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Some thirty feet back, Agidor calls back to Marsh. "Lil' bugger's safe, chummeroo. Got 'im tucked away in a cart, safe as houses."
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☦ ¤ ♜ ¤ ♬ ¤ ♞ ¤ ♆ ¤ ☀ Agidor stretches his neck and rolls a casual glance Drogan's way. "If you're interested, mate, there's a nice n' rowdy hole in the wall just past the market I've heard is lousy with mercenaries n' dwarves." He drums a jaunty beat on his guitar case. "What I didn't hear is word of proper musicians.. Seems like such a waste, eh?" He leans over to the dwarf and whispers, Drogan:
"I've heard Marshy with that fiddle o' his. He's not half bad. Truth o' the matter, we could drum up some spirits n' some rumor. Bit it'll do Cayden good ta hear us raise a tune once again." Agidor leans back and finishes his drink. "If we got time, chaps," He looks Beckett's way. "...maybe we look in on this Druid and Priest over in the market area. See what they know about the rumors on the east road."
The market area in Golsifar is a rowdy place, full of sailors and soldiers and mercenaries bartering their wares from north and south and east and west. Passed Crog's Forge and the wet market and the assorted stalls lay a wood and stone tavern named Elber's Last. By its name the establishment looks ready to keel over but for the haphazard stone buttresses on the east wall. Out front a trio of dwarves debate the effectiveness of ax blades when it comes to chopping down the local trees. From inside the sounds of shouting and drinking can easily be heard, even though the sun is 3 hours away from setting.
Agidor looks up from his ale as Beckett claims a seat where he and Drogan are chatting. "Concealment you say?" Agidor replies. "Did you hear anything regarding the road east? Bow is this druid involved?"
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"Bit of a shot in the giblets, me not getting the information on ol' Argento. But I did find a we bit o' tales - tall n' short - regarding our little hamlet Demgazi."
"For my part," Agidor puts in, hooking a thumb through the shoulder strap of the guitar case across his back. "Think I'll pay a visit to the local dens of inequity, see what might be stirring up in the shallows, as it were." At a warning glance from Drogan, the minstrel smiles rakishly and responds, "No need to fret, my stalwart companion, I'll spend my time with an ear to the wind. Ne'ery a trouble shall I become acquainted with if it can be helped."
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Agidor takes a moment to refill Opillien's water cup, then hands his flask to Drogan. "You're right, mate. Those bleedin' Blackhammers won't make a move without his word. But it's still a boggle to think a human's gotta hold of their chains as it were" The guitarist looks Karl's way and shrugs. "The White Grotto will keep, right as rain ya are, chummeroo. But I can't imagine even the dodgiest o' directors takin' on a bunch o' loonies." He then looks to the Mwangi captain. "So how about it, mate? Why not just take your boat?" Opillien answers in a single word. "Madness." He looks down at his charm and then slips it into his coat pocket. "We came upon the other ship during the storm, thinking the boat derelict considering the condition of their sails. When we pulled alongside, there were two on the rails looking weathered and weary." A sip of water and he winced at a pain in his side. "We boarded, no salvage if there's crew aboards. But as soon as we lashed to them, the rest of their compliment came out from hiding. They set into us like...like madmen. Knife and sword and harpoon...tooth and nail. I've not seen such ferocity since leaving my homeland. Then the dwarves and the 4 actors joined in on the melee, taking their direction from the man named Horatio, they fought with the mad crew of the other ship, like they were mates all along." the second telling of his tale rose an anger in Opillien. The next words came out between clenched teeth. "We tried to fight them off, but the other ship tore into us, ballista shots below our water line...then two of their crew... they jumped aboard the Dahnaki with jars of flaming liquid and set fire to the cargo hold...they leapt in, killed themselves with devil-smiles on their faces." "Purpose, Mr Marsh?" Opillien shake his head angrily. "There was no purpose to their grotesqueries other than the joy in their eyes as my crew perished...as my ship sank." Karl: From what you can tell, he's speaking the truth. His demeanor seems to be a combination of uncertainty and anger.
Phedron Rushing
"Bit of a long way off our current course, eh mate?" Agidor adds into the mix. He draws some water from a nearby barrel and gives it to Opillien. "Listen, Cap'n, ya said these dwarves were a hard lot, real cast iron sorts. How's about some more color, gov? Was one o' them an older dwarf, looking to be the true leader o' the lot of them? " Opillien accepts the water but shakes his head. "No, two dwarfs, young as this one here," He gestures with the water cup to Drogan. "...as I said, two dwarfs, four humans - two male and two female..." "Right as rain, Cap'n, and they were claiming to be actors on contract to the White Grotto, a not do dodgy establishment." He taps a drumbeat on a near by barrel and then leans on it. "Who wore the pants in the group, mate?" "One of the humans, he had short hair, beardless, but he had the voice for singing." Opillien shook his head grimly. "The dwarfs didn't like taking direction from him, like he wasn't their true master, but they did it anyway." The Mwangi searches the newcomer (Marsh) and works the white figurine over in his right hand. Finally he nods greeting. "I am Opillien Bantu, once captain of the Dahnaki. Thank you for finding this item. It's been in my family for years. And yes, the Prince can tend to get one into trouble, but he also surmounts fear. A tricky exchange on the whale-road." Agidor taps again on the barrel and looks at Drogan. "Cap'n here seems pretty sure Foeward wasn't on that boat, but it stands to reason he had mates aboard. Strange they'd take orders from a human, come to that. Wonder who he is?" "Horatio," Opillien supplies. To Phedron's question he offers response. "Aye, the customs call this time around was lighter than usual. My quartermaster lent it to our cargo being pedestrian at worst. Dock muster was signed by Imperial Officer of the Ports Lenz."
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Opillien considers Drogan's question, pushing himself up to lean against one of the hammock's footlockers. "The humans spent their time going over a book, rehearsing. They even had trunks for costumes. I've seen enough of their kind to think them actors, if a bit odd. The dwarves, they spent their time dicing and giving my crew the evil eye." He thinks for a moment. "Hawberk's & Company..." he says finally. "They had two trunks of clothing with that name burned into the sides...a laughing jackal with sheaves of parchment in the background...that was the symbol. Then two fish below to mark this company base in Absalom." "We were only underway for a day before the battle." "Hawberk's...wait a tick, I know their work, chums..." Agidor steps to his hammock and opens one of his bags. From it he pulls a finely woven, if travel worn, three-quarter coat of dark maroon and white cuffs. He pulls at the collar and reveals a sewn maker's mark; a laughing jackal with sheaves of parchment in the background. "Bought it from a bard in Oppara. Hawberk's got a reputation for tip top work. Clothes, set pieces...even props. The White Grotto uses their stuff from time to time."
Agidor shakes his head. "Sorry, mate, can't say I recognize it." He hops down from the crate and walks over, casual as a gentle breeze and folds his arms. "Big chap here says you were talking in your sleep. Common tongue." The Mwangi searches the faces of Nosatrub and Agidor, sparing a look for Phedron too. Frowning with suspicion he says, "Where is this? Where is my crew? Is it dawn?" He tries to sit up but the effort elicits a moan and he lowers himself back to the deck. "I am Opillien Bantu, Captain of the Dahnaki" ---------
The guitarist interlocks his fingers and slays them out so his knuckles crack loudly. "He certainly won't no going anywhere, mate." Agidor points his chin at the unconscious Mwangi who has begun to stir, but is emitting the beginnings of a snore. Agidor lays his guitar case on his hammock and drapes his arms across it lazily as he leans his weight. "There's so much fuss going on above, wouldn't take much to get into the hold." He looks in Beckett's direction. "You've got the bee in the breeches for it, mate. Wanna give it a go?" |