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 Fishy Business

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Phlegm

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Number of posts : 753
Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: Fishy Business   Tue 21 Nov - 8:03:16

Fishy Business

Undecided is not too strong a word for our equivocation and procrastination at this point. We agree to a radical decision: We are smugglers, let’s smuggle something! Elynn has an opportunity for us, smuggling around a hundred litres of blood to a ship called ‘The Dirge’. Should be a nice little earner and the chance to meet Captain Blackadder, sorry Blackhollow.

A number of fish puns later and we are all at sea, contraband safely secured and an elaborate cover plan in place to explain our rendez vous involving a spilt brazier and subsequent fire. We head south out of harbour fondling our rods nervously. A broker accompanies us to make sure the deal is double cross free and I keep an eye on him, well all the time I am not vomiting over the side.* Fortunately he spends most of his time asleep.

*So not very much time at all in fact.

To add to our concerns we pass four navy sloops guarding a recently wrecked vessel at the mouth of an estuary, but they only seem concerned at keeping other vessels away, not boarding passers-by. The broker rises eventually and orders us to stop coast hugging and head out to sea. Great news, I decide to spend some more time hanging over the side as there are probably some internal organs still in my body that I could usefully heave up if I try hard enough.

A couple of hours later and we spot a vessel with her signal lamps lit in the expected pattern and we head for her. Within minutes we have tied on and are pumping our precious cargo aboard. Smith, in command, goes aboard to meet Captain Blackadder and over a cheap glass of rum they discuss some cargo for the return run.

The good captain has a lot of leaflets that appear to be very Skovlandish in outlook when mentioning matters like: what sort of fine fellows are currently in power, how marvellously Skovland and her displaced citizenry are treated and how the coming revolution can only make things even better for everyone. Possession of these handy pamphlets is a one way ticket to an unmarked grave but Smith still feels the need to haggle for a crate of them and I get to contribute a hard earned coin towards the cost. Good to see he is coming around to seeing things from a Skovland viewpoint, this little trip has obviously cleared his mind.

We return in worsening seas and I discover the joys of dry retching for a few hours. We also witness just how seriously the navy don’t want the wreck interfered with as they sink a ship that gets too close which seems somewhat extreme, but hey anything that keeps their attention from honest smugglers like us is a good thing.

On our return we consider how we can turn a coin from our marvellous trove of information which Smith somewhat irritatingly refers to as ‘propaganda’ and it occurs to us that we happen to know a group of Skovlanders who will have a use for such material.

So we slip away to the Lochport Arms to meet the lost and after detouring to avoid some Red Sash gang members loitering in the neighbourhood we enter the bar and Smith and I enjoy some Skovland Whiskey. It’s not as good as the stuff at home but sure it brings a lump to the liver to taste it again.

Then hero of a hundred battles Old Iron Born himself appears, a luckless Red Sash gang member in tow. I have a pow wow with the big man and outline our recent approach from the sashes plus show him some sample leaflets. We agree a price and agree that we will participate in some operations to reduce the Red Sash menace; Iron Born thinks they are down to 20 so we probably need to act fast if we are to earn a piece of the action.

Smith, who seems to have reacted badly to our whiskey agrees to reduce the number to 19 and shoots the captured red sash at Iron Born’s suggestion.* We then get rid of half of our leaflet stash to the gang, in a few days’ time we’ll ‘discover’ some more to make a little more from our new best friends.

*To be fair he wasn’t given much of a choice.

On our return Smith suddenly attacks me: The drunken idiot seems to have decided our alliance is a bad idea for some reason. I fend him off easily but to be sure it’s a bad thing when your own boss tries to tap you one on the noggin. A bit of karma later on, Smith gets picked up by the bluecoats for jay walking or some such.

So now we wait for our next move, The Budget Smugglers and the Lost are allies if not yet friends, the Red Sashes are on very borrowed time and there’s turf to be taken, goods to be shifted, blood to be spilt and fortunes to be made…

18.11.17

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