NOTE: This piece of fiction is representation of game play in the game Tales of Hepian. But in reality this piece of fiction is just representation of what happened to one character whose player couldn't show up but I didn't want any loose ends. So really, this would represent game play if that game play really happened but it is just something I made up so we know what happened. Got it? I don't. So sit back relax and I'll have some real game play soon!
Ezekeal leaves the bar with the parchment in hand and takes no notice of anything else happening with the others who he had spotted earlier. He studies the parchment carefully and the contents of the message trying to see if he missed any detail which would help him with his new found job. He then stows it away in his pocket.
The busy street, as he observes, is filled with tourists and regulars to the prostitutes, who cat-call from the street’s edge. He ignores the women of the night, who obviously are displeased by his actions, and hails a cab. Some pass him by and drive directly to couples and foreigners. It seems that some of the cabbies are specifically targeting the foreigners with blue pamphlets which are being clung to, as if they are some holy talisman which will protect them in the exotic city of Ranstoc. And for the couples, cabbies know that the likelihood that the couples want to have a longer trip is higher then a lone man who wants to get somewhere quick.
Ezekeal tries again and one stops right in front of him. He gets in and instructs the driver to go to the Princess Madeline Hotel. The drive is fast, furious, and is like most Ranstocian cab rides which always include some white knuckle moments for any of the riders. The scenery quickly changes from the industrial district to the slick, ornate, downtown district. The cab driver pulls on the breaks and stops his auto in front of the grand Princess Madeline Hotel.
Ezekeal gets out and looks around; he sees the tall, eloquent building stand before him. There are foreigners and tourists in this area too but they have a different feel. There is not the atmosphere of chaos, fear, and confusion which most areas have been plagued with recently. The atmosphere is calm, collected in a determined way, and stuffy like the egos of these individuals cannot fit in the single large building they occupy.
He smirks, pays the impatient cabby, and then walks through its large gilded doors into the Princess Madeline Hotel. People greet him with, "Sir," as he walks through the crowd, which starts to slow him down but he manages to get to the front desk. Behind the green marble topped desk sits a woman who is coming in age but is still beautiful. Her name, according to her golden name tag, is Heather and she is a concierge for the night shift.
"Hello Sir," She says with a sincere smile, "welcome to the Princess Madeline Hotel. Where beauty lays while you lay in beauty. How may I help you this evening?"
Ezekeal exchanges a pleasant smile with her and with some extra charm says, "Hello miss. I am here on some business."
He slyly slips the piece of paper from his pocket and slides it toward her on the counter. She takes it and squints at it. He then takes a pair of reading glasses from her shirt pocket and starts to read it. She puts down the paper and slides it back to Ezekeal, her expression moves from fake happiness to slightly impressed.
"Well, you are here to see the dignitaries from Fisahes. Just a second," she pauses and turns around and puts more wiggle in her hips, "I cannot remember where they may be at. I have to check our logs."
She bends slightly and then turns around with a large record book. She opens the book to the current date and slides her finger down the page. She stops at some scribbles and then moves her finger across the page to where there are room numbers.
"It seems that the Fisahes party, which consists of Mr. Gloset, Mr. Turpunan, and Mr. Werskle are on the top floor in suite number 9."
Ezekeal thinks as he hears the name. He has not heard of either Mr. Gloset or Mr. Werskle but he has heard of Mr. Turpunan. Mr. Turpunan, or Raslek Turpunan, is from the Turpunan family, a long bloodline of gem mine owners. Turpunan’s family has not only had their hands in the gem business but also in the foreign relation business for a long time. He knows that the Turmpunan, especially Raslek, have been trying to keep the peace for years in their region. Not to mention, Ezekeal has worked with Raslek when last he traveled to Fisahes.
"Thank you, Heather," he says as he shoots another charming smile her way, "you have been more help than you have thought."
He moves past the large fountain which stands in the middle of the lobby and goes toward the elevators. He waits for them to open and makes his way in and tells the man working the elevators where he needs to go. The elevator smoothly runs up to the several floors which the packed elevator has requested to stop at. Finally, the top floor comes and Ezekeal gets out and looks down the hallway which stretches either way. He sees a few doors and determines where he needs to go. After a little walking, he ends up at room number nine.
He makes sure he has the piece of paper out and knocks. He can hear movement behind the door and waits for a person to answer the door. The door creeps open and an eye looks out.
"Room Service?" The man with the eye peeping through the crack of the door says.
"No, a service of another kind," Ezekeal smirks and shows the one eye the piece of paper.
"Oh," the door opens up and there stand a man slightly shorter than Ezekeal. The man holds out his hand in greeting and Ezekeal shakes it. "I am Gelo Werskle. Security Officer of the great country Fisahes."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you," Ezkeal says as he lets go and goes into the room. Gelo Werskle stays behind Ezekeal and shuts the door after they are both securely in. The room looks rather nice, despite a certain amount of disarray and passed-out, scantily clad, ladies which strewn the room.
"It looks like you have been busy," Ezekeal tries not to laugh.
"Yes, it is not below us to enjoy the local culture," Says Gelo as he walks toward Ezekeal. Ezekeal notices that there is a slight wobble in the man’s step and from how the man is holding himself, Ezekeal can tell he isn’t sober.
As Gelo walks around to the nice over stuffed couches, another man peers out of one of the many rooms. Ezekeal smiles and nods his head in greeting, it is his old friend Raslek Turpunan.
"Oh my," Turpunan says with a little embarrassment on his face, "you were the last person I expected in this part of the world."
"Not really," Ezekeal says as he comes up to Raslek and shakes his hand, "I am from this part of the world."
"Last I heard you died," He said a little confused.
"No know how it is," Ezekeal says with a shrug, "You get shot at and don’t show up for a while and people think you’re dead."
They both exchange laughs and unclasp their hands. Raslek steps in front of Ezekeal and motions him to follow. Raslek goes to the seating area where the over-stuffed couches and passed out women are. It seems that Gelo has been waking the women up enough to have a couch cleared. Raslek motions Ezekeal to sit down, and then sits himself.
Ezekeal makes the parchment more in view. Raslek nods his head in understanding, "I see you have found our job. Most people wouldn’t see the importance of having a leader of a dance troupe protected but apparently you do."
"Not really," Ezekeal said, "your ad just sparked my interest."
"As it would since you have worked with us." Raslek says as he signals toward Gelo who is still moving half unconscious women around. He comes and they talk in their native tongue, which Ezekeal understand a little of but isn’t interested due to the mundane nature of the conversation. "How rude of me, would like a drink Mr. Ramhor?"
Ezekeal shakes his head, "So what is so important about a dancer?"
"Well, as you know our valley region has been in political chaos for years. We blamed it on each other, we blamed it on the Fashadans or as some like to call the Nomads, and then we blamed it on Arbondas. Though came to realize through watching the Fashadans, especially Yusel Roba, that despite being different we can still be as one."
"So this Yusel Roba is a symbol of unity?" Ezekeal asks as he reaches toward his drink which is being handed to him by Gelo.
Raslek also reaches for his drink and takes a sip, "Yusel Roba has but it has gotten him some unwanted attention from the Arbondasian Government. They think he is a spy and is trying to Rebel the youth against their government. They cannot fathom that Menitope, Gelibras, and my country Fisahes are becoming one nation."
Ezekeal thinks about the significance of the three nations uniting, "That would mean that this new nation would have a strangle hold on mining and goods in that area and would eventually snuff out Arbondas."
"One would see it that way." Raslek says as he takes another sip and shrugs, "but someone might also point out that this way the casualties would be less then if three countries decide to take on that bull of a nation. That is if Yusel Roba does not die."
"Again, he seems far too significant."
"Mr. Ramhor you should know how it goes," Raslek sits forward with a sigh, "people need a leader to help them push through social and political change. For some reason, the freeness of the Fashadan people has a certain allure to our people. Yusel Roba’s ease to hop borders and carefree attitude are what the people in the valley want. The life of Yusel Roba is the life that all men and women want in our region."
"And if he dies?"
"Then both government and the people will lose hope." He finishes the last of his drink, "I suppose that there will be either mass chaos or war. One of those situations, you know."
"Far too well," Ezekeal also finishes his drink and leans back. "So, how am I awarded for my efforts to keep this man alive for the entirety of the fair?"
"On that parchment we said 20 karats, or an equivalent of 200,000 Press. It seems a lot for just a protection job, but we figure that since he will be performing and moving constantly without warning that it would be harder for people to catch up with him."
"There must be a string attached." Ezekeal smirks and look closely at Raslek. Like a true business man, Raslek doesn’t show a twitch of emotion until the time is just right.
"You only get the money if he is alive by the end of the fair." Raslek inspects Ezekeal too. "But you will be compensated for any expense you have to spend."
"It sound like a job," Ezekeal holds out his hand and shakes with Raslek. "So, where is this Yusel Roba?"
Raslek lets go of Ezekeal’s hand and then signals for someone. Gelo comes and both of them talk in their native tongue. Gelo then sluggishly leaves toward some other rooms. Two men, one is Gelo, are talking in a distant room. With a grumble another man emerges from the hallways. He looks tired, his clothes are disarrayed, and the smell of alcohol is strong on him. He wobbles toward the couches and sits down with out much resistance to gravity.
"This is Droctino Gloset," Raslek waves his hand toward the very tired looking man. "He is one of the intelligence officers from Fisahes. One of our best actually."
"Ish pleshure o’ me ‘o meed you." Droctino says as he signals for Gelo, who brings him a glass of water.
"No, the pleasure is all mine," Ezekeal says with a smirk as he tries not to laugh.
"We’re creeping on eyes to Yushy Ropa. His shippery hansh keep moving..."
Raslek looks slightly annoyed with his associate, "I think what my exhausted friend is saying that we’re keeping a close watch on Mr. Ropa but he has been slippery..."
"Dats what I shades!" Droctino wobbles in his seat, despite the couch being very stationary. "His in the nort. In a billing. My mean can dissect you... Rassy you give da call."
Droctino manages to get up without falling down and goes back to the hallways. When he is out of sight there is a large thud and Gelo goes to check what is going on. Raslek stays on the couch trying to look calm, despite a hint of annoyance floating up to the surface of his face.
"I can wait until the morning if you need to call your men." Ezekeal says with a smile.
"No, I will call them right now. I am terribly sorry," he says as he gets up, "but we were not expecting any visitors tonight."
He goes toward a small room which the telephone is located and spins the dial. He answers the phone in his native tongue. The conversation is not very long and more full of commands like, "Right Now," and "Main Camp."
Ezekeal waits for a few minutes and soon there is a rhythmic knock on the door. Gelo comes toward the door, which Ezekeal decides Gelo is more of a fortified butler than a Security Officer. Behind the door stands a man in plain clothes who would blend into the streets of Ranstoc but the man speaks the native Fiasahes tongue. The exchange between Gelo and the man is brief and professional. Then Gelo points Ezekeal out, as if he needed to be pointed out.
"I am Tuvley," the man says as he stands at attention, "I will guide you to the house of Yosel Roba."
"He is in a house?" Ezekeal stands up and looks the man, Tuvely up and down. He is young, strong, and looks like he can hold up in a fight.
"No, I do not know that word which refers to a place where rats avoid the scent of the building." The man says calmly.
"In my language there’s several words," Ezekeal says as he motions the man to leave. Turvely leaves and Ezekeal follow and they make their way out of the Princess Madeline Hotel.
The busy street, as he observes, is filled with tourists and regulars to the prostitutes, who cat-call from the street’s edge. He ignores the women of the night, who obviously are displeased by his actions, and hails a cab. Some pass him by and drive directly to couples and foreigners. It seems that some of the cabbies are specifically targeting the foreigners with blue pamphlets which are being clung to, as if they are some holy talisman which will protect them in the exotic city of Ranstoc. And for the couples, cabbies know that the likelihood that the couples want to have a longer trip is higher then a lone man who wants to get somewhere quick.
Ezekeal tries again and one stops right in front of him. He gets in and instructs the driver to go to the Princess Madeline Hotel. The drive is fast, furious, and is like most Ranstocian cab rides which always include some white knuckle moments for any of the riders. The scenery quickly changes from the industrial district to the slick, ornate, downtown district. The cab driver pulls on the breaks and stops his auto in front of the grand Princess Madeline Hotel.
Ezekeal gets out and looks around; he sees the tall, eloquent building stand before him. There are foreigners and tourists in this area too but they have a different feel. There is not the atmosphere of chaos, fear, and confusion which most areas have been plagued with recently. The atmosphere is calm, collected in a determined way, and stuffy like the egos of these individuals cannot fit in the single large building they occupy.
He smirks, pays the impatient cabby, and then walks through its large gilded doors into the Princess Madeline Hotel. People greet him with, "Sir," as he walks through the crowd, which starts to slow him down but he manages to get to the front desk. Behind the green marble topped desk sits a woman who is coming in age but is still beautiful. Her name, according to her golden name tag, is Heather and she is a concierge for the night shift.
"Hello Sir," She says with a sincere smile, "welcome to the Princess Madeline Hotel. Where beauty lays while you lay in beauty. How may I help you this evening?"
Ezekeal exchanges a pleasant smile with her and with some extra charm says, "Hello miss. I am here on some business."
He slyly slips the piece of paper from his pocket and slides it toward her on the counter. She takes it and squints at it. He then takes a pair of reading glasses from her shirt pocket and starts to read it. She puts down the paper and slides it back to Ezekeal, her expression moves from fake happiness to slightly impressed.
"Well, you are here to see the dignitaries from Fisahes. Just a second," she pauses and turns around and puts more wiggle in her hips, "I cannot remember where they may be at. I have to check our logs."
She bends slightly and then turns around with a large record book. She opens the book to the current date and slides her finger down the page. She stops at some scribbles and then moves her finger across the page to where there are room numbers.
"It seems that the Fisahes party, which consists of Mr. Gloset, Mr. Turpunan, and Mr. Werskle are on the top floor in suite number 9."
Ezekeal thinks as he hears the name. He has not heard of either Mr. Gloset or Mr. Werskle but he has heard of Mr. Turpunan. Mr. Turpunan, or Raslek Turpunan, is from the Turpunan family, a long bloodline of gem mine owners. Turpunan’s family has not only had their hands in the gem business but also in the foreign relation business for a long time. He knows that the Turmpunan, especially Raslek, have been trying to keep the peace for years in their region. Not to mention, Ezekeal has worked with Raslek when last he traveled to Fisahes.
"Thank you, Heather," he says as he shoots another charming smile her way, "you have been more help than you have thought."
He moves past the large fountain which stands in the middle of the lobby and goes toward the elevators. He waits for them to open and makes his way in and tells the man working the elevators where he needs to go. The elevator smoothly runs up to the several floors which the packed elevator has requested to stop at. Finally, the top floor comes and Ezekeal gets out and looks down the hallway which stretches either way. He sees a few doors and determines where he needs to go. After a little walking, he ends up at room number nine.
He makes sure he has the piece of paper out and knocks. He can hear movement behind the door and waits for a person to answer the door. The door creeps open and an eye looks out.
"Room Service?" The man with the eye peeping through the crack of the door says.
"No, a service of another kind," Ezekeal smirks and shows the one eye the piece of paper.
"Oh," the door opens up and there stand a man slightly shorter than Ezekeal. The man holds out his hand in greeting and Ezekeal shakes it. "I am Gelo Werskle. Security Officer of the great country Fisahes."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you," Ezkeal says as he lets go and goes into the room. Gelo Werskle stays behind Ezekeal and shuts the door after they are both securely in. The room looks rather nice, despite a certain amount of disarray and passed-out, scantily clad, ladies which strewn the room.
"It looks like you have been busy," Ezekeal tries not to laugh.
"Yes, it is not below us to enjoy the local culture," Says Gelo as he walks toward Ezekeal. Ezekeal notices that there is a slight wobble in the man’s step and from how the man is holding himself, Ezekeal can tell he isn’t sober.
As Gelo walks around to the nice over stuffed couches, another man peers out of one of the many rooms. Ezekeal smiles and nods his head in greeting, it is his old friend Raslek Turpunan.
"Oh my," Turpunan says with a little embarrassment on his face, "you were the last person I expected in this part of the world."
"Not really," Ezekeal says as he comes up to Raslek and shakes his hand, "I am from this part of the world."
"Last I heard you died," He said a little confused.
"No know how it is," Ezekeal says with a shrug, "You get shot at and don’t show up for a while and people think you’re dead."
They both exchange laughs and unclasp their hands. Raslek steps in front of Ezekeal and motions him to follow. Raslek goes to the seating area where the over-stuffed couches and passed out women are. It seems that Gelo has been waking the women up enough to have a couch cleared. Raslek motions Ezekeal to sit down, and then sits himself.
Ezekeal makes the parchment more in view. Raslek nods his head in understanding, "I see you have found our job. Most people wouldn’t see the importance of having a leader of a dance troupe protected but apparently you do."
"Not really," Ezekeal said, "your ad just sparked my interest."
"As it would since you have worked with us." Raslek says as he signals toward Gelo who is still moving half unconscious women around. He comes and they talk in their native tongue, which Ezekeal understand a little of but isn’t interested due to the mundane nature of the conversation. "How rude of me, would like a drink Mr. Ramhor?"
Ezekeal shakes his head, "So what is so important about a dancer?"
"Well, as you know our valley region has been in political chaos for years. We blamed it on each other, we blamed it on the Fashadans or as some like to call the Nomads, and then we blamed it on Arbondas. Though came to realize through watching the Fashadans, especially Yusel Roba, that despite being different we can still be as one."
"So this Yusel Roba is a symbol of unity?" Ezekeal asks as he reaches toward his drink which is being handed to him by Gelo.
Raslek also reaches for his drink and takes a sip, "Yusel Roba has but it has gotten him some unwanted attention from the Arbondasian Government. They think he is a spy and is trying to Rebel the youth against their government. They cannot fathom that Menitope, Gelibras, and my country Fisahes are becoming one nation."
Ezekeal thinks about the significance of the three nations uniting, "That would mean that this new nation would have a strangle hold on mining and goods in that area and would eventually snuff out Arbondas."
"One would see it that way." Raslek says as he takes another sip and shrugs, "but someone might also point out that this way the casualties would be less then if three countries decide to take on that bull of a nation. That is if Yusel Roba does not die."
"Again, he seems far too significant."
"Mr. Ramhor you should know how it goes," Raslek sits forward with a sigh, "people need a leader to help them push through social and political change. For some reason, the freeness of the Fashadan people has a certain allure to our people. Yusel Roba’s ease to hop borders and carefree attitude are what the people in the valley want. The life of Yusel Roba is the life that all men and women want in our region."
"And if he dies?"
"Then both government and the people will lose hope." He finishes the last of his drink, "I suppose that there will be either mass chaos or war. One of those situations, you know."
"Far too well," Ezekeal also finishes his drink and leans back. "So, how am I awarded for my efforts to keep this man alive for the entirety of the fair?"
"On that parchment we said 20 karats, or an equivalent of 200,000 Press. It seems a lot for just a protection job, but we figure that since he will be performing and moving constantly without warning that it would be harder for people to catch up with him."
"There must be a string attached." Ezekeal smirks and look closely at Raslek. Like a true business man, Raslek doesn’t show a twitch of emotion until the time is just right.
"You only get the money if he is alive by the end of the fair." Raslek inspects Ezekeal too. "But you will be compensated for any expense you have to spend."
"It sound like a job," Ezekeal holds out his hand and shakes with Raslek. "So, where is this Yusel Roba?"
Raslek lets go of Ezekeal’s hand and then signals for someone. Gelo comes and both of them talk in their native tongue. Gelo then sluggishly leaves toward some other rooms. Two men, one is Gelo, are talking in a distant room. With a grumble another man emerges from the hallways. He looks tired, his clothes are disarrayed, and the smell of alcohol is strong on him. He wobbles toward the couches and sits down with out much resistance to gravity.
"This is Droctino Gloset," Raslek waves his hand toward the very tired looking man. "He is one of the intelligence officers from Fisahes. One of our best actually."
"Ish pleshure o’ me ‘o meed you." Droctino says as he signals for Gelo, who brings him a glass of water.
"No, the pleasure is all mine," Ezekeal says with a smirk as he tries not to laugh.
"We’re creeping on eyes to Yushy Ropa. His shippery hansh keep moving..."
Raslek looks slightly annoyed with his associate, "I think what my exhausted friend is saying that we’re keeping a close watch on Mr. Ropa but he has been slippery..."
"Dats what I shades!" Droctino wobbles in his seat, despite the couch being very stationary. "His in the nort. In a billing. My mean can dissect you... Rassy you give da call."
Droctino manages to get up without falling down and goes back to the hallways. When he is out of sight there is a large thud and Gelo goes to check what is going on. Raslek stays on the couch trying to look calm, despite a hint of annoyance floating up to the surface of his face.
"I can wait until the morning if you need to call your men." Ezekeal says with a smile.
"No, I will call them right now. I am terribly sorry," he says as he gets up, "but we were not expecting any visitors tonight."
He goes toward a small room which the telephone is located and spins the dial. He answers the phone in his native tongue. The conversation is not very long and more full of commands like, "Right Now," and "Main Camp."
Ezekeal waits for a few minutes and soon there is a rhythmic knock on the door. Gelo comes toward the door, which Ezekeal decides Gelo is more of a fortified butler than a Security Officer. Behind the door stands a man in plain clothes who would blend into the streets of Ranstoc but the man speaks the native Fiasahes tongue. The exchange between Gelo and the man is brief and professional. Then Gelo points Ezekeal out, as if he needed to be pointed out.
"I am Tuvley," the man says as he stands at attention, "I will guide you to the house of Yosel Roba."
"He is in a house?" Ezekeal stands up and looks the man, Tuvely up and down. He is young, strong, and looks like he can hold up in a fight.
"No, I do not know that word which refers to a place where rats avoid the scent of the building." The man says calmly.
"In my language there’s several words," Ezekeal says as he motions the man to leave. Turvely leaves and Ezekeal follow and they make their way out of the Princess Madeline Hotel.
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