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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2842487" data-attributes="member: 15187">That evening the Hydra assembled once more in the Hat and Staff. Gerard wasted no time in appraising his companions of what he had discovered. Of the three people he had investigated, Misomorph could be dismissed from consideration. Quickling, a cold, calculating elf seemed a potential supplier of sorcerers coins, albeit an expensive and discreet one. The third spell merchant of interest was Grisha, a surly dwarf who set his stall in the market square every afternoon. This worthy had already left for the day when Gerard had made his inquiries in the town square. Undaunted, Gerard had quizzed nearby stall holders and been given to understand the dwarf was generally considered an unpleasant and unscrupulous fellow. Gerard had been able to get good directions for finding Grisha’s house, which was situated in a somewhat isolated area an hour’s walk along the coast. The companions fiercely debated their options. Since they could hardly ask either Grisha or Quickling outright if they supplied the Blood Sails, at least not with any realistic expectation of an honest answer, they would have to be more circumspect in how they carried out their mission. Eventually, they took the decision to visit Grisha’s house the next day, timing their arrival for when he was occupied in the market. Hopefully they could unearth something of interest without arousing any suspicion. They agreed to meet at two hours after midday as Mortec and Stravarius claimed to have some business to attend to at noon. With that, the gathering came to an end. Each went their own way to arrange for meals and rooms. The following morning, the companions explored the many curiosities that a town devoted to wizards had to offer. Though many of the wares on display tempted them, most lacked the coin to indulge their desires. Gerard, fresh from his morning toilet, found himself well disposed enough to regard even the vexing locals with a tolerant eye. The temperature was moderately warm and the breeze coming in from the ocean carried a pleasant scent, uncoloured with the noisome refuse that normally floated in the waters near human habitation. Whatever else they were, the nobleman had to acknowledge that the inhabitants of Sorcerer’s Isle kept the cleanest town he had ever seen.Somewhat before noon, Stravarius and Mortec retraced their steps of the previous day and returned to Novorod's Tower. Though both strove to appear calm they were taut with anxiety. The Black Elf had not had a moment’s rest the previous night. His proximity to such a heavy concentration of magical power had made his nightmares even more intense. Even now he felt the unpleasant tingle of sweat beading high on his scalp. Despite their trepidation, they persisted with their march. To each, the potential gains from an interview with the mighty inhabitants of the tower far outweighed their fear of the unknown.All too soon, they stood before the entrance. Once more they were overwhelmed by the brooding entropic finish of the tower. Stravarius glanced at the gnome and then stepped forward and placed his gloved hand against the door. He was absurdly pleased that his arm was completely steady as he did so. Silently a section of the wall slid away, or perhaps it just disappeared. A poorly illuminated passageway was revealed. Seizing the initiative, Mortec dodged around his larger companion and entered the tower. With an annoyed grimace, the Black Elf followed and then there was no longer an entrance behind them. They were gone.*****In a half derelict tavern named the Broken Crow, Moxadder was deep in conversation with a man called Ramain and quietly beginning to panic. This was the second establishment he had visited this morning, a continuation of his trawling journey through the town’s scum pits which had begun with the Ravished Mermaid the day before. His cautious inquiries had born little fruit thus far, but that was to be expected. He had been careful not to reveal his motives or purpose when asking questions and this had greatly complicated matters. After spending an hour observing the truculent denizens of the Broken Crow, he had decided there was nothing more he could learn there and had tried to leave. Halfway to the door he was accosted by a paunchy man who smoothly ushered him to a table and offered to help him with his ‘questions’. The following half hour saw an exchange of veiled references, outright bluff and a species of double talk that left Moxadder emotionally and intellectually bewildered. Initially, he had planned on tricking the stranger of all his secrets but within five minutes he found himself desperately trying to hold is own in a conversation he understood less and less of the longer it went. After five minutes more he was reduced to desperately clinging to his new goal of not revealing the purpose of his visit to the island. He felt completely disoriented and could no longer even remember what he had last said.Ramain professed to be an ‘information broker’ and offered to sell what he knew to Moxadder. Alas, the Irudeshian realised that to ask specific questions would inevitably give the man a strong insight into what he was after. Baron Yorath had made it clear he didn’t wish to be implicated in the investigation of the Blood Sails and this left Moxadder at something of an impasse. Sensing his reluctance, Ramain launched into a long winded analogy of their situation, which the Irudeshian completely misinterpreted.“Are you saying that the Blood Sails are part of a splinter faction of the Church of Laster who are believing their leader is the horny re-incarnation of their God?”, he hazarded hopelessly. “No, I’m not!” Ramain shook his head in disgust. “It appears that I have to speak a little more clearly. The Blood Sails are working for someone, which is all I’m willing to say at this point. In doing so, they have angered a lot of very important people and I think it’s safe to say that given the power of the people being annoyed, the Blood Sails won’t be around for too much longer.Stung by the contempt in Ramain’s voice, Moxadder floundered into another line of questioning. “What do you know about people selling sorcerer’s coins on the quiet?” The question provoked an evil smile from the man opposite him.“Sorcerer’s coins eh? I can’t tell you anything. What can YOU tell me?”Moxadder fought to keep the surprise off his face. “nnnothing, nothing at all”, he stammered, not even convincing himself. “Okay, see, what I’m really after is the low down on the Blood Sails” he mumbled, forgetting that Ramain had already plucked this information from him and expanded upon it. Ramain relaxed and didn’t even bother to hide that he had the drug confused wretch where he wanted him. “That information I can give you, but it will cost you a sickle”.  Moxadder’s spirits sank even further. He had spent the last of his money in nursing drinks in the sinks of Sorcerer’s Isle. “I don’t have the scratch with me”, he began, “but I can get it to you within the hour. Or better yet, I can give you some Devil Weed! Tricky stuff to come by in these parts!” Ramain looked pityingly at the desperate creature in front of him. Clearly he had wasted his time trying to finesse money from a penniless fool. Far better to make him his willing slave.“I’ll tell you what”, he said, flashing a smile that didn’t betray even a hair of human feeling. “I’ll give YOU some Devil Weed, as well as what you want to know, and in a few days time, you will tell me everything you have learnt about the Blood Sails”. Moxadder sat very still, intimidated by the man’s complete control of the conversation and the chilling lifelessness of his eyes. Ramain leaned forward and the Irudeshian’s attention was momentarily caught by curious pendant he wore around his neck. A silver disc worked with the motif of a many horned demonic skull seemed to stare at him with its ruby eyes. A faint foreboding at the back of his mind told him he had seen such a symbol before. With a start, he snapped his attention back to his inquisitor’s face and swallowed nervously before nodding submissively. He was painfully aware of his fear, and also that he couldn’t hide it from the menacing information dealer. “Excellent”, purred the rogue. “I can see that we understand each other. Now listen carefully, the Blood Sails are lead by a man named Rumscully Jack…”*****</blockquote>

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