Emerion's eyes drift between those that speak to him and back to rest on Corridan behind his dark lenses. He had already started analyzing those before him as he approached in his disguise, even now their reactions and manners were being memorized. His expression and stance had not wavered in the slightest at the half orc's outburst. He replied in an equally conversational tone as if the reactions he received were unsurprising.
"It is not my place to assume how well informed or lack there of someone is concerning the organization. I am simply well traveled is all. I thank you for your welcome. As I have just arrived, is there anything I should be made aware of."
He makes a point at looking at where the half orc known as Penance had gone. It would not do well to have someone like that, who makes rash assumptions and judgments, to be involved in certain proceedings. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the two women.
"Erudira, Iellana. Please take the luggage below and inform the Captain that it is dangerous should anyone attempt to open it. Assure him that it is no danger to his ship but any would be thieves or overly curious person would find a rather painful death for their trouble."
Each woman bowed when their name was spoken and in unison when they set off to do as ask. Emerion turned his head back to those he had been speaking to.
"Excuse the interruption. I may have neglected to mention that despite my looks I am a fair trapper by trade."
Corridan's eyes widen at the half-orc's reaction, but he does nothing other than backing up a step while Penance makes his point. As the latter walks away, the tailor simply sighs. "I seem to have touched a nerve," he says softly to no one in particular. He then turns back to Emerion. "Well, other than the fact that we should leave the sailing to the sailors and that some of us are going to be sharing a cabin, nothing else I can think of really."
"I seem to be the unofficial welcoming committee," he quips, seemingly unperturbed by what had just transpired. He then once again proceeds to introduce himself and the others to Devram, although this time he makes it a point to exclude any connection between Penane and Abadar, despite the fact that his half-orc associate is not close enough to hear it.
Telemakos bites his lip as the Captain rebukes his foolish question. In his head, he is still complaining about his bad luck when the two new arrivals get on the ship.
Oh well. At least that deplorable hobgoblin and the crazy little guy with the horns won’t be with us. These two look like gentlemen… now I just need to avoid the fish-man…
“Welcome, welcome to our expedition!” he tries to sound as confident as possible “This is our good Captain” he nods towards Edmond “and I believe everyone else has been introduced. I am thrilled to have you with us!” he is actually sincere in saying that, even if he’s exaggerating we are going to look much more respectable without those two… finally something going the right way?
Iliante surveys the two new bronze agents from his peripheral vision while watching the crew make the ship ready. He does not understand how anyone can have more personal items than they can carry. He has not had his own cabin aboard ship in years since the time he served on a prize crew. Having a cabin of two will be a luxury of privacy aboard ship. He hopes to find a low maintenance mate for his cabin, for which he does not find a lot of competition among the agents.
He nods to the gnome in thanks before directing his question to Corridan.
"How many of us are there and how many cabins are to be shared?"
Erudira and Iellana had a habit of getting into trouble without him around. He would prefer to stay with them, as no sooner were they among fools alone that some brute thought to take liberties with them. He had no desire to deal with the fall out that came when men found that not all women were weak or prey.
"I think pilfering shall remain distinctly dim as a probability given our employers and destination. Employers that I have every faith have chosen well their sailors, captain, and vessel." Shinjuko smiles briefly and nods her head in the direction of the ship's Captain. "Master Nimlaidas, if your guests require safekeeping, they are more than welcome to share in the company of my own servants. They are competent and loyal, and you would have nothing to fear from their baser instincts. As I mentioned to some before, though not to you yourself..." Despite speaking directly to Nimlaidas, Shinjuko raises her voice slightly and cocks her head in the direction of the ship's captain as well. "...any mishandling of my property without my express permission will be dealt with severely and swiftly. Though given the hospitable nature of our current crew, I am sure such cautions are unnecessary."
Much as she has done for all of the others, Shinjuko offers a polite nod to Devram Coates. She knows well what the sword strapped to his side means. She also remembers well that the swordsmanship of Brevoy's finest pales in comparison to their underhanded politics; the lengths their noble houses will go to defend wounded pride. Mifune would not have her blaming one man for the shortcomings of his own kin, however. She would allow him the opportunity to redeem her already sagging impression of the Rostlanders and Issians from far to the Northeast.
Penance picks the cabin whose door opens closest to access the deck (if any such distinctions exist). It's cramped as hell, but they'll deal.
He slings off his pack. Some of the more fragile items, he loads into the small chest the room holds, quickly filling it up. The rest of his gear goes back into his pack and onto the bed.
You've taken the whole chest for yourself.
"So what," he mutters aloud in annoyance.
Give and take. Compromise. That is the nature of civilized interaction.
"Stuff your compromise," the half-orc growls to himself, hands briefly clenched. But he exhales, and starts digging things back out of the locker until it now-- precisely-- half-full. No more and no less.
With his pack hooked over one of the beams of the bed to keep it from moving with the rocking of the ship, Penance heads to rejoin the others. There's another man there, new face, a skinny mother's son. Penance gives him a brusque nod, hearing the tail end of his introduction.
"Coates, eh? Penance."
On deck, he stands by the railing with his big hands gripping it and stares at the view of the city from the harbor. He plays the game of trying to spot the house where his mother lives, in the maze of buildings, but it's futile.
I don't ask for a hell of a lot from you, Abadar, but you'd better watch out for her.
Adjusting his dark lenses yet again this time a flash of light reflects off of them. His neutral expression unwavering he turns to Yamakawa.
"Lady Yamakawa Shinjuko with all due and considerable respect. It has been my experience that only consequences, mostly of the deadly sort make a lasting impression. I have given due warning not as a threat or challenge. Rather out of respect and kindness, for it would be far more effective to allow said painful death to occur. Then I would be assured of my privacy and security, for that is what I crave myself. It is also my business to supply it in my own way."
He lets the silence pass for a moment as he seems to stare at Yamakawa.
"As to your kind offer. I would much rather remain with my servants if I can. But if I find that impractical then I would be most honored to take you up on that."
Something crossed his mind, was he the only one who knew what she was. It was interesting to say the least that her kind was so far from their considered home.
Devram looks at the half-orc, noting the way he carried himself and the attitudes of the others. A half-orc leader to this expedition? A couple of Tian, though one of them like none I've ever seen before, a gnome jester dressed in some odd costume, and fish-man who carries guns like he means it. Toss in an odd playboy and a swordsman living on borrowed time just because it's fun. Yes, the Consortium is certainly blessing this expedition.
"Penance." He nods at the half-orc, and moves to join him at the railing. The two stare out in silence for many minutes, but Devram breaks it. "Sorry for the eleventh hour addition, but I'll assume our help is justified. Seems we have quite the circus to go to this mysterious island. I wasn't expecting so many servants. I just hope we aren't delivering more victims to whatever it is out there."
Penance shoots the older fellow a sidelong glance when he joins him at the rail but he's just as happy to stay with his own brooding thoughts until the other man speaks.
He shrugs, his armor shifting with the movement of his shoulders.
"Don't know what you've got to say sorry for. Aspis says jump, we all say How High?. 's how it is."
He cracks his knuckles absently. "People want to bring their personal entourages along, that's their problem. You're right though. More bodies to make sure stay alive."
He gives the man's thin frame and sweat-beaded brow a blatant look-over, as if to silently say he'd better not add to the number of bodies who are more a burden than a help.
He turns from his view of the city, to lean back against the railing with his elbows resting on it. At a louder volume, to be heard by the others if they care to, he adds on, "One bunk's for Shin, there. There's three cabins for the rest of us: Coates, Nimlaidas, Iliante, Telewhatsis, Valkeri, and myself. That's two to a room. I'm in the first door when you hit the cabins. The captain's asked us to stay the hell out the way of his crew, so unless you know your way on a ship, do it."
The captain turns to Shinjuko and Nim, "I assure you that this an experienced crew, all vetted as Aspis smugglers. They are all handsomely paid, and know that they and their entire families will be murdered should they be found to have stolen something. There is no need to bandy about such crude threats on deck. Though I will advise my men that your luggage is warded, Agent Nim." The Captain looks over the gathered Agents. "I was told there would be seven of you, so it seems that everyone has arrived. Please secure yourselves and your gear in a cabin and we can set sail. If you will excuse me, I must see to the ship." The captain executes a small, straight backed bow from the waist, then turns on a heel and strides off towards the quarter deck, shouting orders to the bustling crew.
Emerion removes his arms which had been resting folded over each other on the small of his back, tugging on each one of his gloves in turn. Making a fist so that they remained tight but flexible. Not bothering to look towards the half orc he responds.
"It seems I will be working with another brutish slow minded orc kin. Barking orders and puffing his chest the whole time. Painfully unaware of the state of things. Well I certainly won't be sharing a room with it."
He was no fool and prepared for a reaction, then again Penance had forced his reaction. One does not provoke unless prepared to be provoked in turn. A single pass was all he was prepared to offer the stubborn man, which was long sense used. For the servant of abadar was mistaken about him and his servants, such poison would not be allowed to spread. Not in his presence that is.
________________________________________________________________________
He nods at the captain's assurance before responding.
"It was no threat simply a courtesy to inform you of what I have brought upon your ship good Captain."
Giving a slight bow he takes no more time from the captain.
Penance turns at the barb deliberately aimed his way. He studies the man for several seconds in silence, knowing that how he responds to this exchange determines more than just how this fellow will respond to him: there's plenty of the crew around to see, and the soldiers from the dock. If he's to exert any authority at all, then this has to be addressed, or he gets seen as weak. How he addresses it can also prove a trap. Yes, he can take a swing at the smarmy-mouthed prig... and it'll be held up as proof that the words are justified, that he's a brute. Him and all his kind.
Like he's never heard that horse-puckey before.
"Georg!" he yells. "Georg One-Tusk! Report!"
He says nothing at all to Nim's words, merely standing there with his hands at his sides, until the soldier arrives before him.
"Soldier, how many of your hundred brothers-in-arms share orc blood on this ship? You can give me an estimate."
"I'd say approximately one-quarter of the mercenaries on board have orc blood, sir!" Georg replies after jogging up from the end of the dock and saluting. He remains at attention, eyes straight ahead in case the Agents have further questions for him.
Penance nods. "Very good, soldier. At your ease."
He steps in towards Emerion Nimlaidas, raising a hand-- not in violence, but in the pretense of a friendly gesture. Unless Nimlaidas draws away or stops him, he rests his callused hand companionably on the man's shoulder, and smiles broadly, warmly.
He pitches his voice below what Georg, standing there, should be able to hear. "Awful lot of its on this ship, don't you think? Awful lot of them damned brutish, slow-minded animals. But you know, you've just got to let 'em know their place, right? That's what you were doing, just now? You might want to speak louder, so every jack-son with green blood in him on this deck can hear you and get acquainted with how you like us.
"Now, regarding you and me, friend: you're right, you don't have to bunk with me. But, as you didn't attend our meeting, here's a friendly word of advice: the Gold said I was to lead this little crew of bastards. Meaning you do have to listen to me."
(Technically, he's slightly stretching the truth. She'd mentioned him as a suggestion, not given him a mandate... but the fellow hadn't been at the meeting, so Penance is happy to tell of what went on at it in the way that best suits him.)
He squeezes Nim's shoulder, smiles again, then lets go. "But go on. You were talkin', I think, about how I was unaware of the state of things. I'm all ears to get educated on what you think I'm misunderstanding, mister Nimlaidas."
He turns back to Georg, giving him a nod of approval for his quick appearance. "Return to your duties, One-Tusk."
Devram chuckles lightly. It seems the pecking order was already sorted. Flex and foil. Sidestep and riposte. In combat as in life. Just don't overextend. Not like last time.
"Well, gentlemen. I should retire and find a place to bunk. It's good to know we are so well protected." He looks back and forth between Nimladias and Penance. "I'll leave you two to...sorting things out. Commander, Captain." He gives Penance and Edmond a nod and a Brevoy half bow.
"Ilante, Tele...market, was it? Perhaps we should see the rooms." He lifts a light pack and moves below decks, stepping quickly down the steps.
Corridan merely smiles as the exchange between Emerion and Penance takes place, finding it on one hand quite interesting and even entertaining and on the other indicative of the two men's characters, at least what they show of it. Not to mention that the half-orc has just shown that perhaps the Gold Agent's suggestion -for it was a suggestion, even though the tailor makes no attempt to correct Penance's words- was a wise one after all, or at the very least not a bad one anyway. Regardless, it would not do if this resulted in a fight now, would it?
"So," he says as he addresses Penance, trying to diffuse the situation,"on the matter of the cabins? I can only assume -though feel free to correct me if I am wrong- that Mr. Nimlaidas and myself are probably not your ideal roommates. And the gnome being... well, himself could probably be added to that short list. No pun intended." Briefly turning his head towards Telemakos, there is a little bow to complement his last words, before turning back to the half-orc. His tone is friendly enough, even lighthearted. "I, for one, have no problem to share a cabin with whoever would care to do so. Although I would say that Mr. Krostumolis would probably make for an interesting conversation partner. He does seem to have an... ahem, intriguing taste in clothing."
Penance's eyes dart sidelong at Valkeri, studying him critically for a second before he recognizes the interruption for what it is-- diffusion. He nods fractionally and takes another step back from Nimlaidas.
"Just don't want a snorer," he says with exaggerated good humor. "If you're willing to listen to Telly here all night, you're a bigger man than I. Speaking metaphiddly, anyway."
A nod of his chin towards the gnome. "You and our tailor here, then? Coates or Iliante with me. Damn. Should've asked Coates if he snores," he says, but the other man's already headed off for the cabins.
Emerion's only physical reaction is to adjust his lenses, their is no smile or expression as he speaks. The trap was sprung as he had wished it to be.
"I will do as you ask and educate you. Firstly I did not mean half orcs in general, I meant fools. I could care less for one's blood or any other fluids. I do not consider such things, what I do consider is the damage and death that follows such unrefined and erratic behavior. If you were an elf my words would have been little different. Your assumption of racism is yet another of the many mistakes you have made. I will continue then. The two women who I have brought aboard are servants and treated as such, they are slaves yet not. If you took into consideration their culture the reason would be clear yet you made snap judgments of harem and entourage. I take it you do not sleep with everyone who serves you, if so you have a shipful to work on. Are you starting with Mr. Georg One-Tusk there?"
There is no humor in his tone but a curiosity. He speaks once more after a short pause.
"Erudira is a thrall, she has a term of service which upon completion is free to do as she wishes. Iellana was born into her station and chooses to follow the beliefs and traditions of her people. Now with that matter settled. I would like proof of your words concerning your supposed command. Bronze agents are all equal, if you do not possess a sealed letter stating otherwise then I must assume you are lying or been mislead in your belief. If the consortium wished to appoint a leader then at least a silver would be among us."
He did not know what the man was trying to pull but he could not be bullied. If the consortium had wished this one to be in charge, they would have at least given him a field promotion or testament to that. He scans the others quickly.
"If Lady Yamakawa is not a choice then I would prefer to board with Mr. Corridan. No disrespect to any of you but I sense it would be the smoothest choice for all involved."
Iliante keeps his distance from the pissing contest. Evidently, this is how the Aspis behave without a recognized superior. Joy.
Every now and then, he hands a sailor what they are looking for. When they look at him in confusion, he nods and grins. Three weeks may be challenging for this group. Some may not make it unless they can swim, he thinks.
Although Iliante acknowledges the attempt of his name by the new agent Coates, he makes no move toward a cabin having no urgency to make a decision. He wears all of his gear comfortably and would bunk with the crew if he has to. No sense getting wet in the pissing contest.
Devram steps lightly down the steps, glancing behind to see if anyone is following him. Despite his words, he had already made his mind up about his choice. He slips down the hall of the ship and pokes a head into the first compartment. If we're going to survive this, we need to learn each other's strengths. That starts with the leader. I just hope this half-orc bathes.
Devram tosses his pack into the room, noting the cramped quarters. He sees the chest and on a whim, he gives it a light kick. It doesn't budge an inch. The half-elf snorts. Figures. Aspis agents are greedy. Whatever. His pack held more than the chest anyway. As long as the half-orc didn't try to lift his dueling sword, both of them would make it to the island alive. If not, then he would get s free lesson in dueling.
Penance's brows draw together in anger at first as Nimlaidas speaks, his jaw clenching... and then his expression shifts to something more like bemusement, which segues in turn to incredulity. When Nimlaidas finishes he stares at him for several seconds as if the man's grown a second head.
Then Penance laughs, a ringing, staccato belly-laugh that echoes over the ship's deck. When his mirth fades, the big half-orc shakes his head and looks at Nim for another moment as if entirely unsure what to make of him before speaking.
"Let me get this straight. You just decided to call me a brute, an idiot, a fool, and an animal, and to handily insult all of orcish blood in the process, possibly earning yourself a score of resentment among our troops... all because you're pissed off I made a crack about your servants being pleasure-girls? Seriously? That's what set you off?
"Gods wept," Penance says through a massive grin, barking out another laugh. "Well, you're damn right about one thing: I sure as hell ain't refined enough for you, Emerion Nimlaidas. I'll take care, in the future, not to step on your pretty petticoats none, princess Nim, by daring to imply anything so damn offensive as that the the women who were clingin' to you like barnacles might actually be what they looked like."
He takes a step closer, the humor fading from his face. Again, he pitches his voice not to be heard by the sailor crew and deck full of mercenary soldiers. "I spoke off-hand of your servants, and you've taken mighty big offense to that. You, for your part, have successively called me a violent idiot, an animal, and a liar. It's just as well we've both made misjudgments here, because if I was the brute and fool you've just publicly called me, you'd be drinking seawater right now."
Still shaking his head in mild disbelief, Penance turns on his heel to head for his cabin, waving his hand at the further words of who's bunking with who. Those who are still deckside can sort it all out among themselves. And he's not going to dignify Nimlaidas's request for a symbol of 'authority' with a response. The jackass wants to undermine his fellow Bronze agents in full view of the men they're supposed to be leading, then he's not going to make the situation worse by arguing with him over it. A true leader wouldn't, in Penance's figuring. His father wouldn't have, certainly. His father would have acted like it was ludicrous to even question it, so that's how he'll run with it.
He opens the door to find Coates already there, and blinks once at the other man, with his train of thought interrupted.
A few beats, then, "You don't snore, do you, Coates?"
Emerion's face remains flawlessly neutral. He adjusted his lenses once more. Speaking to no one in particular.
"I see insight is fleeting, a correct observation followed by more mistakes."
He looks to the sky and the water for a few moments. Removing a glove he licks a finger holding it up into the wind then takes a deep breath. Replacing his glove he walks over to the rail looking into the water. There was nothing in the water which was strange. He looked again at the sky, the clouds were fluffy. He turns to look almost directly at the sun, a feat that would blind him if not for his lenses, he could make out a slight ring around it. Walking over to the undine known as Iliante.
"Mr. Iliante what do you make of the weather?"
It's hot. Damned hot. Hot enough that the tar lining the ship is nearly liquid, and the fish on the docks are rotting nearly before they can be sold. There is a fitful breeze coming from the sea between long intervals of no movement in the air. The sky is virtually cloudless, only a few stringy white whisps hang over the sea near the horizon.
Yamakawa Shinjuko only stares flatly as the dispute before her unfolds. It is a behavior her father often warned her to avoid; most Avistani referred to it as a pissing contest. One who is enslaved to one's own pride cannot truly serve any but oneself. A dispute justifies worthwhile response or does not. She allows a hint of a smile to crack the corner of her right cheek. Mifune's wisdom shone through on a daily basis, which always made enduring his decline by affliction harder to bear for the much younger Yamakawa. "Melancholy is equally fruitless, Shinjuko. Do not dwell on such things; focus now on your appointed task." She turns to saunter off towards the cabins to formalize her claim on the lone cabin that has been afforded her. A voice rises unbidden once more from the depths of her mind, though she knows the source well.
'These barbarians war amongst those of common purpose—their brothers in arms. Can you not see the vile malignance of your would-be proprietors? You stain the very soul of your forebears by wielding them in service of such avarice. Return to your home. Serve those worthy of serving.'
"My presence there is forbidden by extension of my father's transgressions, Amarugamu. They would just as soon strike me down as accept my service."
'Then fall upon your sword. If your shame is too great to bear your family's ire, you have no cause to carry this charge'
"I will return. If my uncle deems me then unfit to bear my name, I will gladly cut myself then. Until I have mastered the Ciphers, I am unfit to walk the lands of my ancestors—if they turn me away, they will do so knowing they turn away a bushi maho-tsukai the likes of which has not been seen for a hundred generations. They will know my worth, and then I shall know theirs."
The blade grows silent under Shinjuko's mental litany. She seems to have forgotten about the standoff on the ship's deck, and makes good on her intent to find her quarters. She would spend much time deciphering her father's legacy this night; much time peeling back layer upon layer of mystery, riddle, and technique. And if those on the deck could not work together, she would realize the mission by herself if need be. Failure is death. There is no other recourse. She quickly unpacks her private belongings and unrolls the Yamakawa Ciphers before her on a provided cot. She folds her legs beneath her and neatly folds her hands across her thighs, studying the object not as one studies a book, but as one might search for a hidden image within a painting. It would be a long night.
Devram whirls around at the sound of the opening door. He and Penance stare at each other for a few seconds. Devram rolls his eyes at the man's question. "No, I don't. Do you?" He tosses his backpack to the upper bed. "I think of the two of us, it makes more sense for me to be up top. So, did you toss the playboy overboard yet? You two seemed to be having quite the introduction."
He grabs the frame of the top bunk and deftly swings himself up and onto the bed. He open his back and pulls out a blanket. He rolls it up and rests his head on it. "So when do we shove off? The sooner the better."
Iliante replies to Nim, "Hot. We'll be lucky to find enough light air to make way out of port." He returns his gaze on the sailors signalling that he has nothing more to say to him.
Penance's grin is white in the green of his face. "Like a pack of hyenas," he says cheerfully to the question of whether he snores. Coates is the first one to ask him that.
The grin fades at the mention of the scene on deck, but Penance puts on a casual shrug. "Didn't see the point."
The plate mail he's wearing is all well and good for making his first appearance on the ship and letting the soldiers see him in such, but damned if he's going to wear it day in and day out on the ship. Penance unbuckles his sword first to sling it onto the bed, and then starts with the numerous small straps and cinches of his well-made, but dull-and-battered armor.
"Captain said they're finishing the final preparations, since we're all here," he grunts as he works. It's a pain in the ass, stripping plate off in the cramped quarters of a ship's cabin. "Now, what that means as far as actual time goes... search me. Iliante's our nautical expert. Me, I think port's a kind of liquor."
It's one of the holes in his education he guesses he'll have to see to, for the duration of the voyage. Penance frowns absently to himself, then hunkers down in an awkward position half-on-the-floor and half-on-his-own-small-bunk to undo the greaves of his armor.
"Since you weren't at the meeting either... All I know about you is your name." And that sword you carry... and all it's supposed to mean, too. "What're you bringin' to this country dance, Coates?"
Penance's own sword is unusual, too-- but where an Aldori sword bespeaks a nigh-legendary skill with a blade, an executioner's squared blade tells a different story. Nobody ever claimed that an executioner had to be very skilled to chop off the head of a man who can't fight back, after all.
Emerion leaves after the reply, he agreed with the basic statement but he kept an eye out. The weather could change quickly and dangerously at sea. There were also threats above and below the waves to be concerned with. As nothing else required his attention he went to check on his chest.
Once below deck standing before his chest he unlocked it, the items with in still secure. Which was a good thing as a great many of them were fragile in nature or best left in place. He unsecured two items while removing them then locked the chest once more. Carrying the items he makes his way to an empty cabin. Passing a door with the loud voice and scrambling that he attributed to Penance he moves towards the farthest cabin from his. He preferred silence when he slept.
Once with in, he places his load on the floor, noting the personal chest he takes a seat. He had nothing to store as he had brought his own, more so he did not trust the security of such simple made items. Taking out his hip flask he took a sip, plain water with in, he looked at the symbol of his god, tonight it would begin. Not just the journey but his own endeavors, he glanced at the two items he had set down. Wondering on it and who would share the cabin with him.
Oh thank the Empyreal Lords I get to sleep in the company of a civilized man thinks Telemakos, while smiling at Corridan’s playful remark at his clothes. Even if these replacement Bronze Agents seemed a step up in manners and civility compared to the hobgoblin and the crazy-looking alchemist, Corridan was still his first choice. He looks like such a gentleman, no dark secrets or unpleasant surprises about him.
“Of, course, I would be glad to share a bunk with Master Valkeri!” he says. His relief is so genuine that could almost be perceived as offensive towards the others “I assure you, I take up very little space! And since I see you are traveling without help of any kind, please allow me a little courtesy towards you, to better get accommodated. ‘Ras! ‘Ras!” he calls, and Arasmes hovers to his side “Please get Master Valkeri’s baggage to our room.”
“At once, Master!” the genie does an exaggerated bow and moves to grab Corridan’s bags and gear.
"Although it is not necessary and I would not like to burden you, since you are offering, however," Corridan says with a smile as he hands the gnome's strange companion his backpack and his tailor's kit with a nod of acknowledgment. "Thank you, Arasmes."
"If you will excuse me," he says to those still remaining on the deck and then starts making his way towards the cabins, placing his hand on the gnome's shoulder as he steps next to him. "Shall we see our room? And while we become acquainted with our living accomodations, you could perhaps tell me why you did not pass by my store if you were looking for some new clothes? I think I recognize the stichwork... Omari's Fine Fabrics, I believe?" He shakes his head gently as the both of them go to their cabin. "A fine tailor, but, dare I say, a little extravagant for my taste..."
With everyone aboard, The Naga's Breath casts off the pier. There is a sylph druid aboard who makes his way to the rear of the ship and casts a spell on the stern of the ship. Immediately a wind kicks up, filling the galleon's sails, and pushing it out into the harbor. Before long the entire bay of Katapesh is left behind and The Breath is cutting across the Obari Ocean heading south and east.
Penance spends a fair chunk of his waking hours among what he thinks of as 'the men'-- the mercenary soldiers they share the ship with. He knows he had better not be seen as playing favorites, so he tries not to spend longer with the half-orcs among the soldiers than with any other group, but... well, he gets 'em. He knows what it's like. Most of 'em are soldiers because that's what you're seen as good for, by and large. Maybe Georg One-Tusk had secretly dreamt of being a farmer, but green blood (and in Georg's case, gray skin) pushes you towards war.
Of course, it ain't to say they're all cases of tragic farmers at heart, either. A lot of 'em like to fight and like to kill, and Penance gets that too, because things are simple when you're cracking heads together and bashing in the ribcage of someone who'd do the same to you if he could. Tempers run high when you're crammed close on a ship, so Penance finds himself stepping in between two swinging fists more often than not, during the six days of sailing, and bellowing at 'em to sit down before he helps them on their way to that position.
He asks the Chelaxian, Petter, how he got that nasty scar over his eye, and swaps scars and lies and brags and boasts with the other soldiers. Penance has brought dice and cards: the bosom companion of any soldier far from home. He has his woodworking tools as well, and sometimes in the evenings when sullenness settles over him like a cloak he keeps his trap shut and busies his hands with the knife and a small block of pine. Adjah had been complaining about needing a new pawl for her loom, and he'd meant to carve it before he'd left but-- but-- he'd been busy. So he'll work on it now, and pray that he's still alive in a month's time to see it sent home to her.
And with Devram Coates, he is cautiously curious-- that Aldori sword nearly begs questions, of course (and begs for sparring matches as well, but he doesn't ask for those). Of himself, he offers that he is, originally, from Nex; that he's been in Katapesh for a year, and that he'd gotten his armor by arm-wrestling the blacksmith who'd made it. All true, all harmless. No words of his mother, of his father, of why he left Nex or why he works now for the Aspis Consortium.
On the nights when he has a hard time sleeping, Penance stares at the bunk above him, sagged only slightly with Coates' thin frame, and fingers the tarnished key around his neck, the key to his jail cell in Nex, the key the man-in-gold had placed into his hand on that fateful night.
Whatever Abadar wants from him... Penance fears, as he usually does, that the god has picked the wrong mother's son for the job.
By nightfall of the first night, shore had finally disappeared beyond every horizon lifting the unseen weight that had burdened Iliante for months. He eventually settled in the cabin with the prickly bronze agent Nim, but he spent very little time in there. In the sea chest, he stored his haversack containing his weapons. He spent most his time on deck or in the rigging enjoying the open ocean. He swapped stories with the crew and befriended many of them. They were much more his speed than the bronze agents who he accompanied.
Iliante received tours of the ship from both the captain and his first officer. Sure enough, they were different expressing their personal preferences, experiences, and priorities. He shared meals with the bronze agents and some times the ship’s officers. He revealed to them that they would pass very near his childhood home but did not mention its destruction. The small merfolk village of Epicuen was located in about 200 feet of water on the shallow plateau shelf of the Obari Ocean off the coast of Geb. Beyond that, he told his share of sailing stories and adventures delivering firearms and black powder for Alkenstar over the past dozen or so year.
The same night of his arrival Emerion gifted two cask for the off duty crew and mercenary passengers from his personal stores. One was filled with ale the other common wine, if only to smooth over the transition to sea life for the uninitiated and show appreciation to those that worked on their journey. He spent some time speaking and smoking with them as well, his ability to create complex shapes out of the smoke he exhaled was a bit of a hit among them. Once it was time to join the officers and agents for their dinner, he promised to bring out two more cask on their final night aboard the ship. Once he arrived for his own dinner he brought with him a bottle of Wolfberry wine which the captain favored.
After the first day he changed to clothes more suited to the sea and simple. Only a few articles of clothes remained constant among them his dark lenses. He spends his day time above deck watching the weather, animal life, and fishing. His method of fishing non-traditional in that he favored a simple trap that captured what swam along the ship. Supplementing the no doubt extensive food stores for those on board, after all salted and pickled food would drive anyone mad over time. During the evenings he would go below decks among the men once more and bring his board game. Often bets would be taken against his opponents, not if they would beat him as so far only the officers came close rather how long they would last. The military tactics reflected by the game was not lost on some of the more skilled and veteran mercenaries. Once dinner was upon him he would leave to join the captain and officers bring a new bottle with him, some better received then others yet all enjoyed to some degree for all would be empty by the end of the night.
As for Emerion's time in his cabin he spent little time there as it was to small for comfort and he had little business to attend to with in. His mornings were greeted with the thought of not raising his head to high as he had learned from that mistake at his first waking. Once awake and properly dressed he would draw the small curtain over his bunk in some semblance of privacy to read his spellbook, write in his journal, maintain his revolver, and give a few prayers to Nethys. Once his morning ritual was done he would exit to greet Erudira and Iellana who were always waiting for him. He used a simple spell on himself and them to keep clean and refreshed in the absence of a bath.
Corning his roommate Iliante he gives him his space and respect. He could came off as indifferent but rather he has little to say to the undine, so much as his roommate has little to say to him. He does not get in his way or ask questions about him. He knew what Iliante was and so their was no curiosity concerning his race. As to his motives or reason for being here, if he choose to share them then he would. If not it would be rude to ask.
Each day that passed he grew slightly more wary. It was not if something would happen but when, with any luck that event would take place after they landed and established a foothold on this new land. Still his past had taught him otherwise with a steep price. He would only prepare and remain observant for the form it would take.
Devram snorts at Penance's own assessment of his snoring and rolls his eyes. "Wonderful. I feel so lucky to have picked this bunk." He begins a fit of coughing lasting a full minute. He quickly covers his mouth with a handkerchief as he recovers and acts like nothing happened.
"I bring the grace and skill of an Aldori, but hopefully without all the baggage. I learned long ago how that kind of pride can get you killed. With your heavy blade, I assume you take a different approach to your battles. Still the same outcome though, if you're standing here alive." He rests his head back on his makeshift pillow. "So what was the deal with biting off the tailor's head about Abadar? Was he right or wrong? Religion can be touchy, but we're going to be with each other for a long time if this is successful. Myself, I pray to Asmodeus. Not always a popular thing for people to hear, especially for Iomedaens or Sarenraens. I owe the Dark Prince though, and he doesn’t forgive debts.”
************************************
Over the next few days, Devram mixes lightly with the rest of the Agents as well as the crew. He tends to stay away from the soldiers, though he does sometimes watch their practices with intense interest, as if he’s judging their efforts and evaluating each one’s skill. He sees Penance mixing with the soldiers, but says nothing about it.
Early in the mornings, Devram can be seen working sword forms near the bow of the ship. Usually he is using his Dueling sword, but he does often put it aside and work forms without any weapon. Those familiar with eastern styles recognize some of them, but Devram seems to have altered many to incorporate the tenets of Brevoy dueling style. Most of the time the forms are slow and exacting. He drills his footwork and hand positions constantly. Occasionally, however, you get to see him work at a faster pace and the blade whirls and strikes in a blur of motion. He pays no mind to anyone watching, odd since tales of Aldori lessons tend to cloaked in secrecy. With the heat, Devram is quickly soaked in sweat, but you never see him remove his shirt to practice. After each session, the duelist seems exhausted, and he quickly retires to his bunk where he sleeps for about an hour or two before regaining his strength.
When Penance bring out his woodworking tools, the half-elf smiles. It seems they share a hobby. Devram worked in Sothis for the last five years as a woodworker, mostly making decorative furniture, but sometimes working on cruder structures including fences, houses, and carriages. When Penance is carving, Devram sometimes sits nearby and offers conversation on the piece and woodworking in general. Unlike the half-orc, however, you never see him working a piece. Perhaps he simply has no reason.
At night, true to his word, Devram doesn't snore. He does, however, toss, turn, and cough, enough to keep his roommate up half the night. More than once, Penance spots blood in the handkerchief Devram keeps. The other half of the nights, Devram is awake suffering through the horrid snoring from below. One morning you find him on deck, huddled into a corner where he had obviously spent the night. He just mutters something about wild hogs.
He grunts as he listens. So Coates does know the Aldori styles.... but aye, seems to be lacking in the ego that Penance always assumed accompanied them. Just as well. Penances rubs his knuckles against his jaw in thought.
The question earns a quick flick of his yellow eyes up at Coates. Penance stands, which in the tiny cabin means he's slightly hunching, but at eye level with Coates. A frown builds on his face, but then Coates says Asmodeus, and he blinks instead. A few seconds' silence in the wake of Coates' own words about his god.
Then he barks another ringing laugh, as he had on the deck. "You owe the Lord of Hell? Here I thought I had it bad. You poor bastard," he says-- but quietly, just in case the Archfiend happens to be, you know, listening. Penance shakes his head, gives a low whistle, and then studies his bunk and how to wedge himself into that small space.
"This ship was designed for gods-damned halflings," he mutters, and starts rearranging his armor. He works in silence a few seconds, then adds on:
"It's about the same here. Owe Abadar a favor or three. He maybe doesn't collect with the same amount of hellfire, but he's no easier to cheat."
***
Over the next few days, he keeps a thoughtful eye on his bunkmate. Poor bastard's sick as a dog by his bloody hacking at night, but service of the Consortium isn't an infirmary. On the other hand, he's a fancy fellow with the blade, so mayhap he'll pull his weight after all. Not that there's a lot of weight for him to pull, skinny as he is.
“Oh I knew I was getting ripped off!” exclaims Telemakos when Corridan comments on his garb “This would never have happened in Absalom, where I know… well, knew the finest professionals in the city and could always get the best service for a discount! But Katapesh… there’s so much cheating going on, you know! I really don’t know how can you maintain a honest and respectable business, what with all the unfair competition you must face. Rest assured, if… I mean when, when we come back from this expedition, you’ll have a new customer, master Valkeri!” the gnome gets very excited as his talking starts picking up speed “You see, I was born in a… somewhat higher station. My family in Absalom had a wonderful villa, with a garden full of orchid flowerbeds and huge cedar trees – they could be seen from as far as the Westgate, you know? oh I’m sorry, that probably means little to you if you’ve never been to the City at the Center of the World! I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of wonders, but Absalom, ah… you can almost breath the city, you know? Anyway, I was saying, my family…”
Telemakos does not stop talking. If Corridan decides to give him some rope, he may end up spilling most of his past with his roommate – keeping for himself just the most shameful bits, like the more shady “favors” the Consortium asked him to perform.
During the six days of sea travel, he seldom does anything of help. He mostly spends his time reading, practicing minor magic tricks, and especially talking to everyone who will listen to him. He will talk about magic and work (especially animal training) and something relevant to the expedition, but just as gladly slips into talking about food or clothes or music or literally anything else.
If asked to perform a physical task to help on board, he usually has Arasmes do it or, if it is minor does not even bother the genie and summons an unseen servant to do work in his place, happily explaining at length to anyone who is listening how he learned that particular spell.
If he sees people training for a fight, he politely asks if they would like Arasmes to join them for a sporting challenge.
During the trip, Corridan seems to be possessed of almost infinite patience as he allows his gnome roommate to talk as much as he likes about himself, smiling and commenting now and then when the opportunity for a quip or a remark or an observation presents itself. And all the while, he uses the opportunity to learn as much as he can about the summoner, about both his past and his present.
Of course, even one as energetic as Telemakos has to sleep, and indeed it seems to always be the gnome the one that excuses himself first, due in no small part to Corridan's desire to have a bit of privacy when it is his time to rest, so as to keep certain items on his person hidden for as long as possible from his new friend.
It should be noted, however, that, secretive though he is, the tailor knows that a cenversation is a two-way street, so to speak anyway, and he finds no harm in sharing some of his own past with Telemakos during those times that they would stay in their shared cabin. Even so, he does not divulge everything about himself, leaving certain details out of his story. So, during the trip, the gnome learns of Corridan's Varisian scoundrel of a father and Tian courtesan of a mother, but not of their fates and certainly not of his mother's true profession. He does speak of spending the first years of his life in Varisia and the next in Minkai before finally setting out on his own, leaving the questionable skills his father had taught him behind and trying to make a name for himself as a tailor, a craft his mother had taught him, but that is all he talks about as being the sum of his training during his stay in Minkai.
All in all, he does not so much outright lie, as he omits certain parts of the story altogether. Still, technically? Not a lie.
<< | | | >>
It is evening of the sixth day of the Agent’s journey. The days have passed quickly for some. Others have found confinement aboard a ship tedious at best. The evening’s meal was salted pork and hardtack again. The ship is extremely cramped between the group of mercenaries and the cargo. With the light outside failing, the Agents have retreated to their respective cabins for the evening. The main deck is busy with the crew going about their business, while the other holds are even more crowded, stinking and uncomfortable than their tiny cabins. As they are all settling in for an evening of conversation, whittling, ignoring one another or studying they are interrupted by a man’s high pitched scream. A moment later, there is a loud thunk as something heavy slams into the planks of the main deck outside their cabins. Shouts erupt from all over the ship, joining the sounds of many feet running on the deck. The shouting is too confused to make much sense, but one word is heard again and again. ”Dragon!”
Several more booted feet can be heard pounding up from the lower decks, along with the jingling of chainmail armor. "Crossbows ready boys!"
"Dragon, what the f%%+?"
"We'll give it some Apis hell!"
"Make me a dragon gut condom, I will!"
The voices of the mercenaries blend together as they hustle out onto the deck. "Ye gods! It is a bloody dragon!" one of them cries.
________________________________________
Initiative:
Mercenaries 23
Dragon 21+
Party 21-
Sailors 11
Penance sits upright at the shouting, jumps to his feet, and bolts for the ladder to the deck. He's already unslinging his big sword as he moves. "Trouble deckside!" he bellows, just in case someone of their group isn't already aware.
Moving out into the hallway, Penance shoves past several mercenaries to make his way out onto the deck. He sees it crowded with fleeing sailors and mercenaries aiming crossbows upwards. There is a corpse splayed out on the deck next to the main mast. All the flesh on its head and shoulders is melted mostly off. The body is still sizzling and smoking. He looks upward, trying to see the mercenaries' target. Flying fifty feet up in the air, above the crow's nest is a small blue dragon, the size of a large iguana. A blue-green neck frill sweeps back from the head of the dragon, leading to a body of shiny scales and fin-like crests. It appears to be readying to dive towards the deck.
"Godsdamned littlest dragon I've ever seen!" Penance yells for the crew's benefit as he takes in the scene. This is technically true, because it is the only dragon he has ever seen. He shouts wordlessly at the dragon, waving his sword overhead in attempt to draw its attention. Dragons are legendary creatures, but this one looks either really young, or maybe just a flying lizard.... If he can be louder, bigger, and scarier, then maybe he can get it to fly off... or back down a little. Dominance of, uh, natural beasts, and all that crap.
He bares his orc dentalware and bellows savagely at the dragon when it dives.