“Well yes, my good lady, I just so do happen to be part of Gibson Gavalanting Guar-guardians o’ good.” Hugh says drunkenly. He then holds out the almost empty bottle of liquor, attributing the lean-in to mean she wanted some of his drink. “Ya want some? It’s good stuff y’know.”

Felizia flushes with pleasure and begins talking at a pace so rapid it is difficult for Dimma to keep up.

"Oh, that so kind of you to say so. I've been working on my recipes for decades and decades. It's kind of what halflings are known for, you know? I do a lot of foraging myself, especially in the Hool Marshes, and I make my own salt, which Gellan has been trying for years to get me to sell, but its kind of an old family recipe and Granny Greencup would box my eyes but good if I let it get out beyond the family. I would love to learn some more dwarven dishes. I've been doing a lot with seafood lately, I mean this IS Saltmarsh, but I heard dwarves use a lot of lichens and mosses, is that true? I figure it must be true, which is disappointing because there are so few mountains here near the Azure Sea to obtain stuff like that. But-- you mentioned special ingredients. I've been to most of the areas around here, but Gellan won't let me go into the Dreadwood. 'Felizia -- look at the name. They don't call it the Nicewood' he says! He's probably right, but! There are supposed to be black mushrooms there, and allspice berries there too. I KNOW if I could get at those things, I could really take the next step in my cooking!" She pauses for breath, and looks at you shyly. "Let me know if you and your friends ever go there. I'd pay well for even one of each. Just to make some flavoring....wow! That could make my name in all of Keoland!"

Elsewhere at the table, at the other end, Hugh's slurring makes Lady Regan inch backward, though she notably does not appear repulsed. "Why---is that Gellie's Bastronian Aquavit? He imported that directly from the Icy Sea. Four men died to get that bottle to Saltmarsh." She chuckles. "You naughty boy. A lady shouldn't drink such spirits." In spite of this, she nudges her glass towards Hugh. "Tell me, Mister Silverford. What exactly was it you found in the Dilpas House? It seems so frightening." She shudders.

At the had of the table, Primewater leans in to Tul. "Would you and your comrades be opposed to a little private discussion after dinner? I believe we may have some business to attend to." He takes a small bite of the nettle salad and beams, turning to the halfling and exclaiming "Felizia, my dear! A triumph in every sense of the word!"

Tul nods to Primewater.

”Yes of course, we would be happy to discuss the happenings of Saltmarsh with you after dinner.”

Tul is curious what Primewater will try to sell them after dinner. She is sure there will be a story and it will be well told. He and Gibson have a lot in common, she thinks to herself. They would need to be careful though. If he was associated with the Sea Princes he will want to know what we found in detail.

“Ah, just some old batty wizard. Hughie sliced his head right off! Not scary at all.” Hugh says with a chuckle. “Talk to Gib, I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about his daring exp-exlpoi-exploist. Anyway, you know what I mean. He kept all the dusty trinkets and what not in some bag of something or other.”

"Please," Gibson says to Zola with a chuckle, "my friends call me 'Gib' so you can call me 'Gib.' Mr. Lemonyellow was my father, may the embrace of oblivion consecrate his memory." He makes a twisting and scooping motion with his fingers that you can only assume is some sort of strange, religious gesture. "As for Young Sir Lordship, he seems to be growing into his big boy britches just fine! He's having the time of his life with all this excitement and whatnot. With that shrewd old sack full o' wet blankets what goes by 'Skerrin' around, I'm sure he'll develop into a right proper diplomat, for whatever that's worth." Absentmindedly taking a bite of whatever's in front of him he continues in hushed tones, "But enough about Saltmarsh's most eligible bachelor! Tell me, what manner of man is this father of yours behind closed doors? Hear me now, I get a strong enough read on his public face, but I want to know what makes him tick. Every businessman is interested in money and influence, but this particular sea baron strikes me as one who has distinct, well-defined goals beyond simple coin." Gibson steals a brief glance back at her father. "As sure as I sit here, he'll have some sort of job he wants done with the utmost of care and discretion, seeing as he's gone through all the trouble of entertaining an outlandish lot such as this. But with Cumian as my witness, I want to know the measure of the man we'll be entrusting our short-term futures to. Moral and spiritual concerns abound for a man of the cloth such as myself, as I'm sure you understand."

Lady Regan is quiet for a moment, then clears he throat and pushes her wine glass a bit more towards Hugh. "Oh, you are no fun, Mr. Silverford! I had hoped to hear stories about grand smugglers' treasures and all sorts of nasty pirates getting their just desserts from you and your intrepid friends." She dramatically pouts, and from the other side of the table, Captain Fireborn rolls his eyes broadly.

"Now, now Lady Regan. Leave Hughie alone. Knowing him, plenty of wrong'uns got their 'just desserts.' And knowing the Royal Protector Lord Anders, I'm sure Hugh here got plenty of reward." He eyes Hugh shrewdly. "I'm just shocked which side I found that boy on. Him and ol' blueskin over there are just as likely to be playing for the other side."

Arvastan looks up from his conversation and grins with bemusement, but Eda steps in before he can respond.

"Now, now Captain. Go on and be careful of whom you accuse o' what. Plenty of folk in this town dip their hands into the black market from time to time. Fortunes were built on it." She looks at Gellan and nods. "Present company excepted, of course."

Gellan nods graciously. "Water under the Sharkfin Bridge, Eda my dear.  You are the leader of us 'Traditionalists,' after all. How could I take offense? And your own papa is as good and decent man as ever set foot in Saltmarsh, despite what our new friends' benefactor may insinuate."  "Whatever their motives, though, let me propose a toast to Gibson's Gallivanting Guardians of All That is Good! The only thing that could push me off the lips of everyone in Saltmarsh! I hope you continue your meteoric rise in this town."

The other guests at the table all (except notably Zola), raise a glass and drink.

Gib Persuasion: 14

Zola watches her father's toast dispassionately, and sighs when he sits back down, looking over at Gib, considering his question.

"He is very different from what he wants people to think of him.  He wants everyone to think he's some sort of bored society man-about-town, but that's not really him. He cares. He cares so much about what people in town think about him, he cares about me. He even cares about Mum, though Gods know why. He's also a lot sharper than people think. Everyone thinks Eda is the dominant voice on the Council, but I've seen how Dad is able to twist her around his finger, so she ends up seeing his point-of-view without her even knowing. Which is why I think he doesn't like Anders....Lord Anders. Somehow, he and Dad just clash on everything. It isn't even about King Skotti. There's something else there. I wish I knew what."

She blushes and returns to the subject of her father. "Dad is...well, he's complicated. I know some of his dealings maybe aren't on the level, but I don't know that he ever breaks his word. I also think he genuinely loves this town." She grins, remembering herself. "Don't get me wrong, he's also a world-class arsehole, and whatever he's going to ask you to do will benefit him tenfold more than you. And check the fine print on anything he makes you sign. Trust me on that."

Dimma nods her head and levels with Felizia, "If I'm out Dreadwood-way, you'll be the first to know and I'll keep my eyes peeled for black mushrooms and allspice." She raises her cup for Gellan's toast, putting on her businesswoman's smile to mask her discomfort at her group's "meteoric rise." With the toast out of the way, Dimma begins to dig into the meal proper, hoping to enjoy what's left of the nights' festivities without too much intrigue.

(Unless anyone has anything else, we can move to the end of dinner.)

Gibson resorts to light discourse that begs the question of "What constitutes *polite* conversation?" and regales anyone who will listen with ridiculously over-the-top renditions of his exploits that are thoroughly not believable.

(With the revelation that business will be discussed after dinner, getting that info out of Zola was my only goal so I'm good to move on.)

Tul tries her best to watch how the others interact around the long table without seeming to be watching. She's never been at a dinner like this before. It was either small dinners with her parents or raucous affairs in whatever dingy tavern was closest to the docks when she was in port, and lately just meals with her mother. This required skills she had never learned. The others seemed capable of talking about minor things with people they barely knew but yet gave the appearance of taking great interest in the answers.

If Eda Oweland takes a break from her conversation with Arvastan, Tul will try to introduce herself and ask what Primewater meant by 'traditionalists.' If not, she'll bide her time until dinner is over.

High is content to continue to the end of dinner. He would chow down on the food, mostly using his fingers and lets out the occasional loud belch. 

There is a lull in conversation near to when dessert is brought out, so Tul has the opportunity to ask Eda about the Traditionalists and the Loyalists, and the woman laughs in her deep, husky voice.

"Ah, you've asked the right question, there. Sister. You have representatives of both so-called factions here at the table today. Rare thing that. The prime mover and shaker is the only one missing though, eh, Gellan?" Eda looks first and Manistrad and Fireborn, then to Primewater.

"Not for lack of trying, Eda, my dear. I don't think Skerrin likes me that much. I doubt my invitations even make it to the boy's desk." Gellan puts on a wounded face and chuckles.

"So, I assume you all know that King Skotti is suddenly very interested in Saltmarsh after decades of leaving us alone, eh? Well, the arrival of Manistrad and her mining company, and Lord Anders has really cemented a fracture in what used to be a pretty harmonious place."

Fireborn raises a hand to interrupt. "Now, Eda. I'm not sure that's the right way to...."

He's silenced by a mean look from Eda. "You'll get your chance, ya big peg-legged bastard. Some of us remember how it was when the Sea Princes had their thumbs pressed down on us. We hate that lot of sonsuv*****es as much as his Lordship does, but we don't want to go to war. And we don't care about mining or any sort of big industrial development. Saltmarsh got on fine for centuries by focusing on fishing and shipping, and not having the king's big nose up our arses every moment of the day. We just want to be left alone to do things the old way. Lord Anders got so frustrated with Primewater an' me here that he called us a bunch of narrow-minded Traditionalists, and the name stuck."

Eda's diatribe has chilled the (mostly) convivial atmosphere of the dinner so far. Fireborn forcibly puts his fork down. "What you're describing, Mistress Oweland," he says through clenched teeth, "was a town where lawlessness reigned and the poor honest merchant couldn't compete with the smugglers. The Princes practically ran this town back then. Like it or not, the law must be obeyed. If you lot could handle your own affairs, I, nor Lord Anders would even be here. And for your information, last time I checked, King Skotti was your king too."

Manistrad bobs her head in agreement, the dwarf's cheeks fiery with anger. "I dinnae ask to be put on the Council. Lord Anders put me there so I could speak for the mine and my miners. And I see a boy who's been put in an impossible position, trying to do the best he can to keep Saltmarsh alive. Look at the fishing the past few months. Its dying. And this lot--" she gestures to the lot of you. "Just proved there's a lot more funny business going on in this town than people think. If you idiots didn't fight that boy every step of the way, and put yer money where yer mouths are maybe you could get summat done. This mine is the best chance, not only for the kingdom's future, but for Saltmarsh's."

There is quiet, as clear battlelines are drawn at the banquet table. It is Lady Regan who finally deflates the tension with a large burp. She flushes and slurs "Oh, excuse me. Shomething in Felitity....Felix....the girl's cooking didn't agree with me."

From the side, you see the halfling chef's face brighten with anger. Zola rolls her eyes, and Manistrad and Eda share a laugh, which seems to cut the tension somewhat. At the head of the table, Primewater grins broadly. "On that note, I want to thank you all for a lovely evening. Mistress Shirro, if you and your friends would join me upstairs in my office for some tobacco and tea, perhaps we can get to business."

Tul listens to the rising voices and the argument over traditionalists and loyalists and decides that her first attempt at small talk might not have gone very well.

"Thank you for the explanation," Tul says to Eda. "Though I did not mean for my question to cause such disharmony at your table," she adds to Primewater. "To an outsider it sounds like you may all just want what is best for Saltmarsh, but perhaps there is some disagreement on what exactly best might mean."

She folds her napkin and places it beside her plate and looks to the others. Wondering if Hugh will need assistance navigating the stairs up to Primewater's office.

"I think that yes, we would be ready to hear what else you have to say."

"Good! I had hoped you would answer thusly. Please, follow me." Primewater guides you back out into the foyer then up the ground staircase, his grace and speed surprising you all once again, given his bulk. He eventually leads you to a quiet little wing of the mansion with an wide-ranging panoramic view of the harbor.

His office is tastefully furnished, perhaps even sparse in comparison with the rest of the house. It smells strongly of bergamot and pipe tobacco, and you see a small, delicate tea kettle bubbling on a small stove.

"Tea? I had a taste for it as a young man, when I was first making my name in the world. Servants don't know how to make a bloody good cuppa. One of the few vices that I allow myself." He says, smiling at you all devilishly. He pours anyone who accepts a cup (notably pouring Hugh a cup whether he accepts or not) and sips it and looks at you for a long, silent moment.

"I understand that you have already had some contracted dealings with our Royal Protector. That means what I am about to tell you puts me at risk, depending on what you decide to do with this information. I am a man who enjoys risk, though, so take that for what its worth. You may know how Lord Anders Solmor came to be the Lord Protector of our fair little maritime town. As the story goes, his mother Lady Petra Solmor, owner of the third largest shipping firm in the country defied a warning from the Hold of the Sea Princes and led a blockade runner around the Princes' ships to deliver vital supplies to King Skotti's war effort. The Princes sunk the ship, took her prisoner, tortured her and had her body delivered to the family home, where the boy found her." He looks at you gravely, before seeming to change the subject.

"You know, when Lord Anders first arrived, I thought he would do splendidly here. Young lad on the make. My Zola was instantly smitten. But I soon became suspicious. The boy, and his mendacious minder Skerrin are ambitious. And ruthless. Restarting public executions, blaming every small scale act of smuggling on the Princes. Using it to expand his power and undermine the good work that I...that we were doing. I began to grow suspicious as the scope of his plans for Saltmarsh were unveiled. And just recently, I found something. The ship. The ship that supposedly attacked his mother's flagship. It does not operate under the Princes' banner. It operates under a scarlet flag. I believe someone, perhaps the boy's retainer, perhaps he himself, staged the attack on Lady Petra's ship and committed the foul deed placing the blame on the Princes."

He finishes triumphantly, looking at each of you. "The ship is called the Pale Prow, and I have located it. Do I have your interest and attention?

Tul sips on her tea, savouring the delicate balance of flavours, letting the liquid cool in her mouth before swallowing. She listens to Primewater talk and watches the small curl of steam rise from her cup at the same time.

She's listening to the tone of his voice, and the rising and falling of syllables and trying to decide whether he believes what he is saying.

(Insight: 8 )

When he gets to the end of what he has said, she waits a moment longer, trying to remember if she ever heard of a ship called the Pale Prow before.

(History? Any advantage from her background at sea?)

Accepting the cup and turning his back to study the room further, Gibson slips a small flask from a hidden pocket and pours a bit into the tea before concealing the container once more and completing his revolution. At the conclusion of the story he downs his cuppa in one go. Steam escapes his nostrils as he sighs contentedly.

"I'll be the first to admit that's a fine story, but as one who tells tales for a living may I just say that we could polish your delivery a bit." Gib smiles at Gellan. "But that's neither here nor there! I have a few questions before we take this yarn at face value, my friend. Perhaps this addled old brain is just struggling to keep up, but why would an unsuccessful attempt to break a blockade land this dame's son a cush gig like this one?" His brow furrows as he strokes his chin in contemplation. "Also, how in Cumian's black void did you manage to find out which ship it was what took hers, much less manage to track it down? If hers was sunk and she was taken, it stands to reason her crew was either killed or taken captive as well, no?" Gibson straightens up and squares his shoulders. "Now to the more pressing and pointed question: Why bring this to us? It seems you're as much a fan of that miserly old elf as I am, but I don't think that's reason enough to make us co-colluders to your potentially-treasonous dealings. No... You've got an angle." One eyebrow cocks. "What do you hope to achieve by exposing this alleged conspiracy?" Smiling the whole while, Gibson levels a gaze at Gellan. He accentuates his words by waving his walking stick as he continues. "Like my scoundrel of a father always said, may his non-existence grant him peace, 'Πες μου την αλήθεια αλλιώς θα σε σκοτώσω.'"

Hugh takes a small sip of the fragrant tea before discreetly but also not discreetly spitting it in a nearby plant, the rest of the cup soon following. “Not my kind of stuff,” he mutters under his breath as he looks towards Gellan, his foot tapping a telltale sign of his attention. 

(Tul -- Go ahead and make a History check with advantage; Hugh may as well if he wishes.)

Tul, it is very hard to get a read on Primewater. He's very clearly performing a bit for all of you, which quite effectively masks the truth of what he's saying.

DM Screen

 Primewater's face softens and he smiles widely at Gib. "Gib, as always, cut to the heart of the matter with your questions. After his mother's unfortunate passing, control of her business, her lands, and the ear of the king came to the boy. I believe he personally petitioned the king for this. To, as it were, 'bring Saltmarsh in line.' If he were to suceed, it would earn the king's gratitude and a great deal more. For example, the king's daughter is only a year or two older than Solmor, and her engagement to the future Duke of Ulek was ended when the war broke out." 

He raises his eyebrows suggestively. I believe he is angling for a way into King Skotti's inner circle, and he used his mother as prop, as it were, to make his move up the ladder. If, I can prove to the King that the boy is every bit the liar and manipulator that I suspect, then perhaps, he and his reforms will be cast aside and things can return to normal here in Saltmarsh. Kimbertos Skotti is many things, but he is not a man to trifle with, nor manipulate."

He sips his tea and turns his back to you, studying the harbor. "I will be honest, with you, old boy. Business has not been good since Lord Anders's crackdown. I am vastly overextended, and it pains me, that the dwarves and merchants like that bloody spy for Iuz in town are favored over the town's institutions like myself and the Owelands. Even given the rather depressive state of my own business, though, I am convinced that something is off about the boy."

He comes out from behind his desk now, pacing with nervous energy. "As for how I came across this information, I am not without my resources. The Princes never claimed responsibility for the attack, and I never believed they did it. They pursued the ship, yes, but there were firsthand accounts of this other ship, sailing under a blood-red banner, that got to it first. I merely...pulled the thread. I brought it to you, because I wish to have you as allies before the boy recruits you. I know he and Skerrin are planning some other operation to use you on, no doubt to make his own hold on power more secure and perhaps tie you to him even further. I am presenting...an alternative."

“You got coin... to compensate us?” Hugh grunts.