Tanis gives Zifini an appreciative nod as they finish mapping the party's likely course to the docks.  The ranger lays it out tersely to the party, outlining how the quiet crowds of commerce, and night markets in particular, might provide suitable cover for their evening of scouting.

"Look like we belong, and vanish if we need.  Aye to that."  Tanis has a glint in his eye at the word 'vanish' when Selene utters it.

"Though the right kind of vanishing's preferable to the wrong kind, especially in this city which hungers for the wrong kind.  Had a sergeant, Norman Wentz.  Loved his drink, ol' Normy.  Ended up vanishing himself, you know.  Until we found him floating face-down in an open wine cask.  Drowned like a drunk kitten, he was.  Face all bloated and beaming ear to wine-stained ear.  Sadly, it was a poor vintage, and his corpse did not improve it."

Tanis considers another moment.  "As for cover story, I leave it to you all, but hoping we don't need one truly.  Anyone who asks our intentions can take a long walk off one of these docks, far as I'm concerned.  How do you think other fine folks in this city would react if we went around demanding to know their business?  'Splaining ourselves hastily to strangers sounds a mite defensive and suspicious, you ask me.  So don't be in a rush to do it, yeah?"

"Mouths shut, heads down, don't draw their attention," Zifni agrees with a nod that tussles his wavy hair that drifts constantly almost as if in a slight sea breeze.

"If we get separated, we'll all meet back here before midnight. Don't get any brave ideas," he warns with a stern look to each of them.

"We're just looking tonight."

He rises to his feet, surprisingly spry despite the soreness that still radiates in his side. It seems a little break has done him some good.

[Any chance we can count this as a short rest?]

"Yes, agreed. Also, on the walk maybe not walk as a group but in pairs slightly apart, as a large group often gathers more attention than we need" Thamul adds to what the others have said.

“I agree with Thamul. We move in pairs, staggered. We keep the center open, too tight and we’re a target, too loose and we’re prey.” Her gaze shifts to the door.

“Let them see what they want to see. Tired merchants, drifting sellswords. No one worth following.” 

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers twitching in the folds of her cloak.

“And if someone presses harder…” she lifts her chin, her voice softening into something far more dangerous, “we press back.”

Then as she steps toward the door, “Momentum is only useful if you know where you’re landing. Let’s not fall into something we can’t climb out of.”

She pauses briefly in the doorway, gathering herself again.

And steps out into the night.

The party leaves the inn for their recce at the docks, following the plan to navigate the quieter markets to capitalise on the crowds to subtract any attention on themselves. You work in pairs, floating from stall to stall, expressing enough silent interest in the frankly worthless wares available to seem like you're there for a purpose, but never enough to actually cause a vendor to strike up conversation. The majority of stalls seem to sell either tatty, homemade clothing, or what must be scavenged loot, telling from the absurd range of items that are laid out in some cases. There's no food stalls at all; it's too dark to grow anything edible, and without any pastures, it's impossible to raise livestock. Attempts to save a penny or two by making one's own food ends up with blended stews of emulsified rat or a year's worth of effort for less than a handful of pitiful grey tubers that got their nutrients from a gutter. So, most folk just live with what trickles down from the inner city. A fragile economy has formed in the city, centred entirely around the distribution of food, and it entirely relies on the food deliveries that come into the inner city each week. The aristocrats, or at least the ones in the Low Court that need to feed off more than blood to sustain themselves, will get all the food they could want from outside in exchange for a small tax to the Thunder Lord, who is the only one in control of communication with external trade links. More comes through than is needed, so parcels of unwanted food find their way onto the streets, and soon that parcel gets broken up by those wanting to sell them into portions, and those portions are bought by poor merchants to be split up into a meagre amount that gives the customer just enough to keep them alive long enough to come back again. It doesn't take much to identify that if you could control the food supply in Tempest City, you'd have a sizeable grip on all its residents, but that's clearly recognised by the Thunder Lord too, as the food convoys get more protection than even the aristocrats in the High Court receive.

Overall, the markets that you jump between are uneventful, and you achieve your goal of flying under the radar as you make it towards the docks. The only intriguing encounter is near the inner city, where a sickly, luminescent green vampire spawn is speaking to passer-bys on the street about a potential opportunity. You listen closely, as you think this job could cause you to cross paths with another one of the city's vampire overlords yet again, and after hearing the details, put it to one side to be considered later.

Live Test Subjects Needed: Prominent vampire lord Doctor Gallowstein is looking for living test subjects willing to receive a biological implant which hold the possibility for physical or mental enhancement. You can show up to his laboratory, no appointment needed, to receive these enhancements, and simply need to return after a week to report on your condition. The reward is the job in itself; these surgeries and grafted parts are set to sell for quite a large amount once it's confirmed they can go ahead safely enough, but as a trial patient, you can receive them for free. [These parts will be reflavoured versions of Uncommon magic items that require attunement, for example, Gauntlets of Ogre Strength]

[Every time you complete a job, a new job will appear soon enough to fill in the gap. The higher level/Prestige/Street Cred you are, the more potential opportunities you will get at once, as more potential pathways will become more accessible and available to you]

The party leaves the inn for their recce at the docks, following the plan to navigate the quieter markets to capitalise on the crowds to subtract any attention on themselves. You work in pairs, floating from stall to stall, expressing enough silent interest in the frankly worthless wares available to seem like you're there for a purpose, but never enough to actually cause a vendor to strike up conversation. The majority of stalls seem to sell either tatty, homemade clothing, or what must be scavenged loot, telling from the absurd range of items that are laid out in some cases. There's no food stalls at all; it's too dark to grow anything edible, and without any pastures, it's impossible to raise livestock. Attempts to save a penny or two by making one's own food ends up with blended stews of emulsified rat or a year's worth of effort for less than a handful of pitiful grey tubers that got their nutrients from a gutter. So, most folk just live with what trickles down from the inner city. A fragile economy has formed in the city, centred entirely around the distribution of food, and it entirely relies on the food deliveries that come into the inner city each week. The aristocrats, or at least the ones in the Low Court that need to feed off more than blood to sustain themselves, will get all the food they could want from outside in exchange for a small tax to the Thunder Lord, who is the only one in control of communication with external trade links. More comes through than is needed, so parcels of unwanted food find their way onto the streets, and soon that parcel gets broken up by those wanting to sell them into portions, and those portions are bought by poor merchants to be split up into a meagre amount that gives the customer just enough to keep them alive long enough to come back again. It doesn't take much to identify that if you could control the food supply in Tempest City, you'd have a sizeable grip on all its residents, but that's clearly recognised by the Thunder Lord too, as the food convoys get more protection than even the aristocrats in the High Court receive.

Overall, the markets that you jump between are uneventful, and you achieve your goal of flying under the radar as you make it towards the docks. The only intriguing encounter is near the inner city, where a sickly, luminescent green vampire spawn is speaking to passer-bys on the street about a potential opportunity. You listen closely, as you think this job could cause you to cross paths with another one of the city's vampire overlords yet again, and after hearing the details, put it to one side to be considered later.

Live Test Subjects Needed: Prominent vampire lord Doctor Gallowstein is looking for living test subjects willing to receive a biological implant which hold the possibility for physical or mental enhancement. You can show up to his laboratory, no appointment needed, to receive these enhancements, and simply need to return after a week to report on your condition. The reward is the job in itself; these surgeries and grafted parts are set to sell for quite a large amount once it's confirmed they can go ahead safely enough, but as a trial patient, you can receive them for free. [These parts will be reflavoured versions of Uncommon magic items that require attunement, for example, Gauntlets of Ogre Strength]

[Every time you complete a job, a new job will appear soon enough to fill in the gap. The higher level/Prestige/Street Cred you are, the more potential opportunities you will get at once, as more potential pathways will become more accessible and available to you]

"Charming options on offer here.  Becoming barons of a Tempest City food cartel or experimental golems for a vampire lord."

Tanis somehow grimaces without changing his facial expression one iota.  "What's the worst that could happen?  I mean, besides becoming a target for the Thunder Lord's wrath on one one hand, or a remote control thrall for an undead mad scientist on the other.  In unrelated news, my head hurts."

Despite his dour whispered words, the ranger's restless eyes scan the streets avidly, cataloging ambush points, escape routes, and places to hide in plain sight.  His focus on scouting only gains momentum as the party, drifting along in pairs as they are, approaches the docks proper.

"Body enhancements sound interesting though, if they work without any big side-affects that is." Thamul says to whoever he is paired up with as they continue walking to the docks.

(Warrick would openly dissuade people from wanting the physical body enhancements as potential trap to get folks under the knife willingly. But he ultimately would be considering it if would be a benefit to him, make him more useful without relying on his unwanted powers.)

Selene drifts at a measured pace beside Zifni, her hood shadows most of her face, hiding her shifting gaze it. The markets around them feel less like commerce and more like resignation on display, survival barely dressed up in spectacle. One glance at a vendor’s cracked wooden stall, fragments of jewelry beside a broken pipe and a child’s doll with no eyes, and her lip curls slightly.

She murmurs low enough that only Zifni hears, “Funny, how poverty can be louder than wealth if you know what you’re listening for.”

When the green-hued vampire spawn comes into view, she slows instinctively, pretending to be interested in a collection of mismatched gloves on a nearby stall while her ear tilts toward the offer. The moment the word implant hits the air, her fingers tighten around the edge of her cloak.

She listens to all of it, and then moves away.

As Tanis mutters his dry observations, Selene exhales a single amused breath through her nose.

“I’m rather fond of my organs right where they are,” she says under her breath.

Still, the calculating part of her, stores the name: Doctor Gallowstein.

She returns her attention to the path ahead, her tone quiet and firm. “Let’s not get distracted. We came here to map out the docks, not hand over ourselves to be prodded."

Warrick will glance up at yhe large Thamul, "Body enhancements are an interesting concept, but are all risk to recieve. One must simply trust our long toothed doctor that they truly wanted to prove the product, and of course we are not thier primary customer base. This makes us closer to the lab rats then potential customers. Plus there is no proof yet such a procedure would work. It's not like they can put the original arm back if the procedure is a failure. If a limb had already been lost then I coukd see a bit more of the potential upside to taking on such a venture." Warrick was making an argument to himself more then to Thamul. He couldn't help but imagine what sort of enhancement he would need to make himself more useful and less likely to pull from the power well he can feel inside himself. Would a mechanical procedure be any riskier then hiw that had got installed in him. Unfortunately this was distracting him from their real purpose of being there, though Warrick didn't think he could provide much assistance in this recon, but Thamul could be, so probably should not distract him as well.

Zifni's light steps carried him through the stalls beside Selene, his eyes wandering carefully for anything that might aid them on their task, or hinder them in its completion. "Loud enough one day to drown them out, I hope," he responds as Selene points out the stories laid bare by the stallkeepers. All sad stories. None of them uplifting. But all of them holding the promise of a rebellion, if their tellers could only be roused to action.

When the vampire spawn spews his offer, Zifni hisses under his breath. It takes all his focus not to denounce the creature on the spot. He knows what a debt to the vampire spawn means. "One day they'll come to collect, whether you're still using the implant or not," he warns.

"Still, might be worth to listens to the offer" Thamul answers Warrick "But let's get our focus back on the task at hand"

" So you see anything worth noting from up there? My feet are starting to kill me walking around on this uneven footing." Warrick tries to refocus himself at the task at hand before worrying about the next opportunity. 

With this newfound prospect in mind, the party moves onwards, making their way to the dock without further distraction. Here, the mist hangs thick, almost obscuring the slight slither of moonlight that snags on the jagged waves of the nearby sea. The light is hardly enchanting though; in such rough conditions, the roiling mass of glinting white light and foam almost looks like a constant row of fangs crashing inwards to cut against the coastline. 

The dock is fairly small; it coils around in a U shaped crescent, and the small jetties that crop out from the stone sea wall defending against the waves are mainly vacant; few boats belonging to Tempest City residents ever leave port here, most ships docked or leaving are typically belonging to visitors. Still, the few small ships that are here seem quiet, with no visible lanterns lit, so either their owners are asleep aboard (or trying to be, considering the heavy rocking of the ships as the waves reflect and echo around each other in the harbour), or are in the City. The boats themselves aren't fishing boats, as the creatures lurking in the depths off shore are far too violent or nasty to think of catching, or larger vessels, rather, they're simple ships designed to stand up against the choppy waves and make the miserable voyages, typically for deliveries like the one you are expecting, towards the City. The final immediately notable aspect of the docks is the onshore lighthouse, constructed at the centre of the coiling crescent, which isn't lit, despite the conditions. Zifni, since you have experience with Tempest City's port, you remember that the Harbour Master resides in the lighthouse, but have never met them.

Zifni stares out over the sharply creating waves, a tense tightness in his jaw as he remembers the fateful night that brought him to Tempest City. It was those treacherous waves that betrayed him and forced him here.

Eventually he broke his stare to look up at the lighthouse.

"Odd that it's dark, tonight," he says with a nod toward it.

"Powerful peculiar indeed, now that you say so, Cool Breeze."  Tanis ambles towards the lighthouse casually as if heading towards one of the boats.

"Reminds me of when Torm the trumpeter forgot his trumpet as our local lordling was set to make a proclamation.  None too pleased with Torm, his lordship.  What good's a trumpeter with no horn when it's time for a fanfare?  'Bout as good as a dark lighthouse on a dark night.  To his credit, Torm never made that mistake again.  Course, he got fed to the lordling's wolfhounds that very night, but still a credit to Torm, never again forgetting."

Tanis' Perception to look for any signs of life (or movement) from inside the darkened lighthouse:  11

Selene lingers behind as Tanis and some of the others drift toward the lighthouse, her eyes narrowing slightly beneath the veil of her hood. The sea snarls against the stone edge of the dock, a constant chorus of crashing foam and jagged water that sounds almost eager to consume. She keeps close to the shadows of a slanted warehouse wall, the scent of salt and old fish clinging to the boards around her.

Her steps are quiet, measured, and her gaze sharper still. While the lighthouse draws attention, Selene turns her focus to the dock itself, studying its layout with calm intensity. The U-shaped curve provides good natural containment, she notes. Narrow jetties, offering vantage points and chokeholds in equal measure. 

She scans the gaps between the docked ships, tight alleys of rope and timber, slick with spray, potential hiding spots for an attack. A collapsed coil of rope here, an overturned crate there… if she were laying an ambush, she’d want at least two fallback positions. Somewhere she could disappear into if things turned for the worse. Her fingers brush the edge of a broken bollard, tracing its corrosion, before pulling her cloak tighter around her.

The mist is an asset tonight. It adds a bit of cover, lines blur, distance is hard to judge, and sound travels strangely. But it cuts both ways. They might be ghosts in the fog, but so too could their enemies.

She glances toward the lighthouse again, where Tanis is heading with his usual gallows wit, but doesn’t follow. 

For now, she continues her circuit in silence, slow and methodical, pausing near one of the far jetties. She crouches briefly, noting the line of sight to the main road and the rhythm of the waves beneath the boards. Then, in a moment of stillness, she murmurs under her breath, barely audible.

“Hard to tell where the noose ends and the leash begins in this city…”

She straightens, brushing off her gloves, and blends once more into the mist, the sea hissing quietly at her back.

Whilst Selene broods and plots the assault by the jetties, Tanis peers at the lighthouse in the gloom. A few windows run up the side of its narrow spire structure, though they're misty and dull, and in such bad lighting, he'd struggle to catch a silhouette in them, let alone a clear view in. What's certain is that nobody is up with the lamp; he looks around and the lantern room seems clearly empty. Not quite deserted, but there's nothing that immediately shows that there's been any activity here or there recently. 

"Thing is," Tanis mumbles quietly as he falls back to the group (if no one else is near), "no one can see in the dark like drow.  Excepting maybe Dark Sister and Kain here, and maybe not even them.  Lantern up there staying off could all be part of their plan, yeah?  Dark lighthouse, dark deeds."

He shifts his weight and stares into the distance.  "So we turn this to our advantage how?  Scout the place now and take it over before our ambush tomorrow?  Didn't see anyone in there.  Definitely not in the lantern room.  But doesn't mean the structure's deserted.  Come tomorrow night, maybe we turn on the light, nice and bright, right as we make our move?  Light it too early and they'll know something's up.  Time it right, add to the confusion."

Tanis glances around for ideas, clearly having a healthy respect for the challenge of ambushing dark elves under any circumstances, let alone in the dark.