Saul moves up to intercede before Larur can do more than sputter angrily. "Well, now, a nice, routine evening where nothing goes wrong? Who in Riddleport would gossip about that? People don't exchange breathless stories about every ship that doesn't sink, eh? We wondered why we didn't see any of your boys at the opening; we were halfway expecting them -- because your boys know how to enjoy a night of entertainment, I mean. Thought you might appreciate having a casino this side of the river, seeing as how Free-Coin's been known to get a mite dangerous."
At Saul's reference to the dangers of Free-Coin, Zincher gives him a hard glare, but Saul's easy grin doesn't falter. "Aye, well," Cleg replies sullenly, "there's a lot of places in Riddleport that aren't safe, depending on who you are. Come on, boys," he turns back toward the door and his entourage. "Time to go."
"It's so nice when old friends are able to catch up.", Gristav gushes, clasping his hands in grinning glee. Untended, accidentally elbowed, perhaps, his staff falls across the doorway path, and fetching it up takes Gristav its length closer to Zincher. "Like Lil's interest in the opening. Considering all the interest that's been taken in hers.", Gris smirks. "We're still learning some of the trouble she went to, finding twists... and I don't mean the confections." Insight appears to arrive, and Gristav realizes, and rhetorically requests of Zincher, "I expect you know more of her business, her haunts, than we do?"
Braddon had been guarding the doors making no move or sound until Gristav speaks. When he does, Braddon gently puts a hand on Gristav's shoulder and pulls him back a step.
"Shut up!" Braddon warns just softly enough for his voice to float to the nearest of Zincher's thugs. "He's been looking for Lil for ages. If you tell him we found her in 3 days it'll make him look dumb in front of his lackeys."
He looks up to the infamous crimelord and nods apologetically. "Sorry. Ignore him. Half the time I can't even understand what he's saying."
Braddon gives a friendly smile then steps back into his doorway guard position once more.
Braddon had been guarding the doors making no move or sound until Gristav speaks. When he does, Braddon gently puts a hand on Gristav's shoulder and pulls him back a step.
"Shut up!" Braddon warns just softly enough for his voice to float to the nearest of Zincher's thugs. "He's been looking for Lil for ages. If you tell him we found her in 3 days it'll make him look dumb in front of his lackeys."
Braddon looks up to the infamous crimelord and nods apologetically. "Sorry. Ignore him. Half the time I can't even understand what he's saying."
Braddon gives a friendly smile then steps back into his doorway guard position once more.
"Yes, like now. And yet, he was part of finding... what we've found.", Gristav says of Braddon. "If there's common cause, we could compare. There is much of interest. But I suppose that would be Saul's choice to make."
Phillip nods his head in general greeting at the arrival of Bellamy and Billy Dagger, responding to their cry genially and indicating the bar with a backwards jerk of his head. He makes no move to assist though, clearly leaving the heavy lifting of the stairs to the dockworkers.
However muscles tense at the arrival of the knot of muscles... only relaxing somewhat when Zincher waves his men back to the courtyard. As the others remain within with Cleg, Phillip keeps his doorway vigil. The only mind he pays the crimelord is a brief narrowing of eyes for a span of seconds...
After that though, Phillip keeps to his chair, keeps eyes on the men milling in the courtyard... and his unloaded crossbow across his legs. He scans their faces as best he can, looking for scars, distinctive marks, tattoos... and also weighs the nascent aura of violence. Does their bearing betray this as posturing... or is there the sharp and heady edge of intent...
In contrast to the Gendarmes and the dockworkers, Zincher's thugs sport a more lubberly, less maritime manner. Rather than former sailors, some are likely former gladiators: While there are few tattoos and no earrings, there are a smattering of interesting scars, and short swords rather than cutlasses predominate. They certainly seem to be ready for a fight ... but they're also not about to make a move without Zincher's approval. Waiting in the courtyard, they're attuned to their boss's demeanor, eager for even a tacit go-ahead.
"Yes, like now. And yet, he was part of finding... what we've found.", Gristav says of Braddon. "If there's common cause, we could compare. There is much of interest. But I suppose that would be Saul's choice to make."
"What?" Zincher snaps irritably, looking from Gristav to Braddon and back. "What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?"
"Yes, like now. And yet, he was part of finding... what we've found.", Gristav says of Braddon. "If there's common cause, we could compare. There is much of interest. But I suppose that would be Saul's choice to make.""What?" Zincher snaps irritably, looking from Gristav to Braddon and back. "What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?"
"Common cause. You and Saul may have it. Let Saul buy you a drink. The first words, ought be his.", Gristav reasons. "Our taproom perhaps better than our doorway, ears on either side, bound for the docks..."
"'Common cause?'" he repeats scornfully. "What the hell is this, Saul? A joke? Who the hell are you?" he goes on, leaning into Gristav's face. "I don't know you. You're a nobody, working for a has-been, and you think you're going to bargain with me? If there were anything I wanted in this whole shabby outfit, you think I couldn't just pull the place apart and take it?" He pauses just long enough to let his lip curl with contempt, then heads down the stairs to collect his entourage and leave without a backward glance. "Let's go, boys. There's nothing here worth our time."
Saul moves up to Gristav's elbow as he watches the visitors depart. "I trusted that man once," he tells the half-elf quietly. "I'll not make that mistake again. Any information we share with him, he'd only use against us."
"Could have been worse, though, eh?" Covey Smith asks with a nervous smile. "Nothing but words exchanged."
Billy Dagger and Bellamy, the latter looking disappointed that Zincher's toughs left without breaking anything, have finished unloading their pushcarts but are lingering in the courtyard, glancing meaningfully at Phillip.
Saul moves up to Gristav's elbow as he watches the visitors depart. "I trusted that man once," he tells the half-elf quietly. "I'll not make that mistake again. Any information we share with him, he'd only use against us."
"Good, then, that his mind is closed. He was here, then, why?", Gristav asked. "Besides, to browbeat Larur?"
Phillip tenses as he hears raised voice from within, but relaxes as Zincher sees fit to make his exit. Leaving his crossbow by the chair, Phillip settles up with the docksmen - palming each a few silver "Coin promised and coin delivered... Hope we'll see ye back come Sunday eh? Bring some mates along and put some effort into drinking what you delivered today." smiling generously before winking and ascending back to the front door.
After another minute or so of outlook, he slips back within speaking to the room and none in particular "Best we close up again."
Snake walks up to the front to where the others are, peering through narrowed eyes as their visitor leaves. "Now there's a friendly fellow," he says, the sarcasm obvious. "Let me guess: that one won't be asking any of us over for dinner any time soon," he states facetiously. "Who is that guy?"
"He was here, then, why?", Gristav asked. "Besides, to browbeat Larur?"
Saul shrugs. "Show of strength. Threat. Idle curiosity. Casing the joint. Take your pick."
"Who is that guy?"
"Cleg Zincher," he replies with a sharp glance. "Runs the arena and handles labor issues in town. Former associate. Didn't end well. Oh, and my son killed his brother over a girl."
"Best we close up again."
"Aye," Saul agrees, "let's lock up the front. Bojasc, give Larur a hand with the bar. Tendal, my boy, if you're ready to head to Lubbertown to find a disinterested alchemist, go upstairs and fetch La Barabbio and her escort so they can hire our Varisian musicians. Larur, Bojasc, come with me to open the vault so I can retrieve the vials while we're safe behind lock and key."
As Tendal heads through the kitchen and Saul, Larur, and Bojasc disappear behind the cashiers' cage, Covey grins a bit awkwardly at the staff that are left on the floor. "Well, suppose I'd better get the bottles uncrated. Anyone know where I might find a crowbar?" He heads toward the bar and the newly-delivered cargo.
Gristav follows Covey, set to magic loose the boards of the crates, nail by nail, until a more proper tool is presented.
Gristav sets to work with his cantrip on one of the smaller crates, while Covey hops over the counter to look for a crowbar. "There we go," he says with satisfaction after a moment, returning to the casino side of the bar, with the tool in hand. "You finish that one; I'll open the big one." He wedges the crowbar's end beneath the edge of the lid and applies a quicker, louder option for opening the boxes. With a wrench and a groan of twisting nails, he pries up the lid and lets it clatter off the back of the box to the floor.
As soon as the lid is removed, there is a flash of movement from within the box. Before Covey and Gristav can react, something with too many legs has darted to the edge of the crate. The one nearest Covey almost topples out of the box as it lunges at him fruitlessly, but Gristav is caught flat-footed and feels a sharp pain in his arm as the creature's fangs penetrate his skin. Two more creatures scramble out of the box in opposite directions and begin to climb the walls. They are mottled spiders, approximately Phillip's size.
"Aagh!", Gristav eloquently evinces the wince of the pincers, "" {...No, eight legs...}, his fey mind fluttered, but also mathed to thirty-two, with sixteen apparently fled. They'd flee, then? Perhaps if given room.
Tossing his staff to his left hand, Gristav reached with his right, not for the nearest noisome arachnid at hand, but for Covey. The hobbit's stature made the bend of leg and back needed, but all was well, for both were wanted. Bent, to be straightened...
It was hardly fair, but fairly hard, the grab-and-toss. Still, the halfling kept his feet, and gained some yards, railing in reverse, halfway out of the taproom, by the time the shove was spent. At least, Gristav hoped, Covey'd see it, as gaining yards. And maybe, saving tears.
Realizing his tactical error, Gristav shouted, " {...or we'll be days finding them again...}, he thought.
Gristav's shove catches the startled bartender off-guard. He stumbles backward on his peg leg before he overcomes his shock. "What the--? Who puts spiders in a crate of wine bottles?!" Finding the crowbar still in his hand, he brings it in front of himself defensively, readying to brain any arachnid that comes after him.
"More, I think, 'Who writes 'wine' on a box of spiders?", Gristav retorts.
Braddon rushes forward at the commotion , deftly pulling the masterwork short sword as he does so.
"Who's whining about a box of spiders?"
"It's not the arc, it's the bite..."
Phil furrows his brow at the commotion.
The spider, having been enclosed for who knows how long without fresh food, is stimulated by the taste of Gristav's blood and lunges for the half-elf again; his neighbor, sensing that the other has found prey, decides to claim its own share. The first spider is unable to repeat its success, but as Gristav dodges to avoid the first predator he leans into the second.
The eastern spider scuttles seamlessly from the wall to the ceiling; the one to the west climbs the wall over the top of the bar and disappears around the corner of the doorway to the back corridor.
Braddon rushes forward at the commotion, deftly pulling the masterwork short sword as he does so.
A wave of weakness washed the wyrdling wanderer. He saw blood seeping from the pincer's slash, striped beside a hue no human heart were wont to wend within. "BEWARE the VENOM!", Gristav said, intending a similar volume to all he'd said yet, but failing.
Flee?, the thought came. No, for Covey could not.
Marshaling mystic might, Gristav strengthened his stave, if not his grip upon it, and struck out at the nearest, the force of his own swing staggering him back a step, thereafter.
As the arachnids burst forth Phillip swears under his breath. Noting not only those upon Gristav, but also the ones that have fled deeper into the Goblin, he grimaces and sets jaw. Calling the Savored Sting to mind, he suffuses himself with the grace of his patron and hares off through the interior of the casino with unloaded crossbow in hand.
Covey winces as Gristav is bitten a second time and left swaying on his feet. "Get out of there, mate!" he urges him, keeping a watchful eye on the crate of spiders. "They'll eat you alive!"
"Four. There are four...", Gristav says, weakening.
Turning toward the commotion, "Spiders? Is he serious? They better be big for that kind of reaction," he mutters to himself as he moves in that direction.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Malkith rises, leaving his cards spread on the table, and draws a dagger, moving to the door of the kitchen.
The spider on the ceiling scuttles across to the chimney, down the wall, and onto the underside of the mantel of the unused fireplace. One of the spiders in the box clambers out onto the floor after its retreating meal; the other remains in the crate, waving its forelegs in frustration. As the spider chases down Gristav, Covey tries to shove the half-elf out of the way behind the stack of crates, but he is distracted by the approaching arachnid and fails to push the other man behind cover. Gristav is, however, able to turn the maneuver into a dodge that just eludes the venomous fangs hoping to make a meal of him.
Gristav shows every sign of staggering to the West...
Despite the intervening bodies, Phillip decides to chance a shot. Taking a step forwards he loads his crossbow before sending a speculative bolt scything towards one of the spiders...
...though his care at not injuring a friendly sends his aim far too high.
Braddon darts in after Phillip's shot, pushing past Covey to Gristav's side.
The short sword flicks out at the spider accosting Gristav.
"Get back," he orders Gristav. "I'll hold 'em."
The spider is not armored; Braddon's short sword pierces its thin exoskeleton effortlessly and leaves a deep wound in its abdomen dripping a pale yellow ichor on the new carpeting.
Soundly staggered by the waves of weakness, Gristav manages a grim grin at Braddon's bladework. Assaying advantage in the assault on the arachnid, Gristav seconds with a strike of his staff...
Then staggers back under the effort, luckily away from the crawlish critter.
To Braddon he replies, less crisply than he'd hoped, "I'll let you."
Gristav takes a certain Pyrrhic satisfaction when his staff finally connects with the arachnid, despite being in retreat. There is little strength in the blow but sufficient magic to crush the front two of the spider's segmented legs on its right side.
Seeing Gristav seemingly on his last leg, Snake moves over next to him. "Hang on, bub, it looks like these bugs have gotten you good." Placing a hand on the wounded magus, that bluish-white glow gleams from his eyes once again as the healing energy manages to work for Gristav.
While it doesn't counter the weakness spreading in his blood, Snake's hex restores some vitality to Gristav's body.
"I'd not have used the word good", Gristav patters, "But I will use the word better, thank you."
Malkith moves cautiously through the kitchen, dagger ready to throw. He glances into the break room, then moves up to the back hallway where he can see down the corridor into the bar. "I don't see anything!" he calls back to the main floor.
"You all right, mate?" Covey asks Gristav, briefly clasping his elbow before moving into the kitchen to help Malkith search for the missing spider.
The spider in the crate stays put, crouched in a wary stance; the one in the fireplace disappears up the chimney. The wounded spider seems to decide that survival is more important than a meal; it scuttles onto the nearest wall and around the corner before climbing up to the ceiling, dragging its crushed legs and smearing a trail of ichor up the wall from its pierced abdomen.
"No reason to risk more poison", Gristav reasons aloud, seeing the spiders make distance. "Keep distance, keep them in sight, track them, trap them. To them was Given poison and stealth; to us, reason, science, and art."
In response to Malkith's report, Gristav shouts, "You've ART, they've POISON.", he reminds.
He readies* the words of his Ray of Frost, measuring his shot at the unlegged spider...
{If the one holds his crate, and the other his chimney... he wouldn't go into the sun at the top, would he? They seem to prefer ambuscade...}
Braddon drops his sword and snatches up the lid of the crate. Using the lid as a shield from the crated critter he darts forward and tries to trap the spider back in its box.
Mulling the swirling bodies and thinking less of his aptitude with the crossbow, Phillip contents himself to load a fresh quarrel and draw nearer. The press of danger in the fray holding his attention.
"Well done, Braddon! If the other keeps to the chimney, they're half contained..." Gristav rushes past the crate, his eyes searching for the up-fled arachnid, a cantrip calling crystalled coruscations of incarnate cold to chill the creature.