"I can handle that sir, if Samarantha agrees." Tendal says to Saul before turning to look down the table at Samarantha. "In any regard, Samarantha, you and I should have a private discussion about schooling and motivations sometime soon. One that is best left to those of the appropriate training."
Samaritha's expression turns a little sour at Tendal's avuncular tone. She glances at Malkith to her side, and he gives her a half-smile and shrug. "Then I'll accept your offer, Mr. Vankaskerkin, and be glad of it. I've been in Riddleport long enough to know there's no one offering a stranger better pay with fewer strings."
By her side, Malkith also nods his acceptance of Saul's offer. Then the elf breaks his silence....
As Daynadrian begins to speak, Saul is looking hale and pleased. The mention of Orik and Falk and Lil Scarlet does not faze him; Tendal's arrival with the letter from his son has made the subject less sore for him. With the mention of Cleg Zincher, his smile fades, however, and as Daynadrian goes on to refer to his wife, the fire, and his missing appendage, his face grows pale and loose around the jowls. By the time the elf finishes his pointed question, Saul is obviously shaken, but he makes an effort to force a smile back onto his face.
"Well," he replies with an uneasy chuckle, "someone spent his afternoon productively. You see, Larur, we're getting what we pay for with this gentleman." His uncomfortable laugh trails off into a cough as he frowns and stares down at the table for a moment. "Suppose it's only fair that you know why Zincher has a grudge against us, if we're going to ask you to look out for trouble from him. Yes, Orik killed his brother, but if Falk had spent more time with a blade and less with a cauldron, he would have killed Orik; there's no one at fault there, and it had nothing to do with Cleg and me -- unless Lil deliberately seduced them both just for the havoc it would wreak, which I wouldn't put past her."
"The trouble between me and Cleg goes back, oh, seven or eight years now. I ran a tidy little business, collecting payments for some of the bosses, and Cleg was my capp, my right-hand man. I'd proven myself, built up enough trust to where I could deliver the moneys once a month rather than as I collected them, and I had a rather cunning operation where I would loan out what I collected at a higher rate of interest and pay the bosses back what I owed out of the profits. I mean, a man can't get ahead collecting another man's money; he has to make something of his own. It was a thing of beauty -- until one of the ships I invested in ran into some unseasonable weather in the Gulf and never made port."
He slaps the table with his open palm, making the plates clatter. "I would have made it work, borrowed some coin or finagled my way into more time, only Cleg ran crying to the bosses, hoping to curry favor by tying me to the anchor and tossing me overboard. I still had some friends in town, enough to warn me that Cromarcky had the Gendarmes out looking for me. And, yes, I tried to run; I'm not ashamed to say it. But if they told you I murdered Bertrida--" He glares at Daynadrian angrily. "She wasn't supposed to be home that night. I had no idea she was in the house."
He holds the elf's gaze for a moment for emphasis, then sighs and goes on. "They caught up with me on the Boneyard Cut, dragged me back to Maskyr's Island. This," he raises his left arm to display the stump, "was Shorafa's idea. Said my left hand didn't know what my right hand was doing, so obviously one of my hands wasn't trustworthy and had to go." He lets the key prosthetic fall back to the table with a metallic clank. "She's a riot, is Shorafa," he grimaces humorlessly.
"So, did she make things better, or worse? Were they gonna kill you, or let you pay them back? And Zincher's got a grudge because you lived? If he's been promoted, he should be thanking you. What a bunch of losers. I'm yours."
Braddon raises his drink. "To your health."
"Appreciated, lad," Saul chuckles. "It's less that I lived and more.... There's an unwritten rule in Riddleport that once a man's beat, he's supposed to accept the fact and slink away like a dog, drink himself to death in Rag's End or set out for parts unknown to flee from his shame. I ... well, Larur and I," he raises his glass to the dwarf at the other end of the table, "we refused to do that. We've set out to prove that a man can have a second act in Riddleport, and it galls at those that think they've beat us."
Daynadrian continues his level gaze at the one-handed-man a little longer then nods, seeming to accept what he's been told "Alright then, and thank you, as Braddon says, 'I am yours'. I was told that some question your motives regarding your wife, but for what it's worth, I believe you. I am sorry for your loss."
His demeanor changing as he sits back, more relaxed he then asks "So, is there to be no hope of reconciliation then between you and Zilcher? Or Shorafa? Is there nothing you can do to bring peace? Or shall we be continually expecting attack from them? For is that is the case, perhaps remaining purely on the defensive is not the best policy?"
Then, before Saul can answer, Dayn suddenly stands up, a slight look of concern on his face as he remembers something "Thulavia! She, she used magic on my earlier. I meant to mention it...I know Bojasc is a big lad, but magic might be too much for him. If you'll give me a moment, I wish to go check."[/b]
Without really waiting for permission, but giving a few seconds for reply before he open the door and heads out, if no one stops him he leaves and then hurries down stairs, looking for the pair that had left a few moments before.
Saul is on the verge of a reply to Daynadrian when the elf suddenly starts up and heads out of the room to assist Bojasc; Saul acquiesces to his exit with a quizzical smile and shrug. "I won't deny that I've no friends on the Council," he goes on to those remaining in the room, "but I haven't any declared enemies, either. Those I owed money to agreed to take their payment in pleasure from my misfortune, along with their share of the proceeds from the sale of my assets. By the rule of the Council, having accepted my punishment, they've foregone any right to further enmity. Doesn't mean they don't wish me ill, but it does mean they're unlikely to attack us openly; much more probable they'd try to undermine us indirectly. The Overlord maintains his position by enforcing order in the streets; gang warfare upsets the status quo and reflects poorly on his grip on power. Cleg might love to see us out of business, but he wouldn't dare send his own men against us without provocation. Now hiring an unaffiliated third party to cause trouble...," he trails off significantly.
Deciding not to lie, Dayn opts for the truth, or most of it anyway. "He didn't send me, but he knows I'm here. I forgot to mention that the witch casts magic, so I intend to see that she won't be able to spell her way out of confinement. Where is she?"
Bluff:
Beyond is a dark and narrow staircase going down. At its foot, the corridor turns sharply left, then immediately back right, revealing a long and narrow hallway. The only light is from Bojasc's candle behind you, and its flicker casts long and crazy shadows around you that obscure as much as the light reveals. You pass two doors on your right before coming across a sudden yawning emptiness on your left: another stairway leading deeper below the surface. Even to your inexpert eyes, it seems obvious that the passage was once walled off; crumbling plaster still clings to either side of the opening.
Bojasc grunts and indicates for you to take the stairs down. He follows, the candle just barely lighting up the next step before you have to take it. When the way becomes level once again, the corridor is still narrow enough to force you to walk in single file; but ahead, you can make out a flicker of light on the dirty stone floor. It is coming from beneath a door, the second of two on the left. As you arrive outside it, Bojasc reaches around you with a key to unlock it and swing it open.
Inside, a candle flickers on the dirty stone floor. The gloom is too much for even your keen elven vision to penetrate, but the walls of the room seem to be lined with cages, from small ones barely large enough for poultry to ones large enough to house the gnome you met at the Three Billed Duck or the halfling upstairs. Just at the edge of the candle flame's flicker, you can see Thuvalia crouched near the ground. Flaking iron manacles encircle her wrists, and a short length of chain is run through a rusty metal ring embedded in the stone floor; she doesn't have enough leeway to stand, let alone perform any somatic spell components, as far as you can tell.
She looks up at you with as much defiance as she can muster, given her situation. "Have you come to do as the Varisian commanded and kill me?" she asks cuttingly.
Dayn stares at the miserable woman for a while then answers simply "No."
Turning back to Bojasc he pulls a candle out of his pouch and lights it off the lit one "I had no idea the Gold Goblin had such facilities here. Which is quite interesting in it's own right. She certainly does seem secure here." As he makes a show of walking around her and checking out all the locks closely. "I may decide to gag her as well though, just in case. If you don't mind, I'm going to stay here a bit. Ask her a few more questions, see if I can't get any more information than we already have. Oh, and I suppose I'll need the key. To the door at least."
His gaze at the half-orc is direct and guileless. It also seems clear he doesn't expect to be refused his request.
Just before the half-orc departs Daynadrian asks "Do you know what was down here before? Where those passageways went?"
Bringing your candle to bear on the woman's restraints, the manacles and chain look as old and rusty as the cages and the door key. The whole room seems musty and disused; there's no sign or smell of animals or any recent occupancy. The lock securing the chain to the ring in the floor, in contrast, is shiny and well-oiled, obviously of newer manufacture; it is not, however, a complicated mechanism.
Finding a crate or some other suitable thing to sit on, Dayn places it a few feet away from Thulavia, well out of the reach of any leeway her chains allow her, and sits facing her.
Setting the candle down on the ground he again simply looks at her for some time, trying to discern his own feelings and solve the inner mystery of why, exactly, he is even here. After the silence has continued on slightly past the point of discomfort he speaks "So. I don't imagine this to be quite the situation you imagined you might find yourself in, eh?" There is no malice or derision in his voice as he speaks. To the contrary, he seems genuinely sad and even slightly confused.
Silent again for a few beats, trying to find his rhythm and direction, he continues "Before you ask, I'm not quite sure myself why I am here. I know almost nothing about you, save that you betrayed your employer, that you are a liar, and that you were party to a mass robbery of innocent victims. Or, well, as innocent as anyone in this city might be. And yet, here I sit. Upstairs, you seemed quite convinced that you'd be able to use your charms to gain advantage with the gendarmes. I wonder, are you still feeling that way right now? For it occurs to me, why should the type of men who would be likely to respond to such tactics on your part give you anything in return for what they could merely take, without costing them anything, save their souls perhaps. No, your fate, as it rests right at this moment, is not one I would wish for myself, that is for sure."
Quiet again, he sighs and bends over to pick up the candle "I really don't know why I'm here. I have no obligation to you whatsoever, you've proven your duplicity many times over. You even attacked with some sort of spell earlier. And yet...and yet, something in me wants...to help you. For some insane reason this small voice inside me tells me that there may yet be something good, something worth saving, inside of you. I'm wrong though, aren't I? I'm being crazy right now, right?"
He stands up, pushing his temporary chair further back and turns towards the door, taking a few steps. Just before reaching it, he turns back, and finishes with "I don't know you if you have anything to say to me Thulavia, if that's even your real name, but if you do, this is your last chance to say it. No lies, no tricks, no attempts at seduction or coercion. Just the truth. Plain and simple. If you are capable of such a thing."
His gaze into hers is clear and honest, his tone direct and still tinged with sadness and not a little regret. He pays very close attention to the woman and anything that may come out of her mouth at this moment.
Sense Motive:
Phillip listens, but does not question Saul's story... he often found that such delvings were best confined to a setting with less extraneous eyes involved. At Braddon's toast, Phil symbolically raises his own glass to show a shared sentiment... but doesn't see fit to add words to the action.
There is one point that raises his interest though... Saul's mention of Larur also rising from a point of defeat. Taking a sip of wine Phil swirls it in his mouth and as he savors the flavor he files that information for further inquiry later.
Satisfied with the arrangement brokered with Saul, Malkith listens to the others with a passive ear until Daynadrian begins to speak. Interested in the information that might start to flow, or at least peoples' reaction to what was being said, the oracle brings his full attention to bear. He sits quietly, absorbing what he can. When Daynadrian suddenly removes himself from the room, Malkith is tempted to follow him - he certainly has no interest in seeing Thuvalia free, especially before even setting foot outside the casino - but Saul's story holds him back.
Malkith picks up where Saul's voice trails off, "So who would be willing to hire the Sczarni to kick up dirt within the limits of Riddleport? It sounds like Volo was risking his neck with his own kind by taking the job."
"I think you're right: This wasn't a legitimate Sczarni job; this Volo is probably a low-level operative working a side deal on his own and betting his life and reputation on not getting caught. As to who'd hire him...," Saul sighs and rubs his brow in thought. "Sczarni from Lubbertown and not important ones at that, small group, petty theft: So either someone without massive resources and this was the best they could do, or someone working very hard to keep his involvement buried. Even if the plan had come off without a hitch, there's no real profit in it, just a loss for Larur and myself: So someone with a personal grudge to settle." He looks down the table to meet Larur's eyes. "Cleg," he suggests. "Or maybe someone I was collecting for, doesn't like to see me in a position to rise again."
"Zincher," Larur agrees. "Or it has a Calistrian reek about it to me, someone willing to go to a lot of trouble just for the pleasure of seeing someone else ruined."
"I never collected for Shorafa," Saul argues. " Besides, the penalty was her idea. It would be against the rule of the Council for her not to be satisfied with her own revenge. I suppose someone else could have contracted her to wreak vengeance for a private matter." He frowns.
"I see. Then perhaps, on the morning, I shall head out to Lubbertown and make some inquiries. Unless they went to Volo specifically, any ez-ijitoa asking around is bound to be remembered." Malkith looks to Saul and Larur, silently waiting for their opinion of the idea.
"You'll be more likely to get answers than any of the rest of us will," Saul nods. "Except maybe the lady, and I wouldn't send her up there alone." He grins at Samaritha ingratiatingly.
Ignoring Saul's chivalry, Samaritha asks in a low tone, "Would you like me to go with you, Malkith? Or... the way they spoke of my heritage... I might be more a hindrance than an aid."
Malkith meets Samaritha's gaze, "It would not be wise to go it alone, but they will not even speak to me I were to be seen with anyone else here." His eyes drift slightly from her's, focusing for a moment on her ears, "We should be able to veil certain features enough that it will not be a distraction."
Braddon looks to Malkith.
"Lubbertown it is then. When in the morning do you want me ready to leave? And are we going to speak to the Sczarni as well? Sounds like they'd want to help us to show this guy wasn't working for them."
Dayn sighs, and turns back fully to face her. He shakes his head, his confusion and regret genuine "Every time you speak, you make me less and less inclined to think that there's any good reason to be speaking to you. I had little reason to suspect that you'd be able to escape with your magic Thuvalia, my main reason for coming down here was to help you, to give you a second chance. Yet you seem to keep refusing to even grasp at the life preserver being thrown to you. You want us to offer you something, to help you, before we even know what possible help you might even be able to give. And surely you must be aware that we have absolutely no reason to trust you."
He takes a step forward, his eyes boring into hers "You act like you are speaking from a position of power, that it is we who have something to gain by helping you. Can you truly not see, from your current predicament, that it is the absolute reverse that is true? You have everything to gain by helping us, and very little to lose at this point. The fact that no one was hurt means little, for someone very easily could have been hurt."
He turns back towards the door, takes a step, stops, looks down at the ground while he thinks, and then turns around towards her again "You, want a promise of help Thuvalia? Ok, I shall give you one. You right now, no excuses, no petulance, no b!%$%!+%, tell me anything and everything that you think might even remotely be of assistance to us in this matter, and, if I judge it to be of any actual value, and to be true, than I promise you that I shall do everything in my power to convince the others to keep you away from the Gendarmes for now. Perhaps, depending completely on your behaviour, honesty and usefullness, there may even be a place here for you with m...I mean at the Gold Goblin. If I cannot convince them to accept you here, than I promise to do my best to ensure that you are treated fairly and are...undamaged, by the Gendarmes." he stumbles at the end, his cheeks flushing a bit.
Clearing his throat, he frowns again, grim and serious as he concludes "Before you answer me Thuvalia, consider deep and hard what the future will hold for you should I walk out the door unconvinced of your honesty or willingness to change for the better. Because I promise you, what you're experiencing right now, right here? This will be the very best of it."
His eyes and expression soften a little bit as he adds "And, on a personal note, I for one would very much like to know why you ended up on this path, and have done the things that you have done."
Phillip's eyebrow rises at Larur's mention of Calistria, and after mulling for a moment speaks on it "No true Calistrian would work through cat's paws... the satisfaction comes from the sight and savour of the fall... not just from the hearing of it."
Larur gives the halfling a puzzled frown. "You mean you think whoever's behind this might have been here tonight to watch?"
As you surmised, the Varisian woman seems in over her head but struggling to maintain a facade of bored hauteur even in her current perilous situation. Perhaps her experience has taught her that the weak are readily victimized and that to appear vulnerable is to invite predation; perhaps honesty is just an unfamiliar concept to her. She seems both desperate for the lifeline you're offering and reluctant to trust it.
She stares at you for a few moments, like a rabbit or deer you came upon in the forest would freeze and stare, wondering if you'd seen it, just before turning to flee; then she breaks eye contact and looks down at the candle just out of her reach. "I ... I can't tell you much. It's why I wanted a deal first; you'll say it's not enough. I wasn't with Volo when he met with her. But I know it was a woman. He came back reeking of perfume. I accused him of being with one of the whores from the temple, but he said it wasn't that; it was an opportunity. A lady had told him there was going to be a grand opening; the owner would be looking to hire strangers and outsiders because he couldn't get locals, and there wouldn't be any security. It was...," she stops and counts back in her head, "three weeks ago; I remember the moon was full. Volo said I could do my Chelish diva bit, and he and the boys would get hired on as well; said I wouldn't have to do anything but play along as a hostage, and I'd get my cut. The strange thing was, he said it would be all profit; his tip-off didn't ask for anything out of the deal; whatever we took we could keep. I thought whoever she was, she'd make a play for him, get it back in presents, or maybe it was a trial to see how he handled the operation and then she'd get him to do bigger jobs for her." She shrugs. "But he ended up dead." She looks up at you, her eyes hard and wary, as if already expecting you to walk out and leave her to her fate, despite your promise.
My, that sounds...interesting. Lubbertown. I am certain it will be grand...thank goodness that I have a date tomorrow. Perhaps a certain young lady will have a better picture of what is going on in town. Tendal thinks, sipping his wine.
Shrugging "Depends... if the goal is to ruin you, then no. But if the goal is to destroy you utterly... then probably yes." fishing out his holy symbol and laying it plain upon the table upon his still empty plate. "If I were to wish anyone ill... I would witness their suffering."
Malkith snaps his head around to Braddon in surprise. "The company of ez-ijitoa like you will only taint their opinion against us. There is bad blood between the Sczarni and other Varisians, but there is blood. We," he gestures to Samaritha and himself, "stand a better chance if we go alone."
Dayn's eyes narrow involuntarily a bit as he hears confirmation that Thulavia and Volo were indeed lovers. Yet as she continues the frown disappears and by the end of her speech is replaced by an expression of contemplation. Nodding, still thinking, he murmurs "Good, good, this is all good..." and then he smiles broadly, genuinely pleased "In fact this is an great start Thuvalia! In fact, I'll wager you know much more than what you've told me so far, you just don't know yet that you know it."
Getting his seat again and sitting down in front of her once more, putting the candle on the floor, he leans forward in his eagerness, elbows resting on his knees. "For example, this perfume, was it expense or cheap? Have you ever smelled it before? Would you recognize it again? How long had you been with Volo? Were you familiar with his usual methods of finding jobs? Did he have a regular contact for work? Do you have any idea how he may have got in contact with this mysterious woman? You say she was a 'lady', why do you use this term? Was there anything you heard to make you believe that she was indeed a 'lady'? Did you ever hear her name?"
Excited now, his hunter's instincts kicking in, he continues his stream of questions "And where were you supposed to meet your employer after the job? Where were you headed to when I caught you? And where did you all live? Surely there must be some more clues there!" suddenly realizing that he has not even given her a chance to answer yet, he sits back and laughs at himself good-naturedly.
"Ha, listen to me. Sorry, I got a bit carried away, but this is what I've been training for, what I've been waiting for, for what seems almost my whole life! A mystery! Crimes to be solved and villains to be tracked down." winking to show his awareness of making fun of himself somewhat he sighs with satisfaction "Really though Thulavia, this is an excellent start. If we continue in this vein, I feel quite confidant we can get you out of this dark, stinking room and get you somewhere much more comfortable and appropriate very soon. I don't think I'd hold your breath on getting your old room back, but pretty much anything would be better than this, yes? It seems you've not yet had the oppourtunity to learn this my dear, but oftentimes, to gain trust, you must first give it. Now, let's start again, slower this time, and give you a chance to answer everything."
And then he does just that, repeating his questions slower and one at a time, giving her a chance to answer them all.
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The dwarf is thoroughly flummoxed by Phillip's revelation. Stammering, he stares at the holy symbol on the plate, trying to reconcile its presence with his impression of Phil as a lawful, responsible halfling.
Saul tactfully clears his throat, pushing back his chair from the table as he gets to his feet. "Well, now's as good a time as any to show you around the upstairs. You saw the costume closet and the room across the hall. It was used as staff quarters, I believe, when the place was an inn, beds all lined up like a dormitory when we moved in. Unless and until we decide we want to go into the business of housing our guests, though, I think you'll all be happier with the rooms downstairs. More privacy."
"You've seen the waiting area and my office. We use this room, obviously, for meals and meetings. Through this door here," he walks down the length of the table to the door in the southern wall and unlocks it with a key, "is my own little abode." He opens the door to reveal a comfortably furnished apartment with a table, two comfortable chairs on a rug before a fireplace, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a bed in the far corner. The windows in the southern wall are undoubtedly those that look out over the roof, although they are obscured with curtains, as is another window to the west.
"And over here," Saul goes on, closing and locking his own door again, "is Bojasc's room." He moves to the tapestry-hung western wall of the dining room and pulls aside one of the hangings to reveal a door. "Hidden, you see," he explains, flipping through his key ring to unlock it. "The idea is that if anyone comes in at night to rob the place or, well, do me any bodily harm, Bojasc can slip out where they're not expecting anyone and get between them and the exit. Here it is." Finding the right key, he opens the door behind the curtain to reveal a spartan room with only a chest of drawers, hard wooden chair, and narrow bed. In contrast to the touches of color and comfort in Saul's apartment, this room looks more like a prison cell, if larger; the windows in the western wall are uncovered and stare out over the dilapidated buildings of the River District.
"And, uh, I believe that's it," Saul goes on, closing and locking the door to Bojasc's room and letting the concealing tapestry fall back over it. "There's a basement as well that's accessible from the kitchen, but we're only using two rooms down there at the moment: the wine cellar and Larur's little slice of home. Be happy to show you around down there later, or Larur can."
Braddon nods at Malkith unperturbed.
"Well, I ain't Varisian. So no bad blood. I also make a good body guard, thug or flunky which might make you look important and could stop you getting killed. And you'll probably need some extra eyes. Don't sweat it, I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut when needed."
Braddon sits back satisfied.
"Nice speech," he thinks to himself, "except for the lie about knowing when to shut up."
Phil retrieves his holy symbol from the plate and gives Larur a smile and shoulder clasp. He hears Braddon's words... but Malkith's excursion is not of his concern at present, so he does not speak against it. The half-elf speaks but does not hear... a point to be mindful of.
Phil follows along with the tour, drink in hand, taking the explanation at face value - and taking note of the relative position of each room in case he had need to reach them from outside. Of particular note is the spartan room of Bojasc... and the uncovered windows leading to it.
Tour completed Phil asks "Is there aught else you would have of me tonight? It is late and I am yet in need of a room to stay..."
"Of course!" Saul slaps his forehead with a grin and then fumbles for his keyring. "Slipped my mind you haven't 'checked in' yet like the rest of them. You might find it a little dusty tonight; we didn't prepare the rooms, not planning to be renting them out. We'll be sure to have them seen to when we get people in to tidy the place up this week." He hands Phillip a room key, then turns to Samaritha. "And I suppose you'll be wanting a room, too? Or will you be, er, doubling up with someone?" He gives her a knowing wink.
The half-elf's face blushes as red as her hair. "I'll be taking that," she mumbles, snatching the proffered key from Saul's fingers and not looking anyone in the eye.
"Samaritha, if you have a few moments, I would like to talk to you." Tendal says, siezing the opportunity as the party and tour break up.
"We can head downstairs and talk on the casino floor if that is comfortable for you."
She seizes on the opportunity to avoid looking at either Malkith or Braddon. "Yes, that would be fine," she replies, eagerly heading toward the door to the hallway and stairs.
Phil mulls over the remaining rooms and takes one off the atrium nearest the main gambling floor, retrieving the key from Saul. "No need to have my room cleaned... I'll take care of it myself." giving a quick bow and taking his leave.
Phil swings past the table piled with food on his way downstairs and takes a healthy platter of bread, meat and cheese to enjoy in his room. He also snaffles a bottle of wine if there is one in the offing, half-empty or full it matters not. Setting down his plate for a moment as he unlocks the door - Phil moves into what might be his new home.
- Door - solid core or hollow?, quality of the hinges, and quality of the lock itself.
- Tally of the furnishings and relative sizing (human or halfling). Phil will do a rudimentary inspection for hidden compartments and the like. Check to see if any chests or drawers are lockable, or able to be modified to be so.
- Check the bed and frame, underneath the frame and also the mattress.
- Move floor coverings around to check the quality of the flooring, making sure that it is solid and nothing is loose.
- Check the walls - are they solid, do they block sound or not.
- Check the roof, especially where the roof joins the wall - making sure that there are not any holes or gaps.
Food likely mostly finished and a decent dent made in the wine, Phillip feels satisfied at least enough to sleep - though with door locked and none of his belongings laid out. He wouldn't feel comfortable to do that until he had at least seen the lock changed... or made provisions for a safe haven within his room.
As eyes close and sleep comes, he turns thoughts to an early rise and contemplates the many things that are in need of doing... and a luncheon that should prove enjoyable.
"For example, this perfume, was it expensive or cheap? Have you ever smelled it before? Would you recognize it again?"
"It wasn't familiar," she shakes her head. "But I would say expensive. If I smelled it again, I think I would know it."
"How long had you been with Volo?"
"I knew him since we were children," she shrugs. "We grew up in the same caravan, but when he got older, he didn't want to keep traveling the Kaspakari, wanted more excitement. There was a man in Sandpoint, one of the Sczarni, who agreed to get him started in that line of work. He went to Magnimar, he said, and we didn't hear any news of him for many months. Then, a little more than a year ago, I saw him in Galduria. He said he'd run into trouble in Magnimar and was traveling the Cinder Road from Wartle to Riddleport. He told me he'd missed me, said I could help him out if I would, so when his caravan left, I left a note for my mother and hid in one of the wagons until we were well away."
"Were you familiar with his usual methods of finding jobs? Did he have a regular contact for work?"
"Mostly he did what the older men told him to do: highwayman work on travelers along the roads, some housebreaking in the towns we passed through. But he liked to do jobs on the side for the extra coin. When the other Sczarni in the caravan found out, they didn't like it; told him and his boys to stay in Riddleport and see if they could learn to do as they were told. That was over a month ago, and it will be at least another month before the caravan returns."
"He tried to be good for a week or so, but Volo got restless. Got tired of playing cards in Lubbertown and started going into the casinos at night. He and the boys would do some bug hunting when they got a chance, come back with some valuable or a pouchful of coin. But I never knew anyone to hire him until this job."
"Do you have any idea how he may have got in contact with this mysterious woman? You say she was a 'lady', why do you use this term? Was there anything you heard to make you believe that she was indeed a 'lady'? Did you ever hear her name?"
She scoffs. "It was Volo called her a 'lady,'" she says scornfully. "He was infatuated with her, whether she ever seduced him or not; I could tell by the way he spoke of her. But, no, he never used her name. He must have met her in town one of those nights. He said he was only in the Free-Coin District, but he could have gone anywhere." She pauses thoughtfully. "Normally, when he came back from the casinos, he'd smell of liquor and smoke and perfume and sweat, from the crowds, but this night, it was only her perfume. He was alone with her, not in a crowded building. Which means they must have met before then to have arranged the private appointment that night."
"And where were you supposed to meet your employer after the job? Where were you headed to when I caught you? And where did you all live?"
"If he was supposed to meet her, he didn't tell me about it -- but I am sure he intended to see her again. The plan was, if we had to split up, to meet back in Lubbertown. We had a couple of rooms rented there until the caravan came back for us. I was going to go back and gather my belongings, Volo's and the others' too before someone else stole them, maybe try to find a caravan about to leave and go with them, get away before anyone came looking for me. Maybe try to go back south and find my mother on the Kaspakari."
Tendal finds a pair of chairs that survived the night's festivities and sets them back upright, then motions and waits for Samaritha to take a seat before joining her.
He looks at her for a moment, before flicking his right hand in an arcane gesture and pointing at a toppled over table a few feet away.
"Aqua", he says, and a small cascade of water pours out across the table.
"I personally did not prepare "Mortimer's Prestidigious" cantrip that you demonstrated earlier, as I felt that it might have little use if things got out of hand this evening. I felt that "Dousing Drench" might be more of use if some miscreant decided to set fire to anything in the Golden Goblin. In any regard, my bonifides are now confirmed."
"I am curious as to your plans with the Cyphermages. I understand that they are of some power and influence in the town, however I am not entirely familiar with their precepts."
"I will tell you that while my instructor was from Absalom, I personally hold to the ideals of the Twilight Academe. Magic is something that should be explored for its own right, free of politics. Further, any magical line of inquiry is valid as long as it does not enslave or harm free-thinking beings."
"As such, I would be happy to work with you on the development of your skills and spells for as long as you remain in the employ of Mr. Vankaskerkin. I find the study of the art to be reward in and of itself, so I ask for no recompense from you, just your scholarly partnership."
Malkith scowls at Braddon, clearly annoyed by his insistence of accompanying him. He stares at the half-elf for a long moment, trying to formulate his next response. As the wheels turn, he begrudgingly accepts the notion that Braddon is not going to be so easily dissuaded from making a tenuous situation more difficult. In an flat tone, he says, "We'll leave after breakfast."
Malkith drifts along silently with the group as Saul conducts his tour. He makes mental notes of what he's shown. Eventually, as people start going their separate ways, he speaks up, "I think it would be a good time for me to retire as well. Good evening, Herr Vankaskerkin. Herr Felden." As he parts, he touches Samaritha on the arm, "Find me in the morning."
Samaritha seems a bit taken aback by Tendal's technical terminology and discussion of arcane philosophy. "Uh, the Cypherlodge specializes in divination and transmutation magic, but I'm really interested in it for the study of ancient runes and artifacts. They've studied the Cyphergate for years, and all their notes and research are housed in their library. I'd love to have the opportunity to pore over all of that. I mean, I know I'd have to start at the bottom as an apprentice, carrying books and filling inkwells, but even then I'd have access to the library in any free time I could find, and I hope that, with hard work, I'd have a chance to work my way up. I understand that the Cypherlodge has a bit of a reputation as being proprietary," she admits, "but I'm not interested in the politics, just the scholarship."
She nods toward the wet table. "I've never seen that spell. I suppose it's newly-researched in Absalom? I've seen priestesses summon water, but never an arcanist."
"Dousing Drench? Honestly I don't know. I would assume that it was a bit more prevalent...but you say you haven't seen it before?" Tendal says, brow furrowed.
"In any regard, I understand your interest. If you are bound to the challenge of deciphering ancient runes, then working with a group that has done significant research along those lines is certainly wise. However, I believe from comments that have been made in my presence that your lack of interest in politics might be challenged if you join the Cypherlodge. It seems that they wield a great deal of mundane power in this region."
"There may be other ways to persue your interest as well. My understanding is that the Pathfinders have a large interest in the ancient structures and magics of Varisia. There may be an opportunity there for you to explore your interests without being attached to Riddleport. But, your path through the arcane is up to you. If you wish to collaborate or share spells, please let me know. Also, I would ask that when you give your oaths to the masters of the Cypherlodge, you not betray anything or anyone from your time here at the Golden Goblin."
"Dousing Drench? Honestly I don't know. I would assume that it was a bit more prevalent...but you say you haven't seen it before?" Tendal says, brow furrowed.
"My teacher was ... traditional," Samaritha admits, a little embarrassed. "He was taught by another traveling wizard who was taught by another before him. I don't know how long ago someone who had formal training was part of the process. I doubt there's any spells I know that you wouldn't already have learned from your tutor."
"In any regard, I understand your interest. If you are bound to the challenge of deciphering ancient runes, then working with a group that has done significant research along those lines is certainly wise. However, I believe from comments that have been made in my presence that your lack of interest in politics might be challenged if you join the Cypherlodge. It seems that they wield a great deal of mundane power in this region."
"There may be other ways to persue your interest as well. My understanding is that the Pathfinders have a large interest in the ancient structures and magics of Varisia. There may be an opportunity there for you to explore your interests without being attached to Riddleport. But, your path through the arcane is up to you. If you wish to collaborate or share spells, please let me know. Also, I would ask that when you give your oaths to the masters of the Cypherlodge, you not betray anything or anyone from your time here at the Golden Goblin."
"What relevance could a casino have to the Cypherlodge?" Samaritha asks, puzzled. "Do you really think they'd have any interest in anything I do here? I mean, I don't wish anyone here ill -- everyone's been very kind -- but if you think that I'll be asked to do things here I'd have to conceal from anyone else ... perhaps I shouldn't have accepted the job after all." It is her brow's turn now to be furrowed.
"Samaritha, because of the obfuscation of the Lodge, who can say what their motives are or what may pique their interest. As an apprentice, you certainly will not be in a postition to judge what the leadership of the Lodge is doing, so keeping mum about the Gold Goblin is simply your repayment while you work toward entry into the Lodge. More importantly though, there are enough wielders of the arcane, including myself, in this group that running afoul of the Lodge might occur."
"All I am asking is that you respect the wishes and interests of those who work here. We aren't all here in Riddleport for our academic interests."
"I just had a thought." he says, pausing. "Most societies are selective in whom they allow through the door. Are you going to need help gaining acceptance into the Cypherlodge? Do you know what their requirements are?"
"I ... I've heard they only require academic rigor and a thirst for knowledge," she replies, "but I'm sure that the right reference or patron would open doors more quickly. I mean, a person like yourself, with an Absalom education, would undoubtedly attract more interest than a Varisian half-elf with no formal instruction."
She stands up. "I can promise not to do anything I think is wrong or ... or disloyal, either for the Cypherlodge or for Mr. Vankaskerkin, or to bring harm on anyone. If ... if there's something going on here that you think would hurt you if anyone else knew about it, then you should probably not tell me about it, either. Good night, Mr. Deverin."
Phil's room is indeed, as Saul warned, dusty, and the wall sconce containing the oil lamp is placed to be convenient for a taller person than him, although he is able to climb onto the bed and light it from that position; he makes a mental note to requisition a stepladder.
The Gold Goblin is both several generations old and solidly constructed; the walls partitioning the wing into chambers are stone and seem well-insulated, particularly in this interior room with no windows. From what he remembers of the Goblin's architecture, this room must be just below the window overlooking the roof from the second-story corridor so there must be some attic space above; but he can find no cracks or crevices, nor are there any stains on the plaster ceiling to show that the rain has seeped in. An iron grating secures the upper reaches of the chimney from intrusion from above.
The door is a solid slab of wood but doesn't fit tightly enough for the room to be entirely soundproof; as some of the others move through the atrium on their way to their own beds, he is able to detect the sounds of their footsteps walking past the door so he surmises someone listening at the keyhole from the atrium would be similarly able to overheard activity inside. The hinges are on the inside and of similar age and solidity as the door's construction. The lock in the handle appears to be merely average in complexity, although there is a separate bolt to be thrown manually when the room is occupied that would have to be forced open rather than picked.
The furnishings, like the wall sconce, are designed for larger occupants; the bed is high -- another reason to bring in a stepladder -- and the stuffed armchair before the hearth large enough for two halflings to share cozily. An ottoman meant to prop up longer legs could provide additional seating for the economically sized. A chest at the foot of the bed is the only storage space; opening it, he finds the key for the built-in lock in the bottom. The lock itself is rather simple, but there is a loop to add a padlock if more security is desired. An inspection of the chest itself indicates it is what it appears to be and nothing more: no false bottoms or hidden compartments are evident. The mattress and bedframe are similarly guileless in construction.
The floor, like the walls, is made of stone, and none seem to be loose, though Phil rolls up the rugs to check beneath them. The woven yellow rug before the fireplace is commonplace enough, but the bedside rug is the skin of some exotic beast. The coverlet on the bed is also made of some thick, shaggy fur, doubtless of a creature that lives far to the north.