GM Chadius presents: 5-05 The Island of the Vibrant Dead (Table 1) (Inactive)

Game Master chadius

"Please call Marcon into the office." The Mayor turns to Dead Doug, who simply nods and leaves.

Mayor Arlandrie looks at the pouch. "Magical? I'll ask some of the scholars to look at it later."

Marcon and Dead Doug return. The mayor speaks up. "Marcon, I apologize. I did not believe your claims and this town was threatened. Dead Doug was also uncomfortable with the captain, but he couldn't explain why." Dead Doug simply nods.

The mayor sighs. "Please, Captain. Take control of the Rapscallion and keep Deadhaven safe." Dead Doug almost bounces up with excitement. He seems to grunt joyfully before marching out of the mayor's office.

The mayor leads you out of her building just as Lord Walsam catches up. The mayor gives Marcon a look, who mumbles "It's difficult to keep secrets from him..."

Lord Walsam turns to you, ignoring the breach of privacy. "You simply MUST stay tonight, Pathfinders! The Celebration of the Vibrant Dead promises is a night of music, dance, and tasty baked mangoes from an old Azlanti recipe passed down through the Faithful. And my Dead on Demand beverages will be free for sampling!"

Marcon chimes in. "It's a good opportunity to reinforce our partnership with the Pathfinder Society. Verily, Kaltestrua shan’t let go of what she has gleaned of us. We’ll need to protect each other for what’s to come.”

Dead on Demand... are they safe for us warm, live types to drink?

She seems dubious about the concept but is open to hearing more about it.

Klank nods in agreement to stay the night, in the event their services are still needed. Who knows what other agents may be still in play. He doesn't however agree to sampling any odd drinks.

And then it was over.

Robbed of his fair duel, Don Jurri pouts all the way back to the mayor. He doesn't even look at Dead Doug, nor the Mayor, who in his view, is still in secret kahoots with... whatever they were revolting against. A passing fad, our chivalric hero's "revolution" is little more than just that: a turning of his attention from one thing to the next on some narrative journey only he can formulate text for.

Shedding his soiled clothes, he orders around his man-servant "Dotty Smee!"

"Yes, sir" is the dutiful response.

"Fetch me additional garments from my wardrobe"

"You wardrobe, sir, is not here, sir"

"Well then, I shall commandeer yours!"

Stripping Dotty Smee of his pirate's garb - which fits tightly and restrains his movements somewhat, but which is, by measure, marginally less soiled, he attends the gala and dances with all the pretty ghouls all through the night...

...while Dotty Smee tends to his ship, alone, in the dark, and without clothes.

All night.