With a minimum of awkwardness and a lifetime of experience, the gnome manages to perch himself atop a bar stool.
"The dwarf?" Thuvalia scoffs. "He has no style, no flair. Surely he is not to be the Gold Goblin's artistic director. The clientele will be gambling by torchlight to the sound of ringing anvils and going to bed by midnight with a glass of warm milk."
Braddon heads back to the main room and saunters up behind Gristav with a roll in one hand and the last of a croissant in his other hand.
He nods politely to Piccolo.
"Are we going to breakfast?" he asks through a mouthful.
The dwarf's frown only deepens as he tries to follow Snake's narrative, a process interrupted but not halted by a start of dismay when the witch confesses his own impiety. "Sczarni? Sczarni are outlawed in Riddleport. Wait, you said he left with a woman? Probably some Calistrian affair that I'm glad isn't connected with the premises. But if you've got a complaint against the halfling, take it up with Saul; he's Saul's hire, not mine."
"Nope, no complaint. Just giving you a heads up so you can explain it to Saul if he happens to ask." Snake then is just about to take his leave before he stops himself and looks to the dwarf through narrowed eyes. "Why is there furniture being moved in here and who's the gnome?"
"The clientele will be gambling by torchlight to the sound of ringing anvils and going to bed by midnight with a glass of warm milk."
"And a Dwarven woman? Real potential there!", Gristav jokes.
Braddon heads back to the main room and saunters up behind Gristav with a roll in one hand and the last of a croissant in his other hand.
He nods politely to Piccolo.
"Are we going to breakfast?" he asks through a mouthful.
"Yes", Gris answers with a glance at the roll. "I'll wait until then. But thank you!" He comradely clasps Braddon's arm a moment. "I suppose we ought to offer Snake the same? You, or I? How much hurry are you in?", Gristav teases, grinning.
"Why is there furniture being moved in here and who's the gnome?"
"Ask Saul," he replies with a short laugh, moving out into the queueing area where he can oversee the floor. "Another of his hires. The furniture was the halfling's idea: Thought we'd attract more of his size folk if they'd somewhere to sit and have a drink." He frowns in consternation. "Well, they're moving it now," he says, mostly to himself. "How did he convince them to do that?" He sets out across the floor toward the trio at the bar.
Snake follows the dwarf out, noticing the gnome next to Gristav and Thuvalia. "Hm. Looks like he's already met Gristav. And he still wants to stay?" He says in jest, yet, completely straight-faced.
Making his way over to the them, he looks to the gnome through narrowed eyes. "Heard you're a new hire. You got a name?" The tall man asks, a rock like visage about him and wearing a long trench coat and a wide brimmed hat.
"Piccolo, meet Snake. Snake, Piccolo. If we're gathered, might we make that breakfast as planned? We've much to do, to turn the failures of the day into something like success... and Greatreave might already be there. Piccolo, do you know a Greatreave, and his noble hound? Have you breakfasted? Pace would be a problem..."
Piccolo watches with some trepidation as the large man approaches him, I hope I did not offend anyone. "My name is Piccolo. Yes. I am newly hired by Saul. I was told to see Larur. And your name, sir?"
Larur arrives on the tall man's heels. "How'd you convince them to move the furniture upstairs?" he asks of Piccolo. "I thought we'd have to do it ourselves after they'd gone."
"I paid them extra to make it worth their time. I like to see working men well rewarded...Now to business. What are my duties?"
"Larur, if there's nothing else needed of us here, there's the breakfast promised to Braddon, with Greatreave, and another errand before a noon meeting with Ananda's father... We should be off."
"I paid them extra to make it worth their time. I like to see working men well rewarded...Now to business. What are my duties?"
"Duties? Well...," he hems and haws. "I suppose in the future it'll be you that deals with the suppliers and the performers ... though if you're going to negotiate a low rate and them pay them extra to get the work done, I don't see how that saves us any money." He gives the gnome a pointed glance. "But for this week, everything should be already arranged for." He glances at Gristav. "If they're meeting with the general, perhaps you'd better go along with them. We don't want any trouble with the Gendarmes."
Piccolo smiles confidently at Larur, "Ah, the extra pay. Do not be overly concerned. I did not know the details of the original contract. It seemed the men agreed to drop the furniture right inside our door. I negotiated a new contract and created a relationship. If I negotiate for furniture delivery, I will ensure the location of the delivery as part of the original cost. There will be no need to pay extra. I like detailed contracts. Ensures we are getting our money's worth."
He nods, "Dealings with the local constabulary. Of course, of course. I will lend what I may to the effort."
Piccolo turns to Gristav, "It seems I am tasked to travel with you to see The General."
Gristav smiles at Piccolo. "Our journey is a long one...", Gristav says as though daunted, "A race against time to the dwelling of the Three-Billed Duck, where we will rest and provision for the arduous river crossing to the Publican, there seeking solace in spirits and absolution in confession, and perhaps the cooperation of the resident priest. Then, again we cross the river, bound for Shore Leave... you aren't a wanted gnome, I trust?" Gris grins.
"Shall we away, then?"
Piccolo guffaws, "I do enjoy a good jest. Lead the way, I will follow."
Braddon looks warily at Piccolo.
"Do you eat much?" he asks, biting into the roll that Gristav had glanced at.
Piccolo watches with some trepidation as the large man approaches him, I hope I did not offend anyone. "My name is Piccolo. Yes. I am newly hired by Saul. I was told to see Larur. And your name, sir?"
"You can call me Snake."
Piccolo guffaws, "I do enjoy a good jest. Lead the way, I will follow."
Snake leans down near the gnome, "I hope you enjoy listening as well. That's all we can really do when Gristav's around." He winks, although a smile is nowhere to be found(at least outwardly).
Braddon looks warily at Piccolo.
"Do you eat much?" he asks, biting into the roll that Gristav had glanced at.
Snake just looks to Braddon with a blank stare, shaking his head at the simple man. "You know, bub, sometimes I wonder if you're even real. Let's move before Braddon eats everything that's not nailed down." Just as he turns to leave, he stops, a curious look about him. He's just about to ask before he realizes that if Gristav answers, he'll just have to ask again. And if Braddon answers, he'll just have to ask again. Knowing Piccolo has no idea, I'm stuck between one who speaks in circles and another who speaks with his mouth full of food. I'll just wing it. His thoughts then immediately turn to the loot. "Hold a moment, there's a few items I need to collect before we leave." He looks to Gristav with a raised eyebrow.
Gristav meets Snake's gaze an instant, then says, "Ah! Well, I'd brought this for you", prestidigitating a vial to fill the stretching fingers of an empty hand. Passing the potion to the overtall undertaker, he continued, "Or did you mean a need...", Gris breathed, turning his hand to lift a key from limbo, "...for this?"
"But, um... do lock the door after, and ah... No, no you can't catch up, you don't know where it is.", Gris mathed aloud. "We'll wait.", he said, holding forth the key.
He accepts the vial and then the key from Gristav. "Hm. Be back in a moment." Snake heads to Gristav's room and goes through the loot, taking what he thinks might be useful for him. As he steps out and locks the door, he looks around. "Luck? Where are you?" He waits a few moments before he finally notices the tiny creature come scampering toward him. "Where have you been, buddy?" He bends at the knees to pick him up and rises again. "I told you it's been a crazy morning. No sense in being so irritated with me. C'mon, on my shoulder. No more hiding for you, my friend." He scratches him on the head before placing him on his shoulder. He then makes his way back to the others. "Alright, let's get this over with."
"Glad you could join us", Gristav says to one or the other of the arriving pair. "There'll be a hound. I hope that's not a bother? I suppose one cannot tell, with hounds? Oh, and my key?"
Gristav leads the group to the Three-Billed Duck, hoping to arrive early enough to meet with Greatreave, and attentively enough to see if anyone else is watching for them.
Braddon looks warily at Piccolo.
"Do you eat much?" he asks, biting into the roll that Gristav had glanced at.
"Depends on the meal and length between them. I do enjoy fine food and drink, though I must admit I do not overindulge. I like to stay sharp. I find overindulgence in comestibles and potables to dull my blade." He taps his skull. "Dullness can lead to poor outcomes."
***
Piccolo addresses Snake, "Pleasure to meet you, Snake." He chuckles, "I do not mind listening. Much is learned listening to another talk, not only about the speaker, but those he speaks to."
***
Piccolo takes in the sights as he walks with the group.
Braddon nods to Piccolo and turns to Snake. "See, there's nothing wrong with fine food and drink. Besides, I worked up an appetite this morning."
"Piccolo, we're meeting with a Natinilinus Greatreave, and his hound Sludge. We... well, I suppose, I, had contracted with him to turn the hound's nose and his own wit to our task, what at that time was the finding and/or tracking of Dame Vishki and/or Lil Scarlet. The habit of the later of using a certain scent seemed a good fit. We'll be seeing this morning what if anything they've found, although events have moved past where they had been when the duo was hired."
"As a lighter aside to the dark detecting, I've also taken it as a playful mission to convince the house mistress that the hound is actually a prince, in the hope she might set aside her scorn for the beast, in a respect for the being. It's a profitless waste of time and effort, but I fancy myself better for the trying, more light-hearted. And I suppose a gnome might enjoy the jest of it?"
"Piccolo, we're meeting with a Natinilinus Greatreave, and his hound Sludge. We... well, I suppose, I, had contracted with him to turn the hound's nose and his own wit to our task, what at that time was the finding and/or tracking of Dame Vishki and/or Lil Scarlet. The habit of the later of using a certain scent seemed a good fit. We'll be seeing this morning what if anything they've found, although events have moved past where they had been when the duo was hired."
"As a lighter aside to the dark detecting, I've also taken it as a playful mission to convince the house mistress that the hound is actually a prince, in the hope she might set aside her scorn for the beast, in a respect for the being. It's a profitless waste of time and effort, but I fancy myself better for the trying, more light-hearted. And I suppose a gnome might enjoy the jest of it?"
Piccolo listens and nods, "I do enjoy jests."
"Yeah, well, jests aside, we need someone who can speak to my murdered Gramma and the General isn't gonna be laughing much if Gristav keeps falling short of his promises. I promised nothing and saved the General's daughter. I would say he likes me except he's the kind of guy who shows affection for someone by not torturing them to death. Gristav, however, says he can bring in a speaker with the dead and all we've done is kill half a dozen people. Today hasn't exactly started well."
"Yeah, well, jests aside, we need someone who can speak to my murdered Gramma and the General isn't gonna be laughing much if Gristav keeps falling short of his promises. I promised nothing and saved the General's daughter. I would say he likes me except he's the kind of guy who shows affection for someone by not torturing them to death. Gristav, however, says he can bring in a speaker with the dead and all we've done is kill half a dozen people. Today hasn't exactly started well."
"Well for justice, and for the General. And I only said I might, which is still true. I know how important this must be to you; have hope, there is still Arnando, and failing that, Shorafa. We're well able to prove how sincerely we thought of, and sought to, arrange the miracle. Here, put the grimness from your mind, and set your sights on the meals: The Duck for breakfast, wherever for lunch, and dinner perhaps set with Samaritha?"
The party sets back out into the late morning, crossing the Gold Goblin's busy courtyard and turning north. They pass through the massive shadow of the Mystery of the Gate, the circular inn run by the mages of the Cypherlodge, then turn right through the businesses and boarding houses of Leeward District. They pass the busy marketplace of Leeward Common on the south, where both merchants and farmers from outlying acreages are plying their wares, as the road starts to veer northeast. Before long, Braddon spies the building where Anya and Lexy live on the right side of the road and tries to pick out their window. Ahead, on the left, is the iron railing and blooming flowerboxes which mark off the cobblestoned outdoor dining room of the Three-Billed Duck. A mottled dog lies on the street side of the fence, and its ears perk up and tail starts to wag as Braddon approaches. At a table just inside the railing, the dog's companion is seated at a table with a half-eaten plate of griddlecakes in front of him.
Gristav very nearly reaches for his long-lost hat, to wave it in greeting, before sighing and raising aloft instead his staff, for Natinilinus' attention. The hat-born delay renders the whole effort useless, as the dog had sensed Braddon, and the master had seen the dog...
"We are late; it is my fault. But not a failing, begun with the brightest of hope, and bright enough in ending, though the path between was dark and dire. We are also famished; might we eat, while you make your report? And more business to discuss after? If you still find us suitable.", Gristav allowed, half in jest. "Oh! And this is Piccolo, unrelated to the earlier events, but a new hire at the Gold Goblin, and of a breed and banter both, echoed of your own. Piccolo, Natinilinus Greatreave. Braddon will perhaps introduce Sludge."
Gristav smiles, and excuses himself to walk inside, smilingly seeking Alex or Quinta, but aware of other possibilities...
Piccolo bows politely, "A pleasure, Mister Greatreave." He pays careful attention to the man's demeanor, how he eats, his expression, and the small details that indicate how he views the proceedings.
"Sludge, new guy. New guy, Sludge."
Braddon pats the dog and takes a seat. He stretches, yawns and looks around, craning to see a particular building they recently passed.
Piccolo bows politely, "A pleasure, Mister Greatreave."
The gnome's gaze quickly fixes on the new addition to the party. "Indeed," he replies dryly. "You are some relation to the jewelry-maker, I believe? Miss Kemplefae?"
"We are also famished; might we eat, while you make your report?"
"I should recommend the griddlecakes, and in furtherance of that recommendation, I shall happily partake of a second plating myself, as it is rude to allow one's employers to eat alone," he calls after Gristav.
Piccolo arches an eyebrow, "Miss Kemplefae allowed me to room with her for a while. I visited her shop. She was moved to provide a room for one of her people that had come upon hard times. She is very kind." That is uncomfortable. Someone in Riddleport aware of my relations. I must at the very least not admit to such relations. I do not want my auntie becoming involved in violent affairs.
"Hm." The tip of an eyebrow quirks slightly; it's hard to tell whether he believes Piccolo's explanation or not. "Very kind, indeed." He turns his attention to Braddon. "My associate thinks highly of you, sir, and I have generally found Sludge to be an excellent judge of character. You appear distracted, however. Do you suspect you have been followed?"
Braddon starts guiltily.
"No, no, no. I wish. I was just looking for some... friends."
Braddon grins and his eyes glaze ever so briefly.
"I've met many people in the past week, and as good a these bunch are I'd like to spend some time with some people... not from work."
"Indeed, indeed," Natinilinus answers with a sage nod. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull gnome. Or half-elven gentleman, as it were. I can assure you, sir, that should you, in fact, be followed, you need fear no surprise whilst Sludge is nearby. His senses are always on alert, and he would certainly warn me if our rendezvous were to attract any untoward attention."
The dog looks up at Braddon vacantly and whaps its tail on the cobblestones.
Gristav enters the Three-Billed Duck and glances around. The dining room is deserted, it being late for breakfast and early for luncheon. Alex Crispin, rather than at his usual post behind the bar, is seated at one of the tables with his feet up, a broadsheet spread open in front of him. Spying Gristav, he hurriedly folds it up and gets to his feet with a touch of embarrassment. "Yes, sir, what can we do for you?"
Gristav enters the Three-Billed Duck and glances around. The dining room is deserted, it being late for breakfast and early for luncheon. Alex Crispin, rather than at his usual post behind the bar, is seated at one of the tables with his feet up, a broadsheet spread open in front of him. Spying Gristav, he hurriedly folds it up and gets to his feet with a touch of embarrassment. "Yes, sir, what can we do for you?"
Gristav gestures back to Alex's emptied chair, feigning tones of offense, but smiling conspiratorially, with a glance toward the kitchens. "No man need rise to me in his own house, Master Crispin. If ever you rise, let it be of respect or affection, and not in service of form. I am well quit of such forms, and I would be your friend." Having crossed to Crispin's table, Gristav asks toward an unwarmed chair, "May I sit with you? Two men over a broadsheet, news of the day? Oh, I've duties as a patron, but might I just be a fellow, until they're fulfilled?" The weariness of the morning is genuinely evident in Gristav's face as he asks, seeming defeated as he adds, "I need five plates of griddlecakes, you see? We're four more at the gnome's table."
Bracing up, Gristav suggests, "I'll carry them myself, if it's no insult to the dignity of your house. I might then claim, I'd served a prince, a useful thing to be able to say, one might think." Gristav grins. "So, five plates, and six tankards? And at your own leisure, unless, that is, you were working up your thirst?", Gris asked in notes of playful conspiracy.
As Snake grows a bit tiresome of the conversation, "Is this gonna take all day? What's the point of this meeting?"
Braddon rolls his eyes.
"It was Gristav's idea. These guys were gonna help find Gramma and Lil. And to be honest, it kinda worked. I dunno what he wants from them now, but I'll wait. The food is pretty good."
Braddon grins at Snake's reaction.
The gnome fixes his eyes seriously on Snake. "Mistress Crispin's griddlecakes are, indeed, exceptional: redolent of freshly mown grass with an aftertaste of raspberry and tobacco, and sufficient to overlook the woman's less fortunate qualities. I regret to inform you that Sludge was unable to uncover a trace of Mistress Vishki after we separated in Lubbertown, but I am in possession of further information about the second subject of the investigation." He glances at the door of the tavern through which Gristav passed. "Which I shall be happy to relate once the party is again collected."
"May I sit with you? Two men over a broadsheet, news of the day? Oh, I've duties as a patron, but might I just be a fellow, until they're fulfilled?" The weariness of the morning is genuinely evident in Gristav's face as he asks, seeming defeated as he adds, "I need five plates of griddlecakes, you see? We're four more at the gnome's table."
Bracing up, Gristav suggests, "I'll carry them myself, if it's no insult to the dignity of your house. I might then claim, I'd served a prince, a useful thing to be able to say, one might think." Gristav grins. "So, five plates, and six tankards? And at your own leisure, unless, that is, you were working up your thirst?"
Alex grins, but before he can reply, Quinta pushes her way into the room through the kitchen door. "Alex, are you speaking to a customer?" Her eye falls on the folded broadsheet in his hand. "Alex Crispin, you're not wasting time and money betting on the arena fights again!"
"N-no, dear, not at all," he replies. "It's the gentleman's broadsheet. As he's new to Riddleport, he was merely asking my opinion on who the favorites might be this weekend." He hands the folded paper to Gristav. "I wouldn't put too much stock in my judgment, sir; it's been a while since I've had the leisure to bet on the fights."
"Ah, well," Quinta relents, with an indulgent smile at the half-elf, "young gentlemen will be young gentlemen, I suppose. No harm done when he hasn't a family and a business to be responsible for. Your sailor friend's not with you today?" She looks around a little suspiciously for Jaelle.
"Griddlecakes with the gnome, Quinta," Alex puts in quickly. "For five, was it, sir?"
"Let's make it six?", Gristav says, taking the broadsheet absently into his grasp, and out of sight. "Six plates, six tankards, whatever you favor best, will speed the ordering over collecting the varied whimsies of the table.", Gristav says to Alex, then turns more toward Quinta, adding, "And of course, for the plates, please, griddlecakes?" with a hint of pleading. "Alex can bring the lot, and spare us both. You the sun, and me, another moment over the broadsheet?"
"Oh, and you asked after Jaelle... no, sadly. But well enough. Today was a morning of business, rest of the day as like, it seems. And while I didn't choose her elsewise occupied, I would have, to spare her the burden of it.", the half-elf says, some weariness in his face, unfeigned.
To Alex, Gristav asks, "Might I join you at your tap, for the tankards? That would spare me, a bit of that sun, too."
Braddon shifts uncomfortably at the words of Natinilinus Greatreave.
"That's okay. We uh... found... Mistress Vishki. Some questions about Lubbertown led us to Shoreleave where she... her body... had been taken. She was on the cliffs after all."
Snake just looks at the gnome impassively for a moment before finally speaking. "Did you just say, 'freshly mown grass with an after taste of raspberry and tobacco'?" He glances at Braddon before continuing with, "Who in the Nine Hells describes griddlecakes like that? I mean besides Gristav," he asks rhetorically, simply shaking his head at such nonsense. "Anyway, so you're waiting on Gristav. Hold on a moment." Snake rises and heads into the area where Gristav took off to. Once he enters, "GRISTAV!" he yells, unconcerned whether it was warranted or not. "The gnome has info he won't share unless you're in here. Let's get this done so we can get out of here. And stop talking to whoever it is you're talking to! That's just gonna slow us down." He then returns to the table with the others and takes a seat, staring at the gnome and his dog stoically, as if studying them. After a few uncomfortable moments, Snake blurts out, "A second subject? What second subject?" He looks to Braddon, wondering if he might know.
Quinta returns to the kitchen to see to the batch of griddlecakes, and Alex turns apologetically to Gristav. "Appreciate your playing along on that," he says as he begins to fill the tankards. "She doesn't approve of gambling. Or blood sports, for that matter."
The pair are startled by Snake's sudden entrance and abrupt summons. "I'll have these out in half a moment," Mr. Crispin assures the half-elf. "Don't let me detain you; sounds like your friend's in a hurry."
"That's okay. We uh... found... Mistress Vishki. Some questions about Lubbertown led us to Shoreleave where she... her body... had been taken. She was on the cliffs after all."
"Excellent, excellent," the gnome answers, brushing past the fact that the woman is dead as if the important thing is that her whereabouts have been ascertained.
"A second subject? What second subject?"
"He's just told you," Natinilinus frowns. "Lil Scarlet. Although technically, she was the first subject, as you took us to investigate her home first."
Quinta returns to the kitchen to see to the batch of griddlecakes, and Alex turns apologetically to Gristav. "Appreciate your playing along on that," he says as he begins to fill the tankards. "She doesn't approve of gambling. Or blood sports, for that matter."
"Yes. Blood is where sport ends.", Gristav sighs. "But short of blood... Man to man, arm to arm, whate'er pain, an short of harm. Short of blood, for blood's for battle. But man's to strive, more wolf than cattle." Gristav paused. "It goes on. But I won't.", he smiled.
The pair are startled by Snake's sudden entrance and abrupt summons. "I'll have these out in half a moment," Mr. Crispin assures the half-elf. "Don't let me detain you; sounds like your friend's in a hurry."
"Not at all. He doesn't know where he's going, so he has to stay at pace. He hasn't the clarity to see, the cakes set a timetable. Still, something else we've in common, Master Crispin; our separate harridans." Gristav smiled away, he hoped, any sting the last word might bear, but then sighed, and left the shade of the shelter.
Back at the table, Gristav gathered himself a chair from wherever nearby, offering a scrubbing tousle of the hound's fur, through the bars, before he sat down. "There's an extra plate coming, could be his.", Gris declared. "Now, Master Greatreave, you had news?"
Natinilinus retrieves a folded paper from his pocket and begins. "Lil Scarlet," he announces grandiloquently. "Undoubtedly an alias, though her birth name is unknown. Arrived in Riddleport approximately eight years ago, presumably by sea, and took up residence in the House of the Silken Veil, already known as a haven for those of ... interesting heritage."
The gnome closes both his mouth and his paper tightly as Alex Crispin emerges from the interior of the Duck with a tray of tankards. A stout and cheerful human man of middle years, with a fringe of dark hair around a mostly-bald pate, he announces politely, "Griddlecakes will be out in a jiffy, gentlemen."