Skaug - Sunday Sessions

[Tridisus]

In the meantime let me rp the end of that session (as i felt it was a bit rushed), players from my sunday session please feel freeto jump in.

Indeed that night no spirits awoke and floated through town, there was no ill voices on the wind and life looks to have returned to normal in the fishing town of Brannoch. A few fishermen extended a sulky apology to syranious and asked him to a game of cards to apologise, Syranious refused politely always somewhat of a black sheep he seemed more interested in the Steel Talons and Captain Peytana....

The muddled faces stare at the strange man introduced as Syranious, his skin seems watery and hair is soaking as if he had just been swimming. his eyes are cat like and are deep yellow the stare is slightly unsettling but his conversational manner seems good enough. You listen to mayor for a while grovel to Syranious for the misplaced arrest but says he didnt want the locals to lynch him. After a while and a few drinks and idle introductions Peytana starts to talk:

Pey'tana: It has been a while Syranious, almost two years since we left Athlanka for distant shores, I was expecting Quartz to still be with you.

Syranious: Dear Pey'tana i must say this visit is most fortunate, i thought our last meeting would be it. Perhaps you have calmed down? No matter *rubs his wrists which look like they have been bound* i thank you and your friends for the assitance it seems always blame the outsider is common no matter where one goes.

Pey'tana: That depends have you stopped being so stubborn? We can settle our differences some other time. I am not here to talk about the past my companions here seek the city of Kressilacc and you can help them you owe me for getting us out of the city alive.

Syranious: Payment for getting us away from Amnian witch hunters? or saving me again today?

Pey'tana: In order? Just like the barricade or Murann?

Syranious: You seem to only remember the missions that went bad. Need not matter i will help you with Kressilacc. I have no love of the Sahaugin as you well know I helped the Tritons attack the city once many moons ago. I doubt it has changed much but i will be more then happy to assist. *looks at the group* Interesting bunch you have here, they will all drown within minutes if they are going... infact only you and him *points at jafar* look to be adequately equipped.

Pey'tana: The rest have special helmets and are more then caparble of performing the task

Syranious: Very well then i have kept a map i made of the city in case it ever was needed.

Pey'tana: Good can we have it?

Syranious: I will make one for you on the way...

Peytana: You are coming with us?

Syranious: I have had enough of the quiet fishing life for now, and so i will come. No doubt you are in need of someone to save these folk if something goes wrong? Perhaps I can help...

Peytana: Getting the group back together it would seem, i certainly need the deck hands and a familiar face would help, just remember i am Captain.

Syranious: As you wish.

The company then retire to merchant style comfort within the Grinning fool, perhaps the last good nights sleep before they go to the depths. The company set off back to the ship just past dawn, the fishing fleet has already been out and caught its load for the day, fresh fish is wafting through the air and the group notice Syranious buying a large swordfish down at the docks he has a sack next to him and a long blade strapped to his back. Stocking up on supplies you see Peytana ordering more provisions. The group assemble in the rowboat and each man grabs an oar to get back to the Blood Drake.

Once back aboard and provisions loaded below, the ship once again casts off heading east and around Snowdown and then north west to the location of the shark head rock as given by map on the now dead old man from corwell.

The Journey is long and almost takes a week with Jafar navigating all the way under the watchful eye of Peytana, eventually though you come accross the rock at the right baring... It is on a desert island, an old wreck sits in the lagoon. A moment of quietness fills the adventurers as they row to shore with equipment and the special helms. The group makes camp and waits to go into the cave...

[Blindhamsterman]

During the see voyage 'Lynx' is found in a few places depending on the time of Day:

During the hours of dawn and dusk he is found on the main deck, moving through a series of slow and graceful almost dance-like movements, finely crafted silver rapier or longsword in one hand, the other hand empty, alternately he moves through lightning fast sword-routines that a trained eye can tell are designed for fighting defensively more than aggression. While he is training his expression is calm but focused, his sword oftem seems to whistle and on at least one occasion he has been heard to sing whilst performing these routines. He practices like this regardless of the weather, likely evoking strange looks from the crew and companions.

Assuming good weather the majority of the daylight hours are spent keeping his gear in good condition, regularly he'll be seen with whetstone to his blades, most often he'll be looking out to sea whilst doing this, his mood during these times could be described as distant, often appearing to be lost in thought, or elsewhere. If the weather has taken a worse turn he'll instead be found below decks doing much the same, though his mood is far worse, often prone to irritated remarks if spoken to.

The remainder of his days he makes himself useful, helping with whatever tasks the ships captain requests of him, or at times speaking to the only other elf aboard ship - Rain.

The twilight hours are spent studying various scrolls, and books that he removes from a too-small pack for them all. It is during this time that he is also most likely to speak to the mercenary company in any great deal, and then only to find out if anything in particular would be required to be scribed.




His attitude toward the various members of the ships party is also noted as varying a great deal:

Barid: Lynx seems to mostly avoid the mercenary commander, but perhaps on a few rare occasions, minor conversation will break out, then only after enquiring about required spells. Those that pay attention to such things, may also note that these conversations end with Lynx leaving, frowning.

Jafar: Lynx and Jafar already may have been noted to not see eye to eye, for his part, he's inclined to place veiled insults and critisism Jafars way, and no doubt receive much the same.

Hully: Lynx likely speaks rarely to the halfling, though his general reaction toward him is more favourable than most of the humans.

Buttercup: He's likely to find her manner to be somewhat uplifting, and would also speak of magic if she came to him or queried him

Kallun: Lynx seems to show at least a little respect for Kallun, clearly appreciating the others similarly stoic, quiet attitude.

Weaver and Rags: These two humans are mostly not spoken to, it's clear Lynx is wary aroun them both.

Ships crew: Somewhat better attitude toward the captain, seems to be willing to help with ship work, even more menial tasks, his natural grace and balance probably making him good at it. Rain is approached most of anyone on the ship, clearly Lynx seeks company of his kin where he can. The rest of the crew, much like Weaver and Rags are left to their own devices

[Vendrin]

((thanks for this guys, will post my own when I have a moment))

[dergon darkhelm]

Hully Tosscobble has become more withdrawn and introspective since boarding The Blood Drake and making for Shark's Head Rock. During daylight hours he remains in a tiny cabin below decks, often ruminating over the small collection of exotic coins that he has collected over the years. Gear already long readied and prepared, the halfing primarily remains in quiet meditations in the dark hold below. He will speak with other s when they seek him, but does not seem to be closely engaged with and of the small group or crew.

Only with the approach of middle night does Hully come above deck. With the schooner on a beam reach and making fair speed under the direction of its crew, Hully nightly finds his quiet spot on the foredeck near the bowsprit. He smokes a pipe, and stares out on the water. Then, when the time is proper, as evidenced by a thickening of the cloud cover or the setting of Selune bringing a deep darkness that makes it nigh impossible to separate the sea from the sky, Hulurin Tosscobble performs his prayers in the deepest dark.

*muttering to himself* Shadowlord, Trickster...whate'er I'm sposed te be callin' ye ...... I sure this hope this be bold 'nuff deed fer ye. *pauses and taps ashes of his pipe over the rail, disappearing into the inky black sea* Ifn it ain't well, then I kinna 'magine what would satisfy ye.

[causk]

Jafar Al Khalid spents most of his waking hours above deck, either helping in the running of the ship or lazily lounging in the crow's nest or other spots most exposed to the wind. His mood seems generally much improved, excepts when the weather turns towards rain, a condition he seems to resent as if it was a personal slight, or when loosing a more considerable amount of coin gambling. The later he is involved in rather frequently, despite his apparant inaptitude for it. Consequently his popularity among the other crewmembers seems much improved.
Among the other irregular crewmembers he seems most friendly towards pey'tanna. Barid Mosinel he adresses with a practiced, exceedingly formal manner, although the gestures used may seem strange to those not familiar with calimsham customs. He speaks to hully in a slightly less reserved manner, yet far what would be considered friendly by most. The elf Lynx is mostly ignored, although a cold disdain is evident whenever words are exchanged. His tone seems more relaxed towards the other, maybe even of the friendly rivalry sort.

[Riotnrrd]

Removing due to n00bishness.

[Blindhamsterman]

I'll reply via PM, technically the events we went through last night happened before the events you're reading in this thread, comic book time!

[Riotnrrd]

I am an idiot and meant to send in private.

Deleted previous post... SORRY!

[Vendrin]

The priest and commander is rarely seen above deck during the voyage. He is most often found sitting below deck either reading from a variety of books in his pack, each seeming to have been written in a different language, or writing into a small black leatherbound book. He does not sleep with the rest of the crew on the small hammocks, instead sleeping in one of the chairs below deck.
He speaks with any who come to him, but does not seek anyone out except for Captain Pey'tana occasionally to ask for progress, and the Gensai Syranious to ask what to expect from the Sahugin.

[jmecha]

**The days and nights aboard the Blood Drake are spent in a near relentless cycle of demanding physical labor and mental toil, only occasionally escaped for a few hours of unconsciousness in the comfort of a below deck hammock each day.**

Kallun works hard for long hours under the sun and stars, aiding the captain and crew where they are short handed. He provides what he can with his strong hands and back, working near wordlessly under their guidance and direction. Only occasionally does he speak, asking for clarification of requests made of him under their skilled guidance.In efforts to keep himself free of becoming snagged or entangled he forsakes his heavy and loose fitting robes, and instead works with his chest bare, his random collection of scars exposed to the harsh sun and salty sea air. By the final days of the voyage Kallun’s skin is well sun baked and dark save for the faint white lines of scar tissue that randomly dot the landscape of his arms and torso.

In truth the hours of physical labor were far easier for Kallun then the quiet hours in which his mind was allowed to race across his thoughts and concerns. Despite his years of training, despite the martial prowess, breathing exercises, and his mental discipline, Kallun was still a man, and a young one at that. His mine mulled over the team and his unexpected position as second in command. He had signed on with the company for nothing more then to face the unique challenges such a life would provide, and now his mind worked over the challenge of command before him. He was traveling with people from across the realms, each dangerous and each with only their own interests driving them.

Would such a company listen to him in the absence of the Banite or would they turn to arguments amongst themselves?

Could he lead such a band as this? If they did pay heed to his words, would he provide the direction needed to even be an effective leader of men?

Other then continued survival and the potential for reward, what could unite such individuals as he was with into a team?

He thought also of his own mortality as a man, Kelemvor’s edict over the faithless and the false, and what such things meant to the traditions of the Old Order. It was a simple concept, the landscape had changed, and so should the map. The thought though of changing what has been for so long though filled him with doubt and made his mind tremble and stumble over it’s self with fear. For as long as it has been, the Old Order’s teachings and traditions have been the map that guided men through out history towards their potential.

Who was he to think such required alteration by his hand and mind? Who though was there for him to seek out for permission or guidance?

What remains of the Old Order are little more then nomadic students like himself and small wilderness communes scattered across the realms, no one claiming authority over the Old Order beyond their own understanding of it’s traditions and teachings.

Was it weak of him to even entertain thoughts of seeking a patron amongst the divine?

Was the idea of the Old Order evolving into a tradition that can aid men reach their potential regardless of faith, instead of being faithless a thought worth following, or discarding?

Could the Old Order as a tradition remain a faithless entity true to it’s self, while it’s individual members lived beneath the patronage of the divine most appropriate to each individual, as they walked their own paths of self discovery?

If this idea of his, this design to change the map to reflect what is, instead of leaving it be which is a reflection of what was…..if the Old Order was to evolve which of the gods would he even seek as a Patron?

True to form though young Kallun’s mind being that of a young man, he also worried about matters far more personal to him, and far less important to the Realms then matters such as the future truths of the Old Order and the demands and responsibility of a position of command. He thought of the druid Liana of the Golden Oak and the kiss she had gifted him once, he wondered if he would live to kiss again. In all of his short twenty some years, he had never laid with a woman and as he sailed closer to Shark Head Rock he regret this more. He thought of Mistress Pathra and her house of pleasures and what it would be to taste such pleasures as a woman of Sharess could offer.

He thought of Scisha and her cold and ruthless demeanor, did she have such concerns as he did?

Have her years of training and dedication to her pursuit of being the best left such things like taking a lover a mystery to her as well?

He thought of Sylvaine, the hours they had spent together and how easy she was to talk to, and how much easier even still it was to listen to her, and how hard it was to shake thoughts of her from his mind when thoughts of her appeared. He remembered the dance they shared and how awkward his feet were beneath him before he lost himself to the sheer bless and joy of the music and the company of his dance partner. He felt embarrassed when he thought of how he felt for her, and even more so when he imagined how unlikely it was she felt the same for him. She was a noble who took her title and responsibility for such seriously, he was a low born son of a merchant who had forsaken his family’s wealth to pursue a path of ascetics practices. The two of them ever pairing romantically was such an unbelievable thing that is was comical in it’s ridiculousness. Often it was this ridiculous comedy that he thought of last before sleep would find him in his rickety hammock.

[Tegid]

Great posts guys. Wish I could be roleplaying with you. Real life's been too fun lately, keeping me away from the computer.

If you're curious, Kard is still alive. In character, he's been very aloof, performing in various inns under a spell of narcotics.

[dergon darkhelm]

*Though the fit was magical, the aboleth blubber in the breathing mask never felt comfortable. The sickly, soft material sucked at his nose and mouth, paradoxially seeming to steal his breath even as it allowed sustenance of life below the ocean. Hully had to resist the urge to pull it off as he descended through the vertical shaft in the island cavern on Shark's Head Rock alongside the others in his party toward the Sahugin lair. The Priest of Bane took the point. Lynx, Jafar and Kallun followed close behind with Jax and Rags next. The two halflings, Hully and 'Cup kept the rear, looking at one another nervously as the water covered their heads and transformed their world into murky darkness*

(( six hours later))

*Hully coughed foamy blood into the mask, pinking the aboleth blubber. They were all going to perish, Hully perhaps last to die, but all of them. There was only one passage out of Kressilac and the great Sahugin priestess and her minions held the exit firm. Spells were already spent, elixers consumed, and nearly every possible means of attack, both magical and mundane had been consumed.

Lynx and 'Cup both lay dying on the sea floor, blood rushing out of deep gashes as the sharks circled about. The Banite priest, knocked nearly senseless by the touch of the Priestess of Sekolah would soon fall if he stood alone any longer. The others in the goroup were bleeding from myriad wounds as well. Perhaps Hully could get the orb off of the Priest unnoticed and sneak past the entire sahugin force. If he did, then all the others would die. *he frowned to himself and shook his head taking a few more heartbeats to decide as he comrades slipped closer to anihilation* "Nope. Just count on Brandobaris, Hully" he said to himself resolutely. "Yer luck ainna run out yet, Tosscobble".... The hin pushed out from hiding, his crossbow loaded with strong electrical bolts, and charged the Priestess on the bridge.........

[dergon darkhelm]

((approximately two years later))

Hully waited for the small chain gang of elven slaves to pass then turned off into a small urine-stained alley off the market commons in Skaug. He opened the tiny satchel at his right hip and pulled out a helmet from the extradimensional space. He hadn't looked at the thing for some time as even thinking about the sickening suction of the aboleth blubber that powered the item still make him gag.

The battle below the sea was long over. The strange group of men that that the wizard Arif had assembled had long gone their separate ways. The wizard had his orb and Hully had been paid.

For the last number of seasons Hulurin had spent as little time on the isle of Skaug as possible, but now he had a reason to be there and work to do.

He tucked the helmet away and began to make for tower hill, the home of the wizard. Rumor on the docks was that since gaining possession of the orb the arcanist never left his tower and rarely took visitors. Hopefully Hully's past work for Arif would count for something as Hully sought his aid in magics against the hags of Gwynneth. He crossed the narrow wooden bridge to the tower door and climbed up on a nearby stump to rap the knocker, still carved in the face of some strange demonic beast.

"Hope ye ain't gone all the way insane yet, Arif", Hully mutterred to himself as he waited for the door to open.


(( just got to thinking of this story recently and wanted to try to tie it back in a bit))