Two Businessmen Walk Into a Bar... (narrative)
May 14, 2020 12:16:16 GMT
Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed likes this
Post by Ian (Menace) on May 14, 2020 12:16:16 GMT
With much thanks to Heret Velnnarul for this first encounter of likely a few. 
The road between Daring and Port Ffirst is well travelled. Winter has released the land from it's cold embrace, and just like the flowers in the field and the beasts of the wild have reawakened, so has the trade between the two adventurers’ towns, as travelers and carts are busily trekking to and fro, ladden high with goods, guile and expectations. Menace is one of these travellers, and his guile and expectations know no bounds.
Making his way off the beaten path, Menace takes the road to the OMTC factory - a compound consisting of a workshop, offices and a warehouse - and makes for administrative building. After a moment’s discussion with the clerk on duty and a slightly longer wait, he is shown into a small but lavishly furnished office where a young human in embroidered yellow silk is bending over a desk covered in papers and account-books.
The Tiefling in his greatcloak takes in the scene, performs a courteous bow for the man behind the desk, and introduces himself:
"Greetings Mr Heret. May I trouble you for a moment of your time? I am a businessman from Port Ffirst and am hoping to discuss a purchase. Have I come to the right place?"
Raising his long face, the human smiles broadly. “Good business to you! You have come to the Olem-Murnelvar Trading Company – whether that is the right place for you, we shall have to discover together. Please, sit, tell me who you are and what you seek. Alil,” he says to the waiting clerk, “please bring our guest a cup of…?” Heret turns back to Menace with a questioning smile.
"Small beer will do, thank you", the red-skinned Tiefling says, taking a seat opposite to Heret and appreciatively takes in the office decoration and account papers strewn over the desk.
"Very nice! Your operations must be going well. I hear you have added a quarry to your business lines? Very ambitious. My own business is less capital intensive, though expanding quite aggressively. But where are my manners!" He exclaims, treating Heret to a wide, toothy smile, "while I have been known by many a less charitable name, to my friends I am known simply as Mace, and I believe - between two men in the noble pursuit of profit - that you and I will become fast friends indeed.”
“I look forward to it,” Heret replies, closing and stacking the books neatly. “And in what hunting grounds do you pursue your profits so… ‘aggressively’?”
Mace leans back in his chair, mustering Heret and taking his measure, before beginning his musings.
"I am a purveyor of desire - I aid those that seek to find what it is they most urgently want. Usually, I help to connect two willing parties to fulfill their common want, who would have never met, if not for my charitable intervention. You might call me a broker, of sorts. And on my off-days…”, he shrugs, “...I run a pawnshop in Port Ffirst, and help feed the needy.”
One dark eyebrow rises on Heret’s face, followed quickly by one corner of his mouth. “You put me in mind of a verse,” he says:
“‘The burgess bread may wish and want;
Bread may the baker bake;
Yet Have and Want with naught besides
Do not a commerce make.
If baker-man and burgess both
Be haply friends to me –
Then may they meet and make their trade
And I may take my fee.’
Do you know it?”
As Heret poses the question, the door opens and the clerk Alil enters and sets down two ornate cups on the desk, one in front of each seated man.
Mace smiles as he absorbs the verse. “I am afraid I do not, but I shall make a note of it - is it Amnian? But I can tell that I did well to come to you: we share an appreciation for profits and the finer words spoken between friends.”
He takes a moment to reflect on the verse, and the man who spoke them. The black orbs of his eyes glass over for an instance, as if revelling in a memory. But the moment passes, and Mace leans forward.
“But, to business. I was hoping to buy a wagon-load of lumber, as well as a few yards of wool-cloth. Is that something you deal in?”
Heret pauses in the midst of sipping his drink, then his ringed hand slowly places the cup back on the desk. “A single wagon? Or do you mean one a month, perhaps?”
“A single wagon will do for now. I may need more at a later time, once I have assessed whether it suits my purposes.”
The human places his hands flat on the desk, one tidily resting on the other, and leans forward slightly with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for this question, but I must be sure that there’s been no misprision: do you mean that you want a large quantity or steady supply of timber but you ask for a sample that you may adjudge its quality before discussing the greater contract? Or do you truly ask to buy a ton of timber and nothing else?”
The Tiefling waves away the apology, smiling in turn. "I have a project in mind, you see. For illustration, imagine that I am building a… treehouse, for the orphans of Port Ffirst. For the moment, a single wagon of lumber is all I need, but depending on the outcome of my work, there may be room for expansion. A whole village among the tree-crowns, to stick with the image? And it would not be the lumber by itself, oh no! I will take the wool cloth as well. For curtains. To keep out the cold." He throws Heret a mischievous wink. "If the quality of your merchandise satisfies, I will happily return to you for the volume order. What do you think - can we come to such an arrangement?"
“Your enterprise sounds charming,” Heret replies, “but I fear you’ve been misinformed of the nature of this venture. The Olem-Murnelvar Trading Company is not a shop. We don’t sell cloth by the yard or timber by the hundredweight to visitors passing by. Our chief buyers of wood are the shipwrights of Athkatla under contracts for hundreds of tons over scores of months. In the contrary direction we bring a steady supply of fine luxury goods from all of Amn to a number of discerning sellers of wares in this town. If you want curtains, I shall be delighted to give you the name of the best draper in Daring Heights, who of course we supply. And if you want enough wood to build a village, then we can certainly talk. But for your… treehouse… I think perhaps you must look elsewhere.”
Menace cocks his head and studies the man behind the desk for a few seconds before replying. He realized that he would have to give up something more, if this discussion was going to lead anywhere.
“I fully appreciate your need for dependability and scale in your dealings. But did your other clients not require proof of quality before making larger futures contracts? As I said, there is room for expansion here. And think of it this way: what if the currently booming demand for lumber in Amn slows? Or some disturbance in the Weave makes transport by teleportation unreliable? All your eggs would be in one basket! Surely it behooves you to consider diversifying your client base, no? If for no other reason than to manage your risk?”
Menace does not break eye contact.
“What do you have to lose?”
This was going to have to be it.
“Except…”
Just a little more…
“...the chance at a share in the first import licence issued to an outsider by the mayor of Vorsthold?”
"Interesting," says Heret, raising his cup again. "You have an agreement with Mayor Grimblefoot?"
“I do.” Menace taking a sip in turn. “Contingent on the quality of goods supplied, I will be the first outsider to be granted this high honor. We have come to an… understanding. Of course, I could have my employees set up our own logging operation, but I shy away from the burden of the associated capital investment. I would much rather come to an arrangement with you to supply the lumber. But first...”, he extends his palms face up in a gesture of supplication, “...I require that wagon-load, for proof of quality. And so, here we are.”
“Indeed! Indeed! We may after all be able to help each other. You have agreed a price, a date of delivery? Are the contracts signed?”
Menace leans forward, all eager and assuring.
“Everything is well underway. But I do need the first wagon-load for quality assurance purposes before they will issue the licence. If you could arrange to sell such a minor quantity to me for now, then I can cut you in for a proper share once the regular shipments at volume can begin.”
He leans back, that easy smile having crept back onto his lips, like an old dog taking up its rightful place by the fireplace.
“If that is agreeable to you, why don't we discuss the details in a more relaxed setting? I hear the Gilded Mirror is a wonderful establishment for sealing a deal. What do you say, friend Heret?”
The road between Daring and Port Ffirst is well travelled. Winter has released the land from it's cold embrace, and just like the flowers in the field and the beasts of the wild have reawakened, so has the trade between the two adventurers’ towns, as travelers and carts are busily trekking to and fro, ladden high with goods, guile and expectations. Menace is one of these travellers, and his guile and expectations know no bounds.
Making his way off the beaten path, Menace takes the road to the OMTC factory - a compound consisting of a workshop, offices and a warehouse - and makes for administrative building. After a moment’s discussion with the clerk on duty and a slightly longer wait, he is shown into a small but lavishly furnished office where a young human in embroidered yellow silk is bending over a desk covered in papers and account-books.
The Tiefling in his greatcloak takes in the scene, performs a courteous bow for the man behind the desk, and introduces himself:
"Greetings Mr Heret. May I trouble you for a moment of your time? I am a businessman from Port Ffirst and am hoping to discuss a purchase. Have I come to the right place?"
Raising his long face, the human smiles broadly. “Good business to you! You have come to the Olem-Murnelvar Trading Company – whether that is the right place for you, we shall have to discover together. Please, sit, tell me who you are and what you seek. Alil,” he says to the waiting clerk, “please bring our guest a cup of…?” Heret turns back to Menace with a questioning smile.
"Small beer will do, thank you", the red-skinned Tiefling says, taking a seat opposite to Heret and appreciatively takes in the office decoration and account papers strewn over the desk.
"Very nice! Your operations must be going well. I hear you have added a quarry to your business lines? Very ambitious. My own business is less capital intensive, though expanding quite aggressively. But where are my manners!" He exclaims, treating Heret to a wide, toothy smile, "while I have been known by many a less charitable name, to my friends I am known simply as Mace, and I believe - between two men in the noble pursuit of profit - that you and I will become fast friends indeed.”
“I look forward to it,” Heret replies, closing and stacking the books neatly. “And in what hunting grounds do you pursue your profits so… ‘aggressively’?”
Mace leans back in his chair, mustering Heret and taking his measure, before beginning his musings.
"I am a purveyor of desire - I aid those that seek to find what it is they most urgently want. Usually, I help to connect two willing parties to fulfill their common want, who would have never met, if not for my charitable intervention. You might call me a broker, of sorts. And on my off-days…”, he shrugs, “...I run a pawnshop in Port Ffirst, and help feed the needy.”
One dark eyebrow rises on Heret’s face, followed quickly by one corner of his mouth. “You put me in mind of a verse,” he says:
“‘The burgess bread may wish and want;
Bread may the baker bake;
Yet Have and Want with naught besides
Do not a commerce make.
If baker-man and burgess both
Be haply friends to me –
Then may they meet and make their trade
And I may take my fee.’
Do you know it?”
As Heret poses the question, the door opens and the clerk Alil enters and sets down two ornate cups on the desk, one in front of each seated man.
Mace smiles as he absorbs the verse. “I am afraid I do not, but I shall make a note of it - is it Amnian? But I can tell that I did well to come to you: we share an appreciation for profits and the finer words spoken between friends.”
He takes a moment to reflect on the verse, and the man who spoke them. The black orbs of his eyes glass over for an instance, as if revelling in a memory. But the moment passes, and Mace leans forward.
“But, to business. I was hoping to buy a wagon-load of lumber, as well as a few yards of wool-cloth. Is that something you deal in?”
Heret pauses in the midst of sipping his drink, then his ringed hand slowly places the cup back on the desk. “A single wagon? Or do you mean one a month, perhaps?”
“A single wagon will do for now. I may need more at a later time, once I have assessed whether it suits my purposes.”
The human places his hands flat on the desk, one tidily resting on the other, and leans forward slightly with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for this question, but I must be sure that there’s been no misprision: do you mean that you want a large quantity or steady supply of timber but you ask for a sample that you may adjudge its quality before discussing the greater contract? Or do you truly ask to buy a ton of timber and nothing else?”
The Tiefling waves away the apology, smiling in turn. "I have a project in mind, you see. For illustration, imagine that I am building a… treehouse, for the orphans of Port Ffirst. For the moment, a single wagon of lumber is all I need, but depending on the outcome of my work, there may be room for expansion. A whole village among the tree-crowns, to stick with the image? And it would not be the lumber by itself, oh no! I will take the wool cloth as well. For curtains. To keep out the cold." He throws Heret a mischievous wink. "If the quality of your merchandise satisfies, I will happily return to you for the volume order. What do you think - can we come to such an arrangement?"
“Your enterprise sounds charming,” Heret replies, “but I fear you’ve been misinformed of the nature of this venture. The Olem-Murnelvar Trading Company is not a shop. We don’t sell cloth by the yard or timber by the hundredweight to visitors passing by. Our chief buyers of wood are the shipwrights of Athkatla under contracts for hundreds of tons over scores of months. In the contrary direction we bring a steady supply of fine luxury goods from all of Amn to a number of discerning sellers of wares in this town. If you want curtains, I shall be delighted to give you the name of the best draper in Daring Heights, who of course we supply. And if you want enough wood to build a village, then we can certainly talk. But for your… treehouse… I think perhaps you must look elsewhere.”
Menace cocks his head and studies the man behind the desk for a few seconds before replying. He realized that he would have to give up something more, if this discussion was going to lead anywhere.
“I fully appreciate your need for dependability and scale in your dealings. But did your other clients not require proof of quality before making larger futures contracts? As I said, there is room for expansion here. And think of it this way: what if the currently booming demand for lumber in Amn slows? Or some disturbance in the Weave makes transport by teleportation unreliable? All your eggs would be in one basket! Surely it behooves you to consider diversifying your client base, no? If for no other reason than to manage your risk?”
Menace does not break eye contact.
“What do you have to lose?”
This was going to have to be it.
“Except…”
Just a little more…
“...the chance at a share in the first import licence issued to an outsider by the mayor of Vorsthold?”
"Interesting," says Heret, raising his cup again. "You have an agreement with Mayor Grimblefoot?"
“I do.” Menace taking a sip in turn. “Contingent on the quality of goods supplied, I will be the first outsider to be granted this high honor. We have come to an… understanding. Of course, I could have my employees set up our own logging operation, but I shy away from the burden of the associated capital investment. I would much rather come to an arrangement with you to supply the lumber. But first...”, he extends his palms face up in a gesture of supplication, “...I require that wagon-load, for proof of quality. And so, here we are.”
“Indeed! Indeed! We may after all be able to help each other. You have agreed a price, a date of delivery? Are the contracts signed?”
Menace leans forward, all eager and assuring.
“Everything is well underway. But I do need the first wagon-load for quality assurance purposes before they will issue the licence. If you could arrange to sell such a minor quantity to me for now, then I can cut you in for a proper share once the regular shipments at volume can begin.”
He leans back, that easy smile having crept back onto his lips, like an old dog taking up its rightful place by the fireplace.
“If that is agreeable to you, why don't we discuss the details in a more relaxed setting? I hear the Gilded Mirror is a wonderful establishment for sealing a deal. What do you say, friend Heret?”