William
**Felix Reed - Rikolto**

The apothecary followed the merchant to his new home. While passing trough the streets of Rikolto, his attention was drawn time and again towards the men in masks: golden mask and purple robes, iron masks and black tunics... The visionnaires commanded fascination and dread.
And seeing them masked in gold and silver reminded Felix of how the bandits had taken his Azaryan war-mask.

Perhaps it was time to get a new one.

"What is your plan from here?" He asked Jericho. "You could start by tellimg me your name. Mine is Felix, Felix Ravenloft Reed."
George
Jericho Heinrich
Rikolto, Mas Sifisme, Terresol

"I'm Jericho... Jericho Heinrich, it is a pleasure to meet you... Though not under these circumstances. The next plan, well, we will first gander my new property and begin repairs and furnishing, then we either gather a surplus of trading goods or open the trading hall and begin getting proper income."

They'd arrive at the run down building, an older looking house, two stories, a large field trailing off into forestry behind the house, and the road merely a few feet away from it. Jericho hitched his horse and walked inside. "Felix, everything I said back there to those barbarous folk holding you captive was an outright lie, I bought us enough time to prepare for them though." Jericho said whilst unlocking the door to his new 'Trading Hall' or rather, what will *Soon* Be his new 'Trading Hall', upon opening the door it dark, decrepit, and nearly empty.

The inside was a mess, old furniture lie broken on the floor, smithy equipment strewn about and nonfunctional, the wood was clearly old and it was quite clear that repair must be arranged before business can begin.
William
**Felix Reed - Rikolto**

"Prepare how?" Asked Felix seemingly dumbfounded.

It was a lie. Not the question, but the tone which he had used to deliver it. Felix knew better than anyone the power of trade, of paper and coin. His father, the Lord Magnate of the West-Azyr Czerch trade guild had been drilling him that lesson since he was an infant. Perhaps he could be of more use than even heinrich suspected, but as always, he would need to keep his main agenda hidden. He feared, for example, what Heinrich might think if he learned of the Lord Magnate's slave-trading empire. Felix, no... Kiervan, had walked across rows and rows of chained elves under the watchful eye of his father back in Azarya. He understood that that the company's power was largely built on the blood of those creatures, not on ethics.
Perhaps Heinrich could benefit from a hidden hand.

"As an apothecary, I know a thing or two about trade. I could help you with this endeavor."

His mind drifted back to the men in masks. They smelled like change, but also authority. They smelled like opportunity.
George
Jericho Heinrich
Rikolto, Mas Sifisme, Terresol

"Oh I'm positive you can, and I believe you certainly will help... But you and I both know what I mean by *Prepare*" Says Jericho, 'prepare' ringing in the air a moment after he said it, it was clear Jericho knew what he wanted to be done, he walked around the room and began examining it closely, crouching and looking down on the broken furniture.

"Apothecary make medicine... But in order to make medicine you must first know what kills a man... You know what to put in a mans drink to make him drink no more..." Jericho looked back at Felix with a grin. "The poor bastards dirtied my coat... And they took your liberty for long enough. So let's make them drink... No more..."

Jericho stands and begins removing old broken furniture from the house, taking it to the woods and discarding it in a discreet manner, his yard couldn't become a mess, it needed to look good for the merchants soon to come.
William
Felix Reed - Rikolto

Poinsoning the Sable Brotherhood? A good plan, but not his main focus. An assasination, even by poison, would be risky. Czerich wanted to build something in Rikolto, and fast. Revenge could come later.

"In order to get rid of that scum, we will need ressources. My _medicine_ is useless if I can't bribe someone to serve it to them, and for that we need money. What is our plan to get money? What will we sell in this Trading Hall?"

The demand for medicine was bound to rise alongside the religious fervour and violence of the region. But there was something else about to become a prized commodity: security.
George
Jericho Heinrich
Rikolto, Mas Sifisme, Terresol

Jericho, still in the midst of his work pauses, "We have five days to get this bustling with business. We aren't the ones trading as of yet, we are the ones condoning trade for a fee. We set the place up, make it look exclusive and elegant, make it a haven for merchants traveling from region to region, and collect fees for allowing them to trade here. Once we get enough coin, we save funding for payment, and then buy a surplus of trading goods to join the ring, it'd be a cycle at that point." 

Jericho then proceeds to work and talk, gathering rubbish around the room. "We'd take any trading goods we could get our hands on, we need a functioning business and rather soon. You could make medicine, sell it for high prices, we could advocate to whatever cult is inside those walls, tell them this place is 'religiously oriented'." Jericho chuckles before taking the rubbish to the forestry and dumping it. He returns moments later.
William
**Felix Reed - Rikolto**

Kiervan inhailed the dusty air of the depot.

"Sounds like a good plan."

And plans he had: plans to decorate with unique Azaryan motifs that would make the store seem exotic, plans to identify and secure rare goods, plans to learn about Rikolto.

But he had forgotten something, and after a couple days of work he was painfully reminded of it: he despised menial labour.

Even after spending a week being dragged trough the roads of the continents, the puerile scholar in him recoiled at the idea of more physical work. Still, he pushed trough.

_Sharp is the blade that cuts on it's own_.

One of his father's favorite mantras. A man has to be as self-sufficient as he can. Kind of ironic coming from the Lord Magnate.
Felix kept working on the store until it became recognizable as something more than a barn, at times he got the impression that Heinrich wasn't doing anything.
He knew the merchant was away looking for buyers and sellers to bring to the hall once it would open, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was lazying around.

"Have you decided how we're going to call this place?" He asked Jericho when he returned. "Soon, we will have our grand opening, and we're going to need a good name."
George
Jericho Heinrich
Rikolto, Mas Sifisme, Terresol

Jericho returned after a day of charming the local merchants and traders, working over deals, 'partnerships', and learning about the culture of what has been happening with the city. Jericho came in holding a sign, already having thought and executed the name, he holds up the sign reading 'The H&R Merchants Club'

"Heinrich and Reed Merchants Club... As you've been a great help in starting this dream of mine, you've earned yourself a co-ownership position... And a deserved position at that. You truly have turned this place around Felix." 

Jericho truly sounded impressed, a very different and unusual tone coming from him. He smiled with genuine happiness, not to seem charming. With outstretched arm, Jericho offered a shake.

"As my business partner, I'd like to clue you in on a little something I had planned... But before I do, have you thought of how you were going to poison the Sable's? If you hadn't... I have."
William
**Felix Reed - Rikolto**

The shop was beginning to take shape: goods had begun to fill the stories, clients would soon follow. Alas, Heinrich had to bring again the matter of the brigands. Thing is, he was not aftraid of them. It had been them, who had feared the Witch of Harronkeep.

Felix knew where the bandits were hiding: in a nearby inn, on the outskirts of town. He had not visited the place himself, but someone else had done it for him...

"Meow."

It was a small cat. His eyes were as blue as Felix's, and his hair just as back. On his back, he carried an ornate silver mask of Azaryan origins.

"Good job Pyotr, I knew you could get it back."

The bandits could keep the rest. This, and this alone was the one thing he needed to save from their clutches.
He turned towards Jericho, making sure to hide the mask from sight.

"I would love to hear your idea."
George
Jericho Heinrich
Rikolto, H&R Merchants Club, Terresol

Jericho smiled and motioned for Felix to follow him upstairs. Upstairs held a round table, a few shelves, and was used as a private meeting room, a records room, and a secret treasury.

"We certainly don't intend on giving the Sable their money, no sir." Jericho shook his head, quite unwilling to let his money go into hands of the undeserving. "Instead I believe it'd be best to prepare for their arrival with a different gift..." Jericho went into his satchel for two bottles of fine wine he had picked up the day prior. "They will show up to our trading hall when we don't show up to the meeting by the swamp, demanding payment... In this circumstance, we'd put up a facade, I'm *Ecstatic*...You of course playing the slave would be miserable and proceed to fetch us a drink upon my request while I invite them upstairs where we'd discuss the matter. Within two days, we'd have possibly even more than five thousand coin, and we'd have it bagged and 'ready' for our guests.

Jericho talked with his hands, his body language making everything quite clear. "You'd come in moments later, and see me chatting with our guests , I would explain to the Sable that more deals could come in the future for their services, make false promises, make them believe they would be making more treasure than ever before and we'd have a toast with our wine... That wine being poisoned courtesy of you..."

He set the bottles on the table, one with a thin line of black ink ran down the side of it. "The black ink on this bottle indicates the poison... The other bottle is the taste of revenge... Poison the first bottle and we'll toast with the second..."

And with that having been said, Jericho sat down and rested in the chair, looking at Felix expectingly.
Kenneth
Cleos
Falsa Province, Terresol

*The gods have found a treasure in me that others denied.* Cleos nodded, and his gaze fell away. The Wisdom's touch instilled in him a deep clarity. He remembered how Father had shown him love, but only as sparsely as he had tended to his son at all. He was part of the household in some meaningful way. At the time, he even remembered a sense of confidence in claiming the name Vortigon. At the same time, he'd been cognizant that he lived in the periphery of the family's prestige; besides Father, he had received little warmth from the adults of the family.

It didn't matter anymore. Carney was abroad now, fighting for his fortune, and the rest were surely dead. Those souls were beyond the incarnations by which he had known them. Caderyn, Caspian, Rhia ... They would define his place no longer. That power rested in his own hands now.

—

Before he set foot on the road, Cleos' transformation was already underway. Emaitmen, bless her, had gifted him a cloak of pure-white silk as a parting gift. It shifted and shimmered faintly in the balmy weather. He suspected his imminent ascension might have motivated her at least *As much* As his leaving. Still, he'd given sweet thanks for the gift and made a point of returning the favour someday. There were a fair few lowly Falsans who would have the quiet favour of Terresol's King. Maybe that was the first step towards corruption. Historians yet-unborn could judge him as they would.

Stopping short of the carriage, he looked back and waved at his friends and caregivers, who watched him go. There were no tears in his eyes now. He'd outmanoeuvred that great lump of emotion that had lurked at the back of his throat. There was nevertheless a grey sorrow weighing down his heart. Perhaps even some tender shade of guilt? With his face unburdened but his vigour dimmed, his last few steps up into the carriage were slow and soft.