The group take the next two days to convalesce on the Callehad. Captain Castien informed everyone that their coarse to Aelostrian has been changed in light of the recent events. They would be waylaid in the city of Boros while awaiting further directives.
Sayer spent time making acquaintance with a few of the more raucous soldiers, learning quickly a game of chance popular to the crew.
When not answering the many questions Ogg had for him, Elbanor pondered his recent meeting with the Captain, who divulged some information on why his presence was requested on the ship.
Akasha called on the Captain frequently. For many hours they talked of Aelostrian, each feeling a longing for their homeland.
The morning that they were expected to arrive in Boros brought change in weather. Fierce winds whipped about the Callehad, those who weren’t already on deck soon found their way up to the main level to assess the situation. It seemed that all of the crew were present, for all the commotion.
The sun was rising in the east, glittering over the ocean. Straight ahead lay the city of Boros, just waking up to greet the morning. It seemed nuzzled against the steep incline of cliff wall stretching westward, for from that direction rolled storm clouds, barreling towards the coast.
The crew seemed to ignore the companions completely, each elf focused on their own individual task. Castien shouted orders from the helm.
Just then the vessel pitched to the port side; towards the storm! With each moment, the Callehad was pulled towards disaster.
Sayer ran to the Captain, anxious to assist if he can. The language barrier was shattered by the emergency. The two experienced sailors went about finding the problem.
Akasha took time to help Ogg, who seemed to be donning an emergency parachute around his head (and upside down).
Wobblegrinder threw a shimmering cape about his shoulders. He clung to the railing and with a tentative glimpse over the side, began judging his current position in relation to the rocky ground below. For safe measure, he produced a small tablet and quill with ink and began scribbling calculations of geometric formulae.
Seeing a crewman clinging to the outer rigging, apparently dislodged by the violent winds, Elbanor quickly climbed up the inner side and held fast the elf. Together they gained footing in the thick ropes, clinging on as the ship barreled on.
Finding the starboard rudder disengaged, Sayer and Castien made to dislodge the mechanism. After a moment’s deliberation, the Captain conceded to Sayer, securing a rope around the swashbuckler. After a deep breath Sayer swings over the side of the ship, penduluming skillfully towards the extended rudder.
He misjudged the landing slightly, falling forward on the platform and clutching to the forward edge. Maneuvering to his feet, he tries to readjust the with brute force, without satisfactory results. The rain begins falling in sheets.
Taking a moment to assess the leverage, Sayer then jumps and brings all his wait down to stomp on the rear of the rudder.
The sound of metal grinding blasts out as the rudder shifts into position, engaging directly against the force winds. The whole vessel catches against the wind sending many to the deck. Castien holds fast the rope against the shift, but is thrown himself thrown aside as Sayer slides off of the back end of the rudder. With tremendous strain, he pulls the rope right against Sayer in freefall. Several feet below the ship now, Sayer clings on to the lifeline.
Ogg seeing the Captain struggling from his back side to pull the rope back up, moves quickly to assist. Together they pull Sayer up aboard the ship, much to his appreciation.
With their coarse corrected, and only minutes from the tower docks, the Callehad transitions for landing. The large blimp above deflates slightly and the upper crown lowers to cap the main deck. Heavy ties are flung over the rails and fetched by the ground crew, securing the vessel to the cliff side dock towers.
The companions wait out the storm on the Callehad. Within the hour it had blown out into the open ocean. Disembarking, they walk among streets soon filled with excitement. There’s certainly a charge in the air, not least of it residuals from the lightning storm. Drops of rainwater still dripp hear and there, radiating the morning rays of sunlight as they fell.
The citizens of Boros seemed no worse from the weather. Indeed the mood was jovial and the streets soon became crowded with peoples moving about to and fro. The activity seemed somewhat robust for the early hour, even for a city of this size.
The companions inquired with a passer by and found out that Boros was celebrating the 3rd day of a week long festival honoring the summer solstice. Revelry was certainly in the air; judging from the patrons of several nearby outdoor cafes, many people had not let the stormy weather postpone their early start.
Considering how a festival of this size would attract visitors from all around, Ogg decides to attempt to contact Hergen Blaythe.
Figuring one spot as good as the next, they such into a nearby cafe. After a time they make it forward to order beverages and are greeted by a disembodied, if somewhat familiar voice accompanied by the grinding sound of something heavy being dragged on the stone work floor.
Behind the bar a bouncing Baatu clambers onto a heavy stool jauntily sliding filthy pints down the wooden surface while addressing the companions with a wide grin.
He has little answer in response to Ogg’s direct questions, but does respond to Elbanor’s request for a heavy cloak. The young cleric has little by way of gold, instead offers a trade if possible. Baatu’s eyes glimmer with cunning as he considers.
Baatu offers his very own cloak to trade for Elbanor’s crossbow; with the condition that Baatu can borrow (just for the moment) the cleric’s rather shiny holy symbol. Elbanor agrees.
In a flurry of movement, Baatu fixes the symbol into the receiver of the crossbow, sounds around and takes aim. He fires the hunk of metal across the room thumping into the back of a brawny hulk of a man.
The next moment Baatu produced a think fold of cloth and tossed it haphazardly in Elbanor’s general direction. Donning again his cap, and winking slyly at Akasha he slipped away, quickly losing himself in the crowd outside.
The large man bound his way across the room to the companions, returning Elbanor’s symbol. Sayer thoughtfully diffused the tension with the purchase of several beverages. Upon interaction, the guy ended up being a smithy from out of town, visiting for the festival like so many others.
He knew of Hergen as an old acquaintance, but had not seen him in quite some time. It was entirely possible, he pondered, that the bohemian dwarf might be in Boros somewhere.
The group made their way towards a large open market, host to many visiting merchants. Cutting across a quiet alley, they took notice of a particularly gaudy poster that was plastered over much of the walled surfaces.
“Ivan Ivanovich’s ”/wikis/the-bacchanal-of-oddities-and-antiquities" class=“wiki-page-link”> Bacchanal of Oddities and Antiquities" seemed to be staged nearby during the festival, offering a host of fascinating and astonishing sideshows. Akasha snatches a poster from the wall, eyes round as saucers. On a panic, she darts back into the throng of people.
Without much explanation to the strange behavior, the group press on, confident in her ability to take care of herself.
They find Hergen giving a sculpting demonstration to a rather boisterous crowd. After a hearty getting, he sees to Ogg’s request. In a days time, can fashion the accumulated pieces of armor that Ogg provides into a cohesive set.
The group then split to follow their own plans. Ogg and Elbenor find their way to a church, finding only lowly acolytes and attendants. Any noteworthy members of the faith had deities elsewhere during the festival.
Thaddeus spent time lingering in the small library adjacent to Captain Castien’s quarters on the Callehad. Sayer spent the evening getting raucously drunk at Thal’efft Bar, where he woke the next morning under a table.
Akasha flew through the streets, faces a blur as she passed them in her panic. Before long, she found herself thoroughly lost. Inquiring with a passerby, she begins trying to make her way towards the open air market. Perhaps there in the wide open she could feel a little safer. Seeing a couple harmless townsfolk in a nearby passageway, she ducks in to collect her thoughts. Suddenly, the townsfolk halt what they were doing and turn towards her. Waves of dread crash over her as she sees that there is a smooth, wooden flatness where their faces should be.
Several of the dummies engage, attempting to subdue. She screams for help while agilely avoids their dull grasps. The young elf blasts out a wave of flame in desperation, setting several dummies ablaze. She notices shutters from the nearby windows fling open in response to her pleas for help and moves to position herself nearer to her saviors. With a dismal sinking of her heart, Akasha watches as several more marionettes fling themselves out the window.
A heavy thud knocks against the back of her head and she falls to the ground. Through the skinny, wooden legs of the marionettes she watches yet another approach, a coil of rope thrown over it’s shoulder.