Cessia Florianthus's page

"Do you know, exactly, what happened to Clem?" Bonnifer could be a powerful ally in sparking a rebellion here, if he knew the right leverage to use.

Cessia shrugs. "Burning logs dropped from the sky by angry strix and alchemy don't mix. They had to rebuild the whole top floor of the tower. You're at 175 gp."

"Aunties? Interesting. Do you know what she looks like?"

"She's pretty like all the girls at Auntie's, but she has a tattoo of her family crest on her right shoulder."

He continues, glancing at the others. "Well, anything else we need to know about? What about Bonnifer Zoot? She have any ties to the warehouse district?"

"The little alchemist? Really? You’re willing to barter just to ask me about her? You must be new here. Why, that itself is quite interesting. The short answer is no--see what I did there? Bonnifer and her husband Clem used to run the Alchgarden together until Clem died during the Second Ashes, since then she's thrown herself into her work probably to avoid reality... much to the chagrin of a certain gnome wizard I know. Now you're down to 187 gp."

"And what about Madge? Does she have any relationship with the poet, Jaks Arunai, or does she just write bad poetry herself?"

“Madge? She has relationships with everyone, but I’m happy to offer my review free of charge: she serves the best noodles in Pezzack. They’re far better than her poetry, though as you say that’s saying very little.”

GM, would she give change in the form of potions or alchemical items if she has them?

Possibly, but most of Cessia's wealth comes in the form of useful household goods or things like jewelry and family heirlooms--the place is like an antique pawnshop.

"What else?

"That brings your account down to 200 gp."

Any other questions?

"At Auntie's. I'm sure her parents are so proud."

“That's probably Jax Telandril. He’s been doing odd jobs around Bruck’s little fiefdom in Docktown for years. My associates claim he’s been scrounging the harbor floor in his spare time in hopes of finding something valuable enough to pay off his debts, though I doubt even that will work. That brings your total down to 225 gp.”

Costs vary based on the estimated value of the information imparted.

Cessia smiles at the other payment options but picks up the vial of magical potion and tips out a drop on her finger. "I need to know if it is the genuine article of course. 'Trust but verify.'" She holds the bead of liquid up to her eye, sniffs it and finally tastes it.

perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18

"Alright, you have a 300 gold piece credit on your account. Jaks Arunai, that two-bit poet who steals his best lines from books put out elsewhere in the last five years. I’d know, because I sold them to him. Still, he’s done enough to get into someone’s good graces as he’s got contacts in the Thistles that seem to protect him from the Loyalists. He’s got some event tomorrow at the Old Manukirt warehouse that I’ll attend just to see who he’s ripping off now. You've got 250 gold pieces left in your account.”

"Sure, I know about him, and it will cost you (50 gp in valuables)."

"Of course. Though what you call 'donations' is just the cost of doing business in Pezzack. What did you want to know?"

"What can I do for you, Boratio?"

"Trade. Sometimes folks need things. I provide them for a fee. It's just business. That's for free. Any other questions will cost you something. However, I insist that all my trading partners have manners. It doesn't do to trade with riff-raff off the street. It's bad enough for the reputation to be seen with necromancers, but other scoundrels who won't even give a lady their names aren't worth my time."

This gets a laugh from her men.

"Now now. The man looks like he wants to do some business. Let the necromancer in. We're open right now. I'm Cessia. I run things. What's your name stranger? And what sort of 'finery' were you interested in?"

The room beyond it is filled with a half-dozen men of low-character most of them involved in a game of dice being played on a beautiful antique desk. Besides the men every corner of the place is filled (literally stacked to the rafters) with the least worn items of value that the party has seen since coming to Pezzack. Beautiful furniture piled high, a cabinet filled with several sets of silverware, racks of fine clothing, a functioning water-clock, an open desk drawer full of decorative snuff boxes, many of them scrimshaw--the place is the Pezzack mint.