A strong wind permeates the air causing the ship to creak as it nudges the weather-worn dock. The taste of salt tickles your tongue as you board the aging vessel. The acrid stench of fish entrails batters your senses as you work your way to a higher level on the ship. From here, the air is fresher and the view from the port side is wide open sea.
10 days prior …
It is early in the month of Desnus and the City of Almas is bustling with activity. The spring air is mild and the snow melt has the Tamuth, Kernite, and Moulton rivers flowing through the city waterways with cold mountain water. All three will join the Andoshen River and empty into the Inner Sea.
The Portside District has merchant ship and caravan goods flowing in and out of the city on a daily basis. The outdoor market is heavy with foot traffic as various races fill the area. There are fresh meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables to be purchased in abundance, and all forms of wares and services can be found. Children scamper about eyeing up a cookie to swipe when the local baker isn’t looking and other city folk move from vender to vender sampling local and exotic foods.
There is excitement along the docks as the Peregrine just arrived in the marina. This ship will take a second group of colonists on a six-week journey along the Inner Sea, passing between the broken Arch of Aroden, then heading north on the Arcadian Ocean on to its final destination of the Island of Ancorato and the newly formed colony of Talmandor’s Bounty. Many supplies and cargo are being loaded onto the three-masted sailing ship as dock workers and ship hands work together to fit crates and barrels in its hold and along its three decks.
Ten days hence the Peregrine will start it’s journey, and you will be there ready to set sail.
But for now, the day is young and full of possibilities. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?
A figure in elaborate clerical vestments and an expressionless iron mask emerges from the dockmaster's office. Some passers-by slow and stare, but in a city as large as Almas, and especially along the docks, there's far more exotic sights to take in. From the outside, it looks like the figure--a man by build--is probably waiting calmly for something.
But behind the mask, sweat slowly trickles down Yraelzin's face despite the mild spring air and breezes from the sea. Ten days . . . ten days! he thinks. I must have confused the departure date. What am I going to do in this city for so long? Where am I going to sleep?
The man opens a belt pouch and starts sorting through coins. Stupid! The Heirarchs gave me a stipend for the trip and I spent three-fourths of it on a fancy underwater crossbow of all things! Hopefully I can find a boarding house that's not too expensive. Yraelzin sighs, frustrated and apprehensive. And why doesn't anybody want to talk about the Living God? I think that one woman stuck her tongue out at me! It was never like this back on the farm or in Thronestep.
The robed figure starts pacing back and forth. Maybe they'd let me sleep on the ship until it departs? What do they call bedrooms on ships--bunks or berths or something. Well, it won't hurt to ask. I guess it's like Prime Mentrex always says, "Razmir will show the path, but his faithful must still take the first step."
The man in the iron mask approaches the Peregrine and looks around for someone in authority to speak to.
”Com’on you sea snails, those barrels are’nt gonna roll up that plank themselves. Use those ropes and put your backs into it.” , bellows a large half-orc in front of the Peregrine. His wide green-tinted arms gesture this way and that displaying how to properly hoist the cargo. ”If we get this lot done by lunch, grogs on me.” A hearty laugh erupts and onlookers notice a disjointed, blackened mouth imprisioned by two lower tusks reaching almost to his flattened nose.
As soon as she gets a name and location for the ship she and the other colonists will be embarking on Fenna goes to find it, detouring only to buy a potted rosebush of a size she can manage to carry. If she were crew, she wouldn’t bother to hurry. She knows well enough that all things concerning the crew are decided by pecking order, a combination of length of service on the ship and prestige.
Passengers on the other hand have to iron things out during the rough and tumble of boarding. Fenna had enough of crappy berth assignments as crew, and very low in the order crew at that, to know she isn’t going put up with weeks of it again since she likely could do better with a little cheekiness applied. She knows just how to get aboard, joking with the sailors posted that she wants to get a measure of the ship’s quality so she’ll know how many prayers to offer up in a temple before setting sail. It isn’t untrue either.
Bountiful Venture Company, Lumber Consortium, it’s all the same. In bed with the government and protected by it of course. Likely as anything else they’ll ship us out on a leaky bucket to save a little silver. If we go down in a swell it’ll be all surprised hands in the air and ‘who could have predicted? How could we have known?’
Fenna gives the ship a tour, mostly while chatting with the crew. The truth of the matter is that Fenna knows just enough to know the ship’s seaworthiness is something she should look into. She doesn’t know how to actually inspect it. Instead she relies on the crew’s confidence and spirits to answer her question. They don’t seem worried, so Fenna decides she shouldn’t be worried. Final assessment: Adequate for the task. Could be better, could be worse.
As she finishes up, she begs to leave behind the potted rosebush she has been hoisting about the whole time, complaining that ”It’s really getting heavy and I have a lot of walking to do yet. Could I leave it down in the passengers’ quarters? It’s luggage for transport and has to come on board anyway. Please?”
Cleared to do so she goes down to pick out a spot for herself. Not near the door, too many people passing by for the loo at all hours. Not in the middle of a row of hammocks, but not on a side where the boards will creak or the roof will leak…
When she has her spot, Fenna plants the pot and its contents there to reserve it. She gives the rose bush a good watering and leaves the two waterskins she’d brought along for the purpose. Her mission accomplished, Fenna bids the sailors goodbye until time for departure and goes back to her flat to pack.
Fenna passes through crowded streets on her way back home. Countless conversations overlap each other, but her half-elven ears pick up a few interesting details.
Fenna doesn't really give the conversations much thought, busy as she is putting together a mental list of things to do and get before leaving. In aggregate though the stuff does sound kind of weird.
She chooses the loudest talking gossip she can find to home in on. Usually loud talkers want to advertise how much they know, and don't have good filters...
"Pardon me, but are you saying three kids have gone missing in just a night and a day?"
Yraelzin strides up to the half-orc. "Hail, crewman! This emissary of the Living God comes now to say unto you: where are the quarters for the one known as Yraelzin, Priest of the Third Step?" The masked young man wrings his hands nervously behind his back. I hope 'crewman' was right. Maybe he's a 'mate' or a 'bosun' or something. Why do sailors have to make things so complicated?
An older woman looks up at Fenna from her sitting position. ”People always disappearin’ round here. Most found down river washed up on the banks with their throats slit; some … never found again.” Her eyes scan left, then right and whispers, ”You know how it goes. These young folks …” she pauses and looks at you before whispering again looking directly at Fenna, ”Young folk like you. Be careful out there. These kids talk too much. Before you know it, the merchant houses and these consortiums get wind and well ya know kqriiik.” The woman makes that sound as she draws her index finger across her throat.
”Oh Margie,” the woman’s friend slaps at the air with her right arm. ”Always so dramatic. What she means is your generation has such zeal. These kids probably ran off after reading the latest story by that author, oh what’s his name, Garnett Flaverdee and his made-up stories on Inner Sea adventures. These kids will realize how tough life is outside the city and return home as soon as they run out of food.” She nods her head agreeing with herself.
The women look at each other is disagreement, then simultaneously look at Fenna wondering who she is going to believe.
”Living god, HA,” the half-orc shouts out with no levity in his voice as he looks down at Yraelzin. [b]”Quarters aren’t ready yet, and either is the ship. We’re still working here.” As he says this, a female half-elf, who is obviously not part of the crew, steps off the boarding plank and walks away from the docks. The half-orc sighs and smiles, ”Well that one sweet talked the crew. Doubt you could do the same metal face. Then again with this crew … if you hide your face they may not care. Been at sea a looooooooong time. RIGHT BOYS!” He shouts and lets out another bellowing laugh that seems to shake the dock. A few crew members shout back, ”AYE,” as they continue their work.
The half-orc stops laughing, realizing he is the only one, then softens his tone. "The name’s Raearg, Bosun Raearg. Tell ya what, I had a few young lads I use as runners not show up today and I’m short staffed. I’ll let you on board if you work for it. If you run this order to Renley’s Meats over in the Tamuth District you got a place to sleep tonight.” He pulls a rolled parchment from his pocket and presents it to you.
His face flushing behind the mask, Yraelzin takes the parchment, and nods. "Very well, Bosun Raearg. I shall deliver this missive promptly. But I have noted your regrettable temerity in words and tone. In the presence of His Messengers, it would do well to remember that those who tread softly tread wisely." Everyone outside of Razmiran is so mean! the masked priest thinks as he strides away from the docks, forgetting he hadn't asked directions to the Tamuth District. And who would have thought the world had so many heathens in it!
The two men walk out of the dockside tavern known as the Roaring Toad. They have flagons in hand and are singing a Caydenite drinking song.
"And what of the price?
And what of the cost?
Too late to ask that,
Lest all should be lost!
So we charged to the fight,
And sent them to flight,
They'll rue the day
That our paths they had crossed."
They toast and drink, walking towards the docks.
The older man is in his late thirties. He is formally dressed in the attire of an Eagle Knight. The other is a few years younger, but looks more weathered. There are streaks of grey in his black hair. He is powerfully built, with a somewhat ruffled appearance. By their appearance, it would seem they are brothers.
They talk for a bit.
"Sorry I won't be here when you leave, Brannart. I have to go help with the Nirmathi issue. They've having hobgoblin trouble. We haven't been approved to intervene directly, but shipments of supplies, and beefing up our border guards..."
"Get that sorted out, will you? Good on you, Hamish. And hey, thanks for seeing me off."
"When it's actually time to go, Father and Mother, with Ailis and the kids, will be here. I just wanted to have that last - for now - drink with you. And Brannart? This is going to be good for you."
The Eagle Knight looks his brother in the eyes. The younger brother holds his gaze for a moment, then looks down.
"Yeah. Yeah." He shakes his head. "Yes! Okay. It'll be good. I'm good, Hamish."
"Honor her memory, Brannart. She'd want you to be happy."
The younger man fidgets with something around his neck, and nods. The brothers embrace. They walk over to the horse-rail, where two soldiers had been watching the Eagle Knight's horse as well as some gear. The Eagle Knight mounts up and leaves. The younger man takes the gear - most notably a long polearm - and walks down the dock to the Peregrine, with a bit more swagger now. He wears a breastplate and has a sword at his waist. He carries the trident-like polearm in his hands, with a pack and crossbow on his back.
He calls out to the half-orc. "Bosun Raearg, is it?"
"Greetings. I'll be on this ship. Perhaps I could stow my ranseur and some of the other gear in the hold? Not much need for a weapon like this in Almas."
He will hand a silver to whichever dockhand takes his gear.
Brannart takes a look at the ship, to see if everything appears in order. The sails, the lines, the hull. While he doesn't have the skill of his sister Ailis, who is more dedicated to the family trade, Brannart does know a bit about ship-building and sailing.
Fenna figures there's a portion of the truth in the answers both of the women give her. Her own life in the pasts couple of years seem to bear that out. But one of them is giving her the possibility of teasing more out, while the other's answer closes down the conversation. So she opts to side with the former rather than the latter.
Fenna leans in conspiratorially, eyes wide. "It's so true! I know first hand how dirty the Consortium is. My own beau wound up in the River Foam with his throat cut! Poor Alwin! I'm sure the merchant houses are just as bad! They need to be brought to justice! But what could a couple of boys that age have seen and where would they have seen it?"
And just to goad her on a bit, and not shut the other woman out completely...
"But the girl, that doesn't sound like it has anything to do with the others. Just a coincidence right? Anyone know the soldier's name? I mean this is a specific person and not just speculation right?"
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A tall, red headed half elf with a beautiful long bow walks toward the docks, with long strides. Her eyes looks all around her, but she doesn't seem surprised or overtly curious about her surroundings and what's happening.
She get out of the path of the two drunken lads who come out from the local tavern, and then get a look at the vessel, wrapped in her casual but warm clothes
I'm looking forward to get onboard the Peregrine. It is a valiant ship. It will be great to see new horizons, to explore new places. My name is… oh, ever mind, just call me Sho, everyone ends calling me that.
In truth, the men do not seem to be drunk. In a mostly celebratory mood, but neither staggering nor slurring.
They make way for the elf with polite nods.
About 100 yards North up the river there are suddenly two shapes moving rapidly Southward toward the docks. As they near closer dockhands and observes notice that one of the shapes is humanoid with arms and legs doing a breaststroke with deep dives almost like a dolphin. However close behind is a sight familiar to the workers and sailors that starts to cause worry. A gray dorsal fin and a sharp tail fin breaking the surface tension. Guards and sailors ready spears and harpoons while onlookers scream. As the figures near the docks the humanoid in the lead goes under for a moment and than breaks the surface and grabs the edge of the dock and pulls itself up in a smooth motion. The two trailing fins quickly sink below the visible surface narrowly missed by some spears from men on the docks. The dock guard attention now on the figure that had emerged. Sitting on the edge of the dock is a man shaped creature with sea green skin with splotches of icy blue-white on his chest and underarms. Long seaweed green hair dripping down it's back (some of it may even be seaweed). It takes a dripping wet pack off of its back and drops a small arsenal of weapons as well that it had tied up in a bundle attached to the bag. He rummages through the bag and pulls out a dripping pouch of fish heads and and entrails and tosses them into the water. Suddenly from beneath the depths a shark jumps and catches most of the thrown chum before splashing back into the river and thrashing at what it missed in its jump.
Finally the man gets up off the edge of the dock noticing all the fierce looks and weapons pointed his way. "Are you fish?" He doesn't actually wait for a reply. "He only eats fish! Put away your weapons. All you men are so quick to fight and never take the time to feel the current." The man gathers his things off the dock while shaking excess water from himself. "This is the vessel set for Azlant yes?" He takes any and all looks as conformation. "I am sorry I am late. I sent word from Korvosa a few months ago but did not wait for a response I figured there is no way you would deny a marine expert such as myself when traveling to strange shores. Truly I had hoped to make the first voyage but I underestimated how long it would take me to swim from the Lost Coast down through the Inner Sea and and now South to here. Where on the deck can I set my blanket I don't like lodging below deck?" This time he looks around waiting for a reply from all the confused faces and spear points.
Yraelzin makes his way through Almas asking directions to the Tamuth District and Renley’s Meats to anyone who will talk to him. He mostly got directional finger points in a general direction. The most common response he got, and he heard this a lot, ”Renley’s is in Mugget. You’ll know you’re getting’ close by the smell.”
Then the masked believer understood once he crossed over Balmore’s Canal, an artificial waterway being used to dump all type of animal and resident waste. The smell was acrid and repulsive.
Once over the canal, Mugget seems like a butcher’s paradise. Animal parts hang everywhere in various stages of cutting, defeathering, and skinning.
Finally, Yraelzin, makes it to a store front butcher. The sign outside has a painted boar and reads Renley’s Meats.
Raearg looks over when Brannart addresses him by name. Confusion quickly turns to recognition, ”Brannart!’ he bellows through his tusks. ”So good to see you. Men,” he shouts, ”This man is a true hero of the Worldwound Crusade. Help him with his gear. We’ll have a legend on board.”
After a sailor’s greeting and a pat on the back, the Bosun’s voice lowers and his eyes look askance. He hesitates for a moment, but then asks in a low rumbly voice, ”Since you are here, would you mind doing something for me. Hate to ask, but I need someone with some skill. I had some reliable young lads not show up to work today, and I’m a bit worried. It is not like them to miss when we’re in port. There’s some rumors of young folk gone missin’. I want to make sure the’re all right. Would you mind takin a look around Tamuth. Surname is Tesk. The’re Brayden’s boys.’
”Oh Dearie," Margie says to Fenna, "so sorry to hear of your love. You best just stay out of it and move on. You’re throat is way to pretty to be split. But, I know youngin’s like you aren’t gonna leave it alone. If any of these speakings is true, all of the disappearances have been happening in the Tamuth District from what I hear. If you need to know, I would start there.’
Sho walks along the docks admiring the sailing ships and reading their names. 'Gozreh’s Blessing' 'Pascal’s Wager' 'The Silent Asp' 'Shelyn’s Masterpiece' 'Peregrine'
'Finally my destination', she thinks as she exhales with relief and introduces herself to a crewman. To her right, her half-elf ears pick up conversation regarding disappearances in the city.
Brannart looks a bit uneasy at the praise. "That all was a long time ago," he says with some sadness. Four years, ten months, and six days since I lost her, but who's counting?
At the Bosun's request, he nods. "Anything I can do. I'll get right on it."
He leaves his ranseur and crossbow, as walking around a civilized town with such large weapons would be unusual, and he leaves his pack with most of his gear (i.e. the Pathfinder's Kit with all of its trail rations and bedroll). He is still armed with his armor, shield, sword and javelins as he heads to the Tamuth district. There, he will start by seeking out (in no particular order) constables, peddlers, streetwalkers, urchins, and beggars. With a few silvers to tip any of the latter four categories. The people who are often on the street and might have seen a thing or two.
Shortly after Brannart leaves, Raearg gets back to work managing the loading of cargo near the bow. His ears perk up as he hears shouts down the docks toward the aft. He runs in that direction just in time to see spears, harpoons, and crossbow bolts directed toward the water, “What the”, Raearg barely grumbles out as a blue-skinned, green-haired humanoid propels from the river.
”Weapons down”, the Bosun shouts as he waves parallel arms high to low. Seeing an Undine once or twice in his day, the Half-orc grins making the tips of his tusks almost touch. “Well you sure do know how to make an entrance. HUH!” he guffaws. ”Tell ya what, go catch me some dinner and you can have your pick of any spot on deck.”
Malakar nods at the half-orc drops all of his gear accept for a spear and than dives off the dock into the river again.
Malakar easly spears several sea bass and collects dozens of clams. He moves closer to the estuary where the Andoshen River spits into the Inner Sea in hopes to find some lobster. During his swim, Malakar spots a Giant Crab attempting to hide, but as Malakar sees it, the crab also sees Malakar. It breaks out of its sandy blanket and moves toward Malakar intent on a meal. The crab is about 3 feet across it has two sharp looking pincers.
Knowing that the crab saw him first Malakar braces to be pinched as this wasn't his first encounter with large crustaceans.
Fenna mock-considers Margie's advice for a moment, so as to not insult the woman. Then she fills them in on what she'd decided well before.
"Oh things aren't like they were when Alwin was murdered anymore. I just mustered out of the navy, and I learned a few things about handling myself while I was in."
"I've got a couple of days or so to kill waiting for my ship to depart, so maybe I'll go ask a few questions and see what turns up. Getting a couple of kids out of trouble, if they're even in it, would be a fine way to spend a little down time don't you think?"
After a 'thank you' to the ladies for the gossip and advice, Fenna goe back to her flat to pick up her boarding pike. Paulus Rannick, Captain of the Spectral had let her take one from the ship as a souvenir when she departed. Fenna thinks it should work just as well dockside as aboard a ship.
She then sets off for Tamuth to see what's up.
The crab moves through the water with its little legs kicking below and its claws raised toward Malakar. As it nears, Malakar lashes out with his spear driving it right through the shell and skewering the creature. Claws tense and shake for a moment, then fall limp. As the propelling legs stop, Malakar feels the full aquatic weight of the creature on its spear, but the Undine if confident he can bring the meal back to the surface for a royal feast tonight.
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Sho listens with more attention to the information about disappearances
This isn't a good thing. Maybe I should see if I can help to find out what happened. I don't know much about that city, but finding what happened and where the disappeared might have gone would be a great way to discover it
She walks toward the bosun
Sorry, I couldn't overhear you talking about someone missing. Elven ears are quite sensible, you know... Would you mind if I try to help finding them? I usually hunt in the wilderness, but if my skills can be useful in urban settings, I have no rights not to try finding a trail
Fenna makes her way toward the Tamuth District. She knows she’s getting close when her nose starts to twitch from the smell. She has a name to follow up on, Tesk, Brayden Tesk. As she walks through the animal part infested streets, she notices a cloaked humanoid hiding his/her face behind a metal mask. He seems to be approaching a store-front butcher. ’Did she just see him at the docks talking with the Bosun?’, she questions herself.
Raearg turns his attention to Sho, ”Never turn down the offer of help”, the half-orc states. ”See that lad?”, he points down the docks toward Brannart’s back, ”That man with the javelins on his back? His name is Brannart. A true hero of this town and knows the area well. I’m sure if you hurry you can catch up to him. He’s a good lad. Just introduce yourself and let him know you spoke with me, Raearg, and that I sent ya. Let him know you want to help. He’s very capable, but it doesn’t hurt to have back-up.”
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Behind his mask, Yraelzrin wrinkles his nose at the stench. Pity how those without the enlightenment of the Living God must toil in such filth. Nonetheless, he pushes open the door to Renley's Meats and hands the order parchment to the first employee he sees. "From the bosun of the Peregrine. Make haste, but supply quality. A ship may take weeks to reach its destination, but the reputation of an establishment like this can circle the world in mere days." Perfect--just how the Prime Mentrex would have said it. Set the tone, expect obedience, and listeners will comply. People like this want to be told what to do because it saves them from the hard work of thinking for themselves.
Hmm, what's up with this guy popping up again?"
It doesn't occur to Fenna the man might have any kind of business with the Peregrine resembling hers given his appearance.
"What's with that mask? Creepy for sure. Some kind of weird cultist I bet. And visiting a butcher's shop. He's probably cutting kids up and selling them as meat! Following up on Tesk can wait, I have to follow this one and see what they're up to.
Fenna stays out of sight and watches the masked man.
Malakar takes a quick swim to the surface to take a breath then goes back down to collect his catch. He does his best with the burden to get back to the boat. In an act to be more impressive he only loads the fish and clams on to the dock with a sullen face before diving down to return with the crab. dropping it haphazardly on top of his other fare before stating. "I think I have found not a king crab but the 'emperor'. I don't tolerate waste of life so I hope your men are hungry and, you have plenty of butter." That last part said with a wide grin on his face with his muscled arms behind his head. "If this is sufficient I would like my place on deck to be on the bridge behind the navigation wheel so I can keep an eye on my friend razor as he tracks our vessel along it's voyage. Also on that not before we set sail proper let me know so I can mark the vessel for him to track since with good winds we may outpace his ability to swim after us, not to mention he needs rest and the boat doesn't."
Nymbleth stood on the docks watching the bustling activity around the Peregrine. His hood is drawn up to conceal his fiendish visage but his tail dances, with a mind of its own, from side to side, declaring to all that look upon him that he is more than human. Never taking his eye off the ship he grabs his tail bringing it under control and bemoans, the tail always betrays me.
He continues to watch, in fascination, at the organized chaos that surrounds the ship as he simultaneously calculates how long the journey to Talmandor’s Bounty will take. Too Long, the hooded tiefling concludes when he finishes his calculations. He immediately turns his thoughts on ways to make the journey quicker, removing a worn leather bound book from his jacket pocket and begins to record his ideas. He looks up from his writing from time to time to gaze upon the Peregrine and after filling two pages with his cramped script he puts the manuscript away.
The ship is ready but I am not, he mutters aloud to himself. As if startled by his own voice Nymbleth begins striding away from the dock towards the market, This is my last chance for provisions.
The man in the iron mask wearing gray robes turns and strides directly out of the butcher shop. Now, let's hope I can find my way back to the ship!
The half-orc stares wide-eyed in wonder at the impressive catch. Then a toothy grin springs from his face as he looks at Malakar,”You tellin’ me there’s no butter down there?”, he jests. ”HUH! I like you fish man! Boys these sea vittles aren’t gonna cook themselves. It’s break time. Let’s make a fire”. Briefly turning back to Malakar, “Just stay out of the Captain’s way, and you can have any spot you want.” His brow then furrows for a moment, ”Hey, what you mean ‘Mark the Boat’? You ain’t gonna pee on it are you?”
Nymbleth makes his way to the Market Square. A multitude of products from domestic and exotic foods to weapons and armor can be purchased at stands, pavilions, and store-front shops. You do notice one stand closed already. The fletcher, you are assuming due to the carved arrow across the front, is closed already. A curled up piece of parchment is nailed to part of the stand in plain sight about five feet off of the ground. The top of the parchment is attached, but it appears that the bottom portion ripped through it’s nail and curled back in on itself.
The Tamuth District, and Mugget in general is typically a noisy place. The braying and mooing of animals suddenly cut short are heard more often than not. Blood soaks with dirt or finds its way into the canal along the few weathered cobbled areas of the district. Over the animal sounds and the perpetual sound of cleaver chopping …
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After a few words exchanged with Brannart , and introducing herself to whoever might go with them to seek the missing persons, Sho walks into the streets of Magnimar.
The market district is full of sounds, sights and smells, but someone makes a point into being heard
Have you heard that too? Someone is looking for missing children
Rubbing his chin as he reads the parchment Nymbleth wonders, where would I be off to on such a fine day? Tail twitching excitedly, caught up in the mystery, he searches his memory for the layout and attractions of the city’s districts and possible destinations for the children. The tiefling quickly rules out several locations.
Two boys and a girl shouldn’t be hard to find, he thinks, abandoning his shopping.
Through the muffling of his hook and mask, Yraelzin can barely make out the sound of someone shouting about missing children. He finds the man and addresses him sternly. "Quiet yourself! Speak plainly and without deception: why do you fear for your children?" As Prime Mentrex said, 'To win over the poor, you must first show them just how indispensable you are--then, when they're ready to listen, the words of the Living God shall nourish their souls.'
Fenna waits for the masked, um person, to pass then she follows. She hears the man calling about his missing children, but fortunately doesn't have to make a choice since the masked man walks in the direction of the caller.
She's right close by when the masked person finds and begins to accost the man who was calling out.
Probably trying to silence a witness by intimidating him she thinks after hearing the tone of voice the masked man (she now realizes) uses as he talks to him.
Fenna slips up from behind and taps the masked man very hard on the shoulder with a very pointy finger.
"Hey, why are you threatening this man? What do you know about all these missing children?"
She gives the masked man a hard, determined look. "And don't BS me, I can smell a lie a mile off."
Brannart turns to Sho. The warrior is more serious now, with a mission to do.
"A tracker? Great to have you along. I never mastered the skill myself. I saw you by the docks, didn't I? My name is Brannart Teskerwill."
He offers his hand to shake.
"Yes, but not the children we are looking for, I don't think - we are looking for two, and this man is looking for three. But could be connected, so let's find out."
He approaches the man who is calling for help. He turns to the masked man and says "Who are you to give this poor fellow orders? I think you better answer the lady's questions." He puts his hand on the hilt of his sword.
That giant had the right of it, people in masks cannot be trusted...
He turns to the man who was asking for help. "Brannart Teskerwill. I hope I can help. What is your name? And when did you last see your kids?"
Malakar lets out a laugh at the idea presented by the Half-orc. "while that might work I simply intend to wipe a few drops of my blood on the boat below the waterline so that Razor can track a scent he recognizes. Also I am sure I will be no distraction to the captain. As you can see I am quite strong and will help with the riggins and sails if needed as long as you provide me with instructions on what to do. Other than that I only plan to be at the back of the bridge to look over the rail to make sure Razor keeps up when we lower the sails to coast or rest and of course to sleep under the stars and feel the wind and spray on my skin."
Nymbleth considers the names on the parchment and quickly puts a few things together. The Tiefling realizes that this Fletcher stand is owned by none other Brayden Tesk. Tesk is well-known in Andoran for his fletching technique and the quality of his craft. Nymbleth also remembers that Tesk lives in Mugget which is part of the Tamuth District here in Almas.
The shouting man looks worried and somewhat confused as several individuals approach him, seemily all at once, ”My Egwenene”,he stammers, ”she’s 16, and last I saw her was in her room last night. She was getting ready for bed, just reading some letters from a boy she likes. You know teenagers; can’t keep them home forever. And I am told my twin boys, Perrin and Matrum never showed at the docks for work. Not like them. Good boys. Hard workers. I had to shut down my stand and try to find them. When I got to the house they weren’t there and either was my sweet Egwenene. She’s usually there getting dinner ready. Not like her either. I don’t know where she could be. I wish I knew the name of the boy. Maybe those letters … I should get home. Maybe they came back. I sure hope they are there” He quickly turns and heads down an alley filled with weather-beaten homes.
Daylight is losing it't grip as dusk fast approaches. It will be night soon.