Using his foot to make others afoot, Takaral observed softly "An aquatic operation with a trio of our seaworthy friends is in motion." He frowned. "Swimming isn't my forte."
"Nor mine," managed a sleepy Dalton. He braced himself against a wall and pulled himself to his feet. Takaral had already seen to the others. "If they're close, I can make them leave the water. Otherwise, I'm up a creek."
"After them", Bjorkus says as he arrives on the deck. "We need to find out what they know. Kal, in the water with us. You're the strongest swimmer on the crew."
By the time Bjorkus is woken and makes his way onto the dock, the alarm has been raised long enough that the other two disappeared into the water as well.
Kal nods, jumping into the water along with a half-dozen of the crew, intent on tracking them down!
The rest of the crew mills about as Kal leads the hunting party. The night returns to darkness and slapping waves and the smell of salt as everybody waits.
Ten minutes later several people are seen walking along the shore towards the ship. As they get close Kal and Bjorkus' crew members are seen with twice as many other pirates, although none seem to be disarmed or bound.
As they close the distance Kal climbs onto the ship and goes to Bjorkus. "We're under a parley. Crajun wants to meet, talk out what's going on." Crajun's crew stays on land, watching warily.
Bjorkus is baffled by how the spies managed to evade Kal but doesn't chastise the young druid right away.
"Oh? What's the sod want? Does he know why we're here?"
"Oh? What's the sod want? Does he know why we're here?"
Similar to a dog, Takaral tilted his head to the side at Bjorkus's question. "It should be noted his reconnaissance lets Crajun know precisely where we are and a good idea of your crew's numbers, readiness, and oversight of their presence until now. Who knows what else they've done in the water to prepare for this .... discussion in the meantime." The sentient sentinel's tone was less belittling of Bjorkus's crew and more concerned of the problems possible by this situation.
No longer trusting Kal's capabilities, Bjorkus nods toward his first mate. "Get some men in the water and make sure nothin's wrong with the ship."
Happy he did not need to swim, Dalton he a different take on the matter. "He has us at a disadvantage with information, but if I can get decently close to his crew members, I should be able to detect what a fair number are thinking and convey anything dangerous felt with a thought to you. That could turn the tables of knowledge somewhat, yet my feeling is there will be a conflict here."
No longer trusting Kal's capabilities, Bjorkus nods toward his first mate. "Get some men in the water and make sure nothin's wrong with the ship."
"Could you send one of your tallest along with them?"
Bjorkus cocks a brow at the disguised outsider. "Why's that?"
I guess it's good he's curious as to the reason. More complex than I thought.
"One of my kind's talents is altering our appearance to blend-in with the local population. These clothes are a bit posh for the upcoming encounter, and I'd rather not draw attention to myself. The ability, however, is an illusion, and given the wind and water about, it would become readily apparent my spell-clothes were not blowing in the air, dampened by moisture, or - if contact is very close - touchable at all." The kolyarut poked his aristocrat's face a few times to make his point clear with the metal-on-metal tapping sound.
"Real clothing makes my appearance all the more real, and I'd need a set of whatever your crew is dressed in now. Preferably from one of those swimmers, as I don't imagine they'll need them. From what I gathered of ship culture, the nudity shouldn't cause them the discomfort it does landfaring folk, especially for a swim. If it embarrasses them, I can simply make do without."
Dalton caught on. "Ah, Takaral wants to accompany you as a simple deckhand. He's anything but though, so if they're planning on storming this "parley" party, they would be in for quite the surprise."
Satisfied with Takaral's answer, Bjorkus addresses Luthor again. "Take Seg with you. And give his clothes to Takaral. If I'm gunna meet Crajun in person I want him with me."
Takral nodded in thanks, following Luthor to Seg to get his change of garments.
Seg strips without any complaints, and a small crew jumps into the water. A few minutes later Luthor calls out "Everything is ship shape down here!"
Kal eyes Bjorkus. "Ya know I caught up to them, they said Crajun had little interest in starting feuds with Bjorkus' offspring, and I believed them. Crajun a cunning man."
Takaral scan's Seg's bare body for any tattoos or other abnormal features he might consider adding to his disguise. "I hope you return safely from the water; this crew needs you."
After they split ways, the kolyarut disrobed, dispelled his glamer, and folded his garments. He did his best to reimage his skin tone to the tanned nature of the crew, replicate some scars in high-use areas of the epidermis, and fabricate some sunspots as appropriate. Poorly-kept teeth, above-average muscle, untrimmed body and head hair, stubble for facial hair. He hefted a dagger from the cook's corner to look at himself. Sufficient. Takaral laid the knife town before returning to the captain.
The thinking machine reconvened with Bjorkus with his new look and unaltered bastard sword, just as ornate as before. His voice sounded weathered and older, deeper - the melodious tenor having become a gritty baritone. "Since they're armed, if you choose to meet, you could be as well. If so, I'd ask you bring this if it's not too heavy; I'd look out of place if I brought it, but I'm thrice as useful with it than otherwise."
"And how did he even learn that we're here?" Bjorkus fumes. "Soddin' forget it. Let's see what the old bastard wants. Is he in town?"
Kal frowns. "Near the docks, in a local fisherman's house that's friendly to pirates. His crew says you can bring whoever you'd like."
”Captain Bjorkus, I volunteer to go to the parley with you,” Rilka says. She thinks, I should have been more insistent that I was positive some of the crew heard my sabotage. Though what would have happened if I did?
”It’s my responsibility the sabotage was discovered so quickly. I’m sorry I failed you.” She starts making a shield extract. ”I know a parley is for talking. How often does it come to fight?”
Too frustrated to assign blame, Bjorkus gestures for the party to join him. "Let's get this over with. I don't expect the meeting to turn into a fight. Pirates are generally good about honoring the rules of parley."
"May I come as well?"
Bjorkus agrees with the terms of the parley, going to meet with Crajun in a small fishing hut. The old saltbeard greets Bjorkus warmly but with a side of wariness. After learning that Bjorkus wants Crajun to stop interfering with the 'outsiders', Crajun says that it's orders come from on high because they're in Aftner's territory, but after much debate they reach a compromise; Crajun will not interfere with their mission, and indeed will even help protect them against other pirates, but if there are any riches discovered outside of the scope of their mission they are to be surrendered over to Crajun.
The party makes their way back up the coast, having reestablished contact between the Aestherics and they ocean floor team, and even gaining a temporary ally in the process. The weather is less fair heading up and around the northeastern coast, as winds fight them most of the way. But in due time the party and crew are back to Pine Lake, where Liamsho the Unliving is waiting patiently on the docks, sitting crosslegged with his hollowed eyes closed. The crew sees him and looks a bit uneasy.
Once farewells are made Liamsho teleports the party bac, to the outskirts of Taryin, the great golden city rising up before them in the midday light. As they begin making the walk back in (except for Liamsho who seems to glide, but that might just be a trick of his long robes), Liamsho places a disguise over himself as a much more ordinary looking fellow as he speaks. "The Council needs to see you tomorrow morning. It seemed urgent, so I would take the rest of today to finish any business you may have left in town."
Hours pass and the bright midday light turns to the fading evening one, as the party convenes to go to Geoffrey's dinner. After preparations, they come to the castle together. As they go through security at the main gate, some of the party members can't help but flash back to the trouble Lindale had getting through all those months ago. What ever happened to him?..
After a brief wait in the grand hall, Geoffrey steps in through one of the side doors, flanked by two squabbling nobles. They appear to be arguing over trading rights in Xilres. Geoffrey sees the party and gives a quick smile, then turns to the nobles. "Gentlemen, it's very late. I am sure you are both eager to get home to your families, and we can pick this up in the morning. I'm sure the grain can wait another twelve hours, yes?" There's some grumbling but after a final look of daggers between the nobles they depart, sweeping past the party haughtily.
Geoffrey steps up to the party, a weary smile on his face. "Oh I'm so glad you could make it. Was Bjorkus busy? Ah nevermind, I should be grateful for what company I could get. Let me change out of my armor and then we can go, I have made a reservation."
Twenty minutes later Geoffrey is walking with the party down the streets of the inner circle of Taryin, dressed in a noble's outfit of gold and red instead of his normal full plate. "I am so glad you could make it. It really is a relief to get away from that mess for a bit. How have things been going?" Geoffrey briefly glances around. "Not too much trouble from Heff, I hope?" He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. It seems thinner than before. But despite the new lines on his face Geoffrey looks defiantly vibrant.
Ianna looks like a sprite risen from the sea. Over a gown of silver she wears a flowing mantle of a grey gauzy material with angry blue and green undertones. When she moves, the flowing material evokes a storm. Her silken chestnut hair -- worn loose as is the custom of the capital -- is strewn with pearls, which also rope her neck in a cascade.
As always, Bolka's Tear glistens with its own light upon her brow.
When she sees Geoffrey being harangued by the two nobles, she glides over to them with a radiant smile.
"My Lords Astor and Banecroft, I pray your forgiveness for this interruption. I know how important grain rights can be. I myself might like to bend his ear on the proposed methods of storage and transportation. The Trealamhgabha are always eager to aid our southern allies in matters concerning the flow of wealth and goods. However, my brother extracted a promise weeks ago from Lord Geoffrey to squire me about the capital this evening. I know its inconvenient, but the aristocracy is only as potent as its word, yes?"
She extends a graceful hand for Geoffrey to escort her. Her manner is so regal that it would be ungallant to refuse her.
Later as they walk, Ianna murmurs quietly, "I did not want credit my brother's report, Geoffrey. But you could deal with a bit more staff and someone special to help shoulder the burden. I have a few friends who I know would love to make your acquaintance. You are a pillar of Andril's society. A pillar is only as strong as its foundation. We should talk more privately in the next few days, but I'm sure that together we can have you feeling like your old self in no time."
More loudly she continues, "Oh that Heff, his bark is much worse than his bite. We were just in the northern seas, where I saw the most majestic pod of whales . . ."
The priestess keeps the banter light and freely flowing as they stroll down some of the most expensive streets in the capital.
Toramin nods a greeting to Geoffrey before taking up a position behind Geoffrey and Ianna as a bodyguard.
~With the nobles~
Astor and Banecroft look taken aback. Astor is the first to respond. "Why of course..."
"...lady Ianna. Yes I believe it can wait until the morning."
Banecroft quickly shifts from his confrontational nature to a charming one. "Perhaps I could give you my own tour of the city? Ah but I am too forward, you have arrangments for the evening. Perhaps in the future." He gives a charming smile and kisses Ianna's hand before sweeping away down the hallway with Astor.
~Present~
Geoffrey gives a smile. "Well the...temporary nature of my current duties have prevented a full support staff from being in place. In fact, speaking of Heff, I was contacted about assisting in a mission, and my superiors approved. And from what it sounds like we'll be working together!" Geoffrey looks thrilled at being back out in the field again. "Perhaps this time I won't be injured before the fighting even starts, eh?" He jests.
With the Nobles:
"What a lovely suggestion, Lord Banecroft. Cities are best seen through the eyes of their native inhabitants. Feel free to send your card to the Trealamhgabha banking concern."
With Geoffrey:
"How wonderful! Perhaps you will be able to convince my brother and Bjorkus that I do not need constant supervision. I am almost fifty."
With that she gives the nobleman a playful wink.
Geoffrey laughs and turns to Toramin. "Well you heard the lady! By now she must have faced all the same kinds of danger you have, and I daresay she's probably the one keeping you alive!" He gives Toramin a lighthearted slap on the shoulder.
The group arrives at a building in the northeastern section of the inner city, at a large fancy restaurant called The Kyonite Dragon. The restaurant is a brilliant mix of blue, gold, silver, and green. Aquariums with a range of exotic fish and reptiles line the walls and dot the room in cylinders, the strange creatures providing an ever-shifting aura of otherworldly light as their scales ripple and reflect.
A half-elf with flowing hair and a chin made for heroes of legends approaches the party with a charming smile. "Welcome Geoffrey, and welcome esteemed guests. Please follow me, your table is waiting." The radiantly handsome half-elf leads the dinner party to one of the far tables in the back, a larger table next to an enormous tank with a blue-ringed octopus in it. A drink menu is given to start, a full 14 page collection of spirits.
Geoffrey sits, sighing as he sinks into his chain. "And how have your adventures been? As much as you can tell me, anyways." He says, waving a hand.
"She has a nasty habit of getting kidnapped," Toramin replies.
Pleased to be back in civilization, Dalton had no problem whatsoever listening to a minor squabble about wheat while he awaited a decadent dinner. There will never be an end to the squabbling of the rich over gold pieces while the poor pine for pennies. He wondered if those working under Lords Astor and Banecroft could even feed themselves. Maybe they're starving while their masters decide how best to trade their necessities away.
Unfortunately, Dalton was not a politician, and even Takaral's talents were muted in his current guise. The mage kept his focus on Ianna primarily during the exchange; he did not wish to pay deference to the nobles before him, and his presence with a princess could be used to obviate that aspect of etiquette as long as he seemed occupied with her. That is quite the outfit she has...
Takaral, on the other hand, had something much different in his mind.
~Present~"Perhaps this time I won't be injured before the fighting even starts, eh?" He jests.
Not his usually-disguised self, Takaral had opted for a guise less than usual - at least for those around him. The sentient construct gave a terse nod to Geoffrey as the others left, bringing right fist to left shoulder.
"S'meena."
S'meena looked a touch different than Takaral appeared during the maritime trip. S'meena was a female elf, an archer hunter-leader of some renown in the Southern reaches, though that reputation almost surely did not preceded her here; few elves ventured out, and nothing in particular about the elf was otherworldly-enough to mention; there were plenty of talented elven archers, so mentioning that aspect to commonfolk would be met with a shrug - it would be more common were she not to be skilled in that manner.
Dressed in what seemed to be an assortment of crude, tribal leathers and assorted bone and stone jewelry, S'meena was nonetheless a fount of beauty. While Ianna might have had the garments, this wild child was the pinnacle of fitness, and while her skin was darker than some of the arcanists cousins of her kind, living under the forests' canopies kept it from during a darker brown.
She glanced to Dalton before narrowing her eyes at Geoffrey. "You are not ready for a fight - look sick, worn," she stated with a thick elvish accent. They were the eyes of a hunter, scanning the vitals of what she sounded confident could be her prey.
Dalton let "S'meena's" line of questioning run its course before he took a different angle with Geoffrey. "Temporary? It seems your mountains of paperwork have been anything but. Who would take your place with your duties here?"
With Geoffrey
As much as you can tell me, she repeats to herself. She takes a sip from her wineglass and closes her eyes for a moment. Drawing a breath, What can I tell him?
”Ahh, well I think we confirmed that as a group our strengths do not lie in stealth and adopted identities,” Rilka chuckles. ”Oh and I’m thinking of designing boots with a blade in the heel. Something that can cut through wrist-binding ropes quickly. It’s very difficult to be in a fight when you can’t help your companions.”
"Ah I do suppose you're the only one good at those skills. But since it sounds like I'm joining you I doubt the next mission will be so full of subterfuge!" He says with a smile. "Oh and please get whatever you like. The hours and work are long and arduous but I can't complain about the pay. Perhaps only my lack of free time in which to spend it. There's a wonderful new dry red that has been imported I recommend. In fact I might just get a bottle or two."
S'meena raised an eyebrow skeptically at talk of the surfeit of libations. "You can do the job, captain? The hunt runs long sometimes."
She bowed her head down and to the left in thanks for the offer of hospitality. "What meat roams in this land should do for me." This man has something going on beneath the surface. I do not trust him.
"They do have some excellent venison here. S'meena was it? That is a wood elf name, correct? If I may be so forward, what brings you so far north and in such odd company?" Geoffrey inquires with a smile.
After watching Geoffrey ignore S'meena in their previous setting, Dalton realized the man may feel himself above the unruly-looking archer before them. He tried to bridge the gap.
"There's nothing wrong with a dry red, but an import sounds cause for celebration. Is there something going on you haven't told us? An engagement, a child on the way?" Dalton chuckled. "I've seen many a bachelor nervous about his wedding, though none as physically spent as you. S'meena here is sadly unavailable for such festivities if that was your hope," winked the old man.
"Just that," the paragon of a woman flatly replied. "Our tribe and I fought how best to handle the "odd" changes happening in our land. They won," she admitted with obvious pain. "I left."
Dalton appears to have hit the nail right on the head, for Geoffrey breaks into an uncontrolledly grin. "Well nothing is set in stone, but I've heard word that me getting back into field work isn't a one time deal. It sounds like I won't see a desk for a good long while."
When the drinks arrive, S'meena quickly makes a toast. "To open fields and good hunting for Geoffrey!"
Dalton struggled to contain his laughter as it was clear the secluded Geoffrey was falling for a construct. This should be fun.
"Yes, yes, to wrinkled faces and sore feet!" The mage wasted no time in downing his spirits as smelling and sampling them.
”That’s very generous of you to say about my skills,” Rilka adds as she holds the wine to the light. ”I also learned next time I attempt to disable a rudder to bring a drill. And a silence spell.”
As the toasting begins, Rilka joins in ”To good faith and friends.”
"To working with a sword instead of a pen." Geoffrey raises his glass, taking a long swig. It's a dry, oaky red with hints of juniper and coconut.
Geoffrey arcs a brow at Rilka's quip. "Well, out at sea than? Meddling with the Pirate Lords by any chance? Would be right up Heff's alley." From the front of the building more guests can be heard entering.
"So eager to jump into the fray, Geoffrey? I hope your sword skills are up to snuff." The mage was then more direct. "You've changed."