The Cost of Popularity [Wrenmae]

[Volsk]

The Cost of Popularity 33rd of Summer, 512 AV A heavy wind ripped through the streets of Zeltiva sending the young man's cloak billowing out behind him. Raelon Volsk peered out from inside his hood, grey fur lining rippling with the breeze. The evening was warm by Zeltivan standard due to the season, but the wind was rising off the mountain peaks and brought a dangerous chill. Volsk stood still watching men move about the docks slowly ending a long day’s work as the sun descended from view. Shadows swept quickly across the scene and it wasn’t long before the night had come. The young man drew a comb from the pocket of his dark midnight blue jacket, sweeping it quickly through his light brown hair, tidying any loose hairs the wind may have caused. His brow was furrowed, eyes cold and steel, Volsk’s inner conversation continued as always unabated. I WANT TO GO DRINK WITH THE SWINE! No, no you don’t, you want to show off. I’ve earned it! I, I said no, we can’t risk it. It’s your fault anyway ...blame yourself. My fault?! How is it my fault, they love me and rightly so! I buy them a round of drinks at every bell! No, no you don’t, you acquire them a round of drinks and then you leave without the crucial part of paying. Well… the economies tight… Don’t, just don’t drink. We’ve got more to worry about right now than you trying to be everyone’s drinking buddy… You’re always worrying, who needs to worry when we’re destined to run this city one day. Shut up, just shut up. If anyone is going to get us to the top it’ll be me, I don’t need you making more enemies for us by skipping bills, or more importantly making debts in the first place. …I’m sorry what? I wasn't paying attention... I was thinking about this ring I saw on a man the other day in the market. Disgusting fellow, fat and all sorts but the ring… beautiful… looked like a diamond I'd say, big thing but elegant. I want it, I deserve it. Please, please just shut up. What are we waiting for anyway? Nothing, nothing or something, anything. We’re running low on mizas which you wouldn’t have noticed because you're to busy think about damn rings you cant afford. We need a job or a lead, or a target… Maybe you’ll find something at the tavern? Damn you, whatever damn you, lets go to the bloody tavern… useless bastard. The wind picked up again, blowing hard across the waterfront sending the workers into haste to get back to their warm living quarters. Raelon Volsk, turned on his high booted heels pulling the cloak tight around his body. He tucked his cane under his arm and strode tall and firm toward the closest tavern, eager to leave the cold behind.

[Wrenmae]

"You, you're a Waveguard yeh?" Shroud looked up from his mug, irritable. He and Zan had been speaking, a rare moment of connection for master and familiar and this bartender had the nerve to interrupt him...especially in his uniform. Adjusting the rapier and long dagger at his belt, he scowled. "What was your first clue?" The bartender waved off the words with a nervous chuckle, "I need some help...see, my friends used to help me run this bar, good men, strong fellows, kept the Sunberth rabble in check, ya know?" "I'm not interested in your recollections." "I know, I know, but a fellow was in the bar a bit ago, Volsk, I think his name was. Bought rounds of drinks for the whole tavern he did, round after round. Should have asked him to pay up then, but he skipped out. Sent my boys after him and they all three died, left in an alley all gutted and murdered." Shroud knew where it was going. He raised an eyebrow, the only indication the bartender had to continue. "Oh, err, well, I told others to go out and bring the fellow in, ya know, take care of him, or shake him down for my money plus wages for the guards he killed. But he's talked, escaped, or killed his way out of anyone I send. Aint no one goes near him now, not on my word." "Price?" "Wh-what?" Shroud took a swig of his spirits, setting it down, "Did I speak too quietly? I said price. What is your price. What are you paying? What is my incentive?" "Kee-keeping the peace?" "Whose peace? Yours? I think not." "Err. Well, I haven't got much money, ya see, but I can offer free drinks for you and any friends you bring in 'ere...to a limit of three friends." Shroud looked down at his hand, at the manacle thrumming around his wrist. It was enough. "That and twenty gold mizas." The bartender looked stricken, but Shroud did not yield, staring at him coolly. "I'll handle your problem for your original offer in addition to twenty mizas. If I die, you have no need to pay it." "Err. Alright then, erm. Here, let me tell you what the fellow looked like." Shroud smiled, rose, and crossed to the bar, leaning in to listen to the feverish whispering of the nervous proprietor. Satisfied, he straightened and nodded his head to the man, heading to the door. Outside, stiff winds buffeted the blue uniform and chimed against the blades at his side. He smiled, tasting the seabreeze with glee. It was a perfect day for confrontations, perhaps perfect enough to shed blood...situation allowing. "Should I be offended that you drink liquid?" Zan asked from inside him, no doubt what he'd been trying to ponder all afternoon, "I mean, it's kinda like eating a less talkative me. And, I mean, I have standards too ya know. I live down here half the time and the swill you take is practically poison." "I could take a chilled drink." "Point taken." Shroud grinned. So it was that he found himself behind his intended target, shadows alighting on the surfaces of boxes and across alabaster white walls. Zeltiva was being claimed by the inky after-dusk, a cool chill settling on those still outside their friendly harbor. He matched the description and the murderer had been tailing him for a few minutes now. "Volsk," Wrenmae called out to him, almost toyingly, "I believe you have some debts to own up to."