Thieves Of Magic

Security Liason Pt. 1
The bigger they are...

Pern walked briskly through the bright day, though it was looking to be a cold moon of souls this year. At least it wasn’t raining.

She quickly left the old castle kitchens and headed toward the rising sun, it was cold and white but it was just leaving the horizon and kissed the silvered waters gently with it’s light. She saw a tall ship, lean for a galley but just as long, it’s flag, a slaughtered mimic, was flying at half mast. Odd. I’ll have to ask one of the chumbers about that.

Once she had met the old tillman’s road she headed south, towards the Institutional Guild Bank of Flushport. She came to a halt outside the Harbour Bank as a wagon came out, probably headed to one of the bank’s warehouses at the edge of the city. She couched her halberd in the crook of her arm and brought up her shield to bare, she spoke in a practiced voice.
“Make way for the Guardian Protectorate.” She put a slight ounce of her will into the words and let a little power flow into her shield. The crowd parted, but not before someone spoke,
“Fucking rooks.” a voice from somewhere in the crowd muttered, almost indistinguishable from the noise of the crowd in general. She ignored it, the symbol of the Guardian Protectorate shone gently, a white rook on a blue field.

She walked the rest of the way and crossed the street, the recent rain and the camber of the road had left it surprisingly clean. She looked up from the street, the steps of the bank were worn with footsteps, four stone pillars supported it’s old portico, a stylised image of a tiefling with a balance scale. She walked up the steps and in through the double doors.

The tone shifted from cold white stone to warm dark woods, and plush red red velvet. As her eyes adjusted to light of the room, someone coughed to her left. She turned and saw a behemoth of a man trying to look inconspicuous behind an almost comically small diary.
“Mr. Ringtail?”, the mountain stood, a faint jingle came from his seat as his tail slid from the bench.
“Please, call me Matthew, people usually call my brother Mr. Ringtail.” As obvious as it sounds, he was even bigger standing, his face was scarred over his right eye and his nose had clearly been broken several times, healing differently each. His chest was as broad as two men standing together, and, Pern had noticed, he had been sitting next to a pair of warpicks.

Baking with Pern
Deep in the Guardian Protectorate mess hall...

She weighed out 185g of butter, the balance needed new weights, she was sure they hadn’t been replaced since the revolution. After that she moved the butter off of the balance and started placing the chocolate onto it. It had cost her a weeks wages, but it would totally be worth it. She wiped her forehead, streaking it with chocolate, and moving her violently red hair out of the way. It was cut short, you could only afford to have long hair if you were a detective, she was in the corp, a beat officer. But a year and a half ago, she had been assigned to Inspector Narla Hawklight.

She broke another another 185g of dark chocolate into bowl, biting into a piece of the remaining stack. She turned around to the hob where a her saucepan sat for her bain-marie. God, this is good chocolate. She’s going to love these! She let the chocolate and butter melt in the bain-marie, stirring occasionally. She looked over to the corner of her room where her halberd was propped up against the wall. A monstrous thing, almost as tall as her, all black iron and hardwood, it had a spiked hand guard two thirds of the way up, it was custom, not like the stock gear the garrison kept. She called it Sweeper.

Narla worked her hard, but it was rewarding, the specialist crime and operations directorate was in charge of serious and serial, emergency preparedness, vice and, her own unit, serious and organised. It was fun, she didn’t see much action, but when she did, it was fantastic. She would loose her self in it, her mother was a priestess of Bahamut, she used to call it “Becoming one of the dragon’s scales.”, Pern was a simple and practical woman, to her it was just, The Thrill.

The water in the bain-marie started boiling over. She reached out to turned the hob off but scalded her hand.
“Bahamut smite you!” she said pulling her hand back, she ran it under cold water before wrapping it lightly with gauze from her dressings pouch. She turned one of the smaller ovens on to heat it, she preferred the gas ones to the ones the RGAAAP had given them. Working under Narla, she had been instilled with a wariness for magic.

She took another mixing bowl out and sieved a third of a cup of cocoa powder, and two thirds of a cup of flour into it.

She took three large eggs and broke them into a third bowl, added one and a half cups of caster sugar, she looked at the whisk next to her bowl, then threw a sideways glance at the RGAAAP mixer. Narla may be cautious about magic, but how bad can a mixer be. She whipped it until it was thick and creamy it was pale, and about double it’s original volume. She then poured the contents of her bain-marie into the second bowl, before folding it in with a spatula, very gently, she didn’t want to get rid of the air. She then sieved the cocoa and flour from her second bowl into the one with the eggs, sugar, chocolate and butter, she again gently folded the mixture into itself it looked dry but she kept going until she had a nice gunky fudgy texture.

She picked up bag of chocolate, Maybe 100g left? and threw in the rest of the broken chunks of chocolate.

She then poured the mixture into her baking tray, lined with parchment. She then slid it into the oven and went to go about her morning’s duties.

But she would be back in twenty five minutes.

The Litany
The heart of the city is rotten and festering.

Proffeser Kuhn studied the rubbing. It was late.. but something about it didn’t sit right, it couldn’t possibly be correct. It completely goes against all records.

And yet there it sat before him. Recovered by an Anson extraction team from a labarynthile catacombe in the heart of the city. If only the bastards hadn’t set off the traps.

And It read: (translated from Deep Speech/Rellanic script)

We of the dark, mists and spite.
We who fight those of the light.
We skilled in sleight and plight.
Do solemnly swear fealty unto the night.

Dear Matty,

If you expect a robbery brother just say so, I do find it dreadfully dull to weed out your meaning in all of this. Anyway, it like Farren have made quite a delivery, if that redhead is string up trouble, maybe we should move our new pets into the vault. That really ought to petrify any theives.

- Joseph Ringtail, Chief Executive Officer, The Institutional Guild Bank Of Flushport (IGBF), Primus Inter Pares Of The City Council.

Guard Duty
From the office of Matthew Ringtail

Some of my informants have been whispering about a little half-elf scouting out new talent. Others are talking about this new kingpin behind the syndicate. Things might be changing in Flushport. Let’s double the men on the front doors. Just to send out the message.

- Matthew Ringtail, Secretary of Security, The Institutional Guild Bank Of Flushport (IGBF)


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