Outside the old warehouse office, a few dock workers are making their way up the road back towards town. As Wyldfyre approaches, they chuckle to each other. One of the men, a human in his late twenties, gives the other one, a few years younger, a light punch in the shoulder, pushing him back slightly. The younger man's face darkens, as he looks down at his feet.
"You lost little lady? Searching for a ship?" the older of the two asks. As Wyldfyre explains what she is looking for, he answers "The Dawn Roger? You must be headed for that new island they found. A little young for an adventurer? Head down to the pier and look for the big galley with a golden sun painted on it's flag. That's a ship, don'tcha know?"
The harbormaster thanks Natton for his assistance. "You can make your way to the boat anytime. Captain Sean hardly leaves it, even when in berth. That ship is his life. Just tell him ol' Wiley sent you, and he'll let you aboard early. You can let the tide rock you to sleep, if that's what you need," the man laughs deeply, then after a few moments starts to cough into his hand. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve he opens the drawer under his desk. "As I told you, the pay is not much, but I won't be in debt to no one anymore." He hands over a worn silver coin to Natton for a half-days labor.
---
"Oi, you two," the harbormaster calls up to Snigbovlin and Lattimer. "Conversin's great and all, just make sure you don't block the way. You want to find the Dawn Roger, just head down to the pier and look for the flag with a golden sun. Can't miss it. Captain Sean's an old friend, so I know he won't leave his ship for anything." Despite the harbormasters complaints, the warehouse office is quiet but for the one or two other adventurers coming in to sign up for work. The couple laborers in the back have finished moving their crates and started eating a split loaf of hard bread. It doesn't sport much for furniture or space, but it's not particularly crowded either.
"Big galley, you say? Sounds easy 'nuff." She tilts her head at the men. "I thank ye both for your generosity of information. Let me repay you with something to brighten your day." She doesn't even drop her bundle this time as she summons her juggling balls, tossing them a little higher each time, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the men before her. After almost a minute, she tosses them one by one up high into the air to explode in varied color sparks, like fireworks. She then winks at the men, giggles and turns to bounce away looking for the galley with the golden sun flag and her passage to a new life.
Snigbovlin ponders Lattimer's last remark, then says, "Hah. That my friend probably means you are more holy than most! What temptations will the new continent offer, though? Hmmm"
He looks out towards the sea, pondering his future. "Probably just mosquitos. Not very tempting at all. Need insect repellent. Something smelly should do" he absent mindedly touchies a chain around his neck. "Out with the roses, in with the citronella. Hah!"
At the harbormasters comment, he is startled out of his reverie and hops down off the crate, "Shall we?" he asks, glancing at Lattimer. "I would quite like to get settled, then take one last look at the city. Either from the deck, or in person, I have not quite made up my mind."
Lower bunk. "We should hurry before all the good spots are taken." I wonder if my things will be safe if I leave. "Perhaps I will content myself with a view of the city, gods know I've seen it a few times already."
Natton says, "Much ablidged," as he pockets the gold. He heads out and begins to stroll along the docks, checking out each of the hosts until he finds the one he is looking for. When he finds it, he woke out on the pier and shouts up, "I'm here early for that job with Lord Pickles or something. I was told to tell the Captain that Ol'Wiley sent me." Natton purposefully says the lord's name wrong because he know a little humor goes a long way with sea folk. He would know as a few... people he was comprised of were sailors.
Freeday, the 28th of Reaping. It is the start of high summer, where the air gets stifling hot, even against the coast of the Sea of Galdaic.
Near the southern end of the dock, a massive ship, over 120 feet in length, flies a flag with a golden sun over a red sky with a silver mountain range underneath. Upon the side of the ship, marked in bold black letters reads "S.S. Dawn Roger". The galley gently sways on the water as the ocean tide rolls into shore. The docks leading up to the ship stretch out fifty feet from the row of warehouses and shipyards on Dawnwater's pier. A plank cradles the dock, joining it to the ships port side deck twenty feet above the water.
On the deck a man of the coast leans over the side of the ship. He is humming a sailors tune while aimlessly whittling a piece of wood, not seeming to pay attention to what he is making. He is in a brown leather doublet with thick clothes cut from canvas and stained with waterproof tar. The man has a wide felt hat, a flash of a daggers tip peeking through one of the folds. He appears middle aged, scruffy faced, but with a confidence of one who spent his life at sea.
The rest of the ship is quiet. A couple of crewmen are keeping watch and securing supplies to the deck. As you board the boat, the man smiles and nods at you. "Your coming aboard early, I like that," he says as he holds out his hand for your travel papers. You are amazed at his voice, clear and tuned, higher pitched than you'd expect of a grisly sailor. He says nothing else as he checks over your form, ensuring it has the proper stamp. Once you are aboard, he introduces himself. "My names Harkness, though most people aboard just call me captain. Thinain's out at the tavern, but he'll be back before dawn. Never known a dwarf not to be able to hold his liquor, especially with sails to turn in the morning. Sure as anything, we'll get you to Carlisle with time to spare, no matter what the weather."
The captain smiles as you look at him. "Welcome aboard my ship. And to be clear, it is my ship." Despite his average height, he stands taller than most other humans. The few crew who are still around move past him with a manner of respect. "There'll be no unauthorized fighting or fireworks. You eat when Seredoc serves meals, an hour past sunrise and dinner mid-evening. Guests aboard get a midday lunch at sun's peak."
His speech completed, the captain calls forward one of the younger crewmen to show you to your cabin. You take a ladder down into the ship where the only light is from a thick glass oil lantern hanging from the ceiling. At the an oil lantern hangs in a thick glass enclosure. At the front lies the crew quarters, in the bow of the ship. Another ladder leads further down into the hold below the ships waterline. Behind the central pillar, at the aft, two doors lead into separate guest cabins. You are led into the first cabin on the port side. It can fit up to eight people, with four sets of bunk beds. Beside the bottom bunk, on either side of the beds, there is a chest lashed to the hull for passengers to store their personal belongings so they don't get thrown about during stormy weather.
For those who board the ship in the morning.
Starday, the 1st of Goodmonth. It is the start of high summer, where the air gets stifling hot, even against the coast of the Sea of Galdaic.
Near the southern end of the dock, a massive ship, over 120 feet in length, flies a flag with a golden sun over a red sky with a silver mountain range underneath. Upon the side of the ship, marked in bold black letters reads "S.S. Dawn Roger". The galley gently sways on the water as the ocean tide rolls into shore. The docks leading up to the ship stretch out fifty feet from the row of warehouses and shipyards on Dawnwater's pier. A plank cradles the dock, joining it to the ships port side deck twenty feet above the water.
On the deck a man of the coast is speaking with a tall hill dwarf. The dwarf stands to the mans shoulders, just shy of five feet tall. Both of them are in brown leather doublets with thick clothes cut from canvas and stained with waterproof tar. The dwarf sports a skullcap over his brown hair, his beard tied in a single braid reaching down to his waist. The man has a wide felt hat, a flash of a daggers tip peeking through one of the folds. He appears middle aged, scruffy faced, but with a confidence of one who spent his life at sea.
More than three dozen crewmen dart back and forth, securing supplies to the deck and checking the hold. There are many last minute preparations for them to see to. Amongst the crew are folks of all sorts, including a pair of half-orcs and even a couple dragonborn men. Many of them appear young, much younger than the two awaiting the passengers to arrive.
As you board the boat, the Dwarf puts out his hand, asking in a gruff voice, "travel papers." He says nothing else as he checks it over, ensuring it has the proper stamp. Once you are aboard, he introduces you to the man beside him. "This 'ere's capt'n Harkness. A 'uman, sure, but a fine sailor. Ain't no one else 'ull git you to Carlisle with time to spare, no matter what the weather."
The captain smiles as you look at him. "Welcome aboard my ship. And to be clear, it is my ship." His voice, clear and tuned, higher pitched than you'd expect of a grisly sailor. Despite his average height, he stands taller than anyone else aboard. Save, of course, the two dragonborn. But even they move past him with a manner of respect. "There'll be no unauthorized fighting or fireworks. You eat when Seredoc serves meals, an hour past sunrise and dinner mid-evening. Guests aboard get a midday lunch at sun's peak."
His speech completed, the dwarf calls forward one of the younger crewmen to show you to your cabin. You take a ladder down into the ship where the only light is from a thick glass oil lantern hanging from the ceiling. At the an oil lantern hangs in a thick glass enclosure. At the front lies the crew quarters, in the bow of the ship. Another ladder leads further down into the hold below the ships waterline. Behind the central pillar, at the aft, two doors lead into separate guest cabins. You are led into the first cabin on the port side. It can fit up to eight people, with four sets of bunk beds. Beside the bottom bunk, on either side of the beds, there is a chest lashed to the hull for passengers to store their personal belongings so they don't get thrown about during stormy weather.
As the bell on the port begins it's three chime cry in the morning, the Dwarven first mate, Thinain o' Durtek, blows into a whistle hanging around his neck. "Ai, all y'use sea rats, look lively. Ship sails in five minutes," he calls out in a gruff voice. His braided beard is tucked into his heavy leather doublet, allowing the Dwarf to move freely about the ship. He isn't shy to shove a young crewman out of the way and correct any mistakes in their knotting. You notice as you watch him work that he takes things over with his left hand, a trait less seen in Dwarves. Although, Dwarven sailors are already less seen than most.
Within minutes the ropes lashing the ship to the docks have been tossed over to port workers standing on the pier. The plank is drawn in and secured away next to the pair of lifeboats. The ship groans and creaks as it slowly slips away from the port onto the open ocean. Standing at the helm you recognize the folded felt hat of captain Harkness. He smiles broadly as he spins the wheel, guiding the ship gracefully away. Thinain continues his whistle blowing, using a different sequence of notes to alert the crew prior to calling out his orders. Like clockwork, the sails are raised, catching the morning wind and pulling the ship into greater speeds. Without a moment to second guess your decision to make the journey, Dawnwater and the rest of the Fagrath coast are but specs on the horizon.
"Good spots? It's a sailing ship, you know, not a picnic garden," remarks Lattimer with a chuckle as he heads out with Snigbovlin towards the ship.
On arriving at the ship in the evening, Lattimer takes to one of the bunks without complaint. The environs, though somewhat cramped, are well above the quality he's grown used to in recent times, and he finds it a soothing, pleasant rest.
In the morning, as the ship sets sail and departs, he casts his eye towards the cityscape disappearing, he recalls Snigbovlin's comment from the evening before. He idly comments to no one in particular, "'Been a while since I had any view of Dawnwater. Not much different, I guess. Same old stones, same old houses, same old nonsense. A nice enough view, but there's this rot beneath it. I'll be glad when it's a distant memory."
Natton watches the landmass fade away into the distance as the boat sails towards a new land and hopefully safety. They'll have a hard time tracking me this way, he thinks to himself as the continent becomes a speck on the horizon. I hope I kept a low enough profile...
He pulls out several sheets of parchment and a charcoal pencil. He finds an area on the deck where he won't be in the way but close enough to where lots of action happens and begins to draw. He draws a picture of a forested grove on a mountainside, but puts several small symbols in the drawing set into the scenery. At a cursory or distant glance, not be drawing looks normal, but a closer inspection would reveal the symbols of you looked carefully. These symbols are simple notes to himself about information he learns about those on board with him. It is something he knows he has been doing for years even though he has no memories of who he really was 4 months ago. It would have been much easier just to write notes, but he and many others of him placed great importance in maintaining secrecy.
Besides that, it was much too nice of a day to spend cooped up indoors...
Carric, who showed up just before the gang plank got pulled up, hurried down stairs and plunked down on the first unoccupied bunk he could find. he laid there for a while, try to come to terms with the rocking waves and a rather rough hang over. After a bit of self-pitying he stows his belongings in the chest, save his rapier and the deck of playing cards from within his backpack. He stumbles up the stairs, and begins tying his hair up before tossing a quick glance back towards the town, and stops, letting his hair hang. He gazes out onto the open ocean for a minute, sighs, and goes below deck. He takes the cards out of their pack and begins shuffling them as he walks through the decks, on the look out for some slacking crewmen or fellow passenger willing to play a game.
"Good spots? It's a sailing ship, you know, not a picnic garden," remarks Lattimer with a chuckle as he heads out with Snigbovlin towards the ship.
Snigbovlin snorts, "So says the man who can probably jump onto an upper bunk unaided, and who..." he pauses to dramatically size up Lattimer. "Muscles, but poise, and an infuriating serenity...more than meets the eye with this one...who...who...seems to be a mystery."
"But be that as it may, there is one thing I will say: there's always a 'better spot'. For me, it's near the ground and with easy access to my things and a door."
With that he dusts himself off, gathers his pack and bow, and heads off with Lattimer, walking briskly to keep up. When they reach the boat he introduces himself to the captain, and goes below decks to find a suitable bunk, leaving a sack with his bedroll, tinderbox, and torches tied to the bed. After settling in he goes in search of the captain and inquires if he has any maps of the new continent that he might examine during the journey. If so, he tries to commit them to memory or, if the captain permits (and will allow him access to tools), copy them.
On the morning of departure he too rises to watch the land seemingly drift away, his mind torn between what he has left behind and the excitement he feels about the future that awaits. He is surprised to find that it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he is equally suprised to hear Lattimer's voice again. He watches and listens as the burly man speaks, still trying to unravel the mystery, then looks back the port and begins speaking in distant tones.
"Fifteen years ago I sailed into that port, and I barely visited it since. Smelly place. A between place: Not interesting. I had a new job, new employer...it was a good time. Abruptly ended."
He turns and smiles at Lattimer, "No point in missing what I had, eh? Far better to dream of what's to come. I feel like a young man again! A new start: Always exciting!"
Lattimer returns Snigbovlin's smile. "Yeah, you and be both, pal. Guess we should savor this moment, when the New World's anything we could dream it to be. Things're bound to disappoint, I'd wager." He looks over at those gathered on deck, and spots Carric with the deck of cards. "Oi there! Sure, I'd be up for a game. I guess we got a few weeks of tedium to deal with before things get interesting, may as well start to pass the time."
Wyldfyre listens intently to the captain's instructions, and with a curtsey, follows the crewman below decks. Laying claim to a top bunk as far from the door as she can, she studies the lashed chests, curious as to their purpose. After a moment of puzzling it out nods, and somewhat reluctantly stows her gear. "First time in a long time I'll be sleeping without that in my arms," she thinks to herself. "But new times, new experiences, so maybe time to break with old habits." Not wanting to stray far from her belongings just yet, she settles into her bunk and before she realizes it, the swaying of the ship lulled her into the best night's sleep she has had in too long to remember.
In the morning, hearing the other stir, she lays still, barely cracking an eye to see what going on, barely controlling the panic raging through her mind. Then her thoughts coalesce and she remembers, she doesn't live on the street any longer, she has a direction, a purpose, a destiny to find. She checks for Sparky, and finds him curled up sleeping near the corner of her mattress. She smiles and lets him sleep and jumps down to the deck. Securing a dagger at the small of her back, she heads up on deck just in time to see organized chaos break loose. She finds a perch atop some of the secured cargo on deck to be out of the way.
Eavesdropping on the gnome and man she heard call himself Lattimer as she was leaving the harbormaster's office, she smiles to herself, saying out loud to no one in particular, "so I'm not the only one leaving bad memories behind." Her voice betrays her youth, but it has an odd undertone reminiscent of a forge bellows. "Good riddance to bad memories. Destiny lies before us, and it has to be better than what is back there."
Carric nods to the scarred human, and waves him over to a few barrels Carric had moved around to serve as a table and chairs. He shuffles his playing cards quietly using just his left hand, as he sticks out his right, "pleased to meet you, may I have your name??". He keeps his head facing down, never quite making eye contact, letting his long copper hair sweep and obscure much of his face. Whilst his voice sounds jovial and friendly enough, the monk can hear an underlying intensity behind the question. Carric seems to wait a moment in silence, with his hand out stretched and cards shuffling in the other.
"Lattimer... the Penitent," he repies, the last bit rolling off the tongue rather awkwardly, suggesting he is still getting used to the phrase. Lattimer meets the handshake with a surprisingly gentle grip, for someone whose scars and well-toned body might suggest a rather rougher sort. "How bout you, eh?"
Carric's disposition seems to entirely change once he receives his answer, He shakes the man's hands vigorously, lifting his head for the first time and letting the human get a better look at his face. Carric has a wide and pleasant smile, and almost exaggerated elven features, with aggressive cheek bones and hard pointed features. "My name is Garric Galanodel, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He goes to shuffling the deck with both hands, bridging them repeatedly, with obviously practiced deftness. "So what's with the kenning?? The Penitent, I believe. Must be a story there" He deals a hand of three dragon ante, and once Lattimer grabs his cards he realizes they're slightly larger than usual. One of them also has a combination of intricate scrolling script and strange symbols covering most of the card, with only the number and symbol showing.
"Funny cards," notes Lattimer. "I should say, this is gonna have to be a friendly game. I ain't got a silver to my name." He pats the back of his neck, where his numerical tattoo is partly visible. " Guess that's connected to the story. Used to run with some bad sorts. Did some things...well, things no one should be proud of. Did some time for it. Now, I gotta pay penance. That's what the Great Guru says, anyway. Get my soul right, balance all those bad deeds in the old world with good ones in the new."
"How bout you? Haven't seen cards like this afore, you some sorta magician?"
"I'm okay with a friendly game, for now. this evening I'll be trying to score every coin I can off the crew. as for being a magician... I'm of a sort I suppose... One part performer, one part magician, and one part warrior." He reveals his hand, and points to one of the marked cards "I am... or I guess I will be.. a Bladesinger, masters of combining the edge of a blade with the weave of magic. These cards contain my path to preparing my spells, had them custom made. Figured I'd get much more of a benefit out of carrying these around as opposed to a tiresome book." He taps the card a couple times, then wrangles them all back up and begins shuffling again. "All that talk of guru's and balancing the soul, I take it you walk the way of the monk?? it's an honorable path, bit too restrictive for my tastes"
Wyldfyre maintains her perch, watching the ballet performed by the crew, listening to the commands called, learning as much as she can about the patterns and functions aboard the ship. At the same time, she is watching the captain and first mate for an opportunity to ask questions without distracting them from their routine. She intends to advise them of her abilities and ask how she could best be of service in case of trouble. About an hour before high sun, she will slip back to her bunk and retrieve Sparky and check on her belongings, then head to the galley once the noontime meal is announced to grab a bite to eat for herself and a nibble for Sparky since she missed breakfast.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today? Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Bladesinger...sounds fancy. And a set of magic cards, how stylish! Just be careful lettin folks handle such precious writings. Unsavory types might be tempted to nick em from ya!" Lattimer says, with an air that speaks from personal experience. "Monk? Nah, I ain't some cloistered ascetic. Maybe...a seeker? Of the Way of the Mercuful Hand. I've lived most my life how I pleased, didn't turn out so well, for me or others. Could use with some real discipline now, methinks."
He then eyes the young girl muttering about destiny and bad memories. "Guess a lotta folks on this ship're eager to get away from it all."
Carric looks at the young woman, and noticing her attentiveness, turns so she can't get a good look at his face. "Well, here's to new beginnings, and out running our problems" Carric says with a genuine yet wistful smile, laying down his three cards. When Lattimer lays down a superior hand the Elf smacks his tongue into a click and begins shuffling, "I'm no good at cards unless there's something on the line, so how about a wager on the next?? winner can swap bunks, I'm not finding mine to my liking" the elf's emerald eyes seem to light up at the idea of a wager. ((ooc if you do i figured we could both roll some dice and whoever gets higher wins, maybe like 3d10??))
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Outside the old warehouse office, a few dock workers are making their way up the road back towards town. As Wyldfyre approaches, they chuckle to each other. One of the men, a human in his late twenties, gives the other one, a few years younger, a light punch in the shoulder, pushing him back slightly. The younger man's face darkens, as he looks down at his feet.
"You lost little lady? Searching for a ship?" the older of the two asks. As Wyldfyre explains what she is looking for, he answers "The Dawn Roger? You must be headed for that new island they found. A little young for an adventurer? Head down to the pier and look for the big galley with a golden sun painted on it's flag. That's a ship, don'tcha know?"
The harbormaster thanks Natton for his assistance. "You can make your way to the boat anytime. Captain Sean hardly leaves it, even when in berth. That ship is his life. Just tell him ol' Wiley sent you, and he'll let you aboard early. You can let the tide rock you to sleep, if that's what you need," the man laughs deeply, then after a few moments starts to cough into his hand. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve he opens the drawer under his desk. "As I told you, the pay is not much, but I won't be in debt to no one anymore." He hands over a worn silver coin to Natton for a half-days labor.
---
"Oi, you two," the harbormaster calls up to Snigbovlin and Lattimer. "Conversin's great and all, just make sure you don't block the way. You want to find the Dawn Roger, just head down to the pier and look for the flag with a golden sun. Can't miss it. Captain Sean's an old friend, so I know he won't leave his ship for anything." Despite the harbormasters complaints, the warehouse office is quiet but for the one or two other adventurers coming in to sign up for work. The couple laborers in the back have finished moving their crates and started eating a split loaf of hard bread. It doesn't sport much for furniture or space, but it's not particularly crowded either.
"Big galley, you say? Sounds easy 'nuff." She tilts her head at the men. "I thank ye both for your generosity of information. Let me repay you with something to brighten your day." She doesn't even drop her bundle this time as she summons her juggling balls, tossing them a little higher each time, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the men before her. After almost a minute, she tosses them one by one up high into the air to explode in varied color sparks, like fireworks. She then winks at the men, giggles and turns to bounce away looking for the galley with the golden sun flag and her passage to a new life.
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
Snigbovlin ponders Lattimer's last remark, then says, "Hah. That my friend probably means you are more holy than most! What temptations will the new continent offer, though? Hmmm"
He looks out towards the sea, pondering his future. "Probably just mosquitos. Not very tempting at all. Need insect repellent. Something smelly should do" he absent mindedly touchies a chain around his neck. "Out with the roses, in with the citronella. Hah!"
At the harbormasters comment, he is startled out of his reverie and hops down off the crate, "Shall we?" he asks, glancing at Lattimer. "I would quite like to get settled, then take one last look at the city. Either from the deck, or in person, I have not quite made up my mind."
Lower bunk. "We should hurry before all the good spots are taken." I wonder if my things will be safe if I leave. "Perhaps I will content myself with a view of the city, gods know I've seen it a few times already."
Natton says, "Much ablidged," as he pockets the gold. He heads out and begins to stroll along the docks, checking out each of the hosts until he finds the one he is looking for. When he finds it, he woke out on the pier and shouts up, "I'm here early for that job with Lord Pickles or something. I was told to tell the Captain that Ol'Wiley sent me." Natton purposefully says the lord's name wrong because he know a little humor goes a long way with sea folk. He would know as a few... people he was comprised of were sailors.
For those who board the ship in the evening.
Freeday, the 28th of Reaping. It is the start of high summer, where the air gets stifling hot, even against the coast of the Sea of Galdaic.
Near the southern end of the dock, a massive ship, over 120 feet in length, flies a flag with a golden sun over a red sky with a silver mountain range underneath. Upon the side of the ship, marked in bold black letters reads "S.S. Dawn Roger". The galley gently sways on the water as the ocean tide rolls into shore. The docks leading up to the ship stretch out fifty feet from the row of warehouses and shipyards on Dawnwater's pier. A plank cradles the dock, joining it to the ships port side deck twenty feet above the water.
On the deck a man of the coast leans over the side of the ship. He is humming a sailors tune while aimlessly whittling a piece of wood, not seeming to pay attention to what he is making. He is in a brown leather doublet with thick clothes cut from canvas and stained with waterproof tar. The man has a wide felt hat, a flash of a daggers tip peeking through one of the folds. He appears middle aged, scruffy faced, but with a confidence of one who spent his life at sea.
The rest of the ship is quiet. A couple of crewmen are keeping watch and securing supplies to the deck. As you board the boat, the man smiles and nods at you. "Your coming aboard early, I like that," he says as he holds out his hand for your travel papers. You are amazed at his voice, clear and tuned, higher pitched than you'd expect of a grisly sailor. He says nothing else as he checks over your form, ensuring it has the proper stamp. Once you are aboard, he introduces himself. "My names Harkness, though most people aboard just call me captain. Thinain's out at the tavern, but he'll be back before dawn. Never known a dwarf not to be able to hold his liquor, especially with sails to turn in the morning. Sure as anything, we'll get you to Carlisle with time to spare, no matter what the weather."
The captain smiles as you look at him. "Welcome aboard my ship. And to be clear, it is my ship." Despite his average height, he stands taller than most other humans. The few crew who are still around move past him with a manner of respect. "There'll be no unauthorized fighting or fireworks. You eat when Seredoc serves meals, an hour past sunrise and dinner mid-evening. Guests aboard get a midday lunch at sun's peak."
His speech completed, the captain calls forward one of the younger crewmen to show you to your cabin. You take a ladder down into the ship where the only light is from a thick glass oil lantern hanging from the ceiling. At the an oil lantern hangs in a thick glass enclosure. At the front lies the crew quarters, in the bow of the ship. Another ladder leads further down into the hold below the ships waterline. Behind the central pillar, at the aft, two doors lead into separate guest cabins. You are led into the first cabin on the port side. It can fit up to eight people, with four sets of bunk beds. Beside the bottom bunk, on either side of the beds, there is a chest lashed to the hull for passengers to store their personal belongings so they don't get thrown about during stormy weather.
For those who board the ship in the morning.
Starday, the 1st of Goodmonth. It is the start of high summer, where the air gets stifling hot, even against the coast of the Sea of Galdaic.
Near the southern end of the dock, a massive ship, over 120 feet in length, flies a flag with a golden sun over a red sky with a silver mountain range underneath. Upon the side of the ship, marked in bold black letters reads "S.S. Dawn Roger". The galley gently sways on the water as the ocean tide rolls into shore. The docks leading up to the ship stretch out fifty feet from the row of warehouses and shipyards on Dawnwater's pier. A plank cradles the dock, joining it to the ships port side deck twenty feet above the water.
On the deck a man of the coast is speaking with a tall hill dwarf. The dwarf stands to the mans shoulders, just shy of five feet tall. Both of them are in brown leather doublets with thick clothes cut from canvas and stained with waterproof tar. The dwarf sports a skullcap over his brown hair, his beard tied in a single braid reaching down to his waist. The man has a wide felt hat, a flash of a daggers tip peeking through one of the folds. He appears middle aged, scruffy faced, but with a confidence of one who spent his life at sea.
More than three dozen crewmen dart back and forth, securing supplies to the deck and checking the hold. There are many last minute preparations for them to see to. Amongst the crew are folks of all sorts, including a pair of half-orcs and even a couple dragonborn men. Many of them appear young, much younger than the two awaiting the passengers to arrive.
As you board the boat, the Dwarf puts out his hand, asking in a gruff voice, "travel papers." He says nothing else as he checks it over, ensuring it has the proper stamp. Once you are aboard, he introduces you to the man beside him. "This 'ere's capt'n Harkness. A 'uman, sure, but a fine sailor. Ain't no one else 'ull git you to Carlisle with time to spare, no matter what the weather."
The captain smiles as you look at him. "Welcome aboard my ship. And to be clear, it is my ship." His voice, clear and tuned, higher pitched than you'd expect of a grisly sailor. Despite his average height, he stands taller than anyone else aboard. Save, of course, the two dragonborn. But even they move past him with a manner of respect. "There'll be no unauthorized fighting or fireworks. You eat when Seredoc serves meals, an hour past sunrise and dinner mid-evening. Guests aboard get a midday lunch at sun's peak."
His speech completed, the dwarf calls forward one of the younger crewmen to show you to your cabin. You take a ladder down into the ship where the only light is from a thick glass oil lantern hanging from the ceiling. At the an oil lantern hangs in a thick glass enclosure. At the front lies the crew quarters, in the bow of the ship. Another ladder leads further down into the hold below the ships waterline. Behind the central pillar, at the aft, two doors lead into separate guest cabins. You are led into the first cabin on the port side. It can fit up to eight people, with four sets of bunk beds. Beside the bottom bunk, on either side of the beds, there is a chest lashed to the hull for passengers to store their personal belongings so they don't get thrown about during stormy weather.
As the bell on the port begins it's three chime cry in the morning, the Dwarven first mate, Thinain o' Durtek, blows into a whistle hanging around his neck. "Ai, all y'use sea rats, look lively. Ship sails in five minutes," he calls out in a gruff voice. His braided beard is tucked into his heavy leather doublet, allowing the Dwarf to move freely about the ship. He isn't shy to shove a young crewman out of the way and correct any mistakes in their knotting. You notice as you watch him work that he takes things over with his left hand, a trait less seen in Dwarves. Although, Dwarven sailors are already less seen than most.
Within minutes the ropes lashing the ship to the docks have been tossed over to port workers standing on the pier. The plank is drawn in and secured away next to the pair of lifeboats. The ship groans and creaks as it slowly slips away from the port onto the open ocean. Standing at the helm you recognize the folded felt hat of captain Harkness. He smiles broadly as he spins the wheel, guiding the ship gracefully away. Thinain continues his whistle blowing, using a different sequence of notes to alert the crew prior to calling out his orders. Like clockwork, the sails are raised, catching the morning wind and pulling the ship into greater speeds. Without a moment to second guess your decision to make the journey, Dawnwater and the rest of the Fagrath coast are but specs on the horizon.
"Good spots? It's a sailing ship, you know, not a picnic garden," remarks Lattimer with a chuckle as he heads out with Snigbovlin towards the ship.
On arriving at the ship in the evening, Lattimer takes to one of the bunks without complaint. The environs, though somewhat cramped, are well above the quality he's grown used to in recent times, and he finds it a soothing, pleasant rest.
In the morning, as the ship sets sail and departs, he casts his eye towards the cityscape disappearing, he recalls Snigbovlin's comment from the evening before. He idly comments to no one in particular, "'Been a while since I had any view of Dawnwater. Not much different, I guess. Same old stones, same old houses, same old nonsense. A nice enough view, but there's this rot beneath it. I'll be glad when it's a distant memory."
Natton watches the landmass fade away into the distance as the boat sails towards a new land and hopefully safety. They'll have a hard time tracking me this way, he thinks to himself as the continent becomes a speck on the horizon. I hope I kept a low enough profile...
He pulls out several sheets of parchment and a charcoal pencil. He finds an area on the deck where he won't be in the way but close enough to where lots of action happens and begins to draw. He draws a picture of a forested grove on a mountainside, but puts several small symbols in the drawing set into the scenery. At a cursory or distant glance, not be drawing looks normal, but a closer inspection would reveal the symbols of you looked carefully. These symbols are simple notes to himself about information he learns about those on board with him. It is something he knows he has been doing for years even though he has no memories of who he really was 4 months ago. It would have been much easier just to write notes, but he and many others of him placed great importance in maintaining secrecy.
Besides that, it was much too nice of a day to spend cooped up indoors...
Carric, who showed up just before the gang plank got pulled up, hurried down stairs and plunked down on the first unoccupied bunk he could find. he laid there for a while, try to come to terms with the rocking waves and a rather rough hang over. After a bit of self-pitying he stows his belongings in the chest, save his rapier and the deck of playing cards from within his backpack. He stumbles up the stairs, and begins tying his hair up before tossing a quick glance back towards the town, and stops, letting his hair hang. He gazes out onto the open ocean for a minute, sighs, and goes below deck. He takes the cards out of their pack and begins shuffling them as he walks through the decks, on the look out for some slacking crewmen or fellow passenger willing to play a game.
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden
Snigbovlin snorts, "So says the man who can probably jump onto an upper bunk unaided, and who..." he pauses to dramatically size up Lattimer. "Muscles, but poise, and an infuriating serenity...more than meets the eye with this one...who...who...seems to be a mystery."
"But be that as it may, there is one thing I will say: there's always a 'better spot'. For me, it's near the ground and with easy access to my things and a door."
With that he dusts himself off, gathers his pack and bow, and heads off with Lattimer, walking briskly to keep up. When they reach the boat he introduces himself to the captain, and goes below decks to find a suitable bunk, leaving a sack with his bedroll, tinderbox, and torches tied to the bed. After settling in he goes in search of the captain and inquires if he has any maps of the new continent that he might examine during the journey. If so, he tries to commit them to memory or, if the captain permits (and will allow him access to tools), copy them.
On the morning of departure he too rises to watch the land seemingly drift away, his mind torn between what he has left behind and the excitement he feels about the future that awaits. He is surprised to find that it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he is equally suprised to hear Lattimer's voice again. He watches and listens as the burly man speaks, still trying to unravel the mystery, then looks back the port and begins speaking in distant tones.
"Fifteen years ago I sailed into that port, and I barely visited it since. Smelly place. A between place: Not interesting. I had a new job, new employer...it was a good time. Abruptly ended."
He turns and smiles at Lattimer, "No point in missing what I had, eh? Far better to dream of what's to come. I feel like a young man again! A new start: Always exciting!"
Lattimer returns Snigbovlin's smile. "Yeah, you and be both, pal. Guess we should savor this moment, when the New World's anything we could dream it to be. Things're bound to disappoint, I'd wager." He looks over at those gathered on deck, and spots Carric with the deck of cards. "Oi there! Sure, I'd be up for a game. I guess we got a few weeks of tedium to deal with before things get interesting, may as well start to pass the time."
Wyldfyre listens intently to the captain's instructions, and with a curtsey, follows the crewman below decks. Laying claim to a top bunk as far from the door as she can, she studies the lashed chests, curious as to their purpose. After a moment of puzzling it out nods, and somewhat reluctantly stows her gear. "First time in a long time I'll be sleeping without that in my arms," she thinks to herself. "But new times, new experiences, so maybe time to break with old habits." Not wanting to stray far from her belongings just yet, she settles into her bunk and before she realizes it, the swaying of the ship lulled her into the best night's sleep she has had in too long to remember.
In the morning, hearing the other stir, she lays still, barely cracking an eye to see what going on, barely controlling the panic raging through her mind. Then her thoughts coalesce and she remembers, she doesn't live on the street any longer, she has a direction, a purpose, a destiny to find. She checks for Sparky, and finds him curled up sleeping near the corner of her mattress. She smiles and lets him sleep and jumps down to the deck. Securing a dagger at the small of her back, she heads up on deck just in time to see organized chaos break loose. She finds a perch atop some of the secured cargo on deck to be out of the way.
Eavesdropping on the gnome and man she heard call himself Lattimer as she was leaving the harbormaster's office, she smiles to herself, saying out loud to no one in particular, "so I'm not the only one leaving bad memories behind." Her voice betrays her youth, but it has an odd undertone reminiscent of a forge bellows. "Good riddance to bad memories. Destiny lies before us, and it has to be better than what is back there."
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
Carric nods to the scarred human, and waves him over to a few barrels Carric had moved around to serve as a table and chairs. He shuffles his playing cards quietly using just his left hand, as he sticks out his right, "pleased to meet you, may I have your name??". He keeps his head facing down, never quite making eye contact, letting his long copper hair sweep and obscure much of his face. Whilst his voice sounds jovial and friendly enough, the monk can hear an underlying intensity behind the question. Carric seems to wait a moment in silence, with his hand out stretched and cards shuffling in the other.
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden
"Lattimer... the Penitent," he repies, the last bit rolling off the tongue rather awkwardly, suggesting he is still getting used to the phrase. Lattimer meets the handshake with a surprisingly gentle grip, for someone whose scars and well-toned body might suggest a rather rougher sort. "How bout you, eh?"
Carric's disposition seems to entirely change once he receives his answer, He shakes the man's hands vigorously, lifting his head for the first time and letting the human get a better look at his face. Carric has a wide and pleasant smile, and almost exaggerated elven features, with aggressive cheek bones and hard pointed features. "My name is Garric Galanodel, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He goes to shuffling the deck with both hands, bridging them repeatedly, with obviously practiced deftness. "So what's with the kenning?? The Penitent, I believe. Must be a story there" He deals a hand of three dragon ante, and once Lattimer grabs his cards he realizes they're slightly larger than usual. One of them also has a combination of intricate scrolling script and strange symbols covering most of the card, with only the number and symbol showing.
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden
"Funny cards," notes Lattimer. "I should say, this is gonna have to be a friendly game. I ain't got a silver to my name." He pats the back of his neck, where his numerical tattoo is partly visible. " Guess that's connected to the story. Used to run with some bad sorts. Did some things...well, things no one should be proud of. Did some time for it. Now, I gotta pay penance. That's what the Great Guru says, anyway. Get my soul right, balance all those bad deeds in the old world with good ones in the new."
"How bout you? Haven't seen cards like this afore, you some sorta magician?"
"I'm okay with a friendly game, for now. this evening I'll be trying to score every coin I can off the crew. as for being a magician... I'm of a sort I suppose... One part performer, one part magician, and one part warrior." He reveals his hand, and points to one of the marked cards "I am... or I guess I will be.. a Bladesinger, masters of combining the edge of a blade with the weave of magic. These cards contain my path to preparing my spells, had them custom made. Figured I'd get much more of a benefit out of carrying these around as opposed to a tiresome book." He taps the card a couple times, then wrangles them all back up and begins shuffling again. "All that talk of guru's and balancing the soul, I take it you walk the way of the monk?? it's an honorable path, bit too restrictive for my tastes"
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden
Wyldfyre maintains her perch, watching the ballet performed by the crew, listening to the commands called, learning as much as she can about the patterns and functions aboard the ship. At the same time, she is watching the captain and first mate for an opportunity to ask questions without distracting them from their routine. She intends to advise them of her abilities and ask how she could best be of service in case of trouble. About an hour before high sun, she will slip back to her bunk and retrieve Sparky and check on her belongings, then head to the galley once the noontime meal is announced to grab a bite to eat for herself and a nibble for Sparky since she missed breakfast.
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Bladesinger...sounds fancy. And a set of magic cards, how stylish! Just be careful lettin folks handle such precious writings. Unsavory types might be tempted to nick em from ya!" Lattimer says, with an air that speaks from personal experience. "Monk? Nah, I ain't some cloistered ascetic. Maybe...a seeker? Of the Way of the Mercuful Hand. I've lived most my life how I pleased, didn't turn out so well, for me or others. Could use with some real discipline now, methinks."
He then eyes the young girl muttering about destiny and bad memories. "Guess a lotta folks on this ship're eager to get away from it all."
Carric looks at the young woman, and noticing her attentiveness, turns so she can't get a good look at his face. "Well, here's to new beginnings, and out running our problems" Carric says with a genuine yet wistful smile, laying down his three cards. When Lattimer lays down a superior hand the Elf smacks his tongue into a click and begins shuffling, "I'm no good at cards unless there's something on the line, so how about a wager on the next?? winner can swap bunks, I'm not finding mine to my liking" the elf's emerald eyes seem to light up at the idea of a wager. ((ooc if you do i figured we could both roll some dice and whoever gets higher wins, maybe like 3d10??))
Torrin Delmirev - Into the Abyss
Krusk - Rime of the Frost Maiden