Islands in the Sky (Inactive)

Game Master avr

Kemosh smiled as he turned the scroll over in his hands - it wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but it was close enough and in the end had more information than he expected it would.

He tucked it neatly into a scroll case as the huge man in front of him counted the agreed upon amount to make sure it was correct - to his side a smaller one kept staring at him for some reason - its matted hair and pointy nose made Kemosh think he looked like a sewer rat. He kept that opinion to himself, and only chuckled again.

"This is only half" - came the gruff voice from the large one - "Where's the rest? Boss said would be double this" - he insisted.

Kemosh's raised eyebrow said it all - "What the hell do you mean - this IS the agreed upon price. Either you or your boss are trying to make some extra off of me" - he quipped, with a most discrete of looks at his polearm, sitting casually against the wall beside him - "And there's no point in it - I have no more" - he finished, leaning back on the chair with a shrug, now looking around the tavern - at least it was spacious, he would have way more problems if they were in a cramped space.

"We're done, right?" - he moved to stand up when really out of nowhere a dagger came at him, Kemosh barely registering the motion of the smaller one, the rat. It hit his armor and swerved enough to embedd itself on the wall - the time for talk was over.

In the same fluid motion he planted one hand on the table, jumping over it, grabbed the bardiche with his free hand, and kicked the brutish one in the jaw - it didn't do much damage, but moved him out of his way just a tad. Another dagger came at him, and this one hit home, cutting a painful gash in his left arm. He ignored it, landing heavily on the other side of the table, but still on his feet - "Very well then" - he growled in an almost feral way.

"No! Wait!" - the rat squealed, but it was two late - the bardiche came swinging in a side swipe to hit him brutally on the jaw. Kemosh could hear the bone cracking, but the swing had not been to kill so the bastard would live, even if with a few less teeth. He took one second too late gloating over his well aimed attack, and on came the brute, club swinging madly, but well enough to connect with his ribs, making him wincing from the pain.

Kemosh decided to roll with it, using his weapon to pivot up and around his other opponent, still on his knees grabbing his jaw - he kicked him again, for good measure, and dashed out the door - or so he expected to. The tavernkeeper blocked his path - he was a large, rotund man, and even with his considerable strength and momentum, Kemosh really didn't entertain much hope to be able to barrel through. But barrel through he did, splintering the door, knocking the wind out of the tavernkeeper and leaving him sprawling on his back, and himself dizzy, but still running.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted three others coming for him - probably stationed outside and waiting for the deal to finish - 'Last time I play fair and square, that's for sure' - he scolded himself for actually thinking the negotiations could be straightforward and simple. He paid what they had asked for the parchment, but yet they were chasing him. For a moment Kemosh glanced at the concoction firmly secured in his bandoleer, and pondered drinking it to give the bastards a lesson. He chuckled at the idea, but dismissed it - "It is still not balanced" - he told himself, and kept on running.

He knew well his way around, and made his way to the docks - finding the Market Avenue cramped as usual, he put his weapon away and pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head. He stopped running and even went to a stall to buy a piece of fruit, thus managing to navigate most of the market without a fight. Yet on the other side they were somehow still on to him - "What the hell..? Why such a dogged pursuit..?" - he wondered out loud, breaking into a run again.

Moments later the man was reaching the docks, his eyes quickly examining the area in search of... Yes, there it was - an airship already departing. He increased his speed in a mad dash going for the piles of stored goods next to the limits of the dock, climbing them with large steps. And then he jumped... Below there was only nothingness unending, but Kemosh's eyes were fixed in the rigging ahead, which he managed to grab hold on to with a vice like grip. He stood there, hanging from one arm for a few split seconds then turned around with a smile, tipping his hat at his pursuers - "Next time gentlemen!"

- I imagine Kemosh as a free spirit, but one who strongly understands the value of 'belonging';
- In my head, he was take captive by the Orventian Empire after doing nothing more than putting to shame an ignorant noble;
- He paid dearly for it, and was thrown in one of the darkest holes to be forgotten about;
- Much of his jovial and carefree attitude was lost in that place, but he remained alive because he found a group who took care of him after the first few brutal months;
- They were lab rats and wannabe scholars, and no more than that;
- Initially they saw in him another bodyguard they could draw to their side inside that awful place. He didn't care and joined. He wanted to live;
- But as time went by, his intellect became more evident than his strength, or ability in swinging a blade;
- In dark place, one learns and does dark things - he made a lot of those, and learned much from it;
- After a while, things began spinning out of control, and the underground lab was an excuse for all sorts of tests and experiments, even on himself;
- Once the coallition liberated the place, the ones remaining decided to part separate ways. They would not speak of it again;
- But he brought with him much of what he has learned, specially the brew that brings out the 'real' him, that sets him free - it makes him feel good;

-- Loyalties --

His Freedom: He has been deprived of it once, in the worst possible way. And he will never let it happen again.

Knowledge for the sake of it: There are not many things who can get Kemosh as pumped up as tracking down and uncovering an obscure piece of knowledge - he will gladly do it for gold, but those who know him understand it is ont necessary. Just put the question before him - from the simplest thing, to the most complex enigmas - and watch him take it from there. Knowledge has been his refuge, and what has kept him alive.

The Team: Once they have proven themselves 'team players', Kemosh will always look out for his buddies, regardless of the situation or how wrong they may seem to be. He will always honor the unit, and if all accept to play their part without skimping, they have an ally for life in him. It is not easy to have him in a team, but once he's there he'll be the first to speak out against show boaters, and putting them in their place. The group works only while it is just that - a Group.

“I mean I ne’er heard of ‘im,” the giant across the table said. He took a swig from the tankard in his meaty hand.

“You might as well say you’ve never heard of the North Wind, lad!,” the older man exclaimed. “He’s sailed with every merchant and pirate worth knowing, and most of the ones not worth mentioning! You know he sailed on the One Last Dance with Dahl, before the unpleasantness with the throne?”

The giant frowned. ”I ain’t heard of him in any off the stories though…”

The storyteller laughed. ”Well, that’s cuz he got out while the gettin’ was still good, you ken? Brought names to the Empire - that’s why the Empire was able to fight as hard as they did, info from as far inside as you could get without being Ravian himself.”

The big man growled. ”So he’s a traitor. A rat!”

”No no nooo, he’s simply prone to fits of… variable patriotism, he is. He spit in the eye of the Empire too - stole a munitions shipment with a crew he broke out of a prison brig.” He fumbled inside his vest for a second, drew a flask from a concealed inside pocket and helpfully poured some into the giant’s tankard

The sole audience member furrowed his brow. ”Well, why’d he do that?”

”Why does the sparrow dip and dive when a straight line is faster?,” the older man says in a facsimile of sage wisdom. ”Maybe it’s more fun - maybe it keeps the eagles from tellin’ where the sparrow is going. Maybe we just can’t figure out flying and that’s the best way. Ain’t no way to know without askin’ the sparrow, and good luck catching one of those little bastards to get a word in.”

The giant sat, a pensive look on his face, processing this. Then, he slowly leaned forward, eyes rolling back into his head, and collapsed on the table with a thump.

”Well, that took long enough,” the older man said grumpily. He quickly shuts the compartment on his ring and stands up, dropping his drunken facade. With a quick tug, he pulls the giant’s purse off of the man’s belt and weighs it in hand. ”Bastard drank so much I’m barely breaking even,” he muttered to himself as he dropped a small stack of gold coins on the table and headed out of the tavern before the poison wore off.
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Down on the docks, he scanned the ships in port until he found the one he was looking for. ”Ahoy!” he called.

”Feck off, drifter!” came the yell from on-deck.

”C’mon, you can’t pretend I wasn’t right! You get the bales belowdecks before yesterday’s rain?” The man takes on a pleading tone.

There’s a moment of silence before the quartermaster pops his head back over the railing. ”Aye, just barely. How’d you know that was coming? Every marker we had said clear skies yesterday.”

”Yer markers are wrong, that’s how,” said the older man on the docks. ”I get my news straight from the wind, not some tinkerer’s weather trinket.”

The quartermaster scoffed in disbelief.

”Nay, mock - but that won’t keep you out of tomorrow’s storm,” says the man on the dock.

The quartermaster pauses. ”Ain’t heard nothing about a storm.”

”Til right now, you haven’t - cuz you ain’t listening properly. So what about it? I tell you when and where the storm comes, you put up an old traveller?”

The quartermaster muses for a moment. ”Let me ask the mate and captain. Who do I say you are, old-timer?”

”Mog Calloway,” the old pirate says with a wide smile and a twinkle in his eye. ”You may have heard of me?”

Pike grew up on an island too sparse for farming and with no important trade routes. Scratching out a living was hard there. The only resource yhe island had to keep it alive was a steady supply of tough young sailors. Pike shipped out when he was 15. It was a hard life of scrubbing decks and pulling ropes but the burly lad settled into it with ease, coming to love his career that took him from the breathtaking heights to the terrifying depths on the border of the churn. But he never forgot home, sending half his pay there year after year. The years wore on and his parents passed but he had a widowed sister with small ones so Pike kept sending his way and visiting whenever a job took him close enough.

Pike cheered the rise of the Lition and even signed up as a marine. But soon he realized that the leaders of the uprising would never deliver the freedom they promised. Those who get power are good at one thing, taking as much for themselves as they can. After watching another mate die, Pike mustered out and went back to sailing. He threw his sturdy back into working for his family again, taking any job he could find. And though he was called Ol' Pike now, the skills he'd learned in the Navy and his broad shoulders served him well under sail and under attack. Many a time, the rangy man interposed his weapon or his body to save a crewmate from attack. Somehow, the years didn't slow down the wily old fellow, who found ways to bring his bulk to bear at the right place at the right time.

Then, when the fighting was over, the old man was back to work, heaving ropes with a tuneless whistle in his mouth and a twinkle in his eye. Someone had to pay for his great-niece's dowry. And when some of his crew grabbed a Lancer with some other hotheads, Pike came along. There was no way he was getting press-ganged. And someone had to keep these young knuckleheads alive.