Simon stands a little straighter, and nods. “I have to know the lands and people, if I am to serve the realm one day. There are many dwarves in the Sunderlands. They live in the Hammertide Isles, a bit southwest of Ytramond, my home island. They keep to themselves in most affairs, except for trade. They bring us shiploads of superior steel, jewelry, and other metalworks in return for our bountiful foodstuffs and lumber. I visited the Hammertides when I was younger, following my father about his business, but only to the large islands: Anvil, Thunderstone, and Hammer. Very old, all of their cities. They were here long before men ever tread the Sunderlands. They keep a temple of Torag in Wheaton and Siloguard, trade cities in the Ytramond Commonwealth, of which my father is Steward. While some do, most humans do not worship Torag. Merchants seem to favor Abadar, and those that work the land or sea usually pray to Erastil or Gozreh. There are shrines of other gods here and there, but I’ve noticed these to be the most common. You will probably not find many dwarves in Hagglesport, our destination on Ytramond. The dwarves avoid business with the goblinkind if it can be helped, and will conduct most of their trade in Wheaton.
“This Irori sounds interesting. I don’t think I’ve seen so much as a shrine of his, even in Hagglesport. But I don’t know everything. Perhaps some dwarves in the Hammertides worship him, and I did not notice in my last visit.”
Captain Rettley orders a sailor to man the helm for a moment as he looks over the dead boarders. “Wouldn’t have been able to repel these without your help. Still, this is my ship. Simon and the rest of you can take what’s on those three, and we will take these three.”
He gestures that the big pirate and two other boarders are free for you to loot. He stoops over the others and begins removing anything of value from the corpses.
On the bodies designated, the adventurers find a masterwork falchion, masterwork leather armor, two masterwork studded leather armor, two scimitars, three daggers, and a total of 100gp.
When the looting is finished, Rettley tosses the bodies overboard with the help of another. He returns to the wheel.
Bolgrith turns as Rettley begins talking, standing he makes his way to his companions and helps with the onerous chore.
Prior to striping the bodies of their valuables, Balion approaches the captain and holds out his hat before him, placing his hat in his hand. Expressing the utmost sincerity and reverence for the gift."Every good captain needs a good hat." Backing away slowly before taking his share the Ranger adorns his new armor and stores his old armor in the chest in his cabin.
"I'll take whatever you blokes won't use. See what loose change it can get us in Hagglesport." Simon collects the rest of the gear and carries it to his cabin.
Captain Rettley's appearance is very similar to his crew's: worn and patched breeches and shirt held up with a leather belt. He keeps a scimitar at his side, and his bow and arrows on his back. Since the warming of the weather, he is seen without his long seacoat. In fact, his age is about the only detail that separates him from the crew. This is to say, he displays a very minimal visage. But he sees how much the hat means to the ranger and accepts the haberdashery with respect. "Thank you, sir. I will not let this go to waste."
He uncomfortably crams it onto his head until supper, where he removes it as he steps below deck. He is not seen wearing it the next morning.
For once, the captain is right. The next nine days pass without event. As the days pass, more ships are visible under the clear blue sky on the distant eastern and southern horizon. The crewmen notice them, but do not make issue. Eventually, a handful sail close enough to give reason for pause, until Captain Rettley identified their colors and judged them to be safe.
Bolgrith spends his time equally between exercise, meditation, speaking with the Captain, Golo, and Simon, and reading his book.
Balion spends every day fraternizing with the crew assisting with daily tasks and repairs to the ship. Believing idol hands to be the work of slouches and drunkards, the ranger uses every opportunity to learn about the sunderlands. Taking note of the weather and the potential hazards they may face.
From Simon's comments whilst in Hamonreld's winter, and the warmer weather as you continue eastward, it is safe to assume the area keeps a slightly warmer climate. The crew regale the passengers with anecdotes and past mishaps, and you wonder if perhaps Hamonreld and the Sunderlands are not that different.
Rolg will spend time with Golo and Captain Rettley in an effort to gain specific information about Hagglesport's customs, laws, and people.
Golo warns that any public drunkenness in Hagglesport is subject to a beating and a night in a cell, for which the prisoner is charged for his meals, shelter, and compensation of the guard on duty. From similar stories, you get the sense that the city is ruled with an iron fist.
It is early evening of the ninth day when a sailor in the crow’s nest cries out. On the horizon in the direction he points, dark bumps interrupt the flat, salty seascape. The other crew members cheer, and the captain nods in satisfaction. Even Golo, who is seen at sunset, spares a toothy grin.
“Aye, should be at a tea’ouse by tamarrah night. Ov’rdue fer a polished mast.” This gets a few laughs from the crew.
In the morning light of the next day, land sweeps across the eastern horizon. A distant mountain range extends beyond sight, and a corner of land protrudes closest, to the south. The earth seems a light brown, splotched with dense underbrush. Few trees are visible from here. Other ships are seen in the waters, but they keep their distance. The crew does not seem to be concerned with them. When Captain Rettley emerges from his cabin, he wears his dark seacoat and newly acquired hat. He stands straighter and walks taller as he stoically takes the helm, and looks the very part of a respectable ship captain.
By noon, it is plain that the captain is making for the southern corner of what Simon indicated as Ytramond. As the Wanderlust sails a distance alongside the coast, a few high hills are visible at the center of what now seems to be a peninsula. At the top of the highest hill, a grey stone keep stands dark against the blue sky. Settlements seem to line the coast, and fill the depressions between hills.
The Wanderlust steers south around the peninsula, swinging northeast, bringing to view a large, natural bay busy with ships. Once on this side of the high hills, the brown land spreads flat, with easy slopes. The plains rise to a massive, mountain range, the stone made dark blue by the great distance. Its heavy snowcaps are beginning to pink in the beginning sunset. Judging the distance between the mountains and the coast, and comparing the mountain size this far away, the rocky range must be dauntingly huge. In the areas not settled by buildings or crops, more low foliage grows, and again few trees can be spotted.
“Wow. Usually the clouds obscure the true height of the Frosttooth Mountains. Even growing up here on Ytramond, the range never fails to impress.” Simon comments.
Most of the ships passing through the pincer-shaped bay entrance seem to have the same course, going to or from a large dark blemish on the landscape, made fuzzy by a faint brown-grey haze. Sailing closer, by the comments of the crew and what Simon has told you so far, it is clear this blemish must be Hagglesport. The expanse of the bay opens further to the east as the Wanderlust proceeds north, and another dark spot, presumably another city, is seen in the distant eastern coast of the bay.
"Simon, how will the locals react to Squall?" Aladdin asked
Simon looks Squall over. "Hm, he does look very unusual. The Hagglesport guards don't like to see spellcasting in public, so I would advise not summoning him on the streets. But the cities here in Ytramond are accustomed to mages such as yourself -so long as you are near him and make it plain that he is under control, I do not expect any problems."
Bolgrith glances up from honing his ax-head. Seeing shore he sheaths his weapon and stands to get a better look at their surroundings. He casually clasps his hands together and a brief blue glow appears and fades.
Balion emerges from below deck dressed for war. Wearing his new masterwork armor he carries his scimitar at the hip with his heavy runic mace in easy reach hanging by his belt. Strapped across his back, next to his longbow, is the longsword passed down through his family for generations only slightly concealed by his travelers cloak. The Ranger glances about to see the captain wearing the hat he gave him, and admires the way it shields his eyes from oppressive rays. Believing the hat and coat truly impresses upon ships passing by that Captain Rettley is a ship master of great status.
Simon is seen shouldering a black surcoat, with a yellow head of wheat embroidered on the left breast. The grain points diagonally toward his neck, and is crossed with a scythe. The top corner of the X-shaped sigil is the letter “W”, and the bottom has a “4”.
Despite the coat’s high quality design and fabric, it has seen much wear. Simon seems uncomfortable with wearing the fine coat. He notices the adventurers watching the coast, and begins to speak.
“Hagglesport is chiefly run and organized by hobgoblins, and due to old alliances, mankind and dwarf are welcome to trade there, though most dwarves prefer Wheaton.” Simon gestures to the distant city. “I will warn you that the laws in Hagglesport are very strict, with harsh punishments for crimes. Theft, murder, rape, abduction, resisting arrest, or defaming public offices carry the death penalty. And be careful not to worship good gods outside their temples, and spellcasting in public will attract harassment from the guards. The city is also keeps a kobold district and I would stress that none of you wander there. They keep the law, but at least once every year or so, a lone human or dwarf last seen near that area is reported missing. Despite these dangers, Hagglesport is the best port for commerce by far. In respect to trade, pricing, and property ownership, the hobgoblins maintain their reputation as shrewd and honorable business partners. There is money to be made, friends, if you keep the peace and have goods to buy or sell.
“Although all races are welcome in Hagglesport, you should be aware of old tensions between the smaller, green goblins and the humans and dwarves. Most of the rambunctious little goblins live north, far past the great Frosttooth range, and the northern fringes of the Ytramond Commonwealth still suffer occasional small raids by their kind. The dwarves bear a grudge against the goblins from centuries ago, some old atrocity that sparked a war. The hobgoblins bear no ill will toward their smaller kin, and welcome them to Hagglesport if they can keep the law. They seem to be the only creatures the hobgoblins display partial leniency to –I once heard of a goblin convicted of theft had a hand removed and was exiled from the city, instead of outright execution.”
The dwarven Priest looks from Simon back to the harbor. Quietly he asks the young man; "How long will we be here?"
"Ok Squall, down on all fours you go. Pretend to be a bear ok? No talking, just mental messages." Aladdin pets his "bear" on the head.
Simon appears uncertain in answering the dwarf. "I have some family business I left undone when I departed, so no more than a day or two. By then, word will have reached Karajhin of our arrival, and he will give us further instructions."
The faint brown-grey haze can be seen on the waters as the Wanderlust draws nearer to the trade city. What were strains of stench brought be the wind now assaults the senses in full force.
“Ick, I’ve never gotten used to that smell, either.” Simon wrinkles his nose.
Rolg inhales deeply. "Smells like 'ome!"
He shouts over the rails
Casually Bolgrith brings his hand to his nose, fingers glowing blue he winces at the odor but says nothing.
Working with the sailors for the past weeks has acclimated the Ranger to foul smells of persons and the sea intermixing. Looking to Simon, "Will we be disembarking tonight or waiting until tomorrow."
At the current speed of the Wanderlust, it should reach the docks within two hours.
"Captain says we'll land tonight, though finding an open spot on the docks might take awhile."
"Goodness, do people not bathe here?"
A low and narrow longship bearing one large sail and many oars intercepts the Wanderlust. The sail has a golden head of wheat over a black field. The man standing high on the prow raising his hand in greeting, his dark coat stitched with the same sigil as the sail.
“Captain of the Wanderlust! What is your business and cargo for Hagglesport?”
“Foodstuffs and passengers, sir.” Captain Rettley shouts back.
A small amused smile shows on the officer’s face as he begins to inquire further, when Simon appears at the railing. His smile fades. “Young Simon Wyldote, sir. Glad to see you visiting Hagglesport. Carry on, enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, sir. Keep these waters safe.” Simon answers in a stately voice.
The officer offers a wan smile and nods as he motions for the oarmen to move the ship along, setting course for another incoming trading vessel. You notice similar longships deployed in the bay, approaching or departing incoming ships.
Simon turns to the party, and lowers his voice enough for only them to hear. “One more thing. I would suggest keeping mum the fact that Karajhin is our employer. There are children’s dreamtales that include a character with that name, and I would rather spare you scorn and looking like foolish outlanders. Also, telling Sunderlanders you hail from Hamonreld might not be a good idea. I find it interesting that I've heard of the land before, but only in old children's fiction. Perhaps there is more truth there than I thought. And one more thing: weapons and armor are allowed within the city, but I’ve seen those in such kit are the first to be apprehended if they happen to be near any illegal or suspicious activities. If this happens to you, and I am not there, just comply, or you will be beyond my help.”
Within three hours, Captain Rettley is able to find an opening at the docks and tie in. The light is beginning to dim as the crew works with the dockworkers in unloading the cargo below deck. Vern shouts to Balion as the group begins to leave. “Oy! T’at longbow ain’t yours, we only lent it to ya!”
Captain Rettley looks up from his ledgers. “Keep it. Each of you can take one, consider it payment for your aid. It was a pleasure serving you, Simon, Hamonrelders. Until next time.”
The captain resumes study of his ledgers, inspecting the cargo as it is unloaded. Vern fumes and a few other sailors roll their eyes at the captain, but say nothing as they work.
As the group of outlanders leaves the dock, Cylar pads up in a short-footed sprint. He reaches into a bag and gives each of you a small glass vial containing a liquid that looks suspiciously like urine. “Antitoxin,” he explains, “Helps ekeurmd poison. Med from hiit octopus.”
He turns and shuffles back to the Wanderlust without as much as a goodbye.
Rolg staps the bow to his pack and grabs a sheaf of 20 arrows.
"Nu îneca în timp ce eu sunt departe bătrân." He says to Golo.
Don't drown while I'm away old man.
"Simon." The hobgoblin puts his face an inch from Simon's. "You and I need to talk. Take us somewhere that no one will hear." He turns to the others. "You come too."
Simon stops in the street that runs perpendicular to the docks. He frowns. "Why? What do you want to talk about? Can it wait til I take you to your accommodations?"
The roads and docks are busy, though not to the point of rubbing shoulders. None seem to pay you any heed, but that doesn't mean you are not noticed.
"We will talk of whatever I choose, whenever you say it is safe to do so. Now walk."
Rolg does his best to keep his tone flat, but the aggression that seeps out is unmistakable. He may mean no harm, but the hobgoblin will not be denied in this.
The Priest picks up one of the long-bows and examines it. Nodding, he hefts the weapon and secures it to his back. Making his way to the rail he looks around the deck of the Wanderlust, a small smile on his face as he sees the sailors he's spent the past several weeks with. He finds the ramp down and stops at the edge, turning to Rettley and Golo he says his goodbyes: "Captain, Stargazer."
With a curt but friendly nod he makes his way down the ramp. Accepting the vial of anti-toxin as Cylar offers it, without a word of goodbye.
Balion trails closely behind Rolg and Simon, intent on protecting their employer from the Hobgoblins wrath. Believing Rolg to be capitally motivated and Simon full of gold, the ranger is being more cautious than confrontational and makes sure to keep his movements nonthreatening.