Quentin
Quentin is one of those men who seems to have been born with a ledger in one hand and a dagger in the other. In the back alleys of Aria he is whispered about as a crime boss, smuggler, and all-round dealer in things that should never make it through customs. Abroad, he is little more than a rumor, though one backed by very real disappearances of goods, coin, and sometimes the poor sods who asked too many questions.
For Pen Ding, however, Quentin is no shadowy legend. He is the man who once stood as mentor, the crooked hand that showed him the ropes of smuggling, bribery, and the fine art of not getting caught. Where Pen once saw opportunity, Quentin showed him how to make it profitable. Where Pen might have hesitated, Quentin taught him hesitation is best left to the corpses of your rivals. Every instinct Pen has when it comes to the underworld is a relic of Quentin’s lessons.
No one is entirely certain where he came from—some claim he was a bastard scion of a noble house, others that he was a dock rat who slit the throat of his first captain with a fishhook. What is certain is that by the time Pen came under his wing, Quentin already commanded respect and fear in equal measure. He knew the ports, the watchmen, the merchants, and how to make each one serve his interests, whether by gold, promise, or threat.
Over the years, he built his smuggling empire into one of the most sophisticated networks in Ticossia. Weapons, drugs like Somnithane, even people themselves—all passed through Quentin’s invisible channels. He had safehouses hidden in plain sight, and more than one official ledger that showed crates of “miscellaneous vegetables” entering port, when in fact the only vegetables were the guards paid to look the other way.
Now Quentin’s empire finds itself squeezed. Medacnan’s Security Bureau has marked his people for dismantling, while Bravia’s civil war threatens his shipping lines, and the Shadowed Blades under Velenar Drak’tharm are circling hungrily for a chance to take their slice of the pie.
Despite all that, Quentin remains a dangerous and calculating man. He has always thrived under pressure, and where other lords of the underworld would crumble, he grows sharper, meaner, and more determined. He has charm enough to raise a glass with you, and coldness enough to cut your throat before you finish drinking. The only thing he has ever truly believed in is profit, and the only altar he has ever bowed to is made of gold.
What makes Quentin most dangerous of all is that he is not just another crime boss. He is Pen’s mentor, the man who shaped him. Every choice Pen makes against Quentin will carry the weight of betraying his own teacher, while every concession risks being dragged back into the old ways he thought he had left behind. In that sense, Quentin is not merely a foe or an ally. He is the embodiment of Pen’s past—a past that refuses to stay buried.
For Pen Ding, however, Quentin is no shadowy legend. He is the man who once stood as mentor, the crooked hand that showed him the ropes of smuggling, bribery, and the fine art of not getting caught. Where Pen once saw opportunity, Quentin showed him how to make it profitable. Where Pen might have hesitated, Quentin taught him hesitation is best left to the corpses of your rivals. Every instinct Pen has when it comes to the underworld is a relic of Quentin’s lessons.
No one is entirely certain where he came from—some claim he was a bastard scion of a noble house, others that he was a dock rat who slit the throat of his first captain with a fishhook. What is certain is that by the time Pen came under his wing, Quentin already commanded respect and fear in equal measure. He knew the ports, the watchmen, the merchants, and how to make each one serve his interests, whether by gold, promise, or threat.
Over the years, he built his smuggling empire into one of the most sophisticated networks in Ticossia. Weapons, drugs like Somnithane, even people themselves—all passed through Quentin’s invisible channels. He had safehouses hidden in plain sight, and more than one official ledger that showed crates of “miscellaneous vegetables” entering port, when in fact the only vegetables were the guards paid to look the other way.
Now Quentin’s empire finds itself squeezed. Medacnan’s Security Bureau has marked his people for dismantling, while Bravia’s civil war threatens his shipping lines, and the Shadowed Blades under Velenar Drak’tharm are circling hungrily for a chance to take their slice of the pie.
Despite all that, Quentin remains a dangerous and calculating man. He has always thrived under pressure, and where other lords of the underworld would crumble, he grows sharper, meaner, and more determined. He has charm enough to raise a glass with you, and coldness enough to cut your throat before you finish drinking. The only thing he has ever truly believed in is profit, and the only altar he has ever bowed to is made of gold.
What makes Quentin most dangerous of all is that he is not just another crime boss. He is Pen’s mentor, the man who shaped him. Every choice Pen makes against Quentin will carry the weight of betraying his own teacher, while every concession risks being dragged back into the old ways he thought he had left behind. In that sense, Quentin is not merely a foe or an ally. He is the embodiment of Pen’s past—a past that refuses to stay buried.
Children
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