Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

General Mescher politely gestures Gristav, Piccolo, and Snake down the stairs in front of him and brings up the rear. "There's evidence upstairs that needs to be analyzed," he tells one of the Gendarmes on the first floor. "A scarf and two vials on my desk. Treat them with care, and take them across to Slyeg's man to be examined. Graves," he turns to another man, "I need a squadron to the flophouse known as Rag's End in Rotgut to pick up the losing end of a recent scuffle. Bring them in, both corpses and wounded. Better requisition a boat up the river; no point parading them through Leeward Common on a market day. Snyde, tell the cook I need another place set; there will be three for lunch. Oh, and inform the guardhouse that we'll be expecting Mr. Rolf of the Publican House sometime this afternoon; bring his party straight through, and inform me immediately when he arrives." The Gendarmes promptly disperse as he finishes issuing orders, going upstairs or out the door accordingly; there's little doubt but that Mescher runs a tight ship.

He turns back to the party. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen; unfortunately, few in Riddleport are as public-spirited as yourselves."

"General, there's a woman surviving a cut throat in that house. Do you judge your men's gentleness in the search of Ananda's home as typical of their methods? Might an unmartial mage moderate their methods? With your blessing?"

Snake nods to Piccolo as the gnome takes his leave. As Gristav inquires about overseeing the General's men at Rag's end, that's Snake's cue to take his leave as he turns and does so. A tiny four legged animal pops out of somewhere and zips right up the tall man onto his shoulder. "I was wondering when you were gonna show." He rubs Lucky on the head as he makes his way to the Publican.

"General, there's a woman surviving a cut throat in that house. Do you judge your men's gentleness in the search of Ananda's home as typical of their methods? Might an unmartial mage moderate their methods? With your blessing?"

Mescher stares at Gristav a moment, then shrugs and moves with him to the front door of the building. "Graves!" he calls into the courtyard where the Gendarme is gathering a group of men. "Civilian traveling with you. He'll be able to point out the men to be taken into custody." He gives Gristav a nod and an appraising gaze before turning to go back into his HQ.

Gristav wrote:

"General, there's a woman surviving a cut throat in that house. Do you judge your men's gentleness in the search of Ananda's home as typical of their methods? Might an unmartial mage moderate their methods? With your blessing?"

Mescher stares at Gristav a moment, then shrugs and moves with him to the front door of the building. "Graves!" he calls into the courtyard where the Gendarme is gathering a group of men. "Civilian traveling with you. He'll be able to point out the men to be taken into custody." He gives Gristav a nod and an appraising gaze before turning to go back into his HQ.

"Thank you, General."

"Officer Graves?", Gristav asks of the man in command. "I am Gristav."

Snake and Piccolo travel together back down the riverbank and into Riddleport proper. The streets are bustling now with both vendors and workers on lunch break looking to grab a bite to eat. They part at the Mystery of the Gate, where Snake heads west to the ferry once more while Piccolo continues south to the Gold Goblin.

--------------------------

"Officer Graves?", Gristav asks of the man in command. "I am Gristav."

Graves looks distinctly unpleased at being saddled with a ridealong but looks over Gristav's shoulder at the door the General has just disappeared behind. "Aye, that's fine then," he says in a cold tone that implies it's not fine at all. "You watch yourself now. This is official business, this is, and Rotgut ain't a safe place if you wander away. Keep close and your mouth closed and out of the way, and you'll be all right. All hands!" he shouts to the squadron. "We're heading into Rotgut to round up some miscreants, dead and alive! Look alive now, and keep a weather eye open!" He leads the squadron and Gristav out of Devil's Fork and south along the road into Riddleport that Snake and Piccolo just traveled.

--------------------------

Snake finds the ferry dock busy as well with workmen passing from one side of the river to the other. He steps onto the flatboat with a knot of them, headed to the west bank of the Velashu. As they disembark on the other side, most turn south with him, presumably heading to the Publican House for a tankard themselves. As he approaches the tavern, three street vendors are set up in the street outside, doing brisk business selling sandwiches, skewers, and meat pies to go with the liquid refreshment on offer within.

--------------------------

Piccolo arrives at the courtyard of the Gold Goblin, now deserted, the dancing surface presumably finished to the satisfaction even of the Varisian diva. The carved wooden oversized double doors are closed and barred from within; the gnome has to go around to the kitchen door and use the key he received from Saul that morning. He finds the kitchen and bar both empty but can smell the aroma of food and the faint sound of conversation from upstairs. Following his senses, he climbs the stairs to the owner's suite where he finds Saul, Larur, Bojasc, Tendal, and Thuvalia at lunch around the table in the dining room.

"I'm telling you," the dwarf is saying to Saul in his raspy voice as he gestures with his fork for emphasis, "I'd feel easier with someone out there keeping an eye on that dance floor. Dranngvit knows what someone might do to a slab of wood, but if they can think of something that'll hurt us, they're like to do it. Nine hells, if they just get after it with a handaxe Starday night, they'll cause us trouble trying to get it fixed before opening."

"He has a point, sir," Tendal Deverin puts in, taking a sip from a goblet. "Spiders in the wine shipment, robbers among the entertainers, tiefling prostitutes and generals' daughters in the guest rooms: They're none of them orthodox methods of sabotage. Perhaps we should have some of the staff camp out on the verandah the next few nights, just in case. It's not like it's not pleasant weather for it."

"Caltrops, grease, soap, marbles, alchemical glue...." Thuvalia begins to list ways to booby-trap a dancing surface like an old pro. Chips of ice clink in her sweating glass of cold tea.

Piccolo steps into the room standing quietly by while each person speaks their piece. After a respite, he'll chime in, "You do seem to have attracted some unsavory attention, Saul. I've spent my day listening to many of the sordid details." He approaches the table, "Might I join your table for a bit of icy tea and victuals. It is tiring to keep pace with tall folk as they walk about the city. Very tiring... After a meal, I will gladly watch the dance floor. It would be bad for business were performers to come to harm, while using The Gold Goblin's dance floor. We wouldn't be able to attract entertainment, if we become a place where the term 'suffering artist' is literal."

"Why, certainly, Master Taphodarian," Saul replies cheerfully, barely stumbling over the complicated surname, "pull yourself up a chair. Bojasc, fetch the man a bolster so he can see the top of the table! Help yourself to some lunch, my lad; it's share and share alike here."

With a surly glare, the Varisian bodyguard gets up to go to the corner of the room for a thick cushion and grudgingly sets it in the seat of one of the chairs.

"It would be bad for business were performers to come to harm, while using The Gold Goblin's dance floor. We wouldn't be able to attract entertainment, if we become a place where the term 'suffering artist' is literal."

Thuvalia has just taken a large bite of her lunch, but her eyes widen as she gestures with her glass of tea toward the gnome and swallows her food quickly. "Finally! A man with a proper attitude toward the talent! It's about time you hired someone with an understanding of the entertainment business, not a wild-eyed hooligan like the rest of your staff. Yes, sadly, in today's world, thugs are too often a necessary evil, but customers do not come to a business of pleasure and refinement to watch the security." She gifts Piccolo with a warm smile.

"Why thank you, Saul. you are a generous man."

Piccolo returns Thuvalia's smile with equal warmth, while deftly ascending his chair and taking his place upon the comfy cushion. He pours a tankard of tea, immediately imbibing a long, satisfying draught, "Very refreshing." He picks the vittles he likes: a bit of cheese, a hunk of bread, a chicken leg, and a plum. He sets to them talking between carefully chewed bites, so as not to rudely chew and talk.

"Entertainers are a delicate lot, but worth protecting. A quality entertainer can increase business two to three fold. Good entertainment turns your establishment into a destination rather than simply a gaming house. A place to come and be entertained. Of course, while you are here, why not gamble and feast. If your house entertainment is good enough, your reputation may become so great as to become a destination for folk from other cities. The place to visit when in Riddleport."

Thuvalia almost visibly glows at Piccolo's paean to the talent, and Larur nods with quiet approbation at his farsighted conclusion.

"A man of vision, I see," Tendal smiles, raising his glass to the gnome. "I must voice a qualified agreement with Miss Barabbio's assessment: Without using quite her colorful language in regard to the other employees, it's a pleasure to have another business-minded person on the staff."

Snake follows the crowd around to the riverside entrance of the Publican House and enters. The small room in the back looks full now, and a few men are sitting at tables out in the main tavern on Eulalie's newly-mopped floor. He presumes the staff must be back in the morning room as well.

--------------------

Gristav follows the Gendarmes, who march in loose formation behind Graves, along the river road, around the ridge, into Leeward District. The roads are busy now, with both workers seeking lunch and vendors seeking to sell it to them, but no one jostles the Gendarmes, instead stepping well to the side to get out of their way as they pass through the streets. Graves seems to enjoy the deference and calls out several entirely unnecessary commands to his men, who disregard them in any case. He takes the most visible course through the city, past the plaza outside the House of the Silken Veil, where the Calistrian prostitutes are on display for the luncheon crowd, and through the middle of Leeward Common, weaving around the carts and kiosks of the open-air market.

As they pass the commons and near the Gas Forges, the streets become narrower and less populated and the buildings shabbier until Leeward District has shaded into Rotgut. Apart from the sun being higher overhead, not much has changed since Gristav walked the same streets this morning; there are no street vendors or browsing pedestrians here. Ahead, Gristav can see the bell tower of Rag's End pointing into the sky above the rooftops; behind it are the arch of the Cyphergate and a sickly, inexplicable blot in the sky.

Snake gives the street vendors outside the Publican House nothing more than a glance as he makes his way inside. "Stay close, Luck. I don't trust anybody," he tells the shoulder riding ferret. "You may want to hide in the pack."

Stepping inside, he looks around at the busyness of the place and lowers the tip of his hat a bit as he makes his way to an unoccupied table, that sits in a far corner, where it's not nearly as well lit. This place sure doesn't waste time attracting customers. Always feeling like he's being watched - and even more so now that he's by himself - he pops the neck flaps of his coat up to partially hide his face as he waits for Eulalie, or another waitress, to take his order. While he waits, he nonchalantly scans the few faces that are here. I wonder if I know any of them... or if they know me. Probably best I don't know.

As they pass the commons and near the Gas Forges, the streets become narrower and less populated and the buildings shabbier until Leeward District has shaded into Rotgut. Apart from the sun being higher overhead, not much has changed since Gristav walked the same streets this morning; there are no street vendors or browsing pedestrians here. Ahead, Gristav can see the bell tower of Rag's End pointing into the sky above the rooftops; behind it are the arch of the Cyphergate and a sickly, inexplicable blot in the sky.

"The steeple, there", Gristav says without gesture. "Left of the scorch, right of the arch."

After Piccolo sups, he will find a comfy spot to observe the dance floor. He will maintain a watchful vigil.

Snake seats himself at a round and dainty table with a single chair; it almost tips over when he rests his arm on it, and a bald man with a thick black beard and mustache at a neighboring table glares at him. He is still steadying it when he realizes someone is calling to him over the hum of conversation.

"Hi! Here! You! Yes, you, with the coat on the hottest day of the summer: where are you from, Irrisen? What's your poison?" Glancing over toward the bar, he sees a male halfling with an apron over common work clothes standing beside it, polishing a tankard with a dishcloth. He grins at Snake welcomingly.

------------------------

"Mark the steeple," Graves bawls to his men, as if Gristav hadn't spoken. "That's our destination." He marches the squadron around the intervening block of buildings and into the street in front of Rag's End. The shattered glass from the broken window above the doors is still lying in scattered shards on the steps of the front stoop.

Snake looks to the halfling, a bit taken aback. Poison? I don't..., he stops, letting out a small sigh of exasperation at his own jumpiness. Instead of hollering across the room, Snake gets up from the wobbly table, catching it just before it almost falls again. Becoming irritated at the inanimate object, he firmly holds it in place before slowly removing his hands and heading for the bar. Finding a seat, "Just give me whatever your best is. Wait a minute, how much does that cost?"

"Just give me whatever your best is. Wait a minute, how much does that cost?"

"No clue," the halfling replies cheerfully. "Have to ask Eulalie. Lalie!" he calls over his shoulder. "Do you have a best, and how much do you charge for it?"

Snake finds himself sitting next to two other halflings at the bar, both in work clothes similar to the Small aproned man. They eye him hiding behind his coat collar with frank curiosity.

"Do I have a...?" Eulalie repeats, emerging from the kitchen with her hands full, looking harried. "Got the lah-de-dah Lil Scarlet favors, but I've never seen her in here with the lunch crowd." She glances around the room curiously.

Noticing the halflings eyeing him, "What are you two looking at?" he asks rhetorically, glowering at them. Turning back to the bartender, "Just give me whatever you have common, bub. Didn't know this was a conversation we were gonna be having with everybody." Man I'm starting to hate this place.

"Mark the steeple," Graves bawls to his men, as if Gristav hadn't spoken. "That's our destination." He marches the squadron around the intervening block of buildings and into the street in front of Rag's End. The shattered glass from the broken window above the doors is still lying in scattered shards on the steps of the front stoop.

"Around the house? A man or two here, to collect any fugitives tripped on the shards? And another entrance, over the fence. Or, test your boots, and enter a door you can't retreat from?. I only see the questions. What are your answers?"

"Just give me whatever you have common, bub. Didn't know this was a conversation we were gonna be having with everybody."

"One ale, coming up," the halfling replies, filling a tankard. "Sorry about that; I don't actually work here. I'm just lending a hand while the barman's busy."

-------------------------

"Around the house? A man or two here, to collect any fugitives tripped on the shards? And another entrance, over the fence. Or, test your boots, and enter a door you can't retreat from?. I only see the questions. What are your answers?"

Graves surveys the shard-laden steps sourly. "You!" he designates one of his men. "Find a broom or something to clear this out of the way. And you!" he turns to another. "Go find one of Depuy's men and requisition a boat to take our captives up the river."

The two men scarper, while the rest of the man settle in to wait under the noonday sun.

Having completed his lunch, Piccolo heads back downstairs, out the back door, and around to the front of the casino. The day is hot, but the verandah is shaded; he is able to find a reasonably comfortable place to sit which overlooks the newly-installed dancing surface. In the distance, he can hear the sailors calling out to each other and the cries of sea birds carrying from the wharves a few blocks south. The oversized goblin statue in the middle of the courtyard is standing in a puddle of its own shadow now that the sun is virtually directly overhead; Piccolo can't help but notice that the gilt paint is peeling in a few places, letting the plaster show through.

He has just been out there long enough to get a little drowsy in the heat, with his belly full, when the cosmopolitan mage, Tendal Deverin, comes around the side of the building and climbs the steps to join him in his vigil. "Frightfully hot, isn't it?" he asks conversationally, drawing a silk handkerchief from his lapel pocket to mop his brow. "Might I have a word? On the subject of the future of the business?"

Gristav wrote:

"Around the house? A man or two here, to collect any fugitives tripped on the shards? And another entrance, over the fence. Or, test your boots, and enter a door you can't retreat from?. I only see the questions. What are your answers?"

Graves surveys the shard-laden steps sourly. "You!" he designates one of his men. "Find a broom or something to clear this out of the way. And you!" he turns to another. "Go find one of Depuy's men and requisition a boat to take our captives up the river."

The two men scarper, while the rest of the man settle in to wait under the noonday sun.

"The liquor-seller might have a broom, for his own broken glass...", Gristav suggests to the man casting about for hope. "And there's a broom inside, but that's faint help."

"Officer Graves, the bodies and those hors de combat were left by a tree, behind a fence, around the house, in that direction. If they remain there, you'll have little need to fret over the glass."

Piccolo notes the arrival of the mage with a nod, "Always happy to talk business, Tendal."

"Officer Graves, the bodies and those hors de combat were left by a tree, behind a fence, around the house, in that direction. If they remain there, you'll have little need to fret over the glass."

Flinging the half-elf a dirty look, Graves leads the remainder of his men around the eastern side of the building, as Gristav directed. He stops at the gate into the back garden, but the latch is on the inside. "Get this open," he growls, stepping aside, and the Gendarmes begin to put their shoulders to the gate in an attempt to break the mechanism.

Between take 20 and aiding another, they'll get it open in a minute or two.

"One ale, coming up," the halfling replies, filling a tankard. "Sorry about that; I don't actually work here. I'm just lending a hand while the barman's busy."

Snake looks to the halfling, "Barman? Who's the barman?"

Snake looks to the halfling, "Barman? Who's the barman?"

"Arnando Rolf," the halfling answers with surprise, setting the ale in front of Snake. "The tavernkeeper. Runs the place."

"Psh," Eulalie scoffs, walking past with a tray, "thinks he does. You know Arnando, love," she looks up at Snake kindly. "Big fellow that's usually behind the bar. I don't suppose you've ever been formally introduced."

Gristav wrote:

"Officer Graves, the bodies and those hors de combat were left by a tree, behind a fence, around the house, in that direction. If they remain there, you'll have little need to fret over the glass."

Flinging the half-elf a dirty look, Graves leads the remainder of his men around the eastern side of the building, as Gristav directed. He stops at the gate into the back garden, but the latch is on the inside. "Get this open," he growls, stepping aside, and the Gendarmes begin to put their shoulders to the gate in an attempt to break the mechanism.

Between take 20 and aiding another, they'll get it open in a minute or two.

"Gentlemen... If you'd lend me a shoulder held fast?", Gristav asks, pausing for assent before passing in ascent, up the guardsmen to see over the gate, and magic aside the latch. (or strike aside with the stave, if needs must)

"We'd not have to confess the damaging of a churchyard, surely?", Gris asks, before looking to the bodies, "Nor graveyard?"

The Gendarmes look questioningly to Graves, who sneers but gives a short nod. They boost Gristav up, and he grabs hold of the top of the wall, peering over. He notices immediately that two of the seven bodies are gone; flies are buzzing over the remaining five. Glancing down the interior side of the gate, he can see that the latch is a simple one, but it is out of reach of his staff at the awkward angle he would have to extend it over the wall. He will have to hop down inside the garden to open the gate. He clambers up to the top of the wall, crouches a moment, and then leaps down.

I'm not going to let prestidigitation open the gate because that duplicates the effect of open/close, but it's easily opened once he's on the ground on the right side of the wall. Roll me an Acrobatics check: If you make DC 15, he jumps down with no damage; roll less and he takes 1d6 nonlethal damage.

Piccolo notes the arrival of the mage with a nod, "Always happy to talk business, Tendal."

Tendal spreads the handkerchief he just used to wipe his face over the railing of the verandah before he half-sits, half-leans on it, so as not to smutch his clothing. "Mr. Vankaskerkin and I were very impressed with the grasp of the possibilities of this enterprise which you demonstrated. I'm afraid Mr. Felden doesn't fully appreciate the opportunities arrayed before us; he's a practical man, content to scrape by, keep his head down, and realize a small profit along the way. But Mr. Vankaskerkin and I -- and you, of course -- realize that the Gold Goblin can be more than merely a going concern."

"I'm sure you've noticed the abandoned and dilapidated buildings along either bank of the Velashu," he goes on. "The River District is ripe for redevelopment, if it can be demonstrated to be a safe place to do business. Today, a casino; tomorrow, perhaps a tavern or sidewalk cafe; next week, a nice shop or two; later, an inn; and before you know it, the Gold Goblin has gone from sitting in the middle of near-worthless real estate to the heart of its own vibrant district, a destination, as you say. It would be something to be one of the innovators, the visionaries, in on the ground floor of something like that, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, yeah that's right, I remember Gristav talking to him now." Snake takes a drink and then sets the mug back down. How did I forget that? "And no, I haven't met him. You all stay fairly busy during this time of day?"

"Aye, for the lunch hour," Eulalie replies. "Folks only get a short time off and don't want to spend it walking all the way to Leeward, so they drop in here and the food vendors set up outside to provide a bite to wash down their ale with." She winks. "When the workers are back on the job, the lads outside share their leftover pies with us, and we stand them a spot of drink, and everyone's happy."

"That does indeed sound interesting. The River District available to those with the vision to turn it into something other than it is, turn it into a...destination. Waterside property could be very attractive. Besides the cost of purchasing the property, why isn't this property developed?"

Tendal spreads the handkerchief he just used to wipe his face over the railing of the verandah before he half-sits, half-leans on it, so as not to smutch his clothing. "Mr. Vankaskerkin and I were very impressed with the grasp of the possibilities of this enterprise which you demonstrated. I'm afraid Mr. Felden doesn't fully appreciate the opportunities arrayed before us; he's a practical man, content to scrape by, keep his head down, and realize a small profit along the way. But Mr. Vankaskerkin and I -- and you, of course -- realize that the Gold Goblin can be more than merely a going concern."

"I'm sure you've noticed the abandoned and dilapidated buildings along either bank of the Velashu," he goes on. "The River District is ripe for redevelopment, if it can be demonstrated to be a safe place to do business. Today, a casino; tomorrow, perhaps a tavern or sidewalk cafe; next week, a nice shop or two; later, an inn; and before you know it, the Gold Goblin has gone from sitting in the middle of near-worthless real estate to the heart of its own vibrant district, a destination, as you say. It would be something to be one of the innovators, the visionaries, in on the ground floor of something like that, wouldn't you say?"

The Gendarmes look questioningly to Graves, who sneers but gives a short nod. They boost Gristav up, and he grabs hold of the top of the wall, peering over. He notices immediately that two of the seven bodies are gone; flies are buzzing over the remaining five. Glancing down the interior side of the gate, he can see that the latch is a simple one, but it is out of reach of his staff at the awkward angle he would have to extend it over the wall. He will have to hop down inside the garden to open the gate. He clambers up to the top of the wall, crouches a moment, and then leaps down.

I'm not going to let prestidigitation open the gate because that duplicates the effect of open/close, but it's easily opened once he's on the ground on the right side of the wall. Roll me an Acrobatics check: If you make DC 15, he jumps down with no damage; roll less and he takes 1d6 nonlethal damage.

Dropping his staff flatly onto the ground nearby inside the gate, Gristav holds the gatetop with both hands, and lowers his mass as near the ground as he might, before letting go.

It's not very acrobatic, but it is smart. The roll you requested:
Acrobatics+2: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

Retrieving his staff, Gristav works the latch with the free end, as he'd planned all along.

"Gentlemen. It appears the two that hadn't been killed have left... Perhaps to the house?"