Solo Alternative Methods

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

Alternative Methods

Postby Valerio on July 15th, 2015, 9:39 am

15th of Summer, 515 AV


A smudge-stained scrap of paper with a location scratched near the center, and the scribbling of a bell marked beneath. It had been penned in almost illegible handwriting, as if the author had not wished to be troubled a flea’s leg longer with its significance--now sat crumpled in the sweaty palm of a thief staring grimly at a rusted metal sign attached to a crumbling edifice next to an open doorway that read simply: Mark.

The stairwell he apprehensively descended past the entrance, with no small amount of caution, was dark even by his standards, pupils consuming the breadth of blue irises in an attempt to catalogue every detail he could. His steps were short but calculated, feeling out each step beneath them through the soles of his boots, heavier on the toes than heel. A modestly silent approach was attempted, as though the walls themselves demanded polite respect. But even the slightest hints of sound echoed in a manner that made him feel more a lumbering giant than agile dancer. Perhaps it was just his ears deceiving him. After all, he felt eerily outside his element despite being immersed in it, and that did not settle easily within the pit of a quivering stomach.

Valerio was at odds with his own motivations for this visit, toes clicking agonizingly against each step. Gold was the easy and honest conclusion one could reach. A price could be placed on anything without questions being asked. Though of those, he guessed there would still be many after whatever discourse was held. Perhaps it was the legend behind the business that intrigued him more, then. Many a more venerable soul in East Street could recall a time when the building did not even exist, yet the proprietor was reportedly well on in his years, and his methods...well. Fear and respect often went hand in hand.

But there was only one question troubling his mind as he reached a black portal of a door at the bottom of the stairwell, body now completely immersed in darkness where the shadows were so thick he could feel them clinging to his flesh like a cold wet blanket: why him? Why summon him?

“Enter,” came a voice as soft and gentle as an evening primrose blossoming, with only the slightest trace of murderous intent threading the invitation.

The door was cautiously opened to reveal a sudden warmth of amber light, shrinking his eyes carefully enough to reach a more peaceful equilibrium against the backdrop of darkness. The first thing he took note of was the rather immaculate desk stationed in the center of the room, its size well beyond what seemed capable of fitting into the small corridor he’d just gravitated down from, and varnished so perfectly that its mirror like surface captured every detail of the room in stunning precision.

Behind it and positioned purposefully at its center sat a man in a leather clad armchair who remained so still Valerio had to seriously question if it was a corpse. But a pair of curious eyes was upon him, studying each facet of his being fastidiously and piercing much more than what his clothes and demeanor revealed. “Have a seat, Valerio,” came the voice again, an arm stretching forth towards a vacant chair of lesser size but no less finer make than his own.

The chill that perforated the thief’s spine caused an instinctual fight or flight response that was quickly doused by a sense of tranquility, foreign though it was. He found his feeting carrying him forward gracefully nonetheless, seating himself in a manner unbefitting of his more roguish habits. Everything about his surroundings felt bound in some way by etiquette, from the walls with their waxed copies of what appeared to be transactions concluded, to the fixtures setting atop his desk. Everything felt formal, everything with a very distinct purpose.

“Before we begin, you undoubtedly require some information,” his body pulling forward to rest his elbows atop the table where his fingers intertwined beneath a jowly facade. “First, allow me to introduce myself, though I doubt such introductions are truly required.” He took a moment to notice the recognition on Valerio’s face. “My name is Mark, and I run a very simple business. Simple in the fact of its service. Less so in terms of its exigency.”

The thief offered but the driest of smiles.

“Ah good, you understand. Well then let me be perfectly candid. I am seeking new talent. Talent that you possess. Do not concern yourself with the how. Simply try to understand the why. If you refuse, so shall our conversation be concluded and our little venture ended before it began. Is this amenable to your tastes?”

Valerio provided but a curt nod, and suddenly felt the slightest release from his rapt attentiveness.

“Good,” Mark offered with but the coolest of smiles that made one question whether he was smiling at all. “Then let us begin.”
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Alternative Methods

Postby Valerio on July 20th, 2015, 11:37 pm

The piece of paper he still held in the palm of his hand was now soaked through with sweat, a thin line of it also gathering miserably upon his brow. Valerio had to resist the urge to wipe it away with his sleeve, bound to a peculiar belief that it would somehow translate as a sign of weakness. But for one so old as Mark, it did not take the perspiration on one’s forehead, nor the overall disquiet that gripped the young man, to gather that he was feeling ill at ease. This state of unspoken turmoil seemed to please him, the intensity of his eyes growing like a feline’s on the verge of pouncing on unsuspecting prey.

“You know what it is that I do, yes?” the old voice spoke with barely a trace of emotion, and so exact that a politician might confuse him for one of their own.

“Ah, yes. I-I believe so.” Valerio had to swallow several times to remove the dry taste from the back of his throat.

“Then tell me.”

There was hesitation at first, likely a product of fractured nerves filling his mind with doubt, but he pressured on. “You lend people money,” he said quietly. “No more than they can pay back, as I understand it. But those that don’t pay have met...unsavory ends.” The light in the room seemed to momentarily shift. An errant breeze perhaps. “All hearsay, of course,” he concluded with urgency, finding the taste of diplomacy strange on his tongue.

Mark’s papery thin lips shrank as he sat back in his chair, hands following him and coming to rest within his lap. Every movement he made was slow, and felt in some way calculated, eyes never straying for more than a moment from his guest. It cut through Valerio and spread like a root within his chest. It was fear, surely, but carried along with it something else. Something just as primal. The thief adjusted in his seat, and wished the uncomfortable silence would already end.

“Can you think of why I might have requested your presence here?”

Was this all a test? Obviously the loaner had his own reasoning, which was likely far more elaborate than anything Valerio’s bungling mind could concoct. But there was no dialogue between them. No tells, no auspices. The conversation was pointed directly at him, and it felt like a dagger hovering dangerously above one’s throat. He swallowed again. “To serve some purpose of yours surely,” he said with just an edge of irritation attached. “But you would not summon me here if it did not benefit me as well,” his brow raising slowly.

The old man offered the slightest nod, instilling the other with some small shred of confidence to continue. “I believe you know what it is that I do. How you know this, I can only guess. Likely a few walls with ears and a few windows with eyes, neh?”

Valerio paused, but only because Mark’s silent reaction and curling lip was the most he had gotten from him since stepping into his office. “But knowing what a ‘jacker does and how he does it are two separate issues. You are unsure whether I lack the proper skill.”

Mark cut him off with a simple glance. “I know you possess the skill. It is your desire for the matter at hand, and your willingness to do what I ask without question that I have brought you here tonight.”

“You haven’t asked me to do anything yet,” he spoke with a puzzling look. “All you’ve done is request my...presence.” The pieces fit smoothly together, features falling silent. “I wasn’t the only one you sent a missive to, was I?”

The sleeves from Mark’s shirt shifted slightly. A shrug if there ever was one to be gleaned from such an enigmatic creature. “A scrap of paper with a location and a bell. That was all I delivered. Do not see it as mindless servitude. Appreciate it as an opportunistic spirit. You want something in life, do you not? You are willing to go to great lengths to get it. I can provide the means of getting you there. All I ask is for a bit of your time and talent.”

“You hurt people. Sometimes good people,” Valerio found himself saying, though he knew there existed an answer to such naivety already.

“They leave here knowing the full extent of their consequence, young sir. Are others so kind? But mark my words now, lest you regret your actions later. I will not tolerate another insult to my business. Understand?”

There was no threatening gesture, no darkening of demeanor. Simple words, cut from a sheet of ice that left a brand upon the thief’s tongue he no longer wished to taste. He nodded curtly, finding his fingers crushing the piece of parchment held in his hand.

“Good. Then also understand this. I am not employing you to hurt others. On the contrary. I only ask you to be a messenger.”

“A messenger of what?” Valerio asked, caution riddling his voice.

“It does not always pay to use force in this line of work,” Mark stated matter-of-factly. “At times a lighter touch is all that is required, and the reward is more beneficial to both involved. Fear is a powerful tool if used correctly. I simply ask you to inspire it in our clientele.”

“But not through violence...” The younger man’s lips twist sideways, teeth nibbling along his bottom lip.

From a drawer behind his desk, Mark removed two objects, one far more dense than the other. He placed each atop the sturdy dark wood surface between them with little formality, one beside the next, and slid them both across to where Valerio might retrieve them. A small but heavy knife sat next to a piece of parchment, far more elaborate than the scrap he held in his own hand. Written on it was a simple message, penmanship tidy and well composed. The thief found himself not wishing to lean over to read it just yet. Not until he had made up his mind.

“There is a homestead a few blocks from here, next to a smokehouse,” Mark continued as he reordered himself. “It shouldn’t give you too much trouble, but I’d like for the task to be completed by tomorrow evening. Simply attach this note with this knife to the dresser you’ll find in the bedroom on the second floor. Up the stairwell and second door on the right, I believe. It should go without saying that no one should ever be keen to your presence there at any given point until you are well away.”

Valerio’s brow furrowed doubtfully, but knew that any questions would further turn the conversation away from its intended goal. His hand reached across the table and collected both items, first the piece of parchment, then the knife. “That’s all?”

“There is an item atop the dresser that I must also request you acquire. A small broach. You could sell it to a fence for a modest turn of coin, but I promise that handing it over to me will be far more lucrative to your endeavors. Is that simple enough?” Moving a varicose hand to his right across the desk, Mark removed a quill from a small silver stand, pulling a piece of parchment along with it to rest before him.

“What is the broach is not there?” Valerio’s fingers tapped ponderously across his knee, wondering if questions would truly get him anywhere with his apparent employer.

“If it is not there, then I suggest you do a bit of searching. You will recognize it when you find it. I imagine gold does not pass your sight so easily. But I am rather certain it shall be there...Do you have any more questions?” Mark’s voice was audibly growing more tired.

“Only one,” Valerio’s eyes narrowed, sure that if he did not ask, he would be doubting his every move from here on out. Doubt which would likely get him caught or worse.

“Hmm?” The older man was beginning to wet the tip of the quill from a vial of ink he’d procured from another drawer, eyes now cast down to the parchment and seeming to pay the thief of little mind.

“What is the price of failure?” Valerio froze, wanting to make sure he understood every word that came next.

“The price of failure, depending on the severity, is anywhere from simple dismissal, to a rather macabre practice I take no pleasure in. But of that, a rather prodigious amount of betrayal on your part would need be achieved. Have you an interest in…”ratting me out” as your ilk call it?” He paused long enough to look up to his business associate who was beginning to stand, both items still clutched in his hands.

Valerio offered but the grimmest of expressions, lips pursed, jaw clenched, and eyes dark. “I’m no turncoat,” he growled, more for the taste of the word on his lips than any accusation the other might have made. “That’s not East Street.”

“Of course it isn’t, which is why I have all the faith in the world you’ll be efficacious in the task I have set before you. Whatever you believe in, may it grant you haste and good will.” A smile. A true smile, macabre though it was, graced his lips.

Valerio breathed deeply of the room, noticing for the first time it smelled faintly of varnish and rose petals. Strange, he mused while turning to let himself out, the door clicking behind him with an echo that followed him up the stairwell and back onto familiar streets. A shiver tore down his spine.
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Alternative Methods

Postby Valerio on July 22nd, 2015, 1:30 am

The air under Leth’s watchful gaze carried with it an appreciable bite that caused a set of spindly fingers to draw tighter at the hem of the cloak draped across his sunken shoulders. Though perhaps it was not the chill in the air at all that was eliciting such an involuntary response, but rather the culmination of having just concluded a business transaction that contained more holes in it than a pair of beggar’s used skivvies. Seriously, what had he been thinking accepting such terms without considering, at the very least, a few more plausible angles? Pausing only for a moment to collect his thoughts, Valerio inhaled the briny scent of Zeltiva’s bay air and released the tension out slowly.

Either way this went, dwelling on it now seemed to serve no purpose other than complicating a situation he had such little footing in. If one wished to find answers, they went out in search of them, and there was a house a few blocks from here that contained a fair starting point for such investigations. Grim determination quickly swallowed his remaining doubt, steady gaze looking out beyond the amorphous walls of East Street’s hovels to a future that remained unsure. As long as there was the promise of gold involved, the rest could work itself out. Right.

A healthy dose of Leth’s light splashed onto the cobbled streets for him to see, but also made a poor covering for any future illicit acts he might wish to implement. His movements were careful but in need of much practice, clinging to the shadows where the pale light of the god did not touch. His cloak whisked behind him in a flutter of movement, dragging along the sediment that stirred along in a slithering hiss. There was never a pressing need to conceal his movements with barely a face out to recognize him, but given his agenda for the evening, made him feel better off knowing there was no one’s interests being piqued to his personal affairs.

The sudden faint echo of rattling chain caused for him to inhale sharply and momentarily freeze, pupils dilating as he broke into the nearest alley a few feet away from where the soft soles of his boots tread. Where the sound originated from, he remained unsure, but caution dictated he assume the worst in any given situation; the worst in this case being a figure of some authority out on patrol. Ducking behind a stack of mangled crates, for he quickly realized the alley ended with a wall, Valerio carefully measured the tremors of his own breath and quieted all else around him. The sound of the chain grew closer, breaking into a pair voices carrying on in some plain sort of conversation.

The words themselves were unimportant, only the possible hints of trepidation etched in their voices concerning him. But with none to be gleaned, the thief simply waited for them to pass, their shadows stretching across the opening in the span of a heartbeat before disappearing, voices fading gradually along with them. Exhaling the breath he had unwittingly trapped in his chest, Valerio removed himself from hiding and stepped back out onto the street with cautionary gait.

Sparing a moment to ensure he was once more alone, the thief continued to stalk the night. He found it rather difficult to focus his attention on so many factors contributing to his silence at once. Between his own breathing, the subtle shift from equipment being loosely attached to his person, and the required deft traces of maneuvering along the uneven surface of road, Valerio came to the sterling realization that he was rather incapable of remaining soundless. Each time he would focus on one aspect, another would rise, prevailing over the last. If he’d been walking a crowded street, he had no doubt that all eyes would be upon him for the cacophony he was raising.

Or perhaps he was just over exaggerating.
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Alternative Methods

Postby Valerio on July 23rd, 2015, 2:07 am

He could feel it building in his veins and settling beneath the surface of his skin. Tension. Crawling across him like a swarm of insects, nesting between joint and sinew. As much effort as he put into remaining inaudible with the rest of his surroundings, something always managed to betray him. The jingle of coin from his pouch, a pebble on the road his eyes failed to catch, breath seizing in alarm at every peculiar sound before exhaling sharply. All of it drew him to the conclusion that he made for one poor prowler of the night.

His talents were much more suited to the mechanics behind the art he earned a modest sum on. Feeling when the pins in a lock fell perfectly into place, measuring for the right step to sneak his hand into an unsuspecting mark’s pockets. It was a talent he wished to expand on, and knew there was room for improvement. But such a gift had come more readily to him since the days of his younger years. This? This required work, and the thief was unsure how palatable such efforts were. The easy life he dreamed of became just a tinge more elusive.

Stopping short of his next step, Valerio compulsively grimaced to the sediment crumbling beneath the soft tread of his boot, eyes frozen within a vacuum of space whose focus remained indistinct. Rooted within the shadow of a short yet stocky building, the thief caught the scent of burning hickory immediately and retrained his focus to that of his surroundings. Still within the hallowed halls of East Street, he cursed his quieting stroll for an entirely different reason altogether this time; a cognitive loss for sense of time and location.

Having managed to navigate his way to a smaller side street, familiarity with his surroundings seeped into his mind like the warmth of a fond memory, comfort instilled within him despite his ulterior motives for being there. Home for Valerio was in the mortared bricks, nailed planks, and thatched roofs surrounding him. It did not require a notch to hang his cowl from. These streets had nurtured him in his adolescence, taught him where to hide and who to hide from. There were struggles, as any life was destined to have, but each piece of it was more trustworthy than the words uttered by another’s lips. This place he could trust, even if he was here to cause it a bit of turmoil amongst its denizens.

Staring out across the street, the thief casually turned and leaned his back into the mudbrick wall behind him, folding his arms gently across his chest, masked in shadow and veiled from wandering eye. Gray smoke breathed from the opening in a gable of a small shack sitting next to a two story home. Candlelight flickered from several of the larger building’s windows while the rest remained dark and lifeless. It seemed strange that such a tall structure would exist in this particular location, the surrounding grounds littered by ramshackle cottages that hugged tightly to one another like a herd of cattle. This house felt more like a shepherd watching over its flock.

Valerio wondered if there wasn’t a familiar face within to claim as its inhabitant. In all his twenty six struggling years scraping a living together among these dregs, he had perhaps stalked this street once or twice. But without a soul to jog his memory, his flimsy conscience relaxed to the elementary task at hand. Scanning the windows for signs of movement, he was relieved to note that not even a phantom stirred behind the flickering light trapped behind the panes of glass. Either they slept soundly, or were out amongst a livelier crowd sating their preferred vices. His hopes rested with the latter.
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