"Never heard of him. Never heard of you, either. Buy something, or get out."
Phillip selects scarves in muted reds and browns - though still distinctly varisi in pattern. As to candles he considers the question for just a few moments before picking a smattering of types. Pillared candles rather than glass bound, single wicks - generally thin and tapered so as to develop a waxen waterfall whilst burning. However among the generic he also picks out a few in particular: a squat and fragrant triple-wicked pillar with a musky earthy tone, a pair of red tapers that spark on the half hour... and (if available) one fitted with flash powder within a hollowed core that would burn for five minutes normally before exploding in a riot of smoke and light.
When the value is tallied he measures it for value before paying in gold... and laying a second lonely gold on it's own to the side.
Snake looks to Gristav, "He don't beat around the bush, you gotta appreciate that about him. Probably be best to buy something so he doesn't kick us out." He takes a glance around the place and then takes a look at the dwarf himself, "Or possibly blow us all up."
When the value is tallied he measures it for value before paying in gold... and laying a second lonely gold on it's own to the side.
As was no doubt the halfling's intent, the lone gold coin draws the Varisi's attention more than the stack he is paid. He gives Phillip a questioning look.
Braddon points at a flask bubbling across the room.
"I'll buy one of them."
He fixes the dwarf with a wide grin, the grin he knows annoys Gristav the most.
"What is it?"
The dwarf's gaze follows Braddon's pointing finger, and he snorts. "I'll wager you can't afford that, boy. Frost ward gel. One hundred fifty gold coins to keep the chill from your bones." He leers unpleasantly through the oppressive heat.
Glancing down at the gold coin then back up towards the other man he offers a single word "Diskrezioa" before rolling up the candles in the scarves, stowing them within his backpack. He proffers a small nod before turning and making to walk out of Lubbertown.
Braddon points at a flask bubbling across the room.
"I'll buy one of them."
He fixes the dwarf with a wide grin, the grin he knows annoys Gristav the most.
"What is it?"
Behind Braddon, in the view of the dwarf, Gristav is dutifully annoyed.
The dwarf's gaze follows Braddon's pointing finger, and he snorts. "I'll wager you can't afford that, boy. Frost ward gel. One hundred fifty gold coins to keep the chill from your bones." He leers unpleasantly through the oppressive heat.
"I wouldn't make that bet.", Gristav cautions flatly, whether to the half-elf or the alopeciac dwarf being unclear.
"How much of it do you have?", Gristav asks without changing focus. "How much do you keep in stock? Any recent interest?", he continues, listening, but comparing in Snake's dancing lights the dwarf's glassworks and equipments against the memory of what waited at the Goblin, looted from Rag End.
With a smirk toward Braddon, Gristav elaborates, "Informed interest?"
"More than you've any intent to buy," the dwarf shrugs off the question. "And no, I've been overrun with no mob of well-to-do shoppers eager to avoid the cold this summer. The question is, what do you want? What did you come here for? Not just to annoy me with small talk. Cash on the barrelhead, and name your poison!" He stares feverishly.
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Phillip leaves behind the musing Varisi and heads back through the stone archway into Riddleport proper. The sun is beating down, and he spares a thought for his newly-acquired purchases. It might be wise, if his steps take him back past the Gold Goblin, to drop the candles there for safekeeping, lest they tend to liquefaction.
"More than you've any intent to buy," the dwarf shrugs off the question. "And no, I've been overrun with no mob of well-to-do shoppers eager to avoid the cold this summer. The question is, what do you want? What did you come here for? Not just to annoy me with small talk. Cash on the barrelhead, and name your poison!" He stares feverishly.
"Does it explode and freeze people in place? Or even, do you have something that explodes?"
Braddon goes through his belt pounch."We're looking for a friend that doesn't want to be found. A dwarf. We're worried his enemies might have found him first."
Gristav chuckles at Braddon's request for an explosive, but sobers as Larur's status is described. "Indeed, worried. Where beside the Gas forges, would a dwarf go, to find a literate advisor? Or even, a witness, to a written document?"
"Does it explode and freeze people in place? Or even, do you have something that explodes?"
The dwarf's eyes glint with sudden enthusiasm. "Aye, tangleburn bag. Same cost, more interesting."
"We're looking for a friend that doesn't want to be found. A dwarf. We're worried his enemies might have found him first."
"Indeed, worried. Where beside the Gas forges, would a dwarf go, to find a literate advisor? Or even, a witness, to a written document?"
Braddon's follow-up question, and Gristav's elaboration, elicit no similar enthusiasm. "I don't collect little lost lambs just because they happen to be dwarven. If he doesn't want to be found, leave him be. Or don't, but leave me be. You want the tangleburn bag or not?"
His hope and its buoyancy leaving him, Gristav sags a bit, and heads for the exit, but turns to say, "If you hear anything, or if you need more of this sort of equipment..." His staff waves about, wandlike weildy. "I can be reached at the Gold Goblin. Gristav." Expecting neither acknowledgement nor goodbye, Gris makes for the stairs.
Leaving Lubbertown, Phil makes his way back south along the river, now stinking more efficiently as the morning sun warms the mud along its banks. He finds the streets slightly more peopled as the hour has latened and spies more businesses with their doors propped open for business and whatever hint of breeze might be lured in rather than with their windows shuttered against the morning.
He takes a half-full ferry across the Velashu and heads further south on the western bank, returning to the metalsmith's shop he frequented once before. It is staffed by a yawning young man with a pimpled face, leaning sleepily against the counter.
Getting the attention of the cashier by plonking down a clinking bag of coin with a heavy thump, Phillip gets some relief from the weight of his candle laden bag by seeing it propped up against the counter. To the hopefully now directed eyes of the pimply scallywag he asks "Dagger and crossbow, sized for me and good quality."
"Well?!" the dwarf barks with a crazed look in his eye. "I told you: it's one hundred fifty gold. Do you want it or not?" A thought appears to cross his mind, and his expression grows crafty and wheedling. "What do you say, boy? I'll let you have it for 130 if you'll promise to come back and tell me what it looks like when you use it."
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Small-sized daggers and crossbows are indeed available at the smithy, but Phil has to describe the workings of the hand crossbow. The boy shakes his head, puzzled. "Like a tiny crossbow sized for imps? That you can shoot with the fingers of one hand? Never heard of it." He glances at the halfling dubiously, not entirely sure he isn't being trolled, but his putative pranker has a purse full of coin that his employer would be unhappy to lose his share of, so he doesn't express his skepticism openly.
Phillip works his way through the daggers and crossbows on display at the smithy, even going as far as hefting / wielding them to test their balance and eventually settles on a pair of daggers, and a sleek crossbow built out of well polished rosewood. He also sees himself outfitted with another quiver of quarrels before nodding his head and taking his leave of the smithy.
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"Well?!" the dwarf barks with a crazed look in his eye. "I told you: it's one hundred fifty gold. Do you want it or not?" A thought appears to cross his mind, and his expression grows crafty and wheedling. "What do you say, boy? I'll let you have it for 130 if you'll promise to come back and tell me what it looks like when you use it."
A pained look crosses Braddon's face.
"It explodes and burns them? And holds them in place? So they burn some more? That's awesome!"He turns to Gristav.
"Can I borrow some money? Please? I'll pay you back."
Braddon turns to the dwarf. "I don't have the money with me. But I'll tell you exactly what happens. Look, I'll come back and get it. What time is best for you?"
Transaction painlessly completed, Phillip proceeds further on his southwards walk towards a place of recent embarrassment. Instinctively his eyes flit up and out towards the object of interest that had the Cypherlodge all a flutter that day... while his mind ponders what he might do if confronted by Bromathan again.
...turns to Gristav.
"Can I borrow some money? Please? I'll pay you back."
Gristav begins to answer, "I'm sure, but I don't carry hundreds of gold, as a habit. We could return."
Braddon turns to the dwarf. "I don't have the money with me. But I'll tell you exactly what happens. Look, I'll come back and get it. What time is best for you?"
"And since it appears we'll be returning, anyway, have you an interest in additional alchemalia?", Gristav asks of the dwarf.
Sighing with a roll of the eyes, Snake reaches into his pack and counts out the coin, placing it on the table. "One-hundred and thirty gold, just like you said." He looks to the dwarf, wondering if he's actually gonna hold up to his word.
Phil takes the road leading to Windward District, the exertion of the uphill journey counteracted by the cooler air as he climbs. The summer stench of the harbor and river drop away, replaced by the sweeter, brisker breeze off the Varisian Gulf. The sky is bright blue and cloudless behind the white arch of the Cyphergate, marred only by the inky black splotch out to sea. Is it only his imagination, or does it already look larger than it did yesterday?
Once he reaches the top of the western ridge, Phillip leaves the main road that leads into the residential and mercantile areas of the district for the private approach to the Cypherlodge. Unlike at the time of his previous visit, the rather ungainly building presents a quiet facade to the approaching visitor, with no visible wizards standing outside the structure. Phil does notice, however, a few unusual instruments affixed to the peak of the roof, something between a weathervane and a telescope, pointed in the direction of the distant blot.
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The dwarf chortles, sweeping the coin off the table into a box almost as an afterthought, as he heads to a cupboard in a dark corner, where even Braddon's and Gristav's eyes strain in the attempt to make him out. He comes back gleefully, carrying a lumpy bundle wrapped in thick brown paper, about the size of a plum pudding. "You'll want to be careful with it," he grins, handing it over to Braddon as if it were a baby or some other precious and delicate item. "Keep it away from flame, and no sudden jolts. And by Droskar's forge, aim well! You don't get a second chance with one of these."
He comes back gleefully, carrying a lumpy bundle wrapped in thick brown paper, about the size of a plum pudding. "You'll want to be careful with it," he grins, handing it over to Braddon as if it were a baby or some other precious and delicate item. "Keep it away from flame, and no sudden jolts. And by Droskar's forge, aim well! You don't get a second chance with one of these."
Braddon cradles the item and gazes at it briefly before stowing it in his backpack with much the same care as the earlier stuffed toy.
"Thank you," he nods breathlessly at the dwarf."And thank you," Braddon wraps an arm around Snake's shoulders and squeezes in what is probably intended to be a manly sign of affection but lasts for just a fraction too long.
"And since it appears we'll be returning, anyway, have you an interest in additional alchemalia?", Gristav asks of the dwarf.
The exchange of money for goods complete, the dwarf's face folds back into a scowl. "Looking to sell equipment, hey? You work for Zincher?"
Immediately, yet, calmly removing Braddon's arm, "Don't mention it," he tells him. "Like ever. Like never ever," he reiterates in a tone that sounds as if he should really never speak of this for as long as Golarion exists.
"And since it appears we'll be returning, anyway, have you an interest in additional alchemalia?", Gristav asks of the dwarf.The exchange of money for goods complete, the dwarf's face folds back into a scowl. "Looking to sell equipment, hey? You work for Zincher?"
Gristav grimaces. "Oh. Doesn't everybody?", he asks, rhetorically, ruefully. "Give him time. I've a badge, but, I'm not working for Zincher in selling this equipment. It's... personal surplus. I don't think Zincher would... be happy to know."
An involuntary shiver works it's way up Phillip's back as he considers the blot, giving his thoughts pause and chilling his blood. He shakes his head and frowns, before putting the blot further towards the back of his mind rather than the front... and makes for the Cypherlodge's mercantile arm.
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"I've a badge, but, I'm not working for Zincher in selling this equipment. It's... personal surplus. I don't think Zincher would... be happy to know."
The dwarf replies with a noncommittal grunt. "You can bring it in, and I'll see what it might be worth to me." He gives Braddon a sidelong glance and a smile. "Maybe I could pay you in store credit, hey?"
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The main entrance to the Cypherlodge Phillip knows to be as well-guarded as the compound at Devil's Fork, but a tasteful and unobtrusive placard at the corner of the building neatly lettered "Sales and Services" directs him to a side entrance. As he enters, a bell sounds a clear peal; a glance up, however, reveals no physical chime on the door.
Inside is a small, square room furnished only with a long, bare counter blocking further access about two-thirds of the way in; plain, wooden chairs are arranged neatly against the walls on this side of the counter. On the far wall, behind the counter, are two other doors.
"I don't expect I'll bring a fifth to a quarter of this laboratory across the city on speculation. I've still that other Dwarf to find..."
"We should go then. Busy day."
Braddon nods his gratitude to the dwarf once again and heads for the exit.
Moving into the room a ways but standing far enough from the desk so that he would be able to be seen easily by a long legged form attending... Phillip waits for a face to which he might direct his inquiry.
"We should go then. Busy day."
Braddon nods his gratitude to the dwarf once again and heads for the exit.
"Don't forget!" the dwarf calls, shuffling forward as Braddon turns back to climb the stairs. "You come back and tell me how it works in action! Sights, sounds, smells...."
Phillip waits while the clangor of the conjured bell dies away. Before long, one of the doors behind the counter opens, and a Cypherlodge apprentice enters; it takes the halfling a brief moment to recognize Samaritha. She looks tired, and the Lodge-issued buff-colored robes are far less attractive on her than her own green. When she sees Phil, her face lights up. "Phillip! What are you doing here? How is everyone?"
Samaritha's appearance engenders a note of warm surprise that's translated into a partially extravagant bow hampered by the scarves and candles and freshly purchased weapons of war. A shrug and knowing smirk follows with the words "The usual... death, blood and threats. We endure though our numbers seem to whittle down..." a beat passing before he connects that interpretation could be for the half-elf to believe that one of them was dead.
Holding a hand up he clarifies "No deaths to our number... yet... but the day is still young and time remains." a wink betraying some whimsy in his doomed soothsaying. "As to the what of my presence... I seek what objects of vast arcane power are within the reach of my sadly limited budget."
"Don't forget!" the dwarf calls, shuffling forward as Braddon turns back to climb the stairs. "You come back and tell me how it works in action! Sights, sounds, smells...."
"Oh, I will. Don't worry. I can't wait to try this out. With luck I could be back tomorrow," Braddon calls on his way out.
Holding a hand up he clarifies "No deaths to our number... yet... but the day is still young and time remains." a wink betraying some whimsy in his doomed soothsaying. "As to the what of my presence... I seek what objects of vast arcane power are within the reach of my sadly limited budget."
"Oh, of course." She remembers where she is and draws herself up into a professional stance. "What magical aids or items of power are you desiring to purchase?" Before he can answer, she lowers her voice. "I don't suppose there's been any news of Malkith?" she adds.
With everyone giving Braddon's loaded backpack a wide berth, the three men climb back up the dark staircase, back into the corridor by which they entered.
Responding in a similar low ebb "In the field, though I know not exactly where." inwardly thankful that she had not sought news of Daynadrian instead. After the conspiratorial whisper he speaks more plainly "Bottled art arcane of course - that I might feel but a fragment of the might wielded by those that hold sway here" winking to show that the airs are severely put on.
"Potions?" she verifies, before lowering her voice once more. "If ... when you have news of him, you'll be sure to let me know?"
"Potions.... both curative and fortifying. For self-imbibition of course... and if there is a choice of flavor I prefer those with a touch of a minty aftertaste." jocularly confirming before more somberly "Aye, from my ears to yours, be it foul or fair."
Samaritha nods. "The least expensive potions we have cost 27 gold coins; those are for minor cantrips. More puissant potions cost 55 gold coins -- those are the cheapest curatives we have -- and the prices go up from there, although there is a discount if you buy at least three. What effects are you shopping for?"
"Any insight, my fellows? Or is it back to Saul, and hope he's some better idea of where next to look? I'm feeling rather defeated."
"Braddon, a point of tactics, if I may? A sticky, flaming mess is likely the end of whoever you catch with it, but a magician, would also find it hard to use his, or her, spells. Which might better let us capture such a person."
Pursing his lips Phillip emits a speculative "Hmmm... my other needs play to a mixture of preference to not be seen, a desire to witness others that might do me harm... and finally to transcend whatever precarious situation I might find myself in... Has the Cypherlodge aught that might serve?"
"I'd say we're pretty much done here. Might as well head back to the Goblin."
Pursing his lips Phillip emits a speculative "Hmmm... my other needs play to a mixture of preference to not be seen, and something that might safeguard me if the wave of a few days prior chooses to return... Has the Cypherlodge aught that might serve?"
Phillip narrows eyes and pays attention as he mentions the wave, just in case Samaritha shows any sign of knowing - not expecting that an Initiate would be privy, but unwilling to let the potential opportunity slip by unheeded.
If Samaritha has been inducted into any sort of super-secret Cypherlodge knowledge about the events of Wealday last, she is a cooler customer than Phil remembers her being; she doesn't react at all to the mention of the harbor wave, instead pursing her lips over the halfling's requests.
"Invisibility is awfully expensive," she advises. "There's another spell that has the same effect for only a few seconds, though. And we always have touch of the sea available; it's very popular with those expecting to travel aboardship. Wait a moment, and I'll be back with them." She turns toward the door, then stops with a blush. "Oh--! We're supposed to see the customer's coin first, to ensure this isn't a frivolous visit or some sort of set-up for a robbery. Would you mind... just on the counter there?" She seems quite embarrassed to be have to ask it of Phillip.
Braddon, Gristav, and Snake descend the rickety staircase from the alchemist's front door. As they head back toward the northwest, they hear a hoarse shout; then a wild-eyed man with stringy hair holding a crossbow dashes out of a nearby alley. "Filthy halfling down there stole my purse!" he gasps. "Help me get it back, and you'll be well-rewarded, I swear!"