As Anklebiter attempts to soothe the anger, Belana turns to him Punt the goblin always released soo much stress....don't tempt me
Calla chuckles at Belana's comment, but looks impressed as the goblin tells what the wand does. "Ah got little use for that wand," she says. [/b]"If you know what it does, Ah assume you can use it? Why don't you hold on to it, unless someone else wants it."[/b]
"Wonderful," Bruendor muttered to himself. "The goblin is a witch doctor. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse."
"I'd like it, true," Anklebiter says, sidling a little closer to Calla. "I already took the book, though... So only if no one else wants loot, yes?"
Lixy turned to all and said, a little nervously given the moods shown by the group, " So, um I guess I'll see you in the morning. Good night.". The woman practically fled to her room, leaving a somewhat embarrassed silence in her wake.
Lerik watches Lixy go, feeling a bit bad.
Everyone dispersed to claim a room and moving their stuff in. The night was quiet and restful, the beds were clean and comfortable, and sleep was easy to come by. In the morning, each of you stagger or stride into the staff dining room, based on how you normally face a new day. Lixy popped in to tell you that Saul normally slept late, until 10 or so, since the Goblin didn't open until noon.
The dwarf, Faldur, came in to ask which of you were interested in running a game table, preferred to act as guards or bouncers, and which preferred to be servers. "Saul already told me about Mistress Belana's desire to tend bar, and good it is too. Our bartender quit last night, along with the rest of the staff. I told Saul he shouldn't withhold their wages until after the tourney. "
After you decide what you intend to do at the Goblin, Faldur instructed you in the workings of the gambling hall. He explained the house policies on high rollers and small stakes bidders. He also covered the procedures on what to do if someone got on a huge streak. Unsurprisingly, all we're in place to encourage gamblers to keep going until the house odds caught up with them. "Saul will be out in a bit to go over your...other duties"
Rising early, Belana prepares her morning prayer rituals. Once she is finished, Belana makes her way to the dinning room, stridding confidently in. If Ankelebiter or bruendor is there she will try not to sit too close.
After listenign to the dwarf, Belana asks Faldur "other duties, do ye know what they might be?"
Bruendor rose early as well, though mostly out of habit - he was used to only getting a few good hours of sleep at night. He was glad to find sleep in a bed free from fleas and other vermin for once. He went through his morning routine, did a bit of simple exercise to loosen himself up, then headed downstairs to find some breakfast. He noticed that Belana had already seated herself in the dining room, so he found a table away from her to break his fast - he savored the hot porridge, crusty bread, fresh fruit and tea as though each were a fine wine.
Bruendor clears his throat as Faldur asks everyone's preferences on jobs. "I'm good with my hands. I can run whatever table you want. It'll be good gambling with the odds on my side for once." He remains silent as Belana asks her question, but he listens intently for Faldur's answer.
Upon awakening, Anklebiter first spends an hour in quiet study of his spellbook. He keeps the new acquisition closeby, even strokes its cover while he studies, but he does not open it yet.
'A pleasure for later,' he promises himself while silently mouthing spell formulae. 'Later...'
When he is finished with his daily studies, the Goblin joins the others. He hunkers down a little when he sees the large Dwarf, and tries to find a place as far away from all three the Stout Folk as he can find.
"I don't mind serving tables," Anklebiter answers the question, speaking cautiously. "But can I have the badge first?"
Everyone dispersed to claim a room and moving their stuff in. The night was quiet and restful, the beds were clean and comfortable, and sleep was easy to come by. In the morning, each of you stagger or stride into the staff dining room, based on how you normally face a new day. Lixy popped in to tell you that Saul normally slept late, until 10 or so, since the Goblin didn't open until noon.
The barbarian gets up early enough , he may want to become a hero here, and you don't do that by getting too soft.
The dwarf, Faldur, came in to ask which of you were interested in running a game table, preferred to act as guards or bouncers, and which preferred to be servers. "Saul already told me about Mistress Belana's desire to tend bar, and good it is too. Our bartender quit last night, along with the rest of the staff. I told Saul he shouldn't withhold their wages until after the tourney. "
"I think I'd serve better as a guard or bouncer. There are tricks that I am not wise to, but my battle skills are just fine."
After you decide what you intend to do at the Goblin, Faldur instructed you in the workings of the gambling hall. He explained the house policies on high rollers and small stakes bidders. He also covered the procedures on what to do if someone got on a huge streak. Unsurprisingly, all we're in place to encourage gamblers to keep going until the house odds caught up with them. "Saul will be out in a bit to go over your...other duties"
He listens intently, then raises a brow "Other duties? an echo of what others have to say
"Acquisitions, protection, transport guards, and perhaps other things as well," said Saul from the doorway. "Mainly, I see your combat skills as a bonus, one that might keep certain unsavory elements from trying to take over the Goblin while we rebuild. Clegg Zilcher has already threatened my guards and serving girls; that's probably why they all quit so quickly last night.
"I imagine, though, that Clegg has already heard of you stopping that crew last night. Especially if Angvar was working for him, as I suspect. It won't be long now before you hear from him yourselves. Whether it's a job offer or a knife in an alley, I can't say. You will all be on evening shift, for the most part, though I might have one of you on duty in he afternoons just for presence. When you aren't on duty, feel free to wear your Goblin badge around town. It can't hurt, can it?"
As he said this, Larur starting tossing out Goblin badges to everyone, identical to the ones he, Lixy, and Calla are already wearing.
"Who's Clegg Zilcher?" Calla asks, her eyes narrowing.
"Whoever he is," Bruendor said morosely. "He sounds like the sort one comes to expect to find running things in Riddleport." He stared for a moment at the stylized goblin badge, then affixed it to his dark clothes.
"You're not far off there. Clegg Zilcher is a crime boss of the worst sort. And by worst sort, I mean the kind at is leaning on me. He wants me to use my, erm, past skills on his behalf, and he's threatened me and the Goblin more'n once. But I wha being honest last night. I'm out of that business and intend to stay out"
"Good for you!" Anklebiter says as he pins on the Goblin badge. The real-life Goblin giggles as he strokes the trinket with a single finger. "Looks like my uncle. Or was it my uncle's cousin...? Nevermind. So; do we wait for the next attack, or do we sneak into this Zilcher's house and kill him?"
It is worth noting that Anklebiter asks this last question without even a hint of malice in his voice or expression. He just seems curious, and apparently sees nothing 'wrong' with the idea of killing Zilcher. Chalk it up to a different upbringing...
Bruendor frowns deeper at Anklebiter's suggestion. "That might be how things are done in goblin society, but I will not skulk around to slip a knife into someone's back like a hired assassin. Saul has hired us to keep the Goblin free from illegitimate practices, and that's what I intend to do." His voice has an edge to it - just because he had to work alongside a filthy goblin didn't mean he had to enjoy a moment of it.
Lefrik takes the badge, but nods at Bruendor's words, "You are right, of course and well said."
"Oh?" Anklebiter says, apparently not taking any offense. '" Alright; good to know."
Calla leans back and listens to her new companions' discussion, a slight smirk on her face. Eventually, she'll say quietly to the goblin, "If it gets to that point, Ah'll accompany you to this Zilcher's place. Ah'm sure between the two of us, we could take care of any ... problems."
Lefrik frowns and thinks A priestess who tempts goblins to evil. Truly, the south is a twisted place.
Anklebiter grins at Calla. "Oh, but that isn't the job we're here for," he says, gesturing at Bruendor. "That's what our battle-friend here says. And I know what it's called if you go to someone's house and kill them when it isn't a proper job, like soldiers get. That's raiding, and longsh -- taller people say it's awful bad. And we're not bad folks here, so I know we won't do it unless it becomes a proper job. Right?"
"Mah jobs in life aren't determined by Brainy, over there, goblin, but rather by mah goddess," Calla replies. "Sometimes we're called to do things by divine mandate that human law may not recognize, but Calistria recognizes the righteousness of what we have to do in those instances."
She pauses for a moment.
"Ah suppose it might be best, though to wait for a sign before you go ahead and do anything we might all regret, though," she adds with an apparently rare sincere smile.
"Well it seems that you've got the gist of it now. Anyways, it seems that you lot can get started on the normal duties, and I'll let you know when other duties are required. Meanwhile I'll spread the word that a new group of workers with a rep are working for me. After last night, I bet word has already gotten out ahead of me. You'll have your reputation made in no time. "
----------------------------------------
The days of the first week passed quickly, with very few incidents. For the most part, the Goblin seemed to recover fairly quickly. Within days, business was up, and Saul was vocal about the abilities of his new help. Word got out that troublemakers met a swift and unhappy end at the Golden Goblin, though only one grifter was killed; pulling a dagger on Lefrik Olegson wasn't a good idea at any time, but especially not when he is drinking.
Meanwhile, the Blot got thicker and thicker. Strange occurrences accompanied the thickening of the Blot. Lamps flared in blue fire. Rodents danced in the streets in daylight. Other things as well. The residents of Riddleport reacted in different ways. Some grew religious, others simply vicious. The murder rate went up, and simple arguments turned bloody in a heartbeat.
At the end of the week, a groups of toughs entered the Goblin, pushing past the woman manning the front door. Reeking of alcohol, they shouted for Saul., demanding that he give them the money they lost in the tournament. Larur went out to explain that Saul wasn't available, and one of the toughs smashed him in the head with a wine bottle.
All of you are scattered throughout the goblin when the toughs come in, but you come running at the shrieks when Larur was hit. you're up!
Anklebiter jumps on a table at a safe distance behind the toughs, and shrieks at the top of his voice: "Look, look! Fresh meat for the pot has walked into the Golden Goblin! Behold, pigs who walk upright!"
Before the toughs turn around, Anklebiter casts Grease on the ground under their feet.
Lefrik doesn't really regret killing the grifter. The grifting was one thing, the pawing at the barmaids when asked not to was another, and even the interupting of a drink was all bad enough; but when the idiot insulted his father and then drew a knife on him. Well, what does one expect? Southerners, he's decided, have little sense.
The damn blot, however, has him edgy for other reasons entirely. Beyond his ken, he's seriously starting to wonder if the thing is flat out evil for all the tempers it seems to flare, and says so.
When the toughs come in demanding Saul, and bashing Lurur, well, his own temper heats up, "Cowardly dogs, pray to your gods take your souls, because by your actions, your blood is now mine to spill!"
He strikes out with his great axe while staying out of reach of the grease if he may.
"Boys, Ah think you've accidentally come to the wrong place. It's not the Goblin's fault you can't gamble. Ah'd suggest turning around, or you'll be losin' more than your money."
Bruendor tried to keep the thoughts of the Blot's increasing size out of his mind - there was nothing he could do about it, so he tried not to think what it portended. Lefrik thought it was the Blot causing the increase in violence, and to a point, he was right. It was fear, by Bruendor's reckoning, fear of the unknown. Fear could drive a man to do unspeakable things.
As there was nothing to do about it, Bruendor contented himself with dealing cards and justice in equal measure in the Goblin. Though others used naked blades, he kept a sizable collection of saps. When asked about this, he said simply, "I've been told what the authorities don't know won't hurt them. I've lived here long enough to know that's true. I've also lived long enough to know that I will know."
All of this weighed on his mind as the rakes entered the establishment. He waved over a stand-by dealer, clapped his hands and spread them out to show he was not concealing any cards, and moved towards the distrubance, pulling his sap. "You should listen to these two," he said. "You leave now, we forget your faces. You stay..." He glanced towards the Northman pulling a massive axe to complete the thought.
Assisting Lefrik in Intimidate: [dice:
The toughs quail at the assault from all sides. Two fall to the grease-slickened floor, while a third took a swing at Lefrik with a piece of wood with a nail hammered through one end. The swing ended when the barbarian's axe slammed into the tough's shoulder, cutting deeply enough to cause the man to bleed out on the floor. The fourth man, staring at an angry Calla, and with his friend's blood splashed on his face, turned an ran. He managed to navigate the grease effectively, and was out the door before anyone could stop him.
One of the toughs on the floor drew a long dagger, but couldn't find the purchase to use it on anyone.
"You'd best drop that," Anklebiter warns. "Or the next one finds your face. Stilla Acida!" The Goblin lobs a gob of acid at the floor next to the tough's face, where it sizzles through the floorboards.
Calla crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, waiting to see what the hapless tough would do. "Careful, or Ah'll let our little goblin have his way with you. Ah s'pect you won't much like that," she says with a nasty grin.
This could be amusing, she thinks with a mental chuckle. Ah wonder what our poet laureat over there would do.
The thug looked up at the goblin's rune-covered face and the dead stillness that was Calla's expressio. In haste, he dropped the knife. With a quaver in his voice, he said "We didn't mean to hurt no one. Karth said we could get our money back, and no one would get hurt." He indicated the man now leaking his life's blood across the floor a few feet away. "We was just gonna talk loud and maybe Saul would give us our money back, is all. I didn't know he was gonna hit Larur. The dwarf's always been nice enough to me, giving me a free drink when I run out of gambling money, an all. Please, don't kill me! Don't let the monster dissolve my face! Please, I'm sorry." With that, the man began blubbering and it became clear that for all his size, he was just barely into adulthood.
Lefrik sighs and looks down to the man he slashed and sees if the fellow is truly dead, or just dying. mmm.. perhaps that damn blot has me on edge more so than needed. "Boy, never go into a bear's cave and expect the bear to make way." He looks at the others, "I would suggest we let the boy go. He will spread word that this place is well protected and not to be triffled with."
"Agreed," Bruendor said, his attention more on the dying or dead man. "Tell your friends. Anyone that brings trouble to the Goblin will have it revisited upon them twofold. Now get out of here!" He scowled at the lad, and watched him scuttle. He cast his gaze about the oil-slick in the entry hall. "Greenskin! Clean this mess up! I need to find out if that man can be saved, and I can't do it with this sludge in my way!"
"I have a potion," Anklebiter volunteers. "But only the one. If he isn't dead now, it can still save him." He looks at the large boy and shrugs. "Sure, let him go. This is no fun."
The Goblin cocks his head when Bruendor shouts at him. "Hmmm. Don't really know if I can, before the spell's run its course. Worth a try..." Anklebiter makes an odd face and raises his hands at the Grease spell's slick. "Finite," he chants, attempting to end the magic's effect.
At the goblin's command, the magically-created grease faded away. Within moments the floor was as clean as before, and the crying man made a run for the door. No one attempted to stop him as Bruendor leaned over the fallen thug. The blood that was pouring from the garish wound in his shoulder has slowed to a mere trickle. The man's breath was still and there was no response when the dwarf lifted an eyelid. The man was surely dead.
"Oh," Anklebiter says as he hops off the table and sidles over to look at the dead man. "That could be awkward, yes?"
"How so?" Calla asks. "He came threatening violence, and got what he deserved. Dump him out with the rest of the trash, get someone to clean up the spill and the problem's solved."
"But he's not in a real gang, is he?" Anklebiter says. "He's an angry customer. Some folks are going to say he had a reason to be angry. And now he's dead."
Anklebiter looks Calla in the eye, a dubious look on his branded face. "We're not going to have mobs with pitchforks? Those always go for the Goblin first."
"Damn, damn and double damn," Bruendor muttered. "Probably have the watch leaning on the place now. Drunken lout died in your establishment, eh? Well, we can make that go away for the right amount o' coin! It's bad enough when the toughs try to muscle in on the action here. The guards have the law on their side - or, at least, what passes for law in this den of thieves." Bruendor grimaced at the still form of the man - though he could barely be called that, with the whisps of beard that had only started growing upon his chin - and shook his head in diapproval.
Larur staggered to his feet and prodded at the welt on his head. "Ye dinnae have t' worry about the guards. We have a ... permanent arrangement wit' 'em. Jest haul the body out th' back by the river. It'll get taken care of." You notice that the dwarf's brogue is much thicker than it was previously. Apparently the knock on the head disrupted his careful vocalization.
"Ye'll learn tha' people around here have a problem wit' understandin' the ramifications o' their actions. Talk tough and people cave, is what is taught on th' streets. Most find out th' truth the hard way, like tha' lout. Some peoples' purpose in life seems t' be t' serve as an example to others as t' what not t' do."
"By an' by, what's tha' fork doin' stuck to yer axe?"
Lefrik looked down to find that indeed there was a fork stuck to the blade of his axe. It pulled free easily enough, but when he held it near the blade again, the fork jumped towards the metal and stuck fast once again.
Calla strides over to the Ulfen warrior, not sparing a second glance for the dead man.
"Interesting," she murmurs.
Fingers touching the holy sumbol around her neck, she quickly intones an orison to Calistria -- "Let me see what magic resides here, oh Lady in the Room" -- and looks closely at the fork.
"What sort of..." Lefrik is startled out of any thoughts on whether killing the man was good or bad by the odd effect of a fork clinging to his axe. "It has never done THIS before, I assure you."
Calla's attunement to the arcane energies about her reveal a general sense of magical power all around. There is no definitive source of the aura, nor can she pick up any specific clues as to its nature.
"Blame it on the Blot," Bruendor grumbled, picking up the lad's body and slinging it over a shoulder. "Seems as likely a cause as anything." He carried the man's body out to the back, and laid him by the river's bank. He bowed his head in silence. Father of Creation, he prayed silently. Take this imperfect soul into your care. Reshape it. Reform it. Put it through the crucible. Make it stronger than it was.
"It's not magic, but beyond that, Ah don't know what it is," Calla tells Lefrik with a shrug. "Ah guess you can attract more than goblins."
"Hmm. I can't say axes attract me," Anklebiter says, though he is staring at the odd effect as if transfixed. "Not unless they're lying around for free, anyways. Never got the swing quite right.
Giant friend Lefrik Olegson, have you been getting your axe enchanted by an amateur?"
In imitation of Calla, the Goblin mutters a Word and makes a gesture.
"But this is magic," Anklebiter says. "Just... not directed. It's everywhere, coming from everywhere. Not like a spell."
"No enchanter has come near my axe that I would know of. Maybe Bruendor is right and it is the Blot's influence on even axes now."