Sunport

[Galvain7]

A Pathfinder Play-by-Post. Any reference to events or persons real or imagined is entirely coincidental. Influenced by but not limited to: HP Lovecraft, Pathfinder RPG, Thief (IV), Ebberon Campaign Setting, D&D 3.5 et al. My intent is to create a fun and intriguing experiance for my players. With this in mind, we begin.

"The Game is afoot..."


You are laying on the threadbare rug, staring through the warped floor boards of your apartment at the rats scurrying by on the floor joists. Your shoulder hurts from falling onto the sea chest underneath your hammock and thence to the floor. This is not an ideal way to start an evening. But the impact of a massive bolt of lightning tore you from a fitful sleep just in time to be catapulted out of your hammock by the boom of thunder. At least nothing is on fire. Silver linings.

You take a moment to right yourself before rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The apartment is intact. Against your back is the sea chest made of driftwood that contains all your material goods. Above that, a hammock made of discarded fishing net. Your feet brush up against the crate that acts as your table. Below the tiny window is a single shelf nailed to a pilfered add for hotcakes. On the shelf is a pan, a trio of mismatched utensils, a half empty can of kerosene, a beaten metal box that acts as a stove and a few tins of vegetables and and sardines. You are fairly certain they are sardines anyway.


Another thunder clap reminds you that perhaps it might be better to seek shelter somewhere with stone roofing and walls. Maybe there's work to be had. You bundle on whatever clothes seem seemly and head out into the rain. Your ramshackle apartment is one of many such ad hoc dwellings huddled along either side of Old Nik's Ditch- a shallow, stinking algae stained canal maybe fifty feet wide. On either side rise massive stone walls that separate Lakeside from Wide Market (with the canal in between). Over the years intrepid squatters drove pilfered pilings into the muck and cobbled together tottering tenements out of scrap, using the stone walls as support. Occasionally the Mangrave and his goons see fit to dose the whole affair in kerosine from the walls and burn the the entire ditch out, in order to "fight poverty."

One of the more charitable souls saw fit to line the boardwalk with tattered ship rigging, and you hurry along toward the bridge. Thankfully, a there isn't much activity on the stairway up. The gate to Wide Market sports far to many guards, but the Lakeside gate guards are distracted by a cart that has been stopped by the toll officer. You take advantage of the bureaucratic chaos and slip through without paying the toll.

You pass through the broken cobblestone lanes toward the Sailors Flop and ask the pug faced innkeeper if you have any mail. Sure enough he hands you a packet and a note after you fork over 2 copper pieces. The note reads "packet to stumps. misty dream @ your best convin. Job offer to follow."

[TheMightyQuinn]

[B]Jarnell [/ b]

○Absently retrieving the packet, Jarnel scowls at it as though his fierce displeasure would make a difference in the pay. It wouldn't. The pay would be terrible, but it always was. It was the price of anonymity. ○

○With a parting nod to the inkeep, he slips the packet into an inner pocket where it stands a solid chance of staying dry before pulling his hood up, clutching the heavy fabric of the cloak tight to ward off the cold winds of the storm.○

○Sunport was as welcoming as ever as he pressed out into the darkened streets, the wind and cold rain quickly soaking through the layers meant to keep him dry, so that by the time he made it to the misty dream, he was soaked through and shivering intensely despite his best efforts.○

○The misty dream was a questionable establishment on the best of nights, harboring all manner of pirates,slavers and undesirables. On nights like tonight, with the weather keeping all ships in port, the place was packed with men drinking gambling and brooding over mugs.○

○Spotting Stumps at one of the busier gambling tables Jarnell makes his way over, keeping an eye out for Knikki, knowing that the woman would just love the chance to stab in the back just on simple principle.○

"Stumps. Don't you have anything better to do than swindle these fine, upstanding men out of their coin? Well. These men, at any rate.

[Galvain7]

"Och! Jack, thou black toung'd slander'n knave!" Stubbs roars. He turns to his skeptical companions at the table with a wild gesticulation: "Could'st ye believe, me mates, this rascal, this penny-a-dock sot slop eating curr? To slander me, Honest Stubbs, Poor Stubbs, what gave him nowt but charity many a sodden moon! The youth, by my troth, shall be the end of all honest living and nowt but ruin and damnnation shall follow." Stubbs regards his cards with a raised eyebrow, his tongue clenched between his stained teeth. "Ah, rot and the doldrums! I fold. May lady luck never show you 'er clothed backside, friends."

Stubbs wheels his chair back from the table with a sigh. He waggles his thick eye brows at you. "Jack, thou luggard, wheel me iron chariot to the Harpoon Room! What? Shall I sprout legs and walk myself there?" he cries, jerking the severed stubs of his legs beneath his tattered coat. "Fie on thy father who taught thee manners. Eh, had a whale nowt chew'd me fine legs off, I'd stand right now and box thee about the ears! Just so!" He throws a few shadow shadow punches for emphasis. You recall that last week Stubbs had lost his legs battling Tridon, King of the Seas.

You wheel Stubbs to the octagonal Harpoon Room made from the charred timbers of a former Tehlu House, and so named for the Harpoon Stubbs' had bolted to the wall to hoist himself from the chair to the battered couch. The room has thick carpets hung through out and a heavy door with a solid latch. Knikki Knuckle Knives is already there, having her toe nails painted by yellow a severing girl- of all the bizarre things. She favors you with a smile that contains far too much teeth and draws her thumb across the top of her neck.

"Nay, Nay, Knikki me lass! Don' tell me you've gone soft! Since when have thee been favored of womanly things, eh?" Stubbs jibs. "What would thy dead friends say? What happened to Ro'than Tehlu?!" he cries, waving his arms about mockingly like the Bound Priests of old. Knikki favors the old invalid with a glare that could fell lions. Then she smiles and coos:

"Look what I can do!" while waving her toes in Stubbs face. He laughs and battles the foot aside with his arms. "Look 'ere thee rascal! Shoo that girl! Bring us punch and shut that door on thy why out eh!"

Stubbs hauls himself onto the couch and motions you to one of the stools around the table. "So Jack. They say thou art a card playing man, eh? Open the box."

[TheMightyQuinn]

*Wheelinng the chair carefully through the maze of tables and patrons was no easy matter, but Jarnel found it quite a bit easier with Stubbs able to swear and curse at any man daring to stay in his way too long. The old man could curse with such venom as to curdle milk, and took great pleasure in doing so at any given opportunity.*

"Black tongued? Your mind is slipping, Stubbs. I speak naught but the truth and you know it, scoundrel. How much did you take from that lot, eh? I'm willing to bet not a one of 'em will want ta come to the table again."

*Once in the room, the sight of Knikki tuns his stomach over in knots and brings back a phantom pain in his leg where she stabbed him upon their first meeting. The woman was certifiable, and by all accounts, wanted him quite dead on general prinicple. The general principle being that she wanted everyone dead. He was just close at the moment.*

*Ignoring the threat, he moves Stubbs over to his spot and produces the envelope give to him, never letting Knikki out of his peripheral vision.*

"A card playing man? Stubbs, you know better. I never play at cards. I win. There's a difference and you know it. That's why you refuse to play me at an honest game. I'd take you for every bitter copper piece you have and a few of your favors to boot. Of course, you'd have Knikki take them all back, but that's just the nature of the beast now, isn't it?"

*He gives a light laugh and reaches for the box, opeing it carefully as he continues to speak.*
"I still don't see what that girl sees in you or how you managed to convince her not to kill you."

[Galvain7]

Stubbs scratches his neck. "Och lad. Knikki's the soul of a gentle lass. Don' know where thou gets these fancies."

The box contains a several sheets of paper and a key. The first sheet of paper is a charcoal drawing of a man. The man is thin, with wispish hair and long boney features, wearing a ill fitted uniform of some sort of clerk. A few notes on the side indicate he is about 5'8 and 120-130 pounds, has a silver tooth and has a habit of chewing his thumbnails. He lives in a townhouse on Widemarket- number 2602.

Stubbs interjects, "The man is Mister Theobald Bristle. He's a clerk at the Orhian Bank on the Silk Street Canal." You know the place, or at least you've heard of it. One of Sunports middling banks that deals in loans and shipping insurance. "I need Mr. Bristle's assistance with obtaining the contents of a certain lockbox number 47B. Fortunately for we of knavish bent, Mr. Bristle has a bit of a problem with cards. Now, a Widemarket address, a woman, a few bairns, expensive things to be sure. Not easy to maintain for a man who makes a clerks wage..."

You begin to see the threads of the plan. Stubbs continues. "I need thou, Jack to make sure Mr. Bristle looses his next wage at the table this week. Thee need not only take the wage, but spot him a loan for a token of his, say a watch or the like. With token in hand take him to a quiet place and explain that if he does not let thee take the contents of the box, thou wilt send the token to his Master's at the bank. The mere suspicion that the man trusted with the keys is a gambler, well, things can get chancey. I suspect Mr. Bristle owes money to others as well."

"The key, then, is our added lever: Should your new friend suddenly decide to chance it with the City Watch or his bosses, show him the key. Tis the key to his house, made from a pressed wax imprint by our droll friend Marbles. Once he is convinced, have him take you to the Orhain Bank Monday and withdraw the contents of 47B, then bring it to me."

[TheMightyQuinn]

Jarnel

"Knikki? A gentle soul?"
*Jarnel gives a snort and shakes his head, letting the man have his delusions. He'd seen the woman with her knives, and still had nightmares about the things she'd done to a couple men.*

"Run the table and convince him it's in his best interest to do us a little favor? That's entirely doable."
*As he speaks, Jarnel picks up the picture and studies the mans face. It would be easy to draw conclusions, but it was never a sure thing with a mark. Some of them would stand quite firm against pressure, clinging to the last of their perceived integrity.*

"Is there a companion in Mr. Bristles life? I hate resorting to such brutish tactics, but it could be an added bit of pressure - not wanting to disappoint her, to have her find out his habits."

*Putting the picture down, he turns back to the door as Knikki enters with the drinks, not wanting her to have a clean line to his back, he takes the glass but doesn't dare take a sip, only giving her a polite smile.*
"Do the contents of the box matter for the job?"