Sareneth 21, Moonday
The sun was high in the sky as the crew of the Wormwood filed hopped down onto the dock. Green 3 foot tall men and women, goblins (Knowledge (local) 14+2=16), swarmed around our landing site. Their leader, all wide fanged smiles and bright red eyes, happily accepted a bag of coin from Plugg which vanished into his oversized coat in a flash.
The smell of low tide mixed with tar and shit in my poor nose as I looked upon Goatshead for the first time. Squat, cobbled together buildings were crammed haphazardly around the docks, most of which had worn signs advertising wares of one kind or another. Within the semicircle, a mass of goblins shifted like the tides and maintained a kind of manic mercantile order. Visiting sailors had suggested destinations and marvelous spending opportunities barked at them by goblin barkers, while the taller locals rushed past, avoiding eye contact.
At the direction of the little green tour guides, my search team gathered in the shadowy corners of Walleye’s Rum Room. All of our boots gathered a fresh layer of dirt, sometimes accented with shit, from the fine unpaved roads of Goatshead. The large building, source of all rum, roared with raucous chatter and arguments when we arrived, and would no doubt grow even louder when the day drinkers were joined by their more professional compatriots in the evening.
Once we were all settled, Conchobar read the room, took a few notes, and muttered under his breath about what set to play before approaching the bartender. People, generally speaking, like competent performers; his role was to enlist a few music lovers to provide local information and hopefully foster a peaceful atmosphere in Goatshead’s liveliest watering hole. Remembering how easily the flute was drowned out after Sandara’s whipping, the bard summoned a Clarinet from the air.
How the fuck is that a cantrip? Instruments are really finely crafted tools, or at least the ones he’s summoning are. What makes something a cantrip, actually?
Cog split off on the way to go to a whorehouse in town. Most of the team wrote him off at that point, but I decided to trust the process. He’d tripped the sensor on my quest as a genuine ally; it seemed way more likely that he was making a good faith effort than that he’d managed to fool the text boxes in my head without even knowing they existed. Besides, he hasn’t made any money since he arrived on the ship. He probably couldn’t afford a prostitute even if he was planning on slacking off.
It’s plausible that he could afford one by picking a few pockets, actually, depending on the average price point in this place. Typically you can hire a passable harlot for only a few silver per hour. Even the finest establishments don’t typically charge more than one hundred gold pieces per night for walk ins, though renting a nice room to have your rendevous in tends to cost at least as much. Of course individuals who make reservations long in advance can drive the price up substantially. Also, those girls lurking around the docks would probably give the whole night for a few coppers and a meal, assuming he wasn’t picky and was willing to risk unpleasant conditions. Sex work is among the oldest and most cut throat professions, and only those at the very top can charge much (Appraise 20+2=22 critical success)
Why do you know so much about the whore economy?
Personal experience on both sides.
Forget I asked.
Sandara’s friends, led by a scarred human woman named Tilly, were going to focus on finding Dancing Darla. She was more of a backup plan, but if anyone in town would be willing to take Sandara’s corpse and preserve it for resurrection later it would be pirate lord Darla Madile. In the worst case scenario Sandara would need to sign on with Darla’s crew to pay off the debt herself, but she’d be alive. I wasn’t thrilled with this plan as it still meant Sandara going away, but agreed that it was worth pursuing so as to not be a selfish piece of shit.
Personally, I had no real plan to speak of. I was rolling Diplomacy to gather information and praying to Besmara and anyone else who would listen to blow on my dice.
Syl used Aid Another: Diplomacy; Success, +2 to Emrys’s roll
Caulky used Aid Another: Diplomacy; Failure
Owlbear used Aid Another: Diplomacy; Failure
Rosie used Aid Another: Diplomacy; Success, +2 to Emrys’s roll
I systematically asked the patrons of Walleye’s who knew things in town, who were the biggest movers and shakers, and who might know secrets. I didn’t bother asking about resurrectors directly after the first few; none were living openly, at least. Apparently the town of Ngozu had powerful Druids that could grant someone a new body, but they were three more days to the north and notoriously xenophobic. I couldn’t convince Harrigan to go that far out of his way.
The faces blurred together, especially after I left the tavern. Some opened up when they saw silver. Some when a pretty face acted impressed with them. Some when their knowledge was brought into question. A few just liked to see someone beg. My party served more as bodyguards than anything else, watching in awe as I navigated through the underbelly of a town I’d never been to before. They whispered among themselves, only to confirm that none of them knew a damn thing about my past.
I hit pay dirt when I was escorted in to speak with the leader of the local goblin tribe; a small green man with a wide head and large ears: Dahk, owner of half the docks in the city. I approached him in his warren, escorted by goblins that had already taken their share of my purse. He was an important man, so I’d been forced to come alone as a show of good faith.
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“Mighty chief.” I bowed before the small goblin, who seemed as arrogant as all of their kind and had a few dozen supporters reinforcing his position. “I come seeking knowledge and bearing coin.”
“My tribe sees everything that passes through our territory.” He bragged, “We keep words in our heads where they belong, so we remember everything too. What do you want, Longshanks?”
“That’s why I came to you,” I gushed. “I needed someone who couldn’t be hidden from, and was smart enough to see that information as something to sell. Do you know anyone that can bring the dead back to life?”
“Well, I can tell ya the person you’re lookin for is Break-neck Jerry. He was trained by Ragsmauda herself, and can do real miracles.” The goblin revealed. “So the real question is this, longshanks: what are you planning on paying me with for his location?”
I paused, wondering if this was really who I was looking for. Ragsmauda was a powerful necromancer, a Lich who ruled an island to the west of Goatshead. There was no doubt that someone taught by her could get Sandara moving again, but necromancers manipulated death far more than they restored life. (Knowledge (nobility) 12+2=14)
A Lich? Those are like… immortal super zombie mages, right? I don’t really want zombie Sandara, but we might as well check? Fuck, I hope I don’t regret this.
“Thirty gold for directions.” I offered. “I don’t have it on me, because you are smart and so am I. If you send someone to guide me, I will pay them at the Taphouse. Deal?”
Smart meaning that we all just assume murder over 30 gold is on the table? Fuckin psychos.
“Smart elf!” He cackled, “Rowe, go with the longshanks, show him the necromancer, get the money, and come back with rum!” (Diplomacy 17+5+4=26 success!)
A goblin girl stepped out of the milling crowd of onlookers. She had shaggy black hair and rather fetching red eyes, which she used to furtively scan her surroundings. She was wringing her hands when I first saw her, and nearly every time I glanced at her afterwards.
“Ok gramps.” She rasped, before turning to me and giving me a smile that revealed two rows of irregular teeth. “Blackskin Longshanks, follow. I am made of meat and coconuts, not time.”
I stared blankly at the retreating goblin girl for a few moments, not realizing that Autopilot had reverted control to me once the task of finding information was complete. In my defense, I’d just gone four hours letting autopilot do whatever he damn well pleased, flitting from place to place seemingly at random but making clear progress.
“Right. We need to meet up with my team first.” I said as I caught up to the scurrying goblin, “They were planning on coming in to check on me if I didn’t come back quickly.”
“Oh good.” Rowe chirped. “Best to have more bodies in the way if the necromancer doesn’t want visitors.”
“Maybe we should go back to my captain first, then?” I asked.
“Is captain going to attack?” She answered my question with one of her own.
“Probably not,” I admitted, “but he has the money I need if I’m going to hire Jerry.”
“Eh. After.” She said, dismissing my suggestion.
We rendezvoused with Syl, Caulky, Rosie, and Owlbear a block away from the Sea Shanty Clan’s base. While we walked through an alley, my team boxed us in from either end.
“Hey, Emrys.” Syl called out with affected boredom, “how’d the meeting go?”
My goblin companion whipped out an oversized firearm, seemingly from nowhere, and trained it on Syl so quickly that I was temporarily certain I was about to see my lover get shot. Thankfully Rowe had just enough trigger discipline to not open fire until after confirming she was pointed at an enemy.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t an ambush.” I assured Rowe before turning to Syl to respond, “we might have a lead. We will need to ask a few questions before we commit, but we’ve got a real chance. This is my guide.”
The two girls stared at one another with curiosity. Rowe cocked her head to the side, thoughtlessly swinging the point of her gun away from Syl and onto me. I side stepped, nervously keeping an eye on her.
“You make good ambush.” She declared with a sense of professional curiosity, “I didn’t see. How did you know where to attack?”
“I noticed you were coming this direction and when I saw this alley it seemed like a place to avoid.” Syl shrugged. “So we posted people on either end and hoped.”
“Good. Glad not enemies.” Rowe nodded as she spoke. “Hard to kill smart people.”
The little goblin led my team to a cluster of small, nondescript buildings across town. Away from the docks, past the crowded market stalls, and far from the tavern. The houses all blended together, mostly with walls of either bare stone or some kind of lumpy plaster. Grey with splashes of brown, tastefully adorned with weeds and splashes of mud.
“That one,” Rowe pointed at one, seemingly at random. “Now pay me, longshanks.”
“How do I know you’re not just pointing me at some random old lady’s house?” I countered. “I’m going to need some kind of evidence before I fork over thirty damn gold.”
The goblin girl sighed, then rushed forward. Before I knew what she was doing, she knocked loudly on the front door.
“Mr. Necromancer the black longshanks wants to give you lots of money to do necromancy things!” She hollered at the door, beating it with her first continuously until it opened. She didn’t even stop to look at the haggard man in the door frame before pivoting on a heel. “Now pay me!”
Shit! I wanted Harrigan to be the one actually talking to this guy. All I know about him is that he’s a powerful wizard of one of the least stereotypically good disciplines and he didn’t want to be found. Autopilot, help!
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you sir, but I have very few options available to me.” I started talking immediately, stepping forward and bowing. “You are the man known as Break-Neck Jerry, yes? That is what I wrote in my letter to the Pathfinder Society, and I’d hate to publish incorrect information. If you’d like for me to make a correction, I’ll need to do it in the next hour or so before the ship leaves.” (Bluff 7+19=26 contested roll unknown)
Jerry was a ragged man with blonde hair and one piercing blue eye. The other eye was obscured by an eyepatch, his body draped in simple black clothing. He stared me in the eyes for a few long moments, seeking any sign of deception. On a hunch, I cast detect magic and confirmed that he had multiple active spells. The only one I could recognize at a glance was a combination of necromancy and conjuration, not too dissimilar to my own summoning spells. I tensed up, glancing around for signs of impending ambush by summoned animals.
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“So,” he growled with a voice full of gravel. “What do you want?”
“I want to give you a large pile of money, and then fuck off.” I assured him, hoping that honesty would serve better than the threats or lies autopilot specialized in, “Can you bring the dead back to life? Real life, or something close enough to it to be worth living?”
He grunted. “Yeah, if you’ve got an intact body, an available soul, and four thousand gold.”
I briefly balked at the price tag before remembering that Scourge would be paying for it with potentially years of service. “I’m not sure if we have that much on hand.” I hedged.
“If you care about your boots more than your friend, that’s fine, but don’t pretend you can’t pay.” He caustically replied. “The necklace would do, as well.”
“Either way, I don’t have the body with me and I need to call off that letter.” I reminded him of my bogus threat, “I’m glad we have established that a good working relationship is possible, but I really must go to make arrangements.”
“Send your lackeys. You’re going to join me in my parlor.” He commanded. “If this falls through, I want you in range. I’ll need someone to question, and you seem to be the most informed.”
I turned to my companions. “Caulky. Do you think we have enough information to get the captain involved?”
“Aye.” She answered shakily. “You sure about this?”
“I’d have preferred coming with him in the first place but someone got impatient.” I glared at Rowe.
“I gave proof.” The goblin insisted, “now you pay me.”
“Yeah yeah, Syl, can you take care of her?” I had a thought and looked at the older man taking me hostage, “assuming Jerry here isn’t pissed about someone selling his contact information.”
“I’d prefer not slaughtering a whole clan. It draws too much attention.” He answered, deadpan, “I’ll figure something out later. Now go. You four have work to do.”
I forced a smile and nodded at my team, affirming his decision. Well, if I just sealed my own death warrant then at least they got out.
“You might as well come in.” Jerry turned and entered his home. “No funny business.”
I followed him into a large studio apartment. A trio of mismatched chairs sat around a squat wooden table loaded with dirty dishes. The crackling fireplace hummed with equal parts evocation and abjuration magic; the former to keep it perpetually burning and the latter to keep it safely contained. (Spellcraft 17+7=24) The walls were bare except for a frying pan and a large wooden spoon hanging next to the fireplace. Two doors sat inconspicuously in the back, probably leading to the bed and bath.
“So,” He asked conversationally, “how much do you know?”
“About you?” I asked, getting a nod in return, “you were trained by Ragsmauda and the goblins said you could raise the dead. If you can, that means you’re the only one on the island who can help my friend.”
“Huh. So you just got lucky asking around?” He grunted. “You’re right. I’ll need to have a word with those goblins. I don’t want anyone that can’t afford my rates knowing that I’m here.”
“Why?” I pried, “I assume you’re in hiding. Nobody who can ask for four thousand with a straight face is living in some backwater by choice.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t leave Ragsmauda’s service on good terms.” He admitted. “Me and one of her backup vessels got attached. I was thinking maybe we could run off together when the Mistress caught on. That’s a death sentence for both of us. I got away, she’s still dead.”
I stared at him blankly. “Backup vessels?”
He stared into the fire. “What I do isn’t resurrection.” He spoke after a few minutes. “That calls back the soul and reconstructs the body, it’s the business of the gods. What I do is place souls into bodies. It can be the same soul, like what you’re planning with your friend, but it doesn’t have to be. There’s all sorts of reasons someone might want a new body; maybe they wrecked the old one. Maybe they are dying. Maybe they think they have the wrong bits between the legs. Maybe they want to be fifty years younger… or five. Maybe their body can’t eat or drink or fuck. Whatever the reason, if someone brings me coin, I can do business with them.”
Why do I get the impression this is one of those businesses that could be done ethically but probably isn’t? It’s still Sandara’s best chance, so I’m not going to ask too many sensitive questions.
“So… define intact?” I said nervously, “She’s been dead a few days, and she bled out from a wound to the side. We kept her on ice to slow decay, would that be enough?”
“It’s probably borderline, but I can make it work.” He assured me, “Give her red meat if you can. I’d suggest keeping a close eye on her with any medical personnel you may have. She will likely take a few weeks to fully recover without moderately strong healing magic, but assuming the necrosis isn’t too bad she should be fine. I charge extra for preservation or restoration, if needed.”
This isn’t… quite too good to be true. It’s not like he’s doing this for free. His story is plausible, he’s waiting for money, and he hasn’t attacked me yet. Just stay cool, Curtis. With any luck, we leave with Sandara in tow and get back to work. I wonder if this counts for that mission to make a 1000 gold transaction? I’d really like to spend 4000 of someone else’s gold pieces and get another magic necklace.
We fell into a brief silence after that, as I nervously kept an eye on Jerry. I felt almost certain that this man could kill me, and if he did he could preserve my corpse and resell it to some guy that wanted to be a pretty drow boy. The only things protecting me were that I was a paying customer and that he didn’t seem to be a complete psychopath. He seemed affable enough, so I tried to keep him talking. I felt much more comfortable when he was chatting with me.
“So, what do you do with your money?” I asked, “you don’t seem to be the kind to waste coin on unnecessary luxuries, but you clearly want more.”
“I’m saving it.” He told me, “What I do isn’t exactly legal most places. I don’t think I’ll be able to make as much living openly as I do hiding in the Shackles. I’m building up a nest egg so I can sail halfway around the world and buy an estate somewhere. Maybe Taldane, or Minkai. Wherever has the best prices on land.”
“Yes, but I meant investments.” I clarified. “Don’t tell me you’re just sitting on that much coin!”
He frowned at me.
“Now, I’ll admit I’m not familiar with the local market conditions, but I think a man like you could really do better than shoving the gold under your mattress.” I steepled my fingers, “if you’re really hoping to retire by forty, you have to use your money to make money. If not here, then in a more stable market. Tell me, do you have any contacts outside of Goatshead that you trust? Alternatively, you could start building up a presence in the region you are intending to move to. I assume you’ll be doing research on destinations in advance? It’s never too early to start.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t offering to manage it yourself.” He said bitterly.
“I respect your intelligence and willingness to kill me too much for that.” I admitted, laughing. “I just told you I don’t know a damn thing about the local market conditions. I'm just making conversation. Should I contact you if I’m ever looking for an investor on a business venture?”
“You know what?” He said as his face melted into a smile, “sure. I’m not making any promises, though.”
“Great. I’ll keep you in mind.” I extended a hand to shake, which he accepted.
Going into business for myself is absolutely the plan. I wonder if he’d be willing to invest in an up and coming new pirate crew?
••••••••••
Things went quite smoothly after that, to my mild surprise. I kept expecting the other shoe to drop and it just… didn’t. Peppery arrived with a box loaded down with gold, willing to cover the difference after Scourge and Plugg both came up short. My party, Plugg, and Krine all came along to ensure Jerry’s good behavior.
Sandara’s body was in such good condition that Jerry offered a trade in for one of the bodies he had in storage. His upselling technique needed some work, or maybe he could use someone to work front of house for him. It seemed obvious to me that a gorgeous and athletic red head in her early 20s would be a hot commodity in the second hand body market, and the alternative he offered was pretty, but soft and in her thirties at the youngest. (Sense motive 14+1=15)
He carried Sandara into his back room, apparently a workshop, and told us to wait. Peppery accompanied him to make sure he didn’t do anything sketchy, but he didn’t want anyone else crowding him. The six of us stood around his living room, tense but hopeful, as he worked. There were no screams of the damned, no thumps, no flashing lights. I watched Sandara’s character sheet closely, until finally I got a pack of updates.
Sandara Quinn has been resurrected.
Sandara has taken 9 Strength damage from deterioration
Sandara has taken 7 Dexterity damage from deterioration
Sandara has taken 4 Constitution damage from deterioration
Sandara has been set to 1 hit point.
Sandara is Exhausted.
Welcome back.
••••••••••
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