Crescent Harbor Cistern
A female human—a few years either side of 30—with long, dark haired peppered with gray sticking out from beneath the black bandana she wears over her crown approaches you while you do your daily castings of create water at one of Crescent Harbor’s trio of public cisterns. The lady is decked in well-worn black leather armor and seems well-armed: A rapier hangs from her hip and the pommel of a dagger protrudes from the top of each of her black boots. She offers a crooked smile as she moves to the other side of the shallow well. A skull-and-crossbones holy symbol of Besmara dangles from a silver chain hung around her neck.
”Don’t it just warm the cockles o’ yer heart to slake the thirst o’ the fine folk o’ Port Peril every bloody day in the blazin’ sun or the pourin’ rain?” After casting a couple of create water spells of her own, the woman offers another smile and sticks out a rough hand with a slight accumulation of dirt beneath the nails.
”Name’s Betty—Black Betty, most folks call me,” the woman drawls. “Who’re you an’ what brings you to this lovely isle?”
Barely giving you time to reply, the woman adds, “Keep a weather eye out—many’s the disreputable crew on this isle what’d press-gang a water-maker or healer for their ship…even though it be illegal.”
Secret DM Rolls:
(Betty’s Something) 1d20+11+2 (roll) = 13
(Betty’s Something Else) 1d20+5+4 (roll) = 9
(Moina’s Perception) 1d20+9+11 (roll) = 20
(Aghon’s Perception) 1d20+4+1 (roll) = 5
Moina Only:Something's off about the woman's appearance: The creases around her eyes, the gray streaks in her hair, and even the worn parts of her armor seem superficial and not natural. You think the woman's wearing a disguise of some sort.
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”Black Betty is it now? Name's Aghon, if you please. As to warming my heart, I'd say, yes, 't does, in a roundabout sort of way, if you catch my meaning.” He pats the coin purse strapped to his belt, right next to his morningstar. ”As t'what brings me to the Isles? Well, that's a long story, and I'd gladly be sharing it with you, perhaps over a drink?” He winks at the dark beauty, indicating, perhaps that she should be the one purchasing said beverages. ”Perhaps after you've slaked my thirst, and I've spun my yarn, ye can tell me a bit more about these disreputable crews I should look out for?” He finishes another casting of create water then looks at the position of the sun in the sky. ”Tell me where to meet ye, and at what time, and I'd be glad to share a drink and a tale?” He grips her extended hand in his own calloused paw, brings it ever so gingerly to his lips, and presses a warm kiss on it.
Aghon Bluff if he wants to hide that he's seen through Betty's disguise:
Betty's opposed Sense Motive:
As you chivalrously kiss the woman's hand you notice that it feels softer than it looks. Alarms go off in your head and you take a closer look at the lady the hand's attached to, seeing through her magical disguise. "Betty" is, in truth, about ten years younger than she first appeared, with shorter jet black hair. Her hazel eyes are sharp, intense, and penetrating. The jaded smile her older form once wore has become an amused smirk.
"Seein' me in a whole new light, are you, Aghon? Ah, but that's the risk o' shakin' hands now, ain't it? Her voice drops to a throaty whisper. "Lettin' you interact with my disguise gives you a chance o' seein' through it. Oh well--at least now I know you've a decent head on your shoulders and a sharper eye than most."
Betty purses her lips as if pondering some deep matter. "If you'd still like to talk over a drink or two, meet me tonight at the Frog & Grog...say an hour after sundown." Another smirk crosses her lips as she adds, "I'll cut me hair an' wear me best duds--I hear that makes me look about ten years younger!"
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"Ah hi, I'm Moina." she says looking around, "I had to leave my village."She studies Betty and then asks, "Perhaps you might help me. I'm wondering if there are any jobs around here. I don't have too much coin left after the boat here."
Something seemed off about the woman but it wasn't the first strange thing she had seen here. Everything was strange.
"What kind of work you lookin' for?" the woman replies, still smiling but withdrawing her offered hand. "I'm guessin' you don't wanna be a serving wench an' you look too scrawny for the brothels...."
"Your magic powers'll get you a job on most any ship sailin' from this port," Betty continues. "An' a healer's touch is welcome in all sorts o' places in a rough-an'-tumble place like this."
Her eyes narrow as she gives Moina a closer look. "How are you at sneakin' an' spyin'? Can you be subtle? There's another new arrival I've got my eyes on, and I could use some help if you're game."
The Rusty Drum Tavern
A grinning pirate with manky red hair and a scruffy beard sits at the bar, watching the big human with the anchor chained to one wrist pound another patron into violent unconsciousness.
”By Besmara’s bounteous booty!” the man calls out to Culder. ”You might even be a match for ol’ Barnacle Bill the Brawler! Never ‘eard o’ him, ya say? Banner—pour this fine lout a flagon o’ yer worst ale an’ I’ll tell yas the tale.”
”No one’s sure exactly who ‘ol Bill was in life,” the ginger pirate begins, ”but in undeath, he’s a skeletal battler covered with barnacles an’ seaweed what wades out o’ the bay every month or so, enters a tavern—usually Bloodknuckle’s Pit—an’ challenges anyone to a fistfight with him. No weapons allowed. No one’s beat him yet—I’m guessin’ it’s hard to put the hurt on something made o’ bone with just yer fists.”
”You could probably cave in ol Bill’s head with that anchor you lug around,” the pirate tells Culder, ”but don’t try it at Bloodknuckles—Barnacle Bill’s somethin’ o’ a mascot there, an’ they got a priest there what actually heals up any damage the skeleton takes before Bill wanders back to the depths.”
"Y'should watch what yer callin' the worst ale, mate, especially if'n yer comin' close t' runnin' a tab," Jordan joked back, pouring the drink.
He set it down a bit clumsily, ale slopping over the sides, which he quickly mopped up with a dirty rag he kept round his waist. "An' before y'go on telling yer new friend they should enter a fight, ye should tell'im why Barnacle Bill comes a wanderin' up here fer the fights!"
Sitting back, Jordan glanced around the room. Maybe this new stranger would have some information for him.
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Culder reaches his bloodied hand up and tugs down one corner of his hat in a sort of drunken salute to the bartender as the fresh drink arrives. He takes one large swallow and sets the half empty mug back on the bar before speaking, "Fightin' a skel'ton with me bare hands?!? And fer no profit? I'm drunk, sure 'nough, but I ain't a frackin' fool!"After another long gulp he sets the empty mug on the bar and finally turns for the first time to look at the stranger. Sizing him up, he asks, "What're yer even tellin' me this fer? You havin' a go at me?!? Out with it! What're yer upta!?!"
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"Oy! I ain't lookin' fer no trouble!" the pirate blurts out, cowering noticeably at Culder's sudden wrath, "Just makin' friendly conversation, see?"
"An' I ain't sayin' that pummelin' skeletons wit' yer fists be smart--hells no! But I can't say as I'd shed a tear if ol' Bill were put down once an' fer all--good folk shouldn't haveta abide with no creepy undead abomination goin' 'round raisin' a ruckus an' assaultin' the fine folk o' Crescent Harbor...am I right??!! Damn straight! Betcha Bill don't pay no taxes neither, nor contribute to the local...umm...'conomy."
The Frog & Grog Tavern
A sandy-haired male halfling with darting eyes approaches one of his kin at the bar, just as a bald dwarf emerges from the kitchen with a skillet of something that at once smells delicious and disgusting. The approaching halfling looks at the cook with suspicion for an instant before apparently dismissing him as no threat.
”Word on the street is that any surviving crew from the Reef Treader are safe, Jarvis—Capt. Barrow and his men were only interested in the ship itself and getting her captain out of the picture for good.”
Casting a glance at a corner table occupied by three men wearing colorful bandanas atop their heads (yet seem too neatly-dressed for pirates), the short fellow adds in a snarly whisper, ”They’re with that Varisian ship that just sailed into port. Circus performers? Bah—don’t trust ‘em! All Varisians are gypsies, cutpurses, con men, or thieves!”
Jarvis only:The sandy-haired halfling is called Diggs, a sailor for hire who’s said to have an ear to the ground and a nose for rumors.
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Agghh throws the halfling a glare back at the potential stink-eye. Got yer sausage, shrimp and rice!” He wiggles his fingers as he scrapes it onto a plate and any stray bits of food shove themselves back onto the center. Putting it onto the bar, for a serving wench to serve, he heads back into the kitchen.
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Connie--the lanky, plain, hard-working day server at the Frog & Grog--swoops in to pick up the order, and the talkative halfling acknowledges her presence by pinching her butt.
"Oh dear--my deepest and sincerest apologies, milady!" the short fellow says, bowing low (the better to hide his wide grin). "I merely meant to brush the hair out of my eyes when you stepped right in front of me. A thousand pardons."
The serving wench doesn't buy the apology for a moment. "Halflings!" she shrieks. "Why do they have to be so short...and gropey?"
"Because half the good stuff on you human lasses is right at arm level?" he reflects casually. His lewd grin widens as his eyes pan up to Connie's chest.
"My dear, have I ever told you why all my kin are so good at jumping...?"
With a smile and a final swig of his tankard, Jarvis watches Diggs play fast and loose with the serving wench.
"My dear, have I ever told you why all my kin are so good at jumping...?" quipped the diminutive sailor. With a good-natured laugh, Jarvis cuffs Diggs lightly on the shoulder.
"Come on Diggsy, lay off her won't you? I appreciate the information, of course. Let me buy you a pint, eh? As for the Varisians, how are they any better than a vagabond sheet-tender like yourself? Oy, Connie, another for me, and a pint for old Diggsy here, on me." Jarvis cajoles.
I mean, they are colorful, that's for sure. I wonder what kind of acts they have going on. I wonder how accurate Diggs' information about the Reef Treader actually is. Perhaps I'll hang about a bit and see what they are chatting about.
Let's grab a table over in the corner Diggsy. Unless, of course, you are in a bit of a pinch with the wench!" Jarvis quips with a wink as he grabs his bowl of grub and his tankard and heads off to a dim corner to watch the hilarity of drunken circusers unfold.
As Connie strides across the common room to deliver the pints to the small folk, Diggs elbows Jarvis, grinning like a madman before addressing the wench.
"I should have been more specific before," he tells the server. "With a running start, we're not particularly great leapers. On standing jumps, though, we're rather impressive for our size. Totally coincidentally...do you know another term for a standing jump?"
Connie eyeballs Diggs suspiciously, staying out of arm's reach as she places the pint glasses on the tabletop near Jarvis. The bane of her existence waits until the precious cargo is safely delivered before grinning mischievously and suddenly launching himself out of his chair in the wench's direction.
"The broad jump!" he shouts lustily while wiggling his stubby fingers, sending Connie squealing back to the kitchen.
The Varisians look up at the outburst, frown, and go back to their drinks, apparently not getting the joke. Their voices seem a bit disappointed as they chat in heavily-accented Common, talking about any performances they might put on while quarantined on Crescent Harbor isle. One fellow says their ringmaster couldn't get permission to set up any of the monster cages, though some of the booth games and acrobatic performances will go on. The others complain that there isn't enough room to put on a proper show at the northeast end of the isle, but that the harbormaster forbade them to set up shop at the less-settled southeast end because many of the full-time islanders dwell there and don't want the noise and potential crime uptick in their neighborhood.
"Oy! I ain't lookin' fer no trouble!" the pirate blurts out, cowering noticeably at Culder's sudden wrath, "Just makin' friendly conversation, see?"
"An' I ain't sayin' that pummelin' skeletons wit' yer fists be smart--hells no! But I can't say as I'd shed a tear if ol' Bill were put down once an' fer all--good folk shouldn't haveta abide with no creepy undead abomination goin' 'round raisin' a ruckus an' assaultin' the fine folk o' Crescent Harbor...am I right??!! Damn straight! Betcha Bill don't pay no taxes neither, nor contribute to the local...umm...'conomy."
"Ye mightn't shed a tear, Red, but would ye shed a coin or two?" Jordan chuckled, "i ain't talkin' o' ye, but surely a scallywag such's Bill is worth a piece o' gold or two!" Leaning back on the bar, he nodded to Culder. "After all, why'd our fine friend here go pickin' fights worth no profit!"
"'Xactly, Jon!" Culder bellows with another sloppy tip of his hat, "I ain't in Por'Peril fer vacation- I'm here fer work an' drink... so, 'less yer off'rin' a job er another pint, I ain't in'erstead."
Having spoken his peace, the burly sod fixes his gaze on the stranger awaiting a response.
Augier hears the noise from the front room and wonders if he should poke the bouncer if someone is getting unruly.
When Connie coemes back into the kitchen, he looks over at her. Someone getting grabby? Need me to get the bouncer?
@ The Rusty Drum Tavern (Jordan & Culder)
The redhaired pirate--so boisterously friendly when he first entered the establishment--is now silent, appearing sullen and perhaps a bit bitter. He wordlessly pays Jon for Culder's cheap ale and creeps to the doorway. There he finds his courage.
"Ain't no profit in beatin' poor men senseless, neither," he says with a scowl. "There's such a thing as fame an' renown, ya know!"
And with that announcement, he takes his leave of the Rusty Drum.
The next couple of hours in the Rusty Drum are empty of any events worthy of mention (not counting any brawls Culder might start and/or finish). At two points, different young lads enter and ask to post flyers inside the doorway. The first notice heralds the arrival of Lord Barkham's Traveling Troupe, who will be putting on a series of "Carnival Performances" (whatever those are) for the next four days. These events will feature various carnival games of skill or chance and performances by clowns, acrobats, fortunetellers, and the like.
The second flyer announces the upcoming 12th Annual Dogfight Championship Tournament at Bloodknuckle's Pit on Sunday, the 9th of Desnus (1 week away). The event promises a pair of Semifinal Scraps followed by the Championship Battle! Ticket prices range from 5 sp to 2 gp.
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@ The Frog & Grog Tavern (Aggghhh and Jarvis)
Connie rolls her eyes and huffs in exasperation. "One of those halflings gave me a pinch is all," she tells Agghhh. "The one with the wide eyes and the crazy grin--not that nice little blond-haired one. Nothing I can't handle."
Over the course of the next couple of hours, a pair of boys enter to pin flyers on the wall just inside the doorway (see above for details).
"It profits me a bit a peace 'n' quiet." Culder comments to his empty mug as the ginger sailor slinks away.
After the flyers are hung he makes his way over to read them, then returns to the bar with a scowl of his own. "Used t'be folks'd post work on yer board, now its jus' clowns 'n' games lookin' t'take me coin," he complains to Jon with a shake of his head, "still, I oughta go see if they got strength games, 'n' what kinda prize they got on it..."
Rising, he gives one last tip of his cap to the barkeep and heads out to investigate this carnival.
Agghh nods to Connie and gets back to work. When he gets the chance, he glances at the posters and scowls at the dogfighting. Setting mutts on each other is pathetic, might go see the troupe though. He does get his own meal and sits out in the bar to keep an eye on that crazy halfling.
Rising, he (Culder) gives one last tip of his cap to the barkeep and heads out to investigate this carnival.
Culder takes a walk northeast up Dock Street, one of two main thoroughfares on the island (Hillshade Road a bit to the north being the second).
Upon reaching the end of the road, he finds that he's a day early. Several Varisians are busily hacking away grass and undergrowth while others set up tents and stalls in an open area near the foot of the rocky hill that shelters the island town from the squalls and gales hurled southward from the Eye of Abendego. Acrobats and jugglers practice on the narrow strip of sandy beach nearby.
Not wanting to wholly waste his time and energy in making the trip, the big man asks a swarthy and sweaty carny about the games that'll be featured. Alas, it's as Culder feared--the games are the usual carnival fare, such as throwing a slightly misshapen ball at a stack of metal bottles. One game sounds fairly intriguing though--a new take on the classic mallet-and-bell pole game. In this version--Hammer the Ogre--the pole is made up to resemble a huge ogre. The contestant brings the mallet down on the ogre's foot, and if the weight shoots up all the way to the ogre's head, the creature magically bellows in pain and fury and the contestant wins a modest prize. The carny tells Culder that there's another way for strong and coordinated players to win--smack the ogre below the belt to send a much heavier weight up the pole.
The games cost between 1 and 5 cp to play. Prizes, however, are little more than colorful baubles like beaded jewelry, gold-lacquered bamboo, crowns, and crude stuffed animals or monsters.
"Most anything will do for me. I don't right know exactly what I want to do now or where I want to go. Just as long as no ones counting on me t save the world. That can get a bit too much you know."
She considered the lady's offer for a moment with a questioning gaze. "If there's a bit of coin in it the I will give it a go." She offers her hand, this time realising the meaning.
Disappointed at the lack of worthwhile prizes, but hopeful that his walk over won't have been a complete loss, Culder approaches the man barking out orders. "Ya got any work needs doin'?" he asks without any introduction, "Me knots 'old tight 'n' I'm good 'nough at drivin' spikes... Ya feed me 'n' I'll take a lab'rer's wage?"
Jordan walked through the crowds. Not many people knew him as Jon Banner, but the few who did greeted him with a smile. He decided to wander through towards the carnival. Shiny objects always attracted scavengers, and maybe he'd catch some interesting rumors regarding his prey. If not, a good bounty would be nice.
Jordan was struck for a moment by the quandary of hunting the men he was normally cheerfully serving, but quickly ignored it. These were pirates, after all, scum floating on the waves. He'd be doing the world a favor to clean things up a bit.
Shrugging, he stopped at a stall to look for a brown leather cloak. Preferabbly one that shed water, and had a hood, but he had no idea what that'd cost.
@ Moina
"Lemme get this straight--you don't want no one countin' on you to save the world, Betty says with a wry grin, "yet you seem willin' to count on the generosity of strangers to pay for your next meal or your retirement! Only the gods know why, but I like you! You're a kindred spirit!"
Betty fishes into her belt pouch and presses a single gold coin into Moina's palm. "Meet me at the Frog & Grog about an hour after sundown. There's a free meal in it for you and you can walk away if you're not interested in--or up to--the piece o' work I've lined up for you."
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@ Culder
The carny turns to Culder with an initial scowl that morphs into a look of interest as both his eyebrow and bushy moustache quirk as he beholds the large man.
"Well, I can use ya for two or three hours now," the man says. "You planning on staying in port for a few days? I could use your muscle when we dismantle the tents and stalls once we close down on Oathday evening...and even more so once we cross the bay and need to unload and set up our whole circus a day or two later."
A pair of unattended barefoot children scurry among the growing number of tents and stalls. They slam on the brakes when they behold the large sailor.
"Wow!" says the dirty, dark-haired 10- or 11-year-old boy in an awed gasp as he gazes up at Culder. "Double wow!" exclaims what appears to be his sister as her gaze falls upon Culder's anchor. The kids stare for a second longer before tittering and starting to run off again.
The man pays Culder and throws in a dozen free tickets that can be used to play a carnival game or attend a tent show for free.
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@ Jordan
You have little trouble locating hooded, waterproof, leather cloaks. They range in price from 2 to 10 gp.
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@ Aghon
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@ Jarvis & Aggghhh
Augier is still slinging the hash in the kitchen, unaware of DESTINY!
Music and chatter prattles on as Jarvis swirls the dregs of his wine about the bottom of his tankard, his face flush with the pink of drink. With a spoon, he pushes around a nugget of sausage in the remaining sludgy sauce.
Perhaps I should turn in for the night. Seems like things are dwindling down here.
Finding a suitable cloak for about 8 gp, Jordan thanks the stall owner, then disappears into the crowd. Returning to his one-room shanty, he buckles his sword to his belt and sling his bow and arrows across his back, drawing his new cloak and hood over his euipment. Stepping out into the evening, he was now the hunter.
Wandering through the shadows and the crowds, he sought information. Drinks were flowing freely, and drunken men could normally be counted on to share information.
The Frog & Grog gets busier as the sun sets in the west. Several pirates and sailors--mostly human but with one burly half-orc mixed in--drop by for a quick meal or drink, while a few others gather around a large table and break out a deck of cards. Arriving just at sundown is an apparent cleric of Besmara--a young woman with short black hair, piercing eyes, and a silver skull-and-crossbones symbol hanging from a chain around her neck. She orders an ale and nurses it, glaring at the night shift waitress every time she asks if the lady would like a refill or perhaps a meal.
"I'm waiting for some friends," the cleric says quietly. "I'll eat once they've arrived." Her gaze makes a leisurely circuit of the common room, pausing momentarily as it falls upon Jarvis before moving on.
"Ok. I will be there i swear." Moina looks at the gold in her hand and studied the mark upon it. It seemed Besmara was smiling on her today. A job already perhaps and the beginning of a connection to this new world outside her village of mere fifty. She twirled her finger and chanted for a couple more minutes till she was bored before having a quick look through the market place and using the gold to purchase some nicer clothes.
Once back in her room in the mermaid's bucket she changed, gathering all her old clothes into a pile that she vowed to burn later. Yesterday she was too amazed at this new place to do anything but gape and finally find a room to rent. Oddly she missed the rocking motion of the ship at night putting her to sleep on the journey here. Last night she barely got a wink so she lay down for a quick rest before tonight. And as the sun went down she asked directions and made her way to the frog and grog.
Shakes the street dust from his boots as he steps into the Frog and Grog. It's only his second time in this particular establishment, and though the clientele isn't particularly frightening, he keeps one hand on his morningstar anyway. Scanning the room quickly, he easily locates the dark beauty he seeks, sipping something out of a tankard. He approaches, and sweeps into a short bow. At your service, m'lady. He extends his hand in greeting once more. I believe we have some tales to swap, and perhaps a drink or two to share? He catches the attention of the serving girl and says, I'll have what she's having, Frog piss, is it? He winks, smirking, and then grabs a seat right next to her.
The Frog & Grog Tavern is easy enough to find: Its large wooden sign—depicting an inebriated anthropomorphic frog with a mug in one webbed hand and a bottle in the other while it jumps at an angle and taps its heels together—hangs from a post along Dock street, across the street from the smaller Thirsty Turtle and about a block north of the much larger and busier Mermaid’s Bucket. Just inside the doorway hangs a large slate chalkboard that welcomes new arrivals and provides the day's culinary specials (orange-glazed crabcakes and reefclaw stew).
Initially, Moina sees no sign of Betty. Then she spots a younger woman seated at a corner tables who looks like she could be the pirate lady's younger sister or maybe even daughter...and the druid recalls suspecting that Betty was wearing a disguise. The black-haired woman makes eye contact with Moina while her fingers casually play with the silver holy symbol of Besmara she wears as a necklace.
"Early, I see," the woman says as Moina approaches the table, deftly kicking out a chair for the druid to be seated. "Good--punctuality's a noble trait."
"My real name's Beliza," the priestess says, again offering her hand to Moina. "I'm expecting more company, but we can get started now if you'd like. If you're hungry or thirsty, just give the server your order--it's on me. Now tell me a little more about yourself and then I'll tell you what I'd like you to do for me."
"Speak o' the devil," she adds as Aghon enters and joins the growing party.
"There's a fellow new to town--goes by the moniker of 'the Captain.' Well, this Captain's got no ship to speak of, but he carries around a great anchor with him wherever he goes. Been drinkin' and brawlin' in mostly even measure since he put into port. And damned handy with his fists, he is."
"What I need to know--an' for you to find out, if you're game--is whether or not this Captain is more trouble than he's worth. He spends a lot of his time at a dive called the Rusty Drum. What I'd like you to do is spend a little time there watchin' him and his interactions with others. I'm of the mind that he's just a worthless mean drunk, but I've some pretty sharp friends who claim he might be a good man to have on certain...ventures."
"I ain't heard o' this Captain ever layin' a hand on any women, so it should be a safe enough task for you...but I can manage to have some backup in place for you, should things go south."
With a crooked, impish smile, the woman asks Moina,"So...think you're up for it?"
”They’ve decent ale here—that good enough for you?” After hearing Aghon’s beverage of choice, 'Betty' waves over one of the serving wenches, a full-cheeked teen with curly brown hair, and politely places the table’s order.
”Yes, ma’am—right away,” the waitress says before swooping toward the bar.
As more people start sauntering into the tavern, Jarvis settles back into his seat and waves Connie over.
Connie m'dear. Another dram for me, if you could? And how about something sweet from back there, if there is any such thing. Jarvis coos, with just the barest hint of a wink.
No sooner than she turns away from the table, Jarvis scans the room, looking across the amassed bodies, taking in whatever he can.
After seating himself and offering salutations to the other young lady. Aghon takes the offered ale, and swigs greedily. So, ye asked for a tale of what brought me here. Well, let's see... Aghon relates the story of being swept out of the River Kingdoms at a young age, his younger sister left in Molthune with his dead wife's sister. Being mascot to a bunch of hard men, sailors and scrappers. He learned the ropes, to read the weather, and to swim before he was a teen. The last trip on a boat he ever made brought he and his father, here, to Crescent Harbor. After only a few weeks, his father dropped Aghon off with a local couple of boat-mending carpenters, and strode off to join the crew of the Silver Scythe. That was over ten years ago. He'd gotten in trouble enough as a teen, but always found his way out thanks to a hulking friend named Yngdrada. Saved his life once, Yngdrada, or maybe it was Hanspur saved his life, this far on the other side those things tend to get blurry. Regardless, Hanspur'd seen fit to give him some divine power, but it wasn't enough to save his adopted father of the ague, or his adopted mother the year after. He'd never really liked the carpentry trade, though he'd learned it well enough, and so he took to selling himself as an errand boy to the local Besmaran shrine. And that, Betty, is what brought me to you, and what brought me here.
After sharing his tale and asking his questions, Aghon tips back in his chair, and sips his ale, eyeing his two female acquaintances carefully.
No sooner than she turns away from the table, Jarvis scans the room, looking across the amassed bodies, taking in whatever he can.
@ Aghon & Moina
”Well, first off—my name’s not Black Betty, though some jackass bard dedicated a song of that name to me. My real name…the name my friends and enemies call me…is Beliza. Beliza Odabio. As for what I want to know about this 'Captain'....” The woman stops, choosing her words carefully. "I need to know if he's more than just a drunk and a brawler. I need to know if he can be depended upon...if he has an ounce of subtlety to him. I have a few jobs I'm recruitin' for, an' could use someone with his muscle...but not if he's naught but a kraken in a seashell shop."
"More work, eh? 'Less a better offer comes 'long I'll be there," he answers the carny. At the evening meal he does his best to be friendly with the other carnies...
...but it doesn't seem to be going well.
I better get movin' 'fore I get inta it with these clowns, he decides. Grabbing one more turkey leg and a hunk of bread for the road he tugs the corner of his hat at the boss and wanders off to find a bed for the night, hopefully somewhere with a bar.
Augier is up to his eyeballs in pots and pans, clanging away and the swoosh of the stove's flames.
"There isn't much interesting before now. It was a small village and they were trying to force me to be the next Village Mother just because my mother was. I guess they'll have to find someone else now. I prefer to be free and see the world."
After Aghon arrives she is mostly quiet when he says he knows the man she thinks the job is already up but is glad to see there is still something she may be able to do. The job description sounded fun. "Is there any place that he frequents? Should we work together or separately?" she also asks with a sideways glance at this new stranger that she has met. Aghon? that makes two
@ The Frog & Grog
Before Beliza can say anything more to Aghon and Moina, there’s a bit of a commotion as a large party pushes its way into the Frog & Grog’s common room, yelling nautical nonsense like “Avast!” and “Ahoy!” while waving both hands and small, poorly-crafted swords at the tavern’s patrons.
Goblins.
No, not just goblins—goblin pirates. They all seem to be crewmen on the same ship, as they wear matching black tricornes embroidered with their ship’s symbol: a grinning skull set above crossed boarding pikes, atop which sit what appear to be the skulls of a horse and a canine. Two of the little green meanies lead their party toward a pair of unoccupied tables, pushing them together to make one larger table. Four more follow, carrying something between them. This “something” is apparently a body, judging from the trail of blood dripping in the wake of its passage…likely a dead gnome from the flash of sea-green hair you momentarily spy.
The final pair of the goblin crew, however, takes note of the tavern’s menu board and shrieks in what sounds like horror and disbelief. They seize a pair of unused chairs from a nearby table, set them up near the chalkboard, and climb up, standing on their seats. One drops his pants and begins urinating on the menu while his pal wipes the slate clean with the sleeve of his suitably-fashionable orange silk shirt.
Meanwhile, the rest of the goblins have tossed the dead gnome atop their table and are busily removing what’s left of its attire. One screams out an order in a harsh-sounding language to the nearest wench and then repeats the call in the general direction of the Frog & Grog’s kitchen.
“Arr!!” the tinkling goblin cackles with glee as his yellow stream arcs up onto the chalkboard.
”Actually, ‘pee’ hits closer to the mark,” Beliza notes wryly. Turning to her companions, she adds, ”Normally, the good folks of Crescent Harbor are encouraged to look the other way in regards to such hijinks by the crew o’ a visitin’ pirate ship.” Then her head turns toward the slaughtered gnome lying atop the goblin party’s table. “That, however,” she intones gravely, ”might well be crossin’ the proverbial line.”
The Besmaran priestess does nothing, however, other than to gaze speculatively from Aghon to Moina, as if waiting to see how they will react to the goblin madness.
One of the little brutes is trying to make the new serving girl understand him and grabs her skirt as the frightened wench tries to whirl away from the frightful thing. ”Kook—yum!” the goblin exclaims as the girl’s spun around to again face him. Losing his patience when she stares at him blankly, the gobbo screams in her face: ”KOOK!!”
Near the Rusty Drum and the Hammocks & Hamhocks boarding house (Jordan & Culder)
As you return to the Rusty Drum after your less-than-successful night's investigations, you spy a familiar anchor-laden figure sauntering up the road in the distance, near the Hammocks & Hamhocks boarding house.
A pair of dark cloaked figures suddenly step out from behind the cover of the building across from the Rusty Drum and draw weapons of some sort from their belts, moving with purpose in Culder's direction.
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You opt to spend the night at the cheap Hammocks & Hamhocks, a sort of pirate version of the more traditional bed and breakfast, located only a couple doors northeast of the Rusty Drum. The H&H features a common room strung with dozens of hammocks available for mere coppers each night, though the place also has a handful of tiny single bedrooms available at a higher rate. A night's boarding also includes a breakfast of ham and eggs.
Jarvis croaks out a hearty laugh as the goblins get into their antics. When he grabs at the skirt of the serving girl, Jarvis leaps up onto his seat and begins to sing, as drunkenly as possible, at the top of his lungs:
What do ya do with a drunken goblin
What do ya do with a drunken goblin
What do ya do with a drunken goblin
Late on inta evenin'?
Chase 'em with a dog until it's sober
Chase 'em with a dog until it's sober
Chase 'em with a dog until it's sober
Late on inta evenin'.
With a whoop and glance, Jarvis glances at the eyes of the people that have looked towards his outburts.
Sing it with me lads!
Jarvis launches back into the shanty, as the searches for the eyes of the two adventurers, as if to implore them to intervene.
Augghh hears the commotion from the front room above the din of the kitchen and heads out. What in tarnation is going on here?! He pauses at seeing the goblins gathered around the dead gnome and his face goes beet red. GIT THAT CORPSE OUTTA THIS PLACE!
Augghh hears the commotion from the front room above the din of the kitchen and heads out. What in tarnation is going on here?! He pauses at seeing the goblins gathered around the dead gnome and his face goes beet red. GIT THAT CORPSE OUTTA THIS PLACE!
Two of the goblins approach Aggghhh, scowling. Then their flat noses twitch as they get a whiff of the odiferous dwarven cook. Toothy smiles break across their ugly faces as they recognize a kindred spirit.
"Kook?" asks one. The other opens its toothy maw and points to its gullet. "Num!" it says before rubbing its stomach.
"Guh-rog!" comes a call from the goblin table. Two goblins begin pounding the tabletops with their fists while another pair lifts up and then slams down the dead gnome's hands, all of them echoing the call for drink.
The last two goblins croon along with Jarvis (or try to), singing "la!" for every syllable other than "Goblin!", which they scream out wildly.
Git corpse out of here, then I feed you!. No dead gnome on table!
Git corpse out of here, then I feed you!. No dead gnome on table!
The two goblins nearest Aggghhh look at the dwarf in blank confusion, then try again.
One points at the gnome corpse and then to Aggghhh. "Kook? Un fyr?"
The second then points at the gnome and then to its open mouth before whining, "Num?"
The grabby goblin has released the serving wench, and both Connie and the younger server have slipped behind Aggghhh, ready to flee into the kitchen if necessary.
Augier attempts to speak to them in orcish. Get that gnome outta here. No corpses in tavern.
Augier attempts to speak to them in orcish. Get that gnome outta here. No corpses in tavern.
The goblins' faces are blank initially but then brighten as they realize that Aggghhh is at least attempting to communicate with them.
"No Urka-Derka," the first says sadly.
"No C'mon," adds the second.
The first one's eyes widen suddenly and he digs into a filthy coin purse for a few seconds before bringing forth a tarnished copper coin which he hands to Aggghhh. With another point toward the gnome, he pleads, "Kook?"
Augier grinds his teeth but suddenly has an idea. Ok! Kook! He nods and goes over to the table to get the gnome and waves to the serving girl. Get them ale! He takes the corpse if they let him and heads back to the kitchen. Me kook! You drink ale!
Once back in kitchen, Augier double checks to make sure the gnome is dead and then hides it before he rushes to storage to get some meat, throwing it on the fire, he grabs ingrediants for stew and throws it into the pot with fat and sears some meat. He is pretty sure goblins don't care how well done their meat is and so piles it into the pot and heats it to a boil while thickening it with flour and fat. He then loads it into a bowl with plenty of potatoes and bread and has two wenches carry it to the goblins.
Augier grinds his teeth but suddenly has an idea. Ok! Kook! He nods and goes over to the table to get the gnome and waves to the serving girl. Get them ale! He takes the corpse if they let him and heads back to the kitchen. Me kook! You drink ale!
The goblin pirates are more than willing to let the dwarf cook cart the dead gnome to the kitchen for roasting--much more willing than the serving wenches are willing to takes drinks to the little monsters--but Connie summons her courage and delivers a couple of pitchers and several metal flagons to the little menaces.
Culder lies in his hammock imagining the day when he will one day captain a ship again... blissfully unaware of any other goings on in Hammocks and Hamhocks...
Aghon uses one of the more interesting powers Hanspur has granted him to fire a small icicle across the room directly at the peeing gobin's almost imperceptible hose. Not wanting to harm the goblin overmuch but still wanting to freeze the stream, and cause a bit of distraction, he aims carefully. His hope is that the goblins will be more tickled by the frozen hose and urine, than they will be upset. Besides, chances are, in this crowded room, they might not even notice where the icicle came from. As he invokes the magic for the icicle he winks at Beliza and says: Did it just get a little chilly in here?
With not much going on that night Jordan was a bit surprised to see two figures take after the large pirate from earlier. Now he was in a bit of a quandary. Well, the anchor carrying man had paid for his drinks, which was uncommon enough, and if he'd people after him, his own head might be worth some coin. Stepping after them, he drew his bow and notched an arrow, trying to keep an eye on what was about to occur.