Wrigley "Shoegazer" Mackay's page

@ Bazsil: It's been fun, dude. I'm glad I got to play in a game with you following gencon this year. And, there's also GenCon 2016 coming, if you'll be going to that.

@ Gado: I always pictured the lady that Wrigley fell in love with as a human, so that might work better for Gado anyway. Wrigley was never supposed to have a chance with her, he was just starry-eyed. But if you all make it off the island, back to civilization, and manage to find Wrigley's love in the shackles, then I'll even make an alt to RP that or with you when the time comes :)

Even though that would be awkward...

Hello all! So... well... yeah...

Sorry to put a damper on the happy mood with everyone returning to the Isle of Dread game. I know everyone's happy it's starting back up after our little break, but I wanted to let everybody know that I'll be bowing out of this game as a player.

It's been a lot of fun playing with everyone, and the game has been great so far, but I'm currently fighting the all to common struggle of keeping up with my pbp load while having time to exist (and function) in RL. So, it's with a heavy heart that Wrigley will be retiring from this game. Maybe he'll be an NPC on the ship, hanging around in the background, or who knows, maybe eaten by cannibal savages :)

So, thank you everyone for the great game, and a sepcial thank you to Damien for running such an amazing game. It's seriously been great. Also, I'm happy that I got to take part in sailing through the Eye, because that whole scene was amazing.

I'll probably hold off posting in the gameplay thread from here on out. Also, I wanted to make it official so you all could figure out if you want to replace or just venture on to the island with 7.

Anyway, I hope there are no hard feelings, it's been great up to this point and me bowing out is all about trying to reduce the number of games I'm in and still have a functioning personal life :)

And good luck on the island :)

The halfling stands on the deck of The Audacious watching the darkened brown and green smudge on the north-eastern horizon gradually take the shape of a cluster of islands. As the masses of land continue to rise up on the horizon, Wrigley felt a flutter in his chest as the long awaited islands upon which he would soon build his glory and renown, and hopefully, wealth, at last made their presence known. He shuddered a bit to think of the name everyone had so callously, and menacingly, referenced to, the Isle of Dread, but the halfling could not bring himself to call it that now, not in this moment when the blot of land was beginning to loom upon the horizon and shadow his thoughts.

"Are we for setting out for the villages, or setting out on our own path?" the halfling asks the other specialists. He was not sure when it had happened, but his lute was again in hand and his fingers were plucking away at the strings in a slow a deliberate fashion, releasing an almost imperceptible melody into the salty sea air. "My contribution is speech and, hopefully, being a calming voice with the natives."

He wondered in that moment how his use of their dialog would go after practicing it so long as sea.

"But I would not be opposed to setting ashore somewhere private first, and trying to get a lay of the land, as it were, before we make our presence known to the locals."

If they don't already know we are here, he thinks to himself but does not add the final thought aloud.

Wrigley feels the tightly wound coil around his waist pull harshly as the tether reaches the end of its length, and the halfling bobs in the rushing current of water. Around him the temperature of water decreases sharply and becomes a brilliant chill against his skin as the ship continues to roll, diving further beneath the waves toward the crushing depths. With great struggle against the frothing current, he manages to sling the strap of the lute over his shoulder, the pauses to grip the rope tying him to the foremast with both hands. He would have breathed a sigh of relief that the rope was keeping him from getting swept away but for his present situation.

A trickle of bubbles slips from between his lips as does a low-pitch humming that is audible only to himself in the roar of water jetting by the ship and against the moan of the hull. One hand plugs his nose as he equalizes the pressure between his ears, but continues to hum to steady himself and keep the sea shanty going.

"Mm, lub glug lug glug lub lug lub gug glug
Glugg lug, Gluggg, luggg lug!
Lub glugug ug glugug lug glug glub ug.
Lub lu'g glub lug ug ug luggg lub."

Wrigley will attempt to help get the conversion going. If still allowed from his position tied to the foremast.

Use Magic Device(try to get the conversion going: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

Breath Remaining: 22/24

Without waisting a second, the halfling's fingers begin to pluck at the strings of his lute drawing up the first shanty that came to mind. The tone was sorrowful and slow, but he did not care at that moment, he only wanted to help keep their minds from the growing dangers about them.

He voice rang out, calling the words of the song for the crew to hear, but was wholly occupied with the shanty and so did not notice the treacherous pitch of the ship as it began to slip beneath the waves.

"Oh, I thought I heard the old man say
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
It's a long, hard pull to the next pay day
And it's time for us to... *GASP* Mmmluubbbmlublublublub..."

Just then a torrent rushes over the bow and Wrigley barely manages to take a fleeting gulp of air before his body is submerged beneath the foaming swell. Luckily he is tied to the mast at that moment, and his body pulls against the tether and swings, rag-like in the jetting water but does not get sucked further into the black, crushing depths. His hands are able to grip his fine instrument, but he can no longer open his mouth to continue his song, nor could the rest of the crew hear him anyway, struggling at this moment to survive.

In his panic he looks through the churning, frothy gloom and sees the ghostly silhouettes of submerged men, rigging, and sails backlight by the subdued flashes of lighting above the surface. Fearing for the lives of the crew, he quickly looks to and fro, trying see through rushing water and assess how to convert the ship in order for them all to survive under the waves.

Wrigley will attempt to help get the conversion going, but I'm not sure if he can do it from his current position tied to the foremast.

Use Magic Device(try to get the conversion going: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19

Breath Remaining: 23/24

Wrigley's round 5 actions: inspire competence

Round 6.... surprise, surprise, it's inspire competence :)

Wrigley sees the crew scuttling across the deck, tending to the damaged hull and rescuing the crew whilst trying to battle the sudden fires. Above, he can easily see the crew struggling against the great gales and torrents of wind, but fighting with all their might to keep the sails harnessing the storm and in doing so, powering the ship's bow to steadily crash through the rising swells which threaten to capsize them at all times. As the world continues it decent into chaos around him, the halfling's mind searches for the proper shanty to held guide the crew's hands and calm their minds.

At least the others were pulled back aboard and a shark is no longer slapping around on the deck... he thinks to himself. Just as the words cross his mind, the sails above his head billow in the wind and release a resounding CRACK as the fabric snaps taut once more. The sound seems to stir Wrigley into action, and he at once begins to play and call the shanty aloud.

Wrigley sings
"Come all you young sailormen, listen to me
I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,
and it's..."

The crew as a whole
"Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes."

Wrigley sings
"Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,
Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,
and it's..."

The crew as a whole
"Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes."

Wrigley sings
"Then up jumps the SHARK with his nine rows of teeth
Saying, 'You eat the dough boys, and I'll eat the beef!'
and it's..."

The crew as a whole
"Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes."

Maintain Inspire Competence, +2 to skill checks

The hull beneath his feet belches and chokes on the dark, billowing smoke that rises from its depth as the perils of their situation seem to grow ever more deadly by the second.

"With cutlass and gun,
O we fought for hours three;" Wrigley continues the final verses of the shanty.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we," the crews in reply.

"The ship it was their coffin
And their grave it was the sea!" the halfling shouts at the top of his lungs, though whether it is in gallows humor or shear defiance of the perils at hand is unclear.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbery!" the shanty ends at last.

Maintain inspire competence.

Seeing the events around turn in a way he did not expect, Wrigley begins to alter the tone and pace of his performance. As he tries to rally the crew, the morphing song begins to again help with their tasks of steadying their hands and minds by providing a constant rhythm to work against, rather than with helping combat the marooned shark still flopping harmlessly on the planks of the deck.

The creature seemed almost pitiful out of the swelling waves of the sea, and so the halfling looked away and toward the toiling crew.

"For quarters! For quarters!
The saucy pirates cried," Wrigley calls aloud.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we," the group sings in unison.

The quarters that we showed them
Was to sink them in the tide.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary."

Standard Action: return to using inspire competence as this seems to be more useful to the group. +2 on skill checks. Sorry for the confusion!

No more +2 on skills, changed to +1 on attacks... unless I'm missing something.

Nope, you're not missing anything. Wrigley readied his action to inspire courage of anyone attacked the shark, which would end Inspire Competence. He will return to again be using Inspire Competence for the +2 on skill checks for the crew once the shark is dealt with.

From his position strapped to the foemast, Wrigley sees the pathetic, waterlogged form of Gavin topple headlong over the rail. The carnivorous waves seem to consume the poor chap and the halfling's eyes lose sight of the sailor in the frothing churn of crashing waves and blinding, driving rain.

"For broadside, for broadside
They fought all on the main," Wrigley calls, continuing the shanty. He knows they must try to save the man, but he also knows the vessel cannot fall into chaos while trying to rescue the soul or all could be lost in the process.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we," the crew sings in reply, but their sound of their voices clearly echoes their failing resolve.

"Until at last the frigate
Shot the pirate's mast away," the halfling continues, watching to see how his friends will move to rescue the lost sailor.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary." as the crew sings together, Wrigley prepares to aid in a different way.

Free Action: Maintain Inspire Competence +2 on skill checks.

[dice=Know(Eng.) +9 +2 (Wrigley's Song)]1d20+11

"Elon you genius! Shouts Gratum moving to grab the line tied to the other dwarf. ”You’re a fourth sail! We just gotta get you in alignment! Common Barley, bring him in a little!"

[dice=Reflex+6]1d20+6

Now that we've discussed this thoroughly, let's put it in the gameplay thread :)

The halfling continues, pushing the crew to continue the sea shanty and hoping to keep their minds occupied with the task at hand rather than the perilous, deadly alternative should they fail to keep the vessel afloat.

"O are you a pirate
Or a man-o-war? cried we." the halfling calls again above the gathering storm.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we." the crew echoes in reply.

"O no! I'm not a pirate
But a man-o-war, cried he." Wrigley shouts his song, the words billowing like sails in the wind.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary" the crew, and Wrigley, sing against the storm.

Free Action: maintain Inspire Competence, everyone receive a +2 on skill checks per the gracious GM Damo!
Move Action: Wrigley will tie himself to the foremast
Move Action: extra time to tie himself to the foremast, if needed

"We'll back up our topsails
And heave our vessel to," Wrigley sings, his voice calling out but taken and swallowed with each unearthly gust. As the words leave his lips his hands drop from his lute and begin to wind the coil of rope he had previously tied to the foremast around himself.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we." the crew calls as the halfling finishes securing himself with the line.

"For we have got some letters
To be carried home by you." the halfling continues both hands back on his lute again.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary"

"If he doesn't make it, I will do this for you, Eighthling. You have my word on it," Bazsil smugs at Wrigley. "In fact, I promise to comfort her so that she completely forgets all about you. I'll do this for you, Eighthling."

The halfling looks up to Bazsil in shock, horror clearly etched onto his face as he pictures some disturbing thought. Shaking his head seems to wipe away the concern and wholly replace it with that of resolve. Before Wrigley can open his mouth, a brewing anger already curling the corner of his mouth upward, the halfling next hears the words of his friend, Ciarán.

"I will. You have my word. Now - hold on. It's getting close."

"Thank you, my friend," Wrigley says, looking back toward the railing at Ciarán. Slowly he turns his gaze back to meet Baszil, speaking above the rising wind. "I guess I'll have to resolve to survive this, Bazsil... So she stays away from the likes of---"

Just then the storm hits and Wrigley reaches desperately for the line he has fastened to the foremast.

Reflex(DC = 12 to stay upright. DC = 7 to not fall overboard): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

The halfling grips the line tight as the buffeting gale slams into the vessel and sends a shockwave of force across the deck. A moment later he can feel his teeth are clenched painfully together and his knuckles are white, though thankfully, still gripping the tether. Immediately, he pulls the lute from his back and beings strum feverishly, his once meager voice now rolls and echoes along the wind like thunder.

"Look ahead, look a stern,
Look the weather in the lee," Wrigley bellows into the wind.

"Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we." the nearby crew sings.

"I see a wreck to the windward
And a lofty ship to lee," the halfling continues on, playing against the storm.

"A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary"

Wrigley will use Inspire Competence on the next ally attempting a skill check (+2 to skill check)

Wrigley looks back toward Ciarán unblinkingly, the questioning in his eyes clearly shows the worry that he is himself the one of low moral character. "If I don't make it through this and I drown," he says unsure, but graining more momentum and pep. "Promise me you'll travel to Slipcove and find a woman named Gwendolyn, at a tavern called the Frumpy Duchess..."

"Tell her what I tried to do."

The halfling scowls and turns, hoping his blushing face will be hidden from Ciarán amidst the chaos of the approaching storm. "Don't... Please... Umm... Crass.... Be..." he can only manage to stammer in reply, completely nonsensical, and keeps his eyes averted while feigning to readjust the tether.

The halfling stumbles across the increasing turbulent deck as the Audacious is set to rocking violently by the thrashing seas. As the hull rolls and the seamless timbers moan under the increasing stresses which feel like they are attempting to twist the vessel until it severs clean in half, he takes a moment to wrap a length of rope around the foremast. The youth is sure to leave enough untangled slack so that he can hold on and brace himself, or even, should it come to it, tie himself to the beam for survival.

As he braces himself against the sway and roll of the deck beneath his feet, Wrigley grins devilishly at Ciarán. "This is it my friend!" the halfling calls. "We're either going to conquer the eye as triumphing heroes, or die as fools!"

The halfling stands poised near the front of the vessel, and looks off, almost absentmindedly. His thought is consumed by the prospect of plunging headlong into the greatest storm this world has ever seen, and, hopefully, being one of a select few that has actually survived such a voyage. As Wrigley looks about the vessel he reaches back and slowly pulls free his lute. With a shake of his head, as if trying to fight away the doubts and fears of what may lay ahead, he begins to strum upon the instrument.

As a melody soon begins to develop, he knows others aboard must harbor the same doubts as he, and so begins to sing loud enough for them to hear. Usually, he would only play and let the instrument speak for itself, but now he wanted the others to join in. And so he sang, steady and deliberate, setting a pace and tempo by which the crew might work to.

"Now we are ready to head for the Horn," Wrigley's voice calls out hauntingly.
"Way, ay, roll an' go!" the surrounding crew joins in.
"Our boots an' our clothes boys are all in the pawn," the halfling's voice rises up again.
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!" the crew echoes back.

"Heave a pawl, oh, heave away,"
"Way, ay, roll an' go!"
"The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored,"
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!"

The song continued as the ship rolled ever closer to the storm created at the time of Aroden's passing, the veritable death knell of a god made physical and perpetual on the natural world. It seemed an unspoken law that mortals were not meant to breach the eye and a blasphemy should they even attempt its crossing...

And yet they dared.

"What have have you gotten us into, Gado?" Wrigley steps behind the lorekeeper and places a hand on his shoulder. In his opposite hand, the halfling holds a cup of tea with a wisp of steam rising from the liquid. With his magical ring, it was true that he no longer felt the need or desire to eat to sustain himself, but even so, he couldn't pass up on the chance to enjoy the sweet aroma of vudrani tea. "These look a rough and tumble sort of crew, not quite the type of people I'd expect you to be associating with."

"Bazsil doesn't look like he doing so well. In fact, you don't look so hot yourself," he adds, looking at the looming and menacing figures squaring off against Elon, Barley, Ciaran, and Bazsil. "I don't suppose there is a way we could all calm down and talk this out like gentleman?"

"In fact," Wrigley says, turning toward the barman. "A round of drinks for the newcomers. They look like fancy chaps, how about a couple glasses of chelish red?"

"Well, what can you offer?" The captain looks expectantly at each specialist in turn.

The halfling fidgets uncomfortably in his chair while the others speak and offer up the ways in which they might help. As each speak of truly impressive and useful talents they possess, Wrigley begins to feels inadequate beside them. When Elon, beside the halfling, finishes jabbing fun at Ciarán, and just after hearing the mysterious Mtumbwi chime in, the youth decides it is at last his turn to speak up.

"Well, Captain," he says, feeling ill at ease with his lackluster abilities, weak strength, and general lack of knowledge about surviving at sea. There is twinge of fear for the youth, fearing the Captain may reconsider his offer to let Wrigley be part of the crew, and at last inevitably realizing that the halfling, in fact, doesn't have much to offer. He questions if Captain Barbarosa will end up looking upon Wrigley as his father had done.

"I relatively skilled at reading the weather, though I don't claim to be a expert by any stretch. Also, my eyes are quite sharp... keener than some, worse than others," he explains, his usual peppy voice sounding dull and unsure at this moment. "Sadly I am not very strong, or even that good at climbing. Or even that nimble."

"You will probably laugh at me for saying this," he adds. "But another way I might be able to help... well... is that I could play..." he nudges the lute resting against his chair. "I could play for the crew. I could keep them entertained, for starters. But also, sometimes, when I play well enough, people hearing my music can find inner strength and skill they didn't even know was within them."

He laughs a little, "If I can play well enough, that is."

He sits for a moment, and then voices a final thought with a deadpan countenance, "And if the ship sinks, I promise to keep playing until she goes under."

Knowledge (nature) +8, Perception +9, Bardic Performance: Inspire Confidence +2

The halfling stands nearby to the ongoing struggle, but far enough away to not be in the way of the two titans fighting in an epic clash of manliness and brawn. Slowly but surely Wrigley pulls the lute from his back, and strums a few notes then transitions to plucking the strings at an ever increasing rate. As the music drifts toward the manliest of manly men, those who fight for the hell of it and intentionally in a place where others will gather to watch, the youth cannot decide who, if either, he is rooting for.

So, just as a good ambassador should do, he does not pick a side and instead aids both.

Inspire courage on both of you!

"You're both winners," Wrigley calls, exposing how simple he truly is.

Wrigley paces below deck, occasionally pausing to place his palm firmly on the seamless inner-wall of the ship. His mind traces over what he previously knew of ships and laments slightly that he did not take care to learn from his family's business while in the shackles. Still, it did not seem possible to the halfling, no matter how little he knew of ships and shipcraft, to build a vessel with no seams, cracks, or openings. His mouth curls to a slight smirk while dragging his palm along the pristine surface.

"What a fascinating modern age we live in," he says aloud, utterly intrigued by the construction of the mighty ship.

For a while after he stroles through the lower deck, until running into Aaron Donal between lessons. "You know," Wrigley begins. "Your main purposes on this ship might not be one of hauling ropes and rigging, nor charting our course... But you may still have one of the toughest jobs aboard... You have to deal with us directly." he says, referencing his friends, the sturdy, stalwart adventures who have strong bodies and even stronger opinions.

"Good luck to you, sir." Wrigley laughs and continues on.

During the sea voyage, Wrigley does his best to remain useful to the other though he always questions how useful he truly is. The halfling is not the best at climbing, nor possesses a great or even moderate strength, he even knows very little of the sea or charting courses across the ocean. Even so, he does his best to talk with the others and learn about them, wanting nothing more than to know the others well and to become one with them. The halfling wishes to show that even though he may be less skilled than the rest he is still more than willing to help.

Wrigley also spends hours upon hours pouring over notes from each class and lesson on the new language. During each session he takes dutiful notes and when not learning from Mr. Donal, he reads, rereads, and rerereads his untidy scrawl. At times, when standing and pacing the deck, he plucks the strings of his lute filling the air with strange experimental music, or more precisely, unrehearsed music created off the top of his head. As he plays the instrument he speaks the new phrases and words he has learned in the hybrid language, hoping to keep the sounds quiet enough to not annoy the others.

"I, for one, would love to start the language lessons," voices Wrigley upon hearing the conversation between the Gado and the middle-aged man with slightly silvering red hair. "You are Mr. Aaron Donal, or am I mistaken and made of fool of myself?" Wrigley asks, clearly excited about the prospect of learning a new language.

"I'm not much of a fighter, as you can see," he adds, looking down at his un-muscled physique. "So I think I could much better serve this crew by learning a new language and by putting that knowledge to work when conversing the natives of the island." With one hand, he pats the slender neck of the stringed instrument on his back.

"I can play one hell of a lute though," he adds with a laugh. "If you were ever interested in lessons, so that I might be able to repay you a little for what you can teach me."

Wrigley wanders across the ship's main deck in awe, looking over each piece of equipment and nautical gear with excitement. Based on his past, he should be an expert regarding sea going vessels, but it has never been his calling. It was true, he knew enough to get by, albeit only passably as a land lubber, but it was better than nothing. He also knew that never in his time had he seen a ship such as this, well crafted in the extreme and expertly designed beyond anything he could remember from his time in the shackles.

"This is a beautiful vessel," he says, turning slowly to take it all in. Further along he finds the bunks, but isn't picky about which one is his own.

As he is walking through, Wrigley overhears...

"Dibs on a top bunk."

"...mmm-okay..." he says sarcastically under his breath, and continues to walk by.

The halfling looks to the yak, after hearing the accompanying talk of the animal becoming the ship's first mate. His head tilts sideways and looks quizzically at the animal, in confusion as to how the yak could have been promoted before himself.

"It is true, Elon," Wrigley begins, turning to his friend. "Those particular cultists are dead and will not be following us. However, I don't think that means their cult has been silenced nor their plans torn asunder. We will see them again, and we are still in danger from their machinations."

"I stand by the fact that we do not truly know their intentions, and so it will be hard for us to prepare for when their will is next exercised against us. Please be mindful, my friends. Watch your backs, and treat all moments until we are on the ship heading toward the island with caution."

"And if my suspicions are correct," he ads finally. "We may even see them again, once we are on the island..."

"Aye, welcome to the crew, Mtumbwi," the halfling says, sitting bolt upright in his chair. Wrigley is clearly taken aback by the man, though it is unclear if he is impressed by the man or afraid of him. Certainly it was unsettling how free this newcomer is with the flapping, unsecured loincloth.

Did this Mtumbwi design the ship himself? he wonders, cringing slightly as the loincloth stirs as the man moves.

"I don't want to say that I could talk us out of a fight with the cultists," Wrigley adds. "But I agree with you, Gado, we dispatched them very quickly and so I don't know what we've learned."

"Do they simply want to keep knowledge of the island a secret? Or, because they were interested to learn about how the previous expedition reached the island, because of what the Red Lady learned about the ship, are they in fact trying to reach the isle themselves?"

"At this point, I just don't know what we know..."

Also, amazingly done you guys! That was incredible!

Welcome, Mtumbwi/TheBobJones!

That got out of hand, way too quickly, the halfling thinks, rubbing what he hopes is dirt off of his face. We learnt nothing here tonight, and still we haven't seen the last of them.

Upon hearing Ciaran's words, the halfling looks at his companion with a start. His eyes are wide and his gaze is incredulous. "Maybe we did learn something... that we need to set off for this island with haste. They will be coming for us."

"And we can't afford to give up any more secrets," he says, moving to help put pat out the smolders still smoking on Barley's tail.

"Hidden information is our currency," the stooped and robed form a halfling voices to the rest. "Ours is not the place to ask questions... This is the code we all live by." Wrigley forces his voice to sound confident.

"I think what our brother is trying to say, by asking rhetorical questions," the covered form of the halfling pauses again, and repeats himself in a desperate attempt. "Please be sure that these were rhetorical questions only..."

"Now... What our brother was trying to state is that... Can we really trust the words of the Red Lady from beyond the grave?" he states, not knowing where is going with statements. "Consider this, the Red Lady was provided every opportunity to succeed when communing with spirit of the Captain Barbarosa... And yet she failed..." his tone makes this last statement seem almost an incredulous question.

"Considered this," he says, pausing for dramatic effect. "What if she did not fail?"

"What if she was able to successfully communicate with his spirit but is now keeping her findings from us now? Can we be sure she is not holding on to a secret even in death? Or, even more so, providing disinformation to us now? How can we guarantee this is not a test from our master of lies?"

"Our brother, who was seemingly asking questions, was simply pointing out the inherent flaws of trying any information given within an organization built upon lies..."

"That's what you were trying to do, right?" the robed form of Wrigley looks toward the robed form of Ciarán.

The halfling emerges from the bushes, his split lip and bruised face aching awfully. With sadness, he sets his musical instruments in the shadows, feeling almost defenseless without them. His hand pulls his robes closely to his face, then downward, bathing his features in shadow. With others just behind, he approaches the door, ready to answer in a hushed and meanicing tone, "... shall never be again..."

If there was any talking to be done on the other side, Wrigley knew this task would fall to him, this was his purpose within the group. People, occasionally, found him charming and likable, though he did not know why.

As the passcode leaves his lips, he knew he had learn what drove the Red Lady to her actions. He had to know what the true purpose of this gathering was.

The halfling nods to Ciarán, hesitates for a moment as an expression of fear passes across his face, then wriggles across the earth toward the door after gathering his composure enough to act. Nearby to the door, Wrigley regains his feet, though still remains stooped and crouched, attempting to keep his profile low, and quietly draws his lute. While holding the instrument in one hand, the halfling prepares to push upon the door with all his strength once the others are in position, flanking the door, and his signaled to him the go-ahead.

while researching the Twilight Sages...

"Aye," the halfling whispers and nods in response to the dwarf.

Following the advice of Gratum, the halfling moves up to the edge of the street, staying behind objects where he can and in shadows where he can't. Upon his back, the exquisite lute and drums bump noiselessly together as he jostles and creeps along. Wrigley tilts his heads to look up and down the street, then turning to peer at the doorway, his eyes are ever watchful for anyone close at hand that is not his friends. Nearby the others are gathered, either watching for anyone in the vicinity, same as Wrigley, or trying to hear what is being said within the building.

If worse comes to worse, the halfling knows, he may have to step out into the open and keep random strangers occupied with his words if they try to approach to close.

The halfling rests with his feet perched on a nearby table, his body reclined in his chair. Wrigley's fingers pluck at the strings of his lute, softly and carefully, while the instrument releases a fragile melody into the air. In his mind, he wonders about the sad fate of the strange and untamed woman, killed before his eyes. He wonders, if they could learn about her purpose, what she wanted, could he prescribe some meaning to her death.

His fingers strike a particularly discordant note, and he pauses to scribble an update on the sheet of music upon the table, then goes back to finish composing a new song. He already has a title in mind, The Red Lady.

The halfling stares incredulously onward as the Red Lady is murdered before his eyes. A dour look quickly takes shape as he looks on toward Lord Krinst.

Why did we even question her? he thinks to himself, anger and resentment brewing for the man when the gun. What were we even trying to learn from her?

Wrigley cannot understand what has happened, and why they even began to question the woman if she was in turn to be murdered, senselessly.

Krinst may have pulled the trigger, but it was our words that put her life in danger, he shakes his head and curses himself for even opening his mouth and convincing the Red Lady to begin talking. He knows, with a sigh of disappointment in himself, had he not helped her talking, she may still be alive. Initially, he simply did not want her to be killed in cold blood on the beach, but here and now, the questions they asked and information they let slip put her life in danger. Was there something in particular we wanted to learn from her, or did we question her for no reason? Why did we not simply turn her over to the authorities, that would maybe have saved her life....

"I think I'll pass on the drink, if it's all the same," he says, collecting his things and preparing to leave. "I'll be sure meet up with everyone within a few days."

"there is an old adage, perhaps you've heard it before?" Wrigley says, stepping forward and addressing the Red Lady. "It says, all things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually correct."

"The truth is, we don't know why your spell did not work."

"I am no master of the arcane forces that guide the universe, and it seems with all the unknowns this world might bring, and what strangness the Dark Tapestry might inject upon us, any number of infinite things might've gone wrong. You speak of weaving and unweaving the threads of fate, dealing with the very essence of life and death, as if it were a simple thing... which it cannot be."

"Though I understand, for you, us not knowing is not a very gratifying answer."

bluff...: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

"Now, everyone, please calm down," the halfling says, altering his gaze to see the more hostile members of the group, especially the Grim. "We will not harm you, and I will do everything in my power be sure the members of this church do not either. But I cannot guarantee you will walk completely free... I don't know that I have that much clout." He adds, jokingly.

With his voice still calm, but purposeful, Wrigley adds, "Now, my lady, will you answer some of my friends' questions? You're cooperation would go a long way toward helping your own cause."

"A cause you should be most interested in supporting."

diplomacy...: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11

ugh... That's not good :)

"Wouldn't the right thing to do..." the halfling voices as if the answer should be obvious, while returning from his long, frightful trek across the beach. "Be to save everyone that we can, including the Red Lady, and take them to the citadel?"

"That would be my vote," he says, perhaps realizing at that moment that he is far less worldly than the others, and perhaps a great deal more naive.

I'm just optimistic, he prefers to think to himself.

"This will never serve you well," the halfling said, swinging the lute in hand against the corner of a nearby table, shattering it beyond repair. "You are a coward. I have three sons, and three ships at my disposal. Yet, you will not rise up to defend your home nor move to avenge your family. Writing a song about it doesn't solve anything."

"Begone with you..."

Wrigley's eyes widen as a memory he long hoped suppressed resurfaces in his mind, and he turns in a panic and runs. His lute falls to the wet sand where he once stood.

End inspire courage

After casting a minor healing spell, and being outdone by the powerful magic of Elon, Wrigley watches as Ciarán is taken by a fit of laughter. The halfling continues to pick at the lute, using his music to inspire the others, even if the complexity and genius of the notes are lost upon the others due to resound clash of battle. His feet trudge across the beach, bringing himself closer to the Red Lady, and wanting nothing more than to use the same laughing spell against her. Unfortunately, Wrigley's small stride keeps him from being able to get close enough to her, and spends all his effort on running down the beach.

Free Action: maintain inspire courage
Double move - 40 feet south of current location *token not yet moved*

The halfling sees the tide of battle (hopefully) begin to turn in the favor of his companions, but for all the hope this gives him, there are still allies with grievous wounds. Wrigley kicks forward, pushing through the soggy sand which saps his strength with each step, and makes for the Grim. His fingers continue to pluck with ease at the lute, which seems at odds with the labored expression spread across his face. As he reaches the man, the halfling hits all the strings of the lute in an exaggerated full-circle, windmill motion, then holds the neck of the instrument away from his body while letting the resounding notes ring true. This motion leaves his opposite hand free to wave through the air, tracing the form of a strangely geometric shape, and muttering a few magical words under his breath.

A moment later Wrigley reaches out and releases a spell upon the Grim.

Free Action: maintain inspire courage
Move Action: move 20-feet
Standard Action: cast cure light wounds on the Grim

cure light wounds: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

The Grim heals 6 hp

The halfling sees the strange insectoid fall lifeless to the sand and uses the chaos of the ensuing fight to obscure his advance. Rushing out from his hidden position, Wrigley bursts from the copse of small trees and bushes, his feet sinking with each step into the soggy beach and slowing his approach, finally ending a few paces behind Sumaru. As the resounding cry of weapons clashing against armor and bodies rings in his ears, the halfling pathetically peers out from behind tower form of the group's guide.

So enthralled is he by the dangers pressing in close from all directions, and worrying about what perils may befall him, Wrigley forgets that the screeching lute, which he is continually playing, gives away his position more so than his small, slinking form ever could. Not to be outdone by the Red Lady and her far less artistic means of inspiring her comrades to acts of daring, the halfling bends the strings of his lute and hopes the rising music will continue to aid his friends.

Free Action: maintain inspire courage
Double Move

Assuming we have our equipment...

The halfling pulls the lute off his back in one fluid motion, the strings seeming to project a pleasant musical twang from this jarring action alone. His fingers quickly get to work plucking wildly at the strings and pressing in contorted positions upon the instruments neck. In the air, the music begins to mesh with the sound rising from the falling waves of surf, pleasant and serene, but continues to builds and quicken until it erupts into a feverish cacophony.

Standard action: inspire courage +1 to attack and damage for all allies

"How does one get a body out of the vaults of the Abadarites?" the Bard whispers to himself. "Therein lies the rub." Wrigley's words immediately fade to silence as he peers toward the sounds of cursing coming from the south west. He then turns back to peer at the tunnel some twenty feet away, and can feel the wet sand squish beneath is shoes, but the halfling finds that he is happy at least to be beneath a true sky once again.

His mind is spinning at the forethought, planning, and execution of such a grand heist, and likewise, his mind reels at the thought of who, or what, might be waiting just around the bend out of sight. Intermixed into his thoughts is a begrudging respect for the perpetrators that would shortly be revealed to his eyes.

The halfling nods along to the Grim's words, peering from behind the man with luscious, beautiful curls, to see the tunnel ahead. As Wrigley's eyes fall upon the section of the rough hewn corridor ahead, he can see the composition of the tunnel change to that which was apparently carved by some large, burrowing animal. The thought of such a creature sends a chill traversing up his spin and sets his finger tips to tingling. Luckily he is able to breathe a sigh of relief when Gratum voices that way forward should hold, even though Wrigley had hoped the phrasing would have more definite, something to the effect... 'that the way forward will hold'.

"I think your logic is perfectly on point, Grim. This tunnel could very well be trapped," he says, straightening his composer, no longer leaning to look around the man. "But as Gado mentioned, this appears to be our only lead. Surely one of our number, as skilled and diverse as we are, may have an idea how to approach a tunnel that has been trapped, in all likelihood."

He says, not knowing how to approach the situation of a tunnel that is most likely trapped, Wrigley scoffs at his own words, silently and to himself.

perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10

The halfling hops once, his eyes barely managing to peer over the edge of the coffin. He hops again, likewise catching a fleeting glimpse of the rocks inside, but unable to glean anything substantial or useful from such a short glance. By the third jump his aerial height is beginning to wane, causing only his fluttering hair to show above the casket lid.

"Does it seem possible the body could have been missing this morning, when you opened the vault?" Wrigley manages to ask Lord Krinst, though is wheezing while sputtering his words. His hair is disheveled while his arms are planted firmly on his hips, his lungs taking in gulps of air, but his face still shows the unmistakable look of excitement and eagerness to help. "If it wasn't opened at that time, it seems an easy assumption to make... a body being where you left it, in a wholly locked and secure room."

"But more importantly, it seems you may think a rival would go to these lengths to find the island before you... Any suspicions who your rival may be?"

Hahah, I hadn't thought of that.That's a scary thought, Steve and I are becoming closer than I realized.

Don't worry, I'll Ibid it up real soon with this toon, my toons are always too serious.

:)

Like the others, Wrigley cannot seem to raise his gaze in order to make eye contact with anyone, especially his future adventuring companions. His eyes are bloodshot, and puffy bags seem to hang from his lower lids, but the more obvious characteristic about him, like some of the others, is the red pigment of embarrassment that still lies on his face.

Why did I keep sitting on Elon's lap? The halfling questions to himself, lamenting his stupidity. And that yak comment! And what did I do with my hand?! he looks at his open palm and begins to tear up.

No wonder he threw me to the ground! I just hope he manages to not bring it up to me ever again.

Wrigley shakes his head furiously back and forth, trying in vain to forget. Who was it that dared me? And what other suggestions did they have...

"I apologize if I was mistaken, my lady," Wrigley says, continuing to drum faintly. "It was my understanding that we are plunging into the very heart of mystery and danger... an island with a largely unexplored and intentionally avoided interior, with unknown and unfathomable threats."

"Unless I actually am mistaken," he adds, even he is not sure if his tone is sarcastic.

"Wait, what? The wilds? Where are we going again? I though we were going to an island to study some old ruins?"

I wanted to say...

"You only have 1 hp, you're delirious..."

but that was hard to pull off in character :)