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Fosco, hearing Hokk and Goldy discuss going to the guards, interjects in a hushed tone, speaking quickly. "No! No, we can't go to the guards with this. We're holdin' the damned murder weapon. If yer goin' to the guards I'll be nowhere near ye. I refuse to be a suspect."

Fosco jumps at the shocking noise and swears instinctually. "Blithering sheepfuckers!" Sparing only a glance to see if anyone was offended by his habitual outburst, Fosco wastes no time casting mage armor on himself, preparing for the worst outside, and dashing through the door.

Fosco nods, trying his best to stand straight and hide his fatigue. "Aye, I think we best take the goat trail. For the sake of Goldy."

Fosco, who has been quietly following and listening, sends a whispered Message into Hokk's ear. "Don't much care for all the talkin'. If ye need to get a better price I'm the one to do it. Otherwise I'll stick to the shadows."

Fosco goes around town, doing some light gambling and drinking - spending time in the seediest and dirtiest establishments he can find. He listens to conversations, sometimes adds a few words, just to push the talker toward a certain topic. There's been so much to hear about... However, as with...

As the screeching, scarecrow-like creatures charge, Fosco pushes out a magic missile at one injured by Hokk before hiding behind a cracked wall while muttering "Damn things are too tough. Since when do missiles not kill a man?" However, by the time he has finished loading Beauty and turns back...

Fosco nods. "I think we've met the half-orc. Dunno the sun elf. But these are folk workin' against the Xanathars? Are they workin' for the Zhent?"

Fosco is inwardly relieved that he will not have to spend another day searching. Outwardly, he instead appears energized by the abrupt success. He mutters sideways to the horse, continuing to walk along so as not to draw too much attention. "You're Maxeene then? We've been looking for ye for...

Fosco glares at Mirt on the implication of not being able to write. "I am not some illit'rate leatherfoot. I said I'm a simple man, not a dullard." He takes the Paper Bird and Harper's signet pin, putting both inside his coat pocket. "No further questions." I'll show 'im who's illit'rate, the...

Fosco grunts in response to Lord Mirt. "I don't 'ppreciate folk who don't tell me their authority 'til after their request. I also don't 'ppreciate folk who ask questions and tell me their name later." However, he considers the substance of Mirt's offer more thoughtfully. "I'm a simple man...

Witnessing this garish show of wealth, Fosco mutters incessantly. "How does anyone wear these gods-damned fancy clothes? Can't get 'em dirty. Gotta be so prim and all. And these chairs! They're so...so...comfortable, I can't stand it!" After warily following the suspiciously silent individual...

Fosco grimaces at the numbers Lif offers. He turns his pockets inside out hesitantly. "Well I've got 'round 15 dragons to my name. I've got more back in Neverwinter if the Lady Blackstaff can acshually follow through on helping clear my name. Until then, we're gonna need more work if we want ta...

Fosco listens to Lif's list, trying to appear absent but making careful mental notes of each detail. After the ghost stops he cuts in. "I notice ye still haven't given any estimate on a total cost ta get the place runnin' again. Regardless, I think we can do all these sooner or later. But I'm...

Fosco is not entirely surprised to see Lif following them. He listens to the conversation passively and examines the wood on hearing it mentioned. "Can't tell much from this. It ain't my specialty. But I bet somebody around would know when the place stopped. If we really need ta know." He turns...

Fosco nodded sagely, an odd look for him. "Well I s'pose we'd best look around the place some more. We'll have ta find out just how much work it needs if we do want to reopen." He gestures goodbye at Lif and heads for the stairs.

Fosco listened to Lif's speech warily. "So...do ya want us to reopen yer tavern, or just to make it useful in any way? We're no innkeepers but we might find another use. Why should we put in the work anyway - just to make some ghost 'appy?"" The man's story tugged a bit at Fosco's heartstrings...

"A ghost!" Fosco shouts suddenly - then he looks around, hoping nobody saw his unseemly surprise. He straightens his clothes and addresses the half-elf. Seeing no threat, he does not pull out Beauty, but tenses, prepared to if necessary. If that would even work on this being. "Ye ran this...

"Now here's a place I could live," Fosco says heartily as he enters. "Very homey. Wonder what poor cadaverous cur put these marks here," He adds absently while looking at the beams. "Haunted, he said? Hmm. Not seein' it. Haunted by squatters maybe."

Fosco responds only briefly in his head. "Thank you." Out loud, he adds "I accept," and moves to leave.

Fosco mentally responds to the Blackstaff's message, keeping his face blank. "Fact is, I'm wanted in Neverwinter. Had some problems with the law. I ain't lookin' to escape it, I just want ta clear my name. Is there any chance the Gray Hands can help me do that?"