The two-foot wide ‘river’ that wends its way
through most of the large drinking room is contained by foot high adamas walls. There are
a few crude wooden bridges to cross it.
Dozens of floating wooden trays, each of distinct design and coloration make a circuit of
the drinking room on the river, passing every single table one after the other. To order a
drink, one merely places a pile of the correct coinage on a tray and waits for the tray to
return, with the drink. Each drink has a distinct cost, noted on a hanging bit of vellum
on the wall. Distinct piles of coins mean distinct drinks. Coin piled on a folded bit of
parchment, vellum or papyrus means a message for Urtur Belios, one of his patrons, or a
question that Urtur Belios might know the answer to. The answer comes back the same way.
Considering the large amount of time he spends simply fixing drinks, the Little
Armada’s owner is quite knowledgeable of local gossip.
The tables are widely separated and the white noise of the river makes for a sense of
privacy among the patrons.
It is rumored that the once boisterous Urtur Belios first wished to open a tavern years
ago, but was loathe to buy grugs to do the waiting, whether for humanitarian or racist
reasons is unknown. He set off to the West and returned after a number of years, older,
more soft-spoken and with a look of wisdom about him. Soon thereafter the Little Armada
opened its doors. The impetus of the river is supposedly a giza spirit of some puissance,
nicknamed Proof by early customers due to the number of drinks accidentally spilled
into the once-pure stream. Urtur Belios in turn is reckoned a rogue sorcerer of some
skill. There is no bouncer or other assistant to the bartender. No one dares to cheat or
rob Urtur Belios, and the closest thing to a fight in the bar is a balls-to-the-wall
staring match.
Of course, anyone who steps outside is fair game and this is one of the worse parts of
town, utterly unlit. In fact, the closest restroom is the alleyway ten steps from the
tavern’s entrance. There is at least fifty feet of enclosed tower above the bar, and
presumably Urtur Belios occupies that too. This tower has been broken off near the top,
supposedly from when the Shifters invaded the city.
Notable patrons of the Little Armada:
- Jope the Dangerous
- Most of the raftsmen in the city
- A good number of off-duty Utor-Ka
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as told by Mukano Erlin, a frequenter of their establishments
"First off, there's no other Gang that's as the good to the people as these sorts, eh! They even has a law where no Nineteen member'll kill an ordinary citizen. Like myself.
"And the taxes for the hearth district have never been so light, sure you lose a few flats at the dicing table, but what's that anyway?
"Talk of the dice, they're the only ones who are s'posed to run the tables; even their name: '1' and '9' — you roll that, it means the house wins, everyone else loses.
"Yes, they are the house, they always have an angle, especially 'gainst those uptight Utor-Ka lads and lasses with their big swords and dour faces!
"Well, I got be gone, so my wife can't seek me out t'ask where the creed she gave me got to...."
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The Hundred Hands of Argos
as told by Rolni Miklonin, yearling of the Argos
"Listen, you don’t sign on with Cestus...he’s the archêgos, no one knows his real name...you don’t sign on with Cestus to get rich, you sign on to be one of the best. The Argos are the best mercenary outfit this side of the ashen wastes and I’ll kick in the teeth of any Utor-Ka that says different, get me? You sign on for the training and the gear, ‘cause it’s five seasons ‘fore you see a single flat out of the coffers. Make it through the year though, then you’re company, you’ll draw down alright, ‘specially if we go out on campaign.
"But that ain’t so many. First year is tough, the training is brutal and the yearlings don’t get much respect from company mercs. Maybe half make it, and then when the year’s done maybe only half of those stick around. Can’t blame ‘em, I guess, it’s tough at the top. And if ya make it through, the gear is yours, there’s plenty of cushier jobs out there for someone with her own gear and a year of Cestus’ gentle mercies to brag on. Me, I think I might stay around, ‘least if I don’t have a training accident like Shelo...
"Yearlings don’t get much free time. It’s four hours a day in the yard at the sticks and weights and dummies, learning how to handle your spear and gladius, cestus, feet, teeth...fingernails. You wouldn’t believe how many ways there are to kill a man. See, Cestus and most of his archons were gladiators, ‘least that’s the story. They say he escaped from the arena of Kharn and made his way around, freeing and hiring on every gladiator he could, any way he could..buying out contracts, brute force, whatever. When they had a hundred blades together, the Argos came back east, ‘bout fifteen years ago when Kharn was moving up through the plains to threaten Nuada Hlao. They got into some pretty good scrapes, but eventually Kharn pulled out and they were left looking for work, that’s how they ended up here. But I was talking about gladiators right? Yeah, so we figure that’s what we’re getting, gladiator training. But who knows? The archons won’t talk about it and it’s kinda hard to understand the answers to your questions when you’re flat on your back with your ears ringin’ anyway.
"When you’re not in the yard getting the crap kicked out of you, it’s the street. It’s pretty soft most of the time, babysitting fat merchants and their storefronts, Icaril and their toadies. Sometimes we pull bodyguard duty for visiting shifters, that’s always fun on account of the Utor-Ka tryin’ to throw their weight around. Peak District mostly stays nice and quiet though. Cestus is fond of making examples, keeps the gangers honest.
"We’re on pretty good terms with everyone ‘cause they know they don’t need the kind of hell a bunch of organized mercs can bring down on ‘em. The Jacaln though, they get stupid, send firebombers sometimes, or come in groups down outta northside tryin’ to catch a pair of us unawares. It goes way back, think it’s kinda’ personal with Cestus, maybe ‘cause of the slaving everyone says the Jacaln are into. S’alright by me though, ‘cause if you’re good...
[quietly] "Well, y’know how I said yearlings don’t get paid? That’s true, ‘cept twice now I’ve woke up at midnight with old Yask tellin’ me to gear up. Lemme tell ya, you ain’t lived until you and twenty of your mates hit the narrows and reduce a den of Jacaln to their component parts. By the Void, I’d do that business for free...but you won’t hear me complaining about the fist tucked into my boot the mornin’ after either.
"So you want my advice? If you think you’re brave enough to take the Test, go ahead and sign on. We’ll keep ya fed, keep a roof over your head..you quit thinking about the money after a while. It’s worth it, to be the best."
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The Jacaln
from a speech by Skulking Jacal, Boss of Bosses, now deceased
"You hide here, in your dirty city canyons, and fight for scraps while Icaril and Nineteen and rich merchants, roaring like peho'xa, eat your sorrow's sweet flesh. Narrows needs not six gangs, not seven, but One. Strength lies in unity, and we young, we cast-off, will run in Packs, to take back what should be ours.
"Our strength will be: vigilance, cunning and patience. World is ruthless and so are we. We afraid of law? Oonâhá'e mâxhevéesevôtse! We become Law.
"Our youngest, too small to wear sash, will watch Essenor from hundred places, our little okohke, birds with sharp eyes, begging coin as they can. Real money we make our way. Not just protection, also wherever there are fists to make. Of this, I will speak to the Bosses.
"Remember. We are fierce. We take anything we can. We never betray our brothers, our sisters. We never forget that our law is only real law. We never stop. We will take city and play victory games with bones of our enemies!" [A very large party followed.]
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- A gathering of artists, librarians, historians and other learned scholars and
visionaries.
- An academy cum library with a costly instruction fee.
- The most notable students are the Aspirants, would-be-magelords.
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