Welcome!
The messenger had pressed the summons into your hand this morning. You are to present yourselves to Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng at noon, a little more than two hours from now. You're a little surprised to get the summons from Dreng - last time you saw him, he'd been very ill, and he was no spring chicken.
The Grand Lodge - headquarters of the Pathfinder Society - is deep in the Foreign Quarter - depending on where you are, it could take most of two hours to get there. Enough time to reflect on what brought you to Absalom, and what you hope the summons will be.
***
Arriving at the Grand Lodge, you walk down the path beside the Wall of Names. The curving wall of black glass is inscribed with the names of over 400 years of past Pathfinders. An imposing, and thought-provoking monument, to be sure.
Arriving in the lobby of the Grand Lodge, you are ushered by a smiling woman to a small anteroom. Before long there four of you waiting together, all holding identical notes. It's clear you'll be seeing Dreng together.
Kazmir walked through the busy streets of Absalom, a wide berth forming around him. A massive warhammer strapped to your back, as well as a full set of stoneplate armor will do that, the dwarf has found. There were few cities indeed where such an ensemble did not inspire a certain amount of....personal space.
This was ideal, since Kazmir had no desire to be hustled or bustled by the crowd, and preferred to walk at his own pace. Around him the largest city in the world (or so he had always heard) whirled, countless people on countless streets doing countless things. Kazmir was no stranger to cities but Absalom was enough to make any head spin. Still, his boots were on solid ground and that was enough, for a dwarf, to not loose his head entirely.
The dwarf toyed with his long blonde beard as he walked, fingering the fresh braid in it. The barber in that small shop had done a splendid job, one of the perks of a city large enough to have a sizable dwarf population. Kazmir laughed when he thought of what the man would have done if he had known he was braiding the beard of an exiled slag-dun dwarf. Probably attacked him, or at least thrown him out of his shop. Another advantage of a city. Anonymity.
Striding down the street, he passed the time sight-seeing. Unlike most of the teeming hordes though, he had no eye for the high towers, sweeping manor lawns or intricate docks. Despite his heritage he had no mind for engineering or building, having long dismissed it as something people with too much money and sense wasted time on. Why build a house with so many rooms they sat empty?
No, Kazmir had to peer into shadowed alleys and dirty courtyards to find what he sought. The poor. The downtrodden. Kazmir had grown up very poor, a dreg on the outskirts of society whose very name had been branded with shame and, despite a long life away for that, still felt it on his soul everyday. Quite apart from that, Kazmir had learned long ago you could tell much of a city by how they treated the lowest rung of the ladder. In his long ago home of Janderhoff, the poor like him were ignored as if they were unpleasant pests. Here seemed little different although he noted with approval a few groups of priests and clerics tending to the worst off. While Gorum himself cared little for such tending, Kazmir did appreciate it in other faiths.
Soon he was at the Grand Lodge, a rather impressive building even to the dwarf. Whoever built this had power and money to spare, and wanted everyone to know. Good traits in an employer, Kazmir thought to himself as he passed the Wall of Names without even glancing at it. History held no power for the dwarf, and the Pathfinder Society was not very well known to him. He had heard they paid well and often risked dangerous missions, which appealed to the barbarian.
Finding himself first in the anteroom, the dwarf found a corner to stand in. He never trusted chairs, not after destroying so many with the heavy bulk of his armor. Few chairs of men were built to carry a stoneplate clad dwarf, let alone the rest of his gear. Standing would do.
The knocking on her door is incessant. Petronia groans and lifts her head from the pillow. It had been a late night and whoever was at the door would regret knocking if she had to get up. She yells, ”Ner! Get the door!” But there is no sound in the other room and the knocking continues.
Petronia growls and pushes herself out of bed. Her long hair looks like a rat’s nest and her clothes are disheveled as she stomps towards the door, her scraped knuckles automatically forming a fist. ”The world better be ending or you will greatly regret waking me!” Her amber eyes are alight with an inner flame as she throws open the door but immediately quiets as she recognizes a messenger sent by the Pathfinder Society. The messenger barely reacts to Petronia’s outburst but rather holds out a piece of paper. The brawler snatches the paper out of the messenger’s hand. ”Consider it delivered,” she grumbles before turning to slam the door.
However, the door never makes a noise and Petronia whirls to see Ner coming through the door with newly acquired items. She raises an eyebrow, ”Let me guess, you found us breakfast?” She holds out her hand, ”Great! Because I’m starving.”
She paces the room with food in one hand and the summons in the other. She quickly skims it and breaks out in a smile. ”Looks like we got a job. I, we, have been summoned by…” her voice takes on a note of surprise, ”Venture-Captain Dreng. I didn’t think he was well enough to be out of bed let alone summoning people.” She shrugs, ”No matter. We’ll do the work and then we’ll get paid. Easy enough.”
She casts Ner a glance over her shoulder, ”We don’t have to be there for a couple hours so I’m going back to bed. Feel free to pack my stuff, you probably will anyways.”
An hour or so later, a less rumpled Petronia makes her way through the streets of Absalom with her halfling shadow in tow. Ner barely comes up to her waist and uses her as a human shield as they more through the crowds. She moves the people, either with looks or elbows, and he follows along behind in her wake. The tattooed woman wearing black leather and heavy boots gets a few sidelong glances but nothing that she notices.
When they arrive at the Grand Lodge, Petronia feels the same excitement that she always does. Coming here promised adventure, excitement, and sanctioned fighting. As usual, when she passes the Wall of Names the hairs on her arms rise from awe. Looking down at Ner she says, ”That’s an impressive family that we belong to.”
The two of them are ushered into the anteroom and her steps slow as she sees a heavily armored dwarf with an impressive braided beard waiting, leaning against the wall. She nods at the dwarf and strides over to one of the chairs. She reaches out and he can see a tattoo depicting seven wolves running through a moonlit forest up her arm towards her shoulder. She flips the chair around and sits in it backwards. Her other arm is inked as well but the details of the tattoos are less noticeable from across the room. She motions at his summons, ”You got one too? I’m Petronia.” She points at the halfling who is closer to her height now that she’s sitting, ”And that’s Ner.” Her eyes narrow ever so slightly as she remembers the first time she encountered Ner with dwarves, ”You don’t have a problem with halflings, do you?”
Ner could smell the veg steaming out of the hot beef pie and marvelled at the city that had such foodstuffs just sitting on window sills. He dragged the little milk box over, lifted the pie - quietly, people get so angry when you bother them, especially so early. - hopped down, pulled out two glass bottles of milk - Don't be greedy, always leave some for the next person. So many people - and headed back to the rooms.
Who's this person at the door? Oh, too early!. Petronia won't be happy! Well, some hot pie will cheer her up. Ner bumped into the door as he squeezed through.
...”Let me guess, you found us breakfast?” She holds out her hand, ”Great! Because I’m starving.”
Ner paced the room following Petronia, mimicking her but at two-thirds speed, the lag growing wider. He watched as hot grease drizzled out of her pie hand and half listened as she stared at her summons.
...”Looks like we got a job. I, we, have been summoned by…” her voice takes on a note of surprise, ”Venture-Captain Dreng. I didn’t think he was well enough to be out of bed let alone summoning people.” She shrugs, ”No matter. We’ll do the work and then we’ll get paid. Easy enough.”
She casts Ner a glance over her shoulder, ”We don’t have to be there for a couple hours so I’m going back to bed. Feel free to pack my stuff, you probably will anyways.”
He gave a wide grin as Petronia walked back to bed, then he licked the cream off the top of his milk bottle. He went through their things as quietly as a wafting curtain and repacked them much the way he did the night before - installing some of the new trinkets he found this morning (like that pretty set of manacles). He finished off the pie and drank the rest of the milk - who new when they would eat again.
Later, he rushed through the street. If he timed it just right he could move in Petronia's wake before the crowd closed back in around her. So many people. His eyes followed her heels all the way to the great building until they stopped suddenly.
"That's an impressive family that we belong to."
Ner looked up and there was a great wall of names. Perhaps she didn't realize the effect her words would have but Ner's eyes went wide and he walked over to the wall. He ran his finger over the relief of several carved names and pretended to read them. He could if he had to but it took much more effort than he wanted to spend.
He looked back and his partner was already halfway down the hall. He double timed it as she entered a small anteroom. He zipped in before the door closed.
The room was fancy, filled will all sorts of curiosities, the most interesting of which was a fortress of a dwarf. Ner walked over 'til he was only three feet away on the dwarf's left side and looked him long in the side of the face. Remember what Petronia says, 'Don't touch anyone you haven't been introduced to!'
"and this is Ner"
Well, that settled that! He poked gently at a strap at the wall-of-dwarf's stone elbow, his head cocked and his eyes big. "Hallo."
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”… but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all!”
The Society messenger sighed in relief as the booming voice fell silent and thanked Desna in silent prayer that the singer couldn’t seem to remember any more verses of the horrible off-color song. If you could call the vocal assault on her ears “singing” in the first place – if the man had hit any correct notes along the way, it had surely been by sheer chance! The man himself seemed pleased by his own performance, rising briefly to bow deeply towards the loudest complaints, jeers and catcalls at his performance before collapsing back down on his stool with a laugh and a grunt of effort, and a groan of mortal anguish from the stool’s wooden legs. Strangely, it didn’t seem the other patrons of the small tavern truly seemed to mind, though, and the messenger spotted a smile on many a lip, often quickly hidden by a raised tankard. Perhaps the singer was known to them of old, or merely well enough liked for them to put up with the occasional torturous performance.
Shaking her head, the messenger walked towards the singer, who had now turned his attention back to his meal. The ravaged remains of a whole roast piglet sat on a platter before him, complete with an apple tucked in the poor beast’s mouth. An apple the man was now reaching for, as he had evidently consumed every morsel of meat.
”Excuse me, but-“
”Oh no. A pretty lady needs no excuse to intrude,” the man replied with a chuckle, wiping apple juiced from his beard with the back of his hand, then gestured grandly for the spot across the table from him. ”Indeed, a lady never intrudes in the first place. Come now, do sit down for a spell and rest your feet. A drink?” he asked, gesturing with an ale jug. ”I’m afraid there’s little left to share of this meager repast but there should be a clean mug here somewhere…”
”Thank you, but no,” the messenger replied, shaking her head and giving the man a closer look. He certainly seemed to fit the description given to her, and how many half-naked tattooed men of that size were you expected to find even in a city this huge, but… ”Master Winterglade, yes? I’m here on behalf of the Society.”
”Guilty as charged,” Matheus replied easily, taking another bite from the apple. ”And you might be…?”
”Here to deliver a message,” the woman said, not rising to the bait. ”That is, if you can give me some proof of your identity?”
”Proof, eh? Since this is Society business, I believe this will suffice?” Matheus wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached one hand into his shoulderpack – far further into it than the small bag’s size seemed to allow, and produced what looked like an ornate silver pocket watch.
The messenger’s eyes recognized the item for what it actually was, though, and she nodded in satisfaction. ”Thank you, Sir, that will do. Here you go, and pleasant day to you.” She handed a wax-sealed letter to Matheus, then with a quick half-bow turned to leave.
”Going so soon? Are you sure I can’t persuade you to… ahem. Yes, it would seem you are quite certain,” Matheus muttered as the messenger was already halfway to the door without a single backwards look. ”Oh well. Perhaps next time?” he muttered to no-one in particular, then shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the letter. He hadn’t been in the city for long, nor had he expected to stay more than a day or two, but he had, upon arrival, notified the Society of his visit. Thus, he hadn’t expected anyone to have time to pay attention to his presence before he had already made himself scarce. But clearly someone had been paying attention, or he was merely a convenient free agent to saddle with a task that needed doing. Not that he minded – he might be quite the junior member of the Pathfinder Society, but thus far the assignments he had received had either been interesting in their own right or at the very least, jobs that truly needed doing. Besides, he kind of felt he should recognize that seal…
He broke the seal and skimmed through the short message. Not that there was much of the message, but the signature certainly piqued his interest. Drandle Dreng. So the old Venture-Captain was still among the living, despite his ailing health the last time they had met? A remarkable man, with a memory as clear as crystal and deep as the ocean. And quite a senior member of the Society. If he had decided to request Matheus’s presence, far be it for him to argue.
By now, the apple had been reduced to mere core, and with two last bites even that was gone. Sighing in pleasure of a good and large meal put where it belonged, he patted his stomach, and rose to his feet. The other patrons gave them man cheerful waves or mildly intrigued looks, for he was quite a sight to behold. Tall, wide of shoulder and more than what one might courteously call “portly”. Hair long and wild where it wasn’t bound in thin braids decorated with feathers and stone charms, full beard shining with grease in the light shining though the tavern’s windows. Clad in leathers and furs but shirtless, revealing the blue and black woad tattoos that stretched from chest to both shoulders and down his thick arms. On his chest, the tattoos fought a desperate battle for dominance with a fine rug of hair almost dense enough to qualify for fur. As he adjusted his wide leather belt the patrons’ gazes were drawn to the dagger and sickle handing within easy reach of either hand.
”My compliments to the cook, Master Fergus,” he proclaimed loudly as he made his way to the bar and reached for his purse. ”Truly, a meal fit for a prince! Was that rosemary I tasted in the sauce? But anyway… it is a hot day outside - perhaps a skin of wine to go?”
***
… door here? Ah, this one. Thank ye, lass,” a deep voice could he heard from beyond the door, moments before Matheus stepped into the room and blinked his eyes as he stood in the threshold. The message had not mentioned there would be others present, but come to think of it, it had been rather devoid of details. A time, a place, the name of the summoner and little else. Not that Matheus minded – he loved meeting new people.
”Hope I ain’t interrupting?” he boomed as he stepped in and the attendant closed the door behind him. ”Matheus Winterglade at your service. Slayer of dragons, rescuer of princesses and eater of big dinners,” he declared, slapping both palms on his bare midriff hard enough to send the layers of fat wobbling. ”… well, one outta three ain’t all that bad, eh?” he amended, a merry twinkle in his green eyes. ”The other two, I’m still working on in my spare time.”
Kazmir eyes the rather formidable looking woman who introduces herself as Petronia. Out of reflex he judges her in matters of combat wondering if he could defeat her, if it came to it. Maybe, but it would be a hearty struggle, worthy of a song. Well, maybe a drunken tavern ballad.
"Yes, I have the same summons." Kazmir says, voice the usual throaty grumble, "Perhaps we will be working together." When she introduces Ner, the dwarf raises and eyebrow. No need for careful evaluation here. He could crush this little man like a bug by tripping and falling, most likely.
"No problems with halflings, if they can pull your weight." Kazmir leans down slightly, stony bulk towering over the timid seeming halfling. "Can you pull your weight, Ner?"
When a big loud man entered, Kazmir was instantly on his guard, stoneplate grinding loudly. A small shift in posture, a slight relaxation of muscles, only a real warrior would have noticed the signs for possible violence. The dwarf's eyes narrowed as the big man spoke jovially and offered a few jokes. Would this jester be coming with them?
It might be a long trip.
They weren't kept waiting long. Soon the door opened, and they were ushered into Dreng's office. It was large and ornate, as befitted a man of Dreng's status within the society.
The old man sat at hunched at his desk, a handsome servant standing attentive but silent behind him. Dreng looked up at them, nodding approvingly at the three strong and burly warriors. Usually a friendly, man, this time he wasted no time with pleasantries.
“I have a routine mission for you, though a dangerous routine mission,” the old man rasped. Suffering from a serious cold, the old venture-captain looked quite possibly the worst you’d ever seen him. Through wracking coughs he explained, “An ally of ours in the Land of the Linnorm Kings—Rognvald Skagni—is writing a lengthy report on the state of government in the northern countries of Avistan. I received a letter from him just yesterday requesting several key documents from the vaults here to help him finish the report.” Venture-Captain Dreng gestured to a large, heavy-looking chest resting on the floor next to his desk. “These are the documents, and I need you to board a ship north to deliver them to Skagni.”
Dreng tried to stand at that point, but a fit of coughing sent him back into his seat. He gestured to the well-dressed, impeccably kept man standing behind him, and managed to whisper raspy orders to him. The man picked up a small pouch and a large key and held them both out towards the four adventurers. “Venture-Captain Dreng is unwell, as you can see. You are to take this key and this pouch of gold. The key opens the chest, and the gold will buy you passage and get you from the Linnorm coast to Trollheim, where Skagni resides. Whatever you do, do not let the chest out of your sight and do not, under any circumstances, allow it to be searched. These documents are for Mr. Skagni’s eyes only. Are we understood?” His eyes narrowed on Ner, as if expecting the halfling to pilfer the chest there and then.
Matheus Winterglade at your service. Slayer of dragons, rescuer of princesses and eater of big dinners...
Petronia lets out an exaggerated sigh, "Please tell me that you're not one of those who thinks all woman are damsels or princesses in need of rescuing. 'Cause I will go toe-to-toe with anyone, anytime...and be better off for it than leaving it to someone else."
She stands and flexes her arms making the wolves tattooed on her one arm actually look like they're running as her muscles ripple. "But I have to give you credit for your ink." She looks his torso up and down. "Maybe you'll let me add one sometime. You've still got a lot of area on your body to cover."
-------------
Petronia listens intently as Dreng and then his servant speak. She frowns, "Who would want to search the chest? Unless someone out there knows what we're taking to Skagni and wants it for themselves." She perks up a bit and her first clenches and unclenches, "Do you expect us to have trouble?"
"There is always trouble." Kazmir says darkly at Petronia's words. "If there wasn't trouble I wouldn't need this." The dwarf taps his massive earthbreaker with a stubby forefinger.
He turns back to Dreng's 'servant', "What's Trollheim like? I've never been. Do the folk like Skagni? Respected among the locals?"
Inwardly, Kazmir was singing with joy. The Linnorm lands! Those wild and untamed lands full of formidable monsters and even more formidable warriors. Finally, a land worthy of testing himself against, a land Gorum would be proud to see him do battle with. A place where a little rage wouldn't be cause for the police.....
"Can you pull your weight, Ner?"
Ner stepped back from Kazmir's elbow strap and looked over at Petronia deciding to answer literally, "Yes"
-------“... These documents are for Mr. Skagni’s eyes only. Are we understood?" His eyes narrowed on Ner, as if expecting the halfling to pilfer the chest there and then.
Ner's smile disappeared as his mouth gapped like a perch, how did this man know what he was thinking? Though true, he didn't like like the rebuke in the man's eyes. No, but there was something else, not just a rebuke - Ner thought this assisstant smelled wrong somehow. Ner retreated to the shelter of Petronia's shadow. There he switched to watching the Winterglade man and his grin slowly returned.
"Please tell me that you're not one of those who thinks all woman are damsels or princesses in need of rescuing. 'Cause I will go toe-to-toe with anyone, anytime...and be better off for it than leaving it to someone else."
”Obviously, you have never met my mother,” Matheus replied with an easy laugh. ”She’s certainly a woman who’s never waited for a man to rescue her from anything. Quite the opposite, she’s the sort of person who does the rescuing... or causes other people to be in need of being rescued,” he finished thoughtfully.
"Maybe you'll let me add one sometime. You've still got a lot of area on your body to cover."
”Thank you for the kind offer, perhaps if the fates keep us together long enough for it,” he said, examining her tattoos with clear approval. Those certainly were as fine examples of skin art he had ever seen. ”I assume you are here for the same reason as I am?” he asked, showing the others his copy of the lettering that had summoned them here, and nodded as he saw similar-looking pieces of paper in other hands or peeking from pockets.
Quite an interesting gathering of individuals it was, the druid thought, meeting the other three pairs of eyes in turn. The tattooed woman looked strong enough to lift his own considerable bulk off the ground and wore serviceable leathers but carried little in the way of armaments. Perhaps an adept of the unarmed arts? The dwarf, on the other hand, looked geared for a minor war, with the oversized hammer and... by gods, was that armor really made of what it looked like it was? And the bearded fellow was still standing with all that apparent weight? Clearly the small group had brawn to spare, at the very least. And lastly the halfling, short even for his species or at least seeming so compared to the two humans.
***
Matheus’s eyes lit up in concern as a violent bout of coughing dropped the Venture-Captain back to his chair and he half reached out before reconsidering. The man was an officer of a powerful society – if what ailed him was something simple spells or prayers could cure, he would already be back to his usual tricks. Unfortunately, no-one had yet figured out a remedy for old age. At least here, he could be expected to receive the best possible care.
But even concern over Dreng’s health couldn’t keep the druid’s spirits down. Land of the Linnorm Kings! This was a dream come true, and again the Pathfinders were the means for him to make the journey! He couldn’t care less that there had not been any mention of their wages – the way was long and hard, after all, and more likely than not, dangerous. Indeed, he’d be happy to pay the Society for the opportunity!
The servant began to answer, but was interrupted by another fit of coughing. Gesturing to the chest, he waited for them to pick it up before ushering them back into the anteroom.
The chest was dark oak, with iron bands around it. It measured 4x3 feet, and was 2 feet high, and weighed about 100 lbs. The built-in lock looked formidable.
Once they had shut the door, giving Dreng his privacy, the servant said, "Trollheim? Cold, barbaric. I can't speak to Skagni's relationship with the people there, his reports have been business only."
"As for trouble, I should be surprised if you didn't find any. After all," he eyed the well-muscles group, "the venture-captain choose you all for a reason. But we do not anticipate anything specific. I don't believe anybody knows of Skagni's request, nor of your mission."
When there were no more questions, he said, "You have passage booked on the Froth Wolf. She sails at dawn. Check in with the captain, and make sure you are provisioned for the north. And do NOT let that chest out of your sight!"
”Obviously, you have never met my mother,” Matheus replied with an easy laugh. ”She’s certainly a woman who’s never waited for a man to rescue her from anything. Quite the opposite, she’s the sort of person who does the rescuing... or causes other people to be in need of being rescued,” he finished thoughtfully.
Petronia crosses her arms, "I didn't hear a yes or a no in that answer. Do you always deflect? Just because your mother didn't need rescuing doesn't mean you don't think others need it."
------------
She joins the others in carrying the chest out into the anteroom. Seems unlikely this size of chest only contains papers. One could fit a body in here
Petronia smiles widely at the mention of the ship they'd be traveling on. Wolf for a wolf. That's a good sign, if one believed in signs
Once the servant leaves them alone she asks, "So, take the chest to the ship and then take turns keeping an eye on it? It's not like we can parade around Absalom carrying this monstrosity of a chest."
She looks at the other three before her eyes settling on Kazmir. Their height difference would make it more difficult but he did seem the strongest of the lot next to her. "Kazmir, do you want to help me carry it? Or should we take turns?"
Kazmir nods to Petronia and moves over to her, plate loudly clanking. The dwarf grabs the chest and heaves it up. Picking it up is no struggle for the burly man, but carrying it long term will slow him down, and he can't deny it.
Grunting he says to no one in particular, "Can we find a wizard or something to make it lighter? Aren't there spells for that? I don't want to have to fight with this thing on my back."
Absalom seemed like a big city. If it could be done, it could probably be done here although Kazmir had no idea how long such an enchantment would last. Hours? Days? Weeks?
Already forgetting the Aid's words, "Maybe we could break the thing into bits and each carry a little of it??? ..." A little puff of sour apple smell wafted from him as he trotted ahead. "We could put it back together when we got there!?" He eyed the lock mechanism furtively - his curiosity burning.
He opened doors as the two titans carried the cargo.
Petronia crosses her arms, "I didn't hear a yes or a no in that answer. Do you always deflect? Just because your mother didn't need rescuing doesn't mean you don't think others need it."
Matheus blinked his eyes in surprise. He thought he had been quite specific, but apparently the Lady was not satisfied. Had something been lost in translation? Bones of the world, did the woman expect him to stick to monosyllabic answers to questions just to make a point?
"Lady, I solemnly swear by the deep roots that I do not judge a book by the covers, nor an individual by his - or, naturally, hers - race or gender, station or occupation," the druid proclaimed, right fist held over his heart, then cocked his head to one side as he looked to see whether this would suffice or if she really expected "Yes, miss" or "No, miss" for an answer.
***
Grunting he says to no one in particular, "Can we find a wizard or something to make it lighter? Aren't there spells for that? I don't want to have to fight with this thing on my back."
"The voyage north will take... what? Weeks? Months?" Matheus grunted. "I can't make it lighter or smaller, but I can make the weight easier to manage, with some preparation. Perhaps even I can carry it after that. We can experiment during the voyage, as time should be something we shall have aplenty."
He had to admit, though, that there was something strange about their luggage. He had tried to lift the chest in the meeting room before Kazmir picked it up easy as anything. Why all the secrecy? If the documents this Rognvald Skagni had requested were priceless relics, but the matter was still important enough to honor the request, surely the Society could have arranged for the information in the books to be copied? The Land of the Linnorm Kings was far enough by land or sea that even the request for them had surely been on its way for a good part of a year... the situation couldn't exactly be time-sensitive. Unless the chest held something quite different from what they had been told... but that didn't sound right either. True, the Society was large and powerful enough that a certain amount of plotting and maneuvering for positions of power was expected within the ranks, but thus far the Pathfinders had treated Matheus well, and the Venture-Captain was someone he knew and trusted. Surely the old man wouldn't have had anything to do with something truly sinister? He had seemed ill and weak, to be sure, but not addled enough to be led by the nose by anyone with ulterior motives.
"Lady, I solemnly swear by the deep roots that I do not judge a book by the covers, nor an individual by his - or, naturally, hers - race or gender, station or occupation," the druid proclaimed, right fist held over his heart, then cocked his head to one side as he looked to see whether this would suffice or if she really expected "Yes, miss" or "No, miss" for an answer.
Petronia's eyes narrow slightly as the man once again uses many words when a simple yes or no would have sufficed but she doesn't press the issue. If she does indeed end up working with these people, she shouldn't make things awkward within the group - Ner would do that soon enough when he discovers all of the new group equipment he would now have access to.
She nods curtly and moves to a more interesting topic, his tattoos.
---------------
Grunting he says to no one in particular, "Can we find a wizard or something to make it lighter? Aren't there spells for that? I don't want to have to fight with this thing on my back."
"The voyage north will take... what? Weeks? Months?" Matheus grunted. "I can't make it lighter or smaller, but I can make the weight easier to manage, with some preparation. Perhaps even I can carry it after that. We can experiment during the voyage, as time should be something we shall have aplenty."
"I agree with the dwarf. In the city, I've seen loads of people using magic to carry stuff that floats along with them. Maybe we can buy..." she looks over at Ner, "or find something similar."
"Maybe we could break the thing into bits and each carry a little of it??? ..." A little puff of sour apple smell wafted from him as he trotted ahead. "We could put it back together when we got there!?"
Surprisingly, Petronia's voice turns somewhat gentle when she addresses the halfling. "Absolutely not, Ner. The man said the chest has to arrive in the same condition as it leaves. If it doesn't, we don't get paid. This would upset me."
"Absolutely not, Ner. The man said the chest has to arrive in the same condition as it leaves. If it doesn't, we don't get paid. This would upset me."
"I can relate to your little friend wanting to know what we are carrying, though," Matheus said, giving the shy-looking halfling a grin. "The security seems excessive for mere words on paper. If the books themselves are so prescious, the knowledge in them could be copied. And if it's the knowledge itself that is so sensitive, why not send a person who knows the content instead - one man would draw less attention than this chest."
"It is passing strange, but the Society has always been a force for good - dedicated to the gathering of knowledge, lore, experience... not political backstabbing or manipulation - so I guess the truth of the matter is just way beyond our pay grade," the druid chuckled, perhaps just a bit nervously, and shrugged his wide shoulders.
Petronia shrugs at Matheus' musings, "We're not paid to know what we carry. It's actually better to not know, we can claim ignorance that way."
She moves towards the door, "I say we get it to the ship. We can figure out how to carry it once we make land...whether we get a cart or what. Magic would be nice but it's also sometimes tricky to use. An animal or a cart may be more reliable."
"I think I have the majority of things I need for the trip so I can stay with it on the ship until we leave. I'll give Ner a list of a few things I'll need since we're going into a colder climate."
This Matheus man is smart, maybe even smarter than Petronia. And he smells right - not like the assistant man.
Foiled in what he thought was an inscrutable attempt to have the box opened, not only foiled but seen through by at least two members of the team, Ner's face copied a look of utter innocence.
"But I can look at the lock?! He didn't say I couldn't look. I promise I won't try to open it, but when we're alone with it, I thought I could take a good look. You know - for little poison pins, or tiny silver wizards letters, or strange hinges ... or false panels." He drifted off.
Ner stopped in his tracks and tried to remember everything that has happened since they were given the chest and, coming up blank, "Where are we taking it? Back to the room?"
"I think I have the majority of things I need for the trip so I can stay with it on the ship until we leave. I'll give Ner a list of a few things I'll need since we're going into a colder climate."
Ner's eyebrows clenched. He wasn't good with lists. He was better finding stuff he thought was best and reading just took so much effort - this would take some time. But I'll eat more tonight - hard work deserves more food! He broke out in a grin.
The Froth Wolf was an ex-warship that had been salvaged and refitted as a merchant vessel. The planks on the sides of the wooden ship had been painstaking carved into a wolf pack on the hunt, legs under the water line. The Pathfinders could imagine how it would look when under full said, with the spray and foam swirling up around the wolves legs.
In similar style, the figurehead was a terrifyingly realistic snarling wolf-head. The effect was somewhat diminished by the pulley system that had been added on between the wolf's ears, for loading gear onto the foredeck.
The captain, a hulking Ulfen with leathery skin and a wild, windswept beard, took their money with a grunt and motioned to the cabin-boy to show them around. Two rooms had been rented for them in amongst the crew quarters. From the sizes of the beds, it was clear that they assumed that Ner would be staying with Petronia.
"We sail witha turning offa tide, cuppla hours 'fore midnight," the cabin boy told them, before scurrying off to continue his duties.
Petronia took first shift babysitting the chest, while the others separated to gather any last minute gear and supplies.
As Matheus returned to the ship, his belly full of what he feared might be his last good meal in a while, an unfamiliar figure joined him as he walked. His voice soft, the middle-aged human said, "Don't stop walking. I have a message for you, from Maldris. Open it when you're alone, or with Petronia. She also works for us. Safe voyage."[/b]
The slipped the druid a note, then veered off down a sidestreet.
***
Meanwhile, as Kazmir stepped foot on the docks, another dwarf, this one cloaked, stepped out of the shadows and halted him. "Kazmir Brightbeard, I have greetings for you..."
***
As Ner locked up Petronia's house, his bag and hands bulging with gear, a pretty halfling woman bumped into him, knocking snowshoes from his hands. Apologizing profusely, she helped him pick everything up. "You're Ner, aren't you?" she asked, looking awestruck. "I've heard of you, you're a famous Pathfinder. I heard you're going north - you're so brave! I wish I could go...I make potions, and there are some things you can get up north that you can't get here. Hey! Maybe you can get them for me! Would you be willing to help?..."
***
The sky was dark and clear, the stars bright, when the Froth Wolf cast off from the pier. The receding tide (and the manned oars) took the boat quickly from the harbour, and soon the great city of Absalom was a mountain of twinkling lights, receding in the distance. Now there was little for the adventurers to do other than wait.
It would take the better part of a week to sail west though the Inner Sea, and past the narrowing at Corentyn. Then another two weeks north, past Cheliax, Varisia, and around the Ironbound Archipelago. Finally east again, into the bay that was the mouth of the Rimeflow River, and debarking in the city of Kalsgard. There they would board a smaller ship for the several-days journey up the Rimeflow to the town of Trollheim.
"You're Ner, aren't you? I've heard of you, you're a famous Pathfinder. I heard you're going north - you're so brave! I wish I could go...I make potions, and there are some things you can get up north that you can't get here. Hey! Maybe you can get them for me! Would you be willing to help?..."
Bashfully, "Yer funny! I'm not famous. Petronia is more famous than me. And going north isn't brave - going up is brave!," He pauses and waits for a look of understanding, "Like in the mountains. Don't worry, I used to get 'up' and 'north' mixed up to, but only when I was in my teens. What does icegrass look like???"
Not wanting to be late, Ner started walking and talked from under the bundle of cold weather gear, deftly avoiding pitfalls in the street, "I never heard of a bookstore that moves around before. The Linnornum Spine? Discovering Arcadia: Glory to the Linnormium Kings?? Can you write it down and maybe I could just show the book seller???"
-------------------------
He then went back on deck to the forecastle to watch the sea get larger. When it got dark he started exploring the ship. He looked for interesting hiding spots, watched people go about their work listening into conversations, and he looked for anything marked 'do not enter' which might as well say 'secret forbidden closet of mystery'. He would mark where those were for later. He went about this not so much hiding as trying very hard not to disturb anyone. The ship was like a downed forest log and Ner was the mouse - over, under, around, and through.
He completely forgot about any regular tasks he might usually do or even checking in with Petronia until his stomach growled and the thought came to him that she might be hungry. He went looking for food and returned to the hold, hoping the stone dwarf Kazmir and the big man Matheus were somewhere near.
-------------------------
Ner had wormed his way around the ship, occasionally returning to the hold with small objects for him to tinker with. Some of these objects looked important, like they would be missed or are a part of the workings of the ship - a brass boat-eye, an astrolabe, or a smooth teak rigging pin. After five days, he got tired of exploring and started following Matheus around - copying his stride or his posture. If the amiable explorer looked over to the horizon and sighed then so did Ner.
He stopped taking food as he learned that meals would happen regularly - though he hoarded a little salt fish
Whenever someone let him near the chest he would spend as much time as he could examining it feeding his curiosity - surely it wasn't just some boring papers! If he was given a shift watching the chest he always did it from some hiding place in the room.
By the start of the third week he started to see after his old routine more assiduously and did his best to remind Petronia he was very important. As those jobs became scarce he started doing the same for Kazmir and Matheus. He occasionally washed an article of already clean clothing, started a bag of rats that he exterminated, and left apples and old salt crackers in his new friends bedding for later snacking.
Petronia's stride slows to a crawl and then she stops as the Froth Wolf comes into her view. She has never seen anything so majestic or beautiful. If she could have, she would have run her fingers along the carved planks. She couldn't help but think that the side of the ship mirrored her tattoo. Once again, a good sign - if one believed in such things.
She gets herself settled in the hold with the chest and the others disperse. It only takes about fifteen minutes for her to begin regretting her offer to watch the chest. She had never been so bored in all her life! Between her own gear and things she finds in the hold, she fashions a punching bag and strings it up from the ceiling. She then proceeds to occupy her time by throwing more than a few punches.
------
Petronia spends the majority of her time on the ship offering her craft to those on the ship. Many of the sailors take her up on her sales pitch and she ends up making quite a few gold as she inks much skin with her tools. She can't help but offer her opinion in what tattoo should be done but the majority of the crew would take one look at her arm and request a wolf tattoo. Admittedly, she is more than happy to oblige.
One evening when she has some free time, she finds herself on deck with Kazmir. She looks at him with admiration, "It is a brave one indeed who wears your armor near the water. It bodes well for us when we land in a much harsher climate."
She looks him up and down, "If you want, I could do a tattoo for you to honor your clan. For allies, no charge."
------
The slipped the druid a note, then veered off down a sidestreet.
***
Matheus closed his mouth, having had no time to voice a reply before the undistinguished fellow disappeared into the shadows of overhanding balconies overlooking the narrow street. He stared at the folded piece of paper in his hand with some bemusement, then shook his head and stuffed the thing into his back. There could be only so many things this could be about and, considering he had just accepted a mission for the Society, he felt he could narrow down the options rather nicely.
So, Petronia, eh? She seemed simply made for all this cloak and dagger business, considering her apparent straightforwardness. Not that he really relished it either…
Still, best get on with it. He got back to the ship, muttered a greeting to the Captain in Skald as he went past – it would be handy to have a chance to work on his accent before getting to their destination, as it had been years since he had had need to have a proper conversation in the Northern dialect – and headed belowdecks to where the tattooed woman had stayed behind to guard the chest, knocking before he opened the door.
”It seems we have mutual friends,” the druid muttered as a way of greeting, passing Petronia the note he had been given. ”Got to say, I don’t actually love this political side of the Society, but orders are orders, and these ones don’t seem so very bad.”
It had been some time since Matheus had last been on a ship sailing blue waters, and this would be the longest single trip he had ever embarked on. Luckily, he had found his sea legs easily enough, and after a couple of slightly queasy days before his stomach settled down right and proper. And at first, the scenery had been quite breathtaking. But, Matheus had found rather quickly, you could only look at the vast blue ocean below or the majestic clouds above for so many days before feeling just a bit bored. And while there certainly seemed a lot to do on the ship for the crew, there was much less demand for the services of an unskilled landlubber.
Still, he did what he could to pass the time. Helping out the cook, tending to the occasional wound or illness among the crew, mending frayed ropes or ripped cloth with easy little spells. Oh, and drinking. On the fourth day, Matheus asked for an empty cask, used a bucket to fill it with seawater, then transformed the briny liquid into mead with a spell. Mead which he then proceeded to drink during the rest of the day, not that he objected to sharing – there was more water in the sea for even Matheus could drink alone, no matter how hard he tried.
After a rather pointed remark from the First Officer, though, the druid began finding more secluded places for his entertainment, as the members of the crew were not encouraged to partake on alcohol during a trip, and the jealous glances from the men kept making the druid guilty. Not that even that would make him stop – there were only so many ways to pass the time, and only so much one could do with their meals, given the limitations of a ship’s galley and their provisions. And if he could not indulge in culinary delights, he had to settle to slaking his thirst.
Kazmir never enjoyed sailing. he was from need inland and underground, the ocean was not in his blood. The constant movement, shifting temperature, the general reek of unwashed men and unkempt bilges...it was enough to drive any warrior mad.
He couldn't decide if it was worse on deck or down below, finding he hated them both. It was during a visit to the former that Petronia found him, staring out moodily at the slight waves.
The dwarf grunts, "Brave?" he snorts, "It would be braver to go without. Do you have any idea how many sea monsters live out here? Any moment a giant snake or hungry whale or ravening ooze might erupt and try to kill us all. This armor is the only think that gives me peace."
When she mentions honoring his clan the dwarf's face turns black, as if she just gravely insulted him. He turns to face her and the woman sees a flash of anger in his eyes, barely controlled. "Speak of my 'clan' again and I will kill you were you stand, human."
Then he pauses and some of the anger leaves his face, and Kazmir shakes his head. Clearly he sees he has gone too far but in unable to aplgoize. Instead he grunts, spits over the rail and heads below, rudely leaving without another word.
"Speak of my 'clan' again and I will kill you were you stand, human."
Petronia visibly bristles, her hair standing a bit higher making her seem larger. A low growl sounds in her throat, more animalistic than a human should be able to make. "I'd like to see you try."
The two of them have a tense standoff until the dwarf lets go of some of his anger. When he grunts, Petronia takes that as some sort of truce. She calls after him, "I meant no offense."
Once he is gone she leans against the railing and mutters, "What's his problem?"
”It seems we have mutual friends,” the druid muttered as a way of greeting, passing Petronia the note he had been given. ”Got to say, I don’t actually love this political side of the Society, but orders are orders, and these ones don’t seem so very bad.”
Petronia takes the message and scans it. "Seems easy enough. Did it come with any other verbal instructions? I never pay attention to the political side of things. It's much more freeing to just follow orders. But it's nice to have someone of like mind and purpose on this assignment."
The first week of the voyage passed uneventfully. The Froth Wolf sailed west, generally out of sight of land, though occasionally glimpses of the inner sea region were visible. The weather was clear and the winds brisk but not enough to be rough. The captain and deck hands seemed happy enough, and slowly warmed to the company of their unusual passengers.
Finally they passed the narrows at Corentyn, and the ship turned northwards. The seas became rougher, and there was often fog in the mornings and evenings.
Two days after they left the Inner Sea, Ner was on deck with Matheus when the sharp-eyed halfling spied something floating in the water. It looked to be some wreckage, perhaps part of a small boat. Somebody lay face-down on the shattered wooden planks, legs dangling in the ocean, unmoving.
@Matheus "Um, that doesn't look good ... maybe someone should get the captain?" Ner climbed up into the rigging and stretched his arm out towards the figure in the water. Not thinking to call out 'Man overboard' Ner instead yelled, "CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"
Petronia takes the message and scans it. "Seems easy enough. Did it come with any other verbal instructions? I never pay attention to the political side of things. It's much more freeing to just follow orders. But it's nice to have someone of like mind and purpose on this assignment."
”The messenger had nothing to add,” the druid said, shaking his head. ”Could well be he didn’t even know the content of the message – from what little I have seen, the sort of people who relish in this kinda business can get really into it. Need to know and all that, you know? And the person passing the orders only needs to know whom to give them, not what they are about.”
”Guess we’ll just have to keep our eyes open for opportunities to work on these once we get to our destination… and try to do it without letting the others in on things,” he sighed. ”Could be awkward. Can’t exactly do those things behind their backs, but can’t share our reasons either – otherwise, they’d have been no use for such secrecy giving us these orders.”
*** Mealtime interlude ***
”You know, I grew up North with the Ulfen lads,” Matheus said one evening, taking his turn as they had taken to sharing tales during mealtimes to build trust and deepen bonds. Or show their trust by sharing secrets. It was hard to tell just how some people saw such opening of hearts, and it would not do to ask.
The druid reached out for another piece of hard bread to dib into his soup – such a tragedy a ship’s galley was no place to bake bread, and that the larder had been filled with foods that would keep. Thus, hard dark bread rather than soft, airy white loafs that would have gone much better with soups, in Matheus’s educated opinion. ”My mother was sent to Tomgruv in the Southmoor on a mission, and she took me with her. There I was, a snot-nosed little Southern kid left to find my own amusement while Mother was busy butting heads with the chieftain of the week to rule over the town. It was rough going to begin with, let me tell you,” he went on, displaying an amazing skill at being able to speak coherently while at the same time shoveling food into his mouth. ”Me knowing all five words in Skald, the local kids barely better versed in Common, and disinclined to lower themselves to the newcomer’s level by sullying their tongues with it. Lucky for me I was always large for age and could fight back. That, the local kids seemed to respect. So, a couple weeks and a few broken noses and many, many bruises later, there I was, tearing through the town together with the local lads and lasses, raising havoc.”
”Those were the days,” he sighed, his gaze losing focus as he walked on memory lane. ”Spent close to a decade there before Mother suddenly announced she was done with her assignment and we were leaving for good. I’m afraid I didn’t take that all too well, but Mother… there’s no stopping her when she sets her mind on something. Not that I didn’t try, oh no – I begged and cried, threatened, argued and finally tried to run away and hide. Not that any of it made the slightest difference – she ignored both tears and threats, faced arguments with cold reason, and tracked me down when I tried to run. Boxed my ears something fierce after that, let me tell you, since that trick managed to waste half a day’s worth of travel time.”
”Oh, it’ll be good to get back there, after all these years… ever seen a full moon shining over unbroken fields of snow? Northern lights reflected in rivers of ice? And some people say the winter nights that far in the North are dark and gloomy! Ha! Pure magic, I say,” he went on wistfully. ”Now, I’m not saying the lands here are without their own charm, far from it. But… oh well, I guess you will see for yourselves soon enough.”
"Um, that doesn't look good ... maybe someone should get the captain?" Ner climbed up into the rigging and stretched his arm out towards the figure in the water. Not thinking to call out 'Man overboard' Ner instead yelled, "CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"
"What doesn't... Oh, bones of the earth," Matheus swore when he noticed what Ner had spotted and was now pointing at. A body, lying still like a corpse on top of a bundle of planks. Had there been a storm here recently? He didn't think so, the air didn't smell right for it, but if it wasn't weather that had reduced whatever boat the man had sailed into that sorry state...
Matheus resisted the immediate impulse to leap into the water to aid the poor soul. While he technically knew how to swim, he had only ever paddled in rivers or lakes, and wasn't eager to test these rough seas, even if he did have a double handful of tricks prepared for maritime trouble. So what did people on ships do in these situations? Throw the man a rope? From what the druid could see, the unfortunate sailor didn't look to be in shape to catch anything, let alone hold on while he was pulled on deck... if he was even conscious in the first place. So if not that, what? Have someone dive in and take the rope to the man?
Kazmir is startled from his thoughts when the small halfling starts shouting. Wondering what is causing the commotion and assuming the worse (as usual) the dwarf hustles over to the rail. In a moment he see the stranded man, lying on bits of wood. What a way to die....Kazmir offers up a prayer to Gorum and then turns to Matheus.
"Do you have any magic that can help? We need to rescue that man." The dwarf looks around, shouting to the assembled crew " Some one tell the captain to turn, maybe we can put an oar near him!"
Turning back to the large man, "Can you swim? I could tie a rope to you and heave you back once you get to him."
Turning back to the large man, "Can you swim? I could tie a rope to you and heave you back once you get to him."
"Swim? In a calm river, sure. In these waves?" the fat druid shook his head. "You'd have two people to rescue. But magic... perhaps." Though if something went wrong... still, how could he expect from others something he wouldn't be willing to risk himself?
"Better get that rope," Matheus muttered to the dwarf, spat on his hands and rubbed them together. He narrowed his eyes, set his feet and began murmuring an invocation in Skald.
From his shoulderpack the druid drew his Harrow deck, shuffled it with almost unnatural grace and drew two cards in quick succession. For a moment, faint witchlight clung to the two painted and carved pieces of wood.
"Eight card of Constitution, the Sickness," Matheus muttered, not even looking at the card in his hand yet never hesitating. "Corruption, insidious influence. But you do not match. You, however," he went on, drawing a second card. "Fifth card of Strength, the Bear. Power and vitality, might of the animal kingdom. You will do." Continuing his chant, the deck vanished back into his magical pack and his attention focused on the sea next to the ship. Sea that suddenly parted to reveal two equine heads.
"Hippocampi, the chargers of the ocean," the druid muttered, marvelling the aquatic beasts that had answered his call. A large horse's head, chest and legs mated with fish's hindquarters, two of them, large and strong, epitomes of health and power, yet with a strange greenish hue to their hide and scales. "You don't like it up here on the surface. I'm sorry for that, but I have need for your aid," he murmured, bowing his head in respect to the noble beasts.
Matheus sat on the railing, swung his feet over and gave the blue sea another hesitant look. The depths didn't exactly look any more welcoming than they had, but now, at least, he had help at hand.
"Here we go" he grunted, took a deep breath and leaned forward, falling into the sea right between the two aquatic mounts, fingers grasping franticly for their long manes, until he managed to drag himself on one beast's back.
Ner stopped yelling and watched in astonishment as the Matheus man drew his cards and put the sea to bubbling and produced creatures he had never seen before by halfling eyes. Then disbelieving watched him jump into the water!!!
Ner went looking for rope to tie to the gunwale and make a man sized loop at the other end.
Kazmir watches as the wild looking man summons animals out of the deep and jumps down into the water. Part of the dwarf wished to follow but considering his weight, he would simply kill any animal below. A shame, this seemed a worthy test of body and spirit.
The dwarf grunts with approval at Ner, and joins in making the knot fast. "Good, our friend may need help before this is done."
The captain was shouting orders in a mix of Ulfen, Commen, and at least two other languages, and the crew was responding with efficient professionalism. Lines were hauled, sheets were lowered, booms swung perilously across the deck. Even as they moved past the wreckage, the Froth Wolf was swinging around, the beginnings of a wide circle that would bring it back around.
Below, Petronia heard the muffled shouting, and was suddenly thrown into the wall as the ship made a sudden change in heading.
However, as soon as Matheus summoned the hippocampi with the aid of his deck, then leapt off the side, the crew stopped dead in their tracks. Eyes wide and fearful, many made gestures meant to ward off evil. Ner heard somebody gasp, "Witch!" Even the captain looked shocked, but he quickly shook it off. Shouting again at the crew, he roused them back into action, though some were visibly shaken.
The hippocampi responded to the druids words and commands, and swam with a beautiful grace and strength to the wreckage. Closer now, Matheus could see that it was the shattered front half of a small dinghy.
His mount kept steady, close enough that the druid could reach over and turn the corpse over. For a corpse it clearly was. The man's throat had been torn out, and the jagged hole where his abdomen had been revealed that his organs had been consumed. From the look of horror frozen on the dead man's face, he had been alive while he was fed on.
The other hippocampus snorted a warning, and Matheus could see the water churning and bubbling several yards away, and the disturbance was clearly moving towards him.
Kazmir growls when he sees the sailors pause when Matheus uses magic. "You row or I'll show you what real trouble looks like!"
But the dwarf is too distracted by what is going on in the sea to truly frighten the crew.
Kazmir grunts to Ner, since there is no one else to talk to, "The man has skill, we may save the drowning man yet, if this crew can focus on the task."
Petronia lets out a string of very loud curses as she's thrown against the wall. But the surprise is quickly over and she finds her footing. She rushes towards the door, hand on handle, before she stops herself and looks back at the chest. The servant's voice rings in her head, And do NOT let that chest out of your sight!.
She stamps her foot and lets out a howl of frustration. She paces the small room with heavy footsteps as she mutters to herself. "I can't leave. But there's a lock on the door. But if something happens to the chest while no one is looking there will be consequences, I won't get paid." She hears more muffled shouting as she stomps about, "It sounds like trouble on deck so if I go up there then I'm preemptively protecting the chest. They would obviously need my help. Right, okay, so I go up on deck and I lock the door. And..." she grabs a blanket and throws it over the chest to hide it from direct sight, "hide the chest."
Confident that she has made the right decision, she secures the room and heads up on deck.
Matheus muttered a prayer when he realized the shipwrecked man was beyond saving. But he didn't have time to worry about the now obvious and gruesome wounds as his beast friends alerted him to an approaching threat. A disturbance in the water nearby. And while there was no certainty whoever or whatever was approaching, the druid wasn’t willing to take any chances with such a visible example of recent violence before his eyes.
”We don’t like the looks of that, do we, girl?” he muttered at his mount, urging the summoned beast to turn away back towards the ship.
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Ner rushed up the rigging and watched out for sharks and giant squids ... and ... and ... screeching eels, or whatever other animals the halfling could conjure to mind. As Petronia came up on deck he yelled "!!Thematheusmandoveintotheoceanandisridingwaterhorsestotheupsidedownman!!
The creature (or creatures) were approaching Matheus at speed, and he had barely gotten his summoned mount turned around before the churning watery disturbance arrived.
Through the dark blue water, the druid got a look at three pale, humanoid shapes, which swam at speed past him. Two of the creatures continued towards the ship, while the third erupted out of the water infront of Matheus.
It was a creature of horror, like nothing that the druid had seen before. A female humanoid, with pale, loose skin and webbed hands and feet. Her webbed fingers had too many joints, and were tipped with claws that would have looked at home on a bear. Her algae-like hair moved of its own accord, writhing like snakes around her head. Pale, rotten-looking eyes bulged from her head, and a mouth too-full of pointed teeth split her head nearly in two.
Almost as awful was the sound coming from her mouth - a horrible, high-pitched warbling wail, and as she screamed he could see that she had an eel where her tongue should be.
Her appearance was so horrific that Matheus felt himself physically revolt against it.
She reared out of the water until she appeared to be standing shin-deep. Wailing and lashing out, she attacked Matheus's hippocampus.
The claws scored deep into the creatures neck, and thick blue blood poured out, staining the ocean. The hippocampus sagged under Matheus, and started to sink.
Cackling in triumph, it was clear that the hag was looking forward to her next meal.
Kazmir grunts a curse as he watches Matheus struggle in the water. The dwarf is not upset his ally is in danger, danger is the risk they all took on willingly for this mission but because he is unable to help, to join the fray. To watch a struggle take place outside of his reach? It made his blood boil.
Then he saw the other two figures heading for the ship and Kazmir grinned a mad smile.
"Clear the rail!" Kazmir bellows to the crew, "Don't let them drag you down! Up here, we can fight them!" With that he pulls the massive earthbreaker from his back, hefting it in his hands.
Let them come
The chaos of everything happening assaults Petronia as soon as her foot touches the deck. Ner is shouting and pointing at the water. When she looks over, she sees Matheus riding...something...in the waves. Then she sees him attacked and begin to sink.
To make matters worse, two of these horrible creatures are closing on the boat fast. She grins a toothy smile. She was right to leave the chest. This was going to be much more fun.
She keeps one eye on Matheus and one eye on the approaching threat. If need be, she'd tie a rope around herself and jump in if he went under. But the creatures approaching were much more interesting. Her hands clench into fists and she strides towards the rail. She steps up beside Kazmir and nods, "Nice weapon...if you need one."
"Spirits below! Dear mother, you haven't aged well at all!" the druid exclaimed, fighting to bring his stomach under control. But he had much more immediate worries than that - the hideous creature wasn't alone and its claws had done quite the number on his poor mount.
As his own mount began sinking the druid motioned for its companion, reached for its mane with one hand while using his feet to push against his mount's back. He held his breath as the other hippocampus maneuvered itself under his and began to swim away from the enemy, rising enough to put Matheus's head and shoulders above the surface.
Clinging to his mount's mane with one hand, the druid reached one hand towards the creature that was already beginning its pursuit and called upon his domain to slow its advance. In a blink of an eye, the creature was surrounded by a tiny but violent storm cloud, and violent burst of winds buffeted it from every direction at once, while a sleet and rain blinded it.
>:)
Ner tried to make himself small up the rigging and drew his dagger, not much larger then a large hat pin. He looked around for some rope he might cut to give him quick swinging access to the deck.
As Mattheus pulled away from his dying mount, the mortally wounded hippocampus lashed out with its strong teeth, taking a chunk out of the hag. The horse-fish immediately spat the mouthful out, then its eyes rolled back and it sank beneath the swell.
The hag, still reeling from the bite, was immediately assaulted with a micro-storm, centered on her. Her wail of fury was clearly audible above the howl of the sleet and wind. She immediately dove beneath the surface, and began swimming after the druid.
Several seconds later she burst upwards again, about 20 feet in front of the Matheus. One skinny, saggy arm was still wiping at her eyes, but the other had claws out and she was clearly intending to intercept him.
Meanwhile, the other two shapes continued swimming at top speed towards the boat. The quickly reached it, and in unison the rocketed upwards, out of the water, like hideously deformed dolphins leaping to escape a shark's maw.
One reached for a sailor that lingered too close to the rail's edge, but the cabin boy grabbed a fistful of the sailor's tunic and yanked him backwards with such force that they both ended up in a heap on the deck. The hag hooked her arm over the gunnel, and began clambouring aboard.
The second one got more height, and managed to land on the deck. Eyes bulging, hair wild and behaving as if it were still underwater, lips peeled back to reveal a too-large mouth with too many teeth; the hags were a hideous sight indeed.
Pandemonium immediately ensued. A few sailors nearly fell over themselves in their desperation to get away. The captain bellowed orders, and drew the cutlass at his side. Two other sailors drew weapons, but it seemed that this merchant vessel hired sailors based on their abilities with sheet and line, not sword and knife.
"Oh no you don't," Matheus muttered as he saw the ugly critter rise from the waves ahead of him. Yes, it might be fast enough to prevent him from getting back to the ship, but that was all right. Just as long as his mount was in turn fast enough to prevent the hideous one from getting within claw's reach from them. He'd just have to deal with his problem and trust his mighty companions would manage theirs.
Guiding his mount to keep distance, the druid reached into his shoulderback with his free hand and began a slow, long chant in Skald. Out came the Harrow deck once again, and two cards were selected as part of the summoning.
"The Theater… the puppet of the Divines. I don't see how you fit into the picture but I'm happy for such an esteemed audience. Hope the play will please you on your lofty perches. And the Fiend. Death and destruction for the many… again, I'd rather settle for just the one here, but beggars can't be choosers and all that," the druid muttered, jamming the deck back into his magical bag and concentrated on finishing his invocation.