AD 4 - Tuesday, March 12, 2002, 6:07 PM
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One word to describe the Counting House Tavern is busy.  Patrons sit, stand, and 
walk about eating and drinking.  Tonight will be favorable to the proprietor of 
this establishment, Anhadet being the one to profit.  Woman, most of less than 
moderate respute, flirt and flaunt their goods to the numerous seamen and lower 
classed individuals.  

Behind the bar stands the epitome of low class, Vergoz the Vomit.  Holding a 
/huge/ bone of meat in one hand, and a overflowing ale in the other, it is hard 
to imagine he is much good for service.  

The boistrous air of the tavern is suddenly and rudely broken as the doors bang 
open unceremoniously and through it step two members of the city guard.  They 
step in quickly and are followed by two more of their kind.  The first man 
through the door calls out, "Vergoz, the vomit.  Come out from under your rock.  
The honorable Cezayir summons you." With that a man of medium stature steps 
through the door and is followed by two more guards.  The door remains ajar and 
the night air flows in.  

To the guards do eyes slowly shift toward.  Away from their beer and woman, away 
from their fun, and perhaps fortunately away from Vergoz.  

"Who is this Cezayir fella?" spits Vergoz, half chewed foot and slober spraying 
from his mouth.  He points the meat toward the guard, "Get you gone!" Less than 
quickly, he rears back the meat and flings it at the closest guard, his loud 
booming voice singing with laughter after the deed.  

With a brisk movement the guard knocks the flying meat out of the air with the 
back of his hand.  "Dog!  You'll face the whip tonight for that!" he curses.  
The first four guards move briskly to the bar, and the well dressed man that 
accompanies them says in a low smooth voice, "Restrain him, but leave his mouth 
open.  I have questions for this piece of street trash." He smiles a thin smile 
and moves into the common room of the inn.  The two guards behind him follow 
closely, watching the other patrons of the bar with hands on their sword hilts.  

Nervousness is suddenly quite apparant across Vergoz's face.  "Wait!" he 
lifts his hands, palms outward, attempting to ward them off from afar.  
"No need for restraint!  No need at all!" He points toward the door, "I 
shall come with you, yes?" He forces a smile, but his breath is labored by 
his sudden movement and stress.  "We can go outside.  It is brisk, and I 
can talk to you..." 

Before you is a man of medium height and stature.  he measures not quite 
six feet in height and his frame is average, fit but not overly muscled.  
Dominating his well chisseled face are two very intense dark blue eyes, 
over which dark bushy black eyebrows preside.  Black well groomed hair is 
atop his head.  Though it is long, it is held in place by a tight pony 
tail.  Perhaps the most striking thing about this man is how young his 
face appears.  it is virtually blemishless and devoid of wrinkles.  

On his body are only the best clothes that the merchants of Tenigul may 
carry.  He wears black pants and a white silk shirt.  Over the shirt is a 
red vest, also silken, and a black overcoat.  The buttons on the jacket, 
vest and shirt collar are all made of ivory.  These clothes are not gaudy 
or flashy, but they are obviously expensive.  Strapped about his waist is 
a sword which is probably mostly for show.  It has an ivory handle which 
is intricately carved into a lion's head at the end.  The blade is thin 
and kept within a black leather sheath which is well polished and 
immaculate, but not overly ornate.  He wears comfortable black shoes on 
his feet.  The only other remarkable thing about this man is a black 
leather glove that covers his left hand.  

"No, this will do just fine," replies the well dressed official.  He 
reaches to his left hand and adjusts the leather glove that covers it 
slowly.  "I prefer to hold my interrogations indoors.  A table in the 
corner will be sufficient.  Now move," he says the last word with a 
ferocity that is starkly contrasted to his softer usual tone.  He gestures 
toward a table that is nearly hidden in the shadows of the bar room.  

Vergoz forces a smile, slowly 'walking' from behind the door.  "Tend to 
the bar, you!" he yells toward another much smaller, yet dirty man.  
Lumbering toward the specified location, he passes a particularly drunk 
woman, seated upon the edge of a table.  Suprisingly, he reaches out 
quickly and grabs hold of her breasts, roughly.  She screams in protest, 
smacking his disgustingly large arms, and after a few moments he lets go.  
Again his laughter booms over the tavern.  It takes several more moments 
before he reaches the table in question, slowly resting in a chair by it, 
the whining and cracking of it is noticable as he does so.  

As the hideously fat man fondles the woman in the bar Cezayir jerks his 
head in his direction to one of the guards with him.  The mail clad guard 
nods and reaches out to hit Vergoz across the face with a guantletted 
hand.  As he does so, Cezayir says, "Another display of that type and 
you'll fell more sting than that, you disgusting mass of filth." His upper 
lip is curled into a sneer of contempt.  As he reaches the table he and 
the guards remain standing while the fat man sits down.  The well dressed 
nobleman stands in front of him and only stares down at him with a 
furrowed brow.  

Vergoz clutches his jaw, screaming out like a woman.  "She like," are the 
only words he can manage at first, observing his hand, and the blood that 
drips from his face.  "She liked it!" he growls, watching Cezayir and the 
guards suspeciously.  

The fat man's eyes narrow, "I would not touch me like that again..." he 
whispers, a subtle warning, and perhaps not even heard by those around 
him.  "Now what do you want!?!  I have a bar to tend.  You should right be 
paying me kindly for lost wages from this whole mess here.  You have 
interfered with buisness.  I ought to speak to my good friends that know 
quite the high up people!  I should.  It would serve you right to see the 
wide open plain of Lun'sar!  Dumb brutes!" 

Cezayir jerks his head in Vergoz's direction again, and again one of the 
guards hits him, this time hard, in his well padded gut.  "What was that?  
I didn't quite catch it," he says in a low voice.  He nods to the head 
guardsman and now two guards take turns striking at the man in the torso.  

While they beat the man Cezayir stands back slightly from the spectacle.  
After a moment he steps in and holds up his hand.  "I own you.  You fat 
sloth, and if you even think about threatening me again, you won't 
remember it.  Now, I want to know what you know about the reported 
shortages in the Durnalian merchants latest shipment, and if I don't get 
everything I want, you're going to spend a fortnight in jail.  
Understood?" 

Vergoz is pounded squarely where everyone aims, for he has no way to move, 
no way to dodge.  He cries out, and several shifty eyes start to pay close 
attention to what is going on in the corner.  His screams are matched his 
arms slamming recklassly upon the table, as well as a massive expulsion of 
gas from his backside as the men wail away.  

Groaning in pain, an agonized face peers back up to the man.  "Durnalian 
merchants?" he asks, holding his stomach as the guards stop hittin him.  
"I know nothing about Durnalian merchants.  Perhaps you should ...." he 
takes a deep breath, fighting to catch his, " ...  go ask them.  Everyone 
knows they are not to be trusted..." 

As the fat man flatulates Cezayir turns away in disgust.  Then he turns 
back, and his face is filled with rage.  "Shut up, you blubbering sack of 
crap!"He turns to his goons and says quietly, "That's enough for now." 
Then he turns back to the man.  Dark penetrating eyes stare into the face 
of the bartender and he is silent for a moment.  "You see, I can be 
merciful.  Now.  I don't believe you, so I'm going to give you a chance to 
redeem yourself.  Give me a name of someone who may have information, and 
I'll let you return to your job without any further injury.  Or, we can 
move to the jailhouse, and continue with a less prying audience." 

"Okay!" exclaims Vergoz, eager to avoid a private session with Cezayir.  
"Like I said," he groans, "I do not know anything of any Durnalian 
merchants.  They mostly come and go," he waves his hand weakly to 
physically illustrate the coming and goings.  "I hear tell they do not 
like Tenigul to much, think it shit..." The fat man attempts to sit up, 
and grimaces while doing so, his head shaking all the while.  "I did hear 
something.  Something about 'unchartered' voyages to Dreamnow." He shrugs, 
"I only got one name, and I do not know who it be.  Just a name ...." 

Cezayir reaches up to his chin and strokes it thoughtfully, "I will be 
displeased if I find you have lied to me, you puke stained pile of feces.  
Now, give me this name and pray this person has my answers." He turns to 
one of his men, all of whom are trying with a good deal of success to 
maintain their composure in light of the stench from their detainee.  

Now the judge smiles at Vergoz and says simply.  Give me the name.  If it 
is wrong, I will come looking for you, and I doubt there are too many 
places big or foul enough to hide you.  Understood?" 

Vergoz shrugs his shoulders, causing his fat neck to seem ever moreso.  "I 
just heard a name," he repeats.  "How would I hear of Durnalian 
merchants?" he asks, groaning for a few more seconds.  He pauses after 
most the groaning is done, transforming his breath into winded huffing for 
air.  During that break, he seems to be thinking, as if attempting to 
recall something on the tip of his tongue.  "Ah!  Kostu.  That's the name.  
Kostu." He smiles feintly, nodding his head.  "Know nothing more than 
that." 

"You had better know where I can find, this mysterious Kostu," replies the 
judge with a sneer returning to his face.  The judge looks over to one of 
the guards who raises his hand to strike the fat man again but he holds 
out hie right index finger to head off the imminent strike.  The guard 
stands there, poised to strike like a snake.  "Well?" asks the judge.  

Gasping, Vergoz lifts his arms in order to protect himself.  "I do not 
know!" He begins to stammer, "I told you before, its only a name I heard, 
a sailor of some kind..." Through his gasps for air, Vergoz swallows in 
fear, knowing the beating he could be subject to.  

However, a guard, one that has stood behind waiting, speaks up.  
"Cezayir," he says, attempting to gain his attention.  "I do not wish to 
interupt.  But I have heard the name spoken before.  Many of Tenigul 
have." His eyes flicker toward Vergoz for a short moment, and then return 
to the judge.  

Cezayir turns to the guard and nods his head.  "Very well, I shall look 
into this matter further.  For now, we will leave this pit and this pile 
of trash." He turns to Vergoz and snarls, "But, I will keep a close eye on 
you.  Be sure of that." With that he turns and motions for the guards to 
follow him out the door.  The guard who had been poised to strike aims a 
backhand at the bartender as he heads toward the door with the contingent 
of city guardsmen.