The others branched off for some baked goods of questionable quality. The leftover morning croissants were rather salty and had a metallic aftertaste, perhaps not surprising after taking a look at the baker with his hook hand and peg leg. The cider however was steaming hot and rather nice, many other sailors huddled around the small cafe for afternoon refreshment.
Down a ways, the others board the Low Lantern. The most immediate oddity found there are 4 dead seagulls lying on the deck. There are tables set up on the forecastle and aftcastle, but it must be either too cold or too many dead seagulls to attract any patrons there. A padlocked wooden hatch has been fitted with windows and acts as a skylight for the deck below, giving the boarding party an excellent preview of the tavern beneath them.
A pair of ravens squawk annoyingly from the crow's nest, a forty foot climb up the ship's rigging.
"This way boys. This is the place." Mal calls over his shoulder and heads down the stairs like a man who wants to gamble for a good time.
He surveys the decks for anything different from what the Guild notes provided OR new threats.
Nature (Int): 1d20 ⇒ 16
Mal, Corvus corax (the common raven) when found in groups is by learned natural philosophers referred to as a 'conspiracy'. What these two were conspiring against was anyone's guess. They were known to eat carrion, perhaps the dead gulls have attracted their attention...
Gorn, peeking through the skylight you do indeed note a pair of foxy double Ds. Drow sisters, twins by the looks of it...sharing a large pitcher of dark ale delivered by a kenku in a barmaid's apron.
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Suddenly Gorn espies something a tad more interesting than dead seagulls.
And then the fear sets in.
It starts deep in the belly, then crawls, like a spider made of ice, upwards, along the spine, through the heart, into the head. It rests then in the eyes, making them big and bug-like as a palsy sets upon the brain, forcing out any other thought that is not 'I want to do everything but I can do nothing.'
Gorn, the Unbroken, the Breaker of STEEL, he who waltzes in to Magical Palaces and serves a legendary Twenty One courses to Horrors of the Outer World, he who has literally stared into the face of the Death and laughed and served oatmeal cookies...is afraid to talk to girls.
He shakes his head vigorously to clear it. Perhaps Gorn the Barbarian has nothing to say to a brace of lovelies. But he is not the only one here tonight.
"Ah! There you are!" Gorn says to the girls, approaching them with a wide smile, like a happy charging bull. "I had heard rumors, of course, but truly they did not do you justice.
"Mit solch schönen Mädchen mithalten," he says, kissing the hand of one of them.
"Wir bräuchten zwei Sonnen, um aufzugehen," he finishes, kissing the hand of the other. Without permission or introduction. He has seen this before, by other men who actually are good at talking to strangers. It was summed thus: Audacity audacity, always audacity.
"Ah! But what is this? You have been left to drink this swill without even so much as a weiner wurst brioche to assuage your appetites? I'll not have it! You will think me an uncaring philistine were I to not right such inhumanity upon the instant. To think, that two creatures as sophisticated as yourself would be left without a Salmon en papillote en Steak frites to tickle the pallet is insufferable.
Ah, to me my lovely," he says, snapping at the kenku. "Does your chef have the power to create a passable Croque monsieur en Tarte tatin?" he asks the server.
The act is simply a brain-fever mad plan that is a continuation of the audacity that had taken him over. If their kitchen can make the courses, then he gets to impress two beautiful girls while sampling some truly superior cooking made by what must be a professional in his field.
Then he might get to see these two naked, which is no bad thing.
And if they can't then he can volunteer his services, and start to ingratiate himself with the kitchen staff...where he can find out, probably, All The Things.
Hopefully Mal will know a long con when he sees one, but not everyone can stand the heat of the kitchen, for it can be a hard and unforgiving place, so there's no hard feelings if he doesn't.
The Steelbreaker, following some irrational lust for the dark elf bosum, mosies below deck. He is hit instantly with an absolute reek of sweat, cheap booze, rotting timbers and of course vomit. But such olfactory stimuli can't deter his enraptured heart, and he barely hears the other (much less attractive) woman greeting him (though she does interestingly have a live horsehair crab on her shoulder) "Well met! My name is Laraelra Thundreth, but folks around here call me the Captain. If you're thirsting for a beverage or looking to gamble, you've come to the right place, but watch your step. Things can get pretty messy around here..." trailing off her mechanical, well rehearsed speech as you blast past.
The gambling room slash taproom here is quite lively considering the time of day, but not that crowded. Besides the babes there are only a handful of other gamblers throwing the Bones under the oil lamps that gently rock with the waves.
The first is a dark-skinned dwarf...no, certainly it must be a duergar, slave to slavers. Ordinarily he might give one a 'dont f~$$ with me' vibe, but at a second glance you realize he is most definitely permanently cross-eyed. At his table is a black haired man with a type of blade you might have never seen, you'd wager is in port from Kara-Tur beyond the Hordelands...and is three sheets to the wind. A horse-scented human seems to be the loser of the group, sweating buckets as his pile dwindles to a few coins.
Another table has a Flaming Fist soldier who you've never seen, but seems to have a problem not glaring at you (all). At his gaming table is a spectacled halfling who seems quite at home here in Gray Harbor. They are sharing drinks from a bottle clearly marked "Troll S#$$", that most infamous of fermentations.
Gorn's approach to the women gets only a routine glance from the 3 bouncers on this deck keeping guard...who seem rather neutral about the matter. The kenku responds meekly "...er, chef sir...? We have coffee in the lounge if that's what you mean..."
As for the drow...
Tibs gives a lingering glance at the ravens. Majestic creatures really. And more intelligent than several people he knew on the whole. Still, something felt off, but then again to him this entire place felt off.
He follows the others in after a few seconds.
Tibs gives a tilt of his hat as they enter. Looking more than a tiny bit out of place.
Ah, thank you captain. I admit, I don't come to these places often. A special occasion you see!
Using Gorn as the distraction, Mal casually tours the taproom examining exits and lines of sight of the bouncers and bartender. He mentally compares the layout with the reconnaissance from the Guild, specifically the way down to Amrik.
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We better wander along with our pastries and eat them nearby, he says. Need to be on hand if Gorn does something... well... Gornish.
Donal takes a deep waft of the Calishite caf and nods, That's probably wise...
Then looking like a pair of Flaming Fist guards on patrol, they head off closer to the establishment.
@GM, can you also post the Guild plans too, to compare?
Gorn strikes out at first, getting faces full of disgust and rolled eyes at his steamroller attempt at charm. One turns to the other chatting as if the chef weren't there "Aerith...you're not allowed to marry until you've killed your tenth man. You've reached nine, right?"
Aerith shrugs and retorts with a sharp tongue "I see no men here, but I thought I heard an orc. Killing orcs is like washing pigs, turn your back for a second and the filth returns."
The kenku for her part looks increasingly uncomfortable, casting a gaze at a disappointing bowl of nuts "There's no galley aboard but...if...if the sir would like we could send for a runner? The street meats that line the docks are a rather exotic fare. Or perhaps a roast plantain from the jungles of Chult?"
Tibs hung back near the Captain, injecting the lie according to plan. The woman allowed the crab on her shoulder to pinch her fingers gently as she sized the dragonborn up, inquiring "Special occasion you say? How can the Low Lantern make your special day all the better?"
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Meanwhile outside, Grim and Donal played the act of Gray Wavers well enough. Conversations seemed to halt at their approach, and stares were cut short when detected. Nearby a group of operators brushed buckets of grease into the complex machinery of a giant crane.
Using Tibs and Gorn as a distraction, he heads downstairs to the lounge deck casually stealthing, so if he's caught, he'll act like, all halflings walk like this.
On the staircase down away from ears, he grabs his crystal in his pocket and magically whispers to Grim, "Grim. Mal. Situation good. Three bouncers on tavern deck. Brother's office watched. Gorn and Tibs are distracting. I'm heading to lounge deck below. Over."
We are close and will lay low until you are ready.
Mal, you pad down the grimy wooden steps into the lounge deck. A number of oil lanterns hover over soft, multicolored couches...they look comfy yet stained. Another kenku wipes tankards clean with a yellowed rag, whistling a tweety bird song while another 3 bouncers overlook the handful of patrons gambling and chatting down here.
Aft you find your quarry, Amrik Vanthampur, flanked by a thug-like woman with nearly as much muscle as Gorn and the most evil porcupine monstrosity you've ever seen. A young man seems to be making his appeal "...yes, I know it was 50 last tenday. I just need another 50 and it will all be square. You know how she gets..."
Amrik signalled the kenku waiter with 3 outstretched fingers, and she promptly prepared 3 drinks (hard liquor, neat) and brought them over "A toast then to our renewed agreement." He had a slick black mustache that followed the lines of his smirking face, and was adorned in expensive looking leathers. A fur mantle rested on his shoulders and he kept one hand within a large cloak. "I trust you'll avoid the north road for the time being? As I warned...the fortunes there have already long ago been claimed."
None seem to notice you skulking behind the stairway bannister.
Mal continues to skulk on the stairwell and repeats a whispered message to everyone, "Confirmed eyes on Brother on lower deck. Three more normal bouncers. Total six. Two special bodyguards. One infernal porcupine. And Gorn's twin sister. Need backup."
Donal and Grim moving in.
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How do we do this Donal? Kick the doorman in the balls?
Maybe a quick shove to knock him on his @$$, then it should be easy enough to walk past. Make them rush for the owner.
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I'll distract him then, and you push him over.
Oi, you! What the hells do you think you're doing, eyeballing us Flamin' Fists like that?!
The bouncer nearest the intruding duo presents a foul wince in Grim's general direction "What in the hell..? Get over yourself. Your mom braid your hair like that for you this morni-OOOF"
The man doesn't even have time to finish his sentence before Donal jumps from the 4th step up, flying through the air and tackling the not-very-bouncy-at-all Bouncer to the ground!
Round 1:
Gorn
Laraelra, Patrons and Waitresses
Tiberius, Grim, Donal
Amrik and Co.
Mal
Bouncers
The owner, patrons and waitresses, so used to the inevitable bar rumble, seem to anticipate the Fists' violence and take cover just before the Tormtar's leap.
When Mal hears the ruckus start on the deck above him, he can guess what is happening. From his hiding spot, he breathes his Mistress's name and attempt's to enchant Gorn's sister.
Then, he ducks behind total cover and hides.
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'Well I guess that's The Signal,' Gorn thinks as the party leader bowls over the doorman.
At the first sound of the forced entry, Gorn's hands shoot out to the lady Tibs is talking to. In the space it takes his hands to travel from himself to herself, he lets slip the chain that holds down the rage that is ever-bubbling just beneath his thin veneer of civilization.
One ham-sized fist grabs around her wrist as another clenches on to the middle of garment. The force of his fist closing on the dress leaves no mistake that the clothing will fail before he does.
"Laraelra Thundreth, the Flaming Fist needs to investigate your establishment regarding certain recent violent and heretical events. We are not after you, though. Tell your men to stand down.
This can go the easy way, or," his hand curls, tightening its grip on her gown, "the hard way.
Your call."
But that's not all that happens.
As Gorn raises, ever so slightly, the fetters that contain his bubbling anger, so great is his personal power that forces even he does not fully understand are set loose upon the world.
A scintillating spectacle lights up around Gorn as if he was a Peacock Elemental of the Plane of Glitter. It is a thing to behold, both terrible and wondrous. All who look upon him are disoriented ever so slightly but palpably, and all know this man would not go down easy in battle.
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Downstairs, a cat and mouse game was taking place...
Weapons were drawn and gasps of shock sent the lounge deck into a scramble as the halfling's vocal casting alerted everyone. Quick to save his bacon he ducked around the corner in a rather obvious hiding spot...safe for a breath at least. A burly woman's voice called out "Wait friend, where are you going?"
Amrik meanwhile calmly sighed "Oh bother. What now?"
The spined creature sniffing at the air...
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"I appreciate the choice..." she says somewhat calmly despite struggling to escape "Don't feel like giving over my life's work to a couple of green Fists that don't know better. Hard."
Gorn feels an extreme cold where he grips Laraelra's bare flesh, as if all the heat of the surrounding lanterns was being snuffed by her will...her hand contorts into a strange 'V' shape, held inches from Gorn's face. That's where the blast originated from...
Gorn's fate is hard to know, as the blast of glistening razor ice shards also snuffs out nearby oil lanterns, plunging the duo into darkness.
Round 1:
Gorn
Laraelra, Patrons and Waitresses
Tiberius, Grim, Donal
Amrik and Co.
Mal
Bouncers <--UP
Religion to know infernal porcupine?: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19 Spined Devil?
Most scholars call them by another name, Spinagons. The highest ranking of the lesser baatezu, they love torturing anyone they can with their serrated spines that burst into hellish plasma when ejected. Wholly lacking in pride and power, legends have it they are nonetheless quite resilient to magic attacks.
F^#*, is all Donal can get out before he makes for Gorn and the drow.
Under the weight of Donal, Stubs the Bouncer was rethinking some s$$@. He had taken the job to get out of manual labor on the docks, spending his savings on months of martial training. But even his absolute best counterhold wasn't budging the Tormtar's grip an inch.
The other 2 bouncers on this deck rush the north steps where Donal and Grim are engaged with weapons drawn. Meanwhile, none have eyes on the lounge deck to know what defenses are being prepped there.
Round 2:
Gorn <--UP
Laraelra, Patrons and Waitresses
Tiberius, Grim, Donal
Amrik and Co.
Mal
Bouncers
edit:
Holy $#!%, cone of cold did she just kill like half of her patrons?
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Gorn is blown back by an epic-grade artic blast that lifts him off his feet and immediately severs his close grip on the lovely bar-owner.
As he stumbles back, reeling and trying to get a grip on WHAT THE F@@* JUST HAPPENED a small, heretofore unknown part of his brain is blinking that he was just attacked by a spell. An evocation spell. The location of the spell 6 inches, just in front and a bit down.
He thanks that part of his brain and tells it to go away and shut up.
Recovering from where the blast of unimaginable frost blew him, yet still in control of the majority of his assets, he turns to the mage with a baleful glare and spits out a large hunk of bloody phlegm.
He stands, swings one huge hand behind his back and brings out Shellcracker.
"My turn.
At some point in the melee, with a motion so smooth any onlooker would even question if such a thing could happen, he stuffs one of his trademark and -excellent- oatmeal raisin cookies in his mouth, restoring his strength.
Shellcracker finds its mark somehow in the dark, and the tiny grunt rather than a full scream suggests Laraelra isn't a stranger to battle "Do you want to rethink things before it gets messy? You're not the first idiots to try and shake down the Low Lantern..."
Though she struggles in vain to slip away, a high pitched sound starts to slowly rise to a crescendo as some kind of energy is siphoned into the woman's body.
The strange kenku waitress is most assuredly not participating in the violence, taking a squat behind the bar counter. The other patrons on deck (the duergar, 2 drow, 3 humans and the halfling) take a cautious posture as if they are unsure what to do, if anything at all. The cross-eyed duergar speaks "What the hell is this Lara? How'd ye piss off the Wavers this time?" but there's no immediate response from the darkened and rather cold aft.
Round 2:
Gorn
Laraelra, Patrons and Waitresses
Tiberius, Grim, Donal <--UP
Amrik and Co.
Mal
Bouncers
Donal makes his way down the stair to the lower level, Grim, be careful, sounds like they may have a devil down there, more than just imps.