Please create a post and delete to add your character to the game.
The streets of the Augustana's Shipyard district swelter in the sultry heat of summer, and all around you the industry of the Shipyards rumble. As you climb the hill, you can see not only the largest shipyard in the inner sea, but also beyond it to the deep blue waters and tall ships of the Great Salt Harbor.
Up ahead is your destination, the Brine Shark Bistro. Not only is this restaurant famous for its crabcakes, but it's where you expect to get your mission briefing from Venture-Captain Brackett.
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Brother Nyoka bows gently their face obscured by an iron mask, and their body by a white cloak with silver and blue inlays. A small porcelain mask hangs from an iron chain around their neck.
"I am Sir Nyoka Iomadar, holder of the rank of Knight of Lastwall and Acolyte of the First Step of Razmir, the Living God."
The mask remains static but a smile almost radiates from behind it "Among friends here though please just call me Brother Nyoka, Sir Iomedar is far too formal."
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A Varisian man enters the room playing his flute. He is too focused on the tune he is playing, that he doesn't notice the other pathfinders. Later on, he plays an off-key note, and he snaps out of his trance. "Oh! Apologies! I have been figuring out a good finisher for a new song I'm working on, but I can't seem to get it right. I am Malark. Malark Evenwood! A pleasure to meet you all!"
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The next pathfinder to enter is an average looking human, other than his long metallic silver hair. He wears the robes of a priest and has the holy symbol of Apsu hanging from his neck.
He takes a deep breath through his nose as he enters, "Don't you just love that sea air? My name's Faethor, some call me Silverbrow for obvious reasons."
A dwarf woman carrying a platter of crabcakes swings by. "You must be the party for the private room we're expecting. You're a little early luvs, but I'll show you tha way to tha room so you can rest yer feet, eh?"
She leads you all to the private room at the back of the restaurant. A long well-made table dominates almost the entire area. The walls are adorned with paintings from local artists featuring the harbor in different styles. The dwarf brings another platter of crabcakes and sets it onto the table with a stack of plates.
"Let me know what ya'd like to drink, an I'll get right on it!"
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A burly human man with a broad grin enters. He wears a suit of half-plate armor that has seen better days, but which is well-cared for and without any rust. In his right hand he bears a polearm which has obviously seen some use, but which bears a bright edge nonetheless.
Seeing the Pathfinders gathered together, he joins them, scooping up a hot crabcake and sliding it onto a plate.
"Afternoon," he says by way of greeting. "This looks to be the place. Name's Antilochus. They said you might need a hunter so here I am. Good to meet you."
"Oh, uh, whiskey if you have it, dear," he says to the dwarven server. "Ale'll be fine if you don't."
Turning back to the group, he introduces a sleek raven that alights nearby to peck at a crabcake. "Oh, and this here's my buddy Memnon."
“Excellent, you're all here,” Venture-Captain Brackett says as he gestures to those seated around the table. “I have two people you need to meet. They're responsible for fulfilling the Pathfinder supplies that you equip yourselves with before each mission. First, is our head quartermaster, Kitsch.”
He points to an ysoki woman using a full toolkit, including various pliers, saws and picks, to dismember a large crab carcass. Kitsch's overalls are liberally smeared and spattered with both grease and shell bits. She glances up, waves, and then returns her focus to trying to break apart the crab shell without saying a word.
Then Brackett points out a tall mwangi man in an elegant tunic unsuccessfully trying to stay out of spatter range. “And this man is our Head of Procurement, Immaculate-Weaving-Under-Moonlight Nairaba.”
“Please, that is such a long mouthful,” the man says as he passes out napkins and cleaning cloths. “Feel free to call me, Nairaba. Tell me, what are you called?”
While everyone talks, waiters bring in wine, savory crab cakes, and other seafood dishes. Nairaba pours wine for everyone and then tastes it, nearly spitting it out. “Oh my, has this gone off? It may be more suitable as cleaning solvent than as a beverage.”
Kitsch glances furtively around for waitstaff, then dumps the bottle of restaurant wine into a drooping plant. She holds up her hands for a moment and pulls three other bottles of wine out of her cheek pouches. The moment she empties her pouches she says, “Sometimes the secret to a good supply chain is knowing when you need to smuggle things in. I think you’ll find these bottles are much better, Nairaba.”
“Thank you.” Nairaba carefully wipes each bottle down before passing them around; they are an excellent Galtan vintage.
******
A few minutes later, Brackett closes the door firmly so that no other waitstaff can invade. “Now that you've all been sufficiently wined and dined,” he says, “It's time to explain why we've scheduled this little excursion to Augustana. Cheliax has never embraced the Society, even at the best of times. They made Pathfinders illegal within their country. Then a few months ago, they burnt Greensteeples, the secret lodge we had there.”
“But since the Battle of Hellknight Hill, they've grown positively restless,” Nairaba says. “We've always had Chelaxian smugglers and the like willing to deal with the Society, but now they're all treating us like pariahs, and some have told us that the Chelaxian military is requisitioning all the supplies they would normally sell to us.”
Brackett nods. “Immediately after the battle, Zarta Dralneen warned us that Cheliax does not forgive slights. Since Isger is under the protection of Cheliax, Queen Abrogail will want revenge. With an Inner Sea war brewing, the Society's leadership believes that we need more ships for our naval defenses.”
Kitsch leans forward. “So that's why Nairaba and I are here,” Kitsch says, “This is the biggest shipyard in the Inner Sea. But Nairaba and I aren't warriors -- not like you lot." Kitsch eyeballs the group. "That's why we're asking you to escort us and look for signs of trouble.”
“No one believes that Cheliax will do anything direct without a formal declaration of war,” Brackett says coldly. “But that doesn't mean that they won't try indirect and underhanded methods.”
Kitsch looks at the group. "At this point, you probably have questions. So... Go ahead and ask them, alright?"
Brackett turns to Brother Nyoka. "That's correct. They may ask you to be another set of eyes on the ships as well, but ensuring their safety is priority."
To Faethor, Nairaba says, “We have to assume they'll try anything short of actual Chelaxian troops on Andoran soil. The Chelaxians
have a diabolical love of intrigue.”
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"Surely Cheliax wouldn't force the harbor with warships or drop a squadron of Hellknights on the city, right? So this will be some sort of subterfuge in order to keep the Society from gaining ships. Is it buying the ships you plan? Is there more than one builder/seller here that we need to get in to see?"
Brackett says to Herkemer, "No, I doubt the Chelaxians would be that brazen."
Kitsch says, "That's right, we're here to see what they've got! We'll meet our contact and walk the yard."
"You can let us worry about the money," says Nairaba gently, "but we will welcome your feedback on the ships we see. Do tell us what you think of them.” To Brother Nyoka, Nairaba politely declines the cup. "I've had my fill of unfamiliar beverages for now, I think."
Kitsch takes the cup from Brother Nyoka, gives it a sniff, then downs it, swishing the liquid back and forth between her cheek pouches. "Tastes watery!"
"Oooh, I almost forgot, speaking of gifts..." Kitsch starts pulling things out of a bag. "We've got our normal Pathfinder Provisions for all of you, plus some other goodies." She pulls out a platinum choker engraved with writing in the diabolic language. "Here's a choker of elocution in case they send devils against us. Now, where did I put the rest?" Kitsch crawls halfway into her bulging bag and grabs a few more items. "Here's some useful consumables: a dragon turle scale, an effervescent ampoule, and a moderate pair of blast boots." Kitsch mimes explosions coming off one's feet.
Nairaba nods. "There have to be some advantages to traveling with the heads of Procurement and Supply. Are you ready to see some ships?"
Nairaba and Kitsch lead the way down the five blocks from the Brine Shark’s Bistro, down a steep incline to the dockside office of Olad the Alright Shipwright. Soon, the sounds of the Shipyard district grow more raucous. Gangs of workers sing Consortium lumberjack chants as they haul timber, and a cacophony of saws and hammers fills the air as craftsmen put together hulls in the dry docks. Augustana is sultry in summer; Nairaba and Kitsch fan themselves but heat radiates off the streets. The occasional cool breeze blowing off the Great Salt Harbor brings some relief not just from the heat, but from the mingling smells of sweat, sawdust, oil, and tar.
Olad is a tanned and muscular halfling who greets your Pathfinder delegation as if you were all long lost friends, pumping each of your hands in a hearty handshake. He expresses his joy in meeting all of you. “Buying ships for a navy, yes? Why then, you’ll be needing lots of ships! Small ships! Tall ships! So many ships, and Trustworthy Olad has them all for you!”
"Alright, I present you with your first ship, the Pert Peach!" The Pert Peach is a squat, mid-sized ship painted in gaudy colors and replete with the eye-watering scent of perfume belowdeck. Olad gestures expansively on the ship tour. “This pre-owned beauty is one we’re refurbishing! In addition to an excellent galley, there are so many private rooms, useful for storage!”
The Pathfinder Society team inspects the ship from the crow's nest to the bilges. Antilochus, Glorne, and Malark realize that while this ship would make an excellent passenger or hospital vessel, the ship is much too slow and unwieldy for the rapid transportation the Society often needs. This is no warship.
Nairaba nods as you give him your assessment of the ship. "Hmmm. Do you have any faster ships?"
Olad nods. He says, b]"Let's take a walk, then!"[/b], and you're walking through the shipyard again. As you're traveling, you see quite a few aimless sailors wandering the dockyard, and Olad pushes roughly through them to clear a path for you.
The Scurvy Scamp is a lean, two-masted brig. Olad smiles as he takes you aboard. “Okay, so you want fast, you want lean, you want this ship! She’s fast and can be used for discreet merchandise,” Olad pauses to wink at Nairaba and Kitsch, “Or for stealthy drops of soldiers on an enemy coast.”
The Scurvy Scamp is indeed seaworthy and fast. Glorne, Malark, and Faethor realize, however, that its rudder is in terrible repair and needs replacement. If the price was reduced for the bad rudder, it might be something the Pathfinder Society could fix in a few weeks.
"Huh..." Kitsch says as you provide the rundown. "I was hoping for something we could use now, but this one is something for us to consider. What else you got, Olad?"
Olad pauses, and says, "You want something more war ready? Follow me!"
As you travel to the third ship, loitering sailors around the shipyard have gotten a bit rowdier. Some have opened a crate of Sauerton Red and are passing bottles around. The sailors sit on the docks, drinking and watching the nearby ships. Olad detours around a pair of sailors who are stretched out on the dock and then complains, “Those louts are getting in the way of honest work.” He turns to the sailors and shakes a fist. “Hey! We're trying to work here! Move on!” but the sailors shrug and ignore him.
All of the Pathfinders except Faethor realize that this is unusual behavior for off-duty sailors. Why are they hanging around a busy shipyard instead of enjoying the nearby bars and entertainment a few blocks away?
*****
The Lucky Duck is a full-rigged ship with three tall masts. There are recently repaired battle scars on the hull. Olad grins, spreading his arms. “This ship may need a good scrub down and a little love, but she can carry a lot of personnel and has the space for 50 cannons onboard.”
The ship is filthy. Malark hears squeaking and scurrying noises. Herkemer and Brother Nyoka spot a rat scurry across Olad's bare foot, though Olad pretends to take no notice.
Glorne, Brother Nyoka, and Malark inspect the ship and find that it is indeed lucky and would be a fine ship. It seems to be ready now and would serve the Pathfinder Society well. Nairaba and Kitsch seemed pleased with the assessment and the party begins to head to the next assessment.
The wooden docks creak underfoot as Olad leads the way off the Lucky Duck. “I have a few other options for—” he breaks off as a commotion starts near the docks.
Dozens of rough-looking goblin sailors swarm throughout the area, lighting fires in the shipyard and brandishing weapons. They shriek gleefully as terrified dockworkers scream and scramble out of the way. Plumes of smoke rise, and the scent of burning wood fills the air. Olad puffs out his chest. “My ships! You’ll have my ships over my dead body!” Olad shouts as he grabs a belaying pin and jumps into the fray.
From all sides, the sounds of “Ook-ook-ook!” calls rise as both monkey goblins and gorilla pirates grab onto ropes and swing into the dock area, attacking everyone in their path.
Iniative Tracker
Bold may act.
Active party buffs:
Battle Map: Slides
Environmental effects: Special Actions
Round 1
Brother Nyoka
Glorne
Antilochus
Malark
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Pirate Gorillas
Pirate Goblins
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Herkemer
Faethor