Cordell traded away low-light vision. (Reckless, I know.)
The watch schedule does depend on how much time we get. We could also all just take two hours of watch by having only one person on watch at a time.
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"Some people cannot be reasoned with. From my understanding, the thugs these pretender-god's priests employ are often in that category." I have had luck reasoning with many just like them in the past, but I suppose things do change. As the morning's tribulations fade, Cordell begins to exalt in the river air. He takes out a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off his face. I'm sure you know your vessel Captain, but if you require any aid, I would be happy to oblige. I was born on a boat, they tell me, though I've been... away for a while. Assuming he's not needed in boat operations, Cordell takes a seat on the boat, feeling the comfortable presence of the wood around him. He takes out a worn journal and spends his time writing and munching on an apple.
Cordell stands contemplatively, watching Xer fade into the distance. Four years of my life, and for what? An assassination attempt and an early morning flight. As the adrenaline wears down, he suddenly feels very tired. He turns to address the Water Wraith's new crew, as well as the Captain. I apologize if I assumed too much authority back there. I thought it would be best to at least attempt to defuse a violent situation before it began. It certainly would have worked out better for them. Try as he might, Cordell can't avoid a hint of regret in his voice, despite the Captain's words.
Cordell's first priority is to get the crates loaded, working with Alarien and Black Fin. He bids a hurried goodbye to Harroan. Thank you for your assistance, and good luck. All the time, he keeps a concerned eye out for backup that the priests might have sent for Regis and his boys. Then he spies the wholesale looting of the thugs. He stares, dumbstruck for a moment. Going through their pockets hadn't even occurred to him, much less divesting them of their clothing. I guess it should have. It's what hired muscle does, right? After another moment's hesitation, he joins Alarien and Nub in divesting them of their valuables, if only to speed the Water Wraith's escape. I suppose they won't need them. He thinks as he watches Nub roll his thug into the sea. Might, uhm, some of these fellows still be alive? Cordell asks anxiously, before they're all rolled into certain death. We should get a move on. The Captain's waiting.
Cordell gives Black Fin a wary pat on the head, taking care to avoid the spikes. After Black Fin doesn't bite him and embraces the sensation of being petted, Cordell relaxes a bit and turns to finish up with the thugs. This turns out to be an error in his thinking, as Black Fin will decide when Black Fin is done being petted, and now is not that time. Fortunately for Cordell, it's not too long before the Sauromancer calls Black Fin away. This allows Cordell to seize Regis's greatclub and one crossbow (with bolts) as an afterthought before following the dinosaur over to the crates and loading them onto the boat as quickly as he can manage.
Cordell's glances uneasily up and down the street to see if the fight drew any attention, or to see if anybody else was watching. His first thought is, bizarrely, I hope none of my clients saw that. He shakes the thought away as quickly as it came. There are no clients anymore. These are my clients. He looks at his new companions with an appreciative eye and hurries over to Black Fin to tend to the poor(?) dinosaur. I'm a little rusty at this. I hope it works right.
Cordell, who was looking in entirely the wrong direction, misses Vasrik's look, but gets his message. He snakes around Alarien, seeking out the positioning advantage.
for .
Cordell finally reaches the fray, charging Regis head on in an attempt to draw his attention away from Alarien. for damage.
Cordell curses the inevitable, and flinches from the crossbow bolt that glanced off his shoulder. He shouts to the thugs. This wasn't necessary. You will be the ones to pay. He draws a curious hooked and corded club from his waist. He then moves to the front of the cart, taking up the space Alarien just vacated.
Cordell nods to the captain. I've chosen a good boat. To Regis he says, Have it your way.
Cordell smiles. Great. I'll get those for you, and we won't take up any more of your time. If there is no great change in word or deed, Cordell moves to retrieve the papers. If he can reach them from Mirabella from the dock, he will do that, otherwise, he will board the boat to collect them. If he gets them, he will page through them to study them as quickly as possible, so he could attempt to recreate them if necessary.
Continuing the two different conversations, Cordell nods. Absolutely. If you let us load these crates, I'll get those out for you.
Cordell keeps his composure and keeps his gaze on the thugs, not outwardly acknowledging Alarien's words. Inwardly, however, he sighs. Did it have to escalate to threats so quickly? This was probably always going to end in violence. Ah well. His hand makes no move towards his clubs.
Cordell spares a brief glance at his allies before responding. When it comes to businessmen such as yourselves, that would be me. Is there something I can help you with? In his most authoritative voice, he addresses the party. Let's get those crates loaded. We don't have much time if we're going to make the tide.
Cordell hefts his large oaken shield, and leaves his clubs at his waist for the moment. Aye, Captain. He mutters a quiet elven prayer, as if he can't remember the words, as he draws a ward in front of him. He then interposes himself between the men and the boat. As they approach within 40 feet or so, Cordell hails them. Morning, gentlemen. How can we be of assistance?
Cordell finishes buckling on his scale mail and makes a few experimental motions in it. Beastly stuff, but it gets the job done. It will be useful if we're going to repel pirates. I wonder if there's a better way. To Alarien's jest, Cordell laughs first. If only. That would be an easier matter than some of the priests. Nevertheless, Captain, He says, turning to Mirabella, I will personally ensure that this boat leaves when you give the order. Do you suppose we could go and find the lost shipment?
Possibly waiting until after Mirabella responds with the correct information about the boat, Cordell will go through the introductions again, also for Mirabella's benefit. What's your name, sir?
Cordell Drummond. He flashes a smile and shakes Harroan's hand, a task made a little awkward because he's still putting on armor. Deals are my specialty. It seems like you'll find agreeable attitudes among our new friends. This is Bellamin, Vasrik, and Alarien.
Poor in another place and time, I grant you, but apparently the priests have stepped up their vigilance and fines. Mirabella Drumbarrel is her captain.
And who is this fine young spinosaurus? I've never seen one, just heard stories of them. Aren't they supposed to get much bigger? I was in Tymon a few years back for business. I bet the fighting arenas are as active as ever.
It looks like we've missed the Tatzylwyrm, friend. Would you mind a spot on the Water Wraith? Cordell buckles another strap on his scale mail, fidgeting a little with unfamiliarity and discomfort. All we have to do is repel anybody who tries to stop this boat from leaving once it's packed.
Cordell. Nice to meet you folk. He puts in, with a polite nod and smile towards Vasrik and Alarien.
Aye, Captain. Cordell responds sharply. I'm ready to go when you are. He winces inwardly a bit at the thought of fighting the masked priests. A lot of them are regular guys doing what they think they have to do to get ahead. Even so, their methods were objectionable, to say the least, and if this was where he made his stand, so be it. After she's gone, Cordell turns to Bellamin. Think I could get your help putting my armor on? I left in a bit of a hurry this morning. Never enough time, you know?
Cordell returns the smile and handshake. Cordell Drummond, at your service. He adds: Dwarven:
May your forge burn ever bright, Master Bellamin. With a glance at their meditating companion, he adds quickly Dwarven: I didn't know cobras had fins.
Cordell Drummond hurries along the dockside dressed in nondescript traveling clothes, boots, and a wide hat that partially obscures his face. He's loaded down with a couple of heavy packs that dwarf his narrow frame, but his lean muscles move them about capably. A teapot hangs almost ludicrously from a strap on the lower pack. He is evidently unarmored, though his pack certainly clanks a lot. There's a shield on his back, under the packs, and a couple of stout clubs at his waist. He looks at each boat, stepping faster and faster, beginning to accept the fact that it is well past dawn. When he is hailed by the lad, relief shows visibly on Cordell's face. He takes a moment to compose himself, muttering some words in another language and making a sign with his hands that might be mistaken for a religious devotion. That done, he nods to the lad. Thank you for your offer. I will be aboard the Water Wraith if you and your captain will have me! He introduces himself with a warm handshake and smile when he gets closer. Cordell Drummond, at your service. He then takes a spot in the shade, taking off his packs with some relief. His back against the tree, he idly runs his fingers over the bark and breathes the combination of soil and sea air. He was so late, he had arrived early. It looked like today was going to be a good day.
Let's start with an easy question. How are people dressed as they stroll up the dock to the Tatzlwyrm? How do you approach and present yourself? (My answer: Coming soon!)
Hey everybody! How are you today?
I think I'm ready to go. I'll probably fiddle a little more with my starting possessions, and I do have to reassign a skill point. I've made the unheard-of decision to eschew Spellcraft and detect magic to start with.
Writing equipment is so expensive! I may have to put my plans to keep a notebook on hold.
Profile updated successfully. I still have to nail down my spells and traits (any suggestions/requests?) and skills (what else would a lawyer have, Linguistics?), but the framework is all there. I'll probably be tinkering with it for weeks, because that's just what I do.
I have to tell you, Faren, I love The Sketch already. I'm a little leery of Jaejoa, since Master Summoners are pretty nuts in my experience. Anyway, her (primary) pet will brighten my day every time. (Saurian Shamans are fairly crazy, too.) I had a preliminary profile filled in for Cordell, but it didn't save. I will put it back up in the morning, after backing it up somewhere else. He is a Wood Mystery Oracle with the Legalistic curse. He's melee focused, but should have some fun tricks if he's not up front. Of course, he is capable of the all-important cure light wounds.
A vision stirs: Yesterday afternoon...: Cordell Drummond sighed and rapped his knuckles against the handsome oak of his writing desk. Its great heft always brought him some measure of comfort as he worked his way through the exhausting Razmiran bureaucracy. Razmiran law was cryptic, inconsistent, and self-serving at the best of times, but this most recent case was practically incomprehensible.
Tall and rail thin, with distinctly sharp elven features, Cordell had nonetheless carved himself a place in the Razmiran society of Xer as a reliable and honest contract lawyer. Though elves, as a whole, had been labeled heretics against Razmir, Cordell's easy manner got on well with the authorities and kept him out of trouble. He found that if you payed your “tithes” regularly and gave lip service to Razmir’s glory, the Priests just didn’t care all that much. If you were prepared to think on your feet, so much the better. The silver bell above the door rang out, and a cloaked halfling stepped inside. “Cordell Drummond?” came a low voice. “Can I help you?” Cordell replied. “Yes,” said the stranger. He raised a crossbow that hadn’t been there a moment before and put an arrow right between Cordell’s eyes. Or he would have, if Cordell was still there. Instead, the bolt buried itself in thick oak wood. The fine desk was no more, transformed into a makeshift barrier. Cordell Drummond was nowhere to be found. By the time the would-be assassin broke through the wall, his mark had vanished into thin air. Cordell stormed through his small apartment, settled his debt with his landlord, and was gone within ten minutes. Why would a Daggermark Assassin be after him? If the Priests wanted him, they would come themselves. The case? Maybe someone didn’t want him looking into it. A rival, or a grudge? He had made a few of those in his four years here. Or was it something… older? Cordell didn’t want to dwell on that more than he had to. Time to hit the docks and be gone. There would always be a need for someone of his many talents, and if he could clear his name, well, that would be nice. “I will find out why,” he muttered out loud, to no one in particular. But first, it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink. I really shouldn’t. I need to keep moving. What if he followed me? No way he found that passage. He won’t find me here. Cordell pushed into the nondescript dockside tavern and ordered a strong wine and a room for the night, throwing a few extra gold on the table for anonymity’s sake. “A ticket out of here would be nice too,” he added, half joking. Imagine his surprise when the bartender came back with a perfect opportunity. He awoke later than he’d intended, hung over again, with the frustrating sense that he needed to be somewhere. He grabbed for the potions an alchemist friend had made up for this purpose, but didn’t find them near his bedside. “Never again,” he grumbled as he fumbled into his clothes and tried to place himself in his unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly the images came back to him. Crossbow. Daggermark. Tavern. Escape. Tatzlwyrm. Cordell Drummond looked out the window into the rising sun. Dawn. |