A man in full fisherman's gear stumbles on the upper deck, Yaaaarr! yaarrr! yarrr!? ... YAAARRRR!!!"
He proceeds to jump waist-deep into the fish hold, wading boots protecting his watering implement perfectly!
A sailor from one of those tall pole things with all the sails on them shouts down. The Captain pulls his spyglass and puts it his eye. Out in the distance the party can make out a dark dot growing closer.
"Right we're coming in for inspection. Land lubber's below! That means you and your little dog too. You there Mr. Yar was it? You seem to know your way around a ship. Go loosen the snotter on the jigger, it's wound to tight, and I don't want her snappin' the spirit, and crackin' a vang, and just now I can't spare another man. WELL! WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT ME FOR? GET TO IT!"
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575 hesitates slightly as they step on to the bloody deck of The Patience and the true mode of their upcoming entry becomes clear.
Buried in corpses
Though worse if we are spotted
Life among the dead
He shakes his scales head slightly, taking the breathing tube in hand, then hops down into the hold. He helps everyone else get settled first, his strength better at moving the massive corpses aside to ferret out small nooks to hide in, both beneath, and occasionally inside, the catch. Eventually he buries himself in as well.
"Nay skipper! I'm with these landlubbers, and must stay in the fish hold! I'm a fisherman yes, but I'm on vacation! YAAAARRR! Rolling in the fishes is part of the experience! the full package YAARRR!!"
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Reggie just reminds himself of how miserable it was to live under the thumb of a Chelish Devil as he looks down at the hold and the nightmare that is coming. If he can help even one other person rise up, its worth it, let alone an entire city.
Rowdy looks down into the hold just as dubiously as he does and Reggie turns to look him in the eyes. He grasps the ruff of Rowdy's neck and explains quite simply what needs to happen, though he doesn't bother with why. The wolf does not care.
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Rowdy jumps into the hold full of dead sea mammals even before his best pal, Reggie.
Usually his best pal Reggie yells at him for rolling around in things that smell this strongly. This time he actually wants him to do it! Nothing will ever be able to catch his scent under all this! They'll just think he's some dead thing, and no one is afraid of dead things!
The hard part is not getting Rowdy into the stinky mass, it's getting him to stop wiggling around to get the smell deep into all his fur.
The chill doesn't bother him, too much. He's got better protection than the others, after all.
The party minus Son but apparently now including a strange sailor who may or may not be called Mr. Yar, descend below decks and into the hold where the whalers bury them each in about a hundred pounds of cold and slimy fish flesh.
The party hears the crew batten down the deck hatch above.
Time passes....
There is a little commotion above. New boots plod upon the deck. Men are speaking. The hatch opens with a creak.
Voices can be heard:
Ishmael: "There you go Mr. Scratch, fish. Say who's the new guy with the pike?"
Mr. Scratch (presumably): "Oh, that's Judge Dreadful. He's with the Asmodean Inquisition."
Ishmael: "Well, I didn't expect the Asmodean Inquisition."
New Voice (presumably Judge Dreadful): "NOBODY expects the Asmodean Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear."
Ishmael: "And a bloody big pike I 'spect."
Judge Dreadful: "Yesss..."
Ishmael: "Err, hey whatcha doin' there!?"
There's a sound like steal passing though flesh. It repeats only a bit closer. And again. And again.
Judge Dreadful: "MWAHAHAHA!"
The noise stops. The hatch closes. Time passes under the fish....
Then commotion again. Noise, men moving and yelling to one another. The hatch opens. Ropes and pulleys move. The fish shift. They press in closer. It becomes even more difficult to breathe. There is a feeling in the party's collective stomachs of upward movement followed by extremely rapid downward movement that results in a rain of very heavy fish bodies slamming down on the party members who find themselves at the bottom of a large wooden wagon.
A moment later, the wagon is rolling madly across some poorly kept cobblestones.
Long jarring minutes later the bottom of the wagon drops out and down goes the party and a lot of fish into a metal chute. The chute dumps them unceremoniously into a dark subterranean room with a dirt floor.
There seems to be a door in one wall outlined with light from without. Moments later the door opens....
A stout gnome with an impressive blue beard steps in. He's dressed in a robe, and pointy wizard's hat, and is holding the light--a very bright bullseye lantern. He shines the light in, and when he sees the group amid all the fish he says: "Hullo there. I'm Professor Poppo. Welcome to Pezzack."
He beams and helps the group to their feet, or at least as high as he can.
"Hurry hurry hurry. Ew...." He gets a whiff Aquavius and the others and puts a small hand over his big nose.
"Be mustn't peak here. Fobbow me. Cumb on." He waves the party forward and down a stone tunnel.
Poppo takes a deep breath and continues in a hushed tone. "Now we have to get to the cellar, most of the faculty should be outside on the practice pitch for warm ups so we should be safe."
He leads the party to a ladder and up through a trapdoor concealed from view behind some old shelving.
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Prof. Poppo nervously hurries them along through a maze of doors, and passages until they run into a patch of darkened corridor that doesn't reveal itself to the lantern and then very slowly the dark fades and man can be seen standing there.
"Up and about Professor Poppo? Does this mean you are feeling well enough to join us for Sunday practice?"
Poppo jumps up to about eye level on most of the party. "D-Doctor Hix! You scared me out of 10 years just then!"
"Third-class." whispers Poppo darkly.
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Reggie is all too happy to climb out of the mass of fish. It's ironic that the LEAST unpleasant part of all that was when he was afraid that he or Rowdy were going to be stabbed.
Someone should really invent some sort of device that could be placed on wagons to make the rides smoother. Some sort of thing to absorb the impacts from going over bumps. An impact absorber, say...
He doesn't know who the new guy is, though he knows that Poppo is one of the people they're supposed to come into contact with. He keeps his mouth shut, letting the Professor deal with the man, unless he or his companions are addressed or questioned.
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Aiden grunts as he rolls down with the stinking fish. He wrinkles his nose as he follows Poppo. "Where are we, professor?"
When they are stopped, Aiden glances at the gnome. If this man was a problem, they would have to kill him. "Doctor Hix, a pleasure. If you'll excuse us though, we have more fish deliveries to make. Unless you're interested in the catch of the day? We have an excellent price on sturgeon. Or perhaps you're more of a carp man?"
Aiden grunts as he rolls down with the stinking fish. He wrinkles his nose as he follows Poppo. "Where are we, professor?"
"The Guts, they run under this whole town."
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When they are stopped, Aiden glances at the gnome. If this man was a problem, they would have to kill him. "Doctor Hix, a pleasure. If you'll excuse us though, we have more fish deliveries to make. Unless you're interested in the catch of the day? We have an excellent price on sturgeon. Or perhaps you're more of a carp man?"
The man looks at the party suspiciously. "I see."
Hix taps the side of his nose and smiles evilly. "Be seeing you."
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575 almost slithers out from beneath the giant chunks of seafood. Everything is wet and covered in slime, but he seems to be in good spirits, his mouth open in his closest approximation to a smile.
Perhaps not the best
But we are here in one piece
And came with free meals
He wipes the back of one fist across his mouth.
He follows along after the Professor, assuming that this is the man who can guide them further in town.
But his ability to read mammalian facial clues is still somewhat wanting. When the man suddenly appears out of the darkness, he is instantly on the alert, especially given their standing orders to avoid notice.
But he has no better luck reading the newcomer, so instead sidles to the back, and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible.
"Err, um, what? Um, yes." says Prof. Poppo.
Dr. Hix excuses himself and heads down the hall.
"Forgot the Department of Post-Mortem Communications had their offices down here. Out of sight out of mind. It's insidious."
=================
Professor Poppo leads the party to a portion of the seemingly empty university building filled with equally disused looking laboratories and workshops.
"Here." he says stopping in front of what looks like a closet. "I figured you might want to get washed off so I prepared the hydraulic washing closet. One of our many research projects--most of which have been on hold since the fire and blockade began."
Later, in what is apparently Prof. Poppo's workshop, Poppo closes the door after nervously looking both ways down the hallway. He wanders about nervously tinkering with things on the low workbenches. Then he stops and turns to address the party.
“Split me like Nethys’s eyebrow! I’m genuinely surprised the Passfinders sent people! Sorry for the lack of a good cover story—didn’t have room in the notes—didn’t expect a response—and sorry for the fish guts and the bumpy roads and—oh, sorry for everything. If we had a little more time…”
Poppo trails off, but picks right back up after a moment of silence. “Right! You’re here for Olandil. It’s… it’s complicated. He’s, well, he’s not himself lately. He’s four selves. Since your little Passfinder Society left him behind, he’s had to make do—improvise—take on new names and jobs waiting for rescue.”
“When I first met him, he went by Jax Telandril and needed me to enhance some goggles of disguise for some work in Docktown. He kept asking questions about Fat Harbor and the town’s magic item economy. A year later he came in needing me to add some disguise charms to an eye patch; I asked him why, and he spilled it all—so tired of keeping secrets—he was also Jacks Falger! The one-eyed Galtan spy!”
“He kept coming back over the years. He came in one day as Jaks Arunai, some hot-shot White Thistles poet. Last week, he comes in looking awful, and said he was a Passfinder named Olandil, and I just… I couldn’t process it! Four people! One person!”
Poppo gesticulates madly, alternating between raising four fingers and one finger to emphasize his point. “I told him my own secret—that I had been teaching a Passfinder vantage-captain as a correspondence student—and he told me to send her a message saying he wanted out of Pezzack. As though that’s even possible! But I sent it, and he thanked me, he left, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Then the night before last, I had Loyalists—” Poppo smothers the word with disdain, and doubles up on his disgust as he repeats it. “—Loyalists in my office, telling me to stop doing business with Olandil, following me everywhere except the Guts because I bet they don’t like to get their boots dirty. They knew who Olandil really is, too! And they’ve been outside the Academy since, watching, waiting. They don’t know about my ladder to the Guts, but they’ll find out eventually.”
Boratio sticks a leg at the contraption to rinse off the wading boots, careful to avoid the scrubbing sponge... then, satisfied he can manage around it, he rinses one limb at a time, one after the other. Content that he got the worse out while retaining a faint, bearable Scent-O-Fish, Boratio rejoins the group and listens to the Professor.
After the Professor is done, he says, "Yarr! that's a lot of folks fittin' under one skull, methinks... no wondah tha chap's tired of secrets! me, all I'm good fer is to keep ta one good ol' identiteyyyy! BORATIO FISHBLOWA! that's me! yessir! YARRR!"
Son of Cay... err... Boratio pauses to look around a bit, then resumes, "So, where da ya think we shud' stert? I've git a mind to avoid tha Academy fer now, if them fancy boots are a watchin'..."
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After drying herself somewhat (you can take her out of the sea but you can't take the sea out of her!) she catches up and listens to the Professor ramble on. He's the type of guy I'd hold a blade to back in the day. They'd pay well.
"So he's undercover, deep, but they're onto him now. That's why he needs outsiders to get him out of here. We gotta stake out his popular hangouts so we can get in touch with him." She looks to the professor and shrugs. "Can you think of anywhere we can start lookin'?"
"Of all tha places you've spoke of, which one is closest to a tavern? all this talk has made me mouth drier than an Iomedean on shore leave!"
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The nagaji makes use of the hydraulic washing closet. With initial trepidation, but soon seems to quite enjoy the experience... exciting the closet holding the towel as if not sure what to do with it.
Water from above
To scour fishy residue
A novel idea!
He listens to Professor Poppo's explanation of Olandil's status with a frown... though its hard to tell if its due to being confused by what's going on, or concerned.
He does emit a short hissing sound, reminiscent of a laugh, at 'Boratio's' request.
Five years secluded
Likely no good drinks remain
Watch what you wish for
"Yarr... Nagaji-man... 'tis a good point. Hmmm...."
Boratio appears very crestfallen as a sudden... ... ....
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The nice thing about a device built by a gnome is that it takes into account that not everyone is the same height, so Reggie doesn't get a faceful of fleece that's been on someone else's...not face.
He enjoys the hydraulic water washing closed it whatchamacallit and the fresh towel as much as the rest of his bipedal companions.
Who does not enjoy it is Rowdy and the rest of the group gets to enjoy several slapstick moments of a 30 pound halfling trying to force a 90 pound wolf to take a bath. There is a lot of snapping at water jets, bursting out of the closet and slipping and sliding in there. Also, everyone discovers that Reggie knows a lot of interesting curse words.
And, of course, one towel is not enough for a wolf so before Reggie even really gets started drying him, Rowdy dries himself the old fashioned way. Hopefully, Poppo didn't have any documents that were too important too close.
On the upside, most of the fish smell was gone so those in the splash zone only smell like wet wolf and not like wet, fish covered wolf.
"Where do the White Thistles hang out? They are the most likely to help us, even if he's not with them."
He looks reluctantly back the way they came. "And can we get to them, or close to them by going through the Guts? Better if the people watching you don't see us."
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We know four factions.
He has been working with three
And the last seeks him
575 says, with a concerned look as he tries to comprehend the complexities of the current situation.
Can not be easy
Jax, Jacks, Jaks, once Olandil.
Four people, one head
You know what might help,
To decide a place to start?
A map of the town
He glances around, wondering if the Professor has such a thing.
"It's like it's rainin!" Aquavius laughs as she tries the professor's thingamajig. "But I can't soak in it."
Yes, given the multitude of high pressure water nozzles that suddenly pop up from all angles seemingly at random you can all honestly say that you feel clean inside and out.
"I guess that's what a bath is for- where'd this cloth come from, anyway?"
Inspecting the stitching along one edge of the towel, Prof. Poppo brightly says: "The Egorian Arms Hotel."
Son of Cay... err... Boratio pauses to look around a bit, then resumes, "So, where da ya think we shud' stert? I've git a mind to avoid tha Academy fer now, if them fancy boots are a watchin'..."
"This is the Academy!"
"So he's undercover, deep, but they're onto him now. That's why he needs outsiders to get him out of here. We gotta stake out his popular hangouts so we can get in touch with him." She looks to the professor and shrugs. "Can you think of anywhere we can start lookin'?"
"Well, um, err... I suppose that depends."
"Yarr... Nagaji-man... 'tis a good point. Hmmm...."
Boratio appears very crestfallen as a sudden... ... ....
"Actually there are a fair number of places to get a drink at these days. There isn't much else for people to do really. I'm partial to Auntie's myself. If only I weren't so busy...."
You know what might help,
To decide a place to start?
A map of the townHe glances around, wondering if the Professor has such a thing.
"Yes, I prepared one for you here." Poppo clears a space on his 20-inch-tall work table and unrolls a big map of the town.
Characters can attempt knowledge (local) or for 1d4 hours of time a Diplomacy (gather information) check (both are DC 20) to remember or learn more about each individual numbered location on the map.
"Where do the White Thistles hang out? They are the most likely to help us, even if he's not with them."
He looks reluctantly back the way they came. "And can we get to them, or close to them by going through the Guts? Better if the people watching you don't see us."
"The White Thistles? I'd try the Inkwell, here near the mouth of the harbor, on the south bank. It's a literati hangout. Lots of rebels, lots of fights. Someone who knows Jaks the poet, the one in the White Thistles, will be there, I’m sure of it. You could certainly leave here by way of the Guts, but I wouldn't try to get there from here--I don't even know my way well enough to do that. The place is maze and people keep adding on to it. It can be a bit dangerous in some quarters. I can't go with you either, first off the Loyalists are watching. If I stick one blue hair out side they'll be on to me. Second, now that Hix has seen me out and about I'll have to make an appearance on the field this afternoon." He sighs.
"Right, professor. What can you tell us about these factions? Olandil seems involved in three of them. What might they know?"
"Well, he wore disguises when he was with each so I suppose they only know what he pretended to tell them--except of course the Loyalists who seem to know who he is and what he's been about. That gives them some real leverage over Olandil. All they have to do is expose him to the city and- well, you can imagine. I could imagine it so well I had a nightmare about it last night."
"You know who might know more?" Poppo begins and then stops, rethinking his idea. "No. No, I couldn't. Why the risk involved...."
"Aw come on Poppo! your secret's safe with us!"
"Aw come on Poppo! your secret's safe with us!"
“Well, if you think you're up to it, the thieves’ guild operates out of here, on Gold Street. Lots of information if you can buy it. You didn’t bring money with you, did you? Nobody takes money here. Maybe the Loyalists, but still, nobody worth spending it on.”
Aquavius begins to stand upright, but holds back for a bit.
"Well then, maybe we can find out about Auntie's. No one's going to raise suspicion if we ask around for a bar, right?"
“Auntie's a big big tavern in Docktown, and a good place for gossip. You can try asking about Jax Telandil around there—he’s the Docktown Jax—but mind who you talk to if you don’t want to spread rumors.”
"Thanks fer the info, Poppo! we shall keep the Gold Street option 'til last, methinks. That way we won't need payin' if we find the info fer free elsewhere!"
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Reggie grins and claps Poppo on the shoulder as the man unrolls the map. "Good man," he says, ostensibly because he was prepared but really because he's glad to be at a briefing where he doesn't have to stand on his tip toes or balance on Rowdy's back to be able to see what's going on.
He listens to the rest of Poppo's information then looks around at his fellow Pathfinders as they speak. "Well, if we're going to save Gold Street for last, why don't we start at the Inkwell? It's the furthest away and we'll work our way back in this direction until we get to Gold Street. Who knows, maybe we'll find him before we have to get there. Maybe he's actually at the Inkwell," he says.
"I figure we can get through the Guts at least enough so that the folks watching this building won't see us leaving and then get above ground before we get lost. Is there an exit far away and secluded enough for us to avoid being spotted but not getting lost?" he asks the gnome, carefully averting his eyes as the absent minded professor changes his pants in front of them.
There comes a knock at the laboratory door.
The professor motions everyone quiet. Poppo goes to the door opens it just wide enough to slip his small bulk through and then leans into it on the other side snapping it shut. There are voices outside.
The door cracks open. Poppo says "Thank you for this, and good night." There is a echoing good night from someone in the hall and then Poppo sidles back into the lab with all the stealthiness of a pantomime stage villain. He puts a sheaf of papers down on the workbench and sighs.
"Well, you're probably stuck for the night. Everything is usually closed Sunday night. There's some room back there near the supply closets. Some of the students made little cots back there for themselves for long lab nights. We don't have many students anymore so...." Poppo trails off looking a little sad. "SAY! That gives me an idea!"
He rushes off and returns with the what looks like a armful of gaudy multi-colored curtains with arcane designs woven into their design, and a half-dozen pointy hats made of similarly patterned material stacked up on top of his head. The gaudy curtains turn out to be student wizard robes in myriad of colors based on school and year.
"You can all be students of the Academy! It will make you less conspicuous! I mean who would notice you in one of these! Right? You could even walk out the front door."
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575 takes one of the robes, examines it for a moment, then puts it back, and grabs a larger one. He makes his way through them, paying no attention to the designs and patterns, more interesting in finding one that fits his larger size. Eventually he decides on one, throwing it on, thankful to have something that might conceal his obviously foreign features from the casual observer.
As none of them appear to have a hood, he also grabs one of the hats. He is spends less time there, just snagging the nearest, which happens to have a small arcane ornament of some sort danging off the top, and pulls it down tightly on his scaled head.
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Aquavius frowns as she sees the... costumes. "People... wear this willingly? I always thought this was part of some weird initiation..."
She gazes upon one gray robe, lined with seashells and aquamarine jewels. The belt is fashioned after seaweed, and the hat is designed like a conch a hermit crab would call home. It's over the top. Gaudy. And ridiculous.
She loves it. And starts laughing.
"Hey, prof. If I have a trident sticking out of this, are people going to look at me funny? Or do they think it's part of the sea witch bit?"
Son of Cayden looks at the ensemble of disguises made available to them, looks down at the expensive disguise he's purchased, and says, "Oh... fish!"
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Son of Cayden looks at the ensemble of disguises made available to them, looks down at the expensive disguise he's purchased, and says, "Oh... fish!"
Since he's not going to be wearing his armor, Reggie sees no reason not to wear one of these disguises. It's going to be one of those situations where not having to need protection is the best protection of all.
He digs through the pile until he finds one that is the right size for him. It's s deep blue with golden embroidery that bears a resemblance to intertwining vines. But he can't find the matching hat and instead puts one of reddish purple hue on his head.
"Maybe people will think I just have an eccentric taste in pets?" Reggie says, nodding toward Rowdy. Though he still plans to carry his weapons and shield.
