((In response to http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=103735&highlight=#103735 - Wrong Place, Wrong Time))
"Alright, so yer sayin' that this guy has his fingers in a few more pies than just slavin', right?"
The man on the horse next to his nods, not saying anything for the moment. He hasn't said much at all, really, just answering questions with a nod or shake of the head and giving maybe one or two words occasionally. He's pretty fancily dressed, Fred guesses, for his profession, so he must be good at it. Mercenaries that do well tend to be on the - oddly - more respectable side. There must be something to that whole 'honor among criminals' thing.
Well, he ought to know that - Wraith was a criminal, of sorts, and he's one of the most honorable men Fred's met, considering the world he and Fred both came from, where you can't even trust your own mother half the fragging time.
The man's name, he's learned, is Patrick Quinn, a quiet-spoken man who hires his sword arm out to anyone that'll have him, for any job, no matter what it is, with a few exceptions - he doesn't kill women or children, or strong-arm them, and he refuses to work for slavers, so at least he has some semblance of honor. Anyone that can say that is okay by Fred.
As they're riding they pass a woman huddled inside a cloak, moving almost furtively, and as the two of them ride past she pulls the cloak close around her, concealing her features, as if afraid of being identified. Not his concern for the moment, though - he's got other business to attend to for the time being.
As they ride on out of sight of the woman, Fred speaks again, his Texan twang cutting through the silence. "Well, sir, y'all've been mighty helpful...any chance y'got a name to go with that man's face?"
This time, the man speaks. The voice is low, bass, and as musical as you'd expect from someone that could be termed a 'pretty boy,' back where Fred was from. "Yes...his name is Hector Gabrielli. Aside from slaving, he's also a trader of black market stuff - weapons, drugs, the like. He tried to hire me, once, a couple weeks back - something about taking out a pair of warriors that had crossed him when he was trying to retrieve three runaway slaves - but I told him he was out of luck, and I don't do the kind of dirty work he's asking for."
Fred chuckles, nodding. "Probly a good thang, m'friend...that pair I know real well, and while I don't doubt yer skills, y'might've found them t'be a bit more than you could've handled. That's not here or there, though - you seem an honorable sort, and we thank ya for the info. Can we pay ya anything for it?"
The man smiles, shaking his head politely. "No, friend - I personally have no problem giving free information if it will lead to the downfall of a man like that."
Fred brings his horse to a halt, then, turning to face his informant and extending his hand to him. "Well sir, then yer help is mightily appreciated. Should ya need anything, give us a call, y'hear?"
The man grins and takes the offered hand as he turns his horse about, clearly looking to head back to town. "My pleasure, Frederick. I look forward to the time we meet again."
And with that, they head their separate ways, Fred heading out of town, Patrick heading into it. As Fred rides away, he grins. Nice guy, he thinks.
He has no way of knowing that he won't be seeing Patrick ever again.
"Alright, so yer sayin' that this guy has his fingers in a few more pies than just slavin', right?"
The man on the horse next to his nods, not saying anything for the moment. He hasn't said much at all, really, just answering questions with a nod or shake of the head and giving maybe one or two words occasionally. He's pretty fancily dressed, Fred guesses, for his profession, so he must be good at it. Mercenaries that do well tend to be on the - oddly - more respectable side. There must be something to that whole 'honor among criminals' thing.
Well, he ought to know that - Wraith was a criminal, of sorts, and he's one of the most honorable men Fred's met, considering the world he and Fred both came from, where you can't even trust your own mother half the fragging time.
The man's name, he's learned, is Patrick Quinn, a quiet-spoken man who hires his sword arm out to anyone that'll have him, for any job, no matter what it is, with a few exceptions - he doesn't kill women or children, or strong-arm them, and he refuses to work for slavers, so at least he has some semblance of honor. Anyone that can say that is okay by Fred.
As they're riding they pass a woman huddled inside a cloak, moving almost furtively, and as the two of them ride past she pulls the cloak close around her, concealing her features, as if afraid of being identified. Not his concern for the moment, though - he's got other business to attend to for the time being.
As they ride on out of sight of the woman, Fred speaks again, his Texan twang cutting through the silence. "Well, sir, y'all've been mighty helpful...any chance y'got a name to go with that man's face?"
This time, the man speaks. The voice is low, bass, and as musical as you'd expect from someone that could be termed a 'pretty boy,' back where Fred was from. "Yes...his name is Hector Gabrielli. Aside from slaving, he's also a trader of black market stuff - weapons, drugs, the like. He tried to hire me, once, a couple weeks back - something about taking out a pair of warriors that had crossed him when he was trying to retrieve three runaway slaves - but I told him he was out of luck, and I don't do the kind of dirty work he's asking for."
Fred chuckles, nodding. "Probly a good thang, m'friend...that pair I know real well, and while I don't doubt yer skills, y'might've found them t'be a bit more than you could've handled. That's not here or there, though - you seem an honorable sort, and we thank ya for the info. Can we pay ya anything for it?"
The man smiles, shaking his head politely. "No, friend - I personally have no problem giving free information if it will lead to the downfall of a man like that."
Fred brings his horse to a halt, then, turning to face his informant and extending his hand to him. "Well sir, then yer help is mightily appreciated. Should ya need anything, give us a call, y'hear?"
The man grins and takes the offered hand as he turns his horse about, clearly looking to head back to town. "My pleasure, Frederick. I look forward to the time we meet again."
And with that, they head their separate ways, Fred heading out of town, Patrick heading into it. As Fred rides away, he grins. Nice guy, he thinks.
He has no way of knowing that he won't be seeing Patrick ever again.