spyscribe
First Post
Part the Very Nineteenth:
In which: Anvil becomes more adept at greasing the wheels of Justice
(as recorded by Fajitas)
Much to their surprise, the party discovers that they receive fewer disdainful looks now that they are dressed as locals. In fact, most Aegosians now ignore them.
“I find it… puzzling that their attitudes should change,” Reyu says. “These robes are not very fine. Surely we do not look any more wealthy in them than in our own clothing.”
“You don’t,” Essela says. “But now you look like poor Aegosians, not poor strangers. Poor Aegosians get ignored. Poor strangers get scorned.”
There is a pause. “I agree with Thatch. I do not like this place,” Reyu finally replies.
The party arrives at the Morjene estate. “We must speak to your master,” Anvil informs the guard at the gate. “It is an urgent matter of Justice.”
They are hurried into a sitting room of limited excess (by Aegosian standards, anyway). Eventually, a bored looking man arrives. “My name is Hassel. I am the chamberlain here. What is your business?”
“We are looking for a slave by the name of Amelia Morren,” Anvil says. “She has been wrongfully sentenced to slavery, and we have come to buy her freedom.”
Hassel gets a puzzled look on his face. “Amelia… Amelia… I do not believe we have any slave here by that name.”
The party exchange worried looks. “Maybe something happened to her.” Thatch says.
“Have you ever had a slave by that name?” Reyu asks Hassel.
“Not that I can recall,” Hassel answers.
“I do not understand. We were told that this girl was sold to the Morjene estate. How can this be if you do not have her?” Anvil asks.
Sudden understanding dawns on Hassel’s face. “Ahhhhh,” he says. “But this is not the Morjene estate.” All eyes turn to Essela full of blame, but she looks as surprised as any of them. “That is, not anymore,” Hassel adds. “It is now the Sharma estate. My master purchased these grounds after Lady Morjene’s untimely demise.”
“What of her slaves?” Cyrus asks.
“We did not purchase any,” Hassel says. “Though I presume they were sold at auction, as was the rest of her property. She left no heirs.”
“Who handled the auction?” Anvil asks.
“I believe the Masheri House of Barter won the auction contract from the authorities. I’m sure they have records.”
So Essela leads them to the House of Barter. Though the façade is almost as elegant as the House of al-Assal, the interior is not. This is far more of a business building. Or, at least, far more of a struggling business. Rolls of parchment and boxes filled with random contents are piled everywhere. A number of officious looking people bustle about, all far too busy to pay attention to the party.
They stand around, waiting to be noticed. Finally, Hue shouts out, “Hey!!”
A tired looking middle-aged man, startled by the sudden shout, turns to glare at the party. “May I be of service?” he asks, in the tone of voice usually reserved for saying, “Go away and leave me alone.”
Anvil explains the predicament and offers Amelia’s name. “Justice demands that we locate her,” he finishes.
The man nods, giving no indication that he actually cares in the slightest, and says, “Well, we sell a lot of slaves, and we keep a lot of records. I’ll see what I can do, but it could take weeks to find the right one.”
“Weeks!” says Thatch. “We don’t have weeks.”
The man turns to Thatch, completely deadpan. “Sometimes it just takes time to get things done. It is a pity, but what can be done?”
“Oh, hey!” Hue blurts out. “I’ll bet he wants a-- oww!”
“Sorry,” Cyrus murmurs, as he removes his heel from Hue’s toes.
Anvil pulls 10 gold from his pouch. “Kettenek’s Justice demands she be found as soon as possible,” he says, handing over the coins.
“I’ll send word tomorrow,” the man replies.
“I really do not like this place,” Anvil says, as they make their way out of the House of Barter.
“900,” Cyrus replies.
************
As the municipal slave pens are closer to the House of Barter than the Lowess estate, they decide to go after Henrik, the ex-Watchman next. Essela leads them towards the edge of the city, towards an elaborate marble building. Emerging from either sides of the building is a high stone wall, which surrounds a large, unseen area. Several guards patrol atop the wall, and the reek of unwashed bodies and human refuse faintly wafts over it.
They enter the building and wander the halls until they find a door marked Slave Purchases. They enter. This time, Anvil does not wait to be noticed. He walks up to the first person he sees, a haughty looking woman, and says, “We are looking for a municipal slave named Henrik Cotton. Kettenek has tasked us with purchasing his freedom. Will you tell us where he can be found?” And he immediately hands her five gold pieces.
The woman looks at Anvil, surprised by his directness, then at the coins. “I don’t know where he can be found. I imagine he’s out in the city working at this time of day.”
“Then if you could tell us where, we would be most appreciative,” Anvil responds, and hands her another five gold.
“I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile, and she vanishes into a side room.
Hue pats Anvil on the back... of his knee. “See! You’re getting the hang of it.”
“890,” Cyrus says.
Roughly twenty minutes pass before the woman returns. “You’re in luck,” she says. “He’s not working today. He’s here at the pens.”
“I am… surprised,” Reyu says. “I did not think you would permit your slaves a day of rest.”
“We don’t,” the woman responds, “but condemned slaves aren’t put to work.”
to be continued...
In which: Anvil becomes more adept at greasing the wheels of Justice
(as recorded by Fajitas)
Much to their surprise, the party discovers that they receive fewer disdainful looks now that they are dressed as locals. In fact, most Aegosians now ignore them.
“I find it… puzzling that their attitudes should change,” Reyu says. “These robes are not very fine. Surely we do not look any more wealthy in them than in our own clothing.”
“You don’t,” Essela says. “But now you look like poor Aegosians, not poor strangers. Poor Aegosians get ignored. Poor strangers get scorned.”
There is a pause. “I agree with Thatch. I do not like this place,” Reyu finally replies.
The party arrives at the Morjene estate. “We must speak to your master,” Anvil informs the guard at the gate. “It is an urgent matter of Justice.”
They are hurried into a sitting room of limited excess (by Aegosian standards, anyway). Eventually, a bored looking man arrives. “My name is Hassel. I am the chamberlain here. What is your business?”
“We are looking for a slave by the name of Amelia Morren,” Anvil says. “She has been wrongfully sentenced to slavery, and we have come to buy her freedom.”
Hassel gets a puzzled look on his face. “Amelia… Amelia… I do not believe we have any slave here by that name.”
The party exchange worried looks. “Maybe something happened to her.” Thatch says.
“Have you ever had a slave by that name?” Reyu asks Hassel.
“Not that I can recall,” Hassel answers.
“I do not understand. We were told that this girl was sold to the Morjene estate. How can this be if you do not have her?” Anvil asks.
Sudden understanding dawns on Hassel’s face. “Ahhhhh,” he says. “But this is not the Morjene estate.” All eyes turn to Essela full of blame, but she looks as surprised as any of them. “That is, not anymore,” Hassel adds. “It is now the Sharma estate. My master purchased these grounds after Lady Morjene’s untimely demise.”
“What of her slaves?” Cyrus asks.
“We did not purchase any,” Hassel says. “Though I presume they were sold at auction, as was the rest of her property. She left no heirs.”
“Who handled the auction?” Anvil asks.
“I believe the Masheri House of Barter won the auction contract from the authorities. I’m sure they have records.”
So Essela leads them to the House of Barter. Though the façade is almost as elegant as the House of al-Assal, the interior is not. This is far more of a business building. Or, at least, far more of a struggling business. Rolls of parchment and boxes filled with random contents are piled everywhere. A number of officious looking people bustle about, all far too busy to pay attention to the party.
They stand around, waiting to be noticed. Finally, Hue shouts out, “Hey!!”
A tired looking middle-aged man, startled by the sudden shout, turns to glare at the party. “May I be of service?” he asks, in the tone of voice usually reserved for saying, “Go away and leave me alone.”
Anvil explains the predicament and offers Amelia’s name. “Justice demands that we locate her,” he finishes.
The man nods, giving no indication that he actually cares in the slightest, and says, “Well, we sell a lot of slaves, and we keep a lot of records. I’ll see what I can do, but it could take weeks to find the right one.”
“Weeks!” says Thatch. “We don’t have weeks.”
The man turns to Thatch, completely deadpan. “Sometimes it just takes time to get things done. It is a pity, but what can be done?”
“Oh, hey!” Hue blurts out. “I’ll bet he wants a-- oww!”
“Sorry,” Cyrus murmurs, as he removes his heel from Hue’s toes.
Anvil pulls 10 gold from his pouch. “Kettenek’s Justice demands she be found as soon as possible,” he says, handing over the coins.
“I’ll send word tomorrow,” the man replies.
“I really do not like this place,” Anvil says, as they make their way out of the House of Barter.
“900,” Cyrus replies.
************
As the municipal slave pens are closer to the House of Barter than the Lowess estate, they decide to go after Henrik, the ex-Watchman next. Essela leads them towards the edge of the city, towards an elaborate marble building. Emerging from either sides of the building is a high stone wall, which surrounds a large, unseen area. Several guards patrol atop the wall, and the reek of unwashed bodies and human refuse faintly wafts over it.
They enter the building and wander the halls until they find a door marked Slave Purchases. They enter. This time, Anvil does not wait to be noticed. He walks up to the first person he sees, a haughty looking woman, and says, “We are looking for a municipal slave named Henrik Cotton. Kettenek has tasked us with purchasing his freedom. Will you tell us where he can be found?” And he immediately hands her five gold pieces.
The woman looks at Anvil, surprised by his directness, then at the coins. “I don’t know where he can be found. I imagine he’s out in the city working at this time of day.”
“Then if you could tell us where, we would be most appreciative,” Anvil responds, and hands her another five gold.
“I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile, and she vanishes into a side room.
Hue pats Anvil on the back... of his knee. “See! You’re getting the hang of it.”
“890,” Cyrus says.
Roughly twenty minutes pass before the woman returns. “You’re in luck,” she says. “He’s not working today. He’s here at the pens.”
“I am… surprised,” Reyu says. “I did not think you would permit your slaves a day of rest.”
“We don’t,” the woman responds, “but condemned slaves aren’t put to work.”
to be continued...
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