Visitations (Adair, Alexandre, PM to enter)

A visit with an old friend yields an unexpected reunion.

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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.

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Visitations (Adair, Alexandre, PM to enter)

Postby Rowan Morealis on September 23rd, 2013, 8:56 pm

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Fall 13, 513 AV


Rowan matched the merchant's glare with his own flippant raise of an eyebrow. Both men were grappled in that ancient battle known so well as negotiation. Both sat in Rowan's office. Between them, on Rowan's desk, a dagger sat between them. The merchant was a large man, swaddled in Kalinor silks with a winking ruby pendant accenting his rising and falling chest. Rowan, on the other hand, wore his best silk shirt and had cross his hands with a steeple of fingers. One frowned, the other smiled.

"What did you say that would cost me?" The merchant asked again, his face the color of bruises...it was a color Rowan knew all too well, the backs of his slaves sported such vivid, angry color.

"My dear Ahmon," The magecrafter said with a sigh, "You looked at my pricings already. I require a small price upfront to cover the cost of materials and then a price at the end for the delivered material."

"Preposterous," the merchant snapped, crossing his arms, "Why, In Lhavit I-"

"But this is not Lhavit," Rowan assured him with a frown, "Surely you've seen that by now. I cannot say how they run things in the Kalean mountains, but here in the swamp we expect business to be done in a different way. Now...I can see your frustration at the way I run things, but without another Magecrafter, you have nowhere else to go with your weapon concerns."

Ahmon looked like he was about to speak, his throat bulged against a network of angry pulsing veins, but Rowan held up a hand to continue. "But I am not without my leniency, and I do certainly want your business. I'll offer you a 5% discount on the ending price in a show of good faith."

"15 percent." Ahmon muttered in response, "Don't cheat me, boy. I've killed a man for less."

"8 percent," Rowan countered with a frown, "And I am being lenient. My business requires me to make a profit at least. Besides, you so much as touch me and the Magistrate will execute everyone in your trading caravan...or sell them off as slaves." He eyed the man, as if appraising him, "I'd say death for you, your soft hands make you a poor slave for harvesting crops."

The merchant chuckled with a grimace, "I bring good business. The magistrate has no reason to avenge the death of one brat. Ten percent is the least I will take. Take it or leave it, Dynasty brat."

Rowan sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together as if considering the idea. He gnawed his lower lip, shuffled his feet, and then finally closed his eyes and shook his head sharply. "Fine. Fine. Ten percent off the final price it is. Gods, but you took me like a thief. Is that how they do business where you're from?"

Ahmon grinned, almost too wide, fully of white, snarling teeth. He put out a beefy hand and Rowan took it, grimacing as the big man clenched it. "Boy, you know nothing about being a merchant. Stand your ground when you have it. The first payment will be here by evening. I'll expect my weapon midway through the season." He stood and offered a short, almost insulting bow, leaving the dagger on Rowan's desk.

Rowan waited till he heard the front door to Quintessence close and chuckled himself, leaning back in his chair and drawing the dagger. The curved blade was pretty, set in a gold sheathe and grip.

"Moron," Rowan muttered, kicking his feet off the desk and standing, tossing the dagger into a drawer in his desk, "Let your opponent feel superior and he will spend a fortune just to think he made the better deal."

Stepping out into the street, he turned the OPEN sign on his shop to CLOSED. The Dry Plaza was typically crowded for the time of day, men of all financial classes swept through on their daily browse. It was no concern of his that the shoppers spent more of their time in the clothing and accessory shops of the other Dynasty members. Indeed, he preferred they did. It was only a matter of time before that fancy ring purchased on a whim would lose its luster. How best to restore desire to such an expensive purchase than layering it with the marvelous effects of magic? His business was based on the principle that in Kenash, more was better. There was always something new that could be done to an accessory to laud over others of their class. Mostly he filled orders for rings, bracelets, earrings, and other jewelry. As the dynasties were his most prolific customers, Rowan had the honor of being well connected to those who had the coin to command his craft.

He could expect Ahmon to take his time in delivering the first payment. Merchants like him were almost always of similar mind. They waited, they plotted, and in their own little toad-like way, they felt they had command over all that they saw. Making Rowan wait for payment was Ahmon’s way of saying that Rowan was less than him. But for Rowan that simply meant he had time to visit a friend.

The Thumbed Page rose up in his view before he had time to decide what friend he wanted to visit. Even now, with the opportunity so easily before him, something of Rowan paused. Alexadre was not the same as he had been. His moods had sunk into a dour low and he almost seemed to be actively avoiding Rowan. His attendance had all but vanished from the social environment of the upper class…almost to a point where Rowan had to routinely ask if perhaps the man was not ill or even dead. Day after day he passed the Thumbed Page and debated entering its crypt-like door to see his old friend. Had they not once been close? Had they not once laughed along these very streets?

Damn him, but they had. What manner of gentleman and friend could he be if he could not be challenged to see someone once dear to him?

“Petch it all.” he murmured, and pushed into the Thumbed Page. A large burnt colored slave watched him impassively from behind a desk, but Rowan paid him no mind. “Alexandre!” He called out, his voice echoing in the gloomy shop, “Alexandre, damn you, it is time I reacquainted you with an old friend called the sun!”
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Rowan Morealis
Heir to an occupied throne
 
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Visitations (Adair, Alexandre, PM to enter)

Postby Adair Askara on September 28th, 2013, 5:01 pm

Adair Askara needed his dear cousin Alex to proofread his latest literary masterpiece. The young man posessed more than enough imagination for ten people, but he was much too impatient to pay attention to things like spelling and grammar. Grammar bored him. He had decided to leave the boring things up to his cousin who probably didn’t have anything better to do anyway seeing as he was a hermit who thought he was the ugliest freak ever.

He entered the Thumbed Page shortly after Rowan, the pages with his story tucked under his arm. He was as always quite a sight to be hold. This time he wore an emerald green shirt and black leather pants and had peacock feathers and beads in his hair. He looked like a barbarian with questionable taste in fashion that tried his best to look civilized, but failed.

As he noticed that there was already another costumer in the shop, a Morealis to be exact, he arched an eyebrow and wondered, „Rowan Morealis, are you looking for my cousin? Simply screaming around and hoping he’ll answer won’t work, I’m afraid. Alex only comes out at night, and sometimes not even then. I told him that it really isn’t that bad, and that there are people who find that kind of thing sexy, but he doesn’t seem to care.“

„You’ll either have to deal with Cross here …“
He gestured towards the slave who watched them quietly. „Or wait until he needs to use the bathroom, although he probably has a bucket somewhere in his hiding place. I don’t want to know what it smells like in there.“

He made a face, but then his eyes suddenly lit up. „Wait! I think I know how we can get him out of the storage room.“ He stepped towards the door and started hammering on it with his fists. „Alex, open the door at once! Somebody set your shop on fire!“
Last edited by Adair Askara on September 29th, 2013, 4:06 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Adair Askara
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Visitations (Adair, Alexandre, PM to enter)

Postby Alexandre Askara on September 29th, 2013, 1:37 am

Things had been getting out of hand recently. His family seemed to be bothering him every day at home, trying to have him come out. Hadn't they learned over the past five years that he wanted to be alone? That was the entire definition of the word. To not have company. To avoid them he'd done something he hadn't done in a very long time. He was at his shop during daylight hours. Alexandre had fled here the night before, before the sun could rise, and holed up in the storage room with some of his work. It was ridiculous that he had to come here to get away. There were no windows in the locked up space, so they kept candles burning for light. His nostrils flared angrily thinking of how everyone was pestering him so.

Grumbling a curse under his breath, he scratched out an error on one of his customer's papers. Their handwriting was horrendous, and they would benefit greatly from some courses in rudimentary Common. Annoyed, he scratched out another in the same sentence. Gods help me get through today. Book and papers were stacked all around where he sat on the floor. The floor! Alexandre Askara was sitting on the floor - albeit polished hard wood - of the storage room of his shop, just to escape family. He wished he was back in his room, comfortable and secure in his dim sanctuary away from prying curious annoyances. His quill scratched quietly against the old paper as he jotted a few notes in the margins to remind him what to correct later.

Everything outside had been quiet all day. Cross had knocked on occasion to check on him, and left once to fetch him a meal and some wine. Alexandre snorted. He'd eaten right here on the floor too. He wasn't sure he'd ever live it down. The bells dragged slowly today, to which he wasn't surprised. When one wanted a particular day to end, it never did. Alex sighed and shoved his work away, climbing achingly to his feet. He groaned quietly, stretching his cramped body. His candles were sputtering stubbs now, fighting to keep their waning light alive. He crossed the floor and retrieved two more from the supply he'd brought from home. They were tucked in his saddlebags that lay on the floor against one of the shelves. Using the remaining light provided by what was left of the dying candles, he lit the new ones, places them on the floor, and blew the old out.

Cross would clean the wax off the floor. Alexandre was tempted to do it himself, just for something better to do. Dark circles hung under his eyes, standing out against his pallid skin. He needed sleep. Groggily he removed his mask and massaged his tired eyes, sighing quietly. He heard the door outside open, and he paused, placing the mask back over his gruesome disfigurement. Business had been slow today, so he listened. The "customer's" voice boomed, making him flinch. They were here for him, whoever it was. The voice - a man's - sounded familiar. He listened to the angry demands coming from the main room, frowning. Something stirred inside him, and he turned to the door. Rowan Morealis. Damn that man and his stubbornness! Damn everyone's stubbornness! Alexandre glared at the door, wishing he could see straight through it and at his old friend's face. "Why can't you all just leave me alone?! Why can't you understand?" His voice was muffled from inside the storage room, but the tone was obvious. Pissed off.

Another quieter voice joined Rowan's, and his temper spiked higher. He nearly jumped out of his skin when whoever it was started beating on the door. Oh for the love of Gods! The threat wasn't even believable, for one. If the shop were on fire, why weren't they screaming for for their lives? Why wasn't Cross running in to get him out? Alexandre glared at the thankfully locked door, curling his lip. He knew that voice without having to think. It was his cousin Adair. A very stubborn and persistent cousin at that. Always trying to get Alexandre to come out and play. He raked his hands through his well-kept hair, messing it up and making it stick out erratically. They don't understand! He felt like a cornered animal. He was a cornered animal. Unpredictable and unwilling to cooperate.

"I don't want you here! Do you hear me? And Adair get out from behind the counter right now!" He braced his hands on either side of the doorframe, snarling his words at the two of them. "I want to be left in peace," he said more softly, feeling the precious hold he had on himself slipping between his fingers like wet sand. His shoulders trembled and he clutched the doorframe more tightly. It had been a little over a week since his last breakdown, but he wasn't sure how long he could hold out with all of this attention that he didn't want.
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Alexandre Askara
I wake each day realizing she won't be there.
 
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