A pair of hulking minders stood on either side of the booth, arms crossed, heads and eyes constantly scanning the "gentle folk" patronizing the Fancy Franny that evening. The usual Etzosi crowd. Whores and laborers, clerks and thieves, beggars and drunks and sellswords and merchants and killers and carpenters and renegades and all that made a city so prosperous. Now and then a quarrel would break out but this was a place for food and drink and merriment.
There were the drinks being bought and the card games being played. The food being served and, yes, in this place it was fairly easy to see the circling street-walkers picking out their potential clients and approach them. Then there was the layer under that. The furtive deals in books and corners. The hands slipped under tables, exchanging coins and packages of all kinds. Things that got dropped off or picked up.
Crassus and Fessus were within that layer, this pub the center of their little fiefdom on the North Side, where all faces were known and protection could be relied on.
Waxhaw brothers.
Arc 705
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"Some bastard cut up one of Lydia's girls. Badly. Second time it's happened this season, on my side of town, at least. I hear tell that last season, same cunt had visited a couple of other brothels on the North Side. Left the same damage, too."
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"I can make it worth your while if you stay," he said, voice lilting between coaxing and commanding. "Fifty gold nels, each trial, rest of the season. C'mon, Kas, you know this is going to be when those bastards who've been gobbling up every other crew are going to move on us! The North Side is pretty much sewn up. Weak cunts there either pay them to leave them be, or work for them. That means they're..."
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Even more than usual, now he wasn't paying that old cunt Vorund.
Fuck him, he thought for the thousandth time, smirking at the notion of the wrinkled wanker going apeshit over his precious lost "taxes". He's getting old and slow and he's getting squeezed by those cunts in the north. Time to move on, lad. Greener pastures.
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"Everyone's been nibbling at us for the best part of an arc now - not serious chunks, mind, but enough that they're doubting us. Now your man shows the whole city the quality of the men you have on your side. If we rally those men now, send them north, into their turf-"
"I am not going to war with those bastards. Not now, not with our friend in the Guard vanished and the city sweltering and on edge and Foster's on the brink of bloody war with these pirate-"
"Then this is the time for us to strike, crush the cunts, stop them now and show-"
Al’Angyryl - Noth
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Standing where the other man was sitting, Kasoria slid his gaze over to him. Clever boy. He seemed to have a little more guile to him than before. The season had been fraught for Ilos, with Vorund nearly hurling him out of his sight when he spoke out once too often. Wanting to use Kasoria's reputation, of all fucking things, to marshal their forces against the Al'Angyryl massing to the north. A man who managed to beat back a Naerikk and her Gift of Shadows was, after all, quite a man to rally behind.
"I'm a busy man and, from what I've heard, so are you. Those North end cunts have been falling like wheat in Ymiden or vanishing like mornin' dew or just plain bending over and turning their coats, getting onto your crew. Well, that's them. My question is, where does that leave us, Mister Prince?"
There was a brief and threatening prelude to their discussions as Vorund highlighted the realities of gang life in Etzos. It was true that the Northern gangs and thugs had been falling in droves to Al’Angyryl, gobbled up and assimilated into the ever-growing secessionist faction, or else entirely annihilated in violent strikes which lasted merely a single night. The shock and awe factor had left the criminal underworld in shambles in certain places, and the sudden loss of many distinct racketeering organizations had overall driven away some of those filchers and gangsters to greener pastures… or in many cases, into his open talons. It would be a mistake to assume that Al’Angyryl was merely another criminal empire, however… they partook in illicit activities and certainly turned a profit in the process, but there was so much more to them. They drilled like soldiers, wore quality armor and equipment, fought in formation, in tactics, employed the undead and other fierce beasts… they were not a gang… they were a gathering rebellion.
“Of course, Mr. Vorund. I have no intention of trotting upon the toes of the well-established any more than is strictly necessary.” He paused, a flicker of memory flashing back to those gangs that had once existed… their demise had been strictly necessary. “In truth, the Northern gangs were disorganized, inefficient, corrupt, and filled with the vilest examples of leadership that could possibly be contained by our pleasant city. Their resources have been undeniably useful, their operations have been assimilated, their thugs are now my soldiers, but in the end, they were not the South.”
“As I understand it, you run the operations of the South. I do question why you never decided to expand your operations to the opposite side of the road, as it were. Regardless of your reasons… I have an ultimately unfortunate reality to bestow upon you.”
“I don’t want it.” He paused for several moments, his gauntlet-covered fingers idly rattling against the table as a brief sigh flickered out from beneath his armet. “I neither want the criminal element of the North, nor do I particularly have any interest whatsoever in the criminal elements of the South. In fact, I’d be perfectly willing to simply hand over the consolidated mass of territories to you at the drop of a hat were it not for the fact that I still require some measure of resources.”
“I am not a crime lord, Mr. Vorund. I understand that I may give that perception, but I am a far more dreadful type than that. I am a warlord. I do not care for profits, nor do I care whatsoever for gold and silver and copper except for that they are useful for procuring equipment for my troops. The only thing that I care about at this current juncture is that I possess enough militant support that my future claims to power are not immediately dismissed, and that I am able to facilitate operations in a more shadowy capacity in the meantime.”
“Change… is coming, Mr. Vorund. It is an inevitability, and my victory has been assured by the future itself. I merely require the Underworld’s assistance to get there, and they will be rewarded in kind.”
...
"T'answer yer first question - y'know, the one you most loudly did not ask-" Vorund smiled slyly at his guest, letting him know that such passive-aggressive touches were appreciated but, alas, ineffective, if grinding at his esteem or patience were his objective. Still, it was always refreshing to negotiate with someone who played the game a few levels above the usual. "The reason I ain't expanded north is, well... you answered it yerself, in fact. Cuz they're a bunch of cunts. No discipline, no vision, not a trustworthy bone among the lot of 'em. I do business there, but I don't have business there. I'm sure y'get me. Yer more like me than yeh'd like to admit."
Again that chuckle. That amusement that rang of nothing more than honest mirth, as if he found something worthy of a jape and was simply appreciating it. Kasoria's brow creased almost imperceptibly, and he flicked a glance at his master. Was the old man trying to provoke the feathery cunt? Was he drunk? Or was... was it poison? Before he had a chance to wonder further, Vorund finished his glass and plowed on.
"Now, the lad to my left? I'm sure he nearly cacked his breeches when you offered up the North Side like a treat to a dog, back then," he said with a smile, thumbing briefly at Ilos. The younger racketeer flushed for a moment and then bowed his head as Vorund tapped his empty glass. Off he went, like a good boy, filling it back up. "Sure that sounded good t'him. Double the turf, double the income... pah... double the problems, lad."
The last word was directed at Ilos himself as he placed the glass in his boss' hand. Vorund patted him on the shoulder as he sat down.
"What I got now is tight, controlled, efficient... and loyal. All that shite you said the North didn't have. Y'know why that was? Because they were all a bunch of horizon-chasing cunts, who got tripped up by the shite right in front of their eyes. That ain't me, son. Never has been, either.
...
Nevertheless, the crimson-eyed bird was not quite so inconceivably foolish to actually interrupt the inbound lecture, not necessarily out of any semblance of respect for the Vorund, but rather because he recognized it would absolutely spoil any further conversation over the matter. Vorund spoke of the reason why he had not taken to conquering and subjugating the remainder of Etzos, and highlighted that the Northern criminals were less than disciplined, and far more cutthroat than they were effective. Perhaps that had been true before he had united so many of them under a singular flag, whipped any dissenters to death, paid them in droves of loot, and brought them under his regime, but they were a far different animal than they had once been.
Even as the criminal lord spoke of the similarity between the pair, and further discussed that he possessed business in the midst of the North, but that it was not his to own, a particularly troubled crossbowman began to crease his brow. No matter where he turned, the precariously dangerous thought of usurpation rattled around the confines of his skull. He was paid… but was it enough? The endless hole of greed was such an easy exploitation for a being as ancient and capable as the Beast, and it flourished in mental environments of such blaring selfishness, whispering thoughts of additional gold, of greater reward, of grander fame. After all, he certainly possessed a weapon… and Vorund, while he had been at least a fair boss, would not be missed, would he?
..
They conversed further, Vorund questioning him on what his actual interests in the South side were, whether or not he was interested in acquiring some measure of partnership, or perhaps more soldiers to his army, or perhaps even simply the acquisition of further coins. The avian tittered briefly at the list of options, disinterested in the implications that each carried, though he was not so foolish as to ignore any potential benefit that might arise from any of them. Cost and benefit, as it were. There was a request by Vorund that he keep his soldiers and their ilk away from the South-side, as though he were convinced that a simple statement such as the one he had made would somehow preserve any dignity within his territory. Perhaps he was genuinely convinced that the North had no effect on the South, but, regardless of their general direction… Etzos was a single city. Noth listened further to the demand until it was rather brusquely interrupted by the man at Vorund’s side, and it became the hybrid’s turn to chuckle, a short sound that emanated from within his chest. “Nice dog.” He uttered briefly, before motioning for the fellow to continue.
..
"I'm guessin' yer talkin' t'me because youse know there ain't no-one else'll listen to ya. North Side? Heh, you've got them dogs whipped, by the sound of it. Lotta' obedient, not much leadership," the old man winked at the lean, rangy gangster at Noth's side, enjoying the flush of insulted pride he saw flare up. "An' the Fence? Shite... if she ain't keen on workin' with me, she'll take yer fucking head off the moment you meet. So as far as... figureheads, aye, that's almost the word, I was yer best option, hmm?"
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"Point bein', lad, that while you may require shit from me, I don't require a fuckin' thing from you." Vorund's eyes slid up from Noth and into Thane's pinched, outraged face. "Or these Northern monkeys y'came with. I run my business safe an' under the note a' the Council, an' I ain't looking for a partner that'll bring every Blackjack and soldier and shadowy cunt Vuda an' the High Marshal has on the payroll down on my head. Y'wanna come South an' look fer muscle? Feel free. Just make sure they ain't mine."
....
"Though, if we're honest," Vorund continued, waiting until he guessed Noth was about to reply and then cutting him off at the knees. Or the tongue, more accurately. "Don't see why you'd need more'n what you got right now, for yer little coup. Got Thane over there, an' all the North Side garbage he can muster, which I'm guessin' ain't some small number. Got that warehouse in Fosters, got others like it. Got Thane's wee sister, an' that big bearded cunt Ox, an' yer little army in the shadows playing at war."
Vorund paused and shrugged, letting his words sink in for a moment or two.
"Got more'n that in the wings, I'd wager. All that magical shite y'seem to be so fond of. Oh, I hear things too, Mister Prince. Forty years in this life, if y'thought I didn't have friends an' snouts an' ears an' eyes North, South, East, and West, yer fuckin' dreamin'. But most of all, what I hear about youse? That there ain't much to hear. You've filled in plenty a' those blanks, an' for that I thank ya. F'Ilos here was makin' the decisions, might be things'd be different. But I am, an' ain't, so I'll be turnin' youse down an' wishin' youse good luck. With the same warning as before."
The pipe finally came out of his mouth and Kasoria heard what followed, but only distantly.
In truth, he was too busy panicking.
"Stay away from anything attached to me. The men I hire, the businesses I protect, the money I make." The old man spoke quietly and slowly, rough gutter accent vanishing, every syllable crystal clear. "Do that, and we won't need to be all chummy, Mister Prince. You make your way, and I will make mine. Never the 'twain shall meet, nor blood need be spilled."
Why would you say that? Why the fuck would you say that?!
...
Vorund attempted to dissect the reason for the hybrid’s visit, insinuating that the leadership currently scattered around the Northern remnants was faulty in some regard or another. While it was true that the hybrid had encountered little more than jumped-up thugs and their assorted yes-men when he had established his dominion over them, he was under the impression that his efforts in regards to the Fiends had shaped them into far more capable leaders, at least when it came to acts of violent action. In truth, the leadership that he provided in many cases was limited to strategic and tactical decisions, but he didn’t particularly care what his men did in their free time so long as it didn’t affect their efficiency or that of their mutual operations.
...
"Aye, seems like," Vorund said as Noth gave them his parting words, responding with a shrug of his own. "Pretty much how things are now, innit? Youse fuck away off, I fuck away off, an' we all keep makin' money." The Avriel turned on his heel and the North Side delegation started to go for the door. The Southsiders left them with a low, mocking chuckling oozing into the holes that sufficed for ears under the mutant's cloak. "Oh, we'll put on a spread fer whoever y'send. Rest assured a' that."
Noth and Kas
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Some maniac from the North Side, who'd had a whole crew of cutthroats thrown at him and sliced and chopped and bludgeoned and battered them all into paste. Walked out of his wrecked house alive, with only a single wound. The stories said that man was named Kasoria, and since that night, he'd not been seen in that part of town.
He was getting closer to his home. He'd moved after that clusterfuck in the North Side, deciding that staying in the South, in the heart of his master's territory, was a smarter option. But you never knew, not for certain. In the aftermath of that night, Bangun had talked with him about the "message" he'd been given. From The Fence. The one power in the Etzos underworld that could not just rival him, but crush him. Such an organization, well... they wouldn't give much of a shit about turf.
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Al'right," Vorund said, slamming down the glass hard enough the break his reverie. The old man got to his feet without tremble or pause, sweeping out from behind his desk and snatching up his jacket. "Last meeting of the day, downstairs. Afterwards, get the lads together and I'll tell them to get spreading the word. South Side and the people we know in the North. Trial or two, every fence in the city will know I'm looking for that little thing."
He stopped at the doorway, and the watcher stepped forward, at his side. Silent and careful. Managing a half-smile to the grin that Vorund gave him.
"Then you'll go hunting, Kas."
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"An' you ain't the only fence on the West Side, Screevy. Or the North, or the South-"
...
"Yer name is Freyda. Yer a pickpocket. Y'sell what y'steal to Screever, an' some others on the North Side. An' now I know what y'look like. Why am I tellin' you all this, girl?"
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They'd all heard the story from the Underground, which had a grapevine and gossip line as thick and voluble as any collection of chattering maids. Word was, Vorund's precious boy had a knife to the throat of a North Side whore when the Blackjack in question smashed down the bedroom door. He'd spat his hatred at the copper and started cutting her up, with the words "My father will have your-" on his lips.
He never finished. The Blackjack apparently did not care for the boy's father, and neither did the short sword he rammed through his throat.
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Ilos did as he was asked, not as he was told. Already Kristo could see the swagger in the young man's step. Becoming a prized underling of Bangun Vorund certainly elevated one, both financially and mentally. He didn't know all the details, but an arc or two ago, Ilos had been a petty conman on the West Side. He was smart, and he could fight, so he could protect himself from the meatheads who would extort of profits of his cleverness. The Fates threw him in front of Bangun Vorund, and the old boss was impressed.
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Finn weighted the grizzly men of Pike’s against the stone-faced killers that Vorund had gathered. Vorund would catch ‘em by surprise, but he wouldn’t be fighting on his own turf. With luck the whole lot would tear each other to shreds and the neighbourhoods on the West and South would be a great deal safer for it.
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"Stay outta Vorund's places," he said, stopping in front of the man, and his view, just to make sure he was noticed. "North side of town is where youse ply yer trade. South Side's outta bounds. Cuz next time, I might not be there t'get y'out."
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Didn’t Vorund have some contacts around the city that Kasoria could freely use if necessary? Why’d he come here for? It wasn’t unthinkable that Vorund wouldn’t have any people in the North, now was it?
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"I can make good on that right now," he said, casting a quick, querying look at Arlen before continuing. A nod of her head told him it was safe to speak around the younger mage. "Take it yeh've heard about this "Prince a' Eternal Mercies" wanker causin' havoc on the North Side? Mebbe beyond?" Sima's expression told him she had, to his utter lack of surprise. "He met with Vorund, couple a' seasons ago. Wanted t'recruit the old man an' his family into some sorta' plot t'take over the city. Fuckin' birdman's planning a revolution."
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The last man standing was making no move to end the job quickly, and Kasoria silently rejoiced. Oh, thank fuckery: he had a Talker. They always wanted to savor the moment, draw it out, babble on like they were in some knight's majestic tale, and not working a contract in North Sodding Etzos.
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He’d brought them to ‘Old Jim Slims’ Pub’, a somewhat dingy-looking building in the same adobe style as most houses in the area. It was a tad larger though, albeit not by much. The windows were marked with stains from rain and weather to the point that they almost looked frosted. Only light and the shadows of patrons inside could be seen through them. The door was old and wooden, splintered at the top and bottom, and showed cracks in which green … stuff grew. The knob was bronze, shiny and light-colored where many hands hand grabbed and pulled, but almost bluish-grey on every other part. Above the door hung the wooden sign designating this place as a pub, weathered and chipped, with the lettering having faded over the years. It was only barely legible.
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