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This is the gameplay thread for the Savage Tide adventure path set in my homebrew campaign setting.
hi
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Sasserine is located on the east coast of Iskenduron at the edge of the Kalamiaris Jungle, nestled in a sheltered harbor. Most travelers come to Sasserine via ship, as overland routes are fraught with peril. From the sea, Sasserine isn’t much to look at; two ragged cliffs of stone jut from the coastline, their faces home to seahawks and gulls but little else. Then a vast rent in the cliff slides into view, its summit crowned by the shattered remnants of an immense stone bridge. Sailing between the slowly eroding stone pylons that once supported the bridge above, a visitor passes from open sea into a thriving harbor of commerce, whaling, and intrigue. Certainly the smell of the city is breathtaking – a tremendous riot of exotic spices, smoke, humanity, and sewage that assaults the senses. Perfumes and scented candles are popular commodities in Sasserine.
Sasserine is split into seven distinct districts, each with its own personality. These districts are separated by inner walls, by networks of canals or rivers, or simply by age. Friendly competition between districts is common, especially during festivals, yet the citizens of Sasserine do not hesitate to come to each other’s aid. Perched at the edge of civilization, Sasserine is (and has always been) often the target of assault from land and sea; the pirates of the Crimson Fleet, the navy of the Scarlet Brotherhood, and the frog-like boggards and marsh giants of the surrounding marshland keep the city on constant alert, yet to date the fiercely proud city has fallen to the enemy only once, and even then only through the act of the city’s most notorious traitor.
Altair was a little tired but he had to press on. The only real issue was that whenever Altair was tired... he couldn't stop thinking about food.
I could really go for a nice fat worm right now.
Realizing he wis distracted he flies to the nearest makeshift perch, the gutter of a brown building. Scanning the crowd below he cannot find his mark. Anxiety begins to creep into his heart when...
There!
He spots her. It is hard to make her out in the crowd because most humans look the same. Her head down is yellow,
Not a particularly beautiful yellow, but bright enough for a female I suppose. he thought.
Luckily she walks upright with a tall posture that helps Altair to find her. She walks a lot of late. Ever since she had moved from her old nest into the new smaller nest. Altair doesn't want to get too attached to this human, but she did feed him... and he was beginning to miss her smile.
Watching her, she turns down a lane. Altair takes flight then and finds himself looking down upon her.
Humans are strange.
Beside her upon the ground is another human, male. He is skinnier than most and needs to bathe.
So strange these humans. To go hungry and yet be surrounded by so much food to forage.
Altair watches as his human gives the male human something and moves on.
She is wasting her own food again! That human is not her offspring.
Altair calls down
Wasting food is a silly thing! That human isn't your offspring.
Turning she looks up at him with green eyes. Helena Betancourt, the only human Altair has ever kinda liked. He sees her smile, not the fake smile he sees her use all the time with the other humans, but her real smile.
Your face looks better with a smile once in awhile.
she says.
She extends her finger. Its tip is painted green. Altair flies to it.
We are connected.
He stays with her, as she goes throughout her area of this city. She gives out small bits of food, shiny metal, and healing. Though he does not understand it, Altair does note that she seems happiest when she goes on her walks. He also notes that many of the juvenile humans seem happy to see her.
After some time, when shadows are darker and longer, and when any sign of her smile has faded away, Helena Betancourt sits and looks out over the hills of the city toward the sea with a frown upon her face.
she asks.
And so he does.
Altair’s song lifts your spirits, as usual, but the sound of the waves crashing and the seabreeze blowing muffles the ordinarily strident notes. For a passing moment, you experience a sense of forboding emanating from Altair, or in the air around the thrush, you can’t be sure which. As quickly as it came, the feeling is gone and Altair’s song ends. He looks at you quizzically, shakes himself rapidly as birds do, and flits to your shoulder. Altair speaks into your ear “Where was I just now? Was I singing? I didn’t want to sing that song. I felt…odd…not myself. I think it was The Other again. Do you think its trying to “nudge” you like last time?” His questions come almost too fast to hear, but you think back to last week and what transpired near your school.
Reginold's skin was rather crispy at this point. He felt the world lurch to and fro, and for the moment, he couldn't understand why. His skin would pulse in pain with the rhythm of the rocking when he was reexposed to the sun. At least they left him his small clothes. Small comforts. His wrists and ankles were red and irritated, but because of the bindings, that part of his body wasn't sunburnt. Wasn't he looking for something?
Blue. The ropes were blue. Rope for the jib, then? He was on a ship. That's right. Where was the money? That's what he needed to find. Did he hide it? He didn't remember hiding it. Maybe they stole it. He couldn't remember the last few days.
Was he upside down? He was tied to the Bowsprit. Just over the water like some figurehead. He'd been falling in and out of consciousness for the last few days, but thankfully they took pity on him and gave him water. What was it, two days ago?
As of now, he was awake but they only jeered and scoffed when he pleaded with them so he was content to pretend to sleep. What was that foul odour? Not the fish, something more animal. That ... was him. Don't they know who I am? Thoughts of a warm bath were both appealing and appalling. Where was that blasted money!
Oh, blessed shade. A cloud? He basked in its shadow. He opened his eyes with a jolt of pain. Someone was not tender with his skin. "Wake up, Mr Finklestein." Another jolt. "Oh, hello." That's what he tried to say. It came out as a grunt. For some reason, his lips wouldn't move.
"We're here, Mr Finklestien. If ..." A grave voice breathed heavily as if winded. " ... that is your real name. I hope, for your sake, that your family is waiting at the pier. The Captain wants his money."
Altair looked for comfort in Helena's look, he found none. I don't like this happening. he thinks.
Instead her look is one of concern, though he cannot be sure that the concern is for him or for something else.
Altair watches as Helena stands. Her eyes squint hard as she looks out at the bay. Watching, Altair notes a ship coming in and Helena's glance upon it. He wants a worm. A worm would cheer him up, or some nice seed.
she says mostly to herself.
_____________________________________________
Helena sees the worry in the little bird's face. She knew it mirrored her own. The last time I was nudged I did some good. she reminds herself, though it does not make her feel any better.
Looking out she sees a ship approaching a pier. It almost looked like a man was hanging upon the front of it... perhaps there was one.
Turning toward Altair she smiles at the little bird. She whispers.
Altair flits off Helena's shoulder to the rooftop where she sits, and looks thoughtful, for a thrush. "The figurehead-man looks interesting, so I say we check it out. It'll give us something to do til dinner at any rate. I'll meet you there!" He zips down toward he docks, perching on various buildings, carts, and the occasional Sasserinite to make sure you're following.
Jarael slid down the drainpipe of the Drunk Bear, and joined the throng of worshippers leaving the Temple of Hermes. Only a couple of folks in the crowd paid her any mind, as she wore the livery of the Sasserine Messengers and also the House Arabani spider brooch on her light cloak. The seabreeze caught her hood, revealing her fine white hair and the light gray skin of her face, and they ignored her again, trying not to stare. She checked the pouch at her hip, confirming the presence of the jingling coins within, thinking to herself that she had better not lose the payment her aunt gave her to pay for the passage of the new house champion. Finestone or something, wasn't it? Jarael saw the dock ahead as well as the Grindylow moored there and hissed at the sight of the odd figurehead. "Aunt Anwyn won't be pleased at the treatment of her new investment. Better pay the captain and get him inside."
Place Hold
Denton looks up from the page he had just finished coping and sighed heavily. Why did this book have so many illustrations to copy. He never liked to copying illustrations. It wasn't that he had no talent for it, but he was seldom happy with the final product even if Luther thought it well done.
Denton decided to glance out the window to find the position of the sun. Maybe he could put off the job til tomorrow pleading he wouldn't be able to finish it today. Luther always had need for messages to be delivered or other small task, and that was preferable to having to stay late to finish the illustration by candle light.
Denton resolved himself to ask. The worse that could happen was Luther would ask him to do the illustration. As distasteful as staying late would be, Luther had been an excellent boss, and a better friend. It would be a small price to repay some of the kindnesses that Luther had lavished upon him. Standing from his seat he scan the area for Luther and saw him sitting at his desk reading. When he had reached the desk he politely cleared his throat to gain his attention.
"I have reached a particularly detail illustration that I would prefer to start tomorrow if you could find some other task you have need of."
Denton gazed hopefully towards Luther hoping that he would be granted this small mercy.
Reginold awoke again to someone carrying him. The person was oddly gentle. Thin dark hands held his arms and he thought perhaps it was a woman's. He raised his head to find finely trimmed goatee and sinister piercing eyes. Okay, if not a woman definitely elven. The smirk quickly left Reginolds face.
Nearby a beautiful woman stood looking at him with pursed lips. It was, what was it? Gisselle! So vulnerable and so beautiful. They had been playing kissing games earlier in the voyage to the chagrin of her brother; a brutish looking man with a nasty scar on his right cheek. He does look quite menacing. Good presence. He'd make a good gladiator.
"I can walk," he said to the elf. Again, his lips didn't move and it came out a bit mumbled. The elf, drow by the look, dark and all, raised an eyebrow and unceremoniously lowered him on his legs. His legs immediately buckled. After a few moments, maybe a minute, he was on his legs. Wobbling but standing. Triumph!
Gisselle walked up and wrinkled her nose. If only there was a Wizard to the Presidity thingy. She came to his ear and whispered, "Thanks for the money." She smiled warmly and Reginold was just confused. She walked back and held his brother closely. Too close They began to kiss. Really kiss. "Your brother!" He stammered. The dark elf began to chuckle. Reginold didn't see the joke. That likely meant he was the joke.
Helena stands watching the scene at the docks.Then turns and begins to walk away when a passerby notices her as "the girl who saved those children." Silly really. She did not save them and honestly Altair did almost all of the real work.
Helena is suddenly worried about the attention as the man speaks his praise just a little loudly, and so she kindly thanks him and turns, ready to move toward home.
"Silly girl, take credit for your accomplishments! We are one, but the common folk wouldn't listen to a talking bird alerting them of missing children. You cast the spell, not me."Altair sits contentedly on your shoulder as you make your way home. "You may yet have to accomplish much in the days ahead. Best to get used to being recognized!"
Reginold was sitting by the fire. Far from it at the moment as he ate a brothy soup. His face was red, which was good because it was covering up the blushing. A few stout men of different races were laughing as one man recounted today's past events. One man in particular looked in pain as he laughed himself to stitches.
"You should have seen his face when she kissed his brother." Said an older looking man with crossed stitched scars along his body. "He just stammered and looked perplexed. A real cutie though. He didn't have a clue; just looked off and the best part. He still thought they were related till last night when I talked him through it."
The man in stitches fell to the ground crying.
"I'm, I'm going to bed." Reginold retorted and put down his soup. He then proceeded to walk to his quarters. This did not go as he expected. He had thoughts of getting some of the respect his father had. Perhaps it was idle fancies. He didn't have any experience and he wondered if he'd ever have it. They'd been calling him Fig which was short for figurehead. They gave him a week to recover but he'd start his daily constitutional tomorrow. He had to be fit for what he would be about.
Jarael sighed in exasperation as Reginold attempted to wander off again to "his quarters." He had done the same twice after dressing and disembarking from the Grindylow, though the Drunk Bear, where they now sat, was only a short distance away from the docks. She had heard of green sailors with sun sickness, unused to keeping hydrated while on the open water, talking to thin air and walking in circles until they cooled down and their sunburnt skin healed. "Excuse me Mr. Finklestein, but your quarters are at Arabani Manor, not in the privy of this tavern." Amid the resounding fresh guffaws of the other patrons, she paid the tab for the soup, bread, and mead, and guided the new house champion out the door and down the street.
He followed the woman while looking at her backside. She looked like a half elf with traits of some elf he'd never encountered. When she looked back he averted his eyes but too late. That was a mistake. She gave a warning look. He'd nearly forgotten that lodging was included. Since the boat, things in his head were all jumbled up.
He could swear there was a bird eyeing him earlier. The odd thing was, it seemed to have intelligence behind the glass eyes. Like it was sizing him up. Anything is possible but it gave him the willies. He noticed that his eyes had gone back down to her backside and ...
He was on the ground and wasn't sure how he got there. Did she hit him? Maybe it was her feet. He got up and was slightly dizzy. She didn't do any permanent harm but he though how that might have looked in a crowd. He looked around and people averted their eyes and walked around. Apparently she looked like someone not to trifle with.
She has wits, but could use a better disposition. Reginold mused to himself. He got up and continued to follow her. Now very careful to look elsewhere.
Jarael was annoyed at Finestein's oggling, but at least he was focusing on something. His obvious attempts at subtlety showed some of his wits were returning. Apparently, however, he still had room for improvement, for when she halted to switch direction he barreled into her and ended up on the ground in a heap. He appeared to be trying to remain aware of his surroundings, for which Jarael was grateful, because they were approaching the gates of Arabani Manor, and she didn't want the man to be taken for a lecherous drunk and be accosted by the house guards. She halted, and turned toward him. "We have arrived, Mr. Finklestein. Welcome to Arabani Manor, home of Lady Anwyn Arabani, your new patron."
This campaign is now closed.