HSI: The Island

Gwydion just needs a better knife for future dissections and he might grab a bottle of clear alcohol for preserving.

HIRELINGS & RETAINERS: GETTING PEOPLE TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK
Some of the sailors aboard the ship are willing and eager to join the party and help you achieve your goals. You each have the opportunity to decide if you want a retainer to join you.

THE RETAINER’S ROLE:
The mechanics for hirelings are simplified down to their one unique skill or Talent, providing the Characters an Advantage on an Attribute Test or enabling them to do something useful under specific circumstances - the hireling must be Nearby to the Character in order to do so.

TALENTS ON THE SHIP:
Hunter (Common) Gives Advantage to tracking and provides rations Ud4
Porter (Common) May carry up to 12 items
Rogue (Rare) Gives Advantage to looking for Nearby secrets and traps
Sailor (Common) Gives Advantage to navigation and maritime Actions
Torchbearer (Common) Provides dim Light to everything Close and Nearby
Tradesman (Common/Rare) Can create material goods if given the required resources and tools

Mauve disappears below decks only to return a few minutes later with a nice haul. She hands the wine to whoever is next to her and proceeds to tie back her once again unruly locks with the eel-skin hair tie that she found. Then she samples a few hazelnuts, offers them around, grabs one of the bottles of wine, and starts heading back to the skiff.

Halor requisitions a flaying knife from one of the sailors, which he hopes they part kindly with considering the food that was just brought to them. "Let's get a better look around this smaller island and the rest of the beach where those giant birds were at. If we're going to be here a while, at least we can make sure nothing foul is nearby."

Fafnir looks over the willing and eager men. He's not used to being in charge of folks, so he just plain asks them.

"Anyone want to carry some heavy shit around? We could use a porter with a strong back and sure feet."

The sailors that wish to remain on the ship head back to their duties. They have been diving, two at a time, along both the port and starboard sides of the ship. The next shift grab a long pole each and make their way down the rope ladder and into the water below.

The sailors looking for some extra adventure crowd around Halor and Fafnir.

"I've got a strong back!" Says one.

"Ha! Strong back and soft head!" Says another back at him, "you'll want someone strong and smart - look no further." He says jamming a thumb into his chest.

"Can you use another? I'd be interested in joining!" Said yet another.

Gonnar mostly keeps to himself on the ship, observing, listening, thinking. Bringing a lot of sailors into the interior seems a poor idea to him, and one that will slow them down and eat up their meager resources.

Halor selects an eager young man to act as his torchbearer. The young man introduces himself as Samuel Dobson. He is so eager to please, he rushes below and returns with a backpack full of torches.

Fafnir selects the smart ass, Jack Cromwell. He's a bit older and quite a bit wiser. He sees the young man with the pack of torches and sneers. "Are you planning to eat wood while you're over on the island?" He sighs, grabs the man's backpack and lightens the load a bit. "There. Now go fill the pack with food and water."

After you have loaded the rowboat with supplies, Samuel rows most of the group back to the island, then comes back for the rest. It takes a while for everyone to be transported back to the island, but soon you are all standing on the black sand and staring into the dark jungle. The boat, laden with supplies, has been pulled into the beach and is ready to be offloaded.

Gonnar nods at Gwydion as he applies a bit of animal grease to his skin to keep flies off of him. "Yes -- the chanters. We should find out who they are, and if they are dangerous."

Good idea. Can I have some of that? Mauve asks Gonnar as she swats at the incessant insects buzzing around. I think we should find a safe place to stash our things and send a party in the direction the singing came from.

Mauve finds a spot under a tree to gently place the bottles of wine fully intending to drink at least one with the crew before the night is over.

Fafnir will also partake in the grease. He knew how bad bugs can be. You wouldn't think the bugs were bad in the North, on account of all the snow and all, but Northern black flies made up for the short summers with size and viciousness.

A disturbing memory from his childhood bubbled to the surface. When he was a boy, a southerner trader once came north, trying to make a "fresh start" in the north. His parents called him by his name to his face, but at home they called him "Fresh Start." Fresh Start survived his first winter despite his lack of preparedness and hardiness, but it was the summer that did him in. Fafnir found his body hanging from a tree outside his hovel, covered in flies. The black flies drove him crazy, so he hung himself, his parents explained, and Fafnir believed them at the time.

But now, Fafnir was the one trying to get a fresh start. He understands Fresh Start's loneliness now, his homesickness. He used to wonder if he'd end up like him, about how to avoid that fate. At some point, he started treating life like it was one big joke. It was freeing, he told himself. But loneliness was never funny. It was the one thing he couldn't laugh away. Maybe had Fresh Start made a friend or two, he could have made it through the summer.

Fafnir decides to take his preparations seriously. He's part of a team now, and a team is only as strong as the weakest link. He decides that won't be him. He checks over all his gear, patching damage, sharpening blades. Packing things carefully, like the hunters taught him when he was a boy. He makes sure Jack Cromwell packs his bags with just as much care, but explains things with a patient voice. He stays near Jack as they ship out to the island, makes sure he stays out of trouble.

The wastelander offers his pungent grease to all who will use it, though he makes a noise in his throat when Mauve joins in. "Doesn't smell good," he says simply, before joining Fafnir in making final preparations. Laces are tightened, edges are honed, arrows are counted.

"Running low on these," he says, hoisting the quiver as he hands it to the northman, along with their lone bow. "Take it. You're a better shot than me."

You pull your supplies together and beach the boat up close to the trees, mooring the small vessel securely in case the tide comes in. Gwyndion, Halor & Mauve confirm that last night's singing came from the southeast. The group makes their way along the dark sand. You can see mountains rising out of the jungle to the east. At one point, the massive hills extend towards the beach, but not far enough to block your passage.

The smell of rotten eggs blocks out all other scents in this area. A 100’ slope of exposed basalt is covered in large, greasy-looking yellow rocks. Most of the rocks are opaque, but here and there along the slope, translucent yellow crystals grow in tabular formations. The thick, dark jungle blocks your passage to the south, but you can see a man-made spire rising out of the canopy in the distance.