Alrk looked over the cluster of experts for this expedition and wonders what on earth this was all about. Surely any normal excusion wouldn't require much in the way of security such as a group like they could provide? "I am Arlk. Are you expecting issues? Perhaps undead or traps within whatever site we're going to?"
|Servius Acinon Venator|
Entering the room, Servius is glad that it is not nearly as cramped and small as he had feared their lodgings would be aboard the ship. Seeing the Lyncurian Makhor present, his initial thoughts are ones of suspicion. Stopping himself from shifting into the body posisiton for such a mental state, he reminds himself that that mindset came from the Makhoran military officers, drilling it into his head that arcane casters, including Lyncurians, are not to be trusted.
However, it is better to judge an individual by their own actions and words than those of others. He is careful to position his ears and tail in a posture of polite greeting, with faint traces of wariness appropriate to a first meeting. "Greetings. I am Servius, of clan Acinon, family Venator. May I inquire as to your names?"
At the head of the table, the clean-shaven human with graying hair nods at those who chose to introduce themselves in turn. He rises to his feet and inclines his head slightly with an air of formality.
"Glad you all could make it onboard. I'm the chief-explorer of this little merry band, but you can call me Kadlitz. We'll be sharing this cabin for the foreseeable future, so go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. We've a little time yet until the ship hoists anchor, I believe." Kadlitz begins tidying up the collection of notes and maps on the table before him, then continues, "Our destination is going to be Culbdoon's Roil—a volcanic isle at the furthest reach of the Ashing Way. If I'm speaking frankly, we're not sure what to expect. But the island is notoriously undocumented in any worthwhile measure, and even the Bedool give the place a wide berth. Perhaps remnants of ancient civilizations remain on the isle? And no shortage of wildlife, I'm sure, for which your mercenary acumen will be a valuable commodity."
"Ah, but I forget myself," Kadlitz apologizes, then turns to regard his own entourage. He gestures towards the auburn-haired rotund woman in a sleeveless dress and says, "This is geologist Islanna." This elicits a friendly smile and a nod from the woman.
"Here we have quartermaster Izluth," Kadlitz continues, indicating the barrel-bodied man with oily, black hair and a handlebar mustache. Izluth's stern face deepens into the beginnings of a scowl as he is introduced, adding myriad wrinkles to a face already dominated by creases.
"And last, but certainly not least, my old friend Klaudio." Kadlitz steps to the side to allow a view of the diminutive Makhor (at least, by Makhoran standards) behind him. Klaudio bobs his head up and down several times in an awkward bow, anxiety written plainly on his face. Kadlitz concludes with, "I'd recommend getting settled in—pick any open bunk you'd like—and then you'll have a little time to yourselves before the ship embarks."
The pirate Bedool shrugs and pats his sea chest on the now claimed bunk. "Right, tally ho." Ooduls struts out of the room.
He heads to the bilges and searches the ship from bottom to top accounting the cargo and state of the ship.
|Servius Acinon Venator|
Striding over to one of the unclaimed bunks most accustomed to his quadrupedal body, Servius begins laying out his gear around the bed in the most efficient manner that he can. The backpack and other bags are laid out on the floor at one end of the bed, organized by simply clumping them together on the floor. His bow, which is currently unstrung, is leaned against the wall and the bags, in a position where it is readily available if needed. Putting his hands on the belt at his waist that holds his shortsword and pistol, he contemplates removing it for a moment, then decides against it as he retrieves a small stone from one of the bags on the ground. Sitting down on the bunk, he removes the sword from its scabbard and sharpening the blade for a short while, before eventually getting some rest while he can.
Arlk nodded, heading for whichever bed looked like it would be the simplest to get in and out of and stowed his gear. Sitting on the edge with as much grace as he could muster, he glanced at his temporary companions. "Do you know why my people avoid this island?" It would likely be difficult to approach with reefs or monsters, and if they were probably going to rip the hull out Arlk would like to know
After the introductions, Tzacol seeks the closest bunk to the door that remains unoccupied.
Kadlitz steeples his hands on the table before him at Arlk's question, his eyes focusing still on the map rather than the scarred Bedool. "We have no specifics about Culbdoon's Roil—only ominous warnings and accounts of ships in olden times that vanished from the world when they strayed too close to the island. No Bedoolan vessels have dared the approach for decades, so far as we're aware, and they certainly refused to accept our coin to ferry us there. The most likely explanation is that the isle perhaps served as a central cove for some vast pirate operation. What I'm hoping, however..." Kadlitz turns to look directly at Arlk, his voice lowered and approaching that of a conspiratorial tone, "...is that we've discovered a forgotten location of one of your kind's forgotten Volskwoo. If I am right about this, and the isle's reputation extends beyond living memory, this Volskwoo would likely have embodied some element of terror or death. One can only imagine what sort of labyrinth such a figure might construct to honor their passing from the world, no?"
Meanwhile, Ooduls finds that his evaluation of the dockworker loads above told a truthful story about what was concealed below. Racks that look like they once held an impressive volume of wine casks stand mostly empty. What the ship is not short on is food, drinking water, and half a hold full of curios ranging from tableware to abstract paintings. It is not terribly unlike some hauls of booty Ooduls has witnessed in his days of piracy, though it seems unlikely these gains were ill-gotten. Instead, you're left with the distinct impression that someone on this ship, or perhaps back at the Auruspire, has an appetite for materialistic samplings of continental cultures.
Mirael's Destiny is a narrower vessel than Ooduls would prefer, especially the below-deck passageways. In terms of sea worthiness, she is undoubtedly a fast ship fit for covering long distances. Despite boasting two decks with thirty guns, all told, the Destiny likely wouldn't require much firepower to sink. Crew discipline seems to be kept on a short leash by First Mate Cinderwake and a handful of her subordinates, but there are definitely cliques aboard the vessel that seem to be largely divided along racial lines. A good rule of thumb, Ooduls is able to learn quickly, is that the lower the deck, the more likely you are to encounter human and Meerk crew.
Ooduls - Vehicles: Water (Wis): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Insight: 1d20 ⇒ 14
Looking around the group, Arlk found them unreadable. "It is...possible, I suppose," The Bedool considered it for a moment. "Although I find it somewhat unlikely that we would have built one we couldn't get back to." Some of the Bedool should be able to reach the island, if not all. Still, if it was that dangerous to approach, he should certainly be ready to swim.
Insight: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
"Kadlitz, as Arlk says, it is possible this is a...Volskwoo."
The Togani turns to face Izluth, all three eyes focused on him.
"Izluth, do you have any other ideas as to what we might find there?"
Persuasion: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (20) - 1 = 19
After his tour, Ooduls heads to the weather deck to enjoy watching the crew and the dockworkers work. He stays out of the way and categorizes the crew, like a predator.
It has been months since he had been at sea. And, the bedool pirate is surprised by his feelings of nostalgia.
|Servius Acinon Venator|
Insight: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Lo’tan kicked back in the chair casually, seeming to not care about the discussion’s details much. Instead he was more interested in how these employers interacted with one another as well as with the rest of the hired on group. He was far more interested in their interpersonal relationships and possible emotional vulnerabilities they may unknowingly have...
Kadlitz opens his mouth briefly and hesitates, eyes sweeping to the only remaining Bedool in the room. It is in that lurch in the conversation that Izluth breaks the silence, his voice a cavernous boom of gravel and grumpiness to match the perpetually bitter scowl affixed to his visage, "Volskwoo is what the shell-men," his eyes land on Arlk once more, measuring the effect of an insult, "call other shell-men that managed to do something worthwhile in their days. They lay the dead f~+&ers in grand tombs and monuments, surrounded by what spoils they coveted in life, then declare them posthumous Gods. It's what the rest of us might call utter nonsense that live somewhere with more than a handful of mud to call home."
Nearby, Kadlitz has long since buried his face in the palm of his hand. The rest of their entourage exchange silent, wide-eyed glances, waiting to see how their disgruntled associate's tirade lands with their recently hired mercenary band. Unfortunately, Izluth has not exhausted his venom.
Turning to Tzacol, his scowl somehow manages to deepen, and he says "Not a damn clue what's on that rock besides a volcano. But I can promise you here, now, that the Bedool aren't frightened of sailing anywhere in this wide blue puddle of water—except to this island. Volskwoo, pirates, ghosts, or giant f&!%ing squid monsters... doesn't matter what the culprit. I reckon we're about to add another shipwreck to the briny depths if we're fool enough to go anywhere near that place."
"Well, they say that people who have the good sense to stay away from cursed places live long lives. Apparently, that doesn't apply to anyone here." says Reep as he exits the room and heads back up to the deck.
Tzacol listens intently to the human's tirade. After a quiet moment, she replies, looking at Izluth.
"There is a dark mystery on the island, that much seems certain."
She turns to take in Kadlitz, the other explorers, and her companions.
"I would tear this mystery open and bare its heart to the light of the Sun. I am not swayed from this matter."
Arlk carefully didn't react to the comment. He'd had plenty of practice not reacting to such simple barbs. But Kadlitz had just moved to the bottom of his priority list in an emergency. "My people don't think of land as anything worth living on. It's just somewhere for the young and the injured until they are ready to return to the sea."
"Hey, Gray. How're the diggers?" the former Bedool pirate asks Reep when he approaches Ooduls on the weather deck.
"The ship's a light runner. The load's bazaar stuff. You'll find your kin with the humans on the lowest deck." he offers a summary of his tour.
If the Bedool fear what is on the island, part of their own domain...then whatever this is is truly powerful. Perhaps it is a power I can find a use for...
He waits for the others to speak their minds, mostly seeming to criticize the man.
”Well, if I may speak me own mind,” Lo’tan says as he leans forward on his chair, ”I tink you be right, ‘ooman. Ta be fearin’ whatever dis may be on de island. Forwarned is for-armed, so dey say. Ta be goin inta dis wit’ an open mind and prepared for da worst makes us less likely ya meet an untimely end on da Bedool watas. Even if we just be comin’ back in a new body, I fer one am not done wit’ me own research yet in dis lifetime, an’ would ratha be finishin’ it up as me Togani self. If fer nothin’ else dan ta prove da eldas wrong!”
He leans back and drops a hand to the lizard laying beside him on the floor, scratching its head as it hisses out an exhaled breath. ”If dis place be as dangerous as ye be sayin’, den we should all be gettin’ our rest an’ makin’ our prepahrations. Dat way some of he may continya ta live, like me an’ Kadlitz ‘ere!”
It is several hours yet before the crew of Mirael's Destiny finish making their preparations and finally embark. Those remaining below-deck in cramped quarters are subjected to what has devolved largely into an uncomfortable silence owing to Izluth's previous outbursts. Above deck, Ooduls is surprised to see no sign of the captain, despite the vessel having shoved off. Even as the port-city and the jungle bay fades out of view behind them, First Mate Cinderwake remains the singular point of authority barking out orders from the ship's wheel. Any misgivings one might have harbored against the disparate crew are quickly laid to rest over the course of the afternoon. All hands move efficiently and with practiced grace from one task to another. Cinderwake runs a tight ship.
Meanwhile, the sapphire waters of the Auran Ocean sprawl out in every direction, the horizon only interrupted occasionally by islands of varying shapes and sizes. Winds are favorable for the time being, the skies cloaked in billowing white clouds. The steady breeze afforded by the ship's movements are a welcome reprieve from the sweltering heat that still clings to the air.
Much of the evening is spent in such unremarkable conditions, with the crew moving busily between their tasks, the captain remaining unseen, and the skies promising no tumult—at least where weather is concerned. Occasionally, from behind the curtains that conceal the entrance to the captain's cabin, a few half-hearted melodies escape from a trio of instruments (fiddle, fife, and lute). By and large, everyone seems content to work around you while you have free run of the ship.
Go ahead and let me know what each of your characters are getting up to for the first day out to sea. You can safely assume you've got about 8 hours of time to work with for now, which will end up being right around sundown.
Tzacol seeks out Cinderwake.
I approve of the orderly ship. But the top position is of unknown quality, and I must ascertain what that.
"First Mate Cinderwake. I must commend you on running a tight ship. The discipline and skill on display here is a credit to you. I am concerned that the captain has apparently not yet left his quarters. Is that truly just a bad hangover, or is there a matter that you could use assistance with?"
Persuasion: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7
Arlk found somewhere out of the way on deck, simply enjoying the feeling of the ocean and the smell of salt in the air. It was where the Bedool belonged, even if they had to spend time on land sometimes, and too much of his life had been spent away from it.
...he also watched the crew and the ship. The captain not being present spoke of oddness, and he wanted to see how the crew were reacting to the situation. If this was normal then it was clear that the first mate would be the place to go in an emergency, although he couldn't understand why they bothered with such a pretence.
He would certainly be more nervous if the captain only appeared at night and people started getting mysteriously ill during the voyage.
Insight: 1d20 ⇒ 9
Ooduls suns himself on the weather deck enjoying the idleness while surrounded by a tight-run crew. He slipped in and out of sleep rocked gently by the waves.
At lunch, he messes with the crew sitting with Bedool and former pirates if there are any. He trades stories to learn more about the crew and the ship.
Vehicles (water) +Charisma: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
After lunch, he finds another comfortable spot in the sun and salty wind.
Reep chose to climb up into the rigging, the better to see trouble coming.
Btw, I haven't mentioned this before, but my default psychic focus is Adaptive Body, which makes it so I don't need to eat, sleep, or breathe.
|Servius Acinon Venator|
Lo'tan spends his time roaming the deck of the ship casually, silently observing the crew. He makes mental notes of members who may be slightly less talented in the faculties of the mind and common sense, as well of those with a keen and discerning eye.
However, he eventually makes his way to a shady spot near where Tzacol and the First Mate are talking. He patiently waits, munching on an apple, until Tzacol finishes and begins to walk away before calling out to her, "So, tell me, Sun-born...what sort of travesty ye be sufferin' ta warrant a desire ta leave yer northern hold ta become a mercuhnary? I know what it was dat made da Eldah's label me as Shanga, but you...you seem ta not claim such a monnicka. So yer exile mus' be self imposed, or per'aps ye be 'ere fer different reasons..."
Tzacol turns and with a slight smile replies to Shanga.
"A fair question, Night-born. No travesty, no sin. Quite the opposite really. Are you familiar with the Order of the Sun? I am an Initiate. The Elders told me she was to be sent out into the world on a task to ready me for my final Trial. I would be told the details in stages, similarly to my prior tasks. It is...unusual...but the Elders knew they could rely on me being strong out here."
She looks Shanga in the eye.
"And what of you, Shanga? I do expect those outside the Order to be as faithful as us, especially not the Night-born. But you seem especially dismissive of our ways. I would know why."
The Faith of the Sun tends to be quite martial as a rule. The Order of the Sun are especially zealous. Progression in their ranks is incredibly competitive, involving preparing for and undergoing a series of Trials pitting Initiates against challenges and each other, ending in the Trial of Zeal, thus becoming an Elder themselves.
They are rarely seen outside Altepetl Tonaltzintli, and never without good reason.
Lo'tan scoffs. "So ye be on o' dem dat still tinks de Eldahs care about any o' dat ideaologicahl mumbo jumbo? I 'ad 'oped ye ta perhaps be smahtah dan de uddas," he replies with a twisted smile.
He walks over from the shade to stand beside Tzacol along the ship railing, letting the ocean breeze waft over him as it travels. He leans on the rails and looks out at the quickly receding shores as he tells his story, "Trust me, young one, I know all about de ways of both da Ordahs. Like I writ' dem myself. Da Eldahs of Huacan Yohuali made it a point ta be teachin' me der ways in every detail. Dey had plans on' makin' me da next Keepah. But, der teachings were flawed. Dey did not tolerate free tinkin'. Dey did not accept new theories. Dey did not accept da truth. An' so, dey labeled me as a Shanga an' cast me out inta da jungle, in fear of what I 'ad learned."
Cinderwake finally shows a brief crack in the façade of ruthless ringleader at Tzacol's appraisal, if only for the briefest of moments. Her chin raises slightly and a smirk attempts to curve the corner of her mouth, before she stifles it an returns to her ordinary, rigidly stoic demeanor. She clears her throat before answering the Togani's question, "By my estimation, you would be hard pressed to find a more competent captain between the port behind and the Auruspire—a captain that doesn't have a turtle shell, at least. Any concerns about his ability to run this crew or get the ship to it's destination are dreadfully unfounded..." She allows a brief silence to follow her explanation, but eventually adds after a somewhat exasperated sigh, "...excepting when we make landfall at any port with anything even approaching a vibrant night life. Regardless, once the stupor from his excesses abates, you'll see the truth of it. For the interim, I'll keep this vessel running at an acceptable clip and in the right direction."
Ooduls makes friends quickly, especially with the Bedoolan sailors who can share in conversation with one of their kind, with whom subtleties of language, humor, and slang are not utterly lost. The ex-pirate is quickly able to piece together that the crew can not count among their number a single pirate, both former or otherwise. This is an uncommon enough occurrence among ship crews that Ooduls would note it, at the very least, speaks to a keen and appraising eye among whoever selects the ship crew to deliberately avoid hiring on people of that persuasion.
Apart from the odd island or reef formation Mirael's Destiny passes, Reep spies little that would amount to any sort of concern. It is a stunning view, to say the least, staring out onto a softly roiling expanse of sapphire waters and swooping, billowing clouds. He is aware, however, that the point along the horizon that the sun's spiral follows indicates that a planetary eclipse is due in the near future. From the ship's current position, the sister-planet Aurus II appears as little more than a grey and brown bulge creeping up over the southern horizon. As the ship progresses towards it's destination, however, it will begin to dominate more and more of the sky. The result will, ultimately, be shorter days and longer nights, culminating in a day where there is no sun at all. (This occurs roughly once a month in the southern hemisphere)
Will update more over the weekend, and hopefully roll on to the next scene.
Tzacol nods as she listens to First Mate Cinderwake.
"I see. So a talented man...with one glaring flaw. That is a better prospect than I had imagined, so you have done me a service by telling me so.
Insight to gauge whether Cinderwake is being entirely honest.: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
There's a line that should should have read: "I do not expect those outside the Order to be as faithful as us, especially not the Night-born."
Tzacol gives Shanga a long look with all three eyes.
[b]"I would know what truths or theories you found that enraged the Elders so. Perhaps to avoid them, perhaps to judge them for myself. I am not so blind as to have not realised that there are strange things in the dark corners of the world, and in our societies. I do not know if the elders know of all these themselves. But I do not know what they do, or you do, so I cannot judge in truth. I do know that I am in a position to learn much of the outside, and to devour many fine enemies, which will put me in good standing for my return."
Lo'tan smirks, "So you do be holdin' ta de Old Path dat de Eldah's preach. It all be a lie ye know? Da bit about devourin' our enuhmies. Dat is de central lie on which de whole construct of der fallacy be built."
He holds out his arm, pinching a bit of his skin and muscle up a bit. "We all be flesh an' bone. Des tissues be no different from da Makhor, or de Bedool. Flesh be flesh. Der be no 'idden strength ta be gained from our eatin' our fallen enuhmies, it is jus' all a justification fer ourselves ta do somethin' others won't. It was a false'ood created ta convince us we were doin' what we 'ad ta do ta survive in 'arder times. Just so 'appened," he smiles a toothy grin, "our Eldah's of old developed a taste fer it. So dey made up some mumbo jumbo stories an' teachin's ta defend der new cravin's. When ye eat a foe, ye feel stronger fer no reason udda dan ye still be livin' an' dey be not. An' ye filled yer belly, so yer body can keep on movin'. No more, no less. Der be only one way our energies be passin' on ta anudda body..."
Tzacol: Most of what Lo'tan is saying here is, at best, heretical and flagrantly against all that the Togani have taught regarding their cultural cannibalism and passing of one's spirit after death.
Tzacol hears out Shanga. Clearly irked.
"Shanga, you dishonour the fallen foes that we devour. Perhaps the Night-Born have gone too far into their magics and do not gain as much from the flesh of foes. But I can tell you, for a fact, that eating flesh makes me more powerful than eating even a fine meal. I see clearly why you were thrown out."
Perhaps, *perhaps*, this heretic knows something of worth to me. But for the sake of my soul, I must tread carefully.
She composes herself.
"That said, you imply that there are other ways our energies can pass on. How? I would know."
”Ye not be listenin’, fer one who tinks dey wanna learn da truths o’ de world!” Lo’tan snaps back. ”I dun said de Eldah’s der still cling ta da Old Ways. Dey refuse da truth, an’ ‘ad me cast out when I tried to show uddas da truth I learned.”
He looks out to sea, frustrated. At least outwardly.
Her interest is peaked. Good. Perhaps she will be receptive of the truth. Perhaps she can be taught.
He shakes his head. ”I don’ know. Ye claim ta be open ta learnin’, but dat will remain ta be seen. Tell me, Tzacol. When you defeat a foe an’ eat der ‘eart, what of der strength do you feel? Truly now! Can you suddenly lift more weight dan before? Run fasta? Jump farda? Tink on it an answer me honestly! I wager dat if ye tink back, de changes ye feel are no different dan when ye do a task high on adrenaline of excitement, no?”
Mirael's Destiny continues her southward voyage at a rapid clip with favorable winds, even as the sun begins to vanish behind the increasingly massive presence of Aurus' sister-planet. Temperatures retreat rapidly from sticky mugginess to a more tolerable warmth that is still mitigated by the rush of wind afforded a ship at full sail. Ooduls is surprised to see that the ship maintains it's course at full speed despite the approaching darkness. While navigating is no difficult prospect with the looming presence of Aurus II dominating the southern horizon, it's difficult to detect approaching threats from beneath during nightfall, and a vessel in motion often serves as a tantalizing bit of prey for some of the less savory things that lurk below.
Reep is startled from his perch in the rigging by an unsettlingly smooth and calm voice that echoes within his mind. Perhaps owing to his own experience with mysticism, the Meerk can almost—but not quite—clue into a more exhaustive communication, as if the words themselves were engaging all senses. In the end, however, it is still only the words that Reep can understand clearly, the voice almost seeming to coo, 'How does it find my perch, guest? A pleasant breeze, yes?'
On deck, there is a notable shift in deckhands and crew, with new faces coming up from below to go about their duties. Those sailors who had been crewing the ship up this point, however, seem to show no interest in retiring to their bunks. Instead, they begin dragging tables and chairs onto The Destiny's deck, some more makeshift than others. A ration of rum and a bevy of citrus are distributed to all of the ship's actual crew, who begin to engage in what could only be construed as a night of light drinking and gambling.
It is not until a rowdy cheer washes over the deck like a wave, vessels raised and heads turned towards the Captain's cabin, that everyone realizes the ship's captain has finally emerged from his alleged stupor. He is a dainty fellow, even for an Auroran, with faded kohl smeared around his eyelids and a long mane of silver hair drawn back in a loose bundle at the nape of his neck. His pale skin borders on anemic, while his garb resembles that of a half-dressed swashbuckler just stumbled out of bed: a white, frilled tunic is unbuttoned all the way down to his navel, disappearing beneath a belt and rapier frog tied around a sturdy pair of leather breeches. He gives a mock flourish of a bow to return the gesture of his crew, but otherwise leans forward on the ship rail just beyond his cabin. With his head tilted back and eyes closed, it's a fair bet he is enjoying the cool breeze.
The crew at large are mostly gambling—dice, cards, and various other games of skill or chance (competitive knife-throwing, races to the crow's nest, five-finger-fillet, etc.) and might be open to some outsider money being added to the pot. The stakes are relatively small fry, however, mostly coppers with silver being the big spenders)
Tzacol gives Shanga a cool, appraising gaze.
He is sincere, but is still avoiding answering me in any detail. Of course, his secrets he would keep if they held value - or he thought they did.
"I have felt wounds ease and begin to close after devouring the right flesh. I have struck harder blows, and not necessarily immediately afterwards like an adrenaline surge would suggest."
Now, a pitch.
"How about this, Shanga? I will provide tangible evidence of these benefits during and after battles, and in return you get to study my channeling power, while describing alternatives to me. If my rituals are mere falsehood, then you will be in a position to point out exactly how I have deceived myself, which I imagine would be most satisfactory to you. Do we have a deal?"
Tzacol will approach the captain.
"A luscious, cool breeze, isn't it? I am glad to finally make your acquantance, Captain."
Persuasion to make a good impression: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Insight: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16
After darkness falls, Ooduls approaches Cinderwake, "Hey Mate, what's with the speed? How are you going to detect approaching threats from below during nightfall at this rate?"
Tzacol pauses, considering the weight of her actions.
"Very well - Lo'tan. It does sound that you still wish to prove yourself correct to them. Convincing me would be good practice."
Lo’tan looks at her with a funny look, smiling as he says ”Correct dem? No no no,” he steps away from the railing and turns for the stairs into the ships belly, ”I want ta show da Togani da trut’ so dat dey tear da Eldah’s from der false t’rones an’ take da blindahs from der eyes!” he adds over his shoulder with a nerve chilling look of mischief on his face.
Tzacol cocks her head slightly, certainly considering and weighing Lo'Tan's words.
"I can understand that. If those above you are incompetent or weak, there is reason to replace them. If the elders are truly leading us as falsely as you claim, then it would be right to tear their hearts - to end them."
|Servius Acinon Venator|
Servius will have come up to the upper deck once the light began to leave. Standing near(ish) to the rail of the ship, while maintaining distance from the two Togani, he will have closed his eyes as he let the breeze wash through his fur.
Once the sailors begin setting up their various makeshift tables and seats, Servius will take a look around at what each group is doing. While the knife-throwing looks intriguing, he is not quite sure that he would be all that good at it. Approaching one of the nearby tables of card-players, he will lower himself down slightly as he addresses them. "Greetings. May I perhaps join you?"
Tzacol has trouble gauging the captain's reaction to her hail. Having approached to a much closer vantage, she is nearly overpowered by a waft of some fruit-based aroma that reminds her of cranberries. He seems unwilling to relinquish his position at the railing, savoring a few more moments of the wind's caress before finally opening his eyes and lazily turning his gaze to meet that of the Togani. Behind him, the parted curtains leading to his cabin reveal a sort of patio just beyond the doors to his quarters. A comfortable looking bench lines the exterior of the cabin, atop which three Auroran minstrels are reclined in excessively languid positions. Even from this distance, it's plain to Tzacol that the musicians are in the grips of some form of opiate.
"Well, you're not one of mine," he says, matter-of-factly. "With the team of diggers, I take it? One of the strongarms, judging by the looks of you." His lack of rehearsed courtesy don't quite fit the dressed-down, foppish demeanor he carries himself with as he sizes up Tzacol like a farmer inspecting a horse.
"Linvas Embergloom..." he says abruptly. "...who has the pleasure of owning this seaworthy tub!"
The Captain isn't doing a terribly great job of hiding a hangover, but he initially strikes Tzacol as a painfully laidback sort of man.
Meanwhile, atop his lonely perch, Reep continues to hear a voice not his own within his mind: 'Captain lives in the captain's cabin. I live in the pleasant shade. I am Captain only of the nest for crows.'
The statement draws Reep's eyes upward to the crow's nest itself, where the presumed speaker is barely evident from his own hidden perch. Fuzzy antennae and large, reflective eyes peer out from over the lip of the crow's nest. While it isn't the first Lowan Reep has seen, it is certainly the first he's seen since being this far south. Reep also notes that there is a sizable, hidden compartment on the undercarriage of the crow's nest with a small hatch.
Just a reminder, Lowans are the small moth people.
Tzacol does pay close attention to the not-so-foppish captain as he speaks.
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Insight: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
"A 'strongarm' is not inaccurate, though it is a lacking label. Any brute with sufficient strength can tear a man to pieces. I can do so with efficiency and effectiveness.", she says, grinning.
Persuasion to make a joke of sorts: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
Still amused by this captain's ways, she continues, with genuine curiosity entering her voice.
"I would know of you, Captain Embergloom. Who are you? And how did you come by this vessel?"