"You suppose correctly."
Braddon gathers up his stuff and makes his way outside looking for Larur.
The dwarf is sitting in Saul's waiting room, flipping through some papers with a worried look on his face. When Braddon walks through the door in his Hellknight finery, Larur looks up, startled, and then grins. "Bah, elves. My sister's firstborn had more hair on his chest, and he was four years old last I saw him. What can I do for you, lad?"
"I understand I'm unlikely to pick up a cute dwarf like this, but I'm okay with that for now. What shall I do now and where can I put my things?"
The dwarf looks about ready to tell him to just toss his clothing in a corner somewhere but frowns at the bulk of the chain shirt. "Oh, aye, that armor's worth a pocketful of coin," he admits grudgingly. "I'd not leave that lying around in the open with so many strangers in the building. If you're wanting a bed to sleep in when the night's over, you might as well pile your belongings there now and lock it up safe. Come along downstairs, and I'll get you a key to one of the guest rooms."
Larur carefully locks the door with the shiny brass "Owner" plaque on it behind them as they go, then leads Braddon down the staircase and through the empty break room and the kitchen, which is now bustling productively in the wake of Saul's prior passing. Coming out onto the main floor of the casino, he turns right and weaves his way through the activity of furniture-arranging and bunting-hanging without paying it the slightest attention; Braddon gets his first view of the part of the Gold Goblin meant for the public's eye and of the overdressed woman at the center of the activity, although Larur, unlike Saul, doesn't offer to introduce her. Passing into the queuing area in front of the cashiers' cage, the dwarf heads straight to the door in the western wall and unlocks it, entering without looking behind him to see if the half-elf is following.
The windowless room is quite dark. Braddon instinctively looks around for a convenient lamp but doesn't see one; then he realizes that the dwarf has no need for one. His own elven heritage is sufficient to let him pick out the details of the room from the limited light spilling in from the casino floor. The only furniture is a large desk, with one chair behind it and two in front of it. The floor is bare, and the surface of the desk, in contrast to Saul's collection of art and tchotchkes upstairs, bears only a neat stack of parchments and a quill thrust into the cork stopper of a bottle of ink. The blank uniformity of the stone walls is broken only by a shallow cabinet hanging behind the desk. The room seems less an office than a sepulcher.
Larur crosses directly to the cabinet and unlocks it to reveal keys hanging neatly in rows. He removes one and slides it across to Braddon as he sits down behind the desk. "There. As to what you do now, well, you've got me. Saul would probably want you out on the streets juggling knives and passing out handbills." He gives a hoarse chuckle that quickly turns into a cough. Whipping out his handkerchief, he manages to regain control of his airways after a few strangled seconds and glances up at Braddon more seriously. "I'll tell you what worries me: It's less the customers who'll show up tonight than the strangers we've already hired off the street having the run of this place. Those damned half-orcs Saul put at the door are part of Croat's gang or I'll shave my beard, and all the rest of these cooks and decorators and fetch-and-carry men, who knows who they might be working for? Could be spying out weaknesses or making plans to exploit them. Hells, for all I know, you could be as well, but if you are, at least you know I'm onto you now, right?" He twists his face into a wry smile and shakes his head. "If you're looking for orders from me, consider yourself on duty now. Keep an eye on the comings and goings and an ear open to what's being whispered. If Zincher intends to strike against us tonight, his men may already be on the inside."
Not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than necessary, Sarien releases the handles of the door and turns back toward the kitchen.
"I guess we'll have to be ready to dodge some pots and pans if those two cooks haven't worked their anger out yet," he mutters to Phillip as he heads in that direction.
Sarien and Phillip make their way back across the busy room, trying to look like they were merely checking the security of the front door after supervising the stocking of the bar. Although the argument in the kitchen rages on, the two are able to slip through the break room and back corridor to return to the back door without drawing the warring chefs' attention; the peg-legged sailor with his pipe offers Sarien a jaunty wink as he passes through.
From there, it is a simple matter to circle the building, moving along with the workmen carrying full crates in and empty ones out. There appear to be no other entrances than the double doors in the front and the kitchen door in the back. The windows in the main building are tall and thin, taller than a man but barely as broad, and have no mechanism by which to open them; they would have to be broken to use as a means of access. Those in the eastern wing are high in the wall and too small for a Medium creature to slip through, save for the one at the end of the hall, which matches those on the front of the building. The southern wing is entirely windowless, although a thick mass of ivy growing up the far southern wall looks like it might provide relatively simple access to the roof. Around the back of the Goblin, the kitchen windows are of a more standard and less decorative variety, which can be opened to let out heat or smoke, as the windows in the second story appear to be. Of particular interest to Sarien, thanks to the ivy on the southern wall, are two second-story windows overlooking the roof of the southern wing; they seem to be similarly situated to the window he looked out of in the upstairs hallway over the eastern wing: a relatively easy drop down to the roof or a more difficult climb up from the same.
"Impressive," Malkith says, approving of the security measures taken to ward the vault against intrusion. "Herr Felden agreed that lodging would be provided for us, as I'll be in need of someplace private to prepare for this evening."
After securing a key to his designated room, Malkith gives Saul a gracious bow. He also provides a parting nod of the head to the others gathered about the casino owner, "I shall see you all this evening."
"You're right. How better to drive customers away than have them abused by the staff. It depends on your enemies' aims, of course. That may ruin the casino, but not necessarily yourselves. A brute squad to tear up the place would be easily dealt with, but useful to frame a third party. A master thief would merely be after your most valuable items but can use the confusion to cover their trail."
Braddon spins the room key distractedly on his finger. "I'll dump my stuff and keep an eye out. If I see anything even slightly suspicious, I'll let you know at once."
He makes his way over to the door, then turns before he exits.
"If I can be blunt, we've no reason to trust each other yet, so I understand you're taking a chance with me. I appreciate that and if you play me straight you'll not find a more capable or resourceful... lackey."
With a nod and a grin, Braddon leaves the room and finds his way to the guest rooms. He doesn't even think to check off the anteroom and finds his key fits the 3rd door on the right. He gazes quickly round the room.
"Not bad. Ooh, a double bed. I can't wait to try that out."
Braddon unceremoniously throws his stuff on the floor behind the bed and leaves, locking the door behind him. He searches his person briefly for somewhere to stow the key, frowns in irritation and drops it into his daggerless boot.
Braddon spends the rest of the afternoon, making rounds and exploring the building. He lingers round corners from where people are and finds quiet nooks where unobtrusive conversations could take place. He rests regularly behind the main doors, trying surreptitiously to hear Croat's half-orcs on the other side. He's only too happy to chat with those who approach him, complaining about his outfit, telling them he's new and looking for 'real' work and asking them who they usually work for and can recommend. He also looks in on the kitchens occasionally to pass a wink to Samaritha.
"I guess we'll have to be ready to dodge some pots and pans if those two cooks haven't worked their anger out yet," he mutters to Phillip as he heads in that direction.
Phillip smooths his mustache with one hand as he gives a half-hearted smile to Sarien's words. Once outwith of the building proper he turns to Sarien "Well that was... enlightening to say the least, and I am well enough intrigued to see how the gala will play out tonight, as I am sure you are?" fishing for a confirmation.
"At any rate, one has long been at sea and could do with a bath in water that is neither brackish nor salted. Will you be well enough on your own for the rest of the day? No doubt our paths may cross again this eve." tone insistent enough on their parting without being forceful.
"Oh yes, I am looking forward to seeing how things play out. It seems this 'Stumpy' fellow is placing all his coin on one bet. It could make for quite a show."
"Ah yes, I have some things to see to as well. Fare thee well." Sarien offers a nod of farewell and makes his way off into the street.
Now that Sarien's got a decent idea of the landscape around the Gold Goblin, he's going to just take a quick look at the neighboring streets before he goes in search of a clothing shop of modest price to purchase more appropriate clothes for the grand opening. He'll also check to see if there is any reasonably safe lodging in the general area.
Phillip tips an imaginary hat at Sarien as they part "Till tonight then"
Despite the widely-acknowledged crime, you notice no visible patrols of watchmen or guards of any kind in the Wharf or River districts, and the only security on view in the Leeward District is of the private variety. If there is a municipal police force in Riddleport, they are deep under cover or simply not present in this part of town. Nor are there many beggars evident. The community either does an admirable job of taking care of its own or an equally admirable job of clearing out any bothers and eyesores to another neighborhood.
While the Wharf District is lined with inns and taverns, they all seem to rent out their bedrooms by the hour; in the establishments where you are able to make your inquiries heard, they seem flummoxed by the concept of giving you a room with a key where you can leave your belongings while you're not physically there. Although several thoroughly untrustworthy-looking drunks offer to watch your possessions for you, swearing they 'never leave that particular stool and will treat your belongings as their very own, little master.' you end up at a large domed structure northeast of the Gold Goblin, bearing the rubric Mystery of the Gate. Within, you find an antechamber that circles around the outer ring of the building, scattered with groups of comfortable chairs and settees, its walls hung with sketches and paintings of the Cyphergate from various angles and at different times of day; the core of the inn seems to be taken up with a large auditorium for conferences and lectures. It is not a simple matter to gain the attention of the supercilious robed clerk behind the desk; he eyes your stature and traveling clothes with a dubious sniff, but he allows that they do have rooms to let -- at a cost of 3 gold per day. A washtub and hot water can be provided for an additional silver piece; however, you've also overheard talk of a public bath at the House of the Silken Veil.
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."
"Right then" Dayn replies, holding up a hand and ticking off his fingers "Pickpockets, unpleasantness, drunks and vandals or worse. Got it. Should be a piece of cake, 'boss'." he grins "If you don't mind I'll grab one of those keys as well so I can stow my gear and then familiarize myself a bit more with the layout and your staff. Oh, and are there any other guards I should know about other then the brothers here, the half-orcs outside and the 'hellknights'? Otherwise, I'll be seeing you later. Unless there's any specific time you'd like me here?"
Daynadrian waits for the key and any further forthcoming instruction and then gives his farewells to all those present. Making his way to the rooms he takes the NE corner one, and stows his backpack in a closet or on a table if no wardrobe is available. Spending a moment checking the security of the room, including the windows and such, he makes sure to leave nothing of great value in his bag and, keeping his sword, bow and other weapons with him, locks the door and leaves.
His next order of business is to fully explore the Goblin, specifically with an eye to any possible security risks, areas of congestion or places a thief or trouble maker might target. He also introduces himself to all the visible hellknights, explaining that he will be working as plain clothes security for the night. He does his best not to smirk at their outfits.
Once satisfied, he makes his way outside, giving a once over to the entire exterior, paying close attention to areas where thieves might gain easy access.
When done with that, he then widens his search, looking in particular for nearby abandoned buildings where a group with ill intent towards the Gold Goblin might stage their assault.
Finally, somewhat footsore and hungry, he asks around for a good and lively inn or tavern, orders a meal and a drink, and does his best to pick up any rumors concerning Saul, his enemy(ies), the Gold Goblin or anything else of interest.
Although the room your key unlocks has a musty scent and a thick coating of dust, it is clear that a little attention with a mop and broom will render it quite pleasant and liveable. It's certainly more spacious than the back of a wagon you're used to bunking in. It's the work of a moment to clean off a sufficient surface to lay out your cards and pull up a chair.
First, you perform the choosing: The Marriage, representing the union of persons or ideas. Not unexpected, when you are considering the prospect of joining Vankaskerkin and Felden's organization. Returning the card to the deck, you shuffle it in and lay out your array, pondering the coming night's events. First, the past: You turn up the Mountain Man, the Joke, and the Theater. An external physical power and danger overcome by artifice. Perhaps this Cleg Zincher against whom both men are working? You recall what Samaritha told you about Vankaskerkin's son: how he crossed Zincher and was thought dead but is now apparently revealed as alive. There must have been trickery involved in his escape. The Theater is misaligned in the bottom row, warning that prophecy is unreliable. The consequences of these past events are still unfolding and in flux; despite the good news carried by the stranger from Magnimar, it is impossible to say who will get the upper hand in the feud when all is said and done.
Next, you turn to the present and find the Juggler in the top row, a good sign that fate has been on your side to lead you to the Gold Goblin's opening. The card in the middle is a true match: the Peacock, signifying a sudden personal shift. Perhaps your own? Having left your old life with the caravan, you ponder the possibiity that tonight could be a new beginning in a new position with new companions. The bottom card in the row is the Twin, warning of duplicity, duality of purpose or identity. Not everyone you have met in this new place is trustworthy.
Finally, the future: The first card you turn over is the Lost, usually a bad omen, but it is misaligned. It promises clarity of mind under duress; you will be tested and given the chance to prove yourself. The middle card, the Tyrant, warns of a paternal influence that may bring pain. You frown; your own father is leagues away and you are unsure to whom this card may be referring. Last, the Big Sky, misaligned. While you have broken away from your old way of life, new shackles await to replace the old if you are not wary of being tied down to a new routine.
Shuffling the cards back into the deck, your thoughts turn to Samaritha and you deal again. First, the past: the Big Sky, the Cricket, and the Wanderer. The cards tell of her shared heritage with you: the freedom of the road and easy travels. The Wanderer, however, is misaligned and speaks of inability to see value when it is before one's eyes. You wonder if anyone in her caravan held her mixed heritage against her.
The middle row reveals her present. The Desert: She is traversing a bleak passage, undoubtedly her long struggles to find a position and keep herself roomed and boarded in Riddleport. The middle card is once again a true match: the Bear, a symbol of the irresistibility of sheer brute force. The bottom card, the Liar, warns of love at its most treacherous. You stare at the cards for a moment: Samaritha's present seems to be a perilous period indeed.
Her future seems no less fraught with turmoil. The Betrayal and the Survivor speak of noble self-sacrifice and rebirth through a traumatic ordeal. The final card is the Hidden Truth, an opposite match. It symbolizes a dangerous secret in conjunction with a momentous happening in the future. As you sit and survey the array, you cannot help but feel grateful that you didn't perform this reading in front of her. Perhaps the cards will be kinder when the Harrowing is on her behalf.
Feeling drained after the two Harrowings, you close your eyes and seek to center yourself, shutting out the dusty room and letting your consciousness float free, seeking the counsel of the spirits about the danger to Saul Vankaskerkin's vault tonight. Falling within yourself, you wait for a response, but when you open your eyes, you have heard -- nothing. Either the spirits would not meet you or it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things whether you focus on the vault or not.
"If I can be blunt, we've no reason to trust each other yet, so I understand you're taking a chance with me. I appreciate that and if you play me straight you'll not find a more capable or resourceful... lackey."
Larur gives you a weary but not unkind smile as you shut the door, leaving him to flip through his papers in darkness.
You spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know the building and your fellow employees. It's no secret that all the bunting-hangers and furniture-movers despise their supervisor, the overdressed young actress, Thuvalia Barabbio. Virtually all of them are locals only hired on for the afternoon to get the building physically ready, and many claim they won't be back as customers in the evening, saying they've heard more than enough of her screeching for one lifetime. You overhear a few, however, plotting to return for the sole purpose of heckling her performance.
The men working stocking the bar are a group of sailors on a brief shoreleave while their captain is having some broken cabinetry in his cabin repaired; Saul hired them to unload the ale and wine from the ships that brought it and deliver it safely to the Goblin on promise of a handful each of free chips to enjoy the gaming afterwards.
The kitchen staff is made up of a handful of local teenaged girls and a sailor with a wooden leg who introduces himself as Covey Smith. A former ship's cook, he decided life at sea was too dangerous after losing his leg to an infected cutlass wound and retired to Riddleport. He says he often finds jobs as part of Cleg Zincher's crew, as do the two cooks, a middle-aged Varisian man and woman who are presently ignoring each other's very existence and silently vying for control of the kitchen by issuing icy and contradictory orders to their underlings. While Covey is helping out in the kitchen at present, in the evening, he will be performing bartending duties.
In the kitchen too is Samaritha, trying her best to keep up with the opposing instructions from the two cooks. As they often forget themselves in their antipathy and speak in their native language, she is at least helpful in translating from Varisian to Taldane for the benefit of the teenagers who seem not at all grateful for her pains. They refuse to return her smiles and snub her efforts to make friends. Your visits, once she's ascertained it's really you beneath the helmet, seem welcome.
Your efforts to eavesdrop on the half-orcs at the door are hindered by the ear-splitting commands from Thuvalia, the general bustle on the floor as the final preparations for the opening are made, and the thickness of the antique doors. To your frustration, when you finally do find a lull in which you can hear their voices on the other side, they are conversing together in Orcish, a language with which you are not familiar. You are quite sure, however, that you hear the word "Magnimar" a few times between chuckles.
The time spent with your fellows in costume is more pleasant, if only due to the pretty girls in short skirts. Most are local teenagers looking for spending money and glamour, but a few admit to turning tricks on the streets under the protection of Shorafa Pamodae, the local priestess of Calistria. "Don't tell her we were here," they beg you, a little uneasily. "It's just for fun." "Find us after the party, and we'll make it worth your while," the other offers. There are seven female 'tieflings' and four bare-chested young men wearing horns and tails; three are friends and admirers of the teenaged girl tieflings who let themselves get talked into coming along, and the fourth is the cabin boy of the ship whose captain is having his cabinetry fixed.
Your fellow 'Hellknights' are not as friendly a group. They decline to respond to your inquiries, instead talking quietly to each other in a language you recognize from Samaritha and Malkith's conversation and laughing. Questioning Fiora, you discover that they're a band of Varisians from Lubbertown, some of the few men in Riddleport without extensive tattoos that render them unfit for chest-baring costumes as anything but sailors and pirates. As for Fiora, she tells you that she's known Saul Vankaskerkin since they were both children, a fact of which she seems proud. She has a little shop in Leeward District from which she works as a seamstress and has no qualms about helping Saul in his latest business venture, 'for old times' sake.'
As the proprietor is measuring you for fit, you take the opportunity to ask about nearby lodging. "Mystery of the Gate is the best inn in this part of town," he answers promptly, "and the only place I'd send a friend or relative if we couldn't fit them in a bed somewhere. A bit dear, mind you, but the peace of mind is worth it. Those places in the Wharf District, if you come away with fleas from the mattress and worms from the food, you can thank Desna for your good fortune. Besides, a fine gentleman such as yourself," he flatters hopefully, "I'm sure money is no object."
With a sigh, you set to the task of rendering the small suite liveable, mentally kicking yourself for not preparing prestidigitation today; magic certainly has the benefit of making manual labor less manual. You amuse yourself by imagining the reaction of your claque back in Magnimar if they could see you now, sweeping the remains of what appears to be several generations of insects from under the bed. Once you've ascertained that there's nothing living in any of the chests of drawers, you feel safe enough to place your belongings in them, though not without a soupcon of regret that there aren't any scented liners for the drawers. Perhaps tomorrow, if they even sell such a commodity in Riddleport.
Once your possessions are put away, your thoughts turn to a hot bath -- and to the breakfast you never had this morning, once that tiefling woman turned your stomach. The brisk labor of cleaning and unpacking has reawakened your appetite. Hot water would be in the kitchen, as would food. Hopefully, you slip out of your room and cross the casino floor where, thankfully, Thuvalia's attention is focused elsewhere. Entering the kitchen, you see a somewhat familiar face, the red-haired half-elf girl from the tavern.
"Hot water?" she asks brightly, seemingly happy to be given a task to manage. "I can do that. But I don't know where to find a tub. Perhaps check the linen closet? And a bite to eat? We-ell... I suppose that'll be all right." She looks around nervously as if seeking permission.
"There's ham hasn't been through the grinder yet," a man with a wooden peg-leg offers cheerfully. "Could fry some up with some eggs."
There is, indeed, a washtub in the linen closet at the end of the hall. You wipe out the dust with a spare pillowcase and carry the ungainly thing back to your room with some difficulty, setting it up in the unused valet's chamber. Shortly thereafter, Samaritha knocks on your door, smiling, with a covered plate in one hand and a steaming kettle in the other. "It's going to take several trips to fill that," she remarks, seeing the tub. "Here, sit down and eat while I'm filling it." Asked about laundry services, she shrugs. "I don't really work here," she explains. "I'm just hired on for the day. Mr. Vankaskerkin must have some arrangement for his own clothes. Why don't you ask him?"
Making his way to the rooms he takes the NE corner one
"Right then" Dayn replies, holding up a hand and ticking off his fingers "Pickpockets, unpleasantness, drunks and vandals or worse. Got it. Should be a piece of cake, 'boss'." he grins "If you don't mind I'll grab one of those keys as well so I can stow my gear and then familiarize myself a bit more with the layout and your staff. Oh, and are there any other guards I should know about other then the brothers here, the half-orcs outside and the 'hellknights'? Otherwise, I'll be seeing you later. Unless there's any specific time you'd like me here?"
Saul runs through his staff list in his mind. "The Beyar brothers will handle the vault; Croat's boys are strictly crowd control at the doorway and in the courtyard; Bojasc will be with me; and except for your friend, the Hellknights are strictly for show." He grins. "Although if people assume they're all dangerous and on the payroll, so much the better."
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You find the room reasonably secure; the door is sturdy enough, and the only window is set high in the wall, to let in light while still allowing for privacy, and too small for a human to enter by even if he could climb the wall, although you wouldn't put it past a dextrous gnome or halfling.
You seem to have seen virtually all the public areas of the Gold Goblin already. Off the western edge of the casino floors, three doors open into smaller rooms furnished with tables and chairs comfortably arranged, places where groups of patrons can withdraw for a break from the bustle of the floor; when the building was an inn they were no doubt private dining rooms. The largest of these has been claimed by the Chelish actress headlining the evening as a dressing room and private sanctum; it is strewn with cosmetics and clothing and what appears to be a chain shirt. There is a locked door in the kitchen; when you ask, you're told it's the stairs down to the basement, which houses the wine cellar and Larur Felden's room.
Seeking out the "Hellknights," you find that Braddon is the only one interested in speaking with you. The other four men in the chest-baring black leather armor merely smirk at your attempts at be sociable and speak amongst themselves in a language you don't recognize. Braddon is able to tell you that they are Varisians from Lubbertown, and they haven't been any friendlier to him than they are to you.
Turning your attention to the immediate environs, you find that the Gold Goblin is awkwardly situated between three of Riddleport's main districts: the River District you traveled through with its few small businesses clinging to life amidst boarded-up buildings, the Wharf District to the south which bustles with activity and seems to turn over in population at least once a day as the ships come and go, and the Leeward District to the east which contains what passes in Riddleport for stolid, respectable, middle-class businesses and residences. Troublemakers could easily come up from the lawless docks, and the row of abandoned buildings that separate the back door of the Gold Goblin from the Velashu River might well serve as a staging ground, if an incursion of that level is planned.
Trouble seems unlikely to come from the north or east, however, where streets are lined with pedestrians and small businesses. It is in this direction that you find the Three Billed Duck, a pleasant little tavern with latticed windows and well-tended flower boxes. A worked-iron railing fences off part of the street, and tables and chairs are set outside on the cobblestones for those who want to enjoy the pleasant summer air as they lunch. At this distance from the river, the stench has receded into a quite bearable background miasma; that, or you're already getting used to it. A gnome is seated at one of the tables, eating a griddle cake almost as large as his head and occasionally tossing a bite to a dog waiting patiently outside the railing.
It is too early for the common room to be overly busy, but the paucity of numbers is more than made up for by the loquaciousness of the cheerful and heavyset woman who serves you. The wife of the owner, she is only too happy to report the gossip she's heard about Saul Vankaskerkin. He had his start a few decades ago, as a charming young man with a silver tongue making a name for himself in Riddleport politics. "Could sell ice in Irrisen," the woman reports, "and you might not think to look at him now, but quite popular with the ladies ... of a certain class, that is," she qualifies, with a glance back at her husband behind the bar. "He was a freelance collector, had a way of talking people out of money they owed to this or that power broker and then would claim his percentage when he delivered. Got to where he was so trusted, the big players would let him just settle accounts at the end of the month. But then they say he got ambitious. Wasn't happy with just the cut he was given. He'd take the money he collected on someone's behalf and loan it back out, use the proceeds to pay one man off at the end of the month while he let the money ride. Worked for a while, but then a couple of his investments went sour and he couldn't come up with the coin to settle accounts with his patrons. There was a boy he'd taken on early who'd become his capp, his trusted associate, but when Saul was stuck, he saw which way the wind was blowing and turned coat to the bosses, hoping to curry favor with them by uncovering all Saul's secrets. It was an ugly business. Saul tried to run and set fire to his own house to cover his tracks -- his wife died in the blaze, though he always claimed it was an accident -- but his former right-hand man ratted him out and helped the Gendarmes track him down. And that young man was Cleg Zincher."
A wide hallway, papered in scarlet and gold, leads you into a central lounge, scattered with cushions and statuary. The walls are hung with tapestries and set with just enough oil lamps to keep the room comfortably dim, and a small fountain plashes soothingly in one corner. A human woman with reddish blonde hair, dressed and made up in black and yellow, smiles as you enter, letting her eyes run langorously up and down your admittedly short stature. "Welcome, stranger," she greets you. "What pleasures can we provide for you today?"
When you inquire about the public bath, she readily quotes you a price of 2 silver coins. "We also offer private baths with a personal attendant or attendants of your choice, willing to do whatever it takes to make you comfortable," she suggests, "at an additional charge, of course."
The woman directs you to a door near the plinking fountain. Opening it, you are immediately met with a warmer temperature and a stronger scent of perfume. Stairs lead downwards to a subterranean level and then open up to a large underground room dominated by a rectangular pool. The heat is rising from the water itself; the temple seems to be situated above a natural hot spring. Multiple candlestands rim the edges of the room, and a few small candles in bowls float in the pool itself. Alcoves cut into the stone walls hold shelves of towels and cubbyholes for bathers' possessions or separate washtubs for the shy with curtains that can be drawn across the openings. The bath attendant is a young woman whose black skin and wiry hair tied into tight braids bespeak a Mwangi heritage; she smiles a welcome as you step off the staircase but doesn't approach unless you seem to require assistance.
As the afternoon passes, the casino floor gradually comes together, and the "decorators" leave, collecting their pay and muttering imprecations about Thuvalia's brand of supervision. The bar is stocked, and those workers each plunge one hand into a bag of chips, carrying away as many as they can hold and planning to return to try their luck. Somehow, despite the cold stand-off in the kitchen between the two cooks, the cakes are baked and sliced, toast daubed with ham spread, and half-eggs arranged on trays. Larur's nerves have gotten worse; he is pacing back and forth so relentlessly he threatens to wear new bare spots in the red carpeting. Saul, seemingly unperturbed by the relentless approach of the hour that will make or break his latest business venture, has disappeared behind the cashier's cage with the Beyar brothers, the door locked behind him, to unlock the vault and move the coin to pay off winners where it can be readily accessed. After about a half an hour, he emerges to let in the cashiers, sour-looking middle-aged women who seem to hold everyone involved in the hoopla in mild contempt.
Liry has returned, still in horns and tail, and carrying something that looks like a large bird cage, covered with a cloth. The other croupiers seem to be, like her, professionals earning some money on their day off from another casino. They take their places, some with playing cards, some with trays of dice. A pair of tough-looking halflings set up at a low table with a strange contraption consisting of a bowl suspended over a square of nine open cubbyholes. Liry easily enlists one of the costumed tiefling boys to help install a heavy-looking wooden wheel with painted segments between wooden spokes; in the middle is a raised platform.
"Lads, Saul says quietly to Daynadrian and Malkith, "if you're going to blend in with the crowd, now's the time to slip out the back and make your way to the courtyard. Can't be seen waiting in here, or they'll know you're working for the house. Remember," he says, and his gaze includes Braddon and Bojasc in the warning, "if there's trouble, our priority is not to cause a riot. Try to keep things quiet and nonlethal."
Outside, the sun is lowering in the sky, just peeking over the stately homes on the western bluffs. While sundown won't come for those on the western ridgeline for a while yet, it seems clear that twilight for most of Riddleport comes early, thanks to the terrain. There are a few knots of people milling about in the courtyard and considerably more strolling in the street, but if they are waiting for the doors to open, they are hedging their bets while doing so, trying to look like they might just happen to be in the vicinity with no particular plans to go inside.
Dayn places his backpack and belongings in the footlocker and, if possible, locks it. Either way, he still keeps his most valuable possessions securely on his person. His small money pouch he ties around his waist, then fits it [u]under[/i] his leggings, in a position which would make any pickpocket attempt next to impossible without the would-be thief getting very personal.
Satisfied with his knowledge of the interior of the Gold Goblin Dayn does not interact much with the other Hellknights now that he knows they are just for show. Once he sees their somewhat extreme standoffish attitude though, he does spend a few moments surreptitiously observing them to try and determine if there might be any deeper, nefarious motive behind their attitude.
Sense Motive to try and see what their true feelings about the Goblin and working there are:
If he gets a bad feeling on them, he shares his impressions with Braddon, suggesting that the half-elf keep an extra eye on his fellow 'Hellknights'
During his tour of the outside of the building, Dayn not the various points of interest or possible security risks. Most concerning to him though is the apparent lack of exit route. With a full house tonight, should there be a fire or other situation in which the Gold Goblin patrons would need to be evacuated quickly, a choke point at the doors would almost certainly arise. Reviewing his mental map of the interior, Dayn makes note of what items might possibly be used to break the bigger windows to allow people to exit more quickly in an emergency.
When after his tour of the immediate environs Dayn determines that any possible trouble would be likely to come from the South or West, he decides to focus his efforts in those areas. Spending some time to do so, he looks about for a pair of street urchins who seem, to his discerning eye, to be at least somewhat trustworthy. Upon getting their attention by flashing a couple of coppers he says "Ok young ones, I have some honest work for you to earn some decent coppers if you've a mind to. And it'll be easy work on top of that. First, I'll give you each a copper just to answer a few questions for me."
If they accept, he then asks them what they know about Saul and Zilcher, and any rumors they might have heard about potential trouble tonight at the opening. If he's satisfied with their answers, he gives them the coins and continues "Now, there'll be another copper each for you just for showing up and meeting me here again tonight close to the Goblin's opening time. The job I have for you is this, I want one of your to watch the area West of the Goblin, and the other the South. Stay out of sight and don't let anyone know you're watching. If you don't see anything all night, that's fine, and I'll meet you here after closing and give you another 8 coppers each. But if either of you do see something suspicious, like a group of armed men approaching or the like, and are able to make it inside and warn me in time, there'll an additional solid silver in it for you. You can also have another chance at a silver if between now and opening time you're able to dig up any solid info about any plans by anyone to cause trouble here tonight. Got it? Do you have any questions or suggestions?"
Sense Motive on trustworthiness of kids:
After he comes to an agreement with the young ones, Dayn continues on his way. Upon reaching the Duck, Dayn smiles slightly at the curious name, his smile then turns to an outright grin at the sight of the Gnome and his canine companion. Nodding a greeting to the small humanoid, he heads inside. Once seated he leans in eagerly as she launches into her tale of his new employer. In the beginning, impressed the with drive, skill and ingenuity of young Saul his opinion of the man rises by a fair margin. However that margin drops quite a bit by the end of the tale and the implication that Saul was responsible for the death of his then wide. Swindling a con man was one thing, but being responsible for the death of a loved one and or family member was another. Dayn may indeed be different than most of his kin, but he was still an Elf, and family, in the end, meant more than almost anything.
As the proprietress finishes her tale, the Elfin Ranger whistles in appreciation "My oh my, now that is a quite the story! No wonder Saul hates Zinher, but what's Zincher got against his former boss? And how did Saul get out of the mess and into the wealthy position he's in now? And...oh! But look at me, completely forgetting my manners! Please take it down to my captivation with your storytelling ability my dear. I am Dayn, a ranger from a small town far North and West of here. And what may I call you? I suppose 'Flower of Riddleport' is not your real name? Please do not let me distract you from your business, but the tale of Saul Vaskerkin is fascinating and you tell it so well I would most dearly like to hear you speak more of it." he finishes with a big smile.
"Right. I'm off then." And briefly locking gazes with Saul and the others and wishing them a good night, Dayn slips out the back and does his best to remain unseen until he can blend in with the crowd.
Stealth:
Once feeling confident that he did not attract any undue attention, he makes for his scheduled rendezvous with a couple of enterprising street youths.
Most concerning to him though is the apparent lack of exit route. With a full house tonight, should there be a fire or other situation in which the Gold Goblin patrons would need to be evacuated quickly, a choke point at the doors would almost certainly arise. Reviewing his mental map of the interior, Dayn makes note of what items might possibly be used to break the bigger windows to allow people to exit more quickly in an emergency.
The tall window run along the curved facade at the front of the Goblin, as well as being located in the bar area, in each of the private dining rooms, and at the end of the guest rooms' hall. There are chairs near all of these, save the one in the guest hall, that could be used in a pinch to break the glass and create an emergency exit. While the windows are certainly tall enough for people to exit by, they are narrow enough that only one person could get through at a time and any shards of broken glass that remained in the frames could pose a danger. Still, they would ease the possible bottlenecks at the front and back doors.
When after his tour of the immediate environs Dayn determines that any possible trouble would be likely to come from the South or West, he decides to focus his efforts in those areas. Spending some time to do so, he looks about for a pair of street urchins who seem, to his discerning eye, to be at least somewhat trustworthy. Upon getting their attention by flashing a couple of coppers he says "Ok young ones, I have some honest work for you to earn some decent coppers if you've a mind to. And it'll be easy work on top of that. First, I'll give you each a copper just to answer a few questions for me."
If they accept, he then asks them what they know about Saul and Zincher, and any rumors they might have heard about potential trouble tonight at the opening.
You find no children in the River District or toward the wharves, but a little up the street to the north, you spy a couple of boys playing with marbles on the corner and watching the activity at the Gold Goblin. One starts to run as you approach, but the other stands his ground boldly, tipping his chin up defiantly, and his friend slinks back to join him, shame-faced. Their eyes flash with interest when you reveal the coins. "Old Stumpy?" the brave one replies. "Got his hand chopped off, didn't he, for stealing other people's money. Zincher, he runs the arena."
"I'm not allowed to go there," the other boy puts in shyly.
"You're not allowed to go anywhere," the first boy replies scornfully. "They say the Gold Goblin is Old Stumpy's last chance. If it goes under, he'll end up in Rotgut, begging for coppers to drink himself to death." Having delivered this last nugget of information, he stares at the copper coin, waiting to see if you'll release it.
"Now, there'll be another copper each for you just for showing up and meeting me here again tonight close to the Goblin's opening time. The job I have for you is this, I want one of your to watch the area West of the Goblin, and the other the South. Stay out of sight and don't let anyone know you're watching. If you don't see anything all night, that's fine, and I'll meet you here after closing and give you another 8 coppers each. But if either of you do see something suspicious, like a group of armed men approaching or the like, and are able to make it inside and warn me in time, there'll an additional solid silver in it for you. You can also have another chance at a silver if between now and opening time you're able to dig up any solid info about any plans by anyone to cause trouble here tonight. Got it? Do you have any questions or suggestions?"
The shy boy squirms uncomfortably. "I'm not allowed out after dark," he mumbles, "and don't you say I'm not allowed to do anything," he finds the sudden boldness to assert to his friend, "because I know for a fact you're not either, Finian! I could go listen places, though. I could go listen at Zincher's tenement, see if I hear anything about the Gold Goblin. And I could meet you here before the sun sets. But then I have to go home or my dad will tan my hide."
Finian reluctantly concedes. "There's places I could ask questions," he allows.
The boys certainly seem eager to earn as many of your coins as they can, but you're not certain how trustworthy any word they bring back might prove to be. As you enter the Three Billed Duck and nod to the gnomish patron, he rises to his full height to return your greeting with notable dignity, considering he's standing on his chair. "Good day, elven stranger," he says formally. "I, Natinilinus Greatreave, greet you. And so does my dog Sludge." The dog hangs his head over the railing and gazes at you noncommittally. "If you intend to dine here, let me recommend the griddlecake. It is a heady recipe, redolent of freshly mown grass with an aftertaste of raspberry and tobacco." Having thus advised you, he returns to his meal.
As the proprietress finishes her tale, the Elfin Ranger whistles in appreciation "My oh my, now that is a quite the story! No wonder Saul hates Zincher, but what's Zincher got against his former boss? And how did Saul get out of the mess and into the wealthy position he's in now? And...oh! But look at me, completely forgetting my manners! Please take it down to my captivation with your storytelling ability my dear. I am Dayn, a ranger from a small town far North and West of here. And what may I call you? I suppose 'Flower of Riddleport' is not your real name? Please do not let me distract you from your business, but the tale of Saul Vancaskerkin is fascinating and you tell it so well I would most dearly like to hear you speak more of it." he finishes with a big smile.
She titters, blushing. "I'm Quinta Crispin. Mistress Quinta Crispin," she points out primly. "That's my husband Alex at the bar." She smiles at him and then helps herself to the empty chair at your table. "Where Saul got his money from, no one knows. Some say he never really lost the money at all but hid it somewhere just to spite the bosses; others say he found some pirate captain's buried treasure along the coast someplace. Some say he doesn't actually have any money at all but has borrowed immense sums to finance his latest business venture and hopes to make enough tonight to pay off the lenders in one last huge gamble, and if the casino fails, he'll have to run before he's sold to slavers to make good on his debts." She pauses disapprovingly before moving on to more pleasant topics. "As for Cleg Zincher, I'm not sure what he feels about his former boss. He seemed satisfied by the punishment meted out, when Saul, er...." She makes a chopping motion with one hand at the wrist of the other. "Perhaps he thought that would be the last he'd hear of him and he didn't appreciate the fact that Saul didn't just give up and slink away. Perhaps he feels a twinge of guilt every time he looks at him and remembers how he turned coat. Of course, you've heard about Saul's son and Cleg's brother and Lil Scarlet?" she asks, looking like she hopes you haven't.
Bathed, groomed and ready for what will hopefully prove to be an eventful evening - Phillip aims to return to the Gold Goblin just after the grand opening has taken place.
After Malkith and Daynadrian exit out the back door, there remains little to do inside other than wait. Larur continues to pace compulsively; Saul crosses to the bar to have a casual word with Covey Smith, the peg-legged bartender; and the professional croupiers calmly arrange their tables. Liry has installed her birdcage in the center of the large painted wheel but hasn't yet removed its cover. She tries to catch Tendal's eye and smiles.
Flicking the last small piece of lint from his clothes, Tendal smiled. It had been quite awhile since he had been able to dress properly, well, since he had that last dinner in Sandpoint before heading north, to be precise.
He stood before the mirror a few minutes more, adjusting the fall of a cuff here and smoothing a bit of his embroidered velvet doublet there. Finally satisfied and smiling, Tendal bounced his cane off the floorboard with a thump, snatching it from the air as it rebounded. Locking his room as he left, Tendal walked into the finished casino space and looked around, taking in the scene and the final positions of the gaming tables.
Seeing Liry he gave her a quick smile and salute, tapping his cane to his brow, before turning and walking towards Saul, his face settling into its usual disdainful expression.
"Good evening, Mr. Vancaskerkin. I must honestly say, the casino looks quite decent, and as it gets darker and more shadowed, I do say that the effect you are attempting to achieve will be stunning. As for other matters, I am assuming that you wish for me to keep alert to the presence of magical influence, and deal with it?" Tendal asks.
Malkith follows Daynadrian out the back, but intentionally detours away from the elf once they reach the street. He meanders around the blocks adjacent to the casino for a while before finally returning to the courtyard. Staying off to the side, with his hood pulled up, the Varisian attempts to be unobtrusive and unnoticed. As he waits, his gaze passes over anyone who comes to congregate before the grand opening.
Sarien nods with a slow smile. "Ah yes, thank you for the suggestion. My means are somewhat limited at the moment, due to certain commitments before me but it sounds like the 'Mystery' will be quite suitable.
"Good evening, Mr. Vancaskerkin. I must honestly say, the casino looks quite decent, and as it gets darker and more shadowed, I do say that the effect you are attempting to achieve will be stunning. As for other matters, I am assuming that you wish for me to keep alert to the presence of magical influence, and deal with it?" Tendal asks.
"Yes, lad," Saul replies, "but I'll tell you the same thing I told the men who focus more on brawn than on brains: We don't want to cause a scene. If there's a disturbance, try and make it clear to the rest of the crowd that we're escorting out those taking money they ought to be winning; get them on your side and against the cheater picking their pockets. And grab a Hellknight or someone who looks a little imposing to stand behind you. If folks won't hear reason, maybe they'll listen to a strong arm and a hard fist."
"I don't think that you will have to worry about that. I plan on not getting involved in anything as prosaic as a common brawl (It might ruin my clothes). If I see anything untoward I will make certain that a Hellknight is aware of it."
Eying the bar, Tendal frowns a bit more.
"I guess I should stay dry tonight. Keep my wits about me." he says, turning back to Saul.
"So when are you opening the doors?"
"Don't worry, lad; I have some of the best put aside in my office. We'll drink to our success after the doors close! Or, uh, drown our sorrows." Saul's confident facade seems to crack for just a moment, but the grin quickly returns to his face. "But no time for such talk now. When will the doors open? Well, we in Riddleport have our own method of telling the time by where the shadows fall on the Cyphergate. Many's the time I've told someone they'd better meet me by the time the shadow hit the squiggly thing that looks like a beanstalk or there'd be hell to pay. But tonight," he pronounces, strolling back toward the doors, "we've a simpler system. When the lamps are lit out on the street," he points to the windows of thick, amber-colored glass, "our ... friends of unfortunate parentage out front will open the doors. Should be any minute now." Saul also is dressed in noticeably finery tonight: a patterned waistcoat and silken cravat cover a snowy white shirt and are covered in turn by a velvety bottle-green coat.
Outside, Malkith finds that most people in the vicinity of the courtyard are doing exactly what he is: watching everyone else while trying to look like they're not. He notices one pair of men who are repeatedly circling the block, passing by the courtyard at regular interval and looking furtively up at the doors to see if they are open yet; every time they aren't, they glance at each other nervously, shrug, and head around again at a more leisurely pace. No one appears to want to stand still and thus announce that they're actually waiting for the event, so he overhears snatches of conversation as groups of people wander past:
"... half-orcs at the door. Suppose Croat has already foreclosed on the building and is waiting to see who showed up to support Old Stumpy? Gods damn it, they can see in the dark, can't they? Pull your hat lower, for Desna's sake...."
"... heard Orik's come back? They say he's mayor of some small settlement down the coast. Probably brought back a whole squadron of the town guard to protect him...."
"Is that Old Korvosa?! Oh, no, it's not. Besmara bless us, my nerves are shot. I keep expecting Zincher's boys to show up...."
Meanwhile, Daynadrian meets two boys on a street corner, one hopping from foot to foot nervously, the other leaning casually against the lamppost with his arms folded and his cap jauntily askew.
Braddon spends a lot of time chatting with everyone, especially the short skirted tieflings. He nods and smiles at one in particular, before striding off towards the dais in the middle of the room. He also gives a more serious nod at Mr Vankaskerkin's quiet words. As opening time nears, Braddon stands at attention in front of the dais, facing the main doors through which the guests will enter.
Sarien, in his newly-purchased finery, a pocket full of money that's not his to spend, is walking toward the Gold Goblin from the north when he recognizes the elf from the Publican House that morning standing on a streetcorner up ahead with a couple of boys. The dome of the casino is clearly visible, shining in the last rays of the sun that can peek over the western ridgeline of the city, and the street is full of several knots of people milling about.
Saul waits calmly by the front window, watching for the lamps to be lit, while Larur's pacing threatens to wear a long path through the carpet. At last, after ten long minutes, Saul's eyes light up, and he steps away from the doorway in anticipation. The next moment, the heavy doors begin slowly to open inward under the dual efforts of Gord and his associate. The half-orcs push the doors fully open so that they very nearly touch the inner walls on either side and then take up positions on either side of the threshold, their arms folded imposingly. Those lingering in the courtyard look up to the veranda nervously, some taking a few steps closer in anticipation, some backing away as if ready to turn and run for it.
Saul clears his throat, pats Larur reassuringly on the shoulder, winks at Tendal, and then strides out onto the veranda, the oil lights inside the casino causing the shadow of his short, broad form to spill down the stairway in an impressively elongated fashion in the dusk of the courtyard. "Friends!" he orates expansively. "Neighbors! Citizens of Riddleport, and esteemed guests! I welcome you to the grand opening of the Gold Goblin Casino! Tonight we intend to whisk you away to the decadent courts of Cheliax, where half-blooded fiends dally with the wicked nobility in opulent palaces, offering unspeakable pleasures and untold wealth in exchange for their souls! Now," he smiles reassuringly, "I remind you that, despite the testimony of your eyes and ears, you will still be within the respectable confines of Riddleport; our devils may be lovely, but any contract they may offer you isn't worth the paper it's written on. However, that doesn't mean you can't walk out of here sometime before sunrise, your pockets heavy with coin you didn't have to work for, feeling like you've cheated the devil and taken his gold!"
Having worked his way up to the high point of his welcome speech, Saul now changes tacks a little. "Friends," he goes on, "I've been looking forward to this night for weeks now from a business standpoint. But I couldn't have known then that the opening day of my newest venture would be remarkable for personal reasons as well. As some of you may have heard, I have had today a letter from my son Orik Vankaskerkin." The group in the courtyard shows considerably more interest in this admission than in his rehearsed oration, and several move closer to the steps to hear, now that Saul has lowered his voice some. "As many of you know, he has been missing since a certain unfortunate incident, and there have been those who have presumed him dead. With a father's heart, I never believed those rumors, and today my faith in him has been rewarded." He removes a letter with a broken seal from his waistcoat pocket and holds it high in the air for all to see; his audience moves even closer in curiosity. "My son Orik has written to me in care of a friend, a very distinguished friend he has made, I might add, to let me know not only that he is alive and well but that he has, through hard work and not a little good fortune, thank Desna," he glances up at the appearing stars piously, "turned his life around and made something of himself in a stolid, sober town down the coast. Has become a businessman, in fact, in successful trade, and dines with the family of the mayor herself. As you can imagine, my friends, this news has made tonight even more momentous than it might otherwise have been, as I celebrate not only my new venture, but this joyous piece of news as well. And I am happy to have so many of you here to share my joy." He tucks the letter back in his pocket. Most of the loiterers have been drawn so close now that he can look down the stairs and see their faces; gathered together, they make a not-unimpressive crowd. "You, Laz Krupt! Does my heart good to see you here tonight." The man shifts nervously at being called out by name for all to hear. "And Bard Leroung! Galen Wintrish! And Quint Drovenge! Step on up here!"
The men grin sheepishly at each other but, figuring they have nothing to lose now that they've been publicly identified, shamble up the steps. Once they've started, their friends shrug at each other and follow, and now that the doorway has been breached, everyone else seems to decide it's safe to join the crowd as well. Those still hanging back outside in the street rush to join them, and soon dozens of people are streaming up the steps and queuing up at the cashier's cage to exchange coins for chips.
Phillip leans against the wall of a house a half street distant from Saul as he delivers his speech and thus misses the most of the specifics. However the reaction of the crowd is easily gauged as they begin to shuffle within with vim and vigor. Sheep... yet many seem to have a full fleece... a good night to be a shearer. Phil mulls as he waits for the crowd to die down a little before approaching.
Sarien, dressed in fine dark clothing with slashes of red silk and a black cloak across his shoulders, eyes the familiar elf from that morning standing amongst the boys with a curious glance. With a slight shrug and a smile he continues on, making his way through the cloud so that he can get a good look at the proprietor of the Gold Goblin and hear his opening words.
Keeping a casual hand on his coin pouch, he makes his way into the building with the crowd, looking around at the games of chance and costumes of the employees.
Hearing Saul's words and seeing the crowds begin to move into the casino, a familiar surge of excitement fills Tendal.
I love the start of a new business venture! So much possibility. So many customers ready to come to visit the new and strange. Well, I guess its time to make sure that this one goes well. I don't know much about the politics of this town, but I bet that Saul's competitors aren't about to let him sneak by easily."
Tendal almost smacks himself on the forehead as he watches the mad rush for the cage. Chips! How am I going to play my part if I don't have chips? I wonder if I will ruin the effect if I get in line now...probably.
Tendal's frown deepens for the barest of seconds as he kicks himself over his mistake. That won't do either. I have to be more cheerful...not scare away the paying customers. Bah. This is why I work with figures and equations, not people! As he walks forward to stand near Saul, Tendal's face settles in a half frown-smile thing.
Malkith continues to hang on the fridges of the crowd as Saul gives his opening remarks. Expecting the typical encouraging lip service from such a business man, the Varisian ignores the speech and continues to study the crowd. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on one or two possible suspects as his employer begins calling out specific individuals. Malkith holds his ground as the mass of bodies begin to move forward into the casino. He lingers until the majority of the crowd has dissipated from the courtyard before making his own way inside. He offers not acknowledgement to the hosts as he passes them, instead continuing to gauge the conversations and actions of the other guests.
The roped-off columns in front of the cashiers' cage fill quickly, and many of the last to enter take a glance at the crowd and decide to detour to the bar, so that they can at least have a drink in their hand before they have to stand and wait. The sailors of Besmara's Barnacle, who stocked the bar this afternoon in exchange for chips, saunter in casually, snigger at the queue of unfortunate lubbers, and have their pick of the gaming tables.
Most of the croupiers offer either dice or cards.
The contraption at the halflings' table draws a few curious glances.
By far the most unusual table is Liry's, however. When Saul's speech is finished and the gamblers start to enter, she whisks the cover off the lump at the center of her wheel, revealing an ornate birdcage with a human head inside it. The flaky, pallid, almost blue flesh is stretched tightly over the underlying skull, and yet the hideous thing blinks its discolored eyes irritably as it is uncovered. "What a hideous place," it says, showing long, sharp teeth as it looks around the room as best it can from its position. "And I thought your normal workplace was garish." Liry taps the bars of its cage reprovingly. "Hey," she smiles, "save it for the customers."
Know (Local):
Know (Local):
Phillip makes his way into the Gold Goblin at the tail of the crowd, though gives the chip queue a miss to start with to take a turn around the halls. At the sight of the contraption at the halfling's table a smile is drawn A worthy distraction for the early time, at least until whistles are further wetted.
He then looks around the room casually to note where the security seem to be congregating, and also whether the thirsty sailors are being tended to by the house.
Rolling his eyes at the queue waiting to purchase chips, Sarien makes his way over to the bar.
"I'd like to have a glass of your finest red, please," he says when he manages to get the attention of the tender.
Braddon mostly ignores the games, overly complicated methods of losing money that they are. He much prefers a simple bet, person to person, on a desired outcome. Preferably an outcome he knows he can achieve.
The talking head he finds much more interesting.
Braddon takes careful note of what the other "HellKnights" and "Tieflings" are up to and emulates their actions. He also looks around for patrons and, particularly, staff who seem distracted or furtive in their behaviour. He smiles to himself: he is a hunter searching for prey.
Saul seems to notice Tendal's grimace. "Cheer up, lad," he grins, with a jab of an elbow in the younger man's side. "A little dicey when the doors opened, but we're off to a good start. Come along; it's time to work the room, get to know some people. Laz!" he cries jovially. "Let me introduce you to Tendal Deverin, late of Magnimar, Orik's close personal friend. Quint, Tendal Deverin. Orik felt badly his little contretemps had robbed me of a son and heir, so he sent his friend to help me out with the business. Casamen, come over here and meet Tendal Deverin!" Saul seems to know at least half the men in the room personally, and while some look a little nervous to shake his one good hand, they are all interested in meeting the man who has most recently seen Orik Vankaskerkin.
Finian waits for the other boy to blurt out his news before he offers up casually, "Shorafa's none too pleased about Old Stumpy dressing girls up like tieflings. Says she doesn't want to hear his name mentioned, and as far as she's concerned, there's nothing going on in Riddleport tonight but business as usual. They say Lil's madder than Hell itself, though; thinks it's a personal jab at her on account of Stumpy's son killing a man over her. And everyone knows Lil's Shorafa's favorite. If anyone could convince her to make a move against Stumpy, it'd be Lil."
As gamblers spill out of the cashiers' area with chips, the floor begins to hum with voices and activity. The dealers call out to customers, looking to fill the empty spaces at their tables: "It's you versus the greedy golem! Test your skill and take the monster's pot!" "Bounder, bounder, bounder!" "Step up to the lake, and get your skiffs ready! There's a storm a-comin'!" Liry's feminine voice cuts through the others distinctively. "Come on, lads! It's Ghoulette! Brave Dungo's withered tongue and walk away rich!"
The queues at the cashiers' cage are renewed by customers crossing the floor with mugs in hand. Saul works the area near the center of the room, staying close to the dais and waylaying any familiar faces that can't hide from him; his grim bodyguard stays menacingly at his shoulder, glaring at every man roped into shaking his employer's hand. The two half-orcs, having opened the door, stay on either side of the threshold, glowering at the crowd as if their mere presence ought to scare straight anyone thinking of causing any trouble. Five costumed "Hellknights" begin the night clustered around the dais, but at a nod from Saul start to circulate through the room. Male and female "tieflings" disappear into the kitchen and come out again bearing trays of Chelish delicacies they offer at the various tables.
"I'd like to have a glass of your finest red, please," he says when he manages to get the attention of the tender.
When Sarien makes his way to the bar, he finds that the bartender is none other than the peg-legged man he saw in the break room at the foot of the stairs this morning. "Hello!" the man smiles at him as he fills his order. "Saw you this morning. Came back for the pork mash and the beet cake, did you? That'll be two gold," he says, handing Sarien the goblet.