The water of the Glass River slushes lazily around the wooden posts of the piers of Xer, primary trade port of Razmirian. Behind the Greycloak Warehouse, dock workers are busy loading river barge and other vessels, but none of them match the description of the Tatzlwyrm.
Spotting the armed adventurers approaching one by one, a human boy of about 15 years calls out to them.
"You lot looking for the Tatzlwyrm? She's sailed already, with a fresh crew of hired swords. But cap'n Drumbarrel and I could use a bit of company on the Water Wraith. Any of you fellas looking to hire on as security, grab a seat in the shade over there, and cap'n Drumbarrel will be with you as soon as we have everything squared away. I hope you brought all your gear, 'cause we'll be casting off as soon as the last crate is secure."
Cordell Drummond hurries along the dockside dressed in nondescript traveling clothes, boots, and a wide hat that partially obscures his face. He's loaded down with a couple of heavy packs that dwarf his narrow frame, but his lean muscles move them about capably. A teapot hangs almost ludicrously from a strap on the lower pack. He is evidently unarmored, though his pack certainly clanks a lot. There's a shield on his back, under the packs, and a couple of stout clubs at his waist. He looks at each boat, stepping faster and faster, beginning to accept the fact that it is well past dawn.
When he is hailed by the lad, relief shows visibly on Cordell's face. He takes a moment to compose himself, muttering some words in another language and making a sign with his hands that might be mistaken for a religious devotion.
That done, he nods to the lad. Thank you for your offer. I will be aboard the Water Wraith if you and your captain will have me! He introduces himself with a warm handshake and smile when he gets closer. Cordell Drummond, at your service.
He then takes a spot in the shade, taking off his packs with some relief. His back against the tree, he idly runs his fingers over the bark and breathes the combination of soil and sea air. He was so late, he had arrived early. It looked like today was going to be a good day.
Hastily striding as quickly as his stocky legs will allow, Bellamin Axeager approaches the boat while occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Dusty from traveling, but otherwise well-kept, the dwarf appears capable enough by the look of the used morninstar swinging from his waist.
"Heh? Not the Tatzlwyrm? Well, one boat's as good as the next as long we get moving."
Positioning his back away from the dock, Bellamin sits down near Cordell as he tucks his necklace under his shirt. Turning to the half-elf, he cracks a smile and offers his hand, "Bellamin here, pleased to meet you!".
Waiting for the boat as well, Vasrik rests off to the side, already seated underneath the shaded tree. He sits cross-legged, staring straight ahead, as though lost in meditation or perhaps fighting to recall a lost fragment of memory.
On his right, sits an outrageously large warhelm of carved bone, one complete with a gigantic cobra’s fin.
On his left lies a sleeping dinosaur, one at least as tall as a man. The reptilian creature’s head rests in Vasrik’s lap while its muscled abdomen gently rises and falls.
Scratch that.
It’s not asleep at all. The beast suddenly cocks open a single eye which seems to follow everyone nearby. Somehow the creature looks as though it were pacing like a caged lion, even though it is lying prone and almost completely still.
Then the eye closes once more.
Cordell returns the smile and handshake. Cordell Drummond, at your service.
He adds:
With a glance at their meditating companion, he adds quickly
Bellamin cocks his head approvingly at the use of his native tongue. Following Cordell's eyes to the figures under the tree, he notes,
Alarien hustles along the dockside, scabbarded longsword bouncing silently off of her right hip. Dressed in leather boots, loose leather pants and wearing a loose silken blouse dyed a deep red, she definitely looks to be well-to-do or possibly even a noble. The glint of metal can be seen occasionally under her blouse as she jogs--probably chain mail, or at least a shirt of it--and a shortbow and quiver of arrows are slung over her back. Other than the quality of her finery, she looks very stereotypically elven--fey, almost alien beauty, with silky platinum hair flowing over her shoulders and eyes swallowed up by pools of deep, almost blackish blue.
Slowing to a halt as she hears the call for guards for this new riverboat, the Water Wraith, she curses her luck and moves to join the other presumable guards in the shade of the tree.
Standing slightly apart from the others, she does her best to disguise the fact that she is sizing them up.
The youth scampers off down one of the piers.
About 20 minutes later, a halfling woman strides down the pier towards your group.
"Right then. I'm Mirabella Drumbarrel, captain of the Water Wraith. Toran tells me he found some brave souls looking to hire on as guards. You lot must be it, by the look of ya' all. Now then, for some reason, able bodies are hard to come by in Xer these days. Seems like the masked priests have been rounding up hired swords, making it hard for us captains to get decent protection for our cargos. Most likely, they don't want anyone to be in much of a position to object, when they come around with their blessings and sermons, looking to squeeze every last penny out of honest riverfolk. Just so you know, I've already paid them more than I care for, and if any of their goons come looking for more, I expect you to send them packing. Any of you got a problem with that, best be on your merry way, and right quick."
She glances back towards the Water Wraith, then towards the city. "We're waiting for a last shipment of cargo, then we cast off. I offer three square meals a day, a place for your bedroll among the cargo and payment of fifty gold pieces per person upon our safe arrival in Tymon. If that's to your liking, then stay sharp and be ready to move."
She turns to leave, then shoots a look at Black Fin. "I trust you know how to handle your pet there. And if it poops on my deck, I'll use you for a mop before I dump the pair of you over the railing."
Aye, Captain. Cordell responds sharply. I'm ready to go when you are.
He winces inwardly a bit at the thought of fighting the masked priests. A lot of them are regular guys doing what they think they have to do to get ahead. Even so, their methods were objectionable, to say the least, and if this was where he made his stand, so be it.
After she's gone, Cordell turns to Bellamin. Think I could get your help putting my armor on? I left in a bit of a hurry this morning. Never enough time, you know?
Under his breath, but most likely audible for those nearby- Gold's a bonus after any chance to knock a few masks off those so-called priests.
Turning to Cordell, Sure, mate. Happy to help . Bellamin sets down his own pack and small buckler as he moves toward the half-elf. On the way over, he offers an awkward wave to the seated druid and standing elf- Name's Bellamin. Pleasure.
Cordell. Nice to meet you folk. He puts in, with a polite nod and smile towards Vasrik and Alarien.
"Alarien," the elf replies diffidently.
. . . She turns to leave, then shoots a look at Black Fin. "I trust you know how to handle your pet there. And if it poops on my deck, I'll use you for a mop before I dump the pair of you over the railing."
"No poop," confirms the sauromancer.
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No Poop
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Vasrik remembered. There was no poop. Not on that voyage.
While large in size, “The Favored Titan” had proven to be a slow vessel.
Back then Vasrik had still travelled with Great Queen and her brood. They made for the safety of the Fourth Lands, ferrying three generations of finned saurian. Vasrik's magic had been failing him even then.
He wasn’t sure he even remembered how it started. How many thousands of years ago had it been? The cook had tried to scramble one of Great Queen’s eggs for the Captain. Only one he said, the ignoramus. How he had managed to steal it, Vasrik never learned. But Vasrik had drawn his Kaylarik in anger—a mistake to be sure. It could not be taken back. The guards were upon him.
He remembered only flashes now. Great Queen’s sons were everywhere, leaping about the deck. Then the boat was capsized, torn asunder by Great Queen herself. The brood began feasting upon the slave rowers by the dozens.
Vasrik had reached for the arcane infandibulum to calm them, to take control as he once did. It failed (again). It had taken him a long time to learn his limitations. To accept.
So many monkey-men were dead or left clinging to the sinking hull. Vasrik and Great Queen's brood were left paddling across the sea to face the coming storms on their own.
But there was no poop.
Cordell. Nice to meet you folk. He puts in, with a polite nod and smile towards Vasrik and Alarien.
"I am called Vasrik," the seated man answers, "A pleasure." He pats the sleeping dinosaur as its head rests in his lap.
"Have any of you been to Tymon recently?"
A man walks down the dock, occasionally tapping the wooden pier with his walking stick as he meanders towards the Water Wraith. From his dress and mannerisms, it is clear that he is a scholar; all he needs is a pair of spectacles to make the impression complete. He carries a worn backpack over his threadbare clothes, but that does not diminish the impression of his intellect. He walks over to the Water Wraith before calling out from the pier. "Excuse me, is this the Tatzylwyrm? I should be on the manifest. Harroan Sallemore."
It looks like we've missed the Tatzylwyrm, friend. Would you mind a spot on the Water Wraith? Cordell buckles another strap on his scale mail, fidgeting a little with unfamiliarity and discomfort. All we have to do is repel anybody who tries to stop this boat from leaving once it's packed.
"I am called Vasrik," the seated man answers, "A pleasure." He pats the sleeping dinosaur as its head rests in his lap.
"Have any of you been to Tymon recently?"
And who is this fine young spinosaurus? I've never seen one, just heard stories of them. Aren't they supposed to get much bigger?
I was in Tymon a few years back for business. I bet the fighting arenas are as active as ever.
Harroan's face darkens when he hears of the premature departure of the Tatzlwyrm. "What are the odds of two ships departing the same day that seem willing to take on guards? Who is the captain of this ship?" He seems a bit suspicious in his analysis of the situation.
Poor in another place and time, I grant you, but apparently the priests have stepped up their vigilance and fines. Mirabella Drumbarrel is her captain.
Harroan steps from the pier onto the boat, eyeing the other recruits. "Yes, I had a run-in with the priests. Hence my reluctance to stay in the city, and my willingness to accept a deal. I'm afraid that I'm not particularly useful as far as physical combat goes - but I have other talents that could prove quite useful." He offers his right hand in greeting to Cordell, exposing a runic tattoo that runs up his forearm.
Cordell Drummond. He flashes a smile and shakes Harroan's hand, a task made a little awkward because he's still putting on armor. Deals are my specialty. It seems like you'll find agreeable attitudes among our new friends. This is Bellamin, Vasrik, and Alarien.
And who is this fine young spinosaurus? I've never seen one, just heard stories of them. Aren't they supposed to get much bigger?
Vasrik takes note when Cordell identifies Black Fin by his species' proper name, in common, a word such as a learned sage might use.
"I'm told they do, but apparently the local coffee will stunt your growth."
He smiles.
"Black Fin here is an infant."
I was in Tymon a few years back for business. I bet the fighting arenas are as active as ever.
"It's true then," he says, "these arenas are real..."
It is then that Harroan arrived.
. . .Deals are my specialty. It seems like you'll find agreeable attitudes among our new friends. This is Bellamin, Vasrik, and Alarien.
"Welcome," says Vasrik with a wave, still seated in the shade. He briefly reflects on what his own specialty might be, but decides it is not a thing that he has.
Bellamin briefly stands up and gives an informal salute to Harroan, Bellamin here, welcome aboard!
Alarien gives another aloof nod to the newcomer. "A pleasure," she says. "I wonder what sort of cargo this ship is waiting on?"
Captain Drumbarrel hops up on the pier and counts off the items being secured on the cargo deck.
"We're waiting on a shipment of dwarven shields and helmets that's been shipped up form the Five King Mountains via Druma. They'll fetch a hefty penny in Tymon, provided we get them on board at all. I was expecting the crates over an hour ago. Once we get that shipment stored, we're off." she answers Alarien's question.
That's a cargo worth waiting for! Bellamin chuckles as rummages through his pack.
A small, wiry man runs awkwardly on to the pier and bends over panting when he reaches the end. He glances furtively once over his shoulder and then straightens up to his full height of 5'2". He is obviously not a man, yet, but a thin, disheveled lad dressed in soiled peasant garb carrying a pack stuffed with odds and ends. Clipped to a coil of rope wrapped around his skinny waist is what appears to be a stout wooden meat tenderizer. On the opposite hip rides the only decent looking piece of equipment, a fine handled chef's knife in a well cared for sheath.
Earnestly he addresses Mirabella, who seems to be the one in charge."Reporting for work ma'am. I heard the Tatzlwyrm was hiring on for guards and such. I can be good in a scrap and I know a few arcane tricks. I'd be a hard worker, and I can even help with the cookin'."
Harroan perks up when he hears that another arcanist has joined the ship's roster. "Ah, where did you study? I wasn't aware that there were any arcanariums in proximus." His questions don't seem to take into account the possibility of natural talent or self-taught magic, even though a considerable amount of his own learning occurred after he left the Academae.
Harroan perks up when he hears that another arcanist has joined the ship's roster. "Ah, where did you study? I wasn't aware that there were any arcanariums in proximus."
Nub narrows his eyes a bit in suspicion. "Ummm, nowhere of consequence."
Oblivious to any tension or awkwardness between the arcanists, Bellamin rumbles past and grabs Nub's hand with a generous shake before it's offered. Tell us more about your cookin' skills, the other hand rubbing his staunch belly. Oh, and name's Axeager, Bellamin Axeager.
Possibly waiting until after Mirabella responds with the correct information about the boat, Cordell will go through the introductions again, also for Mirabella's benefit. What's your name, sir?
Oblivious to any tension or awkwardness between the arcanists, Bellamin rumbles past and grabs Nub's hand with a generous shake before it's offered. Tell us more about your cookin' skills, the other hand rubbing his staunch belly. Oh, and name's Axeager, Bellamin Axeager.
Looking around cautiously, he tries not to seem nervous as he speaks in a soft voice.
"Uhh, nice to meet you sirs. You can call me Nub. I, uh, can work with just about any ingredients." Adding with a wry chuckle, "especially good with stews".
Alarien scrutinizes Nub carefully. After a few moments, she looks over his shoulder and deadpans, eyebrow arched, "Is that the city watch?"
Bellamin's ears perk up and before he confirms the jape with his own eyes, his morningstar is unclasped and at the ready by his side.
Cordell finishes buckling on his scale mail and makes a few experimental motions in it. Beastly stuff, but it gets the job done. It will be useful if we're going to repel pirates. I wonder if there's a better way.
To Alarien's jest, Cordell laughs first. If only. That would be an easier matter than some of the priests. Nevertheless, Captain, He says, turning to Mirabella, I will personally ensure that this boat leaves when you give the order. Do you suppose we could go and find the lost shipment?
Alarien scrutinizes Nub carefully. After a few moments, she looks over his shoulder and deadpans, eyebrow arched, "Is that the city watch?"
Nub looks around nervously. "Are we expecting trouble here?"
Alarien gives Nub a crooked smile. "You tell me."
Cordell finishes buckling on his scale mail and makes a few experimental motions in it. Beastly stuff, but it gets the job done. It will be useful if we're going to repel pirates. I wonder if there's a better way.
"There's always a better way," Vasrik thinks to himself, "but I never seem to find it."
"Pirates it is then," he decides, once again resigning himself to his course. "At least they don't sound like innocents."
Perhaps the sight of this eclectic band of wardsmen alone would be enough to dissuade anyone from trying to board the Water Wraith.
"One would hope that we have sufficient ability to ward off the envious eye of the priests." He looks at them suspiciously. "Unless one of us you is a member of their number, surreptitiously assessing outgoing ships in order to check for contraband. Presumably we have no contraband, and have fulfilled the rest of their onerous requests?"
Alarien gives Nub a crooked smile. "You tell me."
Nub rolls his eyes and pointedly looks elsewhere, though he does unlimber his crossbow and places it on the ground next to where he is sitting and looking as mundane as possible.
Alarien's smile slowly fades as Nub refuses to take the bait, leaving her face a neutral mask. Listlessly, she begins pacing in a circle around the tree under whose shade the party had gathered.
Although the saurian was still resting comfortably in his lap, Vasrik watched as Black Fin’s eyes began to track a nearby dock worker, an older man with a limp.
Vasrik knew that look.
Black Fin was a predator, he would always be on the hunt – an injured man was a tempting target.
Vasrik calmed himself in preparation. This was another opportunity to exercise his, Raj'thania, his mystic control. Once upon a time the Sauromancer controlled an entire legion of dinosaurs in the Mwangi basin with but a thought. Surely even with his power waned as far as it had he could master the base instincts of a small baby in his lap.
He closed his eyes and reached out. Nothing.
Black Fin continued to track the old man greedily, completely unaware of Vasrik’s disaproval. Slowly the dinosaur began to rise, preparing to stalk after the dock worker.
Vasrik promptly smacked him on the nose, the rebuke immediately shutting down Black Fin’s ambitions.
“I am nothing more now than a lion tamer,” Vasrik thought to himself, “And not a terribly good one at that.”
The dock worker strode off, unaware of any peril.
Captain Drumbarrel continues to pace the pier, casting increasingly impatient glances towards the city and the climbing sun. Suddenly, the teenage boy who first greeted you comes dashing round the corner of a warehouse, followed by two red faced dockhands pulling a heavy-looking hand cart.
"Cap'n! I found this pair of oafs standing around down by the south dock. Blind buggers didn't seem to be able to tell a skiff from a war galley, much less read. They were unable to find the Wraith until I recognized our missing cargo and got them set on a straight course."
Captain Drumbarrel cracks a wide smile, and claps the lad on the leg. "Smart work, Toran! Oy, you two - get those crates unloaded double-time! I'll not be kept in port on account of you screw-up!"
The pair of dock hands both give a scowl, but none the less get to work.
Only three crates remain on the cart when one of them seems to notice something further down along the quay. He exchanges a look with his comrade and mutter something. Then both men drop the crate they were busy lifting and take off in a brisk pace in the opposite direction, followed by a stream of curses from the halfling captain. The cursing increases in both volume and vulgarity as it becomes apparent why the dock hands took off.
Approaching rapidly is a group of brutish looking men carrying crossbows and clubs.
"Everybody, on your feet and get ready to earn your hire. Here comes trouble!" captain Drumbarrel growls.
Cordell hefts his large oaken shield, and leaves his clubs at his waist for the moment. Aye, Captain. He mutters a quiet elven prayer, as if he can't remember the words, as he draws a ward in front of him.
He then interposes himself between the men and the boat. As they approach within 40 feet or so, Cordell hails them. Morning, gentlemen. How can we be of assistance?
Alarien casually rests her hand on the pommel of her sword, waiting for the armed thugs to come closer or at least broadcast their intentions. She waits in silence, posture relaxed.
Vasrik sloooowly rises, securing his helm on his head, careful not to communicate his true sense of urgency to his edgy youthful companion.
"That didn't take long. They came before we cast off."
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