Thatch boards the Linden with all of the glee and excitement of one who has never sailed before. He wears a wide grin and he leans over the railing to let the salt spray hit his face and the sea breeze tousle his straw colored hair. He talks with the sailors to see what he can do to help, but is careful to stay out of the way while they are on duty. While they are off duty, he is eager to hear stories of the sea and the ports ahead. The novelty of sailing soon wears off and he huddles under the canvas awning with his companions, trying to stay warm and dry and asking Cainneach and Famh again about the land ahead. “At Port Clyster, I heard that the winter up north is one of the hardest in recent memory. Katorheim is said to be near buried in snow. Is that near where we are traveling?”
"Katorheim is across the Cape from Beltayn, to the northeast. See, here."Cainneach takes out the map he'd been gifted by the cartographer at Aldred's castle and spreads it out on the floor, trying to be careful and avoid getting it wet. "I don't know much of Katorheim at all, it was practically a myth in my mind when I was a wee lad. I lived here."Cainneach points out to Thatch and Famh a location in the Pagan Mountains to the southwest of Beltayn. "I've heard more stories of Beltayn, but I never personally visited the place. Members of my clan would sometimes make the journey, that was always a big occasion. I was a few years too young for the trip, but I always wanted to have the chance to visit the big city. Now I suppose my day has finally come, assuming we aren't drowned or frozen first. You'd think a youth spent up in the snowy mountains would have me well prepared for this bloody constant mist, but I have to confess, I'll be happy to get off this boat and away from the sea. And so would Salt." The hound whimpers in agreement, laying on top of Cainneach's feet. Cainneach then quickly brushes some splashes of water off the map and rolls it up. "As for why a fancy lord would want to winter this far north, I've no idea. He must be a proper hard man to choose such a thing willingly, so I guess that would make him a good ally for the baron. Have either of you heard much about him? I should ask the crew, I suppose, but I've been so preoccupied with trying to be useful and keeping myself and Salt from getting sick it's hardly crossed my mind. And how are you two holding up with all this?"
After their conversation, Cainneach will try to be mindful about inquiring with the crew about their current progress and what awaits them on the remainder of their journey north. It's a long way from Clyster to Beltayn ...
CHA check1 (since I love rolling and am a glutton for punishment. With a +0 CHA, it's probably a coin flip as to how well Cainneach gets along with the crew anyway.)
Ori was bright eyed and bushy tailed as he boarded the Linden, excited to see life on the sea. Cold or not Ori was going to see it all from the deck of the ship and do what he coukd to assist while up there, or that was his plan. Turns out Ori's tree trunk legs weren't made for the swaying of the sea, constantly off balance with any activity on the water. His stomach didn't fair any better. Most of his time was spent sitting next to the rails with his bucket. He started by hanging his head over the side but has found a stride with a bucket and throw over the side method. The jovial big man was reduced to a green faced lump stuck on a box on the deck. He's been stuck there so long the crew just works around him. He must be quite a sight, reduced to this.
As the companions settle in for the first phase of this voyage, Famh is increasingly seen with a strangely mixed expression of delight and disgust plastered across her features. Well, perhaps disgust is too strong a word, but there is certainly a slowly rising discomfort and grumpiness in her eyes. There have been times throughout your journeying with her so far when she has strongly reminded you of a cat: not particularly greedy of her small pleasures but with a very decided preference to be comfortable and most especially WARM and DRY. Given her life before she met you, you can easily understand how important these things would quickly become to one who at times had very little else.
In her excitement at spending so much time in close quarters with the young man she secretly likes, she hadn't thought at all about how uncomfortable the open awning would become once the winter winds started really blowing. (Or perhaps not so secretly, she certainly hasn't had enough experience wiith people to tell and isn't sure how much she cares anyway beyond the simple pleasure of having a secret in this new and exceedingly fascinating subject of inquiry). And never having sailed before, she hadn't even imagined how drenching the spray would prove, mostly because she'd never before realized there would be any spray splashing high enough to overtop the railings and wet her. Much less what felt to her at times like being drenched in a torrent, or a daylong winter storm. In fact, she observed to Cainneach the first day that she wasn't sure she saw the point of the awning, since they seemed to be getting just as wet as if it wasn't there. "And at least the rain is fresh ... !," she grumped, brushing crusted salt from her hair and earasaid.
Still, given that she was more interested in Cainneach than she'd let on to him ... or herself ... it was quite nice to be sharing quarters with him in a small pavilion "...where he can't get away...," she thought to herself before blushing quickly and wondering to herself where that rather immodest thought came from. It didn't bother her enough to make her move her pallet away from his, though. And as the Linden sailed past the harbor city in whose townlands she was born, the increasing damp chilliness coupled with her increasing interest spurred her to be bold enough ... albeit in the shyest tone imaginable ... to diffidently suggest to him that they could help each other stay warm if they were a little closer ...
Fergus had remained quiet and subordinate to Sir Almeric during their stay in the port. He had made many enemies over the years, and his 'allies' were mainly employers who knew better than to fully trust him. He was both glad and nervous to step onto the Linden, and set forth with his companions. Running his hand along the gunwale, he tries to listen to the ship and glean some of its experiences.
Cainneachs queries of the crew go fairly well, they are glad to hear a familiar accent and cadence with many drawn from Beltayne or Brymstone themselves...
- he hears tales of the Blue Men, dead sailors who rise from the deep on their dragon ships to challenge the living for passage through their waters...
- one of the sailors tells of fair maiden he tried to rescue when he spotted her floating between the grey waves but how she almost pulled him overboard when she wrenched hard on the life rope he had thrown, then disappeared with a laugh and slap of a seals flipper beneath the waves.
- others tell of Mercanian longships harrying them like wolves in the summer months
- a last, an older man spoke of his youth and a horror that tore his fishing vessel and brothers to pieces....a red and white abomination that stunk of ammonia and with grasping hooked tentacles and a ripping, tearing black beak......and great lidless pitiless eyes that still haunt his dreams
As the companions are just getting used to....or in Oris case resigning themselves to....their situation a great wind roils up out of the east and the waves begin to pile higher and higher until the deck is mostly under water, the sail and mast are struck and men man the oars and try to keep the ship aimed into the waves to prevent her being rolled. As the sky darkens waves begin to roll fully over the ship, unable for the most part to assist you hunker down as water drenches you and the ship shudders and groans under the assault.....
Eventually the storm abates, but the Linden has lost part of her mast and is taking on water. The crew brace at the oars and take her in to shore. Baron Aldred consulting with the captain.
They look towards a line of fir trees along the coast, intending to beach nearby and gather timber to rig a jury-mast for the last leg to Port Beltayn.
As the Linden finds a sheltered bay, you are startled to sight a ruined citadel, half flooded by the tide, along the coast.
As the ship makes shore, the baron calls you to his side.
“There may be brigands or ne'erdowells in yonder citadel,” he says. “We would not wish to be ambushed while making our repairs. Investigate the citadel. Slay whatever dangers lurk there, but return and report to me if you overwhelming force. Salvage anything of value.”
Ori was bright eyed and bushy tailed as he boarded the Linden, excited to see life on the sea. Cold or not Ori was going to see it all from the deck of the ship and do what he coukd to assist while up there, or that was his plan. Turns out Ori's tree trunk legs weren't made for the swaying of the sea, constantly off balance with any activity on the water. His stomach didn't fair any better. Most of his time was spent sitting next to the rails with his bucket. He started by hanging his head over the side but has found a stride with a bucket and throw over the side method. The jovial big man was reduced to a green faced lump stuck on a box on the deck. He's been stuck there so long the crew just works around him. He must be quite a sight, reduced to this.
It was rather disheartening and, beyond that, worrisome to Cainneach to see how poorly he and his companions were coping with the rigours of travel on this frigid sea. The constant barrage of sleet and spray had reduced their most stout member, Ori, to little more than a piece of luggage, Fergus seemed to have withdrawn even further into his inner thoughts, Famh was acting even more peculiar than usual, and the jovial Thatch had lost his enthusiasm for the novelty of the voyage. And what was Almeric up to? The inscrutable Capellar seemed to converse often with the captain and the baron, but had been unusually quiet otherwise. Of all of them, Tana had adjusted the most easily. "I need to converse with her, understand what in her upbringing allows her to carry on with such grace under these circumstances. I would have thought my time in the wilds of Ereworn and Albion, the mountains of Thuland, would have prepared me better for this sort of suffering, but this is beyond what I've been conditioned to endure. And Famh is right, what's the point of this bloody awning?!" He looks up, feebly shaking a fist and cursing the useless stretch of cloth that only seems to drip ever larger and colder drops upon their heads. After such a pondering, which happens increasingly often, Cainneach generally collapses on his pallet with Salt and bundles up as best he can in dog and canvas and fur blankets. Maybe slightly warmer, but never dry. Poor Salt, though, is even more miserable than Cainneach. Not being able to run is both stressful and depressing to the fine hound and, at this point, even his whimpering has stopped. No matter the ministrations and attentions of Cainneach, he only seems to perk up when Tana drops by for a visit. "Tana, I don't understand you, and I mean that in the most envious of ways. How is it that you're not nearly as miserable as the rest of us? You're a slight thing, don't look terribly well-suited to these harsh environs, but you just float through the days. Ach, I can't wait to get to land. Thank you though, for whatever it is you are doing for Salt. I don't think he'd have made it this far without your help!"
Still, given that she was more interested in Cainneach than she'd let on to him ... or herself ... it was quite nice to be sharing quarters with him in a small pavilion "...where he can't get away...," she thought to herself before blushing quickly and wondering to herself where that rather immodest thought came from. It didn't bother her enough to make her move her pallet away from his, though. And as the Linden sailed past the harbor city in whose townlands she was born, the increasing damp chilliness coupled with her increasing interest spurred her to be bold enough ... albeit in the shyest tone imaginable ... to diffidently suggest to him that they could help each other stay warm if they were a little closer ...
It was unavoidable that the companions would be physically closer during their travels, even with the impressive size of the Linden. Or at least Cainneach was impressed by it, as he had virtually no knowledge of the range of seafaring vessels operating out of Thuland and Albion at this time. Crammed together under that aforementioned, nearly useless awning, day and night, there was little chance of escaping for any kind of privacy. Cainneach had enjoyed conversing with the rest of the party, for they were interesting and kind people, but as the journey carried on, some had become withdrawn, perhaps even taciturn, whether through a decline of spirit, as was the case for Cainneach, or through physical illness, such as for poor Ori. Famh, however, had become more ... agitated? More something, for certain. The two of them had definitely grown closer, commiserating and sharing tales, maybe speaking of future plans or pondering what lay ahead in Beltayn or across the sea in Katorheim. Cainneach tried to remain cheerful and open with the girl, even when his mood made him want to retreat into his own mind and hide, at least in that way, from the crowded deck and everyone populating it. Lately though, she'd been a constant at his side, nearly as much so as his pitiful deerhound. Cainneach hoped that Famh was in a better mental state than he was in, but at this point he was having a hard time evaluating anything rationally.
(Back to the dice oracle to consult regarding Cainneach's awareness in this personal frigid hell ...)
"A little closer?" Sure, they should all probably huddle up, as the cold that had stalked them from the outset of the voyage had only deepened, biting harder as they made their way north. Even the sea itself bore chunks of ice and looked frosted with slush. Somehow, the crew forged ahead, valiant and relentless in the face of the sea and the weather. But Cainneach decided to lay down for now. "Aye Famh, we won't be of much use to the baron if we're all sick like Ori or worse, frozen solid before we make it to Beltayn. And it's close to nightfall anyways. Poor Salt here could use the warmth, maybe we each take a side of the hound and all bundle up together." As he speaks those words, Cainneach has a hopeful look, but feels somewhat flustered in a way he can't internally describe. He only knows that his heart is beating quite a bit faster than he thinks it should be as he looks up at Famh. Cainneach offers whatever blankets, makeshift or otherwise, that he has first to Famh, and then to anyone else around that's still up and about.
Cainneachs queries of the crew go fairly well, they are glad to hear a familiar accent and cadence with many drawn from Beltayne or Brymstone themselves...
- he hears tales of the Blue Men, dead sailors who rise from the deep on their dragon ships to challenge the living for passage through their waters...
- one of the sailors tells of fair maiden he tried to rescue when he spotted her floating between the grey waves but how she almost pulled him overboard when she wrenched hard on the life rope he had thrown, then disappeared with a laugh and slap of a seals flipper beneath the waves.
- others tell of Mercanian longships harrying them like wolves in the summer months
- a last, an older man spoke of his youth and a horror that tore his fishing vessel and brothers to pieces....a red and white abomination that stunk of ammonia and with grasping hooked tentacles and a ripping, tearing black beak......and great lidless pitiless eyes that still haunt his dreams
Amidst the terrible conditions, the tales told by the crew only serve to increase Cainneach's anxiety. Dead sailors and dragons, deceptive maidens and giant monsters?! He initially considers sharing these stories with the rest of his companions, but thinks better of it. "No need to add that burden to what we're already suffering!"
As the companions are just getting used to....or in Oris case resigning themselves to....their situation a great wind roils up out of the east and the waves begin to pile higher and higher until the deck is mostly under water, the sail and mast are struck and men man the oars and try to keep the ship aimed into the waves to prevent her being rolled. As the sky darkens waves begin to roll fully over the ship, unable for the most part to assist you hunker down as water drenches you and the ship shudders and groans under the assault.....
Eventually the storm abates, but the Linden has lost part of her mast and is taking on water. The crew brace at the oars and take her in to shore. Baron Aldred consulting with the captain.
They look towards a line of fir trees along the coast, intending to beach nearby and gather timber to rig a jury-mast for the last leg to Port Beltayn. As the Linden finds a sheltered bay, you are startled to sight a ruined citadel, half flooded by the tide, along the coast.
As the ship makes shore, the baron calls you to his side.
“There may be brigands or ne'erdowells in yonder citadel,” he says. “We would not wish to be ambushed while making our repairs. Investigate the citadel. Slay whatever dangers lurk there, but return and report to me if you overwhelming force. Salvage anything of value.”
Cainneach clings tight to his pallet, his dog, and his friends as the storm batters the majestic ship. Through barely opened eyes, he marvels at the bravery and skill of the crew as they manage to save the vessel from complete destruction at the hands of almighty nature. Once the storm abates, Cainneach takes quick stock of the party's well-being, helping to treat any wounds or illness if necessary. Salt is basically at the end of his proverbial rope at this point and Cainneach turns him over to Tana while he consults with the crew to understand the situation and plan. He is overjoyed to hear they'd be heading to land, even if it means braving the unknown citadel. The first order of business, however, is to scavenge any timber not useful for the repair of the mast and light a fire so that they can finally dry off and thaw themselves out. Hopefully Salt can be coaxed into running again as well! Cainneach can certainly stand to stretch his legs out while attempting to keep pace with his fleet companion.
There is a similar thought amongst the crew and they soon have a number of bonfires burning on the pebbled beach from the scrubby Sea Buckthorn and other coastal shrubs even as others begin the trek up to hew and haul the fir trees.
Fergus' growing fondness for sea life took as sharp a turn as the weather. Grateful to be on land again he warms himself by one of the fires until the baron's summons. Orders received, he playfully jostles Thatch, his light frame not very effective! Glad to be on a mission again, he had grown restless without a specific task to do. Though still haunted by their encounter in the Dell, he feels confidant that with his companions they can face whatever dangers dwell nearby.
Tana flashes sympathetic looks at the rest of the companions, offering a pat on the shoulder to Cainneach when he approaches her. She offers no solution to their weariness, not quite sure why she'd adapted so fast to the new environment either – though internally she considers the dull sway that sometimes plagues her in sleep to have contributed to this sudden tolerance.
Regardless of her more comfortable state compared to her companions aboard the ship, Tana relaxes significantly at the idea of residing on land for the days in which the ship needed to be repaired after the storm. The land had always called to her and to be so far from it for a long period of time had left her feeling a little hollow within. She'd be grateful for the soil, a reminder of the pulsing life that connected all living things, not to mention a little natural greenery.
Almeric had spent much of his time aboard the Linden attending the Baron, ready to offer council regarding their current mission, or even just intellectual conversation. Almeric was keen to glean any information he could from the 'Wise Old Fox', albeit political, military or economic. Although primary a bodyguard, Almeric wanted to show Aldred that he was much more than that, maintaining a professional regard for the captain also. Almeric volunteered his healing ministry to the captain, where any sailors who are injured can receive treatment via Lay in Hands, or even the Heal Spell to ensure everyone is in prime condition. Almeric will ensure he is fully rested each day to restore his energies.
Almeric has established himself as a Noble Leader and was content that the others were forming closer relationships with each other. It was not his place to be their friend. All he needed was mutual respect, loyalty and excellent team work. Almeric is grateful for Fergus attentiveness though, and has established him as the 'go between' should their be any moral issues arising in the future.
Now, at last , they had something productive to do. While his gambeson dries by a fire, Almeric will restore his maille and check Ori's Cuirass is serviceable. As others are drying, warming and preparing for the sortee, Almeric will hold a short 'briefing' before they depart.
"You all performed excellently on our last mission and I know you will do the same this time. I also know that you understand your own skills and how they fit within our team. As I declared before the Baron, I will only give 'Orders' to keep people alive. Other than that, you can operated within your own recognisance to achieve our goal."
Ori appears to be dragging, shoulders slumped, club spikes half dragging on the sand. Appreciative to be off the rocking boat, his legs seem to be still expecting the swaying though on solid land. The jovial nature of the big man still not returned, wise cracks and quips replaced with stares and silence. Looking forward to having something to take his mind off his stomach knots with anything that isn't related to the blasted wreck of a raft. He must be a sight as all the crew seem to give him even more space and seem to purposely not make eye contact with him. He could use a bit more normality, maybe smashing a few things will bring that feeling back to him.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Famh brightens up immediately at the prospect of getting off the horrible ship. She even recovers enough of a sense of humour to joke with Cainneach about all their efforts to escape Thuland and its troubles, each in their own way, "...and here we are, right back in Thuland. We could have saved the trouble by just camping here and waiting for everyone else to join us as the wind blew them north."
As she sits by the fire and listens to Sir Almeric's briefing, she has time to think a few things over and recognize more consciously what she's feeling for her countryman. Before, in Hob's Dell, she had been afraid for everyone fairly equally. But as she looks towards the ominous-looking ruin, it dawned on her that while she wanted to keep all her friends safe she was especially worried about what might happen to him. The knowledge of how deep her feelings were beginning to run took her breath away, but it oddly also helped her relax about it a little. She knew where things stood now, at least with her, and she could take her time now. Also, she still thought she'd described him more or less fairly when she was talking to Tana. He was a bit shy, and too much boldness too quick would be just as likely to scare him off as win him. She certainly didn't mean to go anywhere, especially now. There was plenty of time; and she'd have to talk to Tana again ... as the only other woman present ... and find out exactly how one went about winning a man's heart. He was already a friend and a traveling comrade, and that would do, for now.
She turns her mind back to the present, peering more closely towards the abandoned citadel to see if she can spot anything useful. She will also ask Sir Almeric if the Baron can supply warmer winter clothing for those who may be lacking or whose old raiment is in need of replacement.
===========
Perception 13
(i was looking at Survival on my char sheet to see if it was pertinent, that roll was 9 +3nt (seeing faint paths or trails that lead to the ruin, for instance) and accidentally clicked the thing to roll in the log. If it is pertinent, that roll was 9 + 2 = 11)
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Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Heavy woolen blankets are distributed and may be utilised as wraps or cloaks and once they are ready Famh, Thatch and Cainneach along with Salt are able to lead the way towards the citadel.
An hour’s brisk march through the dense snow-clad woodland brings you to the walls of the ancient citadel.
Built of monolithic blocks of limestone, the place is of a strange architecture you find utterly alien.
Stepping between the broken timbers of the gate, your senses of awe and fear grow ever stronger. This is truly a place of death. Strewn about the entrance and across the plaza are countless mouldered bones, rusting weapons and armour. In the shadow of the arch sits an old man clad in rags. His thin hair waves in the icy breeze, his blind eyes stare out beyond you, across the forested land.
After consulting with the crew and receiving their new assignment from the baron, Cainneach collects his belongings and calls Salt to his side. The young hound unsteadily rises and haltingly paces toward the side of the ship. Once Salt can peer over the rail and see that land awaits them, he noticeably peps up, looking up to Cainneach and making a little bark. Cainneach smiles and nods, then kneels and gives the dog a big hug. "Come on boy, let's get off this boat, at least for a little while!" Before disembarking, he looks to his friends and offers to help carry what he can, particularly for the terribly forlorn Ori. His condition seems to be of the most concern, and while Cainneach wants to help, he also didn't want his companion to feel any worse than he already did through unwanted attention. Cainneach does his best to guide the others off the boat safely, especially Famh, as from their conversations, he felt she would be extremely put out if she were to take a tumble into the sea just as we had reached land. Cainneach is happy to note her spirits have risen and they share a laugh about finding themselves back in their homeland in the least expected circumstances. He lets his hand linger on her shoulderas long as possible while he guides her up and over the deck rail before turning to assist the diminutive Thatch up and over as well. With everyone finally accounted for, Cainneach looks at Salt, screws up his face while contemplating how to get the lanky beast safely down to the pinnace. Before he can resolve the matter, Salt gamely puts two big paws up on the rail and eagerly scrambles over, skates his way down the plank and crashes unceremoniously into the smaller boat. Thankfully, Ori's bulk stops him from tumbling into the icy water and Tana is able to calm him down. Cainneach shakes his head and carefully follows.
Once ashore and the fires are lit, Cainneach huddles up and spreads out his map. Consulting with Fergus and Almeric, along with any crew that are ashore and available for a moment, they try to determine their location, but don't note any signs of the ruined fortress on the map. Cainneach hastily marks the spot where they believe they've found themselves, rolls up the precious document, and stashes it in his scroll case. Done with that practical matter, he rises to his feet, whistles to Salt, and starts to jog around the beach area, both for warmth and to stretch out his legs. Salt isn't quite up to his usual pace, but he quickly shows some signs of the young hound vigour, dashing about, chasing thrown sticks and the occasional gull foolish enough to land nearby.
Returning to the group with spirits considerably raised, Cainneach asks, "Should Thatch and I do some reconnaissance prior to our full incursion? After we're dried, warmed, and fed, of course ... Thatch, you think you're up for it? It's still cold as a well digger's arse out here, but at least we can walk without fear of being dumped by a wave. Or at least I think we all can ..."Cainneach takes a look at Ori, to see if he's anywhere yet near ready for action.
Almeric has had a few months to adjust to the weather, from the blistering heat of Outremer, to the temperate climate of Albion. This winter is bitterly cold though, the coldest in memory and Thuland was seemed gripped in arctic tundra. Almeric wore his full wools under his gambeson, will maille over, covered with the new woollen blanket about him, and wrapped in his cloak. He had never worn so much and was till cold. Almeric is encouraged that, wrapped up as he is, the maille makes slightly less noise when he moves. Almeric had not noticed the nuance in the relationship of Cairnneach and Fahm, and no one had mentioned it, so he is unencumbered by this detail.
As they reach the ominous gate of the ancient fortress, Almeric is reminded of an ancient Emphidian Legend taught to him as a child. "A proud and godless ruler, used sorcery and witchcraft to build a great citadel. The ruler conquered and oppressed the neighbouring kingdoms, building an evil empire which caused great despair and suffering across the realm. Angered by the blasphamy offered by this ruller, the Goddess of the Sea decided to wipe the abomination from the face of the earth! At full moon upon the winter solstice, the Goddess sent a great tidal wave, which destroyed the citadel and killed everyone within in a single night. Everyone except the ruler, who defied death using vile magics and resides still in the ruined halls of the citadel..."
As they approached the gate, Almeric signals Cairnneach to stand by, should he be needed to translate.
"Greetings old man. Who is master here, in this citadel? May we enter and pay our respects?"
PERCEPTION =13 Eyes and ears open for ambush. INSIGHT = 13 The old man's answers.
Almeric has had a few months to adjust to the weather, from the blistering heat of Outremer, to the temperate climate of Albion. This winter is bitterly cold though, the coldest in memory and Thuland was seemed gripped in arctic tundra. Almeric wore his full wools under his gambeson, will maille over, covered with the new woollen blanket about him, and wrapped in his cloak. He had never worn so much and was till cold. Almeric is encouraged that, wrapped up as he is, the maille makes slightly less noise when he moves. Almeric had not noticed the nuance in the relationship of Cairnneach and Fahm, and no one had mentioned it, so he is unencumbered by this detail.
As they reach the ominous gate of the ancient fortress, Almeric is reminded of an ancient Emphidian Legend taught to him as a child. "A proud and godless ruler, used sorcery and witchcraft to build a great citadel. The ruler conquered and oppressed the neighbouring kingdoms, building an evil empire which caused great despair and suffering across the realm. Angered by the blasphamy offered by this ruller, the Goddess of the Sea decided to wipe the abomination from the face of the earth! At full moon upon the winter solstice, the Goddess sent a great tidal wave, which destroyed the citadel and killed everyone within in a single night. Everyone except the ruler, who defied death using vile magics and resides still in the ruined halls of the citadel..."
As they approached the gate, Almeric signals Cairnneach to stand by, should he be needed to translate.
"Greetings old man. Who is master here, in this citadel? May we enter and pay our respects?"
PERCEPTION =13 Eyes and ears open for ambush. INSIGHT = 13 The old man's answers.
The old mans sightless eyes nevertheless focus upon Sir Almeric, his jaw works noiselessly for a moment before the words emerge as if he must recall them from distant memory, "This is the tower of Magus Karvala, I keep watch upon it until his return."
" Enter or not, it is on your head alone."
( The man seems to be speaking truth as he sees it. There is no one lying in wait that you can see.)
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"Katorheim is across the Cape from Beltayn, to the northeast. See, here." Cainneach takes out the map he'd been gifted by the cartographer at Aldred's castle and spreads it out on the floor, trying to be careful and avoid getting it wet. "I don't know much of Katorheim at all, it was practically a myth in my mind when I was a wee lad. I lived here." Cainneach points out to Thatch and Famh a location in the Pagan Mountains to the southwest of Beltayn. "I've heard more stories of Beltayn, but I never personally visited the place. Members of my clan would sometimes make the journey, that was always a big occasion. I was a few years too young for the trip, but I always wanted to have the chance to visit the big city. Now I suppose my day has finally come, assuming we aren't drowned or frozen first. You'd think a youth spent up in the snowy mountains would have me well prepared for this bloody constant mist, but I have to confess, I'll be happy to get off this boat and away from the sea. And so would Salt." The hound whimpers in agreement, laying on top of Cainneach's feet. Cainneach then quickly brushes some splashes of water off the map and rolls it up. "As for why a fancy lord would want to winter this far north, I've no idea. He must be a proper hard man to choose such a thing willingly, so I guess that would make him a good ally for the baron. Have either of you heard much about him? I should ask the crew, I suppose, but I've been so preoccupied with trying to be useful and keeping myself and Salt from getting sick it's hardly crossed my mind. And how are you two holding up with all this?"
After their conversation, Cainneach will try to be mindful about inquiring with the crew about their current progress and what awaits them on the remainder of their journey north. It's a long way from Clyster to Beltayn ...
CHA check 1 (since I love rolling and am a glutton for punishment. With a +0 CHA, it's probably a coin flip as to how well Cainneach gets along with the crew anyway.)
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Ori was bright eyed and bushy tailed as he boarded the Linden, excited to see life on the sea. Cold or not Ori was going to see it all from the deck of the ship and do what he coukd to assist while up there, or that was his plan. Turns out Ori's tree trunk legs weren't made for the swaying of the sea, constantly off balance with any activity on the water. His stomach didn't fair any better. Most of his time was spent sitting next to the rails with his bucket. He started by hanging his head over the side but has found a stride with a bucket and throw over the side method. The jovial big man was reduced to a green faced lump stuck on a box on the deck. He's been stuck there so long the crew just works around him. He must be quite a sight, reduced to this.
As the companions settle in for the first phase of this voyage, Famh is increasingly seen with a strangely mixed expression of delight and disgust plastered across her features. Well, perhaps disgust is too strong a word, but there is certainly a slowly rising discomfort and grumpiness in her eyes. There have been times throughout your journeying with her so far when she has strongly reminded you of a cat: not particularly greedy of her small pleasures but with a very decided preference to be comfortable and most especially WARM and DRY. Given her life before she met you, you can easily understand how important these things would quickly become to one who at times had very little else.
In her excitement at spending so much time in close quarters with the young man she secretly likes, she hadn't thought at all about how uncomfortable the open awning would become once the winter winds started really blowing. (Or perhaps not so secretly, she certainly hasn't had enough experience wiith people to tell and isn't sure how much she cares anyway beyond the simple pleasure of having a secret in this new and exceedingly fascinating subject of inquiry). And never having sailed before, she hadn't even imagined how drenching the spray would prove, mostly because she'd never before realized there would be any spray splashing high enough to overtop the railings and wet her. Much less what felt to her at times like being drenched in a torrent, or a daylong winter storm. In fact, she observed to Cainneach the first day that she wasn't sure she saw the point of the awning, since they seemed to be getting just as wet as if it wasn't there. "And at least the rain is fresh ... !," she grumped, brushing crusted salt from her hair and earasaid.
Still, given that she was more interested in Cainneach than she'd let on to him ... or herself ... it was quite nice to be sharing quarters with him in a small pavilion "...where he can't get away...," she thought to herself before blushing quickly and wondering to herself where that rather immodest thought came from. It didn't bother her enough to make her move her pallet away from his, though. And as the Linden sailed past the harbor city in whose townlands she was born, the increasing damp chilliness coupled with her increasing interest spurred her to be bold enough ... albeit in the shyest tone imaginable ... to diffidently suggest to him that they could help each other stay warm if they were a little closer ...
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Fergus had remained quiet and subordinate to Sir Almeric during their stay in the port. He had made many enemies over the years, and his 'allies' were mainly employers who knew better than to fully trust him. He was both glad and nervous to step onto the Linden, and set forth with his companions. Running his hand along the gunwale, he tries to listen to the ship and glean some of its experiences.
Cainneachs queries of the crew go fairly well, they are glad to hear a familiar accent and cadence with many drawn from Beltayne or Brymstone themselves...
- he hears tales of the Blue Men, dead sailors who rise from the deep on their dragon ships to challenge the living for passage through their waters...
- one of the sailors tells of fair maiden he tried to rescue when he spotted her floating between the grey waves but how she almost pulled him overboard when she wrenched hard on the life rope he had thrown, then disappeared with a laugh and slap of a seals flipper beneath the waves.
- others tell of Mercanian longships harrying them like wolves in the summer months
- a last, an older man spoke of his youth and a horror that tore his fishing vessel and brothers to pieces....a red and white abomination that stunk of ammonia and with grasping hooked tentacles and a ripping, tearing black beak......and great lidless pitiless eyes that still haunt his dreams
As the companions are just getting used to....or in Oris case resigning themselves to....their situation a great wind roils up out of the east and the waves begin to pile higher and higher until the deck is mostly under water, the sail and mast are struck and men man the oars and try to keep the ship aimed into the waves to prevent her being rolled. As the sky darkens waves begin to roll fully over the ship, unable for the most part to assist you hunker down as water drenches you and the ship shudders and groans under the assault.....
Eventually the storm abates, but the Linden has lost part of her mast and is taking on water. The crew brace at the oars and take her in to shore. Baron Aldred consulting with the captain.
They look towards a line of fir trees along the coast, intending to beach nearby and gather timber to rig a jury-mast for the last leg to Port Beltayn.
As the Linden finds a sheltered bay, you are startled to sight a ruined citadel, half flooded by the tide, along the coast.
As the ship makes shore, the baron calls you to his side.
“There may be brigands or ne'erdowells in yonder citadel,” he says. “We would not wish to be ambushed while making our repairs. Investigate the citadel. Slay whatever dangers lurk there, but return and report to me if you overwhelming force. Salvage anything of value.”
It was rather disheartening and, beyond that, worrisome to Cainneach to see how poorly he and his companions were coping with the rigours of travel on this frigid sea. The constant barrage of sleet and spray had reduced their most stout member, Ori, to little more than a piece of luggage, Fergus seemed to have withdrawn even further into his inner thoughts, Famh was acting even more peculiar than usual, and the jovial Thatch had lost his enthusiasm for the novelty of the voyage. And what was Almeric up to? The inscrutable Capellar seemed to converse often with the captain and the baron, but had been unusually quiet otherwise. Of all of them, Tana had adjusted the most easily. "I need to converse with her, understand what in her upbringing allows her to carry on with such grace under these circumstances. I would have thought my time in the wilds of Ereworn and Albion, the mountains of Thuland, would have prepared me better for this sort of suffering, but this is beyond what I've been conditioned to endure. And Famh is right, what's the point of this bloody awning?!" He looks up, feebly shaking a fist and cursing the useless stretch of cloth that only seems to drip ever larger and colder drops upon their heads. After such a pondering, which happens increasingly often, Cainneach generally collapses on his pallet with Salt and bundles up as best he can in dog and canvas and fur blankets. Maybe slightly warmer, but never dry. Poor Salt, though, is even more miserable than Cainneach. Not being able to run is both stressful and depressing to the fine hound and, at this point, even his whimpering has stopped. No matter the ministrations and attentions of Cainneach, he only seems to perk up when Tana drops by for a visit. "Tana, I don't understand you, and I mean that in the most envious of ways. How is it that you're not nearly as miserable as the rest of us? You're a slight thing, don't look terribly well-suited to these harsh environs, but you just float through the days. Ach, I can't wait to get to land. Thank you though, for whatever it is you are doing for Salt. I don't think he'd have made it this far without your help!"
It was unavoidable that the companions would be physically closer during their travels, even with the impressive size of the Linden. Or at least Cainneach was impressed by it, as he had virtually no knowledge of the range of seafaring vessels operating out of Thuland and Albion at this time. Crammed together under that aforementioned, nearly useless awning, day and night, there was little chance of escaping for any kind of privacy. Cainneach had enjoyed conversing with the rest of the party, for they were interesting and kind people, but as the journey carried on, some had become withdrawn, perhaps even taciturn, whether through a decline of spirit, as was the case for Cainneach, or through physical illness, such as for poor Ori. Famh, however, had become more ... agitated? More something, for certain. The two of them had definitely grown closer, commiserating and sharing tales, maybe speaking of future plans or pondering what lay ahead in Beltayn or across the sea in Katorheim. Cainneach tried to remain cheerful and open with the girl, even when his mood made him want to retreat into his own mind and hide, at least in that way, from the crowded deck and everyone populating it. Lately though, she'd been a constant at his side, nearly as much so as his pitiful deerhound. Cainneach hoped that Famh was in a better mental state than he was in, but at this point he was having a hard time evaluating anything rationally.
(Back to the dice oracle to consult regarding Cainneach's awareness in this personal frigid hell ...)
Insight 16 (What's up with Famh?)
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(Hmm, middling score there, so ...)
"A little closer?" Sure, they should all probably huddle up, as the cold that had stalked them from the outset of the voyage had only deepened, biting harder as they made their way north. Even the sea itself bore chunks of ice and looked frosted with slush. Somehow, the crew forged ahead, valiant and relentless in the face of the sea and the weather. But Cainneach decided to lay down for now. "Aye Famh, we won't be of much use to the baron if we're all sick like Ori or worse, frozen solid before we make it to Beltayn. And it's close to nightfall anyways. Poor Salt here could use the warmth, maybe we each take a side of the hound and all bundle up together." As he speaks those words, Cainneach has a hopeful look, but feels somewhat flustered in a way he can't internally describe. He only knows that his heart is beating quite a bit faster than he thinks it should be as he looks up at Famh. Cainneach offers whatever blankets, makeshift or otherwise, that he has first to Famh, and then to anyone else around that's still up and about.
Amidst the terrible conditions, the tales told by the crew only serve to increase Cainneach's anxiety. Dead sailors and dragons, deceptive maidens and giant monsters?! He initially considers sharing these stories with the rest of his companions, but thinks better of it. "No need to add that burden to what we're already suffering!"
Cainneach clings tight to his pallet, his dog, and his friends as the storm batters the majestic ship. Through barely opened eyes, he marvels at the bravery and skill of the crew as they manage to save the vessel from complete destruction at the hands of almighty nature. Once the storm abates, Cainneach takes quick stock of the party's well-being, helping to treat any wounds or illness if necessary. Salt is basically at the end of his proverbial rope at this point and Cainneach turns him over to Tana while he consults with the crew to understand the situation and plan. He is overjoyed to hear they'd be heading to land, even if it means braving the unknown citadel. The first order of business, however, is to scavenge any timber not useful for the repair of the mast and light a fire so that they can finally dry off and thaw themselves out. Hopefully Salt can be coaxed into running again as well! Cainneach can certainly stand to stretch his legs out while attempting to keep pace with his fleet companion.
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There is a similar thought amongst the crew and they soon have a number of bonfires burning on the pebbled beach from the scrubby Sea Buckthorn and other coastal shrubs even as others begin the trek up to hew and haul the fir trees.
Fergus' growing fondness for sea life took as sharp a turn as the weather. Grateful to be on land again he warms himself by one of the fires until the baron's summons.
Orders received, he playfully jostles Thatch, his light frame not very effective! Glad to be on a mission again, he had grown restless without a specific task to do. Though still haunted by their encounter in the Dell, he feels confidant that with his companions they can face whatever dangers dwell nearby.
Tana flashes sympathetic looks at the rest of the companions, offering a pat on the shoulder to Cainneach when he approaches her. She offers no solution to their weariness, not quite sure why she'd adapted so fast to the new environment either – though internally she considers the dull sway that sometimes plagues her in sleep to have contributed to this sudden tolerance.
Regardless of her more comfortable state compared to her companions aboard the ship, Tana relaxes significantly at the idea of residing on land for the days in which the ship needed to be repaired after the storm. The land had always called to her and to be so far from it for a long period of time had left her feeling a little hollow within. She'd be grateful for the soil, a reminder of the pulsing life that connected all living things, not to mention a little natural greenery.
Noire Havensong | Harengon Archfey Warlock 6/Lore Bard 4 | Westmarch - Guild of the Phoenix (Discord)
Tanatari Crelieu | Kalashtar Druid 2 | Damian_May's Sleeping Gods
Jynx Starrkeep | Changling GOO Warlock 2 | Astien's Tyranny of Dragons
DM | Eberron Eternal (Discord)
Almeric had spent much of his time aboard the Linden attending the Baron, ready to offer council regarding their current mission, or even just intellectual conversation. Almeric was keen to glean any information he could from the 'Wise Old Fox', albeit political, military or economic. Although primary a bodyguard, Almeric wanted to show Aldred that he was much more than that, maintaining a professional regard for the captain also. Almeric volunteered his healing ministry to the captain, where any sailors who are injured can receive treatment via Lay in Hands, or even the Heal Spell to ensure everyone is in prime condition. Almeric will ensure he is fully rested each day to restore his energies.
Almeric has established himself as a Noble Leader and was content that the others were forming closer relationships with each other. It was not his place to be their friend. All he needed was mutual respect, loyalty and excellent team work. Almeric is grateful for Fergus attentiveness though, and has established him as the 'go between' should their be any moral issues arising in the future.
Now, at last , they had something productive to do. While his gambeson dries by a fire, Almeric will restore his maille and check Ori's Cuirass is serviceable. As others are drying, warming and preparing for the sortee, Almeric will hold a short 'briefing' before they depart.
"You all performed excellently on our last mission and I know you will do the same this time. I also know that you understand your own skills and how they fit within our team. As I declared before the Baron, I will only give 'Orders' to keep people alive. Other than that, you can operated within your own recognisance to achieve our goal."
Ori appears to be dragging, shoulders slumped, club spikes half dragging on the sand. Appreciative to be off the rocking boat, his legs seem to be still expecting the swaying though on solid land. The jovial nature of the big man still not returned, wise cracks and quips replaced with stares and silence. Looking forward to having something to take his mind off his stomach knots with anything that isn't related to the blasted wreck of a raft. He must be a sight as all the crew seem to give him even more space and seem to purposely not make eye contact with him. He could use a bit more normality, maybe smashing a few things will bring that feeling back to him.
Famh brightens up immediately at the prospect of getting off the horrible ship. She even recovers enough of a sense of humour to joke with Cainneach about all their efforts to escape Thuland and its troubles, each in their own way, "...and here we are, right back in Thuland. We could have saved the trouble by just camping here and waiting for everyone else to join us as the wind blew them north."
As she sits by the fire and listens to Sir Almeric's briefing, she has time to think a few things over and recognize more consciously what she's feeling for her countryman. Before, in Hob's Dell, she had been afraid for everyone fairly equally. But as she looks towards the ominous-looking ruin, it dawned on her that while she wanted to keep all her friends safe she was especially worried about what might happen to him. The knowledge of how deep her feelings were beginning to run took her breath away, but it oddly also helped her relax about it a little. She knew where things stood now, at least with her, and she could take her time now. Also, she still thought she'd described him more or less fairly when she was talking to Tana. He was a bit shy, and too much boldness too quick would be just as likely to scare him off as win him. She certainly didn't mean to go anywhere, especially now. There was plenty of time; and she'd have to talk to Tana again ... as the only other woman present ... and find out exactly how one went about winning a man's heart. He was already a friend and a traveling comrade, and that would do, for now.
She turns her mind back to the present, peering more closely towards the abandoned citadel to see if she can spot anything useful. She will also ask Sir Almeric if the Baron can supply warmer winter clothing for those who may be lacking or whose old raiment is in need of replacement.
===========
Perception 13
(i was looking at Survival on my char sheet to see if it was pertinent, that roll was 9 +3nt (seeing faint paths or trails that lead to the ruin, for instance) and accidentally clicked the thing to roll in the log. If it is pertinent, that roll was 9 + 2 = 11)
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Heavy woolen blankets are distributed and may be utilised as wraps or cloaks and once they are ready Famh, Thatch and Cainneach along with Salt are able to lead the way towards the citadel.
An hour’s brisk march through the dense snow-clad woodland brings you to the walls of the ancient citadel.
Built of monolithic blocks of limestone, the place is of a strange architecture you find utterly alien.
Stepping between the broken timbers of the gate, your senses of awe and fear grow ever stronger. This is truly a place of death. Strewn about the entrance and across the plaza are countless mouldered bones, rusting weapons and armour. In the shadow of the arch sits an old man clad in rags. His thin hair waves in the icy breeze, his blind eyes stare out beyond you, across the forested land.
After consulting with the crew and receiving their new assignment from the baron, Cainneach collects his belongings and calls Salt to his side. The young hound unsteadily rises and haltingly paces toward the side of the ship. Once Salt can peer over the rail and see that land awaits them, he noticeably peps up, looking up to Cainneach and making a little bark. Cainneach smiles and nods, then kneels and gives the dog a big hug. "Come on boy, let's get off this boat, at least for a little while!" Before disembarking, he looks to his friends and offers to help carry what he can, particularly for the terribly forlorn Ori. His condition seems to be of the most concern, and while Cainneach wants to help, he also didn't want his companion to feel any worse than he already did through unwanted attention. Cainneach does his best to guide the others off the boat safely, especially Famh, as from their conversations, he felt she would be extremely put out if she were to take a tumble into the sea just as we had reached land. Cainneach is happy to note her spirits have risen and they share a laugh about finding themselves back in their homeland in the least expected circumstances. He lets his hand linger on her shoulderas long as possible while he guides her up and over the deck rail before turning to assist the diminutive Thatch up and over as well. With everyone finally accounted for, Cainneach looks at Salt, screws up his face while contemplating how to get the lanky beast safely down to the pinnace. Before he can resolve the matter, Salt gamely puts two big paws up on the rail and eagerly scrambles over, skates his way down the plank and crashes unceremoniously into the smaller boat. Thankfully, Ori's bulk stops him from tumbling into the icy water and Tana is able to calm him down. Cainneach shakes his head and carefully follows.
Once ashore and the fires are lit, Cainneach huddles up and spreads out his map. Consulting with Fergus and Almeric, along with any crew that are ashore and available for a moment, they try to determine their location, but don't note any signs of the ruined fortress on the map. Cainneach hastily marks the spot where they believe they've found themselves, rolls up the precious document, and stashes it in his scroll case. Done with that practical matter, he rises to his feet, whistles to Salt, and starts to jog around the beach area, both for warmth and to stretch out his legs. Salt isn't quite up to his usual pace, but he quickly shows some signs of the young hound vigour, dashing about, chasing thrown sticks and the occasional gull foolish enough to land nearby.
Returning to the group with spirits considerably raised, Cainneach asks, "Should Thatch and I do some reconnaissance prior to our full incursion? After we're dried, warmed, and fed, of course ... Thatch, you think you're up for it? It's still cold as a well digger's arse out here, but at least we can walk without fear of being dumped by a wave. Or at least I think we all can ..." Cainneach takes a look at Ori, to see if he's anywhere yet near ready for action.
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(Yeesh, I apparently take too long to write my posts, but I suppose that's not surprising! :facepalm:)
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( Eh, still works.)
Almeric has had a few months to adjust to the weather, from the blistering heat of Outremer, to the temperate climate of Albion. This winter is bitterly cold though, the coldest in memory and Thuland was seemed gripped in arctic tundra. Almeric wore his full wools under his gambeson, will maille over, covered with the new woollen blanket about him, and wrapped in his cloak. He had never worn so much and was till cold. Almeric is encouraged that, wrapped up as he is, the maille makes slightly less noise when he moves. Almeric had not noticed the nuance in the relationship of Cairnneach and Fahm, and no one had mentioned it, so he is unencumbered by this detail.
As they reach the ominous gate of the ancient fortress, Almeric is reminded of an ancient Emphidian Legend taught to him as a child. "A proud and godless ruler, used sorcery and witchcraft to build a great citadel. The ruler conquered and oppressed the neighbouring kingdoms, building an evil empire which caused great despair and suffering across the realm. Angered by the blasphamy offered by this ruller, the Goddess of the Sea decided to wipe the abomination from the face of the earth! At full moon upon the winter solstice, the Goddess sent a great tidal wave, which destroyed the citadel and killed everyone within in a single night. Everyone except the ruler, who defied death using vile magics and resides still in the ruined halls of the citadel..."
As they approached the gate, Almeric signals Cairnneach to stand by, should he be needed to translate.
"Greetings old man. Who is master here, in this citadel? May we enter and pay our respects?"
PERCEPTION =13 Eyes and ears open for ambush. INSIGHT = 13 The old man's answers.
The old mans sightless eyes nevertheless focus upon Sir Almeric, his jaw works noiselessly for a moment before the words emerge as if he must recall them from distant memory, "This is the tower of Magus Karvala, I keep watch upon it until his return."
" Enter or not, it is on your head alone."
( The man seems to be speaking truth as he sees it. There is no one lying in wait that you can see.)