Mr. Shredder meets a bulk leather dealer named Oarsen Rool, a Brelish man of some girth. He smokes cigars through the night, and talks to you about the bulk goods business, feeding factories, and so on. Oarsen specializes in bulk deals, purchasing slaughterhouses and tanneries for his own supply chain and then delivering orders to major factories. He could get Mr. Shredder a 20% wholesalers discounts on large orders of over 1000 galifars, or a 5% discount on orders over 50 galifars, so long as he isn't fussy about the color.
The conversation had just turned to leather shipping and ways to measure potential increases in workplace accidents if a chemical tanner was installed aboard a ship when another figure joined in. He was a slim hobgoblin in a red, gold, and black leather jacket with pointed coat tails and a top hat. His suit ended just past his elbows, revealing sword-shaped scars seared into his forearms, marking him as one of the Kech Sharaat, an elite clan of warriors who's leader bears the Sword of the True King.
"Too vulnerable to accident. You would lose too many goods." He said, before introducing himself as Drush'ar. In truth, he'd come to more closely examine some of the paintings, but found something of a kinship with the pair.
The one that had caught Drush'ar's eyes was a depiction of the Day of Mourning, when Cyre was devoured by fog and stricken from the earth. The tone and light show the scene as somehow beautiful, with a group of hobgoblins watching on from a cliffside. Long subjects of the state of Galifar, the state of Darguun had begun rebellion against it's colonial overlords during the final decades of the war. With Cyre's end, they had won their freedom. Humans felt it was in poor taste to celebrate what happened, however it affected the hobgoblin nation.
Another nearby was a surreal impressionist piece. It was a colorful depiction of an airship in flight, the elemental ring itself depicted as a captured piece of sky, like cloth pulled through a buckle about the ship, made somehow seamless through the brilliant impressionist whorls of blues and whites that made up the sky. It seemed to nearly glow, and although the airship felt out of place, it was only through the magnificence of it's surroundings.
The last was a portrait. It was of a goblin worker, tired, a little defeated, a bit bored, looking slackjaw with a cigarette between his lips. His skin was clearly dirty, sooty from his labor job, and he showed signs of beginning to age. His sullen and serious appearance gave the portrait a strange kind of beauty that bellied all of it's features, as if to show you the life he'd led, and how it had colored him.
While Shredder considered, the conversation drifted towards piracy at sea, at air, and by the void. Shredder had heard rumors of space pirates, and whether the company intended to engage in some piracy of their own, or merely guard against it, the possibility was intriguing. Shredder found himself with a few other prominent members discussing naval history, privateering, and the connection between military readiness and profit.
The night, eventually, ended. Shredder left with his painting. He paused as someone was carried out. "I'm afraid he may have oversampled this month's vintages." A white gloved servant apologized to the operator, a halfling magewright. A bag of coins was proffered, and an address given.
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Topic: House of Storms (Read 44011 times)