Dalton follows, but is more reserved. Trusting strangers in a strange land. Still he'd lent his support to Ninnec, so...
When you get within twenty feet of the catfolk the thugs step forward, hands on weapons, clearly stating That's far enough. The catfolk keeps his paws crossed behind him. "Well, aren't you lot making a splash. No pun intended Ares." He smiles as he mentions their first meeting in the baths. The thugs and Toramin share the looks of men who are relaxed while they study the best way to kill each other at a moment's notice. The catfolk pushes off the wall, arms still carefully folded behind him. "Shouldn't have sent that little rat after me, you're lucky he didn't come back in a few pieces. Speaking of cuts, how's your forehead Ares? That was a perpetual amount of blood for such a shallow wound." His demeanor is calm, collected, amused, and in charge.
Oh, no. This was definitely not the situation to be in. Now, Dalton had dealt with a thief or three being a shopkeeper, but he'd not had to do it while in disguise. For me to be of any use, those watching will know I'm a spellcaster. The wizard also didn't know the protocol of justice in this city: whom did the white warriors slay in a fight? Those who cast the first stone?
Regardless, as the "master", it fell to him to respond.
"Who the hell are you to speak to my slave? Come any closer, and he'll add an encore to the matches you saw earlier."
Bjorkus glowers at the catman and then Ninnec. Not as sneaky as he thinks.
His massive frame tenses as he waits for the catman to make the next move.
"A free man, thanks for asking. And I very much doubt the white cloaks will care much to hear your side of the story when a slave attacks a free man unprovoked." His eyes wander to a trio of the white warriors across the street who are talking amongst themselves, not aware of the situation with within earshot of a yell. "I'm rather happy with the current distance as well, so let's keep it that way. So why is a foreigner with two slaves, one of which doesn't care to be a slave but for some reason makes no attempts at escape, trying to get into the top rankings of the tournament? It makes me curious, and evidently I'm not the only one, but I am the only one who's nice enough to ask instead of having you killed. Although that poor strix didn't know what he was up against. Cheating only helps so much."
Bjorkus growls in frustration and clenches his mammoth fists at their cover potentially being compromised and the tomcat's thinly veiled threats.
He stays at the ready, waiting for a signal from Dalton.
Damn. Dalton couldn't make heads or tails of what "provoked" entailed for the guards, so he had to assume the catfolk would be on their side. Without an obvious foray, Dalton stepped back the aggression in his speech and got into more familiar territory.
"Glad we could find some common ground. It's not only necklaces I barter in, but knowledge as well. Make me an offer, and I can sate that curiosity."
This was the first thief, however, that wanted to know something instead of taking it. Yet in this land, a word could be more useful than a gem.
"It's good to meet people who still understand the power of words." The catfolk glances between the party members, giving a short nod. "I can respect the trading of information. But alas, the information I seek is what prevents me from knowing what you would benefit from knowing. I want to know who you are and why you're stirring the pot. I know a few things, but I'm unsure of what would satisfy your own curiosity. So, why don't you go first and I decide what would best serve your ends. Or you can inquire about something and I may know a tidbit."
Technically, Master Dalton 'owns' three slaves. This cat talks more than he sees.
"In a word? Fame." Dalton points at Bjorkus. "Ares there's going to make a name for us. What good's a vendor without a name? Sure I can make some coin by peddling my wares to people or by betting on him, but why not have people come to me? Maybe I can even craft a ring for the mighty Targ himself! I can't imagine doing business with him would hurt. At least not for me." The wizard allows himself a chuckle and a wink at the catfolk.
"And the pot needs stirring, don't you think? Half the shrimps in that arena weren't even worth watching. If a fight worth watching is stirring the pot, might as well put a whole 'nother soup on."
"Now, for your end, I'd like to see your ... recipes, as it were. I'm a bit of a connoisseur for those sorts of things, if you couldn't tell." Dalton gives himself a slap on the belly and waits.
The catfolk stands with feet still and hands still hidden, carefully listening. "Business with Targ hurts the common man more than you think. He's not inclined to fair deals; why would he be, when in his mind he already owns everything under the sun?" A smile comes to his furry lips, then it turns into laughter as Dalton finishes. "The pot always needs stirring, I just like to know which direction it's going on." He looks at "Ares", considering him. "Ares the Bull is a flashing title. That is, he'll be popular until the crowd wants him dead, which will probably be around the end of the week. Simply winning isn't enough. If you want to make this last and have a shot at the high game, you need to make him a figure. Win the crowd. Songs and fights will win fickle loyalty, but a stance and a concept to fight for will keep him alive outside the arena, which is where his greatest threat of dying is." He leans back against the wall. "Well, is there anything else? I believe I'll keep tabs and pop up occasionally, so you'll hear from me again."
"Just one more thing: What have you got behind your back?"
He smiles. "Why, my hands. What else?"
The shopkeeper was known for nothing if not his stubbornness. "The latter was my aim."
He gives a nod to the thugs, who hide their weapons under rags and silks again in preparation to depart. "Why don't you come to the Circle of Stone behind The Grey House? It's a neutral ground where people of note can meet without fear or violence, but at night the back is alive with music and stories and drink. Come there tonight and you'll learn what else I'm hiding back here. The only weapon allowed there is your wit and you need not fear blade nor poison on those grounds."
Dalton leaves the question remain rhetorical. "Let's go." He makes his way back to the inn, attempting to make note of anyone witnessing their exchange as he did.
Besides the white warriors who routinely scanned the streets and an occasional passerby's innocent glance, it did not seem like there was any eavesdropping.
"What was that 'bout?" Bjorkus asks aloud once the group is out of earshot. "Who do ya think he is?"
"Thief and a damn good one. Trying to get us out of those white warriors' eyes. Can't say if he meant to stab us or press us into some deal, but you've got enough pressure on you as it is."
"I don't know, but I will go investigate tonight, if there are no objections. Master Dalton, Lindale, I think we should speak about our captive."
"Then have at it. What's there to discuss? He's a traitorous snitch."
"He might be unpleasant, but enslaving him is wrong. We should make some effort to determine what his situation is. Why did he help those thieves? What is wrong with his daughter? Let's ask him."
"You think I don't know that?" Dalton snaps back in a harsh whisper. "That's why I've put off the branding. Pharasma knows how far that mark would endanger him. But if he's willing to sell us out in addition to trying to kill us initially, he can damn well wait to see his girl."
"Maybe he tried to betray us because he had no reason to believe that we could be on his side. In the choice between the viper and the scorpion, why would he choose the viper? At that moment, he had no good options. What harm does asking him questions pose? Could you or Lindale use magic to determine his truthfulness or his thoughts? We could know whether he would betray us and the truth of his situation. This city is an abomination. Every small thing we can do for its denizens would be a candle against the evil that resides here."
"I can determine if he is lying with fair certainty. I can question him. I will go to this gathering tonight and find out what I can. If you suspect trouble perhaps I can go disguised. Maybe scoping out the place a little would be wise."
”Even if his daughter is a ruse to play on our sympathies,” Rilka says, ”and he is a simple bandit, we can’t sell him into slavery. Do you think keeping his spellbook ‘hostage’ would ensure his good behavior? Maybe we can have him do some information gathering for us. One question is how far can we trust him even with Lindale determining his veracity.”
She nods once to Lindale, ”That’s a good idea. Also how can we explain Ares’ free-spirit and independent-manner with the fact he’s a slave? What stops him from escaping? There needs to be hope in his story, but not too much...a mix of revenge, love, and honor. Hmmm.”
"I will go as well, though not in disguise. While I'm being obvious, you can be subtle."
"Think we could visit that bathhouse?" Bjorkus asks while the others plan their covert op. "I want to talk to see one of the servant girls again."
”It makes sense to have a neutral place for people to meet,” Rilka says. ”Perhaps we can ask Jaware how safe this Circle of Stone at The Grey House is. If it is safe, I’d save the disguise for another time and place. That catfolk invited you after all. If you see him there ask his name.”
"I'm sure you would," Dalton responds to Bjorkus with a snicker. "And there's nothing suspicious about a champion getting some gore off his body, so sure. Myself, I'm going to stay here though. I don't much like bandits approaching us at night - and I must refresh some of my research to better prepare myself for the morrow in case we must meet them."
Dalton fishes out some gold for Toramin and Lindale. [b]"Take this for your expenses. If we get out of this alive, a spot of cash all around, hmm?"
Unnerving him the more he thought about it was the catfolk's statement. Only a tomporary reprieve with the victory. Win ... now AND later ... or die.
Bjorkus collects whatever few coppers were appropriate for the fee and nods to Dalton. ”I’m gunna take the Ninnec too. The healer in the arena made it a point to warn me that people were gunna be pissed that I killed their ogre. The rat may be a spineless coward but at least he can be an extra pair of eyes on my back.”
Leaving the meeting, ‘Ares’ gestures to wherever the ratfolk was waiting for them. ”We’re hittin’ the baths again. You’re with me.”
Before Bjorkus leaves, Rilka adds, ”I’m glad your taking your safety seriously. While you’re soaking in the water or relaxing in some other fashion, if you get a spare moment think about this. What about having two...points, no pun intended about why you fight? First, a sea-hag gave you a prophecy that you’d gain great power, fame, and many sons by standing in the shadow of a powerful ruler...a powerful prince. Second, one of the competitors, we can figure out who later, is your nemesis. He killed your pregnant wife years ago. You finally tracked him down and realized the only chance to get your revenge was enter the tournament. Is that too much? Perhaps just one of those?”
After Bjorkus leaves, the halfling frowns, considering other scenarios in her mind, eyes weighing Dalton. ”Or maybe you should have a nemesis and Ares is part of your plan.”
Bjorkus scratches at his blood-caked mane as he considers the suggestion. ”Why not somethin’ simpler? The more complicated my story gets, the more likely folks like the catman are going to see through it. It's gotta be believable.”
Toramin heads for the Circle of Stone.
"We have something you want. A way to get something you love back. Simple blackmail. And it's true. You do love your ship right? You do what we say with the hope of getting her back someday. But no one needs to know we are trying to get close to Targ."
Lindale will go also, following Toramin at some distance.
"Hrm. Fightin' for freedom. That's not so far from the truth", the bull rumbles. "I could work with that. What do ya think Dalton?"
"It's your skin. You think it'll help you live? Do it."
Bjorkus nods and leaves to ponder the idea.
~Bathhouse Group~
Bjorkus and Ninnec strike out to the bathhouse where they find the same dwarven woman at the front desk. She narrows her eyes and is somewhat more brusque than before as she sends you both to the baths. After a minute Coralla comes in with an ear-to-ear smile. "Oh you had me worried for a minute at the end. I'm so sorry I couldn't stay, but I was skipping work as it is. You did great!" The baths are considerably more crowded and noisy as well. Jokes are going about and "Ares" gets various pats on the back and congratulations.
~Circle of Stone~
Lindale and Toramin set out to accept their invitation. As they near the Grey House, Lindale spots a pair of cloaked figures prone on the roofs, watching them silently. As the two reach the back there is a single burly half-orc standing there with a scowl. He looks Toramin and Lindale up and down. "This here in neutral ground. Plans can be discussed, bribes made, but no violence. No buying or selling poison either. You can leave all your weapons, and anything that could be considered a weapon, right there in the bin. Who has given you invitation here tonight?"
Despite any awkwardness that might come with social gathering in a nude bath, Bjorkus quietly drinks up the admiration. The bull answers any questions the other slaves in the bath might have about the fights and shows off his new scars littering his furry hide proudly. When he has a moment, he breaks away from the crowd.
"And did ya like what you saw?" he rumbles in response to Coralla's praise as he sits down down another massage.
Lindale casts Detect thoughts before he arrives.
"He didn't give a name. Sneaky little catfolk, about this high. You know him? He said I should meet him here."
~Bathhouse~
Coralla gives Bjorkus a smile, then whispers in his ear. "Tell me when you're finished here."
~Circle of Stone~
Lindale can't peer through the half-orc's will and sees nothing but clouds in his mind. "Ah, that's Yix you're talking about. Alright, dump off all your weapons there. Keep magic low too, if either one of you are inclined. Fancy tricks are fine, but nothing serious." After disarming you both he opens the gate.
Inside is a circular yard with an engraved stone floor. A fire burns in the center and several torches adorn the walls of the enclosing buildings, giving dancing light to the area. On the ground are several tables and dozens of chairs, most of them full with various people. There are free men, slaves, drow, dwarfs, elfs, men, aasimars, tieflings, ratfolk, and everything between. Drinks are a plenty and seem to be coming from the inside of the Grey House. The mood is light as men laugh, tell stories, and drink themselves silly. There are various hooded and non-hooded figures at isolated tables that whisper to each other, and it seems they are given a wide berth out of respect, not fear. Not a single weapon is to be seen inside, although there are quite a few people with armor on.
On a small ramshackle stage is a human and a ratfolk putting on a comedic show. They drag audiences members up and make fun of them, but it all seems to be in good spirit. When those two step down a half-elf takes the stage and begins stringing a lute for a bit. A verse in you both hear soft whispering at your back. "Ah, so you came. But where are the rest?" Behind is the catfolk, dressed in lively green silks that aren't quite as heavy as his previous outfit. His arms remain carefully folded behind him as he asks you his question.
Lindale turns around to greet the Catfolk. "My friend the halfling was otherwise occupied. Don't worry, he will hear everything i do later. Interesting place here. How did this start?"
Rilka nods farewell to Bjorkus, Toramin, and Lindale as they leave. She stands, giving Dalton a smile. ”I’m going to wander the city. The food supply here interests me. And the white-clad men. Maybe I can discover what some of the other gladiators are doing to win the crowd. I’m skeptical about using freedom, in a city controlled by slavers, but Ares can be very persuasive. If anyone could get that to work it’d be him.
“I won’t be gone too long. At this point, it’s best to soak in what we can of the local culture without causing too much of a stir. If anyone should ask, let’s say you’ve owned me for five years. I tried to escape twice. I’ve been compliant ever since the last punishment. Does that sound believable?” She pats him on the shoulder. ”Plus, a slave, or free person, with minimal equipment wouldn’t survive long out in the desert. Have a good night.”
Bjorkus chuckles and tilts his head a bit to adknowledge the girl's message. He relaxes and lets her work on his back as he studies the crowd a while longer. The people here loved him for now but the catman said they'd turn on him once they were bored of him.
~Circle of Stone~
Likewise the catfolk's mind seems well protected, but he doesn't seem to notice the probing. "Well it's purpose was the reason for the need for it. Criminal organizations warred with ear other under the white cloak's noses for years. This place was created so they could meet rival groups without fear of having their throat slit. Over time it got popular and the crowd has helped lighten the mood."
~Bathhouse~
Ninnec rests beside Bjorkus, but he doesn't look quite as relaxed as he did the other day. He is quietly scanning the crowd.
Back at the inn, Dalton flips through the pages of his spellbook. Various bits of research dot the pages. Remarkable. Bending time to accelerate for you. His most recent research was yet theoretical, but after seeing the practice of such effects in the desert, he felt confident. The actual hastening effect was quite possible, he knew - the occasional vendor in larger cities might have wares with some sort of its effect - but he didn't think it was so close to his level.
Maybe he had more wizardry potential than he thought.
But this witch ... she would have to be much stronger than he if tales of her constitution were true. And everything suggests they are. Logically, Dalton didn't want to simply give the story his belief, but they were sent here by a very unbelievable council from a very unbelievable organisation; relatively, this wasn't so out there anymore.
Ah, here we go. The transmuter began running his finger down the page he'd succeeded at finding. Dalton had expected the lady to be an enchantress. While he'd learned the basics of each school of magic, he shied away from that sort as it didn't deal with the reality around him, but rather perverted the authenticity of those acting within it. Other than in a match of dice, it doesn't actually accomplish anything. And even then it's cheating. Illusion was in a similar boat. Yet if she was simply alluring or convincing of Targ naturally... then she had an ulterior motive for sticking around. Either she needs something or she wants something...
His finger stopped at the end of a crux of his blood transcription spell. Thought vile by many, Dalton saw no harm in knowing (and applying) the use of this divination to glean some increased knowledge. After all, whomever it had belonged to was dead anyway. Yet what if this woman relied on the slaver for her vitality in a similar way Dalton relied on casters' blood for knowledge occasionally? That would be the necromancic equivalent of what this divination was, and Targ's vitality was likely the best around. Unless a new champion rises. Ideas went off in the mage's head in series. In this land, the strongest rise to the top. Even if you were clever, the desert's harshness demanded fitness; not much in the way of fat was around. Ensuring she would always be by a good source of lifeforce ... if she could get into their good graces. And with a spectacle like sewing yourself together when essentially twained, who would turn her down? The arena provides her with the opportunity, and - win or lose - as long as the can work that stunt once in harvest moon, she remains at the nexus of power. Genius.
Barrowwheel glanced around the room a moment, taking stock of his surroundings for the first time in a bit after his hypothesis. Now, this doesn't rule out enchantments, but it's a very distinct alternative. Dangerous even if not in conjunction. Bjorkus could be in danger too, Dalton surmised - if he proves to be too great a champion, he might prove alluring...
He would have to share his thoughts with the others upon their return, worrisome as they were. In the meantime, Dalton did what he did best when he worried - ate. "Innkeep!.."
"Keep and eye and an ear out for any rumors worth hearin'" Bjorkus instructs. "I'm gunna take the girl someplace for some time alone", he adds with a bass chuckle. "Stay outta trouble."
After a few minutes, he grabs one of the hands working on his back. "I think we're done here."
Lindale nods as things start making sense. "Anyone here I should meet?" he looks around at the people already here, taking note of some of them.