A Day in the Life of a "Community Organiser"

The dawn is the color of bad blood. It leaks out of the east and stains the dark sky red, bleeding out to butchered pink, marking the fast fleeing clouds with stolen gold.
“The letters of the day, sir. Sorted by importance.”

“Thank you, Carl. Ever diligent. So what do we have on the docket for today?”
The young assistant, clad in the dark robes of a banking hall scribe, scans the list of matters for approval.

“The Countess Jinlin wishes to discuss the terms of the lease for the old warehouse in Old Town.”

“Ha! No way. She didn't back me when it counted, I am not about to do her a favor now. Next.”

“The monthly progress report from Viscount Daffles in Athkatla. He continues to build our network in Amn.”
Menace smiles. He looks older, tired. The last months have taken a visible toll on him, but although the tiefling may have traded the meager lodgings of the Cavernous Seashank for the Lenoir estate on the Tritooth Wharf, neither his utilitarian clothes, nor his cheerfully predatory demeanor have changed.

“One of the best investments I ever made. The good viscount sold his stakes in Daring for coppers on the gold crown, and continues to deliver for us in new markets. What a little motivation can do for a man. Send him congratulations and a bonus. Let's keep that flame well fed.”
“As you wish. Next up, Admiral Saltborn is asking for more funds to expand the Grey Zephyr Armada. They are still in need of more ships, arms and sailors apparently.”

“Who would have thought a fleet-in-being could be that expensive… fair enough, it’s mere presence deters pirates. How is Old Town faring by the way?”

“Reconstruction is essentially completed, though the houses are still mostly wooden. I fear the next great fire will have similar effects.”
Menace sighs, as he signs the letters put in front of him. “Well, let's try to keep the dragon attacks to a minimum, then, shall we? Maybe begin organizing neighborhood associations, so that bucket lines can be assembled quickly. Institute civil defense training with the Town Guard. Foster that Old Town Pride. They may not be wealthy, but the Old Town people have heart and grit. I’d hate to see the place burn again.”

“Yes sir. With the reconstruction mostly completed, the New Town merchants have sent a petition for the repeal of the Rebuilding Levy. Seems they have had enough of public contributions.”
He rubs his eyes wearily. “Fair enough. Let’s make a show of the repeal, then fine the loudest discontents for something or other, and then we introduce a “public safety contribution drive”. I'm not going to bankroll the entire city by myself, let's make that clear. They want to do business here, make a fortune from the entrepot of the Dawnlands and the maritime gateway to K’ul Goran and Kundar, they will pay for the privilege.”

Carl smiles. “How about ‘anti-competitive collusion’? We could introduce new fines on a rolling basis.”

“Very creative! I like it. What would I do without you Carl?”

“Probably much the same as you are doing now sir, just on less sleep.”

“And it's little enough as it is. I hope you get your share as well though. But you are young! Probably you have other things to keep you awake. How is Sally, by the way?”
The assistant turns a shade pink, but continues to look at the docket. “She is… well. We moved into an apartment. In New Town. Thank you again for arranging it.”

“No need to thank me, or to be embarrassed. You earned this. You earned a share of happiness. Enjoy it.”
The sun has now risen over the horizon, golden rays falling through the window, reflecting off the statue of Soros Lenoir flanking the desk. Mace walks to the window, observing the boats large and small that traverse the bay, laden with goods and promises.

“I think this is enough for today. Leave the rest of the letters and take the day off. I will see you tomorrow.”
The assistant hesitates for a moment, uncertain but then leaves the letters on the desk. “Thank you sir. There is just one I would like to draw your attention to. From a Lady Anabel, adventurer; the school’s headmistress From-the-Mountain-Sings has asked this come to your personal attention. I will leave it on the top of the pile.”

“Thank you, I will take a look. Now you be off, enjoy the sunshine.”
The room grows quiet once the young assistant has left, the faint cries of seagulls and cargo porters wafting by, but never quite penetrating the oppressively large office.

“You know, I didn't think it would turn out like this. Having to look after a whole city.” Menace stands by the window, watching the people under his care go about their business.

“It makes me wonder how it all ended up like this. All I wanted was revenge. The money, the schemes, the threats, the… bloodshed, it was all in pursuit of vengeance. And then when I finally have it…”
He turns to the statue, the look of shock and horror on Soros Lenoir’s features frozen for all eternity.

“...it makes me wonder if you may not have trapped me after all. I don't know how you did it, all this time. I suppose you had your brother to help you but… the endless demands, requests, petitions, and duties. The long hours. Never a time to rest. Only the next stack of papers. It never gets easier, does it?”
Menace takes another look out the window, and sighs.

“But I can't stop either. Couldn't stop myself from the pursuit of you and your brother. And I couldn't leave all of this behind me now, even if I wanted to. Too many people relying on me, ungrateful as they may be.”
He walks over to the statue, tenderly brushing some minuscule flecks of dust off Soros’s face and shoulders.

“I guess it's just you and me now. Nothing really has changed. We are still bound together, by the places we called home. First Neverwinter, now Port Ffirst. I suppose there is something to think on. Something reassuring… As long as I'm alive, we will have each other.”

He grins at that. “Though I suppose I got the better deal of the two of us, all things considered. Now, let's get back to work, shall we? Maybe you can offer your advice on some of these matters. You have the experience after all. What do you say?”

The statue stays silent, frozen in horror. Mace nods, then sits back behind the desk.

“Quite so. Glad I can count on your support. Now, where is that letter from the school…”