Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
Between the fighting and the interrupted sleep the night before, you find it unusually easy to fall asleep in the crowded, sweltering, and (lets be honest) rather rank little cabin. When you finally emerge from your quarters it's late morning, and the ship has been under sail since sun-up.
While the captain may be a greedy drunkard, he knows his navigation. True to his estimate, you arrive at the port of Anchor's End late in the evening. The sun is just touching the horizon as the ship glides beneath the imposing brick fortress guarding the harbor and ties up at an open dock. You have to fight your way down the gangplank as prospective buyers shove their way aboard to inspect cargo--mostly liquor, grain, and salted beef, as you recall. Despite the distractions, the Captain makes a point of watching Jon Rust disembark.
Despite the fading light, the raucous crowd filling the streets show no sign of thinning. An old man walks along the waterfront with a torch, stopping every dozen paces to set light to a fire cage above the boardwalk. A young child wearing a sandwich board walks by, shouting "Shave! Hot Bath! Soft bed! Strong Whiskey! One Gold a head at The Salty Lubber!"
An old woman argues with a man selling grilled sardines over the outrageous price of one silver a piece. A young woman walks by with a small barrel strapped to her back, offering a swig of whatever vile intoxicant it holds for five coppers.
If you have any unfinished business to take care of on the boat, feel free to do it now. otherwise,
roll a perception check
Here's a rough map of town (pretend that the building aren't all parallelograms, and that there are more of them and smaller)
Mika falls into her bed to sleep the morning away. When she awakens, a sudden gust of wind appears around her moving the stale air around. Making the air slightly better to be in. She spends the afternoon mending her clothes from any arrow slits and from the wear and tear of ship life.
As Mika leaves the ship, she has a small smile on her face. Finally, land again. I do not want to repeat this trip. At least not until...Hot bath? Thank you Shelyn.
Breeze cantrip activated and recast when it expires
Mending cantrip to repair any minor damage to Mika's clothes
Perception check (1d20+3)
The boy lights up at Tyr's approach, more than happy to oblige a request for directions, "It's a block North-east of here, at the 'Y', sir. The big pointy building with a dinghy on the sign, you can't miss it."
The boy waits expectantly, fidgeting and clearing his throat with his right hand extended, palm-up.
Jon awakes early, sleeping uneasily after the previous nights events, his dreams flashing back to his brief but eventful stay in Chelaxian captivity. At dawn, he carefully checks his gear before disembarking. He gives a cold nod when he feels the captains eye on his back. Next time.
As they stroll off the dock, he says to his companions, "I don't know about you, but I know next to nothing of this city and have no particular employment lined-up, nor a place to stay. I suspect we could find information on all of those things at the tavern." Not that what I do know is promising. Still, someone has to show them how life can be.
Jon will buy a weapon cord for his revolver when he gets the chance (I forgot dervish dance required and empty hand and holstering a weapon is a move action).
While Tyr gets directions from the tout, Jon spots a street vendor selling cheap native-style jewelry. The bone and glass bead-work is of middling quality, but she readily sells him a long leather thong to serve as a weapon cord. As he turns to leave he's jostled by a scruffy young man. "Sorry, chum," exclaims the youth as he tries to play off the flubbed dip. He hastily withdraws an empty hand from Jon's coin pouch, alerting the paladin to the attempted theft.
Jon gives the boy a stern look. "Careful, That's no way to make a living. Not for a man. Next mark might not be forgiving. Tell me where to find a priest of Erastil and I won't have to report you to the guard."
"Just an attempted pick-pocket. Never catch a local in this maze. Not worth shooting him over. Besides, don't know about the law here, won't risk sending a boy to the mines over this." He shakes his head, then shrugs.
"Eh, thieves are thieves anywhere you go. And beggars. Always with a sob story, and a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you should share your money with them. Leeches, all, dependant on the charity of others for even the smallest things."
She punches Jon in the shoulder to get his attention. "Incidentally, could you spot me a few drinks and dinner? I had to pay all my money to keep some dumb idiot skraeling from getting sold into slavery."
He smile widens, shamelessly.
Awesome avatar by Kpenguin. ALL HAIL DOCTOR DIRE!
"Not that he asked." He gives Genevieve a half-smile. "You can always pay me back in ammo. If things go well, you won't be broke for long anyway. I have a feeling there will be plenty to keep us busy here." One way or another.
Following the promises of a shared drink, a hot bath, and possibly a meal, the group follows Tyr to the Salty Lubber. As the tout promised, a dinghy hangs above the entrance, containing a rather humorous carving of a red-nosed drunk enjoying pint and using the small craft as bath tub. The common room is busy without being crowded, and the quality of the furnishings suggest that the tavern falls solidly in the upper echelon of public houses. A barkeep in spotless whites works a trio of kegs and a cabinet containing a small fortune in rare liquors and wines, while a three labelled doors off the dinning hall lead to private rooms, a bath, and a barber.
Before you can order a drink or find a seat, a shrill whistle cuts across the low buzz of conversation. An exceedingly well-primped man in overwrought finery waves you over enthusiastically to a booth in a secluded corner. "Those are they, correct? Three pistol wielders, a breezy young spell-caster, and a scimitar master?" The excited fop queries a comrade hidden in the recesses of the booth.
"Huril Caellach," he said, walking up to the table with the rest of his party, though he seemed to be eyeing the bar more than paying attention to the man that was addressing them. Soon enough, he tore his gaze from the cabinets of booze and looked at the stranger.
"Well met, well met. I'm Joshua Nordham. Lord Joshua Nordham, technically, but lets not stand on formalities." Lord Nordham glances meaningfully at the edge of his table, and you notice for the first time a little gilt plaque emblazoned with his name. "Among other things I'm the proprietor of this fine establishment, harbormaster, mine owner, information merchant, and generous employer of individuals with certain skills and the utmost discretion. Our mutual acquaintance, Mr.Chew, was just telling me about your exploits while he delivered his boat's docking fees."
Nordham nods towards the other man in the booth, a snaggle-tusked half orc. The First Mate mumbles a perfunctory greeting as he sucks the leg meat from a lobster the size of a small dog.
"Yes, the good First Mate here has quite a big mouth when properly enticed. Um, by the way, could you clear up a little wager I made with Mr. Chew? Did you chase a pickpocket here, did you ask a boy with a sandwich board, or did you just stumble in here by pure chance?"
"Really, so you didn't chase pickpocket? Most interesting, most interesting." The fop counts out a small stack of gold pieces and pushes them across the table towards Chew. "I was told that you have morals, and now I see that may not have been misled."
Nordham pauses for a second, then snaps his fingers, having come to a decision, "very well, I'll trust you with the details of this operation. There's a shipment of slaves for the guano mine leaving in the morning, about twenty of the wretches, and I'd like you to make sure they never get there. They burn through workers quite quickly, and losing this shipment would likely assure that they miss their quota again. If that were to happen, a good friend of mine would be able to swoop in and take over the mining contract. Before you object, this good friend thinks he's found a way to work the mine without slave labor."
A server appears at the table, summoned by some discrete sign, "Ah, before you decide, please avail yourself of the facilities, on the house. Time is a factor, but we've an hour or two to discuss details and payment."
Mika's eyes are downcast as she listens to the story. She seems slightly shaken by his words. "Horrible. We...we should do something"
"Can you tell us anything more before we decide? Like the type of people holding them or what we could expect from them. Also, do you want us to do this before the morning...Doesn't that mean doing it while still in the city?"
Jon's eyes narrow. "You seem very well informed." He glances at the first mate. "Our arrival seems very convenient for your friend. How do you propose we go about this activity? Who will we anger and what will the official response be?"
He has me. What's worse, he knows he has me, though he can't be sure of the others. I hope we don't make things worse. Need more information.
"Also, who are the slaves and where will they go after? It's no good to free them to have them caught and sold, or to turn loose criminals."
"Yeah, all that stuff, but more importantly; Why the hell should we care? Slaves are normal here, aren't they? What's your angle, I'm damned sure you ain't doin' this outta the goodness o' yer heart," Huril added in, in an almost uncaring manner as he took a seat and ordered up a stein of ale. "Course, I mean no offense, sir," he added in, his tone hinting at respect, at least more so than previously.
What Huril means, I take it, is what incentive might we gain? Can't save people without a monetary reward as my gun bleeds gold. Bullets cost money and all; and I feel a fight might result while there.
All though I can see that it would be a decent cause once we get those details settled.
Tyr said while waving to get a barwench to get him some food.