Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

Braddon nods in agreement.
"Fair enough. I'm in. Tell me what to do."

Assuming that there's consent to continue if not direct acceptance from Serpe and Gristav, Phillip begins to expound upon his thoughts.

"We leave Crysanthemum alive and push her to tell a filtered tale of what happened. The key of which is thread with truth - his facade as a Sarenrite was exposed by visitors who thought it true, and following he panicked and attacked. Fracas ensued, leaving his house in ruin and both he and his right hand in blood." smoothing out his mustache "That's the easy part, simple enough to swallow and she has the trappings of the Reaper as proof."

"Second, we give her leave to get back into the flayleaf business. It'll be on her if Marzo sends another to stand above her, but keeping the den going limits what Marzo's got to be upset about. Judging by the coin Beltias was putting aside - the profit margins will likely even go up for him. If he's minting more coin after than he was before there's even less reason for him to be interested."

"Leaving Crysanthemum in action serves our purpose as well. We know who the chemist is, and they can change all the personnel they want - we still have a connection. Through her we keep connected to who's here on Marzo's crew - get that leg up that Gristav mentioned." musing a few moments before adding "Get some insurance on that marker by keeping eyes on her. That annoyingly eager pickpocket you sprang from the pressgangers maybe? A gold a week would put him in your pocket and give you another set of eyes looking to make sure Crysanthemum keeps to the deal."

"I know that you're itching for justice for what looks to be Beltias' victims... and I'll not stand before that. We should take the tokens as leverage anyway. The threat of that being given the gendarmes perhaps... or if you'd prefer we divest from using them as tools." musing a few moments more "The Sczarni are technically illegal... that could be our leverage to ensure they don't come after us. We even have an estranged former associate who could give evidence."

Looking then to Gristav and Serpe in turn "Perhaps even use your disguising spell not to show a death, but instead to mask Serpe's true appearance. Then when the remaining bravos are questioned at the point of a knife they'll doubt their own memories?"

Finishing up his denouement "So there it is... a proposal that lets us keep the gold, throw Marzo from our scent and leave contingencies in place in case he chooses folly over wisdom. I'm sure the fabric of it has some holes in need of darning, but the strength of it should hold together." leaning back in his chair to see what response comes and wishing he now had a glass of port to whet his throat.

"Marzo already, by my reckoning, tried to kill Snake once. Whatever that insult or business was, do we imagine it will fade, like water on hot cobbles? The illusion cannot make a man seem another man, but it can make a man where there is none, and we could be seen to kill that man, or that man could be seen to be very like, but very not, Snake. I don't see how much that buys us. But as you said, you know best the mind of this murderous mob."

"You would leave the house to Marzo's purpose, then? I would have it continue the good work it had before, and more honestly, with Micah's returned dignity growing with the house. Mumsey might remain in business, in place, for all I care, but I would not welcome another barracks of bully-boys. Not welcome. Tolerate... possibly. But I intend cribbage with Padraig, and Padraig with his pigeons. There's a great value in those birds, I say to follow your suit. As a courier, I know well the value of hasted communications; I've dined well on it, often enough. And those birds beat my best. Can we deny them the house? Perhaps with Mumsey as maid-in-charge?"

"I'm confused," remarks Braddon in possibly his most obvious statement yet.
"Do the pigeons report to Marzo or Micah? Was Beltias following orders or breaking them? Is this place owned by the church or the mob? Cause wouldn't that determine who sets up in here next?"

"The pigeons are released hungry, and go where they know there is food. Whoever is there can read a note tied to their leg. So... Marzo."

"Beltias was following orders, by selling flayleaf. But he was apparently skimming profits, and indulging in recreational murder on the side. So also, breaking orders, in that there are assumed orders of 'Don't cheat', 'Don't make trouble', and, one imagines, 'Don't flip out and get schooled by half as many amateurs'."

"This place is intestate, owned by no one, paper being heavier than stone or wood, and paper being absent. Bring me some example, and we can convincingly change that. For a good cause, and all. I judge it that someone has written Sarenrae's Name on it...", Gristav gestures to the mosaic Sarenrae of the Thousand Shards, "So it's Hers."

Genuinely confused "Exactly what good work did this house do? The conceit of worship was clearly a hackish ruse, good enough to fool some people." looking directly at Gristav as he says those words "But I'd doubt there is any substance to that beyond the name and trappings."

"Rag's End is owned by someone the town's forgot. He was buried in blood and the deeds of ownership never found - which means that it's owned by whoever cares enough to keep it. Beltias had some muscle beneath him, likely enough to dissuade anyone else from caring enough for the place."

"You want to reclaim it in the Dawnflower's name? Possible, but think that through a mite. It's not the taking you need worry about but the keeping. Which of the fiends is Micah? Could he hold the court against someone the likes of Wall-eye if he came with intent to conquer? Or would you give up your work with the Goblin to rededicate yourself to the defense of this sh1te hole?"

Shrugging "It's your life, but if you do that you do it on your own. If you feel all righteous then focus more on the people than the wood and stone. A waste of coin would save them from here and move them to a less rough part of town... but you would do that on your own conscience - and not on behalf of the Goblin... there's no profit in your charity."

Somewhat colder and questioning "Who is this Padraig? - he's a pigeon master? One of the fiends or of the gang?" having not yet either met or had the man's function explained to him.

Listening to it all, Snake finally chimes in. "Since Raccoon knows so much about this Marzo and his scum, then we should put his idea into play." He then takes a look around the place, "But as far as this place goes, I'm with Gristav." He then hits on several points made by the halfling.

"Now, you're right, Raccoon, this place probably hasn't done any good work. But that doesn't mean it can't change. This place may have fallen, but that doesn't mean it can't rise. And seeing how nobody owns it, then I guess we are the new owners." He looks around at everyone. "Or just me, I don't care. It's got more room than the Goblin anyway."

"And as far as the Goblin is concerned, I don't see why we can't do both. And to be honest, I don't really know what work I'm doing for the Goblin. Because I haven't done anything. Fought a few oversized bugs, I guess. I just needed a place to stay."

Snake then gives a humorless chuckle. "A less rough part of town? I've been here barely two days and I haven't seen any part of this town that I would deem 'safe'. C'mon, Raccoon, even you know better than that." He then stares a moment at the halfling before, "You wouldn't know a conscience if it walked up to you, greeted you, and continued on its way, would you, bub? Or maybe you would and then you'd pull your knife out and stab it as soon as it turned its back on you. Yeah, I could see that." He narrows his eyes before finally averting them and continuing on.

"Anyway, Padraig's the old man who takes care of the birds. Trying to get information out of him is like pulling teeth from a wall. He's hard of hearing, senile, a drunk, and you could tell him your name a hundred times and I'd wager he wouldn't remember it. Ask him anything and he'll usually respond with something along the lines of: 'Jhonas sat sail on the Devil's Grail when he was three and twenty'. Ask him who Jhonas is and you get: 'A fine lad'. Odds are it's his son. I thought it might be Beltias seeing how he left him here alive. Not sure why he kept the old man. Doesn't make a lot of sense. He doesn't do anything but sit up there and get old and more senile. Another reason I wanted Beltias alive. He had all the answers." His thoughts then pore over what might have been.

Phillip doesn't speak to much of what Snake states, except to clarify on a few points. So as to again allow Gristav and Braddon to chime in.

"Though Beltias is dead and cannot claim it... if you moved in you'd be claiming this place by extension from Marzo and unless you consented to it remaining a house of flayleaf you're also evicting his profit line. He's more likely than not to view that with less candour... and if you yourself claim it, then it'd likely be impossible to hide your continued existence from Marzo. Still workable... but there would be considerations to accommodate."

At his claiming that none of the town is safe, Phillip shrugs "A man upwind of a pile of dung can still claim his air sweeter than one downwind. Your fourth could probably buy a house nearer to Windward and the Cyphergate."

"A conscience is merely the facility to distinguish right from wrong... I'm more than competent at that." smiling somewhat predatorially without threat "Where we have contrast is on our opinion of morality..."

Phillip muses on Snake's description of Padraig before nodding an acceptance "Kept for the birds and their facility for messaging no doubt... but on your word he's not a part of the puzzle."

Gristav was reflexively riled at the singling stare, but the processing persona stole sway as the halfling held forth, father of false and hollow hope. Years-old memories whispered in counterpoint of Phillip's 'no profit in your charity', reminding Gristav of a place of peace, and the peace of the place. He answered gently.

"When the tin roofs whined, and the wind whistled, and all the sailors ran, I ran with them. They knew what they were about, and it was important. I knew nothing, but was willing to help, so I followed them, to offer it."

"Just the night before, when I had not needed to beg, had but gone begging in support of the next morning's ruse, a maid's and her master's kindness had filled my belly and then a deck-hammock of a vessel, chance placing me where I might help, against boarders and a witch. And again, with the wave, chance placed me where I might again, for it was that same vessel I came upon, and my help, my person, were welcome."

"And there, at the sixth link of that chain of charities, was Padraig, afloat, to be rescued. And returned here. Where I met Beltias. I'll grant the ledger has not been totaled, but I won't accede to no profit, from my charity. I see where charity has brought profit.", Gristav reasons, glancing at Snake. "But I can accept, if you cannot."

"The sotted old man, blind, deaf, distracted with a long-lost son, recognized me, a friend of his son. I wonder, and I acknowledge I do not yet know, whether Padraig was looking backward dimly, or forward, clearly. Folly, or hope? Both. I'm prone to both. No. No, I stand, for both."

"Padraig is situationally perfect to tend birds but be unable to come to awareness of the messages flown. He was the right tool, for Beltias. You ought speak to Padraig yourself, but I expect you'll agree, he's not hardly even on the board, surely not a piece to be reckoned with."

"But I do trust your reckoning. Please, do meet with Padraig. And please, continue to ride herd on my folly. But do allow me my hope."

"The boarders were repelled at the blunt end of your staff, and if not for that again... but moreso the edge of Braddon's blade we would be seeing Beltias' black mask. I'd challenge that ruthlessness, theft and power won the day and the profit..." smirking before shrugging"but hold to your romanticism if it pleases you."

On the topic of Padraig "I am content to hold you to your assessment of him... as if you wish me speak with him I cannot promise to be gentle."

Braddon shrugs. "We could set up here, but I prefer... things... at the Gold Goblin."
He looks around at the others. "Well, like, umm, security," he says defensively.
"And really, there's probably plenty of empty slums round here you could turn into your own church, or Sarenrae's church, or whoever wanted to do the work of setting one up. Phil can gift this place back to Marzo and you guys could set up a real church across the road."
Braddon nods at this apparently simple solution.

"It's a church. It was promised a church in Beltias' lies, and made a church in Micah's prayers. It's decorated to Sarenrae, and I've already thought it Hers. When I opened the belltower hatch to let Her light in onto Beltias, I welcomed Her. It's Hers."

"More practically, now: Given entirely 'back' to Marzo, to what purpose would be put, a church decorated to Sarenrae? One with an extant flock, and cover for anyone's comings and goings? What else, but send a new pastor from the 'Grand Cathedral at Roderick's Cove'? Our choice is not church, or front, it's church, or false church. We've not only been given a false priest to slay, but also a true priest, his holy text, a decorated devotional dwelling, and the remaining fingers of a handful of sincere supplicants, if not willful worshipers."

"IF you need an angelic visitation, I can offer only the illusion of one. But for me, when given all the makings, the recipe, and the heated oven, I understand, I'm to make a cake."

"Back to practicals... this is Riddleport. Let Mumsey stay. Ask her to stay, as cook by day, chemist by night. The true priest means none from the grand cathedral, and that promotes her to chef de cuisine. She can perhaps start to making wrapped lunches, for those working folk with need. We'll provide a gift, a pattern of kerchiefs for bindles, and your sharp eyes can learn the whole lot."

"Come on, lads! When else in your life are you going to have the opportunity, to found a church?"

"I'm not blind to the conflict; flayleaf in Sarenrae's house. But I expect, She might work that in Her way, maybe mellowing Mumsey's hard heart. Or others."

"And if Mumsey is found out by Micah, we might just find ourselves able to offer her a ready laboratory, and keep our tabs on her. If Marzo has pressed his cause against Snake, she may find herself promoted yet again?"

"I don't know what tomorrow may bring. But I do think we ought to make that cake."

Phillip reaches into his clothing and retrieves his holy symbol of Calistria. He places it very deliberately upon the table in front of him and raises an eyebrow "You want me to be a party to a Church of the Dawnflower?" turning to one side and spitting on the floor "That is my answer... I am done here." rising and retrieving his holy symbol.

All semblance of seeking common ground is fled from his person and cold fire has taken it's place. "Crysanthemum will walk from here with me, the bravos are yours to deal with. I will expect my fourth from what was taken when you return to the Goblin... There Saul will have a choice to make, and likely we will not be sleeping under the same roof when it is done."

He holds gaze with Gristav for a good span of seconds before spitting in the Varisi tongue "Zure hitzak markatuta daude ... denborarik izango haien gainean choke duzu."

With that he spins on his heels and moves upstairs with purpose.

Phillip reaches into his clothing and retrieves his holy symbol of Calistria. He places it very deliberately upon the table in front of him and raises an eyebrow "You want me to be a party to a Church of the Dawnflower?" turning to one side and spitting on the floor "That is my answer... I am done here." rising and retrieving his holy symbol.

"With neither buzz nor stripes, how to have known you as a wasp? I do try, not to offend the Powers. Most often, they're more reasonable than Their followers. Let me ask, isn't Sarenrae permitted Her vengeance?"

All semblance of seeking common ground is fled from his person and cold fire has taken it's place. "Crysanthemum will walk from here with me, the bravos are yours to deal with. I will expect my fourth from what was taken when you return to the Goblin... There Saul will have a choice to make, and likely we will not be sleeping under the same roof when it is done."

"I've only slept there the one night; there's trees more home than that house. I wouldn't put you from your home, with furnishings ordered to fit. I'll go. But you don't get to claim and parse Chrys and the thugs. She leaves when we've agreed where to and how. Now, what suits the Wasp Queen? Has Snake leave to pursue Marzo? Micah, to reclaim his church? Or only either, when done as Her deacon decrees?"

He holds gaze with Gristav for a good span of seconds before spitting in the Varisi tongue "Zure hitzak markatuta daude ... denborarik izango haien gainean choke duzu."

With that he spins on his heels and moves upstairs with purpose.

"You two should go after him, tell him you hate me and I'm stupid, and do as he demands. Better you three together, with me supporting from the sha- from the sunlight, than we three, and him in shade, with sting unsheathed. He's the sort to poison any well he doesn't own. Do take care, and be sure to fawn upon him. Remember you hate me. Here's cause: Braddon, you look like a gnome woman. Snake, ... well, I don't know you well enough to insult you. You don't know you, well enough to insult you. Best I can do."

Tidying the takings, Gristav laments, "We likely couldn't have done it, in any case. And too much risk to the innocent. It's always the innocent, harmed first..."

Gristav's words are met only by the silence of Phillip's departing back. Unless physically interdicted he's clearly made his choice and words will not sway him from it.

"That went well." Braddon stands and starts scooping up their takings.
"If you want the bodies dealt with, we could give them to the pressers. Otherwise, I was just gonna leave 'em to fend for themselves. Dunno if the General wants them, and I want my manacles back."
Braddon checks that he's reclaimed his rope and other items.
"Speaking of the General, aren't we seeing him this afternoon and are you still taking me to breakfast first?" Braddon asks of Gristav.

As the halfling leaves, "He's right about one thing: we can't stay here. We got no resources to keep it protected. We need to move those that are left, out. This place is a calling card for Marzo and his thrugs, and we don't want to be here when he knocks on the door." Looking to Braddon, "Go ahead and take your manacles, bub, I'm about to heal them up just before we leave. And let them fend for themselves; we got more important business to take care of. Also, I noticed on the thug that ran out back that you got a real nasty cut right into his rib cage. Was that the killing blow?"

"Take the armors. This set...", Gristav stops a long second, then continues, "This set is magicked, they all are well-made."

"Yes, still a noon meeting, still a breakfast. And the Publican in between, we still seek the miracle that brought us here."

"Justice and Mercy, indeed..."

Looking to Braddon, "Go ahead and take your manacles, bub, I'm about to heal them up just before we leave. And let them fend for themselves; we got more important business to take care of. Also, I noticed on the thug that ran out back that you got a real nasty cut right into his rib cage. Was that the killing blow?"

Braddon shrugs carelessly at Snake's question. "I hit 'em until they drop. Unless that ends the fight I haven't time to take a closer look."

"The goblin first, yes.", Gristav agrees, from where he's looting armor. "This man is dead. And it's nothing I did. One of you? I know where I struck him... and none were this wound here at the temple, deeper than my staff. A mace? That mace, there." Gristav slumps onto his legs, from where he'd knelt to take the armor. "Well, my fine heroes. What is that, but murder?"

"I hope it's the house, the manse a mange of madness. Yes, let's be rid of it, quit of it. Let the sane become sane again."

Braddon shrugs carelessly at Snake's question. "I hit 'em until they drop. Unless that ends the fight I haven't time to take a closer look."

The manacles disappear into Braddon's bulging backpack.
"If the Goblin's on the way, we should dump some of this stuff there."

"And did he drop? Or did the fight continue?"

"The goblin first, yes.", Gristav agrees, from where he's looting armor. "This man is dead. And it's nothing I did. One of you? I know where I struck him... and none were this wound here at the temple, deeper than my staff. A mace? That mace, there." Gristav slumps onto his legs, from where he'd knelt to take the armor. "Well, my fine heroes. What is that, but murder?"

Snake turns to Gristav, looking at him curiously. "Wait a minute, that wasn't you? This is one of the ones you knocked out with your magic. He was killed with something blunt. It wasn't your staff?"

Gristav wrote:

"The goblin first, yes.", Gristav agrees, from where he's looting armor. "This man is dead. And it's nothing I did. One of you? I know where I struck him... and none were this wound here at the temple, deeper than my staff. A mace? That mace, there." Gristav slumps onto his legs, from where he'd knelt to take the armor. "Well, my fine heroes. What is that, but murder?"

Snake turns to Gristav, looking at him curiously. "Wait a minute, that wasn't you? This is one of the ones you knocked out with your magic. He was killed with something blunt. It wasn't your staff?"

"This is the one I fought without the lights, after you... left.", Gristav says of the largest of them, once the second, now the succumbed. "One of the lights-felled is dead, as well; I think I did that. Hoping to race ahead of the end of the spell's effects, and alone... I did that. I did not mean to kill him. I did not mean to kill any of them, and I did not kill this one, there was no need, as I saw it, no spell about to let him wake... But someone... Phillip? Yes, Phillip. Phillip saw differently. Maybe he was right. For all we know, Kreun stopped to heal the mace-slain, and we'd... you three, I was with the chemist, you three would have had two to face..."

"He might have saved us all. But he killed this man. But he might, have saved us all."

"I wish to be quit of this house", Gristav finished quietly.

"And did he drop? Or did the fight continue?"

Braddon smirks. "They always drop when I hit them."

"He might have saved us all. But he killed this man. But he might, have saved us all."

"I wouldn't have thought he'd do that. He wanted them to continue the operation. There were idiots everywhere. Could've been any of them. Ask him if it matters. This place is better without them anyhow."

Braddon heads to the foot of the stairs, glances up them briefly, then waits for the others.

Phillip stalks up the stairs and returns momentarily with the halfling woman in tow. She throws a hard glance at Snake over her shoulder but doesn't relinquish Phillip's protection as they leave the building.

All right, you've got dead/unconscious bad guys, four civilians upstairs, and a pile of loot to deal with.

Snake narrows his eyes at the two leaving. "Hm. Alright, never mind, leave the bodies... even the ones still alive - those two will wake up soon enough. We got enough going on. Let's gather the woman, the girl, and Micah and get outta here. Like Raccoon said, this place is nothing more than a beacon for Marzo and his cronies and I ain't leaving them upstairs to him. Let's gather the loot and get to work." With that, Snake will begin gathering up the goods. As he does, he just now remembers another, "And let's not forget the old man. Not sure if he'd be willing to come along or not but we'll see."

"Braddon, would you move Beltias to his bedroom? Then gather the armors and other goods and clues, first for the Goblin, and then we'll talk? I ask you, because it will burden you least."

"I'll go try to explain all this to Padraig, or, failing that, play on my friendship with his son to motivate his withdrawal. We might find ourselves hauling coops, or leaving Padraig here. If we must leave him, we'll have to hope his bird-tending weights more than whatever vengeance might be served by harming him. It will have to be his choice, as best I can explain it, or sell it, but still, his choice. That's why I want Beltias in the room that testifies against him."

"Am I being a fool, even trying? Stop me, if you think so. And tell me, if you can, where we take these broken folk? And hope with me, the boy follows, from his skulking shadows."

"All that done, my next call is the Duck, then the Publican. Unless the streets twist widdershins...?", Gristav pondered a spot in the air, mentally molding a meandering map of his several circuitous courses around Riddleport. "North of the forges, north of the arena, west to the goblin... borrow a boat from cousin? No. Goblin, Duck, Publican, Shoreleave. And perhaps a gallows thereafter?", Gristav jested grimly.

Waiting a moment for any response, he headed toward Padraig's rooms, wondering what might remain unplundered, his own thoughts on the whole matter still unplumbed.

"Braddon, would you move Beltias to his bedroom? Then gather the armors and other goods and clues, first for the Goblin, and then we'll talk? I ask you, because it will burden you least."

"You ask me because magic may be flashy, but a strong arm and a sharp sword are still better at most things."

"Most of these folks will take better care of themselves without this loser messing with them."
Braddon kicks Beltias' body, then drags it and dumps it unceremoniously on the bed.
"We just leave 'em, I reckon. They survived before, they got their own lives to get back to."

Braddon takes out his sack and starts stuffing loot inside, happy to grab anything he's directed to and one or two other things as well, just to be sure.

Gristav wrote:

"Braddon, would you move Beltias to his bedroom? Then gather the armors and other goods and clues, first for the Goblin, and then we'll talk? I ask you, because it will burden you least."

"You ask me because magic may be flashy, but a strong arm and a sharp sword are still better at most things."

Braddon grins and follows Gristav upstairs.

"Most of these folks will take better care of themselves without this loser messing with them."
Braddon kicks Beltias' body, then drags it and dumps it unceremoniously on the bed.
"We just leave 'em, I reckon. They survived before, they got their own lives to get back to."

Braddon takes out his sack and starts stuffing loot inside, happy to grab anything he's directed to and one or two other things as well, just to be sure.

"Better at most things? Oh, the things they might do at all, I'll agree. But I'd rather do things a soft word and a nimble hand, might accomplish." Gristav murmurs, and manually manifests magics that banish the blood of battle from them both. "And so would you.", Gris adds, a ribald raise of one elf-arched brow making plain a peurile entendre.

"Can we? Just leave them? The throat-cut woman? The dutiful not-the-daughter? The shatter-sane Sarenrite? I think you'd find Snake would argue that with you, and I'd support him, but I admit I have no idea where we take them to. So you may prevail. Like the song, Seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go; looking for the places only they would know... But this was that place. I'll admit, to hoping, for guidance. Or luck. Or forgiveness. And just the slightest bit...", Gris gestured at holding a grain of sand, "All, any, of those, in Capitals."

As the rest of the stuff is gathered, Snake moves upstairs where he left the three occupants. "Everyone okay in here?" he asks, looking around at each of them. Seeing as all seems to be normal, he moves over to the unconscious lady and pulls out one of the vials. "We don't have the time to be carrying you. This will just have to be part of my share." He tells himself as he pours it down the woman's throat. Clw potion 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9

"Better at most things? Oh, the things they might do at all, I'll agree. But I'd rather do things a soft word and a nimble hand, might accomplish." Gristav murmurs, and manually manifests magics that banish the blood of battle from them both. "And so would you.", Gris adds, a ribald raise of one elf-arched brow making plain a peurile entendre.

"I don't mind some soft words and nimble hands," Braddon makes a questionable gesture, "but that doesn't work with everyone."

Braddon shrugs carelessly and the weight of their lives seems to fall from his shoulders.
"I don't think Saul will take them in. Shorafa would take the boy but I don't think there's much other charity here in Riddleport."

Gonna take liberties here...

As the woman stirs to wake, Snake addresses them all. "Just wanna let you all know you're free. Beltias and his cronies are gone. It's just you three and Padraig. We can find better places for you to stay if you wish, or you can remain here. I don't advise remaining here. Beltias was running a drug scam through here, and now that he won't be sending any more drug money to his "associate", you could easily be seeing some bad folk show up, looking for answers. And I don't think you wanna be around when they do. Better to be long gone and start fresh. But I'll leave that up to you. I don't know this town as well as any of you, so if you all know of a place that's far better than this one that you'd rather stay, I'll trust you on that if you decide to leave. And I'll help you get there to wherever there is. So what's it gonna be?"

"I don't mind some soft words and nimble hands," Braddon makes a questionable gesture, "but that doesn't work with everyone."

Braddon shrugs carelessly and the weight of their lives seems to fall from his shoulders.

"I don't think Saul will take them in. Shorafa would take the boy but I don't think there's much other charity here in Riddleport."

"Then you haven't seen the Riddleport I have. Or haven't looked with hope. I agree, Saul's home is not to be any of theirs. We may have to found a new manse. Might you know a father, with a daughter, she who might find distraction and edification in charity, at once? And by that charity, parole from her father's protective custodianship? And by her presence, protection and provision for that charity? And you, in the middle, a hero to all. Especially when... well, if, we return with Arnando's channelled miracle of your grandmother's testimony."

"Oh, it's a house of cards. But I'm The Fool, what other sort of house could I build?", Gris asks, grinning.

As the rest of the stuff is gathered, Snake moves upstairs where he left the three occupants. "Everyone okay in here?" he asks, looking around at each of them.

"That little woman is younger than the cook," Cassey remarks, "but I don't like her any better."

Micah huddles in a corner while Snake carefully administers the vial of potion to the unconscious Finnie. She coughs and sputters, almost choking on the restorative liquid as she comes awake, then shrinks fearfully away from the strange man hovering over her.

"Just wanna let you all know you're free. Beltias and his cronies are gone. It's just you three and Padraig. We can find better places for you to stay if you wish, or you can remain here. I don't advise remaining here. Beltias was running a drug scam through here, and now that he won't be sending any more drug money to his "associate", you could easily be seeing some bad folk show up, looking for answers. And I don't think you wanna be around when they do. Better to be long gone and start fresh. But I'll leave that up to you. I don't know this town as well as any of you, so if you all know of a place that's far better than this one that you'd rather stay, I'll trust you on that if you decide to leave. And I'll help you get there to wherever there is. So what's it gonna be?"

The child's eyes light up when Snake says Beltias's cronies are gone, and she doesn't seem to pay attention to the rest of his statement. "With them gone, that's rooms! And beds!" she hisses hopefully to Finnie. "We claim one now before anyone else knows they're here, I bet we can hold it. There's locks even! And the crazy man to scare people off!"

Realizing it's futile to argue with her, "It's your call. If you change your mind, just let me know before we leave because the rest of us are gonna clear out. I'll let you know when we do." He then moves downstairs, finding the others. "Which one of you cleared the rooms? And just to let you know, they want to stay. So I say we let 'em. If Marzo or his scum decide to pay a visit, they're not gonna find anyone that makes a difference to them. Plus, the old man is gonna need someone to take care of him. These people are comfortable around each other, just not anybody else. Let's get these dead bodies outside. And take the unconscious ones with them." Looking around a moment, "Is Beltias still upstairs? We need to get him outta here also. I don't want any dead ones stinking up the place. Once we've done that, it's time to go. Or you two can go on ahead and I'll take care of it; doesn't matter to me. I'll meet you at the Goblin when I'm done." Just as he's about to start moving dead bodies out the back door, "I almost forgot - So, again, which one of you cleared all the rooms?"

"I cleared Beltias's room and the belfry, the junk room and the tree outside. Also sniffed around the shrine, but I've got most of the good stuff from the pile in the kitchen. Had a spare sack," Braddon explains.
"Beltias is back in bed, like Gristav told me."
Braddon sighs and asks uncertainly, "Do you want me drag his corpse downstairs again?"

"I can't say I've done any thorough examination. I only made my mind open to magic, and walked about some. For that, I've been over the second and first floors, and to the belfry. With the exception of Padraig's."

"Has the danger been explained to them? Who chose to stay? It's not our choice, but we might make a strong recommendation. I'd asked Braddon move Beltias to his room, so that I might show Padraig all the evidences against his remaining, at once. I've no idea what to do with the pigeons... If they really are to stay... Braddon, what did you think of that father-daughter-hero thing I suggested? An option might be all they need, but until they have that, we can't push very hard."

"Shall I go try to remove Padraig, or... leave them all here?"

"If you would, Braddon, that would be good. I'm gonna just dump 'em all out back. Even the unconscious ones. I figure once they wake up amongst their dead brethren, they'll think twice about coming back to this place. Hold a moment and I'll help you, bub."

Turning to Gristav, "Yes, it has. I warned 'em of what might happen if they stay. And you wanna know what I got? I got, 'Yay, we've got beds to sleep in'," he says plainly, shrugging. "The way I see it, if Marzo comes and finds them here, he's gonna be pissed all that's left is these folks. This place is gonna mean nothing to him now. He won't waste his time on a bunch of 'nobody's'. And let's be honest, Gristav, I don't care how much 'evidence' you show the old man, he's not gonna know that from a hill of beans. There's no way he survives if we pull him outta here. This is all he's got. These people will take care of each other - that's all they know how to do. You split 'em up with a bunch of strangers, the child won't talk, the woman shies away from everyone, the priest fellow just finds a corner and mumbles to himself, and the old man more than likely dies." Taking a few steps closer to Gristav, Snake sighs, a look of resignation upon him. "Let 'em go, Gristav. Just let 'em go. I think we underestimate their will to survive together. Without each other... I don't think they stand a chance. I'm asking you to trust me on this one. In an odd sort of way, I think they'll do fine." Nodding to Braddon he's ready to go, he then turns and heads toward the stairs, yet stopping just before he goes up, looking back to Gristav. "'Sides, it's not like I won't be checking back on 'em every now and again." He nods, bringing the tip of his hat down a bit as he returns upstairs.

As he makes his way upstairs, he moves into Beltias's room. Seeing the dead man lying in his bed, Dead men tell no tales, do they Beltias? So many questions... He looks around the room just for looking sake. Noticing the "toys" upon the man's bed, Man this guy was a sicko. Shrugging, he aids Braddon in taking the body back downstairs.

"I'll admit to a sense of defeat and fatigue, even in this triumphant morning, which may make me more liable to accept less effort of myself... But I see your points. I cede, your points. I'll return with you, when you return. But I'll leave today."

Gristav will respectfully, if not forensically, gather Beltias' trophies with a hope toward perhaps delivering grim peace of mind to... well, he's not clear on who, just yet.

He'll also look about for any assembled logs or notes in the messaging room just before the loft. And yes, take the magnifying glass, personally and carefully.

"Braddon, what did you think of that father-daughter-hero thing I suggested? An option might be all they need, but until they have that, we can't push very hard."

Braddon's eyes narrow.

Braddon's eyes narrow.

"I think it's one of your worst ideas ever. While we were at the fort last night, Ananda tossed me a note asking to be let out of there because she was bored. A moment later I'm staring at the decomposing body of her housekeeper and guardian. So I gave the note to her father, who is not a nice man. I'd rather have her bored and alive than free and have some faction decide they want more than just her necklace next time. Did you see me stab myself in that fight? What do you think might have happened if she'd been nearby? Desna's wings, I've fought bandits, brigands, spiders, scribes, cultists and clerics. And that's just this week."

Gristav begins to elaborate on his intent, and the maths he'd mused, but :

Braddon takes a step forward and pokes Gristav in the chest.

"You... we... are never going near that girl again. I'd rather Daddy trained her to wield a sword or maybe say a spell or two but if he thinks it's safest to lock her up in a pretty prison then I totally agree with him."
Braddon looks uncertainly down at his finger then back to Gristav before slowly pulling his hand away.
"Sorry. Busy week," Braddon mumbles, shaking his head. "I so need to see that pretty red..." Braddon blushes.
"I'll bring Beltias back down."
He does.

Nearly as if he'd waited for Braddon, Gristav continues as if no time had passed. "If she were here, here would be safe, they would be safe, she would be safe... He would see to it. And if not this, then something. A pretty prison will be slipped, you may take my word of experience on that. She's safer with any little true chosen something to do, than all the false and forced nothing he can buy. Ponder it, if you'd be a friend to either of them."

Walking away in valorous discretion, Gristav suggests, "A more careful viewing of the kitchens? Before a search for foods leads the inheritors onto poisons?"

He'll also look about for any assembled logs or notes in the messaging room just before the loft. And yes, take the magnifying glass, personally and carefully.

Padraig looks up, as vaguely cheerful as usual, when Gristav re-enters his room to search the pigeon post. "Oh, aye?" he asks helpfully.

The half-elf carefully wraps the brass magnifying glass and stows it in his backpack, but he finds no remaining notes, either received or composed and not yet sent.

Gristav suggests, "A more careful viewing of the kitchens? Before a search for foods leads the inheritors onto poisons?"

A painstaking search of the kitchen turns out to be a stomach-turning task. In addition to the unwashed crockery, the bags of cereal contain more weevils than grain, every second lifted pot results in a scattering of roaches, and a cupboard tied shut with a piece of twine conceals a pile of dead rats in various states of decomposition.

The only relatively tidy area of the kitchen is a cabinet containing multiple small vials, as well as various flasks and canisters of acerbic liquids and foul-smelling powders. Most of the vials are empty, but one contains a clear liquid with an aroma not unlike nutmeg.

In addition to the vial, the kitchen contains enough equipment to outfit a workable alchemical lab.

Once the bodies have all been dealt with(both alive and unconscious), "Looks like we're done here." He looks toward the kitchen. "I guess Gristav is still working on the kitchen. See if he might need some help burning it down, bub," he tells Braddon, more than likely joking. One would find it difficult to tell when he says it with such a straight face. "They're isn't nothing good in that part of the house. I'll be back." He then heads back upstairs, checking on the others. He stops when he hits the first step and leans back, looking to Braddon. "DON'T burn it down, bub. Really." He then continues on.

Moving into the room, he looks at the three before bending at the knees and speaking to the girl. "Okay, Cassey and Neena, I want you to take care of these people, alright? You are tough, kiddo, you know that? This place is now all yours. And don't forget about Padraig who is just in the other room with all his birds." Rising up, he tips his hat to her. "Nice meeting you, Cassey. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." He glances at them all and then walks out, stopping just as he's about to round the railing and head downstairs. He turns and heads back into Beltias's room. I gotta clear this garbage outta here. Bad enough the girl has seen all she's already seen. No sense in making it worse. He does what he can to remove the "questionable items" from the bed, making sure it returns to a normal looking bed and decides to thoroughly check the room once more for anything else that might be found that appears questionable.

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30