Thren waits for her drink before answering Sunstruck.
"We sailed into Lilywhite to get some work done on our ship just in time for the Rum Festival. Lark and I entered. Part of the race is everyone's wearing a mask. A child gave me mine, it's hanging up on my bunk. Stars and butterflies on a black mask. I won the race, beat everyone else clean and probably set a record. It was a good day." Thren smiles wistfully at the memory. "The night...not as good." The wisful smile fades away as she glances at the ship's healer guiltily.
To the human blonde, Kahuranga turns a smile full of teeth, "That's why I was trying to get him in a fight and not me! But dancing will do just as well."
At that he holds out his hand, and, if she takes it, gives her a few whirls about the room.
"If it be Besmara's Whim, I would submit myself as a potential mate. I know my way around a deck, and know a few magic tricks to boot."
If Kahuranga is offering a dance, Thren will gladly take a few minutes to dance before returning to their table.
"Magic is good. I know some as well. Next question is can you play nice with others? We don't need utter chaos aboard ship, it'll get some or all of us killed." Thren asks the sylph earnestly.
Lark drains his drink when Threnody toasts to victory, and hops atop his chair one more time, "Here we have two brave takers already!" He gestures to include Corwin and Kahuranga. "For those that need time to think or maybe some courage, the next round is on me!" Another broad gesture, this time to include the entire bar.
As he steps down Lark catches the bartender's eye, hefts a heavy purse and moves towards the bar. A quick detour brings him past the human woman he noticed talking down the half-orc and Kahuranga. "You might not guess it, but I appreciate someone that can calm the waters like that." Lark tips his head toward the sylph. "Can I buy you a drink - I mean, another drink after the one I just promised you?"
Gwyn the sailor woman raises her eyebrow at Kahuranga. She smiles. "Oh? Learned your ways after last night? Snorri is still whinging about those bottles you wrecked, though it's good you came to repay your debts.
But at the offer, she shakes her head. [b]"The only dancing I do is on the rigging, lad--but why don't you ask the pretty singer there. I expect she will give you a whirl to remember." She points to Threnody, and presuming Kahuranga accepts, Threnody proves she can dance as well as she sings.
Meanwhile, the dwarven bartender nods gruffly at the purse, and shouts. "Drinks on the human in the jolly roger here!" He is answered with a large and hearty shout from the occupants of the crowded bar. He begins pouring up grog for the masses and passing it around.
The blonde nods at Lark. "Now a drink I can always get behind." She offers her hand. If he takes it, her grip is firm and calloused, a sign of someone who knows the ropes well. "I'm Gwyn. I suppose I should consider your other offer as well. I've been stuck on this pile of ash for a month, maybe it's time I get back to work."
The three--Finch, the halfling; Derrick, the human he was using as a ladder; and Ursa, a dwarven woman--cheering on Threnody eventually approach her and display interest in joining up as well. They have not been at sea long, Finch (who seems to be their spokesperson) explains, but they are eager. Derrick is a carpenter, he adds, and it sounds like you need some skilled labor.
Meanwhile Emberar feels a tug at his sleeve. He sees a bright-blue-haired gnome, wearing a belt attached to which are all manner of spoons and knives, looking up at him shyly. "You don't need a cook do you?" Emberar did note their quartermaster Lee was struggling to get the meals together amid his other duties.
Finally, Corwin is tapped on the shoulder. It's the lanky half-orc who had tried to provoke the group earlier. "You know, I've decided that lot might be able to keep up with me after all. If they take a hulking brute like you, they can use a fella with brains like me. I am the one and only Rotgut!" He grins with yellowed teeth. "Go on, introduce me!"
When the bard is done dancing, she sits down to catch her breath and to chat. "We need more hands, including those skilled with their hands," she adds, nodding toward Derrick. "If you join us, equal shares unless you become an officer. You got any other unusual skills-or even usual ones like carpentry-speak up. But other than that, I think the captain will be happy to take you on. We take all kinds, though you'll be the first dwarf aboard our ship. We've got a couple of halflings already though Finch." She gets in a sip of her drink. "And Derrick, I have both a ship in need of crew and some buildings in need of construction. All that sounds good, talk to the captain and give him your oaths."
Recruiting work done, Thren turns to the silent Sandara. "If you like, next time you can join me in a dance." There's no hint of humor or mischief in the tiefling's words, just earnestness. "It would've been a good way to unwind after the past few weeks don't you think?" She takes another long drink. "I want to discuss some things with you later." Thren adds.
The three recruits seem extremely eager to please--Thren's performance way back in Lilywhite seems to impressed upon them mightily--and are ready to sign up.
Threnody turns to look for Sandara, to realize the auburn-haired pirate-priest is over isn't where she was sitting a minute ago. Following the telltale scent of rum-dipped tobacco smoke, Thren spots her chatting with a man at a far end of the room, toward the rear entrance of the tavern. She chuckles lightly at something, huffing on her pipe, and slides over some coin. He hands her two shots of something, one of which she drinks, and one of which she deftly turns over onto the table with a slam.
The bard sees Sandara is elsewhere and involved in what might be a drinking game and watches and waits, not wanting to ruin the priestess' fun. She keeps her eye on the proceedings and makes sure nothing stupid happens, letting everyone else finish their own conversations.
”Ay, I can certainly work with others, and have no trouble taking orders from a competent officer, and it seems by your accomplishments that you reach that bar.”
"Things haven't been as smooth as we'd like, but we've pulled off a few good ones." Thren agrees. "Looking to keep that run going for a long while too."
Corwin claps the half-orc on the shoulder. "Ha! I like a fella with moxy." He shakes the guy's hand, then holds up a couple of fingers to the barman, grabbing them both the free drinks. He brings him over to the table after the revelry has died down a tad and says, "Cap'n, this here's Rotgut. He makes a lousy first impression, but he might not be so bad after all."
Emberar grins, mostly content to sit back and watch as Thren and the others dance, drink, and make merry. He's soaking in the "local culture," as it were--this is all good fodder for his books. He stands, leaning over the table, to shake each new crewmember's hand as they join up. "Pleasure to have ya. The name's Emberar, called 'Sunstruck' by some. I'm new to the ship myself, but I've found it mighty friendly."
When he sees an opportunity, he strikes up a low-voiced conversation with Corwin. "You say you're new to piracy? What convinced you to take up such a dangerous lifestyle, all of a sudden?"
Kahuranga inclines his forhead toward Threnody, "Where you might grasp hands or forearms, my people would touch noses or even foreheads. I enjoy bumpiness more than keeping things smooth, but if you would have me I will join your crew. Let us shove off when we can. I tire of waiting for the servants of the Smoker."
"We'll move along when we're ready. Still need more crew, some supplies. Hey Lark, we gotta offload what we got from the Chells," Thren calls to the captain. "I do need to see the oracles. Got one of my magic items cursed by a one-eyed hag. But barring Lark saying something, you're welcome to join. Lee's getting busier and busier, so we definitely need someone with stronger magic than mine with shore missions."
Corwin shakes the cleric's hand. "I'm no stranger to danger, fella." He shrugs his massive shoulders. "Piracy may not be my first choice, but y'all are the ones offering up the job. Besides, piracy ain't all that different from soldiering. Just a smaller scale, really. And it sounds like you like to hit Chells. And if there's one group of self-righteous jerks who deserve to get a bloodied nose, it's them."
Lark happily shakes hands with Gwyn - and all the other potential recruits. "We've a bit of business here, so you have some time to wind up your own affairs before we sail. Report to the Besmara's Whim as soon as you can and I'll take your oaths then."
Lark circulates among the revelers for a bit before settling next to Threnody. "Plenty time for running errands tomorrow." He eyes his half-empty mug, "Tomorrow afternoon, I mean. I put our name in with Keeba's Eyes. Hopefully our problem is interesting enough to catch their... attention."
When Corwin introduces Rotgut Lark grins, "I was just telling Gwyn here about my fondness for diplomacy. If we've convinced a heckler to give us try that's a good night's work."
"Good. I hope we aren't stuck here waiting forever like some of these people are muttering about. It'll make things a lot more difficult back at the lighthouse if we have to head back without fixing the horns." Thren agrees. She continues to watch the room now, letting people sort themselves out in turn to talk with the captain. The bard will take requests while keeping an eye on the crew to make sure no one does anything too stupid.
Sandara finishes the exchange with the fellow in the back of the room, drinking another shot, before turning to rejoin the group. She shrugs at Thren. "We can talk whenever you like."
A good deal of chatter goes on, and you instruct the would-be recruits on where to meet. Some music breaks out again, on a makeshift stage near the bar--and it turns out it's Rosie with her fiddle, accompanied by one of the twins from the Magpie, Petra, on same.
The barkeep is generous with his pours, noting that giving the sometimes morose and frustrated inhabitants of the bar something to hear and think about, has apparently averted the fights that typically happen at the place.
It quickly gets into evening. The Black Keg, a good place for a drink and a song, offers no boarding, so that may pose one issue to solve. Most of the boarding houses, at least the ones not riddled with bedbugs and stink, are on the west side of the town--as Kahuranga and Corwin are aware, if no one else (and they likely have lodgings there--high end would be the White Whale Inn, mid-scale would be the Rusty Cannon, or there is a pure boarding house (no food offered) near the Shipwright's Guild called the Cottage (which is larger and has more rooms than its name suggests).
On the other hand, especially for young pirates and would-be pirates, the night is still young.
When the evening comes on, Thren decides to take care of two pieces of business. One, get lodgings for the night, because as comfy as her hammock can be, a bed is a wonderful thing. Two, talk to Sandara.
When she finds a good moment, the bard slips back over to Sandara. "I'm going to go find someplace to sleep for the night. You mind walking and talking with me while I check out the White Whale Inn?"
Emberar smiles at the gnome. "I think we very well could, sir. Our quartermaster's been a bit overwhelmed, it seems. What's your name? I'm happy to introduce you to the captain."
To Corwin, Emberar nods, with an easy smile. "I'm Chelaxian myself, actually. But no worries - I've no love for the Empire and particularly no affection for its navy. Hells below, I left, right? And that was years ago. I consider myself more a child of the world, now, than any one country." He raises a mug to Corwin. "I look forward to having someone with your strong arms aboard!"
As evening comes on, Emberar moves over to check in with Lark. "Captain, if you've no need of my services, I might depart to wander the city a bit. Never been to Plumetown before, and I'm curious to see what there is to see, as it were. Permission granted?"
Sandara nods to Threnody. "Well, someone's got to keep you out of trouble, don't they?"
As they head out, Sandara speaks quickly. "I've been thinking a lot too. I enjoy your company, and that of Lark and the others. I've always been touched in particular that Lark was inspired to faith in Besmara, in part by me. Now you... you're funny, and you sing well, and I worry about you, Thren, especially when I thought you all were gone for good... but I have to make clear, it has become as a wolf over her pack-siblings. I know what you said to me back on Lilywhite, and I've turned it over in my mind but said nothing since the night before I left on my pilgrimage--and I worry in that, I've led you on, so maybe this is entirely unwarranted, but I need to be clear. I will always be loyal to you and see you and the Whim through, I need for my own sanity to maintain a professional distance. You are my senior officer and my friend. But nothing more, and that is how I wish it to be. More to the point, both my pilgrimage to Besmara's Throne, and my consultation with the priest back in the Black Keg, has revealed to me I've only room for one gal in my life right now, and her name is Queen Bes."
Thren lets Sandara say her piece without interruption. Then she smiles in amusement.
"Damn, I was hoping to get you alone on a moonlit stroll and serenade you!" She laughs for a moment, then sobers. "I already guessed that much, but thanks for being honest about my chances. Alas, I guess I'll just have to love you from afar, my feelings unrequited." Thren puts the back of one hand up to her forehead as if to swoon. "And I know better than to ever put someone in that position. I learned that real clear at Lilywhite." She shakes her head.
"I only wanted you to walk with me so I can say I'm sorry where I don't have half a town around to hear it. I didn't mean to patronize you back before the storm. I just didn't want to go through what happened a while back with you, Cog, and those sea goblins. You're my friend. I care about my friends. I couldn't exactly say something like that to Lark-he's the captain, that might make him look bad, which is bad. I didn't manage to catch up to Cog, and well, you know how masculine egos can be, I don't know him as well as you, don't know I'd chance it." Thren shrugs. "That's all. I don't want you mad at me because of something I said. Especially when it was meant in simple honesty. I said something like that to the new recruits too, you weren't singled out, and made sure they knew I wasn't trying to put them down, it was just me not knowing what they can do." The bard sighs. "A diplomat I am not. That's the captain's job. I'm here to keep everyone distracted."
Then she smiles again, that smile of pure mischief. "So in the meantime, let's find ourselves some nice comfortable accomodations, and if we find some trouble along the way, well, we're pirates, that's what we do."
Lark replies to Emberar, "Of course, enjoy your walk. Explore as much as you want, but stay in touch if you want us to find you when we get the call from Keeba's Eyes. You can leave messages for me at the Whim or the Rusty Canon, if they have room for me."
As some of the crew head out for the night Lark will circulate through the tavern one more time before bidding his own goodbyes. He heads across town to see about a room at the Rusty Canon.
Kahuranga will head out into the night, spending some time wandering the streets before ending up at the White Whale if nothing else of interest presents itself. This crew has the feel of wind in my sails, different from the doldrums that I have been in. Maybe this is why I needed to be in Plumetown in the first place. Maybe it was never about these Eyes."
As he walks, he whistles tunelessly, harmonizing with the small dragon on his shoulder.
Emberar will also wander the streets for some time before finally heading to find a small, compact room at the Cabin to scratch down his notes and finish organizing his thoughts from the day.
As a source of employment, Corwin will follow along with Lark. "We'll make sure they have room for you at the Cannon" he says. He briefly pictures throwing some people out of upstairs windows which gives him a big dumb grin on his face. I ain't defenestrated anyone in too long.
Lark gladly accepts Corwin's company walking through the unfamiliar town. "My purse can stretch to another room at the Canon, if you like. I don't mean to send you walking all over town at this hour."
Along the way Lark has a question. "Have you pictured the kind of work you'd do on ship? Now, I picture you as the master-at-arms type, but maybe I'm assuming things. There's no shortage of jobs at sea."
Walking through the streets, Thren and Sandara hear a duo humming--only to cross paths with Kahuranga, his little dragon still poking out of his back, and both harmonizing with the other. A quick exchange reveals all are headed in the direction of the White Whale.
As they walk through the streets, they pass by several adolescents and young adults wearing badges stamped with a hammer over the image of a ship's sail--something you discern eventually is the symbol of the Shipwrights' Guild--running through the streets. There are numerous conversations, all at once, of where to go and what to do. One is encouraging others to cheer him on "at the arm wrestling contest at the Cannon." A few others want to head to various bars around town, including Cayden's Cup, the "temple" to the god; some want to go to "the Sailor's Rest" which you discern by the nature of the conversation is a brothel, not lodging. A few quieter ones agree on dinner at the White Whale, and run up the street ahead of you, making it easy to find where it is.
The White Whale is a large, beautiful two-story building with a gently curved roof, lovingly well-maintained. The adobe building is painted a dark gray, perhaps to keep it from getting too obviously stained by the ash that constantly spews from the Smoker. A large piece of whalebone scrimshawed into the shape of a whale hangs over the wide doors, which you note have doorknobs at several different levels for humanoids of different heights.
While many are imbibing alcohol, indeed a good deal of people are here for a meal, and inviting scents waft around you, of clam chowder and roasted boar and potatoes. You spot Rosie Cusswell--a muscular halfling woman in a red scarf who waves at Thren and Sandara--has also moved on to this area and is enjoying a meal that is roughly her weight in food here.
Inquiry by a host greeting you at the door, a slight human male, you learn they do have a few rooms still available this evening -- a four-person room for 1 gp a night; a few private rooms are available each for 2 gp a night; and one suite (private luxury rooms for 1-2 people) for 4 gp. The suite includes the price of breakfast; the other rooms do not include meals. They also offer private and a common bath.
Emberar walks slowly through the streets, taking in the sights and sounds to report in his travelogue. Many people are working into the night fixing up minor damage and debris from the recent storm. Cloudbuster's cudgel-bearing guards march through the streets, keeping the peace.
At one point, a human couple dance across his path, with no music guiding them, gazing happily into one another's eyes.
At another, a halfling boy in older adolescent runs toward a group of a motley crew waiting outside a small tavern, wide-eyed and excited. "The Eyes found her! The oracle told me my mother was alive, and where she is!"
The west side of town is filled with shops (at this time of night closing), bars, restaurants, though not many street vendors--perhaps the constant ash from the Smoker discourages such a thing, or perhaps Cloudbuster's Guards do. A large smith's shop simply signed "Jane's" catches his eye, but it is closed. He does spot, where the main road meets a road leading to dwellings closest to the harbor, an elderly human woman in gray rags, holding out a dented tin cup, which rattles as she shakes it. "Alms for the poor," she repeats as people pass by. "Alms for Benevolence." A few drop in a few coppers, where she looks at them and nods. "Blessings of Benevolence to you, my friend."
He also spots apprentices and journeymen from the Shipwrights' Guild heading in different directions (see Thren/Kahuranga's spoiler for more details), including several wanting to go to the arm wrestling contest at the Rusty Cannon.
The Cottage is a large, timberframed building, which stands out against the Shackles architecture as distinctly Taldan in style. The place offers shared doubles for 5 silvers a night and single private rooms for 1 gold. A light breakfast of buns and coffee is included.
Lark and Corwin head for the Rusty Cannon--as seemingly are many, with several folks speaking excitedly about an arm wrestling competition happening at their destination.
Just as they are about to turn to go closer inland to get to the Cannon, they spot, where the main road meets a road leading to dwellings closest to the harbor, an elderly human woman in gray rags, holding out a dented tin cup, which rattles as she shakes it. "Alms for the poor," she repeats as people pass by. "Alms for Benevolence." A few drop in a few coppers, where she looks at them and nods. "Blessings of Benevolence to you, my friend."
It is not hard to find the Cannon; a very large, well-built building of wood darkened by the volcanic ash. A small, rusted cannon (a model more than a functioning item) sits bolted outside the door to announce its entrance.
The place is absolutely packed, and smelling of rum and tobacco smoke. There is a man in the corner taking both bets and registration for the arm wrestling competition, which includes youths wearing badges that mark them as members of the shipwright's guild.
In another corner, many tables of card and dice games are going; Conchobhar, a gnome impossible not to spot in his giant purple plumed hat, waves to Lark; next to him is a scarved blond half-elf (Xosrov) deeply engaged in a game of cards.
The drinks and food flow well, including a popular fish stew.
You both hear a pair of old men near the door arguing. "What, you think the Boles family got rich selling purple dye?" "Well, them snails in Bogbsridge do make a pretty purple, is all I'm saying, and they own the town." The other snorts. "No, the dye's all a front. They make a drug that all the Chelish nobles fancy. It's the damned Chells stuffing the Boles family coffers." "And to think I worked for'em and never knew..."
Rooms at the Cannon are 5 sp for the night and lodge 2-4, with extra if you want a bathtub brought to the room.
Thren takes in the smell of food with a deep sniff when she arrives at the White Whale. "If breakfast is as good as dinner...Sandara, do you want to get the suite and share it? I'm definitely up for that no matter what." The tiefling pays for the suite before finding her way to Rosie's table and ordering the roast boar and potatoes. While she's not able to match Rosie's meal, the bard does seem determined to extirpate all the boar in the building.
Corwin tosses a coin to the old woman as they pass by. He's been down and out before and has a soft spot for old folks and kids. He keeps tht to himself though as Lark asks him what job he'd like to do. "Well, it's been a while since I been working on a ship. 'm actually not too shabby at working the rigging or what have ya. If ya need somethin' moved and don't have a lot of time, I'm definitely yer man. But yeah, if you've need of a master at arms, ya got one now." He smiles broadly at the offer to stay at the Cannon. "Sounds good to me."
It sounds even better when he sees the arm wrestling going on. "Hmm, might make a little coin before I go." Hoping that his new captain will get his meaning, he says, "You might want to place a couple of bets on me as well. 'm sure I could take most of these folks, at least best two out of three. Know what I mean?"
He strides up confidently to the arm wrestling match. "Alright now, who wants to leave here with only one working arm!" He laughs boisterously as he finishes signing up for the matches.
Not speaking quickly enough to take the suite, Kahuranga opts for a private room. Seeing Threnody and Sandara join the halfling, he approaches their table.
"As we will soon be ship mates, would it be too bold to ask to join you for dinner? Tani here is buying. he says, inclining his chin toward the small turquoise dragon on his shoulder
The tiefling looks amused and waves for Kahuranga and Tani to join them. "It's a free table. I'll buy the meal though. Consider it a small bonus for signing up. Not sure how much room's going to be left for your food though." Thren eyes Rosie's meal with profound respect. "This is Rosie Cusswell, by the way. You've heard her fiddle. Sooner or later you'll hear how she got that name." She grins.
Lark tips his tricorne to Corwin and either winks or blinks, it's hard to tell with the patch.
The young captain places two small bets against Corwin before raising it to a large bet against in the third round. He keeps up a steady commentary in support of their ruse.
"Y'all may not realize, but it takes more than a big arm. There's plenty of technique in arm-wrestling."
"We've all been celebrating at the Black Keg. I saw much this fella's been drinking."
And finally, "OK, third time's my luck number, here's where I make back my money." This last in the somewhat desperate tone of a gambler chasing a big score.
Corwin is all confidence and swagger as he starts out.
But that put some humility in him.
"Hey, I wasn't ready! THIS time, you're going down punk."
"Ha, that's what I'm talking about. Anyone else?" He stands up and glares, daring anyone else to try him.
"Alright, someone with some guts." He assumes the position again.
"Ooo, I must have hurt my wrist in that first one. You got me fair and square, bub."
The arm wrestling competition is complex, with a series of three tiers, with the winners of a lower tier able to compete at a higher. Entering is free.... the first time. If you lose and want to try again, you must pay 5 gp per tier.
Corwin enters, but is caught off guard by his slight-looking competitor, a a tall, wiry half-elven woman whose rough hands suggest harder work than it looks like she might do at first glance. She slams his hand down before he is able to properly gauge his "stance," so to speak.
He must pay the 5 gp penalty if he wants to go again, but if he does, the next fight goes much better. This against a dwarf who appears to be all beard and braggadocio; he is strong but Corwin gains leverage and easily defeats his opponent. He gets 10 gp and the opportunity to move to the next tier.
His intended final opponent is a familiar face to Lark--Xosrov's half-orc buddy Anatoly, a half-orc in a very well-kept sailor's coat with a gold chain. (And Anotoly simply takes it that Lark is betting against Corwin hoping he will win.) "Better luck next time, good man!" Anatoly says goodnaturedly. "My best ability is that I am often underestimated."
Corwin is ready to put up a struggle and then fake a relent--but Anatoly moves so swiftly as soon as the referee counts down to being the fight that he is legitimately defeated. On the upside, certainly no one suspects any shenanigans.
Lark breaks even on the first two fights, and wins on his third. He wins triple his investment.
Sandara has no problem with a suite.
Rosie swallows what appears to be a spiced, vegetable stuffed dumpling; wiping off her hands she offers one to Kahuranga. "Pleased ta meet ya! F*~@ me, is that a tidepool dragon? Hullo there, Tani! He'll have to say hello to Muffin if they're comin' aboard with us."
She pushes the plate of dumplings over to share with the three of you. She still appears to have two plates of boar and potatoes to herself, a tureen of chowder, and what appears to be a quarter of a triple-layer coconut cake.
"I gotta say, I love bein' at sea--at least now that we're out from under Captain Hairy-Gun's thumb, but you can't beat the comforts you can find on shore! Hey, Sandy, you know I heard someone saying they spotted the Kelpie's Wrath, you reckon that's a good omen?"
Sandara shakes her head. "I chatted with a Besmaran acolyte in the Black Keg. He mentioned that rumor was going around but he said he's sure whatever folks are seeing isn't to do with Besmara. Less it's trouble she's brewing, and that's always possible."
Thren happily indulges in a dumpling or two or three and makes a mental note about the coconut cake. "Kelpie's Wrath?" Care to fill me in?" She asks, munching away at a dumpling.
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Kahuranga orders some dumplings of his own, and some pork. Always impatient, Tani slides from Kahuranga's shoulder toward Rosie, begging a bit of pork.
"Good eventide, milady. Could I beg of you some f!~~ing pork?"
Lark happily pockets his winnings, "Ah well, all's well that ends well."
During the contest and directly afterward Lark will circulate and try to learn more about the Boles family and their connection to the Chells.
Emberar also drops a silver coin into the old beggar woman's cup. "Take this, ma'am. The lords of light guide you to rest and health." He also gently stops the halfling boy. "Excuse me, lad. You say the Eyes of Keeba have found your mother? Do you mind telling me what they said to you - and how long you've had to wait?"
At the Cottage, he briefly waffles but finally decides to put his name down for a private room (how often will he have one of those in the coming months?) and slides his gold across the table. He heads to the Cannon to watch the arm wrestling, but takes it in more as entertainment and companionship than anything else - he's not a gambling man. But he likes spending time with the ship's crew, and he's deeply entertained by Tani. "You can have some f%#$ing pork from me, my good little dragon, if Rosie denies you!"
Rosie starts at the dragon talking to her. "Aroden's Fetid Taint! I didn't know you could talk!" She grins, snaps to get a server's attention, and orders a plate of boar for the little dragon.
Meanwhile, after a good chuckle, Sandara answers Threnody. "The Kelpie's Wrath is sort of a spirit-ship seen as a herald of Besmara. She doesn't show up often, and more likely someone's been drinking bathtub booze or spotted a ghost ship. Which might be more common than you'd think."
The old lady gives you a wink. "Blessings of Benevolence upon ye."
The boy says he waited two weeks, and that he met with a "beautiful elfin child" who told him where he could rescue his mother, who had been captured by slavers.
Emberar joins the dinner group belatedly, and Rosie groans (laughing). "Come on boys, ya f#$&in' well have to show more finesse than just inserting 'f+#$' into everything!"
Lark asks the old men a few questions--fishermen from the looks of them. "Well, they've gotten richer of late, and that says more Chells in the area, don't it?" He further gleans they are a powerful, wealthy family in Bogsbridge on Motaku Island--where a local snail is the source of a popular dye. The unusual thing about the Boles, beyond what's been said, is most big towns are run by pirate lords, so for them to have attained the power they have and not be successfully challenged by a Free Captain (or otherwise) suggests they are powerful in many ways. You also learn a little more about hunting snails than you probably wanted to know.
Corwin hears chatter from the various competitors in the arm wrestling competition. Some are talking about organizing a tug of war, between them and a group from the Shipwright's Guild.
The night passes without much other event (save any trouble you yourselves choose to cause). All of you sleep well in your rooms and enjoy whatever comforts you decide to enjoy. By far the Cottage is the quietest place to sleep, giving Emberar a chance to write notes without interruption.
The next day is still overcast, but much brighter than previous days. Breakfast is offered at the Whale and (a light one) at the Cottage. LArk and Corwin if they awake in the morning are directed to a pastry shop that brews good coffee.
Lark talks to Corwin about getting in on the tug-of-war contest. "This might be a good way to get a line on the local labor situation." He'll send message along to Thren about this plans.
The young captain approaches the organizers as an entrepreneur and potential guild customer interested in supporting the festivities. He'll offer to donate a keg or two of beer to the proceedings.
Lark will spend it handing out beer and talking about the local workforce. Who's the best and who to avoid?At the same time he'll talk up the natural beauty of Brightglass Isle and the chance to get in early on a soon-to-be wealthy salvage and trading outpost.
Thren pops up after breakfast to talk with Lark about his plans and makes a point of circulating, talking to people about anything and everything, adding her pretty face to the scene and helping serve beer. She'll focus primarily on talking up their new home on Brightglass Isle, emphasizing how it's starting up as an outpost.
Corwin is up for a tug of war, though he feels a bit less confident after the arm-wrestling. He does his best to help Lark, but is clearly uncomfortable with it. "I'm sorry, boss. I'm more the kind of guy who tells people what to do, rather than askin' sweetly. But I'll do my best."
(This part is easier. He's been in town for a while)
(He's focusing less on the beauty of a place he's never been and more on the freedom of the open sea)
Surprising himself more than anyone else, he might have actually put a few good words in the right ears.
Kahuranga is not much use in a tug of war, but he is delighted to talk up his new mates.
To whomever will listen: "You've never seen such a crew of pirates. I've sailed with Blue-Eyed Bill and Dastard Patrice, but these folks. Clearly they are blessed by Besmara. Bold, beautiful, and not afraid to spread some money around."
The party rejoins and chats with the would-be tug-of-war contestants.
The two potential teams:
"The Roughnecks"
This is a motley group of folk, mainly tourists come to see the Smoker and/or Keeba's Eyes, or otherwise errant mariners and the like who came here seeking work. Some have been here long enough to be considered townies--but then it seems like most of the residents of this town began as visitors at some point. The bulk of them are quite brawny, get by on their muscle (be it for fighting or hard labor), and are a variety of ages and experience. Some, perhaps even most, you gather, are scoundrels of some degree--but obviously not so dastardly that they are happy to distract themselves with a contest rather than seek out open trouble. Most of them are more skeptical that your little island northeast of the Glengarnie Chain is worth blinking at, but a few are intrigued by both the prospect of new scenery and working within Gholgan ruins safely cleared of all haunts. (Some may also find it a good place to lay low, depending on their background.)
"The Guildies"
The others are carpenters and ropemakers from the Shipwright's Guild. They are probably intellectually sounder, but younger and more naive. They have a united purpose in being in town: to advance rank at the guild, and earn money working on ships (which is a lucrative business in Plumetown, as many waiting for Keeba's Eyes decide to get their ship refitted or repaired while they are waiting). They probably have a better honest sense of honest business--but on the other hand, sometimes wanting to do honest business in the Shackles hamstrings one more than helps. Many of them are more easily convinced of the beauty of Brightglass Island and excited by the prospect of going there as journeymen, but you get the sense most of them themselves have traveled little and would struggle more to adapt to the rough life of a barely starting outpost.
The contest is set for the next day. Both teams put 100 gp each into the winnings pot. Who ever wins the best 2 out of 3 pulls wins the pot of 200 gp. Additionally, they hope to find a backer for each team, who will donate at least 50 gp into the pot, to raise the total winnings to 300 gp.
The contest itself has a sponsor, who will repay the winning team's backer double their investment (so they get 100 gp if their team wins). Additionally, this unnamed mysterious benefactor will pay the winning team an additional 200 gp if they win all 3 bouts.
Likely there are going to be more challenges than simply tugging on the rope, though you fail to get specific hints on how the tug of war will be made more tricky.
You also get the sense that if you back one team, you will probably lose your chances of recruiting the other--and that if you back neither, very few, if any, will be convinced to join--although they will be grateful for the beer you donate and, since you've talked yourselves up so well, spread the word about your ship's exploits.
Other local businesses are donating food and music. It is becoming quickly an impromptu sort of festival. This happens often in Plumetown--people are always trying to come up with new ways of entertaining themselves that doesn't draw the ire of Cloudbuster's guard.
Thren thinks for a bit before talking to Lark. "Care to sponsor a team? And which one do you think will be the best? Might be fun!" The bard muses. "Might be a good chance to get a few more bodies and maybe even spread the word about us a bit more."
Lark eyes the Roughnecks with favor, "They look like scoundrels but they're still happy to play festival games, that pretty well describes us too. I think I'll be putting my stake in on their side." He glances around the group, "Unless anyone has a strong feeling about this guild? If we want higher skilled folks and the chance to mold them to suit us, I can see the argument."
Lark strolls over to the contest organizers to submit his stake for the Roughnecks. He's in no hurry if anyone wants to put in their two cents, but if there's no interruption he'll go ahead and put his money down.
"Aye, the Roughnecks seem like the more entertaining lot. I can throw in a few gold for the scoundrels. Not that I've earned much right to any opinion."