Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

• +1 shortsword (2,310gp) - Braddon
  
• masterwork morningstar (308gp) - Snake
  
• 6 daggers (2gp ea) - Snake
  
• light crossbow (35gp) - Snake
  
• +1 studded leather (1,175gp) - Gristav
  
• Small masterwork backpack (50gp) Effectively Phillip, but he returned it to Crysanthemum

Consumables:

• 11 potions of cure light wounds (50gp ea) - 3 to Gristav (though he drank at least 2 of?), 3 to Braddon, 2 to Snake, 3 unclaimed
  
• 2 potions of spider climb (50gp ea) - 1 to Braddon, 1 to Gristav
  
• feather (conjuration aura) - needs to be id’d

Equipment to Sell: – with list price.

• masterwork punching dagger (302gp) - Phillip still has it, though I think Snake put it on his profile?
  
• masterwork greatclub (305gp)
  
• shortsword (10gp)
  
• 2 cutlasses (15gp)
  
• 3 masterwork studded leather (175gp ea)
  
• 3 studded leather (25gp ea)
  
• backpack (bedroll, five candles, flint and steel, mess kit, torch)
  
• scimitar in scabbard (15gp)
  
• heavy crossbow (50gp)
  
• composite longbow (Str +1) (200gp)
  
• 20 crossbow bolts (2gp)
  
• 60 arrows (3gp)

Trade Goods:

• quartz sword pommel + folding marlinspike (30gp)
  
• silver anklet (20gp)
  
• signet ring (few gp – better for forgery)
  
• bronze dolphin doorknocker (15gp)
  
• sailing charts in leather tube (250gp)
  
• brass candelabra (20gp)
  
• 252 gp - did this initial amount include the leather knapsack from the treehouse? Snake has stated he’s added 82 of this to his profile
  
• Leather knapsack from the treehouse (few hundred)

Disposed Goods: – assumed at zero value

• Unholy symbol of Norgober
  
• Holy symbol of Sarenrae - Micah
  
• Holy book of Sarenrae - Micah

Phil smiles and raises a hand in greeting "I know... I talked with Akron yesterday... he said I might be able to watch practice today?" pausing a few moments before adding "If it's a no then I can bugger off, but might ye ask for me?"

"Akron is on the sand," the gladiator replies, approaching the gate. He speaks with a rather harsh accent. He has dark hair loosely braided to keep it out of his face and a half-heartedly-kempt beard; both his face and his bare arms show old scars, but he is still a young man. "He is coaching the training." He examines Phil and the portcullis. "You are not too well-fed to slip between the bars, no? Come, be my guest."

Phil grins and takes in a breath to hold as he worms through the bars of the gate. Once through he extends a hand "Name's Phillip, and I'm obliged." before following the young yet scarred one towards the sand.

"Ranef," the larger man reciprocates, his hand clasping Phillip's wrist rather than shaking in the usual manner and virtually engulfing the halfling's forearm. "We are pleased to be making each other's acquaintance, no? I am sorry to say," he continues as he walks with Phil up the corridor, "that you have missed the best bouts of the morning, as I have already fought. Still, there is amusement to be found in watching lesser warriors, yes?"

The corridor leads to a T where stairs lead up on either side. Phil follows Ranef up and back into the light. The sun is already baking into rows of stone benches circling the arena and the heat reflecting back up; Phil can only imagine how uncomfortable it must be on fight days when the seats are packed with spectators. Canopied boxes at the top of the circling walls look as if they would provide a respite, as well as the only hint of breeze available in the bowl.

Another canopy is set up down at the edge of the inner wall, and half a dozen men are lounging beneath it. On the sand in the middle of the arena, approximately fifteen feet below the first row of seating, two other gladiators are fighting with wooden swords while Akron Erix strolls around the perimeter of their bout, watching their footing and form. A few large crates stand against the wall beneath the canopy, the obvious way the fighters are getting up and down to take their turns on the sand and in the shade.

Phillip smiles genuinely "Indeed Ranef, there are many who are lesser than you that would still be greater than myself." winking before following in the large man's wake. He is very careful to ensure that he does not step before Ranef, and instead maintains a subordinate following position. His eyes scatter about taking in the men that are in the arena - searing their appearances into his mind as Akron's men. He doesn't seek to engage Akron until the man sees and calls out to himself - instead asking of Ranef "Who do you favor in this match then? Should one go with size or speed?"

Ranef scoffs. "Those two? Throw a coin. New recruits, former sailors, they still have saltwater in their boots." In addition to the two men with Akron in the ring, Phil notices a couple of Varisian men lounging under the canopy, an impassive-looking Garundi, a large man with a multitude of straw-blond hair and beard, a dark-skinned Mwangi, and a clean-shaven Chelaxian scowling down at the bout on the sand.

Grinning Phillip does exactly that, flourishing a coin to toss "Heads for the beardy one?" tossing the coin and showing it to be tails before shrugging "Not his day? - we see if the coin is true" eyeing the Varisi most closely as they would be the easiest to clothe as anything but hardened men.

Phil pays only idle attention to the bout on the sand, his gaze truly turned on the pair of Varisians lounging in the shade. Unlike the halfling, they are blatant about their lack of interest in the action in the arena, instead practicing quick draws with their knives. One has a butterfly knife and the other, a switchblade. These men are obviously counting on speed rather than size; grinning, they twirl the knives dexterously between their fingers, causing the blades to disappear and reappear with startling speed.

Phillip is just about satisfied that he has the two Varisian faces memorized when the clean-shaven ex-pirate takes an awkward swing at his opponent, his overreach leaving his guard down for a crucial moment. The bearded one takes his opportunity to thwack his dummy-sword upside the other man's head, and he drops down on his hands and knees in the sand, looking dazed. Akron steps between the two, grabbing the end of the victor's wooden blade in his hand. "You're not fighting aboard-ship anymore," he chides Beardy. "Go for the arm or hand to disarm, or for the thigh to disable. If this were steel, you'd have taken his head off. You're not looking to kill your opponent, just to best him. The crowd likes blood, yes, but flesh wounds spurt nicely and don't cost us for a priest -- or a funeral." He pulls the practice weapon from his student's hand. "Drag him to the water tank and give him a dunking until he's seeing straight again."

To Ranef as an aside Phil mentions "You were right Ranef, the coin did decide the bout" winking before flipping the silver coin that foretold the future to the man before they were noticed by Akron

Beardy grins and hooks his arms around his erstwhile opponent's shoulders to pull him to his feet. Half-supporting, half-dragging him, he heads for an open gate at the end of the arena, leading beneath the stands. Akron turns his attention to the men waiting beneath the canopy, ready to call down another pair for practice and notices Phil's presence for the first time. "Here now, what are you doing in here?"

Arms held wide and non-threatening Phil replies "Following my word... I said yesterday that I'd come back to see if it was ok for me to observe and here I am. Should I leave or stay?" weight already unconsciously adjusting to his back leg in case he needs to quickly pivot and flee.

Akron looks at him sternly. "No one brought me word you got permission from Zincher."

"From boss, pfah! He got permission from me. Is my friend, Fillif," Ranef butchers the halfling's name. "He comes to watch me fight."

Sensing both the stern concern of Akron and the seeming ill-met adoption of himself by Ranef, Phillip licks his lips as he senses a potential for tension in the air. Arms remaining wide Phillip tenses as he attempts to barter a solution that might leave him in the favor of both... and hopefully still alive...

"I must have misconstrued our discussion yesterday... and accept the fault of that. I had thought that the words with Zincher would be exchanged without my presence... but now see the error in that presumption." slowly taking one hand from it's outward position to run it through his hair to calm his nerves. A weak smile forms "Perhaps I can provide some humor for your men, and a reason for my presence... such that no more need be made of this beyond these walls."

Raising his voice a little so that it carries beyond Zincher and Ranef to be o'erheard by the lounging gladiators if they cared to eavesdrop "I Fillif, do come to watch Ranef fight... with me. I was the champion rabbit wrangler of my village, and I think I've got his measure. What say you sir? - can I join the stable if I win?" clapping his new found friend on the back of his thighs before making a pitiful show of his muscles with a faux-ironman pose.

Phillip's challenge draws chuckles from the gladiators beneath the canopy -- even the Varisians put away their knives to watch with interest -- but none laugh more uproariously than Ranef himself. He shouts what sounds like an exuberant interjection in his native language. "Excellent, Fillif! We fight, yes?" He rushes to the edge of the stands and hops over; Phil notices that large crates and cages have been stacked against the wall to provide rough access to and from the sand.

Akron nods thoughtfully. "If you win, I guarantee Zincher would pay you to fight for him," he replies with a hint of a smile. "Do you favor a shield?"

Phillip is beset with a growing sense of dread even as he forces a brash smile upon his face. He sheds his overcoat and with great ceremony lays aside his dagger and Ethel's worn knife - setting them atop his coat. Patting them with one hand as he winks towards the other gladiators "Wouldn't want to hurt him." he moves to inspect the wooden weaponry, pausing momentarily by Akron to offer a brief nod of acknowledgement of his seeming acceptance of Phillips terms.

Inspecting the selection of weaponry on display Phillip selects two of the smallest wooden blades available, tucking one into his trousers in lieu of sheath and holding the other in his right hand critically and performing a few clumsy practice swipes. Nodding satisfaction, he moves to struggle over the crates and descend onto the sand and arena.

The walls close around him as though a tomb and Fillif is left with no place to hide and nowhere that he could flee. Setting eyes upon Ranef he gives a salute with his wooden toothpick before offering one last wager "Ranef... if I manage to slap your arse, you owe me a drink."

"My friend," the big man replies in a wounded tone, "we drink together afterward regardless." He has armed himself with a pair of wooden swords, which he holds ready a bit gracelessly in either hand.

Phil can hear the other gladiators up in the stands making bets amongst themselves, not on the outcome of the match but on how long it will last. The pair of pirates reappears in the far gate to watch with interest, the loser leaning rather heavily against the stone archway and still seeming to have a hard time focusing his vision. Akron takes up a supervisory position between the two combatants. "Practice match now, men," he says with a tone of warning in his voice. "We don't want any lasting harm done. Either man calls for quarter, it's given, and if I step in, it's weapons down. You both ready? Fight!"

Phil strains his ears to see if he can pick up what is being said in the stands as far as betting and odds go calling out over sand without turning his head "A gold to any takers I make it to four hands... and another gold I get first touch." muttering a prayer to the savored sting under his breath and hoping that he won't be departing poor as well as bludgeoned and bloodied.

Many voices clamor from the gallery to take Phil up on his bets, although he finds himself dependent on the gladiators' sense of honor to pay up should he win, as he doesn't take his attention away from his opponent to verify who has agreed to what.

When Akron calls for the fray to begin, Phillip reacts with the startled jump of a frightened rabbit. While his right hand brandishes his club in wobbly circles of threat, his left is busy at his side. Fingers tracing a design upon his thigh as he mumbles "Eu preferiría criterio de valor" striking an exaggerated fencers pose when he finishes and he feels his muscles tense with nascent power, club sword held forward and left hand held floppily raised in a novice's en garde with a wink to the burly man he beckons "Tally ho Ranef, have at."

Ranef starts to move forward with a cry of satisfaction that quickly turns into a grunt of confusion as Phillip speeds away. "Fillif, you are supposed to be chasing the rabbit; the rabbit is not supposed to be chasing you!" Despite his size, the big man somewhat surprisingly manages to keep up with the halfling, but with his magically-enhanced speed Phil is ready by the time Ranef has drawn within range, Akron jogging alongside with a frown.

Merda, he's a quick one... can't stand still as I'll end up getting pasted. Phillip's hair flies unkempt around his face as he whirls and spins in the sand eyes flitting around for some means to hope he can survive another fifteen seconds before Ranef has means to crush his skull. A glance southward to the crates gives him a life bouy of hope and plan, which he clings to like a drowning man.

Feigning a lunge forward, Phil instead pushes off his front foot and launches his small form backwards spinning as he runs a short circle around and close to Akron before speeding southwards towards the crates. Upon the run south he hops from one foot to another in a zig-zagging manner evocative of a hare on the run from a wolf. Puffing as even the short amount of exercise begins to tighten his lungs he banters "Must think like rabbit to catch one Ranef, or run like gypsy hound"

Arriving at the Southern wall of the arena Fillif seeks to put the bulk of the makeshift stairs between himself and Ranef - so as to block the latter's ability to come straight at him with murderous intent.

In Zincher's Arena, Phil enjoys a brief moment to grab a few breaths before having to put his game face back on as Ranef comes around the makeshift stairs, Akron jogging behind him and looking a little grim. The gladiators above in the stands cheer on their stablemate, thinking that the halfling is at last cornered before they're out some gold.

"And what does the rabbit do when it is trapped? It turns on its pursuer with teeth and claws!" Ranef urges with more encouragement than accuracy of metaphor. "Come, Fillif, we fight as friends; strike a blow!" He holds his wooden blades wide, exposing his massive torso to serve as the halfing's target.

Feigning resignation for just a moment Fillif winks at Ranef before briefly touching his left hand to where his holy symbol is hidden beneath cloth. "Preguiza" and Ranef is briefly distracted as his thoughts are cluttered with wisps of Calistrian diversion that cause his focus to grow momentarily indistinct.

With a smirk and grin, Phillip lunges forward - though instead of striking, he ducks straight through Ranef's planted legs and out the other side. Laughing as he does so and cheers "Through the rabbit hole and out again Ranef, you should pay more attention to what you let betwixt your legs" slapping the big man on the arse as he speeds through and away again. He wheels to the right and uses the helpful crates once more as shield against a straight attack against him.

Stopping at a short distance, he plants his own feet and beckons with left hand, right held low and ready. Counting out the his fingers as he extends them he speaks clearly "One, two, three and now four is the count. I've played enough... I'll not run again." smiling as he thinks he's done enough for the first wager... and readies himself for hopefully making good on the second.

When Ranef rounds the crates, Phillip brings his right arm forward underarm and releases the makeshift sword underarm as a missile. Calling upon a last skerrick of halfling fortune he focuses on aim more than force, knowing that all he needs is a touch...

As Ranef rounds the stack of crates, Phil releases his faux-dagger. The weight is a little off from what he's used to -- he has the feeling that if it were his own steel blade, he could have buried it deeply in the big man's flesh -- but it flies true and rebounds off his opponent's bicep with a satisfying thwack, leaving a red welt behind. Akron circles around to the side to get a better view on the proceedings.

"Aha, Fillif!" Ranef grins broadly, seemingly as pleased with Phil's throw as the halfling himself is. "Now we are fighting!" Shaking off the hit, he steps forward but doesn't immediately swing his wooden sword. "Come, you are unarmed. Draw your second weapon, yes? I will wait."

Satisfied that the showing has been sufficient, Phil plants his feet. Drawing his second blade Phillip is true to his word and doesn't seek to move or run any further. With a deep breath he thrusts forward and does about as well as could be expected. With a slight shrug of the shoulders he quips "Time for the wolf's lunge?" and readies himself for the expected blow. He faces it with serious demeanor and does not flinch, despite the disparity of skill evident.

Phillip steels himself for a blow that doesn't come. Instead, he feels the swish of air resulting from twin swings that utterly fail to make contact as they fly over his head. Perhaps Ranef is unused to fighting such a Small opponent. The grumbling from the gallery resulting from the gladiators losing their bets turns into laughter, hoots, and catcalls as their stablemate whiffs. Akron winces in disgust.

Ranef seems untroubled by his failure to swat the troublesome gnat. "Come, Fillif!" he goads the halfling with a grin. "The fight is not yet complete, no?"

Phillip suspects that his opponent's lack of success might be intentional but regardless his suspicion, lashes out with his pitifully small wooden weapon. His form making a similar mockery of the sand in the arena as he speaks low enough for Akron and Ranef, but not loud enough to carry to the gallery "No need to be gentle Ranef..."

'Gentle?' Ranef objects, wounded by the accusation if not by the halfling's weapon. "There is no gentle in fighting!" He seems to be gradually adjusting his attack routine to Phil's short stature, as the first swing would have cut off a lock of Phillip's hair had it been sharpened steel rather than blunt wood, but the off-hand swing is as graceless as the last.

Phil hops back before executing a spinning swipe almost tripping over his feet and stumbling into Ranef. He chuckles "Hah! I should have kept running." If Ranef makes a response to Phil's jape, the halfling never hears it. All he is aware of is a whistling sound, a sudden crack behind his left ear, and a quickly-blossoming numbness as the arena goes dark.

In an instant the bright light of the arena is extinguished as a sharp pain cuts across Phillip's vision and mind at the same time - severing conscious from unconscious thought. Fillif's body is left devoid of any controlling thought and crumples like a ragdoll into the sand.

Braddon's Take: +1 shortsword = 2,310 / 2 = 1,155 gp
Snake's Take: MW morningstar, 6 x dagger, light crossbow = 355 / 2 = 177.5 gp
Gristav's Take: +1 studded leather = (1,175 / 2) = 587.5 gp + sailing charts? = 587.5 + 275 = 862.5 gp
Phillip's Take: MW small backpack, signet ring = (50 / 2) + 3.3 = 28.3 gp

I've included the sailing charts on Gristav's loot split for now as it's a trade good of substantial value. If it was just 20-30 gp I'd say lets waive it, but since it's a chunky 275gp it has a fairly tangible effect on what our final take home is.
Also, I've not included any $ values from the alchemy set as I don't believe those were played out in thread or OOC.

If we remove Braddon's take from the overall total (3,785.4 - 1,155 = 2,630.4 gp) = 876.8 gp per 'third' share.

Each of the three remaining parties gets gold to bring the total take home value up to the 'third share'
Gristav gets 876.8 - 862.5 = 14.3 gp
Snake gets 876.8 - 177.5 = 699.3 gp
Phillip gets 876.8 - 28.3 = 848.5 gp

Long form usage, there isn't any reason why the skill shouldn't function as desired - and give an accurate estimate of the item's true value. Similar to how someone with Knowledge (Religion) really should be able to identify all of the core god's symbols and monikers, etc.

Short form usage is where the rolling and comparative skills might come into play a bit more readily. ie - glancing at the table covered with items, Phil grabs the one he gauges is worth the most. Or if someone is looking through a jumble sale and trying to find hidden items worth more than they seem.

Joana probably has it best of the under and over valued items levelling out. And we as players (especially since we're using Tendal to sell the trade goods) can rely on the in-house NPC as the value leveller.

IC - the value of the magical armor and weapon can be pointed out, and the disbursement of gold postponed (at least in part) until the sale of the trade goods and items by Tendal.
We've 252 + 199 = 451 gp in free gold at the moment - and if both Braddon and Gristav trade in their MW items to the loot pile (for Tendal to sell off-screen), then there isn't any reason why we can't have everybody step away from the denouement with cash in hand as well.

Note: he's either looking for somewhere for himself (potentially plus Ethel); or somewhere to dump whatever drug addicts Gristav / Snake might bring home.

Coughing slightly as he comes to grips with an aftertaste likely worse than the hooch's delicate aroma, Phil wipes the overflow from his chin with one sleeve. As the warm backlight of alcohol begins to rise within his gullet, Phil cracks a smirk and continues on to the door of the gladiator's abode - with a song of the sea on his lips and trailing the fine yet pungent redolence of a low-brow tavern. Knocking on the door with his boot, Phil awaits an answer from within... ready to disgorge salted meats from his pocket and dispense intoxication from each hand.

Across the rapidly darkening road from the arena, Phil waits for a response to his kick. After an interval -- long enough, the halfling judges, for a man to descend the stairs from the second-floor residences he visited this afternoon -- he hears an interior latch click, and the door opens a few inches. Akron Erix recognizes the caller a few seconds before the scent of cheap liquor wafts its way up to his olfactories. He cocks a dubious eyebrow but opens the door for Phillip to enter.

Inclining his head and offering a short bow Phillip addresses his greeter "Good evening Akron, I trust I find you well?" as he tentatively makes his way across the threshold of the door.

"Better than some," he replies reprovingly as he steps aside to let the halfling in and closes the door behind him. "You've had an early start, I see. That stuff will kill you, you know. Of course," he shrugs, "so will three and a half feet of steel. A man picks his poison."

"Aye... though as with the steel the key in the equation is how much of it you let reach your gut." winking rakishly "Which poison is your preference then Akron?... I can impart that mine is neither drink nor steel."

"I've sampled a few," he replies noncommitally, relocking the latch, "but haven't yet chosen the one that will kill me. Ranef is upstairs. You know the way."

Smile remaining on his face Phillip inclines his head in answer before turning to move upstairs. As he ascends he ponders on what might be hidden away within Akron's center if one were able to get past his stoic and hard exterior. Another day... the pawns should fall more easily under sway than the knights or rooks... Phillip puts on his game face and turns his mind instead to how best he might become companionable to a room full of people that are fundamentally unlike himself.

Phil goes upstairs and down the corridor into the simple common room he sat in earlier in the afternoon. The two Varisian fighters are sitting at one of the wooden tables, throwing their knives at a knothole in the wall. The young Mwangi and the man with the fair beard -- Ulfen, most likely, Phillip decides -- are watching the contest. Sitting with them is Ranef, who spies the halfling heading down the hall and stands to welcome him exuberantly. "Fillif! You have come!"

Phillip saunters into the room with a grin "Aye Ranef, I have come." moving over to the table and putting the bottles down before fishing the jerky out of his pocket also. He turns to the others as well offering a wink and a wave "Gentlemen... I don't believe I caught your names before... or if I did, Ranef's love tap to my head knocked the sense out of me" hoping that a self-deprecating joke would start the evening off handsomely.

"Aha, Fillif, I was to buy you the drink, no?" Ranef scolds as Phil lays out his bounty. "This is Varg and Harry, and the two knife-throwers are Drezi and Stellan." The man with the blond beard and the one with the dark skin give polite nods, while the Varisians utterly ignore the new arrival.

Phillip shrugs at Ranef's words as he pulls out his dagger deftly to cut open the parcel of meat "Drink is here now" stated simply as though there is no point to argue providence when the bounty is present. To the others he offers a nod in greeting, even to the Varisi "Evening" before gesturing plainly to show that the items brought are freely offered and grabbing a hunk of jerky to bite at.

"Faugh!" Ranef scoffs. "Akron has been getting at you. He does not like us to be going out to the taverns."

"You blame me?" the man himself asks mildly as he follows Phillip into the common room. "I'm the one that has to make apologies and pay amends if any of you start trouble anywhere -- or explain to Zincher why one of his prize fighters won't be making his next bout because he got himself killed in a brawl." In the meantime, the Mwangi gladiator has gotten up eagerly to fetch earthenware cups to share out the liquor.

Phillip chuckles "And is cheaper and better company to drink here than it would be out there... right Ranef?"

He shrugs. "One is less likely to have his pocket picked, yes," he admits, "but also less likely to have a reason to fight!" He grins with enthusiasm at the prospect, and Akron gives Phil a told-you-so smirk as he strolls through the common area and into an open door down the far corridor. "I know what you are thinking, Fillif," Ranef goes on. "Ranef fights every day! But I fight the same men every day. Even the orc-blooded I fight for the crowds, they are the same ones I fight every week. There is so rarely anyone new! That is why I like you, Fillif. You, I have never fought before. You can still surprise me with your tricks and your running like a rabbit, no?"

Phillip notes the passage of Akron, but keeps his eyes and attention upon Ranef. "Heh, aye... though I'd hesitate to call what I managed in the arena fighting though... more like creative fleeing. You're right in one thing though... fighting merely for the sake of it isn't the same as fighting someone worth fighting." letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before taking a cup from the Mwangi gentleman and seeing that they are both furnished with drink. "What do you think Harry?" making his voice hesitant with pronunciation and inviting the Mwangi to correct his butchering of his name.

The Mwangi lad -- and he is most likely not out of his teens, despite the height and build of a grown man -- responds cheerfully, "I fight like I drink: anything put in front of me." He offers no correction to Phil's pronunciation and speaks Taldane like a Riddleport native.

The Ulfen man Varg also accepts a cup with a flash of grin through his heavy blond beard, and now that the liquor is being poured, one of the Varisian knife-throwers gives the other a significant glance, buries the point of his knife in the surface of the table with a quick stab that leaves it quivering, and slides down the bench to claim his own share. "Some fine throwing in the ring this afternoon. If you'd been fighting with real weaponry rather than crude training clubs, you might have given Ranef a real scratch with that throw -- before he took your head off clean at the shoulders, of course." The other Varisian snickers as he fills his own cup. "You care to give us a chance to win our gold back in a throwing contest?"

Phillip inwardly smiles as his supply of drink is readily accepted by the gladiators... hopefully they didn't mind the harsh topnote and bile producing burn it left once imbibed. He took a miserly sip from his own cup before putting arms wide and smiling to the Varisi "Heh, aye.. if we were carrying steel I'd not be walking for sure. As to the throw my ears aren't closed..." face showing a slight wariness as he continues "What did you have in mind?..."

"A simple contest of skill," the man shrugs. "We each put in a small stake, and he who throws closest to that knothole in the wall," he points it out; from the scars in the wall around it, the mark has been used as a target before, "takes the pot. What say you?"

Phillip muses for a few moments before returning a nod "Fair enough" producing his dagger from within his waistband "Each with their own blade then? And a silver on each throw?" raising an eyebrow to see if the terms are agreeable. Phillip then stands with them, removing his jacket and pushing sleeves past his elbows to allow for free-er movement. He then takes aim, standing angle on and throwing with an easy overhead movement.

The Varisians accept Phillip's terms, and the other gladiators greet the prospect of watching the contest eagerly. Varg and Harry quietly begin to make some side bets on the outcome of the contest among themselves.

While the contests take place, between the throws and while pacing back and forth to collect his blade Phil allows any conversation to flow around him, smiling if he manages to take a pot and offering appreciation to the Varisi if beaten.

Somewhat to Phil's surprise, he finds that he makes a fairly good showing against the gladiators; all their daggers cluster around the same general area, save for a few throws when their grips slip at an inopportune moment. While the Varisian's daggers sink deeper into the wood and would, no doubt, be more deadly in combat, for the purpose of target-practice he is their near equal. He takes two of the ten rounds, winning back 6 of the 10 silvers he wagered, Ranef cheering each of his victories.

Phillip is heartened by his decent showing and also willing to deepen the challenge also. "Fairly done... though I see you're well at practice at this range... care to heighten the stakes a mite? Take it to two silvers a toss and a bit further across the room?" eyes twinkling slightly as he uses his skill at léger de main to twirl his dagger around his hand by the hilt. With a wink at Ranef he smiles and awaits the Varisi's response.

The Varisians glance at each other; then one shrugs. "Fair enough," he says.

Phil slips the dagger into his waist in a smooth movement before clapping hands "Excellent..." turning back to his earthenware cup and draining another slug of firewater from it. He then sets up a chair at the appropriate distance to use as a platform from which to launch his daggers so that he can more easily account for gravity over the increased range.

They begin to move back, and Harry jumps up to help push furniture out of the way, when Ranef interjects, enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "Wait! I, Ranef, wish to play at this game!" He fumbles for his moneypouch to buy his way in.

Phil smiles at Ranef "Of course, all coin is welcome where skill and chance decide" before turning back to the Varisi and winking, suggesting that Ranef's entry gives an extra two gold in the pot that will be going to one of the three of them.

The added distance foils Phillips arm more often than he aims true, though towards the end of the series as his arm tires he loosens up and relaxes into the contest a little more - his aim helped by the lack of tension.

Phillip does indeed fare less well this time. The chair he is standing on helps his blade fight gravity over the added distance, but he is unused to the added height and unstable footing and can only compensate by trial and error, during which time the first Varisian -- Drezi, Phil believes -- hits the knothole dead on several times.

Ranef manages some good throws as well, although the small blade of the dagger looks comically undersized in his large hand, but none good enough to beat the pair of Varisians until near the end of the set. Drezi seems to tire, or else the liquor he sips while they others are throwing is getting to him, and on the eighth toss, Ranef's dagger, though only nicking the edge of the knot in the wood is the most accurate throw. The Kellid roars with approval, cheering himself on. It isn't until the last round of throws at the farther distance that Phil is able to take the pot.

Phil keeps cheerful as his purse is lightened, content to play the long game rather than short. He is sure to enthusiastically celebrate Ranef's minor victory before knives give way to drink once more. He plays the slightly awed but generous visitor, ensuring that the others are well furnished with drink and listening to tales offered as much as he tells ones of his own. He is careful to not talk of Magnimar, instead focusing on more genial folk tales of Varisia.

When bottles are empty and meat consumed, a warm buzz of early drunken-ness has settled upon the halfling's shoulders. Thanking Ranef and the others "Company was mighty, but drink is now well consumed and I needs be off. I trust to see you on the sand come matchday?" before leaning conspiratorially close to Ranef and whispering o'erloud with a slight slur "Just make sure you tell me if they're worth a bet before I lose my purse."

"Fillif, my friend, I still owe you a drink, no?" Ranef gets to his feet like a proper host as his guest readies to take his leave. "We talk Akron into letting us out in the town, and I will pay out of my winnings." He jingles his 8 silver as proudly as if it hadn't used to be 2 gold.

Harry and Varg wish the halfing a good evening cheerfully enough, although Varg appears to be a man of few words. The Varisians have grown friendlier as well, whether due to the liquor or to the offering of food and drink or to the chance Phillip gave them to win back some of their losses from the earlier bout. "Aye, 'Fillif,'" Drezi grins lazily, "we're never glad to see the back of a man with a full purse and a sense of adventure. Pleased to shorten another long evening with you at your leisure."

To Ranef, Phillip gives a wink and promise "If you make it past matchday with hands intact I'll see if I can talk Akron into an excursion." To the Varisi he smiles and gives a short bow.

Hearing the leave-taking, Akron emerges from his room to walk Phillip downstairs and lock the door again behind him. He gives the halfling a shrewd glance as he opens the door onto the Riddleport night, attempting to gauge the level of his drunkenness. "Make sure you're heading north when you leave here," he points the way helpfully, "and don't wander into Rotgut or onto the wharves."

At Akron's advice, Phillip nods and turns his collar to the wind before pausing and replying "Thankyou Akron..." almost saying more before shaking his head slightly and turning into the dark.