Phillip's eyes twinkle as he delivers a kiss unto his inamorata's cheek "Very well, to thoughts of fleeting moments and lingering memories." before his focus turns to exactly that which is desired, filling the rest of the night at the Hoard with idle gossip, a few thoughtless bets and a focus upon Ethel alone.
"Fair enough, fair enough," the sailor chortles. "Only one must stay to pay the toll. Which of you two will stay and board the Nuckelavee Green with me? How about ... you?" His extended finger settles on Braddon, and with a sound that is more a guttural moan than a word, the half-elf and his steed both glow with a sickly green fire to mark the sailor's selection.
"You want me, come get me, you land lubbin' swab!!" Braddon shouts the worst thing he can think to call a sailor.
He unleashes a bolt from his new crossbow at the thing and starts loading another one to take aim again.
"Hey, no, wait!" Daynadrian shouts at the sailor, spurring his unhappy horse closer. "Not him! Take me. I've always wanted to go to sea!" He raises his bow again, holding his mount steady with his knees, and fires an arrow that disappears into the fog. "Malkith, keep going; we'll be behind you."
Malkith's knuckles bleed white as he grips the reigns of both horses, riding for the mist. "Có thể vardo tôi cung cấp cho tôi khu bảo tồn chống lại bóng tối."
The sailor spares barely a glance for Malkith as he approaches. "Too late, elf," he laughs. "He's already marked. They can't miss him now." He doesn't move to respond to Braddon's taunting, simply remains standing in the edge of the mists.
Braddon tries to keep his horse in place
"You don't really want to go to sea," he tells Daynadrian. "You get trapped in a tiny wooden box, looking at miles of open nothing for ages."
Braddon unleashes another crossbow bolt at the creature then reloads again.
He shouts ahead at the apparition, "If that's the best you can do, no wonder you have no crew!"
"You don't really want to go to sea," he tells Daynadrian. "You get trapped in a tiny wooden box, looking at miles of open nothing for ages."
"Oh, for...," Dayn grumbles. "Mi nur provas distri lin, Braddon!" The bolt appears to pierce the sailor's shoulder, but again he pays it no mind. "La sagoj estas ne tuŝante li. Varbi por sekvi Malkith. Ni vidu se li povas resti kun galopante ĉevalo! Mi havas unu el la fumo bomboj el Sczarni kovri ni." He stows his bow and pulls a small clay sphere from his pack.
"He hasn't done anything to us out here."
Braddon looks down at his glowing green arms.
"Yet."
"I don't think it's wise to head in."
Phil and Ethel enjoy their evening; Phil has an off night at the tables, losing half of his chips, but Ethel makes up for it by winning another 5 silver on top of the ten she began with on the strength of a lucky run at Crown and Anchor. As for her second goal, the rum in her first drink alone gets her a fair way to tipsy, used as she is to common ale and apple wine.
Conversation in the Dragon's Hoard runs mostly to the odd event at the harbor that day. Its combination with rumors of unusual activity at the Cypherlodge lead inexorably to the conclusion that the mages up in Windward caused the swell; most believe it was an accident born of carelessness and speak resentfully of Elias Tammerhawk's cavalier disdain of the rest of the city, but a few suggest that the incident might be the opening gambit of a power play by the Cyphermages' leader against the shipping interests of the town and, thence, the Overlord himself.
There are rumors of a devil summoning a Hellish steed and tearing through the streets of Leeward District on some nefarious mission. In addition, Phil overhears a few patrons advising sailors freshly ashore that Sunday no longer means there's nothing to do but drink on the wharf now that a new casino on the other side of the river is opening the one night Free-Coin goes dark: a bit of word-of-mouth marketing that should please his employer.
When Ethel is satisfied with her evening and they've cashed in her winnings, the pair move to the front doors to find that clouds have moved in to cover the night sky and a light rain is falling. The constant hum of conversation in the Dragon's Hoard must have covered the quiet drumming on the roof.
Phillip waves away his losses and applauds Ethel's run, when the time comes to change back their chip to coin, he retains a few of the Hoard's chips in a pocket.
He listens to the idle talk of the casino with mild interest, stepping in where he can to talk up the prospects of the Sunday night Varisian themed show at the Goblin.
As they depart Phillip relieves himself of coat so that Ethel might be somewhat better shielded from the light rain, and ponders. Harkening back to her earlier words and the promise held within them, he slides Marce from his today list into the future and puts an arm around Ethel's coat-shielded shoulders "If we hurry back we might beat the worst of it."
Malkith holds tight as he urges his mount forward into the mist. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, as if preparing to slam into a solid wall.
Braddon and Daynadrian see Malkith disappear into the fog, leading the scribe's horse behind him.
"He hasn't done anything to us out here."
Braddon looks down at his glowing green arms.
"Yet.""I don't think it's wise to head in."
The sailor cackles. "Oh, but your friend just did. You don't want to share his fate?" He starts to move forward, each deliberate step seeming too heavy for his frame. "I intend to do nothing to you. When the crew of the Green comes for you, it's their job to press you. I just mark you so's you're easy to find, like." He moves past Daynadrian without a glance, his gaze still fixed on Braddon, alight with green fire. The elf looks as if he wishes he had his sword in hand instead of the smoke bomb, but his horse nickers in fright and dances sideways away from the passing figure and Dayn has to use his free hand to steady his mount.
"His fate is his fate, not mine. And you can't do nothing to me and mark me. What'd you die of? Stupidity?"
Braddon puts away the crossbow and draws his bastard sword as the thing comes towards him.
"Damn it, Braddon...," Daynadrian mutters under his breath, hopping down nimbly from his horse's back to the road. He shoves the clay sphere back in his pack and draws his longsword. Relieved of the elf's restraining hand, the horse trots ahead nervously to put some distance between itself and the unnatural sailor. "Hope you don't mind if we do something to you, then, mate," he says stalwartly.
As they depart Phillip relieves himself of coat so that Ethel might be somewhat better shielded from the light rain, and ponders. Harkening back to her earlier words and the promise held within them, he slides Marce from his today list into the future and puts an arm around Ethel's coat-shielded shoulders "If we hurry back we might beat the worst of it."
She pulls the collar of his coat up over her head against the falling rain. "All right, let's go," she grins from beneath the makeshift hood. The open plaza is all but deserted, the crowd that would normally be milling about in the lamplight instead taking shelter in one or another of the casinos or restaurants; even the Gendarmes on duty are huddled in their guard shack or under the eaves and awnings of the various buildings. Phillip and Ethel dash across the cobblestones, heading south to the ferry launch. They pass the Watercress and the Hippocampus where they ate dinner, the table and chairs where they sat outdoors to dine now abandoned to the rain, before arriving at the Free-Coin pier, Ethel only slightly less damp than Phil.
The pier is empty, as most of the casino patrons are determined to wait the rain out a little longer, and the ferryman (not Gristav) is sheltered beneath a lean-to large enough for only one chair. He sighs and gets to his feet as the pair arrive, ducking out reluctantly into the rain, and the halflings board the flatboat. "Here, Phil," Ethel says, laughing, as the ferry pushes away from the pier out into the current, "we can share." She steps close and tries to fold the edges of the coat around him to give him some protection from the weather as they cross the river.
The sailor continues to ignore Daynadrian, advancing toward Braddon now at a slant as if he means to come alongside him where he sits on the horse. But then he stops, fixes his eye on the horse, and gibbers incomprehensibly. Beneath him, Braddon feels the horse twitch violently. It stands stock still for a moment and then takes off at a full gallop. Braddon is past Dayn and into the cloud of fog in a moment, then out the other side. The horse continues running past the startled Malkith waiting on the side of the road and well into the gap in the ridge before it begins to respond to Braddon's guidance again. It slows to a trot, snorts, and twitches its ear irritably.
Braddon turns the horse back towards the fog.
he yells back to Daynadrian.
Phillip accepts Ethel's invitation to share the coat, drawing arms around her and hugging tightly for tactile and enthalpic efficiency. As the put-upon ferryman sees them across, Phillip muses "Well... perhaps the rain wasn't completely avoidable then."
Once the opposite bank is made, Phillip sees the ferryman recompensed double for the umbrage of the rain and hustles with Ethel's hand firmly gripped to sweep through the city before the rain stops and the vermin emerge from their holes to search for food.
Braddon turns the horse back towards the fog.
he yells back to Daynadrian.
There is a moment of silence; then hoofbeats can be heard approaching through the cloud. A moment later, Daynadrian and his mount appear, trotting out of the fog. "Back to town?" he asks the others without slowing his horse. Green flame still heatlessly licks both Braddon and his mount, giving the rock walls of the notch an eerie glow.
-------------------------
Gristav and Snake have just reached the side road climbing up to the precipice where the city's garbage is dumped when Gristav steps on something that snaps beneath his boot. It proves to be an arrow, which Gris verifies by feel as much as sight, the clouds having almost eclipsed the moon by now. The narrow pass through the ridge to Riddleport is just ahead as a few light drops of rain begin to fall.
-------------------------
Phil and Ethel hurry through the streets toward the Gold Goblin. If the roads of Free-Coin were sparsely populated in the rain, those of Leeward District are deserted. The two halflings reach the kitchen door of the casino unassailed, and Ethel presses herself against the wall for what shelter the eaves may provide while Phillip retrieves his key. Her face is rosy from exertion, and despite the warm temperature, she shivers in her damp clothing.
Phil retrieves the key, fumbling only a little with numbed fingers, and as he swings the door open winks "Let's see if we can't get out of these wet clothes." With that he moves within, locking the door behind him and making for his quarters... eyes open to any other that might be wakeful, but with no desire for distraction from the path before him.
Gristav and Snake have just reached the side road climbing up to the precipice where the city's garbage is dumped when Gristav steps on something that snaps beneath his boot. It proves to be an arrow, which Gris verifies by feel as much as sight, the clouds having almost eclipsed the moon by now. The narrow pass through the ridge to Riddleport is just ahead as a few light drops of rain begin to fall.
After fetching the arrow and a stone from the road, and stowing the arrow in his own quiver, Gristav gestures elaborately toward the ridge, mindful of Snake's human night-blindness. Pressing the stone into Snake's hand in silent signal, Gristav turns away from the expected flare, and looks wistfully back the way they'd come.
Lighting the stone up, "Good. I can see again. Better, anyway. Nearing town it seems." He looks up into the night sky, noticing the moon nearly gone and a bit of rain falling. "Hope this Goblin place of yours is near; looks like a storm is comin'." He then looks to his mongoose friend, "Alright, Luck, back in the bag." He holds the flap of his pack open as the mongoose scurries up his leg, on to his shoulder and carefully makes his way inside. As he situates himself from within, he pokes his head out so he doesn't miss anything. Snake can only grin at the curious creature. "Alright. Just remember to hide once we reach town." Turning his attention to Gristav, "Let's move."
"Would I had your oilskin. Or even mine. How quickly one becomes a fool of a townsman...", Gristav laments lightly. "I left with bow and broadheads, staff beside, but at least the quiver keeps the arrows dry."
Gristav settles into a maintainable lope, in hope of getting to the goblin before any damage beyond damp be done.
There is a moment of silence; then hoofbeats can be heard approaching through the cloud. A moment later, Daynadrian and his mount appear, trotting out of the fog. "Back to town?" he asks the others without slowing his horse. Green flame still heatlessly licks both Braddon and his mount, giving the rock walls of the notch an eerie glow.
Braddon's eyes narrow as he watches Daynadrian continue.
"Back to town?" Braddon repeats as he turns his horse slowly after the elf and begins to trot along behind him. "Sure. I feel fine."Sarcasm drips from his voice.
"I'm so glad we took the short way. Wouldn't want to attract much attention riding the long way into town."
"Well," Daynadrian shrugs cheerfully, "we still probably saved some time over riding north through Lubbertown. And none of us are harmed, just, uh ... incovenienced. Not everyone comes out of an encounter with a ghost so easy." He examines the glowing half-elf with interest. "Maybe you could cover up with Malkith's cape? Where are we taking the scribe? To his wife, or to Saul?" He glances at Braddon again. "You might want to let Samaritha take a look at that."
Braddon glares at Daynadrian.
"Inconvenienced? Were you listening to it? It's gonna send stuff after me. I have to kill it first. We have to kill it first. Maybe tomorrow. If I'm alive then."
He keeps his horse trotting further away from the apparition behind them. "We're taking the scribe to Saul. We're not finished with him yet. This is all his fault. Besides, maybe Saul needs an arrogant and obnoxious money counter. No wait, he's already got Mister Fancy."
He looks down at his hand.
"Samaritha?" Braddon brightens at the idea, then his face falls. "What if she can't do anything? What if I'm like this forever? I'd have to work for Shorafa as an exotic. I guess I'd get to see... But she wouldn't... And I'd rather... It's not easy being green."
Braddon goes quiet.
"Have her look at the horse, too," Daynadrian goes on as if Braddon hadn't spoken. "We can't very well take it back to the stable like that, and I haven't the purse to pay the stablekeep for a horse he can no longer hire out. Say, maybe we could get Saul to cover it as a business expense? I bet he could charge gullible sailors for a peek to see a ghost horse."
Fortunately for the trio, the streets of eastern Riddleport are largely deserted: All businesses are closed, and those who intend to spend the evening in Free-Coin have already crossed the river. By the time they are nearing the Mystery of the Gate, the green glow limning Braddon and his mount fades out of existence as suddenly as it was kindled. No longer feeling quite so conspicuous, they continue to the Gold Goblin and tie the horses to an old hitching post in the courtyard. They lift down the unconscious scribe, and Dayn throws him over his shoulder before they head around back to let themselves in.
-------------------------
Gristav and Snake trace the same path some time later, more slowly due to being on foot and to the inclement weather. By the time they pass through the notch in the ridge, the rain is steady if not intense, but the scattered streetlamps of Leeward District help to light their way. Gristav leads the newcomer through the city, its landmarks lost in the gloom; the Cyphergate itself is invisible out in the harbor.
-------------------------
Phil and Ethel make their way through the kitchen and across the casino floor to the residential wing, leaving Small wet footprints on the new carpet. They meet no one on their way, anyone present apparently upstairs or already in their own rooms.
Spirited swiftly through the casino and without any impediment to their journey, Phil sees them ensconced within their room and an oil lantern lit for lighting. With fingertips he pushes Ethel's wet hair behind her ears before leaning in close until their lips are contiguous. Holding pose for a few seconds before segregating their forms once more and smiling "And now to get out of these wet clothes"....
Braddon watches in fascination as the glow fades, turning his hand back and forth and peering closely between his fingers. He ties his horse away from the others, before heading inside to seek out Samaritha.
"Malkith. This way. I need... could you... help?"
Daynadrian dumps the scribe's dead weight into one of the chairs in the break room off the kichen. "I think I know where Saul will have us put him," he says grimly. "No point in carrying him all the way upstairs. I'll go let the boss know we're back and see about getting our guest settled in."
"You're not gonna... fine. I'll watch him till you get back."
"And that purse is ours."
"And I want a pay rise."
"I'm not going to what?" the elf asks, exasperated. "Look, he's unconscious; it's not like he's going anywhere. If it makes you feel better, run the manacles through the handrail on the staircase and relock them. Go on and find Samaritha; have her give you the once-over. I just want to see Weatherby locked away somewhere safe before he comes to." He heads up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
Grumbling, Braddon manacles the scribe, then heads off to see Samaritha.
The only building which stands out of the gloom for Snake on his first trip across the city is the Mystery of the Gate. Streetlamps illuminate the curved walls of the massive building, its roof lost in the darkness and rain. Any curiosity he may entertain is put off until they reach a drier venue; the night is warm, but both are soaked to the skin, lending the the mild breeze a chill. Fortunately the dome of the Gold Goblin is visible just around the corner, reflecting a few streaky gleams of streetlights in its brass surface. Gristav leads him around to the less scenic back entrance and lets him in with his key. The two stand dripping in the corridor.
Unfazed by the rain, Snake rids himself of the rock and places the light back upon his staff just before they enter the building. "This the place, huh?" he asks as he looks about. "Like I said before, I'm a bit short on coin. There some place I can stay out back? I don't need anything more than something that can keep the rain off of me," he tells Gristav, accompanied with a look that speaks as if that's just the norm.
Unfazed by the rain, Snake rids himself of the rock and places the light back upon his staff just before they enter the building. "This the place, huh?" he asks as he looks about. "Like I said before, I'm a bit short on coin. There some place I can stay out back? I don't need anything more than something that can keep the rain off of me," he tells Gristav, accompanied with a look that speaks as if that's just the norm.
"A tarpaulin, then?", Gristav says dryly, his manner mandated by magical muse, conforming with his cantrip's cause, the wringing, nay, ridding of water, by wyrd, word and will. But that instant passes, and he turns to Snake with a fae smile. "I expect we'll do better than that. But first, let's do better than this. Shall I?", he offers, with an empty gesture mimicking the one of the previous instant, which had been full of effect. An empty gesture, but a sincere offer of dweomered dryness.
"Step to the oven; it's warm, and with a chance of stew. Your friend's a predator, yes? So... bits of the beef of it, perhaps?" Gristav confirms some stew is to be had, fetching bowls and spoons from storage. "Have of it what you need. I'd say what you like; but... you may like it too much, or too little.", Gris grins. "And there may yet be a household to a-portion."
"I'll see about that, and about accommodation for you. Unlike the stew, accommodation is not mine to gi- Well, arguably, some is. But let me go find and avoid that argument..." A dried and dappered Gristav leaves the kitchen to Snake and Lucky.
An instant later, he returns, leaning around the door. "Say, he's catlike, yes? There's cream about... someplace."
Then he's gone again.
Malkith only smiles at Daynadrian's jests. He thinks of a few quips he could add, but figures Braddon has been through enough for the evening. He rides in silence back to the casino.
Before he can dismount and offer a hand, the elf already has the scribe over his shoulder. As their captive is deposited in a chair, Malkith releases a breath he had realized he'd be holding. "Sure," he responds to Braddon's request for assistance, "What do you need?"
"Hm." Snake gives a firm nod of thanks for the "drying" and the food as he lets loose Lucky before moving over near the oven. Partaking of the stew heartily, he throws a few bits of beef to his tiny friend. As the magus leaves, returns instantly and leaves again, Snake looks to his companion. "Well, at least he's not tryin' to kill us." The mongoose just looks at him, standing erect as if waiting for something. "Alright, alright, here you go." He then throws him some more food.
"Sure," he responds to Braddon's request for assistance, "What do you need?"
Braddon looks back over his shoulder as he knocks on Samaritha's door.
"I don't know. It marked me. It said they would come for me. I don't know magic. I need you and Sam, and maybe even Mr Fancy. I need you to unmark me. Or tell me how to be unmarked. I don't want stuff coming for me."Braddon lowers his voice. "Someone could get hurt. Maybe even Sam. We don't want that. Maybe I'll hafta go." Braddon's face falls at the thought.
"Who's there?" Samaritha asks warily from inside the room. When Braddon answers, the door quickly opens. "Are you all right?" she smiles at the two of them. "Did you catch the scribe? Where's Daynadrian? Did Gristav find you?"
The stew is somewhat depleted, but there is enough left to share with a stranger. Leaving Snake with his dinner, Gristav departs to find signs of life. The crack beneath the door of Larur's office is dark -- not a sign that he's not in there, of course, as he's frugal enough not to use oil his dwarven eyes don't need, but there is no answer when he knocks. The door, when tried, is locked, and while Gristav has a key to the desk, he hasn't to the office itself.
"Who's there?" Samaritha asks warily from inside the room. When Braddon answers, the door quickly opens. "Are you all right?" she smiles at the two of them. "Did you catch the scribe? Where's Daynadrian? Did Gristav find you?"
"It's Braddon. I'm fine. Sort of. Well, not really. We ambushed the scribe and brought him back. Dayn is letting Saul know. Gristav found us once the work was done, said there was someone on the road then helpfully took off again. Malkith and Dayn thought we should come back the short way and said I was scared so we got ambushed by a ghost and now I've been marked for death or something. I was glowing green with this magical fire and it said it was so its buddies could get me and its gone out but I think there's something magic still there and you're good with magic and I don't want to be ambushed by undead in the middle of the night so can you and Malkith get it off me?"
"You ... what?" She frowns and looks to Malkith, but when his expression corroborates Braddon's story, her eyes open wide in shock. "You actually saw Captain Cullie?"
Gristav passes back though the kitchen with an awkward grin at Snake and takes the flight of stairs up to the second floor. Here he has more luck, hearing sounds of habitation by the time he reaches the top of the staircase. Lights are lit in Saul's suite of rooms; as he enters, he can see Larur, Braddon, Malkith, and Samaritha in the dining room, some empty bowls and spoons on the table.
"You ... what?" She frowns and looks to Malkith, but when his expression corroborates Braddon's story, her eyes open wide in shock. "You actually saw Captain Cullie?"
"Who?"
"Who?" escapes Malkith's mouth in unison with Braddon's inquiry.