I got in this mornin', on foot. Never seen a slitheryman like those'uns before, nosirree. Tordek says as he toddles over to the guard.
Lysandra shrugs. "Been here about a week I suppose. First time seeing the snakey-guys for me."
The man sighs "Snake men typically no, but all manner of sh1te comes out especially in Scurvy once the night falls. Any reason as to why you stayed here and didn't scarper after it happened? - don't tell me you're concerned citizens my heart couldn't take the shock."
"I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm not real fond of moving through areas that I can't see though, so I really didn't have much choice but to stay." Lysandra says plainly.
The lovely lass what runs the joint said I could get me a tipple on the house. You ever know a dwarf ta turn down a free drink laddie? Not bleedin' likely I'd say. Now that my beak's wetted, I've got no real reason to stay, 'cept you and yours here asking questions. Seemed rude to up and leave. Tordek says as he makes his way over to the guardsman.
Tipene shrugs. "Not going to leave my shipmates behind." He almost smiles. "Besides, why pass up a chance to fight when the guards won't come to break it up?"
"Only 'concerned' that this was some ruse to cheat me out of cashing out my tokens."
"Fine... I'd suggest you move along then. Madame will see to the casino, you'll need to see to yourselves..." a glance to Quillin and Tordek specifically "I'd not be for lingering in Scurvy unless you've got a need for it." nodding affirmation that his part in the conversation is finished before turning to walk away. As a side foot note he adds "Might be best to keep clear of any more sewer grates tonight eh?" He moves back over to the passage leading into the casino's basement to continue his investigations.
The party then feels the pointed gaze of those thugs and casino personnel upon them... silently impressing upon you a suggestion that you might move onwards and outwards into the dark. The barman himself has backed away from the bar and doesn't seem to be open to entertaining any further refills. From what you see the injured party remains propped up against a wall and bloodied... but not sensate.
The Tulita picks up his weapons, nods to the guards and the watch, and leads the way out of the casino. Quillin will probably be happy enough with his winnings. No closer to figuring out what happened or where the key came from, though.
Quillin frowns as his eyes follow the departing investigator and then pass over the unconscious man. Gnome curiosity is powerful force. But self-preservation is a greater force. He shrugs and follows the tall savage.
Once they've safely cleared Scurvytown, Quillin pauses to tug at his braided beard. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't see see if a fortune teller can tell us anything about that key. I assume most of them are charlatans, but they're not that expensive and we've got nothing better to do."
Tipene shrugs. "Good an idea as any."
Leading your steps initially out of the casino and towards the nearest border betwixt Scurvytown and the marginally more urbane and refined areas of Freeport you're initially disconcerted by how many sewer openings and grates seem to line the path. Though with trepidation you proceed, nothing lurches from the shadows to devour you... yet.
Minor tellers of tales and prognosticators of fortune can be found throughout Freeport - though their quality and skill is questionable at best. The Woman is the only name that rises above all others - holding court in Drac's End near the Tent City... but most likely she wouldn't be seeing anyone until at least the sun's crested.
Well lads, we can do that, if any of 'em are doin' readin's at this hour. Or we could find ourselves a nice little apothecary or distillery or summat. Gotta get us a few handles of that good burnin' rum fer our future shippies, yeh? Tordek says as he catches pace with the others, resecuring his weapons about his person, breathing in the salty seaport air.
"We could probably find both fortune tellers and rum sellers on the Docks. Seems a fate-reader would do well with superstitious sailors heading out to sea."
"Hang that..." A thought strikes the gnome and he investigates the nearby sewer grates to see if they are locked with what might be a properly sized keyhole.
Quillin indeed finds the sewer grates locked, but while the metal types and styling are similar (crude wrought pig-iron) - the key in your hands doesn't fit the lock upon the grates.
"Fortune tellers, fortune tellers....where in the Nine Hells was it I remember seeing one of those around here?" Lysandra mutters to herself, trying to jog her memory.
"We're looking for a reputable fortune teller," the gnome emphasizes.
"Reputable fortune tellers? I'm not sure such a thing exists"
Maybe not reputable, but one who is right more often than not, less say. Tordek says, playing with the beads in his beard.