Focusing upon Ethel alone now "Now, with the day behind and distractions aside... what consumes your thoughts Ethel."
Ethel takes a sip of wine and smiles slyly over the rim of her glass at Phil for a moment. "Ought I to risk giving you a swelled head by saying that right now you do, Phillip Hargreaves?" she gives in at last. "Most of the men in this town are sailors like Win or carpenters like Olin and Ewart: proper and polite and boring. They're either happy to stay exactly where they are doing exactly the same thing for the rest of their lives, or they have some idea of earning enough money to marry and move back out to the country to raise a family. I can't see you doing either."
"I'm sorry to have brought you discomfort, Goldhammer.", Gristav mused sincerely. "I expect I ought to learn from this Cleg whether or not I'm worthy to make this delivery. I'd not offend him, nor put you in shadow with any untrustworthy order for goods. Until the morrow, then? Do you reckon on his being here?"
"I've another communication for Larur. I had expected to find him here, but... Can you direct me to him?"
With a self satisfied smile Phillip takes enough time to lean back in his chair to take a sip of port and swirl it around it in his mouth and swallow before replying "No dear Ethel, I am not one for either of those lives... and even from the short time we have yet spent together... I know that your heart yearns for something more.." pausing for a few moments to put down his goblet, smooth his mustache, slick back his hair and take the braceleted hand of Ethel within both of his.
Face turning slightly more serious, Phillip looks at the gifted bracelet as he continues "When our paths separated last night... you offered the blessings of The Great Dreamer upon me. But I would have you know that my devotions are spent upon another deity... one whose name I utter with both reverence and caution at how you might react..." raising his face to look Ethel directly in the eyes with intensity "Calistria."
As the halfling nods and closes the door again, Oliver looks from one fact to the next curiously. If anyone expected him to look sheepish or furtive, they are disappointed; he seems quite relaxed and, when he spies Tendal, breaks into a broad grin. "Dev!" he greets him. "Told you you should come visit. How'd things turn out with old Desy last night? She still got it?"
Shorafa appears uninterested in Oliver and Tendal's touching reunion scene. "Oliver," she interrupts sharply, "these gentlemen claim you drugged a young woman without her consent yesterday at Saul Vankaskerkin's place of business. What have you to say to their allegation?"
Oliver appears dumbfounded by the accusation. "Drugged? She'd been drinking a while, I'll give you that, but I had nothing to do with it; she was drunk when I met her."
Well, house guest, inn guest... just as the rime of the ride had risen, now the rank of the rime rose, dweomer-driven, discorporated... The flutter of deft fingers framed the facile flow of fallow forces, and the dust and detritus due the day's distance done... disappeared.
It was a fresh and fellowish Gristav, that entered the Golden Goblin.
Braddon tries really hard not to smirk at finally seeing Bott on the defensive. Something tells him that now is a good time to shut up and let Oliver do the digging. He listens carefully and waits to be addressed.
Face turning slightly more serious, Phillip looks at the gifted bracelet as he continues "When our paths separated last night... you offered the blessings of The Great Dreamer upon me. But I would have you know that my devotions are spent upon another deity... one whose name I utter with both reverence and caution at how you might react..." raising his face to look Ethel directly in the eyes with intensity "Calistria."
Ethel's reaction is as sudden as the dwarf Larur's, but rather than uncomfortable, she looks affronted, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. "Are you recruiting for Shorafa?" she hisses fiercely. "Is that what all this was about? How much more glamorous my life would be if I were to stop selling clothing and start taking it off for strangers?"
It's immediately clear that someone has been putting some money and effort into the long-empty property: The eight-foot-tall goblin statue in the courtyard which gives the inn it unusual name has been covered in a fresh layer of gilt paint. Climbing the wide front stairs to the verandah, you find the heavy double doors securely shut, but walking down from the north you saw lights in a few of the windows; someone must be inside. Deciding to circle around and search out a less formal entrance, you find a back door next to a woodpile at the northwest corner and rap on the wooden surface. After a few moments, you hear a woman's voice responding warily from the inside. "Who's there, and what do you want?"
Expecting that her reaction might be like this, Phillip shakes his head and speaks with finality and force in refuting her misconception as to his intent "No. I am not one of Shorafa's flock, and nor would I ask of you anything that you do not wish to do yourself."
"The Savored Sting is an oft misunderstood mistress, soiled and sullied by the whoremongers who think she cares for naught but lust. The truth is that Calistria favors those that care not what society expects of them... and lives to the true desire of their heart." releasing the grip of one of his hands upon Ethel's to tap his chest for emphasis. Continuing with the intensity of a zealot to a cause "I will not be fettered by the desires of others milady, and will forge my own path in this world."
Ethel does not appear completely mollified, but she makes no effort to extricate her hand from his as she waits to see what he will say next, which he may interpret as a hopeful sign....
You've had time to hum through eight or nine choruses of a tavern song you heard in Roderic's Cove two nights ago when you hear the click of a latch within and the door swings open. Filling the doorway is a large and imposing Varisian man, a scowl on his face and a handaxe half-drawn from his belt. After the few moments it takes your mind to process the immediate threat, you notice two more people in a hallway behind him: Larur Felden, a bald dwarf with a thick brown beard, and lurking a little timidly in the recesses of the corridor, a half-elven woman with curly red hair.
Seeing you, Larur nods and sets a restraining hand on the doorman's elbow; he seems to put his axe away rather reluctantly, his facial expression not growing any friendlier. In contrast, the half-elf girl steps forward, looking a little sheepish. "I'm sorry," she apologizes for her caution. "It's just ... we were robbed last night." Her face bears the traditional tattoos that mark her human side at least as Varisian.
Spotting a potential sign of hope, Phil starts with a moment of levity "You have not yet slapped me so I assume that your ears and mind are open?" continuing after a rakish smile with a little less intensity - but still with the conviction of truth as he sees it "I have told you a little of myself Ethel, a thief, a conman, a liar, a cheat... and one who will not hesitate to use and discard those that might further my desires. I have now laid bare to whom my prayers are sent, and why. If I truly meant you ill, I think you know I would not have been so honest."
Pausing for Ethel to mull over that a moment Phillip continues "A choice is before you Ethel... I would have you stay, but want your eyes to be open to what that might entail, and to know who it is that I am. Close your eyes, and think... what does your heart desire?"
[b]"You should know me well enough by now, Mr. Bott, to realize that I would not feign to respond to your ungentlemanly remark.
Tendal thinks back, trying to remember if he thought the woman was drunk, or drugged.
"And she approached you?" Shorafa asks firmly.
"Her friends did," Oliver shrugs. "Look, it was a bunch of girls out on the town, like you might meet at any of the casinos. They said it was her birthday and I was to show her a good time. She laughed; she came with me willingly enough."
"Graven Goldhammer said this was again a pub and an inn. Yet doors shut, and three come to a knock? Well, I believe you were robbed. Should you let them also rob you tonight? Or would you accept my custom?"
"Actually, it's a casino now," the half-elven woman puts in brightly.
Larur leads you through a kitchen and out into a large open room undergoing renovation. A shabby red-orange carpet has been scraped off the stone floor and is piled in threadbare heaps up against the walls; chairs and tables are stacked in smaller side chambers. You can see the large double doors of the entrance on the far wall; they are secured with a heavy wooden crossbar. You follow Larur into the small chamber off the south side, and he opens a door into a small office containing only a desk, two chairs, and a wall cabinet. He takes a moment to light an oil lamp and motions you to a chair while he takes his own seat behind the desk. "That's quite a beard you've managed to grow there, elf," he smiles. "Perhaps you'll make a man yet. What happened to that hat of yours?"
Pausing for Ethel to mull over that a moment Phillip continues "A choice is before you Ethel... I would have you stay, but want your eyes to be open to what that might entail, and to know who it is that I am. Close your eyes, and think... what does your heart desire?"
"I ... I don't know," she falters uneasily. "Back home, we prayed to Erastil. It was all work and family, and I wanted to get away somewhere more exciting. But even here in Riddleport, it seems like all everyone's still looking for is work or family. What else is there?"
"Her friends did," Oliver shrugs. "Look, it was a bunch of girls out on the town, like you might meet at any of the casinos. They said it was her birthday and I was to show her a good time. She laughed; she came with me willingly enough."
"Just a bunch of girls? I thought you knew all the girls, Ol?" remarks Braddon innocently.
"But, you're right. Maybe it is just coincidence that you were bedding Anton Mescher's kidnapped daughter the night she was robbed. We'll be sure to tell him it's all just been a misunderstanding. Ol." This time Braddon can't help but smirk.He turns to Tendal and Malkith. "Well, I'm glad we cleared that up. Shall we go?"
Quietly, but still with fervor Phillip continues "Self Ethel... there is the self. Strip back the expectations of those that stand beside you and would have you act contrary to your self. To hell with my words or Marce's ideal... to what does your heart long milady? The security that comes from the Stag Lord's subjects? - or the danger offered by an unknown man and the Savored Sting?" squeezing her hand tight before releasing it and sitting back to smooth his hair once more.
With an intense eye upon Ethel and continuing with quiet and weighty words while tapping his chest for emphasis "I can promise you nothing Ethel, except the truth of my heart."
Malkith watches Oliver closely, trying to gauge the man's reaction to the accusations.
He shakes his head at Braddon, "I am curious as to Herr Bott's explanation of the message he delivered on his employer's behalf." His gaze falls to Oliver, "A message that included a direct threat against Herr Vankaskerkin and his relations."
"It's all right; I know him," Larur tells the doorman, and you are shocked by the sound of his voice. Larur always had a deep, booming growl of a voice, but the words come out in something between a whisper and a wheeze, a pale whistle of breath leaking out of the barrel chest with no heft or power behind it. "Lock up the door again; I'll see him in my office."
Larur leads you through a kitchen and out into a large open room undergoing renovation. A shabby red-orange carpet has been scraped off the stone floor and is piled in threadbare heaps up against the walls; chairs and tables are stacked in smaller side chambers. You can see the large double doors of the entrance on the far wall; they are secured with a heavy wooden crossbar. You follow Larur into the small chamber off the south side, and he opens a door into a small office containing only a desk, two chairs, and a wall cabinet. He takes a moment to light an oil lamp and motions you to a chair while he takes his own seat behind the desk. "That's quite a beard you've managed to grow there, elf," he smiles. "Perhaps you'll make a man yet. What happened to that hat of yours?"
Before leaving the company of the half-elf, Gristav proffers a gold coin. In Varisian, he says, "Please. Tea, stew...", and with a wistful sigh, "Ale."
"My beard? Really? My hat?", Gristav asks rhetorically. "I find you out of your station and home, and the dwarren who tells me this fairly stuttering with his distaste for it all. And you'll sit there and with an eighth your voice, ask me about my beard, and my hat? (It is a fine beard, and it was a fine hat...) But neither so fine as you are a friend. Well, possibly the beard."
Gristav waited a breath, for comment or fatigue to manifest from Larur. Fatigue showed first, and Gristav asked, "What happened, Larur? And how do we set it right?"
"Didn't say I didn't know any of them," Oliver grins at Braddon. "Just didn't know her. Hold a moment: Anton Mescher? That was his daughter?" He laughs. "No wonder he keeps her locked up so tight; when she slips the leash, she's game for anything."
"More like, because she has been locked up so tightly, she has no experience with the outside world to guide her," Shorafa observes sourly. "I wonder, has he delusions of some advantageous match for the child in an arranged marriage that would require her purity, or does he merely keep her shut away on that hill for the sheer pleasure of having her under his complete control? Either way, if he had ever let her be known in town, someone would have recognized her last night and most likely returned her to her father before she got far, for the reward if not out of altruism, a fact I will be sure to point out to the General when we speak: his tyrranical methods contributed no small part to his daughter's ordeal. You were paid, I presume?" she turns back to Oliver, a palm extended expectantly. "You're hardly known for your charity work."
Somewhat grudgingly, Oliver produces an embroidered money pouch and sets it in Shorafa's open hand.
"I am curious as to Herr Bott's explanation of the message he delivered on his employer's behalf." His gaze falls to Oliver, "A message that included a direct threat against Herr Vankaskerkin and his relations."
"I thought we'd agreed that was all a misunderstanding," the tiefling protests. "Brad had enticed Fin to stay on the streets after dark, flouting Shorafa's rules, in exchange for coin. I was just pointing out that Shorafa takes interference with her children very seriously. Old Stumpy wants to put her kids in danger; well, Lil told us where Stumpy's son is now. But Brad was new in town, didn't know Fin was Shorafa's and how things work in Riddleport. That's fair enough; just consider it a friendly warning."
"...Isn't there?"
"Didn't say I didn't know any of them," Oliver grins at Braddon. "Just didn't know her. Hold a moment: Anton Mescher? That was his daughter?" He laughs. "No wonder he keeps her locked up so tight; when she slips the leash, she's game for anything."
"Ah, some of the girls knew you. Well, that explains why they set you up then," Braddon smiles.
"Don't worry, I'm sure Ananda remembers your attentions very well, despite the drugs. I think she even kept your memento."
"Security or danger? Is that my choice? If I'd wanted security, I'd have stayed home and gotten married. A girl doesn't come to a town like Riddleport for security." She glances across the room at Almah and Win leaning toward each other across their table, the personification of the wholesome respectability Phil has eschewed. "Then again, a girl doesn't come to Riddleport dreaming of selling corsets and gloves to middle-aged matrons, either. You promise me nothing; what are you asking from me, Phil?"
Leaning forward once more in his chair eyes a sparkle and mouth turned up with a playful edge "Oh but I ask for the same... nothing more than you would freely offer. If you wish for naught but witty repartee and the occasional turn around the floor, then I can oblige for as long as your muse endures. If you wish to be the buttoner to my sharping then I can show you the cant and help you twist it to purpose. To share the night, a dance, a meal, a room, a song, a bed... all and nothing at your word milady" taking Ethel's hand to proffer a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. Releasing her hand again and casting hands and arms slightly wider Phil continues to explain "That is nothing and everything is it not? - and you may wonder to what I will draw my pleasure?"
The sparkle in his eyes deepens to a fire of devout purpose "To see your shackles broken, heart freed to be fueled by desire. I would slake my thirst in seeing you drink deep of your lust for life... to that, and the comfort that would come from an unfettered companion upon the road of self." fervor fading as he leans backwards in his chair again, somewhat spent by his words "In time we may tire of each other and paths diverge, but I would not bet upon tomorrow until I have seen today. And perhaps you might not be open to these words... but I would sooner say them and be cast aside than hold them within and waste the both of our times." draining what remains of his goblet of port before watching Ethel and awaiting her response.
"Mmmm, yes, Lil Scarlet," Malkith muses, "She has something of a history with the Vankaskerkins as I understand it."
"An unfortunate history," Shorafa amends severely. "Those men's possessiveness has put her in grave danger. She can't openly walk the streets without fear that someone hoping to curry favor with Cleg Zincher might attack her in retaliation for his brother's death -- as though she were to blame for Orik's hot-headedness, or Falk's lack of skill with the blade."
"Worked out well for you, though, Shorafa," Oliver grins. "The threat of violence chased her back home to the nest, when all your enticements couldn't do it."
"That's enough, Oliver," Shorafa puts in sharply. "I believe you've delivered all the helpful information you possess; you may be called on to deliver it again to General Mescher or his representative. You may go."
He pauses to cough and resettles himself into his chair. "We always knew carbauxine was poison and a certain number of us would never go back home when our time in the Forges was done, but it was no different than marching off to battle orcs or giants, knowing some of us would fall. It was a risk we were willing to take. But Zincher had this little mask, see, that fitted over the nose and mouth; said if we pumped the bellows while we were under, we'd be breathing clean air, and if we agreed to his terms, he'd negotiate with the owners to supply each and every one of us with a mask."
"Well, he kept his word. We all got a mask with a tiny bellows, and he got a few coins a week out of each dwarf's pay. It were a damned nuisance, having to stop and pump the bellows every chance we got and hold out breath between, but we thought it kept us safe."
"You might remember, when you were last here, I had a cough. Didn't think anything of it at the time; it were fall and the chill in the air. But after a week or two, I was summoned to Roldheim's office. Old Korvosa, Zincher's capp were waiting there, too. Roldheim told me I had the acid lung and my days were numbered; said if I'd agree to tell the others I was retiring and heading home to Janderhoff without mentioning the sickness, there'd be an extra hundred gold paid to my family. Wait a minute, I said, what about the damned mask with the bellows I'd spent so much time pumping over the years I do it in my sleep? Korvosa shrugs and says 'it were always experimental'"
"Well, I told him what his boss could do with his next experiment, and he said if I wouldn't agree to leave quietly, I was fired from the Forges anyway for insubordination. They hoped I'd go ahead and leave town, die somewhere quietly, but I had some savings. Decided I'd be damned if I'd let the likes of Cleg Zincher silence me, so I teamed up with Old Stumpy to put a finger in his eye. I provided the money; he came up with the idea. I'm half-owner of this place," he concludes proudly. "If we can make a go of it, the way the papers are drawn up, my family will receive half of the profits the Gold Goblin can turn as long as the doors stay open."
Malkith waits for Oliver to depart before speaking again, "Perhaps you could illuminate us as to the situation between Lil Scarlet and Saul Vankaskerkin for us? I've heard that she persuaded one of her star-struck lovers to rob the Golden Goblin last night."
"You'll have any support you'll take from me, Larur. Don't tally it as charity, tally it as laziness; I have no desire to bear the burden of your obituary. I think tomorrow I'll see what the ciphermagery might have on the topic of this 'acid lung'. And you had best be wary; as a living example of the imperfection of these bellowed masks, you're more convenient, dead of deniable causes, than alive."[b]
[b]"I've an order for the forges, but I'm told I might not be reliable enough to deliver it. So I'll be looking for this Zincher in the morning, to establish that point. If you're asked after, what response do you wish me to make?"
"Also, given the avowedly experimental nature of the bellows-masks, we might be able to improve on the design, or increase the draft near the forges, or something. Any malady that can fell a dwarf, I would think all peoples might benefit from the mitigation of. Save you, perhaps. I mean, it wouldn't. Save you. I mean... you know what I mean."
"I just don't accept any circumstance as insoluble."
"So," Ethel says, turning the stem of her goblet between her fingers, "you're saying I needn't ever worry you'll expect me to marry you and move back out to the country to keep house?" Her wry smirk implies that this is more a point in his favor than otherwise. "Tell me one thing, Phil," she fixes her gaze on him as if everything depends on his answer to this question. "Do you know Taffy Plimpton?"
Phillip pauses a moment as he attempts to recall...
...before smiling at Ethel's jest "No... I don't think we'll need invest in gingham and rocking chairs. And as to your query I know not of Taffy Plimpton aside rumour." resting languidly reclined in his chair for Ethel to continue.
"Good," she says firmly. "I have no interest in her leavings. I don't want to keep a house, and I don't want to work in a shop the rest of my life. If you can show me another way...." She looks at Phil, acquiescence in her eyes.
Malkith waits for Oliver to depart before speaking again, "Perhaps you could illuminate us as to the situation between Lil Scarlet and Saul Vankaskerkin for us? I've heard that she persuaded one of her star-struck lovers to rob the Golden Goblin last night."
Oliver having sauntered out the door behind her, Shorafa turns on Malkith with flashing eyes. "Have you indeed?" she demands. "Are there any of my people whom you do not intend to accuse of a crime? Or is it only those whose blood is touched by the lower planes that you suspect of skulduggery? If you're looking for the source of Saul Vankaskerkin's troubles, I suggest you look a little nearer the man himself. If his history is any indication, it will be one of his own supposed friends who betrays him -- or his own greed."
"Anyway, I let my old place go -- no sense in paying rent on a flat when I own a building -- but this place used to be an inn and still has a hall of bedrooms. They're a mite dusty, though you're used to the conditions I batch it in, so you may not notice the difference," he jokes, taking a key out of the cabinet on the wall. "You can stay the night, and welcome. There'll even be breakfast on offer in the morning. Saul's filled the other rooms with new hires."
He pauses a moment in thought before dropping the room key into your hand."If you're serious about staying in town a while, I could offer you the same terms Saul offered the rest of the lot: free room and board, and 10 gold coins a week for looking after the Goblin's interests. I'd not tie you down; I know you're a traveling man, and you'd be free to go any time you wished. But it would give you a stipend to live on without having to come to an agreement with Zincher."
A broad and genuine smile crossing his face at Ethel's first step down the slippery slope. He lets her half finished sentence trail off into nothingness for a few moments before leaning forward to trace her cheek along the jawbone gently with one hand "Aye... I can do that milady." lingering with his index finger just under her chin and face close to hers for a hand of seconds... but not moving any further, seemingly waiting for Ethel to seize the initiative and either return the gesture or pull away.
Tendal frowns as Shorafa begins to lose her calm demeanor.
Apparently all tieflings are the same...they all get upset the moment someone accuses them of anything...how quickly they insinuate people are insulting their heritage, throw their hands in the air and cry "woe!". Shorafa might be the mistress of this house, but she apparently isn't the mistress of herself.