Kay rests a hand on Orly's shoulder, "If there's aught I can do for you, please let m'know. Else, I hope all goes well with th'captain an' th'warden." She lingers just a moment, before striding down the gangplank calling out to no one in particular, "M'headed for th'Rusted Crate, if'n any have need of me," frustration plain in look and her voice.
Argrin nods as he and the other sailors who have apparently been designated guard close around Orlys to escort him below decks. As Kay turns away clearly worried and frustrated, mentioning her destination out loud to no one in particular, the slight sail monkey is suprised to hear a voice directly above her head call down in a mischevious voice,'
"Ye often talk to yerself then? Not that I'm sayin' it's weird or nothin', of course. Some might though. But yeah, yer goin' to the Crate. Noted. It's that dark, run down pile of stone and timbre... THERE! Anyone asks, I'll let 'em know that's where you are... not that I think anyone will though. Sorry, got to go... more lines to check before we sail tomorrow."
By the time that Kay has looked up to register the small almost child-like form of Fillian hanging upside down from the rigging ten feet above her head, then processed his words and begun to formulate a response, the swift handed, sure footed halfling had already righted himself and set off at an admirable speed up the mast ladder and across spars and lines both.
Moving down the gangplank once more in the company of Virt who watched Orlys' departure silently as though deep in thought on some matter, the lithe sail monkey quickly reaches the drab brown and grey single-story building indicated by Fillian. A handful of rough labourer types are hanging about out the front, drinking and cursing themselves, each other and most anything they can think of by the sounds of it. Weak lantern light flickers from within, barely visible through the grimey windows, though the coarse laughter and drunken shouts common to such places everywhere can readily be heard even here on the street. A crooked, badly weathered sign depicting a barely recognisable chest hangs above the door, with the words 'The B_on_e Crate' poorly painted beneath.
Approaching the tavern, you glance over at the group of burly men, roughly dressed and roughly spoken, who are gathered drinking from large cracked tankards around the door. Some of the men have stained hands, all are calloused and fairly muscled... and one or two even look vaguely familiar. Kay quickly realises that two of the four men were with the group that she got in fight with at the Pirate a couple of nights back. One of these gives the two sailors a dark sullen look... before turning back to his drinking buddies to whisper something as he spits on the ground.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
"Meat pies?!? There are lots of things that belong in pies, Gretta. Meat isn't one of them. But - as we discussed earlier, some people have different tastes."
"Oh, no problem with the payment up front. Here you go."
Kestrell hands Gretta 2 gold.
"Thanks for the directions, I'll be back in a bit."
Kestrell walks out the door and heads for the Rusted Crate. As he leaves, he pokes his head back through the door.
"You know, I just thought of someone who might actually benefit from a meat pie. Will you add one to my order please?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Noticing the men who fought on Gaut's side, Kay continues to walk along the road, pretending to be headed for some other destination, whistling nonchalantly. As soon as she finds an opportunity she ducks into a nearby alley or side street, sneaking along, looking for alternate entrances to the building, or places to hide where she might be able to observe the conversations, or comings and goings from the tavern.
Orlys will respond to Virt, “Aye, that thought’d already crossed me mind, I’ll just leave ‘em by the rail.”
As he climbs aboard and sees the greeting party, he makes sure to move slowly and deliberately, he puts the maul down, unwrapping the chain from around his forearm. Then pulls out his battle axe and places it on the deck. Finally, he sets his javelins next to the other weapons. “I’ve nothin else,” he says aloud, then keeps his hands out in the open for the whole trip to the hold.
As Kay says farewell, he thanks her again. “If it be not saying too much, lass, ye give me hope I might be able to stay.”
Watching the brave young sail monkey and the now somewhat distant goggled officer quit the deck, Orlys looks down at the decidedly unfriendly orbs beneath thick reddish brown eyebrows of the broad, leather clad dwarf who seems to speak for his escort. The dwarf has a hand on one of the hammers at his belt as he takes a moment to look the bugbear up and down, before he finally nods towards the ladder leading below deck. As the four sailors usher the unarmed bugbear to the ladder and downwards into the belly of the ship, the dwarf mutters to Orlys,'
"Don't know why I got this detail... but I don't much like it. I've better blasted things to be doin', so i'd recommend ye not doin' anything rash or sudden, goblinkin. Or ye'll regret it... but not fer long. Now move."
Without another word, the sullen dwarf leads Orlys and the other three sailors down to the lower deck where the bugbear catches sight of rows of hammocks, a number of sailors who're at rest, speaking, or playing cards and a few doors that lead off to other rooms on this level. Giving the curious sailor little time to look around, the escort takes him to another ladder which leads down inot a fairly packed hold. The usual assortment of barrels, crates, boxes, chests, casks and sacks interests the pirate little, though above him through the open hatch he can see the longboat slowly swinging about on the derrick, getting ready to be lowered back in to its resting place. Near the aft-starboard section of the hold, Orlys notices a cage like partition, less than ten feet aside, which must serve as the ship's brig the pirate supposes. Standing before it are two men and two women, all clearly waiting for Orlys' arrival.
The best dressed and tallest of the group is a gold haired, blue eyed human with broad shoulders and an upright bearing that the bugbear had seen before. A captain, most likely, or someone else of standing. The solid looking brown-haired woman with the weathered face and sharp stare at his side would likely be the First Mate, he guesses, based on the protective stance she takes near the golden haired man, and the way the captain (if that is who he is) seems to bend his ear to her whenever she speaks. The third person awaiting him is a squint-eyed dwarf, grey-bearded dwarf, taller by an inch and narrower by several than his red-bearded guard. This dwarf is nursing a silver mug as he studies the approaching bugbear with something akin to curisoity on his face. The fourth figure is black skinned bald headed woman, small in size, especially for a West Sea Islander, which from her complexion and features is what Orlys takes her to be. This one listens to something the other older woman whispers to her, then proceeds to study Orlys carefully.
As Orlys is brought forward to stand before the four, his escort fan out behind him, never moving more than ten feet from his person. The hard-eyed woman he correctly took for the First Mate speaks first,'
"So yer the one who helped our crew out of them spider filled caves, eh? Orlys, is it? I'm First Mate E'strue. This man here is Captain Aundrey, master of this vessel that you now stand upon - the good ship Shore Shark. Commissioned pirate hunter fresh on the water... much to every nearby bucaneer's approachin dismay. The short bearded one is Bosun Drannick.
I'll state at the outset that I wasn't much in favour of this meetin when the captain told me of it. But Drannick here figured ye was worth a look... though only on account of the words spoken on yer behalf by some decent folk that we proudly name shipmates. Yer a pirate though, by all accounts, or were at least. So I doubt that we'll need to become overly acquainted. Such don't usually end up staying in Rumbottom for long ye see. Least not above ground.
Well... what 'ave ye got to say fer yerself then?"
[OOC] Orlys may make an insight check DC10 to read the spoiler below:
Having been on his fair share of boats before, and having stood before more than a few ships officers... of a sort, Orlys quickly deduces something of the scenario before him. The First Mate is speaking on the captain's behalf - not uncommon, especially when the captain wants to maintain some level of deniability or just isn't as skilled perhaps in getting answers. The woman E'strue seems hard and straight as the main mast above, but Orlys detects nothing especially malicious about here.
The Captain himself is obviously young, and some level of anxiety is apparent on his youthful features, though he is clearly doing his best to hide it. The look the bugbear sees behind those blue eyes makes the sailor wince though, for it's not one that many captains possess - kindness... perhaps to the point of softness. His former commanders had dealt with such people with disdain and brutal harshness. Though the man stood tall and strong enough, Orlys saw a victim waiting to happen standing here before him.
The grey-bearded dwarf was a puzzle. Dwarves usually hated his kind, he'd learned that the hard way. But this clearly grizzled sailor merely studied him carefully, noting his garb, his physique, his face... all of it. There seemed to be no malice here, but rather a calculating scrutiny borne of years of experience and hard lessons learned. The dwarf kept looking at the fourth of the group, the small Islander woman who the First Mate had not bothered to introduce.
The West Sea Islanders had settled a number of areas in the Trackless Sea, most hundreds of miles from the mainland. Orlys knew this because he'd sailed beside more than a few on a number of pirate ships. The Islanders were reknowned sailors and fearless, ofttimes crazy, fighters. Many developed a love for coin, booze and, most of all, adventure. The pirate's life called, and many answered. Orlys didn't think he recognised this one... but by the wicked smile and confident manner of her bearing, she certainly woudn't have seemed out of place on some of the ships he'd served aboard.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
Orlys looks at them carefully, trying to size them up, but in the end, just sighs. He stands there, towering over them but looking less than impressive, fur wet, shoulders bowed from exhaustion, still bleeding from his most recent wounds. Finally, he straightens his shoulders a little, and looks at each of the officers as he speaks.
"My name is Orlys, born in the Pins, taken by the reaver Captain Brand as a cub, an' sold to shipboard slavery. I growed up on the ocean, an 'ave made some poor choices when the choosin' was meager. The law di'na give a damn 'bout a monster like me, so I learned to live by the laws of the storm an' the sea. I'll not excuse meself for that, I done what I done."
He pauses, his eyes seeking out E'strue's. "The undertow can be strong, sweep even the strongest out to a watery grave, so when yer feet find purchase, ye'd best hold on. This is what I'm doin' now. I been drifting on the currents me whole life, lookin for a sandbar to set on, but always the tide has rolled in and swept me out. Me mam, rest her soul taken by that blackheart Brand, would tell me the high tide is when ye need to set sail."
Then he looks to the gray bearded dwarf. "Yer crew, t'ones I met in that nightmare cave, they ha' not run from me, nor mocked me, nor tried ta kill me. I'd like t'chance, if'n you'd give it to me, to make me own place, on a ship where'n such as they crew."
He shifts his gaze to Captain Aundrey. "Every crew reflects its Captain, I should know, I've served with many a dog and villain. This'n says much good about yerself, Captain."
He pauses and looks at the floor.
Still looking down, he says, "I done some thinkin, spun up in webs for that horror's meal, and it's time for Orlys to stop drifting." Then he looks up again, and his lips curl in a small snarl. "Sides, I've got twenty year shipping out with pirates, an' a healthy list o' scoundrels what I owe an end to. I'd join yer crew, if you'd have me, and help in that task."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
ey/em/eirs, or they/them works, too (just not he). Role-playing since that keep on those borderlands. I love it so.
A'ro just smiles nodding to Lorana as the conversation between the dwarf and the goliath begin he just sighs and begins moving to the door "I'll meet you all back at the ship - I'm gonna go find what I came into town for." he says waving as he leaves through the door. A'ro looks around and then begins making his way to the nearest shop to buy some new clothing, that isn't riddle with holes. As he walks he begins to look around for any wanted posters for their new friend Orlys that may describe what he has done. If there was one thing that worried A'ro it was putting the crew at risk, and bringing on an unknown element that's admitted to piracy was definitely a risk.
[OOC]
perception check for wanted posters on the way to the clothing store: 20
Walking a few buildings South of the Pirate, not far past where the Shark is docked, A'ro spies a little rundown textiles shop, with a number of humble cloaks, shits and pants displayed on hooks and wire runners out the front. The clothing is made of a fairly coarse hempen fabric for the most part, dyed in subdued greens and browns, with only a few clearly non-local garments among the wares. The proprieter is a small non-descript looking fellow of plain features and completely forgettable mannerisms, who says in disinterested boredom as he sips a dented tin mug of steaming tea,'
"Before you ask, what you see is what I got. Prices are tagged on each item. No need to converse with me. Just pass me the coin when you want to buy something."
Once his clothing purchase is complete, A'ro walks the wharf-side shops and other buildings looking for wanted signs, but finds few notes posted in this area, and those the genasi does see seem mainly to be long out-of-date berth advertisements, aged, roughly scrawled 'looking for work' notes or old missing persons notices. Noticing the white haired sorcerer's interest, a lone dwarven Warden who is sitting on a low crate watching the dock traffic and ships in the harbour while he craddles his battered heavy crossbow, asks with some curiosity what A'ro is looking for and when the ships officer replies, the watchman says as he first points further South down the wharf road before motioning in the direction of the Warden's Lodge,'
"There's a few notices about such on the board outside Boomptins, but most of that sort of thing is on the Herald's board on the wall of the Lodge."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
A'ro just nods to the shop keep looking for a new hooded vest and pays the man for it. Surprised by the random encounter with the dwarven warden he just sighs"O'course it is..." he says just mentally deciding to avoid the warden's lodge for the betterment of the Shark, after their last encounter with the head warden and the current situations he figured the man was not their biggest fan right now.
He thinks back to what the meeting with Captain and looks back to the dwarf "By chance wouldn't happ'n ta know anything about ship stores goin' missin' would ya? or anything about a bugbear named Orlys?" He asks keeping his friendly demeanor on as he sits next to the dwarf taking a sip from his waterskin.
The goliath stands there stunned for a moment. Then embarrassed at all the looks he's getting from the patrons. Then angry for allowing Vergil to do this to him again. At first he thinks to just attack the dwarf but he knows that could cost him his new job. "But what if the dwarf just thinks I've done something" Vaken thinks with a sly grin forming.
Slowly, quietly, Vaken starts to chant. His hands forming various symbols. Fog starts to gently rise from the floor. His volume growing a bit with each word until arcane words are booming in the room which is now shadowed in fog. Vaken then stops, throws his arms out to the side as if to the shoo the fog away and it obeys. Vaken points his finger at Vergil and mutters one last phrase. A faint skunk appears to be radiating from Vergil.
Vaken looks around and announces in a loud voice,"I have placed a tribal curse on this dishonorable dog. Good luck to him and any who choose to associate with him."And then turns and walks out of the Prancing Pirate.
Once outside Vaken heads to buy some spices.
[OOC] Vaken cast Fog Cloud followed by Druidcraft. The first ended when the second was cast. The second lasts only seconds.
Deception/Performance check: 12
At first, Vergil seems concerned as the fog rises up in the Pirate's taproom, cursing as he scrambles below the counter for somethiing as Vaken begins to motion and chant, but even as the dirt stained dwarf comes up with an unloaded crossbow and begins searching about for his case of bolts muttering darkly about sorcerer's, wizards and all magic users, the laughter of Lorana and the apparently unconcerned tavern patrons at the goliath's fairly transparent mummery. Quickly realising the dupe, the now slighly red-faced dwarf mutters his own long stream of unintelligible curses as Vaken walks out of the Inn.
Remembering the quarter masters words about visiting Horgoth's for supplies, Vaken walks South past both docked ships and small scatterings of sailors, most of whom seem either pleased at being newly into shore or excited at the thought of a pending voyage. The moutain born goliath had already thought the town exotic and strange with its relative throngs of people, but addition of yet more accents, colourful attire and unfamiliar faces along the wharf both interests and discomforts the usually quiet giantkin.
Reaching a long wharehouse like building, with an equally long pot-plant bedecked porch built on the front and weather faded-blue tarpolin awning running the length of the porch overhead, Vaken looks up at a colourfully painted sign in the shape of a galleon perched incogruously atop a stand of trees. The bold yellow and red lettering on the sign reads 'Horgoth's Stores and Salvage'. The porch is set-up with shelves and stands which are loaded with goods of all description - mostly pratical useful gear and equipment as might be useful to sailors, farmers, travellers and such, but also a number of curious trinkets and seemingly out-of-place items.
From inside the store you hear a man's deep, but seemingly cheerful voice laughing dismissively at something before countering with a comment that the goliath can't quite make out from the street at the front.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
"Meat pies?!? There are lots of things that belong in pies, Gretta. Meat isn't one of them. But - as we discussed earlier, some people have different tastes."
"Oh, no problem with the payment up front. Here you go."
Kestrell hands Gretta 2 gold.
"Thanks for the directions, I'll be back in a bit."
Kestrell walks out the door and heads for the Rusted Crate. As he leaves, he pokes his head back through the door.
"You know, I just thought of someone who might actually benefit from a meat pie. Will you add one to my order please?"
Kestrell hands her two silver for the meat pie.
Gretta merely chuckles at Kestrell's stated aversion to meat pies, but the matronly woman nods at his requested ammendment to the order and takes the offered two silver with thanks as she heads to the back room humming an old tune happily to herself.
Deciding to walk North across the town square, Kestrell passes the line of folk gathering fresh water from the well, also noticing a cheerful looking inn, painted in reds and greens with a large sign in the shape of an apple out front; what looks to be an iron mongers and blacksmithy past the square nearer the North gate; as well a number of other larger, residential looking buildings that encircle the town's centre. Taking a left from the square to head West back towards the wharf along a street sign reading Barrel Row, the navigator notices a quick decline in the size, quality and upkeep of the buildings along the street. Indeed, by the time the bard had walked all the way back to the harbour side, the dilapidation of his surrounds was severe.
A handful of rough labourer types are hanging about out the front of one of the larger rundown buildings in this part of Rumbottom, drinking, cursing and occassionally shoving each other. Weak lantern light flickers from within, barely visible through the grimey windows, though the coarse laughter and drunken shouts common to such places everywhere can readily be heard even here out on the street. A skewed, badly weathered sign depicting a barely recognisable chest hangs above the door, with the words 'The B_on_e Crate' poorly painted beneath.
Approaching the tavern, you glance over at the group of burly men, roughly dressed and roughly spoken, who are gathered drinking from large cracked tankards around the door. Some of the men have dark stained hands, all are calloused and fairly muscled... and one or two even look vaguely familiar. Kestrell quickly realises that two of the four men were with the group that he and his companions had got in fight with at the Pirate a couple of nights back. One of these gives the navigator a dark sullen look... before turning back to his drinking buddies to whisper something as he spits on the ground.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
A'ro just nods to the shop keep looking for a new hooded vest and pays the man for it. Surprised by the random encounter with the dwarven warden he just sighs"O'course it is..." he says just mentally deciding to avoid the warden's lodge for the betterment of the Shark, after their last encounter with the head warden and the current situations he figured the man was not their biggest fan right now.
He thinks back to what the meeting with Captain and looks back to the dwarf "By chance wouldn't happ'n ta know anything about ship stores goin' missin' would ya? or anything about a bugbear named Orlys?" He asks keeping his friendly demeanor on as he sits next to the dwarf taking a sip from his waterskin.
The dwarven warden looks over at A'ro from watching the two docked caravels and mutters,'
"Don't know about no Orlys... and if it's a bugbear, glad I am not to know! As for stolen goods, ye could ask down at the Lodge."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
A'ro just nods as he realizes his plan to stay away from the lodge seems to be slowly disintegrating before him"Thanks mate - guess I'm off to the lodge then."He just stands up and begins to walk towards the lodge in hope of finding out something about either the bugbear they met or the stolen goods.
Noticing the men who fought on Gaut's side, Kay continues to walk along the road, pretending to be headed for some other destination, whistling nonchalantly. As soon as she finds an opportunity she ducks into a nearby alley or side street, sneaking along, looking for alternate entrances to the building, or places to hide where she might be able to observe the conversations, or comings and goings from the tavern.
Strolling by the group of roughs and the doorway to the seedy looking tavern, no one appears to take note of Kay as the diminutive woman as she ducks up onto the porch of the large unlit and seemingly abandoned building beside the drinking hole. An old, dust covered shop sign lies flat and forgotten on the porch and the buildings corners are thick with, thankfully regular sized, spider webs. With no other buildings between her and the small but choppy white-capped waves of the harbour, the smell of sea salt and the sound of crashing waves against the sharp rocks the line the base of the long stony ridge that runs out and above the harbour's North side.
For their part, the four men drinking outside the Rusty Crate appear to continue on as before... until after a few moments of careful watching, the one who had seemed to take special note of Kay's arrival ducks inside. The three who who remain outside appear to be unarmoured and only equiped with small belt knives. As the sun continues to sink towards the Western horizon, Kay notices much of the days regular harbour-side traffic begins to thin out, though a number of sailors from both of the larger ships at dock can be seen walking up and down the wharf, some on their way to a place to relax and others already drinking and beginning the coming nights carousment.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
A'ro just nods as he realizes his plan to stay away from the lodge seems to be slowly disintegrating before him"Thanks mate - guess I'm off to the lodge then."He just stands up and begins to walk towards the lodge in hope of finding out something about either the bugbear they met or the stolen goods.
As A'ro is about to walk away, the dwarven warden says with a crooked smirk,'
"Mind you... While I don't know nothing about any missing ship stores, I do know about some shady types who MIGHT know something about that sort of thing. Can't quite recall their names or where they're holed up though. It's been a long boring shift you see, and when I get thirsty and hungry, without much coin to satisfy my needs... well, I sometimes have a hard time remembering things.
Of course, you COULD go to the Lodge, but Golm and the others are pretty busy at the moment and you might not get a warm reception, seeing as I saw you come off that ship earlier... what with all that stabbing trouble this morning and all..."
The dwarf's posture remains casual as he sits on the small box, but his hard brown eyes are studying A'ro closely and sometimes darting up and down the street.
[OOC] A'ro can make a insight check DC 10 and read the spoiler on a success:
Insight DC10:
The dwarven warden is clearly a sly one, but despite his clear intention to solicit a payment from A'ro in return for his information, he appears nervous as his eyes continue to flicker up and down the street. Something in the man's rough and rugged manner gives A'ro a sense that this likely isn't the first time that this guardsman has sold information for profit.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
Orlys looks at them carefully, trying to size them up, but in the end, just sighs. He stands there, towering over them but looking less than impressive, fur wet, shoulders bowed from exhaustion, still bleeding from his most recent wounds. Finally, he straightens his shoulders a little, and looks at each of the officers as he speaks.
"My name is Orlys, born in the Pins, taken by the reaver Captain Brand as a cub, an' sold to shipboard slavery. I growed up on the ocean, an 'ave made some poor choices when the choosin' was meager. The law di'na give a damn 'bout a monster like me, so I learned to live by the laws of the storm an' the sea. I'll not excuse meself for that, I done what I done."
He pauses, his eyes seeking out E'strue's. "The undertow can be strong, sweep even the strongest out to a watery grave, so when yer feet find purchase, ye'd best hold on. This is what I'm doin' now. I been drifting on the currents me whole life, lookin for a sandbar to set on, but always the tide has rolled in and swept me out. Me mam, rest her soul taken by that blackheart Brand, would tell me the high tide is when ye need to set sail."
Then he looks to the gray bearded dwarf. "Yer crew, t'ones I met in that nightmare cave, they ha' not run from me, nor mocked me, nor tried ta kill me. I'd like t'chance, if'n you'd give it to me, to make me own place, on a ship where'n such as they crew."
He shifts his gaze to Captain Aundrey. "Every crew reflects its Captain, I should know, I've served with many a dog and villain. This'n says much good about yerself, Captain."
He pauses and looks at the floor.
Still looking down, he says, "I done some thinkin, spun up in webs for that horror's meal, and it's time for Orlys to stop drifting." Then he looks up again, and his lips curl in a small snarl. "Sides, I've got twenty year shipping out with pirates, an' a healthy list o' scoundrels what I owe an end to. I'd join yer crew, if you'd have me, and help in that task."
The three humans and dwarf standing before Orlys all listen quietly as the bugbear speaks, though at his words he notices a few clear, and possibly a few more subtle, reactions. At the mention of Captain Brand the young captain's eyebrows rise noticeably and he throws a quick look at his no nonsense, straight backed first mate. For her part, the tough woman gives little away at the bugbear's tale of early woe and poor life choices, standing mostly impassive throughout.
The grey-bearded dwarf continues to sip from his silver mug, but a few times Orlys thinks he catches a glimmer of interest in things that the bugbear reveals. The lithe Islander woman, about the same size and weight as young Kay though a dozen years older at least, also raises one finely trimmed, pierced eyebrow at the mention of the notorious slaver captain. Her small, round face stays locked on Orlys while speaks, though she fidgets occassionally with the handles of a few thin, stilletto like blades at her belt as she listens.
As the grizzled goblinoid finishes his tale with his snarled vow of vengence against those he formerly sailed and fought beside, silence settles over those assembled for a handful of moments. The first to speak, after a shared glance with the captain who gives a brief, uncertain nod and the bosun who gives a cagey, though more emphatic nod, First Mate E'strue takes moment to confer quietly with the Islander crew member, before turning back to Orlys to say,'
"A compellin tale of ill fate and hard choices, Orlys. I won't say that I've heard a tale quite like it, though I don't make a habit of askin for the life stories of pirates, I'll admit.
There's little doubt that a fellow of yer experience and skill could be of use to a ship like ours... were that fellow to be trust worthy and committed to bein of aid. Trust and committment... or the surety of both, rather... that seems to be what is at question here. Though of course, there is still the matter of yer past crimes, which we will get to in good time.
What ye say about that dog Brand is not surprisin from all accounts of that so-called captain. Ye speak of being sold, a life of servitude to evil masters and years of misdeeds beside villains... but ye provide little in the way of details regardin those deeds and villains. This doesn't sit well with me.
At that, the bosun Drannick pipes in, the almost leering veteran dwarf asking bluntly without preamble,'
"Aye, ye speak of old deeds and decisions, and then fightin in caves besides our crew... and then here you are. Like E'strue, I'm a might curious as to why you should show up in these parts right at this particular time. Might be ye could give us a little more information, pirate. Where ye've been reavin of late, how'd you come to be here now... and why, bugbear? Let's start there if'n ye mean to earn our trust.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
A'ro just stops and turns around smiling as the man talks, he just begins to walk back to him sitting back down. He looks around and just casually reaches into his pouch pulling out 5 silver pieces and placing them in the man's hand "Tell me wha' ya know friend - all I'll give is five silv'r and the promise to keep my lips sealed about how this transaction came to be." He just stares at him keeping calm, making clear it's not a threat, but also and understanding that he can see the man is clearly nervous.
A handful of rough labourer types are hanging about out the front of one of the larger rundown buildings in this part of Rumbottom, drinking, cursing and occassionally shoving each other. Weak lantern light flickers from within, barely visible through the grimey windows, though the coarse laughter and drunken shouts common to such places everywhere can readily be heard even here out on the street. A skewed, badly weathered sign depicting a barely recognisable chest hangs above the door, with the words 'The B_on_e Crate' poorly painted beneath.
'Kestrell, recognizing the hooligans, thinks to himself:' "Well, I'll be. Those fellows sure get around. Or maybe not, since we're just down the road from the Prancing Pirate."
'Kestrell returns the stare, and then gives them a smile, reading the lips of the whisperer.'
A'ro just stops and turns around smiling as the man talks, he just begins to walk back to him sitting back down. He looks around and just casually reaches into his pouch pulling out 5 silver pieces and placing them in the man's hand "Tell me wha' ya know friend - all I'll give is five silv'r and the promise to keep my lips sealed about how this transaction came to be." He just stares at him keeping calm, making clear it's not a threat, but also and understanding that he can see the man is clearly nervous.
The dwarf pockets the five silver, glancing at the coins as he does so. Looking sourly back at A'ro, the genasi can tell that the man was hoping for more. Grumbling, the man seems undecided on something for a moment, before he says,'
"Well, you might be a little light there, but for that I'll tell you this - there have been some dodgy folk drifting North from Luskan of late. Those that choose to hang around usually stay at the Crate. I don't know that they're responsible for these missing stores, but one of them lost a hand for being a little light-fingered a couple of days after arriving in town. Make of that what you will."
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D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
'Kestrell, recognizing the hooligans, thinks to himself:' "Well, I'll be. Those fellows sure get around. Or maybe not, since we're just down the road from the Prancing Pirate."
'Kestrell returns the stare, and then gives them a smile.'
[OOC] Can I see the lips of the one who is whispering? If so, I can read his lips.
TBC.
While the men glower quite a bit, and stand with the threatening stance and bluster of typical bullies, none of them make any move to actually harass Kestrell. The observant navigator notices that none of the men are armoured or even armed, tiny belt knives aside. The one who leans in to whisper to his friend does so in plain view of the lip reading bard,'
"What the **** does he want? Bastards got us kicked from the Pirate and now they come here? Brannin will spit foam if he sees them."
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D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
While the men glower quite a bit, and stand with the threatening stance and bluster of typical bullies, none of them make any move to actually harass Kestrell. The observant navigator notices that none of the men are armoured or even armed, tiny belt knives aside. The one who leans in to whisper to his friend does so in plain view of the lip reading bard,'
"What the **** does he want? Bastards got us kicked from the Pirate and now they come here? Brannin will spit foam if he sees them."
'Kestrell, standing awkwardly in the street, makes a split second decision. Not wanting potential enemies at his back, he decides to confront the four thugs and walks right up to them and addresses the group:'
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hold no ill will towards you. Let me buy you a round of ale, and if there be no racist talk perhaps we can let old quarrels be buried? I am here on ships business. The Shore Sharks business. I'll take care of that and then be on my way." Persuasion: 7
[OOC]: If Kestrell sees a bar wench outside, he will motion to her and order 5 ales, without waiting for a response from the thugs. If not, he will gauge their response and if it looks favorable, say: "Very well, how do we order a pint around here?" Insight on the thugs reaction to his offer, and if they want to rumble right now, or may be happy with the proffered ale: 19
Orlys nods to E'strue and Drannick's questions. "As for what I've done, I been on the sea for twenty years, I can honestly say I'll not remember all that has happened before me eyes. I've ended lives, and stood shoulder to shoulder with murderers at the orders of masters or captains. But I ken tell ye, never have I taken a life what did cower or run. I've not killed in cold blood, though I've seen it done."
"T'were this last crew what set me on the path to ye. I'd been without a berth in Brownbones a while, when word reached me of a ship lookin' ta replace crew. It turned out to be the Shoalheart, Captain Sand's galley. I've not seen a more cruel pirate on all me life, les'n it be her first mate, but by then, there was no backing out. I'd not served but a short time, and with a crew o' blackhearts like I never did see, when we dropped anchor by Rumbottom, and were sent ashore. I was ta be the muscle, nothin' new to me that. But it went south, what with the damned forest coming alive, and the plants. I and another was backed into a cave, when the devil spiders got us. I've no idea how long I hung there before yer crew found me."
"As I said, I had some time ta reflect on me life, in them spiders' larder. I'll not dip what I done in sugar, no, but it is time ta make me dead mam think better o' me when we meet again."
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ey/em/eirs, or they/them works, too (just not he). Role-playing since that keep on those borderlands. I love it so.
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Argrin nods as he and the other sailors who have apparently been designated guard close around Orlys to escort him below decks. As Kay turns away clearly worried and frustrated, mentioning her destination out loud to no one in particular, the slight sail monkey is suprised to hear a voice directly above her head call down in a mischevious voice,'
"Ye often talk to yerself then? Not that I'm sayin' it's weird or nothin', of course. Some might though. But yeah, yer goin' to the Crate. Noted. It's that dark, run down pile of stone and timbre... THERE! Anyone asks, I'll let 'em know that's where you are... not that I think anyone will though. Sorry, got to go... more lines to check before we sail tomorrow."
By the time that Kay has looked up to register the small almost child-like form of Fillian hanging upside down from the rigging ten feet above her head, then processed his words and begun to formulate a response, the swift handed, sure footed halfling had already righted himself and set off at an admirable speed up the mast ladder and across spars and lines both.
Moving down the gangplank once more in the company of Virt who watched Orlys' departure silently as though deep in thought on some matter, the lithe sail monkey quickly reaches the drab brown and grey single-story building indicated by Fillian. A handful of rough labourer types are hanging about out the front, drinking and cursing themselves, each other and most anything they can think of by the sounds of it. Weak lantern light flickers from within, barely visible through the grimey windows, though the coarse laughter and drunken shouts common to such places everywhere can readily be heard even here on the street. A crooked, badly weathered sign depicting a barely recognisable chest hangs above the door, with the words 'The B_on_e Crate' poorly painted beneath.
[OOC] Kay can make a perception DC10:
Perception DC10:
Approaching the tavern, you glance over at the group of burly men, roughly dressed and roughly spoken, who are gathered drinking from large cracked tankards around the door. Some of the men have stained hands, all are calloused and fairly muscled... and one or two even look vaguely familiar. Kay quickly realises that two of the four men were with the group that she got in fight with at the Pirate a couple of nights back. One of these gives the two sailors a dark sullen look... before turning back to his drinking buddies to whisper something as he spits on the ground.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
"Meat pies?!? There are lots of things that belong in pies, Gretta. Meat isn't one of them. But - as we discussed earlier, some people have different tastes."
"Oh, no problem with the payment up front. Here you go."
Kestrell hands Gretta 2 gold.
"Thanks for the directions, I'll be back in a bit."
Kestrell walks out the door and heads for the Rusted Crate. As he leaves, he pokes his head back through the door.
"You know, I just thought of someone who might actually benefit from a meat pie. Will you add one to my order please?"
Kestrell hands her two silver for the meat pie.
Noticing the men who fought on Gaut's side, Kay continues to walk along the road, pretending to be headed for some other destination, whistling nonchalantly. As soon as she finds an opportunity she ducks into a nearby alley or side street, sneaking along, looking for alternate entrances to the building, or places to hide where she might be able to observe the conversations, or comings and goings from the tavern.
perception : 13 [ooc : rolled in chat]
deception : 17
stealth : 16
~♡~
Watching the brave young sail monkey and the now somewhat distant goggled officer quit the deck, Orlys looks down at the decidedly unfriendly orbs beneath thick reddish brown eyebrows of the broad, leather clad dwarf who seems to speak for his escort. The dwarf has a hand on one of the hammers at his belt as he takes a moment to look the bugbear up and down, before he finally nods towards the ladder leading below deck. As the four sailors usher the unarmed bugbear to the ladder and downwards into the belly of the ship, the dwarf mutters to Orlys,'
"Don't know why I got this detail... but I don't much like it. I've better blasted things to be doin', so i'd recommend ye not doin' anything rash or sudden, goblinkin. Or ye'll regret it... but not fer long. Now move."
Without another word, the sullen dwarf leads Orlys and the other three sailors down to the lower deck where the bugbear catches sight of rows of hammocks, a number of sailors who're at rest, speaking, or playing cards and a few doors that lead off to other rooms on this level. Giving the curious sailor little time to look around, the escort takes him to another ladder which leads down inot a fairly packed hold. The usual assortment of barrels, crates, boxes, chests, casks and sacks interests the pirate little, though above him through the open hatch he can see the longboat slowly swinging about on the derrick, getting ready to be lowered back in to its resting place. Near the aft-starboard section of the hold, Orlys notices a cage like partition, less than ten feet aside, which must serve as the ship's brig the pirate supposes. Standing before it are two men and two women, all clearly waiting for Orlys' arrival.
The best dressed and tallest of the group is a gold haired, blue eyed human with broad shoulders and an upright bearing that the bugbear had seen before. A captain, most likely, or someone else of standing. The solid looking brown-haired woman with the weathered face and sharp stare at his side would likely be the First Mate, he guesses, based on the protective stance she takes near the golden haired man, and the way the captain (if that is who he is) seems to bend his ear to her whenever she speaks. The third person awaiting him is a squint-eyed dwarf, grey-bearded dwarf, taller by an inch and narrower by several than his red-bearded guard. This dwarf is nursing a silver mug as he studies the approaching bugbear with something akin to curisoity on his face. The fourth figure is black skinned bald headed woman, small in size, especially for a West Sea Islander, which from her complexion and features is what Orlys takes her to be. This one listens to something the other older woman whispers to her, then proceeds to study Orlys carefully.
As Orlys is brought forward to stand before the four, his escort fan out behind him, never moving more than ten feet from his person. The hard-eyed woman he correctly took for the First Mate speaks first,'
"So yer the one who helped our crew out of them spider filled caves, eh? Orlys, is it? I'm First Mate E'strue. This man here is Captain Aundrey, master of this vessel that you now stand upon - the good ship Shore Shark. Commissioned pirate hunter fresh on the water... much to every nearby bucaneer's approachin dismay. The short bearded one is Bosun Drannick.
I'll state at the outset that I wasn't much in favour of this meetin when the captain told me of it. But Drannick here figured ye was worth a look... though only on account of the words spoken on yer behalf by some decent folk that we proudly name shipmates. Yer a pirate though, by all accounts, or were at least. So I doubt that we'll need to become overly acquainted. Such don't usually end up staying in Rumbottom for long ye see. Least not above ground.
Well... what 'ave ye got to say fer yerself then?"
[OOC] Orlys may make an insight check DC10 to read the spoiler below:
Having been on his fair share of boats before, and having stood before more than a few ships officers... of a sort, Orlys quickly deduces something of the scenario before him. The First Mate is speaking on the captain's behalf - not uncommon, especially when the captain wants to maintain some level of deniability or just isn't as skilled perhaps in getting answers. The woman E'strue seems hard and straight as the main mast above, but Orlys detects nothing especially malicious about here.
The Captain himself is obviously young, and some level of anxiety is apparent on his youthful features, though he is clearly doing his best to hide it. The look the bugbear sees behind those blue eyes makes the sailor wince though, for it's not one that many captains possess - kindness... perhaps to the point of softness. His former commanders had dealt with such people with disdain and brutal harshness. Though the man stood tall and strong enough, Orlys saw a victim waiting to happen standing here before him.
The grey-bearded dwarf was a puzzle. Dwarves usually hated his kind, he'd learned that the hard way. But this clearly grizzled sailor merely studied him carefully, noting his garb, his physique, his face... all of it. There seemed to be no malice here, but rather a calculating scrutiny borne of years of experience and hard lessons learned. The dwarf kept looking at the fourth of the group, the small Islander woman who the First Mate had not bothered to introduce.
The West Sea Islanders had settled a number of areas in the Trackless Sea, most hundreds of miles from the mainland. Orlys knew this because he'd sailed beside more than a few on a number of pirate ships. The Islanders were reknowned sailors and fearless, ofttimes crazy, fighters. Many developed a love for coin, booze and, most of all, adventure. The pirate's life called, and many answered. Orlys didn't think he recognised this one... but by the wicked smile and confident manner of her bearing, she certainly woudn't have seemed out of place on some of the ships he'd served aboard.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
Orlys looks at them carefully, trying to size them up, but in the end, just sighs. He stands there, towering over them but looking less than impressive, fur wet, shoulders bowed from exhaustion, still bleeding from his most recent wounds. Finally, he straightens his shoulders a little, and looks at each of the officers as he speaks.
"My name is Orlys, born in the Pins, taken by the reaver Captain Brand as a cub, an' sold to shipboard slavery. I growed up on the ocean, an 'ave made some poor choices when the choosin' was meager. The law di'na give a damn 'bout a monster like me, so I learned to live by the laws of the storm an' the sea. I'll not excuse meself for that, I done what I done."
He pauses, his eyes seeking out E'strue's. "The undertow can be strong, sweep even the strongest out to a watery grave, so when yer feet find purchase, ye'd best hold on. This is what I'm doin' now. I been drifting on the currents me whole life, lookin for a sandbar to set on, but always the tide has rolled in and swept me out. Me mam, rest her soul taken by that blackheart Brand, would tell me the high tide is when ye need to set sail."
Then he looks to the gray bearded dwarf. "Yer crew, t'ones I met in that nightmare cave, they ha' not run from me, nor mocked me, nor tried ta kill me. I'd like t'chance, if'n you'd give it to me, to make me own place, on a ship where'n such as they crew."
He shifts his gaze to Captain Aundrey. "Every crew reflects its Captain, I should know, I've served with many a dog and villain. This'n says much good about yerself, Captain."
He pauses and looks at the floor.
Still looking down, he says, "I done some thinkin, spun up in webs for that horror's meal, and it's time for Orlys to stop drifting." Then he looks up again, and his lips curl in a small snarl. "Sides, I've got twenty year shipping out with pirates, an' a healthy list o' scoundrels what I owe an end to. I'd join yer crew, if you'd have me, and help in that task."
ey/em/eirs, or they/them works, too (just not he).
Role-playing since that keep on those borderlands. I love it so.
Walking a few buildings South of the Pirate, not far past where the Shark is docked, A'ro spies a little rundown textiles shop, with a number of humble cloaks, shits and pants displayed on hooks and wire runners out the front. The clothing is made of a fairly coarse hempen fabric for the most part, dyed in subdued greens and browns, with only a few clearly non-local garments among the wares. The proprieter is a small non-descript looking fellow of plain features and completely forgettable mannerisms, who says in disinterested boredom as he sips a dented tin mug of steaming tea,'
"Before you ask, what you see is what I got. Prices are tagged on each item. No need to converse with me. Just pass me the coin when you want to buy something."
Once his clothing purchase is complete, A'ro walks the wharf-side shops and other buildings looking for wanted signs, but finds few notes posted in this area, and those the genasi does see seem mainly to be long out-of-date berth advertisements, aged, roughly scrawled 'looking for work' notes or old missing persons notices. Noticing the white haired sorcerer's interest, a lone dwarven Warden who is sitting on a low crate watching the dock traffic and ships in the harbour while he craddles his battered heavy crossbow, asks with some curiosity what A'ro is looking for and when the ships officer replies, the watchman says as he first points further South down the wharf road before motioning in the direction of the Warden's Lodge,'
"There's a few notices about such on the board outside Boomptins, but most of that sort of thing is on the Herald's board on the wall of the Lodge."
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
A'ro just nods to the shop keep looking for a new hooded vest and pays the man for it. Surprised by the random encounter with the dwarven warden he just sighs"O'course it is..." he says just mentally deciding to avoid the warden's lodge for the betterment of the Shark, after their last encounter with the head warden and the current situations he figured the man was not their biggest fan right now.
He thinks back to what the meeting with Captain and looks back to the dwarf "By chance wouldn't happ'n ta know anything about ship stores goin' missin' would ya? or anything about a bugbear named Orlys?" He asks keeping his friendly demeanor on as he sits next to the dwarf taking a sip from his waterskin.
[OOC]
persuasion check: 22
Campaigns:
Wildemount: The Felderwin Irregulars (2020) - Balassar Silverstone - Dragonborn Fighter (Rune Knight) Lv. 5 | Rise of TIamat - Aiwin Aralana - Wood Elf Fighter/Ranger (Arcane Archer/Gloom Stalker) Lv. 9
At first, Vergil seems concerned as the fog rises up in the Pirate's taproom, cursing as he scrambles below the counter for somethiing as Vaken begins to motion and chant, but even as the dirt stained dwarf comes up with an unloaded crossbow and begins searching about for his case of bolts muttering darkly about sorcerer's, wizards and all magic users, the laughter of Lorana and the apparently unconcerned tavern patrons at the goliath's fairly transparent mummery. Quickly realising the dupe, the now slighly red-faced dwarf mutters his own long stream of unintelligible curses as Vaken walks out of the Inn.
Remembering the quarter masters words about visiting Horgoth's for supplies, Vaken walks South past both docked ships and small scatterings of sailors, most of whom seem either pleased at being newly into shore or excited at the thought of a pending voyage. The moutain born goliath had already thought the town exotic and strange with its relative throngs of people, but addition of yet more accents, colourful attire and unfamiliar faces along the wharf both interests and discomforts the usually quiet giantkin.
Reaching a long wharehouse like building, with an equally long pot-plant bedecked porch built on the front and weather faded-blue tarpolin awning running the length of the porch overhead, Vaken looks up at a colourfully painted sign in the shape of a galleon perched incogruously atop a stand of trees. The bold yellow and red lettering on the sign reads 'Horgoth's Stores and Salvage'. The porch is set-up with shelves and stands which are loaded with goods of all description - mostly pratical useful gear and equipment as might be useful to sailors, farmers, travellers and such, but also a number of curious trinkets and seemingly out-of-place items.
From inside the store you hear a man's deep, but seemingly cheerful voice laughing dismissively at something before countering with a comment that the goliath can't quite make out from the street at the front.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
Gretta merely chuckles at Kestrell's stated aversion to meat pies, but the matronly woman nods at his requested ammendment to the order and takes the offered two silver with thanks as she heads to the back room humming an old tune happily to herself.
Deciding to walk North across the town square, Kestrell passes the line of folk gathering fresh water from the well, also noticing a cheerful looking inn, painted in reds and greens with a large sign in the shape of an apple out front; what looks to be an iron mongers and blacksmithy past the square nearer the North gate; as well a number of other larger, residential looking buildings that encircle the town's centre. Taking a left from the square to head West back towards the wharf along a street sign reading Barrel Row, the navigator notices a quick decline in the size, quality and upkeep of the buildings along the street. Indeed, by the time the bard had walked all the way back to the harbour side, the dilapidation of his surrounds was severe.
A handful of rough labourer types are hanging about out the front of one of the larger rundown buildings in this part of Rumbottom, drinking, cursing and occassionally shoving each other. Weak lantern light flickers from within, barely visible through the grimey windows, though the coarse laughter and drunken shouts common to such places everywhere can readily be heard even here out on the street. A skewed, badly weathered sign depicting a barely recognisable chest hangs above the door, with the words 'The B_on_e Crate' poorly painted beneath.
OOC] Kestrell can make a perception DC10:
Perception DC10:
Approaching the tavern, you glance over at the group of burly men, roughly dressed and roughly spoken, who are gathered drinking from large cracked tankards around the door. Some of the men have dark stained hands, all are calloused and fairly muscled... and one or two even look vaguely familiar. Kestrell quickly realises that two of the four men were with the group that he and his companions had got in fight with at the Pirate a couple of nights back. One of these gives the navigator a dark sullen look... before turning back to his drinking buddies to whisper something as he spits on the ground.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
The dwarven warden looks over at A'ro from watching the two docked caravels and mutters,'
"Don't know about no Orlys... and if it's a bugbear, glad I am not to know! As for stolen goods, ye could ask down at the Lodge."
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
A'ro just nods as he realizes his plan to stay away from the lodge seems to be slowly disintegrating before him "Thanks mate - guess I'm off to the lodge then." He just stands up and begins to walk towards the lodge in hope of finding out something about either the bugbear they met or the stolen goods.
Campaigns:
Wildemount: The Felderwin Irregulars (2020) - Balassar Silverstone - Dragonborn Fighter (Rune Knight) Lv. 5 | Rise of TIamat - Aiwin Aralana - Wood Elf Fighter/Ranger (Arcane Archer/Gloom Stalker) Lv. 9
Strolling by the group of roughs and the doorway to the seedy looking tavern, no one appears to take note of Kay as the diminutive woman as she ducks up onto the porch of the large unlit and seemingly abandoned building beside the drinking hole. An old, dust covered shop sign lies flat and forgotten on the porch and the buildings corners are thick with, thankfully regular sized, spider webs. With no other buildings between her and the small but choppy white-capped waves of the harbour, the smell of sea salt and the sound of crashing waves against the sharp rocks the line the base of the long stony ridge that runs out and above the harbour's North side.
For their part, the four men drinking outside the Rusty Crate appear to continue on as before... until after a few moments of careful watching, the one who had seemed to take special note of Kay's arrival ducks inside. The three who who remain outside appear to be unarmoured and only equiped with small belt knives. As the sun continues to sink towards the Western horizon, Kay notices much of the days regular harbour-side traffic begins to thin out, though a number of sailors from both of the larger ships at dock can be seen walking up and down the wharf, some on their way to a place to relax and others already drinking and beginning the coming nights carousment.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
As A'ro is about to walk away, the dwarven warden says with a crooked smirk,'
"Mind you... While I don't know nothing about any missing ship stores, I do know about some shady types who MIGHT know something about that sort of thing. Can't quite recall their names or where they're holed up though. It's been a long boring shift you see, and when I get thirsty and hungry, without much coin to satisfy my needs... well, I sometimes have a hard time remembering things.
Of course, you COULD go to the Lodge, but Golm and the others are pretty busy at the moment and you might not get a warm reception, seeing as I saw you come off that ship earlier... what with all that stabbing trouble this morning and all..."
The dwarf's posture remains casual as he sits on the small box, but his hard brown eyes are studying A'ro closely and sometimes darting up and down the street.
[OOC] A'ro can make a insight check DC 10 and read the spoiler on a success:
Insight DC10:
The dwarven warden is clearly a sly one, but despite his clear intention to solicit a payment from A'ro in return for his information, he appears nervous as his eyes continue to flicker up and down the street. Something in the man's rough and rugged manner gives A'ro a sense that this likely isn't the first time that this guardsman has sold information for profit.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
The three humans and dwarf standing before Orlys all listen quietly as the bugbear speaks, though at his words he notices a few clear, and possibly a few more subtle, reactions. At the mention of Captain Brand the young captain's eyebrows rise noticeably and he throws a quick look at his no nonsense, straight backed first mate. For her part, the tough woman gives little away at the bugbear's tale of early woe and poor life choices, standing mostly impassive throughout.
The grey-bearded dwarf continues to sip from his silver mug, but a few times Orlys thinks he catches a glimmer of interest in things that the bugbear reveals. The lithe Islander woman, about the same size and weight as young Kay though a dozen years older at least, also raises one finely trimmed, pierced eyebrow at the mention of the notorious slaver captain. Her small, round face stays locked on Orlys while speaks, though she fidgets occassionally with the handles of a few thin, stilletto like blades at her belt as she listens.
As the grizzled goblinoid finishes his tale with his snarled vow of vengence against those he formerly sailed and fought beside, silence settles over those assembled for a handful of moments. The first to speak, after a shared glance with the captain who gives a brief, uncertain nod and the bosun who gives a cagey, though more emphatic nod, First Mate E'strue takes moment to confer quietly with the Islander crew member, before turning back to Orlys to say,'
"A compellin tale of ill fate and hard choices, Orlys. I won't say that I've heard a tale quite like it, though I don't make a habit of askin for the life stories of pirates, I'll admit.
There's little doubt that a fellow of yer experience and skill could be of use to a ship like ours... were that fellow to be trust worthy and committed to bein of aid. Trust and committment... or the surety of both, rather... that seems to be what is at question here. Though of course, there is still the matter of yer past crimes, which we will get to in good time.
What ye say about that dog Brand is not surprisin from all accounts of that so-called captain. Ye speak of being sold, a life of servitude to evil masters and years of misdeeds beside villains... but ye provide little in the way of details regardin those deeds and villains. This doesn't sit well with me.
At that, the bosun Drannick pipes in, the almost leering veteran dwarf asking bluntly without preamble,'
"Aye, ye speak of old deeds and decisions, and then fightin in caves besides our crew... and then here you are. Like E'strue, I'm a might curious as to why you should show up in these parts right at this particular time. Might be ye could give us a little more information, pirate. Where ye've been reavin of late, how'd you come to be here now... and why, bugbear? Let's start there if'n ye mean to earn our trust.
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
A'ro just stops and turns around smiling as the man talks, he just begins to walk back to him sitting back down. He looks around and just casually reaches into his pouch pulling out 5 silver pieces and placing them in the man's hand "Tell me wha' ya know friend - all I'll give is five silv'r and the promise to keep my lips sealed about how this transaction came to be." He just stares at him keeping calm, making clear it's not a threat, but also and understanding that he can see the man is clearly nervous.
[OOC]
insight check: 19
(if needed) persuasion check: 9
Campaigns:
Wildemount: The Felderwin Irregulars (2020) - Balassar Silverstone - Dragonborn Fighter (Rune Knight) Lv. 5 | Rise of TIamat - Aiwin Aralana - Wood Elf Fighter/Ranger (Arcane Archer/Gloom Stalker) Lv. 9
Perception: 13
'Kestrell, recognizing the hooligans, thinks to himself:' "Well, I'll be. Those fellows sure get around. Or maybe not, since we're just down the road from the Prancing Pirate."
'Kestrell returns the stare, and then gives them a smile, reading the lips of the whisperer.'
The dwarf pockets the five silver, glancing at the coins as he does so. Looking sourly back at A'ro, the genasi can tell that the man was hoping for more. Grumbling, the man seems undecided on something for a moment, before he says,'
"Well, you might be a little light there, but for that I'll tell you this - there have been some dodgy folk drifting North from Luskan of late. Those that choose to hang around usually stay at the Crate. I don't know that they're responsible for these missing stores, but one of them lost a hand for being a little light-fingered a couple of days after arriving in town. Make of that what you will."
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
While the men glower quite a bit, and stand with the threatening stance and bluster of typical bullies, none of them make any move to actually harass Kestrell. The observant navigator notices that none of the men are armoured or even armed, tiny belt knives aside. The one who leans in to whisper to his friend does so in plain view of the lip reading bard,'
"What the **** does he want? Bastards got us kicked from the Pirate and now they come here? Brannin will spit foam if he sees them."
D&D is a game, but it's not just a game. It's the ultimate storyboard, a campfire to share with friends, an imaginary call to imaginary arms and a ship to sail to horizons yet undreamt of...
DM Trevails Upon the Trackless Sea
'Kestrell, standing awkwardly in the street, makes a split second decision. Not wanting potential enemies at his back, he decides to confront the four thugs and walks right up to them and addresses the group:'
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hold no ill will towards you. Let me buy you a round of ale, and if there be no racist talk perhaps we can let old quarrels be buried? I am here on ships business. The Shore Sharks business. I'll take care of that and then be on my way."
Persuasion: 7
[OOC]: If Kestrell sees a bar wench outside, he will motion to her and order 5 ales, without waiting for a response from the thugs. If not, he will gauge their response and if it looks favorable, say: "Very well, how do we order a pint around here?"
Insight on the thugs reaction to his offer, and if they want to rumble right now, or may be happy with the proffered ale: 19
Orlys nods to E'strue and Drannick's questions. "As for what I've done, I been on the sea for twenty years, I can honestly say I'll not remember all that has happened before me eyes. I've ended lives, and stood shoulder to shoulder with murderers at the orders of masters or captains. But I ken tell ye, never have I taken a life what did cower or run. I've not killed in cold blood, though I've seen it done."
"T'were this last crew what set me on the path to ye. I'd been without a berth in Brownbones a while, when word reached me of a ship lookin' ta replace crew. It turned out to be the Shoalheart, Captain Sand's galley. I've not seen a more cruel pirate on all me life, les'n it be her first mate, but by then, there was no backing out. I'd not served but a short time, and with a crew o' blackhearts like I never did see, when we dropped anchor by Rumbottom, and were sent ashore. I was ta be the muscle, nothin' new to me that. But it went south, what with the damned forest coming alive, and the plants. I and another was backed into a cave, when the devil spiders got us. I've no idea how long I hung there before yer crew found me."
"As I said, I had some time ta reflect on me life, in them spiders' larder. I'll not dip what I done in sugar, no, but it is time ta make me dead mam think better o' me when we meet again."
ey/em/eirs, or they/them works, too (just not he).
Role-playing since that keep on those borderlands. I love it so.