Gaedren gives you all one backwards glance with that smirk, as if he thinks he's been clever, before the guard who is holding the guide rope jerks on it. The end of the rope is bound tightly around the hateful old man's hateful hands and he moves forward in a sort of droopy crawl. An old man's shuffle.

All those lives destroyed. And he tuened out to be just an old man.

The other guard nods at you all. "We'll see he gets to the East Watch Post. Though it may be a while before someone can get to his case." He glances meaningfully down the pier and into the city.

You can see one...no two fires. Even from here you can hear the screams and the sound of steel clashing with steel. A voice drifts up, someone close by, shouting, "No Evard!" And then the crash and clink of a shattering plate glass window.

Sometime after you entered the fishery...it feels like it's been months...the word came down from the castle. King Eodred II had died. And his young queen Ileosa was supposed to have taken command.

Eodred wasn't exactly popular. But he was begrudgingly respected. Ileosa is even less popular. And there's no respecting her, begrudging or otherwise. The guard shakes his head. "Tha rumors are already spreadin'. That she killed 'im. As if any could know so soon." A sudden roar above drags all eyes skywards. A cluster of griffons drifts across the moon and heads north, further into the city. That means even the legendary Sable Company has been called out by the royal court.

"I hear they even called in tha Hell Knights..." the guard says conversationally. He spits on the pier. "Oh well. Best go start smackin' heads. They don't pay me ta look pretty."

Vaddis asks after the Greasy Bucket. The guard stops and thinks. Then frowns. "Tha Bucket? Ya. Not too far. Head north along tha docks 'til ya hit Osmer's Lane. Go west about two blocks. Though..." He looks north. "If ya got business there, I'd hurry. They said that neighborhoods one a' tha worse right now. Lots a' gangs on tha street an' they don' care much who they catch. Jus' wanna beat some heads in. And I heard someone's burnin' buildings 'round there."

Anything else anyone wanted to do here?

Toke hunched behind Selvin, attempting to avoid the guard's eye. His greasy hands rubbing over each other in nervousness. He whispered into Selvin's back, in an attempt to mute himself from the guard. "Perhaps we should return the cards to the old crone." He mumbled, "I'm sure we will be getting a pretty hefty reward for all our trouble."

"Yes, after we return the cards, we'll head to the Greasy Bucket. I agree." Vaddis starts toward the woman's house that owned the Harrow Deck.

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"Her name is Zellara," Tarrov reminded Toke.  "But before we go, I'm not sure if we've searched The Fishery as completely as we could have.  Could there be any more information or anything else of value here?  I'm thinking particularly in that office upstairs."

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Skirk hiccups and blinks.
He had just had thenmost lucid hallucination...
Shaking his head roughly he sighs

Clearly the stressful his revenge crusade had driven him to the brink of sanity.
Now the fiend would meet justice... provided the humans actually provided it... splitting his throat should have been the preferred option.

Human town, human rules he says softly to himself shrugging.

He'd been dreaming of his long lost brother Nimminek of late... he wondered if that was a  side effect of the stress.
He would have taught Gaedern a lesson no doubt!

Sighing again, the wizard wonders what the world would have been like if the rascal of a rat was still alive...
He had never approved of Skirk learning magic after all....

Shrugging, he follows along with the group. Deeply introspective.

Selvin, now without his Eidolon companion surrounding him, glared at Gaedren. "Good riddance."

To the guard he gave a nod. "Thanks for the info." He didn't like the turn of events in the city, but he wasn't sure he could really do anything about it. Or if he should.

He glanced at Tarrov. "You want we should go back in an' search some more?" He didn't sound as though he really wanted to, but he was willing if that was the decision.

"I'd like t'get the cards back t'the o....Zellara 'fore we go t'the Inn." Considering Toke had just been corrected about the name, he corrected himself.

We might find a clue as to the identity of Lamm's benefactor in there, Mr. Kindness, somewhere. Or something else. I need to go to the Greasy Bucket and find my sister first though. I'll think of returning the Harrow Deck and other things after she is safe." Heads toward the Greasy Bucket.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:42, Fri 11 Oct 2013.

A quick search of the fishery turns up little. Other than the cross dresser's knife masterwork dagger, a few odd empty flasks the alchemits can use nothing special about them, and a handful of coins 16 copper pieces there is naught except the dead and smell of urine. The office is fairly empty. No ledgers or papers are to be found.

Zellara's house is on the way, a detour of only a block. When you arrive, it looks...different. The windows are boarded up and the stoop is thick with dirt as if it has not been swept in over a year. Inside the table you sat around earlier is overturned and broken. The chairs are stacked against one wall. The food you ate before is gone and cobwebs hang thick in the corners. A rat looks up at you curiously and then scampers off. The house looks to have been unoccupied for some time.

"Hey!" A woman standing in the street is shouting at you. "Get on wit' ya. No lootin' here! All the good lootin' is up north. Lest that's what my Sedgewick says." She spits on the ground. "No good...if'n he gets knicked again, I'll cut him inta small pieces and feed 'em to tha fishes!" She scratches her arm and shuffles off, turningnher head as she goes. "'sides. No one's been livin' in there for over a year....since that fortune teller lady died..."

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Tarrov looked up at the apartment in barely-disguised shock.  They had just visited the apartment a day ago, and it had been in a much-different condition then.  Had there been an illusion, or . . .?  Tarrov scratched his head, then swirled his fine cloak about him as he turned to address the unknown woman.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but we are no looters."  He bowed to her.  "We are associates of Zellara, and are deeply saddened to hear of her passing."  He coughed and looked at her searchingly.  "It was Zellara you were speaking of, was it not?"  The bard sighed.  "Do you know how it was that she died?"

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This message was last edited by the player at 11:07, Sat 12 Oct 2013.