You find yourself aboard the Jenivere, a cargo ship from Magnimar, headed south to Sargava. It left the port city of Magnimar on the 15th day of Pharast, 4710, and has made many stops along the way. It is now the 27th of Sarenith, the 103rd day of the journey, and the end is finally drawing near.
You have spent some time aboard the Jenivere, and have at least passing familiarity with these other passengers making the passage to Sargava, and a few notable members of the Jenivere’s crew.
Also, everyone has had a chance to meet and speak with the Captain and the First Mate, and of course...the Cook:
The passengers have often had dinner with the Captain, as maritime law forbids fraternization between Captain and crew.
While the Jenivere is a merchant ship, primarily concerned with delivering goods to and from Sargava, she’s traditionally kept several compartments open to take on paying passengers. This trip is no exception.
The weather has been magnificent these past few days, the sails full of wind, and the waters playful but not stormy.
The Jenivere has at last began the final stage of the journey across Desperation Bay, and the Captain has reported expected landfall to be with the next few days, Gozreh willing.
While it may have been kept under the radar before, it is now quite noticeable that all is not well aboard the Jenivere . The crew seem edgy, and there are several muttered conversations ended quickly as the passengers are spotted or draw near.
Leaning against the ship's railing, the elf seems relaxed and content to simply enjoy the sea breeze going through his long silvery hair, a little smile on his face. His golden eyes, however, are on the various people on the deck, taking in passengers and crew alike.
He is dressed in a light grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of black trousers tucked into black soft leather boots. Over the shirt one can see a well-made chain shirt, partially covered by a soft jerkin of midnight blue. Short, black soft leather gloves cover his hands, which rest on the pommels of two matching short swords sheathed next to his hips. A pair of daggers can be seen in sheaths on his boots, while an observant person would make out a third one in the small of the warrior's back.
"Quite a few passengers this time around," he mutters softly to himself. "And a fair deal of them came in together as a group. Three humans, a half-elf and a dwarf traveling together. Still, they have caused no trouble and they seem quite agreeable, judging from the various times we have talked."
He turns to look at the sea again before adding in a whisper, "And then there is the crew talking about our course. Ah, well... If true, it might bring an interesting and welcome change of pace!"
After nearly 30 days, Torden finally gained his sealegs. Short journeys from the mainland to Kortos had been his only experience aboard ships in the past. This journey far exceeded those.
He lamented the days he spent over the rail instead of studying with Origin, but once he embraced the ship’s motion and the poor cooking, he found himself able to engage in the study of Polyglot. Torden often hounded Ieana, seeking any knowledge she might have about their destination, and also spent time observing and questioning the crew about the art of sailing, sometimes to the point of Devers’ displeasure. At night, he beat the drum with crew members inclined toward music and gathered tales of the sea, few of which he had in his repertoire.
Now, 103 days in, Torden sits in the shade of the forecastle, rubbing an oil cloth over his warhammer, humming a tune. He laughs at how much of his time in Qadira and Osirion required cleaning sand from his belongings, and now he spends much of his time dealing with ever-present seawater.
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Yuuwa is kept busy amongst the crewmembers, moving inventory below decks, doing necessary but tedious ship maintenance. Her forays on deck are brief before sent below again at the orders of 1stMate and Captain. Observers will note her face is carefully neutral but the only words heard are "Aye Aye Captain". She is dressed in work clothes suitable for below decks. Her braided hair shows signs of fraying and damp with perpiration, she is covered in dust, rust and paint.
Bran was much like Torden for the first few days, but then he adjusted...or rather his stomach adjusted to the sway and rise and fall of the Jenivere, and he was able to pitch in and help the crew. Never to be one to lay about and do nothing, Bran offered to tote cargo, haul water, swab decks, and whatever else needed to be done. He Da always taught him that to truly know a man you must work, fight, and bleed with them; this motto was always in the back of his mind and urged him to interact with others. His dark brown hair was getting a bit unruly as was the beard on his face, and his hands and feet quickly became calloused to life aboard a ship.
His free time was spent with Origen, learning the rudiments of his letters which caused him no little frustration. But...he was determined to learn and so he tried his best. When not working or studying, Bran could be found either in his bunk caring for his gear or on deck, gazing out over the vast ocean. Even after 103 days he could scarce get his mind around how big it was.
And that was what he said to the elf one evening as the two of them looked out over the railing. As usual, Bran wore a ruffled shirt and breeches with no shoes. A well-worn hand axe was tucked into his belt and he was using his knife to whittle a block of wood. As the shavings fell and were lost in the ship's wake, he said, "Didn't know there was this much water in all the world, did you?"
It wasn't the first time he had spoken to the elf and found him a nice enough fellow. He wondered how he might fare in a fight with his short, thin blades. He made note of all of the daggers the elf carried too...just in case.
"Name's Bran. You sailed on the Jenivere before?"
"Didn't know there was this much water in all the world, did you?"
"It certainly makes for an impressive sight though. And a rather relaxing one I should add," the elf replies as he glances at the sea and takes a deep breath of the salt-scented air.
"Name's Bran. You sailed on the Jenivere before?"
"I am Isandril, although most of the crew salls me 'Sand'," he says with a shrug and a soft sigh. "I am accustomed to people having difficulty pronouncing my name at times, however, and I have even grown fond of the nickname."
"I have been a part of the crew for about a year, maybe a little more. This would be my second time going to Eleder from Magnimar and the third time in total that I will have made the run between the two destinations. A pretty straightforward and uneventful journey all in all," he adds, almost sounding a little disappointed.
"What about you? If your first days on this ship are any indication, I should think you have not sailed much in your life before now."
Origen spent much of the voyage poring over his father's notes in his cabin as he tries to extract some additional meaning from them. At first, he emerged only to practice Polyglot with Jonagher and Torden.
Fortunately, his friends kept him from too much solitude. Bran's progress in reading was a welcome distraction from Origen's worries about his family and his bad dreams. Despite some mutual frustration at times, the two men worked until Origen wassatisfied that his companion could manage the basic initiate tests for literacy.
His frequent nightmares caused muttered comments among the crew, and Origen tried to dispel any tension by offering to prestidigitation to help with the ship's menial tasks. This helped to win goodwill, but Captain Kovack still had to discipline a few of the more superstitious sailors who think that Origen will bring the ship bad luck.
Like Torden, Origen was intrigued by Iseana, and he tries to learn more about her and her goal. More reserved than the dwarf, Origen offered to exchange information about the Mwangi with the condition that both parties can keep the goal of their journey secret.
Now, 103 days in, Torden sits in the shade of the forecastle, rubbing an oil cloth over his warhammer, humming a tune.
Origen stands close to his dwarven friend, but stares across the ship's rail toward the horizon. He wears his usual long-sleeved shirt, black vest, and a black, wide-brimmed hat. Despite the heat of the day, he does not sweat.
Lost in memory for a few minutes, he muses over the long trip west from Absalom to Magnimar and further south into the Shackles. After another moment spent looking over the sea, he turns back to his companion and notices him polishing his warhammer. Shaking his head, he says, "Torden, I've offered to help you clean that with magic probably fifty times now. It'd save you some time."
Finally, he notices the crew's unease. "Torden, how long have the sailors been acting like this? Here, wait a moment." He steps toward Yuuwa as she emerges from a nearby hatch. "Pardon me, Yuuwa, but do you need assistance with anything?"
Torden, grins and yells after the sorcerer, "And I've told you, there's nothin' like a good bit a workin' with yer hands to exercise bad spirits."
He looks around and the crew after Origen's remarks. "How's the crew been acting?" He mutters to himself. He slings his warhammer and tucks away the polish rag. Now curious, he makes his way aft, taking note of the crew's behavior as he goes.
"Yo ho ho...and a bottle of rum!" Jonagher sings as he wanders into view of Torden, temporarily blocking his sight of Origen's conversation with Yuuwa. "Last one," he says, shaking the bottle before taking another drink, "And I'm glad I picked this up at our last port." He pauses for dramatic effect. "What was the name of that town again? Oh well, I forget." He takes another swig and then leans with his back against the rail.
Only half as drunk as he appears, the half-elf squints up at the crow's nest. He'd already climbed the ropes dozens of times since embarking on their journey aboard the Jenivere. But now, he contemplates doing so again just to escape the insufferable heat by enjoying the wind in his face again.
"Kasupwe engtaru," he announces in Polyglot and then translates. "The air is still." He relishes going over every nuance of the new language, exercising it as often as he can to ensure mastery before they make landfall and have to interact with the Mwangi natives. He also favors that particular phrase since it has so many meanings. On one hand, it comments upon the weather conditions. Sometimes it describes an ill omen or the possibility of an ambush. And, in more morbid terms, it also means someone has taken their last breath before passing away.
"So...what's got Origen all interested in that one," he asks, nodding from the dwarf and then towards Yuuwa and their friend, "I didn't take her as his type. Way too hands-on. Not nearly scholarly enough. But then, Ieana hasn't really given him the time of day so far. Maybe he's decided to move on." He gives Torden an exaggerated wink, clearly magnified by Jonagher's slightly drunken state.
"You know, this has been a grand trip," he says, gesturing about the ship, "Of course, I suppose if I weren't a passenger and had to actually work my way across the sea, I wouldn't view it in that light. But, for us, I can genuinely say I've enjoyed the cruise. And the rum. It's a pity Bran couldn't keep down his share. I guess it took awhile for him to find his sea legs. At least I had the chance to travel a few rivers in Kyonin and Andoran...and, of course, the ship to Absalom. I can't say I'm cut out for the life of a sailor exactly. But I've certainly enjoyed the peacefulness of the waves. It's a memory I'll write about in my journal."
Torden often hounded Ieana, seeking any knowledge she might have about their destination, and also spent time observing and questioning the crew about the art of sailing, sometimes to the point of Devers’ displeasure.
She seems aloof, and while not outright rude, she does manage to just barely avoid actually answering any of your questions.
The crew however, is more than happy to take in a new convert, indeed sometimes much to the displeasure of Devers'. He doesn't say anything, but you have caught him several times frowning when the crew stops work to show you something, and has ordered them back to task a few times. He always seems to warily look at the Captain's Quarters door when doing so.
This helped to win goodwill, but Captain Kovack still had to discipline a few of the more superstitious sailors who think that Origen will bring the ship bad luck.
The crew never really thought anything of it, until that night a few weeks ago when Origen began to scream from his dream and the seas calmed with no wind for a few days. That was when it started. After that, Origen did notice that Ieana, when their paths crossed what few times they did, seemed intrigued by him. She had a habit of staring without blinking for long moments.
She entertained his request for mutual exchange of information for a day or two, but never really brought it up again, avoiding speaking with Origen, but watching him at random times.
As you all go about your various tasks, entertainments, and meanderings, the First Mate announces that dinner this evening will be Cookie's special "Glop Soup Surprise". He also announces a change to the regular duty schedule, placing crewwoman Majid, and crewman Velahrn on first watch.
The first mate at some point speaks with all the passengers, "Pardon me, but I am to invite you to a dinner tonight with the Captain in the dining room this evening, to commemorate these last few nights of our voyage."
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Yuuwa's Prof and Fortitude check
Navigator
Fortitude
To Origen, you notice she now has patches of tar upon her clothing, a sailrepair kit on her belt and folded canvas over her shoulder.
"Aye your help would indeed be appreciated but it takes a skilled hand and I've no time to take an apprentice to slow me down, much less room in those crowded quarters. You paid your passage, no need to indenture yourself for the voyage. Enjoy the sun and fresh air."
During her first watch on deck, after the Capt removed her a couple of days ago, she breaks out her sextant and makes notations/calculations upon her own chart (not the Captains). She passes her observations to Velarhn and to anyone within listening.
She repeats her calculations and dead reckonings throughout her watch, to confirm/reassure their location, she studies her chart to predict possible landings, but stays the course.
"I am Isandril, although most of the crew salls me 'Sand'," he says with a shrug and a soft sigh. "I am accustomed to people having difficulty pronouncing my name at times, however, and I have even grown fond of the nickname."
"I have been a part of the crew for about a year, maybe a little more. This would be my second time going to Eleder from Magnimar and the third time in total that I will have made the run between the two destinations. A pretty straightforward and uneventful journey all in all," he adds, almost sounding a little disappointed.
"What about you? If your first days on this ship are any indication, I should think you have not sailed much in your life before now."
"No, I'm not for sailing - too busy cutting wood and sawing lumber. Can swim well enough, but I'm a bit sturdier on land than on water. Still, I kinda like it, and these mates...well, they are some right nice fellows."
To Origen, you notice she now has patches of tar upon her clothing, a sailrepair kit on her belt and folded canvas over her shoulder.
"Aye your help would indeed be appreciated but . . . . Enjoy the sun and fresh air."
"As you'd prefer. I don't want to delay you from your work, but is everything all right? Your crewmates seem a bit edgy."
After that, Origen did notice that Ieana, when their paths crossed what few times they did, seemed intrigued by him. She had a habit of staring without blinking for long moments. . . . but watching him at random times.
Origen found this a bit unnerving, but thinking of the abnormalities that he hides underneath his clothing, he remembered that he was in no position to cast stones. Still, he decided to watch her as well.
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"As you'd prefer. I don't want to delay you from your work, but is everything all right? Your crewmates seem a bit edgy."
RetCon
Yuuwa responds with shifting eyes to 1st mate location and Capt's quarters. "I must ask you first a question. Was it you or your fellow passengers that requested a course change? If not, our arrival will be somewhat delayed, although by how much I am uncertain... Course changes without reason are a bit unusual, not unheard of, combined with unexpected weather changes makes a crew uneasy. Your screaming nightmares didn't help it none and we sailing folk are by nature a superstitous religious and sacreligous lot." She pauses for a response, then continues on. "I cannot tarry long, The Capt does not entertain layabouts nor scuttlebut. I'll be up in the rigging repairing the sails, and passengers are not permitted out on the yardarms. Excuse me."She walks to the rigging and clambers up. Not the fastest but with ease borne of habit and confidence.
"Mr. Witt," Torden shakes his head in mild frustration, "Origen might benefit from some of your spirits. At times the man seems like kin to me in his search for knowledge, but then he retreats within himself and contemplates some mystery I can't begin to fathom. Nonetheless, I heard some of his recent conversation with Yuuwa, and something seems amiss in the course we are taking."
Shaken into awareness Torden begins making small talk with the crew and learning a bit of what puts them on edge.
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Later, at supper, he chokes down the soup. His diplomatic and trade journeys throughout various lands trained him to eat the fare provided him. This "Glop" however brings his stomach back to where it was on the second day of the journey.
[Knowledge(Geography)]:
From what you remember about the area on the maps you were using to begin charting the final course, the ship is moving more towards Crown's End, a town much further north in Desperation Bay than Eleder. You also happen to remember that these waters are known for their turbulent tides and pirates.
"Was it you or your fellow passengers that requested a course change?"
"A course change? Definitely not. I want to get to Sargava as fast as we can."
"Your screaming nightmares didn't help it none and we sailing folk are by nature a superstitous religious and sacreligous lot." She pauses for a response. . . .
Origen closes his eyes for a moment, involuntarily remembering his last dream. For a moment, he seems very tired.
"My sincere apologies for lowering the ship's morale. If it helps, extensive magical examination has revealed no sign of any curse on me."
". . . Excuse me."
Origen nods. "Certainly. And thanks."
Later, at supper, he chokes down the soup.
Across the table, Origen stares down at his bowl. The frozen crust of a polite smile thinly covers the depths of his nausea. Not for the first time, he contemplates volunteering to cook for the crew himself. I'd use magic to cover up the taste . . . but casting a spell now might offend Captain Kovack.
With an inaudible sigh, he follows Torden's example.
"No, I'm not for sailing - too busy cutting wood and sawing lumber. Can swim well enough, but I'm a bit sturdier on land than on water. Still, I kinda like it, and these mates...well, they are some right nice fellows."
"A loud and boisterous bunch, but that is only to be expected of sailors," Isandril remarks. "But yes, they are nice enough. A song here and a story there, something your dwarven friend and probably the half-elf seem to quite appreciate. A bit superstitious though, but that is to be expected of sailors as well."
He pauses and looks towards the Captain's quarters before continuing, "Although I have enjoyed our talk, I believe you are expected for dinner with Captain Kovack. As for myself, I am on guard duty tonight."
During her first watch on deck, after the Capt removed her a couple of days ago, she breaks out her sextant and makes notations/calculations upon her own chart (not the Captains). She passes her observations to Velarhn and to anyone within listening.
Spoiler:
"Nevertheless, who knows?" Isandril adds with a smile. "A change is not always a bad thing. This one might bring an interesting thing or two with it and provide a break from this tedium we find ourselves in."
As you awake from the pain, you realize that you are wearing your standard gear for watch duty, chain shirt and all. Your holy symbol is tied on a lanyard around your right wrist. You suddenly realize that you do not, however, have any other weapons or gear. You do notice a gear pile, haphazardly stacked 10 feet from you.
The creature moves back as you suddenly move, reacting to the pain. It backs up and raises it's claws. After maneuvering slightly, it moves suddenly and comes in with both claws snapping at you. The claws pinch, but can find no purchase on your chain shirt.
Your hastily flung Icicle bolt slams fruitlessly into the sand, having missed by mere inches.
You notice out of the corner of you eye, the one passenger, a half-elf with a penchant for drinking, wakes and dodges out of the way of another of these creatures. A quick glance, and you can detect a total of 8 of these things about you on the beach.
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For the DM
Without skill knowledge
Standard Action: Channel positive energy Selective Channel Feat exclude CrabbiePatties #1 and 3. 30 foot radius (which should help awaken #11,12,13, 14 and Origen)
Move action: 5' towards gear pile. Identify trident(or other useful weapon) and/or shield other useful weapon within pile.
Free Action: I am making a lot of noise.
With skill knowledge:
I await useful info to adjust tactics as needed otherwise as above.
Yuuwa starts yelling, "GIT YER LAZY BUMS UP! WE'VE MONSTERS ABOUT AND THIS AIN'T NO SPA DAY! HEEE YAA! NO SLEEPING YE' SCALLYWAGS! I SAID GIT UP!"
Edited for comment:
Jonagher reacts to the snapping claws at the same time he hears Yuuwa's warning. He immediately lunges away and then rolls through the sand to regain his feet. Despite the befuddlement in his head ('That must have been some powerful rum!'), his initial burst of adrenaline keeps him moving. As a ruse, he kicks sand at the monstrous crab-thing and then makes a rolling dive toward the gear pile to arm himself.
()
For DM Berwick
Jolted awake with a sick feeling in his stomach, Origen tries to figure out what is happening. He opens his eyes and starts to stand up.
First, everything is dark and silent, your own heartbeat throbbing in your mind. Then, sensation begins to creep back in...the feel of sand below and of something wet lapping at your feet, the sound of ocean waves washing against a beach, and the sounds of a fight near you.
Then, suddenly, two sand colored claws snap right in-front of your eyes, you natural instincts protecting you even now. You notice that you have no gear or weapons. There is a rather large pile of haphazardly stacked gear 15 feet from you. Retrieving an item is a standard action. You are awake now, and have the Sickened Condition.
Origen shouts, "Get away from me!" Hoping that he is quicker than the claws, he struggles up from the sand. When he does, his head throbs like one of Torden's dwarven marching rhythms, and his stomach attempts to decorate the sand with Cookie's glop.
Forcing down his gorge, he steps away from his attacker, and with a quick gesture, he sends a bolt of purple liquid toward the creature. He glances around him, trying to locate where his friends are.
Yuuwa channels divine energy, and a pulse of light washes over the beach, avoiding the creatures next to her and Origen. There is no visible effect.
The creature attacking Yuuwa moves in and brings all its natural weaponry to bear, clawing, and stinging tail lashing out. Both claws pinch her, but catch her armor and not skin. The stinging tail lashes out, and misses her by inches.
As Jonagher deftly moves away from the creature, he feels the scales of its tail brush his legs failing in an attempt to attack him. It's aim drawn off by the sudden sand cloud.
The creature scuttles after Jonagher as he moves to the pile, and stands off just a little, and attacks with its tail. Lashing forward, hitting the sand where Jonagher just was, the creature shrieks in anger, a horrible teeth grating sound.
As Origen attempts to stand up, a tail with a scorpion-like stinger sails into view. Its painful sting catches you on the shoulder, the barb pulsates as the poison courses into Origen.
Origen stands, and fires off a string of acid at the creature, but it scuttles out of the way.
You all see two of these things move in on Bran as he stirs and wakes up.
After arming himself, Jonagher quickly looks around. Seeing Isandril and Bran as the most in danger of being swarmed by the crustaceans, he hurries to interpose himself and hold them off. "Get up!" he shouts, kicking the elf to try and rouse him.
Origen barely feels the sting at first, but the poison takes effect quickly, slowing his movements.
He shouts "Bran! Look out!" hoping to wake up more of his companions before the scavengers get to them. The combined shouts of Yuuwa, Jonagher, and Origen began to shake the others out of their dangerously deep slumber.
Isandril starts to wake, the sounds of people fighting and shouting all around him being what welcomes him back to consciousness. Feeling his head heavy and his stomach in the throes of nausea, he has difficulty opening his eyes, at least until the half-elf's boot 'gently' nudges him.
"Ow! That is not very nice, Cousin," he manages to quip groggily, recognizing Jonagher's voice, as he rises from the sand and takes in his surroundings and the situation he seems to have found himself in. "What is happening here?"
Without waiting for an answer, he realizes he is no good without weapons and, seeing the gear pile, makes his way there, taking care to avoid any claw or tail strikes from the strange creatures.
First, everything is dark and silent, your own heartbeat throbbing in your mind. Then, sensation begins to creep back in...the feel of sand below and of something wet lapping at your feet, the sound of ocean waves washing against a beach, and the sounds of a fight near you.You hear a voice shouting about something. Then, suddenly, two sand colored claws snap right in-front of your eyes, as a scorpion-like stinger comes into view. You dodge the first claw attack, the second on hits you, but the claws find no exposed skin, and the stinger hits the sand near your body. You notice that you have your armor on, but no gear or weapons. There is a rather large pile of haphazardly stacked gear 15 feet from you.
"GAH!" Bran exclaims as he is nearly skewered by the critter's stinger. He rolls to his feet and moves to the pile of gear, looking for a weapon (preferably a sword - let me know what he grabs).
As soon as he gets one in hand, he wheels back toward the critter (No.5) and attacks!
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Yuuwa with her back to the gearpile, assesses the hostile environment and counts eight monstrosities. "Tighten and doubleup ya Landlubbers! This is not an honorable fight!" As if enforce her words with action, she shoots an icicle bolt at Shelled Creature #3 threatening Origen.
Standard Action Icicle Bolt
Attack
Dmg
Move action: She moves into square O-10.
Swift Action: She wants to keep the attention of #1 from attacking any of the passengers. Her movements are exaggerated and voice loud.
Heal Check
"Uggg." Though awake, Torden's head and belly ache. He would love to lie in the sand or maybe dip in the water in an attempt to clear his head, but the stinger's strike jolts him into action.
Scrambling backward to the pile, he looks for and claims his drum.
The creatures launch a chaotic attack, with some hits and some misses.
Yuuwa moves closer to Origen, and fires another Icicle Bolt at the creature facing Origen, pinning it to the sand with a solid icicle as its death throws cause its tail to wave about before the whole body starts to sag down the icicle into the sand.
As Jonagher moves into position near Isandril, the two creatures next to him lash out with poisoned tails, both hitting the sand behind his heals as he moves quickly to his downed compatriot.
Jonagher moves in between Isandril and a pair of the shelled creatures, kicking at the elf, and shouting at him to wake him up as he strikes out at one of the creatures.
Bran, Isandril, and Torden stir in the sand, and begin to wake up.
Bran rolls to his feet, and moves to the pile of gear searching for a sword! He easily avoids an attack from the sand creature, and continues on his move. Luckily, he finds blade his near him.
Isandril moves quickly to the gear pile, rolling to avoid an incoming tail stinger, and quickly grabs his own weapons.
Torden scrambles backward until he backs into the pile, and with his usual quick thinking, reaches out and finds his trusty drum.
Creature #1 moves closer behind Yuuwa, and lashes out with it's tail at her, striking her shadow in the sand.
The rest of the creatures move slowly towards the group, claws and tails waiving menacingly in the air.
His swords in his hands again, Isandril wastes no time and moves to engage the two creatures closest to him. "The sooner we finish this fight, the sooner we can start getting to the bottom of this," the elf says to anyone that can hear him as he begins his attack with two successive thrusts.
"Come and get some!" Bran growls, stepping forward with his sword. He slashes at the critter, hoping to end its threat quickly.