Closed [The Mark] Needs

[Pulren Marsh]

9th of Spring, Dusk.

Pulren had sat on his bunk for some time before deciding to actually get up and do it. Knowing where he was heading, he made sure to leave his Mizas behind. He stashed his razor in his boot, as it was just stupid to walk East Street without anything at all. The cottage was pretty much exactly as Pal had left it in Winter. If anything, it was more messy from Pulren's distracted presence in it. The only way he could distance himself from his old life would be to move to the Barracks of the Wave Guard. He wasn't ready for the test, though.

East Street came into view, awakening with the slumbering of Syna. The girls and guys were out in force, their eyes sweeping over Pulren's form as closely as others in the street swept over their own. He just kept his eyes forward and his gait one of purpose. The pretty fronts of brothels gave way to darker and shabbier underbellies as darkness began to sweep through the streets and the shadows lengthened.

He had only heard whispers of what lied at the end of East Street. None of those whispers sounded like a good story or much of a story at all. Mostly 'Don't' and 'unless'. He was young but not completely naive. He knew there would be a risk, but not doing anything to move his life forward was a bigger risk. The streets were emptier as he reached the dank end, though Pulren guessed this was just another front. He couldn't worry too much and pushed himself to the final open entryway, stairs descending into darkness.

Taking a breath and whispering a prayer to the sea behind him, Pulren followed the stairs into uncertainty.

[Eldritch]

As Pulren would descend into the depths of the stairs the light would seem to dim and a strange musty smell would begin to fill the air. It smelled like aged parchment and of fresh ink recently used to mark said parchment. The journey down into the depths of Semele’s bowels would seem to take an eternity when in fact it was only a few dozen steps to the bottom and to the establishment itself. A further detractor to the place, the decorum being quite intimidating in and of itself. Near the bottom Pulren would find a doorless gate, the world below seeming to open up soon after.

Upon landing upon the establishment proper the first thing Pulren might notice was the word ‘Mark’ rusted in twisted metal on the far wall, the spaces bold between. Two doors existed here, the gate behind him that led out and a single one ahead that was blocked with a fine and thick oaken door. Its purpose was anyone’s guess, though the bar over it from the outside didn’t leave many pleasant thoughts to the imagination. Parchment and documents were waxed to the walls, sealed there and bearing manifold signatures.

“Greetings.” Came a soft voice from the side, its tone cordial.

To the side there was a large and fine desk with two chairs, one behind and the other across which was open and waiting. Behind the desk sat a rather plain looking and nondescript man with brown hair and brown eyes. There were no remarkable features about him, nothing outstanding that a person could point towards other than the dark circles around his eyes perhaps and that static gaze that was held upon Pulren. It almost looked like the gaze of a corpse really…

The man would gesture to the chair across from him, his lips set in a cordial smile and his hands folded upon the table. The skin of his face seemed to pull almost unnaturally at the gesture, like a mask that didn’t quite fit the person. His clothing looked just as plain as he himself was, a simple tunic, trousers, and boots adorning his body. The most unnerving thing about him was the fact that when one drew closer and actually looked at him they would note he never blinked or breathed.

“I trust the day finds you well, sir?” He inquired, keeping to the pleasantries and ignoring his possibly unnerving mannerisms.

[Pulren Marsh]

With each step into darkness, Pulren began to feel that the unseen eyes on him in East Street would be a welcome sensation should he ascend from the living tomb he had entered. At their base, he looked at the word scrawled in metal and the great, barred oaken door. A sheen of pallid sweat clung to his face and the back of his neck, though it had nothing to do with temperature. His eyes scanned over the various parchments posted, though he felt that those agreements were brought by others who had entered this place before him. It was not his place to pry.

The words of greetings caught Pulren unaware, his body turning on its heel with a jolt, his pulse firing off into a gallop. His mouth opened as if to say something, but it was dry and couldn't find purchase. His eyes laid on the 'man' speaking to him, though his appearance made him appear much more as an unfortunate accident. A well dressed and groomed accident, but still. Watching him speak made Pulren wonder if there was someone behind the chair, pulling strings and moving levers.

He would have to reserve judgments, however, as he was the one who had arrived to ask for assistance. This person could have very well been sitting there at the desk for days. Taking the seat offered, Pulren tried to straighten his posture and keep his vision focused on the small orbs representing eyes. " The day has slipped by, Sir. The night finds me as well as one could be." '..in this chair, Pulren thought to himself. He thought to begin with his questions, but the air itself seemed to rest on his shoulders, begging patience. Courtesy came instead. "Yourself, Sir?"

[Eldritch]

The nondescript man simply stared at Pulren as he moved to seat himself, his static gaze rather unnatural and not once did he blink. The polite exchange seemed to have gained the man some indulgence however, as the gaunt man nodded once and shuffled through few documents upon his desk. His expression displayed no emotion, however he had not as of yet dismissed the other man so obviously he was either simply continuing his previous business or waiting for Pulren to start things up. Time tended to slip away as being unimportant after so long a life for an undead, chimes and bells became less important as opposed to years and decades.

“Ah, time tends to lose its importance after a while down here I find. As for myself, I am as fine as one can be in Zeltiva. The days do tend to blend into each other as of late.” The man said, scribbling something down on one of his documents and setting it aside.

This task accomplished he turned the full weight of his gaze upon Pulren again, though it was a bit different this time. It was as though he was appraising the possessions upon the man and his overall worth as well in terms of monetary value. Rather like he was looking upon a form of market good or another thing he could barter and sell for. It was an extremely impersonal look, cold and dead much like the man appeared to be himself.

“What brings you to my establishment, Mr…?” The man started, leaving space for the other man to fill with words.

[Pulren Marsh]

Pleasantries were an accepted form and it seemed as if the 'man' was lost in time, his mention of it as a thing that moved outside of the window. If there had been any windows in this dungeon. Though it was clear that this was a place of pensive agreements and sketchy outcomes, Pulren knew he had come for the right reasons. He didn't expect a handshake. he didn't want to touch it, actually. It was scribbling things down as they spoke, secrets that Pulren would never know.

A distinct change in the air and the situation came as it turned its full gaze on Pulren, who could feel the pressure of the inquiry in his chest. The young man had been privy to the kind of looks he was getting as he himself had often stared at the wares of fishmongers and merchants as well. he was clearly being sized up. He had one thing to bargain with, that he was consciously aware of. In his shirt was the deed to Pal's cottage. His idea was to trade it in for a stipend toward his University training next season. He also wanted to end up with temporary residence both in the Barracks of the Guard as well as in the University. A permanent home for two sometimes homes. It seemed reasonable enough to him.

It all began with pleasantries. But how would it end? Pulren chose his words carefully, suspecting he was a babe in these political woods. "Marsh. Pulren Marsh. I have come here to arrange for a change in residence, one permanent for two temporaries. I have also come to look into the possibility of a loan or stipend for University expenses next season." He waited before spilling all of the beans. "Does this sound like a reasonable request at all, Sir?"

[Eldritch]

The undead listened carefully as Pulren spoke, seeming to closely analyze each word that was offered to him and dissect it over a few times. The request sounded rather normal to what he was used to getting, though he had to wonder if the other man could actually pay back the debts that were owed to him once payment was made. The Nuit pulled up two different documents, looking at both before starting to write upon one and then upon the other. This finished he returned his attention back to Pulren and steepled his fingers.

“So you wish to offer me your residence then, Mr. Marsh? What assets are attached to it? Where is it located and how was it constructed?” The Undead questioned, his tone even.

“As for Loans, how much are you looking to acquire for your educational venture?” The man pressed, cocking his head slightly to the side as he spoke.

His tone indicated that these were fairly common place questions and inquires to be made of him, not bored exactly but his tone was somewhat mechanical. All the while he stared at Pulren with that static and unblinking gaze, his face bereft of proper emotion. As he spoke the young Wave Guard might notice blacked gums along with the black tongue as well, evidence of decay though it seemed not to overly bother the Nuit as it might a living person.

[Pulren Marsh]

If one could overlook Mark's hideous appearance, one could see that a shrewd businessman sat before Pulren, nothing more. While not being incredibly naive, he still believed that he could sort out an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial. He suspected that some who came to the Mark were on their last nilo and had to accept any terms just to survive.

"Yes, Sir. It is a small cottage near the docks, formerly the residence of myself and my Uncle Pal Marsh. It has the land it sits on with a small bit of space in front. The foundation is stone, though the remainder is timber, just as most at the docks. I realize that by surrendering the deed, it will no longer be my property and will be yours to do with as you please." He slid the deed from his tunic and stood from his seat, walking to the desk and placing it there before the 'man'.

"My needs are simple, really. I would like to trade this one permanent residence for two long term temporary residences. As a Guard, I may lay claim to a bunk in the barracks of the Headquarters, but as I also plan to attend the University for a few years, I would also like a private dormitory room as well. I will be pursuing a Sailing certificate, among other things and know that these things are a given to most. What I wish to procure from you, Sir, is the guarantee of said room without any bureaucracy or red tape. I'd also like an account with the University in which to draw my tuition."

Realizing his own tone was not so even, Pulren moved back and took a seat. "Now, I am unsure of the costs of my schooling, to be honest. However, I do know that permanent residences in Zeltiva are at a premium, even in the docks. So, I ask that your offer is fair. You are investing in the city's future by aiding me in my studies, so that my duties as a Guardsman and pursuit of an Officer's title can be unhindered." Feeling he had said all that he could, Pulren stood silent after that, waiting to hear what Mark would reply with.