Note: Follow-up to Reforged
The Seventh Vice
The Little City within the Grand Metropolis was host to many different factions, and over the decades power changed frequently. Collectively, the powers that ran the Lupanar District were known as the Nefastus, and although not quite unified they were at least amenable to keeping the peace within their little slice of Terminus. They all stood to gain by protecting Lupanar.
West of Bergersen Street, an unremarkable building stood, nothing on the outside giving away the grandeur inside nor the depth of illicit activity it harbored. Once upon a time the Commercium called it home, a grand bank built to cater to the lofty clientele that would frequent the government districts, long before Lupanar had separated to become its own sovereign territory. Now known as the Seventh Vice, it served as home to the Lucky Sevens criminal enterprise. It was for many the only place to conduct money-changing, to seek financing, or to store ill-gotten gains. Everything at a commensurate cost.
Some would say nothing had changed from the days of the Commercium.
The main lobby had a lustrous green marble floor, and tall, black marble pillars supporting the balcony of the second floor. The desk at the far end of the lobby was polished black walnut. Walking in, one would see the opulent dressing and the stairways circling around to the second floor, see the broad open landing at the back of the building with towering windows, draped in black cloth, and think for a moment they had been teleported to a different corner of Terminus. But then came the sharp looks. The woman behind the desk had a scar across one side of her face and a serrated dagger rested on the counter in front of her. Two men by the door had boiled leather cuirasses, one holding a bent spear and the other patting a firearm at his belt.
Ignoring the sharp looks, Guadriar strode across the floor, heading to the desk. The crimson-scaled velen was dressed in a sharp black suit, with a maroon shirt underneath. With a smooth head and broad fin-like ears, he cast an easy, sharp-toothed smile at the woman. He carried himself with ease and confidence. Guadriar stood head and shoulders above his companion, a laicar with pale skin, oily black hair tied back in a rat tail, and dark blue eyes. Culm wore a white suit, black shirt underneath, and he wore it poorly, adjusting the collar and picking at the buttons. More suited to his own sensibilities, he did wear a woolen chlamys of dark gray, the half-cloak fastened with a silver pin.
Before they stepped further inside, they were stopped and frisked. While Guadriar got the all clear, they pulled three sheathed daggers from Culm's person. There was a smirk of sinister amusement as he pulled two more knives from somewhere and offered them over.
To the left of the desk, another velen, his scales an even darker shade of red, held up a hand to stop the pair. The woman waved him off, however. "Got your dues?" she demanded as she met Guadriar's eyes, holding out an open palm.
"Indeed, but only for the intended recipient," Guadriar answered.
The woman frowned at first but then smiled and lowered her hand, flicking the knife on the counter to make it spin. "My aren't we feeling cocky? Lucky for you, you're expected. Get on, then. Third floor."
The two men strode further inward, sharing a glance with the other velen as they headed toward the stairs. Once they were out of earshot, Culm sourly noted, "That probably works on most people, and then she gets to skim off the top. Something for nothing."
"'Something for nothing' may as well be engraved over the doors," Guadriar replied. He fussed with his sleeves and straightened his collar. "Stay focused, we don't need you getting distracted." Culm grunted irritably but said nothing more while they walked up to the second floor and from there up to the top floor.
The walls were lined with black iron vaults. It was said that the might of Bellator alone could crack those doors. The wealthiest clients of the Lucky Sevens would each have vaults on the third floor. It was as much for the prestige as the security. Each vault had a plaque engraved with the owner's name or title. There was no plaque for Guadriar, however.
Soon enough, they stood in front of a pair of double doors, shiny black with no windows. There were two men in front of the door, an enlil and laicar. They reached out and pulled the doors open for the visitors, allowing them into the head office.
If the rest of the Seventh Vice was opulent, the room was palatial. Nary a surface did not glimmer. The furniture was chased in silver and gold, bookshelves, tables, and desks covered in piles of money, trinkets, trophies. The desk in the center spanned half the room, and the man behind it was similarly larger than life. A velen with deep green skin and pale gold scales, he was not only taller than Guadriar but many times broader, built almost like a tank. His suit was black edged in gold, with a golden shirt underneath. Supremely confident, he flashed a toothy smile, revealing that his teeth were silver-plated. His eyes glowed from within, a unique golden color.
Mensarius, the Banker, head of the Lucky Sevens.
"Guadriar, welcome! You should stop by more often!" Mensarius was smiling. The smile didn't fade but the false joviality of his tone disappeared. "You boys certainly wouldn't be so far behind on your payments." The guards stayed outside.
"I am here to square up accounts," Guadriar assured him, holding up both hands placatingly. Inwardly he was bristling at being called ‘boy.' "Before that, let's talk about what you owe." His hands were empty, and he had not made any overt threats. The pair were disarmed when they entered.
"What I owe? What nonsense are you boys talking about?"
Culm pulled out a blood-spattered patch of cloth, the symbol of the Lucky Sevens sewn in gold thread. "We had an attempted sabotage some nights ago. The perpetrator had this on the inside of her clothes. She set fire to shipments of goods from Boreas, goods which were to be sold to pay off the debt we owe."
"And did you sell them?" Mensarius demanded, side-stepping the accusation.
"Minus what was ruined with her blood," Guadriar noted, his tone cool. "We've had similar incidents, always when payment is close to due. Each time, you were ‘gracious' enough to grant extensions, all while letting the debt grow."
"Guadriar, are you trying to tell me you don't have my money?" There was a dangerous gleam in the Banker's eyes, one that suggested he would be happy no matter the answer. The giant of a velen leaned forward in his seat, slamming a hand to the desk as he growled. "You knew the terms when you asked for the financing!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of silver as Culm whipped the pin from his cloak and slammed it through the Banker's hand and straight into the desk. "He's telling you that you crossed your last client!" he growled menacingly.
Mensarius didn't cry out, didn't flinch. He laughed, the golden light in his eyes flaring. Calmly, he pulled his hand away from the sharp pin, not a scratch on it as it wavered and solidified. Guadriar stared in disbelief as Culm caught a backhand across the face. One of the velen's many rings split Culm's lip, he tasted blood.
A vistra.
"Reckoning time, boys."
The Seventh Vice
Wordcount: 1,267
The Little City within the Grand Metropolis was host to many different factions, and over the decades power changed frequently. Collectively, the powers that ran the Lupanar District were known as the Nefastus, and although not quite unified they were at least amenable to keeping the peace within their little slice of Terminus. They all stood to gain by protecting Lupanar.
West of Bergersen Street, an unremarkable building stood, nothing on the outside giving away the grandeur inside nor the depth of illicit activity it harbored. Once upon a time the Commercium called it home, a grand bank built to cater to the lofty clientele that would frequent the government districts, long before Lupanar had separated to become its own sovereign territory. Now known as the Seventh Vice, it served as home to the Lucky Sevens criminal enterprise. It was for many the only place to conduct money-changing, to seek financing, or to store ill-gotten gains. Everything at a commensurate cost.
Some would say nothing had changed from the days of the Commercium.
The main lobby had a lustrous green marble floor, and tall, black marble pillars supporting the balcony of the second floor. The desk at the far end of the lobby was polished black walnut. Walking in, one would see the opulent dressing and the stairways circling around to the second floor, see the broad open landing at the back of the building with towering windows, draped in black cloth, and think for a moment they had been teleported to a different corner of Terminus. But then came the sharp looks. The woman behind the desk had a scar across one side of her face and a serrated dagger rested on the counter in front of her. Two men by the door had boiled leather cuirasses, one holding a bent spear and the other patting a firearm at his belt.
Ignoring the sharp looks, Guadriar strode across the floor, heading to the desk. The crimson-scaled velen was dressed in a sharp black suit, with a maroon shirt underneath. With a smooth head and broad fin-like ears, he cast an easy, sharp-toothed smile at the woman. He carried himself with ease and confidence. Guadriar stood head and shoulders above his companion, a laicar with pale skin, oily black hair tied back in a rat tail, and dark blue eyes. Culm wore a white suit, black shirt underneath, and he wore it poorly, adjusting the collar and picking at the buttons. More suited to his own sensibilities, he did wear a woolen chlamys of dark gray, the half-cloak fastened with a silver pin.
Before they stepped further inside, they were stopped and frisked. While Guadriar got the all clear, they pulled three sheathed daggers from Culm's person. There was a smirk of sinister amusement as he pulled two more knives from somewhere and offered them over.
To the left of the desk, another velen, his scales an even darker shade of red, held up a hand to stop the pair. The woman waved him off, however. "Got your dues?" she demanded as she met Guadriar's eyes, holding out an open palm.
"Indeed, but only for the intended recipient," Guadriar answered.
The woman frowned at first but then smiled and lowered her hand, flicking the knife on the counter to make it spin. "My aren't we feeling cocky? Lucky for you, you're expected. Get on, then. Third floor."
The two men strode further inward, sharing a glance with the other velen as they headed toward the stairs. Once they were out of earshot, Culm sourly noted, "That probably works on most people, and then she gets to skim off the top. Something for nothing."
"'Something for nothing' may as well be engraved over the doors," Guadriar replied. He fussed with his sleeves and straightened his collar. "Stay focused, we don't need you getting distracted." Culm grunted irritably but said nothing more while they walked up to the second floor and from there up to the top floor.
The walls were lined with black iron vaults. It was said that the might of Bellator alone could crack those doors. The wealthiest clients of the Lucky Sevens would each have vaults on the third floor. It was as much for the prestige as the security. Each vault had a plaque engraved with the owner's name or title. There was no plaque for Guadriar, however.
Soon enough, they stood in front of a pair of double doors, shiny black with no windows. There were two men in front of the door, an enlil and laicar. They reached out and pulled the doors open for the visitors, allowing them into the head office.
If the rest of the Seventh Vice was opulent, the room was palatial. Nary a surface did not glimmer. The furniture was chased in silver and gold, bookshelves, tables, and desks covered in piles of money, trinkets, trophies. The desk in the center spanned half the room, and the man behind it was similarly larger than life. A velen with deep green skin and pale gold scales, he was not only taller than Guadriar but many times broader, built almost like a tank. His suit was black edged in gold, with a golden shirt underneath. Supremely confident, he flashed a toothy smile, revealing that his teeth were silver-plated. His eyes glowed from within, a unique golden color.
Mensarius, the Banker, head of the Lucky Sevens.
"Guadriar, welcome! You should stop by more often!" Mensarius was smiling. The smile didn't fade but the false joviality of his tone disappeared. "You boys certainly wouldn't be so far behind on your payments." The guards stayed outside.
"I am here to square up accounts," Guadriar assured him, holding up both hands placatingly. Inwardly he was bristling at being called ‘boy.' "Before that, let's talk about what you owe." His hands were empty, and he had not made any overt threats. The pair were disarmed when they entered.
"What I owe? What nonsense are you boys talking about?"
Culm pulled out a blood-spattered patch of cloth, the symbol of the Lucky Sevens sewn in gold thread. "We had an attempted sabotage some nights ago. The perpetrator had this on the inside of her clothes. She set fire to shipments of goods from Boreas, goods which were to be sold to pay off the debt we owe."
"And did you sell them?" Mensarius demanded, side-stepping the accusation.
"Minus what was ruined with her blood," Guadriar noted, his tone cool. "We've had similar incidents, always when payment is close to due. Each time, you were ‘gracious' enough to grant extensions, all while letting the debt grow."
"Guadriar, are you trying to tell me you don't have my money?" There was a dangerous gleam in the Banker's eyes, one that suggested he would be happy no matter the answer. The giant of a velen leaned forward in his seat, slamming a hand to the desk as he growled. "You knew the terms when you asked for the financing!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of silver as Culm whipped the pin from his cloak and slammed it through the Banker's hand and straight into the desk. "He's telling you that you crossed your last client!" he growled menacingly.
Mensarius didn't cry out, didn't flinch. He laughed, the golden light in his eyes flaring. Calmly, he pulled his hand away from the sharp pin, not a scratch on it as it wavered and solidified. Guadriar stared in disbelief as Culm caught a backhand across the face. One of the velen's many rings split Culm's lip, he tasted blood.
A vistra.
"Reckoning time, boys."