“Yeah. For some weird reason, everyone wants to be to be in Gryffinportal. I do Statistical Hypothesis Testing on this every year, and the result is always the same.”
Poppo takes out a goose quill pen filled with red ink and marks Dave’s handbill with a B+ “The Inkwell is where the arty types brag, gossip and get drunk. It basically is a tavern.”
A former fortress on the north seafront, the stonework Inkwell inn is fairly empty in the hour after dawn when you arrive. Entering under the stern gaze of a mechanical doorman, you notice a couple of Sea Singers seated at a table with their breakfast of small beer. They grumble loudly as they spot Manius.
A fit, dark-haired man with a waxed moustache and prominent widow’s peak, stands behind the bar with his head in his hands as he reads a hand-printed flyer.
He looks up as you enter, attempts to smile, but ends up wincing as he rubs his temples in greetings. “Morning. My head aches too much to say it’s a good ‘un. Most artists and students of the Academy are still tucked up warm in bed.”
“Forgive me. My name is Lorrin Meese. I own the place. What brings you gents and your pet Hellknight here at this hour? And what do you all study? Does the Academy offer degrees in leg-breaking now?”
Map! is linked at the top of page! Place yourselves wherever you like.
As Jake mentions the name of one of Olandil’s aliases, one of the Salts in the corner makes the comment “I knew it!”
“Let me get this straight.” Meese is calm but clearly not impressed with your story. “‘Students’ I’ve never seen before, bring an armed Loyalist into my bar and begin asking questions about one of my patrons without even ordering a cup of coffee?”
|
"Coffee. Oh no, we are not that kind of student. We are scholars of ecumenical sort. We believe in mixing a half dozen total strangers into stressful situations and study the complex social interactions. Finding a Loyalist willing to go along with the experiment is half the battle so to speak. So no coffee for us, but how about a round for me and my friends ."
Meese stares stony faced at Omar. “All right. A round of small beer for you and your friends.”
The barman smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The Inkwell has introduced a new community-friendly policy regarding the responsible serving of alcohol. Before noon, non-members must drink outside."
"The total bill – including taxes and tips comes to 100gp worth of trade goods."
“I suspect you gentlemen would have more luck with your questions at Aunty’s or the Throne Defiant. But to show there’s no hard feelings, I’ll throw in a copy of the flyer I’m reading and offer you a limited edition chapbook of poetry by Pezzack’s own Prima Donna, Amalia Wraxton for the bargain price of another 50gp.”
“Good day to you now. I’ll have Chanklings, my doorman bring you your drinks and make sure you don’t get harassed while you enjoy them Alfresco on this beautiful morning.”
|
Steve nods in and out of attention and speaks to the barman after being told to drink outside. "Hmm? No, thanks on the pasta; too much dairy gives me gas." He will front the 150gp bill (bok included, in case it has secret bribe clues), not quite remembering the Inter-Agent Financial training back in the Grand Lodge said about reimbursement between agents on a mission.
Once outside, Steve wrinkles out a frown. "By the elven honeyed buns, the briefing guy was right, I'm gonna have to take the lead on the talkin' here. That said, we needin' to get a story. And I gotta get one of you to give me a bit of a loan... Steve digs an ancient shawl out of a bag."
Steve gestures to the tiefling, "Yer' in the minority here if'n I'm remembering my Internal politics right. Maybe you should be carrying more stuff."
A momentary pause while Steve drifts off onto naptowne is followed by a snap awake, "Oh,one's them singin' gals is that Cold lady we are lookin' for. I guess I'm gonna have to schmooze my way back in."
Chanklings clanks through the doorway into the open air and distributes watery ale in a paper cups to everyone except Manius.
The Hellknight Armiger's cup is filled with a frothy viscous fluid, slightly greenish in color.
Jake and Dave are served with the book of poetry, while Steve receives Meese’s flyer.
While the iron golem acts as bus-boy, you hear the unmistakeable sound of the Inkwell’s doors being SLAMMED shut and barred from the inside.
A southern Andoran drawl can be heard from inside. “Meese has left the buildin’.”
“You Loyalist spies are better off drinkin’ someplace else. Chanklings can point you to wherever you want to go. Now git!”
Like the sound of an enormous bellows, the iron golem takes a deep breath before raising a huge arm in anticipation of the direction you give him.
|
Abraxi continues having trouble following the thread of the next conversation, and remains quiet in the tavern.
Watching two men in the back of the bar, Abraxi distractedly allows himself to be ushered outside and takes the paper cup offered. Smelling the contents, he glances at Steve with a guarded, confused look when the elderly elf addresses him. "Carry more stuff?"
When Steve mentions the poet/singer, Abraxi nods in agreement, shocked into more silence by the lucidity of his elderly companion.
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.
A middle-aged halfling woman, gracefully weaves about the room, conversing with patrons and intervening when tempers flare.
Eventually she makes her way over to you and bids you to take a seat in the tap room. “Welcome, nephews! I am your Aunty. What will you have?”
Aunty's face takes on a puzzled – then knowing expression as she takes in your robes and Manius’ armor. “Aaaah, you’ll be the boys that put the wind up Old Meese this morning.” The halfling *winks* “Nothing stays a secret for long in this town.”
“Now, let me get this straight, you took a Hellknight Armiger into the White Thistles’ den? Oh, that is HILARIOUS! Clearly you’re not from around here.” She *giggles* “You've got guts though, I’ll give you that.”
“Anyway, welcome to Docktown – where everything is for sale. And I mean everything - if you can afford it that is …”
“Mateweiser’s on tap. Hey, don’t turn your nose up at it – we’re under siege! It’s rare to have any draught beer at all.”
“We also have wine, spirits and even harder … stuff. Just name your poison, gramps.”
Aunty’s face takes on an innocent expression. “We were restocked last night. Our suppliers had an interesting story about bringing people into Pezzack, rather than out of it.”
“Five Pathfinders and a senile elf, apparently. Interesting, huh?”
She pats Omar’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll have Phelerosa come and take your order. Don't be afraid to ask her for ... whatever.”
A young Chelaxian woman with mussed hair and wearing heavy makeup arrives shortly after to take your order. “I’m Phelerosa and I’ll be your waitress today.”
While Phelerosa takes out a pencil to take your order, an elderly patron shuffles past and bumps Omar’s chair. “Oh excuse me, young man. I’m still a bit wobbly on my feet, even two weeks’ after the event.”
He leans down to speak into the half-elf’s ear. “All on account of seeing the Slender Man rise outa the harbor just afore midnight … holding up a human arm!”
“OK that’s enough, Grampa Simpson.” The exasperated waitress shoos the old man away from Omar. “How about you sit with Mr Steve for a while and you two can discuss how much better life was under the Runelords or something.”
Aside from drunkards swilling ale and watery grog, Jake’s position offers him a clear view of an old warehouse across Fat Harbor to the south-west.
“I believe they’ve just tapped a fresh keg, Ser Jake. I’ll fetch you a pitcher momentarily.”
The serving girl *sighs* “I wish I could afford to go to the Academy. Drinking and playing games all day sounds like a wonderful life.”
|
|
Abraxi follows along and sits quietly at the table as the server speaks to them. After she leaves, Abraxi leans forward. "We should exercise more caution. We appear to be the talk of the town."
Sitting back, he stares out the window at the warehouse. "This "Aunty" apears to suspect us of being Pathifnders. Should we trust taking her into out confidence?"
|
Dave calls the serving girl over and gives her a wink.
"What will it cost for me to.... slight pause for effect
... buy a round for everyone in the bar right now? These good people look like they could use a drink. I know I need one.... Make that two. Do you want money or trade goods?
Assuming it's not outrageously expensive, Dave buys a round for everyone.
Phelerosa gives the Pistoleer a playful slap on the arm.
“Nobody has accepted gold crowns in Pezzack for a long time, Mister Dave.” The young woman lifts here eyebrows and nods. “Perhaps the rumors about a group of foreign agents in town are true.”
“10gp in trade goods buys you a fair amount of liquid goodwill at Aunty’s. But if you’re Eagle Knights or Bellflowers …” The woman looks doubtfully at Manius and Abraxi. "I’d keep that info to yourselves."
"There are rumors Admiral Sawndannac is losing patience, and the interference of a foreign power could be the spark that sets this powderkeg off."
“Well, lets see …”
“Are any of you in classes given by that crazy gnome, Professor Poppo? He’s been spendin’ a lotta time at the Inkwell lately drowning his sorrows.”
“He tells people it’s related to failed magical research – but everyone knows he’s sweet on the little alchemist widow in town. She could well be stringing him along to pump him for info. Her husband was an Order of the Gate Hellknight killed by the Strix during the Second Ashes.”
✎✎✎✎
“Oh, Grimy Rick was in earlier today – looking a bit nervous. I’m not surprised. He owes Bruck, Docktown’s ‘mayor’ a TONNE of money after his idea for a Magic Item Mart failed to get off the ground.”
“Rumor has it he’s doing odd jobs for the Loyalists to earn enough to pay the interest on his loan.” She shakes her head. “Those bastards will only give him the dirtiest, most dangerous jobs – and I should know!”
♛♛♛♛
Phelerosa points at the warehouse across the harbor. “That old building that has Ser Jake fascinated is the Manukirt Trading House Warehouse. One of the local White Thistles is supposedly presenting a one-person play there today at noon.”
She *sighs* dramatically. “I’d love to go but wouldn’t dare risk it on my own. It’s such a pity nobody has asked me to go with them.”
|
|
Omar will strike up a tune with the other rabble in the bar, trying to get a jovial atmosphere.
"Blame it all on my roots ♪♫♪♫ ♪♫
I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair
The last one to know
The last one to show
I was the last one you thought you'd see there
And I saw the surprise
And the fear in his eyes
When I took his glass of champagne
And I toasted you
Said "honey, we may be through"
But you'll never hear me complain
'Cause I've got friends in low places ♪♫♪♫ ♪♫
Where the whiskey drowns
And the beer chases my blues away
And I'll be okay
I'm not big on social graces
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis
Oh, I've got friends in low places
The crowd goes wild as Omar finishes his ballad.
The skald inspires Phelerosa to try a song, though she looks little uncomfortable. “Will you sing a duet with me, Omar?”
♪♫ I call them wrong
The ones who face Golarion alone
No team - they think to get by on their own
When they meet a devil, they will take the fall …
Standing outside the fire,
Standing outside the fire …
Life is not tried,
It is merely survived
If you’re standing outside the fire. ♪♫
|
|
Omar, with a grin, will bow and continue singing with the woman.
♪♫♪♫ ♪♫
Well I guess I was wrong
I just don't belong
But then I've been there before
Everything's all right
I'll just say goodnight
And I'll show myself to the door
Hey I didn't mean
To cause a big scene
Just give me an hour and then
Well I'll be as high
As that ivory tower
That you're livin' in
♪♫ We call them Old School
Who choose to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and play the game
That always comes with being burned … frozen, clawed, slashed, clubbed, swallowed whole …
But you gotta be tough
When consumed by desire
‘Cos it’s not enough
Just to stand outside Hell Fire ♪♫
"You know Grimy Rick? I’ll take you to that play if you can set up a meeting with 'im.."
Phelerosa looks at Dave like he’s just arrived from Akiton. “Of course I know him. EVERYONE knows Grimy Rick! Well … everyone from Pezzack anyway.”
“After the show, he’ll likely come back here or maybe head over to the Throne Defiant. But that’s OK. I know someone there that will let us jump the queue to get in. Introducing you to Rick shouldn’t be a problem.”
As the details get worked out, you hear the squeaky creaking of a rickety cart being pushed along the waterfront by a knobby-headed goblin wearing a woollen scarf to disguise his face. An old Varisian woman walks beside the cart crying …
“Oh, Dave!” Phelerosa gushes. “I need to go and get ready. But do yourself a favor and go and get a bite of Old Madge’s noodles – they are SCRUMMY!”
She hesitates before rushing off. “Don’t let that witch charge you any more than 5gp a bowl. Oh … and can you and your friends bring some up for me, please? I'll be in Room 8A upstairs.”
“Any of youse, Crowclaws?”
Madge inspects each of you with her nose nearly brushing your robes.
“I’ve heard of mature-aged students but YOU’RE ridukulous!” She advises Steve. “You won't be chasing many co-eds clinging to a walking frame, grandad!”
The addled noodle-pedlar tells Abraxi bluntly. "You're a tiefling!"
After looking over Manius, she does a double-take and inspects him once more from underneath her spectacles. “Yeah, Slimyhen robes make you look sooooo much less like a Hellknight - NOT!”
For 5gp worth of trade goods Madge serves up a bowl of her signature seafood noodles, which despite their gray, slimy appearance, are quite delicious.
“Don’t forgit some for your girlfriend,” The old woman advises Dave. “I hear her clients keep her busy all hours of the day and night. Her family would be quite proud.”
“You’ll do.” Madge says finally, thrusting a few sheets of rumpled paper onto Omar. “This here’s Emmy Winter’s poetry homework for Poppo. I mighta improved on it a tad.”
The poem reads:
Do fingernails sing?
How do elves sporulate?
Can the circumference of the moon dream of rain and fish?
Which when deciphered using a classic method taught by Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng reads:
I am giving the performance of my life as Emmy Winters today at noon.
As the curtain falls, I will elude my beloved fans by way of the guts.
Follow me if you want to live.
OLANDIL
|
|
Steve will take a glass of the communal pitcher converses with Grandpa about the old days and how kids these days don't remember the "Pre-Aroden hoity-toity drudgery that was old Humankind" (regardless of the fact that his new acquaintance was likely not born years ago. He will listen to tales of lake monsters, if it comes up.
---
At the mention of pasta Steve reiterates that "Alfresco Sauce makes me gassy."
---
Assuming someone shows or reads him the poem, "You get that space brain talk out of here. That ain't real poetry. You ever try to rhyme something with adanedhel?"
|
|
Dave sings along with the last verse of Friends in Low Places. He sings enthusiastically, if not skillfully.
"That's a dang good song." Dave bobs his head in appreciation.
Dave then buys two orders of noodles.
After a few seconds, Dave picks up on the meaning of clients keeping her busy and rushes upstairs to take the noodles to Phelerosa.
|
|
Abraxi is startled from his silent reverie as iis race is bluntly pointed out. "Aye, I am."
When Manius leans over, Abraxi bearly jumps from his seat, then looks up to stare at the woman. "Your right. I forgot about that. The Paracountess will have my jewels in a sling, and not in the way she usually does!" He says quietly.
Motioning to the more verbose party members, he whispers. "We need to find out everything we can about her. Maybe she'll accept the invitation to the show...."
Looking up, he says. "Eh, yes, noodles sound good..."
Madge nods approvingly at Abraxi’s calm response. “You’re a bit thicker skinned than some Plane-touched I know. That’ll be an asset to you in later in life – assuming you make it out of Pezzack alive …”
"You get that space brain talk out of here. That ain't real poetry."
"Listen, Elfy. ‘Eldritch Horrors from the Dark Tapestry’ are more than a mite popular on this rock we indigenous call Golarion."
"If’n you don’t like it, I’ll wager you know where the nearest elf-gate is. You can always take ya yella keister back to Castrovel, just like ya do every time it gets a little tough for ya!"
"You ever try to rhyme something with adanedhel?"
“Nuh.” Madge replies tartly. “That ol’ Taldan Prof’s gotta lot to answer for!”
“Anyways, Pops. I can understand if ya won’t try my noodles to prevent a badgrainsmell escaping.”
As Dave (and the others) head back up the stairs in search of the elusive Room 8A, a number of Aunty’s patrons give you a knowing *wink* and smile.
A knock at Phelerosa’s door elicits a cheerful/time-stressed. “Come in!”
As you enter the rather untidy bedsit you find your hostess is decent but still fussing with her hair and makeup. The girl grabs the noodles off Dave with a grateful smile as she heads for a back room out of sight.
“Sorry about the mess. Just park yourselves wherever there’s an empty space.”
An enormous unmade bed dominates the room, strewn with an assortment of women's clothing and care products. It features a stuffed Red Devil stitched with the words HOT STUFF ♨
“Did you say Zarty? Zarty Dralneen?” An astonished Phelerosa re-enters the room with her head tilted to the side, as she puts in an earring. “She and I were at school together. Oh, the stories I could tell …”
The look on the woman’s face suddenly changes from surprise to suspicion. “Old Zart’s bounced back after a tough time, poor thing. But she still has plenty of enemies at home. I believe she’s somehow mixed up with those ghastly Pathfinder people in Absalom …”
“Just how do you know the Paracountess, Ser Manius?”
Phelerosa moves to take Dave’s right arm and Jake’s left. “I’m ready to go when you are, gentlemen. If we leave now we should be on time.”
|
|
Omar smiles at the exchange between Manius and Phelerosa.
Mumbling to himself.
"I really must meet Zarta...I mean the Paracountess. If even half the stories are true...interesting."
Omar will follow behind the others, finishing his soup as they go.
Looking back at Jake.
"Bleh...Jake, I have had better."