conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler 
   OOC  |  Recruiting 
   
  
  
  The docks of Khalem cast long shadows over the ocean in the early morning, but the port is already awake. Those bars lucky enough to be within view of the moorings still have a healthy patronage at this hour, and the larger cargo ships have two lines of workers hauling crates and barrels in and out in preparation for the next leg of their journeys.
  
  Down toward the north end of this section of docks, where every fifth board is missing or rotten, there is less activity. The occasional orc stands watch from the various smaller ships moored here. These are smuggling vessels, by and large. Fast, thin boats that draw little water, designed to stay close to the coast.
  
  On one wooden bollard is painted a faded emblem-- a red arm, painted on a blue shield, the first clenched. A tall, thick man in a crumpled black bicorne, leans against it, smoking a roughly-rolled cigar.
  
  "Oy!" he shouts down the pier. "Get the bast'rds down here b'fore I die of old age!"
  
  A person approaching from a distance makes a rude gesture, but he increases his pace nonetheless. As he approaches, he comes into focus as a young dwarf, bald and black-bearded, carrying an axe in one hand and a stout chain in the other. He is followed single-file by a column of twenty orcs, in manacles and leg irons.
  
  The dwarf nods to the man in the bicorne. "Hullo, Captain." He enunciates the word very carefully, though he half-swallows the rest of them. "I got these 'uns from Jimmy for 15 apiece. We're ready to lock 'um in--" He looks at the mooring, then at the captain. "Whur's the boat?"
  
  "It'll be here."
  
  "Un' the crew?"
  
  "They'll be here, too. Th' word's out among th' right folks. There's plenty of folks'll want a warrior's share on the next voyage of the legend'ry Cap'n Menyey!"
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Aww, Aww! Caww!"  A raven swoops down from a nearby rooftop and alights upon a wooden piling, turning a beady eye upon the bicorned Menyey. As the bird pecks hopefully at the wood for any hidden worms, a thin figure comes striding down the pier towards Captain Meyney.
  
  The figure's sharply-pointed ears, huge green eyes and narrow cheekbones immediately identify him as an elf, though the rolling gait to his stride is every bit a sailor's. The elf's long black greatcoat flares out, revealing high folded brown boots and loose black breeches. A silver canteen dangles from his belt, and an open white shirt shows a suit of scratched-up leather armor beneath the entire ensemble. A wide baldric is slung from one shoulder to his opposite hip, holding both a cutlass and a strange device holstered across his chest that looks vaguely akin to a mutated hand crossbow. Lastly, wears a beat-up leather tricorn hat on top of a scarlet bandanna that ties back his long silver hair into a serviceable ponytail.
  
  A sharp whistle from the elf sends the black raven fluttering onto his shoulder, where it stares beadily at Captain Menyey. Doffing his hat, the elf dips into a bow, sending the raven into a wild flutter until he straightens back up and says,  "Captain Menyey? I've heard great thingsss about you and your men." 
  
  The cadence to his speech is slightly odd, and as he pronounces his sibilants with a pronounced hiss, a forked tongue flicks between his lips.  "Word hassss it you're hiring on a new crew. I want to join. Besssides being good in a fight, I can navigate well and I draw all my own chartsss. The raven helpsss me. All I want isss a fair share of the haul we take." 
conversations: Tyrael:
conversations: human
conversations:  The captain folds his hands and looks down, in the manner of prayer, but he is not looking to a god. His eyes focus only on his hands. Left ring, left middle, right pinky. They are gone, leaving gaps visible to anyone looking. He looks up.
  
  "A navigator's share if y'r worth a damn, a warrior's share if y'r not dead, and two meals a day and a hammock whichever way."
  
  He takes a big draw on his cigar, and spits. One of the orcs, a tall male about midway through the chained column, imitates him, and the rest of them shift uneasily, rattling their manacles.
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Approaching the captain, a small figure engulfed in a cloak seems to be extremely focused on his hands. It's hands have a greenish tint and his fingers are logn and dextrously manipulating a small metal puzzle. As he finally reaches the captain, the creature pulls back his hood, revealing a goblin like appearance with a few differences. One is the long ears that seem to be twitching at every sound, another is the large, bulbous nose dominating his face. And lastly, are the violet eyes that indicate an advanced intellect.
  
  Bowing,  Nemo Gyro is pleased to introduce himself to you!  As Nemo bows, his cloak opens, revealing a patchwork outfit festooned with pouches and a crossbow.  Nemo has heard that the kind captain seeks crew members, and for a small part of the profits, Nemo would be very glad to assist you! Nemo is an accomplished chemist and bombsmith extraordinaire! Nemo was getting..ah.. bored! with the area and would like to try out a new concotion of his!  Nemo looks hopefully at the captain.
conversations: Corw1n:
conversations: human
conversations:  The captain sneers, revealing a single yellowed incisor.
  
  "Y'll have t'be a very accomplished little beast t'earn a share on this trip."
  
  He walks down the line of orcs and selects one. He gestures to the dwarf, who bends down to unlock his leg irons from the larger chain. The captain draws an ornate, silver rapier and prods the orc in the back with it.
  
  In orcish, the dwarf barks an order, and the orc steps away from the rest of the slaves.
  
  "Show me." The captain gestures. "I bought spares. Show me y'r skills, beast."
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  With pleasure kind captain! Nemo will demonstrate his ability to amuse himself!  With a flip of his cloak, Nemo's hands dart into a few different pouches and combine a few vials into one container. This mixture seems more than a little volatile and then it is thrown by Nemo at the orc.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  
  Standard Action: Mix and throw bomb
  Attack roll(bomb):
   (1d20+3)[ 22 ] 
  If miss:  (1d8)[ 3 ]  if 1 bomb lands in front of the orc, the rest go clockwise like so:
  
   823
  7x4
  615 
  
  Damage:
   (1d6+3)[ 7 ]   fire damage 
  If miss damage: 4  fire damage 
  Reflex for Half damage: DC 14
  
  Where-ever the bomb ends up landing, all squares adjacent to it take the splash damage
  
  Move Action: Back up 30 ft.
   
  
   Nemo will show more fun things if the kind captain wishes! 
conversations: Corw1n:
conversations: human
conversations:  The container shatters against the orc's chest, and he bellows in pain as the flames coat his chest and neck. He falls to the ground, horrifically blistered, among the small black pits that the bomb burned in the planks of the dock. He doesn't move.
  
  The rest of the orcs freeze for a moment, and then scream in rage. The full force of a dozen different tribes' war cries echoes down the docks. Were they not imprisoned, they would tear the little bomber and and captain apart, but they are rendered impotent by their chains. The dwarf sets about calming them with his whip, but the din is still loud enough that you need to shout to be heard, which the captain does.
  
  "That's good! That's very good! You're my new favorite, little beast! A share's y'rs if you can keep that up on the trip!"
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  As the orcs' cries die down, a third figure approaches. A hulking man with a thick arms of corded muscle earned from months at the oars strides forth, a sharpened bar of steel strapped securely to his left arm. His mouth splits in a toothy grin as he sees the sign and the man leaning against it, revealing an inhumanly large set of teeth.
   
  "Captain Menyey? I am Geno. It's said that a good pair of strong arms can earn a fortune under you command."  The half orc says,  "well I've got the arms for wringing the gold from fat merchantmen, and you won't find many of my size and strength who are half as comfortable in the rigging." 
conversations: Bhaakon:
conversations: human
conversations:  The captain sizes up the toothy man and his weapon.
  
  "Good, good. There's always space f'r'a man like y'rself on--"
  
  "The ship! It's here!" The dwarf had been peering through a spyglass at the bay, and he'd spotted what he was looking for.
  
  The captain tosses down the much-abused stub of his cigar and begins barking orders. "Nurm!" he shouts to the dwarf. "Get the orcs down the docks a ways, but be ready t'bring 'em back quick. You three" --the new recruits-- "are with me."
  
  Menyey heads in the other direction from the bollard and ducks behind a large crate, gesturing for the others to follow. He glances back, and swears.
  
  "You-- big guy. Get that off'a the dock." He points to the unconscious, burned body of the orc.
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Geno reaches down and hefts the extra crispy orc with his free hand.  "Looks like it's your lucky day, friend. You're a free orc."  He says as he tosses the burned lump of flesh into the water.
conversations: Bhaakon:
conversations: human
conversations:  After all this commotion, an elf steps forward. Carefull to avoid looking at the orcs he approaches the captain.
  
   "Uhm, hello sir, mister captain, I heard you knew my father? Hano Marikashi?"
  
  "You see, I am his son am looking to be.... for work like ..... well, what my father did. I was hoping you could help me."  
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Can y'whistle?" He doesn't wait for a response. "Go back down there," he says, gesturing the way the elf came, further away from the dwarf and the orc slaves, "and ask anyone who's coming up if they're looking for me. If they are, tell 'em t'come down here quiet-like. If they're not, give a good loud whistle t'us and them kill 'em."
  
  A ship is slowly approaching the dock, still a couple hundred yards off. It's a smaller vessel, narrow and one-masted. It has four oars on each side, but on its approach, only one set is being used. A man stands on the prow, wearing a bright red tunic and striking a noble pose. As far as he can see, the dock around his mooring is empty.
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  "But... sir... uhhhh..... I don't. ..... YES SIR, .... does that mean I can come?" 
  
  Rob quickly makes his way to the assigned area, not sure what to do, but afraid to do nothing.
  
   He did say kill'm right... that sounds pretty bad... but I'm sure it won't come to that. 
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  As the ship rows closer, Menyey begins stabbing nervously at the air in front of him with his sword. He keeps sneaking glances at the ship.
  
  "Arright, the Red Arm is gonna drop anchor and start tyin' off. We're gonna kill the first man on deck, quiet-like, then we're gettin' on deck, then killin' everyone else, then sailin' off into th'sunset." He glances at the rising sun in the east. "Metterforic'ly."
  
  ~~~
  
  Further up the docks, a hundred feet closer to the reputable bits of the docks, Rob is faced with a problem. The next people to approach are three dwarves, two women and a man, wearing the tan uniforms of the city Regulars. One of the women carries the official Leather Sack of Tax Collection.
  
  "Halt, citizen!" remarks the man, despite Rob's lack of movement. "Have you paid your loitering tax? It's--" he pauses, sizing Rob up. "Three gold pieces."
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Oh no, why me.... why always me... 
  
  [gnomish] Hello there, please go look elsewhere. My boss doesn't like taxcollectors. And he's scary... at least, scarier then you lot.[/gnomish]
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  The ship docks, and the man in red tosses a mOoring line and hops to the dock. He jumps nimbly after in and begins to tie it off.
  
  The tax collectors push past Rob and head for the ship and Menyey's hiding place.
  
  Money shouts "Get him! We're taking this ship!" He runs to attack, sword drawn.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  This is not too bad for five minutes on a phone keyboard, right?
   
conversations: Bulwer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Realising everything is about to go wrong, and he is about to mess up ... again. Rob quickly wistles loudly and charge the closest tax collector.
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  Eager to make a good impression, Geno throws himself at the man in red, swinging way with abandon.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  
  Not really sure which rolls I should make, so I'll just do them all:
  initiative:  (1d20+1)[ 12 ] 
  main hand: [roll[1d20+2[/roll]
  main hand dmg:  (1d10+4)[ 9 ] 
  off hand:  (1d20+3)[ 16 ] 
  off hand dmg:  (1d3+4)[ 7 ] 
  bite:  (1d20)[ 15 ] 
  bite dmg:  (1d4+2)[ 3 ] 
  
  If I can only make a standard attack, add +2 to the main hand roll and ignore the others
   
conversations: Bhaakon:
conversations: human
conversations:  An arrow comes flying towards the tax collector from the boat, fired by a hooded woman with deep red hair.
  
   "Damn collectors think that our money belongs to them."  She says tiredly, knocking another arrow.  "New recruits, get your rears in gear." 
   
   Spoiler 
    tohit  - (1d20+2)[ 17 ] 
    damage  - (1d8)[ 6 ] 
   
conversations: Shades of Gray:
conversations: human
conversations:  Forgot rolls
   (1d20+4)[ 6 ] ;  (1d8+2)[ 4 ] 
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  Ignoring the tax collectors, Snake strides towards the Red Arm casually, loosening his cutlass as he goes. With an almost-casual backhand, he slashes towards the man tying the ship off and grazes him along the arm.
  
   (1d20+5)[ 22 ] 
   (1d6)[ 1 ] 
conversations: Tyrael: