Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

Braddon and Daynadrian start down the wharf, avoiding the piles of smashed furniture and glass piled at random intervals outside buildings. The Red Barnacle proves a disreputable-looking hulk, the painted letters identifying it peeling and flaking, its crew dirty and unshaven. The men bristle with weaponry, and if one were to envision the archetypal pirate ship, one might do worse than to picture the Barnacle.

Braddon makes his way over to the Red Barnacle and approaches a crewman who is watching him suspiciously.

Betta harrumphs noncommittally as she flips open a small book and jots some measurements with a charcoal. "That will be three gold. Up front." She fixes Phillip with a stern glance. "If you don't pick these up when they're done, I'll have very few options what to do with them. Not a lot of halfling women in town. I'll likely end up having to pass them on to her." She jabs her chin in Ethel's direction. "I trust my reputation is sufficient that you needn't have any qualms about my finishing the work to satisfaction."

Smiling as he retrieves one in gold and twenty in silver from his purse Phillip puts it in a small pile before pausing and adding a final silver to the side "Three gold, and a silver for your assistant's assistance. I have no qualms madam, and look forward to the finished product... might you give some guidance upon when expectation might be assuaged?"

Gristav wrote:

"Thank you."

She laughs. "Most men I know would not take being compared to a simple friar as a compliment." The brass dome of the Gold Goblin is glinting in the afternoon sun as they approach the casino.

"Most women I know, would not, on the way to his chamber, call a man a friar, and mean it as a complement. But it was not the friary that touched me, it was that you thought me a good person. I was not al-" Interrupting himself, Gristav called out, "Ahoy, Bosun Jaelle, ahead, the Gold Goblin!", gesturing with a lift of the crock of stew toward the casino.

"It's the grand doors you're worthy of, but the kitchens for which I've the key. So's not to offer any offense to a lady's station, would you stand by the front, while I open the doors from within, or would you come with me, through the kitchens?"

"The Harbour Master (I assume that was the guy in charge) said the Red Barnacle and the Pious Bride.

Malkith raises his eyebrow at Braddon's assumption, but otherwise remains silent. As his two companions depart from the alley, he waits several moments more before doing the same. As he passes the Harbormaster's office, he slows to give it a long gaze. The harrower contemplates making his own inquires and verifying Braddon's assumption. Deciding otherwise, he hurries along to trail after the other two.

Seeing his companions head towards the Red Barnacle, he decides to stroll down to the Flying Cloud. With a solemn call, he hails the dangling halfling.

"How fairs you vessel? he inquires, "It would not, perchance, be sailing soon, would it?"

"It's the grand doors you're worthy of, but the kitchens for which I've the key. So's not to offer any offense to a lady's station, would you stand by the front, while I open the doors from within, or would you come with me, through the kitchens?"

"The kitchens are grand enough for me," she assures him, "and the sooner I'll set my burden down." She follows him around the north wall of the building to the small porch at the back door where the firewood is stacked.

Setting the big crock on the woodpile to free his hands, Gristav fetches out the key, and opens the lock with an ill grace betraying a lack of practice. The door key he lets fall back into his shirt on its line around his neck, but another line and key ride in his left hand, gathered in the same fetch. These disappear into a pocket as he turns to take up the crock.

"The bread shelf for that", he says to Jaelle of the pie. "The flat of the bricks just back of the oven. It stands a slim chance of surviving, unseen, to be a desert, there. I'll put the crock in the oven...", he's saying as he passes through the door, catching it open with a foot for Jaelle.

"If we're quiet enough, we might get to introductions later.", Gristav adds with a smile and a look of intent. "Or if your thirst is greater than your hunger, there's a taproom off the casino floor..."

Ooh, are we splitting up? Three characters, three ships? Dayn will go inquire at the Pious Bride.

Braddon makes his way over to the Red Barnacle and approaches a crewman who is watching him suspiciously.

"Ahoy." The greeting is given quiet enough, without smile, and with a dour look that matches his target.
"I'm looking for a snobbish scribe about so tall who tries to look pretty but hasn't enough hair. He would've been by an hour or two ago. Possibly just after the swell. Would've looked at your fine ship, made a face, then moved on. Desperate to leave town, so he may have come back. If he did he would've flashed some cash and promised more. We're after him for a few debts and if he's already paid I can save you the cost of some excess baggage."
Braddon smiles humourlessly.

The sailor spits tobacco juice over the side of the boat into the harbor. "Don't sound familiar. This ain't no passenger cruise."

Seeing his companions head towards the Red Barnacle, he decides to stroll down to the Flying Cloud. With a solemn call, he hails the dangling halfling.

"How fairs you vessel? he inquires, "It would not, perchance, be sailing soon, would it?"

The halfling pauses in his task and peers over his shoulder curiously. "It's faring well enough," he answers, "but it's not my vessel. You'd have to ask the crew. Ahoy the Cloud!" he calls up to the deck. "You've a man asking when you sail!""

One of the sailors leans over the railing and looks down at Malkith appraisingly. "Don't know as our course is plotted yet. You'd have to speak to the captain. Mind if I ask what business it is of yours?" he queries politely enough, with a pleasant smile that cushions the blunt words.

The kitchen is empty when Jaelle and Gristav enter. She places the pie where instructed as he stows the stew.

"If we're quiet enough, we might get to introductions later.", Gristav adds with a smile and a look of intent. "Or if your thirst is greater than your hunger, there's a taproom off the casino floor..."

"I just had an ale at the tavern," she points out. "You don't have to get me drunk, remember? I've already said yes."

No one is in evidence as they cross the casino floor; anyone around the Gold Goblin this afternoon is upstairs or behind closed doors. As they cross the marble atrium, she pauses at the statue of Desna. "You claim not to be a friar," she says lightly, "and yet you live in her shrine." She opens a pouch at her belt and lays a copper coin in the idol's palm.

Smiling as he retrieves one in gold and twenty in silver from his purse Phillip puts it in a small pile before pausing and adding a final silver to the side "Three gold, and a silver for your assistant's assistance. I have no qualms madam, and look forward to the finished product... might you give some guidance upon when expectation might be assuaged?"

Betta glares at the final silver coin with ill grace, but as it was specified for Ethel in her own presence, she can find no pretense not to give it to her. "Two days," she replies, sliding the objectionable coin away from the remainder of the payment before picking it up. "Today is Wealday; you may pick up your garments at close of business on Fireday."

She retreats to the back of the store, presumably to put the coins in safe keeping. Ethel leans forward to pick up the remaining silver piece and, as she does so, murmurs under her breath, "Seeing a proper schoolmarm on the side, Phil?"

Ooh, are we splitting up? Three characters, three ships? Dayn will go inquire at the Pious Bride.

Braddon Hurst wrote:

Braddon makes his way over to the Red Barnacle and approaches a crewman who is watching him suspiciously.

The sailor spits tobacco juice over the side of the boat into the harbour. "Don't sound familiar. This ain't no passenger cruise."

"If he shows up, I'll share the bounty on him. Braddon Hunter. The Publican House."

The kitchen is empty when Jaelle and Gristav enter. She places the pie where instructed as he stows the stew.

Gristav wrote:

"If we're quiet enough, we might get to introductions later.", Gristav adds with a smile and a look of intent. "Or if your thirst is greater than your hunger, there's a taproom off the casino floor..."

"I just had an ale at the tavern," she points out. "You don't have to get me drunk, remember? I've already said yes."

"Point made. But that, is the first time you've said the word 'yes'. And for form, one must offer. A duty to house, and hospitality, made a pleasure, by your presence."

No one is in evidence as they cross the casino floor; anyone around the Gold Goblin this afternoon is upstairs or behind closed doors. As they cross the marble atrium, she pauses at the statue of Desna. "You claim not to be a friar," she says lightly, "and yet you live in her shrine." She opens a pouch at her belt and lays a copper coin in the idol's palm.

"Not yet, I don't.", Gristav says, observing the copper offering. "Dear Lady", Gristav addresses the sense beyond the statue, "The kiss to Your favor has founded us as friends. Thank You."

Gristav stands a step closer to the rooms, but silently allows Jaelle a moment for any further devotion she might make. When she turns, he smiles at her, and takes her to his room.

She retreats to the back of the store, presumably to put the coins in safe keeping. Ethel leans forward to pick up the remaining silver piece and, as she does so, murmurs under her breath, "Seeing a proper schoolmarm on the side, Phil?"

When Ethel leans close Phil taps his nose and winks "No.. but I'll explain later" before raising his voice to Betta "Done, at close of business in two days." draining the last of his tea in a single draught and rising to depart "My thanks to you both, but unless there is other cause for me to stay I shall be off."

"I'm seeking passage out of Riddleport. Sooner rather than later," Malkith replies politely, "and the recent change in the tide has left a traveler's options rather limited." He smiles up at the sailor. "I'll speak with your captain about the details if he's interested in my coin."

"I'll speak with your captain about the details if he's interested in my coin."

The sailor shrugs and looks over his shoulder. "All right, wait here a moment, and I'll go ask the captain." He disappears from the railing.

While Malkith is still waiting, Braddon appears, walking up the wharf toward the Flying Cloud.

"Dear Lady", Gristav addresses the sense beyond the statue, "The kiss to Your favor has founded us as friends. Thank You."

"They say she looks after fools and children," she smiles as she continues down the corridor with Gristav, "and Dawkins thinks you're an albatross. You could be her herald unaware."

"Done, at close of business in two days." draining the last of his tea in a single draught and rising to depart "My thanks to you both, but unless there is other cause for me to stay I shall be off."

Betta comes back across the room to hand him a scrip. "Acknowledgement that you have paid in full and when I have said the work will be done," she says with dignity. "And yes, I would thank you to depart if our business is concluded to your satisfaction. I mean no personal affront, but the very presence of a man in a ladies' establishment can lead to salacious rumor and gossip. A woman's reputation is more to be prized than gold, sir, I'm sure you will agree, and all the more so when she is dependent on the custom of decent folk."

The dog, apparently sensing that the interloper's welcome is drawing to a close, raises its head eagerly and gives a hopeful growl.

Not seeking to close the encounter with any physical contact Phil settles for a more formal bow to firstly Betta, and then to Ethel "Of course... till next we meet." and he maneuvers his way outside of the shop, though once out of eye-shot he walks slowly and with an aim to at least attempt to overhear any conversation that is had behind his back...
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

Regardless he retreats to a safe monitoring distance, and awaits the end of the workday proper and the release of Ethel from her drudgery.

While Malkith is still waiting, Braddon appears, walking up the wharf toward the Flying Cloud.

Braddon sidles up to Malkith and shakes his head.

Gristav wrote:

"Dear Lady", Gristav addresses the sense beyond the statue, "The kiss to Your favor has founded us as friends. Thank You."

"They say she looks after fools and children," she smiles as she continues down the corridor with Gristav, "and Dawkins thinks you're an albatross. You could be her herald unaware."

"Or you, Her avatar undiscovered.", Gristav agrees, turning the key in the lock, and opening the door with a welcoming extended-arm gesture that left him half in the doorframe. "I'll be sure to call out any butterfly birthmarks...", he purrs as she passes, following her into the room.

As Braddon comes up to him, Malkith glances up and down the pier nervously, as if expecting to see the scribe watching him from a distance. "Why don't you check out the last ship. Even if we don't find Weatherby, do we still want to try and catch up to him at the Cove? I can try and see what sort of fee I can negotiate with the captain here."

A lithe and moustachioed man, his dark hair tied back beneath a headscarf, appears at the railing, glances over, and then casually swings himself down to the pier on a rope. "Captain Josper Creesy of the Flying Cloud," he introduces himself, looking from one to the other inquiringly. "Dawkins said there was a Varisian asking about fare; I assume my business is with you?" he asks Malkith.

As Phil exits the shop, Betta does indeed turn toward Ethel with a frown and say something in a low voice, but his efforts to eavesdrop are foiled by the continuous low growl with which the dog is accompanying his progress toward the door. Whatever it was the human woman said, Ethel protests in a tone loud enough to be overheard, "But why not? You did."

A surreptitious glance over Phillip's shoulder reveals that Betta's frown deepens at Ethel's reply. Apparently fearing that the halfling's outburst might have drawn attention, she turns her gaze on the departing customer, obviously determined not to say anything more until the door has closed behind him. Both the proprietress and her dog wishing him gone, Phil has no choice but to exit, as if whatever might pass between the seamstress and her employee are of no interest to him. He strolls away casually, as if headed for Leeward Common, before doubling back around another building and taking up the same shaded position where he waited for Ethel yesterday evening.

As Braddon comes up to him, Malkith glances up and down the pier nervously, as if expecting to see the scribe watching him from a distance. "Why don't you check out the last ship. Even if we don't find Weatherby, do we still want to try and catch up to him at the Cove? I can try and see what sort of fee I can negotiate with the captain here."

"Done." Braddon taps his nose and continues on to 'help' Daynadrian.

"It is," Malkith nods, "I'm looking for transportation to Rodric's Cover and the Harbor Master said your vessel makes the trip regularly. Passage would be for myself and two others."

Phil winces internally when he hears the aspect of argument playing out within. I hope that my presence was not too provocative... before resolving himself to weather Ethel's storm. Idly watching the passersby pass by he waits until he is reunited with his inamorata.

There are some immutable laws, in a magical universe. Signatures without, reflect Powers within. The Part is the Whole. Perfection is Eternal. And an unplanned guest will cause a bachelor to lament his lodgings.

Alright, it wasn't a Principle. But it felt like one, at the moment.

Jaelle enters the room, looking around appraisingly. It takes you little effort to imagine seeing the room for the first time, given how little time you've spent in it yourself: a narrow bed with a fur coverlet, far too warm for the summer nights, a chest for storage, a chair near the door, a fireplace, a skin rug of some sort of exotic animal on the floor, perhaps a large cat. The high window on the northern wall filters in some sunlight; an oil lamp in a wall sconce could brighten the room further, if desired.

"I've been in this room once, before, all of three minutes, perhaps, and I thought it... suitable. But now, considering you, in it, the room, I mean", he lowered his voice for the apologetic parenthetical, but adjusted his distance to more than compensate. "...the bed seems narrow. The warm fur, now too warm. I remember thinking of the chair as upholstered, but again, with you as a contrast..." He had laid his hands on her again, where they'd once been, above her hips, and now he smiled. "...it's all so shabby." He held her eye, and his smile, but his brow worked as wheels of wile whirled within. "I'm afraid I'll have to deny you my bed.", he said, reluctantly releasing her.

It wasn't even a step of distance to the offending fur, and at once he had it off the bed, its weight a challenge for a single extended arm, but he found a certain grace possible, gathering the piece under the arm, or mostly so. His other arm drove the chair back to the corner of the room, where the furnishing felt the force of the flung fur. "This might be worthy of you.", he said, shouldering the foot of the bed up off the floor, and tugging the spotted fur out. It was, as he had guessed, not nailed down, but the bedpost closest the window still trapped one end, so the pelt only turned, mostly, out from under the bed. It would do. "I hope this will suit you.", he smiled at her. "When it's ready."

In another minute he had the forager's fur on the floor, doubled under the predator's pelt; a primitive's sort of luxury. "Broad enough... soft enough?", he asked her, stepping closer. "Modern, by no measure.", he allowed, embracing her. "But what we intend, is ancient."

"I'm looking for transportation to Rodric's Cover and the Harbor Master said your vessel makes the trip regularly. Passage would be for myself and two others."

"Master Depuy?" he cocks an eyebrow. "I must say, that's not how most custom finds us. I assumed... Well, never mind," he shakes his head, as if dismissing a line of thought. "He's right; we often make the run, testing our speed. But the Cloud's not a passenger ship. Three men more aboard will make it cramped. Couldn't offer you more than a hammock and the opportunity to stay out from under our feet. Could take the three of you for 4 gold."

Leaving Malkith to negotiate with the captain of the Cloud, Braddon continues down the wharf toward the Pious Bride, but as he is walking, he spies Daynadrian coming back to meet him. "Neniu sur la Bride rekonis la skribisto," he informs him. "Eble li ne preni ŝipon ajn. Ĉu vi opinias, ke li povus vojaĝi por lando?"

Phillip sits on an unobtrusive stoop and gazes up toward the Cyphergate, trying to gauge the time until close of business. There still seems to be a cloud in the distance beyond the harbor, grown a bit larger and darker. He is idly surprised that it hasn't drifted beyond view by now; must be blowing directly toward Riddleport. He is distracted from his musings, however, by the approach of a stranger: a male halfling with a round, rosy face and a shock of golden hair. He is wearing unusually fine clothes for this rather shabby and run-down area of town, and he glances at a scrap of paper in his hand as he looks around at the buildings, as if trying to find a particular address. He examines the paper one last time, nods, and then stuffs it into his jacket. Finding a shady staircase, he frowns at the splintering wooden steps, removes a silk handkerchief, and spreads it out fastidiously over the bottom stair before sitting down. He does not appear to have noticed Phil's presence at all.

The sight of the cloud brings memories of bottle-green and a cloudy mind to the fore, and Phillip frowns before spotting the golden haired halfling. Considering the man for a short while, Phillip shrugs before running a hand through his hair and smoothing his mustache. Hand goes to coat and retrieves his hip-flask, last seen or filled with cheapish rum when he sailed from Magnimar to Riddleport. Unstoppering the same he takes a quick slug before wiping the mouth of the flask on his sleeve and using his prop as means of entering into conversation.

Walking up to the other halfling Phillip raises the flask in greeting "Afternoon sir, care for a snifter?" proferring the flask freely for a few moments to ken if the man will take or refuse. Phillip clothes himself in relative innocence and is careful to approach from the open street and not give the man cause for any alarm.

Braddon frowns.
"Ĉu tio eblas? Kiel longe estus ĝin preni? Ni povus iri per ŝipo kaj batis. Kaj tiam mi povis venki lin."
He sighs and shakes his head before turning back towards the Flying Cloud.
"Ni reiri al Malkith. Eble li ricevos bonŝanca."

Malkith offers the Captain an agreeable nod, "Five coin if you let me know of anyone else asking for transport. How soon before you're ready to make sail?" He seals their arrangement with a handshake and then sets off after Braddon and Daynadrian.

Captain Creesy informs Malkith that he plans to sail with the morning tide. "You'll need to be aboard before the sun rises," he cautions, "as we'll be casting off at dawn."

Taking his leave from the captain, Malkith heads down the wharves in the direction of the Pious Bride but soon meets Braddon and Daynadrian coming back. "No one seems to have seen our scribe friend," Dayn informs him when they meet. "What if he's not going by sea but by land?"

"That's a possibility," Malkith agrees, "Magic could also be another option, or he's in disguise, or people simply aren't talking to us. We have until first light to figure out what he's up to. That's when the Flying Cloud sets sail. I can try some divinations to figure out his method of transportation, but we still may not have time to catchup with him; especially if he left after dropping off his -" The Varisian stops in mid-sentence. He gives Braddon an inquisitive look as he attempts to put the pieces of some unseen puzzle together.

"Braddon, you said you thought it was the Harbor Master that gave you the names of these ships? Do you even know what he looks like? Would you be able to identify the man you did talk to?" Without waiting for a reply, he takes off in the direction of the Harbor Master's office.

Braddon looks confused and jogs a few steps to catch up to the harrower. He winces as he puts some extra weight on his sore hip and shifts his scabbard to rest lower.

"Of course I could identify him," Braddon responds sharply. "He was some big guy ordering two thugs to put his table back in place. It could have been Cleg Zincher for all I know. I've only been here a few days. Me and Dayn didn't exactly introduce ourselves and stick around while stealing that letter."

Dayn follows, glancing nervously around at the decks and windows as they pass. "Should we not be looking like we're with him still?" he asks. "Or have we given up on that bit of subterfuge?"

Malkith arrives back at the squat brownstone tower that serves as the harbormaster's office. The younger thug who laughed at Braddon's joke is blocking the doorway, using a shovel to try to scrape the mud off the floor and outside.

Dayn follows, glancing nervously around at the decks and windows as they pass. "Should we not be looking like we're with him still?" he asks. "Or have we given up on that bit of subterfuge?"

Braddon stops to let Malkith get ahead and looks around to see if anyone is paying them any undue attention.

Daynadrian grins. "In fairness, we had no clue who she was when we met her in the Publican House. Saul said Roderic's Cove was sixty miles east of here. Depending on the state of the roads, I'd guess it would take at least two full days of travel; maybe one and a half, if he's on horseback. Do you think he has a horse? Or hired one? Didn't you hire a carriage to take Mescher's daughter home the other day? Did the livery stable hire out horses as well?"

Walking up to the other halfling Phillip raises the flask in greeting "Afternoon sir, care for a snifter?" proffering the flask freely for a few moments to ken if the man will take or refuse. Phillip clothes himself in relative innocence and is careful to approach from the open street and not give the man cause for any alarm.

"Thank you, no, sir," the halfling answers politely. "Let it never be said I was the slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?" He chuckles quietly.

Daynadrian grins. "In fairness, we had no clue who she was when we met her in the Publican House. Saul said Roderic's Cove was sixty miles east of here. Depending on the state of the roads, I'd guess it would take at least two full days of travel; maybe one and a half, if he's on horseback. Do you think he has a horse? Or hired one? Didn't you hire a carriage to take Mescher's daughter home the other day? Did the livery stable hire out horses as well?"

Braddon pouts. "I'm still tired of not getting anywhere. At least with a sixty mile journey it'll feel like we're achieving something. I just asked for a carriage and driver. Would they hire horses? Or would you have to buy one?"

"Lil is our real target. We should be going after her. She doesn't know to run away yet, thanks to you." Braddon smiles grimly.

"Aye," Daynadrian nods, "the direction on the message ought to lead us right to her ... if we only knew where or what 'Teeth of Araska' is. Someone here has to know, if the letter was going to be delivered, right?"

"Thank you, no, sir," the halfling answers politely. "Let it never be said I was the slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?" He chuckles quietly.

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

Phillip smiles and chuckles, though in a stilted way that suggests perhaps that the joke's nuance was lost upon him. Putting his flask back away and out of sight he asks "Hope ye don't mind me sharing the stoop? I'm waiting for my lady friend to finish work so I've a span of time to spend and it always seems to go quicker-like if there's words to fill it with." wiping his hand on his tunic before offering it outward for greeting "Name's Phil" an open and honest smile upon his friendly face.

"Oh, aye?" he asks, looking Phil up and down with more interest as he shakes the proffered hand. "New in town, are you? Don't believe I've seen you before. They call me Pip."

Shrugging non-committally "New enough without being wide-eyed and vacant. I've a lady to see, a roof to sleep under and a master paying coin for my service... so you could say that I'm well entrenched also." smirking a little before pausing a moment and continuing "How about yourself Pip, do your roots run deep into the city's bedrock?"

"Aye," Daynadrian nods, "the direction on the message ought to lead us right to her ... if we only knew where or what 'Teeth of Araska' is. Someone here has to know, if the letter was going to be delivered, right?"

"Yeah. We should be asking about the teeth." Braddon looks across to the Flying Cloud nearby.

"Ahoy. Looking for Teeth of Araska. Who can help?"