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<blockquote data-quote="spyscribe" data-source="post: 1089009" data-attributes="member: 5808"><p><strong>Part the Very Twentieth:</strong></p><p><em>In which: the party’s accountant is not pleased</em></p><p><em>(as recorded by Fajitas)</em></p><p></p><p> There is a shocked pause. “Condemned?” Anvil says.</p><p></p><p> “Yes. It turns out your slave is something of a troublemaker. He attacked his overseer two days ago. Normally, that would just warrant a beating, but it seems the overseer took it personally. He wants him executed.”</p><p></p><p> “But, but, but he was never supposed to be enslaved at all,” Thatch protests. “He’s an innocent man.”</p><p></p><p> “We are prepared to recompense the city for his purchase and remove him from this place forever. There is no need to execute him,” Anvil says. </p><p></p><p> “I’m sorry,” the woman says. “Only the overseer in question can drop the charges. I can’t sell you a condemned slave.”</p><p></p><p> Anvil heaves a weary sigh. “Very well. Can you give us the name of the overseer?”</p><p></p><p>************</p><p> </p><p> “Drop the charges? On that rat dung? Never.”</p><p></p><p> Nytiss, the overseer, is a burly man whose hand never leaves his whip and whose eyes never leave his charges. He lords over a chain-gang of ten men who are repaving a section of street. From time to time, he cracks his whip on the back of the nearest slave. As near as the party can tell, there is no reason for him to do this.</p><p></p><p> Anvil speaks in tones of carefully controlled patience. “We have explained to you the situation,” he says. “Surely you can see Justice demands this man be freed.”</p><p></p><p> “Justice?” Nytiss scoffs, spitting on the ground. “Justice’d be hangin’ him in a cage ‘til he dies of thirst for all the rest of these scum to see.” He cracks his whip again.</p><p></p><p> “Isn’t that, um, a bit extreme?” Thatch says.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah!” Hue chimes in. “Why’ve you got such a big stick in your ass?”</p><p></p><p> Nytiss actually turns to glare at Hue, who Cyrus very calmly grabs by the shoulder and thrusts out of sight behind him, ignoring the muffled “Hey! I was just asking!”</p><p></p><p> Nytiss spits again as he sizes up the party. “You don’t let slaves turn on their masters. Any slave who does is no use to nobody. And any slave who sees another get away with it, ain’t gonna be much use for long. I been workin’ slaves since before that mule of yours…” he indicates Thatch “… could wipe his ass, and I ain’t never had so much as a word of backtalk. Not ‘til that bucket of horse urine struck me. And by Ehkt’s balls, I’ll see him gutted for it.” He turns back to watch his slaves and crack his whip.</p><p></p><p> The party shoots each other disgusted looks, but it seems they are at an impasse. Hue whispers a little too loudly, “Offer him money!”</p><p></p><p> “He does not seem… inclined… to deal,” Reyu says.</p><p></p><p> “You never know ‘til you try,” Hue responds, nodding sagely. The Ferret also nods knowingly.</p><p></p><p> Anvil shrugs. Turning to Nytiss, he says casually “And there is nothing that might induce you to change your mind.” His hand strays to his pouch, which he very meaningfully jingles.</p><p></p><p> Nytiss looks back over at him. Then down at the pouch. Then back at his slaves. Then back at the pouch. He seems quite torn. Finally, he motions Anvil over to the side, a few steps further away from the slaves. Anvil follows him.</p><p></p><p> “Tell you what,” Nytiss says. “You want him, you buy him from me. Pay me his price, all 200 gold, and I drop the charges.”</p><p></p><p> “It was my belief that only the city could sell us a municipal slave,” Anvil says.</p><p></p><p> “Oh, you’ll have to pay them, too. But all the gold in the world won’t do you no good if you don’t meet my fee first.” Nytiss smiles as he says this. </p><p></p><p> “400 gold for one slave?” Anvil says. “Surely there is room to negotiate.”</p><p></p><p> “There was,” Nytiss answers. “We did. I’ll drop the charges for 200 gold. That’s negotiated.”</p><p></p><p> Anvil is hesitant. If they pay 400 gold for Henrik, they will not have enough left to purchase all the other slaves from freedom. Carefully he says, “I must discuss this with my companions.”</p><p></p><p> “Take all the time you want. Execution’s at dawn, though,” Nytiss says. He spits again and turns back to his slaves. </p><p></p><p> Anvil rejoins the others. “He wants 200 gold to drop the charges. He would not negotiate.”</p><p></p><p> Cyrus whistles low. “Steep.”</p><p></p><p> “Um. So what do we do?” Thatch says. “I mean, we can’t pay that.” </p><p></p><p> “Perhaps,” Reyu says, “we can find another buyer…”</p><p></p><p>***********</p><p></p><p> “I’m… stunned,” says the woman from the municipal slave pens. “I could have sworn charges had been filed against this slave, but I simply cannot find the paperwork anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p> “Indeed. Apparently, you were mistaken,” Anvil says, as he hands her a pouch with fifty gold pieces in it.</p><p></p><p> “Apparently so,” she says with a perfectly straight face, as the pouch vanishes into her robes. “Of course, the city would be happy to sell him to you.” Papers are signed. She presents Anvil with the official bill of sale, and Anvil presents her with the official 200 gold. “I’ll see that he’s brought to you immediately.”</p><p></p><p> “One down,” Thatch remarks.</p><p></p><p> “640,” Cyrus intones.</p><p></p><p>********</p><p> </p><p> After a short wait, Henrik is brought to them, eyes squinting and posture stooped, as if he has been confined in a small dark place for some time. He smells foul, and fresh welts criss-cross mostly healed scars on his back. Hue flinches from the smell, and begins to cast <em>prestidigitation</em>. A small whirlwind begins at Henrik’s feet, growing larger as it spins up his body, whipping the grime off him. The whirlwind evaporates, and Henrik is now clean from head to toe; the smell is gone. </p><p></p><p>Henrik looks at them, quite surprised. Whatever he was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it.</p><p></p><p> Reyu murmurs in her own tongue and touches Henrik’s back. A warm, blue glow spreads from her hands, pouring like liquid into the welts on his back. As the glow fades, the wounds have healed into fresh skin, which now cuts across the older scars. Unfortunately, Reyu’s magic can do little to heal old wounds.</p><p></p><p> “Whu…who…” Henrik stammers.</p><p> </p><p> “Henrik Cotton,” Anvil says. “You are now a free man.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="spyscribe, post: 1089009, member: 5808"] [b]Part the Very Twentieth:[/b] [i]In which: the party’s accountant is not pleased (as recorded by Fajitas)[/i] There is a shocked pause. “Condemned?” Anvil says. “Yes. It turns out your slave is something of a troublemaker. He attacked his overseer two days ago. Normally, that would just warrant a beating, but it seems the overseer took it personally. He wants him executed.” “But, but, but he was never supposed to be enslaved at all,” Thatch protests. “He’s an innocent man.” “We are prepared to recompense the city for his purchase and remove him from this place forever. There is no need to execute him,” Anvil says. “I’m sorry,” the woman says. “Only the overseer in question can drop the charges. I can’t sell you a condemned slave.” Anvil heaves a weary sigh. “Very well. Can you give us the name of the overseer?” ************ “Drop the charges? On that rat dung? Never.” Nytiss, the overseer, is a burly man whose hand never leaves his whip and whose eyes never leave his charges. He lords over a chain-gang of ten men who are repaving a section of street. From time to time, he cracks his whip on the back of the nearest slave. As near as the party can tell, there is no reason for him to do this. Anvil speaks in tones of carefully controlled patience. “We have explained to you the situation,” he says. “Surely you can see Justice demands this man be freed.” “Justice?” Nytiss scoffs, spitting on the ground. “Justice’d be hangin’ him in a cage ‘til he dies of thirst for all the rest of these scum to see.” He cracks his whip again. “Isn’t that, um, a bit extreme?” Thatch says. “Yeah!” Hue chimes in. “Why’ve you got such a big stick in your ass?” Nytiss actually turns to glare at Hue, who Cyrus very calmly grabs by the shoulder and thrusts out of sight behind him, ignoring the muffled “Hey! I was just asking!” Nytiss spits again as he sizes up the party. “You don’t let slaves turn on their masters. Any slave who does is no use to nobody. And any slave who sees another get away with it, ain’t gonna be much use for long. I been workin’ slaves since before that mule of yours…” he indicates Thatch “… could wipe his ass, and I ain’t never had so much as a word of backtalk. Not ‘til that bucket of horse urine struck me. And by Ehkt’s balls, I’ll see him gutted for it.” He turns back to watch his slaves and crack his whip. The party shoots each other disgusted looks, but it seems they are at an impasse. Hue whispers a little too loudly, “Offer him money!” “He does not seem… inclined… to deal,” Reyu says. “You never know ‘til you try,” Hue responds, nodding sagely. The Ferret also nods knowingly. Anvil shrugs. Turning to Nytiss, he says casually “And there is nothing that might induce you to change your mind.” His hand strays to his pouch, which he very meaningfully jingles. Nytiss looks back over at him. Then down at the pouch. Then back at his slaves. Then back at the pouch. He seems quite torn. Finally, he motions Anvil over to the side, a few steps further away from the slaves. Anvil follows him. “Tell you what,” Nytiss says. “You want him, you buy him from me. Pay me his price, all 200 gold, and I drop the charges.” “It was my belief that only the city could sell us a municipal slave,” Anvil says. “Oh, you’ll have to pay them, too. But all the gold in the world won’t do you no good if you don’t meet my fee first.” Nytiss smiles as he says this. “400 gold for one slave?” Anvil says. “Surely there is room to negotiate.” “There was,” Nytiss answers. “We did. I’ll drop the charges for 200 gold. That’s negotiated.” Anvil is hesitant. If they pay 400 gold for Henrik, they will not have enough left to purchase all the other slaves from freedom. Carefully he says, “I must discuss this with my companions.” “Take all the time you want. Execution’s at dawn, though,” Nytiss says. He spits again and turns back to his slaves. Anvil rejoins the others. “He wants 200 gold to drop the charges. He would not negotiate.” Cyrus whistles low. “Steep.” “Um. So what do we do?” Thatch says. “I mean, we can’t pay that.” “Perhaps,” Reyu says, “we can find another buyer…” *********** “I’m… stunned,” says the woman from the municipal slave pens. “I could have sworn charges had been filed against this slave, but I simply cannot find the paperwork anywhere.” “Indeed. Apparently, you were mistaken,” Anvil says, as he hands her a pouch with fifty gold pieces in it. “Apparently so,” she says with a perfectly straight face, as the pouch vanishes into her robes. “Of course, the city would be happy to sell him to you.” Papers are signed. She presents Anvil with the official bill of sale, and Anvil presents her with the official 200 gold. “I’ll see that he’s brought to you immediately.” “One down,” Thatch remarks. “640,” Cyrus intones. ******** After a short wait, Henrik is brought to them, eyes squinting and posture stooped, as if he has been confined in a small dark place for some time. He smells foul, and fresh welts criss-cross mostly healed scars on his back. Hue flinches from the smell, and begins to cast [i]prestidigitation[/i]. A small whirlwind begins at Henrik’s feet, growing larger as it spins up his body, whipping the grime off him. The whirlwind evaporates, and Henrik is now clean from head to toe; the smell is gone. Henrik looks at them, quite surprised. Whatever he was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it. Reyu murmurs in her own tongue and touches Henrik’s back. A warm, blue glow spreads from her hands, pouring like liquid into the welts on his back. As the glow fades, the wounds have healed into fresh skin, which now cuts across the older scars. Unfortunately, Reyu’s magic can do little to heal old wounds. “Whu…who…” Henrik stammers. “Henrik Cotton,” Anvil says. “You are now a free man.” [/QUOTE]
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