[Game Thread] Act One: Caller in the Night

[Solomon777]

Sea-spray filled wind sweept in from the storm wracked Inner Sea to the guarded port of Tradepoint. Several storms, some reaching hurricane force, have shot through the Inner Sea, as is the usual for this time of season. The weather being the culprit buried Tradepoint under overcast clouds for a few weeks every year.

Tradepoint sat in the very precarious location of the Taldor-Qadira border; the closest city being Zimar, was more than one-hundred twenty miles to the east, and the city of Oppara was further north by one-hundred forty miles. Though the town rested in the lands of Taldor, conflict with Qadria had waned, with Zimar taking the brunt of hostilities. The rebellious enforcers known as the Zimar Corsairs often enjoyed Tradepoint as a staging point, should they need to battle back into the river toward Zimar, and as a port call during raids against the Qadira. During this storm season, a sole corsair sloop is moored dockside, joined by several barques and galleys from Osirion, Absolom, and Andoran.

Upon entry into port, every ship passed the large Methleigh Beacon, atop which flies the colors of Taldor. It flaps as a defiant sign against Taldor’s enemies, notably the Qadira and the Cheliax. Currently a Taldan galleon drifts into view from the stormy seas as the hour strikes the call of evening on Fireday, market-day in Tradepoint. The shouts of her crew signaling the scurry on deck, as hands and mates rig her for mooring. The galleon easily turns through the safety of the earthen formations and into the piers, taking moor at the most northern face.

Activity in the town is something on the more eventful side of things. There are more vessels than usual and each ship’s crew has filled the two taverns, the Tradepoint Inn and Pub and Safeharbor Pub. The streets are still strewn with a few locals, how head to their homes for the evening. With the amount of ships in-port, the steady stream of customers to Katts House hasn’t stopped since the beginning of the week.

The burgh’s single roadway has brought a caravan bearing goods from Zimar, though the storms have seen fit to leave them on the northern edge of town until the morning.

Locations, Lights, Camera… @everyone: Feel free to pick a location to begin the story in. The whole town is still relatively open, and night will be falling soon.

[nataraja]

[Wolfman]

Kid stood on the Dock having just got off the ship that he managed to get a berth on from the last port. He was not even sure what the name of the place was having never even left the dock. He wanted to find a new ship and get moving again but the Captain had told him it would be a while before anyone was leaving the port because of the coming storms. Maybe he could find some group leaving by land and travel with them. He just knew that as long as he keep moving he would be safer.

Looking around the port he saw the galleon dropping anchor but knew just by looking at the ship it was a war vessel. None of the flags on the ships or the large one over the port meant anything to him, they were all unknown, although he had seen a few at different ports he had never inquired about them. Looking at the town the Captain had called it Trade Port or something like that, he was not sure if that was the name or a designation. Oh well, I guess I should go check it out and find a good meal, god knows what they were feeding us on the ship.

Walking up the docks in to the town proper Kid started to keep his eyes open and notice the lack of people walking about. Although it was rather cold in the rain and it was getting late. Walking east on the main southern road the first place that he saw that look promising was a place called the Safeharbor Pub. Well at least I should be able to get a hot meal their and then find out about outbound travelers. Entering the Pub, kid was assaulted by the noise, smoke and light of the Pub, the place was packed! Standing in the door a little shocked at the crowd, something he always tried to avoided, someone came in right behind him and pushed / brushed him a side. Make room Boy! Standing their looking at the interior of the Pub, he was not really sure what to do, but finally decided to try to make his way to the bar.

[Eilaer]

Tenmar spat on the ground, ridding himself of the bitter taste that had filled his mouth as he had slept. The rest hadn’t been the greatest, though that wasn’t a surprise given he had used the trees as cover and hadn’t thought that the small body of water he thought he heard a local call the Mere had manage to help carry a fair bit of the sounds into the bit of woods he had holed up in for the day.

The hood of a cloak could only block so much sunlight out as one slept, though the comfort of darkness was starting to appear as the cursed sun set in the distance. Even with the storm cover he found the light more than enough to alert to him the color of seemingly everything around him which wasn’t something he generally cared to be bothered by when waking up or trying to sleep. At least the moistness everywhere was reminiscent of the caves he had the pleasure to reside in recently.

He pulled his cloak around into a more comfortable position before pulling the hood more firmly over his head. He let his almost absurdly straight beard show rather clearly out the bottom of the hood, not that hiding it was much of an option given its size. As he made his way into town he pondered what his plans were for now.

He made it to the center of where the bustle seemed to be coming from and stood to the side for a moment trying to decide between hitting up the pub or trying to find a room. He was leaning toward the pub and not just because he was fairly certain that what rooms that may have been available were likely already filled.

He couldn’t help but smile though as the few locals still about passed by and looked at him. With none of his pale, grey skin visible there would be no reason to assume he wasn’t a dwarf. With the weather giving a perfectly legitimate reason to have the hood up and the obvious dilemma of whether or not spirits were in order only sealed the deal. It would make initial transactions and interactions a little less cumbersome. He merely needed them to mislead themselves long enough to have exchanged coins for goods or services and from there they’d just have to deal with getting what they had expected.

Watching a scraggly looking kid all but get bowled over at the pub sealed the choice in his mind. Spirits and food were most definitely in order and followed the small guy in and up to the bar, glad his hood blocked out the initial onslaught of lights.

"I’m not the type to generally give words of advice out freely kid, but a pub of drunk sailors isn’t the best place for someone who looks as tough as a wet sack when someone speaks loudly near them."

[Keven]

Roqua was allready in the crowded taven, however...he wasn't drinking. Rather, he found one of the best ways to amuse himself was singing for one of the local taverns. While drinking song's weren't a favourite of his, any practise is some practice. Some days he had a backup performer, some days he didn't, and he had to coax some singing from the crowd. Thankfully, many of the sailors in here drank like devils, so it often wasn't all that hard to get a good choir going, he claped allong with the speed of the song in the hopes to get some sort of crowd going:

"Liveing easy, liveing free...the ships tickets are a one way ride!"
"We ask for nothing...leave us be, we'll take anything in our stein!"
"We don't ask reasons...we dont ask time,"
"Ain't nothing we'dd rather do...Going down, its alehouse time!"
"And all your friends are going to be there too...."

At this time, Roqua paused the song dramaticly...however, only for half a second.

"Cus we're on the SEAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"SEAAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"SEAAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"WE'RE ON THE SEAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"


Sea Road to Tradeport was a old favorite among the saliors here, as so, he had practiced it many times before. As he continued the song, he spend most of his energy looking around the room for anyone who didn't appear to be entirely drunk off the bartenders ale, as they were the ones who often gave the best sugestions for songs..all the while continuing his tune:

"Can't stop us...more wenches!"
"Better not slow my drinking down!"
"Like a wheel, they gonna spin it,"
"No body's gonna miss me around,"
"Hey, As! payed my dues!"
"Singing in a tavern band!"
"Hey mama! Look at me! Sailing to the Tradeport land...."

we're on the SEAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"SEAAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"SEAAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"
"WE'RE ON THE SEAAAAAA ROAD TO TRADEPORT!"



Perform check: (Takeing 10)=16
Perception check (Also takeing 10)= 14

[Whispers]

The journey east from Rahadoum had been long and arduous to put it lightly. The sizable cog they had been provided for the trek had taken a steady pounding along the southern coastline of the Inner Sea as storm after storm assaulted the trading vessel. The crew of the Driftwood was well seasoned and each had seen a score of Tel'na'qar, what Tal's people called the coming of storms, but this year's storms were unusually harsh. Nonetheless the experienced sailors persevered and went about their duties without complaint.

Tal and his brother had been assigned the task of accompanying the trading vessel east to Taldor in hopes the added security would ensure the crucial shipment would reach its destination safely. His people's livelihood depended on it.

It was the 19th day of their journey when the sickness came. It came without warning in the middle of the night. Tal woke to find three dead dried blood trickling from every orifice. By the time the coast of Taldor came into view more than half the crew had fallen to the sickness they had come to call the Devil's Kiss. The storms had gotten worse with each passing day and Tal had come to realize that they would not be able to return home once they reached their destination. The cog would be put to flame and most of the survivors would be slain to prevent the spread of the disease. He was not interested in suffering such a fate. With his brother taken by the plague and all hope lost for the rest aboard the Driftwood Tal took the opportunity to abandon the ship when it presented itself. He slipped over the rail as a caravel sailed close enough and clung to the hull of the vessel as it headed to port.

*****

He sat in the corner of the bustling pub thankful for the heavy shadow and lingering smoke that filled the air. A row of empty tankards sat before him lined up nearly in a perfectly straight line. He downed the last mouthful of the thick black ale. The bitterness of the drink still caused his lips to pucker. He missed the sweetness of the drink his people brewed but this bitter ale would suffice. He had spent day and night at the Safehabour Pub since arriving in Tradepoint. He had walked in sopping wet and plopped himself down at the table and drank himself to numbness as a pool of water formed beneath his chair. That was three days ago. He had taken leave to sleep but upon waking he returned to his corner and began anew.

The loss of his brother had weighed heavily on the Rahadoumi but the mourning period was approaching its end and it was nearly time to put the past behind him. It was the way of his people but for now he would drink.

He signaled the serving girl to bring him more ale and watched as she moved behind the bar and bent low to grab another tankard. Her thin waist turned into wide hips. He nodded approvingly. That one would have no problem bringing many sons into this world.

[davide15]

Tradepoint Inn and Tavern Over in the Tradepoint Inn and Tavern Geribald Arcmane, sailor and arcanist of the sea, sat contemplating the dregs of his ale. His mind was elsewhere, out on the deck of the sleek sloop the Quarterhind a grey hound on a steel grey sea. This was tall young man’s first time in Tradepoint, but he had been in a hundred ports-of-call just like it before, and like the rest of them he ached to be free of the place and out to sea as soon as possible. His time in Tradepoint was meant to be much shorter, but the captain of the Quarterhind had taken ill with some disease that was said to have been brought into town on the accursed cog driftwood. Then the storms rolled in, trapping him in the port town with no ready means of escape. Objectively he was able to see that the town was not in fact a bad place, most people were there on business or were passing through, just waiting for the storms to fly over. He realized that he should have felt a certain kinship to those poor stranded sailors, who like him, had no desire to stay in this quaint and generally inoffensive place. Still the gnawing land sickness ate at him as it always did. Geribald never felt seasickness, the waves were more his home than any land had ever been, but on land he felt out of place, his balance lost on the steady earth. Even more irritating than the gnawing feeling of steadiness had been the two sailors who had tried to proposition him for…favors. One of them had mistaken him for a girl with his fine, fey features, and had offered him 10 gold for the whole night. He had rebuffed both offers, firmly, and gone back to his drink, but he could still feel the smoldering gaze of one of the sailors piercing him from behind. It was almost as uncomfortable as being on dry land. Having long been a sailor Geribald was not unused to these types of overtures from sailors, both at sea and in port. Living so closely with men is wont to do such a thing, but he had never had the remotest interest in taking part, and had in fact become quite adept at discouraging unwanted attentions on the part of those who thought they might force themselves on such a delicate specimen. They tended to find themselves surprised when they were tied in acid bands that burned the flesh, not enough to kill but enough to remind them never to make the attempt again. ”You’re a pretty one, lad.” The voice belonged to a dark hairy seaman, probably from one of the more uncivilized lands. Geribald’s forehead wrinkled in distaste. ”How about you and I go up to a room so’s we can get to know each other better? Once ya’ve gone Mwangi ye’ll never go wrongly.” He chants as he leers at the vexed sorcerer. Geribald shoots an aggrieved look at the barmaid, who too has been shooting glances his way all afternoon. Although for his part the beautiful Aasimar might not have minded her company so much in the dark of night, buxom and fair as she was. ”I’ll tell you once, you heedless buffoon, go away.” There was Taking 10 on intimidate for a total of 20more than a hint of threat in his tone, and Geribald sincerely hoped it would be enough to dissuade the leering oaf.

[Yuul]

The blessed darkening of nightfall found Maelos hunkered down in the dankest, darkest corner of the Tradepoint Inn and Pub, his tattered old cloak angled in such a fashion as to keep as much of what little light made it into his own personal corner of this cursed port from reaching his eyes as possible. The nearly drained remains of a mug of ale, if this spit of murky liquid could be called ale that is, lay nearby on the worn table top. A slight ruffle of movement had his eyes drift further into his temporary sanctuary to land on the small raven that was his only companion here on the surface, Edix. Said raven's beady eyes gleamed with intelligence as it snapped up the last of the evenings scraps with his beak in a single violent motion.

The duergar's mind drifted back through how he came to be here, nigh on two days prior now. He had arrived on one of the earlier ships seeking refuge from the building storms, and had spent much of the journey the darkest corners below decks, taking advantage of shadows wherever he could find them. Having spent much of what he remembered of his life above ground, he took comfort in blessed darkness wherever he could find it. Truthfully, he had little memory of what his life had been prior to his last home if it could have been called that, another island by the name of Medoigalti, on which he had arrived crashed up on the surf. Awaking to the thrice cursed rays of light above him had been a painful and trying experience and had quickly taught the amnesiac duergar to avoid such a thing again. Still, there was only so much one could do to avoid the burning torturous ball of fire in the sky that those around him strangely seemed to covet to such a degree that they preferred to be awake during its jaunt through the skies. Mad, the lot of them! Such was a time to take shelter and slumber through the whole experience and hope to awake to the glorious dark of night, a much wiser choice than those around him seemed intent on making.

A feeling of strong agreement was fed through to him from Edix, whose eyes were glinting out at the rest of the folk taking shelter in the inn, which was to say a fair few, as he kept to the silence the bird usually did after a meal. Maelos owed a lot to him, his tattered shards of sanity from the long period of surface dwelling being only one among many different and varied things. A snort of disgust left him at the tumultuous antics of the sailors and townspeople crammed into the pub like fish in a net. Bunch of rottenly cheerful rabble. He had half a mind to roast one or two alive, but somehow managed to restrain the urge. Better to not have to be forced into travel with the weather going the way it was. He'd have to endure then. That was something he could do, endure. It was a principle he knew all to well really. So for now he would wait, wait and see...

[Cash]

How long had it been since Splinter had set his feet on dry land, he did not know. But he was happy to finally leave the ship. With all the hustle of people walking and running trying to get out of the rain, Splinter was glad to have his hat on. The rain trickled down his hat as he searched for a place to head. This was a strange land to him and the people even stranger. He heard some music from one of the bars, and upon seeing some of the sailors come out belligerently drunk, decided to check this place out. He did not know the customs of a port town and having so much time spent on the boat he felt the need for entertainment and some drink.

He walks into the bar passing a few drunk sailors that hardly notice him due to his size. Sailors who aren't to drunk yet notice the odd humanoid figure enter. Any one could clearly see he was not from around here his armor itself was a dead give away. He walks over to an empty table near a corner. He noticed a few eyes follow him but he ignores it for now. Upon reaching his table he calls the barmaid over. My dear do you have any sake?

[Achard]

A roar of laughter followed his tumbling fall down the gangway from one of the smaller ships at the port. The laugh culminated as he reached the end of the plank and fell face-first into a pool of mud at the bottom. The shadowy figures on deck kept chuckling a long time after he had gotten back on his feet and wiped the dirt off his face. "Go fetch that ale, you blecch!" one of the sailors shouted. "Yeah!" Another one joined in. "Make yourself useful for once, pitiful thing!" He wanted to give the figures an evil glare. His heart burned, his eyes flared, he wished to scream out in rage, but he did not: Instead, he bowed low and respectfully. Then, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding his face as well as he could, and set his steps toward the light from Safeharbor Pub.

He stopped for a brief moment at the door. He could keep his face hidden if he wanted to, but he couldn't disguise his raspy voice. Unless... He remembered something. He fumbled around in his many pockets until he found the right one and produced out of it a small vial which contained an odd kind of liquid, brewed by himself this very morning. He had anticipated the arrival at the port tonight, and prepared the drink. He downed the extract, pulled his cloak's hood lower and pushed open the doors to the crowded establishment just as the performer ended his song in a powerful finale. His yellow eyes peered from under the hood of his cloak. The place was bright and full of noises, people sitting and talking and laughing and shoving. The various sounds and strange smells of many different beings mingling in the warmth of the room made him feel quite uncomfortable. He wanted nothing more than to leave, to be out of there as quickly as possible. There probably were odder kinds of beings around than him, probably even fouler, but somehow, he doubted that even a meeting point such as this was happy to see his kind prancing around.

As quickly as he could, before the effect of his extract wore off, he walked over to the bar and, and, keeping his face hidden, asked the bartender, in the high-pitched voice of a timid servant human male barely out of his teens: "Can I have a barrel of ale to go, please, good master? To be delivered to a ship."

 

Disguise: +10 on disguising voice with Vocal Alteration, -2 for impersonating a member of another race.

Dice Disguise:

1d20+8

(11)+8

Total = 19

[Upright Citizen]

The sound of the sea crashing onto the cliff face woke Athiss. It was perhaps the most glorious sound he had ever heard, for it meant he was alive. No more the creaking wood of the ship. No more the filthy stink-water that surrounded Master's machines. He had seen the mage speared by a broken spar from the mast as he clung for dear life during the storm. Athiss knew that none would be looking for him.

Blinking slowly he could feel the grit on every surface of his body. It scraped against his scales like a dried rot-sheath. Had he the energy he would have shed his skin, but that prospect left him feeling nauseous just contemplating the metabolic effort required. Instead he rolled over, his tail flopping wetly into the sand behind him and stared upwards. The sky was cloudy, everything tinted a dull red, and he could not tell whether it were morning or evening.

Reluctantly he forced himself upwards, surveying the area around him. He searched through the small pouch he had managed to rescue before the ship broke, finding that few of the belongings he had grabbed had actually survived. Fortunately his hunting spear had not come loose where he had lashed it to himself. And indeed, it would probably explain the dull aching in the back of his head. He must have had his next snapped back into it. Searching the shoreline before him he could see a light in the distance, likely an hour or two's walk from where he was. The sweeping, fiery pulsations had to be coming from a lighthouse. And a lighthouse meant a city. Which meant food. Surely they would have rats. Athiss could at least have dinner.

At a slow pace, plodding along, Athiss made his way towards his new salvation.

[Sifer]

The roiling storms packed differing seamen and traders in a small port and many would say that it was a recipe for disaster. Nakic loved the atmosphere and the crowded taverns assured the black-feathered singer ample opportunities for making coin. The bulging sack of coin tucked into the Tengu's robe spoke to the appreciation of the shore-bound men for Nakic's performing skills, in the three days he's been in Trade point he'd earned more than he'd imagined possible.

If I can make this much in this small trade port, how much more could I make in the larger cities?

It was almost enough to make Nakic reconsider attending a bardic college. Shaking thought from his mind, the tall bird-man raised a battered mug to his beak and downed most of it in one drought. Motioning at the human woman that served drinks to the lecherous patrons, her returning nod let Nakic know that he had another mug of dark mead headed his way.
Today would be the fourth night he'd spend in the Tradepoint Inn and Pub and it was driving Nakic nuts. There was certainly enough to entertain the young Tengu if he went looking for trouble but none of this was getting him any closer to enrolling and it bothered him.
Turning his head to keep a hooded figure on his left side, the singer used his peripheral vision to take note of the stunted figure's activity.
It was the bird.
Maybe Nakic was more drunk than he thought, but sometimes it looked like the short man was talking or sharing a thought with the raven that hopped from shoulder to table in quick motions that startled nearby patrons. Thanking the drink server with a pair of silver pennies and his now-empty mug, Nakic scooped up the full stein and stands slowly. Turning into the crowd it takes a moment before Nakic can stand next to a particular table. Taking the chair opposite the short man...no, dwarf! Nakic introduces himself in a strong voice.

"I am Nakic and I am sure that you have seen me perform here the night past. I mean no disrespect but your bird is all I can see tonight. As you can see," Nakic gestures at himself, "I have a bit of interest in the subject. Can he speak?"

[Anon315]

A decent sized tent is set up in the Common, and within it is a drow. He didn't care much for the lights of the taverns, low though they may be, and the people of foreign lands were often less tolerant of his person and his customs. The banner affixed to the tent declared him to be of Razmiran. From time to time he would step out to check on the straps which held his tent safely down, he might have overdone it with all the pitons securing the tent but in this weather, it was better than waking in the night, or at least rising in the night to a tent across the face.

No lamp is nearby, no lamp is necessary for the occupant and so what would be the point of such an inviting atmosphere? The tent and all around it bade others to remain away, but if a dark tent and a banner were enough to do that, Ulker wouldn't need to rest near a sword.

[Yuul]

Maelos found himself being roughly jarred from his thoughts as one of the old worn chairs across the table is suddenly moved, quickly occupied a moment later by the Tengu his eyes recognized as one of the performers from the previous evening he had been forced to stay at the pub. An unspoken curse flies through his head as he draws his cloak tighter about himself before daring to take a closer look at the sudden intruder to his corner sanctuary in this made place. He feels Edix tense immediately on his shoulder, uncertain what to do at their current predicament. His eyes, the only thing visible under his tightened cloak rise up almost in sync with his companion's to meet the performer's. The duergar is still regarding the newcomer with wary eyes when he introduces himself as Nakic, the performer from the previous night here at the Tradepoint Inn and Pub, and wastes little time in getting to the point of his curiosity, which, as Maelos should have known, was Edix.

Truthfully, Maelos had grown so accustomed to the raven's presence dating back to his memories of washing up on the last island years ago that he often forgot how his friend's level of intelligence could startle those around them or attract such unwanted attention, with Edix typically avoiding speech in the presence of others being the only longstanding caution when in town or around lesser creatures. Of course, scant few had ever actually acted on any curiosity the raven stirred up, but he should have known it would be different for this Nakic, being what he was. His eyes drifted again to meet the shiny beads that were the familiar's own shortly before a quick empathic exchange took place between the two. Neither moved for the longest time before the exchanged concluded itself and Edix glanced back to Nakic, speaking up for the first time that evening. "Of course I can. And I do not belong to anyone like some piece of baggage. We are... companions, yes, that would be a good enough term to suffice I think." The raven's feather ruffled and scrunched up bit, the bird clearly somewhat agitated at the idea of being some mere unintelligent pet or the like, but managed to keep its voice low enough from spreading to the surrounding tables, which Maelos was currently observing warily, as if to note any suspicious glances towards their vicinity.

[Sifer]

Pleased that the smaller bird was willing to engage him in conversation, Nakic's head tilted to the side in a manner that most humans confused for a curious look. Unable to hide his pleasure the violet-robed humanoid took a quaff of his thick drink and wiped his beak with a sigh. A patron nearby bumps Nakic on accident and he tosses a quick apology over his shoulder before hurrying past the table. Mumbling over the nearly spilled drink, Nakic pulls a neatly tied pack of cards from his dark robes. Picking at the knot in a familiar fashion, it falls apart and the single piece of string is tucked away. Nakic shuffles the hand-painted cards in a blur of hand motions and he deals two cards to himself, one face-up and the other face-down. Matching his pile of cards with another meant for an obviously phantom opponent, Nakic pitches his voice low so that his two companions would be the only ones to make out his next words.

"I've seen many clouds but I do not like the feeling that sweeps through me when I look above Tradepoint. Similar to how a rat must feel when the ship begins to sink, I would think..."

Taking a sip from his battered mug, Nakic lets the murmur of the crowd fill the table as he continued to play a game of cards against himself.