"'Gentle?'" Ranef objects, wounded by the accusation if not by the halfling's weapon. "There is no gentle in fighting!" He seems to be gradually adjusting his attack routine to Phil's short stature, as the first swing would have cut off a lock of Phillip's hair had it been sharpened steel rather than blunt wood, but the off-hand swing is as graceless as the last.
Round 6:
Phil hops back before executing a spinning swipe...
Short-club: for
...almost tripping over his feet and stumbling into Ranef. He chuckles "Hah! I should have kept running."
If Ranef makes a response to Phil's jape, the halfling never hears it. All he is aware of is a whistling sound, a sudden crack behind his left ear, and a quickly-blossoming numbness as the arena goes dark.
In an instant the bright light of the arena is extinguished as a sharp pain cuts across Phillip's vision and mind at the same time - severing conscious from unconscious thought. Fillif's body is left devoid of any controlling thought and crumples like a ragdoll into the sand.
It was too much, and his staff came into his hand, the left, and his right met the staff as the left circled, and the innocent carpet and the casino greatroom resounded with the of the ashen staff's slapping impact. And again. And again. And, again. And... again.
It was not enough. It was only something. Instead of nothing, to be done.
The rolled rug proves a docile scapegoat, accepting the blows without protesting its singular lack of culpability in the affair. His rage spent for the moment, Gristav is grateful that Sam and his compatriots are away getting lunch; after the care taken to get the carpet to the casino safely and unharmed, he would be hard-pressed to explain such an outburst. He examines the outer layer of the roll briefly, hopeful that he hasn't done any damage to the hand-tied knots of wool and thankful Larur was convinced to invest in the long-term solution rather than the lesser-grade tufted.
Retrieving the perishables from his pack, he takes them to the kitchen and is able, with supplement from the Gold Goblin's larder, to put together a light meal something better than the bachelor fare Larur is used to subsiding on: fresh bread, cold meat, cheese, various jams and preserves, and some of the briny pickles the dwarf has a weakness for. By the time the tray is ready and the pitcher of tea heated and then iced, the carpet layers have returned and can be heard chatting in the shade on the veranda as they eat their purchased lunches.
Larur is seated on one of the stools at the bar and waves Gris and his tray over. "Given the carpeters' men their ales," he informs the half-elf. "If they drain them quick enough, it might give them courage to try that southern concoction of yours." He looks at the pitcher with distaste as he fills a plate with bread, meat, and a generous helping of blueberry jam.
Gristav glances around for receptacles for his tea: There does, in fact, prove to be drinkware at the bar, although it is in the form of wineglasses and beer mugs rather than the more suitable tall, clear tumblers.
"Lil Scarlet. Tiefling in the employ of Shorafa Pamodae at her house of worship. Played an unfortunate role in absentia in a very public murder in the streets of Free-Coin some time ago. I have not." He lingers over the firm denial. "Feel free to question Shorafa; she will tell you I have never been in her place of business on anything other than official business. Now, if you will answer my question about your intimate knowledge of the crime and further explain what Lil Scarlet has to do with Mistress Vishki and my daughter?"
Braddon's attitude suddenly shifts. "I'm very sorry, sir," he says respectfully.
"We found Oliver Bott in one of our rooms about to have his way with your almost unconscious daughter. Not realising she was an unwilling participant, we chased him off and left her to sleep off what we thought was a regular hangover. In the morning she informed us who she was and how she'd been drugged. Not wanting to be framed for her abduction, we returned her to you as quickly and quietly as possible and began our own investigations into who was trying to set us up. Once we had all the details, we'd come to you with the proof and the framing would not only fail but turn on those who tried to frame us and we'd be in favour with you, the very man they sought to poison against us. That'd be the best revenge for everyone.""We have a couple of strong leads and some proof. We suspect Lil enchanted and disposed of Gramma. We have proof she was here about that time. She then handed your drugged daughter over to accomplices, one of whom we've tracked down but have yet to question. That accomplice then gave her to Bott, who planted her with us. We don't know if their working for someone else or what their motives are, but if you want I'll gladly bring you Bott's head. However if we were to say where we worked our group would immediately become suspect. That would get in the way of both your investigations and ours."
Tendal leans in to whisper to Saul. "I apologize for the intrusion. I have Madame Krump situated downstairs. Unlike the gentlemen, I don't believe that there is anything possibly untoward about her requesting her jewelery, and since I remember the pieces that she was wearing those nights past, I was able to confirm that the ones that she was going to request are actually the pieces that she was wearing."
"I don't see much point in putting her through the spectacle of our little drama, and we may need her favorable opinion with her husband in the future. So I plan on simply finding what pieces of hers we currently hold, and taking them down to her."
"Is that a reasonable plan?" Tendal asks.
Saul glances sharply up at Tendal for a moment. "Seems reasonable enough to me," he concedes. "Just stick around a moment until Ishmael Stubbs is done with his listing; I'd rather keep the knowledge of the secret door behind my desk from spreading all over town."
Waiting until the dry-goods merchant has finished writing, Saul beams and gives the fellow a hearty handshake. As Bojasc opens the door to let the visitor out, Saul instructs him, "A moment before you show in the next gentleman, Bojasc." When the door is shut, Saul presses the concealed stone in the wall behind his desk to open the door to the secret closet. "Take a lamp in, and pick out Madame Krump's jewelry. Miss Kemplefae's inventory is in there as well; just make a note, would you, of the pieces you're returning so we have a record of it?"
Sorting through the valuables on the workbench inside the hidden room, Tendal is easily able, between Desiree Krump's description and his own memory, to separate her ring, pendant, and earrings. Finding the listing in the gnome's spidery hand on the inventory, he initials the three items with the notation, "Returned to Mme. Krump." Concealing her jewelry within his pocket, he carries the lamp back out into Saul's office and nods to his employer that his mission is accomplished. Saul carefully closes the door again and makes sure that it is properly latched, then seats himself once again behind his desk before gesturing to Bojasc to open the door to let Tendal out and his next visitor in.
Larur is seated on one of the stools at the bar and waves Gris and his tray over. "Given the carpeters' men their ales," he informs the half-elf. "If they drain them quick enough, it might give them courage to try that southern concoction of yours." He looks at the pitcher with distaste as he fills a plate with bread, meat, and a generous helping of blueberry jam.
Gristav glances around for receptacles for his tea: There does, in fact, prove to be drinkware at the bar, although it is in the form of wineglasses and beer mugs rather than the more suitable tall, clear tumblers.
"How brave are you, then?", Gristav challenges. "It won't be the best of the type, and it's neither sugared nor creamed, but for heat, it needn't be. Creamed and sweet... it's near a confection. This... is just a decoction. And ice. The sparkling crystals, rattling in a glass tumbler, spun with a rod, then let to slow while a thick cream is added, filtering and clouding from above, with a light from behind... It's all part of the experience. It's no calm Tienish taking of tea, rather the opposite; it's for the drama. But both are alike in that it's more time and polish than a dwarf would give the act. Probably because it's not difficult enough." He gave a teasing grin.
While Gristav had spoken, he'd gathered six of the handled mugs and filled four. Taking the handles two to a hand, and leaving Larur and his staff both leaning on the bar, he headed for the veranda.
Larur chuckles. "The 'experience.' Saul was talking about that the other day, saying people would rather gamble on an expensive red carpet that shows every stain than a sensible brown rug -- or better yet, a smooth stone floor that'll shrug off anything spilled on it and can be sluiced with buckets of river water when it needs cleaning. Watching a drink with the light at just the proper angle-- Well, you're right when you say it's not dwarven. The quicker you down a drink, the sooner your thirst is quenched and you can get back to business, or the quicker you can refill your mug and have another."
The carpet layers on the veranda, knowing him to be the benefactor to whom they owe their free ales, greet Gristav cheerfully, but when they find that the mugs he proffers contain tea that has been iced, they hesitate. After a pregnant moment in which they all glance uncomfortably at another, Sam, in a fit of fellow feeling for his partner in carpet-transport, clears his throat nervously. "I'll, er, I'll try it, sir," he volunteers bravely. The others watch with interest as he takes a sip. "It's... well, it's cold," he admits, and then tries another draft. "Tastes a bit like cistern water I had at my uncle's farm once."
Two of the other workers, perhaps enticed by the visible evidence of the drink's refreshment value in the form of the drops of condensation sliding down the sides of the mug, also accept Gristav's offering. The supervisor chides them quietly, "You'll make yourself sick with a cold drink on a hot day," echoing Larur's superstition.
Larur chuckles. "The 'experience.' Saul was talking about that the other day, saying people would rather gamble on an expensive red carpet that shows every stain than a sensible brown rug -- or better yet, a smooth stone floor that'll shrug off anything spilled on it and can be sluiced with buckets of river water when it needs cleaning. Watching a drink with the light at just the proper angle-- Well, you're right when you say it's not dwarven. The quicker you down a drink, the sooner your thirst is quenched and you can get back to business, or the quicker you can refill your mug and have another."
"Ah, but a dwarf's more capacious of drink. And a human's fewer years. You can't fault their lust. You maybe don't share it, or understand the use of an attractive eyeful ere touch or taste. All that living in the dark?", Gristav pondered pointedly, readying to duck a thrown roll, should such threaten.
The carpet layers on the veranda...
Sam, in a fit of fellow feeling for his partner in carpet-transport, clears his throat nervously. "I'll, er, I'll try it, sir," he volunteers bravely. The others watch with interest as he takes a sip. "It's... well, it's cold," he admits, and then tries another draft. "Tastes a bit like cistern water I had at my uncle's farm once."
"Likely, leaves in the cistern made it a great teapot.", Gristav deduced with humor.
Two of the other workers, perhaps enticed by the visible evidence of the drink's refreshment value in the form of the drops of condensation sliding down the sides of the mug, also accept Gristav's offering. The supervisor chides them quietly, "You'll make yourself sick with a cold drink on a hot day," echoing Larur's superstition.
"Among the Garund, the heat of the days are taken with the distraction of just such a tea, stirred by silk-swathed server lasses. Who, sometimes, distract from the heat of the nights.", Gristav added with a smirk. "But it's not a universal taste, I'll grant you."
"Ah, but a dwarf's more capacious of drink. And a human's fewer years. You can't fault their lust. You maybe don't share it, or understand the use of an attractive eyeful ere touch or taste. All that living in the dark?", Gristav pondered pointedly, readying to duck a thrown roll, should such threaten.
"Aye, well, we see in the dark, remember, lad," he chuckles as Gris takes his leave.
"Among the Garund, the heat of the days are taken with the distraction of just such a tea, stirred by silk-swathed server lasses. Who, sometimes, distract from the heat of the nights.", Gristav added with a smirk. "But it's not a universal taste, I'll grant you."
As Gris elaborates on the origins of iced tea, he himself is distracted by a figure turning off the main street and entering the cobblestoned courtyard. Samaritha, looking hot and tired in her green robes, looks up and smiles as she reaches the stairs and starts to climb up to the veranda. "Afternoon," she greets Gris, with a friendly nod to the carpet layers. "How are things going? Did Thuvalia take care of things until you could relieve her?"
"We found Oliver Bott in one of our rooms about to have his way with your almost unconscious daughter. Not realising she was an unwilling participant, we chased him off and left her to sleep off what we thought was a regular hangover. In the morning she informed us who she was and how she'd been drugged. Not wanting to be framed for her abduction, we returned her to you as quickly and quietly as possible and began our own investigations into who was trying to set us up. Once we had all the details, we'd come to you with the proof and the framing would not only fail but turn on those who tried to frame us and we'd be in favour with you, the very man they sought to poison against us. That'd be the best revenge for everyone."
"We have a couple of strong leads and some proof. We suspect Lil enchanted and disposed of Gramma. We have proof she was here about that time. She then handed your drugged daughter over to accomplices, one of whom we've tracked down but have yet to question. That accomplice then gave her to Bott, who planted her with us. We don't know if their working for someone else or what their motives are, but if you want I'll gladly bring you Bott's head. However if we were to say where we worked our group would immediately become suspect. That would get in the way of both your investigations and ours."
"Oliver Bott?" the general repeats, his already-pale face growing whiter with anger, but he restrains himself to listen to the rest of Braddon's tale. "Then you are the half-elf," he replies when he has finished. "Braddon ... Heart, of the Publican House?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow. "If what Ananda tells me is true, then I suppose I owe you a debt, although she admittedly could not tell me what happened before she awoke in your custody." A stern glance lingers a moment before Mescher goes on. "If Shorafa's wrapped up in this...." He stops suddenly.
"I'll have the cliff below the terrace searched for Mistress Vishki's body," he concedes, "and I'll make official inquiries at the House of the Silken Veil. But Shorafa can undoubtedly thwart my efforts for some time, if she chooses to. However, while she's obstructing my official investigation, perhaps your less conventional efforts may escape her notice. You were already the first investigator on the scene -- and, I must admit, left the place in better condition than did my men." He looks around at the mess in distaste, as he reaches in his pocket for a pouch. Removing a silver coin, he hands it to Malkith. "Show that at Devil's Fork, and it will get you in to see me directly. My confidential informants carry them." Malkith turns the coin over in his hands. It is a mundane silver piece minted in Cheliax, the obverse scarred with a scratched X through the engraving.
The general goes on, rising to his feet. "You were right: The drug was in the tea. It's known locally as 'indigo dreams.' The House of the Silken Veil keeps a stock for its interested clients, but in fairness, I'm sure it's available elsewhere in the city. It's quite expensive, more so than the stolen necklace; as you surmised, this was no simple robbery. I am telling you this to further your efforts so you needn't waste time discovering what I've already learned. In return, if you learn something -- hard evidence, not mere suspicion -- I expect to be informed. Are we agreed?"
Phillip opens his eyes and immediately wishes that he hadn't, as his surroundings seem to swim nauseatingly around him. He is no longer outside but lying on a straw tick bed in an unfamiliar room. Where he is or how much time has passed since the fight in the arena, he does not know.
Choking back the nausea, Phillip calms himself into small motions and small movements. Hand goes first to the site of the crime, where a likely impressive lump has formed and his digits prod experimentally at the spongy mass before an intense pressure in his skull betray that as a poor idea. Forcing himself to sitting, his hands form fists as he fights to keep the room level.
Conjuring some spittle within the desert that is his mouth, Phil spits out some of the arena sand that had wormed it's way in there while he was prostrate.... triggering a coughing fit that balloons into a searing headache at the exertion. Likely deserved for showing off... he ponders as eyes languidly blink and the room comes into view. He takes stock of whether he still bears that which he arrived with, and both looks around the room and strains to hear what he might of what is without.
Malkith accepts the coin without comment and, after turning it over in his hand, slips it effortlessly into the folds of his scarves. He say appreciatively, "We each have methods of investigation that the other does not. Collaboration in this matter is more likely to succeed than if we were go about it independently. When we have evidence than you can act upon, I assure that you will be promptly informed.
"I apologize if I'm asking you to repeat yourself, but is there any significance to the necklace that you're aware of? The effort to steal such a trinket seems wasted if its value does not even cover the cost of the drug used. Perhaps it's worth is not strictly financial?"
"I am Braddon Heart," Braddon bows his head, "but I'm not of the Publican House. They haven't done anything. I figured they were neutral ground where you could contact me. In case you could help. I'm glad we can talk face to face instead. I'll bring you everything I can find."
"Ananda was very hazy, but she did have some useful memories." Braddon takes out the half handkerchief, rips it in half again and presents a piece to Anton Mescher. "She said there was a funny smell. If that's it we'd like to know. If she recalls anything else, I also hope you'll pass that on. We've done some investigations into Shorafa and it doesn't seem Lil and Bott are acting on her orders. If that's true, a large chunk of her operation is out of control."
"I'm hoping to find Gramma alive. The fact that her dead body wasn't dumped under a table gives me hope, but I have no illusions about what may have been their best way to remove her. Otherwise, she could have lots to tell us. Her last visitor may have been a dark haired woman wrapped in scarves." Braddon shrugs. "For what it's worth."
"I apologize if I'm asking you to repeat yourself, but is there any significance to the necklace that you're aware of? The effort to steal such a trinket seems wasted if its value does not even cover the cost of the drug used. Perhaps it's worth is not strictly financial?"
The man shrugs. "As far as I know, it has no significance. My presumption is that it was taken merely to support the ruse that this was a burglary rather than a blatant attempt to put my daughter in harm's way. It was the only truly valuable item in the apartment."
He takes the increasingly bedraggled scrap of cloth from Braddon and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose at the scent, before carefully folding it in his own handkerchief and putting it away. "I'll ask her. Where should I send a runner if I have a message for you? The Publican House?"
"Her last visitor may have been a dark haired woman wrapped in scarves." Braddon shrugs. "For what it's worth."
The general smiles wryly. "You've just described the female population of Lubbertown, not to mention a reasonable percentage of Riddleport's citizenry. Still, possibly Varisian ... or wanting to appear to be."
Except for the room's uncanny propensity to tilt and lurch as Phil looks around it, it seems unexceptional: the simple bed he is sitting on, a wooden footlocker at its end, a plain wooden chair, all of it sized for a human. Sunlight slants gently through wooden shutters at the window. His coat and daggers are lying on the seat of the chair along with an unfamiliar cloth pouch, and his pockets appear unpilfered. Except for the short wooden blade he fought with, he seems still to be in possession of everything he had in the arena.
His fit of coughing is hardly over before Ranef appears inquiringly in the doorway. "Fillif!" he roars, then lowers his voice in sympathy at the wince his loud exclamation evokes from the halfling. "Fillif," he repeats more quietly with a grin. "You are better, yes? It was a fine fight, my friend."
Phillip manages a wry smile before replying "Alive yes... better will take time." leaning forward to show the bloody lump behind his left ear, then straightening "Good for me you only hit me softly yes?" making slow and painful way down the bed towards his coat and blades, seeking to get dressed again. Noting the cloth pouch, he fumbles it open to peek within - numb fingers taking longer than they would normally do.
As he struggles with the pouch he continues "A fine dance I led you upon... but I think you see now why the rabbit must run?"
"Aye, well, we see in the dark, remember, lad," he chuckles as Gris takes his leave.
Gristav pantomimes marking a slate with a moistened finger.
---
As Gris elaborates on the origins of iced tea, he himself is distracted by a figure turning off the main street and entering the cobblestoned courtyard. Samaritha, looking hot and tired in her green robes, looks up and smiles as she reaches the stairs and starts to climb up to the veranda. "Afternoon," she greets Gris, with a friendly nod to the carpet layers. "How are things going? Did Thuvalia take care of things until you could relieve her?"
"Ah, the better Sam has arrived!", Gristav welcomes Samaritha, offering a hand over the stairs. "Gentlemen, this is the lady in who's care I had meant to leave you. You've already had more smile from her than all you got from the other. Samaritha Beldusc, gentlemen-", Gristav begins and stops an introduction, catching himself, "Oh, but you'd have done that earlier. Samaritha, we were just debating the prudence of this beverage on a hot day. I see the sun's summoned a shine to your skin; perhaps this will serve a smile to your lips?" Gristav takes a tankard from the tray, offering it to Samaritha.
The carpeters smile and bob their heads politely to the newcomer. Samaritha takes the proffered mug with interest. "What is it?" she asks curiously, noting the cold seeping through the sides of the stein. "Smells like ... tea?" She shoots Gristav an inquiring glance over the top of the mug, obviously no more familiar with the concept of cold tea than the rest of Riddleport.
"Tea. With ice. I'll spare you the practiced reference to the girls of Garund, save to say, this may be the first such served, haloed by a mane of your fire. I hope it suits you; you surely suit it. It's an unworthy attempt. Like many things, patience and planning would have served better, but the day and the ice presented themselves, and... then, there was the tea."
She sips quizzically and then smiles and nods with approval. "Mmm. What's all this about Garundi girls now?" she asks as she enters the casino with her tankard.
Phillip manages a wry smile before replying "Alive yes... better will take time." leaning forward to show the bloody lump behind his left ear, then straightening "Good for me you only hit me softly yes?" making slow and painful way down the bed towards his coat and blades, seeking to get dressed again. Noting the cloth pouch, he fumbles it open to peek within - numb fingers taking longer than they would normally do.
"Good for you you are not one of the orc-men, yes," Ranef agrees, his expression taking on a dark and angry cast the halfling has not seen on it before, but it quickly clears as the familiar smile returns. "But we fight as friends, for the sport of it, yes? Not for blood or for honor."
As he struggles with the pouch he continues "A fine dance I led you upon... but I think you see now why the rabbit must run?"
"Pfah!" Ranef scoffs. "I am struck many times." He displays the scars on his face and bare arms as evidence. "You only have to learn to stay on your feet and keep fighting."
As Phil's clumsy fingers work at the drawstring of the bag, it emits a friendly and familiar clinking sound. When he finally loosens the neck of the pouch, he sees gold coins within, several: without the headache-inducing work of counting, at least a dozen.
"You can call on us at the Golden Goblin. Herr Vankaskerkin has been kind enough to offer us temporary lodgings after we foiled Bott's attempted tryst with your daughter in his establishment and avoided any unnecessary embarrassments that might have caused.
"I am glad we could come to a mutual accord," Malkith rises to take his leave, "You will hear from us again, once we have uncovered more substantial evidence." He glances at Braddon and nods his head in the direction of the front door.
She sips quizzically and then smiles and nods with approval. "Mmm. What's all this about Garundi girls now?" she asks as she enters the casino with her tankard.
With a nod to the carpeters, and a glance toward Samaritha for their observation, Gristav silently excused himself, entrained in Samaritha's wake. "They serve tea.", he summarized. "Meaning, such tea is served in Garund. And if you'd sell it to a man, the shade of distant beauty is rarely a hindrance. I suppose it was the fight on the Cloud, that put me in mind of Garund. I mean, the Garundi witch that was there. I mean, witch in a general sense. And Garundi, in a quacks-like-a-duck sense." Gristav grinned, largely at Samaritha's renewed presence.
"And how do you sell it to a woman?" she challenges with a smile. "Where was my description of strapping, bare-chested Garundi menservants, hm?" She stops just inside the threshold and looks around at the progress made. "Oh, this is looking much better. Almost done, aren't they?"
"You can call on us at the Golden Goblin. Herr Vankaskerkin has been kind enough to offer us temporary lodgings after we foiled Bott's attempted tryst with your daughter in his establishment and avoided any unnecessary embarrassments that might have caused.
"I am glad we could come to a mutual accord," Malkith rises to take his leave, "You will hear from us again, once we have uncovered more substantial evidence." He glances at Braddon and nods his head in the direction of the front door.
Braddon rolls his eyes as the Goblin is mentioned but says nothing.
With a polite bow to Anton Mescher, he heads for the door at Malkith's gesture and makes his way out into the street.Before moving on towards the tanner's residence, Braddon sweeps his gaze carefully around the street looking for the sudden movement of someone pulling back from a window, darting back down an alleyway, or too casually returning to their duty after eyeing the surplus of activity. He nods to the tea-room girl if he can make her out.
"And how do you sell it to a woman?" she challenges with a smile.
"I was trusting to her good sense.", Gristav parries.
"Where was my description of strapping, bare-chested Garundi menservants, hm?"
"Set the tankard down, and I'll work on inspiring your thirst."
She stops just inside the threshold and looks around at the progress made. "Oh, this is looking much better. Almost done, aren't they?"
"They've made fast progress, once they recovered from the lashes of Thuvalia's brow and tongue. You spoke of me relieving her. It was more that I relieved them. It was touch and go, for a moment. I had to resort to dancing." Gristav met her eye, and smiled at the ridiculous memory. "She's good at that. What is her purpose here?"
She seems briefly startled by Gristav's admission to dancing. "Don't ask me," she answers a little tartly. "Originally, she came to rob the place. The men she was with were killed or carted off to Shoreleave, but she's still here. I think she's convinced Daynadrian -- the elf you met this morning -- that she's some poor misguided innocent who got in with the Sczarni by accident." Her expression and tone of voice indicate she puts little credence in that explanation. "Anyway, one thing she has proven to be enthusiastic about is ordering people around." She looks a little apologetic. "I suppose it was mean of me to inflict her on the workmen, but you needed your study time. They seem to have pulled through all right." She spies Larur and the tray of comestibles at the bar. "Oh," she asks hopefully, "is that lunch?"
She seems briefly startled by Gristav's admission to dancing. "Don't ask me," she answers a little tartly.
"She'd have been better alone, without my lead. Or if the orchestra had not been the Tackhammer Quartet. But I guessed correctly; she could not both hover and harridan, at once." If Gristav had felt a guilt, it did not show his grin, at his absentia'd tease of the Chelian dancer.
"Originally, she came to rob the place. The men she was with were killed or carted off to Shoreleave, but she's still here. I think she's convinced Daynadrian -- the elf you met this morning -- that she's some poor misguided innocent who got in with the Sczarni by accident." Her expression and tone of voice indicate she puts little credence in that explanation. "Anyway, one thing she has proven to be enthusiastic about is ordering people around." She looks a little apologetic. "I suppose it was mean of me to inflict her on the workmen, but you needed your study time. They seem to have pulled through all right." She spies Larur and the tray of comestibles at the bar. "Oh," she asks hopefully, "is that lunch?"
"Indeed. Combined larders, the Goblin's and mine, now all ours, I suppose. The blueberry jam is a favorite of Larur's, it's tart enough that he thinks he can deny that it's sweet." Gristav smiles warmly at his dwarf friend, then again to Samaritha. "With a sliver of that tanner cheese, on a bit of bread, warmed with your magic... or mine? Do you keep such trivial Wyrds in mind? Here, allow me..."
Gristav spooned a dollop of the blueberry jam onto a bread crust, and sliced a rectangle off the cheese, tipping the blade so the cheese fell over the jam. He held the crust an instant, while the cheese settled over the roundness of the jam like a blanket. Setting the magicked morsel on a saucer, he offered it to Samaritha. "Mem-sahib?", he smiled, then chuckled. He managed to restrain himself from offering to remove his shirt. But the effort shone from his eyes.
The girl from the tea room is not hard to find; she is standing in the door of the shop, gazing wide-eyed at the official activity across the street. When she sees Braddon and Malkith walking out the door, apparently unaccosted, she smiles a little and raises her hand in a timid wave. The sudden descent of the Gendarmes on the neighborhood has drawn no little attention: A few rubberneckers on the streets are lingering, in hopes of seeing some excitement, and what look to be servants in a house across the street are gathered at the windows, blatantly staring. All those he sees, however, seem to Braddon to be above suspicion; anyone watching surreptitiously would undoubtedly be less obvious about their attentions.
Leaving behind the activity at the rowhouse, they follow the directions provided by the young woman at the tea shop and find themselves on a quiet street overlooking the harbor. The view of the sea below and the gleaming Cyphergate at eye level is frankly stunning, and the house to which their steps have directed them is large and elegant.
"Good for you you are not one of the orc-men, yes," Ranef agrees, his expression taking on a dark and angry cast the halfling has not seen on it before, but it quickly clears as the familiar smile returns. "But we fight as friends, for the sport of it, yes? Not for blood or for honor."
"Pfah!" Ranef scoffs. "I am struck many times." He displays the scars on his face and bare arms as evidence. "You only have to learn to stay on your feet and keep fighting."
The pouch of gold makes it's way into a jacket pocket where Phil pats it with a clinking sound. Standing somewhat drunkenly he pauses for a few seconds to gain some semblance of bodily control, continuing to chat to cover the weakness "Aye Ranef, hit many times... but I am less than half the man that you are." said without regret or sadness "Fight as friends yes, and later we drink as friends, yes? I seem to be richer now than I was before I rested..." smirking "Are the others still at training?"
Tendal takes his time looking over the recovered jewelry, a doing a quick scan to see if it matches up with the recorded inventory. That complete, he picks out Madame Krump's pieces. In the middle of picking out the pieces he stops and takes a moment to see what the value of the individual pieces are, noting it for later. I wonder if this is indicative of the Krump's family wealth?, he thinks, looking at the value of the pieces.
He then completes his task and then returns downstairs.
"Madame Krump. I trust that you have not been disturbed? he says as he returns with a slight smile.
"I believe that I have found all of your pieces." He retrieves them from his pocket and lays them out on the table before her, then waits for her to look them over.
"If I might be of any further assistance to you or your husband in any matter, please let me know." he offers.
Braddon gives a low whistle at the sight before him.
"There looks like a pleasant place for a spy post. You stay here while I case the joint, then we can sit back and enjoy the view until something happens. If the maid goes for a wander, we'll follow. If a delivery comes in, we can knock again a few minutes later as if the delivery is returning for something. Though it'd be harder to muscle some information if they're on home ground. I'd prefer following the maid to somewhere quiet. She'll talk better then."
Braddon looks for a quiet opportunity to go scouting.
As Tendal approaches the table at which he left Madame Krump, she looks up at him hopefully. As he reveals the jewelry, she lets out a sigh of relief, tucking it away quickly into her reticule without taking the time to examine it closely. "Oh, Mr. Deverin, you've been such a gentleman," she thanks him effusively as she gets to her feet. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." She offers him her hand as she readies to take her leave.
One disadvantage to the position of the Krumps' house on the bluff, from Braddon's point of view at least, is that between the rocky ridge and the constant sea breezes, there is little vegetation around the house and what there is is sparse. He sees no way to conceal himself from anyone looking out the upper floor windows as he circles the building; however, the shutters he can see from the street are closed so he decides to take the chance.
The Krump house is a neat rectangle. In front, stairs lead up from the street to a door painted a rosy mauve color. Two more stories above the ground floor can be counted by the rows of paned windows; on the street side, these windows are hidden behind closed white shutters. Some small flowering shrubs are planted at the corners of the house and appear well-tended. Slipping down the alley between the house and its neighbor, Braddon finds that the ridge slopes downward; at the back of the house, a door at ground level offers access to a floor below the one the front door opens on. This door is much plainer, and Braddon assumes it would be the one used by the help. The windows at the back of the house are not shuttered, but there are curtains visible from the outside.
Waiting out front on the street, Malkith feels rather conspicuous. The nearby buildings all seem to be residences, offering no ready extenuation for their presence, and he suspects that a Varisian and a half-elf loitering in the road for any amount of time are likely to look as out of place as Daynadrian and Tendal would in the middle of Lubbertown.
Gristav spooned a dollop of the blueberry jam onto a bread crust, and sliced a rectangle off the cheese, tipping the blade so the cheese fell over the jam. He held the crust an instant, while the cheese settled over the roundness of the jam like a blanket. Setting the magicked morsel on a saucer, he offered it to Samaritha. "Mem-sahib?", he smiled, then chuckled. He managed to restrain himself from offering to remove his shirt. But the effort shone from his eyes.
She accepts the plate with a smirk, seeming to follow his train of thought. "Only if you intend to fan me with a palm branch and feed me grapes as I recline," she murmurs before taking a seat by Larur. "Good afternoon, Mr. Felden," she greets the dwarf politely.
After the departure of Desiree Krump, Tendal returns upstairs where Thuvalia is still holding court with the waiting victims. When the last gentleman is shown into Saul's office, she yawns and takes her leave. A short time later, when the man's claim is filed and he has been shown out of the office, Saul himself peers out into the waiting area.
"Looks like that's the last of them, for the morning anyway," he grins at Tendal. "I'll take a look at what's been claimed against what we have and see if we should expect any further applicants. Shall we go downstairs and see if anyone's prepared a meal? Or are you otherwise engaged for lunchtime?"
Shortly after Samaritha takes her seat, Thuvalia wanders out from the kitchen and lays eyes on the food on the bar. "Lunch!" she announces dramatically. "I am famished!" Taking a plate, she proceeds to help herself generously from the tray of victuals.
"Are the others still at training?"
"No, we do not train in the heat of the day," Ranef replies. "Up before the sun and on the sand by dawn, then we are inside after lunch. There are weights below and targets for those who throw knives or nets. There is food still, if you are hungry? Dried fish and bread?" he offers.
Ah bugger, looks like two appointments missed then. Ethel I'll see tonight... and best I get my legs under me before I try and make it back to the Goblin. Nodding slightly "Aye, food would be welcome..." Phil smiles up at Ranef as he leaves his jacket undone and slightly parted at the front. He beckons Ranef to lead on and starts to gingerly follow.
Braddon returns to Malkith and reports his findings.
"All quiet on the western front. Hanging here for much longer may cause an issue, so looks like we'll have to knock politely and ask questions," grumbles Braddon.
"Lead on. Knock on the back door and tell them we have their latest delivery of tea. Or perfume. Yeah. Don't worry, I'll back you up."
Phil exits the bedroom into a large common area. Several more doors open off the room, and those that are ajar reveal bedrooms like the one he just left. Open doorways on either end of the room enter into corridors. All the walls and floors are bare and without adornment.
The common area contains a writing desk and chair, a few large armchairs which look to be stuffed with sawdust rather than anything more yielding, and a single long table with wooden benches. A bread basket a pitcher and a few covered platters rest on its surface, and some earthenware plates and cups are stacked at one end. Ranef motions Phil toward the table welcomingly.
Making his way to a welcome seat as his senses continue to gather Phillip breaks off some bread and uncovers a platter to see what wonders lie beneath. Furnishing himself with food and water he continues to chat with Ranef "So Ranef... what brought you to the arena?"
She accepts the plate with a smirk, seeming to follow his train of thought. "Only if you intend to fan me with a palm branch and feed me grapes as I recline," she murmurs before taking a seat by Larur. "Good afternoon, Mr. Felden," she greets the dwarf politely.
"...where might one obtain a palm branch?", Gristav ponders aloud, meeting Larur's eye with a smile, while Samaritha took her chair.
Shortly after Samaritha takes her seat, Thuvalia wanders out from the kitchen and lays eyes on the food on the bar. "Lunch!" she announces dramatically. "I am famished!" Taking a plate, she proceeds to help herself generously from the tray of victuals.
"A moment, if we might.", Gristav interjects, gesturing the plate out of her reach along the bar to gain her attention. "I won't ask what business has famished you, or what matter filled your mind so much your hands remained empty as you crossed the kitchen. But there remains still, our business, where you went to summon support in my fetching of carpet, and never returned. How did that go? Well, I know how it went...", Gristav corrects himself. "Tell me what happened, that I might see other than insupportive escape in your absence, and other than empty-handed attrition, in your presence. Oh, and be sure to try the blueberry with the darker cheese." At these last words, the plate slides back before her.
Weighing his tray against the table, Gristav says to Larur, "One thing about bachelor fare, it it's seen as un-fare, by other than bachelors."
---
"Looks like that's the last of them, for the morning anyway," he grins at Tendal. "I'll take a look at what's been claimed against what we have and see if we should expect any further applicants. Shall we go downstairs and see if anyone's prepared a meal? Or are you otherwise engaged for lunchtime?"