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.
Gristav's eye brightens and he smiles at the assembled. "Ought I bring up the crock, then?", he asks, gesturing at the bowls. "Good you're all well. Is everyone...", he darkens his tone a note, "... well?"
"I delayed a traveler on the road, to keep him from seeing anything we might want denied. But now, he's in the kitchen, with a bowl..." Another gesture. "And the hope of a night's shelter against the rain. Further, he's evidenced skills perhaps of use to our larger purpose, and given the... circumspect restraint of Mister Tendal, and the... manifold motivations of Mister Hargreaves, I thought perhaps this fellow might bolster our bravos."
"Shall I fetch both, then? He and the crock?"
"Who?"
"Who?" escapes Malkith's mouth in unison with Braddon's inquiry.
"Captain Cullie, the ghost that haunts the Boneyard," she replies. "They say he was a pirate captain who had a bad run and got in piles of debt to the bosses and moneylenders. His notes were coming due, and he looked to lose his ship and maybe his life besides. So they say he ran his ship aground in the Boneyard one night and then hanged himself on the yardarm, and his unquiet spirit has haunted the wrecks ever since. I thought he might just be a tale told in taverns or around the campfire; I -- You really saw him?" She frowns at Braddon. "You say he 'marked' you? Like an arcane mark? Eugh, I don't have the right cantrips prepared today. Come along, let's find Mr. Deverin." She locks her door carefully behind her and leads the pair to the stairs. "There's stew in the oven," she offers, pausing in the kitchen. "You can't have eaten. Fill a bowl and bring it upstairs with you if you're hungry. Malkith, you probably know more about spirits than I do. What exactly did it do?"
"I delayed a traveler on the road, to keep him from seeing anything we might want denied. But now, he's in the kitchen, with a bowl..." Another gesture. "And the hope of a night's shelter against the rain. Further, he's evidenced skills perhaps of use to our larger purpose, and given the... circumspect restraint of Mister Tendal, and the... manifold motivations of Mister Hargreaves, I thought perhaps this fellow might bolster our bravos."
"Shall I fetch both, then? He and the crock?"
"Aye, and what makes you think I've gotten in the habit of taking in strays who wander the roadways, lad?" Larur beetles. "And who's to say he's not working for Lil or Zincher or the damned Sczarni or anyone else? Hells, even if he's a legitimate stranger, he might be looking to burgle us all in the night without knowing us from Trudd just as a matter of habit. And you've left him downstairs unsupervised? You might as well bring him so we've at least got eyes on him." He counts silently on his calloused fingers. "Believe the only one who hasn't yet had a crack at the stew is the halfling. Aye, bring it up as well, I suppose, what's left of it."
Samaritha turns to Braddon. "Gristav might know something about it. He's some experience with the ... uncanny." Addressing herself to the half-elf in the doorway, she explains, "They seem to have met the Boneyard ghost, who took a particular interest in Braddon. He made some unsettling threats against him, but Malkith didn't detect any lingering auras. We were waiting for Mr. Deverin to return to see if he's bearing any concealed mark or suppressed consequence, maybe a curse. I know there are some spells that come and go in an instant but leave a lasting effect. Could you have a look at him?"
Malkith follows along, not needing a second invitation to the stew. As he claims a bowl and spoon for himself, he tries to recollect the evening's events. "He threatened us with the tax of having one of our group being press ganged into his service. Daynadrian tried to take his attention, but the Captain seemed only to have eyes for him," the Varisian nods towards Braddon, "The ghoul pointed, uttered something, and both Braddon and his horse erupted in a green glow. I was riding hard, with Herr Weatherby, toward the fog at that point so I'm not sure what happened next. Apparently, not much, because a moment later he and Daynadrian came through as well. It wasn't until we got back into the city that the mark disappeared."
Malkith thinks for a moment before setting his bowl of stew on a counter. With a gesture and couple words, he casts a quick spell before scrutinizing Braddon from head to toe.
"Aye, and what makes you think I've gotten in the habit of taking in strays who wander the roadways, lad?" Larur beetles. "And who's to say he's not working for Lil or Zincher or the damned Sczarni or anyone else? Hells, even if he's a legitimate stranger, he might be looking to burgle us all in the night without knowing us from Trudd just as a matter of habit. And you've left him downstairs unsupervised? You might as well bring him so we've at least got eyes on him." He counts silently on his calloused fingers. "Believe the only one who hasn't yet had a crack at the stew is the halfling. Aye, bring it up as well, I suppose, what's left of it."
"It's a casino.", Gristav establishes. "I took a risk. You've got every coin behind three locks, anyway. Perhaps he can show Saul a little leg?" The halfelf chuckles out into the hall, only to return after the chuckle fades, head and shoulders leaning around the doorframe. "Oh...", he says soberly, "And whenever this stranger is settled, one way or another, I'd very much like to hear what happened with the scribe?" After a beat, Gris nods as if having reached an agreement, and can be heard galumphing down the stairs.
"Grab the crock", Gristav cheers to Snake through the kitchen door, "I've found you a space at table, at least. I'll caution; 'Ophid Ekans' might find warmer welcome than 'Snake'. Unless you'll claim the name was given in cradle?" Grinning, Gris gathers another bowl, then another, and as many spoons. "Up those stairs, and then ahead. I'll be along... had you found the cream?", Gris asks, surveying the kitchen...
Your orison reveals only the auras of the scribe's silver cape you are wearing and the two vials you took off of Weatherby.
Samaritha turns to Braddon. "Gristav might know something about it. He's some experience with the ... uncanny." Addressing herself to the half-elf in the doorway, she explains, "They seem to have met the Boneyard ghost, who took a particular interest in Braddon. He made some unsettling threats against him, but Malkith didn't detect any lingering auras. We were waiting for Mr. Deverin to return to see if he's bearing any concealed mark or suppressed consequence, maybe a curse. I know there are some spells that come and go in an instant but leave a lasting effect. Could you have a look at him?"
Gristav smiles at her subtlety, and agrees, "Of course." He mutters further, in syllables both familiar and foreign, fae, feral, foul... and finished. "There's magic about", he reports immediately, but continues a sort of unfocused attentiveness, almost as if listening. "Three... sources.", he elaborates, as his spell continues to resolve. A long moment passes, and his eyes flit about the room. "And none of them on Braddon.", he says, finally, with a smile. "So if it wasn't an archmage or a god you faced, you're not enchanted now. Save, of course, by Samaritha.", Gris grins, "As always."
"Grab the crock", Gristav cheers to Snake through the kitchen door, "I've found you a space at table, at least. I'll caution; 'Ophid Ekans' might find warmer welcome than 'Snake'. Unless you'll claim the name was given in cradle?" Grinning, Gris gathers another bowl, then another, and as many spoons. "Up those stairs, and then ahead. I'll be along... had you found the cream?", Gris asks, surveying the kitchen...
Snake turns his attention to the arriving half-elf. As he recommends a different alias, a skeptical look forms. "Ophid Ekans? I'll... think about it," he internally cringes at the name. "And no cream. None that I searched for anyway. The stew was plenty enough." Grabbing the pot of stew, he waits for Gristav to move out before following.
Braddon readily scoops up the proferred stew and consumes large mouthfuls as he ascends the steps. He seats himself at the upstairs table and is only too happy to recount the tale of their evening. This consists of him restarting the story as each new person enters the room, until those with him from the start almost know it off by heart.
"We tracked the scribe back to his place, where his wife told us he'd run off. We headed to the stables, but left town via the Boneyard and ambushed him on the main road. He said Lil hired the thugs to get some money for a secret mining investment, but he passed out before he could tell us much more. We brought him back here for further questioning. But Dayn and Malkith wanted to go back by the boneyard and we saw this captain hanging from the mainsail. We left it alone and headed back, but it stopped us at the pass and came at me. I fought it off while Malkith and Dayn ran through the pass, but it called down some eerie green glow on me and swore revenge and the took off."
He looks about at his disbelieving audience then down at his perfectly normal frame.
"I got better."
"Very well, then. Upstairs. The dwarf is ranking, the prettiest is brilliant, the second-prettiest is... less so, but also less a fool than I. And the hooded Varisi is insightful, but a bit plodding. I've known the most of them less than a day, so make your own judgements, but I'd recommend candor.", Gristav says as they climb the stairs.
"Samaritha, gentlemen, allow me to present our guest for dinner, also seeking a roof against the storm. Larur, Malkith, and Braddon.", Gris indicates by off-hand gesture while serving himself the stew on-hand. He then sits to the stew as if quite ravenous, perhaps only accidentally abandoning the introduction.
As he stands within the doorway, Snake gives a slight tip of the brim of his hat in greeting to them all.
"...and so we've hidden the body of the scribe downstairs where no one will..."
Braddon stops at Gristav's entrance and turns to the stranger in the doorway.
"Um... hi."
"There's magic about", he reports immediately, but continues a sort of unfocused attentiveness, almost as if listening. "Three... sources.", he elaborates, as his spell continues to resolve. A long moment passes, and his eyes flit about the room. "And none of them on Braddon.", he says, finally, with a smile. "So if it wasn't an archmage or a god you faced, you're not enchanted now. Save, of course, by Samaritha.", Gris grins, "As always."
"That's what Malkith found," Samaritha admits, "but there are instantaneous spells that leave no detectable aura. And there are ways to conceal a magic aura, as well. Mr. Deverin had a tutor from Absolom; he might know more about them. He went with Mr. Vankaskerkin and Daynadrian to secure the scribe for questioning."
"Samaritha, gentlemen, allow me to present our guest for dinner, also seeking a roof against the storm. Larur, Malkith, and Braddon.", Gris indicates by off-hand gesture while serving himself the stew on-hand. He then sits to the stew as if quite ravenous, perhaps only accidentally abandoning the introduction.
The dwarf doesn't rise from his chair, squinting up at the newcomer suspiciously. He is barrel-chested and auburn-bearded, seemingly in the prime of his race's long life, but when he speaks, his voice is a thin rasp, barely more than a rough whisper. "I hear tell you're looking for a roof over your head," he says bluntly. "What can you offer me in exchange for it?"
"That's what Malkith found," Samaritha admits, "but there are instantaneous spells that leave no detectable aura. And there are ways to conceal a magic aura, as well. Mr. Deverin had a tutor from Absolom; he might know more about them. He went with Mr. Vankaskerkin and Daynadrian to secure the scribe for questioning."
"That's what we've all found", Gristav jests, continuing his flattery of Samaritha. His brow had shown storm at Braddon's 'body', but Sam's 'questioning' gave visible Gristav ease. "If you'll describe the matter more exactly" he said to Braddon, "we might deduce what was cast. But if you'll trust my senses, you've no magic on you now. There are magics to hide magics, but why cast such? We might as well assume they'd written their name on the sole of your foot. That you feel an itch there now is not evidence of their power, but of your own." Gristav's eyes met Sam's with gregarious mirth.
"I hear tell you're looking for a roof over your head," he says bluntly. "What can you offer me in exchange for it?"
"He's part of the we, that might deduce.", Gristav weighed aloud. "He's some stripe of arcanist, for all his evident bulk and stature. I thought it all a neat and cautioning package, stationed on the casino floor... But I ought to let him introduce himself...", Gris nods, returning to his stew.
In the kitchen, Phil can feel the warmth of the oven but finds it empty. While poking around the pantry, he hears muffled voices, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. As the voices grow louder, he can recognize Saul Vankaskerkin's among them. A moment later, the door next to the break room opens, and the man himself emerges, closely followed by Tendal, Daynadrian, and the ever-present Bojasc. When the Varisian spies Phillip across the room, he meets his gaze with a cold glower and a curl of his lip.
Then with cloth half kempt and half not, he pushes hand through matted hair and moves without the room - locking the door behind him.
Yawning and humming idly he moves without urgency through the kitchen, fetching first a glass of water and taking first sip as the others emerge into his view. Bojasc's unkind gaze is met and returned with stoic resolve, before Phil breaks the line of sight to address Saul "Late of night for something to require all of your attention I would have thought... aught I should know, or shall I remain blissful in ignorance?"
As the dwarf speaks to him, Snake just realized that he nearly forgot about Lucky. Taking a look down the hall and noticing that he did follow, he breathes a little easier. Cracking his neck to buy a little time, Stay behind the wall, Luck. Behind the wall. He's always found it interesting how the animal seems to understand what he's feeling as the mongoose remains behind the wall, no more than a few feet from him.
"I can work a bit of magic. Nothing fancy, but a bit." He pauses a moment, obviously pondering something before continuing. "Outside of that, I'm not," he instantly stops in mid-sentence, with a look that would appear as if he's trying to figure something out. He then simply states, "I guess that's it."
"With me for contrast, you'll want him simply for his laconic brevity!", Gristav quips. He's about to say more, evidenced by a gesture with his spoon, but for whatever reason he instead returns to the stew.
The dwarf glances at Gristav and gives a grunt to acknowledge his jest. "More magicians," he remarks skeptically. "That's two ... four... five, if you count the Sczarni moll. We'll be opening up our own mage's guild soon, to compete with Tammerhawk. Have a seat," he invites the newcomer dismissively. "Saul'll be up from the underneath soon, and I'd expect he'll have some questions for you. Mining, you say?" he goes on, addressing Braddon. "Haven't heard of any runs of ore anywhere near here, though I suppose their investment could be in some foreign port, something the man heard of from a seafaring client."
Samaritha offers the stranger a smile. "Pleased to meet you," she says politely. "Do you mind if I ask what sort of magician you are? I mean, did you have to study, or was it an innate talent?" She glances at Braddon beside her. "And do you know anything about ghosts?"
"Late of night for something to require all of your attention I would have thought... aught I should know, or shall I remain blissful in ignorance?"
"Master Hargreaves," Saul greets him magnanimously. "Some of the lads have just detained the fellow who was renting Lil Scarlet a room. We've just been seeing to making him comfortable until we can ask him a few questions. Come along upstairs with us -- I believe that's where everyone else is assembled -- and we'll discuss our next moves."
"Mining, you say?" he goes on, addressing Braddon. "Haven't heard of any runs of ore anywhere near here, though I suppose their investment could be in some foreign port, something the man heard of from a seafaring client."
"Something about a secret location of rare metals that they could sell to the gas forges. The scribe said he didn't know where but Lil is supposed to know. He said she might've found out from a Windward client, which made me wonder if it was connected to Gramma."
"That woman is dead or missing.", Gristav says softly. Then, more clearly, "I'd dearly love to know which. To know how dark this story is; how grey from us is still making things brighter."
Phillip casts a momentary thought back to Ethel alone in the room... but mollifys the same given that the door is locked and she will likely sleep for some time before wondering for the lack of him. With a small smile and briefest of bows Phil answers "As you wish" and falls in behind the procession.
Samaritha offers the stranger a smile. "Pleased to meet you," she says politely. "Do you mind if I ask what sort of magician you are? I mean, did you have to study, or was it an innate talent?" She glances at Braddon beside her. "And do you know anything about ghosts?"
"No, it's not innate. That would be useful though. Someone like me needs a little Luck for magic... I've learned. As far as ghosts go," he looks away, obviously thinking on the subject. Coming up with nothing, he looks back to Samaritha, "I'm gonna have to say no. Why?"
"Braddon encountered a ghost on that haunted section of road... or so he's surmised from what he experienced. He believes himself cursed, but no magic lingers about him; so we're left with conjecture versus observation. Unless he recounts his experience, and lets the more informed interpret the interaction...?"
"Malkith said the Captain insisted on pressing one of them -- like he might have in life if he was short-handed, I suppose -- and chose Braddon. He gestured and spoke, and Braddon and his horse ... turned green? Is that right?" she asks. "Only the color went away before they arrived back here. Was it like he was casting a spell, Malkith? I wouldn't think a ghost could cast spells unless he already knew how to cast them in life. I haven't heard anyone say that Captain Cullie was an arcanist. It could have been divine magic; I suppose he might have been a priest of Besmara."
"Malkith said the Captain insisted on pressing one of them -- like he might have in life if he was short-handed, I suppose -- and chose Braddon. He gestured and spoke, and Braddon and his horse ... turned green? Is that right?" she asks. "Only the color went away before they arrived back here. Was it like he was casting a spell, Malkith? I wouldn't think a ghost could cast spells unless he already knew how to cast them in life. I haven't heard anyone say that Captain Cullie was an arcanist. It could have been divine magic; I suppose he might have been a priest of Besmara."
"Or a charlatan with a gull in a net? Can we agree Braddon has nothing remaining on him, and let him be at ease? The poor man has enough to worry on. Which card would be drawn first: A magic to mark, and a magic to hide a mark, beside? And applied to man and horse? Or a clever clown of a corporeal caster? This is a casino. How would you bet?"
Turning to Gristav, "Encountered a ghost, huh?" He looks to Braddon, "And lived to tell the tale. Usually dead people who come back to life want to kill live people. Or so I thought. I wonder why he let you live."
Listening to Samaritha, he starts to find this spirit more and more interesting. "So he turned you green for a moment. Almost like he needed you to be seen. A mark, I'd gather. That way he can find you easier. Of course, that has me curious as to why he didn't just press you then. Why the mark? And also," he hesitates a moment, thinking this might not be a good question but decides to ask it anyway, "How do I go about meeting this ghost?"
Turning to Gristav, "Encountered a ghost, huh?" He looks to Braddon, "And lived to tell the tale. Usually dead people who come back to life want to kill live people. Or so I thought. I wonder why he let you live."
Listening to Samaritha, he starts to find this spirit more and more interesting. "So he turned you green for a moment. Almost like he needed you to be seen. A mark, I'd gather. That way he can find you easier. Of course, that has me curious as to why he didn't just press you then. Why the mark? And also," he hesitates a moment, thinking this might not be a good question but decides to ask it anyway, "How do I go about meeting this ghost?"
"Walk down that road? And any mark would be magic; there is none. Yes, such a mark could be hidden. But why that much effort? And why man and horse? Is there a bridle-bar on the ship's windlass? And why not us? We're neither as pretty as Braddon, but you've a certain brawn about you. I think the clown, was done clowning."
"Braddon, I believe you're safe, and there is no mark on you. I don't know how to put you more at ease, but a part of me laughs I ought to take that broken arrow I found, and leave it in place of your horse. It was just a trick, Braddon. Like the curtains I made; real enough to see, but that's all."
"But why would a ghost lie?" Samaritha argues. "What does it have to gain?"
"A man might lie. For the fun of it. Or he may have had a purpose. Tell us all of what was seen, before and after. And I'll fetch that arrow; it might have it's own testimony to give. But let's agree? Please? Braddon has nothing to worry about. Except his grandmother.", Gristav said, the last in notes of genuine pity.
With a small smile and briefest of bows Phil answers "As you wish" and falls in behind the procession.
"I'd hardly consider those conditions 'comfortable,'" Tendal questions Saul's terminology with a frown as the group of men continues up the staircase. "Is such usage strictly necessary?"
"Won't do him a bit of harm," Saul replies airily, "and is useful for loosening tongues. You don't put a fellow up in the lap of luxury and expect him to spill all; you want to motivate him to talk quickly in the hopes it'll ameliorate his situation. Worked on La Barabbio, eh?" he grins, elbowing Daynadrain, who looks uncomfortable. "Besides," he goes on, reaching the top of the staircase and turning down the corridor toward his office, "unless you're for killing the man, it's best he never recognizes his surroundings as the Goblin. Better he continues to think it's some sort of Gendarme operation, and he's somewhere in Shoreleave. We certainly don't need someone else running around town with a motive to ruin us. Here we are!" he announces to the gathered company cheerfully, as he enters the dining room. "I've gathered Master Hargreaves ... and ah! I see your friend is back as well, Larur," he goes on, bowing slightly to Gristav, "and...?" His eye falls on Snake, and he stops, nonplussed, waiting for an explanation.
"Misters Vankaskerkin, Deverin, Bojasc, and Hargeaves...", Gristav announces, rising from his chair to answer the bow, and to gesture at each, "... allow me to introduce an arcanist of my recent acquaintance. We were just... convincing Braddon that he's not marked by the Beyond. I hope. I mean, I hope we were convincing him. I'm certain... well, not certain... Yes! I am. I am certain. Braddon, you are not cursed, marked, or enchanted."
Phillip listens upon the walk not speaking for or against the imprisonment, and following Saul into the office when they arrive. An idle yawn escapes as he stands and looks, running a hand through his mussed hair and smoothing out his mustache. Gristav's words elicit a wry smirk, but he allows the newcomer an attempt to justify or explain first.
Phillip hardly cuts an imposing figure, being of the shortness common to his race, and wearing but a shirt and breeches without shoes as his raiment. His eyes are alive though, despite his yawning.
Braddon looks Snake over again before asking, Did you guys encounter anything coming through the Boneyard?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, Braddon keeps talking. "We saw nothing on the way out, but returning we came across a hung sailor singing and swinging from the mast. We ignored him, but he cut us off at the pass, turned me green and then vanished. Dayn and I filled him full of arrows but they had no effect. As soon as I pulled my sword though, he scared off my horse rather than face me."
"All we encountered was one of your arrows. We were trying to be discrete, we either succeeded or... he was done for the night."
Snake looks to Gristav as he responds to Saul before turning his attention to the man himself. "What Gristav said. And I'm looking for work, to tell you the truth. You the man I need to speak to?"
Ignoring the side talk about Braddon and his close encounter of the green kind, Phillip turns to Saul and innocently asks "Are we taking in strays now?"
Ignoring the side talk about Braddon and his close encounter of the green kind, Phillip turns to Saul and innocently asks "Are we taking in strays now?"
"What about you? Do you have any experience with ghosts or magic?"
Snake looks to Gristav as he responds to Saul before turning his attention to the man himself. "What Gristav said. And I'm looking for work, to tell you the truth. You the man I need to speak to?"
Ignoring the side talk about Braddon and his close encounter of the green kind, Phillip turns to Saul and innocently asks "Are we taking in strays now?"
"Ha! Now? Still. Or were you sent for?", Gris gusts and gushes gregariously. Only after saying it, does it occur to him, the halfling might have been sent for, despite appearances...
"Are we taking in strays now?"
"I suppose that depends on their talents," Saul replies with a bland smile as he takes his accustomed seat at the head of the table, Bojasc a towering presence at his shoulder, "and their timing. What sort of work are you looking for, Mister....?" he fishes for a name. "Don't suppose you can dance?"
Phillip takes in Gristav's words, returning them with a phrase in the halfling language "De igual para igual" before moving to find himself a bolster and a glass of whatever's free for drinking in the room.
As he busies himself he responds to Braddon's query "No more or less than most... Though I'd wager in most circles turning green would be seen as a sign of something less than savory."
"I know. It was very strange. I was covered in green flame, not much but too much to be flickering. And it affected the horse I rode in on too. And then it faded. He said I was going to join his crew. It's been a weird day. Only this afternoon, Dayn and I were swimming inside the Harbourmaster's office."
He turns to Saul and Larur. "How often does that tidal thing happen? Everyone seemed to know to go for high ground as soon as they heard that screech."
"I saw sailors running for their boats, not high ground. So I went, too. Hailed at the Cloud, offered assistance, and got aboard before the wave came in. I had no idea what was happening, but the sailors seemed to have practiced it. I was fairly useless throughout; holding fast and trying not to get in the way. It was magical, I've no doubt, but my sense for such showed me nothing."
"There was one fellow we saw washed from the pier. We got him out and home safe, afterward. I can see why those who aren't sailors flee, lest they too be dis-a'piered..." Gristav smiles, child-like.
Phillip keeps what he knows and saw to himself for now... seeing no reason to spend the information won so freely in the company of many. Assuming that bolster, drink and seat are able to be won, he settles back into the corner of the chair and sips idly as he watches and listens.
"What sort of work are you looking for, Mister....?" he fishes for a name. "Don't suppose you can dance?"
He looks to the man with a raised eyebrow. "Did I hear you right? Did you say, 'dance'?" He thinks on it a moment and then shrugs. "I might be able to, but I wouldn't bet on it. Doesn't strike me as something I would like. But as they say, desperate times and all that." Now what was that name Gristav said I should use? It was something terrible. Phido? Ophallio? Odiph? Did I just think up Odiph? What kind of jacked up name is that? Sorry, Gristav, I don't want to be called Odiph. Or any of those other names. "You can call me, Snake," he gives a nod in greeting. "No need for the Mister part."