"We all can help. Any hand. Even wind, can move sand, so small is the needed effort per piece. Even wind. Not only wind.", Gristav tries to sage, though he's not feeling overly wise. "Let Saul judge, if it's his safety this ensures. The rest of us walk into harm's path, already." Gris looked either ridiculous, or imposing, in his smalls, though he sought neither.
Gris had helped some, but had his own chores, and duties. Words, in dwarven or silence, for Larur. In Taldorean, when alone with the Desna near the rooms. And in silence, or mutters of many tongues, with the others he'd felt himself to fail, in too long a too short life. He spoke to them all, centering and grounding, cantripping and cleansing. And emerged from his chamber armored and armed, the darkness he felt forged in his mind, against what might come next.
"Braddon's need first, now? Geography gets a vote, let's not walk _past_ any problem, but let's be walking _to_ the Publican? At least some of us? One, _me_, if needs be?"
Phil nods assent to the intent to see Braddon restored "Gristav and Braddon to the Publican at a minimum..." before posing an additional query "While I'm begging for a bath, I'm not for certain that we should sling mud in the Whoremistress' eye just yet... I'd proffer to seek out Marce Washburn... suggesting that Serpe could accompany? Magnimar is welcome also, but perhaps you'd prefer different destination."
Pondering Saul he adds "Saul to remain is prudent, but I'd hear whether he gives consent to his remaining small and absent view."
Phil nods assent to the intent to see Braddon restored "Gristav and Braddon to the Publican at a minimum..." before posing an additional query "While I'm begging for a bath, I'm not for certain that we should sling mud in the Whoremistress' eye just yet... I'd proffer to seek out Marce Washburn... suggesting that Serpe could accompany? Magnimar is welcome also, but perhaps you'd prefer different destination."
Pondering Saul he adds "Saul to remain is prudent, but I'd hear whether he gives consent to his remaining small and absent view."
Nodding, "Works for me." He then looks to Saul, "And I'm thinking Raccoon's got it right, bub. The less you're seen, the longer you'll remain alive. Probably best you stay hidden," he says in a matter of fact way.
"What's Washburn's purpose to us? Same point of contact to the larger community that 'Nando might be?", Gristav guesses. "Of course. Sorry. Some distraction."
"The path to the ferry might pass the Fishbowl, we'll see what two half-sets of elven ears hears, if the storm has brought the faithful. I do hope the ferry is running. It must be, or some similar, though I hope Grimas is well. He seemed a decent fellow."
"Being of my height Marce's ear is closer to the ground... and where Arnando is static at the Publican, Marce flows across the wharves and from mouth to ear should have all we need to know of things that float on water." pausing a moment before adding "And if set to task to scrape for rumour, his inquiry won't warrant note."
Braddon nods in agreement, a little too often and a little too long, but is otherwise silent.
He then looks to Saul, "And I'm thinking Raccoon's got it right, bub. The less you're seen, the longer you'll remain alive. Probably best you stay hidden," he says in a matter of fact way.
Saul tests the weight stacked atop the trap door. "Aye, I'll stay indoors. But hurry back."
"Allow me a few moments to see what remains of my possessions after the deluge. If I have the material for making scrolls, then I need to at least try to replenish my supply by one or two, if my stocks are ruined, then I will just proceed to the Publican with you gentlemen." Tendal says before setting off for his room.
"The rooms were dry. So you'll be scribing. Well enough."
Saul looks relieved to hear he won't be alone in the Goblin. "I'll see if I can find some coffee or tea that stayed dry on a high shelf in the kitchen," he suggests helpfully.
Tendal retreats to his room to replenish his arsenal of scrolls, while Saul begins to poke around the flooded kitchen in search of undamaged comestibles.
----------------------
The other four men go back out, carefully locking the Gold Goblin's door behind them with the new keys before parting ways, Gristav and Braddon heading north and west toward Velashu Ferry, and Phillip and Snake returning south toward the wharves.
Gristav and Braddon's path toward the ferry reveals the devastation wrought by the tidal surge pushing up the river. There is not a building between the Gold Goblin and the Velashu that has not sustained significant damage. Where the road ends at the riverbank, not only is the pier that extended into the river washed away, but Grimas's cottage is as well. On the far side of the river, the dock is also missing. The flat-bottomed ferry is not in evidence, but several men with rafts and dinghies of varying degrees of seaworthiness are in evidence on either side of the crossing.
"What's it all about?" the nearest one asks Gristav and Braddon boldly, looking them up and down as they approach. "Crossing the Velashu's for those on official business only! Unless you have authorization, stay on the side you're on!"
-----------------------
Phillip and Snake are traveling back through the devastation they've already seen. Before their path takes them back to the open-air morgue and the crowd watching the boats trawling for bodies in the harbor, the pair veer to the west to approach the mouth of the river. Where Cas Cazynsik's shipyard once stood is nothing but half the roof of the workshop and a single fallen wall. It appears that the building was toppled from the southeast by the full blast of the tidal surge; then the fallen debris was sucked back out into the harbor by the water's ebb. Apart from the stone tower of the harbormaster's office, nothing remains standing on the narrow finger of land extending into the Velashu from the eastern bank.
A few figures are carefully moving around the wreckage. One of them is Casamen Cazynsik himself; another is halfling-sized.
Still a bit in awe of the destruction, the tall man's typical stoic appearance remains steadfast. Once they reach the shipyard, "Don't suppose that's who we're looking for, is it?"
"What's it all about?" the nearest one asks Gristav and Braddon boldly, looking them up and down as they approach. "Crossing the Velashu's for those on official business only! Unless you have authorization, stay on the side you're on!"
Gristav doesn't meet the man's eye in his approach, save for an instant to wave him closer. The time of that approach, filled with Gristav's calm survey of the nearest others of the impromptu flotilla.
"Good man.", Gristav says as the man comes within a lowered voice's limits. "Of course, business only. But there's still official business, needs not be _seen_ official, so I'm not going to holler down the bank, my bona fides." Gristav gave a comradely smile, but had angled so his eye fell on the footprint of the cottage, past the man, and now he sobered, as it did. "The cottage, was there... tell us, the folk are alright? Away when the wave hit, I hope? Even _Grimas_, was not _all_ day, at his pole...?"
"I'm sorry, cold of me to ask, you may've lost folk, yourself. I expect, too many have..." From good humor, to hope, then to sorrow, Gris' face had fluttered. He took a moment, or left it, for any answers that might have been coming, then sobered again. "I've business, a courier's business, package for Arnando..." Gris closed a hand, and opened it, to show a badge he'd never wanted, but was glad to use. A twist of the hand disappeared it again. "_Do_ tell me, _he_'s well? Some as need, lean on him..."
Still a bit in awe of the destruction, the tall man's typical stoic appearance remains steadfast. Once they reach the shipyard, "Don't suppose that's who we're looking for, is it?"
As the pair approach more closely, they can tell that the halfling is female. In fact, it is Eulalie Makeckney from the Publican House.
Braddon looks about the destruction and looks over the raftsmen, searching for a badge or uniform about them. Seeming disinterested (or uncomprehending) of Gristav's words, Braddon pulls a gold piece and sets it glinting in the sun.
He tries spinning it across his fingers and the coin falls to the ground.
"How does Phil do that?" he asks Gristav, retrieving the coin.
Braddon looks about the destruction and looks over the raftsmen, searching for a badge or uniform about them. Seeming disinterested (or uncomprehending) of Gristav's words, Braddon pulls a gold piece and sets it glinting in the sun.
He tries spinning it across his fingers and the coin falls to the ground.
"How does Phil do that?" he asks Gristav, retrieving the coin.
"The coin knows of his love, and clings to him?", Gristav quips. "He'd be pleased that you had noticed. Ask him, it will buoy him, and the days ahead are dark, I think."
"The cottage, was there... tell us, the folk are alright? Away when the wave hit, I hope? Even _Grimas_, was not _all_ day, at his pole...?"
The man glances at the cottageless shore and shrugs. "Couldn't tell you. Weren't here when it happened. Reckon you'd have to ask Slyeg about his ferryman."
"I've business, a courier's business, package for Arnando..." Gris closed a hand, and opened it, to show a badge he'd never wanted, but was glad to use. A twist of the hand disappeared it again. "_Do_ tell me, _he_'s well? Some as need, lean on him..."
He barks a sardonic laugh. "Delivering fine goods, are we? Save it for another day, lackey, when half the town's not washed away. Your customer like enough doesn't have a house to put it in, and he certainly won't...." He trails off, watching Braddon toying with a gold coin. "I suppose if it's important enough, I could take you across. I mean, if it's worth enough to you...."
Braddon looks affectionately at the coin.
"I don't know. Grimas charges like a copper, right? My memory isn't perfect. This would be worth like hundreds of trips, right?"
He looks at the others on the river.
"Maybe someone else isn't as busy as you."
Braddon holds forth the gold coin to the raftsman.
"Can you spare a few minutes, to help?"
Braddon's coin has drawn the attention of some of the other boatmen.
"Here! I'll take you across," one offers.
"Across? I'll take you direct anywhere on the river you want to go," another tops him.
"And wait to bring you back as well!" a third proposes.
"Does the Publican still stand? Is Arnando still there? We'll pay, to the man who can take us, to him."
To Snake "No such luck... but still luck can be bent to will..." gesturing for Snake to follow his lead forward.
Phil approaches Eulalie, smoothing out his mustache with a grimace... grit and filth still clothing him before running his hands through equally bestricken hair. A thought passes... at least we look the part of helping out post surge...
When within ear and eyeshot (having made no attempt at stealth) Phil raises a hand "Ho there... nasty business... could I bend a few words with Eulalie?"
Braddon wrenches back the coin and turns to the latest arrival.
"I like you."
He hands across the gold piece and strides across to their raft, gesturing for Gristav to follow.
"We don't yet know...", Gristav begins to protest, but shrugs. "Bargain struck, bargain honored.", he smiles, surveying the contracted raft, before the raftman, but stepping aboard, in any case.
"Braddon, I'm a very strong swimmer, today. Would you like me to sling your sword, in case we tumble?"
Regardless of any answer, Gristav will adopt a seated posture on the raft, perhaps in custody of the greatsword, perhaps not.
The gold coin quickly disappears into the raftman's pocket. "The Publican was smashed," he admits, "but the barkeep's helping with recovery along the riverbank. We'll find him." He pushes off and lets the current carry the raft downstream.
When within ear and eyeshot (having made no attempt at stealth) Phil raises a hand "Ho there... nasty business... could I bend a few words with Eulalie?"
Lalie glances up, her own face and hands smudged and scraped as well. "Got enough things bent around here ... bent and broken." She tosses aside the end of a smashed plank she has wrestled from under a chunk of fallen roof. "I'd prefer my words whole and honest, if you don't mind."
Hands to the side to imply that Phil meant no duplicity, and seeing no objection from Cas, the halfling addresses his kin "We're looking for Marce... can you ken which way our eyes should follow?"
"He's looking for Olin. Checking up toward Leeward."
Phil gives a nod, before narrowing his eyes at the rubble... gaze flicking across the nearby surfaces...
Snake remains silent as the two talk, his hands within the pockets of his trench coat. He does casually keep a look out during the conversation.
...shrugging Phil replies "Thanks for the steer... if you're looking for what's still whole then I'd take a look 'neath those planks and that bit of roof." pointing out the areas of interest before tipping an imaginary hat to the pair and indicating to Serpe with a tilt of the head that they should be t'wards Leeward.
After clear of earshot Phil fills in his taller companion with a tired but wry turn of smile "Eulalie wasn't impressed with where Marce needed to be searching... likely Olin was engaged in congress with those within the Whoremistress' employ"
Braddon and Gristav's trip down the Velashu is more cautious than normal as the raftman has to dodge debris in the river. Their view of the destruction is more complete along the river; virtually everything along the banks is at least half collapsed, some blasted away from the riverbed by the initial wave, others sucked into the river by the returning ebb.
Coming around the bend, the pair can see that the Publican House wasn't spared by any divine intervention. The bay windows are smashed in, the front door missing, and Lalie's aggressively-scrubbed floor is buried beneath several inches of river silt, spangled with broken glass and bits of detritus.
At the mouth of the river, the riverbanks are lined with people watching boats anchored in midstream from which people are fishing in the Velashu with poles, hooks, and nets. The riverdraggers protest as the raft drifts past them, but the raftman insists, "Overlord's business! Tell me, is the Caydenite priest here?"
They shake their heads. "Haven't found anyone alive in hours," they call back. "They've set up an infirmary up in Windward. Expect he'd be there."
The raftman turns back to Gristav and Braddon. "River taxi stand's washed out, but I can drop you at the foot of the path, or I can leave you by the Publican House and you can take the road up from there."
...shrugging Phil replies "Thanks for the steer... if you're looking for what's still whole then I'd take a look 'neath those planks and that bit of roof." pointing out the areas of interest before tipping an imaginary hat to the pair and indicating to Serpe with a tilt of the head that they should be t'wards Leeward.
After clear of earshot Phil fills in his taller companion with a tired but wry turn of smile "Eulalie wasn't impressed with where Marce needed to be searching... likely Olin was engaged in congress with those within the Whoremistress' employ"
Giving a shake of his head, "Sounds like tough living for this Olin character," he comments facetiously as they move along.
Braddon gawks at the destruction. His father had mentioned sea stories of ships pounded by storms, with colourful descriptions of masts and rigging broken and askew. But these are buildings. Dozens of them. Walls pulled down revealing rubble and chaos inside. And people.
"Arnando? Lalie?"
His eyes turn up river towards the Leeward district.
"We need to find them. See if they're okay. Maybe we can help?"
Braddon turns to the raftman.
"By the Publican. We'll take the path."
"I'm torn, we've duty with Arnando, but a keen interest in the view from those heights. What say you, Braddon? Windward, or upward? Windward's wisest. But I'm our fool..."
Gristav turned to see Braddon yards away already, and rushed from his own shocked reveries, after the ranger.
Phillip and Snake head back toward the northeast, through the smashed Wharf District and into Leeward, which appears to have survived the disaster mostly unscathed. The streets are sparsely pedestrianed, nonetheless, either because people are staying safely at home in case of a further inundation or because they are all rubbernecking down at the wharf.
The pair have only recently passed the Mystery of the Gate on their way toward the House of the Silken Veil when Phillip spies the Small figure of Marce headed in their direction, head down, expression grim, pace determined.
Gristav will cast his own version of sift, in that he asks Braddon to do tracking about the Publican's remains...
"How many folk have been through? Any that walked purposefully, toward some deliberate goal? The hobbit's tracks would be distinctive; has she been here, since the event?", Gristav asks, a question at a time, with time for Braddon's responses. Which left Gristav his own time for his unskilled investigation. And Bolbo's.
"This is all such dark business. Let's hope there's firey hair, uphill, eh?", Gristav hopes heartfully.
Phil moves to interdict upon Marce's path, on a vector where he's likely to be noticed at a safe distance that wouldn't cause much alarm. As recognition dawns he will raise a hand in query "Ho there... dark countenance based on discovery or mystery?"
"The Publican. The path."
Braddon eyes the destruction.
"Arnando will be busy. We'll try and get out as fast as possible. But he may be able to help me. Again."
As recognition dawns he will raise a hand in query "Ho there... dark countenance based on discovery or mystery?"
As Marce looks up and recognizes Phillip, some small part of his mental burden seems to be lifted. "Phil." He closes to shake the other halfling's hand. "You're well. Ethel knows?"
Tracing passage through the Publican is simple enough, as there are multiple sets of footprints through the wet mud along with multiple gashes and holes where things have been picked out of the silt. In the back room, multiple mismatched mugs and tankards are piled on the counter, and a scrap of parchment tacked to a keg reads, Take what you need, need what you take. A few small stacks of copper coins have accumulated next to the keg.
"Leave what you can.", Gristav completes the triplet, noting the hand, and paying for the privilege with a copper coin cantriped to hand from a pocket, and set aside the other stacks.
"More later, I think.", he says, rushing after Braddon.
Phil accepts the offered hand with a nod "Aye, Ethel knows... we were not afoot when the wave broke so were spared all but the aftermath. No word yet on Olin?" he ends with a raised eyebrow.
He shakes his head. "No one's seen him since the wave. The more time goes by, the less hope he'll turn up safe."
Braddon nods at Gristrav, throws a couple of coins on the pile, and heads off up the path.
Forestalling stepping delicately around the issue Phil plows onwards "Has Taffy's place of work been queried? or is that still on the list?" leaving tacit and hanging that he could serve that purpose for Marce if delicacy required.
Though showing a truth of interest in the whereabouts of the missing halfling, Phil also sees need to place his own agenda out "I've a request to make besides... one that shouldn't impact your current good works... and might help line your pockets for whatever other good works you'd seek out." wanting to see sign of interest before making plain his offer.
The tall man remains silent during the exchange between the two halflings. He does glance around from time to time while he listens in.
Forestalling stepping delicately around the issue Phil plows onwards "Has Taffy's place of work been queried? or is that still on the list?"
A moment of surprise flits across Marce's face as he realizes you know about Olin's secret. "I've just spoken to Taffy. He wasn't with her last night. No need to mention it to the girls, as nothing came of the inquiry ... particularly as it seems Olin might be facing Pharasma's judgment. There's no call for them to judge him as well."
"I've a request to make besides... one that shouldn't impact your current good works... and might help line your pockets for whatever other good works you'd seek out." wanting to see sign of interest before making plain his offer.
"Aye, and what's that?" he asks a bit warily.
Phil nods assent to Marce's delicacy with respect to Olin's disposition.
He then speaks plain and honest on the other matter "Naught but the use of your ears... my employer... to your knowledge is he live or dead?" tone showing there's more to the question but that Phil is not trying to create a verbal trap.