Phil nods gamely, though his eyes and the corner of his mouth retain an impish sparkle and curl "Aye, eventually sure... but if it's out her eyes for the near term all the better." doing some mental calculations before confirming "As many as four men, and as soon as is able... coin isn't infinite, but is available. Where should you have word?" looking to confirm where he should rejoin Marce during lunch... before nodding.
Marce shoots a glance toward Cas. "Meet me out on the road to the wharves; Cas doesn't seem to take kindly to your presence," he smirks. Accepting the coins without comment, he returns Phil's nod and heads back to his work.
"He's a kid. Was an adult before he pissed off the wrong person. Next thing he knows, he finds himself on the wrong side of some bad magic that needs removing," he tells him, leaning back out.
Arnando frowns in disbelief and glances at Braddon for confirmation before raising his voice to call back into the kitchen, "Lalie! Watch the bar a moment?" He gestures for the two to lead the way through the kitchen to the back door.
"You'll agree, that would depend what he's considering. I delight in your people's sense of duty. Try to sense it in me, now. I've a friend gone missing, he was upset last eve, last I saw him. Not in his home, not in his office, last night, this morn, and an hour ago. And what I think he was doing, he'd have gone to Goldhammer, first or last." The half-elf paused, then asked, "A friend, missing, in Riddleport. What's a considerate fellow to do? Knock on every door? Or sing in the hall?"
The dwarf scowls suspiciously. "And what would your friend want that a metalsmith could put right? I'll leave it to your conscience whether to wake a dwarf who's just worked a shift of hard labor, and may Dranngvit dog your steps if you choose poorly." He directs Gristav to a room the next floor up, five doors from the staircase.
A slight smile and a nod are what Phillip leaves Marce with as he turns to walk away. Once free of the shipyard he considers walking the wharf before thinking better of it. Instead he sees his feet lead him towards Hassan.
Arnando frowns in disbelief and glances at Braddon for confirmation before raising his voice to call back into the kitchen, "Lalie! Watch the bar a moment?" He gestures for the two to lead the way through the kitchen to the back door.
Braddon wanders back to where he left Dayn and calls out softly.
"Dayn, get out here now. Favours don't wait round for long."
The dwarf scowls suspiciously. "And what would your friend want that a metalsmith could put right? I'll leave it to your conscience whether to wake a dwarf who's just worked a shift of hard labor, and may Dranngvit dog your steps if you choose poorly." He directs Gristav to a room the next floor up, five doors from the staircase.
"I appreciate your confidence. Thank you. I am Gristav.", Gris offers, pausing for a name, if it came, before heading for the stairs.
At Gravin's door, Gristav listens for any conversation a long moment, before tapping softly with a knuckle.
Around the back corner of the Publican House, the young elf scuffs morosely. Arnando frowns at him with absolutely no hint of recognition. "So ... what's the problem?"
"I appreciate your confidence. Thank you. I am Gristav.", Gris offers, pausing for a name, if it came, before heading for the stairs.
"Och, no!" the dwarf refuses disgustedly. "You'll not be telling Gravin Goldhammer I was the one who let you wake him." He slams the door between them, lest Gristav compile too competent a description of him in place of the name.
At Gravin's door, Gristav listens for any conversation a long moment, before tapping softly with a knuckle.
Listening, Gristav hears no voices from within the room, only an intermittent buzzing growl that he is able to interpret as a snore.
----------------------------------
Phillip leaves the workshop, the gimlet eye of the shipwright following him out the door, and lets his feet carry him back toward the Gold Goblin, north of the wharf. Within the casino's courtyard, Tendal and Piccolo still appear to be working with Thuvalia and the Varisian performers to arrange the dancing platform and bandstand to their liking. Saul and Bojasc are no longer in evidence, having returned to the interior of the building most likely. The halfling slips by without calling attention to his presence, takes a right turn, and passes in front of the Mystery of the Gate on his way to Hassan's small shop. As he approaches the front door beneath the brightly-painted sign, he can see men already milling around the entrances of Zincher's Arena, perusing the bouts on offer and waiting for the gates to open.
Snake looks to Dayn before turning to Arnando. "Well he use to be this tall." He places a hand in the air at a level that would equate an adult height. "And that was just yesterday. Our question to you is: Can you remove the curse?"
"This is Dayn."
Braddon frowns.
"When I first came in on Sunday, Malkith and I were chasing Sam. That girl with the fake horns and tail you knew came in and she was being hit on by two guys. That fancypants human and a... dashing elf. This is the elf. Sunday, an adult chasing cute women; today and some bad magic later, a child to all appearances. What is it? Will it wear off? Can it be fixed?"
Making a mental note to swing past the arena to get the lay of the fights to come after he was finished with Hassan, Phillip then took a steadying breath and stepped into the shop. He sought out the proprietor within the bric-a-brac as well as whether there was other custom in attendance.
Daynadrian gives Braddon an appreciative glance for the 'dashing' description, then directs an embarrassed smirk and wave at Arnando as confirmation of the admittedly unlikely story.
"'Curse?'" the barkeep repeats blankly after Snake, then looks back to Daynadrian. "You'd better come on inside." He waits for the others to enter the kitchen, then follows them in, shutting the door behind them. "Bad magic, you say. Whose?"
The silver bell above the door of the Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar sounds pleasantly as Phillip enters the familiar riot of colorful merchandise. Hassan is behind the counter in the back corner, finishing a transaction with a human male, but he looks up at the chime, and then down, and gives Phillip a nod which serves both as a greeting and as notice that he will attend to him when he has concluded his business with his present customer.
"'Curse?'" the barkeep repeats blankly after Snake, then looks back to Daynadrian. "You'd better come on inside." He waits for the others to enter the kitchen, then follows them in, shutting the door behind them. "Bad magic, you say. Whose?"
Glancing around, "Queen of the Silken Veil, bub."
"I appreciate your confidence. Thank you. I am Gristav.", Gris offers, pausing for a name, if it came, before heading for the stairs."Och, no!" the dwarf refuses disgustedly. "You'll not be telling Gravin Goldhammer I was the one who let you wake him." He slams the door between them, lest Gristav compile too competent a description of him in place of the name.
"Right", Gristav says softly, disappointedly. "I'm to count doors upstairs, but can't manage it, here?" Stout, staid, stolid folk, these dwarves.
At Gravin's door, Gristav listens for any conversation a long moment, before tapping softly with a knuckle.Listening, Gristav hears no voices from within the room, only an intermittent buzzing growl that he is able to interpret as a snore.
"He was snoring; I left him be. Thank you. I'm still Gristav, and you're Door Three. If you favor blueberry, I'd favor seeing you have some, baked into something?", Gristav asked sadly. "It's what I'd do for my friend, and hope to do again..." The half-elf didn't wait for an answer, it wasn't as important as the questions he still had.
The light around the door made enough of a beacon to guide him past the unbrightened pilots of the lamps, and onto the street again. Full daylight lied; everything in full view, but nothing any clearer. It was, after all, still Riddleport.
Phillip returns the nod and whiles the intervening time at a respectful distance from the transaction in progress.
Glancing around, "Queen of the Silken Veil, bub."
Arnando's eyes widen. "Why?"
Phillip lets his gaze travel over the glass and wooden windchimes, brightly-enameled pottery, necklaces of knotted cord and hand-painted beads, hammered copper bracelets and earrings, tiny stone idols, small carved chests, and the rest of Hassan's wares as he waits for the previous customer to conclude his purchase.
"I thank you for your business, " the shopkeeper smiles from behind his counter as he hands over a wrapped parcel to the waiting man. The door chime rings as the man exits, and Hassan turns his attention to the halfling. "Welcome back, my friend! Are you in search of another gift? Or have you returned for your puzzle box?"
Gristav exits the dwarven dormitory into the sunlit street and pauses a moment to let his eyes adjust to the brightness. To his south are the dilapidated and depressing environs of Rotgut District; straight ahead is the hulk of the Gas Forges, spewing foul smoke into the sky, and beyond that, the wharves; north are the more respectable neighborhoods of Leeward District.
Answering relatively businesslike "Both... and information besides." putting hand within his purse and first counting out the remaining value put down against the puzzle box in gold coins before continuing to speak "On a previous visit we agreed that some goods attract a less desireable clientele... but now given that the air is clear and that I hope my custom does not fall into that category... might one peruse your special stock?"
Arnando's eyes widen. "Why?"
Braddon shrugs.
"She wants us to... do something for her. We were gonna do it anyway, but we weren't gonna do it for her. We'd like to keep it that way."
"Shorafa's pressuring you?" he asks, startled, taking an unconscious step away from Dayn, as if the priestess's displeasure might be contagious. "This has something to do with Lil, doesn't it?"
putting hand within his purse and first counting out the remaining value put down against the puzzle box in gold coins
Hassan's eyebrows raise as he watches Phil stack eleven gold coins on the countertop. "You have been in luck, my friend, since your last visit. But wait," he reminds the halfling, producing the puzzle box from beneath the counter and shaking it to produce a telltale rattle, "there are still two coins wanting. Will you produce them now from within the coffer? Or add two more to your stack and replenish your purse from the box at your leisure?"
Snake cuts his eyes from the bartender to Braddon, giving the ranger the obvious impression that the ball is in his court. This is your world, bub. Good luck. He looks scared already.
Pensive, part morose, Gristav dawdles toward the Publican. After a block, he catches himself at it, and puts back on the fae face and perambulator's pace, with even the occasional spin of the staff as erstwhile evidence of high spirits.
He flags Grimas at first sight, and at the dock stands still, spinning, a wheel long empty of straw, but still hoping for gold.
"Shorafa's pressuring you?" he asks, startled, taking an unconscious step away from Dayn, as if the priestess's displeasure might be contagious. "This has something to do with Lil, doesn't it?"
Braddon looks to Snake and sighs.
"Lil has done a runner. Lot's of people want her back. We're going to get her."
Phillip pauses for a few moments as though turning over the thought... and measuring whether a trick turned days ago could possibly sour the delicate situation of dealing in illicit materials. With a smile he fishes a pair of additional gold coins from his purse, playing them across the knuckles and only the pile "What's within for a rainy day then." watching Hassan's face for any signs as to whether the contents had been scanned or not...
"Lil has done a runner. Lot's of people want her back. We're going to get her."
"'Lots of people,'" he repeats carefully. "Who, exactly?"
"Shorafa, for a start."
Braddon fold his arms.
"Why's it matter? What do you know about Lil? We're here to help Dayn and he's done nothing to Lil."
Snake's eyes narrow at the bartender. "Yeah, bub, why does it matter? We just wanna know if you can help the elf or not. If so, we're willing to compensate you for your trouble. If not, then we'll be on our way. It's that simple. Not real interested in the twenty questions."
"In case you haven't noticed, this isn't the Bank of Abadar," Arnando retorts. "You want to buy yourself a miracle, cart a load of gold to Korvosa; I answer to more than just a balance sheet. I agreed to do you a favor yesterday and ended up working with the Gendarmes; I want to know who I'm getting into bed with if I get involved."
With a smile he fishes a pair of additional gold coins from his purse, playing them across the knuckles and only the pile "What's within for a rainy day then." watching Hassan's face for any signs as to whether the contents had been scanned or not...
Hassan grins, quickly sweeping the thirteen coins off the counter with one hand while he pushes the puzzle box across to Phil with the other. "A wise habit," he replies. "Those who plant silver reap gold, no? But your two sown coins would have to bear much fruit before they could purchase greater treasures." He peruses the halfling shrewdly, as if gauging the weight of his purse.
Gristav skirts the Gas Forges and strolls past Zincher's Arena, where knots of men are gathered at the gates waiting for them to open and the day's bouts to begin, continuing through Leeward Common, where those men's wives and housekeepers are haggling with farmers and other merchants for the weekend's supplies, then turning east past well-kept shops and flower-boxed boarding houses on his way to the Velashu. Grimas is seated on a piling at the end of the dock, fanning what breeze has found its way upstream from the harbor onto his face with a floppy straw hat.
"Not to end your leisure...", Gristav begins, smiling, "If you'd trust me with the stave (I'd have to trust you with mine), and advise in it's use, I'll go twice the usual fare, and the work, as well. I've an urge toward violence, but honest labor would do."
"Do you get much dwarven traffic? Would you recall- DO you recall- one that might have been named 'Wheezy', or 'Grumbles'? Although that last would be rather common..."
"I'm bound for Arnando, not specifically the Publican. He hasn't crossed, has he? Having time to waste, doesn't mean I want to."
Shrugging to agree and not to Hassan's words Phillip skirts "Not all treasures are bought with gold or silver... though in the most part there is little to fault with your words." eyes hardening slightly before finishing with "So... show me something worthy of what silver and gold I might part with..."
"In case you haven't noticed, this isn't the Bank of Abadar," Arnando retorts. "You want to buy yourself a miracle, cart a load of gold to Korvosa; I answer to more than just a balance sheet. I agreed to do you a favor yesterday and ended up working with the Gendarmes; I want to know who I'm getting into bed with if I get involved."
"Lil organised last Sunday's attack on the Gold Goblin. Meanwhile, she poisoned Mescher's daughter and set us up for the girl's abduction and rape after tossing my Gramma over a cliff. Mescher's sent men after her, Saul wants her away, Shorafa wants her back and I want her dead," Braddon snaps.
"Dayn had something done to him. Do you know what it is? Are you saying that you do know and you can fix it but you won't because of something to do with Lil? Do you want us to bring her to you too? 'Cause I'd rather be working for you than Shorafa."Braddon glares at the man.
"I'm not saying anything," Arnando placates, "just asking. It's a curse?" he asks Daynadrian. "You're sure?
"That's what he said it was," the young elf responds, pointing a finger at Snake. "Can you undo it?"
"So... show me something worthy of what silver and gold I might part with..."
"Hm," Hassan replies distractedly. He continues to fix the halfing with a probing gaze for a long moment before offering a wry smile. "A moment." He exits through the door behind the counter, which presumably leads to storage and his own living quarters, returning soon with a intricately-carved box the size of a large book. Setting it on the countertop, he removes a small key from his pocket to unlock the box before lifting its lid. Within, Phil can see what looks to be a length of cotton cord, folded linen, a nondescript pair of gloves, coarse leather armbands, and a gauzy set of gauntlets that resemble spidersilk. The box looks to be lead-lined. Despite the mundane appearance of the contents of the small chest, Hassan keeps a wary eye on the front door, keeping a hand ready to clap the lid shut again if anyone else should enter.
"Do you get much dwarven traffic? Would you recall- DO you recall- one that might have been named 'Wheezy', or 'Grumbles'? Although that last would be rather common..."
The ferryman returns a grim smile. "Aye, perhaps, but I don't know a dwarf who would answer to either epithet with a gentler response than breaking a kneecap. I do get dwarven traffic, as their homes and job are one side of the river and the tavern on the other. If there's one in particular you're looking for, you'd do better to ask for him by name, not hint around like a virgin in a brothel."
"I'm bound for Arnando, not specifically the Publican. He hasn't crossed, has he? Having time to waste, doesn't mean I want to."
Grimas sighs crossly. "Just got back from taking your mates there. You couldn't have traveled in company and saved me a trip? As far as I know, Arnando's in his sanctum. If he's crossed the Velashu, it wasn't by the sweat of my brow."
Phillip casts his eyes over the collection of goods, momentarily dismayed to see no vials of poison or drugs... before looking up towards Hassan once more, eager for a salesman's pitch...
"Do you get much dwarven traffic? Would you recall- DO you recall- one that might have been named 'Wheezy', or 'Grumbles'? Although that last would be rather common..."The ferryman returns a grim smile. "Aye, perhaps, but I don't know a dwarf who would answer to either epithet with a gentler response than breaking a kneecap. I do get dwarven traffic, as their homes and job are one side of the river and the tavern on the other. If there's one in particular you're looking for, you'd do better to ask for him by name, not hint around like a virgin in a brothel."
Gris chuckles.
"I'm bound for Arnando, not specifically the Publican. He hasn't crossed, has he? Having time to waste, doesn't mean I want to."Grimas sighs crossly. "Just got back from taking your mates there. You couldn't have traveled in company and saved me a trip? As far as I know, Arnando's in his sanctum. If he's crossed the Velashu, it wasn't by the sweat of my brow."
"Thank you.", Gristav answers, thinking backward over the answers. "We aren't very good company, to be in company. And I could save you half a trip, or the sweat of it; I offered my turn at the punt." Gristav smiles weakly, already mentally among words he hadn't yet said.
"The dwarf, name of Larur. You, observant clever you, would remember him as the one went missing from the morning cluster leaving work for bottle breakfast and dawn dinner, a month or so ago. And then you'd have seen him not in that company, today, or last night, and perhaps you noted an unusual shortness. In his breath. He'd have been taking a pace that would have made that plain, hence, 'Weezey'." Gristav felt uncharacteristically short of breath himself, and found something else-way of interest, causing him to turn away from Grimas. When he turned back, he said, "I'm worried about him."
"That's what he said it was," the young elf responds, pointing a finger at Snake. "Can you undo it?"
Giving Snake a sharp glance, Arnando answers, "I ... don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. If it is a curse, then it's reversible in theory. Whether I can do it...," he shrugs. "Shorafa's a bit closer to Calistria than I am to Cayden, I'm afraid. I can't immediately. I suppose I could try after lunch. But I'll not make you any promises."
Hassan studies Phillip another pensive moment, then reaches into the box and picks up the gloves gingerly. "I was sold these by a Cyphermage apprentice in need of some quick and anonymous coin. On command, one glove animates and will assist its wearer with a single task, or provide a momentary ally in a fight. After a single use, the magic is expended, leaving only a pair of gloves ... which," he grins, "will still protect the hands from cold and damp. They are very dear, nearly 200 gold coins." He watches Phil's reaction closely.
"The dwarf, name of Larur. You, observant clever you, would remember him as the one went missing from the morning cluster leaving work for bottle breakfast and dawn dinner, a month or so ago. And then you'd have seen him not in that company, today, or last night, and perhaps you noted an unusual shortness. In his breath. He'd have been taking a pace that would have made that plain, hence, 'Weezey'." Gristav felt uncharacteristically short of breath himself, and found something else-way of interest, causing him to turn away from Grimas. When he turned back, he said, "I'm worried about him."
"Aye," the ferryman frowns in remembrance, "that'd be the dwarf that went into business with Old Stumpy ... Saul Vankaskerkin, that is. Strange thing, a dwarf not at the Forges, in Riddleport. Had a falling out with the management, from what I heard: fired for undisclosed reasons. Stealing from the till, maybe? I heard the reopening of the Gold Goblin was bankrolled by him." He eyes Gristav inquisitively, obviously eager to have his speculation confirmed or denied by the half-elf's reaction.
Phillip shows no degree of surprise or concern at the value stated by Hassan, instead considering the gloves with a measured and calculating air. A slight waft of the hand dismisses the gloves without prejudice "Of use to some I am sure... though upon them I'll not press how nearly to the twin centuries would be needed." wrying turning up the corner of his mouth "But they do not fit what need is held..." indicating with his eyes a greater interest in the spidersilk, the cord and the linen primarily.
..."I'm worried about him.""Aye," the ferryman frowns in remembrance, "that'd be the dwarf that went into business with Old Stumpy ... Saul Vankaskerkin, that is. Strange thing, a dwarf not at the Forges, in Riddleport. Had a falling out with the management, from what I heard: fired for undisclosed reasons. Stealing from the till, maybe? I heard the reopening of the Gold Goblin was bankrolled by him." He eyes Gristav inquisitively, obviously eager to have his speculation confirmed or denied by the half-elf's reaction.
Gris' eyes flare at the imputation. Already emotional, he steps en line with Grimas, but halts at half the pirouette that'd bring the backhanded blow of the ashen stave to bear. Grimas. Is. Not. The. Problem., some better part of Gris silently insists, and he crouches, and sets the staff on the ground.
Rising, still incensed, But not at Grimas, Gristav steps to within a whisper's width of the ferryman, but the ex-pirate doesn't flinch or fade. "Larur Felden is the most honest man in Riddleport, except for me, when I'm saying those words.", Gristav growls. "His money's his own, earned at the forges, and his whisper is their embezzlement." The truths unburdened Gristav. He could have stopped talking.
"He's partner in the Goblin, to provide better for his family, a gamble to replace the time that was embezzled, and he'll make it pay. We'll, make it pay. Or them. He's my truest friend, and he's missing, and conspired against. Missing, with the only thing I know to give his spirit peace. So stop teasing me. Have you seen him? Has he crossed?"
Hassan sets the gloves back inside the box and carefully removes the gossamer gauntlets. "For those who like to travel light," he grins. "The man who slips these over his arms can be dressed for any occasion, in the blink of an eye. Useful when you are not certain what opportunities a day may bring ... or when someone may be looking for a man seen dressed in a particular fashion and you do not wish to be that man. Perhaps you find these a better investment for two hundred gold coins?"
"Or," he goes on, setting down the sleeves and picking up the folded linen, "for the same price, a quantity of gauze steeped in healing magic. These must have fallen out of a crate being carted to the arena," he explains circumspectly. "A wound wrapped in these bandages, deep as it may be, will mend quickly, with no requirement to pay healers or stay abed. Like the gloves, however, they may be used only once before their magic is expended."
He notices Phillip's interest in the cord. "This item," he warns him, "is far more costly than the others."
"Larur Felden is the most honest man in Riddleport, except for me, when I'm saying those words.", Gristav growls. "His money's his own, earned at the forges, and his whisper is their embezzlement." The truths unburdened Gristav. He could have stopped talking.
"He's partner in the Goblin, to provide better for his family, a gamble to replace the time that was embezzled, and he'll make it pay. We'll, make it pay. Or them. He's my truest friend, and he's missing, and conspired against. Missing, with the only thing I know to give his spirit peace. So stop teasing me. Have you seen him? Has he crossed?"
The ferryman raises his palms, pacifying. "Easy, mate; I mean no offense. There's a fleet of rumors to be heard in Riddleport, and many of them flying under false colors. Only a man who knows what's being said against him can defend himself, eh? At any rate, no, he hasn't crossed by my boat."