The seven moons are still pale shadows in the sky when you make your way down to the docks district of La Grande, grand capitol (Ha!) of the Middle Nations.
Seven moons: one white, one black, one green, one pink, one blue, one red and one gold. Specific conjunctions are supposed to symbolize good luck for specific occasions. A Grand Conjunction, when all the moons line up together, is supposed to be the ultimate omen of black magic.
But on this day, the seven moons are hanging loose in the sky -- and they are all at waning gibbous. That's actually a fairly rare sight, but not a very auspicious one. In the Lunar Dictionary, that supposedly means the balance of good and bad luck is at a level best described as "Meh", with a growing inclination to bad.
Still, you head on down to the docks, keeping an eye out for footpads. It's an ungodly hour to be outside, but you pretty much have to be. The Guildmaster was very definite about you getting to the docks at the crack of dawn, so he can send you down the Wazoo, and on to your very important (Double hah!) job in the tiny village of Rameii. (He may have mentioned that if you weren't there to be sent down the river at the crack of dawn, he'd crack your skull and throw you into the river, instead.)
At least the air is still pleasantly cool. With the Middle Nations in the grip of high summer, it'll be baking before noon. And you, you lucky few, are going to be stuck out on a river-boat when the sun reaches zenith.
You messed up. You know you messed up. You know how you messed up. And now you have to pay the piper. A tiny flyspeck village's Adventurers' Guild branch office has fallen silent, and the local nobleman has complained about it. Nobody's manning the quest board, nobody's taking up quests, nobody is sending reports to the main office in La Grande. So it's up to you... down to you... it's you. You have to take a week-long trip down the big river to Rameii, re-open the Guild branch office and staff it until such time that the Council of Guildmasters relieves you of this oppressive duty.
Hooray.
The docks district is already in full swing in spite of the early hour. River-boats are being unloaded and re-loaded. Sailors and porters are bustling about. City officials with serious clipboards are shouting orders. Freshly-unloaded cattle from the farm country both upstream and downstream is making a ruckus. Carts both laden and empty are trundling about.
When you get to Pier 13 (Triple hah, such a coincidence...) you're almost pleasantly surprised to see this is an area of relative calm.
Almost.
The river-boat lying at anchor here looks like it was freshly-painted and then lacquered with royal blue on the keel, sanguine red on the paddle-wheels, and creamy white detailing on the deck and castle.
Golden letters on the keel proclaim this vessel to be 'SHAmlegger's Prize'. ...Yeah, you have no insight on that. Who or what in the cold, dark, echoing depths of the Underworld is a 'shamlegger'?
You are far more definite about the two people waiting for you at the pier.
One of them is the La Grande Adventurers' Guild Main Branch Guildmaster. An impressive title for a man who was drummed out of the army on charges of "being unnecessarily nasty to recruits" and never misses an opportunity to say out loud that he wishes he was still in the army whenever he gets a drink in him. Any drink. Even the non-alcoholic ones.
That being said, you can't deny that Guildmaster Decker is incredibly fit for someone of his years and work experience, and he runs a tight ship. The middle-aged Vitor has a face only a mother could love, but he manages to cut a dignified figure anyway, and he's a stickler for taking good care of his equipment and for beating basic survival skills into rookie adventurers who sign up at the main branch. Under his tenure, corruption at the Guild's main branch has taken a nosedive, at the same time that corporeal punishment has shot way up. Some day, historians may find a connection between these two facts, but here and now, most people prefer not to upset the Guildmaster.
You prefer not to further upset the Guildmaster, who seemed on the verge of either a heart attack or subjecting you to bloody murder once he found out what you'd done. He almost bit through his cigar! Seeing you on the approach, you feel he might be inclined to bite through the one he's smoking right now.
The other person is known to you and very frightening in her own right. You've heard stories and seen her out and about at the main branch office, but fortunately she doesn't talk much to anyone beneath management level. You feel very fortunate that you haven't actually climbed the ranks whenever you see her.
Middle Priestess Helvenge is slender, beautiful in a cool sort of way, and wears robes of iron-coloured silk that somehow manage to flatter her Gelnet features. Her white mage's stole is of resplendent golden and iron-coloured thread, set with small beads of sparkling obsidian. She is also a ranking priestess in the Order of Athelgarde, goddess of cities and civilization. Athelgarde is not a patron of the Adventurers' Guild, so it seems odd that Helvenge would be appointed as the main branch office's official chaplain... until you remember that it's Athelgarde we're talking about here. Of course her faithful would try to get some form of control over the Guild. They try to get control over everything that they can get their hands on, especially in the big cities.
There are faint flecks of rust on the heavy mace that always hangs from Helvenge's belt, which are whispered to be all that remains of adventurers who got drunk and said something disparaging about Athelgarde, or violated Guild rules too egregiously... and she's still walking around instead of having been murdered in an alley by angry adventurers. Let that thought sink in for a moment, if you dare.
The fact that her hands are currently occupied by a big, fancy-looking mahogany box with a gilded clasp and edging, makes you feel slightly safer around the woman.
"Line up!" Decker barks as you come shuffling up to him and Priestess Helvenge.
He looks you up and down and growls like an angry dog, then puffs angrily on his cigar.
"At least you're here; I can call off the contract killers. Listen up! Your mission, in case you'd forgotten: take this here boat down to Rameii, re-open the branch office, staff it, get it back up and running, send reports. Do a good job, and in a year I'll see about getting you replaced there and reinstated here. Everything clear?"
Priestess Helvenge clears her throat, causing Decker to grimace.
In spite of this, he takes over the box the priestess had been carrying with something approaching good manners, flips up the lid and holds it out to you. On a layer of black velvet, you see seven holy symbols.
Crafted of silver and gold, each lacquered in the appropriate colours, you see before you the symbols of Aku-Dev, Amarra Amarramee, Ash-Kta, Laut-Hawyn, Olova Urei, Rak-Ulas and Ulla. All seven patrons of the Adventurers' Guild, neatly lined up in a row... when their faithful and presumably the gods themselves would be far more likely to have a row if forced to spend a lot of time together in close confines.
Decker closes the lid and brusquely pushes the box into your hands.
"As the Rameii branch office has fallen silent, we're assuming the staff is dead and the building looted," he says. "When you set the office to rights, hang up the seals to invoke our patrons' blessings. Oh."
The Guildmaster pulls a scroll from inside his breastplate and hands it over.
"The boat will be putting in stops at Fallingdowns and Proxissima, two minor cities, to pick up passengers and cargo. During the lay-over, visit the Adventurers' Guild branch offices in those cities. Get this scroll signed by the local Guildmasters, and blessed by the local chaplain. Put the scroll into the box when you've got all the signatures and blessings, then burn it after putting the seals up in the Rameii branch office. Don't lose the seals! If you don't have the proper seals when you get to Rameii, you can't formally re-open the branch office, and the loss of revenue will be coming out of your hides. Literally, I will tan you all for boot leather! Is that clear? Everything understood? Any questions?"
Nusku brushed off the supposed threat from the guildmaster. Decker was no threat but the Su-Rog needed the work and well after the incident, that was hard to come by. So he made his way to the dock to report in. He listened, though half-heartedly as the mission was briefed. He nodded his head in understanding. "I got it. Let's just get this over with."
Myriad hustles through the dark city to make the morning appointment. She's drawn her cloak tight against herself, her face deep within the shadows of its voluminous hood. Best not to be recognized around here.
She slows once she gets to the docks, not exactly eager to begin, despite the haste which brought her here. She eventually trudges over to the assembled group begrudgingly falls into line. She looks over the boat and scowls, an expression that only deepens as the briefing goes on. Is that heap even going to make it down the Wazoo? She listens to the blowhard ramble on, glancing around the docks the whole time and petulantly refusing to make eye contact. One he finally finishes, she gives him a sidelong glance and grinds out a question, as if to challenge Decker's displeasure with her own. "What are the names of these Guildmasters we have to find?"
Dyrmworth Stanton Copperbeard The First strokes his beard with sage somberness and an attempt to look as wise as he is supposed to. No need to dwell on his scandal, a gentleman he remains.
A setback. It's just a setback. He reminds himself, A copperbeard rises.
Helvenge's presence does not set him at ease but he nods to her as if she were a peer. Sure, Gelnet can out arrogant almost anyone, but the Dwarves take pride in holding their own, in dignity.
A dignity somewhat dimmed when Decker barks at them like they were school children and not the brightest in the class at that.
But when the symbols are shown, his eyes light up, realization Celestial Seals? My word.
He nods respectfully to Ulla's in particular.
The Guildmaster pulls a scroll from inside his breastplate and hands it over.
"The boat will be putting in stops at Fallingdowns and Proxissima, two minor cities, to pick up passengers and cargo. During the lay-over, visit the Adventurers' Guild branch offices in those cities. Get this scroll signed by the local Guildmasters, and blessed by the local chaplain. Put the scroll into the box when you've got all the signatures and blessings, then burn it after putting the seals up in the Rameii branch office. Don't lose the seals! If you don't have the proper seals when you get to Rameii, you can't formally re-open the branch office, and the loss of revenue will be coming out of your hides. Literally, I will tan you all for boot leather! Is that clear? Everything understood? Any questions?"
Drymsworth coughs gently into his hand, "Indeed, good sir, indeed." He says with a delicate drawl. "I trust you have these same orders in writing , proper contracts and so forth, and we'll be getting our own copy?" And he clarifies, "Consider it a religious ritual for me."
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She listens to the blowhard ramble on, glancing around the docks the whole time and petulantly refusing to make eye contact. Once he finally finishes, she gives him a sidelong glance and grinds out a question, as if to challenge Decker's displeasure with her own. "What are the names of these Guildmasters we have to find?"
Decker gives Myriad a look of loathing, but answers her question all the same. "Guildmaster Haggerty's in charge of the Fallingdowns branch office. He's a failed aristocrat, from what I hear; got pulled down for letting down the side in some big plot-"
Helvenge clears her throat again, a little louder than before, and Decker glowers like a bear with a sore tooth.
"He's a Gelnet. A paper-pusher. Wouldn't leave his branch to do an honest day's field work for all the gold in the King's palace-"
Helvenge doesn't even need to clear her throat; the way she glares at Decker and the rest of you causes the temperature to drop a good five degrees.
"... He prefers to work at the office," Decker concludes. "If you can't find him at the office, he'll most likely be at home. Ask the staff to guide you.
Now, the Proxissima branch is run by a Zlapav named Tomeh Taj. He... she... they are more active in the field, but I hear they don't like to go adventuring during the dead of summer. You're in luck there, then. I hear they're popular with the rank and file, too, so it shouldn't be difficult to find them."
Drymsworth coughs gently into his hand, "Indeed, good sir, indeed." He says with a delicate drawl. "I trust you have these same orders in writing, proper contracts and so forth, and we'll be getting our own copy?" And he clarifies, "Consider it a religious ritual for me."
Decker bares his teeth at Dyrm in an expression that is most definitely not a smile.
"You're all lucky you're not sewn into a sack and riding a cart towards the Orcish border, marked as a cargo of turnips! Be grateful I'm giving you the chance to get out of town without a paper trail and without fuss! You have your orders, and Uk help me if your goddess doesn't understand the need for discretion better than you do. DISMISSED!"
Spine ramrod-straight, Decker does an actual about-face and marches off in the direction of La Grande's main branch office. People part before him without seeming to realize why; he just has an air about him that says he will go over or through anyone who fails to get out of his way.
Middle Priestess Helvenge gives you a cool, reptilian glance -- then unhooks an aspergillum from the side of her belt opposite to the heavy mace, and shakes it over you, spattering you all with unholy water!
"The blessings of Athelgarde," she says, "mother of civilization and goddess of cities. Remember her grace as you venture outside the walls that denote her territory. Remember her and lament your time in the foul wilderness that fill the spaces without architecture. Call on her name if you find yourself dying in the wilderness, and maybe she will have mercy on you."
Without waiting for an answer, the Middle Priestess walks after Guildmaster Decker. When people part before her, they know exactly why they're doing it. You spot one sailor jumping into the river when he can't find another way to get clear faster.
...
And here you are, waiting by Pier 13, holding a box and a scroll.
As you turn to face the gangplank that will lead you onto SHAmlegger's Prize, you spot the sailors working to get the river-boat ready to set sail. Or rather, set paddle-wheel; there's not enough wind right now to launch a rowboat, let alone a river-boat.
As you start to move towards your conveyance, a very tall, cadaverously thin man with an amazing goatee and a bald head under a ridiculous tricorned hat comes walking around the ship's castle. He looks you all up and down, issues a smile that looks more like a leer when he spots Myria, and sketches a lugubrious bow. When he speaks, his voice proves to be unctuous and cloying. You can tell it must have once been a magnificent voice full of potential, but misuse has turned it into something like sewage for your ears. A thin veneer of sweet molasses over nameless rot.
"Hel-lo," the man drawls as he tucks his thumbs behind his belt, giving it a little tug so as to draw your attention to his golden (well, more likely gilded) belt buckle. It's shaped like a ship riding a curling wave, denoting this man to be both a member of the Shipping Guild and a ship's captain.
"Welcome, my dear" - you're fairly sure his full attention is on Myria, dismissing Nusku and Dyrm - "to Amlegger's Prize, the finest river-boat on the Wazoo. Yes, I am he: Captain S.H. Amlegger. You have heard of me, of course. You don't need to tell me. Isn't it a bore to be so famous and well-beloved? Ah, but you will wish to inspect your quarters. Rest assured, my dear, if they aren't up to your exacting standards, there's space for you in the captain's state room. Do let me help you."
Grinning like a ghoul, waggling his bushy eyebrows in what he seems to think is a seductive gesture, the captain holds out a long-fingered hand to help Myria cross the gangplank...
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"Never heard of you and I don't care. Now let's just get moving." Nusku rolls his eyes at the "Captain" and his attempts to woo Myria. The Su-Rog just makes his way to board the rickety ship.
Myri's eyes narrow at the sleazy captain and she opens her mouth to verbally eviscerate him, but then she checks herself. [i]You're gonna be on this boat for a while. No more scandals.[/b] Instead, she forces a smile and reaches out to shake his hand, managing a curt "No thanks." As her forced smile turns saccharine, she channels the eldritch strength drawn from her ancient battleaxe directly into her grip, giving the captain a crushing handshake better suited to come from Guildmaster Decker. She steps past him and joins Nusku on deck and doesn't give the captain any time to recover before icily demanding "Quarters."
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You're gonna be on this boat for a while. No more scandals.
Well, he tried to be reasonable.
Then at the dock they meet the Captain, Drym tisks as the boorish man reaches too high in such a low manner. He can admire ambition, even delight in chutzpah, but this guy is just.. sad.
"I'll pray for you" He mutters and goes to get his own quarters
Captain Amlegger's leer grows wide when Myria takes his hand -- and then his face screws up in an expression of pain and he curses.
"Fool wench!" he shouts. "I am captain of this ship! I need my hands!"
Muttering imprecations under his breath, the Captain eyes you all from under his bushy eyebrows, his mood clearly ruined. Nusku's rough dismissal makes him puff out his cheeks at the offense; Dyrm's solicitous offer of prayers first confuses him, then turns him pale with rage.
"Quarters," he grumbles once he's regained some semblance of self-control. "Yes. This way."
While all around you the crew labors, Captain Amlegger leads you to a hatch on the other side of the boat's castle and directs you to open it. A ladder leads down into darkness, and the Vitor Captain imperiously tells you to climb down. Provided you do, you find yourselves in a lightless space -- until the Captain utters a surprisingly musical note, which causes his index finger to light up like a candle.
By this eldritch glow, you can see you are in the ship's hold, empty at the moment -- Guildmaster Decker did say the ship would be taking on cargo at Fallingdowns and Proxissima. Presumable Amlegger sold his previous cargo here, or delivered it to whoever had ordered it. If he's anything like other river-captains, he'll be investing the money he's made at the smaller cities because they produce the raw materials that are turned into finished products in La Grande -- or indeed, are simply consumed by the capitol.
There is a pervasive scent of cabbage in the air.
"And here we are," the captain says as he indicates a space near the prow, which has been marked with red tape. "Your accommodations."
The captain sneers if any of you give him an incredulous look.
"Be grateful that I have any space for you at all, for the pittance that your Guildmaster is paying me."
"My quality accommodations are reserved for the guests I expect to take on in Fallingdowns. Aristocrats and people of wealth... If you desire an upgrade to your arrangements, you'll work for it."
At this, he leers at Myriad again.
"Well. You are adventurers. I'm sure you'll be eager to take on chores to make money. For instance, your planned dinner for tonight is Cabbage Surprise. The surprise is that it's cabbage stuffed with cabbage, boiled in cabbage leaves. And we have plenty of leftovers for the rest of the week. Now, if you were to desire more substantial fare on your journey, we can sign a contract that binds you to perform assorted duties aboard my ship until we reach Stickout Port, where you're getting off Amlegger's Prize.
I can use people to run night watch, servants for my quality passengers ... and someone to keep me company at night."
Another leer at Myriad.
"I shall give you a little time to discuss my generous offer amongst yourselves, but not too much. Dinner is at six bells. If I don't hear from you by then, it's cabbage all the way to Stickout Point and you'll not see the sun before we land."
The Captain turns to walk away into the dark, then abruptly looks over his shoulder at you.
"No fires in the hold. If I catch even a whiff of smoke, you'll all be entertaining the fish, so help me Aku-Dev!"
With that cheery salutation, the Captain walks off towards the ladder, leaving you in deepening darkness...
Myriad watches the captain walk off with a grimace. "What a pleasant man," She deadpans, turning back approximately towards the other two. Well, I'm stuck with these two as well, and I haven't caught them drooling yet, so...
"I don't believe we got a proper introduction. I'm Myri. I have a bit of a talent for magic, but light is not yet among those talents. Can either of you help out with that? I wasn't going to give that creep the pleasure." She stands stock still, not able to see in the darkness and not wanting to run into anything.
"Arrogant jackass." Nusku just shakes his head as the fool leaves.
"I am Nusku. No, I don't need light, in fact I prefer to not have any." The Su-Rog blinks as his eyes get used to the darkness again and walks into the darkness to find a place to settle in.
Myriad watches the captain walk off with a grimace. "What a pleasant man," She deadpans, turning back approximately towards the other two. Well, I'm stuck with these two as well, and I haven't caught them drooling yet, so...
"I don't believe we got a proper introduction. I'm Myri. I have a bit of a talent for magic, but light is not yet among those talents. Can either of you help out with that? I wasn't going to give that creep the pleasure." She stands stock still, not able to see in the darkness and not wanting to run into anything.
At Myrad's deadpan, he gives a a bit of of a chuckle, and a lot of agreement with her unspoken opinion.
Then Nuska introduces himself.
Being mannerly, Dyrm returns the favor as well as answers Myriad's question "Drymworth Stanton Copperbeard the First, of the Copperbeard Clan, of course. While it is a pleasure to meet you both, I must inform you Miss Myri, being a dwarf means never having to bump around in the dark. Given time I can pray to my goddess for a light spell, but that maybe a bit. I suspect we ALL find the Captain malodorous despite or because of his failed attempts at charm."
"Pleasure to meet you both, and it'sgreat to hear we have something in common at least. Now, I think I need to find some work. Seeing as...I can't see down here. Would one of you kindly escort me to the ladder?" Assuming either of her companions does so, Myriad will look around the ship and try to guage what sorts of jobs actually need doing. She's also going to keep her eye out for the gold paint that was used to paint the name on the bow.
Nusku will lead Myri to the leader before looking around for the galley for a bite.
"Gods bless you on your search. I do ask you to be, shall we say, discrete in the mention of our property?" He says before they go "I would not trust the captain let alone the crew not to consider picking us clean."
Myriad will look around the ship and try to guage what sorts of jobs actually need doing. She's also going to keep her eye out for the gold paint that was used to paint the name on the bow.
Myriad soon discovers that there are lots of things in need of doing on board a river-boat. The crew is busy weighing anchor, which means hands are needed to tie up the mooring-lines and push off from pier 13. The navigator is flailing his flags around like he's trying to swat a hungry skeeter, signalling the other river-traffic and the helmsman at the same time. The aforementioned helmsman is doing his level best to steer the river-boat, while four particularly burly sailors are running on the treadmills inside the boat's paddle-wheels, slowly building momentum to get the boat moving under its own power.
Nearby, the ship's boy is listening intently as an old, leather-faced sailor instructs him in the various knots used on a ship, and the appropriate times to deploy and stow the sails.River-boats are busy, busy places - especially when there are so many other ships nearby, trying to get moving down or up the Wazoo. Myriad is sure that there are plenty of chores in need of doing which would not require her to move into the captain's bedroom. Apart from sailor's work, she recalls there's constant checking and maintenance of equipment, foraging on the move, guard duty, there's always a need for someone handy with a needle and thread... Depending on the nature of the cargo Captain Amlegger wants to take on, there'll be even more decent work to do. And hey, he did mention he needed servants for his paying customers, who'll be getting on at Fallingdowns. They can't all be as bad as him, right?
Come to think of it, Myriad doesn't see Captain Amlegger anywhere on deck. It's possible that he's in the ship's castle. Regardless, the crew is well-oiled and disciplined, and they're getting SHAmlegger's Prize moving with admirable speed.
Nusku will lead Myri to the leader before looking around for the galley for a bite.
Nuku leaves Myriad looking around for work to do, and sets his own sights on something to put in his stomach. He hasn't even had breakfast yet, after all!
It's fairly easy to find the galley; there's a lingering aroma of freshly-baked bread on the air, which leads the Sû-rog to a door in the prow's side of the ship's castle. It swings open easily, granting Nusku admittance to a somewhat cramped, but very clean room with a trestle table and a collection of mismatched chairs.The smell of bread comes from a hatch at the back of the room, through which you can see the crew kitchen. A plump Zlapav is just wrapping something in grease-proof paper before they attend to a stack of dirty dishes, pots and pans.
"Oh!" the pasty-pale creature says, its slit eyes widening very briefly. "Hello. You'd be one of the adventurers, then? Cap'n as mentioned you'd be sailing with us down to Stickout Point."
The Zlapav wipes one hand on their well-worn apron and holds it out for Nusku to shake.
"Call me Cook. The fella in the big kitchen inside who makes meals for the Cap'n and the guests, you'd better call Chef. Me, I make grub for the crew, and probably for you. Cap'n mentioned something about you'd be wanting Cabbage Surprise...? Can't really see the appeal, m'self."
"Gods bless you on your search. I do ask you to be, shall we say, discrete in the mention of our property?" He says before they go "I would not trust the captain let alone the crew not to consider picking us clean."
While Myriad and Nusku go above-deck, Dyrm settles down to make himself comfortable in the hold. The smell of cabbage shows no sign of weakening, but it is just about possible to get used to it after a while. The room is ... clean enough, you suppose. It's also just barely warm enough.
All in all, it's ... barely adequate in here. Of course, sleeping on the bare floor would be horribly uncomfortable. Still, there's a few good things, as Dyrm soon notices.
The hold is deeply dark, with not a glint of light, so the boards that make up the hull have been fitted together tightly, and they have been properly maintained.
There are none of the little tell-tale noises that betray the presence of mice or rats. Also, there are no droppings lying around. You'd assume the ship has some very efficient mousers, except... you also haven't seen any cats around. Nor terriers. Maybe they're kept inside of the ship's castle until the ship is well and truly underway?
Dyrm can hear a slow, grinding noise from outside; the paddle-wheels are starting to move, propelled by manpower.
She tries to find the first mate or whoever is actively in charge and actually around, and will ask about the need for guards, her axe casually slung across her shoulders as she does so.
She tries to find the first mate or whoever is actively in charge and actually around, and will ask about the need for guards, her axe casually slung across her shoulders as she does so.
A question is all it takes for one of the sailors to tell Myri that the helmsman - a villainously unshaven Vitor with a bandana tied around his head - is the first mate. He answers the Malinger's questions absent-mindedly, his main attention on maneuvering the ship:
"Ooh, arr. We got watch rotation between us, but we can always use extra security, belike. Once yer clear of the walls, there's all sorts'a nasty what preys on river traffic. There's Skeeters gettin' ready ta spawn. Fenshrews gettin' ready ta fatten up fer tha winter. Pirates lookin' ta make a quick profit by scuttlin' honest traders an' emptying their holds."
The first mate scratches his nose and adds in a lowered voice: "Ole Shamlegger's a walkin', talkin' pisspot, but signin' on fer guard duty is safe, belike. He don't mess with security, not when sailin'. Too much nasty lookin' for prey. 'Sides, fer all his faults, he don't welch on a proper contract. He treats right who does their work fer 'im as agreed. Just make sure tha' what ye read is what's actually writ, yeah?"
Nusku reluctantly shakes Cook's hand, the hesitation having nothing to do with the man in question, but the Su-Rog never understood the point in handshakes. "Wanting is a strong word. The Captain made it seem like that's all we get. If there is a choice, I'll take it."
Nusku reluctantly shakes Cook's hand, the hesitation having nothing to do with the man in question, but the Su-Rog never understood the point in handshakes. "Wanting is a strong word. The Captain made it seem like that's all we get. If there is a choice, I'll take it."
"Ah, I see," Cook says, chuckling and shaking their head. "The Cap'n being the Cap'n. Between you an' me, the man's a pisspot, but he holds to his bargains. Of course, first you got to make sure you get a decent bargain out of him, and he's a misery to know until you do."
While the Zlapav chatters, they hand Nusku a bundle wrapped in grease-proof paper, a wink and a finger to the lips suggesting this gift should remain a secret. It smells enticingly of fried fish.
"It's a shame," Cook says out loud, "but I'll have ta boil you and yours up Cabbage Surprise for all meals until I hear different. Nothing personal, lad, but I'm under contract, and Cap'n's decent to those as serve him well."
Nusku nods in thanks to Cook. "I wanna believe you about that last part." The Su-Rog looks around before he opens up the bundle and destroys it. "Any idea how to get a decent bargain out of him?" He asks as he picks his teeth of crumbs and possible bones.
The fish is delicious; crisp on the outside, sweet on the inside, spiced to perfection and free of bones. Just the thing for breakfast!
Nusku nods in thanks to Cook. "I wanna believe you about that last part." The Su-Rog looks around before he opens up the bundle and destroys it. "Any idea how to get a decent bargain out of him?" He asks as he picks his teeth of crumbs and possible bones.
Cook grins ... and shape-shifts. In seconds, the Zlapav goes from a pale, androgynous, doughy little creature to a curvaceous, dark-eyed beauty of a Vitor girl with honey-blonde hair. She leans over the counter, apron visibly and audibly straining to contain all of her, and gives Nusku a ... generous view.
"If you can do this, you can fog his head up for him," the transformed Zlapav says, still grinning. "If not, he likes flattery. Flatter him, and start negotiations high. Let him talk you down to where you really wanna be at. Make sure you get everything down in writing, and I mean everything."
The first mate scratches his nose and adds in a lowered voice: "Ole Shamlegger's a walkin', talkin' pisspot, but signin' on fer guard duty is safe, belike. He don't mess with security, not when sailin'. Too much nasty lookin' for prey. 'Sides, fer all his faults, he don't welch on a proper contract. He treats right who does their work fer 'im as agreed. Just make sure tha' what ye read is what's actually writ, yeah?"
Myri leans against the wall and listens to the helmsman as he steers. "Mm. What's your name, helmsman? Your forthrightness is a service. And one last question - where are the guard quarters? Surely not buries deep in the bowels of the ship."
Myri leans against the wall and listens to the helmsman as he steers. "Mm. What's your name, helmsman? Your forthrightness is a service. And one last question - where are the guard quarters? Surely not buries deep in the bowels of the ship."
The first mate laughs. "Our Mum named me Pike, but seein' as I'm first mate aboard Shamlegger's Prize, the crew calls me Mister Pike. If you do sign on to some service on board this ship, I'll expect you ta call me the same. I din't work an' claw me way ta the job for not ta be called 'Mister' by those as works under me.
As for guard quarters, I did say we run guard duty on rotation, yeah? That means it's the crew's quarters, what is up on the castle's top level. Ye might not like sleepin' up there; it's full'a smelly, snorin' sailors, an' sometimes the roof leaks. Cookie beds down in the galley, so's not ta be offended. Ahem. And so's not ta be ... bothered, if ye catch my drift. Not a nice place fer a lady.
If ye talk a good game with the Cap'n, maybe he'll let ye use the servants' quarters what's inside the ship's castle. Mind you, it'll need ta be a very good game. Maybe if ya offer ta watch out fer his payin' guests when we have furlough in Proxissima. That town's loads o' fun, but folks do sometimes lose their money there without meanin' ta. Still, the Proxxisima Thieves' Guild is nicer about it'n some; they'll pick yer pocket but not stab ya in the kidneys."
Drym sets up his area as nicely as he can, glad he brought a bedroll, that should take the bite out of things. Trail rations aren't great, but one can eat them cold and .. it's not cabbage.
Drym sets up his area as nicely as he can, glad he brought a bedroll, that should take the bite out of things. Trail rations aren't great, but one can eat them cold and .. it's not cabbage.
This is true, very true. Still, Dyrm finds that his stomach is starting to grumble at him. Not due to sea-sickness, but more due to the fact that he hasn't had breakfast as of yet.
Myri listens along to the first mate and nods, considering his words. "You've been very helpful, Pike. A shame that the captain isn't so pleasant." Then she heads toward the castle to find the unpleasantness.
Nusku blinks a few times. He'd heard of the Zlapav and their abilities but had never seen it before. "That does make sense, but I can't do either of those things so I guess cabbage it is then. Thanks for the advice, and the meal." The Su-Rog takes his leave and goes back up to deck to find some work as he solved the hunger issue.
Nusku and Myri run into one another as the Sû-rog exits the galley and the Malinger is looking for the captain.
The ship abruptly lurches as the helmsman gives the wheel a sharp flip, and puts it in a fast 'lane' on the Wazoo. The paddle-wheels start to churn heavily as they pick up speed, the sound reverberating through the hull.
"Alright," Mr. Pike shouts. "Paddles to speed, sails on slipknot! If we catch a breeze, I want us ready! We're off to Fallingdowns, boys! Start scrubbing the deck, Cap'n wants the old girl to shine when we take on the punters!"
A roaring cheer rises to the brightening sky as SHAmlegger's Prize moves out.
The Runes surprise him. "Well, hello there" He mutters . He wishes he had studied more of spell craft.
A sigh and he enjoys those rations.
Then a lurch and he isn't sure what it means. He heads up, with the prize with him.
Dyrm can see Myri and Nusku, a small point of stillness among the hustle and bustle of sailors scrubbing the deck and working the ship.
"Salutations," he says to his co-passengers, "Did I miss much?" In a lower voice he says "I don't know if either of you has the knack, but there's a very subtle working of runes in the hold where the wall meets the floor."
Myri nods to Dyrm and Nusku. "There may be work for us in guarding the ship, or further bodyguarding in the city for passengers going on shore. If we get everything in writing, the captain may even honor the deal." She shrugs, not looking particularly happy. "Runes, though? I might be able to decipher them, if we can find a way for me to see down there. Or perhaps take a rubbing?"
"Well, we're gonna be having alot of cabbage on this boat ride. The cook said the same thing about the Captain." Nusku replies in response to Myriad. "I don't know anything about runes but I'll come along and check it out."
Between the three of you, you determine that the crew appears to have a fairly low opinion of Captain S.H. Amlegger as a person, but they agree that he honours his agreements - written agreements, anyway. So long as you negotiate well, you should be able to escape a fate of having to eat cabbage for seven days straight, and might even be able to sleep somewhere other than the cargo hold!
... And speaking of the hold...
Even without light, Nusku and Dyrm are easily able to copy part of the runic sequence masquerading as natural scratch marks. Part, because the full sequence runs all around the hold! Once brought into the light, the party can take a good look at what they've found...
One effect, the permanent one, appears to be the 'linking' end of a Track ship-spell. This spell is allowing someone to keep track of S.H.Amlegger's Prize wherever it goes.
The other effect, which requires a trigger of some sort, appears to be Calm emotions. Once the spell is activated, everyone and everything inside the hold will be nice and mellow, for whatever reason that may be...
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Myri takes a look at the runes for a few moments. "Interesting, it looks like there are actually two spells here. Track Ship and Calm Emotions. I imagine they're for allowing the shippers to track their shipments, and for preventing livestock from running amok. Strange that they seem so disguised, though."
"Well, either of you want to come with me to bargain with the captain for a better bunk and some real food?"
"My my my" He drawls "I wonder if it's only livestock whose emotions it calms." The dwarf strokes his beard, "I can certainly try to sway the fellow though I fear he has taken a dislking to me. Clearly the man is a poor judge of character for I am, I am told, quite charming. Myself, I've already had some of my rations. Not ideal, but it did make me feel I got out of cabbage."
"I can come along as backup. He doesn't seem to like anyone, cept for Myri here. In fact you could convince him easy-like to get a better bunk and food, but I'm guessin' you don't wanna do that."
"My my my" He drawls "I wonder if it's only livestock whose emotions it calms."
"I don't intend to stay in the hold long enough to find out."
"I can come along as backup. He doesn't seem to like anyone, cept for Myri here. In fact you could convince him easy-like to get a better bunk and food, but I'm guessin' you don't wanna do that."
Myri grimaces. "Yeah, that's never going to happen. Let's just make sure we give the contract a thorough read through."
She heads off to the castle to find the captain.
Nusku chuckles and follows Myri.
It doesn't take a great deal of effort to find Captain Amlegger.
The minute you enter the ship's castle, you catch a whiff of ... let's call it food. It's edible, anyway, though the latest 'refined' style of cookery to come from the Gelnet district in La Grande is definitely not to everyone's liking.
As you walk through the ship's castle, you see no expense has been spared to doll up the inside of this place. Pale, honey-polished wood and gilded metal are the main themes here, with the walls covered in a layer of artfully applied, pale white mortar. The whole thing breathes a level of luxury not found anywhere else on the ship so far -- although you have to wonder whether it's like this on all levels of the castle.
Myriad did hear that the common sailors bunk together on the top level, after all.
The smells of ... cookery (yeah, let's go with that) guide you to an elegantly appointed room with a long table of polished mahogany. A tablecloth of pure, snowy white silk and silver(ed) tableware gleam beneath the light of a candelabra that looks so sparkly and expensive that it must have cost a small fortune.
Seated at the head of the table, wearing a dark maroon smoking jacket, a napkin large enough to swaddle a baby tucked into his collar, is Captain Amlegger. His goatee bobs up and down as he takes what he thinks are small, bites of various dishes put in front of him. Really, he looks a proper prat as he stabs at the various 'delicacies' with a six-tined fork and nibbles at them with an expression supposed to communicate refined enjoyment. (Instead, his reminds Nusku of a goat he once saw nibbling on a stinkweed plant.)
Standing by the Captain's side is a Gelnet man in a stainless white smock, a chef's hat on his head. He has the typical haughty expression and doughy cheeks of a Gelnet who has gone to seed. His forehead gem is a deep, dark blue, suggesting he was once very well-to-do. Now, he is doubling as chef and head waiter, serving odd food to a balding Vitor with a gilded belt buckle.
On the table in front of Captain Amlegger are seven plates, containing enough ... ha ... 'food' to feed a party of five. Though they would need to be very hungry or too prideful to let common sense dictate their choice of meal.
One dish holds fresh fish in whipped cream. While a nauseating prospect, it proves to be the least ... remarkable part of the meal.
Another dish holds a whole Skeeter, a winged insect the size of a chihuahua peeled out of its shell, drowned in an unfortunately fragrant syrup and with a bunch of daffodils shoved up somewhere unmentionable.
A third dish contains quail stuffed with purple-tinged rice that smells as though it has been soaking in turpentine.
A sheep's head, the horns guirlanded with edible flowers, its eyes replaced with chestnuts and its tongue lolling out, sits in a bed of carrot- and apple-slices on a fourth dish. The wool hasn't even been shaved off, but the whole thing has visibly been cooked.
A fifth dish contains what you first think are normal, wholesome apples ... And then Amlegger taps one with his natty fork, and it splits down the middle, revealing that it's a baked apple -- baked and hollowed out, what looks like a mixture of applesauce and live grubs baked along with the apple.
The sixth dish is concave, allowing it to contain what you vehemently hope are sausages. You can't be entirely sure, as they're swimming in a virulently green sauce, which you hope is mint. It's hard to tell over the stink of the purple rice and the syrup the dead Skeeter is adrift in.
Finally, there is the seventh dish, which contains ... Well, it's ... It's sort of ... You think it might be bread, except it's ... melty ... and looks ... mouldy ... and it ... well, it ... There is something wholly unwholesome-looking about the ... bread? ... even moreso than the sheep's head. The eye does not wish to linger.
Amlegger cuts a strip of wool off the sheep's head, peels a strip of flesh out from underneath and adorns it with one of the flowers. He then dips his morsel in the Skeeter's syrup and dabs on some of that evil-looking rice before transferring the whole thing to his mouth.
The chef rolls his eyes where Amlegger can't see.
"Ah, our brave adventurers," Amlegger says, talking with his mouth full without any hint of embarrassment. He swallows, then pours himself a glassful of a pale, effervescent wine.
The Captain drinks deeply, then belches loudly. He waves his now-empty glass at the chef. "My personal cook. Only cooks the very finest of meals, just for me and my paying guests. I won't ask you to join me."
Amlegger pours himself another glass, drains it at once, then takes a stab at one of the ... sausages, you hope. Oh gods, he cuts himself a slice of the 'bread', and the smell that rises from inside of it is everything you feared and worse. Oh gods, he's making a sandwich of the whole thing! There's green sauce dripping from the corners of his mouth when he talks to you! Aaagh!
"So," Amlegger says, chewing noisily, "you believe you have some business with me? Business important enough to interrupt the Captain's Exclusive Breakfast?'
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The Dwarf's eyes lock onto the candelabra almost right away, and then his beard twitches ever so slightly, before stilling again, "My My, What a grand display."
Then to the Captain he inclines his head "And a good morning to you, sir. Thank you for hearing us out at your personal table. To heed those under one's care is the mark of a true gentleman."
"Thank you for seeing us during such an important meal, Captain. Is it truly breakfast, though?" She picks up a small fork from one of the place settings and shuffles the utensils around. "I would only expect to see the sweets fork at a formal dinner, or a moon-brunch, but of course the next one isn't for a fortnight...but I digress."
She points the handle of the fork at him and continues. "These are dangerous waters we're venturing through, and lucky for you, we are a dangerous bunch. I believe you're familiar with my own strength. We'll sign on as guards, keeping the boat, crew, and passengers safe, in return for private bunks, 3 silver a day each, and the same meals as the rest of the crew."
Nusku just stands there silent nodding along with his companions as they speak their case to the captain. He didn't want to make things worse for them as he would likely just say something to upset him further.
"And a good morning to you, sir. Thank you for hearing us out at your personal table. To heed those under one's care is the mark of a true gentleman."
Captain AMlegger actually preens under the compliment, stroking his goatee and smirking. If he were a bullfrog, he'd be puffing up with confidence.
"Thank you for seeing us during such an important meal, Captain. Is it truly breakfast, though?" She picks up a small fork from one of the place settings and shuffles the utensils around. "I would only expect to see the sweets fork at a formal dinner, or a moon-brunch, but of course the next one isn't for a fortnight...but I digress."
In contrast, the Captain goes bright red, then pale with fury as Myriad speaks and points out his social gaffe, but clearly can't find a way to deny the correctness of what she has said.
"Yes. Well. Mustn't forget how to wield the thing before the next moon-brunch," he finally manages to say."These are dangerous waters we're venturing through, and lucky for you, we are a dangerous bunch. I believe you're familiar with my own strength. We'll sign on as guards, keeping the boat, crew, and passengers safe, in return for private bunks, 3 silver a day each, and the same meals as the rest of the crew."
Amlegger takes a deep breath -- and then a lizardly smile flickers over his lips. When he replies, it is in .
"If that is acceptable, shake my hand - without crushing it," the Captain says as he extends his hand, a saturnine grin on his face.
Dyrm shakes his head at the offer, and motions folks not to shake the hand in case they do not speak it."Now, Captain, you speak the language beautifully but clearly... A drawl, and he switches to Mercentillia "..you realize that the three silvers a day each was you paying us. The lady offers our services as guards, not assassins and the difference is crucial. We will strive to keep you, your crew, and your ship from harm by means of violence on others if we deem it needful. Each of us also gets a private bunk for his or her own for the use. Let us not neglect the same meals as the rest of the crew or better quality still would also be part of the offer. Further more, this bargain only lasts a limited time as we will eventually be leaving the ship. It is not a life time long contract."