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[3.1] | A Dose of Dockside Digging

    LOOPY LUPATE DUCKS UNION TALKS...AGAIN

    MINING TYCOON Osman de Lupate has stood up representatives from the Argent Miners Federation (AMF) for a second successive week. The outspoken House Lupate patriarch, rumoured to be a member of Trocari's Oathbound Syndicate, was spotted leaving the city via skyship before dawn on Juedía morning. While his spokesperson put his absence down to 'pre-arranged business matters', critics of Trocari's wealthiest mining boss were quick to point out his past record of sending his eldest son, Renado de Lupate, to deputise in financial dealings.

    AMF sources decried the snub as 'further proof of House Lupate's bloody-minded bad faith' throughout the resolution process. Neither Mr de Lupate nor his son responded to requests for comment.

    - Espolvo-Xantes, Gala, Trocari Sundial, 19 Veranes 383 3E, p. 6

*

    Breakfast came courtesy not of Sir Steele's trap-loaded abode, but of a nameless open-air kitchen picked out at Arlo's insistence. "Trust me. It's clean enough, and the greybeard's paying for it anyway."

    Situated on a rooftop overlooking Trocari's sprawling docklands, the kitchen's tables stood completely exposed to the rising sun save for a lone canvas cover held up in one corner by withered awning. Plumes of coal-black smoke hissed free from the broad, deep stone fire pit at the kitchen's centre, the occasional fan of white-hot sparks popping through the grill to singe the mismatched wooden benches nearby. Every breath invited a deluge of scents, ranging from suffocating smoke and dripping sweat to revitalising herbs and spices that sang at the back of the throat. Gravel-pocked dust scraped under the hustling of busy feet.

    According to the cracked slate sign hung by the entrance staircase, today's breakfast was smoked fish, grilled root vegetables, and fried wild greens. Though the plate's contents were dubiously brown at first glance, the meat and vegetables were pleasingly tender, and a soft twist of citrus perked the senses up against the tiring heat.

    Talwyn plunged her fork back into her breakfast. Secluded in the shade of Kerensa's shadowy parasol, the experience recalled countless afternoon picnics taken under the boughs of the ancient oaks that encircled Honeydew Ranch. Short of hiding within their lodgings, it was the most comfortable she had felt since she had arrived in the city.

    "Can I ask you something?" she began, looking up from her plate across the bench. "Was your boss that...intense when he hired you for the first time too?"

    Giving up his chase of a final charred turnip chunk around his shallow clay bowl, Darius huffed and set his fork down. "Absolutely, though him cornering you in a fight was a new one on me," he said between sips of water from his small earthen cup. His soft lips pursed, revealing the spectre of a scar along the corner of his mouth. "He's a mystery, for sure. We've worked with him for close to a year now, and we don't know much more about him than you two do."

    "And don't think we haven't been trying," Tangle added from her perch on the bench's table, her legs crossed. Rings of maroon leaves looped around her ankles and wrists, strings of blossoming ivy twisting throughout. "I even tried hiding in the laundry hamper while he and his pal Grisha were talking. All I found out there was that old dwarf socks get gross when it's way too hot out."

    "So, if he didn't attack you in his cosy study, then what was your 'trial'?" Packed in amidst crowds of tall, burly dock workers, Kerensa's body shrank to a gaunt sliver between the table and seat. Threading thin tendrils of darkness from her parasol's handle between her fingers, she searched the trio's faces for answers, a sly smile forming on her dark lips. "I've got it! You fought each other instead, didn't you?"

    The lines of Darius' jaw hardened. His tone soured. "Something like that."

    Aftershocks from an emotional quake hit Talwyn's head, yet they were different. These feelings had shape, had logic. Instead of battering her senses all at once, they first drifted slowly into her perception, skipping like loose stones down a craggy mountainside. There was one beat, then two, then four, and then there was an avalanche crashing down with enough momentum to blast the ground out from below her feet.

    Even in the grip of a new, strange experience, Talwyn knew this feeling. It was guilt, and it ran deep.

    "What I can promise you, however, is that Steele is as good as his word," Darius continued, ignorant to the cyclone whipping in Talwyn's mind. He tapped her hand and, with the flicker of his sunlit smile, the emotional storm scattered into the wind like aimless cries. "Provided we find the information we need here, you'll be strolling into the Pallad Library without a hitch. I'd bet my harp on it."

    "Interesting choice. Is it expensive?" With stars sprinkled within her eyes, Kerensa's bony fingers crept towards Darius' harp. Only the slinking of his protective arm around his belongings dissuaded her curiosity, and a wave of her hand summoned her next train of thought. "I must say, this Steele doesn't seem like the type to have many 'friends', least of all any in high places."

    Murmurs of recognition mingled between the trio, and Darius cleared his throat. "He's...odd, definitely, but the shipping business comes with a lot of networking," he said, a genuine awe raising the tails of his syllables. "He's got contacts all over the place, and he's proven to be rather persuasive when he wants to be."

    It was the delicate airs of amber and wild blossom that tapped into Talwyn's senses first. They unfurled sweeping tapestries in her mind of glittering lands far from Trocari, rich with verdant glades and creatures as yet unnamed by Common-speaking naturalists. Yet they were not far, but in front of her – right in front of her, where Darius leaned close, the cool springs of his eyes flowing directly into hers. His touch brushed against her glove.

    When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "Stick with us, and you'll get what you need. I promise."

    A breathless nod was all the response Talwyn could muster.

    Darius winked, fell back onto the bench, and clapped his hands. "Right! We should get going. No time like the present, right?"

    With an approving cheer, Arlo shovelled down the remnants of their huge platter and slammed the dish on the bench. A skinny human peered at the dragonborn from their hunched position, yet the sight of Arlo's polished hammer kept their protests firmly on their tongue. As the group left, Tangle grinned and waved back at them from the top of the staircase.

    It did not take long for Trocari's heaving harbours to announce themselves. Rows of arcane-powered barges and paddling rafts paraded up the river, their order shifting to align with their chosen dock or travel further into the jungle. At the call of an approaching foghorn, the riverside's living machine burst into action to whip up a storm of sliding ropes, rattling chains, and crates slamming onto groaning carts. Dour-faced dockhands disappeared into a flurry of bustling bodies, hopping freely across the ranks of water-slick wooden jetties. Even when the sun dimmed behind the mists that rose past the dormant stone lanterns and dangling cables, the river's dark surface glinted with radiant, inviting light. Tall, bronze-trimmed warehouses loomed over the cobblestone riverbank.

    Yet for once, the noise of an effervescent crowd was not the direst strain on Talwyn's mind. That accolade went to the piercing stares and furrowed brows that followed the troop along the harbour, though their cause only became clear as the rush of docking vessels calmed. Save for the fleeting glimpses of a vessel's crew, she and her group were the only individuals not in guard uniforms or plain dockhand clothing. They stood out like poisonous flora, and the river's usual crew were only too happy to make that clear.

    "What are we supposed to do here, exactly?" Talwyn asked, her nerves tensing between the ebbing and flowing tides of labourers. The fixed eyes of the rare idle dockhands burned into her skin, and she folded her arms to keep her scars hidden. "It's not like we can just walk up and ask to see the guard shifts."

    "Not with that attitude, we can't." Hammer rested along their shoulders, Arlo walked through the docks with a well-matured blend of indifference and wariness, noting the ogling onlookers without confronting their stares. They slipped to Darius' side and slapped their leathery hand on their comrade's back. "Ready for your cue, my lord?"

    The question summoned up a history, and its ancient age wilted Darius' spine on the spot. "That old act again? Can't we try a new routine for once?"

    Arlo's vicious teeth glinted in a broad grin. "No. Absolutely not."

    Muttering an indecipherable string of words under his breath, Darius reluctantly smoothed the kinks and creases out of his royal blue cloak. As soon as an individual in sturdy, bronze-trimmed steel armour passed by, he fixed his hat, puffed out his chest, and waltzed towards them with one finger wagging wildly. "You there! Guard!"

    The guard-presenting individual did not stop her steady stroll along the docks.

    "Excuse me, ma'am," Darius spat over the sound of his stomping foot. For a man who had barely raised his voice in Talwyn's presence, the swiftness with which he shifted emotional gears was dizzying. "I need the person in charge of patrols here right now."

    "If you're after the captain round these parts, you got her," the woman said, firmly planting her spear's handle into the flagstones between her and Darius. A tall, russet-skinned human with braids of dark, voluminous hair tumbling over her yellow bandanna, the warmth of her tired brown eyes waned as she resigned to the inevitable interaction. "Guard Captain Salahara at your service. What's up? You need to report something?"

    "Yes, actually. I'd like to report your shockingly inadequate security arrangements." With another exaggerated huff, Darius raised an accusatory finger at Salahara. The guard captain refused to budge, and he eventually pulled back and cleared his throat. "Yesterday evening, some miscreant broke into one of my crates on your watch. I demand to know who was meant to be watching over dock 29 at that time!"

    A flick of Salahara's muddy yellow cape was the only immediate response. In the silence that followed, the rich morning light bounced off the emblem that clasped the captain's cloak to her polished, imposing armour. Cast in bright gold lines on a dark steel base, three triangular peaks intersected as they rose towards a smooth arc, a single star marking the negative space between them. It was a city-wide symbol that would cross the path of even a flying visit to Trocari. This was the emblem of the Oathbound Syndicate, an unspoken reminder of the ruling body whose interests the city's security truly served.

    Though holding her peace, Salahara spent the silence sizing Darius up, a pensive finger on her lips. She paid no mind to the rest of the troop, no matter how much sunlight Kerensa let fall over her gaunt features. "Yeah, no. I'm not gonna discuss our rota with civilians," she said, flicking a clutch of thick metal-ringed braids from her face. Streaks of forest green body paint rounded her cheekbones, and two deep pink gashed scars formed a cross shape over one of her eyes. "Especially not to unannounced drifters like yourself. Take it up with the Justicium if you're so worked up, sir. I gotta get back to my real job."

    Darius had feigned outrage to start the exchange, yet the frustration in his voice gained whole degrees of sincerity as the guard moved to brush past him. "Unannounced? Then excuse me while I announce myself appropriately," he cried loudly enough to call the attention of the nearby labouring dockhands. "I am Lord Snodberry Qua'Fell, visiting this so-called 'city' from the Bone Lagoons of Darsinia on business. Syndicate business, that is."

    "Good for you. Doesn't change the facts, though, buddy." The breeze picked up over the river, and Salahara swatted a spiralling flying insect away without taking her eyes off Darius. "I wouldn't be captain if I gave shift details out to anybody that asked. Come back with permission from your Syndicate pals, then I'll be all ears."

    "I'll do you one better," Darius retorted, a slight satisfied smirk glossing over his lips. "I'll get Nafayed Modiah himself down here, and you can explain to him why you're covering for your slacker staff!"

    It was an unfamiliar name, yet it was one Salahara clearly knew. With one crack of her steel-clad knuckles, any rubbernecking workers snapped back to their tasks. Another crack followed as she came face-to-face with Darius, the wrinkles in her face murmuring of years and years of experience. The gold ring through her septum dazzled in the sunlight. "Real cute, sweetheart. Did you just try to threaten me?"

    The captain's grip tightened around her spear, as did Arlo's hold on their hammer. Unnoticed during the exchange, Tangle had tucked herself behind a stack of empty pallets, and she peeked out at two more guards that approached from further down the docks. Even Kerensa lowered her parasol's veil to cover herself and Talwyn, droplets of dark energy trickling between her fingers.

    There was no sign of Salahara wanting to avoid confrontation. If anything, she was keen to start a fight herself at any hint of overt aggression.

    "This doesn't have to get ugly, okay?" Rushing adrenaline fired tremors along Talwyn's limbs. She yanked Darius out of the captain's personal space, pouring every beat of her thumping heart into willing her companion to remain still. "We just want to know if they saw anything we can follow up on. Just a quick private chat – that's all we're asking for."

    "You're right." Darius' act slipped, and a smattering of shock coloured the rest of his shaking words. "As my ever-eloquent business partner says, we're really hoping to resolve this matter amicably. Any rough-housing would reflect terribly on all of us. You understand, don't you?"

    Whirring arcane engines ground against Talwyn's nerves, their constant pale green tinge stinging her overworked eyes. The light was not a welcome distraction, not when she needed to watch the coiled-up guard captain opposite her for her next move. Beneath her pounding pulse, the clanking of armoured boots approached, slowing without wavering at the possibility of trouble ahead. A collective gasp claimed the riverside's breath, and the first pools of swampy fear bubbled against Talwyn's ever-present mental guard.

    Salahara cast a glance over her shoulder at the incoming patrollers, and her free hand pinched at the bridge of her nose. "I don't want to hear shit about this again, got it?" she said as she waved the other guards away with a groan. She looked down the ranks of heaving jetties, a rainbow of identifying flags flapping in the wind. "Dock 29's on the north end, and you're talking about yesterday evening so...that would've been Friese. He's probably in the bunkhouse doing his morning chores now. Come on, before I change my mind."

    As the captain led them to a cluster of buildings further along the docks, Darius fell into step beside Talwyn. "Nice save there," he said, bumping the sorcerer's arm with his elbow. The frustrated heat had fled from him, and it was not anger but a devilish glee that glinted in his eye as he snapped his fingers. "Don't worry, we weren't really about to get into serious trouble. I've got more than one way to charm my way past stubborn soldiers."

    With that light, that sound, the truth of the plan clicked into Talwyn's mind. Rather than talking their way into finding out the information they needed, Darius wanted to get Salahara close and emotional enough to hit her with a befriending charm. It was a bold ploy and, despite the half-elf's confidence, one with a strict time limit. Such magics did not last forever, and they made no secret of their use once they expired.

    A flash of light caught Talwyn's eye. She followed the glimmer to its source, a gloomy side-alley that the dock workers had repurposed into a makeshift storage area for loose boxes and loaded carts. As she approached, the sound of dripping liquid trickled by her ear, and a faint scent of damp and mould infected her cautious breaths. Discarded crate lids spat their splinters over the wet cobblestones, and legions of small grey lice scurried between the stone brick walls. At her feet, globules of rotten ooze shone with slick, trailing light.

    "Talwyn?" Kerensa called out from the steps to the docklands' administrative buildings. Though the others stepped off the staircase, she lingered, eager to make sure her friend heeded her words. "Are you coming, darling?"

    The alleyway's acrid stench laced every inch of Talwyn's mouth and sinuses, and the more her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the more lice she saw crawl over the mouldy floor. As the swarm grew gag-inducingly large, she shook off the fetters of her morbid curiosity and waved to her friend on the stairs. "Yeah, I'm coming. Let's get what we need and get the hell out of here."

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