Just dot for now.
A petite Keleshite woman steps onboard, inspecting the ship. I hope this vessel is better than the last leaking tub I sailed on...
.
.
The large man followed closely behind Nefertiti in silence, tanned skin glistening in the early sun as he surveyed the scene around them.
Knowing this was not something the woman would appreciate, he did not act overly protective, but after walking with him for some time she knew he would be ready to burst into action in a moment's notice. His voice sounded deep and grave - "This seems like a suitable vessel" - he stated flatly.
"Screeee!"
Who cares about the ship. Where are the snacks?
Zemwaar had liked Wedjat ever since he first met the enterprising human who was her master. With a nod and a smile, he rummaged through his pack, finding a piece of dried meat and offering it to the majestic eagle - "I am aware you would prefer something more substantial my friend, and I have indeed captured a wealthy hare for your pleasure - I just believe we should not engage in such practice here"
Rata's step falters as he reaches the end of the dock. His usual surly demeanor cracks for the first time you can recall.
I haven't boarded a ship since the attack... The Concord...
Usha's scream pierces his thoughts, freezing him in his tracks. For the first time you get a glimpse of his humanity as his grim mask fades, his skin turning wan, beads of sweat quickly coalescing on his brow. He looks to the rest of the group, uncertainty spilling from his eyes.
His voice cracks as he speaks, "I... I'm not sure I can do this."
He drops his gaze to the ground, and despite all his effort, his legs refuse to take him one step further.
Nefertiti runs to Rata's side. "Easy, friend, easy. Come, take my hand."
She reaches her hand out to Rata, letting him feel the warmth. "Now take a moment and breathe. Look at me, and only at me. You can do this. Horus tells me that we are all stronger than we know."
Wedjat happily takes the dried meat offered him by Zemwaar than looks at Nefertiti.
I like this one. Can we keep him?
In truth, the stubby brigantine at the dock may not be much to look at, with holes along some of the upper decks and battered molding, but the masts are stout darkwood. That much the little man can see.
He reads her name aloud.
Nefertiti runs to Rata's side. "Easy, friend, easy. Come, take my hand."
She reaches her hand out to Rata, letting him feel the warmth. "Now take a moment and breathe. Look at me, and only at me. You can do this. Horus tells me that we are all stronger than we know."
As Nefertiti offered her hand, Zemwaar stared at Rata with curiosity since he had never seen him act in such a way - it did not take any particular heightened insight for him to understand some sort of memory was assailing his travelling companion - "Are you well, friend Rata?" - he offered.
Wedjat happily takes the dried meat offered him by Zemwaar than looks at Nefertiti.
I like this one. Can we keep him?
While he was distracted, Wedjat took the piece of meat from the young man's hand in a heartbeat, then screeching and staring at him defiantly - the eagle's fierce attitude always brought a smile to his lips.
In truth, the stubby brigantine at the dock may not be much to look at, with holes along some of the upper decks and battered molding, but the masts are stout darkwood. That much the little man can see. [dice=Perception]1d20+12
He reads her name aloud.
Turning around as Aikane spoke, Zemwaar shifted his position slightly to check the ship's name - "Have you heard anything about this vessel before?" - he added.
"Heard anything? That is captain Casey's canoe. She is fair, I will grant it, but I would suggest you stay on her good side."
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For all of your various origins and and all the different paths each of you have taken, they have all led to here: Port Shaw, or to be more accurate the docks of Port Shaw. Whether arriving by ship or by foot you are all here now on this bright day early in the springtime. Standing on the docks of Port Shaw the smells of the salt sea rides the breeze, while dark rolling waves lap rhythmically at the pier. Inland, the Dreadsmoke Mountains rise high into the clouds. An ominous sulfur haze clings to their jagged peaks and the black behemoths loom, almost ready to swallow the city in fire. Nearby an egret prances from plank to plank, snatching morsels of corn scattered by a careless dock worker. The lilting calls of the gulls echo overhead. Further south, the dark and sturdy koa wood piers give way to hastily built pine additions, recently erected to deal with a whaling boom.
Taking in the sights further, you note all manner of vessels are moored here. Tulita war canoes rock in the water next to local fishing schooners. Foreign longboats rub gunwales with freighter brigs sunk low with heavy cargo. Enormous whaling barges dwarf the others — save the colossal five-masted naval frigate moored at the southernmost pier below the volcanic rock walls of Fort Stormshield. The forty-eight guns and 146 souls of Bonedeuce’s Pride are the power in the harbor and the only reason various motley bands of pirates, privateers, smugglers, whalers and fishermen have not torn Port Shaw to flinders long ago.
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Nef lays a hand lightly on Rata's arm. "Are you sure you want to keep doing this, Rata? You know you're welcome to stay with us a little longer." She says in common, then sighs. "I think we've walked the length of these docks twice now and there's no sign of the Wai--"
She breaks off, as suddenly she sees a familiar stout silhouette on the docks.
"Zem! Aikane!" she says, switching to Tulita. "Isn't that Oren?"
The stocky mage was coming out of one of the many dockside businesses. Nef waves, and then says to the others, "Let's go meet him!"
"Oren, Oren!" she says, reaching up to clasp her old friend on the shoulders. "How long has it been? Two months? It is good to see you, my friend!"
She smiles shyly. "As you can see... I have been working on my Tulita. Zem and Aikane have been teaching me new words everyday. They're almost as good teachers as you!"
Wedjat lands in front of Nef, eyeing Oren warily.
"Screeeeeee!"
Who's this?
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Ke'ahilani finished dickering with the merchant and took possession of a te'hinali fish wrapped in seaweed. He smiled, exposing his sharpened teeth, as he discarded the bad luck fish and lovingly packed the seaweed in one of the numerous pouches in his warriors harness.
He considered the many things that could be made with seaweed as he started walking down the boardwalk, his peg leg thumping every other step.
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"Greeting, Miss Nef er ti ti," he spoke in stilted Common, clearly not his first tongue. "You have not been by the shop of as late. Are your things well?"
Realizing he didn't ask the exact correct question, he pauses for a second and repeats, "Are you well?" He nods after hearing the questions sounding correct.
"Your Tulita is strong. Very good. As good as my Common," he grins. "Who is friend?"
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In spite of his feelings regarding the encroaching settlers in tulita lands, Zemwaar cannot help but feel his senses pleasantly invaded by all the sights, sounds and smells when he comes to Port Shaw - there are a myriad of sensations, all of them completely different from what he is used to in the wilds, and he welcomes every single one of them.
He nods as Nefertiti spots Oren, and follows the others to greet him - "Well met Oren, how fare you since we last met?" - he offers - "In spite of everything, every time I set foot on Port Shaw I understand why it is you have chosen to live here" - the large, bronzed man nods - "It is filled with... Sensations"
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"Good way to describe Port Shaw," Oren adds with a conspiratorial wink at Zemwaar. Oren was no stranger to enjoying most of those sensations when he could. "Nothing too much to tell. Working. Looking around. Try for have some fun every now and again."
Oren didn't seem to ever share too many details about specific things, preferring to keep the conversation on a more surface level. Nef wouldn't enjoy hearing about some of the sensations I enjoy,, he thinks as he stands there in conversation with the two.
"I did get a new tattoo recently," he smiled, pulling up his shirt to show a still healing marking on his left ribcage. The image seemed to resemble an exploding sun. He smiled as he put his shirt back down. "Big boom, Nef."
Aikane stops fiddling with his necklace, and turns to join the others with Oren. His attention turns from watching the halfling cardgame on the north pier to carefully scanning the crowd around them.
I saw Oren about last night, but that's another matter.
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After Nef cuts off their dialogue, Rata hesitates at first, reluctant to give up his search after having just received word that The Wailing Gypsy had been seen docking in the area. After walking a few paces more, he gives in, turning to join Nef as she greets the tattooed newcomer.
"I am Rata, from the Mwangi across the sea. Bloodcove. I'm... new to these parts." Hesitant to trust anyone in this town of cutthroats and bloated expansionists he eyes the large pierced man, and after a moment, lets his guard down, realizing he may have more information regarding the ship he sought. "Have you heard of The Wailing Gypsy? Supposed to have docked nearby some time recently. I... am searching for it, particularly it's crew members." He gains a deadly gleam in his eyes at that last bit.
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"Ra ta. Good name, Rata. Easy to say. Oren. I have not heard of your ship. Oren have many friends. Always knows somebody who knows somebody," he says with a grin.
Knowledge Local to see if Oren has heard of the ship
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I never knew the Old Cove with its calm waters, all the green flora, and easy charm. No, I was a citizen in the new place, the Port of Shaw. It's easy to get wrapped up in any one of the sensations in the place: a lady with fine threads, a song thrumming through the tavern crowd, or the crap streaming out of a gull high above the wharf. Anything and everything being for sale, such a place does tempt amateurs, but at the bottom is the black heart, you know. A dark thing, more mysterious than the bottom of the seas, I quite preferred to be outside it. These amateurs, they cannot stay the course quite like a true professional.
You can't say much for the guards in a place like that, though. Really, they were the only opponent. The worst blaggards and bloody swine all roped together in the last outlander's still-bloody blue rags. They did their best, you know. Their utmost to keep the raping and pillaging under their control. How, well, by the barrel of a gonne, of course.
They say it's nothing like any of their other cities, but with all the filth it certainly stinks three heavens higher than any village I know of. Oh, I was going to tell you, wait, I was going to tell you about Rata Fenn, a foreigner, quite down on his luck that one. Now, Rata was pulled from the sea by some friends of mine and broke as a waterlogged compass when we offered him to tag along after a fashion. Anyway, here he was, poor chap, bound up in his revenge and without a lead.
Nef laughs when Oren shows her the tattoo. "Big Boom, indeed!" she says in Tulita. "Oren, that one is glorious."
"I'm sorry I haven't been back to your shop. We only just made it back to Port!" She smiles, indicating Rata. "Rata's been a good companion. Very brave, good in a fight!"
If a little obsessed with revenge...
"If you have heard something about the ship he is seeking, it would ease his mind greatly."
"Screeeee!"
Wedjat hops closer to Nef and starts ostentatiously preening.
Don't forget me!
"Oh, Oren, this is Wedjat!" She kneels down and affectionately scratches the young eagle's head. "Horus led me to him. I think it may be sign."
"Wedjat, this fine stout fellow is our friend, Oren."
She turns back to Oren. "Would you like to feed him a treat? I've got some jerky in my bag."
"If Wedjat would not bite me, then I'd try to win him over all right. He is quite a stout fowl as well," Oren smiles at the new companion, and reaches for a piece of jerky.
He holds the jerky out in his outstretched left hand, as far from his face as possible. In case the eagle decided his nose looked tastier than the jerky.
Wedjat gobbles jerky happily, and doesn't bite Oren's nose. He hops closer to Oren.
This one's okay, Nef.
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Zemwaar eyes keep on a constant survey around them, even though he is not fidgety or nervous, the Tulita is however attentive. Looking around as Nefertiti speaks to Oren, he finds himself staring at Aikane as the Menehune seems to be pondering to himself, as he does so many times, and wondering what might be going across his mind.
Ever practical, he adds - "I suggest we find a place out of the street to decide where our steps will take us. We all need to eat and drink before whatever path takes us. Come friends, I have been here before" - the man moves off, looking for the closest, decent tavern.
"Rata, nope, I haven't heard of a ship called that. By that name. But, there are ship captains who make new name for ships. If they want to stay hide-ed. There are docks that these Captains park the ships where they can be re-fitted with the name change. With some drinks and some gold, you might be able to find a person to tell us where."
Nef's eyes widen at Oren's revelation. "Fake papers and false rechristening," she says, switching back to Common. "Katheer had places like that, too. It's a favorite trick of slaving ships that want to trade places where such activity is illegal. My... father was a Qadiran merchant..."
...who sometimes supplemented his income by helping facilitate such transfers...
"...but I suppose such corrupt practices are found everywhere smugglers might deal in illegal cargo."
She sighs, and switches back to Tulita. "Why does it not surprise me to find such in Port Shaw?"
Touching Rata's arm gently, she says, "Zem had a good idea. My stomach is rumbling. Let us get food, sit, and figure next steps. Then we can try to follow this new lead... That is, if you still want our help, Rata?"
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A few steps ahead, Zemwaar waits for the others - over time he has gotten used to not constantly loom over Nefertiti, understanding she is more than able to take care of herself. In fact, this is no surprise at all, as Tulita women are equal to men in every aspect, taking not only the role of Mother, but also any other that men take, be it warriors, sages or leaders - besides, he believes this would not be something she would appreciate.
He smiles, scolding himself for his overprotective initial stance when they met, then focuses as much on the smells as he does on his knowledge of Port Shaw, when looking for an inn.
Know. Local
Happy to converse in his native tongue, Oren thinks for a moment. "If it's food you are after, I know a place near here that serves the best fresh scallops and clams in town. I don't know how they get them so perfect, but they will change your viewpoint on life," Oren adds, with a flourish, pointing in the general direction of the Inn.
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Oren, being Tulita, is quite familiar with a tavern not very far from here called The Run Aground Tavern, right on Pier 22 in the Tide District. It is known as a haven for the many downtrodden, good-hearted folk of Port Shaw. The owner, Falgor Finney, a kindly old dwarf, allows the homeless and destitute a seat at his bar, a free tankard of ale and a bowl of stew whenever he can spare it.
Oren has also heard of a couple notable taverns in Port Shaw, including The Broken Skull, The Pig’s Whistle, and even The Kraken’s Gullet which happens to be the finest tavern in Port Shaw. However The Gullet maintains a strict dress code for its common room, and they allow no riffraff in smelly armor past the door.
As you all continue down the Docks, your attention is drawn to a sight which catches your eye. A dark-skinned Tulita stands like a statue shadowed by lopsided crates of clay flasks stacked carelessly on a pallet. Between his feet lies a clutch of broken eggs, the yolk running down to the mud below, another fragile dream smashed by the city and stirred into its filth. The viscous, yellow egg juice pools around the Tulitas’ boots like thick urine. His eyes, hazed by some potent narcotic, stare towards his ancestral home a few miles inland, where foreign-owned plantations roll towards the mountains. Tears roll down his face and wet his filthy tunic, the first cleaning his sorrowful garment has seen in weeks.
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Aikane lags behind the group slightly, strolling easily behind.
You could see the anger behind the fellow's eyes. Even among friends and new acquaintances, there was no masking it in a man like Rata. Total obsession, really though, I find it takes all the fun out of things. What is life, if not to be lived? Even if you could see most of Shaw was not living it well.
*Aikane notices the man standing in the mud with the broken eggs. Yolk puddles in the pits of the grounds.*
We did see a suggestion from an old associate of mine. It was the tattoo man, Oren, a wide human with a collection of loose appetites and a straining belt. Quite by chance, we ran into the old man on the docks. He was closer in soul to Shaw than I would like, but who hasn't relied on that kind of fellow now and again? Certainly, for someone of my stature, it has certain benefits. Now, I'll mark you. He gives advice freely, but his ink-stained hands come highly valued. Really, you and everybody else knows I've made mistakes, but befriending Oren was not ever one of them.
*Cut to clip of Aikane running around a corner. A man chases him around the corner and runs into Oren. Bad Things happen to the poor fellow.*
Really, most people are miserable enough, but in all the song of murder and clinking gold or glass around back-alley cardgames from time to time there comes a beacon. It's the kind that even registers with the likes of Oren. It may be as quiet as a whisper, but even when a barfight turns the Broken Skull upside down, it'll hum right into your skull. That's when you know, old man. That's when the gods slam your heart like a broadside cannonade, and forgetting it is harder than drowning a bloody volcano.
*Cut to slow motion clip of barfight in which an innocent is bleeding out.*
*Back to scene*
Aikane approaches the crying Tulita worker. He speaks in Tulita, "You may want to pick those up, brother. Your tears are too valuable to waste today, or have the outlanders been trading you for them?"
"Ah, well met friend Oren."
Rata's demeanor darkens, the realization seeming to age his features, Yes, of course, disguising a ship's origins and name is a common practice in Bloodcove as well. I hadn't even considered it..."
Sighing, he brightens somewhat as he expands on the dilemma, "I got a good look at the ship before I went overboard, so I would recognize it if I saw it. Then again, I have some interesting methods of making people tell me what I want to know... I would like to visit this establishment sooner rather than later. But a draught and a bowl of seafood stew does sound good... Lead on, friend."
En route to Pier 22
"I remember bits of pieces of the crew, the melee was quite thick you see, but two figures come to mind. A wiry, fire-haired man wielding a rapier with deadly accuracy and a dark-skinned brute hauling the largest crossbow I've ever seen. Hopefully those descriptions will serve to take us to our next lead, if this refitting gig doesn't pan out."
Fingering the many daggers housed across his chest, The search continues...
"Scallops and clams sound wonderful, Oren!" Nef exclaims. ANYTHING is better than giant caterpillar again.
Her eyes flick to watching Zem ahead of them, scanning for trouble. The tall Tulita warrior so seldom smiles, but he seems almost content today.
Perhaps it is just being around friends. Perhaps he finds Port Shaw's bustle exciting. Or... could it be that she was finally starting to meet his approval?
The thought strikes her hard. Zem had been a constant companion to her for two months. Always looming. Always brooding. Always on guard, and continually in teacher mode, trying to improve her knowledge of the language and the people. How much strain had she put on him?
She takes a deep breath, resolving to do better.
______________________________________
Her thoughts on Zem, she doesn't see the drugged and crying Tulita man until Aikane stops to talk with him.
"Oh no," she says in a soft voice, "Do you know what's wrong with the fellow? Maybe we could get him food..."
...or a bath...
"...and help him, somehow?"
Nef approaches the man, and says in Tulita, "Friend, can we help you somehow?"
"Get yourself together, friend. We all have our own vices, but we need to keep control over them," Oren admonishes in his native tongue.
"Vices?" Nef raises her eyebrows at Oren. "You mean... he's done this to himself?"
*******
Her mind flashes back to her childhood in the harem, to Suli and Nameera, the pesh addicts who had offered her some of their sickly sweet-smelling syrup.
Her mother had screamed and grabbed Nef away, checking the child's mouth and eyes. "Did you take any?" When Nef had shaken her head no, her mother sighed with relief for just a moment. "You must not EVER take it. Not even a taste. Do you understand?"
*******
Nef shakes herself. Steady. You're not in the harem anymore. Remember that.
She studies Oren and then says, "He's a..." She breaks off in Tulita, realizing she didn't have the vocabulary. Frustrated, she switches to Common. "...addict?"
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"It seems he is" - Zemwaar answers without skipping a beat, his voice stable, even though it affected him to see the natives falling into such civilization habits - "Not all know how to mesh their lives with new things, without becoming entangled in them" - he comments almost to himself, while staring at the man.
"Zem, is there anything that can be done for him?"
Nef tries to remember what she knows of addiction from having seen it firsthand in the harem.
"Back in Qadira... there were ways to help someone who was using medicine to hurt themselves," she says, struggling with the Tulita words that she lacked. "There was a special healer who could help people safely..."
She searches for the word, "detoxify", in Tulita, and then finally gives up and tries to just rephrase it in the words she knew.
"...remove the poisons from their blood." Nef says finally, switching back to Tulita, shaking her head. "I clearly still have many more words to learn." Then she touches Zem's hand. "Do Tulita have such healers? People who can bring back lost ones like this man?"
"He might be an addict, or he might have simply gotten himself over his head with the drugs. If this is a not normal thing for him, some time should let him snap out of his shape. It might take hours, depending on how much he has taken, however. The last possibility is someone has done is to him for some reason. Does anyone see anything out of the normals?".
Oren moves to examine the scene, wanting to make sure this Tulita didn't have some other enemy, that the group had not yet discovered.
Perception
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"Maybe the tears are for what has become of the place he once called home. The colonists are unwelcome to most natives, yes?"