Open The Trenches Kreehold Mercenaries I Flodeuo Eto

[Callisto Bluemoon]

The rattle and scrape of activity inside the new Kreehold Barracks heralded the final stretch of operations as the building hurtled into the day of its rebirth. The complex, having been chosen this time, exceeded the scope of its previous iterations not for ostentatious tastes so much as practicality. Lodgings for the barracks now existed separate from the main building to accommodate both soldiers and officers, extending around the courtyard training ground and its well-stocked armouries. The main building itself, within which the offices and common spaces coincided, were where the final touches were being placed. Those with previous connections to the Kreehold, reinstated to previous ranks, polished and placed and repainted alongside Commerce hires keen for an excuse to take a day out of the offices during the wintertime, when noses were runny and the hours long. It had all come at no insignificant cost, but Callisto had been cautious to budget and draw from his own savings to cover the expense under the certainty that work would bring a return on the investment in due time. A city like this always had work for the enterprising, after all.

Reinstating the Kreehold had been a risky decision, potentially a signal to other Ministries of his intentions, but the wolverine knew that any significant choice would be met with due suspicion regardless. Had he sunk his claws into the Furotazzis as the only approved faction under Commerce it could just have easily undermined his legitimacy in the courts after Vito’s tenure. That was not to say the Minister of Commerce had no designs in mind for the Furotazzis: he was merely biding his time to arrange a meeting with the beasts heading the family. The Kreehold were an operation he could make visible, could send to Niceties gatherings as easily as Misanthropy’s without the reputation already accumulated by Vito’s legacy. Furthermore the Kreehold were something of a vanity for Callisto; a legend from seasons past he found almost romanticised in its retelling in books and letters. There was something of a duty as MinoComm to bring back such a prestigious part of the Imperium’s history into the public sphere once again.

To do so adequately, though, he needed to swell the numbers. Word had been put out, both strategically and overtly, to attract a swathe of beasts for various roles within the re-fledged faction. Whispers in underground rings spoke of a need for soldiers and captains; posters advertised the opportunity for beasts with any creative talent from lockpicking to publishing to earn part-time coin as Artisans; training grounds and dockyards exchanged coy commentary on the open spaces for the more specialist roles. A new Captain would cause a stir.

Thick claws delicately plucked a platycodon from a vase of the purple flowers and Callisto inspected the delicate plant for a moment as he paced through the common areas towards the front offices. The year was ending, the seasons turning as the wheel rolled itself into another year: it was a time for change and rebirth, and what better way to celebrate a new beginning than with one of their own? An open bar was arranged for the day and dispensation given to allow interested parties to gather in the common spaces just for the day before they became accessible only to Kreehold Mercenaries. His ear flicked as somewhere above a metallic ping and a curse told him that somebeast had the enviable task of nailing up the very few remaining Kreehold artefacts.

Fearne lingered by the doorway to the Captain’s office, Callisto’s temporary workplace, and offered a small curtsey as the Minister approached. “Sir, all the deliveries are here and somebeast should be at the bar within the hour. I think the first new recruits will be along shortly.”

“Good work. I’ll leave the door open, but send them through when they get here.” He patted his aide’s shoulder and pressed the platycodon into her paw before shambling into the office. Fearne, having herself no interest in the Kreehold but to serve her Minister until it was established, waited until his back was turned before slipping it beneath the first page of her clipboard. She pushed her glasses back up her nose and stared ahead down the corridor, wondering just what manner of beast was due to arrive this day.

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

The invitation had been unnerving for a number of reasons. First, it had been addressed to Falun and Marianna by name, delivered to the Lilting Lily, the tavern that served as a front for their operations. A second copy was sent to the small warehouse that served as a Tazzi flophouse and the unofficial residence of the Furotazzi Siblings. A third was sent just addressed to Marianna at the tiny apartment that she had more-or-less moved into with her soon-to-be fiancé Ivo. That was the one that had spooked her the most; it indicated to her that her movements were being monitored enough for the ministries to know where she spent her nights.

After a conference with her brother and her lover, the decision had been made that she would go to the meeting alone. Falun was the one respected among the brutish side of the operation, and if anything went wrong, he and Ivo stood the best chance of masterminding a rescue mission. Ivo also knew Marianna's accounting system and would be best positioned to destroy the evidence of their endeavors in case of a raid. Marianna hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The femme entered the famed Kreehold Barracks, more than a little jittery and feeling as if she might throw up. That, at least, had become a familiar feeling now, near-daily in fact. She was swiftly discovering that every change to her body, no matter how graphically she'd heard it described, was so much worse than the complaints she'd heard from other expectant mothers before her. At least Ivo had been sympathetic and attentive; if he hadn't been, Marianna might have seriously considered throttling him by now.

She presented the invitation to a femme with an assistant's quietly resentful demeanor and a clipboard, the universal badge of the position, in her paws. "I trust that the Minister will be available to see me shortly?" she inquired.

 

[Fanjo Mercytooth]

It was about time the Kreehold properly re-established. While Fanjo didn’t mind negotiating some dealings through the Furotazzis, he had been born and raised a mercenary, platycodons sewn upon the hems of his long coat. Even without the invitation, he would have doubtless found himself here.

In completely contrasted ease to his higher-up, he sauntered into the hall, coins and trophies jangling as he approached. Seeing that he was not the first, he patiently leant against the wall a couple of yards away from Marianna, arms folded while she spoke to the aide. Had he not already known who she was, he might have eyed her a little longer.

Mercytooth wondered how this Bluemoon would run things. So long as he could earn his living the way he liked, so long as his mother’s memory wasn’t being insulted, they would get along just fine.​

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

Fearne was well used to dealing with clerical matters, it being the bread and butter of her training since joining Commerce, but when she had followed her employer from personal tasks to those at the Ministry, even so far as to assessing the right location for the Kreehold Barracks, she hadn’t expected to stay here. Callisto had spoken of a need for an office of his own; she deeply hoped that he would be spending more time in his main offices, for the mercenaries were already putting her on edge. Still, hers was but to serve and she trusted that the wolverine would take relevant steps if these beasts became too rowdy.

The white jill raised her eyes from the clipboard to take note of the strange vixen approaching, gaze darting to briefly size up the other femme before she offered a suitably awkward smile. It was difficult not to be aware of the reputation of the Furotazzi siblings, though to see her in the flash and fur was as disquieting as it was a comfort. The vixen was, after all, just a beast behind rumour and reputation, but such things had been earned.

The invitation disappeared amidst sheafs of paper. “Thank you. I believe he will be.” Motioning for Marianna to wait, she turned to the open door and only needed to utter the word “Minister?” to catch Callito’s attention. No further explanation was needed for an invitation.

Marianna’s prompt arrival was rather a boon, and the wolverine was glad of it, for her had rather hoped to settle the Furotazzi business as soon as possible. He shambled back into the corridor to offer her a courtly bow, one paw on the doorknob in preparation for inviting her inside first. “Ah, Ms Furotazzi! Just the beast I’d hoped to see. If you’d come in, please.” He inclined his head to the todd lingering close by in acknowledgement, adding: “I shall speak to you next. Now, Ms Furotazzi…”

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna bustled into the office, setting down her purse and taking a few deep breaths to settle her stomach. There was some smell in the barracks, maybe one of the cleaners they were using, that was triggering her nausea. She had to assume that this was a symptom of her condition, since she'd never before had issues with smells that way. She turned, swallowing to clear the taste of bile in the back of her throat. "Minister Bluemoon," she addressed the rising politico, keeping her tone direct and no-nonsense. "I should warn you now that, if your intent is to extract concessions through my ransom or arrest, such would be counterproductive. The Furotazzi Family would refuse all such demands, and certainly the reprisals would prove deleterious to your ministry's efforts to enforce tax laws in the seaside districts. As you are a rational beast, I presume you know as much, and will consider this meeting to be in good faith until informed otherwise."

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

Closing the door as softly as one of his size could manage, the wolverine lingered for only a moment with his paw upon the handle. He was not here to intimidate, not by intention at least, but there was a power in the implicit; a currency he would soon need to spend but wanted to hold onto for a few more seconds, at least.

He turned and gestured for Marianna to sit before prowling the Captain’s desk to settle himself down opposite, the chair creaking in mild protest of the Minister’s bulk. Steepling his paws, Callisto stared flatly at the vixen opposite for a moment, the facial twitches implying some internal calculation or other. His nose twitched. At last he grinned – sincere, if full of fangs. “My dear lady,” he began, “you were invited, not dragged in. Had I wanted you arrested or ransomed it would not be on a day like today with so many eyes. No, I’m interested in something far more productive for both of our interests.”

Amber eyes glittered as he leaned forward, resting elbows on the desk. “First, I would appreciate a little education, if you’d indulge a beast getting a more practical knowledge of this city. You have had quite the connections to Commerce in your life, have you not?”

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna sat gingerly, still eying the cat warily. So, this must have been what it was like when an agent from Misanthropy walked into Vito's office with an offer that he couldn't refuse. Being powerless was an unsettling sensation, one that threatened to disturb her still restless stomach. She avoided putting a paw to her belly; she wasn't showing yet, but she didn't want to hint at anything that would give this cat more leverage.

"Personally? No," she rebutted. "I have filed the tax forms for Obsidian Corporation, as well as for myself and my brother individually, ever since attaining age of majority, but I have never been employed or contracted with the Ministry. However," she allowed with a sigh, "you are correct in that my..." She hesitated, not sure she wanted to use 'adoptive father' to describe Vito. That would imply that he'd ever parented her, after all. "...My former employer," she settled on, "once held the role of Minister of Commerce, or, as he self-aggrandizingly attempted to rename it, 'the Minister of Industry and Security'." Her expression said exactly what she thought of that title. "If all of this is to press me for the location of the funds he supposedly stole from the treasury, I am sorry to disappoint. The truth is that the entire vault was emptied during the Winter War, prior to his tenure. Whoever has those gilders now is probably off living like a sheikh in Akef right now."

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

The wolverine’s easy smile did not shift and neither did the inscrutable intentions which sat behind it. Marianna’s hesitation spoke volumes; the surname she had kept, the simple moniker of employer. Another beast with complex familial ties. At least he was not alone as such in a city like this. Part of him wondered if he should have considered inviting her sibling along for such a meeting, but the intelligence he had gathered since arriving had pointed to Marianna being the brains of the operation. Today, that was all he was interested in.

“Interesting. Very interesting, thank you.” Callisto waved a dismissive paw, his sigh dramatically wistful. “No, I shouldn’t lose any sleep over the money, it’s long gone. Grieves me to know what use it could be put to, but such is the way of things. The ebb and flow of finance, yes? I hear you are particularly familiar with such.

“I suppose I shall cut to the chase: I am asking because of these ties this “Ministry of Industry and Security” had to Commerce. The impression I am under was that the Ministry at the time folded the Kreehold into the Furotazzis, making you one of the most knowledgeable beasts about the state of things as they stand, and would...appreciate your candour. Both as to the state of the Ministry and your Furotazzis.”

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna raised an eyebrow, stilling her tongue to comment on what she expected that money would actually go to in the paws of the Ministry of Commerce. A lifetime spent among the residents of the harborside districts had demonstrated quite aptly where Imperial priorities lay. "Well, Minister, first I would remind you that during the events of that period, I was four years old and still learning to read," she pointed out. "As such, this is entirely based on my observations of Vito's character as well as contemporaneous reports and documentation." She crossed one leg daintily over her knee, settling her paws in her lap. "The thing you must understand about Vito is that he was an old-school mobster first and foremost. Oh, he liked to imagine he was a criminal mastermind," she recalled, "but ultimately he understood that violence and intimidation got him the results he wanted. For more subtle matters, such as skullduggery and money laundering, he relied on others in his business with a more nuanced set of skills." She let the 'including me' remain implicit.

"When he assumed his official title, the Furotazzi Family largely used the Kreehold as a recruitment base. You must understand that the Kreehold itself was largely moribund, and those who clung to its carcass as it floated on the seas of fortune were eager to climb aboard the Furotazzi rescue vessel. Many of the Kreehold were opportunists drawn by the allure of gold and violence, rather than any specific ideological attachment or fondness for the Platycodon. The few who never acclimated to Vito's reign were mostly holdouts for the return of the so-called 'glory days'. When Vito left office, most of his recruits went with him into the family and fully adopted the mentality of the criminal underworld." She raised an eyebrow as she added, "I do not envy you the task of rebuilding. Giving the Kreehold their unique identity has always been an uphill battle. Without code or creed, nor any other shared bedrock other than lust for wealth, they remain, well, quite mercenary. The Furotazzis, at least, have the moniker of 'family' to fall back on, which can be quite bonding even for those without actual ties of blood or marriage." Falun was proof enough of that.

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

The set of Callisto’s ears likely offered more indication of his internal thoughts than his placid face would have liked. It was his own fault for asking for candour, of course, but he had not expected the outlook to sound quite so dire to his own assessments. The comfort of Maquistry Cape and the political furore of Amerone had insulated him too long and too well, it seemed, from the state of affairs in Bully Harbour itself. How deep-set and long the rot had been left to fester - even under his own nose.

So, it was to be an uphill battle on all fronts. So be it. He always had relished a challenge.

“It’s a maudlin picture you paint, indeed,” Callisto exhaled. After a moment he chuckled. “I always was a one for charity cases. As long as a foundation exists to build upon I have faith in rebuilding, and not just the Kreehold.” A small iridescent beetle trundled over the desk; the wolverine allowed it to wander over his claws, watching it for a few moments as he spoke.

“I’m sure you are well aware of how much reputation matters. Commerce has long seemed the ignored kit of Imperial politics, a silent partner to the goings-on. Paper-pushers and feather-counters; little more than bespectacled foppery or bullish greed without a brain for spending. A Ministry of little repute and less influence than its partners.”

He leaned forward as the beetle dropped onto a stack of papers, elbows resting on the desk and chin on paws. He stared levelly at Marianna, something in amber eyes bordering on fervent. “I intend to change this. No easy task, of course, but what better time than now? The Kreehold is ripe for forging whatever identity Commerce so chooses it to have, and Commerce, itself, can begin to grow its voice. There is opportunity to mould something new rather than step into the old. I would like you to be part of this change, you and your Furotazzi family.”

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna would later attribute the ease with which her astonishment showed on her face to the exhaustion brought on by the previous night's bout of morning sickness. She'd been expecting for some sort of control to be exerted over the Furotazzis, but not the offer of what appeared to be a merger. She carefully considered the offer, mapping out the contours of what she presumed the deal would entail. "That is... a most intriguing proposal," she allowed. Falun would throw a fit, she was sure of it; if this was to go ahead, she would need to figure out a spin to put on it.

She interlaced her pawfingers, resting her paws on the desk. "Let us say for a moment that we go through with it," she allowed. "This would mean a mission shift for both of us - but perhaps not nearly as much as either of us would think. In recent years, the Furotazzi business has been targeting, well, let us say 'certain high-value assets' owned by the insanely rich - those who have the most incentive to disguise their wealth and obscure its sources, hiding taxable income in offshore accounts in places like Akef and Callispar. I would presume, as Minister of Commerce, you would have some interest in seeing tax dodgers brought to proper account. In this, our specialty in, ahem, 'involuntary asset repossession' might well suit your purpose."

She bit her lip, debating whether or not to bring up her latest pet project. "There is one more potential avenue of cooperation," she allowed. "I have been working on a new method of trading shares in our entirely legitimate import-export business, Obsidian Corporation. Essentially, as a commodity, these stocks can be exchanged, for a nominal fee, to facilitate certain business transactions in a low-trust environment. I've even been working on a disc-shaped metal substitute token to represent a single share, for the ease of exchange." Creating an unauthorized currency was highly illegal, but ObCoin, once it got off the ground, could plausibly be argued as merely being an abstract representation of an item of value.

Marianna pressed on, making her pitch before she could incriminate herself too much. "I am certain that we are both aware that there will always be a marketplace for certain activities otherwise proscribed by certain of the other ministries. If we operate on the presumption that such activity will occur regardless of official sanction, we can come up with an alternative revenue stream in order to ensure that these transactions in the black market benefit the Ministry of Commerce. We legitimize the holding account for revenue from the sale of Obsidian stock tokens, or 'Obcoin' as I'm branding it, creating a dedicated account with the Epicurean Bank to ensure stability, and the profit from exchange fees, our commission, and so on goes to the treasury. In exchange, I can quietly make it known to the criminal underworld that ObCoin maintains its anonymity, but is backed by the full faith and credit of the Ministry of Commerce. Everyone wins: the underworld keeps their transactions off the books and untraceable, and your ministry gains a stream of income from sources that would previously have gone to great lengths to avoid taxation. What do you think?"