The Sixth

The Sixth

Bladedancer
Character Profile
Profile
Streets of the Ember were lively as ever as the Sixth shuffled his way through the crowd. A motley assortment of gamblers, knifehands, whores, and all the other miscreants who inhabited this wonderfully degenerate city. Cries of pain or pleasure echoed from each passing window. Most lamenting lost coin while some engaged in activities all too lurid. Whatever the vice, the Ember District could accommodate. And all that pleasure, misery, and most importantly, money was manipulated by the slick hands of the Cabal.

Storied like the Sixth's own cadre, they were of an altogether unique existence among the city's companies. They were exactly the type of folk needed for this new contract. It was often that other cadres sought out the services of the First and Last, but this required the opposite. Thus the mercenary found himself standing before the High Card; a three-tiered structure of both utility and opulence. The finest gambling den in the city as well as the unofficial headquarters of Crorefell's only true magecadre.

Vapors and smoke met him like welcome siblings. A quick glance round the room was all the mercenary needed. He stopped to grab a mug of the usual swill before anything else. Business was rarely done sober in these parts, or any if he was honest.

"So how much are you down this eve, Salamander?" chided the Sixth with a tone of familiarity.
 
An ember crackled at the end of a rillo roll and the thin wrap of tan leaf about grounded green burned all the shorter.

"Up sixty six pieces" the smoking Salamander said, lips half quirked in a grin as his teeth held down his vice. "Bout to be up sixty six more with you here,"A wash of purple haze poured from his mouth, and the wisps danced about dark eyes.

The dealer turned over the two cards that had been laid faced down upon the table.

A ten and a three writ upon the corners of the cards.

The Salamander showed a ten and prince. Dukes, Princes, and Kings were worth ten each. No way he was going to-

The dealer pulled their third card, set it onto the table. An eight.

"Dealer shows 21," a quick swipe of the hand scooped up the piles of coin stacked about the table.

Another pull on the rillo set its ember to burn, eating up the roll. A wash of purple smoke. "Fuck," he cursed. Huffed. "Anyone ever tell you you're bad luck, Six?" a low rumble of a laugh as he turned slow to face the man. Quick hands snagged a drink from a hostess, who walked on by. Hard spirits.

"I'll put it on your tab, Z," she said without missing a beat.

He grinned a stupid grin and nod as he took a sip.

"New hand," the dealer called,

Zalan turned, and set his drink down. Nudged his head to the seat beside him. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Six," he said, and slapped another silver onto the table.

Without a word, the dealer nod, and dealt out the next set of cards.
 
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"More than I care to admit," he quipped back with mock hurt. Dealing with sellswords usually meant luck was on the low and you were trying to buy your way out of it. Sometimes it worked, most times it got even worse. That was just the business. Like everything else, it had its good days and bad. The Sixth had come to tip the scales in favor of the former.

The mercenary shuffled into the adjacent seat as the dealer called for a new round. Dancer hesitated, keenly aware of just how light his purse currently was. It wasn't any secret that he enjoyed playing the odds, though he preferred rolling bones. Seems Salamander wanted to drag him down into the muck as well.

Well, whatever. He was going to be flush soon enough. "One hand," he stated as he too placed a silver on the table.

He began his explanation as the cards were being dealt. "Got a job that could use a few extra hands, Specialized hands. You and your lizards were the first that came to mind. The purse is...significant." This wasn't the place to discuss specifics and he wasn't even sure the man was interested. The Salamander wasn't exactly known for jumping at every opportunity. Dancer, however, really needed him to jump at this one.
 
A seven and a six.

Straight teeth poked through chapped lips."Well, you know what they say, Six," a tap tap on the old wood of the table. "Hit," he said to the dealer.

The dealer flicked out a card, flipped it smooth with a turn of the wrist. Showed five.

Zalan's hand cut the air. "We got the best hands in the business,"

The dealers eyes turned to Six, and they waited for the signs.

Bright did the cherry at the end of Zalan's rillo burn, his lungs pulled in a breath. "Tell me about the job," he said choked. Let out the air in a wash of sweet haze. "Then I'll hear about how significant this purse is,"
 
Nine and seven, just his fucking luck.

He sighed and followed up with the standard double tap. Dealer flipped the mercenary's newest card to reveal an eight. "Well that's good cause apparently my hands are shit." Hopefully this bust wasn't an omen of things to come.

The Sixth looked around and none were in earshot other than the dealer. He knew the staff of the High Card were vetted and expected to be discreet. 'Course what they heard always made it back to the Cabal but that wasn't really a concern in this instance. Traitors were hunted down like dogs so they were few and far between. Still, the mercenary was careful with his words. This was Crorefell and coin ruled all. "Job's up in Ceax. There's a particular vessel which is in need of a retrofit, a rather severe one."

Dancer allowed a moment for meaning to sink in. "If that sounds like it might be your flavor of shag, let's get out of here and I'll fill you in on the rest."
 
A click of the teeth. "Seax huh?" another puff of the roll, as he looked to the dealer, who showed a ten. Placed the next card. Flipped.

"Dealer shows twenty"

A prince.

Zalan grumbled, and slid forth a silver. "For the table," he said through his teeth. Got up and turned away. Plucked the roll of grass from his lips and scooped up his drink. "Could use myself a bit of honest work for a change," he half laughed as he looked down at the blue pool of spirit. "Color me interested," Took a drink from the coup and drained it dry. Left that on the table too.

They made for the door.

Stepped out onto the street, Zalan pulled the collar of his sapper's jacket. The bright flame colored serpent of his squadron emblazoned upon the back.

The noise of the Ember district came quick. From the quiet chaos of the High Card and its deck of vices, into the pit of sin itself. Not that there was anything wrong with a little sin every now and again. Trouble was, the real money never came from measured appetites.

"Fucking hate that place," he complained allowed. Tossed his roll unto the streets to see the cherry pop into sparks. "Everyone pays top dollar for bottom barrel smokes," he laughed, strides out the door. Pulled another roll from inside his jacket, and put it to his lips. Snapped his fingers to set fire to the end of the roll. "Drinks are alright though," he said with a pull, puff, pull. "Spose the staff ain't half bad either," he said with a laugh.

A drunkard laughed his way by. Near knocked into Zalan as he laughed his way up the street. His friends fast behind him.
 
The Sixth followed suit, draining his cup before heading out the heady doors of the High Card. He found the bustle of Ember's streets a welcome change considering the business at hand. Most were too busy or too drunk to pay heed to anything else. Enticement lingered a gentle hand out of every window. Catcall and threats made a simple conversation difficult to follow. The ideal place then to discuss a bit of skullduggery.

"Wouldn't exactly call it honest work but it's about as close as you're going to get," explained the mercenary with a knowing smirk. He took a quick glance around them before continuing. "A certain merchant commissioned a new vessel not too long ago. Got one already but apparently business has been good so for the second, best to get it done right."

A beggar tugged at his tunic, but the Sixth continued on. "Not going to be much of a surprise when I tell you this guy is a real bastard. Trades in 'cattle' as he calls them, not goods. Deep Empire ties from what I know." Once again, no surprises there. "As is, it's near done and paid up for. We make sure she never gets a glimpse of the Sea. No cattleferry and a deep hole in this bastard's purse."

He allowed himself a shrug. "That's the idea anyway."
 
A gruff laugh, as he played with a silver piece about his knuckles. This way and back. He flipped it towards the beggar, and it sparkled in silver arc, till it landed in the old man's hands.

The old man's eyes went wide, he looked up, but the pair of toughs were already down the way. A check left, a check right, he pocketed the bit of wealth, and hurried off to make good on it.

Some drunk somewhere was going to be short for the next round, and the thought made Zalan all too happy.

"Hell of an idea," the mercenary said with a smile playing across his lip. "See, I done heard about a cattleman, doing real well for himself these days," he took a puff of his smoke and blew it out the other end of his mouth. "Hired himself a fancy 'til shipwright and everything," he grinned. "So, now the question is," took another drag. Blew another trail of smoke behind them. "What's the pay?"
 
"Well, your lot has always been good with rumors," admitted the mercenary. Probably had something to do with their patrons being soaked to the gills. Loose lips and all that. The cadre really did have their hands in everything. Certainly useful but a little too enterprising for the Sixth's tastes. The current weight of his purse was about as far as the mercenary's ambitions went.

He slipped a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Zalan. The very same one the client handed to the Sixth not two days ago. Written there was a hefty sum. They'd come up flush even when considering the other salamanders' cuts. 'Course it made sense considering the ask. Had the potential to bring some proper heat on them if things went sour.

"So what's the call, in or out?"
 
Held betwixt burn marred hands, Zalan read the contract. Puffed on his roll of smoking herb. Heard it crackle and hiss at the end of the dried leaf that held it all together.

The parchment crinkled and flapped as fingers folded it fast together. Zalan slipped it into his jacket. "Color me interested, Six," he said with a grin full of smoke. Pinched at the roll, and dragged it into his lungs. "Very interested," he let out the purple haze in a curtain that flowed around them. "I'm in," he took another toke. Pushed out the smoke. "Have to run it by my crew, but you know, if the split is even as the full moons, shouldn't be too hard convincing them," he looked about. Plucked the spent end of his roll from his lips and flicked it down unto the street. "We the only hands you bringing on this?"
 
"Had a feeling you might." There weren't many who wouldn't have their head turned by the sum. Zalan could be a reluctant customer but he was a sellsword at the end of the day. A fat purse allowed for other luxuries after all, including the right to refuse. Something that most swordhands couldn't enjoy. Leaving all the whoring, gambling, and drinking aside, there were still other costs. Upkeep of armor and steel wasn't cheap, least if you weren't angling for a quick death. All this to say that the Sixth was pleased the Salamanders were onboard.

"For now, less you think otherwise," he added with a casual shrug. "If I'm being honest, I'm relying on you and the rest of your firebreathers. Me, well, I'm just here to make sure things run on schedule. That and a bit of extra muscle if needed," explained the mercenary with a small grin. Beyond that, the Sixth had connections through the Free States that could prove useful in the coming days.

"If you don't got any other questions, go talk to your crew. I've got a few folks to call on 'fore the night's ended. Meet me at the Blade's End 'round midday tomorrow. I'll have it cleared out so we can get into the real grit." The tavern was a favored spot of the First and Last. A standing arrangement was in place with the proprietor for these particular situations. "Feel free to bring the rest of your crew. They still gotta pay for their damned drinks though."
 
A chuff came from his throat. A smile he wore like a mask. Zalan thought on the Sixth's words, as all the City of Fools seemed to walk them by.

Busy in their own cloud, bidden for their own moon.

Zalan's smile turned grin. Wicked as it was sharp. "I'll be seeing ya then, Six," he said, with a small nod to the man. "Come midday, at the Blade's End," he flipped up the collar of his leathers, all the more snug against his neck, and ducked out of the way.

"I dunno Z," Inka, a halfling said shaky. "Its a big job,"

Z but puffed on his smoke as they made their way toward the End. The sun high overhead, and the air dry with a winter chill. "Big job, for big talent," he said with a grin.

A few of the Salamanders at his back laughed at that as they approached.

"For the First and the Last, no less, Inka," Bheni added. "Big rep, if we come through,"

"Biig rep," Z added.

"It's the big if, that I'm worried about," Inka added.

Cutter, big, broad shouldered bastard who hardly seemed to make a sound as he walked, but nod. "Wise to worry,"

"If only we got paid to be wise," Z smiled.
 
The Sixth set off towards the Gold Quarter after he'd seen the back of the salamander. As much as he'd like to see the soft side of his bed, a few matters still remained. A job like this didn't get done easy and not without a little investment. His employer had made funds available to be used at the mercenary's discretion. The Sixth wouldn't have agreed to the contract otherwise. You didn't just walk up to a ship and send it to the abyss. Lot of eyes and ears on something that big. Attention that needed to be sent anywhere but their direction. That sort of persuasion didn't come cheap, or at least it wasn't coming out of his purse.

Didn't take him long to find himself at the Steel Reserve. Greedy bastards usually tried to take a cut but they didn't give the sellsword any trouble this time 'round, and that's what worried him. Seemed they weren't keen to cross whoever made this particular deposit. The Sixth was too damned tired to think on it anymore and headed back for a night's rest.

He'd found himself at the 'End a little before midday, tavern empty just as ordered.

Dancer ordered the usual swill as he awaited the salamander and his slithering ilk.
 
Come the door open, come a bell's ring. The Salamanders slithered their way in to the End, one after the other they stood in a semblance of order. Inka and Cutter made way for their Captain, who stepped up to the Sixth with a grin on his face, and a sharp look in his eye, behind the yellow tint of his goggles. "Afternoon, Six," Zalan said, too cheerful by half. "You're acquainted with this lot, aye?" he threw his head back over his left shoulder.

Inka, Sargeant Cutter and Bheni nod to the Sixth.

"A pleasure to be workin with you again, Sixth," the Sargeant affirmed.

Bheni didn't say much, but kept his eyes the Dancer, while Inka stood at attention.

"Figured a four fingered hand would be the right number for this escapade," Zalan assured. He moved toward a long table, jut a chin toward the bartender. "Fried, how about a round for the Sappers, huh?"
 
"Including myself, makes us a proper fist," he chuckled back. The Salamander had the right of it, five was a good number. Small enough to move about quietly but enough hands if things got messy. Other cadres tended to get caught up in numbers, usually trying to prove who packed the biggest blade. He had to admit that worked for most in this city. After all, sellswords were rarely, if ever, considered the greatest minds of their time. The Sixth preferred to keep things simple, the gods knew he had enough enemies as it was and there were only seven others to watch his back.

"Been a spell since our last job Sargeant, hopefully things go the same this time round." Their last contract had gone surprisingly smoothly, a damned rarity in this line of work. Sometimes you stepped in shit and kept walking, other times you drowned.

The Sixth reached into his tunic and pulled a scroll of parchment out. He unfurled it on the table before them before looking up to Zalan. "You give this lot the rundown yet or should I start from the top? Don't want to waste anytime if they know the score." Always best to keep things clear upfront. Folks making assumptions and taking liberties is how things tended to go sour real fast.
 
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