eachdraidh | vii. unseelie locked. voice.

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vii. unseelie locked. voice.

I need extra hands for seasonal work, mages in particular; mages who can work with heat and fire, all the better. Or weather, shit. This cold is slowing down work at my spire; the Ninth, up on the coast, devilish cold even without the Roc's influence. We lost a young man to it yesterday. I need ice melted, walkways made safe, snow shovelled, water heated, just more people.

Coppers for ordinary workers, silvers for mages, as well as all my very tenderest and heartfelt sentiments of good will. Do something drastic and lasting and we'll discuss gold.

[LOG POST.]

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What's your scaffolding like? How about the workers shoes? The right equipment goes a long way.

'Ramshackle but effective' and 'of varying quality'. Why?

[There's an intent interest in his tone. It's not something he'd considered. Foolish of him, not to think longterm.]

Are these things you might correct?

Because the better the work conditions, the better the work.

(He'd say more, but then there's the question, and maybe he can work this in his favour.)

I might, for the right price.

[With a cheerful laugh which nonetheless holds an undertone of threat;]

Shit, I'll pay you what you earn, no more no less. I'm building a town out of spit and hope up here, I don't have the money nor the inclination to promise you anything else. But I believe I'm fair, and not stingy, only...sensible, and perhaps old and weary enough to be generous at times. Will you come?

(Howard's just making sure he doesn't get screwed out of money. He doesn't have much around here. He has to negotiate.)

Just making sure. (He laughs.) I'm not sure how good 'spit' is of a building material, unless you're building a honeycomb, and hope even less.

Is it possible to consult from afar? If I can see the layout, I can throw together some sketches, designs with easy to follow instructions.

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