A steamboat pulls into the docks of Port Kopolua, and a weary collection of travelers stumble down the gangway, dragging their luggage behind them. The air is warm and salty, and the sun reflects off the waters of The Bay of Coral Tears.
Port Kopolua is a fishing town on the southwestern coast of Terra Ferus, built on a collection of interconnected wooden platforms over the waters of the Bay of Coral Tears. During high tide the water below the town is as deep as fifty feet, and during low tide it is as shallow as twenty feet. Port Kopolua has a population of several thousand native Paoi, and is a common destination for adventurers from Terra Legum looking to gather supplies and equipment before venturing into the jungles, swamps, and mountains to the east.
Several dirty urchins dressed in tattered clothes run up towards the travelers, offering to carry their bags in exchange for a copper penny or two. They speak in a language you have never heard before, but from the odd word of common thrown in at random you get the idea.
The harbormaster personally comes out to welcome you to Port Kopolua. Steamboats only arrive at the fishing town once or twice a month, and it is an event of some excitement for the locals.
"Welcome to Port Kopolua." The harbormaster, an aging Paoi man, says in common. " If you need anything while you are in town, I will be happy to accommodate you."
A figure wearing a hooded cloak steps warily off the ship, peering around. For most of the trip the person had remained to himself, and from the few glimpses of wrinkled, sagging flesh the others had caught, most would prefer it that way. After all, whatever he has might be contagious. A urchin runs up to him, calling out in a foreign dialect, but the man merely turns to him, allowing him to see his face, and the boy scrambles off. The figure looks up at Aaron, his fellow cloak wearer, and gives a mental shrug. We all have secrets we wish to hide under fabric. Most are better left untouched.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Revised version of what I'm doing as given how long the ship was sailing for he wouldn't have been with them when he, erm, arrived in this world
Aaron wanders through this strange place he had only just begun to get used to, drawn by the clamour regarding this arrival. Perhaps they were fellow adventurers. He headed up to the docks to find out
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So far this session I have hit my teammates twice, flat-out missed 3 times, and only hit the enemy twice. Trust me, you don't want to borrow my dice.
The tabaxi passenger steps onto dry land, inhaling a deep breath of air and exhaling with a sigh. A smile forms on his face. He was home again, or rather, he was on the continent where home resided, which was good enough for now. Dressed in dark leather, dark breeches and dark boots, matching his black fur, these were offset by a bright red cloak with a gold trim and a high collar, and a blue sash sporting gold stripes round his waist. His yellow eyes twinkled with mischief, and missed nothing.
He skips, nearly dances, down the gangway, sweeping the left side of his cloak over his shoulder to expose his rapier. Flicking a coin at one of the smaller urchins, followed by his backpack, he smiles warmly at the harbormaster. "My friend, your welcome is most gracious." He bows elaborately, before straightening up. "I am doubting you will be remembering me, but I was a stowaway on a steamer headed to Legum, perhaps ten summers ago. Nevertheless, I am returned now, older and wiser! Perhaps you can show me where I am finding accommodations, good food and good drink, preferring to start with the last one first. Perhaps you will join me good sir, no? And I of course am extending the courtesy to my fellow passengers, who I am sure are wanting the better foods than six months at sea can provide, yes?"
By the time the steamboat docked, the well sized wood elf was among the first to step onto the platform, and certainly the quickest, nearly jumping out. The usual softness of her paler pinkish gold skin had taken a greenish hue throughout most of the voyage. A boat ride across the river or even swimming in some of the mores dangerous currents didn't quite compare to being confined to such a small and continuously moving space - seasickness she had been told first time around. An understatement as far as she was concerned. Claustrophobia was another miserable tick she had picked up while in Legum.
A quick surveillance of her surroundings noted the familiar hooded figure, one of their fellow passengers, though he had kept to himself during the whole voyage. Aramintha had only seen glimpses of what laid underneath the hood and she figured there might have been a good reason to isolate himself. There seemed another, though he seemed to have been in the Port already and perhaps curious as to the arrivals. However any further consideration to the hooded figures swept to the wayside as her wandering gaze fell on J'zargo, ever the gentlemen and diplomat. While she generally had no patience for societal niceties, she could appreciate someone who could, if only because it meant she wasn't going to get kicked or ran out of town for being too blunt or forward.
Saddling up to the Tabaxian at the tail end of his statement, she gasped a little dramatically. "Good God Pelor's radiance, I'm starving!" Considering she was often seasick, she didn't quite indulge in the food given on board - if the food offered indeed could be described as an 'indulgence'. She gave the harbormaster a curt nod after a moment, realizing that perhaps she should acknowledged the man's welcoming effort. "Good to be back" she said, almost to herself but at last she flashed the men a smile.
The hooded figure flashes no such smile, and instead scowls at the overly chipper tabaxi, letting out a silent, rasping groan that sounded like a combination of screeching metal and a faulty woodchipper. Despite this, he speaks, his voice sounding just as bad as the groan. His thin, colorless lips do not quite seem to move along with his words, and his mouth's movements are jerky, adding to the strangeness.
"I... have n-no wish to... eat. B...ut rest would be... ap-apprecia-preciated."
He speaks with a strange stutter, as if each sentence is a feat to produce. His words come as if they were being forced through molasses, or some equally viscous substance.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A gleam of recognition brightens the harbormaster's eye. "Our prodigal son has returned! What was it? J- J-... Tell me, was Terra Legum all the stories say it is?" In his excitement, the old harbormaster has forgotten your question. "Nobody thought you would ever return, except for me! I told them!"
"J'zargo, my friend, at your service." The tabaxi grins at the old man's exuberance. "The other side of the world is... not like this place, in many ways. It is having many wonders, but also dangers. Great wealth, but grinding poverty. J'zargo has lived it, and now J'zargo has returned." He lets the man speak, before continuing, tail swishing every so slightly at being held up. "Then you are wiser than I, my friend. Now, we are still requiring the refreshment... where, and what, are you recommending to us today, my friend?"
“You’ll find no better fish or ahi than that served at the Dancing Monkey. The proprietor is none other than Lam Wanderboots. Perhaps you recall him? I remember well those nights all those years ago, when he would tell those grand stories of Legum, and you a little lad, hanging on to his every word. He retired from adventuring some years back after he lost an arm to an allosaurus, and opened the first tavern this town has ever seen.”
A gnome with a massive mustache steps off the boat. "Gonna need to get new clothes." His faithful leather, blue, and green duster has protected him from experiments gone wrong for ages, but unfortunately it may not be the most appropriate in this climate. Already grumpy at this godforsaken continent, Fiddle grumbles, "It's too hot and too humid. I'm crazy for agreeing to come here, even on the Institute's dime. I miss Legum already. Good to get off that atrocious ship. It was impossible to do any building with the ship pitching and tossing. That and the unfair ban of working with any potential explosives. How was I supposed to maintain my sanity?!" Realizing he's talking to himself, Fiddle clears his throat. He sees the tabaxi and the elf up ahead. Fiddle had gotten to know both of them fairly well over the past half year, and he had a healthy respect for them. Completely insane, the both of them, for wanting to come back to this hellhole, but they are both a good enough sort. They put up with Fiddle's mad ramblings and general anger, as well as his habitual brusqueness. Fiddle had a healthy respect for the both of them.
Hearing J'zargo mention good food, drink, and lodging, Fiddle interrupts the conversation he's having, "First sane idea you've had all day. Where are we going?" Noticing the harbormaster "Who are you?" Back to J'Zargo, "Hey, think these kids are trustworthy? Won't steal or sell my stuff? Careful? Won't break them? I could use help carrying it."
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Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
Only until she heard the voice did it occur to her that she hadn't heard it all throughout the voyage. It was an awful amount of time have gone on without hearing one of the passenger's voice she realized, but then neither had she been overly sociable, keeping to her party for the most part. Whether it was sharing stories of their homes in Ferus with J'zargo or bombarding their resident mad genius gnome with question after question. Every bit of gadget and contraption he had on his person she had at least found out about to some degree, even if she didn't understand it or the lingo in its entirety.
But this hooded figure - it wasn't so much his presence but the culmination of aberrant details; the strange, thick and sickly audible aspect of his voice, the manner of his movement and speech - it both seemed other worldly and not, though the effect on the elf was instantaneous as she threw the hooded man a long side glance, her back now straightened. Her ears twitched, every hair on her body stood on end as she slowly distanced herself. It was only when she heard the last bits of J'zargo's and the harbormaster's conversation that her attention returned to them, the faltered smile returning anew as she bumped her shoulder with her Tabaxian friend, teasing. "You mean to say I've been rubbing elbows with the local celebrity? My, should you have told me, I probably would have minded my manners more" she said, though it was safe to assume that there were hardly enough manner to have minded to begin with.
Upon hearing Fiddle, Aramintha shuffled quickly to his side, footsteps light as air as she went to take one his cases. "Not sure how trust worthy that lot is, but I can do it for the same price" she half joked as she drew close to the gnome. In truth, while she would have shamelessly accepted coin for it, she also felt grateful enough for the anti-seasickness potions he made for her to do it for free. "Mr. Wanderboots runs the Dancing Monkey?" she asked the harbormaster, the smile turning a little more mischievous "well, that's as promising as place as I've heard of." Though it would be nice to hear J'zargo's excited chatter with the proprietor, if only because she was rather fond of the stories herself.
"Waitwait, not that one. Carry this one. It has my alchemist supplies. Legum knows you were the greatest beneficiary of them. I'll buy your drinks and food. Dancing Monkey sounds great. Where is it? I need to get a drink in me and start making stuff."
Hearing the creaky voice and groan, Fiddle snaps his attention to the hooded figure. "What's your deal? Have I seen you before?"
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Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
The man, if you can call him that, looks at the gnome, revealing his face. It is the face of an old man, on the body of a person many years younger. The skin looks as if it is loosely attached to the rest of his body, hanging down and giving him a droopy appearance. At other points, it is stretched thin over his strangely angular skull. The skin is deathly pale, and scarred in many places. But the eyes are something else. They are twin beacons of dim light, lacking white, iris, and pupil. They are less eyes and more gleaming blue marbles. A muscle in his cheek twitches periodically, as if he has some sort of tic.
"Beyond... our travels toge-together in thi-... this ship, I do n-not believe we have... met."
(Ngl he kinda looks like emperor palpatine, but with glowy eyeballs, weird bone structure, and a facial tic)
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Upon hearing that the group is headed to the Dancing Monkey, a good choice, Aaron decides to follow, most of his form still hidden under his cloak as he slinks through the crowds
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So far this session I have hit my teammates twice, flat-out missed 3 times, and only hit the enemy twice. Trust me, you don't want to borrow my dice.
The tabaxi nods at the harbormaster's mention of the owner of the tavern, an old memory of the fleeting time he spent here waiting for a steamer to arrive from Legum. "It is most pleasing to be hearing he is well. I am hoping that the allosaurus lost more than just an arm in return, no? Perhaps we will be asking him soon."
He laughs as the gnome acquaints himself with the local population. "Trustworthy? I know not, but as long as your pockets clink with coins, you can be sure they are being most helpful."
"J'zargo is far too modest to call himself a celebrity, but he is leaving a mark on people wherever he is going. It is hard to forget a tabaxi so dashing, no?" He twirls a few whiskers around a finger, and flashes a smile round the group. "Now come, we can be swapping stories with food and drink in our mouths, rather than standing in the sun, yes? You too, my cloaked friend, perhaps the food here will be putting the colour in your face a little more." He flashes another grin towards the creaking, stuttering figure, before politely gesturing for the harbormaster and urchin entourage to lead them to the Dancing Monkey.
"No,"The man says quite matter of factly, "It will... not."
The man scowls once again. At this point, no one would be surprised if his face was merely stuck in a permanent scowl. It wouldn't be the strangest thing about it. He walks after the unusually flamboyant tabaxi, but keeps to himself. At the very least, whatever he has does not affect his motions, and he walks like a fellow about a third of the age of the man his face belongs to.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The harbormaster gives you directions to the Dancing Monkey tavern, but does not accompany you, explaining that he has work to do.
You walk over a series of wooden planks and platforms, the waters of the Bay of Coral Tears sparkling below you. It is drawing on to evening, and the sun colors the heavens pink and orange. Fishing boats can be seen in the distance, laying their nets for the next morning's catch.
As you pass by an alley, you see a man being beaten by two tattooed thugs. A woman with a shaved head watches on with mild amusement as she lights a pipe. Several other men and women pass by with their heads down, ignoring the man's pleas for help.
"Drinks and food? Sold!" she piped up eagerly as she took the box handed to her. Knowing it was the more delicate of his supplies, she was mindful of being very careful with them. At J'zargo she chuckled at his response to her comment, nodding and echoing, "dashing and modest, very modest." It was mildly sarcastic, though dashing she did find him.
A second look at the hooded man and she was almost sorry she did - it wasn't just the voice, not exactly grating to her ears, but not welcoming either. The whole of who he appeared to be unnerved her and she realized then why. It was a simple as one word: unnatural. The man was an amalgamation of things that shouldn't be, as if stitched together and brought to life against all manner of reason and divinity. Bluish green eyes bounced from Fiddle to J'zargo, her party largely unaffected by the man, or at the very least had been exceptionally better at easing over it than she was. When her Tabaxian friend commented that the food might bring some color back to his face Aramintha couldn't help but snort, surprised when he voiced her own thoughts on the matter, agreeing with his own assessment quietly.
As they walked down the platforms, following the harbormasters directions, the elf had placed herself on J'zargo's side where she would be farther from the hooded stranger. It was her ears that picked up the scuffle first as the rounded on the alleyway, slowing down as she tried to make heads or tails of what was happening. Whether the man had it coming or not, she couldn't say, but at least from her vantage, his pleas echoing down the alleyway, he seemed more of a victim than a man paying his dues. Bristling, she turned to her party, "we're not gonna just walk by like everyone else are we?" There was a slight amount of outrage in her voice, though not accusatory, simply seeking out that she wasn't alone in this, now more than ever aware of the supplies she had in her arms. Placing it carefully on the floor, her hand instinctively went to her short sword, looking up now to the other men before setting her face hard as she peered down the alleyway again. "Hey baldy! Let up or be let up" she said to the bald woman, nothing left of the joviality she had in her voice from moments ago on the deck.
Fiddle sizes up the deformed man. "You should see a doctor. Have you had a stroke? I might be able to brew up something to help out with your face. It's very odd. It seems like.. Eh, whatever." Fiddle tilts his head. "Anyway, I'd shake your hand, but I think you might crush it. *wiggles his fingers* Delicate things, these. I'm Inakari Fiddlefen. You can call me Fiddle." He thinks to himself, "Neat, they're sending the crazies over here too. I'm gonna be the only sane one here."
When he hears the cries for help, pulls out his pistol, a silver and ivory construct with a barrel that looks like a lion's head (with the mouth being the barrel). "Finally, an excuse to try out this one!" Following Aramintha's lead, he waits to give the bullies an opportunity to back up before just shooting. "Can't have a repeat of the last time... Vigilante indeed."
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Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
The woman raises her hand and the thugs cease kicking the downed man. She slowly and deliberately extinguishes her pipe before turning her attention to you.
"You're not from Port Kopolua, and I'm in a good mood." She says, enunciating each word clearly. "Tell you what. If you turn around and walk away, I'll tell the boss to go easy on you."
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A steamboat pulls into the docks of Port Kopolua, and a weary collection of travelers stumble down the gangway, dragging their luggage behind them. The air is warm and salty, and the sun reflects off the waters of The Bay of Coral Tears.
Port Kopolua is a fishing town on the southwestern coast of Terra Ferus, built on a collection of interconnected wooden platforms over the waters of the Bay of Coral Tears. During high tide the water below the town is as deep as fifty feet, and during low tide it is as shallow as twenty feet. Port Kopolua has a population of several thousand native Paoi, and is a common destination for adventurers from Terra Legum looking to gather supplies and equipment before venturing into the jungles, swamps, and mountains to the east.
Several dirty urchins dressed in tattered clothes run up towards the travelers, offering to carry their bags in exchange for a copper penny or two. They speak in a language you have never heard before, but from the odd word of common thrown in at random you get the idea.
The harbormaster personally comes out to welcome you to Port Kopolua. Steamboats only arrive at the fishing town once or twice a month, and it is an event of some excitement for the locals.
"Welcome to Port Kopolua." The harbormaster, an aging Paoi man, says in common. " If you need anything while you are in town, I will be happy to accommodate you."
Thus our story begins.
A figure wearing a hooded cloak steps warily off the ship, peering around. For most of the trip the person had remained to himself, and from the few glimpses of wrinkled, sagging flesh the others had caught, most would prefer it that way. After all, whatever he has might be contagious. A urchin runs up to him, calling out in a foreign dialect, but the man merely turns to him, allowing him to see his face, and the boy scrambles off. The figure looks up at Aaron, his fellow cloak wearer, and gives a mental shrug. We all have secrets we wish to hide under fabric. Most are better left untouched.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Revised version of what I'm doing as given how long the ship was sailing for he wouldn't have been with them when he, erm, arrived in this world
Aaron wanders through this strange place he had only just begun to get used to, drawn by the clamour regarding this arrival. Perhaps they were fellow adventurers. He headed up to the docks to find out
So far this session I have hit my teammates twice, flat-out missed 3 times, and only hit the enemy twice. Trust me, you don't want to borrow my dice.
The tabaxi passenger steps onto dry land, inhaling a deep breath of air and exhaling with a sigh. A smile forms on his face. He was home again, or rather, he was on the continent where home resided, which was good enough for now. Dressed in dark leather, dark breeches and dark boots, matching his black fur, these were offset by a bright red cloak with a gold trim and a high collar, and a blue sash sporting gold stripes round his waist. His yellow eyes twinkled with mischief, and missed nothing.
He skips, nearly dances, down the gangway, sweeping the left side of his cloak over his shoulder to expose his rapier. Flicking a coin at one of the smaller urchins, followed by his backpack, he smiles warmly at the harbormaster. "My friend, your welcome is most gracious." He bows elaborately, before straightening up. "I am doubting you will be remembering me, but I was a stowaway on a steamer headed to Legum, perhaps ten summers ago. Nevertheless, I am returned now, older and wiser! Perhaps you can show me where I am finding accommodations, good food and good drink, preferring to start with the last one first. Perhaps you will join me good sir, no? And I of course am extending the courtesy to my fellow passengers, who I am sure are wanting the better foods than six months at sea can provide, yes?"
By the time the steamboat docked, the well sized wood elf was among the first to step onto the platform, and certainly the quickest, nearly jumping out. The usual softness of her paler pinkish gold skin had taken a greenish hue throughout most of the voyage. A boat ride across the river or even swimming in some of the mores dangerous currents didn't quite compare to being confined to such a small and continuously moving space - seasickness she had been told first time around. An understatement as far as she was concerned. Claustrophobia was another miserable tick she had picked up while in Legum.
A quick surveillance of her surroundings noted the familiar hooded figure, one of their fellow passengers, though he had kept to himself during the whole voyage. Aramintha had only seen glimpses of what laid underneath the hood and she figured there might have been a good reason to isolate himself. There seemed another, though he seemed to have been in the Port already and perhaps curious as to the arrivals. However any further consideration to the hooded figures swept to the wayside as her wandering gaze fell on J'zargo, ever the gentlemen and diplomat. While she generally had no patience for societal niceties, she could appreciate someone who could, if only because it meant she wasn't going to get kicked or ran out of town for being too blunt or forward.
Saddling up to the Tabaxian at the tail end of his statement, she gasped a little dramatically. "Good God Pelor's radiance, I'm starving!" Considering she was often seasick, she didn't quite indulge in the food given on board - if the food offered indeed could be described as an 'indulgence'. She gave the harbormaster a curt nod after a moment, realizing that perhaps she should acknowledged the man's welcoming effort. "Good to be back" she said, almost to herself but at last she flashed the men a smile.
Soren - Lvl. 5 Half Orc Barbarian - The Adventures of Salazria
Aramintha Erosflyn - Lvl. 1 Wood Elf Ranger - Legend of the Godeater
The hooded figure flashes no such smile, and instead scowls at the overly chipper tabaxi, letting out a silent, rasping groan that sounded like a combination of screeching metal and a faulty woodchipper. Despite this, he speaks, his voice sounding just as bad as the groan. His thin, colorless lips do not quite seem to move along with his words, and his mouth's movements are jerky, adding to the strangeness.
"I... have n-no wish to... eat. B...ut rest would be... ap-apprecia-preciated."
He speaks with a strange stutter, as if each sentence is a feat to produce. His words come as if they were being forced through molasses, or some equally viscous substance.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A gleam of recognition brightens the harbormaster's eye. "Our prodigal son has returned! What was it? J- J-... Tell me, was Terra Legum all the stories say it is?" In his excitement, the old harbormaster has forgotten your question. "Nobody thought you would ever return, except for me! I told them!"
"J'zargo, my friend, at your service." The tabaxi grins at the old man's exuberance. "The other side of the world is... not like this place, in many ways. It is having many wonders, but also dangers. Great wealth, but grinding poverty. J'zargo has lived it, and now J'zargo has returned." He lets the man speak, before continuing, tail swishing every so slightly at being held up. "Then you are wiser than I, my friend. Now, we are still requiring the refreshment... where, and what, are you recommending to us today, my friend?"
“You’ll find no better fish or ahi than that served at the Dancing Monkey. The proprietor is none other than Lam Wanderboots. Perhaps you recall him? I remember well those nights all those years ago, when he would tell those grand stories of Legum, and you a little lad, hanging on to his every word. He retired from adventuring some years back after he lost an arm to an allosaurus, and opened the first tavern this town has ever seen.”
A gnome with a massive mustache steps off the boat. "Gonna need to get new clothes." His faithful leather, blue, and green duster has protected him from experiments gone wrong for ages, but unfortunately it may not be the most appropriate in this climate. Already grumpy at this godforsaken continent, Fiddle grumbles, "It's too hot and too humid. I'm crazy for agreeing to come here, even on the Institute's dime. I miss Legum already. Good to get off that atrocious ship. It was impossible to do any building with the ship pitching and tossing. That and the unfair ban of working with any potential explosives. How was I supposed to maintain my sanity?!" Realizing he's talking to himself, Fiddle clears his throat. He sees the tabaxi and the elf up ahead. Fiddle had gotten to know both of them fairly well over the past half year, and he had a healthy respect for them. Completely insane, the both of them, for wanting to come back to this hellhole, but they are both a good enough sort. They put up with Fiddle's mad ramblings and general anger, as well as his habitual brusqueness. Fiddle had a healthy respect for the both of them.
Hearing J'zargo mention good food, drink, and lodging, Fiddle interrupts the conversation he's having, "First sane idea you've had all day. Where are we going?" Noticing the harbormaster "Who are you?" Back to J'Zargo, "Hey, think these kids are trustworthy? Won't steal or sell my stuff? Careful? Won't break them? I could use help carrying it."
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
Only until she heard the voice did it occur to her that she hadn't heard it all throughout the voyage. It was an awful amount of time have gone on without hearing one of the passenger's voice she realized, but then neither had she been overly sociable, keeping to her party for the most part. Whether it was sharing stories of their homes in Ferus with J'zargo or bombarding their resident mad genius gnome with question after question. Every bit of gadget and contraption he had on his person she had at least found out about to some degree, even if she didn't understand it or the lingo in its entirety.
But this hooded figure - it wasn't so much his presence but the culmination of aberrant details; the strange, thick and sickly audible aspect of his voice, the manner of his movement and speech - it both seemed other worldly and not, though the effect on the elf was instantaneous as she threw the hooded man a long side glance, her back now straightened. Her ears twitched, every hair on her body stood on end as she slowly distanced herself. It was only when she heard the last bits of J'zargo's and the harbormaster's conversation that her attention returned to them, the faltered smile returning anew as she bumped her shoulder with her Tabaxian friend, teasing. "You mean to say I've been rubbing elbows with the local celebrity? My, should you have told me, I probably would have minded my manners more" she said, though it was safe to assume that there were hardly enough manner to have minded to begin with.
Upon hearing Fiddle, Aramintha shuffled quickly to his side, footsteps light as air as she went to take one his cases. "Not sure how trust worthy that lot is, but I can do it for the same price" she half joked as she drew close to the gnome. In truth, while she would have shamelessly accepted coin for it, she also felt grateful enough for the anti-seasickness potions he made for her to do it for free. "Mr. Wanderboots runs the Dancing Monkey?" she asked the harbormaster, the smile turning a little more mischievous "well, that's as promising as place as I've heard of." Though it would be nice to hear J'zargo's excited chatter with the proprietor, if only because she was rather fond of the stories herself.
Soren - Lvl. 5 Half Orc Barbarian - The Adventures of Salazria
Aramintha Erosflyn - Lvl. 1 Wood Elf Ranger - Legend of the Godeater
"Waitwait, not that one. Carry this one. It has my alchemist supplies. Legum knows you were the greatest beneficiary of them. I'll buy your drinks and food. Dancing Monkey sounds great. Where is it? I need to get a drink in me and start making stuff."
Hearing the creaky voice and groan, Fiddle snaps his attention to the hooded figure. "What's your deal? Have I seen you before?"
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
The man, if you can call him that, looks at the gnome, revealing his face. It is the face of an old man, on the body of a person many years younger. The skin looks as if it is loosely attached to the rest of his body, hanging down and giving him a droopy appearance. At other points, it is stretched thin over his strangely angular skull. The skin is deathly pale, and scarred in many places. But the eyes are something else. They are twin beacons of dim light, lacking white, iris, and pupil. They are less eyes and more gleaming blue marbles. A muscle in his cheek twitches periodically, as if he has some sort of tic.
"Beyond... our travels toge-together in thi-... this ship, I do n-not believe we have... met."
(Ngl he kinda looks like emperor palpatine, but with glowy eyeballs, weird bone structure, and a facial tic)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Upon hearing that the group is headed to the Dancing Monkey, a good choice, Aaron decides to follow, most of his form still hidden under his cloak as he slinks through the crowds
So far this session I have hit my teammates twice, flat-out missed 3 times, and only hit the enemy twice. Trust me, you don't want to borrow my dice.
The tabaxi nods at the harbormaster's mention of the owner of the tavern, an old memory of the fleeting time he spent here waiting for a steamer to arrive from Legum. "It is most pleasing to be hearing he is well. I am hoping that the allosaurus lost more than just an arm in return, no? Perhaps we will be asking him soon."
He laughs as the gnome acquaints himself with the local population. "Trustworthy? I know not, but as long as your pockets clink with coins, you can be sure they are being most helpful."
"J'zargo is far too modest to call himself a celebrity, but he is leaving a mark on people wherever he is going. It is hard to forget a tabaxi so dashing, no?" He twirls a few whiskers around a finger, and flashes a smile round the group. "Now come, we can be swapping stories with food and drink in our mouths, rather than standing in the sun, yes? You too, my cloaked friend, perhaps the food here will be putting the colour in your face a little more." He flashes another grin towards the creaking, stuttering figure, before politely gesturing for the harbormaster and urchin entourage to lead them to the Dancing Monkey.
"No," The man says quite matter of factly, "It will... not."
The man scowls once again. At this point, no one would be surprised if his face was merely stuck in a permanent scowl. It wouldn't be the strangest thing about it. He walks after the unusually flamboyant tabaxi, but keeps to himself. At the very least, whatever he has does not affect his motions, and he walks like a fellow about a third of the age of the man his face belongs to.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The harbormaster gives you directions to the Dancing Monkey tavern, but does not accompany you, explaining that he has work to do.
You walk over a series of wooden planks and platforms, the waters of the Bay of Coral Tears sparkling below you. It is drawing on to evening, and the sun colors the heavens pink and orange. Fishing boats can be seen in the distance, laying their nets for the next morning's catch.
As you pass by an alley, you see a man being beaten by two tattooed thugs. A woman with a shaved head watches on with mild amusement as she lights a pipe. Several other men and women pass by with their heads down, ignoring the man's pleas for help.
"Drinks and food? Sold!" she piped up eagerly as she took the box handed to her. Knowing it was the more delicate of his supplies, she was mindful of being very careful with them. At J'zargo she chuckled at his response to her comment, nodding and echoing, "dashing and modest, very modest." It was mildly sarcastic, though dashing she did find him.
A second look at the hooded man and she was almost sorry she did - it wasn't just the voice, not exactly grating to her ears, but not welcoming either. The whole of who he appeared to be unnerved her and she realized then why. It was a simple as one word: unnatural. The man was an amalgamation of things that shouldn't be, as if stitched together and brought to life against all manner of reason and divinity. Bluish green eyes bounced from Fiddle to J'zargo, her party largely unaffected by the man, or at the very least had been exceptionally better at easing over it than she was. When her Tabaxian friend commented that the food might bring some color back to his face Aramintha couldn't help but snort, surprised when he voiced her own thoughts on the matter, agreeing with his own assessment quietly.
As they walked down the platforms, following the harbormasters directions, the elf had placed herself on J'zargo's side where she would be farther from the hooded stranger. It was her ears that picked up the scuffle first as the rounded on the alleyway, slowing down as she tried to make heads or tails of what was happening. Whether the man had it coming or not, she couldn't say, but at least from her vantage, his pleas echoing down the alleyway, he seemed more of a victim than a man paying his dues. Bristling, she turned to her party, "we're not gonna just walk by like everyone else are we?" There was a slight amount of outrage in her voice, though not accusatory, simply seeking out that she wasn't alone in this, now more than ever aware of the supplies she had in her arms. Placing it carefully on the floor, her hand instinctively went to her short sword, looking up now to the other men before setting her face hard as she peered down the alleyway again. "Hey baldy! Let up or be let up" she said to the bald woman, nothing left of the joviality she had in her voice from moments ago on the deck.
Soren - Lvl. 5 Half Orc Barbarian - The Adventures of Salazria
Aramintha Erosflyn - Lvl. 1 Wood Elf Ranger - Legend of the Godeater
Fiddle sizes up the deformed man. "You should see a doctor. Have you had a stroke? I might be able to brew up something to help out with your face. It's very odd. It seems like.. Eh, whatever." Fiddle tilts his head. "Anyway, I'd shake your hand, but I think you might crush it. *wiggles his fingers* Delicate things, these. I'm Inakari Fiddlefen. You can call me Fiddle." He thinks to himself, "Neat, they're sending the crazies over here too. I'm gonna be the only sane one here."
When he hears the cries for help, pulls out his pistol, a silver and ivory construct with a barrel that looks like a lion's head (with the mouth being the barrel). "Finally, an excuse to try out this one!" Following Aramintha's lead, he waits to give the bullies an opportunity to back up before just shooting. "Can't have a repeat of the last time... Vigilante indeed."
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
The woman raises her hand and the thugs cease kicking the downed man. She slowly and deliberately extinguishes her pipe before turning her attention to you.
"You're not from Port Kopolua, and I'm in a good mood." She says, enunciating each word clearly. "Tell you what. If you turn around and walk away, I'll tell the boss to go easy on you."