Even from inside the building, Nero heard the echoes of a pained, guttural cry. It was with a sudden sense of fervent piety that he prayed to the Twelve that that was not Roen's fault. Now the smuggler was not so sure that it was a good idea to bring her along; the exasperating woman was just incapable of being subtle. She wouldn't be able to tell a decent lie if someone else covered her face, shoved her away, and lied for her.Â
Nero shook his head, dashing his doubts away. If there were consequences for his choice to ally with her, he'd deal with them later. He needed to find his goods. Thankfully, the building's first floor was mostly devoid of workers; it seemed that it was being used as a storehouse. Fortunately, the crates were burned with the label of the Amajina and Sons Mineral Concern; this made his search significantly easier, for Nero's crates were unmarked, so any crate lacking the label would have a very high chance of being one of the crates he was looking for.
Unfortunately, there were many, many crates, and checking each individual crate for the label would have taken far too much time, and it was not as if the smuggler could simply lift large crates filled with ore. A cursory inspection of the crates signified that the important ones--the ones holding the Lominsan arms--were not here, and Nero simply did not have the time to check every crate for the refugee's supplies. Some small part of him had hoped that his goods would be found easily, but of course, it was never that simple.
Was there a record? That wouldn't be likely. Nero's goods, after all, were confiscated. It was very doubtful that they'd have been recorded in a ledger somewhere. Likely they were simply shoved in a corner somewhere, waiting to be picked up and taken to....wherever.Â
There was a second floor to the building, and the smuggler did his best to remain quiet as he ascended the steps. The stairs were not very well maintained, as a horrendously loud creaking noise was heard whenever Nero's boot descended on one. The second floor seemed to be occupied by an office; huddled over a ledger was a Lalafell a quill pen furiously scribbling away at the book. So focused was the Lalafell--presumably a foreman of some kind--on the filling of the ledger that he hadn't deigned to notice the stairs squealing in protest, or the Midlander creeping up to him with knife in hand.
In one swift motion, Nero covered the Lalafell's mouth in his left hand and pressed the knife to his throat with his right. "Try to scream, and the last thing that comes out of your throat is your blood," the Hyur said, his tone dangerously quiet. He couldn't see the Lalafell's expression, but the muffled struggling implied some degree of terror. "Brass Blades brought unmarked crates to the mines. Where are they?" His question was terse as he slipped his left hand off of the Lalafell's mouth.
"Didn't see anything," came the equally terse yet trembling answer. Nero clicked his tongue. "That's the exact opposite of what I was hoping you'd say," the smuggler responded. "Try again." He pressed the knife with more force.
"D-didn't see anything..!" The Lalafell's lips quaked out the same answer. The Hyur shook his head. The problem with these kinds of techniques was that it rarely produced a workable answer, but Nero was pressed for time and didn't have time to practice his usual method of making friends.
"The bandit gangs. They are here regularly," Nero couldn't know that for sure, but the worst that could happen from the bluff is that it didn't work. "Where do they go?"
"M-mines," the Lalafell babbled. It was impossible to tell if that was the truth--given his situation, the Lalafell was likely just saying whatever answer he thought the Hyur was looking for--but Nero could tell well enough that his weapons were not in this building. The mines seemed to be the only other location...and that probably meant having to deal with the Brass Blades.
"My thanks." Nero showed his gratitude by putting away the knife, only to tighten his arms against the Lalafell's throat. The tiny foreman struggled and gasped for several long seconds, but the Hyur's grip was unrelenting until the kicking and flailing ceased. Nero didn't know if he had killed the Lalafell or merely sent him into the realm of unconsciousness, but it didn't matter. A rapid inspection of the latest entries in the ledger that the Lalafell had been writing in didn't reveal anything useful. As another measure, Nero snatched the ink well and poured its remaining contents on the ledger; a pointless act, perhaps, but one that didn't fail to give him at least some sense of rebellious satisfaction.
The smuggler slipped out of the building and glanced around the corner to where he had sent Roen to secure the wagon. He cursed under his breath as he saw her occupied by two of the Brass Blades; there was no way something good was going to come out of her trying to bluff two of them. Nero wasn't sure the paladin could see him from her position, but he stuck his head out and mouthed the word mines, jerking his thumb in the direction before making his way to the back of the building, heading for the scaffolding that lead to the Nanawa Mines directly.
Nero shook his head, dashing his doubts away. If there were consequences for his choice to ally with her, he'd deal with them later. He needed to find his goods. Thankfully, the building's first floor was mostly devoid of workers; it seemed that it was being used as a storehouse. Fortunately, the crates were burned with the label of the Amajina and Sons Mineral Concern; this made his search significantly easier, for Nero's crates were unmarked, so any crate lacking the label would have a very high chance of being one of the crates he was looking for.
Unfortunately, there were many, many crates, and checking each individual crate for the label would have taken far too much time, and it was not as if the smuggler could simply lift large crates filled with ore. A cursory inspection of the crates signified that the important ones--the ones holding the Lominsan arms--were not here, and Nero simply did not have the time to check every crate for the refugee's supplies. Some small part of him had hoped that his goods would be found easily, but of course, it was never that simple.
Was there a record? That wouldn't be likely. Nero's goods, after all, were confiscated. It was very doubtful that they'd have been recorded in a ledger somewhere. Likely they were simply shoved in a corner somewhere, waiting to be picked up and taken to....wherever.Â
There was a second floor to the building, and the smuggler did his best to remain quiet as he ascended the steps. The stairs were not very well maintained, as a horrendously loud creaking noise was heard whenever Nero's boot descended on one. The second floor seemed to be occupied by an office; huddled over a ledger was a Lalafell a quill pen furiously scribbling away at the book. So focused was the Lalafell--presumably a foreman of some kind--on the filling of the ledger that he hadn't deigned to notice the stairs squealing in protest, or the Midlander creeping up to him with knife in hand.
In one swift motion, Nero covered the Lalafell's mouth in his left hand and pressed the knife to his throat with his right. "Try to scream, and the last thing that comes out of your throat is your blood," the Hyur said, his tone dangerously quiet. He couldn't see the Lalafell's expression, but the muffled struggling implied some degree of terror. "Brass Blades brought unmarked crates to the mines. Where are they?" His question was terse as he slipped his left hand off of the Lalafell's mouth.
"Didn't see anything," came the equally terse yet trembling answer. Nero clicked his tongue. "That's the exact opposite of what I was hoping you'd say," the smuggler responded. "Try again." He pressed the knife with more force.
"D-didn't see anything..!" The Lalafell's lips quaked out the same answer. The Hyur shook his head. The problem with these kinds of techniques was that it rarely produced a workable answer, but Nero was pressed for time and didn't have time to practice his usual method of making friends.
"The bandit gangs. They are here regularly," Nero couldn't know that for sure, but the worst that could happen from the bluff is that it didn't work. "Where do they go?"
"M-mines," the Lalafell babbled. It was impossible to tell if that was the truth--given his situation, the Lalafell was likely just saying whatever answer he thought the Hyur was looking for--but Nero could tell well enough that his weapons were not in this building. The mines seemed to be the only other location...and that probably meant having to deal with the Brass Blades.
"My thanks." Nero showed his gratitude by putting away the knife, only to tighten his arms against the Lalafell's throat. The tiny foreman struggled and gasped for several long seconds, but the Hyur's grip was unrelenting until the kicking and flailing ceased. Nero didn't know if he had killed the Lalafell or merely sent him into the realm of unconsciousness, but it didn't matter. A rapid inspection of the latest entries in the ledger that the Lalafell had been writing in didn't reveal anything useful. As another measure, Nero snatched the ink well and poured its remaining contents on the ledger; a pointless act, perhaps, but one that didn't fail to give him at least some sense of rebellious satisfaction.
The smuggler slipped out of the building and glanced around the corner to where he had sent Roen to secure the wagon. He cursed under his breath as he saw her occupied by two of the Brass Blades; there was no way something good was going to come out of her trying to bluff two of them. Nero wasn't sure the paladin could see him from her position, but he stuck his head out and mouthed the word mines, jerking his thumb in the direction before making his way to the back of the building, heading for the scaffolding that lead to the Nanawa Mines directly.
