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Aparctias plops the candy he was pondering into his beak, bowing his head to greet those entering. "A pleasure to meet you," he says after swallowing, waving a friendly greeting at the other tengu in the room.
He reads over the note when it's presented, but doesn't seem to have any questions. "I'll do my best to find them," Aparctias says. "Whatever trail remains will hopefully be enough for me to track."
"Hmm," Passad considers, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "My boat, the Abacus, is fast, but there is still a fair distance to travel. I believe it will take us about a week to travel from Kerse, hugging the shore of Lake Encarthan before entering the mouth of the Glass River in Razmiran. Xer--the last point of contact with the kidnapped dwarves--is a day's travel from the coast, and our eventual destination--the Gray Revelation Inn--is another day's travel from there."
The deeply-tanned Pahmet mystic, listening to Passad's talk of travel times, speaks up at this point. "Considering what happened to the earlier team," Amauhak notes in his usual monotonous way of speaking, "I believe keeping our presence a secret once we reach the borders of Razmiran is the wisest course of action. We need to arise as little suspicion as possible."
"It is certainly something important to consider," Passad confirms with a nod to the two tengu. "I particularly like the idea of travelling merchants--perhaps those seeking to establish a way station for a regular trade caravan? That would explain the lack of cargo."
Metella chimes in with her own thoughts. "Why don't you pose as religious pilgrims? Not only can you make some bulldust up about seeking spiritual answers and whatnot, but people won't want to pry about why you're going down here. 'The Living God sent me', or something."
Passad snorts derisively, and Metella shoots him an angry glare. "That's transparent nonsense," he says depreciatingly, waving his hand in dismissal. The dwarf appears clearly offended by his offhand criticism, and she seems just about ready to shout at him for the insult before Amauhak gently touches her arm and shakes his head.
"Well," the Kalistocrat says merrily, standing up and placing his empty wine glass back on the silvered tray it came from, "as the beautiful lady implies, we'd best be off as soon as you're ready. You'll have plenty of time to decide how you want to play this on the ship." He claps his hands twice, and immediately the two silent servants snap to attention. "Alert the docks that we will be on our way shortly, and prepare my travelling gear," Passad orders them, and they nod in acquiescence before leaving the room.
He finally spins back to the Pathfinders with a smile. "Is there anything else you would like to do here in Kerse before we leave? Or shall we be on our way?"
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"I suggest leaving a pilgrimage as a back-up plan." He looks at Imperia, amused at her blunt opinion. "Try for interest when they speak of it. They would be much more favorable if they think we are amenable to their views, or can be converted. Knowing more about their beliefs wouldn't hurt us. At the very least, try not to express your views of their beliefs to them."
Aparctias stands and pockets some more sweetmeats into his sleeves, not even bothering to hide his actions. "I must say, these really are very good. And I'm ready to go if you are."
Metella grumbles to herself under her breath when it seems that the majority opinion is against her plan and for Passad's. Still, she shoots a small smile Aparctias' way when he leaves it as a possible 'Plan B'. Passad, for what it's worth, is quite pleased, and leads you on a tour of the city to his favoured shops to pick up some last-minute supplies. Kerse is nothing but over-the-top, with every building--even the most humble smithy or greengrocer--designed with rare and rich materials in extravagant and unique styles. You spy a number of people in white robes similar to Temel--Kalistocrats, those devoted to the Propecies of Kalistrade and the accumulation of wealth over all other pursuits.
Imperia's questions over the course of the trip through the city help to fill the time as others shop for blades and supplies.
"Nothing of the sort," Metella shakes her head at the question about ransom notes. "I suspect they just got on the wrong side of some Razmiri acolyte somehow. Wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing."
Amauhak smirks at Imperia's ignorance and arrogance combining into one. He speaks, as ever, matter-of-factly and without emotion. "I am of the Pahmet, though you humans call our kind sand dwarves. I come from the city of Tar Kuata in the southwestern mountains of Osirion. As for Metella," his dark eyes shift to the back of the red-headed dwarf, "she is used to having her way, is all."
"A library?" Passad blinks. "No, alas. The craft is too small for something of the sort. Although," he adds as an afterthought, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "now that you mention it, that would be an excellent addition to my quarters on board. At the moment I have only a handful of tomes with which to pass the time."
Still chatting away, the party boards the Abacus, a modest, single-masted sloop manned by only four sailors and the captain. Her crew are all quiet and efficient, and as a result the trip along the coast of Lake Encarthan is rather uneventful (if boring). You get to know your companions a little more during the passing days, learning all about their past exploits and future dreams, and perhaps a little more about the particulars of Kalistrocrats, the society of the Pahmet, or the ongoing events of the dwarves of the Five Kings Mountains. Every now and then you make port at a small fishing town here or there along the lakeside, a must to stave away boredom.
On the seventh day of your journey, the captain announces that you have reached the mouth of the Glass River. Though the boat's entrance into Razmiri waters is no doubt cause for celebration, Passad brings everyone to the main deck shortly thereafter.
"It shan't be long until we reach Xer," he says with a serious frown. "This was where your kidnapped dwarves ran into trouble in the first place."
"We have two choices here: either we take the more 'by the book' route, dock at Xer, and pay any tolls they demand; or alternatively, we sail on and try to evade Razmiri authorities."
Reaching into his robes' pocket and withdrawing a white silk purse bulding with clinking coinage, Passad continues. "I believe that the wisest course of action is to do the former. I maintain that abiding by the local customs will help us to avoid unwanted attention..." He smiles thinly, "...especially if we include an extra gratuity when we pay the toll. Furthermore, without proof that we've paid the expected tribute, we run the risk of greater trouble if we're accosted by one of the ubiquitous faith barges upriver."
"Of course," Passad adds, drawing two platinum pieces from his coin purse, "I am happy to provide the toll myself."
Metella steps forward, shaking her head. "I'm not sure that's a wise idea. Stopping at Xer just gives the authorities a chance to search the boat and find the three of us hiding here! And you can be damn sure they'll be suspicious of even more foreign dwarves coming down their riverside."
"As a result," she explains patiently, "I think it's better to avoid the docks altogether and take our chances with any of these 'faith barges' we might encounter. I'm sure you Pathfinders can handle it."
Metella and Passad turn their attentions expectantly towards the party. "It's up to you all to decide--after all, you'll be the ones taking on the danger."
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" I dunno...What they don't know cant hurt us. I'd rather take our chances and skim on by. The trick is to not do anything to get noticed on the water. No yelling or arguing loudly, for example. And the dwarves should remain out of site as much as possible. Besides swimming isn't that bad. It can be fun!"
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"I do understand Metella's point of view," Aparctias says, fanning himself. It seems to be a habit of his to take out his fan whenever he speaks. "It would be certainly bothersome if the dwarves are seen. However . . . Passad, how often do you think smugglers pass through the docks? Taking our cover as merchants, perhaps we add another layer of us being smugglers? We won't have any apparent cargo, using our cover as merchants establishing a way point as an excuse, but there are some places in the ship that shouldn't be seen, as it were. Some bribery to the authorities to make sure they don't look too closely at our 'smuggled goods' and let it go through. It's not too far off from the truth."
He turns to look at the dwarves. "Though I hope you don't mind acting the part of said goods, hiding in crates beneath what we can scrounge up or wherever you think you'll go undetected."
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"Hmmm?" Tarra comes back to the present at Imperia's comment."Oh. Well. He's .... a researcher fro the Society now. Can't do field work anymore, so he helps where he can." She shrugs off the cold part of Lexia's tone and answers sadly.
Turning back to the rail.." He is crippled and can barely move now. Someday I will find the means to help him. Until then, well, the Society takes care of him. I swore my skills to their service for the duration."
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"The Society didn't cripple Davinder! The damn Galts did. Them and their forever revolution and constant changing of the rules!"
Tarra flares at this last from Imperia. "If I die , it happens. Everybody dies. Sooner or later." At this point she walks away to go explore the vessel they will be floating on. Especially interested in any nooks and crannies, that can hide a Dwarf...or Halfling, as the case may be...
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"As loath as I am to agree with Imperia, I suggest paying the toll. Why sneak around if not necessary? If the group wishes to use a ruse then I suggest the caravan chirade. I have been a guard for many caravans and most aren't even looked at twice.
Turning to Imperia, Littlegoat gives her a hard stare. As he turns, Summit saunters to his master's side and stares at Imperia.
"Perhaps Tarra isn't the only one who should give thought what would happen if they were to die... on a mission. Maybe it's time we all stopped wheedling each other and get to the problem at hand. Afterall the success of the mission is only hindered by squabbling. There will be plenty of time to "work out" our differences afterward."
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Ryskovich lets the other banter back and forth amongst themselves.As long as we can work together if it comes down to battle, I will let them bicker with each other. But help me god, should they cannot work as a team in crunch time then I will have to insert my blade into the fray.
I don't care how we get to our destination. We can pay the toll to make things easier. The main goal is going undetected and that is all that truly matters to me
Passad shrugs at Aparctias' question, although he offers his thoughts in his typically long-winded manner. "Though I have been to Xer once or twice before, I can't say I know much about their likelihood to 'overlook' a smuggler. However, my instincts say to not give them any reason to suspect us. A bribe to allow us swift passage through the bureaucracy is much preferable to a bribe to overlook something potentially illegal." He smiles at Imperia's compliment, and is happy the group seems to be leaning towards his idea. Metella doesn't look quite so happy, though she acquiesces to the party's decision.
Tarra heads off to explore belowdecks. With the craft being as small as it is, there's really not much down here—the crew's quarters, featuring cramped bunk beds and a relaxation area, and the cargo hold, where there are a number of barrels and crates and so forth stacked up. Though maybe half of them are empty, quite a few that are filled with food and water and other supplies for the journey ahead.
Later, when Imperia goes back to Amauhak and resumes plying him with numerous questions, he sighs and rolls his eyes but steadfastly answers them. She can tell he's starting to get a bit fed up by her constant bugging of him, though, and he makes his excuses to leave her presence shortly thereafter.
"The way I speak is the way I speak. We are all different."
"Asking why Metella and I are different is like asking why you are so different to Passad. Our culture is different. Our lives are different. The world is diverse."
"My people mostly live in cities, much like you humans. Some are nomadic, however."
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I grew up in Cheliax and know their prejudices, shortcomings and distastefulness when it comes to views of property. I don't agree one bit with our people, and I use that term loosely using my race as housekeepers and slaves. But my former employer if it were, let me go experience life for myself, leading me here today. There are rare Chelish folk who buck against the standard view of Cheliax. I simply choose my battles Imperia, that is all. he lets his words sink in for a few moments and takes stock in the rest of his fellow Halflings.
Our race has fought for equality in Cheliax, which is why I fight in Cheliax name. In hopes to show that not everyone there holds the views so typically noted by society as a whole. So when do we set sail on our voyage?
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Why should I "preach" to another, when you seen to be trying to rile the man up. I would think being a Chelish yourself, and a paladin as that would understand what you are saying and doing by purposefully slandering the mans name. But I digress and will end our conversation
With those last words, he pulls out his whetstone, and begins to sharpen his falcata to a sharp fine edge.
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Returning to the deck, a while later, Tarra's sunny disposition has returned...
" I get the impression that we are going to dock, at Xer, and pay the toll and bribe." Its not really a question, but she smiles as she says it.
"OK. That works too. Are there any weapon restrictive laws or rules we should know about, Passad? I mean. will they have a fit over my bow or Ryskovich's Falcata? I know some town get a little touchy 'bout armed travelers."
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Why should I "preach" to another, when you seen to be trying to rile the man up. I would think being a Chelish yourself, and a paladin as that would understand what you are saying and doing by purposefully slandering the mans name. But I digress and will end our conversation
Littlegoat wanders over to Ryskovich.
"Thank you, friend. Not only for your words but also for reminding me that I often let my own tongue get the better for me. I will try to do better."
Reigning in one's temper is important... However dealing with an uppity noble was more important. Imperia would learn her place. Perhaps his fellow halfling would see Imperia was never going to change and is quite comfortable with the continued enslavement and oppression of his people. Patience and perseverance have always been weapons to be used as readily as my sword.
Passad shrugs at Tarra's question with an apologetic smile. "Not that I'm aware of, my little friend!"
Hours pass, with some of the Pathfinders sorting out their differences along the way. Well... somewhat, at least. There's a tense kind of truce on the upper decks, though if one looks closely there's no doubt static electricity in the air between Imperia and, well, most of the halflings...
Passad, Metella and Amauhak head below-decks, setting up in the crew's quarters for now. Metella and Amauhak chat away in their native dwarven language, leaving the rich Druman to sit around in boredom and read books. Every now and then, a loud sneeze explodes from below as Passad takes yet another huff from his favourite golden snuff box.
Not long after midday, the city of Xer comes into view on the horizon. Occupying the north bank of the Glass River, at a glance the sprawling port city seems like any other... although, as you draw closer, things seem a little different. Its dozens of docks remain busy as ships headed both east and west call at the port, and you occasionally catch sight of one of the so-called 'faith barges': flat-topped vessels manned by masked priests keeping a cruel and careful eye on things. Grubby men and women in bulky jackets patrol the docks, and few smiling faces are to be seen. You catch sight of one sailor arguing with a dockworker, only to be clubbed over the head and arrested on the spot.
The crew of the Abacus pull in to an open dock, choosing an isolated berth sheltered on either side by tall warehouses. One of the sailors tosses a rope to the dockworker standing ready, who moors the boat to the post near him. Three Razmiri enforcers, dressed in thick jackets embroidered with the same masked symbol, approach; one of them holds the taut leash of a slaving, half-tamed wolf.
"Oy, travellers! Orders from the Livin' God 'imself says no-one comes in 'ere without bein' checked!" the wolf-tamed enforcer scowls up at you. "What's yer business 'ere in Razmiran, then? And tell me, 'ow many souls are aboard? Need ta calculate th' right taxes, y'hear?" The enforcer near him seems to be counting all those he can see on the upper deck, apparently to double-check.
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"Good sirs, I must apologize that my comrade has lied to you. While she is correct in saying that you and yours are welcome aboard our vessel to exact payment, nothing about her is humble. I beg your forgiveness for her poor obfuscation."
To Imperia-"Regardless of who is the drooling one, Imperia, the four of us are still more civilized and mannerly than yourself."
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Watching quietly, Tarra leans against her pack, resting in the stern castle of the ship.
Boy, we're sure off to a rocky start. Half of us can't seem to get along. I hope this smooths out, or we could find ourselves in difficulties.
When the guards and dog approach.
" Hello there! Nice doggy." Smiling she will lean forward and extend a hand to the dog to sniff.