Open Chronicles A Treasure Fleet Arrives in Alliria

[Azmelqar]

Hernan's eyes drifted to the bouquet of shrunken heads. A bouquet of shrunken heads. Now there was a sentence, a descriptor, Hernan had never thought would cross his mind. But there they were, dangling in the rafters, faces contorted in agony. Or shrunkenness.

It was difficult to tell, and a part of him suspected that was, indeed, the point.

But Hernan had a sword, and had seen far worse than shrunken heads.

"It sounds more like I'm paying to maintain your aura of mystique than hiring a translator," Hernan snorted. "A tongue and a memory. Good grief.

Hernan straightened his jacket haughtily, and gave a dubious, short bow. "I'll be on my way. Enjoy your hovel."

He marched off, curtain rattling behind him.

---
​

Wonderful Júlio was shaking his handkerchief over the street, airing it out, when Hernan emerged from the shack. He quickly jammed it back into his breast pocket and attempted to look alert. "Nnnyeh, did you-"

"No," Hernan said, quite quickly. "This was a con, as usual."

Júlio inhaled sharply through his nose, a wet and disgusting sound.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

Júlio sniffled, and began to pull out his handkerchief again. "There is, nnnhng, another thing worth looking into, while we're here..."

 

[Fennec]

"Mwee-reen," Maziri had maintained her silent aura of mystique until the man fully exited her hovel, "yeh'ave a need to be gettin' on dat Kor-zy shyip."

Rising from her seat with a calm fluidity that could not betray the prickling of her honor, the Nazrani moved, python and all, to the back of the shoppe where an open hearth fireplace sat cold and dead. Above it along the girth of a great ironwood tree trunk mantle, her dark fingers reached for a small carved figurine.

"On dat island be a spirit an yew be findin it."

Returning to the table and sitting with the same feline grace, the figurine found itself gently placed at the table center between them. It presented itself as free-standing panther carved of charred wood, mouth agape and fangs bared in a silent snarl. Tiny amethysts gleamed for its eyes, a presence within them making it seem as though they truly saw the man they presently stared at. Such things had haunted him before where ghastly reminders of his payment owed were due.

"Dis'n Okre. Yew tek dis, it help," Ziri gestured to it with a quiet sweep of her hand, "it show yew wat be needen dun. An Mwee-reen," she sneered, "show dem de kortezy dey deserve." Her eyes gleamed, from the peripheral of his gaze he might've caught the little totem snickering.

 

[Muirin]

Muirin watched as the Cortosi brat stormed off in what he assumed was one hell of a pissy fit. The scoundrel was silently thankful for Hernan's departure, knowing full well that the Alcantaras would play no significant role in his life, especially not in the near future.

"Mwee-reen," the shaman announced his name, butchering it once more for good measure. She made a request of him then, and it took the scoundrel by complete surprise. "Y'can't be serious," Muirin responded plainly, though it seemed Maziri was committed to her plan. She placed a totem before him, and its eyes glinted with malice and mischief. Something intelligent lurked just behind the totem's carved facade, and its presence sent goose flesh burning up the back of Muirin's neck. As long as he's dealt with Ziri, her tricks still made his bones shiver from time to time.

"Aw'roight, fine," The scoundrel said, pushing his palms against his knees and rising onto his feet. "Oi'll be yer pawn once more." His gaze flickered to the totem once more-- He could've sworn it had move just then. Granted, the room hadn't stopped its lazy spin since he'd arrived, and Muirin was beginning to think he still had quite the buzz from his previous night's proclivities. A large, brutish hand wrapped haphazardly around the panther, plucking it from the table and placing it firmly into the scoundrel's pocket. " 'f that'll be all, Oi've got'ta "Cap'n Gen'ral" to go chase down."