Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

Before Tendal can ask her politely but firmly to remove herself from his perfectly arranged sitting room, the sounds of approaching footsteps can be heard from the hall, and a somewhat paunchy man with a receding hairline peeks nervously into the room. "I, er, heard Saul recovered some of the stolen jewelry?"

Gristav left his staff against the corner of the room, and gathered his spellbook and saddlebags, leaving both casually in the room. Time enough later to pace the room like a new cat, for now Gris only really gave the window's width and locks a looking and thinking, before returning to Larur, his reclaimed staff in hand, and the key to the locked door in his pocket.

Knew I forgot something I should have described in the room: The single window is narrow and set high in the wall. It serves to let in light, but to get any kind of a view, Gristav would have to climb up on the furniture; even at that, it reveals little more than the leaves of a tree near the road outside starting to wilt as the sun climbs more directly overhead. It is far too small to allow in- or egress by a human; a nimble halfing or gnome might have a fair chance of wiggling in, if they could scale the outer wall. The lock is average at best, but the window hasn't been opened in so long, it sticks in the frame, which is probably the better defense.

"Well, Larur, how do you weight the risk? Am I to be a carter for the cause?"

The dwarf turns from his discussion with the carpet-laying supervisor. "Aye," he agrees with a sigh. "Suppose you'd better go. Albus here will take over for one of his men and send him with you to fetch the third roll."

The carpeter nods and goes to switch out with his underling. "I'm not used to having enemies," Larur grumbles under his breath to Gristav. "Makes everything more difficult than it should be."

The single window is narrow and set high in the wall. It is far too small to allow in- or egress by a human.

The window would bother him, he knew. Things should work well. But time enough later to obsess, Larur was waiting.

"Well, Larur, how do you weight the risk? Am I to be a carter for the cause?"

The dwarf turns from his discussion with the carpet-laying supervisor. "Aye," he agrees with a sigh. "Suppose you'd better go. Albus here will take over for one of his men and send him with you to fetch the third roll."

"I'm not used to having enemies," Larur grumbles under his breath to Gristav. "Makes everything more difficult than it should be."

"The high ground is always up-hill.", Gristav platitudes. "Does the room suit you so far? I'd done some polishing on that one wall, does it meet your intentions for the woodwork? A proper hand wax and buff might bring out more satin in the sheen. And speaking of coming out of the woodwork, how is it you've folk about that you don't trust? Who is this belle Barabbio that Samaritha may task her, and that Tuvalia may lash her brow at me, all while your trust is unearned?"

Gristav is otherwise ready to play at cartsman.

"Who is she?" Larur repeats with a bitter chuckle. "Moll of the Sczarni who held up the casino on opening night, and his distraction as well. Fake hostage to dissuade anyone from trying to stop them. But her tongue turned loose once her companions were dead or in Shoreleave; they reckon she's given us some useful information. Plus, Saul wants her to perform next week." He shakes his head as if the way things have panned out worries him a little. "They say that if Saul Vankaskerkin has a weakness other than being too clever for his own good, it's women."

"I would be a hypocrite, to fault a man for such.", Gristav allowed, smiling. "But her smile is cold; she shows disdain for workmen, and for Sam." Gristav chuckles to himself, and explains, "She called Sam a 'wench'; I expect she does not know, the wench is a wizard. Such promise, that revelation... I do expect this Val will be an asset to the Caravari Carnival, or whatever it was she mentioned. But I also wonder at the cost. She's hardly dutiful, I would have expected her back from upstairs by now."

"Aye." Larur scowls toward the kitchen doors that lead to the staircase. "Let's hope she's not signaling out a window to a gang of Sczarni that the front doors are open and most of the staff away. Ach, getting paranoid," he waves away any concern Gristav might be on the verge of evincing. "She could have run out the back door as well, if that's what she meant to do. Saul's upstairs, and more importantly Bojasc. Unpleasant fellow, but he takes his job serious. If she makes a threatening move at Saul, he'll have an axe buried in her back before she can finish fluttering her eyelashes. Here's the carpet man to show you where you're headed. Watch yourself in the streets; the warehouse backs up to the Wharf District."

The workman stands ready at Gristav's elbow, the brass knife he uses to cut carpet and pry out tacks prominent at his waist as if to emphasize that it can serve as a weapon as well as a tool.

Malkith studies the cards again, verifying his initial interpretation is correct. As he begins to come out of his revery, he notices Braddon in the room. At first he thinks the half-elf had been waiting next to him the entire time, but then he recalls Braddon's attention span. "What did you find?" he asks calmly, trying to savor the fleeting serenity that accompanies some of his more intense harrowings.

"Here's the carpet man to show you where you're headed. Watch yourself in the streets; the warehouse backs up to the Wharf District."

The workman stands ready at Gristav's elbow, the brass knife he uses to cut carpet and pry out tacks prominent at his waist as if to emphasize that it can serve as a weapon as well as a tool.

"Oh, we can do better than that...", Gristav grinned. He was gone only a moment, returning with a longbow and quiver, the first in hand, the last slung beside his staff on his back. "The sun's high enough, now, I shan't miss my brim overmuch. Although, in Riddleport, your sun is never so low...", Gristav blathered, walking out to where he expected to find the carpeter's cart.

The place of business of Quint Drovenge, the metalsmith, is on the other side of the Velashu.

Phil suppresses the urge to mess with the overzealous clerk, and instead wordlessly works through the gear on offer before exiting again with no coin spent. Eyes to the sky he wagers he's still got a few moments before lunch to spare, and plans to check past the arena on his way to a rendezvous with Miss Braum.

Checking in re: his earlier request to see Akron's stable training.

Before Tendal can ask her politely but firmly to remove herself from his perfectly arranged sitting room, the sounds of approaching footsteps can be heard from the hall, and a somewhat paunchy man with a receding hairline peeks nervously into the room. "I, er, heard Saul recovered some of the stolen jewelry?"

Tendal languidly rises to his feet and crosses to the door, which he opens with a flourish.

"Good morning, my good man." Tendal says, waving his glass towards the chairs in the room, then moving over to the sideboard to pour a second glass.

"Please, come right in and have a seat. It will only be a few moments and Mr. Vankaskerkin will be here to work you through the process of making a claim."

Tendal hands the glass to the man, and says "I am Mr. Deverin, an associate of Mr. Vankaskerkin. I must apologize that I do not yet know you sir, I have only recently arrived in Riddleport and have yet to meet all of the notables. Pleased to make your aquaintance, Mr...?" he finishes, leadingly.

"Er, eh," the man looks ill at ease but accepts the glass with gratitude, fumbling it to his other hand to offer Tendal his right to shake. "Leroung, Bard Leroung. Mr. Deverin, I've heard of you, from Magnimar, yes?"

Give me a Diplomacy roll with your next post to see how successful you are at gladhanding the robbery victims, Tendal.

-------------

Phil leaves the smithy behind and crosses back over the Velashu River, his path tending toward Zincher's Arena. When he arrives, the gates are still locked, although he can hear the sounds of weaponry and grunts of effort from within, echoing up from the arena floor; practice is clearly underway, but he can spy no one whose attention he might attract to let him in, even assuming his entry would be permitted. As he listens to the activity he can't see, it occurs to him that the bars of the portcullis, while spaced closely enough to keep out more conventionally-sized rubberneckers, just might be far enough apart for a Smaller spectator to slip through....

-------------

Malkith studies the cards again, verifying his initial interpretation is correct. As he begins to come out of his revery, he notices Braddon in the room. At first he thinks the half-elf had been waiting next to him the entire time, but then he recalls Braddon's attention span. "What did you find?" he asks calmly, trying to savor the fleeting serenity that accompanies some of his more intense harrowings.

Until Dave checks back in, we'll assume that Braddon communicates the results of his search.

"What did your cards tell you?" he reciprocates. "They give you an address? Or at least a district to start in?"

-------------

With the junior carpet layer, Gristav exits the Gold Goblin and walks down the front steps of the veranda to where a handcart is waiting. The young man takes up the shafts to pull the empty wagon. "I can handle it myself, sir, back to the warehouse, but you'll have to give me a hand on the way back and hold up the far end of the carpet roll," he says somewhat apologetically. "Cart's not really long enough." He leads the way out of the courtyard, first to the south, then to the east along the back edge of the Wharf District. The carpeter's warehouse is long and nondescript; no signage or any other feature distinguishes it from any of multiple other nondescript warehouses on the fringe of the waterfront.

Malkith studies the cards again, verifying his initial interpretation is correct. As he begins to come out of his revery, he notices Braddon in the room. At first he thinks the half-elf had been waiting next to him the entire time, but then he recalls Braddon's attention span. "What did you find?" he asks calmly, trying to savor the fleeting serenity that accompanies some of his more intense harrowings.

"What did your cards tell you?" Braddon reciprocates. "They give you an address? Or at least a district to start in?"

Malkith isn't sure if Braddon is being smug, enjoying the chase, or maybe a combination of both.

The gate gives Phillip pause... while sneaking through surreptitiously might give him an ability to see that which he wished... it also carried a somewhat dire consequence if he were to be found and cornered. No... not worth this risk. Instead Phillip loudly cleared his voice and rattled the gate a little to create some noise that might garner some attention...

With the junior carpet layer, Gristav exits the Gold Goblin and walks down the front steps of the veranda to where a handcart is waiting. The young man takes up the shafts to pull the empty wagon. "I can handle it myself, sir, back to the warehouse, but you'll have to give me a hand on the way back and hold up the far end of the carpet roll," he says somewhat apologetically. "Cart's not really long enough."

Pondering his memory of the other rolls, Gristav looked at the cart, thinking on balance and bredth. "If a line were lashed across the hand-shafts, and another shaft, my staff perhaps, put in the far end of the carpet as a stiffener, do you think it might be one man's burden? Not that I would abandon you, nor shirk my fair portion of any efforts. But if there is any untoward interest, I think we'd both prefer me with bow in hand. Or spell. Or staff, for that matter. And that the cart, as much as might, be stable if left while we were warlike. I am Gritav, by the way. Or Gris, if you were in a hurry." Gristav chuckles, "A man named Alcimediel, cannot be warned in time. Your name?", he asks the carpeter.

He leads the way out of the courtyard, first to the south, then to the east along the back edge of the Wharf District. The carpeter's warehouse is long and nondescript; no signage or any other feature distinguishes it from any of multiple other nondescript warehouses on the fringe of the waterfront.

"I expect you know your own business", Gristav said, failing to observe anything to set this particular warehouse apart. He recalled to readiness myriad minute magics, preparing for whatever prestidigitational potentials might present. "The roll we're taking, was it the last you had? The last might be had?"

Phil rattles the gate a few times, hoping that the sound might carry over the faux-battle within, and waits to see what response he might draw. After three or four shakes of the gate against its chain, timed to coincide with bouts of silence from the arena, the shape of an armed man with a sword at his belt appears at the far end of the corridor. "No fight today!" he calls. "Come back Fireday!"

-------------

Pondering his memory of the other rolls, Gristav looked at the cart, thinking on balance and bredth. "If a line were lashed across the hand-shafts, and another shaft, my staff perhaps, put in the far end of the carpet as a stiffener, do you think it might be one man's burden? Not that I would abandon you, nor shirk my fair portion of any efforts. But if there is any untoward interest, I think we'd both prefer me with bow in hand. Or spell. Or staff, for that matter. And that the cart, as much as might, be stable if left while we were warlike. I am Gritav, by the way. Or Gris, if you were in a hurry." Gristav chuckles, "A man named Alcimediel, cannot be warned in time. Your name?", he asks the carpeter.

The man frowns as if gravely offended and answers soberly, "Alcimediel." Then he grins and hurries on, "No, sir, just joshing you. You won't have any worries on that account with my name. I'm called Sam. If you were to want to jury-rig something, I can't say as we'd know how it'd work until we tried it. Carpet that long, it's a two-man job, what I've been told. Hate to see it drag in the street and be ruined.

"The roll we're taking, was it the last you had? The last might be had?"

"Wouldn't know, sir. You'd have to ask the warehouse lads. I just take what they give me where they tell me to take it and lay it, sir." Despite being gifted with Gristav's name, he doesn't seem in danger of making too much use of it.

"Alright, Sam. Let's ask them.", Gristav says. "And see what might be at hand for rigging, but I'll be deferring to your wisdom and experience, both likely greater than mine."

Sam parks the cart outside a large double door in the warehouse, then leads Gristav through a smaller door further down the building. "Here for the rest of the Gold Goblin carpet," he calls questioningly and is answered with nothing but echoes from the cavernous interior, dimly-lit only by daylight seeping in from high windows. If they are letting in any breeze at all, it's not evident at floor level. Surrounded by rugs and tapestries hanging from wooden racks and pyramidical stacks of long rolls of carpet, the two almost instantly start to sweat.

Sam turns to Gristav and shrugs. "Maybe they're taking an early lunch; didn't expect us here until later. Your carpet should be by the loading doors, sir." He leads the half-elf by a labyrinthine path around obstacles to end up back by the double doors. Sure enough, a roll of carpet is waiting. Sam unlatches a lock on the inside of the loading doors and pulls them open, revealing the waiting handcart.

"Not exactly cold storage.", Gris quips at the interior heat. "And without permissions, we've naught to improvise with.", he added with mingled disappointment and relief. "I therefore place myself, Sam, entirely in your charge, as acting master carpet-carter. Now you can tell people you've had a wizard working for you. And his name was...?", Gristav gives Sam a querying, testing look, and a smile.

"Was, eh, Mr. Gristav, er, sir," the carpeter fumbles, his cheeks going a bit red with embarrassment. "If you'd just lift the far end, sir, just enough so it doesn't drag the ground; frays the weave, you know." With Gristav keeping the warehouse end off the ground, Sam lifts the end closest the door up onto his shoulder with a grunt and walks it forward until he can roll it off onto the bed of the wagon. Then he climbs up himself and lifts it again, backing until the end is flush with the front of the cart and then nimbly hopping down between the shafts as he drops the roll. Approximately one third of the roll still extends off the back of the cart. "There now, sir, if you'll just support that end, I'll pull the car forward until you're out of the warehouse and then latch the loading doors and run back around front again. Heading back will be a little slower than getting over here in the first place, but we haven't far to go."

"You a bit farther than I. Yes, I'll wait while you walk that maze again. You don't suppose moving it a foot farther forward and stiffening the hanging back bit with, say, an ashwood staff might serve? Ponder it in the maze. You are the professional, after all. I am but an enthusiastic conscript."

Phil rattles the gate a few times, hoping that the sound might carry over the faux-battle within, and waits to see what response he might draw. After three or four shakes of the gate against its chain, timed to coincide with bouts of silence from the arena, the shape of an armed man with a sword at his belt appears at the far end of the corridor. "No fight today!" he calls. "Come back Fireday!"

Phil smiles and raises a hand in greeting "I know... I talked with Akron yesterday... he said I might be able to watch practice today?" pausing a few moments before adding "If it's a no then I can bugger off, but might ye ask for me?"

"Er, eh," the man looks ill at ease but accepts the glass with gratitude, fumbling it to his other hand to offer Tendal his right to shake. "Leroung, Bard Leroung. Mr. Deverin, I've heard of you, from Magnimar, yes?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 ⇒ 1

"News does travel fast here in Riddleport, its like a fishing village, everyone seems to know everybody else's business here." Tendal says with thoughtless lack of tact.

So the chairs are too close, Tendal is too blunt, the room is too stuffy...and so on.

Gold Goblin wrote:

"Er, eh," the man looks ill at ease but accepts the glass with gratitude, fumbling it to his other hand to offer Tendal his right to shake. "Leroung, Bard Leroung. Mr. Deverin, I've heard of you, from Magnimar, yes?"

[dice=Diplomacy]1d20

So the chairs are too close, Tendal is too blunt, the room is too stuffy...and so on.

Might I suggest a possible interpretation of that '1' as: Leroung is ill at east discussing his mistresses' ear-bobs in front of what he might think is your mistress?

Yikes. That is indeed a bad roll. I guess you eventually had to pay for your stellar early successes with Liry and Gord. ;)

"My sister went to Magnimar," Leroung continues. "Was the ruin of her. People in the big city have no morals, is what I say." He looks challengingly at Tendal as if daring him to contradict him.

"That is so true," Thuvalia puts in, standing and touching Bard Leroung's elbow, and Tendal notes she is once again using the exotic accent she had affected for her Chelish actress persona. "I have performed in many places, both large and small, and have witnessed the most shocking behavior in cities amongst those who are supposedly the cream of society. I have suffered greatly, sir. You would not believe the lewd expectations held of actresses by those who term themselves gentlemen. I have been many places well-regarded by the world where no one would have exerted themselves to rescue a mere performer -- or to return stolen jewelry, eh? We were both victims the other night, I understand?" She draws Leroung down onto the couch, where he begins to explain the details of his sensitive case in which both his wife and his mistress were at the grand opening so he has to reclaim valuables for both of them surreptitiously.

To Tendal's annoyance, the next hour or so goes like that, new arrivals being drawn into the Varisian faker's knot by her charm while he's reduced to doing little more than providing drinks and escorting visitors into Saul's office for their private audiences. In addition to Bard Leroung, who is in Leeward real estate, he makes the brief acquaintance of Galen Wintrish, who owns shares in several ships, Ishmael Stubbs, owner of the dry goods store, and Rugat Manion, who operates the private river taxi from the Windward docks.

After a while, Tendal catches a whiff of a familiar and overpowering fragrance and glances up to see Desiree Krump, the tanner's wife, in the doorway, looking nervous and half-hiding herself behind the jamb. She seems hesitant to enter but, when she catches Tendal's eye, motions eagerly for him to come into the hallway.

"Mr. Deverin," she asks in a whisper, "am I in the right place to get back my jewelry?"

Carefully locking the wheels so Gris doesn't have a runaway cart on his hands, Sam re-enters the warehouse and shuts the loading doors. Gristav hears the latch being refastened on the other side, then waits patiently until the door by which they entered reopens and Sam emerges.

"Aye, it might work, sir" he says doubtfully. "Though even if the end doesn't drag, the whole roll could tip out the back if we were to hit a bump. Meaning no disrespect to you, sir, but you couldn't make it float or shrink it down so I could carry it in my pocket, could you, sir?"

Feel free to put your plan into motion; you don't have Knowledge (engineering) trained (nor does Sam) so you're in trial-and-error mode atm. :)

-------------

Phil smiles and raises a hand in greeting "I know... I talked with Akron yesterday... he said I might be able to watch practice today?" pausing a few moments before adding "If it's a no then I can bugger off, but might ye ask for me?"

"Akron is on the sand," the gladiator replies, approaching the gate. He speaks with a rather harsh accent. He has dark hair loosely braided to keep it out of his face and a half-heartedly-kempt beard; both his face and his bare arms show old scars, but he is still a young man. "He is coaching the training." He examines Phil and the portcullis. "You are not too well-fed to slip between the bars, no? Come, be my guest."

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Phil grins and takes in a breath to hold as he worms through the bars of the gate. Once through he extends a hand "Name's Phillip, and I'm obliged." before following the young yet scarred one towards the sand.

"Aye, it might work, sir" he says doubtfully. "Though even if the end doesn't drag, the whole roll could tip out the back if we were to hit a bump. Meaning no disrespect to you, sir, but you couldn't make it float or shrink it down so I could carry it in my pocket, could you, sir?"

"I think you'll find such wizards to be more grizzled than I, and less inclined to help move carpet. Still, if I had a day to prepare, I could make it easier. But we haven't got the day, just this hour and this small company, and both shall be enough. As your habits direct, Sam. Lead on."

Malkith shrugs. "I suppose we might as well check out the tea shop since it's only right there," he nods his head in the direction of the street. "Unfortunately, the Fates were not as helpful as I had hoped. One thing is clear, she's protected - possibly magically so. I fear that we need to wait for Scarlet to reveal herself."

He sits starring at the cards for a moment longer. Finally he sweeps them up, shuffles them into alignment, and returns them to within his scarves. "Shall we?" he invites, gesturing to indicate that Braddon should lead the way to the egress.

Braddon is only too happy to oblige.
He makes his way to the tea shop, looks at the seats and selects one with a good view of Ananda's house that isn't completely obvious. He busies himself looking at the ground, the tables and taking in his surroundings until someone from the shop approaches them. He turns to them and in his politest voice requests, "Two cups of... um... tea. Thank you. Um... Leaf tea." He smiles and glances at Malkith for encouragement.

"Hmmm. You are Madame Krump. However, I don't think that it is necessary for you to go and submit yourself to the same treatment that we are putting the gentlemen through. Can you please remind me which pieces were yours and I will go and see if we recovered them?" Tendal says.

I am assuming that Tendal does remember the jewelery that Madame Krump was wearing that evening so when she describes it, it will match with his memory.

Between an 18 Int and the fact that I told you he could remember it here, sure. :)

"Oh, thank you," she seems relieved not to be asked to go sit in the waiting room with the men. "They were Galen's first wife's; his sons are furious as they're expecting to inherit them. There was a square pink alabaster ring with a beaten gold band, an oval tiger eye pendant, and clear round rock crystal earbobs." Tendal recalls the pieces: None of the stones were of overwhelming value, but the workmanship was good. She glances around the hallway. "Shall I just ... wait in here?" She points to the "hiring within" room, bare except for a few wooden chairs and dead bugs.

Phil grins and takes in a breath to hold as he worms through the bars of the gate. Once through he extends a hand "Name's Phillip, and I'm obliged." before following the young yet scarred one towards the sand.

"Ranef," the larger man reciprocates, his hand clasping Phillip's wrist rather than shaking in the usual manner and virtually engulfing the halfling's forearm. "We are pleased to be making each other's acquaintance, no? I am sorry to say," he continues as he walks with Phil up the corridor, "that you have missed the best bouts of the morning, as I have already fought. Still, there is amusement to be found in watching lesser warriors, yes?"

The corridor leads to a T where stairs lead up on either side. Phil follows Ranef up and back into the light. The sun is already baking into rows of stone benches circling the arena and the heat reflecting back up; Phil can only imagine how uncomfortable it must be on fight days when the seats are packed with spectators. Canopied boxes at the top of the circling walls look as if they would provide a respite, as well as the only hint of breeze available in the bowl.

Another canopy is set up down at the edge of the inner wall, and half a dozen men are lounging beneath it. On the sand in the middle of the arena, approximately fifteen feet below the first row of seating, two other gladiators are fighting with wooden swords while Akron Erix strolls around the perimeter of their bout, watching their footing and form. A few large crates stand against the wall beneath the canopy, the obvious way the fighters are getting up and down to take their turns on the sand and in the shade.

"I think you'll find such wizards to be more grizzled than I, and less inclined to help move carpet. Still, if I had a day to prepare, I could make it easier. But we haven't got the day, just this hour and this small company, and both shall be enough. As your habits direct, Sam. Lead on."

"Aye, seems the more capable a fellow is of helping a body out, the less he cares to do it," Sam grins. "Still, suppose we ought to be thankful the Cyphermages don't just magic everything where it needs to go; it'd put an awful lot of people out of work. You're mostly back there for balance, sir, and to keep the carpet from trailing. Hope it won't be too inconvenient for you. You ready to go, sir?" He kicks the latch off the wheels and takes his place between the shafts for the journey back to the Gold Goblin.

Roll me a Perception check for the return journey, Gristav.

-------------

Braddon and Malkith cross the street from the rowhouse to the tea room. A tinkling chime hanging over the door announces their entrance melodically. Only after they have taken their seats where Braddon can see Ananda's former door out the window does he glance around at their immediate surroundings. The small, round tables are painted a glossy white, and the chairs are white wicker with embroidered cushioned seats. Cut flowers fill vases throughout the shop, and a glass display case at the rear of the shop displays tiny, delicate pastries covered with colored sugar. At the moment, the only customers in the place are a pair of gray-haired matrons who are staring at the swarthy Varisian and his half-elven companion in astonishment. A young woman in a pink ruffled apron, her hair pulled back demurely, approaches the pair a bit timidly. "May I help you gentlemen?" she asks tentatively. "Tea? Today we have Tien Orange, Taldan Breakfast, Vudran Spice, Nirmathan Peach Passion, Sweet Apple Chamomile, Jalmeri Vanilla, Garundi Pomegranate, Jasmine, and Hibiscus."

"Ready, indeed. Roll on."

Perception+1: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

"You know, I'd never noticed the knotting method for the flock thread of a carpet. Of course, a gentleman does not often find his eye within a hand's breadth of a carpet. Not alone, at any rate..."

"Suppose that makes me no gentleman, sir," Sam calls back over his shoulder with a grin. "Aye, the knotting is the sign of a high-quality carpet, sir; I wouldn't suggest a tufted carpet, not with the kind of foot traffic you'd be getting in a casino, sir. The difference isn't evident at first glance, but if you were to flip the rug over, you can see that a hand-tufted rug has a scrim glued on the back; that'll separate over time, sir, and you'll start to lose the strands. That's where you get threadbare spots in high-traffic areas like your old carpet had, if you'll pardon my saying so, sir. Tufted may save you some coin in the short run, but a good knotted rug will outlast it every time...."

Gristav learns more than he probably ever really wanted to know about carpet-weaving during the return trip, but he files it away as useful information should he ever be in a position to pick up some rugs at a good price for resale. He realizes as the wheels of the cart bump over the cobblestones of the Gold Goblin's front courtyard, however, that the carpet-layer's dissertation has distracted him from paying as much attention to his surroundings as he had originally intended. Still, they delivered the roll of carpet without being ambushed or otherwise harassed along the way, so no harm done, right?

What sort of answer might one give to such a question?

The cobbles clopped, the cartwheels clubbed
With carpet Gristav struggled
And Sam before, with cart-horse chore
While wizard witch-prince muggled

That sort, apparently.

:)

And yes, filing it all away under that +7 Appraise

"Ranef," the larger man reciprocates, his hand clasping Phillip's wrist rather than shaking in the usual manner and virtually engulfing the halfling's forearm. "We are pleased to be making each other's acquaintance, no? I am sorry to say," he continues as he walks with Phil up the corridor, "that you have missed the best bouts of the morning, as I have already fought. Still, there is amusement to be found in watching lesser warriors, yes?"

Phillip smiles genuinely "Indeed Ranef, there are many who are lesser than you that would still be greater than myself." winking before following in the large man's wake. He is very careful to ensure that he does not step before Ranef, and instead maintains a subordinate following position. His eyes scatter about taking in the men that are in the arena - searing their appearances into his mind as Akron's men.

He doesn't seek to engage Akron until the man sees and calls out to himself - instead asking of Ranef "Who do you favor in this match then? Should one go with size or speed?"

Ranef scoffs. "Those two? Throw a coin. New recruits, former sailors, they still have saltwater in their boots."

In addition to the two men with Akron in the ring, Phil notices a couple of Varisian men lounging under the canopy, an impassive-looking Garundi, a large man with a multitude of straw-blond hair and beard, a dark-skinned Mwangi, and a clean-shaven Chelaxian scowling down at the bout on the sand.

Back at the Gold Goblin, Sam gives Gristav a smile and a nod of encouragement. "You did right well, sir; never would have known you were a wizard and not a laborer at all. Unless you can float it up the stairs for us, we'll just leave it here until it's needed, sir; there'll be five of us to get it safely to the veranda. Well, four to wrangle carpet and one to issue instructions, if you get my meaning, sir," he lowers his voice with a wink, lest his supervisor be within earshot.

Gristav makes sure that the roll of carpet is steady and in no danger of tipping out of the cart before he follows Sam up the steps, rubbing out a spot of tightness in his lower back from the slight angle he was bent at on the walk back. Larur greets him rather anxiously just inside the doors. "Well? You find any trouble?"

(I felt bad deleting all that lovely description. :-)

...At the moment, the only customers in the place are a pair of gray-haired matrons who are staring at the swarthy Varisian and his half-elven companion in astonishment. A young woman in a pink ruffled apron, her hair pulled back demurely, approaches the pair a bit timidly. "May I help you gentlemen?" she asks tentatively. "Tea? Today we have Tien Orange, Taldan Breakfast, Vudran Spice, Nirmathan Peach Passion, Sweet Apple Chamomile, Jalmeri Vanilla, Garundi Pomegranate, Jasmine, and Hibiscus."

Braddon's smile fixes in place and his eyes glaze a bit before he eventually stammers, "Um, the Taldan... tea thank you." Having seized upon the ancient and formerly respected empire of Taldor as the most familiar part of the proffered list (apart from the word 'passion' which he thought better left off), Braddon wonders if he could get away with ordering a shot of whiskey in it but decides against such a course of action.

Back at the Gold Goblin, Sam gives Gristav a smile and a nod of encouragement. "You did right well, sir; never would have known you were a wizard and not a laborer at all. Unless you can float it up the stairs for us, we'll just leave it here until it's needed, sir; there'll be five of us to get it safely to the veranda. Well, four to wrangle carpet and one to issue instructions, if you get my meaning, sir," he lowers his voice with a wink, lest his supervisor be within earshot.

"When you can, Sam. And sooner, your wizard says. Why chance rain or bird or malice? I'll wait here, but I'm only guard against the last."

Gristav makes sure that the roll of carpet is steady and in no danger of tipping out of the cart before he follows Sam up the steps, rubbing out a spot of tightness in his lower back from the slight angle he was bent at on the walk back. Larur greets him rather anxiously just inside the doors. "Well? You find any trouble?"

"No trouble, but I'll still not leave it unminded. I'm a fool, but not fool enough to have it hauled here and harmed when first unhanded." Gris turns from Larur at the door to gesture at the carted carpet. "It's no more protected there than it was in the unguarded warehouse. I'll rest when it's inside doors."

"Aye, suppose that's wise," the dwarf answers, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a distracted manner. "They're planning on taking a break for lunch when they've finished tacking down this second roll; I'll make sure they carry the last one in and then bar the doors until they're ready to begin again." He turns to look at the progress made thus far; the floor looks close to two-thirds covered and the second roll of carpet not yet depleted. "Suppose they'll return part of my coin if there's some left over when the floor's done?" he asks without much hope.

He gives the pair of gray-haired matrons a pleasant wave, turns to Malkith, then turns back to them.

"Excuse me. I'm a... friend of Madame Fishkey, the lady who looked after that house across the road. Have you seen her in the last two days? Has anyone else been looking for her? Have you noticed anyone out of place in here recently? Apart from us of course. Like a stunning brunette tiefling? Or anything?"

"A tiefling?" one woman responds in disbelief. "Is this some sort of joke, young man?"

"Hush, don't even speak to him," her companion advises her. "It's beneath you, really." She gets to her feet with an excess of dignity. "Come along, Winifred," she announces loudly, staring at the air several inches above the men's heads. "It's gotten a little too crowded to be comfortable in here." She nods her head firmly and marches past five or six empty tables to walk out the door. Winifred hesitates, grabs up the plate on the table still containing several tiny cakes, and tips it into her reticule before following her friend, still glaring at Braddon.

As the chime sounds announcing their departure, the shop attendant returns with a tray bearing a steaming tea pot decorated with enameled flowers and matching cups and saucers. "You mean Mistress Vishki?" she asks quietly as she sets the tray on the table. "Does this have to do with whatever the Gendarmes were crawling all over for yesterday? What happened over there?"

"Would it be unwelcome to have remnant against future damage? I've still not gained an understanding of the rarity of this stock, of how difficult it would be to match. But still, remnant roll for runners or repairs, reason requires... rationing." Gris smiled at Larur with an aren't-I-clever flap of his brows. "Nine. Oh, alright, Eight. I'll be here on watch until they're at it. And after, I've promised tea and hinted at ale with lunch. Felt I owed them, for the lashes of Tuvalia's brow and tongue. How much are you going to charge me, to keep the letter and spirit of my matinee' maneuverings?"

As the chime sounds announcing their departure, the shop attendant returns with a tray bearing a steaming tea pot decorated with enameled flowers and matching cups and saucers. "You mean Mistress Vishki?" she asks quietly as she sets the tray on the table. "Does this have to do with whatever the Gendarmes were crawling all over for yesterday? What happened over there?"

"Umm, sorry about that. I'll pay for their tea. And their next tea when they come back." Braddon fishes about in his belt pouch for a gold coin and places it on the table.

Ranef scoffs. "Those two? Throw a coin. New recruits, former sailors, they still have saltwater in their boots."

In addition to the two men with Akron in the ring, Phil notices a couple of Varisian men lounging under the canopy, an impassive-looking Garundi, a large man with a multitude of straw-blond hair and beard, a dark-skinned Mwangi, and a clean-shaven Chelaxian scowling down at the bout on the sand.

Grinning Phillip does exactly that, flourishing a coin to toss "Heads for the beardy one?" tossing the coin and showing it...