Without a thought the ragtag group of strangers turned from the dog pile and went to the few merchants still sniveling in their stalls. Water and wine skins were filled. Bags were packed with hard tack and various dried not-so-delicate delicacies.
For some reason neither human could account for the Gnome purchased a badger. A Badger. Little more than a shared glance and a few hand signals communicated the need and desire to move on to the docks. "Might as well." Thought Mara to herself. "A bleeding badger." Pfft.
Flitting between shadows the Gnome lead the way. His keen eyes caught a glint in the fading light of the day. In an instant he was there with his hand gingerly on the object. A delighted light touched his eyes, though no emotion moved the lines of his face, as he pulled out a worn bag full of gold. 20 pieces to be exact. Slyly the grey being slipped it into his own belongings without the tiniest clink.
However, elf-sight being superb in the dimming half light, Lorien caught sight of the Gnome's discovery and began peeking behind barrels and chalantly kicking up other objects that littered the street.
Taking note from the bipedal members of the party Barbarrel, the Druid's large floppy eared riding dog, sniffed around. He returned to his master, tail wagging and head high with doggy pride, with a cracked vial full of alchemical goodness. As the Druid poured the contents carefully into a sound vial the human's remained unconcerned. Neither of them made any comment on the discoveries, nor did they even glance in as discrete search of their own. Perhaps humans were just prone to being indifferent or cynical, mayhaps they were simply just wanting to get on with the job.
Mara couldn't help but hope the potion the Druid picked up wouldn't backfire on them when they least could handle the repercussions. Subconsciously her right hand touched the wrapped, and slightly off, form of her left hand before she continued down the road.
Brine, fish, and smokes of many kind grew stronger as they came closer to the docs. When the glint of the gibbous moon, half formed and awkward, on the water could be seen on violent ripples a sound pierced the air. A warbling, wet, cry of anger and challenge. In a practical, and comfortable, movement Mara had her shield off her back and her sword drawn. The Elfmaid, Lorien, wrenched her bow to the ready while the Ranger, Druid, and Gnome whispered into battle stance.
The creatures that burst from the shallows were short, scaly, and smelled of ocean crap; which is worse than regular crap. Lorien sucked in a lungful of tainted air to sing a crisp ballad of a hero long past. The sounds fill the adventurer's limbs with strength, the words spark a fire in their hearts.
The scaly creatures advance on them as if railing against the tune that still hung in the air like a ghost. Mara easily takes point, holding her shield arm at the ready while the sword makes a single, eager, twirl in her left hand before coming up in a vicious upward arc. The metal hits the first creature in the chest, surprising it to a halt, before continuing straight into it's companion's neck. Muck colored liquid bursts from the almost neatly severed neck before the disjoined parts crash in a single twitch.
For a moment the other scalys pause. Whether unsure of their opponent, or frightened by the sight of the malicious look in the armored woman's eyes, is anyone's guess. After that moment has passed a single scaly rushes in passed the steel woman and straight into Barbarrel's waiting maw. With a shake the large dog effectively breaks the creature and drops it on the ground.
Out of the sand bursts the Gnome, much to Mara's shock and irritation as she's sprayed with the irritatingly fine particles. He skewers one of the two remaining ocean scalys on his rapier with suck force that the tip of the weapon pings melodiously off the stones laid into the street.
Taking a half step back the lone blue scaled creature makes a piercing cry, warbling and shrill, the kind of cry that demands help. Within half a breath four more creatures run squishily from behind a dilapidated old shack to help their comrade.
Wind whips around the Druid's small stature and a crocodile springs up out of the ground. A mouth full of teeth and a smile as vicious as the look in the Gnome's eyes. The ocean scaly's fall in quick succession.
When out of nowhere this old man runs up swinging his cane and shouting unintelligible babble punctuated by the kind colorful curses that can only be grown near or on the sea. Interestingly enough the Lizard like beings actually run away from the flailing old man. As they turn to take a hasty leave the moon light gleams just right to reveal a brand. The brand is a crown around an ovular shape that spouts a large tongue of flame at the top and a smaller flame from the bottom.
After a few breaths and quizzical expressions the crazy old man introduces himself as Malcom. He's a drunk but he seems sober enough at the moment; excluding his earlier behavior. Lorien is keen on following the old man, though no one else is. Mara accompanies the naive elfmaid only because she knows with certainty that people like the elf need something strong near by at all times. Otherwise bad crap happens.
As pleasantly as she would if she were entertaining a noble Lorien asks about the journey Malcom will be taking them on the dawn.
The gruff old man hurrumphs that he: "Don't make much a habit o' goin'. Damn swarvy currents, blasted lot, changing all the bloody time. No' to mention Neira's Path. Thrice and Forths damned ghost current i'is. Carries them soul o'th Adine turn' to Naga." He shudders at the image he alone can see.
Malcom is the captain of the 'Last Drop'.
"Clever." Mara thinks dryly to herself, but stills her tongue lest she risk the half drunk's ire. Can't have a wry swing taking out a little elf eye.
Malcom offers for the voyagers to spend the night in his shanty. A few refuse, a few accept, and come dawn the 6 of them, 8 including the quadrupeds, set out on the sea.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Cait's Campaign Vol 1
The Port of Cina. A rich beautiful port, with all the best produce, seafood, and a marketplace filled with colorful wares ranging from the ridiculously decadent and gawdy to the simple and durable.
It's too bad for the wanderers perusing the wares that they are close to broke. Asking around four beings gather before the Artifact dealer's stall. It's one of the few stalls able to be locked tight instead of the open tent like stalls that surround it.
A human man and woman tower over a little elf-maid, a gnome, and a halfling with his riding dog. Their attire gives them away. The human man is a ranger, he smells of the woods even over the salty stench of the harbor air, if that wasn't enough he wears a bow and a cloak that shimmers of forest camouflage. The human woman stands a scant bit shorter than the man. Her body covered in armor and a shield on her back. She clinks as she shifts from foot to foot, her spear and sword tapping against one another in the bell like 'ting' of well forged metals. The gnome is grey, very grey, and dressed as one who prefers fleetfootedness and silence. The halfling reeks of druidic influence from the sandals on his feet to the twigs in his hair and his dog, though frightening has the air of one wiser than he should be. The elf-maid is dressed in the lovely colored clothing preferred by her race and musicians. Her spun gold hair tangles over her bow like gilding on a chair. Such a gathering of strangers is not odd in Cina, for many come here to book passage on ships or to continue to adventures elswhere.
Noctis, it was the name the other merchants had spoken. The man is fat, balding, and obviously drunk. If one could not smell the alcohol the flush on his face and the fluid of his motions would be evidence enough. Despite his despot look the wares around him are impressive to say the least. Buisness must be doing well because the fat merchant offers 2,900 gold up front and anything we want from his wares if they make it back alive. Or at least that's what those gathered could make out through Noctis' slurring.
The task seems simple enough. Travel to the Isle of Morrow and collect the Crone's egg. A large gem of legend that holds prisoner the evil god Forosei. A cannibal of a diety that completely, and literally, devoured the Nadeen people. Some anonymous benefactor has paid handsomely for it's recovery. Mara, the woman in armor, thinks it reeks of ill-fate. But she needs money and Cina turned out to be a dead end anyway. If anything wrong comes of it they could burn that bridge when they came to it. Maybe.
With coin in their pockets and task in their hands the group quickly splits up to buy supplies for the trip. It shouldn't take more than a few days, but anything can happen on the sea. The name of the contact at the harbor is Malcom.
Out of nowhere there's screaming and people stampeding away from snarls and yips. Seems the pack of mongrels that roam the alleys at night have decided to come out and play.
As the sea of people rush passed and the dogs move to intercept Mara takes point and Bryarbahn sent his dog ahead. Both the riding dog and the fighter clash with the mongrels and stop their advance with snapping jaws and shield.
Lorien, the elf-maid, runs to the sand dune by the wind tent and fumbles with her bow. Earamir, the ranger, breaks off to the right sand barrier and shoots a clean arrow into the haunch of one of the mongrels. Bryarbahn lets loose a stone from his sling causing one of the beasts to howl angrily.
With a swift sweep of her spear Mara takes one mongrel in the throat and digs the end of the spear into the dog gnawing on her shield.
The elfmaid strings an arrow and it whistles between two mongrels sticking fast between cobble stones. The Druid's sling gets tangled in his sleeve and the stray stone makes a puff in the sand dune.
Running up beside Lorien, Eramir releases an arrow that sticks fast between a mongrel's ribs. With a bellow Mara cleaves straight through one of the two living mongrels and into the cobble stone.
With a flourish of sand and blades the gnome pops out of the dune like a jack in the box, strangely silent, and ends the last mongrel without blinking.
It's too bad for the wanderers perusing the wares that they are close to broke. Asking around four beings gather before the Artifact dealer's stall. It's one of the few stalls able to be locked tight instead of the open tent like stalls that surround it.
A human man and woman tower over a little elf-maid, a gnome, and a halfling with his riding dog. Their attire gives them away. The human man is a ranger, he smells of the woods even over the salty stench of the harbor air, if that wasn't enough he wears a bow and a cloak that shimmers of forest camouflage. The human woman stands a scant bit shorter than the man. Her body covered in armor and a shield on her back. She clinks as she shifts from foot to foot, her spear and sword tapping against one another in the bell like 'ting' of well forged metals. The gnome is grey, very grey, and dressed as one who prefers fleetfootedness and silence. The halfling reeks of druidic influence from the sandals on his feet to the twigs in his hair and his dog, though frightening has the air of one wiser than he should be. The elf-maid is dressed in the lovely colored clothing preferred by her race and musicians. Her spun gold hair tangles over her bow like gilding on a chair. Such a gathering of strangers is not odd in Cina, for many come here to book passage on ships or to continue to adventures elswhere.
Noctis, it was the name the other merchants had spoken. The man is fat, balding, and obviously drunk. If one could not smell the alcohol the flush on his face and the fluid of his motions would be evidence enough. Despite his despot look the wares around him are impressive to say the least. Buisness must be doing well because the fat merchant offers 2,900 gold up front and anything we want from his wares if they make it back alive. Or at least that's what those gathered could make out through Noctis' slurring.
The task seems simple enough. Travel to the Isle of Morrow and collect the Crone's egg. A large gem of legend that holds prisoner the evil god Forosei. A cannibal of a diety that completely, and literally, devoured the Nadeen people. Some anonymous benefactor has paid handsomely for it's recovery. Mara, the woman in armor, thinks it reeks of ill-fate. But she needs money and Cina turned out to be a dead end anyway. If anything wrong comes of it they could burn that bridge when they came to it. Maybe.
With coin in their pockets and task in their hands the group quickly splits up to buy supplies for the trip. It shouldn't take more than a few days, but anything can happen on the sea. The name of the contact at the harbor is Malcom.
Out of nowhere there's screaming and people stampeding away from snarls and yips. Seems the pack of mongrels that roam the alleys at night have decided to come out and play.
As the sea of people rush passed and the dogs move to intercept Mara takes point and Bryarbahn sent his dog ahead. Both the riding dog and the fighter clash with the mongrels and stop their advance with snapping jaws and shield.
Lorien, the elf-maid, runs to the sand dune by the wind tent and fumbles with her bow. Earamir, the ranger, breaks off to the right sand barrier and shoots a clean arrow into the haunch of one of the mongrels. Bryarbahn lets loose a stone from his sling causing one of the beasts to howl angrily.
With a swift sweep of her spear Mara takes one mongrel in the throat and digs the end of the spear into the dog gnawing on her shield.
The elfmaid strings an arrow and it whistles between two mongrels sticking fast between cobble stones. The Druid's sling gets tangled in his sleeve and the stray stone makes a puff in the sand dune.
Running up beside Lorien, Eramir releases an arrow that sticks fast between a mongrel's ribs. With a bellow Mara cleaves straight through one of the two living mongrels and into the cobble stone.
With a flourish of sand and blades the gnome pops out of the dune like a jack in the box, strangely silent, and ends the last mongrel without blinking.
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