[PFS] Utopian Skull and Shackles / Dragon's Demand - PFS characters

Game Master utopia27

Welcome to Formidably Maid - one of the more vile collections of scum and villainy in Port Peril. It's nine o'clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in. There's an old man sitting at the card table, making love to his tonic and gin. It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the waitress, she gives you a smile.

The waitress (actually quite attractive, if somewhat harassed and harried-looking) actively beckons you inside, "The beer is fresh. The fish stew is only fish tonight - and it softens up the bread nicely. Horace over there has got a card game going. The knife-toss over there that Larana is running is popular, but you have to bring at least a two-mouse ante. Rats are no good - too easy to hit. Here, hustle up to the bar for a moment - I'll be right back to get you something."

A rapidly terminated 'squeek' comes from Larana's corner. A small bundle of fur flies through the air at the far end of the bar. A whip lashes out, knocking the dead mouse to the side, and a harsh voice rumbles, "Only fish in the fish stew tonight!". Back in Larana's corner, a small metal cage clanks shut, and it is set to swinging on a chain in front of a ringed target-board.

"That's okay, smelly!", Jeffrey calls out to the waitress with a big smile. The fair lady sure smells like flowers, so he thought he'd give her a compliment.

Once inside Jeffrey eyes the knife-toss, but then heads to one of the empty tables. "I'd like some orange juice!", he calls after the waitress, drawing the attention and frowns of some men who are enjoying their beers.

"Grape juice, sugar water, or juiced barley grass and hops. I'd offer you mouse juice, but I think you'd have to arm wrestle Larana for the privilege." She reaches over very deliberately, and wipes a hand on your shoulder, then dips her fingers into a gent's pint of beer, flicking it at you. "So, smelly, juiced barley grass?"

"Rum," says Santorin, seating himself heavily on the uneven bench and rapping his knuckles on the board. "And a plate o' stew, darlin'. -Just- the stew, if you please."

Huh, she seems to think I smell good too. There has to be something wrong with that woman's nose.

"I'd rather have some grape juice first. It'll clear my throat for the better drinks." Jeffrey 'winks' at the waitress, but his inability to actually wink makes it look like he's cringing in pain.

Zera surveys the dingy tavern with skepticism, and wraps her myriad shawls more tightly about herself.

Hmph. Saving me from slavery is all well and good, but you'd think those Andorans'd at least give me enough money and supplies for a caravan back...Well, no use dwelling on that now. I need coin. And that means lightening the pockets of this unlikely lot. Best get to it.

As she has so many times before, Zera appears to stare into the distance, and moans in a stage whisper, Is it one of these, mistress? Yes, oh yes. I know you never lead me astray, Mistress. One of these here is more than he seems. She squints around the dim room. One here is destined for greatness. But who? How shall I find him?

The strange, pale woman with metallic feathers and beads in her hair, draped with numerous scarves appears to swoon onto the nearest stool.

Tsadoc moves into the tavern and notices the dirty group about him. Glad his eyes do not need to adjust he looks for any immediate threats, and seeing none moves to a table. He throws a sad eye at the knife game, but keeps his attention elsewhere.
He straitens his sailor's vest over his half-orc frame. "Beer, since it's fresh."

Service is brisk. The beer, grog, and wine are cold, if a bit thin. The stew is warm, and softens the stale bread well. The waitress, Reffa, appears to have successfully ensured that the fish stew contains only fish.

The grape juice appears to have sat in casks for a while, and gone 'hard'.

An interesting pair of ladies sits at the end of the bar - one is very black, though with features atypical of Mwangi, and what appears to be a voluminous black feathered cloak. Her companion hailing from an obviously eastern port. A black-skinned elfen woman stumbles - apparently very drunk - into the night. But the black-skinned elf seems the exception - the crowd is getting rowdier and more excited - except the half-orc slumped over his drink in the corner.

Disgusting, yuck. I'll spend some time here, hoping to run into that Ian they mentioned would be here, but no way I'm buying more of these drinks.

The crowd seems to be getting rowdier and more excited, and Jeffrey looks around to see if anything specific is causing the increase in excitement.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

The mouse men causing this ruckus?

Does that lady need any help? Tsadoc wonders. He attempts to escort her to the door if she stumbles for too long.

If she gets out alright he leaves her be and orders some bread. "No stew thanks, but some bread to chomp on would be nice." 'N something to thicken this beer please. He wipes the counter in front of him.

The dark-skinned elf makes her way out into the night, followed immediately by a fat, bald-headed and thoroughly disreputable looking fellow. Before any of our heroes have an opportunity to pursue them, two young ladies from the bar (the black one with the feather cloak, and an athletic-looking varisian young lady) go in pursuit. The fat man reappears and tries to block their way. The gal with the feather cloak drops him with a prompt and decisive kick in the crotch. As she balances, it becomes apparent her cloak is actually a stunning pair of wings folded on her back. As a collective groan goes up from the crowd the two young ladies exit, though also somewhat unsteadily.

The room is growing somewhat rowdier - spurred along by a thoroughly intoxicated gnome, dressed almost as a parody of a pirate, who has been perched atop a table near the card tables. Although a comic figure, he can hold a tune, and seems to command a pretty broad repertoire of popular tunes, ballads, and sea chanties. Another gnome (@Walz !) has joined in the fun, with some of the First World native magics, causing fizzy-bubbles to spring from the singer's tricorn hat, and providing some floating globes of light to provide spotlight illumination.

A half-orc, obviously in frustration at not meeting immediate success, stands up and shouts, "Is anyone recruiting for a ship!?". He, and a tian woman make their way over to a back table, meeting a tall, thin man with a braided beard, a mouthful of gold teeth, and a coat and hat proclaiming him a pirate officer. In a few moments, the half-orc and tian are no longer in evidence, but the pirate officer remains.

A large, weathered looking human in a worn military uniform (@Thaurux!) sits at the bar with a large tankard of a sharp-smelling ale of some sort - he is casting his eyes toward the tall, thin pirate officer in the back, as though pondering a major life step.

Watching the fat, bald-headed man drop to the floor Jeffrey laughs. "Saw that one coming, perv!"

Jeffrey notices the tall pirate officer and walk over to the skinny man. He leaves his drink on the table, having decided to not continue drinking what once was grape juice. "Hi, skinny boy. Your name Ian Conelli, or you happen to know him?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (17) - 2 = 15

Waltz adds his voice to the other gnomes, singing loudly and poorly.

Santorin nurses his rum and keeps an eye out. He isn't ready yet to make his play. Besmara's interests are not yet apparent. Like everyone else in the room, he watches the pirate officer.

Zera cracks one eye open to peer around. How's a girl supposed to lure in dupes for fortune telling with all this commotion going on? With a sigh she stands back up and wanders over to the bar. With a dispirited attempt at retaining her disguise she mumbles, I can tell you your future for the mere price of a drink.

Traceni looks around. "Oh, is this the fish stew? With a special ingredient of no mouse? That would be lovely, yes."

Breaking out of her stupor, she looks around, and adds a sly grin as she sets about devouring the stew.

Tsadoc enjoys the crowd. Perhaps it is time to get back to the sea, he thinks working on his beer.

Tsadoc bumps the counter as he puts his mug down.

@Zera - "Your drink is paid - though your fate may lay with him" says the bartender, nodding his head to the thing, gold-toothed pirate officer at the back. "A glass for you, and a pitcher for that table. Would you be so kind as to take the pitcher to him?"

@Traceni - The waitress, Reffa, smiles at Traceni and says, "Eat up my dear. There may be mouse in it by tomorrow's lunch. Her smile is warm and kindly, though with a trace of concern in it.

@Tsadoc, Santorin, and Waltz - The drink here seems exceptionally strong. Or the air very warm and close. Or some combination, because your equilibrium seems to have sustained far more damage than you'd expect. You arms and legs are heavy, and your heads are spinning.

@Jeffrey - the pirate officer seems to hear a buzzing. His head turns, and he inspects the person before him like an exotic insect. His gaze is piercing and weighing, but also somehow dismissive. After a long moment, he breaks into a grin, highlighted by the gold in his teeth. "I don't know anyone of that name. Sit and tell me about him." He produces an additional flagon, and pours from a stoneware pitcher, emptying it. "I'd warrant it's a thirsty tale."

While laughing Jeffrey sits himself down. "Haha! You see, I run this company named Warren Inc., and we specialize in... Well, we do whatever the customer wants. We usually get odd jobs. Anyway, this one day some people from the Andoran faction of the Society came up to me, offering me some good coin if I deliver a letter to one Ian Conelli."

Jeffrey picks up the flagon and pauses for a moment as he drinks some. "I was told he's a pirate," he then continues, "and I should be able to find him somewhere in Port Peril. No one mentioned where though, so I figured I'd visit some inns and ask around."

"If you just sit a spell, and lift a cup, all the world will come to you sooner than you'd think."

Tsadoc lifts his cup after sitting for a spell. The druid barely makes the cup to his mouth for its weight. I think I'm done. "Time to get back to practicing the Lady's teachings." The druid whispers something and magic washes over him. "I wonder if that worked?" and lifts the mug again to test it. ]"I should test another," and he looks around the tavern to see if anyone has passed out.
(resistance)

Take 10, get 15 on Sense Motive

Traceni's glazed vision clears and she meets Reffa's eye steely, replying, "Well, it's a good thing I won't be here for tomorrow's lunch, now, isn't it?" Her gaze softens, and she adds, "No, don't you worry, these things happen."

Traceni shrugs and gets up, seemingly forgetting about the stew before her. She crosses the room to Jeffrey and the pirate, colorful Varisian dress flowing about her ankles as she approaches. "It appears you'll need some help with a sleeping crew, won't you?"

Oohh my friggin head! Waltz looks around for a bench to lay down upon.

Sense Motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15

"Huh, what?" Jeffrey stares at the pirate officer. "The heck...?"

Hearing a voice behind him, Jeffrey turns around and sees Traceni. "Darn, that dress hurts my eyes!" He rubs his eyes, then looks at her again. "Did you also hear that just now, miss Rainbow? I swear this guy just purred."

Humans don't purr... Do they...? I don't... At least not that I know of...

sense motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20 missed that was for everyone...
Tsadoc hisses like a shark, a well dressed, well mannered shark.

Santorin thinks that this would be a good time for some fresh air. He rises a few inches out of his seat and rethinks his plans. Maybe after he just puts his head down for a few moments. Must remember...something...

The gruff archer examines the wood of the table from half an inch away, vaguely aware that his eyelids keep shutting of their own volition. With a great effort, he hauls himself to his feet, takes a step towards the door and crashes across a table, face down in a bowl of highly suspect fish stew.

"Ahh, I can practice that other magic now." As the Lady wished.
Tsadoc crosses to the fallen man and casts a spell, asking the blood to stop flowing where it shouldn't be flowing.
stabilze

Later that evening, the tall thin pirate officer exits the bar. He leaves a small purse on the counter, "Thirty silvers, as agreed. And Master Barkeep, your daughter is sleeping safe a-bed. We'll not be back this way soon again, but when we do, I'll remember well how little cooperation I received from you and yours. And after I swore an oath not to recruit your regular customers - such a pity we had to be more forceful."

He steps out into the night, "Come Peppery, Fipps, gather the others, and our take, and let's not foresake the tide."

Our heroes wake up the following morning in the dark hold of large-ish ship. They all remember the night before—the ringing laughter of a wild night, the heady joy of excess, the scents of rich stewed meat and perfume lingering in their nostrils. Some indulged more than others, some resisted. All have been brought to this dank hold, with water lapping about in the bilges. Our heroes feel a pounding headache, the sickly taste of cheap wine in their mouths, the hard floor, a rhythmic creaking noise, and the feeling of the room swaying, as if still drunk.

A quiet voice issues from across the bilges, "Well good morning to you all. You appear to be stirring just in time for me to introduce myself. I'm Jake Magpie. The late Jake Magpie - though a bit early for all that." The laugh that follows his introduction is brittle and sharp.

Our heroes are scattered fairly evenly around the oblong-shaped hold. They have been stripped of arms, armor, weapons, and all sundry gear - all now just whatever basic clothing was underneath all the accouterments. Unlike our heroes, Magpie has been secured in the bilges by a set of shackles set several feet up the inside of the hull.

the bilges are a foul, damp place with thick cobwebs above and 1–2 feet of dark, brackish water that stinks abominably below. A ladder leads up to a trap door, and a single bilge pump rests near the stern. The bilges also double as the ship’s brig, and six sets of manacles with locks are fixed to the bulkheads in the forward portion of the deck. One of these is occupied by Jake Magpie.

With a loud yawn Jeffrey stands up. "I fell asleep, what?" He stretches his arms, feeling somewhat awkward and light.

Huh... I didn't drink much, did I?

Jeffrey rubs his eyes and looks around, then hears a voice behind him. When he turns around to see who's speaking Jeffrey sees Jake Magpie. It's only after Jake finishes his introduction that Jeffey notices his gear is missing. "The heck?!"

Oooh! My headdd! Anybody got any willow bark?

Jake Magpie gives you all a rueful smile, "Welcome to the Wormwood. You're all about to see an object lesson in shipboard discipline, featuring yours truly. I'm in for the unforgivable crime of attempting to pilfer the ship's quartermaster - punishable by keelhauling. For those of you not familiar with this particular shipboard festivity, it's a pretty definitive discouragement to future misbehavior. There's plenty of ways, on this ship, to draw a keelhauling - three biggest, striking an officer, stealing from ship's stores (that's me), and killing a fellow crew member. You'd do well to remember those, because Master Scourge - skinny bloke with gold teeth, maybe you met him - surely enjoys the role of master-at-arms. He's a real blighter, and would as soon peel you like a grape as look at you."

"As for what's in store? well.. you've been signed up for the Sweet Life, shanghai'd aboard a proper pirate ship. Captain Harrigan's out to make a name for himself, and has used up most of a crew to do it so far. He needs hands to man stations, and as long as ye all are useful, and don't force Harrigan's hand by blatantly breaking one of the major rules, you'll work hard, fight hard, and earn a share of booty."

"and I'm sorry master gnome, we're fresh out of hangover cure here. Unless the spiders," pointing up towards the thick spider webs, [/b]"have something of use to you."[/b]

"If they had job openings they could've just asked me", Jeffrey says. "I run an odd jobs company and we take almost every job."

Though we'd probably have said no to pirating... Hmm... best to be subtle and see what I can learn from this man....

Jeffrey walks up to Jake Magpie and smiles brightly at the man. "You happen to know if we get our gear back, ugly?"

The Varisian woman stands relaxedly, reaches into the spider webs, pulls out a spider and eats it. She ruminates on the flavor and replies, "Most unfortunate, feychild, but I don't believe the spiders will help."

It occurs to Traceni that it's fortunate the spider's venom only works when injected, not when ingested. And that she doesn't have any cuts in her mouth.

Magpie smiles at Jeffrey, "Why, your gear is in the quartermaster's store, along with mine. I can't say I recommend getting caught retrieving it."

Several pairs of heavy footsteps enter the dark room, and the harsh light of a lantern painfully spears through the murk. A familiar thin figure leads down the ladder, gold teeth gleaming in the painful light of a bright torch. He is followed by six burly pirates, each brandishing a sap in a manner indicating some familiarity with their use.

An expression that might be mistaken for pain but which is clearly an attempt at a smile bruises Scourge’s face as he cracks the whip in his hand and screams at the PCs.
“Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap’n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!” Aside to the pirates, "Get this lot up on deck first, then haul up the theiving trash."

"Aye Aye,". Tsadoc stands up and offers a hand to the gnome. "It's hard work when its hard, easy when its easy, but a honest work to sail a ship." Not so sure about pirating being honest, but sailing at least is. Helping any stragglers up the shaman leads the way up deck.

Is that the purring fellow? I'll name him Kitty.

Jeffrey walks up to Kitty and the other pirates. He looks up to where the ladder leads, then points at it. "You're going up first or shall I go up first, Ki...? *cough*"

"What kind of captain press gangs a pirate crew?" wonders Santorin to himself, his head aching and his tongue feeling like it needs a shave.

"How bad a pirate must you be for the lure of bright gold and suntanned wenches not to entice a pool of scum from a place like Port Peril?"

None of these thoughts are expressed out loud, of course. Instead, he recognizes the rather unsubtle hand of Besmara in all this and chuckles to himself as he hauls himself to his feet, wondering further if any of his fellow captives know the first thing about ships.

Waltz joins the queue to ascend to the deck.

The Varisian joins the others on the way up, and pauses in wonder for a second as she takes in her environs.

"I'm on a boat."

Brief Retcon Depressed, Zera sips her free drink and contemplates. No rubes. No money. How am I going to get home? Well at least I'm away from those sadistic Chellish pirates. Strange, I'm woozy, probably need to get some food soon...

Mumbles in disbelief Oh Star-eyed Desna... you can't have done this to me again. And they say you have no humor. I'm imprisoned on a ship... again?

As he walks the shaman straitens his clothing. "I'll be in these for a while it looks like, but no need to be shabby if I can help it." Once on deck Tsadoc takes the best account of the ship and crew his groggy head will allow.
profession sailor: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Tsadoc stretches cramped muscles and a foggy brain.