Shador placed a gold coin on the bar and indicated with a short gesture that he expected nothing in return. This was a city where gold was king and information, the right information, was virtually priceless. A person in the information business could not afford to be tight with his money or he soon found himself without contacts, or worse yet, contacts that lied to him. Perhaps this exotic-looking barkeep would be of use to him later; he would likely remember the tip in any case, at least for a time.
After the two men at the bar left, Shador returned to sipping his drink and silently speculating about the origins of the barkeeper. He was also listening to the loud human converse with his much quieter halfling companion. No matter how silently one of the Big Folk said the word 'dwarf', Shador, with his excellent hearing, almost always heard it. It was a small quirk of his, but one that had undoubtedly saved his life on more than one occasion. It was too bad the halfling spoke so quietly after that, for the only words he could hear afterward were 'familiar' and 'north'. Shador shifted his position slightly and looked at pair sitting at the table and the large black bird they seemed to keep as a pet. The human he did not know, he was certain. The halfling was not familiar to him either, but then again, the Warren in the Docks District teamed with halflings and he had always had trouble telling them apart. They were like dwarf children, lacking proper beards to help identify themselves.
The bartender's eyes widened a bit in appreciation of the generous tip and he tilled it with a smile, returning to the business of cleaning the remaining plates. He nodded to the doorman at the entrance who closed the latch on the door in order to prevent further customers from entering without a key. A few noises came from the kitchen area as the staff cleaned up their areas and put away all the cookware. A waifishly thin, dark-skinned, human girl with black hair emerged at the base of the steps from the upstairs only a moment later, her descent making no more sound than a cat's would. She smiled at the bartender who smiled and nodded in return.
"Good to see you're finally awake, Kaja. You might want to take your cloak with you. The weather is still quite miserable out there," the bartender gestured towards a row of coatracks where a few cloaks still remained hanging.
"I appreciate the concern, Ji. I'll be back in a few moments to start my shift," the girl's tone was frank and factual, her voice had a soft lilting cadence to it. This was obviously a woman used to living in silence. She could not have been more than 20 years old by her appearance and, though she was indeed very thin, she appeared to be in good health. She made her way over to the coat racks and removed a single black cloak which bore an unusal embroidery in white along the hem. As she donned it, the doorman smiled at her and unlocked the door to permit her exit.
Gimble noticed the dwarf's attention had fallen on the two of them and, after a moment of watching the exchange between the girl and the barkeep, he smiled at the dwarf and motioned for him to join them. He whispered very quietly to Othos as he did so.
"I know I've seen him somewhere. Maybe a conversation will jog my memory."
The raven picked up an almond with its beak and began furiously tearing it apart and eating it.
The woman Berzeral is escorting begins to control her sobbing somewhat, still clutching the sheets close to her body as she looks at his matronly guise. "Is... is this your home? Why are we here? I want to see my husband!" Tears of frustration begin to form and she shivers from the rain-soaked sheets around her naked form.
Berzeral makes a kindly hushing sound "Yes, yes child. The house is not mine, but belongs to a dear friend of mine. It was raining so dreadfully and I did not want to disturb you for directions. Feel free to rest here until you are well. You are welcome here. Your husband is being tended by the clerics, and from what I have heard, is resting comfortably. I will go and check on him, and get whatever you might need. Would that make you feel better? Here, please take your rest. I will find someone to come and tend you." he leads her inside and parts the curtain, shooing her gently inside. "I will make you some tea."
He quickly put on a teakettle and then pads back to the curtain, poised just outside, listening intently until she's asleep, lurking poised to respond to any sound that might indicate she might be harming herself. He would hate to restrain her so early, as delicate as her condition might be. These next hours were crucial...
Gimble noticed the dwarf's attention had fallen on the two of them and, after a moment of watching the exchange between the girl and the barkeep, he smiled at the dwarf and motioned for him to join them. He whispered very quietly to Othos as he did so."I know I've seen him somewhere. Maybe a conversation will jog my memory."
The lithe girl walked by Shador without a word and he supressed a shudder at seeing such a bag of skin and bones. She should eat some food, put some weight onto that frame, he mused as she slipped out the door. The gale outside is likely to carry her away! His glance returned to the halfling and human, whom he occasionally watched over the rim of his mug. At the halfling's gesture, he nodded and moved to join them at their table, shifting his mug to his off hand so he could more rapidly reach his rapier if they had more than conversation on their minds.
His practiced gaze slipped over the pair seated at the table. The human was tall and confident and looked bookish despite his athleticism. The halfling was hard to read, though there was something in his eyes that made Shador realize he was being subjected to the same sort of scrutiny he was giving. His eyes met the halfling's for only a second, and it seemed like they shared an unspoken moment when each was aware of the other's activity. The realization was too fleeting to allow a response, for he found himself at their table, their eyes turned toward him expectantly.
"A dark dreary wretch of a night it is. A fair night for ale and tales, eh? Though I dare say there will be no more ale here tonight, so a tale will have to do. What brings two such as yourselves out on such a night? Business or pleasure?"
The halfling took a sip of his beverage and nodded in response.
"There have certainly been some tales tonight, but I'm afraid you're a bit late," the halfling smirked knowingly at Othos. "As for us, well, it's business. I'm not certain how long you've been in town, but I presume that you know a thing or two about the Shadow Thieves, yes?"
Without really waiting for a response, the halfling continues. "Things have been a little... suspicious around here lately, and not in a good way. The Shadow Thieves seem to have just up and left town. Common folk see this as a good thing. We are not common folk."
The halfling takes another sip of his drink and allows the dwarf to digest the information he's provided so far before continuing.
"Thieves' guilds, and especially powerful ones like the Shadow Thieves, are like spiders in the city. The keep the insect population low, and by insects I mean people who think they can do what they want to who they want. The guards can't be everywhere and the thieves' guild has a vested interest in making sure that business runs smoothly. They make sure that the murderers don't kill important people, they make sure that the guards don't kill important murderers, and they generally keep this city on it's feet." The halfling smirked self-righteously. "I'm sure you've noticed that business is booming outside, even in this hideous weather? That's because there's no one stealing from their purses. No one threatening merchants with death if they don't lower their prices to guild members. No one to maintain the middle class. Without the thieves, this place is going to turn into a poor man's hell where the rich get richer and the poor... get killed. We don't want that, understand?"
The halfling popped an almond into his mouth and crunched loudly.
The woman in Berzeral's charge manages to stifle her sobbing a bit, finally making a few coherent statements.
"I would like clothes. And tea. Yes, that will be nice. Thank you..." she sniffled loudly, seeming to swallow her tears. "Did... did you see what happened? That man... did the guards get him? And the orc man? Gods... why is this happening to me?!"
She coiled on the bed, still wrapped in wet sheets, and continued sobbing, wiping her running nose on the sheets. She lifted her head up enough that she could see Berzeral, her large, tear-filled eyes staring at him pitifully.
Shador sat at the table and looked hard at the halfling. The prudent thing was to keep him talking and see where it led. It sounded like this one wanted the Shadow Thieves back in power. While that may be a good thing for business as usual, as he said, it didn't neccessarily mean it would be good for his business, unless of course there was a catch of some kind. Shador's eyes shifted momentarily to the halfling's silent companion. What a curious pair. They are planning something, but what that is, I haven't the slightest idea.
"Aye, I know the Shadow Thieves are vanishing. One cannot be in Calimport a tenday and not hear the rumors. As for what you say of the poor and the rich, I would only respond that being rich has always been better than being poor; the absence of the Shadow Thieves has not changed that fact."
Gimble smiled and nodded at the dwarf's statement.
"True enough, and spoken like a true businessman," The halfling glanced down at the dwarf's rapier, then met his eyes with his own, raising an eyebrow knowingly. "So tell me then, what business do you have in our fair city?"
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The halfling's expression was not wasted on Shador. "I am a businessman like yourself. I make my living by buying low and selling high, a bargain hunter of a sort, taking advantage of opportunities in the marketplace. I will also take work that some consider dangerous if there is a handsome profit to be made. I prefer not to work with the entrenched merchant class, they are too limiting and too concerned about newcomers edging them out of their comfortable gold-lined positions to give an outsider such as myself an honest chance. Thus I have to make my own opportunities." He took another sip of ale and regarded the pair carefully. "You mentioned the Shadow Thieves. I do not much support the idea of turning over my hard-eared wages to thugs and have stayed in Calimport because their influence has diminished. You speak as if you wish their return. Is this the case?"
Gimble rocked back in his seat, thinking on what had been said. "The Shadow Thieves provide persons such as myself and my associate here with much-needed protection. By the sound of things, I'm afraid I may have made a misjudgement regarding your occupation. I hadn't thought that someone like you was a simple merchant. My sincerest apologies."
Gimble takes another sip of his beverage, finishing the last of it off and setting the empty mug on the table. "I had thought that you were someone who understands how the economy really works around here."
Shador's chuckle is dry and prolonged. "I did not say I was a simple merchant. What I said was that I take advantage of opportunities that present themselves and I do not do so in the manner in which the merchants here would have me do. As far as protection goes, perhaps I am missing something in your position. My experience in protection from the likes of the Shadow Thieves is that they are are collecting a fee for protecting one against their own member's actions." Shador finshed his mug and set it on the table. Picking up an almond, he said, "Is this not the case in Calimport? Do the Shadow Thieves offer more than threats for the gold they no doubt take?"
The halfling leans forward on the table, punctuating key points of his statement by tapping his finger on the wooden surface.
"Money runs this city, friend, not people. Let me explain to you exactly how business is done in Calimshan. Merchants have goods. They sell these goods for money. The more money they charge, the more money they make. Whenever a new merchant comes to town, he wants to charge less money so more people will buy from him. The rich merchants will pay money to mercenaries to drive the new merchant out of business. The Shadow Thieves don't let this happen without their permission. For every two-bit thug some merchant takes in off the street to do his dirty work, there's a Shadow Thief assassin who can stop him. The Shadow Thieves don't want the merchants getting TOO rich, and here's why: Merchants pay taxes. Taxes pay the sultan. The sultan pays guards. More guards means more trouble for the Shadow Thieves and RICH guards are harder to bribe. It's already starting to happen. I don't supposed you've taken note of the fact that most of the patrols near the docks have a sorcerer with them now, have you?"
The halfling raised an eyebrow at that note and nodded a confirmation before continuing.
"Shadow Thieves don't work for merchants. Sure, every now and then a merchant offers a Shadow Thief hitman enough money to make him forget where his allegiences lie, but those situations are rectified swiftly and permanently, rest assured. But it goes even further than that! The various temples and churches that operate out of sight of the common man? They're protected as well. The Shadow Thieves make sure that the guards look the other way during religious holidays. They provide sacrificial victims to the churches that need them. Most of the Shadow Thieves even attend the services themselves because they believe. Why do they do this, you ask? Because the churches take care of the thieves. The Shadow Thieves aren't perfect. Sometimes they get hurt in the middle of a job and sometimes one of their good men gets taken down in a raid. The churches can fix these setbacks and they gladly do so because they know they're being taken care of in kind. I don't know if you're a religious man or not, but these churches are getting uprooted by the guards on a daily basis. Clerics are hunted and killed. Temples are demolished. Some of the more savvy ones seem to have gone into hiding, but the end result is the fact that the Dark Ones are being thwarted here... and they're not happy about it."
The halfling grinned wickedly at his last point.
"The Shadow Thieves are responsible for more than you could ever imagine, my friend, and with them gone, this city will strangle itself and you and me will get choked along with it. Many thieves have already fled town. They know what's coming and they think they can just run away. Not me. I aim to stop it, but I can't do it alone. Take a moment and think about all this. If Calimshan, the merchant capital of the South, succumbs to this fate... it'll only be a matter of time before the rest of Faerun is either sitting on a mountain of gold or wallowing in the mud and feces in service to the golden gods of commerce. Choose a side, friend, but choose it quickly. The storm outside isn't the only one to be worried about."
Shador pondered the halflings words. Suddenly alot of what he was seeing and hearing began to make sense. Those he had made contact with, like that cur Majib, were certainly a nervous lot, far more afraid to act than would otherwise be expected in a city that no longer had an organization with a chokehold on criminal activities. Apparently Calimport isn't the free haven he thought it was when he first heard that the Shadow Thieves had fled the city. Suddenly, the city seemed far more dangerous than it appeared. He briefly considered leaving Calimport to drown in its particular brand of filth, but there was really no place left to go except Chult and in no way would that exotic place offer the same potential for reward as remaining in Calimport.
Shador held the almond up between his fingers and examined it as if it were a fine gemstone and then raised his eyes first to the man that sat silently listening to the conversation and then back to the halfling. After a moment he popped the nut into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully and then addressed the passionate halfling. "What you say has merit, friend. This explains a number of things that were not clear before we met. But surely there is something in it for those who help the Shadow Thieves? I suppose you are not wholly ulturistic in your motives? In what way do those that help the Shadow Thieves return to power benefit?"
The halfling chuckled. "Of course there is something to be earned!" The halfling realizes his excitement and lowers his voice, catching an awkward look from the bartender. "I strongly doubt that the Shadow Thieves are completely gone. There are certainly strong pockets of resistance left in the underworld. They would offer us whatever we desired to aid them. Not to mention we would certainly be assured a position amongst them after they return to power. The Shadow Thieves take good care of their own."
He cast his gaze around the room once more to make sure no one was listening. "And, if they are gone, we will find what remains of their empire and use those remains to start anew."
Fascinated, Othos watches the dwarf and the halfling trade half-veiled banter while he feeds the raven another couple of almonds. As Gimble finishes his speech and the dwarf sinks deep into thought, he speaks up. "I have my own idiosyncratic reasons to seek out the remnants of the guild, tattered as they might be. So does Gimble here, as well as our other associates, and I am sure you might have yours as well. We are not going to convince you about the virtues of organised crime - I merely wish to observe that Calimport thrives on informal law. This is not a ‘just’ society in the sense one is used to in the great cities of the North. The office of the magistrate and the laws of the courthouse only benefit those already rich in influence. While the common folk may rejoice today, I strongly suspect that they will miss their local protectors soon enough, as the militia is far less benevolent than it might seem on first glance. In a way, we intend to… shall we say, restore power to the people. You know, give them back the safety and services they are used to, that they know and love". With that, Othos’ face breaks into a sardonic smile.
"Of course there is something in it for us as well. Like you, we are opportunistic businessmen. Though I can only speak for myself here", Othos says with a amused glance at Gimble, "I am almost as keen on discovering with what has happened to the guild as I am in wresting a profit of some sort from the current situation. We do not know what has happened, nor do we know who might be behind it. It is a most delicious puzzle".
"Equal shares. Equal work. We will risk much, but I am confident we will gain even more". He drains the last of his ale. "We are done here, and this place closes momentarily. Let us walk over to my apartment. It is quite close, and I have food, drink and comfortable furnishings; also, Berzeral should be there by now". Othos gets up and stretches to his full height, towering over his two companions. "Well, Master dwarf - care to join us?".
So the halfling felt the Shadow Thieves would pay well for competent aid. Very well. In all honesty, the job did not sound all that promising, but Shador's supply of coins was dwindling fast and those without gold simply did not exist in Calimport. The offer, if he could call it that, was better than crawling the streets trying to find a partner he could trust and work with, not that he trusted this odd pair. However, they did seem to have a plan, and a plan was something Shador desperately needed.
Shador turned his attention to the human when he began to speak. He found it hard to believe that the man thought solving the puzzle of the Shadow Thieves was as good as profiting from their disappearance. Shador shook his head in disbelief. The concept of intellectual pursuit for knowledge's sake was lost on him except in the vaguest sense. While Shador had always learned things easily, he strove to learn only those things which allowed him to directly profit. Intellectual pursuits were a toy of the rich or the safe, and he was neither.
When the man finished talking, Shador stroked his thick black beard for several moments, an unconscious habit of his whenever he was thinking hard about an issue. After another minute of silent thought, Shador reached his conclusion. "Very well. I believe there is something to be gained by aiding one another in this pursuit. I am called Shador. I have your name Gimble, but I have not yet heard your human friend here speak his."
"Oh. How rude of me. My name is Othos, a humble scribe". He gives Shador a firm handshake. "I am also a practicioner of the magical arts. Welcome to our little undertaking. I grant you that our 'plan' may not sound like much. However, I will explain a few more things once we get to my humble abode; no sense in doing it here, where unintended or unwanted listeners might hear". As he leaves, he drops a silver piece on the bar. "Good night, everybody, and may all the gods continue to bless this place".
As Othos walks out, he lets the raven hide underneath his cloak to stay dry. He's upbeat enough that he hardly notices the rain himself. However, this changes as the companions walk into his flat. Flabbergasted, Othos stares, goggle-eyed, at the unfamiliar woman from the bar as she calmly sips tea at his table. "Explain yourself", he snarls, as he reaches for his dagger.
Gimble remains at the bar as the others depart, wishing to hang around in case the Northman returns. The thin, dark-skinned woman returns just as Othos and Shador are leaving, her dark cloak unusually dry given the weather she had just traveled in. She wishes them a good night, hangs her cloak, and seats her self at an empty table in the darkened inn, producing a book from her pack and beginning to read. The doorman leaves the key with her and heads home for the evening. Gimble remains just outside, under a nearby overhang for protection from the rain.
The young woman drops the cup of tea at Othos' ferocious entry, spilling its contents all over the wooden floor. Her mouth stammers open and closed, but no noise issues forth. Her eyes widen in stark terror upon seeing the dagger and fill with tears. She weakly raises her hands to the sides in a display of powerlessness.
The dwarf moved aside as the dark-skinned woman stepped in from the storm. He mumbled a reply to her greeting, feigning disinterest, but he watched her move to the table as he fetched his pelerin and threw it over his clothing. There was something interesting about her, and he wracked his brain trying to figure out what it was as he joined Orthos outside. He gave Gimbal a brief nod and then followed Orthos into the pelting rain and muddy streets. When they reached the apartment, Ortho's sudden move toward his dagger caused Shador to snap his rapier into his hand. It took but a moment to see that the human did not plan on betraying him, and although he could not see into the room because Orthos blocked the doorway, he understood that they had surprised an intruder of some kind. Relying on instinct more than anything, Shador stepped to the side of the door to take him out of the line of fire should a battle break out, scanning the corridors outside the aprtment for signs of attackers.
Besides the wind and rain (which still show no sign of letting up anytime soon), the corridors outside the second-level apartment are empty. Over the railing, Shador can see the empty street that leads all the way back to the docks. The temporary marketplace where the road ends seems to have packed up and moved out. Beyond the docks and into the grey haze, Shador can see a column of black smoke rising from the vague silhouette of a ship in the harbor.
“Um..., terribly sorry about that, Miss. I... was…just a bit… um, ...surprised to see you in my kitchen, that’s all”. Inside, Othos’ mind is reeling. It is the girl from the tavern! But the old woman… It couldn’t possibly be… Did Berzeral have an unknown associate? With a massive exertion of willpower, he regains his composure again and sheathes his dagger. “Please do not worry. I will make you a new cup in a second”.
He steps back into the hallway and turns to Shador. “No worries. Try to act normal”, he whispers under his breath. He walks back into his living room. “Now, where did my associate go – you know, the person who brought you here?”. He casts an inquisitive glance around the room as the dwarf ambles in behind him. “You look like you could use a little help – here, let me find you some clothes and put on a little food”. Berzeral had better be nearby…
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With the threat of danger passing, Shador sheathes his blade and follows the human into the apartment. He glances at the poor wretch at the table, but ignores her. It is none of his business what this mage does for entertainment.
"You were expecting someone else to be here, friend?" Shadors says after a moment of watching Ortho's reaction to the girl at his table.
The terrified woman weakly gestures around the corner and into the main kitchen area, indicating the matronly old woman that had been escorting her from the tavern earlier. Quickly, she leans down to retrieve the tea cup and places it back on the table while simultaneously pulling the sheets higher on her body to provide greater modesty.
Berzeral fights back the growl rising in his throat. This was, after all, formally Othos' lair and the unexpected guest--no matter her importance--was something that required explaination. Still it was awkward and endangered everything. Never glib, Berzeral would have to do the best with what he had, to minimize the damage.
He turned around the corner of the kitchen wall, a long finger over his lips, still in the guise of the old woman. Without word he laid his hand flat toward the door, an invitation to go back outside into the storm and in his same bad approximation he had been using for the matronly woman loudly calls into the bedroom.
"Yes dear. This is Othos, the good friend whose house this is. We'll go and fetch those things for you now. Just relax."
His eyes never left Othos', and though his voice to the girl veiled his demand that they leave as a request--his eyes held no such ambiguity. He would hate to have to kill the wizard and his friend in front of the woman, for she had had a hard time of it already and could hardly use more stress--but he did need this place, and the urgency of this need was present in the familiar hard steel eyes of this matronly woman.
For hours, the massive sailor stood. Perhaps it was shock, or perhaps a silent resignation of his fate, but Torbjorn hardly twitched a muscle as the rain pounded viciously at his cloak, soaking him utterly to the bone. Dozens of dockworkers streamed past him, hurrying with buckets and hooks, ladders and hand axes; for what seemed an eternity, he simply stood and watched the destruction of the ship that had been his only home since before he sprouted to manhood.
Several times, Helg wandered over, occasionally trying to speak with the stunned bard, other times to simply stare silently at his granite visage as if praying for some sign of recognition. All he got for his efforts was the reflection of the ship's leaping flames in the northman's cold, wet eyes. As the dockhands all worked furiously to douse the flames or move neighboring boats out of harm's way, the flames licked higher and higher, glowing with mesmerizing and unholy colors and soared hundreds of feet skyward. Occasional mumbles from the workers showed their belief that something unnatural was to be blamed here.
At long last, the flames were quenched, the last of the ship's hissing embers slipping gently beneath the murky black water of the port, chased by the incessant hammering of the mighty rain. As Torbjorn watched in mute horror, several charred remains were removed from the water, barely recognizable as anything once living. A pair of teamsters tripped while carrying one such mass across the slippery dock, releasing the blackened corpse to smash into thousands of shards that sprayed in all directions. One fist-sized fragment skittered across the dock to Helg and Torbjorn's feet, where they watched in mute distress. With one massive hand, he reached down and tenderly lifted the blackened mass to his face.
"This..." he spoke, so softly that Helg had to lean in against the pounding rain to hear. "This..." he whispered, turning the black shard slowly in his fingers.
"What is it, Storyteller?", Helg asked in their native northern tongue. His face held genuine concern, and fear. He leaned closer and quietly asked. "What concerns you so?"
A meaty fist shot out, grabbing Helg by the throat. Gigantic fingers clenched tight, causing his face to go purple, his eyes bulging. As he clawed fruitlessly at the fist around his neck, Torbjorn paid him almost no mind, continuing to stare at the smouldering chunk. Finally, he turned his sodden head towards his long-time friend, his eyes still gleaming witht he now-extinguished spark of the mystic flames.
"This is what you get for ignoring the warnings of the gods."
He released Helg, who fell to his knees, wheezing. With one mighty whip of his arm and a roar of pain and frustration, Torbjorn flung the charred remains out into the dark, towards the roiling water of the sea. He gathered up his pack from the ground where it had first fallen, and slowly turned to Helg, only now regaining his feet.
"This also means, old friend, that you and I...are officially out of work."
He glanced back towards the tavern he had so recently left, and sighed heavily. "Come. I have a room where we might find refuge from this gods-cursed storm and perhaps find our wits. Many a hard decision must now be made this night."
With that, he began to trudge back into dark and bedraggled city, the rain showing no signs of diminishing...
Gimble saw the smoke and heard the distant screams from the far side of the docks. He did not know what had caused them but when he saw Torbjorn's massive frame silhouetted against the grey shroud that enveloped the entire wharf, he smiled wickedly.
As the large man approached with his shipmate in tow, Gimble emerged from the overhang he had been using as shelter to greet them.
"The tavern has closed for the night... but I can lead you to shelter if you're in need of such." Gimble noticed the look of desolation on the shipmate's face and smiled smugly. "I presume you're seeking more than a roof over your head as well. Follow me."
"But of course,… old friend". Suddenly all the pieces fall into place. Othos relaxes completely, walking over to the cupboard where he keeps his clothing, pulling out a shirt and some loose-fitting linen pants. "She is a lot smaller than me, so I guess you will need to cinch up these a bit", he chatters along with the ‘matron’. "By the Lady! This is amazing! How did you do it?", he whispers very quietly as they leave the living room, awestruck at the Malarite’s hidden talent. "And how long do you plan on keeping her here? No matter - we will discuss that at a more opportune time. We will move on now."
"Here you go, Miss". Othos is the model of concern as he and Berzeral return from the bedroom with the clothing. "Unfortunately, we must move on", he says - half to her, half to Shador. "Just let me gather some of my things". He gets back into the bedroom, gets the sword from its locked box and then straps his shield to his back, before gently, but resolutely, leading Shador back into the hallway. Down at the street level, he can no longer contain himself and starts laughing uncontrollably. "You will never believe this", he tells the curious dwarf between guffaws. "Let me start it off this way - what did you think of the older woman? Did she seem… odd in any way to you?"
The woman accepts the clothing with a nod of thanks but maintains a look of total bewilderment at Othos and the obfuscated Berzeral. Certainly this had been the most harrowing and bizarre day of her life and her mind was still reeling from everything that was going on. She waited for Othos to finish his business in the bedroom and then returned to it, donned the clothes she had been given, and laid on the bed, wide-eyed and obviously engrossed in thought.
"By the Lady! This is amazing! How did you do it?", he whispers very quietly as they leave the living room, awestruck at the Malarite’s hidden talent. "And how long do you plan on keeping her here? No matter - we will discuss that at a more opportune time. We will move on now."
He just nods along, his eyes still severe, until Othos finally steps outside. Berzeral has his own promises to keep and after a few last bits of tending, leaves the poor traumatized woman to go see to the errands she has sent him on--as well as a few of his own.
As he slips out and closes the door behind him he lets the disguise slip away, back to his adventuring clothes, gory totems still hidden within the illusion. He makes his way down the short steps to Othos and the dwarf in the downpour.
"The woman has requested some things to make her comfortable. Sorry I could not ask you before, but...under the circumstances."
"Ah, there you are. I was just about to regale master Shador here with a tale about your exploits". Othos is still giggling as Berzeral joins them in the apartment building’s foyer. "I completely sympathise with your concerns - and I have a few of my own as well. You are of course aware that it will be difficult to tell if she is pregnant for quite a while? And that she might have certain reservations about bearing the spawn of the monstrous sailor? That she might even hurt herself?". Othos looks quizzically at Berzeral. "I am certain you will think of something. Keep her here for a few days. I need my office to work, though, but that can wait for some time".
"Anyway, here is the plan. Morn the merchant is our mark. He used to be a struggling blade-seller with guild ties - now that the guild is gone, he is suddenly conspicuously rich. There must be a dodgy connection there. We will return to the tavern - Gimble is there already, and he is handy with locks and can thus get us inside. We politely encourage Morn’s newfound lady companions to leave, and then we have a … chat. It will all be nice and civilised, as well as rather enlightening - and rewarding, judging by the size of his purse". He indicates his ornate sword. "I have not seen their half-breed doorman for a while - but even if he is around, I doubt he is especially formidable. The challenge will not be to get past him, but rather to do so quietly. Morn himself is rather handy with his steel, but he will not be able to resist a determined effort like ours. Also, his knives will not be readily available to him". Othos smirks at the thought of an undressed Morn frantically searching for his concealed weaponry. "Comments? Additions? Any further elaboration is more than welcome". He looks over his companions, watching their reactions.
Shador was about to respond to Orthos' question when Berzeral rounded the corner and he halted what he was about to say as he made a quick appraisal of the man. Another nightwalker, he thought. This one seems a tad more feral than others I've seen. He kept his thoughts to himself and listened impassively as the mage and his friend spoke. But when talked turned to the poor wretch of a woman back in Orthos' apartment and their flippant discussion of her possible pregnancy, Shador's eyes returned to the newcomer and he studied him carefully. What kind of rabble have I fallen in with? Surely that woman's condition has nothing to do with the Shadow Thieves. I don't mind removing one's enemies but what profit can be gained by holding that slip of a woman against her will? He was so consumed with these thoughts that he only half heard the plan being concocted to return the tavern and visit this Morn. It took him a moment to reconstruct what he might have missed in the conversation before he could add anything of his own. "You should know that Kaja, the thin, dark-skinned woman at the Efreeti’s Djinn is not only the night watchman, but is or was tied to the Shadow Thieves. Though I know little else of her, you can assume she is competent, so if you can enter the closed tavern without resorting to violence or attempted stealth, all the better."
"Do not worry yourself about the girl. I will see to her protection, and find a midwife who can discern the other matter. I shall keep her there no longer than is needed." he gives a slight inclination of his head--perhaps something like thanks, or perhaps not.
"Your plan seems workable. I would be more comfortable if we knew more about the woman who keeps watch over the place. If it is true that she is with the group you are interested in, what should be our treatment of her? I may assist you, but shortly I must tend to the woman, as well as take care of my errands. We must make haste."
The street outside the apartment complex remains empty as the group continues their conversation and the rain continues to drive downward from the blackened sky. Illumination comes from sporadic bursts of lightning that crackle through the dense clouds and occassionally find instance to strike far off in the distance, their thunderous rumble following only a few seconds behind. Farther up the road, away from the docks, a group of three men round the corner and cast their gaze down the cobbled street. Two of them are clad in light chainmail with scimitars and small shields at the ready, wearing the trapping of the city guard. The third man is dressed in airy silken robes, still very much in the style of a city agent (though laden with moisture from the rain), and carries aloft a globe of light which floats just a foot above his outstretched hand. Such ostentatious displays of power had become commonplace since the decline of the Shadow Thieves, and the sorcerous members of the city's law enforcement (dubbed the "Spellguard" by the Pasha himself) had become a powerful and visible force patrolling the streets of Calimport.
The guards look down the long, dark street and their gaze falls upon the assembled group on the landing outside of Othos' apartment but they pay them no special attention. There was no curfew in Calimport and a group of men standing around on a second-story landing after midnight was not so suspicious, given the city's reputation for operating at all hours of the day. After a moment's time, the guards move on, continuing their patrol around the massive fountain that marked this neighborhood's commons area and pass down another street nearby, the light shed by their sorcerer's globe fading away until it disappears completely from sight.
As the magically illuminated guards fade into the storm, Shador turns his attention back to his new companions. "I would prefer that we keep our meeting with Morn as quiet and swift as possible. Do not forget that Morn and Kaja both used to be associated with the Shadow Thieves and may be allies. Kaja will know we are present and may come to Morn's aid if he struggles, so we must not allow such a thing to happen. However, we also need to learn what we can from him if we are to begin unraveling the mystery of the Shadow Thieves' disappearance. If we are in agreement on this, then let us go while the night is still fresh."
Torbjørn looked wearily down at the tiny halfling, who smirked up at him as if he knew some precious little secret.
Softly, he said, "What do you want, small one? As if you didn't already know, it has been a very, very long day indeed for this tired soul. As much as following you proves intriguing, what I most need right now is a stiff drink and a warm bed, not necessarily in that order."
He dug in his belt, searching for that pesky front door key...
“Those are indeed good points, Master Shador, and they are greatly appreciated. I know a simple spell that should make her a little more amenable to our purposes; it is not foolproof, tough, and somewhat limited in scope and power. We will ultimately need to rely on our wits and talents, I fear, rather than my overwhelming magical might”. With an unhappy grimace, Othos steps into the heavy rain again. “Truth be told, I do not wish to spend any more time with the loathsome little merchant than I need to, either. Now let us get this over with”.
After a minute or so of slogging through the downpour, an idea strikes Othos. “Perhaps we should acquire the various objects my new houseguest desires before going to the inn? Our cover story can then be that we need to pick up something from Berzeral’s room in order to make his move out complete. It is not the cleverest story in the world, but it should get the door open – ad that is really all we need”.
The rain streamed off the oiled leather of Shador's pelerin as he slopped through the mud beside Orthos. When Orthos suggested how they may gain entrance to the tavern, the dwarf merely grunted in reply. "As long as it is dry, I will be glad. If there is gold at the end of this muddy walk, I will be gladder still." His eyes slipped over their surroundings, alert for guards or worse, other rogues that may mistake them for revelers.
Gimble shrugged at the Northman's statement.
"Fair enough. Sleep well, Storyteller. We will find you in the morning to discuss business... perhaps once you've had a drink or two and a night to think it over. Good night to you."
The halfling stepped out of the way as Torbjorn discovered his room key and made his entrance. The thin, dark-skinned woman looked up at the two entries and smiled, her white teeth starkly contrasted in the dark room by her dark skin. A single, dim lantern burned on the table she was seated at, presumably to serve as a light by which to read the book she currently held. The tavern was otherwise still and quiet, though one could hear light snoring from one or more of the patrons upstairs. Torbjorn and Helg ascend the stairs and head into Torbjorn's room, still disorderly after his romp with Varl's wife... and strangely lacking a proper bedsheet.
Gimble darted off down the street that led to Othos' apartment after the exchange and eventually caught up to the group of men as they were on their way back. He made no attempts to hide himself from sight and approached them plainly on the side of the road.
Catching his breath for only a moment, he addressed them. "The Northman and what I presume is one of his mates has returned to the tavern, both looking rather defeated. I presume that the smoke from the harbor speaks ill of their vessel."
Besides the approach of the halfling, Shador spies no movement upon the rooftops or in the alleyways. All is quiet and still, perhaps too much so for comfort...
As the four unlikely companions wanders through the drizzle towards the Efreet’s Djinn, Othos keeps considering alternative attack plans. "Simple is probably best", he grudgingly concedes after a number of elaborate and unrealistic ideas. "Berzeral unlocks the front door and I cast my mind control formula on the night attendant while the rest of you walk in. Make some noise and all that, and she will not even notice my thaumaturgic efforts. If that fails, we subdue her as well - if she possesses guild ties, she should be an interesting conversation partner". He looks at his companions for a reaction. "Morn should be easy enough to convince to cooperate. It will be a quick job - fast in, fast out. We will be back home so fast that not even our houseguest will miss us". He turns to Berzeral. "Does she have a name, perchance? I tire of referring to her as ‘that girl’. Ah - here we are. Everybody ready?"
The emptiness of the streets put Shador ill at ease and he found himself looking toward likely hiding places as they stood outside the inn, his hand resting upon the hilt of his rapier. Given this distraction, it took him a moment to realize what Orthos was saying. "Keep in mind that we wish to help the Shadow Thieves, not hunt them, and thus we need those that can tell us more as allies, not enemies, " he whispered. "Both Kara and Morn may be able to help us, may even desire the same result we do, so we should try to extract information from them in as friendly a way as possible. If you wish, I can see if Kara will tell me anything, and you can stand ready with your spell if she proves difficult. What say you to this?" His eyes drifted to Gimble, but it was too hard to read the halfling's guarded expression in the downpour.
A shadow caught Shador's attention and he half turned toward the alleyway where he glimpsed the movement. It turned out to be two stray dogs, mangy and hunting for scraps among the discarded waste in the mud. He muttered to himself, rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his beard. There was something wrong in this city, something rotting, but he could not put his finger on it. The thought bothered him more than a little.
"Does she have a name, perchance? I tire of referring to her as ‘that girl’. Ah - here we are. Everybody ready?"
Berzeral shrugged. "She must. But she is fragile yet. My first concern was not to question her. If we can get her what she needs quickly I will be satisfied..." his eyes and voice drift to the feral dogs growling in the darkness and he nods slightly, smiling a bit. So much artifice here, so much distraction, but yet in and amongst it all life still bears fangs. Such omens were a pleasant touchstone to him when all had become foreign, that the Beastlord's scent remained fresh.
Gimble simply shrugs at Shador's askance as Berzeral steps forward and unlocks the front door with the key that was given to him earlier that night. The iron bolt clunks out of it's locked position and the door opens easily. The once-lively main room of the tavern is darkened and quiet, illuminated only by a single dim lantern situated at one table. Also at this table, the dark-skinned Kaja sits, holding a book open as she looks up to regard the party with a slight smile. She says nothing, however, and keeps her eyes fixed on the group as they enter.
Upstairs, the faint sounds of snoring can be heard from several of the sleeping patrons, some louder than others. No other movement can be seen or heard within the room. In fact, beyond a few feet of the threshold of the doorway, the entirety of the main hall is blanketed in nearly absolute darkness save the small area Kaja occupies within the glow of the lantern. Only Shador is able to see the entirety of the room, thanks to his darkvision, yet all appears calm and normal for an after-hours tavern.
As the group enters the darkened tavern, Othos can't help but notice a bit of tension on Kaja's face. Despite her welcoming smile, there is something in her eyes that suggests she perceives the group as a threat or, at the very least, highly suspicious. Interrogation, if that is to occur, would likely not be easy against someone under such stress.
Shador stepped into the dimly lit common room and shook the rain from his pelerin, moving to the side to allow the others entrance into the place. His eyes never left Kaja's dark form as he turned slightly behind him and whispered, "Have a care, my friends. We would not want to wake the sleepers." He turned back to face woman at the table, hoping that his words urged his companions toward delicacy and caution rather than force. It was hard to tell with this bunch.
Make some noise...certainly there was logic to the idea, but Berzeral was hardly a thespian sort and how to make his entrance noisy enough to give cover to the flash and chanting of spellcasting had not occured to him until he was making his way through the door. After a bit of an awkward pause, looking about his companions, he begins to stamp his feet loudly on the floor and whip his cloak around to loose the water from it. Face flushed with the foolishness of his activity, he keeps up a frenic display for a good thirty seconds. Finally his thrashing is enough to dislodge his necklace which falls to the floor in front of him with a meaty thump--not a leather cord at all, but a pair of taxidermied human hands, fingernails grown out grotesquely, the flesh covered in tattooes. The hands are contorted into arcane gestures made permanent in death rictus and nailed together with crude carpenter's nails, palms facing each other with the fingers fanned out to either side. Berzeral looks up and around with wild eyes, stopping all activity and looking somewhat cornered.