Dot the gameplay yo ho!
Quillin squints up at the gray skies trying to spot a gray Smudge against the clouds. "Where is that damned bird?!"
Pfarna sits by the dock and watches the newly rehabilitated ship that appears ready to sail.
She thinks to herself:
Has to be better than the last boat, bunch of incompetents. Almost got sunk just trying to outrun a Chelaxian galley.
Pfarna sits by the dock and watches the newly rehabilitated ship that appears ready to sail.
She thinks to herself:
Has to be better than the last boat, bunch of incompetents. Almost got sunk just trying to outrun a Chelaxian galley.
Ok, then replace the "newly" with "partially".
Quillin leaves off looking for his bird and kicks back sipping a cocoanut water and eyeballing his new mates, hopefully they'd be more reliable than the last bunch...
"Tsk! Relax, Pfarna. You can't overhaul a ship in a day or is that overhull?" he wonders to the antsy half-orc.
"As for renaming the Man's Promise, we could flip it. Like um, The Lying- hmmm, what's the opposite of a man? The Lying Lass? or there's always The Lying Dog, it's got the double meaning thing. Rahadoum Delight, that's funny 'cause, well nevermind. How about Heretickled Pink?"
The half orc looks over at the small gnome sitting next to her.
That your ship? I just signed off one - difference in opinion in how to handle matters. Pretty sure I would have needed to swim before long, or take a major pay cut.
She scans the partially repaired boat before her:
You need a name, hmmm. Lying Lass, I don't know. Lass seems too friendly. Who would be scared of a lass? Lying Dog is better, but do you really want to be riding a dog? It should be something with a bite, something memorable, something that would inspire fear in others. When it sails into the harbor, those on the docks should look up with fear and awe at her arrival.
Pfarna looks back down at the water thinking.
How about The Incorrigible or The Serpent's Fang. The Vengeance or The Tempest's Fury also have a nice ring to them. Actually, with the storm to the north, The Tempest's Fury could be a fine name.
Quillin shakes his head sending black and blue dreads swaying. "Tempest Fury? No way. It's bad luck to draw the Eye's Ire and bad taste to make the Hurricane King think you're putting on airs. I've reasons to stay beneath notice at the moment."
"Maybe something to commemorate how I won her. UnPlugged? Naw, too incriminating. There was that damned whopper grinnyloo- Gobzilla! Meh. Oh, and those creepy ghoulish whores- ah, I've got it! The Poxy Doxy!"
"What do you think about that, Sooty?"
Ghoulish whores? How about The Ghastly Harlot.
A bearded and muscled Mwangi walks down the dock, his hair in braids. "Quillin, you old rat!" His laugh belies his harsh words. "Heard you needed a Wind Caller. And maybe someone who knows how to use a weapon." He twirls a small pick in one hand nonchalantly. As he comes closer, a birthmark, or perhaps a tattoo, shaped like a bolt of lightning is visible on his right cheek.
Ghoulish whores? How about The Ghastly Harlot.
Quillin exchanges a commiserating look with Sooty. "Obviously, I invited you aboard for something other than your wit, Pfarna. If Sandara can't sweet talk some new crew members aboard, we might need to employ your real talents to press gang a fool or two."
Before the gnome can continue, he's interrupted by a call down the docks. As a quick aside he notes, "One less fool perhaps?" He stands and raises his voice, "Have the winds been tickling your ears, my friend? In fact, I do."
Pfarna smiles at the small arcanist and draws her cutlass:
Yes, but I can make people laugh, and cry, without having to resort to wit. She pauses for a few moments. Usually cry.
Quillin rolls his eyes, "Put away the blade, fool. You're going to scare away the locals." He cocks his head at the approaching man.
Sense Motive:
Pfarna also looks up at the approaching Mwangi before turning back to the mage.
A friend to yours? If he is not, I would advise against getting in a fist fight with him. He looks rather tough.
Shaso returns his pick to its belt as a gangly toothy bird (archaeopteryx) settles on his shoulder. "You don't remember that crazy card game at the tavern? Well, I'm not surprised. Anyway, the druid sent me. I feel the call of the sea so I'm looking for a ship."
Turning to the Half-Orc, he introduces himself as Shaso Mtembe.
Quillin leaves off verbally sparring with the half-orc to greet the newcomer. "Sure, I remember that," the gnome assures unconvincingly. "You bet the Poxy Doxy is looking for hands. Welcome aboard! Just keep that toothy chicken away from my Smudge."
From elsewhere on the dock a lilting laugh sounds out. Please tell me that I didn't agree to sign on to a ship that sounds more like a running commentary on issues in your trousers than a right proper vessel to be feared!
Tanner and much much healthier than when Quillin and company fished her out of the grindylow camp the cleric Sandra Quinn approaches the lot in her standard garb of red coat with gold buttons, fine black boots and a form fitting blouse and trousers that leaves little to the imagination. Also leaving litte to the imagination is the rapier that is competently strapped to her waist along with a fine horn and handaxe which bear strong markings of Ulfen warriors, a gift from the recently departed Fjori whom Sandra had an escalating relationship that ended on the best terms a viking and a pirate cleric could come to. The entire outfit is accented by a well polished silver skull and crossbones hanging from a heavy chain from the clerics neck.
The outfit at "Rickety Squibs" ended up being slightly more elaborate than rumors would tell. Though the facility that does the elicit retrofitting itself is well hidden, a small shantytown of sorts has sprung up at this otherwise nameless location on the Slithering Coast.
A handful of ships come and go in a week, sailors of all stripes end up at the handful of crudely constructed "storefronts" and flophouses and one enterprising halfling has taken to importing various types of drink and starting a bar of sorts whose primary menu item, other than the noxious smelling rotgut he calls "alcohol" is some form of "special snake stew" culled from the local wildlife of the rainforest that sprawls out on the island past the river mouth where everything is settled. The location has a slapdash feeling as most of the area before was dominated by a sort of estate once owned by a rich Sargavan noble that now has its lands taken over by the teeming hangers on which bolsters the location but adds much more chaos.
Rickety Hake, the owner and "genius" of the Squibs has become, by all accounts, meaner and more anxious due to the rise in his popularity with some concern that a secret poorly kept will lead the pirate kings or authorities from other ports come to shut him down. For now, however, his business remains open and he is working hard on the former Man's Promise.
Quinn continues, Anway. Got us a rigger, two deck hands and a gillman who breathes too loud but seemed like a good find, might make repairs out at sea easier if we spring a leak or take a hit too far below the water line. By my count if we can wrangle... Quinn winks at the other newcomers as she counts first her fingers then the other folks standing around her, I would say seven more we would be at full compliment for the day to day with the lot I picked up yesterday and the day before. We need a cook...and I remember what slop you and the parrot tried to pass off, I'll not have it. We are due to talk to Hake. He apparently has an update for us if you are done having a social here?
"Feared? Evidently, you've not had a proper case of the clap then. Aye, and I've got an idea for the Doxy's Signal- a big pair of blistering lips in black on a sanguine field."
The gnome pauses to reposition his tricorne and press his purple velvet coat with a cantrip. "Good work though, Quinn. You may make first mate yet and the only reason that I pulled cooking duty was that I couldn't out climb a monkey. Bit of a rigged game that... see what I did there, rigging and all."
"Sigh, let's go see what Hake wants then."
Pfarna stands up and offers her hand:
Good to meet you Quinn. I'm Pfarna, looks like we will get to know one another well. Any other ladies, and I am using that term most liberally, in the crew?
With a crash a red-mohawked head pokes out of a hatch, "Quillin! Ye never told me this bucket was in such Desna-be-damned shape! We'll be lucky to ever make it out of this port." The rest of the dwarf follows as he climbs out of the hatch. Once he stands on deck, he wipes his pine tar covered hands on his already grimy shirt. "And yer not gonna go see Hake without me."
Quinn offers her hand to the half-orc with a crooked smile. I sneak "ladies" in where I can, we've gotta few. In a few months it'll be 4 lads and a crew of Besmara's chosen, warrior women of the sea...but I want Quillin to think he's in charge for a little bit longer.
Furrowing her brow at the dwarf Quinn shouts back, I'm sure one of Hake's complaints is you rooting around in her nethers you damn bilge rat. We paid good coin, let the damn crew do its work!
Offering an eyeroll Quinn looks down at Quillin, Well let's get goin, might as well bring everyone along...morale building or some such. Quinn gestures for the lot of you to follow and starts walking, seemingly caring little if you actually comply.
Off the docks and up a worn stone staircase you follow her up the hill and around the side of the large manor house that serves as the primary building of the Squibs. While most of the building has been canibalized for work space some of the manor remain as living quarters for Hake as well as what was the "original" bar on site before the expansion in recent months.
Hake still takes to spending his time in the old establishments of his operation, experiencing some "grumpy old man" syndrome around the newcomers who line his pockets but raise his risks.
Coming in to what might have once been a grand dining room there is a makeshift bar and a handful of tables. A few sailors and worker types litter the area with drinks and food, a large barrel chested Keleshite tends the bar and Hake is found drinking a pint of some pitch black beer.
The bartender gestures past Hake and the old man turns offering a wide grin of mostly missing teeth as he shifts the loose fitting bandana on his head with his unoccupied hand, Ah Mistress Quinn and Captain Quillin. And...uh... HAke offers a dismissive hand wave at the rest of the group.
I'm glad you came to talk to me. Good work being done on your ship though my men are running into a few delays... Hake lists on his stool slightly and for a moment it looks like he may be leering at Sooty but the moment passes quickly.
The dwarf mutters, "Well, I ain't gonna trust the work of men who ain't gonna be sailing in the bucket." He yells down into the hatch, "Don't ye start on that crossbeam until I get back, I wanna see that the joints are done right! Just finish with the tar, and don't be tight-fisted with it.
Sooty glares back at Hake, "Work done right only needs to be done once, and I mean to see that yer men be doing the work right."
Pfarna kicks Sooty under the table before turning back to Hake:
I'm sorry, apparently his dwarven does not translate well to the Common tongue. But, on the sea, he likes to know exactly how his ship is put together should we unexpectedly run into any problems . . . or . . . other ships, and need to make repairs on the run.
Quillin looks pained and pulls at one of his long feathery blue eyebrows, "Other than territorial dwarves... um, what kind of delays?"
Sooty transfers his glare to Pfarna and grumbles some more under his breath. He controls himself, barely and turns to the bar to grumpily order a drink.
Shaso listens quietly, trying to learn what is going on.
Hake lets the commentary on the ship slide and scrunches his face, Well as I'm sure you've noticed, the heat has been quite bad around here.
I can only keep the men working so long in this heat and I only get so much water from the river. Beer and alcohol can only lift a thirsty man so much. With all these damn hangers on showing up around here they tap my supplies dry and they take it before I can get. That damn halfling set up in the shanty, "Brandis Tabledancer" or whatever his name is is hoarding the stuff. Selling it "cold" at some ridiculous price. Does he give me a discount? No. What the hell is he doing here if not for my operation.
The old man lists on his feet and its not clear if he is going to stay conscious with the red creeping into his sunken cheeks but he continues to just fume.
So I think you want yer ship done and I need water to make that happen. You go do whatever it is you need to do to get that little poxy brat to give me water at a fair price, or find me some of mine own, and I can get your ship done faster. At this rate I'm a week out at least and I got plenty o reason to think it'll take longer if the heat keeps.
A slim figure in Leather Armour makes it's way down the Docks resolving itself into what seems to be a young lad of slight build with a distinct swagger and the stance of a seasoned fighter.However a second closer look proves that this is young woman. The Aldori Longsword at her hip and the Heavy Crossbow slung over her back serve to emphasis her lithe form
"Hey Quill" she shouts "I hear yer lookin' fer Hands...Any place fer an old Shipmate"
"How much do you need? I am blessed by the god of sea and storms and can create a divine supply. But not for long-term use, only a daily supply."
Hake scratches at his chin, I'd say a barrel and a half from sun rise to sunrise. Your jungle tongue "god" let you fill that up every day? But what about when you leave? All well and good to have you keeping the men filled but if this damn drought keeps up I'll need a more long term supply that don't disappear cuz it gets sucked up to wherever cuz it isnt drank yet.
Pfarna nods as she wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead.
This is true, it is a might bit warm here.
She thinks for a minute before addressing Hake as well as Shaso and Quillin:
How many men you have working on the ship? I do not know whether my mates can create such magic, but I know a cleric of the pirate queen on my former ship could bless a few members of the crew to allow the person to work through sever heat. We frequently used this for the man in the crows nest and the pilot so that they stayed alert on hot days.
Quinn offers a begrudging shrug as though to say "yeah it could be done" but you can tell she doesn't seem particularly happy about the notion.
If we can use the pirate queen's powers to speed out return to the waters, I would think that would be viewed well. The other option is to spend more days here with Hake and his halfling barkeep buddy. Personally, I grew up on the land and am enjoying it here, although I would not mind being back on the water with the wind blowing through my hair.
Pfarna reaches down and takes out her cutlass which has been polished to a gleaming shine and then casually flips it in an artistic manner. It is clear that she probably does not even realize she is doing it, more that it is just second nature to have the blade in her hand.
Sooty sighs and rolls his eyes as he turns back to the conversation with a mug in his hand, "Are ye all deaf? The man is extortin' us to get himself a permanent source of water." He squints at Hake intently, "Question is: Are ye gonna use all of it for your crew, or for something else? I don't suppose it really matters, but we don't want any 'unintended consequences' coming back on us."
Quillin does a double take when Mel approaches, "Ah, welcome young... um, sir. I thought you sailed out with the others."
Then he gets back to the conversation. "You're going to let a half-bit chiseler get the better of you, Hake? It certainly seems easier to squeeze a halfling than to dig a well to me anyway. What do you know about finding a better source of water here, Shaso? You got one of those dowsing sticks or anything?"
Quillin does a double take when Mel approaches, "Ah, welcome young... um, sir. I thought you sailed out with the others."
Then he gets back to the conversation. "You're going to let a half-bit chiseler get the better of you, Hake? It certainly seems easier to squeeze a halfling than to dig a well to me anyway. What do you know about finding a better source of water here, Shaso? You got one of those dowsing sticks or anything?"
Hake seems suddenly more awake and "present" than he has since the conversation started, It aint that hard, when I got a group of pirate toughs like you lads and ladies to do my work for me. You find me a way to get water, I get you your ship fast. You do a great job, the Squibs'll make it worth your while. I know more about making new pirates than rigging ships ya know.
Casually testing the edge of her blade with a fingernail, Pfarna comments:
What makes you think we could find a new source of water if one as skilled as yourself cannot? Be there a place you think this water can be found?
Used to being around rough characters and eager to be on the sea, Shaso ignores the slight to his patroness. "We could scout for a source of water. Might not be much on an island like this. Or we could visit this halfling."
Sooty sighs again, "Subtlies seems lost on this one, Capt'n." He points a thumb at Pfarna and turns to her, "Why take the risk of confronting this halfling himself if he can get us to do it for basically nothin'"
Quillin groans mightily at the loud louts surrounding him. With a twitching feigned smile, he doffs his tricorne to Hake, "I believe we can help you out, shipwright. No problem at all."
With a dark look and hooked thumb, he signs that Pfarna and Sooty lead the way out.
Pfarna shrugs and heads back out into the sun hoping that one of the diminutive men in the group knows where to find this water. As she steps outside, she sheathes her cutlass and looks up at the sun before turning to Quillin and Sooty.
So, where to we go. I can lead and am quite good at spotting things, but really do not have a great deal of skill in finding water in places such as this.
Once outside, Quillin turns a dark purple that doesn't really complement his turquoise and black dreaded hair and lets out a couple choice phrases in infernal.
"Pfarna, I'll handle negotiations here on out. Just play with your sticker and keep your witless gape hole shut. Sooty has the gist of it though lacks the diplomacy not to spill it in front of our host."
"If I can translate this into dunderheaded half-orcish: We help mate Hake out and we get our ship quick time. We don't and we're settling in at this shet stain on the Slithering Coast for a good long while. Nothing personal, just business. I've got better plans than hanging around here so let's get busy like. Unless Shosa can sniff out sweet water, I think we need to go stomp on a slip."
Mel rolls her eyes "or we could perhaps..I don't know.. negotiate?..come on Quill..you know I can sweet talk the hind legs of a donkey.At least let's here what the swab has to say before we think about slitting his Gizzard"
Pfarna looks back at Quillin:
So, do you want the halfling's water making machine? Or his neck? Really makes little difference to me.
Quillin shrugs, "I've got no predilection either way. We'll let Mel try and make nice for starters though."
A large gray parrot sails down to perch on the gnome's tricorne at that moment. Quillin greets his familiar, "Ah, there you are, you rascal. Been up to no good I suppose. We're going to visit an halfling. And what do we do to uncooperative halflings, Smudge?"
"Stretch 'em or Sink 'em! Stretch 'em or Sink 'em!" the bird cackles.
The gnome grins ghoulishly, "That's right my friend."
The halfling in question is one Reamin Goodbarrel who has aptly named his rickety set up "The Watering Hole" which is emblazoned on the crudely painted sign above the bar.
the bar itself is slapdash and has a holding room behind it with a single pit and griddle for cooking. It would seems almost pathetic but the tables and crude sail coverings that make the "common room" are teaming with customers. The north dock, one made for small deliveries and smaller vessels, is within view of the common, where a group of sailors have taken to some sort of contest in the water, the details of which are hazy from your approach.
It is hot, even with the majority of folks out in the open the teaming bodies and yelling just amplify the heat. The ruddy faced halfling in question seems to keep up while the tanned human and elf that are his server and cook do their part. Other than approaching the bar there doesn't seem to be any notion of "service" here otherwise.