1874-07-20: The wheels of bureaucracy
The wheels of bureaucracy
Summary: Stanislaus sends the Sokar contract along.
Date: 1874-07-20
Related: A dragon for a dragon
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Stanislaus  

Stanislaus sat down at the corner table within the Perky Porpoise, already a good sized tankard of Reddings awaited him, the piss yellow slop hardly an enticing sight to any decent drinker, but to Stanislaus, a drink was a drink. The weak froth was soon obscuring his crooked and wayward teeth, though within the space of a couple of chin wobbling gulps, the foul liquid was finished and the tankard slammed against the table, "So… a crown and this request goes through you, the Sokar are even paying for provisions and supplies." The rolled up parchment and accompanying Sokar papers were waved somewhat enticingly before the skinny clerk's features.

"I appreciate… I know I… I owe you for this." The clerk intoned with a faint stammer, never quite managing to peer over his thick pince nez, nor make eye contact.

"Oh that you do!" Stanislaus roared happily, flecking the poor clerk with an unseemly amount of Reddings' tinged spittle, "You have the coin?"

-

The coin shone briefly, clutched as it was from the depths of the clerk's robes and slid across the table.

-

Stanislaus' eyes widened briefly, the smile bore ever more teeth, like a shark, a shark that had likely slammed face-first into the side of a frigate. The coin did not last long within the open, snatched away as it was and into the sweaty clutches of Stanislaus' own hand.

-

"You s-sure this is okay?" The papers were snatched and caught between Stanislaus' grip and that of the clerk as the Commissary held onto them for but a moment longer.

"Abshhholutely!" A fleck of moisture sprung forth just as the papers were released, causing the clerk to tumble backwards, "Always happy to oblige!" The final word as moist as any other, positively clammy as Stanislaus' lips twisted into a slow but merry rictus, "I'll ensure these requests come through you, first payment will be made once finalised. I doubt they can afford these mercenaries for long. Should be interesting! A few days to round them up should do it. You'll make a name for yourself in no time lad!" That grin flickers briefly as Stanislaus rose from his chair, tossed but a single coin onto the table to pay for the drinks, the clerk's as yet untouched and tainted by Stanislaus' moistened words, though the froth had all but diminished regardless.

Clutching the papers to his chest, the clerk simply exhaled and gazed at his drink, the foul Reddings brew was still wet at the very least. If one ignored the flavour all would be well. And knocking it back, he twisted to watch the large Commissary make his way out the inn, a couple of lesser ranking greycloaks following after him.

And with that, the Sokar's request for Mercenaries edged its way along the bureaucratic chain, via a slight detour through the seedy underbelly of mild corruption, before finally reaching a pair of hands that would see it nudged to the desks of those who would weigh the coin and assign the mercenaries. Men and women who would care little for the inevitable death of the men and women they send to Galenthia, a contract is a contract after all. Failure to fulfill would be terrible, but then failure to ensure the security of future payments is another matter entirely.

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