Kassarock

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

Apologies for the delay

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

Gullian - Edge of the Slums, Early Evening

Lucien Beaumont-Dubois

"Well... that could have gone better..."

Lucien reflected bitterly on his earlier meeting with 'Lord' Vargas the fucking guttersnipe of a kingpin. Lucien was sure he could pull more in one good day than that man made in a year off the measly little commissions he collected from all the ragamuffin pickpockets and petty thieves he associated with. He was a nobody, but a useful nobody when Lucien had been setting stage for his whirlwind seduction of the nobility of Gullian. Now he was turned away, cap in hand, at the doors of men such as Vargas.

He kicked in impotent rage at a puddle of sewage and detritus as he made his away through an alley that was practically a tunnel by virtue of the sagging overhangs of the buildings on either side. A few months ago Lucien wouldn't have been seen dead in this section of Gullian, now it served as his home neighbourhood. No one here during his time in Gullian had possessed enough money to warrant his attentions, therefore, few here would know who he was.

The question that raced through Lucien's head first and foremost however, was how Vargas had seemed to know that he had sunk so low. Most people thought that he had fled the city with all of those misbegotten gains and was living in luxury somewhere else. In fact, Lucien was fairly sure he had started several of those rumours at about the time things went south in order to cover his tracks. He had been careful to keep a very low profile these last few months. So how had Vargas seen through him? He had given him that contemptuous little smile when Lucien had told him that he still had quite the tidy sum behind him and simply asked if that was the case why wasn't he on a beach in The Rigomar Islands in that case. The man had known the money was gone, and Lucien had been in his power from then on.

An old woman, grey-haired, shuffling and bent back was pulling a cart laden with rags along in the opposite direction. As they met they both eyed each other contemptuously, she clearly thinking Lucien another petty-bourgeois come to the slums to indulge some sick perversion, he loathe to step aside to the sort of peasant he would run down with his carriage previously. They stood there for a few moments in the half light of the alley and amongst the leavings of the great anthill of Gullian. Lucien shifted to the left to squeeze past the cart at the same moment the old woman did. Irritated, he turned to his right to attempt the same again, but the rag-woman also turned right and they were at an impasse once again. His temper got the better of him.

"I say, hag, move aside for your betters or I might talk to my friend the high commissioner of the courts and see to it that you're horse whipped!" The harsh bark of his own voice surprised him, he didn't normally get like this, where was it coming from?

The old rag-woman looked back at him with a fierce look in her eyes. It surprised him, where had he seen that look before?

"Just cos' ye come down 'ere with yer fancy clothes and yer shiny sword, doesn't make ye better than us!"

Lucien leaned back a moment as the old woman shouted him down in stunned silence, before he threw back his head and laughed.

"You're more right than you know, grandmother. My apologies." Then he bowed to her and stepped aside for the cart to roll on through. The old woman looked at him wearily as she passed on by, expecting some kind of cruel trick no doubt. But there was none. As she turned the corner Lucien looked at the empty alley behind him, before turning himself to scurry off back towards his lodgings. Just another ant in the great anthill.

Somehow the whole incident had improved his mood. The Vargas had held him in the palm of his hand had made him angry, but he supposed the whole thing hadn't been a complete waste of time. Vargas had refused to lend him money, he also had turned down all the schemes that Lucien had spit balled to him in that cramped booth in the Faded Lantern. However, Vargas had said he had Lucien in mind something and that he would be in touch again if Lucien was interested. It galled him to work 'for' Vargas, but honestly he needed the money, if it got any worse he'd start turning tricks for wealthy widows.

Lucky began to whistle as he made his way up to the front door of the miserable tenement house he was sub letting a tiny attic room in. Everything would be alright, he would trust his luck and hang on for a little longer. Vargas would come through, he might be able to run a few small cons, as soon as he had a little capital behind him he would find somewhere to move on to. A little capital could grow big if he invested it right or won big at card table. New name, new city, new life. The pickings would undoubtedly be poorer than Gullian, but he was souring to the place as much as its notables had soured to him. A little money and a change of scenery would put the worlds to right.

These idle thoughts of the future kept Lucien from really paying attention to his surroundings as he bounded up the worn and cricked brick steps to the peeling painted door of his block. If he really had been paying attention Lucien might have noticed three shadowy figures watching the building from down the narrow street. All of them were dressed in leathers and had cudgels at their sides. He might have recognised them as hired bailiffs. Unfortunately Lucky did not see these men until they standing behind him as he fumbled for the key to the building.

"Lucien Beaumont-Dubois."

A shudder of fear run through Lucky at the sounding of his full name. It seemed that one of his creditors had caught up with him. He turned and looked the three men in the eyes. All three were big stocky men, roughly shaved and mean looking. The one at the front who had spoken was balding and had a curved scar running from his temple around the side of his head. They weren't asking, they knew who he was, question was how did they know where to find him and how was he going to get out of this one?

"Ah Gentlemen, I didn't see you there! Fumbling away with this damned lock wasn't I? Sometimes I think they are more trouble than they're worth. What can I help you with" He swung the key chain around in his hand nonchalantly. Be relaxed, be confident. He would play it nice an cool, there could still be away to weasel out of this.

"I am afraid Mr. Dubois that you owe our employ-

"It's Beaumont-Dubious actually, and technically Esquire as well, but please continue. He smiled politely, as if to ask for forgiveness for the intrusion. Put them off their guard.

"Beaumont-Dubious, then, regardless you owe our employer the Baron Ulrich Von Dragomir the sum of-

"Ah Ulrich! I haven't heard from him in months! How is the old man, still as much as a lecherous rogue as I recall? Has he received my letters?" He laughed heartily, and then looked around as if slightly confused as to why no one else was laughing with him. Imply some kind of higher more personal relationship with their employer, invoke a familiarity that makes them uncomfortable. "Sorry, I cut you off there old chap, what was it you were saying?"

"You owe the Baron the sum of three thousand gold pieces which you took out as a loan in order to finance preliminary surveying work for the construction of a new canal linking Taratino and Bordia." Only three thousand? Lucien was sure he had borrowed more than that from the Baron... "Failure to pay will result in the confiscation of your remaining assets and your interment into a debtors gaol until such a time that your debt is repaid."

Lucien looked around between the stony faced bailiffs as if this was some kind of joke, something not be believed or taken seriously. It was of course very serious, these men wouldn't hesitate to raid this building, ransack everything he had and toss him behind bars. All-Seer knows, that was what they expected to do today. So put them on the wrong foot. Act like you have the money, act like its a trifle to you.

"As I said, hasn't the Baron been receiving my letters? The survey was a success, the canal is feasible, I've been meeting with investors all this week. In fact I've just come from the docks, talking with a notable merchantman who's interested in committing many thousands to the project. The first few instalments of the Baron's money is with the Gullian Stock Exchange in an account under his name. Has no one retrieved the money yet?" He raised an eyebrow and gave them all a disapproving look, as if this was somehow their fault.

"No matter of course, I have the rest of the Baron's money here in promissory notes that can be exchanged at any reputable bank in the city." He opened the leather pouch at his belt and drew out one of the small rolled up scrolls of paper within. "I only have a few hundreds on me right now, but if you accompany me up my little love nest above." He winked at that. "I think I have a few larger denominations in the safe. Then we go to bank together and sort this all out like gentlemen. Please, do come up with me."

Lucien opened the door to the tenement and beckoned them inside. The men seemed slightly put off by this, being invited in my the man they were sent to apprehend. It was working. Of course the note he had showed them was worthless, it was a forgery, worth nothing as soon as banking clerk got the chance to look at it properly. But these goons didn't know that, he just had to string them along until he had an opening, then he would run.

They followed him up the tight and winding stairs to the hot and stuffy attic that his rooms shared with several others. A few of the other residents peered out of their doors as the strange party tramped up through the building, stamping dust and dirt from their hobnailed boots. As they went up Lucien began to chatter aimlessly to keep the casualness of the situation bobbing along.

"So how the devil did you actually find this place then? Its where I take any peasant girls that catch my fancy for a little bit of secluded romance, you know. But I suppose I've been spending a little bit too much time here lately, the most recent one is really such a pretty little thing, I can hardly stand to leave her along. But such foolish things they get into their heads, she's convinced we might yet marry! Ah here we are now, one moment please, don't want you boys disturbing my 'bride-to-be'."

Another wink elicited a chuckle from one of the men as Lucien sidled through the door and into the room beyond. Now was his chance, time to get away as far and as fast as he could. Fuck Vargas's job. Gullian was dead to him. Let Lucien Beaumont-Dubious be dead too. Time for a new life.

As soon as the door closed he slid the bolt, opened the window, and began to climb out.

It was a tight fit, with his sword still at his waist and the little dormer window not being particularly large in the first place, but he made in nonetheless. Out onto the rooftops, the adrenaline was pumping and it was telling him to fly as far away from here as possible. He clambered awkwardly across the shingles looking for a place to get down. From behind him he could here the sounds of the bailiffs breaking down his door. He leapt across a gap between two roofs onto a slightly lower building but there was still no obvious way down.

And then he saw it.

A cesspit.

A large open cesspit full of soft stinking shit. They were out on the roof now, shouting at him. There was no time to look for anything else. This had to be it. It was either this or prison. Lucky hadn't enjoyed prison the last time. Fuck it. At least they wouldn't him this way.

He jumped.

It wasn't the smell that him first, Lucien had been hurting towards it too fast to notice. The sewage covered his boots first, then his thighs, then his waist. But as his downward momentum slowed, his forward moment ploughed his chest and then, finally, his face inextricably forward into the mass of human waste and filth that was to be his salvation from the real prospect of spending the majority of his life incarcerated. It did not feel like salvation. After that initial impact with the slurry the reek filled his nostrils and the taste overwhelmed his mouth. He felt his gorge rise at the odour, and his mouth filled his own vomit.

But there was no time, they were coming, and he had to be gone by the time they were back down the stairs or it would all be for nothing. Frantically he wiped the muck from his eyes and face and began to thrash his way to the brick parapet of the cesspit to haul himself out, coughing and spluttering all the while as he did so. As he crawled out his stomach turned again to spray another gout of bile onto the stones beside him. And then he was up and onto his feet and running.

He ran in no particular direction, just away. Hopefully, once he had some distance he could get deeper into the slums where a man covered in excrement would ultimately be less noticeable. But for now he would settle with anywhere away from here.

"Please God, Gods, All-Seer, any God, fuck it, any devils or demons that might be listening too. Just let me get away from here, let me start again, I won't fuck it up next time. I won't I promise. It'll be different. I promise."

Maybe it was the silent reverie of blasphemous and futile prayer that distracted Lucky from road in front of him. Maybe it was the fear of those who were undoubtedly chasing him. Maybe it was faeces in his eyes. Whatever it was, it proved to be his undoing. As Lucien charged down the road, an old rag-women with a cart pulled out in front of him from a side alley.

The cart spilled its load of sackcloth and rags as Lucien tumbled head over the tails to the cobbles below. His head span, he tried to stand but he couldn't. Someone was shouting something at him... the old woman... from before... He managed to prop himself up on one arm and get to his knees. He knew he needed to go but his body wasn't responding, everything felt so slow, so sluggish.

A trickle of blood ran down forehead and into his eye, obscuring his vision.

But he could see fine with his other eye. He saw him, the man with the shaved head and curved scar on his temple stride up towards him. He was smiling, the studded cudgel was in his hand. He raised it up.

"No... no... Please... I can explai-"

The cudgel came down.

Everything went black.

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

<Snipped quote by Kassarock>

I love that a dude nicknamed Lucky has a Luck of 1.

@Atrophy

I was thinking of giving him a 0

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

Been away from my computer, will edit my C.S accordingly and get working on a follow up tonight

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

Me in the IC:

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

House Saan

House Saan is an ancient noble family hailing from the Free City of Lys and descending from the dragonlords of Old Valyria. The House has the dubious distinction of also being the progenitor of a number of successful pirate lords. During the reign of Aegon I there was the pirate King Sargosso Saan, and more recently the pirate lords of Wreckstone, Sharako Saan and his son Lysono.

Currently the House is split into two different factions on either side of Daemon Targaryen's war for the Stepstones, House Saan of Lys and House Saan of Wreckstone. House Saan of Lys is the senior of the two branches of the family and is active in the magisterial politics of the Free City of Lys and the wider Kingdom of the Three Daughters. The junior branch, House Saan of Wreckstone, are pirate lords based on the Isle of Wreckstone, and are currently a vassal of the Kingdom of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.

House Saan of Lys

The Lysene branch of House Saan is both the senior of the two and the more powerful, prestigious branch. Headed by Magister Samarro Saan, its members are predominantly made up of his own children, although other descendants through matrilineal line can be found in both the noble Houses of Ormollen and Sathmantes. Samarro is a man near the height of his power, a rich and well respected trader who sits on the Conclave of Magisters which rules the Free City of Lys. He has numerous sons and grandsons to succeeded his legacy and has made shrewd political alliances with other Lysene houses like the Rogares. However, a threat to his family lies in their renegade cousin, Lysono of Wreckstone, whose actions in the War for the Stepstones have raised questions about the loyalties of House Saan as a whole and has soured relations with other members of the Triachy.

House Members:

• Magister Samarro Saan (55), current Patriarch of House Saan and sitting Magister of the Free City of Lys. Widower.
  
  
  • Sylvarrio Saan (32), Samarro's eldest son and heir apparent, manages most of the families mercantile activities . Married to Ryella Ormollen.
    
    • Syaella Saan (10), daughter of Sylvarrio, twin of Syaello.
    • Syaello Saan (10), son of Sylvarrio, twin of Syaella.
    • Saera Saan (6), daughter of Sylvarrio.
  
  
  • Salloreon Saan (29), Sammarro's second son, a captain of the city watch of Lys. Married to Elaena Saan.
    
    • Saathos Saan (8), son of Salloreon and Elaena, nephew of Lysono.
    • Selenya Saan (5), daughter of Salloreon and Elaena, niece of Lysono.
  
  
  • Saenerys Saan (27), daughter of Sammarro. Married to Lysandro Rogare, politician and banker.

• Syrio Saan (24), third son of Sammarro, proprietor of notable pleasure house. Bachelor.

• Saenyx Saan (21), youngest son of Sammarro, apprentice to the Lysene alchemist guild. Bachelor.

House Saan of Wreckstone

Originally founded by Sharako Saan, a cousin of the Lysene Magister Samarro Saan, House Saan of Wreckstone is a fledgling house of Pirate Lords of the Stepstones. Until recently the house was landless after being purged from the Stepstones by the forces of the Triachy, but through allying itself with Daemon Targaryen's War for the Stepstones it has found fortune once more. Headed by the renegade and ambitious Lysono Saan, this small house represents a challenge to the status quo of Lysene politics.

House Members:

• Elaena Saan, (27) daughter of Sharako Saan, currently resides with senior branch in Lys. Wife of Salloreon Saan.

• Lysono Saan (25), son of Sharako Saan, pirate lord of Wreckstone. Bachelor.

• Vysenna Saan (20), daughter of Sharako Saan. Debutante at King Daemon's court.

Captains of the Wreckstone Fleet:

• Khorane Marr, Lysono's trusted leftenant, the one captain of his father's fleet who returned to Lys after the mutiny.
• Gerald the Green, Lysono's closest companion, a young Dornish orphan of the green blood.
• Skullsplitter Stygg, an Ironborn raider.

Full Character sheets:

Lysono Saan

Lysono Saan

25

House Saan of Wreckstone

Appearance

Lysono Saan is a svelte and lithe man of shorter than average stature. Like many other Lyseni the blood of Old Valyria flows in his veins. This tells true by his long silvered hair that is twisted into a mass of braids and the gracile features that adorn his face. But Lysono's eyes are not those of some Valyrian dragonlord, instead they are an unusual blue green hue, the colour he likes to say of the seas he has made his fortune on. Most often he is clean shaven, and when taken into consideration with his fine facial structure, long hair, and full lips, there is more than just a hint of androgyny about the pirate lord.

Lysono dresses richly. Turquoise silks from beyond the Jade Gates of Qarth, bone white Myrish lace, purple dyed satin made from Tyroshi sea snails, and cloth of gold and silver from Lannisport and the mines of the West. From each ear hangs long teardrops of black amethyst set in bright silver, its purple so dark it almost looks like jet. His thin wrists jingle with bangles of precious metals or carved from ivory and amber. His slender fingers seem almost overwhelmed by the abundance of gaudy rings set upon them. But if called to action, those fingers can still easily reach down to Lysono's sword belt and grasp the two weapons that hang from it. From the left hip hangs a silver hilted narrow arming sword, while from the right, hangs a valyrian steel dagger with a black dragon bone handle.

Biography

Lysono Saan was born on the isle of Wreckstone in the year 86AC, the first born son of Sharako Saan, a pirate lord of the isle of Wreckstone and head of a cadet branch of the ancient and noble Lysene House of Saan. His father was the cousin of the senior branch of the family, which was at that time firmly based in Lys and in mostly legitimate trade. Though they both descended from the infamous Sargosso Saan who had been a Pirate King in the days of Aegon I, only Sharako's side of the family decided to take up his mantle.

Lysono's childhood was spent between the rugged and dangerous pirate dens of his father's world, and the genteel pleasure palaces of his cousins and kinsmen. This simultaneous induction into dual worlds of ruthless violence and idle hedonism marked the young man strongly, and is something which stayed with Lysono throughout the rest of his life. Though relations between both sides of the family were generally good, the same could not be said for the relations between most traders in the Triachy and pirates in the Stepstones. As the situation began to boil over into a crisis in the year of 96AC, word was dispatched from Lys warning the Saan's of Wreckstone to flee their island fastness lest they be swept away along with the other pirate lords and petty kings that profiteered off the flow of trade between the Narrow and Summer seas.

Sharako was a prudent man and elected to sail his family to Lys until the threat of war receded, while he himself would seek out somewhere else to continue his piratical activities. But in leaving the rich trading routes from which his family derived their income, he opened himself up to a danger from within. After a lean few years rumours began to spread amongst his crews that Sharako didn't have gold enough to pay them without the plunder from the Stepstones, or that he had secreted away an a larger than fair share of the recent hauls in order to support his family in exile. Talk turned to mutiny. Before long words turned to actions.

Sharako was murdered by his crew in his sleep while sailing the summer seas. Anarchy descended upon his small fleet as rival captains turned upon each other. When the news of the calamity finally reached Lysono on Lys, he found all that he had once expected to inherit, a lordship, a fleet, an army, was all taken from him, along of course with his own father.

The news hit the young Lysono hard, and for a year he turned to running up debts in the pillow houses and wine sinks of Lys in order to escape the reality of his much reduced situation. It was during this time that the rumours first began to spread about the unusual.. preferences that the young exiled lord possessed. Soon his credit began to turn bad, and even these distractions were lost to him. Indeed, all seemed lost. Until one day, a familiar ship limped back into the harbour below the city. Only one ship, one ship among half a score, had remained loyal to the elder Saan and had sought out his son and heir. It was only one ship, but it was enough. Enough to start again, restore his fortunes, and maybe one day take back what was his by right of birth.

And Lysono did just that. Over the next six years he raided and traded in every port from Ibben to Asshai, he stole from men, sold his wares to others, and as his fleet of corsairs grew, he began to sell his sails in petty wars all over Essos. But none of it was enough, the grip the Triachy held on the Stepstones was too strong for one mere pirate lord to break. But one day word reach his ears of another who might share his goal and was far more than just a pirate lord, he was Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Iron Throne, and dragonlord.

Lysono sailed all the ships he had gathered to Driftmark, and bent his knee to the Rouge Prince on the condition that he and his heirs be named Lord of Wreckstone in this new kingdom Daemon seeks to carve out from amongst the Narrow Sea. Other than the Sea snake himself, Lysono brought the largest contingent of ships to Daemon's cause and he quickly found himself a part of the prince's war councils. Three years later, in 109AC, when the prince is crowned King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, Lysono Saan is confirmed as Lord of the Isle of Wreckstone.

---

So yeah, fleshed out the Saan family a little bit more to give me some more pieces to move. Also changed the age of Lysono and the timeline of his life, because I got the relative ages of him to other members of the dance wrong when I made it the first time round. Will add more full C.S's and captains to the list there at some point probably...

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

@Arkitekt Unfortunately, I don't think that the dice roller on RPG works that way. One poster per dice campaign, so if people are rolling they will need to setup their own. I've linked mine in my C.S.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

Would it be alright if I at some point elaborated a little bit about the captains and crews under my character's control, as well as a maybe making a full house sheet for the Saan family? Although pretty much all other members are going to be in Lys and hence might not be that relevant?

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

That post was getting rather big so I'm gonna split it into two, expect actual rolls next post

~ Winds Of Fate - A Thief's Adventure ~ (1.0)

Gullian - The Faded Lantern, Late Afternoon

Lucien Beaumont-Dubois

The inside of The Faded Lantern was mercifully cool compared to the swelter of the city that surrounded it, but the smell was ultimately no better Lucien had decided. From the moment its almost black oaken doors set with panes of opaque smoke stained glass swung inwards, the dockside armours of tar, salt, and sewage was instead replaced by the stink of sawdust, stale sweat, and spilt beer. The uneven floors and low timbered ceilings gave a sense of claustrophobia to the warren of darkened taprooms, lounges, and snugs that made up the ancient tavern. But dark and dirty were a boon to Lucien right now, after all, he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As he walked into the largest of the public bars Lucien surveyed the room. It was relatively quiet, the lunch time crowd were long gone and the evening rush had yet to begin. A few old drunks sat solitary or in pairs at the small tables that littered the corners and sides of the room. A group of four sailors on shore leave were dicing at one of the trestle tables that took up the centre of the stone flagged floor. Aside from this the only other soul was a dour barkeep with a face the colour of boiled meat who stood behind the counter wiping away at a dirty glass with an even dirtier rag.

Lucien sauntered up towards the bar in as relaxed a many as he could muster under the circumstances, whistling somewhat tunelessly as he did so. When he reached the expanse of darkly polished wood he leaned upon it with one elbow, wincing slightly as he felt the the fabric sticking to the surface. These were his nice clothes. The barman set down the rag and glass at his approach, Lucien gave him one of his better smiles.

"Greetings, my good sir. Would you be so kind to tell be whether his Lordship frequenting your venerable establishment this fine afternoon?"

The barkeep looked at him like he had taken leave of his senses. Was Vargas not in? He had been laying low these last few months, but surely Lucien thought that someone would have notified him if Hell itself had frozen over. Vargas was always here. As he stared longer at the blank look of complete and total incomprehension the realisation dawned on Lucien. Oh Gods, he thinks I mean an actual member of the nobility doesn't he? As if a an actual fucking noble would drink in this piss pot. His smile strained slightly.

"By which I mean, Lord Vargas, of course. I believe he is a most loyal patron here?"

A spark of recognition lit in the eyes of barman who began to nod his balding head most vigorously. As he raised his head Lucien noted that he could see directly into the his upturned nostrils, which bristled with long protruding hairs.

"Oh aye, Vargas'll be round t'back." The barkeep stuck a thumb behind him to a small dim corridor that snaked its way off round the side o the bar.

"Thank you most kin-" Lucien began but he was cut off before he could continue.

Course I'd wait a while, til' he's done with whoever's in there now. Hav' a drink." The smile died on Lucien's lips. He had no love for this place, the sooner he finished his business with Vargas and left the better frankly. It served piss as far as he was concerned. Maybe he future he would be more careful when passing out compliments, he would hate for anyone to actually think he liked this dive.

"My pleasure... A glass of your fines- Lucien's fingers began to rummage through his coin purse, it was rather light. "Ahem... your cheapest wine."

There probably wasn't much a difference in a place like this really.

The wine came in a glass tumbler, which wasn't as clean as Lucien would have liked it, but certainly looked cleaner than the rag hanging out of the front of barman's apron. Small victories he supposed. He slid a silver bit across the bar and perched at the nearest stool. As he sipped at the glass of mostly vinegar that he had ordered, Lucien heard the doors to the bar swing open and young three men enter in some conversation.

"Of course everything's been in the air since old Delaney filed for bankruptcy. Poor bastard's been dealt a bad hand these past few years, what with the market like it is and the insurance on his cargo not coming through last year when the Julia sank. This was just the final nail in the coffin."

They were better dressed than your average dockworker and significantly more so than your average sailor. Maybe warehouse clerks or some other kind of junior port officials. When he heard what they were talking about he turned his head the other way and took more than just a sip of his drink.

"But I don't understand how he got mixed up in all this crap." Another one of the trio piped up. "Delaney was a wool trader was he not? Local goods mostly, how did he get into these silk trader bonds that are causing so much trouble?"

"Some huckster pretending to be a noble with high up friends in foreign ports. Ran the same the thing on half a dozen merchant men that I know of and probably twice as many that I don't. All local traders who wouldn't know squat about the silk markets. Most of them could take the hit, but Delaney was leveraged up to his eyeballs as it was and sank everything he had left into this scheme in the hopes of it paying off big. Looks like it didn't for anyone other than this 'Bowman-Dunbar' or whatever his name was. Fucker is probably long gone by now anyway. Beer?"

The conservation turned to ale and girlfriends as the barman served each one of them in turn, and in time they made their into one of the snugs across from the bar where they carried in slightly more muted tones. Lucien downed the rest of his vinegar and rubbed his chin in some consternation. He had quite liked Delaney, shame the old man hadn't had a head for business. His chin and cheek were rough his stubble, had he forgotten to shave this morning? Wait no, he had pawned his razor two days ago for the measly collection of bits currently in his coin purse hadn't he. Paying off big indeed.

He thought of ordering another drink, but at that moment a darkened figure slid surreptitiously out of the corridor that led to Vargas's snug. His afternoon appointment was now free.Things were looking up, he was sure that a change in fortune was right around the corner if his business with Vargas went well. He felt good about this, in fact, he felt positively lucky today. Lucien 'Lucky' Beaumont-Dubois gently lifted himself from his stool and began to saunter into the corridor where Lord Vargas awaited, whistling as he went.