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Aggie looks frozen for a moment as she tries to figure out what to talk about before settling on another one of the identities. "Are the Galtans here a lot as well? I heard people whispering in a funny way about this Jacks Falger fellow. What's the story there? It's so hard to follow all the politics while studying!"
Till coughs. "Ah, yes. Of course. I was just thinking that like-minded people such as yourself might know more. I was really hoping to hear her recite some of her work some time." He summons his most disappointed-seeming look. "Maybe, if I can't hear them for herself, do you at least have some of her work written down, or printed? It'd be a poor substitute, of course..."
When there is opportunity, he turns to his companions. "It took quite a bit of trouble to get here. Should we stick around a bit, order a drink and talk to some folk? Anything we may pick up could be useful."
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Arthur thanks Lorrin Meese with a quick bow. “I see, thanks Mr. Meese. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get myself a drink or two. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Arthur nods to Till, silently confirming his agreement to his colleague’s idea. The young lordling then makes his way to a table, and invites his fellow Pathfinders to join him. He sits down and starts looking around, trying to catch some interesting or potentially useful rumor.
If he doesn’t get any information with this method, Lord Arthur will try to discreetly ask around about Jaks Arunai. He will try not to arouse any suspicion, taking advantage of the fact that Jaks seems to be the man of the day. The Pathfinder will also offer a few rounds of drink to those he asks information to, if needed to make them more talkative. He will definitely avoid asking information to Galtans and Loyalists, tying to stick to those who are clearly members of the White Thistles.
When Till asks after Amalia’s poetry, he grimaces while sucking air through his teeth in an apologetic expression. “You know, normally, I'd love to help you out with something printed. But I'm sold out of the usual stuff. I have some chapbooks, but, well, they're signed copies. I've reserved them to sell to friends of the White Thistles… And I don't really know you that well, you know?”
---
Meese smiles at Lord Arthur as the young Taldan goes off to get a table and ask around for information. The White Thistles prove amiable and welcoming, happy to talk about Jaks Arunai. They seem to know as much about him as the Pathfinders already do: he's a relatively new poet who's quickly gained popularity among the White Thistles, and he plans to do his first live poetry reading two days from now. Arthur hears much praise for his verse: it has a generally warm reception, and if left unchecked certain White Thistles poets recite lines and offer insight and criticism on the man's poetry for longer than is perhaps necessary.
---
Before Lorrin Meese can answer Aggie’s question about Jacks Falger, a Chelish man (a Loyalist judging by his black and red coat and disdainful expression) rises from his seat to interrupt the conversation. “You wanna know about Jacks Falger, eh?” he asks. Judging by his breath, he's had maybe one too many glasses of wine. “I'll tell you about Jacks Falger. That one-eyed son of a b*%*! is a Galtan spy and a terrorist. And these mongrels are sponsoring him!” he shouts, whirling to point an accusing finger at the nearest Galtan: a woman, probably mixed Chelish and Mwangi heritage with close-cropped black hair and wearing a long gray duster, who's in the middle of drinking something from a mug. She coldly puts the mug down and stares daggers at the Loyalist.
“That's rich coming from you,” she sneers. “Us harboring a ‘terrorist’ when you all are the ones who filled the damn country with devils and destroyed the city.” The Chelish man makes a lip-curling sneer and storms over to her.
“You filthy rebels riot in the street, putting everyone's lives in danger!” he says, jabbing a finger into the woman's chest.
She stands up to face him, pushing his hand away. By this point, the tavern has grown quiet. “We didn't put up a blockade that has kids starving in the streets. Now, walk away,” she warns with a steely look.
“You're a menace to the peace!”
“You're right.”
“You're - wait, what?”
The Loyalist is briefly confused, before the Galtan woman explains what she means by socking the man in the face. He stumbles backwards and lands on a nearby table, knocking over some drinks and rubbing his jaw. He seems to consider his options for just a moment before lunging at her with a ready fist. The tavern erupts in shouting, with Galtans holding back their own from joining the melee, Loyalists doing the same for theirs, and White Thistles trying to get between everybody. Lorrin Meese looks to Chankings the iron golem, but it is busy standing in the way of a number of would-be interlopers and curious passersby outside. Meese looks nervously at the fist fight, then at the Pathfinders with an unhappy, pleading expression that says, Please, do something!
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"I could be mistaken," Arisha says turning towards the melee, "But I believe there's not supposed to be any fighting in this fine edifice of thought and art."
She concentrates momentarily on the area where the two are fighting and between the two factions. Then the ground is suddenly covered in slick oil, making it very difficult for the fighters to keep their footing.
The Irriseni also begins to fade from the Loyalist's vision.
Swift: Solipsism on the Loyalist in the fist fight (Arisha has Concealment for 1 round, then she has Invisibility).
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Niome was busy trying to get a drink when the fighting breaks out. "Oh bother" she moans, thinking about all the trouble this could cause. Hurrying to Arisha's side, she sees a lot of them go down in a slippery mess. "Nice" she'll say to the mesmerist before yelling out hesitantly "Um... drinking... instead of fighting. I'll buy a round if we can all calm down!"
But her volume or demeanor does little to get through to them.
When Arisha concentrates, the Pezzacki fighters suddenly find themselves moving on a slick floor. They both lose their footing and tumble to the ground.
---
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"...And I don't really know you that well, you know?”
While Till mulls over a way to win Meese's trust, the disagreement between the Loyalist and the Galtan quickly escalates. "Watch," he tells Meese with a wink when Arisha provides a distraction, and he makes his way to a clearly visible place and jumps on a table. "Fellow countrymen!" He shouts to get everyone's attentions, exaggerating his Chelish accent ever so slightly for emphasis. "Galtan guests, as well!" he adds in the hope of forestalling and heckling on that account. "We have our differences, but seeing all of you here together gives me hope as well." He speaks fast and with emphasis to catch the attention of the crowd, despite what had been occuring so far. "It remind me actually," he laughs as if remembering a joke, "of a story I heard once about a band of Taldan adventurers looking for a great treasure in the Verduran Forest..." He leaves a small pause for dramatic effect, but decides to give away the punchline already with his best smile. "As you would expect, that didn't go so well." Till is totally improvising, but he assumes that Chelaxians and Galtans could set aside their differences when Taldans are the butt of the joke.
He waits just a second for either laughter or heckling, but is determined to tell the story and defuse the situation. Till launches into an improvised one-person two-acter wherein a band of foppish Taldan adventurers head into the Verduran Forest to retrieve a great treasure. They constantly bicker among themselves, fall prey to mischievous faeries and snapping wolves and are eventually forced to retreat back home wearing just their smallclothes. It's a fast-paced and light-hearted story, but for those listening carefully he also injects some references to actual plays and classic texts.
Till is enjoying himself on his make-shift stage, and is quite confident in his ability to tell the story and entertain the crowd. The toughter, the better. As he finishes the story, he decides to push his luck. "Proud people of Pezzacki, I thank you for your attention. Please remember that we are all on this journey together. There's monsters in the woods, and we are not foolish Taldans. Take care of yourself, and each other. Thank you!"
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Arthur has always been proud of recognizing the spark of greatness in others. Since he was a child, he always loved to personally choose his servants and mentors, amusing himself in acting like a talent scout. And now, he has seen a glimpse of greatness in Till.
Knowing that his fellow Pathfinder is about to attempt something risky, Arthur tries to avoid others to interphere with its exhibition. Every now and then, he shouts some confirmations in order to corroborate Till's speech. "Right! Bravo!"
When Till explicitly criticizes the Taldans, though, the Pathfinder abruptly widens his eyes and stops helping his colleague. This is a delusion...You'd better have some good explanation for this, you cheliaxan devilsucker, otherwise...
Noam reaches the fallen pair of pugilists and pulls the Loyalist away as he struggles to his feet. The Galtan manages to get up as well, stepping around the greasy slick on the ground with a nod to the half-orc. “Thanks, stranger,” she says sincerely as she advances on the Loyalist once again. She stops in her tracks, though, when Aggie and Niome step in to deescalate. She sighs and admits, “Yeah, you're right. He's not worth it anyway…” The Loyalist tries to free himself from Noam’s grip, but even though he's still angry (as has a quickly blooming black eye), he seems calm enough. “Hands off! I'm done with this scum.”
At this point Till jumps up on a table and starts to command the crowd's attention. Chankings finishes at the door and takes a few huge, noisy steps into the tavern, standing over the combatants and pointing out the door. The Galtan and Loyalist both hesitate for a moment, enough that Chankings starts to reach out to grab them. To avoid its grip, they both hurry outside. With their comical spill and Till’s skillful performance, the crowd is back to a jovial mood in no time. The Chelish Loyalists enjoy a jab at their rival nation, the Galtans laugh at mocking the Taldan imperialism, and the White Thistles appreciate the artistry of the whole thing.
Lorrin Meese is beaming when Till finishes. “That was amazing! And thanks for helping out with that whole… situation. I was worried it would stay tense in here, but I think everyone has cooled off a bit.” Meese hesitates for a moment, but then puts up one finger in a gesture that means “wait one moment.” He disappears into a back room and comes back with a thin blue chapbook. Looking inside the front cover reveals a signature - Amalia Wraxton’s. “I know I said earlier that these were reserved, but… no one who puts on a performance like that could be anything but a friend to the arts! And being a friend to the arts means you're a friend to me and the White Thistles. I can even let this go for a discount. Say, a pound or so?”
---
Till makes an elaborate bow to receive the thanks of the audience, then climbs down off the table. In his rush of being on stage, though, he hasn't picked up at all that his story offended his companion. He claps Lord Ockham on the shoulder. "I could see you getting the crowd in the right mood. Thanks!" He then points out Lorrin Meese and mumbles that he has some business, leaving the Taldan nobleman.
The actor plays modest for Meese. "It was nothing, really. I enjoy giving a show like that, and I'm just glad I was along to prevent the mood from going sour the rest of the evening." He's genuinely thankful and surprised when the man presents him with a copy of Amalia Wraxton's work, and gladly pays the price. He shakes the man's hand in thanks and holds him close, whispering "I meant what I said up there, but that doesn't mean I consider all sides equally favourable. He gently taps the necklace with the ivory rose in it. White happens to be my colour. If you ever need anything, just try to get word to me and I'll do my best."
He hastily packs the volume of poerty and then rejoins his companions. "Thanks all," he says jovially, fulling in character as the dashing adventurer. "Isn't it great when one's talents allow one to make a difference?" He leans in close to Arisha for just a moment, speaking behind his hand. "It's Osmond." With that, it seems opportune to discuss their next destination. "Where next? Our friend has connections everywhere, so any place if as good as the others, I suppose. It might be a hornet's nest, but the Galtan's fortress is nearby. Fancy our chances there?"
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Lord Ockham politely but coldly stops Till's hand before it can touch his shoulder. "No big deal, Chelaxian". He insists a litte more than necessary on the ethnic adjective, remarking it with a smirk of reproach.
The young lordling makes a mental note for later, but for the moment he decides to put aside his personal business. "I think we should discuss our next move in a more private place", he dryly remarks. When the group reaches such a place, Arthur speaks first. "How does the Galtan fortress sounds? I believe we should be starting from there."
Till arches an eyebrow at Lord Ockham suddenly chill reception. What's that all about? He wants to make a snide remark about all of them letting their past allegiances go as Pathfinders, but it would break character, and the chance of being overheard is too big. He's about to make a similar comment that mentions the nobleman's Taldan origin when it suddenly hits him. Haha, of course. He'd be proud enough to let himself be offended by that story. Till decides to let Arthur soak in his pride for a while as he handles his business with Meese.
--
When Arisha asks for the volume of poetry later, Till easily hands it over. "Sure, you're welcome to study it for a bit. I'll want if back, though. I am an admirer of the arts, and it is a signed copy. Besides, it was a gift, even if one I had to pay for..." He takes a sideways looks at Lord Arthur, deciding whether to broach the topic of his story again. He decides against it, for the time being.
On the way out of the Inkwell, Arisha takes a look at Amalia Wraxton’s poetry. She doesn’t find any hidden messages, though. Unlike Madge’s nonsense, Wraxton’s verse is quite explicit about its meaning: rebellion is necessary against tyranny. Overall the writing is quite good, and Amalia is clearly as passionate about freedom for herself and her city as she is a careful crafter of metaphor, rhyme, and meter. Her biting wit is obvious, too, and it’s no surprise that one of her plays spurred a revolution and the subsequent violent response of the Chelish government.
As the Pathfinders make their way to the Glass on the Hill Theater, some of them occasionally catch a glimpse of someone peering at them from behind collapsed walls and boarded up windows. They’ll catch various Pezzacki tailing them, only to duck off into side streets when they think they’ve been caught. It’s unclear who exactly these spies work for or if they’re aligned with any faction, but they seem to be ever present and unavoidable.
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Amalia Wraxton’s Abrogail I premiered in this theater. Thus, the theater was also the epicenter for the Second Ashes, and today it is an abandoned, shattered ruin. Whether or not the rumors are true, it’s easy to see why most Pezzacki would think this place haunted. Its sad, charred remains are half collapsed in on itself. The burned out interior is visible from the outside, completely empty except for scattered debris and rubbish blown in by the wind. A breeze blows in, smelling of the sea air, which whistles ominously through the holes in the theater’s infrastructure, causing what remains standing of the building to creak and moan.
Even a thorough search of the building reveals nothing but ash. The whole process is eerie and lonely. It seems that not even the bravest or most brazen of tails following the Pathfinders through the city is willing to follow them here, to this depressing and abandoned place.
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After some time at the theater, the Pathfinders decide to head to Auntie’s, located among the maze of connected ships that make up Docktown. Even in Docktown’s chaotic jumble of ships, Auntie’s tavern still manages to stand out. Draped in bright curtains of white and red and bearing a huge, garishly painted former ship’s masthead of a woman as its sign—creatively augmented to hold two foaming mugs aloft, the three-story converted ship’s hold is perpetually packed with Pezzacki looking to drown their fears and boredom.
The proprietor of Auntie’s, an elderly halfling woman who goes by Auntie, gracefully weaves about the room, conversing with patrons and intervening when tempers flare. Aside from drunkards swilling watered-down ale, Auntie’s also features a clear view of the former Manukirt Trading Co. warehouse.
Auntie makes her way over to the Pathfinders when they enter, wiping her hands on her a thoroughly stained apron. “Academy students, eh? Haven’t seen so many of you in one place before in a while,” she remarks. “Can I get you anything? Need a table?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to try to find a place to cram in six students (and their goat) to a table in the crowded tavern.
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Lord Arthur is used to be at the center of the stage, to be observed and often criticized by whispering voices in the halls of the most exclusive parties of the Bearded class, in Taldor. With time, he learned to tolerate the constant sound of chatting nobles at his passage. But this, this is something completely different. The uneasy feeling the Taldan Pathfinder gets while walking through the streets of Pezzack on his way to the theater can be explained with the difference between being observed and being spied. Arthur definitely loves to be observed, but he hates being spied.
“Did you notice them, don’t you?”, he whispers through gritted teeth to his companions. “Although they may seem innocuous now, their presence here is a bad sign in itself. And I want to see right through it. If you don’t want to help me, at least try not to stop me.”
With that said, Arthur sets his plan in motion. First of all, he asks if one of his fellow Pathfinder is willing to aid him. If he gets an ally, he slowly puts some distance between him and his ally and the rest of the group, pretending to act naturally. Then, he turns into a narrow alley, leaving the main road. There, he tries to hide as well as he can, and then starts to follow his companions at a distance, paying attention to avoid being detected by the spies. As soon as he spots one of them, he tries to sneak to him/her, asking his ally to do the same but with the end of cutting out the spy’s most obvious escape route. His final aim is to get his hands on one of the spies, and make him/her talk. He’s especially interested in who hired the particular spy he finds, and for what purpose he/her was spying his group. If he gets what he wants, Arthur then knocks out the spy without killing it, just leaving it unconscious. He will also pay attention to hide his/her body, so that no one can steal from him/her while he/she’s asleep.
***
Once the Pathfinders reach the Glass on the Hill theater, Lord Arthur insists to make a thorough research of the place. “I know, it is only a ruin and several thousands of scavengers have probably already searched this place, especially considering the situation of this town, but…come on, we’re better than any Pezzacki scavenger!”
The research, however, turns out nothing but ash. Arthur wipes the dust off his clothes with a resigned expression, sighs and gets moving again, heading to Auntie’s, in Docktown.
***
Lord Arthur whistles his approbation for Auntie’s sign, adding a mischievous grin to it. “I like this place. And I swear, it’s not only for the masthead, which I appreciate…I had heard about this tavern from a friend of mine in Oppara, and he told me several stories about it”. Arthur laughs to himself. “Now, I’m going to find out where precisely he lied. He has always been a liar, it’s just a matter of seeing how many lies he told to me…” Realizing that none of his fellow Pathfinders would be able to understand his mumblings, Lord Arthur shrugs and enters Auntie’s tavern.
“Yes, milady, we’d like to have a table”, Arthur says with his best smile and an elaborated bow, “and I don’t ask for too much, we’d also like to get a place with a good sight. What about that?”, Arthur suggests, indicating a table from which the Manukirt Trading Co. warehouse can be seen clearly. If the table is already occupied, Arthur will use any means for ensuring the place he wants, paying up to the equivalent of 5 gp in bribe, that of course he will refer to as a tip.
Everything for the purpose of naturally taking the conversation to the point he’s interested in without arousing too many suspicions. “What about that warehouse?”, he will ask while sitting down, if he manages to get the table he wants, “I’ve heard someone is going to read some poetry there in a few days, isn’t it?”
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Niome opens her mouth to protest splitting the group up, worried he and anyone agreeing to go with him would be in danger that would best to be avoided. Well until they had no other choice. But Lord Author's eyes, more than his words, made her think closing her mouth is best. For now at least.
She doesn't disagree with him fully though, all the people watching them is unsettling. Do they know they are here for some purpose or are they just so desperate they want anything they can get their hands on? She pets her bird on her shoulder and worries.
"This is disappointing" the mage says plainly, standing in front of the once great theater. She doesn't see the point in searching this place now that it turns out to be nothing more than a burned out husk, but she follows the other's lead, moving things around with her magic in hopes to avoid most of the ash. Occasionally she'll mutter a few arcane words and concentrate to see if she sense any magic around.
At one point in the search, Lord Arthor disturbs a nest of obsidian beatles. All attempts at decorum and cleanliness are abandoned. On her hands and knees, filled with delighted gasps and the occasional "Oh My", she marvels at the majestic beauty of a particularly large speciman she's managed to coax onto her hand.
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Till has been uneasy with being watched as well, and nods at Lord Ockham's observation. "A daring and dashing plan. I love it. Not quite suited to my expertise, but I wish you the best of luck."
--
Once they reach the ruined theater, Till quickly figures that searching it is a fool's errand. Still, they have to make the effort. The place makes him melancholy and philosophical, and he starts talking, as if an off-screen narrator where describing his actions. "Despite their better judgement, the six roll up their sleeves and start the bleak task of finding something of us in the burned-out theater. It is a grim task that reminds them of the volatile nature of the situation. How bad have things grown, when even a place dedicated to the Arts isn't safe from the ravaging of Man?"
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Niome gives a friendly nod and a little smile to Auntie as they are greeted. Weaving their way to the table as Arthur talks she looks around. It is easy to imagine this place in better times, full of laughter and warmth, instead of desperate attempts to be normal.
Once seated she catches on to what Arthur is doing so she'll what the elderly Halfling woman for her reaction to his questions.
After the bleakness of the theater, Docktown is a welcome change of venue for Till. "It does me good to see that some people just want to go on with their lives, and make it the best they can with what they have. It's a sort of tenacity that you have to admire, isn't it?" His smile is back by the time that they enter Auntie's. "Good morning, ma'am. We've been hard at work this morning, and could use something to drink with a decent conversation to go with it."
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Aggie looks a little timid as Ockham asks for a volunteer. "Ahh, I'm not too sneaky. I can attract attention though!"
Once Ockham tries to track down one of the spies trailing them, Aggie tries to make herself more interesting. As she walks, her little goat bleats before it starts levitating and glowing as it trails behind her. She then starts whispering meaningless nonsense in a clandestine tone to Arisha.
Aggie looks supremely depressed by the destroyed theatre, and pokes around the debris.
Letting Ockham do the talking, Aggie just keeps a keen eye out on the bar, looking for anything of interest or any unusual behaviour in anyone.
Lord Arthur hits upon a cunning plan to catch a spy alone. However, he is not the first to spy on a spy. His attempts are met with Pezzacki ducking down alleyways or disappearing from the cracks between boards and crumbling rock walls. No matter where he goes, there is a good chance that someone has a good angle to watch what he's doing. It might have been accurate to say the city was infested at one point; now, however, it's more appropriate to say that this place has become a natural home for scheming eyes and ears, and the Pathfinders have rather entered the spy’s nest.
---
Auntie leads the “students” to a booth near the window at Arthur's request. They have to cram themselves in to all fit, and the goat Aratare bleats softly from underneath the table. Auntie places her hands on her hips as the Pathfinders ask her questions.
“Poetry?” she asks Arthur. “I haven't heard anything about it. But then I'm not much of one for poetry. I hear all sorts of wild stories about that Amalia Wraxton, but who hasn't?” she asks with an inscrutable grin. Inscrutable to all but Niome, perhaps. She gets the sense that Auntie seems honest enough, but perhaps is a bit fond of repeating stories that interest her regardless of whether she knows they're true. A harmless enough rumormonger.
Arisha and Aggie in the meantime survey the tavern patrons. They are not quite as agitated as the folks in the Inkwell. While the latter was full of buzzing revolutionaries (with the occasional Loyalist), this place is more crowded but more subdued. The patrons are for the most part keen on sticking with small groups of acquaintances and friends or else keen on their drinks. It seems the most common beverage is a cheap, watered down grog, which the various laborers and other Pezzacki here are content to drown their cares in.
Auntie smiles at Till’s request. “There's plenty to drink, young man. And plenty of conversation, too - you've got yourselves, but I imagine you students have to get out eventually and see what else exists in the world, yes? The drunks around here are pretty loose lipped if you feel like getting a ramble out of them. And of course, I always love to hear the latest news. Why don't I get you all a round of drinks and you can pay me by giving Auntie an entertaining chat?” Auntie doesn't wait for an answer before she slips away into the crowd and manages to gracefully weave her way back with six mugs of cheap, thin grog. “So, what kind of conversation shall it be? Telling Auntie about the academy? Or is there something you wanted to ask me? The pleasure is all mine, either way. It's so hard to find nice, polite young people like yourselves these days!”
Till feels like he's being pushed in a direction he might come to regret. He's rather hear stories of local affairs than have to tell them. Luckily, Arisha seems equally keen to spinning a tale and making it just believable enough. "Aye," he concurs with his companion. "Could have come to blows as well. Lucky it didn't... The Galtans are probably up to something" he adds with a rueful smile. "Aren't they always? It'd be good to know, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather also hear of what goes on in Docktown here. It's good to know there are people who just try to make the best of their lives, despite all the tension in the town."
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“Would you be interested in it?”, ironically asks Lord Arthur to Auntie. “No, with your permission milady, the academy can wait. We’re here to have a good night together…and to ask some questions”. Arthur smiles brightly and lets his companions do most of the talk, not wanting to continually steal the spotlight from them. Anyway, in order to support their attempts, he chimes in the conversation twice: the first time, he adds emphasis to Arisha’s question, in the hope of making it more credible (“Oh yes, that was…resounding!”); the second time, he nods to Till’s question about Doctown and adds: “Well yes, we’re quite separated from the world in the academy…but we still care for this city.”
Auntie nods at Arisha. “I’ve nothing against Lorrin Meese, but I can’t say that tavern of his doesn’t attract troublemakers of all sorts. I haven’t heard that much specifically about those Galtans lately. They get into the occasional brawl with the Loyalists, but I think they mostly stay in that slapped-together fortress of theirs,” Auntie answers. She looks sternly at the Pathfinders and points a scolding finger at them. “I wouldn’t go near that place if I were you. They don’t let anyone in, anyway, and you all are better off sticking to your studies to make something productive of yourselves.”
At Till’s question, Auntie goes off on a long rambling account of what the major (and minor) happenings around Pezzack have been. Most of it are things that the Pathfinders already know or are unrelated to their mission. At one she does bring up one of Olandril’s personas, though: “Say, have you kids heard about Jaks Telandril? He works a lot of odd jobs around here, mostly adding stories to ships. I figure you might know a thing or two, since the rumor is that he’s been trying to start a new magic item business. Word is that he’s up to his ears in debt trying to get it off the ground, though. They also say,” Auntie adds, leaning in with a sly grin and conspiratorial tone, “that he’s romantically involved with Amalia Wraxton.” She laughs. “I don’t know how true any of that is, but it’s interesting, yes? Anyway, I’ve idled long enough, even though it’s been nice chatting. I should get back,” Auntie says, dismissing herself. She weaves through the crowd, snapping at bickering patrons and heading off to the kitchen to tend to things.
After Auntie leaves, a man leans over the booth edge from the table adjacent, a Chelish man with long, shaggy hair and an unkempt beard. He seems to have been drinking alone, and drinking a lot judging from how he smells. “Hey. Hey. I heard you all was asking about the, uh, the, uh, warehouse?” he asks, swaying slightly and blinking slowly with the torpor of drunkenness. “I saw somethin’ real, uh, real weird last night when I was over there…” he trails off before grabbing his mug and taking a drink. Some of the grog spills down his face and he uses the back of his hand to absentmindedly wipe off his mouth. “Damn near thought I was losing my mind… I saw some begoggled ghost dive into the water near there. I thought I was just, uh, seeing things… until that damned specter rose from the sea holding some bone-white staff, and scurried out like it was nothing…”
At this point another person, a Chelish woman with arm tattoos who appears to be on the serving staff, comes over. She looks condescendingly at the drunk man and crosses her arms. “Robillard, are you still telling people about your drunkard visions? Leave these people alone, they’re just trying to enjoy their drinks in peace, all right? Don’t make us have to kick you out again, alright?” Turning to the Pathfinders she sighs and her expression softens. “I’m sorry he’s bothering you. If he keeps being a nuisance, just let us know and we’ll make sure he stops. Isn’t that right, Robillard?” she asks the drunk man. He seems to take a while to focus on what she’s saying, then makes a dismissive gesture with a wave of his hand and goes back to his own table.
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After realizing there's not much to learn out of the clientele, Aggie turns to look at the man who had just started talking to them. "I can't tell much from him, but I also know that booze doesn't make you see things. I stop getting my visions when I drink - it does the opposite. We should look into it.
"We may want to check out this Amalia Wraxton as well. Has that name come up before?"
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"Really?" Arisha says to Auntie in a scandalous tone, "And for someone who is the bastard son of Abrogail Thrune, no less, to be involved with such a revolutionary!"
"Yes," the Irriseni answers Aggie later, "She wrote Osmond's blue book that he's so excited about and started the White Thistles, I believe. Before she went into hiding." She looks around the tavern. "More pressingly, I wonder if anyone knows where to find Jacks Telandril. If not, maybe we should simply try the shipyards."
Till is a gracious listener, nodding and asking the occasional question as Auntie tells her stories. "That's certainly an interesting rumour," he replies in the same conspiratorial tone. He cringes slightly at Arisha's addition. Does that really help, to add more notice to him? He tries a different approach. "Would be nice if it were true, wouldn't it? Like a modern-day Romero and Juliana?" He thanks her for her time and watches her leave, thinking on what he learned when they're interrupted by the shaggy drunkard. He remains stoic as the man - Robillard tells his drunken tale, but has the same hunch as Niome.
"You're right," he whispers back. "I have a mind to check out the warehouse, but it might draw too much attention. Maybe it's about time we return to the Professor? Or we could try Gold Street. Lost of people coming and going there, maybe people know who's been buying magic stuff."
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Arthur listens to everything Auntie says with attention, although his eyes are fixed on the warehouse for all the time. He adds some comments and laughs when needed, but in truth he's registering information into his mind rather than asking for more.
When the drunkard comes to the table, Arthur reacts with instinctive disdain, and thanks the tattooed woman for driving him away. "That smell was disgusting...", he comments. When the woman goes away, however, Arthur immediately turns his expression of disdain into one of interest. "I believe we should check the warehouse now. Or at least this evening. In any case, before attending to the poetry reading", he explains to his companions. "In the worst case, we're going to get a distinct idea of our surroundings for when we'll be attending to the reading. believe we should check the warehouse now. Or at least this evening. In the best case,
however...we could unveil some precious information."
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Auntie is satisfied to have the price of the drinks covered by a conversation with fresh faces. By the time the Pathfinders are up out of their booths and on their way out, the drunken Robillard is passed out, asleep on the table still clutching his mug in one hand. Resolved to go to the warehouse where Jaks Arunai, aka Olandril plans to do his poetry reading, the leave Auntie’s behind for a less crowded venue.
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The Pathfinders approach the Manukirt Trading Co. warehouse once the sun has set, intent on reconnaissance. The warehouse is a large but fairly unremarkable building: a rectangular building made of uneven stones with a peaked red roof. It looks a bit big for a place where a poetry reading will take place, even for someone popular.
The building is tall enough to have two stories, and several wide, peaked windows are set into the building high up on the walls, probably a dozen or so feet off the ground. The windows are shuttered with wood, and thick iron bars are set into each one to discourage trespassers and theives.
Likely the seating won’t take up the whole warehouse space. The words “MANUKIRT TRADING COMPANY” are painted above a pair of stout metal doors in black. The doors are, predictably, locked and sturdy.
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