Bloodcove
"Bloodcove: the last port of call on the Fever Sea. This strange town is part pirate haven and part merchant bazaar." The town of Bloodcove is threatened on one side by the unforgiving ocean and on the other by the buzzing, angry green of the jungle.
The heat never subsides but shade can be found. Far above your heads the jungle canopy extends over the water, and over the entire port of Bloodcove, courtesy of a colossal mangrove tree. It is on the roots of this mangrove tree that the entire town rests. Shacks are built with materials new and recycled on the sturdier roots. Long, rickety boardwalks form the streets.
With no rhyme or reason to the direction these boardwalks take, the denizens of Bloodcove have had to improvise in order to give directions. One either moves 'up-root', i.e., towards the mangrove; 'downroot', i.e. away from the mangrove; or 'crossroot', i.e. in a direction generally perpendicular to the trunk of the massive mangrove. 'Uproot' live what passes for nobility in Bloodcove -- those who have been here more than 3 months but less than two years ... long enough to make a fortune but not long enough to lose your mind. 'Downroot' live the riff-raff -- that's pretty much everybody else. The walkways 'uproot' are infested with the bugs and lizards that creep out from the jungle curious to see how the thin skinned ones are doing. The walkways 'downroot' are infested with rats that have leapt off doomed ships and the dogs that chase them.
A boy with one arm that looks like it was mangled in the lines of a ship limps down a boardwalk with a bucket of waste looking for a place to dump it. Glancing around and seeing no one paying particular attention, he dumps it over the side of the boardwalk in front of a shop that reads "Maps & Knives & Taxidermy & Others Stuff". The proprietor of the shop -- an old man with saltwater for blood and knotted ropes for muscles -- stumbles out, blinded by the sun, and yells at the boy to dump his filth 'downroot' next time. The boy answers "the tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out".
One can't live in Bloodcove long without hearing that expression. "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out" is not merely a fact. It's a philosophy. A ship captain complains that his cargo has rotted in storage; "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out" replies his mate. A man lies stabbed on the boardwalk in front of you; "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out" says the sailor who pushes him into the water. A sailor loses all his earnings at one game of cards; "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out" he laughs to himself before begging for a drink. "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out" is the expression of desparation, of resignation, and of misplaced hope of those who live here. "The tides wash in 'n' the tides wash out and someday they'll be a-carryin' me away agin" sings the sailor to the sea.
You walk on one of the walkways, strangers to one another until a man stumbles into your midst. He points at each of you while babbling madly.
"The idea landed
intent on
planting itself
in the vicious green breast
of this new world.
It could not.
This was not a garden with plots and rows
and beginnings and endings of rows
and space between rows.
It was a mass
of selfish struggling life.
Red tendrils tore at it from above
and grey-green roots pushed up
from the stony flesh below.
The idea gave names
to this angry arboreum.
The ancient first-heres,
the bulbous before-yous,
and the prickly go-back-t'where-ya-came-froms
grew in every soft inch.
The tall, white-barked light-breakers
and leafy rain-drinkers
dressed noon in night
glowering down from above.
The idea could not blossom
grow into a theory
or even a plan.
A plan, perhaps,
to hack paths
through the kant-walk-'eres
and grab the sit-where-god-sat-meez
by their harry-chins
and pull them into obedient furrows
the idea never flourished
never escaped back to Cheliax
we buried it there
beneath a handsome grove
of great, green nevuh-heard-of-you-sirz"
The man finishes his mad rambling with a choking cough: "I swallowed a bug," he explains before stumbling away, leaving the strangers united in their uncertainty.
Sykala pulls up short and listens intently to everything the man says seemingly nodding in agreement and smiling. In a voice barely audible to those around her, "They is just dirt. Look it them all scurry. Busy, busy ants. Weavin and wanderin until they come across something to bring back to the nest". With a burst of delight, "Really?! Did it taste good?!". She pulls a similar one out of the air and eats it. She suddenly looks about with a concerned look crossing her face, "the breeze is confused here", still half crunching on the bug. She inclines her head as if awaiting or listening for something.
A four foot tall halfling looks up at all the tall folk nearby, and glances as the babbling man wanders off.
"That's what the heat does to you after living here long enough..."
He then points uproot
"That sure is a big tree. I reckon it might be the biggest one I've ever seen."
Next he glances toward the shop.
"So you folks reckon they sell insect repellent in there? I've been looking for some. Say you don't look like locals. You all looking for bug salve too?"
He then looks at Sykala.
"Do those critters taste any good? I haven't tried any yet. They sound crunchy."
She looks startled at the voice from below as if she were not quite paying attention to her surroundings or intently focused on listening. "Junnis an ercath works." She takes a bone tube off her waist and cracks it open smearing some foul smelling ooze on Fippin's hands and then steps back looking expectantly.
Ixius hears the man's cryptic riddle and wonders if it means anything or if it is just a madman's babbling. He spots the wild-looking woman and the halfling and sees the woman rub something on the halfling's hand.
"'Name's Ixius" he says. starting to extend his hand, then thinking better of it and pulling it back. "What did you just put on his hand? And why?"
He is dressed in normal (but clean and new) clothing but is carrying his rapier and bow, which he never leaves from his sight.
Fippin now realizes that the smell was not just coming from whatever the boy threw into the water but from this odd woman who was apparently wearing what she just smeared all over his hands. Looking toward Ixius, "Keeps bugs away", she holds out the tube to him. Pointing to herself, "Sykala." She then tilts her head and asks of noone in particular, "Isn't it beautiful?"
Ixius takes the tube from Sykala. Nice to meet you.". He sniffs the tube's contents. "it's pungent stuff. No wonder it keeps bugs away." I wonder what else it keeps away? he thinks to himself. To be polite to the strange but alluring woman he rubs a little of the stuff on his hands. "Isn't what beautiful?" he asks, handing the tube back.
Slowly taking the tube because her attention is elsewhere. "The trees and the music".
"It is a damn big tree." Looking at the halfling: "I've only been here a couple of weeks. How about you?"
Looking at Ixius, while spreading some of Sykala's ointment on his neck.
"I arrived not so long ago myself. The name's Fippin. Your accent sounds like it's from Andoran. Am I right?"
"I-c-k-i-s and F-i-p", looking at each respectively as she tries to get used to the sound of thier names.
Sykala's words distract Fippin from his conversation with Ixius for a second.
"Ah thanks for the ointment lady. Common isn't your first tongue is it? Don't worry, it isn't mine either. That's nice armour you have on by the way. Does it breath well? It's so damn hot around here that even in my leather I sometimes feel as though I'm going to collapse from the heat."
Fippin is tall and muscular by halfling standards. He is wearing a suit of well worn, but maintained studded leather armour. He looks hot. His hair has bleached blond from the sun, and his face is well tanned. He has a longbow (sized for a halfling) slung on his back with a quiver of arrows. The bow is unstrung. He carries a handaxe, shortsword, and hunting knife at his side, along with a waterskin. A simple wooden holy symbol of Desna hangs from around his neck. The remainder of his adventurer gear (except his money, which is hidden on his person) is stowed away at his lodgings (presumably a rooming house).
"Fippin then." Suprised he could pick up on the accent "Yes, I grew up in Andora. Wher're y'all from?" To Sykala: "You can call me Ix. Lost of people used to."
The large cloaked and hooded figure striding up the boards stops and listens to the drunken man's words. He's accustomed to seeing men of weak constitution enchanted by spirits and other forms of dulling their minds, but this man's words catch his attention.
He listens, yellow eyes peering out from the shade of his cowl, and thinks, tries hard to remember of all the poems and songs in his small education if this one rings familiar.
He watches the man stumble away, and is lost - still trying to remember when a sharp smell wrinkles his nose. The half-heard conversation a few feet away suddenly draws him in.
"Fippin then." Suprised he could pick up on the accent "Yes, I grew up in Andora. Wher're y'all from?" To Sykala: "You can call me Ix. Lost of people used to."
"Long way from Andora, Ix," the voice is deep and dry. "Said you were here weeks now? Where says you a traveller can slake his thirst?" A breeze rolls the thin fabric of the large figures cloak, showing a broad shouldered shape...revealing a leather-clad form, twin blades in weathered scabbards hanging from either hip.
"There's a nice quiet place uproot I go to. I was thinking of heading there shortly. It's awful hot down here." Pauses. "You are?"
The hooded figure reaches up with gloved hands and drops back his hood, revealing the heavy jaw and greenish pigment of an orc, his human-sized eyes are an unhuman yellow. "Fel, I am called."
Fippen looks towards both Ixius and Fel.
"My clan is nomadic. I grew up on the road, so I can't say that I'm from any one place in particular, but I have spent time in Andoran, Taldor, Isger, Druma, and even Cheliax.
The strange stories you hear of this place in the northern taverns brought me here, and I've been looking for work as a guide or chaplain on a trip up river. I'd like to head into the heart of the Mawengi. They say there are lost cities up there filled with gold and jewels enough to buy a kingdom.
Now I don't need to buy a kingdom, but a little extra gold could sure serve me well."
...I'd like to head into the heart of the Mawengi. They say there are lost cities up there filled with gold and jewels enough to buy a kingdom...
"The Mawengi won't gently give up her riches, little one. Are you sure you're up to the challenge." There is no spite in his tone, as he regards the halfling through narrow, appraising eyes.
"I've heard enough stories to be aware of the risks. It's certainly not a challenge I would undertake lightly or on my own. But I don't shy away from a challenge, and I'm always keeping my eyes open for stalwart, reliable individuals who share my ambition."
"Ix and Fip" , she says seemingly pleased. At Fip's question about her armor she gets a puzzled expression, "Not breathing.....dead. Dragon hide." Running her fingers down the shimmering green scales which seems to repel grime unlike the rest of her. Picking up on the new conversation with the green man, "Ix, Fip, Fel.......Ix, Fip, Fel......". Unable to follow Fip's quick chatter and strange use of words her attention goes to the newcomer. Her blue eyes widen in wonder when Fel reveals himself, "What from?" and makes as if to touch his face.
Sykala stands 5'6" is very tanned and has a athletic build one would expect from someone constantly outside. Her eyes are piercing sky blue and her hair is dark, wild and unkempt seemingly constantly blowing in a breeze even when there is none to be felt. Her armor is made out of green scales that light hits and gives a iridecent glow too. She carries a shield that is very austere but made out of some beautiful dark wood. She carries many bottles and vials about her person seemingly made out of bone, gourds, and animal hides. A spear with a heavy looking iron forged head is strapped across her back.
Fel is not aware of any historic significance to the poem, other than that attempts to colonize the Mwangi Expanse have found the jungle to be untamable.
"There's a nice quiet place uproot I go to. I was thinking of heading there shortly. It's awful hot down here." Pauses. "You are?"
You are currently standing outside of 'Shaduk's Ninepins (a gambling den) on Rotten Plank Row. There are plenty of places to get drinks in Bloodcove and no shortage of drinkers to fill them. One of the most 'uproot' and, therefore expensive, is the common room at the Salt Reaver Inn. A little closer, and cheaper, would be Benbow's Wheelhouse.
Fippin looks towards Ix and Fel (kind of ignoring Sykala, who seems a little odd to him).
"I think we may have a few things in common. I am quite thirsty- Benbow's Wheelhouse isn't far across root. Perhaps you'd care to join me for a quick drink?"
"Sounds good. It's not my regular place, but it's ok"
Ixius prefers to stay further uproot, as far away from common pirates as he can get. Besides, he thinks he's rich.
"Well sometimes it's better to bump elbows with the riff raff. The uproot folk have big ideas and fat purses, but often no common sense. The people down here don't always smell the best, but if you can figure out which ones are worth talking to, then you can often learn a thing or two."
Fippin starts walking towards the tavern, glancing back to see if the others are following...
Her blue eyes widen in wonder when Fel reveals himself, "What from?" and makes as if to touch his face. ...
Fel turns his face towards scale-clad woman, his eyes widen as her hands approach - but he does not flinch.
"What from?" He repeats, confused. Then attempting to answer a question he doesn't fully understand, "From violence and savagery...I am half-orc."
"But only half."
"Violence and sav-age-ry. This I understand. The wild way." Pointing out into the jungle. "You stronger for it. What is "orc" that you are half of?"
Fippin starts walking towards the tavern, glancing back to see if the others are following...
Ixius follows
Fel tilts his head slightly, looking into the brilliant blue of the woman's eyes. Could there be a corner of this world so dark and remote as to not have heard of his forebearers?
"You are fortunate indeed, woman, if you truly have never heard the word. But perhaps we can speak as we drink..."
He starts after the halfling and the Andoran, gesturing with a gloved hand for Sykala to follow.
Fippin walks beside Ixius, and he glances back to note that Fel and Sykala are coming along behind them. He tries to whisper to Ixius, but since Ix is so much taller than him, his whisper is a little louder than what he would normally want it to be.
"Fel's bringing that strange woman with him. I'd kind of hoped he'd just leave her outside. Ah well, maybe she won't seem so odd after a few drinks."
As soon as he reaches the bar he strides inside and does a quick scan of the place to try to get a sense of the mood and the patrons (He's spent a fair amount of time in the taverns and gambling dens since his arrival, so I could see it being possible that he might recognize a few folk- he is pretty outgoing and chatty).
The entrance to Benbow's Wheelhouse is a dilapidated wheelhouse, the wood patched up with more recent boards with no effort to hide the repair or retain the original flavour. This is no kitsch attempt at creating a 'seaside' flavour. It's an old wheelhouse someone hauled over the roots and turned into a pub. Over time, various additions and extensions have been added haphazardly. The effect is chaotic but has resulted in a number of different rooms with a bit of privacy to each.
Fippin sees a few people he has a nodding acquaintance with but no one who he owes money to or who owes him money.
When the foursome enter Benbow's, they see, among other things, a well dressed elf sitting at the bar talking with the bartender. There is a bottle of wine and a harrow deck on the bar between them, and they appear to be in the middle of a game of Towers.
Harrow decks and gambling- that sounds right up Fippin's alley.
He makes his way towards the elf at the bar. When he reaches the bar he doesn't immediately say anything to the elf, but glances at the harrow deck and nods with approval.
He addresses the bartender.
"You have anything that's cold?"
He then looks back to Ix and Fel (ignoring Sykala)
"What can I get for you two? The first round's on me."
Ixius is glad Sykala followed them. "I'll have an ale, cold if possible, it's so friggin hot in here."
Sykala follows Fel into the structure. This many people crushed together inside a wooden box with no easy way out makes her nervous but she overcomes her obvious discomfort. She follows in the wake Fel creates. She senses that she has somehow offended the little man Fip but she is unable to fathom why. Shaking her head she sighs, things seem to always go this way with some people. Opening her hand she watches as the blue and green beetle she had captured for him skitters off...
"Fancy a game, little friend?" Keliwyn says to the halfling.
"Would you like something to drink?" Ixius asks Sykala as she approaches the bar.
She nods and seems fairly lost as to what to do and is still just standing behind where Fel sat.
He looks up at the elf and smiles
"Sure. I like games. How do you play?"
He then looks towards Ixius who is busy getting Sykala a drink, since Fippin had neglected to offer.
"Hmm. She didn't strike me as a drinker. My manners are slipping."
"Fancy a game, little friend?" Keliwyn says to the halfling.
Ixius takes a sip of his ale then hands Sykala hers. "It's not bad. I've had worse."
She sniffs curiously at it and then takes a sip and coughs with a suprised look. After she recovers she looks at it quizically and then takes another sip. Looking extremely thoughtful as she takes a third bigger drink, "Hmmm, I know of these plants. Barley?" After a few more drinks, "Hops?" She then downs the rest. Taking out a gold coin she gives it to Ixius having watched the other patrons do the same. Pointing back and forth between them she says, "More."
"You've never tasted ale?" Ixius drains his glass and orders two more. He gives the coin back to Sykala. "I've got it"
Ixius doesn't know what to think of the strange woman. "Where did you come from? Why are you in Bloodcove?"
"From far side of the Eye of Gozreh. His whisper called me here. You carry them around you." Ixius does notice he has no bug bites over his hands or arms but they did get to his exposed neck.
"That lotion did seem to keep the bugs from biting me. But bug bites don't bother me much. Here, feel my skin."
He holds out his arm.
She touches his arm and seems facinated, "So many different peoples". Looking at Fel and then back to him. "Where your lizard peoples from?"
He looks up at the elf and smiles
"Sure. I like games. How do you play?"
"It's not too complicated, and I'd be happy to show you how; just as soon as I finish winning another bottle from my friend here," Keliwyn replies.