I'm pretty sure we're being followed, which is Not Great.
We're making decent enough time, even with a brief stop for some water, horrible hard crackers, cheese and sausage, but I can hear people following on the road alongside our trail.
I have no idea how, but I can.
We are still as a group somehow faster than them, and I think this is because there are some people with them who Would Prefer Not To, which is a big yikes. It's a relief when we see the palisade walls before us.
We cut back to the roads, emerging from the forest, and then there are immediately swords and spears pointed at our group by a bunch of armored guards - most human, some otherwise. I wonder how we missed them when I heard the other fuckos, frowning as I put my hands up.
"Who are you and what are you doing on Her Majesty's isle?" the leader asks, a dark skinned man who looks a little like the art team mentally cast Idris Elba for the role.
"Uh..." I repeat the line I've said for at least 4 characters now. "We're but sellswords looking for work, waylaid en route to -"
He cuts you off, thankfully not literally. "- gods, more of you lot," he groans. "And half of you reciting the same dawnsdamned speech."
...Well, at least I know we aren't the only survivors. "Are there that many of us, er, milord?"
"Captain will do," he growls, not lowering the sword. "And enough. You've all attracted enough attention, crashing around on the isle."
Baffled, I say absolutely nothing, and he takes that a bit better - sighing and sheathing the sword.
"Work's cut out for you, then. There are scarce enough supplies for us until the next ship gets in and dumps you murderous lot all in the Contessa's lap, but make yourself useful and make sure that ship's safe from depredation and we'll cause you no trouble."
This isn't how this part goes. This isn't how this part goes at all. And if he's sick to death of the players coming in -
"We will try to make ourselves discreet and useful," Alesha says, stepping forward and saving your dignity.
"The latter, perhaps," he sighs, waving to open the gates. "Get to the square, spend coin if you have it, stay out of the way of our citizens."
"We'll try," I say, getting through that gate as quickly as I can without alarming them. "But, uh, there may be hostiles out there on the road - just thought I'd warn you?"
"Good thing we've set a watch then, isn't it? Godsdamned Adventurers," he mutters.
There are at least a dozen other player adventurers. Mostly human and Vuplecian, but three cattes, three pixies, two Koboldt. One of them is an eithyr, in rippling blue and green, her horns made of coral and her psychic's robes matching that bright red.
I'm weirdly calm about this confirmation that something has gone terribly wrong. Honestly, what else was I expecting? That it was just our own party?
One of the Ubastim - slim and tiger-striped, in the witch hat and robes of an Alchemist - is despondent, chatting with people in hushed tones about agriculture and medicine, offering potions, and occasionally praying to the small shrine to the ubastim goddess Flamma - pouring a libation into Her pot and almost conversationally praying to her. Others are pooling rations.
Two are off smoking and whispering, a catte and pixie pair, getting stoned and trying to forget they're here.
"Not enough room at the inn," a gruff - bright red - Koboldt informs you. "We're doing what we can."
This whole time, I'm talking, trying to figure out what to do - when my ears prick again.
I leap up to hear more, and some of the others follow.
"That was a cannon," I say. "There are ships fighting."
More than a dozen adventurers and twice that many guards shift.
"I don't know how I heard that," I say, shaking my head. "But I did and that's unmistakably a cannonball - and that just now was grapeshot!"
Most of the adventurers gathered don't have a clue either, but the water-Eithyr puts on a blindfold, takes a second - looking around, using Farsight - before nodding.
"I saw them," she says. "Three ships, two pirates and a Yberian galleon. How the hell did you hear it?"
"Mouse-Hunting Ears," says a Vulpecian in a ridiculous red getup with a tall peacock feather in his hat. "Enhanced hearing and immunity to Surprise. It's a Vulpecian trait and a Sylphanite boon."
"Yeah, except I didn't pick up MHE at character creation," I mutter, calling up my character sheet.
And blinking at it. Staring.
"...There it is," I say. "I uh, levelled up last night, but I didn't - actually assign points or spend my CP or -"
Hikaru is following suit, making the gestures he needs to call up his sheet. "I appear to have levelled up without my knowledge as well," he mutters. "Presumably through practice. Just like in the real world."
"Except they don't assign numbers to what you can do, and also, I haven't exactly been flexing my ears," I protest.
The catte who had been praying to Flamma looks up, dusting off what looks like a white labcoat and adjusting a pair of glasses. "Are you Sylphanite?"
"Cleric of," I mutter, not liking where the conversation was going.
"That might explain it. It is one of his Boons," the cat says.
"You think that Sylphan might have given it to her?" Alesha says, frowning.
"On the grounds that she might need it," the catte replied.
"You must admit it has proven useful," Hikaru says.
I look again at my sheet, and the presence of that Perk, and the increase in my stats. Mandatory increases in Vigor and Spirit.
And my dumpstered Resolve inching up to 2 points, from 1.
"Remind me to ask him what the fuck," I growl. "And hope he has more to say about it than You're Welcome."
"I mean, maybe you should thank him. Did you a solid," Sekhmet says.
"Yeah?" I say.
"Cause now we know the pirates are coming," Sekh says.
