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A I’d guess whatever addled the hunters is small enough that they didn’t see it coming. Spores or insects. Hopefully the marines can extract them before being affected.
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Aug 2, 2020 00:00
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A - but try and hook their belts with a polearm and drag them off or something. Could be all kinds of unpleasantness waiting.
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Aug 5, 2020 05:11
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Bob Tuskins posted:looks like we found the natives Your mind races as you try and spot the source of their distress. One wrong move, and you could be ordering more men into the trap. Addled behavior, no visible wounds, you can't feel magic. That doesn't rule it out, but no time to get Abigail. Could it be a native attack? Poison darts? No, you're close to the village and your guides said they're peaceful. A predator then? If so, it hasn't attacked. Could have been a defensive spray, something in the air? Your eyes light on the patch of flowers at their feet. A psychoactive pollen, perhaps? Good enough as a working hypothesis, and you need to move. The unconscious hunter might be breathing a lethal dose. "Marines! It's in the air! Hold your breath and drag them back!" They hesitate for a moment, but when one takes a few steps back, takes a deep breath, and bursts forward the others follow. The unconscious hunter is simple enough, but the addled one struggles. The first marine that catches a wild swing counters with the butt of his saber and a cruel kick to the guts. Still, they get him out. You splash the pair with water hoping that keeps the contaminants on them from going airborn. You have Abigail brought to the front. "Good call. Those flowers are a key ingredient in rage powder. In full bloom they saturate the air. The fiery one will be fine, excepting a swollen eye, when he calms down. The other took a nap on it," she shuffles real close and whispers, "I might be able to save him. But it will take time and expensive medicines. We have plenty, but why waste it on some fool whose not one of our own? It's his own fault he dived into poisonous flowers he was hired to recognize." She glances up at the patch of flowers. "Their misfortune is our luck. A bit of rage powder before a fight will make a lion of a mouse. The flowers only grow in the wild, and rarely bloom. We should harvest them." 1. Do you have Abigail treat the hunter? A. Yes B. No C. Write in 2. Do you harvest the flowers? Abigail can guide you through the traditional precautions, but there's still some risk involved and it will take more time. D. Yes, I do it myself E. Yes, I have someone else do it. Who? F. Write in Once you bypass the deadly flowers, the rest of the day is uneventful. Everyone shares a simple meal of chicken and balls of dough boiled in a giant pot. It's not the luxury you're used to, even on the ship, but the regular crew enjoy the fresh meat. The hammocks force you to spread the camp out, but Prim organizes the fires in a perimeter that keeps the worst of the bugs away. That and the guards on four hour watches should protect you from predators. 3. Who do you spend time with in the evening before you retire to your hammock? G. Abigail H. Prim I. Adul J. I go to bed early K. Write in. Rolls Gentleman Explorer: 1d8 7 Reason Perception: 1d8 8 Explosion?: 1d10 8 Command Charisma: 1d6 4Gentleman Explorer: 1d8 1
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Aug 6, 2020 02:17
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A - we might need him still. D I - i guess we should get to know the guy.
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Aug 6, 2020 02:56
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1 B 2 D 3 G we need some recon, what can she help us gleam from our hunter friends? To elaborate, one just went down and will snuff it, most likely. This just got serious for the remaining one(s). Time to get a read on the qualifications or see if there's any surprises (seasonal or otherwise) that they might be interested in avoiding.
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Aug 6, 2020 03:16
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1.B 2. D 3. H
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Aug 6, 2020 03:25
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A. The guide is our responsibility. If we treat one hireling as disposable how can we expect the loyalty of the rest? D. I want the practice. I. Adul seems like an explorer. I bet he has some good stories.
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Aug 6, 2020 04:48
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BDI
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Aug 6, 2020 05:00
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malbogio posted:A. The guide is our responsibility. If we treat one hireling as disposable how can we expect the loyalty of the rest? Agreed
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Aug 6, 2020 09:26
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malbogio posted:A. The guide is our responsibility. If we treat one hireling as disposable how can we expect the loyalty of the rest? Makes sense to me.
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Aug 6, 2020 09:55
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malbogio posted:A. The guide is our responsibility. If we treat one hireling as disposable how can we expect the loyalty of the rest? +1
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Aug 6, 2020 10:50
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malbogio posted:A. The guide is our responsibility. If we treat one hireling as disposable how can we expect the loyalty of the rest? This. Though I want to do D! instead. That sounds like a costly check to fail.
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Aug 6, 2020 13:30
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Kristopher posted:1.B You don't treat the hunter. You harvest the flowers. You spend time with Prim. You very subtly shake your head to Abigail. His mistake landed him here, a mistake that could have just as easily killed your own men. You will not sacrifice more time and medicine for the chance he might recover. You do want to collect those flowers and don’t want to look heartless, so you might as well pretend to have him treated. Together you and Abigail make a big show of clearing a space. She brings out a potion that you know to be sugar water and forces it down his throat, then she has people fetch water and rags and such. Meanwhile, you head back to the flower patch armed with a few quick instructions from Abigail. You carefully feed magic into a quiet storm, just like you practiced a hundred times on the ship. This time something goes wrong. The salty air of the sea always leaped to your will, but this oppressive jungle is sluggish and resentful. You push against it, and feel something from the outside slip past your will. You feel dull pain and you stare down, fascinated, as a lattice of bruises like the roots of a tree slowly climbs up your arms. You instinctively fight back against it, drawing on the endless sea that forms the core of your power. Sea crashes against root, and hold in deadlock for only a moment before the jungle’s magic is washed away. The bruises fade and once again the air leaps to obey its rightful sovereign. Using Quiet Storm, you’re able to pull down cool, fresh air from well above the tree line with no visible signs of magic. With a safe air supply harvesting the flowers is a simple task. You pluck them whole and stuff them in a jar with water. By the time you’re back, the hunter is dead. You’re less than a day’s walk from the village and returning along the trail is faster than blazing it, so you send a laborer to carry back the body for a proper burial. Spirits are low, especially among the locals who knew the man. No one seems to blame you, however, you clearly did all you could. When the other hunter recovers, he assures everyone that there was nothing you could do. They were carelessly following a familiar route, and didn't realize the danger of the flowers until they bloomed. He’s willing to continue on, more carefully this time. Since he’s in the lead, followed by pirates, the laborers feel safe enough to continue as well. Once things get moving, everyone loosens up a bit. Morale is lower than before and your crew now eye every distinctive plant and bug with deep suspicion, but there are no attempts at desertion. When you make camp, you decide to chat with Prim. You’re grateful for his help with the many small details of the expedition, like setting up watch fires in a protective circle. He’s sitting by one of the fires now, chatting quietly with a pair of marines. When you sit down he hands you a flask. You take a sip and grimace at the liquid fire. You’ve had fortified wine and watered rum, but this is something else. Must be his private supply. The marines laugh companionably at your obvious revulsion as you hand it back, “I can’t stand it either,” one, a tightly muscled woman, comments, “but they can’t make it strong enough for old two eyes.” Two-eyed Prim shakes his head, “I don’t drink it for the taste. You can haul a barrel of ale in this jungle if you like, I’d rather distill it down to pint. Weight matters. Weight and space and speed. Get all three right, and money will flow to you like water” He gazes out at the darkness, towards the sea. “Least I thought so. Spent all my savings on refitted warship, designed for speed, minimal crew, moderate cargo space.” He becomes more animated as he describes his plans, big gestures and a small smile, “silk for steel, steel for grain, grain for glass. The Habash trade.” He waves you off before you correct him for the oversimplification, “yeah, I know, but that’s the heart of it. But silk is light, glass is light, grain and steel are heavy. What if you can just trade silk for glass? Straight from Neko to Suleiman. I had the perfect ship and a hand-picked crew. Six month journey, but each time you pass a port, you take the middleman’s profit and put it in your pocket. Race the whole way, and in four trips, two years, you’ve made more than most traders see in their life. That was the plan.” He trails off and takes a long drink. His eyes drift to where Abigail is snoring, and you notice a brief flash of hatred before he controls himself. You remember a quiet admission through the friendly haze of opium. Abigail stole his ship. When she did, she stole his dream. Suddenly the realization strikes you. Prim’s technically third in command, but he’s really a slave on his own ship. The marine next to him shakes her head and frowns down into the fire. Was she part of the original crew? Or brought on later? Does it matter? Have you aligned yourself with monsters? You shake the thought away and your resolve hardens. Abigail has been good to you. She saved your life, cultivated your talent, and showed you secrets you thought you’d never know. She found allies where she could in a dangerous world. There’s no sin in using the tools you have to protect yourself, and she’s done well by them. She’s made these sailors rich and safe with her power, more so than if they’d been racing a ludicrously dangerous route across half the known world. You string your hammock right by Abigail, and smile as you see a mosquito fall from the sky before it reaches you. Some kind of spell? You asked her not to reveal her magic to the locals, but it’s a subtle effect. Maybe she’ll teach you. You sleep well under her protection. Start of day 2 Silver: 30 Mood: 5 Body 4/5 Expedition Morale 6 – Determined Mates: Ship Witch Abigail Iordanou (Master Witch, Skilled Alchemist, Lazy, Feared) Quartermaster Two Eyed Pim (Organizer, Morose, ???, ???) Gunner Adul Alafa (???, ???, ???, ???) Crew: 8 Marines 5 Laborers 1 Hunters 1 Translator Equipment is low quality but environmentally appropriate, no bonuses or penalties. Supplies are fresh and more than adequate You’re among the last to wake at the crack of dawn. Sleeping in the jungle isn’t fun, even with hammocks and fires. Everyone is accounted for and eager to get moving . The surviving hunter takes the lead. You decide to march closer to the front, just behind him. He freezes and you do the same as you both hear a rustle deeper in the jungle. You both very carefully back up and you signal for the marines to form a tight circle. You see an enormous lizard sinuously weave through the trees. It’s about twice the height of a bull, and longer. Its leathery skin is black and green, and blends well with the jungle shadows. It flicks its tongue and hisses. “Green drake,” the hunter whispers, “apex predator. Nomadic. Solitary. Good we saw it first. The skins worth a fortune…” he gives your armor an appraising look, “but you know that. We can try and back off, take another route. It could charge us if it sees weakness. It might also stalk us, but likely won’t. They’re lazy and stupid beasts. Or we can try and kill it now. Nothing can get through the skin, but a shot through the eye can down one.” 1. What do you do? A. Order the marines to attack. By default marines will open with massed musket fire then follow with sabers and axes. Adul will join this fight and try to shoot it in the eye. Lead from the back and shoot with Adul. B. A, but lead from the front with your blades. C. Back off and try to circle around the beast. D. Order everyone to back off so there won’t be witnesses, then hunt it with just you and Abigail so you can kill it with magic. E. Write in. I made an expedition subsystem with a random encounter table that depends on the environment. I figured that way preparations like hiring a translator could be relevant, if you roll for an encounter where they can help. This isn’t even that dangerous of a place, you just keep rolling dangerous things. Rolls Magic: 1d10 1 Crisis?: 1d10 1 - Note, this is the wild magic rolling against you, so 1 is good and 10 is bad Defense: 1d10 9 Love: 1d6 6
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Aug 8, 2020 02:19
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When you say the skin is valuable how valuable are we talking?
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Aug 8, 2020 03:12
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B! We're very well equipped for melee combat. Taking the lead lets us show off. I'm hopeful that if we give it our all we can end the fight against such a dangerous foe decisively before it inflicts casualties and before its hide is ruined.
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Aug 8, 2020 03:16
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C! . First, ensure we can flank, then fall upon it.
Cannon_Fodder fucked around with this message at 03:44 on Aug 8, 2020 |
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Aug 8, 2020 03:37
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I'd like to emphasize that this seems like a good time to spend Mood to maximize our roll by voting with an exclamation mark. Losing a fight against a drake sounds both harmful and costly.
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Aug 8, 2020 03:41
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Bob Tuskins posted:When you say the skin is valuable how valuable are we talking? Doesn't matter, Mama needs a new pair of pants. B!
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Aug 8, 2020 03:45
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Bob Tuskins posted:When you say the skin is valuable how valuable are we talking? Your armor is made of about 1/4 of a full drake but there's some value adding craftsmanship and treatments that take it from the raw materials to the finished product. At a market that can pay what it's worth, like Alexia, probably 200 silver? A real fortune to this hunter who is risking his life for 10. It has special value to you because it's a hard to find material you can use to repair your magic armor if it's damaged.
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Aug 8, 2020 03:53
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I suppose thats true. A!
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Aug 8, 2020 03:56
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D!
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Aug 8, 2020 05:16
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malbogio posted:B! We're very well equipped for melee combat. Taking the lead lets us show off. I'm hopeful that if we give it our all we can end the fight against such a dangerous foe decisively before it inflicts casualties and before its hide is ruined. You draw your sword and dagger. The marines don’t all have flintlocks, but they’ve had the muskets, powder, and matches ready since that hunter died. They’ve almost finished loading when the lizard flicks its tongue again, hisses, and weaves through the trees towards you. You raise your sword. “Aim,” you hope they can’t hear a quiver in your voice. It closes the gap between you with frightening speed. “Fire!” you shout as you dramatically slash down, and then comes the satisfying rapport of musket fire. A wave of bullets hits the great lizard just as it coils to pounce. You wince as the balls literally bounce off the beast, some ricocheting back at you, thankfully without enough force to injure. It buckles as a lucky ball takes it in its leg joint. It pauses for a moment and meets your eyes, as you stride forward to take the brunt of its fury with your superlative armor. Then you hear one last crack and see its left eye explode in a burst of gore. The drake slumps. You poke it in the other eye with your rapier and it doesn’t even twitch. Dead in an instant. You turn back to your marines and see Adul with his fancy flintlock smoking. He straightens from a textbook firing stance as a smug grin spreads on his face. The marines cheer. You can feel some of the oppressive atmosphere break as they so easily kill the giant lizard and show the jungle who's boss. You have discovered Adul’s trait: Master Sharpshooter You stare down at the enormous corpse, momentarily stymied once again by the logistical problem posed by working with nearly unbreakable skin. You could remove it quite easily with abyssal magic, but the hunter shares his expertise on the matter. “I never killed one myself, but jus’in case grandpapy learned me.” Under his instruction, you gather the whole crew to drag it to the nearest crimson ant mound. The insects eagerly crawl into its orifices. “They can’t eat the skin. Give it a day or so, and you’ve got a clean bag of bones. Bones aren’t worth as much as the skin, but they’re worth selling.” You decide to leave it here and pick it up on the way back. You dismiss the small chance someone will steal it, it’s a heavy load in the middle of the jungle and it’s not like anything here is capable of ruining the hide. The rest of the day and night passes in a blur of sweaty marching and dreamless sleep. You chat with Adul a bit about his amazing shot. You know it can't be pure skill, any shot with muskets is a probability game, but it was so perfect. He grins and with absolute sureness disassembles his flintlock to show you a strange twisting pattern on the barrel and a strange pointed bullet. "I stole the design from a certain group in the so-called 'wild lands' and adapted it to our weaponry." You're fascinated, but he frustrates your questions with mysterious non-answers. You learned Adul has the trait secretive engineer The next morning you’re barely underway when you hear two sharp whistles. Your translator whistles back, and a woman, scandalously nude except for a short skirt and camoflauge paint, suddenly appears from a patch of jungle you thought empty. You roll your eyes at the shocked stares of your crew while the translator holds a short conversation in her strange clicking language. The translator, a middle aged woman whose mother was a native who married into the village, turns back to you, “we’re trespassing on their land, but they’re not mad yet. They’re peaceful sorts. They just want us to know that all the stuff around here is theirs. She says they know we mean no harm and would never steal what isn’t ours. Er, the next part is hard to translate. It’s like a very polite threat? Oh, hey, she’s inviting us to her village as honored guests. Free food and entertainment. The chief would like to talk to you about your business in their land.” She scratches her head, “Just so you know, this stuff can take a while. He won’t just get down to it, he’ll want to wine and dine you for a day or two. You can say no and they won’t murder us for that, but if we turn down the invitation and then also do some more rude poo poo they might get more aggressive.” 1. What do you do? A. Accept the invitation, do everything you’re supposed to according to the translator, and in a day or two finally talk to the chief B. Accept the invitation, but rudely set a timetable. You will leave by tomorrow morning. C. Even more rudely demand to meet with the chief immediately if he has business with you. Assuming he agrees, this will only take a few hours. D. Flatly refuse the invitation and continue E. Make a counter-offer. Write in what. F. Write in. It’s currently the morning of day three. You expect to reach the site today at the current pace. You think it will take two days to get home, since returning is faster than trail blazing. If you have no further delays, you will have 2 days to investigate the site, or 9 days for 1 favor. Start of day 3 Silver: 30 Mood: 5 Body 4/5 Expedition Morale 7 – Happy Mates: Ship Witch Abigail Iordanou (Master Witch, Skilled Alchemist, Lazy, Feared) Quartermaster Two Eyed Pim (Organizer, Morose, ???, ???) Gunner Adul Alafa (Master Sharpshooter, Secretive Engineer, ???, ???) Crew: 8 Marines 5 Laborers 1 Hunters 1 Translator Treasures: 1 Pristine Drake Skin Rolls Called Shot Marines: 8#1d6 1 4 3 6 6 2 4 2 Defense Drake: 8#1d8 3 5 7 2 7 4 6 One hit – 3 damage Staggered?: 1d12 7 No Adul's Shot: 1d6+1d4 8 Defense: 1d8 1 CRIT! 8 Damage Mr. Prokosch fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Aug 13, 2020 |
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Aug 13, 2020 02:57
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Counter offer we wish to get to our destination quickly but will be returning this way. Could we visit on the way back?
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Aug 13, 2020 03:05
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This is a good idea
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Aug 13, 2020 03:23
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Inquire how far the local's claim extends in the direction we intend to travel. In other words, ask if they claim the site we are headed for without tipping our hand about why we are out here.
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Aug 13, 2020 03:27
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Translating landmarks to astral map: 2d8k1 6 After a surprisingly frustrating conversation with the woman, the hunter, and the translator as you try to translate landmarks then compare them to your astral map, you finally conclude that if the site is before the river it's in their territory, past the river it isn't, and you think it's before the river but can't be completely sure.
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Aug 13, 2020 03:39
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A
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Aug 13, 2020 03:46
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A
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Aug 13, 2020 04:08
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A
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Aug 13, 2020 05:26
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Aware that it will almost certainly put you behind schedule, you still agree to visit these fascinating people and resolve to be completely diplomatic. The ship can wait. To think that people speak of the Wild Lands as some far off place, when just a few days walk in the jungle can bring you to such an untamed people! "They want to throw us a party!" you announce and most of the expedition cheers. Few of them care in the slightest for your end goal, or for the ship's schedule. The village is a few hours away and the walk is easy once the native guide directs you to a cleared path. She points out patches of fruit trees and root gardens interspersed with the wild jungle. You see a young man harvesting bulbous yellow fruits. With a whistle your guide sends him sliding down the tree to greet you. She sends him ahead, so the village will be properly prepared for your arrival. It's been some time since you've felt like a proper lady, but as you reach the village you find them prepared to show you the honors of your station, in their own strange way. The entire village seems to be out in force. Fully nude children cheer and wave, while their parents hand out gifts of fruits and flowers. They give to Abigail first and foremost, piling her palanquin with gifts. Perhaps it's her age, or perhaps it's the palanquin itself, but they seem to think she has the highest status in the party. You suppose that's a sensible reading, and they also acknowledge you as a leader. The village itself is... unimpressive. You take note of relatively elaborate fortifications on the outside, spiked pits and dirt walls, with standing guards. That isn't normal, from what you've read. Inside there are stout wooden houses with thatch roofs in clustered semi-circles around open-walled cookhouses. You’re brought to the center of the village, where there’s a clearing. You spot the chief on a raised platform looking over the clearing. It’s obvious who he is, given his central seating and the adornments. There are empty cushions to his left and right, slightly lower than him, and behind him sit three women. One is elderly, the other two around your own age. The villagers take Abigail and deposit her on the left hand cushion. You seat yourself on the right hand, the translator seems torn on where to sit, finally deciding to settle behind you. “I think this is the most practical spot,” she explains, “but it kind of implies I’m your wife.” 1. What do you think about that? A. What, a woman marrying a woman? How silly. How would that even work? The parts don’t fit. B. You wish the Suleiman Court was so open about such things. Then you wouldn’t have had to hide your various affairs with women. C. Not your thing, but not surprising in the slightest. You’re a worldly lady and quite familiar with the incredible diversity of human desire and identity. D. Write in. Through the translator you greet the chief. He stoically grunts back while his three wives chat openly to each other and then the eldest whispers something in his ear. He then says something to the translator, the translator says, “he says welcome!” and you realize it’s going to be a long day. At least the platform is covered and seems to catch the wind well, perhaps that’s why it’s in this spot? They serve you some kind of fermented fruit drink which you sip very cautiously. A group of boys gather in the clearing and perform some kind of chant and a dance with war-like moves. They’re followed by a group of girls who sing in a kind of complex staggered chorus. Then a group of older boys, perhaps teenagers, come out and have some kind of wrestling melee. Then there’s a break, and the villagers distribute platters of pork and boiled roots on giant leaves. You’re stuck on the platform, exchanging empty platitudes from the translator. You quickly learn that the chief won’t say anything at all until his wives have consulted with each other and the eldest whispers in his ear, which really lengthens the conversation. Not constrained by the same formality as you, the crew have a better time. Not ones to turn their noses up at free booze, they drink freely from a giant pot containing some kind of putrid green muck, clearly different from your own wine. You can see the disgust on their faces as they down it, but it doesn’t stop them. From your vantage point, you can see a group of men preparing a second pot. You note that they seem to be chewing on green leaves and then spitting wads back into the pot. You nudge your translator and ask about it. “I don’t think it’s an insult,” she shrugs, “but I wouldn’t drink it. My mother told me to never touch the stuff.” Well, some villagers drank it as well, so you suppose it’s not poison. You look over to Abigail for a comment and find her curled up on her cushion, snoring. Your crew can’t communicate properly with the villagers, but that doesn’t seem to matter as much as it should once the intoxicant takes effect. They ogle, cheer, dance, and inspired by the villagers some even start wrestling. The performances resume with a single woman who tells a lengthy story in a sing-song voice. There once was a woman who was very attractive. A pair of brothers both fell in love with her. The elder was strong, the younger was clever. She allowed them both to court her. She became pregnant, and said she did not know which brother was the father. The two began to fight, and the elder brother was victorious. However, he found he could not kill his sibling or drive him away. They decided to both marry the woman and raise the child together. It was a boy, both strong and clever. No one knew who the true father was, and this was for the best. He became the new chief and the village benefited greatly from his leadership. You’re sure the poetry is lost in translation. It seems this story is a lead in to a more formal tournament for adult men. They either both wrestle or use blunted spears. The impression you get from the fighting, and no doubt part of the intention, is that there are many skilled warriors in this village. The winner, as you expected, is the biggest one. He’s well-muscled, and the brown of his skin is a shade lighter than the others. There’s a lot of excited chatter from the chief’s wives, and he finally mutters a phrase. “The chief is pleased,” says your translator, “that is his fourth son. If he continues to perform like this he will attract many good women.” That evening you’re given your own house to sleep in. The translator says the owners will sleep with their relatives for the night to give you privacy. Your men will sleep as guests among the various households. It was a fascinating experience. You update your mental map of Habash. By far the largest of the Courts when it comes to claimed land, but if most of the land it claims is like this jungle village? Habash only in name, populated by people without a culture, language, or even laws in common with the capital. True Habash may be just the coast and the more gentle chunks of land. --- That night you’re startled awake by a sharp rapping on the outside of your hut. The chief’s eldest wife lets herself in and crouches by your sleeping mat. “I’m sure you’re tired of the show,” the woman says, with only a faint accent, “let’s get to business. Be assured, I speak for the chief. Or you could say he speaks for me. I speak for more than him as well. I am the sister of the High Chief. If my husband is a Count, the High Chief is the Duke.” “We know you killed a drake at the edge of our land,” she continues, “the skin is yours of course, you did a good deed removing a predator. We don’t have the weapons to kill one without losing some of our own. That’s why we’d like you to keep up the streak. Kill another giant lizard for us. I don’t know what you call it, but this one flies. It’s preyed on our people for years. It swoops down and takes livestock mostly, but sometimes people. Children. We don’t have anything to bring it down, and the few times we’ve found its nest it’s escaped to hound us again. We need guns and people who know how to use them. We would reward you well.” “How well?” you question. You’ve seen no hint of true wealth in the village. If they had the silver to reward you, they’d have bought the guns and powder already, or hired mercenaries. “You’re looking for something, yes? You seek treasure? We could show you the ancient ruins. Though I warn you, there is little to see. We have known of them for generations and already stripped them of all but dead stone. Perhaps if you dug deep, you could find something new. We could help with this. But we could also just give you what treasure remains. Much was sold to collectors, traded to soften the hard times, but some is scattered among the villages. The High Chief can gather it for you. We have other things of value, things we cannot trade openly because of your laws. If nothing else, we have good men willing to serve you if you free us from this menace.” 2. Do you agree to hunt the flying lizard, for the right price? E. Yes F. No 3. If yes, what do you ask for? Vote for as many as you like in order of preference, and Cassandra will negotiate. If you use a ! you’ll spend a mood to maximize the roll and get everything you’re interested in, besides unreasonable write ins. G. All the artifacts they have. drat them for ruining the context. H. A direct guide to the site you’ve been looking for and hundreds of men to quickly excavate it I. All the silver and valuable trade goods they can scrounge up. J. A collection of drugs and poisons from the jungle. You have a good supply of restricted alchemical ingredients, this would upgrade it with materials that are illegal, not just restricted, in most cities. K. The shaman are gone. The Habash court may not maintain much control over this region, but they sent soldiers led by the Inquisition to hunt down sorcerers a generation ago. They burned the shaman with their apprentices and destroyed their implements in a great purge. The Inquisition still sends hunters deep into the jungle to assure the High Chief that they’re still watching. Insist that someone or something must have survived, and you will only help them if they share what remains of their magical tradition. L. A handful of ‘husbands’ or 'sons'. Specify which. She’ll ask for adventurous volunteers and reward their families with land. They don't believe in slavery, this is the form of lifetime service that makes the most sense to them. Either way these young men would swear to serve and protect you and your family until they die or you dismiss them. You in turn would swear to see to their food and shelter and treat them with respect. Call them husbands if you intend to sleep with them, sons if you don't. You can ask for wives or daughters, but for cultural reasons you'll get fewer volunteers. M. Write in.
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Aug 18, 2020 02:46
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C E G! K! H L J
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Aug 18, 2020 03:17
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C E HGJK
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Aug 18, 2020 07:06
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C F Fighting a dragon or wyvern isn't in our best interest
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Aug 18, 2020 11:43
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B E K G L J
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Aug 21, 2020 14:22
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C E G! H! K J I
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Aug 21, 2020 15:13
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