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"I do so hope we don't end up in the same cell woodcutter, I'm sure you smell worse than any dungéon" Says Lysaer in all seriousness, "But let's get this over with then "
He steps into the Oyster's interior, aghast at the level of filth in the place, reminding him of the alleyways back home. He looks at the barman with fierce eyes.
"Assuming this is a drinking establishment, it would be customary to offer those that walk in a drink, though I hope you know what a clean glass is"
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Boldren leans over and quietly talks to Lysaer, "I would say you are probably the most intimidating one in our little group. If you approach the barkeep and let on that you know about his dealings with the less than quality pearls, you could intimidate him into helping us. Preferably he could point out the guys we are looking for."
"Harumph. Chelish wine? Whaddya fink tis is, some fancy-schmancy place?"
"Pal" waves at his assistant who wanders back to the kitchens, and sets about filling the orders. You could swear the "best" local wine is served from a box.
One or two of the locals in this mostly-empty tavern look up as you enter. Clearly you aren't typical for a place like this. When they see nothing is in immediate danger of being smashed, they go back to complaining and gambling in low voices.
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Lysaer looks at Boldren and whispers just one word in Reply "Fine with a resigned sigh, he looks at Oddr and gives him a nod. Placing his gauntlets reluctantly on the bar he leans forward to catch the barman' eyes and stares for a moment before speaking softly.
"You may recognise who I represent, now without any unnecessary commotion, you are going to help us. We know of your secondary business and its lack of quality. We don't want a share of the profits, just information. Two men, unlikely to be regulars plan on meeting here., all you have to do is come over to our table with a drink and tell us who they are and no one else has to know."
Paltus Flynter looks properly cowed. He grimaces as he speaks. "One 'o the men ye be seekin' be Sareth Markell, o' House Locosta—they be the ones wif the spice trade, as ya surely knows. He do bus'ness wif me from time to time, but i' seems ye already knows 'bout that."
"Fine. I'll letchyoo know when 'e arrives."
He grumbles and makes some excuse to get back to spreading the film of dirt more evenly across the bar.
Oddr is served another mug.
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Lysaer gestures to the others and takes a seat at the same table as Oddr, though taking the seat furthest away.once they gather, or to whoever takes the hint and sits down he reveals the information the bartender gave him.
"the contact from House Locasta is named Sareth Markell and is known to the proprietor, I have instructed him to tell us who he is when he enters, now the question is, how are we going to disturb the meeting?"
Noon comes. A man, slightly better dressed than the other layabouts in the tavern finds a table, alone. Only a few minutes later, another man enters and Paltus nods to Lysaer.
As the second man (presumably Sareth) sits, Calypso pours beer in his lap.
"Come off it, witch! By the nine hells, watch what you're doing!" He stands, irritated with her, but with enough sense not to throw the first punch against someone whose hair moves.
Boldren uses a mage hand to tip the man's own mug into his lap, increasing the man's frustration.
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Calypso smiles sweetly as she gets into her role, perhaps overacting by a factor of ten.
"I thought we had something! How could you just leave after that kiss...that kiss that will never be forgotten!? How COULD YOU!!!"
Her hair reaches to her sides, grabs two more mugs, and she dumps them on the man. She slaps his face, turns on her heel, and prepares to leave.
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Obviously fed up by the circus show enacted by his team mates, Lysaer pushes himself up from his seat, his face a mask of thunderous rage. Placing himself in between calypso and the poor sodden sap he speaks quietly and his voice is full of menace.
"Look, some of us are trying to drink in peace and this display is hardly productive of a relaxing atmosphere. he says to the both of them! before of turning on the ale drenched man I suggest you apologise and leave, before this gets any more out of hand"
Calypso's theatrics, while entertaining, are unfortunately not convincing. They do, however, make Sareth quite angry.
Oddr steps in, yet despite his gruff voice manages to only be about as intimidating as a gnomish girl scout selling cookies.
The racket rises, with yelling and sputtering (and a great deal of spilled drink), when Lysaer rises, and with a voice that is part nails on a chalkboard and part whetstone over sharpened steel suggests an apology is in order. Sareth is immediately silent, clearly intimidated by the Chelaxian half-elf in the disturbing armor. he mumbles something incoherent, and hurries out. His companion, cowed, looks up at you, then excuses himself quickly and promptly exits in a different direction.
All seems to settle down. Patrons return to their seats, and Pal peeks back out over the counter.
That's when the guards arrive. (They're not in a particular hurry ... they must have been nearby.)
"Arrest her!" Paltus yells, pointing at Calypso. "The witch started breaking my glasses and harassing my customers for no reason! She''ll ruin me!"
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"Since when do you arrest someone for a lover's quarrel?!" Calypso retorts angrily.
"I didn't break anything...just spilled a drink (or two). I will admit that perhaps I was too irate. I shouldn't have spilled the drinks on that oh-too-handsome devil! But he broke my heart!"
The tiefling places several gold on the counter.
"I do apologize!" she says to the rest of the patrons. "Please enjoy a round on me...and one for the loyal guards of this town, as well!"
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Lysaer throws a baleful glare at the barkeep, promising retribution if things go awry. He rolls he shoulders and turns to the local town guards rolling his eyes.
"I apologise your time is wasted, as you can see there is no fresh broken glass, just a spat between her and a man who has already fled a woman's ire. Now, may I suggest you sample the true pearl of this establishment, eh barkeep?"
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"If I may, I have been sitting over here for the entire ordeal. I have to say that the two gentlemen that were setting at that table were causing the ruckus. In fact I watched as one of them accidentally dumped his own ale on himself during the altercation. If it wasn't for this man here," Boldren points at Lysaer, "I'm afraid that the ale covered guy, would have torn up the place."
After adding in his two coppers worth of testimony, Boldren sits back down at his previous table.
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As the group wages a verbally intimidating war against the proprietor, Boldren makes his way beside the man. Leaning forward, he begins to whisper into the man's ear.
"Be rid of these guards or I'm going to turn you and your black-market contact over to the authorities. In addition to that, I will make sure the consortium knows you are the one who let the cat out of the bag. If you smooth this situation out, and excuse the guards, your losses will be compensated and we will leave peacefully with no one the wiser about your skullduggery."
Paltus cowers before Theleb's stare, and Boldren's whispered threats only make Paltus retreat further. He looks on the verge of tears.
"Ah, thank 'ou, then, er.., eh, m'ster guardsm'n, sirs. I believin' it be all sorted out, now. Sorry for yer troubles. Maybe stop by for a fr—, for a round on your way off duty, eh?"
The guards look puzzled, and eye the armed party warily (and Calypso suspiciously), but nod, and depart.
Paltus faces Boldren, still a bit cowed, and asks meekly, "Yous said you'd be makin' me whole, wif some good coin, master?"
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Boldren nods and pulls out a coin pouch. "I would be willing to make this worth your time. That's assuming you happen to forget you ever saw us, if you know what I mean."
Boldren pauses a moment, then pulls out five gold pieces. After concentrating a moment, the five gold float over to the barkeep and deposit themselves on a near by table.
"Believe me when I tell you that I will know if you tell anyone about us."
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Seeing that the guards have given up without blood needing to be shed, Lysaer relaxes perceptibly and turns on the barma, his voice low.
"Clever Man"
He the. Gestures to his comrades in arms before pulling out the scroll with the possible tasks written in it. He studied it for a moment before speaking again.
"Now this debacle is over, shall we press on to the next task? And this time, maybe without cheap theatrics?"