You have all landed a much-coveted tour of duty as crew-members of Venture-Captain Calisro Benarry’s ship the Grinning Pixie, also known as the unofficially official Arcadian Mariner’s Lodge. According to Dean, and Masters of Swords, Marcos Farabellus the experience will put hair on all your chests.
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It's good to be on a ship again. Even if you're not the captain.
It's been months since this undine has set sail, and she's all too eager to stay on the sea. She's been bragging about how she evaded the navy singlehandedly or some ancient treasure she found. Agirran's glares mostly keep her under control, when he's awake anyway.
Whenever the ship slows down or makes it to port she spends some time swimming through the sea, without a care in the world besides her trident.
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Reggie enjoys new experiences and, as this is the first time he's been on a ship, he spends a great deal of time the first couple days getting underfoot trying to earn everything and help everywhere. But then, he mostly gets the hang of it, though he never seems particularly comfortable to actually be walking around, always moving with a bow-legged, ambling gait.
He also spends much of his time, comforting the man-sized wolf he brought aboard. Said wolf also gets underfoot, except for anyone close to the rails. He does not like all this water and stays away from the edges of the boat, when at all possible.
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Out of the lower decks emerges a bedraggled, squinting, disheveled man carrying two tin tankards in one hand and a third one in the other. Dipping all three mugs in a water barrel resting against the mast, the man chuckles, seemingly causing the water in all three tankards to froth and foam. He takes the first one, and drains it to a drop.
"Ahhh... that's more like it."
He proceeds to drain the other two as well, in complete focus, nay, reverence. After a few eye rubbings, clearing of the nose, and other morning noises, he heads to the prow, reaches for something at the front of his trousers, and blesses the sea with his own water.
Turning to a group of sailors mending a spare sail, the man now appears cheerful.
"Hey boys, how was the grub this morning? saved me some? hey, did you hear this one?
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Aiden rolls his eyes at the joke and takes out the flask to sip some brandy. He'd liberated the flask and a bottle of aged brandy from the ship's stores the first week and despite some uproar, he'd managed to stare down the bosun and allowed to keep the bottle.
He swayed in a little in his hammock. He was bored. He'd been bored since the third day at sea. It wasn't his first time aboard a ship. Runaways had a tendency to think putting water between them an their owners would save them. Aiden had enjoyed the look of surprise when they learned they were wrong.
But that life was behind him. Now he was at the Paracountess' beck and call. And she wanted him here for some unfathomable reason. It seemed a waste of his time. But he knew much better than to argue with her. He drank more from the flask.
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The large muscular nagaji, who introduced himself as 575, takes a while to get used to ship-board life, clearly far more comfortable with his feet on solid ground.
I do not feel well.
Fore we heave and aft we dip
Land would not move so.
He is an unusual creature, clearly built for, used to, and well trained, for, physical confrontation, when he talks, his words come with a faint Tien accent and flow with a strange lyrical cadence that sounds more like poetry than anything else.
Unfortunately, he only stays topside long enough to perform whatever tasks are assigned him, before disappearing below decks again. Clearly the Grinning Pixie can not dock quickly enough for his liking.
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Aquavius thinks this Son of Cayden guy is a hoot and spends many days trying to drink him under the table and singing dirty lyrics with him. "You ever sailed with pirates before? You'd fit right in. Frankly, I guessin' half of the crew here has had their share of piracy before they uh... saw the light." Her wayfinder blinks on and off as she takes another swig.
"Hey! Five Seven Five. Gimme another one of your speeches, eh? One of those quick types that sounds like a poem." She nods along rhythmically along. "Thanks, maybe I'll add a story about the lizard, green to the gills!" She laughs as the Nagaji pardons himself and returns below decks. "I bet he could snap the main mast in half if he could handle his lunch long enough."
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A few days in, an alarming rumor has set firm root among the crew: This ship is haunted.
Mysterious lights, unfamiliar voices just on the edge of hearing, candles lighting or snuffing or floating about seemingly all of their own accord, inexplicable and often irresistible compulsions among the crew, the rigging rearranging and repairing itself at random, crew waking up from nightmares of being devoured by sea serpents or krakens only to find that somebody tied them up in the night, and all manner of poltergeist phenomena have all been reported...and in several cases, corroborated.
Nobody's been seriously harmed, but the crew insist that one name - if that's what it is - must never be spoken allowed. The ship's purser helpfully writes it down:
CANDLEDARK.
Son of Cayden is ecstatic at the idea of someone trying to drink him under the table, and gingerly participates in any test Aquavius throws his way!
Clearly the Grinning Pixie can not dock quickly enough for his liking.
A few weeks, and a couple of ports of call later into the voyage the Pathfinders are summoned to the Captain’s cabin for a meeting that has the rest of the crew noticeably wound up, though none seem willing to talk about it.
Muscular and imposing in a green-dyed longcoat, tunic, and puffed trousers, the half-orc Captain and Venture-Captain Calisro Benarry kicks out a chair for herself from under the massive oak table at the center of her well-furnished cabin and sits down. “Well how have you enjoyed your tour so far on the Pixie. I only ask now because your tour is nearly done. By Sunday night you’ll be off the boat. You have my apologies for not greeting you more formally a few weeks back, but things have been a bit busy of late, and now here we are hours away from the start of a mission you don’t know a thing about. Consider this your briefing."
“Anyone here familiar with the sometimes-Chelish town of Pezzack? We’re a day’s sail from a rendezvous with a Pezzacki whaler, the Patience, which has permits to cross the Chelish blockade to fish. That town’s been locked down since the people upended the empire’s government five years ago, and those permits are hard to come by. We’d teleport you into Pezzack if the damned devilfolk didn’t have the place blanketed with spies, so instead we’ll throw you into the hold with the Patience’s catch. Which is good for you, trust me, because nobody in that town smells any better than you will.”
Calisro leans forward, and whispers gruffly, “You’ll be dropped off to my contact at the Academy of Applied Magic, Professor Kalizandrex Poppo. He’ll help you track down a trapped Pathfinder named Olandil, who’s been stuck there for five years—your job’s to get him out. Be careful who you talk to, though, and how you ask questions. That place is more volatile than Gorum on a bender, and the more you poke around, the more likely you’ll be the next to burn it down.”
The venture-captain pulls a sheaf of nautical charts out of a case at her hip and unfurls them on the table. “As for getting you out of the town, I know a thing or two about the sailing patterns of the ships around here. The Pixie can pick around the coast north of here for a week before Abrogail’s folk come asking questions.” The venture-captain smirks as she continues, “In case you hadn’t noticed, the Pixie, well, she looks an awful lot like a Shackles pirate vessel, and the Chelish navy doesn’t exactly welcome pirates with open arms. You’d better get back here by then. Any questions?”
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Within the city of Pezzack itself there are—broadly speaking—four powerful factions that via for influence. They are:
Docktown Representing the stranded merchants in Fat Harbor, the tiefling “mayor” Bruck wants economic dominance over Pezzack—a greedy oligarchy made easier by the town’s well-honed smugglers and perpetual unrest.
Galtans Violent revolutionaries fronted by the Grey Gardener Habar Curl, Pezzack’s pack of Galtan rebels want the town’s freedom to spring from the blood of dead Loyalists—and anyone who might be aligned with them.
Loyalists Pezzacki still loyal to the Chelish crown believe there can be no peace until rulership of the city is returned to its diabolical masters.
White Thistles These idealists supposedly still led by Amalia Wraxton want a unified, free Pezzack and hope to win over the other factions’ hearts and minds through verse and acts of derring-do.
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Reggie spends the time between finding out about Candledark and the briefing by Venture Captain Benarry poking around to try to determine if the ship actually is haunted. He is very careful never to mention the name and treats it as a game or adventure rather than an extensive investigation.
He has little to add to the information the party knows.
"Spies, huh? I'm not particularly fond of spies. Or having to hide what I'm doing when I'm trying to help people," the halfling says, giving the fur of the wolf sitting next to him a ruffle with his hand. He's actually not very fond of Chelaxians, either and if he can black their collective eyes by helping out some of the people they've oppressed, so much the better.
"Any advice on avoiding sticking out? Or a cover we can use? The standard "mercenaries" disguise going to work for us?"
"Spies, huh? I'm not particularly fond of spies. Or having to hide what I'm doing when I'm trying to help people,"
"Best get some practice in before you disembark then. The town's a black powder keg."
"Any advice on avoiding sticking out? Or a cover we can use? The standard "mercenaries" disguise going to work for us?"
"I'd advise against it. It'd be a bit like introducing a lit wick to that powder keg we was jus' talkin' about. Folks in a place like that tend to notice a new set of knives on the prowl. Hopefully you'll be in and out before anyone thinks to ask who you are."
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575 looks a little concerned, after listening to the Venture-Captain's words... at least you think he looks concerned... nagaji facial expressions being what they are.
Are there nagaji
In Chelaxian borders?
I start a hindrance?
His face is grim as he asks. He knew very little of the country, but knew enough of Pezzack to realize the unrest they were walking (or sailing) into... and how much his scaled hide was going to stand out.
Sequestered so long
Even cities seem smaller.
Most men will know most
They will not know us.
We will start out obvious.
Bad smelling or not
He flashes his sharp teeth in his attempt at a weak smile.
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"Pezzack? them wailers must have a few quality watering holes! hopefully they have their own brewery too, so that it's not a dry town due to this blockade!"
Hearing of disguises, Son of Cayden says, "I know a magic trick to look like whoever I want... with the smell around us, wouldn't it make sense to try to look like deckhands from one of the fishing boats? no one's gonna question the smell! oh!! I got one for this..."
Pezzack?" The Chelaxian shrugs. "Small whaling town, but nothing of any significance."
"So find Olandil and get out? What the devil has he been doing there these past five years?"
"Who knows. Being trapped mostly. The towns been in lockdown for five years now between blockade and the strix-filled mountains all around it. All I know is that he’s an old friend of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng, and when Dreng wants someone smuggled out of a blockade, I don’t argue."
"Yeah sure. Whaling town. Kind of sleepy out there. I assume your contact will know more about his whereabouts?"
"That's the hope. He a respected man about the town, our Professor Poppo."
Are there nagaji
In Chelaxian borders?
I start a hindrance?
"Holy s$%$ you're a 'nagaji'?" She laughs in amazement. "Well you learn something new everyday! Here I had a nagaji aboard for three weeks and didn't know. Thought you were a civilized lizardman or a permanently enlarged kobold or somethin'. Live and learn."
Sequestered so long
Even cities seem smaller.
Most men will know mostThey will not know us.
We will start out obvious.
Bad smelling or not
"She's still a pretty big town all the same and most folks just hunker down with their tribe if you see what I mean. Still there's a thriving smugglers market." the captain says with a toothy grin.
"If you go the disguise route I wouldn't suggest feathers, especially on you, Numbers. Damn, a Nagaji." she just smiles and stares at 575.
Hearing of disguises, Son of Cayden says, "I know a magic trick to look like whoever I want... with the smell around us, wouldn't it make sense to try to look like deckhands from one of the fishing boats? no one's gonna question the smell!"
Captain Benarry studies the 'bedraggled, squinting, disheveled man carrying two tin tankards'. "You might just have something there, Son."
575 glances towards Bennary, and then to the ship with a puzzled frown.
If you are out here
Riding the waves to the north
How do we get back?
"Best bet is to pull a reverse, and find yourself a spot on an official whaler headin' out to sea. We'll be lurking about just give us a sign--something we can't miss." The captain continues to beam. "Can't bloody believe it a nagaji on my ship. Oy! Jack Daw! I know a buzzard like you is listen at the door! Why didn't you tell me, you feathered knave!"
"Do you know how we can find Poppo? I'm assuming he'll have more information on Olandil. We have no idea if he's being held against his will or in need of anything, right?"
"You shouldn't need to find Poppo. We're arranging for direct delivery. As for Olandil, well, we don't really know. All we have is Poppo's last message. Maybe Numbers here can make heads or tails of it. It sounds a bit like free verse poetry after all. The first part we get, but we're not sure if the second bit is a code, or a diversion, or what."
Many faces fail to find the path. Send the worthless ones my last request for a vacation.
Noodles, the highest form of poetry, point all slave masters to my lost memory.’
"As for needs, we've got one more port of call before we arrive at the rendezvous, so if you need to pick up anything, I suggest you do it then. Oh, and we've got a small library aboard if there's anything you need to study up on."
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Reggie strokes his thick sideburns thoughtfully, staring off into space.
He snaps out of his reverie and looks around at the group.
"I'm no arcane expert so I'm going to have to ask those who are. Any ideas of an affordable way I can hide my own and Rowdy's armor? I can't be very subtle wearing it but I won't be much use if I'm not," Reggie says.
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It is a wet, grey, tempestuous day. The sun seems to have taken a Sunday break and is not in evidence except as a pale white between the silver black skies. Waves tower like cliffs over the deck, and crash down from random angles as on all sides pitching the Grinning Pixie's floors into a something more akin to something you might ordinarily lean against.
Agirran roars something unintelligible against the wet, heaving, grey hell that is the seascape. He stabs an arm out and points, water streaming off of him like an sea otter, his long, steel white hair coiled in ringlets plastered to his head. There is a light in the gloom.
Agirran smiles, somehow at home in all this pandemonium.
"THAT'S YOUR RIDE!" he bellows at point-blank range. "YOU READY!?"
Can I use the aforementioned library to reroll that, or something?
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Aiden spends some time in the Captain's library. He finds many references to Pezzack and the Chelish naval blockade, plus information about the Strix who control the mountains. Finally, however, he comes on information about several factions in the city.
"Here, look at this. There are four factions vying for power in the city.
Docktown: Representing the stranded merchants in Fat Harbor, the tiefling “mayor” Bruck wants economic dominance over Pezzack—a greedy oligarchy made easier by the town’s well-honed smugglers and perpetual unrest.
Galtans: Violent revolutionaries fronted by the Grey Gardener Habar Curl, Pezzack’s pack of Galtan rebels want the town’s freedom to spring from the blood of dead Loyalists—and anyone who might be aligned with them.
Loyalists: Pezzacki still loyal to the Chelish crown believe there can be no peace until rulership of the city is returned to its diabolical masters.
White Thistles: These idealists supposedly still led by Amalia Wraxton want a unified, free Pezzack and hope to win over the other factions’ hearts and minds through verse and acts of derring-do."
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Taking one last swig of ale, Son of Cayden puts away his tin tankard and finalizes his fisherman's disguise, adjusting the hat deep down on his head.
Upon tilting back his new used hat to put it on his head a bit of rolled-up paper falls out and lands on the floor before him.
Reggie finds a copy of the same note in his companion's food pouch.
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The night before Aiden and the mysterious Xanac are disturbed by a bat that has somehow found its way into the packed room.
The room is set up more like a storage alcove under the stairs, There are no chairs, no room for them and only a narrow walkway between over-packed shelves and hull walls one of which has an open port hole and big framed nautical chart depicting something called the "Gloomspires". It depicts a large stretch of ocean dotted with these huge, regular, stone megaliths topped with little swathes of jungle on top. For whatever reason there are these dotted lines with arrows at the end that reach out from the individual spires and point all over the map.
Perched upon the top of the frame upside down is a tiny bat. The bat shrieks. Bound around the bat's neck and back is a tiny metal sleeve, the sort that messages are put in. The container bares the distinctive device of the Dark Archive.
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After Aiden reads the note that the bat drops, he looks back up to see the book beside the single candle. Odd, I hadn't noticed that before. It turns out to be a history of Pezzack of sorts.
He stuffs the Paracountess' note into his pouch and emerges to the top deck again. "Hey, I just found this. Five years ago, a combination of Hellknights, guards loyal to the empire, and opportunistic mountain strix angry at humans in general burned the city of Pezzack to the ground in a battle known as the Second Ashes. The Chelish navy established a blockade on Pezzack that persists to this day."
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Reggie reads the note while stroking one of his sideburns. The first part of the mission is pretty straightforward. The latter is fairly unique, but he can easily see the benefits from it.
He then goes down to the impressive mobile general store that the Pixie has. The nice ways to deal with hiding his armor are a bit out of his price range, but he finds a set of saddlebags that will fit Rowdy and forks over the cash for them.
When the whaler comes in view, he makes sure everything is strapped firmly in place, both on him and his wolf and, with a wild grin on his face and light in his eyes, readies himself for whatever method of getting from one ship to another in this kind of weather the good captain has in mind.
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The weather breaks later in the morning leaving the sky iron grey and seas only moderately choppy for the wind.
"Ready now?" asks Agirran and then he laughs.
The party sets out by longboat with Agirran and Jack Daw across to the nearing whaler, the Patience.
The sides of the Patience already have a pair of ship-sized carcasses lashed to them with more in the hold. The main deck is awash in blood and saltwater from the storm.
The wild-mono-eyed skipper and his mate greet the party as they board. "Call me Ishmael!" he says. "We're returning to port this afternoon, and you all will be down in the cold hold amid the catch. Well under it really. We'll get you some blankets and tubes ta breath through until we get into town. If yer caught, I and every man aboard will say you are stowaways, and watch as you're hung from the yard arm. Do we understand one another?"