Calla lets out a bark of laughter at the goblin. "Ah suspect many axes are attracted to you, Anklebiter, or at least your kin. But it's possible it is indeed the blot, like Beardless suggests."
"Hmrrr," Anklebiter hums. "Maybe I'll ask for a day off, do some looking." The little Goblin cocks his head at Calla and sidles closer, grinning widely. "Pretty lady, you like to take a walk with a Goblin? We step out and see the Cyperhlords, have big magic talk. Fun date, yes?"
Lefrik laughs at that.
"Sadly, Ah've had a lot of worse company in mah life. A goblin's a step up from a devil... Plus, Ah figure we run into any trouble, they'll be so busy trying to kill the goblin, Ah won't have to worry," she says, voice gently mocking. It's not quite clear if Calla is being serious or joking.
"Oooh, cut to the quick," Anklebiter says with a sigh. Then he winks. "And that makes you walk funny, a cut quick."
The friendly banter continues through the rest of the week, as you become more comfortable working together. Often, Saul will send you out in twos and threes on various errands, though it is obvious that he is mostly just trying to make sure you are seen. The tales of your prowess seem to grow at every telling, and you are pretty sure that not all of them are true...or even happened at all. It appears Saul is banking heavily on you and your reputation.
The week passes without any further "incidents" at the Goblin, though the strange effects people are attributing to the blot seem to occur more and more frequently. A rain of fiery brimstone, frogs swarming the streets, and even a sofa-sized rat was spotted down by the docks. People stayed indoors more, and business at the Goblin slacked accordingly. Saul went into a fine depression, keeping Belana pouring drinks for him more than the customers.
Then, without warning, business turned around again. The tables were crowded, drink was flowing, and the kitchens cranked out so much food that Saul had to send Lefrik, Calla, and Bojask off to cart in more supplies. The merchant tried to squeeze Calla for more money, thinking she looked to be the weaker of the three, and quickly realized his mistake. Rubbing his aching groin, he could only hurl curses at the trio as they made off with the supplies - at a 10% discount for their troubles.
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A few days later, you are each doing various chores about the Goblin when Saul takes you aside. He asks you to go to the upper levels, where the catwalks extend over the gaming areas. Through the gauzy cloth, you have a clear view of the people gambling below, and those of you who haven't worked the catwalks before were astounded at the see-through nature of the cloth. From below, the lights in the Goblin kept the customers from seeing upwards, but from the dimly lit catwalks, the view downwards was quite clear.
Saul pointed out a bulky man with short brown hair playing at a golem table, and said "Keep your eye on him. That's Clegg Zincher, one of Riddleport's biggest crime lords. He also runs a few gambling dens that are in competition with the Goblin - though not as nice, of course. He's not normally a gamble, and he wouldn't be doing it here if he was. He must be up to something, and I want to know what."
Everyone add 20g to your sheets as your first 2 weeks' pay. You can convert that to goods, as you will have had plenty of time for shopping during this time.
Also, I am not sure that I gave you XP for the thug fight. I have that everyone should be at 520XP right now.
Bruendor ran his hand over his bare chin, examining Clegg as close as he could. "What do you think? Casing the joint for a robbery? Planning on buying you out so he can have the Goblin for himself? Or maybe laying waste to the place if you don't sell?"
Another thought occurs to the dwarf as his mind spins. "He's a crime lord - he won't be here without protection. The people he's brought would give us an indication on what he's planning. Find them, we might find out his game."
"Okay," Anklebiter says. "That sounds good. Keep a good eye out; they're gonna flinch soon."
Provided no one stops him, Anklebiter scurries back down to ground level, grabs a serving tray and leaps and scuttles his way over to Clegg Zincher. Anklebiter plays up the 'crazy Goblin' role masterfully; he giggles shrilly, rolls his red eyes at everyone and everything, shows every tooth he has in a big grin and spins his tray like it's a toy.
"Hello, hello!" the Goblin shrills as he arrives at Zincher's table.
"You have drink? Want more? Want food? Yes? Food is life! Meat make good food!"
The Goblin cackles again, red eyes bugging out.
"You know," Bruendor wonders aloud. "There might just be some method to that greenskin's madness." Bruendor keeps his eyes peeled for any of Clegg's men who come to his defense.
"Or he's just mad," Calla says absently as she keeps an eye on the people in the gambling hall.
Zincher looked at the goblin with some amusement as Anklebiter came over. "A goblin serving drinks and food in the Goblin? Oh how droll. Saul must be really down on his luck if he is stooping to hiring such help. But yes, I'll have another glass of Durbin brandy." The man doesn't look fazed at all by the goblin's appearance or antics, unlike some of the others at the table.
From above, you can see no signs of bodyguards or anything of the like. There is no movement in the Goblin's gambling area that seems directly related to Anklebiter, except for the abrupt drawing back of everyone at the golem table but Zincher.
"Stoop?" Anklebiter repeats, the grin turning into a growl. "You calling me short?" He brings his face a little closer to Zincher -- and grins again. "You a big tipper?"
"Of course you are short. You're a goblin. Or did you not realize?"
While she waits to see if anything happens, Calla will idly cast detect magic and detect poison to see if she can notice anything relating to the two on Zincher (or anyone else in the gambling den).
Calla saw a number of auras on Zincher's person, as well as many of those in the gambling hall. Magic items and weapons aren't uncommon in Riddleport, after all. There are no indications of anyone being poisoned at the moment, though.
"Damn," Bruendor grumbles. "He's either come alone, or his bodyguards aren't concerned about us. I'm not sure I like either response."
He looks back to Saul. "Get me a chip tray, boss. There's about to be a change of dealers."
"If you feel it is necessary, go right ahead. Just please don't antagonize the man tonight. It's not worth the bother, really."
"Understood. Just want to get the feel for the man." Bruendor picks up the chip tray, and heads out to Zincher's table, sparing a moment to give Anklebiter a kick. "Away with you, greenskin! Go pester another table, I have no time for your antics here!"
He relieves the dealer, claps his hands together, and spreads them before the patrons. "My apologies. Don't know what Saul sees in that thing. So, back to the game! I hope everyone's enjoying themselves at the high rollers table - after all, wherever Clegg Zincher sits is the high rollers table!" It's meant to be a joke, but the smile is a bit forced, and there's really no mirth behind his words. Dwarven humor tends to be a bit black.
"Ah, the no-beard dwarf as a dealer. I suppose next we'll see the barbarian as a tightrope walker? How ever will he fit into that tutu? Why don't we skip to the chase. I'm just here to check out our friend Saul's investment, and meet his newest pals." He looks at the goblin and then straight up at the gauzy ceiling where the catwalks are. "That means you, in case you weren't paying attention."
Lefrik is, for a moment distracted by the sight of the ladies below it's a new angle to appreciate them from, but soon focuses on the task at hand.
He ponders something even as he keeps watch, This highground must make it very easy to see cards for the sharp eyed. I am not sure I like where the branches of this particular tree of thought might lead.
"Oh, good, we're dispensing with niceties," Bruendor said, relaxing slightly, letting the corners of his mouth curl into what passed as a smile. All the while, he continued dealing cards to the customers, though most of his attention was focused on Zincher. "You're aware of our reputations, and we're aware of yours. So, the real question is this: what do you want from us?" His tone is somewhat blunt, but well, getting down to brass tacks is what dwarves do best. Hell, they invented brass tacks.
"Think I'll stay a little longer," Anklebiter says, without acknowledging the kick. He hops up next to Bruendor and subjects Zincher to a more thoughtful look. "This sounds like something... interesting."
Gone is the apparent insanity, and Anklebiter actually manages to speak very proper Common...
"Absolutely nothing at all, dwarf. I can call you a dwarf still I suppose? Without the beard...well, it's hard to tell. I just wanted to play a hand or two of cards in peace, and see how our friend Saul was doing after the ... fiasco the other week. But, I can see that I'll get no peace here."
He stood up from the table, scooped his chips into a bag, and made for the door. At the door, he hesitated a moment before handing the bag to the doorman, and saying a little louder than was absolutely necessary, "Split this between yourself and the new hires. Tell them, 'Best wishes from Clegg'". And then he walked out the door.
"Oh," Anklebiter says. "I know this game. Make the chief think his bodyguards work for you now. Once he chases them off, you stab him when he sleeps. That's boring."
Whispering, he adds to Bruendor: "Want to sneak after him a bit, see where he goes?"
"Well, that was effective," Calla notes acidly. It's not clear if she's talking about Bruendor and Anklebiter's tactics or Clegg's.
Bruendor clenches his fist beneath the table as Clegg tosses an insult his way, but keeps his cool. As Clegg leaves, he considers Anklebiter's suggestion. "Does it matter? We'd be like a pair of dogs chasing a carriage, and have no idea what to do once we've caught him. He'll go back to whatever pesh den or brothel he calls a place of business, and order his goons to do something. Probably won't even be tonight. Boss said not to antagonize him, and I think we're skirting the line there."
"Hmn," Anklebiter says. "You may be right. Then again, we'd at least know where the den is, in case his orders force us to toss a bottle of educational boom-juice through his window later." The Goblin winks.
Calla snickers at the goblin's description. God help me, I think I like it. I'm not sure if it's mad or a moron, but it's interesting, at least.
At first Lefrik continues to observe from above, but when he sees the main point of this excercise leave, he decides to slip down and join the ground floor. he wonders how their employer will react to this outcome.
Saul shrugged as Clegg left the building. "Not too surprising, I suppose. He just wanted to yank my chain a little and see if I'd cause a stir. Then, he'd feel justified in making a move on me, or sending in muscle of his own to break the place up or burn it down. Ah well. That's that I suppose. Lefrik, go on down and make sure the goblin doesn't do anything...in character, okay? I'd hate to have him pissing in the ale at this point, and he gets a little excitable."
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Later that evening, Saul is introducing the newest (again) member of the staff, Kelendra. "She's a good lass, who just had a spot of bother with the events of the tournament. But, she's back now, and ready to keep going.
As he's talking, there is a scream from the kitchen area. "Snake! There's a ruddy big snake, and it's near killed Heinrik!"
Calla and Lefrik rush to the kitchens, where the big barbarian easily lops the head off a 4-foot viper. Heinrik is laying in a small pool of blood, shuddering and gasping as the viper's poison makes its way through his system. Calla spots a scrap of paper sticking out from under an upturned washtub. It shows a crude drawing of Saul, with both hands missing. Written under the image were the words, "Looking to go for two, Saul? Pack up and get out of town, and you'll be fine."
Bruendor rushes into the kitchen quite a few paces behind Lefrik, his face darkening as he sees Heinrik's shivering form. "Damn and double damn," Bruendor curses. "This is Clegg's work, by Torag." He makes way for one of the knowledgeable healers to try to save the man's life. In the meantime, he makes himself useful by trying to find out how the snake was introduced to the Goblin's kitchens.
Perception:
Hearing the screams, Kelendra rushes to the kitchen to help, arriving after the large northerner has lopped off the viper's head.
Good gods the man is brave, that viper could have poisoned him as well.
Seeing the shuddering cook, she does what she can despite having no answer for the poison.
"Let me to his side, my arts may help him survive 'til the poison has run its course!"
She crouches beside Heinrik and draws on the power Desna has granted.
The man stopped quivering at Kelendra's touch, and sat up weakly. "The snake. It be...I lifted the washtub and it was there. It bit...oh Pharasma, it bit me." His eyes focused on Kelendra and somehow he knew she had been the agent behind his revival. "Oh thank you! Blessed Pharasma, thank you. I don't know what Elara and the kids would've done if I..." He broke off, sobbing his thanks and trying to kiss Kelendra's hand.
"It appears someone's trying to threaten our employer," Calla says, showing the scrap around to the others. "Seems a rather sloppy job of it, though..."
"Suppose it could be someone that wants us to go after Clegg, spend our time warring each other - then they swoop in and claim both his territory and the Goblin for themselves. 'Course, Clegg is more likely."
Anklebiter comes scuttling into the kitchen and surveys the scene -- then grins. "They're idiots, whoever they are," he says in his squeaky voice. "Snake makes good eating, tastes just like chicken, and this one is big and fat! Let me whip up some of Old Momma Broodfang's special green sauce, and we eat well tonight!"
"I'm not having anything the greenskin makes," Bruendor says, a grimace upon his face. "I may be a dwarf, but even my constitution isn't good enough for what goblins consider cooking."
Kelendra's belly growls at the goblin's talk of roasted snake in Old Momma Broodfang's Special Green Sauce, "I might be partial to sampling that dish, tastes like chicken you say?"
She looks around at those who have gathered in the kitchen as they discuss the crudely drawn note.
A half elf woman like myself, she will understand the struggle of survival in this city. A beardless dwarf, surely he knows the pain of not being accepted by your people. A strange goblin, certainly alone with no family to comfort him. And the tall northerner with the sharp axe, far from his home in this port city. Could it be I've found kinship here in this gambling den of all places?
Hoping to contribute, Kelendra chimes in on the conversation regarding the threatening note.
"This note and the attack, it seems a bit crude for a crime boss, despite their tactics they are skilled businessmen to thrive in such dangerous conditions. Who else would benefit from the closure of the Golden Goblin?"
"Apparently the cook," Calla says, smiling briefly at her own dark humor. "And if the poet has his way, anyone who would consider eating here."
"Everything tastes like chicken eventually," Anklebiter tells Kelendra with a big, big grin. "No worries: we won't share any with these doubters, healer-girl."
The Goblin just winks at Bruendor and Calla. "Some Goblin dishes are a bit extreme by the tallfolks' standards, sure. But snake is fine. Some humans eat snake, right? Just so long as you make sure to get rid of the head and the internal organs, like the liver."
Lefrik grumbles, "SOMEONE is making war on this place, that much is clear. I know you civilized folks wish proof before taking action, I even see the wisdom in it, but I find being on the defensive all the time most vexing."
"The tall one has a point, if we stay on the defensive then everyone in the Golden Goblin is a potential victim of the next attack. We should either use that to our advantage and set a trap for the next assailant, or track this foe back to their home and bring the fight to them."
Kelendra considers the crudeness of the note, could such a person hide their trail with any skill?
"Heinrik, was there anyone strange or out of place in the kitchen today? Any delivery people you'd not seen before?"
"There was this young fella, human, blonde hair. He came in mid-afternoon , looking for the entrance tot eh rat pits. It's next tot eh scullery stairs. People make that mistake all the time. I pointed him to it, and then went back to making the firecrab dip for this evening. He was gone, next I looked."
A young fellow, human, blond hair, let see if anyone remembers this lad." Kelendra flashes a smile at those in the kitchen, "Let me take a try at this, sometimes a girl's charms can get answers when a man's axe can't."
She saunters out to the floor of the gambling hall and starts asking a few questions of the other workers and then progresses to the gamblers she recognizes as being regulars. She's trying to find out if anyone knows the man, his friends, or where he can be found, and she tries to obtain this information in a discrete manner.
A young fellow, human, blond hair, let see if anyone remembers this lad." Kelendra flashes a smile at those in the kitchen, "Let me take a try at this, sometimes a girl's charms can get answers when a man's axe can't."She saunters...
Lefrik watches her saunter and admits to the others, "It is true. No axe can do THAT."
Bruendor also watches the slip of a girl use her feminine charms on the Goblin's patrons, regarding her curiously. "Bah, she's nothing but skin and bones. Let me know if a good sturdy dwarven lass enters the establishment - fair of skin, long braided hair, and good birthing hips. I'd like to see the beard on that maid, I don't mind saying!"
"She looks like she could be a Calistrian priestess..." Calla says, a hint of begrudging respect in her voice.
The half-elf heads to the entrance to the rat pit, to see if she can find any sign of their ... guest.
After asking around, you find that the description is just too generic. There could be a half dozen or more people that frequent the Goblin to meet that subscription, and even more in the city. If he is one of Zincher's men, no one seems to know for sure.
Bruendor accompanies Calla to the pit, searching for signs of entry or other clues to this stranger's identity.
Perception:
Lefrik chuckles at the Dwarf's comments before he wanders off.