Name: Tarlok Mhirva [TAR-Lock] Race: Yaeli Gender: Male Base Traits:
Supportive Tarlok likes to get behind other people's causes, and to believe what they believe. When he is loyal to someone, he takes that seriously, following and helping their cause even when it leads them into darkness. No matter what, and barring serious betrayals or breaches of trust, he is there for them.
Devious Tarlok's strength is his mind, and he uses it to come out one step ahead wherever he can. He is a smooth talker, a fast liar, and a trickster at heart. He does well with strategy, plotting, and planning, and one of his favorite things is seeing a plan go well... second only to coming up with a new one on the spot.
Remorseless When Tarlok does something, he does it whole heartedly, and beneath his warm, cheerful, and ingratiating exterior is a cold and resolved interior. No matter what the consequences are, or what morals it ascribes to, Tarlok has no regrets for his actions, and feels no guilt.
Class: Prentice (Merchant)
Appearance: Hair: Hair is tied up in a sort of ragged crest – see ref or This inspiration pic – by a black, laquered beret. Skin: Yaeli typical Crystal Placement: Large crystals on sides of stomach and on arms. Possibly on face and forehead as well. Eyes: Yaeli typical. Clothes: He wears a long dark blue-grey vest that leaves his chest and stomach exposed. He wears short grey pants that are belted with a thin rope. From this rope dangles a long piece of green-grey fabric that reaches his feet, but only on one side His feet are bare (unless this is highly abnormal for a Yaeli) and he wears small, clothen, light grey bands around his ankles. - Probably also a bunch of talismans or symbols of significance on his person, too. Expression: He is smiling or smirking, very smug.
Personality:
Tarlok is not an especially superstitious Yaeli. Sure, he believes in curses and talismans, but his family also makes and sells them. Much like sausages, when one knows how protective charms are actually made, one tends to be more pragmatic about their effectiveness and their ails. Still, he does use them here and there, and figures that there is some reason beyond his family's skills at persuasion for why they sell so well.
That said, Tarlok is not the most honest merchant. Lying comes easily to him, though it is certainly not all he does with himself and he is very willing to trick or cheat customers where he sees fit. He is aware, however, of right and wrong, and likes to solidly fall onto the side of right. Lying and cheating others is not right, and Yaeli customers will find that he and his family are... mostly... fair and usually have good quality goods. He is, also, willing to deal with Non-Yaeli who don't appear to be about to kill him. Their access to special, spiritual, sacred, and new materials is important for any merchant. However, he has no qualms with trying to cheat them. After all, they are monsters, invaders on his land. He'll squeeze them dry if he can. Or even kill them, if he needs to.
When he slips into wrongdoing, however, no matter how wrong that may be, Tarlok does not feel guilt. It does not plague him, or change his opinions about others, or anything at all, really. Tarlok takes credit for his actions and stands behind them matter what they are, and rejects any attempt to force him into repentance of any sort.
Tarlok also stands solidly behind a select few people. For these people, he is willing to follow them wherever they may go and offer his support as needed. His smooth smile and charming words are at their disposal, and his goods are at their service for a discount. For these select few, he is willing to go the extra mile for them if he has to. Even if it means to fight or to kill.
Tarlok, though willing to do these things, is not naturally a fighter. He would rather solve a confrontation with words and a smile than blood and violence. He simply prefers to leave that mess to others, and is better at nonviolent confrontation. Rarely, if ever, will he instigate a physical altercation, though he has been known to stand his ground and argue.
However, if pushed into a situation where he must be violent, he will not go meekly into the night. He carries a dagger and he knows how to use it well enough to hold his own in a fight. However, being with a partner of some nature who can protect him is preferable to being alone. Actually, anything is preferable to isolation for him. A cheerful, tricky person, Tarlok will go to great lengths – including tricking, cheating, or making a deal with an outsider – to remain protected and accompanied. Of course, outsiders being monsters and potential avenues for half-believed in curses, they are low on his list, but they are on the list, and he would be willing to deal with them if it meant that he – and his friends – survived.
In all, Tarlok is tricky and cunning, and even cruel if it comes to it, but you always know that, in the thick of it, he is on your side.
Tarlok's family has been in the business of trading talismans and medicinal (spiritual and otherwise) materials for as long as anyone can remember. As the only surviving child of his parents, and as a symbol of their renewed luck, Tarlok was expected to follow in their footsteps. Some children might chafe under such an expectation forced upon them, but it suited Tarlok perfectly.
Promising him off to a suitable person was also a matter of tradition and, though he apparently preferred males over females (to an extent), the most suitable one was Taillte, the daughter of a friend of his father's who sold dyes to the family for a discount. The engagement was to forge a deeper connection between the families and their businesses, and this, too, he was fine with. After all, he knew he was valuable to his family, and he didn't have a lover or anything to conflict with the marriage, he was not adverse to females, and he was not opposed to a partnership of this nature. Plus,he happened to like her the few times he had met her, and she was pretty. At the very least, she made for a good friend, and that was enough for him.
So, despite weighty expectations and the heavy responsibility of taking on the family business, Tarlok lived a carefree life even as he met those expectations more or less dead on. Life was looking to be comfortable and profitable and generally pleasant for him... And then the outsiders came.
Tarlok was anxious when he heard rumors of attacks and raids and tar-black monsters and relieved to find that his fiance was safe (the others of her settlement, he could more or less not care about). His family took her in and he's been keeping an eye on her ever since, and is pretty sure she's about to do something very stupid on her own...
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2016 7:24 am
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Notes: The funny thing is that Tarlok's siblings (2 before and 4 after him) died primarily in early childhood or infancy of mysterious illnesses and miscarriages, a run of bad luck that was darkly ironic for a family of talisman merchants. They spun it to their customers as many curses directed at them by witches frustrated by the effectiveness of their talismans, and they were very good at spin. Still, they prayed and did as many public devotions as possible and when Tarlok actually reached prenticehood successfully and healthily, they immediately touted him as evidence that they were free of their curse and their talismans worked. He actually has a baby brother now, born long after, and that child is touted, also, as proof of luck.
Tarlok thinks of himself as lucky, and the fact that he, alone, out of his siblings survived this long, makes him a little arrogant and self centered. While he isn't exactly spiritual, this contributes to his impression that clearly there is something to the talismans, even if they really are just beads and knots and wood.
He and his baby brother are not close. No particular reason for it – they just are not.
The loss of the siblings, the luck of his survival, and his little brother's good fortune are more or less just whispered rumors about his family, despite their attempts to advertise it – or perhaps because of their attempts to spin it. Either way, business is good.
At this point in time, though his personality allows him to be open to outsiders as customers, he has never met one and is wary of them. After all, they are monsters.
In theory, though, Taillte will bring him into contact with them, and his feelings on them will evolve from there.
Complete: X Born to Sell: Class Affinity Solo, 1390 words X A Day with Sebelok: Solo, 1440 words X Dark Clouds: Solo, 884 words X Chapter 9, Grave Expectations: Meta, Response
Growth Progress: Prentice to Stage 2 Class Affinity Solo: DONE 12/25 rp points (5 rp - 7 meta points need to be claimed in meta thread) 1 Completed Class Quest O
Tarlok smiled easily at the customer, relaxed and unhurried despite the person's clear wariness. The customer was like a skittish animal, on the lookout for a bad deal and ready to run at the first sign of being cheated. That was fine – Tarlok didn't plan on offering them a bad deal. In fact, he planned on convincing them that he had the best deal they would ever find.
“Oh,” he said, smiling, “I assure you, that talisman is completely plant silk – no animals harmed – and beaded with shell beads. Do you see how it's sparkling? The patterns here and here?” he gestured to the thread patterns stretched over the talisman's frame, “Perfect representations of the spell. You have, right there, an incredibly authentic, amazingly effective, perfect piece of talisman craftsmanship.”
“Really?” the person squinted at it, “It looks rough to me... are you sure this is... good quality?”
Tarlok laughed. “I assure you that everything you see there is the best! The best silk, the best shells, the best workmanship...” In truth, they were fairly third-rate materials, but a good coat of dyed plant resin and some suitably powerful blessings made up for it! Probably!
“And the threads... they're loose. Are you sure they hold a spell? Are you sure this was made by an actual craftsman? I mean...”
Tarlok glanced at the talisman. The threads weren't that loose, and it was more or less the right pattern. Clearly, the customer was trying to get him to sell it for less, or not at all. No way. This customer was paying. A lot. For this 'high quality' merchandise. “Of course it was! An expert, a true virtuoso of talismans!” Who may have been drunk at the time, but what did Tarlok care. “Why, the moment I brought this into my shop, the spirits here started treating me better, so it's clearly potent!”
“How so?”
“Oh, well, I've had this nasty cough for months. The moment I brought in this one, that cough? Gone.” This was a total lie, but an innocent one, Tarlok felt. “Actually, I was thinking about not selling it, but with something so finely crafted, I want to pass on the blessing, don't you know?” They were hooked. He could tell by the way they looked at the talisman. They were thinking about it – he needed them to think, however, with their heart instead of their head. “How about...” he named a price. Their eyes widened – yes. It was high, but for something so well-made, so clearly useful... They began to haggle down and, finally, agreed on a price. Tarlok counted the coins triumphantly, the smile still on his face. “You won't regret that buy – you got a good price for it, you know! You'll see, it's worth it's weight.” In truth, he had made a huge profit. Perhaps he had cheated them. He thought it was fair, though. Fairness, after all, was in the eye of the beholder.
And he wasn't done yet. “Since you're here...” he said, stopping them before they could leave, “Can I interest you in any of these other fine wares?” He had talismans, he had small tools, he had candies and costume jewelery. “Maybe a talisman to synergize with it? Or something to set off your lovely crystals?” he gently led them. Their resistance was waning. They trusted him.
“Maybe... just one of these...” They picked up a piece of the costume jewelery – bright and green, something to put in the hair.
“Hmm – I think blue is more your color!” he said, holding up a similar blue piece and spying another customer. “But try it on – there’s a mirror over there to see for yourself... excuse me.”
New customers appeared, a mother and a young child. The mother was, of course, buying – she was after a talisman to protect her child, now that they were entering schooling.
“I have just the thing!” he said, finding a cute little talisman. It was a simple one, made to wear around the neck and to ward off evil. He grabbed a matching lanyard – sold separately - and displayed it to them. “Well, what do you think? It'll go with your dress and keep you safe from harm. And, if you're very good,” he leaned in and whispered, “I was told, by the nice old lady who made this, that it will help you concentrate better!” it was a lie – the old lady who made it didn't say much at all, but Tarlok could see the gleam in the mother's eyes, a hope that her child would succeed and advance beyond their station in life. It was in his parent's eyes as well, for very different reasons.
“We'll take it.” the mother said, nodding.
He named a price – not too high, not too low – and she paid him on the spot. He glanced at the other customer, still trying on jewelery in the mirror. Their hands were filling with bright objects and he wondered how much he could get her to buy.
“And can I interest you...” he said, taking out a few accessories from behind the counter, “In one of these bows? They're embroidered by a talisman maker, and they help keep evil at bay, too. Not as much as a talisman, of course, but still, they do, and look at how pretty they are!” he held one of them up to the kid – a rusty red with gold embroidery, to match the red of her dress. The child nodded enthusiastically.
“I want it!” they said
Their mother nodded. “Very well. The red one.”
“And the blue one!” a little hand jabbed out, pointing to the slate grey and twilight blue ribbon, third from the left in his hand.
“Ooo!” Tarlok said encouragingly, “Very nice choice! Very nice!”
The mother grit her teeth. “Fine.” she said, “How much?”
“Oh well...” he said. Each one, he told her, went for a certain price, but for her – since she was getting two and he really respected her desire to protect her wonderful child (who was, at the moment, picking at the threads of their dress, waiting to get their bows and move on), he could let then go for... a different amount.
Too high.
The lady bristled, and Tarlok quickly started the haggling. Anything to keep her there. Anything to make sure that the insistent desires of her child were enough to get her to hand over her hard-earned coin. Eventually, he let it go. The price he got was less than he had hoped, but as he watched them walk out the door and waved goodbye to them, he knew that it wasn't bad. Sometimes you didn't win big. So long as you traded on a profit, and had a good margin, things were fine.
A new customer entered, looking through the talismans hanging in the storefront. He smiled at them, preparing to walk over and talk to them, when the other customer returned. They looked embarrassed, holding out a handful of jewelery. “H...how much for these?” they asked.
Tarlok counted it up in his head, and then calculated how much they were likely to have after paying for their new talisman. He gave them a price – for them all, he said. It was a fair price, a good bit higher than he'd paid for all of them (which was very little indeed), but not what he'd thought about charging for them. They nodded. Coin changed hands.
Tarlok turned to the other customer, to see that they had left – not a problem. He'd seen the look in their eye. They would be back, and if not, it wasn't the end of the world. There were always customers for the peace of mind a talisman could bring, and always people who could be duped into paying more for less.
Taking advantage of the break, he started to count out and store the money he had made – a good take. Already, the day was good, and it wasn't over yet... his kind of day. He relaxed behind the counter.
Yes. He was born to be a merchant, and this was the life for him.
Tarlok smiled at the chirpy, bright voice and took the little hand that sought his. “We're going to get more stuff.”
“Why?” Tarlok looked into the little boy's bright, huge, innocent eyes, and he couldn't help but grin.
“To sell it, of course!” He gave the boy's hand a tug, “Lets go!”
But of course, his little brother, Sebelok, knew that. He was born into the family trade, just as Tarlok was, a merchant by blood and by fate. Buying and selling was their life, their allegiance to the coin and the investment and to growing their family's empire. That was what mattered in life, and it worked for Tarlok. He wondered how it felt for Sebelok, being a miracle on top of that.
And Sebelok was, undeniably, their parent's miracle child. Or, maybe, a miracle had occurred with him. Every sibling that Tarlok had ever known, including himself, had been sick through their childhood. Tarlok had been the only one to survive that time, and he was pretty sure that was because the spirits had gotten tired with the rest of his family. He felt lucky to be as healthy as he was now, and every easy breath was a blessing. But Sebelok... was well. He was the healthiest child that Tarlok had ever seen.
There he was, hand in Tarloks, smiling and happy and completely oblivious to just how lucky he was. Oh, he was spoiled. Their parents and aunts and uncles lavished their love on Sebelok, but Tarlok could bet that the kid had no idea why.
“Are we buying talismans, Tartar?” Sebelok asked, happily swinging his – and Tarlok's – arm back and forth.
“Yeah, talismans. Theres a trio of old biddies that make good-looking ones, and I think they'll have more for us...” he chinked a bag of coin at his hip, “And they'll want to negotiate.”
“But you'll get them down to nothing, right Tartar?” Sebelok's enthusiasm always threw Tarlok off a little. He was too happy, too healthy, too innocent. He was obnoxiously sweet and perfect, any family's dream child. It was annoying.
“Yeah.” Tarlok said, smiling wryly with the side of his mouth, “Yeah, we'll see.” He hoped his bartering skills were up to snuff – those old crafters were canny and experienced. He could take them on for sure, but whether he would come out flush with a deal or defeated, he wasn't sure. He was looking forward to it, though, and to the new stock he could sell in the family's store.
Sebelok's joyful smile was infectious. Tarlok found himself grinning at his little brother's honest delight. He was pretty sure that he was Sebelok's favorite person, and he had no idea why. Surely, the boy had other people who liked him more than Tarlok did. Not that Tarlok disliked his brother – it was hard to dislike such an unambiguously good kid. He just didn't worship the ground that he walked on, or feel any desire to smother Sebelok with attention and affection. This was a business trip. Though it would be fun, this was purely for educational purposes – Sebelok would have to learn these skills for himself, too.
That was why Tarlok was taking him with him, because there was no better way to teach than to show. Some of the adults wanted to shelter Sebelok, to stuff him full of book knowledge and stories so that when he went out into the apparently terrifyingly dangerous world (to them) he would be armed and ready for it. Tarlok thought that was just silly. Books and advice were for idiots and scholars. Real people learned on their feet, with every word in negotiation, every strand knotted into a talisman, and every coin that fell into their hands from another's. Those were the lessons that stuck. The rest of it... well, for Tarlok, they went in one ear and out the other...
“We're here.” he announced to his brother, knocking on the door, “I hope you ladies are decent!” he called out before entering. He was greeted with cackles and grins.
“When are we ever decent, young Mhirva lad?” they said, calling him by his family name.
“Never.” he returned an offered hug and gestured to his brother. “This is Sebe – the infamous Sebelok Mhirva.”
“Infamous?” The child blinked at him, pursing their lips. They didn't know the word, but they knew enough to know that it wasn't good. Tarlok winked at him to let him know that it was a joke, and he seemed to calm down.
“Well!” one of the old ladies cooed over Sebelok as her (sisters? Companions? Tarlok wasn't sure...) watched, “What a pleasure to meet you at last! Sit, sit... Henra, bring them some tea.”
“Yes.” said the third lady, as one of them, Henra, bustled about with cups and kettle, “You can't do business without tea.” She was the only one who hadn't left her seat, instead electing to knot and weave at the talisman she was working on. It looked elaborate. It looked expensive. It would sell for a lot.
Tarlok nodded. He didn't agree – there were plenty of times to do business without tea. The only true essential was money, and that could be replaced with other goods, too. But now was not the time or the place to say that. “It would be uncivilized otherwise!” he said enthusiastically, accepting his tea and breathing in it's aroma. “Mmm... delicious.”
“Careful, dear, it's hot.” said the lady, handing tea to Sebelok. Sebelok accepted his tea, alert as he watched the women. Their movements were precise, seemingly amiable but they were in formation, not unlike swamp-sharks after prey. Tarlok smiled at them, pleasantly, but he was about as predatory. It was good that Sebe was picking up on this. A battle of wills was about to begin, and they were forming up their lines.
“So.” Tarlok said, blowing on his tea and setting it down on a plate to cool, “Lets get down to business.”
-----
“Did you win?” Sebelok asked, as they left the old ladies.
“Sure.” Tarlok said, a little cryptically. They had managed to buy a nice set of new talismans to sell, and they hadn't spent all of their money doing it, but it had been hard going for a while. In the future, Tarlok would have to keep an eye on the one that seemed to stay out of things. She had come in from the metaphorical behind with a battery of good excuses, good reasons, and good logic for not going any lower than they had. It had completely stopped him from haggling any further, as effectively as a shieldwall against arrows. He'd taken the loss, and had managed to scrape through the rest of it. But he was fine with that – they were tough ladies, he'd learned a thing or two, and – just as importantly – Sebe had learned a thing or two.
Sebe had probably learned things better than Tarlok had, at that age. Sebe seemed to just be better at everything. Tarlok didn't know about smarter or stronger, but he picked up on things fast. Too fast.
Tarlok felt uneasy about it, but he thought he should be more. Jealous, maybe, of Sebelok's skill, or of the attention he received from the adults of the family. Bitter, maybe, that of a whole brood of children, Sebelok was the only one who got to be healthy and happy and sunny in his childhood. Tarlok's childhood had been marred by the occasional illness, and sickness had taken all of the others. Sebelok – and Tarlok – had survived. Tarlok didn't feel any of those things, though.
They returned home, victorious if a little ruffled, and Sebelok gave him a hug around his knees. “I have to go, Tartar, but...” he beamed up at Tarlok, “Thank you! It was fun!”
Tarlok waved as his little brother ran off. He should be happy that Sebelok liked him so much. It was good to be liked. He should be happy that Sebelok was turning out to be such a good kid, despite being spoiled. Tarlok had seen other kids who had had just as much love and had turned into monsters. He should be jealous, angry, vindictive, bitter... Tarlok knew he should feel all sorts of things for his little miracle brother, maybe even proud.
But, as he watched Sebelok run off into the waiting arms of an aunt, Tarlok felt nothing.
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Posted: Mon May 30, 2016 1:33 pm
Dark Clouds
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Solo 884 Words
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There was thunder in the distance. Tarlok relaxed with a mug of something cool and light, the perfect thing to chase away the ever-present damp. He'd just made a great deal with a supplier, one that would echo into the future and benefit all people involved, and he felt he owed himself a break. Then again, he was always owed a break. It was less an obligation of the world to him than a whimsy he took, but he still took them frequently. After all, all work and no play made one dull, and Tarlok was anything but dull. He chewed at some street food – seasoned meat on a stick, and otherwise let life flow around him.
He had been born to be a merchant, and he would always be a merchant, but that didn't mean that he would kill himself working at it. In fact, it meant the opposite. It was his fate and birthright, but it was also his passion, and with a passion, you could take a break. In life itself, sometimes you had to take a break – that was just how life worked.
He cleaned his face with a handkerchief and leaned back, closing his eyes. He had not a care in the world. Things would turn out fine. The whispers of gossip hissed behind him, and he tuned into them, letting his conciousness drift...
“Did you hear?!”
“... Monsters. From the mainland...”
“Dead... so many dead...”
Tarlok frowned. Rumors of mainlanders had been haunting the streets of late. He didn't believe it at all – insect women and pale men and red eyed beasts in the shape of earthlings who could shift between forms at will... Even people whose skin changed color even as one watched. Absurd things like that. Clearly, indeed, the tales of someone too far in their cups. The mainlanders were legends, artificial, false. If they had existed at all, they didn't have the favor of the spirits on their side, and had probably died out.
But the rumors persisted, and Tarlok was starting to wonder if they were indeed true. And deaths...
“They landed not far from...”
“Attack...”
The whisper was faint, but Tarlok could have sworn he knew the village they referred to. His brow scrunched together in concentration. He hoped he was mistaken. Was that not Taiilte's village? His betrothed?
“Monsters raided... that's what I heard... took everything...”
Monsters. They were still unlikely, but this was different than the other rumors. This was worrying.
“I heard it from my father in law.” The same voice. “He had to flee – he moved in with us.”
“Aren't you scared”
“He's my father in law! I can't just leave him out in the cold, spirits or no...”
Tarlok opened his eyes, worry crawling under his skin and pricking him like chilled needles. That was it. Now he had to be absolutely certain that it was mere rumor. He stood and walked over to them.
“Hey, I heard what you were talking about.” he said, keeping his worry out of his voice with practiced ease, “Is it true?”
“True as yourself!” the person said, a short woman with her hair tied neatly in a bob, “You should hear it, the things he says happened!”
“The spirits are angry...” her companion mused, “I wonder what's happened to upset them so much against us all...?”
Tarlok didn't feel like talking philosophy, talisman merchant or no. “Thank you.” he said, excusing himself and heading towards home. If it was true, then they needed to prepare. If Taiilte and her family were alive and fleeing, they needed to be ready to accept them. If not... they needed to be ready for that too.
He stopped, a glitter of metal suddenly catching his eye. It was a weapon stall, brimming with knives and arrows and other such things. Tarlok normally would not look twice at such a place, not being a warrior, but the rumors had sparked something in him, an awareness of the world as it might be soon, a fear that needed sharp metal to assuage.
“How much?” he asked, for a dagger that seemed practical. He was pressed for time, so he didn't haggle as far as he could have, though he did not pay the asking price. Only a fool would pay that, and Tarlok was no fool. He needed to not be a fool.
Armed, now, with a dagger and a scabbard, Tarlok returned home, prepared for the new reality he might have to face.
As it turned out, Taiilte fled to them. They took her in, of course, and Tarlok didn't mind having her around – betrothed or no, she was his friend. The hope was that her parents would soon follow, but when it became apparent that that wasn't happening, and as more rumors of outsiders – and even sightings – began to bubble and churn in greater amounts, Tarlok hoped that Taiilte would just leave it at that.
But she didn't.
As he bade her farewell on her journey to her home village to find her parents, his hand touched the dagger, concealed at his belt, and he knew that his world would never be the same again...
Tarlok did not regret what he'd done when faced with the beast, but he did think he could have probably done something else.
His family certainly did. How could you be so reckless?! they said to him, How can you try to throw away your luck like that?! There were many hugs when they heard, and much scolding.
But there was also pride. You were so brave! Some said, enviously. Maybe they wished they'd been the one to charge forward, screaming, with a dagger. You saved the priests! You are so blessed by the gods, Tarlok!
He hadn't been brave. He'd been reckless and lucky and honestly he was pretty sure that the gods would have blessed a priest, not a merchant, and would have not had this event happen in the first place. That made more sense.
In all honesty, he was a little shaken. Some of his family were excitedly discussing what it could mean for their business, and usually he'd be in there, discussing it too. But to be honest, even after the event, he was a little too shaken shaken. His smile wavered as he asked to be excused early. He lay on the bed in the family's shared rooms at the Pajore inn, exhausted. His expression melted into grim seriousness, completely at odds with the hollow chuckle that escaped his lips.
"These..." he murmured to himself, staring up at the ceiling in silence, "Will be interesting times."
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