4th Umbral Moon, 14 Sun.
Richter was starved -- not of nourishment or of refreshment, but of excitement. He had been traversing the ruthless, rocky desert-land surrounding the grand city of Ul'dah, the metropolis that the man called home. He was also drenched in sweat, with salt lines streaking down his undershirt, and was a tired man in every physical respect. The public bath was his next destination before heading to his room in one of the numerous and highly-mismanaged public wards that organize the city. Richter had been doing his Friday training out in the burning heat and glare of the sun, under a strict regimen designed to build up his cardiovascular system and relatively little muscle. And it was every Friday night that he would go out on the streets, skipping from bar to bar looking for something to do. By now, having lived in the Ul'dah area for 4 years, it had become a ritual to the exhausted man.
I need to haul my arse over to the public bathes right about now, thought Richter as he lumbered through a somewhat-busy market on the insides of the outer wall. The bathes were not far from where he currently was, but he was feeling miserable enough at this point in time to collapse, much to his chagrin. He sped up pace: when once he was seemingly limping, he now went into a focused march, with each foot stepping off in balance. He was determined to get down to the pubs, the taverns, and any other watering hole he could find in the evening. It was not long before he got to a bath, and rested for half an hour (as was necessary on a summer Friday in the Ul'dah sun). "Must be a regular Friday again," mumbled Richter as he dried off, put on a new change of clothes, and began to trot back to his tenement.
It wasn't a pretty sight -- then again, Richter was familiar with urchins and delinquents alike messing around with people's rooms on a night like this. The manuals and books on the left table had been left wide open and were sprawled all around the circumference of the table, while news dailies and installments of the Ul'dah Tribune were ripped apart on the right table. "Well, this is quite a sight! They're getting more and more annoying every time those rascals thrash the pad," exclaimed Richter as he got dressed into more formal and fashionable attire, which he stored in his wardrobe -- now with shirts, breeches, and toiletries hanging from every side like a weeping willow in lieu of branches. "I really need to get a more cunning lock system for the door, because even without windows they still get in here." Richter sighed as he slipped on his favorite boots and skipped out the door. He didn't forget the key, thankfully.
The first stop on his trip was the Staggering Centaur, a bar conveniently located near his ward and usually serving the finest ales in his vicinity (other attractions were located across the city, and about half a mile at that). Times had been going rough at this bar, with a new proprietor, new staff, and new troubles. This was the hang-out of the lower-world criminals of Ul'dah: roughened and brutish Roegadyne sitting next to thieving Mi'qote and Lalafell, while the Hyur con artists and Elezen thugs had taken their fits at the bar. It was also very rowdy in this local shell of evil, which made it an interesting attraction for a guy like Richter.
As he peeked through the door, Richter made certain that his presence wasn't scoffed at -- he'd been here before, and ever visit led to trouble. "I'd like some imported salt ale and some rye rolls, barkeep," exclaimed Richter as he was finding a fit at the bar. The old man running the bar replied with a nod, and Richter left the man a sizable tip that was not unusual of Mr. V. Richter didn't know any of the bar regulars, save the Lalafell manager who scorned half of the bar patrons under his breath, and the barkeep, who had concealed a knife under his vest. Richter took a whiff of the air, before shouting out to the fellow patrons his complaint.
"It smells as if someone had stolen the droppings of an aldgoat, mixed it in with slosh from the sewers, and fed it to a goobbue to be barf!" Most of the bar nodded their head in agreement, with a few chuckles and even a hearty laugh from the backroom, where the workers were probably having a short break. A Roegadyne joined in on the fun: "Ah, but the atmosphere always smells like shit these days. We must be flies if so!". Of course, though, no one really laughed at this either, and the Roegadyne quietly sat back down, while Richter was being a jokester still. "Something could yet freshen this air. We won't need the League of Heroes for this matter, gents." Richter then took out a curious cologne, spewing out the contents onto a miniature plate and then trotting about the bar, mixing in the aroma of his concoction with the vile smell of the bar. The result both disgusted most of the patrons and got the men into an uproar of laughter and merry gestures.
As it quieted down, the same Roegadyne from the privy, having returned, approached Richter: "Mr. V., we need to talk. Mind if we ditch this joint?" Richter was now back in his fit, drinking down the best imported elixir from Aleport and munching on rye. He got up from his seat to face the hulk: "Is it that important right now? I've only a few spare pieces of my meal left, and I could just--"
"I don't really care at this point, Richter. This is a very important thing I need to tell you, so you better follow me outsi--"
"Oh fine, then -- let's hear your deal." Both Richter and the behemoth of muscle and bulk quietly walked out on the barkeep, though Richter had at least paid for his meal where the Roegadyne had not. Outside of the Staggerin Centaur were a group of thuggish and crass men that were waiting for Richter: a Hyur wearing basic rags and holding a bag, two Lalafell wrestling in the road, and an Elezen dusting off some valuables. "Richter, we found a new boss," whispered the Roegadyne to the jokester. "Ah but one must remember, Victrar, that one does not ascend the piss-pool of the criminal underworld in such fashion," whispered Richter back.
"Let me get straight to it, then," exclaimed Victrar. "Our boss, leader of the Desert Vigils, has been looking around for funding to purchase an airship. Because we can't get such gil to get a ship, and when we realized that we didn't even have the license to buy one legally, I knew that you could be of help to us." Listening to this, Richter knew exactly what they wanted: his father to get them a airship for free. "Your father designs airships, doesn't he?" Victrar was looking Mr. V. straight in the eye -- he wanted this prize, didn't he?
"Yeah, but he doesn't take up requests from petty low-lifes like you guys. He's too busy making loads of gil from designing personal ships for nobility, merchants, and other clients to worry about your folk." The thugs were beginning to appear menacing, which only suggested to Richter that he'd just found his first fight of the evening. Victrar cleared his throat: "If that's so, then I still know a way to blackmail him." The Roegadyne motioned with subtlety to his co-wrokers to go get that guy.
Richter had fought with Victrar before, and he recalled remote memories of when he and Victrar were criminals together. Mr. V. was once a crime boss himself, 2 cycles past, and Victrar was his syndicate' best fighter and helped Richter make a relative fortune through brilliant scams and other tricks upon the public. THe first man to rush Richter was the Elezen, brandishing a couple of gauntlets -- no match for Richter, who himself wielded gloved katars. Richter side-stepped to avoid the initial strike from the Elezen, before running back and sprinting from a wall to ram the tall thug. In just a minute, Richter had pinned the Elezen down, stripped him of his gauntlets, and now had a new meat chair.
"That's one down, Victrar. Do I need to spoil the rest of your trash buddies?!" Victrar was now somewhat enraged, knowing that most of the men in his syndicate were nowhere competent enough to fight his former partner-in-crime. "We need to hold you for ransom, and we need an air vessel, sir. The Ul'dah police are onto to our trail of murders, felonies, and other crimes. It won't take long to settle--"
"I think I know where this is going. By the time you do get a ship, we'll all be caught and I'd be lucky to get a parole," mocked Richter at the thugs and Victrar. "Why don't we take this outside, shall we? I wasn't planning on doing this, but--"
Victrar couldn't stand this man anymore. He knew that his future was on the line if his boss' mission wasn't fulfilled. "We'll settle this in a few hours. Come by our base -- it's just a few blocks from here, and you'd know where we were. If you don't arrive, we'll all come looking for you." Richter nodded, knowing that this would be some night. "I fully comply, Victrar," smiled Richter, "but you don't always get what you want." By the time the thugs had left, Richter had time to think about this.
I need to move my belongings elsewhere, thought Richter, who was soon bolting down to the residence offices to get a transfer to the next ward down. A few hours later, he'd moved to a new tenement, but this wouldn't solve the main issue. Returning to the Centaur, he began to walk his way to the Desert Vigils.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
The entrance-way was through the alley, and Richter merely trotted down a couple flights of stairs to find an underground, tavern-esque room past a door. Richter stood in awe at the mighty chandelier that they must've procured from a nobleman in the Upper District sometime ago, and quietly sat in one of the many conveniently unused chairs that each table had been stocked with. There must have been a larger gang here before, but there was virtually no trace of earlier years left here -- sans the framed portraits lining the walls, showing many thugs that Richter was not familiar with.
Victras, au contraire, was alive and active, pacing anxiously in the boss' office, where both Victras and the gang boss waited patiently for Richter. "Victras," said the seemingly soft-spoken Elezen in the big seat, "our guest should have been here by now." The hulking behemoth of rags and muscle shrugged as he sat in a chair. "He can always come of his own accord," murmured the Roegadyne to his employer, "but I know that we'll probably have to go out and track him down the brutal way."
"Then, so be it. I'm getting tired of sitting on my buttocks all day, and it won't be long before we're done for -- come on now, Victras, go find Richter." At the sound of this behest, Victras jumped up from the chair, and opened the door to find a very unpleasant sight sitting in a table chair. Vest and undershirt; conspicuous gloves sheathed at the sides of a belt; and a fashionable white cravat. Richter himself was waiting.
"Oh, is that you then," sighed Richter as he was messing around with a pocket-watch, "because I've been waiting for a bit." Victras was not amused -- nevertheless, the Roegadyne walked over to another door (one with a window, at that) and motioned his men to the bar. First came the Hyur -- then the Lalafells, followed by that brutish Elezen. The Lalafells were busy torturing a cockroach in a cage, the Elezen giving his nails a manicure, and the Hyur was licking his chops. "We can be a motley crew sometimes, old buddy," grinned the Roegadyne as Richter, unimpressed and smirking as he laid his head on his hand, observed the crew quietly.
"Richter, we need to get down to the matter at hand," said the boss as he himself walked through the door. Most of the crew had already taken their places at a table, while Victras and the boss were standing by the bar. "I do not believe we've met yet, Richter." The boss walked over to Mr. V., who had now stood up and was stretching his back. "Call me Remy Simoh," said the boss as she shook it with Richter. Richter, ever observant, watched Remy take a bludgeoning weapon of some form out of his back pocket -- the boss barely grazed a lock of hair as Richter ducked swiftly. "You're smarter than my men have said you to be," grinned Remy as he no longer brandished such a weapon. This was going to be some night.
When Victras, Richter, and Remy were all at the same table, Remy began: "Richter, this is not simply a matter of acquiring an airship for our own needs...though that would certainly be nice. *ahem* Several crime groups here in the Lower District, namely the Silhouettes, the Lux In Lieu, and us of course--" Remy stopped to cough, while Victras carried on their message. "--we are planning to tap into your previously-earned criminal fortune, which we suspect you've stowed away somewhere in the desert." Richter kept a straight face throughout all of this, before finally smiling and then laughing haughtily at these buffoons.
"Oh really then? --Because, if I may divulge some much-needed info unto your ears, then I will say that my fortune is but long drunk." Richter laughed a little more before standing up, while Remy had raised an eyebrow to this madman. "Richter, I can't honestly think of anything that you would do, as Victras here would tell me, that could drink up your whole fortune." Mr. V. faced Remy and simply said: "Simple: buying expensive kegs of various ales and wines when visiting Limsa (oh, and visiting Limsa while I'm at it), buying some travel across Aldenard for a weekend, purchasing the best gear for spelunking and adventuring, et cetera." Richter smiled once more, though now Remy was becoming tense and was looking to the main door with some anxiety in his eyes.
"Richter, we may have some guests arriving, and they'll be here soon," said Remy in a terse manner. "The Ul'dah Crime Patrol Initiative has been onto our trail for a few weeks now, and this is the last bastion we can claim to own -- this bar here." Richter nodded, while Victras had been listening intently to Remy ever since the start of this conversation. The rest of the crew was either asleep, twiddling around with some coins, or just staring at the man in the vest. "Look, if you want my massive fortune so terribly, then I can just say that some of it is stored in Main Bank south of here. I don't even need most of it, as I only visit my father and do other zany stuff on a rare basis." Remy was still looking to the door, and there were no foot-steps heard above the big room. Someone -- no, several men were searching the house above, and would eventually make their way down to the basement, which itself was a tavern.
"Remy, Richter, we need to leave," said Victras urgently. Even the crew was now aware of their fate should they stay, and Richter was also putting his ear to the walls. "Richter, we'll settle this matter now. All we need is an ride to Gridania, really, because no one there will be out for us." Richter, now looking back at Remy, grinned and said once more: "You should have said that a long time ago. I can pay for that, but you will leave me be on any future matter. But, may I ask -- what's in the woods for you boys?" Victras said casually, "Plenty of crime opportunities unrealized. We were going to get an airship to facilitate an escape better, but I guess we don't have much choice. After all, none of us can catch you, and we'll need to take a fight outside of the city." By now, indeed, the banging of shelves, wardrobes and closets being opened and closed, and loud footsteps was beginning to resonate throughout the room. In an instant, so it seemed, someone opened the door to the basement.
Remy had little time to dodge a arrow from the top of the staircase, fired by a quick Elezen. By the time several Hyur men in armor and the rest of the group began to pour into the basement, the gang made an decisive decision to all crash through a window to the outside. Richter took another route -- right up to the men who had pursued them. "Gentlemen, I am not a criminal myself. Those men -- you want those men outside!" The Elezen laughed at Richter before readying an arrow: "Sir, only a lowly criminal would deal with the Desert Vigils. They've been on the list for several weeks now, and I find it hard to believe that--HEY!" Richter had somehow jumped over the Elezen, and barged his way through the door and into the house.
Richter could only say this: "Look at my record, gents. I'm Richter V., Lower District, Ward 3. No criminal in that profile, now is there?" A Lalafell nodded to the Elezen, and the group then ran past Richter to catch the crooks. Pleased that a potentially disastrous incident had been avoided, Mr. V. decided to head to the desert and do some sight-seeing while he waited for the Desert Vigils to make their way out of the walls. The air was cool at this time of night, and the heat was bearable to Richter, still in a vest. Woe to them, I say, for they will have a hell of a time getting out of this city, though Richter as he began to walk on the streets once more.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
A summer air blew past everyone on the streets of their grand metropolis, and Richter meld much gratitude for this breeze, awaiting the next great squall in the sky. Being not so cloudy himself, Richter decided that he would actually go wait for his former men out in the dark of the desert. Well, I haven't had a good argument in a while myself -- there it is, then, thought Richter as he skipped left to right through the blur of tenements that lined the outer regions of town. And as he approached the monumental gatehouse at the eastern end of of the outer wall, Richter had yet to break even a sweat -- this air was virile, but so was he.
Business as usual: show identification, pass through gate, give a good day to the guards. It was nearly midnight by now, and Mr. V. held little anxiety...at this time of night. He had ensconced in his shoulders a handy lamp, which he purchased from a street alchemist famed for lamps of extraordinary illumination. Indeed, from all the way over in the distance, Richter could spot even the most subtle of animal tracks, though most of this could be attributed to his keen vision. This light itself was a beacon in the dark, and the moths and flies couldn't keep themselves away from this night-fire as Richter entered the badlands. Trees here are sparse, where shrubberies and cacti are the sustenance of the first consuming order -- most of the residents are used to this prickly landscape, and they pride themselves over their resilience in this land.
He wasn't alone: Victras was running without breath, out of the gate somehow (--as if). The others were not too far behind, though the Hyur was screaming so loud that Richter could hear his dialogue. "GOOD GOD NO! NOT THE PRISON -- I'VE SEEN THE PRIVIES THERE!" So was heard by the Hyur man's former co-workers, who were now congregating by a stream a mile off from the city walls. Victras brought a pipe, presumably for smoking, while the Lalafells and the Elezen were playing a game of gibberish when they met with the Roegadyne and Richter. Mr. V., who by now had stripped the vest to be washed in the stream, was merely watching the others as he commented on this gathering.
"Is this about my not-paying-you-yet deal? I thought the good lot of you thieves had earned a good keep when we worked together." Victras sighed -- "We all felt betrayed for what you did to us. That should be natural of--"
"I told you from the beginning: I'm a capricious man, and one should never expect me to stay the course -- rather, to stray!" Richter then started washing the vest, while Victras scratched his head. The Lalafells were whispering to each other, while the nameless Elezen crossed his arms in boredom as he reclined unto a rock. All in all, they were still the same as they'd always been -- instinct can be quite the mistress.
"Richter," said the Elezen, "we've all been on the run from the higher-level groups for a long time. We all know that, and that's what brings us back here again and again...it's a bit pathetic sometimes." Richter shrugged: "The more the merrier. When men are free, they'll do anything related to their passions. We all seem to be passionate about commodities, not don't we? --That includes even you, Rasputo."
"Well, there it is," laughed Victras as he began to do some flint-working in the sand. This was a hobby of the Roegadyne, as was alchemy for Rasputo the Elezen -- the Lalafells merely chatted most of the time, and it seemed to fit them as well. "Richter, I thought we had a beef about something?", said one of the Lalafell as they put their chatter on hiatus.
"Ah, there doesn't seem to be that much of a fight, now does there? You boys are just as moody as I!" Indeed, though, there was little incentive to prolong a petty quarrel. The times of the old guild were long past, and even heavy men like Victras know when to move on. This group was always neighborly to each other...and what will be will be. However, Richter did have a good question.
"What happened to James back at the gate? He sounded like a scorpion had punctured his breeches." The moment that Richter said this, Rasputo suddenly rose from his rock mattress and peeked over the hill to Ul'dah. No sign of the Hyur indeed. "They got him while we were on the lam," sighed Rasputo. "We won't be seeing that fellow anymore. A man who commits the inconveniences that we have is better left for dead in this place." Richter had now dried his vest, but he was ever listening to this.
"That would be the case".
