced... why would any traveller want access to the Nashorn? Jack wasn't precisely dressed as a foreign investor, though he was riding a particularly fine horse. He certainly didn't appear a vagabond at least - the sweeping coat and the fine boots all lent him a certain credibility, but he was not sure it would be enough. He sized the two up, bribery was probably out of the question.

"Nothing sinister I assure you gentlemen." He replied smoothly, smiling as if the very notion of malice had not entered his head. He glanced around, looking for a holding post or similar. "Is there a facility nearby where I might stable my horse for the moment?" Jack was not about to leave her wandering the streets where any urchin might fancy himself an opportunist. And besides, walking in with the stolen Condotierre blade was a bad bad plan.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:00 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Post by Morg »

The guard to the right furrowed his brow. It wasn't a question he was asked often - the arrival of travellers on horseback was uncommon, since most chose to stable their horse somewhere more promising rather than dare the filthy, twisting streets of East End mounted. Those horsemen who did pass by were usually Alamairre cuirassiers returning from the Acula's Ferry crossing after a day patrolling the March Lands. The Nashorn did have a small coach house, naturally with stabling facilities, to service the vehicles of visiting dignitaries... but it was inside the complex, and the Condotierre private wasn't yet convinced that he should let this man in.

It was the guard to the left who answered. Sizing up Jack's relatively affluent appearance and fine steed, he felt sure that the establishment he was about to recommend would be within the man's price range. "Just up the road is a tavern called the Naturalist Saloon, signore," he spoke. "There is a stable there where I'm sure they'd take good care of your mount."

"I hear the food and drink is excellent there, too," he added as an afterthought. The more time the tall foreigner spent in the pub, the less time he'd be spending in the street outside the front of the government building they'd been charged to guard.

Indeed, the sign of the Saloon could be seen swinging in the eveningtide breeze just up the street, light spilling out welcomingly onto the dark, narrow thoroughfare.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

"Grazi Signore." Jack smiled, "A pleasant evening to you both." He bowed and began to lead Amile towards the inn muttering under his breath. He really would have to learn more of the Mouthie dialect, by now the scarce handful of words he and picked up on the Scillus was beginning to wear a little thin.

He sighed, trying to work this out. By Upheron it was late, he desperately wanted just to draw into the nearest tavern and call it a night. He yawned and shook his head, no, not yet. Jack stabled Amile himself and left - for the second time this night - instructions for his effects to be carried to his room. He tousled his hair and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, by now the evening-tide shadow on his face was beginning to itch. Still, he had to persevere.

His boots landed heavily on the floor, probably shedding a little more sand as they did so. It was late, most people were thinking of turning in for the night, Jack more than most. He tugged the hair away from his face, smiled and tried to think like a rich trader. Making his way over to the bar he reserved a room and took a seat, drinking some foul beer imported from the east. He tried to savour the taste, Jack knew this place was going to cost him a fortune. He reminded himself that it was all means to an end. He cast his eyes about the place, anyone in a uniform was a target. He needed to get in to that complex.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Wed Jun 27, 2007 4:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

The Naturalist Saloon served many functions. It was not only a debate centre for Naturalists and the quarters of the Society's tops and its administration, in addition to housing locales and equipment for members' experimentation in the cellar floors, but also a good tavern satisfying gastronomic needs as well as need for a good bath and a bed for the night.

Upon entering, any customer would immediately notice the high ceiling and the old-fashioned wooden interior of the inn, well complimented by the likewise old-fashioned, but sophisticated clients seated around tables in hot intellectual discussion while enjoying Kislovan wine or a beer. Although clean, the apartment smelt faintly old to the point of murkiness, but such an uncomfortable impression was soon drowned in the drift of hot food.

To the left was an opulent yet aging bar sided with a desk inhabited by a pair of clerks ready to take on administrative requests or questions concerning the Society and its grounds. Polished, but slightly scarred tables covered the oaken floor complimented by chairs the same style. Roused and eager voices, mainly male but not only, filled the room to the point of it all being a scholastic cacophony of technological terms and elegant formulations.

Two old men in white coats sat across a kemn board from one another, the game long forgotten in favour of their heated conversation. "Macrophages. The key lies in the macrophages!" one was saying.

The other man wrinkled his nose. "If you plan to persist in being so effuse in your expoundings on the subject of leukocytes, then I beg you to consider the neutrophils."

At the bar were two more men: one short and hirsute with an invitingly round face and well-tailored tweed coat, and one tall and lean with a bald pate that reflected the warm light coming from the wall braziers. They, too, were debating, although in a more relaxed manner.

"...And if you think that the future of these great flying machines we have helped to create is in the public sector, Mister Torrian, then I believe you are much mistaken," the shorter man stated with a smile.

"But that is where it started," the taller man returned. "If Ardemus and Tonklin had not received funding from the Council for their work, where would we be today, Mister Monacco?"

Monacco blinked. "Very true, very true, Mister Torrian," he responded. "But tell me - are not these airships of a somewhat avian nature? And do not our friends the birds, once they have reached a certain age, feel the need to spread their wings? To leave the nest and never look back, eh? And that is exactly what we are seeing today," he concluded. "Private interests will be the promoter of airborne transport. Just look at what Constanza has already achieved with the Madrigal! And another one near completion..."

Men in uniforms, too, were in abundance, mostly wearing the silver-and-blue of the Condotierre. Four sat at a table in one corner, chatting and laughing. By their insignia these were junior officers of some kind.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

"I am inclined to agree, sir," Jack voiced, stepping over to little and large, "with your colleague. You are mistaken if you believe any airship to be a truly independent venture." Jack smiled as he stepped over to the pair. He addressed the shorter of the two first, he had not yet perfected the western mannerisms, but he bowed his head to them both in deference.

"The airships are the thrall of the Nashorn, the Nashorn is yet the sweet bedfellow of the admiralty. There will always be a tether to the nest. So to speak."

Jack raised his eyebrow, inviting a response. If he could ingratiate himself into any illustrious company it would serve him well, it was important in any city to make contacts. After all there was more than one way to skin a cat and a private vessel was a far more promising avenue than any career as a military dog. Jack weighed his options, he had not known of any other vessels but the Scillus and the Madrigal to be privately held... Still, best not to burn any bridges yet. Jack kept a lazy eye on the four Condotierre in the corner, he could join them perhaps when they had had a little more to drink. Or better still, if he could be introduced...
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sat Jun 30, 2007 8:21 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Morg »

Monacco, who was facing the bar, swivelled round to face the newcomer, his eyes narrowing in distaste as he looked Jack up and down. "It appears that, before you flew the nest, your mother did not teach you that barging in on others' conversations was the height of rudeness," he responded tartly after barely a flicker.

Torrian, who was leaning against the bar, propped up on his bony elbows, smiled smugly. "Be that as it may, Mister Monacco," he hummed, "the lad's got a point, don't you think? Our Institute is as yet the only place on all of Tazlure where airships may be constructed or serviced."

A hint of red was appearing in Monacco's chubby cheeks. "But surely you can see that the situation is bound to change," he replied. "It will not be long before Constanza, or Indigo, or the Snake, or another ambitious councilor decides to set up another such institution. After all, the real money of the Mouth has ever resided with private individuals, no?"

"And will money alone be enough to persuade the brains of the Nashorn to lay aside their loyalties?" the tall man shot back.

Monacco reddened further at this. "Not for all, mister Torrian, but for some the lure might be great enough. And may not one engineer train a score of others? Already the barbarians of the East have their dirty hands on our technology. How long before immigrant technomagi enter the labour market?"

The two men, or at least Monacco, seemed to be temporarily oblivious to Jack's presence once again as they continued their bantering.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack bit his lip quietly, ignoring the slight to his parentage. Good start lad. So much for mixing with the gentry. Jack watched helplessly as the pair dropped back into their conversation with scarce a word Jack's way. He felt his heart drop, that ship had sailed it seemed. Jack smiled in any case and he drained the last of his beer, bowed to excuse himself and made his way back to the bar. He needed something stronger.

He supposed that there was always the option of simply enlisting - but that method would take months of his life, and from what he understood he would most likely have to enrol at the Castigus Institute first. That would take too long by far. A wise man needn't step on every rung to reach the top of the ladder...

Jack sighed and, with a glass of fine Kislovan wine, he sidled over to the four junior officers.

"Excuse my rudeness sirs, but would you care to toast?"

Jack assumed the persona of the disillusioned, a man deprived of his joie de vivre by the hardships of life. He felt tired, it was not a hard act to put up. He clasped one hand to the small of his back and stood proudly, his glass extended, his eyes drifting across the faces of the officers before him. He had to gauge this right.

"To fallen friends?"
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Wed Jul 11, 2007 1:19 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

Despite the best efforts of some in power, Kislovani wine had enjoyed an upsurge in popularity since the War and the declaration of independence. Its main competitor, the wine of Roque d'Ancourt, had been hit hard by the levies imposed by the Kingdom on trade in and out of the Mouth, while at the same time trade with the Mouth's new allies in the East was flourishing. Thus it was that Kislovani wine truly was the wine of the moment.

The four men at the table were all large and muscular, although not flabby or stocky. They were all young, too - similar in age to Jack - and all very Mouthie in appearance. When Jack made his proclamation, their cheery mood evaporated within a couple of flickers. Eventually one of them, a stern-jawed man with a lush single eyebrow running across the bridge of his nose like a giant caterpillar, raised his glass. "I'll drink to that, amico. To fallen friends." He lifted his wine glass by the stem and clinked it against Jack's. After a moment, the other three men at the table followed suit.

"You got something on your mind, signore?" This came from a man with close-cropped hair and a gaunt face. It wasn't said rudely or brusquely, but neither was there any great concern in the man's voice. He merely wanted to ascertain what this newcomer was about.
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Most the wine was gone by the time Jack had finished his "toast." He seemed to be gazing off into the distance, his mind on other things as the second officer voiced his question. People often found a drunk disarming, particularly one who seemed so amicably in his cups.

"You got something on your mind, signore?"


Jack turned almost startled and smiled wanly. Jack could keep this act going all night, the vet finding solace in the bottom of a glass. He was scarcely concious as it was. Jack made a mental note not to drink much more, exhaustion and alcohol made for sleepy times.

"Ah yes, again sirs my apologies. I have interrupted your revere." Jack gestured slowly with the glass, careful not to spill the contents. "It has just been many moons since I' seen those colours. Many moons and many miles." Jack grinned and raised his glass to himself. "I drink to your health sirs, and the memory of Captain Liam."

Jack drained his glass and watched the trio very carefully. He had dropped the name, now he had to see if it struck a chord.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sat Jul 14, 2007 2:12 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

The name provoked no reaction at all in two of the men, the two who had spoken. But the third man's eyes widened, and the fourth, who seemed to be the oldest of those present by a yahren or two and who wore a lieutenant's stripes, bit down audibly on the wine glass that was still at his lips. Eventually this man forced a reply, choosing his words carefully.

"How do you know that name?" he demanded, in a lower voice. "Be careful in what you say, amico."

It was well that Jack had taken the precaution of referring to Liham as a fallen friend... and his amiable drunk persona had gone some way towards putting the Condotierre at their ease. The two men who had greeted Jack were now looking at their companions in mild confusion, questions evident on their faces. The lieutenant, however, was completely focused on Jack, and the other man's wide eyes were flickering from the lieutenant to the newcomer. The mood at the table had shifted again, toward a guarded wariness.
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack's face was a careful blend of surprise, ignorance and intoxication. He paused, his glass mere inches from his lips and let his eyes wander up to meet the face of the lieutenant.

"Ah," Jack muttered, "you know of him?" His voice was stilted, still masked by the glass. "I apologise again sir, if "friend" were too strong a term. I am not often prone to careless verbosity." Jack paused again, swilling the last of his wine around the glass and lowering it so that he might better face the three men.

"You could say we fought together. Were it not for the devil's own luck we would have died together... I was there you see, on the last flight of the Scillus." Jack necked the last of his wine, placing the glass carefully on the table, his eyes gazing on the middle distance and his attention rooted on the officer's before him.

(assuming they do not interrupt)

"It is not a good story, but if you knew Liam then I would have you know the truth of it rather than some devil-spawned lie - if you would oblige me sirs." Jack tacked the last bit on, this performance required etiquette as well as drama.

"It was late in Samheen and I was employed by an eastern merchant, his name I forget now, to play watch-dog for his cargo of spice and linen on-board ship. He had his suspicions about the crew or some such, I don't suppose it matters now in any case." Jack sighed and began to conjure his fiction, as close to fact as he dared. "As a soldier of fortune, I did not really mix with crew or Condotierre... but I did notice a schism between the Captain and the Marshal, the Marshal even approached me to survey Liam - I declined, not wishing to get involved in politics not of my own doing. I suppose this is academic really for it was not two days into the journey when..." Jack narrowed his brows, seemingly lost in his tale.

"A Dragon. Stirred by some powerful rage harrowed us with tooth and claw. Your comrades, under that captain, I have never seen the like... Such bravery, such discipline. Impotent as I was, my steel useless and my nerve wavering, I could do little more than watch as cannon fired and men died by the score. Many of the private crew simply lost their mind. They began cursing the one's own name, calling for mercy from that winged demon... I do not know if it were some art that beast possessed or simply the insanity but the crew began..." Jack paused to catch his breath, his voice faltering as he saught words to describe the image he conjured in his own head.

"They began to attack the cannon... The soldiers fought well, but they were beset from both sides. Liam, fought from the front, calling for shot after shot. Somehow I escaped that madness, I did what I could. I fought to the helm, wrested control of the tiller from the pilot and tried to guide the ship down... But I knew little what I was doing. The last thing I remember was a blinding flash, then nothing till I awoke weeks later under the care of some heathen priest." Jack swallowed, his story had been told.

"The Captain died with honour, and I returned there to see the proper rites performed over his grave. I wish I could have done more."
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Tue Jul 17, 2007 12:03 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Morg »

Two of the men simply observed the performance like the performance it was. But the other two... the two who had recognised the name of Liham... were spellbound.

That wasn't to say that they believed all of it. What Jack was telling them was certainly one hell of a fantasy - even if it was, if anything, more believable than the truth itself. Dragons, treachery, and the fact that the man before them had somehow survived and made his way back to the Mouth: it all conspired to militate against the truth of what was being said. But for the two men who knew, there were enough grains of truth in the presentation that they couldn't afford to dismiss it out of hand. The story was far from incompatible with what they knew.

"Easy, now," said the lieutenant at length, his voice steady. "No one would have expected you to do more. You acted as any honourable man would have done in such grave circumstances. Take a seat, and the next drink's on us. Waiter!" He beckoned to a smartly clad, oily-faced server.

"I don't suppose you were told where the Scillus was headed, were you?" The fourth man, who had not yet spoken, now chimed in, in a low, conspiratorial voice. The lieutenant shot him an irritated glance, but he persisted. "Where it was really headed?"
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Post by Jack Farrell »

It was all Jack could do not to smile. After all, he didn't need everyone to believe him -those two would be enough. He needed contacts in the Condotierre, those who would put in a good word here or there. It was never a case of what you knew, it was who you knew and nowhere was that ever more the case than the World's Mouth. Jack nodded his head and allowed himself a forced smile through tight lips, you had to celebrate little victories.

"My thanks Signores, you are most kind." Jack offered, politely requesting another glass of wine. His head was going to suffer in the morning.

"Her course?" He repeated, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. "No, never got told the particulars of the flight. We were supposed to be heading for the mouth was my understanding. But now you mention it..." Jack sat back and wracked his mind. They had not been traveling west, Mav had made a point of marking it out. They had been going north east. Jack had always just figured that they were going to go round the mountains or catching a trade-wind of some kind. Mav thought they were going to Pan's Isle... but Aveas was to the south east - Rezon's Cartography had taught him that much.


"I did think it strange at the time, we traveled the coast a while and I figured from the sun we were headed to the north east. Bit out of the way if you were heading for the mouth. Still the long way round if you were headed for Aveas." Jack lowered his voice. It was another gamble, he didn't know much about piloting Airships, but if they flew by-and-large as the crow flew... "But an easterly wind would bring you tidy to the northern shores of Kislovan." Trothgard if you flew far enough, but that was unlikely. Jack had seen no cold-weather gear on board. He was out on a limb here, and some secrets were meant to be kept... Jack made a mental note of the nearest window and looked the fourth man in the eye.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sun Jul 22, 2007 1:28 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Morg »

The nearest window was in fact right across the table where he and the officers were sitting, made of several small, thick panes in a neat lead casement. Only a very general blue-white glow from the gas lamps on the street outside penetrated the murky glass into the Saloon.

The two officers "in the know" let out the breaths that they'd been holding in almost simultaneously, in what they were hoping was an imperceptible manner. Whatever they were concerned that Jack knew, he didn't seem to know it.

"It was a good story," stated the lieutenant after a while. "And a good officer, although it wasn't a good end. I knew Liham well. He matriculated at the Castigus the year before I did. And though I've heard the official version, it makes me glad to have heard the detail from someone who was there."

"Sirs? Two Kislovan red, two Amadour red and a Roque red," interjected a waiter, carrying a burnished copper tray with five glasses of differing shades of red wine. The monobrowed man claimed the Roque Red, and the two Amadours went to the two men who had been following Jack's narrative with the most interest. The lieutenant took a gentle sip before continuing. "I'm Lieutenant Xaveria - Tommy Xaveria. Would you care to share your name with us, traveller?"
Last edited by Morg on Sun Jul 22, 2007 10:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Somewhere in Jack's head he carved the memory of that reaction in stone.

So... The Scillus had been headed somewhere special. Somewhere secret, even from officers of the Condotierre. Interesting thoughts, Jack took a careful sip of his wine. He didn't know now, but he would learn.

"Farrell, Jack Farrell." Jack replied smiling at the one who had introduced himself as Xaveria. He rolled the wine around his mouth, it was a pretty good drop and the last he was likely to have for a while. He did not speak for a moment. Truth be told Jack was not sure how to steer the conversation around just yet, he needed a hook - needed to get the officers talking freely so that he might drop hints and suggestions. Get them asking the right questions. Bah, he was too tired for this.

"Im surprised to see the Condotierre here. Thought you'd all be in Aveas, keeping the peace amongst the heathens." Heathens, bah, that was a joke. But a necessary ruse. He had to work this right, an invitation to the Condotierre would always be better than a request.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Mon Jul 23, 2007 4:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

The gaunt-faced man shook his head as he took a mouthful of the red wine. "Not our problem any more, amico. They've sent a whole legion out there now; the Richelairre. Poor bastards."

"That means there's no one other than the Home Guard patrolling the East End," Xaveria added. "But between us at the Nashorn and the private militias guarding the factories, it's hardly the most crime-ridden area of the Mouth. Now the Seams, that's a different bollitore di pesce. But who cares about the Seams?" He chuckled.

The monobrowed man now spoke up, addressing Jack. "I was on Aveas for a while. It was my first posting." He rolled his eyes and indicated the gaunt-faced man. "Myself and Tito. Officers in the most mobile force on the face of the globe, and we spent the best part of a month standing guard over mountains of coffee beans in sacks."

"I'm sure there was more to it than that, Albo," Xaveria returned. "Didn't you even get invited along to one of the pagans' little love cult parties?"

Albo blushed, but the gaunt-faced Tito grinned. "I wish. Woulda bedded her, then converted her to the Light of the One. Ain't nothing like the heat of passion to make a girl see things your way."

"Who said anything about a her?" the lieutenant shot back smoothly. "I hear those Panlings aren't picky." This time it was Tito's turn to blush as the other two men laughed.
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack smiled at Tito's discomfort but made a rueful sigh and sipped at his wine.

"Guarding beans... there are worse Jobs trust me." Jack grinned, rolling the wine around his glass. He had to pace himself or he might run away with his tongue.

"Worked as a Merc for the Eastern Sands for a while, guarding Caravans through the wastes. Course you take what work you can find to keep body and soul together out there... I remember my first contract - crap pay, dogs work. Of course I was very much the novice then but my first job, had to dig the latrines." Jack laughed to himself, there was enough truth in that. Caravans would stop off in the desert whenever one of the number broke down, the shit had to go somewhere and Jack never travelled with caravans that took slaves.

"Digging them wasn't too bad. Filling em in after... Brought a tear to the eye."

Jack grinned and carefully watched the last of his glass. He somehow had to work his way into the Nashorn by the end of it or he would have to retire to prevent disgracing himself.

"Guess you don't have that trouble on the Airships..."

Softly softly catchee monkey
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Fri Jul 27, 2007 6:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

Xaveria chuckled. "Nah, we're the Condotierre. The world's our latrine. Sometimes we try to hit birds from above."

Albo had raised his monobrow as Jack had spoken of working in the desert, and now he interjected. "You worked for the Company?" He whistled, evidently impressed. "I had a friend out there. He said much the same as you did. The Nether's work. In verita, he couldn't hack it for long. He came back after a few months, and now he's in security for the Eastern Sands over at Northbridge."

"That why you came back?" Tito added, speaking to Jack. "I mean," he clarified, "why you came here to the Mouth? Looking for a change of career?"
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Post by Jack Farrell »

Jack's eyes sparkled as he spied the opportunity. Such things could not be rushed. Care had to be taken, time spent to ensure the opening was not squandered. Timing was everything, in all walks of life.

"Career? If you could call it that. The desert is was hard work. Slavers and worse scum under every rock looking to get the drop on you. Most cannot walk the streets of Sabata at night without ending up in one man's chains or another's mines. No future there, not yet." Jack swilled the wine around his glass and cast a lazy eye over his companions. This was going quite well really. He had expected hard cynicism but it seemed there was just enough truth in Jack to shine through.

"But yes, I suppose you could say I was hoping to start one. Wouldn't mind an honest living rather than selling my sword to... to whatever bidder I can find. Its a shame. In another life I might have taken my lessons at Castigus, been taught real soldiering rather than butchery. But something will turn up I'm sure, got to be contractors here looking for a good sword-hand." Jack swilled down near the last of his wine, an invitation, that was all he needed.
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