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Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

"Rag End, Rotgut, Rat Street. Someplace out past the wharves that begins with R. Apparently it's really dangerous and crawling with thugs and murderers, but apart from the evil cultists this is the only time I've been attacked since I got here...last week. I think I've been there twice. I lost count. Can I have that drink?" -- Braddon Hurst


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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."


Male Halfling Inquisitor of Calistria (Heretic archetype)

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."

Split five ways, that's less than a gold apiece so we'll handwave the payment into petty cash.


M 1/2E Magus 2 :2223a1: BAB1 CMB/D:3/15 AC/T/Ff:16/12/14 Init2 Perc1 HP18/19 FRW522 Appraise7 K:Arc7 K:Lcl7 Ride6 Scft7 UMD8 Diplomacy 5 Intim 5 Sense Motive 3 Perf:Dance 3

"...they hold their head, like very dead, herring do...", Gristav sings softly.


Hp :13/13; AC 11(15) / 11 tch / 10(14) ff; Wastrel 2

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."


Hp :13/13; AC 11(15) / 11 tch / 10(14) ff; Wastrel 2

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.


Male Halfling Inquisitor of Calistria (Heretic archetype)

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.

Phillip:
Your party seems to be attracting some attention, though most of it seems to be curiosity or amusement at the Arcadian alcohol proffered to Tendal. There's no evident indication that the Fish and Fortune's current patronage is anything but of the maritime variety. There is one man at a table in the corner whose attention seems vaguely threatening; when you glance in that direction, he quickly looks down at his own table and takes a drink from his mug, but as you let your gaze wander, you note out of the corner of your eye that he returns to studying your group.


Hp :13/13; AC 11(15) / 11 tch / 10(14) ff; Wastrel 2

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.


M 1/2E Magus 2 :2223a1: BAB1 CMB/D:3/15 AC/T/Ff:16/12/14 Init2 Perc1 HP18/19 FRW522 Appraise7 K:Arc7 K:Lcl7 Ride6 Scft7 UMD8 Diplomacy 5 Intim 5 Sense Motive 3 Perf:Dance 3
Tendal Deverin wrote:
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.

Quote:
"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.

Quote:

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.


hp 20 / 22; AC 16; Init +2 Male Half-elf Ranger 2

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?"


Male Halfling Inquisitor of Calistria (Heretic archetype)

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.


M 1/2E Magus 2 :2223a1: BAB1 CMB/D:3/15 AC/T/Ff:16/12/14 Init2 Perc1 HP18/19 FRW522 Appraise7 K:Arc7 K:Lcl7 Ride6 Scft7 UMD8 Diplomacy 5 Intim 5 Sense Motive 3 Perf:Dance 3

Gristav lets the passage of Braddon's broad bulk conceal the synchronized casting of a spell serving superspectral sensorium...

Detect Magic


hp 20 / 22; AC 16; Init +2 Male Half-elf Ranger 2
Phillip Hargreaves wrote:
"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.

Gristav:
There's little enough magic in the room: a couple of minor glimmers on the bartender are to be expected in a rough neighborhood like this. Focusing your attention on the table in the corner which Phillip pointed out, however, you note that the largest man seated at it is also in possession of some magic this evening: both his fine cloak and a steel shield leaning against his knee under the table boast minor auras.


M 1/2E Magus 2 :2223a1: BAB1 CMB/D:3/15 AC/T/Ff:16/12/14 Init2 Perc1 HP18/19 FRW522 Appraise7 K:Arc7 K:Lcl7 Ride6 Scft7 UMD8 Diplomacy 5 Intim 5 Sense Motive 3 Perf:Dance 3

"...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.

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