The night wasnt impressive during the day. This is a logical conclusion to draw. Being up at 6AM wasn't exactly an oddity for Maarschalk. It became a part of him. His biological clock was so messed up that he'd stay up until ten pm on some days and wake at three am. And on other days he just stayed up for twenty- four hours before crashing. Nothing of this was new. The only difference being his cash income. It was time for some new funds--though he hadn't realized yet. It took him a few hours to recognize his poorness. When it got to seven-AM and he was standing in a bakers shop with nothing but a bronze piece. Bread and water was basically his breakfast for that day. It was alright. Maarschalk isn't a big breakfast-y ritual type of person anyway. His stomach usually caved in too much and he couldn't eat a lot in most mornings. When he did his shoes he left his home. Looking left and right for any job he could find, there was nothing he could see. When the desperation began kicking in more and more he noticed something interesting from the corner of his eye.

It were hallucinations. The drugs he took earlier began kicking in. Like the floor was made of lava, he'd start walking around with an okay-look on his face. A face that spoke many expressions. "What's going on" He'd ask strangers whenever he passed by them. Like he expected a straight forward result. The secret to his life. The secret to the universe. As the evening settled down, it became later and later. The effects had worn off, Maarschalk was tired of walking. While sort of having forget what he'd been up to that day, he started wandering to the docks. Taking a sailboat to his homeboat thingy would be pretty nice. Just as he found a taxi- boat or whatever, he overheard an interesting conversation. Money was at play, and that was something he needed. Maarschalk turned around, leaving the taxi boat and walking towards the direction of the stranger who was talking about an interesting opportunity. He was asking strangers if they could help him out do this really important thing. The person who was trying to get someone to help him was like fifteen years old, an interesting sight to be seen. Since Maarschalk was stuck between a rock and a hard place, he chose to hear him out a little-- see if what he could gain from this escapade would be interesting and well worth it. He did notice that the boy was quite frantic, which was usually a bad sign. He introduced himself as Colin, Colin meet Maarschalk, bla bla. Turns out that Colin needed a mage to assist him in some duties. Duties he himself was responsible for. For him to request someone to help him turned out to be quite interesting. Why did he need this assistance?

509/2000

Colin spoke of a lord; Maarschalk was none the wiser. This place. Hargeon. It had a lord? Lord of the fish maybe; or whatever ridiculous title he could bestow this so called lord upon. But that wasn't the subject of what Colin was speaking of -- he mentioned that he was called by this lord, not too long ago. This Tuesday as a matter of fact, Colin was called for to stand on his red carpet, or whatever thing he used to make it noticeable that the shift of powers between Colin and this lord was relevant enough to be represented in a theatrical setting; enough for our audience, the reader, to know that this was Colins superior. This lord requested Colin to patrol the nights of Hargeon, for everyone knows that these nights are filled with the wretches of the underworld -- not; Colin described this job being too much for him. Maarschalk wanted to tell him that the streets of Hargeon were a walk in a park; the people of this town were so good they'd return a lost wallet to the police station with all the money remaining in it. Whatever; it wasn't important. Maarschalk smiled a little.

"Well, we all know that the streets of Hargeon aren't the safest.. especially at night I mean. Haven't you heard about the wolf on twelfth street lurking and preying on the innocent?'

Maarschalk began making up a grandiose story about how dangerous Hargeon really is; while this was far from the truth. His true persona reflected very well in his actions -- his keen mind was focused on getting as much gold coin as he could from this Colin, with his silly Lord. The chances were high that his reward would increase, depending on how difficult Maarschalk would sketch this task up to be -- though at the cost of Colins mental condition, because god knows how many times he's patrolled these nights. Possibly to fill even two pages of requests full of people wanting to patrol Colin, what would happen to poor Colin after he gets severely depressed from all the anxiety he'd receive, knowing that every night he patrols these streets could be his last. Maarschalk didn't care though. It wasn't like he was ever going to meet this Colin ever again -- he didn't like spending time with weaklings, you are either strong or weak in Maarschalks eyes, and if you're weak, you won't be remembered. Maarschalk began talking about his possible reward, and wherever he did, Colin and his weakly, fragile voice attempted to interject. Mentioning something about the standard C rank pay, no matter what. Maarschalk almost was going to throw a fit about the dangers of Hargeon, but Colin wouldn't budge. Sadly, Maarschalk was going to have to accept the rewards of a measly C rank mission. All this wasted effort for nothing. A low sigh ended the conversation, with Maarschalk walking the other way, as instructed. He was given a map, with a red road drawn on by pencil, showing where he was to patrol.

1030/2000

As Maarschalk followed the direction that were described on the map, he noticed something peculiar from the corner of his eye. Or rather, he overheard something interesting. Some guy mentioned selling pot to another guy. Maarschalk assumed that these two gentlemen were talking about fine pans -- no he didn't, Maarschalk was quite sharp. He instantly knew what the conversation was about. He sat down, without making much of a noise and began listening. He heard the price, there was a small argument about it -- they discussed the regional prices for pans and whatnot. Maarschalk was quite curious himself. His evenings, alone, were quite lackluster -- he could subsidize this boring consequences of night with something interesting; like drugs. A smile appeared on his face at the thought of comedic ensuing events occurring. He soon snapped out of it though, after overhearing the amount of drugs they were negotiating over. It certainly was a substantial amount. Now if these were rascals, just scoring something decent for the night; Maarschalk wouldn't have cared -- but it was painstakingly obvious that what was being discussed was grossly too much for one person, or for ten. This was a drug- deal, a classic one.

Maarschalk stood up, and as he did, the two strangers heard it and looked into his direction. Maarschalk looked them dead in the eyes -- and like a deer in the headlight, one froze, and the other ran away. The one that ran was overweight, short and had grey hair. A hood that kept his semi bald head warm, dressed in a questionable outfit. Not in the, 'Look at me I'm so sexy', manner, but more of the practical look that a classic underworld broker would wear. Not that Maarschalk would know this anyway. Maarschalk sprinted over and grabbed the frozen, and terrified man by his collar.

He immediately requested his free phone call. Which was quite ironic, this wasn't going to be a classical interrogation. Maarschalk was more interested in the other figure than this man, and not this coke dealer who got high on his own supply. Maarschalk took him to some place quiet. Another ally. He prepared a set of steak knives in front of him, an intimidation tactic. Maarschalk wasn't quite subtle in his approach -- he was quite straight forward with his intentions. But Maarschalk knew better than to retort to violence. He was a Lamia Scale member after all. He made a fire using wood and some other stuff to ignite it. He held a pan above the fire, dropped some butter on it and then placed the steak in the pan. The sizzling of the steak carried a deep and rich scent. The quality of meat he used was high, enough to make mother theresa's mouth water out of desire. Maarschalk threw in some brusselsprouts in the pan, adding them to the mix.

"I tell you what chap, you start talking, and I'll make it stop sizzle. If you tell me what I want to hear, you'll be eating this steak in no time."

1545/2000

"You'll start by saying his name. Don't tell me it's the pope or try to lie to me, I can tell; and even if I can't, I'll tag you, and I'll find out who this person is -- and if I find out that you were wrong, I will kill you. I will kill your family. Your friends. Their friends. And their family. And then, and then I will kill you."

Maarschalk said, cutting the sizzling steak in two. After lopping a big piece of it into his mouth, he listened to his de facto prisoner sing the song of freedom -- telling Maarschalk whatever he needed to know about this figure. He didn't entertain the thoughts of having someone as vile as this dirty up the streets of Hargeon as much. So he did what any dutiful citizen would do, he made a citizens arrest. This figure he spoke of was named Reagan Hullston. A not so low life criminal, but rather a big player in the underworld. His trades ranged from common weapons, to black market accessory, information and other assets. Maarschalk didn't know that there was such a figure in Hargeon, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that people like this lurked the streets of Orchidia, but not Hargeon. Odd.

The other thing that Maarschalk heard was the fact that this Reagan fellow primarily made his coin during smuggles, which was reasonable, given that this city was connected to the sea and all. Whatever else the low life told, Maarschalk wrote down -- the next morning, when he met up with Colin again he handed him the note of the things he'd discover the night before, during his patrol. Ironically enough, there was some trouble to be had, like Maarschalk claimed; though sadly Colin wouldn't budge in increasing his reward for the effort he went through. It didn't matter Maarschalk, this wasn't going to set him off his path. He was still a regular member of the society that calls itself Fiore, and even though there's cultural differences between him and the general populus, it wasn't going to halter his progress. Maarschalk wanted to achieve B - rank, by getting that rank, he wouldn't feel irrelevant because he feels irrelevant right now. Having access to B rank also would include access to higher, more important stuff. This universe had weird mechanics, Maarschalk thought, since he was sometimes put in situations where no C - rank would ever belong in; while being rewarded for one. He didn't care much for his rank beside the access to more important stuff though, he feels like he's proven enough to society as a whole about his strategy making skills, that his rank isn't relevant anymore. He's literally saved countless of people just by using his fists in combat. Maarschalk wondered if there were any others who were similar to him. Perhaps there were, but most likely, not. Whatever the case, he left the sight of Colin and went to his temporary stay, which was quite a bit away.

2065/2000