"I intend to warn him only that some of the Norgorberite faithful may be unaccounted for," Tendal replies impatiently. "Desna knows if there's the least possible danger to our customers, we owe it to them to be as vigilant as possible. Extra guards in the kitchen for one thing, and an examination of any food and drink that will be served. Honestly, man, if you think I'm concerned about stepping on a halfling's toes when there's a possibility of a mass poisoning on our premises! If you're afraid of him, I'll take full responsibility. And no, I've no intention of 'tipping Mr. Vankaskerkin off' about your insane suspicions; I just hope you come to your senses before you say anything you'll regret. You'll keep an eye on Miss Barabbio? You do understand Varisian? I mean, if they start discussing pickpocketing the patrons or burgling the vault, you'll know it?" He departs through the swinging doors of the kitchen, heading upstairs.
"I'll join them.", Gristav muttered to the flapping doors. "The better to thwart a burglary... and pickpocketing is positively planned, though not of patrons. But go croak your fractional report, this was all too similar to work, I'm sure..."
Oh, stop. He's probably enough right, that you're wrong, in mocking him.
And enough wrong, that I'm right, to worry?
There's the rub.
Aye.
Snake keeps his attention on the arena, noticing the large human and the equally as large half-orc enter. Let's go big fella. Score one for the humans.
"Crusher" Leland wears a chain shirt and is carrying a hammer, though Phillip notices it is not as massive a weapon as the one with which he shattered Varg's leg bone yesterday. The Kellid Ranef is clad only in light leather armor, clearly favoring movement over defense, and carries a wickedly-gleaming two-handed axe, clearly a more dangerous weapon than the one he employed in Fireday's fight.
The pair of gladiators stand in readiness for a moment, "Crusher" acknowledging his supporters, Ranef seeming oblivious to the tiers of spectators around the rim of the sand as he glares at his foe. Despite the Kellid's focus, "Crusher" Leland makes the first move; charging in with a speed that belies his size, he swings his hammer in low, driving the head into Ranef's ribs.
The human releases an inarticulate cry, as much of rage as of pain, and hefts his greataxe with more fury than care, bringing it up over his shoulder and letting it fall as if to sever his attacker's arm. The weapon is slow to maneuver, however, and "Crusher" manages to sidestep the scything blade, which buries itself instead in the sand.
The half-orc takes advantage of the brief moments Ranef must spend raising his axe out of the sand and drives his hammer into the human's ribcage on the opposite side. Braddon uncomfortably gauges that the pair of crushing blows would undoubtedly have been enough to take him out of a fight, but the the Kellid only growls through clenched teeth and swings his axe horizontally. The blade deflects off the half-orc's chain shirt, and a disappointed groan goes up from the crowd that, a few moments later, turns into a cheer, as a dark stain of blood begins to ooze between the steel links.
"Crusher" clenches his jaw stoically and swings his warhammer once again. Ranef doesn't even attempt to dodge, merely turning his shoulder into the blow. It lands with such force, that the large man, braced as he is, stumbles, one knee almost sinking into the sand. His left arm, which took the brunt of the blow, seems to go numb, the fingers of his left hand slipping limply from the handle of his axe and twitching. The human crowd gasps; Ranef clearly can't take another hit like that one.
With a supreme effort of will, Ranef lifts his limp arm and wraps his numb fingers back around the haft of his axe. Rather than pausing and resetting his stance, he continues the movement, letting the momentum bring the axe up and over his shoulder where it falls heavily toward the half-orc. This time, "Crusher" is not quick enough; the blade sinks deeply into his thigh, and a spray of blood spouts like a fountain as he crumbles to the sand.
The arena staff must have been waiting just inside the gates; men sprint across the sand toward the fallen gladiator with bandages and vials. At the same time, a large Shoanti man approaches Ranef, calling him off with a shout; Phillip recognizes Akron. It is not unlike the end of the bear-baiting, when the dogs were called away from savaging their prey by their trainer, save that the urgency on the part of the arena staff is greater.
Ranef hesitates, sneers, and releases his weapon, leaving the blade to be removed from the half-orc's leg by the healers. He trudges past Akron to leave the sand, seeming only now to register the pain in his ribs and shoulder. The human spectators are cheering wildly, but Ranef ignores them. The half-orc segment of the audience, in contrast, stands in silent stoicism until Leland is lifted carefully onto a stretcher and carried into the bowels of the arena.
Snake watches the bout with interest. He cringes as Ranef gets pounded again and again while he himself seems to have a hard time hitting the ground with his feet. As the large human falls to a knee, his anxiety increases. Rising to his feet, "C'mon, c'mon. Get up. Get up!" Watching Ranef manage to rise, the large warrior puts a mighty swing behind his axe that finally connects and is able to bring the half-orc down. he yells, muted among the crowd noise as he gives a chest-level fist pump. Looking around as he composes himself, he straightens his trench coat and sits back down, acting nonchalant.
Before the battle Phillip nods "Aye, Ranef..." his interest clearly stilling his usual words. The halfling watches the ensuing bloodletting with his heart near his mouth and a mixture of admiration, concern... and also the pit-stone of rage that Ranef might be feeling in attempting his vengeance over old wounds. He rises and falls with the flow of the match, concerned when Crusher smashes his arm... but not ascendant when the axe bites home. His face is intent and countenance burning as Akron calls off Ranef from slaughter... he does not cheer, but does touch a hand to where his holy symbol lies hidden and nods "A good fight..."
It takes a few moments, but then Phillip's half-knowing smile returns and he puts eyes to Braddon "Well... success it is then, and I've a betting chit that'll see me enriched for the experience." but if the bounty hunter looks beneath the veneer... he'll sense that the joviality is somewhat forced.
Braddon is impressed.
"Wow. That was amazing. That wasn't for show. Those guys were serious. Most of the show there was in the size of the weapons they were using, but they sure knew how to use them. They could have killed each other, though I suppose as gladiators, that's what they're meant to do."
Braddon replies to Phillip's success, "Congratulations. I was thinking I could make a few gold by taking on some of those showmen and teaching them a thing or two about real fighting, but those guys were dangerous. If I was up against one of them, how long I lasted would be based on how fast I could run. Are you okay Phillip? I'm sure your friend will be fine."
Phillip nods with a sigh "Aye, I'm fine..." changing the subject slightly "I've already stood upon the sand and danced with Ranef... went swimmingly until he hit me... I woke up a few hours later" winking before going back to his first thought "Ranef has more cause than most to hate the orc-kind... and though he won... there is a bigger part of him that would've rejoiced had the axe cut throat and not the leg." looking knowingly for a moment before beckoning Braddon up and back to Snake.
"I'm to cash out and then back the Goblin... have you plans for the evening?" said to both Serpe and Braddon both.
Back at the Gold Goblin, Gristav settles in somewhat disconsolately to keep an eye on the dancers. Despite Tendal's fears, he hears nothing more worrisome than Thuvalia's constant barrage of criticism and instruction to her fellow performers.
"Ranef has more cause than most to hate the orc-kind... and though he won... there is a bigger part of him that would've rejoiced had the axe cut throat and not the leg."
Braddon nods sagely.
"There are plenty of sailors that have more cause than most to hate the elf-kind, but in all but two cases it wasn't me that slept with their wife or daughter and because those guys didn't know it was neither of them that attacked me with their buddies. Fortunately, they didn't kill me," Braddon explains somewhat circuitously.
"I'm to cash out and then back the Goblin... have you plans for the evening?" said to both Serpe and Braddon both.
Snake shakes his head, "Not me. I got nothing."
Phil chuckles and shows a wry smile, but doesn't respond. He leads them by the nose towards the betting stands where his successful bet is converted to winnings.
Back at the Gold Goblin, Gristav settles in somewhat disconsolately to keep an eye on the dancers. Despite Tendal's fears, he hears nothing more worrisome than Thuvalia's constant barrage of criticism and instruction to her fellow performers.
It would be a clever cant
If in her berating chantLay the seed of all she'd plan't
Theft and greed
But in all the razor'd whips
That fall from her honeyed lips
...
No, you're just not enough of a poet, Gristav.
It's not for lack of study, nor effort.
Perhaps it's a matter of inspiration?
The musician, with the braid? What rhymes with braid?
Let's not get ahead of ourselves...
Changing his guard post to the main entrance, to put himself between the two pools of possibly-conspiring Varisians, Gristav continues his conspicuous surveillance, though more in the manner of guarding the artists, than of guarding against them.
Though, what he'd do against any threat, alone...
Fall in a blaze of glory!
THAT's inspiring.
Braddon and Snake accompany Phillip back to the tunnel leading out to the street, but halfway, they take an intersecting corridor running perpendicular. After a while, this corridor exits into a large room hollowed out beneath the tiered seating. High in the outer wall, large open windows let in light and air but in the summer heat fail to prevent the space from getting stuffy and humid; in the winter, it's most likely cold as well.
Quite a few people are already in the space, with more spilling in from the corridor the party just took and one like it on the opposite side. Most of them are queueing up at several windows on the interior side of the room. Above their heads a catwalk runs in front of a chalkboard listing odds for the various bouts, all but the last two of which are now crossed through. Phillip heads for the shortest-looking line to cash out his winnings on Ranef's fight.
On the exterior side of the arena, beneath the windows, is a long counter selling food and drink. An enticing aroma, the mixture of bread, salt, seasonings, and ale, spills over it into the large room to mingle with the less appetizing aroma of sweaty, unwashed flesh.
Braddon heads straight for the food and drink counter to order an ale to wash down the salty snacks from earlier.
Not interested in standing in line, "I'm outta here. I've had enough of this place for one day." He then turns and leaves as he plans on heading back to the Goblin.
Braddon climbs up the few wide steps that lead to the snack bar and waits for a space to open up at the counter. As he steps into the gap left by another man leaving, a tired-looking blonde wipes her flushed brow with the back of her hand and asks, "Aye? What'll you have?"
---------------------------
Phillip steps into the queue and does his best to maintain some elbow room, as the taller folk persist in overlooking him, as he periodically steps up toward the betting windows.
---------------------------
Snake takes his leave of the crowded arena, returning down the corridor running beneath the arena's seats and taking the first turning toward the exterior of the structure. He steps out on the west side of the arena, blinking against the blinding sun sinking toward the western ridge line. Traveling through the southern verge of Leeward District, he returns to the Gold Goblin to find the dancing surface in the courtyard finally completed. Some Varisian musicians are up on the verandah, in discussions with the gnome Piccolo, and Gristav is standing in the open doors leading into the building.
"Ale."
Phillip persists in keeping as best a position as he can... not above accidentally elbowing any longshanks who tries to put in near to something tender.
"Ale."
Appreciating his brevity, the overworked woman nods and fills a tankard, charging him a silver piece for the privilege. "If you're going to drink it here," she requests before diverting her attention to the next man in line, "just leave the empty on the counter when you're done."
---------------------------
Working his way up to the window, Phillip retrieves the gold he wagers on Ranef's bout along with the 8 silver coins and 6 coppers that represent his winnings. The second match he bet on, Maurilio versus Noseless Maurice has yet to be fought.
Appreciating his brevity, the overworked woman nods and fills a tankard, charging him a silver piece for the privilege. "If you're going to drink it here," she requests before diverting her attention to the next man in line, "just leave the empty on the counter when you're done."
"Thanks."
Braddon makes his way over to Phillip.
"They took a silver off me for this and they didn't even have the decency to knife me in the ribs. Can we go now? Do you think they'll notice if I steal the empty? "
Before leaving the desk Phillip inquires "Can bets be cashed off days? or is it only before you close today?" before resolving to leave it be regardless the answer.
To Braddon he shrugs "Aye, lets make haste... and I'm not sure. If anyone asks just pretend you were drunk and forgot and I'll cover you" guiding steps away and out and languidly back towards the Goblin.
The tall man stops a moment as he notices Gristav in the doorway. Dang. No way around. Ah well. Taking a deep breath, he moves on. As he nears the magus, "Any word on the dwarf, bub?"
Before leaving the desk Phillip inquires "Can bets be cashed off days? or is it only before you close today?"
"Ten percent fee for each day since the match," the man replies rotely, already looking for the patron behind him in line. "Ten days later, it's scrap paper. Next!"
Braddon walks out talking to Phillip.
His arms wave expressively and he makes no attempt to hide the tankard in his hand.
"I reckon most of the show was faked anyway. I've heard that in the heart of Cheliax they have operas with more blood and violence than that."
The tall man stops a moment as he notices Gristav in the doorway. Dang. No way around. Ah well. Taking a deep breath, he moves on. As he nears the magus, "Any word on the dwarf, bub?"
"None", Gristav says, darkening detectably from his previous pondering. "We're practicing patience, just now. In other matters, the underinformed Tendal has gone upstairs to inform Saul that there were leftovers from the meal we had at the mission. I'd suggested he wait for Phillip; he... didn't. You're more informed, than Tendal, surely. Perhaps you should join that conversation?"
On a whim, Phil hands his unspent scrip to a passing man "For you with no strings... if it brings you luck, spend some of it at the Gold Goblin tomorrow" tipping his imaginary hat as he moves away with Braddon.
"Aye, though not all of the actors are willing unfortunately... I'm fond of a Varisi teller-of-stories myself. The violence is less visceral but the words are weft and woven to let your mind soar"
On a whim, Phil hands his unspent scrip to a passing man "For you with no strings... if it brings you luck, spend some of it at the Gold Goblin tomorrow" tipping his imaginary hat as he moves away with Braddon.
The man takes the paper pressed into his hands with a look of surprise, but Phillip and Braddon are gone before he can respond.
The pair join the current of a sizeable crowd making for the exits. Clearly, Ranef's bout was a highlight of the slate, and more than just the three of them saw no compelling reason to stick around after it was over; the fight is the topic of several animated conversations heard in snatches as they move along. They note that they are surrounded by humans; whether they exit by a different tunnel or are staying until the last event, there are no half-orcs in the departing crowd.
Reaching the street, Braddon and Phillip are met by a blazing sun low over the western ridge of Riddleport. Security seems lax: The thugs who had been at the gate distributing handbills are now absent, and no one accosts Braddon about the tankard in his hand.
Braddon shrugs as he and Phillip make their way back to the Gold Goblin.
"At those prices, they can afford a few tankards. Think I should wear it at my hip? I reckon that's a dumb idea and it'd just get in the way. Let's get back."
"None", Gristav says, darkening detectably from his previous pondering. "We're practicing patience, just now. In other matters, the underinformed Tendal has gone upstairs to inform Saul that there were leftovers from the meal we had at the mission. I'd suggested he wait for Phillip; he... didn't. You're more informed, than Tendal, surely. Perhaps you should join that conversation?"
Sighing and with a frustrated look, "Yeah, probably a good idea." He immediately takes his leave, heading toward Saul's office.
Snake detours around the dancers in the middle of the casino floor to the kitchen and then up the stairs to Saul's office. He finds the door open and Tendal, Saul, and Bojasc inside. Tendal and Saul are both frowning, but Bojasc's expression, as usual, is blank.
"What is it?" Saul asks sharply as Snake appears. "Something else wrong?"
The tankard is crudely made, of the cheapest tin, and is well-dented from previous use; Braddon can't delude himself that he's inflicted any actual economic harm on Cleg Zincher. Still, at least now he's always ready for a drink!
Stepping in, he glances over at Tendal before speaking. "Word is the suit here's giving you information concerning an 'issue' from yesterday. Just here to make sure what he's telling you is accurate." He looks over at Tendal, "So where are you at in the story, bub?"
Smirking Phillip expounds "You should come with a tale of it's winning. There's many a slackjawed yokel who'd gape or swoon at the story of how you won it in a bet or took it as your sole price of victory over many foes... I could even spread it dockside if it tickled your fancy, start a name for you."
"The story of how I won it competing against Zincher in his own arena, perhaps?"
Braddon flexes a well muscled arm.
"I dunno if spreading my name around town is such a good idea just yet. I've only been here a week and I think I've met every crime boss already except the Overlord himself. And now I'm working for 3 of them- one for money, one for power and one for blackmail."
Stepping in, he glances over at Tendal before speaking. "Word is the suit here's giving you information concerning an 'issue' from yesterday. Just here to make sure what he's telling you is accurate." He looks over at Tendal, "So where are you at in the story, bub?"
"I was simply informing Mr. Vankaskerkin," Tendal replies, "that some of the murder cultists you lot stirred up yesterday are apparently unaccounted for. Given the fact, it seems only prudent to be on heightened alert against them, should they try to disrupt our next evening of business. Extra vigilance in the kitchen, in particular, would seem called for."
Glancing back and forth between Saul and Tendal as he speaks, "Yeah that's pretty much accurate. I know a couple of them got away, but, they were only some petty lowlifes. I can't imagine they'd be smart enough to do anything without someone telling them exactly what to do and how to do it. But it couldn't hurt on having the extra eye on lookout. I could do it if you need me to," he says, looking to Saul for a yea or nay.
Saul and Tendal exchange glances; then Saul nods slowly. "I suppose you'd recognize them," he admits grudgingly. "All we needed was one more enemy in town. It might be wise for no one to go out alone for a while, particularly after dark. I mean, I have Bojasc," he waves airily over his shoulder at the stoic Varisian, "but the rest of you should take your own precautions."
After Snake disappears upstairs, Gristav is left to his lonely vigil. The musicians outside in the courtyard begin to gather their things to call it a day, but Thuvalia shows no propensity to release her fellow dancers from their drills.
While the musicians lean against the railing of the verandah, Piccolo quietly joins Gristav in the doorway, waiting for an opportunity to interpose himself.
--------------------------
Braddon and Phillip arrive back at the Gold Goblin to find a handful of Varisians loitering on the verandah, while Gristav and Piccolo are standing in the casino's open doorway, their attention focused inward.
After Snake disappears upstairs, Gristav is left to his lonely vigil. The musicians outside in the courtyard begin to gather their things to call it a day, but Thuvalia shows no propensity to release her fellow dancers from their drills.
Absently observing the steps, the stops, the starts and the shouts, Gristav builds for himself a theorem of the piece, like defining a chair by all the places the chair is not. He's reassured in that Thuvalia does indeed seem to have a plan, even if she's sculpting it with cutting remarks.
While the musicians lean against the railing of the verandah, Piccolo quietly joins Gristav in the doorway, waiting for an opportunity to interpose himself.
"Ah, Mister Piccolo. Still with us? You'll see, there's a lot we do that you can write your maiden aunt about, for all there's much you mightn't. Glad you're still with. Any thought for dinner? Saul and Larur had the habit of gouging the cartmen, but we've done better, just of late. Takes a bit of shopping... Say, when might you have last seen Larur?"
--------------------------
Braddon and Phillip arrive back at the Gold Goblin to find a handful of Varisians loitering on the verandah, while Gristav and Piccolo are standing in the casino's open doorway, their attention focused inward.
Snake glances again between the well-dressed man and the fat man before nodding and taking his leave back downstairs.
Phil gives Braddon a smile and nod of acknowledgement before taking his leave and moving inwards in search of Ethel.
"Ah, Mister Piccolo. Still with us? You'll see, there's a lot we do that you can write your maiden aunt about, for all there's much you mightn't."
The gnome starts, peering up at Gristav keenly. "How do you know my aunt?" he asks suspiciously.
"Say, when might you have last seen Larur?"
Piccolo muses. "He was here when I left last evening. I haven't seen him today, though. Oh, excuse me." He steps aside as Phillip arrives at the front door to allow him to cross over the threshold.
Braddon approaches Gristav holding aloft his bounty.
"Look. I won a tankard. Do you have a ship for Roderic's Cove yet? Is Dayn about? He might want to know our plans."
"Ah, Mister Piccolo. Still with us? You'll see, there's a lot we do that you can write your maiden aunt about, for all there's much you mightn't."The gnome starts, peering up at Gristav keenly. "How do you know my aunt?" he asks suspiciously.
Hearing the twang of the struck nerve, Gris gambles, teasing at the first, "I don't doubt I might arrange an introduction... But I don't. I meant your rhetorical aunt, who might be married to Bob's your uncle. Though, given you're a gnome, you might well have an uncle with some heptasyllabic permutation of 'Bob' as one of his five names." Gris grinned in joy and celebration of the strangeness of Piccolo's race.
"Say, when might you have last seen Larur?"Piccolo muses. "He was here when I left last evening. I haven't seen him today, though. Oh, excuse me." He steps aside as Phillip arrives at the front door to allow him to cross over the threshold.
"Afternoon, Phillip. Speak to Snake and eventually Tendal and Saul, in that order, I'd recommend. Topic is the leftovers of the meal at the mission."
Braddon approaches Gristav holding aloft his bounty.
"Look. I won a tankard. Do you have a ship for Roderic's Cove yet? Is Dayn about? He might want to know our plans."
"You do have a curio's luck.", Gristav puns. "My ship hasn't come in yet. Dayn's... I'm not sure.", Gristav says, the last in a cautious note. "I wouldn't ask Thuvalia; she's busy."
The gnome starts, peering up at Gristav keenly. "How do you know my aunt?" he asks suspiciously.Hearing the twang of the struck nerve, Gris gambles, teasing at the first, "I don't doubt I might arrange an introduction... But I don't. I meant your rhetorical aunt, who might be married to Bob's your uncle."
"Yes, but if she were married to my uncle, she'd hardly be 'maiden,'" Piccolo points out, still suspiciously. "She's never been married, as far as I know, but if you meant 'maiden' in the sense of 'inexperienced,' I'm quite sure she's not that either."
"I wouldn't ask Thuvalia; she's busy."
Thuvalia, indeed, is putting a trio of exasperated-looking Varisian dancers through their paces. Braddon can't help but be reminded of the expressions worn by the workers she was supervising last Sunday morning.
"I wouldn't ask Thuvalia; she's busy."
"I wouldn't ask Thuvalia anything. I might've asked her once if she surrenders, but next time I'll be going straight for the kill."
Braddon smiles most unpleasantly and makes his way inside to find Dayn.
Snake comes back down the stairs
Snake makes his way back downstairs and heads to the bar, planting himself upon a stool and watches Thuvalia torture her dancers. "Man I'm glad that's not me." He looks over at the mongoose that's made its way up on the tall man's shoulder. "About time you showed a little life, Luck. I was beginning to wonder," he says, grinning, before turning back to watch the brutal practice, shaking his head at the demand of it all.
Braddon slips in the door and skirts the wall to avoid the dancing practice. The casino floor's tables and chairs have been pushed together into a jumble on the north side of the room, making a rather awkward obstacle course to navigate to reach the guest wing. Snake can be seen sitting at the bar, his mongoose on his shoulder.
-------------------------
From the bar, Snake sees Phillip and Braddon arrive.
"Yes, but if she were married to my uncle, she'd hardly be 'maiden,'" Piccolo points out, still suspiciously. "She's never been married, as far as I know, but if you meant 'maiden' in the sense of 'inexperienced,' I'm quite sure she's not that either."
"I wasn't asking, nor insinuating. 'Home to Mother', I meant. That we've much you might be proud of, even if we've some you'd rather be quit of."
Thuvalia, indeed, is putting a trio of exasperated-looking Varisian dancers through their paces. Braddon can't help but be reminded of the expressions worn by the workers she was supervising last Sunday morning.
"Not as if it were to follow... but, how do you like our odds for the entertainments?"