Seri reaches for the Breastplate, +1 almost subconsciously as Eron offers it, wondering...

I think I could still swim with this on above my sea leathers, and the enchantments which seem to be upon it would leave it unscathed from rust...

She immediately begins trying on the armor, making adjustments to the sea mammalian leather and sinew of her existing studded leather to incorporate the two pieces of gear together, making small cuts and adjustments and using Mending to interleave metal with hide.

"By Procan then, you have my aid in your endeavors.  And perhaps in time, aye, aboard the Saradie, we shall arrive at the answers I seek as well..."

The sea elf is startled as the conversation with the bard interrupts her murmuring, armor-work, and swaying to Arlynn's shanty.  She nods respectfully at the proffered fine wine but sticks to the dwarven rum, despite its burning strength, taking only tiny and infrequent sips while listening to the talk of Iuz, a land and entity about which she knows next to nothing, likely even less than the others, excepting of course Eron himself.

Alric swirls the Riesling in his glass as he listens to Eron’s words.  He offers a thoughtful smile   “I wasn’t sure I’d make it either,” he says softly, nodding toward the press of the crowd, the noise of sailors and dwarven mugs clanking.  “The harbor’s been lively with speculation tonight.  A skull flag will do that.”

He sets the wine down.  His fingers drum lightly on the table.   “But to your question.”  His tone quiets.  “Yes.  He has returned.  The whispers are true.  Iuz, the Old One, is once more seated upon his throne.”

He leans in slightly, as if sharing a confidence with Eron alone, though his words are clear to all those around.  “But there is no war.  Not yet.  And perhaps not ever.  The drums have gone silent.  The armies have all been called home; the great campaigns halted midstride.  And why?  Because the master has come home... and he is cleaning his house.”

He lets that hang in the air.  "For generations, pretenders have waged war and tried to rule in Iuz's name, and have brought much of the north to ruin and famine.  Those who failed him are being punished.  Those who served faithfully are being raised up.  The land is quiet... healing."  

Alric reaches for the glass again and finally takes a sip, savoring it.

Côlneth's attention had been taken up with watching Seri tinkering with the new breastplate Eron had offered. Though as Alric finishes speaking, she suddenly turns in his direction. "An interesting situation. Rumors that the ship flying the skull is here on a trade mission might just be true then," she mutters. "Not that I'll be planning a vacation to Iuz any time soon however!" 

Arlynn laughs softly at Côlneth's comment. "Such an interesting land though, if Captain Colborn has his way we will likely sail north one day to pay a visit to the old one himself. Until then I think there is nothing particularly sinister behind the ship in the harbour other than a reminder that he is back and the lands to the north has a new enemy to fear." She says with a shrug at the end. "Anything you can share about the Sea Princes and their current affairs? And what can you tell us about someone calling himslef the King of Blood and Bones?" She asks ALaric with a curious smile, taking another sip of the wine.

“He is no ordinary man though, cambion- demon/devil warring in his veins… I imagine once he puts his warlords in line nothing will stop his plans least of all concern for his nations people.  What else does your keen mind divine I’m sure your network is spread far and wide.”  Eron looks like he’s itching for a well planned conspiracy.

His hand trembles ever so slightly as he reaches for the bottle of royal reserve, eyeing whatever is left.

As Seri continues to tinker and make adjustments to the breastplate, +1, integrating it with her own marine armor, she attempts to follow the conversation between Captain Eron, Alric and her newfound companions, though to her, it is almost as if they are speaking of some different plane of existence.  And perhaps with all this talk of cambions and fiends, that analogy was more apt than it might seem at first...

What would it be like to spend one's life so far from the sea?  Even to be so far from the sea for but a day!  Hundreds of leagues from the salt spray...

Seri shudders.  Then she hears Arlynn muse about Captain Eron sailing the Saradie north to the lands of Iuz and goes a little cross-eyed, trying to remember what little geography she recalls of far-off lands.  She had been fairly sure that the dark land of Iuz, to the distant north, was landlocked, far from any ocean, though perhaps it bordered upon a large inland lake?  A poor substitute for Procan's true domain, if so, though Seri might be getting confused...

Nevertheless, the acolyte of Procan perks up when she hears the other half-elf query Alric about the Sea Princes.  Now them, Seri had heard of, and then some... the Dragonfly had pursued more than one of their pirate vessels with mixed results.  The bastards were harder to catch than a healthy marlin!

On the verge of asking the sophisticated bard if her mother's message about the waves having teeth meant anything to him, Seri holds off, watching and listening for Alric's responses to the questions already before him, murmuring for Procan's Guidance to form an opinion as to his sincerity.

Seri's Insight plus Guidance to guess at whether Alric is being deceptive or perhaps coyly holding something back in his next responses:  16 + 2:  18

Alric remains sharp-eyed and smiling, genuinely enjoying the play of words and perspectives circling the table.  He smiles as Côlneth cracks her joke, chuckles lightly at Arlynn’s dark humor, and nods with a polite gravity at Eron’s warning tone, as if conceding to each in turn.

He lets the silence breathe a moment before he speaks.  “A fair point,” he says to Eron, raising his glass in mild toast.  “No one would call Iuz an ordinary man.  And yes, his blood carries fire and shadow both... he was born under dark stars, that’s certain.  But it’s a dangerous thing, I think, to assume that power must mean madness, or that cruelty is always the end goal.  The old order of petty kings and serfdom has failed much of the Flanaess.  I've seen it myself... why do so many folk toil all day just to spend their coin in taverns like this, to forget thier pain and sorrows?  I wonder often, why shouldn’t the discarded poor listen when another voice speaks?  If there is no seat at the table for them, eventually the people may look to overturn the table entirely.”

He shrugs and doesn’t push it further.  Instead, he turns slightly toward Arlynn, catching her last question with a curious lift of his brow.  “The King of Blood and Bones?”  He repeats the name slowly, as if tasting it.  “That’s a new one to me.  I’ll admit, it has a certain theatrical appeal... but no, I can’t say I’ve crossed paths with anyone laying claim to that particular crown.  If you’ve heard the name, I’d be most interested in the context.”

Then, with a shift of tone, he turns slightly more serious.  “As for the Sea Princes…”  He exhales a quiet breath.  “Now there’s a nest of pests and serpents.  Gangsters of the sea, playing at being kings and rulers.  Their news doesn’t reach far into the north... too much noise from Iuz’s return and the shuffling of the Shield Lands.  The most I have heard is stale rumors from distant ports.”

He leans in, seemingly candid.  “In truth, one of the reasons I came south was to learn more myself.  Perhaps you might be the ones with fresher tales to tell.”  His smile lingers just a little longer than expected. “What stirs out there now on the waves?”

There's a casual sip of his Riesling, but his eyes, dark green and curious, rest on Arlynn and Eron in turn.   

Seri:

 Also Seri:  The enchanted breastplate is covered ins clearly of dwarven make.  It is etched with dwarven runes for protection.  That isn't a problem, but I wanted to make sure you had an accurate description of this new item.

Fane continues to listen, soaking in the maritime tales and conversation about Iuz.

Arlynn raises an eyebrow as the captain hands over what is likely their most valuable treasure to the other blue-haired half-elf but shrugs and continues the conversation with the charming bard. "Not sure we have much to share either. We visited a Lizardfolk enclave and had peaceful talks where they shared their belief that this King of Blood and Bones is returning to threaten the entire region. There is apparently a history there about that name going far back that I hoped someone like you would know about. I think we are happy to share information in the future though should you come across anything about this warlord of old." She says with a polite smile, pouring another mug of wine for herself. "Before that we helped shut down a local smuggling operation though." She adds with another shrug, glancing over at Eron to see if he had anything of significance to add about what he and Fane had done before they rescued her from the haunted house.

"We put an end to a group of slavers also" she adds, as that accomplishment is dear to her.

Côlneth's attention ping pongs from discussion of Iuz, to a King of Blood and Bones, to Sea Princes, and other things. She tries to follow but really loses interest after a while. Making sure her glass of wine is empty, she quietly stands. Swaying a little unsteadily, she ends up bumping into Seri, tripping over her feet, and crashing into Arlynn. She just manages to catch herself by putting her hands on the table, knocking over her glass.  She then ungracefully drops back into her chair. "Oh, woops. I guess I didn't see you there." 

She tries to sit there quietly now, hoping she hadn't interrupted the conversations. 

Seri suppresses a shiver as she gazes at the bard and listens.  Aye, like the calm surface above a riptide, this one...  nigh unreadable.

Interesting to philosophize about the plight of the common person.  I am sympathetic.  Yet just because an old feudal order has failed the people does not mean the manipulations of a fiendish lord to topple mortal realms should be welcomed.  Of course, Alric did not quite say that directly...

Seri decides perhaps there is no need to volunteer the information from her mother's cryptic message to the bard after all, at least not yet.  Instead, she takes another (tiny) sip of her powerful dwarven rum as she continues to tinker with her new powerful dwarven breastplate, +1.  All that comes to an abrupt halt when Fane utters the word "slavers."  Seri's head snaps around in surprise.  Had she missed that being mentioned before?

"What?"  There is banked rage in Seri's flat voice.  Not at those present, but rather at any who would steal the freedom of Procan's horizons by shackling others for gold.  She barely notices when Côlneth's hip bumps her, causing some of her own rum to slosh over the side of her tumbler.

"Which slavers were these?"

Eron moved by Seri’s passion loosens his lonsword enough to show the symbol of Trithereon etched on the tang above the hilt.  “Sounds like you and I share a hatred for slavery.  In all its forms.”  Eron adds with a look at all gathered near.  “Okay enough being upset for me, was there enough gold in that pouch for a song that requires a little stomping clapping and moving about?”

"Ah, yes, of course, the slavers." Arlynn says, nodding in agreement with Fane. "Actually we don't know much about them, but I'm fairly sure they were sent from the Sea Princes to retrieve escaped olven slaves. We left the only survivor to the authorities here in Saltmarsh, perhaps we can go and see him tomorrow, I'm still a bit curious about who exactly they were working for and how they found their way out into the marsh like that." She says to Seri. Her attention then turns to Côlneth as the tattooed elf stumbles into her. "You okay there? Still want to dance or should I help you to your room?" She says with an amused smile.

Côlneth looks up Arlynn, seeming a little unfocused. "I'm fine. And a little dancing would be fun! Far too early to go and rest." She gives a hopeful smile to Alric, as she waits to see if he'll provide some music as Eron suggested. 

I knew it, by the Wave Father's trident, I bloody well knew it!  Not just common pirates and smugglers, but damned slavers, these so called Sea Princes.

Seri nods tightly and grits her teeth as Arlynn elaborates on the slavers, or slave-catchers.  Of course, she hadn't really 'known' anything of the sort.  And what would the slavers (or escaped slaves) be doing out in the marshes, in the peripheral muck bordering Procan's domain?  Yet Seri's negative confirmation bias regarding the Sea Princes is strong from her time as crew on a privateer vessel, and she has no doubt of the Sea Princes'  culpability.

Gazing at the symbol of Trithereon on the hilt of Eron's blade, she takes longer than she should before recognizing the sigil of another god and making eye contact with the Captain.  In this respect at least, individuality and freedom from shackles, Seri believes Procan's will to agree in an absolute sense.  Her darkened mood at odds with Côlneth's tipsy energy, Seri needs a lively song from Alric more than most, though she is too distracted to express it.

"My first day in Saltmarsh I was greeted with some dwarven liquor" she says to Côlneth, "soon after we were pulled out to the sea, fighting Sea Devils and searching for wreckage. Lucky I wasn't sick all over the sea. Wicked stuff if you ask me!"

Fane smiles, hoping that her sharing her experience is taken in good fun and not meant as any sort of judgement.

She does take a small sip of the Royal Reserve whiskey. Quite small actually.

"Alric, do you know about the Blue Tailed Finch by chance? Do you know any songs about birds by chance? Perhaps about an owl?" the olv says, not sure if it's the whiskey or all this serious talk that makes her ready for a song. Perhaps everyone is ready to relax a bit, they certainly earned it.

She takes another tiny sip of her whiskey.

Côlneth had been focused on Alric, so it took her a moment to realize Fane was speaking to her. "Oh? Sick all over the sea? Ugh, that does sound bad."  She scrunches up her face a bit, clearly not liking the idea of getting sick.  Whether she connects the elf's words to her own situation is hard to tell.  Her attention soon drifts back to Alric. 

Alric accepts the coins from Eron with a graceful bow of the head and a glint of amusement in his green eyes.  “Ah, yes...  now that’s a proper commission,” he says, pocketing the coins with a theatrical flourish.  “A song of wings and salt wind, then... something to lift the spirits and stir the feet.”  He rises from his seat smoothly, retrieving a slender, dark-wooded lute from the case he left near the bar.  The room begins to quiet as a few regulars notice the bard readying his instrument.  With a few practiced plucks and an adjusting twist of the tuning pegs, he finds his key, then begins.

The first song is slow and melodic, carried on a haunting modal scale that immediately hushes nearby conversation.  It tells the tale of a great sea eagle nesting high above the cliffs of Monmurg, whose cry can stir even the storm gods from sleep.  His voice is slightly rough at the edges but the control he wields over it is masterful.  His fingers coax harmonics from the strings, mimicking the sound of seabirds wheeling overhead, wind brushing across open sails.  There’s a sadness in the song, a freedom lost and longed for.  Sailors nod slowly, and even the barmaids pause, tray in hand.

But as the last notes hang in the air, Alric flashes a grin, and with a quick shake of his shoulders and a change in rhythm, he launches into a second, livelier tune.  A jig in 6/8 time, quick-fingered and foot-stomping, with a repeating refrain about a mischievous gull who steals hats from drunks and drops them in the sea.  It's a variation of a song some of the party may have heard before, in other sea-side taverns.  The room breaks into laughter, and by the second chorus, mugs are thudding on tables in time.  Several locals, mostly younger folk and a few off-duty guards, begin to dance, stomping and spinning across the tavern floor.  Alric keeps the tempo quick and teasing, encouraging them with playful licks on the lute and a few twirls of his own on the dancefloor.

 Over the next 20 minutes, the songs continue: bawdy sailor ditties, a playful duet with one of the barmaids, a ballad about a ghost ship that sails only during moonless nights.  Through it all, he seems the perfect performer... never overbearing, always watching his audience, adjusting tone and tempo to suit the mood.

He never returns to the party’s table directly, but he catches their eye once or twice, just enough to acknowledge the coin and the company.

[I need DC 12 CON saves from Eron and Côlneth (disadvantage for Côlneth... I love the roleplay but it sounds like she is deep into those cups)]

Eron con save 17.

So much fun Eron lets down his guard dancing and singing by the end he is exhausted wanting only to return and sleep in his ships quarters.  If only for a moment everything was okay.