"Shoulda brought a blasted torch..." Culder mutters as he strains his eye against the darkness.
"Looks 'bout right t'me" he concludes with a little shrug.
"Yes, yes it does," Jordan comments, peering into the dark garden. Looking at all the plants, something seems...off, but Jordan can't decide what. Shrugging, he turns back towards Hooper.
"Thank you for letting us prove your innocence," he says, nodding to the man. "Anything else before we go, Cap'n?"
Aghon sips his ale and finishes off the last bit of his stew. Well my friends, I think I'm going to call it a night. See you all tomorrow at noon?
That sounds fine to me, see you then. Augier finishes his drink as well and heads out.
"I s'ppose not," Culder answers his associate with a shrug. As they begin to walk away he locks eyes with the dog owner and warns, "careful where ye point that thing, some folk ain't as un'erstan'in' as us... we ain't always as un'erstan'in' as we been today."
Walking back towards town, Jordan whistled a tune under his breath as he walked. "I'll stand you for a drink back at the Rusty Drum, Captain, and we can begin to make plans to call on Madame Faizel and the honourable Captain Barrow. What do y'say?" It was a fairly nice night, all things considered. Hooper had seemed nervous, but not dangerous, and they had at least narrowed down the list of suspects.
As Jordan and Culder near the Rusty Drum, two figures detach themselves from the shadows of a nearby alley and approach. If it's another ambush, it one orchestrated by amateurs, because one of the figures actually calls out to get your attention.
"Got a couple of minutes for a chat, Captain?" comes a female voice from the smaller and foremost of the two figures. Then the woman notices Jordan. "Who's your new friend?"
The speaker's a dark-haired human woman in her early twenties wearing black studded leather armor; a rapier's hung from her hip. Her bodyguard's a lanky half-orc wearing a chain shirt and leather breeches; his blade looks to be longer than the woman's--likely a longsword.
"Eh, bad manners on my part--I should introduce myself first. Name's Beliza Odabio an' this fella here's my muscle, Korbrand. I have a friend who's hirin' on muscle for certain jobs and your name--an' reputation came up." Turning to Jordan, she adds, "You look to be in decent shape, too--offer goes out to you as well. Your first job--if you're interested--will likely be a bit o' guard work as members of a team I've been recruitin'. If you're interested an' wanna meet the other folk, come to the Frog & Grog Tavern a bit after noon tomorrow--lunch an' drinks'll be on me."
As the armed people step out of the shadows, Culder almost unconsciously swings his anchor up into his right hand. When questioned about his companion he replies, "Oh, this is my associate- Nun'ayer; as in none-a-yer business..."
After she reveals her own identity, and the fact that she's offering work, his mood softens noticeably. "Guardin' what 'zactly? Fer how long, and fer how much?"
Jordan stayed quiet, grateful that Culder was keeping his secret. He wanted to hear exactly what this offer would be.
"Aye, you're ev'ry bit the charmer I'd heard," the woman tells Culder through a wide grin. "How to answer...how to answer? How 'bout this--valuable merchandise, for one night, at the rate o' ten gold per guard."
Turning to Jordan with her cocksure grin, Beliza bows slightly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nun'ayer. I don't need to know your name but I do need to know what you bring to the table an' if you're willin' to keep personal morals an' beliefs out o' your business ventures."
The woman moves close to Culder, stands on her tiptoes, and whispers something in his ear.
"I hear you once crewed aboard the Fettered Raptor."
"My personal morals and beliefs are my own," Jordan replies, pulling his bow out, "Cap'n Culder can vouch for my ability."
"Never thought morals'd could even be found in this place," Jordan mutters to himself as Beliza. After she moved back, he comments "If this job furthers my goals and profits my Captain, I see no reason not to take it. Do we get to know what the merchandise is, or is there a limit on the number of questions we get?"
"Well, First Mate Nun'ayer...the job I'm pitchin's unlikely to further whatever goals you have other than puttin' some gold in your pocket an' maybe makin' friends among the movers an' shakers o' this fair city," Beliza tells Jordan. "Your Captain's got the lowdown on what the merchandise is; when you hear that, you'll better understand why I brought up morals in my pitch."
"I've got a few other folks hired on for the job," the woman continues. "Resourceful bunch with some magic at their disposal...but sorely lacking in the brute force arse-kickin' department. If you're interested, drop by the Frog & Grog tomorrow for a free lunch. Meet your new teammates, hear the full details o' the job, an' then decide if you're in or you're out. Fair enough?"
"Ten gold fer one night? Ye got me help... I'll bring 'im to th'meetin' 'n' he can decide there."
"Hmph," Jordan grunts. 10 gold ain't much compared to that dog, but might give me a better idea of Faizel and Barrow, if they're involved in this business. Out loud he responded "If the Captain is in, I'll be there with him."
The cap'n shoots a brief, slightly annoyed glance at 'Jon', "We'll still be there fer th'free lunch though."
"Excellent!" Beliza gushes. "Bring your weapons and your appetites!"
****************************************
The time for the lunch date with Beliza arrives, and when you arrive at the Frog & Grog you see her and her half-orc bodyguard (who she introduces as Korbrand) sitting at a pair of pushed-together tables in the back corner of the room. While the water priest, lady druid, halfling, and smelly dwarf know one another--and pretty much everyone on Crescent Harbor knows the anchor-lugging Captain by sight or reputation--the last lunch guest is dressed in a hooded cloak that hides his face. Smirking broadly, Beliza introduces this fellow as "First Mate Nun'ayer."
After introductions and the ordering of the meal and drinks, Beliza flashes her trademark crooked, kooky grin, reaches under the table, and then places the strangest bit of tableware you've ever seen in the center of the joined tables: a salt-and-pepper shaker combo in the style of the Three Monkeys (although presented in an appropriately piratical style). The See No Evil simian (salt shaker) wears twin black eye patches; the Hear No Evil monkey (a centerpiece to the set) blocks its ears with its hands while sitting crosslegged on twin peglegs; Speak No Evil (pepper shaker) has rather stupidly managed to pierce both its lips with its hand-hook, forever silencing the critter. Each monkey wears the loose colorful garb so popular amongst pirates.
Beliza utters a short phrase in some sort of gibberish and then tells those gathered that the magic monkeys will help shield their conversation from any eavesdroppers for the next ten minutes.
"Gentlemen--an' lady--let's get down to business, shall we?" Beliza begins. "A contact o' mine requires guards for a delicate mission, an' I've chosen you all. Five days ago, a ship docked on the island an' its cargo--Mwangi slaves--were offloaded an' stored in the Flesh Shack, a small warehouse near Pier One. A missive was intercepted that claimed that a rescue raid on the Shack was imminent an' hinted that there'd be inside help to make sure it succeeded. As a result, capable, trustworthy folk are needed as temporary guards--just for a night or two--to make sure no one liberates the slaves. You folks interested? Pays 10 gold each per night, though I'm guessin' there'd be further compensation if you actually have to thwart some sort o' raid."
Augier's face goes from straight to scowl as slaves are brought up .I know that I can't be changin the way this bloody island works, slaves, drugs and more be goin on and I'd just be getten a slit throat trying to stop em, but I'll nae be helpen it along by guarding slaves.
Augier finishes his ale.I'll not breath a word of this, and even stay in me bunk during the time it happens but Im not acceptin the job.
"Fair enough," Beliza says to the dwarf. "I appreciate your honesty up front. Truth be told, I'm no fan o' slavin', but I don't make the rules o' this place...what few rules there be. Anyone else want out or have other questions?"
thank the gods... I ain't the cleanest o' folks but I ain't sure I coulda put up with that stink all night...
"Work be work, and I be in fer work."
Once she had taken in all that Beliza had to say Moina seemed to reach a decision. "Ok, I'll help."
Ain't no fun being a slave but it's none of my business what they do with those Mwangi. Never were friends of mine.
Jordan frowned at the choice that was in front of him. Help slavers, or get the chance to get closer to his prey. Taking a breath, Jordan made his decision and spoke.
"If we're short a man...or dwarf, as it were, we should get an increase in pay, especially if we're to expect fighting." Jordan mutters to Culder. Looking up at Beliza, he keeps his voice low "You're the Captain, and they came to you. You can ask for an increase to make up for the dwarf, and see if we can get an idea of who we're working for."
"I can answer your question, Mister Nun'ayer," Beliza cuts in with another grin. "Ultimately, you'd be workin' for Lady Zeru Faitel's Viridian Cartel, but you'd be reportin' to the Cutler twins while you're on Crescent Harbor. They oversee the Cartel's business operations here, though they're currently trying to track down leads on whomever's plannin' the alleged raid on the slave shack. For now at least, I guess I'm your intermediary."
"An' I guess it wouldn't break the cartel's bank to offer each o' you an extra 2 gold--the dwarf's share o' 10 gold divided by five."
Nun'ayer's voice sounds vaguely familiar.... Wait! It's Jon Banner, bumbling barkeep at the Rusty Drum!
Jarvis drinks heavily from his mug, pondering quietly.
Slavin' is a dirty trade boy. You don't want to be mixed up in that. But hells, I need the coin and if they're already marked as slaves, isn't much good fighting it, since they'd be reclaimed quickly. Better to be supporting the slavers than to be hunted by the slavers. At least long enough to find a ship that I can sign on with for less onerous duty.
I'll help. Doesn't make me happy, you understand. It's a dirty trade. But in Crescent Harbor, you'd be lucky to find an untarnished copper, as it were. So long as I'm not out hauling people away from their families, I can stomach it. He says with bravado and a nod.
Hells, we're all slaves to someone or something. Most folk just don't have the sense to realize it. I'd rather be earnin' twelve gold defending lives, even the lives of slaves, than a few measly silvers fillin' the piss-water barrels in this town any more. Count me in. Aghon says with a rather emphatic grin, and raises his mug of ale in a toast. Cheers! To bein' slaves of golden coins!
Mr. Nun'ayer, your voice seems awfully familiar. Seems to me we've met before, though... my memories quite a bit rusty. Sometimes trying to get things out of it is like beating on an old drum. Aghon winks, and smiles again. Hoping his word play let's Mr. Nun'ayer know that he knows his secret, but is willing to keep it as such, for the friendship he bears him.
I should just throw back the hood and let the entire island know who I am, Jordan thinks. "Maybe we met over a drink," Jordan replies, "Seems no matter where I go, I end up around plenty of alcohol."
Grateful for the discretion, Jordan sits back and enjoys his lunch. "And the job starts tonight?"
"Aye," Beliza tells the cloaked man, taking a wolfish bite out of a chicken drumstick.
There's a lot more eating and drinking than talking over the next few minutes as the serving girl brings out additional trays of food and drink for the large party. As everyone's finishing up, however, there's a disturbance at the front door. A young woman dressed in a frilled apron is telling anyone who'll listen: "She's back! She's back! The mad storm hag who took those children is coming!"
In a flash, Beliza's out of her seat and actually trying to walk across the food- and drink-laden table to reach the distraught woman. She maneuvers through the tabletop obstacle course admirably before hopping to the floor.
Damn, why is it always when I'm eating. These things never happen when I'm just walking along, with trident in hand, ready for action. Piss-water and pirate peg-legs! He exclaims, but gets up and moves to assist Beliza in whatever way he can.
"Guess th'job started then, eh?" the Captain asks as he rises. Grabbing his hefty anchor in both hands like some kind of terrible club, he follows his new employer towards the door.
"Storm who?" Moina looks confused and gathers herself up to follow the others outside. stealing children now...
Aw hells. Stealing children? Jarvis' face turns cold, and his eyes hard, at the mention of stolen children. He follows the looming Captain with one hand dropping to the rapier on his hip.
Slavin' I can deal with to a point. Children, now that I cannot abide! his lilting voice calls out.
Finishing his drink, Jordan wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, a sour look on his face. Standing, he heads for the best vantage point of the situation. Looking around he surveys his options, and heads towards the disturbance, his jaw set, hand resting on his bow
The distraught woman--apparently a server from the Thirsty Turtle tavern across Dock Street--is gasping for breath in between short bursts of words.
"The hag...we heard her voice inside the tavern...said that death was coming on the wings of a storm...and her with it," the young woman rasps. "She claimed a little boy who was playing on the beach behind the Turtle about a month back...I've heard she's taken others...we need to get children off the streets to safety!"
The server says she's going to warn the folks at the Shark's Tooth gambling hall to the north and suggests someone else run south to the Mermaid's Bucket to raise the alarm there.
Beliza turns to her new hirelings, a grim frown in the place of her usual cocksure grin. "I'm afraid this job don't pay," she says, turning toward Culder but speaking to you all. "I've heard a bit about this creature--a storm hag called Zephelza. She's flown in to the island with storms over the past 8 or 9 months an' made off with four children over that time. Hags're dangerous--too dangerous for the likes o' you an' me--but this Zephelza's different...touched in the head from what I hear. I doubt we can kill her, but we may just be able to drive her off or at least distract her enough to give folks time to clear the streets. It's a nice day out, so there'll be plenty o' kids playin' in the streets, so we'll have our hands full. You folks with me?"
"Ain't nice out no more," Korbrand notes aloud, holding open the tavern's front door. Indeed, there's a dark pall hanging over the island, and the wind gusts momentarily, shrieking like a closing banshee.
Hanspur loves a good storm, the water washes everything clean. Aghon says as he rubs a thumb across his trident holy symbol, and grabs his trident from the strap on his back, giving it a twirling spin. Whether I'm using this to poke a hag, or herd the children indoors like sheep, I'm at your disposal Beliza. Point me where you want me to go, and the water bless us all.
"Lookin' fer a freebie, eh?" Culder grumbles with a scowl. He stands still for a moment contemplating how to proceed. Finally, he sighs and says, "I s'ppose scarin' off a menace folk all know 'bout could drum up s'more work... Lead on then."
Beliza and Korbrand head out into the streets of Crescent Harbor, looking to the sky. To the south a few clouds mar the blue sky, but to the north and northwest, black thunderheads loom over the top of Squallshield Hill. The Besmaran thanks Aghon for his pledge and then turns to Culder.
"Truth be told, I don't know where to look for this hag," she confesses. "I wasn't livin' on this island durin' her previous raids an' don't know all the details about where she struck. From what I'm told, this hag's mad--no rhyme nor reason to her at all. Hells--she even announces when she's comin' with some sort o' spell that carries on the wind. She thinks she's some sort of goddess or overlord or somethin', and that this island's her little kingdom an' huntin' ground. Maybe we should head for the orphanage, warnin' folk as we go...unless any o' you have a better idea 'bout where there'd be a gatherin' o' children."
The dark clouds on the horizon are rushing in at an unnatural speed and seem unusually concentrated (no wider than a few miles, with white clouds and clear skies flanking the black tempest. This is no natural storm.
"Every queen needs a throne," Jordan comments. "Drinks are on me if she's no in those storm clouds," he remarks, gesturing towards the fast approaching storm with an arrow.
Moina goes outside with the others and looks at the strange sky. Definitely magical. She had never seen a storm like that and she had seen plenty of storms in her life. More storm clouds than clear sky until she came here actually.
That storm will be here soon, try not to get in the way of any mad hags.
She tries to remember where the Orphanage is or where she has seen kids running around this morning and will head that way.
Orphanage sounds as good a place as any to start. Point the way Beliza. Aghon again twirls his trident in a flashy spin, waiting for Beliza to point to the most expedient route.
In all my time on the seas and around ports, I've never seen a storm like that. Jarvis says with a quiver of fear in his voice. He sets off following the crowd, pulling his rapier out of its sheathe as they walk.
"I seen a whole lot worse," Culder states very matter-of-factly. With his anchor menacingly at the ready he follows his almost-employer...
She tries to remember where the Orphanage is or where she has seen kids running around this morning and will head that way.
"Aye, the logical thing t'do would be t'take the kids from the orphanage, but we're not dealing with a logical hag, here, and I'm telling you she's in the storm. We follow the clouds, we find our hag." Looking up at the clouds, Jordan points again towards the mountain.
"If she sees herself as a queen, she'll be heading to her throne to survey her kingdom," he comments over his shoulder.
Look, standing around here talking about doing something isn't doing anybody any good. Beliza! Just make a damn decision and we'll go with it, for good or bad.
"Jus' frakkin' start movin' north, ye can argue on th'way!" the Cap'n bellows beginning to move north towards the coming storm.
Aghon trots after Culder. Now there's a man who knows how to give orders! He bellows into the strong winds as he jogs after him. Come on, all! Follow the captain!
Jordan was about to speak, but realizing he'd probably be talking to himself, he hefts his bow, and takes off after Culder and Aghon, looking up at the storm. It was going to be a long day.
Beliza and her bodyguard fall into line behind Culder, Aghon, and Jordan.
As the group leaves the Frog & Grog, the first fat drops of rain fall from the sky. The wind picks up as well, howling from the north. By the time the group's made it up Dock Street as far as Chumm's Place, the storm has broken for real. The rain's coming down hard enough to affect vision, soaking you to the bone. The wind picks up even further out of the north, starting to be a potential problem, especially for the smaller Jarvis.
Suddenly, the wind shifts a bit, now bellowing out of the northeast, making it more challenging to forge onward.
"By the gods--the circus!" Beliza yells above the storm. "There'll be plenty o' kids there...an' the tents'll be no match for this gale!"
The shrieking winds buffet Jarvis as he struggles to move through the crowd.
Thanks the gods for the time out on the seas, tis the only way I'm still moving forward in this muck!
Slow up just a bit guys, these winds are abysmal! Jarvis shouts, the long hours of shouting out shanties over the winds of a storm at sea helping him in his endeavor to be heard.
Moina heads north as confirmed by her recent memory and is glad when everyone else also decides to head north. When Beliza fills in the missing details of the circus it all finally makes sense. She tries to yell over the howling winds.