That's two. I want to give Morkeleb and Ferrox time to pipe in (Odric seems to be busy of late). If there are no hard objections or better ideas, I'll be the front man. We'll approach Eel's End and ask for an audience for a business proposition. If we get in too easy, it's probably a trap so everyone be on guard.
If we can't get in the front... My backup plan is to spend some fame to secure a contact in the House of Clouds and see if their Madam can't get us in, officially or unofficially.
You seem the most well-versed in this . . . world. Go with your plan, and I shall cover you to the best of my ability if things get dicey.
Gaius changes into adventuring clothes. It's time for work. Gaius prepares a pouch of 88 Sails, taken from the pile of gold from Kroft, and puts a handwritten note in the pouch.
He cleans himself up leads the others to Eel's End, cautioning Ferox to conceal his holy symbol and symbols of his office before we go in.
I walk to the gang plank and present myself to be recieved.
My name is Gaius Lirsiiv. I seek an audience with your master Devargo Barvasi. I want to do some business.
Diplomacy:
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The ruffian's scar crinkles as he raises his eyebrows at something over Gaius' shoulder. From his slightly elevated position a few feet up the gangplank the guard sees a oddly huge moving disturbance making its way through the crowd towards him. He tenses and leans forward, trying to get a good view of what could be going on.
The jostling and churning of the crowd opens and births a large, sour smelling, bedraggled horror of a baby. The man is trailed by an umbilical cord of curses and shaking fists.
Like a newborn, Odric seems fascinated by all around him as if he is experiencing the world for the first time. Odric peers up at the ruffian, blinks slowly and looks around at his companions. As he moves his head, he starts losing his balance as he shifts his considerable bulk over his heels. A few quick and inelegant steps to correct his faltering balance and Odric remains upright.
In an overly loud stage whisper to Morkeleb, Odric asks Does this guy require a bit of sails for his wind? I've got something hidden in my coin purse under my kilt... Odric sniggers laughter for a few awkward seconds. I have some money in my belt pouch too, if that doesn't work!
Odric nearly collapses in rolling laughter that rides a hot wind of stale vomit and alcohol. He has enjoyed his day, as the bleary bloodshot eyes, disheveled appearance and various stenches can testify.
Oi! Let us in! We got business with the master! Odric without waiting for a response, steps towards the recoiling crowd, reverses course and chums the water beside the boat with a substantially liquid grocery shout.
Odric has clearly had a good day for himself. When he sobers he will have some serious regrets.
Gaius looks over at Odric, but his poker face never waivers. He then turns to back to the Ruffian and produces the specially prepared pouch in one hand and five sails in the other.
The pouch contains sails and and a handwritten note. The bag has been closed by a ribbon with a wax seal and a mysterious symbol.
This, says Gaius, indicating the pouch, Is for The King of Spiders.
This, indicating the coins, Is for your trouble.
Gaius hands both to the Ruffian.
Tell His Majesty I'll be at The House of Clouds for a bit, though I'm sure he already knows that. The bag is magicked. Anyone but The King opens that bag, it's going to ruin their life. Good day.
Gaius turns and walks back to The House of Clouds.
Diplomacy:
Bluff:
Note reads:
To The King of Spiders: You've caught something in one of your webs, and I need some information. Sharing this information will profit us both. Passing up this opportunity will theaten the status quo. My team and I are enjoying the ammenities here in Eel's End. Let's deal. --Gaius Lirsiiv.
Grym stands around looking confused wondering what is going to happen next...
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Gaius, a few turns of the sheets later, and a messenger arrives. He's a boy of 12, and were it not for his ostentaious garb, he could have been one of Lamm's lambs. His tone is matter of fact, "You've got a meeting with the King. Starts in 5 minutes. Don't be late. Bring your posse. Tell them not to be late. Don't be stupid either. The King suffers no fools, and will drop you like I dropped your mother last night."
Anyone looking to join in, I'll take a preemptive Perception check. Stand and be counted if you want in on backing Gaius up.
Ferox is ready to accompany Gaius.
Perception:
I stand ready.
Perception: <--ready, but kinda oblivious.
OOC: I assume from me as well?
Perception:
Gaius drinks a vial of antitoxin and tries to conceal a dagger on his person.
Sleight of Hand to hide my MW Dagger:
Sleight of Hand to hide my MW Dagger: 1d20+5
Sleight of Hand to hide my MW Dagger: 1d20+5
That total includes the bonus for daggers, unfortunately. I'm untrained in SoH, thinking during character creation that I've never gone in for picking pockets much. And there have been at least 5 times during this past module I have wanted to try something with SoH. I know where a skill point is going next level.
Before anyone mentions it, I *can* use SoH untrained for anything with a DC 10 or lower or for concealing an item on my person.
Grym is a little excited to finally be going forward into the Spider's Lair. Something about the slight adrenaline rush of fear...
Perception
Perception
Odric stifles his drunkenness carefully and with a minimum of stumbling manages to climb the gangplank.
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You are each escorted on board the Eel's End. The guards make no attempt to divest you of your weapons, but they keep a trained eye and broad point arrow on you. These are not the heroes of circumstance. These men are trained, and have likely seen as much combat as you.
They open the door to the aft deck. This large room, once a captain’s cabin, has been converted into a throne room of sorts. The walls are thick with spiderwebs, in which scuttle dozens of spiders— some as large as a fist but most considerably smaller. These spiders seem content to stay in their webs and do not venture into the room itself, which is furnished with two sturdy oaken tables surrounded by chairs. Aft, a wooden stage supports a large leather chair, itself covered with cobwebs and scampering spiders. A narrow door stands to port, hanging ajar and revealing a flight of stairs leading below. An iron birdcage hangs from the ceiling like a chandelier, inside of which lingers a tiny, tired-looking purple dragon.
Sitting on the throne is the man who sent for you. This is the throne room of Devargo Barvasi, the self-styled King of Spiders. He is a tall man with close-cropped black hair, a warm smile, and blue eyes. He accents his black leather armor with a steel spider-shaped shoulder baldric and a thick chain criss-crossing his chest, linked together in the shape of a spider’s web. His signature weapons—gauntlets fixed with blades over the knuckles rest within easy reach, glistening with poison. Now and then, spiders clamber over his skin, but he takes no notice. (Whispers say that Devargo has the blood of fiends in him, and that he can communicate with spiders telepathically.)
You have plucked the threads of my web in short order. Normally this would mean a quick response, and a one sided conversation. Consider my interest piqued. Speak - and keep your tongue unsilvered.
Morkeleb takes something of an academic interest in the rumors: he looks over Barvasi intently. Any indication from seeing him personally, to lend credece to either his feindish heritage, or his powers over arachnids?
Knowledge (Arcana):
Spellcraft:
Gaius pouts and raises an eyebrow.
No foreplay?, says Gaius feining coquettish dissapointment. Very well. Gaius' demeanor suddenly drops the puckish rogue and straightens to cold, hard and professional. I'm aware of a potential problem and we're in a position to make it go away. To do that quickly and quietly, we need any dirt you have on a man named Darvayne Gios Amprei--also known as Ambassador Amprei of Cheliax. The Ambassador has his own agenda, an agenda that seems to include helping himself to a piece of Korvosa. Korovsa... Is not his. We have reason to believe that he's using his position and political powers to do this. In doing so, he risks the welfare and stability of Korvosa.
Now, The Chelish Ambassador has a weakness for games of chance and intimate company here in Eel's End. So we come to you. If you have anything useful on him, we can take swift and discrete action. Action that will not further disturb your web. We're only interested in preserving the existing balance in Korvosa. Amprei goes away, Korvosa and Cheliax maintain trade and peace, which is good for business. And maybe you and I help each other out again in the future. Everybody wins.
And with that, Gaius holds his tongue and meets the gaze of The King of Spiders, awaiting a response.
Diplomacy:
Sense Motive:
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I find your cunning and amusing. I find your attempt at appealing to my sense of civic pride", this he says with a crooked and snearing grin."Mayhaps you could try to sweeten the deal with an appeal to my economic pride. After all, don't they say that it's the money that churns that keeps our city prosperous?"
If the information is good, 500 sails.
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This is more like it. I do possess the information you're looking for, and I'm certain it will serve your purposes. I even keep it on hand. 500 sails is a tempting offer, but I think you can do better. Sweeten the pot, and perhaps join me in a game of knivesies.." Devargo looks around at the rest of you to see if anyone else is going to speak up.
Gaius takes a moment and scratches his beard in thought. He takes long, sideward glances at Odric and Grym, silently evaluating the two men. In many ways, Odric is an ideal Knivesies fighter... And Grym's skill at unarmed combat would mean the dagger wouldn't be as much as a factor.
Hmmmmmmmm...
OOC: I know what I wanna do. How balls up crazy is everyone feeling?
Grym doesn't say a word during the meeting. When the talk of a Knivesies match comes up Grym considers it. The ranger would prefer a straight up duel with out all the strange rules. The idea of being tied to together at arm's length is a little daunting. Yet if it is for the team, Grym would do it.
At Gauis's sideward look, Grym gives him a nod.
Sandor takes Devargo's warning to heart, and looks at where we are standing to see if it could be a trapdoor to below.
Sandor takes a solom quiet stance durring the negotiations. If he isn't allowed to wear his helm, he will keep the cowl drawn up to hide his face. The party hears a grunt of acceptance on his part if we want to take part in some Knivesies, but other than that he is quiet.
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Odric cleaves to the wizard towards the back of the group. A surprised Morkeleb notes Odric is borrowing a bit of stability from his staff. Odric's battle to remain upright and to retain his groceries is a heroic one, worthy of the songs of bards. Like a ship, Odric rides at anchor, the swells imparting subtle changes in attitude to the man. The look on his face is one of calm concentration, but the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck tell the tale of the effort he is expending. Years of training for this moment in taverns and mead halls throughout the city have rendered Odric fully capable of surviving this interview, whatever twist it might take.
With an eye on Gaius, he nods affirmatively at the rogue. He is ready for anything.
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Sandor, you don't notice anything out of the ordinary, though the wooden construction of a ship isn't really your home turf so to speak.
The King of Spiders either gets a bit of spice in his nose or snorts a bit in surprise. Well isn't this a bit surprising. Knivesies doesn't seem like your kind of game, but I'll give it a go.
Three thugs enter the room at Devargo's call. They begin setting up the table. The dagger stuck into the middle is of exquisite quality, and bears an obsidian likeness of a spider, it's legs coming together to form the quillons. Odric hefts himself onto the table with a liquidity that draws a raised eyebrow from the King of Spiders. The leather strap on his end is stained a deep red. Devargo's is spotless.
Once the two men are set up, the game is ready. The smell of sweat and manliness is near palpable.
And with nary a delay, Devargo lunges forward.
Initiative: <-HA! Desna laughs this day!
OOC: Okay, very cool. Am I understanding this correctly... Devargo is agreeing to trade with us for 500 Sails and a game of Knivesies? The play-by-post sometimes limits followup quesitoning and interactions with NPCs.
How has the betting been for this match?
Morkeleb is a bit taken aback at the turn of events . . . he is accustomed to violence being for the purpose of killing, intimidation, and stealing, but not for fun. He is inexperienced enough to be a little frightened, nearly to the point of panic, for not knowing what to do, and he steps out of the way and grips his staff tightly, thinking without thinking to unleash magic to alter the course of events.
However, he is intelligent enough to think through his panic, and realize that his assistance may not be cricket. He catches Gaius' eye and tries to ask a silent quesiton . . .
Bluff: <--EPIC FAIL
DM, you should decide what message Gaius recieves, as my failure is great enough to warrant a phu ktup message.
Devargo hasn't agreed to anything yet, but you've been convincing enough to get this far.
The bet for this match has stakes of his information...
OOC: Amazing. You've muddied the waters even more. Well done. :) So, SOME of what he knows is on the table? He's in the match against Odric now, so it feels wrong to talk to him.
Grym claps Odric on the back and helps him get strapped in for the game.
This is where they separate the men from the boys. Or maybe just the crazy from the slightly insane... The ranger gives the warrior a confident smile.
Thorgrym is torn between feeling relief that he isn't the one on the table and some jealously that he doesn't get to put his skills on the line.
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Odric's fist clenches the leather strap tightly. He squeezes it with all his might, exerting a steady pressure on the strap and in the process making the veins of his forearm bulge alarmingly. Odric makes his best attempt at convincing his opponent that he will take the opportunity to yank him off the platform as soon as he is able.
The two men shift their weight subtly, Odric's considerable bulk causing the table to creak and pop beneath him.
Odric lets his breath out in a steady, slow stream. He blows what he knows to be noxious fumes straight into his opponent's face, hoping to cause Devargo to gag or at the very least flinch. Odric is disappointed but not surprised to see the tactic has no appreciable effect.
With a slight increase in pressure and what he hopes is a convincing feint, Odric makes as though he is fully committed to a mighty tug backwards. then lunges for the dagger with his free hand.
Odric's eyes gleam in delight as he realizes his reaction was fractionally faster than Devargo's. Whilethe feint may have failed, in seizing the initiative Odric has gained an advantage. The big man comes up from his desperate grab with the dagger held in a menacing reverse grip. Odric appears to begin looking for an opening to use his newfound tool, but with a twist of his hips allows the dagger to drop to the floor behind him, effectively putting it out of play.
Odric assumes a steady stance, rooted to the table below him and standing stock still with the maximum possible distance between himself and the man he is strapped to. All traces of his drunkenness, other than the overwhelming scent of alcohol, are gone. Eyes blazing, Odric waits.
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The table is 5'x10'...
Devargo is momentarily stunned by the reaction speed of the large Odric. He lunges for the dagger a second too late. Having been too slow he redirects his momentum in a bull rush, aiming low and for the hips. . The self-styled King's shoulder buries itself in Odric's gut. The big fighter's stance lifts up, but he doesn't go back over the edge.
Having failed miserably to convey his question to Gaius, Morkeleb shifts toward him to whisper.
I suppose it would be bad form to bring magic to bear here?
In a hushed whisper to Morkeleb, concealing his lips with one hand:
Save it for now. I was serious before: Odric is a natural for this game. Let's see where this goes.
DM: I wish to ease closer to the caged dragon and examine the creature and the cage. Everyone's attention is on the match, so I'll take advantage of that.
Stealth:
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The blow to his midsection is largely ineffectual. Odric lowers his hips slightly and barely moves. His stance and facial expression convey a certain gravitas, but as Devargo's shoulder collided with Odric's gut, a thunderous and odorous fart shakes both men. The pair locked in combat each feel the effects immediately, the spectators a moment later. Around the room, knees tremble, beards curl and stomachs turn.
A few of the smaller spiders fall from their webs with legs curled in death.
Behind him Odric hears a bet placed as to who in the room will shout groceries first. The odds favor the spectators after his tremendous flatulence.
Through the fumes, Odric spies Devargo's belt and seizes on an idea. He first attempts to continue the man's forward momentum and drive him off the table. As he grasps the belt, Odric quickly senses the man has better balance than anticipated. Odric changes his mind and instead smashes his fist like a warhammer crafted of flesh and bone onto the back of the man's skull at the base of his neck.
Odric releases the belt and resumes his grave stance, the only betrayal of his posturing is his twitching nostrils and the thick oily stench that remains swirling about the tabletop.
Fair enough. Let me look at the beast as well . . .
I'm more interested in the creatrue than its cage.
Knowledge (arcana):
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Gaius, either the audience doesn't see you, or they simply don't care. Their focus is solely on the match at hand. Even from here you can tell that the lock is of good quality.
To recognize the exact type of dragon, you'd need at least some training.
....Meanwhile, Devargo drops down to avoid Odric's hammerfist, taking it on the gorget of his Leather armor, which withstands the shot better than any you've ever seen. Taking a moment to capitalize on your tactics of facing him He snatches his hand out and grabs of the Gold sails.
That's beyond my skill level to open. :(
I can't believe Odric threw the dagger away!
Psssst! Hey, Draco. You speak common?
Odric snarls at Devargo, grabs him by the gorget and the groin and squeezes mightily with both hands. He pulls the man's weight in close to his center of balance and moves his rear foot in towards his front foot. Odric pivots his hip sharply, steps out with his foot towards the edge of the table behind him. As he steps out, he attempts to hurl his opponent off the table. Odric musters a shout completely devoid of groceries that lends strength to his throw.
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The housecat sized dragon in the cage spins around and chirps, however,
But the exchange is interrupted as Odric tosses Devargo off the end of the table like a discarded statue (of a crane.) The "King" looks up, completely aghast, and with murder in his eyes. He eyes his punch daggers, and then eyes the men. The sound of his grating teeth is not quite muffled by Odric's borborygmi.
I've got yer proof. And ye'll have it shortly. But make no mistake. Our business is concluded. If you ever set foot on my fleet again, I'll feed your spleens to my pets. I'll pump you so full of venom that you'll sit paralyzed and watch as I carve every last frelling one of your organs out.
XP: 160
OOC: Well that's a heck of a 1,000th post! I'm starting to picture John Candy as Odric. Anyone else?
Gaius thinks Looks like that's our exit. I hope to see you around, Draco. Stay alive.
Gaius quietly goes to help Odric off the table and gather up the winnings.
DM: I'm definitely going to want to spend fame to set up an informant in The House of Clouds if I'm banned from Eel's End. Tell me what I have to do to set that up.