I can't quite say how long I've been out. My attacker here was adamant on my waking up though, slapping me in the face repeatedly until I stirred. My head is throbbing, and I instinctively try to raise a hand to the back of my head where the pain is coming from but soon find my arms unable to move. Apparently I'm bound to one of my dining table's chairs it seems. I give a test of my restraint, trying to pull cautiously at them with my legs and hands and notice they are a bit slack but they otherwise hold tight.
My deranged attacker stands upright after I start regaining clarity, looming over me with a crazy smile. I look up to meet him with a turn of my head as I am slumped forward in the chair, locking our eyes together. Hes a midlander, standing close to my height though none of my form. His face looks familiar; I can't quite place it yet but he clearly knows me. After a few quiet moments of my heavy breathing through my nose and his just...standing their wavering in his spot I catch the outline of something behind him. It's a few feet away and sprawled on the floor, but my attacker is quick to remind me that he is the one in charge here. I look away from him, but once, and he uses the opportunity to wind up a blow, catching me on a sensitive cheekbone. The pain of his fist, despite his smaller size, lights my senses up at once. He regains my attention with his sucker punch while also eliciting a stoic suppressed groan of pain as my head gets whipped to the side. My cheek being drilled into my teeth and getting cut from the inside is quick to put the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.
I look up at him, biting my lip to keep quiet, only the sound of my ragged breaths filling the space between us. I hesitate, unsure of what to say or how to navigate this situation. I am not accustomed to dealing with crazed fools. Or at least not from a position of disadvantage. His face twisted into something I would akin to bliss but also anger. He seems like he is done wasting my time though as he breaks the silence almost immediately to ask me “Do you remember who I am Mr. Vann?†As he asks he takes the metallic pipe he must have knocked me out with and holds it to my now freshly swelling cheek to threaten me, pulling it across the cheek to remind me he is in charge – and he is. I'd hate myself if I could permit it right now. Being taken captive by a lunatic with a pipe, not even a blade on him. Otto Vann the Master Goldsmith, sitting in a chair being beaten to death by a lunatic clearly unafraid of the consequences of doing this to a Monetarist in their home. Doesn't make for a good headline. I've always tried to give off the impression that I can be a hardass, and that I am not one to be fucked with like this.
I shake my head stiffly, looking regretful as I look up to him again. In truth, I do know who his colossal piece of shit is. He is your very typical Monetarist for Ul'Dah. All gil inherited from his family and none of the type of person that can maintain that wealth or run a business. Like most of the Monetarists and people who work for Syndicate members, he is trash. They will never be capable of running an honest business, never capable of earning fair or honest gil. His name is Ty, at least that’s what he liked be known as.
Ty Doslan. The son of a no-name noble Ul'Dah'n family, wealthy for reasons only the Twelve might understand. He fancied himself someone who could make jewelry people liked, emboldened by the wealth and status of his family, led to believe he was anything above average. His esthetic flare was as poor as his common sense and by virtue of his current actions, did not suggest highly of his artistic abilities. He was, unsurprisingly, the sort of trash that meddles in politics more than they should, and not politics of the noble sense. The kind to turn to smuggling and stealing when honest craftsmanship and enterprise cannot pay their bills, relying on their crooked connections to defend them against reprisal.
He kept above water due to his family keeping his businesses flush with cash, and I was content though deeply unimpressed with his position as a competitor in fine jewelry. That was until he made the mistake of using his ties to the Brass Blades to have a stall of mine removed. I was out of town at the time and couldn't handle his advances. It also didn't help that Ridley was also not formally adopted by me the time and could do nothing but argue as a common person on my behalf. Apparently he wanted more of the Markets to himself, which is fine, but I can not forgive a man who abuses his power to nudge me to the side. After that day, I made a concerted effort to eliminate any possibility of him ever receiving gold or any other precious metal. I burned through gil, securing trade agreements, outbidding him every step of the way. I even dabbled in Futures, buying out entire swaths of future shipments regardless of whether I could predict needing the supplies or not.
In the end, I suffocated him, burying his business into the red and forcing him to take on debt to stay afloat. He couldn't afford to pay his leases under his power and after a few months of what I deemed quietly annihilating his chance to compete, he closed. He had empty stores and stalls, and even sold a few promises of 'new designs to come' to people, never delivering and instead pocketing the gil. His family grew tired of pumping in gil and having their name embarrassed by being emblazoned on the outside of store fronts with no customers and no product. I gained tremendously from it too. I had so much carefully bought gold that I began stockpiling vast sums of it in a warehouse in The Shroud. Doing this enables me to keep it away from prying eyes and secures my businesses from supply instability, caravan raids, mining strikes, and more. At the time, I thought doing all of this would only cost me large sums of gil, but Ty here has other prices in mind for me to pay. Even so, I don't want him to think I know or remember him so fondly. Not yet, I need to buy time and pray to Nald that Ridley is on her way and that I live long enough to see her again.
My mind wandered from my thoughts on squat little men beating me to new levels of pain management, to remembering that I had spotted something on the floor behind him. I chance a glance again, and he tracks my eye movements and pivots as he steps out of the way so I can get a better view in this dimmed dining room of mine, beaming with pride. I can just barely make it out, but I spot the unfortunate sight of Tsubasa, lying on the floor staring with glassed eyes at the ceiling. She's very clearly dead, shadows across her corpse where he, I can only imagine, beat her with this pipe he's caressing my across my cheek. That would explain the lights being out, and more. I look to Tsubasa on the floor, dead in her Tafetta outfit and just shake my head with pursed lips before averting my gaze to the ceiling away from her lamenting her demise for brief moments.
Tsubasa was a good woman, despite her tender age. She came to me off the streets, hearing of my penchant for sleeping around with whatever showed interest for the night looking for work and to better herself. She was a typical, run of the mill low-level prostitute, and I elevated her. She worked for me alongside Ridley, learning the ways of managing a busy man such as myself. I slept with her on occasion, nothing too routine but usually at her advance. She was wealthy in her own right, being paid generously by me and cleaned herself up well, maturing in front of me at a rapid pace to keep up with the new life she was adopted into. At one point, she was presumed pregnant for a brief period, missing one of her cycles, and it was in all likelihood mine. That ended abruptly after about a month, nature having better ideas for her.
After that she was determined to start a future with The Flames. She wanted to get established and ready to move on, and start a life of her own away from me. Despite the miscarriage, we stayed close, and though we were never romantically inclined our complicated relationship was altogether positive. My thoughts, however, are interrupted with a fat chortle from Ty as he sees my reaction, as best as I can suppress it.
“She begged you know. Offered to please me between the sheets if needed to spare her life. Ah yeah, she was tasty.†he says as he grabs towards his cod, to give an indication of what transpired. “Ole Ty here gave her a grand time don't you worry.†He squares his shoulders and drops the humor to regard me.
“Do you always keep such nice little whores around Otto, to please you at your whims? I should move in perhaps, take the place over for myself and make 'em all work for me dressed in as little as possible. Seeing as how you made an effort to take away everything from me, I found it fair to take her to your bed before killing her. She told me you'd be showing up for dinner with a 'daughter' of sorts, it's how I knew to wait you out.†Ty raises my chin, placing his pipe under it to pull my gaze back to his “Filth like you should never be allowed to adopt and have a family – you aren't /noble/ enough.â€
Ty shifts the pipe between his hands, and delivers a scathing backhand across the cheek yet to be angered with his touch while screaming “AND YOU SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO DO BUSINESS IN UL'DAH.â€
It's hard to feel Ty's concerted efforts to rearrange my face when I can only imagine snatching the life from him if Ridley ever shows.
My deranged attacker stands upright after I start regaining clarity, looming over me with a crazy smile. I look up to meet him with a turn of my head as I am slumped forward in the chair, locking our eyes together. Hes a midlander, standing close to my height though none of my form. His face looks familiar; I can't quite place it yet but he clearly knows me. After a few quiet moments of my heavy breathing through my nose and his just...standing their wavering in his spot I catch the outline of something behind him. It's a few feet away and sprawled on the floor, but my attacker is quick to remind me that he is the one in charge here. I look away from him, but once, and he uses the opportunity to wind up a blow, catching me on a sensitive cheekbone. The pain of his fist, despite his smaller size, lights my senses up at once. He regains my attention with his sucker punch while also eliciting a stoic suppressed groan of pain as my head gets whipped to the side. My cheek being drilled into my teeth and getting cut from the inside is quick to put the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.
I look up at him, biting my lip to keep quiet, only the sound of my ragged breaths filling the space between us. I hesitate, unsure of what to say or how to navigate this situation. I am not accustomed to dealing with crazed fools. Or at least not from a position of disadvantage. His face twisted into something I would akin to bliss but also anger. He seems like he is done wasting my time though as he breaks the silence almost immediately to ask me “Do you remember who I am Mr. Vann?†As he asks he takes the metallic pipe he must have knocked me out with and holds it to my now freshly swelling cheek to threaten me, pulling it across the cheek to remind me he is in charge – and he is. I'd hate myself if I could permit it right now. Being taken captive by a lunatic with a pipe, not even a blade on him. Otto Vann the Master Goldsmith, sitting in a chair being beaten to death by a lunatic clearly unafraid of the consequences of doing this to a Monetarist in their home. Doesn't make for a good headline. I've always tried to give off the impression that I can be a hardass, and that I am not one to be fucked with like this.
I shake my head stiffly, looking regretful as I look up to him again. In truth, I do know who his colossal piece of shit is. He is your very typical Monetarist for Ul'Dah. All gil inherited from his family and none of the type of person that can maintain that wealth or run a business. Like most of the Monetarists and people who work for Syndicate members, he is trash. They will never be capable of running an honest business, never capable of earning fair or honest gil. His name is Ty, at least that’s what he liked be known as.
Ty Doslan. The son of a no-name noble Ul'Dah'n family, wealthy for reasons only the Twelve might understand. He fancied himself someone who could make jewelry people liked, emboldened by the wealth and status of his family, led to believe he was anything above average. His esthetic flare was as poor as his common sense and by virtue of his current actions, did not suggest highly of his artistic abilities. He was, unsurprisingly, the sort of trash that meddles in politics more than they should, and not politics of the noble sense. The kind to turn to smuggling and stealing when honest craftsmanship and enterprise cannot pay their bills, relying on their crooked connections to defend them against reprisal.
He kept above water due to his family keeping his businesses flush with cash, and I was content though deeply unimpressed with his position as a competitor in fine jewelry. That was until he made the mistake of using his ties to the Brass Blades to have a stall of mine removed. I was out of town at the time and couldn't handle his advances. It also didn't help that Ridley was also not formally adopted by me the time and could do nothing but argue as a common person on my behalf. Apparently he wanted more of the Markets to himself, which is fine, but I can not forgive a man who abuses his power to nudge me to the side. After that day, I made a concerted effort to eliminate any possibility of him ever receiving gold or any other precious metal. I burned through gil, securing trade agreements, outbidding him every step of the way. I even dabbled in Futures, buying out entire swaths of future shipments regardless of whether I could predict needing the supplies or not.
In the end, I suffocated him, burying his business into the red and forcing him to take on debt to stay afloat. He couldn't afford to pay his leases under his power and after a few months of what I deemed quietly annihilating his chance to compete, he closed. He had empty stores and stalls, and even sold a few promises of 'new designs to come' to people, never delivering and instead pocketing the gil. His family grew tired of pumping in gil and having their name embarrassed by being emblazoned on the outside of store fronts with no customers and no product. I gained tremendously from it too. I had so much carefully bought gold that I began stockpiling vast sums of it in a warehouse in The Shroud. Doing this enables me to keep it away from prying eyes and secures my businesses from supply instability, caravan raids, mining strikes, and more. At the time, I thought doing all of this would only cost me large sums of gil, but Ty here has other prices in mind for me to pay. Even so, I don't want him to think I know or remember him so fondly. Not yet, I need to buy time and pray to Nald that Ridley is on her way and that I live long enough to see her again.
My mind wandered from my thoughts on squat little men beating me to new levels of pain management, to remembering that I had spotted something on the floor behind him. I chance a glance again, and he tracks my eye movements and pivots as he steps out of the way so I can get a better view in this dimmed dining room of mine, beaming with pride. I can just barely make it out, but I spot the unfortunate sight of Tsubasa, lying on the floor staring with glassed eyes at the ceiling. She's very clearly dead, shadows across her corpse where he, I can only imagine, beat her with this pipe he's caressing my across my cheek. That would explain the lights being out, and more. I look to Tsubasa on the floor, dead in her Tafetta outfit and just shake my head with pursed lips before averting my gaze to the ceiling away from her lamenting her demise for brief moments.
Tsubasa was a good woman, despite her tender age. She came to me off the streets, hearing of my penchant for sleeping around with whatever showed interest for the night looking for work and to better herself. She was a typical, run of the mill low-level prostitute, and I elevated her. She worked for me alongside Ridley, learning the ways of managing a busy man such as myself. I slept with her on occasion, nothing too routine but usually at her advance. She was wealthy in her own right, being paid generously by me and cleaned herself up well, maturing in front of me at a rapid pace to keep up with the new life she was adopted into. At one point, she was presumed pregnant for a brief period, missing one of her cycles, and it was in all likelihood mine. That ended abruptly after about a month, nature having better ideas for her.
After that she was determined to start a future with The Flames. She wanted to get established and ready to move on, and start a life of her own away from me. Despite the miscarriage, we stayed close, and though we were never romantically inclined our complicated relationship was altogether positive. My thoughts, however, are interrupted with a fat chortle from Ty as he sees my reaction, as best as I can suppress it.
“She begged you know. Offered to please me between the sheets if needed to spare her life. Ah yeah, she was tasty.†he says as he grabs towards his cod, to give an indication of what transpired. “Ole Ty here gave her a grand time don't you worry.†He squares his shoulders and drops the humor to regard me.
“Do you always keep such nice little whores around Otto, to please you at your whims? I should move in perhaps, take the place over for myself and make 'em all work for me dressed in as little as possible. Seeing as how you made an effort to take away everything from me, I found it fair to take her to your bed before killing her. She told me you'd be showing up for dinner with a 'daughter' of sorts, it's how I knew to wait you out.†Ty raises my chin, placing his pipe under it to pull my gaze back to his “Filth like you should never be allowed to adopt and have a family – you aren't /noble/ enough.â€
Ty shifts the pipe between his hands, and delivers a scathing backhand across the cheek yet to be angered with his touch while screaming “AND YOU SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO DO BUSINESS IN UL'DAH.â€
It's hard to feel Ty's concerted efforts to rearrange my face when I can only imagine snatching the life from him if Ridley ever shows.