GM Zahmahkibo's "Murder on the Throaty Mermaid"

Game Master Zahmahkibo

Heal aid another for Gilroy 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1

Errr... could have been a sword, right?

Heal (Aid Another): 1d20 ⇒ 17

"No, no, far too small to be any sword I know of. The size and narrowness of the wound, as well as how they are clustered together, indicates a dagger or similar weapons."

Azeban supports Gilroy's conclusion, but adds no new discoveries.

Decide on the next area of the ship you would like to investigate.

We need to start interviewing the crew - find out who had the watch - who was off duty and on.

"Aren't we figuring that the elves on deck were a distraction so that another one or two of them could sneak in here and kill the ambassador, or is it really just a big coincidence?"

No coincidence there I think but our interviews will show much

"So then we shall check the crew's cabin first?"

"We can't rule out an inside job. The fact that the door was either unlocked with a key or left open indicates whoever it was was well-prepared for this task and had information beforehand."

Azeban takes some time to wrap Sephriel's body respectfully in what sheets he can find. "I'd suggest the first interviews to be with whoever was supposed to be awake or on watch at this time."

With no objections to Toshizo and Boram's suggestion, the party trundles off to the crew cabin--a rather short trundling, since it lies directly without the crime scene.

The cramped cabin is jammed full of rickety cots and theradbare hammocks and smells of dank, dank body odor. Each bunk has a small footlocker nearby where the occupants keep their personal belongings. While all members of the crew use this room, the only current occupant is the Throaty Mermaid’s medic, the Besmaran cleric Killik. The healer rests in his cot, staring into space, either ignoring or failing to notice your entrance.

"I will join in the questioning in case some are reluctant to answer. I tend to make people less reluctant..."

"Someone ask him questions. I'll check the footlockers, maybe I'll find the dagger that killed the ambassador, or at least some clues." Boram checks each footlocker for traps.
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
If a trap is found.
Disable Device: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

"Right," Gilfroy says, going up to the man, planting his hands on his hips and looking up at his face.

"Hello. I was wondering what you could tell us about what happened in there. How long have you been in this room, and were you here when the sea elves were trying to board the ship?

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (6) + 13 = 19

Your help will be most helpful - It will reflect well on you and ship if you assist us

Aid Another for Gilfroy 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11

While they ask the healer questions, Azeban stays behind and looks around the room with a discerning eye for anything of note.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

When the man replies, Azeban attempts to ascertain his truthfulness.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

The scruffy priest rolls over in his bunk to face Gilroy and Toshizo. He snorts phlegmatically.

"I like me reflection best in gold," he snips. "An' I'm losin' investments every moment I'm jawin' with yer crowd." The Besmaran pauses a moment. His fingers twitch in succession, as if counting off.

"Ten," he spits. "Each. But I expect you'll find my words worth more'n double."

Boram does not detect any traps on any of the lockers.

So 10 from me and 10 from my short friend here is it?.

He turns himself away from the man and weighs his purse carefully and then pulls out 10 gold coins.

10 is here. He lays the gold just out of arms reach.

Now, please, share, and the coin is yours.

"An' the rest o' your lot," Killik nods to the rest of your party.

Social skills will usually avail further options during this scenario.

Thats a fair whack of coin - and while I don't doubt you have some good information I do not think it is worth a retirement fund - I propose 20 gold coin. It is more than a hefty sum of change for information and profit enough. Here is 10 now. We will give you 10 when you have shared.

Diplomacy (Haggle) 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15

*sigh*

Gilfroy pulls out his own set of ten coins and shows the man.

"Surely you'll agree that this is the best option. How many days' pay is that already? The captain seemed pretty upset by this series of events. I'd hate for him to find out that one of his own crewmates could have the knowledge to solve the mystery and chose to keep it to himself out of greed. After all, if we can't definitively tell the Spire Elves what happened, they'll probably run us all through."

Diplomacy (with just a hint of a threat in there): 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (2) + 13 = 15

Stepping in front of his companions the half-orc growls menacingly, "I don't deal with your kind in gold. I deal in blood. The question is how much you will keep. Now talk!"

Intimidate: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26

Still keeping his voice sweet and friendly, Gilfroy says, "Oh dear. Now you have a choice of deals. Which will you choose, ours or his?"

Heh!

"Alright alright, keep yer pittance," the cleric grumbles.

"That's why we don't keep his kind around," he mutters, gesturing to the half-orc, "hostility to honest entrepreneurship."

"I was dozing in my bunk, but I heard a sort o' scuttling sound coming round about the time o' the murder. Musta been that rat who stowes in the for'ard cargo hold. Thinks he's hidden, but we just keep 'im around to keep out the rest o' the vermin." He scratches his ear contemplatively. "Aye, never know what those kin are capable of. Who could say why'd he have a grudge against the elf?"

"Rat?" Azeban prompts, hoping the cleric follows the leading question.

While the others have the cleric busy, Boram starts opening footlockers.

Orik is still standing watch and searching the dead elves. It's been long enough, that he starts pacing around and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, impatiently.

"Blasted gud fer nothin' Pathfinders! Laeve a pur dwarf oot 'ere all aloone while they start noosin' inta ever' damn thin' under t'deck. Mae guess is they fergit all 'bout pur Oorik oop 'ere standin' guard dooty jes' like they askt. Sorry lot, all o'em." he mumbles to himself.

Who is this 'rat' you speak of?

The cleric gazes back dully from his slowly swaying bunk.

"Ye've been on the ship weeks now," he sighs, "surely ye've seen that rat man skulkin' about. He keeps in the for'ard cargo hold, like I said. Thinks he's a clever one no doubt, but the whole crew knows about him. He's the one what jiggered your elf, I'd bet my-"

The exact content of Killik's wager is interrupted by a burst of energy from the foot of the bunk. Boram, in attempting to pick the cleric's footlocker, has set off a well-hidden defense.

Boram's Will save: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Inflict Light Wounds trap: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Boram takes 4 damage.

A bolt of negative energy rattles the halfing and draws the attention of his would-be mark.

"Ha! Serves ye right," Killik spits down, "ship's just full o' you thievin' types. You an' that rat will get along real nice."

"Gah!" Boram yelps as he gets stung by the spell, then starts trying to unlock the footlocker.
Disable Device: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

"You'd bet? In other words, you have no idea, but the mysterious stowaway makes a convenient patsy, so you'll blame him. Worthless! And for this 'valuable' information, you wanted 60 gold pieces? And you call us thieves!? Take your 20 and be grateful we don't jigger you for the bother of it all."

Orik stomps down to where the others are below decks, leaving the bodies of the attacking elves for the moment. He stand by watching and waiting, tapping his foot, impatiently.

Felinros stands glowering making sure that Killik behaves.

Let us find this 'Rat' then... where is he?