"Vankaskerkin?" Marce replies, startled. "Is he missing as well? You think he was caught in the wave?"
Answer given by Marce's response, Phil now veils words in some degree of sleight "Aye... at least that's what I'd prefer to be the news. Truth and facts being somewhat different 'pending the slant. I'd like ears out to the slip network and the docksmen, seeking knowing of anyone who thinks or knows Saul's still breathing. I'm not asking for lying or rumour spread... just information."
Marce shrugs. "I'll keep an ear open for a corpse with a missing hand, though if he's found dead, I expect the news will spread quickly enough without my hurrying it along."
Braddon and Gristav take the road up toward the more rarefied heights of Windward District. Before they reach the terrace house where Ananda Mescher used to live, they spy a battered tankard incongruously hanging from a neatly-painted picket fence. A footpath leads past a gate to a sort of stable or carriage-house, its doors wide open.
With a wink and wry smile Phil clarifies "I'd be more interested in anyone who swears that he's still living..." letting the word linger a few moments before adding "As to the wave, if there's aught I can do let me know."
...a battered tankard incongruously hanging from a neatly-painted picket fence.
"A battered tankard stood its watch, and beckoned all inside. The pickets point, the carriage house, the great doors open wide...", Gristav declares to Braddon, and walks down the path, idly wanding about with his staff at each described detail.
"And Gristav and the weakened Brad, they strode along the path, while Gris called out the commonplace, and gestured, with his staff."
"Good thing Ananda's not here to see this."
Braddon turns from a reverie up the hill to down the path.
"I'm not weak," he grumbles following Gristav. "Just... a bit sore. Maybe some more breakfast would help."
"It's a poison, Braddon, not a truth. And if it needed breakfast, we'd have set for the Duck, not the... Quacker? Quaker? Quaff-er? Not quaver... In any case, _here_."
Gristav knocked on the opened doorway with his staff, but strode in unpausing.
Inside, cots are set up in rows, and Arnando is moving between then. There are many more unoccupied cots than occupied ones.
-------------------------
With a wink and wry smile Phil clarifies "I'd be more interested in anyone who swears that he's still living..." letting the word linger a few moments before adding "As to the wave, if there's aught I can do let me know."
Marce nods back and goes on his way.
As Marce departs Phil turns to Serpe and explains "Marce works the docks and has the ear of half the slips in town... hopefully if word gets around about Saul we'll get it through his ears. As to the what next... I've a desire to smell less like foetid waters, do you care for attending a house of sin and debauchery?" an outward and inward smirk forming.
"Arnando, good to see you well. I don't understand, the empty beds, unless it's that the river crossing is bent to serve more than one purse, now. Any word on Grimas? Sam? Eulalie?"
As Marce departs Phil turns to Serpe and explains "Marce works the docks and has the ear of half the slips in town... hopefully if word gets around about Saul we'll get it through his ears. As to the what next... I've a desire to smell less like foetid waters, do you care for attending a house of sin and debauchery?" an outward and inward smirk forming.
With an absolute stillness about him as he loses himself in thought a moment, "Works for me, bub. Lead the way. I could use a break."
Smirk widening into grin Phil runs his hand through his mane of unruly hair before clasping his palms together "Excellent good, to the house of whores and hot water we go." indicating the path to follow and starting to perambulate with a modicum of expediency towards their goal.
Braddon follows Gristav, waves at Arnando, and lies down in one of the empty beds.
"Arnando, good to see you well. I don't understand, the empty beds, unless it's that the river crossing is bent to serve more than one purse, now. Any word on Grimas? Sam? Eulalie?"
Although clearly busy, Arnando welcomes the pair with a nod. "Good to see you this side of the surface of the water. There's too many still missing for my liking. Lalie's fine; she's helping to look for the missing last I heard. Grimas ... I'm not sure. I know his hut was washed away, but I haven't heard who may have been in it at the time. All the Cyphermages are safe up here, as far as I know." His expression turns a little sour. "Tammerhawk's doing his part to profit from the misfortune of the little people at the bottom of the cliff. What of you? Have you lost anyone? Anyone missing?" He watches Braddon climb onto a cot. "What's wrong with him?"
"We... went looking for some missing. Reefclaw got a good grip on his arm. Poison went deep. Our healer's gifted, but..." Gristav broke his chatty cadence, and sighed and clouded, sitting himself. "And yes, we've lost. Did you ever meet, Larur?"
"There were crabs on him...", Gristav muttered. And slumped. And wept.
Braddon sits up and awkwardly puts an arm around Gristav.
"There, there. There, there."
"I've never known what that means...", Gristav laughs, still sobbing, the fey foundling foundering in feelings, nothing like sanely, except saner thereafter, or at least, more stable. He magicks away his trickling tears, and clears by cantrip, if not his mind, at least his head.
"You're a bit of a wonder, Braddon. Poisoned, but propping up me. I lost a friend, and founder, you're bereft of your own grandmother, and you mostly bear that lightly. I won't go as far as to call you an exemplar, but you are, an inspiration."
Standing to spare Braddon's awkwardness, Gristav blinks and sniffs and straightens. "Arnando, what's needed? We came here for you, for Braddon's poisoning, but you've had longer to look, and probably better eyes for it: What does the town need? And what is it, Tammerhawk's up to?"
"We... went looking for some missing. Reefclaw got a good grip on his arm. Poison went deep. Our healer's gifted, but..." Gristav broke his chatty cadence, and sighed and clouded, sitting himself. "And yes, we've lost. Did you ever meet, Larur?"
"There were crabs on him...", Gristav muttered. And slumped. And wept.
"Aw, hells." Arnando's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry to hear that. Never had an occasion of complaint against the dwarves at the Gas Forges. Does Gravin Goldhammer know?"
"Arnando, what's needed? We came here for you, for Braddon's poisoning, but you've had longer to look, and probably better eyes for it: What does the town need?"
"Better luck and better leaders than it's had thus far. From what I've heard, Leeward came through fine, and good on them. Maskyr's Island's rumored to have had some damage; but the Overlord's people are tight-lipped, and as far as I'm concerned, they can take what's dished out. River District was badly damaged, but it was after business hours so no one was there officially; of course, there are always squatters, but no one knows who to be looking for or where or how many. Wharf District is the trouble: taverns full, docks and warehouses operating, and ships at anchor. Virtually every ship in harbor was damaged, some badly, and Cas Cazynsik's yard wiped out. No one knows yet how many sailors were drowned; captains are trying to track down if their men were on board, in the bars, at the brothel, in the casinos, or where." He gestures around the room. "We're set up here for casualties, but we can't fill our beds. We've some injuries, but for the most part, people either came through reasonably well off, or they're dead. These empty cots tell me there's too many dead."
"And what is it, Tammerhawk's up to?"
"Aye, well, Windward always comes out on top, don't they?" Arnando replies a bit bitterly. "Up here above the fray, above the rabble. You been to see the Cyphergate before? The Cypherlodge usually charges a silver piece for a close-up look at an object they didn't build and can't figure out but lay claim to anyway. Now it's five silver coins for a bird's-eye view of boats trawling the harbor for dead men."
He turns his attention to Braddon. "Reefclaws, eh?" he asks. "I've heard there were some reefclaws washed up into Rotgut with the wave. Bad news, those things are. Give me a minute, and I'll see what I can do."
Phillip leads Snake through Leeward to the House of the Silken Veil. The plaza to the south of the temple, normally trawled by sacred prostitutes, is empty; the men pass through the diaphanous curtain at the nearest entrance and down the perfumed hallway to the central lounge, however, and find Esmeralda seemingly on duty to greet all comers. Her eyes flicker over Phillip with no apparent recognition. "Be welcome, visitors. What pleasures may we provide for you today?"
The empty plaza draws a degree of interest from Phillip, leading to a musing smoothing of his moustache. Strange to see it empty... business is overwhelming in one of the two directions. But he leaves his musings internal for the moment.
Phillip similarly betrays no recognition at Esmeralda's greeting, but the corner of his mouth becomes twisted into a smirk. Recalling Esmeralda's prideful heart "Honoured visitors we must be to be met by a radiance such as yourself." edge of words lilting towards mockery at an elevated being within temple made to service the front door. Continuing playful "We are here to sup deep at the teat of temptation that which the House dangles delicate and unctuous before us..." pausing for effect.
"That is to say we care for a cleansing bath, private... no need for attendants..." pausing to turn to Serpe "That is unless you'd care for a dalliance before, during and or after Serpe?" hoping to force at least an inkling of rouged embarrassment to his stern companion's face "If Esmeralda's not to your fancy then there are a myriad of other delicacies to enjoy..."
While trying to keep a nonchalant countenance, the awkwardness the tall man's feeling at this moment is - unfortunately for him - more than he can hide. With the ever so slightest clearing of his throat, "You know, I think a bath is enough."
Turning back to Esmerelda, Phil confirms with a slight wink "Just the bath then."
"Things you should know:", Gristav preambled at Arnando, taking a different cot from Braddon's, as a seat, but gesturing Braddon towards lying down. "Without Grimas, there's a mob of boatmen driving up the price of a crossing by claiming it's only official business that can pass, and driving it down by competing with each other. Any wounded you might have seen, you might not, for all that noise."
"I've not been to Gravin, but I could go there next, or soon. He's the same right to know, maybe more, as I do."
"The Publican's gathered some coin. On the way back, if you like, I'll use the mud to paint the wall, "Up hill, tankard on fence"? Might could shame the boatmen, to transport the wounded gratis, or at least not shout them away...?"
Braddon nods, stretches and lays himself out once more on the bed.
"They were land squids," he mutters.
"REEFCLAW", Gristav shapes silently in the borders of his beard, aimed at Arnando. "The world Braddon lives in is more brightly colored than mine." Gristav chuckles. "Often in red."
Arnando returns to Braddon's cot with a bottle and a glass. ""Here," he tells Braddon, pouring a few fingers of amber liquid into the glass. "Don't drink it until I tell you to." He touches the top of Braddon's head with two fingers, clears his throat, and recites, "'Strength to your body and health to your soul, ale in your tankard and broth in your bowl.' All right, go ahead and down it."
Turning back to Esmerelda, Phil confirms with a slight wink "Just the bath then."
"Two silver apiece," Esmeralda replies and directs them to the door near the plinking fountain. Behind it, stairs lead down through air that becomes warmer, damper, and more heavily perfumed as they descend to the large underground room dominated by a rectangular pool. The heat emanates from the water itself, the temple having been construccted above a natural hot spring. Multiple candlestands rim the edges of the room, and a few small candles in bowls float in the pool itself. Alcoves cut into the stone walls hold shelves of towels and cubbyholes for bathers' possessions or separate washtubs for the shy with curtains that can be drawn across the openings.
There are a scattering of patrons employing the bath; through the clouds of steam, they appear subdued rather than exuberant, perhaps sobered by the local disaster. The attendant is a young man with hair so blonde it is almost white and pointed ears like a half-elf's; in the dim light, his eyes give off a faint glow like a smoldering campfire.
"Arnando, when last I heard those words, you spoke of payment in kind. I had thought coin would come, but _that_ courier, I just wept for. What might we do, to pay our tab? Or even, just in recognition, of some commonality of cause? Braddon's powers are evident. My own are barely more subtle, most often, but still best not listed in an open room."
After furnishing coin to Esmerelda Phil allows himself to be led t'wards the baths. Entry into the actual pool sees him breathe deep of the warm damp, allowing it to suffuse himself and fill his lungs. To Serpe he conversationally adds "Over there, we can snag an alcove before slipping into the cleanse... unless of course you'd prefer to be behind curtain? Fully clothed or bare as a babe it matters not to me." starting to shed his own garments on path t'wards the alcove he pointed out.
After paying the price, he follows the attendant.
To Serpe he conversationally adds "Over there, we can snag an alcove before slipping into the cleanse... unless of course you'd prefer to be behind curtain? Fully clothed or bare as a babe it matters not to me." starting to shed his own garments on path t'wards the alcove he pointed out.
The tall man nods and heads to the alcove. As he removes his clothing and the string that keeps his long hair tied up in the back, the markings upon the man's back, chest and arms tell a story of significant pain. Whatever manner of 'instruments' were used to cause such, one is left to wonder how this man still walks.
Placing his various accoutrements in a pile, "Stay close, Luck, and out of sight. Don't need you getting caught and killed," He then makes his way to the pool and sits within nearly neck deep and attempts to relax. And those who just so happen to notice among the many scars the tall man adorns is a tattoo of the symbol of Zon-Kuthon on his left shoulder and one of Sheyln on his right.
Leaning his head back against the edge of the pool and shutting his eyes, "You know, Raccoon, I can see why you like this place. The fat man should've had one of these in the Goblin. He'd probably have more allies."
Phil similarly sheds his outer raiment, leaving his gear in a relatively dishevelled pile... though carefully placing his holy symbol atop it. Turning to proceed to water, he pauses and takes in the bodily decorations on Serpe's form... those made lasting in ink of more interest than those carved from flesh. Thoughtful the halfling slides into the water, briefly submerging entire before surfacing and slicking back his hair.
Settling in to soak he responds "It would make the place more homely... but as to whether it would engender friendship..." letting the thought hang pensive within the humid air. Brow slight furrowed in thought Phillip took a few moments to scan the room once more - lingering on the attendant for any sign of interest in the mismatched pair that was more than fleeting.
Braddon swigs down the brew on command. He stretches and then flexes his muscles before wincing.
"Much better thanks. But still a bit sore."
He glances at Gristav hopefully.
"Hang the sore, how much are you still weakened? I gladly offer Arnando whatever of our works he might he might in his wisdom want, but any subsequent source, well... I'm wary of the wiles. Are you well enough to battle? Not that I'd say we'd seek it, but you carry those umbrellas...", Gris nimbly wanded his staff at Braddon's blades, "In case of rain."
"Arnando, ought we talk turkey? I don't know you've been paid for _any_ of your service to us, yet. I say in humility, I would not be surprised if your Patron were pleased, but I would not try His nor your patience, toward payment. I might have to ask it, though."
Arnando looks intensely uncomfortable. "Ain't charging nobody anything for patching them up after the wave. Wouldn't be right. If common people thought there'd be a bill to pay, they wouldn't ask for help. I ought to be able to guilt some recompense out of Cromarcky down the road for my services. Reefclaws washed in by the wave, I reckon that's on his bill."
During their time in the bath, Phillip notices nothing unusual. At one point, Esmeralda comes down from upstairs and crosses to speak to the attendant in a low voice for a few minutes, but she returns upstairs without giving the halfling and the warlock a glance.
Braddon leaps to his feet and stretches again.
"I can fight," he raises his chin to Gristav. "Let's go kill that traitor."
He strides towards the exit then stops and turns to Arnando.
"Uh, thanks. If you need something just lemme know."
Gristav gives Braddon a nod, and similarly turns back to Arnando. "I suppose I'm glad, not to be common. Nothing you'd get from Cromarcky, would dispel our sense, of debt. Consider us cards in hand. Or up a sleeve, as needed."
Outside, Gristav aimed them uphill. "Let's check on Sam, even if just to leave word against her worry, that you're well. She can't go to the Publican, as a Cyphermage, though maybe... now...? Anyway, let's make the trip, even just to see the town from that side and above."
Only a dozen steps later, Gristav speaks again, "The traitor, I agree, his acts, warrant death. But I don't trust Lefty as an unbiased witness, and even assuming Lefty speaks truth, the traitor might be under magical controls. I'll tell you, I do expect to rage, and ruin, if the chance comes. But the woman whose bed you'd claim, is the real culprit, I think."
Having cleansed form, Phil unceremoniously takes one of the towels on offer and after dampening seeks to remove the worst of the grime from his clothes and kit. Although only managing a half-measure the halfling deems his work fair enough and asks of Serpe "Fit for the world again?"
Snake grabs a towel of his own as they make their way back to the alcove. Once he's donned his clothing and tied his hair back, he returns his trench coat back upon his person and returns his wide-brimmed hat to the top of his head. "More than I thought I'd be. Gonna have to remember this place."
Braddon and Gristav leave the carriage house and rejoin the road leading up to the heights of Windward District. They pass the Harbor View rowhouse, where Ananda Mescher used to reside. It is quiet from the front, jealously hoarding its view of the activity in the harbor below. The Cypherlodge is just visible above the roofs of the homes ahead and to the west; the road that leads to the Cyphergate viewing platform runs straight ahead to the edge of the cliff.
Noticing the scrap of parchment fall, Phil attempts to palm it and scan its contents... not wanting to alert or alarm Serpe until it was necessary.
Knowledge (Local):
"Do you know what's always of value, Braddon? Perspective that others lack. Let's walk once around this house, your tracker's eyes open. We might have missed something. Or we might see something from the back. It's a perspective others lack. Let's go have it."
Gristav leads to the Harbor View, but not around it, wanting Braddon's eyes be the first to pass ahead of them.
Braddon knows from his previous acquaintance with the Harbor View that the small terraces behind the rowhouse extend to the very edge of the cliff and that they are separated one from the next with iron railings; as such, there is no way to circumnavigate the row house without trespassing. In addition, the Harbor View was situated in such a position that an unobstructed view of the harbor below is nearly impossible to achieve without being invited into one of the homes or yards -- or paying to access the Cyphergate Visitor's Center. In true plutocratic fashion, the architects of Windward District ensured that all of its spectacular views are the private property of paying customers.
Smoothing his moustache out after being re-garbed Phil smirks gently, responding to Serpe "Just remember that this is all her domain... and whilst inviting, carries a sting" looking to forestall discussion of the what next until they were safely released from the building's clutches.
Braddon nods at Gristav and makes his way straight to the house that used to be of Ananda Mescher. He tries the door to walk through, and checks for side passage to the back.
"If we're welcomed here, it will be to your credit, Braddon.", Gristav says, smiling at the ranger. "And if not, well, on to the next place not to be unwelcomed."