Falshen's appearance and demeanor steadily shifted as he and Gregor trekked farther into the Docks Ward. No longer could the young man be described as being of noble bearing for his posture has become a kind of tensed slouch while the symmetry of his face is now marred by an uneven snarl. Even his mannerisms have changed, being more akin to the twitchness of a thief with a bad chauncel habit.
Turning a narrow glance toward Gregor, Falshen growls out in a tone reminiscent of muddy gravel being ground under a wagon wheel, "No questions, yeah? Jus' helping ya wit' a bit o' findin' and I's done and shippin' back out."
Gregor smiles tightly, "A new friend and temporary business partner. I don't think he's going to be a regular at the Dragon, but I vouch for him. Now... regarding a more private location?"
Gorbund gives both of them another long, slow look, then lumbers to his feet.
“Come on then,” he says, and heads through a low doorway behind the bar, flinging back a ragged and much-stained curtain and leading the two men down a short flight of steps to a heavy iron door. He thumps on the door with his scaly fist, a slot slides to one side, a pair of eyes regards him silently for a moment, and then the door swings open.
Beyond is a small, spare room, dank as a dungeon cell. A handful of toughs sit around a table playing cards. Gorbund gives a sharp jerk of his head and they clear out, grumbling profanely. Some head back up the way the companions came down, others slip out another door to the side, leading who knows where. The dragonborn plumps himself down in one of the chairs, waves his guests to the others, and folds his arms, waiting.
"Volo and a friend of his were here," Gregor says, sitting down, "Floon Blagmaar. He'd have been medium height, trim, red-blond hair, green eyes, in his early thirties. Wearing blue coat, gold trim, white cravat. Notable possession would have been a black cane with a dragon's head, and a gold time piece. Volo's friend has gone missing, and he was last seen here."
Gregor looks Gorbund in the eye, "As you can imagine, this will make things rather difficult for this establishment if were involved in any way with the disappearance. I know that's not how you play the game, but I wonder if all your patrons feel the same. Did anyone stand out when those two were here?"
"Volo and a friend of his were here," Gregor says, sitting down, "Floon Blagmaar. He'd have been medium height, trim, red-blond hair, green eyes, in his early thirties. Wearing blue coat, gold trim, white cravat. Notable possession would have been a black cane with a dragon's head, and a gold time piece. Volo's friend has gone missing, and he was last seen here."
Gregor looks Gorbund in the eye, "As you can imagine, this will make things rather difficult for this establishment if were involved in any way with the disappearance. I know that's not how you play the game, but I wonder if all your patrons feel the same. Did anyone stand out when those two were here?"
"Volo and a friend of his were here," Gregor says, sitting down, "Floon Blagmaar. He'd have been medium height, trim, red-blond hair, green eyes, in his early thirties. Wearing blue coat, gold trim, white cravat. Notable possession would have been a black cane with a dragon's head, and a gold time piece. Volo's friend has gone missing, and he was last seen here."
Gregor looks Gorbund in the eye, "As you can imagine, this will make things rather difficult for this establishment if were involved in any way with the disappearance. I know that's not how you play the game, but I wonder if all your patrons feel the same. Did anyone stand out when those two were here?"
"Aye, that's it. You're the one with the memory, Gregor, I give you that. Renaer. Dagult's kid. They say he and his old man are on the outs, but who knows? Lotta folks around here don't see much daylight between one Neverember and another. Maybe somebody didn't like his face. Maybe somebody who didn't care for the name Neverember decided to have a heart-to-heart while he was in the neighborhood, get some things off his chest. Anyway, young master Renaer walked out of my establishment with his skin on, and so did his friend Floon, so what exactly does this have to do with me and my shop, Horsa? And how does it concern..." he waves the pipe at Falshen, "...your fancy fella here?"
"Aye, that's it. You're the one with the memory, Gregor, I give you that. Renaer. Dagult's kid. They say he and his old man are on the outs, but who knows? Lotta folks around here don't see much daylight between one Neverember and another. Maybe somebody didn't like his face. Maybe somebody who didn't care for the name Neverember decided to have a heart-to-heart while he was in the neighborhood, get some things off his chest. Anyway, young master Renaer walked out of my establishment with his skin on, and so did his friend Floon, so what exactly does this have to do with me and my shop, Horsa? And how does it concern..." he waves the pipe at Falshen, "...your fancy fella here?"
"Dav' wants us to come out of this looking good to Master Geddarm, Gorbund, VERY good. I want to do everything in my power to make that happen, and I want nothing to tarnish our standing in his eyes. Volo's friend going missing after last being seen at the Dragon, at the very least... complicates that goal. Anything you can give us could help, and if you can't help us directly, pointing us in the right direction would be extremely helpful."
Gregor leans back in his chair, "As for my friend, here, he's - for the moment- a fellow employee of Master Geddarm. I cannot speak to any more than that, but I trust him."
"Aye, that's it. You're the one with the memory, Gregor, I give you that. Renaer. Dagult's kid. They say he and his old man are on the outs, but who knows? Lotta folks around here don't see much daylight between one Neverember and another. Maybe somebody didn't like his face. Maybe somebody who didn't care for the name Neverember decided to have a heart-to-heart while he was in the neighborhood, get some things off his chest. Anyway, young master Renaer walked out of my establishment with his skin on, and so did his friend Floon, so what exactly does this have to do with me and my shop, Horsa? And how does it concern..." he waves the pipe at Falshen, "...your fancy fella here?"
"Dav' wants us to come out of this looking good to Master Geddarm, Gorbund, VERY good. I want to do everything in my power to make that happen, and I want nothing to tarnish our standing in his eyes. Volo's friend going missing after last being seen at the Dragon, at the very least... complicates that goal. Anything you can give us could help, and if you can't help us directly, pointing us in the right direction would be extremely helpful."
Gregor leans back in his chair, "As for my friend, here, he's - for the moment- a fellow employee of Master Geddarm. I cannot speak to any more than that, but I trust him."
The dragonborn horks up a massive glob of black phlegm and spits into a nearby bucket, which sizzles and sparks at the impact.
“Look, I like Dav, and I want him to like me. You know me, always happy to help. But uh...how do I put this with the necessary...delicacy?”
He grinds out the last word slowly, as if making sure he’s pronouncing it properly. He leans forward, and his voice drops to what he probably thinks is a whisper.
“Dav might not have told you. He has a...cousin in town. New arrival. From out East. Big shot. Pain-in-the-arse. Bad house guest. His kids, the ones he brought with him from out-of-town...they aren’t well-behaved. Some of them, they’ve been hanging about my neighborhood. Pissing where they shouldn’t, if you take my meaning. Might be these tykes know more than I do about your missing...worthies. Might not make polite conversation though, not like you and me. Savvy?”
The dragonborn horks up a massive glob of black phlegm and spits into a nearby bucket, which sizzles and sparks at the impact.
“Look, I like Dav, and I want him to like me. You know me, always happy to help. But uh...how do I put this with the necessary...delicacy?”
He grinds out the last word slowly, as if making sure he’s pronouncing it properly. He leans forward, and his voice drops to what he probably thinks is a whisper.
“Dav might not have told you. He has a...cousin in town. New arrival. From out East. Big shot. Pain-in-the-arse. Bad house guest. His kids, the ones he brought with him from out-of-town...they aren’t well-behaved. Some of them, they’ve been hanging about my neighborhood. Pissing where they shouldn’t, if you take my meaning. Might be these tykes know more than I do about your missing...worthies. Might not make polite conversation though, not like you and me. Savvy?”
Gregor frowns, "Well, if Dav is hosting, it would be rude of me not to make them feel well taken care of as honored guests, their manners notwithstanding. Do you know where I could go to pay my respects, and if they would appreciate anything in particular as a welcome present?"
The dragonborn leans back in his chair, that much-abused piece of furniture groaning dangerously, and regards the ceiling.
"If you're dead set on paying a social call," he says, putting his pipe to his lips, "you might try the old warehouse on Candle Lane. As for a welcome present...well, these boys aren't sophisticated gentlemen, unlike present company. They appreciate the simple things. A pack of cards. A bottle of something fierce. A bevy of local beauties would go a long way, if you've got that sort of thing up your sleeve." He shrugs. "Otherwise...entertainment? Poor fellas get bored, I think, which is what makes 'em so foul-tempered. But whatever else you bring..." he jabs at Gregor with the stem of his pipe. "Bring friends. Stout friends. Preferably new friends, savvy?"
The dragonborn leans back in his chair, that much-abused piece of furniture groaning dangerously, and regards the ceiling.
"If you're dead set on paying a social call," he says, putting his pipe to his lips, "you might try the old warehouse on Candle Lane. As for a welcome present...well, these boys aren't sophisticated gentlemen, unlike present company. They appreciate the simple things. A pack of cards. A bottle of something fierce. A bevy of local beauties would go a long way, if you've got that sort of thing up your sleeve." He shrugs. "Otherwise...entertainment? Poor fellas get bored, I think, which is what makes 'em so foul-tempered. But whatever else you bring..." he jabs at Gregor with the stem of his pipe. "Bring friends. Stout friends. Preferably new friends, savvy?"
Gregor tries not to wince at the pipe jab, but damned if the dragonborn doesn't have some weight behind him, "Don't worry Gorbund, I have every intention of keeping things civil either way. Family squabbles won't do anyone any good. You've been very helpful, and if I'm able I'd like to repay your kindness. Your choice, one of either of my usual offerings at no charge."
He gets up, "One last thing, do you have rooms available tonight?"
Falshen's appearance and demeanor steadily shifted as he and Gregor trekked farther into the Docks Ward. No longer could the young man be described as being of noble bearing for his posture has become a kind of tensed slouch while the symmetry of his face is now marred by an uneven snarl. Even his mannerisms have changed, being more akin to the twitchness of a thief with a bad chauncel habit.
Turning a narrow glance toward Gregor, Falshen growls out in a tone reminiscent of muddy gravel being ground under a wagon wheel, "No questions, yeah? Jus' helping ya wit' a bit o' findin' and I's done and shippin' back out."
The dragonborn chews on his pipe stem, his hooded gaze shifting to Falshen and then back to Gregor, waiting to hear the latter's response.
Gregor smiles tightly, "A new friend and temporary business partner. I don't think he's going to be a regular at the Dragon, but I vouch for him. Now... regarding a more private location?"
Gorbund gives both of them another long, slow look, then lumbers to his feet.
“Come on then,” he says, and heads through a low doorway behind the bar, flinging back a ragged and much-stained curtain and leading the two men down a short flight of steps to a heavy iron door. He thumps on the door with his scaly fist, a slot slides to one side, a pair of eyes regards him silently for a moment, and then the door swings open.
Beyond is a small, spare room, dank as a dungeon cell. A handful of toughs sit around a table playing cards. Gorbund gives a sharp jerk of his head and they clear out, grumbling profanely. Some head back up the way the companions came down, others slip out another door to the side, leading who knows where. The dragonborn plumps himself down in one of the chairs, waves his guests to the others, and folds his arms, waiting.
"Volo and a friend of his were here," Gregor says, sitting down, "Floon Blagmaar. He'd have been medium height, trim, red-blond hair, green eyes, in his early thirties. Wearing blue coat, gold trim, white cravat. Notable possession would have been a black cane with a dragon's head, and a gold time piece. Volo's friend has gone missing, and he was last seen here."
Gregor looks Gorbund in the eye, "As you can imagine, this will make things rather difficult for this establishment if were involved in any way with the disappearance. I know that's not how you play the game, but I wonder if all your patrons feel the same. Did anyone stand out when those two were here?"
Make a Persuasion check please.
10
Gorbund scratches his chin, bits of old scale flecking off like dandruff.
"Might be," he grants. "Busy night. This Floon, yeah, he came in with Volo. Left with...somebody else."
He puts his pipe to his mouth and puffs, his head on one side.
"Name's escaping me, this other guy. Funny, looked a hell of a lot like Floon. Better clothes, though. Smarter talk. Sharper blade. Know him?"
"That would be Neverember, if I recall our brief correctly."
Gorbund nods.
"Aye, that's it. You're the one with the memory, Gregor, I give you that. Renaer. Dagult's kid. They say he and his old man are on the outs, but who knows? Lotta folks around here don't see much daylight between one Neverember and another. Maybe somebody didn't like his face. Maybe somebody who didn't care for the name Neverember decided to have a heart-to-heart while he was in the neighborhood, get some things off his chest. Anyway, young master Renaer walked out of my establishment with his skin on, and so did his friend Floon, so what exactly does this have to do with me and my shop, Horsa? And how does it concern..." he waves the pipe at Falshen, "...your fancy fella here?"
"Dav' wants us to come out of this looking good to Master Geddarm, Gorbund, VERY good. I want to do everything in my power to make that happen, and I want nothing to tarnish our standing in his eyes. Volo's friend going missing after last being seen at the Dragon, at the very least... complicates that goal. Anything you can give us could help, and if you can't help us directly, pointing us in the right direction would be extremely helpful."
Gregor leans back in his chair, "As for my friend, here, he's - for the moment- a fellow employee of Master Geddarm. I cannot speak to any more than that, but I trust him."
Persuasion again, this time with Advantage.
19
“Dav, huh?”
The dragonborn horks up a massive glob of black phlegm and spits into a nearby bucket, which sizzles and sparks at the impact.
“Look, I like Dav, and I want him to like me. You know me, always happy to help. But uh...how do I put this with the necessary...delicacy?”
He grinds out the last word slowly, as if making sure he’s pronouncing it properly. He leans forward, and his voice drops to what he probably thinks is a whisper.
“Dav might not have told you. He has a...cousin in town. New arrival. From out East. Big shot. Pain-in-the-arse. Bad house guest. His kids, the ones he brought with him from out-of-town...they aren’t well-behaved. Some of them, they’ve been hanging about my neighborhood. Pissing where they shouldn’t, if you take my meaning. Might be these tykes know more than I do about your missing...worthies. Might not make polite conversation though, not like you and me. Savvy?”
Gregor frowns, "Well, if Dav is hosting, it would be rude of me not to make them feel well taken care of as honored guests, their manners notwithstanding. Do you know where I could go to pay my respects, and if they would appreciate anything in particular as a welcome present?"
The dragonborn leans back in his chair, that much-abused piece of furniture groaning dangerously, and regards the ceiling.
"If you're dead set on paying a social call," he says, putting his pipe to his lips, "you might try the old warehouse on Candle Lane. As for a welcome present...well, these boys aren't sophisticated gentlemen, unlike present company. They appreciate the simple things. A pack of cards. A bottle of something fierce. A bevy of local beauties would go a long way, if you've got that sort of thing up your sleeve." He shrugs. "Otherwise...entertainment? Poor fellas get bored, I think, which is what makes 'em so foul-tempered. But whatever else you bring..." he jabs at Gregor with the stem of his pipe. "Bring friends. Stout friends. Preferably new friends, savvy?"
Gregor tries not to wince at the pipe jab, but damned if the dragonborn doesn't have some weight behind him, "Don't worry Gorbund, I have every intention of keeping things civil either way. Family squabbles won't do anyone any good. You've been very helpful, and if I'm able I'd like to repay your kindness. Your choice, one of either of my usual offerings at no charge."
He gets up, "One last thing, do you have rooms available tonight?"
Gorbund heaves himself out of his chair, pausing midway to hack up a lung.
"I got a bed or two free, yeah," he wheezes out once he recovers. "You and blondie need to flop here? You need to eat?"
Gregor nods, "Food would be delightful. Anyone of interest in the common area?"
"Naw, just the usual poxy mongrels. You and your pal find a table, I'll send my lad around with a plate or two of the best slop in the house."
And with that, the good publican leads Gregor and Falshen out of the back room and into the intensely atmospheric common area of The Skewered Dragon.