"A moment, if we might.", Gristav interjects, gesturing the plate out of her reach along the bar to gain her attention. "I won't ask what business has famished you, or what matter filled your mind so much your hands remained empty as you crossed the kitchen. But there remains still, our business, where you went to summon support in my fetching of carpet, and never returned. How did that go? Well, I know how it went...", Gristav corrects himself. "Tell me what happened, that I might see other than insupportive escape in your absence, and other than empty-handed attrition, in your presence. Oh, and be sure to try the blueberry with the darker cheese." At these last words, the plate slides back before her.
She rolls one shoulder in a careless shrug, as if it's just too much effort to employ both. "I delivered your message upstairs. The arropazaldi from Magnimar, he did not jump at the chance to fetch and carry for you, so I remained upstairs to entertain Herr Vankaskerkin's guests as they waited." She looks up, innocent puzzlement on her face. "Ought I not to lend a hand where I find myself able, in thanks for the trust Herr Vankaskerkin has placed in me?"
She rolls one shoulder in a careless shrug, as if it's just too much effort to employ both. "I delivered your message upstairs. The arropazaldi from Magnimar, he did not jump at the chance to fetch and carry for you, so I remained upstairs to entertain Herr Vankaskerkin's guests as they waited." She looks up, innocent puzzlement on her face. "Ought I not to lend a hand where I find myself able, in thanks for the trust Herr Vankaskerkin has placed in me?"
Gristav smiles faintly as Thuvalia begins her wriggling. Or was it innocent protest? No, practiced protest took practice.
"You asked one, the most unlikely, man, and then set the duty down. Set yourself upstairs, holding court among the grandees. And it was all duty to Saul? Then you float in here to share my lunch?" Gristav's thin smile made the question of it fade.
"You don't know me. You likely take me for a madman, a mendicant, a man who doesn't cast a shadow long enough for you to shelter in it. And all three, you'd be right enough. I'm nobody. If you don't want a task from me, you only have to refuse it. But if you take a task, fulfill it. And don't come back to me with a lazy lie and posturing protestations of dubious duty. I'm going to be fair. I'm new here, and I gather you've made a habit of bending the menfolk. But see, they've all got stature, race, fine feathers they don't want to ruffle over your nonsense. I've got nothing; a saddlebags and a quiver. I rent my horse from the underworld. I'm the closest you might find to one of our Caravari. So believe this: You try cheating or lying to me again, and I'll be ruffling your feathers, Txori Txiki*. And that'll be my duty to Saul Vankaskerin. And now that I've said it, my duty to you."
"And you're welcome, to what you want of the lunch."
Samaritha laughs and almost chokes on her mouthful of blueberries and cheese. Thuvalia's eyes narrow. "I see I am to be poor Luminita around here. That is well. When you need someone to blame for the failure of your half-laid plans, blame Thuvalia. It must be my fault the upper floor was not peopled with teams of professional carpet-haulers, all champing at the bit to fetch your rug." She whisks her full plate off the bar and stalks away toward her room.
Recovering with a sip of iced tea, Samaritha explains, "Poor Luminita -- it's a children's tale. A blameless young girl whose widowed father marries a second wife and then dies, leaving her dependent on her stepmother's caravan. Her stepfamily treat her cruelly, but later they meet a rich and handsome driver who falls in love with Luminita instead of her wicked stepsisters and takes her away to live in wealth and luxury."
Larur frowns after Thuvalia as she stalks off. "I won't say she didn't deserve every word you gave her," he advises Gristav, "but don't drive her off before next Moonday. Saul's building the whole damned evening around her, and er --," he nods to Samaritha who blushes unhappily. "Can't have Varisian Caravan night without Varisian dancers. After she performs, you can throw her in the river, for all I care."
Making his way to a welcome seat as his senses continue to gather Phillip breaks off some bread and uncovers a platter to see what wonders lie beneath. Furnishing himself with food and water he continues to chat with Ranef "So Ranef... what brought you to the arena?"
As promised, the covers on the platters conceal dried fish and some chunked root vegetables which were probably once hot but have cooled to room temperature. Ranef straddles the bench and sits down heavily, his face sober and a faraway look in his eyes. "We were hunting mastodon in the mountains. It was a large beast, a hard fight. The orcs came on us when we had just brought it down. We were injured and weakened by the struggle. The orcs butchered our mastodon meat and carried the survivors south to market. I was fortunate that the orcs hate one another as much as others do. They met another tribe willing to fight and kill for their prize. In the battle, our captors were distracted; we agreed to take our chances and scatter, each man for himself. Many died; I hope more than only I escaped. Alone, I wandered until I met men of the plateau and asked my way to the nearest human settlement. When I arrived, I found an arena and a chance to fight those who share blood with my brothers' killers. It is good here: not so cold, enough food, a roof and a bed. Better than going back and trying to find those who might remember my brothers."
As Braddon returns to Malkith in front of the Krumps' house, a man in laborer's clothes carrying an open crate comes walking down the street, staring with open curiosity at the odd pair as he passes by.
"I did not need her to apologize. I only needed her to hear me. And I mentioned Caravari so she knows, that I know, that such nonsense would not be tolerated in a Vardo, and that she knows better. It's probably beneath both Tendal and Daynadrian, to put her over their knee. But I'm bright enough to see it's needed, and dark enough to do it. Don't fret, Larur. She's smart enough not to give me cause. I hadn't actually expected the wit. Fire, surely, but not wit. And she's right about that; when I sent her, the plan really was, only half-laid."
"I will have to remember, Luminita, as part of a robber gang...", Gristav smiles, over his own tankard of tea.
Setting the tankard down, and assembling another cheese-topped bread-crust blueberry tart, Gristav looks to Samaritha. "You dance? The Tackhammer Quartet have another scheduled session following lunch, might there still be space on your card?"
Knowledge Local:
Able now to connect the dots of Ranef's heritage, Phillip chews on dry fish and cold vegetables as he listens. Thank the wasp he hit me in the back of my head rather than the jaw - as despite the flavor Phillip feels his colour returning as his belly fills. He does pick up on a nuance, though is yet unwilling to push instead paying respect to the man's strength. Nodding sagely "And you fight well... if not for the mammoth I am sure that you would have bloodied the savages rather than being taken... and I am sure you'll extract blood debt from the orc's hides here if not in the cold North." spearing a potato before raising it between them "Praise winter in the summer and praise hunger at the feast." casting a Kellid proverb out to support that from hardship comes survival as he masticates the potato.
Delicately raising a query "You fight as a free-man Ranef? - to pick and choose your opponent?"
Ranef looks puzzled by the question. "I am free, and I will fight any who step onto the sand to challenge me, just as I agreed to fight you."
"All the men in the arena are free." A voice sounds from the corridor at the far end of the room where Akron Erix has appeared; for a large man, he appears to move quite quietly. "Even the prisoners who fight are there because they choose to be, in the hopes they can distinguish themselves and persuade Zincher or Croat to purchase their freedom. When that happens, they're what you might call 'indentured': in debt to the boss until they've won enough to pay him back. Slavery's illegal in Riddleport."
Turning to face Akron and hiding the wince that the motion evinces from his bruised skull Phillip replys to the Shoanti "Slavery might be illegal... but there are many ways for a free man to be leashed. I hope you don't begrudge my indulging from your leavings?" referring to his plate, and raising a cup of water in thanks. Sipping before putting the cup back upon the table and patting the clinking pouch within his jacket "And my thanks for your honest and fair treatment of my crumpled form. I hope that liberties taken on the sand were not harshly viewed?" referring to his cowardly escapades and less than honorable approach to the bout.
The Shoanti gives a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement to Phil's statement. "'Man is born free, and yet everywhere he is in chains,'" he replies, crossing the room toward the table. "Not only at the Flesh Block." He shrugs away Phillip's thanks and apology alike. "No terms were agreed to for the match, so anything went. Though next time," he smiles at Ranef a little grimly as he seats himself, "he might think to specify conditions before he agrees to a fight."
Setting the tankard down, and assembling another cheese-topped bread-crust blueberry tart, Gristav looks to Samaritha. "You dance? The Tackhammer Quartet have another scheduled session following lunch, might there still be space on your card?"
"I--" Her face beneath the tattoos blushes almost as red as her hair, as she glances unhappily from Gristav to Larur. "I shouldn't stay. I only came back to find some lunch. I should go ... now, really." She takes a last draught of tea and hops quickly down from the stool.
Knowledge (Local): and
Phillip picks up on Akron's reference to Kaer Maga, silently filing away the information without comment. Chuckling as he half-smiles "Heh, but with terms Ranef would still have won... and your other gladiators wouldn't have learned to not wholly underestimate the underdog... regardless of how scrawny a halfling might look." winking at Ranef before continuing "What of you then Akron? - what despite ability led you to the sands and the visceral thrill?" said with earnest personal interest as well as professional.
Malkith returns the laborer's curious stare until he has passed by. Once gone, the Varisian leads Braddon to the indicated door of the Krumps' residence. "Do we know the servant's name that we're looking for? he inquires quietly as he knocks at the door.
"Of course. Umm... it's on the tip of my tongue."
Braddon pauses for a second.
"I'll let you know if it comes back to me."
Braddon watches Malkith's back and keeps an eye in all directions. For once he is very quiet, letting Malkith handle things.
Just before the knock is answered, Braddon remembers that Lalie told him the Krumps' maid is named Nora and mutters the information to Malkith. The person answering the door is most assuredly not Nora: a rough-looking man with an unshaven face and a filthy leather apron. He looks from the Varisian to the half-elf suspiciously. "What's your business here?"
"I--" Her face beneath the tattoos blushes almost as red as her hair, as she glances unhappily from Gristav to Larur. "I shouldn't stay. I only came back to find some lunch. I should go ... now, really." She takes a last draught of tea and hops quickly down from the stool.
Gristav's concern fought his appreciation of her blush. "Wha--", he began to voice regret at troubling her, but stopped as she began her... escape? It surely looked to be an escape, a wary wit whispered, in the back of his mind. The front of his mind, though, was quicker to his voice. "Wait!", he said, pushing the latest assembled pastry on her. "Take this. One bit of cheese and bread isn't lunch. You'll need more for your effor--" He stopped speaking, while the hind and foreparts of his mind met and mingled. He nodded faintly, in agreement with himself.
"I have the same problem.", he said calmly. "And the same... timing. We should work it together."
Looking to Larur, Gristav asked, "Did you need me?", but the dutiful shielddwarf wingmanned well enough, with a faint shake of his head, and a fainter smile.
"Then it's settled.", he smiled at Samaritha. "We'll work the matter together, or at least discuss an approach."
Expecting protest, Gristav was ready. "No. I won't yield until I know that I'm wrong.", he said, gutting a loaf-end, and filling it with a portion of the remaining blueberries, and then cheese. "And I won't ask you to discuss it here. You may either try to outrun me, or endure my presence, at least the first blocks of your remaining travels this day."
The topped-off bread-keg filled the usual hand for such things, but Gristav managed with a sweep of his staff, to invite her passage, clearly intending to follow.
At least, those first blocks.
Malkith looks from the man to Braddon. All reasonable statements disguising their purpose for disturbing the residence suddenly flees from his mind. Swallowing down a wave of panic, he turns back to the stranger before him. "We have a parcel to be delivered to this address. The recipient's name is Nora?"
The man looks at Malkith's hands and then Braddon's, both conspicuously free of any parcels, then grunts and shrugs, apparently deciding it's not his problem. "Suse," he shouts stamping away without a word to Malkith and leaving the door ajar, "some riff-raff at the door for Nora!"
The door opens onto a dark mudroom, some half-hearted piles of firewood either left from last winter or beginning to accrete against the next along the wall. On the far end, stairs are visible that lead up to the rest of the house. From a doorway on the right, a heavyset woman peers out curiously. "The piece of tart ain't back yet, right?" she asks the man who answered the door. Upon his confirmation of the fact, she opens her mouth and screeches at an astonishing volume, "" adding some punctuating knocks on the ceiling with the end of a mop handle. Ignoring the dust that sifts down on her head and shoulders from the exertion, she adds under her breath, seemingly to the absent Nora, "See to your own damn business, we ain't your damned butlers," before turning and disappearing again into the next room after the aproned man, paying Malkith and Braddon no more attention than if they were another pair of dirty boots left at the back door.
"I have the same problem.", he said calmly. "And the same... timing. We should work it together."
Looking to Larur, Gristav asked, "Did you need me?", but the dutiful shielddwarf wingmanned well enough, with a faint shake of his head, and a fainter smile.
"Then it's settled.", he smiled at Samaritha. "We'll work the matter together, or at least discuss an approach."
"I don't...," she manages in consternation. "You couldn't possibly --"
Expecting protest, Gristav was ready. "No. I won't yield until I know that I'm wrong.", he said, gutting a loaf-end, and filling it with a portion of the remaining blueberries, and then cheese. "And I won't ask you to discuss it here. You may either try to outrun me, or endure my presence, at least the first blocks of your remaining travels this day."
The topped-off bread-keg filled the usual hand for such things, but Gristav managed with a sweep of his staff, to invite her passage, clearly intending to follow.
Rather than cause a scene, Samaritha accedes, giving a polite but nervous smile to Larur as she goes. Out on the veranda, the carpet layers are about set to return inside to work. Sam gives Gristav a cheerful nod as the two half-elves pass by. Crossing the courtyard, Samaritha gives Gristav a reprimanding glance. "So tell me about the ... matter we find ourselves both dealing with?" she asks dryly. "If I hear it stated from your point of view, perhaps it will give me a new perspective on our shared task."
"So tell me about the ... matter we find ourselves both dealing with?" she asks dryly. "If I hear it stated from your point of view, perhaps it will give me a new perspective on our shared task."
"I don't want to seem an arrogant peacock, which is one view that might find support. So indulge my description, of my line of thought, and rush on if you must; I shall keep your pace."
"You reside there", Gristav gestured with his staff at the Goblin, behind them. "...at the welcome and generousity of the management. And you are decent and dutiful, and lovely and learned (bookish was too strong, though beautiful beckoned)." Gristav smiled, but he had not crossed the desert of dryness, so Samaritha did not. Gris forged on. "Also resident, Thuvalia. A false Chelaxi, become real nuisance, and a natural rival, by inclination as well as situation, and do not think I blame you there, nor even think you had much choice."
"In the aftermath of the robbery, her presence becomes tolerated, and I can see little reason why. She's pretty enough to be travelling on her back, but you are not such a type, and the disdain, distrust, and discomfort I would expect in evidence upon you if such were the mode of the household, is absent. What, then? I'll return to that question."
"The day is hot, and you return to the Goblin in a sheen, as though you'd awakened covered in morning dew, a red-head rose, in leaves of green..." Gristav stopped himself. "The day is hot, and you'd been working. And presumably, return now to that, either rushing to, or away, though I have a fervent hopeful preference..."
"But I had wanted to end there.", Gristav stopped himself again. "Let's speak of Saul. Stop me, if I lay a weak brick while I build my case. He's a clever man, decent enough for Larur's alliance, and yours. Equal parts careful and impulsive? And suddenly, finding himself in company of two beautiful Varisi, he declares an incipient holiday! Vardo wagons! Bojasc can glower! Games! Music! The girls can dance!"
"Which explains her untrusted presence, and Larur's cautioning me against any angered action before next Moonday. And speaks to the weight of such for the Caravari Carnival, and the weight of the Carnival to Saul. And following that to your dutiful indebtedness, decency, and your appearance more heated than the day alone accounted for..."
"And my final arguement, in insincere arrogance... No girl refuses to dance with me!" Gristav smiled, but only briefly, for he meant the next in full support of Samaritha's situation. Drawing closer, he lowered his voice and tone. "Unless she can't. And is learning how ahead of next Moonday."
He let a beat pass. "Which, if she were. I would hope to join her at."
Samaritha watches Gristav unravel his deductions with interest and an amused smile as he describes Saul's inspiration for Varisian Caravan night almost as if he'd been there, but as he reaches his conclusion, her face falls. "Oh, it's worse, much worse," she admits miserably. "Today was the first I'd heard of dancing. I thought I'd be carrying trays in costume, like the tieflings opening night; I can carry a tray. I didn't know they were expecting me to perform. But where I've been all morning and where I'm going back.... It just proves I'm not as dutiful and decent as you think."
"I've been at the Cypherlodge," she confesses shamefacedly, "or waiting outside it, still trying to get a position there. You think I'm out trying to be a better employee, when I'm really hoping not to be working at the Gold Goblin anymore at all. There: isn't it awful? As generous as Mr. Vankaskerkin and Mr. Felden have been to me?"
"What of you then Akron? - what despite ability led you to the sands and the visceral thrill?" said with earnest personal interest as well as professional.
Akron chuckles dryly. "You found it thrilling, did you?" He pauses to pick his words with care. "Enlightenment," he replies at length, "and disenchantment. Six of one, half a dozen of the other; it all led here in the end. Ranef, shouldn't you be in the weight room?"
Ranef gets to his feet obligingly. "Fillif, you come back later and we drink together, yes?"
Phillip nods at Ranef and gives a small wave in lieu of shaken hands "Aye, that I shall. Where should I see you?" letting Ranef move away before replying to Akron with similarly delicately chosen words.
"It was certainly visceral... though I stand by my earlier words. I prefer such thrills vicarious rather than experienced wholesale." pausing for a few moments before continuing "Ranef was kind... he usually fights with one blade yes? And you were also kind to allow my conduct on the sand... I am in both of your debt for that..." words trailing slightly to invite Akron to speak more freely if he chooses of the day's events, or to allow him an ability to close the experience and usher Phillip out of the arena.
... It just proves I'm not as dutiful and decent as you think."
Gristav smirks momentarily, but sobers at mention of the Cypherlodge.
"I've been at the Cypherlodge," she confesses shamefacedly, "or waiting outside it, still trying to get a position there. You think I'm out trying to be a better employee, when I'm really hoping not to be working at the Gold Goblin anymore at all. There: isn't it awful? As generous as Mr. Vankaskerkin and Mr. Felden have been to me?"
Gristav slow-burns a smile that turns into a silly grin. "I am a fool. I've never claimed otherwise. But I would not, as you, in that dress, stand outside the Cypherlodge like a confused... Calistrian. You are superior to that. Thuvalia, is superior to waiting for great men to take their superior notice. If you choose it, though... May I walk you back there, arguing against, the whole way?"
"I think sitting seige on the Cypherlodge... You have your basics, the questions you asked of my book prove that. You don't need them, you don't need theorem, you only need practicum. You can do so much, I'm sure of it. If you lack a book, use mine. It's no great grimoire, but it's more than you'll find in seige of the Cypherlodge. Develop your Art, not your tan, and you'll get their attention. Frankly, when they are worthy of you. Yes, that's what I meant."
"Saul intends great things. I don't know if he'll accomplish them, but his efforts will bring contacts to you, in a way far more worthy than standing about hopefully. Return with me to the Goblin, and let's plan the magics for the Caravan night. Let's call Thuvalia from her room, and take turns magicking music while the other learns the dances we need. Maybe what she needs is a way to be truly helpful. Maybe.", Gristav said, doubt creeping in.
"People need a thing to be good at. I understand, you want the prestige of the Cypherlodge, you want to be your best. But let me ask, if I were to wait outside your rooms, like I had nothing useful to do, would it recommend me, as a candidate?"
With the door left open and the two visitors otherwise unattended, Malkith steps into the mudroom and looks about. He nods to Braddon to wait outside, just out of sight.
It's dark inside, as there are no windows in this partially-subterranean level; the only light comes from the open door behind Malkith and a bit of lamplight visible from the room into which the man and woman disappeared. More than dark, it's stuffy and hot. The clatter of clanking metal interspersed with occasional curses in the voice of the man who answered the door comes from the open doorway.
After a few moments, there is the quiet sound of a door opening, and a bit of light spills briefly down the stairs before it is closed again. The shadowy figure of a young woman descends the staircase. Malkith has the advantage of her, in that his eyes have had a bit longer to adjust to the dim lighting and that he is back-lit by the open door to the yard. As she passes by the door, he catches a glimpse of her face in the lamplight squinting to see who he might be. "Who is it? What do you want?"
"Nora?" he verifies, "There is an urgent matter that I must discuss with you. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment? he steps backwards and to his left, politely gesturing for her to approach the open doorway.
She frowns suspiciously as she moves toward the doorway. "I don't know you, do I? What's this about?" She stops just in the threshold, her hand on the door handle, not yet moving out of the way to allow Malkith to follow.
That curio shop... not on this path? :)
You are heading from the Goblin north and then west to Velashu Ferry (#2 on the map); the Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar is less north and then east at #7, so yes, it would be out of your way.
Samaritha looks even more miserable as Gristav remonstrates with her. "You don't understand. The Cypherlodge is the whole reason I left my caravan. I came to Riddleport to study ancient Thassilonian runes and arcane mysteries, not to be put on display for the amusement of a bunch of sailors and dock workers and middle-aged merchants. I might as well accept Shorafa's offer. I mean, you can say what you like, but no one at the Cypherlodge has asked me to lift my hems to judge whether I'm qualified to deliver cake and drinks." She sees the ferry dock up ahead and quickens her pace.
Offended, though not at Samaritha, Gristav contested, "Someone at the Goblin, did that?" Reason and cynicism caught up with his chivalric unbelief, and scowling, he declared with certainty, "Not Larur."
Silent and stormy at her having been sized by sight, Gristav had nothing to say for long moments. The ferry came and he paid the cost of passage, unthinkingly. The bread-keg got bitten at, but he was thinking, not eating. Any observer could see the work in his brow and scowl. It wasn't until they were clear of the ferry on the far side, that he spoke again, as thought he'd never stopped. "Well, what of it? I moved carpet today. It needed doing, and I could. So I did. I wouldn't want it assumed it was all I was good for; I don't assume that of the carpetiers, themselves. I am sorry that... you felt a trespass. I doubt actual disrespect was intended, so much as... habituated. It's as much a fact of physics as psychometry, that a pattern reinforces itself. If you'd be other than only pretty, be more than pretty. And boldly enough that that's seen. It's not sufficient just to hide a well-turned ankle. One must also present a well-formed argument."
"Do you know, Thuvalia calls you 'the wench'? She has no idea, you've any magical ability. Who else, has no idea? Who does know? At the Cypherlodge, are you 'that same girl in the same green robes'?"
"Please, don't misunderstand me. It's laudable, and proper, you have a goal, and you pursue it. I just would rather your plan had them respecting you, rather than growing tired of you waiting outside their gates."
"When you tire of it, or lack the ferryman's fee, I hope you'll work with me on using your Art, not just having it. Let me paint you a picture..."
Gristav warped his voice, badly, but it conveyed his intention, he hoped. "Samarita? Isn't she one of Stumpy's mages?" "Aye, she is, but that other, he's a thug, layin' about with that bat of his. Likely, she's the smart one." "Good show, they put on, illusions and such, fire what don't burn, an' all that."
In his own voice, Gristav summarized, "People talk. People listen. People watch. Standing, silently, gives them nothing to talk about."
Offended, though not at Samaritha, Gristav contested, "Someone at the Goblin, did that?" Reason and cynicism caught up with his chivalric unbelief, and scowling, he declared with certainty, "Not Larur."
She relents with a slight smile. "No. Not Mr. Felden. Is he even qualified to judge human-ish anatomy? The dwarves seem to stick with their own kind rather than finding other races attractive. I mean, you don't see half-dwarves running around."
"Do you know, Thuvalia calls you 'the wench'? She has no idea, you've any magical ability. Who else, has no idea? Who does know? At the Cypherlodge, are you 'that same girl in the same green robes'?"
"It's not the worst she's called me," she sighs darkly. "But she wouldn't say the other, not to you. What would you have me do? Stand outside the Cypherlodge performing parlor tricks? It's not like everyone who walks in and out their door can't do the same and better. They're not going looking for mages; they can take their choice and turn the rest away. If I could just get a foot in the door, I know I could impress them; it's getting one of them to take a chance on me that's so difficult. The only way in is to be sponsored by someone already a member -- and I didn't see Mr. Vankaskerkin gladhanding any Cyphermages at the Gold Goblin the other night."
Phillip nods at Ranef and gives a small wave in lieu of shaken hands "Aye, that I shall. Where should I see you?"
"Here," he shrugs. "You come when you are ready to do some drinking, yes? After my training is done?"
letting Ranef move away before replying to Akron with similarly delicately chosen words: "It was certainly visceral... though I stand by my earlier words. I prefer such thrills vicarious rather than experienced wholesale." pausing for a few moments before continuing "Ranef was kind... he usually fights with one blade yes? And you were also kind to allow my conduct on the sand... I am in both of your debt for that..." words trailing slightly to invite Akron to speak more freely if he chooses of the day's events, or to allow him an ability to close the experience and usher Phillip out of the arena.
Akron shrugs. "Ranef has nothing against you. And he enjoys the fight for the sport of it. An uneven match just gives him a chance to try out different weapons and approaches. You were lucky; some men in the stable wouldn't have had a problem with killing you just to prove a point. As for the other, as I said, no tactics were ruled out before the match so anything went. Perhaps it will teach him to think before he acts. He has strength and agility but little discipline. Unless he learns to use his mind as well as his muscles, he'll die on the sand one day." He grins. "You made a tidy sum off the men who bet against you, but I'll wager they've learned a lesson about setting terms as well. I wouldn't count on them filling your pockets again."
Smirking knowingly "Aye a tidy sum, almost enough to compensate for the lump methinks. And while they might be quicker to set terms... they'll also be hungrier to recoup their losses." Leaning back slightly and running his left hand through his hair unconsciously before wincing as his fingers hit matted bloody hair and a spongy lump of raised flesh.
After a momentary grimace of pain Phillip chuckles "Though I've my own reminder of why I don't belong on the sand..." inwardly Phil has many questions and probing inquiry as to allegiances and interests and such... but it was not yet time for that. Instead he thought it best to move to offer his leave "At any rate I've imposed upon you too much today already... I should take my leave..." making to stand.
"What would you have me do? Stand outside the Cypherlodge performing parlor tricks? It's not like everyone who walks in and out their door can't do the same and better. They're not going looking for mages; they can take their choice and turn the rest away. If I could just get a foot in the door, I know I could impress them; it's getting one of them to take a chance on me that's so difficult. The only way in is to be sponsored by someone already a member -- and I didn't see Mr. Vankaskerkin gladhanding any Cyphermages at the Gold Goblin the other night."
"So in the absence of, and rather than work toward, that handshake, you'll hope to impress a sponsor to take a chance based on... what? Here, I am your prospective sponsor, on my way there. Convince me. What sets you above all the other capable candidates? What works have you to show? A thesis? A folio? You haven't brought your grimoire, wise in Riddleport... So what argument convinces the man, likely a man, thought that's not my point, or not too finely pointed. What argument convinces this, busy, valuable man, on his way to his labors, that he ought delay them? Or if he's on his way to his leisures...?"
"Don't mishear me. I'm rooting for you. But I think you'll lose the short, direct game. Play the long game. Be somebody, and they might ignore the ears. Be someone, and they might come to you. I seem to remember, it's all pure humans in there, whatever that might mean. So you'd be the first of our mix. You'll need to make some sort of splash, surely. Well-behaved women rarely make history."
"But good luck, whatever you decide. I hope you may consider me an ally, a resource. I'd see it as an honor."
After a beat, then another, Gristav heads back toward the ferry.
She watches him go unhappily, raising her hand in a half-hearted wave before she turns to head up toward Windward District and the Cypherlodge.
Gristav returns to the crossing, where his near-immediate reappearance raises the ferryman's eyebrows. "That was quick. Forget something?" he asks as he readies his punt.
"At any rate I've imposed upon you too much today already... I should take my leave..." making to stand.
"You've your feet under you?" Akron checks. "This isn't a town to go wandering the streets looking like an easy mark."
If Phil is certain he's ready to be ambulatory and responsible for himself, Akron will show him down a set of stairs and another corridor to a set of double doors. Unlocking one side, he pushes it open onto a Riddleport street; directly across the way, Phil sees the massive wall of the arena. Orienting himself as quickly as his aching head will let him, he realizes he is in the large misshapen building just east of Zincher's Arena and southwest of Betta's shop where he had intended to meet Ethel for lunch. Although he is not yet as expert as a Riddleport native at reading the time from the shadow of the Cyphergate, it's clear that it's an hour or two past midday.
"If I could forget...", Gristav began, then stopped. Then gave a laugh, "Ha! Yes. Yes, I had.", he said, but he'd already turned to rush back.
After a dozen strides, he turned again, rushing back to the ferryman, pressing on him a single silver coin. "For the luck of it.", the madman said, before again rushing off.
Nodding that he feels well enough, Phillip gives Akron a slight wave as he orients and sets off Westwards - back to the Goblin. Milady will need wait for the evening... I wonder if she'd appreciate drinking with Ranef. a smirk spreading on his face At any rate, to the Goblin and the carpenter... mayhap I might even be able to work in the bedragglement to the tale and bargaining.
Restored by the short rest and food and drink, Phillip keeps his wits about him as he makes way to the Gold Goblin... but leaves his shirt untucked, and jacket unbuckled.
Malkith slowly approaches the door and the girl, subtly urging her to open the door. "I am here in regards to Mistress Vishki. Please, let us step outside and away from any overly keen ears."
At the name, she looks even more nervous. "Mistress Vishki? I... I don't know what you're talking about," she bluffs, lowering her voice. As Malkith approaches, she backs out into the yard, trying to keep her distance from the Varisian.
Despite his aching head and somewhat disheveled appearance, Phil manages to stroll jauntily enough through the streets that he doesn't attract predators. He passes the Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar and reminds himself of the puzzle box he has promised to return for, then the imposing Mystery of the Gate, before turning south to the Gold Goblin.
The double doors off the veranda are open to let in both light and air, and he finds the carpet mostly laid, the crew working on the final strips of bare stone toward the cashier's cage. On the other side of the floor, near the bar, Casamen Cazynsik and Larur Felden are holding a conversation; the dwarf glances up, sees Phil in the doorway, and frowns, gesturing for him to join them. "You near missed your appointment," he says reproachfully when the halfling is near enough to hear his ruined voice over the echoing of the tack hammers. "Public tables and seating is one thing, but you're the only one knows what you're wanting in your own room."
Gristav finds that he rushes too much, or perhaps Samaritha's pace is too slow and thoughtful; he has her green-clad figure in sight before she's halfway up the slope to Windward. He contrives to slow down and keep his distance, readying to slide into a door or hop down an alley if she glances over her shoulder, but she appears singularly uninterested in her surroundings this afternoon, seeming not even to notice as she climbs high enough to where the sea breeze begins to reduce the afternoon from oppressively hot to merely somewhat overwarm.
As she reaches the ridge line, she leaves the residential street to take the private road which leads to the Cypherlodge proper, perched at the highest point of the city. Here there is little traffic, and she is more likely to take note of those around her, looking for a likely mentor. Gris loiters on the main road, putting more space between them. He knows where she is going, after all; the road ends at the Cypherlodge. A knot of Gendarmes snarls the street up ahead, and he watches them idly for a time.
Finally deciding that enough time has passed, he begins to stroll up the road to the Cypherlodge, keeping his eyes peeled for her apple-green robes. As he nears the sprawling building, a veritable hodgepodge of wings and additions to the original home of the hermit mage who began systematized study of the Cyphergate, he spies he in the lane out front, speaking earnestly with an older woman in robes of darker green, her dark hair streaked with gray.
At the name, she looks even more nervous. "Mistress Vishki? I... I don't know what you're talking about," she bluffs, lowering her voice. As Malkith approaches, she backs out into the yard, trying to keep her distance from the Varisian.
Braddon comes up behind the girl and rests a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"We're helping Anton Mescher, the head of the gendarmes, with his investigation. Someone looking like Mistress Vishki handed you a girl on Sunday afternoon to take to the opening of the Gold Goblin. You can stay here and tell us everything right now, from when you were first asked to join this scheme to where your accomplices are currently hiding, or else we'll take you to Anton Mescher... and then you will tell him everything."
Smirking as he comes into the Goblin proper, Phil exaggerates his gait and makes his wounds seem a little worse than they are. "Met with a short delay on the way... terribly sorry." Drawing attention by running a hand through his hair and wincing as the fingers draw near the lump and blood once more... this time not needing to fake the pain and discomfiting feelings.
Giving a moment for notice but not verbal reaction Phil limps forward and asks "So what's been decided for the public, before I ask about the private?"
Bluff:
Braddon comes up behind the girl and rests a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"We're helping Anton Mescher, the head of the gendarmes, with his investigation. Someone looking like Mistress Vishki handed you a girl on Sunday afternoon to take to the opening of the Gold Goblin. You can stay here and tell us everything right now, from when you were first asked to join this scheme to where your accomplices are currently hiding, or else we'll take you to Anton Mescher... and then you will tell him everything."
Nora jumps as Braddon reveals his presence, and her eyes are bright with terror. "Look, we didn't have anything to do with ... whatever happened there. We didn't even know about it until the next day when everyone else did. I swear! We didn't know there was a ... a 'scheme.'"