Still standing and shaking his head to the query of whether he needed the trappings of harrowing to be borne "Txartelak." producing a single piece of gold through sleight of hands and holding it betwixt his index finger and middle finger "Laiko ondoren, zapi eta kandela beharra egongo naiz."
"Tradizionalistaren," the woman accuses wryly, removing a card case from a drawer. "Hala eta guztiz ere, flauta-jotzailea zuen ordaintzen duten, eh?" She nods Phil to one of the chairs, as she slides a well-worn Harrow deck from the case and begins to shuffle. "Irakurketa zilarrezko erdia baino ez da. Espiritu tentatzera etorkizun bikain bat iragartzeko espero ez bada behintzat."
Easing himself into a chair, Phillip nonetheless remains further towards upright and tense than recumbent and relaxed. Placing the gold coin down in between them he clarifies "Are, espirituen nahi dute ... txanpon kolorea haiei gutxi esan nahi du egingo. Gainerako sarrera da ..." implying that the remainder of the coin is given as a means of ensuring that her recommendation on where to seek cloth and candle is legitimate and will give him the sort of prices that one of the people might garner.
"Oh, aye," Padraig responds with a smile and a nod before his gaze wanders back out over the rooftops.
Turning from Padraig, Gristav's genial gentle smile falls to the shadow of sadness. He gains the hallway before he loses his restraint.
"Why, Mister Kane, do you think it is, we were brought to meet these people? And if you're about to say, 'dumb luck', be careful, because your animal seems passing clever, and familiars are not above mischief." Gristav grinned at Snake, then sobered some, and added, "And beside, I have often thought, and come of late to hope, that luck is neither blind nor dumb. At least, if capitalized."
"What ought we do for them?", the half-elf summed.
"I don't believe in 'luck', Gristav. I believe things happen for a reason. Not sure why or how, but, they just do. And as far as what we can do for them? I'd say to just leave them be. They've made it this far without us."
Braddon knocks on the door.
"Who's in there? We're friends. If you're not a friend open the door or I'll kick it down. We've got keys."
He takes no pains to keep his voice down.
"I don't believe in 'luck', Gristav. I believe things happen for a reason. Not sure why or how, but, they just do. And as far as what we can do for them? I'd say to just leave them be. They've made it this far without us."
"They made it up to three days ago, without us. They made it this far, with our help. I can't comfort and still myself, thinking of a foundering man, that he hasn't drowned yet."
"You're fooling yourself if you think it's because of us that they made it this far. And seeing how they 'made it up to three days ago without us', I'll ask you this: how did they survive all the previous YEARS without us, bub? 'Dumb luck' as you call it? I don't think so. They found a way and they will continue to find a way until their time is up. Why? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO," he states emphatically. "You wanna help people? Fine, then help people. But allow them to live their lives. Don't go around holding their hands the whole time like they're some type of newborn. All you're gonna accomplish is creating a lot of ticked off people."
Turning his attention in the direction of the noisy Braddon, "Well, he's nothing if not direct," he says as he makes his way over near him. He glances back and forth a few times between Braddon and the door. "Anything?" he asks, fairly certain no one in their right mind would answer to that. Of course, this is a place of madness.
Braddon knocks on the door.
"Who's in there? We're friends. If you're not a friend open the door or I'll kick it down. We've got keys."
He takes no pains to keep his voice down.
Braddon hears no sounds of any kind from the other side of the door.
------------------------------
Easing himself into a chair, Phillip nonetheless remains further towards upright and tense than recumbent and relaxed. Placing the gold coin down in between them he clarifies "Are, espirituen nahi dute ... txanpon kolorea haiei gutxi esan nahi du egingo. Gainerako sarrera da ..." implying that the remainder of the coin is given as a means of ensuring that her recommendation on where to seek cloth and candle is legitimate and will give him the sort of prices that one of the people might garner.
The Harrow reader gives Phil and his coin a measured glance and then shrugs. "Aukeratzerakoan," she reminds him, fanning the well-worn deck for him to draw one.
Without pause or flinch, Phillip reaches out and takes a card from near the left of the fan...
He glances back and forth a few times between Braddon and the door. "Anything?" he asks, fairly certain no one in their right mind would answer to that. Of course, this is a place of madness.
"If someone's hiding in there, they're not a friend."
Braddon pulls out his short sword and points at the door."Can you open it? It's locked," he politely requests of Snake.
He does a double take at the ranger. "Can I open it? With what? I don't have the keys." He looks to the door a moment trying to determine what else they can do to get it open before an odd feeling suddenly comes over him. He looks back to Braddon through narrowed eyes, an unsure look about him. "Well... maybe. You got some kinda wire or something?" He looks around for anything that might be of use.
"Weren't the keys given to the child? Why not ask her? Or if needs must improvise, and I applaud the sport of it, wasn't the broom bound with wire?"
"Maybe Gristav has the keys. Didn't we take 'em all? Anyway, that room of junk over there has plenty of wire and scraps of wood and things. Just don't get locked in there. Those doors are stronger than they look."
Braddon readies to stab any enemy that foolishly presents themself.
Snake looks over at Gristav, "I prefer to leave Cassey out of this. We'll find a way." Snake nods to Braddon and goes to the junk room, finding the sturdiest piece of wire he can in an attempt to get the door open.
Without pause or flinch, Phillip reaches out and takes a card from near the left of the fan...
He turns it over. "The Courtesan," the woman comments with amusement before taking the card from his fingers and shuffling it back into the deck. "Intrigue, scheming, manipulation... you must lead an interesting life."
--------------------------
Snake has no problem finding some tangled wire . He spends a few moments straightening it out and then slides it into the latch of the door, an act which feels oddly familiar. His first attempt at probing the lock is unsuccessful, so he slightly bends the end of the wire and tries again. After a while, his makeshift tool hooks around the locking mechanism and retracts it. He quickly tugs at the door before the wire slips and pulls it open.
The bedroom contains nothing but the bed and the empty trunk the Halfling cook had used, Phillip having seen her reunited with her belongings before escorting her away from the flophouse.
Looking at the wire in thought, "Hm." He nearly throws it away before deciding against it. "Look out, Luck," he warns the mongoose as he places the wire in his pack - the tiny creature making sure to get out of the way and completely out as he crawls down the side of the tall man, deciding to move around a bit. "Stay close," Snake tells him as he looks into the room.
"Well, bub, looks like our friends have left. Has your curiosity been resolved or are you looking for something specific?" he asks the determined ranger.
"Why's it locked?"
Braddon shrugs.
"Fine. Let's go do this other thing. What are we doing?"
Braddon makes his way towards the steps to leave.
Unable to stop a chuckle from breaking out, Phillip shifts in his seat and exposes his symbol of worship. Without any further clarification than that he adds "Fitting..."
The Harrower's eyes narrow; she nods wordlessly as she continues shuffling the deck, then deals nine cards onto the table, face down. Setting the undealt cards aside, she turns over the first column rapidly, in sequence, with none of the theatrics often employed to build suspense. "The Inquisitor, the Brass Dwarf, the Fiend. Two true matches. What is past cannot be changed or denied, but it may offer you protection in your current situation, if you embrace it. You have lost companions whose absence you may come to regret."
She moves to the middle column. "The Publican, the Wanderer, the Avalanche. The companions you have now ... they are not ones you would have chosen, yet they may prove invaluable in averting disaster."
She turns to the final column. "The Tangled Briar, the Queen Mother, the Teamster. The future is haunted by bad blood and old rivalries. Your path will, in large part, be determined by the forces beyond your control; and your fate, by your loyalties, for good or for ill."
While Phil is aware of the traditional interpretations of the cards, in his current situation, he cannot help but associate the Publican with Arnando Rolf and the Queen Mother with Shorafa Pamodae....
"Why's it locked?"
Braddon shrugs.
"Fine. Let's go do this other thing. What are we doing?"Braddon makes his way towards the steps to leave.
"Like as not, locked to discourage other squatters in what's becoming the key-keeper's space. We should finish our survey of the building, and tell her she'll need to re-lock the door. Unless you might?", Gristav asks Snake. "Even for practice? Handy bit of art, that. Learn it with the Elvish?"
"We've time enough, that whatever we do here, we might do it well."
Turning to Gristav with nary an expression, "No idea." He then closes the door, pulls out the wire and works on locking it back. Once he finally gets that taken care of he puts the wire back in his pack. As he turns to follow Braddon, he catches Gristav with that same questioning look. Pausing as if contemplating it again, he simply shakes his head and responds, "No idea," before moving to the stairs and heading back down.
"There are some other rooms, I believe?"
Gristav will complete a tour of the upper level, being stopped by locked doors, but not simply closed doors.
Gristav finds all the doors to be locked, save for the one leading to the belfry. There is still a noticeable stain on the floor from the dead priest's blood, and the secret panel Braddon discovered is leaning against the unfinished wall, leaving the empty treasure-hole exposed.
Gristav tidies the trapdoor and utters in Tien, "Rúguǒ hézi shì kōng de, shénme shì yǐncáng?"
Phil watches the unveiling of the cards with the interest of a gambler, one who is clearly involved... but attempting to show some emotive distance so as to not tip his hands. Regardless the cards still left him with a stolid chill in his stomach... much as he told his rational mind that there was little art to the lay, his upbringing among the Sczarni of Underbridge welled up and forced the lay to scar into his thoughts. Forcing a half-smile to his face he gives the Harrower a small nod "Much to think upon and reflect... I thank the cards." intonation in his voice suggesting that the appreciation flowed upwards to the hands that dealt them also.
"Now... the introduction?"
The woman nods, sweeping her deck back into its box and Phillip's gold coin into her pocket. "I trust you are capable of maintaining a small fiction," she remarks to Phil as she crosses to the door of her wagon. "'This man has paid me to induce you to trust him' isn't a ringing endorsement."
She leads him out into Lubbertown, a place not unlike Wharf District, with caravans going in and out instead of ships and business shouted in Varisian rather than Taldane. They duck around a pair of men carrying a yoke for oxen, pass a pen milling with goats and take a right around a corral of horses before arriving at a grouping of wagons in the midst of either loading or unloading a variety of goods.
"Wesh!" the woman calls, and a man with a once-neat moustache and beard, now in need of trimming, looks up from his work. The Harrower approaches the side of the wagon to continue the conversation at a lower tone of voice. "The halfling here is handling some procurement for the royal family. You can accommodate him?"
The man's gaze shifts down to Phillip, and he gives a grunt that sounds more affirmative than a flat refusal. "What does he need?"
Sense Motive:
Unable to get any read on the mustachioed Phillip instead reverts to script and offers a short nod, followed by words "A few trifles, cloth and candle."
Returning to the ground floor, Gristav wanders near Snake, and wonders near audibly, "Are we permitting ourselves, to be kind to these people? A breakfast at the Duck? Other foods, unaromatic and edible cold, to hide their fortune from local lampreys? A mount, or guardian, or nemesis, for Neenah?" At this last, Gristav grinds thumb against forefinger, and flourishes with a fillip and pop, presenting a prestidigitated pawnshop scrip, signed to the worth of one stuffed poppet.
"My gift to you", he says as Snake reads, "Whether or not, it's your gift to her."
"Where next?", Gris asks the space between Braddon and Snake.
With a confused look upon him, "What?"
Braddon's brow furrows.
"I thought we were heading back to the alchemist."
"A few trifles, cloth and candle."
"Sailcloth, workday stuff, or fancy dress?" the man replies with a tight-lipped grin. "Similar question about the candle, excepting the sailcloth?"
"We could do both. We could be kind, to blunt our worry, and still return to our worry. I suppose, we should return to that earlier door, first, and knock again. Maybe we'll be in a better mood, to return here." Gristav steps toward the door, and after a glance back, through it.
"Mister Kane, I propose a bargain. I will agree, that meddling is often no kindness. If you will agree, that kindness is often not meddling."
"Another pass at the dwarf, then?"
Casting aside the sleight of word, Phillip is more clear about his desires "Two scarves patterned traditionally, one inlaid with steel and the other with pockets where small valuables could be stowed. Quality mind, as they're for my own use."
"As to the candle" shrugging slightly "I'm less picky. Something that gives off a scent enough for the gadje and a few gaudy knick knacks would suffice."
The three men leave Rag's End as they found it and make their way back toward the alchemist's place. The sun is higher in the sky now, and the heat is building. As they approach the pocket in the ridge that houses the dead-end of Rotgut District, even the roof of the fortress-like building is now in the sun, although it's clear that the whole place will only be directly lit for a brief time near full noon. The fetid puddles between the shaded cobblestones are warming and stink of damp and decay. At the top of the rickety wooden staircase, the door they found locked earlier in the morning now stands propped open.
Advancing up the staircase at speed, electing to assay his luck with the stresses of speed instead of the odds of a shared ascent's accumulated weight, Gristav is at the doorway before he calls, and off the staircase and onto some hopefully heftier stone strata as he calls out, "Hello."
Gristav steps into a dim corridor, lit only by the rectangle of shadowy daylight from the open door. Uncarpeted and unornamented, save for cobwebs and the husks of dead insects, it runs to his left and right. There is a door at the end of the corridor to the left and one in the wall across from the entrance. There is no answer to his hail.
Snake glances from Gristav to the ticket and back again. "Alright. But I'll be saving this for another time. I won't be bothering them any longer today," he says, taking it and putting it away.
As they make their way back to the alchemist's, Snake notices the open door. "Looks like we showed up at the right time this time."
Braddon grumbles, "If I'm up, everyone should be."
Snake glances from Gristav to the ticket and back again. "Alright. But I'll be saving this for another time. I won't be bothering them any longer today," he says, taking it and putting it away.
"I can't agree...", Gristav says, leading the way back toward the alchemist, "That they're better left, hungry and hiding in their hovel, however home." He smiles back at Snake, and says playfully, "I indulge your control, and let you put me at arm's length, because that, perforce, puts you more proximate. I'm gauging that my absence aids you all. And you appear to agree."
As they make their way back to the alchemist's, Snake notices the open door. "Looks like we showed up at the right time this time."
Braddon grumbles, "If I'm up, everyone should be."
"But then you might never again, wake a young lady, with a kiss. Nor walk her home, strolling through a slumbering city. You've the look of the fairytale's prince; don't deny yourself his duties."
Gristav steps into a dim corridor, lit only by the rectangle of shadowy daylight from the open door. Uncarpeted and unornamented, save for cobwebs and the husks of dead insects, it runs to his left and right. There is a door at the end of the corridor to the left and one in the wall across from the entrance. There is no answer to his hail.
"Decidedly undwarven.", Gristav declares in distaste. "Or perhaps, just the paint of the place." He begins to sing:
"She grew, her magics too
For her, elf blood had held true
And found, she was all unlike
Her wolf clan"
"The wo-ulven, elven maid's
Slight hands, might hold a man's blade
Her voice, could sing out in sounds
Bird and Man..."
"Two scarves patterned traditionally, one inlaid with steel and the other with pockets where small valuables could be stowed. Quality mind, as they're for my own use."
"As to the candle" shrugging slightly "I'm less picky. Something that gives off a scent enough for the gadje and a few gaudy knick knacks would suffice."
The specialty scarves are easily supplied; Phillip even has his choice of color and pattern. "Setting up a Harrow operation?" the man asks, as they turn to the matter of candles. "No, don't tell me; the less I know, the better for everyone, eh? I have different colors ... and how long do you want it to burn? I have some that burn a different shade of flame depending how far down the wick you are, some that spark on the half-hour; those are extra, of course."
-------------------------------
The door opposite the main entrance to the alchemist's place is locked; the one at the end of the corridor to the left opens into a dark, narrow stairwell, leading down.
The door opposite the main entrance to the alchemist's place is locked; the one at the end of the corridor to the left opens into a dark, narrow stairwell, leading down.
"All the charm of underground living, with none of the usual drainage worries...", Gristav says, careful to allow the spiders time to avoid his approach.
"Hoy, below! I'd not surprise you!", he calls ahead as he descends, wondering if it was to be his turn to be caught in the trap of the day.
"I'll be surprised if they're surprised."
Braddon keeps his weapons sheathed as they enter and moves easily in the half light.
Before long, the stairs turn back on themselves sharply as they continue down; even the half-elves are straining to see in the murky dimness, while the human is feeling his way down and hoping the steps are uniform. Visible at the bottom of the staircase, after making the turn, is an open doorway through which a dull red light glows, illuminating the destination if not the journey. An acrid smell grows stronger as you descend.
Before long, the stairs turn back on themselves sharply as they continue down; even the half-elves are straining to see in the murky dimness, while the human is feeling his way down and hoping the steps are uniform. Visible at the bottom of the staircase, after making the turn, is an open doorway through which a dull red light glows, illuminating the destination if not the journey. An acrid smell grows stronger as you descend.
"Hello! If there's a dwarf about, I've business. An alchemist, the same. Both, so much the better...", Gristav calls conjuring the companionship of a friendly firefly, and holding back that of the winsome warrior. "Do you smell that bitter? Let's not intrude.", he says more softly to Braddon.
"Knock a bit on that door?"
Finding himself unable to see, Snake lights the way in front of him. "Seeing how we're not here to surprise anybody, I'm gonna give myself some light."
"Do you smell that bitter? Let's not intrude," he says more softly to Braddon.
"I'm intruding."
Braddon enters the dim red light."The other door was locked," he announces to the room by way of explanation and looks about.
"Do be careful of elbows and such.", Gristav says as Braddon moves past him.
"The light is most welcome.", he thanks Snake, his own firefly mote meandering, moot.
The threshold at the foot of the stairs opens into a large open space lit only by firelight: a large open firepit which might be pleasantly warm in the winter but renders the chamber sweltering in the summer heat, and several smaller flames burning under vials and flasks set around the room. Beneath the caustic scent of metals and mixtures, the air stinks of sweat and filth.
This lower floor is occupied by a strange figure, shorter and broader than a human man but looking curiously shrunken. A moment's puzzlement reveals that the man is a dwarf but one completely hairless, his bald pate and chin glistening with sweat; it's the lack of the usual beard, combined with a rather thin and caved-in quality of the chest, that makes him look uncanny. Every string-like muscle beneath his brow works visibly in the absence of eyebrows as he contorts his face into a scowl for the benefit of his newly-arrived visitors. "Well?" he demands. "What do you want?!"
"Larur Felden. Has he been here? What do you know, of his whereabouts? I am Gristav. Will you speak with me, mister...?"