Brin's Massive Mercantile (B.M.M.):

[WarOrdos]

I read the one thread concerning submissions and a notation at the end of each individual submission concerning permissions. Feel free to use anything I post in this thread in Dasaria, but, for what little it's worth I reserve all rights to my own material to use elsewhere as I see fit. (gotta love the North American legal system )

B.M.M. Organisation and character lore to follow in subsequent articles.

Cheers and enjoy.

P.S.
To keep things organised I'd like any commentary, both positive and, generally more likely , negative, concerning my posts to be made in a seperate thread somewhere else on the forums so that this thread can remain dedicated to B.M.M. articles for anyone masochistic enough to desire to scan through them all in one concise location.

Edit:

The B.M.M. characters in Dasaria are all of a "planar nature" They use several slang terms common in Union/Sigil and other planar jaunts. The following link is to a glossary of the most "common" Planescape/multi-planar slang and should serve to help understand what some of the Brin's are saying if you're not well versed in that sort of thing.

http://www.sorcerers.net/Games/Torment/glossary.php

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The sun beat down on the farmer's neck as he arched his hoe to bite deeply into the fresh soil.  "Turnip season" he thought to himself--"I hate turnip season".  Rooted deeply, the work was back breaking slow.  His neck a bright red in the late summer sun, sweat pouring from his brow he continued his work even as his mind drifted to Zachran Tane.
Tane was the county's only merchant.  An obese man more akin to a rolling ball of diseased jello than to a man.  His temperment less than ideal as he gouged the local peons with outrageous prices.  Those of his "happy customers" who elected to procure their goods elsewhere often had unfortunate accidents.  Tane would see that his bulbous fingers remained tightly closed around these peasants.

The farmer continued his labours and muttered soft curses.  He had a fair piece of land, made good coin for these parts but still couldn't afford the insane prices for the "quality goods" that Tane offered.  To buy the lower end gear, as everyone knew, would be to see your money flutter away in a broken heap of useless junk.  No, to get something to last you had to pay for it and Tane made everyone pay.  "Tane has wares from a handful of gnomish techsmiths, wares that would eliminate the need for this blasted labour.  Blighted turnips!", the farmer cursed, hitting a particularly tough knot of roots and stones.  "And yet if I went but a single league to the west I could have the same goods for half the price--if I wished to risk an 'accident'."  Spitting into the soil, a pause, and then the flash of the hoe once more--a man driven to complete his toil.
The soft grating of scales, against the substare floor, echoed down A deck as a large shadow danced on the bulkheads.  Resllissk opened the far hatch and entered the Jammer's board room, his 5 heads never ceasing to move and survey.

"Has the Tane situation been dealt with Resllissk?", the voice echoing coldly yet clearly of female origin.  "Nothing but shadows", Resllissk though to himself, "Why couldn't she just stand at her station like the other's of the conclave?"  "The matter has been corrected--little one." 
Melting from the shadows, a kender slipped into view, her body well kept, curves round appearing both sensual and yet one could clearly see the well defined corded muscle.  The Nagahydra's many heads smiled.  Resllissk had always been fond of Rin, both her occasional antics and her ruthless efficiency.  "I trust that our 'friend' Telak of the White Robes is well?  What with his endless and overzealous persecution and extermination of Baatorians in general it would be a shame if such an unfettered, and unbalanced, force for good were to have an accident.  After all, he has single handedly purged all but one settlement of Spriggans from his home county.  His good work to stomp out all evil and swing the balance firmly to the light would be shattered should he become incapacitated.", Resllissk's heads swaying softly, a series of pendulums in their own right.  Rin, slipping her dark hood back to reveal brilliant locks of shimmering crimson smiled softly and winked.  "The balance has been restored."

The peasant twitched nervously, his right arm bound in splints and sling, as Tane sat motionless, his back to him and fully concealed in his great chair.  A teak desk, dark and rich in colour, twixt the two.  "Sir, please, I almost have enough funds, can we not make an arraignment?  I cannot harvest my fields and if such is not done my family will starve when winter falls."  Still no movement from Tane.

Nervous sweat poured from his brow, his one good hand shaking in the oppressive air of Tane's office as the peasant slid forward around the great teak desk. A flash of movement in his right eye, the peasant turns and jumps a soft yell caught in his now very dry throat. “My reflection! The desk is so dark, it is almost a mirror in the fire's crimson light.” Standing by the chair he turns it slowly, “Master Tane?”. A moment's silence and the peasant does scream, his eyes wide and his complexion a spectral white.

Tane's eyes would be lifeless, if he still had eyes. His mouth stuffed full with dark rich soil, his skin blue from suffocation and yet long streams of crimson coil downwards from his nearly empty eye sockets. Resting where there once were eyes are a pair platinum pieces. Finely crafted, one side featuring some sort of star burst cluster while the reverse has naught but 3 letters: “B.M.M.”

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A mighty tusk cut deeply into the darkwood. Splinters flew as the boar continued it's rough work. Line after line, the tusks cut into the obsidian coloured plaque. This image, reflected in the facets of Regek's many eyes as his Mistress continued her labours. Far be it from the arachnid to question the toil of his Meroppi.

Regek knew his place, by his Mistress' side. Duty and loyalty, the hallmarks of his existence from the time of hatching to present--he knew he had been reared well. His mandibles chattered softly as he remembered first seeing the small halfling. Much younger than now, yet that sparkle in her eyes never dwindling with time, as is so often the case. Her crimson locks, well formed curves and midnight skin should make her the aesthetic envy of any humanoid--her adherence to the code nothwithstanding on more spiritual grounds. Regek shuddered, his day dreaming slipping to the long line of brutal berks who would dare to chastise his Meroppi. Addle-coved, barmy bodies!

Who, the arachnid wondered, could ever want for more than his Mistress. Her aura of silent command--inspirational. Tis her eyes, the way she carries herself, full of life yet with such drive and focus as to make any berk, with the will to see, tremble in awe. Yet those who do not see, who do not take the time to learn her grace are as good as in the dead book. Worthless, clueless primes one and all. *Snort.* Finished, he wondered, shaking away his simmering anger at the bigoted mistreatment levied against his Mistress.

Morphing from the form of a boar back into that of the quiet halfling, Meroppi took up her work and smiled. Her toil had not been in vain. Placing the plaque on a nearby table, she would finish it after her evening rounds--the conclave's business was not to be taken lightly.

Regek lowered himself slowly as his Mistress slipped out for her rounds. Curious about her work, he eyed the dark wood with a savage intensity. "Ah", he thought, "The Precepts! As if Mistress required any reminders. Perhaps it is for a new initiate?"

Etched into the wood:

• To remain unknown is to remain unconquerable.
  Overspecialisation is the key to extinction; adaptation is the gateway to profit and balance.
  Endurance and cunning are to be admired, but not at the cost of duty, loyalty and honour.
  Give your word rarely, limit collateral damage, but always see a contract to completion by any and all necessary means.
  Faith comes from with in; godslaves are degenerate, yet remain a viable market to honourably exploit.
  Those who hold to addle-cove feuds deserve naught but the dead book; feuds stifle both flexibility and detract from profits and duty.
  Maintain the balance.

A loud *snap* of fingers down the corridor had the spider moving quickly. Time enough for day dreaming later, there were beatles to consume and gold to be had.

[Edit] Fixed a couple typos and wanted to note there are more entries coming, actually related to Das now that I've been around "most" of the blocks--I just have to finish them.

[WarOrdos]

The finely detailed platinum scroll work glistened in the candle light. Smooth, as quick silver, the shimmering metal almost seemed to move and embrace the onyx tome.

Tebryn ran his agile fingers along the scroll work, feeling the strangely cold edges against his skin as he traced the engraved moniker "B.M.M." along the spine. The swirling crest of the cosmos, ever shifting, dominating the cover of the text had an almost hypnotic and calming effect in the flickering firelight.

Inkwell and quill at the ready, the tome gave way to his hands. Countless pages fluttered past, the mused ramblings of uncounted experiences recorded for all time, ever at the ready for review in the finest details. "Ah, details.", Tebryn thought to himself, "The hallmark of good business.".

Pausing upon a series of exquisitely drawn sketches a soft smile curled his dark lips. Entry upon entry, capturing the finest detail of the berks and cutters thus far encountered in this back water burg. "Data." he mused to himself again and yet came to pause upon one entry. Unlike the others this individual was captured in multiple sketches. His hands drifted over the sketch capturing her eyes, fingers tracing over their outlines, as his face softened slightly in the shadowy light. "This 'Ivy' bears watching." Tebryn's eyes scanned over her profile, rifling past the limited trivial details and coming to rest upon more pertinent information--the poltergeist.

The features of his face grew hard, recalling the fearful and addle-coved actions of the townsfolk. Tebryn banged his first into the table top. "Just because something is undead does not by definition make it a threat" he hissed through his teeth. Few that day would listen to reason, entertaining though it was initially, it bears the hallmarks of addle-coved clueless who would jump at their own shadows and who are likely at their cores bigots.

Sighing, "such is so often the case with these back water anthills", he mused to himself. "Berks fear that which they do not understand. By all the hells", and there are many he knew, "they do not even know it to be undead let alone a threat. They should be more concerned with their own ignorance lest they end up in the dead book by their own bigoted ineptitude."

Scanning over the journal entries, he could find no malicious intent based on the limited data he had acquired. In point of fact, the "entity" seemed more playful and whimsical than a danger, though he would not become complacent by any means. Still, it had been an entertaining afternoon and afforded the option to hand out some samples of Brin Brand Mystic Popping corn to the other 'spectators' in the town--never miss an opportunity to open a new market after all.

Quill and virgin page at the ready, Tebryn starts to write a new entry...