Four Guys and a GM Play: No Response From Deepmar

Game Master Quirel

Knowledge 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

“Might be,” grumbles Kogril as he shifts his weight uncomfortably when his father is mentioned. He says nothing else on that issue.

He nods appreciatively looking down into his mealbag.
Perception 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24 hah, darn
The youngest Emberforge brought his own foodstuffs for this mission, but he is pleased for the provisions nonetheless. He might need something stronger than weak mead, but that can be remedied quickly. A few potions might be come in handy, too.
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22, does Kogril know of any potion shops on the way to the docks?

Kogril remains quiet and leans in when Palamer begins to explain the map.

Zaszy nods as the captain speaks. "Yes, zis is much appreciated, Captain," he adds when offered the cavalry rations. Zaszy does not seem to react when Palamer suggests turning a blind eye to whatever the others store in their mealpacks, for good or ill. Once Palamer has finished speaking, Zaszy blinks, and turns to consider the others present. "I hab no ozer questions. I trust zese ozers to study ze map - perhaps one might draw a copy zat we can bring along. I will see what I can glean about ze island in ze meantime." He then turns and begins to make his way out of the blockhouse.

"So, the penal colony. I had one of the prison guards draw these up for me, so you can bet your life on them."

He lays out a map of Deepmar Island, drawn on a sheet of vellum. The island is a thirty mile-wide square of land, large enough for several small forests and lakes. The northern part is dominated by hills that rise to a central mountain, and the southern half is partitioned by long, forking roads that lead from the mines back to the colony.

"Here is the island itself. I know for a fact that there are seven mines: Avernus, Dis, Stygia, Erebus, Malebolge, Caina, and Cocytus. Some of them are closed down, but the guard couldn't say which ones were mined out. Wasn't paying attention at the time."

"And this map shows the colony. Pretty standard outpost design. The colony is surrounded by a palisade twenty five feet high and bedded with gravel. A lizard could climb over it, maybe, but not a prisoner. The north gate and the south gate are wrought iron, and flanked by forty foot guard towers."

"In the northeast quarter, there's a stable, smithy, toolshed, mining office, everything that was needed for a mining operation. And that's the captain's quarters, the building closest to the well. Southeast quarter is the vault. That's where all the reagents were stored until the supply ship arrived. I don't have to tell you to leave it alone, but I will anyway. Besides, only Captain Ashferth can open it. Southwest quarter is the prisoner's quarters and that building there up against the west wall is the barracks. Northwest quarter is taken up by the mess hall and the garden."

"So, that's the outpost," Palamer says as he folds the maps and hands them to Kogril Emberforge. "If anything happened, it happened within those walls. The staff under Ashferth's command included two cooks, a blacksmith, a medic, and the dozen guards we rotated out weekly. Find them, or find out what happened to them. Sound doable?"

"How many prisoners are we looking for?" Leah asks. "Do you have a roll sheet or list of names? Were any of them especially dangerous? Did they possess any magic or special abilities?"

"Special abilities? Yeah, they were all able-bodied and didn't look like they knew much about wilderness survival," Palamer says bluntly. "And yeah, the kind of prisoner we send to Deepmar tends to be the dangerous sort we aren't eager to see again. I wouldn't think any magic users were sent to Deepmar... there's somewhere between thirty-five and forty prisoners on the island. A prison riot would have left clues all over the place, but a lone magic user... maybe. Any other questions?"

------

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

Palamer gave no sign that he noticed Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's reaction, and he only waved the Inquisitor off when the saurian left the room.

Little has changed outside. The courtyard is slightly more organized, and the crates of restricted goods are being opened and searched with hounds. The street outside has more travelers, but they all give the Inquisitor a wide berth. Even the ones who don't know what his job is.

The Rusty Lobster is almost empty. Breakfast is finished, and the patrons have either retired to their rooms or gone about their business. The proprietor is sitting at a table adding figures, but looks up when the Inquisitor enters the tavern.

"Can I help you?"

"Just one. Which pier is out boat at?" Leah asks, as she casually shoves her ration satchel into her pack. "I'll head that way and maybe take a look at this guldottari of yours if tehre's time."

Zaszy approaches the proprietor, taking a moment to consider him. "Ze woman earlier...Temara. Is she still here? I would speak with her."

"Pier Seven. I think they might have crated it up last night. Now the rest of you remember, the ship is scheduled to leave in three hours, and Captain Molron is a very punctual man."

-------

The proprietor points to the kitchen and returns to his figures.

When Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ enters the kitchen, he finds Temara arms deep in a sink full of hot water and dishes. She is surprised to see the Inquisitor, but she gets over it quickly and asks the cook's son to take over for her.

"Can I help you?" she asks as she steps around the counter and dries her hands on her skirt.

"Thank you sir, I'll be on my way now. I only have to grab a couple of things and I should have plenty of time to get to the ship."

Leah, too indicates her understanding to Palamer then heads out. Strolling down the street she moves with the flow of people coming and going, careful to keep a little distance between herself and everyone around her. Another mission and another mystery... She can't help but wonder how this one will compare.

'Probably won't', she decides.

Still, despite the abundance of guards and the occasional sign of wariness she catches from the populace, Kintargo does still have its small bits of familiarity. The woman from Gilren turns one final corner and catches first glimpse of the docks stretched out the hill below. Something about the sight brings a slight smile to Leah's face, and she closes her eyes and and draws a deep breath in through her nose. It smells a little of the pungent aroma of fish and other sea creatures being chopped and served to waiting buyers of all stripes. Also in the air, though harder to detect, is the smoke of the fires and furnaces burning away to heat and shape the metal needed by the docks and the ships it serves.

But mostly, she smells the sea air. That heavy, wet, yet somehow fresh scent blowning in from the waters in the distance that remindes her of her daily walk from the upper district of Ava' Head down to its seaside temple. Perhaps not the happiest of times, but...

The sound of a group of workers threading their way around her pulls Leah back to the present and she continues down towards the water, looking for pier number seven and anything else that may be of interest.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Knowledge(Local): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Knowledge(Engineering): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

Kogril stays long enough to hear the pier number from the halfling before stuffing the food satchel into his haversack. “Three hours, pier seven, Captain Molron. Thank you, Master Palamer. Your provisions and passage are more than enough. I will see this matter to its end. You need not worry, we Emberforge are nothing if not thorough and resourceful!”
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Seeing himself out, the dwarf takes a moment to collect his bearings in this new city before taking the quickest path he can to Simple Solutions. He hears good things about that shop, and has a mind to pick up a poultice or two to help with wounds, along with anything else that catches his eye.

Zaszy stares blankly for a moment at Temara. "Ze letters... your patriarch drew plants and creatures native to Deepmar, zis is true?" He does not wait for her to answer. "I would like to see zese letters." He indicates the dining area with one arm.

Tyran Longeye finds a stall set up on the docks, near the section allotted for the Chelish Navy. From the goods available for sale and the chatter from the officers watching the stall, he gathers that the warship Lady of Night ran afoul of a freak storm, and the crew is selling surplus supplies and provisions to help pay for the repairs.

Whatever the reason, Tyran is soon on his way with everything he needs, most of which has the sigil of the Chelish navy crossed out with "S.B.O.Q."

--------

Leah runs into trouble down at the docks, but fortunately trouble is uninterested in her. As she walks down the wharf, a squad of three Dottari soldiers come from the opposite direction, two swordsmen and a dog handler. They barely spare her a second glance. The dog does. It catches her scent as they pass, and it turns to follow her so fast that the handler is nearly pulled off his feet.

The summoner has seen the dogs used by Chelish soldiers before, but never this close before, and she learns up close is upsetting. The dog has a rough coat, like a mangy stray that was taken off the street and fed well. The Dottari have fit this one with banded leather armor, and the whole head is encased in a heavy leather hood with only a large rivet over each eye for the dog to see through.

The dog sniffs Leah's boots, and then the hood splits open like a mouth. Instead of the canine teeth Leah expected, there is row after row of steel spikes like daggers.

"Brute, heel!" the handler shouts. The dog's mouth snaps closed, and it meekly returns to the man's side.

"That's not him," one of the soldiers says. His eyes flick up Leah's body appreciatively. "Obviously."

The squad continues on without another word, in search of... well, whoever they're looking for.

At the end of Pier Seven is a fast ship laden with oranges and hardwood, bound for Deepmar island and beyond.

--------

Simple Solutions has everything that Kogril Emberforge is looking for, except that there is only a lone bottle of holy water on the shelves. There is a dusty bottle labeled "Oil of Hairline Fractures". The alchemist is surprised to hear Kogril ask for it, and claims that he only made a batch in the first place to see if it could be done.

There are no poisons available for sale in Simple Solutions. There are some bottles of rat poison and something that might be labeled "Natural Causes", but nothing meant to kill people. The Dottari wouldn't like it, and the House of Thrune's chemists don't like competition.

Kogril gets to the docks with plenty of time to spare, along with potions and a wicker-wrapped bottle of horilka.

---------

"Ye-" Temera says, only to be cut off by Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's curt request. She doffs her apron, wipes her hands and follows the Inquisitor into the dining room, where the proprietor of the inn is still poking away at an abacus and a sheet of expenses.

Temera produces a sheaf of letters from a skirt pocket and points toward the stairs. "I have more up in my room, if you'd like to see them."

Leah flinches slightly when the dog bears its teeth at her, and she gives the guard a dirty look as he looks her over, but she continues on her way without saying a word. Better to just be thankful that nothing came of the incident.

When she reaches Pier 7, Leah takes a moment to admire the ship docked there before she approaches its gangplank though she stops a couple steps away from actually boarding.

"I'm looking for Captain Molron," she calls out to those aboard.

"You've found him," says a bearded sailor wearing a vest emblazoned with icons of wind and water. He stands up from his stool, tucks a scroll under one arm, and walks down the gangplank. "Palamer must have sent you. You're not the Dwarf, so you must be the Inquisitor?"

"No sir, your Inquisitor would be a lizard-folk, green and scaly about yay high. I did just come from a planning meeting with Palamer, those two, and a half elf named Tyran before coming directly here, though. I suspect the others will turn up shortly," Leah replies.

"My name is Leah Oakfounder, originally from Gilren. You might say I'm an interested third party who has been given permission to tag along," she says by way of introduction.

Zaszy studies a few of the letters, then decides, "Yes, I would like to see ze rest."

Tyran arrives at the ship just shortly after Leah introduces herself, "Ah, I see you've managed to arrive here without any trouble Leah. Is this man our captain for the journey?"

"You volunteered? The Durotas said he'd find some, but I didn't believe it. I guess I do now," the captain says as he sees the man matching Leah's description walking down the dock.

"Right now, my crew is busy stowing our cargo and your golem in the holds. When that's done, and when the other two- sorry, that's probably the Emberforge engineer walking this way- when the inquisitor gets here, we will be off. I've got some quarters in the aft end of the ship usually set aside for the guards. That's where you'll bunk until we reach the island."

He shakes the hands of all three adventurers, and then pulls a piece of braided, salt-encrusted rope out of his pocket and studies it with dismay. "Nestle in tight. There's rough seas 'twixt here and there."

---------

Temera leads the inquisitor to her room and disappears inside. She reappears moments later with a slightly thicker stack of letters. If Captain Ashferth wrote a letter to his daughter every week for years, the two stacks would account for most of them.

The letters are disorganized, though the larger stack seems to contain the older letters. Back then, it seems, Captain Asferth was more interested in the geography of the island, though he quickly branched out into botany, zoology, and epidemiology.

There is far too much to take in with a single reading, even if Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ had time for more than a quick perusal. Meanwhile, Temera stands in front of her door, waiting for him to hand them back.

She may take a little convincing...

"Well met, Captain," Kogril says shaking Molron's hand.

As he turns aft to find the quarters, he grimaces at the sight of all those oranges in crates. But he pushes it from his mind and considers the captain's warning of rough seas. His steps hesitate and he turns back to Captain Molron. "How long have you sailed these parts?"

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9 Is there a superstitious ritual Kogril could do to pronounce good luck for the crew and voyage? Such as break his bottle of booze on the prow, throw salt over a shoulder, or stomp on a glass? "Break a leg"? Not looking for actual bonuses to sailing, just something to get on the captain and crew's good side.

Leah makes her way up the gangplank but heads forward rather than aft. She threads her way past what workers are on deck until she reaches the ship's bow where she takes a long, expectant look out towards the water.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Survival(Predict Weather): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

The Magrat is a proper galleon, with two main masts and an aft mizzenmast. She is low and wide with only a single deck over a spacious cargo hold. What this means in practical terms is that she was built for stability at sea and maneuverability close to shore. Perhaps her most unusual feature is a jib crane that hangs over a large hatch. It was installed to speed loading and unloading of cargo at underdeveloped ports, such as those in northern Varisia. But since the ship is docked in Kithargo, the jib crane is lashed down and a larger crane on the docks was used to load bundles of hardwood into her hold.

The ship has plenty of seasons under its belt, though it's not yet old. It can be plainly seen where the original Chelish oak has been replaced by other varieties of wood, scars from rough seas or piracy. Curiously enough, in some places a plank of oak can be seen seamlessly blended with a plank of cedar, indicating that not all of the repairs have been mundane.

Zaszy tries to skim the letters, focusing on those with information about local flora and fauna. He only has three hours, but he's cognizant that he can't spend that entire period of time here with the letters. After a moment, he looks up and considers Temara. "I lack ze necessary time to properly read all zese. However, zey are bery important to my mission." He pauses a moment, then adds, "I will bring zem back, when zis Elgin is located."

"I've been sailing these waters all my life," Captain Molron says. "But not so long that the sea can't surprise me. I imagine it's not so different mining underground?"

------

Temera is very reluctant to let the letters go, but she understands the necessity. She slips back into her room and returns with a weathered mailbag to keep the letters in.

"Good luck. And please, tell my father I love him and I never lost hope for him," she says, and then returns to the kitchen.

It's a beautiful day outside, and the red skies to the east are fading as the sun climbs ever higher. It promises to be comfortably hot and humid by the Inquisitor's standards, and his journey to the docks is pleasant and uneventful.

Kogril chuckles knowingly at that, eyes twinkling with memory. "Aye, indeed. This wide world is full of surprises, above and below!"

"Meanin' no disrespect to your law aboard, but what do you say to sharin' a cup with the crew? For good luck?"

The young dwarf hefts the wicker-wrapped bottle to show that he is willing to share the horilka.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Whether Capt Molron accepts or not, Kogril is ready to depart the docks.

"Good luck. And please, tell my father I love him and I never lost hope for him," she says, and then returns to the kitchen.

Zaszy gives no response. He carefully packs the letters into the left secondary compartment of his rucksack, and then takes his leave.

and his journey to the docks is pleasant and uneventful.

Zaszy pauses as he takes his first steps onto the dock. His eyes narrow for a moment as he scans the port.

He begins to make his way down the wharf, looking this way and that for something, seeming more interested in people than in the many boats moored along the piers.

"Much obliged," the captain says. "Drop what you can and gather 'round, lads! Our passengers have proposed a fine toast to this voyage! Liquor like this i'nn't likely to pass your lips ever again!"

Within a minute, the whole crew is gathered at the forward end of the ship. Weatherbeaten Men and tusked Half-Orcs stand shoulder to shoulder, all with eyes gleaming at the prospect of free alcohol. The captain pulls a little wooden cup from his satchel and passes it to Kogril. After the passengers drink their share, he drops a little gold piece into the cup and passes both it and the bottle around.

"Do not let your lips touch gold, lads. The sea is a jealous lover, and she punishes those who are unfaithful to her."

When the bottle finally makes it back to Kogril, there is about four fingers at the bottom.

"Captain, wasn't there supposed to be a fourth passenger?" one of the sailors asked.

"Aye, but he ain't here yet. That besides, Inquisitors don't drink while they're on duty."

A ripple of absolute silence passes through the crew. Furtive, terrified looks are exchanged.

"I told the lot of you last night. Not my fault if you weren't paying attention."

"Going to be a heavy storm tonight," one of the sailors says, trying and failing to keep his voice even. "We should get those oranges down below and, ah, strap them in place."

The other sailors mutter hurried assets and hurry off as Captain Molron takes the passengers to their berths. There are two cabins big enough for two people each, but each has three bunks crammed in there.

Somewhere on the ship, the party hears a hatch being thrown open and dozens of objects being dumped overboard.

----------------

The Inquisitor finds a three-man squad of Dottari combing the docks with a Met-hound. When the sergeant meets Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's eyes, he brings the whole squad to a halt and salutes. "Can I help you, sir?"

Zaszy holds up a hand, palm out, as he approaches. "Zat is not necessary, gentlemen." He stops just shy of the sergeant, probably just a little closer than is comfortable. "Captain Palamer has requested my presence on a certain ship, but I neglected to ask which prior to parting ways." He pauses a moment, considering the sergeant and his men carefully. "Would any among you know which ship heads to Deepmar?"

Leah reluctantly leaves her viewing spot and gathers with the others. Though not overly familiar with the impromptu ceremony, she takes the small cup as it is passed to her and ably fulfills her small part of the ritual before handing it on.

”Two and two, then?” she asks the others after Molron shows them their quarters.

After a healthy swig from the ritual cup, Tyran follows Molron downstairs as well. After briefly examining the two rooms he silently throws his bag down next to a bed and ties it securely to something bolted down, "Doesn't make much of a difference to me."

"Deepmar? I heard one of the ships was chartered to go out there. One of one of the ones going to Magnimar.," the squad leader says in a tone of voice that indicates he has no idea where any of these ships are going.

"I thought that there was a dedicated ship that made the run to Deepmar and back," the doghandler says.

"Burned down when the city revolted," the squad leader replies.

"Wait," the third soldier says quietly. "Palamer is sending a team out to the Deepmar prison? Is that why they were crating up that old golem?"

The squad leader whistles and turns to Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ. "Sir, is an old model Gul-Dottari part of your team?"

A careful read of the last page will show that Palamer did, in fact, mention a Gul-Dottari before Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ ran out of the room.

"Aye. Ze captain did mention ze golem."

Satisfied at horilka put to good use, the dwarf accepts the bottle, corking it before storing the rest into his pack.

He follows the captain, and at the sound of cargo splashing into the water, Kogril throws back his head and lets out a single guffaw. He makes no other comment until he sees the rooms, but his stride is much more relaxed now that he was away from Palamer and his men.

"Aye," he nods to Leah.

"Fine rooms! Thank you for the accommodations, Captain Molron." Kogril is quick to find a bottom bunk, worried that a night storm might pitch him from a top bunk onto the floor as he slept. He unshoulders his haversack and tosses it next to the bed and carefully sits on the bedding to test his weight on it.

He looks up to the seadog before he leaves, "Aside from the obvious, things an honest dwarf would never do, anythin' I should keep from doin' while aboard? Special rules ya got?"

Leah, too, says her thanks to the captain then joins Kogril in the 2nd room. She climbs up to the top most bunk, claiming it as her own.

"Aye," says the squad leader. "That would explain a few things. Let's find you your ship."

The doghandler kneels down next to his Met-hound and says "Brute. Find us Names Mean Little."

The dog, which has been sitting unnaturally still this whole time, lurches to its feet and trots down the wharf. It seems to catch a scent near the customs house, and after a few quick zig-zags, it leads the Dottari squad and Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ to Pier Seven. The squad leader respectively bids the Inquisitor good luck and they resume their earlier search. Or at least they try to. The Met-hound paces up and down the pier, sniffing and growling as if it smells contraband.

"Good morning," Captain Milton says from the far end of the gangplank. "Inquisitor, all of your companions have arrived and we are ready to set sail."

--------

"Meal three times a day, not much more," Captain Milton says as he turns to leave. Then he turns and eyes the adventurers' weapons. "Bad storm coming. Stay out of the way of the crew, but if I call for you, come up on top deck ready to fight."

He leaves without another word, vanishing around a large crate that looks like it was nailed together the night before.

-------

As she claims the top bunk, Leah notices constellations of nicks and pits cut into the ceiling above.

Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

”Huh, good luck...” Leah says mostly to herself as she reaches up to trace her fingers over the pot mark stars abover her.

”Having to fight on deck in the middle of a storm?I don’t like the sound of that... Here I was hoping to just lay here and try and not get sea sick...” Leah comments after Captain Molron departs.

”How are you with ships?” she asks her roommate.

“You got it, Molron,” he calls after the departing captain, “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!”

He leans back and lays flat onto his bunk to give Leah plenty of room for her ascent. His boots rest on the bedding and he relaxes with his hands behind his head.

Kogril shrugs at the question that comes down from the boards above. “Not well enough to sail on my own, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time on them. When I was younger my father went on many trade voyages along the western and southern coasts, but not so much now that he is older…”

“Learned some sea legs real quick, but I’ve always had good feet. The trick is in the joints. Keep ‘em loose, and in no time you’ll be able to spin a tango on a pitch!” he chuckles at the silly claim.

Kn: geo (untrained): 1d20 ⇒ 20
“You said you hail from ...Gilren? Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Have you done much sailin' between there and here?”

The squad leader respectively bids the Inquisitor good luck and they resume their earlier search.

"Sank you, gentlemen." Zaszy turns and makes his way to the ship proper.

"Inquisitor, all of your companions have arrived and we are ready to set sail."

Zaszy nods at Milton's greeting, considering him carefully. "Good, good. Please, show me to my quarters, zat we might get under way."

”Nor should you have, really,” Leah replies. ”Gilren is a long way from here and while it’s had its share of happenings, only one might have been interesting enough to the outside world for news of it to spread very far.”

...And that was was almost a decade ago, now,” she adds. There’s some russeling as she retrieves some thread and a needle from her pack and beings skillfully repairing a damaged stitch along the edge of one of her gloves.

”No, I grew up in the heart of the woods far enough from the sea that I didn’t see anything larger than a lake raft until, well, about ten years ago. More recently, I studied in Ava’s Head, our main port city, so I saw plenty of ships but didn’t have much need to go aboard one.

I have been on one long voyage,” Leah notes. ”Was on a fine Elven ship a good bit larger than this one for three weeks and I was miserable most of the way. Been on a bunch of boats and the occasional ship since then without any trouble, but spend two and a half weeks not sure which meals you’ll be able hold down and it’s tough not to be just a little warry.”

”So... you’re member of the Emberforge family and some kind of... investigator? Trouble ender?” Leah asks, probing a bit.

Kogril cannot help a smile. “Ha! No, not at all. Some might call me a trouble-starter, but I don’t see myself that way…” His eyes glance to the door left open, and wonders where the lizardman might be. Hopefully not eavesdropping... He clears his throat and his tone is slightly more serious. “Just don’t pass that along to uh, the um, the inquisitor will ya?”

I need to hear his name again before trying it. Sounded like a mouthful coming out of Palamer!

“I’m not an investigator,” he begins again, “but I do know mines, and mining. My whole family does. Even though we didn’t have a need to, my father required all his sons to spend some years down in the Mindspin shafts. To get a deeper understanding of where our business starts, heh. Father knows the ruling house of Cheliax, which is why I’m here -I never would have heard or cared about this island otherwise.”

“But it sounds like you came here on your own initiative! You use those crystals for something that you do... was it alchemy? Or summoning?” He asks with a special emphasis on the last word, being one with only a peripheral and anecdotal understanding of magic.

”Heh. My own initiative?” Leah asks with a laugh that clearly says the situation is anything but funny. ”In truth, I would not be here if it were not for Marc, my twin brother. He would always push me to go out and interact and live. And I could when he’d come with me...

But then, well, some very bad things happened and now it’s up to me to live for the both of us. I’m doing a pretty good job of it, and I know he’s proud of me, but I wish all of you could meet him as he was...” she says. There’s something in her voice though. Something that she knows but isn’t yet saying.

”But the sinmarrow crystals? Yes, they are for summoning,” Leah says answering Kogril’s question. ”After a bit of preparation and polish, small sinmarrow crystals the size I can hold in my hand make for an excellent focus for more difficult summons just by tossing a few of them on the ground.

And that is why I am here, I was looking to move on from this area, uprisings and cerfews aren’t really my thing,” Leah confides, ”but when I went to stock up I found that the supply of sinmarrow crystals had vanished. I followed the supply line back to Kintargo and here I am.”

I swear that one of these days I will relearn the art of timely updates.

Without a shred of hesitation, Captain Molron leads the Inquisitor forward and down belowdecks. A dozen sailors look up from their tasks, see the Inquisitor, and return to lashing down cargo with a very forced casualness.

"I see rough seas in our way, but this ship will weather them just fine. Her keel was laid down from century-cedars cut from the forests east of Magnimar. There is no lumber I have heard of that bears the wrath of a storm better. This is, however, a merchant ship, and we do not usually accommodate passengers of your stature, so the quarters are quite Spartan and, ah, confined."

The hold is filled with bundles of long, unfinished lumber and crates of oranges. But right beneath the main hatch is a wooden crate with "Property of Kithargo Dottari" branded on one side. The crate warrants a second look, as it has been doused with the same noxious alchemical substance that soldiers across the Chelish Empire smear on their armor to ward off rust. Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ' nose is still full of the pungent, acrid smell when Captain Milton leaves him in the room with Tyren Longeye.

Minutes later, the ship rolls beneath the party's feet. Captain Milton has ordered the sails unfurled, and the ship is riding a strong breeze out of the harbor.

The Awn Spirit rounds Argo Isle and turns to the northeast. Through the transom portholes in their rooms, and from the quarterdeck should they decide to go topside, the party can see the city of Kintargo fade into the distance until only the shining spires of the castle can be seen, and then those too disappear.

It is at this precise moment that the first sign of trouble appears, a thin smear of grey on the eastern horizon. What alcoholic exuberance the crew has left evaporates at the sight of that distant storm. And as the stormclouds grow closer, the mood gets even grimmer. This is one of the tropical storms for which the Steaming Sea is infamous, full of driving rain and waves that will smash ships to kindling.

At the captain's insistence, the party stays below as the sailors prepare for the storm. It arrives swiftly and with little warning. The wind picks up again, followed by heavy raindrops that rattle the deck above. Then the ship starts pitching forward and aft, and the party is forced to shutter their portholes to keep the sea out.

After what feels like an eternity, a runner comes down and shouts for the party to come topside. "Captain wants you above deck!" the boy shouts, hammering the flat of his palm against the bulkhead for emphasis. "Blades out and eyes open! We're being attacked by windsprites! Follow me!"

Lightning splits the sky and thunder booms like the roar of an angry god. Between the sheets of rain and the clouds dark as charcoal, it is hard to see very far. But then more lightning rolls across the sky, and for a few heartbeats the storm is lit up as bright as daylight. Several miles off the starboard side, backlit by thunderbolts, the party can see a massive waterspout with black things spinning about in its core. The party also sees four figures like nimbuses of sea spray streaking toward the ship.

Slam: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25 Resolved against Tyran
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

Slam: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (7) + 9 = 16 Resolved against the Cabin Boy
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Slam: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18 Resolved against Kogril
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Slam: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20 Resolved against Leah
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

The 'windsprites' are using their flyby attack ability, which means that they attack on the move. On the other hand, this means that each of them provokes an attack of opportunity from anyone holding a melee weapon.

The windsprites slam into the party with enough force to knock the wind from Leah and Tyran. The cabin boy is very nearly knocked overboard. They almost disappear into the driving rain, but then they curve back around for another attack!

You guys are up! Map is here!

Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8 (Pff. Great job Ms. Summoner...)

Leah squints into the wind and rain at the approaching shapes. They seem familiar but they are upon her before she can identify them. When one slams into her, well it doesn’t so much matter. The things with their unnatural speed need to stopped.

Oakfounder Family Returning Dagger: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

She tries to track the windsprite that attacked her as it whips past, but only just manages a clumsy lunge at it as it flies back out over the water.

Coughing and sputtering, Leah manages to right herself. She catches sight of the cloudy wisps turning for another attack and smiles. They are still a little too far for what she has planned, but that problem should solve itself within the span of a few short moments.

“ní chomh...” Leah’s voice echoes out, somehow rising even above the howl of the storm. She tenses and holds off on the last word of her spell until the creatures are near the ship. Astonishingly, the rain around those on the ship all but stops in midair! For a brief moment, those near the Summoner can track individual drops of rain streaking towards them, and can feel each droplet as it strikes their faces...

Tyran gasps as the air is forced from his lungs and growls as a he recovers and hefts his crossbow for a flurry of deadly precise crossbow bolts.

After the attacks finish, Tyran steps towards the center of the ship, farther from watery doom.

5 foot step right one square

As the wind sprites pass low over the ship, attacking the others, Zaszy reaches out with his free hand...

...briefly making contact with one of the attackers. "Zey are air elementals," he calls out over the storm. "Ozerworldly interlopers."

He steps out in front of Kogril, grasping his shortspear in both hands for a moment, and then assumes a position of readiness, carefully considering the elementals.

Neither Leah nor the Inquisitor manage to hurt an Elemental, though the Inquisitor at least manages to touch it. The brief moment when the elemental slips through his fingers is enough to reveal its true nature.

Tyran's first shot comes close, the second hits true, and the third is carried off by a gust of wind.

Kogril is up!

At the call to arms, Kogril snatches up his pack with one hand and his trusty pick with the other. He juggles the weapon as he fits his arms through the straps while he vaults up the stairs after the crewman.

His shirt of chainmail absorbs much of the blow to his gut, and he reflexively whips the head of the pick after his assailant.
Kindness (AoO): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (18) + 14 = 32 dmg: 1d6 + 4 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 4 + 8 = 15
Damn these sprites are fast! His eyes widen when he sees the cabin get nearly bowled over the deck railing.

“Stay low, boy! Hold fast!” he bellows over the wind and rain. He sees two more windsprites pass through in the flurry, but he isn’t sure if he can hit them both before they can break away from the ship. Nothing ventured...! The dwarf arcs a low backhand sweep to hit one, and then pivoting off one foot carries the momentum up high for an overhead strike.
Kindness (AoO): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (2) + 14 = 16 dmg: 1d6 + 4 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 8 = 16
Kindness (AoO): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (6) + 14 = 20 dmg: 1d6 + 4 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 8 = 16
If the windsprites are immune to critical and precision damage, each attack deals 8 less damage.

Leah’s hand glows with a spell at the ready and Tyran’s quick movements unleash a volley of bolts. Kogril hears the lizardman through the roar of the storm. ’Windsprites,’ ‘Air Elementals,’ whatever they are, the dwarf knows they are trouble. For the moment, he is indecisive on using his bow or keeping his pick in hand, but there is little time to deliberate. With a crouch he holds his weapon back behind him, ready to swing it forward if these air elementals return for another pass.

Readied attack on the first air elemental to enter his threatened area:
Kindness: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (8) + 14 = 22 dmg: 1d6 + 4 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 8 = 16

Kogril's quick strike is rewarded by a piercing wail from the windsprite, and his overhead strike slashes through the side of the last one.

The cabin boy staggers off to the safety of the fo'c's'le, glad to be alive.

The windsprites surge low over the ocean, flying toward the ship like arrows shot from a f----- ballistae. But then Leah's spell flashes around them. Raindrops slow. Sea foam hangs in midair. The spell collapses around the extraplanar beings, slowing them. Now it is plainly visible that the windsprites are shaped like crude dolls, but made from smoke and seaspray.

Shortspear Attack: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 6 + 2 = 18 Hit.
Damage: 3d6 + 4 ⇒ (6, 3, 4) + 4 = 17

But the one in the rear shrugs the spell off! Where the three others crash into Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ and Kogril too slow to harm them, the fourth one zips past and slams into Leah! Who doesn't get moved back at all, because she's twice as sturdy as she looks at first glance.

Bull Rush: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17 Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ, Kogril, and Leah will each get an AoO against the Windsprite, in that order. The other elementals came in at a sufficiently oblique angle that they didn't pass through anyone's threatened area.

Being faster than the Inquisitor, Kogril slashes at the first elemental to come within reach and deals a fatal blow.

Guided by innate knowledge, the Inquisitor runs his shortspear through the next elemental within reach. It shakes and swirls around the haft, but cannot escape. In moments, the air elemental is naught but wisps of smoke that dissolve in the rain.