This will be where the actual play will be happening.
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The Formidably Maid is a bar frequented by some of the worst characters, in one of the worst towns in the whole Inner Sea. Her reputation precedes her; everyone knows about the rough crowd that goes into there. Some don't ever walk out. It's often used as a pirate hangout while they are in port. Many of the pirates get paid just before getting off their ship, and all they want is the nearest rum they can find. Just outside the Formidably Maid, there are numberous large ships at port. They dwarf you as you walk down the road, with the sea on your left, and the shops and town to your right. Your characters are here, in Port Peril, the capital of the Shackles, for whatever reason. Roleplay how you got here, what you plan to do, etc. Remember, you're in a pirate capital."
Grunting as he shifts his pack gear, Ezekial looks around, wiping the sweat off his brow. Too bad I couldn't get farther, but it is expected to say the least, Ezekial thinks as he looks around. The captain of the ship he managed to get on mentioned that the Formidably Maid is a good spot to see about finding a ship to continue on his search. Hard to believe it's been a month since the previous expedition.
In the few weeks since the expedition, Ezekial has been trying his best to find clues about the assassination. Through a bad combination of different poisons, allergies, and native terrain, an abolitionist was killed when Ezekial administered a simple antidote. Unfortunately, a substance that subtly changed the chemical and the abolitionist's allergy made it a lethal concoction.
After some investigation, Ezekial discovered one of the guides was on the run, heading to the Shackles. Unfortunately, his trail went cold once in Port Peril.
Careful that the recently purchased coffee was secured, Ezekial made his inside.
Grunt was always kept on deck whenever the Dragon’s Death docked because the captain knew he would get lost if he let him roam around the city. There was always at least one guard on the boat to keep Grunt from wandering off and getting lost.
One chance day however, the Dragon’s Death was docked at Port Peril to sell off some of its captured wares and Grunt was up on deck watching people pass by below him longing to be with them. Then a very intriguing woman caught his eye, Grunt could not stop staring at her, he had to go and get her. She was his to inspect. He ran to the gangway only to be intercepted by one of his crew mates. ”Ah ah ah Grunt, you know you can’t leave the ship.”
”Gruh arr nugh ruh” points to woman walking away down the pier ”MEHGR!” Points to self.
The crew mate looks at what grunt is pointing to, ”Wow, she is certainly… interesting ain’t she Grunt. Though I would have pegged you for a more “normal” looking woman. But hey, if that is what you like, a woman is a wo-“ Grunt grabbed his crew mate by the back of the shirt and flung him off the side of the ship and charged down the gangway after the women.
By the time Grunt made it to where he last saw her, she wasn’t there anymore. He looked all around for her, but she was shorter than the rest of the crowd and he couldn't spot her anywhere. So he went looking, he even tried “asking” a few people but those poor people he asked usually ended up a few feet from where they started, and prone on the ground. As the day got later and later Grunt began to despair, nobody was helping him like they should and he couldn't find any sign of her. That is until he was walking down the street of the home to the Formidably Maid, Grunt looked up just in time to see her enter the tavern, and again he charged down the street and burst into the common area eyes scanning every last corner like a hunter searching for his prey.
Mallory strutted down the ship's gangway, shouting to a sailor up ahead to wait up. As she got closer, she spoke loudly, reminding him not to forget to buy gunpowder for the canons. "And remember," she enunciated each word slowly, "It's a pirate town. Don't get yourself robbed. Or killed."
Stepping onto the street, she took a deep breath of air, and smiled. 'Port Peril,' she thought, shaking her head. 'It's good to be back.'
Even though it was only to be a small stop over, she was glad to have the opportunity to rest. The last few months had been a whirlwind: joining a new crew, becoming an officer after the last one died of sickness, constant battles over territory and treasure and creed and challenges. She still loved it, after all these years, but it was nice to take a break.
The best thing about rising in rank was not having any particular duties on shore. She was free to do what she pleased. And right now what she pleased was to get a real drink. 'But first', she reminded herself, 'appearances and all that'. She stopped in to give greetings to some old friends, swap a few war stories. It was disappointing, but not surprising, to hear of more than a couple of deaths since she'd last been in these parts.
She reflected on this as she walked towards the Formidably Maid, thinking that more and more people she'd known were dropping off, and that she wondered if there would come a time when she no longer had anyone from the old days. The last of a dying breed. Her knees cracked as she walked, and she wondered how many more years she even had in her. She wasn't yet old, but still, this wasn't the kind of life that usually lead there.
Mallory looked around the bar, tossing smiles or nods at a few patrons, before sitting down at the bar and ordering a strong drink. She idly thought that she was older than her uncle had been when he'd reached forced-retirement. Supposedly her father was still out there somewhere, but it certainly wasn't like they'd be swapping any stories if she saw him. "More like to shoot him" she muttered, tossing back her drink and ordering another.
By noon, Aramis was already in the Formidably Maid, halfway through a glass of rum. By the time the red-headed woman took a seat a few stools down from her, she was well into a bottle. The rum soothed her, eased off the rough edges of the week's work, helped calm her hands, still quivering with rage. Damned crossfire. She'd taken a crossbow bolt to the shoulder, and it still stung horribly. A musket made quick work of crossbows, but still, she hadn't been paid anywhere near enough for that job.
Being a hired gun isn't all it's cracked up to be, she thinks, taking another swig of rum from the bottle. Her shoulder flares up again and she winces, rubbing it and attempting to roll the joint. Nope, not a good idea. She sighs and goes back to the rum.
The doors burst open behind her, and she hears a few yells. She turns around, one hand already on her father's old musket, which lies across her lap. An orc? Hadn't seen one of those in the Formidably Maid for a while. He doesn't seem like he's there for trouble, though - he looks more lost than anything else. Aramis turns back to her rum, but keeps one hand on her musket, just in case.
The worn metal of the barrel calms her, helping her ground herself and relax a little. She runs a hand across it, feeling the nicks and notches - some made by her father, some by herself, each with its own story to tell. The weapon was all that remained of him, as far as she knew.
"... to better days and a finer life," she hears from her left. She snorts at that, and laughs bitterly.
"Better days and a finer life? Have you ever thought that maybe this is as good as it gets?" she asks, just loudly enough for the speaker to hear. She swigs the last of her rum and slams the bottle back down on the bar. "Sometimes, this is what you're stuck with."
The appearance of the excited Orc does little to affect Mallory. People who made trouble in lawless towns like this didn't stay standing for long.
She glanced sideways at the man raising a glass, and noted that he seemed a little out of place. He looked refined, almost proper. She wondered what he was doing here. One thing was for sure, he didn't look like he could be threatening to anyone. She smiled at him and raised her glass silently.
Before she could bring the glass to her lips, she heard the drunken bandit scoff and disagree. Mallory turned to her, with her green eyes blazing, and remarked, quietly, but loudly enough for her to hear "Ain't a soul in this town has anything that they didn't earn with their own two hands."
"Ain't no one's fault but yours. If you want more'n cheap thrills in this piss-hole town, it's on you to earn your share." She finishes simply, and turns back to the man, raising her glass and taking the drink.
Aramis scoffs at the woman's words and goes to drink from her bottle of rotgut, finding out only after she's raised it to her lips that it's empty. "Yeah, earnin' your share. We'll see how easy that is for you when you're shipwrecked without a copper to your name. See what your own two hands get you then," she mutters into the bottle, then signals to the bartender for another.
Shaking his head, Ezekial takes a drink from his ale as the two women go back and forth. Someone has been jaded, Ezekial thinks to himself before lowering his drink.
Smiling, Ezekial nods at the redheaded lady. "Well said, miss. My home country believes you have to do for yourself. It's what kept the Chels off our backs since the Revolution."
Turning to the darkhaired lady, Ezekial raised his glass to her. "Granted, miss, there are times when it can get dark and you are left wondering why you are lost. However, it has been known to get darker before the dawn."
Lowering the ale, Ezekial shrugs as he looks around. "Frankly, it sounds like you have grown stale with civilization. Or life on the land, possibly. I have been to Varisia, Mwangi, a half dozen places in between. As a doctor and cook, I have seen alot, but not enough. Acertainly don't know enough about the treacheries of politics and intrigue."
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At this point, the bar is growing crowded. Night is beginning to fall. There are pirates and ruffians scattered at the various tables along the back. There's also a group of 4-5 females who seem to be attempting to solicit their "goods" to the sailors. You notice a few of the women will trickle out among the crowd, talk to a few of the men, then head into the back with them. The bartender is a tired-looking old man who doesn't appear to be enjoying himself. There are two large, beefy half-orcs standing on either side of the bar that seem to be the "security". As if they do too much...
After Grunt's big commotion of bursting open the door he moves into the Formidably Maid and begins his rather sad excuse of an investigation. First he begins walking randomly around the tavern, black eyes darting back and forth between the tables and people. His head is constantly turning. Girl.... girl.... girl.... girl.... Several times he bumps into a few people because he isn't paying attention to where he is going. A seven foot tall orc tends not to see the shorter races sometimes.
Realizing that this approach isn't working Grunt begins to start panicking slightly. He moves over to an empty table and lifts it up to look underneath it, "grrr?" Setting the table back down he moves onto the chair lifting it above his head, "grrr?" At this point many of the patrons have turned their conversations to this strange orc, but Grunt doesn't seem to notice.
After checking the last few empty chairs near him, Grunt heads towards a table with several women sitting down chatting about him giving his attempts at whatever he is doing a chuckle. Getting on his hands and knees Grunt crawls under the table, "grrr?" "Hey what are you doing!?" yells one of the girls at the table, now not amused by Grunt's antics. She gives him a swift kick, "Get out of there you perv!"... never give a seven foot tall orc a kick, very bad idea.
"AAUUGHH!" Grunt jumps to his feet, or at least tries to, his head hits the table but that hardly phases him as he brings the table up with him toppling it contents all over a couple unfortunate women. Grunt grabs the chair of the kicking lady and throws her out of it, teeth snarling in her direction and spittle flying out of his mouth."RRRAAAHHHH!" However the knock on the head from the table was finally cathing up to Grunt, his head started to pound, his stomache rumbled a bit. He hadn't eaten or drank anything since yesterday, he was too focused on finding the girl he forgot to get anything to nourish himself. Grunt staggers a few feet forward and more than a few patrons got ready for a fight while a few others decided to make scarce before they found the wrong side of this orc.
Mallory turns from the Orc, and shakes the man's hand, nodding. "Ezekial. Nice to meet you. I'm Mallory."
"Said you're a doctor, yeah? Don't go far now, have a feeling the big boy's gone be needin' you 'fore too long."
She took her hand away and put it instead on the hilt of her cutlass, but removed it after a second. She watched the large orc with curiosity. He didn't look like he wanted to hurt anyone, but he was severely agitated. "Doc," she began. "somethin's got him all worked up. Don't s'pose you speak Orc?"
"I used to be a sailor," Aramis sighs, taking a swig from a fresh bottle of rotgut and flipping her coins to the bartender. "My old dad was captain of a merchant vessel. Took us all over the Inner Sea, he did. I saw the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, I saw Magnimar and Riddleport. The coasts of Varisia, the devil binders of Cheliax; Nidal, Sargava, Mwangi. I've passed under the Arch of Aroden and seen Qadira, Nex, Osirion and Taldor. I was born at sea, and the sea took my life from me. Shipwrecked on the Shackles with nothin' but an old musket and the shirt on my back. Land ain't my home, but it's all I got left." She sighs bitterly and swigs again.
She opens her mouth to say more, but the commotion coming from behind her seems more pressing. She turns on her stool to stare at the orc, musket already in her hands in case of trouble.
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At this point, the two large Half-Orcs standing near the bar begin to move into the crowd. They are tough-looking characters, with bandanas on their heads and no shoes on their feet. "That'll be enough of that!" one of the half-orcs yells out in common. The other starts speaking in Orc to Grunt, trying to get him to comprehend. When it is clear that Grunt wouldn't be communicating back, the half-orc guards grow increasingly angry. They make the ruffians in the bar sit back down, and threaten to kill anyone who starts a fight.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? YOU.... ARE.... AN.... IDIOT!" says the larger of the two, and they both begin laughing at Grunt. The two half-orcs seem to be enjoying using Grunt as a tool for their amusement.
Mallory frowns, disappointed by the half-orc's lack of professionalism, but makes no movement to get involved. She observes the large Orc, curious how he's going to react.
Noticing Mallory's frown, Ezekial shakes his head. "The orc barges in like he owns the place, disturbs guests, and doesn't understand a word we are saying. Part of me wants to almost take pity on him. Almost."
"Ain't that. Look how wild his eyes are." Mallory replied, not taking her eyes off the orc. "Can't say I've looked in the eyes of many orcs, but I know fear when I see it. Poor thing looks... lost."
She lowered her voice. "What you should be takin' pity on is those damn fool guards. They keep on pokin' the animal and he's gonna poke back."
Grunt's breathing begins to get ragged as he is getting increasing frustrated. "Mra" he says points to a woman nearby. "Mra... Mra" The half-orcs continue laughing at Grunt making no effort to understand him. Grunt's chest starts heaving as he is getting angry. He takes two large quick steps to the woman and grabs her by the arm lifting her slightly into the air, "MREEHH!" He looks back at the guards his beady black eyes as wide as they can possibly be. Grunt bares his teeth at the gaurds, seething furiously. Grunt drops the woman, none too nicely, he repeats in between heavy breaths while pointing at the woman again, "Mra, Mra."
Shaking his head, Ezekial looks at Mallory. "If he was part of a crew, it was on them to try and teach him something so he can at least communicate." Finishing off his ale, he placed the empty vessel on the bar top. "Damn it, I'm a doctor, not a counselor."
Standing up, Ezekial goes over to orc. Standing before it, Ezekial looks at the creature and juts his hand at the orcs face. "YOU! Find an empty chair and sit down. Now!"
Grunt looks at the new man giving him a command, then back to the Half-orcs, back to the man, then to the half-orcs. Confusion begins to set in... His breathing gets even faster and the look on his face even more frantic. With a grunt that sounds something like the word stop Grunt punches the face-making half-orc in the face then makes a dash to the nearest door, which happens to be a door that doesn't lead outside.
Looking at the orc making the dumbest move in his life, Ezekial takes a step back. As the other bouncer look at him, Ezekial raises his hand. "Welp, that sucks," Ezekial says as he backs up to the bar and retakes his seat. Glancing at Mallory, Ezekial shrugs.
"So much for trying to help him."
Aramis rolls her eyes and turns back to her rum. "Who'd let an animal like him run around, anyway?" she mutters and takes another swig.
"Probably escaped. Unfortunately, it's too stupid to realize it needs to communicate. A failure on the Orc's part and his old crew."
"Poor fool creature." Mallory mumbles when it strikes the guard. When she sees the orc start going the wrong way to escape, she whistles loudly and points at the exit.
At this point the half-orc is angered at the attempt to punch him in the face. Grunt manages to escape the building, and run out into the street. The half-orcs point at Ezekial and yell "YOU! You want to help him?! You can die with him!" The half-orc then picks you up and carries you out. As he's leaving, he calls for the other to bring the "fire-head" and he grabs Mallory and carries her out into the street as well.
The half-orcs throw Mallory and Ezekial into the street and prepare to fight, reaching for their daggers.
"No, I didn't want to "help" him. I want to enjoy my evening and drink in peace." Seeing the half-orc ignore him, Ezekial does his best to move himself. Looking behind him, Ezekial calls out to Mallory. "Mallory, can you bring my gear, please?"
As the Half-Orc lifts her up, Mallory shouts in surprise, but is too taken off guard to do anything about it. As she's carried out, she mumbles "Rule 23. Never get involved.".
She drops to the ground with an oompf, feeling sore but already reaching for her sword. 'I'm damn sure not gonna die lyin' on the ground.'
Hearing the sharp whistle ring in his ears, Grunt turns and sees a lady telling him to go to the other door. Making a large turn, and still running full force, Grunt knocks over several more tables and people as he makes his way to the exit.
Busrting out of the Formidably Maid, scaring a few passersby. He tears off down the street taking a turn, throwing people out of the way. He takes another turn, then another, then another, and finds himself running straight at Mallory and Ezekial as well as the two half-bloods.
Aramis sighs and corks her bottle of rotgut, dropping it into her pack. She stands and stretches, rolling her head from side to side, and picks up her musket. She slings her pack over her shoulder and walks out, loading her musket and pointing it at one of the half-orcs.
"All I wanted was a bottle of rum and a handsome sailor for the night, and now you've gone and interrupted my drinking time. Why don't you give me a reason not to shoot you, eh?"
Furious at the half-orc behind him for stabbing when he wasn't looking Grunt whips around mouth frothing with excess saliva. His teeth bearing down upon the shorter half-blood. There is no way someone is getting away with stabbing him in the back. Mouth wide open Grunt grabs the half-ord and attempts to gouge his face with his lower canines. But the half-orc was quicker than he appeared and ducked out of the way of the bite laughing at the dumb brutes attempts to inflict injury.
Aramis shakes her head and shifts her musket to her left hand, gripping it tightly by the stock. "Have it your way." She draws her rapier and flicks it through the air, making a rather masterful swishing sound. "So, which one of you ugly bastards wants to dance? Forgive me if I can't tell you aprt, considering you each look like a pig's arse."
Seeing that the orcs weren't going to stop, Ezekial draws his dagger and moves to flank one.