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The captain greets his optimism with geniality, then casts his gaze upon the party. "You can stay here tonight, we've rented the entire place." The crew chatters for some hours more, then pulls the blinds against the midnight sun and heads off to sleep.
Upon hearing Jaym'row's directive, Stenni sighs and suggests you may be right, only to join Jaym'row in her gimlet goblinward stare. The captain unfurls his arms and breaks the silence. "Well, if you are in favor, that tips the balance toward a majority. While you set about acquiring this lens of yours, I will continue to put out feelers for a wealthy backer." He turns to the blacksmith, Thorvaldur Hrolfssen, and adds, "Perhaps you can craft a gun we can use to demonstrate its power."
In an effort to change the subject, the captain turns to the other party members and breaks his uncomfortable silence. "Gunnar said you have thoughts about sharing the secret of blast powder with the locals. He said you were mostly in favor?"
The captain takes her point with a dip of the head. "They'll need gunpowder, too." He turns to the party. "You said you visited a volcanic hot spring not far from here? The underground caverns could serve as a source of brimstone. Saltpeter will have to come from extracting livestock bedding and manure. Charcoal can be made from surrounding timber. But these operations will be expensive. I don't suppose you've met anyone of great financial means in your time here who would be willing to put up some capital if we show him or her what blast powder can do?"
At this ribald levity from a most unexpected quarter, Miriam blushes and stares intently into her soup as if attempting to divine the future from its contents, while the rest of the crew breaks into guffaws. Ferrino chuckles despite himself, but quickly gets back to the business at hand. Turning to the party, he tugs on his beard and levels a question. "I understand you have thoughts on introducing gunpowder to the natives? If we were to commercialize it, we might be able to finance the building of a ship with the proceeds, but the effects on broader society could be... unpredictable."
The captain nods. "The crew is quite well, my green friend, as you can see," he says, motioning toward Miriam, who raises her mug in acknowledgement. "As to friends, I am attempting to introduce myself to the local bourgeoisie. In the meantime, most of us have found work, and we're saving up to move to better quarters. Ah!" He turns toward the door as the latch wiggles. "Speaking of which..."
The party follows the directions to the address on the sheet of paper Gunnar had given them, crossing the bridge back over the Oxbane and trekking into the working-class part of town. The flophouse in question, a low-rent but not excessively dirty or decrepit building, is nearly full as a result of the crew's arrival. The rickety bunk-beds along the walls and hammocks hung from poles set in the ceiling offer a vibe reminiscent of belowdecks on the Hellion's Cry, sunk these many weeks ago. As you enter, the crew, arranged around a crock-pot of potato soup enjoying the attentions of Snekki's stirring spoon, turn and cheer. Even the melancholy Elendriel Malorne smiles. The captain, holding the pairstone in his left hand and gazing at it in the manner one would a pocketwatch, smiles, places the stone in the folds of his vest, and greets you. "It's been awhile. Come, have some soup, and tell us how things have gone. Gunnar told us a little, but we would like the full report."
As you finish up the transaction, a sussurus snakes in through the crack under the door, condenses into a tiny nebula of mist, and assumes the shape of a familiar face. "I hope this message finds you well. We are awaiting an after-action report. Meet us at the rest house on Farlonghan Street. Come soon."
The crew murmurs agreement. Seeing discontent brewing and seeking to nip it in the bud, the captain says to you all, "Let's spend two days recuperating here, then we'll split up. You five stay here and wait for the crone-" he points to Okoteck, Syper, Jaym'row, Kork, and Jade, "-while the rest of us head to this Oxbane Keep and get our bearings commercially. We'll need to find or build a shipyard of the right size and make..."
The captain sighs, disappointed but not defeated. "That will take many years, I'm afraid." After a moment, he changes the subject.
Dwarven: "Our guide, Amka, tells us there are elves who live in the deep interior, and your people have knowledge of them. What can you tell us about these elves?“
Ferrino lets out a long-suffering sigh, weighed down by the catastrophe that was the last few weeks. Speaking in rusty Dwarven, which is apparently well enough understood in these parts, the captain introduces each member of his crew, translates when needed as they describe their skills, and finally lays out his predicament, while Okoteck translates for those who don't speak Dwarven. "We are... Far Outlanders, who were shipwrecked and need to return home, across the sea. To do that we will need a ship capable of long ocean voyages. Do you know where we might find one?”"
“Are you alright?” gasps Alphonse Ferrino, concern etched on every inch of his features. She nods breathlessly, then kisses him deeply on the lips. Startled, it takes him a moment to realize what is happening before responding to her kiss.
The captain takes off his hat and holds it before him as he bends the knee, answering with as much self-assurance as can be mustered under the circumstances. The rest of the crew quickly takes his lead, genuflecting and removing their headgear and hoods. “Sire, we are stalked by a vile spirit you call the tuunbaq. My crewmember here has been infected with its madness, and we are told you are the only one who can cure her.”
Physically and emotionally drained, the normally stoic captain is more haggard than you've ever seen him. He stares at the woman tied to the sled, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, for long moments before turning to the Saruqi huntress. "You say the Green King can cure her. Where is this man?"
“What in the fires of Zemak is going on?” Ferrino inquires worriedly. As Amka describes the dangers of the tuunbaq, the faces of the crew grow more and more horrified. When she mentions the terrible dreams, the captain glances worriedly toward the woods. When she completes her tale, the captain turns to those assembled and declares flatly, “We’re leaving. Pack the essentials and anything irreplaceable; I want sails up and anchors aweigh in fifteen minutes.” He turns back to you. “Cipriano and Hodak went out for firewood; I want you to go get them. Cipriano hasn’t been sleeping well these last few days. Let’s hope it’s just nerves.” His grim expression belies his stated optimism. He points in the direction he’d glanced earlier, toward a hole in the treeline whence the palisades and firewood had come these past few weeks, then begins helping the crew strip the camp.
After allowing them a moment to bask in their achievements, the captain cuts in again. "If the high elves still live, though, their secrets might be more valuable than mithril and gold. We must send a mission to the Röskarí to palaver, and discover what they know of the elves." He places his empty soup bowl on the ground next to the fire and glances at Amka. "Once, of course, you have investigated the remains of this village of yours. If we are to persuade the nobles to leave well enough alone, we must gather all the evidence we can of this Great Dark Ocean Spirit."
The captain nods at Jaym'row and begins speaking, his baritone echoing off the cliffs. "I agree with Jaymie. Of course, in this case it's rather academic--this expedition was never equipped to perform any serious mining operations, merely to prospect for potential sources of high-quality ore."
The crew exchange glances again, this time open-mouthed. After a moment of stunned silence, the captain speaks. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I'm no stranger to magic, but this is something on a level I have not encountered in all my days." He turns to the party. "You lot are more learned in these things than me. Do you have any thoughts?"
The captain nods, not satisfied with her answer but satisfied she does not know what he asks. "When we are finished here, we should make contact with these Röskarí. If they have boats, they must have a harbor where we could anchor."
The crew exchange glances. After a moment, the captain tries a different tack. "You say there are people to the north of here who build halls of stone and dig metal from the ground, but they do not bring on this doom you've just told us of. How do they do this, if they don't follow your ways?"
Ferrino gazes back at the ship, where the marvelous ingot you found a few days ago has been securely stored in the hold, and sighs. "Damn you, you're right, of course." The captain regards Amka with a sorrowful gaze that lasts a brief moment before fading to unreadability. "You say your shamans knew which trees to cut and which rocks to move without disturbing the Beyond. Could one of them tell us which places to dig that wouldn't--"
Ferrino takes in her tale with mounting concern. After several minutes, he tugs at his chin, staring into the campfire as he wrestles with the staggering implications of her story. "Well," he begins, with an understated chuckle, "that's unfortunate." He looks around at his fellow crewmen, then over at her. "We can't cancel the expedition on one woman's word, obviously, but if it is true that something eldritch lurks below this already forbidding country and settlement cannot proceed without strict supernatural precautions, if at all, then obviously House Dandolon must be made aware."
Upon returning to the camp, Captain Ferrino greets your new visitor with surprise. “Welcome, maiden, to our camp,” he says chivalrously.
Ferrino grins and slaps each of you on the back. “This is what we came here for, folks!” He points at the ingot. "That's worth twenty thousand gold to the right people, easily. Were it not for the ever-present danger of frozen death pressing down upon us, I would break out the grog!"
"Smoke?" The captain glances northward, but with the camp located in a depression, the horizon is blocked by trees. "We'll want to investigate that, most certainly, when we get the time. Perhaps even tomorrow." He turns back to you. "But for now, we should take a look at this rock you found. If others have tried to mine the area in the past, that tells us there might be something there. And if there were extraplanar creatures in its vicinity, that something might be very valuable indeed."
"I take it you have discovered some mineralogical curiosities of sufficient interest to merit carrying fifty pounds of rock down an eighty foot cliff. And if you found a way up, you must have had quite the view of our surroundings. Anything I should know about?"
Ferrino glances up at the cliffside. "Now that's a thought..." he responds positively. "We have rope to spare." He turns to the carpenter. "Do you have any pulleys or anything of that sort?"
On the morning of your third full day on Thalis, as you help lever one of the wooden stakes into an upright position, Captain Ferrino approaches the party. He gives an appreciative nod as the stake bites into the frozen ground. “The wall is beginning to take shape. I hate to tear you away, but I think the rest of the crew can handle it from here. I need you to scout the lay of the land. We need to know what’s upriver, past the trees. We could also stand to find out what’s at the top of those cliffs above the camp. You can do them in whatever order, we just need them both surveyed.” He hands each of you a minor elixir of life and points at the supply tent. “We have just enough climber’s kits for the five of you, if you’re doing the cliff first.”
The captain dips his head in acknowledgement of the dwarf's point. "Hopefully," he replies, "we won't need any more of it. We're nearly to the edge of the Deep Empire, and as the seas get colder we'll stand less and less of a chance of running into a sea serpent or other monster." He pauses, then adds ominously, "I hope."
The captain roars back, "Then let's do it!"
The captain yells a followup question. "Can the weapon get them all?"
The captain curses again. After a moment to think, he yells another question. "Are they all together?"
The captain curses, then mutters, "Thank the gods for darkvision." He raises his voice and yells out, "How many?"
"Would you mind if I held onto one of the spears? I feel like it'll come in handy." "Certainly," Ferrino replies, handing him the one covered in the least amount of gore. He then takes his everlight, ties it to a leather waterskin, fills the skin with air, seals it tight, and tosses it overboard.
Ferrino prods the corpse at his feet with his boot. “Let’s send them a different signal, shall we?” He stands back, grabs the sea devil’s spear, and, with a roar and a running start, rams the head of the weapon clean through the corpse’s jaw and out the back of its skull. Repeating this with the other corpses (save the one brained by Kork, who rendered such action redundant), the captain throws the bloody bodies over the edge, where they hit the speeding surf with four loud crashes. As you rocket away on the night breeze, you hear the sharks begin to feed.
Ferrino kicks one onto its side and points at the clay phial tied to its waist by a leather thong. “It was trying to use this.” He cuts the leather with his dagger and picks it up. “These little pots hold a corrosive solution of concentrated alchemical brine that rapidly destroys any metal it comes in contact with. Their goal was to destroy the armature holding the masts in place, knock them over, and make us a sitting duck for the war party that is undoubtedly nearby. That's how the creatures operate, at least in this part of the ocean. I've dealt with them before.” Mirian nods, glancing about nervously for signs of further attack.
The captain nods. "All good points. Fetch Gunnar and Thaddrick before you do, they'll want to oversee the loading process."
The captain sighs. "It was a long shot in the dark. I didn't even expect it to work." He leans against the railing. "It's the uncertainty that will bother me, though. Even if the fate of the supplier is none of our business, it remains troubling that we do not know what will become of things back home."
The captain shakes his head at Kork's question. "This was our last stop before Thalis. Hopefully these events won't pose any issues for the expedition--we recovered the distillate successfully and haven't lost any crew or significant supplies. Our time on Thalis should be free of intrigue; at least, of the kind to which we are accustomed." He grimaces again. "Of course, in the meantime, if others have been able to discover the identity of our supplier, House Dandolon's military advantage might be squandered. We're merely assuming Lairus's men planted it when we were attacked at the docks, it could easily have been a Nendastan agent." He steps over to the foc's'le and cracks open the lid of the box to which he had pointed earlier. Bending over and rooting around for several moments, he retrieves a dull brown object encrusted with dirt and sawdust. Rubbing it with his finger reveals a glint of reflected light that could only come from a gemstone. "As I feared. Something like this could have been concealed here for weeks without us noticing." He points to Mirian. "Head belowdecks and see whether there were any bottles, phials, or other containers on the corpses that Klotrich could search for residue. I will send a warning to the Dandolon offices before we get too far." He weaves his hands before him in gestures of eldritch power. The air condenses before him into a vaporous apparition. The captain speaks in a calm, clear voice: "Distillate attacked. Still intact, approaching Thalis, but enemy agents aware of weapon, possibly identified supplier. Has mage with invisibility, tracked our ship from Eredorn. Beware." An eerie replica of Ferrino's face emerges from the animate cloud and repeats his message in a low, unnerving susurrus. Satisfied with the message, Ferrino raises his signet ring and points to the symbol of House Dandolon emblazoned upon it. The whispering wind darts over the gunwale and begins speeding back toward port. The captain turns to face Jaym'row. "If what Okoteck says is true, these things—" he raises the gem, now almost completely clean at the expense of his kerchief– "come in pairs, and are useless to anyone who doesn't have one or the other. Since we have both, it might not be necessary to throw them overboard; in fact, they might come in handy on the expedition." He pauses for a moment to replace the kerchief in his pocket. "We should avoid going near the weapon or reviewing sensitive documents until we reach Thalis, however, on the off chance something attempts to scry on us. Once we reach Thalis, we should be safe from prying eyes--scrying and detection spells from beyond the continent return only the murkiest results regarding things in the interior, and even then the diviner must be of exceptional skill or else they fail entirely; something to do with the ley lines." He adjusts his hat, which had begun leaning in the high wind. "I imagine something similar must prevent long-distance translocation magic from working effectively, or else the Akarnennian Empire or Sultanate of Dar Tek would have colonized the island a long time ago. Of course, in this benighted age, spellcasters of sufficient power to travel such vast distances by magic are practically unheard of."
The captain grimaces, harder this time. He looks around and motions Mirian and the other four party members to him. "I trust Mirian with my life, and since she says the mage did his level best to kill you all, I doubt you're working with him. Luwana, Sebasthin, the cooper Agosti, and the blacksmith Hrolfsson have been with me for years and I believe them above suspicion. The rest, it would surprise me greatly if they were to turn traitor, but I cannot rule them out." He thinks for a moment. "Of course, if our adversaries have access to potions of invisibility, anyone could also have planted this tracker while most of the rest of the crew were off the ship, giving them adequate knowledge of our speed and heading to alert agents abroad to our approach and prepare an ambush." He snaps his head around and glances at the grate covering the ladder belowdecks. "Did any of the corpses we stripped have empty phials on them? If they did, they'll be in the pile of miscellaneous bric-a-brac next to the bilge. If there are any phials, perhaps Klotrich could test them to identify any residue that might be present." He turns back to the party. "And obviously we need to find the other end of the stone." He leans in and glances at the device in Okoteck's cupped talon. "Unless I miss my guess, it's over there, in the box of spare coiled rope," he says, pointing.
Ferrino strides over to the magus and leans in close. Okoteck: "That bad, eh?" he whispers, half-jokingly.
At Kork's suggestion, the captain's expression grows grimmer still. He nods wordlessly and awaits the tengu's report.
The captain grows pensive. "Assuming, of course, they haven't already planted a tracking charm on us back in Eredorn. The knowledge of our stopover in Jurgen's Fist was kept on a very tight leash; If we aren't being tracked by something planted on the ship, it's very, very concerning that they were able to find us, as it would imply betrayal or catastrophic security failure." He points belowdecks and says to Okoteck, "Be quick about your investigations; we'll soon be too far from shore for my elemental servitor to reach the local Dandolon offices with a report before expiring."
Ferrino nods and replies curtly, "I'm sure he's a fine man. Now, if everything is in order, I'd like to get under sail before the wind changes." He motions to the rest of the crew, and the loading of the barrels is the work of five minutes. As the harbormaster steps off the boat and the gangway is raised, he turns and asks, "So what really happened?"
Ah right, I forgot you get that at level 1. I'll include the DCs in a little spoiler.
The captain nods at Jaym'row. "Our stopover in Jurgen's Fist will involve collecting the distillate, in addition to picking up regular supplies." He furrows his brow momentarily, then offers, "If we hadn't been attacked, I wouldn't have brought up the weapon until we got to Thalis, but since you might be accosted in port for being a member of my crew I feel it is only fair to warn you." He ponders for a beat, then adds, "Now that we know others are aware of the weapon, I think it unwise to allow more than half the crew to leave the ship at any one time until we leave the Norennian Sea behind." He turns and begins heading toward his cabin.
As Ferrino takes the paper, he replies, "Lairus was a shoddy man. It's fortunate for us that the Kleretori were foolish enough to hire a man with such terrible self-control and so little capacity for planning and strategy." He reads the note and then grimaces. "So they know about the Dragonsbite. This is unfortunate; if the Kleretori know and are hiring others to investigate, there's no telling who else is aware of what we're carrying." He nods to the tengu spellsword to follow him and strides out of the tiny office, gathering the party from around the ship and bringing them to the mid-deck. He points to a silver contraption roughly four feet tall, with a barrel of a yard and a half. A series of gears, levers, and springs connected to a brass tube allows for it to be pressurized, either by stepping on a foot pedal or via the small steam engine attached to the base. The captain gestures at the device and says, by way of explanation, "The Dragonsbite. A naphtha launcher retrofitted to fire a special distillate taken from the leaves of snappod orchids, which normally grow only in the Delendel Forest. The only alchemists who know how to distil the oil without it breaking down are very tight-lipped; our supplier in Jurgen’s Fist doesn’t even know who they are." He points to a large void under the barrel, presumably to one day be occupied by a canister of some sort, and continues. "The oil is normally harmless unless ignited, but when passed over the catalyst at the end of the launcher’s barrel, then exposed to air while in flight, the distillate becomes extremely corrosive, melting through armor and soaking into whatever material its target is composed of before exploding with tremendous force and setting the target and surrounding area ablaze.” He notes your questioning looks. “Dandolon is not the only House that knows of the virloga’s disappearance. And it’s inevitable that Nendasta will mount an expedition as well. We need to be prepared for more than surly orca-men if we are to survive this.” He nods in the direction of the kitchen, his expression brightening. "But enough of that for now. Time for lunch! And afterwards you can each swing by the surgeon to pick up your emergency healing potion."
The captain waves his hand at the corpse dismissively. "Lairus was always a hothead and a fool, but he had the ability to convince others of his competence–for short stints, at least. What the Kleretori would see in him, I don't know... but they were never the wisest of the houses, and if it weren't for their connections to the Sultan of Dar Tek they would have sunk to the level of a minor house many years ago." He heads belowdecks and peeks in on Okoteck. "How goes the decryption? Have you deciphered it yet?"
He notes the insignia on the broken seal and mutters, “Hmm… House Kleretori meddling in our affairs again. I'm surprised–Mulm always struck me as too small-time to get involved in such things.” Ferrino stares at the shifting symbols for many long moments. “It’s magical, but my training can’t tell me more than that. If you want to take first crack at it, have at it. If you can’t solve it, the navigator can give it a try, but nobody else has a hope. It’s only three days to Jurgen’s Fist anyhow.”
The captain lopes over the brief span of the pier and halts beside the cox’n. “First Ones, the paperwork on this one will be a headache,” Ferrino groans through clenched teeth as he surveys the carnage. Sebasthin nods. Ferrino nudges the charred corpse of the ringleader with his boot. "Lairus Mulm, I take it?" Cyranno grunts an affirmation. With almost comic timing, the first patch of snow on the roof above melts sufficiently for the corpse of the crossbowman buried within to roll free and crash to the pavement. Ferrino sighs. He turns to the crewmen that have just arrived, a mustachioed aiuvarin man of indeterminate age and a dark-skinned female human, and gives them a curt instruction. “Get on the ship and prepare to raise sail. I’ll send a runner to fetch the rest of the crew so we can get out of here.” With that, Ferrino waves his hands in a strange rhythm and whispers words of eerie force. A tiny figure of coalesced vapor appears, then streaks off in the direction of the red-light district. He turns to the party. “Get the bodies on the ship so we can strip them and toss them when we put out to sea. Weapons go in the armory, and coins go into the booty pot. We’ll divvy it up later. And no hiding any, or it’s the lash.” He points to a pile of tarps lying by the door to the warehouse. "If you need help carrying the corpses, those should do handsomely."
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