D&D 5E Spell & Crossbones

Old Zef walks by the arm wrestling table to see how things are shaping up. He continues onto the group of dwarves in the corner, settling himself down with them. "Pardon the intrusion boyos. Just wanted to see if any o' you lads knows your way arounds a ship?"
 

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Several of the dwarves who are still lucid, not having drowned themselves in ale, nod vigorously and stroke their beards. "Aye. Aye. We know our way around a ship like barnacles know a hull! If you're looking to hire, talk to Viatrix--"

A proud-jawed dwarven woman with several scars across her brow and a tangled bun of dark red hair pushes her way thru the crowd to sit next to Old Zef where they can be in speaking range without shouting. "These hearties and I served on the Leeuwin as a powder crew a'fore that damned Jacques Cassard lit her aflame. That's right, I'm Viatrix de Smit and we're deserters of the Dutch Navy down to the last dwarf. Ain't no shame in admitting. A'fore you go offering us work, you should know we've sworn a bloed eed against Cassard. We'd serve well under any halfway decent captain, but you'll understand as one of us that the bloed eed must be answered a'fore all else."

OOC: Leeuwin is Dutch for "Lioness."

bloed eed is Dutch for "blood oath."
 

The other Latvian mercenaries grin at Hugo as he comes to the table. One of them, a burly man with messy mop of hair nursing a sore arm, chuckles, "Easy, master dwarf! You'll have to wait turn, after Gvido break your friend's hand. Hahaha." He speaks, and laughs, in a heavy Latvian accent.

"Ahh!" Hugo returns with a smile, "the well-rehersed Latvian strategy of hiding behind your leader's skirts. Very well then!"

Just to push a little further than he ought, Hugo added, "By-the-by, I didn't take Gvido for a Swede." His beard percolates with suppressed laughter, like a pot boiling over.
 

The mop-headed brute squints hard at Hugo, his brows probably furrowing were one able to see them beneath his heavy bangs. "Swede? Zviedru??" He intones in a voice that becomes a squeak of indignation. Hugo seems to have successfully taunted a hitch pitch from the man. "Damn the Vidzeme! We're Courlandians! Maybe a game of 'Flying Dutchman' will help you remember the difference?" From the way the mop-headed brute say it, Hugo suspects 'Flying Dutchman' is being used here in the vernacular and not the nautical sense.
 

While Doctor Varlock has been acting rum-soaked, he had barely touched what drinks he'd held earlier. Still, the Latvian mercenary not budged as easily as Varlock had expected, and it seemed clear the man was up to something. Was he holding onto his chair? Some kind of potion for strength, perhaps a drop staining his lips or shirt? Or aid from the others surrounding him, some kind of group scam from a bunch of rogues, where one uses guile or sorcery to increase the ruffian's chance of winning?
Varlock kept his focus calm, letting the urge to over-excite pass away so that his mind, his logical mind, could see what was going on and think of a solution. There was a way through this, if he could only find the course...

OOC: Can I roll Investigation for this? [roll0] If not, the +4 should be +1 for Perception or Insight. (posting, so we see if it would matter...)
 

OOC: And apparently I rolled a 19 naturally, so either way! :D

I hope we don't have any actual Latvians reading this, and having their feelings hurt.
If we do: all depictions of character acitons are based upon assumptions of what they would have thought in the 16th century! 1700s nautical, piratical bravado, with implied racism towards members of competitor nations, in an era when absolute monarchies were similar to what large-scale corporations are now: economic competition!

Also: I think I may have written "Latveria" out of habit, and quite frankly because Doctor Doom in this setting would be amazing. Quickleaf?
 

Katerina takes a long thoughtful look around the tavern; her group seems to have all dispersed themselves with errands. She is glad of it, they have a lot to get done and the sooner the better. The thunder rumbles outside and brings her out of her thoughts, which displeases her. She excuses herself from the table, Nia seems to be watchful enough for the both of us, she chuckles to herself ass she leaves. "I'll be right back, I'm going to check on that storm to see if it will disrupt our plans tonight. I think the doctor will be alright but I will return soon to keep an eye on things."

She heads outside into the warm night air, grateful to be alone for a few moments. Her first foray into "Captain" seemed to be as chaotic as the rest of her life and she wanted to gather herself. The clouds were rolling in bringing the storm but still just above her were the bright, glittering stars. The stars that always calmed her and brought her peace. Of course, they brought her sadness too; too many perfect memories under them that could never happen again. When it seemed that sadness might overtake her she always returned to one clear thought - someone else who might be watching those same sparkling stars - and that gave her hope. It always gave her hope and strength and made her continue on no matter what the obstacles.

Leaning against a tree she breathes in the clean, salty air as a small smile creeps onto her face, her thoughts still up in the stars.
 

[SBLOCK=Barrington]After a bit, "Polly" is relieved to take off her apron. She comes back to Barrington's table as she ties a shawl over her shoulders. "I'm hoping that storm is keeping off the bay, sounds a might bit fierce, it does. Are y' ready to walk m' home, James?" Her giddiness is hard to hide as she twists back and forth with her hands crossed in front of her holding a small purse.

OOC: I'm assuming Barrington does walk her out...If not, I can revise my post...
[/SBLOCK]

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Tavern Veranda

The night air is warm indeed, though the blustery winds have an unseasonal chill to them. Polly the tavern wench turns back to smile at Barrington as the two leave the tavern together. A lone ancient sailor, the same one that had been there all night, seems fused to his rocking chair, muttering to himself, his cataract-filled eyes fixed out to sea. And Katarina del Corazon is at the far side of the veranda, hands against the rail, gazing at the stars.

Both Katarina and Barrington would see common citizens of Nassau wisely hurrying indoors in case the storm hit, while pirates staggered around in the dim light, cussing and singing shanties, as an accordion filtered thru the air down by the docks. Distant musket fire from the west echoed in the night. And just a dozen paces from Blackreef's Tavern is what locals called the "Seahorse"; an old seahorse-shaped figurehead from a sunk ship which had been converted into a bulletin board thru some clever carpentry, and is plastered with a variety of notices.

OOC: A Wisdom (Survival) check can gauge whether the storm will stay off the bay or move inland and hit Nassau.

The bulletin board can be examined for news/rumors/quests/humor.


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Insult Arm Wrestling Match

Gvido betrays his intent by a slight twitch of his shoulder muscles and a devious gleam in his eye. Doctor Varlok is right to be suspicious, and readily adapts to the attempted feint, beginning to push back against Gvido to the surprise of the the gathered Latvians who begin shouting in their native language. Upon hearing Hugo's inflammatory side comment, Gvido bares his teeth and his face flushes bright red. Either it will serve as an excellent distraction...or incense the angry Gvido further...it's hard to say.

OOC: @fireinthedust Investigation works! LOL :) Latveria and Doctor Doom, eh? Could make an interesting twist on "The Man in the Iron Mask." Your typo may lead to something interesting...I'll think on it!

So, you have a window now to try and turn the tables on Gvido. Basically, throw out an insult & pick what sort of opposed check you want to make!


OOC: 1st round - Tie! (Gvido 13 vs. Varlok 12+1 for great description)
2nd round - Varlok wins! (Gvido 13 vs. Varlok 23)
3rd round...
 
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OOC: Wisdom (survival) (1d20-1=12) OMG I did not fail completely and utterly! lol


Katerina spends a few more long moments staring up at the stars before eyes the Seahorse and decides to take a walk. She begins to pass the old sailor when she suddenly stops near him.

"What do you see out there, old man, anything interesting?"
 

OOC: Hah :) The storm seems to be following the trade winds from NE to SE. If it follows the trend of such storms, it won't hit Nassau, which sits on the edge of the trade wind belt.


The sailor blinks, swiveling his head so Katarina can see the heavy lines in his sun-scorched face. His muttering dies off as his milky eyes focus on her. "Storm, methinks." His perspicacity is followed by a long pause. "Carried across the Dark Sea from the Sahara. An omen." Though he can't see much the sailor stops rocking and strains his eyes at her as if in recognition. "Me eyes ain't what they used to be, but your voice reminds me of the pirate captain Blackheart..."
 

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