Completely bewildered by Padraig's talk, he finds himself annoyed by his curiosity. Sighing, "Okay, he's a fine lad, that's... that's great. But WHO is he?! Is he...," he stops, an thought occuring to him. "He didn't happen to change his name to 'Beltias', did he? And what is the 'Gate at the evening tide'? What is that? By the way, that's two questions, old man. I'll ask 'em one more time: Did Jhonas change his name to Beltias and what is the 'Gate at the evening tide'?" He hopes the old man is able to handle two questions at once.
Padraig stares disbelievingly at Snake. "The Cyphergate, lad, in the harbor!" He smiles knowingly. "Time to lay off the sauce for a while, eh? Sleep it off and you'll know where you are in the morning."
Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, This old man... he thinks to himself, shaking his head. "Okay, let's try a different road... Why are you here, old man? Why do you live here?"
"I take care of the Father's birds," he says proudly. "It's a very important job, it is."
Braddon looks around for something to do and is drawn to the discussion between Gristav and Phillip at the top of the stairs. Seeing Gristav quaff a potion, he remembers his own, drinks it dry , then hands the empty vial to Gristav as he picks up the piles of weapons and stuff and begins moving it all downstairs for Phillip to the kitchen table.
"I take care of the Father's birds," he says proudly. "It's a very important job, it is."
Like talking to a wall. Noticing he never answered his other question about Beltias, "How did you meet Beltias?"
"Eh? Who's that, now?"
Seeing Gristav quaff a potion
I would really like to hit you. The frustration completely obvious in the tall man's face, "Father Kreun! How did you meet Father Kreun?!"
"Oh, aye," he smiles. "The grand cathedral in Roderic's Cove sent him. He and his lads moved in here at Rag's End to help the poor and downtrodden and let me stay on to take care of the pigeons. They carry messages back and forth from the cathedral, you know. It's a very important job."
Snake perks up at that last bit of information, a sparkle in his eye. "Messages, you say? And to the grand cathedral in Roderic's Cove, no less. Interesting." He walks over to the desk, picking up the magnifying glass and looking through it. "Do you write these messages, Padraig? Or does the Father give them to you to send?" He places it back down, turning his attention back on the old man.
He gives a quavery laugh. "Oh, no, my eye is too dim and my hand too shaky. You have to write powerful small to send a message by pigeon. It's the Father writes the messages, right here in my little room," he goes on with obvious pride. "That's when I slip down to the kitchen and borrow a spot of drink off Mumsy." He taps one finger alongside the papery skin of his nose knowingly.
"Yeah, I can see that's worked out well for you. Okay, one other question for you: When was the last time you saw the Devil's Grail set sail?"
"It was spring, it was," the old man says nostalgically, "a lovely spring day. The Grail set sail at sunset, and the sky was all fiery beyond the 'Gate. 'Jhonas,' I told him when he carried his kit aboard, 'you be sure and make your obeisance to the 'Gate. There's never a sailor what failed to respect the 'Gate sailing under it but met a watery end.'"
Snake looks curiously at Padraig. "Spring? Spring of last year or was it the year before?"
"Hm? He turned three-and-twenty the autumn before he set sail. Right proud he was to get a berth on the Grail, not one of these minnows swimming the Gulf but a proper ship heading all the way south to the Inner Sea. You don't make a voyage like that in a season, aye, or two."
Responding in a clipped but not overly unfriendly tone "Short arms and no intent to strain my back... and the alchemist is in with the charity cases in her room. Safe enough for the moment." finding it roughly in keeping with Gristav's peculiarity that his confirmed favoured moniker for the lady had already waned.
"For her, likely. Unless she falls from a window?", Gristav suggests. "Though it were better we'd all of us agreed on her exit, and her intent. Unless you and she have substantial agreement, and you've deemed that sufficient?"
Gristav tests the balance of another flask, probing its aura approvingly before upending the alchemic apertif. "This could come to be my favorite vintage.", he allows.
"You've seen more. Laid out in your mind, the sheets besides the shoes beside the shirts... are there more settings for dinner than people we've set in the seats?"
"Hm." Well it was worth a try. Not sure how that could be Beltias. Really doesn't make sense why Beltias kept the old man around. Or alive for that matter. You'd think he's connected somehow though. Eventually I'm gonna find out why you're here, old man. "Thanks, Padraig; I'll be checking back up on you. Don't... die or whatever." He looks around the place, deciding on one last item of business.
Answering only halfway - such as to save the full words for when they are assembled "No agreement... yet. We're here on the Goblin's business, only fair we've all a say in what goes forward."
On the news that the number of bunks doesn't match the bodies Phillip shrugs "Could be... but that's neither here nor there. Could be some muscle out dealing or fiends not yet come home to smoke. Either way as long as we keep eyes and ears open we shouldn't end up in trouble."
Snake perceives no arcane auras in Padraig's room.
Gristav tests the balance of another flask, probing its aura approvingly before upending the alchemic apertif. "This could come to be my favorite vintage.", he allows.
"It's... reliably understated, almost bashful. It has the quality of being satisfying, while still leaving one feeling one might... indulge, in another.", Gristav grants himself leave.
"But, no.", he marshals. "You are well?", he asks of Phillip, surveying his slighter sidesman.
Snake looks to the old man once more with pity before leaving. As he makes his way to check on the woman, he catches sight of Phillip and Gristav - slowing his stride and coming to a stop. "You two waitin' on something?" he asks, looking to them both through narrowed eyes.
"Um... ah...", Gristav wonders, then grins, as inspiration hits, "Braddon, to finish the work of carrying things?", he jokes. "Let us go downstairs, or have him come up?, and compare notes."
Starting down, Gristav asks, "Was that a harp-ish shape, within his pack?"
"Well enough" belying the dried bloodstains around his neck from the aftermath of errant glass, putting two and two together about what Gristav's quaffing he also churlishly adds "It's also fifty gold a swallow... so try not to waste it unless there's need for it." referencing the fact that the danger, at least for now, appears to be over.
Phillip's eyebrow rises slightly at Serpe's question before he nods assent to Gristav's depiction of the need. Phillip moves to the table downstairs and lays out Kreun's backpack, looking within at the contents for the first time.
"Well enough" belying the dried bloodstains around his neck from the aftermath of errant glass, putting two and two together about what Gristav's quaffing he also churlishly adds "It's also fifty gold a swallow... so try not to waste it unless there's need for it." referencing the fact that the danger, at least for now, appears to be over.
"If I were sold such at fifty crowns, I'd guess it was by such as you, and wisely done of them. So far, it's been a disappointment, beside such else I'd sipped in seasons passed. As for wisdom, I've never claimed such. And my head... was truly ringing. I knew I might strike such a blow, but never had I felt it, before."
Phillip's eyebrow rises slightly at Serpe's question before he nods assent to Gristav's depiction of the need. Phillip moves to the table downstairs and lays out Kreun's backpack, looking within at the contents for the first time.
Gristav follows suit, emptying his pockets of the flayleaf phials, whatever potions might remain, and whatever emptied potions might be returned for deposit (into them, of more potion?).
"Best luck, to have a predator pounce onto one's spear, while one walked with it over one's shoulder. It's no wonder, this Chrysanthemum, 'Mumsey', I think, though that's an elder's epithet, finds it more faithsome, to hold us as hunters."
"And we'd have been, if we'd known, what we've learned. Though we could scarcely have done it so neatly, as an assault. Best luck, indeed."
Braddon takes a knapsack from his backpack and drops it onto the table, then opens and empties the knapsack spilling its contents across the surface.
"Found it up the tree," he explains.
"When Phil and I took down that guy out back, we thought maybe someone was hiding up there so I took a look and it seemed used and just above the branch that led to the bell tower was a another branch that also seemed used and I found this inside the hollow. Then followed the branch into the tower to see if there was anyone else there and the priest just charged in so I jumped him."
Braddon doesn't sort the items, but randomly picks the most interesting thing, examines it and returns it to a different position.
"While we were upstairs I spotted a thug spying on us so I wandered into the junk room and he's like 'Tell us where the halfling is?' and I'm like 'Make me!' and he goes quiet with the priest outside and threatens me with his dagger. So I shot the idiot. He runs out crying like a baby and one of his mates locks me in, but not before I tag him with my sword."
Braddon makes an obscene gesture that suggests his tag may have been more akin to spitting a hog.
"Then I climbed out the window and discovered you guys had done all the hard work."
Braddon rubs at the still weeping wound he inflicted on himself.
"Well, most of the work."
Snake follows the others downstairs.
"Best luck, to have a predator pounce onto one's spear, while one walked with it over one's shoulder. It's no wonder, this Chrysanthemum, 'Mumsey', I think, though that's an elder's epithet, finds it more faithsome, to hold us as hunters."
"And we'd have been, if we'd known, what we've learned. Though we could scarcely have done it so neatly, as an assault. Best luck, indeed."
"Speaking of which, did you get all you wanted from her? I don't see her around so I guess you finally let her leave?" he asks as he reaches a hand over to Braddon, laying it upon the nearest shoulder, his eyes glowing bluish-white and then quickly fading. "Nasty looking cut. Looks like one of 'em got a lucky shot on you."
"Luck's about all you can take from it... well that and a newfound appreciation for Braddon's swordarm." sighing and running a hand through his hair. He smooths out his mustache for a few moments before launching into speech.
"Right, well seems there are a lot of questions floating about and we've a windfall besides... and while the job here's finished, we still have a lot of cleanup to deal with." his tone is neutral and despite crossing over ground that may be common, you've a sense he wants to get everything on the level to start with.
"We came here together... and to my mind that puts us on the Goblin's business. Whatever we say, whatever's decided... it needs to be with her interest at heart. Doesn't stop you acting on your own outside of this - that's on your own head, with consequences to match..." looking around to see if there's acceptance or opposition to the premise before continuing.
"She's upstairs and the key to seeing if what happened today leaves us clean or marked for vengeance..."
"Let us hope she's still there. To keep our little yellow friend's interests in mind, I would say we must either appear upright fellows of demonstrable strength, some yet unseen, or crooked chaps of similar strength, willing to do business. If we judge crooked, the matter must fall to you to present. If upright, well, we've not yet sold that fact. I would call it a fact. I would."
"But it's not yet sold. Perhaps a lie might sell the truth? Assemble these facts for her: There was a murder, family of one of us, and we were investigating. I brought us here, to hire a miracle of Beltias, and he began the hunt of it. All facts, all true, and this next becomes true, even as I speak it: We can only guess, that Beltias' guilt had him guess, the murder I was tracking was one of his own. The cause of the day becomes family, and Beltias is depicted caught at his hobby. Both true, and to be believed, I would think."
"If you need ribbon for that package, you might lead her to the trophy case, where, if I know you're coming, you might find me truly in tears. There's been enough rain; I can wring some from my eyes."
"What colors her view... and leaves a large white space on my canvas, is her insistence Snake is known to her, Marzo, and apparently, Beltias? Snake, you've struck me as decent, even kind, but confused. Had something struck you, to cause that confusion? I don't mean to suggest that Chrysanthemum knows you better than yourself, but I do mean to suggest, this self, may be your better self. When we met on the road, where were you coming from? If Chrys claims she knew you a month ago, can you deny it? Can you say, even to your own self, that you know you were in some other place? ...that must be very unsettling..."
Phillip moves to the table downstairs and lays out Kreun's backpack, looking within at the contents for the first time.
Opening the backpack he found in the bottom of Kreun's chest, Phillip discovers a well-worn bedroll, five candles, a flint and steel, a mess kit, an unused torch, and a small book bearing the title The Birth of Light and Truth. On the flyleaf is a handwritten inscription: "Brother Micah, may your inner light be a guide to those who walk in darkness. Solangus Wardroxan."
Braddon takes a knapsack from his backpack and drops it onto the table, then opens and empties the knapsack spilling its contents across the surface.
Braddon opens the heavy knapsack he found in the hollow in the tree and spills coins across the table. While it would take some time to count, there is clearly a few hundred gold's worth here. The party is suddenly very aware that the front doors have no locks and that anyone could walk in at any moment and see a small fortune lying out in the open.
The only auras Gristav detects are those on the remaining cure potions and on one of the two vials he confiscated from Mumsy. Concentrating on the unlabeled vial, he identifies it as an extract of true strike. Similar to a potion, an extract is of use only to the alchemist to whose specifications it was prepared.
Just as he's about to respond to the knowledge that Mumsy has been left upstairs, Gristav starts and he reluctantly lets him finish as he glances back that way.
As he rambles on, Snake is immediately taken aback as Gristav takes a turn toward him with the conversation. He glances around at the others, a look upon him as if he's... lost? Confused? Angry? Something else? All of the above? Trying to find an answer that has eluded even himself, he mindlessly rubs the back of his head before simply shaking his head and shrugging. "I... I don't know. I don't " He slams a hand down on the table. "Unless this is some kind of sick joke, these people claim to know me. But I don't know how that is 'cause I don't know them!" His breathing coming rapidly due to his rise in anger. Giving himself a moment to calm, he drags his hands down his face in frustration. "And if it's true and they do know me... I'm not sure I want to know how." He looks around at them all before, "I'm gonna go get Mumsy because I don't trust her. Can't believe you all left her alone up there. Unless you all have a reason for her not to be down here where we can keep an eye on her. Speak now." Barring any objections, he then turns to leave, heading upstairs to check on the others - hoping they haven't been murdered - and to retrieve Mumsy to bring her back downstairs.
"Ooh, thanks." Braddon rubs the vanishing wound, watching Snake's work with fascination.
"Oh, wait, there's these too. I found them in the bell tower." Braddon pulls out the chest and the wrapped item and unwraps the long object leaving the chest for others to fiddle with.
He also pulls out a leather wallet from his jerkin and opens it to show around to the others.
"The General gave me this badge for saving his daughter. It's as genuine as they come. We could say the Gendarmes did it and leave the Goblin out of the picture entirely."
Braddon's face goes dark and he puts the badge away again as Snake rises to fetch Chrysanthemum.
"Yeah," he says in a low voice like a blade being sharpened against stone. "I want to hear what she says about those locks of hair."
The item wrapped in sailcloth proves to be an ornate brass candelabrum. The smallest key on Phillip's keyring unlocks the chest, which reveals a miscellany of objects: a quartz short sword pommel, a silver chain anklet, a signet ring, a bronze door knocker in the shape of a dolphin, a folding marlin spike, a set of sailing charts in a leather tube, and a feather with an aura which reacts strongly to Gristav's parasensory perception.
"Like herding cats...", Gristav mutters. Looking to Phillip, hoping to share a meaningful glance at the now-displayed coins, Gristav calls out after the departing wyrdling, "Snake, be at peace. Whatever put you in that form, and gave you healing and a hard but helpful heart, also set you on that road to meet me. Us. This. When floating down a river, trust the current. You aren't who they recall, or you'd recall them."
"Can you let me fetch her? Or can you restrain yourself against her provocations, while you fetch her? She may be speaking of the history of your hand, but, it seems your heart, may be new-born."
"We've some little time. The assembled truth, and the badge as a closer? Presented by your dissembling tongue, or my assembling intellect?", Gristav asks of Phillip mostly, but of Braddon, too.
The item wrapped in sailcloth proves to be an ornate brass candelabrum. The smallest key on Phillip's keyring unlocks the chest, which reveals a miscellany of objects: a quartz short sword pommel, a silver chain anklet, a signet ring, a bronze door knocker in the shape of a dolphin, a folding marlin spike, a set of sailing charts in a leather tube, and a feather with an aura which reacts strongly to Gristav's parasensory perception.
"There's more to all this than meets the eye. I don't trust that we've plumbed this well..." Glancing toward Snake's stairs, Gristav says, "Set the feather aside, it's magicked. The others... more trophies? Better slowly sussed than swiftly sold. We, after all, are not robbers on the run."
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he ponders the offer. Relenting, he turns and heads back to the table, looking to the magus questioningly. "Okay, you go get her." He glances over at Phillip before looking at the items on the table. Noticing the book, he picks it up and then opens the cover. "Hm. We need to give this to Micah. Not only is the inscription to him, it fits him perfect since this is a book dedicated to Sarenrae. A holy book, I'd wager. I think that's who he was rambling about earlier... the Dawnflower burning him or something." He glances through it to see if there's anything loose within. "Unless any of you are interested in taking a look, I'm gonna hold onto it until we're done here and then give it to him."
Responding to Snake "She isn't here because we need to talk without having her overhear it. She's in a room with the basket cases you took upstairs, and she can stay there for now. Quell your anger, take a step back from yourself for a few moments and think. To bring her down and see our dissent and hear our dirty laundry being aired is more dangerous than it is to leave her above... for the moment at least. She is no murderer!" speaking the last with quiet confidence and resolve.
Continuing to address the warlock "Crysanthemum was sound in her confidence that she saw you with Marzo... and to mine I have little reason to doubt that. Kreun - a devotee of shadow and murder believed with such intensity that he risked everything upon that belief... so don't get angry... just think. Gristav met you upon a trail... where were you walking from? - are there any gaps in what you know of your past? I have no desire to hold you to any act other than what we have seen you do... but we need to know. You owe us as much."
To Braddon he nods and refers to the treasures on the table, paying respect to the fact that the door was still wide and chance for discovery "A fine haul... even split four ways. Let's do the counting and reckoning back at the Goblin, where we have more leisure to the process."
Phillip shrugs, with no opposition to Snake's desires, but he does quickly riffle through the pages to ensure there isn't anything hidden or written within that doesn't belong.
"The words that are passed through her are obviously for Marzo... and need be tailored to his expectations. He is of the Sczarni, and his memory will be long and knives sharp to any affront to his honor... or his purse. This den of fiends is a simple enough front - sale of the leaf does not sit outside of the law. I'm sure that he would be aggrieved to discover that Kreun had betrayed his trust and made a playhouse of darkened deeds from it." clarifying "He won't care a sh1t for the deaths... more for the risk to revenue."
"The gendarmes would present an interesting predicament - the only one we know to have killed is dead... along with others of his companions... those by our hands also. Also the fact we stand as thieves of what coin remained might also prove difficult to explain."
Narrowing his eyes at the halfling, "Anything happens to those upstairs, Raccoon, barring the one you're so confident that isn't a murderer, you'll be the first I look to." He vows, an edge of determination in his tone. "You can care little for any life but your own all you want, but don't put the rest of us in that box."
Saying his peace, he looks around at them all. "And I told you: I. Don't. Know. I woke in a pool of my own blood, in the middle of the street...," he pauses. "It was Lucky." He looks around for the mongoose. "Lucky! I forgot all about him LUCKY!" He looks down on the ground and notices him right behind him, anger exuding from the tiny creature. "Take it easy! Sorry, it's been a busy morning." Returning to his tale, "I woke, it was dark, you put two and two together, you leave town because you don't wake up in a pool of your own blood just because you tripped over a rock. You've obviously made somebody angry somewhere and you don't hang around to find out who it was," he states as a matter of fact. He then looks to Gristav, "And I healed myself. Didn't know I could do it but for some reason I felt like I could." Shrugging, "And I'm guessing it was Roderic's Cove, but that's just because that's where this scum came from and they claim to know me. Which is more than I can say for myself. I can't remember anything before I woke. Including my own name. I only came up with 'Snake' 'cause I thought it fitting with Luck around." He looks to the mongoose who's made his way back upon his shoulder. "I tried to leave without him, but he kept following me, so, I kept him. I still don't know how I do the magic I do, but I learned I could do it. And I also learned I need Luck; otherwise I won't be able to do any magic if he's gone. At least, I'm not willing to find out what happens if he's gone." Unable to think of anything else, "Not sure how any of that helps, but, that's it. That's all. A day or so of walking and you know the rest."
Snake's threat is met by an impassive face... but there is steel and venom to the eyes. He lets the aggression flow over him unanswered though, instead focusing upon the story that follows.
"So... we assume they're telling the truth. At some point in your past you dealt with Marzo... it's possible he spilled your blood as well, but let's not leap that far just yet." musing a few moments before asking Serpe "Do you want to find what name you were known by before? - or is that past beyond your caring now?"
Thinking on it a moment, he takes a deep breath. "Yeah. And no. Maybe it's something I can look into when there's time. Right now, it's not important." He shrugs, looking as if he's returned to pondering the issue again.
Phillip nods, mulling the forward path over in his mind while pausing to allow both Gristav and Braddon a moment to speak.
"Snake. You've been given what many men have wished for. A second chance. Whenever you find out, who you were, how you were, be sure, to allow yourself forgiveness. Somebody, appears to have forgiven you...", Gristav says, gesturing toward Lucky.
"I don't think it's a leap, to imagine Marzo the architect of that blood-soaked awakening. It seems more a measured following of the tracks on the trail. And prudent to imagine it thus; for if Marzo were the murderer of the man Snake once was, he will surely be automatically convinced, that the murder failed, and that Snake- well, that man Snake had been, came here to do Marzo harm. That the alchemist has already used words for 'traitor' supports that reading as typical."
"Which suggests, we'll have an enemy, however we tread, because the enemy chose us. Well, chose Snake. If you doubt my deductions, we know where a Harrow might be laid. Do we imagine this Marzo has much competition in the Cove, that a rival might lay low a man these others have vouched for as a member of Marzo's mob? No, this blooded awakening was following a house-cleaning of some sort, and we cannot conceal from Marzo that it failed."
"A tiger leaped upon our spear today. Do we trust ourselves, to actually hunt?"
Snake glances over at the mongoose, thinking on the magus's words. "Gristav's right. It's not gonna matter whether she gets a message to Marzo or not at this point. It's just a matter of time before he gets wind of this and sends his goons out this way. I'd say the only thing we can do is be ready for them when he does."
Phillip shrugs, with no opposition to Snake's desires, but he does quickly riffle through the pages to ensure there isn't anything hidden or written within that doesn't belong.
The text seems unadulterated: 'healing light' this, 'flame against evil' that, 'mercy' and 'repentance' blah blah blah. The kind of eye-rolling treacle that's right up Gristav's alley.
"Gristav's truth only holds to a point though... the key of which is what value he places on your head. I'd posit that it isn't that high, otherwise he would've done a better job in the first place. Prudence is fine, preparation is always key... but passivity is just an excuse for a lack of creativity." running both hands through his hair before leaning forwards towards the table.
"The only ones that know you're here, are here. We've destroyed the head and broken the back by killing Kreun and his right hand. That leaves just the alchemist and what muscle is left. Of those, the underlings will see Wall-eye and Kruen dead... likely soil themselves and look towards the alchemist for guidance... so to mine it's just down to the alchemist."
"Worst she will want is to get stuck in the midst of a Sczarni reprisal, so we play to her pride and greed and give her a way to come out of this both alive and still in business. There's a chance we could get away without even the mention of yourself here Serpe."
"The Sczarni themselves aren't in high favor within Riddleport, so Marzo would have trouble reaching here in force - and I'd wager that the risk of upsetting either Croat or Zincher would give Marzo some degree of pause as well. Look at the faces we've laid out today... there's a reason you don't see many Varisi features."
"I'm not saying we don't take measures against reprisal, but I'll be damned if I'm just going to sit back and wait for it to come."
"We can't 'be ready', for reprisal. We're in other business, about town on errands, of Braddon's family, of other... family. Perhaps the trophies to be put to rest. And with more certainty, a public gathering, that will be indefensible, if selected as a time for an attack. And more to come, such events. This cannot be a defensive war, we simply cannot defend. If it is to be war, we must prosecute it, not wait for our noses to be bloodied, or cut off."
"But we may yet avoid a war, or delay our enemy at it. I've magic left for an illusion, our witness might see you slain, by Braddon's hand, or mine, or Monsieur Apache. Why not all three? We discretely tell her to go, perhaps with the thugs in tow, but to wait at the end of the street, and look back, as we've a gift for Marzo. I walk you from the building, just outside the door, and we look toward her, as if discussing her. Braddon steps out behind us, and cleaves you down with his sword. My lack of response shows that to be planned. Monsieur Apache exits, and from point-blank, a bolt to the head. We wave warmly to Mumsey. I drag your body back inside. We close the doors, and it fades away."
"It won't last, the deception of it, I mean. You'll be found out. But it would give us days in which to strike first, or to learn no strike was needed. It might even begin a legend of you as unkillable." Gristav grins.
Braddon frowns hard in concentration as the banter passes back and forth between his companions.
"You're assuming these guys are awfully clever for a bunch of thugs who died to us staggering in unprepared. We're good, but we're not that good."
Braddon thinks a long second. "Keep it simple. Tell them we're here on behalf of Zincher. If they're dumb, they'll go him. If they're smart it doesn't matter what lie we spin."
In mock seriousness and only the slightest tinge of sarcasm "Aye, fantastic idea... let's give Zincher a rope with which to hang us." before softening and clarifying "Kreun had half a brain, the rest did not... but if Marzo views what happened today as a slight, then it is not his cleverness that we need deal with... but his ruthlessness."
To Gristav's thought of war and mock killing "I have no desire for war, less with the Sczarni and the least on behalf of something that can be avoided entire. Focus less on the blood and more on the business. I repeat to you a confidence We can walk away from this like shadows in the early evening gloom... but it needs your trust... in me."
"In Magnimar during my life previous to this I walked among the Sczarni... and since Serpe's memory is failed... of all of us here I can state with certainty that I've the closest ken of the who and what we're dealing with. If we were in pursuit of quarry - I would yield to Braddon. In matters of wounded bodies it is Serpe's tongue that would sound. And there is even place for the words of Gristav in ascendance..." the very light complement to Gristav taking some effort to be said.
"But unless any of you can prove through word or act that you are a more scurrulous rogue and distrustful shyster than myself... I'd hope you would give my voice the hearing it deserves today." no shame evident upon his face at acceptance and glorification of his achievements. He then pauses to be given canvas with which to sketch.