The barkeep examines Tendal a moment, then parts his lips in a grin that reveals that his front teeth have been filed to points. "Don't suppose a lubber like that's keen on claiming a square yard of floor in the flop room," he lisps around the dental modification as he fills the requested mugs. "Got private rooms upstairs. Half a gold a room, and 2 silver for each additional resident." His eyes fall on Phillip. "No matter what size," he clarifies. "No discount for packing slips in like sardines."
Sidling easily forwards and with head slightly bowed Phillip confides in the barkeep "Two rooms if it pleases you sir. One for the master and the other for the rest of us sardines."
"One gold and six silver," the man replies with alacrity, displaying none of the hesitation regarding figures that the crewman of the Jewel had. Assuming the money changes hands, he provides two keys and directions to rooms at the top of the stairs along with the mugs of ale. "Do your drinking down here," he instructs. "I've no interest in climbing stairs all day to fetch down empty mugs."
"...they hold their head, like very dead, herring do...", Gristav sings softly.
Tendal curls his lip up at the thought of drinking any of the swill that the barkeep might find rotting into vinegar beneath his bar. Then, thinking better of the retort that was on the edge of his lips, he snapped out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, inhaling the scent of roses and cinnamon before tucking it back into his doublet with a flourish and returning with his purse.
"That's quite good then my goodman," he said, negligently dropping the coinage onto the bar as if he cared little about the money.
Tendal then turned around slowly, scanning the room. "Ah, good, an open table." he said, pointing it out with his cane. "Since you are requiring us to take our libations here in the common room, and I am parched from the trip, I think I will see what you can offer." he announced, as he turned his gaze back to the barkeep. I doubt that anything sold in this place is worth drinking. Its likely not even good enough to clean the grease off of this bar.
"I don't expect that you have a bottle of Cherval white or Highridge of any vintage?" Tendal asked dubiously, his face sour and pinched.
The barkeep lets out a bark of amusement. "I got ale, beer, whiskey, and gin. Got some brandy for medicinal purposes ... sailors who fall in the brink in the winter and the like. I'll tell you, I got a bottle here from a sailor swore it came all the way from Arcadia, if you believe it exists. I can pour you a glass of that if it'll be exotic enough for you."
Tendal lets out a sigh of long suffering. Seriously, when would tavern owners start to learn that they needed good vintages to entice well to do customers?
"Fine, fine. Let's take a look at the bottle and see what you have. I imagine that its the only thing I will be able to stomach anyways." he says with obvious resignation.
Snake can only shake his head and roll his eyes at the uppity wizard. "Whiskey, bartender. Four. We'll be over there," he motions with a nod of his head, making his way promptly.
Phillip holds up a hand to forestall any drink for himself, port being his libation of choice when work is of a mind. As they move to the a hopefully empty table he casts his eyes across the room again, seeking to spy whether there are any of Sczarni or a drug-dealing bent amongst the sailors.
When everyone has been seated and the drinks sorted out (Braddon selflessly dealing with any leftover ales), the barkeep sets a dusty bottle on the table in front of Tendal with a grin. There is no label, and the liquid inside is nearly colorless; if it is some sort of wine, it is clearly white.
Tendal quirks an eyebrow at the bottle, a very puzzled look passing over his face. "You know, I think it is becoming a tradition to have barkeeps own extremely dusty bottles of unknown providence. This must be the third or fourth bottle that I have seen in such condition since departing Magnimar. Does the dust add some ambiance of respectability? Perhaps its simply the mystery of it?" he mulls aloud to nobody in particular. "Will it be swill, vinegar, passable, or miraculously some amazing vintage, forgotten for ages and never to be truly known, due to the lack of label? In a way, this is a bit of gambling. Will the traveling gentleman partake of the vintage, or simply turn his nose up?"
Tendal takes out another handkerchief, carefully grasping the dusty bottle and works the cork free with his other hand, then pours himself out a measure of the liquid into his goblet.
"No time like the present..." he says, taking a small tot of the liquid, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment, then swallowing.
Tendal quirks an eyebrow at the bottle, a very puzzled look passing over his face. "You know, I think it is becoming a tradition to have barkeeps own extremely dusty bottles of unknown providence. This must be the third or fourth bottle that I have seen in such condition since departing Magnimar. Does the dust add some ambiance of respectability? Perhaps its simply the mystery of it?" he mulls aloud to nobody in particular.
"Dust is cheap.", Gristav observes.
"Will it be swill, vinegar, passable, or miraculously some amazing vintage, forgotten for ages and never to be truly known, due to the lack of label? In a way, this is a bit of gambling. Will the traveling gentleman partake of the vintage, or simply turn his nose up?"
"You do mean, the rhetorical traveling gentleman...?", Gristav suggests hopefully.
Tendal takes out another handkerchief, carefully grasping the dusty bottle and works the cork free with his other hand, then pours himself out a measure of the liquid into his goblet.
"No time like the present..." he says, taking a small tot of the liquid, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment, then swallowing.
"Probably wise, to spare it the nose...", Gristav jests, as it becomes clear Tendal is committed.
The liquid in the dusty bottle has a distinctly smoky smell as Tendal pours it into the glass. The alcohol is pungent and earthy with a buttery, viscous feel on the tongue; it seems to pack a wallop if the amount of burn it leaves behind in the mouth is any indication.
Braddon sits happily with the others, ale in one hand and another before him on the table.
"Well, last night went well. I wonder if it'll still be standing when we get back."
He looks to the others.
"So, where should we start? Wouldn't there be a harbour master, or spies on the docks to let us know if she's come in?"
Phillips eyes keep on the man who is both interested and not, forcing his gaze elsewhere by holding his own eyes. At quiet ebb he confides in those beside him "Braddon... man there at a corner table's holding his eyes on us a bit more than I'd like. Take a spot between him and the door if you can... I'm off to make introductions." pausing while he holds gaze to see if there is dissenting or affirming reaction from the others.
Gristav lets the passage of Braddon's broad bulk conceal the synchronized casting of a spell serving superspectral sensorium...
"Braddon... man there at a corner table's holding his eyes on us a bit more than I'd like. Take a spot between him and the door if you can... I'm off to make introductions."
Braddon sighs and nods.
"Fine, we'll start with him."Picking up both mugs, he makes his way towards the door, looking for a spare seat.
Fidgeting with his glass, Snake listens as he stares at the whiskey within. When his attention moves to the departing Braddon, he cuts his eyes over at Phillip and gives the slightest of nods before turning his attention back to his drink.
Braddon wends his way between the unsymmetrical clutter of tables, hooking a unused crate with one booted foot and dragging it to an open patch of floor where he has eyes on the table Phillip indicated. There are three human men sitting at it, but it's easy to pick out by body language and attitude which of the three is the leader of the pack: a physically-powerful man with the soft glimmer of armor visible beneath a cloak that's a bit too plush for the room, he leans forward on the rough wood of the table while his two slighter companions who look like run-of-the-mill Riddleport thugs eagerly cede him the space.
"...cloak and shield...", Gristav hisses toward his untouched whiskey, not looking at the man. "...magicked..."
"I'd guess the glare is addressed to Mister Kane.", Gris adds with less discretion.
Slipping casually from his chair Phillip runs a hand through his tousled hair as he attempts to maintain a serene and untroubled saunter over to the side table. His hands are always in clear view, by intent though not overtly plain, and his face shows a hint of a smirk amongst it's abundantly neutral expression. As he closes, he delves within the well of understanding of humanity that allows him insight into the darker corners of a man's heart...
When within spitting distance, though not stabbing distance, Phil stops and looks up at the seated man. With languid voice that flows from the tongue as though honey off a spoon he queries "Good evening, might I offer you a drink?"
"Hmmm. Better than I truly expected." Tendal says, appreciatively sipping the liquor, then frowns as Phillip leaves the table.
"It looks like our colleague has already made up his mind about how we are about to begin here." he says quietly.
The man's eyes narrow. "I look like I need someone to buy me a drink?"
Maintaining his slight separation the halfling shows no ruffled feathers to the gruff reception, instead smoothing "Of course not... though the fact alone is hardly reason to refuse a gesture well meant." pausing to put his arms to his sides and adopt a neutral pose... the pause implying that Phillip waits to see if invitation to join is offered, or departure demanded... or something in between.
The man's body language relaxes a bit, and one side of his mouth twists up in a rather unpleasant grin. "Beat it, slip," he dismisses Phillip off-handedly. "I'm not looking to make new friends."
Letting pretense of civility drop Phillip states plainly in response "Neither am I... but your eyes speak otherwise. Since my master entered you've kept your gaze upon him." jerking his head back towards where both Tendal and Serpe sit "Either speak to your intent, or seek another object for your affection."
The man's scowls, and his tablemates also turn unfriendly eyes on the halfling. "What the hells, little man? You looking to pick a fight? Ain't no law telling a man where he can rest his eyes. Your master doesn't want to be seen, tell him not to come into a public tavern."
Keeping his voice even and level Phillip smirks slightly as he gives a last answer "This slip just serves as messenger, hear my words or ignore them as you wish..." providing the merest nod of the head before turning and walking nonchalantly away and back towards his own table. As he leaves, his eyes flit over to read Braddon's expression - seeking whether there is reason in his reaction to either duck or turn to blade.
Snake sneaks a glance over at the table, noticing that the situation does not seem to be going well. "Uh-oh," he mutters, turning his attention to the only other two left at their table. "Be ready, bubs, this might get ugly fast," he warns as he turns his attention back to his untouched whiskey, the brim of his hat blocking the majority of his face while he toys with the glass again as if to simply keep busy.
"You see, there they have the advantage of numbers. More of them are already ugly.", Gristav grinned.
Braddon places his mostly empty mug on the floor and scratches below his knee, his hand just above the blade hidden in his boot.
"Please don't start a fight until I've finished my drinks..." he thinks loudly.
The man's scowl at the party around the table becomes more open and general, as Phillip returns. One of his friends leans forward and whispers something urgently, but the man glances at the fat man behind the counter and responds with a wry grimace and a sharp shake of his head. He drains his mug and lets it fall back onto the table with a loud clatter. Getting to his feet without ever taking his eyes off the four men across the room, he gives them a hard stare as he deliberately saunters out of the Fish and Fortune, his followers with their own belligerent posturing in tow.
Watching the men make their way out the door, Snake motions for Braddon to return and waits until he and Phillip both are back at the table. "Looks like we've made some friends; and I think it's safe to say they're gonna be waiting for us to come out and play. Now whether that's out in the open - because he's a big tough guy and appears as if he's scared of nothin' - or whether it's not, I don't know. One thing's for certain though... either way, there will be blood. I know this is a bit out there but I recommend we keep ours," he says plainly, his eyes glancing over toward the door they just left through.
Phillip's first words when he arrives back at the table follow a sigh "People just don't put thoughts to manners anymore, I'm beginning to question whether it's worth decorum anymore." before shrugging and slipping back into his seat, still with his back to the thug and thuggees.
After hearing Serpe's view and surreptitiously calling Braddon over to join them he presents his thoughts "He's got intent to something surely... though it'd seem he's cowed from actioning it here in commons. Whether he's got threads and friends beyond the room or not..." shrugs "we can either wait here for any return... or put our Bounty Hunter upon their trail?"
"Way he was measuring us was telling though at the outset - he's either made Snake, in which case standing tall would be our best way forward... or he was just casing us as marks for later tally... in which case we might be better sallying forth to the street... for mine I'd stay here in commons a while longer. Clear view of the entry, onlookers, beverages and a seat to rest upon a while."
"Mr. Hargreaves, as usual, you have the most agreeable plan. I must second your recommendation. This drink is...interesting, the seat is reasonably comfortable and perhaps we can gain more information from the clientele before we make our way outside."
"However, I must firmly disagree with your questioning of decorum. It is always a good idea to maintain decorum. I feel that no matter what the situation, it puts those who are friendly at their ease and those who mean to do us ill either discount our skill, or are disconcerted and thus allow us to gain the advantage." Tendal pronounces, then sips at his drink.
The back and forth between the two tables draws some interest from the rest of the clientele, but after the other man departs with his companions, the tavern-goers return to their own affairs. The newcomers seem to attract no further incommensurate attention.
Braddon returns to the others at a leisurely pace.
"I've got a second drink to finish."
Braddon takes a sip.
"Now I'm happy to trail him but the best way to do that is to ask his name, ask where he's staying and bust in there at dawn."
He takes another sip.
"And we get a good night's sleep while they lurk outside being bored. I hate waiting."
Phil takes out a copper from his pocket and sets it spinning upon the tabletop, taking a few moments to stare at it as he thinks. Eventually with a shrug he lets it gradually slow and fall flat "A watch over the night would be prudent... and perhaps despite the words to the owner we might not leave Magnimar ripe and sleeping on his lonesome?"
Nodding in agreement with the two, "Sounds good to me."
"I don't care whose lonesome he sleeps on.", Gristav says, rising toward the bar. "I've never been the sort to pry."
Laughing, Gristav goes to the bar, letting the genuine garrulousness paint his presentation, patient for attention, and he asks the barman, "These fellows I've fallen in with... seems to be some ill humor, 'tween them and the shielded man, just left. Could you tell me, who that gentleman was?"
"Harvey Read," the barkeep scoffs, polishing a cup with a stained rag. "One of the port-governor's new lieutenants. Doubt he lasts long. Jess Gildersleeve has an eye for the dandies but the attention span of a spawning salmon."
Nodding in agreement with the two, "Sounds good to me."
"I am loathe to leave malingerers doing what they do best, but we just arrived, and still don't know the lay of the land. Caution and proper preparation are always warranted. In this case I feel that there is no immediate time pressure. Our only requirement is that we be back in Riddleport by the end of the week," Tendal observes.
"Allowing the gentlemen who wait outside the pleasure of keeping watch through the night out in the damp and cold while we sleep on the problem sounds like an excellent plan," he says.
Braddon raises his mug to Tendal.
"Great idea," he acknowledges and takes a quaff.
"Someone should be up at dawn to find who they've set to spy on us. Someone hard to notice." Braddon's eyes slide briefly to Phil.
"Then we can either follow that guy when they change guard, or mug him and k... question him."
"Harvey Read," the barkeep scoffs, polishing a cup with a stained rag. "One of the port-governor's new lieutenants. Doubt he lasts long. Jess Gildersleeve has an eye for the dandies but the attention span of a spawning salmon."
Gristav chuckled at the metaphor. "Are my eyes failing? I saw more the brute than the dandy in that Read, and two others in tow? Is the town so dangerous, that a lieutenant governor walks armed and guarded?", Gristav wondered, not loudly, but aloud, not at the barman, but near him. "Say, would you have any cider?", asked in the next half-second, gave contrasts to compare. "And on the topic; what, would you like to have, that you have not?"
"Say, would you have any cider?", asked in the next half-second, gave contrasts to compare. "And on the topic; what, would you like to have, that you have not?"
The barkeep retrieves an earthenware jug from beneath the counter and proffers the requested beverage. "What? granting wishes, are you?" he chuckles. "Wouldn't say no to a room full of gold and a mansion in Magnimar."
With the common relatively well handled, Phillip excuses himself to their rooms... with an initial intent to recon entries and exits from their quarters, so as to best safeguard their first night.
"Say, would you have any cider?", asked in the next half-second, gave contrasts to compare. "And on the topic; what, would you like to have, that you have not?"The barkeep retrieves an earthenware jug from beneath the counter and proffers the requested beverage. "What? granting wishes, are you?" he chuckles. "Wouldn't say no to a room full of gold and a mansion in Magnimar."
"I can provide a gold", Gristav replied, setting and lifting the cider mug to reveal the coin waiting below, "...and an introduction to a man from Magnimar." A faint head-toss was wont to shepherd the barman's eye toward the table, when it was done chasing the coin.
"But what I meant was what your business might need. You've no shortage of custom, and I don't doubt your bill of fare meets every known need. But what would you like, to be offering, beside? I'm part Elf, no part Djin, but neither can meet a need until they know it. Salted pumpkinseeds? Pretzels? Draught-boards? Pies!? Small ones, that don't need to be cut. Nor kept cool, owing to the thickness of the shell. It's a thirsty sort of treat. What might be the 'more' in your 'morrow'?"
"And now, you're thinking that I'm here to sell it to you. But I have none of it, and none of any to sell. Yet I know a single or several source for each, and would serve as voice and speed between. Some men, of greed or gravitied heart, want business, and needs must travel. My own, fae flittering flutter, wants travel, and needs must business. Everyone's got to be useful to someone."
"I am Gristav. Might I be useful to you?"
The barkeep grins. "Men come here for a drink and a floor that doesn't rock with the waves. Suppose if you could provide me with some fancy liquor, like what your mate was asking for, it might be worth my while. Folk's'll turn up for exotic drinks, to try them and dare each other to. Dwarven fire ale, for instance, or that burning water from Irissen."
-------------------------------
Taking the pair of keys, Phillip slips discreetly out of the common room and up the staircase, which leads to a U-shaped corridor with doors on either side. Locating the rooms assigned to the party, he finds that they are small and simple, each containing a bare bedstead, a washstand with a basin and pitcher, and a standing wardrobe. Straw ticks, presumably for the beds and the floor for any additional occupants of the rooms, are lying loose in a storage room at the end of the U, along with clean but well-used linens.
The rooms are across the hall from one another. One has a window which looks out over the dark town; the other is an interior room with no window. There appears to be only the one staircase leading down. The storage room has a trap door in the ceiling which presumably can be pulled down to access the roof or an attic.
Tendal thinks about the town and environs, dredging through his memory of dusty tomes and traveler's tales.
If the Cove had any natural resources or historical landmarks, like Riddleport's Gas Forges and Thassilonian arch, it would, no doubt, have attracted more civilized attention. As far as you know, there is nothing in the vicinity of interest to scholarship.
The entire wharf is ground zero for smugglers and pirates, who have no motivation to hide out as long as they pay their harbor fees to Cromarcky. Still, you overheard some talk from the sailors on the Fateful Jewel on the voyage here to the effect that there has been sabotage and theft on ships in harbor at Roderic's Cove. Some blame the ghost of a pirate captain; some attribute the unrest to the goblins and bandits known to inhabit the Churlwood just across the river from the Cove (though from what you know of goblins, you very much doubt they would be so subtle); and some claim the locals are rebelling against Riddleport's annexation of the town, still recent in memory.
The Churlwood is well-known to be the home of all kinds of criminals fleeing local authorities. It fills the countryside from the Chavali River, where you are now, to the Lampblack River, and from Galduria to Ravenmoor, and its dangerous inhabitants, as well as its impenetrable thickets, added more than seventy miles to your trip from Sandpoint to Riddleport, as the caravan skirted the forest.