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Armando nods, seemingly pleased by Kessel's thouroughness "indeed sir, I can provide you with those details"
Armando looks Cobey over "Ah, I think you weren't here when I discussed payment. I would reward you on a sliding scale. If you can find news of my ship's whereabouts or fate, that is worth five hundred roses." "If you can retreive my ship in sailable condition, that is a different story. I would give you 5,000 roses. If you can recover my ship and its cargo, I will sweeten the deal by awarding you 10% of the cargo's sale price as well as the 5,000 roses. A cargo like that sent to Dragora can fetch 100,000 roses easily." Armando drains his whiskey, then signals to the waitress for another "I would be more than happy to make introductions for you to those I have connections to in Opal. So do we have an agreement?"
"An interesting plight," Kessel says upon hearing the merchant's story, "As an investigator I do hope you realize that we can promise you nothing, it could be your ship is at the bottom of ocean ripped apart by a rogue wave or perhaps even some unknown sea monster. Searching for your boat will be time consuming and a possibly fruitless endeavor." Armando nods "I am well aware of the vagaries of the shipping business Ser ...?"
"Ser Cobey. I need information. If you can recover my ship, all the better. "
"Well my dear, I prefer blondes. With a hint of strawberry. But, As it appears that you are currently busy, and therefore unavailable, I shall have a drink. And perhaps later you shall allow me to buy YOU one?" He waggles his perfectly trimmed eyebrows. The barkeep smiles, her almond-shaped green eyes crinkling in her tanned face. "My, you are a bold one! Perhaps you might, but it is early yet. I am not free until after the noon prayer call." She reaches up to grab a bottle. Magnus spies a well-worn scabbard attached to the wide belt around her slender middle. A short floral green skirt swirls as she turns and uncorks an old green bottle. the cork gives a *pop* and a rush of bubbles come from the top, dripping down the sides. "This is Aelvelvitae from Dragora. FCO 255, if I recall the conversion from 3rd Age dates right. A rose a glass, but well worth the expense." She pours the pale fizzing drink into a long slender glass and tops it with a slice of orange. "Enjoy ser..?"
San turns back to Armando. "So, what were you saying about this House Akkavin?" Armando leans closer, lowering his voice "House Akkavin is an ancient house that deals in shipping. They normally travel to the Eastern Isles, but lately they have turned their attention to the southern reaches of Turquoise Bay as well. Traditionally, only smaller merchants like myself have bothered in that area, the profits have been too thin for the likes of them. Recently, they have been offering to buy out merchants and independent ships dealing in the area. I was approached, but I declined. My ship disappeared on its next run. I suspect them and their sahaguin allies, but I have no proof. I need someone relatively unknown to travel down to Shoalsbreak and find out what is going on."
Kessel spies a group talking to an obvious merchant. One of the group, an exotically-pale woman dressed in rural Zapatec garb, is staring right at him as if she knew him. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stir
The barkeep, a comely wench with strawberry blonde hair smiles at the golden coin "What kind of best would be your pleasure sir?"
Egan: Spoiler:
They seem to be sincere.
Armando pauses, looks askance at Vilya and continues "Uhm, I would reward you on a sliding scale. If you can find news of my ship's whereabouts or fate, that is worth five hundred roses*" * Spoiler:
A Rose is the Opalline gold coin Armando sips his whiskey "If you can retreive my ship in sailable condition, that is a differnet story. I would give you 5,000 roses. If you can recover my ship and its cargo, I will sweeten the deal by awarding you 10% of the cargo's sale price as well as the 5,000 roses. A cargo like that sent to Dragora can fetch 100,000 roses easily."
"So, a simple bit of detective work is what you're looking for, eh? Sounds like a nice change of pace, to me. I gotta ask, though, if there isn't evidence that something bad happened, wouldn't you do a little investigation yourself first before putting out another expensive outlay of funds? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to turn down gainful employment, just curious is all." Armando sips his whiskey and looks at San "No, I enjoy the fact that you ask questions. That's what I need from anyone signing on. As for investigating myself, I have written to my factors in Shaolsbreak, and they assure me that no one there saw the Jade Sunset at the docks. I cannot travel there myself, I have to run my business, and it demands constant attention. I need you to act as my eyes and ears." San thinks for a second. "What else can you tell us? Who was on the crew? Anyone you didn't trust, might want to hijack the ship instead of heading on to Shoalsbreak? Just tobacco and sugar, no other ... goods, being picked up? What were you bringing TO Shoalsbreak? I know you merchants don't usually like to let a ship set sail empty." Armando smiles "Quite right. I sent the ship laden with the typical goods needed at a frontier plantation. Agricultural tools, weapons, cloth, various high-end wares like fine porcelain from Seng. Tobacco and sugar are what are mostly grown near Shoalsbreak, but occasionally I pick up fruits and grain, assuming I can get an artificer to accompany the perishable goods. I had none this trip. " Armando pauses "None of my crew are suspect in my eyes. I could be wrong, but the officers are all friends of mine. I have worked with them for years. Now piracy is always a concern, as you must well know, but Turquoise Bay isn't the nest that the Eastern Isles are. Warships from Hecate's Skull regularly patrol the waters, and I can't see a privateer out of Argentum taking that big a risk for my small craft. However .." Armando leans close "Have you ever heard of House Akkavin?" DC 15 Knowledge(local): Spoiler:
House Akkavin is an opalline noble house that specializes in mercantile persuits via the ocean. Thay are also infamous for being the heriditary priests of Dajobas, the Shark God. Dajobas has an open temple in the Driftwood District, and many sailors and sea captains leave offerings as an insurance against mishap on the sea. Rumors swirl about the scions of House Akaavin, including that they have dealings with sahaugin and that they are weresharks.
San can't really recall much about Shoalsbreak. A small town at the mouth of a jungle river that feeds into Turquoise Bay. There are a dozen like it scraping a living on the fringes of the coast, catering to both the trading ships and the plantations.
The man wipes his brow and takes a seat. "My name is Armando Vellorio. I am a merchant dealing in foodstuffs around the various plantations of Turquoise Bay. I have but one ship, the carrack Jade Sunset. Recently, I had sent her to the south end of Turquoise Bay to the small town of Shoalsbreak to pick up several loads of tobacco and sugar I had contracted from the local planters. She never made it there. There have been no bad storms of late, and I have not gotten any offer of ransom on her. Her loss is ruinous to my business, and I need a party of stout souls to travel to Shoalsbreak to see if they can find out anything about her disappearance." Armando waves at the waitress and orders two fingers of Pykish single malt neat. He also offers to pay for a round.
The daylight brightens as the equatorial sun rises above the giant cycads and palm trees. The morning fog burns off and the street outside begins to fill with the press of lumpers, horses, oxen and leapers carrying goods to and fro. The room is hopping, and several folks are wandering about the tables, looking to hire folks. A skinny man dressed in a merchant's outfit wanders by their table. He pauses, taking in the group. "Excuse me," He says in a hushed voice. "I am looking for some explorers to help me with a project. Are you folks looking for employment?"
The arrow sticks into the rising corpse, drawing a sluggish thread of congealing blood from her white skin. Issac recalls seeing this wight serving drinks to the locals as they headed out back. The once-pretty elven woman has been transformed into a ragged tatter with bones winking from sevreal large gashes in her torso and chest. Her eyes glow redly as she turns towards Issac, atttempting to shrug off the remains of a table. Around the common room, eerie moans herald the awakening of more revenants.
The common room is an abbatoir. The group can see what is left of the patrons slumped in the corners and under the wreckage. The front door of the tavern is smashed through, and outside you can hear faint screams. Merle: Spoiler:
Merle sprints for the front door and sees several red-eyed wights outside rampaging through the small narrow streets of the Medusa Quarter. A few armored elves, possibly from Hanalindali's city watch are fighting the ragged undead.
A small woman approaches San, Iz and Egan. There are enough Parrot Islanders making a living as sailors that she is easily identifiable as a halfling. even for that diminutive race, she is tiny, but her gear bespeaks a familiarity with the rigors of adventuring. Perception DC15: Spoiler:
It is hard to miss the striking woman who enters the common Room in backcountry Zapatec garb. Her marble skin bespeaks kinship with the Deep Clans, those reclusive inhabitants of the jungle that have lived in the shade of immense trees since before the Xoltec Empire fell. Perception DC20 : Spoiler:
You notice a newcomer with a lute strapped to his back entering the Common Room. He has a certain ...presence. A half-dozen visual cues let you know he is recently arrived at Opal, but that is far from unusual.
“Heh. Good question.” San sniffs his empty mug, and recoils a bit. “I told the other girl to just bring me somethin’ cheap and strong. Guess that’ll do again. And bring two more for my friends... The waitress nods and whirls, showing a tanned set of legs. the slender sword scabbarded at her side doesn't detract much from the pleasant picture. She disappears towards the bar and returns with three clay tankards. "Driftwood Rum and lime juice. That'll be six snakes."* * Spoiler:
The 'snake' is the Opal name for a copper piece, the back is stamped with a Quetzal.
The Common Room of the Opal Explorer's guild is an immense space lined with tables and booths crafted in mahogany, teak, and blackflame. The tables are thronged, as usual with adventurers, explorers and those who had need of their services. The walls were whitewashed adobe, with large open windows lined with sheer colored fabrics to keep the bugs at bay. The early morning breeze off Turquiose Bay stirs the gaily-colored coverings, cooling the crowded room. A serving wench in a short floral-print dress walks up to San. "What are you drinking?" Her left arm balances a tray with several concoctions on it Several tables away, knot of Hyrkmirians stomp their boots and laugh at some joke. Their booming guffaws echo over the buzz of conversation in the large room. Nearby, a group of hungover Argentum privateers glance sourly at the large dwarves/small giants, obviously misliking the rowdiness and the noise level.
Nari's eyes flash bright as various debris peppers the Barrowman. It doesn't seem to hurt the giant wight much, but it distracts him enough to allow Rhiannon's lance to line up perfectly on the Barrowman's gorget. The lance punches through the gap between the wight's breastplate and gorget, sliding through the Barrowman's neck like rotted cheese. The Barrowman howls, a rough keening sound that echoes in the ruined room likr a trump of doom . Rhiannon feels a cold wind buffet her body. Whatever lived in the animated corpse rustles and chitters as it slinks back to whatever Hell spawned it. Karrin's axe flashes by a second later, taking the Barrowman's sword arm off at the shoulder. The black greatsword clatters to the ground, still grasped in the wight's severed fist.
10 Jade, 313th year FCO (Founding of the City of Opal) The day has dawned hot and humid over the city of Opal. The blue waters of Turquoise Bay are dotted with the ships of a dozen nations, all coming to take advantage of the beginning of the dry season. Dockside longshoreman struggle to load and unload trading galleases lined up along the stone keys. The air is alive with shouts and curses as the brawny workers winch off goods from all over Arcaia and winch back on pallets of foods and spices from Opal's plantations. A thin grey-bearded man inspects a collection of bananas, finally waving his hands over them in a complex series of gestures. The streets just beyond are alive as people emerge after the long spell of dreary rainy weather. The Prayer Callers' ritual chants to Quetzalcouatl ring forth from the four prayer towers at the massive Temple of the Feathered Snake, echoing and re-echoing along the bright adobe and brick buildings. "Come to prayer!" The Prayer Callers sing out in a weirdly-modulated sing-song tone. Prayer is better than sleep! Come and worship the Rainbow Guardian, The Morningstar, He who is a Fire against the Abyss!" A sailor dressed in Theranan garb lies in the street gutter, snoring loudly, a bottle of cheap rum still tucked in his fingers. A local urchin sidles up to him looking at his belt pouch. Other sailors sit at tables outside a naerby corner pot shop, spooning up cheap stew and nursing hangovers with cheap Opalline rum and fruit juice concoctions known as 'Lizard Licks'. A man dressed in plantation clothes argues excitedly with a dry goods merchant, both of them imitating windmills with their arms and hands. Several Lumpers stand at the road by them, grunting in short pig-like snorts. Armed plantation men watch their boss, grinning at the scene of high theater the haggling indicates. Eventually, whatever difference of opinion is settled and the two embrace like long-lost brothers. A trio of Sliss'pok Lizardfolk walk along the raised sidewalk, their bodies brightly painted with writhing symbols. Long fearsome tridents tipped with razor-sharp obsidian tines are gripped in their hands, and wicked-looking blowguns adorned with exotic feathers are slung on their backs. Their golden cat-slitted eyes scan the restless crowds warily Two young plantation scions laugh and swagger down the sidewalk, nimbly avoiding piles of droppings so as not to spoil their fine-tooled dino leather boots. They both wear the Clenched Fist cloak broach, indicating they belong to that Sword Circle. Their brightly patterned silk cloaks snap behind them in the freshening ocean breeze. Their wide-brimmed plantaion hats sport a riot of colorful feathers from both bird and dinosaur. A group of immigrants sweating in rough wool homespun follow a man dressed in plantation guard gear: Metal breastplate, sword, dagger, cured Lumper-hide helmet and greaves, supple leather gloves that extend to the elbow. He carries a snake fork cane in one hand, the polished mahogany stick bifrucated at the end and sharpened into wicked points. He lectures the newcomers as they walk towards the river, using his cane to punctuate his points: "Remember when y'all get settled in that everything around here, even the little lizards can have a powerful poison. Y'all evah see a red and black scaly critter 'bout the size of a rat hiding in your privy you best bettah give it some room. That's what we calls a Killquick Lizard round heah, an' it likes to nap in warm wet places, so always check the hole 'fore you put your business end down." He leads them on, his strident voice fading into the background as he tutors the newcomers in the realities of plantation life. The vine-covered marble pile of the Opal Explorer's Guild looms up in front of you. The Common Room is open for business, and already a ragtag group of wannabe adventurers are crowded along the Posting Poles outside, looking for employment. A dozen men offer their services, their goods, or their sisters to the crowd milling about the immense papered-over columns. A well-armored man with half-a-dozen facial scars, a large sword sheathed in a colorful black diamond-patterened dinohide scabbard and several orbiting stones whizzing about his head strides inside, possibly heading for one of the Private Parlors. He is quickly followed by a stern-looking man in black garb, with a slender sword at his hip and a silver-buckled hat upon his brow. Perhaps today would be a good day to look for an adventure!
Seeing Karrin and Rhiannon about him, the armored wight bellows and attempts to slice them into ribbons with his huge greatsword. The blade is an ebon black that seems to drink what little light is thrown off by the small piles of burning furniture. A silvery ghost fire crawls up the blade, gyrating in languid ectoplasmic swirls as the Barrowman swings the greatsword towards Rhiannon as she tries to gain distance:
The greatsword carves into the young cavalier. Rhiannon feels a cold rush, as if the sword was sucking at her very soul
The wight spins cat-quick and brings his ebon blade to bear against Karrin:
Karrin feels the sword bite against the flesh of her ribs. A cold feeling settles in her middle.
The wight saves his last blow for the cat that clawed him
The tufted giant cat yowls piteously as the blade sinks into its left haunch, spilling blood upon the ruined tavern's floor
Initiatives rd two: Issac:19 [hit-kill]
Jena's summoned large cat reaches the Barrowman. It snarls and attempts to claw the huge undead.
The large cat opens up deep rents in the wight's armor Merle's magic missile slams into The Barrowman, making him twitch Mealrin attempts to quill the fearsome wight
The arrows glance of the Barrowman's ebon armor Phaumee moves towards the Barrowman, chittering and brandishing his spear
The warhorse pounds across the common room, ruined furniture smashing into flinders under his iron-shod hooves. Rhiannon's lance points directly at the armored foe, and her lance hits the Barowman on his left side. The lance skitters off the plate mail that encases the undead's tall form, leaving a bright trail of riven metal as it goes. Black ichor weeps from the nearby joints.
Nari/Sanna's eyes glow in the gloom of the destroyed hall. She reaches out and meets a mind that seems rotted, diseased, acrawl with maggots. She breaks contact and the Barrowman laughs "Foolish elf! You cannot kill that which is already dead! You compel me to become what I already am!
Ekuur: Spoiler:
Although he seems to be allied with the hated forces of cold, Ekuur can sense that this being is also somehow tied to fire, as if he was a master of both elements. Perhaps he was a creature of fire before his transformation? It is hard to say, but he(it?) looks better now than it did after Merle's bolt.
Initiatives rd one: Issac:19 [shot-hit]
Karrin's swing chops her undead foe in half. Issac's arrow strikes true.
Phaumee tosses a dart, it misses.
Maelrin sends two arrows after Issac's, both hit. The wight they pepper looks as if something important was wounded. Merle sends a bolt of lightning crackling towards the large leader
The two light up like feat-day ornaments. Ekuur prays, a bright warm pulse reaching out and hitting two wights
Both seem to melt, their frozen flesh softening in the holy fire. The one Merle hit with her lightning bolt crashes to the ground. Jena sends her summoned cat loping towards the foes Justin weilds his fire, sending a blast downrange
The wights surrounding the big leader turn into flaming torches. The only one left standing is the leader, but he actually looks relatively unharmed ..
The fall of the ogre wight reveals a torn up common room. Pallid shapes move towards the hallway, baleful blue eyes staring from dead, frozen faces. These wights are more human sized, and they weild human-sized weapons. Helms of ornate silvery metal adorn their heads and silvery plate covers their bodies. Despite their obvious deceased nature, they move with a suppleness that mimics life. Toards the back a tall undead with some sort of ornate spiked helm on is surrounded by several shapes. He bellows out: "NO PRISONERS! THESE ARE FELL FOES! NO QUARTER!"
Phaumee dodges as Karrin runs to him, leaping over the wiry rodentoid. Ferisirrion glows brightly as it buries itself into the ogre's frozen face. The giagantic wight's head bursts apart like a rotten pumpkin, spraying noxious brain matter all over the ruined hallway
Ekuur's wave of sacred heat washes over Issac and Phaumee, slamming inot the horrid undead. It screeches, frozen flesh sloughing off its carcass.
"If you want, I can start by tossing in a summons to start the party, distract them either after your ready, or to give you a distraction to get into place?" He offers.
Phaumee decides to go along with the Godsman. Sylvan: Spoiler:
"We shall face the foe together nest-brother" The two head up to the broken door, only to see the hallway blocked by the twin of the ugly undead they just put paid to. They attempt to duck back, but it is too late: They are spotted. The undead ogre roars a challenge as it catches sight of them.
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