Linkah watches Karl for a long moment without, doing that thing he always did that set him apart from most others of his race. ”Oy, don’t need ta fear, Longshanks. He’s a good un like we says.”
His brother waves at Miranda and she swings by again to give greetings by way of hugs and laughter. ”Thought skipper’d throw ya over, lads.”
”Not us, how’d he get to tha bilges without us?” Corvim responds to the barmaid. He waves her close and whispers something in her ear, which she stands back and looks to Karl for a moment with amusement.
”He’ll pay for all that and some, you say?”
Linkah and his brother share a laugh as Miranda sweeps away from the table before Karl can see what Corvim had told her. Judging by the set of the halfling’s eyes he wasn’t going to get it from him.
”As I was sayin’, Marshy,” Linkah continues. ”No needs to go fearin’ this new bloke. All I tells him is I got a delivery is all, needs tha protection for down in the Teeth. I say I’ll tell ‘im more if he shows tonight at the Knuckle.”
”I wasn’t so sures about it, not a bit,” Corvim offers. ”But Link convinced me, then the way this Beckett was willlin’ ta listen and learn our songs to the morning… The lord what we was bringin’ to Cass even preached to us.”
”Beckett’s younger n’ you, graytop,” Linkah giggles. "Don’t look at me like that, ya can see upside yer head, n’ Uncle Kiggins tol’ me about it after he cut yer hair. Anyway, this fella’s got somethin’ about ‘im. Good what I can tell, but he’s got a streak about ‘im. Might slice a neck like as not. Or split a head wid his pointy mace.”
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Now I may not be well versed in the ways of this place, but there's two things I've been told. The first is that Absalom's a city so wondrous there aren't words for the telling. The second, is never trust any man that beds down in Dog's Teeth.
Darby speaks well of 'im, he is fine with a guitar, and seems of sturdy enough stock. But what's his game? Don't know of many a man who shares a meal ticket ... unless he's looking to spread the cost
He takes another long drink of ale and wipes the remnant from his beard.
I don't believe I've heard of your man though. The Kelp's been good to me so far. Nice room, fine drink, He gives another wink to the barmaid, fine scenery. What's it about this Marcum you think I should find so interesting?
Marsh let his gaze linger over the halflings, his face began turning beet red. Blood rushed In his ears pushed by his fluttering heart. He could almost physically feel Miranda's eyes like on him as she left. He contorted in his chair trying to nonchalantly to turn so she would not see his burning cheeks. It had be a long time since anyone had messed with him or called him out, and he could not remember the last time someone had gotten his goat.
He stabbed a threatening finger at the halfling.
"Why you little sawed off runt! I don't suppose you'd like to share willingly what you said to her at my expense friend."
But, his feigned anger quickly evaporated into a hearty laugh. A sound so rare that it stopped the regulars around Marsh's table long enough to hazard either a stare or at least a sidelong glance of disbelief in the groups direction. He wagged his finger at them before having to massage his aching cheeks with his finger tips.
"Okay you little hams. You got me good that time. And you Linkah. Yeah, you. You can stop your little demonstration because you've proven your point. Have I become that easy to read?"
Yeah I suppose I have, but he does have the knack for reading people.
"Oh, you made my face hurt. Alright now . . . Ahhh! Okay. You're ruining my rep here guys. Heh heh, but seriously."
Thank you, I haven't felt like that in a long time.
"You guys are too much sometimes and you always seem to be able to get a rise out of me."
"But listen, I am not fearing of this guy, more like I am fearing for him. I am guessing young wet behind the ears idealistic type right? What is he, like 20 or something? Because if you having noticed there aren't a lot of his gang running around these parts trying to raise this place up out of the swamp and shadows. Rescuing little people isn't exactly the order of the day for those folks if you know what I mean. . . And how much are you planning on using him for in this venture of ours, huh?"
Marsh watches Covim closely as he speaks.
"Dang I knew it, look you know I don't like involving kids and I bet, I can just bet, it's going to be a guy with a beard. Just my luck as if this doesn't have to be hard enough already. Some noble kid out to save the world one noble act at a time. Heh, and you said if he shows. You know you know, he will show up here."
"Ah screw it! "
The hideous humanoid’s jaw begins to open and unhinge as it’s elongated forelimbs and legs carry it closer and closer to the wagon. Its torso engorges with the dank swamp air, gray-black skin stretching over its rib cage.
Lavios whispers a prayer to his god, asking for the storm-bringer to guide his aim, to set the bolt’s path true. In answer, a searing lance of lightning streaks across the sky above the Blackwood Swamp. The flash of brilliance opens the vista of horror before the Inquisitor’s eyes. He sees the opening and pulls the trigger, sending the missile down range. The iron tip plunges into the fell flesh of their pursuer, penetrating its throat and setting it staggering and crashing to the wood and stone and mud of the causeway.
And as the bolt strikes true the accompanying thunder rolls over the land.
Past the fallen fiend, its villainous brethren all turn their shadowed heads towards the wagon. All of them open their jaws and loose a blood-curdling howl that sends those same icy fingers up and down the spine and scalp. Lavios is all too aware that had the beast chasing them been able to utter such a terrible scream in close proximity, they’d all have fallen prey to the full brunt of that fearful cacophony.
He quickly reloads the crossbow and trains it towards the rear. The one he’d shot in the neck was still writhing on the road… but that soon stops as his horrid compatriots soon leave behind the dead bandit and begin feasting on fresher meat. The ravenous sounds of ripping and gnashing pierce the cart’s noise the rainfall and will be with the fleeing occupants for some time.
They are at a speed too dangerous for normal circumstances, but Abner - and the horses for that matter - show no sign of flagging. Kinjin does his best to aid the driver and calling to the horses to keep their pace. It’s long minutes before the cartman slows them down and even longer before Gorin and Lavios lower their weapons. Gorin shifts his grip so he can hold both bow and the two arrows he’d pulled from his gear. But the soul-chilling sound of those creatures devouring and howling and the one that had given chase holds his midsection in a knot.
”Too many things in this light-forsaken swamp,” Gorin mutters. ”I should have waited until tomorrow. Maybe chanced missing the trawler…” His wife lay a trembling hand on his forearm which he encloses in his own. ”Good shooting back there,” he manages numbly.
Kinjing spins in his seat wearily and faces the passengers. ”Never seen the like in all my years, that’s no lie.”
”Devils, I says,” Abner invokes, spitting of the side three times in rapid succession.
”Here’s to hoping we never see the like again,” Kinjin responds and sighs. When Lavios leans forward to offer him his crossbow, the traveling merchant waves him off. ”I looked back in time ta see ya make that shot. Keep it, you earned it.”
Gorin works something over in his head, coming to a conclusion as he rests his longbow across his knees. ”I owe you for protecting my family. When we get to Cassomir, I’ve got a fella I know, name of Marcum. He’s a bit on the shady side, but he helped me in a pinch when I had some troubles.”
”That life, twas behind ya, love…” His wife speaks up.
”I know. But if Jak doesn’t have a hair on the head of what Lavios’ is lookin’ for...I want to keep the options open.” Gorin gives his wife’s hand a pat and nods to the Inquisitor. ”First we’ll go to the Admiral’s Fen, get my family situated. Then we’ll see my cousin Jak, maybe he has a lead for ya. If he doesn’t, then I’ll get ya to see Marcum. I got some time ‘fore my ship leaves port for the fishin’..”
The cart and its occupants make their way into Cassomir a few hours later. Despite leaving behind the gloom of the Blackwood, it would seem they’ve exchanged it for the equally despairing appearance of the Admiral’s Fen. All the years living in the small village of his birth, the land their own and nature a boon, the downtrodden district of Cassomir stands out in Lavios’ mind as a prime example of why civilization was so corrupted. It’s a short period after arriving that Abner and Kinjin bid the passengers farewell. Abner regretfully parts with the coin owed to Lavios when he was hired on as a guardsman. The old man’s eyes linger on the gifted crossbow slung over the Inquisitor’s shoulder, probably thinking the weapon is payment enough. But Kinjin gives the codger a nudge and the debt is settled to Lavios’ benefit.
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For the past seven days, Lavios has been given room and board by Gorin’s cousin, Jak. It would appear that the oddly sarcastic man spends more of his time ‘patrolling’ the taverns and keeping his profile low. The presence of the city constables is quite thin in the district, so Jak is relegated to gathering information as best he can from behind of the veil of being a local drunk.
At first meeting, Jak was put out by his cousin Gorin. How in the 7 hells was he supposed to maintain his cover is he was running an investigation for this unkempt boy from the sticks? But Gorin had made his case, going so far as to leverage the bonds of family because that was exactly what Lavios was doing...looking for family. Over the time they’d been together, Jak used his knowledge of Admiral’s Fen and the locals’ behavior to begin ferreting out clues regarding the bandits holding Lavios’ mother and villagers. Jak goes a long way to stow his normal sarcasm in light of keeping Lavios patient. In fact, one of the first things he’d confirmed during the week was that no ships were leaving for Absalom for 8 days. At the least it meant they had time.
In addition, Jak made it clear that they would see this Marcum his cousin mentioned as a last resort. There was a clear dislike of the man that Lavios was unable to dig out of Jak. All he would say is not to trust him farther than you could throw him.
Besides, during the course of the week, Jak had been able to uncover the identity of the bandits who’d attacked the village. The Stag Heralds. He’d confirmed that they worked out of Absalom, a small presence in the city. But he’d not been able to find out what their business in Absalom had to do with raiding villages in Taldor.
A week later, Lavios is sitting across from Jak at a table in the Tugman’s Ankle. Over in the far corner of the tavern’s common room is a human talking loudly with 2 gnomes and a half-orc. The human is the object of their interest for on prominent display along his neck is the tattooed image of a stag with a horn in its mouth,
Jak lounges comfortably, keeping up appearances as a drunkard looking for cheap ale. While Lavios’ stern countenance and rough features fit well in the squalor of the district. In fact, the constable thinks they work well together. He leans over and gives the Inquisitor a wink and whispers. ”I think our man is going to be leaving soon. Best we follow, but I’m wonderin’ at his friends there.” He lets his blue eyes indicate the three others at the table listening to the human talk. ”This is the closest we’ve been, how ya want to play this out? Follow him to his next destination? Or grab ‘im in an alley and get friendly?” Jak gives a tap to the cudgel at his hip.
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Beckett enters the Scarlett Knuckle, face impassive and eyes aware. He quickly notes the location of Linkah and his company, then moves to the bar raising his hand to garner the barkeep's attention.
“Well now, it seems Linkah has recruited himself a little gang. Those men do not have the look of these common ruffians. More like the mercenaries that used to strut through the Green Market.”
Once Beckett gains Outhouse’s attention, he nods his head toward Linkah, and orders another round, for the whole table, of whatever they are drinking and a pint for himself. Then, taken aback by the breath of the dwarf, the Inquisitor quickly scans him for signs of undeath or other necromancy.
This complicates things. It would have been difficult enough to keep the halflings safe in the Dog’s Teeth without worrying about a dagger in the back. Linkah seemed a decent judge of character... but not impossible to fool.
“I managed to do it, anyway.”
Satisfied that the dwarf’s condition was of natural origin, he pays for the drinks, indicates that he will wait for them at the table, and moves toward Linkah’s party. Looking the human in the eye, Beckett pulls up a stool and seats himself at the table and smiles.
Beckett half nods toward the halfling, still eyeing the human. “Linkah. Good to see you again, my friend. Perhaps introductions are in order?”
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Lavios takes a sip of his drink
"I know exactly what I'm going to do"
Lavios pulls down the collar and, once again, brands the emblem of the Stag Heralds.
"Don't worry, this can come off"
Lavios pulls the constable closer and puts the same brand on the same spot as his and the other bandit's emblem.
"Now follow my lead, I have a plan"
Lavios get's up and walks over to the table with the bandit and his posse. He leans over to the human.
"I see you got the... He motions towards the tattoo of the stag "the emblem... you see, I also have it" Lavios motions towards his own emblem "I was wondering if you could help me and my friend with something" Lavios sticks his thumb at the constable who also has the brand "I need you to come out back with me, my predicament can't be talked about with a public audience" Lavios stands up "Coming?"
Linkah smiles at Karl, glad to know he and his brother could still bring a smile to his face. The little rogue of a halfling wagers that the last time the hard faced human was the day before he and Corvim and the rest had departed on the Lamprey. That long without smiling? Link shudders at the thought. Even in the darker times of their service to Captain Ordna, the harsh hand he could take at times, he and the others still could find things about which to smile
But Linkah is different, if for anything while he couldn't go so long without smiling, he understood Karl's melancholy for it's that very emotion that drove Link to make his deal with Malcum.
"Look, Marshy," the halfling starts with a more serious tone. "This Beckett, he's a pup, sure...but he got a bit o' dark like you. Think he's seen some o' the things what made ya so cranky all the time. I'm guessin' he can watch out for his onesies just fine. As for why I called him up?" Linkah gives one of his sidelong grins that make others reach for their pouches. "You watchin' my back, I want someone watchin' yours. Tut tut tut, keep yer gobstopper shut. You may not care for your neck, but we do."
About that time the doors to the tavern open and the night and rain and wind deliver up the subject of their conversation. A man of sturdy build and stern countenance enters the tavern and strides with purpose to the bar to ask something of Outhouse.
To Karl, as he watches the newcomer approach their table, his memories of a life long in the shadows of his past also return. To be dedicated, to be convicted but using it to rise to the occasion.
He half nods toward the halfling, still eyeing the human with a confidence Karl understood all too well. “Linkah. Good to see you again, my friend. Perhaps introductions are in order?”
Linkah and Corvim hop down from their chairs and go to collect another for Beckett. Link smiles and waves a hand to the other man at the table. "My brother you already, know. This cranky looking figure calls himself Karl Marsh. Don't get on his bad side...well because that would be his bad side." He eyes Karl like a fishmonger weighing the latest catch. "This is our new friend, Beckett. "
Corvim and Linkah set Beckett's chair up and reclaim their own. The milder mannered of the two brothers nods a sheepish greeting to Beckett.
"It would seem we have some business, eh? The four of us. We need to see a man about a delivery." He surreptitiously taps his vest and leans back as Miranda brings food and a bevy of drinks."
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”Karl Marsh...” Beckett repeats, as if tasting the name, still eyeing the man. Then he smiles once again.
“Well, Master Marsh, it would seem that we have something in common. In one way or another we have found ourselves at the service of our mutual friends here.”
Beckett nods toward the halflings, then leans back slightly, folding his hands together.
“I have no desire to see your bad side, but let us be frank. This is awkward, isn’t it? Going into unknown danger with an untrusted and untested ally."
Beckett pauses thoughtfully and then shrugs.
"However... it seems that this is the path laid before us. And I intend to see it done, with or without help.”
Beckett’s smile widens, but there is no warmth in it.
“How about you, Master Marsh. Are you willing to see this done, with this ‘pup’ watching your back?”
Karl inwardly curses the Three Fates' sense of timing. He had just ordered a round top shelf drinks for Miranda and himself. He was just about to make a significant move and trouble literally walked through the front door.
You've got to be flippin kidding me.
Not only is trouble wearing a beard, Lord Trouble cuts a figure that assuredly stands out in the privileged streets of town let alone those of the Fen. Tall and confident the Follower of the Dawn strode direct to the barkeep with the sea of eyes following his wake.
Marsh tried to see which of the girls went to pass word upstairs. He also tried to keep tabs on the subtitle reactions going on all through the main hall.
No doubt the man upstairs was either just being notified or moving to a position where he could make a measure of the new comer with his own eye. Karl didn't mistake for a minute that the man upstairs hadn't had this noble under watch and tail within the first block of incursion into his territory.
I'd better watch the door. The sweeper may show himself here shortly.
He suppressed the urge to swallow and kept his best Towers face on. Keenly aware that the pack was watching for anything, Marsh gave a nod and made motion showing that he was allowing the man have a seat at his table.
Linkah my friend, you may have just doomed us to failure. How are we going to jaunt anywhere without eyes on us. Every thug looking for a fat purse, every snitch, every constable and every crime boss will be following this guy and us around trying to find out where this one is going and what he is about.
"Look sharp, but stand easy. Every eye, ear and weapon in this place is trained on you right now, except for mine."
"It is awkward to say the least. I can watch my own back, but even still it's covered in scars. Linkah though, is one I trust and he thinks quite highly of you. He hints that you may have some stains under the fine clothes you wear. He also believes you are not above a little wet work if it comes down to it."
Perception
"As you could imagine, nobles . . . such as yourself . . . are not common here. You coming here with those long flowy locks hanging under your chin makes quite a statement. You have sent ripples over the waters that cover this end of town. Everyone, myself included will be wondering what brings you to this place. Everyone will remain interested in you until you, or I, give our viewers some morsel they will be satisfied with because it will give them something they want or expect to see. That can come later though."
"As for your question, I have given my word to see this trough to whatever end. I actually like these little fellows. Owe them my life in a way . . . What's your motivation friend? Their kind are usually bellow your kind's notice. I wouldn't be so surprised if you were a little younger and greener, but I suppose that marks you for being a true believer of sorts. So does your spartan choice in simple, yet store bought, clothing and the exotic weapon. I guess that makes us kindred spirits in a way."
Marsh gives a wolffish grin.
"I am in no way mocking you. I can see that you are formidable. Your eyes are sharp and wiser than I'd normally expect in one so young as you. They also hold a look . . . Horrors somewhere in your past. And you no doubt swing that morning star you carry with clout."
"Please forgive me though, before we get further into heavy business talk, please enjoy your drink and allow me to order you something edible from the kitchen. Let us hear about some of your travels and those of our small companions here. Let us be mistaken for old acquaintances and bore those currently watching our every move."
"Also my friend, have no fear, I have quite divested the brothers here of all that silly talk of opening a floral business, there need be no more talk of that here at this table."
Agidor leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his guitar case, drumming his fingers. As he does so a slip of parchment materializes between them. He presses it to the table top with his fore and middle fingers and slides it to Drogan.
The few words on it are drawn in the precise hand of Drogan's gnomish friend, of that he is sure.
”It arrived not 3 days before the Sellen River brought you to Cassomir.” He glances about their table and makes sure they are alone, brown eyes searching carefully. ”A tough lot in Taldor if you’re not among the rich and bearded. Service has its rewards, join the Phalanx and you see the chance to climb out.” Agidor drums his fingers along the guitar case again, right side of his mouth upturning ever so slightly in a sneer. ”Not everyone’s meant for that kind of life. More often you have to know someone to get that ticket punched. Me, I’m an entertainer, I’m not a fighter. But it doesn’t mean I don’t...see how things can be better.”
He continues to drum his fingers and soon a pipe and pouch are in his hands. A few deft motions later and he’s drawing deeply of an apple and smoked cedar mixture infused in the tobacco. Agidor leaves the pouch on the table as an offer to the dwarf. ”Fellow I met on the road made my acquaintance with Marcum a year or so ago. A half-elf this guy, all ideals and causes and endless supplies of tales from the road. Helios could talk you into just about anything, make you think you’re the hero out of books.” Agidor grins, but his eyes allow a brief cloud of shame to drift across. ”But I told him I’m an entertainer, a singer. I tell the tales, maybe add my own flair, but I stay true to the words and let the audience decide. Heh, that halfbreed wouldn’t let me go, though. Said I got a knack for talking to people and finding out what needs finding out. You get my meaning?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead draws again on hns pipe. The bowl of the item is an ornately carved shape of a leaf bent upwards to hold the smoldering tobacco, the stem finely worked to resemble a twig. ”Present company excepted, of course, but folk have a tendency to open up around me, that’s the short of it. So Helios drags me in, gets me involved with his cause. He ain’t lookin’ to bring down the empire, just ease things a schosh for us hairless chins out there.”
”One of the things I do, besides keeping my hoop out of a vise, is shuttle information to and fro. This guy in Dog’s Teeth, this Marcum, he’s a world-class conman, but he’s friendly to the cause.” Agidor waves the air in front of his face in dismissal. ”But I’m not here to bind you to this business. Hells, I’ve got a notion to get out of town myself. Got a few folks lookin’ to put ole’ Agidor in a headlock, if you get my meaning. So, my man Marcum, he’s got two things of interest to us; the ability to get us to Absalom, and he’s got his dirty fingers on just about every piece of history or antiquity that comes in and out of Cassomir. I can get word to him careful-like, let him know I’m in the market for a meeting. Might be as little as a week, might be a bit longer till we see him. In the meantime, I can be your tour guide...hells, we could even put our talents together to make a killing in Admiral’s Fen.” Somehow the word ‘killing’ has a double meaning in Agidor’s tone. One he doesn’t like at all and possibly hints to the condition of Admiral’s Fen.
After a moment, he glances down at the bowl of his pipe like he’s seeing a message in the smoke. His left hand’s fingers drum a beat on his guitar case. ”I’d like to settle accounts with Darby before I leave. Me helping you seems like a great way to do it. Darby’s good people...that makes you good people in my book.”
---------------------------------
Marsh let his words sink in. Obviously the younger man would need some time to think and prepare his response. To avoid an even longer and more awkward gap in the conversation, Marsh called out to the live entertainers.
"Agidor! . . . yes you man and the new fellow. . . Strike up something Varisian would you? But, keep it general I have no interest in stirring up rivalries between the supporters of the various city states. Something that would make a guest from that place feel more at home."
Agidor looked down at the dwarf with a cockeyed glance. Drogan throws his hands up, "Don't look at me like that. How'm I supposed to trade in Varisian tunes? 'Til I met you I my stock in trade were drinking songs and dwarven histories. Ask for a chorus of 'Thron and the Bearded Lady' or 'The Hammers of Highhelm' and I'm your man. But seein' as I'm fairly certain I'm the only stout folk in this place tonight, I'm thinking you might know something better.
The two men confer for a moment, the human speaking in decidedly lower tones. They eventually settle on the Death of Aroden. Drogan did not know it well, but well enough that he could make do. As Agidor tuned his guitar, Drogan produced a drum adorned with carvings of the old wyrms. Cradling it beneath his arm, he ran his fingers down the dragon scaled carvings before steeling his gaze at Agidor with a nod.
And then they began to play. The song rose and fell with a tune of painful loss and glorious rebirth. A story of the one who called Absalom from the sea.
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Beckett’s smile warms noticeably.
“Well said, sir.”
Nodding kindly to Linkah
“As to their interest in botany, there is a flower in which we have a common interest. While I agree that this is hardly the time to explore that pursuit, it does begin to answer your question as to my motivations.”
Beckett pauses for a moment, his face pensive as if lost in thought.
“I am told, by one I trust, that I need to see beyond the long shadow of our... umm... of my enemies and see the people and places upon which the light shines.”
Beckett shakes his head slowly and smiles self consciously.
“Whatever that means. I must confess to not entirely understanding it myself.”
The Inquisitor leans forward, his eyes earnest.
“But understanding is not required. In my order, when the path is made clear, it is followed. Understanding is a rare gift... a luxury, not to be expected or demanded.”
Beckett leans back, taking a sip of his drink then shrugging.
“And so, here I am.”
Beckett nods and gestures to the patrons of the Knuckle with his stein.
“As for your ‘friends’ that surround us. Well... there’s nothing to be done about that. As you said, I do not belong here. And, as I said, my path as called me here and it cannot be denied.”
Taking another drink, Beckett continues.
“I suppose I could have hidden away my weapons and tried to pass and a native of the Fen, dressed in a hooded cloak or some such nonsense. But I think we can both agree that would not have been terribly convincing. It would have made me look the obvious fool, with something to hide. Perhaps something valuable... But as a ‘noble’ as you say... strutting into the Fen with his armor and exotic weapon. Well, I may still look a fish out of water. But it is better to look a shark than a guppy.”
Beckett pauses to set his drink back on the table, considering his next words.
“But to be honest with you, friend, even that image is far from the truth. I have a bedroll, flint and tinder, and a few other travel accessories waiting for me in a room.” Beckett stretches out his arms. “Otherwise, all my worldly possessions you see here upon my person. I have renounced title and inheritance, and spent the last three years in a small cleric’s cell scarcely bigger than a few of these tables. It is my goal to travel to my new home with similar accommodations.”
The young man’s eyes lose focus again, as if remembering something.
“You call me a ‘true believer’ and I suppose that is true. If this makes us a kind of kindred, that is well. Tho, it is not something that I can claim as a credit. It is something that has chosen me, and it too cannot be denied.”
Then focusing again, with a smile and a shrug.
“As to the rest, my travels are beginning here. I have spent considerable time training with the Korvosa Guard and have had many rangings into the wild with Sable Company. Should we find ourselves in a bad way, you will not find me ill prepared. Beyond that...” The Inquisitor smiles knowingly. “You might say that Providence watches over me.”
"I have never been much into flowers, but butteries and other such hobbies once interested me. Now, much of the light in my life has left me and the sands of the hourglass held by Pharasma seems to be my only concern. Though, you did not come here interested in my soul now did you . . . Heh heh."
"As for my 'friends' in this place I fear you will find them few, present company excepted. I am tolerated here in my home. The Knuckle is the place where I exist and no one deadlier than myself has sought to remove me from my table. So, here I sit awaiting the next scenario that life will throw at me equally as interested to see if I will survive it."
Marsh looks Linkah and his brother over with a slight bit of amusement.
"Perhaps that is why you are here Mr Beckett. I wouldn't put it past these brother's halfling, especially Corvim, to bring a healer to my table to see what could be done for it, but likely they are just trying to bolster their bid for freedom and for that I cannot blame them. I have become more like an old dog who seldom leaves the comfort of his porch these days."
"I too have renounced titles that were once mine and laid down curses that I cannot take back. All I have left is my weapons, a few choice belongings in my room and the ghosts that constantly keep me company."
Marsh lets a slight bit of emotion creep into his words before he shakes it away.
"Ah, but here I sit, my jaws over lubed by my drink sharing things that must be of little interest to anyone. . ."
"Tell me Mr Beckett, do you have an interest in music? Was music a part of your formal training?"
[dice=BSM]1d20+3[dice]
The man eyes Lavios with the deep seeded suspicion characteristic of his ilk. Then his gaze shifts to Jak. After a moment of study, he turns back to the half-orc and 2 gnomes and wraps the knuckles of his left hand on the table. ”Third watch, Pier 19, eh?”
”Yer late, it’s outta yer hide, not ours.” the half-orc rubs at his nose, casting dark eyes between the bandit and Lavios and Jak then back to the bandit. The gnomes shift a bit in their seats, obviously not comfortable with the added audience but keep quiet as the half-orc adds at the end. ”We done our part, gov.”
The man turns back to Lavios and Jak and motions for them to head out the front doors from whence they’d just entered. ”Let’s get a move on,” he indicates and follows the two outside.
Once out in the rain, he motions for them to hook a right around the tavern and into an alley where the roof overhang gives them a spot to talk in privacy and relative dryness.
”Look, if Ardo sent ya, ya can tell ‘em I got things in hand, sure sure.” He braces his hands on his hips, his right one resting near the hilt of a short sword. He glances to the rear of the alley and back to the front to make sure they’re not being observed. ”I got Hem and Dobb in place to handle Agidor...then I got some’s in place ta noose up Marcum once delivery’s been done.”
He eyes them both a bit, now that they’re secluded the bandit shifts a bit. ”Wuss this about, eh? Wuss Ardo need?”
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"Ardo had nothing to do with this"
Lavios firmly grabs the bandit's head and uses his inquisitorial powers to fill his foe with a horrible sense of doom. Lavios tightens his grip on the bandit.
"Where are you keeping hostages?!" Lavios growls, not taking his stern gaze off of the bandit
"Tell me before I make it so you can't speak" Lavios says motioning towards his sword.
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Beckett’s smile fades at the mention of a ‘healer.’
“Not quite, my friend, not quite. At least I hope it does not turn out that you need the kind of healing that I provide.”
Beckett shrugs at the question of his musical experience.
“I’m afraid that my training in this area is woefully deficient. Although training would have been wasted effort. I seem I have no ear for it at all.”
Beckett turns to consider the musicians, then returns his attention to Marsh.
“This ‘Agidor’ you called out to. He seems to be fairly good. A friend of yours?”
Marsh noted Beckett's reaction.
"Interesting, three years in a cleric's cell and you seek to return to such accommodations. However, you rile at the mention of healing. You are an interesting man Mr Beckett."
"A pity about the music, but I am sure you can appreciate a good tune. No doubt there are other subjects you are trained in and I do appreciate the culture you bring to my table."
"As for the human bard, I would not call him a friend. Nonetheless, I have spoken with him. He travels a circuit of the finer houses of entertainment here in the Fen. <Heh heh> He is quite good and appears to be rather well kept and clean, which of course draws my suspicions. A musician of his quality could play at better venues and be paid accordingly. The dwarf is a newer addition. Drogan is his name. Has an interest in history, most of it dwarven. I love to hear the sagas he tells, but unfortunately the crowd doesn't share my tastes in music."
"If you'd like, we could call them over after they are finished with their current piece. I do have two fine drinks to offer them and thespians always seem to have a thirst. Shall I do that for you?"
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Beckett shakes his head sadly.
I'm afraid that my skills are somewhat... specialized. Oh, there has been many attempts to broaden my interests. But, for good or ill, I can be somewhat stubborn about what I choose to focus upon."
The Inquisitor looks back toward the musicians once again.
"But... perhaps now is as good a time as any to reconsider that. By all means, let's expand my horizons and speak to our fine thespian."
Jak moves to cover the alley mouth, seeing that Lavios had the situation in hand. For his part, the man being held in the Inquisitor's grip trembles with fear as he realizes too late his error in following the two strangers.
"Look, ain't no need fer all that now, eh? We can work somethin' out...I got info...alls yuh want, sure sure I does..." All thoughts of trying to bluster his way out if the situation flees his mind like rats from a sinking ship. He holds his hands up and works his mouth as it dries to sand. "Ain't no hostages...theys ain't no one ta ransom 'em to, ya get my meanin' eh gov? But I can see ya want in on tha action s' all, Gibby gets it sure sure. Ya want ta gets down ta Marcum's store, eh? For my boys put a hurt on 'im? Sure sure, get ya to tha tannery near tha north side. Farns Tanners, theys got 'em theres abouts, sure sure."
"What're you sayin' about Marcum, huh?" Jak asks as he returns from the alley mouth. "I thought he made good coin for Tarik and the rest."
"You ain't heard? Marcum's been doublin' down on the lot. Ben workin' with a singer name of Agidor. Bendin' things to their own ends, sure surey-bob." The bandit furrows his brow with suspicion. But the question on his mind unhinges when he looks back to Lavios. "Look, ya head to tha tannery or ya pay ole Marcum a visit. Maybe ya wants a piece o' puttin' that Agidor ta riggts... But ya leave ole Gibby out if it. I ain't aimin' ta get in a turf war. Let me go, eh?"
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"Is Agidor an associate of yours? A mark perhaps. <heh heh> Pay me no mind, a man should be allowed to keep some of his own secrets. Unless, Linkah has been adding more surprises to his little menagerie."
"Agidor! Drogan! Please come and join us for a drink. I have two of the finest drinks available at this establishment here for your inspection and disposal. Come now, I will hear no arguments on the matter. Bring that wonderful drum over here as well. I would like to hear the legend of it in person."
Your initial meeting with Agidor engenders a curiosity about the human guitarist that Drogan finds hard to deny. Ever the hunter of grand stories of sweeping arcs as is traditional to dwarven lore, the intricacies of Agidor’s personality and history is like running his eyes over the finely carved lines of his ancestral drum.
So Agidor convinces the dwarven bard to accompany him on his performances in the Admiral’s Fen for the next month. In doing so it becomes readily apparent that the human could gain audience with just about any establishment in the cleaner districts. The question in Drogan’s mind is ‘why’, and the first mystery about the man. Why does he insist upon staying in the wretched warrens of Admiral’s Fen? Time reveals much. Drogan, an observant dwarf by nature, is lent an eye into Agidor Lim'ehl’s life in the Fen. There are very few in the sodden slums that don’t know him, and few taverns that are willing to turn him away at the offer of a performance. In fact the accommodations while in Agidor’s company are downright clean...a boon if ever there was one to be had in the Fen.
If pushed into a position where his words and charms can’t extricate him, Agidor’s good in a fight. He keeps a short sword handy, hidden in his pack among sheet music and tools to care for his guitar. And he’s got the knack of producing a dagger or two from up his sleeves in a pinch. Those occasions when combat is necessary have been in the exclusive purview of Agidor’s ‘other’ job. The bard traffics in information, serving as an equal opportunity merchant when it comes to local scum or the destitute eking out an existence in town or in the surrounding serfdoms. The men and women of ill-repute need information on the movements of Taldan Phalanx...and while Agidor somehow provides this he exacts a price not in gold, but in equal service. A bandit group avoiding a patrol may encounter notions of the next shipment of hard tack or cotton and provide a few names friendly to the beardless half-castes of society on how to acquire a bit for themselves.
Drogan quickly knew Agidor was a good performer, a virtuoso with a stringed instrument and a gravely tenor perfect for the sometimes darker and baudier songs requested by their audiences. But the dwarf wondered at how well the man danced socially. The human walked a fine line of danger, making sure one side didn’t think he was betraying the other by reassuring them he was simply a broker...a middle man...and conduit.
The days and nights pass in the Fen. Drogan coming to acquaint himself with the strange ethos of the district. He marvels at the number of halflings and gnomes that populate the area and comes to an unfortunate realization that there’s not a good number of dwarves with the ranking example being the owner of the Scarlet Knuckle, the foul mouthed (in more than one sense) Outhouse. Other’s he’s run across seem keen to keep to their own, a behavior Drogan continues when it comes to his secretive past. That he doesn’t press or pry is a characteristic Drogan enjoys about Agidor.
30 days is a long time spend with someone. Time enough to know a person’s quality, and in the Fen, time enough to know he’ll stick by you in a fight. A particularly nasty group of human sailors found that out the hard way after getting a bit zealous on their estimations of Drogan’s heritage. One lost an eye, another a hand...and well the duo gave a lot more than they got by the end of that little vignette.
Now, the two are performing in the Scarlet Knuckle for the second time in the month. A few of the faces are familiar, two in particular belonging to another human named Karl Marsh - a hardcase and a foul-tongued loner but someone Agidor indicates can be trusted. The second a Halfling with more than his fair share of human pragmatism to mix with his innate guile and wits name of Linkah. Both of which are now seated at a table with Linkah’s brother and a newcomer, another human of steady gate and steadier gaze.
Earlier in the evening, Agidor had told Drogan that he’d managed to gain a meeting with Marcum who had a line on a few individuals looking to deal in small carvings and books, the end goal being to ship (or deliver) some to Absalom. Agidor also mentions that this Marcum has found a person in the City at the Center of the World who is willing to take on a few students and even make an opening into the White Grotto should they prove themselves worthy. And Agidor has made the extra effort to ensure Drogan - should he be up for it - is included in the ‘travel plans’.
But Agidor warns in his customary full disclosure, that the arrangements for travel to Absalom will come with a price not of coin, but of service. So before they agree, they should hear out the offer Marcum has concocted. This Marcum, he cautions, treads a more dangerous line than even Agidor, for he also must balance the waxing and waning violence of the Dog’s Teeth and its ruler, Tarik the Unclean.
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Now in the Scarlet Knuckle, the duo finishes off a long set, punctuated by a grand tale from the dwarven drummer that earns the knocking of tankards against table tops in appreciation. Some for the epic tale, but most because a rich dwarven miser got a punch in the nose at the end. From the table nearby, Linkah leaps from his chair as Karl Marsh calls an invitation to the bards. The Halfling is grinning from ear to ear in that almost too human way that elicits the need to check one’s money pouch.
”C’mon Agi, you and Dragon-drum come join us.” Linkah gives them both a wink, human and dwarf check their pouches again. ”The new guy’s gonna help me n’ Marshy wrap up business with our friend in the Teeth. I deliver, he gets me n’ Corvim n’ the rest outta Cappy Ordna’s crew n’ onta somethin’ bettuh...”
The two performers share a glance. Drogan had actually been the one to hear minor rumblings among the Halflings that Linkah was up to his old song, finding a way to get him and his kin separated from a rough contract with a rougher captain. They pack up and an unspoken thought drifts between them like the tuning note of E they share when getting ready for a song; place like the Teeth, it’d be better to go with more than just the two of them. Hells, Agidor had been tossing around the idea of hiring Marsh as extra muscle…
”Maybe the Lucky Drunk just tossed us a fresh brew?” Agidor whispers to Drogan as they follow Linkah back to the table.
”You know my brother Corvim and Marshy here,” Linkah begins, his brother - ever the shyer of the two by half - waves a greeting to the two and then dutifully goes and procures two more seats. Marsh just chuckles as the Halfling continues. ”This, my sing-song friends is Beckett.”
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Drogan tips his hat to Marsh before receiving the gracious offer of drink. He slurps down the lion's share of it, being sure to leave a portion for the Lucky Drunk.
What's this then, Linkah? Business in the Teeth? My mem'ry may be a bit fuzzy, but I don't recall ever promisin' anything. You know how I feel 'bout going into that place. A' might not mind it, but I need to know why I'm goin.' And right now, getting you off a boat is hardly worth the troubles. Marsh,can you help with a bit of translation? my training was wide, but I can'na remember lessons in deciphering the tongues of drunken halflings." He says with a smile
He looks Beckett up and down before leaning back on his chair and kicking his feet up. He offers his hand across the table. Pleased te know ya. Drogan Anvilsong's my name, and I hope fer your sake you lost a bet or something. I may not know much about you, Sir, but I've spent enough time around the well-to-dos to know this is hardly your sort of bar. He looks to the owner waddling over by the bar, Seven hells, this place is barely my sort of bar, and they're payin' me te be here tonight.
Marsh sets back, folds his arms, then rubs his chin for a moment while his eyes remain emotionless throughout.
"Well, well, well Linkah. It seems you have played your moves to bring us all to the table and here we all sit. This is as far as I wish to let you play without showing me the cards. Are your companions and brother an intricate part of this plan? For if they are not, it is time for them to seek other corners of the room. For their own wellbeing and appearances of course."
A polite dismissal if one was ever spoken.
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Beckett stands to grasp Drogan’s hand across the table. “The pleasure is mine, Master Bard. Beckett Foxglove.”
Beckett glances down at his armor, smiling.
“Yes, it seems that I do tend to cause a fuss. An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”
His smile fades as Marsh speaks his dismissal.
“To business then. Very well.”
Beckett returns to his seat, and looks at the halflings expectantly.
Linkah looks at each in turn ending with his brother. There is something unsettling in the shifting tone behind those eyes...something almost human. His countenance darkens a bit, some of the good humor leaving as the topic takes a turn for the serious. "Okay, Corv, better leave off, eh? You'll know by morning if we got the noose off’r necks. On with ya, boyo."
His brother considers staying, but nods and places a reassuring hand on Linkah's forearm. "We've come this far, only over the horizon ta go, eh?" And with that, the milder of the two halflings departs and joins the rest of their kin at a nearby table.
Once he's gone, the halfling glances over to Agidor and grins. "I wrote me a songs, I did eh?" Linkah reaches into his vest and produces a small parcel wrapped in oiled cloth, placing it on the table in front of him. His sharp eyes take in their surroundings before he removes his hand. The way their table is positioned, thanks in no small part to Marsh’s proclivities, there are no eyes that can observe them directly without passing by to oversee.
Miranda, tray empty and seeing more at the table now, begins to head over to collect their empty plates or refill flagons as needed...but she turns aside at a look from Karl. The woman is a clever one, having seen plenty of secretive conversations occur in the Knuckle, and began working ‘traffic’ in the bar to subtly shift people away from the table.
”Let me see, eh? Where to start ‘er off, gov?” Linkah nods to Drogan. ”I knows Marshy and Agi knows me story, but I’ll toss it in ta get Dragon-drum n’ Becketts up ta snuff… Then ya can decide who’s ta ‘elp n’ who’s ta walk…”
Linkah and his family have been in the service of Captain Ordna for just about 5 years. It should have been a contract for 1 year and a day. At every possible turn, the Osirion captain of the Lamprey has blocked their attempt to exit the contract, changing the goals and eliminating chances like the shifting sands of his homeland. He only seems to be bolder as the other Halflings in the clan have become conditioned to accepting that service aboard the Lamprey is their lot in life. At the least they have a place in the Fen they can call home, the “good” captain having arranged the rough digs with Outhouse. They also saw the world from the portals and deck rails and yard arms of the ship. And the best thing? The harder they worked aboard ships, the better their conditions were in the long run, so a positive outcome despite the perpetual servitude. Some in the clan had put the chance of leaving the contract behind out of their mind. Why dwell on the negative? The sun rises on good and bad days, but it always rises.
Not Linkah. No, not him. When Sarenrae brought the dawn’s light into the small hovel in which he’d been born, the goddess had put something different in the halfling’s heart. A change to how he saw the world. Something, almost human. Most halflings are a glass half full type. Most living in the drudgery of the Fen see it as a glass half empty...or broken. Linkah owned a description that defied logic when it came to Halflings; he was a pragmatist. He saw the glass as...containing water.
He sends one of his eyes towards the table where the other 11 of his clan are gathered along with Corvim. Linkah’s eyes harden ever so slightly when he sees Tulee, a 2nd cousin on his mother’s side. He’d lost a hand to voyages back, the stump that remained a hack job of the Lamprey’s surgeon. ”There’s other hurts, that’s for sure. Other hurts like as not ain't on the skin…”
A stray hand goes to his eyes and wipes away tears. He coughs into his hand and lets out a muttered curse for being weak and continues his story.
So Linkah never forgot the way Ordna’s requirements changed when it came to satisfying their contract. When it was 100 gold and the clan had been able to raise that money by selling possessions, Ordna had said his expenses for providing them a place to stay in the Fen and aboard ships had gone up - what with the cost of lumber on the rise and the Lamprey needing repairs… It went on like that for a long while. And Linkah never forgot...and in most decidedly un-halfling fashion, he never forgave.
Ten months ago, Linkah put into motion a plan to end the contract once and for all. After a long night of drinking and staying up late to hear Agidor strum at some old tune for the 2 remaining attendees in the tavern, he’d pressed the bard with questions. After a dizzying array of turns and loops in conversation Linkah was able to pull a name from the inebriated Agidor.
Marcum, an antiquities man in Dog’s Teeth known for trading in favors.
A month later and he and Agidor and Marcum met at a tiny shanty being used as a bar and turtle meat stand. Marcum knew the Lamprey was going to Korvosa on the following month as part of its regular route. The broker gave the halfling a note which he’d slip into the pocket of a half-elf at their destination. Before the ship left the Korvosa port for the return voyage, a package was delivered to Linkah that must be brought to Marcum.
”This lil’ bobble here…” Linkah taps the oil-cloth parcel. ”It’s all it takes n’ we can leave the Lamprey behind. Marcum said I’d need ta bring Agidor along, n’ anyone else I can trust.”
Agidor, his guitar case resting across his knees, eyes the mug in front of him. ”Marcum’s got our out…he’s ready to deal.” The bard casts a look of excitement to Drogan. ”Us, Drogan. We do this n’ we get outta the Fen, move on to the big city. Maybe the White Grotto, you can keep digging…” He wraps a joyful beat on the guitar case. ”It’s an out… Count me in, Link.”
"Ways I see it, you'll be wantin' to take a look a the shiny, so let's get it done." The halfling looks to the rest, then unfolds the cloth to reveal its contents.
Before them rests a key.
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Appraise on the key
Perception for who in the room is watching or listening
Sense Motive on the poeple around the table.
Jak watches as Lavios strides away, his purpose a straight line as though the cartographer of his life cut across the tangled skein of events and challenges. He wonders if he should simply hall the kid up by the collar and shake him a bit, get him to slow his pace lest something horrible happen… The constable had spent so much time dwelling in the underworld of the Fen that perhaps he’s too jaded. Maybe things could be that simple.
As he glances over his shoulder at Gibby’s bewildered face, Jak has his doubts. In a few quick strides he catches up with Lavios and the two walk in silence, the rain and the assorted sounds of carousing and arguments natural to the district following them. It’s not long before Jak taps Lavios on the shoulder and points him towards the overhang to a dried fish shanty. With the rain it’s closed down and offers a private place to chat.
”Look, I know what this means to ya,” Jak starts out, feeling the urgency in Lavios’ posture stand out like a banner. ”If they’ve got your villagers in this tannery, we can’t just go in there like a couple of rock-headed dwarves thinkin’ we can overcome them all cuz we’re right. Hells, kid, we don’t even know the whole situation yet.”
Jak takes off his hat and scratches at his head, casting a wary glance around in case Gibby came to his senses and tried to pursue them. After a moment he places his hat back on and sighs. ”I’ve got a soft spot your plight, had a bit of bad luck in my life too. But charging off into the night and worse, into Dog’s Teeth isn’t going to free your people.”
The rain continues to pour down, thunder in the distance reminding Lavios briefly of the horrors he’d encountered on the causeway. Jak begins running down the details of how they would be getting to Dog’s Teeth, taking a roundabout path that ended with them using one of the natural bridges available during low tide. ”We can use a couple of the warehouses down there to avoid being spotted, put them between us and the tannery. But we don’t know who’s watching out for the place. If they do have people in there, then they’re going to have folks guardin’ them.”
There were other things Gibby had said. Stuff about that bard Agidor that tools around the Fen putting on shows. Then the news that Marcum had served his purpose maybe? Jak had thought Tarik fond of the him...maybe the Stag Heralds were going off reservation. Too many things to consider. But what stands out to the constable is how Gibby mentioned the villagers weren’t hostages, no ransom or anything? Why take them at all? Jak wishes he knew more about the Stag’s goals. They had business in Cassomir and in Absalom, but what they did specifically he didn’t know.
”Okay, the place we’re goin’ to has a couple of approaches, but this one’s the best…” Jak begins describing the lay of the land, pointing out that the area near the tannery is mostly swamp and slow moving water. ”But there’s wooden bridges and such you can use to get across some of the worse areas. This time of night they may not even be needed.”
They make their way through the Fen, the collections of wooden planks and stones increasing as they continue. Every step brings more mud and ooze and stench the closer they got to Dog’s Teeth and the coastal marshlands. The citizenry likewise begins a gradual descent into poverty and the more than occasional depraved stares.
Soon they find themselves at the edge of a set of low slung buildings, a small stream ahead of them that stinks of stagnant salt water. Under the eaves of a closed shop by which they shelter, a cluster of ravens flutters their wings and snap their beaks down at Jak and Lavios for intruding on their rest.
Jak points across the way. ”There’s the tannery. We got some open ground to cover. Might I suggest we observe for a bit?”
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Drogan's eyes go wide as the key is produced, By Torag's Hammer. He leans in, hovering over the halfling's prize. This is dwarven make. Fine, fine, not ALL dwarven make, but enough.
Drogan notices confused looks on the faces of the others
I've seen this key before is what a'm sayin'. Where'd you find this, Linkah? What pocket ya pick, watch satchel ya snag? I need to know where your sticky little fingers nabbed it. I'm not mad, and I don't mean to take it from ya. I just need to know WHERE or HOW you managed to get it.
Linkah’s swift little hands are already folding the oiled cloth back over the key before Drogan is through his last sentence, but he stops short of returning it to his vest pocket. The little halfling’s big eyes search the dwarf, a strange thing to see such levels of suspicion in a representative of the diminutive race. He relaxes his hands and lets them rest on the table, tiny limbs a bulwark protecting the key. Linkah sees Beckett nod as well and he lets out a breath to steady his nerves. We’re so close…so close…
First he looks to the dwarf and his brow furrows, causing the leather band about his temples to dip. ”Oy, I didn’t steals it if that’s your drift, Dragon-drum. Likes I says before, I was told by Marcum ta give a bloak a note, a halvsies elf, then a package would be delivered to me ‘fore we left Korvosa.” He glances down at the key where it lay safely wrapped, but they go distant for a moment. ”I likes ta think I see things comin’, watchin’ all the angles, eh? But I ne’er saw this fella drops the box. I’m sittin’ there with Corvim at a vittles shack, wees chompin’ away...I turn aways for a blink and then turn back ta see a small wooden box, got this thing in it. Corvim ne’er saw no one either.”
”Sounds like something in Marcum’s wheelhouse,” Agidor comments, his momentary enthusiasm dimming. ”His success is based on anonymity. All the parts of his dealings not knowing the beginning or the end of the line.”
”Sorry, Master Drogan, alls I know is I get this key ta Marcum, me and mine are free. Maybe ya can ask ‘im where it’s from n’ goin’?” Linkah says to Drogan, lowering his gaze a bit in apology. But it’s obvious he’s not parting with the item until it passes from his tiny hands and into Marcum’s.
A HALF-elf? Couldn't be him. An associate maybe? It can't be a coincidence that the key's involved. Wish I could remember!
He holds up his hands as an apology.
"It's alright, Linkah. Meant no harm. Must have had a bit too much to drink. You know how it is. You can keep your trinket. However, I WILL want te have a chat with your man Marcum. I'm sure that he an' I have much to discuss. If saving your fuzzy hide will facilitate such a meeting, all's the happier for me."
Drogan feels bad that he rattled the halfling in his excitement. He motions over to the Miranda, acknowledges him. After she's done with the other table, he tells her,
"Miranda, dear. It appears my friend 'ere could use a drink, maybe a bit of food. Please get 'im whatever he wants and deduct it from my pay.
He leans over and whispers into her ear, "Within reason, mind ye. I'd like te leave with SOME of my pay left intact."
"It appears everyone is whispering sweet nothings in my lady's ear, but me tonight."
Karl studies the key, but his mind is alive with the twists and turns it represents. "That clockwork can only be gnomish, you see it from time to time with the number of gnomes in the city... Maybe not so detailed. As for the metalwork you might be right Drogan. It appears to be worth at least 800 gold as an object in and of itself. I will admit I was a bit skeptical of what you would produce from that small cloth that would be worth enough for our favorite fixer to begin working deals that would actually free you from your contract."
He frowns and cracks the knuckle of his index finger with his thumb.
"The question now is how he will free you of your contract? Is Marcum good to his word? Do we need to worry about this coming back to you in a bad way?" He points to Linkah. "I'll be hornswaggled and deep fried if that key don't lead straight back to Linkah . . . and now each and everyone of us at this table. I know Marcum doesn't double cross fire no reason but...He's got Tarik to deal with."
He glances back at the key. "Can you imagine the intricacy of the lock that this key goes to? Can you imagine the wealth and or power that such a lock would be contrived to protect? More risk of complications if you ask me."
"This is no small smuggling operation of a few gems or and expensive and readily identifiable piece of jewelry someone wanted to move out of a local municipality and ship across the sea to sell, Linkah." Karl thinks on the halfling and adds, "But you were hired to deliver a package, nothing more."
"Some at this table may mark me as paranoid, but I didn't reach this age on these streets by being naive and unselective in my dealings. Despite rumors to the contrary I am not suicidal."
Marsh lets his words sink in as he purses his lips and lets his piercing eyes walk over the gathering seeking to pry their secrets from the faces, eyes and mannerisms.
"I took the liberty to do some investigation on my own. I am not the only one here that can get people to talk Agidor. . . I know you work for Linkah's employer. What has he offered you for this part in it? What were your instructions? It seems awfully convenient that all Linkah here had to do was bring, and I quote, "Everyone he trusts and you?"
"Who would miss you Agidor? Word is you've got a mark on your head. People would either assume your debts caught up with you or you simply left town . . . Your finely draped corpse could be a rotting crab buffet at the bottom of the bay and no one would be the wiser."
"And if the Legendary . . . unkillible . . . Marsh, were to disappear from his table who in their right mind would go looking for him down the last path he took."
"Also, strangely enough, a dwarf who has an eye for dwarven antiquities happens to fall under your wing at just the right moment." Karl shakes his head in disbelief.
"Then an item of this value snuck through the Teeth without Tarik knowing? Are you kidding me? Not without his permission or all of us disappear."
"Which is where Mr. Becket comes in . . . He represents an unknown faction. Something I wonder if Marcum didn't factor into his equation. He is from a conglomerate that has a non-monetary interest. If he disappears someone will come looking."
"Marcum needs to know that, unless he's prepared for this surprise."
"If you know of something, Agidor, possibly detrimental to any party here speak it now. No grudges. I am sure others here are interested in getting this item turned over in an orderly fashion and in a way that everyone here gets to walk away."
Agidor stares at his drink for a long while. He thinks of the first piece of music Elias had shown him. A test to be sure. Something to gauge the young Agidor's talents and musical leanings. The bard sighs and comes to a momentous decision. Time to choose my own music.
"Marcum isn't who you think he is, Marsh. I know you spent time lookin' into him, but you found only the first notes of the song." Agidor glances Drogan's way. The dwarf knows some of what he's about to say...He knows about Agidor's other life. "But you've got the right of it when you mention the mark on my head. We've all got pasts, mine just so happens to start with a girl. A girl and a bad decision that's stuck with me...and for which I've paid my dues."
Agidor leans forward a bit and takes up his tankard of ale. He stares at the contents like the foam and amber holds some of the words he needs to say. "I never had any designs on being part of Link's agreement with Marcum. My only connection was the original meeting I arranged. But I think Marcum knew my reaction to the offer here. Maybe it's way of saying I can finally put my conscience to rest."
The bard gives himself a shake, a lock of curly dark hair falling in his brown eyes. He brushes it away and continues. "Look, Marcum's got a head for winding turns and prides himself on maintaining his client's anonymity. Plus, I have it on good authority he has no love for Tarik. The ugly mutt's happy to let him run his business so long as he keeps the information flowing."
"Life's hard in the lowers. Halfcastes are kicked aside and usually taking the lash or an arrow when they get in the way of some nobles getting into a fight. I do what I can to get them clear. I get that done with Marcum's help. He's good people, just caught between his talents and the need to survive."
He looks Beckett's way and his brows furrow. "Not certain of your part in this good sir. But Link I'm sure got the rhyme and measure of you over the last 4 or 5 months. He's a good judge of character so I'll trust you to be a part of this little venture."
"Now you asked what do I think could be a danger to the group, Mister Marsh? We'd be going into the most dangerous district in Cassomir. Marcum's shop is near Farn's Tannery, there's rumor of a new gang using it for something. Then there's the riving bands of thugs Tarik uses to keep folks in line. But with the heavy rain they'll be like as not cooling their heels and drinking."
"As far as that item," Then he looks at the wrapped package at the center of their conversation. "I don't know what it's for or what lock it goes to...and frankly I just don't care. What I do know is Linkah and his kin will see freedom and I get to do one last good thing in my life before I leave this city behind."
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Beckett smiles at the Bard and shrugs.
"Well, it seems that we have more questions than when we begun."
Looking at the group.
"As for my part, well... I forget that many people are not accustom to the winds of Providence guiding their steps. Likely I am here because I am needed. Seeing Linkah's people up every morning, singing to the Dawn, is it so difficult to believe that their pleas would be answered?"
"Or my own needs, if Lord Bromathan is correct."
Shaking his head.
"But ultimately it does not matter. We are unlikely to tease much more information out of our friends here, nor out of that shiny piece of metal. It may be time to get a good nights rest, and go seize the answers that are out there awaiting us."
Drogan pounds down another drink on the table and motions for another.
Torag's hammer and the flagon of Cayden Cailean., he cursed to himself.
Fine. What else 'ave I got to lose? Let's save us a brood of halflings and trust we'll stumble into something of actual use.
and I want to keep my eye on that key besides.
"Ta be honest, chaps, I was thinking of going tonight." Linkah says, slipping his right hand over the wrapped key and slipping it back into his vest. "Cap'n Ordna will be by in the morning ta see ta me n' my fellows for work on the ship. There's always things ta do after gettin' ta port."