Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

"Desert? Or if not, you'll need to take your new friend and mine to a certain stairs up, and then the home of the missing crone, to learn whatever scents and simples might serve them. If we're welcome to accompany, we might watch the inquisitives at work. If not... well, ask me then."

Listening to the conversation at hand, Snake turns to the gnome. "Do you and your dog usually work alone?"

"Alone and accompanied, my good man, day or night, wherever the truth takes us!" He gets to his feet along with Braddon, his eyes glittering with excitement. "Lead the way!"

Feel free to go with or go do your own thing, as you see fit.

Having divested himself of his purchases, Phil continues toward the long workshop between the harbor and the river where he sat out the flood the day before. The pounding of hammers and the scent of lumber both become apparent as he approaches. The men inside are all busy at their tasks, undoubtedly repairing and replacing items broken along the waterfront yesterday. At a long table with its legs cut off short to accommodate their height, he sees Olin, Ewart, and Marce, their heads bent low over their work.

Looking around for a shaded spot to lurk a while, Phillip wagers it would be easiest and best (as well as least likely to attract Cas and an unwanted conversation) to wait until the halflings three broke for lunch and to ingratiate himself then.

Braddon looks to Gristav, Snake and the Gnome.
"May as well head off. We can take dessert with us."

"I'll see to what might be had to hand. And meet you outside?", Gristav suggests, rising from the booth, meeting the barman's eye on his way over.

"I'll pay for the lot, and some future meals, if I may? I'd cover the Greatreave party's meals up until the 8th, possibly after. What's most comfortable for you? In advance, I'd expect?"

Alex Crispin does some figuring, then charges Gristav four and a half gold. "Ought to cover two plates of griddlecakes a day for the next week, unless the little fellow gets more expensive tastes once someone else is paying. I'll keep track and settle up with you at the end of the week if we owe you any change."

The finances arranged, the men leave the Three Billed Duck and head toward the Velashu. They cut northward on a sidestreet before regaining Leeward Common, pass the House of the Silken Veil, and then turn north again toward Lil's secret flat. The cobbler and the milliner are open for business, but Weatherby's office at the end of the building is conspicuously empty, the parchment in the window still reporting that he is out of town. The three men, accompanied by the gnome and his dog, slip into the alley from which the stairs provide access to the upstairs apartment.

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Further south, at the mouth of the river, Phil finds himself an upturned crate with a view of the door to Cas's workshop and settles down to wait. After a while, men start to straggle out the doorway in dribs and drabs. He watches until he sees the three halflings exit the building together, heading toward the road.

Spying the halflings upon the walk, Phillip slips from his crated seat and hustles to catch up. Running a hand through his tousled hair before smoothing his mustache and when within earshot calling out "Ahoy there... how goes the shipwrighting?"

The three halflings spy Phillip, Olin with a sly grin, Ewart with a glance at Marce who greets him with a nod and a steady gaze. "Briskly. We've work for all hands and more, thanks to the harbor wave. Cas only grudgingly let us take a lunch."

Smiling as he catches up and keeps apace with them "Well if you're grudgingly luncheoning, I'd hope you'd willingly accept another at your table?" pausing only a moment before ploughing on with "If it sweetens disposition I'll spot for the first round of pints at the Publican?"

"Always room for a man with an open purse," Olin guffaws. Neither of the other two halflings makes any objection as Phillip falls in step beside them as they head for the ferry.

"Won't be time for much more than the one round today," Ewart comments. "Cas'll be looking a thundercloud if we're not back on the job after a bite and a pint."

"Aye," Olin growls, "we spend more time walking upriver and down than we do sitting and taking a breath. If he weren't so cheap, he'd hire a boat to take us directly across the Velashu to the Publican and back."

"He'd only allow less time off to repay his generosity," Marce smiles. "Besides, the ferry runs on the Overlord's license. He doesn't want trouble from Maskyr's Island if Grimas complains of losing our fares."

Feel free to chat along the way, Phil, or simply narrate yourself over to the Publican.

Braddon pays particular attention as they pass the House of the Silken Veil but otherwise follows Gristav up to Lil's apartment.
"You have the keys, right?" he asks helpfully as they arrive.

"There had been a plan to leave it unlocked...?", Gristav asks, trying the door. Finding it locked, he segues smoothly, "And another plan, to bring the keys anyway." Producing the keys with a flourish from an empty hand, Gristav unlocks and opens the door.

"After you. You'll find the scent we referred to. If you wait a minute, it might find you, on the doorstep."

Natinilinus walks in as if he has been announced at the door; Sludge skulks in at his heels, still looking as if he expects to be chased out angrily. He puts his nose to floor to explore, sniffing around with interest; beneath the window he snuffles up some of the fluff and seed husks and sneezes.

The gnome strides across the room to the vanity table and chest of drawers, then to the bed. The top of the mattress is just at his nose level so he leans forward to take a deep sniff. "Ah, yes, the scent of woman ... of a certain social class and milieu, at any rate. Sludge!" he calls the dog. "Come and take a whiff." Obediently, the dog trots over and steps its front paws up onto the bed, sniffing avidly. "You have traced the perfume and know whence it came?" Natinilinus asks.

"Do you remember when I suggested we'd have much to learn from you? Well, that would be part of it. No, we have not traced the perfume, though I suppose I might know where to start. I'd need a sample stronger than unwashed linens, though... Or is it that you already know, and are being conversational?"

He smiles enigmatically. "I don't know ... but it's possible I could find out. We shall see where the evidence leads us, shall we not, Sludge?" The dog wags its tail vaguely. "That is sufficient; he has the scent. Where is the site of the second disappearance?"

Snake steps in behind the others, taking a look about the place, remaining intrigued about where this is all going to lead.

He smiles enigmatically. "I don't know ... but it's possible I could find out. We shall see where the evidence leads us, shall we not, Sludge?" The dog wags its tail vaguely. "That is sufficient; he has the scent. Where is the site of the second disappearance?"

Gristav regards Braddon with an expectant look.

Phillip smiles wide and settles in for the walk and ferry t'wards the Publican. Little of note is talked of on the stroll - his words instead tending towards banality of work and the aftermath of the wave that rose. He asks if the men are coming along to the Goblin again for Varisian night as well as idly asking if they've any luck at skiffs recently. He also enquires into what Cas' demeanor might be outside of the increased traffic of repair borne of rising waters.

But for the most he bides his time with enquiries more detailed and piercing... at least until they'd arrived at the Publican and Phillip had a chance to peel Marce away from the other two for a more pertinent and private discussion "Any thought or word come your way that might fit what we talked of a few days prior?"

Braddon leans towards Snake while watching Natinilinus and Sludge at work.
"This is Lil's hideout. Dayn and I found it the day before yesterday and holed up overnight with the others hoping Lil would return. She didn't, but we found a secret door heading down to the scribe's office." Braddon heads to the section of wall and pokes it to reveal the hidden portal.
"After a rather uncomfortable night," his sour gaze rests briefly on Gristav, "the scribe showed up next morning and Malkith and Gristav chatted to him and then he took off and led us a merry chase."
Braddon rifles through the boxes beyond the door but stops when master and hound are finished.
"Ananda's place? Sure."

Braddon leads the way to their next destination.

As they head toward the next place, "So this Lil person... what is her role in all this? And this other guy, the scribe person... who is he and how does he fit into this scene?"

Little of note is talked of on the stroll - his words instead tending towards banality of work and the aftermath of the wave that rose. He asks if the men are coming along to the Goblin again for Varisian night as well as idly asking if they've any luck at skiffs recently. He also enquires into what Cas' demeanor might be outside of the increased traffic of repair borne of rising waters.

Olin and Ewart are enthusiastic about the Gold Goblin's next event; Marce, more noncommittal.

"We didn't have much time for skiffs last night," Olin complains. "Cas had us working late repairing ships before the morning tide. We were barely at the 'Cress a hour before we had to head home to be at it early again this morning. I believe Win and Maddy launched a few fleets."

"Aye, but Win's not much of an admiral," Ewart replies dismissively, "for a fellow who actually sails for a living. He only went along because the girls wanted an escort, with us working late."

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Braddon leads the way to their next destination.

Departing Lil's flat, it's only a brief stroll downriver to the ferry. Crossing the Velashu, the group continues south past the few operating businesses among the boarded-up buildings of the River District. As they approach the Publican House for the second time today, they see some street vendors selling pasties to go along with the ale available inside, for those without the time or inclination to go to the busier Leeward District. Continuing past the tavern, the road begins to climb up the steep slope toward the fresh breezes of Windward; even Sludge perks his ears up and trots more briskly as the air grows clearer. Up ahead, Braddon sees, on the east side of the street, the long rowhouse from which Mistress Vishki disappeared; on the opposite side, Braddon knows although it's still out of sight, is the tea house from which they surveilled the front door of the apartment.

Phillip had a chance to peel Marce away from the other two for a more pertinent and private discussion "Any thought or word come your way that might fit what we talked of a few days prior?"

"I've not been told of any threats against your employer," he replies with a sharp glance, "although the mishap at the harbor has left us with little time to do anything but work since yesterday. I never made it to the 'Cress last night."

As they head toward the next place, "So this Lil person... what is her role in all this? And this other guy, the scribe person... who is he and how does he fit into this scene?"

"I currently believe him another victim of the woman's wiles, however willing. There's a note in his hand on his office door, saying he's left town. I have no reason at this time to suggest otherwise. And as for Lil, she's believed the architect of all this drama, arranging robbery, rapine, and ruined reputation, all, to one degree or another, proven. But the fate of Mistress Vishki, Braddon's grandmother, remains unknown. I find myself battling my own mind, hoping with half a heart the old woman was a willing accomplice, and thus likely alive, and with the other half for her to have been upright, but then I fear for her having been laid low. And I'm not blood. I fear it's all positively addled Braddon."

As they head toward the next place, "So this Lil person... what is her role in all this? And this other guy, the scribe person... who is he and how does he fit into this scene?"

"Lil Scarlet is the whore who got thugs to attack the Casino on Sunday night. Remember? Malkith and Dayn tracked them back to her.

Phillip entertains the talk from Olin and Ewart gamely and with patience, but it's clear that his interest is more towards what Marce will have to say. Though on the way to hearing it, the tenseness in Marce's voice does not go unnoticed... but he lets it slip for the now. Nodding and sighing Phillip responds "Fair enough... we had an interesting delivery to us this morning... someone's looking to if not kill us then at least rough us up a tad..."

Marce frowns. "I haven't heard anything about it yet. Something you want me to ask around about?"

"While the thugs attacked, she did over Gramma's place looking for Ananda's necklace. That's just up here."

The rowhouse is arrayed along some of Windward District's most valuable real estate like a tiara; it effectively blocks the view of the harbor below from those unfortunate enough to be merely walking the street, reserving it for those paying by the week or the month for windows on the eastern side of the building. A dozen identical footpaths run from the road to doors painted in various pastel colors; flowers line the footpaths and cluster on either side of the doorsteps. The door toward which Braddon nods is notable for the trodden state of the flowerbeds.

Listening to Gristav and then Braddon, Snake eventually recalls the conversation from previously. "That's right. I nearly had forgotten that. Sorry, my memory gives me a bit of, um... trouble sometimes." As they continue along, another question pops in the newcomer's mind. "I may have asked this already, but: You got any idea why she's doing this? What motive she could possibly have?"

Gristav sighs, not having intended to reveal so many details to Natinilinus, but answering Snake's questions. "She lost a lover. Hell hath no fury like a lover mourned. There may also be more mercenary causes, or less understandable ones. I don't imagine I have the entire story yet, myself. But the background is not as interesting to me as the fate of Mistress Vishki, and what that will reveal of the state of Lil's heart. For whatever cause she may imagine against our employer, we know of none against Mistress Vishki, nor against the men she lured to their deaths on Braddon's blades."

"Is it wrong of me, to find not the acts, but the motivations, to be the more important?"

Braddon turns to Natinilinus and Sludge, but seems more to address the hound.
"Lil came up and knocked at the front door, disguised as a Varisian in a shawl. (Did I give that to Saul?) Gramma doesn't get visitors apart from Ananda's deliveries, but she let the woman into the front door and was never seen again. There are cliffs down the back. I thought she might have tossed Gramma down there in her haste. Not long after Lil went upstairs disguised as Gramma and fed the poison tea to Ananda."

"She doesn't like Saul, so, she hits him on opening night and then comes after you all to exact revenge - or possibly not. I'd wager your grandmother is a victim of happenstance, Braddon. Which would turn out to be an unlucky move on her part. Of course if she did know it was your grandmother, then obviously it was a personal hit. Which would turn out to be and unlucky move on her part. Hm. Funny," he says without the slightest hint of a smile, "looks like this woman has cut her own throat."

"It's that appearance that causes me to question. Outright murder leaves no doubt as to a reasonable response, and as a Calistrian, that point ought not be lost on her. I find it more likely her plans were measured to the full limits of her personal revenge, which would not include Braddon's grandmother's end, and thus Mistress Vishki remains to be found. Perhaps complicit, perhaps duped, but alive. So I reason, so I hope."

Marce frowns. "I haven't heard anything about it yet. Something you want me to ask around about?"

Phillip muses for a few moments, taking the time to smooth his mustache as he does. Eventually he shakes his head "No... I wouldn't go looking for answers. I'm guessing he's testing us for now... the less concern we show the stronger we look. Plus, wouldn't want you being linked to it or us at any rate."

"There's one question you might be able to answer though... do you know where Billy Dagger and Bellamy go for drinking of a night?"

"Any of the dockside taverns," he replies. "I'd start with the Immortal Goat, but if they get tossed out of one for brawling, they'd just go to the next one down the pier." He frowns at Phil. "You're not thinking of trawling the wharves after dark?"

Phillip shrugs "I'm thinking of a lot of things... whether those thoughts are put to purpose is a whole second question entirely." pausing for a few seconds to shake his head "Any questions you want to be asking of me?" voice clear and pointed, but not threatening in any manner.

Braddon, Gristav, and Snake pause at the end of the trodden footpath leading to Ananda's door, the gnome and his dog in tow.

Are you going to attempt to enter the flat or just let Sludge sniff around outside?

"With the rains, it would seem we'd need to gather scent in-doors. Braddon, if you have no leave to enter, might you find welcome to knock?"

"Any questions you want to be asking of me?" voice clear and pointed, but not threatening in any manner.

"I--" Marce begins, his voice sharp with surprise as he is caught off guard by the question. He glances down at the tabletop, his face twisted into a wry smile. "None I've any business asking," he admits good-naturedly. "Ethel is.... I'd hate to see her hurt, and you seem to be in a dangerous line of business."

Answering with a wry smile of his own Phillip responds "Ethel knows exactly who I am and is choosing her own path. All I can promise is that I'll not lie to her or force her to do anything she does not wish to." pausing for a few seconds to sigh and run his hand through his hair "Besides... danger is underrated."

Braddon approaches the doorstep in what he hopes is a casual manner, aware that any number of eyes could be on him from the many windows on both sides of the street. He raises his hand to rap on the door and is surprised when it drifts inward at his first touch, not being well latched. He can see the entryway, the door to Mistress Vishki's apartments on one side, the staircase leading up, and the door to the kitchen past it; no people are immediately evident from the threshold.

"Perhaps you should announce us; your welcome is assured, you might secure ours.", Gristav suggests.

"Umm... hello?"
He shrugs and saunters in.

Looking about a moment at the snuffling hound and shepherding gnome, and then, innocently, at the neighborhood, Gristav seems to hear a call from within the house, looking that way before ushering Snake and the others ahead of himself.

"There we are", Gristav says as if in response. "Or, will be."

"Besides... danger is underrated."

Marce chuckles quietly. "So is safety, especially by those who have never known danger. Oh, I don't doubt you've swept her off her feet, used as she is to stolid, respectable men like Ewart and Win. Every girl wants a bad boy, eh, and nice guys finish last?" He takes a swig of ale. "But if she gets into any trouble, whether of her own free will or not, if you don't look to get her out of it, I will. Nothing personal."

The gnome is already following after Braddon, and his dog following him, so Gristav gestures Snake to precede him into the flat. There are a door in the side wall, a staircase leading up, and a door in the back wall past the stairs. Both Braddon and Gristav can hear something moving upstairs, neither particularly loud nor particularly stealthy.

Snake, you going in with them or staying outside?

Phillip chuckles as well, though his eyes do not show the mirth. He notes the subtle posturing of Marce and swiftly mulls options within his mind... before forcing those thoughts from the conscious and into the dark depths of his mind palace. An asset... not competition... he muses before responding with a disaffected shrug "Of course... I would expect no less..." letting silence hang for a few moments more before adding "At any rate, I've kept your ear for long enough..."

Phil stands and nods a farewell to Marce, before tipping hat imaginary to the other diminuitive shipwrights and making for the bright outdoors. As though only now remembering, he turns his eyes to the sky... where a smudge of black had so deftly captured attention the previous day.