"Teeth of what?'" the sailor answers. "Is that some kind of shark?"
"It's a ship," the halfling with the bucket of pitch puts in, turning to look down over his shoulder at Braddon. "A pirate ship. What do you want with it?"
There is, however, a butterfly tattoo, small and indigo, on her left shoulder blade. "A shame it's not winter," she muses, gazing into the empty fireplace. "A roaring fire was really all we were missing." She rolls over atop the pallet of furs and smiles at you, the coins on her necklace jingling.
"How about yourself Pip, do your roots run deep into the city's bedrock?"
He smiles wryly. "You'll find most roots here are shallow. No family names that go back generations. Most people wash into Riddleport from somewhere else, and most will wash back out again. Lots of men die here, but few are born here; and most of those born here will seek their fortune elsewhere. It's not a place people settle down in or hope to retire to." He smirks. "I wasn't born here and hope not to die here, but it's a decent enough place to earn some coin in between."
"It's a ship," the halfling with the bucket of pitch puts in, turning to look down over his shoulder at Braddon. "A pirate ship. What do you want with it?"
"A ship? Where is it? Where was it? Where's it going? Who's the captain?"
Winking Phil pats the top of his head "Doesn't need to go too far to seem deep to a man of my stature." intrigued by the mention of coin, but not willing to barge straight at the topic, he circumvents "Weird goings on down by the water today though... 'vanes turning without wind before the waters rose. Did you see it happen or were you spared the excitement?"
"A ship? Where is it? Where was it? Where's it going? Who's the captain?"
The halfling answers the last question first. "Man by the name of Treeg. As to where you might find her, if she's not in harbor she's most likely trawling the Bay for ships not flying the Overlord's colors."
--------------------------------------
"Weird goings on down by the water today though... 'vanes turning without wind before the waters rose. Did you see it happen or were you spared the excitement?"
Pip shakes his head. "Heard rumors to the effect. Suppose it was some experiment gone wrong up at the Cypherlodge."
"Not the way I heard it, met a messenger who came by the warehouse I was mucking out said that the folk up there were just as confused as the rest of us."
Despite an exhaustive and painstaking search, there are no butterfly birthmarks.
There is, however, a butterfly tattoo, small and indigo, on her left shoulder blade. "A shame it's not winter," she muses, gazing into the empty fireplace. "A roaring fire was really all we were missing." She rolls over atop the pallet of furs and smiles at you, the coins on her necklace jingling.
"Today, we would have regretted a fire. Tho' I would have braved one, for your company. Yet, seasons turn, and people return..." A fae look she might have begun to recognize crosses his face, and he smiles, saying,
"If ember glows
when winter blows,
or autumn chills belabor,
Pray thee, return,
that I might earn
again
flames of your favor."
"Or... you know... sooner. That'd be good, too.", he stammered, chucking at his stumble. Stroking a storm of curls away from her face, and back over her rounded ear, he traced that curve with a fingertip, his other fingers seeming accidentally to brush lightly at her hairline. He enjoyed touching her, and continued tracing no curve in particular. Neither could see it, but both knew, when his touch found the tattoo.
"I'm happy to have found the butterfly.", he told her. "And happy to have kept searching." His eyes shone, and watched hers. "May I make a ... sappy request? It's almost embarassing... If you have time. May I hold you, and sleep?"
"A ship? Where is it? Where was it? Where's it going? Who's the captain?"The halfling answers the last question first. "Man by the name of Treeg. As to where you might find her, if she's not in harbor she's most likely trawling the Bay for ships not flying the Overlord's colors."
"Many thanks to you, mate. Your name and I owe you a drink or three? I'm Braddon. You can collect at the Publican House."
Braddon makes his way after Daynadrian and Malkith, eager to share his new information.
"No need for thanks," he responds, turning back to his task. "Costs me nothing to answer a question. But if I see you in the Publican, I'd be pleased to raise a mug with you."
Braddon rejoins Daynadrian where he is keeping a deniable distance from Malkith at the harbormaster's tower.
"Not the way I heard it, met a messenger who came by the warehouse I was mucking out said that the folk up there were just as confused as the rest of us."
"Huh," Pip remarks with mild interest. "Or else the apprentice who let things get out of control hasn't 'fessed up yet," he suggests with a grin. "Afraid Tammerhawk will turn him into a pebble and throw him into the sea."
Chuckling "Fair point... if it were me I know I'd find a rock to hide under a while." before standing silent for a span of seconds to see if Pip would force discussion or let the silence sit comfortably.
She shrugs, a wriggly proposition while lying prone on a pile of animal skins. "If you like," she accedes, "but I have to be back aboard before sunset."
Gristav sighs. "You're wiser than I. Duty, yes. Of course.", he said, but he drew her closer, and kissed her. rather than rising. "I take it, I'm forgiven? For the first kiss, or the second, or third? I won't apologise for the hundreth; somewhere, in there, you began... requesting them." He gave her a warming smile.
"Shall we rise, then? Magic ourselves presentable and make introductions, hawk a stew and a pie? Perhaps you might teach a dance, if you were willing. She may not need more than... confidence. Or would you rather not be known to have been here, or... with me? These... can be your decisions. Though Luck has some say. For my part, if you must leave, and I knew you must, I would have you leave happy. And if I'm not to be a secret, I'd walk you to your ship."
"Your mates...? Aye," she nods, "leave it to Desna. If we meet them, I'll not start spinning tales. Unless.... They've no reason to go blathering down on the Wharf? Sailors gossip like housewives, with little else to do to pass the time at sea."
Pip makes no immediate effort to fill the silence, squinting up at the Cyphergate in the way Phillip has noticed the locals have of judging the time of day. "Well, Phil," he says decidedly, standing up and whisking his handkerchief up off the stoop after him, "a pleasure to meet you, but I had better be on my way before the stores close. Wish you joy of your lady this evening." He offers his hand to the other halfling in farewell.
Phil's eyes narrow slightly as he looks at the daintily retrieved handkerchief and the fact that the man seems to have just sat and watched for the span of time that Phil was aware of. At any rate, further inquiry would be untoward for the role that Phillip had adopted at the moment - so he let Pip depart with a simple shake of the hand and added words "Aye, thanks - and luck to yourself as well... in chasing the coin your after"
Phillip then tips his imaginary hat and settles back into his lean... watching Pip depart with a waning interests his eyes flicker back towards Betta's Interment Camp for wayward halfling ladies.
"Not back to the Cloud," she refuses him gently. "I left with a lubber and an old man to run an errand. If I come back with the lubber alone so much later... well, either the captain will have to hunt you down and trade blows, or I'll start to look not like the captain's woman."
Gristav's brow furrows in thought, but he doesn't interrupt Jaelle.
"Your mates...? Aye," she nods, "leave it to Desna. If we meet them, I'll not start spinning tales. Unless.... They've no reason to go blathering down on the Wharf? Sailors gossip like housewives, with little else to do to pass the time at sea."
"Some of them? Would carry it to their grave, if they knew it important to me, or just from simple, ornery habit. Some might lament of it to others, as an affront against decency, or against heart-warming words I had made to them, and... have some chance of making again. And those, are the most moral of them. The rest range from smoking the secret with their cheroots to squirrelling the secret away like a nut, to be nibbled. Hoarded, like a coin. But not a miser's coin, a theive's coin, to be turned at first chance and fractional value, before that value had cooled. That one, is smart enough to find the wharf, if he thought greater value there. The rest... only in a moment of malice. And I do not see malice, in any of them. But... I am a fool.", he said, smiling at the last.
"I'd wanted words with your captain, in any case. And a ruse of ill will between he and I might serve both our purposes, even the greater good. But, his woman, in my arms, bed, or hand? Casts you as some part of faithless, and unfairly so. Even less fairly, if, as I guess, you thought me a lubber abusing your Lady's name as a warrant for kissing pretty girls." At this, he smiled, and kissed her, as though to summon Luck. "You were, I think, as much Her guardian as Padraig's, or the Cloud's, or mine. Which is both, well, and as well, for I think the secret is, like your offered coin, truly, in Desna's hand." He smiled at her, and his eyes flashed fae again. "And... looking up."
As Malkith comes into view of the Harbor Master's office, he glances back to see Braddon and Daynadrian no longer in sight. He starts to curse them then mutters a curse to himself for forgetting the plan to stay disassociated. The Varisian approaches the man shoveling outside.
"Pardon me, but is the Harbor Master in at the moment?"
The man barely looks up from his bootless scraping. "Aye," he jerks his head toward the interior of the tower. "Mind the mud."
Inside the office, a man whose grizzled hair and lined face testify to an age his muscular physique has yet to succumb to, is sorting through the contents of the desk drawers. He pulls out a sopping pouch of what looks to have been chewing tobacco before it was marinated in muddy saltwater, sniffs at it, and drops the mess on the surface of the desk with a grimace of disgust. "Well, what is it?" he asks brusquely as Malkith enters.
She rolls out of your embrace and begins to collect her discarded clothing from where it is scattered across the floor and furnishings.
Phil idles the time humming to himself as he waits for Ethel.
"What's the quickest route to Rodic's Cove?" the Varisian inquires as he ignores the man's tone.
He had less to gather, by way of cast-off clothes, and less detail of its refitting, than Jaelle. And yet, he seemed to keep a pace with her, almost as if he were paying careful attention. A practiced cantrip and cursorial casting cleansed his cell, his self and clothes, and Jaelle's, if she wished (though that seemed to take longer, somehow).
"What's the quickest route to Rodic's Cove?" the Varisian inquires as he ignores the man's tone.
"Ain't but one route if you're going by sea," the man responds. "Tack down the coast to the east. Don't know if you'd call it quick, but if you leave at sunset, you'll arrive before the sun sets again." He eyes Malkith's olive skin and traditional dress. "Quicker than a caravan'll get you there by at least a day."
Malkith nods in understanding. "Any vessel you'd recommend for making the trip?" He thanks the man for his time and heads for the door. As he puts his hand on the handle, he freezes. After the span of a single breath, he releases the door and turns to address the man again, "I spied a man pay a visit here the other day with a letter. If I were to want to send a similar missive, would you be the individual to get that delivered for me?"
"Any vessel you'd recommend for making the trip?"
The man pauses in his inventory and gives Malkith a sharp look. "Just had a half-elf ask me the same question not an hour ago. I'll tell you what I told him. The Red Barnacle and the Pious Bride are heading that way and will sell you fare. The Flying Cloud makes the run regular, but I don't know when they're leaving; and they ain't a passenger ship, do more business in cargo. Still, if the price is right, word is the Cloud is the fastest bark in the Gulf."
"I spied a man pay a visit here the other day with a letter. If I were to want to send a similar missive, would you be the individual to get that delivered for me?"
"Depends on where it's going. Roderic's Cove, now, I'd tell you to hire a horseman. Somewhere farflung, like Cheliax or Kalsgard, I can see it's transported on the right ship leaving the harbor. Or if you're looking to contact a sailor, I can hold the message until their ship comes in."
"Are you leaving promptly, then? Are we trying for stealth?" he asked as he rose, "Or leaving the matter to luck, with or without capitalization? Perhaps, if you've time to teach dance, it is I who go ahead? Or did you prefer to warn and discuss, before my arrival? I would take no offense, there; it's reasonable."
"It's better I get back to the Cloud afore you. I leave with you; you come back alone? The lads can be protective," she smiles fondly. "As to dancing...," the butterfly disappears once again beneath her blouse, and she turns to look at him soberly. "If I did have the time, would you rather I spend it here with you or teaching this girl to dance?"
"It's better I get back to the Cloud afore you. I leave with you; you come back alone? The lads can be protective," she smiles fondly.
Gristav smiles and nods at this, imagining seeming the fool, accosted by them for her safety, and smiling at them for their concern...
"As to dancing...," the butterfly disappears once again beneath her blouse, and she turns to look at him soberly. "If I did have the time, would you rather I spend it here with you or teaching this girl to dance?"
"I would rather, there be more reason for your return. I don't flatter myself that I, a single friend, might draw more strongly than two friends.", he reasons, stepping slowly to her. "Although hopefully, more closely?", he asked as rhetoric, drawing her close in her unbound blouse, her hair still free, flowing over her shoulders and his pressing hand. "You're so beautiful", he said, tracing his free hand from her brow to her ear to her jaw. He wanted to kiss her; he was about to kiss her. But he only sighed, and his embrace waned in its ardence.
"But you're also brave, decent, kind, clever... A man, this one, can see further than today, and now, and the night that we cannot have." His eyes flashed at her, and he grinned. "It's a cold-blooded warm-heartedness, a calculating charity. If others are your friends, as well, I may not see more of you, but I'm more likely, to see you again. Even that prettiest man in Riddleport, I would introduce. Because you're too grand a person, to try to keep, just as a woman."
Oh, but there was a grand thought. He nearly kissed her again.
Phillip whiles away the remainder of the tedious afternoon, his attention divided between the curious behavior of the other halfling and the small blot in the sky past the Cyphergate, the sight of which calls to mind bottle-green robes and the gnawing displeasure of knowing his will was tampered with.
The sun seems to move at a snail's pace for Phil, caught as he is between a puzzle and a grievance, but eventually the door to the dress shop opens, he faintly hears the yap of Malthus, and Ethel slips out into the street. She looks around for him, smiles happily when he catches her eye, and skips across the road to the stoop where he waits.
A smile... that's a good enough sign for starters. Phillip smiles as Ethel comes over, extending his hand to take hers to deliver a chaste kiss upon the top of the hand before pulling her into a close embrace. A wink, a peck on the cheek and feet put to placing distance between them and Betta and Phillip ventures "How does milady fare? One hopes that your afternoon was intriguing?" a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks.
"Tonight I have a mind to gamble... and would hope that it would not be an impost upon you to accompany me?"
"That's good to know," Malkith thanks the man and departs. Back out on the streets, a plan starts to form in his mind. He starts looking around for his two elf-blooded companions. Realizing he lost sight of them between the piers and the Harbor Master, he starts back in that direction.
Braddon heads towards Malkith when he sees him coming. "It's a ship. The Teeth of Araska is a pirate ship and Treeg is her captain. None of the ships seem to be taking the scribe to Roderic's cove. What if he's at his house, packing? We should see if we can track him home. Some of the other shopkeeps may know where that is. And we could check those boxes in the secret passage, now that he's emptied the important stuff. Have you got any ideas?"
Malkith shakes his head, "If he's not traveling by the sea, then he's probably heading to the Cove by land. According to the Harbor Master, it takes longer, but if Herr Weatherby has to wait for this Treeg to arrive in port and receive his letter, then he can afford the extra day or two of travel time - especially if it means getting out of town faster than the boats after that swale." Malkith steers the trio in land, heading in the direction of the scribe's office.
Beginning to get a bit footweary from their repeated traipses across the eastern side of Riddleport, Braddon, Daynadrian, and Malkith retrace their steps yet again past the Gold Goblin and up into the respectable Leeward neighborhood where the scribe's office and Lil's secret flat are situated. The day has worn on to late afternoon, and foot traffic has begun to pick up as closing time approaches.
A familiar red head is soon spied; Samaritha is seated in a wooden chair outside a small storefront purveying mugs of broth, a lidded mug and a book on a crate serving as a makeshift table in front of her. She glances up as they approach and quickly closes the book, tucking it away into her pack as she rises to greet them. "Did you find him?" she asks. "I haven't seen anyone going in or out. A few people went to the door, read the notice, and went away again. I assumed they were just clients of his."
"How does milady fare? One hopes that your afternoon was intriguing?" a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks.
"Oh, Phil," she laughs, "when you walked in there, I thought I was seeing things. To think of Betta making a dress for me and not knowing it! And that silk ... oh! it's so elegant!" She has no objections to his plans for the evening. "Shall we go by the flat so I can change first?" she asks, glancing disdainfully down at her modest workday attire with its long sleeves and buttoned-up collar.
She flushes again at his compliment; he can feel the heat beneath her skin as well as see it, as his hand traces her face. "Aye, you warned me you were a charmer," she smirks. "Riddleport's our home port, for now at least. You'll see the Cloud again."
"The Cloud in the harbor, yes. That... will be pleasant. But it's the stars in your eyes, that I want again. The thunder's rumble in your voice, when you can't quite manage words. Chasing tha-", he stopped, for she'd met his eyes with her own. So. Very. Green. The laces of her top, she held in her hands, held before her. Her idle hands.
"I'll stop.", he said, with a touch of regret. "I'll stop saying such things. For now." He grinned at her. "But I won't stop thinking them."
She finishes dressing and, having tugged on her well-worn boots once more and buckled her weapon back at her hip, sighs, "Well, let's see which of your motley crew we might meet on our way out of here."
"Mmm. Since we weren't seen coming in, we might have just arrived. The stew's our stalking goat; if undisturbed, it's undetected. The converse of the pie."
Gristav scans the hallway through his part-opened door, before stepping out and holding the door open, as he had done when they arrived. Allowing Jaelle proceed before him, he gave a subtle silent nod to the decorative Desna.
"Were you?", he asked, as if she might have been in his mind to know what he meant. "Were you prepared to avenge Her? Or the insincere use of Her Name? Is that your understanding of Her?"
...
Checking the stew and pie first, Gristav says to Jaelle, "They can remain where they are. Let us go on a round of the house, seeing who might be present, to receive us."
Nodding an affirmation and guiding steps so as to more easily achieve it Phillip speaks as they walk "Aye, to the flat it is. And she's making two dresses is she not? - do not tell me that you do not also look forward to the stifling roughness and restriction of the darkened grey?" chuckling a little before changing the subject.
Phillip fills Ethel in on the events of the day - speaking honestly about the vanes and rising sea, but leaving out the parts where his mind was dominated and he exchanged heated words with Gristav and Cas. In time the talk turns to the evening "Tonight we make not for the Watercress... but for the Dragon's Hoard and the House of Nabin... or at least that is the plan if admittance can be gained... though perhaps a little green may be of assistance there" sleighting the peridot gemstone earlier found out and into Ethel's hand.
Malkith shakes his head. "We have passage to Rodic's Cove at first light, but it doesn't seem that Herr Weatherby is traveling by sea. I'm assuming he's already on the road there."
Braddon looks at Samaritha's pack, then back to the storefront and frowns.
He doesn't say anything until Malkith speaks, then he adds helpfully, "The Teeth of Araska is a pirate ship and Treeg is her captain. Lil could be just out in the bay. But if we can find the scribe's house, he may not be leaving until tomorrow."
Braddon turns back to Malkith. "Did you guys see his home address among all that writing last night? How about you and Sam see if you can find something and I'll ask the neighbouring businesses for his home address?"
Seeing Malkith's dubious look Braddon adds helpfully, "I promise not to break anyone."
Daynadrian sighs. "Look for an extra set of keys while you're in there," he advises Malkith and Samaritha. "Eventually, someone's going to notice me in the alley with lockpicks."
"Were you?", he asked, as if she might have been in his mind to know what he meant. "Were you prepared to avenge Her? Or the insincere use of Her Name? Is that your understanding of Her?"
"Does she need me to avenge her?" she smiles. "If you make a habit of invoking her to seduce women, you'll eventually meet one happy to rob you in the aftermath. Or one who has a jealous and powerful lover. Those who scorn Lady Luck taste her displeasure soon enough."
The day is warm enough and the kitchen stuffy enough that the stew hasn't had a chance to cool considerably. When Gristav opens the oven door to check on it, the savory smell drifts out not greatly diminished. As if in response, the double doors from the casino floor swing open, and Larur stumps in.
"You cooking again, lad?" he asks hopefully, sniffing the air, before he notices Jaelle leaning against a counter.
"Were you?", he asked, as if she might have been in his mind to know what he meant. "Were you prepared to avenge Her? Or the insincere use of Her Name? Is that your understanding of Her?""Does she need me to avenge her?" she smiles. "If you make a habit of invoking her to seduce women, you'll eventually meet one happy to rob you in the aftermath. Or one who has a jealous and powerful lover. Those who scorn Lady Luck taste her displeasure soon enough."
"I've never scorned Her, not that I know. And had perhaps more than my share of Her Grace. I would not insult any Power by claiming to be worthy of Them, but I do not think it any disrespect to report that Desna flits across my mind. Whether that's Her art, or even Her pleasure, is a question for one wiser than I. I suppose you would qualify, there.", he says, smiling at Jaelle. "Were you joking, at 'Herald', or is there some lesson there, among the many I've not yet learned?", He asks, checking on the stashed repasts...
The day is warm enough and the kitchen stuffy enough that the stew hasn't had a chance to cool considerably. When Gristav opens the oven door to check on it, the savory smell drifts out not greatly diminished. As if in response, the double doors from the casino floor swing open, and Larur stumps in.
"You cooking again, lad?" he asks hopefully, sniffing the air, before he notices Jaelle leaning against a counter.
"Only so slightly much as to lie if I'd deny it.", Gristav answers the dwarf, turning to face him. Seeing Larur had not yet espied Jaelle, Gristav gestured, to Larur and then himself, "Larur Felden, my friend of years, how many? A dwarf's more like to count than any elf-cast." Then gesturing to Jaelle, Gristav introduced, "First Mate Jaelle Beshaley, of the Flying Cloud, where in that first night latest, I found a hammock less restful than a rug, and they found me more useful than a hammock's space. Jaelle, Larur. Larur, Jaelle."
"Jaelle's agreed to try to teach a Varisi dance. I thought perhaps a different teacher, even only to start, might be a good start for Samaritha. And it hadn't escaped me; the possibility of learning something, myself."
Nodding an affirmation and guiding steps so as to more easily achieve it Phillip speaks as they walk "Aye, to the flat it is. And she's making two dresses is she not? - do not tell me that you do not also look forward to the stifling roughness and restriction of the darkened grey?" chuckling a little before changing the subject.
Ethel looks on the verge of asking an explanation for the second dress, but as he changes the subject, she swallows her questions, at least temporarily to listen to the tale of his day. She is gratifyingly wide-eyed at the tale of the weathervanes and the flooding harbor and of Phil's narrow escape from the rising waters.
"Tonight we make not for the Watercress... but for the Dragon's Hoard and the House of Nabin... or at least that is the plan if admittance can be gained... though perhaps a little green may be of assistance there" sleighting the peridot gemstone earlier found out and into Ethel's hand.
"The Dragon's Hoard," she replies, "there's no difficulty getting in; it's just a bit crowded and raucous. The House of Nabin I've never been inside," she confesses. "They say it's ... exclusive. I don't know if any halfling's been inside, except maybe by the service entrance. What if they... Oh!" she gasps to find the gemstone in her hand. Holding it up to admire its color in the late afternoon sun, she eagerly asks, "Where did you get it?" then blushes and glances around guiltily, concealing it in her hand once more, as she considers how it might have been acquired.
"One would wish that I could fashion a tale where the fragment of peridot served as auspice and troubles and travails endured for it's recovery... but unfortunately, as with many things, it's origin is far more mundane. It was found when I helped to muck out a warehouse of dredged up silt from the harbor's bed." though Phillip is smiling at Ethel's enthusiasm and wonderment.
"Being turned from Nabin's House is a possibility... but to observe and watch might at least give us some chance of forging path through the threshold. At any rate, the Hoard of the Dragon will serve for purpose of the night." pausing for a moment before patting her hand to reassure "Tonight I do not act... I only watch, observe and talk." hoping that Ethel picks up upon the nuance.
Braddon makes his way across to the cobbler then the milliner beside the scribe's office. He then tries the nearest pastry cart and purchases a tasty treat before moving to other nearby doors as required.
"Hi. Special delivery for Weatherby." Braddon waves around the letter that was crisp and clean only a few hours ago, before putting it quickly out of sight again. "He said if he wasn't here I was to deliver to his home address. Do you know if he went to his secret rowhouse flat on Windward or the other one at..."
Malkith nods at Daynadrian's request as he tries not to roll his eyes at Braddon. Standing, he offers Samaritha a hand, "Would you care to come along, maitea?" As he heads yet again into the alley next to the scribe's office, he makes a comment to Daynadrian, "If there's not a key to be found, perhaps this time we just leave the door unlocked when we leave. Herr Weatherby knows we've been poking around; if he's even still in Riddleport to notice."