Place: Hopesend (Old Town)
Time: The beginning of Spring. Friday. Day 1. Noon.

Warfhand and his trusty lackey Pangwin arrive by fishing trawler to the Pier. The ship is moored and nets full of flapping fish are winched out of the water and opened into bins.

Warfhand has his instructions; to meet the Manager at Stubb Prosthetics. Yes that replacement digit you lost to frostbite is effective if rudimentary, but those onerous late charges have left you deep in debt. You and Pangwin had to work hard on that ship just to get passage from the Polar Ocean and you just broke even!

As the two of you step off the gangplank, a white/translucent man-sized creature with ceolocanth-like teeth slips out of the bin and leaps into the water, much to the consternation of the dock crew.

<High pitched whistle> "TOOMS! Buddy, c'mon!"

Smoot looks over the edge at the creature with the teeth made of coelacanths, but he's got work to do, today. (If someone, on the other hand, offered him spare cash, that'd be something else...)

In reply to The Conductor (msg # 1):

Thaco, a real smelly mess of an old man, in Verminator gear of hazmat and backpack of tubes to a strange gun on his side, sits on the pier watching the thing descend into the depths.

"Yuck," he mutters. "And in my business, I know yuck!"

Worfhand glances at the now empty bin.

"Well. Good luck with that. Pangwin, we ought to be heading out."

“Aye-aye, Sir!”

With a wide half-toothed grin, the bounty hunter’s companion waddles along, carrying his sack of personal effects over his shoulder and leaning on an axe handle for balance.

“Somebody really odda feed dat dog!” He chirps out as he looks behind him.

“E look skin an’ bone an’ chort on skin!”
“

“Woof!”

The dog gave a spectral bark that sounded like is was echoing across a gloomy river bank. It was indeed just bones, with a strip of leather tacked on to make use for a lost tail.

"Pangwin, it looks like it's fed plenty well. Just not on things we'd like to see it eat."

Standing atop of a crate that was resting on the docks, exclusively for the purpose of looking down on others, Bartholomew Ravenman watched the scene in disgust. This is how the common folk lived. Rotting dogs, unmannered dimwits and... he had no fucking idea what that thing that jumped in the water was.

Jumping off the crate and stumbling upon his landing. He made his way, pinching his nose. Looking around the pier, he started looking for any ship that might be able to take him out of this dumpster.

By Bart's attitude, one may believe he was nobility. His appearance however seemed to suggest he was much down on his luck that he was willing to accept.

You all take a moment to take in the hubbub of the crowds, the smell of the brine, the scent of fried and caramelized food, the screams of children on the spinning rides several blocks away.

The horn blaring as a white van jumps the curb sending a wandering pickle seller jumping out of the way and smashing his huge jar.

The side of the van reads

STUBBS PROSTHETICS

Better Than The Real Thing!
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:26, Tue 14 Feb 2023.

"C'mon, Tooms, shake a leg. Time to get into a white van with a stranger."

[Heading toward van.]

Worfhand nudges Pangwin.

"You first, friend. You owe me your life and all that."

He gestures to the van.

A positively gorgeous woman with red hair and thick glasses steps out of the van wearing a white labcoat with only a few traces of blood on it. She steps over to the pickle salesman and helps him up. Her left hand is hook.

"Oh! I'm so very sorry! Here! Have a coupon! A free amputation with your next prosthesis!"

A middle-aged gentlemen wearing a powdered wig and an implausibly large theatrical hat lingers nearby, annoying pedestrians with a laughably poor pantomime.  The van slides to a stop mere inches away from a scrawny milk cow.  The animal raises it's head from a patch of grass and regards the vehicle with crossed eyes.  It utters a plaintive "Moooooo" that drones on for a bit too long before ending in a wheeze.

Mr. Sylvester Theobald Aloysius Sparkforth the Third, Esquire, lurches forward indignantly.  To the locals, the washed up actor is known only as "Sparky", a pitiable sobriquet referring to an unfortunate fire at the Crown Theater that nearly burned the venerable structure to the ground.

Sparky immediately bursts into hysterical sobbing, his wails echoing off nearby buildings.  Gesticulating emphatically, he begins an impassioned speech in a booming voice.  "How dare thee threaten my one true companion with certain demise in such a callous display!  Forsooth, tis indeed a sad day when simple beasts face ultimate doom whilst feeding upon rude fare in the great city!  Alas, what sayest thee to defend thy conduct?  Wilt thou not repent of thy shameful disregard?"

The actor bows deeply and waits for several moments in silence before rising.  He pulls out an embroidered handkerchief with a flourish and dabs a dry eye while waving to the onlookers with a grin.  "Thank you. Thank you all."

Sparky approaches the red haired woman.  "Good Day Madam! I have been meaning to get into contact with your firm.  It seems my backside requires an adjustment."  He points at his right butt cheek which is sticking out at something of an odd angle.

The woman looks down at the actor’s tights, and her official smile fades.

”Crouch down…arch your back a little…just like that…”

He feels a swift and forceful kick in his false backside that sends him sprawling, and he finds himself looking up at his cow’s muzzle as the slightly trained bovine nods in amusement, and the back of his outfit is soaked with pickle brine.

”It’s a testament to our brand that your posterior hasn’t fallen off entirely due to all that ridiculous posturing. The TalentWerker 700 series is stress-tested to all 58 Classic Poses in the Official Dramatist Consortium Handbook. I didn’t see one effective pose in your entire monologue.”

She wraps her hook under his armpit and with surprising strength lifts him to his feet. He notes his balance is improved as his rump is symmetrical again.

”The sudden crying was impressive though. I’m Dorret Eggler, Stubbs Professional Amputator and Regional Manager.”

As Eggler helps Sparky back to his feet, he's positively fuming.  He sputters angry half-sentences, failing to complete any of them.  "Never in all of my life have I been treated..."  How dare you say such things about..."  "Why, management will surely be hearing from..."

He then pauses and bends forward and back and side to side.  His freshly adjusted posterior smoothly shifts along with him making a sound like a bowling ball rolling across a freshly waxed floor.  "Oh!  Oh, yes I see!  Why, that's another matter entirely.  Madam, your methods are most certainly unconventional but I feel like a new man!  I see that the Talentwerker 700 has been holding me back but now I'm ready to achieve my full potential!"

Sparky begins contorting himself into one awkward pose after another.  "I must say that I'm surprised that your company responded so quickly.  I only lodged my complaint this morning.  For them to send soneone the same day, and a regional manager no less.  Very impressive customer service!"

She rolls her eyes.

”Actually I’m here to collect your installment payments, and those of certain individuals coming off that ship. I’m going to assume you don’t have £5K on your person. Do you?”

Sparky's eyes widen in surprise. "The payment?  Due already?  I could have sworn that I had until the 15th."  He pulls a gaudy pocket watch out of his waistcoat and scrutinizes it carefully.  Seeing that it is actually the 15th today, he mutters "Yes, well.  How time does fly by."

Sparky begins patting down his coat and pants.  "Uh, I know I have some spare change here somewhere.  Perhaps in my other jacket?"  The embarrassed actor fumbles through every pocket but retrieves only lint and old receipts.  His face flushes red.  "I appear to be just a little short today.  Perhaps we could reach some sort of agreement?"

”You can consolidate the debt with these other customers and pay it off by going on expeditions.”

”There’s an abandoned mansion in the township of Green Caverns that’s scheduled for demolition. The owner stopped paying on his replacement eye, so we have the right to loot his house. When your crew brings back £10K worth of goods your debt will be settled.”

She opens the back of the van. Dozens of artificial hands, feet and other body parts hang from twine to on poles across the roof. There’s a refrigerator in the back as well.

”All of you, get in the van! Start with the cow!”

[TO BE CONTINUED]