Braddon pays the toys a cursory glance before heading through towards the residence wing, leaving Gristav and Snake to puzzle the notes. He ignores his own door and instead stops outside the one opposite. He raps a few times and listens to see if Samaritha is in.
As his stomach growls, he wonders if she may be upstairs in the dining room and decides that he'll have to check there next if there's no response.
Evincing no interest in the question of which bauble represents whom, Braddon continues past the figure of Desna to Samaritha's door. She answers warily to his knock, but when he identifies himself, she quickly opens the door with a smile. "Where have you been all day? Is everyone all right?"
"But I'm still gonna need those bodies, dwarf. Should we take care of that now or in the morning? Either is fine with me."
Larur scowls. "I don't even want to know why you'd want damned overgrown spiders in your room overnight, alive or dead, but I'll not be fetch-and-carrying them for you. You can get them yourself in the morning, if you're desperate enough for coin to lug them through the streets."
Despite Ethel's jitters, the pair of halflings complete their ferry ride unaccosted and come safely to the Goblin's back door.
"But I'm still gonna need those bodies, dwarf. Should we take care of that now or in the morning? Either is fine with me."Larur scowls. "I don't even want to know why you'd want damned overgrown spiders in your room overnight, alive or dead, but I'll not be fetch-and-carrying them for you. You can get them yourself in the morning, if you're desperate enough for coin to lug them through the streets."
"Not to muddy the waters, but our Mapache's suggestion to Mister Serpens was to market the opportunity to draw venom, presumably from the living creatures. It was my cue to market the mangled. Not that I feel ownership of the method; do what you like. I would not too much mind observing the milking method. If you mean to transport, perhaps a crate can be reassembled from those unpacked? Surely, such would be more discrete on the streets than flapping spider-legs?"
Evincing no interest in the question of which bauble represents whom, Braddon continues past the figure of Desna to Samaritha's door. She answers warily to his knock, but when he identifies himself, she quickly opens the door with a smile. "Where have you been all day? Is everyone all right?"
"Yeah. We're alright now I guess. We..."
Braddon looks around."Are you okay? You seemed worried about something."
"Oh, no, everything's fine," she smiles. Glancing down the dim hallway, she lowers her voice and whispers, "I was afraid it might be Thuvalia trying to make me go practice dancing. Come on in," she invites him. "You're all right now? What happened?"
Snake looks to Gristav, holding his response to Larur for now. "Wrong. The dead ones are mine while the living ones are yours. Now," he then turns his attention to the dwarf, "I don't need you fetching and carrying anything for me, bub, I just need to know where they're kept. I'll take care of them myself. A crate of some sort is actually a good idea. I'll use that to haul 'em."
Snake looks to Gristav, holding his response to Larur for now. "Wrong. The dead ones are mine while the living ones are yours. Now," he then turns his attention to the dwarf, "I don't need you fetching and carrying anything for me, bub, I just need to know where they're kept. I'll take care of them myself. A crate of some sort is actually a good idea. I'll use that to haul 'em."
"Well, alive or dead, you've a claim, surely.", Gristav judges, adding, "But arguably one inferior to Larur's, he being the financier of this effort, so do let's treat the cause of my interest here, and thus also yours, with more care. If you might?" Gristav smiles gently, before walking off with the Bolboreta poppet and note.
At the Desna statue, Gris paused in observance. Of Braddon, entering an unexpected door. No, not too unexpected. Nor even unwelcome. Aware of the poppet in his hand, he spoke to it as though in reply, "So? Alright, so I don't know how to feel. How could I?" Sighing, he puts the poppet into Desna's open grasp. So apt a metaphor, he thought. "Thank you for everything", he prayed, "Or whatever parts of it", he added smiling. "It would be good to know... how she feels", he supplicated, then smirked, and shook his head, and added, almost scolding, "You know what I mean."
Chuckling, Gristav went to bed.
Larur's scowl fails to clear. "I'm not having you poking around odd corners of the place," he tells Snake firmly. "You're still here on approval. You can talk to Saul about the spiders in the morning. They're not getting any deader before then. Or ... less dead. Whichever."
"Works for me." Snake then retires for the night himself.
"We found Gramma," he says flatly. "She's dead."
He sighs then continues.
"I was right." There is no joy in Braddon's voice. "They got in, knocked her out, then threw her over the cliff. The General's men found her body under Harbour View after Malkith and I told them we were looking there. So the General thinks I'm some sort of hero. He even gave me this."
Braddon pulls out the wallet and affidavit and tosses them carelessly in Samaritha's direction.
"Gristav almost had me convinced she was okay. We talked to the Varisi in Lubbertown like you suggested (well Gris talked... and talked... and talked and Snake nodded a bit) and they said she was at the General's so we went there. She has a grandson who the General has locked away and she was working off his crimes and on the way some idiots mugged us so I almost killed them, Snake healed them and then Gris let two of them go and we took the leader to the General with us and got some mouthy guard who wouldn't let us in at first."
"We found out about the Grandson when we went back to Ananda's place and the Hound and the Gnome sniffed out her contract with the General under her bed. (I can't believe I missed that. Everyone hides stuff under... ooh. I need to check out Lil's bed. I'll get it shifted here tomorrow). Some crotchety old hag was cleaning out the place and whinging about rent and contracts and how Gramma couldn't be trusted. She should've been chucked over the cliff. I suppose there's still time." Braddon sulks a second before continuing.
"The Hound and the Gnome were Gristav's idea. They're like investigators or something and Gristav took us to have lunch with them so we could hire them and I guess they did find the contract about her grandson, which was another reason we spoke to the Varisi. So lunch wasn't too bad. We took them to Lil's secret hideout where they did nothing, then to Ananda's where they found that stuff we'd missed."
"We did stop back here before lunch and I got your note thanks. Gris thinks the sightings of the ghost were actually me glowing so we shouldn't be too alarmed... yet. Thanks for taking back the horses. Did you get my money back?"
"Gris was feeling much better by then. We hit the publican and he spoke to Arnando out the back and was fine afterwards. We'd almost had to carry him there after the giant spiders poisoned him. They were in the wine crates that were delivered this morning. They burst out when we opened them and we had to chase 'em down. We didn't realise there was an extra crate 'cause Zincher turned up with a bunch of thugs to threaten us during the delivery. But we killed half the spiders and caught the rest."
Braddon takes back the wallet and papers again and returns them to his vest. "So today, I've killed spiders, beaten up thugs and been promoted by the General. But I couldn't save Gramma. Never had a chance. She's been dead since Sunday."
He looks at Samaritha, his eyes brimming with tears. "She isn't even my Gramma."
"We found Gramma," he says flatly. "She's dead."Samaritha's smile fades to a look of sorrow, then struggles with various iterations of bewilderment as Braddon jags and lurches through every convoluted coil of his story. As he comes to his conclusion,
"She isn't even my Gramma."she touches him consolingly on the shoulder. "Well, but she couldn't be, could she?" she asks gently. "I mean, you're from Andoran. And she's Varisian. Not that that makes it any less sad."
Samaritha's room is much like the others on the hall. It's smaller than his, with a single bed rather than a double, and a cheerful yellow rug with a floral border on the floor. Though it's notably tidy, there are no visible signs of Samaritha altering the decor to make it more her own.
Braddon clenches his other hand into a fist, sighs, then slumps back again.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired. I was being chased by ghosts last night and staking out scribes the night before. It's been a busy few days. Thanks for listening. I should probably head to bed."
Did you really think she'd choose you, princeling, without my assistance?
"Mother", Gristav mused bitterly, inside his mind in the dream, "I don't debate, you helped. Taught charm and timbre, timing, churlish carelessness, sylvan fae savoir faire. But this girl's eyes, are green", he thought, and willed, and it was so. "You've no power here, and your poison and person no place in my imaginings. I do fear you, in the real world, where you'd make me your prince. But in my mind, I am my own king. Begone."
Braddon forces a smile for Samaritha.
"It's okay, I don't intend to get hurt."
His smile softens into genuine warmth and he gently squeezes her hand. "And how can I keep running now I've met you?"
Somewhere beyond the eastern ridge, the sun rises on the Avistani coast, undoubtedly flooding the decrepit ships of the Boneyard with light. Riddleport, however, with the exception of the stately homes and businesses of Windward, slumbers on in shadow, sleeping off the excesses of the previous night.
Instantly sitting up, "What the...!" Snake proclaims as his heart races. Taking a quick look around, he begins to calm as nothing seems to be out of place - his furry companion curled up on the other pillow, sleeping soundly. "Hm. You'd sleep through a fire wouldn't you, buddy?" Wiping his hands over his face, the tall man lies back down, hoping to get a bit more rest before the sun rises. I gotta take it easy. Getting spooked over a crazy dream is a bit too much on edge. Unfortunately for the man who calls himself 'Snake', he finds sleep to be a greater stranger than even himself on this night.
As the sun peeks through the clouds, Snake is up and sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed and ready for the day. "Gotta busy day ahead of us, Luck." The mongoose climbs up his back and onto his shoulder. Snake cuts his eyes to the side, looking to his little friend. Grinning, he reaches up and scratches him on top of his head. "That's good though. Keeping busy keeps us alert. C'mon, buddy, we got dead spiders to move." He rises, wondering if he should grab his pack. "Well, I don't use if for anything except to hide you in it. Probably should though. The one-handed man complains about it. I know, I know, you don't like it. Look, I'll talk to him when I see him this morning, okay? But until then, let's keep you hid. Draws less attention anyway." Putting his pack on, the mongoose is stubborn and refuses to move from his perch atop Snake's shoulder. "C'mon, Luck, just for a little while longer. Tell you what: When we leave the Goblin, you can get out and run around all you want. Only when we're at the Goblin do you have to hide, how's that sound?" As his tiny friend sits there a moment longer, he eventually moves within the pack. "Thanks, Luck. And don't...," he pauses as he feels something wet upon his shoulder. Pulling on his sleeve, he inspects it a bit closer. "Seriously? Are you serious? You gotta be kiddin'...," he shakes his head, sighing in frustration. Realizing there's nothing he can do about it at this point, "Alright, you win. This time." He warns. And with that they exit the room, ready to get the day started.
"And I do intend to stay in Riddleport." Braddon takes Samaritha's other hand in his. "There are some lovely people here."
"I guess I'll keep working for Ol' Stumpy. Though I reckon the General would hire me if I asked."
"And even Shorafa." He winks.
It wasn't dawn yet, when Gristav lit the room's lantern, and settled his spellbook across his crossed legs, tracing with his eyes patterns of power, until he could see them with his eyes closed, with his eyes open, with his eyes not involved at all. It wasn't until he'd finished that he realized he'd gone further than he'd the habit of, that more power, and more varieties of power, were held to hand. Idle twisting of the forces of a simple illusion had left them under tension, ready to clash and spray in a riot of color. And when the toy was un-minded, surprisingly, it did not vanish from mind. It was stable, as stable as the other spells beside it.
A very good omen, indeed.
Gristav managed to suppress his urge to hum, until he was most of the way toward the kitchen. Once there, he set to readying whatever was about, on the chance some other or others would present before he was to rush to the chapel.
Gristav knows from long association how hard it is to be up before Larur, whose circadian clock has no reference to the sun. As he reaches the kitchen, he can already hear the familiar rattle of the battered lid of the dwarf's ancient coffee pot as it is coming to a boil. As he enters through the swinging doors, Larur turns a little warily then grunts a welcome. "Morning, lad. Check the back porch, if you don't mind, and see if the baker's boy's been here yet?" He gives the half-elf a second glance. "You're looking mighty pleased with yourself this morning."
"I found my mirror!", Gristav jests in false fae foppish flippancy, with the smile following to disarm, but not so soon the dwarf hadn't time to be displeased. It was his dwarven birthright, after all. Gristav gestured at the door as he approached it, batting the latch aside from still some feet away. "It's a good day for magic. Better by half than yesterday. More than half, truth be told. And above that...", Gris paused as he swept back the door, intent upon staff-hooking the expected basket, "There's no remaining weakness from the skittering gifts of our gregarious competitor. No, rather the opposite, in fact! One ponders the marketing of a tonic! Although, if one were first forced a weakness were once worn afore were felt the fortunate fortification... feh. A further fortune failed.", Gris lamented lightly.
"Speaking of which, or rather, of priest, my word stood in stead of yours, in the poison's prayerful purging. A man who'd write a receipt, to an unknown, is fool or faithful, or measures of each. I'm sure which you'll make of him." At 'receipt', Gristav snapped his fingers to find the priest's paper presenting with a
"Do let's breakfast, if lightly, at once. I've errand, of mercy and justice, takes me to Rag End, and still another breakfast at the Duck, hopefully none too late to call it that..."
"I guess I'll keep working for Ol' Stumpy. Though I reckon the General would hire me if I asked."
"And even Shorafa." He winks.
She shoves him playfully. "Working for the Gendarmes would be more respectable," she tells him, "although do you think they'd let you wear the Hellknight armor from last week instead of the uniform coat?" She drops the teasing tone and says a bit wistfully, "I'm glad someone's planning to stay. Malkith says he'll go back to the roads when the Fates let him."
Larur takes the receipt from Gristav, unfolds it, and frowns. Parsimonious soul that he is, he is so distracted by the bill for services rendered that he is only half listening to Gristav's final words. "Hm? Rag End? Where's that?"
As he is speaking, Snake finds his way into the kitchen, directed across the dark casino floor by the glimmer of light and sound of voices.
Snake stops when he walks into the kitchen, looking a bit sullen as the dark circles under his eyes are obvious as he looks around. "Anything to eat around here? Is Saul around? Where the <bleep> is he? I need to speak to him about those spiders." Noticing the boiling pot upon the stove, "Coffee ready? I could use some. Like a lot of some."
Larur glares at him. "Make yourself useful and carry it upstairs then. Saul's up there so you'll be making the trip anyway."
Braddon leans forward and gazes into Samaritha's eyes, holding them with his own.
"Lucky for you, I'll wear that armour whenever you want. You're clever, fun and so beautiful. I'm certainly planning to stay here while you're around."
Larur takes the receipt from Gristav, unfolds it, and frowns. Parsimonious soul that he is, he is so distracted by the bill for services rendered that he is only half listening to Gristav's final words. "Hm? Rag End? Where's that?"
"Magnimar. With a namesake in the armpit of Riddleport, near enough the docks that the residents dwell in fear of impressment, and form careless militias in offensive defense. It was there to which Jaelle and I returned the pickled Padraig, making thereby the acquaintance of a Father Kreun. The General would get a particular prayer, and Kreun, if he'd serve, serves all parties better than Shorafa."
Gris's explanation is enough to distract Larur's attention from the barkeep's receipt. "In Rotgut, you mean?" he asks, shoving the paper in a pocket. "What kind of holy man sets up his shingle in Rotgut? Priest of brigands and pickpockets? I'm not sure it's a good idea to go into that kind of neighborhood. Not alone, anyway. There'll be gangs on the prowl looking for those sleeping off last night's drink and unable to defend themselves." He gestures to Gristav to carry the basket of baked goods upstairs, while he gathers other breakfast-related bits and pieces.
"A physician would go to the sick, why not a shepherd, then, to a flock?", Gristav asks rhetorically, taking up the baker's basket. "And it's there I'm going. But for your caution and comfort, and my own, I'll welcome any who'd go along. Best to broach that at breakfast..."
Going upstairs, the breakfast-bearers find the dining room already populated with Saul, the ever-present Bojasc, a rather bleary-eyed Tendal, and Daynadrian. All but Bojasc greet the Sargavan Red and baked goods with enthusiasm; the Varisian bodyguard evinces nothing more than his perpetual glower.
"Gristav's talking about searching out some priest in Rotgut," Larur tells Saul flatly, dropping his tray on the table. "Temple called Rag End. You heard of it?"
"Rag's End?" Saul repeats, raising his brows inquisitively. "There's a flophouse by the name in the district, a place for men with nowhere to go and nothing to do to go and do it while they drink themselves to death. First I've heard of a priest there."
Snake takes the pot of coffee and raises it in a toast to the dwarf as he makes his way upstairs with it.
Placing the coffee down, Snake looks to the one-handed man as he speaks. "Gonna need those dead spiders, Saul. There's a man who's got a use for them. There's coin involved so it should peek your interest. All I need is the location of 'em so I can haul them out of here."
"Might I presume, Mister Vankaskerkin, the Goblin's interests are better served in avoiding Shorafa's presence during the questioning of Mistress Vishki's spirit? General Mescher also would prefer another querying clergy kindle the querent's quarion. It's toward that end I'm bound this morning for Rag's End, the one in walking distance..."
Gris takes up a scone, which splits itself onto his opened palm, toasting under his insistent gaze.
"Wait, wait," Saul holds up his hand as Gristav and Snake separately importune him. "What do the spiders have to do with the priest in Rotgut?"
"Snake wants to sell the dead spiders. I'm going to speak to the priest in Rotgut. There is no... unless his contact is in that neighborhood, there is no good cause the two matters be seen as connected."
"All right." Saul looks at Gristav. "You're going to find a priest in Rotgut," he turns to Snake, "and you're selling dead spiders ... to whom, may I ask? Not any of the local dining establishments, I hope."
Snake just stares at Saul a moment before shrugging. "No idea." He then pulls out the note to get the name off of it. "'Pitivo Vitteri'. Apparently somewhere in Lubbertown. Ring a bell?"
Tendal sputters over his coffee mug. "Did you say Pitivo Vitteri?" he asks, giving Saul a sharp glance. "That's the alchemist I contacted yesterday about identifying the substances from the vials. He's to be at the Goblin to inspect them after lunch."
Tendal sputters over his coffee mug. "Did you say Pitivo Vitteri?" he asks, giving Saul a sharp glance. "That's the alchemist I contacted yesterday about identifying the substances from the vials. He's to be at the Goblin to inspect them after lunch."
"Well, there is fortune, or convenience at least.", Gristav glees, then sobers, "Unless its better the spiders were associated with Snake, but not the Goblin?"
"Thanks Sam. For everything."
Braddon smiles briefly to Samaritha, then makes his way across the hall, closes the door behind him, drops his weapons and armour in a heap and then collapses on his bed.
"What did Gris say to those thugs?" he mumbles to himself.
"Ergela," he mutters.
"Ergela naiz," he mutters again.
"Ergela naiz zuretzat." Braddon drifts very quickly to sleep.
"Fool."
"I'm a fool."
"I'm a fool for you."
"Are you kiddin'? That works perfect. Saves me a trip from having to find the guy. And from having to haul dead spiders through town." He shrugs. "Since that's taken care of, I'll head over to this Rotgut place with Gristav. You know, I swear, with some of the names they've got for these places in this town, it's no wonder why you've got to sleep with one eye open."
"I suppose we know the fellow is an expert on poisons, at least" Tendal remarks dryly to Saul, "if he's in the habit of procuring spider glands."
"Aye, if you're going into Rotgut," Saul agrees with Snake's decision, "it's best to go in numbers. One or two men alone are prey for pickpockets and press gangs; three or four are likely to make them seek easier quarry. The more of you that go, the better -- though I'd not take the ladies into danger. See if the Varisian and the halfling will join you. As to the spiders," he turns to Gristav, "we went to a Lubbertown alchemist to avoid Riddleport politics. Let's hope we succeeded, eh?" He cocks an eyebrow at Tendal.