Heal 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16 - can I tell anything about Aerys and any ailments (mental or physical) she might suffer from?
I'll take the restoration potions and the potion of remove disease, unless anyone else would rather distribute things differently. Re: the cargo, I suggest trying to set up some sort of zip-line (?) so we can send items down to the shore by rope - I assume we could rig this up using some of the rigging on board (Profession (Sailor)) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24 ?
As she examines the corpse of the cook, Pyrra begins to look seriously alarmed. "Uh... Besmara's sacred cleat! He was killed by... some sort of snake, but I didn't see anything that big on board, and you'd have thought we'd have noticed - I mean, it'd have to have been *huge*"
She begins to sweat, and bites her lip hard, causing a trickle of blood to run down her chin
"It looks like he was killed *before* the meal as well"
Getting a hold of herself, she breathes out, massaging her neck as she does so.
"That'll explain the improvement in Rambar's culinary skills, anyway. By Her salty bosom, what a way to go..."
Again, unless someone else would rather, I'll take Jask's gear as well. Also, is there any booze on board?
"Well, we've got an hour and a bit before the tide comes back in", observes Pyrra. "After that, it'll be a while before we can get back and forth without a bit of a scramble. Still, maybe we can rig up a line between ship and shore if there's too much to carry"
She looks around at her companions.
"Come on, then!"
Unless someone else decides to lead, Pyrra will walk along the passage and climb up the side of the ship, stopping at the top to help anyone coming after her get on board.
Idyll, did this check reveal anything to me about the state of the tides, please?
Timor En'Anlaven wrote:
Pyrra smiles. "First time anyone's called me "Lady" - keep it up!"
She sweeps her arm out in front of her, saying as she does so: "Where do I come from? Well, here - round here, anyway. Born and raised outside Eleder, spent most of my teens in the Shackles. I left because I wanted to see my family again and do something a bit more, ah, normal than robbery on the high seas."
Pyrra sighs ruefully.
"Looks like those plans'll have to be put on ice for a while. How about you? You seem to be enjoying yourself here, anyway"
Valeria Ingrid Titania Abia wrote:
If she bends down in that outfit, every fella in the party'll keel over simultaneously and die with huge... smiles on their faces, thinks Pyrra, then decides to concentrate on practicalities.
Profession (sailor) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25 to find out what I know about the tides/weather in the area.
If that's not enough:
"Aerys, Jin - you seem to know this place. What can you tell us about conditions in these parts - when's high and low tide? What's the weather like?
"Yeah - I'm for the ship.", replies Pyrra. "As you say, there might be others who survived the ship, there's bound to be some food remaining on board and we could make tents out of the sails and spars, at a pinch"
Turning to Ishirou:
"Come on - we need the extra pair of hands. Why not unlock the prisoner's chains? It's not like he's going to run off, if he's got any sense" She smiles winningly, fluttering her eyelids.
Diplomacy 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
"First of all, does anyone have wounds that need tending to?", asks Pyrra. "It's not a good idea to leave cuts open to the air in this climate. Secondly, I don't know... Food and shelter might be a good start."
Pyrra will dress any wounds that are brought to her attention Take 10 on Heal check (w+10 modifier) = 20
Timor En'Anlaven wrote:
Despite the gravity of the situation, Timor simply could not resist inserting a thinly veiled innuendo: "No worries Jin, she's grab a hold of mine, not yours...rapier of course" - he adds with a sly wink
"I wondered why it was three inches long and limp", shouts back Pyrra. "Oh, wait, that's a sea slug."
Pyrra stares at the feast, thinking:
"Where have they been hiding all this stuff? And when did Rambar learn to cook, by the Maelstrom? Ach, I'm getting too suspicious."
She's soon tucking in with all the rest, making small talk and trying to steer Aerys away from the hard liquor as subtly as she can
Timor En'Anlaven wrote:
Any ideas why we are off the course maybe? Will we be sold to slavery, or some more interesting fate awaits us?" - he asks bluntly.
"You'd expect the crew to be in on it too if it was some sort of slaving mission, wouldn't you? Besides" Her expression grows grim. "That'd be like taking ice to the Spine of the World, given how busy the flesh trade is around the Expanse. I wonder if it's anything to do with the cove in irons below?"
Pyrra notices Aerys' gesture with the flask with concern, but she smiles and laughs. "Ship's cooks always fall into two categories - burners or drowners. Rambar's cooking's certainly good for the figure, anyway"
She pats her own slender waist, then whispers.
"Can be difficult on a ship full of men, can't it? Lucky I've got this."
She pulls her holy symbol out of her shirt and shows it briefly to Aerys.
Diplomacy 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26
GMI Aerys Mavato wrote:
** spoiler omitted **
"Why am I so eager to get to Sargava?" Pyrra smiles wistfully. "Time for a fresh start. See my family again, if they haven't given me up for dead by now. I could do with a spell on dry land, just to rest up for a bit and get the salt out of my hair"
She runs her hands through her tangled locks, grimacing as she does so, then glances at the woman she's speaking to.
"What's in that flask? Mind if I have a nip?"
She looks like she's three sheets to the wind already... maybe I should head her off before she collapses, or maybe it's none of my business...
Profession (sailor) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26 - trying to determine whether I know we're off course or not..
Pyrra, unused to being a mere passenger, stands on deck and stares at the ship's wake, shimmering away behind the vessel as the light fades away. She's enjoying having nothing to do, and gives a sigh of satisfaction before shivering at the evening chill and heading belowdecks.
Anyone already in the galley sees a well-built copper-skinned woman with a mop of thick, curly black hair and slightly pointed ears enter, ducking instinctively to avoid the low door as she comes in. She smiles pleasantly at the company, wishes everybody a good evening, then stands in line, swaying with the motion of the ship.
"Eight knots in this weather!" She says to no-one in particular. "Kovack's quite the skipper, ain't he?"