Captain Iplyn calls another passenger up.
Kudos says:
If everything else fails take out your hatchet and go straight for Deer mommy and chop her leg in half!!! Then go straight to the other guards and repeat until you earn the fleets respect!
MicklePickel Says:
Maybe with the fresh air, you can think hard and remember some details of your past that are sure to come up when Deer Mommy ™️ inevitably questions your entire life story and threatens you with imprisonment and/or death. Where specifically are you from? What are your skills/jobs you’ve had?
Have fun!
You concentrate hard on your past and your mind pictures a town nested alongside the coast, crude homes built upon the ruins of a great kingdom.
Then, memories surface: the rhythmic thumping of fists on wooden tables, another of the aroma of smokey sulfur. These seem to be two distinct memories though, from two different places perhaps?
Echinator says:
Observe your document real hard, trying to understand it is better than nothing at all.
You’ve been able to discern patterns in signs before, surely you can get something out of this.
This isn’t working. You’re going to ask someone to read it for you.
Victoria Delphire says:
Stay at the back, ask a neighbor if they can read and would be willing to read the document to you so you know what it is
M56 scorpion says:
perhaps you could look for any passengers on board that are of a species or nationality known for being good Samaritans to specifically talk to
Santa Colonel says:
Pick out the most compassionate and helpful looking passenger present and ask them to read your travel papers to you.
The individual on your left may be helpful. Since they look like some sort of catoxl-adjacent species, perhaps you can cash in on that hunter camaraderie and ask them for help.
You ask the cat, “Psst, could you read these lines for me, please?”
“Uh, you are unable to read it yourself?” They are puzzled by your question.
“As a matter of fact, no.”
“Then who filled this out?”
You quickly come up with a story, “My… husband, Iron Bottle, insisted I not get involved in the scholarly world. ‘Ideas could be dangerous for my head.’ he says. But right now, he seems to be having a go at the bucket at the moment, so if you can be so kind…”
You’re unsure if pretending to be Iron’s wife is necessary, but it sure would make anyone feel sorry for you.
The cat looks at you with a mix of confusion and concern but reads it regardless. “Your name is Glass. You’re a Sorrova female with green eyes and gray fur. You are from the (former) Kingdom of Gnomanya. And your trade is an Alchemical distribution specialist with a background in volunteer defense arms. Wait, your husband won’t let you read but lets you handle weapons?”
“Well he knows best.”
“And If he’s your husband, does that make you Glass Bottle?”
“Our names don’t work like that, but thanks.”
They purr back to you, “I wish you a warm sun in Siltria. Maybe there you will make him see reason, or you can find someone else who respects you.”
Alchemical distribution specialist? Volunteer defense arms? What does any of that even mean? Well, at least you can answer the first two questions without a doubt, as well as stop dragging Iron’s name through the mud more than he already does himself.
“Ahem.” You hear a voice pierce through the noise. Through the newly opened gap in the group, she has singled you out.
“Come here.” she commands.
Your mind and body are consumed with unease. Despite all of the strategies your soggy mind could come up with, ranging from acting drunk, being a pitiful refugee, and even a tiny suicidal inclination for violence, you can do nothing but obey, quietly walking over.
“Papers.”
You hand her the document.
“Name.”
“Glass.”
“Where are you from?”
“Gnomanya.”
“And what did you fill out under your trade?”
“…Alchemical distribution specialist, with a background in volunteer defense arms?”
“Quite the choice of fancy words. Now tell me what that actually means.”
пися попа челлен