Choose Your Poison! Vol.2 [Sovereign Charter Only]

[Asgareth]

The pub had come alive again. The fake fire roared in the corner, while rain rashed on the roof above. Madeline had emerged under a load of coat – something that had come as a surprise to Tim, who had assumed she and Marcellus had left, or else died. She’d run off to the bathroom, mere seconds before a man came through the door. The man made his way towards Tim, and asked him if he had seen a woman who very much resembled Madeline. Tim gave the man an ocular pat down, and upon establishing him as a threat, slowly moved his hand moved towards his pistol, which was hidden under the bar. He did not draw it; hoping to resolve the situation peacefully. Instead, he peered at the image of the woman before shaking his head.

“Nope. Never seen her. Have you tried the Goblins Head? It’s 6 miles east. She might be hiding out there…. Whoever she is.”

It is worth mentioning, at this point, that Tim would never lie to the legal authorities. He was a law abiding citizen, who always cooperated with the law enforcement. Fortunately for Tim, this man had no authority in Asgareth, and so Tim had little reason to answer the question truthfully.

Tim paused for a moment, as he studied the unconscious body of Marcellus. He smirked, and began to talk again.
“Mind you… that man there?" Tim stated, pointing at Marcellus' unconscious body. "Yeah… I’ve heard rumours about him kidnapping young pretty women for his own sadistic purposes. You’ll probably want to talk to him… I do hope it's not too late...” He smiled at the man, before grabbing a dirty glass and wiping it with his dirty cloth.

It was at this point that a young man approached the bar. He appeared to know Tim, but Tim had no recollection of him. In fairness to Voss, Tim met many different patrons from around the world, and made a sincere effort to forget each and every one of them.
Mezcal? Tim thought. What was that? Did he sell that as well? He had no idea. Instead, he merely smiled and nodded at the young man. “Yes… yes, business is well. The kidney market is particularly strong right now, thanks to the Harrense Civil War. Loads of poor troops needing kidneys; they don’t care where they come from. The trafficking side has more than doubled; I’ve brothels on 4 continents now, and only 3 of them are illegal. And of course –”

Tim stopped as he realised what he had been saying. He gave off a hearty laugh and boomed "Just kidding! The bar is going well. Ignore all that other stuff. I don’t do that. That’s the other guy. Eyepatch, bald…. One leg, you can’t miss him! Yep, not me. I’m just your friendly neighbourhood landlord. Bar's going great. Making lots of money! Too much money! So much money!”

Across the bar, a man laughed heartily. Parolin Yeltsin had been watching the conversation eagerly, and tapped Voss on the shoulder. “If you’re looking to make some extra cash, I know a guy.” He slipped a business card across the bar. It read:

Nelvarn Yeltsin

For all your totally legal smuggling and trafficking needs

Call: 0118 999 881 999 119 725 3 Today!

Or Email: Nellie@totallynotanillegalsmugglingoperation.co.asg

[Romae in Perpetuum]

Just as Tim pointed to the lifeless figure in the corner it slowly began to stir, as it slowly revived itself.
Fuck me, Marcellus thought, the fuck did I drink last night? He lay they motionless for a few minutes, trying to piece together what small fragments of memory he had left.
There had been a girl, quite a pretty girl…or at least he’d thought so at the time, a drink thrown over him? Then a lot more drinks, then…mostly blank he had to admit. The smell of (probably) expensive perfume all round his blanket of… coats (he must have passed out in the fucking lost and found bin again) coupled with the fact he was stark naked was normally a good sign, however.

Deciding that it would be better to find out straight from the horse’s, or barkeep’s in this case, mouth and following an extremely half hearted attempt to find his tunic (which he soon gave up on) the young man got up, shamelessly stretching in full view of the pub and ambled over to the bar.
"Fuck me, Tim.” He began with a cheer that was hard to maintain given his monstrous hangover. “Where's that bloody cat gone?"
“You ate the cat.” Responded the barman grouchily, not even bothering to look up from his ‘cleaning’.
"I mean the one that shat in my mouth! Ah he’s no fun in the mornings…” The Roman said to the man in the uniform and the one in a suit with a wink.
"It's 9pm! You've been asleep for 168 hours! And you need to buy me a new cat!" The barman said, clearly serious.
"Start serving decent food then!” Marcellus retorted, reasonably (but not entirely) sure he hadn’t actually eaten the cat. “Speaking of which, I’m famished. I'll take my usual."
"Absolutely not!” Tim said, with an odd glint in his eye. I'm not serving another young princess to you! Not after what happened to the last one!" This last comment seemed to be directed to the uniformed man, but the Roman’s head was too fuzzy to be sure.
Leaning back slightly in confusion, the young man creased his brow. “What in Pluto’s name are you on about? Have you been eating those mushrooms that grow under the barrels again?”
"That was a onetime thing dude! And you did it with me!" The older man made an effort to compose himself before adding "You know... that woman.... Matilida, was it? Looked like a man? Bit of a drinking problem."
"At least I stopped after four...who? Drinking problem?” He quickly went pale as he recalled a woman throwing glasses about. “Jupiter Maximus! Don't say I shagged Thora! She said she'd castrate me if she ended up at the clinic again..."

"Thora's dead." Tim replied grimly. "Show some respect!”
“Chlamydia is fatal! Since when!?” Shouted Marcellus, panic in his eyes.
"It's only fatal if you die!" Tim yelled back. "Now tell me! Where did you hide the body?"
"I didn't eat your fucking cat...I think...ask my man, he handles the food."
"You've grown whiskers man! WHISKERS!" The barman exclaimed, pointing a filthy finger in the Roman’s face.
"It's called a beard and it's fashionable, you syphilitic donkey of a man!" Marcellus responded in the same tone, with as much dignity as a hungover nude man standing in a bar can muster,
"Fashionable? Don't make me laugh! You've still got cat flesh in it! And your ears! They're all pointed!"
"With all that organ harvesting, I'd think you could afford your caterax surgery, you blind fuck!"
"Woah! Respect the house rules!" Tim pointed to a blackboard in the corner of the bar, which proclaimed; Rule 1: Patrons are reminded not to discuss recent rumours pertaining to the barman's side business. "Besides, I had the surgery. I had it reversed after seeing your ugly mutt."
"Rumours! You've put up a poster over the booth!" The young man retorted incredulously while gesturing flamboyantly to said poster, clearly advertising 'discount organs, 8 for the price of 7, inquire with Tim.'"
"Yes! Organs!” Tim announced, eyes darting side to side. “You know, massive pianos! Have you never been to Church boy? Are you a sinner?"
To this Marcellus said nothing, merely pointing to the illustration of a man in a barkeeps uniform removing a liver from a corpse.

Tim looked at the illustration and smiled. "Ah, you've noticed. Yes, yes. That's me. 1346... what a terrible plague. Only way to stop it spreading, you know. Remove the liver from the dying. I saved countless; you know. Even had a ballad written about me." Tim looked wistfully into the ceiling, before stating "So then, about the cat. Will you be paying in full, or will you be taking out an instalment plan?"
"Put it on Alvora De'Lance’s tab, she owes me a favour." Marcellus said, feeling too rough to mention that the picture below that showed the barman selling the liver then rolling around in a pile of money. "Now are you bringing me breakfast or what?"
"Whose tab, sorry?" Tim enquired. "And I'm afraid we're out of cat liver. You'll have to have some Vorka cheese."
Going visibly green at the prospect of that biohazard the Asgarthian’s called cheese the Roman shook his head violently, giving himself a (somehow) worse headache. “Forget breakfast…I’ll take the Valrisk special: four vodka shots and four bumps of coke and stick that on Alvora’s tab as well. I know you know her! She damn near burned this place down a few months ago…”
Tim shook his head, while he began to pour. He had never heard of this Alvora woman, though she clearly irritated Marcellus greatly. He was already a fan. Tim tended to his client with great care, and swiftly provided the order. He smirked as Marcellus took the tray. The Roman simply did not realise that the vodka was actually water, and the coke was actually salt.
Looking down at his order Marcellus idly wondered if it was washing powder or rat poison the old man was trying to give him today. Either way, he wasn’t going to try it first. Turning to face the two other men at the bar, still as nude as the day he was born, he gave them as close to a winning smile he could manage with this headache.
“Well gentlemen, I appear to have some going spare. Join me, won’t you?”

[The Natufian Nation]

A series of events then took place that had Voss dumbfounded, looking around to make sure he was in the right pub. Tim had always been a bit of an odd duck but his erratic behavior and seeming obliviousness to the fact he had been selling Natufian mezcal left Voss at a loss for words. Was Tim suffering from some sort of dementia or mental disorder? He had heard a rumor that Asgarthian ale was laced with formaldehyde by the government to inflict slight brain damage to better control the population. He never really believed it as he heard it from a goblin he met in Auruum. But perhaps there was some truth to it?

His rising anxiety was assuaged somewhat when a large man in Heartfilian livery entered and began asking Tim about someone named Madeline. Although the man was clearly not here to socialize, Voss did feel some sense of relief. With the recent trade pact between the Natufian Nation and Heartfilia, he was looking for contacts in the government to help him get preferred docking and shipping rates for the Natufian ranchers he represented.

Before he could gain any sense of the situation, a grown, naked man with surprisingly little body hair emerged and drew Tim’s attention into a confusing conversation about a cat. Voss tried to follow the dialogue but was interrupted by a very shady figure, who was apparently eavesdropping, coming up to him and proffering a business card for very suspicious services. Voss politely thanked Parolin Yeltsin with a noncommittal reply and pocketed the card, making a mental note to discretely discard it first chance he got.

Momentarily, the naked man, who Voss pegged was probably Roman by the nose, accent and complete lack of modesty, offered he and Parolin to share in what appeared to be a meal of dirty water and table salt. Voss looked around the pub for an alternative encounter and considered heading straight for the door. But the pub was livelier than he ever remembered it and worth a quick review. Nearest to him, a large, bearded man with an eye-patch was sitting with a glass of Dragnian vodka. He had just been talking to Parolin before the shifty character had turned to Voss.

There was also a tall, self-important and haughty man drinking champagne, leaning back on the bar and surveying the crowd with a mix of amusement and contempt. The green sash gave him away as being from Haja-Mishu. When his eyes met Voss’s, a sneer crossed his face that said “Keep your dark skin away from me, beast.” Best leave him alone, Voss thought.

His attention then turned to a well-dressed man with reddish hair, a goatee and obsidian tipped cane who suddenly winked out of existence as his nation ceased to exist. Voss gave a startle, but that oddity was nothing compared to the companion he had just been talking to. He couldn’t believe he had missed it before, but towards the center of the pub stood a tall, ominous figure in a heavy purple robe. He couldn’t make out the face but he caught sight of pink-bandaged arms as it recovered a gold coin it had been presenting. As it pulled back the folds of its robe to pocket the coin, he could see it's entire torso appeared to be bandaged. Poor creature, Voss thought, must have been horribly burned. But how brave to be out on the town anyway.

Sitting at a nearby table, Voss then spotted a masked man in what looked like traveling clothes. At least, Voss assumed they were traveling clothes as there was a large backpack on the floor next to him. He had the last swallow of a dark drink in a glass in front of him and was unobtrusively watching the bar. There was something about his demeanor that intrigued Voss. There must be a good story, here, he thought. He made eye contact and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement then motioned to Tim to deliver another round to the man’s table. “I’ll have to make my way over there shortly” he thought to himself.

His more immediate need was to extricate himself away from the nude man inviting him to eat salt. Being unclothed revealed an odor to the man that said he had not washed in at least two days. His attention turned back to the bearded man sitting close by and Voss noticed he had a postcard on the table he must have just displayed to Parolin. It said “Come visit Arcryskia!” and the face of the card was divided into 4 smaller photo squares apparently highlighting the attractions. Voss could see photos of a statue of a stern and unpleasant-looking man, probably a founder of the nation; a large bear-like creature; smiling children aiming assault rifles at a shooting range; and a facility that Voss took to be a gulag.

“Ah, Arcryskia! Looks like an interesting place,” Voss beamed, concentrating his attention on the man and ignoring the obscenity behind him. “I have never been but it looks…lovely. A very industrious nation, I am guessing. Let me get you another drink.” And he motioned to the barman for two more. “Please tell me, what line of work are you in?”

[The Natufian Nation]

Voss enjoyed his conversation with the Arckyrskian, who related to him his time as a merchant marine, then later harbor master of a small port city and now his venture to Asgareth to put togehter a small crew to go whaling in the northern seas up around Myraxia. He seemed like a good chap, gruff but fair-minded, although Voss could see no real business opportunity with his new companion. As the man from Arcyrskia downed additional rounds of vodka, he became more taciturn and wobbly. He was slurring some explanation about the finer points of celestial navigation at sea by the twin moons of the Charter when Voss received an alarming text message on his cell phone.

He immediately excused himself to call back to the district manager of the ranching syndicate he worked for back in the Natufian Nation. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Asgarthian authorities had raided a local office and arrested a group of Natufians! His manager wasn't sure if it was part of a larger purge of foreigners and advised Voss to stay off the streets and lay low until they had more information. Voss blankly clicked his phone off and pondered the situation. Was he in any danger? Why were his countrymen arrested? What should he do now? Voss looked around the bar. As far as he could tell, he was as safe here as anywhere else. Tim was busy wiping down glasses with his dirty cloth, watching the naked Roman out of the corner of his eye with a knowing look on his face. All the other patrons seemed oblivious to anything going on outside the pub. It was like Brigadoon here, without a care in the world, and Voss decided if he couldn't risk trying to get back to his hotel, he may as well make the most of his time in the pub.

With that, he eyed, once again, the mysterious man with the mask and backpack. Earlier, his Arcyrskian companion had taken one look behind him at the fellow and stated, knowingly, "Oh, he look like he from Jiqaz . I see the clothes and only those from Jiqaz have that look. They strange folk, you be careful. Now....let us drink another round to....Regnof, the saint of good booze!"

Slightly wary but his curiosity overcoming any trepidation, Voss approached the figure and asked "Hey, my name is Voss, from the Natufian Nation. I hear you are from Jiqaz. I've never been. What's it like there? Mind if I sit down and buy you a drink?"

[Greater Slavacia]

From the rain, enters a figure draped in a long sailors overcoat. On his head is a worn Slavacian merchant marine hat, bleached by the sun and ocean waves. The man is not young, for his face is worn and his temples are touched by a silver grey. He approaches the bar and in a thick Slavacian accent asks the bartender for a glass of his best vodka. While the barkeep serves him, he takes a seat on one of the stools, pulls out a pipe and lights it. The man looks down into his drink and swirls it around, before asking:
"Comrade, would you tell a fellow man where one can find employment as a smuggler? The name is Boris."

[Asgareth]

Tim studied Boris for a moment, cautiously observing him for any tell-tale signs. It was not unusual for undercover officers, or foreigner rivals to try to infiltrate the Asgarthian black market, but they usually met sticky ends. After giving him an ocular patdown, Tim handed over a business card.
“Give this guy a call. His name is Nelvarn. Second dodgiest person I know. Third, counting me. Fourth, if you include my ma. You know I once saw her cut a guys balls off and feed them to his wife? All over a bottle of milk!”

Tim went back to absent-mindedly wiping the bar. He observed Madeline re-emerge from the bathroom, and head back to Marcellus. Parolin swiftly offered Madeline the water and salt, having masterfully rejected Marcellus’ initial offer. Meanwhile, Voss headed towards the Jiqazi, and began to speak to him. Noting a similar business card sticking out of his pocket, Tim made a mental note to encourage Boris to phone Nelvarn quickly – if only for the commission he’d receive.

This mental note was swiftly forgotten however, by the sound of gunfire and yelling coming from outside. Within seconds, three Mexicans, wearing ponchos and sombreros and armed to the teeth burst through the door. The leader, a man armed only with a knife, bundled Marcellus to the floor before screaming
“Give me your valuables before I do something we both regret! I’m Stabby Bob, and trust me that name is not ironic.”
His attention was caught by Madeline, whose pretty features and youthful innocence proved instantly attractive. Turning to her, he began to charm her.
“Well hello my dear. Aren’t you a pretty one? The name is Roberto, I’m here to rob you. But afterwards, maybe we can go grab a pint down the local, and I’ll teach you a thing or two about…”

“BOB!” Another bandit yelled. “Focus on the job at hand.”
This bandit, shoved his rifle in Tim’s face as he forced Boris to the ground. “Cash in the bag, and don’t you dare tell anyone the Hernadez brothers were here. Or do. I don’t care. The bounty is big enough already. The name’s Miguel, by the way. Miguel, the Horsekiller. Now do as I say!”
Tim calmly stated. “Sorry amigo. They’re all on tabs. Nothing in the register!”
Miguel shot wildly at the spirit bottles, destroying a dozen expensive looking drinks while doing so. “No fucking money! Give us something else then! Three dozen shots will do!”

“Damn straight” The youngest bandit stated, as he marched towards Voss and the Jiqazi. “Hand over your wallets lads, and there will be no need for you to get shot. I might shoot you anyway, but that’s only because I want to. The name’s Juan, the Explosives Guy that couldn’t afford explosives until very recently, but you can call me… Juan.”

[Heartfilia]

The smell, the noise, the crude Behavior truly disgusted the Heartfilian Guard. From the naked Roman to the guy asking for a job as a smuggler, the guard truly didn't care about what these pests did with their lives. It was only until he heard a door open, he turned and saw her. It was Madeline, the girl whom he came searching for...
Before he could call for her gunshots and screams from outside, followed by three men bursting in distracted him. They go after the Roman first and the guard’s contacts begin to record the whole commotion, one of the men turned his attention to Madeline. His sad attempt to flirt with her was amusing to guard
“she’s a member of Heartfilia’s elite she would never go for a low life like that,” he thought to himself.
He made his way to Madeline and that is when she finally noticed him.

“Oh god, they really sent an Imperial Guard to come looking for me?” Madeline says sarcastically.

“Yes ma’am I was sent to retrieve you, your family is really worried.” Explains The guard.

“They don’t care about me they care about the family legacy” she Sighs “I just want to have fun for once”

“Does this look fun to you, and look at your dress it was a nice Rose Petal pink now it’s stained and dirty.”

”You are right I do miss the cleanliness of my house and I hate wearing the same dress for more than one day.”

They both looked at each other than at the situation they are in.

“Sacré Bleu” they both sigh

[Romae in Perpetuum]

It was at that moment, in which Marcellus found himself forcibly held down by a large Poncho-swathed individual- who was holding a frankly enormous rust stained knife at his throat- that the Roman really regretted not putting on clothes this morning.

He missed most of the exchange between the knife wielding maniac and Madeline, preoccupied as he was with the overwhelming stench of horse sweat and tequila that hung around Bob like a poorly chosen aftershave, but tried to speak never-the-less.
“Bob! It’s me! It’s me!” Marcellus cried; his tone considerably more desperate than intended.
“Hmm?” Grunted the larger man, sounding somewhat put out by the complete lack of acknowledgment from the young woman Infront of him, before his small brown eyes lit up in recognition. “Marcellus! You son of a bitch!” He exclaimed, thick accent mangling the ‘I’. “We haven’t seen you since…”
“You kidnapped me and held me for ransom near Etoch, good times had by…well you three.” The Roman interjected nervously, gently moving the knife away from his throat with the tip of his finger. “Err, do you mind?”

“Yes! Yes! Of course, Amigo!” Stabby Bob said animatedly, jumping to his feet and hauling the Roman up with surprising strength. Wobbling slightly on his bare feet, Marcellus took a few seconds to appraise his former attacker. He was a short stocky man, with the prominent stomach of a heavy drinker and eater, clad entirely in black aside from a few dark red patters in his waistcoat and a dark leather poncho. His sombrero was the same as the Roman remembered; a little battered but in a matching black to the rest of his outfit trimmed with silver.
“What are you doing in this el villorrio de mierda of a city, eh?” He asked, stroking his thick moustache. “You had such plans ese! Remember you went on and on about them when…”
“You lot had me tied upside down on the bed, with Miguel threatening to geld me like a stallion…Hi Miguel.” The middle Hernandez brother raised an eyebrow in greeting, his hands occupied with robbing the bar.
“Ha Ha!” Señor Bob laughed heartily, gloved hand slapping the Roman’s bare back with an eye-watering smack. “I remember now! Speaking of which…” The bandit suddenly slammed his fist into Marcellus’ exposed stomach, sending him sprawling into floor desperately gasping for air and prompting a round of cheers from his brothers. “You still owe us your ransom money, you said you’d be back with it in a week amigo, it’s been what? A year?”
“Two, hermano.” Called over Juan, who’d liberated a business card from Voss’ pocket and was struggling to read it. “We spent last year robbing greenskin banks.”
“Id…say…you could have the…shirt off my back but…” Coughed Marcellus, really wishing he’d stayed asleep under the coats. All the Hernandez’s laughed at that one and Bob himself knelt down and slapped the young man’s face gently. “I missed that quick tongue of yours, pendejo.” He said with a Cheshire grin. “Maybe I’ll keep it, no?”

Getting to his feet and twirling his knife in his hand has he went, Stabby Bob strolled over casually to the two Heartfilians and looked them both over, still grinning like a madman.
“You’re very pretty, Señorita. You even have a pretty neck, eh.” He gently traced the sharp end of the blade against her pale white neck. Enraged by the impudence of this ‘lesser being’ the Guardsman stepped forward to defend his charge but, without even looking away from the young woman, Señor Bob produced an antique revolver, pointed it at the Heartfillian and cocked the hammer.
“Not so fast, pendejo.” He purred softly. “You wouldn’t want me to slip, would you? I keep my knives very sharp.” He continued his tracing motions causing Madeline to whimper slightly. “Very pretty…but that jewel on your neck is a close second. Why don’t you take it off for me?”

[Jiqaz]

Ryan turned to Juan, reaching into his pocket pulling out a wallet. "So, needing some drinking money?"
He took a deep breath, curious about the actions Voss would take. He scanned the room around him, noticing just how much was going on around him.

[Greater Slavacia]

Boris was forced to the ground but he still held onto the glass, careful not to spill the drink. As Miguel turned to shoot at the bottles, Boris drank the glass and reached for his wallet, pulling out a thick wad of Slavacian currency as well as fifty small golden disks - Slavacian universal credits: a currency exchanged in foreign nations that didn't accept the Slavic Rubble, which was most of them. Instead of handing them to Miguel, Boris through the coins as hard as he could and tossed the worthless paper everywhere while screaming the Slavacian national anthem - this wasn't the first bar he stopped at, in fact, it was probably his seventeenth. He tried to stand up, only to trip over Miguel's feet bringing both men down, on the floor he hugs Miguel and falls asleep, muttering profanities and burping occasionally.

[Asgareth]

Miguel watched as Boris chucked the money around the bar. He snarled, and began to reach for his knife. Before he could react however, the Slavacian stumbled and fell on top of the Mexican. Juan, who had just intimidated Ryan into handing over his wallet witnessed this and began to move towards Boris and Miguel. Believing Boris had just tried to Miguel, he instinctively pulled his brother from harm. The next thing he did was to grab Boris by the neck and smashed him against a wooden pole, splintering it. The sleeping Slavacian slowly awoke to Juan screaming in his face, as he continued to hold onto Boris’ neck.
“You going to attack my compañero? How foolish, amigo.”
Juan began to tighten his grip on Boris, who began to cough uncomfortably. Thankfully for Boris, his discomfort would not last long. A loud cough distracted the trio, who all looked towards the bar. Tim was pointing a pair of pistols at Miguel and Juan.

“Gentlemen, you know the agreement. You have permission to rob my patrons and to rough them up a little. But you are not permitted to destroy my property.”
Miguel nodded. “Juan, pay the man for the damage. And give him his 10%”
“10%!” Juan exclaimed. “10% of what? These peasants have nothing! In fact, I’d prefer nothing!”
“The wallet. In your pocket. Give him the money.” Miguel demanded.
Juan slowly reached into his pocket, still holding Boris by the neck. He chucked the wallet at Tim, who swiftly swooped down for it. Tim nodded his appreciation towards Miguel, who clambered to his feet.
“Two whiskies Tim.” The Mexican stated. “Neat, on the rocks. The others will have the same.”
“Payment in advance.” Tim stated. “You know the rules.”
“Amigo! It is me, Miguel! Would I really screw you over?”
“Yes. Many, many times. Pay up.”
Miguel chucked a few coins at Tim, before stating “Pour one for yourself, and put a lime wedge in my glasses.”

Tim attended to the drinks, as Juan released Boris.
“Señor.” Juan stated. “Don’t be so quick to attack an amigo next time.” He smirked at the Slavacian, before calling out to Tim, “And a drink for everyone in the bar. Except the woman. She’s had too much, by the looks of things.”

[The Natufian Nation]

Voss had only been mugged once before in his life. He sat for a second, looking over the strangely dressed bandido, considering if there might actually be a business opportunity here. Juan did say he couldn't afford explosives. And Voss did know a guy back home who was looking for contractors abroad to do some demolitions work. He would pay Voss a recruiting fee and probably pay Juan in-kind with surplus explosives.

Apparently, his contact back home was getting his munitions from a petty lord in Epilo who secured a North Covenant arsenal when the government collapsed, fracturing the former great nation into small, independent fiefdoms separated by a rapidly recovering wilderness. Voss wasn't sure what his contact was involved with exactly, he wouldn't talk about it openly, just saying he had a client that was in the "foreign demolitions" business and who was very interested to hear he was in Asgareth.

But before Voss could say anything, his Jiqazi companion proffered his wallet to Juan who snatched it up. Before he could turn on Voss, the brigand broke off his robbery to help liberate his brother from the drunk Slavacian's weight. Before Voss knew it, Tim had brought Juan and Miguel to heel, while stabby Bob was attempting to pillage a necklace from the young Heartfilian lady. To top it all off, Juan was now buying the entire bar a round of drinks, apparently with Ryan's money!

This is a strange place, indeed, Voss mused to himself.

He looked back to the Arcyrskian he was previously talking to, "Where are these guys from?"

The eye-patched man replied in a thick accent, "The guy from Haja-Mishu, he mutter something about 'filthy Mexicans'".

"Mexico? Where's that?" Voss asked

The Arcyrskian just shrugged, "Don't know, I hear someone say "south of the border" at one point".

Voss thought for a moment, calling up a mental map of the Charter. "Ah", he said out loud, "So it's a province of Illyria, I guess?"

Voss turned back to Ryan, he would deal with Juan later. Right now, he wanted to learn more about this place called Jiqaz.
"Well, thanks for the drink" Voss joked, nodding in Juan's direction, "So, you were telling me, what should I know about Jiqaz before I go?"

[Jiqaz]

"Well, Jiqaz is the country on what once was Friendly Isle, as far as I'm aware. A few towns on the island were able to escape that mess, before uniting their region's, now constituent countries in the United Republics. I headed out after the announcement that Jiqaz was joining the confederacy, from what I could tell, it was the only way to bot have a political disaster with Rome and the rest, due to troops apparently being stationed there. Been backpacking until that all dies down."

He nodded, assuming he had given Voss an adequate answer

[Heartfilia]

As stabby Bob's cold knife is placed on Madeline's neck he asks her to take off her necklace.

Madeline places her hand on the necklace
“oh! This? Sorry, monsieur, it is not worth anything of value, it's mere plastic.” She gives a slight laugh.
She caresses the necklace feeling the grooves and intricate detailing of the gold and rubies, the necklace has been part of her family's history for 18 generations, it’s value worth more than people's homes and vehicles combined. She thinks of ways to change the subject, possibly a way out of this horrendous situation “OMG monsieur! Did anyone tell you that you look like a famous actor? Where have I seen you before!” Her voice was high pitched and filled with glee.

The Guardsman, on the other hand, stands still unfazed as a gun is pointing at him. His worry is more on Madeline unsure of how to get her out of this place

[The Natufian Nation]

Voss looked over his new friend from Jiqaz. He decided he liked him and that his strange nation may hold interesting opportunities. He’d have to keep contact with the Jiqazian.

“Well, I understand the desire to get away until things settle down. Say, if you ever make it down to Strei-ar, my country is pretty stable and peaceful.” With this Voss took out his business card and an expensive looking pen and began to write on the back.

“Take my card and keep in touch. I have an uncle in Jeddah City, which is probably our most modern city in the Natufian Nation. It’s on the shore of a large inland sea. I’m writing the name and number of my uncle on this card for you. He has a water-facing condo near the fish market he rents out. It's in a popular tourist area, you’d love it. I’ll tell him I know you and to give you a discount if you want to go.”

Voss handed the card over to Ryan and wished him well. He stood up, arranged his bola tie and readied himself. He then made a half dozen deliberate steps up to Juan, who eyed every step Voss made in his direction over the top of the shot glass attached to his lips, hand gingerly moving to clasp his pistol in its holster.

“Say, Juan, is it?” began Voss and then leaned in and continued in a lower voice, “You said you were the explosives guy but couldn’t afford them until recently, right? So…tell me, what exactly are you planning to blow up?”