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Author Topic: At the Vehl Merchant Council Meeting. . .  (Read 426 times)

ShiffDrgnhrt

At the Vehl Merchant Council Meeting. . .
« on: April 03, 2011, 09:25:41 pm »
Talk has been circulating in Fort Vehl about a recent meeting of the Merchant Council.  Word on the street says a certain businesswoman in Fort Vehl, the owner of the orphanage in the Merchant district and the shelter in the dock district, none other than Miss Tyra Dragonheart, addressed the Council the other night before the session officially began.  Seems she came to, according to gossip mongers, "thank Sir Arkolio Salvorre for his support in bringing shelter to those in need in Fort Vehl."  She insisted that she and her cohorts "were hoping to wait until the shelter in the Dock district was fully renovated before she revealed his involvement" in the creation of the shelter there, but could not wait any longer "to announce that it will be named the Salvorre Shelter for the Needy."  Some malcontents insist the local celebrity, Arkolio, bought his way into yet another business in the city, but the matron of the Coalition Home for Orphans insisted perfusely that "the generous nature of Lord Salvorre should not be under estimated, and that the brand new kitchen appliances that he donated were given for the soul purpose of providing for those who go without food every night."

Arkolio, who was not present for that particular meeting, has as of yet said nothing publicly about announcement, though many in the city have been watching to see what transpires between the Shelter and the Salvorre Estate.  Especially the homeless and hungry, who seem to have begun lurking around the shelter more and more, likely waiting for crates stamped with a certain politicians seal to be delivered to the shelter.

//Dezza, Psuedonym, balls in your court now.  :)
 
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Pseudonym

Re: At the Vehl Merchant Council Meeting. . .
« Reply #1 on: April 05, 2011, 04:57:43 am »
Arryk was nervous. Real nervous, truth be told.

When he'd heard one of Tiegh's kids come down with the flux he'd figured they'd organize another blade to help him on his rounds. Maybe Hap. Maybe Magree. Once, a few months ago, Tiegh had gone and got his belly opened by some cobbler they'd been sent to run outta town and Ninefingers hi'self came out for the night instead. Never had Arryk seen all the shopkeepers hand over their bag o' coin as quick as they did that night. No whingin' and whinin' none either. Ninefingers was a killer with no love for nobody, that was for sure.

Arryk had been nervous that night too. Never knew what might set Ninefingers off. Anyways, that was one thing but this was a whole other thing. Karak had told him that Tiegh had the night off and Dogboy was comin' out for tonight's run with him. The Dogboy! The big boss hi'self if you believed Magree (which Arryk rarely did but this time, well, Magree wasn't the only one who said such things).

Arryk chewed on a nail. A bad habit he'd had since he was a lil' one. Whenever he got nervous, his nails got a poundin'.

Then, outta nowhere (or maybe just from behind him), there he was. Dogboy hi'self. Standing almost all the way up to Arryk's waist but don't let that fool ya. If Magree was to be believed (which he rarely was) then this here waist high blade was the one who did for the whole original Redarm crew. Singlehanded like too.

Tonight, that single hand was wrapped around the leg of juicy roast chicken. Dogboy had been nowhere (or, maybe he'd just come from the plump, free-spirited miller's wife over on Tankard Street) and then he was here. Eatin' a chicken leg and mumblin' some rhyme that sounded suspiciously like havin' a whole lotta affection for her undergarment collection.

Between a mouthful of chicken. "You're Arryk? How are ya?"

Arryk mumbled something incoherent in return.

Undeterred, Dogboy snatched the running sheet from Arryk's trembling hand.

"Righto, where first? The baker on the corner of Cat Alley, huh? Hasn't paid dues in a month it says right here. Well, can't have that can we? Off we go, an adventure!"

The evening passed rather routinely ....

A baker's broken fingers.

A freelance cutpurse shown the city gate (minus all his worldly possessions confiscated for good measure).

Smashed windows in a small smithy whose owner had apparently forgotten he was now a world away from Lyn.

... until Arryk and Dogboy hit the last job of the night. Arryk squinted at the parchment in the darkness.

"What's it say here? An accidental fire down at the shelter."

Dogboy stretched his arms up high (well, relatively high) in a long stretch - it had been sometime since our lovable though indolent halfling had put in an honest (well, relatively honest) night's work.

"Nah mate, we're done. That job got cancelled."
 

 

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