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Following Kline's path well into the evening hours leads you to find Ploog, owner of the Bloodworks arena.
Finding the Bloodworks is easy, for it is Scabtown’s largest structure at three hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, and nearly sixty feet tall. The arena is built of bone, stone, and hundreds of stretched sheets of leather, and dozens of banners fly from the rooftop, the symbol of Rovagug being the most prominent among them. Only two entrances admit its bloodthirsty audience, and each has a sign that crudely advertises a ticket price of one silver piece in Taldan (Common), Orc, and poorly painted pictographs.
This late into the evening, most arenas would be closing shortly, but with most of the residents able to see just fine in these dusk hours, or even perfect dark, it's night shows are just beginning, and there is a large crowd. But before entering, you need to get past a handful of heavily armed and heavily scarred Orcs that stand at the entrance. They demand payment for entering, 1 sp for Orcs and Half-Orcs, and 1 gp for "you weak Pinkskins" (everyone else, even if your skin isn't actually "pink"). They also demand that all your "little herd animals and snacks" remain outside.
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"How much do you want for the Elven Skin gloves. I could give you a silver."
"A silvur. Can you not see the intricat craftsmunship here girl? Look here. And dere, that's no blemish, girl. That's a part of some pointy-eared's naval. Looks pierced if you ask me. No. No less that seven silvur coins. Seven and you cun rest yur little hands on her belly all you want, huh. That a good price."
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Celie thinks for a moment. "Seven silver and you toss in some thread and needle, and you have a deal." Celie removes the Priestesses finger from her necklace and drops it into it's finger slot in the glove. Takes the needle and thread and sews up the finger into the finger of the glove. Takes out a dagger and cuts off the finger, leaving room to thread a little hook so she can re-attach it to the necklace.
She looks back to the dealer. "Thanks, that finger was starting to stink." She then proceeds to hold out the skin glove to the big turkey, seeing if he'll take the offer.
Oloch grins at the prospect of the Bloodworks arena ... pays his sp to enter and then tries to regroup with the party inside.
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"What a dreadful place! It makes Bloodcove and Riddleport seem positively enlightened. Well, nothing for it but to press on."
Guilford says this under his breath, but not perhaps as quietly as he'd like. His companions probably hear this.
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Little Foot scowls (again) as they approach the arena, and the price of admittance is made known.
Not interesting in drawing any more attention then neccessary, he will find a place out of the way, and preferably not out in the open, to park Fairbeaks, putting him on guard duty with instructions to stay there and attack anything that tries to approach.
He'll then pay the 1 gp entry fee and go in with the rest.
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Unlike the others, Dhastrach doesn't seem to have any problem paying a gold coin for the entrance. "Here," he says blatantly.
"Celie, if I may ask, what's your purpose in gathering fingers? I've heard some arcane techniques require organic residue from spellweavers," Dhastrach inquires, "I personally only gather information, but you've adopted more of a hands-on method?"
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"What did you expect of thiss place?" Dhastrach asks from his fellow agents, "thiss place rreekss and iss the trrue image of orrcish civilization. Filth, blood, and sweat. Everrything I expected, that'ss forr surre."
"Now that we arre inside the arrena, we don't need to watch the bloodbath, now do we? Let'ss find thiss Ploog and have Oloch speak to him about Eando Kline. Heck, I'll stay shut and act ass a slave if need be."
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Celie has no problems with paying the entrance fee. She looks at Dhastrach once he asks the question. She pulls forth a finger that is a little holier than the rest. "It's a hobby I have, that's all. It started when a paladin put his finger in the wrong place." She smiles at the memory. "Next time he won't fall for suck an easy trap. and don't you mean, Hand-off method... or would that be finger-off." she starts to tap her chin with the paladins finger.
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The interior of the Bloodworks is very similar to its exterior, with panels of hide-wrapped wood forming a dusty fighting pit in the building’s center. Roughly built bleachers wrap three-quarters of the way around the perimeter, and the northern end is dominated by a keep of earth, stone, and wood with steeply slanted sides and two sweeping sets of stairs that descend to the arena’s floor like a pair of insect mandibles. Between the stairs is a massive set of wooden double doors large enough to accommodate a pair of mammoths. A few rows of seats sit further up the side of the keep, and immediately behind them rests a large throne crafted from the bones of nearly every creature to walk the Cinderlands.
Paying your entry fee, you are allowed to enter without incident, and from there its a simple enough task to ask to speak with Ploog. The Bloodworks produces a cacophonous torrent of noise—screams of pain, peals of delight, and the clash of weapons—during an event, and Ploog often acts as a ringmaster by personally introducing combatants before ascending to the top of the keep and lounging on the bone throne. When you arrive, the main bout is to be between a large ettin and a team of human gladiators. The ettin wastes no time in crushing most of its opposition before cruelly toying with the remaining pair of combatants, to the amusement of the audience. Armed ushers keep anyone from approaching Ploog or his ramshackle keep during the event, but after making the announcement, he is escorted back to his office, and that allows you to stop him along the way and ask for a minute of his time.
Talk of business and intrigues him, and he allows you to come up to his office to discuss it.
Ploog’s office is an uncommonly well-built, domed structure of leather, wood, and an irregular assortment of stone blocks that occupies the back half of the keep. At its highest, the ceiling rises twenty feet, and several windows cut into the leather walls allow a refreshing breeze to ventilate the room. A pile of large rocks sits beneath one of these windows, and several nearby potted trees lean toward the light. On the opposite end of the room are several chairs and a divan upholstered in tanned leather. In the room’s center stands
a desk covered in sheets of parchment and stacks of coins whose irregular sizes and shapes betray origins in at least a dozen nations, and a pair of decoratively crossed swords hang on the desk’s front. He takes a seat at the desk, while his retinue of guards take positions at the far corners and walls of the room, leaving you plenty of room before the desk to speak.
"Ah, much better, my friends. Away from the crowds and most of the noise. You mentioned you needed to speak with me. Please, state your business."
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As we're being led in, Ramen nonchallantly reminds his friends that they're welcome to chime in
seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Ramen goes in to the office and stands gruffly
Yeah, we heard you might be the man to talk to. We're looking for secrets. Seeking a quiet way through Belken without much trouble for a small troupe. heard rumor there might be such a way, and that you might know it.
I mean, not that you're a vicious rumormonger that likes to kill people and whatnot. But maybe 50 gold might get your brain thinking of something
"Secrets ... and a good fight. Many have not returned from where we want to go."
Oloch grins fiercely, showing off his rather impressive fangs ...
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Guilford swallows audibly when Oloch speaks, and a chill goes up his spine as he sees the two orc engage in posturing.
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"So why come to me? I could introduce you to a few trackers, but I'm certain you could find them yourselves. Speak up. Ive only got time for one type of games, and this aint it." as ho motions in the direction of the blood sports outside.
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"Ah! You are looking for Eando Kline! I knew it was something like that. The last person to come asking for something like that was a Pathfinder, and while he was here, well, I'm sure you have heard if you have been asking around about him, but Mr. Kline caused quite the show. I've gotta say, you have to respect someone, even a pinkskin that can manage to escape the way he did."
He picks up your money pouch, tosses it a few times to hear the ringing of the coins inside, then tossing it back to you. "Unfortunately, I don't know how he made it out of the city. I may of someone who does. And I might be able to arrange for you to meet them. But there is a price. And it's not one that that little purse can afford. What do you say, my friends? Interested?"
Oloch seems a little less certain now as he looks around the room trying to determine the dimension of the "loose" flooring beneath him, sidestepping until he is on firm ground.
"Bah ... we don't want Kline ... we just want to go to the same place is all. Why should we pay off his debt?"
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"Bah ... we don't want Kline ... we just want to go to the same place is all. Why should we pay off his debt?"
"Say what you will, I think you are Pathfinders, too, and I think you are lookin' for Kline yourselves. To kill him or to get somethin' back, I don't know, and don't rightly care. But, here is what I do care about. Mr. Kline, in his last stay in our great city, he killed my prized beasty. You want Kline's trail, I want you to get me another one. Bring me a live, healthy bulette, and I'll give you what you want."
"The best place to find bulettes is at least several miles south of here, and ya would be well advised to bring some means of capturing the beast alive and transporting it back."
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"So we have a deal. Good. You get to working on your end, and I'll get you your tracker. Keep in mind, deal's off if the beast is dead, too wounded to fight, sick, or too young or old to be worth a damn. It's also up to you to find a way to get the thing back here. And you have two days. Now, if that will be all, I've got plenty of other things ta do. . ."
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Guilford nods and backs out the door.
Once outside he says:
"Well, my own spellbook contains nothing to control such a beast, let alone move it. Perhaps Celie's hex of slumber could be of use. But how to move the thing?"
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Likewise, Dhastrach nods and leaves without saying a thing.
Dhastrach clears his throat once everyone is outisde. "Nethys will surrely grrant me spellss fit for catching bulettess. Unforrtunately, the trracking and catching parrt will be the job of ourr good frriend herre," he says, patting Theo's back. Given Dhastrach's less than good social skills, the back pat is awkward rather than amicable.