Diplomacy... of a sort



  • Of all the taverns in Peltarch, this was by far a tavern that was in Peltarch. The floorboards were cracked and discolored, the entire room stunk of smoke and ale, and the patrons ranged from seedy to shady. It was an uncomfortable place where one would only go to pick up cheap swill to drink away their troubles, like for instance the fact they were drinking cheap swill. To Warren Cashaw, this tavern was the very representation of what Peltarch truly was.

    Trash.

    Trash with some coats of paint to hide the trash, to no avail of course, but trash none the less.

    Cash sat at the table with a dispassionate look, one hand running a coin across his knuckles and the other with smoke wafting from the stick between his index and middle finger. The chatter of those around him was like meaningless noise buzzing in his ears, as he focused purely on the dark colored liquid in the half drunk mug in front of him. A plump insect writhed inside the mug, trying to escape fruitlessly, and the spectacle was the only interesting thing that Cash had seen all day.

    It wasn’t long after that two bottles came crashing down on the table, slammed down by a heavily armored man. Cash glanced up at him, who in turn was staring directly at him with two wild bloodshot eyes. He wore twisted armor and a spiked helmet, an ensemble that made him look like he was up to no good, and which contrasted with the golden badge he wore on his chest. When he spoke, it was more like a harsh growl, barely containing his hatred for the situation.

    “If I hear one more backwater fuck call Peltarch the jewel of damn near anything I am going to set fire to this district.”

    Cash couldn’t help but twist his lips into a small smirk, though it didn’t last long. Flicking the coin to the armored man, Cash reached over and took one of the bottles. Both were green glass and had a label that the businessman had no interest in reading. He watched as his partner popped open the cork and lifted his helmet just enough to drink it like a thirsty man in the desert, causing Cash to roll his eyes.

    “Thought you said it tasted like shit.”

    “It does, but I’m thirsty and I don’t have the time or patience to walk to an actual fucking city to get some actual fucking drinks.”

    The foul language attracted the notice of some nearby patrons, though few were eager to pick a fight with a man wearing full plate, patriotism or not. Cash observed their reaction until they decided to mind their own business again. From what he had gathered from his questioning of the locals, as well as a few gifts given here and there, was that Peltarch was recovering from some inner turmoil. Multiple accounts of inner turmoil, in fact.

    “So.” The armored man looked at him, as if waiting.

    “So?”

    “Boy, Cash, I wonder what gods damn mystery I could be hinting at?”

    Cash twisted his lips again, nodding slightly. He brought the stick to his lips and, after inhaling deeply, exhaled smoke into the already smoke ridden tavern. “They’re not worth noting.”

    “How do you figure?”

    Cash went to speak, glancing over to another table where a youthful man sat. Cash could see him occasionally glance over, but it felt a bit different from the other patrons who usually only glanced in annoyance due to the armored man’s vocal slights against Peltarch. It was more like observation, disguise thinly as a lively conversation with others. Cash glanced at the armored man and replied in Mulhorandi, which caused the armored man to groan.

    <Overzealous paladins who hold one sided conversations, bards with some rather tired stories, and adventurers who think zany wackiness is a personality. Rumors are the king is essentially led about by his dick, and a city full of guilds who seem a little too powerful. Making me question how valuable the kings input really is kind of powerful. Nobles who don’t matter, guards who seem like they mostly fight off sleep. I'm amazed this place still functions.>

    <I hate this fucking language.>

    <Just focus, will you?> Cash rolled his eyes, exhaling more smoke into the air. <The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go back.>

    <It’s a waste of time. This place is awful.>

    <Oh you’ll hardly find me disagreeing. This place is like Waterdeep if it ran out of money and lost all the charm. But we’re almost done, so tough it out.>

    <Whatever. So you’re not expecting them to get in our way?>

    <They’ll try, especially after your spectacle in the streets. So further information gathering is off the table, expect them to run counter intelligence and try to wash us out with false information and half-truths. But we have enough information anyway, so it isn’t a significant loss.>

    <And more direct shit?>

    <I doubt it. For those with their leashes held by Peltarch, they’re not going to risk political fallout and a potential war just to shut you up. And for the rest, if they use force then react with force. Simple.>

    <Feh, all I know is that brat king better fork over the girl in the next few days or I’m actually going to snap someone’s neck. I can feel that feeling in my shoulder, you know, the one I get when I really want to just break something.>

    <You have issues.> Cash smirked.

    <Can’t help it. Extra tension as well because those asshole spies keep following us around, I’m getting sick of seeing them.>

    <They are indeed a nuisance, harmless but irritating.> Cash rolled his shoulders as he glanced back over to the young man across the tavern. <I think it's time we give them a proper greeting.>

    <Heh… couldn’t agree more.>

    Hare watched from his table, pretending to remotely care about what anyone else was saying, as the armored man and his friend began to leave the tavern. He had been given specific orders to follow them at a safe distance and to not get caught, though he had a feeling they were on to him. Still it wasn’t necessarily a bad tactic, let them know they’re being watched, see what the added pressure does to them and maybe stop them from doing anything too reckless.

    The armored man had seemed to want to cause fights everywhere he went; he’d run his mouth and insult the city and those within it constantly. For most that crossed him, it wasn’t exactly a fight worth taking, seeing as how he was clearly dangerous and well armored. And as for the guards, though they weren’t clear as to the “why” they were certainly told to leave him alone unless he actually physically confronted something. It was a strange tension.

    The young far scout could only guess why they would send an “envoy” that seemed so aggressive and tactless. But perhaps that was the point; send someone so vile and irritating that you’ll feel the utmost desire to knock him out, and in doing so create a dangerous political situation. If that was the goal, it was rather unnecessarily effective, as everywhere he went people looked as if they wanted to hit him. But nobody ever did.

    As for his partner, the man with the snake tattoo running down his neck, he was far more subtle. Whenever his partner would provoke people, he would stand away, acting as if it wasn’t his business. Hare had seen him walk about Peltarch, offering gifts like gems and wine to certain individuals. And to those same individuals, as well as many citizens and adventurers, both he and the armored man would poke and prod about Peltarch’s current state of being.

    Following them outside into the cold air of the docks, Hare could only see the tip of the cloak that the armored man wore vanish into a nearby alley. Cautiously he moved, trying to ensure a safe distance between them by moving at a slower pace. But as he turned into alley and prepared to walk into the darkness, he found himself suddenly blinded by red and a sharp pain. Someone had just tossed a wine bottle at his face, and the result was... obviously... not great.

    Before he could even croak out a pained scream, Hare felt his hair grabbed and then his entire body pulled further into the alley like a puppet tossed by its owner. He slammed into the earth, splashing into a puddle that had formed from rain earlier in the day. Two dark leather shoes moved in front of him, as he heard Warren Cashaw’s voice.

    “That looked painful.”

    Hare realized the danger he was in, and with trained and agile movements he tried to unsheathe a hidden blade kept in his sleeve to defend himself. But as he began to rise his body up to strike out at Cash and make distance, he felt his arm grabbed from behind. The armored gauntlet squeezed with immense force, causing a horrific cracking noise as the bones in his hand were shattered, and then with great force the armored man snapped his arm to an awkward angle with both gauntlets.

    Hare’s reflexive cry of agony was muffled by Cash’s hand against his mouth, as the armored man kept Hare from escaping or squirming away. Cash seemed as dispassionate as he was across the day, not a hint of hostility or so much as a raised tone or a frown, which in a way made things eerie, as if this was just another boring task.

    “Right now you’re on the path of a few moments of agony and a couple of weeks of recovery. But if you scream, and if you shout, the guards won’t round the corner in time to save you. You’ve got instincts, right? I’m sure they’re telling you to stay very quiet and listen… listen to those instincts.”

    As Cash slowly removed his hand from Hare’s mouth, he began to pat around his pockets. Taking out another knife, a coin pouch, and some other random mementos that he then tossed to the earth, he continued searching for anything of note. Whenever Hare would struggle even a bit, the armored man would press on his broken arm, causing him to wince and try to stiffen up. He was strong, and the bloodlust he was radiating was a little too obvious and uncomfortable.

    “A simple question. Who is in charge of gathering intelligence on us?” Cash gave him a tiny slap on the cheek, almost a pat. “And please, before you say you don’t know, spare us the entire ignorance act. All it’ll result in is more pain.”

    “I don’t-“

    “You’re not smart, are you?” The armored man put more force into his broken arm before he could even sputter out the sentence, causing a very uncomfortable noise and Hare to let out a short scream of pain that was again muffled by Cash.

    “It’s not really information worth suffering for, is it? All you have to do is tell us who is overseeing the operation, and we’ll leave you be. We can make it nice and simple, end it here, and you can go write the report with your other arm right now, but if you’re going to play this game then I’m afraid my friend will take that too.”

    Hare grit his teeth; it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been beaten up. It seemed as if Cash took notice of his defiant expression, as the next thing he knew Cash had his hand against his mouth again. Hare tensed up as he felt the armored man move and grab his other arm, and in one swift movement he felt a bone snap and let out another muffled scream.

    “That was surprisingly clean.” Cash almost seemed amused.

    “I’ll be honest I wasn’t expecting it to break so cleanly.” The armored man let out a snort as he twisted Hare’s arm to cause him more pain.

    Hare’s mind raced with ways to try to escape, but he wasn’t strong enough to overpower the brute holding him. His only real defense was the assurance that, surely, the envoy wouldn’t kill a Peltarch official within the walls. He felt his breathing become ragged as his heart raced, watching Cash slowly walk further down the alley to a wooden barrel. Leaning over the barrel, seeing the lid was askew; Cash looked into the stagnant water within. He removed the lid, and looked over.

    “Alright then, let’s get this over with.”

    Hare felt his mouth roughly covered by the armored gauntlet of his interrogator as he felt himself dragged towards the barrel. It was a horrific moment of realization, that even if he tried to reveal his superiors name it would be muffled. The armored man was going to go through with this no matter what, but again, surely it’d stop before it went too far and all Hare had to do was hold out until they got bored… right?

    With one last look at Cash, who gave a firm nod, Hare was plunged head first into the barrel and into the stagnant water that had pooled through the poorly placed lid. The cuts on his face did not react well to the water, leaving him in pain, as he struggled and trashed against a much stronger opponent. From above, Cash and the envoy watched the struggle, Cash almost passive and the envoy with a level of amusement.

    “This is real cathartic.”

    “Well get it out of your system, hopefully it’ll offset the tedium the city brings.” Cash spoke casually as Hare’s trashing grew more frantic.

    “What are you going to do if we figure out who the head stalker is anyway?”

    “Figure out if he’s talkative, or perhaps interested in a charity donation.”

    “And if he isn’t?”

    “Then we leave with a little less information. Not like it's a huge deal… pull him up, by the way.”

    “Oh yeah.”

    The armored man pulled Hare up roughly by his collar. As Hare went to speak, he received two heavy armored punches to the face which sent him limp, before Hare was dunked back into the barrel again.

    “I want to find those upstart fort guards again.” The armored warrior continued a casual conversation as he tormented Hare, pulling him up again just to punch him as he sputtered and tried to speak, dunking him yet again. “I don't know where they get off being so mouthy.”

    “High Holders aren’t worth our time.” Cash stood back slightly as Hare’s splashing caused the stale water to splash about violently. “And yes before you state the obvious, at least we’re paid to be here.”

    “Feh. Whatever. You think he’s ready?”

    “Mhm.”

    Pulling Hare up again, who found himself barely able to stand, the armored man steadied him by holding his chin with a gauntlet. Cash paused long enough for Hare to start to refocus, before he spoke.

    “This is your out. You're not doing so well, so there is a good chance you're going to drown. You can tell us what we want to know, or we'll keep going until we get bored.”

    “I-“

    The armored man, before even waiting for him to answer, began to lower him back into the barrel which caused Hare to start to panic. It was clear that all the man wanted was to make him suffer, and whether Hare survived or not was irrelevant, as if he didn't even consider it an action that would have consequences.

    “No nonononono it’s Coyote. Coyote. He’s the one they put in charge of the operation against you and the others. It’s Coyote!”

    “See? That wasn’t so bad.” The armored man chuckled.

    “It was Coyote. I was just doing what he-“ Hare tried to continue, but was silenced by another fist that sent him back into the barrel, behind first, and left limp.

    “Coyote. What a stupid name.”

    “I'm going to hazard a guess that it's a codename. Well at least it’s something.” Cash shrugged, flipping a golden coin into the unconscious Hare’s lap as the two began to leave the alley.

    “Hey by the way... what was up with them blowing up that gem?"

    "They're adventurers, Nico. They're all insane."