Glancing over the scrawny youth with a dubious eye, Mordecai wonders aloud, "Perhaps we can paint him gold and pretend he's our goblin mascot?"
He smiles at the boy after saying this. "I jest of course, young one. No one will make you dress up as a goblin." His face gets serious again as he turns to Angvar and dryly adds, "His head is completely the wrong shape."
All levity aside, he returns to considerations of foul play and says quietly to Angvar, leaning closer, so that his voice does not carry across the room, "Do you believe that it would be most useful to assist Marzielle in her mission immediately, or to drag the situation out, so as to retain her services the longer while?"
"More muscle can only help - I'm under-endowed in that area." Angvar takes in Dank's imposing bulk. He nods at Brandy. "Certainly not a goblin. An imp perhaps."
Quietly, to Mordecai, he adds, "Acting now will increase her sense of gratitude. Deliberate prevarication is pointless in this case. You won't have her whole attention until she's dealt that death blow."
"In that case, best to drink up before the wine grows warm." Mordecai says as he stands up.
Quietly, to Angvar, "Has she some notion of where to find this fellow? I suspect that we should scout the area first, without her company, as to avoid any emotional unpleasantness, and return with her after this evenings festivities to handle the bladework under the cover of night."
"St. Caspierian's Mission, from what she said. Just make sure I don't die before we get there."
"A mission of some sort? Hm. I suppose I could visit the place as a representative of the clergy, to see what sort of security is in place." He glances at Dank and Ozbadin, "If it seems beyond our means, we could perhaps persuade our co-workers to assist us in return for shares in any spoils to be had from such a raid."
Having made up his mind, he states more loudly, "I have need of a larger blade than these daggers." He heads for the door, pausing to allow Angvar to catch up.
Dank just sits there, enjoying his frosty beverage and watching the people in the room.
Angvar pulls his hood up over his head and follows Mordecai. At the mission he looks out for someone known as "Beltias".
Ozbadin observes his two associates leave the room. Hmm he thinks to himself. "I'm sure they're up to no good and will probably get themselves killed". "I'd better follow them and see what mischief they get into".
"Brandy. Take your leftovers and follow me". He quickly steps to his room, and dons his "youth handing out handbills" garb, then rushes to intersect his compatriots before they get to their destination, attempting to veil himself from their sight.
"You just wait here till I return, and don't touch anything...just...well..go to sleep or something".
Disguise (1d20+6=8) Forgetting for the moment in his haste that a crier wouldn't be wearing a fine scimitar.
Stealth (1d20+6=11) And that thought he is good with accents, his associates do know his voice, and he had used his sailors voice by mistake.
Normally as self-centred as a hurricane, Angvar's ears are alerted to a certain familiarity in the lurking figure. He taps Mordecai's shoulder. "I believe one of our colleagues wishes to join us."
Perception 23 to recognize Ozbadin.
Mordecai pauses, as if to shield his eyes from the sun and check directions, allowing Ozbadin time to catch up.
"That's a well-made scimitar for a young man in your line of work, lad." he comments with an upraised eyebrow, before shifting to a quieter tone, so as not to be overheard by passersby, "We are headed to a mission, to scout out the place. There may be dark dealings there this evening, after the business at Zincher's arena. On the way back, I intend to purchase a couple of scimitars as well, now that you remind me of the need for such."
In a normal tone, he continues, "Perhaps you could give us direction, young man, I seem to have gotten turned about, no thanks to the haphazardly-cobbled goat-paths they call 'streets' in this backwater..."
Gold Goblin
Saul listens patiently to Dank’s struggling Common, but nods knowingly when he’s given the description of the flag and crest. “Ah, and you seek to find them. Now I understand. I can’t say I have met any of those, uh, yellow-bearded fellows in recent history. But I don’t get out as much as I used to, although, I do have a few ideas of places where you could seek them out. Do you think they have just arrived in Riddleport? Chances are, then, that they have come by boat. Checking down by the wharf should be a good place to start. If anyone has seen people with that kind of crest come into town, it’ll be down there. Seafarers fresh off the boat are often in need of a quick drink, and rarely want to travel far for it. There are a number of river-side joints to grab a stiff drink at, with plenty of barnacle-encrusted regular patrons with vigilant eyes for newcomers. Of course, persuading people to release that kind of information may prove to be difficult, or expensive.”
Saul firmly shakes Dank’s muscular hand, deftly slipping five gold coins into it. “Thank you for your help today. I’m off to take care of some business tonight, but should you be in need of work, you’ll be able to find it here.”
Saul heads out of the Gold Goblin, wearing cleaner clothes than any of you have seen him in before. Both of his bodyguards accompany him.
St. Caspieran’s Mission
The young boy follows Ozbadin obediently, mimicking his disguise as best as possible. Neither of their disguises or silent movements are good enough to keep them hidden from Angvar and Mordecai.
Scouting out the mission reveals a few details from the outside. Not having a description of Beltias, and little more than his alias, will make it more difficult to locate him.
The mission is not far from the Golden Goblin, and is easy enough to locate with Marzielle’s information.
Squatting halfway down this muck-smeared alley, sandwiched between a derelict wainwright’s shop and a bakery, stands a dilapidated tenement. A crooked belltower rises from the building’s rear, and a half-dozen grease-smeared, cracked, and boarded-over windows gaze out from walls that might have once been white. A small sign hangs over the building’s battered oak front doors: “St. Caspieran’s Salvation—All Welcome.”
Behind the mission sits an overgrown courtyard surrounded by a low stone wall. A path leads through a rusted iron gate and up to a pair of boarded doors. A lone oak stands in the corner.
An elderly man dressed in dirty robes stands near the large oak tree. A younger man accompanies him, dressed in similarly styled robes. He appears to be speaking to a dirty young boy in the courtyard. The boarded up back doors mean that there is only one other way into the Mission proper, and that is up the steps and through the double doors.
Flagstone steps climb to an open foyer hung with a pair of weather-beaten double doors. Two smaller doors flank the main entrance, both covered with graffiti. The southern door has a sign that reads “Flophouse: upstairs and take a left.” The word “left” is crossed out, and scrawled next to it is the word “hike.” The other door has a homemade sign that reads, “All rooms taken.”
"Only a single obvious entrance," Mordecai mutters as he studies the building before them. Turning to Angvar and Ozbadin, he asks, "Should we go in, as an itinerant clergyman passing through town, and his travelling companions, to offer our assistance," his brow furrows slightly, and it's clear that he hasn't got a better deception planned, "or simply come back tonight after our visit to Zincher's arena, in force and simply take what we want?"
Mordecai sounds unsure of how to proceed, and is clearly hoping for some better ideas from one of his companions. "I am not familiar with this sort of business. Perhaps returning tonight with Bexilarius and even Dank, if he's amenable, would be a wiser course of action than revealing ourselves at this early juncture..."
"I think you'll find the offer of free medical advice will pave our way nicely," suggests Angvar, amused at Mordecai's surprising ineptitude.
"Let's go in. Openly in your case, humbly and hidden in ours. Ask about any cases in need of treatment. At least find out who arrived recently and with what vile diseases. We're after a man calling himself "Beltias."."
At Angvar's words, Mordecai's doubts seem to evaporate, and he turns to look again at the mission. "Well then, let's get this done. Keep a sharp eye out, this place looks like it has seen better days, and has become a place where forgotten people go to die, or to remain forgotten..."
He steps confidently towards the two men talking outside, and interrupts whatever conversation they are having.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I am Mordant, a travelling priest in service to Our Lady of Passing," he makes a gesture of genuflection, "and I am seeking the Mission of Saint Casperian, there to offer my services as healer and counselor while I am in town. Is this indeed the mission?" he asks, pointing at the sign, while giving a somewhat befuddled look at the state of the building.
The older man turns to you as you approach, and listens to your introduction. His eyes follow you slightly off frame, belying the strength of his vision. He holds his hands at his side, and they seem to be painfully clutched by arthritis. He responds to you with a warmth that is surprising;
“And so the light shines upon you, traveller, for you have found the mission dedicated to our dear Saint Caspieran. Tell me, how did you come to hear of our mission?” His speech is interrupted by a nasty, hacking cough. “There are many here who could use the touch of a healer, but I'm afraid the majority of pain and sickness is not of the body, but of the soul. I tend to what I can with my sermons and prayers, but this frail shell does not have much strength left. Jhonas here helps me with my charges, but I feel that Sarenrae does not speak through him as she does through me. Even still, her voice is but a whisper in my failing ears...a glorious whisper...”
A young, handsome man stands behind the old priest, his arms folded in reservation. A dirty child wearing a soiled dress looks up at Mordecai with large, fearful eyes. She clutches a dirty rag doll with a missing arm.
Asked where he had heard of the mission, Mordecai seems to be hiding some embarrasment as he replies, "I am afraid I do not know the name of the lad who directed me to your mission, Father, as I asked for directions from a child in the street. I wished only to seek out a charitable mission to offer my services, perhaps in exchange for a place to rest my head, while passing through Riddleport." He hastens to add, "But even if there are no quarters currently available, I would still wish to offer my services."
At the mention of the need for more spiritual healing, he puts on a sympathetic face, "If only we could cure with a touch the wounds of the spirit, as readily as we can mend flesh and bone. Despair indeed cuts into a man, deeper than any blade."