DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE2: The Opening Chapter

[Roll initiative.]

GM

The sailor screamed as the spar and rigging erupted into flame, an unholy green phosphorescence that glowed and howled but did not burn.

He toppled backwards from the mast, windmilling his arms, his scream taking on a higher pitch as he fell.

He crashed against the deck of the caravel, skin splitting and blood shooting from the broken body in a fan.

Another sailor watched, wide-eyed with fear and gibbering prayers unintelligibly as the baleful green flames spread along the gunwales.

Around the ship raged storm unlike anything the crew had ever seen, tearing at the sails, at loose clothing, tearing at their souls. It was no natural storm, fireballs shrieked in tightening loops around the ship, as if each had a malefic mind of its own. The sky was black cloud, broiling and flashing with dark power. The stooping waves were created by foam, that twisted and contorted into horrifying, agonised faces.

The praying sailor screamed once, sucked in a breath and screamed again, louder, demented and drove his own knife into his eye socket, killing himself.

The balls of fire hackled and swooped in towards the ship, alighting on the deck in a burst of liquid-like black smoke.

Stepping from the smoke came the lumbering, jerking undead, teeth nattering. Their eyes were bloodshot, shrivelled and lidless. They otherwise looked like corpses that had putrefied, their flesh no more than a coat of red-brown slime on glistening yellowed bones.

The first zombie to emerge was attacked by the brave bos'n with an axe. The creature batted the blow aside and rammed its fist down the bos'n's throat. The man struggled, until the zombie ripped out its arm, clutching the bos'n's still beating heart.

"This one showed heart!" Said the zombie and its ilk cackled, trudging down the deck towards the aftcastle.

Men dived overboard to escape, others backed away to the stern, whilst up on the helm, Master Casados bellowed above the maelstrom.

"DEAD SQUALL!! Fight for your lives, by the gods, fight for your souls!"

The first zombie threw the heart over its shoulder.

"Yes, fight! We like souls when they wriggle."

Men cowered and pissed down their legs, men mumbled prayers and cried, men screamed for mercy, for their mothers.

Then the doors to the rear cabins sprang open and seven figures strode forth into the Dead Squall, weapons bared and a dauntless look in their eyes.

[+2 conditional modifier to the first player to post an appropriate one-liner.
You are confronted by a group of pathetic zombie mooks and one zombie leader. Post in any order, the outcome will resolve from your initiative rolls.]

Nestaron

"Wriggle on this."

His sling already whirling, a heavy lead slug in its leather pouch, he began to chant a blessing for those who were about to enter the fray.

[Bless]

Zoltan

An armoured figure steps out of the cabin, the sound of steel sliding out of a scabbard accompanies him. A look of feverish zeal is in his eyes as he steps forward, long sword and shield in hand. The words engraved on his shield seem to flicker in the light of the fire:

Katra n'ered'ruin mornu

"Who dies first?" He says, then pauses. "Oh, sorry. Too late." The sound of a chuckle seems odd coming from his throat.

[Using Smite Evil. Also let me know any time Racial Power applies.]

Seyja


Pulling her greataxe from her back, she stepped forward, a rage beginning to build, her face tightening into a rictus of hate.

"Undead should just be dead," she muttered, almost growling.

D

The slight Dark Elf figure clad in black leather looked out at the mayhem and smiled.

His eyes darted to and fro sizing up the opposition. Then he frowned. His dark eyes squinted at the gale and something he saw.

"Herb?" His strong calm voice called. "Is that you?" A flash of a memory had surfaces. The two of them tossing back fine elvish wine. Then another flash where D was slipping his blade into the now deadman's back.

Why could he remember those moments yet not his own name or that of his wife and child?

"And I thought I was screwed. You should have stayed dead. Oh wait you still are and twice as handsome."

With an off hand twitch he sent midnight blade darting at the head zombie.

[OOC Use Flying Blade. Also willing to use Sneak Attack damage if applicable.]

Tindarien

He runs out into the storm with the others, clad in leather armour and with a amulet hanging on a leather thong around his neck. He has a short sword at his belt, a small crossbow in one hand. He looks young but intense, his green/gold eyes taking in the scene before him, lips tight with determination.

He wastes no time. Raising his off hand, he makes a claw shape with all fingers bent and pushes power to compliment the storm as lightening crackles between his fingers before zapping forward towards the undead.

[OOC Lightening fork]

<Weston>

He hated undead. They should not be walking around! He took a moment to assess the tactical situation. There were lots of his companions charging in to melee. He might best support them from a distance with his bow. Trusting his companions for the moment, he sights in on the apparent leader of the horde and fires.

[[ Deadeye Archer, & if the to hit is even, Deadly Assault would apply ]]

GM

The Squall of the Dead tore around the adventurers as they confronted the putrid monsters arrayed on the deck before them. All was bathed in a flickering ghastly green light.

"We will feast on your soul, Princeling, and then s*** it into a hellhole where it belongs!" Sneered the zombie leader, waving its cohorts in to attack.

The so-called Princeling lunged sideways, hand flying out, hurling a black iron dagger at the undead.

It lodged in the leader's throat and it gurgled in annoyance, while the high elf Tindarien unleashed sorcerous energies upon the others. Lightning crackled from his fingertips, burning into the zombie mob and flash-frying two of them in their own foul juices.

As they tumbled to the deck as smoking charcoal, Nestaron rubbed his holy symbol (perhaps a disc of thick, smooth glass), muttering words under his breath. A warm, gentle light bloomed from within the lens and it was if the cleric and those around him felt the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Then Nestaron, his half-orc follower, Heilbutt, and Weston let loose with their stones, spears and arrows into the zombies. The raging storm robbed them of much effect though, and zombies and adventurers clashed in battle.

With a furious roar heard above the fray, Seyja surged forward, blood streaming from her nose, teeth gnashing, her great axe sweeping left, right, left, appendages scattering across the deck. One, two, three, four, the fifth zombie shrieked as the barbarian bore down on it and lopped off its macabre head.

Meanwhile, the undead leader, showing remarkable vitriol, leapt towards D, bringing both hands smashing down the rogue's shoulders. One of the zombie's forearms snapped and skidded off over the side of the ship, but the blow drove D to one knee.

Green balefire rippled along the zombie's skin, its bloodshot eyes staring at D in hatred and the dark elf knew its threats hadn't just been bravura.

But that maybe why the zombie saw Zoltan too late. The paladin sprang, punting off of a barrel with one leg and bringing all his weight to bear. The sword split the undead leader's head down the middle, only stopping when the blade was tangled in rotten viscera.

It was carnage. One zombie remained, legs broken and dragging itself pathetically towards Seyja, muttering:

"Yeah, I'm coming for you, bitch!"

Then it exploded into steaming gobs as it was struck by a bolt of deep deep, freezing cold. From where?

Jexric appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking almost as sick as the zombies. Even as he stood there, his stomach lurched again as the deck swayed. Wasn't it said that the Dragon Emperor pacified the Midland Sea in days of yore? Next time he'd take the road.

The greenish fire faded, leaving only sticky brown residue, whilst the squall petered out with an unnatural groan. The light changed and the storm clouds dissipated to reveal a clear blue sky and the shining sun. The gently rolling sea stretched out for miles around, and to the south was the darker band of a rugged coastline.

What had happened wasn't merely a nightmare, however. The deck was still a gruesome sight, and the ship's crew were cowed and upset. Too many of their mates lied dead.

The caravel was a trader, two masted; one lateen sail, one square, The Issitia.

Master Casados muttered a prayer to several pantheons of gods and stepped down from the aftcastle, doffing his hat.

"Easy now, lads, it's over. Do what must be done." He said softly, before approaching the adventurers. The ship's master was a haggard old sea dog.

"You've paid for your passage twice over. My thanks. Without you aboard, we'd - we'd have been doomed."

[[
D hp: 10/21; rec: 8/8; AC 14, PD 15, MD 11
T hp: 15/18; rec: 8/8; AC 11, PD 12, PD 14
N hp: 25/27; rec: 8/8; AC 17, PD 13, MD 13
H hp: 30/30; AC 16, PD 14, MD 10
W hp: 33/33; rec: 9/9; AC 16, PD 14, MD 11
S hp: 33/33; rec: 8/8; AC 15, PD 15, MD 11
Z hp: 30/30; rec: 8/8; AC 20, PD 13, MD 13
J hp: 24/24; rec: 8/8; AC 14, PD 12, MD 11

Zmb.Ldr hp: 0/60
Zmb.Mks hp: 4/56 (7/mook); no.: 0/8
]]

<Weston>

It was over before it even got started. A part of him was a bit disappointed. But mostly he was relieved that more damage was not done to the crew that was needed to get them to their destination.

The Master stepped in and started working to get his men back in shape. "You might get them working to clear away the filth", he offered. "Something to occupy their hands might help take their mind off the horror."

D

He grunted with effort as he got back to his feet. The blow had been a strong one. He shook his head and tried to clear it. To aid him in the satisfaction that the foul thing was destroyed he slipped the black blad back to wherever it had appeared from.

As he looked around at the carnage he nodded with a grim smile. It was a job well done. To the master of the ship he said "as you said. We had to fight." Part of him wanted to say something soothing for the losses. But he couldn't. It just wouldn't come out. Instead he rested and recovered, reflecting.

Zoltan

[OOC - Neil - We will have some issues with "Interrupts" during play, as far as it smoothly functioning. For example, when D was hit by the Zombie Leader, Zoltan would have used his Bastion Class Talent Power.]

With a grunt he rips his blade out of the tangle of hip bones and viscera of the Zombie Leader. Grabbing a piece of its rotted clothing he wipes the blade clean and then spits on the corpse.

Turning away from the carnage to let the sailors clean up, he nods to the others. Considering they did not know each other, other than his recent introduction to Weston, they had worked well together.

"No better way to meet new friends than over the slaughter of evil", he says.

Glancing closer at the Dark Elf who fought the leader with him, he notes the zombie slash. "You alright?"

D

He nodded "it was a mighty blow. When he was alive he couldn't have managed such. It must have be a powerful evil driving him. I will recover but it may take some time." His last line was said reluctantly.

<Weston>

"Your sword might have been cleaner =before= you wiped it off", he told Zoltan with a grin. "Might want to give it a better cleaning before you put it up. Wouldn't want it to catch the rot."

[[ First, I =suspect= that we were spared that this time because we 'cleaned house' in one round thanks to some =AWESOME= dice rolling <g> Something that might help, you may notice that I included my 'possible interrupt/adjustment' from a dice result based power in my description. Clearly that may not always work, but could help some <g> Just an idea. ]]

[OOC - Could help, MikeD. Zoltan has two or 3 different interrupts that can occur on an enemy attack, some even when the enemy misses. In fact he could have used two different ones during this single round of combat based on the rolls and results. Not sure how to run that. Seems a bit disjointed for Neil to make enemy rolls and then ask for interrupts before posting results.]

Nestaron

As soon as it was clear that the fray was ending, before the last zombie re-perished, he beckoned Heilbutt over and sent him below for the large case of healing remedies and bandages, though he suspected that triage would show the need for magical healing or quick release, given what the sailors had suffered. Looking over to see that 'D' was standing and relatively hale, he headed for the worst looking but still twitching and set to work.

Seyja


Breathing heavily, the barbarian female looked around with an almost confused expression, surprised it was over so quickly. Leaning on her greataxe, she wiped at her nose with the back of her left hand.

She had a coppery taste in her mouth and a certain queasiness in her stomach; it was always this way when coming down from a raging battle.

Seyja spit over the gunwales.

"Well, that learned 'em."

[[ Yeah, Zeim. I doubt that there is a single answer. And in the end, it will be up to Nep to decide what to use <g>

In my case (see above), there really was just one 'useful' possible 'perk', so I mentioned it and how I wanted to use it. Clearly that won't always work. But, and this may be the thing that helps the most, mentioning them ... even when you don't know ahead of time what you might do with the result ... will at least let the GM know when he needs to 'interrupt' things to get further input. Otherwise, it seems like a combat like the previous could take 2 weeks or more if done in the traditional manner. ]]

GM

Stretching his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck, D knew he'd have some soreness in the morning, but also knew he'd had far far worse.

Heilbutt was immediately by Nestaron's side when beckoned, bowing his head respectfully.

The half-orc was a monster himself, standing six and half feet of bulging muscle, pale, heavily freckled skin and just as much tawny hair on his shoulders and arms as on his head.

He wielded a short spear with a long, jagged blade and hailed from a fishing tribe in the Wake Islands. The half-orc wasn't much a talker, but he nodded in reply to Nestaron and ran to fetch the healing supplies.

The ship master stepped aside to let him pass, and smiled stoically at Weston.

"Aye, these men won't forget this voyage. Most sailors of these waters, think of 'em as the Empire's own tamed sea.

"But in the airs above, and below its bed, deep deep down? No, the Midland Sea is still a sea. Its trecheries are just less normal!" Said Master Casados.

The sailors busied themselves, doubly so once Heilbutt brought the supplies. But otherwise they stayed well away from the adventurers, staring at them in awe when they thought they wouldn't notice.

Although The Issitia's home port was Santa Cora, it was on a return voyage.

D had joined the ship as a passenger in Shadow Port, Nestaron, Heilbutt and Tindarien from one of the islands en route to Glitterhaegen. Jexric had boarded in Glitterhaegen itself, then they'd fished Seyja from the sea before they reached Axis, where finally Zoltan and Weston had joined the passengers.

They'd had a day or two to get to know one another. It was a large, slow ship, a caravel built for cargo capacity and all-weather sailing, with plenty of floor space for the more rugged passenger.

It wouldn't have made it through the rest of the day without its passengers. As it was, it would soon by at its next port of call, the fishing town of Rosencliff.

About it, the talk aboard told them several things.

It was ruled by a relatively young woman, the Lady Morgen, inherited from a deceased and elderly husband.

About a month ago, she vanquished the Black Salties pirate gang from this stretch of coast.

About a week ago, Sir Edward the Red's white horse had been recovered in the town, carrying treasure.

That treasure had already been seized by the ruler, but rumours were spreading that 'Red Ed' might have awoken something evil on a nearby peak called the Titan's Elbow.

The Issitia stopped at Rosencliff, like most other traders, for the sole reason of buying mother of pearl from the local fishermen.

So there was some wealth in the town, and now too, trouble it seemed.

D

The Dark elf spent much of his time above decks. Not that the sea air was all that refreshing, but it was better than in the bowels of the ship. If he was uncomfortable traveling on a rolling ship it didn't show. He was clearly a land lubber but he made do.

He would listen and engage with others about the new ruler and whatever scuttlebutt they had heard. He himself had little to offer, but stated he was headed there to meet the woman.

<Weston>

He was often on deck, but unlike 'D' ... why didn't he have a real name, he wondered, but had not gotten around to talking to the man about it. He seemed uncomfortable enough just being on the ship ... unlike 'D', he enjoyed watching the water and their passage across the sea. It was much easier than caravaning! and the view was nicer as well.

Nestaron

While he spent much of the voyage ensuring that all salvageable wounded were cared for properly, the rest of his time was generally caught up with drilling Heilbutt on his knowledge of herbs, adding to the Ranger's basic knowledge-base whatever seemed appropriate whenever he found gaps. He'd focused mainly on identifying and gathering. They also sparred, staff against spear, and he himself slept above decks whenever possible.

The half-elf spoke little, though when he did, the bare bones of the battle he'd walked into between miners and guardsmen came out. He'd not fought on either side, but rather set up a tent to one side where all comers were healed, regardless of politics. He'd seen Tindarien there of course, but didn't even know - or care really - on which side the elf had fought.

Zoltan

Once things settle down, he spends time cleaning and oiling his gear. the salt water plays hell with metal. He is a bit annoyed at the encounter with the zombies. Not that he regretted killing them. They needed killing and it was awfully convenient for them to come to him and not force him to track them down.

However he'd been playing cards and dice with the sailors at night below decks, and now they won't let him into the game. Oh, not that they won't let him play. They won't stop him., But he can tell things are different now. They're far too polite and deferential and it ruins the enjoyment.

So instead he sits up on deck, practicing sword routines and keeping his gear clean until they reach their destination.

Tindarien

After the battle, he quietly helps with the wounded. Not that he has skills in that area but some have difficulty moving and he can help with that. He nods amiably to Nestaron, occasionally asking where he might assist further.

Apart from this he has kept much to himself but watches the others as they pass the time. After a while he gets gracefully to his feet and moves over to Zoltan as he works on his sword.

"That was an impressive move on that zombie. You say you are against evil. Is this a general attitude or do you have any specific motivation?"

Seyja


She did not talk much as she stood there along the ship's railing, stance wide, lithe body rolling with the motion of the water. Ever so often she would sit against the railing and tend to her gear, especially her greataxe which she kept clean, oiled and very sharp.

When her eyes happened upon one of the elves aboard ship, they would narrow slightly.

Jexric
He moves unsteadily to the railing and spits into the sea, a futile attempt to get the last of the vile after-taste out of his mouth. Holding the rail with one hand, he glances down at his overcoat to insure no mess had stained the delicate fabric. Satisfied, he turns to survey to carnage on deck and notices the cowed crew slowly moving about.

***A song, a cry, to lift their spirits***

He takes his flute and plays a couple of 'High F' notes to get attention.

"Brothers and sisters listen
The sun is bright, the sea it glistens
A sign of inspiration
Take heart in your rejuvenation"

[ooc: will attempt the Cry of Rejuvenation]

[[Cry of Rejuvenation(née Pull It Together!) is a Battle Cry, so not suitable at the moment, Khamsin. But I think I understand your intention.]]

GM

With the sea calmed and evil vanquished, Jexric felt well enough to try his singing voice. A song that inspired fortitude might have been on his lips for the past hour, with the heaving of the sea and his stomach. Perhaps something about standing up against the Gates of Hell, standing your ground and not backing down...

As he sang, the caravel cut through the azure blue sea, sailing before the wind and making good headway. The pennants of Santa Cora and the Dragon Empire streaming from the topmast. The crew were encouraged by the bard's simple song and hard, earnest words, finding grim humour in their experience. They had survived, others had not, and their dead mates were salty enough not to hold it against them. There was laughter and rum stories as the dead crew were prepared for sea burial by the living.

Seagulls swept in from a sky that was blue with scudding clouds, the sun shone and flashed off of the rippling waves.

The ship master clapped Jexric on the shoulder.

"Was well done, aye! Thank you, my lad." He said. The craggy old man gestured to to the helm in the aft.

"Come, I'll help you find your sea-legs, by goshes!"

And so Jexric found himself standing at the helm of The Issitia, nursing the ship's wheel and feeling more in concert with the movement under his feet. Master Casados stood at his shoulder, puffed on his clay pipe and laughed heartily.

"Ho, we'll make a sailor of you yet, Mister Tulle!!"

The other adventurers made the most of the fine weather topside, perhaps standing in the gunwales and feeling the sea breeze on their faces as they spoke.

In the bow, Heilbutt approached Seyja and held out a tough, leathery batch, filled with soused herring and chopped onion. The half-orc also held one for himself. It was an hour before noon and good time for food.

"Would you eat with me?" He asked in a deep guttural voice, accented with the Wake Islands.

[Consider what the other PCs know about your character and quest so far. They all have something in common, in as much as they're bound for Rosencliff. Some in-character chat before we dock.]

Zoltan
(to Tindarien)

Scrape, goes the whetting stone against the edge of his blade as he talks with Tindarien.

He nods acknowledgment of the compliment, then pauses to consider a reply. "I am of the faithful of The Herald", when he sees more explanation is required he nods towards the words engraved on his shield and adds, "I believe, as my God does, that in order for good to thrive, nay, in order for Heaven to appear on this world, all evil must first be vanquished. Everywhere. And so I do my small part to bring about Heaven."

He smiles beneath the cowled hood, red eyes twinkling within golden skin.

"In your turn the Lightning Strike was quite effective. I always wondered how it felt to unleash the energies of the aether." He looks questioningly at Tindarien.

D

For his part the Dark Elf though generally willing to talk to whomever, wasn't particularly outgoing. He spent much of his time up on deck enjoying the air. He spent more time looking to where they are going rather than to where they have been.

He approaches the bard at one point and asks "so I heard your song. Do you know some of the older popular songs as well?" He mentions one about a Prince and a shepherd which offers frivolity. It is a common song sung by jesters in the high courts of some of the lands. Though it is a few years out of date.

<Weston>

He seems mostly lost in thought, standing near the bow watching the water and the way ahead. Several good men ... men he had joked and shared drink with ... they were dead because of those damnable undead. The women that waited for them in port would never see them again. And to what point. He knew that men died in war, but what sort of a war was this then? The dead wanting to see all men dead? It seemed to have something to say for the after life ... but it was not what most would want to hear.

Seyja


The sight of half-orc brought unpleasant recent memories to Seyja's mind and she almost replied negatively. She was hungry though and the smell of the food smelled good - simple and hearty, the kind of food that appealed to her appetite.

"I will eat with you," she replied, "and thanks."

Despite herself, she smiled at Heilbutt.

"Better than eating fancy elf food."

Tindarien
(to Zoltan)

He smiles slowly.

"It feels good actually. No-one has ever asked me that before. There is an excitement.. an anticipation.. as you gather the power.. then a huge surge of release as you direct it. Satisfying. It sounds a little like lying with a woman."

He chuckles, not looking old enough to have had that much experience but the maturity of his speech suggesting he has more years than his appearance suggests.

"My ambitions are maybe not as high as yours as my focus tends to be on ridding the world of the undead and those that create them. Seems our paths are not exclusive.."

Heilbutt
(to Seyja)

The half-orc shrugged but looked amused.

"To be honest, I'll eat anything!" He said, obviously glad that the woman accepted his offering.

"But in my tribe, they say eating alone is a sorrow for old men."

He tore a chunk out of the batch and chewed, keeping a wary eye on the swooping seagulls.

"I leave at the next port, with Nestaron and Tindarien. The Wild Wood sends word that an evil has fallen over the lands there. We seek to destroy it.

"If you were to join us, you would not eat alone... and your axe might find more foes to quench its rage."

Jexric

Standing behind the wheel next to Master Cassados and seeing the effect his short song had on the crew immediately helped him to feel better.

[to D]

As the dark elf approaches he bows slightly, smiling.

"Mae govannen" He says in the Elvish tongue
[ooc: Making an assumption that dark elves speak the elvish languag translates to 'Well met']

When D asks about the old song of the Prince and the shepherd

"Ta naa seasamin" ['It is my pleasure']..."Although I have heard a slightly different version of the Prince and the sheep..." His smile broadens and he hums a soft note then starts to sing:

A tawdry tale of Prince Ner'doWell
Who had a constant swell
Lo his wife J'nelle
Couldn't stand his smell
So off to the tavern to dwell

Kicked out of the sheets
He heard the bleats
Jumped the fence and with a creep
He pounced upon the hapless sheep

When morning came
The city guard took aim
His pants you see
Were around his knee
They laughed and laughed at his tiny wee
That was small as a flea

Stagger to the field and try to service
The sheep they bleat and then get nervous

So take heed to the lesson learned
Too much wine and even sheep will spurn

Nestaron

After meditating, which he generally spent at least an hour every day doing, he wandered over to where his apprentice sat with the Barbarian.

"I suspect many here are heading in the same direction, although perhaps for different reasons, just as they come from different places of origin."

He spoke directly to Seyja.

"What Heilbutt says is true. We would welcome you, should you wish to join us. But perhaps first we should be asking, if you care to share with us where you are heading and for what purpose?"

<Weston>

He smiled as he listened to the bard's song.

It brought back memories of simpler times he had been able to spend in taverns waiting for a caravan to start or after it had completed.

D
(to Jexric)

He listened and smiled. It was a rare treat that someone offered such respect. He responded in the more common tongue "thank you for the honor in yore speech. One time long ago I enjoyed that song and the way you spoke to me. Now however I can barely remember that time. I appreciate the little recall of a grander time.

"What brings a minstral across the sea? Do you seek fame and fortune?"

Zoltan
(to Tindarien)

He chuckles. "Yes, much like it. Though I've found there's a bit more savoring with a woman. With the right woman anyway. You want the release to take a long, long time."

He nods at the latter statement.

"Much aligned, yes. Undead, and those who truck with such, are among the worst of the evil abominations Perhaps we will find common ground?"

Seyja
(To Heilbutt and Nestaron)


She ate with gusto, wiping the juices from her chin with the back of her hand.

"To be truthful, there are not many viands which I would refuse." She grinned briefly.

"Eating alone is better than fasting in company."

Seyja frowned and looked out over the water as she considered what the half-orc had then proposed. She tensed as the cleric - some sort of elf - approached and expanded upon the proposal. She took another bite and took her time chewing before answering.

She gestured toward the bow of the boat.

"I am headed where this craft is headed. My purpose?" She paused and scowled.

"I have no immediate purpose. Ultimately, I seek vengeance."

Nestaron
(To Seyja)

He nodded his head, somberly.

"Who is it that has wronged you then? And are they likely to be met along the road we're headed on?"

Seyja
(To Nestaron)


She gave the cleric a suspicious look, then grunted sardonically and shrugged her muscular shoulders.

"If we... when we come upon him, I will let you know."

Nestaron
(To Seyja)

"That is not a great deal of warning, should he pose a threat to more than just yourself."

Tindarien
(To Zoltan)

He laughs, a light joyous sound.

"Yes I concur but there is rarely time to savour the magic as timing is crucial in battle and the sooner the opponent falls, the safer I feel."

He looks at Zoltan for a moment.

"I am considering.. starting a group with the purpose of vanquishing undead and their creators. I would want to find a diversity of skills amongst others in the group. Would this possibly be of interest to you? And would your faith allow such an association? I am currently on a mission to find a knight but maybe you could give the matter some thought? How far are you travelling by ship?"

Zoltan
(To Tindarien)

He shakes his head. "I am sworn to other Orders so my apologies but I cannot join."

He pauses.

"However, from what you describe I believe my earlier comment about common ground may apply. I myself am on a mission prompted by the disappearance of the famed knight errant, Sir Edward the Red. I travel to the fishing port of Rosencliff to begin my search. My Order fears he may have awoken an evil entity."

"Is this also your mission?"

GM

With crew swabbing the decks, The Issitia was starting to look spick and span once more. These large caravels needed a large crew to sail, and it was routine to double up on every role, to cover losses at sea and allow the crew to (un)load their own cargo, should relations sour with the stevedore gangs in the port.

So there were more than two score sailors left breathing, with only a dozen or so dead.

Plenty of spare hands to tend to the cleaning up, while the others crewed the ship.

The storm had blown out the cooking furnace on the middle deck, so the ship's cook was stuffing bread rolls with soused herring and chopped onions.

A jowly, bald old man shuffled along the wooden bulwark, rubbing his hand over the dark marks from the balefire. He was the ship's carpenter.

He saw Weston and scratched his stubble, looking in the same direction as the younger man.

"Soon be there, me duck." He said, "Tad bit different from Axis, though I hear yo in't no stranger to travel.

"Aye, one on the youths says he's seen you about, trekking the coast road as a sell-sword, eh?

"Another day I'd say 'Rather go by sea!' but after that storm... Never seen the like, though ay heard tales.

"Dregs of The Diabolist's zombie plague, some reckon. But with Necropolis over yonder, makes yo wonder, don't it."

As the carpenter talks, he leans down and sniffs the wood, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head.

Heilbutt
(To Seyja and Nestaron)

He crunched on the chopped onions and observed the talk between the barbarian woman and the holyman, though kept half an eye on the seagulls. He didn't trust them around food; from what he'd seen, the seagulls of Azure Bay would pluck lunch out of the hands of a medusa.

A thought occurred to him. "If what they say about Red Ed's treasure is true, maybe there is more to find, magic that might aid you in your quest?"

Seyja to Nestaron and Heilbutt


Another bite and the meal was almost gone. Seyja looked from Nestaron to Heilbutt and back to the cleric and almost laughed at the incongruity of standing between a half-orc and a half-elf and feeling more in common with the half-orc.

What a group she found herself among...

"Have you heard of the Iron Skull?"

She turned back to Heilbutt.

"Red Ed?"

Jexric
to D

'Fame and fortune?' A good-natured laugh at the question.

"Hardly. I am but a lowly minstrel in search of more stories and the occasional treasure. And, it seems, I have an admirer, or so I've been told. The Lady Morgen of Rosencliff, who evidently never mixes business with pleasure."

He offers D a sly smile and a wink.

"I also enjoy a challenge and it seems one has been issued. So time will tell if it's business then pleasure...or pleasure then business." He adds another wink as an exclamation point.

He looks at the elf, feigning horror. "My manners? Please excuse me as I have yet to introduce myself." He bows to the elf. "I am Jexric Tulle, recently of Drakkenhall but now a citizen of nowhere." He extends his free hand keeping the other on the wheel.

"Mani naa essa en lle?"
[ooc: what is your name?]

D

"Interesting," the dark elf commented. "I too seek to meet the lady."

At the question of a name, the elf seemed to pull back into himself for a moment. It was as if he was gazing across a void of time and space. Finally he says "I am called Pale Dusk now. That is as good a name as any, I suppose." He didn't elaborate, but clearly there was a lot more to go with that story.

"We should travel together. I do enjoy a good tale and a good song. I can't say that I can afford your lofty company for much of the trip, but I could buy a drink now and again, or at least share expenses along the way." The dark elf offered his hand, in a very human manner of introduction.

Jexric

He maintains his poker face at the elf's reply, but clearly intrigued by the mystery. And exploring mysteries always made a good song or story.

***Yes, this could be quite profitable.***

"Excellent idea!" His voice resounds with gusto and takes Pale Dusk's hand. "I think we should make a very good team and I thank you in advance for your kind offer of the occasional cup." He places both hands on the wheel and grins at Master Cassado then turns back, looking out over the water.

"So, good elf, do you mind if I inquire as to the nature of your business with the Lady Morgen?"

At the mention of her name, he notices a slight tingle from a small velvet bag tucked into the hidden pocket inside the inseam around his waist.

D

"Honestly, which if I may say is a new leaf for me. I am interested in the Lady and her rise to power. She has done well in a difficult situation. That intrigues me. Profit is also a motive. I just have to figure out where the profit is to be made."

Tindarien
(To Zoltan)

He nods, accepting what the paladin has said.

"Unfortunate but I accept your position."

He thinks for a moment before adding another question.

"If I had a specific mission and approached your order, might they consider releasing you to consider joining us on a temporary basis? This is a very early enquiry as currently there is only I."

He smiles.

"If you prefer that I do not do that, I will accept your decision in good grace. And yes it does seem that our paths are joined for the moment as our quest appears the same."

Zoltan
(To Tindarien)

He shrugs. "Anything is possible. I do not ask my Grandmaster where or how he chooses the missions for me."

He smiles at the last. "Good. It is always better to have someone to share a toast with after destroying evil."

He glances at the others scattered about the deck, then back to Tindarien.

"Have you spoken with the others? Not the sailors, I mean, but these other passengers seem to be much more than simple travelers, and I do not believe in coincidences."

Nestaron
(To Seyja and Heilbutt)

"I know of a tale handed down many times, of a forgeborn called the Iron Skull. It is said the creator was mad, and crafted it as a curse against all civilized races. The first command the dwarf was said to have given his creation was to slay its creator, standing in front of it. I know not if there is truth to it, and even if so, whether that is the truth or simply a truth among many."

He paused, allowing Heilbutt to answer Syja's other question.

Heilbutt

He hadn't heard of this Iron Skull or the tales, but the Wake Islands were hardly the hub of civilisation. So he blinked and answered Seyja.

"Ja," He said, "Sir Edward the Red. The knight errant. His horse ran into town half wild and laden with treasure, yet no rider. The Lady Morgen confiscated the treasure but it must have come from somewhere."

There had been some talk amongst the crew, scuttlebutt.

Seyja


Seyja licked the last of the juice from her hands and turned first to the cleric.

"I have met... it. The Iron Skull does not deserve to be a him. He has a new master, but he has not given up his old ways."

She glowered for a long moment, made her clan sign for the evil eye and then turned to the half-orc.

"Ah... I have heard the name, but know little more than that."

Tindarien
(To Zoltan)

"I met Nestaron and Hellbutt.."

Hie eyes look around until they light on the pair talking with the large fearsome female warrior and he points them out to Zoltan.

"..at the last place I visited. We accepted this charge together and have been travelling companions since. I agree though, it would not surprise me if most of this group were heading the same way. I too do not believe in strange coincidences as a rule."

Zoltan
(To Tindarien)

He tips his head towards Weston. "See the fighter with the bow over there, near the singer? Weston? He and I are traveling together." He chuckles. "My Grandmaster thought I needed a babysitter."

He glances at the ones Tindarien points out. "What about the woman? The one with the Greataxe they're talking to? Know anything about her?"

Tindarien can see a twinkle in Zoltan's red eyes.

The Carpenter
(To Weston)

Tutting, the jowly old man started rubbing down the wooden rail with some glass paper.

"Well I don't know where the heck they came from, but they left behind a right stink." He grumbled. "Maybe I can get some linseed oil from Rosencliff..."

The carpenter glanced up and squinted into the distance.

"Ay up, mate, is that a boat?" He said, pointing out a low, dark shape in the water up ahead.

If Weston looked, he would see an outrigger with what, two men in it?

<Weston>

He nodded his agreement about the smell. "You might want to wait until after there has been a good rain squall or two ... or a couple of good salt water rinses. Either of those should help get rid of the smell. I would think that oiling up the wood now will only 'seal' in the smell."

He looks in the direction indicated by the old man's finger. "Looks like pretty small ... I think I see two men." That would seem to suggest that they were getting close to shore.

GM

"Rowboat off the starboard bow!" Hollered the carpenter, cupping his hand and turning to the aft.

Sailors at the beakhead looked out and waved, shouts of "Ahoy there!" being raised.

The boat drifted up alongside The Issitia. It was gaudily painted and empty but for some sausage-like nets and two fishermen in straw hats and tunics.

They'd caught the sun and had obviously been out at sea for a while.

"Ho dere! What's goin' on. Yis bound for Rosencliff?" Asked one of the men in a coastal brogue.

"We's out here fishing for briny mussels, bejabbers!" Said the other, "Dey ain't growing in de waters around town no more, dat much is for sure."

Although frustrated, they didn't seem to be in distress. However, the briny mussel that provided Rosencliff with its mother of pearl grew in the mouth of the river. It was named the 'briny' mussel, but it actually favoured murky, brackish waters.

That they were this far off shore suggested trouble ahead.

<Weston>

He listened to the 'report' from the fishermen. "How far is it back to shore", he called down.

GM

"Around dat headland dere. Yis be dere in no time in dat grand ship!" He said, gesturing to The Issitia, and his partner agreed, nodding his head.

"She's a beaut, ain't she!"

"A beaut, so she is!"

"To be sure."

"To be sure."

"We'll be back in for afternoon milk, if any fair maidens should ask!"

"And if our wives should ask, we's gone to Axis to join dem gladiator games! We'll tink of dem while we's bleeding in da sand and shagging dem noble feeks!"

A ripple of laughter came from the crew, but was longest and loudest in the outrigger boat below. The fishermen might've lost their livelihood, but hadn't as yet lost their sense of humour it seemed.

Somewhat reassuring for Tindarien and Nestaron, as it suggested the damage this monster had done to nature must have been done very recently. If the evil could be stopped quickly, it's likely the damage could be reversed.

'Afternoon milk' was around 3 o'clock in the afternoon at this time of the year. When the cows were brought in for milking. That was still some four hours away, but from the headland indicated by the fishermen, the town was less than an hour away for the caravel.

Tindarien
(To Zoltan, then fishermen)

"Not a thing.. but Nestaron will probably have a tale to tell later."

His eyes are still on Weston and he bard and there seems to be some communication with others off to starboard.

"Excuse me.. I'm just going to find out what is going on with your companion."

He heads over to the side and looks down onto the two fisherman.

"Any news from Rosencliff?" he calls down to them.

<Weston>

"Well good luck with the fighting =and= afterwards", he said with a wink for the fellows in the boat.

GM

With their mussel nets notably empty, the fishermen weren't in much of a hurry but weren't ready to return to shore either. So they didn't keep apace of the caravel and the talk was necessarily brief.

"Mussels all gone, and da farmers ain't happy either."

"Nottin' new about dat! Hah! Ain't ever met a happy farmer!"

Laughter.

"But dey say someting's up in dem dere hills..."

"Yis should speak to da Captain of da Garda!"

"So yis should! And ask about da helm!"

"Oh, bejabbers, ask about da helm!!"

And with that they drifted further out to shouting distance, waving their paddles at the ship in farewell.

Tindarien
to Nestaron's group

He waves them goodbye, making a mental note of what they said. Looking around he thinks that he should check in with Nestaron and Hellbutt who are with the female fighter. He wanders over to them, nodding politely to the fighter as he speaks to Nestaron.

"The fisherman suggest there is something in the hills and suggest we should ask about the Helm to the captain of the guard. It would be a start. We are not far from disembarking."

<Weston>

Well he had been 'dispatched' here because of the 'problem', so that wasn't a surprise to him. He had hoped that the locals would have gone on their way. He didn't want their 'talk' to get the captain worked up enough to avoid their destination. Apparently others in the group ... he wasn't quite sure how they got to be a group ... or if they would end up working together, but apparently the Wyrm was not the only one concerned about the place ... were less concerned about scaring their ride off. Or maybe they thought that finding out now, at the risk of their ride, was better than waiting until they had landed. With a sigh and a shrug, he let go of his concern since there was not much he could do about that now.

Nestaron

Nodding in answer to Tindarien's words, he said simply, "It is good to have any sort of connection to begin with." He then went below-decks to get his things together, leaving Heilbutt with the barbarian.

The Carpenter
(To Weston)

Wisps of the old man's hair caught the breeze as he watched the fishermen with a squint.

"And they say sailors are strange in the bonce. Fishermen I'll ne'er understand. Worst on both worlds, I reckon." He muttered, as much to himself as to Weston.

He glanced over at the warrior, unsure of what to make of the taciturn man. But then the carpenter shrugged and tapped the rail.

"Well... perhaps yo is right. Saltwater and scrubbing, and if that don't work, some on that dreaded eight-score rum we snagged in Shadow Port!"

It had taken one of the crew's hair going white and losing their sight, for someone, likely D, to explain that Shadow Port's eight-score rum was not exactly the local drink. It was used as seagull poison and for lighting firepits.

Heilbutt
(To Seyja and Tindarien)

He enjoyed the ridiculous fishermen and wanted to laugh with them, but couldn't understand their coastal brogue.

He nodded respectfully to Nestaron when the half-elf left, then turned back to Seyja and Tindarien.

"He is a holy man." He explained to the barbarian woman, "Nestaron understands the true nature of things, that goodness is the breath of Creation. I will follow him.

"Don't stay here, sailing along these shores like a ghost. Join us, at least for while, and there will be more to chop than ropes and spars."

Master Casados

The ship master held a spyglass up to one eye, apparently ignoring the fishermen and instead focused on the headland they pointed out.

He gave a gap-toothed grin, then lowered the glass and roared.

"READY ABOUT, MEN! Clap on, cheerily now! Port is calling!"

Casados winked at D and Jexric.

"Had best gather your belongings, messrs, you'll be eating luncheon on dry land."

<Weston>

"I dislike not having my feet on solid ground, so I don't understand either group all that well", he said with a wicked grin.

"Please, don't waste the rum. I 'spect that you can better use of it 'fortifying' your mates", he said with a chuckle. "I can help you with the scrubbing ... at least until we reach port", he offered sincerely.

Seyja


Another elf approached, if possible even more elvish than the others, and Seyja involuntarily took a half step back toward the rail, her fingers reaching momentarily toward the haft of her greataxe for just a moment. The elf nodded politely though and Seyja relaxed.

She pretended not to be interested in what the high elf said, but she couldn't help but take notice.

Then the cleric went below decks and Heilbutt spoke to her.

"I have no place special to go." She shrugged her muscular shoulders.

"So I might as well go with you. It almost does not matter where I go. I will be found regardless." This time she did grasp her weapon meaningfully.

"And they will regret finding me."

Tindarien
(to Hellbutt & Seyja)

He is a little taken aback when the female warrior backs away from him initially. Perhaps she doesn't like magic? That lightening bolt might look impressive to those not used to such things.

"A warrior is always welcome."

He smiles.

"I'm Tindarien by the way and I think it may be time to go and gather my belongings."

He pauses for a moment to see if she reciprocates with her name before turning and heading below deck.

Zoltan

Now left alone he observes the gatherings going on around him, chuckling to himself at the fisherman's joke, but taking note of the comment about the Helm.

Shrugging, he is about to move towards some of the others when the Captain says they will be docking soon and to go gather gear, so he heads below decks and puts his few travel belongings together.

Coming back up on deck, he sets his pack down where it won't be in the way and adjusts his hood to cover more of his face. He then approaches the female barbarian and her half-orc companion.

"Impressive display against the zombies." He begins with a compliment. His red eyes are barely distinguishable beneath his hood. Heavy scale armour adorns his body and he carries both a long bow, long sword, and a shield with an inscription across it's face. An intricate corded bracelet of some sort adorns his left wrist.

Image

Image

Seyja Banic
(To Tindarien, Heilbutt & Zoltan)


"Seyja Banic," tapping her chest with a thumb and giving the high elf a curt nod. "I do not have much in the way of belongings, but I should probably do the same."

She did feel comfortable in the company of elves, but saw no reason to insult them unnecessarily.

Before she could leave the deck, however, the paladin approached and spoke. Seyja was not familiar with his race unless... she had always thought tieflings to be creatures of legend, if that was what he was.

He certainly looked the part...

She nodded acknowledgment of the compliment.

"They made me mad," she replied, shrugging.

"I need to get my gear," she said and went below decks, returning in mere moments with a small rucksack, winding a leather sling around her head as she returned.

"Be you tiefling?"

Zoltan
(to Seyja)

He waits for her to return, both Tindarien and Hellbut having left to get their own gear he is by himself. Once she returns, he listens to her query.

"Aye." He says with a smile, red eyes twinkling. "At least that's what I've been told."

"And yourself? Which barbarian tribe are you from?"

Seyja


She pursed her lips in thought, then shrugged her muscular shoulders.

"You are the first of that race I have met," she finally said.

"I am Thuringii," she said, folding her right arm across her chest and tapping her clenched fist against her left shoulder as she spoke the name.

"But we do not consider ourselves barbaric."

D

The dark elf watched the others gather their belongings and prepare to go ashore, even though the shore wasn't quite close enough to go there, yet. He rarely left anything where anyone could find it, at least not in this new life. So he made no move to gather anything, it was all on him.

He wandered over to the group that had formed and asked "so it would seem you all have joined forces for some sort of an action on shore. I too traveled here for a purpose. I am interested in meeting the Lady who has come into power. I imagine that her interests will align with whatever it is you are up to. Is there an willingness for form a lager contingent?"

The Carpenter
(To Weston)

The carpenter clucked and shook his head at Weston's offer.

"Don't care if yo are a sell-sword, like they say, shan't ay yo scrubbing up after that foul scum. Not after yo saved our skins!"

Chuckling to himself, he took a dented pewter flask from his tunic and handed it to the younger man.

"Eight-score rum, straight from Shadow Port. It's yours, but yo want my advice? Whatever you do with it, don't drink it!"

Heilbutt

He flushed when Seyja agreed to join their party, gladdened and excited to have her as a companion. Taking his leave, he went to assist Nestaron with their belongings. He generally insisted on carrying both his and Nestaron's, and Tindarien's if possible. Something he'd learnt from his master, the dwarf ranger Fuldroick.

GM

Ship's Master Casados took the steps down from the aftcastle, his mutton chop beard bristling as he watched his crew with the eyes of a seasoned captain.

"Aback the hatches and hitch the windlass. Let's get some air down there!

"You there, look lively!!"

He walked the deck up to the forecastle, bellowing obscure nautical orders at his sailors, who understood them almost instinctively.

The adventurers assembled along the rail amidships as the caravel came about, the hull leaning over as it cut into the choppy water around the headland. Fine spray dappled their clothes and faces, the crew whooped and hollered and the seagulls around the ship were lofted away by the gusting wind.

The sails cracked and strained as the wind filled them and The Issitia surged, the deck seesawing joyously as it took the waves.

[Intro Music]

Cheers from afore heralded the arrival of more seafarers; Sailfin dolphin leapt from the bow wave, their bronze skin glistening in the summer sun and their sail-like dorsal fins forming a flotilla with The Issitia's own.

Land was soon looming close on the starboard side, only a quarter mile away.

The pale pink cliffs were rugged, often overhanging, with natural terraces along the tops that bloomed with dense, hardy greenery, mostly wild grasses and cluster pines.

A sea eagle took flight, launching from its cliff-top eyrie, stark black and white feathers and bright yellow beak like a butcher's cleaver. With a wingspan as wide as a horse was long, perhaps it was intrigued by the dolphins.

It soared at a few hundred feet, circling upwards and above the ship before banking away to the east and picking up speed...

Across the wooded headland, over fields where farmhands toiled in the sun, and to a town built upon the side of a cliff, overlooking a dark grey river. No ramshackle rustic dwellings here, the buildings were made of rough-hewn stone, with a mixture of slate and terracotta rooves, and fortifications protected the landward side.

The sea eagle swooped low passed a turret adorning the tall tower overlooking the town. It wheeled around and gave a shrill cry.

A woman stood in the parapet and lifted her chin in acknowledgement. She was beautiful even in her forty-eighth year, with lustrous black hair, dusky skin and a diaphanous gown with a plunging neckline. That eye-catching valley was deep enough to be a landmark, but her sultry gaze was even more eye-catching. The Lady swirled and disappeared back into the tower.

The eagle flew on, following the river far below. Steep valleys and sharp-crested hills, deep river gorges with foaming white water, a rugged, wooded wilderness. Onwards and onwards, the eagle beat its wings at a steady, rhythmic pace, as if in time to a galley drum. Then it soared and climbed away.

Below it a hill had appeared, far higher than the surroundings and where it straddled the river, the river had worn a hole through its middle. It looked like the crook of a gargantuan arm and its sides were swathed in a thick, mysterious cloud. The peak was the Titan's Elbow and the adventure had just begun.

[[End of session 1. Go to HHE3: The Invite.]]