The Scent of Gold

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The Scent of Gold

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby kidcopious on Wed Sep 03, 2014 1:57 am

The bar had no name, and no one who frequented it would admit to knowing of it's existence. But exist it did, down in the damp catacombs beneath the Ettiene pleasure house. Aboveground, the rich men of the city emptied their purses in the company of the beautiful and charming whores, sipping venerable wine and sweet liquors while they laughed and shouted happily over the clamorous noise.

Below, a few sputtering oil lamps shone on rows of wooden mugs, a hogshead of ale and a smaller cask of rum. A scarred wooden counter, a scattering of tables. Walls of rough stone, cut here and there with grooves where water trickled from street level down circuitous paths to disappear again below the floor.

The grim, one-eyed barman had yet to make an appearance. As the night wore on, scoundrels of every description would make their way into the kitchen entrance of the Ettiene, recieve a curt nod from the wary head chef with his cleaver and stained apron, then head down the hidden stair at the back of the meat locker.

All of them had been invited into the organization by another member, there was no head that anyone knew of, just this bar, where rumors and useful news filled the scarred head of the dour barkeep like maggots in a month-old pumpkin. The boys who scurried to and fro with dirty dishes and empty bottles serving the wealthy patrons above often found the time to pass interesting tidbits of news to the barman, leaving with a few coppers for the service.

He dispensed these pearls of wisdom with great discretion to the agents of his choosing, especially favoring those who brought him interesting valuables purloined from the noble households and merchant houses that crowded the streets above. He dispensed silver and gems for these, and moved the stolen goods along to some unknown fence.

This early in the night, his customary place behind the bar stood empty, and the dimly-lit figure of an amateur bard was the only life in the place, Leaning with his back to the cool stone wall and his feet propped on the back of another chair, he strummed an unhurried tune on an old lute of boxwood and catgut, singing with a lowland drawl that cracked only occasionally in his smoke-dry throat.

"Ev'ry thi-ing and ev'ryone aro-ound me is cha-ngin',
E'er the day I lost, the scent of gold.

Ev'ry one and any-one who kno-ows me is say-ing
Im wretched since I lost, the scent of gold."

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Re: The Scent of Gold

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby duramon on Wed Sep 10, 2014 1:36 am

His feet hitting softly on the stairs, a tall stone-grey skinned man entered the bar, his long white hair falling softly on his back and covering his features. His long elven ears poking out from either side and pierced through with black rings at their tip and his crimson eyes flashing through a gap in the curtain of snowy length. His clothes were almost regal, a dark black coat with white lining and golden decor in the form of a cross pattern beginning at the cuff and leading back to meet his shoulder in a singular line, underneath he wore a simple white puffy shirt and his legs were in grey high-quality garbs. His boots however, were a mud-caked and blood-stained affair of leathery brown, obviously having seen many adventures, and his gloves were dissimilar only in their black over brown philosophy and the presence of gold embroidered holy symbols on their backs, an upside down omega attached to a cross-like beginning.

His footsteps silent despite the heavy fall of his feet he took a graceful seat in one of the chairs and kicked up his feet onto the table, his canines extended over his lips momentarily as he ran his tongue across a small stain of blood on his coat-sleeve, draining it dry in seconds before bringing out his weapons of choice to rest onto the table. Two cutlasses similarly regal in their scabbards even in the quality of rope tied to the hilt, black and gold colored like the rest of his ensemble which seemed to tie in what he considered best of crusading priesthood and nobility, but could possibly just be self-absorbed piety.

He sighed as he listened to the man and flicked a coin around between his gloved fingers, deciding to wait until the place picked up and he could find a partner or two to take on. He had generally worked alone, but bigger scores required bigger fire power and a vaster array of skills then he could muster alone, especially if he wanted to pick up on the business he couldn't slip into with his particular set. The Dhampir, Strife Bloodrose, had arrived in the grungy bar to await someone to share a score with, and he would only take the best...or the cheapest, to get it.
Life is merely a puzzle,and every being,every object,every speck of existence. Is but a small piece of an infinitely expanding picture.

My OTP, TheXenomorph1 X Pika_Girl

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Re: The Scent of Gold

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby HamburgerJames on Wed Sep 10, 2014 9:16 am

A jingle here and there, his golden key chain hitting his leg with every step, a decently tall figure entered the bar through the stairs. Strands of golden hair fell onto his face, mostly hidden by his brimmed hat, with the rest of his tied back hair swaying around constantly. His clothes suggested an interesting mix of wealth and poorness, Wearing a white singlet and dusty brown pants he would look like nothing more than a farmer, if it weren't for his Crimson coat, trimmed with gold lacing, the likes of which worn by a wealthy family. His black leather boots had decorative patterns pressed into them, although the boots themselves were quite worn and covered in dirt, as though once belonging to a prince, but stolen b a poor man.

Resting a large wooden rifle on his shoulder, the man walked towards a table near the back of the pub, looking more and more exhausted with each step. About half way to the table the man seemingly gave up, carefully collapsing to the floor so that he was lying on his back whit his rifle resting next to him. The rifle, now in clearer vision, appeared to have a tinkered hand-held telescope attached to the top with sloppily done metal work. "This things too heavy for a homeless man!" He claimed loudly with a medium pitched voice, as he gasped for air. It was then that the man decided to observe his surroundings, being too tired to do so before entering the area like he normally would.

Noticing the tall man sitting at one of the tables, the idea of talking to the man came to his mind, but quickly exited, as he slowly started to doze off on the floor, clinging onto his rifle. Locke Flamehart considered the floor to be quite comfy, and had decided that for the time being this bar shall be his home, as he fell into a light sleep, the first he'd gotten in days.

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Re: The Scent of Gold

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby kidcopious on Sun Sep 14, 2014 2:28 pm

The barman made his way down the stairs, carrying a rack of clean mugs in front of him. The stained rag over his shoulder and weathered leather apron on his front were unimposing, but stood in stark contrast to the thick scar that crossed his face from hairline to chin, one empty eyesocket concealed by a leather eyepatch.

Pausing over the prostrate figure at the foot of the stairs, he woke him unceremoniously with the toe of his boot. "Sleep on your own time. I've got work for you." Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Strife and beckoned him to the bar with a tilt of his chin.

He proceeded behind the bar and shelved the rack of mugs, drying his hands on the dingy rag over his shoulder. Bending down to root around in the mysterious recesses beneath the counter, he pulled out a scroll of vellum and unrolled it on the bartop, holding down each edge with an upturned shot glass.

Filling two mugs with ale, he set one in front of each man and began explaining the score. Plunking one stubby finger down on the crude map he had unrolled, he began, "This is the harbormaster's office."

He dropped a couple of empty walnut shells carefully onto the spaces representing two adjacent slips in the dock. "This is the Sea Queen and the Anna Maria. Our friends inform us that the Sea Queen will be empty tonight. The captain is drinking upstairs and most of the crew is at that shithole down Librum street."

"The Sea Queen's hold is empty, she just cashed out her cargo this morning," He tapped the walnut shell in the next berth over, "but the Anna Maria is stuffed with spices. That cunt Captain Horne didnt like the price he got and he plans to move on to the next port. But we aren't going to let a prize like that sail away."

"He left a token force onboard to guard the goods, so don't try to board her from the dock. Gangplank will be pulled in anyway. The smart move is to board the unguarded Sea Queen and somehow make your way from one ship's deck to the other. It's a span of 30 yards or so, so you may have to grow some wings." He smiles wryly, gold glinting from a replaced canine tooth. "Im sure you'll come up with something."

"You lot probably wouldn't know cardamom and saffron from a your mother's bush trimmings, so look for paper packages about this big." He held up his hands, imitating the silhouette of brick-shaped object. "Get as many as you can and don't get caught. It would be no great loss to the world to kill a few of Horne's lackeys, but a bloodbath will be bad for business, so keep it quiet if you can."

"Those bricks will fetch a high price, but dont damage the packages or get them wet. Bring them here and I'll see you're well rewarded."

Turning to fill his own mug, he asked, "We clear?" before taking a hearty swallow and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

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