Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

"Fair," Trusova comments. She turns about and heads back to the Manky Mermaid the way they came, walking briskly and keeping her eyes out for trouble.

"Bit of a shit night, weren’t it?" Lambert says, looking behind him as they make their way back.

"Never stops in this place. Always someone looking to punch your teeth out!"

Trusova's optimistic streak shines through.

"Yeah? Honestly, getting jumped was an improvement. Got me out of my head after seeing that 'demonspawn' back on the docks. Fucked up, that was. But there's nothing like a fight to clear your head. And hey, we did get a solid lead on a big payout from our run-in with the esteemed Confessor Tyrinious. I've definitely had shittier days."

Not seeing his juvenile agent, Banio puckers his lips into a pout. He'd love to get the child's report, but it's entirely possible that she's taken his initial silver and skated at the first sign of trouble. Then too, there's something to be said for getting out of Mermaid's common room before the stung Hissainian decides to send less official trouble Banio's way.

"Three silver coins for passage to all your ports of call, madam," Phelbt counters, flicking a glance over the wares. "I do mean all. And privacy, during. You might find better company tonight, but not more ready money."

"The docks, aye. Nasty bit of work, that. Mind you, might be a decent place to stay for the night. If we can find our captain, I mean.

And I’ve a bit of something to see to, myself. But there’s worse places to rest your head than a ship."

The Docks
Eventually, Trusova and Captain Foghorn find their way back to their respective rooms for the evening. The road warden finds a third-story room in a hovel that creaks and groans in the wind all night long as though it's going to collapse onto the street, but Foghorn knows he can secure a flea-infested bed at the Dockers 'guild hall' -- really more of a warehouse stuffed to the rafters with fishing and boating supplies, traps and nets and oars and broadcloth and such. It's smelly and drafty, but so is the captain.

The Wee Hours of the Morn, Atop One of the City's Ruined Towers
It's two hours past midnight when Lambert Wolke sees a stirring in the dark archway that leads back inside the tower, to the winding staircase that he used to ascend to the top of the abandoned fortification. It was solid enough, built by the elves all those centuries ago, but the wall on either side was a fright -- looking like it would collapse the moment someone set foot on it.

"Mr. Wolke?" comes a small voice, and one the man recognizes. Into the moonlight steps Meageller -- the daughter of Lord Winsome Kelberond, the city's lord and protector. Small, pudgy and birdlike, Kelberond didn't look much like his offspring, for she was a thin and willowy thing, with long dark hair and large, luminous eyes. Her expression is like it has been every time Wolke has seen it before during these late-night meetings -- vacant, vacuous, glassy-eyed. A strange air hangs about the young woman as she rings her narrow, bony hands before her.

"I have a task for you, if you'll do it." Gesturing out to the harbor and the river, she points at Kellebrik... the ancient, ruined elven town purported to have flooded hundreds of years ago. Grim Biskerstaf's locals know that the place remains largely submerged to this day, with only the tops of towers poking through the water, navigational hazards for boats and ships. But they also know that when the waters of the Vessen run low, more of the old structures rise above the river.

"Tomorrow night, the river will be at its lowest in many moons," Meageller says if Wolke at least raises an eyebrow at her. "And there is a particular spiraling fae tower I have interest in. For in that tower lies an amulet locked in a strongbox. I would have it, that amulet, and I will pay golden coins to those who would retrieve it for me."

"Aye, it’s me." the man responds to the shape in the archway. He wasn’t usually one to admit to being Mr. Wolke. No good ever came from admitting your identity to someone keen on only addressing you by your last name. Well, not no good…

He tosses a pebble up and over his head, back into the darkness, and flattering over the side of the elven tower.

"Lady Meageller." he responds, rubbing his hands clean. "And how are the little madams these days?" small talk about cats, before the dirty business of the night.

"What kind of amulet, might I ask? And how many coins?" It was abrupt to ask, but so was asking for a favor without asking how the missus was, or if Wolke still had all his teeth…

"And might there be other interested parties, your ladyship?" he says, tugging on his knife.

Will there be a fight for it?…

"They’re well," the young noblewoman says curtly, her glassy eyes fairly glowing in the moonlight. "If demanding. They are a demanding lot."

She blinks when the thief asks about the amulet. "The kind I am desirous of. It is an ancient thing, long forgotten. I cannot imagine anyone else will be seeking to find it." Those eyes search the man’s face when he asks about payment, and she smiles ever-so-slightly. Meageller’s slim hand goes to the rich red velvet of her purse and she clinks a coin or two there.

"Twelve pieces of gold I offer you and whoever else you employ. And aside from the amulet… you may keep whatever you find there."

"They are." Wolke remembers well. "But ain’t everyone, at the end of the day?" he says with a shrug.

"Once I don’t find the knife of some mad elven pirate in my back out there, then I’d be happy to fetch it for you."

Twelve gold for a quick in and out job…

An awkward moment of quiet then; the deal having been sealed.

"How are things on your end, then? All alright over there these days?"

Lady Meageller Kelberond is not one for small talk, Lambert knows, so when she merely smiles shyly and makes a small, warm sound in her throat, he isn't surprised. "Thing go well enough. This amulet will help." Holding two coins up in her nimble fingers, she adds, "Secure it for me, and ten more will follow."

"Right you are. I’ll be back here two nights from now, all going well." he says with finality. He knows she just slip away into the dark now.

Early Morning at The Docks
The early morning hours see the crew of Captain Foghorn's boat assembling again. The sun is not yet fully up; the bells in the tall tower of the Thrice Blessed church have not yet rung. The prior day had been lucrative on the water, but most of the payment has vanished into the sewers along with the Dragon-worshipping dwarf carrying those golden coins. Foghorn and Phelbt don't know that story, a fact which becomes increasingly evident as the minutes pass and Rausimod doesn't look like to show.

"We chased him all the way into the undertunnels. I suspect he’s face down in a puddle of shit and blood right about now; knife in his neck. Nasty things down there… or so I’ve heard." Wolke says finally, with a shrug.

"No use wondering about it now. I’ve got something for us. There’s ten gold in it. Easy night’s work too, if I do say so myself."

He looks around at the faces to see how many are hungry for the coin.