Diamonds & Rust

Tthin, wispy tendrils of smoke drifted out of the yawning doorway, carved from the rock face and shaded by cliffs above, as Rekke stood in the entrance. The reeking odor of burnt hide and singed hair assaulted her nose, making her want to vomit over the edge of the walkway behind her into the Scar below. Grafting parlors were infamous for their stench, able to invert even the most iron-clad of stomachs, often times made in-house. Why is it always my job to shake down these scumlords for their debts, when there are much larger ores to crack?

She stepped into the lair of augmentation with a heavy sigh, jiggling with every step as jewelry danced from swinging wrists and bobbing earlobes. Inside, there was a clear split down the center indicating who belonged where. On the right, lavishly decorated with gilt linings, framed portraits of important men long dead, and flowers not native to the Scar, was for those that never went without. Looking to her left, it was hardly furnished, let alone decorated. Benches carved from the stone walls lay bare, while little more than a clay pot with a red Gem Flower found in the mines below rested on a small, rickety table.

Two men there on the left, both wearing coarse and tattered garments long-stained from their tours in the caves, leaned back against the rough hewn stone walls with their eyes closed. Both of the men wore their hair long, but neither had bothered to comb through it in what looked like years. One of them had a rusted, iron plate cleaved to his right cheek, the flesh visibly melted around the edges, and the other wore a slim brass panel along the contours of his left forearm. Each one had small rubies set into their metals, each glinting softly through the stinking haze in the dim light of the waiting room of the parlor.

Muffled screams echoed from her right, tearing her lingering gaze from the miners back to the well-to-do side of the establishment. A single door with an elaborate and gaudy doorknob stood between a pair of plump loveseats drowning in pillows, the screams eventually dying down. She noticed then, blended into the plush cushioning of the seating arrangements, was what looked to be an extremely wealthy dwarvish individual swaddled in robes that rivaled the couch itself in terms of fluff. They had multiple different colored gemstones weaved into a massive, braided beard, and a shimmering silver sheet swept across their forehead, studded by a single, circular opal set in the center between two well-cut diamonds.

“Thuran! Get your slimy , debt-riddled, two-faced, bastard of an ass out here, now!” Rekke shouted at the closed door, crossing her arms across her chest.

The man being swallowed by upholstery and his own robes flinched back at her harsh tone, sinking down into he depths of the soft fabrics to avoid her scorn. A moment passed and the door swung open, a column of smoke pouring from the opening that reeked of scorched flesh and hot steel. Standing in the door was a heavyset man—more wide than he was tall—with a gleaming, bald head that glistened with sweat. Sparkling diamond piercings jutted from his nostrils, and the backs of his hands bore sheets of shining gold grafted to the back, each set with various precious gems in decorative patterns.

“Oh, oh! Lady Otkel! I-I-I had no idea you'd be visiting my humble establishment today,” stammered Thuran. “I was told it would be in several weeks, aha, you see I—”

“The banking house of Auti & Asgaut required a payment on your exorbitant loans last month, of which you deferred,” Rekke cut him off, holding up one bangled arm. “They now request you provide both month's payment, now, and again on the same day the following month.”

“Ah, but, your Gildship, I-I-I” Thuran wheedled, showing his palms in a placating gesture, “cannot make such a large payment, you see, I would—”

“The banks do not care about your situation, only what you loaned and what they are owed. If the sum is not paid in full by sundown, well, let's just say,” Rekke sneered, “your hands would make for fine collateral.”

The man's face paled, the already present beads of sweat beginning to trickle down in rivulets of wet down his cheeks. A low, pained moan emanated from the room beyond as the sounds of the bellows of a forge heated an unseen length of metal for another grafting. Thuran coughed, pulling at the collar of his tight, stained shirt that left little to the imagination of what lay beneath, looking up at the rocky ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“Tell your employers that it will be on his desk within the hour, you can count on that, L-Lady Otkel! I-I-I do not wish to be on the wrong side of the banking clans, believe you me!

Rekke nodded, the ghost of a grin spreading across her face. She waved one hand as she turned on her heel and marched towards the exit, much like an empress of old would after scolding a courtesan for misbehaving. Her jewelry heralded her every step, bracelets and bangles jangling with every swing of her arms, earrings tinkling as her head bobbed in her stride. Not every client was as easy as that oaf Thuran, she knew, but she was glad he was the only one on the agenda for the day. Perhaps some time in the thermal spas as a reward for a job well done?