As Redemption enters the bunkroom, Yaro is leaning against, the wall never having found hammocks to quite meet his needs. Against the wall are propped a shield adorned with a cloud and 3 lightning bolts, and a warhammer. The tortle takes in the minor spectacle that has just entered, smiling to himself.
"I am Yaro, a devotee of Valkur, who has seen to give me safe passage through many voyages over the years." He gives the tiefling a slight nod. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to head above-deck for some air."
Yaro stands, picking up his hammer and shield before making his way to the deck. He finds an out-of-the-way spot on the deck, and peacefully watch the waves drift by. He will help any of the crew that ask for help, but will not actively seek out work.
When the first face of the party crested into view of the deck, Zagrot glanced up and stared with interest, his hand still moving furiously to scrape the rust from the grate. However, his work slowed more and more as each of the party members climbed aboard, until the orc was still as a statue. When the last of the cadre had climbed aboard, the orc’s eyebrows raised slightly, as if he’d recognized an old friend. Then his eyes moved suddenly, almost defensively, to a lean, blond crew member helping to move barrels.
For a moment he stared at the man, an inner hatred betraying itself upon the orc’s visage. His eyes moved for a moment again to the party, once to the tortle, then back to the blond man. The orc muttered something to himself, his hand briefly moving from his pocket to his mouth. He returned his attention to his task, his jaw working as he chewed something, his face bereft of emotion.
Zagrot is short for his kind, 5’ 10” with a broad and stout frame. His skin is a deep shade of gray, though it’s only exposed on his hands and his face. The fellow wears a lot of clothing for an orc: a nondescript button-up shirt with a high collar, loose, black sailor’s pants stained with grime and seawater, and a brown stocking cap. His patchwork brown boots bulge at the seams; it appears the sailor had to suffice with a pair 3 sizes too small. An enormous pair of battered leather gloves lay neatly together next to the scrub-water bucket.
If seen with a sidelong glance in dim light, Zagrot would pass for a human. Few signs of his orcish heritige, aside from his skin, are apparent. A few bits of orcish tattoo peek out from beneath the collar of the shirt when he reaches his arms at just the right angle, and various pocks and holes in his face show where tribal jewelry once resided in the distant past. There is a conspicuous lack of tusks on his face, and he keeps his lips tight together, so you rarely see his teeth, which is unusual even for a half-orc, much less a trueblood.
Later, when everybody went below decks, Zagrot moved himself and his pack to a corner bunk. A collection of javelins and spears, lashed together with rope, lay nearby upon a roughshod, hand-crafted round shield.
The orc is staring intently at a tiny book in his lap, his brow bent furiously in concentration as he eats. When Brozak speaks, Zagrot’s eyes soften, and he beams a tight-lipped smile.
“I no am knight,” Zagrot says with a raspy voice that quivers with restraint. “I only am Zagrot. No sir.”
He lifts his spoon from his bowl, revealing a large, coagulated clot—the burned bits from the bottom of the pot. His smile widens. “Cook like you. Or you pay lot.” He eats the thing, then dips his spoon in for another bite.
The orc looks to the door, and lowers his voice further. It breaks and squeaks like a teenager’s. “Where go you? Why no humans?”
Abner polishes off his stew with a smile, but then eyes the room with concern, wondering where Ebokk went.
He wanders upstairs, keeping an eye out for Ebokk.
He eventually approaches Yaro. "Hey - you look like a turtle!"he says with a broad grin and at a fast clip. "Is that shell real? What kind of creature are you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continues. "That was good stew! I like the cloud and lightning thingie on your shield! Can you call lightning or something? I can make a little lightning, but not like a big bolt." He smiles widely at Yaro.
Yaro nods, patiently waiting for the half-elf to finish. "Greetings, I am Yaro. My kind are known as tortle, our numbers are few and fewer still find themselves abroad. I, however, am a servant of Valkur and have traveled the seas for many years with his blessing. He has granted me some power in his name, though I have much to learn."
He pauses before continuing, appearing to be lost in thought, "Do you serve a deity? How have you come by the powers you possess?"
To Yaro: "Just born this way. Just like our good host, my father disappeared when I was a small child. He was a bit of a mystery. My mother was elven, and while my father appeared human, he clearly carried something else in his blood, as my scaly skin gives away."
"I can fix stuff, too! Do you need any mending?"
Distracted by the ocean, Abner peers gingerly over the side of the vessel. (Did we leave port? Are we moving yet?)
”Zagrot. That is a fine name. We are looking for something lost by the dwarf’s father. It has sentimental value to him. We have no humans with us because we have none. We don’t need any. Here, have the rest of my bowl. I had a late breakfast.”
Brozak offers the rest of his meal, about half his bowl, to Zagrot with a smile.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Brozak - Red Dragonborn Paladin, lvl 2, Never Winter, Seldom Spring
Yes, as Brother Brozak says, there seems to be no reason. We were all sitting together at an inn, and we all found work together. I thought maybe they had sat us together to keep us away from the others - but it seems not. At least in Seldom Spring people are treated like people whatever they are. Not like my home neighborhood. So hopefully, after this job for Lord Lockforge, we'll go back there and find another job.Strums softly Now I've been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come And I believe it could be, something good has begun
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & -Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Zagrot considers for a moment, then accepts the bowl, putting his own onto the floor next to his weapon bundle. He grabs the new spoon and begins to dig in.
"I thank you. Maybe for you better also. First time ship sail?"
He takes another bite, and hums a quiet grunt of affirmation in between his chewing. "Yes," he says out loud, smiling kindly to the dragonborn. "First time. Legs do qon'silkitardi* at water."
He leans forward, eyes darting again to the door and back. "You make puke-sick? No tell Hope-Clan mans. Find I. Tell I. I clean." He looks to the door and lowers his voice again. "No tell Yellow-hair. Yellow-hair no like..." The orc pauses, struggling for the proper word. He gestures weakly at everyone in the room. "...no like others."
You've noticed a certain scent emanating from the orc. The whole room hinted at it when you entered, but the more Zagrot speaks, the more the odor fills the room. It's not unpleasant; in fact, it has a perfume-like aroma, almost like an exotic spice. Whatever it is, you're certain it's coming from Zagrot's mouth. The more he talks, the more prominent the smell.
For those who speak Orcish:
qon'silkitardi: a phrase that literally translates to "blood-shivers." It's a term referring to the jitters a young orcish warrior may succumb to when faced with his first mass battle against a true orcish enemy.
As you finish up your dinners, the late crew rise from their hammocks from behind the partitions. They grab the leftovers from the stew and head above deck. Before long, you each feel the gentle pull as the ship begins to move and glides out towards the west along the waves.
Abner, looking over the edge, you can see the final rays of sun casting a purple glow on the cresting waves as you begin to leave the safety of the coast. The three sails are now fully open, stitched in a pattern of blue and orange, and the light wind carries you out to sea.
[OoC]: I'll make another post after I get back from the gym.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"The most important step a person can take is always the next one." -Dalinar Kholin; Oathbringer
That is I kindness I hope not to call on, but thank you. And likewise, if you are about to do something hard or important, let me know, I can bend your luck. And for injuries, any of Sister Therne, Brother Brozak or I can heal.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & -Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Zagrot watches Red speak, lowering his eyebrows in concentration. The orc considers the words a moment in silence, then his eyebrows raise in recognition. He smiles. "I thank you."
Before he prepares for bed, himself, Zagrot digs out a pencil and neatly folded piece of parchment from his pocket, and opens it. Then he leans forward and begins scrawling, using the tiny book in his lap for backing, his mouth moving in a whisper with each word written. Those nearby can deduce that he writes only three words, "bend your luck," before pausing in thought. He then makes one more scribble before dutifully re-folding the paper, and rolling onto his side in the hammock to sleep.
After a relatively peaceful sleep, all of you rise to partake of breakfast. The dried meats and beans are nowhere near the quality of the food that you received in Seldom Spring, and some of you find it difficult to keep them down. The day begins with smooth sailing, the coast no longer visible, and only the deep blue sea expanding to all horizons.
Those of you on deck with a passive perception > 11 may notice that Zagrot is hauling barrels up to the quarterdeck under the supervision of a short, stout, blond man with missing teeth. The goons stood around the man appear to be laughing at something he said.
An hour or so before midday, a call goes out across the ship, and men begin pointing to the sky. Most of you cannot make out what the sailors are pointing towards, but Therne and Yaro can see a pair of colourful aarakocra circling a hundred feet above the boat. They don't seem hostile, more curious, and their movements are swift and gracious.
"Benn! Fat Drane! Grab those crossbows hung on the mizzenmast and shoot those harpies out of the sky!" Bosun Grout shouts in a commanding voice across the deck. Two men quickly jump to their feet, their buckets of water rolling across the floor and spilling their contents through the planks to the hold beneath as they scramble to the bow of the ship.
Therne has put in her offer to learn navigation, if she would not be in the way, and if she would, would offer to help with any basic task that might be of assistance, so she should be on deck. If she isn't near Grout, she would go over to him, to not shout: "They appear to me to be aarakocra -- is harpy just a general term for flying humanoids on the seas, or are both known to be in the area?"
"Captain," Yaro rises and calmly approaches Bosun, "these creature are not threatening you, why would you attack them? What do you have to fear from two Aarakocra, who simply seem to be investigating your ship? Do not let fear cloud your judgement. Shooting at them will only increase the chance of an attack, and we far outnumber them."
Yaro will keep careful watch on the situation, if things seem to be escalating, he will cast Fog Cloud, just below the circling Aarakocra, hoping to obscure the vision of the sailors leveling crossbows.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Abner
"Air-a-whats?" Abner, standing and alert but genuinely confused, looks back and forth between the crew and the sky, unsure what to do. "Are these good guys or bad guys?"
Abner wracks his brain, trying to think if he's seen anything like this before. His last encounter with bird-people was not a good one.
Nature: 2
(OOC: I don't crack open the Monster Manual unless instructed. I have no idea what an Aarakocra is!)
Zagrot looks back at Brozak, barrel still in his outstretched arms, his determined look fading into a gentle smile. He appears slightly flummoxed. "No, Friend Brozak," he rasps, trying hard to stay quiet. "No know why Captain Grout attack. He no talk to I." He pauses a moment in thought, then continues. "No know issue-word. Crew no have no-human. Only me. I am only other-lander, like you. Like Red. Like kapl'bağa*"
At the sound of Red's voice, Zagrot looks over the dragonborn's shoulder, seeing the commotion taking place near the mizzenmast. A look of concern crosses his face at the sight of the agitated tiefling. "Red do something important? Red need we bend his luck now?"
If you speak Goblin:
* kapl'bağa - Goblin for "turtle-man"
OOC:
BTW, all, I'm changing my dialogue color. I didn't realize there were so many other greens! If anyone has a hard time seeing this dark gray, let me know and I'll pick something else.
Abner: You and me are going to get along great. I'm the same way. I'm a huge fan of immersion and surprise.
Grout looks around at the the guests upon his ship. He locks eyes with each of you who questioned him, then calls out to the crew. "Stand down!" The big human steps up to Yaro and gets uncomfortably close. He whispers just quiet enough that the rest of the crew cannot hear. "Question me in front of my men again, and there'll be trouble."
Ebokk approaches the group with a worried expression. "My friends, I implore you not to anger Bosun Grout. He is a hard and honest worker, so far as I can tell, but I don't doubt he'll throw anybody from his ship who undermines him."
As Ebokk talks, one of the aarakocra swoops down and perches lightly on the taffrail behind you. The bird-like creature has arms, legs and a torso similar to that of a man - but with avian talons for feet. The aarakocra folds in its black wings, and you can see that he wears a green tunic, which hangs down below his waist. The creature's head is black and white, with piercing blue eyes and a long, curved, orange beak like that of a toucan. The bird-man appears to be exhausted, and catches his breath before addressing you. "So sorry for causing alarm!" Its voice sounds like a nasal squawk with a hint of fatigue. "Permission to come aboard? My brother and I have been flying for hours, company and safety whilst we rest would be most welcome!" The aarakocra has a quiver of small tapered spears upon its back, and it keeps a weary eye on the human members of the crew that mill about the deck.
Grout leans against the main mast with his eyes on the group of you and the visitors, talking with the portly man named Fat Drane as he observes you.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"The most important step a person can take is always the next one." -Dalinar Kholin; Oathbringer
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
As Redemption enters the bunkroom, Yaro is leaning against, the wall never having found hammocks to quite meet his needs. Against the wall are propped a shield adorned with a cloud and 3 lightning bolts, and a warhammer. The tortle takes in the minor spectacle that has just entered, smiling to himself.
"I am Yaro, a devotee of Valkur, who has seen to give me safe passage through many voyages over the years." He gives the tiefling a slight nod. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to head above-deck for some air."
Yaro stands, picking up his hammer and shield before making his way to the deck. He finds an out-of-the-way spot on the deck, and peacefully watch the waves drift by. He will help any of the crew that ask for help, but will not actively seek out work.
Ryndar Shadowsbane - Lvl 3 Eldarin Fighter | Kassar - Lvl 2 Lizardfolk Druid (Circle of Stars) | Finnegan (Finn) Taggert - Lvl 1 Human Cleric (Peace Domain) |
Verdan Schmidt - Lvl 2 Half-Elf Bard | Grithik - Lvl 5 Deep Gnome Warlock (Celestial)
When the first face of the party crested into view of the deck, Zagrot glanced up and stared with interest, his hand still moving furiously to scrape the rust from the grate. However, his work slowed more and more as each of the party members climbed aboard, until the orc was still as a statue. When the last of the cadre had climbed aboard, the orc’s eyebrows raised slightly, as if he’d recognized an old friend. Then his eyes moved suddenly, almost defensively, to a lean, blond crew member helping to move barrels.
For a moment he stared at the man, an inner hatred betraying itself upon the orc’s visage. His eyes moved for a moment again to the party, once to the tortle, then back to the blond man. The orc muttered something to himself, his hand briefly moving from his pocket to his mouth. He returned his attention to his task, his jaw working as he chewed something, his face bereft of emotion.
Zagrot is short for his kind, 5’ 10” with a broad and stout frame. His skin is a deep shade of gray, though it’s only exposed on his hands and his face. The fellow wears a lot of clothing for an orc: a nondescript button-up shirt with a high collar, loose, black sailor’s pants stained with grime and seawater, and a brown stocking cap. His patchwork brown boots bulge at the seams; it appears the sailor had to suffice with a pair 3 sizes too small. An enormous pair of battered leather gloves lay neatly together next to the scrub-water bucket.
If seen with a sidelong glance in dim light, Zagrot would pass for a human. Few signs of his orcish heritige, aside from his skin, are apparent. A few bits of orcish tattoo peek out from beneath the collar of the shirt when he reaches his arms at just the right angle, and various pocks and holes in his face show where tribal jewelry once resided in the distant past. There is a conspicuous lack of tusks on his face, and he keeps his lips tight together, so you rarely see his teeth, which is unusual even for a half-orc, much less a trueblood.
Later, when everybody went below decks, Zagrot moved himself and his pack to a corner bunk. A collection of javelins and spears, lashed together with rope, lay nearby upon a roughshod, hand-crafted round shield.
The orc is staring intently at a tiny book in his lap, his brow bent furiously in concentration as he eats. When Brozak speaks, Zagrot’s eyes soften, and he beams a tight-lipped smile.
“I no am knight,” Zagrot says with a raspy voice that quivers with restraint. “I only am Zagrot. No sir.”
He lifts his spoon from his bowl, revealing a large, coagulated clot—the burned bits from the bottom of the pot. His smile widens. “Cook like you. Or you pay lot.” He eats the thing, then dips his spoon in for another bite.
The orc looks to the door, and lowers his voice further. It breaks and squeaks like a teenager’s. “Where go you? Why no humans?”
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Abner
Abner polishes off his stew with a smile, but then eyes the room with concern, wondering where Ebokk went.
He wanders upstairs, keeping an eye out for Ebokk.
He eventually approaches Yaro. "Hey - you look like a turtle!" he says with a broad grin and at a fast clip. "Is that shell real? What kind of creature are you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continues. "That was good stew! I like the cloud and lightning thingie on your shield! Can you call lightning or something? I can make a little lightning, but not like a big bolt." He smiles widely at Yaro.
Yaro nods, patiently waiting for the half-elf to finish. "Greetings, I am Yaro. My kind are known as tortle, our numbers are few and fewer still find themselves abroad. I, however, am a servant of Valkur and have traveled the seas for many years with his blessing. He has granted me some power in his name, though I have much to learn."
He pauses before continuing, appearing to be lost in thought, "Do you serve a deity? How have you come by the powers you possess?"
Ryndar Shadowsbane - Lvl 3 Eldarin Fighter | Kassar - Lvl 2 Lizardfolk Druid (Circle of Stars) | Finnegan (Finn) Taggert - Lvl 1 Human Cleric (Peace Domain) |
Verdan Schmidt - Lvl 2 Half-Elf Bard | Grithik - Lvl 5 Deep Gnome Warlock (Celestial)
Abner
To Yaro: "Just born this way. Just like our good host, my father disappeared when I was a small child. He was a bit of a mystery. My mother was elven, and while my father appeared human, he clearly carried something else in his blood, as my scaly skin gives away."
"I can fix stuff, too! Do you need any mending?"
Distracted by the ocean, Abner peers gingerly over the side of the vessel. (Did we leave port? Are we moving yet?)
”Zagrot. That is a fine name. We are looking for something lost by the dwarf’s father. It has sentimental value to him. We have no humans with us because we have none. We don’t need any. Here, have the rest of my bowl. I had a late breakfast.”
Brozak offers the rest of his meal, about half his bowl, to Zagrot with a smile.
Brozak - Red Dragonborn Paladin, lvl 2, Never Winter, Seldom Spring
Red nods along with Brozak
Yes, as Brother Brozak says, there seems to be no reason. We were all sitting together at an inn, and we all found work together. I thought maybe they had sat us together to keep us away from the others - but it seems not. At least in Seldom Spring people are treated like people whatever they are. Not like my home neighborhood. So hopefully, after this job for Lord Lockforge, we'll go back there and find another job. Strums softly Now I've been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come And I believe it could be, something good has begun
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & - Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods
Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Zagrot considers for a moment, then accepts the bowl, putting his own onto the floor next to his weapon bundle. He grabs the new spoon and begins to dig in.
"I thank you. Maybe for you better also. First time ship sail?"
He takes another bite, and hums a quiet grunt of affirmation in between his chewing. "Yes," he says out loud, smiling kindly to the dragonborn. "First time. Legs do qon'silkitardi* at water."
He leans forward, eyes darting again to the door and back. "You make puke-sick? No tell Hope-Clan mans. Find I. Tell I. I clean." He looks to the door and lowers his voice again. "No tell Yellow-hair. Yellow-hair no like..." The orc pauses, struggling for the proper word. He gestures weakly at everyone in the room. "...no like others."
You've noticed a certain scent emanating from the orc. The whole room hinted at it when you entered, but the more Zagrot speaks, the more the odor fills the room. It's not unpleasant; in fact, it has a perfume-like aroma, almost like an exotic spice. Whatever it is, you're certain it's coming from Zagrot's mouth. The more he talks, the more prominent the smell.
For those who speak Orcish:
qon'silkitardi: a phrase that literally translates to "blood-shivers." It's a term referring to the jitters a young orcish warrior may succumb to when faced with his first mass battle against a true orcish enemy.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
As you finish up your dinners, the late crew rise from their hammocks from behind the partitions. They grab the leftovers from the stew and head above deck. Before long, you each feel the gentle pull as the ship begins to move and glides out towards the west along the waves.
Abner, looking over the edge, you can see the final rays of sun casting a purple glow on the cresting waves as you begin to leave the safety of the coast. The three sails are now fully open, stitched in a pattern of blue and orange, and the light wind carries you out to sea.
[OoC]: I'll make another post after I get back from the gym.
"The most important step a person can take is always the next one." - Dalinar Kholin; Oathbringer
Red answers Zagrot before hitting the rack
That is I kindness I hope not to call on, but thank you. And likewise, if you are about to do something hard or important, let me know, I can bend your luck. And for injuries, any of Sister Therne, Brother Brozak or I can heal.
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & - Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods
Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Zagrot watches Red speak, lowering his eyebrows in concentration. The orc considers the words a moment in silence, then his eyebrows raise in recognition. He smiles. "I thank you."
Before he prepares for bed, himself, Zagrot digs out a pencil and neatly folded piece of parchment from his pocket, and opens it. Then he leans forward and begins scrawling, using the tiny book in his lap for backing, his mouth moving in a whisper with each word written. Those nearby can deduce that he writes only three words, "bend your luck," before pausing in thought. He then makes one more scribble before dutifully re-folding the paper, and rolling onto his side in the hammock to sleep.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
After a relatively peaceful sleep, all of you rise to partake of breakfast. The dried meats and beans are nowhere near the quality of the food that you received in Seldom Spring, and some of you find it difficult to keep them down. The day begins with smooth sailing, the coast no longer visible, and only the deep blue sea expanding to all horizons.
Those of you on deck with a passive perception > 11 may notice that Zagrot is hauling barrels up to the quarterdeck under the supervision of a short, stout, blond man with missing teeth. The goons stood around the man appear to be laughing at something he said.
An hour or so before midday, a call goes out across the ship, and men begin pointing to the sky. Most of you cannot make out what the sailors are pointing towards, but Therne and Yaro can see a pair of colourful aarakocra circling a hundred feet above the boat. They don't seem hostile, more curious, and their movements are swift and gracious.
"Benn! Fat Drane! Grab those crossbows hung on the mizzenmast and shoot those harpies out of the sky!" Bosun Grout shouts in a commanding voice across the deck. Two men quickly jump to their feet, their buckets of water rolling across the floor and spilling their contents through the planks to the hold beneath as they scramble to the bow of the ship.
"The most important step a person can take is always the next one." - Dalinar Kholin; Oathbringer
Therne has put in her offer to learn navigation, if she would not be in the way, and if she would, would offer to help with any basic task that might be of assistance, so she should be on deck. If she isn't near Grout, she would go over to him, to not shout: "They appear to me to be aarakocra -- is harpy just a general term for flying humanoids on the seas, or are both known to be in the area?"
Birgit | Shifter | Sorcerer | Dragonlords
Shayone | Hobgoblin | Sorcerer | Netherdeep
Red will try to get Ebokk's attention Lord Lockforge, those are Aarakocra, the Druid says - you really want your hirelings to start this fight?
Whether or not he can get to Ebokk, Red is trying to distract the 2 sailors and warn off the birdfolk, without a fight and with deniability:
Using Thaumaturgy to make his voice insanely loud, Red calls out LOOK OUT BIRDFOLK!
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & - Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods
Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
"Captain," Yaro rises and calmly approaches Bosun, "these creature are not threatening you, why would you attack them? What do you have to fear from two Aarakocra, who simply seem to be investigating your ship? Do not let fear cloud your judgement. Shooting at them will only increase the chance of an attack, and we far outnumber them."
Yaro will keep careful watch on the situation, if things seem to be escalating, he will cast Fog Cloud, just below the circling Aarakocra, hoping to obscure the vision of the sailors leveling crossbows.
Ryndar Shadowsbane - Lvl 3 Eldarin Fighter | Kassar - Lvl 2 Lizardfolk Druid (Circle of Stars) | Finnegan (Finn) Taggert - Lvl 1 Human Cleric (Peace Domain) |
Verdan Schmidt - Lvl 2 Half-Elf Bard | Grithik - Lvl 5 Deep Gnome Warlock (Celestial)
Brozak approaches Zagrot on his way back down to the hold, trying to do so without attracting the attention of the “goons”.
”Friend Zagrot, a word, please? Why would the captain attack those bird folk? Does the captain or crew have an issue with non-humans?”
Brozak - Red Dragonborn Paladin, lvl 2, Never Winter, Seldom Spring
Abner
"Air-a-whats?" Abner, standing and alert but genuinely confused, looks back and forth between the crew and the sky, unsure what to do. "Are these good guys or bad guys?"
Abner wracks his brain, trying to think if he's seen anything like this before. His last encounter with bird-people was not a good one.
Nature: 2
(OOC: I don't crack open the Monster Manual unless instructed. I have no idea what an Aarakocra is!)
Zagrot looks back at Brozak, barrel still in his outstretched arms, his determined look fading into a gentle smile. He appears slightly flummoxed. "No, Friend Brozak," he rasps, trying hard to stay quiet. "No know why Captain Grout attack. He no talk to I." He pauses a moment in thought, then continues. "No know issue-word. Crew no have no-human. Only me. I am only other-lander, like you. Like Red. Like kapl'bağa*"
At the sound of Red's voice, Zagrot looks over the dragonborn's shoulder, seeing the commotion taking place near the mizzenmast. A look of concern crosses his face at the sight of the agitated tiefling. "Red do something important? Red need we bend his luck now?"
If you speak Goblin:
* kapl'bağa - Goblin for "turtle-man"
OOC:
BTW, all, I'm changing my dialogue color. I didn't realize there were so many other greens! If anyone has a hard time seeing this dark gray, let me know and I'll pick something else.
Abner: You and me are going to get along great. I'm the same way. I'm a huge fan of immersion and surprise.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
“I’m not quite sure what Red is doing, but he may need my help. Thank you, Zagrot, you have been most helpful.”
Brozak heads to Red’s position hefting his hammer and sliding on his shield.
Brozak - Red Dragonborn Paladin, lvl 2, Never Winter, Seldom Spring
Grout looks around at the the guests upon his ship. He locks eyes with each of you who questioned him, then calls out to the crew. "Stand down!" The big human steps up to Yaro and gets uncomfortably close. He whispers just quiet enough that the rest of the crew cannot hear. "Question me in front of my men again, and there'll be trouble."
Ebokk approaches the group with a worried expression. "My friends, I implore you not to anger Bosun Grout. He is a hard and honest worker, so far as I can tell, but I don't doubt he'll throw anybody from his ship who undermines him."
As Ebokk talks, one of the aarakocra swoops down and perches lightly on the taffrail behind you. The bird-like creature has arms, legs and a torso similar to that of a man - but with avian talons for feet. The aarakocra folds in its black wings, and you can see that he wears a green tunic, which hangs down below his waist. The creature's head is black and white, with piercing blue eyes and a long, curved, orange beak like that of a toucan. The bird-man appears to be exhausted, and catches his breath before addressing you. "So sorry for causing alarm!" Its voice sounds like a nasal squawk with a hint of fatigue. "Permission to come aboard? My brother and I have been flying for hours, company and safety whilst we rest would be most welcome!" The aarakocra has a quiver of small tapered spears upon its back, and it keeps a weary eye on the human members of the crew that mill about the deck.
Grout leans against the main mast with his eyes on the group of you and the visitors, talking with the portly man named Fat Drane as he observes you.
"The most important step a person can take is always the next one." - Dalinar Kholin; Oathbringer