A Few Weeks Ago:
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Trouble started for Verad, as it often did, in a cruel and unjust manner. Were he a more pessimistic person, he would have railed against the Twelve for choosing to torment him so. However, he at least recognized that the woes he suffered were not of his own making.Â
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So it was that when here turned from a brief, entirely voluntary vacation in Limsa Lominsa that had nothing at all to do with the possibility of his implication in accidentally smuggling a small forest's worth of juvenile cactuars into Ul'dah, he did not take it as a strike against him when he found that his Pearl Lane office had been vandalized, burglarized, and ransacked in a most vulgar manner. He came home to find a great quantity of blood on the carpet, his strongbox cracked and emptied of its contents, and his sign, the pride of his office, defaced in order to display a lewd slogan. If nothing else, he had to marvel at the creativity of the writer in changing "Dubious Distributions" to its current state; were he not quite cross at the culprit, he would seriously consider employing him for later advertisements.
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Now, some less-than-charitable individuals might have argued that Verad brought the possibility of robbery upon himself by making his office a small piece of rug situated in the middle of Pearl Lane's thoroughfare, and that by leaving his strongbox in plain view when he was not present, it was a miracle on the part of the Twelve that he had not been burglarized even sooner than he was. Verad could only scoff at such people, for the rug was some of Pearl Lane's most highly-desired outdoor real-estate, and available at a very reasonable rate considering its location, which was very close to the Quicksand. Further, would it not be unseemly for a dubious merchant to have anything other than a dubious office? Where else could he keep his papers and meet with larger clients but the rug, and not leave the impression that this was a man who was exactly as trustworthy as he appeared to be, without the dishonesty of meeting inside a building and at a desk, of all things!Â
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No, Verad prided himself upon his former office, whether that invited risk or no, and to the last point he had taken measures, first in making his materials appear to be far from worth the time and effort to steal them, and second in hiring security to patrol the area on times and days when the rug was being used by others, for he only rented it three out of the seven days of the week. It was, in fact, the very presence of this security which convinced Verad - in addition to more insignificant clues like the substantial quantity of blood that now stained the rug - that something was amiss beyond a mere robbery, for Ser Corinthus, the newly hired security, insisted that nothing had occurred on the days on which he patrolled.Â
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With no reason to doubt the man's honesty, and every reason to doubt the enthusiasm of the Brass Blades in resolving the matter once it was reported, Verad declared that he would put every one of his considerable resources to the problem of finding the culprits and returning his stolen belongings. It was most fortunate that he had only recently acquired the aid of one of Eorzea's free companies - or perhaps it was a charitable organization with a militant arm, Verad was never quite sure. But after making a sufficiently impassioned entreaty, several of their members offered to assist him in solving the crime.
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The task of finding witnesses to the robbery was simple enough, as it could only have occurred on the days Verad was not using the space, and was not present in the city as a result of his vacation. With the aid of Miss Airka Lakshmi's skill at dice - carefully monitored and supervised by Verad, of course - they were able to determine that the attack happened on the one day that Gliding Bone, a Roegadyn basket-weaver and, in Verad's estimation, a fellow of outstanding character, rented the space to sell his wares to the less fortunate. Their witnesses claimed to have seen the attack, and that one of the assailants was a member of the Ala Mihgan refugee community, notable for his bright-red, braided hair and relatively slim build for a member of a predominantly Highlander community.
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With this lead in mind, Verad had set about prodding, in his gentle, understanding fashion, for leads in the Ala Mihgan refugee community to see where such a man might take his leisure. Having narrowed down his location to the Laughing Peiste, a small tavern in Pearl Lane, he was quick to insinuate himself into the community, as well as take a few extra members of the company along for security's sake.
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Once one looked past the small riot that had occurred, the trip had gone quite well. Verad had been sure that there was some trick to be found in the wood grain of one of the tavern's tables, some sort of secret message, and so absorbed had he been in deciphering it that, regrettably, he had been unable to assist when one of his fellows in the company attracted the ire of one of the patrons. In retrospect, he supposed, bringing a number of Miqo'te and Midlanders into an Ala Mihgan bar was perhaps not the best way to avoid attracting attention, but not everyone could be as effective at blending in as he.
Violence was prevented by the late-but-timely arrival of Miss Lakshmi, and between her prowess as an arcanist and Verad's ability to provide a distraction while being stunned by arcanist magic, the group was able to escape before any serious harm was inflicted. Nor had their efforts been entirely fruitless, for one of their number was able to contact Godrich, the red-braided man identified as one of the assailants. Through him, Verad and, by natural extension, the others, were made aware of their next big lead: The Coblyn's Fancy Mining Company.
But it was in investigating this lead that the case would take a far darker turn...
Now:
Wahlbert sighed in relief as the Duskwight - Verad, he supposed, he'd certainly said his damned name often enough - stopped talking. It didn't sound as if he'd finished talking, with the trailing-off of his voice leading into the kind of pause in which an interested audience might prompt him to continue. But it certainly sounded as if he'd stopped, and Wahlbert was happy to take the lesser form of cessation. "All very nice," he said, pushing forward the small piece of parchment Verad had completely ignored. "But I was not being literal when I asked what brought you here. Could I get your name - all of it - and your contract tenure, please?"
"Well, as you'll see - " Verad began, before stopping, giving the man a second look. "I'm sorry?"
"Ah, so you can use the first person. Name. First and sur-. Contract length.  Please." If he pushed the paper any more firmly towards the man, it would scrape the desk. Wahlbert was fond of his desk, a holdover from the earlier days of the company, and one of the last few goods of some value remaining in the commissary. He would have much preferred to leave it unscraped. But this Elezen sorely tested.
"Y-yes, of course." He seemed to flush, leaning forward to scribble his name and tenure on the parchment. "Apologies for that. But as you can see, it is a problem of some import - "
"Your arms, please." Wahlbert rose from his chair and gestured upwards. "Need to get your measurements for the uniform." The Elezen was silenced by the act of lifting his arms out, and Wahlbert made a note to keep interrupting him to throw him off-balance. Probably the only way things would get done.
"Do we get new uniforms?" Verad asked as Wahlbert did not so much measure his arms as pat them down roughly to get a vague feel for the length. "I have to admit, some of those I saw on the way into the building seemed quite shabby."
"You can get replacements and repairs, but those are added to your debt." He gave a vague pat to the man's torso, then stepped back to eyeball his legs. There was no chance of him patting down a debt-laborer, knowing what some of them were up to in their spare time before coming here. "Not many trousers in Elezen-size, though - too narrow for Highlander legs. They'll end a bit high."
Verad seemed disappointed. "You don't have anything new, really?"
Wahlbert looked over his shoulder, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He took in the dust on the shelves behind him, some from where empty spaces hadn't been filled, some where full spaces hadn't been moved. It was thick enough to hang in the air without being disturbed; on the days he had a cold, some of the more resigned workers would joke that it was a small sandstorm, of sorts.
"No," he said. "Nothing new." With a vague sense of Verad's measurements, he limped back towards the more recently-used shelves to fetch one of the remaining uniforms.
"Well, at any rate," Verad continued, despite Wahlbert's best efforts to shut him out as he poked through shelves for a pair of boots, fitting or no, "My chief concern here is finding Gliding Bone. The Roegadyn? I've reason to believe he was brought here as part of a debt-trade when my office was robbed."
"Might've been," Wahlbert said with a grunt, kneeling down to pick through old aldgoat leather and worn laces. "We've had a few Hellsguard through here, the past few weeks. Name might be in the commissary purchases."
"Then you must have seen him! If he has found his way here, anyway. I was hoping to get in touch. I'm quite sure his family is worried, you see."
"I just handle the commissary." Wahlbert returned to dump a pair of the older boots on the ground beside Verad, the rest of his uniform tucked under his shoulder. "You'll need to talk to the main office to get a personnel request - Lamaki should help you out."
"Lalafell? Green hair, looked a bit queasy? We've met."
"Maybe. He does most of the greetings. Here." Wahlbert pressed the uniform into Verad's open hands. "Get to the sleeping quarters and get changed. Like as not your first shift will be in a few hours. Might get lucky and run into him then."
"I shall certainly hope so!" Verad grinned. Wahlbert resisted the urge to punch. It was a very punch-worthy grin, as much for its mere presence as its sheer cheekiness. "If I may ask, though, have you worked here long?"
"Longer than you, certainly." Wahlbert returned to his seat, stifling a wince, before picking up Verad's paperwork. He glanced up after a moment to see the dismissal had not led to the man dismissing himself. He remained there, eyebrows wide and inquisitive, a very old puppy. "Five years in this spot," he added. "Just a bit after the Era started. Longer than that, though. Back when the company was new."
"Then you're not a worker? I got the impression from the look on the guards that my term was . . . extensive."
"No, no. You won't find most of the workers here longer than a year or so." Wahlbert frowned. "Why, how much do you owe?"Â
Verad told him. He snorted. "And it was only ten years? You were lucky." He shook his head, shut his eyes. "No, been here a while now."
He said nothing afterwards, and the Duskwight seemed to infer the conversation was over, as he heard the door shut after the man left. Wahlbert stretched out his arms before leaning down, gasping as foot and knee protested the movement, and patted around for the flask in its small catch, another advantage of having one of the old desks.
As he uncorked it, he caught sight of the old emblem of the company logo on its side, that of a small, cheery-looking coblyn, mouth open as it tossed a piece of ore into its mouth with one tendril, using another to pick up the leavings of a stubby-looking miner a few paces ahead of the beast, hacking away through rock with an oversized pick. As logos went, it was a poor choice, over-elaborate and too cutesy for a mining company.
Wahlbert grimaced, and swallowed before taking a long drink.
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
