Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

The children swarm around Wolke, Rausimod and Phelbt as Foghorn and Trusova sidestep past the pretend melee, heading into their destination: The Manky Mermaid. Passing beneath the worn and faded sign depicting a dirty, disheveled, half-naked woman with a fish tail beckoning those on the street inside, the pair walks into what they discover is a very busy, noisy, and smelly establishment. More than a few eyes turn their way from the bar and various tables, and a group of dockers that Foghorn knows make rude gestures and offers pointed curses.

"You’ve coin, I trust?" the barman says to Trusova when she orders, a hunched dwarf with a woolly beard and a misshapen head.Back outside, it takes a moment before Banio settles the pint-sized, would-be marauders down. One continues to whack the Dragon-worshipper with a wooden sword as the tall girl, clearly the leader, comes right up to the man.

"We wants real money," she says from beneath long, messy bangs that desperately need cutting, and that hide some of the pock marks on her young face. "Silver ‘an gold! You got some?"

Trusova tries to avoid leaving her weapon unattended...

"An leave them by the door," the bartender says, pointing towards a barrel and rack near the entrance. "Lucky the guard didn’t take them off you before now."

Trusova sighs. "Fine."

She asks how much for the ales while keeping one eye on her gear.

Foghorn watches Trusova speaking with Barthros, the dwarven bartender. He hasn't decided if the outlander can handle the local fire brew. He pretends not to notice the Dockers. He scans the place for fellow Fish Wardens and checks the gutting knife at his belt in case things get ugly between the factions again.

The Manky Mermaid
"Three pennies for fire brew," Barthos says to Trusova as he gives Foghorn a quick, acknowledging nod. "Third cup is free, though. Four p for wine, or beer… no freebies."

A wide-bodied man lumbers over to help to relieve the hooded woman of her spear and crossbow, mumbling something at her she can’t quite make out. After he places the weapons in an alcove near the front door, he turns towards her with his hand out.

"‘An three for the weapons," the dwarf behind the bar adds.

Scanning the crowd as smells of meat pie waft from the kitchen, Foghorn sees a table of fisherwomen beckoning to him. It’s a little early for most of the fisherfolk to already be in their cups, but he knows the Fergans well. Four sisters, lean as tanned leather who wear their coarse, dark hair in long braids. There’s the firstborn who never says much, the second oldest, who usually says too much, the third who likes to flirt and fight, and the youngest, still somewhat pretty and sweet despite the city doing its level worst to her each day. They work a boat together, and have it in something fierce for dockers, Foghorn knows.

His plastered smile drops as the dwarf suddenly barks out at the children. "Enough! I would see this dragon, or expose you for your lies." The children had possibly made a mistake, using the single key word to which Rausimod had dedicated his life.

Daft bugger, this one…

"Aye, this one would pay to see that dragon of yours!" he says to the leader.

Or whatever poor pig you’ve got tied up and painted green…

On the Street
The children flinch and scramble back as Rausimod rumbles at them, forming into a nervous and twitching group of buck-toothed, wide-eyed, pot-for-a-helmet-wearing urchins doing their best to hide behind their leader. More confident than the others, she cocks her head at Banio after looking at the dwarf, then the thief. "Is tha’ what this be about then? Some dragon?"

"These two have other dreams, methinks. But with me, it's always about dragons. Best you learn that now."

Motioning for Trusova not to folow, Foghorn cautiously approaches the Fergans, "Evenin' ladies. What can I do ye fer?"

Banio side-eyes Rausimod. "It's not about a dragon," he says, and it is a tribute to Phelbt's good spirits that he says nothing more.

Addressing himself to the leader of the gang-- he need not stoop, for he and she see eye to eye-- Banio continues, "Now listen carefully, moppet. Down there, at the dock, is a great fancy ship from far Hissain." Banio's fat fingers twitch back the way they've come. "I will give you one silver piece, right now, if you will linger about that ship for me. Listen to anything the Hissainians might say to the dockers, or amongst themselves, in our language. Watch where they go.

"And I will give you a second silver coin when you come back to me, here in the Manky Mermaid, and tell me everything you've learned. How does that sound?"

Trusova is hard-pressed to believe she's handing over nearly three quarters to drink a cup of wine, but she chalks it up to the cost of doing business. She pays the 3p for the weapon storage and the 4p for the cup of wine.

After taking her cup, she turns to see Foghorn making for a table of women, which leaves her alone with her expensive cup. "Men," she mutters under her breath. "Always thinking with their fishing rod." She hoped that Foghorn didn't catch more than just a fish; she needed him healthy for their business arrangement.

She had imagined building camaraderie around a pitcher of ale, but that notion wasn't coming to pass. No matter, she thought to herself, let's make the best use of our time. She makes her way around, trying to drum up potentially lucrative rumours and job opportunities.

On the Street
"My name's not moppet," the young girl, who is of a height with Banio, says.

"It's Molly!" one of the boys in the pack says behind her.

"Molly Moppet!" another yowls.

"Shut it!" the girl says, turning to point a finger at her goblin pack. "Can't y'see I've got business to tend?!"

Turning back to the portly man before her, Molly cocks her head and holds out a hand. "Let's sees it. The silver."

When it's produced, but not handed over, the girl nods and then squints at the ship that is maneuvering into a berth. "That big gaudy one there, yeah? We can do that. One now, one afters we's tells you what we hears. That's the deal?"

"Done!" a lad shouts excitedly from the back.

"Will you shut it!" Molly shouts, red faced as she shakes a fist a her friends. When she turns around again, however, she's calm, and she nods.

"Done."

The Manky Mermaid
Sourpuss Marne just looks at Foghorn as he speaks and approaches the four sisters, but Nar, as always, speaks up. "Nothin' Foghorn. Absolutely nothin'. When was the last time you figured the Fergan sisters needed help from a broken down old boathook like you!?"

Tilde grins and shows she's missing just a few teeth. In the front. But she also swats her sister hard and pats the bench beside her. "Swallow your venom, ya fuckin' viper. Don't listen to her Foggie. Sidle up! Sit!" Her yellow smile widens as she writhes her hips a bit. "And I know what you can do, a little later tonight..."

Darcy, the youngest, rolls her eyes. "What you can do, fine fellow fisherman, is shut them dockers over there up. They's rude and crude and don't care none that they are."

Across the bar, Trusova mingles, and it doesn't take her long to spot someone who is rather out of place -- someone who doesn't look or sound like the rest of the Manky Mermaid's clientele. It's a nobleman, dressed in finery, and engaged in a quiet conversation with a couple of locals at a corner table.

At the front of the establishment, it's about time for the rest of the crew to arrive...

"Ignore, I say, ignore them," Foggie tells the sisters. "Sticks an' stones an' all that."

"Begging yer pardon, I'm here with someone." Abruptly, he leaves the Fergans to rejoin Trusova. As the others enter, he waves them over.

Rausimod grumbles about the lack of interest in dragons the entire way to the Manky Mermaid. His mood is not the greatest also due to having lost his mace earlier. Upon reaching the place, he has no weapon to offer; instead he observes the process conducted, looking for tickets or receipts.

If receipts are used, he turns to Lambert and whispers in a loud dwarfish whisper, "I'd gladly employ your services to get me one of them slips for a weapon. Could use one since ol' masher took the swim of the deep."

Trusova sees the out-of-place noble but struggles to find a line of attack. If this was a cavalry charge, I wouldn't hesitate, she chides herself, but the simple truth is that she is out of her element here. Now, let's see, maybe i'll - oh here comes Foghorn.

"Back so soon? Hey, check that noble out there. I smell money; could turn out to be a patron with deep pockets. How do we make contact? Not really my specialty."