Tales From Ferroveil - Arguz Aijk: Private Eye IC

[Starsign]

Two people. That's all who knew about the BEAM gun prior to today.

Two suspects to learn. Two suspects to track down. Two people who may very likely know what had just happened here.

Arguz likes it when he's able to pinpoint his targets down, though he's never quite done it after making a gigantic error. Adraena knows he's on someone's payroll, even when she doesn't know who exactly. It's no doubt that her client, whoever it may be, will be warned about the ratfolk known as Arguz Aijk. He really lost the element of surprise; there's no way that Adraena wouldn't tell what happened specifically so her client can prepare for Arguz's eventual return.

On the other hand, Arguz will get quite a bit of recognition if he can manage to salvage this case.

"So a childhood friend an' a hopeful business partner? Well ain't that a backstabber if that's true." He replies calmly, though coldly as he considers both options. Friends can be hard to come by, especially when Arguz was growing up in Lowtown; he's lucky to have a big family. Having someone you trust backstab you? Yeah that'd hurt the ratfolk gunslinger more than a bullet. It's probably a bad idea however to assume that either one would be the obvious mastermind to this robbery. "Let's not jus' imagine it could be only 'em. I can look into 'em but they ought to have damn good reasons why they'd bite yer tail." The ratfolk's own, spiny tail swishes around slowly, small in size and length but nonetheless noticeable. "Jus' a figure of speech."

He leans over against one of the walls, accidentally greasing it slightly with cobweb and black gunpowder which has usually stained his coat. "I dunno how much this'll help Doc, but do you remember the last time you met yer lawyer and friend? Anything 'bout 'em that was different from how you usually knew 'em? Right now I could flip a coin deciding who to check out first."

[Capt. Infinity]

Pendleton thinks for a moment. "Hmm... Well, I can't say I've spoken to Bramsworth recently. He's a busy man and last I saw him I was handing off the finalized documentation on the modified BEAM gun, which I suppose could very well have sealed his opinion on the machine."

He pauses, attempting to remember further. "Franklin however, I haven't seen in even more time. Last I met him was about a week ago for tea. It was a make-up event for missing his latest party. The man loves to entertain, and I felt bad for missing one of his events." The Doctor stops, his eyebrows rising as he seems to remember something. "Come to think of it... He did mention something about me in regards to the party. Something about me being the "talk of the block" for some of the people there. Now, I hadn't paid it much heed at the time, as my name is often invoked by those at upper class events who want to seem enlightened on the modern era. But you don't suppose it means anything, do you? I had been discussing my latest invention with him for months by that point, and had shortly before the party told him of my nearing the finalizing stage of the upscaled model. In theory, it would have given him ample time to plan an assault such as this, though I still hesitate to blame the man."

[Starsign]

Arguz takes a listen to Abbersworth's explanation, noting what the professor's best friend had said the last time they met. Now the ratfolk has little idea of Midtown customs or gatherings compared to Lowtown. Whatever sort of "party" that Abbersworth went to, Arguz probably won't understand a single bit of it.

Yet his ratty ears twitch when he hears the worlds, "talk of the block." Arguz's eyes narrow as he finds himself quick to respond. "'Talk of the block?' Now that's some Lowtown slang if i ever heard it." There's a lot that Arguz can theorize just based off those words alone and even if he'd lack evidence it will also open up more ideas on who contracted the Firebrands. "Sounds like someone, possibly him, put a good word 'bout you. Can't say whether he thought there'd be no harm done or if he was drunk off his ass. but he could've slipped his tongue during that party you missed" Just on that theory, Arguz could be searching around damn near everyone in Midtown and Uptown, or ask question over question over question on every single thing Abbersworth knows about his best friend; Arguz can't tell which would be worse.

He gives another shrug as he wipes some of the cobwebs off his coat's shoulder. "Now this Franklin guy may not've sent the Firebrands here but he could've ended up squealing 'bout the BEAM to someone who got real damn interested in it." The more Arguz speaks, the more he realizes that Cinderworth is going to be a pretty important person to talk with soon

"You said he's an entertainer, huh? Throws lots of parties, corks out drinks, whatever those loud Midtown outings are like. Sounds like he's a hell'ova Midtown joyrider." Arguz changes his tone slightly to an eager friendliness over the thoughts of someone here being a Midtown party-goer. He has to admit, there's something appealing to going to a loud, raving party that's about having fun and enjoying the night; that's how some of Lowtown's parties can get. "I think I'd better give him a visit next. Anything you know 'bout the Cinderworths in general that I ought to keep in mind?" Arguz rattles his own brain in the meantime, trying to remember if he's ever heard of that name before.

Spoiler: OOC

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Gonna make a Knowledge (local) roll to see if Arguz has ever heard about Franklin Cinderworth or the Cinderworths in general: (1d20+11)[17]

[Capt. Infinity]

"It's Cinderhaul, actually. Try to get that right for when you get to his estate. Franklin's accommodating, but the average butler or maid tends to colour a sour opinion of you rather quickly with that kind of slip-up. ...Oh don't look at me like that, Camaelia. You are far beyond simply average!"

Pendleton does, however perk up at the possibility that his lifelong friend did not, in fact, outright rob him of his latest achievement. "I suppose that would explain it. Though the idea that the man's lips are loosened with mere spirits is a different matter entirely, but it is one that can be dealt with at a later date." He considers Arguz's latest question. "Hmm... Well, first and foremost, the man lives on 42 Westcrook Lane, up near the border to Midtown. He doesn't directly aid in his family fortune, and thus tends to himself on a private personal estate in the "Middle Class" district, as his relatives call it. He enjoys the freedom from responsibility, and uses the close proximity to fellow traditionally-lenient-yet-still-affluently-rich fellows to host a number of galas. Which are both likely too extravagant for the average soul, and yet not extravagant enough for the Uptown ilk."

The Doctor shrugs his shoulders. "Other than that, there's not much to tell. He's in-between parties at the moment, likely still cleaning up after his latest event, so he should be free to talk. I can give you a signed paper with my signet emblazoned upon it, if you feel that would ease your ingress into his estate."

[Starsign]

Arguz keeps Abbersworth's knowledge in mind as the ratfolk recalls what he remembers hearing about the Cinderhauls. Big-time charcoal-producing family. There's a bit to admire about Franklin if he'd rather go to Midtown and mingle there. Heck, Arguz is really curious what these "galas" are like... which is a really fancy word for a party; these Midtowners really like using their flowery vocabulary, don't they?

"Appreciate the signed paper," Arguz says with a small smile as he gets his back off the wall. "Rather not deal with another ruckus meeting him. Shouldn't be much more than a friendly greeting an' some questions anyway." He takes a look down at his empty holster, swinging lightly as it stays attached to his bronze chain belt. "...But I also gotta get a new gun first. Don't got the time to make another one myself. They got 'em stocked in weapon stores by now, right?" There's a small wave of relief flowing though Arguz as he's glad he's made enough over his prior jobs that he can simply purchase a pepperbox replacement rather than scavenge up a new one. Buying a new gun shouldn't be a long detour.

Before Arguz forgets, he quickly squeaks up another warning to Abbersworth. "An' one more thing. The Firebrands that came here don't know who hired me. They offered some sorta pay for helping them 'wrap it up in one pretty bow.' Fancy way of saying, 'rat 'em out.'" He frowns slightly, considering whether Adraena just might return here for more "answers" if she feels it necessary. "You two may wanna hide in case they return 'ere. If their client knows you at all Doc, then they're gonna bet you had something to do with it." He tries smiling again, whistling out, "An' I'm probably gonna be too busy getting yer device back to save you both right away."

[Capt. Infinity]

Pendleton nods, and makes quick work of signing up a short letter to his friend and handing it to Arguz. "Yes, I think that would be best as well. I have quite a few acquaintances with whom I could stay with for a while. But I think it would be best if I simply hire further security for my abode, as I hesitate to leave all my documentation and work unattended. For now, I'll hire some form of bodyguard and watch for the building until you can notify me that the threat to my work, and the whole of Ferroveil, has been neutralized. Godspeed, good sir." The Doctor and Camaelia see you off, leaving themselves to deal with the authorities on the matter whilst Arguz continues on his mission to get to the bottom of all of this.

The trip to the home of Franklin Cinderhaul is pleasant, if uneventful. Whilst Arguz is used to being moderately out of place in the more respectable portions of Midtwon, even he would start to realize just how completely he sticks out of the scenery as he approaches the unwritten, yet nonetheless obvious threshold of class and wealth that is the border between Midtown and Uptown. The cleaner streets, better-maintained buildings and roads, and generally ramping up of quality as the Ratfolk approaches the border is all the indication Arguz needs to know that he's headed in the right direction.

Little can be said of Franklin Cinderhaul's manor. It was a mansion, as so many other buildings were along Westcrook Lane, one of the final streets one must pass before hitting the lowest portions of Uptown. IT was large and extravagant, with a gothic feel that is brought into the new era thanks to a bright coat of daisy white paint along it's exterior.

The gates were left open and, as Arguz enters, the Ratfolk could make note of how staff members appeared to be cleaning the whole place up to a great degree. Washing windows, clearing hedges, and skimming a pool that Gunslinger could catch vague glimpses of from behind a series of hedges behind the house proper. Judging from the state of restoration, it would seem the man had just recently had a party, possibly even the night prior. There weren't exactly alcoholic beverages strewn about the place, but the degree of trampling on the front lawn, combined with the occasional Image result for Hors d'oeuvre tray laid out on a patio table as he climbed up the quite unnecessarily long driveway was enough to let him know that some degree of fun was actually had at the wealthy man's galas.

After a swift knock upon a bronze knocker placed upon a rather extravagant door, an aged Gnome man, likely in his late 130's to 140's, and dressed in an impeccably well-kept butler ensemble opens the door. His bushy moustache and equally bushy eyebrows obscure his face to a certain degree, with the pure greyness of all of it lending a further degree of class to his look. But the quick furrowing of his brow line, combined with a sudden uplifting of his chin in an attempt to look down upon the Ratfolk before him (despite Arguz having over a half a foot over him) was all the indication that was needed to elicit an understanding of the sense of marginal bemusement towards the Lowtown resident.

"Yes? Can I... Help you?" He speaks, with no small amount of confusion in his voice at the mere presence of Arguz upon his master's front porch.

[Starsign]

Arguz's trip to the Cinderhauls had been slightly sidetracked by the need to reacquire a gun; he wasn't going to continue this case without a proper weapon of combustion to defend himself with. Thankfully Midtown is not without its stores, better-furnished and richer than those borderline-stinks down in Lowtown. The ratfolk was amazed when he went inside one of those Midtown gunsmiths. It took the human smith there some convincing that Arguz knew how to use a gun, and that he had the gold to pay for it. He only needed one pepperbox gun but when it came down to it, Arguz will want a backup in case he runs into another weapon-shattering stunner like Adraena. Quickly he found his second, technically third pepperbox gun in its new holster, linked to the left of his bronze chain belt while the old holster remains at his right. He had no need to use both guns at once, though he felt the temptation to try. He's always been best using just one; the second is his backup.

It doesn't take him long after before Franklin's mansion absolutely stuns him. He's never quite seen an Uptown mansion before; usually he just hears rumors of their exemplary beauty and dazzling construction. Franklin's mansion however may be the closest Arguz gets to seeing a proper Uptown aristocratic house. GodDAMN this is massive! The whole thing screams, "I am rich, glorified, and amazing!" The ratfolk can't imagine living in a building like this. How much did this cost? And how much did all the staff cost?! There's so much to look at, from the hedges to the walls to the pool. He can't figure how one can keep track of the wealth spent in these parties.

Living like this must be paradise; much like paradise, there's no way Arguz is gonna live like this. He's struggling just trying to get a simple lot and house in Midtown for his family.

Arguz's legs feel slightly sore as he finally makes it to the door, having walked a long way under a time restraint. He expresses no sign of aching or tiredness as he is greeted by the gnome. "G'day, here to see Franklin Cinderhaul." The ratfolk, unquestionably Lowtown in his accent, shows the gnome the signed letter that Abbersworth gave him. "Here to meet him with respect from his friend. It's important business from Abbersworth." The ratfolk hopes that the servants here are as accommodating as Camaelia... Though given the mess around the mansion, Arguz doubts it.

[Capt. Infinity]

The Gnome man quickly grabs the letter out of Arguz's hand and reads it over, holding it up to the sun in an attempt to get an absolutely perfect look at the contents.

After a few moments of this, the man shrugs and sighs. "Another one of the eccentricities of Mr. Abbersworth. Mr. Cinderhaul's friends do so often lead such... Unorthodox lives. Right this way, but do try to wipe your feet before you enter. The help has its work cut out for them as-is."

The gnomish man leads Arguz down the hall and up a flight of stairs as they move to the far back west wing of the manor. The Gunslinger is given a full view of the three story mansion in all its glory. A ceiling full of fresco art, and topped with astonishingly complex chandeliers. Every hall leading to a plethora of rooms with some new wonder in each. The entire house was a testament to wealth and the benefits it affords, though the whole display was made slightly less as a legion of maids and cleaners worked to mop floors, clean out entrees, and just generally do the place back up into a presentable state.

Evidently the house's galas spread to every room, as the third floor had equally as much work being done on it, with maids in every corner dusting the place top to bottom, attempting to reset the entire manor such that it was ready for next week's event.

The Gnome butler stops at the end of a particularly lavish hall with a large set of ornate double doors at the end. He knocks cordially four times upon it in strange long-long-short-short pattern. "Come in." A muffled voice permits from far off within the room, acting with enough authority that the butler permitted himself to open the double doors and waive the Gunslinger in.

The butler accompanied Arguz into yet another lavish room, this one clearly a master bedroom of some sort. With a hallway leading to a walk in closet and full en-suite lavatory to the left, a frankly ludicrously fancy king-size bed to the right, and a large set of open glass double doors leading out to a veranda with a (quite beautiful, and exceedingly rare) view of the Ferroveil pier as it peeks up over several other buildings, whose roofs are far overshot by the uppermost floor of this massive abode.

Sitting on a reclining chair overlooking the balcony, with a small glass end table bearing a bottle of brandy and two shot glasses (one of which was half full of the light brown spirit), was a remarkably handsome light skinned Half-Elf man, whose midnight blue hair was combed into a very gentlemanly short side part, and whose eyes remained closed even as the two diminutive figures entered.

"Yes, Reqwin? What is it?" He asks, not moving from his chair. "Well, sir Cinderhaul. This young Ratfolk man has come to speak with you, on the behest of your friend, Dr. Pendleton Abbersworth." At these words the lord of the manor's eyes open, the Half-Elf sitting up in his chair to turn and look at the two men in his room with curious evergreen eyes.

"Well, now. I can't say I was expecting this. Thank you, Reqwin. I'll ring if I need further assistance." "Yes sir." The Gnome butler named Reqwin bows, giving one last questioning look to Arguz before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

Franklin Cinderhaul greets the Ratfolk warmly, smiling whilst absentmindedly stirring his glass of brandy as he sits on upright in his recliner. "Now then. To whom exactly do I owe the pleasure? And what exactly brings you to come to my humble abode on Pendleton's request?" He asks, seemingly genuinely interested, almost to the point of childlike, gleeful curiosity at the matter before him, whatever it may be.

[Starsign]

If Arguz thought the exterior of the mansion looked dazzling and enormous, then the interior is beautifully alien. Never before has he truly seen the lavish standards that a Uptown family member might have and it is absurd. The red velvet walls, the chandeliers, the wealth and variety in each room, the carefully-crafted smooth wooden floor; this is practically the life standards of a rich king. Arguz considered that this Franklin Cinderhaul had been living in paradise but it's slowly coming to the ratfolk's realization that one does not know paradise until they go in and experience it entirely. And while Arguz probably will never experience it, he's certainly all too eager to take more of a look around the mansion if he actually had the time for it.

Instead he has his mind set on Franklin, mostly. Arguz has to admit, that's an incredible view of Ferroveil from the pier, at least where the gunslinger is currently standing. It'd probably be more astounding if he actually walks to the pier and takes a look but he probably does not have the time nor the authority to do so... Granted, he hasn't asked but enjoying the view is not why he came here.

Instead he eyes the rich, Uptown partygoer with a curious, eager look. Arguz feels like he's almost a merchant here, except instead of offering a deal of goods it's a deal of information. How'd his merchant of a father work these deals again? Darug once mentioned that he had a couple strategies to really get a customer's attention; foot-in-the-door and head-in-the-door. Arguz never got why they're called that but he remembers the gist of both: go in with a small offer and dig in from there or go in big from the start. Maybe info can be used or traded like that? Arguz can be subtle and hint at things or be blunt and straight up with Franklin.

Deciding not to show hostility and express suspicion, he goes with the former. "Arguz Aijk, Lowtown detective. Here on business to help the Doc." He smiles, showing Franklin the letter should the gnome have given it back to Arguz prior. "He's been busy with something. Needed me to check up on something he's been planning. 'fraid that the message mighta gotten out." If Franklin happens to be innocent then he might not expect to immediately know what Arguz is talking about. "In yer last party or two, and it looks like you all had a damn good party 'ere, the Doc was apparently quite the topic there, something 'bout being, 'talk of the block.' Do you remember what 'bout him was being discussed?" Arguz isn't exactly being straightforward or to-the-point, but being straight-up could mean Arguz is in a lot of trouble should Franklin really be guilty of stealing the BEAM device.

[Capt. Infinity]

Franklin stands up from his recliner, receiving the letter and reading it thoroughly, though it evidently didn't explain much. "Hmph. For a man of science he can be awfully hard to pin down in a conversation sometimes. Something he's been planning? That's awfully strange. The only thing he's been willing to talk about has been..."

The Half-Elf trails off as Arguz continues, mentioning his idle gossiping. "Uh. No! Not that I can recall. Well, er, at least not at this last party. The party before this, about a week ago, might have had the man come up in casual conversation. Nothing really that special. Why do you ask?"

Spoiler: Sense Motive DC 15

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The man is clearly and obviously nervous about something.

[Starsign]

There's a slight frown from Arguz as he realizes that Franklin's reaction is not very helpful. The ratfolk can't get a gleam on this half-elf's expression. He sounds surprised but at the same time there's nothing Arguz can see that indicates there's something "off." If there's anything that he has trouble with, it's trying to figure out what makes people tick, especially Midtown and Uptown people. Arguz can do scene investigation, tracking, and gunning; talking to people is not one of those skills.

Once again Arguz is at a minor social dilemma, except trying to make a comparison with mercantilism is now out the window. Telling the truth sounds like the way to go but how does he present it? He might not have the time to visit Abbersworth's lawyer if Franklin turns up nothing and Arguz certainly doesn't have the patience for a case that's become very dangerous. He could very well draw his gun and begin an interrogation and the temptation is considerate, if only because he's on the clock. If he was sure that Franklin is completely responsible, the temptation would go from considerate to staggering.

Yet Arguz is taking a big risk just talking with the half-elf and trying any sort of hostile action would just make the risk far greater. Besides, the ratfolk hasn't hit a dead-end in this conversation yet. "Because," he began, suddenly frowning as the ratfolk's serious, venomous tone takes hold, "Recently the Doc's little BEAM device up an' got stolen by a merc group called the Firebrands. Doc had told only two people 'bout it, his lawyer an' you, and now I'm here to get the device back." There goes the news and any sense of secrecy with it. "Doc told me that he'd been quite the talk in that party a week ago, an' now he's worried sick that you might'a hired those mercs."

Arguz doesn't give the half-elf time to speak as the smaller creature continues talking. His dust-covered, venom voice certainly helps indicate where he draws the line at being snarky and incredibly eager even as his eyes fade slightly towards a hint of concern. "Now we ain't assuming it was you all 'long but I got the feeling you slipped something to someone 'bout a week ago." Arguz imagines the party might not have helped. Sure seems like chaos reigned last time and who knows how crazy these Uptown and Midtowners get when they can really let loose. When put that way though, it does sound like a hell of a time. "So I need to know who you were chatting with back then, an' I'm hoping you don't leave my tail hanging long for an answer."

[Capt. Infinity]

The expression on Franklin's face quickly turns to one of deep worry and regret. "S-stolen!? But that can't- It couldn't have been- Oh goodness it's all my fault!" The Half-Elf exclaims, cltuching his head in his hands as he turns to look out over the balcony, though a quick look at his expression as he turns is enough indication for Arguz to know that the man is suddenly in great distress.

"I... I may have a confession to make." The former Uptowner takes a deep breath to compose himself, before turning around to face the Ratfolk before him, though his eyes still glimmered with worry. "You see, whilst I like to lavish my home with great testaments to wealth, and while I am known to host raucous galas, I myself... am... exceedingly boring." The Half-Elf's shoulders droop, looking defeated. "I fill my house with all this stuff in an attempt to hide the fact that I lack anything interesting in my personal life. I own two grand pianos, but I never play. I have more books than I could count, and I've read next to none of them. But, as luck would have it, I have quite a few friends who have hands in various fields of Economics and Engineering, and it is through osmosis of their lives that I have things to talk about."

Franklin avoids eye contact as he speaks. "A week ago, at one of my galas, I... may have let slip some information in regards to Pendleton's BEAM device. It was well into the night and I had perhaps dipped into the fine liqueurs a bit too much by that point. You must understand, it seemed so innocent at the time. I had never considered that what I would say might lead to something like this! Oh heavens, a gods damned burglary! How could I let this happen!?" He finally looks Arguz in the eye. "Please. If there's anything I can do to aid your investigation, do not hesitate to ask."

[Starsign]

Arguz keeps himself from rolling his eyes as Franklin's confession comes out in full. At least the half-elf is innocent... mostly. There's going to be arguments between him and Abbersworth once this is done but at least it's not an outright betrayal... Now if only Franklin didn't slip the info way back. How drunk does an Uptown member need to be to slip something like that? A good deal of Lowtown people can hold their liquor a lot better than that, even if they are using some of their hard-worked savings on alcohol. He has to admit, Uptown people can really seem as irresponsible as the ratfolk gunslinger sometimes imagined. He does, at least, give points to Franklin for being worried about a friend.

"Well that 'bout explains it," Arguz responds, loosening his sharp attitude as he almost begins smiling. He doesn't like being serious or angry for a long period of time; that's not how his persona rolls. "I wouldn't say worry 'bout what you did, though yer gonna have to meet an' kiss up with the Doc once this is all done." His muscles ease up as he finds any serious conversation or interrogation will no longer be needed. He's got Franklin's attention front-and-center and the half-elf seems like he feels bad that this all happened.

"I;d Like to stay fer a drink, an' I bet you got stuff better than some of the crap in Lowtown." There's a very subtle sign in Arguz's voice. "Though I can't imagine how you Uptown an' Midtowners can live like this. But there ain't any time fer that. I need to know who you were talking to back at yer party a week back. Can you remember what this person looked like, or does he got a name? The more info I got, the sooner I know where to look an' the sooner I can get that device back." The ratfolk folds his arms, giving a relaxed smile to the half-elf.

[Capt. Infinity]

Franklin nods his head. "Yes... I believe apologies will be in order between Pendleton and I. I'm just glad someone's working to fix this madness." He acknowledges Arguz's plea for a drink and moves over to the bottle of Brandy, pouring two new glasses. "I hope this vintage is to your liking. My peers often say it's much too strong for their tastes, but I doubt that's a problem you in particular will have."

Franklin hands the Gunslinger the glass and then proceeds to sit down sideways on his recliner, facing the Ratfolk whilst looking down at his own quietly stirring shot glass, his face mildly pressed with the effort of remembering.

"A name won't do you much good. Thinking back on it, though I can't quite recall the name he gave, I do remember being unable to recognize the family. And let me assure you, I KNOW my fellow gentry. I suppose at the time I had enough inner doubt to believe him foreign or something to that effect. I suppose I wasn't as properly paranoid as I should've been..." He pauses, clearly struggling to recall details from the night. "He was tallish. Perhaps six feet, or even six foot one. His hair was some degree of black, though the style was obscured by a large top hat. He... I believe he had a moustache. I made a note at the time that it was awfully thin, and brushed up into one of those new-age swirly handlebars that men like to put on when they want to appear fanciful. His eyes are a mystery to me, as so many eyes are when you pass them to such a large degree as I. And his clothes were so generically civil I can't even remember details... Goodness this is frustrating. The man seems so abysmally average and generic, it's hard to suss out details."

The Half-Elf downs the brandy in one shot, attempting to clear his head, though he coughs a little thereafter. "Guh... The taste can be readily acquired with this vintage, but the smell is something entirely-" The rich man pauses for a short moment, seemingly catching himself on his words, before his eyes shoot up with a sudden revelation. "Wait. A smell! That's it!" He gets up quickly, and grins at Arguz. "I remember now! The reason why there's so little of his appearance in my memory was because I was overwhelmed by his odour! Thinking back, I recall that the man carried the disquieting odour of blood, raw pork, and machine oil. At the time I couldn't figure out the origin, but now I realize it was coming from him!" The Half-Elf nestles his hand on his chin, thinking. "Bloody pork and machine oil. Now where could such an odour come from..."

Spoiler: OOC

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If I'm being too obtuse with this, feel free to roll a raw Wisdom check to see if Arguz can acquire an answer through concentrated deductive reasoning.

[Starsign]

Arguz gladly takes the glass of brandy, almost ready to down the liquid before thinking about the half-elf's explanation. If there's anything that hurts information, it's the lack of a name. Names are important; it's how Arguz managed to find both Abbersworth and Cinderhaul. So when he fails to get a name for whoever Franklin had been a week ago, the ratfolk makes an effort not to give out another sigh. The potential culprit might be some Uptown man who smells of bloody pork and machine oil? What kind of crazy Uptowner actually works at those sort of factories?

...Wait, factories?

There's a silent pause from Arguz before swiftly raising his eyebrows as he puts twos-and-twos together. "Well hell, if yer cutting meat then yer a butcher, but if yer using machines for it then yer working in a factory. This Uptown guy you met probably was working down there..." An aristocrat working as some Lowtown worker? Yeah that doesn't click. "Wait, no not working, owning. Whoever you were talking to probably owns at least a pork factory somewhere down in Lowtown; but an rich Uptowner probably gotta own a hell'ova lot more than that." That helps center things down a bit, though not terrifically. Maybe that rattled Franklin's brain enough that he can recall now but Arguz doesn't have much of an idea... excluding the information he's heard around Lowtown and through his knowledge of engineering.

"Hah, whad'ya know," he continues, stopping Franklin's response as the Ratfolk continues. "Do the Aldercains ring any bells for you? 'nother one of those Uptown families; owns the whole damn meat-making process in Ferroveil. Probably have more to compete with if Ferroveil's main food wasn't fish. Think you talked with one of 'em a week back?" That should really narrow down Arguz's suspects should his guess be correct. He even remembers the biggest damn factory the Aldercains own down at 18 Murlock Avenue. It was one of the factory buildings that Arguz's deceased brother, Beas, passed by back when he could still work. Maybe that place should be the gunslinger's next visit if Franklin doesn't have any more leads to give.

[Capt. Infinity]

"The Aldercains? Hmm... Come to think of it, the Aldercains have a single primary heir to their fortune, and his age lines up with that of the man I saw."

Franklin nods, growing more sure. "Yes. It all makes sense now. I make it my business to know the hallmarks of a familial line within the gentry. And, now that you've put it so plainly, the façade of his fake alias falls away completely. The hair, the the smell, that tawdry affectation of the voice that only a man who deals in constant swill can put on to mask it. There's no doubt in my mind. The man I met on that night was Malwick Aldercain, heir to the Alcercain meat processing empire!"

[Starsign]

Arguz can't help but chuckle a little as he hears Franklin go off on some grand cheer. "You Uptown and Midtowners are all so flowery, ain'tcha?" He speaks with no sort of anger or frustration, though he'll never understand why these people sometimes talk like that; must be a part of their culture... His family better not start talking like that when they finally have a house in Midtown.

"Least I got the name; Malwick Aldercain, right? Those factories are gonna be a hell'ova gift for him when he's in charge." The situation comes a bit clearer as the ratfolk is now stumped on how the crime connects with the man. "No clue why he'd want that device if he had it stolen. He ain't got any competitors 'sides his elders and he ain't need a big, plasma-spitting to rid 'em off." He makes a large shrug, unsparingly keeping the glass of brandy carefully held in his bone-thin hand, though he hasn't given that much notice yet.

"I know one of his family's biggest factories down near Lowtown. Could check if he or that device was brought there. Might help if both of 'em are there but I don't got much else if they're not." He walks over to get a good look out the veranda, taking a casual glimpse at how much of Ferroveil's buildings and factories can be seen from hre. "Know anything else 'bout this Malwick? Not sure whether he'll be at his factory or his home or some other arrangement he's got today."

[Capt. Infinity]

Franklin pauses to think. "Well, while he is yet to be named the full proprietor of the business, he has been given a high-ranking managerial position at the plant which you just spoke of. That means that, whether or not he is the grand mastermind behind this whole affair, he will be at the factory should you head there. If this man is the one behind all this, then I wish you all the luck in finding him and bringing him to justice. I just hope the help I've provided can in some way absolve some degree of my shame in my fault in the matter." The Half-Elf pours himself another shot of brandy, and then lends it forward, offering a cheers with the Ratfolk before him.

"In any case, I wish you well. Godspeed, Detective Aijk."

[Starsign]

Arguz gets enough from Franklin that there probably isn't much more to talk about the situation. Last week, the half-elf got drunk one party and told Malwick Aldercain about Abbersworth's BEAM device, which later promoted the pork-processing heir to hire the Firebrands to sneak into Abbersworth's home and steal the device... Yet they left enough time for Abbersworth to hire Arguz before realizing the device needs the blueprints in order to tinker and unlock the whole thing. So now Malwick is probably working as a manager down at the factory on 18 Murlock Avenue and the device might be there as well.

...That's about the rough gist of it if the ratfolk is correct. Too bad he doesn't really have any real evidence to actually pin the whole darn crime on the Aldercain heir... Not yet anyway.

"Guess that does 'bout do it," he mutters loudly as he turns away from the veranda to look back at the half-elf with a smile. "With any luck I ain't gonna turn up dead in the next couple days." He gives a ratty snicker as his thin mouse tail stays still behind him. He was very serious when he first brought up to Franklin what happened with the device. Now he finds that there isn't much to worry... at least when he's not being attacked or shot at.

Arguz notices the glass of brandy still in his hand as Franklin pours himself another glass. No point to ignoring a drink before he heads off. He raises the glass in the air as he happily says, "Here's to good luck," and then downs the entire cup of brandy in one go. The taste is as he expects: bitter and strong. It feels real good to have when he needs to numb some sort of pain. He really can't afford alcohol most of the time; stuff like this is a premium for him. "An' Godspeed," he concludes, mentally wondering what that higher-class slang is supposed to mean as he gives a quick wave and takes his leave down to Murlock Avenue.

[Capt. Infinity]

The transition is just as stark going down the city's slope as it is going up, though it is decidedly less pleasant. The city slowly grew "lived-in". With signs of wear and tear on the buildings, and the occasional bit of detritus on the street acting as a reminder that people actually lived here and did things, not all of them necessarily on the moral up-and-up. Though it was still undoubtedly Midtown, what with the buildings having space between them and the occasional breeze hitting the Ratfolk's face as he wandered down the various lanes, it was plainly apparent that this part of Midtown was its own beast entirely. Just dark enough for the sullied to rise to prominence in less-than-savoury acts, and just rich enough for the worst of them to get away with it.

18 Murlock Avenue isn't technically in Lowtown, but it's close enough. The factory itself sits on a hillock of mostly stone from which one could plainly see the slums below. The fumes of other, less overseen factories framing the building from the front in a near constant spew of light-to-dark grey smokes.

The processing plant at the address, for what it was worth, seemed moderately well-maintained. The building looked structurally sound and, aside from the odd chip in the stonework here and there near the bottom, was in a decent condition, smog-discolouration aside. The front of the complex was embossed with a large wooden sign, which read 'ALDERCAIN MEAT PACKAGING INCORPORATED' in swooning, block capital letters that, whilst once likely a bright red, have now faded to a more piddling colour akin to rust or dried blood.

Aside from the occasional soul milling about the street, and the occasional clamour from inside, the entire area seemed deserted. Although a steady stream of smoke from the smoke stacks is a ready indication that work was being done within the factory proper.

Spoiler: Perception DC 15

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Looking about the side, you see a small, unmarked entrance in the back corner of the building. The door seems to be conspicuously left ajar.

Spoiler: DC 20

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You swear you just saw someone walk into the door as you got there, and they didn't seem to be a factory worker.

Spoiler: DC 25

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With your keen observational skills, you just manage to make out the corners of a grey full-length cape fluttering into the entryway before the figure slipped inside.

Spoiler: OOC

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Arguz is at the factory! Do as you will!

[Starsign]

The utter dreariness of the factory wilts Arguz's spirit slightly as he looks on at the giant building. Manufacturing sure is an odd thing; it's supposed to be more productive and more convenient but the lack of safety regulations make them more dangerous than fighting a war. The Aijks have already lost one of their children working in these places and Arguz made a promise to himself that he will never find himself working in one of those giant metal machines. Then again, he'd rather stay in the business he's in now than ever turn to some other occupation. Ratfolk don't tend to live long so Arguz doesn't have to think a lot about retirement.

An advantage with scavenging ratfolk is their keen eyesight, something Arguz makes good use of as he notices the unmarked entrance near the back of the factory building. Walking right through the front door is destined to end badly, not just because, he imagines, that managers here might not appreciate Lowtown people coming in just to look around. All Arguz really needs is to find Malwick and figure out how to get back the blueprints at least... Though the gunslinger probably should do something a little more... permanent with Malwick. After all, Abbersworth wanted the culprit stopped first; the device and blueprints come second.

So Arguz waits just a brief moment as some non-worker enters through the back as well so that-

...That person had a grey cape of some sort, wasn't it? That absolutely was Adraena, wasn't it?

The ratfolk feels his heart making slow, loud beats as anxiety briefly swirls through his head. On one hand this almost confirms that Malwick has a big role in this case. On the other, having to fight Adraena again isn't something Arguz wants. She wrecked his gun last time and she'll easily do it again if given the chance. He can't stand the idea of losing the very thing that he needs to defend himself, even if he brought a spare just in case. He'd much rather get his job done and avoid encountering her again. If she's gotten paid by now then maybe she won't particularly care what happens to her client.

Taking a deep breath, Arguz sneaks up and enters the unmarked entrance. He has a simple goal in mind: get in, don't get caught, deal with Malwick and the device, get out.

Spoiler: OOC

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Nailed a 30 on my Perception check. Now to roll Stealth to try and avoid being caught: (1d20+20)[21]

EDIT: Whoops!

[Capt. Infinity]

Arguz slowly inches through the doorway, and enters what must be a backroom storage warehouse for the factory. The room, caked in shadow and with only a dimly lit skylight above, has a fairly open centre area, but is lined on all sides by crates full of everything from canned meats to spare mechanical instruments. Along the walls high above is a boardwalk perimeter, likely to allow easier access to the series of pulleys and chains above, which were most likely used to move large crates onto transport carts.

All of this information was gleaned by Arguz in the few seconds he had to himself. This time was drastically cut short when, out of the shadows and too fast to fully react, a familiar hand reaches out, once again gripping Arguz by the neck, and hurling the Ratfolk into the centre of the room.

The sensation that followed upon Arguz's landing was similar to before, to a point. Whilst the impact upon the ground was no less painful, it was a sort of background noise to the sudden, all-around seizing sensation that overtook the detective's body, as if some spectral force were trying to seal him stiff in a frozen shell. The feeling was brutal, but Arguz was strong willed enough that he was mentally prepared to fend off the mystic assault.

The second one? Not so much.

This time, Arguz felt the magic (because let's face it, this was magic) take hold, seizing his muscles and joints, and forcing him prone where he lay, unable to move.

As Arguz lay there, paralyzed, a sound which could only be properly described as a maddened cackle arose from deeper into the warehouse proper.

"Nyahahaha! Veeeery good, Ms. Zathura. I dare say you helped spring my trap quite nicely." The disembodied voice sneered, as a body to attribute it to slowly appeared from the shadows. Arguz could just about move his eyes down enough to see the towering form of Adraena wander out from the shadows on the opposite end of the room.

"Don't get cocky, Aldercain. This almost went completely wrong. You're lucky I caught him wandering up the street, otherwise this might've gone worse." Adraena spoke evenly, though Arguz could almost make out the lightest hint of malcontent.

"Oh nonsense, my dear lady. There was never any doubt that the poor lowborn fool would fall into my trap." The figure wanders out from the shadows, revealing a sharply dressed man, in a three piece suit and wearing a rather large top hat. His hair a slick black with a thin, curly moustache swirling upwards in a spiral on both sides of his face. A small viper coils about his left shoulder as his hazel eyes glint menacingly. "For none can best the magical guiles of I, Malwick Aldercain! Master Warlock!" He spreads his arms wide, as if in awe of himself.

He turns to glower at the Ratfolk before him. "Now then, would you be so kind as to subdue him. The spell only lasts thirty seconds."

"Heh. So much for 'Master Warlock'." Adraena chides, before producing a chair from a far end of the room alongside a set of manacles, and forcing Arguz into it, tying the manacles behind the chair's backbars so as to keep the Ratfolk seated.

As Arguz finally regains feeling in his limbs after a short while, Malwick cackles to himself once more. "Greetings and good afternoon, my greasy-furred friend. Arguz Aijk, is it? My compatriot Adraena has told me much about you, apparently you gave her some trouble back at that oaf Abbersworth's house. It's lucky you didn't best her, otherwise not only would she not have been paid the other half of her dues-" He glares at the woman to his left, who returns the stare in full. -But you also would have put an immediate end to all of my wondrous plans." He smiles a grin that Arguz, perhaps for the first time in his life, could only describe as "megalomaniacal" as the Human magician continues on.

"I'm intrigued though. You seem to have tracked me all the way to my hiding spot, so colour me curious as to exactly how much of my cunning plan you managed to uncover. Don't worry, I'll be sure to fill in any gaps in your investigation. After all, genius is only truly enjoyable when it is appreciated by another. And Adraena and her band of ruffians are truly lost causes when it comes to conversation."

"I don't care about your stupid plan, Malwick. I'm just here because you offered more pay if I helped you see this through." The flame-scarred Aasimar retorts, giving the loud and egotistical man a sidelong glance of disdain.

"See what I mean? No love for the masterful art of dastardly ploys! So tell me, Ratfolk, what exactly do you know about my grand design thus far?

[Starsign]

There were always hints and signs that Arguz was going to have a day that he does not want to tell his family about; he made several mistakes that will worry those who don't support his work like Fahir and, to a lesser degree, Mirrud. But there was still a chance Arguz could salvage it, that he can twist it into some mythic tale of heroics that he could almost tell like a great, if violent, bedtime story to Doden and Caci.

After his "entrance" into the factory? Yeah not happening. He ****ed this up pretty well.

The ratfolk had little to say as he is thrown on the ground and paralyzed by the secretly-magical warlock. Not that he can get much out beyond a loud, crude squeak. He's sparsely been confronted by some sort of magic user and he sure didn't expect some Uptown manager to be a self-proclaimed warlock. It's not an exaggeration to say that Arguz is in a lot of trouble now, bound by manacles while being confronted by the warlock and Adraena. If there's one thing Arguz can confirm now, it's that all Midtown and Uptowners really do speak so darn flowery.

So what can one ratfolk gunslinger do when they are bound, mostly-helpless and asked for information? Keep up with the persona; don't look defeated. "Hah... Yer asking 'bout my exploits? Well ain't that a compliment." The ratfolk does his best to keep his lips smiling while his bone-thin tail is uncomfortably sticking out to the left of the chair. At least if Malwick is being full of himself, then maybe Arguz can work something with it if he can avoid being on the warlock's "mean" side. "Now you mentioned 'bout yer grand design? Well you certainly had a hell'ova plan I'll tell you that. You took a real, plasma spitting piece-of-work an' wanna go make modifications on it using those blueprints. An' you got quite the crew to get 'em fer you." Arguz gives a smirk to Adraena to hide his nervousness, "Real quiet group those 'ruffians' are," he snarks.

If Arguz can shrug, he would. As is his shoulder make some sort of passive "bump" as he continues talking to Malwick. "'fraid that's where most of my genius ends. You never quite had a diary lying around describing yer plan an', well, I ain't a mind reader. Would'a loved to figure out yer motivation 'fore I got a look 'round yer factory; I mean you manage it, right?" If nothing else, maybe Arguz can impress Malwick by indicating what info the ratfolk does know. "Yer gonna inherit the whole Aldercain business, heir an' all. Never heard anything 'bout someone else having a claim on yer family business. I could guess this whole matter's all 'bout wanting to inherit it sooner but I'm real damn sure you could do it without spending money on mercs and a device as big as the one stolen."

The ratfolk lets himself pause and await Malwick's, and hopefully not Adraena's, reaction. Arguz has never felt as helpless as he does now; even the one time he got poisoned he could at least blow away the criminals responsible for it. Right now he's doing everything he can not to break his persona. Underneath that is a very stressed and frustrated ratfolk who's almost scared to death of the situation.

[Capt. Infinity]

Malwick listens with a snide grin, giving a light chuckle at his mention of Adraena's team. "He has you there, Adraena. You weren't exactly stealthy either times. Especially not so the second time!"

The Aasimar remains cool. "The team I brought in was relatively fresh. I thought a simple job would be a chance to prove themselves. Mary and Marty proved competent, Arthur went and died, and Winslow..." The woman unconsciously clenches her left fist. "Was swiftly dealt with."

Malwick shrugs. "Oh well. Either way I got what I paid you for." As the Warlock continues to hear Arguz's spiel, however, he quickly grows sour in his expression. Not quite angry, but more so akin to a contemptuous teenager being reminded of their less-than-favourite parent. "Inherit it sooner? Inherit what? THIS miserable testament to squaller!?" The man gestures grandly in a circle, as if directing Arguz to truly take in the area around them. "I'd sooner inherit DIRT for how much it was worth to me. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble my family is in? I don't know if you've noticed, but the Aldercain family fortune has a rather heavy dependancy on farms which produce pigs for slaughter, a resource which becomes surprisingly hard to find when every miserable wretch with a glimmer of entrepreneurship in their eye gets the bright idea of TURNING ALL THE FARMLAND INTO FACTORIES!" The thinnish man roars with an impotent ferocity that makes him look equal parts dangerous and cartoonish.

"This damnable business's expiration date is sooner that the meat it's packaging! I'll be lucky if I can sell the factory for the price of the mortar it was built with once my oaf of a father deems it time to finally ease my annoyance and expire! I'd have to content myself with the scraps! Live off some paltry fortune we'd saved up in bonds and assets. Can you imagine that? ME, a master of the mystic arts, living a life of pennywise and savings!? No! I REFUSE to live that way! I, Malwick Aldercain, deserve BETTER than to live as the lower class does!" It... didn't take a mastery of the investigative arts to tell why Adraena showed consistent distinct contempt for the man standing before the Ratfolk at this moment. He exuded a level of affluent madness that would make even the most unabashedly gaudy and debaucherous of Uptowners blush at how over the top he is.

Malwick continues on, despite all the unspoken words against him doing so. "But I was not about to take such a thing lying down, of course. After all, I'm an educated sort, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that the end of ones woes can be found quite quickly in vampirism of the wealth of others." He grins... evilly. There was no other way to describe it, and it's best not to beat around the bush with this sort of thing. "I had originally intended to get in the good graces of some fellow gentry and, through either natural wiles or mystic subjugation..." He lightly pets the viper on his shoulder, which hisses happily in response. "Acquire a sizeable income with which to tide myself over. That all changed when I came across mention of Dr. Pendleton Abbersworth's device, after only moderate prodding from his compatriot, Mr. Cinderhaul." The man snaps his fingers and Adaena barks an order in response.

"Mary! Marty! Wheel it out!" The two henchmen from earlier appear out of the dark, wheeling out a mobile display table with a tarp over it.

"You see, whilst I originally merely heard Pendleton had a new idea in the works from a few casual sources, and thought I could somehow get my name on the man's device for personal profit, as Cinderhaul continued to spill out a deluge of information, a new plan occurred. Why gain money from the device's use... When I could use the device to gain money?" The Warlock sneered from under his top hat's brim as he reached for the tarp covering a large device on the table. "You see, my good fellow, most think that Darguac's folly was in poor utilization of the flood to his aid. But I know the truth. The real clincher to any good act of villainy... The man whips off the tarp in one swift motion.

"Is PRESENTATION!!!"

Presented before the Ratfolk was a device that, for all intents and purposes, was simply a largely upscaled version of the BEAM gun at the lab. However, the modifications thereafter were apparent.

It was a simply hack, it seemed. The back end of the device was decidedly bulkier, with a large mechanical block with two imposing electrical coils sticking out of it mounted to it's back end. It's front end was also altered, with the lenses no longer decreasing in size in a small apparatus. Now, they were mounted by a large series of metal spokes to the main body of the Cannon, with the two lenses now INCREASING in size, with the second lens looking about the size of a hand mirror, almost looking like a telescope without the shell casing around it.

"As you can see, I've made a few... modifications to Abbersworth's initial designs. It's not the cleanest job, no. But with it being done on such short notice-" Another glare at Adraena. "-I'm happy with what could be managed in the time I had. And I assure you, the device has been MASSIVELY improved to my ends." The Warlock snaps his fingers once more, and the Mason twins rush out ahead of the gun to wheel out yet another object, this time a mobile brick wall, easily a good three-quarters feet in width.

"I've altered the BEAM Cannon to spread plasma energy outwards in a large cone, utterly immolating anything and everything caught in the blast. Observe!" The madman moves to the side of the machine, prepping it for firing as the twin criminals quickly move away from the wall. The BEAM Cannon's new power block makes loud mechanical noises, with the two electrical coils on top of it arcing electricity between one another up their length, before dissipating in a violent *snap* upon reaching their apex. After a few second of calibration, the device begins glowing with an unnatural surge of raw energy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand.... FIRE!!!"

If the last use of the device was impressive. This one was STAGGERING. The sheer volume of pure white energy spewing from the mouth of the cannon would have been impressive, if it wasn't terrifying. The wall on the far end of the warehouse floor catches the slowly expanding circle of plasma projection in full, with the effects becoming apparent as sparks, smoke, and fire spew out from the edges. Though it's hard to make out, the noise of bubbling stone are enough indication for Arguz to realize what it was doing. The BEAM Cannon was melting a hole clean through the brick wall. And indeed, when Aldercain finally deactivated the machine, what was left of the area affected by the blast quickly spilled into the floor around it in a yellowish-white hot slurry of molten stone, the ray gun having utterly liquidated the lot of it, though it did rapidly cool upon pooling on the floor with black plumes of smoke wafting off the area.

"See? With this device, every wall's a door!" Malwick cackles like the madman he is, before continuing his lengthy speech. "And the precise wall with which I'm going to make a door is the west-facing wall on the tenth floor of the Grand Gold Bank! Once this device is mounted swiftly upon my personal airship, I will fly it up to the bank, blast a hole straight into the vault, rappel my personal bodyguards in to swipe the wealth within, and then flee the city before a damnable soul can be mobilized to stop me! And, just like that, I, Malwick Aldrcain, will become the single richest man in the history of Ferroveil. Just as I rightly deserve! Hahahahahahahahaaaa!" The man's evil laugh was just like everything else about him. Insane, gaudy, and very, deadly serious.

"Hahahahaha... Hahahaha... Haaaa.... Now then. Was that all clear to you? Any further questions, comments, concerns? I really do want you to have grasped the whole plan, else that whole speech I just made would've been downright silly."

"Too late for that."

"Oh quiet you!"

[Starsign]

There is little time for Arguz to say anything as he found Malwick's temper tantrum trigger. Good lord Malwick becomes talkative when the right incentive presents itself; and Arguz thought he's met some really talkative folks before. In addition, Arguz just doesn't quite get Malwick's motivation. Sure the technological renaissance is going to put a strain on the factories and the business may falter but the Aldercains have a monopoly on their business; they should still have plenty of wealth to try and work up something new when, or if, the meat processing business collapses. Maybe it is those magic powers that fill Malwick with the abundantly obsessive ego; really can leave people speechless.

Though for Arguz, his silence was less due to Malwick's massive monologue and more the demonstration of the heavily-modified BEAM device, capable of some truly unbelievable destruction. the ratfolk's fur tinges and his mouth gazes wide for a split second as the staggering volume and effort of energy used obliterates the wall. The fact that a weapon of that caliber is being used strictly for a bank robbery is probably Ferroveil being "lucky." In the hands of someone who just wants to destroy stuff there'd be a lot more to worry about than Midtown and Uptowners losing their bloated life savings.

Still, this whole business has gotten Arguz involved personally even if it's just out of pride. Between getting his original gun broken and getting tied up, he's not really keen on actually letting himself end the day without redeeming himself in some form. "Well if anything, how long's it gonna take fer you to set that thing up on yer airship?" If anything, Arguz may as well get a time-frame on how long he may have to try and stop this mess. "An' in that sense, I suppose yer gonna let me hear of yer attempt once you get to it? Sounds like yer gonna get a good deal of fame outta this as well." If there's anything else Arguz wants to try, it's to make sure he's not at risk of being off'ed before he gets another chance to stop Malwick. "I mean, don't expect me to stop you. Still kinda chained up an' all." He gives a flimsy smile to accommodate his snarking. "Jus' curious."

Spoiler: OOC

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Not my best post but I wanted to get it done. Hope you like it

[Capt. Infinity]

Malwick pauses in his self-aggrandizing cackle long enough to address Arguz's question. "Well, since you asked so politely, my airship is being readied as we speak. It should be sky-worthy within the hour! As for the your current fate..." The Warlock looks pensive, giving the Ratfolk Gunslinger a once-over, seeming to make a decision.

"Well now, it would be ratehr a waste to simply kill you after telling you my entire plan. After all, what good is pulling off the greatest heist in history if you can't have a living witness to explain how great it was to the people at large? Tell you what, Ratling. I'm going ot leave you here, quietly sitting in that chair for the duration of my escapade. I'll have one of my subordinates in the factory collect a "misplaced parcel" long after I'm gone and done with my heist, and you can go home to your little brood nest and tell every one of your verminous little cohorts about how you were soundly defeated by me, the great and powerful Malwick Aldercain!" He sneers, pacing around the chair Arguz is strapped in. "News will spread like the diseases that riddle your home district, and soon, everyone in this blasted hellhole of a town will know of my absolute masterful greatness!!!"

The man gives a deep chuckle as he gets up in the Ratfolk's face. "And, just to make sure you don't get any funny ideas about tailing us the moment we leave the warehouse..." With a wave of Malwick's hand, a strange, ephemeral aura follows it, filling the Gunslinger with a sudden sense of drowsiness as the Warlock casts yet another magic incantation upon him.

"Sleep well, little rat..." Malwick's words fade out into the distance as the Sleep spell overtakes Arguz's body.

The next few moments come in little choppy sections. Malwick rushing the machine out the back door and the sound of the entrance Arguz crept in through slamming stood out more so than most things. But, even clearer than that were the parting words of Adraena, whispered into the Ratfolk's ears after everyone else had gone.

"Looks like luck wasn't with you this time, Aijk."Her voice, for all it's menace, truly did have an angelic ring to it, belying her divine heritage even as the woman cavorts with Devils and worse. "Can't say it's your fault. The odds were stacked against you from moment one. And you know what?"

"...I HATE unfair odds." Her voice is punctuated by the unmistakable sound of shattering steel. The last noise Arguz hears before sleep overtakes him.

---

All told, the spell didn't last all that long. Judging by the minimal movement of the sun upon awakening (and possibly by checking his pocket watch, if the Ratfolk owns one), it isn't hard to deduce that less than ten minutes had passed in all the time Arguz had slumbered (should he have a watch, he'd realize he was out for almost exactly five). Ten minutes was a short amount of time by almost any metric. However, in this case, it was damn near an eternity.

Just as Arguz leapt off his chair, quite easily due to his manacles turning out to be well and truly mangled (as to why, it wasn't hard to guess), and before the Ratfolk can completely reacquire his bearings, his mind is once again struck by a mystic force, though this one was immediately recognizable as friendly.

Through some magical nonsense that would be too esoteric to readily explain, Arguz recognized the intrusion as an attempt at sending an Arcane message, and it's sender was none other than Pendleton Abbersworth. Should the Ratfolk accept the hailing, he would see a suddenly appearing visage of the good Doctor himself, speaking thusly.

"Arguz! I heard about your capture. Not much time. Malwick is airborne, but I have a plan. Go to 17 Wayward Boulevard. Find Maximillian Valentine!"

The spell once again subconsciously tells Arguz that he has 25 words with which to respond, if he so chooses. But either way, the stakes were set, the path was laid out before him, and now, perhaps more than ever.

The game was afoot.

Spoiler: Knowledge (Local) DC 20 (It's about Lowtown, so I'm not even staggering this one, since you can Take 10 on it)

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17 Wayward Boulevard is the address for none other than the Wayward Wyvern. The last Tavern and Inn in Lowtown before you reach Midtown proper. For years it's been the resting place of choice for fresh-off-the-boat adventurers looking for a place to stay in Ferroveil before seeking their fortune in quests, bounties, and other various missions. No matter the time, or day in the year, the place is a hotspot for master swordsmen, spellcasters both arcane and divine, and any and every intrepid adventurer or swashbuckling hero who finds themselves washed up on the shores of Ferroveil seeking both excitement and fortune. Why Pendleton knows about it is anyone's guess. But if there was ANY place in the city to find a man named "Maximillian Valentine" it would most definitely be the Wayward Wyvern.

[Starsign]

Arguz should be lucky that he didn't have any nightmares in the ten or so minutes he had been asleep. He sure had expected to find a lot worse waking up, given his circumstances left him ripe for one to commence torture or an interrogation. Instead the ratfolk finds his binds wrecked and himself free; the biggest surprise he's had since having his own gun ruined in an instant. He probably can do a lot now that he doesn't have to wait around, though there isn't much he'd be capable of doing. He screwed up enough that he probably couldn't make it to the Grand Gold Bank on time, if he could even be capable of standing up to whatever private army that Uptown aristocrats hire. Arguz can also try looking around for help but, again, he lacks the time for that. Yet there's also no way he'd let himself simply go home and admit his failure to his family and everyone else he knows in Lowtown. That's NOT how the gunslinger works. One way or another he's gotta redeem himself or fix things, even when everything else in this job goes wrong.

He doesn't have to go far thankfully when he is contacted by Abbersworth, somehow. Immediately the ratty gunslinger's mind races as he wonders whether the professor is also some sort of mage. Is that a common trait among wealthy scientists and aristocrats? Do they have the money to "buy" their way into learning magic? There's probably a really good magic school of some sort in Ferroveil's Uptown areas but that still raises the question of-

...Wow, Arguz is really overthinking things. He's should be a rat of action, not thinking!

"Yeah, Max, got it!" He responds quickly to Abbersworth as if the ratfolk is speaking to his client normally. "An' How'd you know 'bout the Wayward Wyvern? That's a house of crazy in a place some people call a hive-" Suddenly the message gets cut off. Whoops, that was 25 words.

Not that any harm is done. Arguz definitely recalls visiting the tavern back when he was looking for a new profession beyond his menial family tasks. He did consider becoming an adventurer a few times before realizing that he can't really afford to adventure; Ferroveil is his home and he'd get sick of being so far away from home. Besides there's enough to go around in the city that he'd probably never tire of it in his short life. Though he sure did learn a couple things about being a investigator and hunter there.

So with a great huff and a snarky, "Hope he better be gathering a crew," as he marches out of the factory and making his way down to the Wayward Tavern. Hopefully the smell of machine oil and bloody pork hasn't swamped over him in his short time at Malwick's factory.

Spoiler: OOC

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Yeah I'll just take 10 on the Knowledge check.

[Capt. Infinity]

The path to the Wayward Wyvern was short and simple. Arguz was already close to the Lowtown-Midtown border, so it was a simple matter to reach the legendary tavern.

The Tavern ITSELF was a whole other beast.

The building was almost impossible to miss, in that it stood out like the testament to eccentricity it was. The Wayward Wyvern takes it's name from it's general shape, with the building having one major central spire, shooting up about four storeys, with two smaller spires shooting outwards in an angular Y-shape, before heading straight upwards again for another two storeys. The whole building thus evokes the sense of a great winged beast spreading it's leathery airfoils to the sky, when it wasn't outright confusing people by the sheer logistics of how it even remains standing (all-told? Probably magic).

Upon entering, the first thing people take in about the tavern is the sheer openness of it. Though the actual bar is stationed smack dab in the centre of things, the area above the bar is open to the upper three floors, with a many myriad copper tubes shooting upwards from the bar, disappearing into the ceiling under the fourth floor, which stores the copious amounts of alcohol that is then siphoned to the barman's taps.

The two floors above the main deck are two rings of railed barroom floor, with a series of round tables and booths filling and lining both areas, occasionally broken at regular intervals by stages upon which both scheduled and spontaneous performances are held both by and for the patrons of the bar. At four cardinal emplacements, emanating in an X-shape from the centre of the building are stations of manyfold pneumatic tubes, upon which plates of food and drink are placed and then sent shooting up to the floor they're intended for, ready to be picked up by servers on that level and brought to their intended table. Somewhere on the third floor across from one another are two giant double doors which open out to stairwells that lead up to the two lodging "wings" of the inn, where those intending to stay the night can book as many rooms to sleep in as they need, provided the tavern portion didn't syphon away all their coin.

The main floor itself is entirely dedicated to a barroom floor as well, with tables at regular intervals and booths lining the walls. Everywhere Arguz looks he sees a veritable menagerie of myriad races, from common to exotic to downright alien, talking, eating, drinking, and generally mingling with one another. All around the barroom floor, servers of all shapes and sizes carry around trays of food and drink to waiting patrons, occasionally disappearing into doors in the back to enter the kitchen to grab their next meal to serve.

Stationed behind the bar itself is a man who falls more so into the "downright alien" section of the typography of races in the building. Skrix Marshekk, a Kasatha from parts unknown, who's four arms and dextrous hands have made him somewhat of a legend as one of the best barmen in the whole of Ferroveil. He dresses in an immaculate tuxedo, custom tailored (obviously) to his rather exotic physiology. Rather than cover his mouth with a bandana, scarf, or wrapping of cloth like others of his race, his tuxedo instead bears a ludicrously large, cone-shaped collar, which shoots outwards from his neck and fully covers the whole lower half of his face from just below his eyes on downward. He pays Arguz no mind when he enters, nor does anyone else in the building, for that matter. The Ratfolk was far from the strangest person on this floor, let alone in the building, and if he so much as wanted a table, he'd have to flag somebody down. Though, in the case of information on a specific patron, it would be best to address Skrix directly, since everyone who's anyone in the tavern tends to pass by him at least once in search of some specific spirit of choice.

[Starsign]

While Lowtown has a reputation for being dreary, messy, and overall wasteful, a good deal of the place happens to house some truly amazing places; ones which can be admired in its own way which are staggeringly different from the more bigger, expansive styles of Midtown and Uptowners. The Wayward Wyvern is one such place, one that Arguz remembers pretty well since his last visit.

As the ratfolk enters and smiles cunningly at the entrance, he finds the sheer audience and ambiance of the place newfound yet familiar. His several visits here in the past hasn't made the whole place like home but it's a place he's far more accustomed to. Now this isn't because he thinks it's the best place to signify what Lowtown is; the Wayward Wyvern is bizarre, borderline insane. People like the Kasatha make the inside seem like the tavern exists in an entirely different dimension. Even with the relatively "normal" people in here, Arguz feels like the odd-one-out in that he's about as welcome here as he is anywhere in Midtown or Uptown.

The difference is that this is still Lowtown he's in and that some people here have either seen, heard, or met the gunslinger at some point; the chaos and variety of the place however might make one forgetful of a fellow patron. Not Skrix though; he's a sharp one. Arguz may not have a damn clue about what a Kasatha or why Skrix is here but there's no one better at their job and familiar with their patrons than that four-armed bartender.

Arguz silently but cautiously maneuvers his way around the main floor of the tavern, taking care that none of the bigger patrons and servers don't accidentally collide with the four-foot ratfolk as he arrives over at the bar. "Oy, Skrix!" Arguz uses a slightly rougher verse of his usual Lowtown accent in greeting, something he does when he likes to get someone's attention without actually being aggressive about it. "Business running good, huh? Ain't like I ever see it calm." He chuckles as he takes a quick look behind him to admire the incredibly busy tables. He wouldn't mind actually taking one of his siblings out here for dinner one night if he ever could afford the damn luxury. Given the rowdy chaotic nature of the tavern, the only one he'd probably feel safest to bring is Jia, if only because she can handle herself as well as he can.

"But 'fraid I ain't here fer any grub or drink." he continues as he leans his left elbow on the bar and looks back to Skrix. As always, Arguz maintains his confident persona down in the more familiar reaches of Lowtown... Though he's much rather do it with words rather than make some crazy bet that he'll take their strongest drink and down it without batting an eye. He can't imagine that ending well. "Here to meet Maximillian Valentine. Hope I ain't bothering him during his feast but he should be expecting me and it's real important I meet him."

[Capt. Infinity]

Upon hearing his name, the Kasatha gives a sidelong glance to Arguz as he approaches, finally taking stock of him. "Ah. Arguz. Always good to see a recognizable face amongst the crowd. The usual?" He motions two of his arms over to the bar taps behind him, even as two other hands are vigorously shaking two mixer jugs full of other drinks. He shrugs at the initial question whilst pouring out the aforementioned mixed drinks into the jugs of an Orc and a Dwarf off to the side. "Eh. Business is business. Doesn't matter if it's calm or rowdy or literally on fire. So long as there are people coming in and ordering drinks I'm satisfied with a job well done."

When Arguz mentions not being here for food or drink, he tilts his head and gives a questioning glance, now listening intently to the Ratfolk Gunslinger's request. When the name Maximillian Valentine is mentioned, the Kasatha leans back slightly, glancing down at the Ratfolk whilst crossing both set of arms. "Seriously?" He shrugs. "Well, if he's of some use to you. HEY VALENTINE!" The four-armed, broad-headed, humanoid shouts up into the rafters. "Someone's here saying they've got a meeting with you!"

The response is... Rather unconventional, to say the least. From somewhere up on the third floor, an exceedingly long hempen rope is thrown from the banister, slinking its end down on to a table below. From up above, what can only be described as a "battle cry" echoes from above.

"HUZZAH!"

Rappelling down from the banister, with one hand on the rope as they slide alarmingly quickly down towards the ground floor, is the visage one might end up described to them if they asked a nine year old human what they thought an airship pilot looked like.

Decked out in a dark brown pirate coat, wearing an old navel captain's hat, and with a set of, of all things, hot pink aviation goggles on his face, the blonder human who, with a loud clamour, manages to land smack dab on top of a table belonging to another adventuring party, most certainly looks like someone named Maximillian Valentine. With a firm and commanding jawline, combined with a rather thick set of side burns, the man evokes the presence of a determined leader as he strides off the table without missing a beat, and approaches the bar proper.

Skrix merely shrugs. "And people say I'm the one from outer space." He then gestures with two hands on each side to both Arguz and Max. "This young Ratfolk says you're expecting him."

At this, Maximillian perks up, before giving a hearty guffaw. "HaHAA! Ah yes! Arguz Aijk, is it? I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Dr. Abbersworth was rather light on the details when he contacted me, so please, do tell me what leads you to require the services of I, Skyyyyy Captain Maximillian Valentine! Captain, of the SKY!" The man raises a fist to the heavens whilst simultaneously resting a foot on top of a bar stool, so as to be in a more dynamically interesting pose.

Evidently, this day wasn't going to let up AAAAAAANY time soon.