Warrick straightens his dingy cloak, and looks to the others, "Best we do this exchange quickly and quietly. Drop the illusion and let's get Zifni into a safer, out of sight location. We will probably be asked to unload the piece or atleast move it to a certain location. Do not look or speak to anyone that isn't absolutely necessary. This is probably a great gathering and we do not want to bring attention to ourselves. Signature and ship out, agreed?" Warrick didn't like giving orders, he couldn't even do so without leaving it with a question like he was asking please. But Warrick knows the high society is as cutthroat as any you find in an ally way. But they go for more then simply your life to get what they want from you. He didn't want to go in but he knew he had to make sure they get that signature indiscreetly so he wanted to do it himself. He pulls out the paperwork and waits for the others to get ready.

(Would Warrick understand how best to approach the mannor? Like if there was a spot to make deliveries that is not the front door or how to announce there arrival in a manner that is in normal occurrence to a place like this? How to interact with staff without drawing attention?)

Tanis halts and gazes up at House Crawlthing as if at a strange creature.  "Can't say as I've ever seen something quite that color.  Blue-tinged and all.  Excepting Corporal Nichols back in the guard.  Lucky guy, old Nichols.  Loved his jaunts outside town through the woods.  Had a wide smile on his face last I saw him.  Course, he was dead and blue from the cold where they found him in the snow, but still lucky to go that way, doing what he loved."

He turns to listen to Warrick.  "If you say so, Doc. How 'bout you and Dark Sister go up there to do the talking.  Big Man carries the covered artwork behind you.  Provides a bit o' muscle if it comes to it, Tymora forbid.  Me and Knives, here," (Kain), "we guard Cool Breeze and Marrow back at the cart."

Selene stands at the rear of the wagon, one hand adjusting the folds of her cloak, the other still lightly resting on the newly claimed dagger at her hip. The illusion still shimmers faintly over the tarp, the trick of light rendering the cargo as nothing more than battered, rain-soaked furniture, but as Warrick speaks, she lets it go, releasing the spell with a subtle twist of her wrist. 

When Tanis speaks of a dead man with a frozen smile, a flicker of grim amusement twitches at the corner of her mouth.

“Fine by me,” she replies to his suggestion. “Let’s not keep our art lovers waiting.”

She adjusts her hood again, casting shadows over sharp cheekbones and pale features, hiding herself in her veil of composure as easily as she weaves an illusion. 

Softly, only loud enough for Warrick to hear, she murmurs, “We get the signature. Nothing more.”

Then she gestures to Thamul to bring the covered cargo behind them, and steps forward toward the doors of Crawlthing Manor.

Selene approaches the grand double doors of Crawlthing Manor, set into the center of the right-hand door is an ancient-looking knocker: a tarnished brass ring gripped in the jaws of some long-forgotten beast.

Without hesitation, she lifts the knocker, feeling the cold metal bite against her fingers. She draws it back and lets it fall with a dull, resonant thud, the sound echoing faintly through the manor beyond.

Thamul is fine with being the muscle for this job and picks up the statue on his back (how heavy is it? he has a carrying capacity of 570 and lift/drag capacity of 1140)

[Warrick can't see anywhere else better than here to make the delivery, and what his experience tells him about how to act is similar to the rest of the party's intuition; keep your heads down and just get the job done. The piece is roughly 1500lbs, so Thamul and one other could carry it in at a slow pace if they pushed it off the wagon and carried from either side into the house]

Selene's knock resonates for a few seconds, before the door is promptly wrenched open with inhuman strength. Slumped forward, a vampire spawn maid stares her dead in the eyes, reading her face expressionless for a few seconds. The pair don't look to dissimilar, minus the fact that Selene's cloaked and soaked. Breathing in through her nose, the maid straightens up, pulling her stiff body up on the handle of the door. She appears fairly young, maybe 16 or so, but you wouldn't trust that as her real age. In fact, she's likely prey from a century or two ago, her senses and strength dulled with lack of use, being stuck as a peon for house parties for decades. The typical, round, red and allusive eyes of a vampire are of course present amongst her features, though her skin is the same icy pale blue as the lighting, and appears ever so slightly fuzzy at the edges, like her mortal appearance is trying to clinging to her foul form rather than dissolve away into mist. It's unsettling, as it means you can't quite get a grip on her features. The reflection in the glass panes of the door and puddles pooled at your feet seem to struggle even harder though; you wouldn't even be able to tell she was there. 

After a few moments of the hammering rain and quiet chatter of the party inside being the only noise in this tense stand off, the maid says 'Bring the artwork down the hall, and leave it at the bottom of the stairs. We can move it easier later. I shall have Master come to sign you off soon, he is in a social gathering at current.' Selene didn't realise the maid had twigged they were the ones delivering the artwork already, especially as it seemed like the girl had been staring into her eyes alone and no where else for the duration of the silence. Perhaps her peripheral vision is better than you expected, or maybe she could just sense it. Either way, she steps back and opens the second door to let you all struggle to lug the great thing into the house. Her demonstrated strength when opening the door earlier implies she could likely manage just fine, especially with the help of the other lackeys that are guaranteed to be crawling around this place, but she seems to find some quite pleasure in letting you do the heavy lifting in the rain. 

Seeing that even Thamul with his prodigious strength (19) needs help lugging the covered artwork to the mansion, Tanis looks between himself (13 STR) and Kain (16 STR) and suggests with a chin nod that the rogue be the one to help while Tanis remains behind to guard the cart.

(If Kain refuses, Tanis does the helping himself.)

Either way, he leaves any talking and decision-making to Selene and Warrick.

Selene meets the dead stare with the faintest curl of her lips.

She steps forward into the threshold. As she moves forward, the maid’s hollow gaze meets hers, but Selene doesn’t flinch, she meets it. If intimidation is to be the maids ploy than engagement will be hers.

Her eyes lift to the faint blue sheen bleeding along the stonework, catching the strange glow on the maid’s pale features like a second layer of skin.

“That hue,” Selene murmurs, tone light, almost curious, “—is that for show, or something more… practical?”

She lets the words settle, gaze drifting past the maid’s shoulder to the shadows curling at the edges of the hall beyond, noting shapes, adjoining hallways, the distance to the staircase, anything that would help discern if this will be a simple drop off or  simply the beginning of a larger play..

Her focus returns to the maid, eyes narrowing, not unfriendly. “Sounds like quite the gathering, are they here to take in the most recent addition to the master's collection? Selene strains hard to try and determine numbers by the sound of footfalls and the timbre of voices from within.

Only after that, as an after thought, does she add with a faint smile, “And are we expecting more? I’d hate to leave this blocking the way if there’s a crowd eager for a glimpse.”

Perception check (18+3)=21

Warrick was still trying to make sure everyone knew the plan was in place whe  he heard the knocks at the door, spinning on the his heels, he started hurrying to the door. Watching the interesting exchange from directly behind Selene, visibly wincing at Selene responses. He decided to push his way in front of her, which isn't easy for someone of his gurth. "While we wish to be more helpful, we are not dressed for the occasion and do not wish to soil your elaborate floors with out rain and mud dampen attire. (If Warrick would think that someone how works as a household servant could "sign" for a delivery such as this, if not ignore this next comment) Plus we don't want to take the Masters valuable time for a simple signature  I'm sure yours will suffice with our employer."

Placing himself in the doorway waving his arms to signal bringing up the statue. When he thinks he is sufficiently between ladies  he trys to signal with his hands to Selene with his back to the house in a signature motion and then pointing back the way they came.

Selene doesn’t stop Warrick as he shoulders his way forward, but one pale brow arches with slow amusement.

When he starts with his gesturing, Selene’s lips curl, just slightly, into something akin to a  smile.

She steps forward, standing neatly beside him as if they’re two partners in some very questionable venture.

“To be fair,” she says smoothly to the maid, tone edged with dry humor, “he is right about one thing, we’re in no shape for polite society. And I’m fairly certain your floors have opinions about wet boots.”

Her gaze drifts past the maid, thoughtful. “But I do like to know what I’m walking into,” she adds lightly. 

Insight check on the maid (6+3)=9

Warrick ignores the comments in hopes of getting in and out sooner rather then later. "This way, bring it up through here. Mind your step."

A pair (or more) of party members shift the statue off the wagon, which groans with the relief after having the weight removed. Carrying it by the plinth, with the artwork still covered, you approach the house, as the maid tells Selene, 'This gathering is nothing out of routine - we have the privilege of holding galas here often, at least biweekly. Though that's of no importance to you.' Selene struggles to get a solid read on the maid; she seems caustic, cold, but perhaps most importantly, subdued by her servitude to a degree where she's likely just all words, and wouldn't dare to step out of line without the approval of her master. However, when listening in, she does a better job of estimating the amount of present guests and overhearing the celebrations; the numbers must at least be in the hundreds, from the sound of so many overlapping voices, cackles of laughter, and clinks of glass echoing from the adjoining room. The maid seems pleased by Warrick's outlook on things compared to Selene's inquisitiveness; clearly she holds the perception that you very much are below this all. 

The maid turns as the statue enters, saying 'I shall fetch the Master for your signature.' You have just placed it in between the two sets of stairs, when a strange warmness enters the room. It's not a pleasant heat, rather one like an extremely stuffy room, or a singeing flame that numbs all senses, like the mind's illusion of warmth before death by hypothermia. Turning, a figure glides across the room; Count Crawlthing. His general appearance is like that of the maids, but then everything more. The blue blur on his skin makes his features flow like moonlight; the curve of his cheeks is a soft as morning dew, whilst the harsh and rigid cut of his rippling muscles are as sheer as a mountain ridge. The fluctuation between a figure of astounding beauty and imposing might is immediate and indistinguishable; you've never seen a creature that is so paradoxical in their demeanour as he is.  He draws near without a word, his mouth a hazed whirlwind of sparkling grins and horrifyingly sharp teeth, and he entirely disregards you as he sweeps by, his mere presence making you feel as if your own moisture has been sucked dry by his unbearable heat and added to his glistening form. With a clawed hand, he draws back the cover on the statue. It is of a dying man, lying across the lap of Count Crawlthing himself, though the marble can hardly depict the true inscrutable nature of the vampire. The man is bleeding out of his neck, and the Lord has one hand to his brow. It is impossible to discern whether the Count's expression in the sculpture is one of soft and gentle mercy, or ravenous and ecstatic hunger. 'You never would think goblins could capture art such as this...the intricacies are wonderful...I'd go as far as to say they're almost accurate.' the Count marvels to no one in particular, his voice sounding like melted snow. Only then does he turn to acknowledge you, and says 'You will be needed my name, I'm sure.' It's such a simple sentence, but the vampire manages to make it sound both coolly inquisitive and commandingly deadly. On confirmation of this, he brings a thumb to his mouth and bites down; blood trickles forth as he smudges what looks to be a signature onto a handkerchief. By the time he's written down his name, the wound has healed up. He then turns to leave and re-enter the hum of his gala, though before he departs, he murmurs 'It isn't safe to leave a bleeding body on my doorstep, you know. If I didn't serve refreshments, he might have became a meal. Asitana, fetch a rousing draught for them.' He smiles his enigmatic grin as he turns to say 'Thank you for your assistance; it pleases me deeply.' Before you leave, the maid begrudgingly brings you a vial of a gaseous blue stimulant that when unstoppered beneath an unconscious creature's nose, awakens them. [Single use, just to bring back Zifni]

The party's Prestige is increased by One. Whilst you likely won't last in the Count's mind for much longer than a day, if that, you've now scratched the surface on what it is like in the strange and sombre Tempest City aristocracy. Perhaps these parties could be a gateway into deeper connections later on...

(Assuming Kain with his somewhat superior STR, and not Tanis, helped Thamul with the painting, Tanis remains unaware the above until the others return.)

"Ah, art lovers enjoying a gala," the ranger sighs, lounging next to the still comatose Zifini.  "Calls to mind a simpler time when my childhood friends and I would doodle in the mud by the hillside forest creek.  Those were halcyon days.  Before the unexpected mudslide killed the others, to be sure..."

Warrick tried his best to stay small and insignificant in the Count's eyes, he wasn't tall by any definition but dispite his latest situation he was still plump. He reach for the blood signed note, so his kind does bleed, Warrick tried to hurry the others out the door. Moving down the steps he moves towards Selene, "Could you smell Zifini, that would have been valuable information before marching in there. Well regardless, note signed, art unloaded, and we are in our way back. Shall we swing by the docks for a quick lay of the land scouting? Might be less suspicious with our handy Worg with us, though he might bring us more hungry eyes as well I suppose." Warrick couldn't help but feel the person in the statue with the Count looked familiar but he tried not to think dwell on it too long.

That'll turns away as soon as the statue is put down and moves back out to stay with the cart.waiting for the others to return.

"Shouldn't we bring back the cart and get our payment as soon as possible?" He says as warrick does his suggestion.

As Warrick gathers the note and starts ushering them out, she lets him bustle, lets him chatter, one gloved hand adjusting the fit of her cloak at her shoulders, shaking a few stray droplets of rain loose. His comment about Zifni makes the corner of her mouth twitch, dry humor warming her otherwise cold expression.

“Well,” she murmurs as she steps alongside him, “if I’d caught his scent, I might’ve offered him up as the opening act.”

At Thamul’s words, she glances his way, her voice low and firm but steady. “Agreed. We get paid first. I’m not dragging this beast through the docks with empty pockets.” 

Then she turns slightly, glancing back toward the house. “We made a start here tonight. Small, but word travels.”

“Let’s get Zifni up, get paid, then we plan.” As she glances toward the stimulant vial.

Kain lingers near the edge of the group, his crimson eyes flicking between the Count and the blood-signed note in Warrick’s hand. "That one’s been playing noble longer than most of these streets have been standing," he murmurs with a melodic drawl, nodding toward the house. "Pity he didn’t offer us a drink. Might’ve learned something useful."

He pauses, "We got what we came for. Coin first, the docks can wait. I’d rather not deliver our next paycheck to the bottom of the bay."

"Well it is decided then, collect our earnings first and foremost. Then the docks for future endeavors." Warrick hustling to get the mannor well behind them. The others didn't know how dangerous simply being in that house really was. But he needed to keep what he know to himself  catching himself from explaining details of exactly how long that master had been called such. 

(Assuming the others tell Tanis what happened at House Crawlthing with the vampire.)

The ranger scratches his chin and looks at Zifini's unconscious form philosophically as the vial is brought forth.

"Revitalizing draught from a vampire," he drawls.  "Don't hear that every day.  I'm sure it's completely trustworthy and above board.  Better than poison from an angel, I guess...  we'll know soon enough if Cool Breeze starts bleeding from his eyes or something..."

After applying the vial and confirming the genasi is good to go, Tanis helps him up to a sitting position on the cart.  He gestures with his chin, suggesting everyone take up their positions as before, Zifini and Warrick on the cart, Kain as lead scout, Selene as rear guard, Thamul and Tanis on foot, flanking.

"No time like the present.  Don't want to keep the goblin waiting.  Or any more knife-chucking ambushers hoping to make our acquaintance."

Selene falls into step beside the cart, Crawlthing Manor receding into the distance as the push forward along the street. Her expression has cooled into something unreadable as her eyes sweep the rooftops and shadows in the alleyways alike.

“If he had offered us a drink,” she says wryly to Kain without looking back, “it likely would’ve come with a lifetime commitment… and a windowless room.” Her eyes to the receipt signed in blood in Warrick’s possession. “Still, it’s not every day we get a signature in blood. Ought to frame it. Might be worth something. Or cursed. Possibly both.”

As Tanis calls positions, Selene falls to the rear once more, drawing her cloak closer. “Let’s move. The goblin waits" Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it nowas they begin they retrace their steps back from where they came.

Selene doesn’t look back at the manor. But her hand doesn’t leave the hilt of her newly acquired dagger either.

Thamul takes his place again and the side of the cart.