A Bachelor's Daybook

[Random_White_Guy]

Some trials are unpleasant and rote, some trials are delights, and some fall squarely in-Between. As a Solicitor and Advocate you find yourself dealing with all sorts of individuals. It is important to maintain a degree of clinical separation that you can approach matters with care. Vaskr Farsong is a curious sort. To a degree it unnerves me how much he reminds me of the Whimsical.

As such I was unable to attend to my impartiality. To stand before the crowd, telling everyone how much I hated him, how much I hated his practices, his faith. It wasn't a lie.

The street value of the Scorch alone, pound and a half, over a thousand dinar. The Dirt was negligible. Maybe 270. The Slice, which Hanson chose to add on just for shits and giggles? 450 give or take. 1,800 dinar worth of narcotics of capital and serious charge, not even factoring in the Shimmer. Though supply and demand shifts the weighted calculations of the abacus...

Given its magical potency and the fact it circulates roundly around 6 known and 4 suspected indulgence enjoying participants.... It would float around less than the value of Scorch given the scarcity and singular source. Market wise that puts it at 280 or thereabouts depending as an estimated value. 280 dinar. That's the value they would place on a Capital Charge. A haste potion in the hands of an outlaw can kill a man combined with a bit of magic, and that's just 180 dinar and the cost of doing caravaneering business.

Just shy of 5,000 dinar worth of Narcotics. For the Lyrist bringing in the Student the Rose charged 25,000 dinar. 10,000 of such paid by Vizier Aurelio who began this affair in motion in the first place. His testimony abounding with talks of "Djinn-drugs". His own resources towards his Keep, towards his march upon the Djinn Prince, tossed to the wayside. The New Lyrist given a black-eye, under her watch before any victory one of her Students raised on 17 capital charges, give or take. An entire allotment's worth of fine laid on the Student, but also the Rose.

Another log on the fire. In this fight between the Knights and the Hellions. Domergue against Aurelio, against Caddick. In the fight between Purple and White.  And this man, this "Vandal", this raider, this sellsword. There was a moment where he just smiled and glanced left at the pursed lips of onion and the frustrations of the Rose. Then he gazed right at Manos and Keter, her own gambit infuriating publicly the Zenithar Oro.

Then he had that little smile on his face. But what can one expect?  This is what happens when you welcome Sabotage into your home.

One must remain clinical though. So long as the debt paid. Gellema's dinar moves the scale no different than Warad's. The trial concluded. Rather than death, rather than exile, a fine. Fines upon fines.

Fine by me, so long as Izdu gets his for the ledger.

It is all about the numbers.

5,000 dinar of narcotics. 3,000 dinar in legal fees. 25,000 dinar in fines to the Cinquefoil Rose. Not to mention more publicity to their infighting and their feuding as the Knights and Hellions claw at one another.

...and a tidy little fee for my consultation to Smiley, to begin leaving his product freely in the Drifter's Stockade a few weeks ago. In a bag dropped on the ground, like it was simply medicine left in charity to the populace. Granted of course Shimmer was not a Capital crime, back then. Nor was their bounty for his capture.

Some investments?

They merely take time to mature.

[Random_White_Guy]

It is said that among the fairer seasons of tradewinds is when the Qadirans would "Go on the Account" as call would be sent up and down the ports. That all able bodied men, women, and even in rare cases monstrosity offered place and purpose upon the Vessels. For after all shipping means bounty, and bounty means profit. Both for the Merchant-Marine and the Pirate.

I write all this for one singular reason: Today, at long last, Qdim. When the Sultana is Honored. And when Qadira unfurls its sails.

Tradewinds blow fiercely and it begins. Illul sees to the harvest's reaping, Qdim sees to the plunder of said harvest as they begin to ship it across the shipping lanes.

Traditionally the Captain of such a crew is elected by the crew, all of whom are given "Stake" in the company. The Captain given their responsibilities, the Quartermaster tending the crew, the Boatswain, and on. Each and every who sale on the account is guaranteed that stake. The price of their blood, sweat, and tears in securing successful venture. If the Captain is dutiful his crew permits him to remain for an entire season. If the Captain is robust he shall hold multiple seasons under his belt. And if the Captain is poor those stakes are used as votes and leverage to oust said Captain in favor of one greater.

I write about this because my first trip home from Il Modo with Father's guards, I was not taken hostage and thrown in some dank cave as my previous hostage taking experiences. I was abducted by fucking pirates. As in all things though it allows a chance, if one survives, to learn. To learn new skills, to learn new business, to cultivate more knowledge. Of which above all else does Izdu praise as sacrosanct.

Though it was an arduous time at sea, I emerged gratefully kissing the sands. But it was not without three things:

Firstly: An appreciation for the Corsair. It is a harsh and brutal life and while many Caravaneers ply their boardwork trade it holds a shocking resemblance to Piracy. With nothing but talent and grit, and a little luck, do these mad men and women risk drowning and skewering and more. For what? For the freedom to do as they please. Though mostly Liquor and Whores. It allowed me to study their desires.

Secondly: A naked eye view and in-depth study of the anthropological tendencies and practices betwixt not only Pirate and Captain, but differing crews and their socioeconomic strata. What made an effective crew, what made a weak crew, what made a crew popular, what made a crew reviled. It allowed me time to study a wide swath of the sea-faring population.

Thirdly: It enabled me to understand the balance between the Captain, the Quartermaster, and the Crew. While the Quartermaster tended the Crew the Captain tended morale, leading efforts, and beyond. It is also common practice that the experienced Captains and Quartermasters are learned in one form or another. Either by previous trade in legitimate sailing venture or in accumulated knowledge stolen from prize ship. I became quite enamored with navigation and star-charts.

To hold a stake in a pirate crew ensures you are entitled to a portion of the Take. This preserves both the economy of the port, the credit of the captaincy, and the merit of the crew. It also ensures those on the Account have a vested interest in any venture's success and the limiting of overlapping competition and conflict. Two ships after the same prize are more inclined to split such if they all get a take, rather than slaughter each other like dogs. Though of course there are always exceptions.

Some people, as Buster Grimes, pay 23,000 dinar on old property to turn.

Some people, as Legate Faith, pay 50,000 dinar on an election to turn.

I? Well. Rather than buying a ship, and all the agonizing maintenance and upkeep, and hiring a crew, and litany of expenses in insuring lost cargo.

I have paid 56,000 dinar over the last 33 days to find myself On the Account just in time for this Season's launch. Yet rather than placing all my sponsorship in one singular vessel? I have spread my effort. Spoken with many. Some savory, some unsavory, some wholly terrifying. But the matter speaks for itself. To secure the Captain's favor and convincing one of the crew to sell me their stake without the risk of their throat slit. Or a cannon splintering wood into their torso. Or losing a hand as a rope accident shatters the bone. 4,000 dinar is all it takes on average to convince a pirate to sit the season out. Plenty of liquor and whores and rent.

Of the Fourteen Vessels sailing out of Qadira by its various captains?

I have stake in each of them.

It is estimated that I shall be making 162 dinar an hour as no matter which ship sinks, which ship burns, which ship succeeds I am guaranteed a share of the take from my Stake the prize-taking vessel. Conservatively my investment will be paid off in Eight weeks time. Though in actuality it shall be closer to Twelve to Fifteen Weeks.

And yet with how long the Season lasts? With half the year left to go? Pure and unfettered profit.

Buster Grimes' hustling and efforts turned his investment profitable but lost his election. Legate Faith's scheming investment bore fruit but her throat was far too slit to enjoy the taste of electoral victory.

I need only sip my wine, smoke my mizzar, and wait.

With Wheels of Coin. This is Izdu's design.

[Random_White_Guy]

I loan out dinar, I sell the loan, I make profit off the sale of the loan and the good business of the one the loan was sold to. By the time the Dinar would even find its way back to me i've made thrice the sum. And the Wheel turns.

This business, it is vexing. I am vexed. I dislike being vexed. It quickly turns into a feeling of malaise which is only a few huffs of mizzar away from ennui.

I miss gambling. There's nothing worth gambling on at the moment. I miss visiting the Hang'd Heron and playing cards, at least there was opportunity that one might attempt to rob me or slip a knife in my ribs as I took their ill-gotten coinpurse with a winning hand of cards.

But no. The Purple League limps along, droll and uninspired. Flint and I hosting a Gala has some potential but at the same time? Why is it we who are organizing such. Where is Prelate Shabani seeking to showcase her recent strides? Where are those of the Rose who so eagerly moved matters in the Election seeking to suckle the sweet fruit of their victory? Or is it the cold shock of Faith's demise still driving them to mourning?

At the Funeral I bid them all to bring righteous slaughter upon the Lordcutter. The Mother's Mercy. Until her body stopped shaking and the bubbles stopped rising to the surface. Most seemed to care little for such a sentiment, though are quick to speak of it publicly. When a Princess makes a command it is to be followed through. Yet those of the Accord would sooner jockey for who gets what pretty little parcel of promise.

No one is hiring for work. It makes being a consultant a dreadfully boring affair. I have made more Dinar selling candy, teas, and perfumes in the last three days than my skills. It sits ill with me.

So little the need for Physician, for Solicitor, for Accountant. So many with so much wealth who have no care or interest in investing it in future prospects. Of future prospects though, the Mercenary Endeavor seems once more dead in the water.

This happens every time. One or two individual comes forward, they declare an interest in joining the company, I express my gratitude and shall keep them in mind when a Captain is found. They shrug and walk away. What is to be done when the Accord absorb all talent?

So I sit and I count my dinar, I smoke my mizzar, I drink my brandy. I sit and stew, staring at my ledger. Funding goes up, things to invest that funding in are remarkably flat, and so I simply gain more dinar. Dinar for the sake of Dinar is so dreadful though. Though of course I cannot even begin to tell you what a successful company would look like.

From all accounts and those spoken with the closest one such outfit came was known as "The Crows", of which seemed predominately to swirl about the Pyramid for scraps. Lothere shared that Sayburgh herself once had similar aspirations, but yet so again it revolved around the Pyramid. There is so much Dinar to be made absent of the Pyramid. So very much. But they just seem to lack imagination.

And so I sit, and count my dinar. As the investments return. 420 dinar spent, 780 dinar gained. Coupled with the wine sales, the tea sales, the candy sales, and now the asset of the Magical Bag and more. It's all just moving simple pieces, place to place, like some rudimentary childhood version of Tawla.

Everyone says to me, "Just wait for the new District to be raised. Business will no doubt flourish". The District of which only one shipment of Granite has come for the Walls? Patience has never been my strongest suit, I have always openly acknowledged such and why I so enjoy the freelance business. But when the freelance work dwindles, when the grapes sit on the vine...

...I really should see about making some gentlemen and lady friends. So few though have any interest in a rich social calendar. Majority only eager to find their next board job or their next political scheme. I hope the Gala shall change that.

[Random_White_Guy]

The Purple League is in dire strait. I had before my arrival even anticipated some things to be askew in the Frontier but sitting in the meeting today before the assembly was truly jarring. To listen to the Vizier calling the Legate weak and critiquing his behavior was unexpected.

From a purely analytic standpoint I question my entire involvement in the affair. It is somehow in worse situation than the White League. Hemorrhaging dinar because the Priory Nuns wished to preserve a Museum. A Musuem that is closed to the public, because of esoteric fear of theft, wasting both a property space and a sink of Dinar. For what? A Legate's memory? That is what the Maqbara is for. Culture has its place and purpose but a Museum that is obstructed and refused for the populace to even access is merely some vague masturbatorium.

This Refugee trend of holding property for dead friends, refusing to alter it, refusing to let it be changed. It is a stark and somewhat terrifying practice. These... living memorials and attempts to freeze things in time. In a year's time will a Refugee who fought for his life to survive the Nothing's embrace sit fondly to stare at some old cushions placed on Legate Saenus' chair?

And yet, much like the White League, it is just... blindly supported. There's no driving vision. There's no great aspiration. It is this treading of water.

Why in the Nine Spokes, is the League of Purple capitulating to a den of rust-huffing squatters in Tlonssiya? They have no divine mandate to reign supreme over the realm as the Sultan does. They have no robust and driving claim to stake beyond. Why then? Why are the Legates offering tens of thousands of dinar for machines that the Astronomers could have built? Why are they placating and appeasing these squatters?

It just boggles the mind. And day by day going by I find myself without anything to scratch the itch growing behind my eyes. The Exile's astronomers wish neither my dinar for their projects nor my counsel and advocacy before their trial of capital charges. La banda Rossa tends its business but seems to aim for the most mundane and risk-averse contracts guaranteeing them copper and silver rather than gold.

The Misfortune is trying, which is admirable considering the abject lack of support from the Leagues given to their efforts beyond simple allotment or the most meager of offers in extending their powers with all too esoteric laws.

On the plus side, from all the pacing done around the Well my calves look like two delicious shwarma haunches. Which I suppose does count for something.

Like all artists I merely await for Izdu's inspiration to strike. It is not coming from clients, and it is not coming from within me. All I may do is try to not foam at the mouth as boredom grips. And see what opportunities come.

What a dreadful state to be in, re-reading my entries from this week. I miss the Salon. I miss stimulating conversation. I miss puzzles. I miss problems to solve. I miss so much of Izdu's blessings. Is this why Legate Qari  went native and tethered himself to Zenithar Oro? But making the fat man look a fool in the Hall of Jurisprudence brought me little joy. Perhaps it is a Wizard thing.

...Perhaps. Perhaps a good Bender is in order.

Some wine, some mizzar, that Spring-Elf in Qadira who does that thing with her ears that I enjoy so much...

That could perahps soothe. And let me reassess with fresh eyes once the bleariness taken from them.