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- Joined
- Jan 4, 2015
Arthur Munchhausen could be called anything but attractive. A largely sedentary life of eating rich food and drinking way too much had taken a heavy toll on the middle aged man, making him appear almost twenty years older than he really was. Death however didn't worry him all that much, being that the moneylender had an agreement with forces that most mortals don't even know exists, let alone try to make any deals with.
His bald head was rimmed by greasy, long red scraggily hairs, as he sat in his counting room, marveling at the many stacks of coins he had surrounding him. To acquire wealth had been his one desire, his one purpose, because with wealth, true power came. That was what his father had always told him. Financial freedom was true freedom. "At least it is, so long as you are alive" He murmured to himself, and to the aged oil painting of his father, hanging on the wall before him.
The ruins of his midday meal littered the trays on his desk, with a half full tankard made of fine platinum sitting next to them. He drank deeply from it, grunting, as the fine vintage slid down to his gullet. Normally wine is drank from a smaller vessel, such as a goblet, and sipped, savored. Arthur however was not satisfied with moderation, and took everything to excess. Having money, and being paid was all that was good in life to him, and having to pay even the
slightest amount, even for just expenses, was something he loathed.
And so, using his nearly limitless fortune, he had set up a business as a pawn broker. He would lend his money to someone in need, and in exchange, they would offer something they possess as collateral. They would then pay the money back, plus a little more, or they would forfeit their goods. Arthur had no real sense of empathy, and ruled his financial empire with an iron fist. He likewise dealt in "Favors" to people who could afford them. These favors could be as simple as having a certain item stolen by less that reputable associates of his, to outright assassinations, and beyond.
"My lord." A raspy voice called out into the counting room. "You have a visitor in your secondary offices. A young woman, who says she must really speak with you." Its owner muttered to the Moneylender. Arthur wiped his plump, chicken grease covered fingers upon his fine doublet, and licked his lips in a most unsavory manner. "Your thoughts Malon?" He asked of his assistant, and equally unpleasant older elven male, who wore a jeweled encrusted eye-patch over his left eyes, and sported a stringy, off white beard, and several missing teeth.
Malon turned his head and spat into a nearby brass cuspidor. The elf did love his finely minced chewing tobacco. He then looked back to Arthur, and shrugged. "She is quite lovely Art." He rasped. "But judging from her clothing, she likely has little of value, besides the usual..." Malon paused, and looked to the ceiling with his one remaining eye, yellowed from also leading a life of excess. He then looked back to Arthur, flashing a few remaining rotted teeth in a smile that reeked. "...offering of flesh."
An ethereal hiss permeated the air, making both men flinch. Malon walked briskly to the open heavy double doors to the south, with Arthur hot on his heels. The doors however, slammed shut, just a hair away from the moneylender's nose. The hiss then formed into words, if they could be called that. It was a cold, dark voice, from beyond the realm that was beyond the grave. "You will take no such offering from this young female, Lord Munchausen." It hissed, not really audible in the prime material plane, but somewhere in his mind, just at the edge of his mind's ears.
Arthur just whimpered, as he slowly turned, looking off in the direction of a warehouse that was at the edge of his estate, a place he would just as soon forget. He clasped his chubby hands over his mouth, as the horrid voice in his mind continued. "You will listen to her, and let her tell you her tale of need. Whatever it is, it will not matter. " The voice grated at his thoughts, like hundreds of bony hands with razor sharp fingernails. His eyes watered, as he looked off out the window towards the storage area, where he kept that horrible artifact, as a condition of the deal he made with dark powers of the past, for an extended life.
He just nodded, weeping, as he sank to his knees, muttering something unintelligible. The doors behind him unlatched, and fell open, their hinges creaking with a menacing, evil ambiance all of their own.
His bald head was rimmed by greasy, long red scraggily hairs, as he sat in his counting room, marveling at the many stacks of coins he had surrounding him. To acquire wealth had been his one desire, his one purpose, because with wealth, true power came. That was what his father had always told him. Financial freedom was true freedom. "At least it is, so long as you are alive" He murmured to himself, and to the aged oil painting of his father, hanging on the wall before him.
The ruins of his midday meal littered the trays on his desk, with a half full tankard made of fine platinum sitting next to them. He drank deeply from it, grunting, as the fine vintage slid down to his gullet. Normally wine is drank from a smaller vessel, such as a goblet, and sipped, savored. Arthur however was not satisfied with moderation, and took everything to excess. Having money, and being paid was all that was good in life to him, and having to pay even the
slightest amount, even for just expenses, was something he loathed.
And so, using his nearly limitless fortune, he had set up a business as a pawn broker. He would lend his money to someone in need, and in exchange, they would offer something they possess as collateral. They would then pay the money back, plus a little more, or they would forfeit their goods. Arthur had no real sense of empathy, and ruled his financial empire with an iron fist. He likewise dealt in "Favors" to people who could afford them. These favors could be as simple as having a certain item stolen by less that reputable associates of his, to outright assassinations, and beyond.
"My lord." A raspy voice called out into the counting room. "You have a visitor in your secondary offices. A young woman, who says she must really speak with you." Its owner muttered to the Moneylender. Arthur wiped his plump, chicken grease covered fingers upon his fine doublet, and licked his lips in a most unsavory manner. "Your thoughts Malon?" He asked of his assistant, and equally unpleasant older elven male, who wore a jeweled encrusted eye-patch over his left eyes, and sported a stringy, off white beard, and several missing teeth.
Malon turned his head and spat into a nearby brass cuspidor. The elf did love his finely minced chewing tobacco. He then looked back to Arthur, and shrugged. "She is quite lovely Art." He rasped. "But judging from her clothing, she likely has little of value, besides the usual..." Malon paused, and looked to the ceiling with his one remaining eye, yellowed from also leading a life of excess. He then looked back to Arthur, flashing a few remaining rotted teeth in a smile that reeked. "...offering of flesh."
An ethereal hiss permeated the air, making both men flinch. Malon walked briskly to the open heavy double doors to the south, with Arthur hot on his heels. The doors however, slammed shut, just a hair away from the moneylender's nose. The hiss then formed into words, if they could be called that. It was a cold, dark voice, from beyond the realm that was beyond the grave. "You will take no such offering from this young female, Lord Munchausen." It hissed, not really audible in the prime material plane, but somewhere in his mind, just at the edge of his mind's ears.
Arthur just whimpered, as he slowly turned, looking off in the direction of a warehouse that was at the edge of his estate, a place he would just as soon forget. He clasped his chubby hands over his mouth, as the horrid voice in his mind continued. "You will listen to her, and let her tell you her tale of need. Whatever it is, it will not matter. " The voice grated at his thoughts, like hundreds of bony hands with razor sharp fingernails. His eyes watered, as he looked off out the window towards the storage area, where he kept that horrible artifact, as a condition of the deal he made with dark powers of the past, for an extended life.
He just nodded, weeping, as he sank to his knees, muttering something unintelligible. The doors behind him unlatched, and fell open, their hinges creaking with a menacing, evil ambiance all of their own.
