Cap'n Voodoo's Freebooter PBP

Game Master voodoo chili

Rubbing scraggly beard Dibbets sees an opporchancity and takes a seat on the rear of the cart "Someone's got tae make sure they gets there inna one piece eh?" looking forward to avoiding the need to bustle his way through the longshanks.

The carter doesn't seem bothered by the halfling hitching on the rear of the cart. The others walk alongside as Jacint directs him into the city between blocks of stone warehouses and into now familiar territory. You've been six weeks away and few scars of Whitecoat's bombs are still apparent. Kolter's Clockworks remains a pile of blackened rubble, but the adjacent walls of Maeorgan Manor have been mended and the soot scrubbed away and the wealthy strollers with their entourages hardly appear concerned as the cart wends up Wave Avenue toward the heart of the Merchant District.

One may idly wonder how Maurice's has fared as the cart turns the opposite direction on Wave Street away from the Plaza of Gold and soon stops in front of a large and well-appointed manor house. Jacint looks pale and fretting once again as he bids the carter wait. The carter grins wildly as he expects his patience will be well rewarded. The elf requests that two of the three coffins be brought forward and then moves to knock at the door.

"Right ye are Longears. Couple o' rich corpses comin' up! Hur!"

Kaul hefts one of the coffins roughly with his claw, its power easily coping with the weight, but its imbalance causing him to handle it ungainly...

STR check? (effective STR24): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21

Corliss pitches in where he can, helping to unload and carry the fallen elves. He'd hoped to maybe learn a bit about elven culture in the archipelago on this trip; listening to Kaul's less-than-respectful banter, he realizes he's more likely to get some firsthand experience of elven weapon familiarity.

The door is promptly answered by a thin and elegantly dressed human. "Master Jacint, we were not sure that we would see you again." His gaze takes in the coffin precariously balanced on Kauls iron grasp and another being offloaded by Corliss and Jim."Apparently, others were not so fortunate in returning alive. Go along, your father will want to speak with you. I will see that these longshoremen are paid for their trouble."

Corliss waits long enough to see if Jacint will correct the butler's false assumption. If the noble-elf doesn't, Corliss will flash his crooked grin and announce that the gang is Jacint's 'rescuers an' saviors, not longshoremen.'

At being referred to as a longshoreman, Dibbets takes a steady look at the butler, coughs up a healthily sized gobbet of phlegm and spits it to the side. Grinning a snaggletoothed smile he opines to Jacint "Now that ain't wot its like now is it matey... hows bout ye introduce yer man there an let 'im know wots wot."

Dingus walking along with a hand on a coffin, but not really lifting swell with pride that he is mistaken for a longshoreman.

Jacint dully responds to Dibbets' prompt and Corliss' expectant look. "It's true, Navin. These are the ones that rescued me. Except the driver anyway."

Navin inspects the coffin-toters and ill-behaved halfling with a disinterested glance. "Is that so? I would have mistaken them for common stevedores. Very well, bring in the coffins. You may wait in the foyer." Jacint steps inside and Navin holds the door, closely watching that the oddly balanced coffin in Kaul's claw doesn't hit anything. He motions the driver to stay in his cart.

Beyond the door is a sight that gives pause: marble, crystal, and golden fixtures glitter from the light of opulent chandeliers. Jacint heads up a grand staircase of rare woods and gilded accents. He mumbles that he will be back in a moment. Navin bids the sailors sit on velvet couches and asks if they would care for a drink.

At the older elf's comment, Jim murmurs to Kaul, "Can't say I've seen longshoremen in Freeport wearing armor and going about heavily armed, hey?"

The human doorman just moves behind the opulent bar and looks at the sailors expectantly.

No one for requiring of invitation, Dibbets hobbles his way up t'wards the bar... silently wondering what good a half-height one legged longshoreman would be... before mentally deciding that he must be the supervisor.. suppressing a giggle he addresses the man "Roight Navin, I'll take a bottle o' yer worst gin... or moonshine iffin ye gots it... failin that, any sort'o clear liquor s'long as it ain't elfish... buggers forget ye needs the aftertaste tae make ye feel it." winking and waggling his ears.

If he sees Navin reach for a glass he politely shakes his head "Nei lad, snifters are fer wee ones, tha bottle'll do fine like."

Navin turns with an eyebrow lifted in query and dryly asks, "Are you sure you don't want a splash of water with this glass cleaner? I hear it brings out some of the more interesting notes." He pours two fingers in a tumbler and sets it in front of Dibbets.

Kaul lumbers in clutching the coffin, flashing a leering grin as talk turns of grog and coin.

He rumbles a chuckle at Jim's note;

"Hur. Maybe's we should go into that business... Liftin' an' shiftin' boxes makes fir more honest fare than cleavin' an' thievin'! Hur-hur-hur!"

"I could do with a spot o' rum," Corliss says to the doorman, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow from the heavy lifting. He winces a bit when Kaul mentions "thievin'."

Dibbets misses the point of the barman waving off his question "Nei need lad, I dinnae care iffin ye rinsed the glass afore ye gave it to me." draining the glass in a single swallow, before holding it out slightly waggly and expectant with a wink.

To Kaul the filthy halfling responds "Aye, worked out jus great wi' tha skelpt arse fat man didnae it? Next thing ye know it were skin suits an tongue wagglers all over..." sniffing and wiping at his eye at a newly misty recollection "I miss me skin bag..."

Dibbets catches a hint of juniper as the substance brushes his tongue on its way down his gullet. Navin pours out a glass of rum and not hearing any specifics from the other proceeds with another glass of fine rum for Jim, absinthe for Dingus, and after a bit of digging under the bar, pulls out a bottle apparently made of melded bone and pours a glass of a milky red liquid for Kaul. Finally, he refills Dibbets' glass.

Kaul eyes the blood coloured liquid with a quizzical look;

"What's this then? Somethin' to tickle me fancy? Hur..."

"I understand it tastes better fresh from the teat, mate."

Navin nods. "We carry a few items for more adventurous tastes including Bloodgrog. You seemed the type," he responds to Kaul.

Dibbets ears perk up as he swirls the second helping of rotgut in his glass, Navin's words having stirred an inkling of interest "Adventurous tastes ye say eh?... so wots ye got that's inna same ballpark as ol Bloodgrog there? I sucked onna teat meself in Scurvy... but alls I remember was endin up humpin Kauly's leg a while..."

Navin stares at Dibbets with some intensity. "Oh, we have some reserves that due to their rarity and danger, I cannot offer you. Things like Fey Potchin, Bloodwine rumored to have been fermented by the ancient serpentfolk, and something called Leng Tears, which is said to come from another realm of reality. I would advise sticking with the gin that you seem to enjoy so well."

Dingus whirls the liquid in the glass after a taste, trying to decide if he likes it or not. He's still not sure after a minute, but he likes the way if fills as it settles. "This is good. What is it? I'll find more".

It's almost like drinking poison.

Dibbets meets Navin's intensity with a hint of wry smile and raised eyebrow "Well now ye gots me intrested eh? I ain't worried bout tha danger... been stuck, drained, poked, prodded and drunk more sh1te than I ken remembers." taking another sip of the gin and straining it through his teeth "Put a marker doon laddie, I'll convince ye tae break opens tha good stuff fer me sooner or laters"

Kaul downs his Bloodgrog with gusto, then nods toward their host;

"Hur. Tasty drop mate... Now iffin' yer lookin' fer fellow conosewers like yerself to... source an' obtain liquors an' tinctures both rare an' expensive... well we're yer huckleberries! Hur..."

Eyes a twinkle Dibbets continues "Too right Kauly, sides... I bets Navin 'ere's got a fair ideas o' what each o' tha sips is like... good tender always has a sip an sniff o' what 'es servin right"

Navin demurs. "I'm hardly that adventurous and I know my station. If you are far ranging, perhaps some member of the Gilt Club would be interested in sending you after some rare intoxicant. Master Jacint's father might recommend you if you make the right impression."

Dingus already feeling a bit of a buzz from the absinthe interrupts speaking entirely too loudly.

"Wait! Did you say Bloodwine from the Serpent-folk? Does such a thing even exist? I must try some".

Dingus runs over and starts looking everywhere...drawers, cabinets... etc for this rare nectar.

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20 Perception

Dingus realizes all the rarest spirits are either on the top shelf or locked below the bar. As soon as he slides onto the bar, Navin gives him a stern look. "Please stay off the bar or I will have to ask you to leave the club. The Bloodwine was recovered from the haunted ruins beneath this island at great hazard and expense. You aren't a member, but I suppose that I can offer you a glass for 1500 silver Skulls. I must warn you that it has been known to sicken or lead to temporary madness."

At Navin's caution regarding the effects, Jim covers his mouth with one hand and turns away. How could we tell?

"Surely just a small taste would not be too much to ask. To expect me to put out that much hard earned coin without a sample is unreasonable at best. I might even consider membership if the favor is granted".

Dingus begins to weave and sway catching the hosts eyes and trying tin entrance him to comply.

Cast Hypnotism (DC15) 2d4 ⇒ (1, 4) = 5 HD affected.

Dingus' unblinking stare captures the bartender's attention and Navin frowns slightly as he struggles against the compelling spell. He mumbles something and his eyes begin to glaze over when a loud authoritative voice is heard from the grand staircase, "And what is going on here?" The spell is broken and everyone looks to see Jacint descending with an older elf dressed in a finely tailored suit.

Navin flashes Dingus a dark look, but his face is quite composed as he responds to the imperious figure approaching. "Mister Lefevre. Perfect timing as usual, Sir. We were just finishing our drinks."

Kaul chuckles unnervingly at group's various attempts to prise open the corks of tinctures most peculiar... then eyes his fell hatchet;

"Hur-hur-hur... Quite right Lopps. A tasty drop is worth a lop..."

Upon Jacint's reappearance he mugs a grin and waves childishly with his mechanical claw;

"Hur! There 'e is! Our generous pal Jacint, lookin' the picture o' 'ealth now he's back in the bosom o' his fellow longears."

Corliss gives what he hopes is a cordial nod to the approaching elf elder, but doesn't say anything.

Can't say nothin' wrong iff'n ye keeps yer trap closed, eh?

Dibbs swivels slightly, raises his glass and winks at the approaching elder. "An a decent 'nuff drop it is too eh? Nei great, bet ye could finish offa bottle wi'out goan half blind, but she'll do." choosing to ignore for the moment Dingus' faux pas.

The older Lefevre eyes Kaul with interest. "Yes, Jacint has returned alive and I have you to thank. He has told me something of your adventures. Please, why don't you join me in the smoking room where we can speak uninterrupted before the other members begin to show up for lunch."

He waves to the coffins. "Why don't you see to your less fortunate companions, Jacint? I'm sure their kin will want to know their fate as soon as possible."

Sending off the younger elf, he beckons the heroes down a hall richly painted in baroque patterns with gilded accents.

Dibbets drains his glass again before idly holding it out for one last refill. Successful or not he'll slough from his relaxed position (no doubt leaving an oily salty smear in his wake) and begin to laboriously stump off after the elder.

Idle conversation is born in his gullet and given birth by voice "Smokin room eh? - ye gots cigars an pipes? I'd imagine ol' Kauly wouldn't mind gettin a stogy or two betwixt his lips. I ain't never been much fer tha things... pr'fer tha taste o' salty brine on tha wind. Wot's this yer gabbin bout tha rest ought yer members? Yer man on bar were mentioning tha Gilty boys or summat o' tha sort?"

Navin refills any glasses upon request before the crew follows. At Dibbets' query, a faint smile touches the tall elf's thin lips. "This is the Gilt Club. None of our members is guilty of anything except high standards and excellent taste. I am the president." He opens a highly decorated door into a medium-sized room again opulently decorated. Shelves hold the odd book, plate, or artsy gewgaw. The walls are papered in some green velvety material covered in gold foil fleur de lis. A large fireplace dominates one end of the room with a bust of some lord on it and large portraits of other fancy folk hang on the walls.

Two rows of comfortable looking leather chairs face each other with a couple low tables in between set on an intricately patterned Qadiran rug. Lamps rest on some of the low tables shedding a relaxing level of light. The place smells of tobacco and wood polish.

Your host moves to a tall glass case and opening the door, locates and removes a wood box. He lifts the lid to reveal a dozen fat stogies and holds it forward for his guests to select their cigar.

Unaccustomed to that particular brand of luxury, Jim foregoes the proffered cigar with a wave. "Thank you, but none for me."

Kaul reverently takes a luxury stogie, then shoots Dibbs and Madman a hard look as he lights up;

"Course you ladies could always keep yer cheroots fer later... Hur..."

Corliss eyeballs the stogies with a measuring glance.

"I don't smoke meself, but praps I knows o' a fella who'd appreciate one o' these. Mind iff'n I take one fer later?"

No tellin' when I might need to bribe Kaul not to kill me....

Dingus blows Navin a kiss, as they retire to the fancy room. When the cigars are offered he takes two quickly stuffing one in his gold satin smoking jacket. “ Don’t mind if I do”. he then carefully watches Kaul to see how to use the silly things.

"We're not cultured sorts such as yourself, Kaul."

Millant Lefevre gives Jim a pitying look and puts the box back before cutting his cigar with a little guillotine-like device and lighting it with a golden lighter. He passes the devices on to Kaul and Dingus for their use and then after a couple contemplative puffs, invites the crew to sit.

Having already bitten off the end of his in reflex fashion, Kaul uses the lighter then passes it and the stogie cutter to Dingus with a apologetic grin;

"Hur... Lopped me cheroot a mite early there mate... Snip off the end an' yer ready to light up!"

He leans back, taking a puff or three with a satisfied smirk;

"Hur... Mighty smooth Master Lefevre. Know me someone who would have went nuts o'er these fine stogies! E' was a proper connesewer."

At the hint of Tum, the thug shoots a wary look Dibbs' way...

Dibbs graciously refuses a cigar with a mutter "Sides... smell jus reminds me o' when me leg burnt oot"

The filthy halfling sees himself to a leather chair, collapsing into it with a flumph... and from the looks his kelpen kilt flouncing out to make him bare-arsed 'pon the leather. By way of conversation he verbally prods their host "So, sides tha booze n' cured leaf... wot else is yer favor? I ain't much fer cultured tales like... but I ken sing a decent sea shanty an' curse yer b*~&!&$s off in four languages." proffering the abilities as though they were something of note rather than disgust / pity.

The distinguished elf again gives an amused smile. "I can't believe that Jacint failed to list these additional talents. Please, just relax and enjoy your drink, Dibbets. I am already in your debt, but after Jacint told me of how capably you handled the lost souls on the island and their demon master, I thought, well hoped, that I might prevail upon you once again to help me with a small concern of my own."

Dibbs shrugs and accedes to the elf's wishes to not have his ears assaulted with a tuneless tale of sea faring chicanery. "Debt is good, an we were fine happy tae deal wi' tha buggers onna island... though ears are open tae other concerns as well"

Millant Lefevre rises and slowly paces the carpet, puffing on his cigar unconsciously as he gathers his thoughts. He speaks, "In the last two weeks, three members of this establishment have lost a bodyguard or important member of their staff. This fact alone perhaps is not alarming. Freeport is a dangerous place. Less so in the Merchant district, there is a reason that we keep bodyguards after all. Still, three murdered so close in time and all trusted staff of members of this club, which is know to have the wealthiest and most influential membership in the city... it does give one pause."

"Another item of interest, in each case, the Watch was present immediately to investigate and did away with the victim's body before anyone was notified. In each case, they have said it was an obvious case and there was no need to draw things out. Now could this be a result of the incompetence of the Watch? Perhaps. I take it you are locals? Then I ask you, would you believe that the Watch would typically act so quickly and decisively? Hardly. At least not unless there were some nefarious purpose."

"I might have had some trust in the Watch when it was under Xander's leadership, but that didn't last long, did it? Holliver has not proved so zealous in his pursuit of justice for better or worse. So the bodies are sent off to the Crematorium before any independent inspection can occur or we have a chance to stop destruction of the bodies. I say 'we' because the last slain bodyguard was my own. Just yesterday."

"And finally, another not so coincidental item, I'm afraid, one of our members to lose a close employee just received a blackmail note a few days ago. I do not have details, but I believe it is information that only a long-term, highly privileged associate might possibly know."

Kaul pauses in his stogie, emitting a long stream of thoughtful smoke...

"Hur. Watchies normally couldn't get drunk in a brewery, so them bein' on point is worryin' in insel'... Sounds like ye've got a wrong' un in yer membership Master Lefevre. A corked bottle... a twigged stogie iffin' ye will."

The thug pauses in his soliloquy to lean a battered ear towards his belted ax, before nodding sagely and continuing;

"Hur... Lopps makes a good point... You dandies have jewelled fingers in many pies. Likely the watchie pie is one such. Yer traitor is using their influence to strongarm yer secret society, but fir what purpose is the question.... So who has ties to Holliver? Likely this note will tell us something too... Right lads?"