It shall be done, boss. Davlamin says smartly. Anything else? Forgive me, i'm anxious to get back to the casino floor.
"No, I do believe that will be all for now, unless any of you have anything else you'd like to discuss? No? Alright then. Do as you will."
....remembering one dwarf being murdered is enough for Barnabus to decide to go with Skorabor rather than hang around the goblin....
Figure Dav is safe enough indoors....
As you head down toward the wharves, you see many people working to repair the damage caused by the tidal wave. Shop fronts that suffered minor waterlogging or no damage are doing what they can to undercut their competitors and make a profit, noticeably more so when it comes to the shops that provide materials and tools for rebuilding. The closer you get to the wharves, the greater the damage is. Building owners and shopkeepers are busily hammering away, replacing boards, windows, and doors, or arguing with workers who are trying to do the same. The street scavengers are out in force, grabbing every loose item they can. The bold ones are chancing their luck on stealing from the shops themselves. As you reach the wharves, the scene intensifies. Sailors and carpenters and all manner of workers swarm everywhere, working to recover cargo and to repair damaged ships and docks. The Foamrunner already has a much smaller hole in her side than she did before. The pile of bodies you had laid out earlier has disappeared.
Although Skorabor questions most all of the street rats he passes, not one of them seems to have any idea about what happened to Feldin. A half-dozen knew Feldin and knew where he lived, and several more only knew him as the floor manager of the Gold Goblin. Not a one of them has any idea where he is or what happened to him. If confronted with the details you have and the suspicion of his possible murder, those who knew him all plead innocent. Two say he probably got what he deserved, stingy bastard that he was, but their protestations of innocence still have the ring of honest truth to them.
Barnabus lays a hand upon Skorabor's shoulder....
"It is getting late an we should check back in at tha goblin.."
Two say he probably got what he deserved, stingy bastard that he was, but their protestations of innocence still have the ring of honest truth to them.
"That's a dwarf you're talkin' about!", Skorabor roars with anger.
Barnabus lays a hand upon Skorabor's shoulder....
"It is getting late an we should check back in at tha goblin.."
"Aye, i guess you're right", Skorabor says as he looks down the wharf.
"Ah suggest we pool our funds an offer a reward."
"That's an excellent idea!", Skorabor exclaims. "Let's get back to the goblin and post a sign!"
"Maybe ol Saul an tha others will throw in fer tha reward."
When you get back to the Gold Goblin, Saul is happy to provide materials for your sign, and says that he'll also chip in on the reward if somebody comes forward with information leading to Feldin's location. On your way out of the office, he calls you back. "Hold on, lads. There's a bit of news from our man that I sent down to the wharves to help out. He couldn't locate the missing cask, but he did find a few others items. I thought I should pass them on to you three."
Leaning down behind his desk, Saul grabs a pile of things and places it on the desk for you. "If you don't need them, perhaps we can sell them and add some more gold to the reward for poor Feldin."
Skorabor eyes the equipment on the desk. His eyes narrow's as they land on the shield and cloak. "How did he come by these?", he asks in a low rumble.
"The bouncer I sent down to the wharves to help out was given them as a thank you for his work. He brought them back here, and I thought you might like to have them."
"I recognize the cloak and shield as to belongin' to one of the dead down at the wharf. These things are stripped from the dead victimes of the wave. We're not grave robbers, these are goin' back", Skorabor says in a low tone that suggests he's doing his best to hold back the anger he's feeling.
Saul shrugs, as if it doesn't matter to him. "They are yours to do with as you wish. I would point out, though, that the shield and cloak in particular are very fine, and they would fetch a high price if sold. The dead have no use for these things, where you might. But they are yours to dispose of, if that is your wish."
"Then we shall sell some of these fine items an get a reward tha is sure tah have results!"
DM
Detect magic on the items...
Spellcraft
The cloak looks promising and I will try it on.....
"But he must have had a clan! These are not spoils of war, they're scavaged from a disaster like rats. Are we no better than vermin?!", Skorabor exclaims, clearly not believing what he's hearing.
"War certainly not in tha swamps though many meet with disaster there, things found on tha dead are taken an used, no high morality, nor low morality, tis simple survival...."
"tha shield is fine as any I ave seen take it and bear it an let it save yer life, I beleive tha man if asked would ave wanted you tah wield it when he can not."
As his loyal friend and a fellow Dwarf, he would want you to use these items in your quest to find him my friend. Davlamin says, clapping a hand on Skor's shoulder as he paces around the room, limping.
Saul raises his hands, shaking his head. "It seems your friends have slightly different views of these things than you do, Mr. Boulderback. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"
"This man died our friend he meant no offense to tha Skorabor, and yet through tha fates he fell and is no more...I believe this shield should protect and keep you friend Skorabor, tha you carry in honor o offenses given and forgiven...."
"A reminder o tha possibility tha anger can pass an somethin else can arise."
Skorabor expression is a mixture of agitation and disbelief. "This is graverobbery and by Torag i shall have no part in it!" the dwarf exclaims and marches out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Skorabor takes to the street to ruff up some ruffians about the whereabouts of Feldrin, but soon accepts that it is a futile chore and returns to the Goblin.
After Skorabor has left, Davlamin paces the room a little.
When we fought the moneylender, we were at a disadvantage with our current gear... Saul, could you see to it these items are sold to a reliable fence. Come up with some story to award the three of us a bonus, Skorabor took many wounds in our last battle and I would like to see him in some sturdier armour.
Diplomacy
"Indeed our dour friend has delicate sensibilities an those are best respected than skoffed at."
"He does seem a bit cantankerous, even for a Dwarf. Well, I'll see if I can find somebody willing to trade these things for something more to his liking. You're keeping the cloak? Well, then. That's the sword, the armor, and the shield to be traded, then. I'll see if I can dig up something for you, Mr. Jubilost. You seem to have gotten nothing out of this exchange." Saul moves the items not being claimed off to the side, then moves back behind the desk.
"I recall his interst being in magical studded leather armor of his general size, it seems wha we ave could easily secure such a thing."
"What say you Davlamin?"
That would probably suit me best, yes. You have my thanks.
"I'll see what can be found. Anything else, gentlemen?"
Skorabor's roughing up of neighborhood thugs has little result except for a handful of terrified thugs, a couple of amazed kids who start following him around, a black eye and a cut lip.
Skorabor rumbles back into the Goblin with a black eye and a cut lower lip. "Go home! There's nothin' here for you to see!", he yells to the gathering of kids before he marches to the bar and orders an ale. He snatches a cloth rag from the counter and holds it against his broken lip. "Fetch me some ice, will you", the dwarf orders the bartender then eyes anyone in the bar that might be looking at him.
"What are you looking at? This is but a scratch. They don't look to pretty themselves, i can tell you that!", Skorabor growls.
Once the dour dwarf has manages to down a few drinks....
"I thought an artist could make sure tha we get a flier out offerin a reward fer information."
"Saul is sellin some things tah get a reward amount an once we know tha amount we ken get tha word out..."
"Artist you say?", Skorabor mumbles with some of his troubles lost in a drunken haze. "What's wrong with plain writin'? Can't the bafoons of this wretched place read?", he adds gesturing wildly, knocking over his flagon in the process. He stares at his spilled drink with a mix of disbelief and irresolution.
"Read if we asked fer a dwarf an offered a reward 200 o em would shows up tryin tah claim they found yerself."
"Well, we'd ask for Feldrin back of course! If the rats of this place come draggin' some other dwarf then someone will soon be wrintin' a flier about them!", Skorabor anwsers between the occational splutter.
***bumpity bump bump****
"Once these poster hit tha streets we are sure tah get a response!"