(Heart of the Dragon) Meat

[Cayce]

Within the winding pathways and trods of the Hedge surrounding Sacramento sits a riotous scab, a crusted and seeping, and bustling with all manner of parasites and bacteria that perpetuate said scab. Of course, as with anything particularly vile and of note, the scab is not without a name. Among the Lost and the denizens of the Hedge alike, the scab is known as the Flesh Market, and it is a blight that has existed for years, its face changing as each layer is slowly peeled away, only to seep and reform anew...

Though, even if the face of the Flesh Market changes, its corrupted heart does not. The Flesh Market is a place that deals only in the most grisly of commodities. It is an abattoir and slave auction block in one, with fossils and other...biological ingredients sold on the side. Only meat and bone, blood and tendon, life and death, are sold here, and it's Master is the enigmatic Sal, who reigns as landlord, bursar, and, some say, enforcer for the entire operation.

Though who, exactly, Sal is is a secret known only to a few...

Though that secret might yet get out.

At the moment, the Flesh Market is fairly bustling with trade, Hobs and foreign lost wandering through the rough, dust streets between the stalls, trading creatures, munching on fragrant kabobs, placing bets around the massive gladiatorial Pit, or slaking...other urges. Lanterns blaze from within each stall and tent, shedding flickering light of all colors, capturing the entirety of the market within a manic edge that was usually only seen during the cresting height of raves fueled by ecstasy..

And, once more, it is in this place that Green finds himself now standing.

[Malcolm Green]

Malcolm Green has been to Sal's Flesh Market many times but this is one of the relative few he has walked the churned goblin market as himself. Master of Mirror, his sojourns at the goblin market were mostly done under cover - a nameless Changeling passing by to barter, sell, and listen to gossip. Hobs talked. Even when there were ears listening.

Walking into the Flesh Market at the Mountain, Onyx of Winter and a Freeholder of Sacramento was something new. Green felt... exposed... as he walked with ponderous tread. His bag bumped at his side, filled with goblin fruit. He'd need them for barter. Occasionally the Scotch Whiskey sloshed with his footstep. He'd need that for barter too - once he had identified the information he sought.

At least on this occasion, he could afford to splash out on a dream pasty. The savoury was rapidly vanishing into his cavernous mouth as he walked, ducked under a string of lanterns glowing in the gloaming, and paused at a rough intersection where two trails met. A pack of goblins shepherded a caravan of Hedge Beasts - to sale or slaughter, no doubt, for Green knew that direction led to the killing grounds.

Idly he contemplated the price the goblin's could fetch for such strong looking... things. A sudden sight of eyes that were much too human snapped him back.

Grimacing, Green waited till the last of the herd had gone before striding across the street. He espied a large tent and a reputable merchant of curiosities. The mountain moved and made a show of inspecting the merchant's treasures.

"Hey. Got some shard-grass with me. It'll bring the lustre out on those lamps and dishes you got back there. Want to trade? Uh... Say! Whats going on with all the crazy dancing and the lamps? Someone having a feast?"

Start small and insignificant.

He could track down Sal's agents later. Or they would come to him.

Green will be waring his great coat (Reinforced Clothing 0/1) and carrying his usual sling bag. This time it will contain a pair of thick gloves, his ax, GOBLIN FRUIT*, a bottle of single malt whiskey aged 25 years, six pack of beer, and a bottle of water.

*For trade and narrative purposes only. He does have Harvest. As for the booze - Green is quite willing to blow his budget on the stuff; he needs Gifts.

[Cayce]

The reputable merchant of curiosities glanced back behind itself at the plates carved from bone, and the lamps with shades made of tightly stretched skins, and then he shrugged, ever keen to be a shrewd, yet nonchalant fellow.

"I am always open to trade," the Hob commented noncommittally, manicured talons slowly rapping themselves atop the polished counter of its stall.

"But my wares are fine, and I doubt that even the most magnificent of shard-grass could improve upon them. A...piece of a specimen as fine as yourself, however," the merchant continued, looking Green up and down, "could buy any single item from what you see displayed."

The merchant reached out with a long, manicured talon and slowly swept it across all that it had out to display.

"And think nothing of the lights. Sal has provided them...free of charge. The dancing, however...might cost you."

[Malcolm Green]

"Dancing? Huh? Thats new. Where's that at, exactly?"

Green replied as he dug into his bag.

"I got some shells here that would make good drinking bowls if you are willing to trade for... um... information. And I can throw in the shard-grass as well. Yeah. I'm sure a merchant of fine goods like yourself would benefit from, like, having some on hand. Right?"

He avoided the reference to himself while he presented one of the curious shells he had found.

The mountain was patient. Bartering helped his cover. And besides, he did not wish to reveal how badly he wanted to talk with an information broker... Or Sal himself.

[Cayce]

The merchant shrugged, manicured talons still rapping against the countertop.

"Some of the merchants have their wares dance to attract attention, or to display their best qualities: obedience, strength, beauty, whatever might make them more attractive purchases. You'll find no stage or traveling troupe, however."

For some time, the rapping continued, but eventually it ceased.

"Shell is enough like bone," the hob pondered, "and grass like hair or feathers. I suppose I can make use of them. Very well, ask your questions. Though my...original asking price be required, depending on the question." One of those sharp, shining talons rose, and ran languorously along the merchants jaw.

[Malcolm Green]

Green stared at the merchant. No doubt he was being strung along - and he did not like the way the merchant was eyeing him like a prize to be won.

"Hum. Yeah. OK. Lets start with where do I find Sal's agent. I think they'll want to talk with me."

Honesty - it was a killer. But sometimes it was the best weapon against the vicious and inquisitive hobs. Assuming the merchant had an inkling of who Green was.

And if any of Sal's agents were listening, they no doubt make a play as well.

Green only hoped he'd be able to get out of the Flesh Market in one piece once he'd learned what he came for.

[Cayce]

The merchant blinked several times, clearly taken aback by the Mountain's question. The talon that had been so fondly caressing the edge of the merchant's jaw immediately fell back to the polished countertop and the creature visibly swallowed.

"Hand over your trinkets now," it demanded, "and I shall tell you how to summon one."

It seemed that whatever game the merchant had been playing paled under Sal's shadow, and it was clear that the creature was far more keen to be rid of Green now that it knew his intentions.

[Malcolm Green]

"Sure."

Green produced his offerings: the shells and the shard-grass. He set them down with deliberate care, part display and part show of trust.

"When I get back I'll have to trade with you properly, yeah. You got good stuff."

The mountain waited, shuffling to one side so he could keep an eye on the exit and the merchant. Green was under no illusions about the risk. He had no Oaths or Pledges with anyone here. Right now that was both a strength and a weakness.

[Cayce]

The merchant greedily scooped the offerings up off the counter, somehow managing to juggle them all in its talons before stowing them somewhere out of sight. Green could see the pure, unadulterated greed dancing gleefully in the merchant's eyes, but it was fleeting, soon suppressed once the hob-creature raised its eyes back to Green.

Instead of regaling him with secrets, however, the merchant merely reached out with one of its long, taloned hands and hooked a lantern from it's peg on one of the tent poles. It flicked the glass hatch on the side of the lantern open and gave a sharp puff of breath, killing the flame.

As though in sympathy, every other lantern hanging from the tent died, though they died with a strange, harmonic moan.

"The agent will arrive soon," the merchant said, giving Green one last gimlet stare before it reached up and pulled a string near the top of the tent, and a large fold of cloth with "CLOSED" stitched across it fell over the front of the stall, leaving Green more or less alone in the market.

And, not but a minute later, Green could sense something looming nearby. Looking over his shoulder, he could see a shadowy figure, lurking in the alley between two stalls. Sensing that it had been spotted, it slid forward, movements so smooth oil must have slid through its veins. It came to a stop in front of Green, and two yellow, reptilian eyes glared up at him from beneath a shadowy hood.

"Yooouuuu are the cause of the disturbance?" it asked in a high, whining voice. "And why is that?"

[Malcolm Green]

The mountain grunted, impressed by the Market's theatrics. Feeling the other figure approach he stretched, wriggled his fingers and rolled his neck to iron out any kinks. Then, he turned.

"The mountain, called Green, of the Onyx and Freeholder of Sacramento." Green responded in a clumsy attempt at formality. A part of him was aware of how he'd changed his name, of how right it felt. It was quickly lost in the moment as he faced the shadowy form and met the reptilian eyes lost beneath the hood.

"I come here to parlay with the boss of this here Market. Sal is his name. I have gifts. For him; for you if you lead me right. I have news and... uh... counsel... Yeah."