PCs: Orduin of the Tools, Masq Timor

-Orduin of the Tools-

The scent of slightly singed hair. The sound of metal clicking together. These preceed Orduin wherever he goes, the sounds and smells of forgework and crafting. Even spotting him, the sense of the forge isn't gone. His hair is short and singed in places, brown in colour where it's not been burnt. Glasses aren't common anywhere, and ones with multie lenses, all set to rotate and several coloured, are even wierder, but they sit on his forehead when he's not working. His eyes are jade green, and sparkle with their own light. His chin shows the sign of several days stubble. His left arm ends not in flesh and blood, but in a hand of shaped crystal, transparent Adamant. It's sometimes covered with a glove to avoid attention, but most of the time sits prominently on his wrist.

His normal clothing is a thick, heavy smock, stuffed with tools of the most strange kinds. Several are probably not even working properly, but reside in pockets all the same. Heavy gloves get a place on his belt, and a pair of thick boots sit on his feet, all with signs of heavy use.

-Masq Timor-

Before you stands a man of middling years, his eyes bright and blue and clear. He stands very straight, a little shorter than average, with the beginnings of a well-fed paunch obvious through his cloths. A network of crows' feet and worrylines spread across his thin face, his thin lips pulled into a thin frown. His dark hair is pulled back pony tail, and greying at the temples. His full beard is still more pepper than salt, hiding his chin and upper neck.

He is dressed is very fine clothing, cut from dark silks and rich white furs. He wears a tight silver chain, and a pair of gold rings, one encrusted with small rubies, the other set with a large diamond. The cut and worksmanship are both exceptional, and exude a quiet aura of wealth and power around him.

---

The wagon is unlike several that the Guild has sent in the past. It's richly built, the craftsmanship manifest, silk curtains drawn across the windows, fine Marukan steeds pulling away. It's also has consideribly more guards than many full caravans- nearly 50 men, half on horse and half afoot, form a perimeter around it. It seems to carry no goods, but the Guild's sigil is embossed clearly on the front. And it arrives, early in the day, to the famous fortification in the infamous Sun Kingdoms.

The fortifications are coming down. Soil is being dumped back into the land, health and enriched and thaumaturgically treated. Soldiers are parting ways after months. Overworking technicians and elementals are packing up to leave. Orduin of the Tools stand amongst it all, until the wagon shows. He approaches it, folding his arms. "Nothing to sell here."

The wagon comes to halt, the guards drawing a little closer, as the door open. First emerges a slim, dark haired woman, smiling, pretty, a tablet in her hands. After her, a hulking and bald man, armed and armored, eyes dull, mouth set thinly. Finally, stepping between them, emerges Timor himself, smiling broadly. "Now that," he replies, "I very much doubt."

"No goods here to sell." Orduin said very simply. "If you don't think so, you clearly haven't seen many fifty mile across areas of land heavily salted. Forget the growing seasons this year." A shrug as he looks between them. "And what really brings you, since it can't be for the local exports?"

"Well, straight to business." Masq's smile grows a little wider at that, as he approaches Orduin, his bodyguard and secretary keeping pace a step behind him. "I can appreciate that." He waves backwards. "No growing season this year. But that raises both an interesting point and an interesting question. How are people going to eat, and what about next year?"

Orduin shrugs. "I'm shipping in basic foodstuffs at greatly reduced prices, soaking the loss, and offering materials to rebuild on the same basic loss. Next year, it should hit.. Three of the growing seasons. Maybe.'

Masq Timor nods slightly at that. "Then you've got something to sell." He waves outward. "The future. The chance to spread some of that risk, and share some of the rewards." He starts to walk past Orduin. "How much do you think it'll cost? Ten talents? Twenty? A hundred? How much of a loss are you running at?" He turns around again. "I think there's money to be made here, and I'd like to help you make it."

"Two hundred thirty-three talents, with a remainder of under a Talent but still measured in Jade, not Scrip." Orduin shrugged a little bit; he had it down already. "Profit here will come off the backs of people who need help more. Something I doubt the Guild will ever agree with."

Masq Timor shakes his head slightly at that. "See, that's a common misconception. The Guild- and I think I speak from a position of some knowledge on this point -the Guild has no interest in keeping people poor or helpless. People with a bit of common to spend, spend it more readily. More well off folks mean more people buying shares in caravans- which means more caravans. You take a starving people, and they won't buy any fine luxury goods. And the margins on silk are significantly greater than wool," he adds, with a conspiratorial wink.

"Then you should see the margins on ruby wine." Orduin admitted. "I suppose, if those are the ways the Guild will operate here, I can be convinced to lay down some rules and throw some capital into it."

Masq Timor grins broadly at that. "And that's what I like to hear. Especially before any of my competitors." He waves vaugely Nexusward. "They all still think the Sun Kingdom's got no future. But that's why I'm here, and they aren't- and that's why we're gonna make quite a bit of money." He turns the vauge wave into a becon towards his secretary, who approaches, clean sheets of paper and an ink vial at the ready. "Oh, I should ask- to avoid any misunderstanding -you do actually have the authority to negiotate on behalf of the people of the Sun Kingdom?"

"Not really. I can direct you to the man in charge." Orduin's smile suddenly gains a disturbingly predator nature. One would think a fin was above it. "No, sir, I am offering the rules by which the Guild can operate here because things can go terribly wrong in this country after such a chaotic time. Terribly, terribly wrong, and caravan guards sometimes don't ever get found."

Several of the guards give somewhat discomforted looks at that, but Masq doesn't seem terribly off put. "Naturally. Things are so often unsettled after times of crisis. It'd be terrible if other merchants decided they just wanted no part in dealing with you, no matter what prices you were offering." He crosses his arms, giving Orduin a toothy grin. "I just wanted to know if I'd need to repeat myself to some fellow with a bit of metal on his head and a mistaken impression regarding authority. Seems I will, which is a shame, but hardly the first time."

"Eh, I never was one for the whole 'Exalted are natural rulers' gig. Takes time off of important things." Orduin shrugged, and ignored the threat, not rising to the bait. "But in short, there shall be no trafficking of dangerous drugs or slaves in the Sun Kingdom. Those are my conditions before I have my accountants discuss possible assistance on providing goods, capital, and guards to assist the effort."

Masq Timor considers that, for a moment, then holds up a finger and his thumb. "Does 'trafficing in slaves' include transportation, or only buying and selling? And does it include citizens who want to sell themselves, or the ruler if he wants to sell criminals and other malcontents?" The finger curls inward, just leaving the thumb. "Second, almost all drugs can be dangerous if taken unwisely, and almost all have reasonable, medincal purposes. Do you really want to deprive the people of the Sun Kingdom pain relievers because someone can't control an opium habit?"

After a moment, Masq adds, "And, for not believing in the Exalted as natural rulers bit, you seem fairly confident you know what's best for these people, regardless of what they want. After all, if there's not a market, Guild merchants won't bother trying to sell."

Orduin found his morality hitting the wall of practicality, and thus answered the less troubling question first. "Yes, but Celestial Cocaine and even it's mundane equivalent are much nastier than a nice opiate. That is the difference I draw." He explained patiently. "As for slavery. I realize the Guild is the Guild, and things are not always as.. Clean as they should be. Buy any criminals you care to, or those that put /themselves/ up. No others. No snatching them up, either."

Masq Timor ahs, and nods. "In that case, those terms are more than acceptable." He nods to the dark haired woman, writing them down in a tight, neat hand. "Now, on to other business, of a somewhat more delicate nature." He holds up a hand, indincating for the guards to not follow, then starts to walk a short distance away, clearly expecting Orduin to follow.

Orduin raises a brow and follows the man, clearly not seeing what the Guild could possibly still have to say, particularly of a delicate matter.

Once the two are a short distance away, Masq stops. "Now. I'm curious, on a certain point, and you saying you were going to be paying in Jade piqued this curiousity. What's your opinion of the Realm?" he asks, tapping his own forehead.

"Ungrateful bastards, mostly, but that's because they have invoices outstanding from before they found out." Orduin rolled his arms. "No Exalt of the Sun likes the Realm. I just have use of Jade."

Masq Timor nods slightly. "I'm of something of a like mind. Frankly, I'd be happier if the Realm were excised from the Scavanger Lands entirely." His eyes hold zero mirth. "And I'm not talking as Masq Timor, Guild Merchant. I'm talking as Masq Timor, the man who wants to see them /burn/. But there's some things money just can't buy." He suddenly grins. "For everything else, there's Exalts." He paces a step away. "You are obvious a man of some impressive talent and vision. I'd like your help in burning the Realm out of the east, like the illness that it is."

"No." It's probably the strangest bit of it all. "Oh, throw all the arguments at me, I've heard 'em; I'm an Obsidian Sea boy. We'd love to see the Realm burned out of 'our land'. But that's something to take a very slow approach to, because fire burns more than the tinder."

Masq Timor pulls up short, clearly not expecting that response. His voice is a bit brittle now. "You don't think the people are already suffering?" he asks sharply. "You don't think that it's going to get worse as the Realm collapses? The bastards are already expanding out of Greyfalls, eating one Kingdom after another. They'll put the vices on soon, because the Center cannot hold, and all those legions that'll break the Realm into bloody chunks need cash from somewhere. And it won't be too long before somone- maybe this Zuriel, maybe some other -considers matters carefully, and makes a little copy of the Realm in the East. And then you'll never dig them out."

"Time is on my side." Orduin said cryptically. "I'm not an idiot, please don't infer I am one. I simply am taking a much slower pace than those who believe we can burn it down now. The suffering will increase far more when it collapses.. From my doing or from petty Dragonblooded warlords repeating history.. Than it will while the Realm crumbles."

Masq Timor frowns at that, making no immediate reply. Then, a frustrated, "I see." Another pause. "Well." He gives Orduin a final, considering look, before sighing. "Fine." He starts to walk back towards the wagon, and his retinue. "I hope that when the Hunt comes, time is still on your side. But you can be certain I'm not the only one to have noticed what's happened here. And the interest of others won't be half so benign and self-serving."

"Oh no. Heroes will show up. They're easy to spot." Orduin shrugged a bit. "When the time comes for the Guild, well, with any luck, it won't be in your lifetime. Good day."