An Impossible Task ~~Echoes of Bone pt.1~~

Discussion in 'The Salty Dog Tavern' started by The Watch, Oct 14, 2017.

  1. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    Dorian sipped a thick, dark ale with a rich, foamy head at the Shattered Skull in Skara Brae. Outside the wind whipped through the bent and gnarled island oaks with a howl that sent shivers up his spine. Rain and occasional sleet lashed against the windows of the tavern in waves, and if not for the fires roaring in the three hearths spread around the room, it would have been dreadfully chill and damp. Early winter storms like this were violent and raged sometimes for days. It was for just such occasions that the dark ale Dorian sipped had been brewed and named, Storm-Brew.

    Dock workers and woodsmen, merchants and farmers, tanners and butchers, the common room was full tonight. There were several dice games going with men drinking loudly and boasting more loudly. In one corner it looked like several merchants and a pirate from Jhelom had started up a card game, of all things. And a young noble was valiantly, yet futilely trying to win the affections of a buxom serving maid. For her part, the young woman with a thick braid of reddish blonde hair smiled and batted her green eyes at him. She even let him pinch her bottom once or twice, but anyone who looked longer than two seconds could see that she was already taken by the bar-tender. If he wasn't careful, the young noble might carry home a few new scars tonight instead of a fresh woman on his arm.

    Dorian blended into the wall behind him, escaping notice by everyone in the room except the older raven-haired serving maid. Her name was Charlotte, and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. In fact, her discretion was one of the reasons he still came to the Shattered Skull. Her, and the Storm-Brew, of course.

    Suddenly there was a man sitting across from Dorian, a cryptic smile on his face. Dorian blinked a few times to make sure it wasn't figment of his imagination or an artifact of the Storm-Brew playing with his senses. But the man remained, clad all in black, waiting patiently.

    "Sitting down unannounced and uninvited is a good way to get a blade between your ribs," Dorian growled, the small silver bells woven into his thick brown braids tinkling slightly as he shook his head. "You should be more careful, stranger."

    "Threatening customers is a peculiar way to start a business deal," the stranger said calmly, unfazed by Dorian's icy warning.

    "You're not a customer," Dorian snorted. "I remember all of my clients well, and you've never been one."

    "It is as you say," the stranger replied smoothly, "but I represent someone who may be interested in your services. If you prove worthy, that is."

    "Oh?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow, "And who might it be that you represent?"

    The stranger smiled again, but shook his head. "My employer prefers to remain...discreet....for now," the man replied, "in case your reputation for the ability to find and purvey the impossible proves to be over inflated."

    "Look, stranger," Dorian growled, "I came here to enjoy a nice mug of ale or six, relax, and forget about my troubles for a moment. So if you don't mind, kindly bugger right on off and go bother some other fool with your riddles."

    The man simply waited without giving even the impression that he was going to move. "Master Dorian, believe me," he said after a moment, "you want to hear me out. I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime, the chance of a thousand lifetimes. You have been chosen to fulfill a task that could shape the fates of the very worlds themselves."

    Dorian snorted again. "Then I know you have the wrong man," he said with a chuckle. "I'm nobody's version of a hero, mate. I can tell ya that much for sure."

    "Perhaps not," the stranger replied, "but if the tales about your skills at stealth and....purveying....are as legendary as people say, then perhaps you won't have to be."

    Dorian drained the last of his Storm-Brew and motioned for another mug. Charlotte nodded her head from across the room and made her way through the crowd to the bar for a full mug. She brought it back and sat it down in front of Dorian, clearing the empty one as she moved. Dorian slipped her several large silver coins, well more than his whole tab would cost, but he paid well for good service. Charlotte, for her part, never even glanced at the man sitting across from Dorian.

    "Fine," Dorian said after a long drink of his ale, "what does your master need me to find for him? A rare spell? Some ancient and forgotten tome of useless knowledge about this or that? Or is he a collector of fine, priceless, old and dusty art? Whatever your desire, I'm sure I can fill it."

    The stranger shook his head slowly, "Nothing so pedestrian as that," he said and leaned forward. "There was once a great sorcerer who watched as a star fell from the heavens. He tracked the path of it until he finally found where it landed. The area was blasted clear of trees and grass and new, jagged mountains stood where once a forest had been. These mountains now house the Halls of Wind, the Mystic City. Deep beneath even the ancient stone floors where that city was built, a treasure lay hidden. But this sorcerer never gave up his search, and eventually he uncovered the small fragment of that star that had fallen. It was encased in metal that he slowly, carefully melted off into ingots. And at its center was a sapphire of amazing power. This sorcerer ground that sapphire into dust and made a dye with it unlike any other. Most of that dye he used on regular items, and then dispersed them in the land. But some of it he kept in small glass vials. There were only a handful that we know of, but there are some bottles of this mystic potion, this special dye, around. We know where three of the bottles are, and my master would like you to locate at least one of the others."

    "What's the fee?" Dorian asked, his interest piqued.

    The man smiled. "If you get the vial, you will be able to name your price. No amount will be too much. Ask and it will be given to you." He slide a piece of rolled parchment across the table. "This is to compensate you for the interruption of your evening. Rest assured that if you should decide to go no further, this will be the end of it. We can consider it payment for services and time rendered, and leave it at that."

    The stranger paused, allowing his words to sink in for a moment.

    "But if you take up this challenge, then the next time you come to this tavern, you bring the potion with you," the stranger said. "And somehow managed to pull it off, part of your payment will also be the offer of another job with a similar payment, for you will have proven yourself worthy. Fate has smiled on you, Master Dorian Andrael. Best you smile back."

    Dorian glanced down at the parchment and when he looked up again, the man was gone. He stood and looked around the tavern, but could not spot the man clad in black anywhere. There had been no rush of wind or popping in his ears like happened whenever someone too close recalled in or out, the man had simply disappeared.

    Dorian looked down at the parchment in his hand again and untied the red and gold ribbon that tied it closed as a rolled scroll. The parchment had a sleight yellow tent, and the writing on it was elegant and simple. It read:

    The bearer of this check is entitled to 250,000 gold pieces.
    Signed,
    Cynric, First Bank of Britain

    Dorian blinked and smiled in appreciation. It was a good start, and the man's story had piqued his interest. Of course, he'd heard a dozen different rumors about where the strange artifacts came from, but this man's was as convincing as some, and more believable than most. Some had even claimed it was because this was the day that five years ago this splinter of the great stone was shorn off the crystal. But who knew?

    Maybe there really was some magic sapphire dye out there. And if this man's master was willing to pay a quarter of a million coin to offer the job, imagine what he'd be willing to pay to the man who pulled it off.

    Dorian called Charlotte over again, but this time she had to lean her ear close to hear him over the crowd and the sound of the storm outside. In Skara Brae, big storms meant big crowds in the inns and taverns. The local folk figured it better to die with a belly full of drink and a heart full of laughter if the end was coming, though actual deaths were rare from the storm. The patrons, on the other hand, could turn bloody and violent at the drop of a hat, hence the name of the place.

    "Darling, I'll have another mug," Dorian said, "and the name of the chap that was sitting across from me until now."

    Charlotte looked at Dorian with a confused face. "Hun, you got a free ale coming cause you're just that cute," she said, "but you've been alone the whole night. You were muttering something under your breath there for a bit, but you didn't say anything loud enough for me to hear, so I just kept walking until you needed a refill."

    Dorian's brain spun trying to process what he was hearing. There was no way that Charlotte wouldn't have seen the man sitting across from him. She had looked practically directly at him more than once while bringing him his drink. He nodded and motioned for Charlotte to go ahead and bring the ale, but his head was spinning. His gypsy grandmother would have said the man had been charmed somehow, but despite still wearing the spirit bells in his hair, Dorian had left those superstitions behind years ago. Still, the parchment in his hand was real, he knew that much, and it would be good at any bank in the land with the signature of the Banker of Britain on it.

    Of course, the check could be an elaborate forgery. He doubted it, but it was possible. The only real way to tell would be to take it to the bank where it was signed and see if they really honored it. And if they did, perhaps the rest of the man's offer would check out true as well...
  2. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    Dorian paused at the heavy steel doors that opened into the First Bank of Britain, or as it is more commonly known, the West Brit Bank, and allowed himself to be checked quickly for weapons. When the doorman was satisfied that Dorian posed no direct threat, he waved the gypsy into the bank. Inside the main hall was well lit with wall sconces, lamps, candelabra, and a handful of hanging chandeliers. The carpets were rich and thick, woven in the style of the lavish pleasure palaces of Nujel'm, heavy with reds, golds, and deep blues. Beneath the carpets was a floor of carved gold-vein granite that could have paid for a small kingdom.

    Minters, accountants, and bankers moved about with the quick, clipped steps of men and women with a purpose. Deals were being conducted at several of the tables, their occupants shrouded in a hazy film of energy barriers carefully erected to prevent sound escaping, but allow for airflow to the participants. Guards dressed in resplendent platemail armor stood in the corners and long the walls, their crackling and sizzling halberds in their hands at the ready. It was more a display of power than anything as it was very rare any violence broke out within the bank itself. In the alleyways and side streets around the bank, sure, but not within the walls.

    Dorian told the receptionist sitting behind an ornate writing desk with dragon claw feet on the legs as well as gold and silver gilding in the shape of intertwining ivy climbing the legs who he was there to see and she smiled politely as she explained the Cynric was waiting in the back office, expecting the visit already.

    Dorian's hackles rose a bit as he stepped past the receptionist and headed for the back office. He didn't like the fact that Cynric was already waiting for him and expecting him by name. Something about this felt like a setup or a trap, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The whole thing just felt wrong in some way, but the money was tempting, as was the fame that would certainly come with pulling off a find like the one the strange man had hinted at the night before.

    Shaking off his misgivings, Dorian stepped through the open door into the back chamber of the bank. Here the walls were double thick and the steel door that closed off the rest of the bank, and the rest of the world, was enchanted with magic so old no one living knew its roots. At the proper word, spoken by Cynric, the door swung slowly and silently closed.

    Dorian's hackles rose again.

    "He told me you would be by," Cynric said, "but I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. Yet here you stand."

    "Have we met?" Dorian asked, slightly confused.

    Cynric shook his head. "No, I've never had the pleasure, but your reputation precedes you. I heard you helped rescue the daughter of Merchant Prince of Trinsic two years ago, and last year you helped foil some plot by a mad sorcerer to unleash balrons on the realm by pick-pocketing one of the demons so the Gray Wizard could send them back to their dens in hell. You've made quite a name for yourself, Master Dorian. Dorian Andrael, Grandmaster Merchant, and purveyor of the unfindable. It is certainly a pleasure for an humble banker like myself to be in your presence."

    Dorian glanced around the ornately carved stone chamber with silver and gold candelabras and verite wall lanterns. "Humble?" He muttered under his breath.

    "So you have come to see if the check is real, eh?" Cynric asked, pretending not to have heard. "Well, let's see it, then."

    Dorian took the rolled parchment and handed over to the banker. Cynric unrolled the parchment on a long table that appeared to be carved from a single piece of translucent marble and he weighted each end down with a gold nugget the size of a hen's egg.

    Dorian's fingers twitched as he eyed the nuggets, but he controlled himself.

    After a moment of squinting, Cynric produced an odd looking contraption of thin brass wires and tiny clear circles of glass. He unwound the thing and somehow attached it to his face, with loops of hair-thin brass hooked over his ears to hold the whole thing on his face. He checked the seal and the signature with meticulous care for several moments before finally straightening his back with a satisfied nod.

    "It's authentic," Cynric said, "not that I really doubted it. But I wanted to satisfy you, and my end of the bargain with....well....you know."

    Dorian's ears perked up and he glanced at the banker. "Well, that's the thing," he said carefully, "I really don't know. I was a bit in my cups last night when I got the visit and I can't remember the chaps name. What was it again?"

    Cynric smiled coolly and shook his head. "You should know that one of the few things the First Bank of Britain prides itself on more than its financial record is its discretion. So you won't hear that name even whispered by anyone under my employ. Would you like me to deposit the funds in your account?"

    Dorian heaved a heavy sigh, and stared at the check for a long time without answering. Two hundred and fifty thousand gold marks was a sizable sum, and not one to walk away from lightly. But more than that, this was just the appetizer. Who knew what he might get if he took this offer and was successful. Of course, he could guess what he would get if he took the offer and failed.

    "One word of advice," Cynric said after a moment, "a word that you may take or discard at your discretion. While I cannot tell you who it was that commissioned this letter of mark, I can tell you that individual was powerful enough to demand a check be extended from the Royal Bank's own credit line, and their demand was satisfied without hesitation. People with that much money and power do not enjoy being turned down."

    As much as he hated to admit it, the banker made a valid point. "Yes, deposit the coin," Dorian said finally, "I'm taking the job."

    Cynric smiled a cryptic smile. "Good luck, Master Dorian," he said.

    With another word of power, the door to the chamber swung silently open and Dorian left the bank. As he stepped out into the cool autumn air, Dorian was somehow more anxious and uncertain than when he'd arrived. He now knew the offer was good, at least on the face of it, and there was money in the bank, which was always comforting. But now that he'd made the decision to take this job he had to get about completing it. And at the moment, he had not the faintest clue of how to do so.

    So, he did what he always did when he hit a road block in a job, and headed for the nearest tavern for a pint...
  3. Patek

    Patek Active Member
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    Great work dude, this is really well done with nice subtle extrapolations on the UO universe (tellers with magic fields protecting privacy, the bank manager signature with the cheque etc.) rather than contradicting the universe as some authors do when writing in a pre-constructed setting.

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