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"Also, I'm good luck at sea!" Bendaxalon suddenly remembers that it's actually halflings that are good luck. "Umm... You would be safe from pirates, since they wouldn't let a gnome anywhere near their ship!" There is a certain crazy logic to his argument, which has the virtue of being possibly true.
A pirate peers through his spyglass at a small, colorful humanoid capering madly about the deck of the heavily-laden merchant vessel, to all appearances beside himself with glee at the sight of their Jolly Roger. Horror rises inside him like a wave and he can barely choke out the words, "Sir... They have a gnome!" The captain nearly screeches in surprise and dismay, "What?! Are they insane?? Hard to starboard, immediately! Don't let them get within two hundred yards!"
The lookout calls out laconically, "You can stop now, they're gone." The little man sags against a nearby barrel and wipes his brow, taking off some makeup in the process. "Whew! I don't know how gnomes do it. You know, when they said that I could get a discount for being lucky, this isn't really what I was picturing." A nearby crewman chuckles. "Yeah, well, it works. And it's not like Cap'n would let a real one on board -- not after the last one..."
"Ye be pullin' me chain, lads! Twelve gold? This ain't no charity mission! I could barely pay fer a crew wit' that pittance!" Tanner takes a draft of his pipe as he looks over your heads to some unspecified point far in the distance. "Why, back when I was a strappin' young lad, you'd never get a cap'n goin' wit' anythin' less than fifty or even more! Today's kids jes' want more an' more an' have no respect fer good ol' hardworkin' sailors like meself..." The old sailor continues his line of rambling for a short time, before finally heaving an almost resigned sigh.
"Ach, but ye seem like a nice enough lot. I'd drop me fees down to 25, but that's as low as yer gettin' from me."
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"Very well, we certainly do not expect you to work for free. But that is more than I expected to hear. We shall have to discuss the matter and see what we can afford to pay."
Moving back to the rest of the group, Khale says, "Perhaps we should at least speak with the other captains to see how much they would charge for passage?"
"Maybe start with the halfling captain?"
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Captain Tanner doesn't seem to care that you're off shopping prices, and he waves you off as he refills his pipe with more tobacco weed. "Ach... need ta get me s'more..."
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Trig knows where your next target, the rotund halfling named Small Otti, lives: a modest home not far away from the central marketplace. His house is about the same size as the rest of the residential buildings nearby, but is actually a halfling-sized two-storey building. The place is quaint and homely, with frilly floral curtains and a cheerful welcome mat at the front door. In the front yard, two young halfling children play a game of marbles, and a tawny cat dozes in the sun shining on the path leading to the front door.
The halfling children pause their game and look up at you in confusion, and before you can explain anything they run off inside, shouting loudly. "MA! PA! THERE'S SOME WEIRDOS HERE!"
Soon enough, a well-groomed adult male halfling with curly brown hair pokes his head out of the door. He seems to be almost as wide as he is tall, wearing a bulging white shirt whose buttons threaten to pop out and brown overalls. He's currently halfway through eating a sandwich, and he hurriedly shoves the remains in his mouth and swallows before speaking to you.
"Hello there... and who might you be...?"
With a bit of an explanation that you're looking for a captain, Otti grins widely and introduces himself.
"Come in, come in, have a spot of tea, let's talk business, shall we?"
He invites you inside, which is a bit uncomfortable for most of you bigguns, requiring you to crouch over a little. He leads you into the sitting room, although with the size of the furniture you're unlikely to be doing much sitting. Otti snavels up a couple of biscuits from a side table before speaking more.
"To Escadar, eh...? Well, I'd do it for 55 gold. Got plenty of mouths to feed, y'know? Six kids and my wife! It's a hard business out here!"
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Khale watches the children scurrying around the boat, then shakes his head. Although he did not want to deprive the little ones, the girth of their father was ample evidence that nobody in the family went to bed hungry.
Looking at the others, Khale says, "Perhaps we should at least ask Captain Sumore if she would be willing to beat the price. Although the stories about her indicate caution, I would at least like to speak with her."
Otti scratches his head, looking quite flummoxed. "Ahh, man, really? Damn. Must remember that not every traveller coming in here is a total imbecile. No offense intended, but it's just so easy to pull the wool over people's eyes, y'know? You tall folk can be so trusting."
"Ah, but 25 gold... can I beat that...? Hmm... that'd be cutting my own throat, my friends... going without food for a month or more..." Obviously, this tact isn't going to work very well.
Otti happily takes the amethyst with a grin, and carefully pockets it. The little halfling jumps up from his seat and rubs his hands together gleefully. "Right! I have plenty of things to organise now, gotta get my crew sobered up as well. Meet me down at the docks this evening just after dinnertime, about six say, and we'll set off with the high tide."
You spend the rest of the day hanging around the tavern, walking through the marketplace, or doing whatever else it is you might want to do before nightfall.
By the time the last of the preparations are done, it's about eight, and quite dark at that. Small Otti's ship, Ocean Dancer, is a small merchant vessel, rather average in make short for the various extra footsteps and hand holds designed for those of a smaller stature. Otti has dragged three of his older children on board to teach them the ropes on a simple journey, although only one daughter seems particularly interested in the sailing; the other two boys take to bemoaning the job whenever their father is out of earshot. Short of watching the stars in the evening and catching sight of a pod of dolphins in the early morning, it's quite an uneventful (although scenic) trip across the gulf between the Isle of Kortos and the Isle of Erran.
It's about eight or nine in the morning when you finally disembark on the docks of Escadar. In stark contrast to the simple fishing village of Pier's End, Escadar is a fully fledged city with constant hustle and bustle, especially at the docks. You notice immediately the sheer number of navy vessels all marked with the golden eye of Absalom, ready and waiting to defend the great metropolis should harm come to her harbour. As you move through the city, you notice a plethora of military bases and centres, as well as many off-duty navy sailors moving through the streets. The city is designed in a very logical and perfunctorily way, with an obvious focus on defense and practicality at the expense of any sense of welcoming or aesthetics. Every now and then you see a rather fascinating sight: people who, at first glance, look like regal humans, except for the gills on their necks and their webbed feet and hands. They must be the gillmen you've heard about.
"Master Dreng arranged lodgings for us at the Grindylow's Goblet," Nester Rees reminds the group quietly. "We just need to send word to the Low Azlanti embassy that we've arrived."
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Trig looks around. He is happy just to follow the group while gawking. Escadar is interesting. The city layout is even more defensively minded than Korvosa's, and Korvosa was a city of concentric rings of defensive walls built as the city expanded. Of course many of Korvosa's inner walls were no longer manned or strictly functional. Like any harbor, this one presents an infinite variety of activities and sights, from a sail trying to pick its way through a forest of masts to a seagull dropping a crab onto the stone pier to crack it open. Most interesting of all are the gillmen. He doesn't want to be rude, but can't help staring.
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Being absolutely surrounded by luck -- or at least by halflings, which is nearly the same thing -- Bendaxalon is able to completely relax on the ship, which he does in a highly visible place, in order to make himself useful as a pirate deterrent (in his active imagination). Still, he is glad to be back on dry land, and that much closer to finishing the mission that they were assigned.
The Grindylow's Goblet is located on the harbour itself, not too far away from the docks you disembarked at - but then again, very little in this city is, by design. Resting precariously over the edge of the sea on a complex series of sturdy wooden planks, the tavern nonetheless seems sturdy enough. A tacky sign featuring a blue-coloured goblin's head smiling a shark-toothed grin is placed above the doorway, and a bell jingles as you enter.
The sounds of a somewhat busy tavern echo off the wooden walls when you enter; inside, it's quite busy with a mixture of largely sailors, travellers, and dockworkers. Two servers busily provide food and drink to tavern's half-dozen patrons, and a striking woman with dark hair tied up in a ponytail tends the bar. The windows on the far wall offer an unequaled view of the water, showing a splendid vista of Escadar's harbour.
A thick glass aquarium presents a striking display in the centre of the bar, its glass bottom allowing a glimpse of the harbour below. Within the tank, a coral statue of a goblin with the lower body of an octopus hosts a school of colourful fish that flit about the nooks and crannies of its tentacles. Several torches fill sconces that cast the tavern in a cheerful light, alongside various cheap-looking paintings largely depicting vicious sea monsters.
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Arithas goes and pays for a room, drops off his extra belongings and awaits his companions in the tavern portion of the inn. As he waits, he will ask the bartender where the embassy is. And how we might send word.
"Milady, I would ask you, where would one find the Low Azlanti Embassy? And how might one send a message to aforesaid place?"
The woman greets you politely, putting down the glass she was cleaning alongside the other fresh ones lined up along the bar.
"Ah, you must be the group from the Pathfinders, correct? Yes, we have rooms for you. Those three along the far wall," she gestures to the other side of the room, "as well as rooms one through four in the lodging area just over to the left there. If you're lost, do ask Mitty or Kaz - our servers - to show you the way, okay?" She gives you a warm smile before grabbing the next glass to dry.
At Arithas' question, she gives the elf directions to the Low Azlanti embassy. "It's called the House of the Cresting Wave, and it's maybe twenty minutes walk from here, up towards the ritzier part of town. If you want to send them a message, I can get Kaz to run it up there for you. He's a trustworthy lad, especially if he gets a nice tip out of it," the bartender says with a grin.
She doesn't, however, seem particularly enthused by Trig's flirtations, generally affecting a polite and professional demeanour at his attempts. She's more than happy for him to play music, however!
"Certainly! Hey, Kaz! Get over here!" One of the two servers, a young and lanky man, blinks and looks up from the table he's clearing, before hurriedly carrying the empty plates and mugs over to the bar to see what's up. The barkeep gives him the low-down, and he grins, pocketing the coin with glee.
The intrepid Pathfinders settle in to their rooms and have a chance to sit back and relax with some beer or food as they wait for the ambassadors from the Low Azlanti embassy to arrive. More than an hour passes as you wait patiently, but at least the tavern is warm and friendly, and the brew served here is quite tasty and a good price to boot. Trig catches the attention of Mitty, one of the two servers, with his drumming (or perhaps his dashing good looks?). Of course, she's sent back to work with an angry look from the bartender, but that, at least, seems promising.
In the end, you're all sitting around together when the guests you expected finally turn up. The two gillmen stand out from the crowd in your eyes, but none of the other tavern-goers even blink; they're probably used to the strikingly beautiful and yet somehow alien appearance of the Low Azlanti. The first, a man, is shirtless and completely hairless, but wears a number of pieces of seashell jewellery, and his head and face are tattooed as if to mimic the patterns of a fish. The second, a muscular woman, wears little more than a simple bikini, although she has long and flowing hair; her face is likewise tattooed, although her design seems to follow a seaweed-like pattern, or perhaps a rune. They both seem somewhat damp, as if they had recently emerged from the water, and both carry rather ornate spears carved from blue steel. The male also bears a delicately wrapped bundle of cloth, cradled in his arm as protectively as one would carry a child.
Spying you in the far corner, the two Low Azlanti swiftly approach. "Hello there. I presume you are from the Pathfinders?" the male gillman begins with a thin-lipped smile. "Thank you for agreeing to come all this way. I do hope that nothing bad befell you on the way. I am Shoalo, and this is my guard, Ahrmisa." The woman nods to you in recognition of your presence, but otherwise remains stoic and silent.
Shoalo takes a seat across from Khale and Nester and gingerly places his package on the table before them. Ahrmisa does not take a seat, but rather stands behind him, eyeing the party suspiciously.
"Here is our half of the bargain. Do feel free to inspect it. Now, I do hope that you upheld our end of the bargain as well, hmm? May I see the relic?"
Whichever of the party carried the relic until now retrieves it from their belongings and passes it to Nester, who likewise sets the box down next to Shoalo's bundle. With both relics present, Shoalo reaches out to lift the top off of the covering of the Pathfinders' offering and gives it a cursory glance.
Nester likewise unwraps the white cloth covering the gillmen's relic. It appears to be some kind of ancient bronze disc decorated with the engraving of a setting sun; ancient writing spirals around the outside, eerily similar in appearance to the tattoo on Ahrmisa's face.
The Garundi man lifts the disc away from its covering and holds it up before him, inspecting the engravings closely. He does so for a couple of long and silent minutes, a dark frown gradually taking over the more he inspects the relic. After some time, he places the disc back down on the table and turns back to Shoalo.
"... Are you trying to pull the wool over the Society's eyes?" Nester demands flatly. "This is clearly a fake. The Azlanti text is complete gibberish. I would have expected you to know that."
Shoalo's hitherto perpetual smile twists into a snarl at Nester's words. At that moment, there's a loud shattering of glass from the bar, as if a glass had been dropped. Shoalo and Ahrmisa slam their eyes shut as the torches decorating the walls of the tavern suddenly flash with intensely bright and colourful light, dazzling any not quick enough to follow suit. There's a chorus of terrified screams and shouts as the other tavern patrons collapse on the ground or stumble out of their chairs, blinded by the effect. Nester likewise holds his hands over his eyes, groaning at the pain. "Don't let them get away with the relic!"
For those who can still see, Shoalo suddenly jumps up from his seat and grabs the box holding your relic, and shouts out over the cacophony: "Ahrmisa! Ulionestia! Let's get out of here!"
"Run, you fool! Don't worry about me!" The familiar voice of the bartender shouts back over the din. "Get going!!"
Ahrmisa merely grabs up her spear and gets ready to run.
Initiative: Li | Khale | Arithas | Bendaxalion | Elysia | Triccio | Gillmen
Map Notes
All the tokens with black outlines that aren't the PCs are other patrons or the tavern staff. They are currently blinded and are generally prone or slumped over at tables. The tokens with colour are Shoalo (blue), Ahrmisa (green), and Ulionesta the bartender (red). Shoalo currently has the box with the relic in hand.Status
Don't forget to make your DC 15 Will save to avoid the blindness!
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Will
Triccio sees the gillmen scrunch their eyes and throws his arm up to shade the worst of whatever is coming. The flash, the grab, and suddenly Trig is looking at a game he's seen played before by the disreputable members of his own people, the Scarzni. It's a game with no rules that usually ends in pain and blood.
Got to stop them.
Trig rises and strides to his left, limbering his bow as he goes. He sings a string of nonsense syllables in a deeper, tenser voice than you've heard him use before.