Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

"That sounds like an okay prospect, Lambert. But listen, before we start, I just want to clear the air about the thugs that attacked us yesterday. I imagine they're still out there and won't be giving up."

"A few weeks back, my patrol had come across a Knight Herald in a pitched battle with a pack of highwaymen. I scattered the bandits with a charge, but it was too late to save the Herald. In his saddlebags we found a message with the Royal seal on it, destined for Lord Kelberond. We drew lots, and I drew short, so it became my job to deliver the damned thing."

"The message must've been pretty important, because the bandits followed me all the way to Grim Biskerstaf, and even tailed me after I had delivered the bloody thing. Funny thing is, I have no idea what's on the scroll. Anyway, I tried to shake them by hanging out in the city, explore its culture and stuff. Guess it didn't work."

Lambert sits and listens, fetching some of the morning’s breakfast out from between his back teeth. Two fingers in his mouth, he nods and ‘aangg’s his understanding. He plucks, and takes the thing out, holding it up in front of himself for inspection, before placing it back on his tongue for second processing.

"Reckon we can handle that lot." he says, making a meal out of the morsel. "No offense to you, I mean. All at once, by myself… I’d be face down in a gutter. But a few of us together…" he makes a face that says it would be a ’piece of piss.’

"Can go looking for them, if you like! Get it all cleared up." he says, pulling his knife and letting it clatter loudly on the table.

Banio scratches a mark on his neck, which might be a bite and might be a shaving nick. He's pleasantly rumpled, but several coins lighter and unhappy to be up before the sun. Still, he figures that with the Hissainians after him, there's safety even in these motley numbers. There's also the matter of his foreign currency to be resolved.

"Shame that about the thieves," Banio says. Of course you can't swing a cat in Grim Biskerstaf without hitting a thief, present company included. "Listen, lady, last night when things kicked up, you held onto a little money for me. I'll be needing that back."

He holds out a pudgy little palm for receipt of same.

Trusova is pleasantly surprised with Lambert's enthusiastic willingness to murder her enemies. It felt good to be going on the offensive against these pricks. She pulls out her crossbow while they talk, checking the riser for cracks and making sure the limb bolts are snug.

"I'm game, with appreciation. Where do we begin?" she says with a smile, differing to Lambert's knowledge of the city.
She turns to Banio, fetching the seven gold coins. She places them on the table, glinting like tiny suns.

"Normally I'd charge a fee for holding onto stolen gold and smuggling it right under the marks' noses. But I'll waive it in exchange for retaining your services on this plan of Lambert's."

She turn to Foghorn, and tries to cut him in as well. "You fought well back at the Manky Mermaid. What do you say? We'll split evenly any profit from plunder."

"Good question." Lambert says with a lamenting sigh.

"Two ways to find a pile of shit, in my experience." he starts up.

"Sniff it out, for starters. Failing that, you’ll likely step in it." he scratches his chin, thinking.

"I figure, if we walk about this place long enough, they’ll find us again. Then it’s just a matter of putting them on the back foot!"

Trusova thinks on Lambert's plan for a moment. The metaphors were apt - Lambert was rather good with words, she noted - but it lacked action.

"Can't be that hard to sniff them out. How many out-of-town bandits are searching for a female Road Warden? I find it hard to believe they stumbled upon me by chance last night. They're probably spending resources, making underground connections, asking people questions. That leaves a trail. You guys got connections? If we ask around, somebody knows something. If we're lucky, we'll drum up a location or a contact. Either is workable."

Banio retrieves his coins with the alacrity of a rat rifling a refuse pile.

"What I want to know is why these pricks are still after you," he muses, tucking the money back into his little pouch. "They must figure that you've delivered the message by now. At this point, what do they gain? Are they trying to make an example of you? If so, then we're talking about a group with a reputation to protect."

She wonders about Banio's question. It's something she's thought about on more than one occasion.

"I figure these pricks think I might have snuck a look at the papers, and either want to know what they say or they want to make sure I don't spread what they say."

"Wouldn't be surprised if they were just pissed that a woman gave them the slip. A lot of those borderland bandits have egos like eggshells."

She reflexively scratches her almost-healed broken nose, wishing their fists were just as fragile.

"But, point taken. If we find out more about their motives, we'll put it to use."

"Well, why didn’t you read it? I’d have done…"

The man sucks air between his teeth. A sound that means crying shame, that…

"Knowledge is power, and all that!"

Trusova gives Lambert a look at that.

"Breaking the King's seal is a death sentence, and not a merciful one. I'm all for moving up in the world, but you have to be realistic about these things."

But the comment did spark her curiosity about Lambert, Banio, and Foghorn. What were their stories? What were they spending their time working toward in Grim Biskerstaf? She opens a line and leaves it up to them to decide how far to walk along it.

"So, you all Grim Biskerstaf locals?"

"Sorry, your lordship. Found it that way, didn’t I?" the man stands up to curtsy.

"Beggin’ your pardon and all, but I brought it here. Didn’t read it, or nothin’, Gods as my witness." from curtsy, to a mocking finger crossing his heart.

"Born and bred. Ahhhh, it ain’t all bad. Downright boring half the time, truth be told."

"It's a shithole," Banio says flatly. "It was a shithole before the blight and it's twice the shithole now. But people don't like peering down shitholes, so if you don't mind the stink, you can get a lot done in a town like this."

This seems an odd point of pride for Phelbt, as he arranges the drape of his stained and tattered cape like some sort of beggar prince.

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you still here? You've delivered your message. Why are you working on a scum scow rather than off--" the man's pudgy little fingers twiddle vaguely- "guarding the roads, or suchlike?"