Shu's Quest

[Purg]

Dom put the knife back into his belt with a shrug of the shoulders. There was nothing more to do now than to find a caravan and leave.

"Shall we get moving, then?"

[rn7]

"Yes! Don't worry, I'll... hey wait a minute, they left without us! Hey! Hey! Come back here! Please? Cmon, help a guy out here! Quick, into this wagon!" Cargo leapt up into a cover wagon full of wondrous goods and supplies. "Southward ho!"

Despite his dramatic proclamation, the wagon did not move so. Cargo stepped outside and looked around. The wheel was junked.

"Piece of junk! Broken already, and haven't even gone up the treacherous canyon of deadly stingers and falling heavy rocks. Didn't even cross the piranha-infested waterways of the great river of slime and flammable oils. Couldn't even pass the raggedy brick road composed entirely of handpicked, board-certified, uniquely honed and crafted stone! For shame! You should feel ashamed of yourself, wheel!" Cargo scolded the wagon wheel, and the wheel looked up with longing eyes. Eyes which were not returned. In its despair, the wheel committed suicide, bursting into splinters and busting into pieces. The wagon lopped to one slide, and slowly, the wagon began moving.

"Don't expect tears from me, wheel! I'll... hey, wait for me!" As Cargo was talking, the wagon had slipped from its position, and was whirling and skidding down at speeds too fast to be considered safe or reasonable. Cargo chased after the wagon, like a dog chasing a shiny object he so happened to see while it made its way down. Through an avalanche.

Cargo made a dramatic leap to catch up. Unfortunately, he forgot the basics of gravity-- that is to say, his acceleration downward was no faster than the wagon. Instead, the only thing it managed to do was make Cargo land messily on the slope, and tumble down crashing into rocks and debris, directly behind the wake of the falling wagon. It hurt immensely, but Cargo could not help but laugh at how fun this was. Were it not for the excruciating pain and slight chance of death, wagon chasing would be the most popular pastime ever.

The wagon hit a hitch, and was sent airborne. Cargo saw his chance. He leapt once again into the air, with such force and power that the very skin at the side of his mouth peeled back, exposing his teeth. Spittle dribbled from his mouth and number flies smacked into his face for no apparent reason. And when he got close enough, just barely close enough, Cargo reached out his hands, he stretched out his arms as far as possible, and when that was still not enough, his fingers spurted out and he reached and he reached and he reached.

He could feel it now, it dabbling on his fingers. Vision obscured by flies and bugs, but feeling still intact, He stroked whatever in his hand, bringing it ever so closer to him. Soon it encompassed the tips of his fingers, then it wrapped around the fingers. It flowed down the hand, and rushed down his arm, and Cargo grasped it, he grabbed it like it was a rope, come to pull him up from the very abyss itself.

He had did it. He had reached out to the wagon, and grabbed its tarp. No longer would it run from him, as he would be there to follow. He triumphantly looked up into the sky and grinned. No wagon ever outruns the Cargo.

Cargo stood on the ground, smugly dusting off the wagon, which had stopped moving long before Cargo had made any attempt to grab it.

A person in the background called to him, CLEARLY to admire and bow before the might and power of the Cargo.

"Hey, your ride's kinda banged up! You folks are headed over to Corthone, right? I got the space, come hang with me!"

Yes, the glorious words of appreciation from the most devoted of fans.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Fargo had been playing with a wagon when it rolled down a slight incline. Stark had barely paid it any mind, except for when the wheel fell off and the wagon, which was clearly abandoned, as it was devoid of any goods, looked somewhat lopsided. This didn't stop Fargo from treasuring it like a kid might do with a cardboard box his father had told him was a mighty steed or an amazing warship. Stark never ceased to be befuddled at the antics of that particular kid, though. For one, he was way too old to be that lost in imagination, for another, wasn't a cardboard box... Maybe he should have just let the debtors.... nah.

Another merchant rolled up, maybe taking the broken cart as a sign that there were goods to be had from it. Not one to skip[ an opportunity, even if it meant starting his new honest life on a lie, Stark stepped up and did the talking. "Thanks. Our cargo was stolen while the bulk of us were in the city trying to find a vendor willing to buy. They bashed up our wagon pretty good, too. The kid there was the only one we left on guard out here. You can tell, he took it kind of hard." Stark looked around in advance of his next lie, letting the merchant eye up Fargo. Dom...No, he looked kind of scary with the knives. Jeph didn't talk so much. Blaine couldn't selll it with jus tone arm, Fargo....no, just, no. Rutem was very clearly still looking the part of a knight. Damnit, who would he use...

Fuck.

"That guy is our boss, Helios." Stark almost stumbled his words at how stupid the name he thought of was, but he wasn't exactly an expert liar. Neither was...whatever this guy's actual name was, but he at least looked the part, seedy and not battle tough. Stark really hoped this guy wouldn't fuck it up or fuck them over, but either way, he left the floor to the "boss".

[Script]

Derwood

"Wow, impressive!" Derwood clapped at the antics of Fargo/Cargo. Those were moves he expected from a fellow streetmen, not a scary, scary mercenary man. Well, Fargo/Cargo wasn't as scary as the rest of them he reminded himself. Yes, he was just a good old boy who was a bit athletic and not at all crazy scary like everyone else. Another merchant slide up to the ruined wagon, a merchant calling out to them. Mr. Scary Scar started talking to him and...

"Helios Shelton Havengrad at your service," Derwood effortlessly slide into Mr. Scary Scar's plan. "A thousand and one thanks for your offers of aid my good man! Ah, I couldn't impose, but ah, since you asked it would be more imposing to not take you up on your good offer! At the very least my good men can help stand guard for your shipments. It's the least I can offer for your kind and generous offer." Kind and generous offer? Wasn't that how the others had pinched him? Ah, well, this new merchant looked trusty enough, Derwood thought oblivious to the fact that he had been scammed by every merchant he had ever met. "Feel free to scavenge what you can from the cart, at the very least the wood should still be good. Consider it payment, unless it's not enough?"

[CATS]

"More than enough, my good man! The services of you and your guardsmen will be greatly appreciated!" Lyle exclaimed. His lanky form was obscured by a cloak and a low-hanging hood; he was something of a hybrid between a human and a rat, which obviously tended to put some people on edge. Racism is a bitch; Lyle didn't like to let people see that he was a half-breed until they had already done what he needed them to. When people asked about the cloak-and-hood getup, he usually said he'd been in a fire when he was a kid and had most of his face burned off, so it was easier if people didn't have to see his face, or some other lie like that.

"I am Lyle Skelton Vampwolfski, traveling salesman extraordinaire! Pleased to meet you. As you can see, my caravan has had, well, something of an incident. There was a misunderstanding between my mercenary soldiers and some goblins on the way to Alabaste. I was lucky enough to escape with my wagon and horses during the battle, but I can't go back out into these dangerous lands before picking up some more guards, which you have so readily provided," Lyle said.

Lyle was only half-lying, the owner of the caravan had definitely survived the battle with the goblins, unfortunately for him, Lyle was the only other survivor. Seeing a chance to make a fortune selling the guy's stuff, Lyle had killed him and assumed his identity as the caravan owner, but of course no one here had any idea about that. He had to make it to Corthrone where the market system wasn't entirely fucked up before his plan could come to fruition, though. Lyle was lucky to meet such a generous and trustworthy guy as this Helios right off the bat, those were always the easiest to cheat or scam. Helios's guards looked a lot more dangerous, but if Lyle knew his random bands of mercenaries, he could just pay them off or something, maybe even get them in on a con. Lyle could already imagine......if he played his cards right here, he could be set up for quite some time!

"Well gentlemen, shall we be going on our way? I would rather not stay in this town one more second if I don't have to!" Lyle said, not lying one bit this time. Alabaste was too fucked up for even him to make a good living here, for a foreigner to get anywhere in Alabaste, they would have to become the arena champions or something crazy like that. But that shit was too dangerous for Lyle, he didn't like the thought of being eaten alive by hungry, hungry lions. Corthrone would be much friendlier and by friendlier Lyle of course meant easier to exploit. He climbed up onto the front of his wagon and took the reins to the line of horses pulling it, then snapped them. The wagon started rolling out at an easy pace; Lyle motioned for his new comrades to follow, they could easily keep up on foot at the slow pace he was taking.

"Next stop, Corthrone, gentlemen!"

---

"'Something happened' at the arena? Jeez, weren't you listening? Eisig killed Mr. Light then stole the cube and ran off with it! He's a traitor! That's what happened there. There's not much to see, I already saw it. Lots of dead guys, Mr. Light included. The poor guy was fried to a crisp! Sort of like what he does to people when he zaps them hard enough, maybe Eisig used some dirty trick that reversed his magic back on him. If we go back it's sort of a waste of time, don't you think? Eisig's probably halfway to the arctic circle or something by now! But hey, you're the smart one!" Klints said.

He turned to walk back towards the arena (even Klints had no trouble locating the towering structure), then decided that walking was way too slow, they were already sort of wasting time going back to the arena. Klints focused on the ground beneath him and Fuego, causing it to shift and churn forward towards the arena. The earth started moving faster and faster; soon it was carrying Klints and Fuego towards the arena at dizzying speeds, leaving a small trench in its wake. Klints found that steering the track under them was harder than he thought it would be. He had to make a few wild turns to avoid smashing into buildings, and soon enough he was lost, flying around through Alabaste. He passed through the marketplace (making sure to wave at the merchant who'd given him his new knife as he went by), past some guys hanging out by a broken wagon, through a bar and out the back door (ignoring the bartender's screams about ruining the bar's flooring), but eventually found his bearings and made it to the arena without getting anyone killed. The trip had only taken about two minutes. Much faster than walking, and much more exciting! Klints would have to do this more often.

"Alright, here we are! I bet you can find some important clues or something that I missed. I'll just be over here practicing my swordsmanship while you play detective, I guess."

[mr_e_s]

Fuego

"No! You're leaving yourself completely open!" Fuego hit the ground with a hard thud. That hurt like hell. "You're focusing too much on your offense! You can't defeat you enemies if you can't stay alive!" Fuego irately gout up, grumbling and muttering about how his teacher didn't know as much as he thought he did. "Get up and try it again!" Fuego was ready to light this motherfucker right up. There were still some cinders from his last attack smoldering out. Not for long.

Fuego called forth the inferno every spark was just waiting to become and started throwing balls of the new fire mercilessly at his target, who dodged them, almost effortlessly. Fuego was expecting that though. After all, it happened last time, too. This time though, he kept focusing on the ones he had thrown after the miss, while still throwing new ones. His opponent had a disappointed look on his face, like he expected better. Fuego was going to give him better though. Much better. The last fireball stopped mid-air, before arriving at it's destination. The half second his opponent took to consider it was spent with all the fireballs he'd thrown previously coming back at the older man all together. It was such a good plan!

...Too bad they were all broken apart in one strike.

"Ha! That's better! You're still thinking too much about the offense, but you're changing up your strategy, making new moves! If your eyes hadn't betrayed your moves, you might have had me there. I even had to break out my magic!" Mr. Lightning walked up and patted Fuego on the back. "That's enough for today. Wouldn't you say so, Eisig?" An elderly man stepped into view, from where, Fuego didn't know.

"I'd say so, that's some considerable improvement from last time. He's a great find, Mr. Lightning" He'd been there last time as well? "Come on, let's go, I'll buy you both dinner."

As they walked away, Fuego was somewhat nervous, but also a little proud. He wasn't sure, as he was walking a good distance behind them, and the market was noisy on the way to the restaurant, but he could have sworn he heard Mr. Lightning say "I'm telling you, the kid'll be ready for missions soon. He's a quick study." That little bit of pride he'd felt before swelled up to the point where he was holding his chin noticeably up in the air. It was a great day to be alive. He really felt a kinship with this man, Mr. Lightning. His mentor...

~~~

The body was charred, and unmistakably killed by something ice related. bits of the blood were still thawing out. This was Mr. Lightning, no doubt about it. And Eisig was the only man he knew capable of doing this. But why? Fuego looked around the arena, trying to find anything that could single out this bloodbath from the ones that usually took place. The blood and bodies all around, none of them stood out... Wait, that wall. There was an outline there. Fuego had seen it before. Someone had been hit with one of Mr. Lightning's attacks. Fuego hopped down from the stands into the arena proper and checked the wall out. Judging by the darkness of the outline, someone took a solid hit to the shoulder. Eisig? He didn't think so, it looked a bit bigger, the silhouette, that was. So, the next thing to do, the only real lead as to what the Hell happened, would be to find out who got struck, and where they were.

Fuego came up to Klints, who was pretending he knew how to use a sword, and unceremoniously gave him a couple orders. "From the looks of it, it was probably Eisig that did this. And someone besides him took a thunderbolt to the shoulder. Go ask the medics if they treated any serious shoulder injuries. If they don't cooperate, ask harder. I'm going to see if I can't figure anything else out about this."

[rn7]

Good ol' Corthrone was a wonderful place, full of nice people and low prices. It was called the Moving Market, for many reasons. It was a major stop on the main trade route through the country, thus lending itself to have many visitors and people from all over converging on the city for a break. Everyone had something to sell, whether it was goods, or a riveting tale about their travels. There were just about no permanent fixtures in the place, except for the one huge government building for just about everything government related, be that trade relations, the mayor, the police. Though it was big and noticeable, the government of Corthrone dealt little in the everyday exchanges of the city, preferring to leave the free market as it was.

The main reason why Corthrone was called the Moving Market, and its main draw, was beyond doubt, the market. Quite obviously. As mentioned before, there were no permanent structures in the city-- rather, at any given time a space would be filled with a vendor's tent, caravan, or opened sack. After a day or two, the merchant would pack up and move on, toward their next destination. Even the best of stores did not stay up for more than a week, and even then it wasn't in the same spot, moving around each day, trying to appeal to a different set of people. Because of the nature of having to pick up and leave at a whim, merchants were rather careful with their handling of merchandise, making sure at all times not to lose track of anything. Perhaps as a result, reports of stealing were at extreme lows, diminishing daily. Everyone there was a merchant, after all, and being a jerk would ruin your reputation in an instant, what with the merchants always on the move and all. You might rip off one guy, but that one guy will rip off another guy, and that guy will end up ripping off you. So the merchants of the moving market figured to avoid all that ripping off and just give a straight deal. Usually, it was of little lost to them-- the good word would give out, and often times they would just be selling surplus goods any way.

As great as it was, Corthrone was a bit shallow. Though they were nice, no one had the chance to really know someone or really become friends with any one. It wouldn't be a surprise sometimes to be forgotten just as the next customer walked in. It was always a busy place, always moving.

[Script]

Derwood

"Vampwolfski, eh?" Now that was a fine upstanding name for a completely-on-the-level merchant. Derwood took a liking to the not-at-all shady man. So he mostly kept quiet on their fabulous trip to Cothorne. Or Corthrone, whatever everyone else said the place was.

The arrival at Cothorne/Corthrone was a fairly quick business, something Derwood was thankful for. He was running low on water again. Probably should have stocked up before they all left, but he really wasn't in a position to demand such things and well, ah, that was all in the past now.

The merchant area was just rife with acceptable targets to Derwood. As he watched some merchants packed up all their things, moved around and set up business elsewhere. As long as he was patient, he could swoop in, snag something and be away before anyone noticed anything. Ah, this was going to be a good place to live until he got ran out of town.

Thoughts of glamor though, once again blinded any thoughts of caution. Any thoughts about wondering why Alabaste merchants didn't come by and take advantage of all this relatively light security were no where near Derwood's mind.

[Purg]

Constant motion. It made Dom dizzy, trying to keep track of different people in the crowd. A family tracking their way through, probably refugees from Oakheim - a band of men in armor, probably guards of one caravan or another - a woman wearing a colorful robe, perhaps a fortune teller or some other type of mystic. He shook his head as he sat down on a stool near one of the shops, really just a cut of a tree stump, sighing as people moved around him as though he were a fixture. He hadn't found anything in the famed mobile market that he thought would be worth it's price, although if they would be here longer, he supposed he would look more in depth. He had already had his weapons sharpened and repaired in Alabaste, though, and there was little else he needed. Within eyesight sat the cart they had escorted, somewhat fruitlessly - even as they passed near Oakheim, there were signs of neither monsters nor thieves. This place, though... It was better than Alabaste, certainly. Even though the people were just as likely to dismiss you, they did so with more kindness, treating you politely as opposed to just ignoring your presence. It was only due to his demeanor that the people around him didn't pay him any mind, with the exception of the merchant he was sitting near, who only looked at him every now and then to ensure he hadn't taken anything.

A hunt for a better place... Technically, Stark had what he wanted, but it was doubtful that quest would end here, at a city with only one permanent building. He supposed he would accompany him further, as he didn't really think that living in a place with so much hustle and bustle would be good for him. He too was looking for something better, after all - and while this was nicer than the last two places he had been, there was still room for improvement.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Jeph was growing tired of moving all the time, but he imagined he'd keep moving for quite some time yet. It seemed that his life now belonged to the winds.

"Hey, Stark. Once our happy caravan splits, mind if I tag along with you? I really have no idea what to do, and need some time to think things through."

Things such as his almost definitely dead sister.

[CATS]

"Excuse me sir! Would you be interested in this....ok then, never mind. You there! You look like you could really use a--hey, I'm talking to you! Damn it!"

Lyle's plan was failing miserably, no one had time to buy any of his shit. Someone might come over and take a cursory glance at the stuff set up around his wagon, but they would have 8 other merchants hawking them simultaneously, some while passing on their way to set up in a new spot for the day. Soon enough Lyle's little stand was forgotten in favor of something else. Everyone was so busy, so ADD. That, and it seemed like everyone was a merchant in Corthrone. It was somewhat of a paradox; how could everyone be a merchant, wouldn't that mean there was no one to buy? Buyers did magically exist somehow, but it seemed like the merchants outnumbered them 10 to 1, so Lyle faced impossible competition. Fuck, how did so many merchants stay in business with so much competition?

Just then, a merchant ran straight into Lyle's stand and knocked all his crap over, then pulled his cart over the spilled wares while apologizing and complaining that he really had to go claim a good spot for the day. This place was actually about as fucked up as Alabaste, Lyle decided.

"Man, fuck this place, these motherf--"

Lyle stopped, his frustration had caused him to momentarily forget he was pretending to be not himself. Luckily, the hilariously excessive hustle and commotion virtually ensured that none of his companions had heard his brief outburst. At least the place was good for that.

"Gee guys, I'm having a hard time selling this stuff! Could you guys maybe help me pick this stuff up? This place is just so busy, I feel way out of my league. Helios, you seem like an upstanding fellow and an experienced merchant. How might I go about making lots of money on selling my goods here?"

---

"Ok!"

Klints marched off into the arena's walls, yelling around for the medical place until someone hoarsely yelled back to him "IT'S OVER HERE ASSHOLE!" from a long ways down the hall. Klints earth-surfed down the hall, tearing up the stone floors in the process, and promptly arrived at the clinic.

"Hey there guy, treated any uh, serious shoulder injuries?"

"Huh? Who's asking?"

"Uh, me. Duh!"

"Who the fuck are you? Some fanboy?"

"I'm Klints."

"Lightkratos, you're a fanboy, aren't you? Young, enthusiastic, ya got the look.....sorry kid, but the champs always hate being nagged by little brats by you. Whenever it happens, they usually ask around and chew out the guy who gave 'em away to the fan, maybe hit with a little more than just words if they're in a bad enough mood. And that's still really tame compared to what the nagging little fanboy himself usually gets. Trust me, I know arena fighters. Tough crowd, but not friendly. So just back the fuck off, eh?"

"What? I just want to know if you've treated any serious shoulder injuries."

"Yeah, we have, and I ain't tellin' you squat about who it was. So make like a tree."

"And grow? Ok."

Klints raised his arms, causing the stones from the floor to rise up and slide over his body, forming into interlocking plates and eventually a crude, cumbersome, but nonetheless thick and imposing set of armor. His figure gained a solid three feet in the process, towering over the gruff arena medic, now essentially a stone golem with a human face.

"So. Shoulder injuries? Oh, Fuego told me I should ask harder, so let me try that. Harder?"

"What?! Alright, alright, I'll talk!"

A few minutes later Klints reported back to Fuego.

"They said a guy named Stark had a serious shoulder injury. He has one eye and he's one of the arena champions--exactly who we're looking for! You're pretty smart, Fuego!"

[Script]

Derwood

Derwood had been scoping out as many mobile merchants as he could. The results were very, very bad. Anytime anyone dropped so much as a coin they either picked it up right away or someone else did it. And then they gave it back! Seriously? Were all these people stupid or something? Oh course they were, that was the only logical answer at all. But he was very very patient yes. He could wait until the sun went down then swipe something. Oh these new fools wouldn't know what hit them at all, oh yes. Derwood was congratulating himself already. Just a little bit of patience...

A voice dragged Derwood out of his comfort zone and back to reality. He screamed like a little girl while that happened too. He stumbled forward and just barely avoided running off before noticing it was that completely-on-the-level merchant guy from before. Damn luck!

"Oh yes, Helios, that's me alright! Merchant extraordinaire!" Derwood boasted. "You see, to get a successful business running you need two things, patience, and an eye out. Just look at me! I haven't even displayed my wares yet, I'm just waiting for the right time. And of course, location location location!" Derwood spouted off a bunch of stuff he heard Alabaste merchants prattling on about days ago. Whatever to get this sap off his back. But hey, he was a sap... "Tell you what, loan me a few things and I'll show you the up and up! Us merchants gotta trust each other to learn new things right?"

[CATS]

"No problem whatsoever, Helios! So long as the profits you make from demonstrating the proper sale of my wares return to my purse, of course. Not to be stingy, but business is business! As a fellow merchant, I'm sure you understand that better than most."

Lyle rummaged around in his wagon and pulled out some junk, a couple plates, a sword, some old clothes, a bag labeled "HEELING HERBS--A LEEF A DAY KEEPS THE CLERIC AWAY." He gathered it all up in his arms and dropped the stuff on Helios's cart for the merchant's convenience.

"Alrighty, there you are my friend. Show me how it's done here in Corthrone!"

Perfect, this guy would show him how to turn this pile of crap into a pile of cash, then he would be free to beat it whenever he chose to. Still, he was kind of stuck in Corthrone without a group to travel with, so Lyle figured he might not want to ditch these guys right away. Instead, he started to think of whether he should scam them directly, or try to get them to help him do a scam, then make off with their share of the take after the scam went through. What he really wanted was a way to do both.

[Script]

Derwood

"Yes, yes!" Derwood took the items cheerfully. "I will show you how it is done and all the good things to do as a member of the merchant class!" Derwood grabbed each item Lyle handed to him and looked it over carefully. It took him a few minutes to look over each and every piece but Derwood came to a decision. It was all junk! No wonder he couldn't sell anything! And Derwood couldn't sell this junk either! If the man wasn't so obviously trustworthy and on the up-and-up Derwood was sure the man was trying to fake being a merchant and pawn off stolen goods! But that was just silly, and Derwood laughed a good bit about it.

"Alright, you have variety here, good variety of course, but see, people want one thing! They don't want both a plate and clothes! They want one or the other, so right now you need to concentrate in one area. Or, add other things in as a bonus!" Derwood took a scrappy shirt and tore it apart. "See, now you have a dish set, and a washing rag to go with it! And now," Derwood tore a pair of raggedy pants apart and tied it to the sword. "A sword, with a wipe rag to clean off all that nasty red blood of ickiness! And finally," Derwood ripped apart some holey long-johns. "A decent first-aid kite for the traveler on the go! Healing herbs and bandages all in one!" Derwood grabbed a quill from somewhere and crossed out the old message on the bag. Replacing it with his own words, exclaiming "SERTIFIED ALL PURRPOSE FIRST AID KITE!!!!!" The extra exclamation points would help seal the deal.

"Now," Derwood looked back at the all-too-vigilant merchants. "We just need the right spot..." It took nearly three-times the time it took for Derwood to come up with his genius plan before a slightly-decent spot opened up. "There!" he yelled and charged forward, barely making it before another merchant set up shop. Derwood smiled at the man, who backed off for some reason Derwood didn't understand at all but was very immensely grateful for. "Alrighty then! Let's get this shop on the road!" Derwood slammed down his new package deal merchandise and waited. This would be an excellent place to spy out for loose change and items to stumble upon!

[rn7]

Unlike most of the crew, Fargo had been to Corthrone before, and it was probably his favorite place. No one knew he was a Capcillion here, and even if they did, Corthrone was the last place they would try to settle debts. Fargo always remembered the place as a nice rest stop on his nonstop trade journeys, the one place he could kick his shoes off and prance around for a bit and not get docked pay or whacked upside the face with a plank of wood. He would still get whacked in the face with a plank of wood, but he lived in satisfaction knowing that it wasn't his fault, and that the person would genuinely apologize for the trouble.

Having been a workboy for a caravan, he shared a common set of mind when it came to certain things. One of them was the opinion of towns. He'd complain about the tight-assery of the Alabaste, and they'd chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant. He'd joke about the ridiculous taxes of Highrise, then turn around and get into a heated debate about how those same taxes in Keeparch were justifiable because of the dangers associated, actually knowing what he was talking about, for a change.

But as tempting as a friendly conversation with fellow merchants was, there was something he had planned to do here, in the moving market. He figured his chances of finding it was just about as good as flipping a coin and having it land on its side, but with nothing better to do, Fargo went out to scout.

[Ragnell]

Blaine

Blaine sat back practicing with his fairly new sword as the others scurried about their work. He didn't really have anything to do here in Corthrone, at least until he could find a good job in the area, so he figured that working on his swordsmanship and observing the others was the best use of his time. The one good thing about the city, though, was that it was always moving. Moving was good. He needed to see as many sights as he could as fast as he could, and this city was definitely up to that challenge. That did seem to be hard part about finding a purpose to life, Blaine decided; you never could quite tell if that purpose wasn't starving in a ditch on the other side of the continent. So Blaine sat back quietly as several of his companions ran past him, and he slashed his sword accurately into a wooden post.

Of course, he did find himself drawn more often than not to check on what Stark, Dom, and Jeph were doing. From his observations on the trip, those three seemed to be the people with interests most similar to his, so he knew that their conversations were his best shot at landing a good job. But he tried not to be too obtrusive. He was still new here, and unlike that so-called merchant trying to cheat anyone and everyone, he was actually concerned about his reputation (Blaine found that over the course of the trip, he grew to hate the man more and more; if the man ever asked him to buy something, he wasn't sure he could resist removing one of the cheat's limbs). His work as an assassin hadn't often involved conversation, so the group's informal speech was still a bit beyond him. But that wasn't a problem. It would only be a matter of time before he picked up on the finer nuances of their jargon. His only real problem was that Stark seemed intent on staying in Corthrone. But there had to be a way to change that...

Edited August 25, 2010 by Ragnell

[rn7]

An ornate stagecoach pulled up to the edges of the city. The coach was lined with gold and layered with twisting and winding designs. Two windows were on each side, covered by an equally expensive scarlet curtain. The interior was just as fancy as the outside, and designed to be of the utmost comfort for the passenger. In a way, the passenger would be completely isolated from the outside, but the accommodations were so fine and welcoming that no one really minded.

"Heeeere's your stop." A rough looking caravan guard stepped up to the coach and opened the door. The man inside suddenly snapped awake and walked out.

"Much appreciated. A wee bit... gaudy? I would have liked to be more subtle."

"Sorry sir, but she's the best ride we have at such sort notice."

"Pay it no mind, I am grateful that you took upon this task on such short notice." The man put on a grin, then shook hands with the guard. "Well, I do imagine you have business to take care of, don't let me hold you!"

"Right. Goodbye, Doctor Free." The guard hopped back onto the coach, yelling to the crew to get ready to leave.

"Don't fret, I'll send a postcard!" Doctor Free joked as the coach disappeared over the horizon. His smiled disappeared just as the coach pulled over the peak. "That is, if I can find one in this crazed... Ah! First things first!"

Free rustled around in his coat, accompanied by the sound of jingling as his hands passed across rows of filled glass vials. Feeling around for about a minute, Free finally found a piece of paper, crumbled up and covered in pigeon feces.

"Grmm..." Free grumbled, then shook off as much bird poo as he could off the note. "Why they insist on using such an archaic method of communication is beyond me..."

Free's eyes narrowed and widened at odd intervals while reading the note. It had a sense of urgency to it, despite its verboseness and length.

"Organizing the cells again! What drastic measures. Be on the look out for... I can't read this horrible handwriting! Eisig, is it? Odd, a name I can but barely recall. I do hope my brother is unharmed." After having finally read all of the note, Free got out a vial marked with a specific alphanumeric label. "Oh, gosh, I seem to be running low on this solution. Maybe I'll pick up some more while I'm here."

Free held onto the note by a corner, then popped open the vial. He carefully tipped the vial over, his hands completely still. A dab of the liquid touched onto the paper, and Free dropped it to the floor. At first, the paper just floated lazily to the ground, laying there like a dead leaf. In the next moment, the paper crumbled where the drop had been administered, and in the next moment, the entire paper went ablaze. For just a second a distinct, ancient pattern appeared on the paper, then it and the paper itself crumbled into a cloud of smoke and pile of ashes. Free shoveled some dirt over the ashes with his foot.

"Right then, off to find the Tinkerer. Such a hassle! I'd rather all this not happen now." Free entered the city and became another drop in the ocean of the Moving Market.

[mr_e_s]

OoC: Let's just say this post happened before everybody disembarked off the wagon, my bad for not being a good little RPer and keeping up.

Stark

The trip to Corthrone was relatively uneventful, a couple goblins were on the roadside here and there, but they knew better then to attack such a full cart, or even to be anywhere near it when it went by. Stark barely saw them hiding in the bushes and the like as he passed by, in fact, he probably missed a bunch of them altogether. When the road clearing went on, goblins were the hardest to get rid of. Not because they were particularly strong. In fact, without significant numbers, they weren't much of a threat at all to a trained group. It was the fac tthat they knew when they were entering a losing fight, and they almost always opted to run and live to cause trouble another day. That's why even on the major roads, goblins were still a problem. They'd still attack merchants who travelled around without guards. Maybe that was the reason few caravans actually stopped to hunt down the hiding goblins. The guards knew they were a reason for a continued paycheck.

When they arrived at the Crossroads City, Stark dropped all defensiveness, no one here would dare break the law, be it to pickpocket or even swindle someone too hard. Corthrone was....Wow he should really warn Harris. Well.... Yeah, he probably should. "Listen up, everyone. For those of you that haven;t been here before, there are a few things you might need to know about the Great Tent City." Stark did his best to hide the fact he was addressing Harris, by instead looking around to everyone. "Firstly, any kind of deception or underhanded behaviour is not only frowned upon, it's punished. Severely. Between all the mercenaries, guards, monster hunters, and city 'police', it would be stupid to try and steal anything from anyone or break the law in any fashion. Crimes are punishable by death, and the combined forces of enforcement rival most kingdoms' armies."

Stark could at least clear his conscience if that guy got himself killed trying to take someone's last penny now. He'd warned him.

[Purg]

The Tinker had been in the moving market for days now, looking for anything of interest. He had bought a few odds and ends, nothing important - a few weapons he planned on melting down, some bolts he was going to hollow out - but had yet to find anything worth the trip, besides his orders, of course. He didn't see why he had been sent so far south when the prize was north, in Oakheim - or he hadn't, until he had heard from refugees that Oakheim had burned to an army of monsters. To any of the survivors, or any of the merchants who heard the stories, it would seem a dark sign of things to come - Drin knew differently, though. Prophet. The man had little control, no matter how he kept his minions following him - it was almost certainly his work. That either meant that the cube was with him and whoever he was working with, or it had come with the refugees... That was why he was in Corthrone. That had to be it.

But no matter how hard he searched, how politely he pushed, there was no sign of the prize. He supposed it could have gone elsewhere - it was the same distance from Oakheim to Alabaste as it was from Corthrone to Oakheim - but he was certain it would come here. It was a mystical thing, it would require appraising, and Corthrone was far-and-wide the best place near the source to have that done. So, he would just have to-

"Fortunes read, 15 Ducats!" A woman's voice rose over the crowd, calling out again. Drin smiled - he had seen her circling the market already. She was an attractive young girl, probably in her twenties, not that he was young or foolish enough to flirt. But a fortune reading... Well, what harm could it do?

A few minutes later, he was sitting across from her in a heavily-incensed tent as she fiddled around with her knickknacks, humming under her breath. After a few minutes of trying not to doze off in the warm scent, she turned around and looked at his right hand. "I'd prefer your left, if you don't mind - it's personal preference, of course." He smiled, holding up his armored fist.

"You won't get a pulse or a glance of flesh from this hand, I'm afraid. You'll have to make due with the other."

She nodded and took his hand gently. "Ooh," she said, already tracing the creases. "You're... looking for someone? No, something." She smirked. "And... ooh! Good news for you, you'll find it soon, I think. But..." She frowned. "Well, I can't make heads or tails of this! It looks good, but... these lines just don't match up!" She grabbed a book from the shelf behind her, flipping through the pages quickly, before shutting it and sighing exasperatedly. "Now I'm not sure." She tossed the book to the floor and shrugged. "Fine, I'll just guess. You'll find it, but... not get it? Maybe?"

He pulled his hand back, not out of frustration, but out of amusement. "That's fine, so long as I know I find it, I don't need to get it myself." He stood up and made to leave, but she pulled him back.

"H-hey! What about my Ducats?"

He grinned. "You already took my wallet. How could I possibly pay you?"

She gasped. "N-no... I-I'm sorry, I'll g-give it back, j-just..."

"Crime is punishable by death here, isn't it?" He pointed his sword at her throat, still smiling. "Relax. I won't call the guards - as you may have figured out, I could kill you without their help. Just return what you've taken from me, and I'll forget about the whole thing. I'll even pay your fee."

His wallet dropped to the ground. Putting his weapon away, he bent to pick it up, handing her a small handful of the coins within. Suddenly finding her voice, she grabbed his arm again. "It's... too much," she said hesitantly.

He shook his head. "If what you saw is correct, then you've earned the extra 20 Ducats. If you weren't, well, I suppose I'll come back for the extra." He left her sitting shocked on the ground, shading his eyes from the bright sunlight.

The prize was near, or he would find it soon. Either way, he was glad to be following orders now.

Edited September 4, 2010 by Purg

[rn7]

"Yes, yes, Solutide! It's quite a common ingredient on... oh, I forget! I do believe it is used with a catalyst in water in order to..." Free explained to the merchant what he was looking for. The merchant was a seller of medicine and cure-alls, not scientific in the least and at most, reliant on the trial-and-error methods of tribal cures. The merchant didn't know how it worked, only what it did.

"Work with water, huh? Have many like that, come see them here." The merchant got out a large wooden chest, slamming it onto the floor and opening it up for Free to see. Free quickly crouched down and grasped one of the vials, examining it closely by letting it hover near his broken goggle eye. He sloshed around the solution, keeping his stare straight, then tilted it so it could reflect the sunlight.

"No. No. No. No." Free went over 50 solutions in the span of a single minute, finding that none of them were the one he wanted.

"What? Is none of this? I have many more, come see." The merchant lead Free inside to browse the broader selection.

"My word, there is no sense of organization here! No, no, no, no, no...." Free browsed down the rows and columns of endless amounts of liquids, powders, and all other types of strange contained substances. Some could even been considered still alive. It bordered a bit on witchcraft, definitely danced on the line of quackery, and was probably plenty grounded on placebos. Still, Free continued down the lane until he caught a conspicuous gap in the rows of chemicals. Free read the tiny label that was there.

"Sealleen, deep skin moisturizer. Of all the things to call such an extraordinary substance! Merchant, merchant! Do you have any more of this? It seems you have run out!"

"Oh? That is odd, I remember I have one left. Oh, sorry, I have customer. That be 20 ducats, sir."

"Right, apologizes... wait, wait, wait!" Free quickly ran over to the merchant as soon as he saw what was in the customer's hand. "That! That is exactly what I was looking for."

The merchant looked a bit dumbfounded and confused at Free, much like he was through the entirety of Free's visit there.

"Sorry," he said. "All sale is final."

"Right then. Excuse me." Free quickly ran off in the direction of the customer who just bought the solution. Free found the man stooped over a outlet for water. "Sir! Sir! A moment please!"

Free's cries weren't heard, as the customer popped open the vial and poured the entire thing on his arms. Free almost squealed in pain and he could just about feel his hair fall out. "No no no no no, stop!"

The customer finally looked up at the quite distressed scientist and stared blankly. "Hi. Problem?"

"Several! That amount is clearly excessive for the wounds on your arm! If you were only to..."

"But the merchant guy just said to slap it all over my arms. Which is what I'm doing."

"Unnecessary! Do not believe everything you are told, trust me! That solution works best with a tinge of Toxideathkillium, so it can react and..."

"Wait, toxic? I don't want to get poisoned!"

"Only a name, only a name! Named after a quite unfortunately named foreign doctor, seriously, what were they thinking! But any way, see! The powder has turned into a cream now, and can be applied much better to your wounds."

"Woooow. That's pretty superbadass." The guy said, quite plainly.

"Oh, well, I don't know about that, I mean..." Free was quite taken back by that random and out of place compliment. He noticed the peculiar wounds on the arms of the guy. "Excuse me for prying, but are you a practitioner of the wind arts?"

"Woooow, are you like a mind reader too?" This guy seemed completely amazed at Free, and he wasn't sure how to react.

"Oh, well, nothing like that! I just noticed the depth of your cuts. Nothing could cut like that except wind packets at extremely close proximity."

"Yea, it's totally a bummer! Even the new shields I bought don't help! Any way, thanks! You can have the rest of the powder stuff!" The customer brushed the excess powder off his arms and pranced away, and Free had another near-death experience. Free frantically cupped his hands in other to catch as much of the powder as possible.

"Oh, this is the worst! And they ask me why I never leave the lab. It is to my fortune that I only need a small amount. I do wish I had more to spare for future occasions! Oh, the trials and tribulations of a careful planner, will my suffering never end?" Free sighed, but quickly got back to work, popping open a vial with his mouth and slowly tipping over the powder on his finger to administer the just right amount. Free breathed out in relief, washing his hands thoroughly with the nearby well. Free looked up, and in front of him, clear as day, was the Tinker. Not like it was hard to miss the guy, really. Free gently pushed aside crowds and weaved through people to caught up with him.

"Ah, greetings, sir! I've finally found you, I must say this city is just exasperating, completely draining of my reserves! I trust you've got the note already, right? My word, I don't know what to make of it."

[CATS]

"Jeez, Fuego, did you fall asleep again? Like I said, some guy called Stark had a serious shoulder injury! He must've fought Mr. Light and had the cube before Eisig came and took it! He could probably tell us something about what happened. We should totally ditch this place and start looking for him."

---

The package deals didn't cause the immediate overwhelming rush of bug-eyed customers which Lyle had been dreaming about the whole way over to Corthrone, but it did help a bit. It seemed like just throwing in the word "deal" made people more likely to buy something, despite the fact that it was still pretty much junk. He sold a few things, put a few coins in his pocket. This Helios guy's idea sort of worked, looked like he wasn't a total sap, after all. A shame that he seemed like such an honest guy, or else Lyle might see if he wanted to work together on something. But not enough, not enough. He needed to sell more. What was he doing wrong? Well, there was one thing the moving market was based on--moving. He could try and find a better spot. That was it! He just needed to find a better spot.

"Hey Helios, I'm going to look around town, you and your guys should stay and keep selling this junk, errr, I mean this valuable merchandise. I'll collect the profits when I'm back and we can figure out how to divide them up. Hopefully I can find a really good spot and I'll, I mean we'll, get really rich!"

Lyle ran and hopped onto the back of a passing cart. The merchant looked back to see that someone was hitching a ride on his stuff, then just shrugged and kept running. Lyle rode the cart throughout town, searching for a really good spot, just like the guy pulling the cart he was riding. He also managed to pocket some of the guy's stuff whenever no one was paying attention, which was most of the time, since the moving market was so busy and hustle-bustle. Eventually the merchant found a good spot and settled down, prompting Lyle to get off his cart. He still hadn't seen a good spot, personally, aside from the good one his ride had just taken. He was about to start walking around randomly when someone grabbed his arm and roughly yanked him into a side alley.

"What the fuck?!"

The alley was a long, narrow space between two tall buildings. It was dark and secluded--not a good sign. A figure threw Lyle up against the wall; it was the same guy whose cart he had just jacked a ride on.

"Whoa, if you want a fee for carryin' me around or something I'll pay up, no need to be so rough about it!"

"You thought I didn't see that?! Think you're so clever swiping my things, huh?"

"Wh-what are you talkin' about, man? I didn't touch your stuff! Swear!"

"Yeah, right. You're a shitty thief and a shitty liar. You do know theft is punishable by death here in Corthrone, don't you?"

"It is? Fuck! Please, don't hand me over to the guards, I'll do anything!"

"Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of getting the guards involved."

"Really? Whew! Thank you, so much!"

"Allow me to elaborate. I'm not gonna get the guards involved....because I'm going to do it myself!"

The guy pulled out a sword, prompting Lyle to scream and run. He ran headfirst into the wall at the end of the alley, fell, turned around and looked up at the angry merchant now advancing on him. This place was even more fucked up than Alabaste, Lyle decided. The merchant raised his sword; Lyle screamed like a little girl; but a new voice rang out before the death blow could be made.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"

The voice came from the front of the alley; soon Lyle could see a tall, heavily armored man coming down the alley towards him and the merchant. As he came closer, the man's occupation became obvious. Paladins were champions of justice, extraordinary warriors, devoted monster hunters, and tight-assed idealists. They were also devoted to keeping the peace and punishing criminals of all varieties--severely. It was no surprise for one to be working here in Corthrone, their presence would be welcomed by the equally-unforgiving merchant city. In Lyle's experience they could be annoying assholes (especially that fuckass cousin of his) but they were also pretty easy to manipulate, which meant he might get out of this after all. The merchant turned to face the intruding paladin.

"Yeah, this guy stole from me!" the merchant shouted.

"No, it's not true! He pushed me into this alley and he was going to kill me and take all my stuff! He's a robber!" Lyle countered.

"What?! You practically admitted that you stole from me!"

"No I didn't! He's a criminal! Help me!"

"Silence," the paladin said, before turning his sword towards the aggressive merchant.

"I can't believe this! You're seriously taking his word over mine?"

The paladin answered by swiftly beheading the merchant, moving far too fast for the man to defend himself. Jackpot. And that merchant said Lyle was a shitty liar, as if!

"Heh, Lyle. You're still a shitty liar," the paladin said.

"Huh?"

Speaking of fuckass cousins......the helmet masked his voice, but he was the right height, and he knew Lyle by name, so......Fuck.

"Mattias?"

"Yep. What're you doing down here in the moving market, you little shit? You're damn lucky it was me that found you, your bullshit was pretty easy to see through. If any other paladin had walked in on this, it would've gone a little worse for you. Now where's the guy's stuff you stole? No way in hell I'm gonna let you get away with it," Mattias said.

Lyle grudgingly turned out his pockets, handing all his stolen stuff over to Mattias. Just when he thought things were looking up, he had to run into Mattias again. Pretty terrible luck. Mattias Vampwolfski was, outwardly, one of the most upstanding, capable and dedicated paladins who ever lived. There was talk of him being elected as the next grandmaster of the order when the current one passed away. However, his enormous success in catching and killing criminals was due to his thoroughly rotten inner nature. He was on the payroll of almost every big-name bad guy out there, shamelessly collaborating with the villains for the mutual benefit of both parties. The bosses would use their influence to find worthy targets (usually on-the-rise rival crime bosses) for Mattias, and often assist him in taking them down, allowing him to succeed and progress through the ranks of the order. In exchange, Mattias kept the bosses' whereabouts unknown to the rest of the paladins, i.e. the guys who weren't corrupt like he was. Being a total scoundrel ran in the family; Mattias affectionately referred to it as the "family business."

"Can I go now?" Lyle asked.

"Fuck no, you little shit. I just saved your life. You owe me big time, and I expect to collect on that debt. I want 75% of the profits from whatever it is you're selling here in Corthrone."

"Er, selling? I'm not selling anything! I don't have anything to sell! I'm just passing through, all I have is the stuff I stole from that guy."

"Yeah, right. Did I mention that you're a shitty liar? I think I did mention that. You're also pretty predictable, you know. Why the hell would you come to Corthrone, unless you had something to sell? There's way better places out there to steal or set up scams, but when it comes to legitimate business, Corthrone is the place to be."

"Fine, fine, you fucking asswipe. Only if you help me sell the shit, though. You're gonna be making more money off it than I will, after all. Fucker."

"Hey, that's not nice!"

Mattias slugged Lyle in the face; it felt like getting hit by a ballista bolt.

"What was that for?!" Lyle said, spitting blood out as he got up.

"You need to watch your language, young man. That's why. Oh, and did I mention you're a little shit? That probably had something to do with it, too."

"So you can call me a little shit, but I can't say nasty things about you? How's that work?"

"Yep. It works because I'm the guy who can kill you faster than you can blink, that's how."

"You really like to push things, don't you cousin? One of these days I might just snap and blow the whistle on you. See how you like getting pushed around for once."

"Oh, come on Lyle, we've been through this. If you pull the trigger, so will I. If I tell my paladin buddies that a half-breed named Lyle needs to be punished, they'll be all over you. You might last a few days once they start hunting you, a week tops. Me, on the other hand, I'll just deny everything. Who will they believe? Their role model, or a little shit like you? You aren't gonna do a damn thing. Now come on, let's get moving. I've got better things to do than talk to you."

"You gonna help me sell, or not?"

"Sure. You can have the spot that merchant guy took, he won't be needing it anymore. If anyone bothers you, just give me a shout, but only if you have to."

"What about the guy's stuff? Can I have it?"

"Uh, no. Since the official story will be that he was a crook and a robber, I'll need to confiscate his inventory of obviously stolen goods and see that they're returned to their owners, you understand."

"Who're the owners gonna end up being? Some of your crime boss friends?"

"Something like that. Anyways, like I said, better things to be doing. Family business needs tending to. Good luck selling that garbage and giving me all the money from it, you little shit."

Mattias Vampwolfski turned to walk out of the alley, idly spinning his sword and humming a tune that was badly distorted by his helmet, but catchy nonetheless. This place was way more fucked up than Alabaste, Lyle decided. Lyle spat out some more blood and shook his head. One of these days, that fuckass cousin would get his.....

A while later, Lyle walked back up to Helios and the others.

"Hey guys, I found a new spot! It should be really good and make us lots of money. I'll just start moving the cart, you guys can tag along and talk about I dunno, some way to entertain yourselves while we're here. Oh, and Helios, did you sell any more stuff while I was gone?"

[Script]

Derwood

Derwood was having oddly large amounts of luck selling the junk he priced as deals. After the third sale he shrugged and just figured people were idiots and would try and get a deal anywhere even if the deal was rotten, not like his were rotten though. One hundred percent grade A quality was what he was selling! "Hey man, you look like the kinda guy who needs a sword? No? Ah well, hey little girl want a sword? Hey daddy! No need to glare hahaha!"

The other merchant guy--Bassa? something like that--decided to bugger off after a few sales of the super-high-quality products Derwood was selling. Derwood waved the poor Charlamaign go, not really caring about where or what he did anymore. As Derwood pitched forward another sales pitch to a fine-looking gentleman, he spied another merchant nearby who packed up just so conveniently dropped a shiny gold coin on the ground. The angle of bodies and dirt prevented the merchant from seeing the shiny gold coin so it would just be proper for Derwood to pick it up and return it, getting a finder's fee in the process. In fact, he should just save both of them some time and keep the coin. Why, he was a downright saint, he nodded at his own generosity.

As Derwood shifted to retrieve the coin, some old foggy began pestering him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Derwood shooed off whatever the old man was blabbering about. That coin wasn't going to lie there forever!

"Alright, I'll just be taking this," the old man grabbed the 'first-aid kite' and dropped a small copper bowl in its place.

"Huh? Hey man, what's that?" Derwood wondered what the hell the old man was thinking trading things to him. The nerve!

"That's what we agreed upon. Or are you backing out of the deal?"

"No, no," Derwood glanced back at the spot where the coin was. WAS. It had vanished. Derwood let out a yelp and fell to his knees. All his masterful planning, wasted by some man who didn't want Derwood to be happy and just wanted to conduct a fair and honorable trade deal! It wasn't fair! The old man ran away in confusion shortly after.

In between his sobs, Derwood heard some voice calling out for a Helios. Who the hell was that? Derwood shot up, ready to run away from the man in terror but saw it was that guy from earlier. Lyle? Yeah, that was probably it. "No sell, just a trade. Just a metal bowl. Bah, it was a bad deal but dammit a man has to try!"

[mr_e_s]

Stark

When they finally got out of the cart, it seemed like everybody went their separate ways right off the bat. Stark didn't show it outwardly, but he was somewhat disheartened at that. For all his talk of wanting to come here and settle down, life on the road had been missed more then he realized. Would this be the end of his travels with this motley crew? He hated to admit it, but he was starting to grow fond of these guys. Maybe it was just the old army buddy syndrome. You get into a few deadly encounters, all of a sudden the guys that were on your side are your best friends. Not that Stark had a lot of competition in the friends market.Back on the city guard he was never really popular, just a cyclops who kept to himself mostly. Come to think of it, he never even really spoke to Jeph before this all happened. He knew Jeph was more lively and responsive before the fire though. Stark was pretty sure Jeph had had a sister, though he'd never asked him about it.

Ironically enough, right then was when Jeph decided to come up to Stark and say something. "Hey, Stark. Once our happy caravan splits, mind if I tag along with you? I really have no idea what to do, and need some time to think things through."

That was more words in one go then Stark had heard Jeph utter so far in total, he was pretty sure. He supposed it was progress. A guy had to take his life and move on at some point, right? "Uh, yeah, sure thing." Stark wasn't giving off the comforting and reassuring vibe he had been going for there. "You're always welcome Jeph. If I can find some work here, or if we have to move on, ain't no one going to force you away or nothing." That was a bit better, he supposed.

A bit later, as he started wandering the Seller's Sea of Sales (Corthrone had a lot of nicknames, chalk it up to the many charismatic merchants who called it home). Stark noticed a few things. Partly the very large group of wagons all arriving together not too far from where Lyle and them all departed. None of them seemed like merchants. it was more likely it was just a pilgrimage or any other breed of regular civilian travel stopping off to gape in amazement at the craziness of the makeshift town and to see if they couldn't find some amazing deals. Stark figured the people in charge of regular pilgrimages/other kinds of trips were tipped fairly well for stopping their journeys in Corthrone a while. It was actually amazing how nice the tented hotels could be, through really a collection of tents you stay in would probably be better called a campsite (but they came with room service and everything). And for how nice they were the hotels were dirt cheap! There was a reason for that, though. All the merchants chipped in, or were taxed, to help out industries like the hotels and bribing large groups of civilians to stop here and stay here. No matter how cheap the day to day expenditures in Corthrone were, almost no one left with any money still to their name, just a large collection of 'finds'.

Secondly, paladins had been added to the guard force here. Stark didn't care for paladins, not as a whole. It wasn't their righteous attitude, it was their righteous attitude combined with their needless murder. He supposed it was cause they were all col in the eyes of whatever God they followed, but paladin's had no trouble killing anyone they deemed malign or unworthy. And they would sleep well that night. Stark was aware of the irony in his judgment, though. He'd killed people, but never for no reason, and never when he didn't have to... Never without the immediate threat to his life present. These guys could be trouble. At the least, they painted Corthrone in a worse light in his eyes, though they probably added respectability to the people who'd never shared a battlefield with paladins.

Thirdly, after getting past that, how crazy this place was! It seemed like it had really gotten bigger since Stark had last been here! He could see a large circus tent in the back. He wondered if there was an actual circus there or if it was Corthrone's version of a super store. Neither would have surprised him. This place, for any folly it may have had, was still always quite the place to behold. Always bristling and brimming with life, almost boiling over with it, even. The people running back and forth, merchants hurriedly moving their wares, trying to catch the last great sales of the day, People trying to keep up with all the movement, getting absolutely lost by the fact that all their landmarks had moved since they took not of them. It was funny how even a street in Corthrone could move, stop existing, or come into being out of nowhere. The streets never had names, either. They never lasted long enough. And they never ran very far. It was all part of the merchants' strategy, If people want to get anywhere in Corthrone, they have to twist and turn, maybe even get lost, and all they have to guide them is friendly merchants with amazing deals.

This town was really something else.

Fuego

While Klints had been inside, Fuego had been eying up the scene. Looked like someone had been eaten up by a lion, and he hadn't been wearing any of the champion's armour. So he was probably one of the crew that was on the challenger side. Seemed like everyone involved here had lost someone. Fuego had dropped very deep into thought about that. Deep enough that he missed Klints trying to talk to him the first time. "Jeez, Fuego, did you fall asleep again? Like I said, some guy called Stark had a serious shoulder injury! He must've fought Mr. Light and had the cube before Eisig came and took it! He could probably tell us something about what happened. We should totally ditch this place and start looking for him."

Fuego was back in the arena, pulled away from his inner workings by his partner's nattering voice. "Huh? Oh, right...Wait, no. We're stationed here in Alabaste, and it looks like these guys left right after here, right? Well, then they're no longer under our jurisdiction, and someone else can..." Fuego knew the protocol, but the man who taught it to him was lying dead not very far from him right now. "You know what, fuck it. Let's go get these guys. We'll file a report once we have a the cube. Where do you figure the headed?"

Edited August 29, 2010 by mr_e_s

[Purg]

Drin grinned as he was greeted by his comrade and friend. "I got the note, yes. It seems the cube was found north of here, in Oakheim." He shook his head. "Of course, that as before Oakheim burned to the ground. I've no idea where it could be now... Or I didn't until just a bit ago." Leading him away from the fortune teller's tent, he explained the palm reading, as well as his own thoughts on the matter. It was a short summary - Drin was a brief man when it came to reporting what he knew, no matter how long it had taken him to uncover his information. By the time the explanation was over, the two were in front of the one permanent building in Corthrone, the central government offices. It was supposed to be central, at least - the very nature of the city meant that some days, it was entirely outside the sprawling tent-city.

"If it really is around here, we had best find the others. I don't have the patience to find Whistler, I'm afraid, so I'll let you do that - meanwhile, I'll look for Cog." He leaned against the hard stone wall with his armored hand, his good mood apparent. "Unless you have a better idea?"

~-~

A figure sat on a pile of crates in a long-abandoned grain warehouse, waiting patiently for someone. He had already spent plenty of time here, but it was no matter to him - unlike some others, he had almost literally all the time in the world. He was entertaining himself by flipping through a worn book - the pages had faded to yellow long ago, and the cover was bare, the contents only known to the one holding it. Even if anyone else had seen the pages, it was unlikely they would be able to make out what it said - this was a language that had been forgotten long ago, from an empire long collapsed.

A door on the other side of the building opened suddenly, prompting him to put the book away and stand. A trio of men entered - a red-haired man with two swords, a young man with a look usually reserved for those much older, and an elf who looked out of place, to say the least. In the arms of the two younger men, were the two halves of the Jester. Morgen smiled, walking towards them and signaling them to drop the body. "I'm surprised you caught him so fast," he said quietly, nudging the body with his foot. It was clear he was dead, just from the split through his torso. "And the cube?"

The two boys coughed nervously, and the swordsman averted his gaze. Morgen's mood instantly soured, kicking the upper half of the dead fool's body away, watching with pleasure as it skidded a few feet across the cold floor. "You... I can't believe your incompetence! Why, when he is the only one who knew where it was for sure, would you kill him, without finding it first? Now it's lost again, and we have no leads. And from what I've heard, the village you found him in is now little more than a smudge and a memory." He kicked Shu's legs across the room as well. "Idiots."

"The Brute was in Oakheim," the swordsman said quickly, still evading looking at Morgen. "Prophet was also likely in the area, knowing him. Between the two of them, the cube-"

"Is still missing," Morgen countered, leaping quickly to smack the swordsman with a sudden sweep of the arm. It knocked the man over - despite his average size, there was an uncanny strength behind his actions. He swept down, intent on striking another blow, but his hand was stopped in midair by an unseen force.

"Stop it," the elf said nervously, his outstretched hands a clear sign of the spell.

Morgen could only grin, his attention distracted from his fury. "How adorable. You two, he's still training you, yes?" His arm was still suspended, held by the boy's spell. "You've got much to learn about those not within your cell, children. You can call me Scourge, it's a title that's worked well enough for me in the past." As he spoke, his hand shifted, from a normal human's to a cruel talon with five menacing claws where the fingers had once been. With a single movement, he sliced through the energies holding his hand, shaking his head. "And I am not to be treated as an equal. I am better than you - all of you - and you will remember it."

With a frustrated sigh, he sat back down on the crates he had been using before the trio's arrival.

"Go. Find the cube. If you don't... you'll be seeing more of me, I promise you."

It took only a few seconds before he was left alone with his book and the body of the Jester. He glared at it for a few seconds before rising again, bending over and lifting the top half up, bringing Shu's head to eye level, staring into the dark orbs, devoid of life. "You wanted to run. See where it's gotten you."

He dropped the top half of the corpse, and left the warehouse as well, the body the only sign anything had taken place there.

[rn7]

"Oh, I'd rather not, Tim rumples up my nerves like no other. If there's one thing he's good at, its making others paranoid. Why I was with my wife the other day, and I could not help but hear his infernal wailing. I cannot stand that tune of his, so deceptively simple yet continuously grating. It drives me completely off my circuit, it does. Besides, he'll make himself known when he wants to." Free rubbed the ends of his labcoat nervously. "Did you say Cog was here? I do loathe these codenames, it is akin to children in a secret treehouse gathering, and believe me, I have had my share of secret clubhouse meetings when I was a wee one."

"Such a bother for a trinket though, don't you agree, sir? If I so may graciously give my thoughts on the matter, I care not for its retrieval, and would rather let another cell handle it. I do have some... business? matters to handle, however, now that I remember. A certain associate of mine was, how to say, apprehended by the authorities and his quite sensitive, well I wouldn't say contraband particularly, but his cargo was seized. I only care specifically for the chemical substance I ordered. It should be contained within the government building here. If you wish to join me, you are welcome to, otherwise, I do believe our mutual associate requires finding."