Sarien nods with a small smile. "I'm thinking that it'll allow us a look at the inside before it opens. Since we're here, it wouldn't hurt to look."
Looking about casually, he begins making his way around to the back.
Sarien and Phillip stroll around the southern wing of the Gold Goblin and up the long western wall. The activity of the visible workmen seems to be concentrated at the northwestern corner of the building, and as they turn back east around the northern wall, they see the back door propped open. A short hallway leads straight ahead, or they can turn right into a crowded kitchen immediately after entering the building or down a bare corridor just before the hall deposits them behind a bar, where men are stocking shelves with bottles.
"Oh, so you're ol'...And Orik is... So that's why... I mean Congratulations, Sir!"
Braddon shakes the proffered hand and tries not to stare at the large key. His eyes wander briefly around the room as if expecting to see a large lock to accommodate it just sitting idly by and he wonders at the size of the treasure that would be kept behind such a large portal.
"Fortuitous news for you indeed," Malkith comments, "With luck it will continue this evening with the opening of your new business venture."
"Of course it will," Saul proclaims expansively. "Told you this place would bring us luck, Larur. Used to belong to a priest of Desna, you know. Liry, my fallen angel, I need you to spread the word as you're passing out those handbills: let everyone know that Orik's alive and well. "
"You'll find no one gladder to hear he dodged Zincher's lads then me," Larur puts in nervously, "but shouldn't we keep things quiet? For our sake as well as his. What if Zincher sends a party to smash up the Goblin tonight in retaliation?"
"Larur, Larur, Larur," Saul almost dances across the room to the dwarf. "Don't you see that's the point? Everyone will wonder what Zincher will do, which means everyone will want to be here tonight to see for themselves. I'm amazed I didn't think of spreading the rumor myself, even if it wasn't true; I must be slipping in my old age."
Larur doesn't seem mollified. "That's all very well, but what if his boys do show up to cause trouble? Who's going to keep them in hand? All your half-clothed devilspawn?" He waves a meaty hand at Liry scornfully.
As Laur makes his last statement Dayn clears his throat loudly and raises his eyebrows dramaticallly.
Tendal follows in Saul's wake as if pulled along by a magnet as he moves across the room.
"Laur is right sir, something must be done. Thankfully there were a significant number of new applicants for work that arrived today. They may not look like much, but give them some dark uniforms...perhaps tunics, pitchforks and clubs for crowd control, and they will look imposing enough." Tendal looks at Dayn for a moment before turning back to Saul. "...and some sort of domino mask in red and black."
"Too many people in there," Sarien says softly, nodding toward the kitchen. "Let's go this way." He continues straight ahead, looking a little wistfully at the bar as he leaves it behind.
"I know how to deal with trouble makers. Do you want me to dress as a Hell Knight?"
"You'll find no one gladder to hear he dodged Zincher's lads then me," Larur puts in nervously, ...
Avoiding the people working in both the kitchen and behind the bar, Sarien and Phillip take the second right from the corridor and find themselves looking into a small, bare room whose walls are lined with shabby mismatched chairs. A spittoon rests in one corner. To the right, a short hallway leads back into the bustle of the kitchen; on the left, a staircase ascends to the second floor.
Tendal follows in Saul's wake as if pulled along by a magnet as he moves across the room.
"Laur is right sir, something must be done. Thankfully there were a significant number of new applicants for work that arrived today. They may not look like much, but give them some dark uniforms...perhaps tunics, pitchforks and clubs for crowd control, and they will look imposing enough." Tendal looks at Dayn for a moment before turning back to Saul. "...and some sort of domino mask in red and black."
"I know how to deal with trouble makers. Do you want me to dress as a Hell Knight?"
"Hm," Saul surveys Dayndarian and Braddon dubiously. "Wouldn't be a bad idea; the helmet would at least hide the pointy ears. There are no elves in Cheliax, lad," he tells Braddon jovially, tapping him softly with his key. "Everyone knows that. And what about you?" he asks, turning to Malkith. "You looking to be a Hellknight, too?"
Malkith shakes his, "Nay, I've got no interest in dressing up as something I'm not. No offense," he notes to Liry. "Pitchfolks and clubs aren't something I came to Riddleport for either. However, you may find my skill set of use, especially when it comes to identifying trouble before it starts."
"What are you then? Some sort of soothsayer?" Saul eyes the Varisian appraisingly.
He nods solemnly, "Soothsayer. Oracle. Diviner. Different people have different names for my talents. My gift of foresight is what drew me to Riddleport and I believe the fates have conspired to bring me here before you, Herr Vankaskerkin. What role I play for you, however, is entirely of your choosing."
"Hmmm." Sarien ponders the options. "Upstairs, I guess." He inwardly constructs a map of the building, paying attention to every hallway and entrance as he begins to climb the staircase.
There are two landings in the staircase, which turns first south, then back west, depositing its climbers over what must be the kitchen area below. The stairs end in a dark and narrow corridor leading to the right; in about 15 feet, the corridor meets another perpendicularly, and some natural light from the east indicates there's a dusty window around the corner somewhere.
Directly across the hallway and its shaft of sunlight is an open door into a large room; tacked onto the doorframe is a sign reading "Hiring within." A few men and women in various states of undress are coming and going to the left. Inside the room, which appears largely bare except for some wooden chairs, the red-headed half-elf from the Publican House is visible. A bored-looking middle-aged woman, her hair an entirely unnatural shade of orange, is standing next to her. "Come on, now, dearie, let's see those legs. Old Stumpy's not going to pay you to be modest." Her cheeks blushing as red as her hair, the half-elf lifts the hem of her robes above her knees, as the woman bends over to examine the shape of her legs. A few bare-chested men leaning against the far wall between undraped windows angle to get a better view themselves.
A slow smile spreads across Sarien's face. "That's not quite what I had anticipated but it's clearly well worth the trip." He says softly, his eyes on the display. After a moment he forces himself to look away.
"I wonder what's down this way?" He makes his way down the hallway to the east in search of that dusty window.
He nods solemnly, "Soothsayer. Oracle. Diviner. Different people have different names for my talents. My gift of foresight is what drew me to Riddleport and I believe the fates have conspired to bring me here before you, Herr Vankaskerkin. What role I play for you, however, is entirely of your choosing."
"You mean you, uh, read minds or ... know what card is going to get turned up next?" Saul asks nervously, putting a bit of distance between him and the seer.
"Slag and slurry!" Larur scoffs. "I'm sure he foresees grave calamity if you don't put him on the payroll but good fortune and prosperity for everyone if he's hired."
Liry shrugs. "Could be handy if he can tell you in advance if someone's put out a hit on you." She gives Malkith an encouraging glance.
"I wonder what's down this way?" He makes his way down the hallway to the east in search of that dusty window.
As soon as Sarien approaches the intersection, he can see that the corridor quickly ends in a dirty window about ten feet down the hall. Past the cobwebs in the corners of the pane and the dessicated husks of long-dead insects on the sill, the shingled roof of the east-jutting wing of the building is visible through the glass.
To the left, an open door leads into a storage room with rows of various types of costumes and clothing hanging from rods stretching from wall to wall; at the very end of the hallway to the west is a door with a shiny brass plate reading "Owner."
Sarien examines the window, noting if it opens and how, examining the tiles on the roof and contemplating a potential escape route for the future.
Idly fingering the hilt of his sword, Sarien considers the door at the far end of the hallway marked with "Owner." "Should we see about meeting the owner, do you think? Or is that too conspicuous?"
Uncertain, he wanders over toward what appears to be the waiting room, peeking inside and then making his way over toward the office door, listening carefully to see if he can hear anything within.
Inside the interview room, Samaritha glances up and sees Phil in the hallway. Turning an even brighter red, she drops her hems in a hurry. The middle-aged woman turns to follow the half-elf's gaze and, spotting Phil, stops looking bored for an instant. Crossing to the door, she smiles at Phil and looks up and down the hallway, spying Sarien at the office door as well. "Looking for a job for the evening?"
Sarien steps away from the door. "We've heard about the hiring happening here and I was curious about what kind of work is available. Are the jobs just for tonight?"
Sarien steps away from the door. "We've heard about the hiring happening here and I was curious about what kind of work is available. Are the jobs just for tonight?"
"That's all I'm hiring for, hon," the woman shrugs. "Word on the street is, if tonight doesn't go well, Old Stumpy's grand opening gala will double as his going-out-of-business party. But what do you care? He's offering seven silver just for tonight that'll be jingling in your pocket whether he's destitute or not."
Behind her, hope lights up Samaritha's eyes as she hears the promised wage.
Saul seems anxious to put some distance between himself and the self-proclaimed oracle. "I'll leave you to Larur to discuss what you think you can do around here," he tells Malkith awkwardly, ignoring the glare his statement evokes from his business partner. "You two lads," he tells Braddon and Daynadrian, "go down the hall to Fiora. Tell her I've hired you on as Hellknights; she can get you the costumes. Tendal, my boy, come with me; we've business to discuss. And Liry! you're supposed to be out distributing leaflets! Go along now, and be sure to spread the good news about Orik!" Shooing her away, he returns to his office, Bojasc stepping just ahead of him to open the door and then gaze balefully at Tendal as he waits for him to accept the invitation.
Silent throughout most of the encounter, Dayn finally stands and reaches out to put a hand on Saul's shoulder to stop him "Hold on just a minute, I don't believe we're done negotiating just yet. Unless I missed it, you've not indicated exactly what it is you wish us to do as your so called 'Hellknights'. And, much more importantly, we haven't yet discussed how much you'll be paying us, and when."
Glancing briefly at the Dandy Dayn smiles "Oh, and dressing up in some silly costume will cost extra."
"Silver is a fine thing for jingling in one's purse," Sarien says with an easy smile, "but for the gala I'd as soon be spending it as earning it. If things go well tonight, perhaps I'll check again. One night's work doesn't suit me quite as well as something a little more constant."
He tips the woman a nod and begins to turn, but stops. "By the by, 'Old Stumpy?' Has the employer another name that I might know him by? I'm new in town, you see."
Ignoring Larur's pessimism, Malkith addresses the dwarf, "I would be willing to conduct an harrow reading on events of this evening as part of my services. However, to address your more tangible concerns, it sounds as if most of your employees will be quite visible this evening. Security included. If someone is planning to do this business venture harm, you'll want someone who can mingle without raising your patrons' suspicions.
Tendal smiles and gives Liry a quick nod, hopefully letting her know that he put in a good word for her.
Tendal follows Saul back to the office, a small smile on his face.
"Well that went well." he says as he once again heads for the sideboard. He retrieves his wineglass and refills it then returns to take a seat in one of the chairs before the large desk.
"How do you see me assisting you tonight?"
"Silver is a fine thing for jingling in one's purse," Sarien says with an easy smile, "but for the gala I'd as soon be spending it as earning it. If things go well tonight, perhaps I'll check again. One night's work doesn't suit me quite as well as something a little more constant."
She shrugs. "Suit yourself. How about you, hon?" she turns back to Phillip. "I could probably talk the boss into slipping you a little extra, if you'd go along with the game. He's particularly wanting some halflings, but I haven't found any willing to ... play the part."
"By the by, 'Old Stumpy?' Has the employer another name that I might know him by? I'm new in town, you see."
She laughs, not unkindly. "Saul Vankaskerkin's the name he was born with, but for the last many years in Riddleport, he's been Old Stumpy. You'll see why when you see him."
Silent throughout most of the encounter, Dayn finally stands and reaches out to put a hand on Saul's shoulder to stop him "Hold on just a minute, I don't believe we're done negotiating just yet. Unless I missed it, you've not indicated exactly what it is you wish us to do as your so called 'Hellknights'. And, much more importantly, we haven't yet discussed how much you'll be paying us, and when."
As Daynadrian's hand falls on Saul's shoulder, Bojasc steps forward menacingly, his hands going to the axes at his belt, but Saul waves his hand reassuringly. "What the lad said. Security -- without looking like it and making people nervous. You're just another man in costume, unless there's trouble. As for money, Larur handles the business side of things; you can discuss all that with him. I'm the 'big picture' man." He grins at the elf before ducking out from under the hand on his shoulder and re-entering his office. Bojasc scowls at Daynadrian before shutting the door behind Tendal.
Glancing briefly at the Dandy Dayn smiles "Oh, and dressing up in some silly costume will cost extra."
"'Silly?!'" Liry repeats, getting up from the arm of the couch and twitching her devil's tail into Dayn's face as she moves back toward the hallway. "Well!"
Tendal smiles and gives Liry a quick nod, hopefully letting her know that he put in a good word for her.
She winks at Tendal before Bojasc shuts the office door.
Ignoring Larur's pessimism, Malkith addresses the dwarf, "I would be willing to conduct an harrow reading on events of this evening as part of my services. However, to address your more tangible concerns, it sounds as if most of your employees will be quite visible this evening. Security included. If someone is planning to do this business venture harm, you'll want someone who can mingle without raising your patrons' suspicions.
"Harrow reading?" the dwarf scoffs. "I don't hold with all that mumbo-jumbo. You work hard, and sometimes your work's rewarded, and sometimes your teeth get kicked in: That's the way the world works, and there's no foreseeing it." He hedges nervously. "There's something in what you say, though. Even with these two dressed up like fools, there'll be no secret they're working for the house, even if those who see them assume their blades are made of wood instead of steel. We could use a man to work the crowd, looking like a patron, who might overhear words that wouldn't be whispered near an employee, especially if Zincher thinks about sending a message to Orik through his father."
He turns to Daynadrian and Braddon. "The wage for a night in costume is seven silver. If there's trouble and you stop it ... well, then we might discuss your little profit-sharing venture. But first you prove that you can do more than stand around and look pretty in fancy dress." He taps Dayn's longbow slung over his shoulder. "Arrows are all very well in the forest, but you can't fire a bow in a crowded casino."
Tendal follows Saul back to the office, a small smile on his face.
"Well that went well." he says as he once again heads for the sideboard. He retrieves his wineglass and refills it then returns to take a seat in one of the chairs before the large desk.
"How do you see me assisting you tonight?"
"First off," Saul replies, seating himself behind the desk and pulling a fresh sheet of parchment out of a drawer, "we're going to get Orik's story straight so you can stand ready to corroborate it tonight." He pulls a quill, a squat bottle of ink, and a cup of fine sand for blotting into the center of the desk. "It's a fine line between heroic and unbelievable; people in Riddleport do know the boy, after all. But I think we can make him out as the plucky underdog who's made good despite the crushing odds." He grimaces, wiggling the fingers of his remaining hand before he takes up the pen, Orik's actual letter unfolded before him for reference. "It's been a while since I signed another man's name to a document," he confesses. "I'm not as 'handy' as I used to be." He waggles his key-stump wryly in the air. "All we need is a tale that gets him out of Riddleport safely without any help or foreknowledge by his dear old dad. So, lad," he addresses Tendal as he dips the quill in the ink and begins to write the replacement letter, "you mentioned something about arcane talent. You have wizard training?"
Tendal snorts at Saul's pun.
"Not nearly enough." Tendal says, a momentary frown crossing his face as he thinks back to the joys and challenges from his childhood, where Bartos, his tutor, had utilized his love of magic as both rod and reward to spur him to accept the education his father had proscribed.
"The Arcane is one of the few challenges that I have found to be worthwhile," Tendal continues after taking a sip of wine, "I began learning a long time ago, when I was rather young. My father was disinterested in my arcane training, rather, he was more interested in my skill with enterprise and accounting."
"I still have my book, as well as one of my old scrolls, and I still have the discipline, I just haven't had the opportunity to utilize my skills."
"There simply is not much call for magic in the salons of Magnimar, nor when sitting behind a desk working sums." As Tendal finishes, he proscribes a circle with his wineglass as if to indicate the similarity in surroundings with his previous office.
"Currently I will be able to detect the presence of magic, deliver a dose of water to a fire or a drunkard's head, deliver a painful jolt and remove a weapon from an assailant's hand or make an area so slippery as to be impassible. Essentially, while getting myself aquainted with the society of Riddleport, I can watch for magical cheating and assist the guards if required."
He turns to Daynadrian and Braddon. "The wage for a night in costume is seven silver. If there's trouble and you stop it ... well, then we might discuss your little profit-sharing venture. But first you prove that you can do more than stand around and look pretty in fancy dress."
"Seven silver!? If you're happy for me to act like all the other staff, I'll take the silver. If you want me to do security work as well, you'll pay me for security work. I've got my own weapons and armour, so I'll start at two gold. Plus extra based on what kind of trouble gets stopped."
"That was precisely what I had in mind, Herr Felden." Malkith agrees, "Normally I would require the fifteen silver for my services up front, but I am content to collect it in the morning. After all, if you don't have the coin to pay when the sun rises, I will obviously have failed to have earned your gratitude."
Sarien nods but pauses in his departure, his curiosity aroused. "What part does he want halflings to play?"
Sarien nods but pauses in his departure, his curiosity aroused. "What part does he want halflings to play?"
"Well, it's a night in Cheliax, isn't it?" the woman replies. "We've no shortage of people willing to wear horns and tails to play tieflings servants, but we haven't had any halfling applicants willing to play slave for the night. It's only play-acting," she assures Phillip quickly. "You get paid same as anyone, more even, and you'd be doing just what everyone else is: carrying trays and serving drinks."
Phillip smiles mirthlessly and replies "I think not my dear, tempting as it may be I would prefer to be taking the drinks rather than providing them" making it clear that the thought of gainful honest employ is not being sought.
"Oh, you'd be quite surprised, I'd wager, as to what I can do with a bow my friend." and, with a smirk, he points to his ears. "But as good as I am, I see your point, for even the best marksman can miss at times, and even one stray shot in a crowded room could be disastrous."
As he pauses for thought, he listens to the half-elf pitch in and nods along silently. Many of his kin back home were very non-partial to half-breeds, as they were called in scorn. But Daynandrian had never really seen things that way. The way he saw it, those born of both races were lucky in a way, for got to experience the best of both worlds. Except, now that he thought on it more, that wasn't exactly accurate. For not only were the 'both bloods' often not fully accepted by either race, they inherited the extremely short lifespans of the humans. 'But, ah well' Dayn thinks, mentally shrugging his shoulders 'It's not like everyone can be blessed enough to be born fully one of the People.'
Paying the issue no more mind, he nods again in agreement with the other potential guard's words, adding his own input "Yes indeed, my good man here has the right of it. Your bits of silver may be good enough for the common staff, but if you want guards of quality, who will risk their lives to protect your investment, you're going to have to pay for it. Two gold sounds about right to me as well. However" he holds up his hand to forestall any protest on the wheezy Dwarf's part "The card reader here has a point as well. I for one will be willing to accept my payment at the finish of tonight's event. With, of course, the understanding that, as you say, the issue of profit-sharing shall be discussed after we've proved our worth. And you and I both know that odds are we shall likely have to prove our worth indeed. There's going to be trouble tonight or I'm not an Elf."
Dilpomacy:
Saul spares a glance up and across the desk at Tendal as he continues forging the letter. "A man with a touch of magic in his fingers is a convenient thing to have around. In Riddleport, Elias Tammerhawk usually snatches them up for his Cypherlodge. I trust the more practical side of your education will keep you interested in the daily ins and outs of running a business rather than being the umpteenth in line trying to translate a rune in an ancient language no one's managed to crack since before Aroden kicked the bucket and that probably says 'Clearance 350 feet; watch your head?'"
Phillip smiles mirthlessly and replies "I think not my dear, tempting as it may be I would prefer to be taking the drinks rather than providing them" making it clear that the thought of gainful honest employ is not being sought.
"Suit yourself," the woman shrugs, displaying no further interest in the pair if they aren't looking for a job. She turns back into the room of applicants.
Tendal waggles his hand in dismissal.
"Not interesting. They can play with their fiddly-bits of historic nonsense, I am only interested in the here and now. If I had to say anything about my study, it would be that I enjoy the practical aspects of magic and exploration of its application towards commerce."
"For example, have you ever worked out the gross profit calculations for a 5% increase in average sailing speed for a merchant ship between Magnimar and Absalom? Its incredible. I know that there must be a way to accomplish that increase, but I don't have the knowledge base to create and implement the spells."
"That isn't important right now though. If you don't mind giving me some directions, I believe that I have some time to clean up and make myself presentable before this evening."
"Seven silver!? If you're happy for me to act like all the other staff, I'll take the silver. If you want me to do security work as well, you'll pay me for security work. I've got my own weapons and armour, so I'll start at two gold. Plus extra based on what kind of trouble gets stopped."
"That was precisely what I had in mind, Herr Felden." Malkith agrees, "Normally I would require the fifteen silver for my services up front, but I am content to collect it in the morning. After all, if you don't have the coin to pay when the sun rises, I will obviously have failed to have earned your gratitude."
"Yes indeed, my good man here has the right of it. Your bits of silver may be good enough for the common staff, but if you want guards of quality, who will risk their lives to protect your investment, you're going to have to pay for it. Two gold sounds about right to me as well. However" he holds up his hand to forestall any protest on the wheezy Dwarf's part "The card reader here has a point as well. I for one will be willing to accept my payment at the finish of tonight's event. With, of course, the understanding that, as you say, the issue of profit-sharing shall be discussed after we've proved our worth. And you and I both know that odds are we shall likely have to prove our worth indeed. There's going to be trouble tonight or I'm not an Elf."
"Two gold?!" Liry shoves her way into the knot around Larur. "I'm not getting two gold for the night, and my contract with Saul specifies that my wage is to be second to no one's. You give them two gold, you have to bump me up too, or Dungo and I walk."
The dwarf looks at the mercenary group clamoring around him furiously. "No one is getting two gold!" he insists, waving his hands for the emphasis his weakened voice can't deliver through volume. He glares at the newcomers. "Seven silver, guaranteed," he maintains, "plus food from the kitchen and a bed to sleep when the doors close. If there's trouble, those who step up to stop it can make their case for what they deserve at closing time. You impress me enough, we can talk about a salary and a steady position -- if we're still in business by sunrise. Salary," he repeats, turning to Liry, "which is what you get from the Overlord, not wages for a special appearance, so if they get anything from here on out, it doesn't affect your deal and is none of your concern."
"That isn't important right now though. If you don't mind giving me some directions, I believe that I have some time to clean up and make myself presentable before this evening."
"Directions?" Saul asks, as he finishes his letter with a flourish. "You headed somewhere in particular?" He spreads a handful of sand across the parchment and then carefully tips it back into the cup. "There," he remarks. "See how that looks." He passes the forged letter across the desk, along with the one in Orik's own hand for comparison.
Passing his eye over the authentic letter, Tendal can see that it is a relatively short and formal note serving as little more than an affidavit that Tendal is who he says it is; Saul's forged letter affects the same handwriting but expresses warmer emotions, apologizing to his father for distressing him by not sending word sooner that he was alive and well and describing sneaking out of Riddleport under cover of darkness and fleeing through the Varisian wilderness before finding a safe haven and eventual success. More importantly, however, Tendal compares the handwriting on the two documents and finds...
"I haven't had any experience with this....but it looks like a reasonable likeness to me. I am not certain that you should let just anyone read it...like that Lil person. For instance she might be able to smell a difference between them..."
"Seven silver, guaranteed," he maintains, "plus food from the kitchen and a bed to sleep when the doors close. If there's trouble, those who step up to stop it can make their case for what they deserve at closing time. You impress me enough, we can talk about a salary and a steady position...
"Food and board? Hmmm... Okay. You got me. Any special instructions for security, like look out for clients with tatoos of flaming skulls, search guests for concealed weapons or interrupt anyone who casts a spell? And where do I get my Hellknight costume from?"
"Good day to you then," Sarien says and turns back down the hall. He heads back to where he saw the costumes and peeks into the room.
There is a young man toward the back of the costume room, using the rod of hanging clothes for some degree of privacy as he changes, but he pays no mind to Sarien pausing in the doorway. The rods nearest the door are picked over; extra horns and tails dangle from one, and more have fallen on the floor and not been put away where they belong. The costumes as a whole look like they may have been purchased as a lot from a burlesque show; both men's and women's items are flashy and flesh-baring, and they tend toward the obvious tropes: devils, colorful Varisian scarves, anachronistic Taldan fashions.