The Heist at the Tower of Vanti [Don Black Ticket]

[Donovan]

The Tower of Vanti stood as a monument to Etrurian wealth and extravagance. 20 stories of white marble and rumored to only be able to stay standing by the grace of old magic. Though the mercenary knew that rumors were most often just rumors. The Tower had once belonged to the royal family, generations and generations ago. But they’d gifted it to some noble house for services rendered, before that house rebelled and was swiftly slaughtered. After the destruction of that noble line, the Tower had passed from owner to owner a dozen times, until it finally found its latest master, the head of the Organa family, Neagan Organa.

The Organa’s were not noble, but they held power to rival anyone who derives power from a bloodline. Technically a part of the merchant class, they built up one of the most powerful criminal enterprises in Elibe. The Organa’s had their hands in everything, though smuggling, slaving, and drugs were their specialties.

Neagan had recognized opportunity with the rise of the Prophet, and became a vocal supporter of Kraft, garnering his favor and offering the Inquisition their families services for operations that tapped into areas of the underworld the Prophet might not want to be associated with. While officially no one in the Prophet’s circle knew how the Organa’s got their money, no one questioned the donations that they so regularly gave. Nor how they acquired such rare magic weaponry.

It was the weaponry that brought Donovan and his team to the Tower of Vanti. Scarlet, a passionate supporter of the LCO had heard rumors that the Tower was actually the vault and way station for the most valuable illegal goods. After talking to some of his less noble friends, Donovan realized Scarlett had indeed been correct.

It was time to pull a heist.

[Perun]

Perun wore a heavy jacket over his own pelt, and for him that was enough for the cold day. For Dorril and Tristram were not as secure. Tristram wore a thick jacket beneath his usual cloak, while Dorril wore a light jacket and a heavy coat, but both were still chattering their teeth. The coat Dorril wore was actually Tristram's, but once the boy had turned up in the morning in only a light jacket, there had been a forty five minute conversation between the two, that finally ended in the old bard breathing into his hands while the young swordsman sat in his coat. Both of them were huddled close to each other, staring up at the tower. Perun himself had his arms crossed over his chests, staring up to it as well.

He worried about the members of the Fellows he'd picked. Well one in particular. Dorril was a smart young man, and he was getting better with his sword every day. Still, as much as Perun liked having him with him, he wasn't as experienced as any of the other fellows. In part that was why he liked bringing him, if Mernatel was taking a large force, it would usually be a tough job, so Perun would take Dorril and watch his back. It was times like these though, that he needed someone he knew could stay calm under fire. Like Tristram.

The former court bard was perfect for something like this, he was unassuming in appearance, knew how to speak with blue bloods, and was as good with a lie as he was with a dagger. He could crawl through the shadows or ask outright where the exit was, and both would likely work. He was perfect, probably better for the job than Perun.

"So, vhat is Duno-ven be being thinking?"