"This is Master Chief McGuillicutty, Eagle. You are denied permission to dock. Repeat, you are denied permission to dock. We are currently undergoing security drills. You'll have to dock with the station first, all cargo has to be transshipped to the station first. Personnel can be beamed to a security cell and screened before arrival. Sorry folks, but I'm not going to get our first officer and captain both ticked off with me. I know what a ticked off Captain looks like, and it's not worth it. Advise whether your passenger wants to partake in the security drill, or wait it out on the station."
"Sorry to correct you Captain, but you're specifically listed out as unavailable for combat flight patrol duties, as the Captain, and thus while you are combat experienced, your combat certification was revoked when you became Captain of the ship. It will auto-reinstate if you ever step down, of course. But I don't think running a milk run to pick up something is a combat patrol, so I can give you a runabout." The Master Chief's voice is amused. "But if you ever try to go out on combat patrol, I'll sick the first officer on you sir, ever so politely and under regs, of course. Pipsqueak just got finished being given the once over by security and my techs, and got greenlighted. It's in landing bay 4. Enjoy your flight, Captain. I'll send Ensign Cooper down."
"Yes Captain, I'll have someone on it as soon as possible. Do you need a combat certified pilot, or just a warm body to sit in the seat? Certified pilots I'm out of, our figher jocks are on DS9. Warm bodies I have a few who can babysit a runabout. The only two combat certified pilots on the ship right now are myself and Ltn. Commander Veradiran."
preliminary result is that the lost colony protocols are hardwired into the ai core. Detailed physical tracing would take weeks and might damage the core.
I would suggest it might be worthwhile to speed things up if everyone had been hired on as guards for a rice shipment. That would give people a chance to have met without having to work out detailed interactions about how long they knew each other.
Sorry for the odd posting alias. Wayfinder isn't letting me use mdt for some reason.
The captain coughs as one of the crew wraps his wounds up. "Kregith. They were Kregith." He coughs again, blood speckling his lips, and grimaces. "They live down below at the bottom of the lake. They aren't nice, but the usually don't bother ships that don't bother them. Something must have stirred them up to attack." Another coughing fit interrupts him. "They never leave anything behind, though. Whole damn tribe will come after us if there's any of their remains on the ship. Can't survive another attack like that... hull won't hold if they start hitting it either."
The larger of the two turns to Sammark, looking shocked, but then starts speaking. You all notice that Sammark's speech has become hard to understand, thickly accented, and he's inflecting words differently.
"Hey, wow, ela fala. Oh wait, é a manged sem asas. Hah, yeah, I'm Jorge, que é Gaje. Você want vender os sell animais de estimação? Caramba, nunca vi never parecido antes." The big Gnoll says to Sammark, still with a grin on it's face. Of course, it's a hyena, so it may just be it's jawline.
Gaje nods in turn. "Yah! O homem as coisas ser freaky! Onde buy compra-los?"
"Hey, wow, it speaks. Oh wait, it's the manged one with no wings. Hah, yeah, we I'm Jorge, that is Gaje. You want to sell your pets? Damn, we never seen anything like them before." "Yah! Man those things be freaky! Where you buy them?"
"Boy, the tabbies have been at war for about a thousand years. Orcs, Gnolls, Dragons, Hobgoblins, Goblins, Gnolls, Orcs, Hobgoblins... They been so paranoid for so long about infiltrators that us Gnolls joined up and they still require ID. It'll be another 2000 years before they figure out they don't need it."
The gnoll laughs some more.
Auran:
"But yeah, I can get you IDs chits. 100 gold per, assuming your outlander gold isn't filled with lead."
"Você é crazy? Você need de uma chit para flap por aqui..." The feline says, sounding amused, and tugging on a chain around his neck, showing a small metal tag. The cat suddenly goes from a squat into a back flip that see's him sail backwards in a reverse summersault and land on the building on the other side of the street, 25 ft away.
Stealth:1d20 + 12 ⇒ (13) + 12 = 25
He lands with barely a whisper of a sound. Grinning a fang filled grin, he rubs two fingers together in a near universal symbol for 'pay me', and waggles the metal tag at the group before turning around and running along the roofs away from the group, looking back several times, as if to see if they are following.
Kalvant shakes his head. "No, the ritual is broken, Lineera. I am broken for the day as well. I have not the strength to stand after that. "
Calleus chimes in. "Sorry child, I have only the one Consecrate prepared. The ritual is broken, and we must wait for the dawn to construct a new one. Even if we could somehow start again, we could not cleanse all your friends, and all your belongings, today anyway." His words are soft, but firm.
Sivalla nods, and drops down to hug Lineera. "Oh Lineera, dear one, we will cleanse them, but please, no matter how urgent things are, events must happen in the time allotted. You have always had trouble with accepting limits, even ones imposed on all living creatures." The half-elf smiles at Lineera, and gives her a kiss on the forehead before making the sign of Pharasma over her. "Oh goddess, please grant your wayward daughter patience and wisdom to know when to race and when to wait."
As they start to talk about locking up Eva, Eli begins to looked panic'd even more. "Oh oh oh! Wait, no, uhm, let me write out... the letter.. hang on... please..." He tugs his notebook out, and sits on Lineera's drawing table, scribbling furiously. After twenty minutes of going back and forth, erasing a line, rewriting, muttering in multiple languages, and finally he's done. "Here.. here.."
Translated Letter:
Mortana,
good to hear you are having such good luck with Perdition's Point. And the scouting report from the Chateau sounds excellent. We're on schedule here in Illmarsh, already got the boy. The girl is identified. And we've found an absolutely wonderful place to hold the ritual. The only problem is, of course, the dampness. Ugh, I wish I was in a nice dry cave.
You will not be surprised to find out that Kinalla, the stupid slut, has screwed up. She got her boy, but then got her pawn killed in an aborted attempt on the girl. The locals have raised the guard and she's going to have to relocate and perform her portion of the ritual at the winter solstice, during the new moon. She's moving to the backup location as I write this.
You need to be aware though, we've heard rumors that a mercenary group from Magnimar was snooping around Vaultin looking for us. It appears they ran low on funds, and had to return to Magnimar. In a completely unrelated bit of good news, Teagan seems to have come into a large score recently, and she's spreading the love around with more equipment for any corpses you get a rise out of. Haha!
Looking forward to seeing you after the first trio of rituals are done.
As always,
your sister,
Knaria
Cathran & Riley, you were both in Vaultin, not Hamsberg, for the Phase 2 RP, retconned after we got a full map of the area.
Jacob approach's Lineera's tent after he talks with Elena and the Mayor and Elijah. "Lineera? You in there? I'd knock, but it's a bloody tent, and there's no way to knock proper." The burly watch commander calls out, stomping his feet loudly to make noise outside Lineera's tent.
Assuming she comes out
"The Water's asked me to tell you they'd like you to have their house, they're moving to Red Leaf, to be with family. They don't really feel comfortable living here after what happened with... their son. I can't blame them for leaving, I know it's not their fault, but every time I look at them, I see Tommas with Eli..." The big man swallows, balling up his fists, and the continues in a more controlled voice. "Anyway, they're leaving, and they asked me to tell you that they would appreciate it if you took their home. They don't know what happened to Tommas, and they suspect the house may be tainted. But they felt you needed a home here, now that you're one of us, and that you would be best prepared to deal with any taint left behind. They've moved out, so the home is yours. They left for Rozenport this morning at dawn."
Elijah and Jacob approach Elena and her father. "There's been lots of requests for various churches to send a new cleric for the town." Jacob says, having been in charge of getting someone to Rozenport with the letters. He had sent Ervath and Lesma Waters to Rozenport. The two had been inconsolable over what their son had become, and after the funerals, has locked themselves up in their small house. They'd then gotten their little wagon and packed it up, with plans to move to Redleaf, where Lesma has family. All of the family they had in Perdition's Point is now dead. "There were no less than 3 requests being mailed to various churches, so I think that perhaps it might be best to rebuild the town church as a multi-faith temple? Rather than one dedicated strictly to one god? I'd rather not get any churches ticked off at us. We don't need divine wrath..." He says, quirking a wry gallows grin.
Elijah nods. "We have a letter to Pharasma's church in Rozenport, one to Erastil's church, and a final one to the Church of Saranrae. If all 3 churches send a priest, we'll be up to our cassock's in priests." He snorts. "Assuming they can find someone wanting to retire to a small town out in the back of nowhere."
Elijah's hand trembles harder and harder as Eli goes on, and tears begin to track down his face as the death toll mounts. When it's revealed that Elena's mother is one of the victims, the wooden mug in his hand shatters as the big lumberjack squeezes it too hard, the wood cracking and splitting and letting the remaining ale spill on the table. "My god... Elena.. I'm so sorry..." The big man says, his voice choking. His breath is ragged as he continues. "And poor Lia, we promised her.. we promised Eva... we would keep her safe.. and her parents died keeping our promise..." Too choked up to continue, he stands up and leaves, punching the door to open it, slamming it out and back and against the building, over Luthor's protests.
Elijah will, later that day, when he's calmed down, quietly announce to the group that he is not going to be able to continue traveling with the investigation group any longer. He feels he is of no use, he has not the skills or knowledge they need, his encounter in the cave showed him he's just not smart enough to be of any use. But, he can be of use in town. He will move into the village proper, rather than continue to live outside it near the lumberjack camp, and he will take responsibility for protecting Lia and guarding the coffins once they are brought back to town.
I've updated the crew rosters with what has been done so far, thanks to Connor for a lot of the. It's now at the top of the page
Once the rest of the crew is done asking questions, and most of the remaining ones are about specific questions regarding positions and such, which are waved off by the Captain, who tells people Kiana will give them their assignments. With a hearty "Get back to work you lot!", the Captain of The Edge waves the captain of The Blade to follow her, and the two disappear into the Captain's quarters.
As the new crew form up into lines and begin dealing with Kiana and a dour looking elvavian who, from conversation, is the clockwork assigned to The Blade as First Mate, things begin to get back to normal.
It takes another 3 hours, but all the crew are sorted out and assigned, and the dour Elvavain gathers up those assigned to The Blade. "Alright, someone grab the half-elf, and the rest of you will fly back with me." The flight it short, and within another hour or so, everyone is aboard the ship they have been assigned to.
The next day, the ships take off, The Edge catching the winds smartly and cutting through the early morning cloud clutter swiftly, leaving disrupted clouds in it's wake. Something the newbies pick up on quickly is that flying through clouds is a cold and damp business, leaving one's feathers soaked, one's hair soaked, and goosebumps everywhere unless you have some cold or wet weather gear. The ship has water catchers to turn the clouds into fresh clean water, but, the tanks are topped off for now, so the water just sluices off the ship for now. In the bilges, pumps are run by hand to pump out the water that accumulates down there.
The next few weeks fall into a pattern of work, rest, eat, work, rest, eat. Shifts are set up so that people are on for four hours, off eight, on four, off eight. 3 shifts. That takes a bit of getting used to.
You are welcome to RP amongst yourselves, with NPCs, etc. It's several weeks of 'breaking in' during the flight to the northern continent. The Blade could make the trip in a little over a third the time, but The Edge is restricted to wind power, and takes three weeks to get in sight of land. During that three weeks, you may RP with the crew, investigate, make friends, make enemies, do downtime activities (including retraining). For those who are Middies, you may, if you choose to, retrain a skill point from something else into Profession (Sailor). The cut off for Ordinary Seaman is a Take 10 of 15. Currently, Reaghar is the Chief Middy on The Edge. I'll give until the 8th for people to RP with crew/each other, or to work up things they want to do (retraining, etc). On the 8th, I'll advance the plot again. If everyone posts they're done before then, I'll advance faster. The ships are close enough to allow visits between during off-duty time, as long as you don't disrupt the other ship or start spending more time on the other ship than you do on your own.
The halvavian holds out a hand to each of the new crewmembers. "I'm Tillek. No clan, sorry. I'm hoping to earn one on this cruise." He says, looking nervous about how he'll be received. "I'm the Chief Middy this cruise." He grins nervously. "Well, so far, unless one of you is also a Middy."
Prof(Sailor) DC 10:
A 'middy' is a midshipmen. It's the equivalent of an apprentice. Usually a Middy is someone who is very young and apprenticing on the ship. After one cruise as a Middy, a crewman usually graduates to Seaman. The Chief Middy is usually the oldest, or most mature, of the Middy's, and is responsible for keeping the rest of the Middy's in line. There is only a Chief Middy if there are more than one Middy.
The old woman squints at Selvan (And Sammark and Alys when Selvan calls them out). "Never had any issues with magic, so I don't care about that. I do care about the fact you lot killed off the protectors of this area. You going to make us a center for a gang war as everyone around tries to take over this area."[b] She spits on the floor at Selvan's feet. [b]"How many of my people gonna get killed because you lot decided to come in and kill off a gang to steal their trinkets? Hope Alcinea sends you to the 9th level..." The old woman turns and begins to slowly walk away, her shoulder tight with anger.
As Selvan stands in the hallway, an old woman slowly makes her way up the stairs. She holds a short stick with a white rag tied to the end. She steps over the dead guard and walks toward Selvan, stopping 10 ft away.
"So, sounds like the war is over. The merchants voted I should come up here and find out who killed Kol and took over his territory. I can negotiate rates and such." The woman is an ancient looking elf, with dried parchment for skin and pure white hair.
Luther is a frail old man, and there's some who claim his mind is going. But for all of his being an old, disagreeable cuss who has trouble carrying his stock, he still isn't completely heartless, so he's willing to loan out equipment.
"Now you listen to me you little whippersnapper! You tell your dad I expect that rope and shovel back when you give it to him! And I'll have him tan your hide if I find out you're lying about him needing it, little girl!" Luther always seems to think Elena is 8 years old. The old man then turns to his assistant, Trusk, and whacks him with his cane on the back. "Trusk you moron! Go get Elena a rope and a shovel and a lantern and some oil! Her father's going to go deal with those pesky Kobolds! 'Bout time too! I'm tired of them tracking up my garden and stealing my tomatoes!"
Trusk, his assistant, is a hulking brute of a half-orc who's also a half-wit. But he's too slow to take offense at Luther's treatment, and he's strong enough to move Luther's inventory for him, so it's a symbiotic relationship. The brutish half-orc walks off repeating the orders under his breath. "Rope, Shovel, Lantern, Oil, Rope, Shovel, Lantern, Oil, Rope, Shovel, Lantern, Oil..."
Eventually Trusk comes back with a small crate containing 50 ft of rope, a camp shovel, a bullseye lantern, and 4 flasks of oil.
"Now you be careful girl! And if it's too heavy for you to carry, you tell Trusk to carry it for you!" Luther orders in an annoyed tone.
As the darkness subsides, the barn is lit by a large fire in the center of the area, and the horses are all beginning to kick their stalls hard as they smell the smoke. Timmy is in a pile, hunkered against a stall door, holding his arm which is obviously red from a burn.
Timmy see's Eva and Elena, and he is up and running pell-mell into Eva (the closer of the two). "EVA EVA EVA MONSTERS WERE GONNA GET ME!" The 11 year old is almost as big as Eva, and nearly knocks her down.
Yes, Lightning would leave her pretty much dazzled constantly. You may want to look into learning Penumbra.
"EVA! EVA! HELP! THE MONSTERS ARE HERE TO GET ME! THEY BURNED ME! HELP!" A scared young voice screams into the night, barely heard outside the barn due to the storm.
Perception 20:
It sounds like Timmy Allister, the stableman's son
Tommas looks from Eva to Elijah, and shrugs. "A shadow. Nothing more. I checked, there were no tracks." He says tonelessly. "I have to get ready for my nightly patrol." He blows out the candle, the only source of light, and then walks deftly past Eva and Elijah, leaving them to fumble their way out of the pitch dark room.
As the caravan trio return to the village, lightning strikes illuminate it, showing what looks like a deserted village. There are few lights, the street lights not lit thanks to the storm and wind, nobody wanting lit oil to be swaying in a storm. And the buildings show few lights thanks to the storm shutters being thrown closed. The lack of light makes it difficult to see (unless you have darkvision).
Anyone without darkvision needs a lantern, a light spell, or else they're walking all but blindly, waiting for the frequent flashes of lightning to show them the ghostly village.
Normal/Lowlight DC : Perception 15 without a lamp to avoid slamming into something.
I was hoping Selvan would make a post or two, but he didn't, so I will go ahead and post a small snippet.
Sammark's vial has an unnerving feel when he uses Detect Psionics on it.
Squeaker looks from Sammark to Alys (And pointedly ignores Selvan). "Ok, so, you got the magic thingy, now what? You gonna torture 'im to make 'im talk? Or break into 'is doss and search it? Or turn 'im in? Or drink it?" The boy asks, looking back and forth between the two. "I know, make waspy drink it, let's see if it makes him blow up or not..."
Tanisa snorts. "Of course I want to get it fixed, knucklehead. But unless someone dips me in platinum and wishes my hair to rubies, I'm not going to be fixing it any time soon. It'd take at least a thousand platinum to get it repaired, and another 500 or so to get new elementals bound into the steam system."
When the trio arrives at the Oyster, it's later than Reaghar showed up last time, and the tavern is fuller and has a small band in the corner playing jigs. They are welcomed in by smiling people who raise a tankard to them as they enter and a round of 'Ahoy!'s. They are shown to a table in the back corner, and Connor and Alister are introduced to Manta, an older man with grayish hair and blood red wings. "Nice to meet you two fellas, Gray was impressed with how well you dealt with those teamster hires." He says over the sound of dancing, music, and drunken sailors. He waves at the table and a waiting waitress puts down a mug of ale for everyone before she darts off again to get more ale for others. "Reaghar, was it? Teelie sent word that she had to go off island for some work, but she'd be looking for a repeat performance when she got back, and that I was to pay you well enough you couldn't cheapskate her next time and make her pay for your date." The graying man says, and laughs. "You pay her way next time, or I'll feed your guts to a dragonling." He admonishes quite seriously.
"Anyway, what are you three looking for? You looking for a permanent gig? Or you looking for a new clan? The former is doable, the latter doable but a lot harder." Manta asks, studying the trio over a glass of ale.
"He wants to buy me a bottle of banana liquor!" A female voice says as 130 lbs of dark skinned bat-winged humavian drops into Connor's lap unexpectedly. The female pirate grins fiercely as she drapes an arm around Connor's neck and nuzzles up against him.
Connor:
I HATE YOU! YOU KNEW THERE'D BE GIRLS SHOWING OFF AND LEFT ME BEHIND ON PURPOSE! Hero buzzes in Connor's head. OOOH! LOOK AT THOSE BOOMBAS! THEY'RE HUGE! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM! GROPE 'EM!
A lithe red-headded humavian that's about 3 inches taller than Alister sits on the edge of the table next to him, facing him. She has green eyes and green butterfly wings, and wears a patch over one eye. She also has a double bracer of throwing knives on a bandolier. "I prefer rum, you like rum honey?" She asks, her voice cutting through the noise easily.
Manta laughs. "Seems you boys are the latest to be popular for spilling blood. That's Mina..." He nods at the dark skinned humavian, then at the red-head. "...and Tanisa."
The next morning, the Reville people show up, your shift change. In addition is a very large bald man with gray wings and eyes. Once you explain the situation, he laughs. "Damn teamsters..." He pokes at the bodies, double checking the faces. "Yeah, I recognize this lot. Hired muscle. You lot did a good job. Never know about new hires, especially ones recommended by Teelie. She's usually a good judge of muscle, but sometimes she let's her conna do the thinking." He laughs, giving Reaghar a hard hit on the arm. "Looks like you can satisfy the girls and break some heads, Red-eye." He motions to the new trio. "Make sure this lot get dumped with weights off the next fishing boat." The trio nod, and seem to be not phased one wit about the smelly corpses in their warehouse.
He turns back to the Reaghar and his allies. "You lot drop by the Sotted Oyster this afternoon, I'll send word and might even see ya there. I'm Gray by the way."
The trio is tired, but can push it if they want to get some shopping or other things done before going to the SO. But they'll want to sleep first. Let me know if you want to do anything before going to the Oyster after a sleep.
The man looks at Reaghar, then laughs. "Sure, why not. Get your two friends together. We can always use more guards, especially on the night shift." He waves at the girl. "Tell Gray that he can expect 3 new guards, put them to work on the night shift. Warehouse 12."
The girl nods, and heads off out of the tavern. Turning back to Reaghar, the pirate smiles. "Be at the warehouse off of Dock 287, at Midnight. It's on the south end of the docks, about a quarter mile north of the southern edge." He tells him. A small bag lands on the table with a clink, tossed there by one of the Pirate's men. "30 gold pieces, 10 for each of you."
"I see. Well, I have no knowledge of the Magical Disposal Bureau other than the names of the agents who come by to get the artifacts when we find them, and that they report directly to the Council, and no specific clan or subordinate political structure. However, I do have a good primer on Magical Threats." He leads the duo over to a shelf in the back corner of the third floor. Pulling a volume off the shelf, he holds it out to Connor. "Edinbach is the putative expert, however, having come from a heavily magical society, I find that Selinarch has the better grasp of arcana. It also has the advantage that Selinarch's books, not being considered by scholars to be the penultimate source, are significantly cheaper. This volume sells for 8 gold pieces. I have other treatise of course, but this is her synopsis primer, which I find people can more easily understand."
Connor and Alistair stop into the book store, and brows around. Connor is a bit shocked by how expensive some of the books (especially the ones he wants are). Books are a trade good, so they are like gems, they buy/sell for the same rate, they are just harder to find a reseller for sometimes.
A young halvavian lad helps Connor look around for the books he wants, and points out a couple that are good for what he wants, even if they are more expensive than Connor had expected. No doubt Connor never thought to ask what the clan library's value was when he was using them.
The halvavian looks disconcerted at the question about magic, and says he'll have to ask the owner. A few minutes later, a dusky skinned wingless elf comes up to Connor and Alistair.
DC 18 Int Check, Read if you Make it:
The dusky skinned wingless elf is the elf that Reaghar asked about in the tavern, whom everyone seemed nervous around and the waitress refused to answer questions about.
"I am Teranafiel Sal'van'Tieltha. I own this store. Yes, we do occasionally find a magically active book or scroll in shipments from the surface. Like any business, we turn them over to the Magical Disposal Bureau. From there, I assume they are taken to Ash and destroyed." The elf's voice is droll and dry, and his accent strange indeed. Too many rolling r's and soft t's. "If you wish some theoretical books on magic, I have some. They are legal, in that they only teach theory, not actual spell casting. I also have some rather well done treatise by Atalantian Arcana experts, detailing how dangerous wild magic can be, and how to minimize the chances of a spontaneous detonation when handling arcane refuse."
You can continue RP with Teranafiel, it'll be retro-rp. The next day...
Connor and Alistair spend the morning trying to get registered with an employment agency. They do manage to get registered with a couple, although none of the jobs they are told about are very good ones. Mostly manual labor. They are told they'll be contacted when a job is available. They'll have to pay 25% of their pay for the job. After 3 months, if the job becomes permanent, then the payments stop.
The square itself is alive with people hawking food, cheap wares, and day labor. Most of the day labor has to do with loading or unloading ships at the dock, and only strong looking people get those jobs.
Reaghar
The next afternoon, after Reaghar get's some rest, he heads down to a tavern in the docks. Entering it, he looks around and figures this is the right place. There are brightly colored clansmen of various races in the tavern, all carrying blades and guns. A man in the corner looks up, and nods at someone. A dark haired and skinned humavian with batlike wings steps toward Reaghar. "Heya, you must be the guy Teelie said was droppin by." She looks Reaghar up and down like a piece of meat, a grin on her face. "She said you had dreamy red eyes, and needed to have some manners beaten into your head." The woman laughs, and leads Reaghar over to the corner table. "Yo, Manta, this is Teelie's latest boytoy."
The humavian man at the corner table is middle aged, with gray streaked red hair and blood red wings. He looks up, and his weathered face breaks into a grin. "Thanks Mina." He also looks Reaghar up and down like a piece of meat, and waves a hand at the chair across from him. "So, you're Teelie's latest huh? She asked us to find you a job. What can you do, and what will you do?"
The woman grins wolfishly at Reaghar, and turns her attention to him. "My my, you certainly are a brave one. Most of the pretend males around here are scared of the Teamsters." She slips off the chair she was sitting on, and walks over to Reaghar's side of the table. She places her clawed hands on Reaghar's arm, and squeezes the bicep. She looks a bit disappointed. "Hmm, you need to work out more sweetie. Still, those dreamy red eyes count for a lot." She smiles up at the larger man. "Tell you what sweetie, you buy me a drink at Daumer's Dump tonight, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine who does some... creative importation.. for Clan Reville." She stands up on tip toe and gives Reaghar a quick kiss on the cheek. "Remember, Daumer's Dump, sundown." She winks and sashay's out of the tavern.
Her age is hard to peg, she looks like she could be in her late teens, but the way she carries herself, she could be twice that age.
"Oh, the central square is where anyone who needs day labor in the Southern Quarter pays a crier a few coppers to yell out and find some people. Could be anything from moving things in a warehouse to carpentry work, sorting fruit, things like that. The docks you have to go through the Teamster's Guild, and have a card and be payed up. Well, that or hire on with some smugglers or pirates, who'll pay you to move their stuff. But you gotta be able to work without opening your mouth. Oh, and the Teamsters will gut you if they catch you at it." She says brightly, but she seems to be paying more attention to Reaghar than Connor, although it's hard to be sure since it's impossible to tell where her eyes are focused.
Pushing back his plate, Connor leaded back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Well," he drawls to Alister and Reaghar, obviously not caring if someone else in the room overheard him, "I'm at a loss. Where are we going to find jobs? I guess I was lucky to keep my jewelry tools, but nobody on that side of town will even look at me now. And my part-time job during craftsman school is out of the question."
A very odd looking creature sitting at the table next to Connor's happens to look over. She's a bit like a wingless halfling, but not exactly. The oddest thing is her eyes, which are solid black, and her pointed ear tips which are rimmed in black scales. She looks at Connor for a moment, as if looking through him, then smiles. "Well, what can you do? There's day labor in the central square, but you need to be there first thing in the morning. If you can heal, there's a couple of clinics that are always looking for healers." Her mouth smiles, and Connor can see her mouth is full of small needle sharp teeth. "There's also jobs as hired muscle, not sure if you'd be good at that, but your tasty looking friend would be." A forked tongue flickers out to lick her dark lips as she looks at Reaghar. Her eyes turn back to Connor, and she grins impishly. "If you're right out of prison, I'm betting you were popular in there, most people like those feathers and eyes of yours. There's several brothels you could get a job in. I know a couple and could give you a recommendation."
Based on the way you posted, I'm assuming Sammark broke Selven's manacles first.
There's a high-pitched whine, and the elvavian's manacles crack and one breaks loose. They were already old and damaged, and the additional sonic disruption made one of the hinges on the left wrist manacle fail, bits of brass falling to the floor of the boat.
The guard behind draws his short sword. "Hey you! You can't esca..." He trails off, his upraised sword pausing in it's slash toward Sammark. "But.." He seems confused because Sammark's bonds are still intact, and hesitates in trying to kill the half-elf.
The other guard, turns. "Kill the halfer! He's... still chained?" The other guard also sounds confused, his own sword half-drawn.
Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a hero... The response comes back, subdued but sulky. I wanted to be an amulet... a nice bright flashy amulet... worn by a woman with big breasts... The stone mutters sulkily. Instead I'm a 'Hero'. How come you get to pick me as a 'hero' when all you want to be is a Miner? But then the voice subsides into a sulky silence.
"I'M IN A BOX! I'M IN A BOX! I DON'T LIKE BEING IN A BOX! LET ME OUT OF THE BOX! DID I MENTION I DON'T LIKE BEING IN A BOX! IT HAS FOUR WALLS, A LID, AND A FLOOR! I CAN TOUCH ALL SIX OF THEM AT THE SAME TIME! IT IS A VERY SMALL BOX! AND AN ANNOYING PURPLE EYED PURPLE WINGED HALVAVIAN WHO PUT ME IN HERE! SHE SAID I WAS CUTE AND PUT ME IN A BOX! I DO NOT LIKE HER! GET ME OUT OF THIS BOX! DID I MENTION I AM IN A BOX AND I DO NOT LIKE BOXES!?!"
The commentary on the box, the size of it, the annoying woman who put Hero in the box, and the felt on the inside of the box continues nearly nonstop.
Rissdan spies the group with a formation. A little information would not hurt, he was not above bloodying them if they wanted to test him ether. He approaches with his weapon bared but one hand up, as much as a peace sign as they were going to get from him. He makes sure to stay outside the reach of their weapons but close enough to draw attention.
"Your group got a name or a leader? Seems like your among those not going anywhere."
He remained prepared to strike if their answer was steel.
Calling it a night, hope I don't miss much.
Since the GM said to interact with each other and with NPCs, I think it would be more fun if rather than posting NPCs for our characters to interact with, we took on the roles of NPCs someone else approaches! In that vein, I'll post for Rissdan's NPCs.
A half-orc with a hook for a hand and a cutlass in the other looks ready to shove that hook into Rissdan, but a small dark skinned woman puts her hand on the orc's arm. "Peace Saladin, we ain't takin over da ship wit just us. And dey got's da hy-air ground, and da wheel ta boot." Dark braids woven with sea shells make a tinkling sound as the dark skinned woman moves in front of the half-orc. She carries a brace of flintlock pistols on her torso, although half are on the deck, having been emptied of powder and ball into corpses scattered around. The other 3 with her, two more half-orcs and halfling, use the apparent parlay to begin gathering up her weapons for her.
"I be Minasa, Meester Riss-Dan, if I hear yoo right. Dis be Saladin, he don speak." The orc moves his chin up, showing off a nasty scar on his throat with a mirthless grin. "Dat be his baby brodda and seester, Alavis and Tavana. And da shrimp be Mido." The female halfling makes a rude gesture at Minasa for being called a shrimp, but does it with a fierce grin. "I be a good sailor, I climb rigging like spider. Dey be da best damn gunna crew you ever put on a cannon!" She hooks a thumb at the halfling and younger half-orcs. "An Saladin be da best damn fighter you evah saw. We don got da skill to be in control, but we gots all da damn skill we need to be crew."
