Shadows of Ravenhall Quest 0

>>685069
>East to the temple square.

>>685069
>> Stay in the Narrows, where people like you should be.

>>685069
>> West, to the Common Markets.

I guess I forgot to consider the case of no one picking the same thing at least once...

Well, we got three choices to work with now. Choose from these 3:

> East, to the Temple Square.
> West, to the Common Markets.
> Stay in the Narrows, where people like you should be.

>>685215
> West, to the Common Markets.

>>685215
> West, to the Common Markets.

>>685215
> West, to the Common Markets.
Voting for progression.

Alright, we got our votes. Writing up next part!

File: Common Markets1.jpg (476KB, 1650x815px) Image search: [Google]

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>>685337
>>685428

You veer yourself west. Well, as west as west can be to a drunk man inside an urban maze. But you have the strong sensation that this is where you need to go. As you go through the tight corridors - some of which could only fit two people at most - you feel a compelling pull west. "Maybe they spiked the ale, back in the Maze..." you say out loud, hearing snores and grunts from the sleeping vagrants as you move along. That's about as answered that question will be, for now.

Once you finally manage to find your way out of the district, you get a clear view of a street, lined with well lit lampposts, shops, restaurants, and other businesses. Though it's already late night, there's still some people in here, probably closing up their shops, or setting up for the next day. You immediately recognize this to be Fenwick Avenue of the Common Markets, and unwanted memories start returning to you. The kinds of memories that get you drunk like this to begin with.

Not that long ago, a couple of years, give or take, you were a proud business owner, right here in Fenwick Ave. You had a perfectly respectable routine, waking up everyday with the town bells, eating a delectable breakfast from Connie's Parlor, polishing the windows to the shop, and opening up for business for the day...

You squint, and rub your eyes. How come you're forgetting what your shop was actually about? You look in the general direction of where your house and shop would be today. You imagine the sign, hanging next to the door... what did it say?

> Time to name our character! This is an open one, suggest a name, and people are free to vote on your suggestion. While we're at it, is our character a man, or a woman?

>>685555

Sorry, I just realized I've been referring to the PC as a man, but really it's up to everyone to decide.

>>685555
Your name is Reid, Reid Wright, male. Former owner of Wright's Writing Emporium.

>>689817

Since no one else said anything, we'll go with Read Right. No, wait, I meant Reid Wright.

---------------

"Of course..." you mutter under your breath. How could you even forget? You used to be the owner of Wright's Writing Emporium, a shop that sold books and the weekly newspaper of Ravenhall. Reid Wright used to mean something, he used to be someone. It was the face the locals imagined when they thought "books."

Reid's life was quaint. He was a simple man, and in a way, that much still hasn't changed. But the Reid of old is no longer. He is but a shadow of his former self, lurking in the streets, looking for an easy purse to snatch so he can eat his fill every day. "Stupid, stupid old fucking me," he babbles.

All of this could have been avoided. That great mistake he made was all his own damn fault. Reid wobbles over to where his shop would be. The new sign reads "Hampton's Fine Ink." Well, at least the new owner kept the theme somewhat the same. Crouching closer to the big windows of the shop, Reid catches sight of the ink bottles glimmering in lamp light. A few stacks of parchment sit on a desk at the back end of the shop, probably where this Hampton makes receipts of sale and such. It looks to be the same desk Reid used to have, just moved elsewhere in the room.

Not much has changed in the interior, as far as Reid can tell. Same wood, same bricks, same furniture, even. But all of it is far too clean. It's as if it never had happened. But he knows all too well what happened here, what shunted him out of his shop and into the cold streets of Ravenhall.

What happened?

> The Families happened.
> A pack of thugs happened.
> A freak accident happened.
> Karma happened.

>>690241
> The Families happened, senpai

>>690241
> A freak accident happened.

> Karma happened.

>>690241
>> The Families happened.

>>690241
Clearly the success of the Writing Emporium went to his head. He believed that nothing could stop his quest for perfect calligraphy, not even nature or sanity. Through the creation of new, unholy inks, dangerously sharp quills, or a self-writing machine which quickly spun out of control, Reid's life began to form a lower case t. It crossed a line.

>A freak accident happened.

QM here, posting from laptop. Since it's a draw, I'll be picking this time.

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>>690950

...it crossed a line.

You liked to day dream a lot about this, during the slow times of business. Self writing typewriters, magical ink, all bullshit to escape from your other, more prominent problem.

The Families. That's what really happened to him. The Big 5 of Ravenhall. It's a hush hush business, but most people know, or fear, that these crime families have their clutches on every aspect of Ravenhall, from properties, to fishing, to drug dealing, to seats in the Mayor's house, the list goes on and on. The Families have a slice of every pie there is to have, and Reid's pie was theirs to take a slice off too.

Reid spits on the ground, and returns to contemplating Hampton's. Had he not scorned the families, had he paid for their protection, he too would be a happy shopkeep on Fenwick Ave, just like the rest of the scum that lives in fear of them. But Reid wasn't a man that would bend to the families' usual routine of empty threats and demonstrations of strength.

No, he would bend to having his life's work taken from him.

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1/2 Will write next part later.

>>691823

Continued 2/3

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Opening up a shop in Fenwick Ave was the sign of a gentleman's finesse in financial and social matters. It involved pulling many strings, of the locals, of the landowners, of politicians, and so on. Most prominent of the strings to be pulled was that of Lord Marrows, leader of the Ravenhall Merchant Guild, and crowned king of the Marrows crime family. Anything that went on Fenwick Ave was his to protect and violate.

After accumulating enough coin to beseech Lord Marrows, Reid managed to secure his own corner of Fenwick Ave. That was after years working as an errands boy, stacking his money piece by piece. But paying the "entry" fee to Marrows was exactly that: JUST the entry fee. He was expected to give a cut of his earnings, pay his protection fee, and also wrangle Ravenhall's taxes at the same time.

Needless to say, a book shop, even in a big city like this, wouldn't ever make enough to cover all fees and taxes imposed on it. Reid then had a choice, either to stand against the Families, or submit, and find a way to cover his expenses.

He chose to stand against them. That was his mistake. A little "illegal" activity on the side to make ends meet, and keep the Marrows happy, would've been all it took to keep him afloat. Hell, police hands are eternally greased in Ravenhall. They'd turn a blind eye with a moment's notice if a coin fell onto their hands.

But no. Tempting as it was, Reid had a spotless record. Never committed any kind of felony in his life, and stayed true to the law from his youth as an errand boy to his later years as a shop owner. He would stand tall against Lord Marrows.

The first month passed without him paying his fees. Reid appreciated the extra coin he got, and the small comforts they allowed him to get.

The second month passed. More coin accumulated in his safe. Reid grew arrogant, overconfident. Two months and the Marrows haven't done anything? Turns out their threats were empty indeed.

Except, in the third month of his negligence, Reid would find out that the threats were nothing but empty. He took a beating from Marrows thugs. They crashed the windows, and burned a few books. It was a message: get with the program, or suffer the consequences. And, you'd think getting a few deep bruises and having his shop vandalized would've been enough. To Reid, it wasn't. He stood far too proud to bend.

The fourth month passed. He did not pay his fees again. The extra money went for repairing the shop, and resupplying the burnt stock.

Then came the fifth month. Then the sixth. Then the seventh. Again, he was lulled into a sense of false security. But Lord Marrows always gets his due. At the end of the seventh month, the man himself paid Wright's Writing Emporium a visit, followed by a veritable squad of crooks... and one short, stubby fellow by the name of William Hampton.

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2/3

File: lord marrows.jpg (36KB, 564x845px) Image search: [Google]

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>>692178

Continued 3/4. Pictured, Lord Marrows.

-------------------

"This will be your replacement." Came a hoarse voice. Lord Marrows spoke, pointing to Hampton. "I've seen his product, and frankly, ink that doesn't smudge as much seems like the kind of luxurious item the literate populace of Ravenhall would be looking for, these days." He took a deep breath, picking up a book from one the shelves. "Mr. Wright, you must be wondering, 'why now? They ignored me for so long.' Why, that is a perfectly fine question, and one I shall be answering as my companions carry out their duties here." He pauses. "Gentlemen, if you will?"

The crooks obeyed like trained dogs. Suddenly, Reid's vision was blacked out as a black burlap sack went over his head, and his gut was punched, forcing him to fall to his knees. "Now, Mr. Wright. You are well aware of your contract, are you not?" Reid could only grunt in response. "Of course you are. You are late with your payments, Mr. Wright, very late indeed. So late, in fact, we've found a better solution than the usual 'smash and grab' the boys are always so fond of." Lord Marrows started pacing around the shop, something Reid could only tell through the light footsteps - the only noise other than his labored breathing.

"Why, tonight you will be transformed into a nobody, while I elevated Mr. Hampton to your previous height." He finally puts the book he was carrying down. "You will be turned into a vagrant of the Narrows. Understand, Mr. Wright?"

Silence.

"Good. Gentlemen, if you please, would you escort Mr. Wright to the Narrows? Now, come here Hampton, let us discuss the redecoration. If I recall correctly, you wanted a green paint for the outer bricks, yes? Attention grabbing, yes..." Lord Marrows went on conversing with Hampton, and their voices faded away in time as Reid was carried by them to the Narrows.

In his mind, he screamed. All of his fortune was in his safe - a hidden one, in a compartment beneath the bed. This was his rainy day fund. And this was the rainiest day of all. His legacy, his shop, stolen from him by his own arrogance.

Within time, he collides with the damp cobblestones of the Narrows. The men who were carrying him leave without a trace or sound, and he finds himself absolutely destitute and alone. He knew no one in the Narrows, and no one knew him. He was a nobody, poor and without name, probably presumed "dead" by the "fair" people of the markets.

And, now, he finds himself back here, staring at his old shop, staring at the "Hampton's Fine Ink" sign, anger pulsing inside him, at himself and at the world.

He had thought about coming back here several times, but he was afraid Marrows' cronies would off him before he got a change to stand in front of the shop. But here he is, and no one is even remotely alarmed by his sight. Must be that he looks like a derelict bum, having spent those years away from more civilized spaces.

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3/4

>>692294

Continued 4/4, didn't expect to be writing this much, but here I am.

-----------------

A thought crosses Reid's mind. Could his stash still be in there, inside the hidden compartment? It wasn't public knowledge -- he installed it himself after Lord Marrows leased the place to him -- so there's every chance that the money is still there...

Then again, even with all his liquid courage, there's something to be said about daring to go against the Families a second time, and expecting to come out alive AND with some money to your name.

He could just walk away. Start again somewhere, leave Ravenhall... or... he could get back at the Marrows, and get his due.

> Get your damn money back.
> Wait. Still get your money back, but come back later with a plan.
> Try to get your money back, but not alone.
> Other

>>692331

Just so there are no doubts, confirming I am that guy.

Also, bump I guess.

> Get your damn money back.

>>692331

>Get your money back, but not alone.

The enemy of your enemy is your friend, and you better believe The Families have plenty of enemies to go around.

>>692331
> Get your damn money back.