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/tg/ - Traditional Games

Thread XXXI:
Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Lamia%20Legacy%20Quest
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LamiaLegacy
Opening Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCQmQwKEEOM
Story Thus Far: http://pastebin.com/9Zk46Wiy
>Apologies on the 2 week downtime, would have only been one but I had a grandparent pass away shortly before I went down to Georgia for half a week. Here we go again.

"I don't like it." McCain groused for the umpteenth time this morning as you loaded your rifle into the carriage.

"It'll be fine." you retort "We're just going on a little scouting party is all."

Arriving home with the assurance of Veles assistance in your spot of vigilantism put you in high gear to learn more about this group of twenty that Serrak told you about. It took a bit of convincing to get McCain to agree to head that way with just the two of you, but the need for solid knowledge on what exactly you were facing won out over his misgivings. McCain, when not busily fussing over you and warning you what could go wrong, has been instructing the hands, mostly Tatiana via Marie, on what is expected of them while their gone.

You roll your eyes at this, but feel a little guilty that you've been leaving the ranch to the two new hires so often that they should have this routine memorized. Regardless, you're well and ready to go by early morning.
Rolling through South Fork early in the day, McCain points out that Enos must not have been in a bad temper lately, as the front glass of the general store is neither broken, boarded, nor is a miscreant flying through it as you pass through. You do note a lot more Nitor soldiers at the posting, but none that you recognize. Other than that, the town is about as quiet as you would expect, and you head onto the smoother road towards Snake's Landing.

McCain, for his part, keeps his reservations to himself while on the road, and in the silence, you've retreated back through the hatch into the carriage itself to work more on the Casimiran primer. Its slow going, even on the smooth roads. You're fully engrossed in your meticulous progress that you jump a bit when you hear a knock on the roof. Putting it away, you pop back up to see McCain gesture over toward the Nitor Fort in the distance.

"We still headed straight to that contact that shady orc mentioned?"

>Go directly to the bartender Serrak told you about
>Go to the nitor posting
>Look around Snake's Landing for a bit
>Go directly to the bartender Serrak told you about
Not much reason to wait.
crap, I missed the start.
And yeah, we'd be heading straight to the barman.
"Not much reason to wait." you say, "We're just having a look at this, nothing else. Nitor involvement can come later."

You keep your place in the hatch as you roll into town, basking in the humidity of the coastal area. The activity in the streets is new, mostly sightseers you gather, as this is prime season for the fancy folk over on the mainland to take vacations from whatever it is they do. More than once some person nearly steps out in front of your horses, making you suspect that people have to check their brains with their luggage when they get on an airship and must forget to reclaim it.

You pull in front of the main hotel, McCain staying in the drivers seat. You arch your eyebrow at him. He shrugs, "Tourist season is pickpocket season. Ain't gonnna let no waif make off with the wheels on the carriage after the better thieves have picked through the good stuff, you go on and have your clandestine little talk Miss."

"That Paranoia of yours is getting a bit strong, don't you think?" You counter.

"Less paranoia and more experience, besides, that hotel has more than a few big uncomplicated gentlemen in their employ. Nobody is bound to start anything therex"

You're about to say you didn't see any of that when he begins pointing out several people in nondescript, formal clothes leaning on balcony railings on various floors. They promptly frown and hurry back inside when they notice him pointing them out.
He grins, "Liquor licence you see. Gotta protect their stuff somehow, but can't scare the fancy mainland customers. So they have big men with blackjacks or something similar to handle unruly folk. Personally I prefer Riverport's bouncers. More honest about it."

You huff in frustration as he leans back in the seat, tucking his hat somewhat over his eyes in the same manner that the hotel guards had. Slithering inside, you see the reason why they had all these men about. The inside of the hotel bar is more packed than you've ever seen it, and its hard going just getting a spot at the bar itself. You then see that the hotel must have responded to the rush in kind, as there are two bartenders, instead of one this time.

Huh. Really busy today.
Let's just try to navigate to the closest barman without getting stepped on.
Do we know what the barman we are looking for looks like? If so, just check one, then the other. If not, then we'll have to tell them we're sent by our orc friend.
Oh, maybe we should come back before closing.

Let's get a drink first though and see if either of them were expecting us.
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You order a light drink, something with minimal alcohol, ignoring the looks from the people seated either side of the stool you've wrapped around. In ordering your drink you ask if the gentleman knows Serrak, to which you receive a blank look. Blast.

Waiting for the drink, and for the other bartender to get closer, you take stock of the bar. You are almost shocked to see that there actually is a performance going on on the sage opposite the bar. The sheer volume of the patrons are drowning out anything the singers are saying, not that it matters, given the drunken rabble at the base of the stage are throwing enough money to make being shouted at a profitable enterprise. Whoever it is must be really popular.

Getting your drink, you sip it as you begin to nurse it and keep a your eyes open. On the back of the stage is a mer with a piano that looks specifically built with him in mind, if the basin is anything to go by. He is playing some melody that is, again drowned out by the sea of voices, and you watch as a member of the audience attempts mantle the stange, only to be unbalanced by the singer, an elf or a human, you can't tell, nudging him back into the crowd amidst a chorus of laughter. Had McCain not pointed it out earlier, you would not have noticed the burly men making their way towards where the man fell. After they haul him upright, the slightly trampled looking man is escorted, not unkindly, out of the bar flanked by the two.

>Give me a 1d20+4 roll
Rolled 8 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

Rolling for bar navigation.
Rolled 13 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

Rolled 20 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

One more roll, if it's needed.
>20+4(Intrigue bonus)
You remember the pointed look that the bartender gave to you when he handed you your drink and napkin. Looking at the folded cloth, you note that it seems uneven, and you hesitantly open it up. Inside is a piece of paper, folded. Slipping it into your clothes, replace the napkin the way it was, and finish the rest of your drink and plunk some coins down on the counter. Uncoiling yourself from the stool, you navigate your way out of the room, following in the wake of a naga who also seems to be leaving. Heading out the front door, you signal for McCain to start moving, and you slither up into the cabin. The carriage starts moving and you take out the paper, taking care not to damage it.

It's a map. That's for certain. Not even coded at that. It looks like it was torn off of a promotion, but it appears to be a fairly good representation of the coastline between here and Riverport. You even note the place you ran into the smugglers on it. At a loss, you take a look at the names of some of the inlets in the swamp between the two cities, that you hadn't seen before. Three lagoons in particular stand out, namely because someone took a pen and went over their names, leaving them identical for all save touch. Feeling the back of the paper, you are rewarded with a fine strip of paper stuck beneath the isthmus of the twin peninsulas that separate the bodies of water.
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You look up when you feel the carriage stop, and you see McCain lift the hatch on the roof of the cabin. "What's the good word?"

"Well, good news is, we know where they are."

"The bad news?"

"Middle of the bayou."

You see him pull a face as he begins to haul himself through the cabin and takes a look at the map, and you take care to point out your findings.

"Well miss, there's three ways I see this working. The first is we charter a skiff to take us there and drop us off. Second is that we make our way through the bayou itself, following the shore."

"And the third?"

"We say bugger this and turn it over to the Nitor and let them deal with the swamp."

Letting the nitor deal with it is tempting. I am still uncertain on whether we would get the gems if we just hand it over to them, or if we would still have to wait. that part isn't in character, just you know, speculation.

But, as it's our most likely chance of profit, we should still go after the bandits. Let's see about chartering a boat to drop us somewhere in the area. Far away enough for us to sneak in on foot.
I think we'd more likely get spotted if we used a skiff. I don't know how well we can navigate a bayou, but I'd rather go through it for the chance of getting the drop on them.
well, skiff or not, we should certainly come in on foot once we're in the area.
Might be good not to take the added risk of being caught and go for this.
Let's go in on foot. See if we can make a quiet approach.
"I don't know how well we can navigate a bayou, but I'd rather go through it for the chance of getting the drop on them."

You see him grimace, "I had a feeling you'd say that Miss. I'll go see the the carriage house has openings."

As it turns out, they do, with most of their own being leased by vacationers, they've got secure holdings for both the carriage, and Traveller and Greenbriar while your away. You opt to leave your valuables in the compartment under the seat, and take your travelling kit. Plotting your route, you find that you can pretty much keep to the shore and head west and it will get you there eventually. McCain in the meanwhile heads out to buy 'supplies' as he puts it, and you meet up with him near the beach, him still clad in his normal clothes.

"You'll probably get wet." You point out, as he hefts a light backpack over his shoulder.

"Not with what I'm taking." He says, gesturing out at the small fancy looking canoe.

"You didn't."

"Miss, you might not know it, not having legs and feet and all, but nothing is worse during a march than swamping out your boot. Besides, I know how much you like water, someone has to keep the powder dry. The mer down by the docks lent this one to me for cheap. Lets try and not get it shot up."

You sigh and hand off your rifle and ammunition to the elf as he settles himself into the boat. You at least give him hell, putting the welcome tropic heat to work and you fly over the sands.
>1d20 travel roll here.
Rolled 20 (1d20)

Him and his BOATS and PREPERATION la-di-da.
Stupid tiny not-snake boat.
Rolled 8 (1d20)

Hot damn.
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>20, reminder, lower is better for travel rolls.

You reach the end of the beach and into the glades proper, its terminus heralded by a stream rolling out into the ocean. Eager to show your foreman up, you make your way to cross the water. And promptly go in over your head. Swimming was a thing you were good at you said. You get a mouthful of water as you misjudge the depth of the stream and come up gasping and drenched. You pull yourself up and out the other side of the stream bank to the sound of, well, silence. You expected laughter from McCain at least but you look over in the ocean proper and he's just staring at you.

"Miss, you sure you're all right to do this? We can go to the Nitor." He calls as you wave your hands, string to fan off some of the water.

"I'm fine... just misjudged is all."

"Well, enjoy your swamp." He says as he paddles ahead of you. Its then he starts laughing.

Coastal swamps are horrible things you come to find out. Even with the comfortable heat spurring you on, its nothing but nettles and reeds that like to grip and tear and sting. By the time you reach your projected campsite, its late and you only get there by relying on your natural night vision and McCain navigating by the stars. You're far enough away from the where the smugglers are supposed to be that you risk a fire, and you sit in the warm evening air dejected, ruffled, and altogether displeased with this endeavour so far.
Rolled 15 (1d20)

McCain comes from the small inlet that he tied the kayak, and tosses you a jug of some liquid.

"Get that in you."

"I think I've had enough of water, today, thank you." You huff.

"Salt estuary. You're dehydrated, Miss. Get some real water in you."

You begrudgingly take the jug and drink, and well, he's right. You can already feel the headache fading after the first couple sips, then the thirst takes you and you're outright draining the bottle. McCain squats by the fire and looks at you.

"Listen, water debt in a plan like this is going to be heavy. Fresh water is at a premium unless we go about 3 miles upriver and we get past this brackish mess. I've got enough that should tide us over, but try not to overexert yourself, worst case scenario, around the coast might be better than land."

You nod and turn your attention back to the jug and finish it off, handing it back to him. You're tired, but not sleepy and you make this known.

"Prolly the weather, Miss. Can't say for certain, but regardless, if you're aren't going to catch some sleep, I'll leave the watch to you. Wake me when you need me." He says, wandering back over towards where he set down his bedroll.

>Give me a d20 roll.
Rolled 9 (1d20)

time for keeping watch.

And jeez, swamps're unpleasant.
Rolled 2 (1d20)


I missed my roll entirely
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Your clothes, still damp from your journey, are starting to chill your upper half as the night air rolls in off the sea. Arching your back, you do a half curl equidistant from the campfire in some strange parody of a fishhook as you lay on your side, staring into the woodlands as your back dries.

Apart from the crackle of the fire, its quiet, and above all, dreadfully boring, and the grey of dawn finally hits before you wake McCain, at first he's furious, thinking you were going to sleep the daylight away, but you surprise him with being up on your own volition before the sun is actually up.

You press on, this time keeping in mind what McCain told you, and its a bit after noon when McCain pulls into the shore.

"We're nearing where they are supposed to be. I'd rather not be seen coming in by water. We'll have to go through the swamp proper."
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You suppress your grin at his eventual slip into the water and soaking but are disappointed, as the elf just traverses from hillock to hillock in the swamp in a slow, but smooth pace as you plod on ahead weaving in between the hillocks, drenching your lower half but saving energy until you reach on reliable terra firma.

It is on said flat land that you are stopped by McCain holding his hand out and pointing to what looks like pile of fallen trees. On closer inspection, its a squared barricade. Not particularly high, but a bit of a hassle to climb over. On the far side are more trees that, if the last mile has been any indication, is more horrible swamp. To your left is a hill, and on this side is what looks to be a makeshift gateway, the right faces a section of flat land that terminats into the lagoons you've been looking for.

"Looks like this is it." McCain says in barely a whisper.

>Try and get a vantage from the hill
>Try and get inside, see what is going on.
>Try and see what's going on from the
>>Try and get a vantage from the hill
Let's scope the place out. See how many there are.
Where's veles in all this? Will we have to go back and grab 'im?
And don't be afraid to use trees. We can climb.
You guys said you wanted to scout the area out before you committed to anything last thread, unless I'm misremembering, if so, my apologies.
That's fine.
If we're here to scout, then we're scouting.
Getting the vantage is what we have to do then, too.
>Try and get a vantage from the hill
Can't think of a better way to have a look.
You motion to the hill, and McCain nods, crouching low and all but crawling toward it as you simply... well lowers yourself into a less noticeable position. Wiggling up to the crest, you peak out and into the compound. There's a horse stable, in which you can see five horses, and several shacks. The lagoon side of it has a dock and you see at least three armed men topside. This number grows as you see five more emerge from a shack, and another three from the second. It looks like the estimate on numbers might have been a tad generous. Then you look over into the lagoon.

You see three boats full of people. And not a canoe with a few, these look like the kind of boats you'd find on a proper ship. Lowering your rifle, you focus on them getting onto the dock, and you feel a nudge on your left. Looking you see McCain handing you a spyglass that you take and focus on the procession coming off the boat. The man in front is definitely a phoenix empire soldier, the garb giving him away. Heck, everyone in that boat has those features. Its just all save three of them are in irons.

You then turn to focus on the dignitary coming out of the second boat flanked by more of those guards. Striding past the chained up ones and towards the shack. Following him, movement from the second shack catches your eye, and you move to look, and rather wish you hadn't.

Standing there is the faux Matt McCain that attacked your ranch earlier this year.
Gonna call the thread here because tomorrow I get the wonderful and exciting job of rebuilding a chimney. I just wanted to get something down to get back into the rhythm of things. Thanks again for reading.
Well, see you again next time. Good luck with that chimneysweeping business, eh?
I've missed you Chemlab, I'm happy you're back.

Thanks for the thread, I'm really damn excited to take these guys on.

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