Unable to lay eyes on Oliver Bott from the doorway, Tendal weaves between the tables to communicate the unusual encounter to Saul. "Ah, there you are, lad!" Saul says as he approaches. "Friend of my son's, you know," he explains to the men gathered in the room, clapping Tendal on the elbow. Before he removes his hand from the wizard's arm, he applies the tiniest bit of pressure and meets his eye in a way that clearly communicates Give me a minute and don't interrupt. The older man in the room continues to tell what seems to be the second half of a rather long and meandering story involving people Tendal has never heard of, but when he finishes Saul gives a hearty laugh -- one much more convincing than the ones mustered by the two younger men in the room -- and says, "Aye, those were the days, weren't they? These young people today don't know what they're missing. Just ask one of the girls if you need a refill on that brandy, Wilf." Taking Tendal's elbow, Saul beats a retreat away from the sitting room door. "Wilf Piggens," he explains. "Old Riddleport broker from before Cromarcky's time. Besmara alone knows how he's stayed this side of a watery grave long enough to get senile, but he must have a powerful secret on someone rigged to go public if he dies from anything more suspicious than gout or apoplexy. Now, what was it you were going to tell me, lad?"
Keeping the scowl on his face until the last of the teenagers leave the break room, Dayn finally allows himself a smile and a quick chuckle while he is still turned away from them. Recomposing his serious face, me moves back into the kitchen and keeps an eye on things for a while, moving around, looking serious and grim, and making sure everyone seems to be doing their jobs. As he passes Samaritha, he gives her a quick and tiny private little smile.
After a few minutes, once convinced that all are working well, he moves to the center of the kitchen and clears his throat loudly to get everyone's attention. Once he has it, he says loudly and firmly "Alright. Now that fun time is over and everyone seems to remember that they have a job to do here, this is how things are going to be. You'll continue as you have been, making sure the food keeps on getting out to the customers. And you, what's your name?" he points to the girl who had showed him a bit of sass as she left the break room. After she tells him, he continues "Right. Well you shall be second in charge of the kitchen from now on, after this young lady here" he indicates Samaritha "Who, until further notice, will be in charge of things whenever I am not here."
Forestalling any interruptions on anyone's part with a loud clap and a stern look he demands silence, if there's isn't already such, and finishes up his speech "Now, I know this is an unusual situation, what with both cooks gone, but we shall continue on as best we can. If you all continue to do your jobs, and work hard, I'll see to it that there is a suitable bonus in your pay at the end of the night. HOWEVER, if any of you slack off like before and shirk your duties, I shall make it my personal mission to see that you can get no work in this town better than dung cleaner or grave digger. IS THIS CLEAR??"
After which he carefully looks around at every single face, searching for any signs of disobedience or anything else that should not be there.
Sense Motive:
If satisfied that all will perform as ordered, he calls Samaritha and the other girl over to him for a private conference "Now, I must leave for a couple of minutes to check on some things, but I should be back very soon. If there's any other kind of trouble, serious trouble, in the kitchen, your job is to get all the girls out of here and make sure they are safe, while you, Samaritha, are to run into the main room and find one of the gentlemen we came over from the Publican House with. Or Saul or Laur, if you can find them. I'd keep an eye out for that half-elf fellow though, Braddon is his name? He seems the sort to me you'd want to have on your side in a spot of trouble. Now, are you both clear on all I've said? Do you have any questions?"
"I am sorry to intrude. I have a suspicion that a Mr. Bott who recently arrived may be up to no good. Mr Bott, a truly unsavory man, indicated that he was here for "business" after accosting Madame Krump. In any regard, I lost sight of him on the floor and I am unaware of his current whereabouts. As for the front of the building, I didn't see any roustabouts hanging around, so I suspect any trouble may come from a different angle.", Tendal says, tapping his cane against the side of his leg as he thinks. "Perhaps Mr. Bott is going to get reinforcements through the back door, or work with accomplices that are already present. If he has accomplices here, I would imagine that they have run out of gambling funds by now and are just hanging about."
The scowling teenaged girl looks for a moment like she'll refuse to answer you but finally draws herself up with dignity and announces that her name is Drulia Wardrox. She seems to be the ringleader of the other two; you feel that they won't cause any trouble as long as you can keep Drulia cowed. For now, she is, but you sense rebellion simmering beneath the surface that might boil over before the night is through. Samaritha seems relieved that someone has taken control of the situation and perks up hopefully at the thought of a bonus.
If satisfied that all will perform as ordered, he calls Samaritha and the other girl over to him for a private conference "Now, I must leave for a couple of minutes to check on some things, but I should be back very soon. If there's any other kind of trouble, serious trouble, in the kitchen, your job is to get all the girls out of here and make sure they are safe, while you, Samaritha, are to run into the main room and find one of the gentlemen we came over from the Publican House with. Or Saul or Laur, if you can find them. I'd keep an eye out for that half-elf fellow though, Braddon is his name? He seems the sort to me you'd want to have on your side in a spot of trouble. Now, are you both clear on all I've said? Do you have any questions?"
Both Drulia and Samaritha look alarmed at the specificity of your instructions. "'Serious trouble?'" the half-elf repeats nervously. "Do you ... expect there to be trouble?" Samaritha still seems willing to stay and work to make sure she gets paid, as does Drulia because she's afraid of you, but you leave them both looking anxious and edgy as you slip out the back door and lock it securely behind you.
The alley behind the Goblin is dark and still; you can hear the muffled sounds of frivolity and brawls from the lit windows of the taverns on the wharves to the south. The road to the north seems abandoned now. Between the puddles of light beneath the streetlamps and the moon, you find it easy to pick your way carefully along the northern wall of the Gold Goblin. About two-thirds of the way down, the tall windows in the bar area spill golden stripes of light out onto the ground, and you carefully move around them, sticking to the shadows in case the building is being watched.
Making your way to Finian's hiding place, you quietly call his name when you are still a few feet away, presuming he hasn't seen your approach and not wanting to startle him, but there is no response. You edge up to the rain barrel in a narrow alley between two buildings behind which he was to hide, but he isn't there. Taking a moment to examine the ground, you quickly ascertain that he was here, and not long ago: there's a depression in the dirt up against the wall where he was sitting. Stepping aside, you quickly pick out the footprints you've just made and mentally exclude them from consideration. You see two additional trails on the hard-packed dirt and weeds: a small set of footprints that are Finian's which head north before they meet the cobblestone street and a full-grown set of booted prints which come from the north, stop at the rain barrel, and then head south again, in the direction of the front courtyard of the Gold Goblin. Something glitters in a narrow crack between the rain barrel and the wall of the building, and you reach your fingers in to retrieve it: a marble from Finian's pouch.
Malkith quietly creeps into the antechamber. The statue of Desna has accumulated quite a little pile of chips and other offerings, some stacked in her upturned palm, others placed by her bare toes; a copper coin from some far-off land with a hole bored through it for a leather cord hangs from the tip of one butterfly wing. Malkith stops at the entrance to the hallway that leads to his and the others' rooms and holds his breath, listening. He can faintly hear the sound of a low voice and sees a bare glimmer of light on the dusty carpet from beneath the door of the second room on the right, as if a candle were lit within. As Braddon joins him in the shadows, he can also hear the voice from down the hall, but it is too muffled to make out any words.
Meanwhile, out in the crowd, Ethel hears the beginning of Phillip's discourse with a smile, but as he broaches the subject of opportunity and risk, her eyes darken with umbrage. "You and Marce, you're a right pair, aren't you?" she whispers bitterly. "Secrets and excuses and things I shouldn't inquire about. What are you, part of the same business he's caught up in?"
Meanwhile, out in the crowd, Ethel hears the beginning of Phillip's discourse with a smile, but as he broaches the subject of opportunity and risk, her eyes darken with umbrage. "You and Marce, you're a right pair, aren't you?" she whispers bitterly. "Secrets and excuses and things I shouldn't inquire about. What are you, part of the same business he's caught up in?"
Though his head is screaming for him to cut and run, to lose the haybag and be less encumbered for it... his heart gives him pause. Riddleport has proven a less than welcome town for him thus far, and to scorn Ethel would not only lose the potential for further emotional entanglement... but also risk the hard yards put in thus far to ensnare Marce's good graces. An internal dialogue played out in moments and Phillip came to the surprising realisation that perhaps honesty was the best policy for now.
"I am cut from no-ones cloth but my own Ethel. I had not met Marce before tonight, so I don't know of what business you speak. I have not asked for secrecy, nor have I said I would keep my truth from you... so if you wish I will be open?... though I fear the truth will be somewhat disappointing..." waiting for confirmation before continuing.... though casting a sly eye around for signs of the papier mache hellknights before he does.
Dropping her arm and hand Phil opens his stance with palms held out to his side and facing upwards "My name is Phillip Hargreaves, recently of Magnimar and forced to flee against my will. I play the crooked cross, though I have no skill at bludging, nor am I a cracksman. Instead my only skill is the cant and the means of twisting it... as well as some minor talent at tooling and spreading the broads."
"In truth my plan tonight was to go bug hunting, and my wish for you to not be present was to remove the chance of you being seen as a bonnet." sighing as he lays plain his rather less than impressive intent. Allowing Ethel a few moments to process his words before continuing "And that is the truth of the matter, I have laid myself before you as vulnerable as a shivering jemmy."
Looking her straight in the eyes and speaking from the troublesome organ that sits central within his chest "I am a liar, and a thief Ethel... but I do not lie when I say that I wish to know you better, and I also do not lie when I say that I do not want you harmed by my actions."
Malkith turns as Braddon comes up behind him and puts a finger to his lips. When the other man is closer he whispers, "Did Herr Vankaskerkin provide room to anyone other than those of us from the Publican House?"
Braddon nods at Malkith's gesture then shrugs at Malkith's question. He advances along the wall down the corridor and stops just outside the room to listen to the occupants.
"I am cut from no-ones cloth but my own Ethel. I had not met Marce before tonight, so I don't know of what business you speak. I have not asked for secrecy, nor have I said I would keep my truth from you... so if you wish I will be open?... though I fear the truth will be somewhat disappointing..." waiting for confirmation before continuing.... though casting a sly eye around for signs of the papier mache hellknights before he does.
Dropping her arm and hand Phil opens his stance with palms held out to his side and facing upwards "My name is Phillip Hargreaves, recently of Magnimar and forced to flee against my will. I play the crooked cross, though I have no skill at bludging, nor am I a cracksman. Instead my only skill is the cant and the means of twisting it... as well as some minor talent at tooling and spreading the broads."
"In truth my plan tonight was to go bug hunting, and my wish for you to not be present was to remove the chance of you being seen as a bonnet." sighing as he lays plain his rather less than impressive intent. Allowing Ethel a few moments to process his words before continuing "And that is the truth of the matter, I have laid myself before you as vulnerable as a shivering jemmy."
Looking her straight in the eyes and speaking from the troublesome organ that sits central within his chest "I am a liar, and a thief Ethel... but I do not lie when I say that I wish to know you better, and I also do not lie when I say that I do not want you harmed by my actions."
Ethel folds her arms and fixes a gimlet eye on Phillip as he makes his confession and for a few moments after he has finished. "Well," she admits finally, "that's a straighter story than ever I've had from Marce. And this ought to be a safer place to ply your trade than the taverns at the wharves, but you're right that if the wrong man catches you, he'll kill you over a handful of silver and a loaded set of dice. This isn't Magnimar, and there's no pleasant lock-up with a soft cot and three meals a day." Her corners of her mouth soften a little. "But if you don't walk me home, how will you ever know where to come calling to see me again?"
"I am sorry to intrude. I have a suspicion that a Mr. Bott who recently arrived may be up to no good. Mr Bott, a truly unsavory man, indicated that he was here for "business" after accosting Madame Krump. In any regard, I lost sight of him on the floor and I am unaware of his current whereabouts. As for the front of the building, I didn't see any roustabouts hanging around, so I suspect any trouble may come from a different angle.", Tendal says, tapping his cane against the side of his leg as he thinks. "Perhaps Mr. Bott is going to get reinforcements through the back door, or work with accomplices that are already present. If he has accomplices here, I would imagine that they have run out of gambling funds by now and are just hanging about."
The easy smile drops off Saul's face as he stops in his tracks and turns to face Tendal. "Bott? Oliver Bott? He's one of Shorafa's people. This could be trouble. We need to find him and establish what exactly his 'business' here is."
Braddon sneaks back to Malkith and gestures for him to follow. As he leads Malkith back to the room, he starts speaking in a loud voice.
"Of course sir. I'm sure when you see your room the price will seem perfectly reasonable. It's just... Hey! Who are you?"
Braddon's face fills with mock surprise as he blocks the doorway and glares at the rooms occupants.
"After you've given me your names, I think you owe Mr Malk here a discount on his room. Then go find an inn. These rooms are by appointment only!"
With Ethel:
Hoping to have turned the tables, Phillip feels the time right to go back on the charm offensive. He extends a hand to brush lightly down the length of Ethel's jawline "My dear, I would not be so forward as to expect an invitation to your home on this the first night we have spent together..." dropping his hand from her face to take up a hand from where she has it folded across her breast and deliver a courtly kiss upon her knuckles "I will attend you at your place of employ in the Leeward districts on the morrow.. where I shall continue to dazzle you with my good looks and charm you with my forked tongue." smiling widely and with a twinkle to his eye.
Malkith waits patiently as the half-elf covertly makes his way closer to the room in question. When indicated, he follows behind. He's about to object to Braddon's sudden reveal of himself when it occurs to him as to what's happening. He stops outside the door so as to see past Braddon and get a view of the occupants. He scowls disapprovingly, attempting to play along with the ploy.
Braddon sneaks back to Malkith and gestures for him to follow. As he leads Malkith back to the room, he starts speaking in a loud voice.
"Of course sir. I'm sure when you see your room the price will seem perfectly reasonable. It's just... Hey! Who are you?"
Braddon's face fills with mock surprise as he blocks the doorway and glares at the rooms occupants.
"After you've given me your names, I think you owe Mr Malk here a discount on his room. Then go find an inn. These rooms are by appointment only!"
The room behind the door is quite dim except for a flickering circle of illumination coming from a candle on the chest in the northeast corner. Braddon's elven eyes can see clearly to the far side of the bed; Malkith hears rather than sees a half-dressed woman shriek with surprise and topple off the edge of the bed to land with a thud on the floor on the far side.
A blond man with pointed ears has his shirt off and buttons undone; he takes the interruption in stride. "Hmm," he comments, picking up his shirt as he strolls over to the door, his eyes lingering on Braddon's black leather and exposed chest. "Costumed desk clerks. This place gets more fun all the time. I owe you a better time than that, love," he calls across the bed to his hidden companion. "Come to my place, and I'll make it up to you. Bring this with you so I'll know it's you." He yanks a button off his pants as he fastens the rest of them and tosses it carelessly onto the bed. As he pulls the shirt over his head, the faint tracing of old scars is visible on his back, indicating that at one time in his life he's been under the lash. "Oh," he addresses Malkith, "I don't know what they're charging you, but...," he swipes his fingers across the top of the chest of drawers the candle is on and holds them up thick with dust, "this place is filthy. Come on, lads," he puts a hand on each of their shoulders and tries to draw them out into the hall, "a little privacy for the lady to find her unmentionables in."
"Maybe you can help me," he smiles at Braddon once he's out of the room. "I'm looking for an elf that works for Old Stumpy. That wouldn't be you, would it?"
Tendal nods agreement to Saul's words. "Well is there a way we can silently signal to the Hellnights? I didn't see him on the floor when I came in, so he is in one of the rooms somewhere. Also, I don't know the man, so I will not know if what he is discussing is reasonable business or not."
Tendal thinks for a second, "You know, there are only three main areas that problems could start...well other than the floor...the cage, the kitchen and the guest rooms. The cage could have some sort of money disturbance, the kitchen could be set on fire or the back door opened to thugs, and the guest rooms could be set ablaze. The kitchen and cage are easy to check, the guest rooms...we will have to go room by room to search them..."
Saul's eyes dart toward the cage where the cashiers are going about their business, bored looks on their faces. "The Beyar brothers are back there, and Larur's been pacing around the area all evening, so we know he hasn't gotten in there yet. That elf fellow is in the kitchen, watching the back door, and he's been warned not to let anyone he doesn't recognize past without a challenge. Why don't you find the harrower and the half-elf Hellknight and get them to check the guest rooms with you? If you don't find him back there, we'll spread out and scan the crowd on the floor. Bojasc and I will take a quick pass through the upstairs in case he's slipped up there. I'll meet up with you again when I'm sure it's clear. If you find him, keep it polite, if at all possible; we don't want to make a scene -- or to make an enemy of Shorafa." He glances down at the key stump at the end of his left sleeve with a slight grimace. "If he makes any demands ... well, let him know I'm willing to listen."
Hoping to have turned the tables, Phillip feels the time right to go back on the charm offensive. He extends a hand to brush lightly down the length of Ethel's jawline "My dear, I would not be so forward as to expect an invitation to your home on this the first night we have spent together..." dropping his hand from her face to take up a hand from where she has it folded across her breast and deliver a courtly kiss upon her knuckles "I will attend you at your place of employ in the Leeward districts on the morrow.. where I shall continue to dazzle you with my good looks and charm you with my forked tongue." smiling widely and with a twinkle to his eye.
"Case the joint, more like," Ethel responds tartly, "and who ever said you were invited any farther than the front door?" She makes no move to snatch her hand back, however. "You'd stick out like a dwarf in a treehouse at my 'place of employ,'" she gives him a tug to continue their way toward the bar. "A little shop sells ladies' clothes. I run and fetch the accessories and underpinnings while the owner does fittings: ribbons, gloves, petticoats, corsets. I get a half-hour for lunch; you could meet me outside." She turns back to him with laughing eyes. "Unless you want to convince Betta you're in the market for a corset."
"Maybe you can help me," he smiles at Braddon once he's out of the room. "I'm looking for an elf that works for Old Stumpy. That wouldn't be you, would it?"
"Of course it is, sir."
Braddon steps politely away from the door, giving the lady some privacy and himself enough room to draw his sword if the need should arise. He has stepped further down the corridor so the man is between himself and Malkith."And why are you looking for me?"
Malkith steps away from the the man's touch. The shift in position allows him to maintain view of the guest room as Braddon moves down the hall, sandwiching the stranger between them. The harrower's gaze shifts between the man and his companion, as he lets the half-elf capture the man's attention. Something about the way this man changed the conversation to Saul unsettled him.
she gives him a tug to continue their way toward the bar. "A little shop sells ladies' clothes. I run and fetch the accessories and underpinnings while the owner does fittings: ribbons, gloves, petticoats, corsets. I get a half-hour for lunch; you could meet me outside." She turns back to him with laughing eyes. "Unless you want to convince Betta you're in the market for a corset."
Phillip uses the momentum of the tug Ethel gives his hand to slide closer and put his arm around her waist. Starting off towards the bar he continues "Lunch and a mere half hour it shall have to be then my dear... unless you would like the pleasure of seeing me fitted for a gown? Standing proud in my bloomers as Betta fussed and fretted over whether the peach or the chartreuse more suited my eyes?" tone of voice clearly playful.
Arriving at the bar Phillip sees Ethel furnished with her choice of refreshment before getting himself a glass of common port.
"Maybe you can help me," he smiles at Braddon once he's out of the room. "I'm looking for an elf that works for Old Stumpy. That wouldn't be you, would it?""Of course it is, sir."
Braddon steps politely away from the door, giving the lady some privacy and himself enough room to draw his sword if the need should arise. He has stepped further down the corridor so the man is between himself and Malkith.
"And why are you looking for me?"
"I've a message for you, on behalf of Shorafa," he replies, a bit of an edge creeping into his voice, "and believe me, you'd rather hear it from me than her. Leave her kids alone. They're not for use as pawns in Riddleport power plays. Shorafa's heard about Orik; don't think he's beyond her reach if she puts her mind to it." The smile returns to his face. "There. Message delivered, and no reason we can't part as friends, eh?"
"Right...leave Shorafa's kids alone. Orik isn't beyond her reach. So if I keep using her kids, Orik is in trouble. Got it. Thanks. Friend." Braddon wonders if smashing the guys face in would start a gang war and decides it isn't worth the risk.
"What did you say your name was again, or should I just assume that anyone can speak for Shorafa?"
He smiles politely.
"Oliver Bott," he introduces himself with an easy smile. "You must be fresh off the boat. I thought everyone knew me, at least by reputation. That's good," he clarifies, in case Braddon thinks he's being insulted. "I can tell Shorafa you legitimately didn't know who you were crossing and meant no harm. Welcome to Riddleport, Mr. ...?" he pauses, waiting for Braddon to return the introduction.
Phillip uses the momentum of the tug Ethel gives his hand to slide closer and put his arm around her waist. Starting off towards the bar he continues "Lunch and a mere half hour it shall have to be then my dear... unless you would like the pleasure of seeing me fitted for a gown? Standing proud in my bloomers as Betta fussed and fretted over whether the peach or the chartreuse more suited my eyes?" tone of voice clearly playful.
Arriving at the bar Phillip sees Ethel furnished with her choice of refreshment before getting himself a glass of common port.
Ethel orders a glass of sweet apple wine. "Oh, I could see you in a mauve, madame," she replies in kind, "with fawn-colored kid gloves for going out and maybe some tiny little ribbons for your moustache."
"And what reputation would that be, Mr. Bott?" Malkith inquires, pointedly staring back at the room in which the young woman was hurriedly redressing herself. Then, turning back to the man, he sizes him up before concluding, "You certainly aren't somebody's enforcer."
"Me?" he grins, seeming amused by the thought. "I won't claim I've never knifed a man, but I gave all that up when I joined Shorafa's nest. You don't get it; she's not a thug like Croat or Zincher. She got where she is by taking care of people. Like the kids." He turns back to Braddon. "Or the men your boss stole from. Has he told you yet how he lost his hand? Not really a story you lead with when you're hiring, I guess."
Saul and Bojasc depart for the kitchen doors and the stairs beyond. Tendal weaves through the room, looking for Malkith and Braddon, but the Varisian harrower is nowhere to be seen and the "Hellknights" he stops prove to be of the unfriendly Varisian variety. Slightly annoyed at the inconvenience their absence is causing him, he slips into the guest wing to give it at least a quick glance for signs of trouble and spies Braddon and Malkith in the hallway speaking with Oliver Bott, who is standing between the two.
Savoring his port as he leads Ethel back to the others Phil allows his time and conversation to be monopolized by the lady upon his arm, though not to complete exclusion of the others. Small talk is made and humour of a benign variety shared as Ethel finished her wine.
When the time came for her to follow Olin and Ewart, Phillip gives her a kiss and the cheek and whispers "I'll see you tomorrow... wish me luck"
While the chat remains light and general, Phillip does learn that Ethel isn't a native of Riddleport but comes from a farm to the south of Galduria and that she presently shares a flat in Leeward District with Almah and Maddy; he also learns the location of the ladies' dress shop where she works. Olin and Ewart broach the subject of seeing her home a bit hesitantly, half expecting her to turn them down or Phillip to intervene and claim the pleasure himself, but she gives Phil a glance and agrees amenably enough. She accepts his farewell with a look half-amused, half-concerned; "Desna smile on scamps and scoundrels," she whispers in return before leaving with Maddy and the men.
"Oliver Bott," he introduces himself with an easy smile. "You must be fresh off the boat. I thought everyone knew me, at least by reputation. That's good," he clarifies, in case Braddon thinks he's being insulted. "I can tell Shorafa you legitimately didn't know who you were crossing and meant no harm. Welcome to Riddleport, Mr. ...?" he pauses, waiting for Braddon to return the introduction.
Braddon relaxes ever so slightly. "Hull. Braddon Hull. Well picked. I've only been here a few weeks and haven't had time to meet all the bosses yet. No doubt you'll hear more of me in future."
"Or the men your boss stole from. Has he told you yet how he lost his hand? Not really a story you lead with when you're hiring, I guess."
"Of course I've heard the story," Braddon responds casually. "But I haven't heard your version of it. How does it go?"
Phillip watches Ethel depart, and a casual observer might think that he was considering changing his mind... but he was not. Desna may smile on scamps and scoundrels... but The Savored Sting spits on those that do not follow their heart... and mine beats for the rush of the game. Once they are safely from sight, Phillip cracks his knuckles and flexes his neck to banish the last vestiges of thought on what he might be missing. Draining the last dregs of port from his glass he lets the liquid swirl o'er his senses and warm his tongue before swallowing.
He then turns to the floor and rubs his palms together... and gets to work.
Phillip makes a quick circuit of the gambling floor, fingers beating a staccato rhythm against his leg.
Perception: and Sense Motive:
He's on the lookout for:
- Games where people have stacks of chips he might draw close to.
- Crowds, especially where there is a mix of women and men watching.
- Weapons - owned by those who are gambling... or carried by those with one who is gambling.
- Drunken-ness - where those gaming are lushed up and perhaps less observant.
- Attention of those that work and watch - seeking a gap in the faux hellknight's observance.
- Nearness of exit - either to outside, or into a secondary crowd of people where a halfling might lose himself.
Phillip easily finds everything he's looking for -- just not all in the same place. The game played nearest the front doors is bounder; there are decent crowds around them as people wait their turn to get into the game, but the dealers are keeping a close eye on the tables to make sure no one is altering the dice after they've been rolled. In addition, the two half-orc sentries could be a formidable obstacle to get past if a cry is raised. The tables nearest the kitchen and its exit are for golem; while the players keep their chips stacked on the table for easy access as bets are seen and raised, they also tend to have an audience of reasonably sober bystanders, some of whom, Phillip is sure, are there solely as bodyguards. The lake for skiffs is also near the kitchen, but the chips there are paid directly into a till by the operators and then counted out for the winner; he would have to steal directly from the two halfling dealers, who are not only professionals but also not drinking.
Overall, the ghoulette table looks like the likeliest place to ply his trade. The crowd presses tightly to hear Dungo's insults, and most of them have spent more at the bar than they've tossed on the wheel. The gamblers keep their chips in their pockets rather than stacked on the table, but Liry's attention is focused on the wheel, not the crowd. The game is set up with a bounder table to the south and, beyond it, the front door; a darkened room that ostensibly leads into the eastern wing lies to the north. The circuitous patrols of the "Hellknights" seem to focus on the more well-heeled crowd around the golem tables and in the private rooms. As for weapons ... this is Riddleport, and a man would sooner go out after dark without pants than without a visible blade to warn off predators. The well-to-do have rapiers or short swords; several nautical types carry cutlasses at their hips; but most of the crowd, particularly those at the ghoulette table, make do with a simple knife in a belt sheath.
"Oliver Bott," he introduces himself with an easy smile. "You must be fresh off the boat. I thought everyone knew me, at least by reputation. That's good," he clarifies, in case Braddon thinks he's being insulted. "I can tell Shorafa you legitimately didn't know who you were crossing and meant no harm. Welcome to Riddleport, Mr. ...?" he pauses, waiting for Braddon to return the introduction.Braddon relaxes ever so slightly. "Hull. Braddon Hull. Well picked. I've only been here a few weeks and haven't had time to meet all the bosses yet. No doubt you'll hear more of me in future."
"Or the men your boss stole from. Has he told you yet how he lost his hand? Not really a story you lead with when you're hiring, I guess.""Of course I've heard the story," Braddon responds casually. "But I haven't heard your version of it. How does it go?"
"'Hull?'" Bott asks skeptically. "That sounds like a sailor's name, not an elf's. I thought your people all had long, complicated names, like Tralaladlara." He shrugs. "The story of how Old Stumpy got his stump was before my time, but they say he was skimming money from people, important people, and got caught. He couldn't come up with the coin to pay them back, so they took the matter to Shorafa to arbitrate. She decided since his left hand didn't know what his right hand was doing with the money they entrusted him with, he obviously had too many hands and would find life simpler with only one." He grins.
Spotting Bott, Tendal walks down the hallway with the languid ease of a man who has sighted his quarry. As he comes closer, he catches the last bits of the exchange and furrows his brow in puzzlement.
What is he talking about? This doesn't sound like he has any designs on the casino, rather more like he is recruiting...
"Good evening Mr. Bott. It is curious that I find you here in the staff rooms rather than out on the floor with the customers. I was hoping that your business that you alluded to earlier had to do with games of fortune rather than something untoward for your employer...Shorafa, was it?" Tendal says imperiously, glancing over at Braddon once to see if he can divine what his part was in this encounter.
"Nothing untoward, Dev," Bott welcomes Tendal with an easy grin. "Just delivering a message." He seems to catch the glance at Braddon. "Right; you're both new in town. So you know each other? You haven't seen the best Riddleport has to offer yet; you both ought to pay a visit to the House of the Silken Veil."
"'Hull?'" Bott asks skeptically. "That sounds like a sailor's name, not an elf's. I thought your people all had long, complicated names, like Tralaladlara."
"My father was a sailor. His name was Hulladaynaryan. They called him Hull. It stuck. Other races seem to have trouble with elven names." Braddon looks lazily past the tiefling.
"Shorafa sounds very... good at taking care of people. So very glad she isn't a thug," muses Braddon after hearing Oliver's story.
As Tendal arrives Braddon responds to Oliver, "Yes, I've done some work for Dev. We'll add the Silken Veil to our list of things to do, but we are rather booked out for the next week or so."
Malkith stands in silence, listening to the men talk. As they take a few verbal jabs at each other, he carefully scrutinizes this Oliver, looking for any weapons or items of note. Now and again, he looks over at the disregarded woman they had found with Herr Bott.
Overall, the ghoulette table looks like the likeliest place to ply his trade.
Phillip approaches the ghoulette table and lingers as part of the crowd for at least a minute or two, playing the part of someone actually interested in proceedings so that he blended in somewhat. During the time he scans to identify a burly man betting at least in blue to act against...
Perception:Then as the wheel begins to turn and attention is elsewhere, he seeks to delve within the pockets of his mark...
Sleight of Hand - pickpocket:
Making your way to Finian's hiding place, you quietly call his name when you are still a few feet away, presuming he hasn't seen your approach and not wanting to startle him, but there is no response. You edge up to the rain barrel in a narrow alley between two buildings behind which he was to hide, but he isn't there. Taking a moment to examine the ground, you quickly ascertain that he was here, and not long ago: there's a depression in the dirt up against the wall where he was sitting. Stepping aside, you quickly pick out the footprints you've just made and mentally exclude them from consideration. You see two additional trails on the hard-packed dirt and weeds: a small set of footprints that are Finian's which head north before they meet the cobblestone street and a full-grown set of booted prints which come from the north, stop at the rain barrel, and then head south again, in the direction of the front courtyard of the Gold Goblin. Something glitters in a narrow crack between the rain barrel and the wall of the building, and you reach your fingers in to retrieve it: a marble from Finian's pouch.
Swearing to himself, Dayn spends a few more moments carefully studying the scene before him, particularily looking for any evidence of violence or injury done to the child. He also does his best to ascertain everything he can about the bigger set of tracks leading to the casino and commits what he learns to memory.
Finally, squatting down to pick up the marble, he slips it into his pouch and makes a vow to find the boy Finian the next day and make sure that he is alright, or punish whoever may have hurt his budding spy if harm has been done to him.
He then takes another few moments to carefully look around, specifically for anyone who may have been watching to see who came to check on Finian, or any men or small groups who look like pontential trouble.
If all seems well, he slips back into the shadows and makes his careful way back to the kitchens, unlocking the door, slipping in, and re-locking it again.
As for the woman in the dark room, she appears to have gotten her petticoats covered and then collapsed onto the bed in a semi-conscious state, one shoe on and the other foot bare. She appears to be quite drunk.
Returning to the back door as stealthily as you came, you quietly unlock it and open it to slip in -- and immediately leap back again as you find yourself almost walking into a large iron pan wielded by the surprisingly strong arms of Drulia Wardrox. She is ready to strike with it but relaxes her grip when she sees it is you at the door. Slightly behind her in the doorway to the kitchen proper is Samaritha, her arms poised in what you recognize as an arcane caster's ready position. She lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, I'm glad you're back," she breathes. "We started to think that if someone jumped you and got the key...." She smiles and shrugs. "You're going to stay this time, right?"
As Liry gives the wheel a spin and the crowd begins to shout in excitement, Phil prepares to slip his hand into the large man's chip-holding pocket. At the last moment, however, the man shifts his position to get a better view of the action, and Phillip finds the angle all wrong. Only his quick reflexes and long experience allow him to snatch his hand back before it brushes against the man himself and alerts him to the failed attempt. He cringes inwardly a moment, waiting for a cry of alarm or indignation that will signal it's time to try to extricate himself, either by words of excuse or simply making a run for it, but no one around him seems to have noticed the aborted crime, too engrossed by the slowing wheel. From past the obscuring crowd, Phillip hears the oddly breathless voice of the head of Dungo, unattached as it is to any lungs: "See, that's what's meant by dark and handsome," it crows at its chosen target. "When it's dark, you're handsome!"
Cursing in his mind as he counts his blessings, Phillip fakes a laugh at Dungo's insult. He repositions himself further to the right in the crowd and tries to repeat the measure, after waiting at least a couple of turns to steady his nerves and hand...
Perception:
Sleight of Hand - pickpocket:
As the conversation in the hall continues, Malkith quietly steps back into the open room. He checks briefly on the woman's condition as looks about for the button Oliver had tossed her earlier. With a deft hand, he pockets the token. The Varisian gently closes the door behind him as he returns to the group of men gathered in the hall.
"Perhaps you would like to take matters up with Herr Vanderkaskin himself," he says, addressing Oliver, "I saw him circulating amongst the crowd just moments earlier."
"Oh, no need for that," Oliver demurs mildly. "Brad here's got the message. I'm sure Old Stumpy hasn't a clue what the whole hullabaloo is about. He knows better than to cross Shorafa. Don't want to call Brad on the carpet in front of his new boss, right, Brad? I was a stranger in town myself once before Shorafa took me in. I don't see any reason to hold you fine gentlemen up any longer. Oh, and Dev?" he winks at Tendal. "Not to worry. Nary a word to Desy's husband, eh?"
Cursing in his mind as he counts his blessings, Phillip fakes a laugh at Dungo's insult. He repositions himself further to the right in the crowd and tries to repeat the measure, after waiting at least a couple of turns to steady his nerves and hand...
Phil finds another inattentive gambler, and this time, the whole operation comes off like a dream. Phillip's small hand plucks a wooden chit from the open pocket, which seems the size of a tent, without the slightest rattle of sound or touch of fabric. His hand closes around his prize as Dungo fixes its eyes on a woman near the front of the crowd. "Oh, madame!" it cries maliciously. "Not only have you kept your youthful figure: You've added so much to it!" Phil chances a glance at the color of the chip between his fingers: only red.
Frowning at such success being met with such poor takings, Phillip decides to chance a filch once more before deciding if he needs to alter the lay of things. Straining his eyes he tries to find a rich pocket that is in need of lightening...
Perception:
Sleight of Hand (Pickpocket):
Returning to the back door as stealthily as you came, you quietly unlock it and open it to slip in -- and immediately leap back again as you find yourself almost walking into a large iron pan wielded by the surprisingly strong arms of Drulia Wardrox. She is ready to strike with it but relaxes her grip when she sees it is you at the door. Slightly behind her in the doorway to the kitchen proper is Samaritha, her arms poised in what you recognize as an arcane caster's ready position. She lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, I'm glad you're back," she breathes. "We started to think that if someone jumped you and got the key...." She smiles and shrugs. "You're going to stay this time, right?"
His surprise almost instantly turning to mirth, Dayn steps inside and laughs out loud "Well! Looks like I certainly chose the right pair to guard the kitchen! Maybe we should have you two replace Zilcher's boys at the front door."
Still chuckling to himself, he turns around to lock the back door again and then turns back to the two young women before him. "I likely won't be having any reason to head back outside again, as everything seems on the up and up, for the most part, but I am going to take a quick look-see on the main floor again, just to make sure I'm not needed anywhere. I'll be back after that though. However before I go, how is everything in here so far?"
Frowning at such success being met with such poor takings, Phillip decides to chance a filch once more before deciding if he needs to alter the lay of things. Straining his eyes he tries to find a rich pocket that is in need of lightening...
Phillip weaves unobtrusively through the crowd that smells of sweat, cheap ale, and sea salt. He is about to despair of finding a worthwhile target and just pick a pocket at random and hope for at least a blue chip when he catches a whiff of fine sack. Following his nose, he glimpses on the edge of the crowd a man of late middle age, wearing fine clothes and a patchy gray beard. He's fairly certain he earlier spied him at a high-stakes golem table; apparently having met with what success he expected to find there, he is celebrating with wine and the rather low entertainment of Dungo's insults. While he isn't common enough to hold his chips in a gaping pocket, he has them in a pouch at his belt, and the opening isn't tightly secured. Too small for a human hand to slide in, but perhaps just enough room for a halfling's? Phillip continues weaving in that direction, as if he were merely trying to get out of the crowd and back to the bar for a refill; he times his passing so that his fingers slip into the pouch just as the wheel slows to a stop and everyone is leaning forward in anticipation. "Here's a familiar face!" Dungo croaks. "I'll never forget the first time I saw you -- but I'll keep trying!" Phil keeps walking as he casually slips his hand into his own pocket and glances down to catch the color of the chip between his fingers -- white!
"I likely won't be having any reason to head back outside again, as everything seems on the up and up, for the most part, but I am going to take a quick look-see on the main floor again, just to make sure I'm not needed anywhere. I'll be back after that though. However before I go, how is everything in here so far?"
Samaritha and Drulia walk with Dayn back into the kitchen proper, where the other girls are looking anxious but duck their heads and get back to work when Drulia gives them a hard glance. "Fine," Samaritha answers. "I mean, nothing out of the ordinary. Slicing cake and filling trays -- it's not spellcraft, you know." She sighs and pushes her hair back behind her ears. "If someone had told me I'd be doing kitchen work and glad to get it... well, I might never have left the caravan." She smirks at Daynadrian to show she's mostly joking.
At the sight of the chip in his hand, Phillip allows himself a small smile. A fair pay for a night's dishonest work... though perhaps it's best to not risk the loss when I'm this far ahead. Phil moves away from the Ghoulette table and basks in his own success.
With a half recalled thought he remembers that Sarien was intending to arrive tonight also, so set out to attempt to find him.
"It sounds like your business is done here then Mr. Bott, unless you plan to place some wagers?" Tendal offers, pointing down the corridor to the main casino floor with his cane. "If not, then it would be impolite for you to loiter here in the guest quarters...where you do not belong."
"Sure thing, Dev," Oliver grins as he moves past Braddon and Tendal back toward the lighted floor. "We're done here. No hard feelings, Brad. See you gentlemen around." With a jaunty salute, he takes his leave, heading for the front doors.
Meanwhile, Phillip starts to pay more attention to the longshanks' faces than their pockets, looking for Sarien.