Risar Scout Union Outpost #2

Exit to Gate of the Valheecius Desert.>

Lowering his veil, Meryn smiled.

"An enemy? Probably best to keep my nose out of that sort of thing. As for an ID...."

Meryn slowly reached deep into his desert robes, before retrieving a string-tied bundle of papers. Opening the string, a fold-out wallet full of weathered, (mostly outdated) IDs fluttered out. Flipping through, Meryn found the one he was looking for.

"Ah, here it is... Phoenix State... though it has been almost 20 years since it was last used. It HAS been a while. Regardless I shall have my men document their goods and weapons. If the guard insist on issuing me a new pass, then so be it. I would welcome a hearty meal though, you are rather kind to strangers. This jerky only sates a man so much, after all."

Disappointed, Meryn pocked his old ID. It was real, but bore a different name... the name Meryn had before he had ascended to the rank of High-Lord and took on his current name... Digrazia. At the suggestion of dismounting Meryn reached over for a handhold before sliding down the creature's rough scaly hide.

"Of course",
Meryn acquiesced, taking a moment to breathe as his aging body came to an abrupt stop as he fell to the ground. He didn't trust the guards, and wanted his goods safeguarded. Thinking on the fly, he continued.
"Yes, of course, take them away. These Brutox are herbivores, and can subsist on most any roughage. They have multiple stomachs, you see, like a cow."

He continued, now beginning to lie.

"There are a few grasses and leaves, however, that are toxic to these beasts. I will send one of my men with you to make sure the creatures don't eat the wrong food. Mattium, if you would."

He gestured to one of his guards, who nodded. He understood his true purpose: to watch the men tending to the mounts.

"I hope that won't be an issue. Mattium here can join us once you are done, and then we can move on together. In the meanwhile, where shall I get my ID?"

Mattium coughed a bit, the effort spraying a bit of sand off his lips. His orders were to act like a mercenary, and he intended to fulfill his part.

"Dem beasts are Brutox- giant things herded by the herders of the wastes... think that was somewhere east of those Fire-Snake assholes. I hear master won these three in a betting game- the lucky bastard. I'm sure some high-borns would give their right nuts for a trio of the buggers."

He stopped to scratch at his buttocks, then continued his mockery of civilized conversation.

Back at the outpost, Meryn stepped into the outpost, making sure to move quickly so as not to get in the way of the men behind him. Even so, his limbs were old and weary- he was no young man anymore.

"So, you boys want to reissue my ID. Here it is."

Reaching back into his pocket, Meryn pulled out his fold-out wallet. Carefully removing the faded paper from its slot, he withdrew his old ID- for one Meryn Jorgenson of Vilary. Vilary has been his hometown: a small fishing village in the Great Northern Pass where his family had operated a popular pub, servicing the merchants on their flat-bottomed ships as they sailed down to Hermit's Hill. That name- his given name: was an artifact of Meryn's past. His taken name- Digrazia, his present and future.

"As for my declarations, I am bringing a small, but valuable cargo load with me to Flo'Laire, and the capital if I can't sell it all there. Two bushels of fine Sancturian incense, a crate of silks from Katashima, enough Boha-mata for three men to cross the deserts twice, a fine breastplate of indeterminate origin, a fantastic ceremonial robe, and various pearl and gold jewelry, of origin ranging from Medan to the Solarian Empire. In terms of weapons, I myself will be bringing the crossbow on my back, along with this trusty curved dagger. My men, including Mattium, who is outside, are sellswords. I cannot speak to the quality and origin of their arms and armor, but I know they each have a short spear, a a javelin, a throwing axe, several daggers, a shield and a short sword. You know those mercenary types... thinking they can take on a dragon if only they were heavily armed enough."

As he spoke he gestured to the crossbow on his back and the dagger on his hip. He was wary of drawing either, let the action be misconstrued as an attack. He finished with a hearty chuckle at his own joke. He was casual and cool, and spoke not a word of a lie. He intended to do everything he had said, and indeed was carrying the very items he had described. What he omitted was his ulterior motives.

"I almost forgot", he contined, rubbing his temple. "Outside are three mounts- Brutox, bred by some herder in the wastes east of Ivelius. Poor bastard couldn't hold his liquor or play dice for his life!"

Meryn nodded, then turned to his guards and nodded. Shaking their heads they interwove their fingers, and Meryn followed suit.

"You should know, there are some coins sewn into my jacket. I have been robbed enough times to know one should always keep some currency outside your coin-purse."

Meryn stood stiff, allowing the men to do their work unimpeded. They would find nothing that he didn't describe: indeed there were three secreat pouches sewn into his shirt and pants. One held a Medanese silver piece, another a Sancturian Silver Inferno. The final one held a single gold coin, of Free-State manufacture. His men had nothing hidden one them either, save their leaf-boxes, which were merely stowed in their pockets. They wore light armor which the guards were easily able to remove and look under. On the guards the men would find the aforementioned short-swords and daggers: the remainder of the weapons were with the men's bags on the mounts outside.

Meryn waited to speak until after the guards finished their search, adopting a mild expression of annoyance and slight apprehension- a reaction he deemed only natural for anyone current being manhandled by armed men. It wasn't hard to fake.

Taking a seat, Meryn prepared himself for another round of half-truths. The smell in the room opposite was tantalizing, and his tastebuds were sick of stale water and jerky.

"Those are Brutox: a rare breed native to the wastes east of Ivelius. They subsist on grasses and roughage, though some grasses are fatal to them... I don't know which, but my men can identity the plants on sight. These ones are pretty old: I won them in a game of dice off another trader."

Meryn leaned back into his chair, relishing the now-foreign feeling of a sturdy chair against one's back.

"Apparently they are pretty delicious to eat too."

The silence that followed was punctuated by the sound of Mattium's stomach growling.

The trick to lying properly is to mix truth with fiction, changing as little as possible. Better still were half-truths, omissions, and the like. So Meryn told the truth, but not the whole truth.

"I'm fifty-five, though my occupation has ground my damned bones into dust. My eyes are grey with a hint of green... write down either, both work. As for my occupation, I'm a merchant, and a bit of a currency speculator. You'd be amazed how many turkeys you can buy with earnings scraped off of trading foreign currencies."

Meryn delivered his lines with casual grace. This desert hut was nothing compared to the high-politics of Ivelius or the high-stakes negotiations of the guild-moots.

Meryn laughed a bit, all smiles.

"Wealthy? If only! Most of my money is invested in those goods... and the money I have is partially paid out by loan. Some guy thinks I can return his investments... I hope he is right."

The scout's later questions intrigued Meryn, so he approached cautiously.

"The clothing is mostly foreign, actually. I pick up things wherever I go... I am a cosmopolitan, you see. As for the leaf, those were given to me for free by my benefactor, with orders to not go waving it around. Probably wise. Ivelius is an odd place. I grew up in the valley just east of it, but my travels and interactions with their ilk have left a certain impression. They are very... civilized, like the Solarians. But there is something perverted there, something dark. I don't like the place myself. Too many fanatics, and to them anyone who dares fraternize with non-humans of magicians is worthy of suspicion. As a kid I remember idolizing mages. But one step into the Sancturain empire, and any man would be glad to be thoroughly mundane."

Meryn shivered a bit. What he had said wasn't exactly false. The empire was chokingly paranoid. Ever since that damned ogre had shown up in his shop he had been relentlessly pestered by the inquisition. Nothing new, of course. A corrupt institution like the inquisition was always trying worm its way into the bank, eager to swoop in and claim it their own.

Meryn would raise his hands, apologetically.

"NO, NO, you misunderstand! My people have been harassed and attacked by the Serpent-fuckers for centuries. I said east of Ivelius, not IN it. The brutes outside... they are our only export, and they are confiscated every year...."

Meryn would hang his head, attempting to hide eyes about to begin dripping from tears.

"...That or our youth. One man, my neighbor, once tried to hide his pups, to sell it later to some wealthy merchant. The legionaries burned his son in the town-square, then...."

Meryn coughed, tears now visible.

"They brought the man, unawares, to a campfire, where they gave him meat, fresh of the barbeque. After he had finished... they asked him is he preferred his son to brutox steak."

Meryn deliberately ignored the man's first questions, sobbing lightly.

"Sorry... I am a man. Give me a moment."