The Endless Hunger: Journal of a Feared Freecaptain


Campaign Journals


I adore this campaign. Before it, I never really thought much of pirates. I wouldn't say I'm obsessed with them, but I've grown attached to the characters in the adventure and the world of swashbuckling, gambling, thieving, murdering cutthroats on the high seas they have become a part of.

I've been writing a journal (though it lacks dates because we haven't really been keeping track of the date) that I'd like to share with you all. Just hope you all enjoy what I give you. Oh, and here's his character sheet.

Sakhbet

Well, without further ado, I give you the first entry of Sakhbet, Captain of The Endless Hunger

Analysis of Post-Abduction Status:

Spoiler:

<The log is written in Necril, the language of the dead. Additionally, it is written with certain symbols reversed so as to be harder to decipher.>

Quote:

Notes:

Formula book retrieved. Unexpected aid from red-haired pirate woman.

Captured after arrival on Port Peril. Weariness and hunger resulted in minimum-effort capture. Once again I am a slave. Frustrating. Must find way to either escape or perhaps more preferably mutiny and use ship for gain.

Other people in ship also captured with me. Most notable are fox-woman, dark-elf-woman, and kobold with a temper. Rest of “fresh meat” appear common and pathetic. Not worth time.

Kobold is volatile idiot. Strong for a kobold however. Could be useful as additional enforcement. Fox-woman temperamental, also an idiot unwilling to be debriefed of valuable information without resorting to disrespect. Capable of casting magic. Uncertain of magic type yet. Magic user obviously useful. Dark-elf-woman most intelligent of the lot save for myself. Potential rival. For now, however, clearly valuable ally. Thanks to her, have recovered my alchemist set.

Ship layout recorded: Bilge in lowest deck, followed by bunk, storage and kitchen, and finally deck. Explored bunk. Pirates have 18 lockers. Cargo area is currently worn. Bilge held several goods hidden in water, perhaps worth investigating some more later.

*The log is interrupted by a brief part mentioned as “Note: Touch of the Sea extract daily”, followed by a quick series of calculations and a recipe. The same recipe is seen in a previous page, but it is worn.*

Log:

I grow sick of pirates. More specifically, I grow sick of lying buried under their heel. Would that I could have eliminated the last lot, but I did not have the resources to pull off that stunt. For the time being, drugging them and escaping with a small portion of their loot was vengeance enough for the time being. I don’t intend it to be enough for long, however. Urgathoa as my witness, I will not be sated until they have been fed to Her carrion.

These pirates, too. Their captain, the first mate, and any of the rest of them that isn’t thrilled at the idea of a change in leadership will taste death everlasting. For now, I play their game, act the prisoner, the slave, the willing captive. I eagerly await the day they are so content that they have broken my will as to let their guard down. It will be joyous indeed. I can’t kill too many of them, however. I do need to still be able to man the ship. How embarrassing it would be, needing to go ashore to find more people for a ship stranded in the middle of the Shackles. I’d just as well lose the ship to a rogue stream or wind in the process.

These menial tasks they give me are such a waste of my talents, however. I could grant them such elixirs and potions as to make their labors easier, offer my expertise in medicine to keep the crew’s health in check, even use my vast knowledge to guide them to plunder, but no, they keep me here as a deck-scrubbing, rat-chasing, message-delivering mongrel… not that I’d let them live if they DID acknowledge my skill. It simply would be easier to gain their trust through proving myself with what I actually excel at if they did.

I may be contracting filth fever from the dire rats we were so unceremoniously sent to eliminate. With what few supplies I have, I should be able to treat it easily enough. I’ll need soap most importantly to clean the wounds, bandages to seal them up, and my alchemist set has enough for me to create basic medication, ointments, and balms to prevent flesh corruption. I am loathe to do so, but I’ll extend my services to my “allies”. I need them for now. I might actually need them for some time to come. Better to have them on my side than against.

Ah, and of course, I ought to try to get the crew on my side. If I try to mutiny without that, I’ll find myself dead in the middle of a sea of enemies. From what my “allies” tell me, a healthy number are very much hateful toward the captain, being victims of his abduction-recruiting method themselves. Even so, we ought to ensure their loyalty. They won’t try to kill the captain if they feel they’ll put another person they don’t trust on the helm.

The hour grows late. Time for me to sleep. I’ll need to be rested if we are to continue our efforts tomorrow morning and survive the droning, exhausting labor to come in the meantime.

Commentary:
I should start by listing the party members at this point:

1. Sakhbet, NE human alchemist [Not someone you want to sit next to]
2. Alianora, CN drow fighter/rogue [Roll for alignment!]
3. Ryunai, NG kitsune druid [Does that make sense?]
4. Ssardan, CE kobold barbarian [EATS HIS WAY OUT OF ANYTHING]

Yeah, we're a colorfully varied group. Our motto is "Sure, why not?"

As far as the entry, this is written soon after Sakhbet regained his formula book thanks to Sandara. Nothing much else to add here.


Giving this a new chapter.

Be warned, the following entry gets tastelessly raunchy, so read at your own peril.

Analysis of Ship Transfer:

Notes:

Placed on new ship named The Man’s Promise (Note: Promise has been broken hehehe). Plugg placed as acting captain by Harrigan. Imposing strict and heavy-handed methods of control over crew members. Crew growing rapidly tired. Plugg revealed to be taking us to wrong location. Betraying the trust of Harrigan? Bold. Ambitious. Smart… except we’re here. Time is rapidly growing ripe for mutiny.

Ship layout: Cargo hold has only one barrel of water. Standard bunk and deck. Captain’s cabin secured with very complex lock. Plugger is paranoid. He should be.

Note: Prepare anesthesizing panacea daily. Plugg has been using the cat-o’-nine-tails instead of the whip.

The Deathbreaker (exaggerated, no); The Fate Bane (enticing maybe but on the nose); The Mutinous Bastard (would love to see Harrigan’s face when he heard of it, but might not be smart); The Besmara’s Kiss (meh, likely already taken); The Hungering Fish Wave Daemon Wail Siren(something hunger); The Hungers For More (not catchy); The Immortal’s Hunger (too self-serving); The Thundering Hunger (fox might like it, but do not care for fox's opinion, so no); The Ravaging Hunger (intimidating, could be contender); [i]The Hungry Mist/Tide/Vortex (good one, might be solid winner); The Regrettably Nameless (haha, no)

Log:

That was fun. I have never partaken in any real act of piracy before today. There was the rush of endorphin, the pumping of blood, the thrill and excitement as I ended one godless imbecile of a Rahoudumi after another. Gods, it was liberating to vent all my frustration and wrath upon them. To choose the wrong god is folly, but to deny the gods altogether is unpardonable idiocy. Like fish that choose to be oblivious of the river crocs, they deserve to be eaten. Were it up to me, I would fumigate the lot of them and rid Golarion of the vermin. Maybe better, though, some ended up joining Harrigan. I think the delectable regiment of punishment and hellish labor will do them well to learn a little humility before divinity.

My allies are growing interesting to be around. There isn’t much to entertain me in this dreary wooden hulk, after all. The drow, Alianora – “Ali” for short – has taken to calling me “Sakie”. It's her idea of cute, I suppose. It’s certainly not the most unpleasant nickname I’ve had. She appears to recognize and respect my capabilities. Frankly, the more I look at her the more I realize that it has been a LONG time since I have had a good f~+%. The celebration for the successful raid did quench my cravings for good food for the time being and the hallucinogenic panacea has kept my evenings full of color and wild, amusing sights, but what I truly hunger for is the supple touch of skin against skin, to hear someone squeal for me and BEG for my tongue and cock on their lips, whichever they be. I can feel she yearns for it, too, on some level. Maybe after the mutiny is over, we can borrow the captain’s quarters for an evening or ten. Gods, it has been too long. It really is cruel for a man to be deprived of his needs for THIS long. I cannot even imagine how the paladins of Sarenrae ever manage it. Maybe they don't but keep it a secret.

The fox, Ryunai, continues to show impulsive and impatient behavior. It has its place. That place is not here and now. I’ve learned more about her, however. She is some kind of storm-caller. I admit, I am interested to see just how much havoc that can cause our enemies or, even more exciting, how her command of the weather could completely sweep the tides in our favor and let us travel where none dare with little fear. Likely that is something I will need to wait for. She is much like me: has such grand dreams of what she CAN do but eagerly awaits the day she has progressed enough to where she can. I know much of alchemy, but I realize that before the grand alchemists of old, before the true savants and the way in which they manipulate life and death like a child’s playthings makes what I can do seem as little more than parlor tricks and sleights of hand.

The kobold, Ssardan, is much the same. He has some VERY intriguing abilities, however. I had no idea kobolds secreted caustic enzymes from their mouths. Perhaps it correlates to his coloration, linking him to the qualities of the green dragons he emulates. I wonder if it is possible to milk the acid for my use? I doubt it, sadly. Oh well. It isn’t as though the little beast would agree to let me get it from him anyway.

There is a disgusting lack of resources on this ship. With a skeleton crew, the greater half of the loot taken by Harrigan, and the strict curfew of “Captain” Plugg have left me with twice as many lashings and half as many results. I cannot wait for my feet to feel the warmth of dirt and sand beneath them again.

Commentary:
We're not really the type of group to shy away from mature themes. They are part of the world, after all. Spending an excessive amount of time on the ship without any relief would drive a good number of people mad, and given Sakhbet's all for personal fulfillment, he's especially vulnerable to his wants.

This scene is just as we get under the control of Mr. Plugg. It wasn't hard to feel that burning hatred for him. Led to some pretty creative nicknames among us, too, which I can't divulge here. The party's just getting started, though.


Analysis of New Position of Authority:
Quote:


Notes:

crew management, disciplinary action, and ship policy.

1) We will listen. We will speak.[b] The Captain and ship officers will be open to consideration of crew suggestion. If turned down, crew member will be notified with a respectful detailing of why. If suggestion is approved, crew member gets extra ale rations.
[b]2) Loyalty is earned through devotion.
Crew members will not be severely punished for unsatisfactory performance. They will receive a Mark of Disapproval. After 5 marks of disapproval, their ale rations will be removed until they remove marks through satisfactory performance.
3) The Wrath of the crew is as fierce as its love for itself. Certain behavior will be inexcusable. Mutiny, destruction of cargo, and other acts that jeopardize/harm the crew or its loot will be met with immediate public execution. Method of execution will be decided by the captain depending on the severity of the act.
4) Sate your desires, but never bite the hand that feeds. There are no taboos regarding religion, recreation, sexual orientation, gender, race, or culinary preference among crew members so long as it does not break any other of the ship's policies. We are pirates. We live free to feed our wants and needs.
5) We are and must remain one body. In the event of a major dispute, the Captain or an officer will delegate. Their word is final. Should the dispute persist, punishment will be dealt varying by the extent and consequence of the dispute, ranging from retention of ale rations to public execution to prolonged torture followed by execution.
6) We are us, they are not. Policies only apply to crew members. Non-members reserve no rights on the ship unless stated by the Captain. Prisoners are resources and will receive half-rations and be exempt from crew rewards until the Captain or first mate agree to grant them full crew membership.
7) Maintain your body, for it is part of the whole. Crew will be allotted 1 hour every week to general health checkups. If crew members are subject to disease, poison, or other ailments, they will be treated as soon as possible. This includes dental care. Crew members who attempt to fraud illness to shirk duties will be "made honest".
8) You are not a slave, but a willing part of the host. Duty in the bilges will be rotated among all members each day, including the captain (first mate will be acting captain at the time), to promote solidarity among crew members. Bilges will not be used as a form of punishment. Additionally, crewmates that wish to depart the crew will be allowed to do so, but will henceforth be considered enemies to be tortured and/or executed if encountered again (that said, highly recommended they stop being pirates altogether from then on).
9) We are pirates. Slaughter your enemies. Never hesitate. Take their gold, their pride, their bodies, their lives. They are yours.
10) "Live to Hunger, Hunger to Live"

Captain's Log:

The mutiny has happened. We are now in control, and to make things better, I am captain. Though the crew clamored for Ryunai, we convinced them otherwise. She is far better suited for navigation than dealing with the management of the crew anyway. I will make Ssardan the ship's boatswain. Alianora would make a good quartermaster, and though I do not know the halfling Vicnan well enough, his nomination of me earns him a spot at my side. Sandara's knowledge of pirate culture and seafaring makes her a prime adviser. Kroop, of course, will remain the cook. The crew should be allowed free nightly revel so long as they keep it within their rations limit, but there will be no limit to the number of songs, dances, stories, and other non-resource draining recreation so long as they wake early enough to do their duties. Perhaps I should prepare a large amount of alchemist's kindness when possible.

Plugg has escaped. He is wounded and running but he is out there and he is a dangerous man. It's quite possible he will rendezvous with Harrigan and urge him against us, assuming he does not try to get his own ship one way or another. When next we meet, he will NOT be as fortunate. What a shame we did not manage to capture Scourge. It seems I will have to wait a while longer before I can claim vengeance.

I do worry about a thing or two, however. There are members here that retain a certain sense of moral goodness. I intend to rid the ship of such weakness if at all possible.

Prior to the mutiny, Plugg had assigned us to travel to an island for water. Such fascinating discoveries I have made there! I managed to extract, synthesize, and amplify the rotten scent of ghouls to cause nausea and discomfort so extreme as to make those victim of the fumes incapable of fighting. One of the nights we remained there, I found a frog that was capable of transmuting the color of its skin. I harvested the minuscule ink sacs on its skin – their reaction time and range of hues and tints was incredible – and turned in a moment of brilliant inspiration altered it to affect my physiology. I can now alter my skin color at will. It is so very amusing and so very useful, too. Oh, the fun that will be had!

*There are many complex formulas spread forward and cover many pages.*

And the rumors we will spread, too! I already have a name to use for myself. "Death Fog" Sakhbet. Oh, it sends chills down my spine. Ryunai "the Storm". "Black Stab" Alianora. "Dragontrap" Ssardan. "Slip Tongue" Vicnan ... well, that's just thoughts. They of course can come up with their own nicknames.

We have our heading to Rickety's Squibs to reformat the ship. I still wonder what I'll have for a name of the ship.

Commentary:
This is more or less the time things started to get very iffy with the group. The majority of the players wanted Sakhbet as the captain, but the DM was in a relationship with the kitsune druid and tried to shenanigan her as the captain, claiming the crew was asking for her leadership. She ended up being first mate, though, hinting that if she wasn't at least given that, she'd stir dissent in the ranks. OOCly, this frustrated me, but ICly Sakhbet did not care so long as he had the reins.

[ooc]We had one of us missing out on the action, too, and he was feeling left out. It was around this time, too, that another friend requested if he could make a rival villain. That will be mentioned later.


Analysis of Early Piratical Operations:
Quote:


Notes:

Ship christened "The Endless Hunger".

Ship officer roster:

Captain: Sakhbet

First Mate: Ryunai

Quartermaster: Alianora

Boatswain: Ssardan

Shipwright: Vicnan

Cook: Kroop

Master Gunner position vacant.

Attack on nondescript village successful. Three crew members and three guard dogs secured. Plunder acquired. Sandara objects ruthless theatrics on small village. Recommends theatrics for ships.

Captain's Log:

Our stay on Rickety's Squibbs has yielded greater results than expected. A life saved and some favors done and we were able to cut down the cost of the ship's modifications by a significant margin. I'm left wondering if that place will really stand forever as Rickety claims. It seems the jungles are eager to swallow it whole. It would be unfortunate if it did, unless there are other places where I can get a ship refitted in which case I could care less what happens to it.

Dear Captain Pegsworthy seems so enthusiastic about getting us to be friends. Extremely enthusiastic. It is not unusual for a captain to try to take a young upstart under his wing, but his intentions can't be selfless as all that. Maybe he suspects that we will become feared in the future and he'd like to hone in on some of the benefits thereof. A man of faith. He can be a valuable ally, but I'll watch my back around him. We'll see if he's not sending us to our deaths on this chase of Windward Isle.

Our first successful raid has occurred on a small coastal village of Mwangi tribesmen. Kroop's advice was ideal. The night covered us and before they even knew it, half of them were dead. I managed to even recruit one of them mid-battle. As I suspected, my newly acquired chromatic skin can be used for intimidation and subversion as well as disguise. He gave me some nonsense about sacrificing his child to me. I assured him I only wanted his servitude.

Two others were secured by the crew. Ryunai kept thee guard dogs alive, a feat I applaud her for. They'll make excellent guards against whatever killed my night watchmen three days ago.

I wanted to leave a legacy, a story to frighten the children of this town and thus had the body of one of the dead guards put up on display in the middle of the village, nailed to crossed planks. Sadly, Sandara did not approve of my method. Too ruthless, she claims, but there's more to her debate than mere moral misguidance. She is correct to think that a small coastal village will not even remember us in the years to come nor spread word of our deeds. Trade ships, known ports, that is where we will carve our name into the nightmares of world.

Still, I grow distrustful of her. She does not find herself comfortable with the culture I am attempting to cultivate in the Hunger. This could be a problem later on.

Commentary:
The beginning of Raiders of the Fever Sea. Well, we were definitely eager to get started as fresh pirate. When I set about to play this game, I didn't really want to play the typical swashbuckling, hearty-laughing, yo-ho pirate that's propagated in memory. I was happy that Pathfinder acknowledged just how heinous a pirate really is, and so I embraced the real heart of piracy: ruthless, cruel, greedy, underhanded, and free. Of course, this started to gather some friction between the DM, her girlfriend, and the rest of us. Her girlfriend was playing a Neutral Good druid, which by all accounts defies any logic conceivable. She killed people, helped propagate misery, stole goods from people, and yet the DM did not so much as touch her. However, with others of the group, the DM brought down the hammer so hard it made our heads spin. One of us (Vicnan) got so tired of it he decided to outright just play a chaotic evil character so he could do whatever he wanted without hearing about it.

I ever mention chaotic evil halflings are creepy? They are.

Don't know if anyone's reading these, but hey, I've enjoyed writing them and I'll enjoy writing the rest. Might as well share it.


Analysis of Subsequent Ventures:
Quote:

Notes:

Acquisition of multiple national flags advantageous to piracy. New course set for Besmara's Throne to sell goods.

Captain's Log:

We have been met with a mix of success and failure, though thankfully more of the former than the latter. The Absalom sailors do not disappoint. Highly skilled, very competent, a sure sign of the city-state's supremacy as the Jewel of the Inner Sea. I lost some men in the fight but gained some of theirs in turn. In reality I would trade half the measly vermin we picked up for a handful of seasoned Absalom sailors, and that means that we came out on top in that scenario. The damage to The Hunger was minor but still expensive. I paid out of my own purse. The town we were in was inadequately suited to pay a fair price for our goods, however.

A Sargarvan fishing trolley was our next prey, and it went down with hardly a fight. Its captain did not fear me. How much I wished to watch it burn for his hubris, but my better senses spoke for me. We took what we came for and left them to limp back to their colony to spread word of our deeds.

The Shackles are dangerous because of pirates. The Shackles are dangerous to pirates. It is easy to become the prey even when you are the predator, and in the distance today we saw a predator to be feared: a Chelish warship, and not just any Chelish warship but one commandeered by a Hellknight of the Order of the Scourge. We are the wolves of the sea, but they are the wolf-hunters. This fear will not last forever. Someday, I will have a fleet. Someday, the wolves will feed on the flesh of the hunter.

I was wondering when we'd encounter something from my native land. The lack of Osirian merchant vessels had proven disheartening. I could use a few countrymen with which I could share tales with. Such a joyous day when we came across a vessel of the Aspis Consortium, and what a fine cargo she held. The Consortium isn't composed of the most moral lot, so it was not too difficult to convince at least a few of them to join us, including their captain. He now mans the guns for us.

Our next stop will be to go to Port Peril to sell our trade goods.

Commentary:
The introduction of our main villain. Terthule Grandidius is a Hellknight made by a friend of ours who couldn't partake in the game. There is another Chelish agent with him, an inquisitor meant to act as the arm of the bureaucracy. He'd actually make thing easier on us by reigning Grandidius in.

We actually had no idea that we WEREN'T supposed to trade in Port Peril until recently. Our previous DM must not have read that tidbit. Just as well, really, since she didn't go easy on us one bit. We got a really nice price for what we plundered at least.


Keep them coming, very entertaining!


Hehe, I'm glad to see some active response. I'll gladly post more. They are, after all, an unfolding story.

Analysis of Port Peril:
Quote:

Notes:

Disciplinary action on the ship to be strongly considered. Disruption of crew operations should not go unpunished.

Personal Log:

It is unacceptable. I would not really care all too much if it were any other place, any other port, but in -this- very port, it seems, we have to make utter fools of ourselves. Port Peril is not a lawful place, but it is a protected place and Ali is fortunate to have not been used as a fresh alternative to the usual mangy holes these filthy, crab-infested goat-f*#%ers tend to fill. Now my quartermaster is banned from the largest city in the Shackles, which means she cannot go in to procure supplies for the ship when we dock here. I have to send Vicnan to do her obligations. It is not only infuriating, but humiliating.

Ah, but the fox is also to blame. Her kind are known tricksters, and it was for her that Alianora sought to sneak her name into the waiting list. I simply don’t understand what was going through her head, however. A gryphon egg? Where the f&@~ would we even keep a gryphon?! Oh, of course, it would begin small, but magical beasts tend to grow exponentially and it would take next to no time for the critter to become a man-eating hazard to anyone but the fox. Furthermore, an exotic pet is nothing but an invitation for undue trouble. It would be problematic to have to dispose of it… and lastly, this is a decision that concerns the crew. A dog? Fine, she can clean after it. A cat? I would even congratulate her on her fine choice of companionship so long as she keeps people from slipping due to sea-sickness-incurred hairballs. A gryphon? Stupidity and lack of foresight at its finest. I may hate Pharasma, but even if she’s a lying b@!$& of a goddess, her priesthood taught me the importance of f+~$ing thinking things through before acting on them!!!

But enough about that distasteful issue, which I will deal with in the near future. I had a lovely conversation with Vicnan. The halfling is an intriguing individual. Most of his kind are generally carefree, but Vicnan takes their philosophy to a logical and wonderful extreme. You will die no matter what you do, so why not have a blast whilst at it? Eat what you want, drink what you want, kill what you want, f!!~ what you want. We all die in the end, so how we play the game makes no difference. He’s more pirate than I or anyone else on this ship, frankly. He’s proven proactive in addressing the well-being of the ship. It is so very strange to think a being less than half my size could have such a nihilistic and destructive outlook on the world. Oh, well. Most important is that he has pledged to help me in my own goals. In return, I for one care very much to grant him the “big bang” he craves.

Commentary:
Oh, dear, how to even begin. This entry doesn't tell much of the gameplay we had.

The first mate wanted a gryphon egg. She was adamant about this, and playing a kitsune, felt it justified to defy the laws of common sense as players are supposed to. The DM, however, adamantly refused. Several failed stealth and sleight of hands later, my quartermaster ends up banned from the city, meaning she technically can't go about her business, etc. etc.

It's around this time the IC schism is starting to become exceedingly obvious. Coupled with some bad OOC blood that was brewing, things were looking ready to blow up soon. The good news is it would turn out for the better.


Analysis of Changing Crew Dynamic:
Quote:

Notes:

Acquisition of more ships and propagation of our reputation is needed to secure Lady Smythe’s support. Barnabus Harrigan now a priority target (though he was already).

Captain's Log:

As the fox has requested, she has her own ship now. This is necessary for my purposes, but it still worries me. We have conflicting outlooks and it is possible she could mutiny if properly motivated. The fact that she insisted Quinn be with her worries me even more, as she has disapproved of my methods and shown distaste to the culture of the Hunger in previous times. Even if the fox is too spineless to rebel, Quinn might not be. It would be a terrible waste of a valuable asset if I was forced to execute her.

This is why I am assigning Vicnan to be Ryunai’s first mate. He is loyal to me and will keep maintain vigilance on her as-yet-unnamed ship. A pity, really. He will not enjoy his stay there. He thinks that remaining with the “goody two-shoes” will be dull and boring. At the very least, one can hope the fox’s musical talent can keep him entertained.

There is something else that has been bothering me. I am growing attached to this life. I actually -care- about this ship now. She – I call her a she now – is more than wood given motion by wind and canvas. She is my Hunger, my vessel that carries me to enact my will under the blessing of the Pale Princess. I grow angry when she is wounded, happy when she is fast, worried when she struggles. The same sentiments spread to Alianora. She has a bad case of bleeding heart, what with stopping me from claiming the life of that captain whose crew dared to call me a Rahoudumi. Any other person, I would likely have dogged and punished, but not her. Yet she is impulsive and foolish – more so than I thought – and her naivety leaves me in a constant state of disbelief. By all accounts I should not be concerned about her. She is my pet, though, and I suppose that makes her mine. If I have one so-called "benevolent" virtue in me, it is that I am protective of the things that are mine. I’d melt the flesh off of anyone that would take my things from me.

Friendship, love, and companionship. People continue to uphold these ideals because they feel good doing so. When they are gone, they bring about withdrawal pains, moments of extreme stress, and a void that they seek to fill with anything that will fulfill their craving for that dose. They go to other friends, call in old friends, look for new friends, the coping symptoms vary, but more often than not if they do not receive their dosage, they will end their lives rather than endure loneliness. Oh, yes. So very much like an addictive drug. I’ll stay addicted a while longer.

PS: I am getting VERY tired of being described as “creepy”. I am not. I have exotic hobbies and interests, but I am a perfectly sociable individual otherwise. I intend to ensure the next person who does call me “creepy” will pay penance for their transgression one way or another.

Commentary:
Sakhbet does not believe in the concept of love, even if he's aware of feeling it. He believes in being attached to things that make you enjoy life (drugs, sexual partners, etc.) and fulfill your ambitions (the ship, the crew, his alchemy) because otherwise you've no purpose but to wander off in whatever puppet strings fate and prophecy has tied to you. He'll mourn a broken glass vial sooner than he'll cry over a stranger being brutalized in broad daylight. Empathy is a concept he understands but scorns in favor of pragmatism and self-fulfillment. That isn't to say he's above helping others, simply that he always has a hidden agenda when he does.

OOCly, this is the start of the end for our group, though, but not the end of the adventure. Not for a long shot.

Quote:


Analysis of Shackles Drug Trade:
Quote:

Notes:

Shackles piracy focuses on slavery, extortion, and stolen legal goods for successful profiteering. By its nature, piracy focuses on leeching off the success of others rather than establishing pro-active product trading. Whilst profitable, not altogether reliable. Slaves may escape, insurrections may occur, and traders refuse to ship out to "protected" areas. Supplementing piracy with trade has many great benefits, including control of trade routes, political background, and population.

Greatest and most likely trade in question would be drug trade.

Suggested drugs
Pesh (Far too much competition from Druma and Qadira. Lack of arid conditions for proper cultivation)
Blood Sap (Plants found locally. Potential introductory drug to lead into greater product.)
Flayleaf (Too weak, not addictive enough, and too cheap. Massive amounts required for profit.)
Mumia (Second-rate mumia possible to synthesize, but although successful in markets will not provide political and trade clout needed. Lack of properly aged bodies mean no potential for high-quality mumia.)
Opium (Similar to blood sap as introductory drug.)
Scour (Potential introductory drug.)
Shiver (More weapon than drug. Still, potential for commerce is hopeful.)
Slaver’s Drops (Introductory drug. Keep a few for use in interrogation.)
Powdered Mummy Skin (No source of material components to be found. Additionally, side effects far too severe.)
Wyrm Pesh (See pesh. Additionally, dragon’s blood not available.)
Harlot Sweets (Popular drug. Readily available clientele among prostitution rings in Blood Cove, Port Peril, and various other towns.)
Zerk (Potential enhancer for troops. Maintain supply to self only.)

Potential for commerce is great in the Shackles and abroad. However, to truly establish self as significant part of the market, new drug must be introduced. Will require much research. Will require drug with strong, addictive effects, difficulty in creation, few or no side effects, and easily consumed by consumers with any modicum of knowledge. Challenge accepted.

Commentary:
This was a little side-project I wanted to work on. Granted, the adventure hasn't really given us much of a chance to do anything with it and that's ok. Maybe save it for later.

As an alchemist, Sakhbet sees profit and public control through drugs to be his most powerful potential tool. He doesn't just want to flood the market with something anyone can get, though. He wants to revolutionize it by putting a new drug of his own making in the market. I won't reveal what it is or what it's stats are, but needless to say it's very devious and addictive, even has a practical use.


Analysis of Failed Mutiny Attempt and Unusual Recruitment:
Quote:

Notes:

Fox dead. Celebratory feast is in order. Kroop to make finest meal yet. Have requested special dish for myself. Wonder if kitsune taste the same as foxes.

Vicnan to be acting captain of The Acheron until staffing dilemma is resolved.

Require updating knowledge. Cannot allow it to stagnate. Buy books when arrive to Blood Cove and read.

Captain’s Log:

I did not think the traitorous minge had the audacity to be so swift in her action, but I ought to be thankful for that. Sandara could have been killed in the attempt, if she had not had the alibi of being here after converting all that holy water, and it helped me root out the undesirables. I should have expected the Rahoudumi to take her side.

We put an end to that. One knife to the throat, and Alianora had assured her death. I had her skinned. Even now her bloodied fur is rolled and readied for Blood Cove’s tanner. Her now-skinless skull and bleeding heart are in the clutches of the Pale Mistress. It is such a relief to have the odious self-righteous minx out of my life permanently.

But that leaves me with an undermanned ship under my command. We may endure the trip to Blood Cove in time to recruit new members, but it will be difficult manning both vessels at minimum capacity.

As it would happen, the answer came from the sky and the sea. Perhaps Gozreh opted to be whimsical this day. Not one, but TWO men in barrels appeared on the ship, one stowed away and the other falling from a distance with some nonsense letter about the Empress of Minkai wanting him out of her nation. The other, totting firearms and an over-inflated sense of self-worth, appeared to have been looking specifically for my ship.

Any other time, I would have considered killing both of them on the spot, but their unique conditions intrigued me. I do not know how genuine this letter of the ‘Empress of Minkai’ is, especially since Minkai has historically has not had a sovereign ruler since the death of its house members some years ago, but I… do not even know how he came to -fly- into my ship when there were no ships with siege weapons on the horizon. His name is Maxime Constant, a man from Galt with a note from a Tien monarch requesting he never show his face arrives via a launched barrel, the method of launching as yet unknown. The entire scenario is bizzare as to be a badly written joke, and yet I saw it happen. The signs of his harrowing are all there as well. Scurvy, muscular cramps, claustrophobia, severe dehydration, and some slight psychosis… yes, definitely the tales of someone who has been long adrift. He is damaged goods.

But the signs say that these damaged goods make for a dangerous man. I have use for dangerous men. This is all, of course, assuming he opts to remain.

The other one, Gareth Solomon, has origins much less mysterious, is a bumbling fool with unique knowledge and obvious skill with his tools. Cannons are so rare in the Shackles, with Alkenstar being the sole provider of advanced firearms and the supply and specialists for their product being severely restricted, but in my time as a pirate slave I saw a rare instance of their firepower at work. They could shred entire ships, masts, and crews as though they were cheap papyrus before a fierce storm. For that alone do I entertain his stay and potential full membership on my ship… well, that and Ali seems to fancy making him her b$++!.

To top it all off, I find their boyish squabbling to be amusing. A murderous jester is still a comedian at heart and so I do not mind leaving these two perilous fools from entertaining the crew and I.

But the surprises of the day did not end there. Nearing late afternoon, when the sun was only just beginning to lose its blaze, I saw a figure swimming swiftly toward us in the distance. Assembling a welcoming party, I allowed the curious man aboard. He was like a man, but unlike a man, very strangely garbed and of extraordinary stamina to have swam so far. Malvolio Sharma is an intelligent individual, by far the most intelligent man I have encountered since leaving Sothis aside from myself. His keen eyes and sharp knowledge were able to discern the origin of my camoflauging skin, something that lesser minds had to date shirked in fear of due to ignorance. He is a man of medicine like myself but like myself he is also not a mundane doctor, but a magical healer. Additionally, he KNOWS ship building and is capable of deep-sea diving for salvage operations.

What amazing blessings today. Perhaps Urgathoa was pleased with my sacrifice in her name.

Commentary:
This... is where things got ugly. As I mentioned before, there was a huge amount of drama going on OOCly, a lot of difficulty getting along. It wasn't just in this campaign but in all of the ones we were in, including a Jade Regent that would never ever take off again. I don't even remember where it started, just where it was going to end.

The DM decided she didn't want to play a campaign with evil characters anymore. She didn't delve why, but given her track record, we were fairly certain it had to do with her significant other trying to be a neutral good pirate and, well, we all know just how much of a contradiction that is.

Needless to say, we didn't want to stop or start over, so we got a new DM (whom, may I add, is pretty awesome). 'Course, the DM's girlfriend didn't quite enjoy the idea, so she decided to say that her character stole our second ship (Yeah, we weren't supposed to have more than one at the point), set sail, and basically f*ck the whole crew over.

So we decided that hey, everyone gets what they want. In her version, she'll get away. In ours, though? She's assassinated and eaten by the captain. It's the nice thing about fiction: you get what you want if you believe it's what happened.

As for the second half of this, we had two people to join us. Ssardan's player grew disenchanted with his character because of the drama and brought forth Gareth, the womanizing pretty boy with a poor attitude but a hell of a deadshot. Then there's Sharma, the undine witch who's afraid of fire. Finally, Maxime Constant, shipped over from when he was in the Jade Regent campaign. I admit, his introduction was -silly- but it was purposefully silly (we assume he was teleported as he was launched from a catapult, ending up somewhere random).

Yeah, this is going to start getting fun.


Analysis of Acquisition and Retention of Base of Operations:
Quote:

Notes:

Future captives to be thoroughly inspected for contingency suicide plans. Always have at LEAST one dose of antivenom and or one extract of delay poison at all times.

Captain's Log:

Fate be damned to Abbadon. F@*$ death, f*!& Pharasma, F%&* everything. Somehow, this all feels as though it was her intention all along.

Inkskin could have been a valuable asset, though in death she still proved useful to us. Sharma and I will satisfy our frustration on her remains. I have skinned her and will have her hide tanned to be left flapping in the wind along with the Hunger’s flag. Let all see this upstart captain as she dared attempt to harm us.

I would not have minded having the chance to savor her, either. A rare pirate beauty, that one, and that only gives more reason to fuel my fury. Well, I suppose I’ll simply have Agasta and Alianora sate my lust instead.

But I am getting ahead of myself. A political – and carnal – marriage has secured Tidewater for the Ravenous Fleet. We have already profited from it, giving us a relatively safe base from which to build the cannons. In due time we can have the Hunger fully equipped. I intend to make it the deadliest ship in the Shackles.

I commend that the Gareth and Maxime have proven very useful. Both are skilled combatants and are capable of creating the cannons for our ships. In light of their achievements, perhaps I will grant one of them captain status for the soon-to-be-renamed Acheron. I simply hope they have the ambition for it. I would consider Sharma for the position as well, but he seems more content with navigating.

This sahuagin king who has sent both his soldiers and his b%&~! at us will be brought low. His kingdom we will ravage, his riches we will steal, his flesh we’ll consume. No one strikes me without severe consequence.

PS: On second thought, maybe I won’t turn her skin into a flag. I’d much prefer to taxidermize it. She’ll make such a wonderful conversation piece.

Commentary:
Without any moral constraints, Sakhbet's more than just an effective captain. He's a cruel, vindictive, ruthless beast of a man who isn't above venting his frustrations on people. He doesn't take failure lightly, and losing Inkskin was, in his eyes, a major failure. He felt he could have prevented it, but was too slow to react. He doesn't vent his anger on his crew, though. He's smart enough to know that breaking your tools because you didn't get to succeed just handicaps future success. If he did, the more morally correct members of the crew would mutiny. Evil does not need to mean people must automatically hate you, be unable to relate with you, or even befriend you. If nothing else, a villain who is capable of this is far more dangerous and interesting because that means the villain can create a greater range of reactions from the heroes and his peers beyond "see bad guy, kill bad guy".


Oops. Seems I posted on a my other account.

Analysis of RecenT Hellknight Threat:
Quote:

Notes:

<There are formulas for poisons. Lots and lots of poisons. Littered among the scribblings are comments questioning theories. “Increase viscocity?”, “Higher concentration of congealing agents,” “multiple dilution and redistribution”… the commentary goes on and on.>

Captain's Log:

A threat from a Hellknight is nothing to shirk. If they say they know where we are, they know where we are. I know the Hellknight that sent this letter. His name is Terthule Grandidius. He is high in the order, high enough that even I know of him from fleeting mentions during my time as a slave here in the Shackles. Yes, the same Hellknight I saw roaming about that man-o’-war.

Gods dammit, I do not accept this. We are not prepared to face such a formidable warship, and we are especially not prepared to face the Hellknight or whatever fiends he has decided to bring with him in his hunt. We need time and resources, at least one of which will be scarce.

It has become clear that Cheliax will become more than a murmur of potential trouble in our future, both near and far. My bombs will not be enough. It is time for me to begin investing in more reliable methods of combat. We must make port before proceeding any further to Mancatcher Cove to sell and resupply to be better prepared for the days to come. We will proceed to Mancatcher Cove. They might know that they can find us in Tidewater Rock, but they cannot possibly find us so easily roaming the Shackles.

An idea springs to mind. He mentioned he wanted his ship back? I say we give it to him, along with a special surprise. I doubt we can scare him off, but we could make him reckless this way, and a reckless foe is easier to outmaneuver than a calm, calculating hunter.

Commentary:
A twist from our new GM. We're a group that respects attempts to liven up and alter a campaign and add a personalized touch to them. Terthule Grandidius, Lawful Neutral pirate hunting badass Hellknight legend, was our DM's. Sure, he's a DMPC and we all know that those tend to have a reputation for being over-powered, over-focused, and centralized, but our DM's an awesome guy who knows how to keep perspective on the campaign and have everyone feeling satisfied with their accomplishments without feeling diminished or bludgeoned down by excessively egotistical custom CR encounters.

It's around this time that Vicnan's player became scarce. Real life had other plans for him, so he isn't going to be mentioned much. Someday, he might come back.


This segment is separated to represent several days' passing.

Analysis of Sahuagin Genocide:
Quote:

Notes:

Locathah prisoner released. Potential favors may result from this act. Will require method of contact.

Have discovered interesting species of scarab from the jungle. Very strange and out of place for local ecosystem. Anatomy and cellular structure seem to indicate compatibility. Require more time to proceed with study.

Log:

Mancatcher Cove. Everything about this place reeks of history, death, and power. I do not know what it is about this location, but it is intoxicating. Someday, when I have the resources, I will apply them to this place and secure a base of operations here. There’s more, though. I am uneasy with the cove’s layout. Something feels out of place, but I cannot put my finger on it. We will avoid making port in it tonight.

The sahuagin are here, that much is certain. I will feed them their own entrails before we are finished here.

====================

The sahuagin are very ingenious creatures, choosing this underwater cave as their kingdom. It is such an enigma to me, however. There is plenty of prey in and around the cove and the surrounding isles. The sahuagin had all they needed. They even made little of their rival sea dwellers, if the locathah matriarch is anything to go by.

Why then would they draw attention to themselves and ruin what they have? Attacking pirates, assaulting castles, raiding trade routes, this all seems so -very- unusual, stupid, and reckless. It would draw the ire of dangerous men and women such as the Hunger’s crew and myself. They are paying the price with the blood of their warriors, their matriarch, their young and old, their pets, and soon, their royalty, though their new- and as-yet-to-be-born have been spared from me, if only at the urging of my quartermaster. It matters not to me. Nature will take its course and without protectors they will still die to starvation, predators, or other natural hazards. I know a crab in a cave that would simply love to get its claws on such a feast. At any rate, what is important is that the sahuagin will be so completely and utterly destroyed as to be unable to ever be a threat to our holdings. Leaving no loose ends is the best way to ensure such cliche stories of revenge actually happen.

Ah, and there was a pleasant surprise today! Vicnan has opted to take the path of necromancy and converted to the worship of Urgathoa. I cannot express the relief I can feel, having another acolyte of gluttony on the ship. Oh, sure, he is only doing it to please me but I do not care. In fact, it flatters me even more that he’d be so rabidly loyal as to emulate me. I will be the plague, he the undeath. Maybe we can get someone to be the gluttony? I suppose if we go by Thassilonian terms, he is technically the gluttony as well, but I’d prefer it remain a triumvirate. Maybe Sharma? No, no. Max? He is more a follower of Lust than anything. Gareth? No, he has other focuses. Dammit, I do not think I will be able to make this comparison. Perhaps I can be the gluttony and someone else can be the plague? But no one is as capable to fit the term as I am.

F***, I wasted an entire page on that tirade. At times, my obsession with these subjects is overly ridiculous, even to myself.

====================

We found a mummy. An old, rotten mummy. My excitement and curiosity are only matched by my revulsion – a truly immense accomplishment, considering my previous line of work. This mummy was a marine one, and it attacked by force-feeding its victims vile rotten water from within itself. To say that Gareth and I felt unending nausea from it is an understatement. I actually felt sympathy for him. He has been so very valuable. I had best ensure we are not infected with some manner of disease when we get back to the ship.

This necklace he has, however, is absolutely fascinating. Not magical and made of deep platinum just like Inkskin’s necklace. Something about it, however, is so very unnerving, something that can shake me to my core. Such a thing is worthy of further inspection. I must study this ore more closely, submit it to tests, research its significance in cultures around the world.

After I am finished with my current projects, of course. I am so close to unlocking the peptide sequence that will make my poisons tenaciously viscous. One drop will become potently concentrated enough to be used many times over before wearing away. This will make poison use on the ship much more efficient.

I feel so much right now. Eagerness. Thrill. Anxiety. We come closer and closer to the sahuagin king Krelloort, upon whom I will visit with the taste of my first attempt at poisons (it is, unfortunately, an incomplete version, lacking its full potential.) Then, we will find Wolfe’s treasure and I will have the resources I need.

Commentary:
Well, looks like I was wrong. This IS around the time Vicnan's player disappears, but I think it's more or less after this session... Also, we didn't realize the sharks couldn't be raised because they were large until it was too late, so funny enough the shark we HAD raised just sorta POOFED into dust in the water.

We did some really questionable things here. Even OOCly, the guys were a bit morally conflicted about Sakhbet having the young and old sahuagin executed. Sakhbet has no respect for life or death, being that he hates Pharasma, and views people as either tools, obstacles, or mindless meat that has no impact on him whatsoever. He's still a person with emotions, though, so against his philosophy he still forms bonds of friendship with those that are loyal and respectful to him or share his interests.

But then we fought Krelloort, saw he was an a@$*@!! and didn't care that his people had died (he said he could repopulate with just his concubines) and we were 'kay.


Analysis of Net Loss Versus Gain:
Quote:

Notes:

Look for new cleric of Besmara in port.

Hunger requires improvement. Expand crew quarters using new space from captain’s locker. Requests are

1) officer mess hall
2) mechanics workshop (will require insulation against fire)
3) individual officer quarters (5 total)

Improve Thresher. Assign trusted personnel to oversee Thresher operations

Finish Carcharadon Beacon.

Captain’s Log:

The loss of a portion of the crew at the hands of the canopy creeper has struck me in a way that I did not anticipate. Tools, they are. Nothing but tools to be used until worn and then discarded. What did I care for their lives?

Damn the burn of the passionate Keleshite blood in me, for I have grown fond of the company of these pirates. Tools, I say, but my hands are tools as well. My eyes, my alchemy, all tools for me to use to achieve my goals, yet their loss would be a blow from which I could not do. Even Sandara, the gods curse her sense of morality, is a loss to me. I should have recognized the surroundings, the signs of its presence. I should have left the

Owlbear’s death, however glorious it may have been, has affected Alianora most of all. She blames Sandara, but I cannot have a holy woman of Besmara defiled out of grief-filled lash-outs. The man himself, however? He is credited with the defeat of the beast. Perhaps someday we will accrue the means to return him to us, or perhaps he is content with whatever awaits him past Pharasma’s gate. Gods, it sickens me to think my crew to be in her hands. To have even a portion of myself at her mercy is unforgivable.

Nevertheless, while I accept the pain of my failure I also reap in the boon of my success. The wealth in magical items, trade goods, and raw currency from Wolfe’s hidden treasure will solidify the Ravenous Fleet as a power to be both feared and respected in the Shackles. It is one step closer to fulfilling my goal. Additionally, I have defeated the new captain of the Thresher and secured his service. If he fails or betrays, I will reserve only the most brutal, cruel, and humiliating punishment of all for him.

I am off. I will feast for now, then we will reach port, then we will feast some more, and then we will resume our task.

PS: The Galtman knows a thing or two.
PPS: So much f$*~ing room on the ship now I don’t even KNOW what to do with it all.
PPPS: I so do not want to get rid of the Pale Mistress. I will likely have her placed atop the mast.

Commentary:
I failed to mention this, but what happened here is that Sandara was left in charge of the Endless Hunger while the group was away. Having missed the encounter, our GM rolled to see which side won against the canopy creeper. Thankfully, ours did, but not without a considerable loss.

What happened, as explained by the crew, is that-- oh, wait. Some backstory first. Back when the sahuagin attacked Tidewater Rock, we captured one of them alive. The survivor's arms were cut off, his teeth surgically removed, his gums seared with alchemist fire to prevent regrowth, his tongue severed, his eyes plucked out, and his tail removed. Sakhbet kept him around as a trophy and Alianora adopted him as a pet. Yeah, he was not happy at ALL that they attacked his new base and killed one of the guards.

Well, that turned out to be a mistake because Sandara couldn't stomach what was pretty much cruel slavery aboard the ship. She tried to dump him into the water so he could die in peace under the waves, but before that the sahuagin cried out and lured the creeper. It killed it, then turned on the crew. Much badassery was had, however, as Owlbear basically got tangled up and BROUGHT the thing down in an especially heroic moment. NO ONE makes fun of Owlbear anymore, and even Sakhbet turned a blind eye to his hatred of Pharasma to give him a proper burial in honor of his prowess and sacrifice.

The Carcharadon Beacon is my special RP way of explaining why we can suddenly summon sharks as of our new infamy level. It's basically Krelloort's brain in a jar with wires sticking out of it. By stimulating it, the sahuagin's natural ability to communicate with sharks coupled with Krelloort's larger, mutant cerebral mass allows Sakhbet to basically send out the message 'COME' to nearby sharks. He can't send anything more complex and the brain risks getting fried if used too often.

I have too much fun overthinking these things.


Is there no more?


Apologies for not updating. Life has been hectic. Also, I only JUST realized Paizo has a "character blog" forum. I'll be re-posting this thread there, if that's alright.

EDIT: Ah, nevermind, I misunderstood what it was. The blog'll just continue here instead.

Analysis of Hellknight Attack:

Quote:

Notes:

<Surprisingly, no notes are found on this entry.>

Captain’s Log:

Terthule Grandidius. Lictor of the Order of the Scourge. The most feared pirate hunter in the Shackles to date.

The man is out for my blood, but not so much as to strike me down on the spot. Had he wanted to, he could have killed us all then and there with only his sense of duty to the crown of Cheliax preventing our immediate execution. The experience is sobering to a frightening level. I do not think I have ever been as afraid as I was at that moment with the man who was a living legend among his kind prepared to skewer me through with his flaming sword.

It made ruining his chance all the sweeter. Oh, I was afraid for my life, but I refuse to be paralyzed for it. I will let the fear turn into exhilaration, the thrill of the game of cat and mouse. When he least expects it, he will become the prey and I the predator.

He had some silver-haired cabin boy by name of Taalon Astronial, an agent of House Thrune. From what I gathered of Grandidius’ words and Taalen’s demeanor, there is little love between them, though this does not prevent them from working together efficiently. If I had not forced the man into the drink, I fear the battle would have turned out much worse. I am certain he is the reason Terthule has not tied me to my own mast and set it ablaze. He must be kept alive until we are able to deal with both of them decisively. In the best, if least likely, of scenarios, we could turn them against each other fully. I do not yet know enough to enact this plan, but I would savor the chance to put it in motion.

Soon I’ll be able to sail the skies, however, and I doubt the Hellknight can be fully effective in aerial combat where he cannot reach

<There are a few drops of blood on the page.>

F&*&. The stitches tore when I tried to wipe the sweat from my eyes. This is going to leave a tremendous scar. From what I hear, however? It is not necessarily a bad thing. Pirates respect surviving things that most others should have died. Surviving Grandidius is not merely a personal victory, then. It is a grand opportunity.

I will keep this scar for as long as it pleases me. Maybe permanently. We’ll see.

Commentary:
Our first real encounter with the DMPC, Terthule Grandidius, Lictor of the Order of the Scourge and a tremendously feared Hellknight of legendary status. I don't resent my DM for this - honestly, I encouraged his inclusion - and on occasion I find it's nice to have an encounter that has an objective more indirect than "kill the monster!" In this case, it was "break away the boarding ropes to force the uberboss to retreat". Besides, it left Sakhbet with an awesome scar from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose and we have huge boasting rights with other pirates. Even the freecaptains are impressed. The rivalry also makes for great story and a sense of personal purpose beyond the usual "do this for riches and adventure" so commonly used to motivate other PCs into action.


Raunchy entry ahead. You've been warned.

Analysis of Freecaptainhood and Fairwind Alliance:
Quote:

Notes:

Kerdak Bonefist hand intriguing. Investigate legend behind its origin.

Development of plague delivery bombs in progress. Require further samples for testing.

Improved method of bomb preparation in the works. Increased catalyst reaction time one of best methods.

Captain’s Log:

After surviving the encounter with Grandidius and the frustratingly demeaning petty tasks Tsadok Goldtooth set out for us, I have become a Freecaptain of the Shackles. We have a superficial alliance with the rest of the freecaptains and are not allowed to directly assault or pirate them. This suits me just fine. I prefer subversion to direct annihilation even if the latter is more immediately gratifying.

Shockingly, Kerdak Bonefist has an actual hand made of exposed bone fingers. I thought the moniker was just the usual pirate superstition. This is obviously some manner of necromantic curse or enchantment, though how it manifests beyond the appearance is beyond my understanding at the moment. It would seem the hand is fully functional. I wish to study it, but without access to it directly, I would need to research his history. Trying to sniff out the Hurricane King’s secrets are beyond the scope of my capabilities at the moment, though.

During the festivities, Malvolio weaved the most intricate lie I’ve heard in some time, speckled with truth but always omitting or altering key details. My expectations of the man were not misguided. During his telling, he was interrupted by hecklers. One was himself shamed by the comedic antics of Maxime, one was scared into silence by myself, and the last one had the misfortune of being targeted by Alianora. Highly doubt he’ll be heard from again. The ceremony was enjoyable.

Not long after we ate with the crew at one of the most popular taverns in the Shackles. We met a captain by the name of Jerrel Pierce. Extremely friendly, but that comes as no surprise. He is not a freecaptain yet. I imagine he wishes to be and having one foot in by being friends with us would facilitate the process. It never hurts to have people indebted to you, so I entertained him. Sharma seems to have found him more engaging than the rest of us, though, as the two slipped away after the events that would occur.

Sharma spotted a woman who was part of Harrigan’s crew. She started a bar brawl to escape (I enjoyed using my nauseating gas bombs on the unfortunate idiots who thought I would be easy prey) but was quickly captured by Maxime and Alianora. The blubbering, pathetic mess of a woman named “Caulky” Tarroon told us Harrigan had been mistreating his crew out of frustration for losing The Man’s Promise. In any case, she has no love for him. Given the options, she was press ganged into our own crew since I do not want to leave loose ends untied. I find her blubbering to be off-putting, so I’ll leave her for Max, Sharma, or Gareth (she may just be desperate enough) to play with. Alianora’s taken her as an apprentice. I know her well enough to know she has no sinister plan aside from making her a more valued asset. She may have some latent sexual interest in her, given her past parallel experiences, though I’ve not known her to have homosexual leanings. Erotic fascination abounds.

Thinking on this, I wonder where in the world that rotten son of a b~#*! Plugg is? I’ve not thought on him in a long time. I hope he is hidden under some muddy set of stairs, broken and alone. No, I hope he is actively attempting to work against me so I may find him. I think I’ll have him strung to the mast and let the crew take turns spitting on him before dripping acid down that dick-for-a-head. Wait, no, I know! After they spit on him, I will operate it so that his head LOOKS like an actual dickhead! That will be hilarious! Of course, if I do this I’ll need to keep him alive to prolong the effect of his punishment. Maybe I’ll handicap him as I did the sahuagin, but less terribly so that he can better experience his misery. I think I’ll take his right forearm, three of his left fingers, his left leg, all of his toes, his tongue, his right eye, and half his teeth equally on each row. He will never captain a ship, never be a threat, and I doubt he will do anything but live in misery until his dying day which I imagine for a man as arrogant as himself will most likely come from himself than anyone else.

Ah, and speaking of erotic fascination, the day after this incident, I was summoned by Tessa Fairwind, freecaptain of the Luck of the Draw and ruler of the city of Quent, to her estate in Port Peril. She is absolutely gorgeous. Hair like a burning sunset, skin smooth as oiled amber, and those large, radiant eyes could give inspire a thousand ballads from Shelynite bards. Her personality only helps to enhance her deliciously sensual body. Wenches and whores are well and good, but there is something so very special about the prospect of f$+*ing someone more powerful than yourself. She is all in all intoxicating, and that makes her extremely dangerous to me. I shouldn’t feel preoccupied, though, as I sincerely doubt she mirrors my lust. If her reaction to me has any indication, she finds my occasional choice of cuisine reprehensible and I doubt the recent public revelation of my wings (an overwhelming success as far as a science is concerned, I am proud to boast) has done me any favors aside from placing me in a more niche category of fetishes. All of this is without even assuming she would have found me physically attractive to begin with. It is probably for the best it will never happen. I would loathe to be manipulated through such a cliched device as libido.

To focus on more important matters, we are now tasked by her to discover the identity of the Chelish spies she suspects have infiltrated the Shackles and are feeding Grandidius information. Should we succeed, I will have established myself very firmly as her ally. Still, I should not believe she’ll hold her end of the bargain. Nymph’s body or not, she is still a pirate. I’d best be prepared for the inevitable betrayal. If she strings me along and returns no favors, it will be regrettable to terminate the alliance, but I refuse to be anyone’s puppet.

We were given two options. We can either seek information from the priestesses of Calistria or the secret-keepers of Norgorber. My officers are most inclined to go to Calistria on the deluded prospect that simply because she is the goddess of lust they may have their meats greased once again but they refuse to acknowledge their tendency for trickery and vindictiveness. I find Norgorber’s priests to be more promising. They may hold more secrets and be willing to trade for them. The decision is not popular, of course, but I have the confidence that it is the correct one to take. Calistria’s priestesses are in Quent, the city that Tessa rules. Should something happen there, we will be far graver consequences than if things go wrong with the Norgorber. At least then we can gain his favor through murder. The best case scenario is that we are able to meet with both, negotiate what either side may know, and come out of it unscathed, but I doubt this will be the case.

My only other pressing worry is the potential alienation of the crew due to my recent changes. The fault is likely in myself for allowing them to become so important to me. I was fine thinking of them as nothing but expendable. After Mancatcher Cove, things changed, however. They did not abandon us despite losses. They fought a harder battle than any of the ones we faced within the cove itself. I have drank and feasted alongside them many times and will continue to do so for many more times, yet they seem to look at me with a mix of revulsion, fear, and distrust. I doubt they even think I am humanoid anymore. If that is the case, then I have gone beyond the ken of common men.

The realization excites me greatly.

Addendum:

I am becoming overly concerned with carnal entertainment. I am likely simply experiencing a wild increase in testosterone at the moment, though Maxime's influence is not an unlikely cause. Perhaps I am simply bored? Reaching a milestone in my plans tends to do that before I set into motion for the next one. The journey is greater than the destination, as the Desnans say.

Commentary:
The heart wants what it wants. Replace heart with another altogether less flattering organ and you've pretty much pinned down Sakhbet's outlook on romance. Even for him, though, Max is a rampant hurricane of innuendos and double-entendres. Even Sharma, who's the least sexually active member, got roped into some action with Pierce. And Gareth? He only encourages more of it, if only for himself. I think we reached the point where our DM was exasperated with the excess focus on the subject, to which I actually agreed. It'd be good for us to get back to swashbuckling and slashing stuff up.

Around this point, Alianora's player started to be bombarded with schoolwork and problems, so she became a lot more scarce. She hasn't disappeared on us, though, so while she's not going to be mentioned for a while, Alianora is still part of the crew, somewhere in the shadows.


Analysis of Information Trade:
Quote:

Notes:

Obtain Ring of the Iron Skull to discovery shipwreck of the Brine’s Banshee -> Acquire secret of Brine’s Banshee’s mobility and maneuverability for Brotherhood -> Obtain name of pirates who stole Calistrian artifact from the sisters at Quent -> Find pirates, terminate, retrieve artifact, return -> Acquire information regarding Chelish spies from both sides.

Conclusion: F~~+ this shit.

Captain’s Log:

It is one breadcrumb after another. First we head for the Temple of the Hidden Name and are given a task to fulfill in exchange for information. Then we go to the temple of Calistria in Quent to discover the whereabouts of the ship we need to plunder for the task, only to be given another task. Then we follow the lead to this doctor who tells us we need to acquire some artifact or other to find the ship in question, and THERE is the tail end of the entire sojourn.

This is exactly the kind of contrived bullshit I despise, some pre-ordained quest placed by fate and destiny to pave our road. Fine, I will play this game and I will win this game.

I really have nothing more to write. My energies are focused on getting this out of the way so we can then focus on preparing for the Regatta.

Commentary:
Sakhbet is neutral evil because he's both parts manipulative bastard and impulsive beast. He likes to control but enjoys his own freedom, plunders and steals as a means to an end, kills and tortures because it's intriguing as well as necessary (and only when it's both), and only loses his temper when he has the luxury to (I.E. he won't piss off the wrong people and won't destroy things valuable to him.) Above all, his religious disgust against Pharasma means he hates anything that seems contrived, much like the breadcrumb quest he's in. It all looks just too conveniently laid out. This makes him uneasy because while he sees that it makes the whole ordeal possible, he can't help but feel like he's playing along with whatever grand scheme his ex-goddess foretold. That makes him a very uncomfortable captain.

That, and this entry was just my opportunity to poke fun at contrived breadcrumb quests. It's MOSTLY that.


At around this point, I'd like to remind anyone reading this that this adventure has several spoilers of upcoming events in the Skulls and Shackles campaign. This is the third module, which is more or less when you'll start seeing things get heavy with actual spoilers. You've been warned!

PS: DMs, trust me, if they were looking for spoilers, I promise you your players have probably already peeked into other more reliable and detailed resources than this journal. Curse me not for the seemingly unusual amount of foresight!

Analysis of Brine's Banshee Salvage:
Quote:

Notes:

- Merfolk taste like fish wrapped in ham. Slightly aqueous texture, likely due to muscular atrophy rather than default biology. Amazed Kroop made it work somehow. Added a honey glaze that brought the whole dish together. The man is a born talent. 3.5/5 stars. Would be more if not for ingredient quality, but that is our own fault.

- Inquire information regarding The Lady’s Sting from Order of the Hidden Name. While at it, drop off Fitch at Bag Island. They do not tolerate rats and tattlers there and it will ensure his loyalty unless he wishes to spend his cut on a boat ride elsewhere.

- Give perfume to Tessa <3<3<3<3

- Never, ever draw little hearts again. At least, not anatomically incorrect ones.

- Purchase and thoroughly read Calistrian practices, rituals, and kama sutra.

Captain’s Log:

We faced an aboleth.

The masters of old Azlant. They who raised humanity from prey to predator. These are some of the most intelligent, enigmatic, and nightmarish creatures to ever dwell the oceans of Golarion. It dominated my mind and nearly killed me. I could feel Pharasma’s bony fingers around my throat, eager to judge my soul.

And yet I stared down, taunted, and bombarded the alien of the depths, defiant of my alleged fate as Maxime butchered it, Sharma tore its strength away with a masterful spell, and Gareth manipulated its positioning that we would all better assail it. Its dying breath was a desperate promise of its kind’s return.

We laid low a lord of the seas. I felt such elation, such a thrill as though nothing could stand before me. I will hang its desiccated tentacles from my figurehead as a sign of my crew’s strength and dominance over the ancient masters of the sea. To hammer the point home and for as long as the smell and sight will permit, we will sail into Port Peril with the butchered remnants of our prey hanging from the mast, bow, and aft. I’ll have one of its eyes glassed and wear it as a necklace.

We have found such a bounty from the Brine’s Banshee. Crates full of Sargarvan gold and silver ingots, precious ivory carvings, drums of exquisite perfume (one of which I will gift to lovely Tessa), and potent magical items (most notably the enchanted steering wheel of Captain Jalhazar). The man who directed us to the location of the wreck, Doctor Heneilius Fitch, demanded half of the plunder. I denied him. The man has no connections to people of import, no intention of using what skill he has any further, and will squander the money I give him in feeding his stagnant life until he withers and dies out. He is useless to me and I see no reason to curry any further favor with him. Why should this man, who had such a small role to play in the actual acquiring of the goods beyond waving a femur and pointing us in a direction, who risked not life nor limb and had nothing to lose, be given such a massive cut; and for what purpose? To piss it all away into the grave? I’ve more use for it than he does. I have greater plans.

I am not, however, without a modicum of mercy, so I gave him options. He could take two (dropped down to one, as Maxime put it, for his “rudeness”) crates of gold and have enough to start a sizable business or he could remain with the crew of the Hunger. When he spat on my offer, I lost my temper and ordered his death. Mr. Sharma did not stand in the way and Gareth backed my terms but refused to speak in favor of my decision to execute our passenger, yet it was Maxime who stood most in my way and deflected my command.

I have a strange relationship with the man. Carnal, yes, but he’s more than that. He is a precious ally. Keeping him content is important to me in order to secure his service and companionship. At his defiance I gave Fitch an ultimatum: apologize for his disrespect, take his one crate of gold, leave my ship, and never raise even a word against the Hunger lest I bring him a fate that will make him yearn for death. After spouting a drivel of nonsense about ‘honor among thieves’ and ‘the way things should be’, he was escorted to his quarter where he will remain until we reach port. After that, I could not wait to nurse a bottle of something strong – that ale we brought up from the wreckage would do – and drink away this horrendous knot that had formed in my gut and throat. Maxime Constant’s refute is a difficult thing to stomach. Where an aboleth’s wrath could not deter me, the Galt’s rebellion does. I question why I endure his antics, but then again that is why I am drinking. It is to keep myself appeased, drugged to keep from doing something stupid until I find the inevitable answer to that question.

I am sipping this liquor ever so slightly – only enough to warm my body but not cool my senses – and I rest easy in our accomplishments. I will beckon Alianora to give me company when I am sober enough. I do not think I want to sleep alone tonight.

Commentary:
It pays off to have a high Int score and a good deal of knowledge [history], [local], [arcana], and [nature], otherwise I wouldn't be able to give Sakhbet this much perspective on the world's actual background. I tend to like my characters to have a decent amount of global knowledge. Not everything of course, but enough.

Oh, dear, the aboleth fight. A actually OOCly freaked out when I saw the thing. I was praying that it was just an elaborate illusion (which it was) but nope, it was real (insomuch as an actual aboleth made the illusion). I don't think I need to say that we were out of our element. The only one fully functional was Sharma. Sakhbet could only use immolation bombs underwater (which hurt those adjacent to the creature), Gareth as a gunslinger can't use guns underwater, and Max found it difficult to maneuver around to get sneak attacks. It was a hard battle, and when Sharma (who has the best will save of us all) failed his roll, I thought we were doomed. Then the aboleth told Sakhbet to attack Max and HOLY CRAP I MADE MY SAVING THROW WITH A +4 MODIFIER! After that, I didn't want to damage the melee guys anymore with my immolation bomb splash so I went for broke and rolled an intimidate check to demoralize the aboleth.

I got a 20. Queue Sakhbet giving a "The Reason You Suck" speech to one of the creatures that basically lifted humanity from animal to master, telling him that he and his kind were failures for letting humanity usurp them and that their age of glory was long gone and wouldn't ever return. That struck a nerve. So much as to give a -2 to saving throws , skill checks, and attack rolls. Sometimes, the best victories are the verbal ones.

The REAL savior was Sharma, though, he used enervation on the fishy bastard, gobbling four of his levels and leaving him severely weakened. Max, with Gareth's help, flanked and sneaked attacked until the aboleth was a goner. This was the first time since Bonewrack that we had gotten this close to dying.

I wonder how many people actually kept their side of the deal with Filch? I figure more than half. Now I wonder how many were willing to have him gotten rid of for the plunder.

Evil characters are more interesting when they have a restraining element with them. Of all the party members, Max is the one for Sakhbet. His player and I have discussed it at length, though, and we've come to realize that most likely one's going to end up killing the other once this campaign's over. Best case scenario, they walk away and never meet again. Fun times all around.


As anything involving Tessa is, this is mildly NSFW.

Analysis of Wreckers and Revealed Spies:
Quote:

Notes:

Slithering Coast: Naga informant regarding Chelish spies.

Drenchport: Informant regarding Chelish spies.

- Purchased book on Calistrian sexual practices and techniques. Very intriguing.

- Half-orc tastes like earthy ham. Gritty. Still, savory.

- Must rework bomb formulas. Immolation bomb mixture no longer preferable due to field test results. Fire is singularly useless against certain enemies. Require extensive study on both.

- Reworked immolation formulae to produce single, controlled blast underwater.

- Have expended time to create corrosive mixture in bomb reaction. Useful alternative to those resistant to flames.

Captain’s Log:

Information leads on the Chelish spies proceed well. Slip in the Temple of the Hidden Name revealed that the Slithering Coast has a resident naga named Sarlis who whispered rumors of someone who fit the description. Furthermore, some further dealings revealed who was responsible for the sinking of The Lady’s Sting: a wrecker named Vakarla, a half-orc wizard. Our dealings with the clerics of Norgorber are finished, but I hope to keep them at arm’s length. They are very useful.

I do not enjoy being made a fool of. When we set out to find the wreckers, we did not expect their captain, Vakarla, to be an illusionist of all things, nor did we expect their men to be equipped with firearms. We certainly did not expect to be reefed on a shoal to be picked off by them. Her gravest mistake, aside from burning the Hunger, was calling me a Rahoudumi. That sealed her death, if not a long, miserable, painful life that would be a Kuthite’s envy.

She cast phantasmal killer on me. Illusions, nothing more. Smoke and mirrors made easy by magic, but this one spell was dreaded for a good reason. Your worst fear, manifest, so real and potent that when it touches you, you will die. I saw but a glimpse of it. I saw Pharasma approaching, her judgmental, milky eyes and ashen skin framed by her ghostly white hair and a halo of unearthly light. The scene showed that I was in the Boneyard, standing before her, and the gate that opened would be Abbadon, where my soul would be food for the daemons. I immediately knew it was false, but the imagery… my goddess, it was fear itself. I knew if that thing touched me, I would end. Perhaps the withered hag was trying to send me a message through the wizard’s spell.

Divine message or not, it is seared into my brain now. It shakes me to my core and fills me with such wrath. I poured my rage into Vakarla as I chased her down. I vented my frustration as my hands grasped around her throat, choking her as she retched over from the effects of my stink bomb. I fueled my fury as we fell into the ocean, Sharma having caught up and wrapping a chain around us both to drag us into the depths. It was only as I saw her drown before me, my knuckles white and her neck bruised purple, her lungs full of water and vomit, that my hatred simmered down. She tried to send me to Pharasma. I left no such room for failure in my own attempt.

The Calistrians of the House of Stolen Kisses were pleased enough with our performance to allow the crew some free service. Gareth, more than anyone, was the center of praise. I do admit, though the man can be an inelegant mess in social conversation, sometimes he manages to do something right. Power sliding into the temple, the prize held high in his hand with his biggest grin of triumph was a theatrical stroke of rare genius. It almost would induce jealousy, if it were not so uncommon. In any case, High Priestess Dindreann revealed that a man named Jamis Keft may have information regarding the Chelish infiltrators in Drenchport. The breadcrumbs continue, but I think this may be the final lead. We only need proof of their involvement, not to actually kill them.

Before we proceed to the leads, however, we had to return to Port Peril. We were fat with plunder and in need of greater tools for our purpose. I finally got around to making my glassed aboleth eye necklace. It looks astounding, if a bit large, just under the size of a fist. The effect is palpable, however. It isn’t magical, but I feel it could be. It certainly impressed Tessa when she came to visit us. She enjoyed my gift of perfumes. Such a tease, however. I I will ever so much as graze my fingers over those supple breasts or feel the velvet between her thighs. It frustrates me so. If I had any doubts that she knew exactly how to play a man’s desires before, they are dispelled. I’ll see how much further my longing will outweigh my frustration. Once that threshold is crossed, I will make no further attempt to pursue this fantasy. She will have denied a murderous bastard. There are consequences to denying a murderous bastard.

PS: Sharma and Maxime seem to be developing a romantic relationship. Intriguing. I should keep an eye on this development. Maybe I can turn it to my advantage.

Commentary:
This is Sakhbet at his most petty. Max's player observed that he pities Sakhbet because he can't seem to enjoy the little things in life, which is true. He's consumed by ambition and a gluttonous hunger for the richer, bigger things that he doesn't take any comfort whatsoever in little things. Once he sets his sights on something, he'll either get it or destroy it.

The fight with Vakarla was more frustrating for our DM than it was for us. Ever since Isabella had used invisibility during the attack on Tidewater Rock, I'd had Sakhbet set aside one extract of See Invisibility just in case. This has, so far, saved my hide more than once and made the fight with Vakarla possible. This was a really close call for me, though. If Sakhbet hadn't succeeded against phantasmal killer with a lucky roll, well, this journal would have stopped dead in its tracks. Anytime that spell - or any that is "save or die" - is cast, I can just feel my stomach jump up my throat. Our DM really does not like them, but he says that's what she casts in her strategy, so like it or not, that would be that. I think we'd all have been very sore if someone had actually died to that. Level 7 is a point where you've grown attached to characters but don't quite have the money to resurrect them. Worst case scenario, and the party permitting, we would have gone out and done some high-seas plundering, with which we would then resurrect a dead character with. Not a pretty process, but hey, it's the price of holding on to your baby.


Analysis of Evidence and Investigation:
Quote:

Notes:

Chelish Spy Network Investigation

Names of Operatives:
Corlan [tengu, deceased]
Haddon Pike [human smuggler, deceased]
Roweena Kellet [human harbor quartermaster, deceased]
Elliece Farhaven [human, fate unknown]
Unknown blond human assassin [deceased]
Zarskia Galembar [human, proprietor of Jasperleaf Apothecary, primary suspect]

Evidence:
Zarskia Galembar assassination orders [Found on unknown assassin.]
Freecaptain bribery ledger [Found in Roweena Kellet's manor]
Chelish coded opera, written in Infernal [Found in Haddon Pike's shanty]
Knotted rope coded message [Found on corpse of Varad on Slithering Coast]

- Enter Jasperleaf Apothecary and apprehend/kill Zarskia Galembar. Ransack for final pieces of evidence.

Captain’s Log:

This investigation has pulled us back and forth between the northern and southern coasts of the continental Shackles. We have amounted a sizable stack of evidence, some of which incriminates several freecaptains of conspiring with the Chelish, though I doubt this will do any real harm to them. Pirates, after all. Regardless, we have finally narrowed our search to an establishment: the Jasperleaf Apothecary in Port Peril. Though alchemists are not the only ones capable of creating potions and the like, I do hope she is specifically the same kind of apothecary as myself: one whose power lies in the knowledge of the sciences rather than magic and steel. This means that I could take her knowledge for myself. This raid on her establishment will do more than just conclude our investigation. It will further enhance my personal capabilities.

On our way to the Slithering Coast, we stopped by Tidewater Rock for resources and to greet Agasta. She was initially unnerved by the wings I grew, but she got over it after being assured they were not some manner of disease or affliction. We had dinner and, as it turns out, none other than Terthule Grandidius himself came to greet her a few weeks prior. It was a social call, apparently, and by a great shock it turns out Grandidius was the Chelish gentleman she spoke fondly of the night we were first married. I asked her if she’d told him anything about me. She said she had not. That was good. It would have been unfortunate for her to die. Assets turning into liabilities irk me so. She tells me to visit more often. Maybe that is not such a bad idea anymore. After all, what she lacks, by comparison, to Alianora in exotic factors she makes up for with experience and intelligence. The woman knows her way about the sheets, but I hope I taught her a thing or two since picking up that Calistrian holy book. She seemed irritated when I mentioned Tessa, though I kept my tone as businesslike and neutral as possible. In all honesty once our marriage is finished, I will not renew the vows. Royster still holds a flame to her, too.

I am a monstrous man, but I am not heartless. Agasta has served me very well since before becoming a freecaptain and I intend to reward that. Even Royster, amusing though his seething looks of envy and frustration were, never raised a hand nor attempted to turn her against me. Once I am finished, I will give Royster the opportunity to keep Agasta content and I will maintain my connection to her. She will be friends with a powerful freecaptain, and someday, an immortal Hurrican King.

Commentary:
That was some fun roleplay. My only regret was not having Sakhbet point to his scar and say "See this? Your ex did this. He's a dick."

I wanted Sakhbet to showcase the one and only selfless virtue he has: he takes very good care of the people who stay loyal to him. He's gone so far as to promise Maxime that he'll make him immortal if he keeps up the good work (the same offer is extended to anyone he deems valuable). He makes fun of Gareth from time to time but ultimately supplies the guy with whatever he wants or needs. He encourages Sharma to pursue his passion of magic and use it whenever possible. He's a fair captain to his crew, never punishing them more than they deserve and certainly not venting unrelated frustration on them like Harrigan and Plugg did.

Of course, none of this is enough to excuse the many instances of torture, murder, unethical experimentation, cannibalism, heresy, and atrocities against life itself that he commits on a regular basis.


Analysis of Galembar Apprehension and Famish Feast:
Quote:

Notes:

<There are many, MANY notes here, all notably different from the previous ones. They’re obviously copied. The formulas and research data begin to cramp the book up.>

Zarskia Galembar research not yet fully integrated. Sell formula book once all data is extracted.

Acquire charts of southern Sodden Lands.

Obtain fresh book for further research note space.

Log:

We infiltrated the Jasperleaf Apothecary under the guise of interested buyers. As it so happened, Maxime knew one of the guards, a half-orc named Makor, which further allowed our infiltration to go undisturbed. When Zarskia Galembar was in a vulnerable position, we ambushed her, and while we put a dent in her, she had come somewhat prepared for such dealings. We were attacked by all the guards on the first floor, but a couple of well-placed stink bombs put them out of commission.

Zarskia Galembar is a remarkable scientific mind. What little I’ve seen of her work has already impressed me. Clearly, she has been doing this longer than I, but I have vision she lacks. Her mistake was remaining the lapdog of another rather than fueling her research from her own pockets. It may have been slower, but seeing as how it has worked out for me in the end as opposed to her is a clear sign of it being the superior tactic. Regardless, all her research is now mine. I cannot wait to further study it.

She is currently being held by my crew in the Hunger. We’ve taken all useful information we can from her. Eventually, we will use her to oust those freecaptains responsible for the Chelish spy ring’s infiltration. According to Captain Endymion, this branch is controlled by a group somewhere in Nidal. I should have foreseen the involvement of those Kuthite freaks, given their close political allegiance with House Thrune, but Grandidius’ involvement shifted my focus away.

I had a wonderful evening drinking with Tessa, Arronax, and Maxime. Arronax’ past has been declared strictly forbidden knowledge. Given his prowess and power, I would be an idiot to press the subject further for now. He seemed particularly impressed that I survived an encounter with Grandidius, telling me that he became a Hellknight by single-handedly defeating a cornugon, an astonishing feat for any member of the Hellknight Order. He is a man to be feared, certainly, but so am I.

Max and I endeared ourselves to Tessa, but our tactics were different. He believes Tessa is a woman that appreciates acts of selflessness for their own sake, meant to be a more impressive feat, whilst I see her for what she is: a pirate, and one who appreciates ruthless efficacy over either senseless cruelty or compassion. Needless to say, after a few amusing stories and several pints, Tessa invited us both for more private interaction. I can now say I have sampled the finest ass in Quent, possibly in the entire Shackles. The morning after, we got into a discussion. I find he is too concerned with what others think of him, he likely finds that I am too lacking in mercy (and subsequently believes that is why Tessa accepted us both). Now more than ever, I am sure that I will be forced to face this man in a fight to the death. Then again, I am certainly one to defy fate and will defy that possibility outright if possible.

In celebration to our good fortune and to foster the popularity of the Hunger in the upcoming Regatta, I have chosen to throw a feast using the gold from Tessa’s re compensation for our service. I will call it the Famish Feast. The people of Port Peril will melt at the opportunity to eat, dance, and drink without having to pay. I have placed Maxime as the master of revels. I am certain he will do a good job at it. The day after, we will return to the Jasperleaf Apothecary – currently under watch by my crew – to acquire whatever wares we may have missed.

===============================

The Famish Feast was a public success. People eating, drinking, whoring (out of sight, of course), gambling, a pure scene of excess and debauchery accepted by all in Port Peril. I myself ate my good share of food and drank twenty men in a game of heave, my resistance to poisons making me nigh undefeatable in a match of endurance. After giving a rousing public speech and formal welcome to the feast, I arm wrestled with Tessa, though she beat me (and Malvolio) thoroughly. That woman must have bull’s strength elixir for blood.

The evening went sour when Captain Harrigan came to the scene, claiming that Tessa had cheated his crew member out of the money he had been given to buy supplies in the city. It was interesting, given that this was the first time I had seen him since leaving the Wormwood. Despite her fiery will, Tessa relented ten gold to Harrigan and proceeded to mope. I convinced her that he would suffer humiliation in the upcoming Regatta. That seemed to cheer her up a bit, but not enough to keep her from drinking (not that I would have wanted to stop her.)

Even Maxime and Sharma were not out of the circle of personal misery. On realizing that Sharma, a consummate liar, had been deceitful towards him, Maxime slapped the undine across the face. Sharma then lied again, causing Maxime to walk away in anger. Sharma then shakily left to tend to ship duties to distract himself from his emotional distress. It was at this time that the band Maxime had highly suggested to me began to play.

That rotten son of a b$+!%.

The music was good. I do not deny that. The subject matter, however, mocked my personal beliefs, which I had only a few days prior revealed to him over our intimate discourse. He knew this would upset me and it so very did. Thankfully, he was nowhere near me and I am capable of channeling my anger into more productive things such as defeating the aforementioned twenty men at heave. When I’d finally began to feel the alcohol begin its work, I left the defeated men and sought Tessa. I found her lying down, her bodice half-unlaced. She gave a swift kick to the first man who tried to sneak a grope. Now awake and after receiving some alchemist kindness from me, we discussed tactics for the upcoming Regatta. I am highly confident that we will succeed. With our own island for operations, I can finally begin the real takeover of the Shackles as a whole.

Commentary:
As of this post, we are caught up with the campaign! Sadly, that means that this is going to start being a once-a-week thing. Probably for the best. I feel a bit bad about posting all of these entries at once, but I just wanted to hit this point so I could do commentaries with fresh thoughts rather than hindsight.

The loot from Zarskia was, to me, like opening a big love letter from zombie Santa to Sakhbet. He got an alchemist lab (though his is just as extensive), original research notes, a formulae book chock full of formulae he didn't know, and we managed to capture Zarskia so he might just have a guinea pig to use all of it on if she ends up being useless past this point.

The Famish Feast is the result of me just not wanting to do an infamy check just with numbers. Using the plunder points Tessa gave us as a reward for busting the spy ring, Sakhbet had Max get together a group of caterers, entertainers, and performers for a big feast under the banner of the Endless Hunger. He plans on doing this whenever he feels like it and has the plunder to spend. It makes for pretty good roleplay.

For anyone curious, this is the song Max had played for Sakhbet.


Analysis of Regatta and Post-Victory Losses:
Quote:

Notes:

- Create longarm bracers. Coupled with poisoner’s gloves make deadly safe-range assassination from air.

- Create hat of disguise to better hide identity when necessary and allow accessorizing.

- Waylay Grandidius with falsified documents

Captain’s Log:

A year ago, I was a slave for pirates, used for pleasure and harsh labor. I learned their trade. I planned my escape. I drugged their guards and stole away in a roughly-made raft, my only hope being a few potions of touch of the sea and the mercy of Gozreh. I was then press ganged, forced to join Harrigan’s ship for more labor and harsh treatment.

And now I stand over the rest, triumphant. I lay claim to an island. I am one of the most powerful politicians in the Shackles with the rest of the Pirate Council.

The Regatta was a challenge, without a doubt. Started out with a bang – no doubt courtesy of the Master of Gales to make things interesting – sending ships and crew tumbling and crashing into each other. We wriggled free before becoming entangled in the mess, then made our way to the rest next checkpoint. After surviving shallow sand bars and reefs, we came upon a sight: a titanic dragon turtle. With Jalzahar’s Wheel, we turned away from the beast as it thrashed and broke another ship to pieces. From there on, we had little trouble, as Sharma’s expert sailing skills, a willingness to take risks, and the thorough modifications to the ship gave us significant advantage over the rest of the contestants.

It was not until we were about to exit that the most interesting event of the Regatta occurred. In a flash of lightning came a creature of green plasma. What time I had managed to use in learning of creatures from other planes, I knew this was a rare and intriguing sight: a comozant wyrd. The creature was not necessarily aggressive, even potentially helpful. Sharma made a diplomatic approach, to which the being replied by searing him with harmless fire (unfortunately for Sharma, who has a strong phobia of it) and engraving a vision into his head. Sharma was left rattled but healthy and alive. His words would spell a grave warning for us later.

As we neared the finish, we caught sight of the only ship to pass us. Lo and behold, it was none other than the Wormwood. Without means to assail us, we would inevitably overcome them and win. That is why Harrigan had his wizard summon invisible stalkers onto our ship to make us dead in the water, but Sharma and I both held the course steady while Max and Gareth made quick work of the air elementals. We left the Wormwood to eat our dirty wind and won the race by a great margin. I made sure to rub our victory in Harrigan’s face, but I don’t intend to do just that. The bastard has gone from being an old, sore wound to a freshly bleeding gash. Someday, he’ll slip up and then he will be fair game for the crew and I. Until then, I’ll let him play his desperate games and pout in the corner like a scolded child.

The comozant wyrd’s message is preoccupying, however. He told Sharma in a not-very-cryptic manner that Tidewater Rock would fall to Grandidius.

A prophecy is meant to be broken. While I don’t doubt Grandidius’ capabilities as the crown’s prized attack dog, I’ve no interest in losing a valued ally to him. We make for Tidewater Rock as soon as possible.

===============================

Notes:

<Tacked to this entry is the following letter.>

========================================

Captain Sakhbet,

I leave you this letter in the hopes that you will return to this paltry fortress. As cruel and as heartless as you are, it would not surprise me if you abandoned your allies as readily as you do your morals.

But assuming you do find this note, welcome home. Your wife missed you. Very much so. She spoke about you endlessly when I came to dinner. How strong you were, how proud she was to be joined with such a meteoric rising star.

It made dragging her kicking and screaming back to the Vae Victus all the sweeter. As the wife of a pirate, she shall face Justice in Cheliax. Her sacrifice has earned you a short reprieve. But rest assured, I will be coming back for you. It wont be long. Enjoy your petty victories. Good luck in the Regatta. Savor your victory if you do indeed win. Because when we next meet, it will all be ripped away.

I took your wife.

I’ll take the rest.

And there will be nothing you can do about it.

In Her Name,
Lictor and Lord, Terthule Grandidius.
Hellknight of the Scourge
Make Way the Sphepherd of Fire

========================================

Log:

I suppose I am single now.

My union with Aghasta was one of convenience. I married her because my bickering officers would not. I bedded her because it both solidified our contract and was enjoyable. I kept her because I reward those that remain loyal. I intended to give her a chance to be truly happy with someone who could love her in a way I could not.

All of her guards were killed, some gorily displayed on black star-shaped props, including Royster. The beach was soaked red with blood, the keep tattered but standing. I found the letter in Aghasta’s room. After divining the time of death, we realized that they were long gone. Even if they were, Terthule’s cocky boast about us being able to do nothing is, at the time being, true. They will be in Chelish waters before long. She is effectively dead, or will be once the Hell-inspired punishment is dealt, at which point she will wish to know only oblivion.

We gave the guards and Royster a burial as we had Owlbear and Sandara, as I will entitle to all who serve me, though my beliefs rebel against the very notion of honoring the dead. Perhaps some small part of me is still that little wide-eyed boy who listened eagerly to the funeral rites of the dearly departed in the Temple of Pharasma back in Sothis. I hate that. I hate Grandidius for making me do this. That misbegotten devil-f#*#er killed my pets and burned my possessions. I will feed acid down his gullet. I will tear his limbs from nail to shoulder, toe to groin, inch by bleeding inch, leaving him alive to feel the seconds pass with a crawl. I will inject him with every crippling disease from leprosy to red ache and watch him waste away. He will burn as the poison sears his nerves and shutters his body, his final moments spent screaming for my death, a death that will never come, as he himself passes. No. Death is too quick for him. I will mutilate his body and leave him a pathetic, crawling maggot-specter on the streets of Ollo. He will be the beggar’s shit bucket, lower than the lowest in a city of garbage and scum. It is only when I have made Hell comfortable by comparison that Terthule Grandidius may depart to it.

Not all was lost, however. The keep kept a fair amount of gold and it remains standing. I have had one of the Hunger’s flags planted at the top to ward of would-be invaders. My reputation, as Grandidius said, is cruel and heartless, and not without reason. If any should intrude on my territory, I will drain the blood from their veins for my wine.

Additionally, a crewman found a strange box. I discovered it belonged to an ulfen pugilist named Hrodmar. There were no locks on the box, but it was magically sealed. It would only open to a command phrase, and since the box was adamantine, there would be no breaking it. After some investigation, divination, and thirty minutes of listening to word after tedious word in Skald, the box opened to reveal its prize: a rusted glove and an even more rusted champion’s belt. The belt, I wagered, cost close to a kilo in gold solely by historic value. The box itself, being made of adamantium, would make a wealthy merchant’s elite strongbox, easily worth the same. It was the gauntet, however, that caught my attention. Hrodmar was famous for being capable of wrecking his opponent’s armor, and now I understood why. This was a Gauntlet of Rust.

This would be divine providence if that were not a pile of bullshit. These gloves can instantly render Grandidius’ weapons useless. Without his killing tool, the Hellknight would not be helpless, but severely hampered, and while he would have the resources to procure another, the weakness may be enough to allow us to capture or kill him.

In the months to come, I will be creating the magical items needed to improve our capabilities. We will then secure the Isle of Empty Eyes. From there on, the pieces will be set and the plot set in motion. The next act will be the end of the Chelish threat and my rise to becoming Hurricane King.

Commentary:

The finale of module three was neat, but kind of boring combat-wise. Honestly, 90% of the fun came from the homemade sidestory and post-Regatta roleplay, though aside from being a skill check challenge, it did have its moments.

I did some digging about and I realized I really should take Craft Wondrous Items. It's practically a -need- in every campaign, and since our witch wasn't going to I figured I could get retrain one previous feat for it. The general consensus though is that alchemists can't take any crafting feat save Brew Potion, which in my opinion is a load of bull since there is at least one alchemist-only wondrous item (Vest of Stable Mutation). After some talking with the GM and some research to back up that there's more reason to than not, I got through. Lo and behold, the Hunger will become a magically treated ship in no time!

The GM said that Tidewater Rock was never even mentioned after the second module was over. It was just a stepping stone (heh) in the piracy career, especially once you get your own island. With that, he didn't want it to waste away in the background, so what better way than to give a swift kick to the crotch using the campaign villain? Can't say I don't love me a good old hated rivalry, but at this point it almost feels like a war between the two prankster kids in a school too strictly regulated for its own good. Terthule pissed off Sakhbet, now Sakhbet's going to prank Terthule. It's not going to be until much later that the two will settle the score as gentlemen: using a lot of violence.

PS: Gotta ask, if we livestreamed these sessions, would anyone watch them? Hmmmmm...


Analysis of Isle of Empty Eyes:
Notes:

- Maintain surveillance of Grandidius’ arrival to ensure his continued delay.

- Plot out permanent fortifications in the Isle.

- Rename boorish landmarks

Log:

The pieces are in place for the trap. Once Grandidius arrives, a falsified summons back to Egorian on charges of treason for consorting for known pirates and their allies will be sent. Even if he does suspect much of it, he will not dare risk dismissing it. The punishment for ignoring direct orders from Chelish high command would be catastrophic. No, he’ll have no choice but to turn back and be tangled in the mess that is the Chelish bureaucracy. This will give me time I need to prepare.

We arrived at the Isle of Empty Eyes, so named for the statues whose gemstone orbs have been removed from their sockets. I immediately have a historical fascination with the place. Some of the architecture here is ancient. On the first day, we focused on scouting the edges. I have mapped out notable landmarks, including a fort, a strange red tide that is in the eastern bay, a grotto within the southern bay, an eerie obelisk to the northwest, a cave west of the fort, swamps, an abandoned dock, a shipwreck, and mountains. This took the majority of our time, so we set anchor in the southern coast, a mile or so away from the fort.

A dangerous place, nevertheless. Gareth was almost eaten by an enormous squid when we entered the island’s southern bay. Such a pernicious poison, it has. I would love to study it, but I see other uses for the squid. A wild animal that it may be, it nevertheless can be reasoned with using the proper magic. Sure, we do not have a druid in the crew, but we have perhaps something better: Mr. Sharma, with his supernatural affinity for sea life. We strike a bargain with the squid and he will be our ally and protector for years to come. It helps that he stole off with Fibbs Chumlett. Gods, I hated that man ever since he ambushed us when we had only freshly been recruited to the crew of the Wormwood. His is a good riddance.

I have swiftly grown fond of my new ring. The advantages of needing only two hours of sleep to feel refreshed are so fulfilling. I somewhat miss my dreams, but I find wakened inspiration to be the more impacting for me. In any case, this time, the short rest allowed us to see shadows and lights within the fort during the night. We did not know what it was, but the silhouettes strongly suggest a haunting, and a powerful one at that. It was enough to tell us not to proceed without more information.

The morning after, we explored the grotto on the eastern side of the southern bay. We encountered an unusual and (rather rousing) sight: a nereid named Sefina. I think I will keep her a neighbor. So long as she does not interfere with us, she is welcome to share the island with us. If I am abstaining from being allured by her, it is because I simply do not trust her otherworldly nature. Still, a nereid is a nereid and she makes even Tessa look like a swine’s ass by comparison (though she is of course still very lovely on her own). She’s not interested in any sexual encounters, but maybe if I simply show her platonic companionship for the time being, she will open her legs for me.

Gareth, of course, was the first to volunteer as ambassador, leading the way dick-first into gathering information from her. Max opted to be his ‘wing man’. Not a few feet had they gotten closer that the nereid’s ethereal beauty captivated their minds. She had them enthralled, completely and utterly, but fortunately, she is not malicious. In fact, she is rather lonesome, friendly, and most importantly, naive. Her thoughts on pirates is unknown, but it’s likely to be the popular opinion. In any case, after several minutes of watching my crew be enamored (or, in the case of Sharma and Alianora, envious), I proceeded to the nereid to glean information myself, my eyes closed to keep her from captivating me. It was a gamble, but one that paid off.

Sefina is a fount of knowledge. From her, I learned of the tribe of cyclopes that inhabit this territory. I studied cyclopes when I was in the temple. Their eyes are said to divine the future, but some unknown curse clouded their vision. I remember thinking it was so sad at the time, to have such a gift and to be unable to use it. In hindsight, I find that perhaps they went mad not from a curse, but from the feelings of uncertainty that plague anyone in this day and age of unfulfilled prophecy. In some ways, I have a kinship with the fallen giants, both of us having had our faith in divine prediction ripped away. I’ll try to refrain from killing them. There is much I could learn from their culture. If given no choice, however, I suppose I can simply study their ruins instead.

The red tide turns out to be a large host of crabs. We would later travel there to hunt them for dinner and provision. The captain’s locker would keep the meat fresh and unspoiled, just as it kept the spices and silks of Captain Wolfe’s hoard safe from the ravages of time. As it turns, these are not simple crabs. They were the spawn of a pair of shark eating crabs. After Gareth (again) was nearly eaten, we totaled the weight in meat acquired. 4.5 tonnes. We will grow sick of it someday, to be certain.

Sefina mentioned that the fort by the coast has been there since before her. She never travels there, on account of the haunting, part of if not all of it surely having been caused by the cyclopes. We will clear it out later. There was also a small bit of treasure within the wreckage of the merchant ship. Piecemeal compared to our usual haul, but easy pickings offset its small yield.

This island is host to a large variety of megafauna, including dinosaurs. This has Gareth incredibly excited, and even I have to admit that riding one of them would be an experience. However, it seems the cyclopes have been hunting them to extinction. This sort of reckless consumption will be the death of them, especially since they have such a readily available supply of food from the sea, including an untapped kelp farm on the southeastern shore. We will need to find some way of restoring the dinosaurs to prominence should we consider using them as battle steeds and business venture.

We finish the day with a feast of various crab-based dishes, which I nicknamed the Owlbear Feast. That seemed to stir the spirits of the crew a bit. Tomorrow, we will be certain to explore the docks and the island’s interior more thoroughly. The Master of Gales gave us only 3 months to host a party befitting the freecaptains, and I intend to make it the most unforgettable evening of their lives.

Commentary:
I don't really have much to comment on, save that the journals will be more of a bi-weekly thing now. We're alternating between this and our Kingmaker campaign.


Analysis of Ghol-Gan Ruins:
Notes:

- Explore marshlands at a later date.

- Study Sumitha more thoroughly.

Personal Log:

We came upon a shipwrecked sailor early in the morning. I felt like teaching Maxime a lesson, so I had the boy tied to the mast and his fate to be decided by him. Max tested the waters, playing with the idea of dying in the boy's stead or attempting to kill the whole crew, but he quickly realized he'd have to meet my ultimatum: he could either walk away, throwing out his moral high ground, or he could submit to my conditions and offer something of himself in exchange for the boy's life. His freedom or his morals, I wondered, which would he forsake? He chose his morals at the end of the day. Sharma did not take fondly of the exercise and seems to think I will randomly treat the lot of the crew like guinea pigs to be mentally tormented whenever the mood strikes me. I was rattled by his words, but I do not regret the action I took. It served a purpose and was interesting.

That same day, we went to the port - or what remained of it - on the eastern bay. We climbed up and went to the highest mountain northwest of it to get a better view of the entire island. We were greeted by the cries of large winged reptiles. We tried to kill as few as possible. After all, we wanted to ensure there would be enough to breed. After taking a scan of the area, we rested in the caves before proceeding.

The ruins of the ancient Ghol-Gan cyclops empire are astounding. Their culture was rich, prosperous, and enlightened. It was a time before prophecies were lies, half-truths told to justify nonsense, idiocy, and weakness. What was foretold happened, and not because it was forced to occur through direct action. I take deep interest in its downfall.

Barbaric cyclopes are not the only threat in Sumitha. Monsters inhabit every corner of the ancient ruins, including a monstrous creature that feigned to be the floor and several gargoyles that showed exceptional skill for their kind (though they are both now dead). I acquired three intact cyclops eyes that will fetch a handsome price to a capable mind or be valuable tools for my own use in crafting materials.

The gargoyles were very good tests for my first attempt at bubonic plague. I've collected the ichor-like blood that spilled from one that I infected with both it and slimy doom. It should make for good field test analysis.

The most intriguing and fruitful encounter was with a marid, a water genie. She has promised, in exchange for her freedom, to return in a year’s time on command to grant a single wish to us. What infuriates me was Maxime’s blatant overstepping. Without counsel, permission, or even a half-baked thought, he granted the genie her wish of freedom. Not only did this spit in the face of my authority, but if the genie had been lying and she was in actuality some great and dangerous creature lying in disguise, things may have turned out very differently. If he is doing it to spite me for disciplining him two days prior, then he clearly did not learn the intent of the exercise. I’ll have to play my cards very carefully in dealing with him.

I have opted to explore other areas of the island before continuing our exploration of the ruins. We should claim the fortress at the bay’s shore to use as a proper base of operations. From there, we can maintain supplies for the ship. I would prefer not to have to sail back to a port for supplies and waste our days when we could be scavenging and gathering plenty from what this place has to offer.

I’ve begun to grow a second set of organs, including liver, heart, and lungs. It will take time, but these will serve their purpose in my next experiment.

Commentary:
I try to explain the benefits gained with every level through roleplay and story. Sakhbet's new discoveries aren't just spontaneous leaps caused by fighting creatures. They're experiments that take time, energy, and resources to complete. Here, he's studying the results of his plague bombs, which will eventually open the door for greater plague bombs and just a generally higher DC for his abilities. The organs he's growing will be needed as backups when he makes the operation to preserve his organs. Can't dissect your own heart when you need it constantly pumping blood through your system, after all.


Gonna do something different this time around...

Preserve:
The creaking of the ship as it was gently rocked by the high noon waves resonated through the captain’s cabin. The remnant scent of various herbs, chemicals, and spices clung to the wood of the floorboards like a persistent rash, unwashed even by the most vigorous, stubborn scrubbing. The stains had given the room a slightly warped coloration in spot where minor spills and accidents had occurred, giving it a slightly surreal feeling with its orange streaks, white specks, and green speckles. In the dankest corners, however, the undeniable deep maroon blots of calcified blood lingered, hinting at what sickly things had occurred in there. Oddities clung to the walls, some religious, most of them surreal and unusual, as though they should have belonged to greater parts of a whole but had been tossed into a mocking mimicry of life. It was so bizarre for what the place was supposed to be that the only parts that made sense – the bed, the star charts, the dresser, the main table – all seemed to be tossed in as obligatory features. It was much less a captain’s cabin than it was a fiendish laboratory.

Sakhbet lit the last lantern. He could have raised the curtains and let the sun in, but he had always found it more comforting to work in the flickering artificial light, its rays playing reflections on the organized mess of tubes, liquids, and notes. Maybe the dancing shadows gave him company or perhaps he felt as though the darkness concealed the secrets of his craft. Regardless of why, he found himself once again in that familiar twilight glow where he would study, test, measure, and record, a time-tested ritual he thought as sacred as any form of prayer and worship. Now, however, he held a scalpel and needle instead of a flask and pen, gauging with acute eyes just how he was going to proceed, half a dozen mirrors positioned to give him a perfect view of every angle of his torso, a “Y” shaped pattern drawn over his chest.

He was going to perform surgery on himself.

This was a special, dangerous procedure. He had been growing the organs for nearly a month now: A heart, a liver, and a pair of lungs, all floating eerily in their jars, suspended in strange, magically altered formaldehyde. He’d gone through such pains finding suitable tools, and he had had no luck until he had come upon Zarskia’s lab and transfered it to his quarters. It wasn’t the quality of the equipment or his skill that worried him. It was whether this was even possible. ‘I’ll simply have to hope my body can handle it.’

He took a swig of rum. He loathed the taste, dry and bittersweet like the cloying rot of a carcass weeks into decomposition. He enjoyed a good drink, of course, but this was not it. He refused to think he could gain any joy from drinking rum (though of course he would do so anyway out of social grace). At the very least when he reached a certain point of intoxication, he no longer had to worry about the flavor, his nerves too numbed to register the unpleasantness. In the end, he justified that alcohol was a drug, and in this case rum was the most abundantly available. He would need as much as possible to dull the pain of the surgery, since he could not confide in anyone else to have the skill, knowledge, or willingness to perform it. His brow furrowed. What if his motor functions were too numbed from the drink? He could bleed out and die on the spot from an erring twitch. It would be the most pathetic way to go. The captain of The Endless Hunger, dead from what could only be guessed was an insane attempt at swapping his innards. He’d have to be cautious with just how much he consumed. This thought almost immediately sobered him as he set the rum bottle aside.

He looked at his scalpel. The glimmer of the lamplight caught its silvery surface. He saw his reflection. His eyes were wide with fright, the same kind he had felt before back at the fortress when he came upon the animate dream, its haunting visage of the Lady of Graves fresh in his memory. It had humiliated him, made him feel vulnerable, taunted him with its pretentious understanding of his deepest fear. 'Death? No... nothing that simple.'

He scowled, teeth clenched tightly. He had just caught himself. The events of the day be damned, he had been terrified by a fake but this was his body, his expertise, his domain. It was what he was good at. This belonged to him, and no one else. He would not be deterred. ‘I will stall no longer.’ With steeled determination, he reached over, grabbed extracts of false life, bear’s endurance, owl’s wisdom, cat’s grace, and a polypurpous panacea, and downed them before making a swift, precise cut from sternum to stomach.

The blood came swiftly as the captain’s muscles spasmed. Sakhbet felt the air around him turn coarse as gravel, grating against his seizing throat. His limbs rebelled against such a seemingly self-destructive action. A few huffing breaths later and he was inching further and further until the incision was complete, a neatly made “Y” carved in red over his chest. Gently, he placed his hands and dug deep, veins popping over his stressed neck and pained face as he meticulously tore the muscles apart to reveal the organs and ribcage beneath. At this point, he was certain anyone else would have died from shock, but between all the agony he had suffered through and the bounty of what he would achieve if he succeeded, Sakhbet came to turn the misery of the situation into a game with a prize.

Now came the tricky part. Of course he couldn’t replace his organs just like that. Even his hardiness would be useless without blood pumping through him. He would die before he got even a third through if he was not careful. He wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead before reaching toward the jar containing the preserved heart. He gently reached into the cold, clammy depths and pulled it out. It was strange, the vivid red muted behind a coat of sickly pale yellow. Disgusting? He supposed he would find it disgusting if he were mundane. In his eyes, however, it was a symbol of progress, the deathly shade more gold than the metal itself.

He placed the heart in a prepared, sterilized platter next to him and reached for the scalpel anew. He cut an artery – not one that would leave him to bleed out anytime soon, but that would certainly be large enough to support him when he started cutting the larger ones. It felt so strange. His entire weight, his whole circulation, was now completely out of sync. Some parts started to feel deadened while others felt far too thick. He had no time to waste. Swift as his deft fingers could make it, he sealed off the old heart’s artery and sewed on the replacement to the body’s artery.

He could feel himself fainting from the sight, the smell, the sensation of two hearts beating weakly at once. An hour, two hours passed, and his progress was slow yet deliberate. There was such a mess of crimson on the floor that he could he could the floorboards struggling as it filled every crevice. His ring of sustenance helped keep him hydrated and fed, his regenerative abilities and the occasional potion or extract of healing and restoration maintaining him afloat. At the third hour, he held his old heart in hand, rich scarlet dripping down his forearms and against the chair he was leaning against, the formaldehyde causing an unnatural jaundice swirl in the sticky pool. Sakhbet chuckled. It hurt, but oh, he needed to allow himself some expression of satisfaction after such an ordeal.

“Hard part’s over… now to get the rest of them in place.”

Commentary:
We just reached level 10! The bit one-oh. Now things get really fun. On top of getting immunity to poison and the additional saving throw, base attack, and spell slot bonuses, Sakhbet's chosen the Preserve Organs discovery. It was between this and Cellestial Poison, but since I was using poisons far less often than I thought I would (what with EVERYTHING having a ridiculous fort save), I decided to focus more on his survivability. Crits are starting to become a real handful, and while it's not the end-all against them, it's useful to have at least a chance to thwart them. Besides, I need the discovery for mummification, which will make him immune to a LOT of stuff. In any case, I thought such a huge change as getting better organs was a big deal, so I whipped up this story to make it have more weight.

I'll be posting another actual journal entry. For now, I just felt like making an actual story than just another dated record of events.


Analysis of Zalan Voidwalker, Gabuyo, Chelish Fortress, and Consequences:
Quote:

Notes:

- Explosive potency of bombs sub-standard. Greater corrosion capabilities and concussive force required. Reworking formula will require days of dedicated labor and resources.

- Growth of internal organs progressing as expected. Will be ready for transplant surgery within the month.

- Subaquatic demolition charges obsolete. Replace with refurbished original immolation bomb formula.

- Risks accumulating. Acquisition of more outstanding crew members recommended. Crew capable, but individual strength lacking. Spellcasting capabilities limited.

Log:

We departed the island to go to the nearest port to resupply. My alchemy lab is beginning to grow lean, and I would not want to be improperly equipped for the challenges ahead. Certainly, I have been neglecting my area of expertise more than ever before. I am a scientist, and my lack of progress in my research has so far been inexcusable. I've locked myself away after purchasing the required supplies and went on a research binge. I've succeeded in increasing the potency of my bombs and supplanting the subaquatic demolition charges for the original immolation bombs, which I had failed to realize were far superior when used with the appropriate admixture and tactic (not to mention were far more versatile).

During my time at this port, I met a man who goes by the name of Zalan Voidwalker. He is somewhat unsightly, painted with pale makeup, sharp-looking teeth, and foreign attire I am not familiar with. A conversation was struck. He has revealed he is a sorcerer whose power comes from the malevolent oni of Tian Xia, owing credence to his unusual appearance and clothing. As to why he was in the Shackles, I have no clue yet, but he had heard of the Hunger and its skyrocketing reputation. He wishes to join, perhaps to feel what it is to be a pirate. I am not fully certain I can trust him, but he seems sincere enough. I will allow him a place on my ship. If he proves traitorous, I've the full confidence that the crew will make ribbons of him in response.

================================

Notes:

- Discover new drug for trade. Once island has been 'colonized', will proceed to inject this drug into market. Scout suitable land for farming.

Log:

We returned to the island and cleared out the grotto as Sefina had requested prior to our departure. Tetrolimuli have astounding poisons, but none of us were capable of harvesting it without risking exposure or, worse, wasting it. We made due with leaving the creature's carcass intact.

We traveled inward toward the small forest at the base of the large mountain northeast of the bay. We found Sefina there, and almost immediately were struck with an amazing sensation. Lights became brighter, colors wilder. I soon realized what had occurred when the being came into view: Sefina's friend, whom she had told us of previously, was a kapre named Gabuyo. He smoked a large cigar and seemed as relaxed as could possible be. Gabuyo thanked us for helping Sefina and shared his cigar with us. I was the only one to remain standing of all of us, as I had grown accustomed to fumes and drugs through practice of my craft. The rest, however, promptly dropped prone from the effect. Sefina herself took a deep hit of it, but seemed unaffected save for a slight buzz. I admit, my first thought was on how this could be sold. Gabuyo calmly refused the idea of granting me access to his secret tobacco recipe. That suited me just fine, really. I somewhat doubted I could replicate the growth needed anyway.

Still, a drug enterprise is something that would come easily to me. I made a list several months ago of potential candidates, yet none suited my purpose. Maybe this island holds what I seek to create my own unique drug.

================================

<The entry is written in Osirian.>

Notes:

- New ship law: in the event non-lethal punishment, crew members may take the place of the punished. The sentence for the punished is lessened. Crew is forbidden from paying for substitution, as it defeats the purpose. Any crew members caught making such arrangements will be punished twice as severely.

- Find ways to combat sleep. Lesser restoration highly recommended.

- Organ transplant successful. Organ filtering systems tested successfully.

- Rewrite journal in coded Osirian.

Log:

We entered the abandoned Chelish fort early this morning, a stillness and lack of activity being all that greeted us. We know this is all a front, as very night, this fort is a hive of shadows moving about in a frenzy. We had not hardly gotten to the kennels that this proved correct. A conglomerate of mummified giant hands attempted to ambush us. Though their obscene pus-filled flesh shot its vile fluid when struck with weapons, not a drop landed on any of us and though they grasped at us, not a finger was laid on our persons. They fell rather easily. I have theories of their origins, but those will have to wait for when I have time to properly study them.

The church held a wonderful gift as well as an infuriating surprise. The boon was a large symbol of Aroden, old but still intact. This colony pre-dated the death of the god of humanity and the Age of Lost Omens. That was hardly surprising, but such a fascinating piece of history is tempting to keep, though its substantial worth in a collector's market may prove far more practically valued. As to the unwanted surprise? Phase spiders had made the church their home. What bothers me wasn't their annoying ability to switch between the material and ethereal planes or their painful bites. It was their poison. My body had grown so resistant to toxins of all kinds I'd grown certain nothing could penetrate my immunity, yet their unimpressive poison was able to do so. It was humiliating. I decided I would do something about it when I got back to the ship.

We proceeded further into the remains of a brothel or barracks. There was little of interest there, save some rooms that clearly could serve us in the future. Maxime pestered me to keep the largest for himself, stating that he and Sharma would need the space. I denied him, no matter how much he whined. I finally told him we would possibly install another one, but for now, it was too early to make plans for remodeling. He had started to grate my patience thin. Perhaps that is what made the events later today all the more inevitable.

We went to a new building. I've little idea what this one was once, but when we entered, I saw something I dared not believe true. Pharasma herself, standing there, judging me, ready to sentence me to Abaddon. Much to my relief, though hardly, was that this was not Pharasma but a creature known as an animate dream. The dream did not attack us, though I know its kind to be malicious. It wanted to bargain with us. It spoke of something called the dreamstone, an object of vast oracular power used by ancient cyclopes. It mentioned a man it had tortured for many nights who had barricaded himself on the second floor of the building who knows of its location. We agreed to retrieve him to find where it was, though I have no intention of giving the dream this artifact.

The man is Ederleigh Baines. He is a survivor from a previous crew. They are all dead, including the captain, and he claims that their ghosts now haunt the fort. When inquired about the dreamstone, he grew hostile. A single charm monster spell from Zalan was enough to keep him amicable. We had him brought back to the ship. On the way there, the animate dream contacted me, demanding his prize. I asked why he wanted it. He mentioned that his master was interested in it. When I asked what I would gain from this, he responded that he would promise not to torment the dreams of me and my crew. Threatening me is the poorest way to bargain, and I promise when next I meet this fool he will be unmade. It is only fortunate that he was mouthy enough to provide some valuable information, though now I need to wrest with the thought of crew members being plagued by nightmares. I'll simply have our cleric prepare lesser restorations every morning.

<What follows is a detailed description of the operation. In addition to their hardiness, the new organs can filter any harmful poison and break them down into harmless proteins. The details of the procedure are in the story "Preserve".>

After the operation, I felt the need to show the fruits of my labor. Max continued to goof and fixate on my wings. Sharma acted like a worried mother hen, thinking that I had put myself in undue danger. As for Gareth? Gareth I could hardly gauge as interested. It had nothing to do with guns, alcohol, or women. I've not talked with Alianora or Zalan of my discovery, but given that the former is almost mindlessly devoted and the latter is a fresh face, their opinions would hold little weight in the matter.

I am a scientist. What I do, I do not do for the praise of my peers and underlings, the wealth that invention could bring, or any such superficial reasons. I do it for two things: passion and power. "Live to Hunger, Hunger to Live" are the words written on my back in ancient Osirian script. I do not want to learn everything, for learning everything would be the death of learning. I want to live so I can continue to learn. It is my calling. Beside that, I wish to reap the boundless power such revelations bring, things no mortal man would know, things no mortal man was fated to know.

And yet, for all my grand fantansy, I face a sober reality: I am only human. That I crave recognition, prestige, acknowledgement from those that I interact with every day is as natural as breathing, yet I am deprived that by their sniveling remarks, single-minded fixations, and apathetic demeanor.

My foul mood would only be twisted further by what would transpire next.

Max claimed that he knew of my procedure, having read about it in 'my blog', a slang I realized stood for journal. He listed all three organs I had replaced, one by one, my anger growing more rabid and uncontrolled with each item. How did he know all of this information? I had not let this journal out of my sights. I had not revealed the details of my procedure. How the f%!% did he know?!

Gareth provided an answer, which I grasped at like a drowning man. A collection of common sense, logical deduction, and Max's outrageous random lucky guessing were enough to dissuade me. I had decided not to punish the Galtman for stringing me along. Part of me wished to refute it, to pour all my frustration on the Galt for pushing me so. Nevertheless, I suffused the lust for violence. I had grown used to Max' audacity. It was, despite it all, what made him unique. I opted to walk away and sate my lusts in food, company, and drink.

I was swiftly reminded of whom I was dealing with.

He opened his stupid shit-spitting mouth and told me that he knew I wrote my journal in Nekril. I am not sure why I was surprised by this. It was classic Maxime Constant behavior. He never knows when to shut the f!~* up and let matters rest.

My wrath became a tranquil sea. I looked to him, telling him that that was something he had not explained. He said I was right and it would not be revealed. Then he walked away from me.

I could endure his antics, his infuriating tendency to make willingly ignorant statements. Now, however, he had sullied the sanctity of my private thoughts, dismissed the impact and importance of my life's work, and disrespected me by deeming me unworthy of receiving answers I deserved all within the span of ten minutes. No one walks away from me on my ship and leaves unscathed. No one mocks me or my work and taunts me with knowledge they should not possess without sacrifice for their blasphemy. I made the decision at long last. Maxime Constant had crossed the line, and I would watch him bleed for it.

I demanded that Sharma rip him down from the mast he was climbing with his boots of spiderwalk. Sharma turned to me and, in Nekril, said that he was responsible, that if he had not been so careless when studying Max would not have learned the language. I told him I could not punish him, as Max would simply opt to try to kill me and I'd little interest in seeing him dead. We came upon an agreement: Sharma would take the place of Max, by his own choice. I accepted to the terms, thinking this would show Max that his actions would lead the suffering of those he cared about. Sharma pleaded for Max to come down, and so he did like a dog answering to the fingersnaps of his master.

We explained the punishment. He acted predictably, demanding that I veto the suggestion or he would shoot me. Sharma told him this was his decision. Max did not lose focus. He said one of three things would happen: Either I vetoed the punishment, dropped him off at the nearest port, or he would put a bullet in as many of the crew as he could, knowing that the fight between us would cause immense collateral damage. I rejected his ultimatum. I am captain. None will force options upon me. This misery was his own doing, bred from his childish inability to accept consequences for his actions.

Bordering on tears, Sharma begged Max to relent, saying that their rings of matrimony would shatter if he continued like this. Cursing in his native tongue, Max put his guns away and allowed the punishment to proceed. Nineteen lashing did Mr. Sharma suffer for the sins of the Galtman. He was hardly able to stand by the end of it. He has been afforded food and medical attention. With any luck, this means Max will be more easy to control.

Who the f$$# am I kidding? The dog might be on a leash, but he remains a dog. One cannot remedy the nature of the beast.

PS: F##!, now I have to rewrite everything in this book and burn it afterward. Damn you to the pits of the Abyss, Max.

Commentary:
Inter-party conflict can be an ugly thing. It can overlap with OOC issues two people may have and for those who are overly proud and adoring of their characters may even breed OOC issues from what happens in the game.

But if handled well, it can make for some enlightening experiences, and I can happily say this is one of those.

The relation between Sakhbet and Max has been some of the most engaging I've seen in some time. I don't know many people who consider a meeting between a NE and CG character under pretenses other than "they met and then they killed each other. XP and loot was had." I like to retain the idea that most people decide to see how the other person is before it comes to blows, because even evil can be sympathetic, good can be selfish, and neither needs to have a kill-on-sight policy with the other to function within its respective alignment. Even so, the inherently polar nature of these mean that problems WILL arise, and maybe inevitably result in violence. With Max and Sakhbet, it almost reached boiling point, but it didn't. Still, their relationship is perhaps irreparably damaged and it'll be interesting to see if it proceeds further down or molds itself back together.

There's a little more to this: when Sakhbet mentioned the 'blog' that Max was referring to, that's actually what Max meant. Max, as a character, is played slightly insane by his player. Somewhat inspired by Deadpool, he often makes pop culture notes and fourth-wall references. This is played off as him either a) Making up words he doesn't really understand from other words he's heard before. b) Theatrics picked up from other media that's part of the world. There IS a fourth wall in theater plays, after all. c) Just plain nuttiness. This is naturally a source of endearment and/or scorn for some characters.

Zalan is Vicnan's player, returned after some time away. He's given the party some much needed will-save based spells. Aside from that, there's really little I can say about him, as we rarely RP. Even what's presented here is based on conjecture and what little I've heard his character say and do. I haven't roleplayed with Alianora's player in a long time either so again anything I have to go on with her is based on what our history of interaction would suggest.

Sharma's a wild card. He's a manipulative sociopath with a few selected, obsessive attachments (the ship, Max, and magic). His generally aloof, indifferent demeanor makes him neutral.

It's unlikely things will be the same on the Hunger. Next level especially will alter Sakhbet to the core. How that affects the crew and players is something I look forward to exploring.


Will be requesting this to be moved to the "Campaign Journals" forums.


Analysis of Fort Sublevels:
Quote:

Notes:

- Varied situational ineffectiveness of acidic bombs noted. No longer most efficient method of circumventing resistances to combustion. Require more versatile concoction. Shame. Will miss satisfying results.

- Mind is greatest weakness. Must research methods to prevent mental and emotional capabilities to be magically compromised.

Log:

We returned to the fortress, determined to finish exploring it. We went to the tower, where we were ambushed by the remaining phase spider and its matron. They proved little challenge and it was not long before they were blasted apart and riddled with bullet holes.

Captain Bikendi Otombu is a ghost. At the very least he is not malicious. In fact he was quite eager to seek our help. I've little reason to trust the man, but I prefer his cooperation and promises of valuable treasure than the threats from the animate dream. He also has a stockpile of memory crystals that interest me greatly, partly due to scientific curiosity and partly because there may be something worth gleaning in there regarding the dreamstone.

Our good fortune ran dry there. I still feel the sting of humiliation. The sheer terror I felt at the hands of the animate dream is infuriating enough, yet I was deprived of the chance to get even return the favor. Bikendi killed them before we had a chance to do anything once we returned.

There is more. Not a day later, I have us scout the caverns up in the hills west of the fortress. Charlik, a new member of the crew we recruited who had been stranded on the island, had informed us of large one-eyed harpies living there. I do not wish to have my men be preyed upon by them, so extermination is the best recourse. Certainly enough, we engage in combat and I have lobbed not one bomb before their damnable singing leaves me enthralled. The harpies do intrigue me in some way, however: they had a fiendish appearance. It would seem the ancient Ghol-Gan cyclopes also dealt with evil outsiders of some kind.

<The rest of the entry has been ripped out. Half the page is missing. No more is written about this date.>

Commentary:
Charlik is the new character used by Gareth's player.

The ripped page is because Sakhbet began to denote his and Max's (purely DM-driven) encounter with an apparition of Charon the Boatman. The whole business was a mix of terrifying and silly, spurred by the DM's frustration with Max's trollish behavior. You can read more about it here.


Eternal:
I am dreaming.

I rarely dream. I always figured that since I had forsaken Pharasma, Desna had forsaken me in turn. The last few days have been filled with nightmares and phantasms, ghosts of the past brought by magic, malice, and fiendish specters.

As the smoke swirls around and into me, my sight fades. I begin to grow lucid. My head swims. My mind's grip on reality loosens yet tightens. Surreal and real become distinguishable from each other yet no less important, just two faces of the same coin. Most people focus on one side or the other, some teeter on the rim, but me? Right now, I can see every facet, every side, all at the same time. No part is hidden or obscured by the other.

It is beautiful.

I turn and slowly walk up the stairs, my blindness betrayed by my magical extract, granting me direction through sound. The stone feels cold against my feet though boots block their contact with my skin. The air is stale, hundred, maybe thousands of years of inactivity. I take a deep whiff and smell its ancient, musty aroma, heavy with corpse dust, crumbled texts, muted incense, and lost prominence.

It was breathtaking.

I am in the Iris now. Suddenly my world explodes. I could hear the sacred chants and see the vast cosmos expand around me. The entire universe, and yet only a small, insignificant fraction of reality. It made me feel small. I know most would have felt insignificant and despondent at seeing their lives through this otherworldly lens, but I did not. Here was everything and yet it was just a taste. To think there was this much...

It was wondrous.

I feel a pain shoot through me, my life force drained out. The dreamstone is responding to my presence. I hear the rumbling groans of aching, calciferous joints creak as the guardians waken, beckoned by some time-lost instruction of old. I feel my essence ebb and quiver. I hear the screams of anguish and agony emanating from the stone.

It is exhilarating.

I walk forward, the stars flashing and dancing around me, my thoughts flowing one after another, the roof of my mouth dry from the experience. I reach forward to the stone, the sounds of combat, eldritch magic being cast, thundering bullets being shot, and deadly arrows whizzing through the air to meet their mark. I pay it no mind. They know what to do. They have faced worse and triumphed.

I reach forward and grab the stone. It responds, once more siphoning bits and pieces of my life force into itself. It thinks to consume me. It does not know who I am. I grip it tightly as if to squeeze the unliving essence from its jagged surface. 'You are mine now, and you will serve your purpose.' With that, I place it within the bag of holding, its extra-dimensional pocket certain to cut me from the malicious effects of the stone. Tension washes off my back, and the ether gleefully swirls and sings.

It is relieving.

My task complete, I feel violence grip my heart. The battle rages behind me. My wings twitch before they buzz into hysteric flight. I buzz through the door, the chamber behind me left for the sound-sight of an undead cyclopean behemoth clawing at my navigator. One corrosive missile is all I manage before the gunner brings him down.

It is euphoric.

It is done. As the action dies down and I force my senses to collect back into the single face of reality, I realize that this will be the only time I will ever experience what I have. I prefer it that way. Why should I do the same thing twice? It is madness. The world is so exquisite, so full of wonder that I would have to be mad to commit to one action over and over again, denying myself that rich, endless reality.

I have never been so certain as I have now. No doubt remains. No questions. No hesitation. The philosophers, the priests, the nay-sayers are more damned than my own Abaddon-bound soul could ever be. They cannot see. They will never see. Death, the final frontier? Foolishness. Idiocy. Those who deny eternal life deny life and the cosmos fully. The only benevolence granted by their sight is that they deserve their resigned fates. It will not be so with me. I can see. I have seen. I will see more.

Immortality will be mine.


Analysis of Festivity Preparations and the Sacking of the Jester's Grin:
Notes:

Requirements for party are as followed:

- flexible wenches (Calistrians preferred)

- suitable drink and food (Jester's Grin noted target)

- entertainers (Max included)

- trophies and decoration (bring great cyclops' head from ruins, strip it, display skull in prominent location)

- reconstruction of docks and fort

- research of party guests (Ask Tessa?)

- standard contingency plans

- backup contingency plans

- backup contingency plans for those plans

- final emergency contingency plans

Log:

The isle is now ours. After eradicating the bothersome pests from the fort and returning the dreamstone to Bikendi, we immediately began preparations. We have a month and a half before the pirate lords come to visit.

First on the agenda was the restoration of the fortress. Supply lines will need to be established. I've sent a missive to the Thresher to serve as a means to ferry these supplies. In the meantime, the Endless Hunger will go about doing other, more important work. I need to speak with Tessa and find out more about our guests.

Our freshly-obtained prize is defenseless, however. We need defenses. The bay is already a natural bottleneck, but that is not enough. I plan to have a line of archers with tar-drenched arrows. There will be three cannons lined to fire on the bay. For the feast, I will be placing the cannons from the Hunger to provide a more impressive array. The centerpiece, however, will be a massive bombard I will have placed at the top of the tower. It will require destroying the quartz at its peak, but it is a worthwhile sacrifice.

Curiously enough, Pierce Jerrel has sent us some alluring information. There is a schooner preparing to set sail for Cheliax to smuggle some rare, high-quality rum. What surprises me most is that this vessel operates under the orders of Arronax Endymion. It seems so strange that Endymion, Cheliax's rebel son, would risk even a single line of contact with his home country. Could he be seeking to subvert their economy? Are there other, more traitorous reasons? My suspicions are growing, but these are only assumptions. I must first test and reach an undeniable conclusion.

On our way to intercept the Jester's Grin, we will pay Tessa a visit. She will undeniably have information on the party guests that will be attending.

===========================

Log:

Tessa has yielded the information as expected. She is as eager as ever to help us, though this last meeting was much more palpably business-like. She must think the same as I do: 'I've sampled you, and thus I've no reason to crave more.' Shame.

The guests are as followed:

Lady Cerise Bloodmourn: Captain of the Come What May. Former Taldan nobility. Notably enjoys challenging foes to duels to test their mettle. (Charlik should prove more than a match for her.)

Avimar Sorrinash: Lord of Ollo, captain of the Blood Moon. A natural lycanthrope. Noted for being the most mercilessly brutal captain in the Shackles. (Likely respects power above all else, and if his appetites are like any other pirate's, he'll be hard pressed to be disappointed with an Urgathoan feast.)

Mase Darrimar: Captain of the Wave Crest. Half human, half aquatic elf. Not much information is known, save that he is a handsome man prone to interacting with the undersea dwellers. (Sharma should prove a suitable peer for him.)

With this, we can truly begin specializing the feast. As of right now, the Thresher should have arrived to Besmara's Eye with food and materials as well as specialists that will expedite the process.

===========================

Log:

Our raid on the Jester's Grin went fairly well, save that the captain was far more cunning than I gave him credit for. The rat bastard pretended to surrender, using an illusion to hide himself. He then cast some sort of charm on me that prevented me from informing my crew of the ruse. Nevertheless, my strange change in demeanor led my crew to realize the deception and once his invisibility had run out, he became easy prey. I wanted him alive, but Max opted to show him a bit of mercy. Some part of him must still hold on to a sense of right and wrong. I won't hold it against him, however.

As we were loading the rum into the cargo hold, I found a letter in the captain's quarters. It was from Endymion, written to an official in Egorian thanking him for a potential pardon from the House of Thrune. I do not know why I would feel as much anger as I did then. If Endymion was turning, it would be the perfect chance to eliminate him and claim credit for rooting out a Chelish sympathizer for the council. I felt something was off, however. If I was mistaken, I would be losing a valuable ally. Endymion hated the Thrunes. The evidence in my hand spoke against what I knew of the man.

Max was the one to solve the issue for us. He simply did not believe that this was him. It was too different from what he would sound like. After rereading it, I had to agree: this was not even Endymion's handwriting. The entire affair has Max shaking with excitement at the prospect of 'being a detective again'. Whatever floats his boat. I do admit it is intriguing and worrisome that someone planted a false letter in a ship we were tipped off about and were expected to sack. To be sure, I had a drink of the rum. Delicious, certainly unique, but not poisoned or otherwise toxic. Curious.

It is almost time for the feast, but most importantly, it is almost time for my latest procedure to come to fruition. It is dangerously close to the party, but I simply cannot wait. It must happen then.


Mummification:
(WARNING: Graphic description ahead)

Every variable needed to be exact. The magical properties needed to be perfect, the mixture needed to be perfect, the timing had to be perfect. Everything needed to be perfect. This was most likely to be the most difficult procedure Sakhbet had ever performed, and the anxiety was as likely to kill him as a mistake. He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he finished preparing the concoction.

He called it ‘embalming blood’. It was a vile fluid, viscous with a sickly amber-yellow hue and strange, barely-visible globules of white and red freely floating within it. Anyone who would see it would dismiss it as some wretched waste that should be tossed and forgotten, but to Sakhbet, it was his magnum opus. He knew the mummification process, had helped to do it many times in the Grand Temple of Pharasma, even learned to perform it alone without any assistance, but to do it on a living creature and expect it to survive? It would be suicide to try it on himself, or at least, it would be if he had not gone through the necessary trials to prove to himself it could be done.

During the Endless Hunger’s short stay at Drenchport soon after fully gaining control of the Isle of Empty Eyes, he had hired thugs to acquire suitable test subjects for the experiment. Twenty-six people had been dragged, beaten but alive, to the ship in the cover of night. Sakhbet had left instructions for their undisturbed passage aboard, and twenty-five badly mutilated, discolored, dissected bodies had been disposed of using the same thugs when he was through with them.

The twenty-sixth was the one that survived. She was in agony, to be certain, begging for death with her pleading eyes as her gagged mouth could not, but the artificial blood kept her alive and no matter how much pain she experienced, she would not fall unconscious. It was clear to him that the issue was not fundamentally in the mixture, but in the body’s rejection. Sakhbet exposed her to every form of harm he could muster, using blunt instruments, flesh-eating acids, fire, electric shocks, bleeding, all the while keeping her from death to ensure she was ready for the next round. It was when he exposed her to dry ice that he noticed no reaction other than the usual attempts to escape and struggle in vain. No reaction. No jolt of sudden motion. He exposed her to more extreme cold for a prolonged period of time. No change. He felt delighted. Of course she’s immune. The embalming blood does not freeze. Unfortunately, it was at this time that she finally expired. Her body had fully shut down. The blood had run its course. ‘How disappointing. I wish she would have lasted more than ten minutes.’

He had everything he had learned from the trials recorded in his journal. A few hours of calculating, theory, and more experimentation, he had made the connection and realized what he needed to do. For a full month he had slowly been injecting himself with the blood, included a few special chemicals in his diet, and drank a mildly poisonous tea that, with his unique physiology, would help ease his body into accepting the embalming blood as if it were its own. When the time came for the procedure, his body would not cripple and kill him, but accept the boons wholly. Success without sacrifice. It was a supreme victory for the captain.

His preparations were complete now. The chair waited for him. The embalming blood was suspended, tubes ending in long needles dangling like butcher’s hooks from where they were suspended. He couldn’t use any anesthetics, but he couldn’t be awake for the entire procedure, else he might scream from the pain, so he had arranged to use a magical elixir that would not disrupt his body chemistry to induce a 24-hour coma, long enough for the transfusion to be complete. Now all he needed was-

‘F%%!.’

Twenty-four hours of inactivity. That meant only one thing: Max would grow bored. Very bored. Bored enough to look for him while he was unconscious.

Sakhbet sighed. ‘Alright, then. Let’s see if I can keep him entertained long enough to leave me alone.’ He produced a stack of paper and got to work.

Commentary:
Sometimes you have to ascertain that your character -is- evil. As of late, Sakhbet had been getting very lenient, even outright good, with the way he did things. Ruthless, sure, but not necessarily bad.

I'd known becoming a mummy was going to be a huge deal for him as a character, culturally and personally. It was a major breakthrough and would lead down the road to discovering how to properly preserve a body. However, this procedure is a lot more delicate than any other. He couldn't just dive into it. He needed to test it.

His outlook on this isn't malicious. The people he grabbed were low-lives, beggars, and others who wouldn't be missed, but it wasn't out of malice or disgust for them, though in his eyes they -are- wastes of space put to better used by more advanced and capable men like himself. I'll be posting more of an expansion on this belief in a later entry.

But yes, I needed some hard reassurance that the man? Decent, but -EVIL- in the most impersonal, horrible way, willing to use anyone and anything to acquire what he wants, even those who've never so much as been in the same room as him before.

I won't be writing a journal entry mentioning the procedure, since that would be redundant.


Analysis of Feast Sabotage:

(WARNING: This contains very specific spoilers for 'Isle of Empty Eyes' and the challenges therein. Read at your own discretion.)

Notes:

- Inspect Eel’s equipment and journal.

-New Project: Poison delivery system inefficient, expensive. New effective method of poison delivery required.

- New Project: Mutagen enhancement becoming obsolete. Improvement required over original formula.

- Arrange list of topics for discussion at Council meeting.

- Name the goddamn town.

Log:

The pirate lords arrived at the appropriate time. I felt nervous. This was possibly the most important party of my life, but Max had pulled all the stops, hiring the nigh-legendary bard Franklin Jupiter to perform (much to my joy, Cerise Bloodmourn is a fan). Entertainment, food, drink, fine company and lively tales. We met every test and challenge the pirate lords tossed at us: our guns demolished Sorrinash’s dummy target off the bay when he asked to see how well our cannons performed, Cerise was readily disarmed by Charlik’s masterful swordsmanship (aided, of course, with a touch of my potions), and Captain Darrimar was pleased to hear of our dealings with undersea cultures was civilized.

Then the troubles started. First, it was rats, an unnatural number of them, rising up from the cellar. A cursory inspection revealed an alchemical lure in the cellar. Someone had intentionally summoned them there with it to turn the stomachs of my guests. Professional, intelligent, but petty work. I was not astonished until after the meal was served. Everything was checked for toxins yet nothing was detected, but in a matter of a few minutes, we saw the signs of food poisoning. It was a cunning and very complicated maneuver: place a harmless substance in one part and a catalyst with another substance in the other, and when the two mix, the poison is created. The catalyst and first variable were placed in the food, the other in the drink. Thankfully, Cerise was the only one truly affected. Sorrinash accused me of tainting my food. Normally, such an insult would be met with grave consequences, but I did not have that luxury in this scenario.

As though seeking to outdo his boorishness with more of the same, Sorrinash began acting as even more of an ass than even his peers deemed him to be. Max attempted to distract him with clownish antics, but it was to no avail. It wasn’t until I offered him the services of Calistria’s worshipers that he abated, though a good amount of water and healing potions were required to offset his relentless lusts.

I soon learned the source of it: a servant had given Sorrinash an aphrodisiac. He described the one who told him to do it, a beautiful, naked woman with long black hair. It was unmistakable. Sefina was responsible for this.

We traveled to her grotto to confront her. By now, I was livid and out of patience, and killing Sefina seemed a viable, even preferable option, especially when she signaled someone once we arrived. Max got to work, and likely would have killed her were we not racing against time to stop whatever plot was at hand. I would not have stopped him. In fact, I would have demanded to get my fill of revenge first. In hindsight, that would have been an unwise choice, though not one I would have regretted.

Once put through enough pain, Sefina revealed what was going to happen. The saboteur was going to destroy the ships of the pirate lords. We flew to the site only to witness Sorrinash’s Blood Moon go up in flames. We opted to have it repaired once this was over. We disabled the time bombs in the other two ships.

The operation was interrupted, but the culprit was still at large. Charlik’s knowledge of the island, coupled with his tracking skills, found the imp for us, a devious halfling called the Eel. He was summarily defeated, and with his dying breath he whispered these words:

Harden your mind through the chains of the divine
Make way for the Shepherd of Fire

This is Grandidius’ calling card.

I expected something like this to happen. My instincts were telling me it would. Of course someone wanted to trash my party, ruin my reputation, and ultimately cause the pirate lords to deny my position in the council. The joke’s on them, however, because even with a saboteur, the feast went so well it was downright legendary. In fact, I’m glad the little shit came here. Not only did I show the pirate lords I can throw a feast, I showed them I can effectively deal with any adversity that gets in my way, and on a more subtle note, that I am not to be f#*!ed with.

Furthermore, the Eel is an alchemist, and his research journal will no doubt help me jump ahead in projects of my own, not to mention his body may hold secrets (It annoys me to no end that Sorrinash crushed his head under his boot. Someday down the line, I may need to have him assassinated and replaced). Still, the real reason for him sending the Eel was more likely to herald his return. Cocky bastard. In sending him to me, Grandidius may have sowed the seeds of his own undoing.

We’ve to figure out how to deal with Sefina. I intend to claim a favor from her in return for sparing her life and returning her shawl, which the Eel had stolen to ensure her cooperation. I don’t know what I would ask of her. I’ve considered requesting she pay for her life by birthing one for me. F+*#ing a nereid would be a unique experience and I’ve yet to test whether I am capable of having children post-operation (not to mention the boon of having a half-fey servant), but on further thought I realized that would not go well with Gareth and her capabilities extend beyond that. She could be invaluable as an envoy to Mase or another subaquatic race. I might simply be a bit libidinous at the moment, and that is an easily relieved symptom.

Addendum:

Gareth may have named the island, but there’s no name for the town yet. I’m throwing about ideas in my head. Nothing too tacky or on the nose, but nothing overly . The Endless Hunger was suitable for the ship, but a name for a town needs to be more familiar and open. Something harbor or port? Something alluding to the island’s history. Maybe I’ll just call the town “Sumitha Harbor”.

Commentary:
The feast was fuuuuun. That's all I really have to say about it.


Analysis of Clockwork Maze:
Notes:

<No new notes have been added.>

Log:

We were visited by a curious mechanical bird who identified herself as Merle, familiar to a powerful wizard known as Elzak March. March was responsible for swaying Andoran’s favor against the Chelaxians during their war, using his massive golems to shatter the Chelish defenses and prevent Andoran’s violent annexation by the Empire of Devils. He is now a successful businessman owning March Industries, one of if not the largest manufacturer and distributor of magical goods in the Inner Sea and abroad.

Attracting the attention of so powerful a wizard is as much a blessing as it is a curse. When individuals of such impressive caliber happen by, it is a humbling and even somewhat despairing event. I tried not to let my nervousness show, but that proves difficult when a platoon of clockwork mages and the aforementioned clockwork behemoth turn up at your doorstep. A lot of security for the sake of only delivering a message.

March was scouting for distinguished individuals to test his newest creations against, not that his snobbish sense of infuriatingly justified superiority hinted at him believing us to be. His company had surplus goods and he was offering them as an incentive.

I had my suspicions, of course, but the display of power coupled with what I knew of the man said that he could at least be trusted not to kill us, and it was a risk with a high reward. Even as I write this, I can feel a thousand new doors opened before me, thanks to my new headband.

March’s maze was challenging, with riddles, puzzles, traps, and various other obstacles too numerous for me to bother jotting down on these pages. We are well-equipped for whatever the Shackles has to throw at us from here in out. I have the inkling that March’s intentions were not solely to test drive his inventions, though, and it is likely he will contact us in the future. We have a mutual enemy in Cheliax, after all, and it is apparent he is building greater and stronger weapons of mass destruction. How long before the leaders of the world take note of his developments remains to be seen, but whatever he is planning is likely to alter the course of history for an age. I can say that the man is an ambitious genius, socially lacking as he may be.

The pirate lords will be meeting soon. Let’s see how well I exercise my new power.

Commentary:
Our DM wanted to do something of his own, so he made a custom-built maze created by his wizard from another campaign.

This is the last session he's DMing, however, as he got tired of the campaign and at my urging said he didn't need to feel pressured by us into proceeding. The campaign's gone too long for anyone to start DMing now and be interested in the story.

So I'm picking it up as both DM and player.

This seems like it breaks the game and it sort of does. I can't exactly trick myself into not knowing where everything is or everything that's going to happen, but part of the reason he's stopped caring is because we've grown so powerful that he doesn't think the campaign has any challenges left to offer... so I'll probably beef up some of the encounters in some way or another. Furthermore, we're more interested in story, and I hate leaving things unfinished, so that's why we're going to proceed regardless. I'm sure anyone who's been keeping up with these journals would like to know the details of the end.


This isn't a journal entry or short story, but a logged RP between Sakhbet and Max.

Confrontation:

Max walks into the tavern, spotting Sakhbet at the bar, he joins him, "So, what's a captain like you doing in a stinking gin joint like this?" Max says as he reaches over the bar and takes a glass to fill his drink.

"Own the place, waiting for some fluids to distill in the lab. Had nothing to do, so I decided to grab a drink. Only needing to sleep two hours can be a bore sometimes." Sakhbet sips a bit of the his rum. "And you? Sharma drain you dry and looking for a refill?"

"Ditto." Max takes a drink, "And yes. I'm shocked she's as capable as she was when she was a he. What are you working on?"

"New method of delivering a cheap but extremely potent poison. The formula's raw at the moment, but I will work to refine it as time goes on. I'll be able to infuse it into my smoke bombs. Subject only needs to be in contact with it to be affected. Holding your breath won't help."

"Sounds like a b$~!@ to get around." Max looks over at Sakhbet, "Other than that?"

"Trying to improve my mutagen formula to affect other parts of my physiology. So far, test results haven't been exactly satisfactory. Ended up with my ass twice as large and my nose half its size last time I drank it." He chuckles.

"So rough night?"

"On the contrary, it's been fairly progressive. Mr. March's little gift helped me break through a few blocks." Sakhbet taps the headband.

"Yeah, I figured. Hey, I heard the most interesting rumor today."

"Can't imagine what our little corner of the Shackles could have as an 'interesting rumor'."

"Well, when we went to drenchport, turns out 26 people went missing! Can you imagine, such a thing happening while we were docked there? What are the odds, am I right? And their bodies were found mutilated and experimented on! How queer."

"Your version's wrong. They were cut up, torn, almost indistinguishable, but no one said 'experimented on'."

Max grabs the back of Sakhbet's head, slams it against the bar top and throws him back on his ass before standing up and looking down at him, "You know exactly what I'm talking about and why I'm talking to you about it. So how about you stop wasting my f*#&ing time?" He gives Sakhbet a chance to stand up.

Sakhbet rolls his jaw as he gets up. "That... was uncalled for." He steps forward threateningly. "But THIS isn't." He thrusts his foot toward Max.

Max catches Sakhbet's foot and pulls it towards him, catching Sakhbet by the throat and putting him in a headlock, "You son of a b!+%$, I didn't think you'd go that far!"

Sakhbet coughs. "And how -many- people have -you- killed? Since we're trying to gauge on righteousness?" He tries to squirm free, but doesn't succeed.

"I killed the people who threatened you, Charlik, Mal, Gareth, Alianora, my friends, -our- friends, don't pretend like you killed those people because they were a threat to us!"

Sakhbet grits his teeth, and as Max tries to hit him, he takes advantage of the slip in his grip to go free. "What I did was necessary." Tries to uppercut Max in the jaw.

Max is tossed against the bar behind him. "So you could be a f&@%ing mummy?" He reciprocates with a punch to the face.

Sakhbet's illusory appearance dissipates as his cap of disguise flies off. Mummy-like appearance revealed, he wipes the thick, yellow blood from his nose. "You would have preferred that I do it on myself, untested? Too dangerous." Goes to grab Max's hair and slam his face against his knee.

Max leans back to avoid the hair pulling and lunge kicks him square in the chest, shoving the alchemist away and closing the distance, "You butchered those people! Any claim you had to science has officially gone out the window, you f#%~ing psychopath."

"It was NOT personal. I don't abduct people off the street for no reason, and those I did? Undesirables, cutthroats, beggars, the very thugs I paid to do the job!" Sakhbet goes for a one-two jab to Max's stomach and face.

Max ducks out of the way of Sakhbet's punches. "And how does that make it any better? Those were human lives, Sakhbet! What if someone set up shop here and started praying after the crew?" He tries to tackle him.

Sakhbet digs his heels in and absorbs the shock, then tries to elbow Max in the back. "Then those aren't -undesirables- they're choosing, are they?!"

Max takes a step back, avoiding the elbow and keeping his distance, "To us, like some of those people might have been important to others." Max jumps up and kicks Sakhbet in the face before landing behind him, "What if they grabbed Gareth? Could you live with yourself if we found his carcass in a ditch somewhere, knowing what sort of sick experiments were performed on him?"

"Stop trying to compare lifeless, worthless scum to our crew." Sakhbet spins around to backhand Max with his fist.

Max parries the blow and closes the distance between them, "They were someone's crew, someone's family." He attempts to elbow Sakhbet in the face before stomping down on his foot and kneeing him in the gut.

Sakhbet's wounds begin to recover as his fast healing kicks in. The ache in his gut subsides from the blow. "That is them, this is us. The entire philosophy of piracy dwells in the realm of supremacy of the fittest. I won't deny them their attempts at vengeance, but will the fish stand before a shark?" He tries to drink his mutagen, and deftly avoiding Max's attempts to knock the vial off his hand, Sakhbet succeeds. His muscles grow larger and his appearance slightly more feral. His skin grows small chitinous plating in key parts of his body.

"That won't save you, and if you're a shark, then what am I to stand against you?" Max bullrushes at Sakhbet. He meets the bullrush by trying to grab Max by the collar and headbutting him in the face.

"You're not a fish. If you were, you wouldn't have lasted this long."
Max avoids getting grabbed, then brings his knee up and strikes Sakhbet in a vulnerable spot, "And now you're learning that even a shark doesn't f*%$ with a blowfish!"

Sakhbet groans. "Mthrf...! THIS METAPHOR IS GETTING F#%%ING TEDIOUS!" Sakhbet grabs the chair behind him and swings to hit Max with it.

Max brings his arm up, blocking the blow with the chair and groaning as the wooden stool impacts against his shoulder and forearm, "I've got one about scarabs f+@!ing with spiders, if that's more to your liking." Max slams his palms on either side of Sakhbet's head.

Sakhbet staggers a bit before giving the chair another swing. "You think immortality comes price-free?! This is a STEP! The process of PRESERVING a body, followed by learning how to do the same for each individual cell!"

Max crosses his forearm with Sakhbet's stopping the stool in its tracks before twisting both their arms together and trying to pin it behind Sakhbet's back, "And I find myself asking again, is this worth it, Sakhbet?!"

Sakhbet fast heals more of the damage he's taken. His wings extend, preventing Max from fully moving to get behind him. They beat and lift him, allowing him to untwist from the vice with a somersault. As he does, he tries to catch Max with his powerful wingbeats.

Sakhbet lands, but does not manage to hit Max. "YES, it's worth it! I never do anything that isn't! You're blinded by your empathy for others when strangers will have none for you! We're animals, Max. The only thing we care about is our own desires, and when suffering occurs, deep inside, no matter who you are, you will always breathe a sigh of relief, saying 'I'm just glad it isn't me or my loved ones.'"

Max grabs onto Sakhbet's wings and pulls them back before attempting to kicks Sakhbet in the back and releasing the wings.

Sakhbet stumbles forward. He whips around, grabbing a cup and flinging it at Max. It slams right on his face.

Max grits his teeth, "And I would outright murder anyone who tried to lay a finger on us? Remember how far I was willing to go with Sefina? Do you understand why I'm showing you even this much mercy?" Sakhbet sidesteps and tries to use Max's momentum against him, grabbing for him and shoving him toward the counter. Max braces one leg against the bar to bring his momentum to a halt and shoves back against Sakhbet, trying to slam him into the barstools and bar right behind him, "Well do you?!"

Sakhbet's forehead hits the bar and cuts it open. He grimaces. "You were willing to kill her because of what she did to -us- but I have done nothing but bring prosperity to the Endless Hunger, so get off your self-righteous high-horse! As to why you've not drawn your guns on me?! I don't know, because we're friends?!" He whips his foot back to kick Max in the chest.

"And you're making that friendship very difficult on me right now! But I don't have to tell you what it's like to fight for what you believe in, do I?" He tries to send Sakhbet's head into the counter once again.
Sakhbet slaps Max's hands out of the way. "You know, when you're a scientist, you start to see the building blocks of the world, break it down to its basest components. Once you know that, you stop believing in anything unrewarding." He flies up and joins his fists into a hammer. "I don't believe in sparing lives that are useless to me. My father figure spared mine when he should have killed me!" He slams it down on Max's head heavily.

"And what are your rewards for standing against Pharasma? Your pride feels a little better?" He spits blood out on the floor, "You put all that raw intelligence to waste, not even for what you did to yourself, but for hurting others." He shoves Sakhbet against the bar before attempting to kick him again.

Sakhbet once again takes to the air, dodging the kick. "You think you know how I should be using my mind?! I don't use it to hurt others, though that comes in handy, I use it to progress my evolution, -our- evolution! That is all nature is: the powerful devour the weak, and the weak adapt to survive the strong, and then the strong evolve to hunt the weak once more, and few places exemplify that like the Shackles." He whips his foot at Max's head.

"You've seen so little of the world, and you'll do well to listen: I've seen the Mana Wastes, I've liberated a f&#$ing empire, I've been to Cheliax, Taldor, Andoran, and the River Kingdoms, I've seen Osirion and I've been a wasting orphan in Galt, and your kind loses, Sakhbet. Despite any power you think you have, there are always wolves in the flock of sheep ready to maul the shepard who gets to cocky!" He grabs onto Sakhbet's foot and yanks him down before releasing and trying to uppercut him in the jaw.

Sakhbet uses the yank-down's momentum to elbow Max in the collarbone, carefully dodging the uppercut as he does so. "That's why I'm so -careful-, but we've been talking about me a lot, so how about you? Think the fact that I caused pain while you kill things outright makes you better? You did the majority of the killing against the cyclopes of Sumitha, slaughtered entire ships full of people, caused as much if not more wanton destruction, and your reward? Gold, drink, food, thrill, sexual ecstasy, you REALLY SAYING ALL YOU'VE DONE SO FAR HAS BEEN FOR EVERYONE'S OWN GOOD BUT YOURS AND YOUR OWN?! Don't give me THAT bullshit!" The hit connects, joined by a grim cracking sound.

"No, I'm killing f$%~ing pirates. Not beggars who didn't deserve your wrath." Max throws a haymaker towards Sakhbet's ribs.

Sakhbet gasps a bit as his ribs ache from the hit. "For the last F~@&ING time, it wasn't PERSONAL! You think if I had that if I had an immediate supply of worthless rapists, thieves, and murderers, I wouldn't use them?! The men and women I targetted were as close to that as I could get." He crosses his arms and tries to catch Max's neck with a crossing chop. Max ducks under it easily.

"But you didn't bother to look? What about when you get your hands on Harrigan? That's going to be just for fun, is it?"

"Ohoho, yes, Harrigan's a special case! You weren't there to see how he treated us! I still have the hairline scars on my back from when he had me whipped, but that's exactly my point: if the people I took were missed or loved in any way, let them come and claim me. I'll be waiting... or is that what you think you are? Avenger to the people? Suddenly turned saint and a paladin, Max?"

"F&&* -those- guys," Max reassures as he tries to tackle Sakhbet into the bar. Sakhbet shoves Max out of his tackling position before stomping down on his knee.

Max catches Sakhbet's foot and tries to push him back against the bar before jumping onto him with his arm outstretched and slamming it into his throat. "But you couldn't just capture a ship full of f@#&ing failed pirates? You had to take it out on an unsuspecting populace."

Sakhbet's caught in the bullrush until the last minute, using his wings to move beyond Max's reach. "Time and resources were scarce, I made due with what I could. Besides, no matter whom I did it to, SOMEONE somewhere would find it offensive, which is why I tried to keep it as quiet as possible." He gets on top of the bar and snatches the metal tankard nearby, stepping on top of a chair, "Obviously, not quiet enough, given we're currently fighting over this stupid shit!" He swipes the tankard at Max like a makeshift mace.

Max whips his forearm out towards Sakhbet's ankles, trying to trip him off the bar as the tankard flies over his head, "You had time, Sakhbet! You could have taken your time! And f~@+ who else finds it offensive, right now, I'm the one you have to worry about!"

Before Sakhbet can roll behind the bar and out of reach, Max slams his fist into Sakhbet's chest as he rolls away, hitting him right in the center of his rib cage with an almost sickening cracking sound. Sakhbet clutches his chest and sputters. "You think I have time?! All of us could die at any day with the lifestyle we live! Time is the last thing I have! In order to cheat Pharasma of her greatest tool - time -, I need to elude her most common ones: physical harm, poisons, disease, anything we could perish to! The human body is both resilient yet so frail, Max, and the more I change, the hardier I get, and thus I BUY more time. I've come close to tasting death far too many times for comfort, so no, I didn't HAVE time!" He grabs a bottle of booze and throws it at Max.

Max slams his fist into Sakhbet's chest as he rolls away, hitting him right in the middle of his rib cage with an almost sickening cracking sound, "You were too eager and lazy! I don't want people coming after you, you f#$+ing imbecile!" Max grabs a bottle off the bar and flings it at Sakhbet's head, "And stop throwing shit at me!"

Sakhbet gets a face full of broken glass as it shatters against him. "Don't f%%~ing tell me I've been lazy! I've worked my ass off for the Hunger, I've gone from being transported here as a tool and toy for nobody pirates to one of the most powerful and influential figures in the region, and I did it all by hard work, perseverance, and carefully-placed moves! You have NO RIGHT to judge MY method!" He reaches down and grabs a stowed broom. "AND DON'T F!!+ING TELL ME HOW TO FIGHT, EITHER!" He swings at Max and connects, the broom snapping from the force of the blow.

Max staggers as the broom shatters against his temple. He shakes it off and stomps on a bar stool, trying to break it so he can use the splinters are projectiles, "That's fine, but the kid gloves come off. Les jeux sont fait, mon cher."

Sakhbet flies and thrusts forward to punch Max as he zooms past. Max ducks out of the way and stomps on the stool again, picking up two of its legs, "I respected you before all of this, you realize that, right?"
"And what's changed, Max?! Tell me, what's really changed?! I've tortured people before, killed, done all I could to achieve my goal, and you've tagged along for the ride... Morals had nothing to do with your respect of me."

"Twenty six people who did -nothing- wrong to you, Sakhbet! I'm a firm believer in capital punishment, but the lash is earned, not dispensed at will." He finishes breaking the chair and grabs what splinters he can.

Sakhbet swings at Max, but flubs it, having lost his orientation from the flyby attack. "AGAIN! Pirates! We've killed merchants who didn't do anything but be our prey! They had something we wanted, and we ripped it from their still-warm, bloodied hands without so much as a glance." He takes a deep, furious breath. "We've ruined lives that would not, by your standards, be ruined had they not had the simple misfortune of crossing our path. How then can you judge me when your hands are as stained, if not even possibly more, than mine?"

"Not when I was on the boat. I f%#~ing warned you what would happen if you killed someone who didn't deserve it." He leaps back and fires one of the four projectiles at Sakhbet, like an oversized dart, it whips towards the Alchemist, "They are not stained with any blood that didn't deserve it. It's a dog eat dog world out there, and even if they're just defending themselves from you, if they attack me, they are put in their place."

Sakhbet gives a vicious, mocking grin. "Oh, so we've moved on to using tools we're more comfortable with, huh?" He walks to the table. "Not my style... but this will HAVE TO DO!" Sakhbet picks up the table, using his enhanced strength to wield it with greater ease. He holds it as a makeshift shield and starts to advance toward Max. "Who 'deserves it' is subjective, Max. Study religion. Everyone thinks everyone else f~@%ing deserves it. I deserve to die for denying fate. Urgathoans believe Pharasmin deserve to die for killing the children of undeath. Paladins Demons deserve to die because they are evil and twisted. Paladins deserve to die for their oppressive righteousness. EVERYONE has an opinion of who's wrong and who's right. Me? I keep it simple... f+~# with me, and you die. Help me, and you will prosper. -Simple- and -fair-." He swings at Max, whom albeit hiding behind a foundation pillar, is caught by the table's top reaching around with the swing. The table splinters slightly with Sakhbet's strike.

"If you break that table, I'm just going to use it as ammunition later on. Make your next two strikes count."

Sakhbet bares his teeth. "What did I say about telling me how to fight?"

"Clearly, I'm not paying attention to you."

"So, are you regaling me with random banter because you're out of excuses?"

"I don't need excuses, Sakhbet." Max picks up a chair and flings it at the table. He hits it, and both furniture pieces break apart.
Sakhbet picks up the table's single leg, wielding it like a knobby club.

"I don't deny I hurt people, but you? You cower behind who deserves it and who doesn't when ultimately you tell me about the power of the gun, how it seems to make you judge, jury, and executioner." He flies at Max and swings it at him.

Max ducks out of the way, rolls past Sakhbet before whipping another spike at him.

Sakhbet's back gets dug in by the splinter. He turns to Max and tries to slam him upside the head. "Have you wondered why I haven't gotten much more than my mutagen out for this fight?! Half a dozen extracts I could use to give me an edge, but I don't use any of them."

Max pats his holster, "And I'm armed." He spins one of the splinters in his hand and stabs at Sakhbet with it.

Sakhbet steps away from the slash and then makes an upward swing at Max. Max dodges and starts rapidly stabbing at Sakhbet, who parries the blows with the table leg. "Lost your respect, did I? I thought you understood, Max! Maybe not understood me, who the f@#$ could, but understood our situation!" He makes a hardy swing toward Max's ribs. "You want immortality? Here's the price!"

Max parries with his improvised weapons, "Twenty-six people so you could turn yourself into a mummy." Max lashes out with the spikes, "And how much closer has that gotten you really? Because becoming a dried up husk wasn't what I was agreeing to at all."

"Much closer than you think... mummification was a breakthrough. When you've lived through what I have, you stop seeing things in black and white. The people I killed were neither innocents nor guilty. They were composed of organic material as you and I. In nature, predator and prey have this relationship. Is there anything innocent about the prey? In a way, yes. They have not angered the predator... but the predator is hungry, and he must eat."

Sakhbet's eyes narrow as his voice turns hard, yet increasingly despondent. "I -need- immortality, Max. I need it. I need it more than I need to breathe, sleep, eat, and drink. If I don't achieve it, my declarations against Pharasma are pointless. If I don't claim it, then having survived my prophesied death at birth will be meaningless. I'll be condemned to the Boneyard, dragged to Abaddon, my soul devoured by daemons." He leans against the pillar behind him. It seems he's given up the will to continue the fight. "Sentient life... is just like any other. Live and die. What I am attempting to create is a strata that transcends the inevitable spiraling loop of life and death."

Max stumbles backwards to the bar, leaning heavily against it. Sakhbet's eyes fill with water, and his throat tightens. "But you know, even -I'm- not emotionless. I can tell you the chemical composition of every hormone that makes me feel what I do in my body. I've worn that knowledge like armor to save me from the unjust guilt I would otherwise feel from my actions, wielded it as a weapon to carve my path to greatness, but I can't deny what I do feel." He stares at Max's eyes directly. "I take care of my crew. I see them as tools, that much is true... but they are -my- tools, and I would rip apart anyone who would break them in swift vengeance." He turns away, shutting his eyes tightly as he slams the back of his head against the pillar, his tears now overflowing down pain-wrinkled cheeks.

"You remember what happened when you tried to kill the codger? What was his name. The doctor who demand half of the share of treasure we got from that Aboleth."

"I don't even f~#@ing remember... The name, not what happened."

"I put a gun up to your head. And I would've pulled the trigger too if you hadn't backed down. I can't keep making the same threat, Sakhbet. Because eventually, it won't be a threat."

"So why not do it now, huh?!" Sakhbet snaps back sharply, his voice strained with a mix of fear and anger,"You could whip your pistols out in what it takes me blink and end me this moment!! You'd be doing the world a favor, right?!" He slumps down on the pillar. He appears defeated and terrified. "Go on... send me to see Charon. I bet he's just dying to snatch me... Maybe if I'm lucky, Apollyon will get me first and after a few centuries of torture I'll be allowed to slave under him."

"Because I believe, under that mess of tar parading at your soul for the moment, you're a good person. You're right, you care about your crew far more than any captain needs to. And for that I respect you. And even after the 26 you butchered, I can still admire you for that. No, what really burns me up is that you're not guilty about it. Speak all you want of predators and prey, we're not the top of the food chain, Sakhbet." He groans and draws his pistol, "I think you broke a few ribs..." He tosses the gun on the floor, "In Tien Xia, they have these warriors called Samurai. They have a philosophy of living and dying by their swords. I don't claim to be one of them, but I can safely say that any gunslinger worth his salt worships his gun like they worship their swords, and more importantly, their ideals. I know what I'm fighting for, Sakhbet. And you're right, maybe I don't know enough about Alchemy to say for sure if you could have done it without killing so many people, but the fact that you don't even register it is upsetting to me. How can someone who fights so hard to live forever appreciate their life if they show nothing but contempt and disregard for the lives of everything else around them?" He motions to the gun. "Pick it up."

Sakhbet leans over to pick it up. He coughs and straightens his back. It's pretty clear he's got a few broken ribs himself. He bends his knees and gingerly lifts the gun up. "Heh... I don't know why I'm surprised it's heavier than I thought."

"Fire a shot."

Sakhbet points at the pillar and shoots. The recoil whips the gun off his hand, but the bullet manages to hit its mark. "F&~#. My hands are too raw from gripping that damn stick to properly hold off against the kickback." He looks at his hands. Even though they're calloused from having worked on the ship, parts of them are ripped off from the heaviness of the swings.

"Like it?"

"It's powerful. I wish I could show you what it's like to use one of my bombs, but they only work with me."

"How easy was it?"

"You make it look easier."

"Yes, but it's so simple, isn't it? Aim and whatever you're facing just goes away."

"You don't need to tell me about how quickly life and death spin and turn. It's exactly why I do the things I do."

"Then next time your goal seems to involve passing over two dozen people who didn't deserve to die, you remember how easily I could end you." Max limps over to the gun, "I don't want to do it, Sakhbet. Before you become insulted or feel threatened, I want you to know that I don't want to kill you. You are my friend, even if I'm just a tool to you. I'm not interested in being captain, in fact, the thought of that makes me cringe. But I will not let someone who so freely kills bystanders stand at my side. You can be my brother, or my enemy. This isn't Pharasma's will. I have about as much love for her as you do. But that doesn't mean I will keep turning a blind eye to ever experiment you do. Because I might find the price of immortality for the both of us is too steep."
Sakhbet chuckles bitterly, "Funny..."

"My domain, normally, but I'll allow it."

Sakhbet covers his face with a palm, rubbing it over tiredly. "Only person on the ship I don't consider just a tool and he thinks I do." He peeks between his fingers at Max. "You really think if I thought the same about you as I did everyone else, I'd let you get away with all you have? Even now... letting me live, letting me go, I'd capitalize on that mistake and have you assassinated with the most painful poison I can muster." He lets his hand fall. His face is numb and flat, drained of any feeling. "But I won't. I don't want to. Liability or not, it isn't worth it. If it were anyone else..." His attempted facade fails as Sakhbet begins to sob silently. "You're the ONLY friend I've known since losing my faith."

Max walks over to Sakhbet dragging a chair behind him, and offers it to the alchemist before going to the bar and bringing him a bottle of the strongest stuff they had on reserve. He pauses for a minute and picks up his cap, setting it on a table nearby after dusting it off. Max himself goes back to the bar.

Sakhbet puts on his cap of disguise, resuming a non-deathly appearance as he downs the bottle like it was water and he were in the middle of a desert. Any tears he had have quickly dried and he's regained his composure. "I'm not a 'good man' Max. I doubt I ever will be. To be good, I need to believe in the concept of what good is, and I just know too much to accept any single angle without contradicting another. Forgive someone or dispense justice on them? Sarenrae and Iomedae don't agree on that, and they are both as righteous as a deity could ever hope to be. It is so much more logical and effective to stop caring and simply do what is best for oneself."

"You still realize that people killing people is not optimal to social perceptions, right? Also, do you want another bottle?"

"I'm already having to pay for this shit mess we made and I'm already disgusted by how pathetic I feel, so no."

"You sure? Just because it's bad for your... Wait, your liver's mostly immune to this shit, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but it's the concept that matters." He takes the last few drops from the current bottle before putting it down gently on the ground. "I don't think I'll ever see life the way you want me to, placing the worth of someone based on how much they've sinned against one creed, belief, or dogma. I base them on how useful and valuable they are to me, with the rare gem that simply enriches my life with his or her mere presence. The lives I took? Valuable, just not in the way others were. Nothing to do with innocence or guilt." He glances at Max. "I suppose now I'll have to somewhat reconsider, however."

"That'd be super. It's not weakness if you change for someone you care about."

"I'll need more test subject for future projects. That is inevitable. Next time, I'll leave you to decide whom it will be. Choose the filthiest, most rotten soul in Hell or the highest saint in Heaven for all I care, just as long as I have a means to complete my work."

"Sounds fair. A moral compass for hire. I've had worse jobs."

"I already know who."

"Alright..." Sakhbet gets up. "Now if you'll f%!&ing excuse me... I'm going to go bother Sharma to heal me. You better do the same. If she asks... we fell down some stairs." He motions to the stairs. "Those, specifically." After a brief pause, he sweeps an arm to refer to the much-damaged furniture lying around. "Hilarity ensued."

Max reaches behind the bar for a banana and peels it, tossing the peel on the floor, "You fell down the stairs after I slid into you, bounced off of you, and did this to the Bar. Sharma won't even bat an eye." He looks at Sakhbet. "You're going to be okay, right?"

"I'm the captain. I have to be."

"You want to know something?"

"I know a lot of things already, a few more won't hurt."

"If it weren't for Alionora and Sharma, you might have been who I ened up with."

Sakhbet laughs hard enough to wheeze. "Hhhhhhhahhhh ah, hrrm, oh, Pale Princess, it hurts to laugh... agh... well, you missed out I guess... and Alianora and I aren't exclusive. Honestly, I rarely see her much anymore."

"Yeah, weird how she just vanished." He looks around, "And how she didn't help you out there."

"Well, there's a reason. I left her at Port Peril last we were there to be my eyes and ears. That was... a few months ago, actually."

"She even alive?"

"Don't know. I'll see if I can contact her next chance I get."

"Goody."

Sakhbet starts heading for the door. "Alright... time to go..."

"Yeah, best of luck with that."

A brief pause.

"...I don't know if Sharma'll believe me though."

"...Just... I can make potions, worst case scenario..."

"Good. Good."

Commentary:
There's a certain need to show a character's vulnerability from time to time. I don't really want to conjure sympathy with Sakhbet nor have him pity himself as he's simply not in the habit of doing that, but it was necessary to explore a new side of him, and Max's player provided the perfect means through this RP.

We took liberties with the rules - obviously, there's a lot more dialogue than would be otherwise seen in this sort of situation - but we explained it as 1) rule of cool and 2) using a move or even full action to pause and talk.

This'll probably end up being a life-changing experience for Sakhbet. At the very least, it's imposed a slight sense of a need to be somewhat good in him beyond the usual pragmatic reasons.

'Course he's still an evil bastard who eats people :P


The Legacy Note:

Quote:

<This journal entry does not have the usual format, and it isn’t encrypted. It is a sheet torn off from the rest of the journal that has been slipped inside the book’s thick leather cover, which had been sliced open and then carefully sown back shut. It is very well hidden.>

This is not a confession.

I have killed so many I have lost count. I commit terrible vengeance on those who cross me, eliminate everyone who impedes my progress, ensorcel and tempt those who hunger for the rewards only I can give, and sacrifice the lives of those whose worth to me would be null save for what results their flesh and minds could yield. I’ve devoured the meat of sentient creatures on land and the high seas, ripped them open to discover their secrets, and experimented on their still-living bodies to discover secrets of my own, yet this does not make me ‘evil’. To call me a monster would be to call a predator a murderer. It is illogical to expect a creature whose survival and supremacy depends on its ability to prey upon others.

Not once have I felt pity or disgust for my own actions. These are the actions of an unfettered man. Redemption is not something I consider necessary, as I simply do not see that I have done anything I wouldn’t or shouldn’t do. I behave as per what I have chosen to believe based on my life’s experiences, much like any other sentient creature would whether self-conscious or not.

Despite all this, I feel fear still. Not believing in good or evil does not dispel the reality that the cosmos is judged by the Boneyard B@~&% through such terms, and the things I have done will mean that only Abaddon awaits me on the other side. That is one of the many reasons I, in beliefs that are undoubtedly appearing warped to outside observers, have for seeking immortality.

I am a pirate. It wasn’t a life I chose to be thrust upon but it is one I have taken advantage of to achieve my true wishes. It suits me oddly well, though. I’m not especially fond of long voyages over large stretches of sea, cramped inside a ship with pungent scalawags for company. If possible, I would want to spend my time on solid ground where I do not constantly have to tether my equipment for fear of a sudden wave sending it all crashing to the ground, spoiling weeks of work and effort. I would have my own secluded laboratory where none could disturb me, funded by the fruits of my own genius instead of depending on the success of merchants to feed upon as the a black flag parasite. At the same time, I cannot deny the boons this time of my life has given me. The sea has many mysteries, the sweet trade many thrills, and I’ve enjoyed such delightful pleasures as I would not otherwise have felt. It is hard to admit, but long after the eons have worn this archipelago to nothing but monoliths adrift a forgotten sea, the Shackles will still have a place in my heart.

At the time of writing this entry, I have succeeded in claiming my own island and I and my officers have become lords in the Pirate Council of the Shackles. Tonight, I had an encounter with Maxime Constant, whom in his unequaled boldness had the gall to violently confront me of my sins: twenty-six men and women, faceless among the blind, whom I raptured and used as expendable test subjects. I had offended him with what he perceived as my cruelty. Anyone who reads this journal will be familiar with his deadliness, yet he did not aim to kill me. Our brawl was intense, prolonged, and full of loaded dialogue on both ends. As time wore on, however, I realized I could not win, not because Max was a ferocious contender or because he might start winning the debate, but because I simply could not bring myself to do it. I realized I had come to depend on the Galtman as my only true friend, and I could not end him for his outrage. We reached an accord, and our lives continue together as of this entry.

The reason I write all of this is because while I have always been painfully aware of my own mortality, I refused to believe I would die. Tonight, however, for the first time, I genuinely thought I would perish both in mind and in body and for a moment I felt the cold, steely fingers of regret come to me – regret that I had offended, alienated, and turned my only friend against me. It has led me to record who I am on this secret page. If I should survive to achieve my goal of immortality, this journal, along with all of its contents, will be hidden away to become objects of legend that will inspire a new wave of dreams to be chased by the ambitious, the crazed, the bloodthirsty, and the hopeful. If I should die, however, then this journal shall come under the possession of someone who will have the chance to carry my legacy. I do not know who it will be, but if you are reading this page, then know this: immortality can be yours. All the secrets needed to discover it are hidden in the contents of this book. Use it, and prove to that cold-hearted cunt that judges the dead and condemns the living with her lies that she has no true power over us.

But be warned. I am a worshiper of the Pale Mistress. To deny the temptation of this book may yield no consequence, but destroy, damage, or otherwise tamper with its contents and I will find you in spirit or in the flesh and whatever fate awaits you in the afterlife will not compare to the kind of agony I will expose you to.

Sincerely,

- Captain Sakhbet Al’Saahib

Commentary:
HE HAS A LAST NAME! Who'd have thought? I don't even know what it means or if it means anything at all, though I'm tempted to say it means "Fate-Spared" in Kelish, as he'd have been named by the priests of Pharasma. Originally intended to mean his life was spared from fated death, Sakhbet hasn't used it since he'd betrayed the temple in part to keep himself mysterious and in part because he sees no point in it. However, he still has certain pride in the name, having twisted its meaning to claim he's being spared from the lies that false prophecy and the broken deceit of Pharasma's teachings.

I give anyone permission to use this for a campaign. The journal and its contents can be hidden anywhere. They won't contain any of his extracts as they're muddled into his notes, though someone who succeeds a high enough linguistics check to decipher them would likely be able to make out a few of them (what these are I'll leave to DM discretion, since Sakhbet would have learned all formulas and extracts by then). Otherwise I might use this as a hook for a new campaign of my own in the future!

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