Phil shrugs at Ewart's warning that delivery of his furniture might be delayed "One supposes I can endure needing a step ladder to get into bed for a little while longer. And I suppose that since you saved me from getting dredged out by the wave... I can only return the favor by helping you muck out." and Phil starts to remove his jacket, and turn up his trousers to help keep the hems out of the mud.
Unused to the nautical life, Gristav seizes the rope to toss it but hasn't the knack of throwing it to make it uncoil in the air; instead, the whole things falls in loops just ten feet from the ship. His shout has already attracted the attention of the rest of the Cloud's crew, however; before he can decide whether to pull the flung rope back or leave it dangling over the edge, two sailors are beside him at the railing, tossing their own line.
The end of it splashes neatly almost in the very hands of the man in the water, who grabs hold of it in desperation; the halfling aboard joins the two sailors in hauling the line back in hand over hand. Jill drops out of the rigging almost at Gristav's shoulder. "Good eye, lubber," she grins, "but you throw like a girl."
He smiles again, warmly this time, and passes a glass to Samaritha. "Only time will tell us what it is exactly that we've gotten ourselves into."
She raises her eyebrows with a smile as she accepts the drink. "Little early in the day for this, isn't it?" she teases as she takes a sip. "Was the place Braddon found really Lil's secret flat? What was it like? And who is this new man she's got working for her?"
Daynadrian tries to grab at the desk for stability, but its heavy bulk is also shifting toward the door, caught up in the undertow. "Now what?" the elf calls hoarsely.
Braddon scrambles for the doorframe.
He grabs hold tightly, but when he sees Daynadrian do the same he tells him, "Let go. I've got the rope!"
"And I'm about to have something to brace myself against!" He tenses as the table comes forwards, hoping he can somehow get around it, yet still struggling against the tide.
"The day is early for you, maitea, but it has yet to end for me." Malkith downs his shot before continuing, "Braddon did indeed find her flat. It was nothing remarkable, especially since it seems that Scarlet has left Riddleport. At least for the time being. It's situated over a scribe's office, whom she apparently rents from. Or at least used to. I don't believe she's paying him in coin any longer. Either way, he knew about Volo." The harrower pauses to mentally quell the frustrating memories of this morning's events. "He was a stalward defender of Scarlet's privacy, but I was on the verge of getting more when that engaina Gristav came in and over turned our cards."
Malkith pours himself a second shot, offering to do the same for Samaritha. "How was your evening?"
Unused to the nautical life, Gristav seizes the rope to toss it but hasn't the knack of throwing it to make it uncoil in the air; instead, the whole things falls in loops just ten feet from the ship. His shout has already attracted the attention of the rest of the Cloud's crew, however; before he can decide whether to pull the flung rope back or leave it dangling over the edge, two sailors are beside him at the railing, tossing their own line.
The end of it splashes neatly almost in the very hands of the man in the water, who grabs hold of it in desperation; the halfling aboard joins the two sailors in hauling the line back in hand over hand.
Gristav nods faintly at this happy success, and resumes his watch...
Jill drops out of the rigging almost at Gristav's shoulder. "Good eye, lubber," she grins, "but you throw like a girl."
Gristav half-steps into immanent contact with Jill, and steadies his gaze at her. "Gristav.", he insists. "We've abused Her Grace.", he explains as if doing sums aloud. As Jill's question shows on her face, and half-forms on her lips, he kisses them. "What was declared for Luck must be paid. Of course we fumbled." He grins, and adds, "Hopefully all's set right, now?" He smiles at her, questioning. He wills himself not to duck any incoming slap.
"We should return to the watch... there may be others?", he asks.
He grabs hold tightly, but when he sees Daynadrian do the same he tells him, "Let go. I've got the rope!"
"And I'm about to have something to brace myself against!" He tenses as the table comes forwards, hoping he can somehow get around it, yet still struggling against the tide.
Daynadrian shoots him a quizzical Are you sure? look but lets the tide carry him out the door and focuses on keeping the purloined letter above the water. In a moment, Braddon feels the tug of the rope around him as the elf reaches its end, but he was prepared for it and maintains a firm hold on the edge of the doorframe. He tries to gauge the approach of the desk and maneuver out of the way of a direct impact, but the heavy piece of furniture still slams into him, the suction of the tide grinding his flesh painfully against the stone until he is able to extricate himself from between the wall and the desk.
Malkith pours himself a second shot, offering to do the same for Samaritha. "How was your evening?"
"It was...," she considers. "Well, I spent it with Mr. Deverin and Thuvalia talking about dancing in front of strangers, so you can imagine," she concludes dryly, tossing back the shot with a bit of a grimace and pushing the empty glass forward again. "She's left Riddleport? Where did she go? Do you think she went to find Mr. Vankaskerkin's son now that everyone knows where he is?"
Malkith grins as he imagines how that conversation went for Samaritha. Refilling her glass, he says, "Ocean bound. I didn't get a destination before we were interrupted, though. I suppose she could have set off to find Herr Vankaskerkin's son. Maybe Braddon or Daynadrian know more. They had hung around to keep an eye on the scribe after the engaina and I left."
Braddon grits his teeth as he feels something crunch.
"Ouch. I hope that leaves an impressive mark to show off. Malkith will probably heal it before Sam has... Malkith! I hope he's okay. Let's worry about ourself first, hmm?"
Braddon grips the table tightly until the receding water stops dragging at him, then looks around to see if there is any evidence left of his and Dayn's investigations among the devastation. He does what he can to quickly remove it before jumping outside after Dayn and avoiding the temptation to repay the table for his damage.
"A well placed kick to that locked drawer... Get out!"
The harbormaster's office definitely looks ransacked, but most of it is attributable to the encroaching sea. The open mail cabinet on the wall, however, is above the waterline. Braddon scrambles across the desk to shut it but realizes he has no way to lock it.
Daynadrian, looking muddy and bedraggled, appears in the doorway to check on what Braddon is doing. Stifling an oath, he glances up at the top of the tower anxiously. "I can try to relock it, but I don't know how much time we have," he mutters. "They'll be coming down to check the damage soon. Surely, it would be worse for them to catch me tampering with the cabinet than to discover it's been opened sometime later and have to figure out who we are and how to find us?"
"You're right," Braddon agrees vaulting the table and heading out into the disaster area.
"Hopefully, by the time the harbour master checks the cupboard, he'll have forgotten whether he locked it in the rush."
Braddon undoes the rope tied about him and coils it up again. He looks about for some water to wash it before throwing it in his backpack.
"I forget things all the time. 'Did I lock the manacles? Where did those scratches come from? What was her name?' At least the scribe should be gone when he makes the disc... Where's Malkith?"
Braddon looks around in horror and begins to retrace his steps to the Gold Goblin.
"He was right behind me when I left. I hope he... I wonder what the sign said the scribe put up. Maybe we should hurry there before he gets back. Did you get a chance to see it?"
"We've abused Her Grace.", he explains as if doing sums aloud. As Jill's question shows on her face, and half-forms on her lips, he kisses them. "What was declared for Luck must be paid. Of course we fumbled." He grins, and adds, "Hopefully all's set right, now?"
Jill looks shocked at the liberty taken. The men in the crew are recovered enough from their labor to applaud the burlesque with hoots and appreciative catcalls. She shrugs off the kiss as much to quiet them as for Gristav's benefit. "As poor as your aim is," she replies tartly, "I'm assuming that kiss was for Casey. Back to work, lads! I don't expect a second wave, but if we're not ready for one, there'll be hell to pay with the captain."
She turns toward Gristav, her back to the crew and her voice low. "Aye, there may be others. But keep an eye on the fish we've landed as well. You were aboard the other night when we had trespassers. Keep him from below-decks." She fixes his eyes with hers for a sober moment, then climbs back into the rigging to re-man the lookout.
While Gristav sees other ships in the harbor bringing drifting men aboard, he spies no more within a rope's throw of the Flying Cloud. When the sailors get the man he saw hauled in, he proves to be an older man with a nearly bald head and trembling hands. As he reaches the side of the ship and is pulled up out of the buoyancy of the water, he can barely support his own weight; John Casey goes over the edge on his own rope to boost him aboard. The rescued man lies coughing in a pool of saltwater on the deck.
Refilling her glass, he says, "Ocean bound. I didn't get a destination before we were interrupted, though. I suppose she could have set off to find Herr Vankaskerkin's son. Maybe Braddon or Daynadrian know more. They had hung around to keep an eye on the scribe after the engaina and I left."
"It sounded like they're at the harbor now, from what Braddon said before he ran out of here. Maybe the scribe was booking passage someplace where he can meet up with her?" she asks hopefully. "If she's left Riddleport, we don't have to worry about her anymore, right? Unless she's going after Orik Vankaskerkin, I guess. Do you think Saul would send you after her to protect his son?"
"I wonder what the sign said the scribe put up. Maybe we should hurry there before he gets back. Did you get a chance to see it?"
"Did I see what?" Daynadrian asks a little irritably, perhaps tiring of trying to follow Braddon's rabbiting train of thought. "What sign? I was around by the side door, and then you motioned me to follow you. I didn't see any sign."
"One supposes I can endure needing a step ladder to get into bed for a little while longer. And I suppose that since you saved me from getting dredged out by the wave... I can only return the favor by helping you muck out."
"Aye, you can endure it," Olin grins widely, "but what about Ethel? Woman like her's pretty particular about things being proper, I'd think."
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Olin Britt," Ewart glowers. "A woman's reputation's not to go bandying about a place of business."
Phillip does not take offense, merely returning a smile "Miss Braum's desires are her own to keep and her own to parley..." as he continues to prepare for getting ankle deep in silt and whatever else got dredged up by the wave. Then with cheeky glance back and a wink to Ewart "Have you no salacious stories of your own that you need search for titillation in the exploits of others?"
"Aye, Olin, tell him about all the coin you drop on Taffy Plimpton," Ewart smirks sourly. "You wouldn't be so glad of extra work if so much of your pay didn't find its way into her pockets."
"You hold your tongue, Ewart!" Olin snaps back, his face reddening with anger. "You won't mention Taffy Plimpton to anyone, will you, Phil?" he asks in a wheedling tone. "She's still a sore subject with the girls; they wouldn't like it."
"We've abused Her Grace.", he explains as if doing sums aloud. As Jill's question shows on her face, and half-forms on her lips, he kisses them. "What was declared for Luck must be paid. Of course we fumbled." He grins, and adds, "Hopefully all's set right, now?"Jill looks shocked at the liberty taken. The men in the crew are recovered enough from their labor to applaud the burlesque with hoots and appreciative catcalls. She shrugs off the kiss as much to quiet them as for Gristav's benefit. "As poor as your aim is," she replies tartly, "I'm assuming that kiss was for Casey. Back to work, lads! I don't expect a second wave, but if we're not ready for one, there'll be hell to pay with the captain."
She turns toward Gristav, her back to the crew and her voice low. "Aye, there may be others. But keep an eye on the fish we've landed as well. You were aboard the other night when we had trespassers. Keep him from below-decks." She fixes his eyes with hers for a sober moment, then climbs back into the rigging to re-man the lookout.
"Aye.", Gristav accepts the station earnestly, but adds before she passes from the range of a hush, "And Jill? A regretful trespass, it was, as I said, for Luck. If it had been for me, or for you? It ought have had more flavor." His voice was sincere, and math-ish, while the glint in his eyes was Elvish. If no less sincere.
While Gristav sees other ships in the harbor bringing drifting men aboard, he spies no more within a rope's throw of the Flying Cloud. When the sailors get the man he saw hauled in, he proves to be an older man with a nearly bald head and trembling hands. As he reaches the side of the ship and is pulled up out of the buoyancy of the water, he can barely support his own weight; John Casey goes over the edge on his own rope to boost him aboard. The rescued man lies coughing in a pool of saltwater on the deck.
"I am Gristav, I will help you.", Gris gentles as he sets to whatever aid he might give the rescued elder. "Are you injured? We'll have water for you, when you want it again, just to rinse the salt from your mouth. And if we might have your name, and that of who we ought tell, we'll send a runner, soon as the docks are safe. There'll be worry, after a wave like that; we can spare yours most of it. Oh, and if you'll permit, I can dry you, and remove the salt, with a bit of magic?"
Lust... useful, but predictable same... one wonders what Ewart sees as vice worth indulging...
Genial and non-judgemental Phil chuckles "Fear not Olin, my tongue won't be put to indelicate use. Each and every man has a vice that thirsts for coin, we'd deny ourselves if we weren't to at least sip from the poisoned chalice." After a half second's thought Phil surreptitiously makes it such that his Calistrian holy symbol can be glimpsed by the other pair.
"Did I see what?" Daynadrian asks a little irritably, perhaps tiring of trying to follow Braddon's rabbiting train of thought. "What sign? I was around by the side door, and then you motioned me to follow you. I didn't see any sign."
Braddon heads for the Gold Goblin with Daynadrian.
"Malkith was talking to the scribe when Gristav went back in. I thought there was trouble, but Gristav was just talking which is why I kept you back and headed back myself. So they come out, Malkith is furious and storms off and Gristav says to me, 'Do what you like!' and takes off too. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, that's all he ever does."Braddon draws a breath and continues.
"So I figured someone should watch, and with the others gone I couldn't get a message to you and finally the scribe puts a sign in the window and takes off and I figured I should follow but wanted someone as back up which is why I flagged you down. He's seen Gristav and Malkith, and may have noticed me following so the last thing I wanted was for him to see you. And him not knowing you was why I left you there and went back to get help myself. But then that stuff happened and Malkith was gone. But you were awesome with that lock. And he may be heading back to the office. I might track him home after closing and chat with him then. Or tell Gristav where he is so Gristav can talk him to death in the middle of the night. Did I miss anything while I was away?"
"If she's left Riddleport, we don't have to worry about her anymore, right? Unless she's going after Orik Vankaskerkin, I guess. Do you think Saul would send you after her to protect his son?"
"Perhaps," Malkith replied half-heartedly, "Although I fear that even away from Riddleport, Scarlet is preparing something that will affect us all. As for Orik, I don't know. Herr Vankaskerkin hired us to protect his investment in the casino and it would seem his son is capable of taking care of himself.
"Still," the Varisian said ponderously, "I go where the Fates lead me; but I have seen no indication as to that being my destination." He pauses for a moment to swallow his second shot. Setting the glass back down, he looks at Samaritha as if to ask her something. Instead of speaking further, he pours another shot.
"I hope you don't go," Samaritha says a little wistfully. "I mean," she fumbles, blushing a little, "if all of you went, I couldn't stay here any longer. I'd be looking for a job again, and a place to sleep. I've kind of gotten used to not being on the edge of destitution. It would be hard to go back." She watches Malkith finish his second shot and decides a little hesitantly to try to keep up, screwing her eyes shut as she downs the drink.
"I'm sure Herr Vankaskerkin would keep you on as part of his staff, Malkith points out playfully. He makes a gesture with the bottle, silently asking if she'd like him to refill her glass. "Imagine the crowds you'll pull in dancing to that harpy's wail." In a more wistful tone, he says, "But as the crows fly across the sky, eventually, I will go too. Whether it's tomorrow to seek our employer's kin or in a few months when Scarlet's plots are at an ends, my feet will follow the road once more."
"Right." Her smile is not very convincing. "Well, hopefully you can come visit me at the Cypherlodge when you're passing through, right?" She pushes the empty glass away, silently refusing another drink.
"I am Gristav, I will help you.", Gris gentles as he sets to whatever aid he might give the rescued elder. "Are you injured? We'll have water for you, when you want it again, just to rinse the salt from your mouth. And if we might have your name, and that of who we ought tell, we'll send a runner, soon as the docks are safe. There'll be worry, after a wave like that; we can spare yours most of it. Oh, and if you'll permit, I can dry you, and remove the salt, with a bit of magic?"
The man seems vague, difficult to engage; his eyes wander across the sky and the ship without focusing on anything in particular. At first, Gristav assumes it's the shock of his recent misadventure, but when he finally succeeds in securing his attention and he opens his mouth to reply, the strong scent of liquor on his breath offers a competing theory to explain his bleariness.
"Oh, aye, young man," he smiles gently. "Is this Jhonas's ship then? He always said he'd take me on a pleasure cruise one day. Can't be gone long, though, oh dear me, no, they'd worry, they would. Who'd feed the pigeons?"
He at least hasn't objected to Gristav's ministrations so the magus takes the opportunity to do what he can for the old man with prestidigitation. With a little persistence, Gris is able to extract a name, Padraig Astreson, and the avowal that he resides in Rag's End.
"We'll get you back there, Padraig. But I don't speak much pidgeon. Is there a person, we might get you back to?"
"Did I miss anything while I was away?"
Daynadrian shakes his head. "No one went in or came out while I was watching. Then all the weathervanes made that horrible screeching sound, and the sailors started running and shouting. What was that all about, anyway? How does an approaching tidal wave affect the weathervanes?" He looks up at the rooftops as they pass. "Look, they're back to normal now." Indeed, the weathervanes are once again aligned with the tepid breeze out of the south.
"I could have taken a look at that sign as I passed by and still kept you in sight if I'd known about it," he grumbles as they approach the back door of the Gold Goblin. "Should we dry ourselves off quickly and then check it out? Or would you rather I go by myself, in case he made you?"
"We'll get you back there, Padraig. But I don't speak much pidgeon. Is there a person, we might get you back to?"
"Hm? Oh, well, Father Kreun, you know. They're his pigeons."
"Father Kreun, then. When we can, we'll get you back there. Do you keep the father's pigeons, then? To some purpose? Or are these the pigeons of the street, and feeding them a charity?"
"And this isn't Jhonas' ship. What is the name of Jhonas' ship? We may pass it in the harbor, or find it on the way. Do you know the ship's name?"
"Mister Astreson, go you remember my name?"
As Phil begins to join in the dirty task of shoveling the mud out of the workshop, he seemingly carelessly allows his holy symbol to slip out from beneath his shirt. Olin is the first to spy it; Phillip hears his sharp intake of breath, and then he silently nudges Ewart when he thinks Phil isn't looking to point it out. Ewart's eyes narrow darkly, but neither man speaks up to broach the subject to him.
The silt smells terrible, of dead fish and decay, and now that it is out from beneath the waves and heating up in the mid-morning sun, the stench only grows stronger. Phillip's act of charity does not go unrewarded, however; as Olin surmised, the surge churned up some glints of metal from the harbor floor along with the mud. Using his orison, Phil is able to maneuver the two halflings in the way of finding three copper coins and six silver; while they are congratulating themselves for their good fortune, he himself pockets three gold pieces out of the muck. He also finds countless bent fishhooks and the stump of a dagger rusted away almost to the wooden hilt, along with broken shells and fishbones. A few other items glimmer in the sludge: a shining piece of obsidian carved into the shape of a bat and a thumbnail-sized lump of olive-green peridot.
Phil allows himself a satisfied nod as he discerns Ewart's vice, but does not seek to exploit it yet. Similarly the intake of breath and darkened narrow eyes are left without being addressed by words. He instead focuses upon the dirty work at hand, initially aggrieved by the need to show solidarity in harsh labor... but soon that anguish is assuaged by the few grains of gold that are filtered through the silt. Pocketing the gold, pendant and gemstone, Phil bends his back with the other two until much of the work is done and what came from the harbour is at least scrubbed away.
When nearing completion, Phillip takes a few moments to stretch and soothe some of the aches that had begun to set into his muscles. By way of congratulation he shows the stub of a dagger and fish-hooks to compare with the other's silver "Looks like you had the better of the floor. Must be about time for lunch soon eh? - where's good around here?"
"It would the first and last thing I did upon my return to Riddleport." Setting the bottle down, Malkith consumes the drink he has poured for himself. He looks at Samaritha for a moment, his expression one of longing. Finally he announces, "The day of my departure has not yet arrived, however, and there is much to be done before then. Lets not dwell on disappointing things." He offers his hand to Samaritha, "I believe I still owe you some dancing lessons."
"Here?" She glances over her shoulder at the newly carpeted floor. "Well, there's room, and I suppose there's no one here to see." Her smile is genuine, if both shy and amused, as she takes his hand and lets him lead her out onto the floor.
"Father Kreun, then. When we can, we'll get you back there. Do you keep the father's pigeons, then? To some purpose? Or are these the pigeons of the street, and feeding them a charity?"
"Ah, no, they're clever birds. Carry messages, they do, from one church to the next. Powerful clever birds."
"And this isn't Jhonas' ship. What is the name of Jhonas' ship? We may pass it in the harbor, or find it on the way. Do you know the ship's name?"
"Aye, Jhonas's ship." His eyes take on a little more life and acuity as he makes contact with the memory. "The Devil's Grail, she was. A fine sight setting out under the 'Gate, the sky all fiery with sunset. 'Jhonas,' I tells him, 'you be sure and make your obeisance to the 'Gate. There's never a sailor what failed to respect the 'Gate sailing under it but met a watery end, he did.'"
The Cloud once again safe in her berth, Jill has taken a place at Gristav's shoulder. When the Devil's Grail is mentioned, she meets the half-elf's eyes and gives a barely perceptible shake of her head: She doesn't recognize the name.
"Mister Astreson, do you remember my name?"
"Hm?" he asks, drawn back into the present moment from a much more vivid past. "Oh, aye, aye, lad," he assures Gristav, papery fingers tapping his arm gently. "You're Jhonas's friend."
...clever birds."
"Clever birds, indeed. Clever enough to miss you, and you them. Good you're going back.", Gristav smiles gently, measuring the elder for help standing, or shifting more out of harm's way.
...watery end, he did."
"I'm sorry, to have taken you back, to that pain.", Gristav laments to Padraig, perhaps misreading Jill's intention.
...You're Jhonas' friend."
"... By extension.", Gristav allows after a moment's hesitation. "This is Jill. Jill, may I introduce Mister Padraig Astreson, coopmaster for Father Kreun, of a church in Rag End. I think I might know where it is, though I do not know the Patron. We'll find it, in any case."
Leaving space for Jill and Padraig to meet and converse, Gristav frames a phrasing, and before leaving with Padraig, steps her aside, to say, "I'll stand by, my claim of honoring Luck. But I'll stand fast, if you judge that a slap is owed for the trespass."
Daynadrian shakes his head. "How does an approaching tidal wave affect the weathervanes?"
"Was that a tidal wave? I don't think so. Tidal waves don't affect weather vanes, and I thought they crashed in. That was just water... rising and falling. Though the locals seemed to have experienced it before. Should ask one. Maybe even our bosses."
Bedraggled, Braddon and Daynadrian drag themselves into the Gold Goblin, traipsing mud across the clean floor."The sign was probably just 'Back Soon'. Don't worry about it. You were way more valuable at the Harbour Master's office."
Braddon waves the letter victoriously and stops suddenly.
Covered in a thick layer of foul smelling mud, dirty water dripping from his clothes it is almost possible to see the pungent steam rising from Braddon as a dark look crosses his face. At the sight of Malkith and Samaritha dancing, he folds his arms very carefully as if putting them out of the way.
"Ah," Braddon mutters through gritted teeth. "Glad to see you survived the ordeal. We were worried about you."
His look cuts through Malkith.
"This is Jill. Jill, may I introduce Mister Padraig Astreson, coopmaster for Father Kreun, of a church in Rag End. I think I might know where it is, though I do not know the Patron. We'll find it, in any case."
Leaving space for Jill and Padraig to meet and converse, Gristav frames a phrasing, and before leaving with Padraig, steps her aside, to say, "I'll stand by, my claim of honoring Luck. But I'll stand fast, if you judge that a slap is owed for the trespass."
"I've not heard of a church in Rotgut," Jill replies quietly, "though I'm thankful to admit I've not spent much time there."
She regards him for a moment in an appraising manner. "You meet many women who are flattered by the thought that you're only kissing them for Desna's sake?" she asks pointedly. "Quite the charmer, you are. Well, you've had your kiss; now you owe me dinner." She glances up at the sun, not yet at its zenith in the sky and amends, "...lunch. I'll go with you to deliver the old man, and then you're buying. I wouldn't send a man into Rotgut with a stranger alone; he could be leading you into a gang of thieves."
Covered in a thick layer of foul smelling mud, dirty water dripping from his clothes it is almost possible to see the pungent steam rising from Braddon as a dark look crosses his face.
If Samaritha is startled to be caught in Malkith's arms, Braddon and Daynadrian's bedraggled condition overwhelms any embarrassment she might feel. "What happened? Oh, no, you don't, not on the new carpet! What are you thinking? Back to the kitchen with you!" She shoos the pair back through the swinging doors and looks at the damp, muddy carpet in dismay before stepping through after them. "What have you been doing? Swimming?"
Braddon rounds on Samaritha, his angry voice reaching a crescendo throughout his tirade.
"Yes, swimming! We fancied a dip! We decided after sleeping on a hard wooden floor- Daynadrian under the steps in an alleyway, after waiting all morning without food while Malkith and Gristav showed their faces to our only lead, after following our only lead by ourselves through half of bloody Riddleport, after tracking him alone to the harbourmaster's office, after coming back here for help and rushing out alone as the world went mad and some tidal wave washed out the entire harbour district, after getting into the harbour master's office and gathering evidence, after getting crushed half to death by a two ton desk, after stopping Daynadrian from being swept out to sea and drowning, WE DECIDED TO GO FOR A BLOODY SWIM!!!"
"Looks like you had the better of the floor. Must be about time for lunch soon eh? - where's good around here?"
Whatever reservations Olin might have had about Phil's revelation have been at least momentarily smoothed over by the silver newly heavy in his pocket. "'Good?'" he chuckles. "Well, that's a generous term. Would you settle for 'least bad?' Nay, it's not as dim as all that. A street vendor or two'll set up outside the Publican House at lunchtime; we generally grab a pie and a pint. Tell you what," he jingles his purse, "it's on me today if you care to join us. It's only fair after you pitched in with the muck-out and Desna didn't see fit to reward you herself, the fickle hussy."
"This is Jill. Jill, may I introduce Mister Padraig Astreson, coopmaster for Father Kreun, of a church in Rag End. I think I might know where it is, though I do not know the Patron. We'll find it, in any case."
Leaving space for Jill and Padraig to meet and converse, Gristav frames a phrasing, and before leaving with Padraig, steps her aside, to say, "I'll stand by, my claim of honoring Luck. But I'll stand fast, if you judge that a slap is owed for the trespass."
"I've not heard of a church in Rotgut," Jill replies quietly, "though I'm thankful to admit I've not spent much time there."
She regards him for a moment in an appraising manner. "You meet many women who are flattered by the thought that you're only kissing them for Desna's sake?" she asks pointedly. "Quite the charmer, you are. Well, you've had your kiss; now you owe me dinner." She glances up at the sun, not yet at its zenith in the sky and amends, "...lunch. I'll go with you to deliver the old man, and then you're buying. I wouldn't send a man into Rotgut with a stranger alone; he could be leading you into a gang of thieves."
"Deuced clever, that whole swept-from-the-streets ploy", Gristav smirked. "But I yield the point, and welcome your company, and not just for safety's, nor Desna's, sake.". Smiling warmly, Gristav gambits, "If you're granting me leave to charm you, you may want to court Her favor yourself, for I am a wizard, of a sort." Meeting her eye, he didn't quite manage to hold a straight face. "But I'd never charm you by spell. Nor flatter, nor fool. What I say to you will be truth, or art laid over truth, but not lies. So, when I say to you, that you are beautiful, it is not flattery, but fact. And when I declare that kiss for Luck, it is just that, and when I call it more chaste than the kiss I'd wish to give you... Well, that kiss, I would not want to surprise you with. That kiss, I would want you to see coming, to hold your breath, at it's potential. To catch your breath, at it's potence."
Whatever reservations Olin might have had about Phil's revelation have been at least momentarily smoothed over by the silver newly heavy in his pocket. "'Good?'" he chuckles. "Well, that's a generous term. Would you settle for 'least bad?' Nay, it's not as dim as all that. A street vendor or two'll set up outside the Publican House at lunchtime; we generally grab a pie and a pint. Tell you what," he jingles his purse, "it's on me today if you care to join us. It's only fair after you pitched in with the muck-out and Desna didn't see fit to reward you herself, the fickle hussy."
"Wouldn't hear of it, I'll spot you both..." waving off any protestation to the contrary "Just put in a good word with Cas eh? - might help keeping my furniture closer the top of his queue than the bottom" smiling and making to return his clothing to some semblance of order and respectable state.
"What I say to you will be truth, or art laid over truth, but not lies. So, when I say to you, that you are beautiful, it is not flattery, but fact. And when I declare that kiss for Luck, it is just that, and when I call it more chaste than the kiss I'd wish to give you... Well, that kiss, I would not want to surprise you with. That kiss, I would want you to see coming, to hold your breath, at it's potential. To catch your breath, at it's potence."
"Aye, well," she demurs, "you've had today's kiss on advance, and I'd caution you against spending too much time talking up your next attempt in case you can't measure up to your own telling."
There is a shout from the pier. "Ahoy, the Cloud! Is all well?" Quincy Dawkins is jogging down the wet boardwalk, hopping over stray seaweed and piles of silt left behind by the receding water.
"Ahoy, Dawkins!" John Casey calls back. "Aye, we had a ground swell but none the worse for it. Landed a fish, but he's a waister; going to have to throw him back."
Dawkins seizes a line tossed to him from the ship and climbs aboard. When he sees Gristav, he frowns in recognition but offers his hand to clasp. "I don't know if you're good luck or bad. Both times you've been aboard, we've met rough seas still in port but come through unscathed."
"Yes, swimming! We fancied a dip! We decided after sleeping on a hard wooden floor- Daynadrian under the steps in an alleyway, after waiting all morning without food while Malkith and Gristav showed their faces to our only lead, after following our only lead by ourselves through half of bloody Riddleport, after tracking him alone to the harbourmaster's office, after coming back here for help and rushing out alone as the world went mad and some tidal wave washed out the entire harbour district, after getting into the harbour master's office and gathering evidence, after getting crushed half to death by a two ton desk, after stopping Daynadrian from being swept out to sea and drowning, WE DECIDED TO GO FOR A BLOODY SWIM!!!"
Samaritha's face reddens, and she stammers an apology. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't.... The harbor's washed out? That's just a few blocks from here. We would have heard...."
"The wharves aren't 'washed out,'" Daynadrian steps in to reassure her. "Braddon's exaggerating a little. It was ... I don't know what it was ... something like a tidal wave? Only without the wave crashing in. The water just rose too far and too fast and then ran out again."
"What I say to you will be truth, or art laid over truth, but not lies. So, when I say to you, that you are beautiful, it is not flattery, but fact. And when I declare that kiss for Luck, it is just that, and when I call it more chaste than the kiss I'd wish to give you... Well, that kiss, I would not want to surprise you with. That kiss, I would want you to see coming, to hold your breath, at it's potential. To catch your breath, at it's potence.""Aye, well," she demurs, "you've had today's kiss on advance, and I'd caution you against spending too much time talking up your next attempt in case you can't measure up to your own telling."
Gristav laughs. "I didn't think I'd made any sort of boast I could fail. Certainly not of anything that might be measured."
There is a shout from the pier. "Ahoy, the Cloud! Is all well?" Quincy Dawkins is jogging down the wet boardwalk, hopping over stray seaweed and piles of silt left behind by the receding water.
"Ahoy, Dawkins!" John Casey calls back. "Aye, we had a ground swell but none the worse for it. Landed a fish, but he's a waister; going to have to throw him back."
Dawkins seizes a line tossed to him from the ship and climbs aboard. When he sees Gristav, he frowns in recognition but offers his hand to clasp. "I don't know if you're good luck or bad. Both times you've been aboard, we've met rough seas still in port but come through unscathed."
"Jill and I were just discussing my luck", Gristav observes, as though Quincy's mention were a confirming omen. "I was no help to your vessel, surely, though I might have been, to Padraig, and through him, to some number of peckish pigeons.", The halfelf smiled, introducing Padraig by gesture.
"Washed out of Rotgut," Jill explains to Dawkins. "Your albatross here has volunteered to see him home, and I've volunteered to see the albatross home, or safe out of Rotgut at least."
Casey and a few of the other sailors lay the plank in the gangway so that Padraig can shuffle securely onto the pier.
"Wouldn't hear of it, I'll spot you both..." waving off any protestation to the contrary "Just put in a good word with Cas eh? - might help keeping my furniture closer the top of his queue than the bottom" smiling and making to return his clothing to some semblance of order and respectable state.
Olin's protestations are halfhearted at best; he takes little convincing to leave his coin in his pocket. Ewart seems less enthusiastic about the invitation but can't argue with a free lunch. "We'll have to walk up to the ferry," Olin explains, leading the way northward. "It's more steps, but there'll be no jollyboats in the Velashu for a while; every sailor will be on his ship after the groundswell."
Indeed, from what Phil can see of the wharves as he leaves the shipwright's, all the activity is either on and around the ships or out front of the waterfront buildings, as both sailors and landlubbers inspect their property for damage. Past the mouth of the river, however, the Wharf District's adventure seems to have left no impression on the rest of the city.
"Washed out of Rotgut," Jill explains to Dawkins. "Your albatross here has volunteered to see him home, and I've volunteered to see the albatross home, or safe out of Rotgut at least."
"Padraig here is a friend of Jhonas, of the Devil's Grail", Gristav adds matter-of-factly, asking by gesture and brow if Casey knew ought of the man or vessel.
Casey and a few of the other sailors lay the plank in the gangway so that Padraig can shuffle securely onto the pier.
Gristav is carefully attentive to Padraig's gait, providing support if needed.
Samaritha's face reddens, and she stammers an apology. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't.... The harbor's washed out? That's just a few blocks from here. We would have heard...."
Braddon pulls off his boots and snaps, "Yeah, well, I'm sorry too... for interrupting your obviously important work!"
The words are hurled at Samaritha, but his glare is directed at Malkith as he tosses the filthy boots aside then storms past them towards his room.
An audible echoes up the corridor.