.
The sun sets on the harbour. The taverns and street stalls along the shore front put up lanterns, drawing the thronging crowds their way. Waves crash calmly on the beach, hissing and fizzing, drawing back with a pleasant crackle over the shingle. Around the edges of the settlement and in to the hills you hear the jungle, patiently quiet during the day, coming to life with the sound of cicadas, owls and a million creaping, crawling, squeaking, scratching things. In the high distant valleys the occasional roar of a large beast echos down.
On the beach many small fishing boats sit pulled up out of the reach of the encroaching tide. Around fires by the boats groups of men sit talking, laughing, drinking, playing dice and smoking their pipes.
A rocky promontory stands proudly out against the sparkling teal sea. From shackles fastened between the tide-marks a group of men in Chelish uniform dangle, kicking out. Muffled screams and groans issue from the thick hessian sacking gagging them. No one pays them the slightest bit of attention. The tide creeps in, its warm caresses creaping up their bodies towards terrified eyes. On the other side of the rocky pier a Chelish schooner lays anchored. A gang of men are busy unloading her under the sinister watch of an old bronzed leathery goblin. Further up the pier, hanging from a hoist, the rotting remains of a huge spiny sea serpent jerk and twitch from the bites and hacks of a pack of freakishly large rats.
A drunk staggers out of a corner tavern on the thoroughfare crashing in to a group of passers who push him away. He spins, steps back, stuggles and flails pathetically attempting to stay upright before crashing grandly in to the dirt. Moments later out of the same tavern a broad-set flusterred woman storms out on to the street. Her thick arms hold up her trailing extravagant but cheap ruffled dres. The slovenly laced front of her bodice barely holds in her huge fat flushed doughy bosom. She stops, casting quick means looks up and down the street, until she sees the paralytic drunk clawing at the ground. She straightens up, smiles and marches proudly over to him. A wirey old man with a hilarious, toothy red stained mouth gapes happily from his begging spot over the proceedings. Looking down on the man the woman spits contemptuously on his face. He barely moves. She gives him a mighty kick in the guts with her sturdy clogged foot. Again, he barely moves. Finally, without a care for the passers by, she stands over him, lifts up her skirts and squats.
The old beggar looks on with choked hilarity, staring dumbly at the puddle forming around the man's body. When she's finished she tidies herself up, fixes her bodice, pulls her hair back and throws the beggar a coin before returning to the tavern. A horse and carriage clatter to a halt by the man. The fat merchant within looks down at the drunk with scornful amusement then violently raps the roof of the carriage with his cane. As the carriage speeds away the toothy old beggar sits turning his coin between gnarled old fingers, staring in wonder at the miserable pittance as if it were a diamond.
Round the corner from the tavern a broad dusty road snakes up through tottering shanties to the hills. At the start, on the other side from the tavern stands a smiddy. A sign, swinging in the warm breeze, bears the expensively painted image of a hammer and anvil. Above it, in gilded lettering stand the words 'Undershale and Partner'. Through the roofed open courtyard where several horses stand tethered you can hear at the back the muted sounds of a furnace, creaking billows and the chink of metal as someone works .
Back on the main street, on the other side from the tavern wedged between a chandlers and a vintners stands a scriveners office. Tall, narrow, unobtrusive and dull it goes unnoticed by all except the wealthy and powerful few who have cause to do business there. Above the door, engraved into the stone mantle a glyph glows a deep florescent cobalt blue in the gloomy twighlight. A small gecko stalking a cricket crawls into a groove in the engraving, inches away from its prey. In a flash, its body lights up brilliant blue and it drops, convulsing on to the flagstone below. A razor toothed cat-like creature pounces on it within seconds but spits it out after one taste and gallops down the street into a lane.
As the boiling sun sinks below the horizon, braziers along the street are lit and the thick smokey briney air lingers about you. Small groups huddle round open grills waiting for street vendors cooking seasoned meats and sliced yams. The town seems to heave with the chatter and laughter of its denizens. Occasionally a scream or throttled cry coming from the backstreets punctuates the mirth. Sometimes a fight spills out on to the street leaving another body for the vultures to clean up when the sun rises.
No one cares. This is Quent: a place of endings and beginnings.
Xiakon walks up the main street, his talons lightly clicking off the odd cobblestone. The lowering sunset dulls the tengu's colorful plumage until it is just a haze of shimmering colors, not the rainbow of iridescent plumage it usually is. A heavy black cloak hides it even more thoroughly from prying eyes. A belt, with many punches hung low on his belt, as well as a set of sharp blades. This hardly stuck out on the tough streets on Quent, doubly after sunset where a man's life was often worth his speed with a blade.
The rogue takes a deep breath of the fetid, humid air of the city, rolling off the jungle. He always liked Quent. Sure, he had spent some rough years here, but formative ones, ones that made him the tengu he was today. Port Peril was bigger, sure, with bigger pockets but I had a sense of...insecurity. Hoping to be something it wasn't. Quent, knew exactly what it was and embraced it. A dog eat dog city, with a devil take the hindmost attitude. It appealed to Xaikon and he never doubted making this city his home for these past years.
But tonight he moved quickly through the streets, with an easy confidence. Tonight he needed information, he needed to know what was happening and he needed to know where his ship was. He needed the scrivener. His pace quickened and revealed some of his nervousness.
He strode past the beggars and dilapidated Inns, all familiar landmarks to him. He makes his way to the scrivener's office, and taps on the door. He wonders if the scrivener is still awake and hopes so. He usually kept strange hours and it was odd when Xiakon didn't find him awake, going over this report or that tough. The scrivener had his hands in every pie in Quent, or so it was said. He was invaluable, even more so on a night like tonight.
The door is thick and heavy, made of tarred old oak with a thick black dusted resinous veneer. The scrivener's gives the appearence of being of being dead to the world but that's as it always is. You hear a muffled voice distantly behind the door then the quick scratching sound of claws on stone as something runs towards the door. It stops. Then, slowly, you hear it move to the side and claw its way over papers and furniture to the small window at the left of the door. A pair of small red eyes flash through the glass for a second then disappear. Scratching, disturbed papers falling over and a leathery flapping sound follow before the creature scuttles back in to the distance and again you hear a muffled voice. Soon you hear bolts thrown on the door and see it open very slowly. A small squeaking, grunting sound accompanies it. The door stops, open just enough to let you through, and the tiny clawed wing and arm of the Scrivener's Homunculus beckon you impatiently in.
In the centre of the room on the left the dying embers of a fire provide the only illumination on the scene. At the back, sat at his bureau against the wall you see Shadraq. His luminescent blue-green eyes pierce the darkness. Beneath his hood his hair glows a deep cobalt blue like the glyph above the door. At first sight he appears a rather fragile creature under swathes of thick dark robes. His greyish Fetchling's skin and emaciated appearance suggest an aged unlhealthy man but you know he's in excellent condition, and though he moves and speaks slowly he'll open the throat of the foolish robber that tries to demand his purse before the robber closes his mouth.
Shadraq smiles, his ivory teeth gleaming, and bows subtly touching his hand to his head in an elaborate and respectful gesture of welcome.
"You are welcome, Xaikon! It warms my shadowy heart, as always to see you safely back in Quent. I hope your business abroad was successful. I would offer you something to eat but I'm afraid I wasn't expecting company of your tastes and I've only the ashey fare of a Fetchling to offer."
He spreads his hand out over a plate in front of him with an elaborate theatrical gesture. Through the dimness you can see what looks vaguely like dessicated baby rodents and shavings of charred bark.
"But, we have business to discuss. Please ... join me."
He stands up, pulls a chair out at his table for you then, in the blink of an eye, hurls a sharp piece of charred bark at the Homunculus. It strikes with deadly aim at the hapless creature sat licking itself. It yelps pathetically looks about stunned then fixes its master with an angry stare and growls showing rows of sharp little teeth.
"Scratchling, take this food away immediately. Bring it back when the master has left."
The creature stares defiantly before the threat of another missle sends it scuttling to its master's bidding.
"So, my brother Blackthumb, you'll want tidings of your ship and men. Captain Melchior visited me yesterday. He came in with the Roost and your men the day before last. She's moored in a cove a few miles down the coast. Where exactly, I don't know. Melchior 's with his harlot at Calistria's House of Stolen Kisses. Then men are somewhere in town. I believe the Wyrmward brothers went one way and Scrimshaws another. The matter you asked me about earlier the ... ahem .. Pesh: there's a man in the Drunken Parrot doing business tonight. He knows you might be coming along. Also, Father Svartblut at the lodge has something important he wants to discuss with you. It can wait if it must but you'll need to see him at some point."
He glances back over his shoulder at the plate of food giving it a longful look then returns his gaze to you.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm really quite hungry and would like to finish my supper. If there's nothing more you need from me Scratchling will show you out. It has been, as ever, a joy to see you, my esteemed friend. I look forward dearly to seeing you at Svartblut's next blessing"
Xiakon followed Scratchling into the dimly lit office Shadraq always kept. Visiting the fecthling also called a strange mixture of comfort, for the office was always exactly the same, and revulsion for the office's actual contents.
The tengu delicately avoids touching anything in the room,a s always. The fetchling was very finicky about such things. As Shadraq pulls up a chair, Xaikon speaks, his voice sounded a bit harsh compared to the greasy undertones of the scrivener. 'Yes, it is always glad to be back in Quent. Port Peril was it's usual pretentious self. The Pirate Councilw as meeting and the usual pomp and circumstance was in full force.' Xaikon lets out a small whistle, the tengu equivalent of a sigh.
He turns a gleaming eye on the desiccated rodents and shudders inwardly. Tengu were famous for their varied eating habits but Shadraq's meals would but anyone off their food. He is happy when the homunculus takes the plate out of immediate view. He taps a feathered hand on the thick table as the scrivener catches him up on affairs in Quent.
When the fecthling is done, Xaikon nods ”Excellent. As always, your knowledge is impeccable. I'll go have a talk with Melchior. The time is coming, Shadraq. Change is in the air, and not just in Quent. We'll need everything running ship shape, at sea and on land. I know I can rely on you. But I have many appointments it seems, I'll let you get back to your meal.”
The tengu gets up then, as if just remembering, turns back, his muted feathers glittering faintly in the dim light. ”Do you have any contacts with the treasure hunters in town?” Xaikon asks rhetorically, knowing Shadraq probably knows every last one. ”Keep tabs on them. Get me the names of some of the best. It may prove quite vital. And please, try to avoid the ones most likely to try and double-cross me and leave me in the jungle. I don't have time for that nonsense. Again, enjoy your meal.” As he leaves, the tengu does the sign of leaving, just as formally and respectfully. It was rare that Xaikon could openly partake of his faith's more obvious actions, and he enjoyed it when he could.
Xaikon, with a mix of reluctance and pleasure, leaves the stifling, foul smelling scrivener’s office. The fresh, if jungle-laden air of Quent is refreshing after that. Xaikon ponders his priorities for a second. Seeing Melchior is vital, getting an update on the Roost is key to his plans. Yes, Melchior it is, no doubt. Everyone else can wait.
But before he can stop himself, his finds his legs taking him toward the Drunken Parrot and more pesh. Xaikon curses his weakness, as he makes his way among the beggars, fighters and revelers in nighttime Quent. The drug was becoming a problem. For the hundred time he made a vow to try and cut back a little, for the upcoming plan....He is still making these vows when he finds the Parrot
The Drunken Parrot is found down a narrow, dingey, cobble-stoned alley. Shanty tenements rise up on either side obscuring the night sky so that only a slit of velvety silver spotted black can be seen above. The waning crescent moon hanging high above passes in and out of sight above whispy scudding clouds. Somewhere down the street from an upper dwelling you hear the cheerful song of a fiddle, stamping feet and singing. Passing along, hawkers beckon animatedly drawing your attention to their wares: silks, spices, exotic foods and carved trinkets. Through small, thick smoked glass windows in taverns you pass you see shapes of people moving, their comings and goings a lively pantomime of shadows in front of flickering lanterns.
You see the sign for the Parrot - a chubby scarlet Macaw with a eye-patch and a hat, inexplicably grasping at the end of one wing a tankard of overflowing ale. The door to the tavern opens on to the lounge area - a space built to hold at least two dozen people. Straight in front, along the left side of the room are benches and tables. Set in to the back wall a large fire burns. People stand on either side, leaning against the walls using the mantle-piece to rest their drinks. In the centre of the room stand two large tables with benches on either side. The right side is the bar and gantry with a gap at the end for access in and out. To your right, on the street-side are a few tables, in the far right corner a smaller round table with three chairs - all occupied.
A large orc gets up from a chair at the small round table, his huge broad back filling your view. He reaches out and shakes the hand of someone in the corner at the round table then turns and walks towards. You can see there's something not quite right with him. The typical, aggressive, alert, predatory aspect of an orc isn't apparent in this one. Instead, he seems weak, like he has the ague, eyes and nose running slightly, his flesh dull and greyish tinged. His bloodshot baggy eyes betray fear and vulnerability. Despite this, he doesn't look completely unhappy. In fact, if anything, it is a serene relief which characterises the creature's expression. His fingers dart down to a small pocket in his waist-coat then back to his sides. He smiles to himself and hurries past you out the bar.
In the corner you see a weasely elf with a conceited grin down the dregs from a mug of coffee. Beside him, another orc sits with a quiet, mean attentive expression surveying the bar and its visitors. The elf looks up, sees you, whispers something to the orc beside him who nods, then gives you an unctuous smile, waving you over.
"I've been expecting you, man. Where've you been? You think I've got time to sit around waiting all night? I'm a businessman, places to go people to see!"
He stares at you, looking serious, then bursts out laughing, struggling to hide how clever and funny he finds himself. The orc beside him stares, bored, to the side.
"I'm just kidding you man. Any friend of Shadraq's a friend of mine. I mean that! Seriously, me and Shadraq are tight and he'd do anything for me, so when he asked if I could do you a favour I told him 'Shadraq, man, you don't even need to ask - consider it done'. Take a seat, man, sit down for god's sake."
He looks over nonchalantly to the barmaid and nods in your direction. She notices him but turns the other way. Bristling, he shouts to her.
"Hey Wench, where the hell 's this man's drink? You think I tip you like I do to stand propping the wall up with your fat ass all night? Bring the man his frigging drink!"
The barmaid scowls at him and starts lazily getting your drink. She walks leisurely over to the table and smacks the drink down in front of him causing it to spill on the table, turns her back and walks back without a second glance. He jumps back, enraged but quickly composes himself and gives you an oily grin.
"She's just mad at me cause she caught me with her sister last night. I don't know why she's so mad. Her sister ain't even as good looking as she is, though that ain't saying much."
He nods to the orc who moves his chair round the table, blocking it from the bar's view. He peeks shiftily round the sides of the orc, wipes the table with a ragged, grubby sleave then carefully pulls a thick wrapped bundle from the inside pocket of his jacket and opens it out on the table.
"This, my man, is the finest Pesh in the Shackles. I got three different strains, give you a different kind of buzz. The yellowish one is heady, sparkly. The greenish one's an all over buzz - make you feel like you're floating. And that bluey one there, that's the best - make you see astral. I really recommend that. I had a dwarf girl try it for the first time and she said she saw a ghost tell her where some buried treasure was and ... and I'm not jerking you around here, this is true - I swear on my momma's grave ... when she went to where the ghost said to look she found a bag with 500 gold pieces in it!"
"The yellow and green are normally 30 gold pieces but since you're a friend of Shadraq's you can buy a dose for 15. Just don't tell anyone I sold you it for that. The blue, it being a bit different, with discount, you can have for 20 a dose. You want something a bit different, I can get it. I just send one of my boys out, he can be back in 20 minutes - any-thing-you-want! I mean it man, any-thing!"
He gives you a snakey look and smiles, waiting for your response.
The tenements held no terror for Xaikon as he traveled into the poorer districts of Quent. He grew up in a place very much like them, in Port Peril. From one Shackles city to another, the fringe lived mostly the same way. Just as he is about to duck into the Drunken Parrot, the tengu sees a fluttering dark shape, black against the night settle on the tavern sign.
Xaikon stops and looks up, cawing slightly. An answering crow echoes down. ”Hello, Omen. Are you having a nice night ashore?” he says up to the perched raven. The jet-black bird cocks it's head and says, ”Ashore!”.
Xaikon laughs and says, ”Just be sure to stay close, we'll be putting out again soon. I hope.” he adds, quietly and vanishes into the warm, well-lit tavern.
He listens to the prattle of the annoying drug dealing elf. Gods he hated his habit at times like these. Shame and disgrace, a weakness. Not only was it expensive, taking time and energy from his plans, it made him waste time on people like...like this.
Cutting through the annoying blather, Xaikons peaks up when the barmaid walks away. 'Miss? Ignore this man here. A round of drinks for everyone in the house. My apologizes for this...individual.”
He turns back to the elf, speaking harshly. For all of his strong words though, his hands shake, his eyes water and his brain rattles at the sight of all that Pesh.
”First, shut up. I'm here to buy Pesh, not listen to your life story. Second, never mention Shadraq outloud in my presence again. Ever. Got that? Third and finally, be an ass on your own time. Tonight, before you leave, you are going to leave a very generous tip for this place of business. If you don't, I'll hear about it, and then we'll have another little chat and I'll b doing the talking, got it?”
He pauses, hating himself for his weakness but adding, 'I'll take two doses of the yellow. And tell your bodyguard there to ease up, I'm not going to hurt you. Tonight.” the tengu adds, waving at the orc at the dealer's side.
Torin and his brothers, Plaid, Bargs and Smorts stumbled half-drunk through the close, crowded streets of Quent.
"Sons of harlots, the lot of them!", said Plaid Scrimshaw.
"Those Wyrmward boys are cheats and liars. If they weren't such bloody good sailors I'd have keel-hauled their mealy corpses for the sharks to eat months ago"
"Shut yer face Plaid", said Bargs.
"And shut yer whingin, they won fair and square and you lost."
"You shut yer face, Bargs! They're cheats, I say and one day I'm gonna catch them at it then they'll be hell to pay."
"Well, now Plaid ... ", said Smorts, " ... when that day comes we'll be there, my brother, to bring the hell to 'em. Until then, just ... you know ... Shut yer face!"
Torin, Bargs and Smorts roared in laughter at Plaid who smouldered silently in a petulant rage. Shortly, Torin spoke.
"Boys, boys, be nice now. And Plaid, don't be so sensitive and don't be so stupid. Fine sailors and fine fighters the Wyrmwards are - without a doubt. They might even be fine card players but, by the Gods man, you never win against them! Give it up. Anyway, what's about this girl you were telling us about, cousin to one of the Stolen Kisses girls ... ?"
Plaid's embarassment left him and he straighted up, serious and angry.
"That scumsucker Koolzee!"
"The elf pusher, piece of drek poseur ... what about him?"
"He sold Nahmesme's cousin some tainted Pesh."
"Who the feck's Nahmesme?""
"Nahmesme, ye bastrd! Nahmesme! For feck's sake: my Nahmesme! She's only the girl I've been talking about getting married to for the last half year!"
The brothers looked at each other feigning ignorance.
"I thought she was made up!"
"So did I!"
"The Wyrmwards' harlot?"
"Bargs Scrimshaw, by the Gods I'll have yer gizzard if you say that again. I'm serious. Don't you dare joke about Nahmeseme like that again. She's not like that ... not like the other girls anyway. She had no choice. She was sold in to it and I'm going to buy her out when I get the gold, and I'm going to marry her and you buggers are going to show her some respect, d'ye hear me?"
The brothers look down, chastened, ashamed.
"Sure, Plaid. We hear ye."
"Good. You better. Nahmesme's cousin wanted to try some Pesh and some jackass pointed her in Koolzee's way. The bugger had some new gear to punt and didn't want to try it out on his regulars so used her as his lab rat. 'Sold', I say, 'robbed' more like. Totally cleaned her out. And, that's not the worst of it. The stuff was complete poison, mixed with some rubbish. That poor lass, just a child, was driven half out her mind. Spent two weeks in bed, puking her guts and ranting about demons. Nahmesme had to take time off work and paid dearly for it. Now she owes even more to the Madame, and it's going to be even longer until I can buy her out."
Plaid was shaking with rage, almost crying.
Torin put his arm round his brother's shoulder, nodded, pulled him in and gave him a reasurring hug.
"Plaid, we'll get the bugger!"
"Smorts, where'd Shadraq's man say he'd be?"
"Drunken Parrot, with his Orc bodyguard."
"Anything else?"
"Only that the gobshyt's been running round town claiming he's tight with Shadraq and he needs to be shut up before Shad hears about it and skins to poor bugger who recommended him to him."
"Bargs ... Drunken Parrot, isn't that where your gal Sally works?"
"It is indeed!"
"Well, now boys ... I think it's about time we paid Koolzee a little visit annd reclaimed some of that gold, maybe take that Pesh off him too and make Sally and elf-tooth necklace while we're at it."
The brothers smiled to each other, bumped about, laughed and sauntered off in the direction of the Drunken Parrot.
"What the hell kind of a name is Koolzee anyway?"
"The prick gave it himself. Runs around claiming he got it in jail. Bastrd's never seen the inside of a cell in his life. Prick!"
They spied the sign of the Parrot and on it Omen.
"Boys, look, it's Omen."
"Omen ye black hearted little thief, is yer good master inside then?"
The bird cocked its head, focused a beady eye on them and cawed a garbled string of corvine words.
"Same to you, ye little bastrd!", shouted Smorts.
Omen raised his throat and let out a shrill raucous squawk, then motioned with his beak at the door of the tavern.
The brothers now burst stumbling into the modest room, each jostling to get in before the other. A group of men and women at a table against the back wall, sensing trouble, quickly down their drinks and shuffle past and out. The boys spot Xaikon in the corner, see he's doing business, ignore him and continue to the now empty table. Though half drunk and apparently in good humour, there's a sharp, poised alertness in the group's bearing.
Not wanting to take your eye off the odious elf and his meat-faced bodyguard you ignore the commotion behind you and glare at Koolzee.
The elf, squirming in his seat, nods nervously to his bodyguard, then up to the ceiling and in to a corner, avoiding your gaze.
The barmaid, Sally, comes over, coughs politely and gives you a warm beaming smile then playfully tousles the feathers on your head. You hand her some coin and she winks at you, turns smartly and walks back to the bar (not before giving Koolzee another look of searing contempt).
"Drinks on the kind gentleman in the corner! Order up quick!"
The room lets out a cheer and claps. People jostle up to the counter giving you happy nods of appreciation.
From the corner, Bargs walks up to the far end of the bar and stands looking upon Sally adoringly. She looks over, brushes her hair back shyly and gives him a quiet, tender smile. She pours him a tankard of Ale. He takes a long, greedy draught of the liquor, foam spilling down his face and lets out a loud, dramatic contented sigh, slamming the tankard down on the bar.
"Ah, by the heavens that's good stuff. My friend, my friend ... "
He calls out to you and waves.
"You're a scholar and a gentleman. Bargs is my name. A pleasure to make your acquaintance ... me and me brothers! If you'll join us for a mug, we'll return the favor?"
He points to the corner and the other Scrimshaws give you a light salute and each other a knowing smile.
Koolzee peers round the corner of his orc and looks and dismisses them as harmless drunks.
Xaikon eyes Kolzee with distaste. The man was a fool, and worse, one that thought he would be an easy mark. he would need to be...punished for such insolence.
"Forget this. You obviously are not a real dealer. I'd be better off going to see those drunk fellows." Xaikon rolls his eyes but gets up and goes over to them exaggerating it insultingly to Kolzee.
Hiding in plain sight, indeed.
When he comes up to Bargs he speaks quickly and quietly at first, "The elf and half-orc. Work them over, outside. Be rough, but no blood. The elf has some drugs on him, take them and bring them to me. Don't be obvious about who you work for. Meet you at the ship."
After that he slams his fist on the table, 'Bah, a pack of drunks! This town keeps getting worse." His anger is fake and sarcastic, even to Kolzee.
With that Xaikon goes out into the night, pausing outside to see if he can hear any commotion from his lads inside.
Back in the bar, Koolzee is sitting seething in humiliation.
"Who the heck does he think he is? Talk to me like that! I need a drink."
He shouts angrily at Sally.
"Hey you, yeah, you yeh fat cow: bring me a beer now!"
Sally bristles and shouts back at him.
"I've had enough of you. You want a beer, you can get it somewhere else. Now you and your little friend, you just clear off now!"
Koolzee smiles with pleasure and nods to his bodyguard. The half-orc steps up and starts walking slowly towards Sally with a wicked, vicious grin on his face.The Scrimshaws, following the whole thing look to each other knowing exactly what the play is. From the corner Bargs jumps up, darts across the room, vaults on to the bar and slides across and down in to the gantry between Sally and the half-orc. Before the half-orc really knows what's happening, Bargs bull-rushes him. Head down, shoulders up, he punches in to him with the force of five men, grabs him and drives forward out of the gantry in to the corner crashing in to Koolzee. The three of them collapse in a pile. Tables and chairs scatter about them.
Bargs wrestles himself on top of the half-orc and starts pummeling his face with his fists. The brute struggles, bucking and writhing, almost unseating Bargs but the flurry of blows is quickly too much for him and his strength fades to nothing until he can't even summon the power to protect himself. Koolzee, seeing his predicament, thinks for a moment of his merchandise in the half-orc's pocket but thinks better of it. He stumbles to his feet and turns to flee walking straight in to the fist of Plaid Scrimshaw. He falls to the ground like a sack of potatos, caught halfway down by Torin and Smorts.
Plaid reaches in to Koolzee's pockets and retrieves the tainted Pesh and then turns to the bar and speaks to the startled drinkers.
"You see this here? This stuff is poison and this 'man' Koolzee has been selling it to kids. You all know Nahmesme's cousin and how sick she was? Well this is the cause of it. I'm no kiljoy: a little Pesh to soothe the soul is fine for a grown person but foisting poison like this on the young is beyond deplorable."
The drinkers, reasurred to know the fight isn't going to turn their way, start talking excitedly. They see Sally standing shaking at the bar. The mood starts to turn from nervous confusion to focused outrage.
"Sling him out!"
"He set his dog on poor Sal'. I say take the worm out and gut him!"
"Get lost Koolzee and take your poison with you!"
A few brisk slaps wake Koolzee up from his daze and he sees the half-orc unconscious on the floor and the whole bar staring at him angrily. He tries to speak but is still shaken and can't quite get words out his mouth. Torin speaks.
"Right you: time we went for a little walk."
Torin and Smorts frogmarch him out the bar followed by Plaid who touches his money pouch. He glances at the broken table and chairs and nods to Bargs. Getting up from the half-orc, Bargs tidies himself up and walks over to Sally who throws herself in to his arms and kisses him. He gets his money pouch out and puts a few silver pieces on the bar. An old man sitting at the bar pushes the money back towards Bargs.
"Put yer money away son. This one's on me."
Bargs nods and smiles. Then, turning to Sally.
"Sal, my dear. We're off again. I'm sorry. I don't know when we'll be back. You'll wait for me?"
She smiles sadly and nods: "Of course ... always."
Bargs gives her a kiss and leaves the bar dragging the unconscious half-orc by the scruff of his kneck. He joins his brothers in an alley next to the tavern where they disposess the two of the good Pesh, some gold, and throw the tainted stuff away.
The party travel through the winding streets of Quent towards Calistria's House of Stolen Kisses. There they find Captain Melchior and the Wyrmward brothers. After some food and Pesh, they leave and make their way to the harbour. There they take their small rowing boat and travel up along the coast by the light of the moon to the small secluded cove where the Roost is moored. Finding Xaikon still awake, they work for a couple of hours making the ship ready to sail the next day, then bunk down for the night.
The next morning sees a glorious sun high in the sky with brisk breezes rustling the palms and mangroves along the coast. It's a fair day to set sail. A myriad of tropical scents lace the briny air and the waves crash frenetically about the ship, rocking it robustly.
Tired though he was, Xaikon stood at the prow and took a deep lungful of the salty, sea air. As always the briny, seaweed laden scent revived him. It had been a long night, making the Fortunes' Roost ready for another voyage. All sorts of things always came up between trips ranging from the mundane, a new coat of paint, some minor rope replacements, to the serious, checking for sprung timbers and replacing major items.
But the issues had been slight, which is why Xaikon, this morning,m had a ship begging to be released into the rollicking, playful seas. The tengu turned to Captain Melchoir, eyeing this trusted individual. ”Anything else to report from the last voyage, Captain?' Xaikon asks, 'Anything I need to know before we set out on a long term cruise around the island?”
"Nothing to report, though, Shadraq sent a letter by messenger and asked you read it before we leave. Also, there is another letter but the messenger wouldn't say who it's from."
You open the anonymous letter first.
"Brother Xaikon, our man is in place at the Steel Clad Giant in Rapier bay. I trust you are ready to perform the ritual. There is no haste but we want to get to Tewey before Fairwind finds a way to claim him herself. Also, I'm very excited to say that we have verified the new claims of Strong-Arm Hix and are sending someone from the lodge to Zhenbarghau to establish contact. Svartblut."
The letter from Shadraq reads as follows.
"My valued associate, as you requested I have compiled a list of credible treasure hunters. I hear, firstly, that a team of explorers led by an Oracle of The Sea have formed a theory regarding the Chenogg Rainforest obelisks and are making remarkable progress. Their success, so far, is known to myself alone and now you. Another team, attempting to find safe passage to the Glittering Lake last sent word two weeks ago. As they have been there more than a month, I think it's safe to say they have found a way to survive and their chances of success are better than we thought. Regarding our interests in the Dye business: my agent at Bogsbridge continues to make overtures towards Tendry Boles but she needs further convincing. We must get to Boles before we can make the move on Burie and Shaggard at Lilywhite. Shadraq."
Captain Melchior speaks.
"Shall we be setting out now, or did you want to visit Quent for anything first?"
Xaikon tapped his talons on the ship's rail as he considered the two letters. After so long, things were moving quickly now. It was wonderful to watch. Which string to pull first....?
As he ponders, he shreds the two letters very finely and lets the tiny bits drift down into the lively sea. Never can be to careful, even with a trusted crew.
But the choice was easy. Bogsbridge would have to wait, along with Lilywhite. It was time to start building an organization and that required talent.
”We make for Rapier Bay, Captain. Run as quick as we are able, we have an appointment to keep.” The words were sweet to his ears, after years of running place. He kept an imperious, judging eye on the crew as they went about their business. It did them good to have a stern eye on them, sometimes. Being the ship's master, it was part of his job to put the fear of the gods in them. He stalked the ship fore and aft, his beady eyes prying everywhere, his light feet avoiding the piles of rope and canvas strewn about.
As the Fortune's Roost moves out of the lee of the coast's hills the wind catches her sails and she picks up speed. Out in the open she's one of only a few ships at sea that day. All along the coast encampments lie idly in the scorching sun as groups of locals loll about the shady tree line. On-board, the wind blows coolly over the deck making the work of keeping the sails trimmed light and pleasant for the crew.
Around midday, tired of the glaring sun, you go down to your cabin. You notice in a corner a chest which wasn't there last night. You catch one of the crew on his way by and send him to the Captain to ask about it. Word returns that they found it floating in the water on the way in to Quent and thought you should have a look. They haven't opened it yet.
It's an unremarkable item, sturdy and reliable with tar seals around the joins and two locks on each side.
Take a 'Disable Device' skill check for the chest.
The tengu's beady eyes narrowed on the chest. He had an innate love of puzzles and mechanisms but not that great a skill at opening. As with most of his race, his curiosity outstripped his skills.
Still, with the ship running tight, he had the time.
Turning to the chest, he gets out a set of thieves tools, and sets to work.
With little effort you spring each lock and open the chest.
Inside you find a booklet, a pile of flags and a number of wooden rods which can be joined together with cuffs to build larger poles. Along each rod are a number of clasps to which the flags can be attached.
Each flag bears the heraldry of a Golarion nation. Not all nations' flags are included and some are included more than once. Those included once are: Andoran, Brevoy, Cheliax, Five Kings, Isger, Jalmeray, Katapesh, Lastwall, Mendev, Nidal, Qadira, Razmiran, Sargava, Taldor, Ustalav, Varisia. Each of these is identical to the usual flag except for a narrow red and black striped border. There are two flags each of: Druma, Geb, Osirian. Of these there is one each with a red and black stiped border, and another with a red and white striped border. Lastly, there are four Worldwound flags. Their striped borders are: red and black; red and white; black and white; pure black.
There are also ten pennant flags. Each one bears a unique and distinct colourful pattern.
The booklet contains several pages. You look just at the first which contains a picture of each of the above mentioned flags with a letter next to it. Beside that, there is a short description which reads much like this document. The ten pennants are also listed next to the numbers 0-9.
As you ponder the contents you hear a cry from on deck.
"Ship ahoy!"
You rush up on to deck and up to a crewman standing port-side fore pointing to the distance. You follow his direction and see a fast, light vessel coming out from behind a headland. It moves in to the open water, drops its sails and hoists a flag up the forestay. Without a constant wind, the flag is not easily distinguished.
Take a 'Perception' skill test.
Xaikon sits stunned over the chest for a few moments as he processes the windfall. Then he straightens, looks tot he heavens and prays silently, "Oh Reaper of Reputations. You have favored your servant. I thank you for this chance and even if it contains poisoned barbs, make me worthy to it."
After that dutiful moment passe,s he cackles like a young tengu who found a bit of candy. These flags would make his plans much easier.
He grabs the chest with him as he climbs up deck, and spots the sail. It is distant, far out on the still active sea.
He keeps his new flag kit close, in case he needs it.
After several moments flapping around in the wind, the flag is caught by a steady breeze and is clearly visible.
"Ustalav"
The distance between your boats is closing. Seeing that you are now clearly within visible range and have probably spotted their flag they take down "Ustalav" and raise another.
"Geb(red, white)"
You can: ignore them and remain on course; drop sails and lay anchor; change course. You may also raise a flag along with any of these choices.
Xaikon narrows his eyes. Ustalav? That was a landlocked country...and then the flag switched to Geb. Tengu don't grin but he whistled deeply, the same thing. A nervous small ship?
He turns and shouts up the Captain Melchoir, 'Can we catch them, Captain? I have a fancy for some visitors." He turns back, looking at the distance between the two ships.
The captain replies.
"They're waiting for us. The flags they flew were modified. The Ustalav flag had a red and black striped border and the Geb one a red and white striped border. The probably denote something other than affiliation. The might be using the flags to send us a signal."
The message might be false and a trap, or true and a valuable warning. What do you do?
Xaikon laughs, 'Of course Captian, I'm not blind. I just wanted to know if you think, if things go south and they run, if we could catch them. Like I said, I fancy some visitors. Anyway, take us up along side, but stay sharp. It may be a trap."
He looks hard at the ship and then adds, "Signal, we reply in the affirmative."
"Aye Aye, Sir"
The captain raises the Chelish flag up the forestay and signals the wheelman to hold course.
The ship skiffs along comfortably. The men hold fast at their stations, eager and alert.
Then, without warning, the ship grinds to a sudden halt. There's a loud creaking noise as the wind drags her on to a sand bank and to a dead halt. She turns barely to one side, sinks some then settles wedged fast.
Xaikon curses as they run aground. He was a sitting duck now, if that ship was dangerous. But then again, perhaps they were trying to warn him? For all the good a pilot would do him now.
In any case, he had a ship to keep afloat here. 'Captain, check the bilges. Make sure we didn't spring anything. And send a few men to take soundings. Find out how deep we are, and if it is mud or rock out there. I want answers sharpish!" he barks, then turns to stare at the light ship. He wouldn't signal until he knew how bad of a situation they were in.
The Scrimshaws check below deck while the Wyrmwards take soundings round the boat. Before long, it's apparent the ship is in no immediate danger and they report back to the captain who briefs you on the situation.
"Well, there's no damage. We're stuck on a muddy sandbank on a ledge but haven't hit rock. The prow is wedged solid but the stern is free. We could wait till the tide falls and hope she slides back in."
As you and the crew ponder the situation you see something happening on the small vessel. A fire has been lit and an archer is preparing to shoot. He dips an arrow in to one then another barrel. He takes aim and shoots it in your direction. The arrow soars up following a sharp trajectory trailing an orange spume of smoke. It lands in the sea several boat lengths away from your position. Another two arrows go up in the same way.
Fifteen minutes or so pass before you see emerge from beyond the same headland a large broad rowing boat with eight men on either side tugging at the oars. It pulls up alongside the smaller vessel as the crews talk and look your way.
The rowing boat is carrying something important but you can't quite make it out as the first vessel is obscuring your view.
Take a 'Perception' check to see what it is.
Xaikon peers at the rowboat, trying to figure out what si going on.
But he had his ship to save. He turns back to the Captain. 'Drop the sails, and get the men all on deck. We don't need more weight and we don't want that wind pushing us onto the shoal even more." The tengu curses mildly, while he looks at the ship. Then he sings out some more orders
"More all the weight to the stern, quickly now. All ballast, water, food, everything, even the sailors. We want as much weight off the center of the keel as possible. We'll try to drag ourselves off. Load the anchor in the johnboat and drop it in deeper water. Hook up the chain to the windlass and anything else we got. And we'll pull ourselves off. Now, look lively! I still have an appointment with those ships out there. Get to it!"
Xaikon fully plans on helping haul the ship off the ledge, even if he isn't very muscular. Spirit of the thing.
As the sails drop the boat slumps and starts to lean slightly astern.
One crew busies itself above and below deck moving everything they can to the back of the boat while the other drops the johnboat, loaded with the anchor, and climbs down in to it. After a minute of rowing they settle on a good spot with the right depth and drop the anchor. The chains clatter and rattle as the iron sinks and comes to a halt on the sea bed. They return in the boat to the ship and join the other crew at the windlass.
Manning either side they take position and start heaving on the crank handles. At first, nothing happens. The handles are locked tight and won't budge. The ship continues bobbing gently up and down. They stop for a rest, dispirited. Looking at the chain, you notice that as the ship bobs down, there is some slack. When they start again, you direct them to take up the slack when the ship goes down. They follow your instructions and on the first wave pull in a few yards of loose chain and lock the gears. The windlass groans, the ship tips backwards at an awkward angle, then you all hear a grinding noise on the hull. Then, as she drops on the next wave she starts to pull back.
The men grin from ear to ear and start hauling in the loose chain as fast as they can. This time, she pulls back even more. Once more and she slips free with a bounce, back in open water again.
Xaikon crowed in triumph as the ship let free and slid back into the water. 'A ration of rum for every man tonight, Captain!"
He turns back to the business at hand however, keeping an eye on the two ships nearbye. "Resume course, Captian. Keep an eye for shoals, have a leadsmen sent for, make sure he don't run her aground again."
The tengu was quite curious what was unfolding just a short distance away.
The men smile at the thought of a good drink at the end of the day. A man is sent to take soundings after the sails are brought up and set for a cautious approach to the vessels ahead.
The other boats remain as they were. The small, light, fast vessel has a crew of four and a captain. It sits high in the water but it's deep keel keeps it stable. There's little below deck to accommodate crew or supplies. A spinnaker lies furled along the starboard deck. The crew look lean and mean, bored and itching for trouble. The youthful captain on the other hand seems relaxed and jolly and somewhat out of place in his foppish attire amongst his worn veteran crew. The large rowing boat next to them holds a different kind of crew who display little signs of competence or experience but plenty of brute force. You notice at the stern a series of cleats from which several strands are tied. The strands come together to form a large thick rope which sits coiled on the deck. You guess it's some kind of tug boat.
As you come alongside the foppish young captain waves cheerily and shouts out.
"Thought we'd have to give you a pull out of there old boy. I must say, we all thought you did rather well, didn't we chaps?"
His crew grunt and nod unenthusiastically. The crew of the other boat don't seem to be keeping up with the exchange.
"Don't mind them, they're good lads. Give 'em swords and a chance and they'll hack and slash their way to gold and wenches before you can say what. Isn't that right, buck?"
Buck, lean and mean is proudly amused of his captain's apparent compliment.
"Well, now, I must say, that was a jolly good show but I'm afraid it leaves us in a bit of a pickle. Allow me to explain. The master of Rapier Bay has tasked my good self and these fine fellows with keeping ships from wrecking on those sandbanks the storms keep shifting. Our chaps are out after every storm mapping the changes and, us being generous sorts, we like to give visitors the benefit of this knowledge. A courtesy service, you might say. Though, actually, more a service and less a courtesy. If we warn ships off and guide them in we command a fee. If they founder and we drag them out we command a fee. As an additional service, if someone can't pay we hold their ship in harbour, nice and safe, until they can."
"Now, here's the pickle: we've never actually come across this situation and I'm not sure what the powers that be will want to do. I assume you're bound for Rapier Bay?"
Then, pausing for a moment he smiles and continues.
"But, if you weren't that would make things much simpler, would it not?"
Xaikon whistled lowly. He was being taken for a ride here, but that didn't have to be the end of the world. A little smooth talk might get them out of this, that a little gold.
The tengu takes 10 gold coins and wraps them. "I am not heading toward Rapier Bay, I have business in Lilywhite. But I'd hate you to waste your time fully out here." He throws the little bag of coins to the pompous captain. "Something for your time."
Turning around and speaking lowly, "Take us back out to sea, captain. We'll enter the city overland. We can't fight this whole lot."
Turning back he shouts, "Anything else required?"
"Well now, that's awfully generous of you. Isn't it lads? At least we won't be going home empty handed."
His men all nod their appreciation. He throws a coin to each of his four crew, puts one for himself in his waistcoat pocket and throws the bag of remaining coins to the other boat. As your crew starts hoisting the sails he looks over and speaks.
"My name's Jackson, by the way - in case you do happen to pass through Rapier Bay later on. Feel free to call on myself and my good wife any time. We've a suite at the barracks. There's a good tavern nearby your men can drink at."
He barks a few commands to his men and makes to set out then, turning as if suddenly remembering something, he says.
"If you do, ahem, happen to find your way to Rapier Bay in the very near future. You might want avoid berthing in the main harbour if you're doing business in town. The master has taken to imposing a levy on trading ships and impounds anyone who doesn't pay. He applies the term 'trading' very loosely."
At that he waves you a cheery farewell and they set off.
Captain Melchior sends the crew to their stations. The sails are hoisted and you set off. You pass the headland and see the narrow horse-shoe shaped Rapier Bay to your left. Before long, you're past the further end and pass round out of sight of the bay.
Here 'civilisation' (or what passes for it in The Shackles) seems to end. There are no fishing villages, not huts or fires. Just dark, quiet empty jungle. Before long you come across a settlement of piers, quays and warehouses which appear completely abandoned. They appear to form what was either a competing landing spot to Rapier Bay, or the original settlement. Though, the buildings appear far too new to be obsolete. Then, you see a figure. An old man carrying a fishing rod on his way to the end of a pier. He looks up, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand, and sees you. He waves in a friendly manner.
Xaikon nods to himself. That hadn't gone too badly. The bribe had kept Jackson on the friendly enough side, which was a nice side-effect. He needed more money though, and soon.
He glanced skyward and saw Omen circling above, as usual. The tengu envied his pet's flight, it would be a great help in avoiding sandbars...
Soon his musings broke off as he saw the newly assembled pier and buildings. Xaikon stared at it long and hard. Was it a pirate's den? A rival attempt at a city? Perhaps Jackson hadn't been joking when he said the levies were high. Maybe someone wanted to create a rival port? In any case, it might be just what he needed. Or a trap.
Xiakon takes the Roost in, waving back to the man. When they get close enough he shouts, "Ahoy! Where is this and can I tie up here?" He mutters to the crew. "Stay sharp boys..."
"You can tie up anywhere you want. The owners of this place disappeared several months back and there's only me left looking after it. My lodge is on the end of that pier but there's nothing left there - all looted. I still get a wage, though. Don't know who pays it but they pay regularly and I collect regularly which is why I still hang around. I've a hide up there overlooking everything where I stay at night to keep out of the way of the bandits. They've not been by in a while, though. Nothing left to steal but the buildings. You can berth here if you want - wouldn't mind a bit company actually. There's a track leading in to Rapier Bay, it's a few miles but good going. If you're going in to town you'll need to leave some crew. Around here I'm what counts for security and I'm afraid I don't count much on that score."
Xaikon's feather rustled in the light breeze, sending a cascade of colors. Interesting place. Perhaps a base of operations for himself? It was tempting, with the wharves and buildings already made. It was a bit close to Rapier Bay though, too close for serious work. Still, he would have to have his scrivener track it down. The fact that this man still got paid hinted at a paper trail.
For now....
Xaikon directed the men to tie up here. He lowers his voice to Melchoir, "Captain, leave a few stout lads here. Give them orders that if anything happens, anything to set sail and meet us in Rapier Bay. I'm not losing the Roost to some backwards jungle bandits. I'd rather risk the levy task then the ship. Otherwise, we all go overland to Rapier Bay. All right?"
"Aye, Sir!", the captain responds.
"Wyrmwards: you're on watch - dawn till dawn. Keep an eye out and be ready to push off at the first sign of trouble to meet us in Rapier Bay."
"Scrimshaws: arm yourselves and put some gear together for a trip in to town. We're going overland to Rapier Bay."
Your party follows the broad, easy track round the cove and up in to the low hills. The jungle is sparse enough for you to look out to sea and, when the path winds along cliffs, Rapier Bay itself. After a few hours the jungle thins out and is replaced by scrubby semi-cultivated land with small shacks along the roadside. The people are poor, hungry and pay little attention to you. Eventually, around dusk you arrive on the outskirts of Rapier Bay. You can decide to find an inn for the night, forge on in to town or camp here on the outskirts.
Xaikon takes in the jungle dusk, the crying of the birds, the croaking of the frogs and the ever=present whine of the biting insects. Looking at his few men he nods to himself and says, 'We head into town and find an Inn. We need news and good ale, not a night fighting off snakes and centipedes. Stay sharp men, some unlucky chaps might pick us for easy outlanders." he whistles ironically.
Before long you come across a suitable inn, 'Tobit's Retreat', and go in. On the ground floor is the bar. Some locals have gathered for the evening to sit round the fire, drink beer, sing and tell stories. The place has a wholesome, virtuous atmosphere. Behind the bar you see what must be the proprietor, Tobit. He's a large, fat, ruddy faced, kindly looking man. Beside him, a women - his wife - stands, engaged in the telling of some lively tale. A door to the side of the bar bursts open and a young girl runs out screaming and giggling pursued by her sister. They chase each other about the bar to the amusement of some of the crowd at the fireside then run behind the gantry in to their father's arms. The huge man scoops them up like bundles of rags and ernestly but kindly admonishes them. Then dropping them down he fetches for each a biscuit from a jar behind the bar and sends them back upstairs.
At length, your entrance is noticed and causes some concern. Here as in many small rural pubs strangers are a novelty and not always a welcome one. Strangers of your party's sort are also usually bad news. The mood dampens as an atmosphere of trepidation and curiosity descends on the bar. Some of the fireside crowd smile and nod, some tip their hats. A worried expression passes over Tobit's face. He looks to his wife, who smiles reassuringly at him, then turns to your party to speak.
"A thousand welcomes gentlemen. What can I do for you this fine evening?"
Xaikon takes in the rather quaint scene. It is a far cry from the rough taverns of Quent, at least the ones that he frequented. This seemed a small slice of paradise. Xaikon had no time for such things himself of course, and he had a nasty tendency to take advantage of nice peoplem but tonight, he just needed peace and rest. And news, if he could get it.
Xaikon bows, knowing that being tengu doesn't exactly help matters, saying 'Same to you. We are just merchants passing through to the city. We have been at sea for months and are hungry for news of any kind. I also have business at the Steel Clad Giant." He figures a bit of truth mixed in the lies might make it easier to swallow.
Is it possible you have enough space for my small group here and perhaps any news from the city?"
He gestures to his crew to be on good behavior.
"Well now Sir, space we have a'plenty. I'm more than happy to accommodate you and your party."
He turns to his wife.
"Annie my love, grab the girls and make up some rooms for these gentlemen will you: a room each for the masters and the bunkhouse for the boys."
"As for news, well ... you know, it's funny you should ask - you having business at the Steel Clad Giant an' all. Old George was over there today and happened on a mighty peculiar thing, did'rnt you George?"
Old George sits by the fire laughing, oblivious to Tobit's question.
Muttering under his breath, Tobit shouts over.
"Georgie boy ... George! You was at the Smiddy today, wasn't you? Mind you was telling us? This gent here's got business. Come o'er here and tell us what you was saying before."
Old George jumps up excitedly and comes over.
"Well, now ... yes. Funniest thing it was. The master there - Tewey - since 'is wife passed over - has been something or an 'ermit. That is, until the past few weeks. Folks about 've been saying there's something new about the fellow. So, since I was going that way I thought I'd stop in and say hello. I'll say folks weren't wrong. I barely recognised the man. "Tewey", I said to him, "Tewey my man, gods be blessed, you're a new man so you are. You're your old self again. Have you a new lady friend?". He were'nt so pleased at that suggestion but let it slide quick enough and he says to me "George, my friend, better than that ... I've got Marlu back!". I were a bit confused at that. Thought he might've finally gone mad but he isn't mad. Seems that new holy man come to the Bay not long back 's been helpin' channel the old girl's spirit for 'im. Anyway, I says to 'im: "Halgo, that is good news! Maybe now you can leave Rapier Bay and take up mistress Tessa's offer? Be a nice change for your kids and you. Nice not to be bound to stickin' near the cemetery?". He weren't so pleased at that. Can't say why but my guess is ... "
At that Tobit coughs and gives George a meaningfull frown suggesting he's being a bit too chatty and George clams up.
"Another beer George? You're looking a bit dry there." Tobit says, not asking.
"Beer? Right. Yes, that'd be grand Tobit. I must be getting back to my friends now. You fellows have a nice evenin'."
Xaikon drank in the information eagerly. Clearly the plan was working. The distraught smith was 're-united' with his dead wife. Now was the time to make an offer to the man, to entice him to his side.
The tengu whistles a thanks to George and turns to Tobit, "What a wonderful inn you have here. Please, I'll take two rooms, one for my men and one for myself."
After that he turns to his men and whispers, 'Get to sleep men. You stick out here like a sunflower on the deck of a ship. You'll have time to roister later, I promise you." He winks and sends the men off.
Then he turns and tries to sit on the edge of the 'friends' by the fire. He listens but occasionally puts in a comment when appropriate, not rushing things.
Finally he brings the conversation back around to the smith at the Steel Clad Giant, 'So, friend, you know master Tewey well? I must admit, I am curious. I have heard stories but no little of the man himself. I'd greatly appreciate the words of someone who knows him." Xaikon lays on a bit of flattery.
"I don't know him so well - as much as anyone else. He's an excellent crafstman - but you'll have heard that already. Good businessman too - could set himself up anywhere in the shackles if he chose to. Almost did, too: he was all set to pack up shop and move when Marlu died. That suited Lord Maxvale Janis."
"Tewey, as you might have heard, has had many offers from Tessa Fairwind. Although Janis could never publicly oppose or thwart her, he always did his best to put things in the way of Tewey leaving. Before Marlu died Tewey started getting death threats and the shop was vandalised several times. Janis insisted, as Lord of the Bay, it was his duty to have Tewey accompanied by a guard at all times. Tewey wasn't really worried - he can handle himself - but he couldn't rightly object. Anyway, that all stopped after Marlu died but I wouldn't be surprised if Janis starts keeping an eye on him again. News travels quick round here and Janis is sure to have heard about Tewey's holy man, priest or whatever he is and he'll want to know exactly what's going on. He's not the only one. There's a lot of people round here awfully curious about Tewey's new confidante."
Xaikon nods, "Thank you friend. Let me buy you a beer for your troubles." he buys a drink or two for the man. "When you are a wandering merchant, you need the help of locals like yourself to keep in touch."
The tengu does his best to nod, not easy with his short neck, and goes on, 'Anything else worth hearing out of the city? Anything interesting, perhaps a business chance or two? Anything a traveler should know before he goes in walking in the gates. Hate to be surprised by, gods forbid, a plague or a fire." he said, and piously bows his feathery head.
Another man hearing you ask if there is anything else you should know responds.
"Plague or fire, Gods forbid no. Rapier Bay is a clean and orderly enough place. On the outskirts here folks can live a decent enough life if they keep to themselves, work hard and make themselves useful. We don't worry ourselves about others' business (however godless and profane) and they don't worry themselves about our necks. Master Janis' troops are well disciplined and ruthless. Mind you don't give them cause to take an interest in you and you'll do all right."
The next morning you awake at first light to the sound of heavy rain. It batters down on the inn's roof, gushing along the gutters and dripping loudly from the eaves on to the sheltered shrubby border below your window. The sky lies heavy and grey upon the town. If it weren't for the sweltering heat and choking humidity this could easily be a dank northern October.
Leaving the men behind, you sneak out of the front door - past a dozing night watchman - in to the streets. Porters move busily along the roads with heavy bundles tethered to their backs. A few hawkers have set up food stalls under makeshift shelters to feed the early-shift. You stop for some food at one and enquire as to the whereabouts of the Steel Clad Giant and learn it's just 15 minutes walk from Tobit's Retreat. You make your way there and map the route in your memory for later. It is currently closed. You continue your reconnoitring of the town and learn the location of the barracks, the stockade, the town's only cemetery and a peculiar Apothecary's shop which has above the door the same magical glyph as Shadraq's office. Through the centre of the town runs a large river spanned equally by two bridges. You follow it out of town to the outskirts. The road shrinks to a twisting path and dwellings turn to shanties as you come across the wretched and cast-out of Rapier Bay: a shabby, pitiful, pathetic and ugly looking collection - the same as in every town in the shackles. Most hover in groups except one notable figure who guards the entrance to a cliffside cave on his own, scaring away anyone who comes close. He has the look of a pirate who has seen better days: old but spry, thin but not malnourished, disturbed but not insane. He sits cross legged chewing on a gold coin like a child. Around his neck hangs an extremely valuable looking gold, bejewled religious symbol. The path continues further but beyond here there is nothing more of interest.
You return to Tobit's as the sun rises, morning sets in and the storm clears. The men are up and eating breakfast. You mention everything you've seen then leave them to go out again to see if the forge is open. You arrive to see the shutters up and the courtyard gate open but little activity. You walk in to the forge itself and see a youngish man working at an anvil. He eyes you with curiosity as if trying to confirm a hunch about you. He wonders if you're a genuine customer, a time-waster or something more troublesome.
Xaikon's bright eyes sweep the smithy. He didn't know much about metal-working except skilled blacksmiths were in high demand in the Shackles. And Halgo was supposed to be the best. Perhaps this was an apprentice?
"Greetings, young sir." Xaikon says, his high voice fluting gracefully, "How goes the day with you? I have traveled far, and could not pass without seeing the famed Steel Clad Giant. Your fame reaches many leagues." Xaikon pours on the flattery and takes the time to gauge the young man.