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Reller indicates the white flakes with a hand gesture. "What's this?" Stepping over, he inspects the crates and and barrels. Kneeling, he gets a good look at the material and draws out his dagger to poke at the white material with the edge of the blade.

The crates and barrels are of sturdy quality, some show signs of typical wear, caused by hauling on caravans and ships. They are tied together in groups with rope, and the rope is glued to them by wax seals with an imprint of an anchor with the letter S inscribed over it. just like the symbol on the harbormaster's weapon belt.

The white material faintly smells of excrement. Some tiny bones can be found there as well, and fibres that could have been fur at some time.

Looking up, Reller jokes with the others. "The birds are not afraid to come this way. It is a natural pest, most likely." Standing, he looks around the area for tracks. (( Does the GM want to roll? Also, I will let Reller's partner get in a post or two. ))

Looking up, Reller sees that the boards that make up the ceiling have small gaps between them, larger at places where a twig had been in the live tree. Some white material clings to the gaps.

Around the crates, there are foootprints of shod feet as would be expected in a warehouse. But none of them have pressed the white flakes to the ground.

"Could be a good place for some tarps," Martin muses, looking at the mess on the crates. "Oi, Reller: there's bones and fur in this shite - this ain't pigeon droppings. Nor owl, either - they puke up the bones and such in a lump. And seagulls don't eat furry animals. Best be careful whatever left this doesn't take a piece out of you."

"There is that." Reller walks around the area a little bit and looks around. "Something larger, perhaps. It's certainly more feral than most humanoids."

"It may come as a surprise to both of you, but I do not generally spend much time in warehouses. Or examining guano. Is it commonplace to find this sort of thing, or is this something unusual?"

"Fishing village, you would be surprised what passes for regular activity." Reller replies with humor.

So, what do you guys plan to do next? Reller knows the place under the roof is accessible from the outside via a door in the gable and a ladder.

"I suggest we check the upper portions of the building, then." Reller towards the door. "We can use the ladder."

"So, let me get this straight: we're going to climb up a rickety ladder, through a door into the unlit and confined loft space above a relatively abandoned warehouse in search of some unknown creature that we already know to be a predator of some sort. Is that the plan?" he pauses, looking up and rocking his eyes from side to side as if counting, then says: "Sounds like fun, provided I don't get my clothes dirty."

Martin follows Reller outside, to the foot of the ladder. He stands by, unmoving, as Reller climbs. This requires considerable restraint on his part - he is almost sweating with the effort - because typically when you put a clown and a ladder together, it can only end in one of two ways.

Forcing his eyes away from the ladder, he looks at the Harbourmaster and asks: "Oi, if the beastie is valuable, do we get to keep it?"

The ladder is not fixed to the building, but has to be retrieved from behind it, stored in the small space between the back wall and the hill that rises behind it. While retrieving it, Reller notices that part of the thatching is lying on the ground, in pieces. Something white clings to the straws.

The Harbourmaster looks puzzled at Martin's question, but answers after a moment of thought: "I have never thought that a pest could be valuable, but if you kill it, why shouldn't you keep it?"

"Oh, you can find value in the strangest of places. Why, back at my lodgings I have the most amazing hair-care product you are ever likely to find, and all I had to do to get it was to nearly get killed by an almost invisible dungeon scavenger while trying to pick up an axe that belonged to a dwarf who thought he was a duck before he died. It's all very complicated, but the lesson here is valid nonetheless."

Martin loosens his rapier in its scabbard and checks to make sure his dagger is sitting right, and his plush mallard is handy. In case he needs it. Then he waits for Reller, carefully not touching the ladder, lest his training take over.

Reller bends down to look at the thatching laying on the ground and sees that he should recommend the roof to be renovated soon. Some mold has gotten hold of the straw, it smells strangely and is decaying quickly.

It is no problem to attach the ladder to the side of the building, there are special grooves in the wall, setting the ladder at a comfortable angle. The steps are flat and quite large, too. Before he climbs up, Reller is given a key by the harbourmaster. "This is for the padlock at the door" he explains. Reller can easily unlock the door, there is no sign of anyone trying to force entry. He has to go back down a few steps to open the door, which creaks on its hinges. When he goes up again, a pungent odor of guano greets him. The floorboards are completely white. A dismantled, small grey lump is lying roughly where the crates and barrels are one story lower.

Just as he is trying to make up his mind about what to do next, he hears a sneezing from the far corner.

"Oh, what have we here?" Reller says in a calming voice as he turns to look towards the corner. Moving up, he makes room on the ladder as he lets Martin up the ladder.

Waving Martin up, he steps to the side if possible.