The man is indeed a disgusting sight but Grieves does not allow his emotions to reach his face. He greets the newcomer with a formal nod.
Hello Cruxcarr, I am Jack Grieves. says the warrior in full armor.
If Albina’s dry wit stings the rotund wizard, he does not show it. He again bows his head at her greeting;
”My Lady”
The White Butterfly...even more exquisite than Thorn implied... however I do prefer my alabaster speckled with crimson...
With an even broader grin (showing a yellowed trap of sharpened incisors and canine teeth) he mirrors her action and brushes his heavy plump fingers across the raised forms of his “jewellery”...
”What you mean these? Oh please do not let my little bloodletters disquiet you... They are mere ornamentation of a sort... a trifling... many think them a boon to both healthy body and mind... something I clearly "prize"... but I assure you they are harmless to one so favoured by the Prince of Darkness.”
At Jack’s greeting he again bows his head;
Black Jack... the blunt force wielding a sharp blade.... and a fine looking man indeed...
”Ahhhh... Master Grieves... a man of strength... both of will and swordarm I hear...
and hear the slaves tittle-tattle of your night chamber prowess... alas I prefer my flesh young and off the bone...
Cruxcarr smiles slyly once again
"Your acquaintance sire."
As Thorn signals and mentions that someone will be accompanying them Mi'Dre's eyes narrow, first at Thorn, and then at the voluminous figure in the door. He continues to watch with narrowed eyes as Cruxcarr enters, and the bloated man will find a strange looking boy with the holy symbol of Asmodeus watching him carefully.
The devil allows the others to speak first, but when he smiles like that at Albina and Jack the devil gives a grunt. "What rock did Thorn find you under?"
At the child's reaction, Cruxcarr remains impassive;
Ahhh this must be Mi’Dre… the precocious devilling Thorn spoke of… garbed in the hide of an harmless child no less… a veritable malicious wolf in chaste sheep’s clothing. How deliciously incongruous…
”And greetings to you too young hellion… As for what rock… Why my mine was but an inconsequential pebble when compared to bountiful quarry that was Brandscar…”
Mi'Dre scowls as the ugly, fat wizard avoids his question, but resists pursuing the issue for now, just glaring at him instead. He didn't particularly like Thorn springing this on them, right after they'd gone through all the tiresome rituals to bind the four of them together... that did mean that he was fair game however... that was something.
Cruxcarr returns Mi'Dre's toothy grin with one of his own;
The little hellion is rightfully hostile, perhaps when he gleans we have comparable supper tastes his belligerence may mellow somewhat...
Cardinal Thorn mentioned you were from Aldencross Mr Cruxcarr. What can you tell us about the place?
"Well, we'd best get ready then..." Mi'Dre muttered at last as silence seemed to fall over the room. He looked around at the others to see if there was anything left to discuss, but if not he simply turned and stalked from the room to gather his meager possessions.
Shendalyn brooded in the library. Troubled by his earlier conversation with Albina the nobleman sat among piles of books and scrolls having attempted time and time again to solve what should have been a simple mystery. He remembered that night, though perhaps not all the details. He remembered the blood, the carnage, the hundreds of devils that poured through the gate that was his soul and massacred the town and his servants. So why, now of all times, could he not call forth that power at will. It should have been well within his abilities, well within the strictures and obligations of his infernal pact. So why?
Did he lack the raw power? It was a possibility. But why would he have it and then lose it?
He turned to Gurthock then, whom he ordered to replace the books that he was done with. Muttering in infernal the entire time the little creature who claimed kinship with pitfiends was high up on a ladder his stubby wings naught but useless for flight. "Gurthock, I have a question for you that I require an answer to."
With a resignated sigh the much abused creature descended from the ladder his claws clattering on the hard tile floor as he presented himself before Shendalyn.
The nobleman's green and slightly slanted eyes studied the creature for a long moment while the little pit fiend waited impatiently. Shendalyn had seen what true pit fiends looked like in his many forays into the dark and terrible arts seeking forbidden lusts and passions unknown by most mortals. The infernalists had gushed about their immense size and enormous power. Second only to the archdukes themselves pit fiends could easily grow to be as powerful as any of them only limited by their own ambition and their lord's cautious designs. Observing the creature before him he could see some of the features shared with that vaunted race. The wings though stunted and useless certainly matched much of the devil's design. In fact most of Gurthock's features were like a pit fiends simply compacted, blunted and dulled into this smaller form almost a complete mockery of that creatures dark and terrible presence.
Crossing his arms and legs as he leaned back in one of the expensive polished rosewood chairs Cardinal Thorne favored he crossed his arms and legs and asked. "Gurthock you claim kinship with the pit fiends of the hells. Tell me then why do you wear this shape?"
Gurthock growled softly the mocking tone of Shendalyn's question apparent to him. Still, he had thought of the question himself extensively. He was aware of the possibilities and limitations of typical summoning rituals and had an inkling of what this pompous nobleman had managed to accomplish if only briefly. He also had an inkling of what happened to him.
Gurthock answered. "Well I'm thinking what happened is you simply spent up what you bought."
Shendalyn arched an eyebrow. "Explain."
Gurthock rolled his eyes and started pacing trying to consider how to put to the fool in common things only outsiders with millenia of experience and skill in the magical arts taught to them by hundreds of the tormented souls of former wizards and spellcasters can teach. But he tried his best.
"Well, you see every infernal pact is like, an exchange, you give, you recieve. You gave the service of your lifetime in exchange for the power to do what ya did and the opportunity to collect on somethin else either. It's not an untypical pact but,"
Shendalyn waved his hand to cut him off. "Wait? The contract was not for my own soul?"
Gurthock suddenly look pensive as if he may have said too much or not enough and then shrugged. "No, not exactly. The idea is that you're probably getting sent to the hells anyway. Not much point in the whole faustian bargain."
Shendalyn leaned back further somewhat surprised and relieved motioning for the creature to continue.
"The thing of it is you still got yer obligations but you spent all the power yopu were given to do it. So here we stand."
Shendalyn shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. If all the power was spent why am I capable of summoning you and...lesser creatures without the necessary preparations?"
Gurthock shrugged. "That's a bit more complicated I think. I think it woke something up in you. Something our mutual lords think they can use."
Gurthock finished then. He knew that he could not reveal further details partly for his lack of them and partly for the look that came into Shendalyn's eyes with what has been revealed so far.
Later, in a surprisingly cheerful mood the man met Thorne's mission with a shrug. Another wasteful venture. I would have been easier to slay the captain and put a puppet in place to ensure loyalty. With a gruesome and painful enough death it should have been easy for the crew to be cowed. Instead he wanted an example/ A stupid elaborate example that destroyed more than it preserved.
Upon sighting the obese Cruxcar he arches an eyebrow. "Well I suppose it was only a matter of time before we met someone who wore their hideousness of their soul on the outside. I am torn between respect for honestly and utter revulsion."
Cruxcarr observes the tall half elf with keen eyes;
Candid and forthright... Ahhhh this is the Summoner... of devils and of rage... when his blade dances the blood flows and I shall of course imbibe...
The initiate hemotheurge chuckles at Shendalyn's reaction, the sound akin to a man gasping as his throat is slit;
"Both will suffice Master Shawn... Both are most welcomed..."
I've been lurking around this campaign..cheering you all on.
I'm really glad to hear this is still going, and hasn't died off.. I've been dying to see more stuff!! =D
Introductions concluded, you retire to your rooms to make ready your belongings for the journey and ensure that nothing is left behind. A slave attends to any of your final requests as you do so. Although concerns and worry sit nascent in your gut - the overwhelming emotion you feel is anticipation. The first hammer blows of a fusillade are about to ring that will break open the pure core of Talingarde and lay it bare for it to be reaped. With emboldened hearts and girded loins do you stride forth...
Arriving at the private dock of Cardinal Thorn you find the Frosthamar waiting. It is a single-masted knarr with a square sail similar to a Viking longship but wider and with a deeper hull better suited to carrying cargo. And the Frosthamar is obviously loaded with cargo as she wallows deep in the water.
Waiting at the dock for you to arrive is a grizzled north-man with a wiry beard, pale blonde hair and countless scars on both his face and arms. Behind him aboard the Frosthamar are a half dozen grim sailors still busying themselves with odd jobs aboard and readying her for sailing.
As you approach he spits to one side into the water before asking gruffly “You will guard our boat all the way north, yes?” looking upon you through narrowed and skeptical eyes.
:
Paying the Northman, nor his hard-bitten crew much heed, Cruxcarr holds comment back, mulling black thoughts and allowing the group's dynamics to unfold as they board.
Guard... Oh yes, most competently... before myself and the Ninth butcher you and your Northern neanderthals...
With a nod to Thorn and wearing the smile of a predator, Cruxcarr will follow the others lead and climb aboard.
Mi'Dre retires to his room and checks over his few meager possessions, making sure all is in order for the journey tomorrow. Satisfied he had what he needs he heads down to his friend, Grumblejack, wondering if the ogre knew what was in store for him while they were busy up north. For his part he warned the ogre again about Tiadora, though he was beginning to warm to Thorn a little, so said nothing about the Admiral this time. He shares a drink with the ogre, and smokes the pipe he found back in Branderscarr, though what he is smoking from the foul smoke that comes out of it is anyone's guess. He retires late to bed, oversleeping a bit, before rolling out and pulling his armor, and belt on, wrapping the length of rope around his chest, and then pulling on the iron circlet, disguising himself as the young boy most were now familiar with, the own telling piece being his sharp, stained, vicious fangs.
When they all shuffle on down to the dock, and the captain looks at them so skeptically he just looks right back, sneering. "That's right, Captain..." he agrees, not caring how ridiculous it may look, and staring down anyone who grabs his attention.
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Albina, her features and attire changed to appear a weathered and worldly woman of common birth, equipped for a rugged outdoorsy life, smiles in response to the captain's comment and spits over the side of the ship, "We'll see yer precious cargo all the way to it's destination, Cap'n."
Shendalyn looked up and down at the boat and at the grim sailors. He didn't bother with a disguise for now. What would be the point? He was planning on killing all these men anyway was he not?
"Yes, mostly we're here for the cargo. Consequently it happens to be on your boat. So; yes we're here to guard your vessel."
Your words are met with a confirmatory grunt of assent from the man. “Then I will take you to the cursed north past hope and life. I am Kargeld” before he steps aside and allows you to board the squat longship. The crew ignore you for the most part, though Albina does endure an occasional sideward glance and muttered crudity of what might be done to her if they had some time alone... but for all the bluster you are left well enough alone.
A check of the hold shows that the ship is laden heavy with tons of weaponry - including tabards emblazoned with a flaming axe.
The first leg of the journey is placid and peaceful. You are given plenty of time to gain your sealegs and grow accustomed to the rotating schedule of shipborne life. The Frosthamar has no cabins and you are billeted on the main deck with the stars as your roof with the rest of the crew. There are no garderobes or chamber pots either and ablutions are taken from the side of the deck into the water passing beside you.
The rations are much reduced from what you've grown recently accustomed to - consisting of merely hardtack and small beer, though the ship does pull in occasionally to hunt deer along the coast and cook the catch by bonfire before resuming the journey.
It takes half a day to sail down the Varnyn River and out into the open ocean. The Frosthamar hugs the coast and from the ship you can see countless farming communities and fishing villages go by. More than a few fishermen wave at the Frosthamar. Kargeld is always sure to wave back. “Wouldn’t want ‘em to get suspicious, eh?” he
says with a glower.
The Frosthamar is not swift so heavily-laden and averages about forty eight miles a day. It takes a week for the ship to pass along the settled coast of Talingarde passing the great city of Daveryn, the largest center of civilization along the western coast. Kargeld is quick to squash any talk of stopping there. “This is no pleasure cruise. Besides, I won’t get our cargo within a mile of a Talirean harbormaster.”
Days pass by and you are drawing nearer to the Watch Wall one overcast afternoon...
Mi'Dre doesn't bother to introduce himself to the man, just taking to looking around the ship, getting a feel for what there was available to them, and finding it severely lacking. The long days of boredom confined to the ship do little to improve his demeanor, and he longs for the days when they are able to get off the ship, the Devil disappearing into the surrounding area, returning hours later, bloodied and satisfied, with the remains of whatever prey he managed to catch after he has feasted.
As they pass by the city he sneers at the captain, eager for any sort of a distraction, and from that point on he takes to watching the crew-members, perched precariously on the railing or some other spot, studying their habits, thinking of how he will kill them all when their job is done...
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Albina pretends not to hear the mutterings among the crew, envisioning their precious bits feeding the fish, after they are killed and sent to the bottom of whatever harbor they make final port.
After a time reflecting on dark deeds, such as sacrificing them to her Dark Lord, she instead comes to the coldly practical conclusion that they, or their corpses, at least, might serve better as gifts to the bugbears they go to meet, if such creatures might find the taste of salt-weathered sailors to their liking.
She allows herself to indulge in such fantasies for a day, before settling into a more disciplined notion, such as how this betrayal will play out. These men are no soft merchants, and there's a ship full of weapons they can seize up and bring to bear, if they sense treachery. Albina will make note of which men appear to be armed already, and if any boast of skill at arms, or bear the scars or distant stare of a veteran warrior, to better guage who must be eliminated first, and who will be little danger.
Black Jack comes aboard the vessel already in disguise. He knows the forces of law and order well enough not to understimate them. He chooses to keep to himself and the others most of the trip. No point in socializing with people he is about to kill.
Perception:
Mi'Dre is the first to notice that in the distance there is a silhouette of a ship approaching upon the Frosthamar's line. She looks to be a smaller single-masted ship... but when pointed out to Kargeld he is concerned. "Bugger, probably a bloody patrol ship."
Kargeld grimly pairs down their options, “She’s seen us, sure as damnation. And there is no way the Frosthamar will outrun her loaded like this. One look at our cargo and they’ll know us for exactly what we are – weapon smugglers.”
The rest of the crew get tense and a few unconsciously check that their weapons are near and accessible.
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Albina produces a pair of flasks of alchemist's fire. "When they close to board us, we should allow them to do so, and while our front line warriors slay the boarding party, we should attempt to ignite their ship with conjured hellfire and alchemist's fire, to prevent any from escaping to warn the rest of the fleet as to our presence in these waters. It would probably be best to wait until they have split their forces, with one party boarding our ship, before launching this attack, so that there are less men on the other ship to fight the flames."
"Perhaps some conjured infernal birds or bats could deliver the alchemical fire, if the ship does not approach within 10 meters, although, if it does, a dextrous throwing arm should suffice." she adds, with a nod towards Shendalyn.
She looks to a crewman, eyes narrowing speculatively, as if sizing him up prey for dinner, "Does the mess have any bloody fish from our last meal? If we put blood in the water, it may attract sharks, to threaten any men who attempt to cross between the ships in a smaller craft, or any who attempt to flee in such a smaller craft, after we ignite the larger one..."
Cruxcarr absentmindedly nods at Albina's words as he measures up one of the rough crew with ruddy, weathered features;
I have never harvested a Northern brute's skin... what vellum it would make...
"Blood... is... always good m'lady. A most prudent stratagem indeed... Alas I have little to offer at range, however should they board us... my... talents may well prove particularly expedient..."
MI'Dre hops up onto the railing for a better look as he spots the silhouette, the others eventually noticing his behavior and the ship. He looks back at the Captain as he swears, before looking to Albina, back at the ship, and then down at the water below.
"Can anyone make me faster? Or better at swimming?" he asks after a few moments, peering back at his companions.
"Or." Sehndalyn butts in. "We avoid the potential for impalement or compressive asphyxia by some delightful Talingarde naval siege engine and welcome them aboard."
Shendalyn awaits the inevitable gasp of shock or stuttering of protests. "If we run. They will attack. If we are seen ready to fight. They will attack. Do not be so eager for bloodshed. Let them come aboard and see our weapons. We can demonstrate them first hand if they like."
Shendalyn's tone was casual and nonchalant. "A shame we had not the foresight to cover the whole lot in rotting vegetables. An old smugglers trick that. Makes it much more displeasing to inspect the cargo."
I agree with him" Mi'Dre says, gesturing with his chin to Shendalyn when the pointy-eared fellow finished his suggestion. "Let them come on board, you lot ambush them. I'll sneak onto their ship with that stuff," he gestures again at Albina this time, or rather her Alchemist's Fire "while they're busy, and sabotage the ship.
The devil-child smiles then, baring his filthy pointed teeth, before quirking his head to the side slightly. "Is that the stuff that works underwater?"
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"Sadly, no. That recipe, if it was ever more than a tall tale, would be lost. This alchemical fire does self-ignite when exposed to air, burning hot, but quite briefly, however, saving one the trouble of lighting it. Best to place it on sails or ropes, which will more readily catch flame." She hands the two flasks to Mi'Dre, "Keep them concealed, perhaps the boarders will not think to search a child. If they do not come within range of your throwing arm, perhaps the conjured beasts will be needed to get them on board the enemy vessel."
She utterly ignores that Shendalyn just offered the exact same plan that she had offered, to allow their boarding party to come aboard for inspection before killing them. As a conjurer of things from other realms, it would only follow that his mind would often be far from the present world.
Yes, an ambush sounds like the best way to go. We should hide and set an attack for the boarding party. Remember, with very little effort we can all look like regular sailors. Captain the blackguard turns to Kargeld How many man aboard a patrol ship like that? And what is their standart procedure for inspections?
She utterly ignores that Shendalyn just offered the exact same plan that she had offered, to allow their boarding party to come aboard for inspection before killing them. As a conjurer of things from other realms, it would only follow that his mind would often be far from the present world.
Cruxcarr chimes in with his own observations on the situation;
"If I may my lovely blackhearts? IF we can hastily subdue the boarding party , then mayhap we could return said boarding party back to their own vessel as wolves-in-lambs-swaddling..."
He matches Mi'Dre's toothy grin with one of his own...
"I can almost taste their rum tinted cruor..."
I wonder if they have a cabin lad...
Kargeld looks at Albina with genuine concern "I've no problem if you set the other bloody ship aflame... but if any of that ends upon my Frosthamar you'd answer to my axe." To Black Jack "Patrol ship like that might have as few as six or as many as thrice that number. When they draw in they'll ask us to heave to and let them aboard... they see our cargo and they won't hold to niceties for long."
Albina's suggestion of using bloody fish is met with a shake of the head. Meals are meagre aboard and there is little left that would have any chance of bloodying the waters.
Kargeld is clearly agitated, but knows from the time aboard of the flexibility of some of your tongues outweighs his own, asking bluntly "You want to be the one to speak to whoever leads the other ship as they come?"
The ship is drawing nearer and you wager you've five or so minutes before she's within easy sight where fine details can be picked out. Wafting over the waters come the faint cry of "“Heave to in the name of the king!” - Kargeld gives his crew a nod, and they begin to comply.
Eh, Shendalyn will make a moderate change and simply appear human rather than half elven just before they come within sight. Shendalyn is likely greatly changed since his time in prison. More weight, cleaner, etc. It's doubtful he'd be recognized easily by people who did not know him before the trial.
Soooo who among us actually has a bluff check that isn't a devil?
"Do you have any spare oil Captain?" Mi'Dre asks, listening to his response, though appearing completely unphased by the threat about the fire spreading onto his decks.
If the captain has any flasks to offer then Mi'Dre will quickly secure them to his belt, before heading nimbly for the side of the ship, and slipping overboard towards the prow, though sufficiently far back to keep it between him and the other ship at least for now as he slips into the water and digs his claws between the boards as he treads water, allowing the ship to continue to carry him forwards, at least until it slows enough for him to keep up, the disguised devil readying himself to close the distance between the two ships.
Sure, I will speak to them. Black Jack says while adjusting his disguise to be dressed as an old noble. Tell your men to be ready for trouble captain. The rest of us can lay low among the crew here in the deck.
Kargeld shakes his head to the peculiar young man whose skin Mi'Dre is draped in - so the devil in boy's clothing spider climbs over the side with only the fire of Albina's supply.
Black Jack is not aware of any trade that plumbs this route... the North beyond the watch wall is savage, and it's unlikely that a normal merchant would have any business at all. However Albina believes that perhaps a lie of being on official business of some kind might suffice?
Kargeld and his crew continue preparing for the approach of the other. Looking over the ship you see it named The Blade of St. Martius and it bears a crew of roughly a dozen led by a guardsman in shining breastplate and white cloak. When the ships are close enough ropes are flung and the vessels drawn adjacent.
The guardsman then leads four of his fellow sailors aboard and speaks brusquely "Who commands this vessel?"
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Albina tells Black Jack (before they board!) that there is little trade this far north, and even less of a legitimate sort, but that the ruse of being on official business of some sort would seem the most plausible and likely to buy them some time to get the boarders into position for ambuscade.
She then hangs on his side, her shield left behind to avoid suspicion, giving the impression that she is Black Jack's 'woman.'
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Mi'Dre simply waits until the relative speed and distance between the two ships is low enough that he breech the gap, diving beneath the surface without hesitation, untouched by the cold waters as his powerful limbs push his closer to the other boat. When he does surface again he quickly makes for the rear of the ship, taking a look at the rudder to see if he could disable it from beneath the water, or if he will have to climb onto the ship itself, hoping that Jack and Albina can buy him as much time as possible, the devil keeping his senses honed as much as possible.
Despite the relatively calm waters of the stretch of coastline Mi'Dre still manages to flail around helplessly, making quite a lot of noise (at least for him anyway) in the process, his ears full of saltwater...
as he slips under the surface between the two boats, failing all efforts to keep himself afloat.
The devil finally seems to get his limbs to coordinate and reach the other ship, having wasted enough time that he has lost whatever advantage he might have hoped to gain from his water approach.
Cruxcarr mutters under his breath as he walks towards the brazen guardsman;
"Upiornym palce pieszczą jego dusza, serce i krew freeze i nadzieja ... Niech smród martwych wypełnić swoje płuca"
Ghoulish fingers caress his soul; freeze heart and blood and hope... Let the stench of the dead fill their lungs
"Shhh... Be silent childe..."
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