1105-009 -- 1105-010 -- 1105-011
- System - Torpol
- Message Center - Anchor link to section of Message Center
- Ship's Log - Anchor links to Personal Logs & Library Entries
- In Character discussions - Anchor links to discussions on this page
- Category Tags: Torpol, Crockett, Khurn, Rakke, Sultana, Harison, Silas, Harrier, Gloamhound, Vignette 4, Wages Of Sin
| Timing of events |
| 04:00 - Wages of Sin arrives in Torpol Space |
| 09:30 - Wages of Sin Approaching Torpol Station |
| 10:00 - Start of Meeting at Hharn-Fel |
| 11:00 - Continuing the Meeting at Hharn-Felv |
| 11:15 - Sultana Errand |
| 11:30 - More people join the Meeting at Hharn-Fel |
| 11:50 - The last of the group joins the Meeting at Hharn-Fel |
| 15:00 - Dockmaster's Office |
| 18:00 - V'Hurg Dock, Khurn Reports |
| ??:?? - Flort and Iskavarin meet for food and conversation |
04:00 Local Time, Jump Space
Flort was having a fantastic dream—something about a winning streak at the tables, a fully refurbished ship, and two stunning companions laughing at his jokes. Then the comm chimed.
Reality hit like a bulkhead.
“What is it?” he growled.
Spits, cheerful as ever, crackled through. “Hey, Captain! We’re about two or three hours out from dropping. Thought you’d want a heads-up.” CROW’s voice slid into Flort’s neural interface like an ice cube down the back. “I was letting you sleep.”
Spits kept talking, oblivious. “Captain, uh, the ship’s Intellect still won’t talk to me.”
“I’ve told you before,” CROW said in his head, “I don’t talk to idiots. Frankly, I’m impressed he could read the Jump report.” Flort groaned, sitting up and scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Spits, maybe if you’re nice enough, CROW will warm up to you.”
“No. I won’t.”
'''07:00 - 100 Diameters from Torpol
Three hours later, the Wages of Sin slid out of jump space with only the faintest shudder. Flort settled into the captain’s chair—genuine Grexir hide from Glisten. A luxury from a previous owner. It still held the perfect balance of comfort and command.
“Talk to me,” he said aloud. “ETA, traffic, any red flags docking with Torpol?”
Karen, the crew droid, chirped up from her console. “Captain, traveling without a certified engineer, pilot, or sensor operator violates twelve Imperial regulations. It’s fortunate we’re not carrying passengers, or we’d be fined. Shall I place job postings upon docking?”
“Shut up, Karen.”
CROW cut in. “Two hours, fifty-three minutes to station fall. No unusual traffic, no alerts on the system net. I can dock us, Torpol is not the Ice Chute of Argona.”
“Good. Register us for a berth. Have Jeeves coordinate cargo transfer with the dockmaster.” He paused, sipping coffee with a grimace. “Thanks to that idiot pilot’s stunt at Asim, we’re basically running this leg for free.”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Top off with unrefined fuel. Send me the escrow account numbers when it’s confirmed. I’ll scan the market later for cargos.”
“Anything else?” CROW asked dryly.
“Yeah. Cross-check my contact list—see if anyone useful is on-station. I need a real pilot, not a liability with a license. And you know damned well you’re only passable in an emergency.”
"Agreed. That’s why I let Spits think he’s part of the flight crew.”
9:30 Local Time, Approaching Torpol Station - 6124
To: Iskavarin
Fr: Flort
Good to hear from you. Didn’t I just see you on Drinax weeks ago? Yes, I believe I do owe you 50 Credits. I should be docked and free sometime after noon local time. If you are here, there has got to be a story behind it. Maybe we can assist each other. The station guidebook says that Harn’s Fell has the best drinks on the station. Give me a time and I will be there. I will be on station at least 2 or 3 days.
“Boss, your finances are not the best right now.” Crow’s avatar said in Flort’s Neural Comm.
“Crow, if I ever can’t afford 50 Credits you can have Spits shoot me.”
Billy head to the c’s early he requested a table with a good view of the place and one were he could have a look into the back to see if there was a good exit strategy if needed later. He made note of all the staff he could see making sure if they were all different later on he know something was up. He knew this was a bit paranoid but he did need to get breakfast anyway. The Admiral had said he was having some trouble with a member of the crew so could not hurt to be a little more careful. He had not seen the Admiral in some time last he heard he had re-tired so he was very surprised to hear he was out in this part of space. He order a coffee to go and found a spot outside to watch the Hharn-Fel’s with out being seen, till his meeting. He was looking forward to getting off this planet the party life was good for a bit but too much would make you soft.
At 09:55 Billy headed in to Hharn-Fel’s he looked around at the stuff to make sure they were all the same nothing stood out he saw so he approached his old commanding officer who was calling him over. Billy saluted and stood to attention with out even realising. "Good day Admiral."
He smiled at Billy as he look up at him, he could still not get over the size of him. "You can stop that Billy I am not an Admiral any more and you don’t have to salut me. We are old navy friends now. If you please follow me in to the back and I’ll introduce you to the others. A good bunch of guy and very capable."
Harison lead Billy into the back room they had booked where the others were sitting down." This is our Caption Sultana and our ace pilot and navigator Mr Silas. Gentlemen this is Willium Burke or Billy for short. He was a Star Marine under my command for a time. He was very effective at eliminating problems when diplomacy failed."
Billy entered the room after Admiral Dawn removed his Stetson and held it behind him as he stood to. He nodded at each man as he was introduced to them.
The first thing you notice about Billy was his huge size he was not just big he was a giant. But unlike must big guys you could tell with your years of expertise in sword play he was agile a dangerous combo.
Sultana motioned for Billy to have a seat at the table with them. "I assume that since Dawn is familiar with you and your abilities that you have a skill and mindset that we could use on board. Do you have any questions for us?"
"Yes Sir I believe that is correct. No questions I’ll be happy to get off this rock before it makes me soft. Sir"
"Billy the pay would be the same as every one 50% of profits are reinvested back into the ship and the rest is slit amongst the crew with everyone getting 2 shares. If that sounds good we happy to have you aboard. Please make your way to the ship as soon as you can and if you have a vac suit that be great if not let me know."
"Glad to be aboard. I’ll see you at the ship Sir."
"Mr Ryn I presume thank you for taking the time to meet with us today we appreciate it. Sorry about the short notice. If you’d like to follow me, we have a room in the back where the others are."
"No problem!" Ryn followed close on Dawn's heels.
Harison lead Ryn into the back room they had booked where the others were sitting down."This is our Caption Sultana and our ace pilot and navigator Mr Silas. Gentlemen Mr Ryn. Please take a sit." Harison indicated ti the free seat at the table. "Would you like a drink or some thing to eat?"
"No... thank you... I was hoping you'd like to eat... ah... my cooking." he grinned and found the trio rather more serious than himself. "...as I can... cook..." his voice faded off.
"Mr Ryn can you please tell us a little about your self first?"
Ryn was large, strong and very fit. Physically imposing would be the scientific term. He bore scars about the visible parts of his skin; his face and hands, signs of a rough life. He moved quietly and wore plain, well worn and unadorned clothes; trousers, shirt and coat as a non-descript ship crew-member. Apart from the scars, he had his hair plaited in cornrows tight against his head and touching his shoulders. The Admiral decided he was not a Naval Man.
"I have until recently been a crew member aboard the Antelope Laughs, working for Captain Vas Yurridan... but I mentioned that already... yeah? Making sure that the ship was safe and the crew well cared for. I'm an all-rounder see? I can pilot, cook... mix drinks... you look like the sort that like a fine beverage... have you tried a Ghostfire? I learnt that from a planetside bartender just ten days ago... where was I? I'm fair on a deal, bartering, that kind of thing... ship's guns. Say, what kind of artillery is your ship packing? The V'Hurg? Sounds like a Vargr vomit... lovely ship though. A serious bit of kit. What's your intent with her? Raiding? Piracy? Smuggling." he lowered his voice and looked around, realising that they weren't likely to be overheard. "If I'm to be crew than I've a rights to know."
He paused a continued less nervous, steadier. "Look. I'm trustworthy. I'll try my hand at anything. And I'm interested in paid work. It don't seem like we're the same kind of people, but I'm no scrunge; I'm clean and a hard worker." he waited for a response.
Silas did not think that Ryn was his type of person at all. Apart from the mixed drinks. "Ghostfire, eh? I'd be interested to try that." This is what passes for a pirate in the Reach, he thought. He subvocalised to Vix, "What's a "scrunge"?" Vix' response was instantaneous in Silas' augmented reality googles, smiling broadly as if pleased with itself for knowing the answer. "It's a colloquial term used in parts of the Trojan Reach as a general-purpose insult for someone greasy, smelly, or slimy." Silas blinked the contact off.
Harrion leans in closer to the Ryan’s looks very serious and looks Directly at Ryn. "Look Mr Ryn I won’t lie to you, the idea of having a barman on bored give me no end of joy if you get the job I love to try that Ghostfire."He sits back down and smiles. "We will be doing all kinds of work and I mean all kinds of work." He gives Ryn a knowing wink. " As for armaments on the ship she is well endowed and yes her name leaves a lot to be desired. Being an all rounder is great what we really need is people good in a fight off the ship, now please don’t take any offence to this but you look like you might fit the bill."
"All kinds of work. That's me." Ryn returned Harison's wink. "'Understood.'''"
The discussion continued awhile covering pay, berthing on board, the layout of the ship in relation to provisioning and catering etc. Sultana, Harison and Silas could see that Ryn was rough, but was smart, capable, eager to please and strong. The decision to join the crew had been made.
"Happy to have you with us, Ryn."
"We've got a little time before Khurn arrives. I need to swing by and post the next chapter while we're on station. Back in a few." With that, Sultana rises and strolls out.
Khurn spent the morning clearing out the staterooms—half looking for mementos of his old crew, half hoping Vaak’s people had missed something valuable. They hadn’t. Thorough, those bastards. The only thing they’d left behind—intentionally or not—was a redlined vacc suit with shot seals. He held it up to the light.
[Khurn] “Well, you ain’t pretty, but you might keep the air in,” he muttered. “Which makes you the most useful damn thing on this ship.”
At least the alarm had gone off before they hit the Stores, missiles, and life support all the supplies were intact. The ship was flight-ready, stocked for four weeks. Now all he needed was an sensor operator, engineer, two gunners, and a boarding team.
“Just a crew short of a miracle,” he said to no one.
Until then, he was stuck in dock, watching the fees pile up. Couldn’t sell the missiles. Couldn’t offload the ship’s boat. No paperwork. No leverage. Kzethra buzzed a reminder about his appointment. He paused in front of the mirror before heading out. Suit was clean—technically. The color palette clashed like a knife fight, but it still suited him. One canine missing. Left eye no longer swollen shut. He grinned, lopsided.
“Could be worse.”
“Kzethra, if Rakke shows up when I am gone tell him he can find me at Hharn-Fel’s”
“It won’t look good if he is the one that has to buy the Drinks” it replied
He arrived early at Hharn-Fel’s. Not so early they’d call it loitering, but early enough to scope the place. It was quiet. A slow hum of idle conversation, half-hearted sports feed muttering in the corner. A sign behind the bar advertised the house special: Torpol Ghostfire. Khurn’s eyes tracked higher—top shelf bourbon, untouched. The barbot swiveled toward him, voice chirpy and artificial.
“You want a libation, lunch, or snacks?”
“Just water,” Khurn said, sliding onto a stool and scanning the room. “I’m waiting for someone. Hopefully not a mistake.”
He planted his elbows on the bar, stared out at the empty tables, and waited.
[Rakke] "Nah, that won't do. That's for bathing." The voice came from behind, a familiar voice coming closer with every word. "Set up two of them ghostfires, and when you've delivered them, two more. And hey, how about some kronga?"
Rakke took the barstool next to Khurn with a smile that went all the way back to his carnassials. Some might call his choices conservative, but no one knows who. The colors make sense, a scarlet doublet under an open electric blue tunic with goldenrod yellow trim. "Khurn, old buddy, I hope you've come to your senses and decided to let me advertise that ship of yours on my leaflets. It'd be hella lot easier to get clients to hire us if we had a ship to provide the whole experience instead of just hiring a guide."
Khurn smiled, with his missing tooth and battered exterior it was not reassuring. “Well, not exactly. Let’s have a discussion on opportunity…”
"That's a discussion I'm always open to have."
11:50 - Hharn-Fel
[Sultana] At about 10 minutes before noon, the front door opened to admit Sultana and (1, 2, or 3 other figures, don't know at this point who else is coming) other figures. He squinted his eyes momentarily to adjust to the dimmed room before looking around. Spying Khurn's form hunched over at the bar, he led the way past some tables and next to the Vargr at the bar. "Hello, my friend. It's been awhile, hasn't it? When I realized it'd be more than just me from my ship, I called ahead. Turns out they have a private dining room, and it was available. Shall we head that way? And your friend too, of course." He looked the other person over briefly, among other things, checking for obvious weapons. Turning, he moved towards the back room.
Khurn’s ears flared forward when Sultana stepped through the door. He stilled them quickly, masking the reaction. He was a bit embarrassed by his battered appearance—bruised eye still healing, one canine missing—but he did his best not to show it.
“Good to see you,” he said, keeping his tone steady. “This is my new Executive Officer, Rakke.”
Silas grabbed Khurn's hand with both of his in a fierce handshake, "Khurn my old friend, it is good to see you!"
Rakke lifts his head with a one-sided smile and a casual two-finger salute-wave.
After brief introductions, the group moved into the private room. It was small and comfortable, a white noise generator humming softly at the center of the table. Place settings had been arranged, and the food was already served. Khurn caught the smell of roasted Groat—one of his favorites—and spotted a bottle of his preferred bourbon waiting at the center. Sultana always did know how to run a meeting.
While the group waited for any final arrivals, Khurn made no pretense of restraint. He dug into the roasted Groat with clear appreciation, savoring each bite, and sipped his bourbon with slow satisfaction.
Rakke watched his fellow vargr. Knowing how down on his luck Khurn was, he had intended on paying for their drinks and snacks, but looking at the spread provided, decided that this Sultana was better heeled to manage that bill. Still, maybe he had underestimated just how dire the straits Khurn was in.
After a few minutes of eating and polite silence, he leaned back slightly, tail relaxed, and began to explain his current situation. Given their shared history, Khurn spoke with more openness than usual—perhaps more than he should have.
“Because of our history,” Khurn said, lifting his glass slightly, “I bear my belly to you, Sultana.” Khurn hid it well, but one of his ears involuntarily, twitched alerting Sultana to the stress that bubbled underneath. Khurn smiled, the gap in his teeth catching the light. “We can go over the reasons in more detail over drinks, the short version is: I command a fully supplied, 400-ton armed merchant—” he paused, with a wink, “—the Gloamhound.”
He let that hang for a moment before continuing.
“Unfortunately, I also find myself with not a single credit to my name to even pay my growing docking fees. Due to... let’s say paperwork discrepancies and certain local regulations, I’m unable to offload any supplies, or equipment at this port.” He glanced toward the others, then back to Sultana.
“I’m open to discussing any opportunities—for myself, and the ship. And I’d like Rakke included in those conversations. He is free to discuss any individual opportunity you may have for him as well.”
Rakke gives a slight nod in acknowledgement.
With that, Khurn pushed his empty plate aside and pulled the dessert tray toward him without hesitation. As he selected something sweet, his gaze shifted across the table, sharpening with curiosity.
“Before we go further,” he added, “I noticed the V’Hurg is registered out of Drinax. I imagine there’s a story there. How did you come to captain such a magnificent ship?”
Sultana picked up his drink and leans back in his chair. "A bit of being in the right place at the right time, and a whole lot of dumb luck. We are, however, slightly under-crewed for the work ahead, and looking to fill in a few bunks. When I contacted you, I'd thought to maybe pick up a few of yours on loan for a bit, but this might work out better. The fewer who know, the less chance of loose tongues talking." He shrugged and took a drink. "It's not that big of a deal, but I'd like to keep a low profile from anyone back home, for personal reasons."
He looked over at his partners, to make sure they agreed with him as he spoke. "What do you say you ship with us for a while? Standard shares, and we can pull the Gloamhound out of hock and put it into cold storage while you're with us. The cost for that will come from your shares, but hopefully won't take too long to make up. And we could use someone of your experience. I assume you vouch for your friend here? Both in skills and discretion?"
Khurn chewed over the offer. Sultana hadn’t said what the job was—but he didn’t need to. He knew what Khurn did for a living, even if they dressed it up in merchant terms. It wouldn’t be his ship, though. Not the Gloamhound. He’d be stepping into someone else’s crew, and near the bottom of the pecking order—maybe a notch above Rakke, if that. It had been a long time since Khurn had to scrap for position, and the last time he did, it didn’t end well. His tongue felt out his still raw socket where his canine had been. Still, the deal was solid. Better than he had any right to expect, given the state of his accounts and serving aboard what looked suspiciously like a Sindalian Harrier? That wasn’t the kind of opportunity a smart Vargr turned down. He raised his glass.
“Sultana, this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership.”
He tipped his head toward Rakke.
“I wouldn’t have him on my crew if I didn’t trust him to get the job done.”
The other vargr gave a slight nod of appreciation .
Khurn leaned back, finishing the last of his drink.
“I’ll see to the Gloamhound’s storage, have the cost sent to the V’Hurg, and grab my kit. Shouldn’t take long. How about we report to the V’Hurg once that’s done?”
He put his hand on Rakke's shoulder.
[Harison] "Before signing on, I have a few reservations. How long do you intend to crew with us . . . as the harrier isn’t a tourist ship. We are looking for crew for our ship. Taking you on 'til you raise the money to get your ship in order is not in the long term help to us. It only serves to postpone the problem of crew for that time. If you were to sign on for a year, I would have no problem with you crewing with us. Gives us a reliable crew mate and more than enough time to replace you when you leave and you come out the other end with a good bit of credits to restart your ship. We would hold on to your last month's pay. If you leave before the year that would be forfeit."
"Now Mr. Rakke are you looking to sign on to a new ship because your captain is doing it? Or is it that last ship you were on was mismanaged and the Captain was left with a ship and no money? If so I can guarantee that won’t happen on this ship."
Khurn’s ears flicked once, catching the shift. Not Sultana—the XO. A test, then. A reminder of who held what authority aboard the V’Hurg. Khurn could respect that. What he didn’t understand was the human fixation on contracts. A forfeited month’s pay meant nothing to him. Loyalty wasn’t written—it was earned. And for Khurn, it would be Sultana’s leadership—or perhaps Harrison’s—that sealed the bond.
The vargr smiles more broadly than before with the hint of a chuckle as he pulls out his mobile comm and starts thumbing through it. "Mister Rakke. Could get used to that." Rakke looks over to Khurn and then back to Harison, "I have my own reason for what I do, but I trust Khurn. He's a good leader. I could do worse."
Khurn gave a short sniff, then pointed at Harrison and glanced toward Sultana with a raised brow—seeking silent confirmation—before turning his full attention back to the XO.
“I’ll sign your contract to serve Sultana for the year,” he said firmly. “If the V’Hurg is doing the work I suspect, I don’t see any outcome where you won’t want a fully supplied Corsair operational before long.”
He smiled, the gap in his teeth showing just enough edge.
“So—aboard the V’Hurg, or back on the Gloamhound—you’ve got me for the year.”
"A year?" Rakke scrolls down his mobile comm some more. "Yeah, don't see any conflicts. I should be good for a while."
"That’s good to hear I would be happy to have you both onboard so. No need for signing any contracts we are all people of honour here and Sultana and Silas vouched for you so your word is good enough for me."
Later Silas stood alone with Khurn and bent his ear (figuratively). The two were an unusual sight with Silas nearly 2 metres tall towering over the Vargr, "I'm okay on funds. Just between you and me. I'll cover the dock fees on the Gloamhound. You can owe me." he grinned. Damn, remember the Pallique Galleon? SUrvival is something to drink to, you old rogue."'''
Khurn placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder, his gaze drifting off for a moment. “The loan is appreciated, my friend. Right now, I’m not too proud to take you up on it.” His voice lowered, almost a growl. “I was betrayed. My crew killed. Not all of us survive.” He paused, jaw tightening before he forced a smile back onto his face. The gap where his canine used to be gave his grin a rougher edge. “But this is a new beginning,” he continued, voice brightening. “And I couldn’t ask for better company. Seeing you and Sultana aboard the V’Hurg... It feels like the universe finally dealt me a decent hand.” He straightened, brushing off the moment of vulnerability with a flick of his ear. “I’m hoping we can find a use for the Gloamhound sooner rather than later. She wasn’t built to sit idle.” Khurn’s smile grew sharper. “Once we’re underway, I’m looking forward to finding out exactly what we’re getting into.” With that, he clapped Silas on the back, and the two made their way back into the room.
15:00 - Torpol High Port — Dockmaster's Office
Khurn watched the clock on the wall, its hands ticking away with deliberate slowness. He flexed his knuckles, cracking them loudly in the silence of the waiting room. The thought of keeping the V’Hurg waiting gnawed at him. Unprofessional. His lips curled slightly in irritation. The receptionist behind the counter typed rhythmically, oblivious to his agitation. Khurn was about to clear his throat when she looked up, her expression neutral.
“You may proceed,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. A light above the door blinked green.
Khurn straightened, smoothing the lapels of his loud, clashing jacket. He stepped forward, pushing open the heavy door to the Dockmaster’s office.
Inside, the air was cooler, carrying the faint tang of engine oil and polished metal, undercut by a stronger, briny odor of fish. It was nearly as pungent as Silas's infamous Katarulun cologne. Flickering screens lined the walls, displaying berthing assignments and maintenance logs. At the center of it all sat a massive desk—an industrial slab of metal and carbon fiber, cluttered with data slates and half-eaten wrappers.
Khurn's eyes caught the nameplate: Dockmaster Kresh Vonn—a man known for his iron grip over Torpol's highport logistics. Vonn, a thick-set figure with grease-smudged hands, took a deliberate bite of his sandwich and chewed loudly, eyes fixed curiously on Khurn as if he were an anomaly to be cataloged.
Khurn stepped forward, voice steady. “Good day. I am Khurn Svikulf, and I need to arrange for my ship, The Gloamhound, to go into Cold Storage for six months—perhaps a year. Is there a spot available?”
Kresh Vonn stared at him for what felt like an eternity, chewing with deliberate slowness. Finally, he swallowed heavily, then pushed a data pad across the desk, tapping it with one sauce-stained finger before returning to his meal.
Khurn picked up the pad and began filling out the required information. His eyes scanned the duration and prices, and he nearly choked. “That much?” he asked, incredulous.
Vonn chuckled, wiping his hands on a crumpled napkin. “Space is at a premium, and your ship is...suspiciously equipped. Torpol is a strict system. Frankly, we’d rather not keep your”—he paused, letting the words hang—“Armed Merchantman here. But you haven’t broken any system laws that I know of, and credits buy services. Take it or leave it. You won’t find a better deal. That price includes additional security precautions.” He shoved his plate aside and leaned back, eyes fixed intently on Khurn’s reaction.
Khurn’s injured eye twitched, his finger hovering over the options. After a beat, he tapped the 365-day option—the only one that included a week for free.
“In for a credit, in for the black,” he muttered, jamming his thumb down on the pad. The contract confirmed with a dull chime, sending the bill of credit to the V’Hurg.
He left the office with a forceful slam of the door, more aggressive than intended. The receptionist's head snapped around, her glare icy.
Khurn forced a grin. “Hey, you got a terminal I can use for Central Supply?”
She jabbed a finger toward a battered workstation against the far wall.
Khurn settled in, pulling up data on Vargr Vacc-Suits. He scrolled through the listings, hardly hesitating before selecting a TL10 Vacc-Suit modified for Vargr use. He keyed in delivery instructions for the V’Hurg, flagged Attention Crewman Rakke, and added a note to Sultana with a CC to Silas:
Ordered a Vacc-Suit for Rakke. Put it on my tab if it’s an issue.
He hit send, closed out the terminal, and left the reception area with a satisfied snort.
V'Hurg crew post-interview discussion
Silas sat at the Hharn-Fel later in the day, and took stock. He subvocalised to his PA, "Vix we have funds from Iskravin, Sultana and myself. Track this, and update each of the crew of expenditure. We'll be paying for some gear; vacc suits, bits and pieces, as well as fuel and ship fees. And docking fees for the Gloamhound. Although we'll be footing that bill. A favour to an old friend."
"Oh Silas, loaning Khurn money? That's adorable. Shall I go ahead and list it in your financial logs under 'Charitable Donations to the Perpetually Broke'?" Vix sent the money through to the Dockmaster and flashed Silas' remaining funds total across his goggle screen.
Banking History - Torpol 1105-010
| Date | Location | Description | Debit KCr | Credit KCr | Current Balance KCr |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Crew funds donation - Sultana | x | 30 | 30 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Crew funds donation - Iskravin | x | 125 | 155 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Crew funds donation - Silas | x | 30 | 185 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Fuel | 20 | x | 165 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Vacc suit - Rakke | 11.25 | x | 153.750 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Equipment - Khurn | .635 | x | 153.115 |
| 1105-010 | Torpol Highport | Gloamhound Storage - Khurn | 6 | x | 147.115 |
Contemplating the ship numbers Silas took one last sip of his Ghostfire.
"It's going to get crowded in here, with double the crew we started with. Still well within limits, but I'm used to being able to retreat back to the Suraksha when I've had enough social for a little while. I don't have that here. So, don't be surprised or offended if I disappear into my cabin a few times. I'll adjust soon, I'm sure." He looks over the list. "Burke, Ryn, Khurn, Rakke. We'll need to find the best roles for each, but that should also give us some good backups for each spot too." Sultana flips through the notes he has on each one. "What are your thoughts on them?"
"Hmm... Burke and Ryn are muscle. Whereas Burke might be on guns, I reckon Ryn is on catering... have you tasted a Ghostfire..? Damn good!"
"Khurn is also marine material, fast and dangerous, and their experience might suit them to a bridge position; having been Captain of their own ship for some time.
"Can't say I know Rakke... but a friend of Khurn’s is a friend of mine." He subvocalised to Vix, "Send Khurn a message asking what Rakke's skill set is."
To Khurn: Requesting information on Rakke's skill set/preferred crew position. Thanks, Silas
To Silas No Imperial Certifications. Competent at ship skills. I recommend an interview.
Sultana flips back through his notes. "Hmm.. thought it was Ryn that mentioned Guns, not Burke. Not sure now which it was. Dawn, you know Burke personally. Does he have any shipboard skills we can use? We definitely need the Marine skills, just looking for any extras we can get along with them."
"His a fighter up close and personal not much ship skills other than gunner his a good shot and should be sufficient at that job. As for the new recruits we should not be giving them unrestricted access to the bridge. We should have them as marines for the time being till we get to know them all. Also might be good to pair them off with one of us based on complementary skills like if one is a J-drive be good to be paired with Silus or a pilot paired with with me. Then we have good cover on the bridge and get to know there skills and how they work. If they don’t have complementary skill a matching one could work. We should also try and get the crew to learn secondary skills needed to fly a ship."
"I am going to order 2 vac suits and charge them to the ship fund for the next mission if that ok."
Sultana nods. "Of course. And the idea of pairing folks up seems reasonable, since it nicely breaks even, 1 for 1. Let's see.. Khurn knows me and Silas, Burke knows you. Swapping that around a bit, let's do Ryn with Iskavrin, Khurn with Dawn, Rakke with Lane, and Burke with me. Sound good?" He looks around at the others, attempting to judge responses. "Not permanent, of course, but just for shake-down and acclimatization. Speaking of shake-down, we'll want to give them a bit of practice with the controls before we hit Marduk. We don't want our first test to maybe be under fire if we can help it."
"That all sounds good can’t find any fault with that."
V'Hurg later that day
[Iskavrin]
Iskavrin leaves the Harrier as soon as he can. He registers with the ship’s AI, noting that he has an appointment in Startown and should return in a few hours. With him, he carries an attaché case, a “Diplomatic Package” sticker placed over the clasp. He also carries a diplomatic passport declaring Iskavrin plenipotentiary.
He shouldn’t have this.
Iskavrin is no longer officially acting on behalf of the Court. This should have been confiscated. But the Harrier’s hurried departure probably left too many T’s uncrossed and I’s undotted.
He moves through the spaceport and reaches Customs. He shows the diplomatic passport. They wave him through.
Iskavrin continues on, taking a series of shuttles (bus-form), buses (public transit-form), and finally a taxi (for-profit transit). The route is familiar—he’s been here several times over the years. He’s even developed a rapport with the Vargr who runs the shop.
WE BUY PRECIOUS STONES AND METALS – CASH OFFER
Despite the name, it’s not quite a pawnshop. It’s not uncommon for free traders to be paid for odd jobs in assets that lack liquidity. Starports don’t accept jewels, and the higher the tech level, the less likely anyone takes gold. Free traders also tend to carry a patchwork of currencies. Banks will do the exchanges—but they charge steep fees. Places like this one aren’t meant to be currency exchangers, but it makes their job easier when their clientele is juggling inconsistent money.
As Iskavrin enters, the Vargr looks up.
"Ah. Iskavrin. I did not expect to see you so soon. I hope all is well with your pup. He is off to find his name, yes?"
"Oh, yes. If the traders kept to their timetable, he should have arrived by now. We hope to hear from him in a few months, once he settles in. My wife is already hurting from our son being away. And now I have to go abroad again."
"Oh, you're with the Navy again?"
"No. A free trader."
The Vargr laughs. "I did not think you so old, cashing out and wandering the sector."
Iskavrin laughs too. "No, no, nothing like that. I expect to be in Dranix often. But it does require cash."
With that, Iskavrin peels the diplomatic sticker off the attaché case, opens it, and pulls out a gem the size of an apple—followed by several dime-sized ones. He sets them on the counter.
The Vargr’s tail gives a small, instinctive wag. He pulls out a toolkit, confident the jewels are authentic and high quality. Iskavrin has never tried to pass off stained glass.
A laser strikes the apple-sized gem at just the right angle, and a holographic watermark appears: the mark of a Sindalian synthetic. The chemical-gravitic presses used to make these are rare and ancient. Still, the gems are prized for both beauty and utility. The smaller gems bear the same mark.
The Vargr gives an excited low howl.
"And you want it in Imperial?" he asks, already knowing the answer.
Iskavrin nods.
"I don’t have that much on hand. If you’re staying a few days, I can scrounge it up. Two to four days, max."
Iskavrin shakes his head. "Just give me the best price you have right now."
The Vargr pushes aside the dime-sized gems and taps the larger one.
"Well, I’ve got around 125k in cash. Another 125k in credits. The optical clarity and structure of that one—it’s meant for lasing. Weapons or comms work. I could get 500k for it, easy, in a year or two. I should be paying you 300 to 350k for it, Iskavrin."
Iskavrin replies, "And no receipt."
The Vargr taps the apple-sized gem more rapidly, then pushes one of the smaller jewels back toward him.
"For my risk. 125k. Cash. Agreed?" He extends his hand.
Iskavrin takes it. "Deal. Done."
The Vargr places the jewels under the counter, then heads to the safe and withdraws the payment. Iskavrin places the cash into the attaché case and seals it with a new sticker.
He nods once, then leaves the store and returns to the ship.
—————————————
Billy head to the ship it was good to be getting off world. A lot of former imperial men on board this ship if Billy was on to speculate he think there was a lot more going on but he was not and could carry less as long as the pay was there and there was action all be good. He was happy the Admiral was there was all ways a good strong leader not afraid to make the hard decision. But who was giving him trouble in the ship? He have to watch his back as he had done for him many times over the years on different missions.
He arrived at the dock the ship was impressive even with its lack of paint. He signed for his belonging he had to store at the high port as they were not allowed weapons planted side he gave it a look over to make sure it was not interfearded with all looked good he would give it a proper once over once onboard.
He saw the Admiral was there to welcome him on board he was not a physical impression man but did have a presence. It was going to be hard not to salute him and get adjusted.
"Welcome aboard Billy can I help you with your bags?"
"No Sir."
"Ok we can drop of that training gear in the cargo bay and you can set it up there. We should be able to store it on the walls when it’s full. You’ll be bunking with me for this mission we have a guest on board who I have given my cabin to. Follow me and I’ll give you the tour."
Billy followed the Admiral around the ship on the tour, the refinery of the ship was very clear to see it was a bit over the top and vulgar for Billy’s tastes. But under that she looked to be a fine ship. He was now starting to think how this sharing the room with the Admiral was going to go. He thought he just go there to sleep and spend all other time out in the ship. Doing his rounds on the ship studying in the common area and training in the cargo hold. They finished up at his new cabin small but was very luxurious looking.
"And that ends the tour this is our bunks I’ll let you get settled in if you need any thing or have questions just find me and I’ll be happy to help. Again welcome aboard happy to have you here."
After the Admiral left he stored his gear and heard to the cargo bay and set up his boxing bag and weights and set about having a workout.
A little while later, the cargo bay door opened to let Sultana enter. When Burke looked over at him, he nodded to him. "Go ahead and finish up your current set, I'm in no rush." Sultana wandered around looking at the gear and taking a rough estimate of Burke's capabilities from the routine he was working on.
Billy dropped what he was doing as soon as Sultana approached him. And stood to attention saluting Sultana.
"Captain Sultana thank you for having me on board sir."
Sultana gestured. "Quite alright, Burke, at ease. We're lucky you were available. Dawn has told us something of your record, I hope we'll have a long and profitable career together." He sat down on a crate. "What has Dawn told you about our ship so far? I'll fill any gaps if I can."
Billy relaxed his stance but was still standing very formaly for a chat in a cargo bay while covered in sweet.
"Little to nothing sir. But that’s ok I don’t need to know much."
Sultana nodded. "Alright then, we'll brief the whole crew together on the mission, so we don't have to do it multiple times. Also, some questions might be better fielded by other folks." He looks around. "This is the cargo space. It looks like you've found it. Let us know if you spot any problems the various repair crews missed. They *always* miss something." He stood up again. "If now is convenient, I can give you your orientation tour of the ship. It won't take all that long. We're not a cruise liner fortunately."
Leading the way, he showed Burke the various portions of the ship. "She's a bit on the decorative side, but mostly functional. Getting the resources to patch her back up to full is one of our first priorities. For day-to-day operations, you'll most likely take orders from Dawn or Drax-Amarinth. They're TacOps and XO, respectively. It's been twelve years since I served in the Navy, they'll know a lot more about regular ship operations than I, and I will absolutely be relying on their expertise. My job will be to settle ties in discussions and distract the bureaucrats."
Billy followed along for the tour taking notes of choke points and other defensive positions and critical areas of the ship. He paid payed close attention to everything Sultana said and showed him.
"Thank you for the tour Sir was vey informative."
After giving time for Burke to ask any questions, they wound up back at the galley where there appeared to be a gathering of the whole crew.
V'Hurg even later
18:00 - V'Hurg Dock
After consigning the Gloamhound to storage, Khurn made one last visit to collect his kit. It came to three bags: a worn wardrobe duffel, a sealed case with his personal armor and weapon, and a red-lined vacc-suit.
A Basic TL-8 suit, long obsolete even before it got torn to hell. The torso was gashed open, a jagged, cauterized wound where armor should’ve been. Three clean punctures marked the backplate, and the left arm had been crudely reattached, its brackets mismatched and scorched. Burned into the lower backplate were the words: PROPERTY OF VOKHRUZZ—scarred, but still legible.
"Snarls" had died in it. Khurn smiled at the memory of the big marine. His last words echoed “Let the big dog bark before the pups whine.”
Khurn didn’t have many options for a suit. But with enough patching, maybe it could hold air.
Khurn reported to the V’Hurg dock and paused at the viewscreen near the lock. The ship was a Harrier-class Commerce Raider, probably over 1500 years old, and still a beautiful thing. To Khurn, it resembled an ancient grav vehicle his grandfather had kept on blocks—untouched, unloved, but priceless. The V’Hurg hadn’t seen proper attention in decades, maybe centuries. Still, the crew could’ve auctioned her off and retired to any planet in the Reach.
Something was happening with Drinax, and it was worth putting the Gloamhound in storage to find out what.
Khurn was met at the lock by Harison, a small package in his hands. When the door opened, the stench of Katarulun Cologne curled Khurn’s nosehairs and he sneezed. Silas never seemed to grasp that Vargr and Vilani approaches to applying cologne were not the same. Khurn never liked the smell of Katarulun, and the marketing phrase—“50% of the time, it works every time”—had never made sense to him.
They eyed each other warily for a moment. Khurn offered his usual analyst’s salute—a vague hand wave that could pass as respect or sarcasm.
“Captain Khurn Svikulf, reporting for duty.” He pointed at the small box. “Is that my comm?”
"'''Welcome aboard Mr.Svikulg.
Was that a purposeful mispronunciation? Khurn’s ears twitched, but he said nothing.
"No need to salute me even with a half-assed salute like that I am not an officer on this ship much like your not a captain on this ship so please don’t disrespect our captain by calling your self one while your are crewing on this ship.'"
Khurns grinned. He caught it. Didn't flinch. Bit back with rank teeth of his own.
"Now if you would please follow me I will show you to your cabin you will be sharing with Mr. Rakke. We will drop if you gear there and then I will give you the tour.'"
Harison turned abruptly and has it off the ship still talking.
Khurn followed with the easy gait of a wolf sizing up a new situation—Watching. Measuring.
"You won’t have full access to all of the ship to start with like the bridge, engineering, other cabins, etc unless with one of the senior crew members and with that we are going to be using a buddy system so you and I will be working together."
Buddy system, Khurn thought. Sounds like leash training. It made sense.
"We will man the bridge when it’s our shift so you will get hands on experience with the ship and after some time you will get full access."
Khurn made a thoughtful noise. “Bridge time’s good. Helps to know how the old girl breathes.” And who snores at the helm.
"So I’ll be your point of contact if you have any question. I’ll be bunking in the cabin next to yours for the time being with Mr. Burke another new crew man. We have a guest on board who I have give my cabin to for this trip"
Guest with enough pull to take Harison’s quarters? Interesting.
"Please give her the upmost respect as she is a guest and our client for this job. We will fill every one in on the mission when we are on the way."
Harison continues with the tour of the ship very quick but it was very thorough. You can see his year in the navy in action no time wasted on pleasantries the job is a tour of the ship and that what you get.
Khurn kept quiet, nose twitching, ears turning to absorb the ship’s moods. Bulkhead groans, vent cycling, coolant hum—every sound a clue. He didn’t ask questions. Not yet.
They ended the tour back at Khurn's cabin. Maybe Khurn comms were in there.
Silas was waiting in the hall outside the cabin.
"Hell of a ship eh Khurn?" the Vargr would remember that Silas was a ship boffin, as he smiled his ear to ear smile.
Khurn gave a sharp exhale—not quite a laugh. “Like nothing I’ve ever walked into,” he said, eyes sweeping the corridor panels “Closest thing I’ve seen was a brothel in Sector 268—gaudy, expensive, and half the walls held up by charm and threats. This one’s the same… only this one’s hiding teeth. Big ones.”
'''"Take good care of this one Harison, as an old friend... a survivor! He deserves our respect."\\
Khurn didn’t speak, but his eyes slid back to Harison, watching for any crack in his posture. There was none—just a steady nod and quiet acceptance. Still holding steady. That’s two for two., Khurn gave the barest nod in return. Maybe we will get along.
'''"I just walked past the common room and Mr. Bask is mixing drinks. I believe he intends for us to sample it. We've conspired to resupply... in rum and gin. At least what passes for gin in Torpol... and other ingredients as prescribed by the bartender.
Khurn gave a dry smile, and his tail twitched back and forth as he thought about abandoning the Gloamhound. “A drink sounds wonderful Silas.”
"Silas beckoned back towards the common area, "Join me. This way gentlemen. Ah! Lady Blaine, just in time for sundowners..."'''
Khurn turned— —and his ears twitched sharp, the involuntary flick of a someone that’s just spotted something dangerous. She moved measured, calm, fully aware of the space she owned and how others shifted to make room. Every step said the same thing: you’re watching because you know better.
Khurn shifted subtly. Not retreat. Not challenge. Just enough for her to pass—one predator making room for another. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t speak. Just watched. And filed it away for later.
The crew of this ship were wealthier than any ship he'd encountered before. Ryn had heard one of them (not the Captain?!) referred to as 'Admiral'. The Drinaxian's robe looked more expensive than all the wages he'd ever earned. And the pilot's clothes and hair were clean and well cut. Ryn determined to soften his language.
"Welcome crew of the V'Hurg! Here, take a seat. I've mixed the Golden Plume, native cocktail of Drinax," he winked at Iskravin. "Never far from home, sir." the newest member and steward of the Harrier placed a drink in front of the XO and continued to provide one to all present. One couldn't help but notice his scarred and calloused hands like the hands of a mechanic, a chef, a knife fighter.
The Golden Plume was clear liquor in a tall glass. The fluid began a deep red at the base of the glass, the colour of the Drinax M star, and quickly faded to pure clear a quarter of the way up. In the centre was a narrow swirling golden pillar (A smiling Ryn wouldn't be drawn on what this secret ingredient was). Ryn paused and looked from face-to-face, fully expecting someone to make a toast or a speech.
Billy accept the drink and gave Ryn a nod and raised his glass to him as away of saying thanks but you could tell his drink plate was a lot less refined and he preferred simpler drinks probably in 6 cans or from a tap.
Khurn took the glass without a word. Held it up. Studied it, not for show—just habit. A ritual, like checking a safety or measuring a man’s eyes before a draw. He didn’t ask what the gold was. He didn’t need to know
Harison gladly accept the drink you think this might be the first time you have seen him smile. "Thank you this is great. WELCOME ABOARD EVERYONE. I think this is the most alive this ship has been in over 200 years. Great to see so many old and new faces on board and I look forward to getting to know you all. But let us have a toast and a few words of encouragement from Sultana. But first I seem to be empty so my good man a refill of you wouldn’t mind please." Harison then sat down to give Sultana the floor.
"Yes, indeed," the voice came from the doorway, throaty, but with a jovial lilt, "May the stars spread out before ye and ye're enemies fall off ye're aft, and may ye never know the want of a friendly port but be glad that one ye have."
Hidden behind Rakke, a voice sounded over his shoulder, "Well said. Squeeze on in there, if you can, let's get everyone all together in one place." Captain Sultana and Burke had appeared in the hallway behind him, the sounds of their approach masked by the chatter in the room.
Rakke walks into the room with a smile accepting a drink from Ryn.
Ryn happily mixed drinks and offered a 'cheers' and a 'you're very welcome' to each crew member. He seemed to be enjoying himself and the positivity aboard.
Captain Sultana takes his drink from Ryn and raises it to the room, "Friends and shipmates, look around you. Every face you see is family now. And like any family, we’ll share everything - the work, the risks, and most importantly, the rewards. Your expertise, your dedication, and your discretion, will determine our success. To the finest crew a captain could ask for, and to the lucrative opportunities we will make along the way!"
—————————————————-
Harison headed into port to a small weapons shop and picked up 2 cutlasses they were nothing fancy but were build to a high standard and well balanced. He then headed back to the ship.
Iskavrin and Flort 789456123
[Iskavrin] Few more days left in Torpol. That means more time, for more adjustments, and more repairs. The ship is overall functional. It responds how you want it to. The guns point where you want. That isnt because the ship has been fully restored. It more has to do with the ship is meant to run while being beaten to shit in combat. There is a enough redundant, and enough overspec equipment, that when power conduits are getting over their load, its fine, or if this microboard has bursted capacitors, its fine.
Iskavrin, is in a crawl space, with a multimeter, and solder kit. So many baggies of caps, and resistors, like if he was sorting skittles by colors. As he was probing leads, there was a visualizer, and odd music playing. It was a project, hes been tinkering on since his Academy day. It was something his Instructo Rhoa at the time. It plays a musical note, when space traffic control detects tachyons and other exotic particles from ships entering and exiting jumpspace. It also places different series of notes for when space traffic control receives the transponder pings.
As he studiously works there is a change in the ping. He gets to a place where he can stop, and checks on it. His contact list, updated itself. Flort is insystem, on the Wages of Sin. Comm delay is only 2 seconds and closing. Quick enough for text messages. Iskavrin, scoots to a place where he can sit up, and then responds.
"Oh, hey, just my luck, the guy that owes me 50 credits for that last game, that I just had to spot them for. " As he taps away with a wry smile.
"Love to get some drinks, or some lunch if you can. I've had quite the upset in my life."
6215
About 4 seconds and some minutes later, Iskavrin receives the response. He knows a good hole in the wall in the Startown.
She-ship Daily Tangled
An Iltharan owned joint, that does mostly seafood and pasta dishes. Popular among Aslan, as there tables on the second story, with an aquarium they can fish out of. It allow spears, or dew claw but no swimming. A good portion of whats in the tank was caught by She-ship themselves. It helps to have gills and webbed fingers. The one downside is for the sophonts without fur, its always a bit cold. Probably pretty comfortable for the Iltharan.
He passes the address to Flort. When Iskavrin leaves the ship, he lets the shipboard AI where he is gonna be.
Iskavrin arrives first, and orders drinks for the both of them.
”Boss, there is some guy named James Crocket on your contact list that just popped up on the net. He is looking for passage to Trafaer as soon as possible.”
To: James Crockett
From: Flort Blitzen
I see you are in Torpol. Look me up tomorrow. I still owe you one.
Flort arrived just on time—barely. He’d been buried in passenger lists, cargo postings, and trade quotes, hunting for anything profitable that fit his dwindling budget. Iskavrin was already seated, scanning the menu with one hand and holding a drink in the other. Across from him, a second glass waited, frosted, untouched, and quietly judging. Flort walked up and dropped a 50-credit chit onto the table with a practiced flick.
“Good to see you,” he said, sliding into the seat and lifting the waiting drink. “Thanks for the float.”
He took a sip, then leaned back with a sigh. “So… you mentioned an upset. You want to talk about it? Might be I can help. I’m in a bit of a bind myself.”
[Iskavrin]
Iskavrin really considers taking the 50. Wants to. Probably will. He lets it sit on the table for for now. He sighs, shakes his head.
"Court issues. But not about the Vesprex."
As both parties knows, as having known each other for some years, after Isavrin was forced to leave the Navy, he took on the administrative duties of managing number of Vesprex enclaves, for their tithes and duties owed to the Throne.
"My Sovereign sought fit to have me crew a ship. Its a Sindal ship. For Dranix, but I'm not captain. That probably has something to do with Wrax. "
As both parties know, as important Dranix asshats go, Admiral Wrax is hard to ignore. Iskavrin views him personally responsible for his removable from the Drinax naval service.
“Admiral Wrax struts around like he’s commanding a whole sector fleet. Far as I can tell, the Drinaxian Navy’s two free traders and a couple of system boats held together with patch tape.” He held up a hand, half-apologetic. “No offense to Drinax, I know things are tight. I couldn’t even book freight to Asim a few weeks ago.” Flort took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flicking toward the docking rings beyond the frosted window.
“Your ship’s Sindalian, yeah? That the Commerce Raider I saw?” He snagged a few of the better-looking bar snacks, chewing thoughtfully as Iskavrin weighed his response. “If you get in a bind,” Flort added casually, “I might be able to help. I know a guy on Aurunsir who doesn’t ask a lot of questions… if you need to offload anything that isn’t exactly on a manifest.”
At that moment, the waitress arrived to take their orders, neatly derailing the conversation. Flort noticed Iskavrin still hadn’t touched the credit chit.
“Tell you what,” he said, sliding the chit back toward his coat pocket. “Let me cover the meal instead. Least I can do. Order whatever you want—I plan to.” After the waitress left, Flort leaned back, nursing his drink. He waited for Iskavrin’s response.
The silence stretched—comfortable at first, then heavy with unspoken thoughts. Flort didn’t press. He just let it hang, giving his friend the space to speak… or not.
Iskavrin takes a long pull from his drink.
He orders, something akin to a crab rangoon. Three or four Aslan guys come into the place and head upstair, they're carrying two spears.
"Yea, probably the oldest ship at dock. Its far from restored, but its working enough to do what it was meant to. And, I cant speak to goal. Just that that if we're doing the job well, you shouldnt hear about it very much. And yea. I only know folks along the trade mains. I havent been much spinward of the Reaches. Any thing that can open a door, would help. "
He takes nother go at his drink, then tries to wave over a server to get a refill.
"We're picking up some crew here to fill them out. Then we're off to Marduk. King also somehow manage to wrangle an Imp Admiral, all the way out from Lunion area. They dont understand subtly. Which isnt great. And no one wanted him after he retired. Which isnt great. And our Captain, is the Princess pick. Some free trader. I'm not betting they have a lot of experience, beside flying and running cargo. Just that."
He pauses. Though it felt not intended for his friend to speak up.
"I cant say what I'm working on. But I think there is a fair chance, that I am going to die. I think even if I dont die, that there a fair chance my status at Court will be removed."
While Flort may or may not be that well studied on Flying Palace social structure. Its pretty obvious you're working, or you have lot of old money. And Iksvrin, never shared his checking account, its clear his old money, dancing with with being overdrawn. The various worn, passed down outfits, over the years would lose the fine precious metal lacing, and also the jewels on it, were slowly disappearing.
"This is unfair, but I need a favor, or well, insurance. I'd like you to physically pass mail to my wife. I'll be sending her mail, through freight ways like normal, but I think its possible that my messages can be intercepted. Not be delivered, or edited. And if my wife has your messages, she'll know if that starts happening. I have to keep up normal mail, or else that looks bad. Gossip, that the husband under way doesnt talk to the wife at home. A proud son of Drinax doesnt reach back home anymore. "
“You and I know there are only a few things a ship like that can be used for. As for not hearing about it, I spent some time on Drinax in the last couple months, operational security doesn’t exactly seem to be the King’s top priority. I would be careful if you think no one of importance knows what you’re doing.”
He stopped talking as the waitress refilled their drinks.
“Family and crew. You can’t always pick them… Just be careful alright”
Flort did a quick scan of the room.
“My contact runs a small trading company called Greensleeves Trading out of Aurinsir.” He added, tone shifting more businesslike, “You’re the only one that approaches and talks to them, right?” He paused for a nod. “"Tell them you have some cargo, but its water damaged” That’s the signal. If they want to deal, they will say “Seen worse come through, let’s talk” anything else just walk away. Don’t try to salvage it."
He took another sip. “Can’t guarantee the payout. He might want a favor to generate trust; he won’t flinch over a dirty manifest.”
The food began to arrive. Iskavrin had ordered a light appetizer. Flort, naturally, had responded by ordering about a third of the menu, complete with extra plates and another round of drinks
“As for the dying part, hopefully you are just overthinking it, but if not, I will make sure your mail gets back to your wife. I will check each port for word from you, and leave my upcoming route for you. He set his drink down and leaned in slightly. “That said… Drinax isn’t exactly a hotbed of profit. Any contacts I can lean on for cargo or passengers?”
A slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “Maybe someone with one or two hundred thousand credits laying around to invest? I can offer a very respectable return… and top-shelf drinks next time.”
Iskavrin dabs his lips of any excess sauce.
"I can write you a letter of introduction to Lady Hill. She is my patron. Thats a just opening a door. I cant guarantee there is work. Investment, is easier. I can also write you a letter of introduction to some of the Hawkmen. They've been trying to get a pension investment fund going. My Wife, should be assuming my duties of my station. So anything from the surface is yours too, but thats never been consistent. And I know a few islands on Ergo, that makes them more or less impentratible from the cannibals. Great for long term storage."
Eats more of his pasta dish. The Aslan upstair, become loud with frustration. Their spears arent finding their targets.
Flort kept any hint of disappointment off his face, pausing just long enough to confirm that Iskavrin was either unable or unwilling to offer more immediate assistance.
He raised his glass in a small salute. “That’s more than I expected, and probably more than I deserve. I appreciate it.”
Leaning back, he mulled over the information. “Open doors are worth more than cash out here. If I can keep them open, it gives me a good excuse to fulfill your favor.”
He tapped a finger on the rim of his glass. “And Ergo… yeah, I’ve hauled tons of freight. Never once thought of ‘cannibal-proof islands’ as a selling point.”
A sudden burst of frustrated Aslan voices echoed from upstairs. Flort glanced up, unfazed. “You’d think with all those claws, they’d be better at fishing.”
He turned back to Iskavrin, more serious now. “Really, thanks. That information can be the difference between turning a profit or ending up in a ditch on some dirtball trying to make a bad deal.”
He nudged a few plates across the table. “Eat up. I ordered all this for both of us.”
And Flort and Iskavin enjoy the meal for the next hour. There was some quite moments, some moments of other conversations about life. Sharing gossip and venting frustration about work. One point the both of them break out in laughter as a angrily thrown spear clatters on the ground beside them.
