"Your zombie master sends the cannibals in to steal your people to create his army of undead! He is in league with your enemy and controls you through fear! He lets you think you are the chief, but he holds the power! These are not your ancestors! They are merely the shells of their former bodies, stolen and twisted by your dead-speaker!"
"That is ridiculous!" shouts Chief Itzel as she is leaving, pausing long enough to retort, "You come here, disobey our laws, mock our traditions and now shout wild accusings about Cihuateteo! You know nothing of our people. You not welcome here!" The disappointment is evident upon her face.
"Magic!" cries the woman as Elon cleanses the pit.
"Magic!" she cries as she runs from the hut.
"Magic!" she cries to the nearest warrior she can find.
"You might be right." Gado grumbles as he runs, huffing and puffing back to the longboat.
"We could still destroy the cannibals and get lucky, right? Oh, she never told us where they were... Dammit Aeslin! Why'd you have to go and try to put Mtumbwi to sleep? Damn entitled silver spooners..." Gado continues to grumble as he runs.
"Hey, where is Elon and Barley?" the little man wonders aloud as they reach the longboat finally.
"What do you mean? It wasn't magic, really.. damnit! These are such savages!" she says to Gado, as she hurries away.
Ciaran withdraws slowly, trying to find where Elon has gone, and making sure the others retreat before he does.
"Well, this is going well," he mutters to himself through gritted teeth. "That was what, 5 minutes?"
The smell of the tribal ancestors becomes almost overpowering as they near the steps of the pyramid. Seconds after Ciarán allows the last of his companions through to retreat himself, the four separate groups of undead make the steps. Their wounds tell of gruesome deaths, many perhaps at the claws and jaws of the local fauna. The time for such contemplation is short lived, however, as Cihuateteo strides grandly forwards to allow his minions to surround him.
"Respected ancestors!" he cries, "Many thanks for lending you strength to you descendants. Finish this! Make sure they leave and never return!" He points a bony claw down the path at the retreating adventurers and the corpses of those who came before shuffle off in tepid pursuit.
Bazsil continues his martial display, complete with kicks, Lucy smashes into the air, punches, and random jumping as he attempts to dazzle and slow the villagers and undead alike.
I can keep this up all day. Training.
"Get going!" Bazsil hisses again to the slow moving horde. "Leave the dwarf and yak if you must! They will keep these people fed for weeks and keep them from hunting us!" Bazsil temporarily forgets which group is the cannibals.
Femi, near the front of flight to be sure, hesitates waiting for Elon to clear the mob... uh, their mob not our mob. As soon as Elon is visible ahead of the undead hoard, Femi continues his run.
Though he doesn't look forward to more time spent sick on the ship, he looks forward to his death at the hands of a thousand bites even less.
Femi will use the opportunity to cast Mage Armor on himself. Just in case.
Elon walks outside with his scythe drawn as Barley munches on some mango skins. "But didn't you want me to do that?" he asks, dumbfounded by the ignorance of the tribe.
As the undead begin to shuffle towards him, turning from the rest, Elon decides that he should make a quick exit. He grabs his bag of tricks and tosses a furry ball in the direction of the zombies.
A riding dog appears and the dwarf leaps atop it and lets the canine carry him to the water's edge. Upon disembarking from the dog, Elon scratches it behind the ears and commands it back into the bag. It leaps into the bag, swallowed into the ethereal plane, happy as a clam.
Elon and Barley leap into the rowboat and head towards the ship as everyone joins. "Well, that was fun." he remarks, examining the few hand-blown bottles of god-nectar that he was able to escape with.
On the flight back to the boat, Aeslin will do what she can to delay their chasers. 'I need to learn more of the true power, so that silly primitives will know to treat me with respect!"
"Sebastian, let us not ever tell Daddy about this!'
Gado fidgets and paces back and forth on the beach. Half of him wants to leap into the boat and shove off, while the other half can't seem to rationalize leaving the dwarf and yak behind.
A few minutes later, Gado sees Elon riding on the back of a giant, magnificent dog.
"Whew..." He breaths a dramatic sigh of relief.
"Let's get out of here. I'm not sure what seems more creepy. Undead chasing us or cannibals... well... I guess they would both be trying to eat us..."
"Let's keep this report short and sweet to the captain. Who knows if we will need to come back here..."
Glad that's not my job... he cringes, glancing at Femi.
"Perhaps next time we can work out a plan in advance?" says Ciaran, drawing on the oars once everyone is aboard.
"Something like a 'no talking' rule for some people. Or even a 'no seeing' rule.
"We still don't know where the cannibals are, so our next welcome might be even less friendly. Particularly if the culture of all the islands is to venerate their ancestors and hate magic."
Having fled from the natives' undead brethren, the specialist crew of The Audacious row swiftly back toward the ship. They can see that the crew who remained behind are frantically making preparations to come rescue them but halt when the undead simply stand there at the beach and go no farther. The animate corpses keep a silent vigil over the group's retreat.
"Ha! You weren't there for very long before being chased out," Captain Barbarosa doesn't seem terribly concerned or surprised as he greets the companions when they are once more aboard, "Who was it that mucked it up - or was it a group effort?" He smiles slyly as he attempts to figure it out for himself.
"You?! Ha! We'll have to hear that tale over dinner tonight," he winks at the archaeologist before turning to address everyone, "Set sail, then. I guess we're off to Tanaroa - unless you've got other ideas. Perhaps you'd like to practice your skills by talking to another village before attempting diplomatic overtures with the one beneath the great wall.
"I'll tell you one thing, though: you'd best figure out your approach before you go at it again. If you lose the favor of the Tanaroans, you lose easy access to the mainland. You'll want to hear their stories, too, if you want to know what you're likely to face beyond that safe, enormous wall of theirs."
Bazsil waits for others to hasten away before ending this martial display and running after them. He runs quickly, like the noble ostrich over the Savannah to catch up. He glances occasionally over his shoulder in case he needs to delay pursuers moreso.
Upon the ship, he seems to think the mission was a delightful success. After all, only the dwarf had almost died, and there would be acceptable losses expected on all these islands.
"Who was it that mucked it up - or was it a group effort?"
Bazsil holds his tongue about who's fault it was...because he feels his martial display, as well as his oogling of the village women, made it a pretty good trip.
He whistles as goes to clean up and leaves the decisions of where to go next to others.
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His blow striking Aeslin in the face, Mtumbwi feels no regreta upon connecting a decent right hook to the lady who has so callously attacked him.
The undead shambling all around him in various states of decay take precedent tough. Looking at the sheer number Mtumbwi fears that this might be a fight too challenging even for him and that popinjay with his named hammer.
Who names a hammer after a woman? Pronger and Basher capture the spirit of warfare. Who charges into battle yelling 'Lucy'? These specialists.
"Cihuateteo, we are not done yet, you and I. I will leave for the time being, but I you have not seen the last of me or my 'magics' you superstitious f@+!er. When I come back I am going to shove so many of these f!@&er's feet up your ass ... f!%% it. Gonna kill you next time."
Mtumbwi doesn't exactly run, but he does beat a hasty retreat, bringing up the rear with the oily man.
He has no idea that the dwarf and buck are missing until they come tearing up the beach straddling a dog.
"Where the hell did you get that? What a%++$%% steals another man's dog. He is real messed up in the head."
Once the shallop is in sight, he begins to shout, "Harlan, start pushing that rowboat off now unless you want to become dinner. And if the lady don't make it, oh well!"
Mtumbwi leaps over the smaller gunwale in one smooth motion, sand spraying everywhere.
He glaces back has they begin to pull on the oars. Once their safety was secured, he turns to Aeslin and the group.
"Let me be clear. And this goes for all you d&@%#$~s. Next one to will get way more than a punch in the face. You will wish you were back on that beach watching some undead primitives nibbling on your innards while you beg to be put out of your misery. But the only relief you'll get is when they pop your eyeballs out like jelly.
"And the fact that you are all good with it shows what a bunch of messed up a&&!@~~s you all are. Should have pushed you off the boat one by one during the trip here. No one has an issue with Aeslin hexing me? No one thinks to say, 'Hey Mtumbwi's on our side, hex the crazy ass witch doctor who summons hordes of undead to kill us?'
Nice bunch of selfish specialists. Keep worrying about yourselves."
"Barbarosa a minute if you please." Walking away with the captain the others can overhear Mtumbwi say, "I kinds f&$$ed up back there. So next time I think we should ..."
”Well that didn’t go exactly as planned.” Femi remarks to the group with a smile when they get back to the ship. ”Still, we got out with our skins intact and the only thing we’ve lost is one of my scarves.” he laughs.
Moving on he suggests, ”We should have gifts to give the chief when we first meet them. Just something small - it breaks the ice and makes us even for any hospitality they may provide so we don’t start off indebted to them.”
”Other than that, yeah, the captains right, what do you all want out of the next meeting? I must admit I was a little flat footed at the last one ‘cause I wasn’t really sure what you all wanted out of the exchange.” he gestures to the captain, ”Sounds this time like you have something in mind already and know the folks we’ll be dealing with.”
”So who are they? What do we want? Do we have some trade goods on board? What can I do to help?” he ends with a flurry of questions, seemingly happy if any are answered.
"I, for one, wouldn't mind giving it another try with another small band of locals," Gado pipes up after Femi and Barbarosa speak.
Gado cringes when Mtumbwi goes off on Aeslin. He gets sour faced, being included in the tirade, but quickly realizes he would probably do the same if one of the crew cast a spell or hex on him, or otherwise meddled with his work.
Taking the verbal berating in stride, Gado adds to his comment, "I think it could be valuable to have a local tribe whom we are allies with. There is so much to explore, and so much to discover her. Taking your suggestion one step further Femi, if we knew of supplies or things a tribe needed from the Tanaroans, we could put ourselves in a position where they owe us a favor. A perspective on the Isle from both inside and outside the giant walls could have real value, in my opinion."
Gado sits back down, finished for now.
Plus, if the large town, or city, whatever it is, is even somewhat civilized, chances are they have rules about magic and summoning. I want to know what connections the natives might have to the planes. That last group revered the dead. What if another tribe reveres the water, and reveres water elementals as gods? Well... could be any number of things. Gado is lost in thought about the tests that were presented at the hall of wonders. Which inevitably reminds him of the magical bowl intended to mask the taste of poison.
Mental note - do not eat from magical bowls.
Unless...
"Elon, do you remember the magical bowl in the hall of wonders that was supposed to mask the taste of poison? There has got to be something you could do with that, right? Does it just conceal it, or does it change the chemical composition? I'm no alchemist, but... now I have gone off track. Sorry. Back to the topic at hand..." Gado shrinks back, embarassed for the off-topic outburst after asking his original questions.
Elon looks at Gado with a bit of a surprise that the man is talking to him. "You know my name?" Elon asks, almost certain that this is the first time they have ever spoken.
Shaking his head as he ponders the question, Elon doesn't quite understand what Gado is asking. "Umm... I mean we can mask the taste of poison with it. Are we going to poison the locals? Do we even have enough poison for that?" Elon asks of the Lorekeeper.
After Mtumbwi storms off, Aeslin looks at her companions, and says, "Honestly, I didn't think that putting our ruffian of a shipwright to sleep would be a bigger taboo than peeing in their dishes. Well, one never knows with primitives what will set them off. Well, live and learn. I guess I should apologize to Mtumbwi when he's calmed down."
She thinks about things for a while. "You know, I don't think it is healthy for their society to be controlled by a necromancer like that. I don't know which is worse... being attacked by cannibals or being turned into undead when you die. Actually, I think that the former is a cleaner death, since the latter prevents you from properly entering the boneyard. So, I think we should help them out, eventually, and remove that Cihuateteo from power. Oh, and put their ancestors to rest. Yes, that is the proper thing to do."
"You know," begins Barbarosa meaningfully, "I do believe the Tanaroan natives had a Zombie Master also. It rings a bell. He didn't come to any gatherings while I was present, though, so maybe I heard wrong.
"As for trade goods, I mentioned earlier that they liked steel. We've got plenty in the stores below. You'll just have to negotiate with the Colonel for anything of martial value."
The captain considers leaving it at that, but eventually adds, "Don't beat yourselves up too much about Dawa. It's not a proper expedition until you get chased off by at least one group of locals!"
Having built the ship, Mtumbwi is fortunate enough to know all the hiding spots. Suspended from a rope, be dangles beneath the bowsprite.
Salt and spray, what the hell am I doing here? I mean I know that The Audacious isn't going anywhere without me, but do I really belong treating with the locals? Hell my own crew attacked me I was such a cockup. Best to just try to lay low, weather the storm, ride out the squall and maybe you just might find something. Can't spend your whole life chopping and bending wood.
Mtumbwi holds a wicker basket complete with lid in his outstretched arms.
A promise is a promise you uncaring bastard-b@~%&. Here's your payment.
Lifting the lid, a small flock of colorful birds races across the sky before swirling in different directions.
He absentmindedly reaches up and hauls himself up and over the gunwale. He sees the group clustered together, and sheepishly approaches them.
"Umm. I'm kinda sorry for being a dick. I know that I didn't help dealing with that tribe much. Just don't like it when some backwater a#&~&&% want to have a pissing contest with me about using magic."
He looks up, "Poor choice of words. This next tribe, I will follow Femi's lead. I can get along with people as long as they aren't a&&~$@#s. I can talk to Colonel. He is down money to me, and I can get what we need.
Any ideas how to deal with the next zombie master? We don't quite see eye to eye and all."
"I am sorry as well, Mtumbwi. I sort of panicked, and figured the primitives wouldn't recognize my hexes for what they were... maybe I though they would think you were just sick or something. I am surprised that the Zombie Master even noticed... there certainly wasn't much to go on. We all have to work together better. Really that is why Sebastian taught me how to put people to sleep... he didn't think I was doign enough in combat to really help. Had I been able to do that at the shop, maybe it wouldn't have gone as far as it did. Hey, has anyone seen Wrigley? I hope he wasn't washed overboard and we forgot him."
She looks quite thoughtful for a moment. "As for the next zombie master... I hope they aren't common here... while my sleep hexes will work against the humans, they won't on their undead. I can still give them the evil eye, and share misfortune with them, and you know I think we can heal them!" She giggles at that. "I am not good at flashy evocations. I am much better at making us better and them worse."
"Is it strictly necessary that we butcher or otherwise 'deal with' the next Zombie Master? As that chief said, we know nothing about their culture. We could try a non-hostile approach. I'm sure the Isle of Dread will be dangerous enough without unnecessarily getting every tribe in the chain off side.
"At the very least, we should try to learn more about whether they're exploiting their people or not."
Baszil returns to the discussion after freshening up. He carries two mugs of Steelkeg amber, offering the second mug Ciaran.
"Have they fought again yet?" Bazsil asks Ciaran. "Think we can goad her into hitting him again? Might be good for a show, won't it?"
Baszil sits and slurps, keeping an ear to the discussion, but feeling like he's earned his relaxation.
"Ciaran's right, Zombie masters can be useful. For example, if we started to build our own camp a little farther away we might be able to convince him to help us out with a few undead hands for some light labor."
Then to Baszil he says, "Maybe we can use them as a comedy troupe. Put them up on stage to curry favor with the people at the new place. Everyone like some slapstick!"
"Gratum! Great to see you're on board. I've never seen a dwarf as quiet as you've been," the captain remarks as his engineer steps forward, "So, it seems Tanaroa is still the direction to go. Shall I set sail for there, or will we try to find another village on an uncharted island? Actually, I think I remember the Tanaroans talking about a few more villages near them on that peninsula there. We could always land south and you could trek upward inland." The bitter expression on Barbarosa's face shows everyone what he thinks of walking when there is a ship available.
"Oh, yeah, and sorry about sending Sea Legs out with no warning, too," Barbarosa adds, "It seems poor Wrigley has a case of cabin fever. In an odd manifestation, he refuses to leave his cabin now. He's locked himself inside and won't talk to anyone - except through a song and dance routine. Luckily, there was a bit more to Sea Legs than his lost lunch."
"Yeah, if we can keep our conflicts, and morals, to ourselves for the next bit, we should do OK I think. We should tread carefully and move slowly. If there's something for us to thwart, let's talk about it, and take it on the next day rather than right away. We might find better ways to resolve our differences that way."
Femi thinks of what he'd like to do to the zombie master, but alas, the opportunity has passed...
"So Tanaroa is next? What are they like? Do we have an appropriate greeting-gift? If they like metal, perhaps some finished work or other? Something the chief can actually use might be nice."
As the ship gets moving toward it's destination, Femi's stomach comes back into it's own. He starts with a suggestion on how they might approach the next group, but it's caught up in the sea as he bends overboard and the nervous shakes take him.
"Yeah, if we can keep our conflicts, and morals, to ourselves..."
Bazsil takes a gulp of beer.
"We were doing just find until you showed up, Femi! I think that one with the big boobs was winking at me before you started to talk," Bazsil notes. "Nah, we were doing great. Just less yapping and more licking, and we'd be fine."
Bazsil takes another drink.
"Yeah, Tanaroa sounds fine. Might be there is some sport there, I suppose. I'd like to recreate a bit before we tackle the island. I've been cooped in on this boat for far too long. I don't want to end up like Whiskey...or Wriggly or whateverhisname was. We need to get out."
Gado opens his mouth to state his case for visiting another small island again, but stops short, unable to refute Bazsil's logic in his own mind.
"Recrea.... ah. I mean Tanaroa sounds good. I think I am ready for some civilization. Or whatever passes for that over here. Should we use our rod to set up the party tent? This ring of sustenance has been a godsend on this voyage, but eating a royal feast would be quite a treat. Femi, perhaps if we meet someone in charge in Tanaroa we can invite them as a guest to our little party? Wine and dine those we wish to make nice with?"
And get Bazsil to teach me how to get a date to bring to the party... Mental note to ask him about that when the others aren't around. That would be awkward...
"No no Elon..." Gado answers, mildly flustered. "I don't want to mask any poison. I only wondered if there was an alchemical reason why the poison was masked. I thought perhaps we could alter it to take away some of the ill after effects of a few to many of your delicious pints. Even better is if it is purely magic. Then perhaps can alter the etheral strands behind it somehow. Yes... I have some ideas now already. Could you imagine if we could create a bowl that when you drink out of it, it takes away your hangover? We could be rich back in Magnimar!" Gado's excitement gets the better of him as he starts jotting notes down in his journal, completely forgetting he has no clue if it would even work, or if the bowl managed to find its way back onto the ship.
"Is it strictly necessary that we butcher or otherwise 'deal with' the next Zombie Master? As that chief said, we know nothing about their culture. We could try a non-hostile approach. I'm sure the Isle of Dread will be dangerous enough without unnecessarily getting every tribe in the chain off side.
"At the very least, we should try to learn more about whether they're exploiting their people or not."
"I'm with Ciaran here. The Tribal leader didn't seem to upset about the situation, and was insulted that I would insinuate such a thing as to the zombie master being a negative thing. I have a feeling that us meddling would make things worse, not better. Just because it seems out of place to us, doesn't mean it is wrong."
"Unless I am right about the zombie master being in league with the cannibals. But that was a S.W.A.G."
Gado blinks a couple times, returning the blank stares.
"Sophisticated Wild Ass Guess." He answers their unspoken question.
"So, if we go to Tanaroa, the trip will take a little over two and a half days," Captain Barbarosa notes, "And we have the decision of whether we land on the east or west of that pinch point there - or somewhere else. To the east, it is a longer overland journey, but we can more easily sail up and along the coast should you wish for The Audacious to do so. From the west, it is much closer to the village proper and will be more handy should you need to depart in a hurry... or come back aboard for supplies and so on."
Baszil returns to the discussion after freshening up. He carries two mugs of Steelkeg amber, offering the second mug Ciaran.
"Have they fought again yet?" Bazsil asks Ciaran. "Think we can goad her into hitting him again? Might be good for a show, won't it?"
Baszil sits and slurps, keeping an ear to the discussion, but feeling like he's earned his relaxation.
Ciaran takes the beer and shrugs.
"Not yet, but it's just a matter of time. A crown says they're at it again as soon as we make landfall."
"Unless I am right about the zombie master being in league with the cannibals. But that was a S.W.A.G."Gado blinks a couple times, returning the blank stares.
"Sophisticated Wild Ass Guess." He answers their unspoken question.
"The ancestors we saw were a combination of skeletal and fleshy. If the Zombie Master were in league with the cannibals, they wouldn't be fleshy. And their skulls would have been cracked open to get to the brain, the marrow sucked, the eyes removed - that sort of thing."
"You want to mess with my beer?" Elon looks at Gado with wide eyes. He instinctively moves to grab the kegs and wraps his arms around them. "Don't do anything with these! They were expensive!" he says to the man.
As Gado explains, Elon chuckles. "Good idea, but a few years late." the dwarf says as he pushes a small package towards the man with his foot. The man pulls back the parchment and finds a pile of 10 pills. "It's called Alchemist's Kindness and it removes hangovers. Our bowl is surely more expensive..." Elon says aloud as he still protectively hovers over the beer as Baszil gets refills, trusting the coiffed man.
---
At the meeting with the Captain, Elon speaks up. "To Tangerine, but they better be interested in setting up a brewery, otherwise I will find my own place to set up shop and they might not like it..." he protests, but, hearing himself, he begins to agree that Sea Legs should talk. "Yeah... I get why Sea Legs should speak for us..." Elon mutters, almost inaudibly.
Turning to Sea Legs, Elon asks. "So are we doing the God schtick with the Tangerinians?"
"Tangerinians? Aroden's death! Tangerinians?"
"Yeah. The people from Tangerine." Elon states, confused by Ciaran's confusion. "Tangerinians would be the proper terminology." he says with a wise look on his face.
Bazsil sips his beer, nodding to accept the bet from Ciaran.
"Let's go to Tangerineton, then. If not there, then Tanaroa. Either one seems fine to me," Bazsil kicks back. He listens to Gado and Ciaran talk, then Gado and Elon, then wonders if he might the next to get a lecture from the smart little man.
"I wasn't hired here to make decisions. Just tell me where I can explore, who to protect, and where the First Women are. That's what I wish to explore. Either this island or the inside of some thighs."
Elon brings up a keg of Pale Ale, pouring some draughts for the crew as they sail to Tanaroa. "To the Isle of Whatever-We-Call-This!" he yells, chugging down a pint before greedily refilling his large yak horn mug.
Understanding that he needs to start gelling with the other sailors, Elon walks over to Sea Legs and bows, offering his yak horn of ale. "Here Sea Legs! Some ale will calm the stomach as the alcohol cuts the edge on your nerves!"
True to Barbarosa's estimate, it takes a little under two and a half days to reach the village of Tanaroa. While sailing, ominous shapes can again be spotted beneath the waves. Several times, fins break the water. All, however, seem to leave the relatively large ship alone. In the distance, through the thick jungle, smoke rises from volcanoes, wafting lazily into the still air.
A mile before Tanaroa comes into view, all see an enormous wall crossing the span that separates the main island from the south eastern peninsula. Gratum estimates it at fifty feet high, and has large square towers at even intervals along the wall. Each tower stands another twenty feet higher than the wall itself. Nestled in a clearing beneath the wall, about a thousand feet from the coast, is the village of Tanaroa. The construction of the buildings, from this distance, seem to be broadly similar to that of Dawa's. However, a wooden palisade surrounds Tanaroa. The crudeness of the wall surrounding the village is in stark contrast to the exceptionally sturdy and well built stone wall looming over it.
As with the village of Dawa, a large sand bar prevents the Audacious from mooring at a point on the land, and the crew sets out on their rowboat. Canoes and longboats line the beach, but a much more organized greeting party awaits. Perhaps the view from the towers afforded them some extra time to prepare. Perhaps they were forewarned somehow by Cihuateteo...
Some dozen tattooed warriors stand to meet the crew of the Audacious. They stand with spears pointed upwards, and at their front a beautiful coffee-skinned woman with a resplendent feathered headdress and scant clothing woven with golden trinkets comes forwards, walking with the grace of royalty. As the companions get closer, they notice that several of the warriors have steel swords at their sides.
"Welcome, travelers," she calls out, arms open, "You have reached Village of Tanaroa. I am Chief Yatzil. You come in peace?"
Don't do anything stupid, don't do anything stupid.
"Hello and well met Chief Yatzil. We do come in peace."
That sounded stupid. Shut up and let the others talk
Mtumbwi proceeds to scratch a particularly troublesome spot towards the rear of his loin cloth.
Understanding that he needs to start gelling with the other sailors, Elon walks over to Sea Legs and bows, offering his yak horn of ale. "Here Sea Legs! Some ale will calm the stomach as the alcohol cuts the edge on your nerves!"
"Thank you Elon... thank you!", Femi grasps the drink and throws it back, hoping it will do some good... good.
…alas it stays down only a short time, as the next wave-lurch throws poor Femi’s balance off even more. ”Sorry!” he cries at the wasted alcohol, so tasty going down.
True to Barbarosa's estimate, it takes a little under two and a half days to reach the village of Tanaroa.
groan…
Femi is so glad to have dry land under his feet again, he is bursting with joy and very nearly kisses the ground at the chiefs feet. Not sure how that would be viewed, he contains himself, but only just.
”Well met Chief Yatzli! As our very fine Mtumbwi here already said, we do indeed come in peace. We of the ship Audacious are here to visit your village, perhaps trade a little, and rest before proceeding inland, with your kind permission of course!”
He takes out the gift and presents it in her direction, but he does not get too close, unsure of her personal space. ”Please accept this mere token of our esteem in you, and your village.”
Bazsil rolls out the boat, determined not to let the others ruin this diplomacy like Femi Aeslin did last time. He is equally determined to make a good impression on the attractive tribal chief so stand stoically posing next to Femi as he speaks.
His right hand grips Lucy, his left hand in a balled fist at his waist.
He nods gracefully when Femi introduces him...
He *nods* gracefully when Femi introduces him...
HE NODS GRACEFULLY WHEN FEMI INTRODUCES HIM...
"But of course, you would know our names!" Femi laughs
"My apologies my dear Chief. I am Euphemia Ferka, but folks just call me Femi for ease. This is Mtumbwi as I mentioned. Here is Aeslin, Ciarán, Elon, Gado, and Gratum."
He looks around, Did I miss anyone? Anyone?
"Oh yes, and Bazsil here too. He's a great helper."
"We are at your service!"
Bazsil bows his head gracefully when Femi introduces him.
"As he says, I am Bazsil, the Great Warrior of this ship. We have come to visit, explore, and learn. We seek company, food, and drink...and a place to relax before we delve into this island," Bazsil says truthfully.
"Perhaps you could introduce me to your island?" Bazsil asks the 'queen'.
Mtumbwi sees that one of Bazsil's curls is out of place. He stops scratching to flick it off the man's shoulder.
"Sorry. Was bugging me."
"Caw!"
Koney lets out an obnoxious screech as he circles down from high in the sky after getting the lay of the land. With an unceremonious flop, he lands on Gado's stylish tricorn hat, knocking it slightly askew.
The black feathered raven hops to Gado's shoulder, pecking at the hat until it is back closer to something that resembles straight and even.
"Caw!"
"Heh... Sorry for the interruption. This is Koney. He isn't sure if he liked my hat or not," Gado says with an awkward chuckle as he adjusts the hat back to its proper position.
"Pleasure to meet you, your highness," he says, sweeping the hat back off his head and dipping into a low bow.
Femi rummages around and manages to find a lovely jeweled, masterwork dagger in the ship's armory. The Colonel is already arguing with Barbarosa about how much steel can be spared, so Femi decides it's probably best to just take it now and as for forgiveness later.
"'Highness'? No. Just 'Chief'. Thank you for introductions, Femi. Pleasure to meet all of you," Yatzil unwraps the jeweled dagger and turns it over in her hands, "We accept this gift. Gift of steel very welcome in Village of Tanaroa. It has helped keep us safe from cannibals for many moons. Do you know Rory Barbarosa? That look like his ship."
While chatting, the chief waves the companions to follow her, "You can rest a while in village. We have guest huts. We like to swap tales, and trade for more steel. What is it you want?"
The walk to the village is relatively short and several well-tattooed guards bow and allow the congregation through the main gate into Tanaroa. Towering over the village is the great wall. Twin sets of intricately carved double-doors stand just outside of the village. Each massive set of doors appears is barred from the Tanaroan side with a massive wooden bar.
While the layout of Tanaroa is almost identical to that of Dawa, upon closer inspection the companions realize that the huts have been sealed with tar. The main meeting point is also a pyramid upon a mound, about the same size as before, but bubbling tar pits to the north between the village and the great wall. Judging by the wooden carvings in the center of each of the four central graveyards, the clans here differ from Dawa. Symbols of a hawk, sea turtle, tiger and elk are proudly displayed by the four clans.