Bedrana is a small island (no more than 14 days travel from northern to southern tip) to the far south-west of the Sword Coast. Those on the Sword Coast name it the Isle of Bedrana. However, many who live there consider the name to be an intentionally diminutive title that embodies the Sword Coast’s scorn for those outside its cumulative influences.
Due to a particularly large and treacherous reef of shallow rocks that encircle the island called the Titan’s Crown, Bedrana is a relatively new discovery to the Sword Coast (making first contact a little less than 50 years ago). Before then maritime technology was not sufficiently advanced to reach the island. Those sloops shallow enough to skim above the reef would not survive the fierce storms and squalls of the open sea. While those cumbersome vessels hardy enough to do so would be dashed against the Titan’s Crown by deceitfully swirling winds. The advent of copper-bottomed hulls, allowing ships to cut through the water much faster as well as sit higher in the water, has opened up Bedrana to the rest of the world. As such there is a sharp focus in the island’s various halls of power in developing a navy capable of maintaining a regular income from this new world (be it through fair means or foul).
Having considered themselves the only peoples of the world within living memory there is a predictably prickly arrogance to the Bedranans. This often comes into conflict with the common view on the Sword Coast that the Isle is just another spit of dirt, far less significant than itself. There are even some Bedranans who continue to dismiss the existence of the Sword Coast, as one would the Snarks and Grungles of children’s fables.
There are many peoples of Bedrana. Many are similar to races of the Sword Coast, such as humans, dwarves or elves, while others differ. Halflings and Tieflings would be considered oddities on Bedrana while the violent, materialistic behaviour of Sword Coast Orcs would be similarly out of place. Each society has their own Gods, beliefs, power structures and laws which must be traversed with skill and tact if unintentional insult is to be avoided.
* * * * *
Our tale begins in the 4 Age of Bedranan history, commonly called The Age of Expansion. It has been named this following the rise of the great imperial powers which have struggled for dominion over the island for centuries. It is happenstance that this title suites well the recent expansion of the world as the Bedranans understand it.
The 3 Age, called The Age of Formation, ended 800 years earlier and saw the peoples of Bedrana begin to gather in larger numbers than ever before; forming the original network of independent city states which would later grow and vie for supremacy. This in turn follows the 2 Age, The Age of Extraction, which ended roughly 2000-4000 years ago and saw the fey creatures cede dominance of the material plain in favour of a staggered retreat to the Fey Wild. Finally, the 1 Age, called The Age of Deification, where Gods and Demons roamed the world constantly in love or at war with one another; forming its natural features, its creatures, and its magic before rising to the heavens. This was before the time of writing or history, and little is known about the true age of the world.
Campaign Diary – Session One
A wandering Penrose Fell’s carriage wheel became stuck in the mud caused by driving mid-winter rains. Without the strength or power to move it she resigned herself to abandoning the carriage that served as her only means of shelter as well as travel. A large figure was trudging up the road towards her, head bent, and cloak pulled tight about them against the driving rain. The figure shouted a greeting and offered to lift the carriage free in return for a space inside and travel to the nearest inn. A delighted, if sceptical, Penrose agreed and was astonished to see the figure take a firm grip of the axel and lift it, with a wet sucking noise, from the mud.
Her astonishment though was nothing compared to when the figure boarded the carriage and shook back her hood. Kimbatuul Akrah smiled, revealing a set of viciously sharpened teeth. Where Pen’s skin was fair and freckled; Akrah’s was scaled green with a rusty golden trim. Where Pen was slight and short; Akrah was heavily muscled and well over six foot. Where Pen’s hair was a deep nut brown and mid-length, Akrah was bald although a mixture of horns and a dark green frill gave the impression of hair until studied more closely. Akrah was Dragonborn and, of course, a stranger to Bedrana, from where Pen hailed, and they both sat silently dripping.
Pen took in Akrah’s wickedly barbed trident, muscular frame and heavily chain mailed vest. She might have screamed but when her eyes, which where the colour of molten gold, met the piercingly blue ones of the Dragonborn it died in her throat. There was intelligence and warmth there but also a wariness born of many introductions ending in fear or abuse. For the first time since Akrah had lowered her hood Pen understood her to be a person as opposed to a creature. A person who had the strength to rob her but had instead offered help. With this understanding the fear left Pen and she introduced herself. They chatted in a friendly if somewhat reserved manner as they continued down the road.
They reached a town a little down the road and Pen joined Akrah inside the inn for a drink. The inn was in such a state of uproar when they entered Akrah went unnoticed for almost a minute. At the bar was a hulking eight-foot, grey-skinned figure. His skin was patterned with what Pen assumed to be a dark red tattoo. Akrah knew better. She knew the figure to be a Goliath of The Sword Coast, her own homeland. She knew the pattern to be part of skin rather than an addition to it. He was a mountain man with giant blood and a drive to prove himself equal to her own. He was slightly stooped and emptying a keg of ale down his throat as the other revellers counted, boisterously banging one the tables with each number. Next to him was a human man similarly occupied with a pint of ale. As the count reached seven the Goliath, who would later identify himself as Vegatham Vuma-Tholake, slammed the upturned keg down on the floor with a cheer. The man lowered his still one quarter filled flagon, laughing with Vegatham and the spectators as another keg was brought forward and another challenger stepped up.
Recognising Akrah as a fellow inhabitant of the Sword Coast across the Salt Sea Vegatham came over. They spent some time in their cups and ultimately came to the decision to both travel with Pen to nowhere in particular, for the time being.
Pen was less merry, however. She noticed a face in the crowd. A face which she was certain she had seen in the previous town and the one before that. She explained to her new companions that she had not, as originally explained, won the carriage at the gaming table but rather stolen it from a player who refused to pay his due. They left that night and on entering a thicket of trees, jumped clear of the carriage. The carriage continued down the road northwards and after a spell the party heard several sets of hooves thunder past in pursuit. As their tail was headed north the party turned southward to seek provision in the nearest town. This is how the three adventurers came to wander into the port town of Galdir on a dry winter’s morning, in the fourth age of Bedranan history.
Unsurprisingly, they made for The Dropped Anchor Inn, seeking food and drink. The bartender, Timon, was originally fearful of the group and decried Akrah as demon. A few kind words and well-placed coins smoothed things over and soon Vegatham and she were breakfasting on smoked fish, brown bread, and black ale. Pen remained at the bar a while longer speaking with Timon. She learned of the King’s recent decree, called the Seaport Trading Charter, which had had a catastrophic effect on trade in the town. She asked about work, and he suggested Gul Karyk, the Portmaster, or the town officials at the PAO (Public Administration Offices) might be the best place to look.
After breakfast the trio set out for the docks in search of Gul Karyk. They passed a large wooden structure that was well cared for and included a vegetable garden. Had the map on the tavern wall not noted this place as the Protean Temple there were no outward signs that it was a place of worship. No tributes rested against statues, as there were none. Nor was incense burning, nor tableaux’s celebrating the great deeds of the deity. No bells rung or choirs sang. It was an odd sort of worship.
Continuing to the docks, the lack of wealth became increasingly apparent. Houses turned from stone and brick to boarded and rotting wood. Gangs of urchins roamed the streets, pestering travellers for a spare copper or two as their mothers sat huddled in doorways – too proud to join in but too desperate to stop them. The guards, adorned in black cloaks with the rampant golden lion of the Finhaldi Dominion emblazed on their chests, treated them with indifference for the most part but were not above a cruel word or sharp slap when the urchins came too close. For all the indignity of the guards the local sailors habitually gave the children a coin or morsel of food. They approached the mothers with small packages containing what they could spare and were thanked for their kindness.
On reaching the Portmaster’s Office, little more than a wooden hut with the word “Portmaster” shabbily painted on the lintel, those who could fit entered. Vegatham’s size forced him to remain outside. Gul Karyk held all the hallmarks of a man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His face was unshaven and sallow and his clothes, now several sizes too big, hung limply from his body. Had any of the party cared to look they would have noticed his belt had several newly pierced holes in order to maintain its functionality. He was brusque with the new arrivals. Bemoaning foreign traders taking what little wealth Galdir had left after the introduction of the Charter three months prior. Men he had known his whole life, who had lived off the sea for generations had had their ships and livelihoods taken by the Crown after failing to pay the new tax. They now served as indentured men aboard their own ships until the debt was settled and their families were forced to beg or rely on the kindness of those fortunate enough to keep their heads above the rising tide. He dismissed them to look for work at the PAO as they had taken it all anyway.
Feeling aggrieved they left but were followed by Gul’s long-suffering assistant, Tomas Fell – Fell being the name given to those in the Dominion without a known father. Tomas explained Gul was a good master and man. There was a ship at dock that was chained and under heavy guard called The Lion’s Roar. It had belonged, until yesterday, to his cousin. Unable to make payment the Blackcloaks had come in the night to size the ship and captain both. Gul had been up all night looking for discrepancies in taxation and loopholes in legislature but was unsuccessful. Feeling a mite more sympathy than before the trio headed up the hill to the PAO. Tomas’s explanation that Gul had been forced to do the same time and again for friends and colleagues over the last few months but had seldom little success at the forefront of their minds. The new King Anbarxis Tymbaroth, who had come into power five months or so earlier, had made it his first decree. He had also sent enough men to enforce the issue. Tomas felt at least fifty were housed at the barracks in the town.
As they climbed the prosperity of the people rose accordingly. Wool and cotton rags were replaced by outfits of silk and seal skin. Guards moved in pairs rather than groups of four or five and treated the people well, sharing a joke or greeting here and there as they passed. The houses returned to stone and well-trimmed shrubs hung from window baskets. At the summit of the hill stood a sturdy wooden fort flying the rampant lion flag of House Tymbaroth.
After a short exchange with some Blackcloaks outside the barracks the trio were pointed towards the law courts where their leader was to be found. The concept of a leader who was able to detriment their people was anathema to both Akrah and Vegatham. Akrah was granddaughter to the Clan Chief and knew that a Chief who hurt his people for his own profit would not be Chief long. Vegatham too failed to grasp why if the town’s governor, a word Penrose taught them, was incapable of leading he had not steeped aside for a more capable candidate. Neither understood the purpose of hoarding wealth or food to the detriment of others in the Clan or Tribe. Pen shrugged that The Crown must have its cut, sometimes it cut deep. A literal fellow who had always avoided the “smallfolk” (the name Goliaths gave to humans) Vegatham immediately begun to search for the Crown, only to have the idiom gently explained.
Another thing Akrah could not understand on reaching the bazaar was why skilled whittlers wasted time on making toys for children when houses by the docks where in need desperate need of repair. Nor could she grasp why silk was more expensive than wool when the latter served to keep one warm more effectively than the former. These were a strange people who valued strange things.
Vegatham overheard and followed a pair of locals who were heading for the court, hoping for arbitration on a land dispute. On reaching the court an obsequious scribe asked them if they had an appointment. Braver men than he had quailed before the snarl Akrah shot him and he scurried off to find the man.
A beast of a man in military garb appeared, food and drink staining his stretching surcoat. He called the trio to follow him through the court, past the holding cells and into his office. There was a small fortune in coins, silks, spices, and other treasures on display in the room as well as a mountain of food and drink. He walked to his desk with a strange shambling gait and eased himself into a chair. As he barked at a teary-eyed woman with a torn tunic to leave, he put his hands on the desk. They were mottled and swollen with gout and from his walk it was reasonable to assume that his feet were similarly afflicted. This was Lieutenant Vakhen, leader of the military presence in Galdir. He had arrived with news of the charter and a mandate to enforce it three months hence. Shortly after his arrival an announcement had been made that Governor Aramis had urgent business in Finhald and had left Vakhan his charge.
Enquiring about the ostentation of wealth around him while most people had so little Vakhan was indifferent. He was enforcing the law and seizing property to cover the debt of though unwilling to pay tax. It wasn’t his fault that not all the sailors had wives as accommodating as the woman who had just left. Finally, at a loss the trio enquired about work, bounties, and the like. Vakhan informed them that the Guard took care of that now however he was sure he and Pen or Akrah could come to arrangement for a couple of coins. This was another insinuation which was lost on Vegatham who began explaining his virtues as the owner of a large hammer, meaning the warhammer slung across his back, and asking for details of the job.
It was not lost on the prideful Akrah however and she made a lunge for the Lieutenant across the desk. Moving with surprising speed Vakhen brought a firm arm down upon Akrah’s hands that sought to lift him from his chair knocking them aside. He was suddenly on his feet, greatsword held extended in one hand. He held it steady and focused on Akrah saying that attacking an officer of the Crown carried the death penalty.
Pen forced herself between the two and, apologising profusely, ushered the other two out of the office and back into the street. As she did so Vakhan said she would have opportunity to smooth things over at The Dropped Anchor that night. To both Akrah and Pen Vakhan was now a man marked for death and Vegatham, once the comments had been explained to him and he understood he had offered himself as a whore, was similarly minded.
They continued to explore the town and settled upon visiting the Protean Temple. Here they encounter several Acolytes called Fra’s in the faith who were preparing to support the town’s poor. Fra Donyell was overseeing construction of makeshift cots for the homeless, seamstresses working on darning holes in warm winter clothing and others sorting small amounts of food into baskets to distribute among the poor. This was the first instance of Clan or Tribe behaviour that either Akrah or Vegatham could relate to. Vegatham spent time magically mending the clothes with the women and Akrah and Pen spent time distributing food to the poor.
They were welcomed by Fra Donyell, a pimpled eighteen-year-old with a shaven head and simple brown tunic he explained. His only ornament the symbol of his lord Proteas, which was a modest metal necklace depicting a blindfolded child covering his ears. Despite his youth he was perhaps the first being on Bedrana not blink at the unusual appearance of the party. All were welcome in the temple, and he treated the trio no different than he would the most beautiful woman or richest king, with courtesy, respect, and kindness. He explained his low opinion of Vakhan, his belief that church and state should be separate entities and offered friendly warning not to mention the Governor’s sudden disappearance in earshot of the Blackcloaks. He was grateful for their help in the charitable work of the temple and assured the trio they would always be welcome there. As they worked, he told them about his god and customs.
Proteus the founding god of Galdir known for providing great bounty and fertile land. He was born blind and deaf and exposed on a nearby mountain as was the custom in ancient times. However, the barren and rocky mountain bloomed with a rich bounty of crops and fruit trees which Proteus ate and survived. Nine years later he was discovered as a child and returned to Galdir which became a thriving port. During this time, he healed the sick, ended famines and was able to turn back a five-thousand-man strong attack on the town by simply raising his hands. His enemies withered before him, their vitality drained into the ground and in their stead rose five thousand trees which would become the Forrest of Broken Spears. Then came the great cataclysm, the sea boiled, the land shook and the mountains belched fire. Proteus spoke with the mountains and lay on the land calling to the spirits within. Then he simply walked into the sea at the sight of the temple in silence. The mountains’ fire cooled, and the scorched earth became more fertile than any other known to man. The land became still and strong, allow the great cities of the age to be built from its yield and supported on its back. The boiling sea ebbed backwards and calmed, revealing a great bounty of pearls, gems and fish as the tide went out. Proteus did not re-emerge from the sea and is believed to have merged with the spirits who live there and rules the seas as their king. He still cares deeply for the men of the land and senses the suffering or praise of his worshipers through the ripples made by swimmers or ships on the water.
Fra Donyell also explained the death ceremony known as the Final Voyage. A person would be cremated and their bones and teeth ground into dust. The ashes would then be placed in a small pot along with the ashes of those he loved in life. These pots would be placed in a small ornate model boat complete with miniature weaponry and their names embossed upon it. Additionally on the Vessel of Final Voyage are Shabhti’s, small figures of warriors or servants to protect\work for the family after death. Some are humanoid carrying weapons, nets or tools and others are beasts such as armoured crabs. When this is complete the boat will be set to sea in deep waters and total silence (as Proteus entered the sea) with 2 lit candles atop to signify the souls of the 2 occupants. This is their eternal resting place therefore it is the greatest sacrilege to destroy one. The repossession of these Vessels for their monetary value disturbs him more than anything as it robs a person not just of their life but also of their death.
As they left Fra Donyell, his fellow worshipers, and the temple they debated their next actions. Akrah wanted blood and Pen was willing to see the same. Vegatham counselled cautioned, however. This was a man who had been empowered by the chief of the humans and commanded a significant body of soldiers; they couldn’t simply cut him down in the street for a slight on their honour and expect to live. As they settled on a plan to carry out surveillance on The Dropped Anchor Inn and potentially stage a “mugging gone wrong” on a drunken Vakhan as he left, they were approached by Gul Karyk.
He apologised for his poor treatment of the trio earlier, again explaining the situation with his cousin and impact on his comrades the Charter had had. None-the-less Mama Karyk had raised her boy to be hospitable, a mark he had fallen far short of. Tomas, who had also felt the unjust lash of his tongue that day, was accompanying Gul for a drink and some food. Gul would of course be paying by way of an apology and invited the party to join him for the same. They refused, having settled on their plan, but suggested they may drop by later – after their business was concluded. They bid him farewell and parted ways.
They tried to surreptitiously conceal themselves in the shadows down the side of the Inn and keep watch for Vakhan. A mixture of Akrah and Vegatham’s chain mail shirts jangling as they walked and Pen kicking an unseen bucket against a wall made this less than successful. None-the-less they settled in for about an hour, drawing an occasional confused look through the window and noticing Gul had reserved three seats at his table as he waited.
They eventually saw Vakhan enter with two men, displace a group of men near the bar and set about drinking. It was clear they had been in their cups before arrival and were in high spirits. Gul moved as far from Vakhan as possible and gestured to Tomas to help him with the chairs. Thinking to wait until Vakhan had to relieve himself they noticed with disappointment maids emptying chamber pots that were table side. Vegatham thought back with horror to the bucket he had been served ale in that morning and prayed it had never been used for such purposes.
Growing cold and tired and equally as capable of spying on Vakhan from inside the inn as out, they entered and joined an intoxicated Gul at his table. He greeted them warmly and insisted on buying a drink for each. They spoke with Tomas and their friends, mainly about the Sword Coast and Akrah and Vegatham’s peoples and were having a merry evening until suddenly it all changed.
Gul was a popular man and often got up to check in on sailors or their families as they entered and left. He seemed an unofficial leader of the community and this confirmed the view already growing in the party’s minds that he was true to his word regarding his treatment of them being out of character. A shriek went up from Vakhan’s table and heads turned to see a barmaid sat in his lap, trying to stand. Most returned to their business, intentially averting their eyes, but an infuriated Gul strode over and threw his drink in Vakhan’s face. The lieutenant and his men sprung to their feet. Vakhan lifted Gul from the ground and then many things happened all at once.
The first was Akrah springing from her seat and hurling a hand axe at Vakhan. Intentionally or otherwise, it sailed wide of Vakhan’s head and embedded deadly into the wooden beam behind him. As she began to shout a warning Gul put his full force into a punch, catching Vakhan squarely on the chin. Akrah readied another axe and seeing this Vakhan drew his short sword and drove it deep into the belly of Gul Karyk. From their vantage point the trio could easily see a sickening bulge in the back of Gul’s cloak as the blade forced its way through his body. Stunned and with his mouth filling with blood Gul summoned the last of his strength to spit disdainfully into the Lieutenant’s face. As Vakhan threw the limp Gul to the floor the inn erupted into a cacophony of noise. Some made for the exits while others merely pushed themselves to the walls, but all stood clear of the electrical force of hatred between Akrah and Vakhan. The die was cast and only blood would see either party satisfied now.
As Akrah and Vakhan closed and began trading blows Penrose, out from behind the table and on her feet pushed her palm towards the officer. A black and purple swirling magic began to curl down her arm towards her open palm, forming writhing tendrils of crackling energy. With an almost imperceptible movement the tendrils blast forth, striking Vakhan in the chest.
As she prepared another Vegatham burst into action. He covered the ground between he and Gul quickly, dodging an attack from one of the sergeants who had been drinking with Vakhan as he ran. He kicked over a table to shield Gul from the fight and with his hand firmly against his great Warhammer he placed the other, with a gentleness belying his size, onto Gul’s chest. Immediately the stomach wound began to knit together until an unconscious but very much alive Gul Karyk lay before him.
The sergeant who took a swipe a Vegathum turned his attention to Akrah but she was far too fast for him. Almost lazily and without taking her gaze from Vakhan she parried the blow with her trident using such force his longsword skittered across the floor. As a second magical blast cannoned into Vakhan and the sergeant scrambled for his sword, he attacked. Vakhan’s first blow was caught by Akrah on her shield but the second cut deeply into her gut. She roared and drove her trident into the chest of the lieutenant, lifting him from the floor and driving him back several places before kicking him free of the weapon.
From the floor where he was shielding the unconscious Gul Vegatham extended one hand towards the sergeants and the other towards Akrah. The first hand emanated a black mist which seemed to envelop the men, who looked to be struggling to hold in the contents of their stomachs. The second cast a stream of golden light which flew straight at Akrah’s wound, knitting it together in the same way that Gul had been healed.
A third tendril of dark magical energy flew from Pen’s hand leaving a burning hole in the chest of Vakhan. He looked down dumbly and laughed before briefly meeting Pen’s eye. She held his gaze saying he shouldn’t have underestimated her. It was the last sight he saw before keeling over, dead.
Spinning, Akrah drove her trident into the sergeant who had tried to attack her from behind. As she withdrew the weapon, yet another blast struck the sergeant in the face, leaving a gaping hole from which viscera and grey matter spilled onto the floor.
Sensing defeat, the final sergeant span to flee, swinging wildly at Vegathum who dodged easily as the blade bit into the table. He swung his hammer high and brought it down with a sickening crack onto the head of the man. He staggered away towards the door and the prospect of reinforcement. Pen fired another blast at the man, killing him instantly and knocking him out of the path of the spinning hand axe that Akrah had sent thundering towards him.
Silence fell in the inn, those that remained looking at the trio in a mixture of fear and respect. In the silence Vegatham roared of victory and of freeing the townspeople from the yoke of those that oppressed them. Cheers erupted from all but Timon, the barkeep. He desperately ushered them away, fearful of further damage and recrimination from the Blackcloaks.
Scooping the now barely conscious Gul from the floor Vegatham made for the door, followed by Pen and Akrah, who dislodged her axes from their various marks as she went and finally a hurrying Tomas. They emerged into the chill winter air and wide-eyed headed to the Protean Temple. They would be testing the hospitality of Fra Donyell far sooner than expected.
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Pre-Session One
Bedrana is a small island (no more than 14 days travel from northern to southern tip) to the far south-west of the Sword Coast. Those on the Sword Coast name it the Isle of Bedrana. However, many who live there consider the name to be an intentionally diminutive title that embodies the Sword Coast’s scorn for those outside its cumulative influences.
Due to a particularly large and treacherous reef of shallow rocks that encircle the island called the Titan’s Crown, Bedrana is a relatively new discovery to the Sword Coast (making first contact a little less than 50 years ago). Before then maritime technology was not sufficiently advanced to reach the island. Those sloops shallow enough to skim above the reef would not survive the fierce storms and squalls of the open sea. While those cumbersome vessels hardy enough to do so would be dashed against the Titan’s Crown by deceitfully swirling winds. The advent of copper-bottomed hulls, allowing ships to cut through the water much faster as well as sit higher in the water, has opened up Bedrana to the rest of the world. As such there is a sharp focus in the island’s various halls of power in developing a navy capable of maintaining a regular income from this new world (be it through fair means or foul).
Having considered themselves the only peoples of the world within living memory there is a predictably prickly arrogance to the Bedranans. This often comes into conflict with the common view on the Sword Coast that the Isle is just another spit of dirt, far less significant than itself. There are even some Bedranans who continue to dismiss the existence of the Sword Coast, as one would the Snarks and Grungles of children’s fables.
There are many peoples of Bedrana. Many are similar to races of the Sword Coast, such as humans, dwarves or elves, while others differ. Halflings and Tieflings would be considered oddities on Bedrana while the violent, materialistic behaviour of Sword Coast Orcs would be similarly out of place. Each society has their own Gods, beliefs, power structures and laws which must be traversed with skill and tact if unintentional insult is to be avoided.
* * * * *
Our tale begins in the 4 Age of Bedranan history, commonly called The Age of Expansion. It has been named this following the rise of the great imperial powers which have struggled for dominion over the island for centuries. It is happenstance that this title suites well the recent expansion of the world as the Bedranans understand it.
The 3 Age, called The Age of Formation, ended 800 years earlier and saw the peoples of Bedrana begin to gather in larger numbers than ever before; forming the original network of independent city states which would later grow and vie for supremacy. This in turn follows the 2 Age, The Age of Extraction, which ended roughly 2000-4000 years ago and saw the fey creatures cede dominance of the material plain in favour of a staggered retreat to the Fey Wild. Finally, the 1 Age, called The Age of Deification, where Gods and Demons roamed the world constantly in love or at war with one another; forming its natural features, its creatures, and its magic before rising to the heavens. This was before the time of writing or history, and little is known about the true age of the world.
Campaign Diary – Session One
A wandering Penrose Fell’s carriage wheel became stuck in the mud caused by driving mid-winter rains. Without the strength or power to move it she resigned herself to abandoning the carriage that served as her only means of shelter as well as travel. A large figure was trudging up the road towards her, head bent, and cloak pulled tight about them against the driving rain. The figure shouted a greeting and offered to lift the carriage free in return for a space inside and travel to the nearest inn. A delighted, if sceptical, Penrose agreed and was astonished to see the figure take a firm grip of the axel and lift it, with a wet sucking noise, from the mud.
Her astonishment though was nothing compared to when the figure boarded the carriage and shook back her hood. Kimbatuul Akrah smiled, revealing a set of viciously sharpened teeth. Where Pen’s skin was fair and freckled; Akrah’s was scaled green with a rusty golden trim. Where Pen was slight and short; Akrah was heavily muscled and well over six foot. Where Pen’s hair was a deep nut brown and mid-length, Akrah was bald although a mixture of horns and a dark green frill gave the impression of hair until studied more closely. Akrah was Dragonborn and, of course, a stranger to Bedrana, from where Pen hailed, and they both sat silently dripping.
Pen took in Akrah’s wickedly barbed trident, muscular frame and heavily chain mailed vest. She might have screamed but when her eyes, which where the colour of molten gold, met the piercingly blue ones of the Dragonborn it died in her throat. There was intelligence and warmth there but also a wariness born of many introductions ending in fear or abuse. For the first time since Akrah had lowered her hood Pen understood her to be a person as opposed to a creature. A person who had the strength to rob her but had instead offered help. With this understanding the fear left Pen and she introduced herself. They chatted in a friendly if somewhat reserved manner as they continued down the road.
They reached a town a little down the road and Pen joined Akrah inside the inn for a drink. The inn was in such a state of uproar when they entered Akrah went unnoticed for almost a minute. At the bar was a hulking eight-foot, grey-skinned figure. His skin was patterned with what Pen assumed to be a dark red tattoo. Akrah knew better. She knew the figure to be a Goliath of The Sword Coast, her own homeland. She knew the pattern to be part of skin rather than an addition to it. He was a mountain man with giant blood and a drive to prove himself equal to her own. He was slightly stooped and emptying a keg of ale down his throat as the other revellers counted, boisterously banging one the tables with each number. Next to him was a human man similarly occupied with a pint of ale. As the count reached seven the Goliath, who would later identify himself as Vegatham Vuma-Tholake, slammed the upturned keg down on the floor with a cheer. The man lowered his still one quarter filled flagon, laughing with Vegatham and the spectators as another keg was brought forward and another challenger stepped up.
Recognising Akrah as a fellow inhabitant of the Sword Coast across the Salt Sea Vegatham came over. They spent some time in their cups and ultimately came to the decision to both travel with Pen to nowhere in particular, for the time being.
Pen was less merry, however. She noticed a face in the crowd. A face which she was certain she had seen in the previous town and the one before that. She explained to her new companions that she had not, as originally explained, won the carriage at the gaming table but rather stolen it from a player who refused to pay his due. They left that night and on entering a thicket of trees, jumped clear of the carriage. The carriage continued down the road northwards and after a spell the party heard several sets of hooves thunder past in pursuit. As their tail was headed north the party turned southward to seek provision in the nearest town. This is how the three adventurers came to wander into the port town of Galdir on a dry winter’s morning, in the fourth age of Bedranan history.
Unsurprisingly, they made for The Dropped Anchor Inn, seeking food and drink. The bartender, Timon, was originally fearful of the group and decried Akrah as demon. A few kind words and well-placed coins smoothed things over and soon Vegatham and she were breakfasting on smoked fish, brown bread, and black ale. Pen remained at the bar a while longer speaking with Timon. She learned of the King’s recent decree, called the Seaport Trading Charter, which had had a catastrophic effect on trade in the town. She asked about work, and he suggested Gul Karyk, the Portmaster, or the town officials at the PAO (Public Administration Offices) might be the best place to look.
After breakfast the trio set out for the docks in search of Gul Karyk. They passed a large wooden structure that was well cared for and included a vegetable garden. Had the map on the tavern wall not noted this place as the Protean Temple there were no outward signs that it was a place of worship. No tributes rested against statues, as there were none. Nor was incense burning, nor tableaux’s celebrating the great deeds of the deity. No bells rung or choirs sang. It was an odd sort of worship.
Continuing to the docks, the lack of wealth became increasingly apparent. Houses turned from stone and brick to boarded and rotting wood. Gangs of urchins roamed the streets, pestering travellers for a spare copper or two as their mothers sat huddled in doorways – too proud to join in but too desperate to stop them. The guards, adorned in black cloaks with the rampant golden lion of the Finhaldi Dominion emblazed on their chests, treated them with indifference for the most part but were not above a cruel word or sharp slap when the urchins came too close. For all the indignity of the guards the local sailors habitually gave the children a coin or morsel of food. They approached the mothers with small packages containing what they could spare and were thanked for their kindness.
On reaching the Portmaster’s Office, little more than a wooden hut with the word “Portmaster” shabbily painted on the lintel, those who could fit entered. Vegatham’s size forced him to remain outside. Gul Karyk held all the hallmarks of a man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His face was unshaven and sallow and his clothes, now several sizes too big, hung limply from his body. Had any of the party cared to look they would have noticed his belt had several newly pierced holes in order to maintain its functionality. He was brusque with the new arrivals. Bemoaning foreign traders taking what little wealth Galdir had left after the introduction of the Charter three months prior. Men he had known his whole life, who had lived off the sea for generations had had their ships and livelihoods taken by the Crown after failing to pay the new tax. They now served as indentured men aboard their own ships until the debt was settled and their families were forced to beg or rely on the kindness of those fortunate enough to keep their heads above the rising tide. He dismissed them to look for work at the PAO as they had taken it all anyway.
Feeling aggrieved they left but were followed by Gul’s long-suffering assistant, Tomas Fell – Fell being the name given to those in the Dominion without a known father. Tomas explained Gul was a good master and man. There was a ship at dock that was chained and under heavy guard called The Lion’s Roar. It had belonged, until yesterday, to his cousin. Unable to make payment the Blackcloaks had come in the night to size the ship and captain both. Gul had been up all night looking for discrepancies in taxation and loopholes in legislature but was unsuccessful. Feeling a mite more sympathy than before the trio headed up the hill to the PAO. Tomas’s explanation that Gul had been forced to do the same time and again for friends and colleagues over the last few months but had seldom little success at the forefront of their minds. The new King Anbarxis Tymbaroth, who had come into power five months or so earlier, had made it his first decree. He had also sent enough men to enforce the issue. Tomas felt at least fifty were housed at the barracks in the town.
As they climbed the prosperity of the people rose accordingly. Wool and cotton rags were replaced by outfits of silk and seal skin. Guards moved in pairs rather than groups of four or five and treated the people well, sharing a joke or greeting here and there as they passed. The houses returned to stone and well-trimmed shrubs hung from window baskets. At the summit of the hill stood a sturdy wooden fort flying the rampant lion flag of House Tymbaroth.
After a short exchange with some Blackcloaks outside the barracks the trio were pointed towards the law courts where their leader was to be found. The concept of a leader who was able to detriment their people was anathema to both Akrah and Vegatham. Akrah was granddaughter to the Clan Chief and knew that a Chief who hurt his people for his own profit would not be Chief long. Vegatham too failed to grasp why if the town’s governor, a word Penrose taught them, was incapable of leading he had not steeped aside for a more capable candidate. Neither understood the purpose of hoarding wealth or food to the detriment of others in the Clan or Tribe. Pen shrugged that The Crown must have its cut, sometimes it cut deep. A literal fellow who had always avoided the “smallfolk” (the name Goliaths gave to humans) Vegatham immediately begun to search for the Crown, only to have the idiom gently explained.
Another thing Akrah could not understand on reaching the bazaar was why skilled whittlers wasted time on making toys for children when houses by the docks where in need desperate need of repair. Nor could she grasp why silk was more expensive than wool when the latter served to keep one warm more effectively than the former. These were a strange people who valued strange things.
Vegatham overheard and followed a pair of locals who were heading for the court, hoping for arbitration on a land dispute. On reaching the court an obsequious scribe asked them if they had an appointment. Braver men than he had quailed before the snarl Akrah shot him and he scurried off to find the man.
A beast of a man in military garb appeared, food and drink staining his stretching surcoat. He called the trio to follow him through the court, past the holding cells and into his office. There was a small fortune in coins, silks, spices, and other treasures on display in the room as well as a mountain of food and drink. He walked to his desk with a strange shambling gait and eased himself into a chair. As he barked at a teary-eyed woman with a torn tunic to leave, he put his hands on the desk. They were mottled and swollen with gout and from his walk it was reasonable to assume that his feet were similarly afflicted. This was Lieutenant Vakhen, leader of the military presence in Galdir. He had arrived with news of the charter and a mandate to enforce it three months hence. Shortly after his arrival an announcement had been made that Governor Aramis had urgent business in Finhald and had left Vakhan his charge.
Enquiring about the ostentation of wealth around him while most people had so little Vakhan was indifferent. He was enforcing the law and seizing property to cover the debt of though unwilling to pay tax. It wasn’t his fault that not all the sailors had wives as accommodating as the woman who had just left. Finally, at a loss the trio enquired about work, bounties, and the like. Vakhan informed them that the Guard took care of that now however he was sure he and Pen or Akrah could come to arrangement for a couple of coins. This was another insinuation which was lost on Vegatham who began explaining his virtues as the owner of a large hammer, meaning the warhammer slung across his back, and asking for details of the job.
It was not lost on the prideful Akrah however and she made a lunge for the Lieutenant across the desk. Moving with surprising speed Vakhen brought a firm arm down upon Akrah’s hands that sought to lift him from his chair knocking them aside. He was suddenly on his feet, greatsword held extended in one hand. He held it steady and focused on Akrah saying that attacking an officer of the Crown carried the death penalty.
Pen forced herself between the two and, apologising profusely, ushered the other two out of the office and back into the street. As she did so Vakhan said she would have opportunity to smooth things over at The Dropped Anchor that night. To both Akrah and Pen Vakhan was now a man marked for death and Vegatham, once the comments had been explained to him and he understood he had offered himself as a whore, was similarly minded.
They continued to explore the town and settled upon visiting the Protean Temple. Here they encounter several Acolytes called Fra’s in the faith who were preparing to support the town’s poor. Fra Donyell was overseeing construction of makeshift cots for the homeless, seamstresses working on darning holes in warm winter clothing and others sorting small amounts of food into baskets to distribute among the poor. This was the first instance of Clan or Tribe behaviour that either Akrah or Vegatham could relate to. Vegatham spent time magically mending the clothes with the women and Akrah and Pen spent time distributing food to the poor.
They were welcomed by Fra Donyell, a pimpled eighteen-year-old with a shaven head and simple brown tunic he explained. His only ornament the symbol of his lord Proteas, which was a modest metal necklace depicting a blindfolded child covering his ears. Despite his youth he was perhaps the first being on Bedrana not blink at the unusual appearance of the party. All were welcome in the temple, and he treated the trio no different than he would the most beautiful woman or richest king, with courtesy, respect, and kindness. He explained his low opinion of Vakhan, his belief that church and state should be separate entities and offered friendly warning not to mention the Governor’s sudden disappearance in earshot of the Blackcloaks. He was grateful for their help in the charitable work of the temple and assured the trio they would always be welcome there. As they worked, he told them about his god and customs.
Proteus the founding god of Galdir known for providing great bounty and fertile land. He was born blind and deaf and exposed on a nearby mountain as was the custom in ancient times. However, the barren and rocky mountain bloomed with a rich bounty of crops and fruit trees which Proteus ate and survived. Nine years later he was discovered as a child and returned to Galdir which became a thriving port. During this time, he healed the sick, ended famines and was able to turn back a five-thousand-man strong attack on the town by simply raising his hands. His enemies withered before him, their vitality drained into the ground and in their stead rose five thousand trees which would become the Forrest of Broken Spears. Then came the great cataclysm, the sea boiled, the land shook and the mountains belched fire. Proteus spoke with the mountains and lay on the land calling to the spirits within. Then he simply walked into the sea at the sight of the temple in silence. The mountains’ fire cooled, and the scorched earth became more fertile than any other known to man. The land became still and strong, allow the great cities of the age to be built from its yield and supported on its back. The boiling sea ebbed backwards and calmed, revealing a great bounty of pearls, gems and fish as the tide went out. Proteus did not re-emerge from the sea and is believed to have merged with the spirits who live there and rules the seas as their king. He still cares deeply for the men of the land and senses the suffering or praise of his worshipers through the ripples made by swimmers or ships on the water.
Fra Donyell also explained the death ceremony known as the Final Voyage. A person would be cremated and their bones and teeth ground into dust. The ashes would then be placed in a small pot along with the ashes of those he loved in life. These pots would be placed in a small ornate model boat complete with miniature weaponry and their names embossed upon it. Additionally on the Vessel of Final Voyage are Shabhti’s, small figures of warriors or servants to protect\work for the family after death. Some are humanoid carrying weapons, nets or tools and others are beasts such as armoured crabs. When this is complete the boat will be set to sea in deep waters and total silence (as Proteus entered the sea) with 2 lit candles atop to signify the souls of the 2 occupants. This is their eternal resting place therefore it is the greatest sacrilege to destroy one. The repossession of these Vessels for their monetary value disturbs him more than anything as it robs a person not just of their life but also of their death.
As they left Fra Donyell, his fellow worshipers, and the temple they debated their next actions. Akrah wanted blood and Pen was willing to see the same. Vegatham counselled cautioned, however. This was a man who had been empowered by the chief of the humans and commanded a significant body of soldiers; they couldn’t simply cut him down in the street for a slight on their honour and expect to live. As they settled on a plan to carry out surveillance on The Dropped Anchor Inn and potentially stage a “mugging gone wrong” on a drunken Vakhan as he left, they were approached by Gul Karyk.
He apologised for his poor treatment of the trio earlier, again explaining the situation with his cousin and impact on his comrades the Charter had had. None-the-less Mama Karyk had raised her boy to be hospitable, a mark he had fallen far short of. Tomas, who had also felt the unjust lash of his tongue that day, was accompanying Gul for a drink and some food. Gul would of course be paying by way of an apology and invited the party to join him for the same. They refused, having settled on their plan, but suggested they may drop by later – after their business was concluded. They bid him farewell and parted ways.
They tried to surreptitiously conceal themselves in the shadows down the side of the Inn and keep watch for Vakhan. A mixture of Akrah and Vegatham’s chain mail shirts jangling as they walked and Pen kicking an unseen bucket against a wall made this less than successful. None-the-less they settled in for about an hour, drawing an occasional confused look through the window and noticing Gul had reserved three seats at his table as he waited.
They eventually saw Vakhan enter with two men, displace a group of men near the bar and set about drinking. It was clear they had been in their cups before arrival and were in high spirits. Gul moved as far from Vakhan as possible and gestured to Tomas to help him with the chairs. Thinking to wait until Vakhan had to relieve himself they noticed with disappointment maids emptying chamber pots that were table side. Vegatham thought back with horror to the bucket he had been served ale in that morning and prayed it had never been used for such purposes.
Growing cold and tired and equally as capable of spying on Vakhan from inside the inn as out, they entered and joined an intoxicated Gul at his table. He greeted them warmly and insisted on buying a drink for each. They spoke with Tomas and their friends, mainly about the Sword Coast and Akrah and Vegatham’s peoples and were having a merry evening until suddenly it all changed.
Gul was a popular man and often got up to check in on sailors or their families as they entered and left. He seemed an unofficial leader of the community and this confirmed the view already growing in the party’s minds that he was true to his word regarding his treatment of them being out of character. A shriek went up from Vakhan’s table and heads turned to see a barmaid sat in his lap, trying to stand. Most returned to their business, intentially averting their eyes, but an infuriated Gul strode over and threw his drink in Vakhan’s face. The lieutenant and his men sprung to their feet. Vakhan lifted Gul from the ground and then many things happened all at once.
The first was Akrah springing from her seat and hurling a hand axe at Vakhan. Intentionally or otherwise, it sailed wide of Vakhan’s head and embedded deadly into the wooden beam behind him. As she began to shout a warning Gul put his full force into a punch, catching Vakhan squarely on the chin. Akrah readied another axe and seeing this Vakhan drew his short sword and drove it deep into the belly of Gul Karyk. From their vantage point the trio could easily see a sickening bulge in the back of Gul’s cloak as the blade forced its way through his body. Stunned and with his mouth filling with blood Gul summoned the last of his strength to spit disdainfully into the Lieutenant’s face. As Vakhan threw the limp Gul to the floor the inn erupted into a cacophony of noise. Some made for the exits while others merely pushed themselves to the walls, but all stood clear of the electrical force of hatred between Akrah and Vakhan. The die was cast and only blood would see either party satisfied now.
As Akrah and Vakhan closed and began trading blows Penrose, out from behind the table and on her feet pushed her palm towards the officer. A black and purple swirling magic began to curl down her arm towards her open palm, forming writhing tendrils of crackling energy. With an almost imperceptible movement the tendrils blast forth, striking Vakhan in the chest.
As she prepared another Vegatham burst into action. He covered the ground between he and Gul quickly, dodging an attack from one of the sergeants who had been drinking with Vakhan as he ran. He kicked over a table to shield Gul from the fight and with his hand firmly against his great Warhammer he placed the other, with a gentleness belying his size, onto Gul’s chest. Immediately the stomach wound began to knit together until an unconscious but very much alive Gul Karyk lay before him.
The sergeant who took a swipe a Vegathum turned his attention to Akrah but she was far too fast for him. Almost lazily and without taking her gaze from Vakhan she parried the blow with her trident using such force his longsword skittered across the floor. As a second magical blast cannoned into Vakhan and the sergeant scrambled for his sword, he attacked. Vakhan’s first blow was caught by Akrah on her shield but the second cut deeply into her gut. She roared and drove her trident into the chest of the lieutenant, lifting him from the floor and driving him back several places before kicking him free of the weapon.
From the floor where he was shielding the unconscious Gul Vegatham extended one hand towards the sergeants and the other towards Akrah. The first hand emanated a black mist which seemed to envelop the men, who looked to be struggling to hold in the contents of their stomachs. The second cast a stream of golden light which flew straight at Akrah’s wound, knitting it together in the same way that Gul had been healed.
A third tendril of dark magical energy flew from Pen’s hand leaving a burning hole in the chest of Vakhan. He looked down dumbly and laughed before briefly meeting Pen’s eye. She held his gaze saying he shouldn’t have underestimated her. It was the last sight he saw before keeling over, dead.
Spinning, Akrah drove her trident into the sergeant who had tried to attack her from behind. As she withdrew the weapon, yet another blast struck the sergeant in the face, leaving a gaping hole from which viscera and grey matter spilled onto the floor.
Sensing defeat, the final sergeant span to flee, swinging wildly at Vegathum who dodged easily as the blade bit into the table. He swung his hammer high and brought it down with a sickening crack onto the head of the man. He staggered away towards the door and the prospect of reinforcement. Pen fired another blast at the man, killing him instantly and knocking him out of the path of the spinning hand axe that Akrah had sent thundering towards him.
Silence fell in the inn, those that remained looking at the trio in a mixture of fear and respect. In the silence Vegatham roared of victory and of freeing the townspeople from the yoke of those that oppressed them. Cheers erupted from all but Timon, the barkeep. He desperately ushered them away, fearful of further damage and recrimination from the Blackcloaks.
Scooping the now barely conscious Gul from the floor Vegatham made for the door, followed by Pen and Akrah, who dislodged her axes from their various marks as she went and finally a hurrying Tomas. They emerged into the chill winter air and wide-eyed headed to the Protean Temple. They would be testing the hospitality of Fra Donyell far sooner than expected.