Fíriel frowns slightly at Jametor, then leans over to Randall and whispers something in Halfling.
"You are probably right. Let's go back via Harrigan's Alley. I don't want to get caught in a gang battle."
Fíriel giggles softly.
The group manages to make their way back to the Gold Goblin without incident. Saul is in his office, and stands up when the party enters. "Did you find him? Did you find Larur?"
"Afraid not", Njord says with a sad shake of his head. "We found his blood cloak and had a scuffle with Lymas and his goons but no sign of your dwarf."
"At least Lymas was kind enough to forgive your debt after we roughed him up."
Saul frowns. "I'm sure he would, just to get off with killing my manager. No sign of him, but you found his bloody cloak? Why, that dirty..."
He clenches and unclenches his fists.
"The bloody cloak doesn't mean Larur is dead. Might not even be his blood. Lots of different scenarios come to mind. He sure did become quiet when we talked about Clegg wanting him dead. Oh, and Saul, you had mentioned patrons who might help with certain research I was doing, perhaps you could introduce me? I've noticed this strange purple mist when magic is being cast lately. Not sure what it is."
"It seems that someone wanted it to appear that Larur made it to Lymas' place of business and met his end, but honestly, Lymas is smart enough -- if he was trying to hide a murder and he took the time to carry the body to another location, he would take the cloak, too. He certainly would not hide it on the outside of his own business."
"I hate to ask because you obviously consider Larur to be a close friend, but is it possible that someone got to him? Could he be the inside man against his own will?"
Saul sits down heavily, nodding once at Jametor dismissively. He stares at Randall, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. "You... you mean... working for Clegg?"
He looks down at the top of his desk, empty of paperwork at the moment, and his eyebrows contract into a sad frown.
"It... it doesn't seem possible, but..." he sighs. "I don't know. Please... I need to think about this. We'll talk more later."
Reaching over slowly, he picks up a sheet of parchment and begins to write on it. After a moment spent studying the result, he holds it out to Jametor. "Here are some names that should help you."
That done, he rests his head in his hands and sighs, clearly wanting to be left alone.
Once dismissed, Jametor looks at the list and then asks a few of the regular employees where they might be found. He then leaves the Gold Goblin in search of those people and doing some shopping with his new found wealth.
A few bells above the door jingle as he enters, and a plump gnomish woman comes out from behind the counter. "Hello there! Tlik Maiskritcherzonker, at your service. What can I do for you today? Perhaps you need some new robes? We've just received some lovely silks all the way from the Far East... or perhaps you'd rather have a new belt pouch?"
She stops prattling and looks up at the elf, suddenly intent. "You're not here for new clothes, are you?"
After bandaging his bite wounds, Njord returns to his shop.
What a mess. I hope the dwarf's okay...
Swiftwing repeats the last word. "Fed"
She takes a deep breath and tilts her head at the elf as if trying to predict his response.
She shrugs expressively. "They always talk about how it changes shape, and size sometimes... a few times it's even disappeared entirely, but it always comes back within a few hours. You know the Overlord has offered a five hundred gold reward to anyone who can figure out what it is and whether or not it's a threat?"
"I've got any sort of textile you could ever want; best in town. And I can sew anything out of them. I don't generally buy secondhand goods, but if you find any particularly nice jewelry or that sort of thing, I'd be willing to take a look."
If the merchant has a waterproof sack and a scroll box, I would buy it here, if not, then I'll go someplace else.
The gnome smiles happily as she bustles about the store, showing Jametor all the things he asks about and more. At his promise to return, she curtseys. "Thank you, thank you! Happy to help! You just keep the Maiskritcherzonkers in mind, and come back soon!"
Jametor continues his shopping before returning to the Gold Goblin.
Randall remains around the Gold Goblin, chatting up customers and employees alike, watching for trouble.
The next day, Saul approaches Randall while the halfling is out on the game floor. "Randall, walk with me, please."
"Of course. Where are we going?"
"Oh, nowhere in particular, just out of the crowd."
Saul leads the way out of the gaming room and through the now-familiar hallways. Once they're clear of eavesdroppers, Saul looks over at Randall, his face unreadable. "You like working here?" he asks.
The halfling grins, "You know, it's funny. I had no expectation of getting a job when I came here for the tournament. I was looking for a way to get away from the streets, though. I mean, running messages and packages was better than hustling, but it didn't get me very far from the same people that knew me when I was hustling. And they try to drag you back into that life, you know?"
"But now that I'm here, I am enjoying being part of something larger than just finding my next meal and I like the people I work with. So, yeah, I guess I could say I like working here."
Suddenly frowning, the halfling says, "Saul, what's wrong?"
Saul nods soberly at Randall's summary. "They do indeed. I can relate, you know. I... had a hard time getting out of that life. A very hard time. And even now there are men like Clegg who want to provoke me back into it."
He walks on in silence for a few minutes. "Randall, with Larur gone we need a new floor manager. You're good with the staff, the patrons, everyone... would you be willing to take on that role?"
"Wha...? Saul, are you sure? I mean, it's only been a few weeks and I'm barely removed from being a gutter orphan! I mean, I would love to give it a try, but if I'm not suited, I will step down, I promise." He stops and raises his right hand and says this last with all the solemnity he can muster, but his mind is racing.
Saul smiles a bit at the halfling's response. "Good. You can start immediately."
The promotion is announced to the rest of the staff, who respond well to it. Samaritha, sitting by the bar chatting with some patrons while watching Njord with an appraising eye, turns to wink at Randall with a friendly smile.
After checking on the kitchen and giving Samaritha a grin and a wink, Njord makes his way to Randall.
”Har! Congratulations!” the big ulfen says while giving the halfling a crushing affectionate hug. ”You’re gunna do great.”
”Where’s sweet little Firiel? She should be here celebrating with you.”
Jametor wanders over on his way up to the catwalks. He pats Randall on the back and says, "Hey congrats Randall, you've worked really hard and I can't imagine anyone that deserves this more than you. Let me know if you need anything."
Fíriel finishes the game she's running (all the players mysteriously lose their bets to the house) and skips over to Randall and Njord. "Well, Mister Floor Manager Sir, I heard about your promotion and just wanted to congratulate you!"
Randall is a bit sheepish about all the attention. To his closer friends (the party), he whispers, "I'm counting on you keeping me straight - don't let me get to thinking this makes me important or anything.".
He thanks the others with a bashful smile, "Well, it is on the job training, so don't be too hard on me!"
"Aw, you'll be fine."
The next week passes mostly uneventfully, and Saul announces happily at the end of it that with the way things have been going he'd like to give the group a significant raise to celebrate the Goblin's official return to profitability. "We made money this week; we actually did it! And I just received word this morning that a shipment I've been waiting for has finally arrived, too. Couldn't have come at a better time. It's an order I placed months ago... was supposed to get here in time for the tournament, you see. Got delayed by storms, they said."
He chuckles and shakes his head, as if to show what he thinks of sailors who can't be on time. "Anyway, it's here now and I was hoping you'd go pick it up from the docks before one of the crime bosses (or even the Overlord himself) gets it into his head that it can be his. You can take some of the hired help, if you'd like... but please hurry. There should be four casks of the finest exotic liquor you've ever seen."
Njord finds a smith and buys a new sword, a finely balanced one with a razor-sharp edge. He also invests in rare ingredients for several more soothing balms.
***
"Har! For twenty-five gold I'll run yer errands for you!" the hulking ulfen laughs.
"Some help might be a good idea. With nothin' but the little folk to lend me a hand it'll take all day to get the casks home. No offense you three", he says with a wink.
"Well had I had enough notice, I might have been able to research a spell or two, but I am afraid I won't be much help with the lifting. I will go along, because I get the feeling we might need some firepower."
"I'll be able to keep an eye out. I'm not very strong, but I've got a decent pair of eyes." He grins, wiggling his creaky fingers.
"Of course, I've also got nasty spells as well."