Sandara approaches Doran to aid in the approach to Tidewater Rock. "Nine times out of ten, I bet the guards will be men. I think I'll be making the right impression on them," she says with a smile in John's direction. She loosens the ties on the neckline of her shirt to make the point. "Women, too, about half the time. Just give me a few minutes and we will be welcomed with open arms." Doran nods, knowing that she will be a good emissary to the men stuck on the tiny fortress-isle. She takes Tantrey's note of introduction, placing it in her impressive and distracting chest. She offers a grinning wave as they lower her down in the ship's boat to make the parley. The crew watches as she rows towards the harbor.
The better part of an hour later, the fire-haired cleric returns in the boat. "Pretty excited to meet you," she slurs a little as they pull the boat back onto the ship. "Oh, and they have wine! Very generous people," she says with a mischievous grin. With permission to dock saecured, the crew sails the newly-rechristened Empty Lighthouse into the harbor of Windward Isle. They round the southern side of the island to the harbor, a quarter-mile-wide channel that ends in a lagoon large and deep enough to safely hold three seagoing ships. Even as they sail in at low tide, the lagoon is deep enough that they are in no danger of running aground, and are protected from any storm surges that might come in from the Fever Sea.
A tower rises like a solid block from the sea at the northern edge of the island. The pounding surf rolls around its base and partially covers the steps that lead up to its front gate. A few arrow slits pierce its walls here and there, and a single shuttered window opens high upon the face of the fortress. A roof of metal shingles rises from its battlements where sentries keep lookout and siege weapons stand ready on corner turrets. Even in the distance, it towers over the rest of the island.
Standing at the dock is a middle-aged man with the bearing of a veteran soldier. His salt-and-pepper hair and handlebar mustache give him anew impressive gravitas. He rests his hands on his belt, where a fine blade hangs in a leather sheathe. The half-dozen guardsmen watch him, clearly deferring to his judgment and leadership. He hails the crew as they finish docking the ship. "Good day. I take it that you are friends of Captain Tantrey. I am Royster McCleagh, sergeant-at-arms of Tidewater Rock and sworn retainer to Lady Agasta Smythee. Your senior crew members are invited to dine with the Lady to discuss matters of mutual interest."
The day they expect to arrive, Vrunyar clips the hair and shaves anyone that requests it. He trims his own beard as well. He also gets a few halflings to clean the crew’s boots. As far as he could find, the ship didn’t have any leather polish, but a rag would remove dirt and that makes a big difference in appearance. After Sandara leaves in the boat, Vrunyar helps brush the shirts and coats of the others, cleaning away dirt and lint in order to make a better first impression. He knows that clothes abused by work and the elements can only look so good, so he doesn’t worry. He gives John a small jar of ointment to ease any leg pain he may experience. ”What’s the custom here for weapons? A dagger, sure, no offense in that, but my battleaxe? Should I leave it on the ship?”
Not the first of the crew, Vrunyar walks down the ship’s gang plank with an excited air. After so long at sea, he is looking forward to examining stonework, any stonework, and the stonework of Tidewater Rock will do fine. He may be able to find some alchemical supplies here as well. There may be another dwarf or two to speak his native tongue with. Another chirurgeon perhaps. He nods and gives a small bow to Royster McCleagh for his greetings and invitation. When it’s his turn, he says, ”Vrunyar Magmabeard, ship’s chirurgeon.”
Doran nods and smiles at Sandara’s cleverness when she suggests a different method of approaching the Rock, and is glad to see her plan has paid off when she returns. As they sail into the harbor, he’s very pleased that the crew make a decent show of it, their practice over the last several days having formed them into a reasonable approximation of a well-trained crew.
When they reach the dock, Doran nods to Tribin, Wyssa, Orinad and Rivias, who throw docklines to the Andorans waiting on the sturdy dock. As the ship is secured, Doran springs up onto the rail, Jako settling on his shoulder as soon as his feet touch the wood, and hails Captain Tantrey. ”Good day to ye!” he calls out in a voice pitched to carry clearly. ”I’m Doran Tidewrack, cap’n of sorts of the Empty Lighthouse. ‘Tis a pleasure to be here, Mister McCleagh, in a proper port with a proper dock, after heaving to on sandy beaches and skirtin’ the foul folk who sail these waters. We’ll be ashore shortly.”
With a gracious wave, he drops back onto the deck, muttering to Ollivor as he does so, ”Dinner with a lady? I dunno a thing ‘bout dinin’ with ladies. Sounds plenty dangerous. Maybe ye can fish up a shark fer me to wrestle instead?”
He stifles his concern, whistles to Jako to come along, and leads the way down the gangplank.
Ollivor admires the tower as the ship closes. It's a helluva thing and he can't help but think it must be grand to live in such a beautiful lair by the side of the sea. Such a place might be what I seek when I get older. Ha! Assuming I could ever afford such. Still, there's something in the mix of grand lair and sea side living that calls to his blood.
Standing at the dock is a middle-aged man with the bearing of a veteran soldier. His salt-and-pepper hair and handlebar mustache give him anew impressive gravitas. He rests his hands on his belt, where a fine blade hangs in a leather sheathe. The half-dozen guardsmen watch him, clearly deferring to his judgment and leadership. He hails the crew as they finish docking the ship. "Good day. I take it that you are friends of Captain Tantrey. I am Royster McCleagh, sergeant-at-arms of Tidewater Rock and sworn retainer to Lady Agasta Smythee. Your senior crew members are invited to dine with the Lady to discuss matters of mutual interest."
Ollivor wonders if 'ship's cook' will be recognized as senior officers by the folks in such a place? Well, he'll act as if it does and see what happens then.
"Ollivor Myles, Ship's cook, be nice to have a meal served to me for once, Sergeant," He chuckles.With a gracious wave, he drops back onto the deck, muttering to Ollivor as he does so, ”Dinner with a lady? I dunno a thing ‘bout dinin’ with ladies. Sounds plenty dangerous. Maybe ye can fish up a shark fer me to wrestle instead?”
He stifles his concern, whistles to Jako to come along, and leads the way down the gangplank.
"What to say about women? I'm seeing one, and I still don't understand her half the time," He admits with a smile, "Still, dress in your best, make sure you're all clean... women seem to find even honest dirt distasteful for some reason... they seem to demand a fellow be either sincerely charming or charmingly sincere but they never let you know which until its too late. I'm not one for titles, but referring to her as Lady seems to be what she'd want. Maybe she's a halfling? Or maybe she just likes short men? Either way, you're in."
Aaron moves forward alongside the rest of the senior crew, hands resting comfortably on the pommels of his sheathed twin blades. In rather good spirits if the smile on his face is any indication, he greets the sergeant-at-arms with a little bow of his head. "I am Aaron Ivey, the ship... err... assistant carpenter and engineer...?" He looks incredulously at his hands and where they are before removing them and putting them clasped together behind his back and then directs the same look at Doran and John, his expression accompanied by a slight widening of his smile and a shrug.
As Ollivor speaks, the pale Chelaxian turns to the cook with a soft chuckle. "We are all seeing them, Ollivor. There are quite a few on the ship after all and of several siz..." He then seems to realize something and, after a brief pause, winks at the other man. "Oh..."
Doran's slightly worried face relaxes a bit at Ollivor's clever advice and he replies, "Oh, I'm with ye, Ollie, women are a mystery deeper than the sea. But it's not that she's a woman that worries me, it's that she's a Lady. If we're to make a good impression, I'll have to be pretty clever makin' it up as we go along, ye know?"
He shrugs, as a man in battle might before charging a vastly superior foe, and says, "Ah, well, maybe she likes parrots."
As Ollivor speaks, the pale Chelaxian turns to the cook with a soft chuckle. "We are all seeing them, Ollivor. There are quite a few on the ship after all and of several siz..." He then seems to realize something and, after a brief pause, winks at the other man. "Oh..."
"If you didn't know, I shouldn't have said much I suppose," Ollivor admits sheepishly.
Doran's slightly worried face relaxes a bit at Ollivor's clever advice and he replies, "Oh, I'm with ye, Ollie, women are a mystery deeper than the sea. But it's not that she's a woman that worries me, it's that she's a Lady. If we're to make a good impression, I'll have to be pretty clever makin' it up as we go along, ye know?"
He shrugs, as a man in battle might before charging a vastly superior foe, and says, "Ah, well, maybe she likes parrots."
"You've got a good feel for people, Doran. You'll do fine," He assures the co-captain.
Sergeant-at-arms Royster McCleagh greets the senior crew members as they introduce themselves. He is cordial, though he seems to be sizing them up with a suspicious eye. "Welcome. The Lady of the Rock extends her hospitality to your ship and your crew. The friendship of Captain Merrill is something she holds in high esteem. We will bring tents and food for your crew to rest upon solid ground, if they wish. Your senior crewmen are to dine with the Lady." He eyes Sandara with some disapproval, as she is busy flirting with some of the guards. "The Lady would like to meet your priestess as well. It is not every ship that carries one of her station. The Lady follows Calistria devoutly."
McCleagh turns and leads them on foot towards the fortress. The length of the island is its strength. Any man who would seek to take the bulwark would have to march over the rocky terrain without a single spot of cover. A few rows of vegatables and grass in the shadow of the fort (with a small number of goats grazing) is the only thing other than rock that they can see. A few archers or siege weapons could make crossing from the harbor to the Rock a very dangerous task - but the sharp cliffs make the harbor the only practical option for landing on the island. As they walk farther from the lagoon, they notice that a chain peeks out of the water near the lagoon's mouth, as an added defense against ships trying to make harbor without permission. From all that they can see, merely arriving at the gates of Tidewater Rock would be a daunting task. As they arrive at the front of the fortress after several minutes of walking, they see that it is raised on a base that would force attackers to funnel up the front stairs to the main gate. Above the gate, several arrow slits offer positions to make a frontal assault quite difficult. Fortunately, they have an invitation.
The sergeant-at-arms leads them through the reinforced doors into the Rock itself. The interior is built from thick oak and hewn stone, further emphasizing the strength of the place. The interior isn't luxurious by any imagination, but it has a certain charm. "Tidewater Rock has been the base of many a pirate lord. It has never been taken by force, not in the last hundred years. Most know better than to even try. Lady Smythee's late husband, Lord Bertram Smythee, won it from another pirate in an ill-advised bet." He leads them through the cramped corridors, lit with the little bit of sunlight that makes it through the arrow slits, to the great hall on the second floor.
The banquet hall has a thick oaken table in its center with an iron chandelier above, but the room's most extraordinary feature is a large window that opens to the north and leads out to a small balcony. With the shutters open, the soft salt breeze blows into the room. From the high vantage point, they can see out to the horizon over the shimmering water. It is a breathtaking vista, even though they see the endless sea on a daily basis.
A pair of servants come into the room from a side door with mugs of ale for them to drink. McCleagh beckons them to sit and take in the comforts of the Rock. The ale isn't the best, but it is far from the worst that any have had. The senior crew (and Sandara, who seems to be trying and failing to get McCleagh's attention) sit and wait for their hostess in the banquet hall. A few minutes later, the servants return and give them freshly-baked sourdough bread before exiting.
After a few minutes more, the servants return again and stand at the door that leads to the stairway. "May I present the Lady of Tidewater Rock, Agasta Smythee," one announces. McCleagh motions for them to stand up.
Lady Agasta enters through the doorway. She is a matronly woman, thick and stocky in her middle age with a commanding height. She was likely a rare beauty in her youth, but looks yield to age. Still, she scans them with intelligent, canny eyes. "You may be seated. Welcome to my home. How have you come to be friends with Captain Tantrey?"
|
Lowering himself down into the high backed banquet hall seat, John offers a brief but respectful nod to Lady Smythee. My thanks for your hospitality, Lady Smythee, both for the graciousness you have shown us, and our crew. Pausing, John motions first to Doran, then Thorn, Ollivor, Aaron and finally Vrunyar while offering an introduction. I first met Captain Tantrey years ago when we were both members of the Andoran Navy. I served aboard the Righteous Eagle, while he captained the Bonadventure. More recently however my companions and I encountered him while again during a raid at Rickty Squibbs. Captain Tantrey was raiding Squibs to free the Halfling slaves while we were attempting to steal back our ship that had been previously been captured by Barnabas Harrigan as a prize.
Taking a long sip of Ale, John closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the taste. Somehow being free made it taste fuller, better. It's quite a tale, but needless to say, through good fortune and hard-fought effort we were able to reclaim our ship, while at the same time make contact with Captain Tantrey who advised us to proceed here, claiming it to be a safe harbor. Taking a final sip, John smiled. And so it is.
Doran relaxes a bit as the sergeant-at-arms tells how Tidewater Rock came to be in the control of Lady Smythee. Oh, married to a pirate, was she? Well, that’s the sort of lady I can make sense of! Sounds like this won’t be so bad.
He listens quietly as John tells of their encounter with Captain Tantrey, then weighs in himself, ”It’s as Rawkins says, m’lady, we were fightin’ our way free when the Bonaventure come sailin’ up.” Doran hesitates a moment – like all sailors, he’s used to narrating battles at table, using bits of bread, salt shakers and whatever else is to hand to serve as ships, forts and other combatants. After a moment, he manages to still his gesturing hands and continue with his description. ”We were right uncertain for a tick whether she was friend or foe t’us, but any sailor worth ‘is salt can spot an Andoren Navy crew at work. An’ knowin’ they were from Andoran, well, all our freed halflings breathed a good bit easier. Cap’n Tantrey seemed pleased to see we were doin’ ‘is work fer ‘im, and that we could handle ourselves in when things got hot, so he sent us on here to Tidewater Rock.”
After a pause, he presents a question of his own, ”If ye don’ mind me askin’, Lady Smythee, what is it ye do here, all of ye? Fight the good fight in these waters, sure. But how do ye resupply? Have you allies? We’re a fair long sail from Andoran, sure enough.”
Lady Agasta watches them all closely as they speak, gauging them for their value as allies. She nods with rapt attention as John and Doran explain the raid upon Rickety's, but otherwise keeps her feelings from overcoming her countenance. "My late husband was a pirate, and a successful one at that. He raided every town, city, and passing ship within fifty miles. He was beloved by his crew and even the targets of his raids, for the most part. He'd never take so much that they could not recover, and always avoided unnecessary bloodshed. He was a good man, pirate or no." She looks winsome for a man long-dead. "He had a soft heart and a great deal of mercy. He freed slaves whenever he came across them, including some who are now my loyal servants. Some twenty years ago - long before the years snuck away from me - he saved a marooned sailor on some tiny island. Ten years after that, the same sailor tried to rape me here at the Rock. I stuck a blade in his left eye. Harrigan betrayed Bert before I could tell him what has happened, murdered him, and stole his ship. He came back to try to take the Rock, but it will take more than that to steal my home away from me. Bert left me with a sizeable nest egg of pilfered treasure."
Ollivor is dressed fairly nicely, a green poet shirt with dark breaches, no fancy hat though, he couldn't find one. Still, his boots are at a high shine, and at least he isn't wearing just any old thing with an apron on top of it.
The story of her husband troubles Ollivor no small amount. As a pirate and raider, it's possible the lady's late husband raided more than one Andoran town, perhaps even Cyremium, where he grew up. And yet, the man also freed slaves, which was a very Andoran thing to do.
And her then? The Lady? Good or bad, both, or something in between? Can we trust her? Damned if I know.
Still, he can't help but take a BIT of shine to her when she describes her jab to Harrigan's eye, "Good on you, Lady, for taking a dig agin that fiend. You came closer to ending that monster than any of us have so far, I'm sorry to say."
Vrunyar listens intently as Lady Agasta describes part of the history of Harrigan but doesn't catch any meaning lurking in the depths of her words. The dwarf attempts to imagine the younger pirate here. Too bad whoever marooned him on that island didn’t just kill him. But he would have been a young man. Must of done something bad to deserve that punishment. Or perhaps it was some sailor sacrifice I don’t know about. Better ask John and Doran latter.
”Do you know who built this place? The stonework is a sight for sore eyes after so long at sea." the dwarf asks.
She takes a quick moment to answer Vrunyar. "Tidewater Rock was built by Magna Stormeyes some two hundred years ago. A dwarf, like yourself, and the only one to ever hold the title of Hurricane King - even though she was a woman. This was her base of operations when she was gaining in power and infamy. At the time - before Sargava revolted from Cheliax and began paying the Free Captains for their protection - this was one of the most advantageous perches from which to intercept the trade routes. Alas, she did not select her allies well, and strayed too far from the protection of the Rock. She relocated to Port Peril, only to find that betrayal and treachery are too common. Her former first mate claimed the Rock. It hasn't ever been taken by force - only by treachery. Harrigan discovered that when he returned with my husband's ship to try to claim his home as well."
Lady Agasta nods in appreciation of Ollivor's words. "Barnabas Harrigan is a cruel, vicious bastard. If you stole away a ship from his ever-growing fleet, that would be a start to the reckoning that he deserves. I long to see him dead and to see his empire and spirit broken beforehand. I take it that you have met him personally, to speak of him with such distaste?"
Lady Agasta nods in appreciation of Ollivor's words. "Barnabas Harrigan is a cruel, vicious bastard. If you stole away a ship from his ever-growing fleet, that would be a start to the reckoning that he deserves. I long to see him dead and to see his empire and spirit broken beforehand. I take it that you have met him personally, to speak of him with such distaste?"
Ollivor wonders for a second if he should hold his cards closer to his vest, so to speak before opening his mouth and saying anything further, yet he's a free man again, and if a free man can't speak his mind now and then, is he truly free? Besides, he's young and never lost his vim and vigor, and passion still fires him as much as dragon blood ever did.
"Aye, Lady Agasta. Oh, we didn't talk much. See, to talk to him was death if you weren't one of his officers, but I know of the bloody hour on any ship he controls. I know of sailors keelhauled for slightest offenses. I know you can tell the quality of a man by his actions and by those he empowers, and his officers were among the cruelest bastards to set foot on a deck. Stone cold murderers of the helpless, I'm saying. He's a dangerous warrior who moves like a wild beast, but a beast only kills when it's hungry or threatened. Barnabas Harrigan would do it for pride and the fear he caused. He was, and is yet, beyond our touch, but at least he lost some of those officers thanks to us, may their master join them in the hells they now burn in and soon."
And there it is, the flat out truth. Oh, it lacks some detail, but that's no nevermind.
|
|
Eyes narrowing ever so slightly over the edge of the pewter tankard , John studied Lady Agasta quietly. There was clearly more to her current circumstances then she was willing to let on, but John couldn't blame her for holding her cards close to her chest.
Ollivor has to got the right of it Lady Agasta. Barnabas is a right bloody bastard, him and most of his crew, hateful and vengeful. Chuckling darkly, John took another long pull of his ale and thought back to the blood stained shoreline of Bonewrack Isle. His first mate too. Of course we ended that quarrel on the shore. Nodding softly, John patted the handle of Iakobs pistol. Bloody right we did.
But beyond everything else that Barnabas is, he is also a traitor to the Pirate Council, who has been working with the Chelish Navy. That’s something all of us can vouch for. By hell or high-water I mean for Barnabas to get the payment he deserves. Queens oath upon it.
”Magna Stormeyes,” Vrunyar says with surprise and admiration in his voice. He spends several moments looking around the room as the conversation continues around him. Slowly sipping his ale, the dwarf sighs in contentment and refocuses his attention. How long has John been talking? he wonders as he puts his mug down, catching a quick glance at an archway.
By hell or high-water I mean for Barnabas to get the payment he deserves. Queens oath upon it.
”You mentioned a Pirate Council, what is that? There are rules to being a pirate? In all honesty, it seems like there is only one: I’ll do whatever I want until someone with more power stops me. Not quite the best means of building a community. Since he has broken the trust of this council, perhaps we could organize a force to bring him to justice.”
"Me mates are right," Doran says fiercely as Harrigan's evil nature is described. "But to my eyes, what matters more'n whether he toes the line with the Pirate Council is somethin' more personal. Harrigan killed Cap'n Henray Morgan Jonas, the best man I've ever sailed under. The man owes me a death, far as I'm concerned, and I'll take his own to pay me debt."
Thorn was resting in his hanging cot that was strung up between two support columns in the lower deck of the ship. The hammock slowly swung back and forth as the ship rose and fell with the coming waves. The slow methodical sway caused Thorn to drift off into a slumber. Thorn was still recuperating from his last battle to regain the Empty Lighthouse.....
Thorn now found himself standing in a rich green forest looking upon a village. Thorn followed the clearly marked path leading into the village. The path was well traveled and had been maintained to keep the path from becoming over grown. As Thorn reached the entrance to the village it appeared to Thorn that the village had been abandoned. Thorn continued to follow the path to the center of the village where he found a large pile of brunt wood. Thorn could see the village was located on top of a steep cliff over- looking the sea. Thorn could hear waves from the sea crashing into the base of the cliff and he could smell the strong sea air. Just as Thorn closed his eyes to enjoy the peace and calm of the sea and large explosion erupted behind Thorn. Thorn quickly turned to face the oncoming danger to see the old pile of burnt wood was not a raging inferno of unnatural flames rising high into the air. Thorn stepped back a few pace and used his hand to shield his face from the heat radiating from the fire. Just as fast as the fire erupted, it was now burning normally and small embers were slowly rising from the flames. Thorn still unsure and cautious began to slowly walk closer to the fire as if something was drawing him closer.
Thorn could feel the pull of an unknown source pulling him in closer and as he continued to look into the low burning flames, Thorn was being mesmerized by their steady dance and flicking. More and more embers began to rise and swirl around the fire faster and faster. Thorn wanted to run but he was frozen and could not move. The embers began to collide with each other until they all flashed at the same time temporarily blinding Thorn. The flash caused Thorn to rub his eyes until they regained focus. Thorn blinked a couple of time as if he was seeing things that could not be. Thorn was now looking at an elder male elf who was standing stoically in the fire but unaffected by the flames. "Welcome, Hithaerdir" Thorn stood silent and began to look around the fire and then behind his back as if someone had just arrived. Thorn looked back at the elder elf and responded "Who is Hithaerdir?" The elder elf smirked momentarily before answering as he looked Thorn from head to toe "You are Hithaerdir and you are my son" Thorn took a step back not knowing how to take the news and the yelled out "You're not my father, My father is DEAD! My father was Captain Kabev Sydergaard and I do not know what kind of sorcery this is but I will not let you try and steal his mantle!" The elder elf's smirk turned into a grin before saying "I am Calaeron, and you are my SON!" The elder elf then pointed his finger at Thorn and a bright flash of light streaked from his finger tip like a lightning bolt.
Thorn tried to raise his arms up to defend against the flash of light but it was too late, all of a sudden the village was now full of elf men, women and children running throughout the village in panic. The village huts and buildings were on set a blaze by fire and several Ulfen raider were seen looting, burning and killing the village elves. Thorn then quickly recognized a younger version of his father Kabev Syndergaard commanding a few Ulfen raiders before walking into a large hut at the edge of the village just on the cliff side edge. A loud piercing scream rang out for the large hut moments after Kabev entered the hut. Kabev soon exited out of the large hut with a female elf hanging from his right arm. Thorn could see Kabev was holding an infant male elf who was swaddled in silk blankets in his other arm. Thorn watched as the female elf began to scratch and claw at Kabev, soon cutting him on the cheek. The pain caused Kabev to throw the female elf from his arm and onto the ground. The female elf laid crumpled on the ground crying hysterically as tears ran down her face. Kabev drew his sword with his now free hand and raised it across his chest just above his shoulder. The female elf raised her head to look at her child one last time before the sword sliced through her throat from Kabev's crossing back hand strike. The blood flowed freely from the female elf's neck and quickly began to cover the ground beneath her.
A male elf came running up the pathway towards Kabev, carrying a large familiar Elven Curved Blade raised high above his head. Thorn now recognized the Elven Curved Blade as his very own and Thorn also recognized his bow now slung across the male elf's back. Thorn was now very confused and disbelieving of what he was watching. The male elf was now recognizable to Thorn as the same elf who is standing in the fire, "I believe he said his name was Calaeron" Thorn thought to himself. Calaeron unleashed a wild fury of attacks toward Kabev who was able to counter each strike using his sword but just barely . Just as the Kabev began to give ground to the oncoming barrage of attacks from Calaeron, Kabev held up the infant elf to use as a shield. Calaeron diverted his last attack just in time to avoid striking the infant elf. The diverted attack was costly and allowed an brief opening for Kabev to plunge his sword deep into Calaeron's chest. Kabev released his grip on his sword, choosing to leave the sword buried deep inside Calaeron's chest. Calaeron stood defiantly gasping for air while never taking his eyes off of the infant elf. Kabev walked up to Calaeron and removed the long bow from his back and then reached down to pick up the Elven Curved Blade from the ground. Kabev looked into Calaeron's face before saying "I am sorry you were not strong enough to protect your son but now I will raise him as my own and make sure he is strong enough to protect his family" Calaeron raised his hand toward Kabev and brilliant streaks of blue and white flames spewed from his finger tip striking the infant elf. Kabev quickly reacted to the perceived attack by kicking the hilt of the sword deeper into Calaeron's chest and knocking him on his back. Kabev watched as Calaeron's eyes glassed over before looking down at the infant elf who was now knocked out and unconscious.
Calaeron spoke from the direction of the fire pit"You see Thorn Syndergaard, you are really Hithaerdir, my only son. You were taken from your mother and I on the day you were born. On the morning of your birth, the sea mist rolled in thicker than we have ever seen before. Your mother believed it was a sign from the sea blessing your birth. She decided to name you Hithaerdir which means "sea mist". It was a fitting name but unfortunately the thick sea mist was also what allowed the Ulfen raiders to reach our shores unseen and too destroy our village." Thorn stood in shock as he listened to the elder elf speak. "Could this really be true" Thorn thought to himself. "You have grown into a strong man similar to the man who raised you, but there is more inside of you than you realize. You come from a long line of elves who could draw upon a rich magic that flows within our bloodline. Allow me to awaken you to this gift I once tried to bestow upon you before my demise. " Calaeron raised both of his hands towards Thorn and again brilliant streaks of blue and white flames spewed from his finger tips and struck Thorn in his chest.......
Thorn fell out of his hanging cot and hit the deck of the ship. Vrunyar had flipped over Thorn's cot to wake Thorn from his slumber. Vrunyar appeared to be in a very excited state and asked Thorn to shot him with Thorn's bow and arrows. Thorn still in shock and confused was much obliged to honor Vrunyar's request.
Thorn stood back from the rest of the senior crew upon arrival as to blend in as just one of the crew. Once Thorn realized all was good with Sergeant-at-arms Royster McCleagh, he followed the rest of the senior crew into the island fortress.
Thorn sits back silently observing the conversation between his crew and their host, Lady Smythee along with her body language to see if anything is out of place but he finds nothing out of the ordinary. Thorn empties his mug of ale in two gulps and looks in the direction of one of the servants to refill his mug. "Another mug would do the trick lass"
As Aaron partakes of both food and drink, he keeps his eyes on Lady Agasta as she speaks. It is not all that difficult for him to discern that there is more to her story and current circumstances than she lets on, yet he refrains from saying anything, at least for now. After all, almost everyone has a secret or two, a fact he can certainly attest to himself.
"I do not know about the whole Chelaxian Navy," Aaron speaks up once John has talked of Barnabas' working with them, "but Admiral Endymion of the Hellsmouth seems to be in... ahem... cahoots with him." Then in a voice a good deal softer, he mutters, "Heh heh heh... Cahoots..."
Lady Smythee sits back in her chair, folding her hands over her chin. "So Barnabas Harrigan returns into my life... The opportunity for revenge presents itself after all these years. What evidence do you have of collusion between him and the Chelaxians? Harrigan has the ear of the Hurricane King - Kerdak Bonefist, for you who aren't familiar with the intricate politics of piracy amid the Free Captains. His desire to depose Bonefist is plain as day, but Bonefist keeps him close to keep an eye on him. Harrigan has amassed quite a fortune and a network of cronies. The Free Captains," she explains helpfully for Vrunyar's benefit, "are those who control at least one ship and who have been recognized by the Hurricane King. Many of the Free Captains were given their start on the Wormwood . Those who control multiple ships and a major port are on the Pirate Council, as Harrigan is. News of an alliance with a Cheliaxan would be damaging to him, but I doubt he would lose his position - just some support."
She leans forward, giving them an inadvertent view of her ample cleavage. "The Chelaxian admiral, on the other hand... Do you have any incontrovertible proof of his complicity with Harrigan? Merrill may have told you something of my hobby regarding the freedom of halflings held in bondage. I have made a few friends in Cheliax by necessity, friends who are helpful to that cause. I could make his life quite difficult if I had some proof - a court martial, at least, maybe a hanging if the proof is good."
”That helps me understand the situation better, thank you Lady Smythee.” Vrunyar’s forehead creases slightly as he appears to be thinking. ”Kerdak Bonefist? As if having a last name of ‘Bonefist’ isn’t menacing enough, he is known as the Hurricane King as well? Either way he sounds fierce; especially if he’s more powerful than Harrigan.
“I don’t think we have any proof of Admiral Endymion’s dealing with Harrigan. I doubt there’s any written communication between them. We have Rahadoumi testimony. I doubt the Chelaxians would consider that trustworthy.”
Vrunyar sips from his ale. ”How welcoming are these ports? If we need to resupply or repair, will be attacked?”
”We’ve nothing in writing, m’lady,” Doran says ruefully, ”but we’ve seen proof of it enough. A Chelish Admiral, Endymion they called ‘im, overtook and captured our ship – the very one we sailed here on, if you can credit that. He killed our cap’n, and could have taken all of us as slaves, but he didn’t. This admiral met with Harrigan aboard ‘is ship, the Wormwood, talked a piece, and then gave us and our ship to Harrigan. Said we were being given to Harrigan ‘as penance for our crimes against Cheliax.’”
He shrugs, then continues, ”Wish I’d heard what they ‘ad to say t’each other, but they were too far off. They didn’t seem over-friendly with each other, but there was a deal struck, sure as sure. Will that news do you any good in getting after Harrigan?”
Vrunyar chuckles, ”Oh, the Rahadoumi came after that! That’s right, that’s right. HA! So they don’t have any applicable testimony. I’m getting events mixed up.” He raps his head with his knuckles. ”Besides the Wormwood what other ships does he control? And what’s this port, you mentioned for being on the pirate council?”
Agasta grimaces when they admit that they have nothing more than their own testimony, but Sandara pipes up from the other side of the table. "You've got Thorn." They all look at the elven barbarian, now deep in another mug of ale. "He was a Chelish slave. The devil-screwers love their paperwork. I don't know if you guys saw, but they executed all of the slaves on the ship after Thorn's little rebellion by trying them all to ballista bolts and drowning them. Thorn and Wyn - Calistria give her vengeance - were the only survivors. How much do you want to wager that the Admiral listed him as executed with the rest? I doubt he wrote 'traded to pirates.'"
Lady Smythee smiles broadly. "That's something that I can work with. Considering that Thorn would have to testify in front of a court martial - and I don't think you'd be willing to, would you?" Thorn shakes his head before spitting at the memory of Cheliax. "There's a saying we have: he might survive the storm but he won't sail smoothly. If Admiral Endymion were to hear that Thorn is scheduled to testify against him, it would likely remove him from our seas for many months to answer the questions raised. That way, Harrigan would be out at least one ally - and the rest might hold him at arm's length for a while. He would still have his dozen ships or so, making him a formidable enemy - but fewer allies is fewer allies. Sergeant McCleagh, would you please enter?"
The sergeant-at-arms appears, ready to do her bidding. He looks at her with great affection and eagerness. "My lady. How can I serve you?"
Agasta starts to write something down, then thinks better of it. "Send word to our contacts in Cheliax via the Bellflower Network. I will have a letter written in a matter of hours, but let them know to expect it."
McCleagh nods. "I will send the birds out immediately. We received word from Captain Tantrey. He and his ship will arrive in two days' time." With another nod, he exits the room to complete the task.
Lady Smythee smiles at the rest of them. "Good news, indeed. I hope that you all will stay until he arrives. I wouldn't recommend going to the other ports beyond Port Peril - where all are welcome except those explicitly banned by Bonefist - as they are all controlled by the Pirate's Council. There are some on the Council who are better than others - Tessa Fairwind, for instance - but most are bloodthirsty, covetous bastards who would kill you and take your ship if you pulled into their ports without permission."
"Well," Aaron acknowledges with a smile, "those of Cheliax certainly love the letter of the law, bereft of kindness and compassion as it is there now. Not even an Admiral could escape it unscathed and even if he could, he would have to put some effort into it. Find allies, buy witnesses, have them speak on his behalf. Even just that would certainly keep him busy." He then mutters softly to himself once again, "Busy as a bee, yes. A fiendish devilish little bee... Heh..."
Seeing that his mumbling has attracted a few stares, he simply shrugs and takes a sip of wine. "What...? 'Tis an expression..."
Doran is quite pleased to hear that Lady Smythee has some ideas about how to put a little chop in Endymion’s waters, and that the Bellflower Network will be part of it.
”Takin’ that damn’d Chell out o’ our way will be a great service, m’lady. We’re bloody, er, quite lucky to have you schemin’ to undo the man, sure as sure,” he offers, still a bit uncertain about addressing a proper lady. ”And stayin’ here in port a couple o’ days sounds like just the thing. We’ve got no end of work to do on the Lighthouse, a crew to train up in sailin’ and fightin’ and plenty else to do. Who knows, there might even be a moment o’ rest, though not likely now that I’ve said it.”
The dinner continues with the crew of the Empty Lighthouse explaining their adventures to Lady Smythee over good food and ale. They regale her with how they all ended up on the Wormwood : the original trip to Sargava, being caught by Endymion, the slave rebellion on the Hellsmouth , Iakob's murder, the capture of the Man's Promise , the shipwreck on Bonewrack Isle, Aaron's rescue, the makaru, the mutiny against Plugg, the sacking of Rickety's Squibs, and their trek to Tidewater Rock. It has been a long and difficult journey, but they have an opportunity to make a real difference. They discuss using the Bellflower Network to smuggle the halflings that want to leave out to Andoran, where they can be free. The Lady is an intelligent, guarded woman, but it is clear that she cares deeply about the abolitionist cause. Their conversation goes into the night until the crew has to drag themselves back to the ship.
The crew takes the opportunity of being in a safe harbor to work on the ship. They scrub and paint the decks and exterior, and improve and repair the rigging. They clean out the interior of the ship, finding smuggling spots hidden all through the ship. Hidden in some of the locations are caches of supplies that they can use to improve the ship. The crew works happily and efficiently, freed from the lash and the threats of violence. Lady Smythee sends them packages of food and drink to replenish their stores as they work.
After two days, the Bonaventure arrives at the harbor. The Andoran ship sails in proudly, docking with an efficiency borne of familiarity. Sergeant McCleagh greets the Andorans at the dock, offering a hand of old friendship as Captain Tantrey emerges. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," he says to the senior Lighthouse crew as their respective crews mingle and shake hands. "I led Harrigan on a bit of a goose chase, threw him off your track. Let him think that Rickety's was us. I don't know if I can get more hated by the pirates around here anyway." He motions for all of them to head to the tower to discuss matters of importance there while their crews rest at the harbor.
As they walk towards the fortress, Merrill leans close to John. "I have something that will be of interest to you." He lets his fellow Andoran wonder what he is talking about, but says nothing more on the subject before they arrive at the gates. Lady Smythee stands waiting for them at the front gates. "Agasta, you look radiant as always. Thank you for taking them in. I knew that you would treat them right. You are a true friend." He speaks with a genuine smile and a filial affection. She smiles back broadly and invites them all in.
They end up again at the table, now with a map of the Shackles spread over it. Captain Tantrey raps on the wood, calling their meeting to order. "You all have proven your good works," he starts, "and I would like to help you. When I left the Andoran Navy, I did not leave my Andoran ideals with my commission - and I did not truly leave the service of the nation. I accepted a letter of marque from the Andoran government, granting some degree of their protection in exchange for doing what I consider my moral duty. I was inducted into the ranks of the Eagle Knights - the tip of the war on slavery. Free from the constraints of international politics. I have spoken to my contacts in Andoran about you all."
Tantrey looks straight at John. "They have authorized me to restore John Rawkins to the service of the Andoran Navy at the rank of Captain, induct him as an Eagle Knight, and accept his resignation. At that point, your ship will receive a letter of marque as a privateer in the unofficial service of Andoran. What say you?"
Captain Tantrey's words float in the air as John appears shocked by the offer. Myriad emotions cross his face, one after another and all at once. Long moments pass quietly as he tries to gather his thoughts. Tantrey notices his difficulty and poses the question to the others as well. "I'll give you a moment to think about it. I know it must be a significant decision - and one you might not have ever thought to get." He looks to the others, easing the pressure on John. "For the rest of you, I can't offer an official commission, as none of you were ever in the Navy. But I can offer a stipend and protection from the Andoran Navy's pirate hunters. You'd keep your autonomy and your spoils, but have access to the ports of Andoran and her allies. You can sail under our flag anywhere in the Inner Sea, and that is no minor benefit. You'd also be eligible for the occasional bounty, and Andoran will ransom or rescue you, whenever possible, if you are captured. Andoran will also pay the market value, however distasteful that term is, for any slave freed from an official, declared enemy of the state. It is all in the letter of marque, which I have with me."
|
|
Taken in by the shock of the moment, John was temporarily lost for words. The room was silent and all eyes were on him. John knew he had to make a decision. His first inclination was to scream Yes with joyful abandonment, but John was not the same man that had set out for Sargava aboard the Empty Lighthouse, a ruined wreck, halfway into a bottle. John knew that he no longer needed the validation of the Andoran navy to define him. Too much had changed, both inside of him and in the world around him.
There were moments in one's life were everything would change. His enlistment in the navy rather than follow in the footsteps of his father as a farmer. The boarding of the Taskmasters Pride and his saving of Alima. The birth of his daughter Farah. The battle against Typhys Scalp-Taker aboard the Carron Maw and the subsquent loss of his leg. The death of Iakob by Rickard Plugg. The touch of Besmara. This was a fork in the road. If he said no, he would never regain the chance and the actions that he and his friends might take upon the high-seas could forever exile him from his homeland under the title of pirate. If he said yes, it would be make things much easier. Safe ports to moor, providence for his family and the support of a nation he loved. The choice was clear. He would take the commission and the letter of marquee and may the Gods be dammed.
Glancing at his friends, John nodded slowly. It's a fair and generous offer Captain Tantrey. I would gladly accept both the commission and the letter of marquee, but I can't speak for my friends when I know this decision is bigger than myself. Turning to Doran, Aaron and the others, John gestures to Captain Tantry. What say all of you?
Doran shakes his head in wonder as he hears Captain Tantrey's offer. "You'd bring us into Andoren service as pirate hunters, and we'll be rewarded for freeing slaves?" He lays a small, weathered hand on John's arm and says, "Friend, I think you know me well enough to be sure of my answer to this, but I appreciate your giving each of us a chance to speak our minds."
With a bright gleam in his eye, Doran looks up at Tantrey and says, "I accept yer offer, with great joy, Cap'n. It'll be an honor to sail in th' service of Andoran, and with the goals you've laid out fer us. Fact is, I can scarce imagine anything I'd like more!"
He looks at his friends, hoping they'll all say the same - and that they can have a celebration of this bright new prospect!
"Sorry, I got quiet there, and that ain't like me," Ollivor says sheepishly. In truth, the offer had stunned him. My brother, where ever he is, would be laughing his head off to hear of me even getting this close to joining the navy as it were. "truth is, I've never been much of a joiner, but these folks? Well, I already consider them dear friends. There's... well, an old family member I've been meaning to look up, but sailing the seas might be the best way to find him anyway so, assuming we're allowed a bit of time to live lives while serving the Eagle's way, I'd throw my lot in with Captains John and Doran...and proudly."
As the crew works on the ship, Vrunyar helps search for smuggling compartments, enjoying the diversion as his mind wanders thinking about potential lollyboys.
Three lollyboys, so one doesn’t get burned out or feel too burdened. Besides they won’t be exclusively medical stuff day in and out. A human lollyboy is a good idea. If nothing else for height and strength. Simple fact of nature. HA! I hate people saying I’m not tall enough for things sometimes, and here I am doing the same. Still if we need to move an unconscious person, a human would be more capable just from a leverage point of view. I’ll ask Rayen. He wasn’t a slaver. Now for the halflings. Flynsire, interesting name. Is he the sire of Flyn? If so what was his name before Flyn was born? Or is his sire Flyn? If that’s the case, what are Flyn’s other children called? Oh, Flyn’s ire — Could be?! He didn’t seem that angry, but he did seem a little apprehensive around blood. Maybe he wants to conquer that fear?
The dwarf continues to tap on a section of floor, listening for a hollow sound. Rivias is a fine candidate, but if I want Rayen as a lollyboy, would I get too confused by their names? I wouldn’t be talking to them both very often. And even if I do mix up their names once or twice, is that so bad in the grand scheme of things? Hmmm. I’ll ask them and Isaora later.
At the end of the first night of discovering the smuggling compartments, Vrunyar finds the co-captains. ”Doran and John, I’d like to make a stash of healing potions for some of the newly-found compartments. The idea is that if the crew is fighting pirates or some other boarders...say the undead we encountered or those aquatic beings, we’d have a few places that were tactically good to retreat to. I’ll leave it to you to decide which compartments would be good for caching two healing potions. Maybe a tanglefoot bag and air crystals as well.”
He breaks out into a big smile and chuckles. ”Oh one more item: Rivias and Rayen agreed to be lollyboys, and Isaora agreed to be an ‘apprentice’ since she didn’t care for the lollyboy appellation. She seemed to be the second most approachable female halfling on board. I think she’d bridge any apprehension the females may feel discussing health issues with me. Marina has enough to deal with acting as their de facto leader. I thought she’d be working with you guys more and in case of an emergency needed to lessen general chaos rather than help me with injuries. Anyway, those three will rotate turns in the infirmary as needed.”
Later, Vrunyar finds Aaron and asks for a moment of his time in the infirmary. ”When you served on your previous ship, did your fellow crew mates know not to use healing magic on you? I’ll be training three lollyboys, well two lollyboys and an apprentice, and wondered if they should be ordered not to give you a healing potion under any circumstances. I thought a hereditary curse would be an effective explanation, and true, from a certain point of view. Your choice. Think about it and let me know.”
The eastern horizon’s glow shows dawn is about an hour away. Vrunyar leaves his campsite, a spike in one hand and a mallet in the other. When he sees an interesting rock, he chips a sample off it and writes in his notebook the approximate location it was discovered. He’s surprised there aren’t more plants on the island. Usually where there’s rain and land, plants grow. Especially all the islands we’ve been to. Trees, vines, grasses, and ferns. Maybe a druid should investigate.
Vrunyar raises an eyebrow as Tantrey mentions John’s commission. It seems complicated to give a person a rank then discharge him. But sometimes alchemy is complicated, and you use the same reagent in different ways. Perhaps bureaucracies are more like alchemy than I thought.
When the word “stipend” is pronounced, Vrunyar’s mouth forms a small “o” of delight which lasts for a few seconds before his face begins frowning. It sounds like a good deal. A little too good. When John, Doran, and Ollivor accept Tantrey’s offer, he beams and nods in understanding. On the map, the dwarf’s finger traces a random arc between islands, ”I’m not trying to be difficult. I like this idea in general and am honored to be included. Consider me walking up the gang-plank and ready to sail with the tide, but I just don’t understand the economics of this,” he asks with a confused tone. ”Where are you getting the money to pay us? Do we have obligations to Andoran? Such as taxes or if Andoran goes to war, will we be required to fight? We’re not becoming citizens of Andoran, are we? How many other ships are operating under a similar agreement?”
"My my my...," Aaron mutters, his mind racing back to when he learned of the People's Revolt in Andoran and the country subsequently cutting ties from Cheliax and declaring its independence decades ago. He finds his current circumstances strangely ironic, even amusing if his soft chuckle is any indication. Looking around, he notices his reaction has raised an eyebrow or two, so he stifles his apparent mirth and looks at Captain Tantrey before turning to Doran and then finally to John. His answer is short but to the point and accompanied by a nonchalant shrug.
"Sure."
”All that aside for now, I propose we sail to Andoran so that any of the recently freed slaves who want to start a new life not as a privateer may do so,” he makes eye contact with his companions to judge their reactions. ”I assure you it has nothing to do with any cravings I may have for peach stones. HA!”
Tantrey smiles broadly as they accept his offer, answering one at a time. He even maintains his good mood when Vrunyar peppers him with queries. "Good, good. The bounties for freed slaves are paid for by wealthy benefactors who have profited greatly from Andoran's position in the world and who wish to give back in a cause that they believe in. As for everything else, it would largely be your own plunder sustaining you. Andoran's enemies are many, and you will be striking blows against them. Both yourselves and Andoran win in that scenario." He gazes out the window into the great sea beyond. "Should Andoran go to war, you'd be expected to focus your attention on disrupting the trade of whatever nation we fight - but you would not receive orders or anything of the sort. There are a few of us operating out in the Shackles, but a mere fraction of the number of pirates. And you'll maintain whatever citizenship you had before... Does that assuage your doubts?"
Looking around at a series of nods, Captain Tantrey takes a drink from his mug. "You will have a flag to fly with Andoran's colors, granting you immunity from seizure at the Arch of Aroden. Cheliax controls the Arch and takes taxes from those that pass through - but with Andoran colors, you'd be able to pass through unmolested. They know better, that Andoran will not tolerate bullying of their ships. Cheliax does not wish to war with Andoran, not openly and not on the sea. If Andoran is your first destination as truly free men and women, accepting the letter of marque is a wise decision."
Arms folded, Vrunyar listens attentively to Captain Tantrey. At the end, Vrunyar’s grin is wide. He claps his hands together once then slams them onto the tabletop. ”Well, that reassures me. HA!” The dwarf stands up to trace their course to Andoran on the map. Anyone with navigational experience can tell it doesn’t take into consideration ocean currents or prevailing winds. ”We’ll have to brave the Eye of Abendego again, right?”
Vrunyar sits down. ”So who’s in favor of going to Andoran?”
Doran likes the sound of this proposal more and more as Tantrey lays out the details. "Good questions, Vrun," he says, "I'm glad ye asked 'em. Though I'd be just fine leavin' my Chelish citizenship behind, if the Andorens'll have me. At any gate, I'm in favor of going to Andoran right off - lots of good reasons fer it, it seems."
Watching the dwarf chart their course on the map, Doran chuckles and adds in a kindly tone, "We could go that way, Vrun, but we might hafta get ourselves a new ship along th' way - and we wouldn't get you to the Peach near soon enough, my friend."
With a word, the crew of the Empty Lighthouse is a crew of privateers, set to scourge the Shackles and the Inner Sea. The promise is made in ale and laughter. Merrill Tantrey regales them with stories of his heroics - the freeing of slaves, the daring escapes from the clutches of near death, the trips to exotic ports in Tian Xia and Casmaron, even a trek into the ghostly ruins of Azlanti cities - and the tragedy that drove him to leave the Andoran Navy - the death of his best friend and first mate, Lieutenant Carson Drale. He tells them of his childhood back in Andoran and growing up in the city of Almas, making them want to return even more. He grows quiet when they tell him of the makaru, confiding that he has heard whispers of dark plots hatched beneath the depths by the aboleths - and creatures even worse than that.
They spend another four full days on the island, making all the repairs that they can and getting ready for the trip back to Andoran. While their agreement to become privateers frees them from the onerous Chelaxian tariffs, it doesn't matter much if the ship is still stopped and searched for contraband. Flying Andoran's flag will let them pass through the Arch of Aroden with all of their goods intact - but not freed slaves or items deemed contraband by Chelaxian law. When passing through the Arch, they must appear to be legitimate merchants on official business for Andoran. To meet that goal, Merrill loans them the talents of his forgery expert, a moody gnome who goes by the (completely false, he assures them) name of Petroff Tamenatti. He crafts a beautiful bill of title for the ship, given the false name of the Tamed Arthfell; he places it in Doran's name, noting in there that Doran was born a free halfling in the town of Carpenden. He even falsifies an itinerary journal for the last year, showing them taking a lengthy trip around the southern tip of Garund in order to justify why they haven't passed through the Arch before. It takes several days of painstaking work, but Tamenatti swears that the forgeries will be more than acceptable.
Captain Tantrey takes the time to set up the plan for the Bellflower Network to free the halfling slaves. He explains that they use have a large network of independent cells, but that the routes for a given batch of freed slaves are different every time in order to prevent compromising the rest if they are captured. This particular path is a fairly dangerous one, having to land on the coast of Rahadoum, sneak across the hostile territory, cross the Inner Sea into Cheliax (of all places), and use the coastal cells to make it to eventual freedom in Andoran. They can't simply smuggle the slaves in the holds of the ships, as Chelaxian magic makes it difficult to hide people; and trying to pass them off as crew would be far too risky. As dangerous as going into Rahadoum and Cheliax are, it is safer than trying to smuggle them or braving the dangerous waters to the south of the tip of Garund.
The Empty Lighthouse sets out from the port of Tidewater Rock, making the long trip back towards Andoran. Of the freed slaves, only nine remain on the crew while the rest took their freedom. With the goodbyes said to Merrill Tantrey, his crew, and to Lady Agasta and Sergeant McCleagh, the crew sets sail back through the Shackles. The excellent spring weather bids them good fortune as they start the journey, cutting between the islands in a reverse of their trip running away from Rickety's Squibs. They keep a constant lookout for the Wormwood - or any other ship that might try to prey upon an unfamiliar prey. They have to change course a few times to avoid coming into contact with some of the ships, which costs them a few hours here and a half a day there.
On the evening of the 13th of Pharast, Conchobar spots a strange sight behind them. In the fading light of the setting sun, a ship seems to appear suddenly. He tells them later that it looked like a whaler riding low in the water, but that he couldn't really see the details before it disappeared in the gloom of twilight. Unable to articulate why he felt it unusual - or perhaps simply reflected his reputation as a serial exaggerator - they don't really think much of it. The next evening, however, Hojo - hardly one to make exaggerations - reports seeing the silhouette of a ship in a sudden fog bank and hearing an eerie echo of the dull clank of a ship's bell in the distance. The mist swallows the mysterious ship before she can properly sight it. Early on the 15th, they make it to clear waters on the north side of the Shackles and aim for the coasts of the Sodden Lands. With everyone on the deck at sundown of that evening, they expected another sighting of the ominous ship - but it does not appear. They keep an extra lookout every evening for the next week, but no one sights it again.
The rest of the trip is dangerous in a far different way. The Eye of Abedengo rages to their west as they hug the coast to avoid being torn to shreds by its winds. There are only a few miles of relative safety before a ship risks being caught by the everlasting storm, so they can't get to full speed - especially not with the unpredictable and changing winds coming from the tempest. They have to muster some extra speed to outrun a few of the pirate vessels that peek out from their makeshift ambush sites, but none of them purse the Lighthouse particularly vigorously. Almost all of the merchant vessels hate this part of the trek, having to risk either death in the Eye or capture at the hands of pirates every time they pass through. Even the pirates don't stay for long, as doing so would risk attacks by boggards and cannibal raiders from the savage shore.
Sandara explains the history of the Eye and the Shackles to the rest of the crew as they sail. It is this narrow waterway and the ten days it takes to cross that protect the Shackles from an attack by an organized fleet from the north. Twice since the formation of the Eye of Abedengo a hundred years ago, a fleet has sailed south through the edge of the Eye - once a Chelaxian fleet headed for Sargava, and once a Rahadoumi fleet that sought to tame the Shackles. Most warships cannot maneuver quickly enough to prevent themselves from being swept into the Eye, and most corsairs are so light that they lack the ability to resist the sudden tempests. Both fleets were heavily battered by the winds, with countless men and ships pulled under the water. By the time the fleets arrived at their objectives, they were easy pickings for the Pirate Council.
After navigating the Sodden Lands coast and stopping several times for the unpredictable storm surges, they cut through the islands near Rahadoum. They spot a few ships from the Rahadoumi Navy as the sail through their territorial waters, but they don't make a move to harass the ship. Their role is protecting trade rather than stymieing it. With the Andoran flag now raised, the Empty Lighthouse is a clear merchant vessel. They pass between the Rahadoumi mainland and the isle of Nuat, where most of the Rahadoumi Navy sit in wait of pirates. Rather than sail into the port city of Azir - called "Port Godless" by many - the Lighthouse continues up the coast for several uneventful days. Where the trip through the Shackles and the edge of the Eye was harrowing, this leg of the journey is made far simpler by the flag - and once inside the Arch, they should have no problems getting to Andoran in a matter of days.
Finally, after nearly three weeks of travel, they are within sight of the Arch of Aroden. The ship certainly looks different enough, but they are nervous that they will be recognized. Determined and confident in the skill of their disguises, they sail onward. An hour's time brings them underneath the Arch. While it once served as a massive bridge between two continents, the link has been long-severed. With Cheliax in control of both sides of the fifteen-mile Arch, they have effectively total control over the Hespereth Strait. The fortified port city of Corentyn provides the ships that patrol the narrow passageway and collect the tolls. While some have the ability to run the blockade, most ships have no choice but to submit underneath the massive columns that jut out of the water - and today, their ship will be one of those.
They slow to a stop as they near the southernmost Chelaxian ship. As they approach, they can see its name: Dominator. The huge vessel is a four-masted, three-decked man-o'-war with enough armaments and marines to make any captain think thrice about fighting it. It faces towards the Inner Sea, perhaps more intent on catching who might be headed out than in. The House Thrune coat-of-arms is emblazoned across the sterncastle of the ship. Below it are galleries of windows into the various cabins, decorated with rows of ornate, brightly-painted sculptures of devils and infernal petitioners. A lookout signals to them to pull up to the vessel and to await boarding for a search. Looking at one another warily, they comply with the order, throwing anchor once on the starboard side of the massive ship.
It doesn't take long for a Chelaxian squadron to cross the gangplanks onto the Lighthouse. Most of the crew assembles on the deck to meet them. A dozen Chelaxian marines - not even close to the number on board the Dominator - cross over, led by a man wearing a commander's bars. Like many Chelaxians, he favors a goatee and long sideburns, but appears quite punctilious in his uniform, which includes his officer's hat, pauldrons, and sash. He bears a sheathed blade, but he holds the back of the grip idly as he speaks. "Good afternoon. I am Commander Kyan Cain, executive officer of the Dominator. I will not hold up your trip unreasonably, Andorans. Please present your papers while we check your hold for illicit goods. What is your official business?" He snaps a finger at the marines, sending all but two to search the Lighthouse.
As the crew works to repair and refit the ship, incorporating Vrunyar’s clever ideas for how to stash some useful supplies in various parts of it, Doran supports and directs their work, not hesitating to get his own hands dirty when it’s called for. When the gnomish forger comes aboard with the false bill of title and ship’s log, the halfling captain whistles in amazement. ”My name’s listed as the owner of this ship! Never thought I’d see the day when that’d happen, me ownin’ a ship, even if the papers are fakes!” He casts a discerning eye over the documents and declares, ”They look real enough to fool me, let’s hope the Chells know as little about forgery as I do. Thanks for yer work on this, Tamenatti – as ye know, we’ve a lot ridin’ on passin’ as Andoran merchants, and these papers’re our ticket through the Arch.”
Conchobar and Hojo’s reports of some sort of mysterious ship appearing in their wake make the crew more than a little nervous. Sailors are a superstitious lot to begin with, and after some of the things they’ve seen on this journey, their fears are easily stoked. Doran does his best to allay their fears, using his music to lighten the crew’s mood, and he’s glad that no one else reports seeing the strange ship as they make their way north.
In spite of the travails of their journey between the Eye on one hand and the pirates of the coast on the other, Doran takes real pleasure in getting to know the crew. He has always enjoyed being part of a crew as it takes shape, cohering into something that is greater than the sum of its parts – but to be leading that process turns out to be an even greater pleasure. Each day leaves him tired from all his work, managing the myriad details, staving off the occasional near-disaster, and simply training the new hands in what to do and what not to do, but extremely satisfied with his lot in life.
This feeling of contentment is diminished by the sight of the Arch, and sapped away entirely by the appearance of the Dominator and its Chelish crew. In response to the officer’s questions, he keeps his answer short and simple, ”We’re a merchant ship, buyin’ and sellin’ what we can to make a living, on our way home t’Andoran. It’s been a long trip, went ‘round the south tip of Garund. Wish we’d come out of it a bit richer, but it’ll be good to be home all the same.”
Commander Cain receives the forged title to the ship, looking good over it with a disinterested air. He must go through this particular routine fairly often, making him prone to lax vigilance. He doesn't blink twice at Doran's story, but he does grown a bit. He hands the document back. "And your official business? Mere merchant ships must pay the tariff. Bearing the official flag of your nation must be done in direct service to the nation, otherwise you are not exempt from the tariff."
The Chelaxian marines search the hold in teams of two, keeping an eye out for unexpected visitors. They examine the medical bay, the galley, the cargo holds, the living quarters, and any other places contraband might be hidden. They are thorough and professional, but a few of them chat among themselves. "Yeah, I've got a friend on the Naval command. He says that the Hellsmouth just disappeared in the night. The command is keeping it hush-hush for now. I'm pretty pissed off about it - Andarlu owed me money and can't pay me back if his ship took off."
”Oh, right,” Doran replies calmly, once Cain appears to have accepted their cover story. Doing his best to hide his distaste for the man, he continues, ”We dropped off the Andoren ambassador t’ Jalmeray on our way south, seems like forever ago. We’ve stopped in a bunch o’ ports along th’ way, sailin’ clear round Garund like I said, collectin’ diplomatic letters and reports and such to bring back to Almas. It’s a shame there’s not more gold in haulin’ paper, I’d be a rich man. But at least it lets us fly the flag, as you say, commander.”
Down in the galley, Ollivor had busied himself with food preparation to keep his mind off this Cheliaxian 'invasion' of the ship. It rubbed him more than a bit to have to endure this, so he thought staying in the galley would minimize the contact he had to put up with.
By now he'd gotten pretty good at his job, if he didn't say so himself. Knives might not be his best bet in combat, but they served him well as he rapidly cut up some greens in neat little slices and then did the same to thicker sausages. There would be a hearty stew tonight to be sure.
Then the marines come down and start banging around his galley. Rather than let his distaste shine too much, he asks, "Can I fix you gentlemen anything while you're here? Stew won't be ready in time, but I have some bread what's fresh if you've got a case of the nibbles."
The marines shake their heads and continue to open up the food storage and the like. Ollivor inwardly winces at some of the disorder they cause to the inventory. Leadfooted jackwagons He thinks resentfully as one just tosses some flour to the side damn near breaking open the bag.
Whatever they're looking for, it's not here though, and as that becomes more and more clear, they start talking among themselves. Pretending not to notice or care, Ollivor goes back to his duties even as he keeps one ear open.
"Yeah, I've got a friend on the Naval command. He says that the Hellsmouth just disappeared in the night. The command is keeping it hush-hush for now. I'm pretty pissed off about it - Andarlu owed me money and can't pay me back if his ship took off."
Ollivor makes a note of that complaint, and the name given. He's tempted to encourage the two to talk abit more, but if anything that might clam them up. So instead he sets a bottle of booze out where the soldiers can see it and acts like it's not there. Maybe they'll take a break, drink a bit, and get to talking more, maybe not.
With the meeting with Captain Tantrey over, Aaron is free to have a somewhat private talk with Vrunyar about the subject of healing the dwarf had mentioned earlier. "I have given it some thought," the pale Chelaxian says, "and the curse does sound like a plausible excuse. Still, with sailors being... well, superstitious, perhaps a more mundane explanation? An adverse reaction to healing magic of any and all kinds, not necessarily magical, but... eh, I am not sure, like an allergy? A matter of medicine doing more harm than good in my case?"
Aaron shrugs; although he does know a few things about patching up wounds and some such, he is hardly a trained physician. Taking then a moment to think, he asks, "But as far as actually healing me goes, can you help with that? Could you make more of the... potions I use? Their magic is the exact opposite of the usual ones, harming instead of healing. Well, people who are not me anyway..."
As the Chelaxian marines search the ship, Aaron keeps mostly to himself and out of sight. Still, he takes note of their movements and words, catching the news of the Hellsmouth's disappearance, a piece of information he plans to share with his comrades as soon as he is given the opportunity.
”You’re right about superstitions, Aaron. A curse isn’t a good explanation.” He pauses, considering his words. ”If any alchemists have discovered how to make such extracts, they don’t publicize the fact. I will get to work in attempting it. Perhaps using reciprocals and inverting a few of the later steps of preparation...” he starts to write down formulae on a piece of paper. ”Thanks for giving me a challenge!”
————
Seeing the dice’s low number, Vrunyar chuckled with good humor. ”Fine, fine. I’ll be the diplomat when we get to the Arch. This is what I get for chancing fate with wood! Next time Ollivor, we’re using dwarf-carved stone. Though maybe not ‘next time.’ We have to find some first. Maybe they can be found in Andoran.”
A few hours later, he invites the officers to hear his idea for the diplomat role. ”I decided to mostly speak in a strange language. I gave it some thought too. I can’t just going around speaking gibberish like ‘balla walla sho di froudili.’ No, no. That’s no good. It doesn’t sound real. What do you think of this?” Vrunyar starts speaking a melodic and rhythmic string of sentences. It sounds quite convincing as he points to various people and items on the ship and utters a phrase or two.
One of the Rahadoumi crew, Ahmed Sadiq stops swabbing the deck and looks at the dwarf in surprise. Speaking in the same manner as Vrunyar, he says
Vrunyar stops cold, mid-sentence. He swallows and looks at Ahmed in wonder. ”What?” he asks in Common. ”You understood me?” That was a real language?
Ahmed’s confusion is clear.
The dwarf recovers his composure and cracks a smile. ”Dwarven humor! Of course, of course,” Vrunyar chuckles. ”Not many people find it funny.” He shrugs then turns his attention to the other officers. ”Well, I need to return to the infirmary. See you at dinner time.”
Vrunyar spends the next few hours working on formulae for Aaron’s challenge as he likes to think of it. Inverting, contradicting, or twisting the curing magic he uses to heal others. While he does that, part of his mind wonders how he learned Polyglot without knowing he knew it.
Vrunyar emerges from the captain’s quarters, face decorated with streaks of dyed ash. ”Sue ve’ve fenally arreved en Anduran?” He bows to the Chelaxian officer. ”Et es vary gud to met you. May neme es Gemmusran. Gemmusran Tegu. Do you spek Puelygluet?” He asks with a hopeful tone in his voice.
”Here we go again…” Doran mutters as Vrunyar appears on deck. Speaking in an exaggeratedly loud voice, like the worst stereotype of an Andoran abroad, he says, ”I’m sure Commander Cain has no idea what ye’re sayin’, just as I don’t!” Adopting a broad, patently false smile and nodding as if speaking to an idiot, Doran continues, ”Thank you, ambassador, thank you! Goodbye now!”
He then turns his back on ‘Gemmusran’ and says in a much-lowered voice to the Chelish officer, ”Bloody fool tries to talk to every soul we come across in that language of his, I’m afraid he’ll teach it to my parrot just to have someone to talk to! And he doesn’t know a capstan from a cathead, the lubber! We’re to bring him to Andoran, and I’ll tell ye, I’ve been scratchin’ backstays and prayin’ fer a followin' wind every day of this journey!”
Commander Cain takes a long look at the bizarre dwarf, then back to Doran. He joins Doran in a hushed tone. "Ambassador from where? What sort of nation produces an illiterate dwarf as their ambassador?" It is clear from his tone that he considers "Tegu" an embarrassment at best. He raises his voice back to Vrunyar. "And what nation do you hail from?"
Thorn has kept to himself for most of the journey, trying to figure out the meaning of his dream and experimenting with his new found powers that showed up shortly after his dream. Thorns powers first appeared to him like his dream, while deep in sleep.
In the early hours of the morning, deep in sleep, Thorn was suddenly awoken by a steady downpour of rain. Thorn jumped out of his cot believing the ship had sprung a leak but he was in total shock to realize it was falling rain. "what is bloody hell is going on" Thorn said as he now realized the rain was following him through the lower cabin and only falling in his head while everyone else was sound a sleep non the wiser. Thorn started to get angry and his rage was starting to boil in his head as he thought someone was playing a trick on him but the angrier he got the rain started to fall harder. Suddenly it clicked, and Thorn closed his eyes to try and calm himself. He had just realized he was the cause of the rain and was controlling it. Thorn slowed his heart rate and the rain slowed along with his heart rate and then stopped. Pimric a freed slave woke up to see Thorn Drenched in water and asked " Hey Thorn, Whatch ya do, Go for a midnight swim?" Thorn let out a laugh before saying "Yea, I guess I did." Thorn soon realized he could use the water as a weapon and would point at different objects and force a cone of cold air and ice from his finger tip at the desired object. Unfortunately the object received minimal damage. Thorn thought if he kept practicing with this new ability he may be able to use it in a fight to hurt his opponent or at least distract him or make him feel uncomfortable.
Over the next few day of sailing Thorn practiced controlling the rain until he could make it rain were ever he wanted and even began to have fun with it by making it rain briefly on random shifts of watch up in the crows nest. Thorn had also learned to control the cone of cold air and ice into a more focused cone shape. Thorn soon realized he could manipulate the rain droplets into really fine droplets of water and into an obscuring mist. Thorn soon discovered the mist could be very useful in a pinch and used it to hide himself down below the deck. Thorn also took advantage of the crews fear of a ghost ship following them from the mists and would hide out in the cargo holds after filling the cargo hold with mist and hiding in the mist.
Thorn soon realized his talents did not only deal with water. thorn found out he could identify magic and learned of this ability when one evening Captain Doran lent Thorn his magical plus one magical dagger. Thorn began to examine the blade and admired the craftsmanship that it began to slightly glow and Thorn some how knew deep down inside his mind that the dagger was magical.
Thorn stayed below the deck in his cot as the marines began to search the area around him for anything and everything. Thorn maintained his silence and continued to swing in his cot as the marines pushed on. Once the marines left he jumped out of his cot and began to follow the marines around from a distance and out of sight as they searched the ship. Thorn thought this would be a good idea to see where they looked now in case they need to hide something later on. As Thorn followed the marines he spotted Aaron standing just out of sight from the marines probably doing the same as him he thought. Thorn turned his attention back on the marines once he heard a marine mention the i]Hellsmouth had disappeared. This was news to Thorn he had a debt to repay the Captain of that ship and he would not let someone else steal his revenge. Thorn waited for more information to spill out of the mariens mouthes but they said no more.
Vrunyar looks a little crestfallen when Commander Cain doesn’t answer him in Polyglot. He waves at the soldiers as Doran whispers something to the man. When asked the Commander asks the question he replies, ”Et’s ay smayll nayshun. Wethuut lend,” he mimes scattering seeds and harvesting with a scythe. ”Heve you herd uf Pusabun? Ve hayve ay queen! She sed, ‘Gemmusran, yer mayther vus e Pethfender. Gue to Anduran.’ Sue thet’s vut E em due-ing.” He smiles as if with that information the Chelaxians and he will begin a strong friendship.
Commander Cain opens a ledger and takes down some notes. "I see. The ambassador from Pusaban. Is that nation in Garund? As with many primitive lands, they rise and fall with such frequency that it is difficult to keep track. Where is this nation in relation to Sargava? Should Cheliax expect an ambassador of its own?" He makes no pains to hide that he must believe that the 'uncivilized' lands of Garund would do better as Chelaxian colonies (of which Sargava is no longer one).
"It's a few hundred miles inland, clos'r to the south tip," Doran explains. "And you got me. I just pick 'em up." The halfling laughs at the commander's attitude, trying to show that he agrees. Cain doesn't seem to see that there is nothing behind the former slip's false facade, but his arrogance is a remarkably Chelaxian trait. Vrunyar simply smiles and nods, trying his best to indulge Cain in all the stereotypes that he must feel.
"Well," Commander Cain says with a definitive thump of the closure of his ledger as the marines return to the main deck. "It seems that your ship is in order. Be on your way." With a few gestures, he leads the remainder of his naval forces back onto the Dominator. As they pull up the gangplanks, he gives them a dismissive wave to indicate that they are free to go. Quickly, the sheets sweep out and catch the wind, letting the Empty Lighthouse (or, as the Chelaxians now know it, the Tamed Arthfell) sail away towards Andoran ports. They'll arrive in a matter of days, flush with gold to spend on their new quest.