Arriving at the back door to the Goblin, Phil extricates himself from Ethel for a moment and smooths back his hair before trying the door to see if it's locked... and if it is instead giving the door a few solid thumps by way of knocking. He awaits with bated breath to see who will come to grant him entry...
After a few moments, Phil hears a woman's voice from the other side of the door. "Who's there?" It doesn't sound like the faux Chelish diva; her voice is much more commanding. He judges it must be the Varisian half-elf Samaritha.
"I'll tell you something else: a casino may not be a 'foundational' business, but it's a very profitable one when done right. Like you were telling Larur earlier, we're not selling a product; we're selling an experience, a dream. And dreams are dirt cheap; we don't have to tie up a lot of coin in inventory. We get this place humming, get a crowd of regulars coming in week after week, and the gold starts to coin itself. Why do you think the Overlord built casinos? I only want to recreate on a small scale what he's already done in Free-Coin."
"Then, once we have the money, we invest it -- wisely. Your bridge idea. Maybe set up a temple of Desna; the gamblers love it, it'll draw in devotees from all over the city, and none of the bosses would want to be known as the man who desecreated the shrine of Lady Luck. Persuade some of the street vendors to the courtyard the night we're open, and maybe parlay that into a little restaurant or cafe nearby. Cas and Quint will back me, I know; they don't like having rats and squatters their only neighbors. The only other businessmen of any importance in River District are Galen Krump the tanner and a fisherman named Skender, and if we can pry Grimas Oltedler's loyalties away from Slyeg, who is there to stand against us -- assuming these new hires prove worth their pay?"
"Have you heard what's happened last night and today? I'm right in the middle of it. Is it always like this around here?"
"So you got hired on by Old Stumpy at the Gold Goblin then, eh?" Eulalie answers cheerfully. "I'd heard he'd taken on that fancy gentleman from Magnimar as his capp, but I didn't know you'd been a package deal. What about Samaritha? Did you put in a word for her and get the poor girl a job for the night? She's had a difficult time of it since leaving her family."
Lalie is a busy woman; she seems never to stop circulating through the three rooms, but by following her on her rounds and helping her carry trays and beer mugs, Braddon is able to collect her take on the events of the last 28 hours.
"Aye, it's always something in Riddleport. Sczarni's a new twist, though. Everyone knows they operate in Lubbertown, but they've kept their dealings to their own kin before. I hear tell Old Stumpy's first wife was Varisian, and they say there was trouble with Sczarni back then -- but that was long before my time."
She doesn't volunteer anything about the trouble at Ananda Mescher's flat; when Braddon asks specificallly about the disturbance in Windward District, she replies vaguely, "Oh, aye, there was some kerfuffle up there with the Gendarmes this afternoon. Thief broke into one of the wealthy folk's homes, as I understand. We don't have much to do with Windward down here by the river. They're a bit too genteel to pay homage to the Lucky Drunk; probably have glittering little household shrines to Abadar hidden away up there somewhere. I imagine we'll hear more about it next Sunday when the domestics have an evening free; we'll get a gaggle of girls in then who clean house and cook meals up there who'll carry down all the latest rumors."
Phil furrows brow in thought before he identifies the voice behind the door... before a brief moment of alarm Crap, she doesn't know my name! Mind set to racing a moment, a smirk forms in the corner of his mouth as he kens a means to an end. In his best severe voice he ventures in Varisian "Besterik gabe, hegazti bat itzuli du habia... it's Phillip." hoping that Samaritha doesn't miss the reference.
Phil chances a quick glance back to Ethel as well to see if she seems to have understood the Varisian words.
Ethel seems mystified but impressed by the cloak-and-dagger nature of a password in a foreign tongue spoken in a dark alley.
"'Du habia?'" There is a clicking sound as the latch is lifted, and then the door opens, revealing Samaritha, free hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips. "It's Phillip then, is it?" she asks before noticing his companion. "Oh, and... excuse me." Her tone changes instantly as she seems a bit taken aback by Ethel's presence, and she moves to open the door more widely and stand back to let the pair in.
With a start you wake up, swaying in the hammock. A woman is still speaking, but it's not a voice you have ever heard before. The timber is wrong and the accent. Frowning through your drowsiness, you see Quincy Dawkins and his mates gathered in a knot on the harbor side of the ship, leaning against the railing and grinning down at the speaker. "Hey, lads, you know you want it," the voice drifts up over the sound of the waves. "Why don't you come down and take it?"
Phil smiles and winks at Samaritha before reaching out for Ethel's hand to lead her inside. He then formally introduces his companion "Samaritha, this young lady is Miss Ethel Braum." pausing for long enough to allow minor pleasantries to be exchanged before taking Ethel's arm and leading her on once more. "I'll not be needing to leave again tonight... and unless I cause grave offense I am hoping that Miss Braum will not need to either. Gau ona"
Once slightly out of ear shot, Phil turns to make sure that Ethel does not feel too much overwhelmed or ill at ease and adds "Eu aínda non teño a chave da miña propia ... pero non se sente prisioneiro ... se tes para afastarse Eu ía velo en seguridade para casa ... pero eu espero que sexa." dispensing with the tour and instead leading Ethel directly to his room.
If the grounds of the Gold Goblin are safely navigated and the sanctity of his room reached, Phil bids Ethel enter before him and closes the door after they are within. Food and wine is placed upon the ottoman as Phil dumps his belongings by the door, removing his overcoat and stretching out some of the kinks in his body. He does not ask, but a raised eyebrow queries her opinion of the comically oversized furniture that currently fills the room.
"So you got hired on by Old Stumpy at the Gold Goblin then, eh?" Eulalie answers cheerfully. "I'd heard he'd taken on that fancy gentleman from Magnimar as his capp, but I didn't know you'd been a package deal. What about Samaritha? Did you put in a word for her and get the poor girl a job for the night? She's had a difficult time of it since leaving her family."
Lalie is a busy woman; she seems never to stop circulating through the three rooms, but by following her on her rounds and helping her carry trays and beer mugs, Braddon is able to collect her take on the events of the last 28 hours.
"Aye, it's always something in Riddleport. Sczarni's a new twist, though. Everyone knows they operate in Lubbertown, but they've kept their dealings to their own kin before. I hear tell Old Stumpy's first wife was Varisian, and they say there was trouble with Sczarni back then -- but that was long before my time."
She doesn't volunteer anything about the trouble at Ananda Mescher's flat; when Braddon asks specificallly about the disturbance in Windward District, she replies vaguely, "Oh, aye, there was some kerfuffle up there with the Gendarmes this afternoon. Thief broke into one of the wealthy folk's homes, as I understand. We don't have much to do with Windward down here by the river. They're a bit too genteel to pay homage to the Lucky Drunk; probably have glittering little household shrines to Abadar hidden away up there somewhere. I imagine we'll hear more about it next Sunday when the domestics have an evening free; we'll get a gaggle of girls in then who clean house and cook meals up there who'll carry down all the latest rumors."
"There were plenty of people happy to hire on as servants for some silver, but no-one foolish enough to be security and risk the wrath of the other crime lords, so us marks did that," explains Braddon with a grin.
"Don't worry about Sam. Every guy with eyes told Saul he had to hire her. Even I may have suggested her charm and magics could be useful, not in a fight but in an advisory kind of way. I'll keep her safe. Why's she having a hard time? She's smart, kind and witty, not to mention very, very pretty with the way those reddish curls shape the gentle curve of her jaw and highlight the blush in her soft cheeks, bringing out the green fire of intelligence that burns in those knowing eyes and the way she purses her lips and the way she brushed her hair back from her forehead." Braddon suddenly realises he is gazing into a candle and returns to following Eulalie and gathering mugs."Turns out the Sczarni were in the palm of Lil Scarlett, but Shorafa won't do nothing without proof. Further to that, we caught Oliver Bott having his way with the unconscious daughter of General Mescher. Her maid was killed and her necklace stolen, but again Shorafa won't do nothing without proof. So we're looking for them to get proof. Then we'll see if Shorafa punishes them, or if she's behind it all. Apparently the General's daughter was handed over to Bott by a gaggle of domestics who had an evening free away from their chores last night. Any idea where I'd start? " Braddon raises an eyebrow.
Upon failing to spot Lil Scarlet, Malkith takes the opportunity to fade into the crowd as Braddon strikes up a conversation with Eulalie. Let the half-elf flirt with the wife for a while. It would keep him occupied while the harrower made some inquiries to Arnando.
Putting his associate out of mind for the moment, Malkith threads his way to the bar. He manages to claim a stool just as its abandoned by one of the establishment's more drunk patrons. As he reaches into his coin purse he looks around, studying the patrons that surround him. With a commanding gesture, Malkith sets enough coin in front of him to buy himself a drink and the keep's attention.
Malkith's gesture draws attention only from the bartender; the rollicking sailors seated on either side of him pay him no mind. Arnando's gaze goes from the coin on the counter to the man behind it, and Malkith sees a glimmer of recognition. "You were here yesterday morning," he greets him affably, "when Lalie had me serving breakfast to dwarves and sailors. Good to see you again. How's Riddleport treating you?" He draws off a mug of ale and sets it on the bar in front of Malkith, pocketing the coin.
You seem scarcely to have closed your eyes on the starry heavens before you dream. A woman is speaking, her voice harsh, berating you for rejecting your destiny. Then a face with the voice, the half-elf from Larur's place of business; she is brandishing your spellbook angrily. "It's all in here, all that you are, all that you are meant to be and to do. You can't escape your fate. Why don't you come and take it?"
"Come and take it, Eh?", Gristav's somnolent mind twists the phrase, smirking in anticipation of his dreamland's usual course. Or was it his mind? It might have been reality. Darn. It was reality.
With a start you wake up, swaying in the hammock. A woman is still speaking, but it's not a voice you have ever heard before. The timber is wrong and the accent. Frowning through your drowsiness, you see Quincy Dawkins and his mates gathered in a knot on the harbor side of the ship, leaning against the railing and grinning down at the speaker. "Hey, lads, you know you want it," the voice drifts up over the sound of the waves. "Why don't you come down and take it?"
Gristav slips his staff from the hammock's netting, keeping his bag from crashing to the deck with his free hand. She was a long way from Garund, Gristav chuckled, and from other things that ended in -ing. But she was near enough, on the harbor side, and so were the watch.
So what was on the seaward side? "Get her name, Quincy", Gristav called. "So you can explain who lured you off your watch.", he said more softly, moving to fill what he could of the missing watchfulness on the seaward side.
"Don't worry about Sam. Every guy with eyes told Saul he had to hire her. Even I may have suggested her charm and magics could be useful, not in a fight but in an advisory kind of way. I'll keep her safe. Why's she having a hard time? She's smart, kind and witty, not to mention very, very pretty with the way those reddish curls shape the gentle curve of her jaw and highlight the blush in her soft cheeks, bringing out the green fire of intelligence that burns in those knowing eyes and the way she purses her lips and the way she brushes her hair back from her forehead." Braddon suddenly realises he is gazing into a candle and returns to following Eulalie and gathering mugs.
"Aye," Lalie replies wryly, smirking at Braddon's distraction, "that's part of her problem right there. There's plenty of folks that would be willing to pay her, but she's not selling what they're looking to buy. Her bigger problem," she moves on to the next table, "is that Elias Tammerhawk's a right bastard and thinks the fewer people he lets in his club, the more superior it proves he is. Cypherlodge is a hard nut to crack. Being a woman, a Varisian, and not entirely human... well, those are all strikes against her as well, in Tammerhawk's book, at least."
The tale Braddon goes on to weave is enough to make the halfling stop in her tracks. "Lil Scarlet and the Sczarni? Oliver Bott and Anton Mescher?" She herds the half-elf back into the kitchen to dump his tray and fixes him with a gimlet eye. "What's all this nonsense? I wouldn't think Lil would have a thing to do with the Sczarni, as high as she keeps her nose in the air. And the trouble in Windward was with Anton Mescher's daughter?" She frowns, thinking back to the previous night. "There was an unfamiliar face with the Windward girls last night, but I assumed she was a new hire in one of the houses up there. They seemed to be having a grand time; she certainly didn't seem to be there against her will. You sure she didn't just sneak out for a night on the town and is lying now to avoid trouble with her da?" she asks skeptically.
"Better than some, not as well as others," Malkith replies with a grin. He samples the beverage given to him. "That's a good memory you have; and it was a fine breakfast you were serving too. Several of us found some work and a place to stay for the time being. Sam's found work too, still planning to pay you what she owes. Just how much debt has she have to you, anyways?"
Malkith exchanges a few more idle bits of conversation before bringing the topic around to his primary intent, "There was one other here yesterday morning; a woman of...infernal heritage. You wouldn't happen to know where I might be able to find her, would you?"
"Better than some, not as well as others," Malkith replies with a grin. He samples the beverage given to him. "That's a good memory you have; and it was a fine breakfast you were serving too. Several of us found some work and a place to stay for the time being. Sam's found work too, still planning to pay you what she owes. Just how much debt has she have to you, anyways?"
Malkith takes a moment to give thanks to the Master of the house that he is drinking sweet and fruity ale rather than fiery sua ura while Arnando reaches beneath the counter for a scrap of parchment. "There. Her tab." He slaps it onto the surface of the bar.
Malkith picks up the paper and turns it over. It is blank on both sides. "I don't keep track," Arnando shrugs. "She wouldn't accept it if I called it charity, so I called it a debt. If she wants to pay me something when she's settled and comfortable, I'll tell her we're even and put her coin toward the next stranger in town who needs a bit of a lifeline."
He refills another customer's mug. "Aye, don't tell Lalie I said so," he grins, "but the burgoo weren't half bad. Maybe I should let her open a tea room."
Malkith exchanges a few more idle bits of conversation before bringing the topic around to his primary intent, "There was one other here yesterday morning; a woman of...infernal heritage. You wouldn't happen to know where I might be able to find her, would you?"
"Oh," he says significantly. "Lil. Well, she operates out of the House of the Silken Veil, but she's the type that if you have to ask, she's too rich for your blood. Takes her pick, she does, rather than being available for the picking."
"Eu aínda non teño a chave da miña propia ... pero non se sente prisioneiro ... se tes para afastarse Eu ía velo en seguridade para casa ... pero eu espero que sexa."
Ethel smiles at the familiar lilt of their own language. "Non pretendo desistir agora," she murmurs back.
It occurs to Phillip as he guides her through the ravages of the main floor that she's not seeing the place at its most impressive, stripped bare and disordered as it is, sloughed carpeting and stacked furniture piled in the dark corners. She looks around when he has lit the lamp in his room before meeting his eye and smiling ruefully. "The one thing I miss about home," she confesses, "is furniture that fits. They say the gnomes have whole towns of their own where everything's the right size. Why haven't our people ever done that?"
Phillip returns the smile warmly and regards Ethel for a moment in the warm flickering light of the lamp. After a pause that stretches to the point where Miss Braum might feel a tad self conscious Phil makes to spread their evening supper out picnic style upon the fur of the slain beast that adorns his dusty floor. As he does so he responds "Aye, it's one of the first things I'm aiming to improve on... but I've not been long enough to sniff out a decent carpenter. You're right though... most of the purpose built places for our kind are servant's quarters and berths on ships." mulling on the concept as he finishes off laying out the food and wine.
"Being a woman, a Varisian, and not entirely human... well, those are all strikes against her as well, in Tammerhawk's book, at least."
"Well, he's as big an idiot as Shorafa since they're only judging Sam by her appearance. I mean, you only have to speak two words to her to realise how smart she is. In several languages too. She should start her own Cypherlodge. Hmm..." Braddon's mind ticks over.
"Anyway, she looked out for me, I'll look out for her. I've enjoyed worse jobs." Braddon smiles."What's all this nonsense? I wouldn't think Lil would have a thing to do with the Sczarni, as high as she keeps her nose in the air."
"That's what I'd thought, but apparently the rogue Sczarni who led the attack was madly in love with her. And Shorafa even admits that Lil has it in for Saul. I think it's hopeless, but if you can tell me where to find Lil, we can at least confront her and hear if she has any evidence to defend herself."
"And the trouble in Windward was with Anton Mescher's daughter?" She frowns, thinking back to the previous night. "There was an unfamiliar face with the Windward girls last night, but I assumed she was a new hire in one of the houses up there. They seemed to be having a grand time; she certainly didn't seem to be there against her will. You sure she didn't just sneak out for a night on the town and is lying now to avoid trouble with her da?" she asks skeptically.
"I was suspicious too so I took her back to her place and it had been looted and the maid is gone, presumably dead. That's a lot of trouble to go to just for a night out. And since we caught Bott on top her in the Goblin last night, it's not like she had time to set it up. Bott has obviously had her drugged and kidnapped. He even admitted to knowing some of the domestics. If we can track down his contact, we can gather more evidence against him, though I dunno if Shorafa's gonna believe anything less than a letter with Queen Abrogail's seal on it. Was one of the domestics in particular shepherding the General's princess? How could I find them?"
Without waiting for Quincy's response, you cross the deck toward the opposite side of the ship, the woman's lurid propositions continuing from the wharf. Before you've taken three steps, you are alarmed to see a grappling hook caught on the top railing. Approaching cautiously, you glance down to see a bearded sailor nearly to the top of the attached rope, another man in a rowboat visible on the water below. Both look up at you, apparently startled by your sudden appearance.
*
"Nice beard.", Gristav says with regret, before twisted syllables in his voice but not his space, from his lips but not his world, coalesce with a caustic cursed crackle about the free end of his staff, before it swung down at the man. The staff was ill-suited to use as a long club, but it served Gristav, in spades.
The swung stave shocked and sizzled, searing a sigil of sin where it struck. As the half-beard fell, to thud or to splash, Gristav lamented. Such a fine beard, and the left half now ruined, branded in Tien**, not that many could read it. But it might help the Captain learn a 'who' to go with the obvious 'why'.
"Leave while you've some of it left. And ask the Sea and the Night to forgive your abuse of their graces, if you'd hope for that mark to fade."
Their on-boarding aborted, they made their slow escape, with less stealth than their approach.
Gristav shortly called after them, coiling his prize of grapnel and rope, "For me, you should have sent a redhead!"
* And if it was not, please forgive and retcon anything or everything.
** 'long chin', a single glyph, referencing the parable of the old man who put his chin into other people's business.
Malkith smiles at the blank parchment staring up at him. "May the Lucky Drunk favor you for such generosity." He takes another swig of his drink as part of the toast to the barkeep.
"It's one of her most recent choosing that has brought her to my attention. The Silken Veil didn't know of her whereabouts this evening, so I figured I'd start with the last place I saw her. Word was that if she wasn't here, you might be able to tell me where she likes to hide out from the bosses."
"Aye, it's one of the first things I'm aiming to improve on... but I've not been long enough to sniff out a decent carpenter. You're right though... most of the purpose built places for our kind are servant's quarters and berths on ships." mulling on the concept as he finishes off laying out the food and wine.
"Places where we're convenient to the tall folk," she remarks dryly, sinking down onto the rug. Folding her legs under her, she curiously buries a hand in the thick fur and combs through it with her fingers. "Olin and Ewart are fine carpenters," she suggests, "though they don't work for themselves and have their own stock. I think all the lumber in Riddleport goes to the shipyard where it's most often needed and most profitable."
"That's what I'd thought, but apparently the rogue Sczarni who led the attack was madly in love with her. And Shorafa even admits that Lil has it in for Saul. I think it's hopeless, but if you can tell me where to find Lil, we can at least confront her and hear if she has any evidence to defend herself."
The halfling shrugs. "If Shorafa's not sheltering her in her fancy temple of ill repute somewhere, I wouldn't know where to find her. They say she used to have a flat in Leeward before the trouble with Orik Vankaskerkin and Falk Zincher, but I never knew exactly where. Or if she's hiding out, she could have gone to one of her clients, got him to put her up somewhere out of the way until trouble blows over."
"Was one of the domestics in particular shepherding the General's princess? How could I find them?"
"Well," she sighs, "they'll likely all be back here again next Sunday evening, but I'll wager you don't want to wait that long. I know some of their names and where they work, but they're not the kind of houses where you could just ring the bell and ask to speak to their maids and governesses without having the door . You'd have to try to catch them coming and going on errands or the like."
"It's one of her most recent choosing that has brought her to my attention. The Silken Veil didn't know of her whereabouts this evening, so I figured I'd start with the last place I saw her. Word was that if she wasn't here, you might be able to tell me where she likes to hide out from the bosses."
Arnando frowns. "Not looking for any trouble, are you? Because there's been a man killed another over her already."
"I can't tell you where she is. Same reason that if someone came in here tomorrow night asking where he might find a cloaked Varisian harrower, I'd say, 'Sorry, mate, can't help you.' This is neutral ground, where everyone's safe to enjoy an ale without worrying about who might be looking over their shoulder. We don't take sides here." He places his palm flat over the coins and pushes them back toward Malkith. "You can tell Samaritha her debt's more than paid."
He hesitates. "I'll tell you this much: I haven't seen Lil since she stormed out of here ahead of you lot yesterday morning. And if she were to come in here, it would be in the mornings ... leaving a professional engagement."
Gristav conjures the Brand, raising his voice more than was needed, his staff perhaps higher than required. The ashwood stave, swathed in shimmer and sin-stain, lashed again...
...smiting the ascendant unknown, searing unction along his cheek.
"Well," she sighs, "they'll likely all be back here again next Sunday evening, but I'll wager you don't want to wait that long. I know some of their names and where they work, but they're not the kind of houses where you could just ring the bell and ask to speak to their maids and governesses without having the door slammed in your face. You'd have to try to catch them coming and going on errands or the like."
"Thanks, Eulalie. The sooner I can find out what's going on, the better. After all, the governess may be alive somewhere and finding her would be a gold mine of answers. But I doubt it after all the trouble Bott went to to have her impersonated and then bring Ananda out and have the house looted. I won't be door knocking but I'm ready to stake out some likely houses if I can find which of these girls was in on the plot." Braddon nods grimly.
"I guess that's another drink I owe you. When are you free? We'll get drunk together. If that's your thing." Braddon's grin returns.
Tendal stands quietly for a moment, his hand tapping the top of the chair, the wine glass held like a flower before him. While his face is placid, his mind races through permutations.
"Bold." he says finally.
"Its not an easy way to conduct business. In fact, my father would throw me out on my arse if I tried it with family money. But this isn't family money, is it?" Tendal observes. Then with a fierce motion, he slugs down the wine.
"I am with you. This is a mad gamble, and we will stir up a storm in the execution of this plan. But if it is done right, we can ride the storm all the way into port and profit."
"I said before I would work for you. I won't alter that. But you will have my total support."
"I suppose the campaign continues with the jewelry then. Raise some goodwill in the area. Drop some hints that we plan to be the best sort of neighbors, that sort of thing."
"Places where we're convenient to the tall folk," she remarks dryly, sinking down onto the rug. Folding her legs under her, she curiously buries a hand in the thick fur and combs through it with her fingers. "Olin and Ewart are fine carpenters," she suggests, "though they don't work for themselves and have their own stock. I think all the lumber in Riddleport goes to the shipyard where it's most often needed and most profitable."
Finding his own spot upon the furry floor covering Phillip sees Ethel furnished with food and wine before moving to sate his own hunger. In between mouthfuls "Well I suppose that I must also make choice of accoutrements before commissioning their fabrication. The space is ample for a man, but could be made easily more so for a halfling. Lot of dead space above our heads that could be put to use for example." mulling over the finer details of how he might hang the bed high in the room so as to free even more floor space for work or play.
A few bites of food are put to stomach before Phil asks innocently "Miss Braum... do you carry a blade? or know how to use one?"
1st Level: FRA, -2 to hit > Cast a spell and also make full iterative attacks. If the spell calls for an attack roll, that attack roll is at -2, and distinct from and in addition to the iterative attacks, made at full base BAB.
As the half-beard falls, to thud or to splash, you lament. Such a fine beard, and the left half now ruined, branded in Tien, not that many could read it. But it might help the Captain learn a 'who' to go with the obvious 'why'.
"Leave while you've some of it left. And ask the Sea and the Night to forgive your abuse of their graces, if you'd hope for that mark to fade."
The answer to your idle wondering turns out to be 'thud,' as the rowboat below catches the plummeting man in its less-than-downy cradle. His accomplice gapes up at you in astonishment before starting to pull energetically at the oars and propel the small craft back out into the dark harbor.
You call shortly after them, "For me, you should have sent a redhead!"
As you coil your prize of grapnel and rope, you have the leisure to notice something odd: the other sailors aboard the Flying Cloud have not rushed to your side of the ship to see what's going on. As a matter of fact, they haven't moved at all but are still leering over the harbor-side of the ship at the Garundi streetwalker as if you hadn't spoken or moved at all.
"I guess that's another drink I owe you. When are you free? We'll get drunk together. If that's your thing." Braddon's grin returns.
"This might come as a shock to you, but I drink here for free," she winks at Braddon. Lalie is able to give the half-elf the names of a few young women and the families they work for up in Windward. Only one name is immediately familiar to him: that of the tanner's family, the Krupts.
As you coil your prize of grapnel and rope, you have the leisure to notice something odd: the other sailors aboard the Flying Cloud have not rushed to your side of the ship to see what's going on. As a matter of fact, they haven't moved at all but are still leering over the harbor-side of the ship at the Garundi streetwalker as if you hadn't spoken or moved at all.
Gristav knew a thing or two about sailors. Well, not sailors, but men in general. It was perfectly natural for them to lay eyes on what they'd favor laying hands on. But wholly unnatural not to lay hands on a trespasser, nor to miss a fight.
Approaching at a crouch if needed, to keep his eyes from whatever the crew stared at, Gristav carefully avoided passing into sight of the harbor. He had no illusions of himself as a tower of iron will, and this was a subtle and powerful magic. It called for a subtle and powerful response.
Gristav grinned.
He reached out with the length of his staff, and gently bent forward Casey's right knee, toppling the man back to the deck. In another handful of moments, he'd felled them all.
It was not until the crew had started to stir, and the garish Garundish guarantees had broken their cadence, that he risked a look over the rail.
...winking after his minor parlour trick "I'd be buggered if anyone tried hard enough... but I can put on a show. You shouldn't keep it at your ankle though... too hard to get at in a hurry. Needs a sharpen as well."
Lalie is able to give the half-elf the names of a few young women and the families they work for up in Windward. Only one name is immediately familiar to him: that of the tanner's family, the Krupts.
"Cheers." Braddon kisses her cheek and wanders off to find Malkith.
"Grab me when you wanna leave. I'm just gonna have a brew," Braddon shouts in Malkith's ear as he passes. Braddon heads towards the sailors with an ale in each hand.
The men at the railing pay you no mind as you approach at a crouch, sheltering behind the side of the ship from whatever malign effect the Garundi woman is weaving. With an apologetic glance, you jab at the nearest sailor's knee, hoping only to bruise and not to wrench. You stand ready to topple the whole knot of them if necessary, but as the first man is tripped up, the other four startle at the disruption.
"What the--?" "Damned witch!" "Quick! Who's aboard?" One of the sailors runs for the stairway to check the lower decks.
The lewd harangue comes to an abrupt end, and you quickly peer over the railing. "There!" Quincy Dawkins points in the direction she ran, and you see the back of a woman, dressed as a sailor rather than a prostitute, just as she darts around a corner and out of sight.
"I'm sure some trick of folds and fabric could be made that would allow it without diminishing the pleasures of your form." holding still to see what her reaction might be...
"What the--?" "Damned witch!" "Quick! Who's aboard?" One of the sailors runs for the stairway to check the lower decks.
The lewd harangue comes to an abrupt end, and you quickly peer over the railing. "There!" Quincy Dawkins points in the direction she ran, and you see the back of a woman, dressed as a sailor rather than a prostitute, just as she darts around a corner and out of sight.
"Quincy, they never got aboard. They're rowing away on the... on that side.", Gristav gestures appropriately, and conveys the prize rope and grapnel to the officer.
"That's fair enough, he concedes to Arnando. He's about to say more when Braddon wanders over.
"Grab me when you wanna leave. I'm just gonna have a brew,"
Before he can wander off, Malkith grabs him by the arm, "I think I'm good here. Lets step outside and talk; then you can enjoy that drink."
As he dismounts his bar stool he bids Arnando a good evening. "I'd rather you tell her," he says, palming the returned money. As he pulls Braddon toward the door, two coins remain behind on the bar.
Malkith doesn't release his hold on Braddon until they are out the door. He then moves across the street where the noise and crowd are slightly reduced. "Arnando is strong in his conviction to keep the Publican as neutral ground. Only thing I got was that we're better off coming back here in the morning for Scarlet. What about you?"
She gasps in surprise as you seize and immobilize her, but she makes no move to pull away, even when you loosen your grip. "Perhaps a new product line for Betta?" she quips a little breathlessly. "Concealed holsters for the busy woman about town? Phil," she goes on more quietly, "what are your intentions, if not ... indelicate?"
"They didn't speak. I did. Partly so you'd know aught was happening here, partly to balance the sigil. I told them to apologize to the Sea and the Night, for abusing Their graces. And, hearing the Garundina, I said that, for me, they should have sent a readhead."
Malkith doesn't release his hold on Braddon until they are out the door. He then moves across the street where the noise and crowd are slightly reduced. "Arnando is strong in his conviction to keep the Publican as neutral ground. Only thing I got was that we're better off coming back here in the morning for Scarlet. What about you?"
Braddon pouts but allows himself to be led out of the Publican House and across the road. He peers down a side alley, then turns to Malkith leaning with his back to the wall.
"I struck gold. One of the maids with Ananda works for the Krufts." His grin returns and he offers the second drink to Malkith. "Wasn't she like the tanner's wife or something?""All I got about Lil was that ol' flat in Leeward district thing. It's like she doesn't want to be found. If you want I can come back here in the morning and stake this place out." He catches a glance from Malkith. "No, I'd actually stake it out. I can be a responsible tracker when I want."
"If she's visiting Leeward still, she'll need to cross the river. Ol' ferryman can tell us that. If not, she's probably holed up this side, and with all those nice houses just up the road at Windward, she may well be settled there among her rich clients."
"Should we go back and tell Saul or make a late night visit to the tanners?"
Braddon sighs. "Just kidding. Let's go tell Saul."
"What did you ask Arnando to tell her?"
Quincy gives you a perplexed look, then shakes his head. "I didn't hear any of it. Nothing from the time she called out and I went to see what she wanted until Casey went tumbling on the deck." He glances up at the sky. "Hasn't been that long -- the stars haven't swung -- but it was like she could have kept us there until the sunrise. You're a wizard of some sort, aye? What did the witch do to us?"
"Well, I wasn't there to see it. If I'd been, I expect I'd have been as caught up; I'm no wizard. As for what she did... I suspect she shook her boobies." Gristav grins at the sailor. "Your best protection against such magics is making them do it twice. Crew on deck, crew below, and if you've another 'below', crew there. Defense in depth, like an artichoke, not a walnut."
Leaning in conspiratorially, Gristav attempts to conspire, "And if you'd want the nonsense of charms and such laid about your ship, for the comfort of your men's fears, you can have them for the cost of the bits. But it's really just theatre... Actually, that might be best. Let whoever failed think I've sold you scrolls writ in snake oil, and they might come to me."