House Punching

Tenebrae - Sunday, January 05, 2014, 7:29 PM

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A02: Lower Trades District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The Lower Trades District is the home of the working man of Alexandria. The Lower Trades is divided, unofficially, into two parts: that controlled by the gobbers, and that controlled by the khazad. The two areas stand in contrast, one with a strong, almost formal architecture and a predilection for blacksmiths, the other a mixture of propped-up rubble and gunpowder. The latter's started to grow however, and take form with the aid of the more structured Arvek Nar. Still, the two stand as uneasy neighbors, though the oruch more easily work both sides, often in the spirit of a friendly, if competitive, warriors' competition that's unique to Alexandria, itself.

Here, the "khazad section" boasts a number of blacksmiths, glass smiths, artifice shops, and basic taverns, as well as any number of trades shops and eateries. The sweet tinge of oil, iron, and spiced BBQ is everywhere. Shrines to Reos, or marks of the same, are found over most doorways, in homage to the khazad Mountain Father and World Smith.

And so it is that the city's strangest priest - well, as far as the residents of the Khazad quarter may be concerned - goes about his nightly duties.

First among his duties is shrine-tending. That is to say, he goes about the various shrines and seals of Reos dotting the road, polishing steel and mending any damage that he finds. The touch of his hand is needed for more onerous issues, but metal, wood and cloth knit immediately beneath his bare fingers as if alive. The second...is to bring the law.

Though much has been repaired since Alexandria was beseiged, many streets are without light, and danger waits in darkened alleys. So does Fazahd walk the streets, clad in armor and with hammer at hand, prepared to deal out justice to those who may lurk prepared to do harm to the citizens of the quarter - khazad, human or goblin, rich or poor, it does not matter. The fist of the Forge God is on the streets and on patrol.

Selia waits in darkened alleys. Or streets. Sometimes darkened rooftops. Just now the tiny Dancer lingers on a stone base of a ManaLamp, the artifice sputtering like a dying firefly, barely offering a candelpower. Wrapped in a thick cloak against the chill, he eyes the Khazad-human with a wary eye. "Yer new. Who da heck is ya?" A thick layer of Low Charnish hangs over her accent.

And in Goblintown, there is at least one shrine to Reos, it's true. But at the moment, as that is going on, Boshter appears to be demolishing a home. The Hobgoblin is literally demolishing a goblin home wiht his bare hands. Punching and breaking boards. He seems intent on making the whole structure collapse.

With. His. Bare. Hands.

So she does. And so does Fazahd stop when being addressed as such, turning to regard the slip of a girl beneath the sputtering lamp. "I am the hand of Reos, sister," he says - and then is distracted by the sound of a hobgoblin who has decided that for him, wrecking balls are only for little white girls with music careers.

"The fist of Reos," he corrects, and then proceeds down the street toward where Boshter never hit so hard in love before.

Whysper has just come out of a shop in Goblintown, her fingers testing a gray powder in a small bag. Brows draw down over her eyes, her fingers have dipped into the powder feeling for the consistancy. She glances up hearing boards breaking, as an Arvek is tearing a home down. She pauses curious, then turns as someone begins talking to... a new person. She glances to see who is talking to whom.. seeing a small Lucht and a strangely dressed human.

A whip of a figure with his hands in his pockets walks by to watch the destruction. "Did the door have a lock?" Renfrey asks idly surveying the destruction and rummaging through some of the debris. "A safe or something would be even better but this part of town..."

Selia snorts. "I ain't yer sister. Mum woulda said sumthin." The Lucht hops down from her perch, more flowing as liquid than moving like a proper person. She glances idly to Boshter and his smashings, but seems more concerned with the self-proclaimed Fist.

Boshter, right now, is the FIST OF TEARING DOWN A HOME. It's a good thing to be given the poor construction. Crash! Boom! Things fall down. The roof then collapses on Boshter.

There is silence for a momentbefore he heaves himself out of the wreckage.

"THAT WAS FUN," he tells a goblin near to him, "I COULD DO THAT ALL DAY."

"You don't have to yell you know," shrills the goblin. "But thank you. ow I can replace it with a BIGGER home. Hooray!" He sounds excited.

He has not drawn his hammer yet, has Fazahd, but he approaches the scene with the greatest of authority - you know, the kind only those with a god personally backing them can produce. "In the name of Reos, the Father and the Forge, Crafter of the Universe," he bellows, lifting high the holy symbol of Reos in his hand from where it hung about his neck. "Cease and explain what's transpires here!"

Ah, the direct approach. He's going to get himself shot.

As the sylvanori watches Boshter and his house... demolition, a smile pulls at lips. She tugs the small bag of powder closed and hangs it from her belt. Just about to walk away, Whysper glances up quickly at the yelling from the.. obvious cleric. She slips to the side just to watch, seeming quite curious how it all will play out.

Renfrey eyes the goblin and gives his best salesman smile "Well when you put up your new home please consider Under Lock and Key locksmithing for your home security!" he says in a very practiced voice. "Just business!" he turns to tell Fahzad.

The Loud One will get stabbed, more likely. Selia's right there. "Knock it off. Yer making da boys nervous. Is just Boshter. He ain't no trouble. You, ona other hand, I ain't so sure 'bout."

"I needed to demolish my home! I made a bunch of money! Now I am going to make a new and better home. I paid the ARvek over there a good ten gold to take it down."

"I like gold," says Boshter, cheerily, "But I like punching walls very hard even better!" He inspects his barely even bloodied knuckles.

Aha! And at this the priest seems to relax a bit - but only a bit. "I see," replies Fazahd, looking more than a little skeptical. "And can you produce some evidence of ownership?" He gestures to Boshter even as he says this. "Come here, sir, let me look at those knuckles. You'll get an infection - you can't punch down houses with blood-plague or withered fingers."

So wait, what?

Selia continues to pace a short distance from Fazahd. If you've ever seen a momma cat stalk a strange dog, you've a good idea of the Lucht's actions. "Let 'im be. Boshter punches dragons. Little house ain't gonna stop 'im."

Renfrey grins at Boshter "So... would you go uh... knock down some doors for me? I can pay you some gold. Hit the locks especially hard!" he notes with some excitement.

Whysper crosses her arms as she leans up against a rather rickety building that doesn't look as stable as the one Boshter just brought down. She watches the Khazad dressed human to see how he reacts to the quite legal tearing down of the building, well legal if he owns it... and can prove it... or does that count in Goblintown..?

Confusedly, BOshter holds his hands out to Fazahd. "Well, all right. But I am not prone to many infections!" He turns his hands over to show them off too. Truthfully, they dn't look all that marred despite what he was doing. Callouses on the callouses, though.

Fazahd gives Renfrey a look of warning before reaching into a belt pouch with a free hand; a roll of cloth is produced which has a sharp chemical smell. "This is a plaster," he explains, holding it out for Boshter to take. "The next time you wound your fingers, wrap them in this to avoid disease. Once you run out, ask for me at one of the temples of Reos and I shall give you another. You look as though you'll only need it for special cases, though." A beat. "My name is Fazahd Masterbuilder, son of Burhud. They will know who I am."

He turns now to the goblin. "Your name, sir? And do you have proof of ownership of this property? Paperwork, a bill of sale? Can your neighbors vouch for you?"

Selia snorts at the Burhud-son. "Yeah, yer new. And I can vouch for Lenney. Had his shingle on dat spot fer months." The tiny woman glances to the goblin in idly curiousity. "Where'd ya get coin fer a new places anyways? Ya cheating at cards 'gain?"

"I do," sayus the goblin, brightly, "My neighbors are right over htere." He points at a couple of goblins who are waving at him. "I understand, Master FAzahd, but I really was just tearing it down 'cause I came into lots of money!"

Boshter beams. "He paid me GOLD to tear down his house!" He seems so happy about this. "I will keep that in mind but disease doesn't get to me very often! I was well trained in Blar how to fight infections. When disease strikes, I PUNCH IT."

"An excellent way to handle things," the priest says, and dismisses Boshter with a pat on the shoulder with a gloved hand. Fazahd then looks to the goblin. "Then I shall bless the new building when it is raised," he tells the little fellow, "And if you require assistance with engineering or labor, you may call on me at any time. You're...Fizzleblink, aren't you? No, I'm sorry. Fizbak."

It's not like he's -ignoring- Selia, really, it's just more that she's not the immediate concern.

Whysper facepalms at the claim of punching disease, but she can't help but smile as the big arvek nar talks. She hangs back a bit longer, wondering how long before the human persists in his... duties. She glances over the gobber neighbors, a brow rising a bit.

Renfrey smirks a bit at Fazhad "Not to worry, all legitimate business of course!" he produces a flask and just as he is about to take a swig, drops it from shaking hands. He quickly stuffs his hands back in his pockets and grins, ignoring the flask on the ground "So you can punch diseases huh?"

Selia glares at the Tall Dwarf a few moments longer before turning her frown upon Renfrey, eyeing his flask a moment. "Iffen anyone can punch a disease, is Boshter."

Whysper's attention is brought back to the conversation at the Renfrey's actions, and his dropping of his flask. Her keen eyes move over the half-elf, yet still listening to the conversation. She doesn't move any closer, but watching the half-elf more closely, a light frown drawing at her mouth.

"It is true! I can punch /every/ disease," Boshter beams.

A nod is given to Fazahd, though, by the goblin and he seems happy about it.

THe Arvek continues making punchy gestures at the air. "I have punched the cold! Did you see that? It was punched very hard!"

"Ah, well. I am pleased for your fortune." Fazahd finally flicks a glance to Selia, then returns his attention to Fizbak. "What happened? Did you secure a lucrative conflict? Win at dice?" His already stern expression deepends somewhat. "If you've lost a family member - and I am sorry for your loss if you have - I hope you won't forget that there's an inheritance tax." Law and order, this one. All heart.

Renfrey had considered letting Boshter try and punch him... for about a microsecond. Those who look closer note his hands still shake in his pockets for a little bit. Once they stop he reaches for his flask and takes a swig. "Well can't collect taxes until the paperwork is processed right?" he flashes a toothy grin.

Whysper downright frowns at the mention of tax and so forth. She stands up, just about ready to leave, letting out a discouraged sigh. She glances over the human talking tax and the like, her expression shows she isn't impressed.

Selia snorts again. "Taxes. Right." She continues to eye Renfrey, but since less concerned when he picks up his own flask. Littering is a serious matter.

"Sir! I always pay my taxes," complais the goblin, sounding vaguely offended at the intimation that he would do anything else! Which, of course, means he probably never pays his taxes.

"I shall hope to hear this is so when next I visit the treasury office." Fazahd looks back at the ruins of the house and sighs. "Will you need any help cleaning all of this up? I know a few people who would be happy to haul this away for you." Thoughts of a certain alchemical monstrosity who eats everything come to mind. "And if you please, have the waste stone sent to the temple of Daeus. I shall use it to help affect repairs. As I have said, you may call upon me for help with engineering and construction. Good evening, citizen." And that said, the priest turns to take his leave - lots of other blocks to visit, after all.

Renfrey puts his flask away and eyes the gobber "Well if you want the best locks in town on your new place I would gladly be of service. I shall be around! Goodday!" he says with a smile and nod.

<OOC> Fazahd says, "Ho ho ho. I have been sufficiently officious. A banner day!"

Selia eyes Renfrey for another moment, then follows after the Reos-man. As she departs, the sputtering Mana-lamp flickers a few moments longer, then blinks back to life. A pale, soot covered life, but still.

The Goblin, as Fazahd talks, looks increasingly crestfallen. If Fazahd holds to that, he might actually have to pay his taxes this time.

Boshter is busy, though, pantomiming additional punches and kicks as Fazahd departs.

Fazahd has left.

Selia paues a brief moment to speak with the goblin before following after. "Oy, Lenny! Yer up on yer Protection, right? Then yer good. Alternative Payment Routes, and stuff." The halfling hurries off after the trouble maker.

The freshness of the river cuts through this section of Alexandria. Its broad expanse sparkles beneath the sun, its surface dotted with ships and barges. The vehicles move slowly over the water, their sails colorful and proud. Most bear a nod to Rada, or three, for luck's sake. Others bear the colors of different nations and city-states, all of them coming here to bring trade to Alexandria.

Warehouses line the streets, dotted with the names of shipping companies and various industries. These, mixed with the occasional sailor's tavern, set the tone for the area. Overall, it's bustling, busy, about what one would expect for a city of this size.

Selia takes a few moments to reassure the Goblin about his tax situation before resuming her persuit of the one she considers a Trouble Maker.

Fazahd proceeds along the thoroughfare. Spots of darkness here and there get a squint before he continues along - it's odd, though, because he shows no actual distaste for the people whom he examines or the establishments he passes, merely a general sense of heightened vigilance. The presence of an armored priest on patrol, of course, gets more than a few arched brows as he proceeds along, from townspeople and Watch alike.

Selia follows after, not really bothering to hide her presence. Which is to say the little halfer can be seen from time to time. In spots of darkness, which she heavily favors, the dancer seems to disappear, only to show up again elsewhere, speaking a few words of reassurance to those who favor going about their busniess outside the light. After a brief shortcut through a rather dangerous looking alleyway, she waits for the other to now catch up. "Where ya from, anyways? Ain't frm 'round here, for sure."

"I was wondering when you were going to speak up." He doesn't so much as slow his pace as he addresses you, merely forging on. "If you're going to tell me how I'm doing things the wrong way, mistress, you had better keep up."

Selia snorts once more. "Iffen need ya slow, cut ya down ta proper height. Reckon slow ya down 'nuff. 'n don't call me 'mistress'. Is Selia."

"Selia, then." He continues along, and assuming you continue, he speaks again. "Very well, then, tell me how I am 'not from around here.' I am all ears, I assure you."

Selia gives a brief laugh. "Ya stick out like a Dran at a gnome festival. Iffen ya was from 'round here, woulda met ya long ago. As fer doin wrong, yer trying ta fix waht ain't broke. Just cause don't work how you know don't mean it don't work. Get blokes like you in now and then; reckon ya know better than folks what lived here all their lives."

"Interesting." He continues, pausing at the mouth of a tavern when the sound of a rowdy crowd comes out through the doorway. Deciding it to be merely celebration instead of violence, he continues on his way. "And you think I believe that I know better?"

Selia nods, glancing at the tavern herself. Violence and celebration are often the same thing, but so long as no one draws a weapon, it's all in good fun. "Yer strutting. Standing out take make known yer here, and ain't gonna pass by what ya don't like."

Fazahd gives you a sidelong look. "You -do- know who Reos is, do you not?"

Selia hehs. "I'ma city girl. Course know da Maker. Know most of the Meddlers, better than ya reckon. My beef ain't with him, is you."

"And what have I done?" He peers at an alleyway where a few sailors are throwing dice - peers and continues on. "You seem to have made up your mind about me in a very short space of time. I must admit, it hardly seems fair, when I have not done the same about you. Especially when you have appeared to miss a great deal of what transpired in favor of your own prejudices."

Selia says, "Any who don't make up their mind quick is dumb. Anyone who ain't willing to change what they made is dumber. I ain't worried what ya done, worried what yer gonna do."

"You did not answer my question," he points out.

Selia gives Fazahd a look. "Ya tried to bring da Law to places what don't want it."

"They do not want the Law because they do not believe the Law serves them," he points out. "Because the Law often comes hand in hand with those who would abuse it. Tell me..." Fazahd stops at a street corner, turning to look at you. "What exactly did I do there? Tell me what you saw. In detail, please."

Selia gives another look. "Told ya, ain't bout what ya did. Is how ya did it, and what ya may do." The halfling peers around a few moments, searching for something, but apparently fails to find it. "Ain't got a visual, but say there's a broken gear, half it's teeth stripped off. What do ya do?"

"Ensure if it can still function on its own," Fazahd said. "If so, let it continue until it cannot function. And then..." He pauses for a moment, looking himself - and finds, there on the streetside, a nail nearly sheared in half. Crouching down, he collects the piece of sundered metal; he holds it out, and as if the nail were a living creature, the iron knits and straightens. "It is a poor engineer who simply throws out what can be repaired. A daughter of Charn, I suspect, has seen too many gears thrown out without a thought. The Maker bids us do things differently."

Selia snorts again, but relaxes a bit. "Ya still ain't told yer story. Yer too big for a proper StoneStomper. Drink too many growth potions as a kid or something?"

Fazahd shrugs faintly, the scales of his armor clinking softly together as he does. "I am as you see," he says as he begins to walk again, crossing the street toward the other side. "Born human, remade into a son of Khazad Duin. Those who birthed me are dead, but the clan which claimed me is strong. Oh, I do not have the flesh of the mountain, but I am Khazad through and through - and, as you already know, a priest of the Maker of the World. Which reminds me...do you know how many shrines of Reos there are in Alexandria?"

Selia laughs once more, but the edge to it is gone. "You -are- new here. Maybe the Maker hisself can count, but not me. Anyplace with a workbench might make a sign. Or might not. Proper, full sized shrines with clergy... eh, still don't know. Quite a few, down in da factories I reckon."

"Four hundred eighty-seven," he affirms. "That is, formal shrines, streetside placements, and sanctified forges. A great many more devotional banners, blazons and personal shrines are in family homes. By raw mathematics, a quarter of those are in Goblintown. Surely you have noticed that there are no priests who go there, not really. And yet I knew Master Fizbak by name." He glances your way. "How do you account for that?"

Selia shrugs. "Lenny ain't sublte. Had his shingle on that shack, though reckon took it down 'fore Boshter started knockin."

"Go and look at the shrines the next time you're down that way," he says simply. "I realize that the way I do things is zealous - I realize that the faith of the Maker is usually a great deal more...neutral...about the way they handle the law. But please remember, if you will, that to embrace the Maker is also to embrace order; the same order that maintains machines and devices also maintains civilization. And to embrace one is to embrace the other, on some scale or another." He gives you another look. "I am sorry that the law has disappointed you in the past. I hope to change your opinion for the better."

Selia shakes her head. "Ain't law what makes a civilization worth civilizing. Is freedom for folks to make it how they like. Law is the cage that keeps it from growing better. Break the cage and let it free."

"Neither law nor chaos can thrive without the other," he points out. "There must be structure. The trick is to ensure it does not smother what wishes to be free." He turns to you again, stopping in mid-step. "I can see that we are of very different viewpoints. However, I respect your way of seeing things, even if I do not necessarily share them. If you believe me to grow too suppressive, then I urge you to come and tell me. I cannot guarantee that I will always accept such criticisms, but I will always listen to them. Is that, at least, something?"

Selia snorts, but smiles. "If ya find yer organs bleeding, -then- I'm criticising. I's just being cautious. Ain't sure yer for the best, but will tell da boys yer alright. They get nervous sometimes."

Fazahd nods once. "I do not blame them," he replies. "You can always find me on patrol - ah. That reminds me. If you could, I would like it if you could inquire about anything...strange...going on in the less-patrolled parts of the city. Part of the reason I am on patrol is due to what appears to be a group of priests dedicated to the Lady of Murder who are prowling the darkened alleys. Have you heard of such a thing?"

Selia ponders a few moments and nods. "Heard some things. I got no beef with Illotha. Are some regulars, they keep quiet and to themselves. But heard been some irregulars. Them, I don't know 'bout. Ya got something specific? Rumors and drunks get murky."

"I helped kill a whole group of 'irregulars' just last night." He says it plain as day, really. No shame in it at all. "They were preying on the everyday people. Blood golems, that sort of thing."

Selia frowns. "Damn. Hoped that was just a hallunication. No, I don't know nuthin. But can ask around."

Fazahd nods. "Please do," he says. "That group was destroyed entirely - but if there are more, they must be put down. Unfortunately, there are those who - unlike you - would use the lack of structure not to live freely but to destroy. It is why I am here."

Selia nods. "Ain't all bad iffen destory the right stuff. But them who don't care what, just wanna smash. Know some folks who might know something, find a lead to follow."

Fazahd nods once. "If you can do that, I would be very grateful." He pauses, then, and squints at you. "Can I do anything in return? Do you need something repaired or built? I'm afraid the majority of my skills are entirely material, but..."

Selia hehs. "Yer doin fine. Keep a solid roof over them temples. AIn't noplace warm and cozy with a leaky roof."

Fazahd chuckles at that. "I was just doing that today," he replies. "The temple of Great Daeus today, Tarien tomorrow. Most faiths deserve a home." He gives you a faint nod. "I should probably continue my patrol. Have a pleasant evening, sister. It will always be welcome, meeting you." With that he gives you a slight salute, two fingers pressed against his brow, and then he's off.

Selia watches a few moments, and then just.... disappears.