"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..."
Saul grins and takes the documents back. "If you can't find any differences between them side by side, I must not be too rusty. Without a real sample of the boy's hand to compare it to, we ought to be pretty safe." He offers Orik's original letter to Bojasc and nods toward the oil lamp; the bodyguard takes the paper and sets it alight in the flame, dropping it into a well-polished brass spittoon before it is altogether consumed. "Still, you're right; it's possible the lad was careless enough to leave some form of love letter in Lil Scarlet's hands. After I've displayed this tonight," he folds up his own letter and takes a stick of wax from a drawer with which to seal it, "I'll put it away in the vault. Unless it comes to some kind of inquest, I shouldn't have to produce it." Bojasc softens the wax at the lamp and lets a blob fall onto the letter to seal it. "Let that harden up, then carry it around in your pocket the rest of the afternoon," he instructs the man. "Ought to be filthy enough in there to counterfeit the dust of the road. I'll break it open again this evening. Room and board, you said?" he turns his attention back to Tendal. "I can let you have one of the guest rooms downstairs. We haven't finished renovating them yet -- haven't really decided if we intend to go into the innkeeping business; don't have the staff for it at the moment -- but you ought to be able to fix one up to your liking."
"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?"
The dwarf lets out another wheezy chuckle. "Lad, this is Riddleport. You'll see tattoos of flaming skulls, ships, arrows, and any other thing that'll burn, and every man here will be carrying a weapon or he'll never get home with his winnings. The spell thing's not a bad idea," he muses. "Could be cheaters trying to change a card's face before it's turned. Don't want trouble with Tammerhawk, though."
"Costumes are down the hall," Liry interjects. "I can take you by on my way out. You coming?" she asks Daynadrian.
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."
His interest and affection for Liry rapidly declining, what with her shameless flirting and gold digging with the foolish fop, and now with her selfish display ruining their own chance at a decent wage, Dayn scowls but says nothing to her and turns his attention back to the Dwarf.
As the others state their opinions Dayn thinks to himself for a moment "Hmmm, seven silvers is certainly no princely sum, but I suppose it's nothing to sneeze at either. And it's not like I really have anything else to do tonight, and I'll have to find some regular work at some point. But still, I just don't like the idea of getting paid the same as the regular stiffs in costume. Yes, if I wish to make a name for myself in this town, becoming just one of the crowd doesn't seem the right way.'
His mind made up, he turns to the Dwarf "I'll not place myself on your staff and risk my life protecting your investment for less than one gold, guaranteed. If you'd like to place me on salary now, and thus avoid any whining from any of your other special employees, that's fine by me. Otherwise, I'll simply wish you all the best. I'll probably be here tonight anyway, and when trouble does arise, as an independant guest, I'll decide on whether or not I'll help out. But I tell you now, if that happens, my fee for helping save your business as a private citizen, as opposed to being an employee who is obligated to help you, will be significantly higher. So it's up to you. Promise to pay me a little more now, and have the guarantee of my aid, or, take your chances on not having enough skilled help on hand to save your investment and know that if I do choose to help, my aid will end up costing you a lot more than it would've if you'd secured it beforehand."
And, feeling he'd made a good case for himself, the Elf waits to hear the reply.
"That will be quite adequate sir, thank you."
Tendal thinks for a moment, swirling the remaining wine around in his glass. "As for inkeeping...it may not be the best idea. Simply put, since you are planning on having gambling, there will be too many security concerns at the beginning of this new enterprise to deal with adequately. The margins on inkeeping are slim enough as is. The only benefit in the long term will be that individuals will be able to remain in the casino much longer and will be able to rely on the security of the casino to keep them safe when they stumble back to their rooms, inebriated and lighter in the wallet."
"So it may be worthwhile to pursue at a later time." Tendal says, then finishes his wine.
"No servants, eh? Ah well." He says as he stands up. "I will bother the kitchen for bathwater and see about straightening up one of the rooms, then get out of these clothes and into something a bit more appropriate for the evening."
Tendal nods his head to Saul and takes his leave. He makes his way back down to the kitchen where he asks if water can be heated for a bath, retrieves a room key and heads to get himself, and his room cleaned up.
His mind made up, he turns to the Dwarf "I'll not place myself on your staff and risk my life protecting your investment for less than one gold, guaranteed. If you'd like to place me on salary now, and thus avoid any whining from any of your other special employees, that's fine by me. Otherwise, I'll simply wish you all the best. I'll probably be here tonight anyway, and when trouble does arise, as an independant guest, I'll decide on whether or not I'll help out. But I tell you now, if that happens, my fee for helping save your business as a private citizen, as opposed to being an employee who is obligated to help you, will be significantly higher. So it's up to you. Promise to pay me a little more now, and have the guarantee of my aid, or, take your chances on not having enough skilled help on hand to save your investment and know that if I do choose to help, my aid will end up costing you a lot more than it would've if you'd secured it beforehand."
Larur glowers at Daynadrian furiously. "How's this, elf?" he rasps. "If there's trouble and you do a thing about it, I'll pay you the extra three silver out of my own pocket. If we have a nice quiet night and you do nothing but stand around and look pretty in your fancy costume -- or there's trouble and you turn tail and run back to your forest -- you get nothing. This is a casino; are you a gambling man?"
As Larur glowers and makes what seems surely his final offer Dayn smiles, replying in an easy manner "It's all out of your own pocket really, or at least half of it. But I take your meaning. Now you try this on. When there's trouble, and I help to stop it, you'll pay me one gold, plus, as already discussed, based on the nature of the threat and my efforts to stop it, we shall speak of my, or our share" indicating his possible fellow Hellknight, the half-elf "But if that offer makes your collar too tight I'll bid you farewell, no hard feelings, and simply enjoy your fine establishment as a guest on this festive occasion. Should I be in a position to help, well, being the good-natured citizen I am, I may just pitch in to help out."
The Elf seems genuinely sincere in his offer. You do not get the impression that he is trying to run any kind of con. It simply seems that it is not tremendously important to him or not if he gets the job. You feel that if he accepts the position, he will do good work, but he will only accept to an agreement he feels is fair.
"You man up if needed -- and I don't find out it's your own friends you've ginned up to cause trouble to put coin in your pocket," Larur replies, "and you'll get your gold, elf. If we want your services in the future ... well, that's something Saul and I will have to discuss after we've seen your performance -- and after judging if we have the coin to hire staff after we've been bled dry!" He glares fiercely before being racked by another bout of coughing.
Liry leads Braddon out the door and back down the hallway to the room with the "Hiring within" notice. "Fiora," she calls, "you got two more Hellknight costumes? Stumpy's just hired on a couple."
A middle-aged woman with flamboyantly dyed hair looks up and sighs at the imposition. Also in the room are three men, stripped to the waist, and six young women, several of whom are already dressed in shoulder-baring blouses and scandalously short skirts with devil tails pinned to the back. Samaritha, still in her green robes, offers Braddon a hopeful smile and a shy wave.
"No servants, eh? Ah well." He says as he stands up. "I will bother the kitchen for bathwater and see about straightening up one of the rooms, then get out of these clothes and into something a bit more appropriate for the evening."
"Here, lad, I'll walk you down," Saul offers. "I carry the keys on me, especially with so many strangers hired off the street in the building." He riffles through a ring on his belt and expertly detaches a single key. "Best room in the house," he grins. "Not that that's saying a lot at this point, but it's the biggest, anyway; and there's a side room for a valet, if you get that posh. Educated gentleman like you, maybe you could fix it up as a study. Bojasc," he tosses his bodyguard the remainder of the stick of sealing wax, which the large man snatches out of the air instinctively, "we'll want to get rid of that before tonight. Won't want a match to that wax in the building, if anyone should get suspicious and start snooping around."
Bojasc pockets the wax and opens the door for Saul to exit. "Don't mind us," he tells Larur cheerily as he and Tendal pass through the anteroom. "Going to set the lad up in one of the bedrooms downstairs. You're not still bickering about compensation, are you, Larur? I keep telling you, you have to spend money to make money." The dwarf glowers after his partner.
"Here, wait a second," Saul grins as they pass through the hallway, giving Tendal a friendly elbow in the ribs. "Best part of the job," he confides. "Fiora!" he exclaims, taking a left turn into the hiring room before heading for the staircase. "What delectable hell-kissed lovelies do you have in here to grace our floor this evening?" He surveys the women in the room with appreciation but stops short when he comes to Samaritha. "No, sorry, love; only dark-haired Chelish beauties tonight. Besides, everyone knows there are no elves in Cheliax. If we were looking for exotic Varisian lasses, you'd be top of my list." He snaps his fingers. "Make a note of that, lad, for another week" he tells Tendal. "'On the Road with a Varisian Caravan.' We'll have wagons set up in the courtyard and dancers with scarves and a Harrower telling fortunes."
Unnoticed by Saul as he makes his plans, Samaritha's face falls with disappointment.
Braddon smiles back at Samaritha and gives her a wink, but when Saul dismisses her Braddon interrupts him.
"Wait. She could wear a wig. Or dye her hair. I mean I know there's no elves but..." Braddon looks around in desperation.
"Slaves! The Chelaxians use elves as slaves. She can be a Chelish slave girl." He smiles and begins to warm to the idea.
"A couple of loose rags tightly hugging her gentle curves. Her tousled hair falling unkempt across her sad, wide eyes. Some cruel manacles hanging from her delicate wrists. I've got some if you need to borrow..." Braddon's voice trails off as he realises people are looking at him.
"They're for security. I told you, I'm working security tonight."
Sarien eyes the costumes with amusement for a moment and considers lifting a random horn or a tail but thinks better of it. Turning to Phillip he says, "Well, I guess that's all there is to see here. Let's head on downstairs, shall we?"
He makes his way back to the stairs and heads down, turning toward the kitchen for a quick look.
Phillip shrugs his shoulders and beckons Sarien to lead on. Truth be told he couldn't believe that such free reign was given to those that have merely wandered in off the street... but equines received without payment should not be dentally inspected.
He makes his way back to the stairs and heads down, turning toward the kitchen for a quick look.
As Sarien and Phillip retreat down the staircase, they find that the cramped sitting room at its foot is now occupied. A man with a wooden peg leg is seated in one of the wooden chairs smoking a pipe; he grins up at the arriving pair. A few young women are huddled against the east wall, whispering together; their glances up at the interlopers are more suspicious. Through the doorway that leads into the kitchen, the sound of raised voices and the angry clattering of pans can be heard. While a few workers are still moving around the kitchen, trying to ignore the argument, a moustached man with a roll of flab around his belly and a middle-aged woman in a headscarf are shouting at each other in Varisian.
Malkith thinks on the dwarf's proposition as the negotiations continue between him and the elf. As the two men reach an agreement, Malkith reaches his own conclusion, "Seven silvers with room and board will be adequate compensation for my services this evening. We can discuss long term rates in the morning.
"So, if we're agreed on that, I believe the next prudent step would be to receive a full tour of your establishment."
Sarien glances at the argument with a raised eyebrow. "What's going on in there?" he asks the man with the peg-leg.
Sarien glances at the argument with a raised eyebrow. "What's going on in there?" he asks the man with the peg-leg.
"You've heard the expression about 'too many cooks,'" the man grins. "Started over a recipe, but they've hated each other for years. Zincher knows enough not to send them both to the same job."
"Ah yes, bad news all around. There's no kitchen in the world large enough for two cooks with sufficient pride." Sarien grins. "What's on the menu for the grand opening tonight, anyway?"
"So, if we're agreed on that, I believe the next prudent step would be to receive a full tour of your establishment."
Larur glares at him from under beetling brows. "Saul's rooms," he explains dryly, gesturing with his left hand to the sitting area and office beyond, "dressing room," he continues, extending his right hand toward the hallway, "stairs," he concludes, jabbing his finger in the direction of the staircase. "Sounds like Saul's taking your friend downstairs; hurry it up, and you can catch on the end of that tour." He turns his gaze balefully at Daynadrian to see if the elf is going to acquiesce to his final offer or leave.
Braddon smiles back at Samaritha and gives her a wink, but when Saul dismisses her Braddon interrupts him.
"Wait. She could wear a wig. Or dye her hair. I mean I know there's no elves but..." Braddon looks around in desperation.
"Slaves! The Chelaxians use elves as slaves. She can be a Chelish slave girl." He smiles and begins to warm to the idea.
"A couple of loose rags tightly hugging her gentle curves. Her tousled hair falling unkempt across her sad, wide eyes. Some cruel manacles hanging from her delicate wrists. I've got some if you need to borrow..." Braddon's voice trails off as he realises people are looking at him.
"They're for security. I told you, I'm working security tonight."
"You're thinking of halflings, lad," Saul chuckles, giving Braddon's arm a pat with the back of his hand that implies he doesn't classify the half-elf with the brightest will-o'-wisps in the marsh. "Chelaxians keep halfling slaves."
"Please, Mr. Vankaskerkin," Samaritha steps forward as Saul seems about to leave the room, "I need a job. I don't have to be seen. I can ... wash dishes in the kitchen," she offers at random. "Or mop the floors. Anything! I promise you'll get your money's worth if you give me a chance." She glances over Saul's shoulder at the men she met at the Publican House, her eyes pleading with them to put in a good word for her.
"What's on the menu for the grand opening tonight, anyway?"
The man with the wooden leg shrugs. "Some sort of Chelish delicacies, from what I hear. Boiled eggs with the yolks mashed with spices, a pureed pork spread on toasted bread, and sliced cake made of cocoa beans, beets and vinegar. Supposed to be favorites of Chelaxian nobility, according to Old Stumpy." He looks dubious. "I'll cook it, but I won't eat it."
"The Chelaxians enslave Elves too. Everybody knows that. Elves, Aasimar, Fey, the prettier, the better. And Samaritha here is a hard worker. And very clever. You can't afford not to hire her."
Sarien presses his lips together. "Hmmm. Yes, I think I'll have to grab a bite of eat before then. Well, I suppose we'll be on our way. Good luck to you."
He looks to make his way quietly past the kitchen out into the main room.
"Very well," Malkith says, excusing himself to join those following Saul.
As he arrives at the back of the group, he catches the tail end of their conversation. He pays it little mind until he this vantage point allows him to see the focus of their discussion. The Varisian represses a whistle as he takes in the sight of Samaritha, but can't help a smile upon seeing her familiar face. He quickly processes the situation and then steps forward.
"Herr Vankaskerkin," Malkith interrupts, "I know this woman. She is a hard worker and you would be smart to hire her. Whether as a serving girl on your casino floor or washing the dishes in the kitchen, she is determined and will perform admirably for you." The Varisian catches Samaritha's eye and winks as he makes his way next to Saul. His next words are spoken as if to whisper, but are still audible enough for all those gathered to hear, "Only earlier today did I perform a reading for her; a reading that indicated that she was the focus of great opportunity. Why not add her to your staff and take advantage of the fortune that is destine to surround her? Certainly, you'd be off to a good start considering her labor is worth twice what you'd be paying her."
Sarien slips quietly out of the break room and around the corner to the propped-open doors to the casino floor, trying to look like he has urgent and legitimate business in the other room. Across the kitchen, the argument rages on.
"Zergatik behar dut nire semea uste zure aita da erreklamazioak zuen alaba bat puta?!" the woman demands. "Kostin dio izan zuen deabruarekin Abadesa artalde baino bezero gehiago!"
"Nire Czigana ona neska bat da!" the man answers, his chins quivering with indignation. "Zure seme endekapen hori deabruarekin, tentagarria bere promesak gozo eta, ondoren, bere laua utzi da! Ziren errudun ez baldin bada, zergatik bestela litzateke ihes egin zuen Magnimar? Lotsatu ezagutzen duten pertsona zintzoa bere delitua ikus daiteke da!"
"Nire semea zure urre-dokumentua alaba lanik nekatuta!" she screams back. "Pentsatzen zuen nire semea izendatu zuen aita eta bere behatzak lan zuen bere maitaleak 'seme-alabak laguntzeko hezur-erregina bat bezala zuen lazes bitartean, ergela da! Hura gidatzen zuen kanpoan, eta orain ezin dut nire Kostin ikusi gehiago!" Her voice breaks as tears come to her eyes, but she still looks ready to brain her fellow employee with the large iron pan she is holding if he takes a step closer.
The angry words of the cooks follow Sarien into the main floor of the casino where they vie with the barked orders of a small but imposing dark-haired woman dressed in an opulent gown that jars incongruously with the shabby workmen and half-finished state of the room around her. She is standing on a round dais in the middle of the room and loudly supervising the hanging of curtains over bare walls and the arranging of tables over a worn red carpet.
"My Czigana is a good girl! That degenerate son of yours is the devil, tempting her with sweet promises and then leaving her flat! If he were not guilty, why else would he flee to Magnimar? He is ashamed to be seen by honest people who know his crime!"
"He tired of being hounded by your gold-digging daughter! If she thinks she can name my son the father and have him work his fingers to the bone to support her lovers' children while she lazes like a queen, she is a fool! She drove him away, and now I cannot see my Kostin any more!"
"The Chelaxians enslave Elves too. Everybody knows that. Elves, Aasimar, Fey, the prettier, the better. And Samaritha here is a hard worker. And very clever. You can't afford not to hire her."
"Herr Vankaskerkin," Malkith interrupts, "I know this woman. She is a hard worker and you would be smart to hire her. Whether as a serving girl on your casino floor or washing the dishes in the kitchen, she is determined and will perform admirably for you." The Varisian catches Samaritha's eye and winks as he makes his way next to Saul. His next words are spoken as if to whisper, but are still audible enough for all those gathered to hear, "Only earlier today did I perform a reading for her; a reading that indicated that she was the focus of great opportunity. Why not add her to your staff and take advantage of the fortune that is destine to surround her? Certainly, you'd be off to a good start considering her labor is worth twice what you'd be paying her."
"Hm," Saul cocks an eyebrow as the two men intercede on Samaritha's behalf. "Very well. The house needs all the luck it can get, right? But it's a kitchen job tonight," he cautions. "If she's to be the centerpiece of our On the Road with a Varisian Caravan night, I won't steal my own thunder by having her on display at our Night in Cheliax."
Samaritha's happiness spills out of her eyes as she smiles at Braddon and Malkith, but Larur glowers from the door to Saul's office. "Saul," he frowns furiously, "a word?"
"Be right with you, lad," Saul grins at Tendal. "Fiora, fit this man for a Hellknight helmet!" He gives Braddon a friendly slap as he retreats down the hallway to speak with his business partner.
"Relax, Larur," Saul replies easily. "If someone's plotting something, they could all just walk in tonight and take positions where they want to be anyway, without being considerate enough to draw attention to themselves by asking for jobs. Besides, have you looked at the redhead? It's Vankaskerkin's Razor: Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by lust. They're probably both just trying to get under her skirts." The dwarf glares at his grin, and the man sighs. "Look, I'll have the lads keep an eye on them, if you like. You worry too much! It's not healthy."
As Saul walks away, Samaritha all but skips up to Braddon and Malkith. She throws an arm around Malkith's neck spontaneously and reaches out to squeeze Braddon's hand. "Thank you!" she says with feeling. "This will buy me another week without having to ... well, consider another offer I've had." She blushes.
Braddon pauses, frowns at Malkith, then blushes and returns his attention to Samaritha.
"You'll be fine. And you can charge heaps more for the Varisian Caravan night. Now run along. I've got to suit up, but I'll see you."
Sarien shakes his head at the argument but turns his attention to examining the main room. It's not as impressive as he'd expected, but he could see a lot of work being put into making the opening as grand as possible.
Adopting an air of impatience, he walks over to the bar to look it over, wiping his hand on the wood as if to inspect for dust, and checking the boxed contents.
Malkith gives Samaritha a squeeze as she wraps her arm around him, "You've been a kind face in my short time here, I'm only too happy to help. And he's right," tipping his head towards Braddon, "If Saul plans to make you his centerpiece for the 'Varisian Caravan', then you'll likely be able to ask for a fair bit more coin for that."
He lowers his voice and gives the young woman a wink, "Ez bazara dagoeneko Cyphermages, orduan lan egiten."
"For now, you should probably change back into something more appropriate for the kitchen." the Varisian looks her over and then glances back at the door, "If Herr Vankaskerkin doesn't return momentarily, I'd be happy to escort you downstairs. I need to get a feel for the layout of this place if I'm going to watching over it."
Adopting an air of impatience, he walks over to the bar to look it over, wiping his hand on the wood as if to inspect for dust, and checking the boxed contents.
While Sarien was too young when his family lost their business to have grown up a true oenophile, the quantity of potables on hand is surely impressive. He sees multiple kegs of ale and lines of bottles of both wine and harder liquor. Perhaps more telling are the markings on the shipping crates: Several of the kegs are marked with the sign of the Five Kings Mountains, others from Andoran, and the empty wine crates bear brands that indicate they were authentically shipped from Cheliax. Although the halfling is too short to look casually over the bar, when Sarien quietly reads the labels on some of the bottles, Phil nods in approval.
The final indication that no expense has been spared in stocking the bar is that this seems to be the only area of the building where interlopers are readily noted and dissuaded. While a few men behind the counter continue to unpack and arrange bottles, one well-muscled specimen whose clothes mark him as a sailor stands up and leans against the counter directly opposite Sarien. "Can I help you, mate?" he asks politely but firmly, pointedly laying the sturdy belaying pin in his hand on the bar between them.
"You man up if needed -- and I don't find out it's your own friends you've ginned up to cause trouble to put coin in your pocket," Larur replies, "and you'll get your gold, elf. If we want your services in the future ... well, that's something Saul and I will have to discuss after we've seen your performance -- and after judging if we have the coin to hire staff after we've been bled dry!" He glares fiercely before being racked by another bout of coughing.
** spoiler omitted **
Unable, and unwilling to hide his smile at the uptight Dwarf's discomfort, Dayn replies easily "No, no, no worry on that front my friend. I've just arrived in town after all. Now, once I've had time to build up a gang of disreputable friends... Haha! I jest good Dwarf, I jest. I agree to your offer of one gold for my help. I think though that a Hellknight costume is not the thing for me. I prefer to have the freedom to move around anonymously as needed. But fear you not, I shall be here tonight, and I shall lend my sword to help wherever it might be needed. If I haven't earned my gold piece and more by the end of the night then I'll be a bearded Dwarf."
Although he declines the offer of a costume, Dayn nevertheless makes no move to leave. He observes some of the drama surrounding the female Elf, paying more attention to her now that his interest in Liry has dwindled. He was, in general, still more interested in the, for him at least, more exotic human female, but an attractive woman was an attractive woman.
Despite his interest though, he is prompt to follow Saul as he takes some of the others on an extended tour of the facilities, figuring that if he is going to be of aid this evening he should know the place as well as possible.
Perception:
Braddon pauses, frowns at Malkith, then blushes and returns his attention to Samaritha.
"You'll be fine. And you can charge heaps more for the Varisian Caravan night. Now run along. I've got to suit up, but I'll see you."
Malkith gives Samaritha a squeeze as she wraps her arm around him, "You've been a kind face in my short time here, I'm only too happy to help. And he's right," tipping his head towards Braddon, "If Saul plans to make you his centerpiece for the 'Varisian Caravan', then you'll likely be able to ask for a fair bit more coin for that."
He lowers his voice and gives the young woman a wink, "Ez bazara dagoeneko Cyphermages, orduan lan egiten."
"For now, you should probably change back into something more appropriate for the kitchen." the Varisian looks her over and then glances back at the door, "If Herr Vankaskerkin doesn't return momentarily, I'd be happy to escort you downstairs. I need to get a feel for the layout of this place if I'm going to watching over it."
"Eskerrik asko," she replies to Malkith with a wry smile. "Gero, eskaintza hobea izan dut espero dut, baina ez badut ... aukera atsegina da." Her smile grows a little wider as she turns to Braddon. "You'd better believe you'll see me," she teases. "I can't wait to see a freedom-loving Andoren half-elf dressed up as a Hellknight!"
Saul's conversation with his business partner is not a long one. With a reassuring pat to the arm of the dwarf -- who looks anything but reassured -- he turns back to rejoin the others cheerfully. "Come on now, lad," he says to Tendal, "and we'll get you settled in. You two tagging along?" he asks Malkith and Daynadrian. "Well, come along then, and I'll give you the grand tour."
He leads the way down the staircase. "This isn't anything the public will ever see, so we haven't spent a copper on it," he apologizes for the bare walls and planks. "You haven't really seen the Goblin at her best, entering the back way." As he steps off the last step into the small sitting room at the foot of the stairs, the relaxing workers can just be seen scattering back into the kitchen, not wanting to be caught loafing by the boss.
"We're cooking authentic Chelish delicacies tonight," Saul says proudly, "just the same sorts of dishes the lovely child queen herself might dine on when she gets her nobility together for a public burning or the like. Devil eggs, devil ham, and devil cake. Two of the finest cooks in Riddleport," he waves his hand at a heavyset man angrily clattering pans at the stove as he mutters to himself in Varisian and a scarved woman visibly weeping over her mixing bowls. "Quite a coup to get them both for our opening."
Turning, he continues out onto the casino floor proper and stops to breathe in the activity. "This is it," he says almost reverently. "This is where the magic happens. So to speak," he elbows Tendal jokingly. "No real magic, of course. All our games are one hundred percent fair, no tampering, no funny business. Down there," he points to the south, "is the cashier's office, where the lucky winners can cash in their chips; other side," he nods to the north, "is a fully-stocked bar for our patrons' enjoyment. And right in the middle of it all is our charming consultant, the famed Chelish actress Thuvalia Barabbio, who is making sure we're as authentic as possible tonight." He advances toward the woman on the dais, holding his hand out expansively. "How are we doing, my dear? I trust everything is going to hell?" He chuckles at his own little joke.
The woman Thuvalia, interrupted in the act of screeching at a hapless bunting-hanger, turns to greet Saul with a welcoming smile. "Signore Vankaskerkin," she coos as she lays her hand in his to be kissed, "you deign to honor us with your presence. If I close my ears to these uncouth accents, I could believe myself in one of Queen Abrogail's pleasure palaces, enjoying an apres-performance reception. And your friend has found you," her eyes slide to Tendal. "I am so gratified. I have had the pleasure but not, I believe, the name?" She offers her hand to him with a great deal more courtesy than she displayed at their first meeting. She appears quite heavily made-up and carries a miasma of perfume that, to Tendal's nose, is not of near the quality and expense as that worn by Lil Scarlet.
Upstairs, meanwhile, Fiora, the bored-looking middle-aged costume mistress, sizes up Braddon. "Hellknight, eh?" she asks. "Shirt off, please." Samaritha, on the verge of leaving the room, stops with interest, her eyes dancing with laughter.
Braddon takes off his shirt to reveal a chain shirt underneath. He's about to say something when he catches some movement from the corner of his eye, smiles and removes the chain shirt also along with the underpadding beneath. He has a youth's chest, pale, smooth and wiry but with well defined muscles and toned abs. His shoulders are slightly more developed indicating that he may soon grow into a classic 'V' shape, though his elven heritage would be like to restrict this somewhat.
"Since I'm doing security as well, I'll be wanting real armour if you have it. Though I'm prepared to use my own if you don't." He turns to look through the racks, displaying his strong back sloping down to tight buttocks stretching the thick material of his faded pants, and sneaks a quick peek back at the doorway.
"Ah, yes. Well, I can help ensure that the cheating remains mundane at the least." Tendal says, rubbing his arm absently where Saul bumped him.
Gods. The screechy woman again. She must be the worst actress ever.
"The pleasure is all mine, I am sure, Madame Barrabio." Tendal says, taking her hand and bowing over it for the barest of instants.
Gah! Did she go swimming in a perfume vat? Apparently the art of the subtle must be beyond her.
"I am Tendal Deverin of Magnimar." Tendal says as he steps away from the woman so he can get a breath of clean(er) air. "I must say, I am impressed by your industriousness, I have not met many women who would take on a construction project of this magnitude." He finishes, flailing about for something nice to say.
"Ah, yes," she replies with a melancholy air, retrieving her hand from Tendal and fluttering her eyelashes furiously, "I am sadly fallen from the heights of my fame. It seems my portrayal of the beautiful succubus who faithfully stands by her lover as he stands up to the mortal servants of Hell was simply too moving for the nobility's comfort. I found myself blackballed, unable to work or to find a friendly face, and forced to emigrate. I am so grateful," she purrs as she smiles at Saul, "for Signore Vankaskerkin's kindness in seeking out my expertise for his grand event and in allowing me another chance to perform."
"That's right," Saul grins. "Madame Barabbio is gracing us with a performance from an authentic Chelish opera tonight; we're all in for quite a treat, I'm sure. Don't let us disturb you any longer, my dear. You're doing a wonderful job. What lucky souls these workmen are, to be the beneficiaries of your exquisite taste and guidance." Bowing again over her hand, Saul takes his leave.
"Ladies' and gents' privies," he points out as they cross to the east wing, "and back here," he leads them past a long counter and through a square antechamber with a cracked statue of Desna in its center, "were the residential rooms. As I've said, not fully renovated yet, but the furniture is there, and there are linens in the closet at the end of the hall. Here you go, lad," he retrieves the loose key from his pocket and unlocks the first door on the right before handing Tendal the key. "It's not a lot," he admits as he opens the door on a dim room, "but it's all yours to fix up as you like." When the lamp on the wall is lit, it reveals a bed large enough for two, flanked with two dusty chests of drawers, and two somewhat battered armchairs in front of a fireplace on the far side of the room; the promised side room for a servant contains a folding cot and a footlocker. There is a window high in the western wall for privacy and security, just enough to let in light; it might do a better job at it if it weren't so grimy. "If you have any valuables, I can put them in the vault for you," he offers. "Safest place in the house."
"Now, lads," Saul turns to Malkith and Daynadrian, "anything else you need to see? There are a few rooms for private conversations along the west side of the floor; them and the bar are the only places any of the public will have a right to be tonight, apart from the casino itself."
Braddon takes off his shirt to reveal a chain shirt underneath. He's about to say something when he catches some movement from the corner of his eye, smiles and removes the chain shirt also along with the underpadding beneath. He has a youth's chest, pale, smooth and wiry but with well defined muscles and toned abs. His shoulders are slightly more developed indicating that he may soon grow into a classic 'V' shape, though his elven heritage would be like to restrict this somewhat.
"Since I'm doing security as well, I'll be wanting real armour if you have it. Though I'm prepared to use my own if you don't." He turns to look through the racks, displaying his strong back sloping down to tight buttocks stretching the thick material of his faded pants, and sneaks a quick peek back at the doorway.
Samaritha is indeed watching with interest. When Braddon catches her peeking, she blushes, smiles, and waggles her fingertips in a shy wave as she leaves the room.
Any spark of vanity Samaritha's attention might have awakened has immediately to fight for its life under the dousing delivered by Fiora's opinion. "Hm. A little scrawny," she says dubiously. "I hope the straps will tighten down enough. Oh, don't worry," she tells Braddon. "It's real armor. What do you think: Hellknights run around in fluttery blouses?" She glances at the half-elf's discarded shirt with disdain.
It is indeed real armor that Fiora pulls out of a chest in the corner: black leather with silvery studs. The black trousers that fit under the greaves are, in fact, a bit loose on Braddon; but by the time Fiora straps the leather plates tightly over his shins and thighs, he is in no danger of losing his pants, and she pins the loose material at the waist securely at the small of his back. The sleeveless brigandine has massive pauldrons attached that do a great deal to make his shoulders appear broader than they are, but the half-elf is a little taken aback to discover that his chest is left uncovered almost to the navel. "This is authentic Hellknight armor," Fiora tells him as she reverently retrieves a horned metal helmet which extends past eyeholes down to the cheekbones from the chest, "so be careful with it! If you damage it, the cost of repairs come out of your pay."
Sarien calmly regards the sailor. "No, it looks like everything is in order here, thank the gods. Carry on."
Turning away, he glances down at Phillip. "Let's look over the grounds again. The lads had better be getting those crates cleared out of the way or there'll be hell to pay..."
Paying no mind to the man at the bar, he begins making his way toward the door leading out to the front.
Paying no mind to the man at the bar, he begins making his way toward the door leading out to the front.
The two successfully weave their way through the ladders and tables and people moving furniture, but the double doors at the front of the casino prove a more difficult obstacle. Sarien casually yanks on the handle -- and nothing happens. The oversized doors, carved with images of stars, butterflies, dragonflies, and birds in flight, are not only very heavy but have settled and warped over the years. Pulling them open will require a bit of effort.
"It's going to get dangerous tonight, so if I have to pay for repairs, I'll use my own armour. A red and black tunic over it with a red sash as a belt and I'll look just like a... 2nd lieutenant from the... Dis legion." Braddon smiles cheerily and reaches to put his chain shirt back on.
Fiora crosses her arms disapprovingly. "Our Hellknights are to be a matched set," she sniffs coldly. "If you don't match the others, you're not a Hellknight, just a fool in a tunic." She waits to see if he's really going to waste all the time she just spent fitting the armor to his slender frame.
Malkith follows along in silence, taking in all that he can as Saul leads them around. He takes note of the fallen actress, but offers nothing to the conversation between her and Tendal. As Saul reveals their lodgings, the Varisian gives it an appraising eye before thanking their host and employer, "In consideration of other arrangements I may have had to make this evening, these accommodation are more than ample. I have nothing that needs the warding of your safe, although it would be helpful to know of its contents. If there is serious trouble this evening, the safe would be a likely target."
Malkith looks to the others gathered about and then back to Saul, "If there is nothing else, Herr Vankaskerkin, I will leave you to your business and I shall begin my own."
"Contents?" Saul looks at Malkith sharply. "Just the coin we hope we don't have to pay out too much of to gamblers tonight -- and a few valuables of Larur's and mine. If you'd like to see our security measures, come along."
Saul leads Malkith and anyone else interested in seeing the vault back across the casino floor to the southern wing of the Gold Goblin. An empty square chamber is divided into rows by silken cord extending across the room, leading up to a counter separated from the public by a row of gleaming metal bars; closed doors are on the left and the right. "That's Larur's office," Saul indicates, pointing to the door to the west, "and this," he riffles through his key ring as he approaches the other door, "is the way to the vault." As he unlocks the door and pushes it open, he immediately walks into a wall of two large, nearly-identical men holding cudgels at the ready. He seems unsurprised, and the men visibly relax when they see Saul, although they still keep unfriendly eyes on those with him.
"Relax, boys," Saul grins. "Demonstrating our security to some of the new employees. Hans and Franz Beyar," he introduces. "Their job is to stand between the vault and anyone who wants to get into it." The two men reluctantly retreat into a bare room lit by oil lamps, sporting only two wooden chairs flanking a table, across which playing cards are arrayed; a game has obviously been interrupted by the intrusion. One of the men retrieves a key from his belt and uses it to unlock the only other door in the room, while his brother relocks the door by which Saul just entered. Both men follow Saul and his guests into the next area, which proves to be the cashiers' cage; two chairs wait behind a bare counter. "No money kept up here where the public can see it," Saul observes. "It'll be back here." He leads them back into another windowless room, with a desk and a chest. Open bins of chips of various denominations are on the shelves. "One of the boys will be back here at all times during business hours, and over here," he produces another key to unlock a door to the west, "is the counting room. After closing, this is where Larur and I and the boys will total up the day's receipts and put them in the vault."
The room he enters is shadowy, dimly lit only by the light spilling through the bars from the cashiers' cage. "Hans, a light please." One of the brothers lights a lamp and carries it into the room, revealing a long table lined with stools; a few slates and pieces of chalk to aid in the sums lie on the tabletop. "And down here," Saul concludes proudly, moving toward the northern wall and beckoning Hans to follow with the lamp, "is the vault. The door's made of six inches of solid steel, its hinges securely nested in a stone wall. Seven locks to foil magical means of opening doors, and I have the only key." He waggles his stump meaningfully. The vault door appears as Saul has described, with seven oversized keyholes surrounding a central locking wheel. "The vault is never opened with anyone other than myself, Larur, and Bojasc in the counting room; even Hans and Franz remain behind the cashier's cage when the door is open. It'll take a hell of a lot more than angry hooligans to get in here," he concludes confidently.
Fiora crosses her arms disapprovingly. "Our Hellknights are to be a matched set," she sniffs coldly. "If you don't match the others, you're not a Hellknight, just a fool in a tunic." She waits to see if he's really going to waste all the time she just spent fitting the armor to his slender frame.
"Well, I wouldn't want to be that now, would I?" sulks Braddon looking in a mirror.
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. How many 'Hellknights' do we have?""...best if I don't stand out I suppose."
Daynadrian follows along quietly, taking the preparation of his work seriously and scoping out the entire establishment, looking with an eye as to where trouble might be most likely to occur.
He rolls his eyes at the human 'actress', and stays well back once he gets a whiff of her perfume.
As they pass the rooms, Dayn takes note, but again says nothing. It is not until they reach the security rooms that he makes a sound, giving appreciative murmurs, impressed, despite himself, with the level of security present. Turning to Saul he says "This is quite impressive, and I agree, it would take considerable, concerted effort for your enemies to get in here. So, my question is, what areas are you most concerned about, security-wise? Where do you think the most vulnerable areas are?"
As they pass the rooms, Dayn takes note, but again says nothing. It is not until they reach the security rooms that he makes a sound, giving appreciative murmurs, impressed, despite himself, with the level of security present. Turning to Saul he says "This is quite impressive, and I agree, it would take considerable, concerted effort for your enemies to get in here. So, my question is, what areas are you most concerned about, security-wise? Where do you think the most vulnerable areas are?"
"Well," Saul reflects, rubbing his chin, "there's always pickpockets working the floor to be concerned about. While all wagers will be placed in chips so the real coin stays back here where it's safe, there's nothing to prevent thieves from lifting chips from unwary patrons and cashing them in. That's where your sharp eyes come in. Apart from that ... just general unpleasantness. People unlucky at the tables who've had too much to drink could cause a scene; they'll need to be escorted out as quickly and quietly as possible. Or, well," he shifts his weight a bit nervously, "if certain elements in town were to set out on purpose to cause a disturbance -- vandalism or petty violence or sabotage -- we'd want you to put a stop to it before they can run off honest customers."
Fiora crosses her arms disapprovingly. "Our Hellknights are to be a matched set," she sniffs coldly. "If you don't match the others, you're not a Hellknight, just a fool in a tunic." She waits to see if he's really going to waste all the time she just spent fitting the armor to his slender frame.
"Well, I wouldn't want to be that now, would I?" sulks Braddon looking in a mirror.
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. How many 'Hellknights' do we have?"
"Right now?" she asks, smiling again smugly and adjusting a few straps. "Five. It would be nice to get another and have them come out even. We have one more helmet. I thought Liry said Saul had hired two of you? Anyway, you'll all look alike. As long as you keep circulating, the crowd oughtn't to be able to tell how many of you there are. There," she nods, stepping back to make sure she's satisfied with the final effect. "I've got a wooden sword here, but I suppose you'll want to keep your own weapons with you in case of trouble."