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Shaydton has been around since the dawn of written history, and is one of the largest cities in this kingdom. It is built around the Farsend River, which connects the Southern Regions with the rest of the world by passing through an otherwise inpassable desert. This makes Shaydton one of the most important trading centers in the world, and the wealth flows in dayly.

Most of that wealth ends up in the coffers of Duke Felswallow, and most of the rest to half a dozen noble housholds. Most of the city is slums where people live to work, and work only to pay off the duke's extortionate taxes. Some merchants and clever entrepreneurs manage to run succesful businesses, but they pay well over half their income to the duchy in the form of trade permits and sales taxes.

Naturally, such a city will be home to crime. However most of it is a sort of neat, orderly crime. This is because it is nearly all governed by one organization: the Rogues' Guild.

The Rogues' Guild is an alliance of thieves, smugglers, and other outlaws. It exists to aid and protect those who want to live their lives for themselves instead of for lazy nobility. The Guild has secret bases throughout Shaydton and in neighboring cities, always disguised as some more legal place of business--taverns, shops, warehouses, and the like. They operate on donation; all members are expected but not required to donate a portion of all their profits to the Guild Administrators. The Administrators are in league with many of the kingdom's court judges, and can use bribery to help out members if they are caught and put on trial.

A dull, yellow sliver of an october moon shone down upon the city of Shaydton. At that moment, it was directly above a modestly-sized building three blocks east of the Farsend River. In front of this building hung a sign which read "The Green Dragon." Though candlelight glowed through the windows (which were few and small), few people were inside the tavern that thursday night. It would fill up within the hour though, but with what sort of guests no one could know. The Green Dragon tended to attract the most unusual sorts of people.

"How ye' bettin'?!" Yelled an unseemly man, standing upon a barrel's edge to call out for bids. His stocky short stature made him look like a bald goblin of a man, but he was a quirky fellow, so goblin decent might be questionable.

"I be bettin' twenty gold on the burly broad!" A man yelled, yanking up a fist holding a happily jingling pouch. It was common, and usually troublesome, in open deck of the Cattlebury Inn.

Stepping onto the dusty boards of the pale open deck was a common sight and somewhat famous person. And to be so unruly and unsightly, it be a woman! And a fighter, at that. Her blond hair fell in thin cascading waves to her shoulders, coiling into a tip between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were a genuine green that foretold a many night's stories under the moonlight's breath. And to top it off, her figure was as steely as the Golden Gates, and as beautiful as them too. The woman was a strange creature, but dare say it, she be nothing more than human.

"All eyes rise, for the Fenix!" Called Frederick from the barrel's top, standing upon his chunky feet tip-toed, and holding out a broad arm for cheers. The crowd was plowed over by a roaring glee.

Coming through the crowd, was a man. He stood a jaunty six feet straight, and his figure was showered with some muscles. But his toothless smile said something to Fenix that had her laughing. He was a dope for the facial hits. He stroked his scruffy beard, and popped his neck. His dark skin muddied with sand and pollen made it look as though he had been frolicking in some daisy field before coming here. He would be timeless when Fenix took her win.

"Go go go!!!" Shouted Frederick, practically jumping off the barrel instead of his klutzy fall.

Fenix stepped in quickly, her white cotton pants fitting her legs, and her black corset wrapped with beige laces making for little air resistance. With a swoop down at the first sign of Moe's belated swing, Fenix evaded. And she counterattacked, by twisting an angelic pivot on her right heel in time to smash a stone elbow into his gut. Letting out a soft oof, the man began to double over. Fenix finished twisting around until the man had leaned to her height, and she could crush a fist hard into his nose, splattering blood over the dusty deck's surface as he reeled back.

"Silly man." She chuckled, her voice deep and threatening, but as well beautiful in an... unusual way.

He came back, doubling both fists to make for a last stand. But swinging left, down, then right, Fenix had swept under his attacks yet again. This time, she threw a fist at his face, sending his head bobbing back as she turned and planted the palm of her foot against his chest. Her somewhat short legs were powerful, and curling up to her chest was like coiling springs for a rapid strike. Releasing her leg's power, she struck his chest again with a flat footed thrust, knocking him back. The man hit the deck with a loud thud, and the cheering escalated unbelievably.

"Cut the racket you heathens!" Screamed a richer woman from her fine window. Frederick lifted a stone, and swung his arm in a clockwise spin, finally releasing the rock to let it shatter her window.

"Take that you haggard old flint!" With that, everyone knew the scatter plan, but knew as well where to go. As they scattered in all directions- Fenix included, they scampered over hay bells and wine barrels, until they had all regrouped before the Green Dragon. Coming up to the door, the area was filled with a bustling laughter. Frederick switched his thick hips as he muddled through the crowd and collected bets.

"Come, come, drinks on the stump!" One man called, looking down at Frederick and bursting into laughter. Slowly, the lot of them trailed inside- the lot being about twenty men and Fenix, and Frederick plopped his fatness upon a stool and dropped a pouch upon the bar.

"Ale for all!" He chuckled, raising his fist as Fenix raised hers in success.

Just another night.

Hariel leaned against the support beam at the far end of the long bar, which ran long the left hand side of the Green Dragon, looking sleepy as he slowly ran a rag over a pewter tankard. Anyone that thought the barkeep was not paying attention and that it was a good time to cause him some trouble by say, grabbing one of his tavern girls and taking her off for a little fun would be sadly mistaken. The sleepy looking man always kept a few loaded wheellocks under the bar, changing their position each day but always in the most needed spot.

He had no problem with his patrons making a grab on the taverngirls rears or pull them into their laps for a slight cuddle but when it last more then a minute or the girls started screaming, more then one lusty drunk had found himself with the long barrel of a pistol between his teeth and then thrown out on the cobble stones by the large "barrel roller" that was employed to move the large barrels of ale up from the cellar and off the wagons that delivered them.

So far it had been a slow evening but that never worried Hariel. Later at night his main business came rolling in, most with various items that needed storing or to be sold off for drinks and food.

With some degree of ceremony, Henry Taggart Mountjoy entered the Green Dragon.

He strode through the crowd of drunks and gamblers, confident in the knowledge that nothing would block his path. Nothing would block his path, as he was flanked by two of his secretaries, men with the suits of accountants and the builds of boxers. They gently pushed people out of the way and picked up broken bottles to ensure their employer remained unhindered in his travels.

Henry eventually came to the counter to face the sleepy looking Hariel. Lightly dusting off one of the stools, he leaned in close.

"Good evening," he said in clear, clipped tones. "Hariel, I presume? I am Henry Mountjoy. I would enjoy a port wine and any poultry you happen to have in the house. And then, perhaps, we can talk business."

The Green Dragon had started to fill up, so Raquel pulled out his lyre and began tuning the strings. Hopefully it was going to be a good night. His pay was completely by donation and he hadn't been getting much in the way of money lately.
He started to play a soft, lilting melody as a man with two tough looking men flanking him walked in.
"I hope he doesn't start any trouble" Raquell muttered under his breath, "I really need the money from tonight."
Raquells fingers started to move over the strings stronger, giving out a louder and more lasting ring to the notes. The song he was playing had no lyrics, but said many things to different types of people. It had been a very long time since he had played this song, and he forgot just how beautiful it was.

Hariel opened his eyes a bit wider, looking slightly more awake. The tankard was placed beneath the bar with a smooth and practiced movement, with the rag returned to it's position on his shoulder. The still sleepy looking barkeep looked over the men and then glanced over at a dark doorway, relaxing his shoulders a little more. Across the common room, the door closed without a sound and whoever was on the other side remained hidden. The warmth of the twin fires blazing away in the hearths on either side of the room returned, as it had seemed to momentarily disappeared.

"Oh course" he said with a smile, "I will see what we have in the kitchen for you."

Hariel then slipped into a small door near the end of the bar, into a large and very hot room. Fire places seemed to be everywhere, from the heat coming from them but there were fewer then one would expect in a large tavern. A very large, gray haired woman moved around the place with a grace that did not fit her size. A large wooden ladle was held in her hand, as she moved about, giving soft but strong orders to a several younger tavern maids and young lads working in her queendom.

Not saying a word, so not to attracted the wrath of his own employee, the barkeep and owner quick went down a flight of well made stairs, into one of the many compartments of the cellar. The cool dark was welcoming after the heat of the kitchen, as this was the wine room, where it need to be both cool but not cold and dark to keep the wine from being damaged. He selected a small bottle from a nearby rack, his fingers knowing the way by instinct rather then his eyes telling the barkeep where his stocks were.

Feeling the cool glass between his fingers, Hariel made his way back from beneath the earth and into the kitchen, where he grabbed a plate with a small chicken on it, roasted to a nice golden color. Moving quickly. he walked back out to the bar. The plate of chicken was placed before Henry, as the barkeep brushed a thin layer of dust from the bottle of wine. The fading label reviled the dark glass bottle to contain a Garrafeira port wine.

A most pleasing music touched Henry's ears as he watched the wine pour into his glass. These moments, moments of luxury and excellence; he had been exposed to them from the cradle, but they had never meant much to him until he had entered this profession. The knowledge that he was working against the powers that be, that death and despair lurked in every shadow, waiting for him to trip up - it made everything clearer.

He took a sip from his glass. "Now - this is quite nice, you simply must send some up to the estate - now I would like to keep this brief. We are both men from a certain organization who seek the re-distribution of wealth. I am in the process of formulating a way to make re-distributing much easier. I just need some certain contacts. So, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."

Henry produced a small box from his pockets. When he opened it up, it was a silver, monogrammed cutlerey set. Pulling out a knife and fork, he set to work on the chicken.

"I work very hard to make sure I don't know any names. I rely on others within our organization to help me with that. So, I would like you to get in contact with a thief. A very good one. His job will be to acquire an official seal for me. The seal belongs to the master of the Shaydton docks. With it, I can exert a certain amount of authority over the city. Additionally, once I am done with it, I will be more than happy to turn it over to your possesion. It will prove invaluable to the purpose of getting ships and goods past inspectors with ease: anyone with the seal on their papers is considered a VIP. Oh, and I can give you some money, too. Interested?"

Raquel finished his song and another one that had lyrics that accompanied it. After his song, his voice felt dry and cracked, but he had gotten a few coins for them and he needed a drink.
"I must really sing more often..." He thought to himself as he sauntered over toward Hariel the Tavern-keeper.
He sat down as the man with the bodyguards was finishing what looked like a roasted chicken and a tumbler of expensive wine. He flipped several coins at a time across his knuckles, trying to catch a serving wenches attention. Two coins collided and one bounced of a bodyguards shoulder.
"Oh, dear me, my good sir, sorry for my coins mischievousness," Raquel said bending past the guard, picking his pocket of a few small coins ever so carefully.
A wench came up and took his order, a pint of soft cider to cool off and allow his voice to continue singing. She walked away with his money, and he turned back to look out over the crowd.

Hariel rubbed his smooth chin, weighing the pros and cons of such a venture. There was a lot to gain from this, as that seal would make his smuggling operation run much smoother, if that seal wasn't abused too much. Plus it didn't appear that such a deed could be traced back to the Green Dragon, unless he was raided and the City Guard found he seal but as he was paying off a few officers in the local barracks, that would be unlikely for the time being.

"I think I can find you a good man for the job" he said .

"Pity, please, goo' sirs ... A coin for a poor leper ..." Bloated, purple arm held out at passers-by both garbed in the gown of aristocracy and the linens of the poorer. Keleth held his arm, waiting, the other one supporting it's bloated weight, as whenever he could, whenever the crowd swelled closer, close enough for him to smell the fur lining of their coats, or the lice in the rags. And when that happened, that left hand wove its way like a spider making a web to extract whatever amount of copper, silver, or gold he could from somebody's purse. And that same hand slipped back to his side in a matter of moments, weighed down, and quickly shying into one of the leper's many pockets to store his ill-earned goods.

Of course, Tarn kept a small amount of begging going on through all this, and only did one purse at any time. There was no use in getting cocky, the crowd was liked the sea: let it do its thing, and go with its flow.

A few minutes later, and he'd caught a wave wrong. The mass of people having swollen again, the pick-pocket had done his best to weave his way into somebody's purse. Of course, he hadn't heard the chariot coming down the dirt street, and as the crowd pressed ever harder against him, he'd been unable to pull his bandaged hand out of the leather sack jingling with a few coins. And then, when he had, he'd been smart enough to spill the contents. After a few sorries and pardons, and he was fleeing nonetheless. Obviously, the stocky idiot hadn't liked the idea of having his purse pilfered, and he'd been stupid enough to believe he could catch the culprit.

As the thief's booted feet hit the wet dirt of the back street (Shaydton's poorer quarters seemed to always be wet, wonder why ...), he could hear distantly the man's far slower pace, already losing him. A few minutes later and Keleth decided to stop. It had been no use to run for so long: he'd woven through every secret back alley as if through a maze, final destination known only to him, as the other man was left with no hope of catching him. Tarn found himself once again at a busy trading street, and decided to ply his trade once more. He found the beggar's row soon enough, and filtered into their ranks of maimed, dirtied and toothless vagrants, trying to accustom himself to the smell, and wait for a passer-by to approach close enough to devote his attention to the person's purse.

Frederick raised his hands and clapped them onto the woman's strong shoulders, smiling at her as he sat upon a stool.

"M'God, you've done it again Felicity. You fight like a man." He chuckled his raspy, Irish-bound laugh, cackling almost as his chest heaved with amusement. "You've got more spark then them big boys rakin' cash fer fightin' round tha' open deck."

The open deck was usually a place to conduct fights, then the Green Dragon was the place to conduct the following business.

Felicity, or Fenix the brilliant young female fighter, leaned back into her chair, splaying her long and strangely burly arms over the back of bar. Her blond hair was disheveled in a somewhat pretty fashion as she shook her head and cleared her throat. Her fierce green eyes danced over the crowd and a smile formed on her bow-shaped lips, soft to the point, one would not think them to be the lips to spell defeat.

"Aye Fred, but I swear it, I need to do more. It's time to stop dilly-dallying with chump fighters who think they can punch because they smack hags." Felicity said softly, her voice still strong and dominating, regardless of the soft natural twinge of femininity that caressed the sound and made it quite sweet.
"I need time management." she chuckled, looking around the bar. Turning on her bottom, she faced the innards of the bar, and her favorite bartender.

"Hariel!" She smiled, waving her tan hand and smiling. "I'll take a..." Her eyes drifted momentarily, until Fenix caught glimpse of a man a few stools away. His drink was red, and looked appetizing, something she hadn't had in a while.
"A wine please, Hariel." Felicity said softly. Her smile was warm, and inviting to conversation when around those she cared about. The champion knockout was a woman who had been seeing this bar, and this Hariel's being bartender, for quite some time now.

Raquel gulped down the few mouthfuls of lukewarm cider and began to make sure his lyre was in tune. He pulled and tugged gently on the strings, ushering a quiet tune that slowly meandered its way over the notes. Making sure that the lyre was in tune, he started to play slightly louder, but stayed on the same song.
"I hope someone knows this song... i just don't have the voice for this one" he sighed. His mother had sung this to him as a lullaby, and he had remembered it ever since.
As he glanced up towards the crowd, he noticed Felicity, the female fighter that he admired. She was a lot stronger than he was, and a lot more radiant than any other woman he had seen in the bar for a while. Oh well, he thought to himself, and continued to play, humming along, and attracting a couple customers who threw a couple coppers and a silver coin into his lyre case.

Henry gave Hariel a brilliant smile that lasted for all of a second. "Excellent. Send him up to the Mountjoy estate as soon as you can. You will find five hundred silver in a sack in the alley between the pharmacist and the baker on Broken Egg Hill. To cover any costs, you know. As far as anyone is concerned, I was never here let alone been down this street."

He pulled out a coinpurse in blood-red leather and began to extract change from it. "Now, here's the money for the meal, and here's a tip for the musician. Tell him I'd like him to perform at the estate sometime. I bid you good day, good sir."

With that, he got up and exited the Green Dragon to face the streets of the night.

Raquel finished his tune and turned to Hariel, "You're lucky that I'm loyal to you Hariel, otherwise you might not find that sack where he said it would be," He says with a quick wink, taking his tip from the nice man with the bodyguards, "this should last me a while, and I think I'll take him up on the performance request sometime."
A shout came from the middle of the room, a man was calling out for more music, and Raquel was happy to oblige. He started playing a faster paced ditty that he had heard from workers and farmers during his trips between cities.

"Well" said Hariel with a sleepy smile, as he scooped the rest of the coins from the bar, "I would have know who to send for had my money been missing." The light fingered musician had missed a silver halfpenny that had been meant for him but it too disappeared into the almost white apron of the tavern owner. If someone left coin on his bar, well then it was going to be his and it could be claimed as his fee for letting the bold man play inside of the crispy fall night.

He then glanced down the bar a little ways to see Fenix. Her request had been heard but he liked to look at those he was going to serve first, even if she was a regular. That sleepy gaze then fell on the partly empty bottle of Garrafeira port. It would have to be drunk soon after opening. So another customer hand ordered it but they had left. A larger and plainer mug then what the noblemen had been using was pulled from under the counter and filled with the rare port wine.

"Have a good match tonight" asked Hariel, walking the few steps he need too and placing the mug near the lady fighter.

Raquel shrugged at Hariel as he walked away, He turned back to the crowd and put away his lyre and pulled out a coin. He walked to teh nearest table and asked if they would like to see a trick.
"Sure," they replied, being tricksters themselves.
Raquel started flipping the silver coin back and forth across his knuckles and weaving through his fingers like silver fire. He startetd to circle the table, letting them keep their eyes on teh coin. Without any notice, he slammed the coin hand down on the table hard, and with the diversion, slipped his hand like a spider through several purses, pulling out several silver coins and a few coppers. Slipping all the coins but one silver into his pocket he showed them the stolen silver while moving the original into his pocket. Amazement and slight confusion showed in their eyes as they tried to comprehend the movement of the coin.

Maringa slipped through the streets, not so crowded now that night was falling. She saw the lights of a tavern up ahead. She generally tried to stay out of the slums except that there was nowhere she could sleep otherwise. She could dance and make pretty good money in the neighborhoos of the middleclass men.

Nobles had "more refined" entertainment, and the lower classes needed what coin or food they could get. The guards in the nicer neighborhoods of the city officially couldn't allow a dancer from the lower classes sleeping out in public, blighting the city somehow. Unofficially, most would take any excuse to use their station, either to vent cruelty or lust. She didn't want to deal with that, at least not without getting something from it herself.

She ducked into the tavern and went to sit at the bar. She kept herslf on alert, though at least among others here she knew what to expect. She called to who she thought was the owner. "You have tsuika?" she asked, tsuika being a term for plum wine. Out of the corner if her eye she was watching man, not unattractive, who had just finished a trick for an astounded audience.

Dancing his new silver coin across his fingers, Raquel sauntered back to his stool, not far from where a newcomer that night had just sat down. She was pretty enough, by his reckoning, looked like a dancer or acrobat of sorts.
Placing several coppers down on the counter he asked Hariel to give the lady down the counter what she had asked for on his tab. He picked up his lyre and fine-tuned it for the third time that evening. His fingers plucked at each string to make sure it was in tune. When it was perfect he played again his favorite song again. The lilting lullaby his mother had sung, he hummed along, still unable to sing the words to it. This time he played it for himself, not for an audience, not for coins or praise, just for the beauty of its melody.
How I love this song, I wonder how many others know it. I think I'm going to start asking for requests again so that I can make a few more coins tonight.
After his lullaby was done, he looked up and around the room, "Would anyone like to request a song?" When no one spoke up right away, he turned to Hariel and paid for a room. He bent down to start putting his lyre away for the night and collect the coins from the case.

"I have a request, lyreist," spoke up a low, smooth voice. In the far corner of the room, a man stood up from his chair. He was tall for a native of the Southern Regions, though that was not saying much. He was dressed as a simple pauper, though his clothes seemed new and untorn, but he wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head. This cast a shadow over his face, though the sharp and angular outline of it could still be seen.

He was not part of Fenix's party, and no one had seen him come in after that.

"I wonder if you know Tallivin's Ballad," he said. His voice was soft, but not quiet, as he had to be heard over the noise of the other patrons. "Or is that story lost to Shaydton?"

A petite, dark-haired young woman drifted slowly about the room, weaving skilfully in-amongst the closely-packed tables that filled the little tavern as she collected in the empty glasses. To Avarei, this was easily the dullest job to be done here. There was no time to chat to the patrons as she made her way around the room, and no distraction from the mundane nature of the chore. Usually, there would be some young lad or other who would volunteer to do the task for a small coin, but today the young maid had no such luck. So far, the tavern had not gotten too crowed, but if 8 years here had taught Avarei anything, it was that the place only really came to life later on.

With a small, somewhat discreet smile to Hariel as she passed him, Ava brought her accumulated tower of tankards, shot glasses and cracked wine flutes behind the bar and into the back room to clean. Slowly, she worked her way through each one, dipping them into the large, wooden bucket of lukewarm greyish water, then drying quickly with an old rag. As she worked, the girl let her mind wander freely, humming along softly with the singing in the bar. As usual, her mind was quickly occupied by a memory from a few weeks back.

A stranger had been in The Green Dragon, an older fellow who Ava had never met before. He'd told her that the tavern was run by a guild of Rouges who sought to oppose the rich nobility and let people live more freely. The story had entranced her completely, sparking her imagination and her curiosity. Of course, that was all is was. A story. How could it be anything other than that? She had to admire his knack for tales though, it was certainly exciting.

After finishing up in the back room, ava brought the glasses and tankards back out, stowing them behind the bar swiftly, and went to serve a newly arrived customer who'd propped himself up on a stool and was starting to look inpatient. As she handed over the foaming ale and took the man's money, she caught the sound of a man's voice over in the corner and chuckled lightly to herself. More talk of story telling? Maybe tonight would be more interesting than she'd realised.