GM Jammin's Serpent's Skull (Inactive)

Game Master YanJieming


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The wind whips through the sails pushing the Jenivere ever forward. The ship rocks in the waves with the sun shining down, beating a heavy heat onto the deck. The smell of sea salt has clung to your nostrils so long it's nearly been forgotten. But it’s there, passing through the air on never-ending currents. The journey to Eleder is nearly complete. For many it's a fresh start, a way to escape past mistakes and misfortunes. For others, a simple way point on a longer journey. A day, a month or years will soon find these moving on to the next stop. For some it’s a return to home. A long awaited reunion with friends and family. Regardless, Eleder’s shores beckon from only two days ahead. But more stirs in the air than the wind and the heat, the waves and the salt. More than the well foreseen feeling of anticipation as the journey comes to a close. Lurking behind it all is the unforeseen, inexplicable feeling of foreboding. Maybe it is in the way the Jenivere’s crew whispers together, their brows furrowed. Or perhaps the unknown prisoner in the ship's brig, his crimes hanging heavy. It could be the strange Varisian scholar with so many rumors surrounding her. But it’s probably just your imagination. After all, the ship is only two days from port and you’ve already survived more than a hundred days at sea. Nothing could possibly go wrong now.

The day wanes, the sun leaving a bright steak of color in the sky where it meets the western horizon. You make your way into the galley where the cook comes around, handing out the day’s final meal. It's worse than most, which is quite an accomplishment considering the fare that’s been served on this trip so far. The watery soup has a sharp taste to it, making several people grimace. Over the noise of the ocean and the creak of the boat Gelik can be heard speaking to one of the crew, “You should make sure all the twine is hidden tonight or the rats may begin hanging themselves after a taste of this.” He pauses for a bite of soup, “And if you don’t have rats on your ship, no one will take you seriously as a sailor. And they’d be right not to.” The sailor laughs but his reply is lost as he moves away from Gelik to sit with some of the other crew.

Take a moment to introduce your characters--specifically in connection with the journey of the Jenivere (a description, where you boarded, what you've been doing on the journey, etc.). After that you can take some time to interact with each other, the crew and the other NPC's.

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7

Sitting on a crate on the portside deck, a gnome sat muttering to himself, seemingly lost in concentration. On his lap was a large, single-strapped leather satchel, through which the small figure was rummaging with great interest.

Every now and then he'd stop and hold up an item to the sunlight to get a better look: an ovoid glass vial with purple liquid, a paper packet stuffed with dried herbs, a jar of what looked like cinnamon shavings but smelled like antiseptic, and other various oddities. He'd take a moment to count the contents of each container, then mark it down on a page of parchment held down from the sea winds by a spherical clay object with a short fuse on the end of it.

"Short on basilisk's breath...just enough thileu bark for two more poultices...s'what I get for stopping to take a job right before boarding, soft old fool that I've become...nothing for it then."

He sketched something illegible onto the parchment and then began packing up his remaining items into the bag. The wind whipped up from the water again, and the smell of roots, herbs, and medicine hit the nostrils of everyone downwind from him.

He hefted the satchel up, threw the strap over one shoulder, and hopped down from the crate, where he stood and stretched with a crack of his joints.

"Damn," he cursed, wincing. "I must've been daft to hit the cobblestones again at this age. I'd been making good money in the Shackles too; no one needs a resident healer more often than the average working pirate."

He adjusted the wire rims of his spectacles on the brim of his nose.

"Still, no one knows better than a gnome that it's no good to stay in one spot too long; get too long in the tooth and the Bleaching will come for you, sure as sunrise. New sights, new sounds, that's what we need! I left Port Peril for a reason, and in all my years I've never seen the jungle yet. Bet I can squeeze another decade at least down there before I need to pick up stakes again. All those diseases and wild beasts, not to mention all the local herbs I've yet to add to the old repertoire; it shouldn't be hard for a feller who knows how to stitch a wound or mend a bone to find a place to ply his trade."

He stopped and blinked, looked around, and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Thinking out loud again. Eizzach Bitterbalm, you old goat, you're just over a hundred, that's far too young to act this senile!"

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

Magnimar. The City of Monuments. And great monuments they are. Malthu spent some hours studying the ancient statues and what inspiration brought someone to make them. While he didn't really learn much about their history, they were still fascinating to look at.

At long last, a messenger finally came for him. the high priest had some artifact that needed escorting to Eleder. As he was sworn to the service of Sarenrae and her church, he accepted this sacred duty and made way for the ship he was to meet.

The Jenivere was in port and getting ready to make sail. He made his way to the ship and met with Captain Kovack for any crewing needs. Malthu knew that his passage was paid for by the clergy, but that didn't stop him from applying as a rigger. That looked like it something he would like to try his hand at. The Captain seemed pleased at his level of willingness to be part of the crew since not as many seemed to have his level of eagerness for such a role.

The Captain accepted Malthu and put him to work. A day after he boarded the Jenivere, she set sail on her long journey.

It was discovered that he learned quickly as he applied himself to the tasks of being a rigger. He kept busy with his duties, and had a watchful eye when he was on deck. One never knew when something would happen.

It was during the second week of the voyage when he was up in the rigging as he usually was.

"One can see for miles! I can see why some people don't like such open space. Many want to feel big, and when out in nature like this they feel small and insignificant."

Anyone who casually observes Malthu is able to easily determine that he is enjoying himself immensely.

He brought his attention back to the ship and the crew around him. No sense in getting caught unawares. As he scanned the ship someone caught his eye so he focused on them.

"Something's wrong with that rigger. He is swaying just a bit too much as he walks. What in blazes is he doing with that rope? That knot won't hold the main sail!"

"Confound it. Make way below!" Malthu calls out as he quickly makes his way down to the deck. He quickly moves over to the drunken sailor and pushes him out of the way while retying the failed knot.

When he is done he turns to the man. "You. Come with me!" he says as he grabs the man by the collar and forcefully pulls him to go see the Boatswain.

"Boatswain! This man is not fit for duty. I just caught him attempting to tie off one of the ropes on the main sail, and not very well at that. I already fixed his blunder. He reeks of alcohol and can hardly stand. I leave him in your hands."

Malthu returns to his duties and climbs up into the rigging once more.

Wildborn Beast-Bonded Witch 1 | HP 8/8 {effects: none} | AC 12 Tch 12 FF 10 | F +1, R +2, W +4 | Init +4 | low-light vision, perc +2

So here I am !Kunat... From the Jungle to Bloodcove and now on a boat as large as a villiage on water that seems to go on forever. And we move without moving, as if standing on a tree in the wind! I did not know there was so much world to explore! And the different people! Different skins, some short, some tall, some even with horns! There is much to discover!

Xabala ate quietly in the galley, lost in her thoughts. Only a few other sailors were doing the same, one of them even still drunk from a recent binge, nursing another mug of ale and munching on some dried fruits. Bindi, Xabala's companion and familiar, was hopping about, climbing the walls and swinging along the rafters. The monkey paused in it's exploration when the drunken sailor made a clicking noise and held up a dried fruit, possibly as an offering. Bindi glanced over at Xabala but she seemed to remain intent on her own food. The monkey hopped down onto the table and approached the sailor cautiously. When it got close enough, it reached out for the fruit. The sailor smiled and then quickly pulled the fruit away, tossing it into his own mouth.

"Ye're a lil' slow ye rodent. Care te try yer luck agin?" he said with a smile, eliciting a few chuckles from his deckmates. The sailor offered another fruit to the monkey, and once again Bindi fell for the trick. Frustrated, the monkey hissed at the sailor, a warning certainly, but one the sailor ignored. The third time the fruit was offered, Bindi was faster than the sailor, biting his finger and snatching up the fruit as it was dropped. The monkey chittered at the sailor who was nursing his finger and grumbling.

"Why ye lil'...," the sailor raged taking a drunken swipe at the monkey. The first swing missed, but the second lumbering fist connected, sending Bindi tumbling and sliding across the table, caught by Xabala before it had fallen over the edge. Bindi shook itself out of its daze before climbing up Xabala's arm to rest on her shoulder, wrapping an arm about her head, seeking protection, as it hissed at the sailor.

"Why, sirrah, are you assaulting my friend here?" Xabala said, frowning at the man.

"Tha damned thing bit me!" the sailor growled.

"Do you mean, sirrah, before or after you had been taunting it with a piece of fruit?"

"I were just playin' with it and it bit me. Ye've got te keep that filthy thing on a rope or mayhap I'll have tha cook make some monkey stew!"

"I understand," Xabala said with an understanding nod. "You are the weak one, the runt, of this ship family of yours, so you need to focus your ire on one you assumed was beneath you. It must be a shock to learn that even Bindi is above you. After all, he got the fruit from you, despite your best efforts. Perhaps you may want to search for rodents in... the bilge you call it? Search there for those that you may outsmart."

The room was silent as the drunken sailor reddened with embarrassment and rage. Before he could act, however, the other sailors began to laugh uproarously. "She got ye good Cabe!" one of them called out. Realizing his position, the sailor sat back down, snarling and staring at his mug of ale.

As Xabala turned to leave, Bindi chittered at the sailor, waving one of its hands towards him. The sailor glanced up and snarled at the monkey but said nothing, instead lifting his mug for a drink. As Xabala stepped out of the room, the sound of spitting and retching came out of the galley as the sailor spat up his ale and fruit, the flavors now seemingly spoiled. Echoes of laughter from the other sailors resounded through the hall as she moved to head up on deck.

Nichelle drew eyes when she boarded in Ilizmagorti, lugging her equipment on with a cheerful grin and words of greeting for all the sailors she passed. The enthusiasm that she displayed was slightly out of place for the location, some said. Then again, she was having a jovial conversation with some of the passengers as the ship was pulling into port, and it was entirely possible that she was just one of those kinds of people; Cheerily optimistic despite everything, even a bit annoying in their good mood. She had to have come via one of the other ships, and where the Jenivere picked her up was just another stop for her. When asked about her reasons, she had a smile and joke for them all, making light of the fact that a girl her size was left unmolested in a lawless port.

Then, once aboard, she found her way to their rum stores, and the rumors stopped. Whatever it was that she added to that one barrel had all the hands offering her praise, and several other offers that she declined with the same cheerfulness she carried nearly everywhere. If there were any thoughts to making her the target of unruly behavior, the one time she did not tend to the liquor quelled those thoughts.

Naturally, Nichelle gravitated towards one of the other passengers, a red-haired human that also boarded the Jenivere in Ilizmagorti named Sasha. Since leaving Mediogalti Island, the woman’s somber demeanor has gradually faded, revealing a boisterous and optimistic personality. Needless to say, the two are often seen talking together, their personalities playing off of each other, occasionally to the dismay of the sailor that is the target of some good-natured mischief.

Tonight, after a couple of swallows of the soup, Nichelle decided to approach her rapidly-cooling food with all the grace of something best fit for an alchemy table. Her fast hands had let her "accidentally" acquire a few spices from the cook's stores, and she is intently alternating between adding pinches of something to it, and tasting it before making a face and adding more pinches of something else to it. Judging by the ongoing progression of her expressions, she was not making much headway.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

The first few days had been the worst. The memory of her sudden escape still fresh in Yanistah’s mind, she had tried her best to lose herself in the tasks she was given, but even that soon started to present a whole new set of difficulties of its own. Tying knots, hauling sails up and down, catching the right wind… as hard as she had tried, her only noticeable accomplishment had been perpetuating the stereotypes about Shoanti and sailing. That is, they don’t really mix.

So she decided to make up in eagerness what she lacked in talent. Never one to complain about being assigned to menial jobs (and actually quite happy to have an excuse to stretch her legs), she started taking up all sort of errands from crew and passengers alike. Soon, the sight of the swift-footed young woman carrying weights, climbing masts and almost effortlessly jumping from place to place had become a common occurrence on the deck. The little waking time that was left her she used to spend alone in the cargo hold, praying, meditating and, when not too exhausted by the day’s labor, keeping in shape through calisthenics and martial practice.

If there was something she realized she was good at, however, was using the stars to pinpoint the ship’s location and predicting weather patterns, a fact she attributed to the Shoanti blood stirring in her veins in response to her leaving the city’s closed walls to stare upon the boundless horizons of the sea, so similar to those that encircled the plains in northern Varisia where her people still roamed. That, combined with her keener-than-average sight, had also gained her a preferential position as a rigger, a duty she shared with a massive tiefling by the name of Malthu. That one, she had taken a liking to. First of all, being used to standing out because of her height, the fact she was making her look comparatively tiny was a welcome respite from a life spent feeling like a fish out of water. I guess awkwardness and normality are just a matter of who you spend your time with, she mused. But more importantly, the discovery that he too had received a holy calling in his life, by none other than the goddess Sarenrae, had made her feel a special bond towards her strange, jet-black companion.

As more people boarded the ship, she had begun to observe those that had picked her interest. There was that half-elven woman, Aerys Mavato, that had almost knocked out a drunken sailor hitting on her. Beautiful and fierce - she looks blessed by Falayna herself, she had thought, and for a short time Yanistah had pondered the idea of asking her if she would fancy some sparring. She eventually decided against it, though, as she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries by risking a misunderstanding. During one of their stops in the Mwangi expanse another half-half-elf had boarded the Jenivere, an exotic woman wearing tribal clothes the likes of which she had never quite seen, accompanied by a surprisingly intelligent-looking pet monkey (with whom Yanistah had been trying to strike up a friendship by regularly offering him food). She had also been most intrigued by the prisoner sequestered in the ship’s brig – though as of yet, any inquiry she had made regarding his crimes had been stonewalled. She didn’t quite know what to make of the jovial, dark-haired woman they picked up in Ilizmagorti, but she couldn’t deny that whatever she did to the rum, it made it finally taste like a mighty fine spirit instead of the watered down concoction they had been drinking until that point – a fact that she had made sure to compliment her on.

And those were just a few. Gnomes, a reclusive scholar, even a majestic creature she had learnt being called a merfolk, apparently equally at ease on land as she would have been in the water - What a bunch of interesting, strange people, gathered here in the middle of ocean, thousands of miles away from Magnimar! she pondered, as the Jenivere’s voyage was coming to an end.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

98… 99… 100.

The air in the Jenivere’s cargo hold was torrid, and Yanistah was already bathed in sweat as she kept practicing the same punch, over and over again, against a makeshift dummy she had clumsily crafted out of a couple of poles and sacks of rice. Well, at least I’m not losing my edge. Though if captain Kovack knew about the use I am making of his precious cargo, I’d probably end up marooned, she thought with a grin. Luckily, she knew the chances of the Chelaxian man walking all the way down to the ship’s underbelly were very slim, and the quite jovial first mate had agreed to close an eye on the whole matter.

(”I’m not a man to put himself between a lass and the object of her desire – especially not one who punches as hard as you. Now, if we could only find a way to turn all the pirates in the Shackles into sacks of rice, I’d say the Jenivere had never been better protected” she remembered him quipping, drawing a smile out of the usually reserved Shoanti.)

Her musings were interrupted by the call for dinner. Wiping away the sweat, she climbed the flight of stairs leading up to the upper deck and sat down in a corner with the rest of the crew, somberly sipping on some of Nichelle’s spiked rum while waiting for dinner to be served.

That girl knows what she’s doing, that’s for sure.

As usual, she wasn’t doing much fraternizing. Having always prized quiet observation above rowdy hobnobbing, she had been spending most of her meals silently eating by herself or with Malthu, and even when things had gotten a bit rambunctious, the occasional drunk sailor had known better than to pest the athletic woman. That evening being no different, Yanistah was allowing herself to slip into a contemplative mood.

Come tomorrow and the day after it, we will have reached Eleder in distant Sargava. A new life in a new world – the old one being thousands of miles behind. Falayna, my Lady, my body is your temple and my arm your tool – guide my path and hone them both to perfection, so that I may be up to the tasks you have set for me there.

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7

As the journey aboard the Jenivere stretched on, Eizzach had attempted to strike up some friendly conversation with the other boarders, with varying levels of success. Captain Kovack and his crew were typically too occupied with the day-to-day running of the ship to engage in much banter. He'd met a Shoanti rigger and had tried to recall his smattering of the native language with limited progress; he was sure he could recall it given time, but for now it remained on the tip of his tongue. He'd also caught he big ebon-skinned tiefling who worked as her partner making obeisances to Sarenrae in between his duties, and thought about striking up a conversation based on their shared faith, but the gnome knew from experience that different people approached worship of the same gods differently, as he'd found out to his detriment in Qadira when his somewhat casual approach to the religion was less than appreciated by the resident Cultists of the Dawnflower. Maybe later, then.

Among the other passengers, several seemed stridently determined to keep to keep to themselves. A half-elven woman who had boarded with him in Port Peril had gotten into an altercation with one of the sailors and and retreated to her bunk; he had not spoken with her since. A female scholar, and a fellow Varisian to boot, had likewise locked herself in her cabin with her books. He'd met a Tian man on deck who called himself Ishirou with whom he'd shared a few words, but the fellow seemed uninterested in extended talk and Eizzach had eventually left him to his own business.

Gelik Aberwhinge, on the other hand, was a relative breath of fresh air. Eizzach had struck up an instant like for the sharp-dressed gnome, and the two of them took turns over cups of rum passing the time relating stories of their respective travels, and although the healer couldn't quite match the other fellow's wit, he could at least appreciate it. Likewise, a red-haired human by the name of Sasha who had boarded in Ilizmagorti had seemed eager to speak with all comers, and had proven quite pleasant to be around. As life-long physician Eizzach had immediately made note of the missing pinky finger on the girl's left hand, but had figured it would be considered rude to draw attention to it unless Sasha did so first.

Speaking of the rum, after a few sips he'd realized that the drink had been spiked somehow, and word around the ship had been that another young woman who boarded in Ilizmagorti by the name of Crassior had done something to the rum stores to make them extra palatable. While the rum did indeed taste the better for it, Eizzach had been an alchemist for too long to be unaware of the fact that just because something tastes good doesn't mean that it's any good for you. That, plus a few disturbing recollections of a past stay in Ilizmagorti, prompted him to dump a certain powder into his drink as well as a litmus strip. He waited a few moments and withdrew the strip, observing the bluish color it had turned. It wasn't exactly poison (not much more than the alcohol had already contained, anyway), but the composition was too similar by half for his comfort. He resolved to find another drink for the remainder of the journey, and to keep an eye on the Crassior girl, just for caution's sake.

Of the remaining passengers were a halfling that the gnome had so far had minimal contact with and, of all things, a man in the ship's brig that the captain had given strict orders not to fraternize with, and a merfolk woman. Eizzach had never met a merfolk in person before, and idly wondered how much Aquan he knew and if it would be improper to try using it in the presence of someone he had just met. Probably better to avoid testing it out for now, he reasoned.

Male Halfling Sorcerer (Void-Touched) 1; HP 12/12; AC 13 (T 13, FF 11); Init +4; Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +3; Per +2;
1st: 3/4, Motes: 7/7

Most of you aren’t sure when you realized the odd Halfling with the black eyes was even on board. Vazio shows up for the evening meal, and then spends the rest of the night on the deck of the ship, staring into the night sky. On occasion, he can be heard muttering to himself. His days are spent in his quarters, and he tends not to interact much with the other passengers or crew.

One incident that happened early in the voyage explains why the crew does not bother him. He had just picked up his bowl from the cook during the evening meal, and was making his way to a table in the corner to eat. One of the crew at a table he was passing reached out, and said “Hey boy! Go get me another bowl of stew!” Vazio paused and stared at the man, while one of the other sailors sitting next to the first said, “I think he’s one of the paying passengers. Leave him alone.”

The first crew member scoffed, and said, “The quality of the current crop of passengers has certainly gone down lately. Look at this one. I bet he’s a runaway from one of those Chelish plantations. I bet his master would pay good money to get him back.”

“Don’t let the captain hear you say that. A payin’ customer is a payin’ customer, and the captain don’t brook no disrespect.”

“If the captain was smart, he would take the fare and then turn the slave back over to his owner, earning a reward. If I was smart, I would do that.”

The loud mouth’s companion was staring at Vazio, who was staring intently back at the wind-bag. He looked around, realized that Vazio was still there, and tried to joke it off. “I was only joshin’ ya’. Don’t take no offense, little guy.” Vazio said nothing, but walked over to a seat in the corner and finished his dinner.

Later that night, the sailor who had mouthed off was assigned to watch duty. Normally a dependable hand, this night he fell asleep, and was discovered when the bosun was walking his evening rounds. Falling asleep on watch in pirate infested waters puts the entire boat at risk, which the bosun explained in explicit and colorful language as he thrashed the sailor soundly. Vazio was one of the few witnesses to the event. He exhibited no emotion during the beating, but watched until the final blow fell. After that, the crew gave Vazio a wide berth.

Vazio has kept mostly to himself since then, but has been watching the crew and passengers closely. Most are just ordinary people, but there are a few he has kept his eye on. He could sense a divine presence in the large tiefling crew member, but also great conflict. There was a gnome who had some skill, but much of his power was rooted in the plants he kept in his bag, and not inherent within himself. There was a human woman who boarded about halfway through the journey. She had done something to the ship’s rum supply for some unknown reason. Again, no real power, but knowledgeable. And then there was the half-elven woman with the monkey, who had just recently boarded. Vazio could sense power in her. She was one to watch.

I was hoping Lalaru would be able to post before this . . . but with a busy weekend, it's understandable. She can just catch up after.

The chatter of sailor's and wooden plates on wooden tables seems louder in the enclosed space of the galley today. Everyone's ready to get off the ship. Some more than others. In the end, the meal seems accompanied by some bit of chaos.

Gelik approaches the silent Yanistah, bringing his bowl of waterey soup. He begins talking, though she's given no sign of acknowledging him, You seem very pensive today. I wouldn't recomend it. Sure it's important to think, but being too pensive often leads one to having a conscience. And I find the whole idea of consciences deplorable. He winks, Did I ever tell you the story about how thinking too much nearly lost me my left hand? Gelik pauses, but doesn't give enough time to answer. I already know I haven't, he says with a wave of his hand, A man like me has to keep track of the stories he's told and the ones he hasn't. Besides, I just made this one up. So I know I haven't told it before. The gnome pauses, lifting the soup bowl to his lips and taking a large gulp. He shakes his head, then breaks right into the story.

As usual Sasha makes her way to Nichelle. Any luck? she asks, a hint of hope in her voice as she watches Nichelle add her new ingredients to the soup. At the look in Nichelle's face though, Sasha gives an exaggerated frown. She puts a spoonful of soup in her mouth and the frown changes to a grimace. It's allright Nichelle, I'm not sure anything could be done with this stuff.

All over the room, despite the terrible soup, laughter and conversation rings. Some keep to themselves, like the halfling Vazzio, others seek out conversation, like Eizzach. But nearly everyone is there.

DM Rolls:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

It might have been the conversations with Sasha distracting you or the terrible taste of the soup, but just too late you realize why none of your additions are acting as they should. Something else has already been added. But you can already feel it starting to take effect. Too late to identify it.

The edges of your vision starts to blur. Gelik's loud story can be heard going in a strange direction, He picked up my . . . hand and . . . stuck it in his . . . boot. . . . The gnome trails off and tumbles backwards off the bench. All over the room people are falling over. Sasha barely misses landing in her bowl of soup, Aerys puts her weight into the crewman next to her, and they both go toppling off the bench. Your vision continues to fuzz and sound fades until everything is darkeness and silence.

More coming. A lot happening.

Time passes. It could be an hour, could be a day. It's unclear how much. There's a confused jumble, small bits of noise breaks through occasionally, yelling, waves, fighting.

Senseation comes back to Malthu first. You can hear the sound of the ocean crashing into rocks, a strange clicking noise nearby, Click, click . . . click. The chattering of animals off in the distance. Feeling comes back with the warmth of the sun shining down. Under your hands is the rough feel of sand. And there's an unknown pressure pushing at one of your legs. Suddenly the pressure turns needle sharp.

Your eyes snap open and you look down at a strange creature, some sort of combination between a lobster and a scorpian, which has just taken a nip at your leg. It scuttles back slightly as you sit up. Your stomach does a flip with the movement. Down the beach from you, the other passengers, as well as some of the crew, seem to be lined up. Three more of those creatures are prodding experimentally at the unconcious bodies. Ten feet in the other direction is a large pile of gear. You recognize some of your things piled haphazardly in the pile.

Malthu is the only one awake at this point, but I am rolling Init for all. I'll let you know when you wake.

Eizzach: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Malthu: 1d20 ⇒ 2
Xabala: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Nichelle: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
Yanistah: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Vazzio: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Lalaru: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
Creatures: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

Init Order:
Before: Vazzio, Yanistah, Nichelle
After: Malthu, Lalaru, Xabala, Eizzach

Malthu took 1 point of damage and you are sickened.

DM Rolls:
1d6 ⇒ 6
1d5 ⇒ 4
1d4 ⇒ 2
1d3 ⇒ 1

The creature scuttles away from Malthu, seeming to prefer its prey not moving. It moves down the line and quickly takes a bite from Eizzach. The other creatures bite into those that they've been standing over, Lalaru, Yanistah and Vazzio.

Eizzach, Lalaru, Yanistah and Vazzio each take 1 point damage, wake up and are sickened. Malthu, Lalaru and Eizzach are next. You are all prone, you have armor and things you would wear (Such as spell component pouches), but all other gear is in the pile. I am at work now, so I can't get a map up, I'll get one after work though.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

Yanistah was still lost in her thoughts when the sound of an increasingly high-pitched voice gradually emerged from the indistinct chatter filling the room and brought her back to reality. It didn’t took her long to pinpoint its source in the gnome, Gelik Aberwhinge, who was presently sitting next to her and appeared right in the middle of favoring her with one of those winding, convoluted stories of his.

With any hope of making any sense of the eccentric gnome’s rambling already lost, she quickly found herself unable to chime in into the apparently seamless river of words flowing from his mouth.

Endure silently and hope his attention shifts to another crewmate sooner rather than later, that’s all you can do now, Yani she sighed inwardly, as she kept nodding in apparent approval at her loquacious companion’s tales.

Two things seemed particularly odd, however. First, her soup tasted particularly foul – even for the notoriously low standards of Ship’s Cook Terillo. Nichelle must have been experimenting again. Well, you can’t succeed every single time, I guess. And second, even listening casually she could notice Gelik’s story was getting more and more incoherent by the minute.

Oh, and the room. The room was spinning.

Poison? she thought, as she watched crewmates and passengers alike falling over all around her. She tried to summon all of her discipline and willpower to resist its effects, but just as darkness engulfed her, she quickly realized it was to no avail.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

Her head aching, Yanistah wakes up to a sensation of searing pain in her leg. She soon discovers she has more pressing problems than a bad case of hangover, though – she was about to become the meal of some strange kind of sea creature!

Her fighting reflexes kicking in, she tries her best to stand up, all the while fighting a two-front battle to both evade the creature’s attacks and keep the contents of her nauseous stomach inside her. Once up, she attempts to stomp the creature with an axe kick.

She uses a move action to stand up from prone, triggering an AoO. After that, provided she’s still at positive HPs, she attacks the creature as her standard action.

unarmed strike: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Male Halfling Sorcerer (Void-Touched) 1; HP 12/12; AC 13 (T 13, FF 11); Init +4; Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +3; Per +2;
1st: 3/4, Motes: 7/7

At this evening's meal, there was a nervous energy in the air. Like everyone else on board, Vazio was ready for the trip to end. Grabbing his bowl, he sat down in his usual corner of the galley, and took his first bite of stew. He paused and grimmaced at the slop in front of him.

Ugh. Thank the heavens this trip is almost over. Many more days of this garbage, and we'll all be dead.

Sighing, Vazio ladels another glob of the stuff in his mouth. He looks around the room as he chews on a particularly tough piece of gristle. He notices several people starting to act odd, as if they had started in on the rum a bit early tonight. As he ponders the situation, the drug starts to hit him.

That's odd. People seems to be nodding off. It's way too early for that. Wait a mintue, what's going on here? No, no, no, no, no, NO!...

Vazio tries to rise, to get out on the deck, but he only makes it about three steps before collapsing to the floor.

Male Halfling Sorcerer (Void-Touched) 1; HP 12/12; AC 13 (T 13, FF 11); Init +4; Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +3; Per +2;
1st: 3/4, Motes: 7/7

Vazio awakes into blackness. This is not the comforting blackness of the void, however. This is an artificial blackness induced by some outside agent. Vazio's first instinct is concern, which then quickly morphs into anger. Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his leg, and feels the venom enter his blood stream. His eyes snap open, and quickly focus on the source of the pain. Focusing his will, he unleashes a blast of energy at the creature. A shower of black motes descends on it, rocking it back, and leaving a light rime of frost on its shell.

Black Motes: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 cold damage, Relfex DC 15 to negate

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7

During the nightly meal, Eizzach carries on as usual, content to listen to the stories of the more outgoing passengers and interjecting his own commentary here or there. When the rum is served, he discreetly but pointedly asks for water instead, giving a half-second glance at Nichelle before quickly returning to his business.

However, partway through the meal his vision begins to blur and he starts to feel light-headed. Immediately he suspects the rum, but through the haze he recalls that he didn't have any. To hammer home the point even further, he sees Nichelle slump to the floor along with the others.

In his last few moments of consciousness, the puzzled gnome watches the spoon fall from his hand and drop into his bowl. If it wasn't the rum, then what--

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7


His head pounding, Eizzach jerks awake and looks down at his leg, only to see some beastly vermin scuttling next to it. The sharp feeling of pain and a spreading feverish sensation, combined with one look at the creature's stinger brings to mind one diagnosis:


He reaches to his hip for his sickle in order to strike at it, but finds it missing, as well as his bag. A quick pat-down reveals that he still has enough enough reagents and catalysts on his person to craft bombs, but would be unable to throw them at the lobster-thing without exposing himself to attack, or more alarmingly, setting himself on fire.

Scuffling his feet in the sand, Eizzach does the only sensible thing that he can do in this situation: he jumps up and tries to run away.

Move action to stand up from prone, triggering an AoO.
Another move action to move away 20 feet (no gear equals full movement speed) straight in a relatively safe direction away from my creature or any other enemies; I would prefer to see the map first and pick a location, but I don't want to hold up the round. This also provokes an AoO.

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

When it is Malthu's turn this will be his action.

"I've never been here before. The beach? Whose idea was this? I'm not here to relax. Look at all the silly people go by with their drinks. Pinna Coolada? What sort of concoction is that? I can feel the cool surf wash over my feet, the sting of the jellyfish on my legs....."

His eyes are suddenly open wide and the lobster thing begins to move off when he stirs.

Malthu reaches out and takes a swipe at the creature.

"Where are you going? I am in the mood for a treat tonight you scalawag!"

Move action, standing.

Standing, Malthu goes after the crustacean.

Claw Swipe: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

Apparently he can't seem to hit very well. Topping that, he seems to be moving unsteady-like.

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7
Malthu wrote:
When it is Malthu's turn this will be his action.

Neglected to put this in my own post, but the same here. Eizzach's actions will resolve after the creatures in the initiative order.

I guess I wasn't clear above. It was Eizzach, Lalaru and Malthu's turn, just because of when people woke etc. Also, just finished the map.

Eizzach stands up and the creature swipes at him with a claw but misses completely. Eizzach is able to set himself in a good defensive posture.

Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 1

Malthu stands as well, but the creature nearest him is too busy with Eizzach to notice. Malthu's claws rip into the small creature, hurting it badly.

Damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

For now, I'm going to bot Lalaru to move on.

Lalaru stands and the creature in front of her tries to strike but misses. Lalaru makes her way over to the pile of gear.

Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 12

Yanistah stands up, and the she swings for the creature as the creatures claw tries for her. But neither are able to make contact.

1d20 ⇒ 4

Vazio's blast of energy crisps the creature in front of him, and it collapses.

1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

The sound of fighting breaks through Xabala's unconsciousness and she wakes. You are also sickened.

One of the creatures tries to strike at Eizzack

1d20 ⇒ 17

The other one near Eizzack scuttles to the side and bites at the unconscious form of Nichelle.

Nichelle takes 1 point of damage and wakes. You are sickened.

The last creature tries to strike at Yanistah. One claw manages to graze her leg, opening a small gash, but the other hits only air and its stinger buries itself in the sand.

1d20 ⇒ 15
1d2 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1
1d20 ⇒ 4
1d2 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
1d20 ⇒ 12
1d2 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0

Everyone is now awake. Malthu, Lalaru, Xabala, Eizzach, your turn.

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7

Eizzach curses and swiftly removes a set of reagents from his clothing. In a matter of seconds a clay sphere with a fuse at the end of it rests in his hands.


Sweating through the effort of trying to aim while poisoned, the alchemist winds up as the fuse ignite, and hurls the bomb just past the creature menacing Nichelle.

I'm not entirely certain how to describe this without a labeled grid (B-4, D-7, etc.) so hopefully this will work: I want to target the grid intersection on the upper left of the square containing the lobster-creature facing Nichelle, so that my bomb's 5-foot radius splash damage hits the creature and not Nichelle herself. This is a standard action that provokes an AoO; I will have 4 bombs remaining for the day after this attack.

The rules for targeting a grid intersection with a thrown splash weapon to deal splash damage can be found here.

Bomb attack roll {sickened}: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17 vs. AC 5 for targeting a grid intersection.
Bomb splash damage (if hit): 5 fire damage to all four squares in the radius of the grid intersection.

IF someone walks into one of the squares that would be affected by this attack before my turn, I WILL NOT ATTACK so as not to hit them and will instead take Total Defense.

Sasha Nevah wrote:
"It's allright Nichelle, I'm not sure anything could be done with this stuff."

Pouting, Nichelle looked over at Sasha, annoyed at her inability to improve even a simple solution such as this. "But it's horrible, Sasha! Even on accident should it be this ba--", a realization hits her and wide-eyed, she looked around at the others succumbing, her mind protesting the unfairness of the occurrence. 'Aw c'mon! I just left the island!! "Saasssshaaaaa.. itsh..craaaap." The words didn't want to come out right, but that was no reason for the deck to come at her so--

=========== ===========
HP 8/9, AC 15/13/12

Nichelle always hated the waking up part. The mix of returning mental faculties and that moment in pausing once she tried to recognize her body again was disorienting, and made her nauseous. She always compared it to swimming.. swimming with seasickness, where once you surface you still have that half-second where you are making sense of everything. The jab of a needle did not reassure her, and she reflexively moved her leg out of the way, sending a pathetic kick in the direction of the person that had jabbed her. "M'no'under'ny'pokinme'gain..Quiddit.", came the petulant grumble. She would just go back to sleep until she felt better.

Eizzach Bitterbalm wrote:

The shout was what seemed a bit odd, and that it came just as she was rolling over onto the sand bed made her frown, snuggling her cheek into the pillow. "Mmnnnmn..'mclear..g'way." Why did she have to be the test subject again? She hated being poisoned, and they could have at least let her take off the wet scarf before they poisoned her and her clothes were hot and scratchy and sandy--

Her eyes opened with start, immediately wincing at the sun and sand and THING that was at her feet!! "Yaaa--!", she shouted, a strange combination of hiccup and burp slipping from her mouth while scrambling across hot sand away from the thing before her body reminded her that she would rather be sick at the moment. Indeed, her stomach proceeding to empty itself from her nonstandard position was certainly not the most flattering of sights, and it was only the training that kept her on her feet(albeit in a low crouch), fishing for the dagger that should have been in her boot. The contents of her stomach were thankfully absorbed by the sand, though the smell was never a pleasant thing and just made her a bit greener.

"--urp--aww..", she moaned, realizing her scarf just got dirtier. Why was it that in the most dire of situations, it was the little things that always got noticed? Her free hand pulled her hair out of her face, so she could see everything better and noticed that everyone was here, if not awake. Spitting to the side, she grimaced.
Move Action to scramble 5ft (provokes), Stand up

Eizzach's bomb flies to the side of the creature and a large BOOM echoes across the beach. The sea-scorpion crumples, falling to the ground, slightly crisp.

Lalaru, Xabala, Malthu

Wildborn Beast-Bonded Witch 1 | HP 8/8 {effects: none} | AC 12 Tch 12 FF 10 | F +1, R +2, W +4 | Init +4 | low-light vision, perc +2

Xabala groggily opens her eyes, memories of the strange soup coming back to her as she blinks up into the sun. "Bindi?" she calls out to her monkey before noticing the strange crab-like creatures.

Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

Seeing how they seem to be attacking the other survivors ? on the beach, she calls upon the spirits and focuses her eye upon the nearest one.

Standard: Evil Eye hex (DC 14 Will save or -2 to attacks for 7 rounds; save = 1 round)

The half-Ejukae then stands and steps away.

Move: Stand
Free: 5' step away

With a teasing wave and flutter of eyelashes towards anyone she caught staring too long the Merfolk wiled her hours waiting for the Jenivere to pull in by causing embarrassment in those voyeurs, either her announcement to them with her body language that there staring had been caught or more so to those brave or arrogant to approach and proposition her only to be turned away to the jeers of the crowd due to insufficient funds.

Finally boarding the vessel she happily waved and bowed at every passenger and crew as she made her way to her room to store her stuff. Content in putting away everything she had overpacked she spent the rest of the day exploring the ship as much as she was allowed, for despite her living her whole life in the waters and in a port city she had never once set her tail upon a ship's deck. Lost in her own explorations she would later regret not getting to meet as much as the crew as possible, for when the ship finally set sail she realized she was struck with quite a misfortune.

As the ship rocked slightly by the waves she had put her unease to dimply being a product of anxiety and excitement but the further out to sea they got she soon found herself overcome with crippling nausea. Ironic that a creature native to the oceans blue would fall to seasickness so quickly once upon a man made vessel that rode the very same waves she called home.

Thus her stay was mostly relegated to sleeping in her room and spending hourly intervals bent over the side of the ship with a decreasingly emptier and emptier stomach. Regardless of this setback she still pushed on and performed her songs nightly to the best of her slightly addled ability. "I cannot drink, I cannot swim, and I spend all of my bedtime alone. I am a disgrace to Merfolk everywhere. But please allow me to soothe your souls with my siren song, lest you flense my flesh in an ill gotten attempt at immortality." is how she would half-jokingly announce her entrance to the side of the diner they had cleared away to allow her room to perform.

After one such performance after one such day in which she hadn't felt quite as ill as the rest of her journey she decided to try a chance at the Cook's work in an attempt to fill her long empty stomach. Not even notice the dizzying atmosphere of her fellow ship goers steadily loosing themselves to whatever had been added to the soup she happily takes a few sips from her bowl before musing aloud. "This isn't half bad! Could use some s..." is all she manages before her head makes quick friends with the table before the rest of her body goes limp and flops to the floor.

"Mrrn.. nuu, that costs extra..." she mumbles in her unconsciousness before yelping wide awake as the pain of the creature tearing into her flesh drags her back to the waking world. Rolling a bit a panic to disparage the creature away from her person she quickly makes her way over to the equipment like to retrieve her rapier, fully intending to deliver stabby shaped vengeance upon her accoster.

Move Action: Pick up weapon.
Second Move Action: return to crab thingy.

1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

The creature shrinks back from the gaze of Xabala, but manages to shakes off most of the effect. She steps back, out of the creatures reach, and a familiar chittering comes from behind.

Bindi approaches, holding up a handful of leaves, yellow dock leaves, something you've used often in healing.

These creatures are called ochre eurypterids. They are small sea predators. Normally they wouldn't attack anything as large add a human, they must have been pretty hungry to try this. These creatures can sense tremors in the ground, and have a light poison in their singers.

The final creature scuttled side to side as Lalaru approaches, sword in hand.

Malthu's turn, then we'll start round three.

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

On the map, I am going to guess that the lobsters with the red X through them means they are dead. Please correct me if I am wrong.

Malthu quickly moves to the next live one he sees and swipes at it.

Claw Attack: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17

Damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

I moved Malthu next to the only live one that I could see.

"We shall feast tonight! Who likes braised lobster thing?"

That is correct.

The creature falters, nearly falling but it is able to maintain it's stance. The claw wounds in it's side seem to be extremely deep.

Alright Round 3. Yani, Vazio and Nichelle (Nichelle has already made her move)

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

"Well, it can't be much worse than Rambar's cooking" Yani replied, invigorated by the sight of her companions alive and fighting.

"This one's my treat"

flurry of blows: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
flurry of blows: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17
damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

I'm subtracting 2 points of damage due to being sickened - am I interpreting the rules correctly?

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6
Yanistah "Yani" Stands-Tall wrote:

"Well, it can't be much worse than Rambar's cooking" Yani replied, invigorated by the sight of her companions alive and fighting.

"This one's my treat"

[dice=flurry of blows]1d20+1
[dice=flurry of blows]1d20+1

I'm subtracting 2 points of damage due to being sickened - am I interpreting the rules correctly?

You are correct.

"Sickened wrote:
The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.

"I suspect you're right."

The last creature crumples under Yanistah's blows.

Yes, thank you for reminding me. I think we missed that on a couple of the attacks, though I think we'd still end up with about the same result.

Now that the creatures are no longer a threat, you have a moment to take in your surroundings. You can see you are in a natural cove, sand moving up to cliff sides as it heads out to sea. To the south, a wall of green rises in the form of a dense jungle filled with a cacophony of life. And to the north the endless sea stretches on. Off to the east, the sun is barely rising.

Down the beach, five other passengers of the Jenivere lie still unconscious, though some of them seem to be stirring.

DC 10 Perception:
About a half mile up the east coast, you can see the remains of a ship, wrecked on the rocks. The familiar sails and shape of the ship suggest that it is the Jenivere.

DC 10 Knowledge (Nature), DC 15 Heal check or DC 15 Craft (Alchemy):
You notice a strange aftertaste similar to nutmeg. That, along with the sick feeling and large section of time missing from your memories are a clear sign of Oil of Taggit poisoning.

Beat the above check by 5:
Judging by how long you were unconscious, you would guess that you consumed a very large amount of the poison.

DC 12 Knowledge (Geography) or Profession (Sailor):
Judging by the course you were taking before the strange dinner, as well as the view of the distant horizon, it is likely that you're on an island called Smuggler's Shiv.

The spoilers below this may be attempted only after you know where you are (whether by being told or succeeding on the above check), and require a separate check from the one above. Only one check can be made and reveals all knowledge below your result.

Knowledge (Geography, History or Local) or Profession (Sailor) DC 10:
Smuggler’s Shiv is a notorious island north of Eleder. It’s not shown on most maps, but is rightfully feared by those who ply the waters of Desperation Bay. The island is named not only for the knife-like shape of its coastline, but for its uncanny habit of wrecking ships that draw too near—mostly smugglers eager to avoid detection by Sargava’s navy.

Knowledge (Geography, History or Local) or Profession (Sailor) DC 13:
It’s commonly believed that the shores of Smuggler’s Shiv are haunted by the ghosts and ghouls of the sailors who have died on the jagged rocks and reefs surrounding the island. These rumors are supported by reports of several failed attempts to establish long-lasting colonies on the remote island.

Knowledge (Geography, History or Local) or Profession (Sailor) DC 16:
When Sargava was first settled, Chelish engineers erected a lighthouse on the Shiv’s southwest shore. The light was intended to warn approaching ships of the dangerous waters and, eventually, was to have been the first building in a small colony. The light and all plans for colonization were abandoned just before completion amid rumors of curses, haunts, and cannibalism.

Knowledge (Geography, History or Local) or Profession (Sailor) DC 20:
Rumors hold that a group of shipwrecked Chelish soldiers, survivors of an attempted Thrune invasion of Sargava some 70 years ago, were stranded on the island. The rumors claim that they degenerated into a cannibalistic society, and that their descendants scour the isle’s shores for shipwreck victims to add to their meals.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 - 2 ⇒ (17) + 5 - 2 = 20
Knowledge (Geography): 1d20 + 3 - 2 ⇒ (12) + 3 - 2 = 13
Knowledge (Geography): 1d20 + 3 - 2 ⇒ (6) + 3 - 2 = 7
Upon seeing the wrecked remains of the Jenivere Lalaru vigorously shakes her fist at it while shouting in glee "Ha! Go to hell sicky ship!... Oh no wait that's bad..."

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

I'll only attempt the DC 10 knowledge check due to being untrained

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21

I forgot to deduct 2 points if we're still sickened - though the results shouldn't change

Poison... I knew it was poison!

Yani tries to make sure everyone's alright, then goes to check on the other passengers.

"I'm afraid our soups were all laced with poison - but by whom? And why?"

Yanistah "Yani" Stands-Tall wrote:
I forgot to deduct 2 points if we're still sickened - though the results shouldn't change

Ah yes, knew I forgot something.

As you slow down, resting after all that's happened, the sickness fades.

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

First checks.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

Profession: Sailor: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Second checks.

Profession: Sailor: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

"I do believe we may be stuck here for a while. This island is Smuggler's Shiv."

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

In the meanwhile, she starts looking for signs of other survivors. In particular, she's extremely suspicious of the nearby pile of gear, whose presence seems to rule out the possibility of them merely having been cast ashore by a fortuitous current.

Tides don't wash things ashore in orderly piles. Whoever did this, he was surely trying to help. But if so, where is he? Is one of them merely pretending to be unconscious?

After a while, she voices the first part of her suspicions out loud, keeping any accusations to herself for the time being.

Searching for signs of others? DC 15 Survival:
You find a set of humanoid footprints leading to and from the water. As well there are a number of furrows leading to where you woke.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

Survival: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

Hey! I found seashells!

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

Malthu begins gathering what remains of his gear and starts looking around at the other survivors that made it on shore and the beach nearby.

Survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

"Odd. Someone helped us here. Or stole something. Judging by the tracks there is definitely a person out and about."

"I'm going to see where these tracks lead. Who wants to go with me?

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

"You've found something? I'm coming."

"Lead on Tiny!" Lalaru happily chirps as she falls in slithering behind the Tiefling.

It's a short trip, a few feet to the water's edge. The tracks go only from this spot in the water, back up to where you all were lying only a little bit ago and back down again.

Female Human (Shoanti) Monk 1 (Martial Artist) | HP 10/10 {effects: none} | AC 14 (Tch 14 FF 12) | F +4, R +4, W +4 | Init +2 | Perc +6

"It looks like there are no other tracks apart from those going into the sea. Whoever left them, didn't venture further inland but is either among us or back on the Jenivere" Janistah muses, as if talking to herself. Suddenly, her tone grows more urgent "Do you think there might still be other survivors onboard the ship?"

Male Halfling Sorcerer (Void-Touched) 1; HP 12/12; AC 13 (T 13, FF 11); Init +4; Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +3; Per +2;
1st: 3/4, Motes: 7/7

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Knowledge(nature): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8 Stars I know. Islands, not so much.

After kicking the remains of the crab-thing away from himself, Vazio slowly rises to his feet. Looking around, he takes stock of the situation. He spots the remains of the ship off down the beach, and takes count of the other people in the area. Spotting Nichelle, Vazio advances, pointing at her in an agitated manner.

You! Human! What is the meaning of this? What did you put into our food?! What is your game?!

Nichelle, relieved that the creatures were killed seconds after she awoke, stumbled over to the other passengers to see how they fared. She recognized Aerys and Sasha, and the others she had seen around the ship, except for one of them.. Still, she went to check up on them, to see if they were still breathing, but doing it a bit hastily, since she was fighting the growing urge to throw herself into the sea to clean up a bit. While the others were examining the footprints and tracks, she wanted to make sure none of the others were dead.

"Wake up? C'mon, don't be dead..", Nichelle was going down the line, slapping the unconscious ones and shaking them to see if that would rouse them. By the time she got to the end of the line of unconscious people, she was looking longingly at the nearby water. "I swear I'm going to come back and drip on y--"

Vazio Tanzer wrote:

...Spotting Nichelle, Vazio advances, pointing at her in an agitated manner.

You! Human! What is the meaning of this? What did you put into our food?! What is your game?!

Nichelle stopped and blinked at the advancing gnome with a bit of a surprised and confused look, having been intent on making certain that the others weren't dead. Both her eyebrows were bobbling up and down as she flickered between a confused frown and a bit of disbelief that she was being accosted by a short survivor. Her expression flickered back and forth as she considered several responses from flippant to menacing, settling for "cluelessly surprised". "Uhm.. 'get clean as fast as possible..?'", she hesitantly responded, not quite sure of the order of questioning as she pointed to the water line. "..Race you to the water?"

Then his second question registered, and her face took on an indignant expression, standing up with her hands on her hips to bend over and look down on the gnome. "I didn't put anything in anyone's food but mine!", she protested. "That it was poisoned before I touched it is not my fault!"

It was only then that she realized she was shouting, and looked up at the others with a bit of a worried and guilty look, to see if they had heard their exchange before trying to backpedal a bit hastily. "..notthatIwasgoingtopoisonanyoneIswear!"
Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Sense Motive @>21:
The bluff was in the clueless look that she had given him in the "cluelessly surprised" was definitely faked.

HP 9/10 AC 13 | T 10 | FF 13 | CMD 15 | F +4 | R +0 | W +4 | Init +0 | Per +6

Malthu take notice of the halfling and his approach to the human. She is quick to defend herself from the verbal attack, though, he steps in for other reasons.

"She's good. That is going to be useful when we need to talk our way out of something."

Drawing up to his full height, Malthu marches over and places himself between the two. Facing the halfling, he speaks.

"No. She has not committed any act against you. We are stranded here and need to stick together to survive. The more we act in everyone's best interest increases our chances we have to live."

"No fighting." he says sternly in his deep, almost inhuman voice.

Male Middle-Aged Gnome Alchemist (Chirurgeon) 1 | HP 10/11 {effects: none} | AC 16 Tch 13 FF 14 | F +2, R +4, W +2 | Init +2 | low-light vision, perc +7

Craft Alchemy {sickened}: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Once the threat of the creatures had been elminated Eizzach took stock of the group's symptoms.

"Based on the aftertaste of nutmeg along with the feeling of sickness, as well as the large section of time missing from our memories," he diagnosed, "I'd say we'd been slipped a pretty large amount of Oil of Taggit."

After retrieving his gear from the pile, it was determined that the creature's venom would run it's course with some rest.

Malthu wrote:
"I do believe we may be stuck here for a while. This island is Smuggler's Shiv."

"Never heard of it," the gnome replied. "Can't say the name sounds very inviting, though."

Malthu wrote:
"I'm going to see where these tracks lead. Who wants to go with me?

Eizzach shook his head.

"I'll stay here and look after the others. You folks go on ahead, but don't stray too far."


After the altercation between Vazio and Nichelle, and the subsequent breaking up of hostilities by Malthu, Eizzach gets up from his tending of the other passengers.

"You're wasting your breath anyway," he says to the halfling. "I'd tested the rum earlier in the voyage, and whatever she added wasn't all that dangerous, so I doubt she'd bother starting with Oil of Taggit just now. And why would she poison herself along with us, especially since she came to after the rest of us? Any one of us could have ended her life, or at least tied her up before she had awoken; it would be too big a risk."

He removed his glasses and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

"No, I think the young lady is innocent, at least in this particular instance. The real questions are, if she didn't do it, who did, and why, and where are they now?"

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