The beginnings of light start to break through the haze above Riddleport, and Ozbadin wills himself out of bed with a groan. It’s not enough to startle or wake Starla, however. She couldn’t be stiller if she were a corpse.
This morning was not a time for being idle, however. There was plenty of work to do.
Following such an ostentatious display as Patros described should be easy enough; the problem was the attention an entourage like that would generate. It would serve a boon in terms of tracking down the group’s whereabouts, but could attract undue glances toward Ozbadin himself.
It was best to lie low, and in the shadows, in these delicate moments of reconnaissance.
He dressed quickly and quietly padded out to the street. He would do best to keep his ear on the ground this morning; perhaps he’d call in a few favours from some old friends.
Starting by the wharves is a logical choice for a calculating individual such as Ozbadin. Like a hound, he should be able to follow their path; starting with their arrival, tracing their route and eventual destination would be child’s play for him. Ozbadin could do it by scent alone.
And the scent was the first thing that hit him. The wind was blowing strongly off the water, into the mainland. As he got closer and closer to the wharves, the fish-mongers were smelled long before they were heard bickering and shouting over prices.
While he scanned the layout of the temporary fish market, he failed to notice a Halfling approaching from behind. His squeaky voice jarring Ozbadin into action.
“Some snappers, sir? Very cheap! Very Fresh!”
Ozbadin, suspicious as always especially in the Wharf district, and double especially with a halfling present pats his purse location with his hand to make sure it's still intact.
If it is, he takes a few coppers from his purse and buys something from the small fellow, committing his face and location to memory. Never know when he might have need of this guy.
"Say, that flambouyant group that came in by ship yesterday; do you happen to know where they are staying"? "I might have some business propositions to discuss with them".
"Well, I heard they were going to a show at the Arena. I didn't think anything special was going on last night, but they went anyway. Then they did some gambling up at the Free-Coin. They musta' had lots to lose. I even heard they gave old 'Grimey' a big tip for riding the ferry back and forth a few times."
The halfling wraps up the snapper and passes them to Ozbadin.
"I think they spent the night at the Runner. Don't ask my why. Thanks for the coin, I got more fish to sell!"
The halfling leaves again, moving around the wharf with his bundle of fish.
Ozbadin, puts his new information to use and heads for the Runner. He decides to find a discrete shop or tavern close by and just observe and listen for a while.
He spends a few silver in the tavern and hopes to gather some rumors or information about the group.
Diplomacy (Gather Information) (1d20 6=7)
OOC: Obviously picked the wrong bar!
While sitting at the River Runner Inn, Ozbadin tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, yet stay close enough to hear the mindless chatter of the customers.
Unfortunately, there is no mention of an ostentatious group of people from the night before. In fact, all people can pretty much talk about is the gala taking place at the Gold Goblin that night. Ozbadin is able to get pieces of the story through listening;
"I hear that Saul Vancaskerkin has some kinda big event tonight, down at the Gold Goblin. I know he spent a pretty copper fixing that place up, so it's no wonder he's looking to make the money back."
"Ah, well I heard the swindler sold his soul to some fiend, and is using the money he'll make tonight to buy it back."
"That Saul is so washed up. I doubt any devil this side of Magnimar would even give a second look at that wretch. It's all a publicity stunt to get people in. The place is a dump, and it's the only way he can get anyone in there."
"Still, there's a lot of money to be made there. I heard the entrance fee was a single gold piece, but the winnings are 10,000 silver!"
"I can't imagine anyone with a brain in their heads who wouldn't pay a gold for a chance at that. Everyone's gonna be there tonight."
Ozbadin's ears pick up at the news. Hmm maybe that is why the new people are in town. I knew something was going on over there, but nothing of that magnitude. I think I'll have to put in an appearance there myself tonight.
I think I'll disguise myself as a Sailor just come in from a trip with money in his pocket, and pretend I'm drunk. That usually works for loosening lips, and being unobtrusive all at the same time.
Ozbadin spends a couple of hours in the afternoon, putting his costume together and shows up at the Goblin with a gold piece to loose. Spilling a little cheap wine on the inside of his shirt won't hurt the disguise any either.
Nope that's all. Ready to get with the other guys. I don't have to act too much like a sailor since I am one (Profession Sailor). I do plan on taking Perform Acting at nest level however.
1d20 4=15 Profession Sailor if any tough questions arise.
Crowds of participants and spectators mill about on the street outside the Gold Goblin Gambling Hall. Registration for the tournament has started, apparently.
A woman, dressed in a devil costume is standing outside, shouting her practised speech at anyone who walks by;
"Welcome to the Gold Goblin, handsome, the hot spot for turning fortunes and winning wagers beneath the arch. Looking for the squarest games, most honest dealers, and prettiest damn barmaids anywhere in the port? Well, you found ’em, sugar! Ready to be a rich man? Hope so, ’cause tonight’s your night. Belly up to a table and get to winnin’; we’ve got the gold to make your dreams glitter. Good drink, fine food, and warm company’s extra, but we’ve got all that too—at prices so cheap we might as well be giving it away. So find a spot, honey, order a pint, and leave it all to us, ’cause here, even a goblin could win his weight in gold!"
Ozbadin hears this speech a number of times before he actually gets to the registration table. A thunderclap overhead signals rain, and it starts to drizzle a little. That small amount of rain would normally be tolerable, but on account of the proximity to the Gas Forges, the rain stings the eyes a little. People begin pushing to get inside, and the workers move the registration table back a little bit, to account for the massive influx of people.
Overseeing this gathering is a larger-than-life-size statue of a goblin, apparently cast in glittering gold, that stands atop the entry stairs with a smirking expression of satisfaction on its face, as if personally enjoying the crowds that shuffle past it into the doorway beneath the gambling hall’s gilded dome.
Just inside the main doors, two sultry beauties scantily clad and wearing faux bat wings, devil horns, and tails play the part of alluring succubi. Both are employees of the Gold Goblin, and they cheerfully register contestants for the tournament and process entry fees. Armed guards stand nearby to either side of an immense treasure chest into which each patron’s entry fee is added.
Ozbadin is handed a registration form, and a quill-pen already filled with red ink.
Ozbadin squints at the form a bit before asking for help reading it. He taps the shoulder of a likely looking prospect and asks him to read it for him. (Ozbadin can read, but they don't have to know that). If this is successful he announces himself as Lief, and puts his mark to the paper. He then scans the room for any familiar faces to make sure he doesn't test his disguise too soon. Then walks the room looking for a likely place with dim lighting to perch himself for the gambling.
OOC - (-1 gp). This looks like some of the places I really hang out!!
The man in front of him rolls his eyes a little, and reads the thing out loud for 'Lief'. Ozbadin signs the form and pays his entrance fee, and moves into the interior.
Beyond the registration table is the hall’s game floor. Dozens of gamblers, waitresses dressed as succubi, and bouncers mill about the room, wandering amid tables offering various games while dealers shuffle cards, roll dice, and spin wheels. Moving through this throng are a dozen more of the barely clad, batwinged vixens serving drinks and batting coal-black eyelashes flirtatiously for tips. In the center of the chamber is a short podium atop which sits a massive gold chest affixed to the floor by similarly gaudy chains. On either side of it stands a bare-chested bouncer in the exotic garb of some foreign sultan’s court. Each stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and with a naked scimitar of prodigious size tucked through his waistband. High above them, from the hall’s cloth-draped ceiling, hangs a brass birdcage that appears to be empty.
The crowd is fine with playing some preliminary games and drinking, but Ozbadin can sense the anxiety in the whole room.