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 Posted: Thu Jan 07, 2010 1:34 pm
hiii. Domi here.
WHIPPLE DOPPLE DOOPLE DOPPLE I CAN TELL STORIES
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Posted: Thu Jan 07, 2010 1:40 pm
oooooCharacter name: Dominik Kresh
oooooAge: If memory serves, and these days, it often doesn't, he should be thirty-three.
oooooGender: Male
oooooRegion: Shyregoed. Dominik will tell what anyone would expect of the Frozen North. There's a whole lot of snow, a whole lot of of trees, and a people with a whole lot of survival instinct. He's generally a bore on this subject, ooooobecause he doesn't like to talk much of it.
oooooCurrent Location: Imisus.
Appearance:
oooooHeight: 5' 11"
oooooWeight: 165 pounds, very trim, not fat in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact.
oooooHair: Thick, wavy, shoulder-length hair that he ties back with a band of something elastic that he got from who knows where.
oooooFacial Hair: Immaculately-trimmed goatee.
oooooFacial Appearance: Rugged in a slightly handsome, almost likable kind of way. Wide cheekbones, and wide, almond-shaped eyes, which are a distant shade of slate.
oooooBody: Broad, with large, powerful hands and respectably-muscled arms. His left leg is similarly strong, but he broke his right knee in a nasty trip on the Imisus docks, and it never healed correctly. As such, it is slightly oooootwisted.
oooooAttire: Professional. Dominik, almost without fail, will be seen in long, straight-legged pants, a white shirt, and a dark vest. In the colder winter months, he wears an overcoat and jacket over this ensemble.
oooooDistinguishing Attire: Under his right arm, Dominik always keeps a cane neatly tucked away, in the event that his trick knee starts to twinge, an event that occurs with increasing frequency.
oooooPersonality:
“George, there is a very big and very angry man out there, and we should probably disappear for our safety.” [cowardly <---> careful]
Dominik is a cowardly man, running from the events of his past and deadened to the shame of his present. Even after his body has come to rest, his mind keeps fleeing, still unsure of when to stop. After his flight from the death of his entire nomadic clan at the hands of raiders, he's lost almost all sense of connection with other humans, and has become a creature concerned mainly with self-preservation. He keeps few friends, because people, being decent as they are, often remind him of the similarly decent and extremely dead members of his clan, and as such, remind him additionally of how he abandoned them to die. He hates confrontation, as well, and, on the seldom occasion when he finds himself cornered into one, do everything he can to slip away. He'll skip town, change entire districts of operation, solely to avoid the potential for danger. This fear leads Dominik to extreme care, and he goes to great lengths to cover his own rear, from avoiding potentially belligerent customers to meeting with similarly-minded swindlers to himself to ensure he can avoid contention with them. He's also very careful to avoid inciting or aggravating people when not plying his trade, and is very slippery in his dealings, acting as non-offensively as possible and often slipping away before he can even leave much of an impression.
“This is a special order I've just gotten in, just for you. This wondrous ointment will cure your mange right up, and right-quick.” [duplicitous <---> inventive]
Dominik's trade, the sale of snake oil concoctions created by his associate, George Barkov, profits from his astounding duplicity. He lies constantly, whether it be to his customers as he explains whatever mystical property his wares are alleged to have, which change from day to day as he comes up with newer and increasingly fantastic qualities, or again to his customers when they come back to remind him that they don't ACTUALLY perform as advertised. So often, in fact, that it's become second nature to him. Dominik often lies even when he doesn't mean to, for being able to control the facts gives him some semblance of comfort with situations that might otherwise place him in severely uncomfortable positions. Concurrently, this constant need to lie, warp facts, and twist truths has given him and almost artful skill in invention and creation. Dominik knows very well how to take a ridiculous concept, soften it, dress it up, and present it to even the most skeptic of men in a way that makes it seem plausible. Believe it or not, it also gives Dominik respectable powers in the realms of storytelling and confabulation, and he can be quite the joy to talk to when he's not attempting to separate you from your money.
“See if you can't find some dye, George. If we can get them believing we're selling a variation, we'll be rolling in even MORE money.” [greedy < --- > enterprising]
After spending his entire life as a poor nomad in Shyregoed, fighting for survival, Dominik has found his sudden wealth to be incredibly appealing. He simply loves money, and being able to buy anything he wants, whenever he wants to. He doesn't, of course, because he's a miser and a penny-pincher, but the thought is nice. The concept that money doesn't mean much if it never gets spent hasn't occurred to him, and he lets it pool up around him, taking from it only when he absolutely needs to in order to survive. He's constantly seeking new ways to bring in more profit, and his musings have developed a cut-throat business sense. Dominik is an aggressive salesman, and pursues after potential customers' money to a point that's almost hounding. Some become convinced by his apparent conviction that his wares are exactly what they need, and others indulge him just to get him off their trail. And when the number of the latter group exceeds the former group, he'll come up with some new selling point to tip the balance in the other way again. Anything he can do to line his pockets.
“I've got things working pretty well for me, I'd say. A roof over my head, a meal in my belly, a set of clothes to call my own, and enough coin to make sure it stays that way for tomorrow. What else should I worry about?” [self-centered <---> self-sufficient]
Dominik lives first and foremost for the preservation of his own best interests. Life, or what he's seen of it so far, has taught him that allowing the protection of his personal needs and desires to fall to the wayside, in favor of assisting others in protecting theirs, will generally end with Dominik finding himself in a vastly inferior position. If he'd stuck around to warn his clan of their impending doom, he'd be just as dead as the rest of them. Instead, then, he works to ensure he's got all the money he could ever not spend, a warm enough bed to weather the nights, and a bubble of perceived safety and security around him, all garnered by carefully-conducted business and carefully-constructed relationships. Companionship does not make Dominik's list of interests, because, while a neat little quality to possess, he doesn't depend on friendship to function. He keeps Hale because, while he enjoys the bond he shares with the little plague, he does not need him as a friend. Rather, he needs Hale as a tool for later, when he begins to move up the social latter. Dominik is self-sufficient in that he does not, in fact, depend on anyone but himself for these other, more vital needs. Anything he cannot produce on his own, he can obtain from any nameless merchant, innkeeper, or common citizen, in the case of wealth. He's stepped on a great many people to maintain his wants and needs.
“You're a b*****d, but I'm not so different; I won't pretend to be holier than you.” [dishonorable < --- > uncritical]
Dominik lacks honor like a sealed tomb lacks light. His history is lined with mischief that eventually turned into acts most basic. His entire profession revolves around lying to the weak, the sick, and the hopeful, and Dominik's apparent lack of a conscience allows him to carry on without much reservation. He doesn't feel proud about many of his actions, but because all that remains of them are the lies and modified memories he tells himself are the truth, he is affected very little. He has no moral low point, and has little confliction with performing rather basic deeds. He's lied unblinking into the faces of fathers with dying children, of those with hardly the money to last another week, and to the brittle elderly. He recognizes himself, though, for what he is, and is uncritical of men and women with a similar lack of scruples. He may never admit to the grand total of his misdeeds, but he doesn't place himself above other crooks and criminals in his mind. He almost feels a sort of camaraderie among his fellow swindlers and embezzlers, a sense of consistency, an idea that there's no honor among thieves.
a note on eventuality.
Barkov's going to die. Dominik doesn't know it yet, and Barkov doesn't know yet how very soon the event will come pass, but it approaches rapidly. When he finally does catch the Black Death and kick the bucket, Dominik will be very disturbed. With his last real friend and the closest thing to family he even had anymore gone, he'll become calloused and slightly estranged, but that void Barkov leaves will call out to be filled, and Dominik may again have to change himself to avoid that desolate feeling of loneliness. Ironic how his cowardice will eventually dig its way to the other side, and he'll start bettering himself just to make a friend, that he might run again from the pain of his past.
oooooHistory: What Dominik won't tell people of his past is his cowardice, and not a journey to the ports of Imisus, but a flight.
It was obvious that Dominik was of a different temperament his kin almost as soon as he was born. Though he began walking, talking, and understanding only slightly faster than other babes, he displayed a deep cunning that was unnoticed by most, stealing what he couldn't get with a sweet word, and always managed to wriggle out of trouble when caught. In some cases, managed to convince his accusers and those that held the potential to punish him that the acts he'd supposedly performed never really occurred in the first place. His mischief was unmatched, and he never quite grew a conscience because he never had to face the repercussions of his actions. When his father died, Dominik shed but one tear, for the sake of those watching, for he felt nothing. Or, more accurately, had no concept of what he was supposed to feel. As little boy, and a vicious one, at that, he didn't quite understand the severity of the situation. To Dominik, it seemed that if the man had died, then his father obviously had it coming. Not destiny, but survival. Of all the teachings his clan would impart, that idea of survival would take precedence over the course of his life.
His father's passing proved beneficial. It became an excuse. Another avenue to keep out of trouble.
Before long, Dominik began hunting with the men, bringing in what little food they could find on the tundra. He earned the respect of his elders quickly, because though he was young and lacked the great strength needed to fell beasts by force, he required no help for his kills. He could trap, trick, and bait almost every animal that walked his way, all except for the largest and most cunning of the bears and tigers, common occurrences in the North. He felt a strong connection with these massive predators.
As he grew, his misdeeds tapered off, as Dominik understood that he couldn't hide behind his youth or his father's corpse any longer, after nearly ten years. And as time passed, the clansmen forgot the old habits of Dominik's, too, and he was accepted as a full-grown and distinguished man by the time he was twenty-one years old. Some of the ice, that never really had any place in his heart in the first place, left him. He had almost come to accept this new mentality when things exploded, violently.
Several months after his twenty-first birthday, marauders from farther North came whooping and screeching into the camp his nomadic family had set. They were far more desperate than the people in the Kresh Clan, for while the Kresh Clan had done quite well for themselves, these raiders faced starvation. Simple survival. They had no peaceful intentions, no inclination to barter, to take only what they needed. They murdered everyone, perhaps out of their own sense of brutal mercy, perhaps because they were just bitter and resentful.
Dominik would have shared the same fate as the rest of them, but he had disappeared as a frantic defense had almost been mounted.
Dominik had seen them coming a ways off. In fact, had KNOWN they were coming. These raiders had been watching very closely. Just the previous day, Dominik's clan had hosted a trading caravan, had loaded up on everything they'd need for a very long while, in exchange for furs, which they had in abundance, thanks to clever trappers like Dominik himself. They'd lowered their guards, so relieved they'd been at the simple knowledge that they'd be living easy for a time. In the face of this impeding death, Dominik decided he'd had about enough of the cold, and the snow, and having to trap and scrounge and trade just to survive, just to die anyway at the hand of whichever party was willing to kill. He wanted to be on the other end of the transaction, the one making all the money off of those that suffer and fight. Because that was the dynamic, wasn't it? One party profited, and the other one suffered regardless.
So he traveled south the second he sensed danger coming on. Ran like Hell, down mountains and through progressively warmer plateaus, never looked back, never gave a second thought. He trapped where he could, mooched off of other caravans wherever possible, and stole when neither option was available. He fell into that old routine that had almost disappeared again. Certainly no way to live, and no way to make a name for oneself, but it was through the caravans that he found his future. Nearly two years after he abandoned his kin, he met a man named George Barkov. An aspiring entrepreneur with a plan to break from his own clan, he immediately hit it off with Dominik. They had much in common. Like kindred spirits, both were cunning beings who looked to strike out for their own best interests, and these interests turned out to intersect quite neatly. Both sought their fortunes, and neither quite cared who they stepped on to attain them.
George had a plan, one that he was eager to share with Dominik when he discovered how well they played together. He intended to find his fortune in Imisus, the populous port province to the southeast. The keyword was, of course, populous. With the plague gripping the nation, it was filled to the brim with panicked people who would most likely do anything to stay healthy. That was where Dominik could add with ingenuity to what George lacked, reaching back to his childhood. Maybe the simplest could be fooled into thinking that they could be protected from the disease, or perhaps even cured! All for a pretty penny, of course. And if there was no cure for the plague, and they were marketing a false hope? That wasn't their problem, now was it? Another thing that Dominik and George had in common was their absolute lack of scruples, which made the idea all the more delectable.
George and Dominik clicked well when they first met, but watching this idea coalesce into a living, breathing enterprise cemented their friendship. After many years, Dominik finally felt a resounding similarity with another being, rather than a pressure to change himself to better harmonize. Though the guilt still existed on some basic level, some primal thing that would eternally lurk along the bottom of his mind and the dark corners of his consciousness, Dominik let his thoughts of his act, his flight from the death of his entire clan, drift away into remission. The perfect partners, finally prepared and steeled for the new world they were about to enter, made their way into Imisus.
And so came Barkov Apothecaries into existence. There were no other apothecaries, nor could Barkov be called an apothecary in the first place, but this name, often inscribed upon a label to a bottle of pale, amber-colored oil, began to appear all over Gadu, either upon advertisements placed strategically where those just literate to understand would find them, or through word of mouth. Rumors began to spread of the man in black, with the beard and the hair tied into a tail, who dispensed a kind of medicine called Snake Oil; there were many who claimed it was a panacea, capable of curing everything from the pox to the Plague itself. Like wildfire, demand for the medicine spread, and Dominik found himself swamped in no time. Barkov was cranking out bottle after bottle of the stuff, and still Dominik ran out before each day could end. And they laughed, oh how they laughed, in those later hours of the day, when they would count the money they'd made off the ignorant masses. This was a good time, full of good humor and an ever-strengthening bond between Barkov and Dominik. They were like wraiths, disappearing into the nights with no permanent office to operate out of and more money than they could ever need to blow on what they please on their nouveau-riche lifestyle. Or, at least, for Barkov to blow. Dominik preferred to hoard his money, and lay low, for the people of Imisus actually KNEW his face.
This would last for a respectable span, Dominik and Barkov's business. Nearly ten years. But the men were to have radically different fates, and only Dominik would live to see year eleven.
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Posted: Thu Jan 07, 2010 1:41 pm
oooooPlague name: Hale Hearty.
oooooItem history: This particular concoction was one last hurrah, all that remained of George Barkov, partner to Dominik, and also the closest thing the latter man had to a friend. The two men had a growing reputation as hacks, vendors of quasi-medicinal cures that were supposed to do everything from preventing baldness to curing the Black Death itself. They SAID their miracle cures came from all over the world, adding an air of exotica. In reality, they crafted their tonics and potions in a cramped room on the second floor of the building that acted as their storefront. One part quasi-medicinal folk medicine, two parts placebo, three parts ugly lie, poured into a dirty glass bottle with a label slapped on the front that read “DOCTOR BARKOV'S GENUINE, ORIGINAL RECIPE SNAKE OIL! CURES YOUR ILLS, MAKES YOU WHOLE!”
Now Barkov had never been a weak man, but he'd never had to deal much with the customers, so how would he know that he was, in fact, very susceptible to the Black Death? He'd always done his best to avoid the sickly, but he'd been unable to avoid bumping into a carrier of the disease, hadn't even known the man had BEEN sick, had put it up to common rudeness when this chap had coughed directly onto Barkov. Within a day he was sick. He took very ill, very suddenly, had been working on a final vial of his witch's brew of snake oil when he'd coughed into his fist and brought it up to see blood. Thoroughly disgruntled, he'd left work with a few distant words to Dominik. Barkov had returned the next day, fiddled briefly with his faux-alchemical instruments, and floated away at some early point in the day. Dominik never heard from him again. Saw him again, sure, saw Barkov lying dead in a ditch in a side alley, his throat swollen up with black marks, but never heard from him again. The series of events deeply disturbed Dominik.
When he returned to take a numb look around the tiny room where Barkov had worked, figuring that he'd need to pick up where his dead friend had left off, he noticed a most peculiar thing. Upon the one table in the room sat a single bottle, filled with Barkov's infamous brew, but something seemed slightly... off. The bottle looked as if someone had taken a dropper and let several drips of some black, viscous substance fall into the otherwise relatively innocent mix. They raidated out, hanging in the not-panacea, making sickly kernel-like shapes. There was something unsettling about the vial, but Dominik dared not throw it out. Not the last thing that Barkov had ever produced. He took a label, marked a simple “X” upon the back, and affixed it to the bottle. Put it on the shelf beside the table, kept it close at hand always, a sort of morbid reminder of Barkov. Dominik's only friend was gone now, with no last words to remember, just the bottle. And though it was foul, Dominik couldn't bring himself to throw it away, to do away with the last trace of the only companionship he'd had in over ten years.
oooooPersonality Ideas: Though Barkov has long since died and fallen to rot, his legacy gives rise to Hale Hearty, new life sprouting from the foul decay of disease. Being a concoction of his creation, Hale's Putesco has imparted some of Barkov's qualities into the little plague. He's soaked up Dominik's greed like a sponge, but how Hale seeks to satiate his own thirst for wealth, his business sense, so to say, differs from Dominik's. He's a foil to Dominik in many ways, and will often push Dominik into unfamiliar territory for the sake of increased profit. Where Dominik is cowardly, Hale is bold. Hale will often suggest Dominik start to encroach on the spheres of other swindlers, against a tenet the grimm adheres to in order to avoid contention and eventual confrontation. Where Dominik is careful, Hale is reckless. The Plague often becomes wrapped up in his own ideas, and is very eager to invest high amounts of energy in unproven methods. And though Dominik and Hale share similar depths of creativity, Hale often WILL invest the energy in his many schemes, while Dominik prefers to stick with what works until what works is no longer viable. Where Dominik creates out of necessity, Hale creates out of the lack of a facility to ignore the creativity itself. Hale's entire world is filled with potential. Each person is a customer, and everything that he can't sell to is either a tool, or a mystery that he'll unravel later, similar to the side effects of medicine that might just be performing differently than advertised.
One possibility : As he grows, a turmoil will spring up in him, a question about the nature of his being. He'll start to wonder whether he serves as nothing more than a simple ploy for profit, or if there's some greater potential. A little spark of hope that within him, the ability to heal lies waiting to be found. That a placebo may actually hold some power.
At first, he'll entertain the notion for the marketability of it. He'll see every person as a potential source of income, a coin purse waiting to be tapped. He'll still be thoroughly steeped in something of an obsolete mentality, at least for him, because he can't yet see beyond the concept of something for something, whether it be money or some other exchange. As time passes and he delves further into the realm of human emotion, that satisfaction in performing a positive action will take replace his old motive. He'll be a little TOO eager to help, perhaps even hyperactive, and this may cause him to leap into problems before he can understand the situation. This will be a chaotic time for him, because he won't always have his actions refunded in some tangible manner, and will question this facet of his motivation. He will eventually come upon an epiphany: He wants to help because he understands that helping is the right thing to do. He will come to see that very few ends more horrendous than the Black Death exist. Some may want to sell this power to heal, and that's alright with him, provided he just gets that far, that he can call himself part of the solution to the problem from whence he sprang.
This path will reflect the item from the perspective of the customer, rather than the salesman: Some may say such a treatment is impossible. That's okay. A little faith in the impossible may just do the trick.
Another possibility : As Hale grows, the greed that he soaks up from Dominik warps him rather than perplexes him, and he loses any hope for himself. He'll give himself over to avarice.
Without faith in himself, he'll become disillusioned, and like any placebo that's been explained, he'll lose his potential to alleviate or heal illness. Bitter and sarcastic, he'll be known for his sharp tongue and his quick wit, his constant smoothness that'll help him slide through each encounter, and he'll leave a generally oily impression on those he meets. His perception will increase drastically as he comes to understand the trade of classifying men based on only a few words, to the point of being judgmental, but only to give himself some supposed advantage over those he can perceive. He will occasionally be wrong about such things because nobody can understand everything with just three words, and this will no doubt lead to unfortunate situations. The horrors of the Black Death will lose their gravity as his conscience grows quieter with each passing day. He will become much more concerned with material life, and he'll try to fill the greater spiritual void created by this loss in purpose with wealth and physical possessions, in the hopes it provides some form of satisfaction. As such, he'll become something like Dominik's assistant, with a skillset that will make him perfect for the job. At least, until people discover he's a Plague. Maybe he'd do well marketing to drunk people.
This will be much more representative of the item from the perspective of the salesman, rather than the customer: An understanding that anybody can be fooled if the words are slick enough and the concept is appealing enough.
--
these are just ideas! They're two distinct paths I can see Hale going down as he progresses, but a binary progression can be sort of stiff and unrealistic, as you darling PDers, with your tertiary growth for pets, know! It's really going to come down to who Hale meets, and how Dominik himself grows.
oooooConcept ideas:
oo- A very slick, smooth theme. Oiled-back hair? A slight sheen to the skin?
oo- An amber or pale yellow color scheme, with black trim.
oo- Flecks of black here and there, as if he's been sprayed with crude oil.
oo- A constant smirk. Hale is a snide b*****d, regardless of whether he's going on a soul-searching journey or a spiral in disillusionment.
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Posted: Thu Jan 07, 2010 1:42 pm
Okay, so I want to talk about Factions! briefly i realize now oh science
Cult of Obscuvos – I don't honestly see this as being an option for Dominik. He most certainly doesn't like the whole 'Chaos and Anarchy' concept, and I can't see him getting behind the whole New World Order bit. He simply has life too easy within the boundaries of the current society, and there's no REASON for him to subscribe to their ideas. The only way I see him joining this faction is if some SERIOUS s**t goes down very early in his development, and to be perfectly honest, I doubt it'll happen.
Fellowship of Mages – One of the two prime candidates for Dominik to join. He's not a mage, obviously, but with Hale, I can only imagine he'll be an attractive applicant. The main reason I see him joining the mages is the handy lack of a clause present in the Council of Sciences: "any and all money going towards research and needed materials.” Depending on how Dominik develops (which, and I stress this, really does depend on who he meets and how the opinions of others show on him), he may be unable to change, may feel more in line with keeping his wealth and being valued for his Plague, rather than on equal terms with other scientists. He'll want to market a cure, of course, and the scientists would probably not like that at all. This faction's path would take him through the morally-grey areas, I think.
Council of Sciences – The other of the factions I see Dominik joining. Dominik isn't exactly a man of science, but he is a deeply rational creature. He may not be able to provide learned knowledge of the field to the Council, but he does have a Plague that could help with research, and a cutthroat business sense that could assist with procuring funds. I don't think it's such a longshot to say that Dominik could find the strength to change himself enough to comfortably join this faction. He may be a bit unscrupulous, but there's only so much death and loss he can respectively witness and withstand before he'll draw a line, stop running backward, and start pressing forward, through the darker realms of his own nature. This faction would put him on the road towards redemption, from self-forgiveness to self-actualization.
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Posted: Tue Nov 29, 2011 6:50 pm
below here be prompt sections!! o A o
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Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2012 8:57 pm
excito.
Dominik awoke, early early one morning, before even the sun itself had a chance to rouse and begin on its lazy, lowered arc across the sky. Somewhere far above his dreams of old tundras and distant mountains, a pain had broke him free from the confines of sleep. Pain and the cold surrounded him, stole thoughts from his delirious mind even as he tried to grasp them and make sense of them. In those moments, as he tried and failed to pluck his identity out of the ether, he ceased to be Dominik, the snake oil salesman. Events from his past all blended together, became one moment, and he changed to Dominik, little orphan runaway with a broken knee, alone in the woods but for the screeching pain and howling pain. All the worst in one place.
There was no coherence in those moments he lay there, staring up at a ceiling that he couldn't tell if he knew. It took a long time, until the room began to tinge with the gray of twilight, before he found himself able to put his thoughts back into order. As soon as he could, he took inventory of just what he'd experienced. He knew pain well; since the accident, Dominik and pain were old friends. But this... This morning had been so cold, it had conjured up an agony that had muddled Dominik's very mind. He went to the window of the room that was now his again, an inn that he chartered for semi-permanent living (minimum price for maximum value, he'd done his research), and looked out. The city looked muted, shrunken with the cold. He hadn't felt a chill like this in over ten years, since he'd left... since he'd left his past behind. An ominous sign, at least to him. This would be a terrible winter, a ruinous winter. He'd need to prepare for-
A voice. Tiny, frank, a bit snide. “My, oh my, Dominik, you are a wonder to behold. You toss and turn for hours, stare at the ceiling for nearly as long, and float to the window like you're in a daze.”
Hale. Of course. How could Dominik have even presumed the plague wouldn't have seen his little episode?
“I'd almost swear you were about to continue straight through and fly away.” The plague sat upon the singular table in the room, his miniscule legs not even dangling past the edge of the tabletop. A cheeky grin and upturned eyes matched his sarcasm.
“You'd swear, hmm?” Dominik approached the table, bearing down on his tiny companion. He put his hands to his shoulders, made flapping motions with his fingers, and proclaimed, “I fly with the birds come winter, didn't you know that?”
Hale, not missing a beat, soundly retorted, “You know, if I didn't know you better, I might be inclined to believe you. But I do, and I know that even when you're telling the truth, it's safe to assume you used a lie to get there.” He threw up his own hands, so little they were almost delicate, with absent assurance on what served for his face.
“Hmph, well, I won't argue with a silly little plague like you. Time to face the day. And besides,” Dominik added, as he staggered off to find his clothing, “If I flew south this winter, who'd keep you from driving this city into the ground? My little apprentice would bleed this town's collective purse dry.”
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Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2012 8:58 pm
[section two]
From Dominik's pocket, Hale watched the city streets of an unfamiliar Imisese city stream past.
He shivered in spite of himself and his surroundings, for the day had barely begun yet. The pocket, though lined with oilcloth to keep the mess Hale inevitably caused to a minimum, provided no protection from the bite of the cold. The warmth would come when Dominik himself warmed up, for he walked all around for the better portion of each day, moving from place to place in hopes of netting as many customers as possible. Dominik's labored stride exerted him a great deal, and turned the inner portion of his jacket, which Hale's pocket sat far enough back to be a part of, became a veritable furnace for the little plague, which he had no objections to. From this nest, he'd be warm and comfortable, and he got to watch Dominik at work.
Dominik shuddered now, too, and the whole jacket rustled. Four weeks had passed since the man had announced the beginning of winter, and so far, Hale couldn't deny it. Every day was colder than the last, and the nights howled with icy winds that ripped through from the north. They'd moved south through Imisus not a week past, with the hopes of finding a warmer city to work in than Gadu. One of the benefits of Dominik's refusal to take up any permanent residence was that they could pack up and move at the drop of a hat. All of his 'apothecary's' instruments fit into a rucksack, and they'd eventually found transport south, to Waterbury, after Dominik had ensured the bank in which he kept his money had a branch in the port.
The cold seemed to be taking a particularly harsh toll on Dominik. Over the weeks, his limp favoring his right knee had turned more and more pronounced, and he leaned heavily on his cane to keep himself righted. Dominik didn't think that Hale watched him often, but the plague watched his grimm near constantly, and on those times when Dominik thought nobody was watching, Hale saw the man's face contract with pain. He didn't know what the problem with that knee was, but it seemed severe. Dominik never mentioned it before. Seemed to be hiding the problem.
The irregular bouncing of Dominik's gait stopped, and the sound of voices drifting in to Hale intensified. He peeked out, as subtly as he could. When he confirmed that they had, in fact, arrived in a bustling square that would serve as their first storefront, he ducked back down and waited. He'd been instructed by Dominik to keep as far out of sight as possible, for the man worried that the sight of a Plague might drive off his customers. Hale might have resented having to hide if he didn't think Dominik was perfectly correct in this situation. Nobody trusted a man who claimed to have the cure for the Black Plague when he was carrying a Plague with him. It just wasn't good for business.
“You, sirrah! Yes, you! Come, come! You look like a hardworking man! I have tonics that will boost your energy and ward off illness!” Already, Dominik had singled a man out. Hale grinned to himself, for this was his favorite part, listening to Dominik reel in the gullible masses like a master angler brings in his fish.
Footsteps approaching, and Dominik's voice again, now moderate and conversational. “Wise man, very wise. Surely a man such as yourself supports a family, brings in a great deal at whatever profession you are no doubt overqualified for! Tell me, sirrah, have you ever heard of... Snake oil?”
The voice that floated back, quite pleased with itself in the face of Dominik's ample compliments, replied, “Never in my life! Snakes make oil?”
Now Dominik had him. Hale stuffed both his hands into his mouth to stifle the giggles.
“Why, yes, sirrah! Oily creatures on the inside, didn't you know? Full of venom and oil, with the incredible potential for both life AND death. Here, take a look...” One of Dominik's hands reached into the jacket and took hold of a bottle of the amber liquid that hung above Hale's head from something like a makeshift bandolier. There was a silence while Dominik's quarry no doubt inspected the merchandise in some vain attempt to look like he had any idea what he was talking about.
“That oil is the stuff of dreams! It does everything you can imagine, from curing warts to aiding digestion. Every day, happy customers inform me of new uses for this elixir...” Hale rolled forward as Dominik leaned toward the other man, to whisper, “I've heard from a few the it cures the Plague. But shhh!”
“My word, man! It sounds too good to be true!” Oh, he was just eating it up.
“Oh, but it is! And it can be yours for just... Five shillings!” This changed from person to person, depending on how much Dominik thought he could milk.
“Is that all? You're worrying me, but I dare say I'll buy one!” So easy, oh so easy. Hale rocked with delight.
“An excellent choice! You shall not be sorry, my friend!” And then coins were clinking into Hale's pocket, cold hard cash. He immediately took to clasping each of them to him, both to enjoy one of his favorite things, a shiny shilling coin, and to warm the things up, for they were cold.
“Thank you very much, my good man! Tell your friends, yes? Tell them of Dominik, and best of luck to you in these cold, cold times!” And all at once, Dominik was hobbling away again, apparently exhausted of options in that plaza. When they were out of earshot and things grew quiet again, Hale called up to his grimm.
“You know, you could have gotten much more from that fool! He was eating it up!” Hale could have been swimming in coins, judging from the way that pretentious man sounded.
“Yes, yes, probably, but... I don't know...” Dominik's breath had grown ragged, and his voice trailed off as he stopped to lean heavily on his cane while he rested. Hale didn't know how to answer that, when Dominik didn't even have a lie. He held the coins closer to himself instead, finally starting to get an idea of how horrific this winter might be.
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Posted: Tue Jan 03, 2012 7:29 pm
[section 3]
Dominik looked all about the crowded quay upon which he stood, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of dockworkers. A stout man, bent under the weight of the heavy load of sacks of who-knows-what shipped in from farther south, rushed in front of Dominik. He looked eager to drop off his burden onto a pile of similar-looking sacks; he huffed and puffed and wheezed, and he was pale but for bright red spots high on both his cheeks. Dominik saw fewer of these men every day, but even as their numbers decreased, their enthusiasm unto near frenzy increased every day. Desperate.
Behind the respectably-growing mound of sacks, an equally-respectable office stood bright and awake against the cold. On either side, decrepit, pathetic buildings flanked it, long since gone dark and empty. From this singular open office, a sign hung. It read Imisus Central Shipping & Imports, Montburg Offices. They'd moved south again, Dominik and Hale, though it had long since become apparent that they couldn't outrun the cold with another two weeks and now two cities behind them. This was turning into a true Shyregoedian winter, and Dominik wondered if it wouldn't be wise to bed down and wait it out like they did in Shyregoed.
Except... They never did that, he couldn't afford to tell himself that lie. Even in the dead of winter they had hunted, fought for their survival. He just wanted an excuse to ease pressure off his damnable knee. He shifted in discomfort, placing more weight upon his cane to ease the pain a bit. The sea air carried both a frigid chill and a great moisture upon it, he could almost taste what would spell snow almost anywhere else. It seeped into his tender, ruined knee, freezing into a pain like shards of broken glass. It distracted him, drew his focus away. He blinked and shook his head hard, winning back a sliver of concentration.
He might need a doctor, a real doctor, though the thought of meting out coin that he'd worked so hard to swindle, and to professionals that he'd professed to Hale were no better than Dominik himself, made the man grimace with a different kind of pain, a greedy kind of pain. A thought for later.
Dominik's voice sounded rusty when it first burst from his lips in a call, aimed at nobody in particular, that announced, “Barkov Brand Snake Oil, the cure-all elixir that performs exactly as advertised! You name it, snake oil cures it! Step lively now, it goes fast!”
He received only a few glances from the crowds, and none stopped what they were doing. Dominik saw some curiosity among the stares, but no comprehension. Most didn't seem to quite understand what he was saying. He filled his lungs with icy air, and prepared to call out again, this time with his trademark creativity.
“Barkov Brand Snake Oil! Come one, come all! This mystical medicine comes from the dreaded snakes of Auvinus, deathly beasts of stunning potential for harm! But from them an elixir so potent can be crafted, that it can cure any disease imaginable!” He caught his breath, then cupped his free hand to his mouth again, and began to rattle off a list of made-up diseases to go with his made-up Auvinus snakes.
“Locktoe, scale-back, the dreaded Swollen Tooth! Pat the stuff behind your ears to eliminate malodorous odors! Rub a bit on your-” All at once, Dominik was cut off by a hand that clamped down upon his shoulder. There was a ferocity in that hold that made Dominik lock up and wheel at the same time as fear lurched into his chest.
On the other end of that hand stood a wide-eyed man who stared at Dominik, blinking very often. He looked haggard, even moreso than the usual dockhand. His clothes bunched up in certain places, as if the stranger constantly readjusted them, some kind of nervous gesture. A raggedy, tangled beard sprouted from his chin at odd angles, and his hair matched. He reeked, too. Dominik didn't think he'd seen this man before, though, had skipped two towns already, couldn't have had a legacy that would follow him yet. So he relaxed, just a tad.
Before Dominik could get a word out, the filthy stranger barked, “Medicine? You sell medicine?” His accent was thick, a true foreigner for sure, and already Dominik was regaining his composure.
Dominik lifted a hand up to gently guide the man's iron grip away, and his potential customer complied easily enough. With a relieved chuckle, he responded, “Why, yes, sirrah! Barkov Brand Snake Oil, as I'm sure you heard... Wondrous stuff, does everything you like and then some. Are you intereste-”
“Plague! It, uh... it cures the plague?” The man had taken Dominik's shoulders again, given him an urgent little shake as his rancid scent washed over the salesman again. He grimaced, and immediately brought a finger to his lips.
“Shhh, not so loud, are you mad?!” Bracing himself for the ache, Dominik lifted his cane to again move the hands away. His knee lit up with pain, but again the man relinquished his grip on Dominik's shoulders. “Yes, it will cure everything that might ail the body, the mind, and the soul,” he continued, without a hint of reservation, “Black Plague included. Anything.”
The look of sheer bliss that lit up the man's face made Dominik's stomach churn. “I take, I take!” The man's dirty face split with a smile, and his eyes began to well up with what looked to be tears. He appeared overwhelmed. Dominik didn't like that look. Too much emotion only made him worry for later times, over thoughts of when men like this finally removed the cork and imbibed the 'medicine.'
“My... my daughter,” the man corrected his thoughts, “She... I take. I buy. Please.”
“Very well, sirrah...” Dominik produced a bottle from within his jacket, held the container, label side out, up to the light for the man to inspect. It still felt warm from sitting against his chest, and … slightly damp. Dominik had begun to sweat, he realized. Looks like his day was over already. Like he needed an excuse.
Before he could even name a price, his ragged new acquaintance reached into a purse at his side and grabbed a fistful of coins. Dominik's eyes grew wide at the sight of them, counting sixteen, seventeen, nineteen shillings in a small pile. Without a word, he handed off the bottle, losing all focus on the man before him, only paying attention to the coins he'd just obtained. He carefully dropped them into Hale's pocket, for the little plague loved the coins, so he did, he confirmed this with a quiet squeal of joy that Dominik covered with a cough. With the coins safely stashed away, he looked back to the man in front of him, who was still enraptured by the bottle he held.
“Thank you very much, sir! And... best of luck to you.” Dominik smiled at the man, his fake salesman's smile, a grin worn by victors. He'd won again, hit a gold vein.
“No... No, thanks to you. Gods bless.” And, with a face splitting grin, the man turned and staggered off into the crowd. How easily they disappear.
As they roamed from the square, Hale again spoke up, as he so liked to do when nobody could hear him. He said, “Nice catch, Dominik! That man was desperate.”
As Dominik limped along, the pain in his knee temporarily forgotten, he answered, “No, no, not desperate. Just... just happy for his little bottle of false hope. Time to lay low for a while, little Hale.” Somewhere deep inside, the salesman was unsettled. He didn't want to be anywhere near when that man started looking for him, looking to share just how... happy... the medicine had made him. Satisfied customers somehow didn't appeal to him.
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Posted: Wed Jan 04, 2012 7:40 pm
[section 4; FINAL]
Hale lay awake again, like he had that first night, like he had so many nights all through this eternal winter. He found no solace in sleep, for the cold seeped into him in a way he couldn't prevent. The oilcloth blankets he piled on himself just couldn't compensate for his lack of facilities to produce the warmth to combat this deathly chill. He couldn't freeze solid, it wasn't that cold yet, but he could feel the pain as the warmth being leeched from his tiny body slowly killed him. He also couldn't afford to let these thoughts distract him, or he really would meet his end on this frigid evening. Fear was Dominik's domain; Hale's was action.
“D-Dominik. Dominik, wake up.” Hale shivered violently as he called across the room to his Grimm. Growing impatient, he snapped, “You sleepy fool, get up! G-get up or I swear I will throw every shilling in your p-purse out the window, so help me!”
This got Dominik moving. He jumped with a start, his eyes flying open faster than Hale had ever seen them, and his head swiveled like it'd been kicked to face the plague. Bewildered, and very very nervous, the man stammered, “Wh-what? I'm awake, I'm awake, you leave my money be!”
Hale shook his head, mustering up as much of a laugh as he could manage, the old grin touching his lips. The plague patted the fat sack of coins with affection; he could never bear to see so many shiny coins go, who was he kidding? Nobody.
“G-good. Dominik, it's t-too cold. I'm quite literally f-freezing.”
Without a word, Dominik threw his bedsheets off and sat up upon the bed. He seemed to agree that the room was far too cold, for a look spread across his face that proclaimed the man immediately sorry for leaving the warm cocoon of his bed. Hale watched the man tentatively test the floor with his tender leg, and he stiffened and grimaced with pain. After a moment of shallow, whistling breaths, Dominik found his cane in the dark and began hobbling across the room, toward the tiny table upon which Hale had tried to make a bed. The little plague marveled at how ragged the man had become; the normally immaculate beard had given way to patchy stubble, and he'd grown deep worry-lines all around his face. He looked just like that first haggard man they'd seen, the father who'd practically thrown money at Dominik. How long ago had that man come and gone? A month? More? Hale couldn't tell anymore, the people all began to look the same, all just as desperate, all just as terrified. Good customers, though... much more willing to accept the idea of a cure-all when the ice grew thick on their windows and everybody fell ill from the cold.
Dominik loomed over Hale, now shivering as well. He gave a weak little smile and picked Hale up with his free hand, oilcloth blankets and all. The warmth had already started to recede from his hands during the journey across their most current room, but still Hale could feel that core of heat beyond his wrappings. Dominik held his plague up as he steadily ferried the plague back across to the grimm's bigger bed. He replaced the bedsheets in a slow, deliberate manner, for he had laid Hale down in the crook of his arm. He took great care to keep the bulk of the blankets off the plague, just giving him the fringes so as not to smother him. When they'd both settled, Dominik began to whisper softly as Hale stared up at him.
“Let me tell you a story that my father told me when I was but a little boy... Maybe a mite smaller than yourself.” They both took a moment to chuckle; Hale could barely hold a shilling coin if he stretched. When it died down, Hale looked to his grimm with unmasked curiosity. The man had never spoken of his father before, let alone his childhood.
Dominik continued on, “Once, there was a sleepy old bear, getting ready for winter. He ran all about his cave, worry worry worrying, saying, 'Oh no, oh no, I shall never get to sleep, I am far too nervous!' He lay down on his bear bed and he said, 'Oh no, oh no, it is too early, how will I ever sleep?'” Dominik lifted his hands up over his face to imitate the bear, and Hale giggled.
Dominik didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he took his hands away from his face, and he said, “But when the bear opened his eyes... Oh! It was spring! He fell right asleep in spite of himself!”
The man looked down at Hale with an expression he didn't yet know. He finished, “Don't fret, little Hale. Hold on a little longer and we'll be seeing the tail end of this winter, I just know it.”
The plague knew Dominik, though, knew him well enough by now to tell when he lied. Hale could smell that salesman's honey Dominik used to coat his words like it had gone rotten. His keeper didn't know, hadn't the slightest clue. Probably scared for his own life as well as Hale's. He told the lie as much for himself as for the tiny plague. He saw no reason to call the ugly truth of the matter into the light.
Instead, he settled deeper into the crook of Dominik's arm, and waited for the warmth to seep in.
“... What's a bear?”
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