Emerging on deck , Harlan has a perplexed look on his face, as if trying to decipher a tremendously difficult knot.
Mtumbwi has a look of utter frustration. The crew that know him call this is 'Arse' face, as one of them is soon to get a 'foot in the arse'.
"So you are telling me that you use pins on the *steeve so it can pivot? How does it hold enough to keep from shifting to catch the optimal amount of wind. If you turn the sails even a few dee ..." seeing the look on Mtumbwi's face, he alters what he was about to utter, "A little bit, you loose a lot of momentum."
*steeve to set a ships bow spirit at an upward angle.
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Once Harlan finishes, Mtumbwi pulls off his chain shirt, then his bandoliers, and finally drops his weapons.
Standing as naked as the day he was born, Mtumbwi leaps onto the gunwale. For a few seconds he is balanced perfectly before leaping off.
His downward arc is beautifu lto behold. Arms fully extended, Mtumbwi enters the water with barely a splash.
Quickly he surfaced onto his back blowing a spout of water out of his mouth. He floats effortlessly in the briny water.
Why do you torment me so. Here I am, in the gentle confines of your grasp yet my most honored homage to you you try to wreck. Is it you wish to destroy? Is it you wish to punish me? Is it you are just cruel?
And you whose breeze blows across my body. You whose power gives life to my creation. Why do you follow suit? Why can you not stand up and say 'He has done well. He has honored us.' Yet you allow all this to happen.
But I call upon you and you answer. You grant me powers that I would not have but for you. You try to kill me and protect me in the same
breathe.
So be it. I shall honor you as I curse you, yet we shall sail these seas together.
"Then I say we take up Baszil's suggestion and pitch our tent outside of town, and celebrate the fact that we are alive!"
Baszil surveys the isle with a smug smile.
"I knew we would make it. With me aboard, all good things come to pass," Bazsil smugs, preparing to re-oil his hair for landfall. "I would like to go to Dawa, both to show these primatives what a real man looks like, but also for some exercise. I have been cooped up on this boat too long, and would appreciate a chance to stretch my legs. Besides, what better way to announce ourselves?"
As the waves hit the Audacity and water rushes in, Aeslin hears fear coming from Sebastian, as water rushes into the compartment where he was hiding. She shrieks in panic, immediately running down to find him...
The only thing on her mind was her best friend and mentor panicking. Water was quickly rising, and even though he was a good swimmer, the chicken pens he was in were trapping him in, preventing him from staying up with the air bubble.
Frantically, Aeslin swam/pulled her way to where she could see Sebastian. She screams in her head, as she struggles to make headway through the rushing waters, cursing her desert upbringing and lack of swimming skills. Panic rises, as both she and Sebastian struggle. The weasel screems, making his problems even worse as he thrashes and flails trying to get free. Feeling his panic, Aeslin also screams, greatly reducing her chances of survival.
Ever so slowly, she pulls her way to the hold where Sebastian was trapped. She makes her way into the room, which was awash with chicken feathers and other unmentionable things, when she finally sees her best friend in the whole world. Again she screams, and pulls herself to the pens. She forces the door open, and pulls the flailing Sebastian to her. The two hold each other, knowing that the end must be near, just as the water is purged from the hold.
The two stay there, shivering, until someone comes to find them.
Why do you torment me so. Here I am, in the gentle confines of your grasp yet my most honored homage to you you try to wreck. Is it you wish to destroy? Is it you wish to punish me? Is it you are just cruel?
A sudden and strong breeze carries the scent of monkey brush pollen to Mtumbwi's nostrils.
You were the one who sailed the ship into the Eye of Abendego.
Mtumbwi is not sure if these thoughts are his own or...
"I agree with Bazsil. Dawa. It would be good to stretch our legs."
We've got the village of Dawa, which was being attacked by cannibals last I was here, and the village of Tanaroa, which was hospitable enough. We've also got any number of unexplored islands, or alternative spots to pull ashore.
Mtumbwi pulls himself up and onto the boat, water streaming down his body to form a small puddle beneath him. He listens to the specialists give their opinions.
Of course these men want to see action. To fight once again. It is in their blood. But is it wise?
"Specialists, you have proven your mettle on the trip here. You are not unintelligent, nor are you careless. I believe that our successes on the voyage here have made you a bit overconfident. Why sail all we have to place where Barbarosa doesn't even know if it is safe? Why not pull into our own alcove, make our base, and then go explore? I for one vote to strike out and make our own landing. Then we can explore these other places."
The Mwangi man ends his short speech, naked and dripping wet, staring at the others to hear their reaction to his plan.
"I concur." says Gratum after cleaning himself up a bit. "The captain may've traded with some of the locals before, but we don't know anything about them. We should make camp in a safe place, far from any possible cannibals. Besides with our own veritable village of mouths the locals may see it as an imposition. Better to be self sufficient."
Finally over their ordeal, Sebastian and Aeslin carefully walk back onto land. Collapsing onto the beach, Aeslin talks to her familiar. "Sebastian, I don't ever want to do that again. Maybe we can learn enough her to be able to use more powerful magics than the Captain and his shipwright had to work with... after all, they don't seem to be accomplished arcanists, either of them. Maybe we'll be able to get off with a teleport, or a plane shift, or something. We'll have to talk to that Gado, he seems to have a decent head on his shoulder.
"Well, I think its a good thing we studied hard on those languages. I think I have both Polyglot and Azlanti down, at least the basics... and the Dreadtongue seems to be an easily enough understood conglomeration."
"Squeak squeak squeak! Trillllll-squeak!"
"What, my friend? You've learned new spells for us, too? Excellent! Maybe we'll get to try them!"
"Meep meep! EeeEEe! kree-squea!"
"Ah, yes, my partner. Induced narcolepsy. Something I had heard of, but who could fall asleep when you are around? Well, me of course, but only if I am really tired... but you are SO interesting.... Hmmm... just look at people a certain way. Like the bad luck stare, or the evil eye? Hmm... Maybe I'll try it out on someone."
Aeslin gets a mischievous look on her face, as she calls out. "Bazsil! Would you be a dear and come give me a hand?" As soon as he is in range, she tries her new slumber hex on the Anthropologist.
Once he wakes up, she says, "Thank you. That was a great help."
Elon, drunk on Steelkeg ale, slaps Baszil hard on the back, nearly knocking the mug from the Coiffed One's hand. Elon's own beer sloshes around as he speaks. "To Dawa, eh!? Never heard of it. But, sure, to Dawa!" Elon pronounces as he points over the edge of the boat towards nothing but ocean.
"Wait... have we *hiccup* landed?" Elon asks, confused.
"Dawa, ey?" Barbarosa runs his hand through his beard, "No fear of cannibals, you lot! Well, let's get to it then."
The Captain barks orders at the regular crew, and soon The Audacious is sailing around the outlying island and into the bay. The village is only barely visible even when they close in on it. The occasional peak of thatch and the unmistakable waft of smoke from within the dense jungle is all that gives it away. Several sea-going long canoes with tightly curved bows and prows can be seen pulled up along the sandy bank. Despite the fact that it is the middle of the day, no people can be seen.
"Weigh anchor!" cries Barbarosa when they are about a quarter mile from shore. He turns to the specialists, "The sand bank goes out too far, and there is nowhere for a ship that displaces this much water to pull ashore here. You will need to take the rowboat. It has room for a dozen - so if you want more than the eight of you, you can have four. I need my cook - but you can take his apprentice. I'll need at least one guard with us on the ship, but would prefer more. Up to you. I'm just the sailor!" Captain Barbarosa winks at them.
At the mere mention of coming ashore, Sea Legs Billiam rushes next to the specialists - a look of hopeful expectance upon his face.
"So a little Cannibal run first? I guess I better take a look at my spellbook before we get there..." Gado mumbles to himself when the decision is made, heading down to his room. Koney caws and stays with his master on his normal shoulder perch, ready to assist in the upcoming memorization.
Bazsil, seeing the boat being prepared, begins to limber up, readying for a nice run and leg stretch upon the Beach of Total and Complete Safety.
"This will be good, will it not, Gado!?" Bazsil slaps Gado on the back, wondering if he can get on the boat that won't be covered in yak. He shakes out his legs and jumps around, loosening his body up.
"Cannonballs? They're gonna open fire on us?" Elon says without worry. "Me an' Barley will take em by force! Nothing scarier than the First Mate an' his parrot!" he says as he puts on his feathered cloak.
"Caw!"
Bazsil eyes Elon, the parachuting, kiting, yak-lovin' (I'm sure) dwarf, and takes a deep breath. He appreciates that dwarves exist. Because dwarves exist, it makes it more easier to prove that man is meant dominion over Golarion.
No god would conceive of dwarf as master...no, such is only the domain of mankind.
Elon sings a song from the yak's nest, somehow atop of Barley in the tiny wooden shelf on the mast.
"This sure takes so long!"
"I thought we would be there!"
"The chickens are all gone!"
"Baszil has surely run out of stuff for 'is hair!"
Elon sings, thinking of phrases on the spot. He is not particularly good.
As the ship sails to meet the cannibals of the Isle of Dread, Elon swings back and forth in his hammock while playing with a rudimentary wooden horse. "Gotta gallop to save the daaaaaay!" he says in a sing-song voice.
As he whips the toy around, he accidentally knocks over Mr. Bitey's basket. The wicker basket tumbles to the floor and Elon quickly moves to keep the cobra contained, but as he grabs it, he finds that it is empty.
"This probably isn't good..." he says, but then shrugs. "I'm sure Mr. Bitey will come back. He's a good pet cobra." the dwarf says before hopping back into his hammock and playing with his horse toy.
Flipping through the pages of his spellbook, Gado is deeply focused as he runs through his disciplined routine of memorizing spells.
Cannibals. People who want to eat my flesh. he shudders involuntarily.
Like clockwork, Gado reaches with his right hand to an inkwell to dab some notes on some of his scratch paper. He never takes his eyes off the pages of his book for fear of losing his spot. Each time, Koney is there to drop the pen in his hand, then retrieve it when he is done to prevent it from getting lost, or set in the wrong place.
It is practiced, it is precise, and it is monotonous. But studying is what Gado does best. If pouring over tomes and reading arcane writings were boring, then there is no way this flighty, paranoid man would have made it very far in the arcane arts. Lucky for him, he thrives on it. The long hours of silence around him, but inside his head is a whirlwind of activity, carefully organizing the files and folders of his mind palace so everything is just right.
Koney lets out a squawk in the silence and flutters over to the other side of the desk.
"Neidr!" the bird caws, in its unearthly, draconic language.
Neidr? What on the elemental plane of earth are you squawking about bird? None of these spells have serpent components. Maybe summon monster, but you know I always summon elementals. Maybe rope trick, but we aren't memorizing that one this time. Web? Minor Image?
Gado's precise mind begins to wheel off track. Clouds of confusion seep into his mind as he loses focus on his memorization and tries to figure out what his familiar is crowing about.
Muscle memory and his internal clock kick in, and Gado reaches out for his pen, not registering that Koney is no where near his normal location to perform his duties. Gado holds his hand out for a moment, then impatiently reaches further without looking.
His hand wraps around a thin, smooth, scaly something or other that doesn't feel like his pen. He looks up, away from his spellbook, confusion still splayed across his face.
Gado rockets back away from the tail of the cobra he just grabbed, getting his feet tangled in the chair and desk, causing him to crash to the floor in a heap of robes, flailing arms and rickety wooden stool.
Elon hears the slamming of wood on wood and the cursing of a sailor as he smiles to himself. "Someone found Mr. Bitey!" he yells excitedly as he tries to leap up from his hammock.
Instead, Elon gets tangled in the hammock, flips over twice and slams his face into the floor as the nearby boxes of brewing goods gets knocked over.
"I'm coming... Mr... Bitey..." Elon says before he passes out, hand outstretched towards the door.
Bazsil bounces on his toes, a motion mimicked by his oiled curls. He is anxious to get ashore, to learn what is there, so show the men of this isle what a real man looks like.
Let's go. Let's go. LET'S GO!
"Sebastian, perhaps it is time to learn why Captain Barbarossa hired us." Aeslin asks her best friend.
"Squeek chirrup squeak!" replies Sebastian, emphasizing how she already knows.
Aeslin pets Sebastian, as if she is dismissing his words of wisdom. "Well, yes, I know that he hired us to be his archaeologist. That isn't what I meant. I was referring to all of the interesting things that we will learn here.
"I hope I picked up enough journals to record everything. Oh, my word! I was so busy trying to learn the languages of this strange land that I quite forgot to note down what we all learned in the sea voyage. It was quite dramatic, you know."
She sees Bazsil looking off toward the interior of the island. 'I hope he doesn't get us all killed, trying to seduce every island girl he meets. I am quite sure that they'll be as amused by his foppishness as I was!'
Snake, yak, weasel and raven in tow, the eight specialists row to the village. The waters are crystal clear and the deepest blue that any present - even Mtumbwi - have seem before. A coral reef is visible below, with multi-hued fish of all kinds swimming only inches below the hull. Several times, the companions see a large shadow pass below, its true form impossible to discern at that depth even in the clear waters. Pulling harder on the oars, they soon make land. The fine white sand gives way to the canoe with a long, drawn-out squeak.
Once the canoe is pulled above the tide line, the specialists scan the tropical tree line for signs of anyone. Several humanoid shapes can be seen flitting between the trees, but no-one comes forward to greet the new arrivals.
Bazsil bounces off the boat before shore, not worry about getting wet nor about danger. In thigh high water, he helps drag the boat ashore. While others unload, Baszil begins to stretch and prepare for whatever might come in the day.
Gado stands up in the boat, ready to jump in and follow suit as the group finally reaches dry land in what feels like forever. He lifts one leg, then changes his mind, then tries again, only to tip the boats balance and dump himself face first into the surf.
"Oooof" He lets out an involuntary grunt as he nearly has the wind knocked out of him. Getting up on his hands and knees, the salty water pours from his now soaked robes. He leans back, still on his knees as he stretches to stand up.
A wave crashes in, blasting the unsuspecting Gado in the back and knocking him flat again.
"Well this is off to a smashing start." Rolling in the sand and water, Gado fights his way to his feet, shaking the water off of him as best he can. He rolls his eyes, then goes through the motions of casting prestidigitation to clean the sand and water out of places he didn't realize they could get into.
"Ok. I'm good. I think. Lets go say hi to someone who wants to eat my eyeballs for dessert."
Aeslin says to Gado with a shocked look on her face, "Eat my eyeballs for dessert? I didn't read that? Why are we here if they are eyeball eaters? By Nethys, I don't want my eyeballs eaten!"
Aeslin looks as if she is going to swim back to Garund, given the panic in her face. She has not left the landing craft, and is currently clutching her familiar satchel.
Eventually, someone recalls and informs Aeslin that the villagers of Dawa were once attacked by cannibals and not cannibals themselves. This perhaps explains their initial caution. However - as Bazsil does his stretching routine on the beach, Gado falls in and Aeslin clutches her satchel in fright - it becomes apparent to the natives that these new arrivals are not here to eat them.
A ruffling from the bushes hails the first of the natives to come forth. He is a lithe and well-muscled man with coffee-colored skin and the gait of a warrior. His bone spear is held casually at his side and a primitive-looking bow is slung over his shoulder. His head, chest and arms are covered with swirling patterns that are completely unfamiliar to all assembled. Gado guesses that each design is in some way a mark of honor, but currently has no way to know for sure.
"What you do here?" the man asks simply in Dread-tongue - a much more strongly accented version than that taught by master Donal, but recognizable to all who took his classes. The man seems both wary and at ease, neither welcoming nor hostile. As he speaks, several other men and women appear, some men also possessing tribal markings but none so elaborate as those covering the man currently speaking to the specialists. All of the other natives keep their distance, looking on with curiosity and apprehension.
"Hiya!" Gado says, arms raised in a non-threatening way (as far as he knows).
"We come in pieces!" He shouts, overly loud and with a goofy grin on his face.
He grunts when Aeslin kicks him in the shin.
"Peace! We come in peace! My name is Gado. We are here from... Well it might as well be another world. We are here to explore, and learn about a mighty tribe of warriors who live on this isle. Are you these warriors?" His speech begins stuttered and drawn out, the nervousness of using it for real for the first time apparent. By the time he is finished, the words roll more smoothly off of his tongue. He looks to the others to back him up, and for the first time, realizes that somehow Wrigley didn't make it on the shore craft.
What the fffff happened? I thought this was his job?
"Gado, didn't you remember our lessons? I mean, really. Now you've insulted the poor man." she scolds.
She then looks at the man coming to her, excited to finally use her new language. "Greatings, friends. As my partially literate friend said, we are explorers. We want to learn about your wonderful people, and defend you from cannibals that want to eat you.. or us.
"Actually, that isn't my job, I am to record and learn. The big brutes we brought along, it is their job to do the fighting... though me and Sebastian help, don't we buddy?"
She thinks another moment, "Oh, can we set up a base here? We'll trade with you and stuff!"
Elon leaps onto the sand, bedecked in his feathered cloak, wielding his scythe. he yells as he sprays sand everywhere.
"We have come for yer booty!" the pirate dwarf states proudly, pointing his large farming implement towards the forest, his aim off due to the eyepatch on his face. The skin around the patch is purple and swollen, totally unrelated to his fall from his hammock a few days earlier.
Barley clomps onto the sand with Baszil and watching him drop down to all of his legs and push the ground away from himself repeatedly. "Mooo..." says the yak as he watches the coiffed man.
Once Baszil starts running laps, Barley begins to gallop near him, keeping pace easily.
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Elon begins to orate to the amassed natives. the dwarf stops and looks around as Aeslin and Gado are already talking in much softer tones to the ambassador of the tribe.
"Are we not doing the god thing?" he asks.
Bazsil looks at the dwarf and yak and sighs, wondering how low the bar to entry for the position of 'specialist' and then doubts himself briefly, wondering if the same low standards applied to him.
He shakes his head, his oiled curls bouncing from chin to cheek. He turns to 'help' Gado with he negotiations in the absence of a true diplomat.
"What you do here?"
Bazsil fills in the gaps for the coffee-skinned man.
"We are mighty men from far away. We are hear to conquer these islands and loot their treasures for our people. You...you...coffee-man, you will help us and we will treat you well. We will give you trinkets and pastry-magics in return," Baszil explains helpfully.
"Your people should be amazed at our coming for we are probably better than you and know things beyond your infantile comprehension. However, despite our greatness, we will tolerate you serving us as we do what we came here to do."
Bazsil casts his eyes to the other villagers.
"Now, do you have womens who wish to make us feel at home? Bring them to us as it has been a long voyage at sea with only a yak for tender company."
Barley moos in agreement with whatever second-best-friend is saying to weird new people. "Mooo..."
The yak seems to be standing much closer to Baszil than would be comfortable to most, however the pair finds it normal after the extensive closeness on the ship that Baszil just spoke of.
"So we are doing the gods thing!" Elon exclaims as Baszil takes over.
"Yar! Bring us yer lasses fer pastries!" the dwarf says in agreement. "GOD PASTRIES!"
The Audacious swaying gently in the calm breeze, the seas smooth, Mtumbwi lowers himself over the rail, running a calloused hand over the side of the ship. He places his forehead on the boat, closes his eyes and calms his breathing.
You were the perfect ship. You took all they threw at you and you took and and kept on going. They all doubted you, but not me. Not for an instant. You are the greatest ship that I ever made. I can never make another. I will never make another.
Twisting in the breeze silent tears stream down his face and he gently sobs into the salt-sprayed wood.
Mtumbwi pulls the shallop onto the sandy beach. "Harlan, get off your arse and help me out here you pencil-necked lay-a-out." The men successfully beach the small boat.
"Listen, and I swear by salt and spray, you f@~~ up my ship and I will put my hair so far up your ass that my knee will come out your mouth."
"You know I won't. Even though the if we distributed the weight differently we could increase the freeboard*"
*distance between water and the main deck of the ship
"Stow it. Just don't break anything so bad I can't fix it."
Mtumbwi, resplendent in his freshly washed loin cloth, mithril chain shirt with his barbed vest over, and his trident Pronger in hand.
He listen to the two weak academics weigh in, speaking the guttural tongue of the natives that he failed to learn on the ship, then the arrogant man and the elk handler.
A smile spreads across his face as he suddenly grows larger. His arms, his torso, his weapons and armor all begin to stretch.
Towering over all the others on the beach, he shouts, ""
The warrior from the tribe of Dawa listens carefully and impassively to the strange arrivals on the beach. As Mtumbwi finishes his part, he furrows his eyebrows and speaks once more, "Me name not 'coffee-skin', me name 'Gabor'. Me is warrior and leader of Ape Clan, first clan of village Dawa. Trade is good. You no take from us. You not gods. No magic. Zombie Master only one allowed do magic. Women no serve, women in charge. Chief Itzel chief of whole village."
Gabor pauses a moment to let this settle before continuing, "You have steel for trade? Like weapons other outlanders give Tanaroa?"
Behind Gabor, the companions notice that more warriors are appearing and many are beginning to grip their weapons more tightly. The aggressive mannerisms of some of the crew are clearly drawing a different kind of attention than the initial curiosity.
Ugh... Gado's shoulders slump as he sees the various, insane ways everyone has chosen to address the natives.
We aren't going to turn into the crazy people that just slaughter and steal everything in our path, are we? That's not what I signed up for...
"You say Zombie Master only one allowed to do magic? Me name Gado, like me said earlier. Me is Earth Master with my clan. Me would like to talk to Zombie Master. Maybe we can trade more than steel. You fight with other clans much? What other clans are near here?"
And which ones eat people? Gado reserves his last question for himself, for now. Don't want to overwhelm the natives all at once with a thousand questions.
These ones may yet be enemies, but could be allies.
Bazsil shakes his head at the ridiculous antics of the others; none of the have the seriousness to be diplomats like he could be.
"You have steel for trade? Like weapons other outlanders give Tanaroa?"
"I do believe we have some steel on the ship. We could arrange that, perhaps. Now...if you will show me to the women?" Bazsil says agreeably. "These muscles and golden tan aren't going to appreciate themselves."
"Don't worry! We all appreciate them, Baz!" mocks the dwarf, though he is a bit jealous of the tan. Stupid human skin with its ability to get all brownish!
"You can't have my scythe, but I'm really good at making beer! Do you lot like to partake in the malted beverages around here?" asks the dwarf as he moves up to the coffee-man.
"Also, don't listen to that one. He's crazy." Elon remarks as he jams his thumb in the direction of Mtumbwi.
"The women are in charge? Well, perhaps you are a more civilized people than we have been told to expect. That is quite interesting" Aeslin is quickly scribbling in her notebook. "Is the Zombie-Master your leader? Could you take us to her?"