Elon sees Baszil leave the Chief's hut and laughs. "Find yourself something better to do tonight?" he chuckles as he pours the man a frothy homebrew from his kegs, preferring to avoid the sweet nectar alcohol of the tribespeople until he can get a handle on their incessant need for overbearing sweetness.
At the mention of heading to Mtumbwi's cockfight, Elon raises an eyebrow. "You'd rather go see Mtumbwi's cock than the Chief's cat... I had you pegged wrong, my friend, but no matter! We can still be greater bunk mates!" he chuckles, clapping the man on the shoulder as the beer obsessed dwarf hears Gratum wander over.
As the other dwarf speaks, Elon cleans out his ear with his pinky. "Towers, you say?" he says with a confused look. "I don't follow. What comes in towers?"
---
At the next meeting of the crew, Elon vociferously votes in favor of any endeavour that allows him to search for arable land, fresh water sources, fresh fruit groves, naturally occurring grains or solid timber in plentiful amounts. "How'm I supposed to build a brewery out here to keep us well larded if we keep going on these inane mammoth hunts?" he asks. "Also, if we could find some wild boars or pig-like creatures, then I'd love to get a little butchery thing going on the side..." the dwarf says, drooling over the thought of some sizzling back bacon.
Elon sees Baszil leave the Chief's hut and laughs. "Find yourself something better to do tonight?"
Bazsil accepts the drink and taking a large swill before asking for it to be topped off.
"Her Highness thinks she is worthy to sleep with Bazsil. No, she is not the woman I thought she was. I have given her over to Gado," Bazsil says, taking another drink. "No doubt she will pine and long for Bazsil in her heated loins."
Bazsil will chat more with the dwarf over another drink, then wander off to find Ixchel. When he finds her, he will overtly look her up and down.
"How *you* doin'?" Bazsil says with a smug, confident smile to Ixchel.
"Yes Ciarán," nods Barbarosa, "An excellent suggestion. The bight. One week. I shall moor the ship out there and await your arrival. If another week passes and we see you not, I shall assume you are all dead - or lost (which probably amounts for the same thing)."
Barbarosa hefts himself up, fills his mug from the mammoth's head and makes to leave, "I'll be back tomorrow when you've figured out your cocks from your weasels."
Yatzil doesn't look terribly disappointed when Bazsil leaves. She merely shrugs and approaches Gado. "Maybe, if you're very lucky, Ixchel will join us..."
"Land for grain?" asks a perplexed native. As Elon explains the type of land required he nods, realizing at last, "You want central plateau. Land of Gods. Grasslands. Fertile lands. Cooler lands. Higher altitude." Elon is also fairly certain that after clearing enough of the jungle, anything would grow on this fertile, volcanic soil.
Once Femi has recovered a little from his lack of sleep and too much imbibing, well after breakfast, he spends some time around the village.
He’s trying to get a general feel for the place. Who gossips, who actually knows things, and above all, who’s been on the other side of the wall? If that’s common enough, has anyone been beyond the tar pits?
He has a leisurely lunch, and considers what he wants to know, and who is most likely to know it. Eventually he knows what he wants, and he spends the afternoon getting it.
Does anyone have a map of what lies beyond the wall? If not, can a crude one be constructed from their knowledge? Who in town can draw? Who in town knows what lies beyond the wall? Assuming no such map exists, he finds a cartographer, or the closest to it he can, and brings them from person to person comparing stories, showing them the map so far, and adding to it or correcting it.
By supper, he hopes to have something better than what we have now.
Bazsil will chat more with the dwarf over another drink, then wander off to find Ixchel. When he finds her, he will overtly look her up and down.
"How *you* doin'?" Bazsil says with a smug, confident smile to Ixchel.
"Urghhh, no."
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Roused from his slumber in the detritus of the jungle, Mtumbawi awakes with a start.
"Ugh. The mizenmast you a*%@%+!! Oug. Fumber. Huh?"
Realizing that he is no longer aboard The Audacious and has not been for some time, Mtumbwi looks at his half complete wandering trail in the sand.
"You. Tribe-mate-friend. Come help. Before. Things. Here. You take circling making thing, and you do the sand in a round like this."
Mtumbwi begins to gyrate his hips in a counter-clockwise circular motion while holding his hands above his head. He begins to take short steps as he moves, turning slowly in a circle before completing a 360 back to where he started.
He flops his hands to his side and stares at the native, hoping he is understood.
After a few giggles, the native shouts to his friends. "Kuja haraka na kuona hii mpuuzi kujaribu Niambie kutengeneza duara."
A handful of natives come over to see what is going on, some munching on grilled mastodon, some sipping Elon concoctions.
Turning to Mtumbwi, the native asks, "So you say you want square. How we make square?" He turns and stifles a giggle.
Mtumbwi begins again. "No f&~& circle square. Make it. Circle."
He once again begins to gyrate his hips in a counter-clockwise circular motion while holing his hands above his head. He begins to take short steps as he moves, turning slowly in a circle before completing a 360 back to where he started.
All the natives being to laugh heartily. The original tribesman, Tudail, tries to keep a straight face and is laughing in busts.
More and more natives arrive wondering what the commotion is.
Multiple conversations break about all at once, before Tudail quiets them down. Addressing his companions, "Umakini una ona hii. Kuangalia."
"Mighty warrior, you want me make triangle?"
Busts of laughs can be hear behind Tudail.
Mtumbwi stamps his foot on a leaf, and slips to one knee. Rocketing forward, before swaying backward, "Huh? Circlef%$#. Round. Make."
This time Mtumbwi spreads his arms out wide, stretching his finger tips as far apart as he can, and tipping his head back before spinning around.
"See turn it circle."
Tears streaming down their faces, the natives once again laugh until their eyes stream with water.
Tudail grabs the stick and creates the circle Mtumbwi so desperately wants.
"I have made your circle friend Mtumbwi. Why is this so important to you?"
"You see. Rosters. Cocks. They fight. I show. "
Harlan strides up the beach, holding one of Mtumbwi's fighting cocks under his arm.
"You go get one of your island roosters. Biggest one you find. Here, pay for it if people not you have it."
Mtumbwi throws a few gold coins towards some teenage natives watching the festivities.
"See this one here is a prize. No comb and wattle. Fight better."
A few minutes later they return with a rooster. "Native Friend Mtumbwi, this is a “mua” or red jungle fowl. Best roosters we have."
"Ugh! Gonna have to do. See here, this is a prize fighting one. Gonna be over quick. You go stand on the opposite side of the circle. I'll stand here. Harlan over there, yeah the dumbass looking guy. He will take bets. Your cock is a 100 to 1. You bet one gold piece, I will give you 100 if your rooster beats mine. My rooster, well you'd have to bet 100 to win 1. Not so good. He will give a signal, and boom, we let the rooster peck each other to death."
Mtumbwi kneels down at one end, tipping over to face plant in the sand before rolling back up. Gripping the rooster with two hands, he waits for the signal from Harlan to start.
" the apprentice shouts.
Releasing his cock, Mtumbwi's rooster begins his cockerel "waltz".
Some more aggressive cockerels will drop and extend both wings and puff out all their body feathers to give the hens and/or other cocks the impression of a larger size, and charge through the hen yard like a bull.
Charging, Mtumbwi's rooster begins pecking and wing slapping the other rooster repeatedly. The brutal fight is quickly finished.
Harlan collects the money from the group of villagers and a few begin to clamor for more.
"You gotta see, this cock is bred for this. Harlan, get the trainers." Mtumbwi moves deeper into the forest to vomit for a few minutes while the apprentice shipwright moves to a stack of wooden crates draped with blankets.
"Carrots. I didn't eat carrots. Why is it always carrots when I puke?" muses Mtumbwi while Harlan gets two more out.
Stumbling back, Mtumbwi calls. "Gado! Femi! Get over here. I "
Once the two men reach him, Mtumbwi explains that he needs someone sober and intelligent. He goes into fine detail about the nuances of the actuary sciences and how it relates to taking bets and create odds.
"You take money, do math." he points to them.
This time Harlan signals the start and Mtumbwi and Tudail release their roosters. The fight is a long one, and as more and more people start shouting, more and more people come over. By the time one rooster lies in a pile of blood and feathers, the crowd is sizable and clamoring for more.
"No more tonight. Need to breed some of your cocks to fight. It will be long, and difficult but together we will make this the Isle of Cock!"
While he is giving his stirring speech, he sees the weasel run into the ring and Tudail release the training rooster.
A much quicker and more brutal fight begins.
"What the f@%~ is this? Hmm. That a@*$*@~ Aeslin might be on to something. Harlan, 10 on the rat f#$% thing."
"No no Koney, I'll not put you in there with them. Well, not without a properly charged shocking grasp spell in your talons anyways."
The sheer black raven ruffles his feathers, puffing them out and shift his weight back and forth on Gado's shoulder, letting out a satisfied "Caw!"
Yatzil doesn't look terribly disappointed when Bazsil leaves. She merely shrugs and approaches Gado. "Maybe, if you're very lucky, Ixchel will join us..."
Gado follows Femi around for a bit, hoping to absorb information by osmosis. He points out a few things on the map, and corrects a few logical contradictions as they work, but it becomes clear that there just isn't much information.
Eventually, Gado breaks away, looking for the chief, now that he has such a good, ah... working relationship with her.
"Good morning" He smiles, realizing that he suddenly doesn't know quite what to say regarding the night before. After an uncomfortable pause, he moves quickly on to what he needed to ask about.
Yea, let her bring up last night. If she brings it up then I can gage whether or not it was good or bad for her before I stick my foot in my mouth...
"So what can you tell me about the tar pits and the end of the road? I've heard of sword-beaks and dinosaurs and seen a mastadon with my own eyes, but what other dangers lurk out there? I, uh... like to study before I am tested. Especially when failure of said test means my grisely demise..."
"Oh, and if I didn't mention it before, thanks for taking me in as a member of your tribe. I think I quite like it here." He smiles, flushing red in embarrasment from his little innuendo.
So much for letting her bring it up first... dolt...
Wandering around the newly constructed rooster pen, Mtumbwi sprinkles some dried grain fruits on the ground.
"So Tudail, you want to separate the roosters out right away from the other, weaker poults. Find ones that are big and strong. Aggressive. We keep doing this until you find a small flock and then you start fighting them. Make sure to separate them before too long. I will leave for a bit, a!*%@**s what to head out. Keep doing what you are doing and Harlan can help you out. If he starts spouting numbers, well just tell him 'I'll put my foot up your arse' . Seems to work for me.
"So outside your walls. Did you do any ranging? We will probably head to the tar pit first, possibly up the coast. Maybe I can get a group of locals that know their way around the sea to do some exploring.
"Elon, what do you have for a hangover? I have a mild case of the s%~$s too. Not sure if they're related."
Spurned by Ixchel, Bazsil goes to find a private area/tent to engage in a bit of his own personal and solo cockfighting. Turning and almost to the point of finish, he realizes that he is not alone.
"Oops, sorry. Didn't see or hear you. You're very quiet," Bazsil says to Gratum as he takes his time to finish up.
"Have a good night there, dwarf." Bazsil hitches up his pants, and nods to Gratum as he leaves to find Elon and drink more. Apparently, he was going to be alone tonight. Might as well be alone while drunk.
* * *
In the morning, Bazsil goes to find Gado and slaps him on the back when he sees him.
"Tell me how it went! How did you do it?" Bazsil asks intrigued about his night with the chief. "Did you do the angry stork? Or perhaps the lunging flumph? Tell me details!"
As Gado explains , Bazsil will pepper him with questions about his dismount and whether he preferred a clockwise or counterclockwise finish.
"And tell me, when you engaged in the yak & steer position, how many knuckles did you use?"
"Hmm.. What's this now? Plateau?" Elon says, interested at the possibility for a high-rise brewery. "Tell me more of this Land of Gods. Is there natural grain? Lots of wood? Any natural water sources? What is the wildlife like? These are the important things..." Elon asks as his paw paw danish sits, unattended to in his hand.
Wandering around the newly constructed rooster pen, Mtumbwi sprinkles some dried grain fruits on the ground.
"So Tudail, you want to separate the roosters out right away from the other, weaker poults. Find ones that are big and strong. Aggressive. We keep doing this until you find a small flock and then you start fighting them. Make sure to separate them before too long. I will leave for a bit, a&*@*&#s what to head out. Keep doing what you are doing and Harlan can help you out. If he starts spouting numbers, well just tell him 'I'll put my foot up your arse' . Seems to work for me.
"So outside your walls. Did you do any ranging? We will probably head to the tar pit first, possibly up the coast. Maybe I can get a group of locals that know their way around the sea to do some exploring.
"Elon, what do you have for a hangover? I have a mild case of the s#&#s too. Not sure if they're related."
"I will come with you."
Femi is frustrated to find that cartography is as yet undiscovered by the natives. The best he gets is some scratchings in the sand that are nowhere near correctly proportioned nor to scale. However, they all agree that the tar pits are 2 days' north, and many more days than that to the Central Plateau. The Central Plateau is only rumored of (despite the natives' assertions that they 'know' it is there), as none living in the tribe right now have ever been beyond the tar pits - or even strayed far from the road.
They do tell of pearls off the east coast near Tanaroa, however. Pearls as big as your fist that glisten like diamonds. Pearls that could be dived for, if it weren't for the unsavory denizens of the deeps. The natives have not seen them, but those who have tried diving for the pearls found that they had been burned underwater. Such tales have thus far deterred further attempts.
Some older Tanaroans also tell of a great dragon that sleeps on the Isle. It visited some time ago to eat livestock and people, laying waste to part of the village. The Tanaroans left a pile of treasure to mollify the dragon and, with its belly full, the beast elected to leave them alone. Its green scales were said to hold an inner fire - akin to the flames of Hell.
Other rumors abound, also, of talking monkeys and humans who wear the heads of tigers in place of their own. These seem fanciful however, and even those who tell of such things do not seem to put their heart into it.
All in the tribe have heard of the magnificent Black Pearl that lies in the depths of the Temple in the center of the Great Plateau. This Plateau is supposed to vie with the mountains for its spot in the sky and is accessible only by ascending a particular nearby mountain and crossing a treacherous sky bridge.
Chief Yatzil tells Gado similar things, and lets him know that the prime dangerous creatures out there are dinosaurs, the carnivores and the herbivores in particular. These great lizards are very territorial, and so it is best to avoid any areas where there are signs of big lizards passing. She also notes, however, that nothing on the Isle of Dread should be taken lightly. If it has survived the perils of the Isle, then it is likely as cunning and calculating as the dinosaurs are powerful and vicious.
In the morning, Bazsil goes to find Gado and slaps him on the back when he sees him."Tell me how it went! How did you do it?" Bazsil asks intrigued about his night with the chief. "Did you do the angry stork? Or perhaps the lunging flumph? Tell me details!"
As Gado explains , Bazsil will pepper him with questions about his dismount and whether he preferred a clockwise or counterclockwise finish.
"And tell me, when you engaged in the yak & steer position, how many knuckles did you use?"
Yak and Steer? Gado mouths silently, his face twisted in confusion. He wipes the confused look off his face quickly, worried he might insult Bazsil.
"Aaaahhh... I think it went well. Can't say I know what the yak and steer position is, but there were a few knuckles, one or two buckles, and I'm still trying to figure out how she made me go cross-eyed." He chuckles to himself at the memory.
"I figure I couldn't have done to bad when she nearly twisted my head off of my shoulders each time she... well.. you know." Gado blushes a little, not sure he wants to make it sound like he is bragging to much.
"Maybe if you find someone here who catches your fancy and keeps it I'll have to show you a trick I figured out that combines a grease spell with a modified enlarge spell and a shocking grasp. Maybe I'll see if I can get that on a scroll. Probably would work better in a potion though, to be honest." Gado's eyes glaze over a bit again as he trails off, reliving the moment in his mind.
"The key to it all is really how you deliver the charge. It's all in the timing..."
Gado listens as intently as he can, constantly distracted by his mental image of Yatzil as she was the night before. His ears perk up at the mention of the pearls and being burnt underwater.
"Steam perhaps? Impossibly hot water from an elemental? Volcanic vents nearby? How could the pearls get so large? This I must see!" Gado begins to get excited again, conveniently forgetting the rampant danger to his life for going on such an expedition.
Hey, after last night, pretty sure I can die happy anyways...
He begins to take a few notes as the enchanting chief continues to talk.
Underwater burns - fire resistance
Diving for pearls - webbed feet and underwater breathing
Things that want to kill me while I am diving - Gotta do more research...
Gado snaps his notebook shut and continues to smile and listen.
Gado fills his notebook throughout the day with the rumors and bits of information. He dismisses nothing, working through known denizens and variations in his head to see if he can match up something he is familiar with to the stories he hears.
[b]"Yea, definitely need to follow up on the great dragon. I must study these fires of hell it hides in it's scales... Hopefully without being engulfed in said fire."
"Did you say even the herbivores are territorial?" He asks, interrupting when she speaks of the dinosaurs.
Great Lizards - Invisibility, flight.
If Bazsil seems disappointed with the lack of specificity of what he stuck where and the gyrations that propelled it, he does not show it.
"Ah yes, Smart Little Man," Bazsil says smugly. "Much like you have conquered your fear of woman, we shall conquer this island. You stick near me and we will do well."
Bazsil shakes his head at Gado's ideas for magical accompaniment during the lovemaking process.
"Ah, I need no magics to make a woman sploosh, Gado. They only need know that I am near for them to know true pleasure."
* * *
Bazsil is ready to go with the main group when it happens.
Femi, having learned what he could, which wasn't much, shares his knowledge with the group.
Unsure about other preparations, he also gathers enough food for a long journey.
He probably obtains too much, but he does not like an empty belly.
He will in fact look to one of the better built folk to carry some of it, "Bazsil, will you carry some of my food for me? I don't want to be over encumbered, if I can avoid it."
Femi is ready to do with the main group when it happens.
"Yes, herbivores territorial," says Matla, "Prime grazing ground hard to find."
Femi is too hung over and tired to head out with the first group. Unless specifically invited to go for some reason, he remains behind in camp sorting out his head and his gear.
Gado frets over his makeshift desk as he studies his spellbook intently.
Levitate? Could keep me from drowning. Of course, touch of the sea lets me swim much easier, though I can't breathe water yet. Soon. Soon my more powerful chapter of spells... I can feel the power in me growing...
He grumbles and groans, chewing on the end of his pen, struggling to focus.
Eventually he makes his way to where Mtumbwi is getting ready to launch the longboat and presents himself for inspection.
"I think I am ready."
Gado stands in a respectable t-shirt with awkwardly short shorts, and a pair of sandles given to him by one of the tribesman. He has his backpack with all its straps and buckles slung over his shoulder, but it doesn't hold much. He subconciously fingers his ring of sustenance, grateful that with it he doesn't need much sleep, or food. He certainly didn't get much the night before. Sleep that is. And with all the drink he had, its probably a good thing he doesn't really need to eat.
He looks to the dagger strapped to his waist, not thinking he will need to use it for anything other than prying open a gigantic clam with a fist sized pearl in it.
Bet I could copy a thousand scrolls with the money that pearl would get me. I wonder if they take trade for that stuff here on the island? I should be able to find the right reagents I suspect...
"Bazsil, will you carry some of my food for me? I don't want to be over encumbered, if I can avoid it."
Bazsil looks at Femi, surprised.
"Of course! Place what you want into this front pouch here," Baszil says, making room in that pouch completely for Femi. "That pouch is all yours."
Bazsil looks more deeply at Femi.
"Maybe you could do a favor for me in return?" Bazsil asks tentatively. Bazsil continues assuming Femi will agree for who could resist doing a favor for the man who would be keeping you alive in the perils to come?
"That woman there, Ixchel is her name, seems to confused by her desires for me. Would you use your clever tongue to have her welcome me into her tent? I would like to spend more time with her," Bazsil asks with a smug smile, flicking his oiled curls over his shoulder.
Elon hands the hungover Mtumbwi a small package. "Don't have an endless supply of these, so keep that in mind." the dwarf says with a jovial wink. "Guess I don't need too many since I don't really get hangovers. Must be my dwarven blood." Elon says with a smile.
"Mix it with water, quaff it down and you'll be fine." he says as the shipwright opens the tiny paper to see what appears to be salt.
---
At breakfast, Elon shovels whatever food is given to him as he furiously scribbles in his notebook. "Must find a stronger arcane caster for the mouth... Gado doesn't seem to have what I need..." he mutters in between bites.
As a tribe member walks past with basket of grilled mango slices, Elon spears a few with his fork and slaps the meaty fruit onto his plate. "Oi, lass. Who is your local metalworker? I need to commission something." he asks of the girl.
Upon hearing his answer and the consumption of his fruit, the dwarf moves to pour beer for himself, noticing that only the crew prefers his ales. "Oh well, more for us, I guess." he thinks to himself, disappointed, but inspired to find common ground.
Walking past Baszil, the dwarf places a fresh mug of session ale on near the man's plate. "That'll keep ye right with the world after that 'display' you put on for Gratum. I'm sure he appreciated it, but I don't think the Captain's tent was the proper venue." Elon says with a wink before searching out the Chief.
---
Upon finding her, Elon will bow respectfully. "I beseech only a moment of your time, Chief." he says with a flourish of his hands. "While the others scout out before the expedition, I would like to start work on building the beginnings of a brewery and meeting house for my fellow crewmates and the tribe members alike." he propositions the woman.
"I can certainly start from scratch or use some preexisting structures to begin work, but I defer to your judgment in the matter."
Gratum begins, drunk, in the middle of the night, to search for a suitable beggining to his tower of beer idea. Now really needing it.
By breakfast he is slumped over, beside a keg and his marvel of engineering. Until prodded to get up and eat.
Eventually durring discussions of who shall go where, Gratum simply says, "I'm going with."
Before they scour the island proper, four of the crew make their way onto a longboat. Mtumbwi immediately starts barking orders, and tests the adjustments he made to the sails of the crude native longboat. All the while Gado tries to keep his books dry as he calculates and recalculates where the pearls are likely to be. Gratum seems to have taken leave of his senses - or has a very good reason to be away from the village - as he voluntarily puts his feet down upon a boat once more. Ciarán, as ever, sits in relative silence. The bodyguard vigilantly scans the seas for signs of danger.
Barely six miles from the coast, they arrive at the spot. A reef seems stretch across the width of the bay and, based on their distance from various landmarks, Gado judges that this is the spot where they could dive for pearls 'as big as your fist'.
The mastodon has proved too much for even the entire tribe to eat. Much of the beast's flesh is still lying around. Matla seems worried. "We left carcass out there in open. We cleaned bones well, but offal we left will attract scavengers... or lazy predators. It smell here. Smell might bring them this way."
The tribe's lead hunter starts clean-up duty with his fellows from the Elk clan. It proves a vain effort, however, as just before midday a cry comes from the tower. "Pteranodons!"
Straining to see in the sun-drenched sky, the remaining crew of the Audacious see no fewer than a dozen bat-like silhouettes approaching fast.
I wonder if I should have cast mage armor on Bazsil before I left? Hrmmm..... Gado wonders to himself as they sit in the longboat, contemplating the dive.
"Well Gentlemen," Gado interrupts himself to cast mage armor on himself using his handy dandy rod of extend to get a full 8 hours of usage time from the spell.
"Sorry, as I was about to say, I have a spell that should make this a bit easier for us. It is called touch of the sea, and will give you webbed hands and feet. It will not help you breath underwater, however." Gado arranges his books neatly under his seat and brushes his plain shirt and shorts from whatever imaginary dust or crumbs might have been on them.
"I won't bore you with the details, but I can cast it on all four of us. For two of us, it will last about 8 minutes. For the other two, I only have enough power to make it last for about 4. My suggestion is that two of us get the longer lasting version, and head down to scout, pulling this rope here. Once you either find trouble, or the pearls, tug on the rope and the other two will head down to assist."
The manner in which Gado speaks of the expected trouble surprises him, as if he was already expecting it, and planning for it. Just like any good practitioner of the arcane arts should. Maybe it was less about being prepared, and more about not being terrified. Of course, whatever it was that burns people under the water wasn't staring directly into his eyes at the moment.
"Mtumbwi, I would defer to your expertise in this matter. What do you think?"
"Of course! Place what you want into this front pouch here," Baszil says, making room in that pouch completely for Femi. "That pouch is all yours."
"Thanks! You're very generous!"
"... Maybe you could do a favor for me in return?" Bazsil asks tentatively. Bazsil continues assuming Femi will agree for who could resist doing a favor for the man who would be keeping you alive in the perils to come?
"That woman there, Ixchel is her name, seems to confused by her desires for me. Would you use your clever tongue to have her welcome me into her tent? I would like to spend more time with her," Bazsil asks with a smug smile, flicking his oiled curls over his shoulder.
Femi laughs in spite of himself, but he stops quickly enough. "You don't need me. You know what to do, and no language barrier will stop that. Just make her feel like she's the only woman in the world. Dote on her. She'll come around soon enough."
He looked ready to say more, when the call goes up...
He gauges their distance, and starts with a Mage Armor on Bazsil. "If they're after the meat, we should go there so we may face them - right?"
He follows Bazsil wherever he heads as he draws his crossbow.
The next round he casts Mage Armor on himself, and loads his crossbow, merely taking a step toward Bazsil's destination.
Taking the packet and nodding, "Thanks." Mtumbwi searches the area for some leftover Elon brew. Mixing the packet into the brew, he quaffs it in one gulp. Belching loudly, he utters, "Not sure if that worked or not. Ugh."
Scratching his man parts, Mtumbwi weaves his way through the village, nodding to people he doesn't know, screaming at children he has never seen, "Get out of my way before I put my foot up your ...! Your kids? Tell them to get outta my way!", and generally walking in circles before he finds someone. "You, tribe-sister. Where can I find that Zombie Mistress? Over there? Were no one else is? Sure. Thanks. No, I don't have an extra pair of balls since she is going to slice mine off. "
He makes a beeline for the hut that is a bit larger than most he has seen. Rasping on the outside wall, he pushes aside the door and walks in.
"Hey! Mistress? You here? Oh hello. I'm Mtumbwi. From the boat. How are you on this fine day? What? Sure I can sit down.
So, Mistress ... what the f&&* is that?!?!?" Caught in the act of sitting, a few inches from the mat, Mtumbwi has sat on a cat that scurried out as his ass hit it. Rising sharply to his feet, he rubs his but cheek were the cat clawed him.
"Sorry about sitting on your puss. So what I was saying is that I heard you can make things. Special things. I am in need of something special. Something that can make me fierce and feared. No I don' t need to make that bigger. All good there. Hehe. Wanna see?
"Thought so weird prudes. So can you make this for me? How much. You want gold? Iron? One of my cocks?"
What a piece of s*!*! Thank Gozreh none of my friends can see me.
Feeling the familiar rock of the sea, though calm, Mtumbwi inhales and exhales deeply of the salt air.
Oh the sea, why do I ever leave you?
"Reef! Watch the whipstaff*. If we get stuck and have to sternway** I am going to throw each and everyone of you overboard. There, Ciaran, throw the anchor over. Good lad. Grantum, feeling better yet? I could drink a whole pail of curdled milk with floating carrot chunks right now!"
*vertical lever control the ships rudder
**movement of a ship backwards
"Ok Gado, hold a minute."
Jumping off the boat, Mtumbwi floats on top of the water, looking downward.
He circles back to the boat and pulls himself back on, never getting more than a body length from the boat.
"So my opinion, now mind you I have only been on boats since I was born, didn't read those books or nothing is we find some ballast and tie off some ropes. Fling them down to the bottom, still tied. Then we jump over with some ballast of our own, and sink. Once down there, we can have a look around for a time or two and then we pull ourselves back up the rope. One yank, coming up. Two yanks, 'Oh s!$~!'.
"At least two stay in the boat, rest can go over. I'd take that spell, Gado, think we have a bit of that on The Audacious too."
Bazsil claps Femi on the shoulder, holding the man in his strong (but friendly) grasp.
"No, Femi, you *will* speak to her on my behalf...she needs a bit more inducement than I wish to provide her. She should be doting on Bazsil, you see? I do favor for you...you do favor for me!?! You see how it works?" Bazsil says, as he begins to focus on the incoming foes. "But that can wait until after I have given her a display of my martial prowess."
Pre-Rounds 2 & 1
Bazsil draws Lucy, preparing for a battle with a quick ritual that defines his skill in defending himself.
"We should go there to face them, right?"
Baszil shrugs, "I'm not sure why we are fighting them at all. If the villagers are too weak to tend to the meat that we hunted for them, then why are we wasting our time fighting the lizardbirds over it? It would be nice if these villagers showed some strength in face of the 'danger' of this island, but with their weak leadership, what else would be expect but poor morale?"
"I would think the huts would be a good place, at least where we can watch them eat. We would learn much from that." Bazsil shakes his head in manly disappointment. "If the villagers don't care to tend for the gifts we give them, why should we?" He iterates sadly.
Bazsil drags Femi into a nearby hut where he can watch the meat and lizardbirds eat.
Why am I so eager to volunteer to go down? I could just wait until they make sure it is safe. How bad could it be though? Gado rationalizes with himself.
I want to see the pearls... I want to be the first to lay eyes on them. What arcane might could I store in them. If these tiny things can help me recall my minor spells, what could a pearl that size do for me?
Gado's adrenaline is coursing through his veins as he contemplates the riches below the surface of the waves. His body shakes from the overstimulation.
"You decide Mtumbwi, but I would like to go down." he says, hopeful he will be allowed to descend.
I need to be up here to cast the touch of the sea spells though. It really should be Mtumbwi and Ciaran to go down. Gratum and I could wait up here and dive down should there be trouble, or once they have found the pearls...
Gado looks on at Mtumbwi, his selfishness getting the better of him, keeping his thoughts to himself.
"I will go first," says Ciaran. "Even with my cracked ribs, I should be able to hold my breath for longer than Gado or Gratum." He politely doesn't draw attention to Gratum's unease on the water. "And I'm most likely to survive this undersea burning. If it's not something I can kill, Gado and Mtumbwi will need to watch to try to learn what they can from it.
"It'd probably take all 3 of you to pull me up anyway. Especially if I'm attacked by a kraken," he says with the faintest quirk of his lips.
Ciaran gets to his feet, pulls his shirt and boots off, hefts the harpoon he borrowed from Tanaroa, tucks a pair of daggers into his waistband, and otherwise readies himself to go overboard.
"Does anyone have any resistance to the elements they could share?"
"I beseech only a moment of your time, Chief." he says with a flourish of his hands. "While the others scout out before the expedition, I would like to start work on building the beginnings of a brewery and meeting house for my fellow crewmates and the tribe members alike." he propositions the woman.
"I can certainly start from scratch or use some preexisting structures to begin work, but I defer to your judgment in the matter."...
The Chief smiles at Elon, clearly amused. "Brewery?" she shakes her head, maintaining her smile, "This... stuff... is not to my tastes. But, many Tanaroans are curious. You may build. Start 'from scratch'... build from nothing, yes? You will have help... they build while you are gone, if you like. If you need stone, you must not take from wall or pyramid. Understand?"
"Hey! Mistress? You here? Oh hello. I'm Mtumbwi. From the boat. How are you on this fine day? What? Sure I can sit down."
...
"Thought so weird prudes. So can you make this for me? How much. You want gold? Iron? One of my cocks?"
"My name is not 'mistress'," sneers the Zombie Mistress, her manner of speech mirroring that of Tenoch, "It is Xochimitl. You should learn it. Sit if you like. I care not."
She listens quietly to Mtumbwi's request, seeming not to mind the obscenities, double entendres or is lack of manners and respect.
"Yes," she answers simply. Mtumbwi looks as though he needs more information, so she adds, "Yes, I will make it. Yes, I want gold."
[dice=Knowledge (nature)]1d20+4
"It is Xochimitl. You should learn it."
"I understand, Chief." Elon says with a bow as he takes his leave to search out a few tribesmen and women to help him build the brewery and taproom.
If he can find such recruits, he will share his plans. "I need a 30 foot by 60 foot building that can be made of normal lumber as you build your own huts. The sealant that you use in unnecessary for the whole building. From there, we can discuss a brewing room that would need to be sealed. Can one of you lot run me down on how you sealed your own fermentation room?" he asks, giving special attention to the brewmistress herself.
He sets out to work with the tribesmen as the rest of the party vamooses into the hill, or so he thinks...
---
The shrill sounds of the pterodactyls echoes across the town as the dward rushes to the center, Barley at his heels. "Looks like you an' me, boy!" he calls out to his trusty yak.
His nose twitches as cloves and oil envelop his sense of smell. "Well, I'll be. Glad to have you with us, Baz." the dwarf says, turning to greet the man rushing to the center.
Elon grabs his scythe and readies himself. "I ain't got no spells for this prepared. Was expecting to be working on the brewery!" he yells to the Coiffed One.
@Mtumbwi - Ocean floor is 60' down per Isle of Dread's post.
"Xochimitl, what a beautiful name. Rhymes with .... well it is pretty like you. *cough* *cough*. I will be happy to give you the gold up front. Let me see ... 75 ... 90 ... 100. Think that is 100. Can you double check me? Might come back for more. You think maybe you'd wan't to do business again? Talk a bit? I'd appreciate it."
"Gado, even without Bazsil here you still have no balls. I am not saying who goes where or who does what, but you can bet your silly books my arse is going down there.
"Now then, I seem to recall I heard Tudail or that weird Zombie Mistress say something about what we could find here. Something about getting electrocuted. Sounds crappy."
"Anybody got some electrical resistance in that bag of tricks? Mtumbwi has some fun things in store too."
Mtumbwi hands over his fishing net, "Fell free to try and catch any buggers." He pulls his barbed vest on, and readies his trident Pronger.
"Yea, You are probably right Ciaran."
No balls?
"Probably you too Mtumbwi."
Gado sits back down, not quite sure if he is disappointed in himself or bothered by Mtumbwi's accusation.
Not sure why that would bother me, it's not like that is some sudden change in his personality. Actually... that's probably the nicest he has been to any of us.
Gado is quickly distracted from his self-pity as his mind goes down another logical rabbit trail that will inevitably lead him nowhere.
"Well Gratum, I guess we should be ready to head down. I'll be ready to cast this spell on both of us. Maybe practice some calming breathing exercises to help us hold our breath longer. Or something. Read that in a book one time."
"Of course it's electrical burns. How did I not put that one together back on the island?" he mutters to himself.
Wish I had that resistance to electricity spell... I wonder what the zombie mistress has that I could learn from?
"Let me know when you are ready." Gado nods to Ciaran.
"Kraken?! What's that some sort of water creature that breaks rocks?" "If it's big, maybe this will even things up." Gratum holds up a wand of enlarge person and proffers it to Gado. "If we need it I think you should cast it. And maybe call up one of your water buddies. They've always seemed handy."
"We're looking under water for something valuable. Could be heavy... we'll need a pulley." Gratum muses before setting to work rigging up some rope and a hollow piece of wood on the side into a sort of pulley.
"That should do the trick!" though it doesn't really look like much, he's convinced it'll help. So he feels it is time to start feeling a little queasy. Just to prepare...
A few seconds after Baszil arrives and soundly ignores Elon, he sees Femi trotting up. "You ready Ol' Sea Legs?" he yells over the pterodon calls. "Bout time we had some fun, but have any of you seen Aeslin? I thought she was still in town today..."
"Well, I'll be. Glad to have you with us, Baz." the dwarf says, turning to greet the man rushing to the center.
"I ain't got no spells for this prepared. Was expecting to be working on the brewery!" he yells to the Coiffed One.
"Spells are for the smart, dwarf. I never considered you among their number," Bazsil replies with a smug grin, still watching the skies.
"Not sure what the villagers will do about the meat? Will they defend it? Will they let it rot? Will they hide in their huts? What kind of men are we dealing with here? Do they have steel in their hearts? Or are they filled with weakness, like that of the lesser races?"
"And luckily, you're taller, so they'll go for you first. Works for me!" Elon retorts as he keeps his scythe at the ready, choosing not to indulge Baszil's overcompensation of manliness in regards to the tribespeople.
As the shriek of the flying dinosaurs can be heard, Aeslin scampers out of bed, wincing from the bright light. 'Why did I drink that stuff? So sweet... but didn't seem that intoxicating! What in the hells is that?"
She scampers out to hear Elon asking where she was, as she casts an extended mage armor on herself. "Right here, Elon. Do we need to fight those things? Why not let them just have the carcasses?"
She then casts an extended false life on herself.
"I will try and put any that get close to us to sleep. Maybe the gods will be on our side this time!"
"You know it might be a good idea to see throw my old fishing net in, and see what is down there. Could use a hand.
"Grantum, grab the other side. No that side." Mtumbwi holds up a corner of the netting. "With the weights. Yes there. Nicely done. What we will do is swing it back and forth and the on 'three' we cast it in the water. On three.
"What?
"I will say 'three' and then you will throw, not as I say 'three'. F~~+ me.
"Just be careful not to snag it in your .... um ... the tube and wheel. Very nicely made by the way.
"Ok, ONE - TWO - now I am going to say three and then you throw it ... THREE. Oh s@&+."
Tenoch furrows his brow, "Potions to increase your electrical resistance? Well, of course! I have potions for almost anything... even a very rare one that will grow back limbs.
"So, you're diving for those pearls then?" a sly grin spreads its way onto the shaman's face, "Tell you what, you bring me back just one of those pearls and you can have the potion for free. You bring back no pearls, you return the potion - unless you've used it. Either way, we call it even. Deal?"
Mtumbwi and Gratum hook up a net to the winch. They begin throwing it in and hauling it back up. It works beautifully for the first 10 minutes or so, until they drag in a catch of about half a dozen electric eels. Without the water to swim through, they are easy enough to avoid... and kill. None doubt that they will find more down there, but are relieved that they are not so numerous as to be dragged up with every net thrown.
Shortly after the first lot of eels are pulled up, the winch breaks and the net is lost to the bottom of the reef.
Ciarán jumps in first, aided by Gado's spells, and swims expertly to the reef. A number of very large oysters cling to the coral and rock formations here, and an incredible array of brightly colored marine life swim to and fro... and away from the armored bodyguard. Using his dagger, Ciarán begins peeling away at the hand-sized oysters. As he does so, he notices that the scraping sound is quite loud and echoes all around him. Attracted to the noise, three electric eels begin to swim toward him, crackling with a blue aura of menace.
As Pteranodons fly down to menace the villagers, Bazsil is perhaps pleased to see that the Tanaroans have a fierce fire in their hearts. Spears fly at any pteranodon that gets too close to the food or a noncombatant. As several of the beasts land, warriors rush in to stab at their hearts. Even Chief Yatzil joins in, slashing at them with a steel sword Barbarosa gave her. Her fighting style is alien to the companions, but it is effective. Her prey takes to the skies once more rather than face her.
"Don't hide in the huts!" she implores the four crewmen who yet remain, "Take them on the pyramid! That is where most of the meat has been kept. That food is for us, and not these filthy scavengers!"
Several warriors have tried to make it to the pyramid, but their first task is defending the villagers and the pteranodons are making such progress slow at best.
Ciaran readies his harpoon and watches the eels approach with cold anticipation. When they are within range, he strikes!
As Pteranodons fly down to menace the villagers, Bazsil is perhaps pleased to see that the Tanaroans have a fierce fire in their hearts. Spears fly at any pteranodon that gets too close to the food or a noncombatant. As several of the beasts land, warriors rush in to stab at their hearts. Even Chief Yatzil joins in, slashing at them with a steel sword Barbarosa gave her. Her fighting style is alien to the companions, but it is effective. Her prey takes to the skies once more rather than face her.
"Don't hide in the huts!" she implores the four crewmen who yet remain, "Take them on the pyramid! That is where most of the meat has been kept. That food is for us, and not these filthy scavengers!"
As Pteranodons fly down to menace the villagers, Bazsil is perhaps pleased to see that the Tanaroans have a fierce fire in their hearts. Spears fly at any pteranodon that gets too close to the food or a noncombatant. As several of the beasts land, warriors rush in to stab at their hearts. Even Chief Yatzil joins in, slashing at them with a steel sword Barbarosa gave her. Her fighting style is alien to the companions, but it is effective. Her prey takes to the skies once more rather than face her.
"Don't hide in the huts!" she implores the four crewmen who yet remain, "Take them on the pyramid! That is where most of the meat has been kept. That food is for us, and not these filthy scavengers!"
"Gado!?!? You seeing this? Tugs. Was it one tug for a 'Oh s#*!' or was it three? What the hell is going on with the tugging? Ah hell, going to find out myself.
"And Grantum, you owe me one net. My favorite Auntie gave me that net."
Grabbing a barrel of ballast in one hand and his trident Pronger in the other, Mtumbwi jumps in semi-gracefully.