It's a beautiful day. The sun is in the sky, promising a hot summer. For the time being, however, it serves to lighten the mood of everyone in Senghor as the final loading and boarding for the Jenivere are wrapped up. Captain Kovack nods at his first mate, who in turn begins yelling orders at the various crew around the ship. As the ship gets out of port, the sails are unfurled and filled with the strong trade winds of the Arcadian Ocean. As the crew go about their work, the first mate approaches you and introduces himself.
"Greetings once again. I am First Mate Devers, and allow me to once again welcome you all to the Jenivere. If you'll all follow me I shall show you to your quarters."
As the company begins to file off after First Mate Devers, you can't help but get in an appraising look at your newest traveling companions. The first to catch your eyes is a tall, severe-looking, half-elven woman who boarded back in Port Peril. Since boarding she has spoken not a word to any of you and stays in her bunk at almost all times. She did however give a crewman a black eye not five minutes after boarding for reasons you haven't quite discerned.
Next is a small, sharply-dressed gnome who has informed you that he has "been on this tub for gods near three months". The crew doesn't seem fond of him, and he spends most of his time in the common room writing and telling stories of his journeys to anyone who makes the mistake of making eye contact with him. He has blonde hair and the over-large blue eyes common to his kind. He seems quite intelligent, yet his wit is commonly spent on barbed comments at the crew and other passengers.
Next is a bookish, varisian woman who tends to keep mostly to herself, though she has taken to spending quite an amount of time with the captain. If rumors are to be believed, the beautiful woman is either the true owner of the Jenivere, a Chelish agent, or the captains not-so-secret lover. She is friendly and claims to be traveling to study the ruins in Sargava.
There is a scruffy-looking, middle-aged tian man who boarded at the last port in Bloodcove. He has not spoken since boarding as far as you are aware. Everything about him appears ramshackle as far as you've noticed (including himself) except the elegant sword he keeps strapped to him at all times.
Finally is a fiery, red-haired woman who boarded in Ilizmagorti. Her personality has begun to show through her initial somber demeanor to reveal an optimistic, boisterous, and somewhat sheltered personality. None have yet asked her about her missing pinky finger.
After examining your fellow passengers, you remember what you were doing and get back to following the first mate.
The stocky musketeer cringed slightly as the cargo barge lurched forward, carving its way over the surface of the Arcadian Oceans deep cerulean waters. The noonday sun beat down upon the planks of the deck as the whole of the Jenivere's newest passengers followed closely behind the first mate.
Though he was a stout as the gnarled, petrified oaks that spotted the wasteland of the Mana Wastes, he didn't cope to terribly well with the constant tossing of the waves. His stomach turned as the craft barreled through a rather large whitecap, and his sharp intake of breath was all that kept his ale-soaked breakfast of day old hash and duck eggs down.
Keep it together... he grimaced to himself. You can give me a horse anyday, but I can't take these gods forsaken waves.
He stopped for a moment to regain composure and caught a glance of some of the Jenivere's crew as they tended to their duties. He had never seen a more random melting pot of individuals in his four decades of life.
If it works then it works.. he shrugged in quick contemplation. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a stout blast of salty air hit him square in the face, blowing the wisps of his tawny and grey hair back out of his face, and he lost all composure. He doubled over the starboard railing and instantly regretted his late-morning second helping.
where can a dwarf get some ale around here? is all Bjorn could think as he wandered up to the Jenivere. he had spent all morning trying to find his way around port and hadn't had time to stop and get his breakfast or mead as most other people call it.
As the Captain shouted the last call Bjorn started up the gangplank. I really hope this goes smoothly. i can't kill as well in the water! as he neared the deck he quickly remembered he had yet to have breakfast....his stomach was making a terribly loud rumbling noise. it reminded him of a goblin squealing as he killed him limb from limb for cuttings his arm.
He met with the rest of the new passengers and did his best to pay attention and follow along with the first mate, but it was hard with the goblin screaming in his belly. he then started leaning on a javelin,"Hey does anyone know where i could get a good liter of breakfast?" his stomach still continuing to sound the call to goblin mating season.
"Havin' a bit o' trouble findin' yer sea legs?" he laughs. "Well ye'll get used ter it quick 'nuff. Best be off ter yer cabin, though. Still work ter do about deck, an' Rambar'll be servin' 'is famous "salt water soup" 'afore long, like as not."
With that the big man goes back to his duties. Before the helm, Captain Kovack pats the helmsman on the shoulder as he retreats to his cabin.
"Meals will be taken soon, master dwarf," he responds before leaning in close to speak just loudly enough for those present to hear. "As for the quality, though, I am not at liberty to discuss." He pokes a finger in his throat and makes a gagging sound. "But," he says with a shrug, "you take what you can get, I suppose."
At that he shows you your cabin. It's a small space, but the bed is comfortable, and there's a trunk for you to keep your affects.
He managed a slight nod in response to the stiff pat on his back as he finished emptying the contents of his stomach into the waters below. He slowly pushed himself up from the railing and managed a squinted glance around. The new passengers had all begun to file below deck, and so he uneasily began his stumbling path towards the door to the deck below.
As he entered the bowels of the ship, he slowly progressed with one hand sliding along the rough boards that made up the corridor of cabins. Wandering past a few occupied rooms, he came to small empty room that housed only a hammock, small table, and a hanging lantern.
He collapsed into the hammock after two quick strides across his cabin and closed his eyes out of sheer frustration, letting the soft swaying of his hammock bring his stomach to some sense of settling.
as bjorn was settling into his room, he quickly found out that the trunk was not going to be able to hold his great axe. and then remembered he had trail rations. it isn't mead but it'll do
so as he sat on his bed and was somewhat enjoying his rations he realized i wonder if they are gonna put me to work? i don't have any experience with boats! so bjorn wandered out into the hallway only to find he needed conversation and looked for the first person he could find. "hey you what's yur name?"
Thus was the final part of the voyage to Eleder began. While they started well enough, the personalities of all the passengers began to show themselves. And once the drink began flowing, some of them began to form friendships, while others who had no interest in such, like the quiet half-orc, the tian man, and the increasingly reclusive captain only distanced themselves further. All of that came to a halt one fateful night.
The last thing all of you remember is going to your rather bland dinner.
"Gods, I'm dead and've gone to the Hells," you mutter. You open your eyes, and the sun shines down painfully. You open them again after the initial shock and see your fellow survivors. You grin to yourself as you stand as you notice that the ulfen man survived as well as the lasses, but swallow a groan as you see the gnome, the tian man, and the half-orc. They were simply no fun at all, and the gnome was the worst of all. That annoying little Смарт-асс makes you want to get your axe and... That's when you notice your lack of weaponry. You look towards the half-orc and see him walking towards a pile of gear on the beach. Walking over to retrieve your equipment, you can't help but see the trail of drag marks and footprints leading to and from the cost from the pile. Someone took some effort to bring all this up here. You hear the other arguing about something, but so caught up are you in your examinations, that you comprehend none of it until the words "Don't leave us," reach your ears. You look up and see the half-orc and the ulfen man walking towards the tree-line. The others move to follow, but not before the stodgy tian man picks up a halfling under one arm. You trudge after them, grumbling.
"I wonder if someone marooned us out here on purpose," you ponder aloud as you walk towards the water. "Oh yes, that's a wonderful plan. Let's maroon a bunch of random passengers on an uncharted island for no good reason and then go crash the ship so they can't escape. But let's be fair and give 'em their things. Wouldn't want to be too mean to 'em, now would we," calls a high-pitched voice from behind you. But how else would we have got here, I wonder. I don't remember a storm. Shrugging your shoulders at the conundrum, you grab the remainder of your gear and follow after the half-orc to the tree line. You stop just before them and gaze up, appreciating their majesty, and begin to hum a jaunty tune to yourself before continuing on.
The towering Ulfen made his way, with some degree of difficulty, behind the half-orc who seemed to almost glide effortlessly between the large trunks and grasping vines. If it wasn't the head of his axe or the crossguard of his longsword, it was the mass of fur that made up the majority of his boots that tangled amidst the grasping, thorny underbrush of the jungle's floor. His flowing tawny locks, matted and still dripping from his involuntary mid-morning dip into the Arcadian waters, laid flat against his shoulders as hopped over a massive fallen tree.
"You know..." he bellowed, grunting slightly from the exerted effort of keeping up with his odd guide, "...this reminds me of a song about a beautiful maiden, lost and forlorn as she wanders an unknown wilderness far away from her beloved home in the warm embrace of the Varisian mountains. Do you know any songs, Green Man?" A sprawling, sheepish grin crawled not-so-subtly from beneath the Northman's still-damp beard as he began to hum the ever-familiar tune in an warm up-tempo key. It was, for all intents and purposes, a deeply sincere gesture. Ever since his - at least in his mind - victorious, thirst-quenching endeavor over the Dwarven tracker and his present, silent companion he'd tried to think of ways to spark up conversation with the stoic mystic.
...It didn't appear to be working all that well.
the slightly baffled dwarf was no longer in a mood for fun and drinking games. why would anyone want to strand us here? he thought and thought but he had spent most of his time on board just having fun. this made no sense. it must be that wench that had the captain "enthralled"! if i see her again i'll do the deed myself! has he moved to catch up to the rest of the wandering group, his hunter instincts started to awaken. why is this giant olf singing! he is gonna get us ate!
"HEY stig-whatever yur name is! would ya mind keepin it down you never know whats in these uninhabited woods.....i might actually find something worth the hunt....but i don't need it coming to eat us because you wanted to sing about a lass ya never met, in land ya ain't never been. please keep it down. thank ya!"
bjorn just stays to the side of the group so that he can keep an eye and ear out with out his concentration being overwhelmed by stig.
He perked an eyebrow at the sudden interruption of the Dwarf, who for all intents and purposes, had appeared out of nowhere.
"I'll have you know those very same mountains are my home, my overly-eloquent friend. I don't think we have to worry about whatever wild, shaggy thing might be lurking out in the brush finding us from my voice... They can probably smell you from a league away!" he retorted with a hardy laugh. He glanced over at the half-orc and noticed his acute lack of interest in the skald's humor.
He cleared his throat and stiffened up slightly, eyeing the Dwarf as he pointed in the direction of their silent guide, "As opposed to our friend here who barely seems to show any sign of living short of walking us deeper into this jungle..."
The half-orc stops, apparently having found what he was looking for. It is then that you all hear the sound of running water. moving quietly through the trees you approach a small stream that runs directly south. You're all about to run up and quench your thirsts, but the half-orc holds you back. He points a finger to a rock at the edge of the stream, underneath which sits a blue-black viper, coiled and watching. The half-orc bends down and picks up some grass and twigs which he gently tosses in the snake's direction. A strange greenish light fills his eyes as he stares down the snake before it crawls away, seemingly uninterested.