Serpent's Skull Part 1: Souls For Smuggler's Shiv

[RocketMan]

Serpent’s Skull Part 1: Souls For Smuggler’s Shiv


Private Log of First Mate Alton Devers

10 Pharast 4711

With the spring approaching, Captain Kovack is eager to depart Magnimar. Supplies are aboard and passengers are arriving: a gnome, Gelik Aberwhinge, finely dressed with enough stories to pass the time to Vudra and back (or so he tells me); Ieana Lescova, a Varisian scholar, with a trunk full of books; and the Captain’s charge, Caylee Meeler. I wonder what someone so young is doing going to Sargava all alone? Kovack’s tight-lipped about it all - only said that the girl was to have free board.

12 Pharast 4711

Kissed Allaney goodbye on the docks - Gods I’ll miss her - then we were off. Nothing like the open sea after a winter in port.

26 Pharast 4711

Arrived in Kintargo. Can’t say I’m fond of being in Cheliax, but it gives us a change to take on more supplies. Another passenger came aboard. Nice lad, Marcian is. Another fortune-seeker on his way to Garund. Hopefully he doesn’t die. Captain says he best keep his bird under control or it’s dinner.

30 Pharast 4711

Following the Chelish coast. Due to arrive in Pezzack in three days. Gelik is living up to his (self-described) reputation. Had all the men laughing with his impression of a drunken goblin - little Toby practically wet himself. The Captain checks on Caylee every few days. I hope she’s settling in fine.

4 Gozran 4711

One day late in Pezzack. Kovack was none too pleased. Won’t be staying long. Some of the men were disappointed. Took on some more cargo - large crates bound for Eledar. The men said they were easy to carry, but mine was bloody heavy! Ieana still keeps mostly to herself. She didn’t even want to take the opportunity to put her feet on the ground - mumbled something about her research being too important.

13 Gozran 4711

Snuck above deck with Marcian last night. His poor bird needed to stretch its wings. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better trained creature. Anyways, it’s one more week to Corentyn.

20 Gozran 4711

Entered Corentyn. Gods I hate this port. Chelish warships all over the harbour - the Jenivere had to have a bloody escort just to dock. The Captain is finishing the paperwork for the transfer of the prisoner - Jask Derindi, quiet man, did something to piss off someone important in Sargava and now he’s in our brig. Took on another passenger, Torrek Asternul. He better stay right along the keel, or else I swear by the Gods we’ll capsize! He’s even bigger than Branard.

23 Gozran 4711

Bound for the open sea again. Weather keeps getting warmer, a combination of the coming summer and the Jenivere heading south. The Captain hasn’t been visiting Caylee as often - maybe I’ll check up on her, make sure she’s alright.

10 Desnus 4711

Ilizmagorti: difficult to find, but just the thing for tired sailors after weeks on at sea. With the Eye of Abendego before us, I suspect they’re all enjoying fine drinks and soft company. We’ve got another passenger too, woman named Sasha Nevah, quite the stunner. Eidan thinks he might have a chance with her. I guess the fool hasn’t seen her tattoo - no sir, too dangerous, that one.

15 Desnus 4711

There’s a sombre mood on the Jenivere. I can’t stop thinking about Allaney back home. Gelik was bragging about how he’d been through the Eye a thousand times, but I reckon that this is his first passing. I wonder how the passengers will fare. I asked Torrek today if he was worried about the storm. Turns out rain and waves don’t scare someone with that many scars!

24 Desnus 4711

Never thought I’d be glad to be in the Shackles, but compared to the Eye Ollo is heaven. The passing wasn’t too bad. Ieana’s books were strewn everywhere, but she didn’t complain. Gelik’s hat (the one with the fine feather in it) was swept out to sea. He did complain. We’ll resupply here, then be off.

4 Sarenith

Quent has even more pirates than Ollo, and that’s saying something. I’m glad we aren’t staying for long. The Captain seems unusually driven to reach Eledar.

11 Sarenith

Port Peril. If there’s a city anywhere with a truer name, I’ll be damned. Two more passengers, both women, both with pointed ears. Aerys Mavato, half-elf and (I assume) a former pirate. Borton suggested she share his bunk - she suggested he would look better without a nose. The second is an elf, Illyria. She seems to know what’s what. I reckon she’ll be fine once we get to Sargava.

19 Sarenith

The heat is increasingly oppressive as we venture further south. Even Ieana occasionally joins us all above deck. At least there’s a breeze there. We moored in Bloodcove, briefly. Those Aspis men are damned efficient - in, get our passengers and freight, and out again, just like that. The new boarder calls himself Ishirou. Not sure what to make of him - he’s gruff enough to be a dwarf, not what I’d expect for a Consortium agent.

22 Sarenith

Well, I’ll be blasted to the nineth! We had a stowaway aboard! So that’s where to food had been going - and to think we blamed poor Rambar! Runt of a girl, Portia is, and I feel more than a bit sorry for her. The Captain was having none of it though. Said she was a distraction and locked her up with Jask in the brig.

30 Sarenith

When I learned we were to take on our final passenger in the sprawling city of Senghor, I suppose I had pictured some exotic Mwangi warrior or shaman. Certainly not Warburton. Colonist, apparently out on some expedition in the jungle. He’s only been on the ship a few days and I feel like I know everything about him. Maybe I’ll go ask Gelik for a story not about a certain dashing halfling.

2 Erastus

The Captain’s been a bit funny lately. Detached, more than usual. Still, everybody else are in high spirits. The Garundi summer might be hotter than Asmodeus’s beard, but we’re in Desperation Bay. Only three more days to Eledar!

-----------

3 Eratus 4711

“Cheers to the end of a long voyage, to good friends, and to fine company!” Gelik Aberwhinge intones solemnely. The gnome is clad in fine silk clothes, with a neat blonde goatee and a pinched face. He raises his tankard into the air in a toast. The night is a fine one. The air hangs thick and humid around the Jenivere’s deck. The orange sun is setting in the horizon, causing the ocean to glimmer, while above the first stars are visible in the purple sky. “I do hope,” the gnome continues verbosely, “that all of my friends here will find success in all their ventures in Sargava and beyond. It has been my great pleasure to travel with you all. Moreover,” Gelik adds, his eyes glinting mischievously, “it has been my greater pleasure to remain undefeated at cards.” From his pocket, the gnome draws a deck and sits himself at a makeshift table.

“Hrmph,” Aerys scoffs. The half-elf is taller than many men, with raven hair cropped short and an aquiline nose. “I’ve beaten Gelik at cards. Several times. But what’s one more if it shuts him up?” she asks rhetorically.

“That sounds like fun,” Sasha says enthusiastically, laughing her too-loud laugh as her bright blue eyes flicker with anticipation. Unlike Aerys, Sasha prefers her orange hair long and her clothes revealing. “Anyone else care to join in?”

Ishirou scowls. The Tien man’s face is characterized by sharp features, and his black hair is flecked prematurely with grey. At his waist hangs a long blade. “I don’t think so,” he says, his voice tinged with disdain. Ishirou settles himself some distance away, looking out to see with an impassive expression on his face.

“Well if you won’t Ishirou, I will,” Alton Devers says cheerfully, grinning. Alton is tall and wiry, with a long face, flaxen hair, and a quick smile. “I think it’s your deal, Gelik, since you challenged us.”

“And what about our other fine passengers? Will you be joining us testing your prowess at the most noble art of cards?”

Portia:

Spoiler

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It hasn't been pleasant, being locked up in the brig for the past weeks, but at least you don't have to steal morsels of food from the kitchen in the dead of night. Every morning and every night you're brought a bowl of soup - tonight, it's late arriving and you're hungry.

Jask Derindi sits still in the next cell. The Garundi man looks slightly emaciated, his hair falls in messy deadlocks around his face, and his hands are manacled. His eyes are closed as he speaks in a deep, rich voice. “We must be fast approaching Sargava.” He sighs. “It is my understanding that you are to be set free. What do you intend to do?” he asks you wistfully.

“Still talking?” Iovan drawls. The olive-skinned sailor leans casually against the brig’s wall - clearly, his heart is not in guarding the prisoners. “Spare me. Listening to the two of you praying every morning is bad enough. ‘Nethys I’m hungry!’ and ‘Desna I’m seasick!’” he mocks. “Maybe I’ll watch them hang you when we get to Eledar, Jask.” The sailor smiles cruelly.

[Leviathan]

Warburton

The halfling looks up at the dusky sky, slowly transforming itself into night, as he steps on deck. His fine leather boots make a pleasingly-authoritative (if he does say so himself) sound as they strike the wooden planks of the Jenivere. His cane - carried not out of necessity, but because no proper gentleman would be caught dead without one as part of his wardrobe - taps in synch with his small footfalls.

Warburton takes a puff on his pipe, gently breathing out the smoke as he looks airily around at the sky. Then something catches his ear: Gelik's warm words about he and his fellow passengers. The smiles charmingly and boisterously speaks. "Indeed! Hurrah for smashing good company! Smashing good company indeed!"

"But I say, Gelik," the jaunty Warburton continues at the gnome's mention of cards; "you shan't go undefeated much longer, I'm afraid!" He strides over to the table, cane clicking against the deck, and sits himself down. "For you have never faced so deviously clever a foe as I! So beware, old chap, for I will pull no punches in this most gentlemanly of challenges!"

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

Idly poised upon a nearby seat beneath the lavish purple sky, a smile etched on his face as he reveled in the jubilation, the young Andoran boy had been having quite the time of his life since his departure from his home in Falcon's Hollow. From the moment he set foot upon the Jenivere, it had been one sojourn across the Inner Sea to strange and wondrous locales after another. Each new port brought new sights and sounds to the wanderlust-stricken lad; and with it an uplifting sensation of progress and understanding. Even now, Marcian was quite elated; only a few more days and he'd have reached his destination, and he was more than a little eager to see what Sargava and its vastly rumored lands had to offer.

But there was much to be experienced here on the Jenivere itself, as Chayton and Marcian had quickly come to realize. Indeed, quite the colorful gathering had somehow found itself upon the sea-sprayed decks of the ship he found himself upon, and - save for his initial seasickness - Marcian had been quite content with the company present, seizing every opportunity he could to socialize with the crew and its passengers traveling southwards... or at least with those whom weren't of the more hostile or introverted variety.

"I s'pose I could give it a try," chimed the young adventurer, his smile never faltering as he rose to migrate to the nearby table the ever-dapper gnome had set himself at, Chayton only lightly flapping to maintain his own balance upon the impromptu perch that was Marcian's shoulder. The soles of his boots were soft against the hard wooden planks below him as he made his way beside Alton and Warburton - another devilishly witty fellow Marcian found quite refreshing to be around - and plopped down in the seat beside the halfling gentleman proper. The last time Gelik had offered to play, Marcian kindly turned him down; not so much because he didn't want to play, but rather because he was so engrossed in his map again, something that had been recurring more and more frequently the closer the Jenivere came to docking in the Garundi city.

"So, how do I play?" Marcian curiously inquired as he turned from one passenger to the next, just as chipper and upbeat as he'd been since he first boarded the Sargavan-bound vessel. Chayton preened himself lightly, no doubt just as anxious to reach their adjoined destination as Marcian, every so often peeking up at the like-minded individuals sharing the seafaring vessel with a mix of intrigue and wary caution, but keeping quiet; surprisingly tactful and well-behaved for a bird of prey.

[DaedalusMkV]

Illyria is a common sight on deck; she spends almost all of her time out here, sun or rain, watching the horizon and pacing back and forth the length of the deck. The young elven mercenary barely seems to have the ability to stand still, even if she's merely pacing a few steps at a time. She doesn't seem to have any problem with seasickness, but nonetheless acts as if impatient to get off the ship. It's easy to get the impression that she's just not used to staying in one place for any length of time. With the night as fine as it is, she's out near the bow watching the sunset and practicing some sort of trick with the daggers she habitually carries in her sleeves, probably as much to amuse the sailors as for her own purposes. At the mention of a card game, however, she immediately sheathes the knife in her hand with a flourish and stalks over to the table, a grin on her ever-youthful Elven face and her well-worn mercenary leathers rustling lightly against each other.

"I just prefer not to put anyone as fond of the cards as you out of their misery too quickly, Gelik. Takes all the fun out of it, really. What's the game, then? Andorani Bluff? Hangman's Noose? Maybe I can convince you to give People's Gambit a try again? I promise, it doesn't usually involve cutting the deck in half." The games are all popular in the war-torn eastern regions of Avistan, a product of a great deal of time spent with the soldiers of Galt, Molthune and Taldor. She sits down at the table, perching lightly on her chair in a fluid motion that would probably be a lot more important if she were wearing her swordbelt, and gestures to the others. Illyria is as cheerful as usual, her tone light and joking. "Don't suppose any of you fine gentlemen would be kind enough to get me a drink, would you? I can't play cards with a dry throat."

[thewamp]

Caylee

Caylee is very young and tall with a touch of the gangly appearance that is usually reserved for teenage boys. She is tall and thin with long red hair that has become progressively curlier and frizzier as the weather has gotten warmer. Today, she's wearing a simple green tunic and although it doesn't look like much, she would be able to tell you that it's worth a good bit more than the woolen one. Then again, she might also tell you that this tunic is a gift from the king of Fahrania, a distant kingdom where the fabric is green to begin with and you have to dye it to get it a normal color. Anyone who's spent any time talking to her on this journey will know that not every word that comes out of her mouth is entirely truthful.

She has mixed feelings about their imminent arrival at Sargava. On the one hand, it will be nice to finally be heading towards cooler climates. On the other, she's come to quite like the other passengers and isn't at all eager to see them leave.

Caylee is standing near the railing, trying to catch any breeze that might be floating by and grimacing slightly at the heat. On hearing Warburton's and Marcian's words, she smiles and returns her attention to the group on the deck. "I can teach you, Marcian. It sounds like this is a gentleman's game though, so I don't know if it would really be proper of me to join in." She rolls her eyes and grins.

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

"That sounds great, Miss Caylee. I'm sure it'll be fine. Right, Mister Gelik?" Marcian again chimed as politely as he was able to muster, a bright ray of enthusiasm once more bombarding his face, his own naivete no doubt shining through. Scooching across the deck with his seat, Marcian maneuvers as best he's able to provide a spot for the other young passenger; Chayton quite displeased by the sudden bobbing and shuffling of the boy he's so precariously perched upon.

With that shifting commotion concluded, Marcian returns to the impromptu table proper, turning to face the full-blooded elf seated nearby. She was quite the sight; he'd only seen a few elves before back home, but never one this close. There was something mysterious about them, an awe of intrigue permeating their existence - at least from where Marcian stood. From time to time aboard the Jenivere, he would cast a wondering glance towards Illyria (and occasionally Aerys), though careful not to stare too long, lest he be considered rude and insensitive.

"I've got some water down in my room, if you like," the human lad began anew, trying hard not to stare at the woman's ears as he addressed her as properly as he was able before realizing how foolish that made him sound in retrospect. "Think it might be half-empty by now though. And probably warm, too, so... uh... not sure if that was even worth mentioning. Sorry."

[WereMereBear]

Portia

She supposes the guard thinks he is quite the overbearing figure, but Portia is hardly impressed. She has, after all, been bullied by professionals, by creatures whose very existence is predicated on their status as living embodiments of the idea of bullying. Still, it is usually important in situations like this, especially when the man in charge is as frustrated as their guard seems, to feign intimidation.

Not tonight though. Portia is hungry, the voyage is almost over, and her patience has all but run out. So she turns to her neighbor, ignoring the churlish sailor, and smiles affably.

"I can't say that I set out with any sort of plan - I'm sure you know what it's like to find yourself buffeted on the winds of fate and chance - but I was hoping I might be able to continue my work. You know, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and most important to my celestial lady, freeing the imprisoned. You wouldn't happen to know where I could start on that last bit, would you?"

The last sentence is delivered in a stage whisper. Portia turns, still smiling, to gauge the guard's reaction.

[Leviathan]

Warburton

"My dear boy," Warburton chimes in. "I do believe that our lady friend is trying to entice us into providing her with spirits." He says this with a chipper-yet-worldly air. Marcian, the poor lad... where would he be without such a wise advisor?

He looks at Illyria, and you are all quite unsure as to whether he is as deadly-serious as he sounds, given the content of his words:"I must warn you from this course of action, my lady: sailors' grog is so dreadfully frightful, and they drink the bally rot with such terrible bad form."

Warburton clears his throat dramatically, then smiles. "I, of course, have a bottle of the finest Sargavan in my pack, but such a delicacy I'm afraid, will only do to consummate our docking at Eledar."

[RocketMan]

"Good, good!" Gelik says, smiling broadly. "Now, if you would all be amenable, I would suggest a game of -" The gnome is cut short by a loud crash and raucous laughter. Moments later the cause of the disturbance becomes obvious as three sailors stagger onto the deck, still laughing uproariously.

"Sho then, I saysh to her, no ma'am, I don't want any babies. Sho I left on thish ship! N' I don't got any babies!"

"Eidan," interjects another sailor, whom you recognize as Duan. "I thinksh you gotsh bastards running all over thish shea and the Inner one!"

"To running little bashtards I don't know!" calls the third sailor, Kevyn, raising his tankard of what can only be an alcoholic substance high over his head. Some sloshes over the side, but he doesn't notice. The other two men join him in toasting their illegitimate offspring before lapsing into another bout of hysterical laughter.

Portia:

Spoiler

Show

Jask nods slowly. "I do know, all to well," he says in his deep voice. "Plans - well, my plans got me here." He smiles bitterly. "Your plans - I hope they can be realized. I know one prisoner who could do with some freeing." Jask smiles again, this time genuinely. Iovan scowls again.

"Look, girl, the Captain's plenty generous to let you walk free when we get to Sargava. Sometimes he even lets you take meals with the crew, walk on the deck. You try anything, you won't like the results."

[Leviathan]

Warburton sighs theatrically as the sailors appear on deck. He "tut-tuts" making his displeasure clear, then turns to Illyria. "I do believe that these sailors are making my case for abstaining from alcohol more eloquently than I could ever hope to accomplish. It is, however, I confess, an awful shame that they couldn't, having left my point so proven, take their demonstration elsewhere with all haste!"

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

With mild surprise, Marcian peers over his shoulder as the familiar faces of the Jenivere's crew come up onto the deck, stumbling and making drunken fools of themselves as they wobble to and fro in their celebratory inebriation. Cheyton similarly follows suit, following the louts with a curious - albeit cautious - gaze.

"It, uh, looks like they're in high spirits, huh?" the young boy mumbles to the assembled ensemble at the table, returning to the game not yet begun, Warburton's much more sophisticated fanfare for verbatim somewhat lost on the country-raised bumpkin; instead simply returning the halfling gentleman a very naive smile. Though to be fair, the crew had every right to be so jovial; given how long he'd been on the ship, Marcian was just as eager to see land - and the promised wonders therein - of the good ship Jenivere's final port. A little too crass for his own tastes, but every man is entitled to celebrate in their own way.

"Prob'ly just as ready as us to be off this boat. Right, Cheyton?" coos the boy, scratching his faithful friend perched alight on his shoulder gently. Stealing another glance with a warm smile, their intoxicated nature reminded Marcian of the small festivals they would hold back home, the men and women dancing rebelliously, reveling in their holiday-spurned freedoms... and of all the dancers therein tumbling from tables to the hard and unforgiving tavern floor below. Suddenly, that smile disappeared, replaced with a mild grimace of cautious concern.

"Though... uh... maybe a bit early, sir?" His tone quickly shuffled from that of congenial understanding to a more worrisome one as Marcian glanced towards Devers; a man with whom the boy respected and thought very highly of since he came aboard the ship, not only as a man who knew his trade, but as a fellow freedom-lover - a kindred spirit of friendship having touched him in relation to this fine fellow, just as so many others had as well aboard the fine seafaring ship he now found himself upon. "Might not be too safe up here. What if they were to fall into the drink or somethin'?"

[WereMereBear]

"Yes, you lot are practically saints, I'd say."

Portia crosses her arms, taps her foot, and leans back against the wall of her cell. Her expression quickly softens though. They could have thrown her overboard to be eaten by sharks, but they hadn't, and that was certainly something. She supposed, perhaps, a cell could be tolerated under such circumstances, especially since she was going to be released from it soon. Still, she was quite hungry.

"Actually, I apologize. I've been a little short with you tonight, my friend. It's just that I'm famished, you see, and the food seems to be late. Perhaps you could find it in your heart to see what the delay is?"

[DaedalusMkV]

Illyria smiles at Marcian's naivety. It wasn't so long ago that I was that awkward. It can't be more than thirty years... Though a long thirty years it's been, I'll admit. They live life fast outside of the Homeland... She raises her hand dismissively to Warburton's comments. " Don't be such a snob, Warburton. Not all of us can subsist on fine spirits and rich food, after all. In my line of work you take what you can get and don't ask too many questions." She doesn't bat an eye at the drunken sailors wandering the deck; as long as they don't bother Illyria, she doesn't much care if they want to drink themselves into a stupor. "They're sailors, Marcian. They've probably spent half their lives drunk on deck. I wouldn't worry about them hurting themselves, really. I'll agree with you on the ship, though. Never could stand these things, with their pitching and yawing and confinement. At least your little friend there can stretch his wings out and fly every once in a while; some of us don't even get that much freedom." She chuckles lightly and smiles at the young hunter, trying to make it clear that her words aren't intended as a criticism.

"Now then, isn't that enough delaying? Come now, a drink and a game of cards. Is that really too much to ask?" She pulls a copper coin out of her belt pouch and starts tossing it the air, then running it over her knuckles. "Maybe a story or two as we play? I can't imagine a better way to spend another night out here on the endless blue."

[thewamp]

Caylee

Caylee frowned at the sailors with distaste. Missing her father was the worst part of being on this ship, but drunk sailors had to be a close second. Not that she hadn't run into plenty of their sort back at home, but it didn't make them any less obnoxious. She stands with her arms folded, glaring rather haughtily for a moment, until Illyria brings her back to the card game.

Shrugging, she shakes her head slightly and with a smile, mutters under her breath, "I bet I know a certain halfling who'll be glad to tell us a story."

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

Once again, that simplistic smile creeps its away across Marcian's face with silent force; the words of the crew's less regular guests a warm and calming presence aboard the Jenivere proper in comparison to the suddenly more turbulent nature of the inebriated sailors.

Indeed, their words rang true. Liberation from the bowels of the aquatic vessel was so close, with Sargava's mysterious horizon growing nearer and nearer with every gentle caress of Gozreh's placated favor. Again Marcian is reminded of his home at the words of Illyria; of freedoms and the like with which he had left behind, yet taken with him in spirit upon his self-incited sojourn across Golarion. Yet still, here upon the Jenivere for what had felt like a lifetime, the boy felt the restless stirrings of wanderlust, confined upon a water-bound ship from which the only escape was a plunge into depths unfathomable.

But such thoughts for Marcian are passing at best, and as he scratched his companion with a strange amalgam of envy and love, the human traveler returned his ever-inquisitive gaze back to the table proper, content to let the sailors have their merriment.

"I like the sound of that. 'Bout ready to try my luck with'a game; s'long as you're willing to show me how to play." hums the boy as he peers from one of his ship-bound companions to the next, eagerness rife on his face as he steels himself for whatever ludicrous tale - and likely torrid loses at whatever card game - Gelik were to choose.

[RocketMan]

"What the blazes do you men think you are doing?" The voice of Captain Alizandru Kovack booms as he strides across the deck. Kovack is a tall man with a mane of black hair flowing from under his tricorn hat. His beard is well-kept, and he has a false gold tooth in place on one of his molars.

"There's a storm coming up, and you men are drunk out of your wits?" he belows, as if hoping the volume of his voice will drive the alcohol from his crew.

"Shorry shir," Eidan says, rather boldly for one so chastised. "We're fit for action, sir, fit for any shtorm!" Next to him, the man named Duan takes a step forwards, making to salute the Captain, before stumbling over.

Kovack turns to the assembled group of passengers next. "As you heard, there's a storm brewing," he says grimly, pointing towards the horizon, where a dark mass of clouds can be seen hanging over Desperation Bay. "I suggest you get below deck. Even without these idiots, this storm shouldn't be of much concern."

The passengers begin filing off the deck, with Gelik dramatically bemoaning being forced below. Reassembling in the mess, the voice of Rambar Terillo, the Jenivere's cook, calls out, "dinner - five minutes."

"So how about that game now," Aerys suggests once everyone is seated. "Gelik, I still need to teach you a lesson."

"Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting," a voice says quietly from the door. It is Ieana, the Varisian scholar, a rare sight outside of her cabin. She is short with curly brown hair and a button nose, pretty in a mousy sort of way.

"Come and join us!" Sasha says happily. "We hardly ever get to see you."

"Oh no," Ieana replies, looking startled by the prospect. "I don't play cards. No, I wanted to ask you all something. You know I am a scholar... my research is on ancient ruins, pre-Starfall ruins. You all - well, you seem, er, capable. I was wondering... you may have plans already, it's not a demand... but when we get to Eledar, if any of you would agree to accompany me inland. There's a particular ruin I'm searching for," she says eagerly. "Please think it over."

[thewamp]

Caylee

Caylee frowns curiously and turns to see the others response to Ieana's question. The woman is obviously not actually talking to her - she's not leaving the trip in Sargava. But it would be fun. She imagines herself for a moment, hacking through a wild jungle with an enormous sword while lizards and... things of that sort squeaked around her...?

She grinned a little. Knowledge of the jungle wasn't really her strong suit. But it did sound exciting. Maybe some day she and her father could visit.

[Leviathan]

Warburton

The halfling does a bow before Ieana, flourishing one hand out in front of him, with the other tucked behind his back. "Of course, my lady. You may count yourself fortunate that you have found yourself upon this vessel, for amongst its many upright passengers is a veteran explorer who, I might add, has encountered many mysterious ruins and braved many deadly perils!"

"But," he continues, pausing as the Jenivere's cook calls out, "this is a conversation for dinner, if you would care to join me."

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

After the thunderous explosion of verbal reprimand by the stoically stern captain of the Jenivere and the migration back below deck - more so for Marcian out of fear of further upsetting the dauntless leader of the vessel - the boy and his feathered friend once again return to their seat, a wayward sigh barely managing to escape his lips as the shock wears off. Probably for the best anyway, what with the encroaching storm; the good captain likely knew what to expect, and probably didn't want anyone not sea-worthy up there clogging up the deck and such.

With that fiasco resolved, Marcian returned his interests to the game; and more importantly towards the prospect of food. Suddenly beset by a growling gullet, this notion only causes the young boy to grope plaintively at his stomach.

"Food sounds so good right now..." he mumbles under his breath, lips curling inwards ever so slightly at the titillating texture of a delicious morsel preemptively snuck its imaginary way onto his taste buds.

As Marcian returns to the yet-to-be-begun game at hand, once more an interruption is incurred, this time by a passenger Marcian couldn't recall ever seeing... or perhaps he had, and just forgotten? Hard to say, really, as the girl stuck her head through the doorway and into the impromptu game parlor. She was certainly skittish, and her talk of jungle exploration began to fill the boy's noggin with those of adventure: exploring those lost ruins and avoiding perilous booby traps, rescuing valuables from the lost troughs of time, and escaping from hostile natives just as his father had before him.

There would be no 'thinking it over' for Marcian, his eyes now afire with renewed passion. This was what he came here for; not specifically, but spiritually. The chance to plumb ancient depths long forgotten once they docked in Eledar? How could he possibly pass up such a fortuitous opportunity?!

"Yeah. Come eat with us at least, Miss," Marcian implores alongside the other ladies and Warburton, trying hard not to ask Warburton a slew of questions involving his expertise in the field. Scooting down a bit - much to Cheyton's dismay - the young Andoran makes room for the other scholarly voyager, eager to hear more of her endeavors within these mysterious ruins.

[DaedalusMkV]

Illyria

Illyria reluctantly shuffles down belowdecks after the others, clearly reluctant to shut herself up in the bowels of the ship. She sits down at the table in the mess, seeming quite a bit less lively than before. Perhaps it's the prospect of the coming storm or simply being forced inside when she'd rather be abovedecks, but she's lost a lot of the good humour that she radiated before. "Yes, let's get those cards out. If nothing else, it'll help keep our minds off the prospect of another night of rocking floors and queasiness." She seems slightly annoyed at first at Iaena's interruption, but quickly perks up at the mention of lost temples and jungle exploration. "A ruin, you say? As it would turn out, finding things is something of a specialty of mine. My rates are quite reasonable, and if you think there might be some sort of treasure at the other end... Well, a good hike through the jungle with the prospect of a payday at the end is always something worth thinking about, as far as I see it."

[RocketMan]

"Oh, no," Ieana says apologetically to Marcian when he invites her to dine with the others. "I really do have far too much to do - research, that is. I'm sorry, I really am, but ancient Azlanti is quite difficult to translate, and it needs to be finished before we all arrive in Eledar. But if anyone wants to know more about my work, and the expedition, I'd be happy to discuss it later." With that, the scholar sweeps out of the mess, her colourful Varisian scarf trailing behind her.

About fifteen minutes pass before a loud call of "dinner!" is heard, and Rambar presents each of you with a bowl of what appears to be water with a few meagre pieces of potato floating pathetically. "My best soup!" the cook says proudly.

Portia

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"Iovan," calls a small voice. "Dinner in the mess!" A thin, slightly gangly lad with a mop of thatch-blonde hair and a freckly face comes into view, carrying a number of bowls precariously. Iovan nods and leaves with a final malicious smirk at Portia and Jask.

"Sorry about him," says Tobias, the Jenivere's cabin boy. "Anyways, here's your food. It doesn't look very good, does it?" He passes the bowls through the bars, before proceeding back out of the brig.

Whether in the brig or the mess, the soup tastes equally bland. The monotony of the flavourless food grows with each passing spoonful, and the chatter of the crew and passengers seems to fade away. Your eyelids grow heavy, and the movement of the ship seems to rock you to sleep. Then, blackness.
__________

Illyria

For some reason it's dark and silent. You can't see or hear anything. Something feels wet, though. Yes, definitely wet. Can it really be - sand? Yes, it must be, because now you can feel water lapping at your feet and hear the sound of ocean waves. For some reason, you can feel a heavy pressure on your left leg.

Suddenly, a searing pain shoots though your leg, and your eyes snap open. It must be morning now, as the sun is in the sky. You are lying on a small beach nestled within a rocky cove, with a verdant green wall of foliage springing up dramatically just where the sand ends.

You have little time to take in the scenery. The source of the pain is readily discernable - four enormous crustaceans, each the size of a large dog, are gathered on the beach, readying themselves to feed on the ten comatose bodies sprawled out on the sand. One of the creatures has a chunk of your flesh in it's lobster-like claw.

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Illyria has won initiative, so DaedalusMkV, you can go ahead and post her action. The rest of you will be waking up in short order.

[DaedalusMkV]

Illyria

Illyria's eyes groggily flutter open and start taking in the details of her surroundings and she lets out a cry of alarm. "Aagh! Everyone, get up! Enemy in the perimeter! What in the Hells was in that gods-damned soup..." The young Elven mercenary quickly jumps to her feet and reaches for her sword, only to find it not there. Right. I wasn't wearing my sword-belt at dinner... Damn. No bow, either. Looks like I need to improvise. With a flick of her wrist she drops the dagger from one of her wrist sheathes into her hand and hurls it at the nearest of the shelled monsters, hoping to injure it before it comes for her.

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I'm a bit shy on information here, so this action is a little bit contingent. First, I'm only going to do it this way as long as there's a crab within 20 feet of me but not immediately adjacent. If there is a crab immediately adjacent to me, I'll take a 5-foot step (while still Prone), then stand up and hurl the dagger. If the nearest crab is more than 20 feet away, I'm going to be looking around for a better weapon instead. Second, if any of my more effective weaponry (for example, Illyria's sword) is within easy sight of her and not protected by any enemies, she'll run for that instead of trying to make a weak dagger-based attack. If any of this is the case, I'll edit my post to reflect it.

If this action does go through:
Attack: (1d20+3)[18]
Damage: (1d4+2)[4]
Sneak Attack (If applicable, since I did win initiative): (1d6)[5]

Defensive Summary:
HP 10/10

AC17, Touch 14, FF13
Fortitude +2, Reflex +5, Will +0(+2 vs. Enchantments)

[RocketMan]

Illyria hurries backwards, away from the nearest crustacean. Drawing a dagger from her belt, she hurls it at the strange creature. The blade finds its mark, embedding itself between the chitinous plates and puncturing some vital organ, for Illyria's attacker collapses into the surf.

Nearby, the other crustaceans move towards their still-comatose prey. One sinks its pincers into Warburton's side, but the halfling still does not stir, nor does Marcian despite the second beast clawing at his leg. Portia, however, wakes with a start as the third living crustacean sinks its claws into her flesh. Nearby, Caylee, who has thus far escaped the attentions to the creatures, also stirs.

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Warburton, Marcian, and Portia each take 2 damage.

Portia and Caylee are now also awake.

Any equipment that the characters did not have on their person at dinner - probably including any weapons larger that light - can be found in a pile 20 feet inland from the edge of the water. In the case of Illyria, her sword is visible within the pile, but I've kept her action as the first contingency considering that she killed her foe anyways.

[thewamp]

Caylee

Caylee awoke with a pounding in her head and sand in one ear. For one moment, before it all sunk in, she stretched her arms and legs, but as she moved to rub the sleep out of her eyes, it hit her: Sand. What?

Eyes opening in alarm, she looked around. What are these things? She looked around in a panic for the captain. What do I do?

And suddenly she remembered her father's words. "Remember, if anything dangerous happens, just protect yourself." She'd teased him when he'd said this. After all, she wanted adventure. But this wasn't what she'd had in mind...

Crawling away from the creatures as quietly as she could, she muttered something to herself and breathed out slowly as she felt that protective tingling on her skin.

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Stealth (1d20+3)[13] in whatever way will take her away from the combat and cast mage armor.

[WereMereBear]

Portia

The first thing Portia thinks is, "Five more minutes..."

The second thing Portia thinks is, [color="blue"]"By Desna I promised those sailors I'd geld them if they tried anything. Hope this jerk is looking forward to singing soprano."[/blue]

Then she reaches down to kick and slap at whoever is trying to get at her, feels an antenna and a carapace, and the last two thoughts are replaced by an overpowering screech that fills her head and pierces the ears (or equivalents) of every organism in hearing distance.

She scrambles to her feet and runs, heedless, over to the pile of gear the moment it catches her eye.

"Desna help me," she says. "Help, help, help!"

She looks fishes in the bag, pulls out her precious holy symbol, and goes over the spells that she'd prayed for that morn...wait, how long had it been, anyway? Only one way to find out.

"Titan, send me your power!" she says as she brandishes her symbol.

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Portia isn't that experienced with combat and is kind of confused, so she's going to risk opportunity attacks if her movement would offer them. I'm not sure what kind of actions we're looking at here either, but I'd like to cast Summon Monster I to summon a Celestial Dire Rat in front of the nearest lobstrosity. If I don't have enough actions to do it this round I'm fine doing it next round.

Defensive Summary:
HP 7/9

AC14, Touch 11, FF13
Fortitude +3, Reflex +1, Will +6

[DaedalusMkV]

Illyria

Illyria smirks in satisfaction as her knife buries itself to the hilt in the crab-thing's vitals. One down, three to go. She bursts into a sprint, heading for the pile of weapons and grabbing her longbow, or at least somebody's longbow, from it. "Everyone who can hear this, form up over here!" She shouts as she grabs a quiver and haphazardly tosses it over her shoulder into something resembling its' proper place. Two others up and moving... Neither of them much use in a fight, by the looks of them. Alright, time to cause some chaos...

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Taking a Move action to get over to the equipment pile and then grabbing a Longbow and quiver as another Move action. That's all I can do at this point.

Defensive Summary:
HP 10/10

AC17, Touch 14, FF13
Fortitude +2, Reflex +5, Will +0(+2 vs. Enchantments)

[RocketMan]

Caylee is able to dash behind a seaweed-covered outcropping of rock. None of the creatures make to follow her - they don't appear to have noticed her moving. Safely hidden, Caylee casts her spell, protecting herself with a barrier of arcane energy.

Portia and Illyria both converge on the pile of equipment, digging through it to find what they're searching for. Both of them manage it.

Two of the crustaceans continue their feasts, claws taking chunks out of Warburton and Marcian. This time, though, the pain is enough to shake the groggy pair awake. The remain crustacean advances on Illyria, it's claw barely missing her.

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Warburton and Marcian both take 2 damage. Everyone is now awake and can act.

[DaedalusMkV]

Bow in hand, Illyria nocks an arrow and whispers to Caylee, "Whoever you are, stay here. I'll try and lead them away." She stalks away from the equipment pile, hoping that the rest of the crabs are still ignoring her, then draws her bow and looses the arrow at the crab mauling Marcian. After it lands she shouts, "Hah. Over here, you crab-things!"

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I wonder if the crabs can even hear anything?

Regardless, I'm going to try and make a Stealth check to regain Sneak Attack on this shot. I'm not sure if the other crabs had even noticed me at all, but better to not take chances.
Stealth: (1d20+7)[21]
Ranged Attack: (1d20+3)[21]
Damage: (1d8)[4]
Sneak Attack (If applicable): (1d6)[6]

Defensive Summary:
HP 10/10

AC17, Touch 14, FF13
Fortitude +2, Reflex +5, Will +0(+2 vs. Enchantments)

[Leviathan]

Warburton

Blackness. Then the halfling blinks. Goodness me, my head hasn't been this sore since... Since... We'll that's not bloody good: I can't even remember. His stuporous musing is broken by a sharp pain. Jolting upright, he sees the enormous crustaceans clawing at him.

He rolls backwards, attempting to befuddle the creatures so that he can get further away without more pain, drawing his pistol. "Now you have the fortune, crab, to witness why a true professional always keeps his weapons loaded!" Blam.

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Acrobatics to move backwards as far as possible and avoid an AoO: (1d20+6)[17]
Touch attack with pistol, using Focused aim for +4 damage: (1d20+8)[26]
Damage: (1d6+5)[9]

[PsionicSheep]

Marcian

With a violent jolt and a vibrant howl of pain, Marcian stirs from his undesired slumber as a searing pain ripples through his leg, the feel of cold and callous pincers tearing at his flesh a vicious wake-up call.

"Urgh!" cries the soggy human boy, rolling through the sand in agony as he clenches his teeth through his endeavors to evade his crustacean foe. The salty taste of sea water is rife upon his tongue, as is the crunching of sand and grit upon his teeth and a telltale pounding upon his noggin; an unpleasant informant of where Marcian now found himself prone, struggling to get to his feet. He does however find solace and comfort at the sight of the other survivors of whatever-had-happened, it becomes painfully obvious that he is not the only one currently under siege by sea-faring denizens of the beach he now found himself upon.

But where was Cheyton?! His boon companion and stalwart friend seems to have vanished; was he taken and slain aboard the Jenivere? Lost in the encroaching storm? Out scouring the beach for Marcian even now? Hard to say, as the boy couldn't recall what exactly had happened between the time he imbibed that bland soup the cook had prepared, and waking up to being poked and prodded by some... some thing. When he signed on for a life of adventure, he hadn't expected it to begin with him being shipwrecked and stranded in an area he wasn't familiar with!

"W-what happened?! Where's the Jenivere?" Marcian bellowed, hobbling as quickly as he was able with his injuries towards the gaggle of individuals standing nearest to what appeared to be a conglomeration of armaments -- and his bow! -- eager to protect himself and, if able, the others present to what little of his ability he was able; after all, it doesn't take an idiot to figure out the lot of them were in quite the conundrum.

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Round Breakdown

Free Action: Rolling Away Ala a Five-Foot Step while Prone.
Move Action: Rise from Prone.
Move Action: Move towards Weapons Cache.