Morning - Pharast 12th, 4708 - The Deciever: Fools that the noble class are, it took some time for Book to figure out Cordoba… well, he hasn’t exactly figured him out, but he has some suspicion that the name is a fake and the man may not be a fool. Well, it doesn’t matter now really with him down in the brig. The idiot brought a small fortune onboard, so what did he expect, that Book would entertain him as they went gallivanting across the seas? And there’s another fortune waiting when he sells the Varisian fop down south as a gladiator.
What bothers Book about Cordoba is his smile. Beat him and he smiles, shackle him and he smiles. And not the polite smile that comes with the tip of a hat, no, it’s one Book knows all the better, it’s the burning grin of a sadist about to slip a knife into a struggling victim.
Afternoon - Pharast 12th, 4708 – Nerius : Nerius was almost there. Stowed away on the Plump Strumpet half a day out of Riddleport. Then the boots and the screams, voices speaking in strange accents, crates opened.
To his credit he did put up a fight, but after being locked in a box for more than a day the sensitive eyes of a Gnome take a few minutes to adjust. Of course he wasn’t surprised to be roughed up after his deception, but as his eyes adjusted he realized that he wasn’t discovered by the crew, not the crew of the Strumpet anyway. The real indignity came with the last words he heard before a boot knocked him unconscious: “Hakim’ll love this one, these fellas are great entertainers, a halfling.”
Morning – Pharast 13th, 4708 – Jon: After walking over the northern polar cap of Golarion with his two friends, Jon was elated to have survived frost giants, ice worms, and polar bears and to have finally reached the outer edges of civilization again – if you could call Riddleport civilization. So, in a small purchased boat they sailed south toward the great nations of Avistan. According to their map they were not far from Sandpoint in the Gulf of Varisia when a squall overturned their boat and scattered the friends. Clinging to the trunk that holds all his worldly goods, well his suit of Tian armour anyway, Jon excitedly greeted the foreign faces on the ship that he thought was his salvation… until a cargo hook cracked him in the skull and dragged him onboard, that is.
Things turned all the worse when he woke up shackled in the brig next to a tiny little man, while one of The Intractable’s crew, the one who had made off with Jon’s traditional Tian robes – expensive silken Tian robes – ground out cigar embers on the soles of Jon’s feet.
Early morning – Pharast 14th, 4708 – Pulsifer: The Intractable put down anchor near Sandpoint after sunset on the 13th to rendezvous with two of its more deadly crew, Righty and Joachim, who had insinuated themselves into the peaceful town after riding from Riddleport on horseback weeks before. While in Sandpoint the villains marked four teenage girls for kidnapping and readied themselves to bring the children out to The Intractable before it weighed anchor on the appointed night.
The plan had a flaw; someone was sure to suspect that something was amiss. To say that Righty stands out in a crowd is somewhat of an understatement: maybe it’s the orange hair, or the hairless crater in the back of his skull just big enough for a mind flayer to feed through, or the wandering left eye with a white film over it, or perhaps it’s just the rusty hook where his left hand should be, or the limp. Who knows…. Pulsifer certainly noticed him for the villain that he is, and being either at the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it, Pulsifer found himself wishing he could swing a longsword like he did as a young man. At first, engaging two men dragging some young teenage girls to the beach in sacks went well, mortally so for Joachim, but Righty proved to be far more than just an ordinary villain, and perforated Pulsifer with spectacular swordplay while babbling some of the most insane gibberish Pulsifer has ever heard. Reasoning that Pulsifer owed a life for a life, if Righty can be said to reason, the one handed corsair lugged the would be hero into the boat and (somehow) rowed him out to The Intractable in his own sack, right on top of the unfortunate maidens.
Noon – Pharast 14th, 4708 – Narlok : How was Ryor to know that Red Morty Wex, Captain of the Sealust, had gambled away his protection money? Things were going well, Ryor was sure to get lucky even when the winds changed and brought an icy fog down on the vile at the height of the week’s debauchery.
But from the cold silence erupted screams, steel, heavy boots. Morty’s voice ringing out “I was just bringing it to him; I just need a few more days.”
And the terse, enigmatic reply: “Neec vape haofse cone ledmea! Dizo-tu orgoved tergatan.”
And then Morty’s last words: “Please Righty, take me to B...”
Ryor, approaching, thought maybe he had lucked out, red haired Righty was a serious gimp: limping, one handed, twitchy eye. Quite the surprise it was to find out that Righty was magic with a Rapier. Then the crossbow bolt hit…
Morning – Pharast 15th, 4708 - Syd: A chance to be out on the ocean, and what fishing. The nutrients that leach out into the sea south of the Mushfens keep the waters rich with life, big tasty life. Sure it’s dangerous, but there are enough fishermen for them to look out for each other, and look out they do – and the South Mush fishing grounds attract a certain kind of fisherman, the kind of chap who can wield a spear, the kind of chap who can survive in an eat or be eaten battle between land animal and sea creature on the sea creature’s turf, no less. So what’s to be afraid of?
Syd was making a name for himself aboard The Mudfish, and on his first two days out, too. He had, it seemed, found some old salts who respected him regardless of ancestry, and so that made his destiny all the more tragic. The Intractable, not know for bothering Varisian fishermen, came alongside in broad daylight and helped themselves to some of the prizes down in the icy hold. A fight broke out, as fights are wont to do, but this one saw some serious magic let fly, and before he knew it Syd was on a sinking ship. She was pretty well under… and in bloodied, shark-infested waters. The young man would have been chum had he not grabbed the port webbing of The Intractable as the battle subsided and his ship slipped under.
Things went smashingly after that, meaning Syd isn’t dead and they didn’t torture him. Threw him into shackles in a small bow hold with a bunch of other unfortunates they did, mostly teenage girls, and that’s more or less where his story begins.
A week later…
Morning – Pharast 22nd – Bohdan: Righty, Sujahayak, Kamada, and Tork were making their regular pickup in Cheliax on the north shore of the inner sea. Things were going smoothly, so they should have known it was going to go south just like everything else this trip, and so it did.
Taking down the cleric of Iomedae was no picnic, Bohdan mortally wounded Tork, their cherry fresh duelist recruit from Riddleport who apparently was not the swordsman he claimed. But Righty, Suj, and Kamada are a match for almost any man out there and with a little help from their mates back in the cave, they brought the monstrous man down. Now, the corsairs have something of a chip on their shoulders when it comes to clerics of Iomedae, and so they reckoned selling him into the arenas of Nex would compensate them for their trouble quite well. Why kill a good slave?
And so, the last of our heroes is dragged bloody and unconscious, into the dank stockade of The Intractable.
Fate casts loaded dice.
From blackness you awaken. You have been stripped of your possessions except underclothes and shackled to a wall in a small bow hold no doubt bound for hell, or so you wonder. Only a short man can stand up straight down here. You are sitting with arms high. You reckon that you can feed yourself if someone places a bowl in your hands, but you can’t pick anything up off the deck. Your hosts have generously provided you with buckets which you can sit on which double for waste removal when the need arises, although you’ll need help with your clothes to use them. This is done, you find out, by a young half-elf woman who, though beautiful, looks like she has been beaten terribly – she feeds you a foul tasting gruel periodically and gives you water, just enough to keep you from wasting away, and skilfully attends to any wounds you suffered during your capture. When the crew is watching she never talks but you quickly learn from the other prisoners that her name is Pleione.
The smell of sweat, feces, urine and death permeate your cell. Bars of a large, weak cage door in the opening of the forward bulkhead rattle as the ship rolls gently. In the main hold on the port side are sacks and boxes liberated from merchant ships, and a table where crewmen eat, gamble, drink, and stridently display their skill with knives. Some pigs and goats hang in slings murmuring, chuckling, snorting, and crying outside the cell’s gate on the starboard side. Their smell blows into your prison with sea fresh sea air. Sunlight shines down through the open hatch between your cell and the main mast.
A man guards you day and night – he lays on sacks outside the cell gate – other men take his place over the course of the day. An exotic looking crossbow lies on the sack beside him or in his arms if tuning it amuses him. The corsairs who man this ship pass by now and then, and seem more interested in gambling and boasting than talking to any of you, although when they’re drunk they occasionally curse at you or hold a spitting and urinating contest to see who can hit the prisoners through the bow-hold gate.
As hours bleed into days you hear occasional shouting, talk; you hear Book barking out orders and the sounds of rope sliding and wood grinding on wood. The staccato clatter of rigging and slap of sails and webbing signal winds. Swells break against the side of The Intractable; you feel the rocking of the boat, course changes, hear the creaking of timbers as the hull accepts the winds. Every few days an eruption of orders, thunder of boots, and shifting of cargo heralds another raid – then the inevitable cursing, throwing and dragging of cargo into the main hold, and usually another prisoner prodded by knife point or dragged into the small bow hold.
At least you’re not alone. Men are shackled on the port side of the cell and women on the starboard. On the starboard side: 9 delicate and beautiful young girls possibly 12 to 16 years old and 3 women who may be between 18 and 24. On the port side are 9 of you: a drooling white haired man, and unconscious and rambling gnome, an elf with a shaved head (just now sprouting some stubble), a large muscular yellow skinned man, 2 half orcs (one of whom is drooling even worse that the white haired man), and a handsome man who, to your dismay, looks as if he might get up and leave at any time he decides, or maybe he just thought of a joke…
Bohdan, Nerius, Pulsifer
Every day Book and a man named Zahn come in and visit the spellcasters: Bohdan, Nerius, and Pulsifer. Gravid uses a smoking pipe with a slender bowl to blow a yellowish powder up their noses. The victims fall unconscious, only to wake up hours later with horrible hallucinations.
Bleedin' 'eck, that fella's bad news Syd thinks to himself about the smiling man.
My deception has worked... but Book is still wary. He suspects something. Let him... it won't matter. Pharasma has decreed his death. So shall it be.
The Deceiver reminds himself to answer to the name of Cordoba.
The bleakness of the hold prevents Cordoba from seeing all of his fellow prisoners but he knows that there are at least three other spellcasters in the hold. They can help in my plan if I can figure out how to keep them sane. What is that half-human looking at? Cordoba flashes him a smile. "I wonder what we'd have for dinner? I do hope they serve some foie gras."
"Do what?" asks Syd, "Wos 'fwa grar'? when it's at 'ome?" the half-orc welcomes some conversation even if it is with the strange man.
The large tattooed man laying on the sacks lifts his head. Those of you who have been here during the last week know him as Sooj.
"Gobs. Shut 'em."
He's sharpening crossbow bolts.
Cordoba smiles at Sooj. "Of course, Sooj."
Rackham stares at the bulkhead. Must be one fascinating bulkhead. Either that or the drugs.
Afternoon - Pharast 22nd, 4708
Someone opens the 10' x 10' hold doors to let some light in. You have learned to recognize the thud of men sliding down the ladder across the hold. Three men come toward the cell. Sujahayak hardly moves.
Keys clatter and Book opens the cell door. An old Tian man is with him - some of you have seen him before - he seems to be a doctor. Book and the Doctor enter, Righty stands behind, next to Sujahayak.
Since awaking Ryor spends most of his time staring at Sooj. He has introduce himself to the others.
As the doctor busies himself looking at the 5 new prisoners Book says to Ryor: "And how are we today, Octopus head? Is the bucket to your liking?"
"Gacse titeput cot hiee syedsyl rudatile."
Righty points at one of the older women. Then at the new half orc.
"Otaphla rocac."
The doctor is bent over the new older woman.
"This is the one they raped, Righty?"
Looks behind him, at Sujahayak.
"Sooj? Damn ye! I sears I'll run ye through if ye rape another girl."
"En the fellers?"
"Do that as ye please, their arses don't get us nothin'."
The doctor goes about his work, checking the woman, two new young men in their mid teens, and the new half orc prisoner.
Bohdan:
"Aye Captain Book the bucket just fine, how'evar seenin as your keepin them lads on cloud nine, hows bout little rum for us for being such good captives?"
"Ennnnnn. Sooj, have the girl fill the men's bowls with rum if iffen they can hold it up. Tell Mooj to give 'em some meats tonight."
"Yar thanks Captain Book, ya hear the captain Sooj rum and meats, and remember Sooj no poon tang for you"!
"You look awful pretty, elf."
"Your a strappin lad Soojy and yeah I'm pretty awful, perhaps we'll dance once I get out of here!"
As the doctor touches the forehead of the large darkskinned half-orc he suddenly lurches forward almost bowling the older man over. But the manacles around his wrists stop him dead before he can fully reach any of the pirates.
Crumbling back against the hull of the ship, foam and spittle running down his chin, the brute seemingly falls back into a stupor. Mumbling incoherent words and grimacing he once again seems lost to this world.
"My mind, what have they... Piotr... No the capital T's should be distinguishable from the lower case T's... The women, they're there, must..."
Waken up in the foul air, Jon is eager to find his two friends and the result turned out to be disappointing, none of them are captured in the hold. With many stranger prisoners around, Jon want to show his friendship. It's better to have friends in this situation.
"The orc seems fine. If he dies it's because of that yelllow s~~# you've given him, Book."
While working the doctor mutters to Jon, "you should have stayed in Tian, gong niu.... Xianzai ni you da wenti."
"Your a strappin lad Soojy and yeah I'm pretty awful, perhaps we'll dance once I get out of here!"
"I can hardly wait."
"U netdanei rfa biot ro."
Righty points to Jon.
"Righty.... when are you going to learn to write? I hope it's soon, 'cuz I'm gettin' sick o' yer babblin'"
Book kicks Pulsifer.
"This one and the new orc are trouble, Sooj. Don't be noddin' off."
"Captain Book sir not only do he be noddin off, he be nobbin his wank as often as he fiddles with that there crossbow! as he be leering over the women folk and I do mean a leering."
"Tis'bad post for Sooj Captain Book like having lions instead sheep dogs guardin yar herd".
The Captain squats down close enough for Narlok to kick and looks at him closely. "Ye likes talkin' I know. But ye better steer clear o' troubles, Octopus. Me crew knows the value o' virgin flesh, they does. An' they gets a share. They've had plenty o' whores o' late an' Book thinks they can keep they're roots outa these dainties."
It's a heavy repeating crossbow. Narlok has seen them demonstrated before by upscale weapon vendors.
cost: 400 gp
small: 1d8
medium: 1d10
crit: 19–20/x2
rnge: 120 ft.
weight: 12 lb.
dam type: P
load: 5 bolts
The repeating crossbow (heavy or light) holds 5 crossbow bolts. As long as it holds bolts, you can reload it by pulling the reloading
lever (a free action). Loading a new case of 5 bolts is a full-round action that provokes attacks of opportunity.
"I demand to see the manager. These accomodations aren't as advertised."
"Hey, Book. Know why the chicken crossed the road? To get to the other side of course. Hahaha!"
Book, Righty and the Doctor leave after he finishes his work.
Sooj remains on guard until the evening comes - you can hear the noise of men working above you and behind Sooj in the aft hold.
Another man comes and replaces Sooj on the watch. After a while the half elf comes with the promised rum: it's bumboo actually, a mixture of strong dark rum, water and sugar.
When you've finished the rum she will fills your bowls with gruel.
Jon is so glad when hearing the words of Tianxia in this damned place. He pretends to be suffering a great pain and mumbles aloud in Tianxia,
"yao! yao! gei wo jieyao,tou hao yun!!"
(Before he leaves)
"Deal with it. Things will get worse."
A little later.
"Mooj is watching you. Yes, yes, the mooj is watching."
Mooj is like the complete opposite of Sujahayak, or Sooj. He looks small and weak.
He fondles the crossbow a little; it accidentally fires a bolt into the floor in front of the gate.
"Whoops! Hehehehee."
Syd stays silent, somewhat fearful of having seemingly fallen in with escapees from the lunatic asylum. The crew and captives alike.
Mooj leaves the crossbow on the sacks and sneaks over to the pigs. You hear gambling and drinking in the background.
While Mooj is away, Cordoba starts testing the strength of his chains taking care not to make any sound.
"Ooooh piggie."
Approaching midnight - Pharast 22nd, 4708
Noises are coming from the pigs. Mooj guards you every other day but he has never 'disappeared' before.
Narlok, Bohdan, Syd:
Narlok:
Rackham just keeps staring at the bulkhead.
DC 35 Perception:
Ryor looks around for something he can perhaps pick his locks with...Perception(Search,spot etc)1d20+5=13
Syd relishes leaving this hell-hole and its inhabitants. Slavery has got to be better than this.