Ilizmagorti, Black Pearl of the Tropics. A city on few maps and more well known for its secrets then its day to day affairs. A mysterious trade port in the heart of the Shackles all is not as it seems, even to those who know the city best. Rumored home of The Red Mantis Assassins Ilizmagorti is a city of contradictions and chaos yet somehow it survives and even flourishes.
Beneath the normal teeming streets of haggling and fishmongering, merchant trades and mercenary contracts, is the sophisticated web of participants that make up the premier group of assassins throughout Golarion. Contracts are made. Recruits are summoned. Supplicants to Achaekek are brought forward to know what it is to serve in the image of the Gods own assassin. Under the watchful eye of the hidden Crimson Citadel the assassins ply their trade. Under the quite eye of the lighthouse on the Three Sisters islands, the mayor watches the city.
A city with little law and full to the brim with strangesr who could just as soon be a dealer in death, the servants the Red Mantis Assassins stir as a newcomer vies to become one of them...
All assumptions of careful questions and subtle inquiries had been thrown out when Valcutaz found himself suddenly set upon in the streets of Port Peril. However much safer Eastwind was supposed to be over Beggarbriar the infiltrator found himself suddenly in the dark and being twisted, beaten and generally treated roughly.
What followed next was like an old puzzle with its pieces scattered all over a table; some bits were upside down, others broken, and yet more had the sense of shape but no definition. Somewhere in his lizard brain Valcutaz thought to run but the body would not respond. Elsewhere his more nimble brain parts thought to catalog the various drugs that might create such an effective haze of experience or the tools taht might restrict the body to keep such good hold over someone like himself who had escaped bondage before.
All such thought came in fits and starts with other smells and experiences. The rocking of boats. The rough jostling of carts. The tight hot feeling of a gag. Salt air. Sea wind. Sea life sounds and strange incensed smells...and then blackness.
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Valcutaz comes to with a sharp pain in the eyes. It had been a long time since real sunlight had made it to his face and the eyes scream in protest. After a moment of adjustment Valcutaz realizes he is suspended in the air bound in rope from knee to shoulder. It appears he is being hung off of a winch or arm over the end of a dock faced out at the emerald sea. The wind pushes the alchemist ever so gently and rocks slightly in the air.
A voice floats above the sea wind and seagulls. It seems almost a breathy whisper until Valcutaz realizes there is someone on the dock below him yelling up, Oh GOOD morning to YOU!
Valcutaz cannot look down easily but he can make out a thin human man dressed in sailor's clothes, a green bandana, and thick scruff of vibrant red beard. You hear me okay? Ropes not too tight?
Vacutaz squints down at the man, the shimmering light off the ocean rather dazzling. What had he gotten himself into?
"Uh, too tight for what?" He says down, "They seem to be tight enough to hold be off the ground."
He really needed to learn to control his tongue. The investigator tries again.
"Um, any chance of letting me down and talking about this like civilized men?" he says, shouting down.
The sailor lets out a barking laugh, Too right! Safe and sound you are! As for letting you down, I'm not feeling very civilized at the moment. Orders and all you understand.
Vacutaz can't get a great read at this distance but the sailor seems genuinely amused at least.
I heard you were asking some questions. I heard YOU have been, how shall we say, contemplating a change in your spiritual practice? On a search for greater truth and meaning in the universe? LOTS of folks come to the Shackles looking for contemplation but you seem to think you got, what they say, special skills or something?
Was this recruitment?
Vacutaz coughs, "I have found theological debates are best had on the ground, perhaps with a glass of fine wine?" He coughs again, "But yeah, I like to think I've got better skills then the average alley rat in Port Peril."
Not that it has done me much good so far.
"What skills are you in the market for?"
"Something like this?"
Vacutaz tests the ropes and realizes he is well and truly at this man's mercy whether it was him or someone else who tied them, the investgator was going nowhere.
What skills am I in the market for? The pirate's eyes practically roll out of his head with dramatic affectation until Vacutaz responds with a very close approximation of the pirate's accent, Say that wasn't bad but that's not earning you a fireside chat with a glass of pinot...at least, not just that.
The pirate shields his eyes for a moment and looks out at the water for a second and then looks back up at Vacutaz, I'll tell you what. I'm going to set this rope to drop you in say...five minutes. You'll hit the water hard and the ropes will loosen but only some and they'll start to expand. You get out of them, get up on this dock and manage to find me, I'll buy you a glass of the finest wine on offer and we can talk more about what you seem to be going on about. Sound like a deal?
Vacutaz eyes the man, obviously forced to say yes. He keeps up the accent. "Find you? Any clues? Where the hell even are we? At least give me that." he says, hoping to maybe get something else from the man in his answer.
Whatever he says he nods, "Yes. Sounds like a fun game actually, if you play fair. No changing into a woman or a orc or something."
The pirate laughs and doesn't otherwise respond disappearing from sight. Vacutaz can only assume that the countdown has begun. Clearly not breaking free of the rope the investigator is left contemplating the fall in the next few minutes...
The investigator waits to be dropped, not seeing any other options. Instead, he puts his mind to work. From his high vantage he looks around,trying to memorize the scene, see the 'city', hiding places, hear any voices, even see which way the sailor went.
Assuming he sees anything, he racks his brain to think of anything he remembers that may help ID the location/time of day/so on.
Vacutaz twists and pulls on the ropes to even get a glimpse of where he might be. The city lines (that he can see) do nothing to help his sense of position in the world though he does note that he seems to be in a eastern facing port...of which he can't think of any reasonably close to Port Peril...the absence of which he is confident of so he is most likely in somewhere passingly secret...
Taking the moment to build some momentum, Vacutaz swings on the rope, hoping to time his actions with the rope slipping or to force a better position...which he does.
Swaying at a good pace the investigator can hear the rope popping as its ready to break and manages to swing out over the water in sync with the break. Instincts kick in and Vacutaz is able to twist himself side to side but hit straight at the water line. The twist seems to loosen the ropes more and the collision with the water is clean.
It really all goes quite well from there. The hit on the water is hard, but does not cause Vacutaz to gasp or lose air. The combination of the twisting fall and the training ins escape maneuvers see Vacutaz wriggle free with minimal effort, the swimming lessons of years ago bringing the infiltrator up to the surface in one smooth motion.
Treading water for a moment Vacutaz sees that a small ladder adorns the edge of the dock from which he fell while other exits out of the water appear to be further into wharf area or a sandy beach some many yards away...
Vacutaz makes for the small ladder, not seeing any obvious threat.
Assuming he makes it and climbs it, he takes a look around, noting the people and languages being spoken. He suspects he is still somewhere in the Shackles, they hadn't sailed that far, had they? He expect polyglot among the Common. Speaking it might give him an edge.
But first things first. He needed a disguise. not only might it help him sneak up on his quarry, it always helped him think.
Assuming he finds a place, he'll use his Sleeves of May Garments to get rid of these wet clothes and change into the look of a fairly well-off sailor. A respected first mate or maybe a very prosperous ships's carpenter.
Vacutaz emerges at the end of the dock and finds that there is...no one. In the distance closer to the main wharf area there are clearly ships and people but not for many yards. A few haphazard boxes are stacked around the tall winch arm that served as Vacutaz's prison with one being roughly coffin like that appears to be what they stuffed the investigator in to get him to here.
A few pieces of detritus mark the area around the box and a red false beard is easily found as well. There is plenty of cover for Vacutaz to change unseen and then proceed down the dock.
This particularly long dock connects to a series of others holding avariety of vessels and the early morning bustle of trades goods and cargo loading seems in full effect. A long row of buildings line the dock in the distance and Vacutaz would have to pass by the folks working to see what they are.
Over the water many sounds carry easily but a few snippets of called our orders makes it clear that there are at least Common speaking folks though the investigator does note a few Chelaxian phrases and at least one Osirion curse.
The beard had been a fake. That made it a bit tougher, Vacutaz thought to himself. It might be too much to hope for that he kept the green bandanna, but maybe the 'sailor' was feeling generous.
He gets his costume in order, and with a last flourish he uses his Hat of Disguise to make himself look older, rougher, with a bit more weight. A no nonsense man of the sea, used to giving orders (and taking them).
Vacutaz would head toward the docks with people on them. He'll stick to Common, but matching his captor's rhythm and accent. The investigator will look for someone with a touch of authority, a Watchman or a Customs agent or something. If not, then someone who looks reputable but not actively busy. Either way, Vacutaz will approach him.
'Greetings! How are you this fine day? I'm wondering if you could perhaps help me, and help yourself. I'm new in these parts, in off a ship, a few months out. First mate, in charge of the crew. I just had a fellow run off on me, jumped ship, as it were. Normally, I accept it price of doing business you know?"
He lowers his voice, as if in slightly confidence, 'And to be honest, I don't mind seeing the back of him. He was a lazy git, never did his share. But went he left he took a few small, but valuable items that belong in the ships lockers. I'd...appreciate getting them back if you know what I mean?" Vacutaz winks in a friendly fashion. Then he describes the sailor as best he can, sans red beard.
"He'd have the same accent as me, if that helps." The investigator adds, nonchalantly.
Vacutaz makes his way to the busier section of the dock and actually is surprised to note that there seems very little in the way of official authority types, not even a bureaucratic type with a checklist.
Nonetheless a tall sort with a finer long coat with brass buttons seems to be taking a break after a group of men shuffle off after having just unloaded one of the ships. He is clean shaven and wide jawed with sandy hair peaking out from beneath a tricorner style cap. He considers Vacutaz for a minute and gives his cheek a lazy scratch, Yeah? How valuable? How much would you appreciate it?
Vacutaz laughs a bit and says, "Depends, did you see him? Let me put it this way. The captain is a very..touchy man. He took the theft personally, I might say. If your directions help me grab him, I'll march back here and put a gold bit in your hand, no questions asked. Not bad, eh?"
Vacutaz can tell the man knows something for sure and isn't hiding it well which makes the next thing that comes out of the sailor's mouth all the more frustrating, Nope sorry, without the weight of something precious in my hand here and now I think that my mind will be prone to wander...its an anxiety provoking sort of thing, knowing there is a captain who wants his rightful goods back but can't seem to find the man that took them. Set a man on edge. Injustice in the world and all.
The sailor offers a tight smile but continues to lean on the boxes where Vacutaz found him.
The investigator smiles, 'Ah, a man with a conscience and an eye for business! You are a man in a thousand, but I know how to fix this!." With a bit of flourish he pulls out a round, gold coin.
'Tell you what. I give you this coin, right now, in what do they call...good faith money. Then, if I find him, you get two more. That should put your mind at ease, by Besmara it should!"
Vacutaz laughs and adds, "And besides, it is the Captain's money. What he don't know, eh?"
The stranger laughs at Vacutaz and nods, Keep your other coins. My men come back the last thing I'll need is someone shoving money in my hand and them thinking they get a cut. Besides you can invest in some spectacles because I saw the man that came the way you say looking the way you do, headed right that way... the sailor jerks a thumb to a row of three side by side store fronts that face the entrance to the docks,And his bandana was blue. Azure I'd think some artists might call it. Certainly not green. But the accent, red hair, sailor type. Him sure as day.
Vacutaz nods and tosses the man a coin with a wink and asks, "Oh, what quarter of the city am I in? My first time berthed here. Might be good to know some of the landmarks if I end up chasing this thief all over."
Whatever the answer, Vacutaz makes his way down the street, worrying. Had the man changed bandannas? Or worse...did he have a pocket full of them? This might be harder then he thought.
The investigator takes in the storefront, looking for any idle folks who would have seen the man pass. Also, what sort of businesses? He prepares his spiel again, wondering how much this is going to cost him...
The man guffaws at Vacutaz, The Jawbone. Don't go wandering Ilzmagorti talking about first times and landmarks, your liable to get a knife in the belly friend.
Vacutaz winds through the rest of the dock and meets a broad cobble street that marks the real city start. The building in question has three shop faces. The leftmost seems to be a sail repair and sewing shop. The middle appears to be some sort of trade goods store possibly dealing in provisions for seafaring. The right most seems markedly fancier of the three and seems to feature a variety of smoking implements and tobaccos, herbs and other items one might light on fire and consume through inhalation.
Elsewhere on the street all sorts of people seem to be moving about but few, if any, appear to be merely idle.
He had made it.
Ilzmagorti, the Black pearl. Any lingering doubts as to his captor's allegiance were dispelled. This really was the Red Mantis!
Energized, he turned back to his task. Perhaps he could spend enough coin to find the sailor, but perhaps not. And in a rough and ready town like this...a friendly Watchman wouldn't exactly be along to help.
So maybe use that to his advantage?
He sneaks behind one of the buildings and changes his disguise again (with help from his Hat of Disguise). He changes his garments, finer, fancier, but weather beaten. The symbols of authority and success but hard work before the mast. Gone is the dutiful first mate, in his place is a rapacious pirate captain full of swagger and booty.
He stumps back into the street, going for an imperious and well-connected air. He looks for a tavern or inn that might have a gathering of poor but bulky types.
Time to enlist some help.
Vacutaz heads behind the building and changes coming back out to the cobbled street. Maneuvering up and down the road a bit to see what is available the soft sound of yelling and song gives the investigator the sense that if he moves along the street to the north he will find a tavern.
Starting to move up the street once more the door to the smoke shop opens. A young woman dressed in simple clothes clutches a package between her arms and hurries to the south but leaves the door open a moment as she exits. A smell hits Vaucatz's nose that is like a combination of cinnamon and sage, a distinct smell to be sure, he is sure that he smelled it as he woke up hung from the arm.
Vacutaz sniffs with his disguised nose, currently looking large and savagely hooked. The smell...something resonated faintly. He had smelled it before...when bound?
Was she an accomplice? A fellow Red Mantis? A spy, to keep an eye on him during this 'game'? In any case, it was a clue. Frankly his other plan could still be executed. A shame, his current disguise was not built for tailing someone. Still....
He follows the young woman as best he can, using his disguise to encourage others to step aside for him. If the young woman looks at him, he'll ignore it and act disinterested.
Besides, even if sh spotted him, he could transform into something else.
Vacutaz sniffs with his disguised nose, currently looking large and savagely hooked. The smell...something resonated faintly. He had smelled it before...when bound?
Coming from inside the shop? This deserved at least a cursory inspection.
Still in full captain regalia Vacutaz marched into the small smoke shop. he gazed upon the store inside with all the disdain and contempt he could muster. he was a pirate warlord, an emperor upon his decks and not much less on land.
Vacutaz enters a shop that seems strangely fancy and out of place considering the neighborhood. 4 glass cases line the room on either side displaying their wares to patron both inside and out. The cases seem to feature a variety of smoking implements of either rare or artistic finery; scrimshaw and odd animal horn pipes, a series of cases for carrying or storing cigars or cigarillos, wrapping papers stacked with small signs labeling them as being from certain regions or with special attributes (cinnamon flavors! Rich botanical blend!) etc.
At the other end of the shop a narrow faced man with a bald pate and very suspect white combover stands behind a tall wooden counter. Behind him glass jars fill wide racks with their cork and metal lids facing out towards the door. Each lid has information on them like the name of the smokeable, a price per various weights, and similar descriptive language as the papers and other items in the cases. (Burns smooth! Know to calm even the strongest anxieties!)
A number of impliments, scales, ledgers and so on peek from what is surely a sub couter behind the main counter. The man reaches towards his stomach ad produces silver rimmed spectacles from a pocket on the leather apron that covers his clothes. Placing them on his face with a squint the man looks at the door as Vacutaz enters, Good morning! Welcome sir. How can I help you?
Vacutaz takes it all in, making sure to remain in character. Seemed like an ordinary shop, if a higher end one then the Jawbone district deserved. A front for something, perhaps? Hardly unusual although why would anyone bother doing that in this city?
The investigator sniffs the air, trying to pin down where that strange odor was coming from.
'Hello. I am Captain Ragwell, off the Savage Storm. I have recently come into town with a hold full of swag. Your shop seems reputable." Vacutaz eyes sweep it dramatically.
'What is that scent, I detect? Cinnamon and sage? It pleases me, after 4 months of tar and pitch. I admit it is what brought me to this shop, above the others. I think my lover would enjoy it. What is it?"
The man watches "Captain Ragwell" with rapt attention and at the mention of "swag" he straightens up a bit and at the mention of "Cinnamon and Sage" he beings to nod, A good nose friend. Though I confess the bouquet is a finer smell than the taste on the tongue. Its a harsh blend to smoke but I have some clients who swear by its effects. The man raises his eyebrows on the final word and offers a knowing smile. He turns to produce a jar labelled "Soaring Eagle" which appears to cost 5sp an ounce and promises "exceptional awareness" and "Fly above the clouds!".
Without prompt the man opens the lid off the jar and places the open container on the counter, allowing Vacutaz to inspect the contents. If you think you, or your lover, would be interested in this blend I would recommend either a softer plant based pipe such as corn or hewnstem or if you intend to use it in more...pressing... circumstances.. an enchanted smoke sniff/
'Ah, Soaring Eagle.' Vacutaz says, holding the bottle. His captor must use the stuff. A interesting clue...perhaps he has bought something lately?
'Captain Ragwell' drops his voice, and looks sidelong at the vendor. 'I must confess, I am not here entirely on my...own accord. As I said, I am long at sea and my lover gets....lonely. This scent...this scent reminds me of a smell I sometimes smell when I am fresh at home after a long trip."
Vacutaz grimaces, 'I fear the worst, obviously. I have tried to find out who this gutter rat is so I can gut him myself, but he is crafty. One of the neighbors described him once for me, only a fleeting glance as he left my lover's home." Vacutaz describes the sailor and includes the accent.
"Do you sell this to anyone of that description? Finding him...means a great deal to me. As I said, the Savage Storm has a hold full of swag. Besmara has been kind to me, and perhaps to you?"
The man blinks at the Captain and clicks his tongue ever so gently Moving to recap the jar the man considers what he has been told, My business, believe it or not, relies on discretion. While I am obviously providing my wares in a place of...let us say less restrictive circumstances, some of what I offer can be frowned upon in certain circles. If I were to betray confidences...
Vacutaz frowns, a rather impressive gesture on his disguised face, with the broad black beard and varied scars. He glowers at the shopkeep, and then roars, "Would you deny me my satisfaction? You would keep a captain from protecting the honor of his love?" Vacutaz draws his cutlass, although more in a dramatic flourish then just threat.
'Do you stand in my way, sir? I, who have sailed these seas for three decades? I, who have sent hundreds of men to death with this very blade? I, who have fought the very winds themselves? Or do you mispeak?!"
He slaps the counter with his blade and roars, 'Now, speak man! Who matches that description?"
Vacutaz knew how to rattle a cage or two and he leaned in hard on the small shop keep with a growl.
The man seems completely nonplussed however and merely raises an eyebrow, Do you think its the smoking part of my business that requires I not betray confidences? Rare is the man who talks in this town of having killed anyone....which means you are new.
The shop keep considers the captain for a moment and then crosses his arms, I'll be curious to see how you treat me next time. For now I will tell you, brave captain, that the man you are looking for went to the Swan Song, right down the way there... the man gestures out his door in the direction Vacutaz meant to go before, But you need to remember that you are mistaken. His bandana was yellow.
The old man pushes at his comb over, sending wisps over hair in ever direction but the one he clearly intended. He shrugs slightly and uncrosses his arm, Anything else?
Vacutaz eyes the shopkeep, wondering how much their was beyond what he could see. Had he just offended some Red Mantis operative? Another judge in this test? Or was he just jumping at shadows? How deep did the rabbithole go?
He sheathes his sword and says, 'I think paying you would be crass. Forgive me if I offended. But thank you." he says, breaking character. The shopkeep might be not be someone to trifle with.
With that he strides out of the store. He looks for the Swan Song, going the way the shop keep said. Plans fill his brain but the decides to keep it simple and simply enter as Capatin Ragwell, fresh off a hurricane filled pirate adventure.
The Swan Song is indeed nearby, a "classic" tavern in that it is just one loud drunken room with no attached inn. A large bar covers the back wall, myriad tables and chairs after filled with all manner patrons and a small stage on the Western wall hold three musicians playing accordion, fiddle and fife.
One table stands out to the captain. A loud table of three men and three women all wearing yellow bandanas. The three men look like brothers. The three women all like sisters. All of them are armed with pistols and cutlass and seem to be playing an animated game of dice.
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Vacutaz takes in the Swan Song, instantly focusing on the double set of...triplets?
Still, he makes a loud display of stumping in and eyeing the inhabitants. Pacing, he comes over the table and says, in a low rough voice, "What say you to better money then dice? I'm fresh on land, with a hold of swag, and I have a few jobs that need doin'. What say you?"
Vacutaz rubs his eyes. What was going on? Was everyone in the Red Mantis a master of disguise? Was everyone in on this hunt, even women?
Fine.
Ducking back out, Vacutaz looks for a place to hide. Finding some back alley or corner, he decides to play the game out.
Using every skill he has, including a kit of disguise, he makes himself look like his quarry (and like those two set of triplets)
Looking an awful alot like the Red Nantis recruiter (he goes with the green bandanna), Vacutaz re-enters the Swan Song, looks idly around and approaches the dice table saying, with the same strange accent, "Room for one more?"
For once Vacutaz feels like he might finally be on the cat side of this cat and mouse game as he notes that one of the women and two of them men seem to smirk or cough or otherwise do their best to hide their reaction to the sudden arrival of someone looking so close to them.
The more neutral man nods his head and reaches an arm out to a nearby table stealing a chair as the others shuffle around and give Vacutaz a spot...
Vacutaz takes note of which men and women smirk or cough and which don't. Maybe his quarry will reveal himself...
Vacutaz watches the game and remembers the rules, it being a variation on a number of similar dice games played throughout the region. There is a lot of luck but a little skill and when it comes time to roll the investigator does fine for himself.
There is little in the way of conversation but there is a constant push to maitain the game. Something niggles at Vacutaz but he can't place the feeling....but he does see one of the women seemingly palm one of the dice and replace it with another before passing the dice and leather bound cup used for rolling to the aspiring Red Manits assassin...
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Vacutaz raises an eyebrow. Being cheated? But what could he do about? Should he play along, take it as part of his application or was he supposed to expose it? Would they take offence? If he called foul, would they draw knives?
A third option presents itself, to Vacutaz's convoluted mind. When the cup is passed to him, he 'drops' into the lap of the woman, cursing loudly as he did so. Still loudly cursing his luck, he bumps into her to grab the fallen dice. In the confusion he tries to swap the 'new' dice with the fairer 'old' dice.
Assuming he gets away with it, he rolls with the 'fair' dice.
Vacutaz fumbles and is forced to the floor and the lap of the woman who is trying to cheat him. It appears his rouse is totally convincing but sensing he has little time, the investigator is forced to retake his feet without finding the dice on the woman. Luckily she seems unaware at the attempt....
Biting his tongue, Vacutaz throws the loaded dice, knowing he is about to lose. He will remember the slight though.
As he does so he idly asks, 'So, what ship are off of?" he makes his tone casual, but with just a hint of a knowing edge.