Blood, Plunder and D&D

  "Did you bring the chicken?" asked Mambo Grace. Wordlessly Dakhir produced the gilded cage containing one (1) live and extremely unhappy chicken. The cage had originally held a songbird of some kind, but Dakhir had been in a hurry for something to put the chicken in to make it stop pecking him, so the songbird had been granted freedom. His family had prepared him for many things, mostly exceedingly dark things, but poultry transportation was not one them. Not exactly their forte. Mambo Grace didn't ask questions about the cage  though, she just placed it on her worktable next to a wicked looking dagger, on a grooved stone counter. Those grooves were clearly designed to prevent liquid from spilling over the floor. Dakhir had seen grooves like that before. He also noted the stone washbowl full of clean water next to the worktable. The pattern fell into place. He did not give the chicken high odds of surviving the night. The upstairs at Mambo Grace's house was packed, ...

  "Don't hit him Sturg! He doesn't look like he's with those crazy paladins!" called out Dakhir. The Sturg hesitated. In his opinion strange creatures that came bursting suddenly into his room unannounced shouldn't complain when he hit them. Admittedly this particular strange creature, wild eyed and frantic though it may be, didn't seem very threatening.  Also it had a shell. The Strug approved of shells. He had one himself and it was very useful. His armor not only kept the weapons and claws of his enemies away but it also kept the people away.  As Dakhir continued to glare at him, and the stranger continued to not attack anyone, The Sturg slowly lowered his sword.   The party stared in awe at the stranger, momentarily forgetting the dire strait they were in, "My word" said Whisperleaf wonderingly. "I do believe that's a Tortle! I've never actually seen one, thought they were myths. How marvelous!" "It looks like a big wal...

  "When Whisperleaf said he needed to consult the Oracles I wasn't expecting the Oracles to be a fish" remarked Ricmo "Dolphins aren't fish" said Whisperleaf absentmindedly, pausing the clicks and whistles he'd been using to communicate with the dolphins. "They're warmblooded for one thing, give live birth..." "Look like fish to me" said Ricmo cheerily. "Why are we whistling at them again?" "Why not call upon our friends of the sea? Their wisdom is as vast as the oceans, ours is but a mere bathtub." said Whisperleaf, throwing the closest dolphin a fish. Dakhir looked around the dingy fishing docks wondering what the fishermen were making of Whisperleaf’s performance. "What do they tell you?" he asked. "Much" said Whisperleaf. "This pod has never been to the Garden Isles, but they offer to spread the word we are looking for Black Alice's lost island retreat to others of their kind an...

  The heroes made their way down crowded Port Street, a collective bundle of nerves. Dakhir looked grim, Whisperleaf concerned, Ricmo nervous. Only The Sturg seemed his usual self, solid and unflappable behind his black helm.  Freddy on the other hand seemed positively punch drunk, surrounded by the entourage he had assembled out of the flotsam and jetsam of Port Street; an entourage of drunks, whores, and whoever else happened to be at or around  Black Alice's Brew  when the royal summons had arrived. He laughed and joked with his posse, whistling a tune, as he jaunted down the road, surrounded by his score of companions.    "I can't believe we are going back there. Isn't her husband going to be there?" wondered Ricmo. "Isn't the first order of business going to be to chop Freddy's head off? Or possibly other bits off? Isn't he king of this place?" "No mon, not gonna be dat way" said Jean Pierre. "Remember, Erzulie favors them...