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The town curves along the shoreline of Motaku Isle, spreading across ridges to a few small islands sitting in the deep-blue bay. Small, well-made wooden buildings ring the harbor. Festive flower and palm-frond garlands hang from various buildings, bridges, and statues. Vessels of varying shapes and sizes jam nearly all the town’s long piers, and the great number of ocean-going ships lying at anchor render the outer harbor nearly impassible. Throngs of revelers, many wearing masks, carouse through the town while singing and drinking from frothing tankards.
This is the town of Lilycove. You see it from the bows of "The True North" the Pathfinder ship you've taken passage on. You're each a member of the Pathfinder Society, a oddball bunch of ragtag researchers... "Researchers" being a loose term. Some call you graverobbers. You have your own reasons for taking up the wayfinder, but you have to admit this may be one of the better assignments. You have been instructed to go to Lilycove and record the events of the Rum Punch Festival, a massive festival of dedication to Cayden Cailean. There is no rush to return home, and a long leash to "Record, Report, and Cooperate" with your field team as you see fit.
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Ivan couldn't believe it, all those requests to be sent to Cailean related missions finally payed off. or maybe it was forgeries and sneaking into the Venture Captains office? hehehee who cares? im am in a place of vorship! he thinks as he steps onto the pier and immediately reaches down into his robes and begins sifting through over a dozen holy symbols until he find the one that looks like a tankard. Ahhh here we go, now to head to the biggest bar in the city, and Record, Record and imbibe with the locals.
he makes his way through town and begins to ask about the best bars for the festival.
unfortunately now that he is a little disoriented from his months long boat ride and he manages to ask the right questions, in the wrong language. "privet khoroshiye druz'ya p'yanogo boga! Ne mogli by vy ukazat' mne na luchshiy bar v vashem gorode? pochemu ty tak na menya smotrish'? Sladkiy yachmen'! pochemu vy vse tak smotrite na menya?"
Ivan awoke from a strange dream where he was an alchemist and already in port. Now that he had a chance to orient himself he saw they were not far from the port. he strapped on his belt that held his cutlass and his pistol. Lets go see if the cooky has anything to force down.. once he finds the the Chef he says, "Phivvek right? Anozer society chum sent to observe, report, and cooperate eh? well before we get too caught up in all zat do you have anyting to eat? I vould like to make land with a full stomach yes?" he growls as he looks around the rest of the ship. "'Ave you Identified any of zee ozer field agents?"
Ivan looked at Phivvek for a moment, processing his short, curt responses before responding," Vell I Tought you verr a chef?".
When Yvonne Enters, "Vell, Vell, Vell... Vat 'ave ve 'ere?" he says as he looks Yvonne over,"I vas never told we would have such a Veautiful companion. My'lady, are you familiar vith the traditions of the Caliean faith?" he says while smiling lecherously.
Mort heads down to the galley because apparently that's where the party is. Throughout the voyage here Mort primarily manned the crow's nest as he didn't seem to have the proper hand for all those messed up knots and stupid nautical terms the Captain kept shouting at him. "Mindy and I'll keep watch up in the nest ok? OK?" With a stern look that has melted the knees of many a men, that's how Mort earned his position on the True North.
"What time we eatin' today Chef. Gotta load up on something before we get to shore and drink ourselves to a coma. Been out on this blue desert for too damned long!" He gives the man a hard look He may be quiet, but he's not the worse cook I've chowed from.
Mort leans up against the rail and nods at the other two, mostly just Yvonne, but hell, even an Elf isn't looking too bad after all this time. "You two going to shore too right? Need to know who I may need to lug back to the ship in the morning and who I ain't gotta waste time lookin' for."
Mort stands there in his fancy mithril breast plate with Mindy his sawback greatsword strapped across his back like usual. He's got an impressive rack of weapons tied securely on his backpack, which oddly enough he's already got packed and racked across his back. His piercing eyes stare through the others on the crew with the quiet confidence of being big and strong, not to mention having some sweet hair.
"Well? Hello?" God that accent is driving me nuts...
"That's how I knew we had food. Fresh oysters and a seafood bisque."
"Ahhhh Now I understand, Zat sounds vunderful Chef." he says as he produces his mess kit and holds out the plate and bowl to the chef.
When Mort walks in and says hello,"Yes Hallo, I am quite used to celebrating, I assure you I vill not require any lugging. Please, join us; The chef vas just about to serve some fresh oysters and a seafood bisque. You know vat they say about oysters eh?" he says looking at all 3 of them with a wink.
"Oysters raw? Gawd its like snot, and I don't need any help with whatever 'they' say about them." He does take a seat and grab a bowl of bisque.
"Ya, its somethin' about those teeth that really make men squirm when they see Mindy pulled through their buddy's stomach like a lumberjack fellin' trees. Puddin' in their boots, ripe fer the pickin." He takes a slurp of soup. This ain't gonna look good on the way back up.. I better take it easy until I get some bread.
"Where's that creepy fella with the glasses anyhow? You know I caught him in the bunks sniffin' people's clothes? Freaked me out!"
Ivan looks around; if a cauldron of soup and bucket of oysters is immediately apparent he will serve himself. If it is not he will ask, "Vould you kindly point me to the food zen my good man?"
The True North slowly pulls into Lilywhite, and the ramp is soon lowered to the peer. There, a tall Mwangi Man with close-cropped graying hair wearing a large orange mask that depicts a laughing man’s face. He shifts the party mask up to show you a better view of his face.
“Welcome to the town of Lilywhite, favored home of Cayden Cailean! You find us in the midst of our annual Rum Punch Festival—a truly blessed time for all! If there is any way that I can help you, please let me know.”
Mort strides off the ship with purpose. His possessions loaded into his overly large backpack. "Hey. Thanks for the welcome. Where can we get some of them sweet masks?" Mort eyes the man, taking in his mannerisms and features. "Oh, and where's the best place to 'pray' to Cailean in town?"
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Nerrot, still on the deck staring at the sky, and making sure that the boat is going the right direction, recognizes what he'd been looking for on the map, Land and over there... yup, Lilywhite. He jumps up and scurries through the kitchen, grabing a few oysters and sips of the bisque and giving everyone a short wave and a "We're 'bout ta land!", before rushing to his space on the boat and starting to pack his things.
As he moves back on deck, It becomes clear that the halfling carries himself like a minor nobleman, though short of his somewhat ratty tricorn hat and monocle his hair and clothes suggests he doesn't have much in the way of money. He barrels down the gangplank after the tall man with the backpack nearing his size. At the bottom, he gives a guffaw at Mort's question. "Wantin' ta get in an the festi'ties already? Ye don't waste much time, do ye Mort?"
Mort pauses looking at the tricorn hat Man that hat seems familiar... huh. "We didn't sail half way down the world to sit on a beach and chew oyster snot. I'm here for testing rum and meeting the locals. Let's move!" He lets the man head past if he wants.
And these masks... man won't they help keep any blame fer breakin' a guy's nose or lifting a few skirts at bay!
Ivan eats many oysters and several bowls of bisque, "Compliments to zee Chef." he says as he cleans up his plate and hears Nerrot's announcement of land. He quickly goes to his bunk and stuffs all of his things into his backpack, and lashes the to hang on either side of the pack.
once they are on the dock he says to Nerrot and Mort, "Vell of course vee vaunt to drink zee vrum and fraternize vith zee locals my small man!" he says while fumbling with several necklaces before pulling out his Caylean holy symbol. Once it is prominently displayed, "Let us record our drinking, report our drunken stories, and cooperate as we stumble back to bed!!!" he declares before motioning for Mort to find the bar.
Mort looks at the Elf and raises an eyebrow We'll see who's carrying who back to the ship late tonight or in the morning.
As they head off Mort nods at Phivvek "So ahh what's grig? Better version of grog? Tell me it ain't a worse version.. I don't think it gets worse than grog.."
The man chortles as he lowers his mask down.
Why, you can buy such a mask at many of the venders! My name is Anyabwile Saabwa! Blessing of the cup upon you! If you find yourself bumped or bruised from the festivities, I'll happily help. All in the name of the lucky drunk of course! If I might advise, you can go down the the Cailean's Keg, we're holding contests for the Rum Punch Festival today! There are some great prizes to be had for those who take on the Lucky Drunk's challenge! I'll be here greeting newcomers, but I hope you have a great day!
He holds up a stein to the crew, quaffs it deep, and smiles at them.
Luck of the gods be upon you!
"Good deal man, I'm sure we'll be needin' somethin' by the end of the day. Later." He gives him a stiff fist bump and heads off towards the Cailean's Keg, trying to buy, or pick up a discarded mask on the way.
"Let's go Mindy if s@%* needs winnin' then that's the game I'm playin'." He pulls the straps on his pack tighter across his shoulders and heads in that direction leading the pack.
This large building is clearly marked as both a temple of Cayden Cailean and a functioning tavern. It is well maintained and freshly painted. The doors of its broad doorway are held open with wooden pegs hammered into the ground. There’s no sign the doors have closed anytime recently.
Inside a elderly woman with the sign of Cayden on her robes is calling out as several men and women sit around a table.
ALRIGHT! LET'S BEGIN AGAIN! DRINK!
In the center of the table are 16 drinks of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The men each grab one and down it. Some taking a shot, others a stein or a goblet. They slam down their drinks and grab another... and another...
Soon enough, several of them tap out with a laugh and a large belch, and another does the same. Soon enough, they are down to one man who stands holding his stein aloft as the priestess cheers.
AND FOR THE WINNER OF THE CHALLENGE! YOUR HERO'S STIEN!
She passes him a rather beautifully made silver stein, with intricate designs all over it.
ALRIGHT CHALLENGERS! WHO WANT'S TO TAKE THE LUCKY DRUNK'S CHALLENGE? LET'S SEE IF WE CAN GET A NEW RECORD TODAY! BUT DON'T YOU GET MY FLOORS MESSIER THAN THEY ALREADY ARE!
There is a great laugh at that comment, and it's easy enough to overhear someone talking about the record being set by a legendary sailor with a gut of Iron who managed to last 11 rounds of the game without hurling and then tapping out. It seems throwing up is a disqualification.
Ahh, I see what's going on here.. time to earn myself a stein! "We're gonna play, looks like a game we're born for! Who's with me?" Mort grabs up a particularly appealing drink and waits for the game to start while he waves his shipmates in.
Let's see how many of 'em know their alcohol!
One of the man passes Chef a stien full of a strong stout of some kind.
Here ya go my man! First drink is free!
Once everyone is ready that is playing Mort downs his drink.
"Hey that ain't bad!"
"OHO I tink I vill like ziss game." he says as he take a drink at random,"I vill play vith you Mort!"
Nerrot gives Mort a sidelong glance thinking for a second, before givinga nod. "Yar right, we don't gain anthin' by dillying and dallying around let's go!" He trundles off after the group. He gives a hearty laugh at Ivan's holy symbol after the elf digs it out, quickly fining an identical one hiding out in the confines of his own shirt. "Gat me's one of those taa! Mast 've been made by the same guy I reckon!"
Inside the bar he takes a seat a the lucky drunk table, chuckling at the prospect of a drinking contest. He takes a moment before they start to reach into his hat and pull out a large hairless eight legged creature with a very oddly shaped mouth and no eyes. He sets the thing down with a heavy sounding thump and hands it some greens to suck on. "That's Kanpo! Toughest little bugger I've ever met, and only one I acknoledge as tougher than myself!"
He then reaches out and takes a drink at random, finding a large stien that looks larger than his head in some misguided attempt at showing off.
Mort gives everyone who joins in a hearty thumbs up before having his attention grabbed by the sorry looking half-elf he saw on the ship earlier "'Bout damn time you finally made it outta yer bunk. I was startin' ta think you were dead or somethin'."
Mort slides a shot over his way and winks. "Better join the party, we're way ahead of ya already."
The team raises their glasses to the lucky drunk, as do the other competitors. Mort and Ivan drink their ale with pleasure, but Lorqinor and Yvonne grab drinks only to find out that the stout held within is of a stronger brew than expected! But it's only the first drink, and no one is feeling it to strongly yet!
Chef=.5
Mort=1
Ivan=1
Lorqinor=2
Yvonne=2
"That hits the spot." Breathes Mort as he wipes the foam off his upper lip. "The only thing better would be another right?" He slides another brew into his left hand as soon as he slams down the empty one before it.