Then the door to the bar opens and in walks a short, tottering hunchback, mumbling faintly to himself.  He spots you and shuffles over to you.  He cackles softly, “We knows ‘bout you.” His voice quavering and cracking.

"And what exactly is it that you are knowing friend?" Vaclav then drops his voice so that only the party and the man can hear. "I advise you to choose your next words carefully. If you do know us then you know what we can do." 

Claire smiles at the wench and hands over her gold coin.  "Thanks for the meal, and the information... I'm sure they'll all come in very useful."  She pauses, and passes over an additional silver coin.  "A tip for you, too.  For being so helpful," she says with a smile.  "If any new information bubbles up, I'm always interested in hearing it."

As the hunchback approaches the table and says his piece, Claire frowns.  Who is this person, and what's he talking about? she thinks to herself.  Does he really know who all of us are?

Insight: 11

The old figure is stooped and hooded in a dark cloak, so you cannot see his face, but the voice and demeanour are that of an old crone.  "Some say th' Sea gives secrets to those as it deems able t' hold their tongues," the hunched figure says in reply in a low, crackly voice discernible only to those at the table.  "Was she wise t' trust ye?  Scraggs 'ill be havin' the knowin o' that about now, heh, heh!"  There is no sense of challenge in the figure, who seems merely an ancient messenger.

Claire isn't certain but has a nagging feeling she knows this hunched creature from somewhere...

Claire frowns.  She can't shake the feeling of familiarity this strange, hunchbacked figure provokes in her.  His stilted speech would seem to indicate that he had powers of clairvoyance granted to him by his oddity; perhaps he could see or speak with the souls of the dead, and had found a talkative companion in the recently-deceased Scraggs.  Which outside of the bounds of the Church, set her hackles on edge.  Well to be honest, it set her hackles on edge even within the bounds of the Church, but at least those priests were somehow sanctioned by general society.  It was all very disturbing, this idea of communing with the dead in any regard.  Still, why this figure in particular would strike a chord with her, she couldn't place.

Do I know him from somewhere? she thinks, listening to his voice and trying to catch a glimpse of his face.
History: 6

"I sees many things at the bottom o' the Sea, heh, heh, 'n you," a claw-like finger points to Claire, "would bes wantin' to talk t' Kastor up in Barusi, 'bout that weapon."  With that, and a very soft chuckle, the anonymous figure move away toward the back of the inn.

Claire's hand instinctively reaches for the wrapped parcel on her back, before she scowls.  "How did he know-- you know, nevermind.  Creepy fellow," she grumbles.

Turning to the others, she asks blankly "Did anyone know what on earth he was babbling about?"

History; Barusi or Kastor: 17

(edit: show the roll!)

Vaclav stares at the back of the retreating man. "No idea. Still debating whether he knows too much though." 

Salazar is unsettled by the words of the old man.  "Fellow knows far too much for sure.  The question is, do the locals know him as some seer or as some loony?  You okay, Pink?  You seemed a bit shaken."

The shrouded figure slips off into the darkness at the back of the taproom out of sight.

For Claire and Vaclav:

"Well, there was something familiar about him, but I can't place my finger on what it was.  Plus, he was creepy, knowing what I'm carrying without even having looked.  Almost like an oracle of some sort.  He did mumble something about the Sea telling him secrets..."  She continues to look after the shuffling figure until he leaves her line of vision.  "... and he went out the back.  Should we follow him and try to find out more?  I feel almost like... he was trying to give me some advice.  I don't know whether it was helpful or not.  If he's some sort of god-touched prophet, it might not be a great idea to antagonize him."

A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks of what the man said.  Don't tell me we're drawing the attention of gods here.  Why?  Old wives' tales and cautionary fairy tales pepper Claire's confused thoughts, fueling her superstitions. 

I knew they shouldn't have killed Scraggs the way they did... I should warn the others of this.    

"Maybe Scraggs became a blood offering to whatever power of the deep there is, and that man is a messenger to all of us.  The sacrifice you made might have caught a greater power's eye.  Powers that hunger for human sacrifice aren't usually benevolent, though."  The thought makes her deeply uncomfortable, and she attempts to move quickly past it.  "But it's done and there's no changing it.  We can at least try to decipher what he told us.  Does anyone know anything about Barusi?  It sounds like a village or a town on this continent."

Vaclav tries to remeber anything he's heard about the town. "Where's the local when you need him?" 

History: 13

He then looks after the retreating figure. "Maybe Scraggs had some sort of deal with something himself? Who knows. I won't lose any sleep over the fact that he's gone."

About this time Nos Heliwr returns and enters through the front door of the inn.

Vaclav, you recall that Barusi is one of three towns in Northern Ibini.  It's over the far, western side of the island.  Each of the towns is run by a baron.

Joining the rest of the party, Nos Heliwr say, "I found out a few thin's; th Baron's deal 'ill prob'ly be a bit murky, leastw'ys accordin' t' Brother Conrad at th' temple. 'e also says th' best place t' sell gems bes in Grunal.  Sos when I talks t' Auld Jacque, he says th' Baron, up in Grunal by th' way, is hirin' mercenaries fer a 'delicate' matter, what Brother Conrad calls 'murky', an' Auld Jacque thinks t'is a bit odd that th' Baron's enforcers canna deal wi' it; those enforcers is bein' upin' their gaurdin' o' the Guild ships that's comin' in more reg'ular now it's spring.  Varnell, the Baron's chief enforcer, is in town, too.  'pparently 'e's a tough ol' piece o' leather 'n just why 'es in town 'as t' be special. One 'ould think so, bein's how this place bes such a back water."  He looks at Claire, "'n he says tha' th' best smith in th' north lands is in Barusi, name o' Krastor. Might know a thin' 'r two 'bout ye mystery weapon, Claire.  Anyway, some thin's t' ponder on."

Quote from Enkida >>

History; Barusi or Kastor: 17

(Sorry I missed this)

 

Claire has heard of Kastor.  He's unusual in that, though a local from Lucarcia, he claims to have been trained in far-off Honshu by their master weapon smiths.  Now Honshu is the neighbour of Claire's native Albion and the two states have traditionally constantly been at odds, if not in outright war with each other.  She knows that the Honshu master smiths are unrivalled in their abilities.  If Kastor truly has been trained by the smiths of Honshu he will be an excellent blacksmith.  Whether he'll have knowledge of your broken glaive is, perhaps, another matter.

Barusi is the town Kastor is based in, on the far western side of Northern Ibini.

"Yes," Claire says, Nos Heliwyr's words jogging her memory.  "I think I've heard of him before.  Kastor... he's quite a famous smithy," she tells the others.  "He'll likely be very formal and reserved, if the rumors I've heard of the people from Honshu are true.  It may be worth visiting him to see if he can repair this thing... even if he can't identify what the runes or magics about it might be."

Dinner is served by the serving girl who took your orders earlier. Whilst enjoying the relatively plain and uninteresting meal you note the figure in the corner is eying you up. This is the person the waitress identified as Varnell.

He’s not done anything more interesting than casting the occasional appraising  look your way however. He seems content to sip on his ale and remain alone. He also watches the door constantly. 

Feeling the weight of Varnell's eyes on the party, Claire keeps her head down and is actually grateful for the dirty brown mess in her hair, for the first time.  As she nibbles on her dinner listlessly, she glances up at the other man, trying to assess him just as much as he is assessing her.

Insight: He suspect any of us for something or is he just doing his job? 11

For Claire:

 Outside it is a clear spring evening, promising a cold, crisp night with maybe a touch of late frost in the morning.

"He seems to just be doing his job, but ugh... the way he keeps looking at us is unsettling," Claire mumbles into her drink, hunching her shoulders over a little more.