Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Orean Adventures - Circus of Destiny
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Lwaxy" data-source="post: 5919765" data-attributes="member: 53286"><p>Early mornings in Oseman's courtyard were usually dominated by the calls of the camel boys and girls calling out to their mounts to get up and ready. Then they would feed them and check them over and the caravans or, occasionally, single riders, would be on their way to gather and deliver the special goods of their master. While they were getting ready, other sounds would mix into the soundscape, including the prayer beggars going from door to door offering to pray for the welfare of those giving them their morning meal, angry shouts from Ramuel waking the kitchen slaves and the message runners arriving, announcing the expected caravan arrivals from the stables just outside the city. All those sounds overshadowed the singing birds and other wildlife, including the howler lizards. Or maybe the lizards just kept far away from a busy place like this one. </p><p></p><p>Most mornings, one could also hear the nagging voice of the master's wife, the mirror mage Dasina, complaining about whatever came to her mind. Most people thought she was complaining just for the sake of it, and everyone in the whole city knew they were only married because of the many advantages the marriage had, not because of any feelings for each other. On the bright side, she only complained once per day. But why, Tenelli thought, did it have to be so early in the morning?</p><p></p><p>Of course the young thief had to get up in any case. Being the only one of her kind brought a lot of troubles other than being called a cat. For example, the first people Tenelli saw when she pushed her black and red colored fur out of her eyes, left the tent and stretched with more of a howl than a yawn, were Maskin, the swordsmaster, and Ylva Anor, the elven bard who was part of her acquirer group. Maskin had been given orders from their master to teach her sword fighting, or to be more exact, the dance of the sword. He thought it would make a great addition to have a feline perform among the other sword dancers. Ylva had been ordered to train her voice for performance, so Tenelli could add even more to the troupe. Now the two of them were fighting over her time, sometimes ignoring that she also had other duties, like training for her regular appearances and caring for her performing group's equipment.</p><p></p><p>"I've started with you yesterday," Tenelli said to Maskin before they could speak. "Today it is Ylva."</p><p></p><p>Maskin frowned and then nodded, leaving the area and thus the stage to the bard. The elf chuckled silently. "If he ever finds out, he will be so angry." He struck a few notes on his banjo and Tenelli recognized the first notes to one of his self made songs. The feline had been pitch perfect from the beginning and only had had to learn how to modulate her voice and some other minor things. But pretending she still had to learn was one way for the two of them to get some free time, as they were supposed to train away from the courtyard so they wouldn't distract anyone. Usually, they vanished into one of the many parks, sometimes just spending time with the few druids the city employed to keep the groves alive. </p><p></p><p>While Tenelli still struggled with the toga she was supposed to wear for the supposed sake of decency – it wasn't so easy to pull any clothes over rough fur and make them sit right – the elf already gathered his instruments in a bundle to carry them over his shoulder. In addition to the small banjo, he had a flute, a small lute, a set of finger bongos he often used to make the sound effects to the troupe's performance and a trumpet he had used a few times to sound alarms. </p><p></p><p>When Tenelli was finally done and half stumbled, half jumped after him to catch up, the albino and the gnome who had accompanied them last night followed them with their eyes. "She's growing so quick, Nashab," the gnome said to the gladiator. "And her temper rows right with it. She almost tore my head off a few nights back when I casually mentioned she is the best cat burglar I ever saw, and that means something."</p><p></p><p>Nashab chuckled. "You did explain to her, I hope, that it was just a figure of speech?"</p><p></p><p>"Sure, and she apologized. But I can see the day coming when the master, despite being so fascinated by her, will lose his temper at her, and then we'll probably get blamed as well." Folding his arms, Dyonmur Flapplegirk, the factotum and part-time priest of the group, leaned back against a wagon wheel taller than he was. "We are together only for a few months and I already see the problems coming." </p><p></p><p>Nodding, Nashab thought of the day when they had been told of their new extra profession and started training for it. Some of them, like Flapplegirk, had had their reservations, but there was nothing they could have done, of course. If they were ever caught and the illegal tattoos would be found, no one in the city would blame them. But they might be killed anyway unless their master would be found, and as they would die if they revealed him, they would be in a real pickle. "We'll need to become close," Nashab finally said, stretching his short stature. "Otherwise it may not end well."</p><p></p><p>"Yeah." The gnome blinked, the remembered something. "Hey, today is your big fight, right? With that brute from the gem merchant, what was his name?"</p><p></p><p>"Yoskov the Barbarian." The gladiator chuckled. Supposedly he is from "across the sea" as they keep saying about me. Our masters made a whole crazy show out of it. Supposedly, our people are at war for centuries or some such." </p><p></p><p>Dyonmur burst out laughing. "Even if that were true, how would any of you know about it? You grew up a slave, and likely did he."</p><p></p><p>"People are gullible, that's all there is to it. I better go and prepare now." With a nod, the albino turned to gather his gear. The fight was in the afternoon, but he would need to study his opponent and go through all the usual warm up moves. And, as he supposed, he would have to make a performance for the audience, too, so they would get their money worth. Usually, the overseer for the gladiators would drop them a few notes with what they were supposed to say. Most of the event was, in fact, rehearsed. Just the actual fight was mostly real, although in their class they didn't fight to the death. It would have been way too expensive to waste gladiators like that. </p><p></p><p>Orem did not have an arena anymore. About a decade back, there had been a massive earthquake originating right under the mountains. Such earthquakes were, as the sages claimed, rare and would happen only every few centuries, and they were the only reason there were any mountains like these in the middle of the desert to begin with. But rare or not, it had devastated the northern and southern parts of the city. The northern part was now a large park with the satrap's mansion in it. The south of the city, where the arena had been, looked much the same way, except that Castle Starmight had not even been damaged. The magically protected stronghold now housed the gladiator games and several other entertainments. Of course, the garrison was also still there but there was enough space. And the audience preferred to have a roof over their heads both in the short rain season and in the stifling heat – the castle was the only permanently cool place, which was why some people spent a lot of time in the equally present coffee and tea houses. </p><p></p><p>Thinking about how long it might take him to get into the next upper gladiator class, Nashab made his way to the castle without anyone watching over him. He liked being a gladiator. Not only was he a natural with most weapons that didn't have to be shot, the excitement and the want for victory during each fight made him feel alive and free. It was not too bad being a slave if you were given work you loved, and being recognized on the streets wasn't too bad either. Of course, people mostly remembered him because of his appearance but that didn't diminish it for the fighter. </p><p></p><p>His albino appearance, so the rumor among the dwarves who knew about his true origins, were a curse from Valeran because his mother had gotten pregnant by a human. It was a notion his gnome friend laughed about, saying that Valeran was not vengeful. Nashab didn't know anything about dwarf culture, so he took the factotum's word for it, after all, his friend was regularly praying to and getting favors from several divine entities. </p><p></p><p>But in any case, his birth was a rare enough occurrence, and one the traditional dwarf community to which his mother supposedly belonged didn't take well to. Nashab had been told instead of killing the white bastard, as she had been ordered to, she sold him to the only people who would take him. Oseman's slave buyers. He guessed that being in a circus troupe was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. And if he would one day get a chance to win his freedom, he could take it being famous and not made fun of. </p><p></p><p>As he neared the inner city walls, he noticed a commotion at the gate. There was smoke and noise, including people retching and calling for the guard. A small figure ran away from the scene, throwing what looked like pebbles left and right. Some exploded in smoke, some in stench, and some in bright colors painting words as they spread. "Time for a change" or "down with despots" and "back to the true way" were some of the slogans he could make out. Obviously, someone had gone to great length creating a magical mess. And he had a pretty good idea which group the escaping halfling belonged to. This disturbance smelled, in the truest sense of the words, like the Uprooters had a hand in it. A bunch of foreigners claiming to be against slavery, but their true motives seemed to have something to do with hindering trade. And a good way to do that was to interfere with slaves first, as they were not only traded but also used in trades. Plenty of the caravans could not properly function without them. And properly in this case meant cost effective. </p><p></p><p>The half-dwarf only hesitated a moment, then he spun into the way of the perpetrator, his short sword drawn. As with all slaves allowed to carry weapons, he was supposed to step in and assist unless his life, and thus his master's property, would have been in danger. He saw no danger from this halfling. </p><p></p><p>The trouble maker tried to shift to the right and dodge under his legs, but he had misjudged the position of the albino and crashed right into him. All it took for the half-dwarf was to grab the man's collar and keep him there until the upset guards arrived. Some of the color bags had hit them, and parts of letters now spoiled their uniforms and armor. "Thank you for your assistance, gladiator," their captain said. That was one thing about the guards in this place, they were almost always polite, even to beggars and slaves – unless you ended up on their bad side. Like the halfling, who found himself lifted up on a pack mule to be hauled to the prison. One of the junior guards quickly tied his hands and feet with leather shackles. The captain waved for them to move on, then grinned at Nashab. "I know you, you are to fight this afternoon, right? My son's gone to see the afternoon games. Your master will hear about your assistance today. Oseman, right?"</p><p></p><p>The slave nodded and smiled back. "My duty to help," he said the common phrase. It had been the first time for him in such a situation, and he was a bit proud of himself. As he watched the guards leave and the city stewards – poor people who preferred to work for food rather than to beg – beginning the difficult clean up of the mess, he wondered if he might one day be known beyond the city walls and the next two waterholes.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>At the same time, Evina, the brown skinned dwarf of the acquiring team, sat at her master's feet, waiting for him to finish his studying of last night's loot. "So nothing went wrong? You didn't see any other people either?" Oseman inquired. </p><p></p><p>"If there was another team close to us, master, we didn't see them. But I thought no two teams were ever sent close to each other. We could have easily done another location or two." Last night's activities had included 5 homes, with the last one having been the most important. </p><p></p><p>"Not one of my teams, no." The merchant scratched his beard thoughtfully. "But I have a feeling someone's been watering their camels at our oasis. The rumors this morning mention a holy statue missing from a merchant's private altar not far from where you were last night. If it had been just one incident I'd suspect servants or slaves, but there are two reports about missing money and jewelry from the northwest area. None of my teams was there at all."</p><p></p><p>Of course not, Evina thought. They never took money, because the robberies needed to look random and mysterious, and neither monsters nor ghosts nor demons usually cared much for money. Gold and silver, even copper, maybe, and certainly gems. But not this new invention the bureaucracy tried to enforce on everyone. Money, that was small baked earthenware plates in various shapes, covered in different colors in glass and stamped with the seal of whatever regional satrap issued them. They replaced payments in real coins for caravans out longer than a day. One could exchange them at official exchange bureaus, or with some street vendors who offered a worse course. The real gold, in the meantime, was taken by the buyer, who had paid for the goods, to the exchange office in his area. Every now and then, the tadips, the treasurers of Thelitia, would send some of their own with gateways or teleports to other offices to redistribute the money.</p><p></p><p>Supposedly, this was to stop raids and prevent caravans to accidentally spend too much of money they didn't own, such as in increasing the so-called hospitality allowance caravan owners gave their crews for stops at inns or taverns. A lot of caravan drivers could drink like a sinkhole and from what was whispered, up to 10% of all income ended up illegally in someone's digestive tract or the pockets of loose women. There was hardly ever proof and so the losses would usually be blamed on accounting errors, pickpockets and misplacing valuables. No inn or tavern or place with entertainers was allowed to take this money, nor any shop selling clothes, food or drink, weapons, magic of any kind or books. This limited its use for robbers as well as for those overspending their lord's or master's money. </p><p></p><p>While this reasoning had a point, everyone knew the more important reason for all of it was bringing more money into the pockets of the emirs and satraps. After all, raids still did happen as there were other things to be stolen. And usually, the raiders still took the money plates, either to try and exchange them with little success or to smash them somewhere when they found out what they had taken. This in turn meant that the caravans had neither the money nor the coins. For the caravans, nothing changed, but the coins were now in the pockets of the treasuries. The common folk did not like money, they wanted coins, not only because it was easy to break the plates. Supposedly, there were some people forging them, too. But who had ever asked the common folk?</p><p></p><p>The dwarf twisted a strand of her black hair. "Do we need to hunt them down for you, master?" </p><p></p><p>"As soon as I find out who they are, yes. Maybe you can help me with that, too. Your team is the freshest and most variable in skills." Oseman tapped his fingers on the armrest of his expensive darkwood chair. "With any luck, they do not know about my teams and found out by some other means that the legends are not real."</p><p></p><p>Evina despised her master, for what he had turned her into and for the way he always talked of the teams as his. While this was technically true, the dwarf wished he would once say "our teams" to include the efforts of both the acquiring slaves and their shady trainers. But that would probably never happen, the man was way too egocentric. "Master? May I go now? Jashuad is expecting me to start selling tickets for the evening show sometime soon or he will get angry at me." That was her official job – selling tickets, trinkets, and picking up behind the camels if it was needed. And there were a mass of other things they would usually find for a young dwarf girl like her. Her mother, who was also a slave here, was often telling her how lucky she was not to have to be doing the really hard work. If she would only know...</p><p></p><p>"Hmm..? Yes, yes, be away already. I will call on you if I need your services in this moon-copy matter.*"</p><p></p><p>Evina bowed deeply and rushed out as quick as she dared without being disrespectful. Then she sighed. At least, selling tickets would take her out in the streets. At times, she could not see the palace of her master any longer. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>* moon-copy = copy cat, called so because the moon mirrored in water can be mistaken for the real thing unless you make waves.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lwaxy, post: 5919765, member: 53286"] Early mornings in Oseman's courtyard were usually dominated by the calls of the camel boys and girls calling out to their mounts to get up and ready. Then they would feed them and check them over and the caravans or, occasionally, single riders, would be on their way to gather and deliver the special goods of their master. While they were getting ready, other sounds would mix into the soundscape, including the prayer beggars going from door to door offering to pray for the welfare of those giving them their morning meal, angry shouts from Ramuel waking the kitchen slaves and the message runners arriving, announcing the expected caravan arrivals from the stables just outside the city. All those sounds overshadowed the singing birds and other wildlife, including the howler lizards. Or maybe the lizards just kept far away from a busy place like this one. Most mornings, one could also hear the nagging voice of the master's wife, the mirror mage Dasina, complaining about whatever came to her mind. Most people thought she was complaining just for the sake of it, and everyone in the whole city knew they were only married because of the many advantages the marriage had, not because of any feelings for each other. On the bright side, she only complained once per day. But why, Tenelli thought, did it have to be so early in the morning? Of course the young thief had to get up in any case. Being the only one of her kind brought a lot of troubles other than being called a cat. For example, the first people Tenelli saw when she pushed her black and red colored fur out of her eyes, left the tent and stretched with more of a howl than a yawn, were Maskin, the swordsmaster, and Ylva Anor, the elven bard who was part of her acquirer group. Maskin had been given orders from their master to teach her sword fighting, or to be more exact, the dance of the sword. He thought it would make a great addition to have a feline perform among the other sword dancers. Ylva had been ordered to train her voice for performance, so Tenelli could add even more to the troupe. Now the two of them were fighting over her time, sometimes ignoring that she also had other duties, like training for her regular appearances and caring for her performing group's equipment. "I've started with you yesterday," Tenelli said to Maskin before they could speak. "Today it is Ylva." Maskin frowned and then nodded, leaving the area and thus the stage to the bard. The elf chuckled silently. "If he ever finds out, he will be so angry." He struck a few notes on his banjo and Tenelli recognized the first notes to one of his self made songs. The feline had been pitch perfect from the beginning and only had had to learn how to modulate her voice and some other minor things. But pretending she still had to learn was one way for the two of them to get some free time, as they were supposed to train away from the courtyard so they wouldn't distract anyone. Usually, they vanished into one of the many parks, sometimes just spending time with the few druids the city employed to keep the groves alive. While Tenelli still struggled with the toga she was supposed to wear for the supposed sake of decency – it wasn't so easy to pull any clothes over rough fur and make them sit right – the elf already gathered his instruments in a bundle to carry them over his shoulder. In addition to the small banjo, he had a flute, a small lute, a set of finger bongos he often used to make the sound effects to the troupe's performance and a trumpet he had used a few times to sound alarms. When Tenelli was finally done and half stumbled, half jumped after him to catch up, the albino and the gnome who had accompanied them last night followed them with their eyes. "She's growing so quick, Nashab," the gnome said to the gladiator. "And her temper rows right with it. She almost tore my head off a few nights back when I casually mentioned she is the best cat burglar I ever saw, and that means something." Nashab chuckled. "You did explain to her, I hope, that it was just a figure of speech?" "Sure, and she apologized. But I can see the day coming when the master, despite being so fascinated by her, will lose his temper at her, and then we'll probably get blamed as well." Folding his arms, Dyonmur Flapplegirk, the factotum and part-time priest of the group, leaned back against a wagon wheel taller than he was. "We are together only for a few months and I already see the problems coming." Nodding, Nashab thought of the day when they had been told of their new extra profession and started training for it. Some of them, like Flapplegirk, had had their reservations, but there was nothing they could have done, of course. If they were ever caught and the illegal tattoos would be found, no one in the city would blame them. But they might be killed anyway unless their master would be found, and as they would die if they revealed him, they would be in a real pickle. "We'll need to become close," Nashab finally said, stretching his short stature. "Otherwise it may not end well." "Yeah." The gnome blinked, the remembered something. "Hey, today is your big fight, right? With that brute from the gem merchant, what was his name?" "Yoskov the Barbarian." The gladiator chuckled. Supposedly he is from "across the sea" as they keep saying about me. Our masters made a whole crazy show out of it. Supposedly, our people are at war for centuries or some such." Dyonmur burst out laughing. "Even if that were true, how would any of you know about it? You grew up a slave, and likely did he." "People are gullible, that's all there is to it. I better go and prepare now." With a nod, the albino turned to gather his gear. The fight was in the afternoon, but he would need to study his opponent and go through all the usual warm up moves. And, as he supposed, he would have to make a performance for the audience, too, so they would get their money worth. Usually, the overseer for the gladiators would drop them a few notes with what they were supposed to say. Most of the event was, in fact, rehearsed. Just the actual fight was mostly real, although in their class they didn't fight to the death. It would have been way too expensive to waste gladiators like that. Orem did not have an arena anymore. About a decade back, there had been a massive earthquake originating right under the mountains. Such earthquakes were, as the sages claimed, rare and would happen only every few centuries, and they were the only reason there were any mountains like these in the middle of the desert to begin with. But rare or not, it had devastated the northern and southern parts of the city. The northern part was now a large park with the satrap's mansion in it. The south of the city, where the arena had been, looked much the same way, except that Castle Starmight had not even been damaged. The magically protected stronghold now housed the gladiator games and several other entertainments. Of course, the garrison was also still there but there was enough space. And the audience preferred to have a roof over their heads both in the short rain season and in the stifling heat – the castle was the only permanently cool place, which was why some people spent a lot of time in the equally present coffee and tea houses. Thinking about how long it might take him to get into the next upper gladiator class, Nashab made his way to the castle without anyone watching over him. He liked being a gladiator. Not only was he a natural with most weapons that didn't have to be shot, the excitement and the want for victory during each fight made him feel alive and free. It was not too bad being a slave if you were given work you loved, and being recognized on the streets wasn't too bad either. Of course, people mostly remembered him because of his appearance but that didn't diminish it for the fighter. His albino appearance, so the rumor among the dwarves who knew about his true origins, were a curse from Valeran because his mother had gotten pregnant by a human. It was a notion his gnome friend laughed about, saying that Valeran was not vengeful. Nashab didn't know anything about dwarf culture, so he took the factotum's word for it, after all, his friend was regularly praying to and getting favors from several divine entities. But in any case, his birth was a rare enough occurrence, and one the traditional dwarf community to which his mother supposedly belonged didn't take well to. Nashab had been told instead of killing the white bastard, as she had been ordered to, she sold him to the only people who would take him. Oseman's slave buyers. He guessed that being in a circus troupe was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. And if he would one day get a chance to win his freedom, he could take it being famous and not made fun of. As he neared the inner city walls, he noticed a commotion at the gate. There was smoke and noise, including people retching and calling for the guard. A small figure ran away from the scene, throwing what looked like pebbles left and right. Some exploded in smoke, some in stench, and some in bright colors painting words as they spread. "Time for a change" or "down with despots" and "back to the true way" were some of the slogans he could make out. Obviously, someone had gone to great length creating a magical mess. And he had a pretty good idea which group the escaping halfling belonged to. This disturbance smelled, in the truest sense of the words, like the Uprooters had a hand in it. A bunch of foreigners claiming to be against slavery, but their true motives seemed to have something to do with hindering trade. And a good way to do that was to interfere with slaves first, as they were not only traded but also used in trades. Plenty of the caravans could not properly function without them. And properly in this case meant cost effective. The half-dwarf only hesitated a moment, then he spun into the way of the perpetrator, his short sword drawn. As with all slaves allowed to carry weapons, he was supposed to step in and assist unless his life, and thus his master's property, would have been in danger. He saw no danger from this halfling. The trouble maker tried to shift to the right and dodge under his legs, but he had misjudged the position of the albino and crashed right into him. All it took for the half-dwarf was to grab the man's collar and keep him there until the upset guards arrived. Some of the color bags had hit them, and parts of letters now spoiled their uniforms and armor. "Thank you for your assistance, gladiator," their captain said. That was one thing about the guards in this place, they were almost always polite, even to beggars and slaves – unless you ended up on their bad side. Like the halfling, who found himself lifted up on a pack mule to be hauled to the prison. One of the junior guards quickly tied his hands and feet with leather shackles. The captain waved for them to move on, then grinned at Nashab. "I know you, you are to fight this afternoon, right? My son's gone to see the afternoon games. Your master will hear about your assistance today. Oseman, right?" The slave nodded and smiled back. "My duty to help," he said the common phrase. It had been the first time for him in such a situation, and he was a bit proud of himself. As he watched the guards leave and the city stewards – poor people who preferred to work for food rather than to beg – beginning the difficult clean up of the mess, he wondered if he might one day be known beyond the city walls and the next two waterholes. At the same time, Evina, the brown skinned dwarf of the acquiring team, sat at her master's feet, waiting for him to finish his studying of last night's loot. "So nothing went wrong? You didn't see any other people either?" Oseman inquired. "If there was another team close to us, master, we didn't see them. But I thought no two teams were ever sent close to each other. We could have easily done another location or two." Last night's activities had included 5 homes, with the last one having been the most important. "Not one of my teams, no." The merchant scratched his beard thoughtfully. "But I have a feeling someone's been watering their camels at our oasis. The rumors this morning mention a holy statue missing from a merchant's private altar not far from where you were last night. If it had been just one incident I'd suspect servants or slaves, but there are two reports about missing money and jewelry from the northwest area. None of my teams was there at all." Of course not, Evina thought. They never took money, because the robberies needed to look random and mysterious, and neither monsters nor ghosts nor demons usually cared much for money. Gold and silver, even copper, maybe, and certainly gems. But not this new invention the bureaucracy tried to enforce on everyone. Money, that was small baked earthenware plates in various shapes, covered in different colors in glass and stamped with the seal of whatever regional satrap issued them. They replaced payments in real coins for caravans out longer than a day. One could exchange them at official exchange bureaus, or with some street vendors who offered a worse course. The real gold, in the meantime, was taken by the buyer, who had paid for the goods, to the exchange office in his area. Every now and then, the tadips, the treasurers of Thelitia, would send some of their own with gateways or teleports to other offices to redistribute the money. Supposedly, this was to stop raids and prevent caravans to accidentally spend too much of money they didn't own, such as in increasing the so-called hospitality allowance caravan owners gave their crews for stops at inns or taverns. A lot of caravan drivers could drink like a sinkhole and from what was whispered, up to 10% of all income ended up illegally in someone's digestive tract or the pockets of loose women. There was hardly ever proof and so the losses would usually be blamed on accounting errors, pickpockets and misplacing valuables. No inn or tavern or place with entertainers was allowed to take this money, nor any shop selling clothes, food or drink, weapons, magic of any kind or books. This limited its use for robbers as well as for those overspending their lord's or master's money. While this reasoning had a point, everyone knew the more important reason for all of it was bringing more money into the pockets of the emirs and satraps. After all, raids still did happen as there were other things to be stolen. And usually, the raiders still took the money plates, either to try and exchange them with little success or to smash them somewhere when they found out what they had taken. This in turn meant that the caravans had neither the money nor the coins. For the caravans, nothing changed, but the coins were now in the pockets of the treasuries. The common folk did not like money, they wanted coins, not only because it was easy to break the plates. Supposedly, there were some people forging them, too. But who had ever asked the common folk? The dwarf twisted a strand of her black hair. "Do we need to hunt them down for you, master?" "As soon as I find out who they are, yes. Maybe you can help me with that, too. Your team is the freshest and most variable in skills." Oseman tapped his fingers on the armrest of his expensive darkwood chair. "With any luck, they do not know about my teams and found out by some other means that the legends are not real." Evina despised her master, for what he had turned her into and for the way he always talked of the teams as his. While this was technically true, the dwarf wished he would once say "our teams" to include the efforts of both the acquiring slaves and their shady trainers. But that would probably never happen, the man was way too egocentric. "Master? May I go now? Jashuad is expecting me to start selling tickets for the evening show sometime soon or he will get angry at me." That was her official job – selling tickets, trinkets, and picking up behind the camels if it was needed. And there were a mass of other things they would usually find for a young dwarf girl like her. Her mother, who was also a slave here, was often telling her how lucky she was not to have to be doing the really hard work. If she would only know... "Hmm..? Yes, yes, be away already. I will call on you if I need your services in this moon-copy matter.*" Evina bowed deeply and rushed out as quick as she dared without being disrespectful. Then she sighed. At least, selling tickets would take her out in the streets. At times, she could not see the palace of her master any longer. * moon-copy = copy cat, called so because the moon mirrored in water can be mistaken for the real thing unless you make waves. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Orean Adventures - Circus of Destiny
Top