D&D 5E Spell & Crossbones

[Matthan]

Blaise raises his hand to ask Etienne to bring down his song a bit. "Joy in the Lord is fine, but it's late and the guards may be tired. We don't want to be a nuisance." He strides to the door and gives a few short knocks.

 

[Quickleaf]

"If they are schared away, it's their loss," Kat stated confidently. "We don't need any scharedy cats on our ship anyways."

She let her gaze wander around the crowded tavern, looking for competent sailors and fighters. If there were any or be had, she'd have them.

A look across the ranks of skulduggerous rogues frequenting Blackreef's Tavern reveals several familiar faces...

[SECTION]There is Ulsta, of course, the indefatigable dwarven bar mistress...[/SECTION]

[SECTION]...and Fulke 'Mad Eyes' Smyth, an old drinking friend of Katerina's, who is being heckled by several drunks after failing to get the "singing pirates" to shut up...[/SECTION]

[SECTION]...then there were those you'd already recruited to your crew, including the 13 Dutch dwarven deserters of the destroyed Leeuwen, led by Viatrix de Smit...[/SECTION]

[SECTION]...and the 9 rowdy Courlandian (Latvian) mercenaries represented by the arm-wrestling Gvido Berzins.[/SECTION]

Others present in the tavern who might make for serviceable crew mates include...

A dozen loose-lipped pirates down on their luck complain about itching for a big score, yet drink themselves under the table all the same. A thick-necked pot-bellied pirate named Rounder is their sullen leader, cussing about the "black spot" to a bartender clearly weary of listening to the men's troubles.

A small gang of lads – porters, deckhands, and waifs – are trying to convince Ulsta to give them some ale so they can use it to get the "dock monkeys" drunk...there seems to be a more involved explanation that involves lots of hand-waving and excited head nodding. Ulsta, of course, remains unimpressed.

Nine armed men study a map intently in one of the booths, marking it up with red charcoal. Though they seem aggravated at not finding whatever it is they're hunting for, they can afford to keep the ales coming, so someone is paying them well.

Conspicuously absent from the tavern are any of the crew from Captain Reed Wallace's The Winchelsea; apparently, he has them hard at work tonight.

 

[Shayuri]

Noting the absence of Wallace's men, Nia frowns slightly. Whatever they were doing, it wouldn't be good for her crew.

Perhaps there was something else she might do tonight.

"Captain," she murmured, stepping closer to Kat, "Will you be needing me here? I am tinking a pair of eyes to see what our rival is up to would be useful."

 

[Quickleaf]

Blaise raises his hand to ask Etienne to bring down his song a bit. "Joy in the Lord is fine, but it's late and the guards may be tired. We don't want to be a nuisance." He strides to the door and gives a few short knocks.

[SECTION]"Aye, aye, hold your seahorses y' damn–" comes a gruff booming voice from within the octagonal gaol. When the door is jerked open, a massive man with brutish features midway between man and ogre fills the doorframe, some seven feet tall. Dusty white brows that nearly met in the middle furrow as he quickly curtails his use of foul language around the two "priests." "Ah...ahem...No one told me to expect you, fathers. News trickles down to the prison like a sieve of...well, never mind that," he clears his throat, and steps to the side, peg leg clacking across the flagstones of the gaol's administrative office.

The 'administrative office' is spartan, accounting for a few stools, a disheveled cabinet of papers, a desk with burn marks from pistol shots, a chest, several sets of keys hanging on one wall, and a small weapons rack with a variety of gruesome polearms against the far wall. Spiral stairs both descend down and wrap upward.

"I suppose it's only fair, th' f-- the Spaniards have the same God as the rest of us, aye? You have come to give last rites to them, haven't you?" Limping over to the desk, the brutish man gestures for you to take seats before easing himself down opposite you with a bit of effort; the chair seems to barely support his girth. "Crispus Cotton is the name. Steward of this prison by appointment o' Blackbeard himself. You must be the new priests fresh off the boat? Don't recognize your faces. Then again, can't say we get many men of your vocation down this way. But if you're drunk and disorderly enough, I suppose you could end up in a cell all the same, just like Father O'Maley." He winks a bushy brow.[/SECTION]

 

[Queenie]

Others present in the tavern who might make for serviceable crew mates include...

A dozen loose-lipped pirates down on their luck complain about itching for a big score, yet drink themselves under the table all the same. A thick-necked pot-bellied pirate named Rounder is their sullen leader, cussing about the "black spot" to a bartender clearly weary of listening to the men's troubles.

A small gang of lads – porters, deckhands, and waifs – are trying to convince Ulsta to give them some ale so they can use it to get the "dock monkeys" drunk...there seems to be a more involved explanation that involves lots of hand-waving and excited head nodding. Ulsta, of course, remains unimpressed.

Nine armed men study a map intently in one of the booths, marking it up with red charcoal. Though they seem aggravated at not finding whatever it is they're hunting for, they can afford to keep the ales coming, so someone is paying them well.

Conspicuously absent from the tavern are any of the crew from Captain Reed Wallace's The Winchelsea; apparently, he has them hard at work tonight.

Noting the absence of Wallace's men, Nia frowns slightly. Whatever they were doing, it wouldn't be good for her crew.

Perhaps there was something else she might do tonight.

"Captain," she murmured, stepping closer to Kat, "Will you be needing me here? I am tinking a pair of eyes to see what our rival is up to would be useful."

"Nawww, I'm okay," Kat smiled at her friend, "I've been way drunker myshelf." She frowned at her own sentence, then shrugged. "I knows the way home just fine."

"Before you go, whaddya think of thoshe scurvy dogs? The onesh with the map? Or that group of underfed boysh? We could use both I'd dareshay."

 

[peterka99]

I suppose you could end up in a cell all the same, just like Father O'Maley. He winks a bushy brow.]

OOC: Is there a way to know if this is a trap or the priest's story is true ? History or sense motive roll ? We heared nobody replying to the psaum, as a jailed priest should do.

 

[Matthan]

Blaise lowered his head in a respectful nod and lifted his hand to make the sign of the cross, “The Lord’s blessings upon you, Mister Cotton. We do apologize for the lack of notice. My fellow and I are visitors to the island. We are actually headed to establish a mission on the continent, but our ship’s captain wanted to stop to refresh his supplies before we finish our journey. We sought out the church to pray and offer a hand if needed. When we arrived, we were told of the upcoming execution and asked if we could administer last rites to your prisoners.”

“Would you mind showing us the way?”

 

[Quickleaf]

GM: Yes, [MENTION=6787234]peterka99[/MENTION] make a Wisdom (Insight) check to see if the gaoler Mr. Cotton is laying a trap with wordsd. [MENTION=20005]Matthan[/MENTION] make a Charisma (Deception) check to sell your story about being priests on a mission.

 

[Matthan]

OOC: Well... crud. Why didn't I take proficiency in Deception? I lie so often! Blaise Deception Check: 1D20+3 = [9]+3 = 12

 

[Thateous]

Jacques clears his throat and leans in toward Kat, "If I may give my opinion..." he pauses as if waiting for a no... when one doesn't come he continues. "Hungry people are easy to please, the ones with the map however, seem to already have their minds set on something."