Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

Outside the Manky Mermaid
The three holy men crowd round Lambert for a moment, but they have not forgotten the man's own blade, and their leader nods and touches his temple briefly.

"We are at an end here. We will not find the information we seek from his man," he says to his companions, who slowly back off. "Let us proceed into this den of depravity and degeneracy. Perhaps some others who are less... covetous... have seen our brother, or know his whereabouts."

"Alright, alright!" the man says, putting his hands up, defeated.

"You Red Priests drive a hard bargain. Can’t blame a man for trying to turn a profit in times like these! But you’ve twisted me arm, ‘ere!"

He lets a deep sigh slip out:

"Last I ran into him was down at the Gassy Goblin. Looked rightly stewed, if you catch my meaning!" he says, pointing them way off down the street.

Well then. Better to be lucky than smart, Banio thinks. And better still to be both!

Banio chortles inwardly at his good fortune, but takes care to seem grave as he slides into the seat nearest the stranger-- once more, within rib-sticking range should the need arise. He motions Trusova into another empty chair.

"Keep your voice down, man!" Banio hisses, as if the fellow were not already doing just that. Banio's eyes dart hither and yon, apparently seeking College-of-Doors-related spies and assassins in every knot of drinkers or shadowed corner. "These are not matters for ignorant ears. I need not tell you, sir, that one does not simply walk into the College uninvited. However."

Banio Phelbt heaves a sigh, like a man prepared to indulge some folly against his better judgement.

"My colleague and I--" Banio twiddles his fingers at Trusova-- "have been sent to hear your petition. Speak quickly, and spare no detail, for you shall not have another such chance."

"I'll hold, I say, I'll hold you to that!" Foghorn peers at Rausimod intently. "What the hell possessed a dwarf to join a fishing crew anyhow?!"

Inside the Manky Mermaid
While deals were going sideways outside, and were just taking shape a few tables away, in the corner where Trusova and Banio were about to work over some simple-minded noble, Foghorn takes in the timbre and the mood of the noisy room. With the price of the fire brew tonight it was flowing, and that was always a sure sign that a brawl would eventually erupt. The dockers and fisherfolk were usually to blame, and likely would be again tonight, but things seemed calm enough at the moment. The sisters were antagonistic as always, but no one was biting just yet.

A well-fed and rosed-cheeked wench in a beer-stained frock stops by the table to collect mugs. "Another round fer you'n yours?" she asks as she prepares to set off through the crowd to the bar.

---

"You -- you have?!" the Marenessean says, leaning closer. Again, there's a whiff of the scum that was skimmed from the river all day long, and that drives him back to the corner. "How is it you already know of my... seeking knowledge?"

Outside the Manky Mermaid
"Silence your wagging tongue, man, or I'll add it to our collection!" the priest warns darkly. "You saw not Pagric -- you only seek to send us on a fool's chase. This will not be forgotten, wretch. Lie to me again and you will immediately discover how the Red King treats deceivers and prevaricators."

And with that -- the three men turn and go, heading for the entrance of the Mermaid.

Foghorn waves the wench away. With part of the day's earnings lost to little fingers getting the best of blustering dwarf, it won't do to spend too much. Besides, Foggie intends to be sober when the inevitable brawl breaks out.

He's still waiting for Rausimod's response to his question.

Trusova takes a seat, watching Banio ply his trade with an odd fascination. She didn't know what the hell Banio was on about; she wasn't planning on fleecing this man, but rather doing an honest day's work stabbing his enemies, maybe.

Her thoughts strayed to Whiskeyjack and how much it was going to cost to keep him alive, and all of a sudden she was committed to Banio's evolving grift, no matter how far outside her wheelhouse it was.

She assumes the role of Banio's hired muscle, keeping an expression that is two parts serious, one part humourless, and a pinch of bored. Her gaze scans the crowd looking for trouble while Banio talks, but she keeps a close ear on the conversation in case things go south.

Rausimod squints his eyes at the man as though determining whether to trust him or not. "There's good, easy money to be made in fishing. Starting money, if you know what I mean. And also, one of your crew is a Dragonseer! That is an omen I intend to follow! But I won't tell you which, otherwise you'll try getting in on my fortune." Clearly the dwarf is at least partially insane.

"Easy, you say? As in easy come easy go?" Foghorn knows he shouldn't rub salt in the dwarf's wound but he can't help it. "Let's hope our luck holds out on the water tomorrow."

The dwarf scowls into his cup, which is slowly growing warmer from having nursed it all night. "I may have other pressing matters come the morn."

"That a fact? Well then I'll be wantin' my cut from the bounty on the blob, thanks." Foghorn holds out a callused hand, his gaze steady on Rausimod.

A little math in his head - Rausimod has always had a head for numbers - and the dwarf pulls out four silver coins from his purse. "Your share, captain," he says with a sneer. He slides the across the table with a loud scraping sound.

"My pleasure. And you're welcome back aboard should you feel inclined." Foghorn pockets the silvers.

"What d'you reckon's blighted the waters, eh?"

Banio's jowls crease with a frown, equal parts pity and exasperation, as if the nobleman were a slow child.

"Do you think that a spider may add one filament to her web, or a sparrow fall from the skies of Grim Biskerstaf, without the College being aware? And you, who have the temerity to seek their aid, would cavil and question when those worthies condescend to dispatch their humble servant to hear your suit?"

Banio puckers his lips and shakes his head.

"I fear for you. I truly do. You're on trial here and must make your case, now or never."

Lambert commits the three faces to memory.

The Red Priests may not know it, the Red Priests may not care, but the Red Priests had just made an enemy of Lambert Wolke.

"Watch your backs, sirs…" the thief calls out. He pauses a second for dramatic effect "… that place is full of crooks and criminals."

The thief winks, and then slinks off into a lane a ways off, watching for the three men to exit with Pagric, so he could get back inside safely.

The dwarf looks the man dead in the eye, opens his mouth, then shuts it again. What would he know if the only scourge in the world? The ancient dreamers that slumber upon hoards of gold and treasures deep in their mountain or far beneath the waves? Humans didn't have that intimate knowledge as Dwarves had, so how could he understand?

"Could be anything. Likely a result of you manlings shitting into holes that drain into the sea. Disgusting habit."