Completed Play-by-Post: In Search of the Sorcerer

[nikolokolus]

One by one the cold and shivering crew ascends to the top of the pier. On the plus side you don't stink of sewage quite as badly as you did fifteen minutes earlier, but you are soaked to the bone and in need of a fire.

The pier runs due south before bending to the east. Lanterns fixed to poles provide faint illumination and perhaps a hundred feet or so feet to the southeast you think you can make out the end of the warehouse; shadowy figures are faintly visible through the heavy mist lit up by a pool of watery light. The sounds of laughter and revelry briefly rises and falls from that general direction.

 

[Siveon]

"So, what do we do now? Get out of here, or follow the noise?"

 

[Helly]

"This might be a tavern or something, let's have a look. What I'd give for some mead..."

 

[Siveon]

"After spending an entire afternoon in the sewer, I think we all could use a pint or two right now. I'm also a bit curious to where our thief friend absconded to."

 

[Grimgravy]

"A drink would be nice, but a warm bath and a bed would do me a world of good. I'd say we avoid people if we can until we get away from the thieves territory." Rhenmyr says.

 

[nikolokolus]

Cautiously, you inch your way along the dock until you get to the edge of the warehouse. Raucous laughter and hooting gets louder and louder as you move quietly through the dark. You peek around the corner and see a broad avenue between squat wooden buildings winding its way to the south. In the street about 30 paces away you see the source of all the commotion; a ring of a score of men are under a well lit sign hanging from the eaves of a very dilapidated looking wooden house. The sign appears to be a an anchor broken in the middle and tacked to a gaudily painted sign board.

The men have their backs to you and are very animated - shouting and raising their fists in the air for some reason.

Elsewhere along the street things appear to be quiet.

 

[Siveon]

Marcán whispers, "I'm going in to take a peek. Don't worry, no songs this time."

He casually walks behind the men, trying to see what they're looking at.

 

[nikolokolus]

Marcán tiptoes along the muddy street staying close to the shadows. When he comes up against the ring of men he hears, "10 copper on the rodent!" and "Bah, yer a fookin idjit Cormac! Easy money!" In the center of the ring is a little wicker cage about ten feet wide. A small weasel-like creature is darting around with it's leg held in noose, across from it is a viper that sways back and forth; it also has a leash of sorts looped about the end of its tail. Calls for bets continue and men pass money back and forth.

Finally, a bleary-eyed, swarthy man in sailor's short breeks and leather vest who reeks of sweat and rum staggers out of the door to your right and looks at you drunkenly. "Hey mate, Do I know you?" he breathes in a think Stygian accent.

 

[Siveon]

"No, no I don't believe we've met. Now, if you excuse me..."

Marcán starts to walk toward the group to tell them of the match.

 

[nikolokolus]

The drunk turns his attention to the spectacle in the ring with a shrug, taking a deep pull from a clay tankard.

 

[Siveon]

"I think the coast is clear. Just some damn pit-fight between some vermin and a few drunken sailors betting on what wins. I think I also saw a pub, but I didn't take a look inside. Thoughts?"

 

[ERYFKRAD]

"Let us to the pub and have a drink. We could use warmth for a while, if only to dry our clothes."

 

[nikolokolus]

Your lot moves into the street dripping and more than a little bedraggled, but the men gathered around the ad hoc fghting ring pay you no attention as they are cheering wildly and shouting - no doubt the fight is on. A sliver of light pours through a poorly hung door just behind them and below the garish yellow signboard with the broken anchor. You push inward and it creaks loudly on badly rusted hinges.

Once inside you look around and notice the place seems to be nearly empty; a few hard looking men turn and look at you with expressionless faces, while others lean in close and mutter in half-whispers as you stand at the Foyer dripping sea water on the badly pitted and gouged wooden floor. Hyginos rubs his hands together and glides forward toward the barkeep, "Oooh, I aint been in here for awhile. Be a gent sonny and spot me silver drachma." He says to no one in particular. Hyginos smacks his lips wetly. "I reckon, a dram of brandy would be just the thing to get the cold out of my bones."

 

[Grimgravy]

Spoiler

Is there a fire? If so Rhenmyr will buy an ale and sit near the fire to dry/warm up.

 

[nikolokolus]

There is a large open fireplace in the center of the tavern, with benches. Rhenmyr approaches the massive, heavily scarred, ebon skinned barkeep with dozens of brass rings pierced into the flesh of his nose and ears. He looks up with an arched eyebrow and replies in Stygian, "Are you lost Effendi? I don't think I recognize you?" He pours a sour smelling amber liquid into a clay mug and pushes it forward. "One silver drachma and a word of friendly advice, this is a seafarer's place. If you don't mind my saying, you and your friends do not have the look of a mariner . . ." He levels his gaze and lets his words hang in the air. "But if you seek a captain or a crew for some venture you've come to the right place. A pity the harbor is closed for now."

 

[Grimgravy]

question

Effendi meanswhat exactle?

Rhenmyr replies in Stygian handing over 3 silvers. "A brandy for the oldster if you would. No we're not sailors, but we're not lost exactly. The lockdown required us to gain alternate entry to the district. Damned inconvenient of the authorities if you ask me. Bad for tourism. Can't really recommend a visit to the folks back home. Anyway, we'll move on after a drink and warming up a bit. How long does it take to get used to the weather up here?"
Then quietly to the others "We should drink quickly and be on our way before too long. We stick out too much here."

 

[ERYFKRAD]

question

Effendi meanswhat exactle?

OOC

Effendi=Gringo, Bwana, Cracker, Gweilo, White Boy. Or maybe Firangi. I think.

 

[nikolokolus]

Answer

Effendi is an honorific that dates back to the Ottoman empire, but has an ancient Greek root which roughly approximates "sir" in English. Apparently Borric's Stygian is a little rusty

The barkeep nods slightly, "Ah I see. Alternate entry sounds difficult in such times as these. As for the weather? Bah, these northern barbarians are as hairy as the jungle apes of Stygia - more at home in the cold and the wet than under a roof." He pours a splash of strong smelling liquor that smells more like some kind of highly flammable grease remover than it does brandy to Hyginos, who takes it happily and gulps it down in one swig. He smacks his lips, "Hmmmmm. Good stuff!"

Moments after you get your drinks and settle in around the fire, the front door opens and gales of laughter fill the room. The throng of men who were outside appear to be filling in; some look very pleased while others seem slightly put-off. A largish man with a slightly bestial aspect and a fierce black beard stands amongst them in a way that suggests the others seem to defer to or revere him. He has a giant weasel leashed next to him that is pacing back and forth and around and through his legs. He shouts loudly and slaps nearby men on the back. "I told you mangy lot he'd win. Now a round on me before we set about our night's work." He throws a handful of silver coins on the bartop and a raucous cheer erupts. The barkeep grumbles a little before sliding to the end of the bar and swiping them into his apron.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

OOC

Huhn, could've sworn that Effendi was used to refer to the White guy wherever I read them. Oh wait, Borric knows Stygian now? Cool!

 

[nikolokolus]

OOC:

Alright laddies and gents, I'm officially going to be in the hinterlands after tonight. I might have wifi at night (GMT -7) so I'll post when I can.

If anybody wants to start a bar fight let me know

 

[Grimgravy]

OOC

I'm just hoping the beastman doens't want to start a bar fight.

 

[nikolokolus]

As you sit around the fire the large black-bearded man begins shouting to everyone (and no one) in the bar; his words heavily slurred with drunkenness. "You lot get the skiff and bring it about the point. Tide is ne'er going to be lower than it will be tomorrow night. Ye'll lay anchor and hide amongst the ruins o' the sink tomorrow and come in when the sun has westered fully. I've paid the guards well to let me through the Dawn-Gate and I'll meet you in the dingy with arms and supplies. Now get ye gone afore the watch finishes changing and the harbourmaster catches ye." A rowdy cheer erupts from the the score of men gathered around him. A massive man with a bald pate and long mustachios outstretches his arms to quiet them. "Ya heard Cap'n Quenn, no get on with it afore I whip you!" Stumbling and staggering men begin pouring out the front door as best they can.

Shortly thereafter, the man referred to as Captain Quenn, walks unsteadily over to the fire and plops down heavily on one of the benches seemingly oblivious to your presence. The thickset, bald man grabs a bottle from the bar and turns to walk over to the fire before stopping in his tracks, with his eyes firmly fixed on your troupe. "I thought I told you lot to . . . hey wait minute? You're not part o' the crew."

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Borric decides it might do well, to not show that they overheard him, so he replies in Kurgan, acting as though he did not understand what was being said.

 

[nikolokolus]

The bald man wrinkles his nose and waves the bottle in front of himself laughing, "Ha! Stupid outland barbarian. I fucked a Kurgan whore once 'bout twenty years ago. Her pussy was cold enough to freeze yer manhood off . . . probably yer mother?" He hiccups loudly and saunters over to his companion by the fire.

 

[Grimgravy]

"Do you have to kill him now?" Rhenmyr asks Borric quietly.