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Torvald eyes the boats warily, like a line a skittish horses or stray dogs. Rubbing his eyes he blinks tiredly--he'd not gotten so much sleep as he'd have liked, thoughts of glorious archeology dancing before his eyes deep into the night.
Stepping gingerly on the deck of the as-yet-unnamed boat, the alchemist carefully stores the pack of blackfire clay near the center of the vessel, as far from the edges as possible. Picking his way over to the port side--or is it starboard? No one ever explains these things... he peers out over the frigid waters and an involuntary grin splits his face.
Haltani and Jamir--er, do you prefer Hamstring? I'm not very good at informality I'm afraid. In any event, I've no experience whatsoever with sailing but would be happy to learn, should you need another hand."
Clomping a boot on the deck to test it's sturdiness, he looks thoughtfully at the others. "Perhaps we could call her...Rimerunner? Or Fortune Seeker? An appropriate name for a vessel carrying junior Pathfinders, and pretending to be a merchantman..."
A well-rested Jawhar walks up to the ship and runs a hand along its hull, feeling the sturdy construction. He takes in the still fresh smell of the pitch and notes the well-crafted angle of deck.
"It is true what the sailors say. You really can feel the soul of a ship if you but listen.
This ship will keep us safe and warm through a difficult journey into unknown danger. I would suggest a name that speaks of warmth and protection. I propose Mother's Embrace"
Jawhar begins preparing a few words to bless the ship. Once a name is agreed upon, he will perform a brief ceremony. If anyone mentions typical customs that northern sailors use, he will incorporate those customs. Otherwise it will be a generic blessing.
He will then follow the others on deck, stow his gear and await the dawn and his morning prayers.
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"How was the lecture on ports and economies, Fay-Nee-Thor?"
Faenethor politely ignores the strong smell of drink and tawdry perfume still clinging to Craggark. "Oh, every bit as enlightening as I might have hoped! Master Gunnarsen was a gregarious and genial keynote speaker. You'd hardly notice his eyes look in opposite directions unless you were lookingn for it. And his ideas! Here, I actually took some notes..."
He procures a hastily folded parchment from his robes, clearing his throat before reading. "Master Gunnarsen proposed a radical socio-economic theory, that instead of concentrated private ownership of land, economies of scale should instead be realized by associations! Associations applied to land, shares the economic advantage of large-scale landed property, and first brings to realization the original tendency inherent in land-division, namely, equality. In the same way association re-establishes, now on a rational basis, no longer mediated by serfdom, overlordship and the silly mysticism of property, the intimate ties of man, elf, dwarf, halfing, and even orc, with the earth, for the earth ceases to be an object of huckstering, and through free labor and free enjoyment becomes once more a true personal property!"
"It all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?" He chortles madly, oblivious to the notion that others might not have any idea what he's going on about.
"Oh! Right, the name, the name. I do like Torvald's suggestion of Fortune Seeker. What do you think, Haltani?"
"Oh! Right, the name, the name. I do like Torvald's suggestion of Fortune Seeker. What do you think, Haltani?"
Haltani tosses a coil of rope up near the bow of the ship and turns distractedly while saying, I think the local tradition is a good one. Perhaps we should wait a day or two until we see how she responds in the water...Haltani pats the port side rail of the boat as she responds.She calls back to the stern of the boat,Captain Montajay, I'm ready up here, shall I cast off?
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The half-orc snores loudly as the city slips out of sight and...
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Jamir spent much of the night on the new ship, getting to know the “jealous mistress” he would soon serve upon, but had gone back to the inn for a few hours sleep, expecting to get to the ship before the rest of the party arrived in the morning. He is mildly disappointed not to have gotten there first, but any frustration is far outweighed by his delight at getting started - and at being addressed as "Captain Montajay."
If I had known joining the Pathfinders would earn me a promotion to captain so quickly, I would have applied years ago!
Recognizing the early signs of a too-swollen head, he says to Torvald, "Hamstring or Jamir, as you prefer, my friend. Jamir is the name my parents gave me, as well as the name of my great-grandsire, and very proud of it I am, too. The name Hamstring was awarded to me by my fellow fencing students due to certain ... idiosyncrasies of my individual technique. I will happily answer to either!"
Bowing to Haltani, he says,
"Madam, your guidance is essential to the success of our mission! I will accept the assistance of Torvald - and of our other colleagues if offered - but will only ask you to join me at the helm in the event of severe weather. Or, perhaps, the call of nature." He flashes an eager grin. "And although I have not yet earned the title of captain, if we are to wait to name our lovely lady until we have been underway for a day or more, I will accept it just this once, as it gives me the authority to do this!"
Jamir slaps Craggark on the back (inadvertently setting the half-orc's head ringing) and bounds up the gangplank to the deck of the ship and onto a small crate he had positioned by the tiller the night before to ease his reach, and shouts, "CAST OFF, Miss Haltani!"
Haltani, watches amused as Jamir attempts to navigate out of the harbor. Despite her vehement warnings Jamir bumps a buoy on their way out.
"What in Asmodeus' name? Who did that?" Realizing where he is, Craggark visibly calms. Ah, yeah? Uh, I'm just going to close my eyes for a tick, ok chums? Call me if anything needs doing.
Haltani looks a little shocked at Jamir and eyes Craggark scornfully. Craggark, I am sure the Jamir will need your aid with the oars shortly, now is not the time to recover from your night of carousing!she sighs heavily.
It soon becomes apparent that Jamir is not familiar with the nuances of a small river craft. After a few minutes of trying to tack through the wind and the current, Haltani speaks Jamir, perhaps it would be best to unfurl the sail and continue with the oars until we reach more open water? Haltani waits for a moment for Jamir's acquiesce before continuing. I'm sure you've sailed on plenty of larger ships and were a most valuable crew member Jamir. However, these smaller river boats have subtle differences, in the way you manage them. For instance, because rivers bend with the geography of the land, we are constantly changing direction relative to the wind. This makes it much more difficult to rely solely on "tacking" into the wind even on relatively calm waters. she pauses for a moment and gestures with an open hand toward the other party members.We have 2 sets of oars and 5 hardy soles ready to aid us in our journey yes.... Haltani, looks at everyone pausing for a moment to linger with a suspicious eye at Craggark.If you like I can take the helm for a couple of days? seeing a bit of disappointment in Jamir's eyes Haltani hurriedly exclaims, it would just be for a few days! she says sympathetically.You could take charge again once you got used to it? Haltani says with a slight plead in her voice. What do you think Jamir?
After the decision is made as to who pilots the River boat; The first part of the journey goes relatively smoothly. After several days you leave the Rimeflow river and proceed up the swifter narrower Thundering River. Your party camps at night on the western banks of the river. Many of you have sore arms and backs from manning the oars. Haltani, at first, keeps pretty much to herself. When not tending the rudder, she sits up near the bow only speaking about the mission or offering advice on sailing.
Haltani, sets up her own tent at night refusing offers for help. She seems distant at times(avoiding body contact, talking with her arms folded, ect..) however, as the days go by she begins to open up. She seems very curious about the life of a pathfinder and often ask where some of you have traveled.
A little bit after the first week, Haltani notices Tusk Aran cleaning his pistol at the campfire. She walks over to him and says, That's a weapon is it not? she scrunches her eyes in a disbelieving manor. I heard you call it a -gan-? Is that right? How does it work?
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Jamir bows and offers Haltani the helm without resentment or embarrassment.
"My lady, I would no more refuse your offer of instruction on sailing through this region you know so well than I would pass up the chance to learn from a senior fencing master after traveling across Avistan to attend his school. I beg you, take the helm and allow me to sit at your feet to learn."
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"Zzzzzz....wha-wha? Oh? Yeah?"
Though he must have been asleep again for only a literal minute after hitting the deck, Craggark smacks his lips and scrunches up his face like he's been sleeping for hours.
"Abadar's will - you must pay the balance of what you owe." Those were Lung Chang's words, were they not?
The half-orc lumbers and stumbles ("lumbles"??) over to a set of oars and plops down, yawning loudly. Under Haltani's direction, he rows himself out of his stupor, and out of the Kalsgard harbour waters.
After an hour of steady rowing, the half-orc pipes up with an attempt at a shanty. The words are catchy, even if the singer's voice is off-tune:
- "The TUNDRA she's cold, but my HEART it is warm;
- There're FLAGONS of ale here to SAVE you from harm;
- But NE'ER take a bite of the FRUITS that you farm;
- The LIFE of an Ice Pepper FARMER!"
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Jawhar takes turn at the oars with everyone else. He actually exults in the physical exertion and in being allowed to act as part of the crew.
The Qadiran sailors on the ocean vessel that brought him across Aistan had treated him more like a good luck charm. While being very respectful, and extremely friendly, if any of the crew saw Jawhar attempt to perform any action, several crew members would rush to take on the task.
Insisting that he actually wanted to help would be met with such pained expressions that it was easier to acquiesce to being cared for like a painted noble.
Here, he is finally able to sweat and build up his muscles and calluses.
When not taking part in the tasks required to keep the party fed and the ship clean, Jawhar holds daily prayer sessions for anyone who cares to partake. Additionally, he will often sit and tell stories of Qadiran legends to the other crew members.
Jawhar also will gather the crew three times a day to channel positive energy to soothe everyone's sore muscles.
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Torvald is no sailor, but nor is he any stranger to hard labor and takes his turn at the oars without grumbling. "After all," he rumbles to no one in particular, "nothing of worth comes without hard work and careful planning."
When he's not required to assist with the operation of the ship, the alchemist pesters Tusk over the mechanical details of his firearm, or sits by the edge of the boat with watching the shoreline go by. On a few occasions he also takes the opportunity to pick Faenethor's brain regarding magical and alchemical theory, even offering to compare their notes on the subjects.
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Craggark listens intently to Jawhar's daily religious lessons, but rarely offers anything more than a bowed head in response to the instruction.
One morning on the boat, after Jawhar's dawn service, Craggark starts up a conversation:
Mum worshipped Gozreh,Craggark starts. She prayed to the God of Storm and Sky; said it helped with our harvest, our food stores, our hunt. Said that Gozreh was angry with her when it didn't go her way. The half-orc looks uncomfortable. I always thought she was full of it. The way I saw it, we were the only ones to blame or credit for our full bellies and warm yurts, not some spiritual nature force that only certain people could talk to.
Craggark hefts his waterskin to his lips after brushing the ice away from the rim. That's when the Brothers came to the village for their hermitage. There were three of them, all wise older humans. Lung Chang was a holy devotee to Abadar. He - Lung Chang - made sense to me - order, civilization, laws that people agree to follow that make you part of something greater. I started reading about Abadar, and it makes me feel peaceful-like. I read about Abadar when I can.
Craggark stares off down the waterway for a moment before glancing again at Jawhar. I guess I'm saying that I appreciate the stories and prayers, Jawhar. Thanks.
The half-orc takes a seat at one of the oars and begins rowing vigorously.
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"Thank you for sharing, Craggark.
I would love to include some stories about Abadar and Gozreh, but unfortunately, they were not a part of my training.
I do know that they are both noble gods who have worked with Sarenrae when the situation required their help.
I am glad, at least, that I am able to ease your journey."
This man is imposing and uncouth, yet his motivations are all about family and community. He is not so different from the nomads of my birth.
Yet, I have seen the looks the villagers have given him. They seem to anticipate some expectation of violence. What is it that I am missing?
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Torvald looks up from his book of formulae, "In my experiences, Abadarans are good people. Merchants, clerks, lawmen, engineers--all the sort you need to build civilization. I think he's a good influence. Don't claim to know much about faith or the gods, but that's my two coppers."
Shifting slightly to face Jawhar a little better, he continues. "Sarenrae gets it almost exactly right--love the good folk, burn the bad folk, and always stick it to the Rough Beast. She might be a little too soft-hearted at times, but I suppose that's neither here nor there."
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For all of his flamboyance, Jamir takes the business of manning the helm very seriously indeed. In fact, as long as the boat is on the river, it is almost impossible to pry his hands from the tiller; only extreme biological need forces him to turn over control of the helm, and then he insists on retaking the position as soon as he returns. He stands on his little box steering the ship for hours on end, almost immobile except for the occasional twitch of his arm as he shifts the tiller a bit one way or the other, and occasionally to shout a bit of encouragement his comrades putting so much effort into rowing.
When they go ashore in the evenings, however, it is as though all of the unused energy of the day must be expended at once else Jamir might explode. One night he might raise an entire pavilion tent single-handedly, while the next he might collect a full day's worth of firewood while the rest of the party is still unloading their bedrolls and blankets from the ship, and on another, he scrubs the entire deck of the ship before setting foot on shore.
In the mornings, the halfling wakes early to train. Most of the time, Hamstring never even draws his sword - he capers around the campsite, treating the terrain features as though it were equipment in a gymnasium. He runs up hills, and cartwheels down; he leaps onto boulders, swings from vines, climbs trees, and even jumps over the flames of the morning cook fires.
Once he stripped down and jumped into the river to swim; luckily, Torvald and Jawhar saw him, and fished him out before he went into shock from the cold and drowned.
Some mornings he prods Craggark awake to spar, or waits for Jawhar to finish his dawn prayers to test each other's skills with their chosen blades, or pesters Faenethor until the mage - nearly a century the halfling's senior - is worn down enough that he consents to allow Jamir to tutor him in the proper way to hold his dagger.
Over meals and ale, he questions Torvald and Faenethor about the differences between their arts, and why Torvald can create formulae from the instructions in Faenethor's spellbook, but Faenethor cannot create spells from the formulae in Torvald's formula book. He does not understand their answers, but then, judging by the hours they spent arguing about it, neither do they.
He does not often attend Jawhar's Sarenite prayer sessions, but enjoys the Qadiran legends the cleric recounts.
Jamir tries to talk to Tusk his "goon," but his ignorance of the weapon is so complete that Tusk soon realizes that any attempt at explanation will be fruitless.
He takes opportunities to talk with Haltani, asking about her experiences on the river, but tries not to bother her when it is clear that she wishes to be left alone.
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Listen up everyone As he gets everyone's attention, as if he was up on stage giving a speech, giving a presentation, and shows everyone his gun but does not point it at anyone or let anyone touch it. You all probably want to know what this does? Or what it is for? It can pierce through even the toughest of armor, but it holds only one bullet and takes a while to reload. It is also a weapon I've heard about pirates using. If we run into any pirates, there's a chance they have one too. It's a nice weapon to have but the weapon and ammo can become a bit more expensive than bows and arrows. There are in fact guns larger than this one, they have double the range of this one, but take a lot longer to reload. I will be willing to answer any questions anyone has about the gun, but you must raise your hand.
Listen up everyone As he gets everyone's attention, as if he was up on stage giving a speech, giving a presentation, and shows everyone his gun but does not point it at anyone or let anyone touch it. You all probably want to know what this does? Or what it is for? It can pierce through even the toughest of armor, but it holds only one bullet and takes a while to reload. It is also a weapon I've heard about pirates using. If we run into any pirates, there's a chance they have one too. It's a nice weapon to have but the weapon and ammo can become a bit more expensive than bows and arrows. There are in fact guns larger than this one, they have double the range of this one, but take a lot longer to reload. I will be willing to answer any questions anyone has about the gun, but you must raise your hand.
Haltani, looks intently at Tusk, as he proceeds with his demonstration. After Tusk is through, Haltani nods at him politely, adjust her fur lined hat and says,That was a fine demonstration Tusk Aran, Thank you.she then attempts to cover her mouth, stifling a yawn, and raises her hands above her head, fist slightly clenched. It's getting late I better turn in.She turns to address Jamir, Will you be wanting to take a turn a piloting vessel or should we continuing as we are? Truth be told, I've seen you sail for a week now and your skill is not much bellow my own. The current is a little swifter this next section but, I'm certain we can handle together. Haltani folds her arms, yawns, and waits till Jamir has made his choice.
After Jamir has made his choice Haltani exclaims,Splendid! I'll see you all in the morning then. With that, she ushers off to her tent.After a moment, you see Haltani peek her head out of the tent and say,Oh gentlemen, It's been a week since we've been on the water, isn't it time we give our vessel a name?
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Craggark spends most of his days on the boat rowing ceaselessly, singing songs about snow, farming, and ice peppers - who knew that there were so many different songs about ice peppers? - in the form of sea shanties. Craggark's pitch, sadly, is much less strong than his arms, but, based on his wide smile as he rounds on the chorus of "Fire in the Snow", he doesn't seem to care.
Off the boat, Craggark usually busies himself with the campsite fire and the evening meal, taking the lead as the cook or fire-tender as the evening requires. Craggark's meals are decent, but nothing to write home about. "This would be so much better with a pinch of spice," is a common criticism he makes of his own cooking attempts.
Craggark usually volunteers for the night watch shift that puts him awake at the mid-point of the night. "I like to watch the balance of the days as they complete their transaction," he remarks (if anyone asks him).
Craggark listens to Tusk's speech about his gun for a minute before continuing to clean the cooking gear from the evening's meal.
Obsessed with his weapon, that one is, the half-orc thinks to himself as he scrubs burnt potatoes from a fry pan. Let's just hope he can do more than clean it if needed.
Spying the halfling scampering about the campsite, Craggark cocks his head. That one has more energy than a snow rabbit chewing on an ice flower. I wonder if he'll be able to help me to influence merchants in Dalun to trade with the Society?
Craggark turns to regard the elf. Or that one - he could likely talk them into submitting to whatever trade agreement I put in front of them...
Oh gentlemen, It's been a week since we've been on the water, isn't it time we give our vessel a name?
Craggark packs the cooking gear away and dumps it on the ground-cloth. He busies himself in wrapping the gear in the ground-cloth, and hoisting the entire bulk of the equipment they brought off the ship up into a tree for the night.
I'm happy with whatever you want to name the ship - I wasn't aware it was such a big deal, but I could see how a proper name would influence others in new places like Dalun. I think the name should be impressive but not pirate-like, he glances at Tusk.
The half-orc chuckles. If all else fails, Fayneethor, we could call it Maxmax, after your addictive jerky. Craggark settles off to bed with a guffaw.
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Torvald has been pacing the deck for a good two hours--after the third day he started to get the hang of the vessel's rocking--but looks up to listen to Haltani's speech.
"I admit I'm still partial to Fortune Seeker, but I don't see the matter as a critical priority. I'm more concerned with how we're to pass ourselves off as mere merchants. This may well come as a shock to you all, but I'm a miserable liar."
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In response to the conversation Craggark yells from under his winter blanket and bedroll:
"We might want to consider a name that the Irriseni wouldn't be suspicious of! All of those names should be OK. Let me and Hamstring work the merchant angle - we're selling your alchemical wares after all. Ha!"
And a few moments later...
*SNOOOORRRRRRRE*
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When not hefting oars with what meager strength the gods saw fit to gift upon him, Faenthor spends most of the day napping. This is because, while not a nocturnal animal, he stays up far too late each night lying on the frigid ship's deck, wrapped in his furs and clutching dark chalk and parchment, mapping the stars.
He delights in acquainting himself with his new companions, especially the surprisingly eruditic dwarf Torvald, with him he shares a predilection for the arcane sciences. He does his best to explain to Jamir how or why there is incomplete syngergy in their studies, but ends up so confounded by the layers of his own reasoning that he becomes quite lost.
He goes quiet, savoring the sensation of feeling confused. It's such a rarity.
As Tusk explains his weapon, Faenethor nudges Torvald in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh, so it's like a miniature, discreet version of blackfire clay!"
"Still partial to Fortune Seeker," he comments idly from behind a small leather-bound book, Lamentations to the Snow: A History of the Ulfen Peoples.
Another week passes aboard the Fortune Seeker. There was some debate as to what the boat should be called but, after hearing a couple of the group suggest the name Fortune Seeker; Haltani ended up adopting the name for the vessel. It seems to have stuck, as most of you have followed her lead, and now refer to the boat as the Fortune Seeker.
The wind carries the small sailing vessel upriver. On the banks, the occasional elk or deer dashes away at the sight of the ship. At night, the temperature drops dramatically while wolves howl in the distance. The trip up the Thundering River on the second week of travel, passes in relative safety. Most of the landscape is comprised of rocky grassland and rough hills. The Land of the Linnorm Kings is a rugged land with rugged people. Occasionally the PCs pass fishing villages where grim people give them evaluating gazes, scowl at them, or ignore them completely.
During the second week of travel, Haltani continues to "open up" with the party. The middle of the week, she sits next to Jawhar and says, You're from the southern lands, are you not? Could you tell me something about your people and their traditions? Does everyone worship Sarenrae where you come from? The next day while taking a break from the rudder, Haltani turns to Torvald and ask,What are all the flask for? Are they poisonous? Do all the Dwarves in your clan practice the same..um...magic? Is your clan near here or, are you from far away like Jawhar?
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Looks like Haltani likes Fortune Seeker as a name. I wonder if she has agreed to guide us as a means of testing out being a Pathfinder. Not many Varki Pathfinders that I've seen in the Chronicles that I've read...
The half-orc gets an idea late one night while camping on shore. Hey Hamstring, the half orc says in a familiar to the party way, [b]what languages do you speak? I've got a plan for when we get to Dalun.[/]
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All too happy to talk about his craft, Torvald lovingly pats his array of glass vials. "They've all sorts of purposes. Most of them contain discrete ingredients as opposed to the actual elixers--my recipes are potent but unfortunately quite unstable, once mixed they last but a moment, so I create a stable base solution and don't add the final catalyst until I need it. More stable recipes exist, like the goop called 'alchemist's fire,' but they're almost always less potent. None of them are what I'd call poison, but they'd be mighty unpleasant were anyone else on this vessel to take a gulp--think less nightshade, and more sour milk mixed with stagnant pond water."
"As for my clan, we Stonecasks hail from Janderhoff in the Mindspin Mountains to the southeast of here. We've a great many alchemists amongst our ranks, aye, I'm by no means unique, but many in my clan pursue different crafts. We've a fine reputation for producing excellent brewers even by dwarven standards, and my elder sister is one of our best metalworkers--Stonecask artisans often use a proprietary acid-etching technique to decorate their work!"
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Jamir runs a whetstone along the length of his rapier one more time, then holds the blade up to check the edge in the firelight. Satisfied, he takes a rag damp with oil and polishes the weapon before returning it to its sheath. Continuing the nightly ritual, he pulls out his dagger and begins sharpening his dagger.
At Craggark's question, he turns to the half-orc. "Oh, not many, I'm afraid. Just Halfling, of course, Taldane, and Dwarvish. What about you?"
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"By the Satrap's decree, Sarenrae is the official god of Qadira and of all of Kelesh, in fact.
Other gods are worshipped by some people few and far between, though you won't see any of their churches in the settlements.
The Dawnflower herself is a bit more receptive to other ideals than the Satrap, who is quite suspicious of outsiders. Such is to be expected to some degree after our long wars with Taldor.
For most Qadirans, the constant sun warming the desert is a constant reminder of Sarenrae's blessings, so thoughts of other gods are rarely of any lasting interest."
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"Janderhoff?" Faenethor looks up from his lap, wherein rests a pouch of many pockets, each containing a strange or mundane ingredient of some sort. He wears a brass-chain monocle over his right eye that magnifies it to an alarming degree. "Why, we're neighbors! I live in Korvosa, you know. Or, at least I did. Ran into a spot of trouble with one of the local gangs. I don't imagine I'll be frequenting my old haunts anytime soon. At least, not without some sort of protection, if you understand my meaning."
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Faenethor starts at Craggark's question about languages. "I've a few under my belt, though I confess to an interest in some of the more obscure tongues. Elven, Tien, Varisian, and even some Draconic. I also just finished Wexelhauser's advanced series in both Vudrani and Osiriani. The latter was an exceptional read for the discussion of etiquette and culture alone!"
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Listening to Torvald Well, said. He then turns his attention to the others. While I'm not from around where he is from, we Dwarves are great craftsman and alchemists. While I don't call myself and alchemist, I do know a good bit of alchemy myself. Haltini, you must be good at something, what is it that you are good at?
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Giving the gunslinger an appraising look, Torvald ventures a guess. "Not that it's any of my business, Tusk, but are you from Dongun Hold? I understand that's the place your weapon was invented, but know little else about it save that it's far, far from here. In any event, what brings you so far north?"
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Nodding to the elf, "Mighty Korvosa, yes, my home city's nearest trading partner, though I've never had the pleasure of visiting myself. I'm sorry to hear of your difficulties with criminal elements, I was under the impression that Korvosa's government took a hard line on such matters, though I could well be misremembering."
Haltani, you must be good at something,what is it that you are good at?
Haltani, does a double take, caught off guard that Tusk would include her in the conversation. Well Master Aran, many in this area would name me a fine and reliable merchant. However, if you speak of my hobbies, when I was little I would read of all the wonderful places and adventures there were in the world. I would often "play act," visiting these wonderful localities. Haltani is smiling now reminiscing, I'm afraid my studies suffered dearly for it though, much to my mother's chagrin! Haltani's face grows somber for a mere moment. But, that's in the past. We've adventures and travels of our own do we not? Let us continue on our journey. Jamir the last section of the river leading up to Dalun will be the most difficult yet. I've never navigated it myself on a boat. Your skills have improved with river craft these last couple weeks. Would you like to take charge on this last section? Or would you prefer to have me take the rudder? Haltani, looks anxious while she awaits Jamir's reply.
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Giving the gunslinger an appraising look, Torvald ventures a guess. "Not that it's any of my business, Tusk, but are you from Dongun Hold? I understand that's the place your weapon was invented, but know little else about it save that it's far, far from here. In any event, what brings you so far north?"
That is where my parents are from Dongun Hold as they've told me stories, but not where I was born or where I grew up, the gun was something my father bought for me as a 40th birthday gift. I never did learn the name of the city I grew up in, but I was never one much for geography, I just know how to get back. When I get back home, I'll ask my parents the name of the town I live in. I'm up here because I was told to appreciate the heat a little more, I should go somewhere very cold. When I asked around, they directed me here.
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The half-orc looks up at Haltani from the oars, a surprised expression on his face.
"A merchant? Right here under my nose? I thought for sure you were a tracker or a guide..."
A merchant? Right here under my nose? I thought for sure you were a tracker or a guide...
Craggark launches into a lilting stream of Skald - he's sung a few off-key songs in his native tongue on the journey, so the odd language isn't unexpected.
"Jeg har været sådan et fjols! Jeg har forsøgt at finde ud af hvordan man laver handel forbindelser i Dalun, når vi komme dertil, og jeg har en købmand på skibet med mig. Jeg undskylder for min antagelser."
"Haltani, behage hjælp mig. Jeg vil gerne gøre et godt indtryk på min første Pathfinder arbejde med min handel fraktion. Jeg har brug at oprette forbindelse til købmand i Dalun. Kunne du give mig en låne?"
"Haltani, please help me. I want to make a good impression on my first Pathfinder mission with my trading faction. I need to make a merchant connection in Dalun. Could you give me a hand?"
Craggark turns to the halfling.
Alright, here's the idea: Haltani and I speak Skald - we're the merchants looking for new trading markets for Torvald and Tusk's alchemical gear. Tusk and Torvald speak only their native tongue - you are our interpreter for the dwarves.
The half-orc glances at the elf with a smirk.
And you, our bookish friend, are our bookkeeper. What do y'all say?
Craggark looks expectantly at Haltani specifically.
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"Mighty Korvosa, yes, my home city's nearest trading partner, though I've never had the pleasure of visiting myself. I'm sorry to hear of your difficulties with criminal elements, I was under the impression that Korvosa's government took a hard line on such matters, though I could well be misremembering."
Faenethor nods emphatically. "Oh yes, quite right, the city Guard does take a hard line against such tomfoolery." He exaggerates the phrase with raised eyebrows and "quotation marks" gestures. "But problems arise, *ahem*, when: One. I myself have become entangled with those criminal elements. And two. When the guard themselves have been paid handsomely to overlook certain betting operations in Old Korvosa." His voice drops to a whisper. "You see, I was a bookie. But they paid me to hedge the bets in a...variety of ways. The work paid handsomely, but the stress of the job was a bit much. I walked away with a bit more of their money than I was owed. So you can imagine my hestitation to return. At least until I've accumulated a fortune working for the society and can purchase a walled estate. But even then, I'm thinking to relocate." He grins.
"And you, our bookish friend, are our bookkeeper."
"Perfect!" Faenethor beams, placing his brass-chained monocle over his eye and a very bookkeeperish fashion. "That line of work happens to be right up my alley."
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Craggark's skin turns a curious shade of light purple in the afternoon sun as he turns to Torvald.
Moose nuggets. He must think I'm hiding something. You ARE hiding something. Best to lay your cards on the table to him.
"Jeg er ked af det bedrag. Jeg er et nyt medlem af udvekslingen, min ven. Jeg troede, at skabe et handelsselskab netværk i Dalun ville ophøje min status med mine Pathfinder ledere. Jeg forstår, at ikke alle ønsker at prioritere en sådan bestræbelse, dermed bruger skald til at kommunikere med vores købmand."
"Det fungerer også som vores forsidehistorie i øvrigt."
"It also acts as our cover story, incidentally."
Craggark turns to Jawhar - "Yes, I thought you could pose as our muscle. Didn't mean to exclude your contribution." He glances across the decks briefly, and then addresses Haltani. "What do you all think?"
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Torvald laughs aloud. "Fortvil ikke, venn, jeg også er en agent for Exchange. Jeg er alt for å spille noen kastet jeg må for å fremme våre felles mål, på betingelse av at vi både får kreditt. Avtale?"
"Worry not, friend, I too am an agent of The Exchange. I am all for playing any roll I must to further our mutual aims, on the condition that we both get credit. Deal?"
Haltani, please help me. I want to make a good impression on my first Pathfinder mission with my trading faction. I need to make a merchant connection in Dalun. Could you give me a hand?
Of coarse I will help Craggark. Haltani says almost pleadingly in common.After all, part of our mission is to establish good trade relations with Dalun and perhaps..Haltani looks hopefulAll of Irrisen someday! However, there is no reason the whole group cannot take part in negotiations. I'm not sure how the "Society" works. I've heard there are "clubs" or "factions" within the society itself. However, I do believe that Venture Captain Benarry intended to establish trade relations independent of these Pathfinder guilds no? She looks at Torvald and Craggark questioningly.
She smiles broadly as she opens her a palms and spreads her hands outright, When we reach the gates of Dalun, I will share the names of the most prominent merchants and in particular, those most likely to be receptive to open up trade with Kalsgard. She pauses for a moment and scans the reactions of the group.I believe trade is the beginning of improved relations. Improved relations could mean improved safety and prosperity for both lands. Therefore, I will not rely on a singular motivation to be solely responsible for such an important endeavor. When we reach Dalun I will share what I know with all of you
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Right. But the cover story still stands - I don't think our reputation as Pathfinders will win over any Irriseni officials. The merchants may be more enlightened, but I think we should lead with our merch, not the Glyph of the Open Road, yeah?
Too many secrets. Maybe there don't need to be as many on this boat, with these colleagues. You're still an idiot.
Craggark spits on his hands as he sits in front of the oars that he's made friends with this past fortnight.
Captain Haltani or Captain Hamstring...I'm all set to row our boat gently down the stream! Just think of the warm welcome awaiting our merchant vessel in Dalun! He guffaws in the face of the stiff cold breeze blowing across the deck.
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Jamir is not certain whether Haltani's trepidation represents concern about Jamir taking the helm or having to continue at the tiller herself, but after a barely-noticeable moment of hesitation, Jamir nods once and leaps to the tiller with his usual enthusiasm.
... and trips over the little box he uses to boost himself at the helm. The tiller catches him square in the gut, doubling the halfling over. After a moment, he wheezes out, "I'm fine!"