Jarvis continues singing as the zombiepus is hacked to ruination. As the final tentacle is severed, he lets the song stop, only to hear the clattering bones behind him.
Gods above AND below, will this press never cease?! He thinks as he calmly raises the point of his rapier to a ready position.
Beliza lets loose a barking laugh as Culder again smashes a skeleton into tiny, unrecognizable fragments and bone dust. "That **** never gets old!" the pirate woman chuckles.
Meanwhile, up on the pier, Moina perseveres and lets fly another sling stone. The projectile flies through the southern skeleton's ribcage and smacks into its spine. At first, Moina thinks that's she's barely damaged the thing, but when the undead takes its next step to close on her, it crumbles to the sand in a heap.
Your valor and prowess in combat has earned you all at least a respite from the battle against the incoming tide of undead, although you can still see other sailors, pirates, and city watch members battling skeleton far up and down the beach; closer to the south, the zombie shark is still trying (without a lot of success) to flop its way inland for some fresh meat.
"Decision time, friends," Beliza says, clapping Aghon on the shoulder. "Looks like we can travel the shoreline an' battle these damned bags-o'-bones 'til the cows come home...or we could do somethin' else. I really don't wanna give up on our Storm Hag Victory Tour--'specially now that we could drag along a couple o' giant frickin' zombie octopus tentacles to really make a spectacle o' it, but...folks could just as easy take it the wrong way an' say we're walkin' the town braggin' while it's still under attack by the walkin' dead. Why's it always such a thin line between bein' a hero and bein' a heel?"
"Could be we do both," Jordan says. "If we can find whoever or whatever's responsible for this, we can end the problem sooner." Sitting down on the sand, he comments "I'd much rather a respite, but it may be that we'd need to wait till this is over to continue our 'victory tour'. Some peace and quiet wouldn't do no harm."
Culder takes a deep breath and lets go of the fire in his belly. As his new companions discuss the plan for moving forward, he slowly walks up the beach back towards them.
Moina rejoins the group after their battle. "Could the hag have planned this?"
I've got to reserve some strength for our guard duty tonight. In fact, at some point, I need to find a quiet hour to commune with Hanspur, and pray for his divine magical help for the day. If it's all the same to everybody else, I wouldn't mind a hot meal, and a soft bed for a while?
I know I'd certainly be better off with some rest, my reserves are running low. Better to be alert and prepared!
Beliza listens to the concerns of her new hires, nodding at most of their comments and suggestions. When Moina voices her question, the pirate woman grows concerned.
"I'm not sure, Moina, but the way she almost seemed to just let us kill her.... Could the sacrifice o' her own life somehow bring back an army o' undead? I've heard that hags have powerful magic, but.... Perhaps we're dealin' with a whole covey o' hags?"
"Listen, about tonight...," Beliza adds in a low whisper. "The whole thing's a set-up to test your loyalty. Don't do anythin'...stupid. Just guard the slaves 'til mornin' an' you'll be good as gold with Lady Faizel. Savvy?"
Beliza retrieves the hag's head from where she dropped it and tells Korbrand to grab one of the zombiepus's severed tentacles. "We'll take these to the shrine o' Besmara for now, equip ourselves better for smashin' skeletons, an' then get back to the battle. Maybe we can all meet for lunch at the Frog & Grog tomorrow to swap stories an' maybe continue out li'l victory tour?"
"Oh--almost forgot!" Beliza adds, reaching into her belt pouch and pulling forth two small glass vials. "Thanks for the healin'! Here's a bit o' payback." she tells Jarvis, Moina, and Aghon. After a moment's consideration, she hands one vial to the halfling and the other to the druid. "I've a couple more healin' potions back at the shrine for myself--you folk might need those two."
"Is there any other information you can give us about who, or what we're guarding these slaves from?" Jordan asks.
"It's not your place to tell them any of this," Korbrand growls at Beliza but the woman holds up a hand to silence her bodyguard.
"Yeah, yeah--I know that!" the woman snaps at the half-orc. "But they're a bunch o' good eggs--done this island not one but two selfless deeds in the last hour. I like 'em an' I trust 'em, Korbrand...an' I'm the boss so I get to use me discretion on matters like this."
Turning to Jordan, Beliza says, "The story I told yas about an intercepted letter about a rescue attempt is a load o' malarkey. Likely one or more o' the slaves in the Flesh Shack will pitch yas some sob story an' try to get yas to free 'em all. Don't bite. The whole set-up's a test o' your loyalty--Lady Faizel demands that o' her employees. She ain't no fool--Zeru knows that some folk have a problem with some of the 'merchandise' she an' her cartel got their fingers in. She just asks that those in her employ keep their morals an' beliefs out o' her business ventures."
"Whadda giant frackin' waste o' me time," Culder murmurs as he finally catches his breath.
two unpaid jobs and now a bullsh!t test tonight... I shoulda stuck to movin' tents fer the carnival...
"Fair enough," Jordan responds, glancing towards Culder. "I think what the Captain means t'say is that bein' selfless is nice, it just doesn't pay much." Turning, Jordan shoulders his bow and begins walking down the street. "If ye've no need fer me, Captain, I've still an errand to run before nightfall."
Aghon bids farewell to his friends and allies, and then heads into town to find a quiet inn room to sleep, and meditate before the night's venture. Adieu all. I'll see you all tonight after a bit of food, rest and communication with Hanspur to replenish my magic stores.
Jarvis bids his new compatriots a good rest and heads off to his own room to get whatever rest he can manage before the guard duty.
You don't have enough down time to rest sufficiently to regain spells, but at least you've time enough to clean up and rest your weary muscles. Just before sunset you meet at the infamous Flesh Shack, Crescent Harbor isle's holding station for slaves destined for delivery to the mainland part of the pirate city. It's a sturdy, one-story wooden building with one door out front and several long, barred windows high on its walls. With the humidity after the day's storm, you're happy to see them open.
The current quartet of guards is relieved and you find yourselves taking orders from a slavemaster named Ruben Kellerman, a bearded, scowling, middle-aged human. "Lady Odabio says you folks're a competent bunch, so I'll let you plan how best to assign yourselves and your resources for tonight's guard duty," the man states. "Though the merchandise is chained, it's best to stay clear of them. Any questions, feel free to ask."
The 'merchandise' is indeed chained--hand and foot--along the walls of the holding center. Between two and three dozen dark-skinned Mwangi natives, dressed in little more than loincloths, sit on the floor with their backs to the walls. Their arms hang from chains above their heads, wrists locked in shackles, and their ankles are clamped in leg irons all chained to rings bolted to the floor. The slaves appear listless, dejected, and underfed, but for the most part are clean.
"I don't put much stock in the talk of a rescue raid," Ruben admits, "especially when it's hinted there's inside help. The folks who work for Lady Faizel are pretty darned loyal. All you need to do is make sure there's the same number of slaves here come tomorrow morning that are here now. How you go about the guarding's your business. You don't have to worry about caring for the slaves--got an assistant by the name of Tarlan who'll feed, water, and clean up after them."
A few minutes later, Tarlan arrives. He's a skinny, shifty, unkempt, somewhat nervous-looking man in his early twenties. Ruben seat himself at a desk near the lone door and Tarlan disappears into a small back room to prepare for his job.
Almost immediately, a young woman captive tries to make contact with the new guards. She claims that she's the daughter of a village chieftain, captured three months ago, and forced to serve as a love slave for the pirate raiders. She claims to have been impregnated by the louts and the rounded belly on her otherwise almost bony frame seems to lend some credence to her tale.
A few other slaves try to communicate but speak only in their native tongue, Polyglot. Most of the slaves seem to be without hope, not looking at their guards or only flashing occasional defiant glares.
"Weak looking stock," Jordan mutters. "I take it the quality of the goods isn't in as much a demand as the quantity." Frowning at Tarlan's entrance, Jordan takes a second look at the man.
You're not sure what the cause of Tarlan's nervousness is. He's not very good-looking or talkative; maybe he's just uncomfortable around strangers...or people in general.
Aghon's hackles raise at the shifty slave-caretaker as well.
Afterwards he looks at the now chatty female of the group. If your dad was the chieftain, his tribe must have been rather weak, since he let them take his daughter... You might be better off here, and wherever they sell you, at least you'll be properly protected. Slaves are a precious commodity to the rich. So you can keep gabbin' if you want, but don't look for succor from any of us. We'll be lucky to get a couple silvers for a meal out of this duty, and more 'n likely you'll end up in some posh estate serving roasted figs to some fat merchant.
Moina seems to have some sympathy for the pregnant one and conjures up some water for her herself.
Culder grabs a chair, sets it where his anchor can reach anyone trying to fiddle with the chains or floor bolts, and sits down with a huff. He stares suspiciously at Tarlan whenever he's visible (and at anyone else who might show up).
Tarlan grows even more nervous as he comes under scrutiny as he goes about his duties: ladling water into the mouths (and over the bodies) of the slaves, as well as carrying chamber pots to those who need them. The man goes about his work silently and doesn't seem to mistreat the slaves.
You notice that Tarlan's a pretty ugly fellow with the grace of a three-legged turtle. Maybe that explains his nervousness around strangers.
You also occasionally hear brief sounds of off-and-on distant fighting coming through the open windows: perhaps a few undead are still coming ashore elsewhere on the island.
Most of the slaves are showing slight signs of the peeling skin you all suffered when you went out into the storm earlier. They also seem unusually docile...perhaps physically unwell.
It's unlikely the Flesh Shack would transport the large quantity of water needed to hydrate and clean the slaves from one of the island's cisterns; they likely use water gathered in rain barrels.
"Ah... we might have a problem. I think the rain from the storm earlier is the stuff they're using to clean them," she says, "Collected recently I imagine. Look at their skin."
"What's wrong with the rainwater?" Kellerman demands. "It's fresher than usual, what with that big storm this afternoon."
"Puh-puh-puh-peely skin," Tarlan replies, rubbing his arms which, while not peeling, show some signs of fading redness.
Sweet s@*$e man, stop using that water. It's as diseased as a dead pig's arse. Damnit! I've only got enough energy to do this two more times after this, so I hope we're not doing any fighting.
Aghon yells, then pulls his trident from his back and stamps it on the ground calling forth a wave of healing energy for all in the room.
Aghon's positive energy removes the flaky skin syndrome from the slaves and also apparently heals any internal damage drinking the tainted water did to the slaves, as they become less listless and a few even manage to say what sounds like "Thank you" in the Common tongue.
The pregnant Mwangi likewise thanks Moina for her caring and tells the druid, "You see now how they treat us! They debase us and poison us! Please! You must set us free! You don't seem like an evil person. How can you condone this evil practice?"
"Stow it, princess!" Kellerman snarls at the pregnant woman. "We didn't know there was something wrong with the water."
Turning to Moina, he adds, "If you can conjure water, we'll dump that rainwater and use yours--if you're willing."
Observing what's going on, Jordan moves to check the room where Tarlan had been previously. Part of it was to see what was in the room, part of it was to get away from the slaves and their cries. Opening the door to the other room, Jordan glances about.
The back room's a combination storeroom and small kitchen. Besides a couple barrels of rainwater, there's a small stove and shelves of foodstuff staples (rice, flour, sugar, etc.), spare chains and manacles, brooms, mops, and buckets.
You also spy the outline of what may be a small (3-ft. by 3-ft.) secret door in the back wall (which faces the harbor).
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Jordan slips into the storeroom.
Making his way over to the secret door, he examines it to see if he can figure out how it opens.
Look's like a way to smuggle goods in and out, Jordan thinks. May come in handy later on, but why is it here?
Neither Kellerman nor Tarlan seems to notice or care that Jordan has slipped into the back room.
The secret door's behind a small table that should be easy to move with relative quiet, but Jordan doesn't find any way to open the door on his first quick search.
Jarvis keeps his eyes moving over the huddled mass of slaves, his hand sitting lightly on the pommel of his rapier.
Whether or not they do evil is no matter of mine. Coin is coin, and product is product. Now, if you'll just keep your tongue in your mouth, we'll suffer through this night and be about our lives. You never know what tomorrow will bring or what kind of a master you'll get. Best to shut up and do your best to survive. He says, somewhat gruffly.
"I've done all i can for you. Best accept your lot in life. I'm no hero come to save the day..." Moina says, excusing herself from the company of the slave.
When Kellermen asks for her help she purses her lips and nods. "Can't have your slaves sick and dying now. Just you be sure to let your bosses know the extra we have done for them here above simply guarding the slaves." Then she fills as many buckets as they have with fresh water.
Looking over the secret door, Jordan decides to leave it alone. As an afterthought, before pushing the table back, he sprinkles some flower on the ground at the base of the wall. Not enough to be extremely noticeable, but enough to see if anything would be disturbed. No sense not being cautious, he thinks. Slipping back into the main room, Jordan wanders the room before coming next to Kellerman.
"If ye've got a chieftain's daughter, why bother selling her as a slave?" he asks. "Does your boss not believe in ransoms?"
"The people that pass through here are ones the pirates and slavers don't ransom themselves, so I doubt our 'chieftain's daughter' here is anything more than a prolific liar who happens to have learned the Common speech," Kellerman replies to Jordan. He nods to Moina and adds, "I'll be sure to include your insights and the help you rendered in my report.
Turning, Jordan seats himself in a corner that provides a good view of the room and the door.
As he walks past Culder, Jordan mutters, "Keep an eye on the back room. Small door in the back, hard to see. Betcha any slaves that go in there won't be coming back this way, and there goes our pay."
"Watch them," the Cap'n barks gruffly to nobody in particular as he stands up. He walks into the backroom without another word.
Once back there he searches for the secret door. Once he finds it, he moves the heaviest thing in the room in front of it . Then he sets something light and breakable on it and returns to his stool.
You find the 3' x 3' secret door in the back wall without any trouble (Jordan's sprinkled some flour on the floor in front of it). It leads to the beach.
No problem blocking it off--you could roll one of the water barrels Moina refilled in front of it.
From his position, Jordan looks around the room. "Looks like you've got some decent stock tonight, Kellerman. I take it your suppliers save the prizes for themselves, whether they can be ransomed or not, am I right?" Walking around, Jordan gestures to the group of slaves in general. "But if a man were to think of getting into this trade, how much would a group like this fetch?"
Kellerman shrugs at Jordan's question. "I imagine the pirates and slavers who bring their wares to Port Peril keep some folk for themselves--enemies to be interrogated, good-looking women to be kept as ship's whores, and the like--but that's none of my business. Lady Faizel pays 25 to 50 gold a head for Mwangi natives, usually--more for specialized or unusual specimens. Depends on their health and physical condition."
"Seems a fair enough price," Jordan responds. "So what's it for this lot?" he asks. "To market, or do they already have a buyer?"
"Dunno," Kellerman says with a shrug. "Once the lot's cleared by the harbormaster, it's back on the ship and across the harbor. I imagine they get cleaned again, sorted, and sold--some in the marketplace and others to private buyers. I hear the Calistrians have a standing order for good-looking captives for use in their brothels."
Culder lets out a long low sigh and fidgets slightly on his stool.
just sittin' here with nothin' to drink, and nothin' to do but wait... an' nobody's even got the decency to sit in silence... I s'pose it's handy knowin' what slaves go for, could be a good way to fill out a crew if we're a few hands short...
Aghon notices the captain's fidgeting and reaches into his belt pouch for a set of five bone dice. Since we're just waiting, anybody care to wager a few coppers on a few games of poker dice?
The cap'n perks up at the offer of dice and begins digging in his pouch for a handful of coppers. "I been told it ain't wise t'gamble 'gainst a priest... but if we be bettin' coppers I s'pose it can't do too much harm."
Kellerman seems surprised to see Aghon and Culder gambling while on guard duty with an impending attack (allegedly) due, but the man says nothing and tries to hide his reaction.
The rest of the night passes without a hint of a rescue attempt; the only happenings are occasional small-scale sounds of battle--again, likely pirates and sailors battling straggling undead emerging from the harbor. Come morning, Kellerman pays each guard the 10-gp fee and thanks them for their efforts, saying that he was right as usual: the rescue rumors were false.