Yo ho Yo ho, A Pirate's Life For Me: Skull & Shackles PBP

Game Master Heofthehills

Holy cow. Youall should have botted/yelled at/PM'd me before this!
blam, point blank, deadly aim: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 8 + 1 = 18
damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

I have been heavily distracted! Real life has bogged me down and then I have a hard time getting back engrossed back in...but you all know once I do...I'm back... Have a con this weekend, but after that we don't have anything but home repairs for a while.

Amos's bullet tears into the only fish-man he can see, but it does put a hurting on it. Then the group moves in as best they can, the bigger one taking point.

The bigger one steps into the door, toe to toe with the dwarf.

And he unleashes a barrage of claws and teeth on Diabolito.

1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32
Crit?: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (18) + 12 = 30
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

And the big fish shreds through the dwarf's armor and flesh, putting blood in the water. EEP 34 damage. Wake up, game on!

1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15 But the poor Sahuagin in the back just can't get up.

GO TEAM GO! Save the dwarf!

Indrana came to the conclusion that the area was just too crowded to be able to throw her acid spell at the sahuagin so she cam up with an alternate solution. Focusing intently she sent a simple burst of arcane energy at the nearest sahuagin in three sharp pulses, the energy formed into missiles and slammed into the creature.

Magic Missile @ colorless: 3d4 + 3 ⇒ (3, 4, 4) + 3 = 14

Amos hops up on the table at the back of the room to get a better shot.
blam on orange, point blank, deadly aim: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 8 + 1 = 11
damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 5 + 1 = 14

The magic missile tears into the bigger sahuagin, while Amos finishes off the fishman he has targeted.

"Oh, now this is somethin' worth me attention!" Aramis laughs, grinning as she reloads with crazed speed. "Ye're gonna be fine, Whiskers. Jus' keep breathin', a'right? Cap'n's orders an' all."

Full-attack, with point-blank shot, deadly aim, rapid shot, and inspire courage. Both shots on the biggun'!

Musket 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23 vs. touch
damage: 1d12 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16

Musket 2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (10) + 10 = 20 vs. touch
damage: 1d12 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18

Growling low, the dwarf doesn't back down.

"Ain't time to rest yet!" the dwarf yells as he swings his blade in to the large creature laying into him, spitting his blood into the enemy's face.

PA Battleaxe Racial Inspire: 1d20 + 7 + 1 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (12) + 7 + 1 + 2 - 2 = 20
Damage: 1d8 + 6 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 3 + 2 = 19

Even though his body is torn ragged, the Dwarven Devilfish strikes a deep blow against his enemy, leaving a jagged furrow from hip to sternum.

8/42 HP remaining

The big fish-man takes bullets to each of his arms, growling as the axe slashes deep into his flesh, leaving him wide opened for Diabolito's vicious axe strike, leaving the creature reeling but still standing.

Attack: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 2 = 28
dmg: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Crit?: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 7 + 2 = 14
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Maera lashes out with her rapier, hoping she can end this. "Oh, just die already, you suckerfish freak!"

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

The creature before Diabolito seems to be teetering close to death thanks to Maera's last swipe, but he hasn't fallen yet...just seems to be angrier...if that was possible. The creature seemed to smile as it went to slash into Diabolito once again.

1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

The first slash drops the shark-toothed dwarf, then the creature steps in to start to work on the captain who had struck him with her rapier. The one who wore the necklace.

1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22
1d4 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

1d20 + 12 ⇒ (14) + 12 = 26
1d6 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

A quick claw and then a bite and the Undine's blood was running down the fish creature's chin.

1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

Finally the creature in the back stands up and begins to inch his way towards the group.

Group is up...Maera has an AoO on Yellow

AoO on Yellow: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 2 = 28
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Crit?: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 7 + 2 = 26
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

Big Boy Baddie: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 7 + 2 = 29
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Crit? WTF: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 2 = 28
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

A tranquil fury seems to descend upon the Undine as she barely registers the pain from her injuries, striking out her rapier at the yellowish sahuagin as it tries to slide by her, then once more at the one now fixed on her.

Indrana saw how the battle was beginning to turn and quickly cast a spell conjuring another patch of grease to appear before she retreated through the door to the stairwell.

I drew another grease sell on the map, it starts just in front of our party and overlaps part of the other patch. DC 17 ref to avoid falling.

Amos reloads, steps to the right so he can see the next target, and fires.

Inspired point blank: 1d20 + 8 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 8 + 1 + 1 = 24
damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 1 + 1 = 10

Quickly, things begin to get ugly for the Sahuagin. The one that moved by Maera finds that her rapier bites rather hard, as the Undine's blade is coated in his underling's blood, the leader finds his own blood to be coating it, as well. The blade slides through his defenses and as soon as it does, it sinks through the side of his neck. While it seems to do a fair amount of damage...it doesn't look like it should have killed him. However, it seemed that as the blade struck...a fire left his eyes and as it did...his strength rapidly faded and he dropped dead at the captain's feet. As he did, Amos's gun let loose on the one who had rushed past her and it fell, as well. The tide had turned and as the others tried to rush away, Indrana's spells slowed and downed them, leaving everything quiet.

While this is the first time her blade's tasted blood, and indeed, felled a foe, the time for self-congratulation will come later. Taking quick stock of the battle, and noticing that they've got their foes on the run, Maera quickly puts up her sword, and pulls out their wand to pour healing into the fallen dwarf.

"Don't go goin' to the locker yet, Whiskers," she murmurs between casts. "We started this together. We're damn well gonna finish it."

So far, we're up to 26/42

The dwarf coughs up dried flecks of blood, wiping the back of his hand against his lips. Remaining on the ground, his intonation is low, as his body is surrounded by a glow of sea foam green.

CLW: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

As his intonation flows out of him like the insistent rhythm of the waves, the dwarf grits his teeth, the wounds clenching shut with the force of a crashing wave.

"Aye, Cap'n...I'll try to stay standin' next time."

With his axe by his side, he uses the heavy item to push himself back to his feet, the glow fading but leaving a damp patch on the ground where he laid down.

38/42

Rushing up to them from down the stairs, Sandara bursts into the room, her weapon drawn and covered with blood. "Bloody good thing I stayed on the ship...t'were a lot of them. We fed them to Ol' Bess, but it looks like you might need some help, Devilfish..." grabbing her holy symbol she bursts healing energy through the room, ensuring the fish get no such energy.

2d6 ⇒ (5, 1) = 6

"Seems she isn't favoring you as much as other..."

2d6 ⇒ (4, 5) = 9

The dwarf grins and shrugs, motioning to the mark of Gozreh burned into the flesh of his left bicep (which the damage to his clothing now reveals).

"Guess she and Gozreh ain't in agreement o'er me."

"They're just havin' a little lover's spat over you," the undine jibs with a smile, now that Diabolito's up and about.

Maera sighs with relief at Sandara's healing magicks, reaching up to her own shoulder to inspect the freshly healed wound, and brushes against the deep platinum necklace. Her mouth twists with barely reined fury, and she rips the trinket off. "They were after this damned thing," she says with a shake of her head. "What's the sayin'? Three times, it's enemy attack."

If it is an attack then we should clear the building and the grounds. Quickly. People could be dyin'. He says as he reloads.

Raises her hand and halts him. "The big ones came this way...our crew and the few guards left managed to clear the rest. We are clear. Lick the wounds and lets make sure the grounds are set up for defending as much as possible. That way our crew can guard while we are here."

With the fighting done Indrana breathed a sigh of relief, she made a gesture and all of the grease disappeared. While she was concerned for Diabolito Maera and Sandara had him quickly in hand and brought back to health. She grinned at him and said, "Good to see you're still with us Stonefish." She then slipped up the stairs to where Lad Smythee was and said, "It seems the troubles over with now, the raiders have been killed or driven off. I have to say that seemed a lot closer than I expected, do attackers normally make it that far or were these sahuagin just that good?"

"Tha's tha', then?" Aramis asks apprehensively. "Seems a bit too 'ard an' fast."

The requests were easily met. The Rock needed time to recover from the attacks and figure out what they could do to bolster the defenses. While it was well known that it was hard to crack the rock...it had been close this day. As such, watches were set both on Fury and extra watches on the walls.

For nearly a week, the crew helped in fortifying the defenses and got in a fair bit of training for crew and guards alike...training each other how to fight against the other. That way they were well versed on each.

1d5 ⇒ 1
1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Amos was standing on the wall and noted that it was a particularly foggy night, but otherwise...nothing was going on.

Until a lightning bolt ripped from the fog and smashed into the gates of the structure.

Ok, so the crew is up first. It is 2am and only Amos is awake. The group is asleep other than Amos, you have some rounds before the attacker(s) arrive as there is still heavy fog to block your vision. I am not going to bother with a map just yet, as it's going to be a little loose until those rounds are up. It will take you the first full round to get to the quarters, yelling as you go to wake people up. There are other guards that you can alert to sound the alarm...or you can start firing into the fog bank. At the darkness, such as it were. After that, I'll post my next round and we can go from there...

Everyone can post a perception check that asleep, on a DC 15 you will awaken before the alarm or Amos...and you get a full round as well...A lightning bolt did just strike the place.

Indrana was asleep in her own quarters, she had no interest in her wife's bed as the marriage was only in name and she knew the chief guard seemed to have a thing with her. She was curled up in her bed with Maura snuggled against here when the sudden crash of thunder occurred.

Indrana's Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Maura's Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

the sudden noise jolted her from her sleep and caused her to rise as she tried to figure out what was going on. She'd left her headband on and still had her necklace around her neck but otherwise she was wearing nothing as she preferred to do when she had a room to herself. Maura roused herself as well and looked up to see what was going on as Indrana sat up and tried to decide if she should go investigate, her tail lashing in curiosity. Maura simply stood, turned in a circle, and then needed the bed before laying back down and closing her eyes.

Amos darts down into the keep, ordering everyone up in the most commanding voice he can muster. TO ARMS! TO ARMS! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! ARCHERS TO THE PARAPET, MELEE TO THE GATES! TO ARMS!

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25

Hearing the lighting crash, the dwarf awakens abruptly, shaking his head and forcing his shaggy self to his feet. His voice echoes out, as he grasps his armor, tossing it over his shoulder, already feeling the heavy weight of the axe and morningstar at his belt.

"To arms! To arms!"

Hearing all the commotion, the dwarf then grumbles and closes his eyes. His words rumble out in old tones, words unknown by the likes of most mortals.

Diabolito stretches his arms out, and bones begin to crack and twist, extending and changing to look less and less like anything humanoid. Crouching low, a rattling hiss escapes from his lips and a spray of feathers erupt from his body. Although known for his form of sharks, it seems this dwarf is full of surprises, as a vaguely avian creature stands where the beast of a man was. Shaking its head and stamping a clawed foot, it becomes obvious from the jewelry that this is the dwarf.

Wildshape to form of Deinonychus. Str is now 18; AC is 15. Now has primary attacks of 2 talons (1d8+4) & a bite of (1d6+6), as well as a secondary attack of foreclaw (1d4+2)

Diabolito

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

When she wakes at the unnatural lightening crash, Maera stared with puzzlement at the growing fog with suspicion, which Amos' warning only confirms. She thankfully kept her magical items, as well as her clothing on, but she knows that she'll be forced to hastily don her armor, and then basically grab her weapons as she runs out the door.

"Rawwwk! To arms! Rawwwk! To arms!" Rotgut screeches, alighting on Aramis' head. The captain swats sleepily at the bird and rolls over, taking the blanket with her.

Rotgut tilts his head at this, his small, animal intellect telling him that something important is happening, and that the woman he was trying to wake wasn't having any of it. As the man above continues yelling, Rotgut digs his claws into Aramis' shoulder and leans forward, his beak reaching for her ear.

--------------------

Rubbing her bleeding ear and muttering a string of salty words, Aramis half-runs, half-stumbles to where she hears Amos yelling, her coat streaming behind her. As she goes, she belts on her pistol and ammo pouch, hops as she pulls on her boots, and jams her hat on her messy-haired head. Rotgut flies ahead, out of reach of her occasional angry swings.

In all, the effect isn't too different from her usual appearance.

With the sudden cries of alarm from Amos Indrana's decision was taken from her. Maura was obviously not going to get up and the tiefling woman realized that there was no time to get dressed. Knowing there was no time the tiefling simply took off and ran to the parapets not bothering with clothing, there was no time for it anyway. Her stride was confident and distracting as her feline fur covered form made it's way to her destination. While most would be embarrassed by such a situation she was just relieved that she had still followed her usual routine of renewing the protection of mage armor before she went to bed.

The fog has another blast rip through it, shooting forth and hitting the gate once more, then strutting from out of the mist is a beautiful woman with a hand smoking, a few crackles still moving between her fingers. As she moves forward, a horde of pirates follow behind, eventually charging ahead of the woman as she grins, her mouth filled with sharp teeth that would give Diabolito a run for his money.

The group looks as if it will reach the now, nearly shattered gates in the next 10 seconds or so....swarming the keep like a swarm of locusts.

The druid creature roars out in a sound that rattles the very bones of the earth, feathers shaking out, fluffing out large. His feet stamp and paw at the earth, before his head tilts to the sky in a long scream.

As he does, the sky darkens above the charging horde, and small rocks, gravel, and dust fall.

Stone Call in an appropriate spot.

Damage: 2d6 ⇒ (3, 2) = 5

Indrana, safely up on the parapets and looking down, target the one who cast a spell, an arrow shaped glob of acid flying at the spellcasting woman before she ducked out of sight.

Acid Arrow: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 242d4 ⇒ (2, 3) = 5

Ooooo, 1 away from a crit threat.

It shouldn't be much of a surprise that a tavern is full in a port city, especially a tavern so close to the docks, as Formidably Maid was. For various and sundry reasons, each of your have found yourselves here, this evening, and busy isn't even the right word for it.

A barkeep stands behind the bar, pouring ales and rums for all of his barmaids as they come up and ask. Occasionally, the rotund man will roll his eyes and pull out a bottle of wine from beneath the bar and pour a goblet of wine for someone.

Each time a customer walks in, the bearded, bald Mwangwi man gives a nod, then goes back to the customer in front of him, a dark-haired knave with a long beard, set apart in braids.

A women with fiery red hair sits near the fire, warming her hands, while sipping one of the aforementioned goblets of wine.

A beautiful elven-looking woman stands on a table, singing a upbeat jig that has most of the crowd throwing coins into a cup at her feet, or clapping along. Her performance keeping the group in good spirits.

Feel free to be in the tavern and interact with one another as much as you like, I will post intermittently, but I will be watching even if not posting.

Jocelyn swaggers into the Formidably maid and sizes the place up with a quick glance. At first glance it seems to be a nice enough establishment, but she keeps her guard up and leaves one hand on the hilt of her blade. Port Peril isn't the place to be letting your guard down.

She nods in return to the Mwangi behind and approaches the bar.

"Whiskey" she says and turns to watch the elven woman entertaining the crowd.

From the back of the room she hears cheers and the clatter of dice against the floor. She smiles for the first time in a week. "This place ain't so bad," she thinks to herself and tosses a silver piece over the crowd and into the elven woman's cup, giving her a cocky wink.

The Elven maid walks into the 'Formidably Maid' casually. Her style of dress being similarly 'casual', though perhaps to almost 'Poor'. Her bare feet rise into long, tanned calves which disappear under the hem of her slightly ragged looking skirt. Which, upon closer inspection, said skirt is little more than a larger man's shirt wrapped and tied about her slim waist. The wear of the fabric matching that of the shirt she draped upon her shoulders.

As her large, blue eyes take in the sights and her delicately swept ears take in the sounds, those perusing said Elf in return note the pack upon her back which seems to contain a small chest. Though of more interest might be the long, curved blade tied to said pack.

With a skip in her step that matches the music, the blond mopped Elven lass wends her way first to the bar where she leans over to allow herself to be heard by the bar-keep standing there to place her order/request. With coins pushed across the surface she takes the two mugs given in return before she turns and skips lightly over to where the Bard plays her tune. There to place one mug down for said minstrel while she herself finds a nearby place to set down her gear safely. Eventually dropping it against the corner where floor meets wall and she herself sitting upon it.

(^_^)

Ben walks into the bar with his dog, Blacktail, following closely behind.

Well this is such a loud place maybe I can find a ship's crew and ask if I can join them on my quest to tame the seas.

He walks around all the drunken people dancing and goes to the bar.

"Beer and an extra cup please."

Hope you don't mind, but I have a number of alias's already and only make them if they get accepted into games.

A rather short fellow of obviously Halfling decent glides into the bar. Dressed in clashing colors that jar the eye, he seems unconcerned of the eyes the follow his entrance, probably because he has very little to steal besides the crossbow at his hip, but they didn't know that. His feet ached after having walked the last few miles into Port Peril today, and he was still picking seaweed out of places from being tossed a few days ago.

Returning the nod from the barkeep, his eyes scan the bar for anyone of note, and they definitely note the elven lass showing off her "wares" for the crowd. Finding a seat as close as he can to the show, he barely notices the wench poking a bony finger in his ribcage asking him what he wants to drink. "Uhh, something that'll put hair on my... uhh" he mutters, looking at his arms and feet, "Chest, yeah, some hair on my chest!" I think I have some room there, otherwise it might start showing up on my back, and that won't go over well with the ladies. Once the slip of a girl has scurried off to fetch his drink, he sits back and enjoys the show, feet rocking back and forth to her song.

Nissa walked into the Formidably Maid with an exultant air.

A tavern! A real tavern! Mother and Father never let me go to a tavern in Niswan. It's full of the lower class, like that knave or that elf girl singing for her supper. I bet real adventurers come here. This is where adventures start. My adventure. Maybe a barmaid can tell me where I can find a ship that is going past one of the islands where the ruins of Ghol-Gan lie. Her thoughts are in a roil from the novelty represented by the hoi polloi.

The dark young woman signals to one of the circulating barmaids. "You, girl, please bring me a a sweet wine. No. Wait. An ale." Ale is more authentic than sweet wine. I'm in a tavern afterall.

Perception:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Suny turns a smile towards the small fellow who comes to sit near by. Even as she continues to tap her bare feet in time to the rhythm of the music/melody.

(^_^)

Bramzit cocks an eye at the girl giving him the once over. "You a singer too, or more of a performer." he says, emerald eyes twinkling in the lantern light. Rising, he takes a step forward, seeming to stumble a moment before dropping into a forward roll. Coming to his feet easily, his bushy eyebrows waggle as he grins over the successful performance. "What brings you to the Formidably Maid?" he asks.

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20

When the order arrives Ben places the extra cup on the floor and pours what is left in his Waterskin for Blacktail to drink up. He then drinks the beer and looks among the crowd.

Maybe this was a bad idea. I know that I'm the son of a pirate captain but I know nothing about being a pirate. And I'm starting to think that others might be figuring that out.

He lets out a heavy sigh and continues to drink his beer.

Sunny giggles, laughs and claps her hands in appreciation at the small fellow's actions which were obviously for her attention. At his questions and 'waggle' she responds around more mirth.

"Hey-YA there! M'name be 'Suny' in'a speakin' of tha' peoples!" She declares brightly over the other sounds of the tavern. She takes a swig of what ever the contents of her mug are.

"Whut be your callin'?" She asks in reply.

Yay! Talkin' ta' some one! (^_^)

With her ale in hand, Nissa moves closer to the elven folk-singer. Her movements are equal part grace and bravado. When she is thinking about people watching her, Nissa attempts to swagger; otherwise, her movements are quick and graceful.

What's the best way to drink ale? In the stories one quaffs ale, but I've never been precisely certain about what quaffing ale might entail. Val Son-Suweil's text Stone and Axe suggest that dwarves are quite fond of quaffing their ale.

Nissa looks around the bar for any dwarves so that she might imitate their style of drinking. She also casually puts a gold piece in the elven peasant's cup.

Perception:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Sunny looks 'up' from where she's talking to Bramzit at her sitting eye level and notices the dusk skinned woman who's come 'dancing' across the floor.

Sunny simply raises an arm and waves at said newcomer, even tips the edge of her mug in the other woman's direction.

(^_^)

Here, Brazmit? Ye could at least pop up an empty page with some picture on it. Fer folks ta' talk ta' a name an' a face, like. (^_~)

Malak walks into the tavern, taking care to notice potential threats, marks, distractions, and entertainment. He walks through the tavern, looming over the heads of those around him. His steps carrying the weight of his muscular and thick physique, each one with a distinct *thump* . Malak leans onto the bar and taps on the counter, "I'm gunna need two. Stout ale. If you could." Then Malak turns his back to the bar to see tree going-ons around the tavern. I've been search for a new crew for too long now. Seas be damned if I don't get back out there soon. Surely though I can find a crew worth it's salt here.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

Malak sees a man and his dog to the side and scrunches his face in curiosity. Aren't taverns dirty enough? No need for mutts running through.. He also notices the surprising ratio of women to men and smirks a little at the thought. After all, he is exhausted. Only rowed himself into Port Peril a few days previous, resting little while in a search to join a crew to get his revenge on the mutineers that left him stranded.

Perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (8) + 0 = 8

Caught up in the excitement of folk music and quaffing, Nissa does not notice the elven woman's polite overture.

Here, Brazmit? Ye could at least pop up an empty page with some picture on it. Fer folks ta' talk ta' a name an' a face, like. (^_~)

Yeah, I wouldn't. Because then if you do and you don't get chosen, you're stuck with an alias that you didn't have to be stuck with if you would've never posted under it initially.

You know, I'd recommend allowing folks to decide what they want to do for themselves. Most folks tend to prefer making their own decisions.

Sowwie. It were jus'a suggestion.

The young dwarf swings his axe back into its sheath after neatly shaking off a quite persistent drunk, mumbling under his breath. "Gozreh damn these nutters. Can't even get a decent pint without someone wanting to pull my beard, askin' if it be real. Like I'd paint tar on me face and stick it in a barber's leftovers. The nerve of some people!"

The jingle of shark teeth encircling his neck proceeds him into the bar. Sidling up to bar, the stocky sailor taps the wood with a callous hand. "Whiskey. The good stuff. None of that cheap crap, cause I know that's what you give those Chelish boys that came in here last season." Putting down several heavy golden coins, making sure each fully touches the bar top with a distinctive snap before counting out the next, the sailor takes his booze and heads for the now growing group listening to the performer.

"You ragged bunch looking for more booze and those to drink it with? Cause last time I asked such a ragtag bunch, I ended up walking up on a Calistrian orgy. And that's not a mess I'd enjoy going through again. Not sober and in public, at least."

Sunny tilts her head as the new fellow saunters up and addresses the gathering group.

"Here? I missed ye ken with that last bit. Whut be it ye sayin' about tha' Goddess..." She informs him, though she is smiling to show that Sunny is in a happy/pleasant frame of mind.

Diabolito takes a deep swig of the harsh liquor and then tosses the bottle to the woman, smirking as he speaks again, take a seat on an overturned chair.

"Ya see, I was in her not 2 months ago, and I walked up to this small bunch. And weren't it strange, but this guy starts about with his eyes all googley, like he's about to have his way with the woman, right then and there, in front of the barkeep, the tavern, and all the gods, and the rest of us, not caring a bit more as if it were just a reg'lar day, as it were. Yeesh! So I ask if we're in the Calistrian whorehouse down the road or if they're gonna help me drink the new batch of whiskey the 'keep special ordered."

He lowers his voice and leans over conspiratorially. "And I don't care much for the cheap stuff, or sharing the good stuff, if'n it'taint good company."

Sitting back up, he grins, pulling out a pipe and beginning to settle it all together in the perfect routine for a nice smoke to join in with the alcohol. Speaking back in normal tones, he continues. "And weren't it just worse Gozreh pissin' in me 'skey, then he shows me the back of his hand, and it's tattooed with the Lady's mark."

He just shakes his head. "So I'll ask it again; you want to join in the drinkin', lass?"

Aramis shoves the door of the Formidably Maid open, casting an eye over the stragglers. Nothing too out of the ordinary. At least her favourite tavern wasn't too crowded yet, and she could find a seat easily enough. Not like some times, where she was lucky to find a stool at the bar.

She slings her musket higher on her shoulder, feeling the cool steel brush against her neck reassuringly. The music travels in one ear and out the other, but along the way, alleviates her rough mood a little. She sighs, brushes a wayward lock of dark, choppy hair from her face, and slips into a seat at the bar.

"Rum," is all she says, and the barkeep nods, recognizing her instantly as a regular. She takes the bottle, hands over her gold, and pours three fingers into a smudged glass, shooting it back in one practised gulp. It burns her throat, and she coughs, but takes another swig from the bottle. This one goes down smoother, and she sighs contentedly, looking back over the tavern.

Lots of strange faces, but that wasn't unusual. She was one of the few regulars, after all - each new job and handful of coin brought her back to the same place. The performance doesn't interest her much, but there seems to be a decent conversation going on there, so she takes her rum and her musket and heads over.

"I'll be joinin' in," she cuts in, raising her bottle and taking a seat near the dwarf with the necklace of shark teeth. "Can't say I'm the best o' company, but I can drink, an' I can talk, and if it's both yer lookin' for, then I think we'll be gettin' along just fine." She casts an eye over him, taking in the scars on his face. "Name's Aramis," she says to the group, with a polite nod. "Aramis Elizabeth Mirian Steele." Though with her accent, it comes out sounding like Ar'mis 'Liz'beth Meerean Steele.

Sunny's eyes narrow as she tries her best to follow the fellow's explanation, though as he slows down and gives his final line her eyes widen.

"Ah! Aye!" And she raises her mug, deftly stands and reaches over to tap cup rims with the fellow. When the new lass plonks herself down Sunny is slightly startled but smiles and nods at the new stranger's rapid words.

Looking up at the commotion of clattering tumblers, Nissa frowns when she realizes that the only recognizable dwarf is not drinking ale. How will I ever learn to quaff?

She is, however, excited to see what people who might, under certain definitions, be considered adventurers. Moving closer to the group coalescing near the dwarf -- of questionable dwarfishness -- and the blond elf.

"Hello, my name is Nissa daughter- . . . Well, just Nissa really. May I sit with you?"

Suny looks and grins at the lass who's noticed the group.

"Hey-YA there!" (^_^) She welcomes the woman brightly, "M'name be 'Suny' in'a speakin' of tha' peoples." She informs Nissa as she stands to shift things about to help make room. Suny tilts her head.

"Here, 'Nissa Daughter' be an interestin' name. Whut be tha' meanin' a'hind it, then?" Suny asks NIssa, her interest obviously piqued.

And with that I shall be passing into the land of Nod for a while. Shall try and keep an eye on the posts and such, but Real Life calls and I shall ave little free time for 24 hours or so. Looking forwards to watching the interactions and catching up with things after a while. Very much cheers to all. (^_^)

Bramzit uses the distraction of Suny’s conversation with the newcomers to do what halflings do second best, fade into the shadows of the bar. Praise Besmara, real pirates! Oh my lady oh my lady! OK, calm down Bram, focus, you want them to like to so they’ll take you on their ship. thinks the little one, nearly bouncing up and down with glee.

Hoping up onto an unoccupied table, Bramzit stomps a foot loudly on the wooden surface to get peoples attentions. ”Ahoy maties!” he bellows doing his best (but obviously fake) pirate voice, ”I hear ye be lookin fer a few buccaneers ta go plundering the seas, arrgg. Well, I be yer man! I be looking ta join with some scurvy dogs and it seems ye be the best o’tha lot. Yo ho ho and shiver me timbers, arrgg!” Brandishing a small blade that’s little more than a sharpened butter knife, he then makes a few slashes and cuts at an imaginary foe, clearly victorious in his fake battle.

Chumtooth's nostrils flare as the smell of meat, both cooked and uncooked, assails his senses. He steps over the threshold into the bustling common room, surveying the patrons as a tree-perched panther watches wild pigs root about on the jungle floor. He leans his harpoon against his left shoulder and strides purposefully across the tavern, scanning the room with his large, oily-black eyes. His well-weathered lamellar creaks as he moves, and the braids of his long, black hair clop lightly against the back of the cuirass. A wickedly curved knife is tucked into the front of his belt, within easy reach, and a cruelly spiked war club hangs at his right thigh. The leather strapped to his left forearm lacks the smoothness of well-tooled animal hide. The swirls in the stretched skin leave the faintest impression of eyes, a nose, and an open, screaming mouth.

He stops in front of the bar, allowing the butt of his harpoon to thump loudly against the floor. He fixes the barkeep with a shark-eyed stare, following him with his gaze until the man acknowledges his presence.

This One is thirsty. Bring the drink you Others call, Ayyuhll. Mix it with blood from your butcher's block."

He reaches into his pouch and places a silver coin firmly on the bar top, pressing it down with his thumb.

"When This One is done with the first, bring more."

A young woman stomps into the Formidably Maid, her nostrils flaring in frustration. A sword and whip are stuck through a fine green sash at her waist, and she fingers both weapons with angry restlessness as she mutters to herself.

"Besmara's girdle! 'Bad luck,' am I? I'll show them bad luck..."

Tossing back her red hair in frustration, Zaketta stomps over the to the bar, fishing a messy handful of coins from her jacket and slapping them carelessly in front of the bartender.

"The usual bottle, Jiggers," she says, biting back her anger while she waited for a bottle of fairly loathsome spirits and a small tumbler. She tosses back a shot of the foul brew, shaking her head as the concoction oozes down her throat.

As she begins to pour herself another, she notices a red-haired woman expertly toss a silver coin from the bar into the singer's cup. She raises her glass in salute at the display of skill, then takes another swallow from her noxious bottle, her face twitching into a grimace as the aftertaste settles onto her tongue.

Casting a sideways glance at the half orc with the fierce-looking sword, she notices him eyeing the ladies in the tavern with a smirk. She gives him a contemptuous look, spits on the floor, and moves to join the crowd around the singer, muttering to herself.

As she approaches the small crowd, a familiar figure catches her eye: a grimy-looking dwarf with a necklace of shark teeth.

"If it isn't the Little Devil himself! You chip-toothed son of a slattern, what brings you back here?"

Zaketta pulls a chair alongside the dwarf and turns it backward before plopping down in a rather unladylike straddle. She gives an affectionate rub of his head and laughs before tipping her hat to the others seated nearby.

"'Good stuff,' he says - as if there's anything in this crusty bilge pail that's not half piss and a quarter spit. You might as well have the rotgut like me, Stormwhiskers. At least it'd be honest drinkin'."

As if to punctuate the thought, Zaketta takes a pull straight from her bottle, then coughs alarmingly as she tries to keep the liquid down. As she caught her breath, she introduced herself:

"I don't think I've seen the rest of you in here. The name's Flynn - Zaketta Flynn. And I think I heard someone say something about making a crew, for fortune and fame? At first I thought it was the half pint here, but it couldn't be: there's no way he could make his voice louder than those clothes of his."

Zaketta guffaws at her own joke and slaps her knee, then looks at Nissa's mug.

"Plannin' on drinking that, or are you just holdin' it to be fashionable? Besmara's girdle, I know the drinks here are terrible, but if you're goin' to pay for it, you might as well wet your whistle. But then, you don't look like much of a drinker to me."

The effects of her drink starting to take effect, Zaketta throws out an arm to clumsily pat Aramis's shoulder.

"Now this lass, she looks like she knows how to turn a tumbler - am I right? In fact... now that I look at you, I think I have seen you around here before."

Zaketta's peers closely at the mercenary, searching through her memory.

"Didn't I see you in here a few weeks ago - makin' lovey-eyes at some pretty little sailor boy fresh from his mother's apron strings? Yes! That's it!"

Zaketta began to chuckle heartily, slapping her knee again.

"Stormwhiskers, you should introduce your Calistrian friends to this one. I don't know what she and that poor lad got up to, but Jiggers says the fella nearly died from exhaustion!"

The boisterous woman took another unpleasant drink from her bottle, though she seemed less disgusted by its taste now - no doubt and indication that its contents were already doing their job. Listening to a few snippets of Suny's speech, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You've got a strange way of talkin', Goldilocks - just where are you from?"

From his perch atop the table, Bramzit watches the two newest arrivals as they make their grand entrance. Wow, that one is scary looking. I bet people give him their money just to have him go away! he thinks, slightly shivering at the thought of being stuck on a boat with him. The second one confuses the poor Halfling, She struts around like royalty of the seas, yet wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t looking for a boat like the rest of us. And to insult my clothes, how rude! I’d give her a good zap if it wouldn’t start a barroom brawl.

All of a sudden, a lithe young half-elf stumbles into the tavern, nearly stumbling over the step up as she backs into the doorway. Turning around, she sweeps a quick gaze over the tavern and its occupants, before tugging at her clothes nervously. She's dressed in old, waterlogged leather armor and boots, with a slender rapier hanging from her belt, and a small backpack slung over one shoulder. Her tangled burgundy hair is held back from her face with a faded cloth headband.

She quickly heads to a darkened corner of the tavern, claiming a chair near its backexit and positioning herself from a vantage point where she can see the tavern's entrance.

If they're setting out for Corentyn tomorrow, that probably means their next stop is either Augustana or Korvosa. I'll be damned if they think they can just dump me back there after all this time.

The half-elf suddenly springs up when another patron enters the bar, and rushes over to the gathering crowd near the center of the common room, squeezing her way in between the people. She smiles nervously as her eyes are continuously pulled back to the doorway, as she says to one in particular, "Hi, do me favor and pretend like we know each other, alright?" She then starts reeling with fake laughter as if someone had just told a good joke.

The boisterous woman took another unpleasant drink from her bottle, though she seemed less disgusted by its taste now - no doubt and indication that its contents were already doing their job. Listening to a few snippets of Suny's speech, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You've got a strange way of talkin', Goldilocks - just where are you from?"

It takes a few moments for Zaketta's comments to filter through that she's addressing Sunny. Glancing from where Bramzit was doing his little half-dance atop the table Sunny turns her smile to this new comer.

"Oh. Me kith live a way off West a-ways." She waves a brown arm absently in a general direction.

"We's live on'a islands out there, waaay off't tha' west. Though, if ye climb all'a way t' tha' top? Ye can see tha' shadow of tha great storm waaay off ta' tha' North, like." She grins at the woman.

"As fer me way a speakin'? I done learned it from one of tha' folks who's boat come driftin ' ashore...um.....two season?" Sunny frowns, "No, maybe three season back. While they was fixin they's boat we wus doin' all sorts of cult'rl exchanges." (^_^)

"Oh, an' me name be 'Suny' in'a speakin' of tha' peoples. Not...um....'Goldily-locks'..." Sunny struggles to both remember the appellation and pronunciation the new words.

"Whut be it they calls ye..." And Sunny stops as some one else suddenly....

Squeezing her way in between the people. She smiles nervously as her eyes are continuously pulled back to the doorway, as she says to one in particular, "Hi, do me favor and pretend like we know each other, alright?" She then starts reeling with fake laughter as if someone had just told a good joke.

Sunny giggles brightly as this new person squeezes up to them. She happily throws a brown arm around said person's shoulder and join in with the laughter....Even though she has no idea what's funny, being boisterous seems to come natural to Sunny.

"Well, ya Besmaran sea witch! I was wondering how long you'd be on that little dingy before you were back here! I bet the barkeep that you'd be back the next morning saying that rotten piece of driftwood you called a ship had sank in the harbor!"

The druid laughs heartily, standing and grabbing the woman up in a bear hug, the motion bringing the scents of holly & mistletoe almost reeking from his skin, even through the potent alcohol and slight sea smell.

A moment or two later, he sits down, laughing and grinning. Taking his bottle back, he pours what likely amounts to another shot down his gullet.

"You know, speaking of that Calistrian boy...makes me wonder what happened to him. Hopefully found some sense in his head. And that Calistrian wasn't a woman, it was a man. At least I think it was a man. Sounded like a man anyways. Are you sure you didn't end up drinking more than I did that night?"

He winks and nudges Suny with his elbow, speaking in a loud whisper. "You can just call the priestess here 'Pickles' cause she drinks enough to keep up with any dwarf." He wipes the imaginary "proud poppa" tear out of his eye. "And my name is Diabolito Stormbeard. Although some call me the 'Little Devil' or just 'Stormbeard'."

He winks and nudges Suny with his elbow, speaking in a loud whisper. "You can just call the priestess here 'Pickles' cause she drinks enough to keep up with any dwarf." He wipes the imaginary "proud poppa" tear out of his eye. "And my name is Diabolito Stormbeard. Although some call me the 'Little Devil' or just 'Stormbeard'."

Sunny keeps her arm around the new friendly woman even as she's jostled by the furry fellow on her other side. She blink, blue eyes going a little wider,

"Rilly? You's a Dwarf?" She seems to gasp in surprise. "We in't never had a Dwarfs back home." She smile becomes almost incandescent. "Tryin' ta' find a Dwarfs were one of tha' reasons I stuck on a ship an' come all-a way here." Sunny knocks tankards with the object of her fascination.

"So...'Strom-beard'? That be a name, right? An' not somat whut people's call ye...." Sunny tilts her head a little "On account of people's not bein' able ta' speak yer name, all proper, like?"

The tall, leggy, redheaded woman enters the bar with an air of nobility, as though she somehow considered herself superior to the other patrons. Her leather armor is fitted perfectly to her slender body, and a rapier hangs from her belt. A light crossbow hangs from a loop at her back, and a quiver of bolts rests upon one hip.

She took a seat at the bar, oblivious to those around her. "Pour one, barkeep. Whatever passes for alcohol in this drink-sodden town." It was the fourth tavern that she had checked today and she was no closer to finding her missing husband. Her mood was considerably less than good.

Roberto had been a sailor aboard the Widow's Breast, a merchant vessel out of Cheliax. Eight months ago, he disappeared, captured during a pirate raid on the vessel. As far as she knew, he was still alive, and she was determined to find him, even if it meant checking every seedy bar and tavern in the Shackles.

She slams the drink and puts the glass down. "Another!" she demands. Only then does she pause to look around the bar.

The sailor's grin grows wider at the plucky nature of the island girl. "Close enough, lass. And yeah, Ima dwarf." Diabolito pulls on his thickly braided beard for emphasis. "Pure blooded as salt from the sea, I is." And with that, he takes another swig of his drink, handing it over to Flynn.

"People call me Stormbeard cause that's the family name, and it's ten leagues easier to say than Diabolito."

Sunny nods, "Aye, well t'is whut I be callin' ye then." And she blushes, "An' I be sorry now fer when I tangle ye words with yer name in'a comin', hey?" (^_^)

Even as she keeps an arm around the woman on one side, her gaze is taking in the details of this, the very first Dwarf, very first one she's laid eyes on. The Goddess must be smiling over her.

He notices Isabella drinking one after another. Something must be bothering her...

"Are you alright miss?"

"Where I am from descent and lineage are important. But in Port Peril it shouldn't matter whose daughter you are. . ." Nissa trails off as a veritable circus pours into the tavern.

She looks a little nonplussed by Zaketta's comment. So this is peasant insolence.

Turning back to Suny, Nissa continues, "Well, I like your accent. It is rather authentic." She seems unaware that the music of Vudrani marks her oh-so-carefully pronounced Common as much as Suny's confusion of being verbs and contractions.

Turning back to Suny, Nissa continues, "Well, I like your accent. It is rather authentic." She seems unaware that the music of Vudrani marks her oh-so-carefully pronounced Common as much as Suny's confusion of being verbs and contractions.

Sunny beams with pleasure at the other tanned woman's compliment. (^_^)

"Thank'e muchly Nissa! I did work ever so hard at learnin' tha' speakin'." Then Sunny giggles,

"Though they's other person were learinin' a lot about's m'self at tha' same time. T'wouldn't bin a fair trade, after all." (^_^)

The redheaded woman looks at Ben with a hint of disdain. "No, I'm not alright. My husband has gone missing, taken by pirates some eight months ago, and I'm searching for him."

"How unfortunate, but I guess that is why you are here. This place seems to be a very popular pirate bar."

Nissa smiles warmly. These people were alright even if that dwarf didn't have the dignity to quaff anything. No doubt he brings shame to his people.

Gesticulating with her as yet untouched mug of ale, Nissa inquires of the two priestesses, the disappointing -- but surprisingly lusty dwarf, and the cheerful elven woman, "Have you heard of the ancient Cyclops empire of Ghol-Gan? Thousands of years ago, massive one-eyed brutes discovered civilization and great magic. They ruled these islands and waters for centuries with titanic might (and questionable depth perception). Their ruins dot the islands of the Shackles. They are filled with treasure and danger!

The young woman trails off a moment as uncertainty flashes across her face. "Adventurers are into treasure and danger, yes?"

Sunny listens intently to Nissa's speech....then nods,

"Oh aye! Tha' rilly, rilly big folks?" She nods emphatically, "Aye, that be why m' kin don't make places on such things. Much better ta' simply just make a new place ta' live, like." She smiles at Nissa

"Shiny!" (^_^) Is her simple affirmation at Nissa's question about loot and adventure.

"And quite a fine specimen of a dwarf you are," Sasha smiles at Stormbeard, as she again glances at the door from the corner of her eye. "I'm Sasha, although people often just call me Red," she grins as she sits herself down, seemingly relaxing slightly.

"This place seems rather lively, and I'm glad to be out of the street. There's some people that I'd rather not be runnin' into at the moment, although I don't think they'd actually put much effort into coming to seek me out."

Bramzit is amazed at the lack of any reaction his statement had, and looks completely flummoxed over what to do now. Hoping down off the table with a practiced grace, he downs his drink in a few long swallows, his face contorting over the burn it brings. ”Hoo-rah, that’s good!” he mutters as he heads over to the bar to return his mug. It is there that he overhears Isabella’s tale of woe.

Why would they take people when they are usually only after treasure. he wonders. ”S’cuse me my leggy elven lady.” he says with a roguish grin, ”Do you know anything else about his disappearance? Maybe there is a ship or two running for the Cheliaxian slavers, but I would think most pirates would just slit his throat and toss the corpse overboard right before a keelhaulin’” There he thinks, That should set her on the right path towards safety. Crazy elf is liable to get herself taken as a whore!

Chumtooth watches as the Others interact, and pointedly ignore his presence. He gives no outward sign of displeasure. Instead, he turns to face the group and listens to their conversation, making no attempt to hide his eavesdropping. The ease with which the strange words flow from their tongues impresses him.

"Bring meat. Raw and freshly killed," he says to a passing serving wench.

I thought ye wus over at the bar? We's all talkin' around tha' Minstrel? Still, t'is good ta' see/hear from ye. (^_^)

My internet will be spotty for the next twelve to twenty four hours. Will try and keep looking in. Much cheers to all.

"I was told," Isabella replies, spinning about, "That he was taken aboard with some other prisoners likely to be sold into slavery. This from a survivor of the attack."

Bramzit nods with glee, ”You’re in luck then! He’s probably up north having been sold to some demon worshiping scum! Just head up the slave pits, find out who bought him, and you’re home free to make lots of little elflets! You are lucky to have found me, you could have been sailing about these seas for years and have never found a lick of information. Let’s toast to your good luck!” he says, lifting a random mug from the bar and taking a deep gulp, barely choking down the swill. Hmm, don’t remember ordering that. I shall have to remember not to order it again!

"Well, Red, you obviously got a good head on your shoulders if you see I'm a good dwarven specimen." The Druid flexes his dwarvenly muscles as an example of such. "That, and any lass that shares her name with the color of blood is right by me."

The squat man in creature hide and tall boots hands her the bottle. "Drink up and steel the nerves. If they come in for a fight, we give it to 'em. And if not...well, they're just missin' out." The chuckle that rumbles out like thunder or waves hitting rocks shows the bearded freak is quite used to such things. "Diabolito Stormbeard, by the way."

Nissa leans in and with a sotto voice whispers, "I have a map!"

Her face falls briefly when she realizes that although she possesses a map, she does not possess a ship, a crew, any skill with traps, knowledge of how to navigate, knowledge of how to sail a ship, knowledge of how to survive in a jungle, or even how to cook her own food.

"Huzz-Bunn. Does this word mean mate? If your mate is gone, why look for him? Just take another," Chumtooth says to the red-haired Other at the bar.