Jelani's Colonization:Aspis Rising (Inactive)

Game Master Brian Minhinnick


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<< Katapesh, Docks District | 13:45 | Very Hot | Sunday, Rova 15th, 4713 AR >>

Several of the more talented Bronze Agents from around the Inner Sea region have been summoned to a well appointed, and well hidden, meeting room in the docks of Katapesh. The room is on the second story of a rickety adobe building, above a pesh den, in the shadow of the Dockside Giant. It blends in seamlessly with the seedy, sun-baked buildings of the Docks around it. The only clue that it might be anything out of the ordinary is the plain faced, thuggish man standing with his arms crossed over his chest at the top of the stairway leading to the second floor entrance.

***

Iliante was very familiar with the docks of Katapesh but not where he was going. For a dozen years, he had served Alkenstar under the great sky and ocean, usually aboard a ship. However, the Aspis Consortium had worked out a deal with the Grand Duchess and evidently he had become a condition of that contract. Earlier he had made his special delivery of rifles, revolvers, and metal cartridges in wooden crates. He even had tools to make more metal cartridges from barrels of black powder, bullets, and brass shells. It was not enough material to go to war, but it had been awhile since he had delivered this many advanced firearms in one shipment.

In his briefing weeks ago, the organizational structure of the Aspis was explained: bronze, silver, gold, and don’t ask what else. He was being sent as an adviser and gunsmith by Alkenstar. He had to be cleared by the Consortium, in order to receive a bronze status; however, their criteria were not exactly clear. The wording that was repeatedly quoted to him from the contract was, ”a gunsmith who can take care of themselves on land and sea.” They evidently could not send an engineer, so the magic word was ”sea,” that plucked him out of his crew and summoned him across the skybridges from Martel to the City. One look at his fin-like ears convinced Her Grace’s Secretary that his reports were correct. The meeting with the Secretary lasted maybe a minute. Neither even sat down.

Now, he was heading to the big meeting with the local Gold Agent. He started to walk up the stairs heading above the pesh den, his confidence ended on his right thigh with his six-shooter. Some of his crew over the years had regaled Iliante with personal stories of shady deals gone bad and lack of honor among thieves and pirates. This was his first time in the "shadows". While some of Alkenstar’s customers were not the cleanest individuals or organizations, they all had to play by Alkenstar’s terms, conditions, and rules. This was his first time away from the halo of Alkenstar's power, so his fingers lightly brushed his confidence as the thug examined the bronze medal that he had been given a couple of weeks ago. There were no problems so far. The door opened to allow him entrance.

***

The heat was sweltering from the ever present sun that beat down on Kahnjar’s neck. It was a different sort of heat from the Expanse, more dry then humid, but the rays of the sun made Kahnjar sweat profusely as they reflected off the white washed walls of the pier-side ghetto. Taking another sip from the battered canteen that the hobgoblin kept hanging from a loop on his belt, he ran a single corded forearm that was as hard as driftwood over his forehead. The armor, pack and leather jacket he wore only helped to contain the heat. In the few days since the mercenary had arrived he had seen countless people who wore white diaphanous robes and cowl wrapped turbans or loosely hanging keffas--either would have been preferable in weather like this. But he did not complain. To do so would imply a weakness and that was unacceptable, even it if was only to himself. Still perhaps he would look into a keffa before he left the city. Ideally he considered that the head wrap could be used to cover his face. That in itself was useful if he had to do some wetwork.

Eyes settling on a nearby building, Khanjar nods. Certain marks were distinguishable that only an Aspis agent would know about. The haphazard graffiti of a snake intertwined over a pile of gold. The secondary green paint that peeked through the stucco in places. Both are indications that this was the Aspis safe house. Walking up to the door casually, Kahnjar steps in. Dust and gloom shroud the mostly abandoned room. The huddled figure of a man in the corner rocks back and forth while next to him lay a cheap pillow and still smoking pipe that smelled of pesh. The less discerning might not have seen the hidden crossbow that the man clutched in his hands, or the way that his gaze seemed more focused then not. Raising a hand, Kahnjar gestures to the letter he had received. "Fortune favors the bold." he whispers, his copper ring flashing in the dim light. The man disguised as a pesh addict nods back, the performance temporarily ended. "And the bold will profit in turn by their fortune," he replies. Letting his robe fall back the man points with one hand towards a door that leads to a set of stairs outside. Noting that the man had in fact held a hand crossbow in the other hand, Kahnjar smils to himself before frowning. Only one guard? Shaking his head the hobgoblin pushes his way up the steps. He doubts that his patrons did anything in half measures. Likely there are other threats that he had not been able to see. It was a common practice. If someone sees one threat they assume that that is all there is. It was far more cunning to leave one visible, letting the target think they had spotted the ruse while others awaited hidden.

Reaching the second floor, Kahnjar smiles again. The wooden boards creak under his heavy boot falls. It's something normal, and to be expected. But to attentive ears it warns of an intruders approach. Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, Kahnjar produces his bronze medal for the formidable looking man there, who opens the door for him.

***

Ascending the stairs with invariable grace, Shinjuko is a paragon of composure. She does not flinch under the thug's scrutiny, showing no reaction as his eyes linger where they shouldn't. Eventually, he accepts her very plainly proffered badge and opens the door before allowing her egress.

***

Having delayed as long as he could to finish his experimentation into accentuating the nauseous properties of Tricholoma sulphureum by fermenting it in the sweat of the troglodyte, Grelfexriplik Delvegribble caught the last possible boat from Cheliax and barely arrived in Katapesh in time for the meeting. When the ship arrived just after dawn he grabbed his bags and set about finding a carriage, still bothered by the interruption of his experiment. Admittedly, the Aspis have been perfectly generous in funding my research but I swear, every time they expect me to pick up like this and move, never bothering to tell me why until the last minute...They need to understand that I’m on the cusp of something big. I can smell it. Grel scribbles notes on some loose paper as he rides in the carriage, he is surprised to hear the driver say that they’ve already arrived. He makes no effort to disguise his impatience when the thug at the door examines his medal; he knew there was no reason to do so. The Consortium prized his mind, not his manners. The little tiefling makes his way inside.

***

Inside the windowless room there is a long mahogany table surrounded by a dozen tall, comfortable chairs. The walls of the room are decorated with silk tapestries from Tian Xia depicting cloud enshrouded mountains and flowing streams. The artfully engraved table is laid out with a wide variety of alcohol, bread, cheese, fruit and cuts of cold meat. Sitting at its head is a tall Chelaxian woman. Her black hair is cut short, and combed to one side. She has large stern eyebrows, and big black eyes that seem to stare without blinking. She's wearing a unmarked grey wool uniform. None of the assembling agents have ever seen her before, but the golden medal hanging around her neck makes it clear what she is. A Gold Agent, a senior member of the Consortium. It is her job to observe the huge amounts of trade flowing in and out of the city, estimate supply, demand, prices, and margins in other regions of the Inner Sea and transmit it directly to the ears of the Patrons. She is a rumor. An enigma. A powerful woman indeed.

Past the thug, the presence of the gold agent in the room was palpable as she sat staring at the Bronze Agents filing in one by one. One could almost see the gears within gears working behind her big black eyes. The other participants sat. Iliante takes the chair on the side away from the alcohol. This is an inner Aspis Consortium meeting, so he suspects that they are all friends, rivals, or acquaintances.

Kahnjar’s eyes settle on the pewter pitcher that has beaded drops of condensation dotting its sides. Water would be a relief, but the man does not let the heat from the journey show. There are other figures arrayed in the room, several men and a woman, who all wore at least one ring or necklace of brass or bronze. Other Agents, Kahnjar muses. Some were seated, others remained standing. Kahnjar chooses to stand. He keeps one hand resting lightly on his whip, and his leather jacket slung back over the holster of his revolver. He assumes that the meeting is legitimate. The pass-phrases and orders were all correct, but the man had been double crossed before and death was a sure way to advancement among the Consortium.

Shinjuko's eyes widen slightly as the posh room beyond greets her. Of particular interest are the silken tapestries hanging about the room—clearly objects hailing from her long forgotten homelands far to the east. While she is not overcome by melancholy, as she was far too young to remember any details of her infantile years in Minkai, there is always the burning desire to know more of where she comes from. Her father had educated her as best he could, but it could never compare with the seeing—truly experiencing the culture that both welcomed and spurned her. She had little time for such idolatry however; there was work to be done. She would not disappoint The Partisan in this. She was honor-bound to serve as his proxy, and she would see the task realized with its due diligence.

As her eyes relinquish their vice on the tapestries, they come to rest on the golden medal. Exercising self control, Yamakawa Shinjuko does not visibly react to the clearly superior party within the room. Her mind does race to an inevitable question, however, Where does Alastor figure in The Consortium's hierarchy? A Patron? Golden? Or merely Silvered? The question hangs in the recesses of her mind as she offers a polite bow in the nature of her homeland—as her father had often taught her—to the Gold Agent before her. She bows low and maintains the gesture for several moments in a show of respect to the authority she who played host to the meeting, her composure the very image of perfection as she does so.

Head still bowed and gaze not meeting that of the woman's, Shinjuko more proclaims than speaks, "Esteemed patron, I am sent as representative and proxy for our mutual friend in Cheliax; to serve as deemed necessary for as long as is required. I express thanks on behalf of my lord for the extended invitation and bear his enthusiasm for this place of meeting as surely as it were my own. Arigato!"

Shinjuko regains her normal posture finally, and awaits for the pleased woman's gesture before finding herself a seat at the mahogany table. The question of her lord's position yet rattles around her skull. Her position at the table was a reflection of her lord's influence, of course. But she could only guess at his influence within the Consortium. Sitting too close to the present patron might lend insult if she overestimated herself; too far away and it would be her own lord who bore the weight of the insult. Ultimately, she elects to set closer to the head, though not close enough to give great offense if her estimation proves incorrect. She waits patiently for the room to fill and the report to be given. Shinjuko does not allow herself to sample any of the provided refreshments. It was imperative that her reception be perfect. Helping herself slovenly to the provided banquet would no doubt present a beggar's image. She elects instead to sit in silence

Walking into the room minutes before the deadline, Grel feels the eyes of the timelier arrivals trying to decipher him. He smiles a bit, knowing the enigma he poses. Standing three feet two inches and slight of build, with a scruffy red-brown complexion, he has many of the hallmarks of his gnomish mother. The prominent goat horns that grow from his temples and the icy blue “whites” of his eyes complicate things, but he knows that many people mistake them for signs of mixed fey ancestry. Most just couldn’t quite understand the idea of a tiefling gnome. Such limited minds!

He settles into one of the higher chairs, his chin just on par with the edge of the table. He glances briefly at the others in the room. Are these my next collaborators? What are we doing in Katapesh? I hope at least there’s a scientist or scholar amongst them, a colleague I can discuss ideas and discoveries with. None look especially interesting, and Grel decides he’ll learn about them (and whatever it was the Aspis thought was more important than his research) soon enough. In the meantime he grabs a healthy glass of wine and some bread to gnaw on, and pulls his papers back out. As he writes animatedly, holding pen in one hand and paper in the other, a monkey-like tail emerges from under his leather aprons and brings the bread to his mouth, sparing him from setting down his pen. Grel finds he’s barely back into his calculations when he notices that the room had gone quiet. Looking up he sees that the gold agent is ready to speak to them. Very well. He tucks his papers together and listens.

As the tiefling gnome, the pale samurai, the undine and the hobgoblin slaver make themselves comfortable in the room, they see a half orc warrior displaying several symbols of Abadar already seated at the table. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he appears to be in a bad mood.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The sound of the human man's cane meeting the floor as he takes each step towards the room tells the rest of those gathered that he is coming a few moments before they see him. However, those a little more perceptive may notice that, were he so inclined, he could have approached with barely a sound. There is no limp in his gait, meaning that he uses a cane not out of necessity but rather out of preference. And, excluding that soft but clear tapping noise, his steps are silent.

He is well dressed in fitted clothes of a dark hue. He inclines his head slightly in greeting to the Gold Agent and takes his seat at the table, his expression friendly and his lips forming a faint smile. He glances at the others attending the meeting, seemingly out of mild curiosity. His eyes settling for a little longer on the pale black-haired woman with the strange eyes. Such variety, he ponders after noting how many people of different heritages this meeting seems to have gathered.

The Gold Agent sits quietly observing the Bronze Agents until half the chairs around the table are full. She stands and waits for the room to quiet of the sounds. She makes no introduction other than to hold up her golden medal of rank, as if the obvious presentation were needed. She looks around, catching each eye to make sure she has everyone's attention, then without prelude begins talking, "There have always been huge, unpredictable banks of fog in a little traveled part of the Obari ocean. Countless ships have been devoured by those mists over the years, never to be seen again. Recently one of our smugglers was passing the edge of the Hungry Mists, on the day of a new moon. Suddenly part of the fog cleared away to make a tunnel. Their lookout was able to spot a reef-surrounded shore in the distance. The captain took the ship as close in as he dared through the Mists. The reef was littered with the jutting, broken corpses of ships in all shapes and sizes. The shoreline stretched on as far as they could see in either direction. Directly ashore from them was some sort of tropical salt marsh. The captain sent one of his ship's boats and five of his crew to reconnoiter the area. They rowed to the shore, through the ship graveyard, and up one of the waterways that emptied into the sea."

"The landing party were gone for hours. Finally, just as the captain was preparing to declare them lost, the lookout spotted the boat drifting back down the waterway. There was but a single man inside, and he was making no attempt to row. The captain sent another boat to retrieve him, but the man had gone mad. When interrogated, he gibbered nonsense littered with fragmentary descriptions of "demons" in the marsh. He was clutching a small idol of a some shapeless, tentacled god, made of solid gold. When their ship moved away, the Mists returned, hiding the island once again."

"The captain reported his findings back to me. The effect has since been replicated by a different ship, but only in that very specific spot and only on the new moon. The galleon had stumbled onto a sort of gateway through the mists. All magical attempts to determine if the island is actually on Golarion have failed. In fact all divinations relating to the island have had no success. Attempts to teleport there have also met with failure. I have received full approval from the Patrons for a potentially permanent exploratory mission. I want you to lead it," she finishes, sweeping her hand around the table to indicate the agents present.

I want you to lead it. This struck Shinjuko unexpectedly. She had expected to represent her lord in a capacity as willing servant. Being invested with such a measure of responsibility was an honor. Shinjuko rises in an instant and offers another quick bow before speaking to the woman with as respectful a tone as she can muster. "Hai! I formally offer my considerable expertise to this cause. Whatever danger or madness was visited upon your previous expedition therein; whatever threats await in anticipation of a new wave; I swear this: they will be denied. I shall gain you foothold in this place by blood, steel, and more."

Yamakawa Shinjuko ignores the awkward stares from those that yet remain seated around the table. Her fortunes had changed greatly on this day. Her prominence swelled. She would not disappoint her lord or any present. The land would belong to them, even if it meant purging its entirety by herself. It would belong to them.

"Madam," the well dressed human man starts, adding to the word another little bow of his head for good measure. "This sounds like a very intriguing proposition and opportunity indeed. I look forward to lending my skills, such as they are, to this expedition." His smile broadens a little. "And if all goes well and this exploratory mission results in some sort of settlement on the island, then I am sure the settlers could use a tailor, and a rather good one at that, if I may say so myself. After all, I have been thinking of expanding my business." The words and the lie, or rather the half-truth included with them, come easily to him, practiced as he is in such things. He realizes of course that some are not going to be convinced that a simple tailor is looking forward to go into an unknown land simply for the opportunity to be the first to open a business there, no matter how great the profit. But knowing that something is not the whole truth is not the same as knowing what that whole truth exactly is.

Corridan takes another look at the others seated at the table, trying to gauge their reactions, if any, at his words. As he does so, he briefly wonders if one or more of them are not what they seem as well. It has been a few years since people tried to kill me, he thinks to himself, perhaps a little surprised to find that the thought amuses him slightly. Perhaps it is that time again?

”Fascinating,” Grel finds himself saying, forgetting for the moment his previous project. ”Yes, of course I understand that alchemy will be critical to the success of this mission, and engineering as well, and that top minds are required. Yes. You’ll have my full cooperation.” Maybe calling him all this way from Egorian wasn’t pure foolishness after all. Who knows what there was to learn on a hidden continent?

After the Gold Agent had concluded her pitch, Iliante finally understood why they stipulated, ”a gunsmith who can take care of themselves on land and sea.” He remains silent for the moment, taking in the other's reactions.

Listening quietly as the others speak, Kahnjar inclines his head. It is not a bow. He did not bow, grovel or scrape himself before others. But it was a greeting. "Exploration is an interesting proposition. Uncharted land offers the chance for riches and wealth. And slaves.. As it is, I happen to have some experience in managing large workforces of untrained labor. How big of an expedition would it be and what sort of resources would be employed? Is this a scouting mission or long term? I heard the word, potentially permanent, but I wonder what the driving factors are in the mission’s duration?" Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Kahnjar examined the others with his beady eyes. There was an intelligence there that was at odds with the man’s bestial visage. There was also a cruelty that did not have to work to make its presence known. "Regardless, you have my interest." he finishes gruffly.

The tall half-orc listened to the woman speak with furrowed brows, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed together in not-quite-a-scowl. What he wanted to do was to leap to his feet, flip the table over, yell at the woman where she could stuff her 'exploratory mission', and stomp out of the room. It wasn't an option, of course, so he didn't do it. The Aspis Consortium owned his fate, for now and the foreseeable future. There was the matter of a debt... and whatever else, Penance honored his debts. He supposed that if he didn't, Abadar would have things to say about it.

He let the others ask questions first, raising one big, avocado-colored, callused hand to knuckle his chin. He was lost in his own thoughts. Despite his initial anger over the thought of being sent out of the city that had finally started to feel like home, the longer he mulled it over, the more he began to feel that this assignment might have some benefits, after all. Most of his work for the Consortium, here in Katapesh, had been along the lines of thuggery. Oh, well-paying thuggery to be sure-- dressed-up thuggery, oiled over with smooth words of contracts and agreements-- but at the end of the day, making sure a merchant paid his dues to the Aspis was still thuggery. Standing in his exquisite mansion and glowering at the merchant was thuggery: proving that he could get past the merchant's bodyguards was thuggery. Challenging, high-class thuggery, but it was thuggery.

This promised a change. An unclaimed land? There'd be no merchants there, at least not yet. There'd be no churches there yet either, the thought made him smile briefly to himself. While they might be claiming the land for the Consortium, if they were the highest-ranking agents there then surely they'd have some degree of autonomy. Especially with an ocean separating them from their superiors. The thought of not having daily assignments passed down from a Silver Agent drew him like a moth to a flame. Maybe there would be freedom there, of a sort. The only thing was... his mother. Leaving Adjah alone here, in Katapesh-- well, he knew what his mother would say to that. That she could take care of herself just fine, and had done long before he was born. Still. He'd worry.

He raised his hand eventually, when there was a lull in questions from the others. He didn't care about whatever strange magic overlaid this island and blocked divination spells-- he didn't care about the logistics of the ship sailing there. Old Golden-ass could watch over that side of his fate-- the god had after all, so far. Penance's question was for something closer to the heart. "Ma'am," he said respectfully, when she deigned to acknowledge his raised hand. She was a bleedin' Gold Agent. He wasn't stupid, no matter what people whispered about him. "Ma'am, I have family here in Katapesh. If I'm off for gods knows how long on this island... will the Consortium honor my obligations as a son by keeping my mother safe in my stead? And will family eventually be permitted to join us on this island, if this expedition goes well?" Because if he was agreeing to a permanent position where he never saw Adjah again, the Consortium could go stuff themselves into a small sack. Deal or no deal.

Finally a little gnome comes rushing in late, followed by a bronze skinned genie. Both the gnome and genie have a matching rune glowing on their foreheads. The gnome walks up to the Gold Agent, bows and hands her a letter. The Gold Agent sits in front of Telemakos, barely acknowledging him, eyes fixed on the letter in her hands:

This is the fool who took out the Horned Brothers. I dried him like a like a fig, but he still owes us a lot. Maybe you can use him in the expedition: he knows a lot of languages, has magic touch when it comes to animals and that genie that follows him could beat an ogre to a pulp. He is useful, I’ll give him that. He is still a fool though, so use him but don’t rely on him!

Profit Above All
Rascaro

With deliberate slowness, she folds the letter in two, then in four, puts it away in a drawer and closes it with a small key. “So,” she finally looks Telemakos in the eyes “I guess you know why you are here.” Telemakos tries to appear more formidable than he is, in his new safari outfit “Of course, of course!” Show confidence, that’s the key, show it and she’ll buy it “I do wish to enlist my servant in the expedition.” He gestures to the genie. Arasmes is tall, powerful and smiling with way too many teeth. “I trust you’ll find him quite formidable. His strength is unmatched, he's swift as the wind, and…”

“Yeah, look what I can do!” the roaring voice of the genie cuts short the gnome. Arasmes starts flying around the room an inch above the floor, his legs transmuted into a small whirlwind. Napkins fly off the table, a rare cactus behind the Gold Agent crashes to the ground, and Telemakos’ turban almost falls off. “Not now, not now, you dimwit!” screams the gnome “You can show her later, not in here! By the Nine Hells! Look what you’ve done!”

The genie, looking a bit contrite, settles down and starts collecting the disordered paper, putting it back on the desk. The Gold Agent, imperturbable, combs back her short hair with a hand “I trust he is reliable?”

“Of course, of course!” Telemakos wipes a drop of cold sweat caused by the glacial stare of the woman “Just… enthusiastic. Yes, you might call him that! I’ll be along to keep him under control.” The woman scribbles something on a scroll in front of her “You do realize that you will be expected to work in the settlement. Not just command your…” she hesitates, unsure how to address the genie.

“Arasmes is my trusted aide, madam. And yes, I can work. I have a gift for tongues and quite an experience working with animals, both trained and,” the gnome is interrupted again by his companion. “He’s great! You should see how well-behaved is our pony Parsley! He’s a sweetheart!” The woman ignores him. “And you do know that you will be asked to fight, not just watch him,” she nods towards the genie “from behind a bush?”

“Herrrrr…” Telemakos’ fingers keep tormenting the fringes of his new blouse in a stress-induced tic. “Of course, of course. I just saw your magnificent display of weapons, fresh from the Gunworks, I assume.” he looks at his fingers, biting his lip. “I was just saving this," he starts pulling a silver ring from his middle finger. "No, this!" after a spiteful look from the Gold Agent he puts it back and slips off a golden one, with a small sapphire. “Yes, I was saving this for one of those marvelous black powder weapons...They tell me they’re quite simpl...I mean, I found them very efficient in my many hours of target practice.” he puts the ring in front of the agent, sighing. That ring was from Geliana…

The Gold Agent nods, motioning for the little gnome to sit with the others. "I will answer your questions to the best of my ability. I might as well take them in the order asked," she says, turning to the hobgoblin. "We will be sending in a longboat with a skeleton crew, a dozen slaves and unit of mercenaries under your collective command. The reefs prevent a larger ship from making shore, however you will be generously supplied by a galleon with provisions and building supplies ferried ashore. You will receive minimal resupply on each new moon. If you fail to become profitable within three months..." she shrugs, not bothering to end her sentence. She turns to Penance, "The same goes for you. Your mother will be cared for for as long as you are profitable. In case any of you were wondering, yes, this mission is the reason you've all been trained with firearms recently. If you have more questions, ask them now. If not, introduce yourself and describe your skill set for the group."


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

Iliante had held his voice to this point observing the diverse characters around the room. He had seen pirate bars more homogenous than here. He decided that he should go first and break the ice considering that he was not Aspis.

When he clears his throat, four parallel flaps of skin on each side of his neck snap open and slowly close indicating gills. ”I do have a question, but please allow me to introduce myself first. My name is Iliante, and this is my first Aspis meeting. I represent Alkenstar and fulfill its condition of a contract with the Consortium to provide firearms and support for this venture. I am a trained gunsmith and can maintain the arsenal that I just delivered here. In addition to those skills, I am a sailor and as comfortable below the water as above, because I am undine.”

His fin-like ears slightly fold back as he turns his sea green face with ocean blue hair to meet the gazes of the others with his limpid blue eyes. The string under his chin holding his wind-brimmed straw hat on his backpack stretches taut when he reaches the last person. ”Now, my question, madame. Would you have a chart of this area that you describe? I grew up in the Obari and am unfamiliar. Which coast is it on: Garund, Casmaron, or Vudra?”


"It is not surprising that you've never heard of the spot. It lies far to the south and east of Jalmeray, in the center of the Obari between Garund and Vudra. The Hungry Mists have been avoided for as long as anyone can remember by any captain with sense, so they aren't on most maps. The major trade routes bypass them, but there's a smuggler's route from Vudra to Katapesh that goes near the spot. The size of the mists seems to fluctuate over time, though the general location stays the same." The Gold Agent's response to Iliante fails to answer his question directly. Neither is a chart forthcoming. She meets the undine's gaze inscrutably for a moment longer, then turns her attention back to the group as a whole, awaiting further questions.


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

Unfazed Iliante nods in recognition that the location is secret even to them. The island is probably due east or south east from his childhood home far past the shelf edge. Makes sense. Not much civilized living over there, he remembers.


Male Hobgoblin Male Hobgoblin Fighter (Lore Warden) 3, Monk (Maneuver Master) 1 AC 20/14/16 / HP 34/34 / F +6 R +7 W +3 / Init. +4 / Perc. +7)

Already standing, Kahnjar rolled his shoulders back and listened quietly to the exchange. No map then. The hobgoblin thought to himself before remembering the half-lucid description relayed by the single survivor of demons in the marsh as well as the strange golden idol. Mentally calculating the cost of a galleon, a dozen slaves and a unit of mercenaries, Khanjar whistled to himself. The start up costs for this expedition was going to be staggering. Taking a sip from his battered canteen, Kahnjar gestured to himself. My name is Kahnjar Tarruk. For the last two years I have worked within the Expanse overseeing the harvesting and processing of large Darkwood groves. Patting his whip, the hobgoblin grinned to himself. As I mentioned before I specialize in dealing with unskilled labor, ensuring that the consortium can make the best use out of them.

Eyes settling on the Gold Agent, Kahnjar nodded. I have three questions. The first; I assume that I will be in charge of the slaves? The second; the amount of resources the consortium are allocating to this venture are substantial. In order to turn a profit, what is our margin? Sipping at the canteen, Khanjar’s eyes studied the Gold Agent. And this gold idol you mentioned. Do you still have it and was anything learned about its origins? I know that some tribes and primitives often use idols as a form of worship and it might give us a better idea of what we are getting ourselves into.


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance scratches at his jaw unhappily at the words as long as you're profitable, but he's not surprised. That's been the way of it for as long as he's worked for the bastards.

Adjah's taken care of, and Nex doesn't hear about them... just as long as he's profitable.

He looks around at the others, shaking his head a bit to himself. A motley mix if there ever was one. There's a fellow with gills, a bleedin' hob slaver, a gnome (Abadar spit on the maddening little race) with some sorta genie behind him.... an eastern girl with empty eyes, and then some fancy-pants human...

Penance supposes he can't really throw stones. He grunts, planting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands.

"Seems like you've got it all sorted out, then." Yes. Food, building supplies... slaves... he might clench his fists at the latter, but his hands are holding his chin up, so he doesn't.

"Name's Penance. I'm muscle for this little cruise," he says in a raspy voice. "I'm tough to put down, I don't back down, and I hit hard. Know my way around a hacksaw or a wood planer, too."

There's more to him than that, of course-- his faith, if it can be called that, in Abadar.... but Penance doesn't figure that's anyone's business but him. He won't lie about it, but he won't volunteer it, either.

"That's about all you lot need to know about me."


The Gold Agent nods in acknowledgement of Penance's words, then turns to answer Khanjar. "How the slaves and mercenaries are managed will need to be worked out amongst yourselves. You are all equally ranked as far as the Consortium is concerned. Of course, taking advantage of one another's skills is advisable." The Gold Agent rustles some papers on the desk in front of her and begins reading off a list. "Longship 10,000 gold pieces, galleon full of supplies 200,000 gold pieces, 100 veteran mercenaries 4,000 gold pieces a month, longboat crew 4,000 gold pieces a month, half a dozen skilled slaves 6,000 gold pieces, half a dozen slaves fit for hard labor 600 gold pieces. Two hundred and twenty four thousand, six hundred gold pieces. Substantial indeed." The sum was staggering, it was more money than most successful people would see in a lifetime of labor. It was enough to, well, buy oneself a kingdom. "Of course, you won't be expected to refund the entire expedition in three months, though if you did I don't think anyone would complain. All we require is that money begins to flow back towards us. To whether it be in the form of artifacts, slaves, raw materials or manufactured goods we are indifferent. The bigger the amount, the more inclined the Patrons will be to continue their support."

She then reaches under the table and produces a black velvet bag closed at the top by a drawstring of golden colored silk cord. She sets it carefully on the center of the table in front of her. "As to your last question..." she reaches out and unties the drawstring of the bag. She opens the velvet bag flat onto the mahogany of the table. Sitting there in the center of the midnight velvet circle on the larger black field of the tabletop is a squat, twisted, gold idol. It is a twisted amalgamation of several marine animals. It has the ovoid carapace and pincers of a crab. Each forearm ends not only in one pincer, but three, arranged to form three digits of a horrid triangular appendage. Instead of crustacean legs, overly numerous cephalopodic tentacles erupt from the openings in the sides of its shell. At the front of the crab, where the mandibles and eye stalks should be, the roaring maw and head of a great white shark extend from the dorsal fin forward out of the thing's body.

"We have so far been unable to determine what god this idol is meant to represent."


Telemakos:
AC 18, T 13, FF 16; Fort +5, Ref +9, Will +8; Init +2; Perc +6; low-light vision
Arasmes:
AC 18, T 12, FF 16; Fort +6, Ref +4, Will +5; Init +2; Perc +7; darkvision 60 feet

Oh, for the Souls of the Seven Shaitans… Telemakos thinks when he finally takes his time to look around This fella, taking so normally about slavery… and that girl with the dead eyes and eerily silent. Brrr… he shivers.
Seems as if we will have many… unsavory characters along with us in this expedition.” he murmurs under his breath so that only Arasmes can hear him.
Do you want me to keep an eye on them, Master?” replies the genie with eagerness.
Shhhh!” the gnome elbows the genie, hoping nobody heard “Lower your tone, don’t anger them!”.

Telemakos looks around, awkwardly, during a moment of silence after the Golden agent has put the idol on the table. He had hoped to go unnoticed and avoid the presentation, to get lost among the other laborers and fly under the radar of the dangerous-looking people in his group. However, after a while, more and more gazes fall upon him, until he gets too uncomfortable keeping the silence.

I… Hi! Good morning to you all.” he raises a hand waving then takes it down immediately as nobody answer the awkward gesture. “I bear the humble name of Krostumolis, Telemakos Ogeo, son of Temistokles Davieg” he does a slight bow “and my area of expertise lies towards animals, the selective breeding and…” he stops when the genie taps him on the shoulder “… I was saying, breeding and training of the best horses, falcon… Oh for the Souls of…!” he stops again when the genie taps him a second time “Fine, fine. This is Arasmes, my trusted aide from a remote Plane of Existence.” the genie bows exaggeratedly, then looks at Telemakos “and while his magical powers have yet to truly awaken, his might in battle knows few equals.” Arasmes flexes his biceps, and Telemakos shakes his head, sighing.

I have a good deal of experience in the training wildlife, and I do know a thing or two about the arcane arts. I only wish to be of help in this venture, my nob…ehr, my, ehm, my brave companions!
Then he inches forward “Speaking of arcane, if I might take a look at the idol… if no one else wishes to examine it first, of course…” he gets closer to the table.

Knowledge (planes) to remember seeing a similar creature in some planar atlas, and something about it: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24


Male Half-Elf Tailor; AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10, CMD 18; HP 10/10; Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +3; Initiative +6; Perception +5 (darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision), Sense Motive +6

Noticing Penance's gaze move from one person to the next, Corridan affords the half-orc a friendly smile once the warrior's eyes turn to him as the tailor returns the look calmly enough. 'Well, this is interesting,' he ponders. 'I seem to be the only human among them... or rather, us. Well, well, well...'

"That does sound like quite the investment indeed, Madam," Corridan offers before turning to those gathered, the Gold Agent included. "An introduction then..." Softly clearing his throat he continues. "Good day! My name is Corridan Valkeri. As I have already said, I am rather handy with a needle and thread and in fact have a clothing store in Katapesh. Valkeri Clothiers, perhaps you have heard of it? Yes? No? Regardless..."

He pauses for a moment, the smile nevertheless not vanishing from his lips, as he considers how much he should share with his new associates. "Of course, I am certain you assume I have other talents as well, otherwise why would I be in this mission alongside warriors and mages? Now, I may not be all that useful in a fight and I may not know all that much about magic, but thanks to a less than... well, let us say a less than right and proper childhood, I can be pretty quiet when I want to be and I know my way around a set of lockpicks."

He shrugs, also allowing a somewhat exaggerated sigh to escape his lips. "What can I say, certain parts of a misspent youth are not easily forgotten, no matter how long one has been nothing more than a businessman."


Telemakos has never seen an outsider like the idol before.


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

'Corridon Valkeri. Fancy-pants name, too. Penance returns the man's smile with a grunt of his own. Gods' balls, they've got a damned tailor among them.

Leaning back in his chair, the half-orc squints suspiciously at him. A tailor... but one with other talents, it seems. Penance makes a mental note to keep an eye on his things.


Listening to the exchange, Grelfexriplik mutters "Echh, slaving? Unpleasant business. And at any rate we need to think bigger. I suspect there'll be plenty of profit to be had via new knowledge and new resources, for those with sharp eyes and sharper minds."

"At any rate, it’s time to introduce myself. I am Grelfexriplik Delvegribble. Non-gnomes with thicker tongues sometimes prefer 'Grel'. I am a scientist, out to unveil the Great Mysteries through rigorous experimentation. I consider myself something of a generalist but my current areas of focus are alchemy -- especially explosives and nauseants -- together with engineering and the theory of mathematics. I’ve actually got a fascinating experiment underway that was showing tremendous promise, involving Tricholoma sulphureum fermented in the sweat of the troglodyte. It turns out that given the right admixture - together with a bit of black powder and the barest bit of dried, shaved salamander, one can make a very impressive and very nauseating explosion. Of course, the trick will be to uncover precisely what it is that..." Seeing a few eyes begin to glaze he moves on, ”Of course I am no stranger to field work, finding that many of the most interesting reagents aren’t available in any store...and certain alchemical creations are best tested in the field. I’m sure that many of you will be comfortable on the front lines of a battle and I applaud that. Myself, I will be best of use controlling crowds from afar.” As he mentions melee he glances as Penance and Khanjar.

He pauses and bites off another large wedge of bread, slathering it with butter. Turning back to their sponsor he adds, ”As for questions, thank you. I of course have several. Firstly, you say ‘The effect has since been replicated by a different ship.’ The island appearing in the mist of course, but do you also mean the effect of the sole gibbering survivor? Secondly, what manner will our own salaries take on this expedition? Thirdly, you mention resupplies. I take that if we give a list of requirements on one new moon, we can expect to see our orders come in on the following one?”


The Gold Agent raises an eyebrow at Grel's comment about slavery, but says nothing. She waits for him to finish his introduction and ask his questions and replies, "Only the effect of the landmass reappearing has been replicated. We haven't sent anyone else ashore yet. Subsequent surveys have revealed a short segment of the coast. Here," she says shifting through the pile of papers in front of her. She pulls out a small expertly painted map. It's marked with a hexagonal grid. "Each of these hexagons is twelve miles across. We haven't been able to see much yet, mostly marsh and some hills to the south. The sailors who did the surveying warned that there were an abnormally large amount of sharks in the reefs around the island. We haven't been willing to risk a ship getting caught inside unprepared so we're kept the surveys minimal. It's only been two months since the initial discovery." She slides the map out onto the center of the table, near the idol, for everyone to examine as they please.

Map

"As for your salaries, they will be up to you. You have all shown yourselves capable of running a business of some kind in the past. This is no different. You must repay us, your creditors, at a reasonable rate, or risk our ire. You must pay your own operating costs. Everything else is profit, for you. The rate of your repayment to us is negotiable, but could not be less than 30% of your gross profits. Keep in mind many people would kill for the chance to explore and pillage a new landmass for free, much less expect a set salary. We can procure items for you and bring them in at each new moon, yes, but you will need to pay for them yourselves. The nature of the resupply will mostly be food and building materials until there is a self sufficient settlement established." She allows the group time to examine the map and think of further questions.


Stats:
51/51 HP | AC 18; touch 17; flat-footed 11 | F: +7; R: +5; W: +6 | Init: +4 | Perception: +11

The pale young Tian-Min woman's features are accentuated by the white and blue shades of her garb—horribly out-of-place given present company save for the Tian silk tapestries that flank the walls on either side of the immaculately worked table. The pale, colorless orbs in her eye sockets make it hard to betray where her attention rests, although she remains clearly attentive to the discussion at hand.

'Slavers and slayers. Is this what has become of the famous Yamakawa bushi maho-tsukai? Servants to those who are themselves servants—to their own avarice?'

Tilting her head as if to acknowledge a presence unseen by the rest of the room, the pale girl's brows furrow slightly. She attempts to mask the gesture by replacing it with one far more refined. Nodding her head politely to those who are to be her new allies, she finds occasion to offer a proper introduction. "I am Yamakawa Shinjuko. My considerable knowledge and resources shall ever be at your disposal. My blade shall mete out punishment to those unworthy of our employer's mercy." As if to punctuate the statement, the Shinjuko reaches her right forehand over to rest atop the hilt of the long, curved blade tucked into her obi. The sword resembles the famed katana that the samurai of Minkai employ, though the azure silk wrapped hilt seems to bear a far more pronounced curve.

"'Noriki no meiyo'; by this blade alone was the dread Oni no Yori—the Obsidian Monolith—turned back in the ancient days of the Yamakawa family. It is now to my hands this charge has fallen. I have the honor of being the sole inheritor and master of the Yamakawa bushi maho-tsukai technique; a technique perfected over thousands of years without equal or rival. This I offer to the expedition: an unflinching blade to punish all that would obstruct our purpose or corrupt our cause. The will of the Consortium will remain immutable so long as I draw breath. This I speak also as a caution to any who would seek to elevate their own goals beyond that of those whom we serve. Enemies of the Consortium shall ever be treated as such. Remember this." Her face betrays little emotion, and yet a cold ruthlessness permeates her warning.

As the talk turns to slaves, she calmly waits for an opening in the conversation before contributing herself. "There remain two servants in my employ. A pair of strong Kellids familiar with long hours of toil that offer little complaint. While they remain to address my needs foremost, I shall pledge also their strength to the needs of the expedition. Treat them fairly as I have. I will not abide mishandling of my property without my express consent."

__________________________________________________
I intend to speak with Shinjuko's black blade—unless told otherwise—and will do so with italics in apostrophes, while Shinjuko's thoughts will be italics in quotations. If I need to distinguish between the two in some other way, I will oblige. Thus far, I intend to represent it as a sort of amalgam of ancestors who previously wielded the blade. A sort of repository of long passed consciences manifesting in a single entity within the blade. As such, I figure the blade will chide her often for the circumstances of her service.


Well that's everyone introduced I think. Any more questions for the Gold Agent?


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance squints and scowls at the golden idol. His knowledge of the gods hasn't exactly been a formal education. Doesn't look familiar to him.

Instead he slides the map across the table to study it, his heavy brow furrowed. "Marshes," he grunts. "Great. Bugs."

Well, he can slog through the muck fine. A corner of his mouth lifts at the thought of some of these fancier folk gettin' their robes dirty. Like that eastern girl with the dead eyes.

"So. Resupply ship once a month... if it doesn't get picked off by pirates or smugglers... we'd best not to get too reliant on it. Well. I figure everything else we could ask is stuff you just don't know-- things we're the ones to go find out."

Penance cracks his knuckles, and runs over purchases in his mind. Really, the only thing he knows he wants to buy is vermin repellent. Flippin' mosquitos.


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

After studying the map, Penance will look around to the others again, silently judging and assessing.

Maybe they all share the same rank within the Consortium.... but hell if that means anything in the field. Someone has to give orders, and others have to take them: that's the way of the world.

If this is to be the fresh start he hopes it is, damned if he'll be the one on the receiving end again.

"Anyone here know how to catch sharks?" he says with a thin smile.


Male Half-Elf Tailor; AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10, CMD 18; HP 10/10; Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +3; Initiative +6; Perception +5 (darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision), Sense Motive +6

"I assume by using the proper bait," Corridan quips as he eyes the map in front of them and especially the marshes on it with a look that could best be described as distaste. "A strong enough fishing line might also help, I would wager."

"Marshes, bugs," he mutters, echoing Penance's own words from moments ago. He lets out a soft sigh before continuing. "Of course, going by what we have just been told, those are probably going to be the least of our worries. But, considering our rather... diverse skills, we should be fine. Probably..." To any strange looks, he simply responds by shrugging and adding, "What can I say, call me cautiously optimistic."

"I do not have any questions about the logistics of this whole thing," he finishes, "or at least I cannot think of any at the moment, except for one: Are we all of equal footing, or should one of us be in charge? Not that I know all that much of hierarchies, but I have chatted with my fair share of clients with military careers and it would seem that there are occasions where such an individual might be needed."


The Gold Agent smiles enigmatically. "If you must be led, I suggest you vote one of yourselves leader. I believe Penance would be a good choice, he's got more experience in the wilderness than the rest of you, he's decisive and he's got the conscience and proper motivations to keep the team on course."


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

"Usually don't catch sharks. You kill sharks. When you have a bunch, you start one bleeding from range and let the others eat it. Repeat. Costs bolts and time." Iliante offers casually. "The real question is why are there lots of sharks there. They either have a plentiful supply of food or are being magically attracted. Both options are interesting."

Iliante sizes up Penance after the Gold Agent suggests they vote him leader. Maybe it's because they control his mother that they want him leader. Must be something." Iliante wonders to himself.


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance blinks once at the Gold Agent nominating him. His yellow eyes narrow, regard her with almost as much as suspicion and a similar train of thought as Iliante is thinking.

It's because the bastards have my mother. They know I won't do a gods-cursed thing against them long as she's under their thumb. He finds his anger rising, and grits his teeth to himself. Slow breaths. Won't do to lose his temper at a Gold.

There's a still, small voice in the back of his mind-- Or because you are driven, organized, disciplined. Because you serve Me, and others have expectations, and assumptions, about one who serves Me...

I don't SERVE you. I OWE you. There's a difference, Penance thinks back, with his big hands knotting on the table.

Aloud, he says gruffly, "I can yell at people as good as anyone, I guess."

He's happy to think about the shark question instead, squinting at Iliante. "Dunno much about sharks," he rasps. "So they'll go for the wounded ones, huh? 's good to know. Guess you're our--" his lips twist in a half-smile, "nautical expert."


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

In reply to the half-orc, Iliante smiles and breathes out through his gills causing the four parallel flaps on the side of his neck to snap open and slowly close.


"Well, since you apparently have no further questions for me, this meeting is over. If you need time to think about your decision, RSVP via the usual channels within twenty four hours. The galleon Naga's Breath will depart from Katapesh at high tide on the twenty first of Rova. You have until then to put your affairs in order and make and final preparations for your mission. You will have plenty of time to get to know each other and decide who is in charge during the voyage. It should take three weeks if winds are favorable. We've left you a week of leeway, to guarantee that you'll arrive before the new moon." The Gold Agent gathers up her papers and the idol. She smiles her false smile one last time and says, "Thank you for coming." She makes no move to stand, but it is clear that a dismissal is being offered.

<< Katapesh, Docks District, Naga's Breath | 11:45 | Very Hot | Starday, Rova 21st, 4713 AR >>

The usual sensory ephemera of the docks abound, the cawing of gulls overhead, the smell of salt air and rotting fish. The sound of dockhands grunting under their heavy loads blends with the cries of street merchants hawking their wares, and the the desultory enticements of the prostitutes flashing their breasts in front of seedy inns. The smoke of wood fires mixes with that of incense and various inebriants to swirl across the baking mass of bustling, unwashed humanity as the Bronze Agents make their way to the appointed meeting place. Their destination is one of the cheaper, more remote docks. Working their way through the multicultural, roiling throng of the Katapeshi docks to get there is a trial all its own.

The Naga's Breath is painted with the bright red, yellow and green common to many Mwangi art forms. It sports eighteen guns and three masts. Though the ship is quite large, a trained eye easily notes it is a compromise between size and speed. The Breath's flags mark it as a Sargarvan ship. The galleon dwarfs most of the other ships around it. They are mainly the smaller trading vessels that more typically rent such remote docks. The ship's gangplank is down, resting on the wooden pier. At the land end of the pier stand four men in chainmail armor, under plain undyed linen tabards. Two of them are human, one is a pale skinned, the other Garundi. The other two are a half-orc and a blonde dwarf. The men and half-orc are armed with serviceable looking longswords, the dwarf has a warhammer. Each one has a shield and crossbow close to hand. They are currently chatting idly, but the way that they all stand up straight instead of lounging about reveals their professionalism. The Naga's Breath herself is swarming with half naked sailors of various races and ethnicity, busy with the preparations of a ship about to leave harbor.

Before you post in this scene, please have all your purchases finalized.


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

blah blah self-indulgent roleplay stuff:
When Penance entered the doorway of the rooms he and his mother rented, the half-orc's demeanor changed. On the streets he walked with bluster, swagger, shoulders squared and fists balled and his eyes set into a nigh-permanent squint that asked passersby, You lookin' at me?

Through the door, and his shoulders relaxed. Tension left his spine and his face went from a wary glower at the world to a wistful look, as he gazed around him at the place that had become 'home'.

They'd done alright for themselves, here in Katapesh. No, it wasn't a palace, but... it was theirs, and it was comfortable, and it wasn't slave quarters. Three small rooms, made colorful by the rugs his mother wove-- their warm colors and intricate patterns soothing the eye. He unslung his gear, setting the large sword and everything else in the corner by the door as he walked from the front room, where his mother's loom was set up, for the small cooking area. "Ma-ma?"

"In here, boy."

He leaned against the archway that led to the kitchen and watched her. Adjah's orc blood was not as visible as her son's-- a strange throwback of genetics, that it should manifest so strongly in the boy-- but showed primarily in the solid set of her shoulders, the vaguely pointed ears, coarse hands, and the mouthful of teeth that showed when she opened her mouth too wide. Adjah had learned young how to talk from the corners of her lips. And, when young, she had done a fair enough job of hiding it-- of being attractive enough for the dubious 'honor' of her master's interest. Now she was past forty, and premature grey was streaking her black hair. Orcs grew up fast... and they aged fast, too. Her face was lined, weathered from the sun, and in the wrong lighting the greenish tinge showed through.

To her son, she was still beautiful, as only a mother can be.

Adjah stirred the stew over the low fire, lifted the spoon for a sniff and a lick, grunted, and added a handful of bay leaves from a small clay container. She sat back on her heels and looked up at him.

"Well? What are you staring at?"

He grinned, sheepishly. "Nothing, Ma-ma. I brought you something from market." A trinket, a bracelet, beaten copper disks. It had taken the very last two pieces of gold he had in his purse, after all the rest of the supplies he had bought.

He held it forth. Adjah took it with a quizzical brow arch, but duly held it up against her skin, nodded once. Then her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Alright. What happened?"

"Ma-ma! Can I not buy you something nice, just because?"

"No," she grunted, and knelt back down by the stew. "Out with it. Bad news is like bad wine: better to get it down quickly, if you must have it."

Penance sighed. He fiddled with a buckle and strap on his armor. "It's not... entirely bad news. It's-- sort of a promotion."

Adjah did not look up. " 'Sort of.' "

"There's... an expedition. To a new land. I am to go with it."

Adjah's hand tightened on the spoon, but it was the only reaction she gave. She kept stirring.

Penance dropped his gaze to his feet. "It may be permanent... but family members will be allowed to come, later, if all goes well."

Adjah sighed. "You are still listening to the promises the Aspis tell you, son?"

He set his jaw; he crossed his arms. "It is not as though I have a choice. We still have not worked off our debt to them.... and should we anger them, they have only to withdraw their protection, and those back in Nex will hear of us. I've no desire to be dragged back to face punishment for a crime I didn't even commit."

Adjah's head lowered; he felt an instant pang of guilt. "I did not mean it like that, Ma-ma."

"No," she sighed, "but it is deserved, even so. It sits poorly with me, that you must work for these thugs because of me, because of my actions."

He shook his head shortly. "Because of Kinjar! His actions. It wasn't your fault! Anyway-- anyway, this may be a way out. There will be little supervision there. We will be the leaders. And there is the promise of much gold..."

Adjah rose, looking at her son sorrowfully. She walked to him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "There always is, Pen. There always is.

"Come. Eat. Tell me how soon you must leave."

****

The dinner of the night before, the morning's parting, overshadowed his thoughts as Penance strode down the dock towards the waiting ship. Adjah would be alright. She'd told him so herself, numerous times. The rugs and blankets she wove fetched good prices, at market, and the street scum of Katapesh understood not to bother the mother of a man who worked for the Aspis Consortium.

He had promised to write; his mother had nodded as if to say, yes, of course you will. He had made her promise to write back-- and to tell him, via a pre-arranged phrase, if everything was not well at home. It felt silly to have to set up such precautions, but how else could a son take care of his mother, with an ocean between them? The Aspis might not even carry her letters back to him, but... he had to try.

Seeing the soldiers up ahead, Penance decidew to distract himself from these thoughts by returning to the face and role he wears in public.

"'Tention!" he yells as he comes up to the group. "Penance, Expedition Task Force! Your names and ranks, soldiers!"

He doesn't know a damned thing about sailing, but as he'd said at the meeting, he can yell as good as anyone.

All purchases finalized! No moolah left!


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The four men stand up more straight at Penance's yell. They straighten their sheathed weapons and pick up their shields. Once they are all at attention the tall heavy set garundi speaks first. His skin is black as coal, and shines almost reflectively under a thin sheen of sweat in the bright desert sun. He's overweight, with sleepy, barely open eyes and large lips. Despite his bulk, the man's arm muscles look firm as he salutes and says, "Kintombo, Aspis regular, sir." His voice is just as thick and sleepy as the rest of him. The taller and much thinner pale man at his side smiles, crinkling the scar that runs from the corner of his right eye down his cheek and under his chin. The man's short, dark hair and aquiline features mark him as a Chelaxian. "Petter, Aspis regular, sir," he says, saluting as well. The half-orc is predictably taller than the other three. His features are nearly human, save for the tusks jutting up over his upper lip. One of the yellowed tusks is broken off at half its height. His skin is as milky as the Chelaxian beside him, his features stony and disciplined. His head is shaved, and he wears a short, dark, bristly beard. "Georg One-Tusk, Aspis regular, sir!" he exclaims, with a snapped off salute. Finally the dwarf clears his throat. He's average height and build for a dwarf, his hair is shaved into a short blonde brush. A massive flowing mustache erupts from his upper lip, the tails of which are braided together with his prodigious sideburns on the sides of the dwarf's head. The rest of his beard is shaved down to stubble. The mustache-burn braids are capped at jaw length with iron clasps in the shape of ram's heads. His emerald green eyes glitter from within the craggy recesses of his face as he salutes and grumbles, "Kankurr, Aspis regular."


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance never gave the orders, back in Nex. He's gotten to taste the basics of it, in Katapesh-- ordering around Aspis recruits like this, those who aren't proper agents yet. Not exactly high command, but....

He thinks of his father, and it's easy. Easy to give orders, to treat people like they're scum that should be grateful for the honor of your attention, he thinks bitterly.

The truth is more nuanced. His father had known how to lead, for all Penance hates his memory-- he'd known how to lead worshipers in prayer, how to lead a community to the strictures of religion-- and Penance wonders if any of that's rubbed off on him. Maybe. Who the hell knows?

He keeps his face set in a stern scowl rather than let any of his introspection show.

He makes eye contact with each of the men, filing away their names in his head. Penance isn't exactly book-smart, but you can always hire a wizard for books-- people, you gotta learn a different way.

Garundi. Probably from deep inland-- the damned steamin' jungles. The Chelish... nasty scar he's got. Least it means he's seen fights.

He gives the other half-orc a small nod, barely there, a little jerk of his chin of acknowledgment. Bastards have to stick together-- and in all his nineteen years, Penance has yet to meet another half-orc who isn't a bastard.

The dwarf gets a glower down at him-- while the dislike of dwarves for orcs is legendary, it's returned in just about equal measure by the orcs. Penance wasn't raised with a particular culture of hatred towards dwarves, per se, but he's felt enough burning glares from Torag's favored, aimed between his shoulderblades, that he's more than happy to return them. He stares a moment, trying to figure if the dwarf's grumbling is just his natural way of speech or if there's some sullenness aimed his way. Well, hells with it, if the dwarf gives him lip on the boat he'll beat respect into him.

Order enforced at whip's tip is not order...

That little whisper again, back of his soul. Penance frowns and rubs at the back of his neck.

"At your ease, men! Soon as the rest of the Expedition arrives, you'll help load any gear they require assistance with. Hope you lot got your fill of the flesh-dens last night, for there's no dancin' girls where we're going!"


Telemakos:
AC 18, T 13, FF 16; Fort +5, Ref +9, Will +8; Init +2; Perc +6; low-light vision
Arasmes:
AC 18, T 12, FF 16; Fort +6, Ref +4, Will +5; Init +2; Perc +7; darkvision 60 feet

I decided that even if I forgot to buy something, that’s all good roleplay. Telemakos is not a seasoned adventurer. He will forget to buy important stuff before a long mission. So my purchases are final.

The gnome is wearing what he bought as a nautical outfit – clothes that would usually be seen worn by actors in a theatrical play about pirates. When he sees that his companions are wearing the same clothes as the day before, he curses under his breath. Stupid. Stupid! You didn’t need this!

After purchasing the rifle from the Consortium, Telemakos looks at his meager finances left. I suppose money won’t matter much in this exploration… he thinks, pocketing the coins left …and the purpose of the expedition is to make profit, isn’t it? You will make money, come on… he tries to convince himself.

Lost in his thoughts, Telemakos almost doesn’t see the Naga’s Breath. Only when the shadow of the massive ship falls upon him he does look up.

Behind him, Arasmes is leading Parsley. Both genie and pony are carrying the many bags and luggage, mostly useless, that Telemakos is carrying with himself.
For the Unending Sandstorms of Perun, that looks mighty!” screams Arasmes, excited at the sight of the galleon. “Will you be the captain, master?
Telemakos shakes his head “No, no I won’t. There will be trained nautical experts, and... look, that orcish fellow from yesterday seems to be in charge. He will be captain.
Arasmes seems unconvinced “You should be captain. He isn’t even properly dressed. He is wearing armor, he will drown at the first storm! Man overboard, man overboard! Fetch the ropes, you scallywags!” the genie chuckles within himself while posturing as a sailor.

He does seem very young to be the leader thinks Telemakos looking again at Penance “Cut it out. We should appear professionals. Carry yourself with dignity and try to appear tough at those mercenaries’ eyes.

The gnome climbs onboard “Master Penance, nice to see you again. So these will be our guards… Hello to you. You can call Master Krostumolis” he nods towards the four mercenaries. A couple of steps behind, Arasmes gazes intensely into each mercenary’s eyes, trying to appear fearsome.
It is a pretty bizarre sight, even for Katapesh.

I think I intimidated them, master.
Of course you did. Come on, let’s find my cabin…


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance clears his throat at the outlandish gnome's greeting. 'Outlandish gnome'-- now there's a damn redundant phrase, he thinks to himself as he keeps a wary eye on, not the gnome, but his... 'assistant'.

Penance figures he could probably lift the gnome one-handed and skip him like a stone over the water, if he had to, but the genie-thing that follows the gnome around looks rather tougher. What had the little man said, yesterday? Might in battle, eh. He squints at the genie's brawny arms, and furtively gives a little flex of his own. Toss-up as he reckons it. Strength's not everything... but it's a hell of a lot.

"Mornin' to you too," he says, spitting over the dock into the water. "You got enough boxes and barrels and all strapped to your pony there, Krostumolis?"

Master Penance, he thinks to himself. Has kind of a nice ring to it.


The four men at the end of the quay are only a handful of the mercenaries on the galleon. Having no cabins, long distance travel on a longship is rather unpleasant for those not used to it, so Besmara's Bounty will meet the Naga's Breath at the Hungry Mists. The majority of the hundred mercenaries assigned to the Bronze Agents are onboard the Breath. Another two mercs guard the top of the gangplank, and as Penance and Telemakos load his gear onto the ship, they find the decks packed with soldiers looking like they come from all over the Inner Sea. The best four cabins are reserved for the Bronze Agents. One for Shinjuko and the other three to share amongst the men. Despite being the best, each cabin is barely bigger than the bunk beds they contain. The only other amenity is a small chest bolted to the floor, and a small washbasin.


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

Home. It smells more like home from this remote dock that today sits upwind of the port proper. Iliante stares up at his new ship and reflects on the past day or so while letting the few dock denizens ebb and flow around him.

After the Aspis meeting, he met up with his mates that accompanied him on the special delivery from Alkenstar City. They caroused through all of their usual haunts meeting more mates, and he left them this morning unconscious on a tavern floor. He had told them that he was taking some personal time to return home, which was the agreed lie that was to cover his special mission for the Grand Duchess. Considering where he was headed, it was not that untruthful. He had smiled when that Gold agent talked of final preparations. Iliante lived prepared. He received his new mithral shirt and magic haversack for the trip in Alkenstar City, but otherwise carried his usual kit. And per his routine before departing port, he spent all of his coins on his mates.

The Naga’s Breath obviously shares the same shipwright as his usual ship; however, it is broader of belly and ten guns short. His Surprise would make a couple knots faster, but this galleon probably carries twice the cargo. The Aspis are sparing no expense on this mission.

Iliante passes the four mercs at the top of the dock showing his bronze medallion as he did to the thug guarding the meeting. He feels much more confident here walking near the water under the sun than he did entering that meeting. He takes the gangplank like a veteran and passes the two mercs at the ship railing waving his bronze medallion. He closes on the three familiar faces: the half-orc, gnome, and genie. ”Nice ship, we have here.”

Then after a pause looking over the gnome, ”You changed clothes. Is this your first trip aboard ship?”


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance nods to the fellow he thinks of privately as 'the fish-man'. The one who knows about sharks, that's maybe more tactful.

"Nice enough," he answers, slapping a hand on the ship's railing. This is a good vague, non-committal statement to cover the fact that he knows nothing of sailing or ships.


Telemakos:
AC 18, T 13, FF 16; Fort +5, Ref +9, Will +8; Init +2; Perc +6; low-light vision
Arasmes:
AC 18, T 12, FF 16; Fort +6, Ref +4, Will +5; Init +2; Perc +7; darkvision 60 feet

It most certainly is NOT!” replies Telemakos to Iliante, a bit too eager and quickly. “I sailed from Absalom to Quantium to Korvosa and many other travels, and then here in Katapesh, I’ll have you know!Closed in my luxury cabin and almost never putting my feet above deck, but you don’t have to know that…

The gnome straightens his silly-looking clothes “This is just – nautical garb. Yes. Typical nautical garb from… Korvosa. That’s right.That should be far enough. if I’m lucky he’s never been there.It’s very practical and suited to the occasion. I’m sure you don’t need it, since your kind is born with a natural affinity for the sea, but some of us are not so lucky.
Worried to commit other faux pas, Telemakos flimsily excuses himself from the conversation with the undine and goes below deck, where he discovers he has to share a cabin. Oh this is going to be a nightmare…


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

"Touchy gnome." Iliante says to Penance giving him time to reply. Then, he wanders off to explore the rigging and extra cargo room.


Male Half-Elf Tailor; AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10, CMD 18; HP 10/10; Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +3; Initiative +6; Perception +5 (darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision), Sense Motive +6

After the meeting is over, Corridan excuses himself and heads to the market to purchase certain items he thinks will be of use while on the island. Once done with that, he passes by his store and spends the rest of the day tidying it up and making sure everything is in order. Then, the next day, it is time to close it up and secure it. Smiling to himself, he also hangs a small sign at the door that reads "On Vacation". Finding himself amused at this last little touch, he picks up his backpack, full with various little things, and straps it on his back. Then, a kit with the tools of his trade hanging from his left hand and with his walking cane in his right, he makes his way to the docks at a leisurely enough pace, spotting those of his new companions that are already there as soon as he gets close enough.

"Good day, gentlemen," he greets them in his more or less usual way, the tone friendly and polite. "I see I am not the first one here. Not that I expected to be frankly, as I seem to have taken my time getting here."

"She seems like a good enough vessel," he remarks as he takes a better look at the Naga's Breath. He then pauses before giving the others a curious look. "That is correct, yes? I have been told 'she' can be used to refer to ships?"


Stats:
51/51 HP | AC 18; touch 17; flat-footed 11 | F: +7; R: +5; W: +6 | Init: +4 | Perception: +11

Katapesh did not agree with Shinjuko. All around, the crippling vices and depravities of Golarion's western races choked away reason and duty. In its place, there remained little beyond a profound avarice that seemed to permeate every corner of the city. Mifune's stories of their ancestral homeland painted an appealing picture; everything had a purpose—a sense of a greater duty that stood before personal greed and desires. She longed to visit that place some day, to walk where her ancestors had, though she knows it unlikely. She would even settle with being back in Westcrown. The regimental way of life there could be harsh, but it served a purpose greater than the sum of any of its parts. Katapesh was a den of criminals and money mongers. Shinjuko would be glad to depart the wretched place.

The face of the strange looking Tian-Min betray little of her disdain for the streets she gracefully glides upon. Placid and polite without fail, even to those actively trying to wrong her with their stolen wares and falsehoods, she remains focused on the task given her. Her destination this day is the docks, and she suffers no hindrance in her efforts to reach the provided vessel unmolested and on time. She is flanked by two tall, well-built men with short cropped black hair and tanned skin—Kellids, judging from the faded tribal tattoos that dominate their exposed skin. The brands on their forehands mark them as slaves belonging to one of the prominent houses of Cheliax, and the back crushing weight of the burdens they bear for the girl leading them confirms this.

Finally, Shinjuko arrives at the docks, gliding calmly up the ramp and past the posted guards with barely a nod. Her garb, though still firmly in the style of Minkai, is drastically different on this day. Rich and colorful silks are replaced with a grey, practical kimono. Black hair, previously falling down past shoulders during the illustrious meeting, is restrained and worn up in a loose bun, though this is concealed by the strange hat she wears—a tightly woven fukaamigasa that slightly resembles a straw pot with narrow slits in front of Shinjuko's face. Her sandals pad softly across the deck of the ship as she calmly whispers instructions to the pair of Kellids accompanying her. The slaves do not bear the marks of heavy punishments, and seem altogether in good health—this speaks of being generally well treated, as far as slaves go. They obey her commands without response, lugging excessive amounts of goods, gear, and containers to the young girl's room.

Eventually, noticing the small gathering of fellow Bronze Agents, she quietly saunters over and offers a slight nod to those who are gathered thus far. "Hello to each of you. I look forward to sharing this voyage with you, and hope that we might find our destination without incident. I am Yamakawa Shinjuko, if you have forgotten."


As time wears on, there is as of yet no sight of the strange tiefling gnome or the hobgoblin slaver who were at the meeting. Maybe they decided that the mission wasn't for them after all. The tide is coming in, and it can't be much longer before the ship will need to depart.

Now that Grel's back I'm guessing we'll see a post from him soon. I'll give Khanjar his remaining twoish days to show up. If he doesn't post I'll be asking one of the other players who were in recruitment to join us. Feel free to RP further until then, in fact I encourage it. I'll probably introduce a Captain NPC tonight after work.


A tall, slightly rotund, straight-backed, older white man emerges from the bustling crew who are swirling around the knot of Bronze Agents in their midst like water around a stone in a river. He's bald, but sports magnificent white sideburns, and a huge handlebar mustache. He's wearing an old style uniform of a Chelaxian naval captain, one which has been severely frayed and patched over time. A curved saber swings at at his side and he walks with the gait of a man more accustomed to sea than land. He approaches the agents, stands up very formally and straight, then raises his hand in a stiff wave and says, "Greetings. I am captain Edmond Wangerre. I would like to welcome you aboard the Naga's Breath and let you know that me and my crew will do our best to make your journey a smooth and safe one. If you need anything you may come see me in my cabin, and the crew have been instructed to be helpful. My only request is that if you're not a sailor, you stay out of the way of the crew while they work." His little speech finished, he stands there at attention. A obsequious smile touches the corner of his lips, yet the rest of his demeanor leaves him seeming very prim and professional. His slate grey eyes study the conversing agents, sizing them up. What he concludes is enigmatically absent from his expression.


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

Iliante nods to the captain. "After we depart when you have some time, I would appreciate a tour of the ship. It looks like a runner even with a belly full of cargo."


"Certainly. When I've got a few minutes I'll search you out, or if you don't mind, I could have my first officer show you about as soon as we set sail." The captain seems very pleased to have his ship complimented. He smiles genuinely at the undine. "Have you sailed much in past, Agent? I know some of your kind tend to stay below the waves rather than on top of them."


Male Undine Gunfighter | HP 82/82 | Insanity 8 | Revolver 6/6 | Grit 3/3
Stats:
AC 20/16/14 | Fort +10 Ref +11 Will +5 | Init. +7 | Perception +14 (+1 vs suprises), 60-ft. Darkvision, 30-ft Water Sense | CM +5/20

Iliante returns the smile, "Yes, I've been crewing a dozen years aboard ships. As you wish captain, I might get a different tour from the two of you." He finishes with a sly grin and then offers, "Please let me know if I can help you in any way."


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance gives the captain a wary nod, his arms crossed over his chest. "Name's Penance. We'll stay out of your way."

He looks around the group-- fancy-pants human-with-the-cane, the easterner girl... add in the gnome and the fishster and they number five.

"Afternoon," is his terse answer to both Corridan and Shinjuko. He shades his eyes with his hand and stares down the pier, to see if any of the others from the meeting are en route.

"Think we're it?" he mutters, half to himself. More loudly, he sticks on, "We'd better sort out bunks. Since you've--" a jerk of his chin at the eastern girl, "got a bunk all to your self, extra gear goes in with her to save space. We're gonna be crammed in like salted herring in a barrel as it is. Your help there bunkin' with the crew? They'd best; I'll grant you your privacy but I'm not bunking three to a room because you've got two extra bodies with you."

He looks to the others. "Right. Which one of you doesn't snore like all the hells raging?"

He looks to each of them in turn, eyes narrowed. The damned gnome will talk too much to sleep, he bets. And he doesn't trust mister tailor. Great. So he sleeps with the fishes, or...


Male Half-Elf Tailor; AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10, CMD 18; HP 10/10; Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +3; Initiative +6; Perception +5 (darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision), Sense Motive +6

"Hello, Yamakawa-san," Corridan returns the greeting with a little bow of his head. He looks from the pale young woman to the two servants she has with her more out of curiosity than anything else. He understands that slavery is normal in many parts of the world and these two seem to be treated well enough, so he does not dwell on it too much. After all, there are going to be slaves on the island courtesy of the Consortium, so it would not do to be too worked up about it, at least as long as they are not mistreated without cause or reason.

He stays mostly silent during the Captain's and the undine's little conversation about ships and sailing, since such things hardly are his area of expertise. Instead, he takes that brief time to get a better look at his new associates, seemingly just glancing at them now and then, like most people do with new acquaintances. Still, besides that, it is also an attempt to size them up. Thanks to the meeting the previous day, he has some idea what each of them is capable of and where their areas of expertise lie more or less, but their true colors will probably not be all that apparent until there is some danger or conflict.

"Well, I do not snore," Corridan answers with a shrug as soon as the half-orc addresses, but after a moment's thought, he adds, "I do not think I do, anyway." He smiles. "I would not worry, I am sure we will settle just fine though."


Stats:
51/51 HP | AC 18; touch 17; flat-footed 11 | F: +7; R: +5; W: +6 | Init: +4 | Perception: +11

"My servants follow my instruction to the letter. Fortunately, I have no intention of imposing their presence upon their betters." It's difficult to determine if the last bit is meant as insult or praise, given the lack of pupils, though she allows a brief pause before continuing. "What room is left in my own quarters shall be at your disposal, so long as there is space enough for me to conduct my own affairs comfortably. However, I might suggest that the ship's cargo hold would afford such a luxury for all of us without imposing upon those of our number whose very badge and rank have afforded them special accommodations. In fact, my own effects are being stored below as we speak, save for the barest of necessities of course." Shinjuko concludes her suggestion with a polite nod in deference to Penance, before approaching the railing to gain a more commanding view of the sea stretching out before them. She is eager to leave behind the cesspool of a city known as Katapesh.


Telemakos:
AC 18, T 13, FF 16; Fort +5, Ref +9, Will +8; Init +2; Perc +6; low-light vision
Arasmes:
AC 18, T 12, FF 16; Fort +6, Ref +4, Will +5; Init +2; Perc +7; darkvision 60 feet

Telemakos reemerges from below deck to find Corridan and… Oh for the Nine Hells what was her name? Yamakasi? Nagamwna? She seems so formal, I will look like a fool if I forget her name… idiot!
Oh, you made it!” he greets them “Milady, Sir” he bows briefly to both of them “it is a pleasure to have on board. I have, ehm… dire news: there’s probably been some kind of mistake, and we only have four rooms, and they all seem to be sized for… well, for someone my height rather than Master Penance here.” he points at the half-orc. “this is unfortunate… what kind of sleeping arrangement can we reach, Captain?


The captain scowls at the gnome. "This is a ship, Agent, not an inn. There is extremely limited space. You've been afforded the best accommodations we have on board." The man looks at the gnome with some poorly hidden consternation. This jackass does know that he's on a one way trip to a demon infested jungle hellhole right?


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

"If you trust your gear in the cargo hold where every sailor on the ship can get at it, sure," Penance grunts to Shinjuko's words.

He can't help a grin at Telemakos when the gnome speaks up, showing off the prominent teeth his blood grants him. "I figure we can put you in, what do they call it, a ship's locker? That'll free up some space."


Male Aasimar Void Elementalist 9
Stats:
HP 62/62 l AC 15/13/12 l Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +9 l Init +4 l Perception +2

A small group of people are moving towards the Naga's Breath. As they near, a short fat merchant with an arm around the waist of two beauties to each side with a few runners coming up from behind with what seems to be luggage can be made out. The merchant is laughing and clearly playful with the women as they walk.

Upon arrival the runners leave the luggage and go. As he walks on the plank he is stopped by the guards. To which he brings up a ringed hand, which bares his bronze consortium badge. The sleepy eyed joyful face on the merchants face a moment ago was gone, replaced not only by a serious look but a shifting face at that. He grew taller, leaner, and changed in a dozen ways. A different man stood where the fat merchant had been and a his clothes had changed with him. Placing a finger to the bridge of his dark colored lenses he pushed them up slightly, his posture straight and business like.

"If you are done gawking. Due remove yourself from my path."

As the guards do what is bidden of them he walks on to the ship, knowing his fellow agents from the information he was given. He is followed by the same beauties his former form came with. Now that a merchant is not holding on to them and making a show of himself their is something off. The women are indeed alluring but each retrieved the items that the struggling runners left behind with practiced ease. One was a blond long haired, tall, and pale ulfen. A great rarity in these southern lands, she was solidly built yet that only added to her looks. The other was shorter with upper back length dark hair, swarthy skin, and brown eyes. She had a toned and honed body that gave the impression of flexibility as well as strength. If not her looks then her piercings marked her clearly as vudrani. The man stopped before the gathered agents and gave a slight bow before addressing them.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Emerion Nimlaidas. You may or may not have heard of me. I was otherwise engaged during the time of the meeting so I could not join you. None the less I have been asked to join you. Hopefully we can work well with each other."


Male Half-Elf Tailor; AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10, CMD 18; HP 10/10; Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +3; Initiative +6; Perception +5 (darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision), Sense Motive +6

"Greetings," Corridan readily returns the introduction. "I am Corridan. Corridan Valkeri, of Valkeri Clothiers. These fellows here are Penance of Abadar, Yamakawa Shinjuko, Iliante and Telemakos Ogeo Krostumolis," he continues, introducing the rest and without stumbling over the woman's exotic name or the gnome's mouthful of one. He then goes on, his tone conversational.

"I am afraid I have not heard of you. Should I? And I do not think you have ever passed by my store, have you? I believe I would remember a mage of a not quite human heritage coming by," he remarks. "At least, I think you are a mage, although one may change one's appearance without being able to use magic himself."

The tailor shrugs and smiles. "Regardless... Welcome to our little band of intrepid explorers."


M Half-Orc Paladin 9 | HP 59/69 | AC 20(23)/T11(14)/FF19(22) | F+10/R+7/W+10 | CMD 27 (30) | Per +7 | Init +1

Penance turns on Corridan before Nim can get in an answer edgewise, leaning into the tailor's space with his teeth bared.

"Of Abadar?" he echoes, eyes narrowed. "What, you see a key and you figure it's that simple? It's none of your damned business who I say my prayers to. Or why."

He turns to stalk for the cabins. Over his shoulder, he barks a greeting of sorts to the latecomer, much less civil than Corridan's greeting.

"Never heard of you in my life. But all gods be damned, between you and Shinjuko's boys... if I'd known we were each supposed to bring our own blasted harem, I'd have stopped by the slave blocks on my way here."

And with that graceful introduction, he briefly disappears from sight on his way to get his things stowed.


Male Human Bloodrager (Aberrant) 1 [HP 13/13 | AC 18/13/15 | F+5 R+3 W+0 | Init +3 Percep +4 SM +5]

In the wake of Emerion's flashy arrival, a thin man slips through the crowd. He grabs a sack from the docks and lifts it over his shoulder, trailing the entourage and stepping aboard the ship before the guards have any cause to think he shouldn't be allowed onboard.

He moves through the grouping on the ship, discarding his sack somewhere. Several times it seems like someone might bump into him, but the man deftly sides steps around the bustle. Even with all the people and activity going on, not a single person even brushes the man.

"The Gold sends her regards," he says with no further announcement of his presence. "One of your previous team is unfortunately indisposed at the moment. Since the Consortium is nothing if not full of promises, I have been volunteered in his place." His relaxed, but erect posture reminds you of a leopard or a snake coiled to strike. He is sweating, however, as if the walk up the ship exerted him.

His hand slides down to run the length of the hilt of an Aldori Dueling Sword. It was rumored that only the best swordsmen in the world were trained in its use. "Devram Coates."

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