"Not lie." He rumbles in her ear in exchange. "Most think big is dumb, underestimate, like those murderers in ship." Obviously referring to the brothers who all ended up chum.
He then returns to the inn and after putting some furniture in front of his door, covers every peephole he can find both on the floor and in the roof, puts some stuff on the bed under the blanket to look like him, and then takes a nap in the rafters.
Sleep comes, to those with rooms to themselves, to those who have slipped coin across the table to ensure a room that supposedly not being spied upon and to those who, not wanting to be alone, have shared their cosy lodgings with each other... a deep sleep - and maybe the gentle rocking of the island with the barely perceptible creaking of the building as it shifts and rolls upon its foundations helps to bring the group the rest that they need...
And, if anyone were to wake in the night, maybe they'd hear strange noises within the tavern - above the creaking of the timber walls, something else... a muffled rustling and scraping - almost like something moving, unseen, through the structure of the building - after a short while, if anyone did hear it, the noise quietens to nothing... and the visitor, if there ever was one, is gone.
...too soon, the morning comes - church bells announce the sixth hour of the morning and, so close to the dockside and the liqourice markets, the bustle and calling voice of street trade quickly follows. By the time the seventh hour is tolled, several bells seem to be nearby - presumably somewhere on the island - whilst many more call weakly from across the river, the smell of cooking is wafting from downstairs... it seems that breakfast is served.
Aishe, normally an early riser, rests in bed as long as he can. When he does move, he moves quickly - washing up, shaving, and making himself presentable for breakfast. He doesn't quite take the stairs two at a time, but he's so happy to be waking in an honest to god bed, that he's positively giddy.
he greets the group, at least a few members of which are almost certainly up before him. He's quiet again as he tucks into the food and drink. Again relishing in the simple pleasures.
When the meal is well and done, he'll bring up Uncle Marren's offer. "I still say." he begins in hushed tones, "That we keep the peace by taking Marren's deal, but we do it our way. Let's question the woman and see what she knows and go from there. Then maybe tonight, we can spend some time at the circus and look for the man with the tattoo."
"I feel invigorated." he adds with a smile.
Audria wakes slowly, not wanting to leave the warm and comfortable bed after having spent so long without one. She dresses in the first outfit she'd liked yesterday. Not quite awake enough to care if Moira (if she's still there) sees anything as she washes up and dresses. Her skin is covered in scars, dozens, if not hundreds of thin white lines run and cross over her arms, legs, and torso. Her back is covered by a massive burn scar, a large white burst with ragged edges, centered between and just below her shoulder blades.
Washed up and dressed, she heads downstairs to get something to eat.
"Mornin'," she yawns, before looking at everyone who'd made it before she had. her eyes are brighter than they've been in a long time. A bright, piercing silver that almost glows. She picks out some bread and begins to spread butter and honey over it.
"I feel better now that I've slept. How about you?"
"Indeed." Salom spears a sardine, dark and glistening in oil, and crowns it atop a heel of buttered bread. A stewed tomato and a dollop of soured cream complete the affair, and he slices into it with relish, finishing the entire thing in three bites. He washes it down with tea darker than his hair (though the latter's starting to show a bit of gray). And only then does he finish his thought.
"See to this Thimblespanked, or whatever her name is, and make our own assessment."
Salom sits alone, finishing his breakfast dressed in his garish, bright yellow doublet, sans overcoat.
"Still asleep," he replies, if asked about Thea. "I should go wake up her up. Goodness, she'd sleep all day if I allowed it!"
Glaring at the light once the sun makes itself know. Slowly stretching out and putting the room back in order. After that task is done she changes into the men's clothing and out of the stupid dress. Digging in her bag to find a small pouch. Grinning once it is found a short amount of time is spent cleaning her teeth and trying to put her hair in some sort of order again.
Feeling more presentable for somewhere beyond hiding on rooftop. Tossing her bag over her shoulder and wondering down to find food shortly after the sun has risen.
Gleefully digging into breakfast and nodding at Aishe, "Sounds ok. Do we know where we are supposed to go?"
Once Audria wonders down Alexis tucks her hands under the table but she does offer a small grin at her, "Better than last night."
Rigo comes down, wearing his daily outfit, not the dressy one. His fur shines in the morning light, as if he spent the morning grooming before coming down.
For breakfast, he eats from the sausage, the fish, and some of the cheese, which of the non meats, is something his stomach can handle.
He doesn't speak much more than grunts, but doesn't seem inclined to get hostile either.
"I feel better now that I've slept. How about you?"
"Like a new man." Aishe grins, the red tinge gone from his eyes.
"Still asleep," he replies, if asked about Thea. "I should go wake up her up. Goodness, she'd sleep all day if I allowed it!"
"Yes, we should get going soon, assuming she's coming with us. Could be dangerous." he adds remembering Salom's close relationship to his, uh, creation.
Gleefully digging into breakfast and nodding at Aishe, "Sounds ok. Do we know where we are supposed to go?"
"I don't know, but I imagine we should check in with the uncle and let him know we're on the job. He may be able to tell us where she works and we can start there."
He finishes a big mouthful of food, and sips the last of his beverage. He sets the cup down and looks ready to go - though he does wait patiently if others are still eating. He still clearly remembers what hunger is like and won't abide even a single twinge.
Audria finishes up her breakfast and looks to the others. She doesn't look comfortable with the idea of going back to the Grast hall, but neither does she object.
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Moira wakes when Audria starts moving. She notices the young woman’s tortured body but decides not to ask about Audria’s scars, for now. Instead she stares at the roof, thinking about everything that has changed in the last few days. Her morning ritual involves a lot of Prestidigitation before she stretches and heads downstairs. She notices that her crossbow wound is looking much better. "Probably should have had someone take a look at that... oh well."
When she manages to pry herself out of bed and rejoin the others downstairs, Moira pounces on the breakfast spread and immediately starts constructing a sandwich. “A good sandwich,” she pronounces, “Is like a good life. First, the bread of life is given to our parents." She selects a likely looking roll and splits it in half. "Then comes birth…" as she peels and slices a hardboiled egg onto the bread, “…followed by the milk of our first years” while she carefully butters the other side of the bread. “then the pleasures of the flesh, our youth,” while she extracts choice rashers of bacon from their place, arranging them to alternate the fat and the lean, “then, the healthful bitterness and acids of work and struggle,” placing salad greens and tomato slices on top of the bacon, “some tears, but hopefully not too many” as she pares the inn’s thick slices of onion into slivers, brushing away some moisture from the corners of her eyes, and loads them onto the pile which she spreads thinly over the buttered top of the roll, “and over all, if we are most fortunate, the sweetness of love” as she drizzles honey, again, into all the interstices of her masterpiece.
After consuming her meal in quasi-religious silence, she turns to Rigo and asks, “So, you’re back. I noticed you’d forgotten your share of the treasure, by all means take it, and then--best luck drowning your sorrows in blood, let me know how that goes. Or are you here to ask if you can tag along with us a while longer? I don't think your quest lines up very neatly with ours, but I'm willing to listen to your reasons for staying.”
To the rest she asks, “Must we ask Marren for help? I’d rather try to find Ms. Spindleshanks on our own or via Ammos, just in case we have to turn down the assignment. That mortomata gadget is just plain creepy, and you know what the old song says, 'you don't need a weatherman to see which way the wind blows.'”
"C-can we not ask Ammos, please," Audria begs, "I don't feel comfortable around him."
The cat gives Moira a lidded look. "Never said leaving permanently, still have things to do, people to watch. Easier if stay with group for now. Limit to how much can hang with humans, day in, day out, lose mind." He replies, sounding surly now.
Of course it's possible, Moira. How Marren would respond to being sidestepped is anyone's guess, though. The mortomata is a bit macabre, I grant you, but, but the implications! A fusion of the living and unlife. Imagine, a table lamp fueled by your departed loved ones. Its potential for bereavers, grievers, undertakers, gravediggers, and cemetary watchmen alone could revitalize the entire industry of funerial services, wouldn't you say? Let's search for the plum in this pudding, yes?"
As it appears that she's being ignored, Audria shrinks into her chair.
Maybe they see something I don't, she wonders, though the thought does little to help her not feel like she was a child being overlooked.
"Why not?" Salom asks, peering at Audria as though he's seeing her for the first time. "Is it the powdered wig? I hear they're all the rage in this city, you know! Very high fashion."
Sitting quietly with her hands drumming a beat on her thighs while watching everyone talks. "If we have to deal with Ammos then we will keep you out of it Audria."
Salom's comments cause Alexis to tilt her head to the side and stare at him. He really is insane.. Is that doll made of his dead daughter? "Sidestepn' Marren is probably not a good idea. He is one of the ones in charge here and if we want him on our side instead of against us then we have to play his game his way."
"No, those just look ridiculous," Audria replies, "he just kept clinging to me as much as he could yesterday, and... and..."
Her face turns scarlet as she remembers the incident. The hand running much lower than was proper and giving her hip a pinch. She tries to get the words out, but with her hands covering her face and her the way she was trying to curl up in the chair, it's muffled into incomprehensibility.
Frowning at Audria, "Won't happen again. Ok?" Reaching out and rubbing Audria's shoulders.
Audria just nods, relaxing a little as Alexis rubs the tension out of her shoulders.
"Thanks," she says a the blush fades. "I'm sorry that you you have to deal with it too."
"...lose mind." He replies, sounding surly now.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about and if I'm not being nice to you, it's because you're scary as all hells when you do lose your mind. None of these people murdered your parents. I’m really, really confident. Look, I’ve heard big city temples sell a spell that forces people to answer questions truthfully. We got a lot of cash last night. Why don’t we ask around and find a greedy godling willing to set up a lieproof cross-examination for you? Then you can get off our backs.”
"Let's search for the plum in this pudding, yes?"
Moira looks incredulously at Salom. “Mr. Mortara, shackling the souls of the departed to a construct in order to cling to the shade of a loved one would probably not only be bad for the mourner—it’d be very rough on the soul. Undeath isn’t pleasant.”
[/b] Audria replies, "he just kept clinging to me as much as he could yesterday, and... and..."
“You’re right, sunshine, Ammos is a world-class creep. Look, that’s entirely on him, but you gotta get used to standing up for yourself or you’ll get devoured. Tell him to leave you alone and I bet that poo golem will listen—and if not, we’ll make him listen.”
"Sidestepn' Marren is probably not a good idea. He is one of the ones in charge here and if we want him on our side instead of against us then we have to play his game his way."
Moira sighs. "Alright, alright. I just ask that we make sure we have a chance to talk to Spindleshanks, she sounds intensely interesting. Straightening her hat, "Well, folks--where to, the temple? The Hall?"
"You're right," Audria mutters to Moira, "but won't denying him cause us problems, too?"
Rigo rubs his nose with a claw. "Maybe, if specific god I trust."
"That's exactly what I'm worried about and if I'm not being nice to you, it's because you're scary as all hells when you do lose your mind. None of these people murdered your parents. I’m really, really confident. Look, I’ve heard big city temples sell a spell that forces people to answer questions truthfully. We got a lot of cash last night. Why don’t we ask around and find a greedy godling willing to set up a lieproof cross-examination for you? Then you can get off our backs.”
Frowning at Moria then turning to glare at Rigo, "If we go this route you get to ask about the murders and that is it. Or I won't do it."
Moira looks incredulously at Salom. “Mr. Mortara, shackling the souls of the departed to a construct in order to cling to the shade of a loved one would probably not only be bad for the mourner—it’d be very rough on the soul. Undeath isn’t pleasant.”
Taking a deep breath and letting out slowly while nodding at the older woman's words but letting that topic die. And hopefully stay that way.
[/b] Audria replies, "he just kept clinging to me as much as he could yesterday, and... and..."
“You’re right, sunshine, Ammos is a world-class creep. Look, that’s entirely on him, but you gotta get used to standing up for yourself or you’ll get devoured. Tell him to leave you alone and I bet that poo golem will listen—and if not, we’ll make him listen.”
"She's right. You gotta say your peace and make others understand it."Leaning closer to Audria and mumbling, "I have something sharp and pointy to help with that understanding too. Tends to work."
Moira sighs. "Alright, alright. I just ask that we make sure we have a chance to talk to Spindleshanks, she sounds intensely interesting. Straightening her hat, "Well, folks--where to, the temple? The Hall?"
Shrugging and sounding disinterested, "Already said I don't wanna kill a whore. Only will if she eats people instead of beddin' them."
Leaning back in her chair while grabbing another roll, "We need to take care of her so we stay on Marren's good side." Looking over at Rigo, "The temple thing is gonna need to wait. You good with that?"
"You two make it sound like it's my fault he's trying to grope me," Audria grumbles at Alexis' adding her two coppers to the conversation. She huffs for a moment before rolling her eyes, "fine! Fine, I'll tell him to keep his grimy paws off."
Sighing before responding, "Not sayin' that so don't put words in my mouth. You did not ask him to. He did it cause he is a bastard who thinks he can do what he wants. All we're sayin' is if you don't want him to do it then tell him no. If he has a problem since he's out numbered."
"Sorry, I just... I..." Audria tries to say, but the words refuse to come. With a sigh, she looks back at the table and mutters, "I don't know what to do anymore. I can't remember anything before the night I was found out in the rain, and now, I've got this... thing in my head and these strange powers. I just want to curl up somewhere and hide until it all goes away."
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"If can find temple of Torag. Need visit anyway."
Were Rigo to ask the staff of the 'Angel with Blackened Teeth' where the nearest temple of Torag might be, he would be told, with a degree of uncertainty, that there is but a single shrine to the god on Festival... a dwarven blacksmith with a forge near the pier for the Chain Ferry has kept his building consecrated to Torag for as long as anyone can remember, "If you're needing a proper temple, then you're probably looking at a journey over to the Capitol, Booktown or the Jumble..." The journey over to the Chain Ferry (in the district of 'The Footings') is probably about twenty minutes to half an hour - dependent upon how busy the streets are - and would take the group past the Circus Macabre... whereas, travel to the other districts - all needing passage from the island, are likely to take the entirety of the morning...
Rigo nods. "If need go Circus, go circus, then temple. Think best do now. Make working easier if know not involved."
"I think we should visit Ammos to let him know, and thereby his uncle, that we're on the job." he looks uncomfortably at Audria, worried at what Ammos might do, and then what they'd have to do...
"Then on to the temple to speak truth to power!" he continues and grins.
Aishe counts out 10gp - his share of the casting cost.
Moira, visibly relieved by Rigo's apparent willingness to let the gods judge the situation, laughs at Aishe's joke and says "Great--'work first, church later,' my Ma always said."
To Audria, Moira says "What Alexis said. But... sad to say it, we kinda need him, for now. We'll try words first."
Heading out, after eating more than their fill at breakfast, the group find themselves in the bustling quayside market that blossomed into life shortly before dawn. Voices call out from rows upon rows of stalls, each extolling the virtues of their wares and explaining why their prospective customers surely can't live without what each of the traders are selling - confectionary, tobacco, dyes, chymical cures for diseases of the mind and of the body - and each, and every, product is derivative of the liquorice root...
The weather, when the group are finally clear of the market and able to take notice, has taken a turn towards the cold of the forthcoming winter - but, for now at least, it isn't raining... and, across the river - about half a mile distant - the skyline of the 'Mainland' can be seen. It is, looking northwards towards the Sinks, an uninspiring sight... for two miles of riverbank, it is a sprawl of decaying buildings, their glory days long since passed, vying for space within a network of canals that disgorge their foul waters into the Lyme. The vista is so very far from the grandeur of the Capitol that could be seen at the highest point of Festival yesterday... yet, as the group watch the river traffic, this ruined place seems to teem with life.
There is one other thing, something that brings a stark realisation, as the group pass out of the market - a street crier shouting of the latest news upon the island declares the date to be Toilsday, the Tenth of Celebrate... some two lost weeks since that fateful day when the soldiers arrived at Wicken - and the life for those taken was forever changed.
The Circus Macabre is no less downtrodden when approaching from the quayside as it was when the group arrived on their commandeered boat; a slumped building squats before the pier upon which the circus huddles. It has a saggy roof, crowned with nails upon its gable - its windows are narrow and shuttered. A rusted turnstile next to the building prevents free access on to the pier and is surely how, when performances are being held, customers access the pier - and the various tents of the Circus Macabre. A chalked sign on the side of the building declares that there shall be a performance on the seventh hour this evening... and that tradespersons, salespersons and potential artistes should make themselves known at the ticket window. A window which, just adjacent to the turnstile and this early in the morning, is not occupied.
Rigo takes a wiff of the air in the ticket booth, to see how long it's been unoccupied, or if there is someone there hiding.
"Wait, it's the Tenth of Celebrate? I missed my birthday on the Redemption! Ain't it just the way?"
On the apparent lack of a welcoming committee, Moira wonders aloud:
"Ammos did say we should head over in the late morning, maybe everyone's still asleep. We could roust him out, or maybe we should head to the dwarven smithy? It should be nearby, and a dwarf of Torag is bound to be up and working by now. Even if he can't take the time off to cast for us, he should be able to tell us where in all that," she gestures to Mainland, "the main temple of Torag is."
"Need priest, not smith. Temple have priest, shrine just made by follower, not priest."
Rigo's smell around the window of the Ticket Office reveals two things... firstly that it isn't currently occupied, although there is a door in the back of the office that appears to lead into the building (and maybe there is someone in there)... and secondly, that it stinks of rat.
"Well, that's just odd," Salom remarks, cupping his eyes and peering into the window. He tuts and strolls beside Rigo, knocking up a bit of dirt with his spear/walking stick. Today, on top of his overcoat, he sports a backpack and belt pouches that, in addition to securing his workman's tools, house a variety of corked vials containing vividly colored liquids. Thea assumes her usual position on his back, but hops down and points to the door. Both try to listen.
"Has door in back, lead into building." Rigo comments. Then when Salom comes up, he mutters in elf.
"Rat"
"Can't hurt to knock..."
Moira raps on the shuttered window.
For a couple of moments after Moira knocks, there is nothing... but a second, maybe more insistent, rap on the wooden boards seems to raise something from within the squalor of the building, "Alright!!! Alright!!! Hold on there... what ungodly hour is this anyway??? Whoever you are, you'd better have a good reason for waking me..."
Shambling through the door and stepping past mouldering seats and damaged tables, a halfling stares at Moira with a quizzical look, "Well miss!!! What issss it to be??? You do know the show ain't until later in the day don't you??? Or have you got wares you want to be sssselling?" In the dim light that bleeds through the shuttered windows, the halfling is terribly dishevelled... and, with a painted face that barely disguises stubble beneath a badly smeared clown's smile, is still rather drunk.
Indeed, the comment that he makes to Moira about the wares that she might be willing to sell is - quite obviously from the way that he leers - a suggestion (or just a drunk's hope) that she may be a lady of ill-repute...
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"Rat."
"No thank you, I've had breakfast," Salom replies in Elven, then guffaws at his own joke.
"We're here to see Mr. Ammos," Salom says amiably in common, giving a little bow with a flourish of his hand. "He should be expecting us."
The halfling, moving closer to the window and into the morning's light - close enough to see that, not only does he appear to have slept in refuse but that he has recently vomited. Squinting, he looks at Moira, then Audria and Alexis... before, with disappointment writ plain across his face, turning to Aishe, Salom and Rigo, "Here to see the boss are ya? Now I think of it, he did mention someone might come callin' this morning".
With a hacking cough interrupting him for a moment, the halfling presses a button out of view and, quite audibly, the locking mechanism for the turnstile screeches open, "Go on then... in you go... welcome to the Circus Macabre an' all that. Mr Grast will be up at the Great Tent I'd think... him and Gride are making plans for a new show". The leering face, utterly dreadful with its clown paint and yellowed teeth, watches whilst the group enter through the turnstile... and then, spitting something solid onto the floor of the ticket office, disappears from view once more.
Onto the pier again, there is little sign of life... although voices can be heard in the large tent at the end of the structure...
Aishe nods smiling as they pass. I've got to learn Elven. he thinks as Rigo and Salom exchange words.
Once inside, he's sorely tempted to start poking around. "We have a lot to do today already. Much as I'd like to investigate those tents, let's hold off for now. Let's just see Ammos and get going." he suggests.
If the group desires a little look-see though, he'll happily, if a little nervously, join them.
The realization that it had only been two weeks since she'd been hauled away from the only life she knew hits Audria like a heavy sack of meal. Only two weeks? It had seemed so much longer than that in the dank hell of her imprisonment.
Today was the day marked a year since her being found in the rain in Wicken. She'd only had a year of memories beyond her name. The realization brought some uncomfortable questions to her mind. No on in Wicken had seemed to recognize her, so she wasn't from there, so where was she from? Castorhage? Oppara? Somewhere else in the Inner Sea?
Her thoughts kept her occupied until she noticed the halfling clown leering at her before confirming why they were here. She didn't like that look, it was like he was stripping away her clothes in his mind, which probably wasn't too far from the truth.
Burn him, a voice like the crackle of flames told her, burn him and see if he looks at you with lust in his eyes after that!
Audria took in a deep breath. She wasn't like that! She didn't hurt people, did she?
The doubt was enough to distract her from the rest of the group's interactions with the drunken clown. Indeed, it's enough to distract her from the crimson flames starting to gently curl around her fists as she walks into the circus.
Is someone smoking around here? Or burning their breakfast? Or... oh dear.
"Come along, sunshine, let's take a look at the river, shall we? Away from all this oilcloth and wood..."
Turning nervously to Aishe, "Yeah let's find Ammos, I think the sooner the better."
Salom practically skips along. "We'll see all the thrills of the circus very soon," he promises the young ones. "But first we have a different sort of adventure! Come along, let's speak to Mr. Ammos and then we'll be off to visit the marvelous city!"