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Alcohol has apparently had its most common effect on these sailors. Neither Isegrim's physical superiority nor the presence of the massive sword is enough to dissuade the sailors from trying to get their money back.
The thrown punch misses as Isegrim steps back to free his blade. A second sailor draws a dagger from a sheath at his belt and makes a clumsy lunge that nearly skewers one of his friends.
The knife wielder is impaled on the raven blade. He slides off with a sigh and drops like a stone. The puncher's eyes widen in shock as the swordsman twists away from his punch and brings the blade crashing into his ribcage. The sword easily punctures the leather armor drawing a gush of blood and a shout of stone-sober pain. He lurches for the front door clutching his wound.
The two remaining sailors draw short swords and press clumsy attacks, neither of which come close to landing.
It's Trystan's turn. Seeing details of the fight is impossible from your spot behind the bar, but from the sound it's plain what's happening by the front doors.
Trystan vaults the bar , skittering an assortment of tip coins in the process. He runs towards the sound of trouble only to see Isegrim run one grubby looking sailor through, then brutally slice another across the midsection.
"Enough!! Sheath those blades or your friends are dead!" he shouts towards the remaining two as he sprints over.
He slides to the side of the dagger wielder and stabilizes him with a touch.
The two miscreants seize the offer, bolting for the door. One of them reels from the impact and tumbles down the front steps and into the plaza outside. His mate stoops to drag him to his feet, then disappears into the night.
Trystan arrives in time to stabilize the mortally wounded sailor, as the crowd regains its composure. A hundred conversations erupt at once around the room but Saul tamps them down as he climbs the stairs, clearing his throat.
"Listen people! Please, everyone..."
The crowd quiets down as Saul begins to shout out.
"You folks tell your friends. The Goblin is open for business, not for drunken brawling, calling out, or whining at the house if Desna doesn't show you her knickers."
A few folks in the crowd laugh. Saul goes on right over them.
"There's a new set of enforcers in this house, and security will be maintained with a watchful eye and the Raven Blade." He gestures toward Isegrim, giving him a moment to show out for the crowd.
"None of our games requires our patrons to defend themselves, and as such, weapons will be checked at the door henceforth. This is a house of entertainment where the rules are fair and enforced - in the grandest spirit of chance and adventure! Drink under the sign of Cayden, court lady chance, stay awhile even... in one of our guest suites, but leave your weapons and violence at the door. The goblin will have no more of it."
When he stops talking there's a silence for a moment, then the crowd breaks out in a smattering of applause. A few men look around with sour expressions, clearly not pleased with having to part with their swords. Nevertheless, everyone either disarms or leaves and there's no more trouble. Within ten minutes the high-pitched voice of the ghoul is hurling insults again and the click-clacking of the skiffs tables resumes.
Hans comes over to give Brenin a hand moving the wounded man.
There's a new energy to the gaming floor once play resumes. Beyar runs the taps while Trystan is away with the drunk. The crowd stays happy and the evening ends in a pleasant buzz. Chips are converted to cash, drinks are finished, and the crowd meanders off to their homes and ships.
Isegrim's probably been intimidating enough for one night. Certainly the revived sailor has a very clear memory of the blade passing through him. The interrogation routine is well delivered, but the drunk seems to be just that, a drunk. One of his messmates convinced him that the Goblin owed him back his ante from last night since those who were around at the end got 110% of their holdings. He's on leave from the Vesicant, a pirate ship that's moored in the harbor.
So your group has all found gainful employment at the Goblin. Saul seems genuine in his delight at having the added help under his roof, and even starts to see some success at recruiting other competent help off the street. He picks up a skilled ship's cook from a vessel that pays off in port only a couple days into the first week of business. As the quality of the fare increases, the house starts to sell more alcohol and game revenues go up.
Another hire is a striking strawberry-blonde woman named Samaritha who takes a job waiting tables and serving drinks to gamblers on the floor. Between this new girl and Lily, one of the only girls left from the original tournament night, the crowd is kept watered and happy - enough to mask their losses until a more sober moment presents itself.
By the end of the first week, Larus is convinced that the Gold Goblin is not losing money. Everyone is paid 10 gp at the end of the week.
Samaritha in the house.
A couple of days into the next week in the mid-morning, something unusual happens. Hans and Beyar come in with their normal load of groceries for that night's business talking about something going on down at the piers. They practically pull whoever they can get their hands on, out th back door and down the street to the harbor-front.
In the middle of the harbor there's a cloud of seagulls flying in a great spiral. Hundreds of them swirl in the tight circles, far enough from the docks that the din is barely audible in the dying land breeze. As you watch, more and more of the white birds join the cloud from roosts along the steep western headland.
A crowd has gathered along the waterside to watch the spectacle of the birds. This goes on for several minutes and some of the witnesses have just started to shrug and move off when something changes. In singles and small groups the birds start to peel off the edge of the cloud and hurtle headlong at the Riddlegate. The little white forms crumple as they slam into the unforgiving stone of the arch and plummet into the sea.
As you stand and watch the entire crowd of birds performs this mysterious death plunge. In the space of ten minutes, the flock is gone. A few miraculous survivors make their dazed way out to sea or back to their roosts. Almost as one, the crowd casts a look up at the shifting darkness in the sky that is the blot. As bystanders meander away from the scene a boy is heard to ask, 'but what if it makes us all crazy, pa?'
Lia was sickened by the birds behavior. She's very appreciative of Isegrim's commanding presence. Back at the home front, she makes nice with the new folks.
It looks like the gendarmes picked you over when they ran your dad out of the last flophouse home. There's no sign of renewed occupation since everyone was turned out. Unfortunately in the street outside the old flat you're spotted and accosted by one of your father's most recent affairs (he is half-elven after all). She hooks your arm in her sweaty embrace and pulls you close where you can hear her whisper.
"Tell that father of yours that he cannot hide from me in this town! You tell him that when you go back to him. Not in Splithog alley, not on the Waterfront... not anywhere in Riddleport."
As you twist away from her, the whisper becomes a growl and then a gritted shout. "Damed louse! Tell that man he can't hide from me!"
Strange things have happened in Riddleport ever since the first appearance of the blot, and they continue to happen often enough for the armageddon talk in the public square to reach a tiresome pitch.
Two days after the sea gulls incident, all the weather vanes in the city go rogue and begin following the sun. Before the day is out, a doomsayer has dragged his crate into the square in front of the goblin and begun railing at passersbys about the end of days.
When the blot is attracting curious and potentially wealthy strangers to the city, it is good for business. When it starts becoming frightening to customers - not so much. A doomsayer outside the front door doesn't help that problem get better. Saul comes over to Isegrim with a grimace.
"What can you do about that guy?" he asks.
Trystan is finally done being angry about Isegrim's lack of restraint in the last bar fight. He watches his noble attempt to ask the doomsayer to move along nicely from the doorway of the Goblin, and steps up just as the big man finishes speaking.
"Tell you what stranger, I agree that we live in critical times. If you rant here in the hopes that you will attract those with the skill and character to act against this blot, you are barking up the wrong inn. Have you seen the stumble-bums that frequent our meager establishment? Tell you what, one gold coin a day from my own pocket to move you venture to a more fruitful area. Spend it in whatever fashion will advance your cause."
The old man bites the coin, examines it, and stows it in some unseen pocket.
"The end of days is comin'" he mumbles as he lifts his crate and starts off in the direction of the market. "These gambling folk won't listen anyway."
Saul claps Trystan gratefully on the back as the doomsayer meanders off and Trystan comes back inside.
"Go ahead and open the doors Isegrim. Anyone waiting in the square who had to listen to that deserves first choice of seats tonight."