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Old 04-25-2018, 10:53 PM
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Chapter 1: A Flaming Pile of Ship

He was running out of time. With every wasted hour, Belvane turned his eyes to the skies and the seas. This night, the gesture was more out of habit than actual perception, as the evening sky was overcast and the clouds were producing a steady, saturating drizzle. He'd made a comfortable home among the crates this evening, and continued to watch for more ships to come in. His finely made robes were in shambles, though nothing a good wash couldn't fix. His long, greasy hair was.... well, in its usual greasy state. His mustache was frazzled, and his complexion had paled in the ominous weather. He was never thin, but he did notice his considerable bulk had diminished slightly. He assumed that was the result of stress.

Belvane been in Stormreach nearly two weeks. In that time, he had approached every group of ruffians, bodyguards, and toughs he could find. Finding no takers there, he had moved on to sailing crews, dock hands, and even fisherman. Even less luck among these. From there, he'd moved to anyone and everyone that seemed remotely useful as they disembarked from the various ships that harbored in Stormreach. It was this last group that he yet held out hope for, though reports of sahuagin becoming more organized in the Thunder Sea to the East dampened his just as much as this constant, miserable mist dampened his clothing. If he didn't find someone soon, he'd have to set out on his own, or he risked certain-

There, he saw movement on the bay. His eyes narrowed, and he squinted into the gloom, careful not to emerge too far from his makeshift abode. A life boat, he noted. Four individuals sat huddled in the raft. Coming in off of the semi-rough seas, they seemed down on their luck, for there was only one reason anyone would be caught on the Thunder Sea in a life boat... and what happened to be ill fortune for those four individuals might prove to be Belvane's greatest gift!

************************

The journey had started as thousands of journeys before it. They had all booked a charter to Stormreach, for reasons as different as the individuals behind them. The two warforged had book together, more out of security than any formal prior relationship. People still tended to view them in a variety of ways, not all of them pleasant, so they found safety in numbers when traveling. A shifter, a typical lone wolf as many of them tended to be, had found the warforged pleasant enough to tolerate. Those often persecuted tended to judge others less harshly, after all. Finally, the elf had been a pleasant surprise to the captain and crew of the passenger ship, as he proved to be an apt bard, full of tales and music that made the hours of the journey pass in a much more pleasant fashion than the usual rotation of 3 bawdy songs the crew could actually recount.

The Vasa Luna had departed Sharn, the City of Towers, with little preamble, and less fanfare. Their only send off was an irate girlfriend of one the sailors, who chased them down the pier, shouting curses upon the apparently adulterous man. The sea couldn't come fast enough for some, it would seem.

Sails hoisted hail, winds blew favorably, and the Vasa Luna made great time across the Thunder Sea. Routine set in for the crew, daily tasks as repetitive as the conversations. The passengers, left with little but their wits for entertainment, had to settle for conversing with one another and accidentally creating some semblance of comraderie. Afterall, one could only stare at the same rolling sea for so long before insanity set in.

Or at least, that's what the crew claimed happened to Porthole Pete, the first mate. The man was prone to visions and babbling now. Alarmingly, since about the third day, his favorite utterance had become "Sea Snakes and Three Toothed Fishes, metal and flesh makes for poor dishes." He could often be found staring off to the South, repeating the phrase. The crew assured all passengers this was normal. Pete had counted one too many waves in his day, that was all.

It was about three days sail from Stormreach, by the best guess of the survivors, that Porthole Pete's ramblings proving remarkably, and tragically, accurate.

The first sign of trouble came when four sailors simply slumped to the deck, fast asleep. Seconds later, it was the screams from those still awake that roused the passengers below in their bunks. Veterans to trouble, it was mere heart beats before they emerged onto the deck into what had already burgeoned into a considerable melee. Everywhere they looked, sahuagin were entangled in combat with crew members. Tridents stabbed and blades flashed, and a dire fat seemed certain for the crew until the passengers leaped to their aid. Claws, blades, magic, and even... a song? All were utilized to devastating effect to drive off the sea-born attackers.

Perhaps it was pure spite, or simply the practical realization of "why in the hell do fish people need a boat?" that led to the final demise of the Vasa Luna. There was gout of flame, and then a ghastly shimmering as magical fire incinerated the mast, sails, and part of the crew. As the sahuagin fled, the passengers caught a glimpse of a long, serpentine tail sliding over the side of the deck, before their attention was required with the burning vessel.

Again, the situation should have been in hand, but for the apparently rotten luck of this particular ship. A shred of flaming sail had torn free, slipping down through the hatch into the cargo below. This particular cargo happened to be whale oil bound for Stormreach.

One thing led to another, and the four passengers found themselves adrift in a life boat. The two warforged proved adept at manning the oars, and without tiring, began propelling the small craft towards the Southwest. The elf provided them with navigational knowledge of the stars, and the shifter.... well, the shifter just drank and stared sullenly at the horizon.

**************************

Thus, when the boat finally bumped against the dock, it was Belvane who was there offering to tie the vessel for them. He graciously offered his water skin and some well seasoned jerky to the elf and shifter. "The names Belvane, friends! And it appears today is your lucky day!"

Even warforged can evince disbelief, it seemed, as all four heads turned to the squat, greasy half elf in skeptical stares. "Well... er... that is, your luck has seen a considerable upturn! You appear to have lost your possessions at sea, and I offer gainful employment and the potential for oh so much more...."

He glanced about furtively, almost seeming nervous. "Come, come friends. I have shelter nearby, and a meal to share."

He gestured for them to follow, making for his makeshift shelter among the shipping crates of the harbor. As the first dry shelter they'd had in nearly two full days, it did seem awfully tempting....

OoCOkay! So, the four of you are friends by necessity! I hate starting games in taverns, it's far too typical, so here you are. Half starved, soaking wet, and possibly rusting? The offer of a free shelter, and potential meal hopefully whets the appetites, if not the offered employment given that you lost everything not strapped to your person to the sea!

In any event, welcome to the game! Feel free to rehash parts of the journey thus far if you like, and to post better descriptions of yourselves for everyone. I tend to try and stay as hands off of the players as I can to avoid infringing upon personalities and what have you.
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Old 04-26-2018, 01:47 PM
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Guy was relieved to hear the bump of the dock. He had been rowing for hours, and it was a tedious responsibility. As much as he hated it, he could not disagree with the Bard's ironclad reasoning when he identified the crew roles on this tiny ship: if the warforged had not been rowing they would surely have drowned. Something about mass displacement and buoyancy being offset by friction and rotational movement. He was skilled sailor, not a master debater. Besides, the fire on the Vasa Luna had been partly his fault. Probably better not to mention the poorly timed riposte...

The songs of encouragement from the Bard were lost on him, though. He was not only tone deaf, he was also culturally deaf. These lyrics and strummed notes seemed to reference parts of life that he had never – and would never – experience. He was grateful for his existence, but he simply could not understand why “laying a kiss” on the “damsel’s other cheeks” caused the Barbarian to laugh uncontrollably for nearly an hour. Other songs referenced “dipping wicks” and “eating at the Y”. More laughter and less understanding. Credit the Barbarian with being loud, and the Bard with knowing his demographic.

Guy passed a glance at Voyage, but there was no help coming. The two had gotten along like two peas in a pod, which was fine as long as neither one of them spoke. They were brothers, it was true. And they would defend each other on common ground. As they shared more details about their existence, though, they would realize how they had diverged from their original design. Guy had certainly diverged from anyone’s original design. If the eye patch didn’t give it away, he was very – VERY – piratey.

He enjoyed the pirate life. Probably more than he should let on to present company. There was really no getting around it, though. A construct needed buddies in this day and age. There was safety in numbers. If you needed proof, look to their recent history together. Swimming war-like denizens from the depths of the sea, stealing boats and ravaging young boys. The best protection from such attacks was other targets. At least until he could get back to pirating. There was nothing like the open seas/air… Stealing boats… Ravaging youth… He learned a few new tricks from the sahuagin that he was dying to try out on unsuspecting passengers on an unsuspecting boat....

His darkwood body was having no trouble with the rain. It rolled right off. His only apparent weapon, his short sword, was always within easy reach at his waist. The eye patch went well with his sailor’s garb. His whole image was so dark that in the darkness all one could really see was more dark. He had no metal edges for light to shine off of, granting him pretty good hiding abilities. If he were not known to be right there at the end of that oar, you might not see him at all. Shadows were his friend, for sure.

The new stranger (old stranger?) welcomed them to shore. Guy did not recall getting this kind of welcome in Stormwatch before. It might be a new night watch responsibility. He accepted the assistance from the boat, appreciating the wetness of the dock over the wetness of the tiny boat. The offer of shelter meant little to him. The offer of food even less. But his 75% cover was agreeable to following the stranger into the dark shadows of the nearby shipping crates, so he tagged along. ”Sounds great stranger. The only thing better would be some candy and a paneled carriage.”
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Old 04-26-2018, 02:05 PM
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Vaelin
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(OOC: I don't intend my average post to be nearly this long. But openers are always a bit more wordy for me.)

Vaelin was skeptical of the man in front of her and his apparent kindliness and good intentions. She tried not to let it show. All her long experience of cities (and many of the stories she had heard and told) lead her to think that if a citydweller is helping you, they expect something in return. Unless they were a fellow Taernadal, of course.

As Vaelin warmed by the fire and dried her possessions, she worried that the Glyphbook she had purchased in Sharn was forever ruined by the water damage from the shipwreck and the rain. Now and again she flipped pages back and forth, trying to assure that they wouldn't stick together, and checked the ink for smearing. But after three days, she doubted how useful the work was. She had set most of her clothes aside as well, attempting to dry them. Vaelin was beautiful, even for an elf, but her sharp eyes conveyed the message that this stranger shouldn't enjoy her beauty too much. Her ancestral blade lay within arm's reach.

Vaelin thought about her journey-- and her purpose-- here. She was a priest of the Taernadal, a Keeper of the Past. For two years following the war, she had inspired the young with stories of the ancient elven heroes, the Patron Ancestors of the Taernadal. Everything a Taernadal did was to emulate one of these ancient heroes, to bring them eternal glory. More importantly, she had determined which ancestor was a young elf's patron, based on the elf's attitudes and the auguries of Taernedal clerics. The trouble was, since the end of the war the auguries were unclear. Names of ancestors were being revealed for which the Taernadal had no stories, no recollections. To solve this problem, Vaelin had been sent here, to Xen'drik, the ancient home of the elves, to uncover what knowledge she could of these ancient ancestors, lost to the sands of time.

She was not off to a good start. The voyage was enjoyable enough. She had gotten to know her three companions in passing. She respected her shifter companion intuitively. The shifters were powerful warriors, and worthy adversaries during the Last War. This one appeared to fit that mold. The two warforged put Vaelin at slight unease. A species as young as the average human was old. Dangerous in combat, but perhaps unable to feel pain. Was there valor in such a creature? Vaelin tried to keep an open mind. The constructs appeared to be living, and seemed to have all of the deep emotions that spurred on a valiant life. But the Warforged were mysterious. Voyage seemed to have a deeply religious mind, which Vaelin appreciated, being a fellow priest. Guy had all the zest for battle that an elf of Valenar would expect, and much of the skill. She was confused by the Warforged's eyepatch, but there were stranger habits among the construct. There were worse companions to have.

Drawing herself from her thoughts, Vaelin turned to their host. "Why?" she asked, bluntly. "Why have you brought us into your home? Strangers could as easily kill and rob you as thank you. You could easily rob us." Vaelin intentionally left out the possibility that this nobody could kill them, or represent a threat in any way. "What do you wish in return?" It was hardly silver-tongued. Vaelin could be gracious when the time called for it. But she was on edge, and couldn't be sure that there was safety here. A harsher tone was called for, at least at first.

 

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Old 04-28-2018, 11:12 AM
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"Sea Snakes and Three Toothed Fishes, metal and flesh makes for poor dishes. Sea Snakes and Three Toothed Fishes, metal and flesh makes for poor dishes. Sea Snakes and Three Toothed Fishes, metal and flesh makes for poor dishes...." Voyage kept repeating as he sat in the foredeck of the Vasa Luna counting the waves like Porthole Pete. Hearing how the man went mad doing the same, Voyage took it as a challenge to see if he could determine the vision the poor man had. It wasn't until the Sahuagin attack that he figured out what Pete meant. "Oh... I get it.. The Tridents are the Three tooth Fishes..."

Voyage didn't try to fight, but to converse. in seconds his cloths changed from white vestments with the Blue and Gold Octogram of the Sovereign Host, to gray garbs with the Hexagram of the Dark Six.

"Brothers." He called out to the invaders with his arms stretched open. "The Devourer need not take this ship today." His jaw open in a semblance of a smile. "We need not take this ship today" he would repeat.

Unfortunately the Sahuagin didn't understand the common tongue, but they avoided directly attacking the metal priest. It was too late for Voyage to attack and soon he was on a rowboat with his new companions...

------------------------------8< Cut to Later >8------------------------------

Voyage quickly got into sync with Guy as the too rowed their fleshy companions to safety. He took comfort in the rhythmic rowing back and forth, and he found it relaxing as he silently prayed to the gods above, thanking them for their current situation. The Metal priest took it as a sign the four should be together.

Upon getting to the docks and being greeted by Belvane, Voyage cocked his head to the side. "Don't the flesh ones have inn's to stay in here is stormreach.. They did in Sharn.." but instead of asking this aloud he just followed, curious as to where the Traveler was taking him.

------------------------------8< Cut to Later >8------------------------------

Voyage sat in his shiney blueish metal birthday suit, his vestments he typically wore just an illusion. He basked in the warmth provided by the shelter, now dry for the first time in days. Upon hearing the Elven woman's query he adds to her question's. "It's not like there are not inns for us to stay at here." he voice the question that bugged him since they came. "You must want something from us."

 
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Old 04-30-2018, 04:41 PM
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Jackson, as he is called these days, doesn't much care for being wet. Or on a lifeboat. Or adrift in the middle of the sea. At least he has company. And rum. The rum does its work and everything in his past becomes fuzzy, allowing him to live in the present for a time. Not as clearly in the now as fighting provides, but there is nothing to fight out here but water. Being 'fuzzy' means that he can enjoy other things, like the songs that Vaelin sings to keep them all entertained. It also helps him from feeling so hopeless. The depths below called to him briefly. It would be so easy to just lean forward and fall in. Sinking forever and ever into the darkness. Memories swirl like eddies in the water after the oar passes through. Days of love and joy that can never be regained. Rum helps.

Jackson starts as the voice calls to them; he hadn't noticed the bedraggled man moving to intercept them on the docks. Hell, he hadn't really even noticed the docks. He takes another sip and follows the others, nothing to add to the proceedings. Through torches on the street the occasional bright reflection can be seen coming from beneath his wet and worn outer clothes. A remnant of years past that he could not let go. Tangled and damp hair, thick and bristly, covers any piece of exposed skin, and dark eyes take in the ramshackle building this Belvane leads them to.

The big shifter sits carefully on a rickety chair, balancing his bulk with a grace unusual in one so broad. If the bit of softness around his belly indicates that he's lost any of his power or balance it doesn't show. Years of fighting etched into Jackson a strength matched by few, and adding a few extra pounds from too much booze and food isn't enough to dull such brawn. Voyage, Vaelin, and Guy can confirm his battle prowess, having seen it on display in the fight aboard the Vasa Luna.

With half an ear he listens to whatever cockamamie story this fellow is trying to sell them, taking a swig from his bottle every now and then, until it happens. He tries to take a sip, and all he gets are drops. He holds the bottle up above his head and pats the bottom. Torchlight sparkles through the last drop of rum as it falls to his tongue, sending the tiniest of rainbows tumbling down the wall. Jackson gives the bottle one last forlorn shake, knowing that he'll hear nothing but compelled to anyway. He interrupts whatever nonsense the human is babbling on about and waggles the empty bottle at him. "Got any drink? Rum's gone," the shifter growls.

"Rum's always gone."
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Old 04-30-2018, 10:57 PM
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A slew of questions was lobbed in Belvane's direction, and he masterfully danced with each and every query. The man clearly had a gift with words, if not housekeeping.

"My dear, it's quite simple," he said in response to Vaelin's direct question,"if you were trying to kill me, I most assuredly would already be dead. As you can see," he gestured to their humble surroundings,"I've not much worth stealing to the prying eye, and I'm less than intimidating as far as personalities go. As for why you... well, I shall endeavor to be as frank as you have so quickly established: I need help recovering something."

He nodded towards Voyage, who had voice such a thought only moments before. "I have tried for weeks to find appropriate escorts to retrieve what it is I seek. While I have been admittedly vague to my prior potential guards, I expected to have no shortage of volunteers. This is, after all, the great city of Stormreach. The entire economy of this sprawling mess of a metropolis revolves around expeditions into the jungles of Xen'drik." He sighed at this point, putting a bit of dramatic flair into the explanation of his prior failings. "It would seem that desperation has pushed me towards a most extreme tactic... honesty."

He took a moment to glance about, poking his head out from under the cover briefly to ensure they were in fact alone. Belvane returned to his seat, which was the top third of a barrel that smelled as though it had likely housed a catch of eels prior. At Jackson's mumbled request, the man reached back to a glass jar containing a clear liquid. He handed it to the barbarian, adding, "Careful with that. They use it to remove the barnacles from the boat. Not even those tenacious crustaceans can tolerate a swig of Thunderclap."

He returned to the conversation at hand, meeting the eyes of the elven woman and two war forged in turn. When he spoke this time, his voice had lost some of its joviality, and now came only slightly louder than a whisper. "I've the location of a crashed elemental airship. It's a prototype of a ship never before seen on Eberron. When it went down, House Lyrandar covered up the ships existence in an effort to prevent anyone from finding it. This ship is very.... unique. I should know, I was its designated pilot before... well, before it ended up where it's at now."

He let these facts sink in a moment before continuing, "It crashed deep in the jungle. At a location I will reveal to you once we are under way. If you agree to help me, ownership of the ship is yours, as long as you hire me on as your pilot. I've a few folks already lined up to crew it should I recover it. I've also got a guide hired that can take us to the crash site. If you agree, we will depart first thing in the morning."

He glanced about conspiratorially. "Well, thoughts?"
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Old 05-01-2018, 12:03 AM
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Voyage regards the man as he tells his story. He tried to make a smile as the man was finishing his offer, but given his unmoving Jawline it looked more maligned than intended.

’I don’t get it..” Voyage thought to himself. ”This sounds like a line to rope in some eager fresh faced adventurer’s. Why in Eberron would someone hire someone to find their ship and just give it to them.”. The Warforged turns with his ackward smile to regard Vaelin and see her response. ”we’ll see what the elf says. Traveler above, Trap or not this could be fun.”
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Old 05-01-2018, 01:40 PM
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Vaelin
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While pretty and well-learned, Vaelin isn't exactly the wisest person in the world. This lead her to some amount of impulsivity. "An Airship of our own? I could scour the jungles so much easier with such a tool... How could we turn down an opportunity like that?!" Of course, Vaelin was also long-lived and has seen treachery in others before, and eventually her brain caught up with her. "Wait a moment... wouldn't House Lyrandar come calling for their property? And why would we want you for a pilot if you crashed it to begin with?" Vaelin studied his response carefully, trying to determine if he was truly resorting to honesty.

The left looks at the Thunderclap as it's offered, and refuses. This is probably a rare flash of wisdom from her.

 

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Old 05-01-2018, 02:43 PM
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Guy would certainly be along for this ride. There is no better place from which to participate in being a sailor than on a ship. An experimental ship sounded like a great idea. After all, he was an experimental Warforged. It sounded like a match made in an engineer's work shop. The other three seemed to be on board with the idea, even though they expressed rational paranoia. Whether this stranger ended up betraying them or not, this was an opportunity. The only way it could end up sucking is if there was, in fact, no ship. In that case they would use the stranger's hide as a main ingredient in the sail on their next ship. "I will participate in this recovery operation. If there is no ship, you will be a sad, sad man." His voice sounded like rasping wood. It was both interesting and slightly annoying.


 
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Old 05-01-2018, 08:36 PM
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Voyage’s head turns between Vaelin and Guy as they speak, his head cocking to the side. At some point as Vaelin spoke something OOC- He has a hat of disguise so he uses it to adjust his in movable facedawned on him as his mouth softens from his unintentional maligned grin. It’s almost as if the metal plates on his face softly melted and formed a more human like visage. He still looked Warforged, but he had a more empathetic human look.

”So Mr. Belvane, I’m all set to go with you and send you to the Keeper if this is a Trap. Please assure us with some less suspicious motives.
OOC
Sense motive=23
Diplomacy=19
Link to rolls https://www.rpgcrossing.com/showthre...24#post7974924
Voyage says with a smile.



 
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Old 05-01-2018, 09:43 PM
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Belvane nodded sagely at Vaelin's questions, as though he had expected such a response. "Of course they would... if they knew just where it had crashed. I managed to intercept that piece of information before my departure. As of now, I am the only one that knows its location."

He continued after a moment, addressing her second inquiry,"And I was not present for the crash. As to that, I dare not explain just yet. I can only assure you that element of the story is part of what makes this particular ship so special. As for motivations," he now turned to Voyage,"this particular ship is very dear to me. I assure you, nothing nefarious in my desire to reclaim it. Think of it more as... rescuing a friend."

Belvane's greasy face brightened noticeably as the two war forged agreed to accompany him. It didn't take one with any sort of gift in reading people to see their agreement had just removed a massive weight from the short, pudgy man's shoulders. He stood and clapped his hands once, looking now to the elf and shifter yet undecided.

"I certainly hope that you both will decided to accompany us as well. While the journey ought to be a simple one, one never assumes the jungles of Xen'drik to be free of dangers."

OOCResponses to your Sense Motives and such are in the dice thread.
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Old 05-01-2018, 11:12 PM
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Voyage's smile fades, not out of malicious intent, but more that the warforged did not want to continue the smile that would be perceived as fake. His face moved into his standard face as the magic from his hat melted his smile seamlessly to his factory default mouth. He sat passively looking to and fro from Belvane to his companions through his glowing green eyes, his head cocking back and forth at odd angles.

Voyage spent years watching. Watching dust settle as he would sit. Watching people come and go. He once spent an entire month in the corner of a tavern and just watched. He started getting good at reading people. He couldn't reciprocate and compel people to do what he wanted, but he could read people and tell what made them tick. He even came up with his own philosophy on why people did what they did. He called it Voyage's Needs Heirarchy and it was based on three basic principles. Three principles mainly because Voyage only have three fingers. People had basic needs like food/water/safety, the next phase being psychological needs like esteem and belonging. The man was not at the third phase of self-actualization, but Voyage knew their was some need the man needed by getting the ship. Some feeling that he was telling the truth, or at least part of it.

He then looks around the make shift squatters shack they were in. "I have a feeling that we need to get you two some better shelter than this. You need a decent night sleep in a real inn, in a real bed." He turns and looks to Belvane. "No offense at your hospitality, but you are living like a beggar. We've been out in the ocean for the last two days and their flesh could use some real rest."

He then stands and as he does so, white vestments appear over his armor with the Blue and Gold symbol of the Host. His eyes change color to match as they seem to have a blue hue with flecks of gold.

"So Mr. Belvane, can you direct us to an Inn these two can stay at. We'll have a bit of a chat as to what we want to do and they can rest up. We can meet for breakfast and if they are agreed, we can head out on the expedition."

"I've got a good feeling." He add's as he turned to the elf and shifter, "but you all can sleep on it and discuss in the morning" He says simply.

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Old 05-02-2018, 03:33 PM
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Jackson takes the offered jar from Belvane and takes a healthy swallow without even smelling the brew. The only outward sign of any distress from the strength of the booze was a single eye twitch. Several minutes pass before he takes another sip, and it is a much more conservative dose. Letting the fluid burn through his system the shifter closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, causing the entire structure to lean slightly too.

The conversation moves around him and he could easily be asleep, but a moment after Voyage comments on the state of the rickety shelter they're in and suggests that Jackson and Vaelin would require better he pipes up without opening his eyes. "I've slept in worse. But if Belvane wants to shell out for better I wouldn't turn it down." His eyes open and he begins moving toward 'door,' making it clear that he isn't interested in more conversation. "You keep me stocked with plenty of this rum-" he waves the jar of clear liquid that is very unlikely to actually resemble rum in any way, "-and I'll go wherever you want."
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Old 05-09-2018, 06:19 PM
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Belvane seemed both thrilled and anxious at their suggestion. He mulled it over for a moment, and then responded, "Yes, yes, of course! You've been through quite the harrowing ordeal, I am sure!"

"However," his tone grew a shade more somber, "I must request that we get moving as soon as possible. Meet me down at the docks at sunrise if you agree? Time has grown short, I'm afraid, and with or without you, I must be setting out tomorrow to retrieve the ship." He gestured to himself in a self-deprecating manor, "I do not like my odds of survival should I have to brave the jungle alone, so I do hope you all will accompany me."

"As for accommodations, the largest establishment is The Chapterhouse. Most visitors tend to stay there. It is most reputable, and also provides excellent service. You will find it just up the main avenue, past the Circle of Visions, and near the Bazaar."

He went to what counted for a door upon his ramshackle abode, peeking outside and looking around warily before turning back to them. "Do travel carefully. An evening in Stormreach can be quite harrowing if one ventures far from the main paths. There are ruins everywhere, and not all of them are as abandoned as they seem, or so I have heard. I pray for your safe journey, and of course, your safe return! See you in the morning!"

OoCDidn't want to fast forward too much. Leaving opportunity for farewells or other such situations. If you venture outside, it's a pretty standard harbor. It's a fairly dark, overcast evening, so the giant, cyclopian walls of Stormreach aren't readily visible just yet, so feel free to describe what little you can see outside his shack. I will post again if you decide to travel to The Chapterhouse.
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Old 05-09-2018, 10:23 PM
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At this time of night, Guy had found that he needed to be placed in the center of things. Otherwise he might just fade into shadows and people forget he is there. Several times during this exchange he had literally bumped into people while he tried to be obvious. It was not possible to tell whether or not he was happy: like most warforged, his makers skimped on the facial manipulation. He made up for his lack of human expressions by exaggerating his body language. His shrugs were large, causing his shoulders to bunch up to his "ears". When Belvane suggested The Chapterhouse as a place to stay overnight, Guy made sure everyone could tell that he was fine with it. "As Voyage indicated, you persons need to recover. I am quite interested in this ship, as, I think, are we all. I will be at the rendezvous point before dawn. In the meantime, I would be glad to make a fixture of myself in the common room of this Chapterhouse."

He moved to the entrance of the hovel, holding a scrap of useless main sail aside as he looked out into the rainy night. Stacks of cargo crates were the backdrop for several drunk, passed-out, or dead citizens of Stormreach. He cared very little for identifying their status, and he shared this position with the others through one of his textbook shrugs. He caught sight of the docks, which gave him directional knowledge of the Main Avenue. He pointed, "This way if you'd like to sleep."
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