Merchant Quest

[EnigmaticD]

I promise I won't leave this for dead this time, guys.
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It is the third month of Winter – Hallowed Month – in the 12th year of King Luciano IV, and you are a merchant of some renown. You aren’t so successful that you can manipulate the law, or so unsuccessful that you are scrambling for deals, but you live rather comfortably, if frugally. You, as one of the many journeymen who happened to draw unlucky lots, had to pay for your own business cards this year. This wouldn’t usually be a problem, but the incompetent local printer didn’t do a good job with the cards.

He got the template down swimmingly: pretentious border, Caviella Merchant’s Guild, Journeyman Merchant after the names, all of the bells and whistles like that. The thing missing was the names. Every single card had no name on it, and so, instead of celebrating with your fellows at the Rosa in Rovo, you have been copying your own name onto cards for the past two hours.

Two.

Hours.

Your day is getting better, though: it’s only noon, and you’re already on your last card, ready to hand out your personalized identifier to whatever literate individuals require your swift and satisfactory services. Just have to put down your name, which is...

Hold on one second, you’re thinking.

Any minute now.

You wonder why something as illogical as forgetting something you spent the last two hours writing down exclusively, you realize that you just have to look at the rest of the freaking cards. Alright, then, reading card number two hundred and forty nine...

What’s your name?

[gman391]

Niccola de Vraldi

[Aldraia Dragonsong]

Mercutio Salvatore!

[Magnificate]

Miranda Mille

We were sold faulty goods. I trust we recovered at least a portion of our money? If not, take steps to do so.

[Wittgen]

Big McLargehuge XVII

[serbii]

Big McLargehuge XVII

Spoiler: show

Slab Bulkhead
Fridge Largemeat
Punt Speedchunk
Butch Deadlift
Bold Bigflank

Splint Chesthair
Flint Ironstag
Bolt Vanderhuge
Thick McRunfast
Blast Hardcheese

Buff Drinklots
Trunk Slamchest
Fist Rockbone
Stump Beefgnaw
Smash Lampjaw

Punch Rockgroin
Buck Plankchest
Stump Chunkman
Dirk Hardpeck
Rip Steakface

Slate Slabrock
Crud Bonemeal
Brick Hardmeat
Rip Sidecheek
Punch Sideiron

Gristle McThornBody
Slake Fistcrunch
Buff Hardback
Bob Johnson
Blast Thickneck

Crunch Buttsteak
Slab Squatthrust
Lump Beefrock
Touch Rustrod
Reef Blastbody

Big McLargeHuge
Smoke Manmuscle
Beat Punchbeef
Pack Blowfist
Roll Fizzlebeef

....

[doc.exe]

Mercutio Salvatore!

I like this one.

[Tempest Kitsune]

Thirding Mercutio.

[EnigmaticD]

Yes, that’s right. You first used this name eight years ago, the first time you came here, when you thought up a bunch of Tiberian names that ended up sounding kind of like a mess when mushed together, but you think it’s fancy enough. You are Mercutia Salvatore da Vraldi. It fits, since Mercutia denotes you’re a female, Salvatore sounds fancy enough to be a noble and mundane enough to be a commoner, and Vraldi is the city you are currently in. Much better than your old name, Bigetta McLargehuge XVII of Clan Rockgroin. Oh, you forgot to mention, you’re a dwarf. Not the tragic kind, where you’re a baby born small and disproportional, but the ones who are basically mountain hillbillies. The kind which, if their families knew they were doing useless things like running goods from here to there, instead of building or killing things, they would passive-aggressively attack you on every family reunion.

You look away from the meticulous stack of signed cards and to the small reparations package that you received. Only seven lira. You tried to get more for damages, but due to the exceptional job of raising you to have the social graces of an agitated badger, you had to leave the shop before you ended up killing the only printer in town. Maybe, if you save up enough money, you could break the monopoly with your own shop, and end up using better quality control, thus driving him out of business. First things first, though, you have to draw out a plan for today.

You could go to the guild, to see if you have any requests or open contracts, or you could go your favorite bar/place of ill repute, the aforementioned Rosa in Rovo. Or you could just stay inside, because it’s extremely cold outside and you can’t be bothered to go anywhere. You should also probably take a few cards, in case you meet foreign, literate businessmen outside. What do you do?

Spoiler: show

Inventory:
27 lira
green summer outfit (worn)
green hat with feather (+1 Charm, worn)
quill (held in hand)
satchel (strapped to waist)
knife (in satchel)

Stats:
Name: Mercutia Salvatore da Vraldi
Race: Dwarf
Age: 21
Grit (physical prowess): +4
Wit (mental prowess): +2
Charm (social prowess): -7

[doc.exe]

I vote for going to the gild.

[gman391]

Guild works for me.

[EnigmaticD]

Right. You’re a responsible young lady. No dallying around with drinking, and no lazing about because it’s cold. First, though, you have to get dressed right. You go over to your wardrobe and pick out a more suitable outfit: a heavy, green, fur-lined jacket with a pair of thick, fur-lined brown trousers, and heavy brown boots. Worn with a puffy shirt, it’s basically the same as your summer outfit, except warmer. You’re curious as to why you didn’t have it on earlier.

With preparation done, you go out of the door. You’re ready to go out, get your payment from last month’s jobs, and then get more jobs, in order to get money. All of the money. All of it. Just gotta walk down this alley to get a shortcut to oh god scary thugs ahead.

In the middle of the alley you see a face that you didn’t want to run into right now. A cold, dark-eyed, dark-haired face, a face you saw eight years ago, the face that gave you a loan for the house. Like you, he is a dwarf, but unlike you, he was involuntarily exiled, no longer able to see his old friends or family ever again. He told you as much when you first met him. That was before you took out a loan from the Fortunato Merchant’s Guild coffers.

The Fortunato deal in what they call “investment and loans” and what others usually call “loan sharking,” with an interesting setup, with bigger loan sharks preying on the smaller ones, and eventually, all the money reaches the top. For very obvious reasons, the Caviella don’t like them, and neither do you. Your local debt collector, Vincenzo, has been stopping by for about fifteen lira a week for the past eight years, and the time until it’s paid off keeps on growing.

“So,” the dark-eyed dwarf says, “Payment?”

You’ve got enough in your pocket, but what if a tax collector comes by? Or what if yet another loan shark comes up? Or what if freaking lightning strikes you, and the only thing to save you is a large amount of metal at the right time?

Your response?

Spoiler: show

Vincenzo Stats:
Weapon: Cleaver (+1 Grit)
Armor: Ratleather Overcoat (+.5 Grit)

Modifiers:
Grit: +7.5
Wit: +3
Charm: -6


Thug Stats:
Weapon: Improvised Spear (+2 Grit)
Armor: Tattered Rags (0 Grit)

Modifiers:
Grit: +6
Wit: 0
Charm: -3

[Aldraia Dragonsong]

I say we pay up now and start making plans to pay him off completely as soon as possible. Being in debt is never good.

[doc.exe]

Try to be reasonable with him (if possible). Say we don't have the money, but that we will. We were going to the guild right now. We will pay him later.

If that doesn't work... How many thugs does he have again?

[Wittgen]

We have a cleaver. The dude is short. I think the solution to our "little" problem is clear.

[serbii]

"Look over there!"
Then run like hell! :D

[EnigmaticD]

We have a cleaver. The dude is short. I think the solution to our "little" problem is clear.

You are temporarily Vincenzo Aliamatta, formerly Skullgrinder Slabsmasher of Clan Deadlift, exiled for getting angry with your neighbor and accidentally decapitating him with your bare hands. You are incredibly strong, due to being five parts dwarf, one part giant and ten parts complete freak of nature. You live in a one room apartment in the poor end of town, the only place of rent that you can afford without having your friends in the Fortunato come over, five on each limb, and start beating you senseless as a subtle motivator to start paying your debt. To do this, you use a time-tested strategy: rally up a bunch of suckers and have them all pay a portion of the debt, with some of the payment added on, depending on how mmuch they tick you off or if they're rich enough to pay it. This strategy has kept you alive and with your kneecaps for the past eight years. Ah, here comes one of your more regretful acquisitions on your debtor list. Things might have been a bit different if you hadn't joined a group of ruthless and greedy, kneecapping happy recursive debt collectors. You're wondering exactly why you did that yourself. You were probably drunk or otherwise not in possession of your mental faculties. Ah, well, no more regrets for now. You had to give up your pocket change to buy a cleaver hire three thugs to stand around you so that you look vicious, so you've got to get at least a few more indigents to have food for the week.

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You are Mercutia again. You're scared witless because of the three thugs in front of you, combined with the freak of nature with a cleaver leading them. You count out the amount of lira in your pockets in your head. Twenty seven. He was last here about two weeks ago. That would make... you're three short. You happened to not have enough money when the debt collector comes around. The thugs in front of you are not exceptionally bright looking, so maybe a ruse, or possibly even a... distaction. Sorry, distraction. Your dwarvish accent pops up in your thoughts occasionally, and it makes things hard on you when it does. What to use for the distraction, though? You decide to go for the oldest trick in the book.

"Hey, look over there!" you shout, pointing randomly off to your right.

Distaction Score: d20+Wit+Complexity = 18

Thug 1 Attention span (d20+Wit): 17
Thug 2 Attention Span: 15
Thug 3 Attention Span: 14
Vincenzo Attention Span: 7

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Well, that is a very shiny wall. It looks like whoever cleaned this part of the city did a very great job. Now if we could just go back to -- ancestors damn it!

It's official: you are the worst loan shark imaginable. You take it easy on your debtors, you hire thugs without preparing to use them, and worst of all, you just fell for the oldest trick in the book. You fell for it hard. Looks like you'll have to supplement your diet with rats again. At least those are free.

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You arrive at the relative safety of the your guildhall, a vast, cathedral-style building sitting on an even vaster piece of land. One of the leading causes for housing expenses in Vraldi. You say "relative safety" because they will pretty much move you out if the person at the gates asks politely enough. You have got to work on financial management options in order to consolidate your debt and thus make it more manageable. First, though, your hard earned lira awaits.

Sitting at the desk is Perrino, the chief clerk, and pretty much the person who helps you get the stuff you need. As always, instead of doing something useful like balancing checkbooks, he's staring at lithographed copies of a new set of budding artists, with the majority of them being nude studies, judging by the intensity with which he is reading said copies. His concentrated stares at the freshly inked copies are starting to make you uncomfortable. Your mother always warned you about stares, bro.

Action?

[serbii]

You know I don't think we should be ashamed of our real name, Bigetta McLargehuge XVII of Clan Rockgroin is a kickass name. Our ancestors didn't get those rock groins for us to be ashamed of their name!

Looking over his shoulder "Oh wow, Manager looks like he's on a war path today..."

[Wittgen]

This could work for us. It's been a stressful morning.

"Hey big boy, want find out why they call us Rockgroin?" Slowly start to unbutton shirt and slink towards whats his name. Slinking meaning a slow, slightly limping shuffle. Also, our buttons are kind of tricky, so our tongue will probably be poking out of the side of our mouth a little in concentration. We can't worry about that with the very real possibility of tripping while distracted lies in front of us.

If we make it to the desk, jump on top of it and writhe around a bit. Guys love the writhing.

[doc.exe]

Mmm... As awesome as our real name might sound, I can picture most of those petty snobbish nobles not wanting to do business with someone with our surname. Our fake name has a practical purpose.

Also, while trying to seduce the guy in the desk might work in our favor, he seems to be a creep, what with reading por... I mean, "lithography" like that in public.

Let's just keep a cold, business like attitude, claim our money and ask for any new assignment if they have any.

[LifeOfGesture]

Well doc, we could be reasonable or we could be AWESOME.

But let's be reasonable. I say go with serbii's way.

[EnigmaticD]

You know I don't think we should be ashamed of our real name, Bigetta McLargehuge XVII of Clan Rockgroin is a kickass name. Our ancestors didn't get those rock groins for us to be ashamed of their name!

But... it's uncivilized, because, ah... you're not really sure why. Is it because it's foreign? That sounds right. All foreigners are uncivilized rabble, and not having a true Tiberian name means you aren't a true Tiberian, and thus worthy of being respected by your fellows. /hypocrisy

Also, while trying to seduce the guy in the desk might work in our favor, he seems to be a creep, what with reading por... I mean, "lithography" like that in public.

Lithography? You're not entirely sure what that is. You are, however, certain it isn't native to Renaissance Italy or its fictional analogues, unless the writer made a critical research error.
He did.

In order to get Perrino off of his butt and away from his "appreciation of the artistic interpretation of the human form," you will have to tell a lie. You'll have to tell a lie that ends up convincing Perrino.
Persuasion Roll (Charm+Wit+d20) = 13
Gullibility Roll (Wit+d20) = 17

"Hey, isn't that one of the Overseers, taking a warpath over here?"

Perrino doesn't turn, but he does look up from the sheaf of copies. "Don't even joke about something like that."

Perrino sticks the copies in a drawer on his desk and turns his chair to face you. He grins playfully, and says, in a somewhat sing-song tone, "How are you doing today?"

You're not about to deal with any more BS this morning. You just want to get your mail, look over the contracts this week, and get your money. You cross your arms and frown to show him you're not going to endure any shenanigans from him. Since you're roughly the size of a child, the effect is lessened somewhat. He takes the hint, though, and immediately takes out a large envelope with "M. SALVATORE" scrawled onto it. Perrino opens it up, and sorts out the contents.

"You've got three types of mail here. You have notifications for payment in this pile, stamped in green. Over here is the Board's notifications on your payments, meaning how much you actually receive, stamped in red. Here, stamped in white, is something non-guild. I didn't read its contents, but... I can pretty much tell it's family."

A feeling of dread hits you. Your family? Recieving a letter from them ten days before Hallowed Yule Tidings Eve? That means one thing and one thing only: they're visiting. They're visiting hard. They're visiting very, very soon.

What do you read first?

[serbii]

None, we go to the book shop and get "The bad daughter's guide to hiding from her relatives" and memorise it.
Sigh.
Go the family letter, let's see the damage.

[LifeOfGesture]

Look at our family first, then the rest. Then suddenly become an Adventurer.

[EnigmaticD]

You brace yourself for the letter, opening it up.

Dear Bigetta, or whatever your name is now,

They did not approve of your name change at all.

We're going to be coming down again this year for Chunktide. You remember, our "barbaric celebration" where we celebrate the victory of our ancestor, Thane Chunk McLargehuge, over the invading Nordic Orcs, the one that happens to coincide with your silly human holiday about the birth of some man in the desert who allegedly saved everyone.

More casual, passive-agressive sacrilege. Typical.

We're bringing everyone out of the fortress today, from your brothers to your cousins, and even Uncle Urist. You remember him, don't you?

Uncle Urist had been wounded before you were born in the Battle of Boatmurdered Syrupleaf (your fortress, named by an obviously insane person). He lost one arm, and became physically and mentally incontinent. Your fondest childhood memories of him were when he was asleep or abroad, and all the others were memories of him breaking things at random, shaking you down for beer money, and hiding under tables screaming "Elephant!"
You remember him.

We all have Festivity Hats picked out, and we made sure that yours was the best one.

Festivity hats, without exception, are always tacky and silly looking, even by the standards of gnomes. Freaking gnomes.

Let's hope that Chunktide is better this year, okay, sweetheart?

It won't be.

Your loving mother,
Bigetta McLargehuge XVI of Clan Rockgroin

When you put down the letter, Perrino is grinning widely. He hands you an invoice.

You read it, and find out that your total share for two jobs that gave your clan about two hundred lira apiece is exactly 52 lira. This doesn't really cheer you up.

What now?