For reasons all your own, you responded to the 'wanted'-posters, the rumours, or whatever else beckoned you to be in the Blinded Elephant at midnight.
As dive bars went, you supposed the Blinded Elephant was not too bad. The staff made a point of immediately killing and removing any roaches or rodents to brave the floor when there were customers about. Maybe the green lampshades made the place look a bit lugubrious, the emerald sheen making skin look pale and leprous, but even blackened by the light, the beer was of decent quality -- and as it turned out, your prospective employer had paid so you could eat and drink for free!
"Good evening and welcome," the tall, thin, well-dressed man said as he rose from the corner table and beckoned you over. "My name is Mr. Johnson. I am very glad that you have decided to respond to my annonce. Please have a seat, dinner will be out soon."
You ate and drank on the customer's dime. For some of you, this meant you had the first square meal you'd had for quite a while, now. After the cheeseboard had been cleared away -- and the wait staff had removed the body of a rat that ran across the table in a mad dash for the sliced camembert -- Mr. Johnson got down to business.
"I sit before you as a man bereaved, my friends. As much as fifty years ago, my family was robbed most egregiously. Some scurrulous thief broke into our home and stole a box. Not just any box, but a treasure box. An heirloom box, even! The delight of my grandmother, may Abadar keep her soul in his Vault as the valuable thing it is. We are a family of some means, as you may have guessed, and our security staff was after the rogue in short order. But such a clever scoundrel! He boarded a ship with perfect timing, and off he was across the Inland Sea! Where it went? No one knew! The manifest said it was to dock in Vudran, but it never arrived there. Where was the ship? Where was the thief? Where was our priceless heirloom box? No one knew! A mystery! A tragedy! A farce! And so we remain uncertain -- or we remained so until last month. Wreckage sighted on an Island near a reef known very dramatically as 'the Widowmaker', by a ship which belongs to my family. A description handed up to me, references checked -- this must be the ship which had carried away my inheritence, my last memento of dear Grandmama! But how to proceed? Oceanfaring ships may not approach Widowmaker for fear of their hull being torn all asunder. Small ships may get there with luck, but to send my salty sailors and lead them into temptation of light-fingered behaviour? Unthinkable! But you doughty folk, heroes of the truest character, mercenaries well-used to doing a job as ordered? Ah..."
Mr. Johnson smiled then, and made you the Offer. One of his family ships was to take you to Widowmaker, and the Island that lies within its deadly embrace. Once there, a rowboat would be given to you, with which you must pass through the one gap in Widowmaker, and then make ground on the Island of Hope Lost ("Another very dramatic name, such playwrights our salty sailors would make!") and cross it to the other shore, where the wrecked ship awaits. Once there, you are to enter, find the heirloom box and retrieve it. Next, retrace your steps to the shore where you landed, and there stand ready to row out to the next ship to pass, for the family has already arranged for such.
Upon return to Absalom, you will hand over the box and receive one hundred pieces of gold per head. If any of you should lose your head while in service to the family, your share will be divided among the survivors.
Mr. Johnson offers you all a purse with an additional hundred pieces of gold, to share and pay for any last-minute shopping you should like to do. All that remains to be asked is: "Will you take the job?"
Quarick Frehazl paused outside the Blind Elephant. Compared to what he was used to in the Shackles, it was a Taldor palace. Still, it didn't look overly clean or nice.
He reaches under his coat and pulls out a small yellow vial. Never leave home without it. he chortles then gulps in down in a smooth, practiced motion. Instantly he feels the warm rush of confidence and vigor enter his body. He feels smart, suave, clever. He could talk the wings off an owlbear and sell ice to a Linnorm warrior. Incidentally it makes him feel stronger, harder, bolder.
Always a rush.
Quarick swaggers in, taking in the tavern easily. He eats, rather more then he should, but does it with dispatch and verve.
Too much, even full of cognatogen, he can't tell if the man is telling the truth or not.
Some conman I am the gnome thinks, disgusted with himself. He had been out of the game too long.
He does safely assume the man is lying though. Family heirloom? Poor Grandma? Spending gold like water? The gnome himself had done it a thousand times, but here he was, falling for it himself. He looks around at the others, trying to gauge them.
Cael look at the sign on the door of the bar and back at the wanted poster he took of the board. Well, it's not that bad. He tries to convinced himself. Beeing far fromhome and tired of going form crappy job to crappier, Cael hopes that this is just a rich noble that has no idea how to spend his money. The reward is a bit high for such a simple job, but I could use a break.
He enter the bar and he what he sees almost make him walk right back out. Think of the money... Think of the money... He repeat to himself. e can't says what made him almost walk out. It's a hard call between the roaches or the green lighting that make everyone look sick.
When he find his would be employer, he sits down and listen to the sale pitch, what else could you call that type of pitch?
Once the man his done, Cael simply answer. "Of course I will take the job, and the extra hundred gold for the prep and travelling expense in quite appreciated."
Cael look over the others member of this group. I hope we all get along, or this is going to be a long trip.
The short, somewhat chunky Taldan listens with some interest to the poor man's tale of woe, eating and occasionally tapping out complex rhythms on the table. Not bad...he could probably earn a few coppers a day on stage. At least, once he figured out the difference between a farce and a tragedy.
"Your plight has fair touched me to the heart, it has, Mr., ah, Johnson. I would be happy to assist you in this effort." He looks longingly at the bar, but quickly looks away at a glare from the barkeep. I believe she remembers me.
Sitting quietly, nursing an ale, is a green-skinned, six foot tall, one-hundred ninety pound half-orc. His jet black long hair, tied into a ponytail, nearly hides underneath a golden hound-motif bandanna. He is dressed in muted silver and tan leathers, a well-crafted long sword--silver hound on the pommel--hangs loosely at his side.
He seems to be listening intently as the mark explains his plight.
He absently dangles a silver pocket watch between his templed hands.
Monsieur Johnson. I believe a short excursion out to sea would be...how you say? Delightful!, yes.
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Walking up to the Blind Elephant Halungalom Shortstack thinks to himself "Leaves to a longshanks to choose a shoddy place like this one hold a meeting. Longshanks are always so shadey." Stepping inside Halungalom scans the crowd sizing up everyone until his eyes stop on a half-orc sitting at the bar, Virgil, and a snear crosses is mouth. "The only creature out can't trust more than a human spirit and orc and that fellow is both in one. I'm staying away from him so I don't end up with that sword of his in my back." Moving to the other end of the room Halungalom continues to scan until he sees Quarick thinking "Now there's someone I can trust a fine, upstanding young Gnome." He then makes his way over and takes the eat next to Quarick. Extending his hand and as kind a smile so he can muster Halungalom introduces himself "Evening, the name's Halungalom, Halungalom Shortstack. Are you here for the job or just this looovely atmosphere?" Halungalom continues to talk while enjoying eats his meal and downs his mead.
While Mr. Johnson is delivering his pitch Halungalom gets this feeling that something just isn't right, but this is a longshanks he's dealing with and their always lying about something out he just dropped it. When it came to his turn to accept or leave her had to remind himself "You need the money. Your not doing this for the stupid longshanks, your doing it for the money." So with a half snear he nods his head in acceptance of his fate.
Quarick peers at the other...marks? Some of them looked clever, some less so. One, a human male seems altogether too eager to sign up for this little 'job'.
His train of thought is broken as another gnome approaches him. A magical looking fellow if there every was one, Quarick judges quickly.
"I'm here to inspect for criminals." Quarick says darkly, seeing if he can make the gnome jump.
Then he breaks into a smile, "No, lad. Just another friendly fellow, a bit down on his luck. Looking for easy work." he nudges the fellow gnome, 'What do you think of 'Mr. Johnson' there?"
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Halungalom looks at his new friend without even a glimmer of surprise not his face.
"Well if you're looking for a criminal take your pick. We're surrounded by longshanks and you know they can't be trusted, but if I had to take a guess I'd say your best bet would be that guy." He points across the bar to Virgil. "Not only is he a longshanks but he's also part orc. Both are scum, but when you combine them everyone's screwed."
Halungalom knits his eyebrows "Save your lies for the longshanks. As for Mr. Johnson, he's a longshank so you can't trust for as far as I can throw him, but money is money."
Virgil winks at the two gnomes, sipping his ale.
He then turns his eyes over the rest of the applicants.
He smiles.
Leaving the two gnomes to their private conversation, Cael move closer to Virgil and Chamius.
"Hi, I'm Cael, seem like we will be working together for a while. Did you guys ever spend time at sea? It's a wonderful feeling. I'm sure you will love it."
Running out of small talk, he waits to see if the other two will engage in the conversation.
The 1/2 orc stares at Cael the entire way across the common room. As Cael gets closer, he notices strange tattoos painted on the 1/2 orc's exposed skin. He also notices the longsword resting easily at his hip. Once he stands nearly in front of the table, Cael then notices the hypnotic sway of the 1/2 orc's pocket watch.
Hello there Cael. I am Virgil. Virgil Geryon at your service.
Virgil smiles at the young man in greeting.
Nodding his head at a chair, Join me, won't you?
I, myself, have never been out to sea. I have done quite a bit of wandering around the country; visiting various towns and cities, but I never been on the water. But I had some time to kill and could always use an easy score, yes!
Chamius shakes his head at Cael's question, then winces. "Sorry. Chamius Lune, drummer. I've not had the pleasure of the shipboard life yet. Just one of many experiences I've managed to avoid thus far. Still, it could be worse...I could be doing honest work." He shrugs.
Thinking back at the ships he worked on, Cael slowly repeat Chamius last words. "Honest work..."
Clearing his throat, he cheer back up and sit down at the offered chair. "Being at see is great! The fresh air in your lungs, the breeze on your face, the noise of the stern hitting the waves and the sway ship. There is no better life!" As Cael talk, you can almost picture the vision that he is describing. You also notice that his hair seem to be blowing in a breeze... even though you are inside.
Looking back at the table with the gnomes. "Should we invite the other two to join us? Maybe we could talk about how to spend that one hundred gold our employer gave us."
Chamius grins. "I have to get my best drum out of hock before I leave town. This one's all right, far as it goes--" He indicates the bodhrán on his pack. "--but I like the sound I get on the djembe."
Virgil takes a long hard look at the table with the two gnomes.
I expect that they will come over when they are ready.
The 1/2 orc grins.
We will need to discuss purchases and talents, of course.
Looking at Chamius. "Djembe? What is that? Is there really a big difference between one drum and another?" Cael look at the bodhrán and back at Chamius, oblivious lost in the terminology on percussion instruments.
"Ok, talents... not sure what to say here. I'm a sailor, and I guess I'm ok at getting around unoticed. What about you?"
He's obliviously not saying everything, maybe waiting to see what the others share before giving out more info.
The Taldan sits up straighter at Cael's question, his enthusiasm clear. "Oh, yes! A huge difference! Timbre, volume, the warmth of the sound, how well it carries, whether you strike with a hand or a stick.... Here, let me show you." He picks up the bodhrán and a wooden rod with a knob on the end and beats out a quick riff, each stroke sounding clear and distinct. "The sounds carries better with the striker, so I'd use that if I were playing in a large hall, or as part of a group. Now, bodhrán isn't as good for this as a djembe or bongos, but here goes. If I was playing solo in a small venue, I'd use my hand." Another quick riff with one hand, but this time the individual beats are slightly more muffled, and blur into each other. "See?"
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Halungalom glances over Virgil noticing that the longshanks who will be going on this excursion have congregated round him. Turning back to Quarick he says "I think we're getting left out of some planning for this little endeavor. Then, turning his back to the longshanks, a frown covers his face as he states "I guess we should join them." Putting a mask of plesentry across his face, turns back to his future "compatriots", rises, and walks over to join the others, hoping Quarick is right behind him.
Arriving at the table he introduces himself. "Then name's Halungalom Shortstack, I'm not really a sailor. I've read about some great ones throughout history, but I'm not one myself, so this will be no experience. Now ifor we happen to get into a scuffle while we're out just point me at the enemy, I may not look it now, but I can hold my own in a pinch."
Virgil glances around at the gathering group.
I have certain...talents of persuasion. I can use this longsword; it's not just for show.
I suggest that we use a major part of our fronted coin on a wand of cure, yes?
looking at Chamius while he explain the difference between the drums.
"I see, or hear... I think. I'm afraid I have as much knowledge of music then you have of ships. We'll get the chance to learn from each other during the travel."
With the gnomes walking over, Cael greets them warmly. "Welcome, you come at the right time, we were going to discuss the way we might want to spend our traveling gold before we set sail." Cael offers his hand. "I'm Cael Melum, been working as a sailor for a little while now. Good to hear that you can deal with the dangerous stuff. Though, I hope this job is as simple as it was described to us and we won't be facing real threat."
Looking back at Virgil. "A wand of cure? Sure, it's alway good to have some healing in case of mishap. Not that I can actually use that type of thing. I'm guessing we can get that at one of the temples around town. Didn't notice which one were available here."
Virgil confirms the presence of the two gnomes as they join the table.
Gentlemen, I am Virgil Geryon. I look forward to this joint endeavour.
"Oh, a cure wand? I can use one of those."
It is not that much trouble to find a shop in town that is willing and able to sell you a fully-charged wand of Cure Light Wounds. There are plenty of other shops where you can spend the remainder of your money, too.
You spend a pleasant evening getting to know each other and shopping before you return to the Blinded Elephant, where Mr. Johnson has arranged for rooms for all of you. The beds are clean, your sleep is undisturbed... but your morning is a rude awakening, as trading company sailors come to collect you for the voyage to Widowmaker Island!
Rushed out of the inn without the benefit of breakfast, you are hustled onto Mr. Johnson's waiting ship and ordered to stow your kit belowdecks, near the bowsprint, and thereafter to keep your heads down and stay out of the way unless you are asked for...
... and you are off. As dawn breaks over the world, you are already underway, the Johnson family ship cutting the ocean with deceptive elegance. The crew turns out to be more than competent at their work, managing to move the ship with admirable speed and averting or else fixing a plethora of little annoyances before they can crystallize. The only thing that marrs your journey is a sense of isolation; by order of the captain, you are not allowed to participate in the work of keeping the ship going and in peak condition. As you do not work, the crew eyes you all with a tangible feeling of disdain. The occasional dinner at the captain's table does not help matters; the crewmen are muttering that you're too fancy for your own good...
... and then dawnst the day that the lookout calls out a very welcome word: "[ib][/i]
Ah, this won't end well. I wonder how good the Johnsons are at surviving in the wild?
After the first day or two, once Chamius' hangover has worn off, he takes to practicing drumming abovedecks unless stopped.
Quarick clambers onto deck, and peers at the distant land.
Thank the gods. the gnome thinks. Can't very well rob sailors. Can't get away.'
He looks around and asks a passing sailor, 'Know anything about that island?"
Virgil carefully and methodically replaces his set of jacks.
Good training on a ship!, he mused.
He collects his gear and also heads up on deck.
Cael isn't used to be on a ship and not work. If he's able to, he tries to help when the captain isn't looking, even if it's just re-rolling ropes and mending sail below deck. If not, you can see him standing to go help everytime he sees a sailor in need and sit back down when the help is refused.
When the lookout calls the that the destination is in sight, he heads above deck to see it himself.
"Finally, I was starting to wonder if we would get to do something soon."
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It may have been a good thing Halungalom was unable to have breakfast because on that darn boat nothing was staying down. "How can anyone enjoy this." Halungalom thinks as he throws up over the railing of the ship for what seems to be the hundredth time. "I think that was my lunch from 2 weeks ago just now.
When the lookout declares that their destination was almost upon them Halungalom declared "It's about......time. as he throws up one last time over the side.
"Halungalom, if you feel something wee, round, and furry start to come up, swallow hard--that's your bunghole."
The sailor questioned by Quarick grunts a denial.
"Nobody hardly goes t'the Island. Widowmaker Reef is 'round it, see, less'n at low tide. And e'en then it's only a space a lifeboat cin get through, if'n it has a shallow keel. Heard sometimes folks were greedy enough to go in anyway, Bokrug take 'em, wantin' to set up shop or strip the Island for goods. Never made anythin' of it. Widowmaker Island still there, wild as ever, an' Widowmaker Reef all 'round. All I know is what ye'll see yersel' when we're closer -- 'cept ye'll see more'n tha', won't ye? Damnfool thing, goin' ta Widowmaker."
The sailor sizes Quarick up and suddenly grins, displaying several gaps in his teeth.
"Here. Ye cin have this. Fer luck."
The sailor rummages around in his pocket and pulls out what looks like a wooden holy symbol, strung on a thong. It is an image of a green lizard with a long, coiled tail, the wood rubbed with an ochre-like substance to colour it bright red.
"Best o' luck ta ye," the sailor says after pressing the charm into Quarick's hand, and then moves off to get on with his work, refusing to acknowledge any further attempts at conversation.
The captain soon comes to find all of you.
"By order of... Mr. Johnson," he says, "we got you here. The rowboat is ready, and loaded up with a week's provisions and clean water. No more. I don't know what there is for food nor drink on the Island, but then that ain't my concern. Mine is getting you here and then making up for time. Now, remember where the gap in Widowmaker Reef is! You go through that, you come to a beach that at least looks safe. Most of those who came before you landed their boats there, so I'd advise you to do the same. The ship to take you back will be here in exactly a week! You snooze, you lose your chance to get home, for there's not a captain on the Inner Sea who'd come by here without dam... darned good reason. Go get ready by the rowboat; soon as we're in rowing range of the Reef, down you go and on we hurry."
The crew hustles to cut sail and slow down the ship, while Widowmaker Island grows on the horizon. Soon enough, you can see that a small mountain range peeks up from the island's centre, surrounded by lush jungle. As you draw closer, you can even see the shimmer of beach -- but more importantly, you can see why this charming place has such an unfortunate name.
Shipwrecks litter the ocean, seeming to float on the water, but actually caught on the ridges and peaks of Widowmaker Reef. Some look as though they might still be salvageable with a little effort, but most are rotting in place, slowly sliding into the dark abyss of the ocean depths... piece by salt-pocked piece. Tattered sails and the flags of a thousand nations flutter feebly in the brisk, salt-tinged ocean wind.
And then, finally, Mr. Johnson's ship comes to a halt, and you are all ushered -- chivvied, really -- towards the waiting rowboat if you are not waiting there already. It is a stout little ship, with a green lizard with a long, coiled tail painted on the hull by way of a name.
"May the gods watch over you," the captain intones, gruffly. "In you get."
Cael gets into the rowboat in a position where he can make sure he can direct the boat and not hit the reef.
He tries to use all the trick he knows to make the distance betwwen the ship and the beach as quick and easy as possible. Once on the beach, he grab a share of the provisions and get his stuff in order for the trek.
"Ok guys, we got one week to get back here. Let's get to the wreck as fast as possible. I don't want to be stuck here."
Virgil whistles as he boards the rowboat.
The Taldan taps a nervous one-two-three-one-two-three on his drum before boarding the boat, then glances suspiciously over at the captain. "You're followers of the Water Lizard?"
Quarick gets on the boat, uneasy. He is no sailor, but he listens to Chamius ask religious questions.
'What does that mean, Water lizard?' the gnome asks the bard. 'Is that bad?"
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Halungalom looks from the necklace around Quarick neck to the symbol on the boat. "Don't you know, you're wearing a similar symbol around your neck?"
As Halungalom steps into the rowboat he notices that no one seems to be heading to the oars. With a sigh he exclaims "Well if no one else thinks their strong enough to row us to shore I'll do it myself. Hey, Bodyguard, can I get a little help over here." There's a slight pause, during which Halungalom looks around at the confused faces of his companions, and then, as if coming out from within Halungalom, what appears to be steel armor begins to assemble around the small Gnome. Piece-by-piece in puts itself together until the Gnome is no more, replaced by a very muscular human sized being clad in what appears to be steel plate mail armor. Then, in a voice much lower and maybe even demonic in nature, Halungalom says "This is Bodyguard, my eidolon companion." with that he sits down, grabs the oars and starts to row the party toward the beach.
Quarick raises an eyebrow, "A sailor gave it to me, for luck." he eyes the symbol carefully. 'I don't have the slightest idea what it means."
Then he sees the gnome turn into some type of armored plated golem. The conman coughs and thinks to himself, Don't pick that one's pocket.
Virgil raises an eyebrow at the gnome's new guise.
Handy, I expect.
[dice=Knowledge (Religion) check]1d20 + 6
The Taldan taps a nervous one-two-three-one-two-three on his drum before boarding the boat, then glances suspiciously over at the captain. "You're followers of the Water Lizard?"
The captain squares his shoulders as if to brace himself against a gale, and his face grows red -- either with anger or embarrassment, you are not sure which. When he speaks, though, his voice is calm and controlled:
"This is an oceanfaring vessel, lad. Aye, we toss the odd piglet to the Water Lizard. We also pray to Gozreh whenever we make dock or when bad weather comes up. Back when we had to row freight upriver, we prayed to Hanspur. And it wouldn't be the first trip I'd dropped some gold overboard to ward off Besmara's wrath. Aye, and I for one pray to Pharasma when things get real bad. Don't take it to heart; we threw ole Bokrug a lamb before you got on board. Water Lizard's blessing be with ye, just as with us."
Cael's eyes goes back and forth between the captain and Chamius.
"Chamisu, who is the Water Lizard? Do we need to worry about something here?"
Not knowing what to do with the tense situation, Cael gets in a more defensive position and keep a eye out for any agressive action from the crew.
Chamius relaxes slightly. "Fair enough." He chuckles, a little nervously. "Anything that helps you get back here in a week is fine by me, hey?"