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  #181  
Old Aug 18th, 2023, 10:30 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Yes, Bingle can make Falco breathe underwater! It's! So! Easy! She also makes herself breathe underwater, and Fela, and Nilfil, and Gary, and everyone else that will fit into the ten person limit, and even tries to cast it on Tempest. People who can already breathe underwater might enjoy being made to breathe underwater because new experiences are always positive and everyone should seek them out.

After consulting her spellbook carefully, Bingle nicks a piece of straw from the packing material of the food supplies on board, and swirls it around, casting her magic as a ritual. Tippy toes and down, tippy toes and down. Twiddle the straw, make bubble sounds with your lips. Tippy toes and down, tippy toes and down. Twiddle the straw, and raaasssspberry in everyone's nose. Spit bubbles, spit bubbles, spit bubbles, SHRIEK!

She also takes ten minutes to fully douse Falco in one of the Oil of Slipperiness potions, covering him in magical oil that will prevent him being grappled or anything horrible like that. To Fela she responds, "I don't know, but if we can communicate with The Eye via his tattoo, that might be useful." She'll definitely Identify on the tattoo before Falco invites him beyond the veil.

Now everyone can breathe underwater and Bingle herself slides into the water with them, to swim over, making Harlan fly above. Cold. Drak. Tastes like a well that's full of moss. Tastes like a bitter white fish is in that well. It's a dank, strange, unnatural taste. She pretends it is tears. When they get over to the ship, Bingle does a big risk, and clamps onto the keel, warging into Harlan, who flies around over the ship.


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  #182  
Old Aug 19th, 2023, 12:53 AM
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Tempest, Siren o' the Sea
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"I do not know these 'lemmings', but like mice, they do jump one, and then another. If they all competed for my attention at once, then I would imagine there would be a mess - a flattering one, but I do not like uncertainty when I only desire their death once I am done with them." The Siren was sincere, matter-of-fact as she responded to Fela, eyeing her curiously. "I am pleased that you are not offended and are understanding. If you want these pirates frightened off the ship, or drawn off the ship to leave for the island, I will support your plan, as we are sisters in battle and beautiful cleverness."

The magical ritual, especially the dance…NO…especially the raspberrying in the nose, with the hollow tootledooper ..and then bubbles…Tempest was wide-eyed; dark stripes were well-defined against her fair blue skin as she was so taken aback by Bingle's display of eldritch prowess. Granted, she could breathe underwater naturally, but this was a different manner of breathing, and now who knew what she'd be doing. Fascinating! And to think she was part of this moment. The experience and camaraderie made her prouder than usual.

"I have spent more time gazing upon the gift. When you saw her was she weighed down by a crown upon her head? Was she lit by flame, or by the moon? If you look closely at your holder-case, you will see the metalwork is not just of two trees, but of one that would have been so very strong, but split with the branches all a-tangle and perhaps yearning upwards toward the moonlight. Mayhaps there was great strife. Why she is bathed in what appears to be the light above, in a city of Moon Elves, when…at closer study of the brush strokes, she is Drow, not of the Moon as I originally believed. Oh, Lady Bingle Curiosa, something terrible must have befallen two houses and his heart." Tempest's voice reflects such an intrigued passion as she easily becomes caught up in this tragic, romantic story.

As Falco was seeking a pipe, before they plunged into the ocean, and before Bingle cast her great magic, Tempest approached the Hin and said. "I have a pipe, a beautiful, well-crafted and pristinely polished one. You may have it. Just know that I do expect first choice of all pipes and books, including diaries, as well as teas, and a fine shiny kettle to replace the one Vorn did not seem to appreciate. Yes, I do hope they have pleasantly scented tea onboard and soft beds. The very thought of nets-for-sleep for this noble, exquisite crew is preposterous, yes?"


"If this is Garrick, he has a very unusual, beautiful eye color that I am not familiar with. Quite shy as well. Maybe they do not know this tongue." Tempest decided to try to speak to whomever was on the other side of the window in Elven. "I agree that the Human language is complex and strange, lacking in some words that the Elves have bathed in gold. So I send my peaceful greetings to you again." The Siren tried with the more beautiful language of the Elves, one which glided over her tongue richly. She reached into her pouch for the half pickled lime, then pulled carefully with a yank to hopefully make just enough room to squish the self-proclaimed treat through the crack. "I find this tasty. If it does not suit you, we can find you something less offensive." There is no string attached to the half-pickled-lime bait, but she hoped that it would at least attract the entity that was in the room to return to the port window. "Yes, we can go to the other window. I wonder if they allow their prisoners to dance and sing ever. It does sound delightful above. How I would love to join them for some fun." But there was a plan, and they were not necessarily going to be enchanted by her wonderfulness. Vorn's lack of a proper reaction had given Tempest a thread of doubt to her personal charm, magic or not. The very shock of one not delighted to be in her company was simply bizarre. "Do you think an offering of a gold coin would be proper or insulting?"

Tempest remained upwards, swishing her tail as she tried to remain mostly steady for Falco and herself to make contact with whomever was inside.
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  #183  
Old Aug 21st, 2023, 07:25 AM
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Vorn’s Clipper
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Tempest, you speak blithely of siren methodology, and Gary Gonme goes pale gray. Now, if you speak to him, he casts his eyes down, says, “Yes, Matriarch,” and scuttles off, desperate to stay out of your sight.

You have spent days at sea with these people. By now, Fela and Bingle and Falco all know that your mother (when you are with her, anyway) only downs the ships of pirates and siren hunters; she does love your father, in her way, and he needs this. The rare merchant or fisher that blunders into your territory passes safely. You have charmed your way onto these vessels, danced, shared wine and maybe a bed...but you are no cold murderer, cleric.

Gary, who has been running three spiders alone this whole time, has no such understanding of your moral boundaries. Perhaps, after Vorn’s dismissal, it feels fine to be treated with some fear and respect by the Underdark contingent.

Fela, you above all know this strange siren has not been killing innocents. As you have done your forms each dawn, she has prayed to Aerdrie Faenya, and that wild but good-aligned storm goddess has filled the cleric’s well of magic, so her heart must be — well, not pure. Her father, for all he is an intellectual and an art aficionado, for all he preaches against murder to her monster mother, is an Eladrin.

So is Clovis.

Still, Tempest’s heart must be - basically okay? Certainly those sung to their deaths are people you would smite with no remorse. Her enjoyment of this one or that on the way down, we’ll now, that is— not even Finn would— wellllllll. That good god is chaotic. And an elf. Perhaps best not to linger on those details?

In spite of your desperate glance to Bingle, she is very busy zrrbrting everyone in the face and planning to leap into the sea with Falco, but she can tell that the feather on Nilfil’s toe identifies as a plain old regular tattoo. Nilfil is just a grunt among a thousand grunts. Not worth expending magic, unless he proves himself. HE IS DOING VERY POORLY SO FAR, eh, considering is webbed and swinging in your rigging?

left-aligned image
You leave the navigation entirely to Gary, and he is now so horrified by Tempest that he works like a gnome possessed to navigate around the Dusk Maiden and get ahead and drop off your infiltrators; there is no way the siren can swim fast enough to catch up with two little passengers.

Off they go, and Gary skillfully drops back and to the side to let the Dusk Maiden pass so you can collect your little fishes after. You are so busy watching the sea, you neglect the bundle of pirate. Nilfil does his damndedest to wriggle free. You know because one skinny leg is hanging out when you finally think to glance his way.

I jus’ don’t fancy to get gutted while I’m hanging here like bacon, he says with a sickly and ingratiating smile. Listen listen listen. I can breathe water can’t I? After the nose business? Why not cut a fella loose, hey? I’ll go right over the side. Swim to the shore, be a mushroom farmer. Or maybe drown, probably, right? I just want a chance. And maybe - Maybe I heard a thing. Down in that prison. Maybe, for a chance, I’d tell a paladin. Because if you say you’ll cut me down, you will, yeah?



DUSK MAIDEN
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Tempest, you mash lime at the porthole edge, but it is closed, and it has no way to open. A porthole that can be this close to the waterline, close enough for you to talk into it, must be well sealed, or the ship sinks on its own, no siren needed. The drapes were cracked open, when you were here last.

You speak softly through the glass again. Falco, too. This time, you get a response. The drapes stir. Then, a pushing. An invasion. Something salty and insistent presses at your brain trying to - trying to get in. Trying to take over. You almost lose your grip.

You shove it back. OUT! NO TO THAT. The effort leaves you shaking.

Bingle, you have been busy. WIZRAD SIHT! Ritual this and that. The taste of a pearl, the buzz of spit bubbles. Once at the ship, you scootle on the hull, down under deep deep to the wallowing heavy very bottom of the boat. You go blind and insensate, become a little gnome-shaped barnacle. CLAMP!

This close to a shore, no one thinks much about a bird. Halran sees a lot. There is a small crew of dark dwarves on deck. Perhaps the others are are sleeping? No Cloaker. At the prow is a framed structure with fishing-pole like appendages that can extend and retract like telescopes. Each pole has a pulley system with ropes and harnesses, dwarf sized, not in use. One dwarf is mending the ropes on the middle one.

At the back, where the ship is darkest and no dwarves are near, the drow first mate is talking to the giant with two heads and the lizard with the mop. Well wait! He is talking to ONE head. Soft in whispers. SECRET TALKINGS! Because the other head is asleep. All three keep glancing at that head, making sure it is still snoring and then they whisper-whisper-whisper.

Halran can smell that lizard from above. That lizard smells like the most terrible ancient urine. He cannot love it. But to hear, he has to go closer to that smell. He is not a sea bird. It’s a risk. Plucky bird! He does a fast pass by, flitter flutter, and they do not notice. Well, the smell-lizard stares a little too long. Maybe thinking, THIS IS FAR OUT TO SEA FOR A BIRD LIKE THAT. But then her attention goes back to the drow.

The drow is talking fast. You hear: —make a move! I think we got the numbers. Aren’t you tired of eating his flappy-arse crumbs? When I am —

That’s all before your swoop is past. Will you take another pass past that alerted lizard? Will you stay warged?

Falco, you cling to Tempest, talk as quiet as you can at the window, trying to hit that sweet spot of being heard within but not above.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Nothing until you feel small gnome hands on your ankles. Bingle has climbed up from the bottom where she was clinging to the keel. She scrambles up the length of Tempest as if the siren were a sea tree, and then gets on her other shoulder. She leans over Tempest’s head, clamped onto the shoulder tight with her legs, and then she grabs your face. Then she kisses you. Bingle! Not romantic, not at all. But still—

Bingle. Bingle of the formal bow. Bingle of the sweaters and the hands behind her back. Well but she can also the the STARVING ANACONDA, and she is your good friend, by now. Still, it is weird. She grabs your face, one hand on each of your cheeks, and then she plants a resounding smack in the center of your forehead.

She says in her piping Bingle voice, My boy, dear boy! Ah, ya brave little ****, how I have missed you. I knew you would come. Even when we landed here, of all bad places. I waited. All hells yes, I waited, and yes, you must retake her, she is yours by right!

Bingle gives your hair a rough tousle and beams at you, proud and just a little teary.


OOCYou are less than three hours from shore because getting ahead of the Dusk Maiden required time. I think Tempest could have swim-sprinted to catch them alone (they are HEAVY and slow) but not toting two littles.

Cheerio you had time to do identify as a ritual, easily, as Gary maneuvered ahead of the dusk maiden. Sometimes a tattoo is just a tattoo, so I went ahead and let her know this as you stated her intent to do it when she had time.
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  #184  
Old Aug 21st, 2023, 11:41 PM
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A fated reunion
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Falco were stretchin' up, tryin' t' crane 'is neck an' maybe catch a glimpse o' familiar calloused hands through th' porthole when he felt th' hands. He nearly leapt offa Tempest's shoulders thinkin' it some unfathomable horror of the dark below, but it were Bingle. Harlan likely spotted somethin' interestin', like what they were doin' with th' lights. Then, she grabbed 'im an' delivered a kiss?

He looked at 'is friend incredulously fer a beat as this was an unexpected greetin' from 'is fellow member o' th' Once-Dead Club an' blood-pact maker. But there was somethin' about her smile an' how it weren't her smile exactly. It were lopsided an' toothy but familiar in a different way. Then she spoke, not at all like Bingle. Falco instantly embraced her an' barked out a quiet peal o' laughter before clampin' a hand over 'is mouth. He could feel tears wellin' up under 'is eyes as 'is heart raced.

"It really is you, isn't it Garrick? They followed me inland, hunted me like th' dogs they be but couldn't catch me." Falco let th' words flood out as they formed, 'is excitement pushin' concern aside an' takin' control. "O' course I came, He said I had t' find ye. I saw him Garrick, Captain Kieran, when I were killed an' buried, an' he said he'd wait as long as it took fer me t' find ye. Then, on me way t' Saltmarsh I bargained with a faerie an' traded a part o' meself fer a star chart what would show me th' way. Her dreamsnakes showed me th' Dusk Maiden, here in th' Starless Sea, crewed by monsters. She warned me against a direct attack s' here I am, sneakin'. Oh, I found out me tattoo be some sort o' cosmic snail poops." He showed 'is hand t' Bingle an' tried not t' laugh again.

"So, th' cabin doors are chained, how can we get ye out? How tough are these pirates, anyways? Are th' dwarves loyal?" There are so many things Falco wants t' ask Garrick but not even time fer a fraction o' it all. "I'm gonna find that Hin an' I mean t' kill 'im fer what he did." Then, he moved on t' introductions. "Oh, this be me friend Tempest, she's a siren." He nodded down, then patted Bingle's shoulder, "This is Bingle, a powerful wizard. Our friend th' Springer o' Saliber is back on th' Drow's clipper an' our other wizard be back with th' Drow what operates th' trap. I trust 'em all with me life, well not th' Drow but this be business with 'im an' he'll honor that."

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  #185  
Old Aug 22nd, 2023, 08:50 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Being warged into Harlan is always weird but fine. While she can hear and see with Harlan's eyes and ears, she can still feel her body. Sometimes Banx has her by the shoulders so she feels that grip, or maybe she's gripping herself onto a railing, or stuck in a chair with her ankles wound around the legs for security, but she can still maintain the sensation of being in her body. This time, her body is cold and breathing water and clamped to the bottom of a ship. But her actual consciousness is up in Harlan, light and free, observing things and listening to mutinous murmurs.

It's weird to separate your mind from your body. It's a big risk. She takes a note of which head of the monster is doing the conspiracy. That's important. If you say left head but the person thinks you mean their left not the monster's left they could get into trouble. Monster's left, monster's left, she remembers.

Harlan is a fey creature, but unlike some fey creatures who are inscrutable and unpredictable, Harlan is a special kind, meant for this purpose, who is very open and hides nothing from her. He is familiar. When she's warged into him he's still there, and that's also weird but fine. Harlan doesn't talk but he feels things. Sometimes he just does what she wants, but sometimes he has judgments. The judgments manifest as actions not language, like he judged that Pozzik was ok to nest in, so he did it. He judges the lizard on deck smells bad. Harlan likes everyone she likes but sometimes Harlan likes more people. Harlan gets mad at everything she gets mad at, but sometimes he gets more irate at different things, things only brids or fey would be bothered by, and that's part of being two creatures, you have different opinions. When he sees Falco and Tempest rise up out of the water, he flies over to Falco, and flutters onto his shoulder. Bingle can cast Fly this way, she can cast Identify this way, or Invisible or Fly or Armor or Climb. What's left in her body is the dumb part of her. What's smart about Bingle is here in Harlan, sitting on Falco's shoulder, fluffed up and ready.

When the dumb part of Bingle releases the keel of the ship and begins to clamber horribly up the side and up Tempest, it causes her and Harlan a lot of fear. She can see it happening, and feel it happening, but she can't stop it from happening. She clambers right up the mermaid and grabs Falco by the face which is something she would! never! do!

(Lies. This is Falco. She has surprise-grappled him by the face countless times from behind playing Guess Who? She has raspberried his nostrils. She has braided his eyebrows into his mutton chops. She has materially assisted with a how-many-marshmallows-will-fit-in-his-mouth experiment. She has hugged him so hard she heard his ribs creak.)

But she didn't have to witness that? Dang! She is a proper gnome and raised right! She has even been considering giving Tempest lessons in how to fold your hands behind your back! Which is proper! And here she is doing a forehead kiss like she is some kind of unhinged uncle or nanny!? What if Falco thinks she has lost her dang mind? She, an evil wizard, smiling like an idiot and making happy tears? NO. ONLY ANGRY TEARS FOR THIS WARLOCK. ONLY TEARS OF RAGE AND EVIL. She pecks Falco in the ear. She flaps her wings.

And then, even though she can't hear an audible chuckle, or giggle, or cluck, she perceives, in this weird two-creatures-in-the-same-body way that she has going on here, not only in her own body but in this bird form, that Harlan! is! amused! That chicken, that traitor, that liar, amused that she should have to witness her body doing completely insane (completely normal) things that she would never (would regularly) do and she has no power to stop it? That chicken. That ingrate. Confused and mad, Bingle flies over to her own head and hammers on it with pecks and flaps. Which she feels. Kind of. And there is Falco giving a proper introduction which she can't! even! answer! Garrick. She knows this name from Falco's stories. Ah. This accounts for all the kissing and weeping and clutching all over that people are doing.

But Bingle is mad! She messages into Falco's head in as ferocious a rage spit as she can muster: Kindly tell him I am very pleased to meet him and I hope he is well and his family. She pants and waits and shakes her feathers. Harlan breathes way faster than a gnome so it's easier to stay mad, but stomping a tiny bird claw does nothing and just makes Harlan more silly about everything. But she persists. [I]Also there is a mutiny being planned by a drow and a lizard and a monster's left head! she fumes. Monster's left not observer's left! That's important!!!


ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


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Old Aug 23rd, 2023, 12:34 AM
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Tempest, Seaweed Tree Siren
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Gary's scuttling away, bowed head, and 'Matriarching' her caused Tempest to leave a dish of bland golden biscuits with muted red-berry compote near his spider. "My mother is a Matriarch. I am simply her offspring who has not fought for my territory yet. Once I establish my own territory, sink Mermaid and Siren hunters, and encourage merchants to bring me a gift or four for passage, then I will truly be a Matriarch. Imagine the dancing, and the library I will build with jewels adoring the masts of old sunken ships. Ah! How things would sparkle." The Siren wandered off then, daydreaming of future decorating and having more books than she could read in a year. Maybe she could find Creativity who would surely help her with an above-water sanctuary and golden prayer pillars dedicated to Aerdrie Faenya. Wondrous! Of course, Tempest being Tempest in all of her exuberant pride, would discuss such matters at meal times with her shipmates, asking if gold would also attract Sun worshippers, and perhaps if her territory had two such islands, or large rocks, she and Fela could both have prayer pillars for both deities since - "..the Sun and the Sky, and even Storms, would compliment each other, would they not? Rainbows, yes?". By dinner she would quietly mention that Gary is very, very busy, leaving her little to do with his efficiency at working ship-ropes and the spiders. Also, and most whispered, "Does anyone else think he may not enjoy her company, as impossible as that may sound? The Nuderdark's denizens are curious with their avoidance of her."


The attempted takeover of Tempest's being left her clinging to the side of the ship; trembling hands taut around the curve of the porthole. "Falco StarCaptain, I believe something tried to force itself into my being from behind that curtain. I am unsure what to make of this type of aggressive greeting." Her voice wibbled as she eyed the glass, and tapped her blunted fingernail against it with a disheartened look. "We'll see if you get to suck on a delicious lime.."

"UFF, hey….what happened, Bingle Curiosa. Are you being chased?" The Siren said, voice actually concerned if not worried after that unnerving PUSH that pressed against her brain. She looked down at the dark waters, but once Bingle was clinging onto her shoulder and back like a stubborn crab, Tempest could only slide her arm around the metal that encased the glass with a groan from now holding both a Hin and a Gnome. Of course she bobbed under the weight, but her tail was strong, and her tolerance… absolutely commendable as one would expect from an exquisite creature and friend such as herself. Ducking her head so the two could CHAT and kiss foreheads shedding tears, and ….my, they are acting strangely. Bingle certainly does not sound like herself, and that was troubling.

"I am going to intrude upon your discussion…" Tempest said, no apologies given. "...because I am puzzled at yours and Bingle's words, and I believe the person behind the curtain may have tried to force themself into my mind. I do not know if this was an attack, or an attempt to say "Yes, I wish for you to bring me your delights, Siren.". Therefore, I am bringing this to your attention since you are both clinging to me as I would a giant Spider." As much as she would like to ask questions about faeries, snail-poop, dreamsnakes, and why she's being introduced to her companion, Bingle, she could only respond with. "Yes, I am Tempest, a magnificent Siren who you have climbed upon as one would a sturdy, strong, beautiful blossoming tree. Now, I must ask where is Bingle, the real Bingle, before I bite your leg. Bingle not being Bingle does not amuse me." Yet, if it was Bingle (since she was formally introduced), then she would not bite her, but if it was a fake Bingle, then she would want the real Bingle back. Because, she, the magnificent Siren, found Bingle a noble and fitting companion for one such as herself…and a friend.

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  #187  
Old Aug 24th, 2023, 06:03 AM
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Fela, good cop
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All that time pacing, peering into the dark, peeling her ears for any sound of danger, and the danger is there on the boat.

Well, Nilfil isn't that much of a danger, still mostly strung up on the web. Wouldn't be that much of a danger fully free and armed, Fela reckoned. But she still watches him as though he were a pressing danger, meeting his smile with an impassive mask, holding it in silence several moments longer than might be expected, before she opens with a sigh.

"You haven't met many paladins, I take it. I don't want to 'gut you'; I want you to have a chance. Me wanting that is free. But it doesn't just come down to what I want. It's not my choice alone, it's all of us, as my friends. And right now, those friends are off investigating that ship you sailed on, risking their lives, and 'maybe you heard a thing' that would have helped them or made that risk unnecessary. I'm insulted that you think I'd go behind their backs and let you slip away. You want a chance -- you had a chance to tell us this, and you didn't. 'Maybe' you heard something? Maybe you're making things up now in a desperate bid for freedom. Which is it, eh?" Fela lets the emotionless mask slip a bit her, flashing a bit of her anger, and stares out into the darkness for a bit as if recollecting it.

"I'm not going to gut you now, or let you free; the crew as a whole will decide when they return. But what you do now will decide how I argue. If you convince me you actually 'heard something', I'll put a Zone of Truth down around us, and you won't fight it, and you'll tell me what you heard, then I'll promise, in that zone, to argue hard to the crew for your freedom. But. If you can't convince me that you actually heard something, I'll think it was just a lie to try to save your own scrawny skin, and I'll pass that on to Falco and the rest and let them have their way with you. So, what will it be?"

Fela leans in intensely, waiting again.





Actions, etc.
Dice Intimidation check on Nilfil to go along with plan:
d20+7 (3)+7 Total = 10

Dice Insight check whether she believes he actually heard something useful:
d20-1 (19)-1 Total = 18



If Nilfil plays ball she will cast Zone of Truth around them, and


Aura of Protection: +4 to saves for Fela and any friendlies within 10'

 
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  #188  
Old Aug 24th, 2023, 07:57 PM
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Fela on the Ship
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Naw, ma'am, naw, this ain't intel about that boat that might help your friends. It's about that place you and your allies call the Ant Trap.

Nilfil swings gently back and forth, more from his own sweaty exertions to appear sincere than the Underdark winds. You think he is sincere, though. He is too scared of you, and too vaguely hopeful that he might not die to try to spend a coin he hasn't got.

You drop your zone of truth, a golden webbing of electric light you feel rather than see. He feels it too, and shudders. He doesn't love it. But he speaks. The gnome said we was in the last cell, right? But, naw.

Look, here is my true secret. My Da was human, but I can trance, like Ma. No one knows, not my mates even. I fake sleep, always, to learn stuffs.

Every night (or sleep time, it's all night here, but you know what I mean, every period of time when the torches guttered out and we got no more and no food for 10 or 12 hours, so we all slept, except me), a spider came. Metal. Mechanical. Small--- the size of both my hands fisted together, not counting the legs.

It never came when the deep gnome or the gob was anywhere around. They didn't know. It would creep through the looking hatch way up by the door, and then go up the wall and across the ceiling and disappear between two rocks in the top back corner, like it was sneaking into the cell next door. Stayed for half an hour, tops, then left the way it came.

But there is no next cell next door that way, you get me? We was on the very end. Supposably.

I think there is a secret room, maybe for treasure? Or a corpse, someone walled up to starve and die like in that story by that creepy gnome poet. Epo -- Degar Epo. Treasure or body, that spider likes to go look at it, either way. That's all I got. Every secret I have worth selling, and I hope you and your allies judge it enough.


Dusk Maiden
left-aligned image
Tempest, telling Gary Gonme that your mother is a matriarch leads to the title "Princess," deeper bows, and even swifter scuttling out of your way. If you lift a finger, you find a spider there, unmanned, doing the whatever-needs-doing and Gary at the other end of the ship, gauging your mood with wary eyes.

You pull yourself up high as you can, and yes, you can see the drape is barely cracked again. No eye looks out. You cannot get a good view in. Mostly because you have Hin and Possessed gnomes all over your shoulders, clinging and having feelings and stamping on your hair. You have to lower yourself, you are out os strength, but you can keep them afloat to talk.

Perhaps because it was the eye of a ghost, the ghost who now has control of Bingle's body. Yes. Ghosts can do this, and Falco introduces you to this ghost. His friend. You understand, with your perceptive glance, that Bingle is in Halran. You have seen her Warg before, and Halran has that stiff and puff moderating his pert; this posture means he is not driving his small body, and also, BINGLE IS MAD.

Bingle, you are mad. You do not lose your manners, though, even though you rightfully could. Your body is full of… ghost! And you can’t get back in there. You make Halran’s body do things but it is different because it is loving and part of your deal. You call him from the feywild, take him adventuring on the prime. He love this. He want to do this. But this dead shaman drives your body more like Gary in a spider. You cannot even message Falco. You can’t cast that spell through Halran. He needs to touch. He has no fingers to point.

But in his amusement, under and around and through, is a bright cinnamon scented love for you, and and even spicier anger at the hijacker. So he shows you what he can do, and how to do it. The way he talks to you - not in words - he can still talk to your body this way. Your polite message is delivered in images and ideas and postures, and the usurper talks back to you the way you talk to Halran, and he understands and you understand.

Beg pardon, miss. Had to talk to my boy here, and this was the only way. The chains keep me from crossing. Some magic warding. I could possess one of those ****s, excuse the salty verbiages, but I’d have to see them, and they never come close to this window. I’ll give you yourself back directly.

right-aligned image
Falco, you know that smile. Aye, lad, my best lad, 'course it's me, Garrick whispers low with Bingle's mouth, his Bingle-hand now cuffing you gently in the head, like a sideways tousle. A good deck wizard puts a bit of himself into the ship. I did it literal. An old orc shaman trick. I blooded the wood around our cabins every full moon for a year and said the prayers, and when I died aboard, I had the option to move on or stay with the Dusk Maiden. I chose to stay. He listens avidly to all you tell him, marveling at your truck with fairies, the meaning of your tattoo. He tells you, Bingle’s intel about the two headed giant, which he calls an Ettin, and the left head, and the mopping smell lizard, a Trog, he says, named She-Who-Swabs.

There is indeed a mutiny afoot. The first mate plots against the captain, but he is not sure who is on whom’s side, as he has only been able to listen at floorboards. He does know that this is on a timer. The mutineers are losing heart, and the captain has good ears. And the keys to those magic chains…

Bingle’s big eyes darken, go sad, when you speak of Kiernan, but she smiles, too. You think I don't know Cap is waiting for me? 'Course he is. Never doubted. Falco, I didn’t stick here on the Prime for him. I saw him die. I know I'll find him again, when I let go. But lad, lad -- how could I leave? I saw you go overboard, alive. Lucky Hin, I knew with all my heart you would find land, knew you would coming, knew you’d run right into a passel of red feathers —did not see THIS coming tho HA!

Lad, I am here because I would not leave you. I’ll move on when the Dusk Maiden is back in your hands Then, and only then, I will go and find our captain—and my peace.


OOC The ghost can do everything on the ghost stat block, but he is stuck in his cabin and the cap’s (see the map) which does indeed have a secret door between, but these days he just goes through the wall.

Palid, Tempest needs to make a STR check, DC 14, to stay clinging to the ship with all these people and birds climbing her. If you pass, you can stay another round, and BINGLE and TEMPEST can each ask the ghost ONE question, FALCO can ask 2.

If she fails, she will lose your grip and the ship sails on. In that case, Falco alone has time for ONE question before the ship is 100 feet away and the ghost is ripped out of Bingle. If this happens you can get back to the dusk maiden and start a plan this round, no need to RP or roll for “CAN GARY YPICK US UP IN THE SEA” He can, he will.
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  #189  
Old Aug 25th, 2023, 10:48 PM
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A cold plunge in th' dark
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'Course Falco knew Garrick were dead. Maybe he didn't before he possessed Bingle so they could talk. He were still too excited from finally catchin' what he'd been chasin' fer th' brutal truth o' it t' settle in. But inside, Falco can already feel th' weight begin t' settle upon 'im. They were all gone an' now he were th' last o' Cap'n Kieran Skirmshaw's crew. At least he weren't alone, Harlan were remindin' 'im with aggressive flappin' an' pecks.

"How could I not come? I'll see t' them Red Feathers too after I get th' Dusk Maiden back in order. They're up t' somethin' way bigger'n our beautiful ship but I don't know exactly what yet. Somethin' about the Balck Eye." Falco wanted t' tell 'im everythin' he'd gotten into along th' way an' why it took 'im so long. He wanted t' jus' enjoy bein' with Garrick an talkin' like they used t' out on th' deck under a sky full o' stars. Back when things were easy an' normal.

Then, they were suddenly splashin' back down into th' black water while the ship sailed on. Falco knew Garrick couldn't be in Bingle too long, th' splashdown were a harsh reminder. "We need an angle, there be too many of 'em fer a straight fight. What 'bout them lights an' rigs on th' prow? What're they trawlin' fer down here? The Drow what trapped th' red feather crew said these guys immediately showed up interested in buyin' th' Dusk Maiden. It's strange like they'd been followin' ye."

They'd need t' head back t' th' clipper an' let Fela know what they'd learned. They'd need t' talk 'bout gettin' aboard an' sparkin' a mutiny so they could pick off th' victors or else trick th' crew offa th' Dusk Maiden fer an exorcism. There weren't enough time but, when were there ever? Falco had th' potions t' disguise 'em, they had Garrick too. He jus' needed that key. Would it be best t' sneak aboard now, or wait til they docked? That's what they needed t' decide. Then, th' how o' it all would certainly come.

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  #190  
Old Aug 26th, 2023, 04:54 PM
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Tempest, Seaweed Tree Siren
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Princess was a term that Tempest found very Surface-world, and strange to be cast upon her like a sheen of fool's gold. All she could do was nod at Gary and accept that he was going to avoid her like a blue plague-Princess.

One of such 'noble' stature would not be clinging to a porthole window like a starfish burdened with not one, but two petite companions and a possessed colorful bird. Her arm started to slip under the weight and awkwardness. "Uh oh." was all the warning she gave, besides the quick attempt to twist and re-grip her hands to the ship but…it was not meant to be. Unlike a starfish, she did not have tube-ish suction fingers, so she slunked into the water, beautiful tail tired. As the ship slipped away, she commented under her breath, eyeing Falco. "Lady Wizardress Bingle is quite cross. I'm surprised she hasn't gone for at least one of your eyes." A wicked smile snapped across her expression as she remained upright enough in the water to keep both Bingle and Falco half-dry. "If I became full-of-a-ghost, would I have possessed a passing fish, I wonder? I am not bonded with such a sacred bird."

Tempest pondered this, wondering if she WOULD have become a pale, odd jelly, or an orange cleaning-tooth-fish, or a pristine striped shrimp. Certainly, no one would have known and…they could have squished her, or cast her off to be left behind. It is an upsetting thought. This is the last place she would want to be left, alone, in the dark, in unusual waters. She lingered in the water, bobbing up with her tail slowly swishing back and forth in the water to keep the three pecking, and talking. The Siren observed and listened, watching Falco's beloved ship and wondering who was playing the music, and if they - these 'monsters' - were having fun dancing. "I do miss a good shindig. Once we return to Slatmarsh, we will have another one." Watching Falco in her observations, she pondered if he was Ok with seeing this ghost he clearly cared for, and if he was still his normal self.

When the time came, when questions were answered, and the Ghost pulled out of Bingle's body, and Harlan was Harlan, Tempest smiled at the normalcy of her friends. Turning about in the darkness broken by glowing fungi she eyed the ceiling for patterns, and the under-water as well. With a more tired haste, she thumped her tail strongly against the water and returned to Fela and Gary on deck of the Clipper with everyone else in tow.

The Siren could not wait to tell Fela as she climbed onto the deck, sopping wet. "Ghosts are real, Fela Markwig Springer. Have you ever met one? I was simply an uncomfortable fit for one to enter me, being a Siren. My Father has always said that I could be rather headstrong." Tempest smiled toothily at this, knowing she could be stubborn and fall into trouble now and again. It took forever for her to believe her Father that a wormy caterpillar could become a butterfly. She thought he was tricking or testing her as a child, but in fact, he would do no such thing as he tried to teach her of the beauty of the world overseen by the Elven deities.
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  #191  
Old Aug 26th, 2023, 05:00 PM
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Fela, compassionate?
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Lips slightly pursed, inside the zone of truth, she speaks the words slowly. "I will argue you should be released." And she will. But she doesn't want to. She feels cheated; she'd been acting dramatically to save her friends, and nobly and compassionately in giving him a second chance. But now that the secret had nothing to do with her friends but might lead them deeper into danger, and compassion and giving second chances don't feel so virtuous. Nilfil wasn't just any pirate, he was a Red Feather. And Fela had always liked Saliber for being the display-the-sins-of-the-wicked-in-the-unwavering-noontime-sun-then-roast-them-in-the-desert-heat goddess; Marisal's fresh-start-in-the-gauzy-soft-glow-of-a-new-dawn schtick had always struck her as soft and unrealistic.

But here she is. What's happening to her? She consoles herself that it's sheer pragmatism; it's not like they have time for a proper lawful trial and appropriate punishment, he had had some kind of extra information and she wouldn't have enjoyed torturing it out of him even if the Watchers didn't prohibit it for being largely ineffective. But part of her knows she's just avoiding thinking about how she's changing. She'd already done the whole doubting she was worthy of Saliber thing as they set off on the boat, and been welcomed into Her warm embrace, what stronger sign could she have that she was still on the right path?




She's relieved to pick up the other three, unharmed, to no longer be on the boat alone with Gary and Nilfil. It doesn't seem the most pressing thing in the world, but she'd said she'd try to see him free, so she briefly fills them in on what hat happened so they knew. "Nilfil said Vorn's little spiders would visit some hidden cell next to his every night. I didn't know what his secret was, thought it might be about something on the Dusk Maiden that could be important to you -- I promised I'd argue he should be set free, so don't go summarily throwing him overboard."

But what they'd found on the ship was much more fascinating. The time for action is close, and Fela's mind is racing through the possibilities, but something snags first. "Falco -- sorry about your captain and your deck wizard. The way you spoke of him, it was clear they were not just great officers, but special to you, and..." and what? She knows she's supposed to say something comforting, but she's too young and uncomfortable to know just what that is, and it's Berilun's bailiwick, not Saliber's "...and I know it's hard, losing someone " Mom "...but we'll avenge them. Soon." There. Not too personal, and transitioning to business.

"I'd love to just wait until this mutiny takes place, and then strike immediately after -- don't interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake. But I don't think we can wait too long. Unless someone has a brilliant plan we can implement now, I suggest we rush to arrive at port around the same time, and disguise some of us there? It'd give us a chance to get close to them and not spook them, maybe find out enough about what they're up to to make a better plan, maybe do something to spark the mutiny, but at worst case put our ourselves in a position to seize any opportunities they give us -- in fighting, some of the crew being ashore, or even just drunk or preoccupied with something else...we need a situation where we don't have to fight all of them at once."


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Aura of Protection: +4 to saves for Fela and any friendlies within 10'

 
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  #192  
Old Aug 28th, 2023, 11:49 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Bingle falls in the water, and still not free. She would be a terrible familiar. She hates the possession but tries not to fight, once she understands, because she is happy for Falco but she is also bitterly jealous of Falco. Look what Garrick went through just to see him again. Just to help him. If Garrick were a gnome father he would sit home waiting to thunder recriminations in a message and just make insulting demands instead of all the "My boy, my boy!" For the first time in her life outside of childhood fancies Bingle considers what she would be like as a parent and she doesn't know but thinks she would be great at it! More like Garrick, less like cringeypants gnome dad and silent mother and her sister is a b word! Look at all the faith and trust that Garrick had. The faith! And trust! That Falco would come! If she was the type to cry. Oh, she is.

If Bingle weren't underwater by this point she would have angry sad tears, but she is underwater so she just goes down, down, down. Can't she breathe water? It doesn't matter. Harlan can fly. She can swim. When the nice man's spirit rips out of her body she keeps on going down, down. Not ready to talk yet. Not ready to hear her own voice. Mad. What are they looking for. Where do the lights shine. What is making the ship so low and heavy. What is down here.

Back on the ship, she is wet and how can she ever be dry. Good and dry like a decent burrow not this damp salty cave! She's mad at Banx for staying back. Mad at her father for not being Garrick. Stupid and mad! Fela's idea is to go fast and get into the port before the Duskmaiden gets there. This is a good idea. Go fast and this is an evil clipper ship and she is evil and she stands in the front and gets dark salt spray on her face and cries and cries! She minor-illusions a figurehead onto it, and it is Glasya wearing a very edgy turtleneck and jeans with a rip in them below the knee! And Harlan sits on her head bravely putting his beak into the wind and is very noble and brave! AND EVIL.

Eventually the mad is gone. Harlan cuddles into her neck. She feels better.

She apologizes to Falco for any pecking and says that Garrick is nice and she didn't mind him inhabiting her body and it was fine. This is lies but she wishes it has been true and she gives very convincing smiles to make it possible to believe it is true.

She apologizes to Tempest for climbing on her head, and explains as much as she can not being able to do anything because there was a ghost in her body and it was very hard and she couldn't do any magic. She wonders if this is how Harlan feels. Does Tempest think this is how Harlan feels? Harlan says he doesn't feel any kind of way, and it's fine and normal. But she still thinks she should be more polite about warging and ask if it's a good time for it. After all she was raised right and Tempest would understand how it felt to have that ghost pushing in, and it wasn't great.

She applauds Fela for the racing there idea and now that she feels better she puts together some plans for what to do when they get into harbor and pitches them to Fela and the others.

1. Pretend to be ghost hunters, offer to exorcise the ghost, and Fela could a priestess they "find" and hire to do an exorcism.
2. Wait til the captain goes ashore and then pretend to be the captain and get on the ship.
3. Wait til anyone else goes ashore and then pretend to be them and get on the ship.
4. Pretend to be inspectors.
5. Pretend to be Redfeathers.

When they get into the port, they will look around for a good spot to hide and watch for the Duskmaiden to arrive.



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  #193  
Old Aug 30th, 2023, 11:51 PM
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ISLAND
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Fela, you know who worships Marisal? Briony Saltwind. She believes that you and she worship the same god, actually, and that all four gods in the day-cycle are the same being, encompassing all the paths to goodness that there are. Now, most Saliber-sworn do not agree with this. Other priests of Marisal claim the day-cycle gods are quadruplets, born in a dawning of light that faded into darkness, sooooo Marisal first? Obviously. Saliberites don't love that either. Some Luminarians say the four were once one god, but the paths to goodness are so disparate and the god was so conflicted, she tore in half — yes, half. Saliber and Luminar. And the other two are the shadows of the main two, or maybe not even that. Maybe just representations of the spaces between.

Briony doesn’t love that one.

Well, priests. They have nothing to do but read and write impassioned papers at each other, or be stuck in temples in this little village or that one, healing the miller’s broken leg, explaining how to not get pregnant until you want to to the young folk, maybe, on a good day, calling a small sputtering Sacred Flame down to light a candle.

Here is what you know: Every morning, you do your forms, your body making the shapes of prayer, and you feel the Weave fill you, from Her, a bright glory in your blood. So how unhappy with you can she be?

Nilfil sways in his webbing, trying to give you some significant glances, but mostly looking first shifty and then dispeptic. Gratitude is not an expression that has ever leased space on his face before, you suspect.

Falco, Garrick has only a few seconds to answer, and while Underdark sensibilities would say he wastes over half of it saying, Step careful, lad, and know I have your back, now and in the next life, but perhaps for you, this isn’t waste. Anyway, he still has time to call: Sickstone geodes! Full of faerzress.

Falco, he might as well have said, OOGLE BOOGLE! FULL OF BOOGLY OOGLY! but luckily, you have a Deep Gnome aboard the clipper who can translate. Faerzress is a radiation that is present in (and perhaps helped to create) the Underdark. It is only present down here because it becomes inert near immediately in sunlight.

Sickstone has been permeated by this radiation; it gives off green illumination, but the light itself poisons. Sickstone interferes with magic, especially Divination and Conjuration, so BAMFing in the Underdark is never recommended, and Scrying is notoriously unreliable. All the great drow cities — Baereghel, Charrvhel'raugaust, Menzoberranzan etc etc — are built near (but not too near) vast deposits of Sickstone, because Drow hate being scried upon by all their many enemies and they especially hate when one those said enemies BAMFs into their bedroom while they are sleeping.

Powdered Sickstone is extremely valuable as a scrying prophylactic, and also expensive and rare, as ‘Darkborn slaves die within a few days in the mines. Sunborn races can tolerate Sickstone and mine much longer, and indeed, the pirates will soon be picked up and taken to the Sickstone mines of Vorn’s mother.

left-aligned image
Tempest, an imperious blue girl with bare feet who says her mother is a matriarch is indeed a thing that will send Gary scurrying, but he is interested in talking about Sickstone to Falco, so he doesn't notice you have drifted close enough to hear.

He is explaining that Sickstone Geodes are created and found deep in the Glimmersea sea. They are Sickstone chunks that has been covered by a many-layered shell-like casing that is (it is theorized) secreted by some unknown sea animal that cannot tolerate its poisonous light. Great drow houses build these big geodes into their homes and city walls. The wealthiest and most important drow wear the extremely rare and hard to find small ones in their jewelry. Most of the times these are heavy pendants, but –and this catches your interest – those too big for pendants are worked into crowns or headpieces.

Tempest, there is a triangular stone on the crown of the young drow woman in the portrait inside the locket. You may think of “Princess” as a word with no importance under the sea, but when you go UNDER under the sea, it apparently becomes very important indeed.

If the monsters on the Duskmaiden have indeed found an area where Sickstone Geodes can be found, Gary says, no wonder they were desperate for a ship like the Dusk Maiden to farm it. You understand water vehicles and “cargo.” They must have found some big ones, for the ship to be so low and heavy in the water.

Bingle, YOU NEED BODY AUTONOMY.

This is your very own small tidy body, wrapped in an evil robe and a knitted stripy scarf. Why does everyone think they can just turn it into stone and leave it for a hundred years, or make it die with a Guiding bolt which is A DUMB SPELL SO MILD AND EASY BABIES COULD DO IT, or suck the soul out of it and into a dagger, or say they are a doctor and LOOK IN IT just because you have your eye pressed against a rift into the Feywild, or pop into it while you are with your bird and casually use it to talk to their alive friend.

right-aligned image
Harlan snuggles in close and pulls at your earlobe. He love you so many that he almost is you. (He is you. And also he is him. And also you.) When you Warg, he already said okay and meant it forever. When did you say okay, though? WHEN DID YOU EVEN SAY, MAYBE.

You are just barely done with mad when you remember what Doctor Pillows said, You have a broken! A black patch! WHO DID THIS TO YOUR BRAIN? YOU HAVE A NOT-REMEMBER! Which means someone got into your head and stirred around, SOMEONE EVEN DID THAT AND NOT ONLY DID YOU NOT SAY OKAY TO IT YOU DON’T EVEN REMEMBER. WHO. WHO.

Dr. Pillows could maybe find out. He is on the snail. Where Bramble went missing. The Brineweave. You can get there, if you get this ship, and go to the other Siren territory, and find the King Afloat who is now sunk, and get the thing you need. SO! You offer many plans. WHICH WILL YOU ALL CHOOSE!

Party, you approach a small chain of islands that are so choked with towering, vast, faintly luminescent mushrooms that they have no coasts. On one island, the largest, a small jutting poink of rock, no soil at all, is the site of a small walled village. You see a few skinny drow here and there in simple clothing, mostly working the nearby mushrooms, draining them of fluids, cutting out steaks.

There are two docks, so a maximum of four ships could dock at any time. The far right berth has a strange and lovely dark ship in it, with Elven runes worked into the silk sails. It is manned entirely by drow. You see at least half a dozen in matching silken sailor outfits, working at various tasks. A young woman in exquisite studded leather armor and an older woman in deep blue velvet pants embroidered with silver and a smartly tailored black jacket talk on the deck. This place is TINY. You can see most of it from the ship. You can see the other ship and the people on it from your ship and they can see you. The sailors ignore you, the younger woman assesses you coolly.

You aren't sure how much time you have exactly before the Dusk Maiden arrives. You had to go around it. No more than an hour, but it might be as soon as five minutes.

A drow man on the dock waves you forward into the berth to far south and helps you tie up. He looks puzzled when he sees Upworlders, but his eyes linger on Fela and Tempest, and he asks no questions except how many barrels you want filled with Mushroom Moisture and how many pounds of jerky he can load for you.

He gives the black ship north of you a sideways glance, then says, Oh. Are you only here to meet Captain Cloaker, too? If you aren't purchasing, it's fifty gold or the equivalent to use the berth. Trade goods, especially meat or fruit or sweets, any kind of intoxicant or tobac, lumber, and metal are more welcome than gold.


OOC AND A MAPIf you go into the village, all the doors are open, assume. Mostly sleeping places, a mushroom jerky drying station with hanging racks in the center. From the ship, you would see no more than a dozen people moving about this “village,” all male, all drow. There is a large building in the northwest corner with a common table and bedrolls you can use if you like. No inn. The tents here and there reek of smoke.

 




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Last edited by Fillyjonk; Aug 31st, 2023 at 12:20 AM.
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  #194  
Old Sep 1st, 2023, 12:11 AM
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Tempest, Glorious Siren
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Tempest lingered in the subtle light near enough to Gary to listen to what he had to say about the poisonous geodes. She could imagine the jewel in the mysterious Drow Princess' sweeping, jagged crown was an honor to receive; a gift as rare as Vorn's bestowed love. Was the crown still on her head? This would be a question for Bingle.

With a lowered voice as to not startle Gary, she spoke up with a curious tone. "If the sickstone weakened, or even killed any onboard the ship under the Cloaker Captain's orders, I could understand why - especially the sensitive First Mate Drow - would rebel. The mining under the sea has its dangers, and if the removal cracked any of these stones, or …or are radiating poison underneath where they sleep, how ill would they be? This crew may have been more numerous or healthier at one point. The ship is weighed down, pregnant in her belly with this threatening, valuable cargo."

The Siren walked toward the railing of the ship to look out into the strange darkness, bothered that those onboard, 'monsters' or not, could be suffering a slow, eventual death until the sickstones are removed from the ship. Watching the waters, Tempest saw the outline of the islands and the faint glow from the harvested, towering mushrooms. She watched as the grand ship with the beautiful sails came into view, and it was definitely a view. Such a ship wouldn't be a target for sinking, but for dancing about on and collecting gifts. But…they were Drow like Vorn, but didn't necessarily have to be like Vorn, all ignoring and unimpressed with her AND her beautiful tea set.

As the younger Drow woman in the fancy studded leather watched their ship, Tempest raised her chin proudly and returned the look, though not cool in her gaze. How impressed she was with the light, strong silk sails, that of which she tried to read and understand the Elven runes upon them. The Siren, wishing Creativity were there, was drawn to the beauty of the velvet, the silver stitching, and fashionable leather armor. Maybe they are willing to trade - a smartly tailored jacket, or extra velvet pants, for something. Her lips curled into a grin at the Drow woman before she prepared for docking, watching the spiders do her job.

Noting the gaze that fell upon her and Fela - probably due to their height - Tempest stepped up to Falco's side and said to the welcoming Dock Managing Drow. "Mushroom moisture? Would we enjoy it more than water?" He may be offering them a delicacy or sludge. She is unsure of how this gentleman sees them besides being out of place. Eyeing the docks, excitement started to fill the Siren, though she still realized they were on a serious mission to retrieve Falco's ship. Turning to Fela, Falco, and Bingle, she smiled widely. "While we have some time, I am going to see the very regal-looking Drow and ask them if they have any velvet or silk that would fit me. I threw one shirt away on the webs that I liked, and the other doesn't feel the same after being punctured by the Saughin. I'll see if they would grace me with their company, and perhaps they will speak with me about this Cloaker Captain. Yes? I promise to return and fulfill my duties." She enjoyed saying that - that she had duties to perform, and purpose with her companions, no matter the danger. It was rather exhilarating to the blue, graceful woman who took to the gangway as soon as all discussion of the plans were spoken.
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Old Sep 1st, 2023, 05:46 PM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Bingle slaps 50 gold into the hand of the harbormaster.

"Thank you for your kind offer. Today we don't need any mushrooms, although they look very fine and I'm sure they are very well harvested." Bingle isn't sure at all. What kind of weird mushrooms these are, she has no idea. "We are here in your city--" she pauses politely, to cover the fact that she doesn't know what the city is called, as if she is being generous in the appellation. Which she is. "As you so perceptively guessed, we are here in your fine city to meet Captain Cloaker. He is in great danger from a violent and dangerous spirit who has inhabited his ship, and we are carrying a delegation of holy folk who mean to rid him of it. I'll just go get them. And thank you so much for the dock space. We will not take up more than we need."

Bingle bows, very polite, and returns to the ship, where she sees Tempest just setting off. The four adventurers put their heads together to formulate their plan.

"If you mean to speak to the drow on that ship, please let them know that Captain Cloaker's ship is plagued with a violent poltergeist, and they endanger themselves if they approach him before our ghost hunters can deal with it."

To Gary, she will explain their plan, and then ask whose drow ship that is, and also what is the name of this town.

Then Bingle scrambles down into the hold and takes out her very nice paper and pen, and scribes a letter:
To: Captain Cloaker
From: Fela Markwig and Falcrest Giltchild, of The Emerald Dawn


Sir, it has come to the attention of The Emerald Dawn, this being a collaboration of the Emerald Enclave and the Church of Saliber, for the extermination of Certain Violent Ghosts, that your ship, forthwith to be known as The Ship, has been infested and overwhelmed by a malicious spirit, therewhich we have been hunting. We send our servant, an adept of Saliber, to warn you and invite you to meet with us in this village to discuss terms and how we will rid The Ship of this plague. Don't fear you will be bothered for any dark dealings. Our interest is purely in dispelling this troubled wraith from this plane, and when that is done, if you have not obstructed our work, you may carry on your business, whatever it may be, without our intervention. We must meet away from The Ship, as the ghost is dangerous, and hears everything that happens on board. Our adept will be able to hold the spirit and bind it, should it become disturbed before we can arrive to exorcise it utterly.

Yours in righting this great wrong,
FM and FH
Raiment. She'll need raiment. She's only ever seen Saliber raiment on Per Crines, who definitely had some raiment, but was a terrible person. Fela wears fighting garb and half the time it's hide. Bingle styles her raiment on Per Crines, but unable to fully commit to the red and white of the Per, she decides she will feel more comfortable with orange, and if there is a tinge of grey. After all, she needs to look like an adept. Better than that adept in Glotten, of course. A trusted traveling adept. With, of course, a fancy hat.

Bingle folds the missive up, dribbles some wax onto it from her kit, and stamps it with her real actual Saliber amulet that she got from Lady Drallion. She casts the spell to alter her appearance, and reappears as a very serious adept of Saliber, with orange hair and the most beautiful hat in the entire world. No more green eyes. No more sweater.

She walks with a measured step, carrying the folded letter. Harlan flutters after, green and chirping.

"We have to get you disguised too," she says fondly, dismissing him and bringing him back as a beautiful sleek grey dove. They calmly climb the ladder, calmly disembark, bow with a faint smile to the harbormaster, and go to the empty spot on the dock to wait for the Duskmaiden.



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