With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.
Gangui took a deep breath and looked Zipper in the eyes before casting them downward at his drink. Today he had failed to uphold the standards of his contract of hygiene. He had a three day beard. Dirty and ungroomed. His tabard was frayed on the edges and splattered with mud. He smelt of the sea and you could see it in his face too. Dried lips, burnt skin, rough hair. The brimmed steel helm he constantly wore was cast aside today, and his coif rolled down revealing his toothy face.
Gangui’s contract with Zipper ended today and they were here, in Nalod’s Pub, in the very same place they met, to discuss how they would go forward. The scene played out about the same as it had last time: Him with a jug of Foster’s best, her with a smaller jug that she clearly hadn’t any intention of touching. Him dirty and disheveled and battle-stained, her impeccably groomed but subduedly dressed. Him sitting as if he owned the place, her, for all of her pretense of comfort, sitting at the edge of her seat, as if waiting to bolt at some unseen danger.
To an untrained eye that knew neither, they gave off the impression of a bear and a rabbit sitting at the table. To someone who knew them, well… the the general shape of that rabbit started looking a vaguely wolverine shaped.
There was no Brandon the Bard for Gangui this time to help him deliberate terms this time. At least his relationship with Zipper had evolved to the point they didn’t need an uneducated buffoon interpreter.
Thankfully, proprietary didn’t seem to be on the mind of Zipper today.
“So here we are, Mister Gangui,” Zipper said. There was odd finality to her voice. “At the end of 30 days of dedicated service. How are we feeling?”
The warrior turned his head glancing away for a moment. So much action had happened in the last thirty days that he had yet to process it all. All he knew was that he had no reason to quit now. He would never bend the knee to Immortal and man alike, but his thirst for justice would find avenues through the Black Guard.
“Good. I’ve learned a lot. I’d want to continue,” he said flatly and with a minor shift in his position on the chair. He sipped his drink.
Last edited by Gangui on Tue Dec 12, 2017 2:07 am, edited 4 times in total. word count: 412
“So do I,” she said. She sounded like she meant it but, then again, she sounded like a lot of things that she clearly wasn’t. He found out she was a mage days after he had signed the contract, discovered the depths of what she really could do during the… incident at the Noose, and had new unplumbed depths every time they something big came up. “So do I, but the question I pose is this: what have we really accomplished these past 30 days?”
“I could sit here and start telling you of all the deeds and tasks I completed, but you already know all that,” He sipped his mug again, his chapped lips couldn’t get enough. Truth was, nothing else they had done compared to the mystical experience that had occurred yesterday. He stared blanked into the air, finally coming to terms with his next statement, “Foster’s is just as fucked as Etzos proper… I never… I swear, never saw this coming with the bandit situation. Too much for one person to deal with,”
“Which is why you got help,” she said. By the fates, wasn’t she cheery today. “Ten good men, I recall.”
“Yes...” his icy blue eyes cast down again. He wandered for a moment if he should tell Zipper about his encounter with the Spark, the Ether. He looked up again, “I need you too. And Robin. What we are doing is risky. I have no real strategy. Lynching criminals is child’s play-”
“And gets a bit old after the first five. There’s no spectacle when the spectacle becomes mundane.”
“It’s not about the spectacle…” He threw in softly.
“It is when the people lose interest.” Zipper said. “It is when they walk away, shrug, and go about their day right after justice has been served.”
Gangui’s eyes widened in a moment of realization. Zipper was right. Everyone else was not like him. He had no family and an uncanny toughness gifted by his father and wasn’t afraid to take up arms based on principles.
“This…” He stared at the table thinking, “This is exactly why the administrator is doing what he is doing,” He looked back up at Zip wide eyed, “Don’t you see it now? This is how he is pushing the people to retaliate. He set up these entire scheme as a way to fight.”
“Mister Gangui, we’ve determined beyond reasonable doubt that the letter was a forgery, that the administrator’s office is in no way responsible for these bandit attacks. There is no grand conspiracy here, just the same thing happening in the same place: outliers trying to get at the prosperity of Foster’s Landing.” Gangui did not have her raw eloquence, but he was no fool: that last bit was clearly an appeal to him.
The warrior stroked his stubble with gauntleted hand and nodded ever so slightly in agreement, lacking in any other sort of gesture, “I understand, but I am still have a tough time buying it, Zipper. I mean it all adds up. What’s the point of the forgery?” He lifted his chin towards her seeking answers, “It’s not like it would get them out of justice for their crimes.”
“Not a forgery by the bandits, but by a third party seeking a change in the regime of the Landing. The Master Rupturer of the SSC always had issues with the Administrator’s office, Garrison commanders have long butted heads with the bureaucratic restrictions imposed by them, and your friends at the Noose liked a good joke.” Her eyes narrowed. She clearly had not gotten over the happenings of the Inverted Noose. He didn’t even ask her to renew the weapon she had made for him, now long expired, for fear of triggering that memory again. “There are dozens of factions who have cause to see a new Administrator instated - something we cannot afford in this time of crisis. I, myself, have some misgivings with the current office, but not enough to consider them utterly incompetent.”
So smooth, so well thought out, so reasonable: everything he had come to consider rehearsed and shammy.
“True,” he nodded easing up in his seat, “Words can be wind after all. The actions are all that matter. There is no way of knowing exactly who wrote the latter. But as you said, someone is playing both sides of the coin, but who has the money to get to hire such nefarious bandits for political gains?” His eyes widened and he quickly looked over his shoulder instinctively, “Foreigners?”
“If it will ease you mind, I will look into some of the foreign elements of the Landing. If that is so, this will not the first time some devilry has been the plot of a powerful Sesser or one of the Plagueborne. Our enemies are poison, deception, and illusion themselves. We fight a foe that thrived on the backstab when the world was young.” Fiona titled a head a little, a sign that he had equated to her changing the subject. “But enough about the letter, we are here today for something a bit more concrete.”
Gangui nodded, “Verily. All this talk, though…” It was for a reason after all, “What is your intention moving forward? I have ten honest men, but what do we do? You intend now to battle the bandit’s openly? What about the Tower?”
“I’ve spoken to the Office, Mister Gangui. I know you see shadows in the Tower, but I -we- can’t move without their blessing. The office is willing to legitimize-” He saw it. He saw her hold in the deep breath she had to take every time she had to say the name. “-Turkey company as a legitimized militia in light of these bandit attacks, to aid our overstretched Garrison in policing the streets of the Landing. Congratulations, Mister Gangui, we’re one step closer to a better Landing.”
If he renewed the contract, were the unsaid words.
He frowned for some reason, perhaps the reality of the responsibility being presented to him, but he still responded positively, “Aye, this is good and this was meant to be. Okay I am in,” He took a gulp from the tankard, “What are the terms then?” he waved his metal fingers in dismissal, “We don’t need to reiterate all the minor details of demeanor and dress.”
“Those stand,” Zipper said, retrieving a new piece of parchment from somewhere beneath the table. “But I think we need to go through a few new additions.” She laid out the parchment on the table for him. “Do you need your bard for this, Mister Gangui?”
“Speak clearly the new terms and Brandon will review the words to make sure they are on point. He doesn’t need to be here for this part,” He tilted his head and waited.
“Though a legitimized militia aimed at keeping at peace, Turkey Company will be required to take up arms to and contribute to the defense of Foster’s Landing should an invasionary force- you get the idea. You will play guard and, in times of war, soldiers.” The warrior nodded in silence, no argument there.
“Secondly,” And the tone of her voice said he wasn’t going to like this one as much. “The Administrator’s Office would like you to tone down the lynching. While they -and by they, I mean not they because they never said this at all- believe that a good lynching breathes some life into Foster’s, they would rather not have an official peacekeeping force be associated with, um, street justice. They would like you to restrict the lynching to the worst criminals unanimously despised by the public.”
Gangui shifted in his chair and scoffed, immediately firing back, “One, what I am supposed to do with these criminals? Two, how do I determine who,” he coughed, “is despised by the public? All off the executions I’ve led have been righteous indeed, none have contested that,”
“Then you haven’t been listening hard enough, Mister Gangui. The thief you slew on the day before we met was apparently quite the Martyr for a small but loud crowd of Tower-hating dissidents. Real post-mortem saint, that one”
Gangui looked away for a moment. He saw the truth in her words, but he wasn’t going to sit her and explain the circumstance. He took a deep breath, “Alright, you’ve made a point. Still what exactly constitutes an execution? Also, what do I do with the rest? I can’t run a dungeon as well!”
“You’ve brought that up a few times. I’m afraid an extra-judicial dungeon is out of the question at this point.” Forever, she meant, but he said nothing. “As for the prisoners? Drop them by the Garrison. The worst of them will be taken back to Etzos for judgement. Drop me a pat if you really, really want to lynch someone, I’ll consult with the esteemed office- I know that look, Mister Gangui. I’m not a fan of the bureaucracy myself, but they are undeniably a necessary evil we want on our side.”
He shifted again, “So no capability to pass judgement. I will accept this with great reluctancy, but I need a little bend my way, I need some freedom to make judgement calls on the field without fear of the Tower’s fist coming down on me.”
“You can drag the scum in, just make sure he has his head.”
“This makes things a lot more difficult…”
“Give and take, Mister Gangui. If you want to go up in the world, you have to play a little ball.”
“So be it!” He growled disgruntled. He was no expert, but he had vague ideas of how things worked. Though the guys at the Noose preached otherwise, the Etzori state was no true free market. He would have to accept this. “What’s next?”
“My third point ties into the second, and it is advice as much as a condition: be friends with Foster’s. I don’t need you loved, but i need you trusted--”
“I am a patriot,” added in softly, as if she was implying he wasn’t already working towards good relations with the port.
“- I need the public to know Turkey Company is a growing pillar of this community. If your men misbehave, you take them into account. If your actions cause distress to the community, you address them. I took to my Black Guard duties as a soldier and not a guard, and all it did was cause me grief. So word of advice: work with the community, not against them.”
From someone as clearly belligerent as Zipper, however well she tried to hide it with him, those words were alien, yet resounded true.
“I have no qualms with this at all,” the warrior leaned it, wide eyed, “That is what we are here for. But yes. I will take accountability for my men.”
“Now we go on to the tedious,” Zipper said, taking a deep breath. If Robin was to be believed, she was one hell of a swearer off work. Going so long without it must have been a foreign thing to her. “Subsidies, uh, of equipment, of swords, of, well, I’m sure Brandon will read the list to you- from the Tower will be granted to the Turkey Company on the condition that you meet the minimum required number of active members designated for each season. 10 is an acceptable starting figure, but it will not be forever. The Office expects you to be, if hardly an equal, at least a contributing supplementary militia for the Garrison within a few seasons.”
Gangui was taken back by the requirements of this point in the contract. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek. Many of the points they were discussing where all ideas that had been at least mentioned or implied in their actions the last thirty days. This, however, was stepping it up to the next level. Maybe this was what the Ether had told him about.
“And how many men would be considered a contributing supplementary militia?” There was a few points they needed to work out here. The wording was not precise and Gangui saw what they meant during the course of their first contract.
“Okay. Define militia,” He knew he could easily get screwed on this point.
“I’m not a dictionary, Mister Gangui.” Zipper said. There it was. There was the snippiness that he had seen leak out of her every now and then like sour milk. “What can I tell you if they will be taken from Foster’s, from the Noose if you’re willing to stomach it, from mercenaries high and low.”
Gangui took a deep breath, his anger quickly rising at her response. Soft tremulations came from his head and clenched fist now. He took a deep breath again. He couldn’t afford to explode here. These details are where he could get fucked and they both knew it. A quota of 100 men by Ymiden was clear cut. This point was not. He keep pushing it his voice only the slightest bit shaky, “
“Look Zipper. Milita can mean anything and you know it. Do you want civilians who are called to action in times of need? Or are you talking about permanent professionals? This is a huge point. If I am to have 100 professional retainers, where am I to house them? Do the provisions include their wages? Is it all on me to do this? This needs to be clearly defined.” This was beginning to stress Gangui out, though not so much so that it seemed out of his capabilities. After all, he was in the process of signing his life away.
“If the term militia displeases you, know that the office merely phrased it that way to assure the Garrison that you are not a substitute to a long established institutio--”
“Speak clearly. Political words aside. You mean for me to have full time professionals in this company?”
“I mean for you to draw from both permanent members drawn from the population - young men and women unwilling to throw their lot in with the Etzori garrison but finding no other outlet, as well as less permanent freelancers like our friends from the Noose--”
“You’re not over that, are you?”
“No.” she said bluntly. “No, I am not. Your official numbers may come up to 100 on paper, but what you field will be somewhat below that, with the freelancers only taking the field when we need them to.” Zipper winked. “A point in your favor, I believe.”
Gangui was suspicious of this quota, however he trusted Zipper enough to buy into her logic, “Very well. I’ll need a place to conduct business and house them, hold the equipment and such. 100 men is a lot to account for…”
“Subsidies,” she said simply, as if that was a word to end all his woes.
“What is the limit of my subsidies and what form do they take? Explain how the Nel situation will work? Gangui asked. It was clear to him no exact number would be stated given the nature of the duties he would be undertaking. But he knew that he wouldn’t have the iron vaults of Etzos open to him.
“Unless you want to deck out your men in Admantite and Malorite and live in a base rivaling the Lighthouse, you won’t be for want. You will be given what you need.” Not the answer he was looking for, but he nodded. He didn’t have any leverage to pry on this point. He would take what he could get.
“Verily,” Gangui sighed and shifted again in his seat, wishing he had some type of handkerchief for his sweat. Usually a few drips of sweat didn’t bother him, but sitting down in this situation it did. “Okay, next point,”
“Lastly: your duties. There’s a bit of a list, but I’ll give you the gist of it: After the administrator’s representative introduces you and yours to the community in the square, you will begin patrol duties. You will contribute to a tangible distinction between the Foster’s of old and this new sparkling Landing the Office intends to build. By Ymiden’s end, every mutant will be dead or driven out, the bandits reduced to a smatter of dying gangs whose only purpose is to serve as a reminder of what it means to oppose Etzos and her sovereign towns, the Sesser and illusionkin and Plague born lynched in the square for the world to see. We ask for a cleansing, Mister Gangui. We ask for a purified Foster’s. The office, between us, expects a tangible improvement in the safety of its citizens - but they dare not overreach with what they’re calling ‘unrealistic expectations’. They believe balancing public opinion and hitting the stated results will leave something to be desired.”
Zipper smiled. It was one of her rare genuine smiles: fierce, vicious, strangely reminiscent of a crocodile in how much teeth she bared. “I, and this is not the contract talking, expect you to accomplish all this and more.”
The steely warrior clenched his teeth at his words fear and excitement swelled around his body. The hairs on his neck standing up. He had sought justice for the wrongs in the world since he was a child. He blindly sweared revenge against Faldrun and all the immortals for the tragically brutal murder of his father. Etzos and its ideal of taking a stand against the wretched immortals lured him to the state, only to be shown the true nature of things. Luckily for him, he was gifted with an uncanny toughness and strength of will. Something that he deemed was for him to use in order to right these wrongs. He could slay Faldrun right now, his revenge would have to wait, but this was most certainly a step in the right direction.
For a while he sat there contemplating everything that had occurred and the calling he was now presented with.
“One last thing,” she said. “This contract will be for a solid arc--”
Gangui’s train of thought was interrupted and he looked back up slightly startled, “An entire arc!?” In his mind the length of the contract made sense based on what they were asking of him, but he questioned it anyways, “So come Ymiden, the quotas change or something?“
“Mercifully, they ask only that you maintain it.”
Gangui nodded several times, shaking his head up and down, “Verily,” He leaned back, “And you,” He threw a piercing glance at Zipper, the last big question in all these dealings, “What is your role in all this?”
“I’m here to supervise you. I will be your liaison,” She stared right back. “To the Black guard. For all our talk about the Tower, you answer to us, not them. I brought you this opportunity, and I hope you remember that, Mister Gangui.” A threat and a plea to loyalty all wrapped in one neat little package.
“Very well, Zipper,” This contract what Gangui was asking for even though he wasn’t conscious of it, “You have a deal,” he reached over and took the contract, a much lengthier script than the last one, “I’ll need to have this double checked by the Bard of course, you understand. I’ll call upon you immediately once we’ve gone through it and are ready to make it official.” He finished the last bit of his drink, slid his chair back, and rose to his feet.
Soon to be official Black Guard contractor now. He wandered if he could play this game and win. After hanging out with Zipper, he was quite conscious that he would starting off as pawn. This was simply a hurdle for him to jump over and he was smart enough to see it coming.
He was beginning to think he born to do this. Although he didn’t know what his father’s history in Etzos, he had overheard some things with he was a small child and knew he came from good stock; bold men of action, patriots. Now he was beginning to see that it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume his father was probably involved in the Etzori cause, his exile for political reasons. There is a saying that fruit didn’t fall from the tree. Perhaps this was true.
He shook his head and pushed aside these reassuring though. Get real. Pragmatism, with a healthy dose of principles, was what brought him here.
They were definitely gonna put him in terrible situations. But that’s what mercenaries did right? Undertake dangerous missions.
Gangui was the first to depart, leaving Zipper alone at the table with her thoughts.
She wondered what it was like to believe as he believed, to find power not in the accursed immortals but moral platitudes and some kind of inflexible, impractical code that told you this and this and this were righteous and so and so and so could never be done and failed to absorb context no matter what. He was a man who knew the world, yet he still caged himself in some low-bound creed. He was not the posturer or sneak she had believed him to be at the start, clad in virtue to hide the brute; he truly held faith.
What for? At least the craven worshipper found undeniable power in slavery to the tyrant Immortals. She could find no answer that didn't pointed to a mental deficiency, so she wondered about something else.
She wondered how quickly he would turn his blade on her if the Zealot knew what she had done. She wondered whether Gangui would ever know how eerily right he was about the letter and the bandits and the so-called conspiracy. She wondered how he would react if he knew this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
She wondered whether the deal with the Vice-administrator would even work out at all.
She wondered, not for the last time, why she was even doing all of this: putting herself on the line for a run-down town that was but a buffer between the plagueborne for a career that she had, in her weaker moments, convinced herself she cared about. She wondered, she wondered, she wondered.
Then when all her doubts and questions and worries were sifted through, she got up and went back to work.
