High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)

The world background data dump has been moved to this thread in the Rogues Gallery.

This campaign, my players wanted something different... namely a campaign based on and around the sea. So prepare for some nice, swashbuckling, and rather goofy action, as we join:

HIGH SEAS SHENANIGANS!
Being a tale of piratey things.

Relevant Maps:

The Kubalia Sea (The Old World)
Note: Erelion is the furthermost east point of the Empire. The entirety of the Empire stretches even further back towards the West, dwarfing this map.

The New World
Yellow Cities: Imperial Colonies
Brown Cities: Kandor Colonies
Red Cities: Leesian Colonies
Blue Cities: Kubalian Colonies
Gold, Gray, and White Dots: Rumors of gold, silver, and diamonds respectively

Sweeeeeeeet!

New SH from Emperor Valerian!!!

Is it too early to start whining for updates? ;-)

Heh. Wait till the other one's done!


I"m probably going to go the route of doing one short update for each SH each week, if possible. That way there'll be progress on both.

Speaking of which, here are the PC's that will be appearing in this adventure film! (And my players, if I got something wrong below on your character's description, let me know and it'll get fixed pronto)



THE CAST OF CHARACTERS

Visiel Warforged Fighter3 (Nayu’s former player) An incomplete pic can be found here.
Visiel is something of an enigma. Due to the frequent, recurring wars between the Empire, Kandor, Lees and Kubalia, the Imperial Navy found itself in need for something to salvage the wrecks of the great naval battles to reuse cannon, and collect or destroy valuables or important secrets that sank with their ships. To this end, with the assistance of the neutral gnomes, the Empire has succeeded in creating several sentient constructs, called ‘Warforged.’

Production of these machines is very slow, and many still do not know of their existence. Some warforges have managed to wander far from their supposed areas, confused by human activity and seeking to ‘blend in.’ Viseil is one of these. Since the short-lived ‘Peace of Cantoris’ two years ago, the warforged were released from service. With the recent outbreak of hostilities once again, more are sure to be produced, and those that have since wandered are sure to be called back.

While he does not think simply, Visiel tends to think directly. He knows that he is good at salvage work, his size and weapons skills make him intimidating, and he knows humans frequently will need his help. He left the production facility two years ago, and has constantly missed the safe hierarchy of command. From what he understands, human naval vessels both have a need for salvage workers, and also have a strict, comforting hierarchy, as well as constant work. Perhaps one of them could use his service, and just in case he finds trouble, Viseil always has his great hammer (two handed hammer the same size as a greataxe), or his expensive, but useful, wheel-lock rifle.

Viktalia Formorteran (Chirops subrace) Variant Bard2 (Felonca’s former player)

Viktalia is something of a minor celebrity. A bard of a little renown in the city of Erelion, Viktalia is an adventure seeker... something rather unusual for her race. Most Formorteran’s are content to stay on their isle, and try to avoid the brewing conflict between elves and humans that threatens to envelop them. Viktalia cares not about the fighting... elves are elves, humans are humans, and all are interesting to get to know.

Viktalia is from the Chirops subrace of the Formorteran race. Graced with beauty, she looks remarkably human, save her furry skin, her head, which resembles that of a fruit bat (or fox bat), and great leathery wings she usually keeps wrapped about herself. A dancer by training, her ears, fingers, and wings are adorned with numerous small trinkets and chimes that jingle when she moves. She also shares with her distant, less developed cousins an obsession with fruit; she has been known, at times, to perform for payment in kind of fresh fruit.

However, Viktalia has also seen her share of trouble during her days. When traveling, she usually sports two kukris, and a pistol, but even when she dances onstage clad in the slightest of clothing, she still remains armed. Her elegantly carved and beautiful baton, which she uses during her dances, contains a secret chamber. When the proper button is pushed, a short, but razor sharp strand of steel wire shoots out of the end, allowing her to slash any would be malcontents.

Viktalia is hoping that she can find a ship headed either to Kubalia, or the New World. As big as Erelion is, she is starting to grow bored after spending several months here. Maybe a ship in the harbor will need an entertainer, or maybe she can purchase passage?

(Note: Viktalia’s player designed her race by herself. The creature gets an ECL of 1, gets a racial bonus of +2 on Balance, Climb, and Jump checks, alongside a subracial bonus of fly 20ft.(average), and +2 Charisma and +2 Dex in return for a –2 to Strength. There’s other subraces she designed than the one she took for Viktalia. Maybe she could post them? )

Siran Rapp Human Cleric3 (the new guy) St. Heraclius (LN Saint of War)

Siran has long been a priest. Tall of stature, graced with the red eyes that signal a descendant of the ancient Desert Dragon, as well as a wicked spiked chain, Siran looks the part of a warrior. The second son of a minor noble from the north, Siran knew that his elder brother would succeed to the family title. All that was left for him was either mercenary work as a freelance warrior, or a life of learning within the church.

Ever resourceful, Siran managed to combine these; he took as his patron saint St. Heraclius, the patron saint of warfare (Domains: War, Destruction). The clerics of Saint Heraclius often find themselves on the frontline of the wars waged by the Empire, and Siran was no different; he saw service as ship’s healer and chaplain aboard several warships during the First Leesian War, some five years ago, serving with distinction and at that war’s end, discharged from the service.

Now 26, Siran is looking for work. He has retained his noble stature and tastes; he loves fine drink, fine company, and money. As the wars with Kandor and Lees have flared up again, perhaps a warship needs a cleric? Or maybe he can use his five years experience as a sailor and join as an officer. All he knows is that its been a long time since he’s had a bottle of Formorteran brandy, and he’s hoping that a new paycheck can buy him one.

Damn you, Emperor Valerian!!

As if there weren't enough intersting storyhours to divert me from work, now you go and add another!!





Looking forward to it ....

First post!

In the Beginning

Viktalia closed her eyes momentarily, allowing the sweet smells in the air to flood her nostrils. She wished there were more days like this one in Erelion, with the sun shining, the people bustling about, and the sweet smell of fresh applies hanging in the air. Her left ear twitched involuntarily, as she sighed with pleasure at the smell.

Instinctively she turned, following the delicious trail, until her hand slipped into her pockets, and she felt her money pouch. It was far lighter than it had been in a long time. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get work in Erelion... she was a rather well known dancer these days, mesmerizing audiences with perfect movements and the gentle jingle of the chimes and jewelry that hung from her ears and hair. It was more that Erelion was becoming boring.

She’d already danced in all the inns, theaters, and other locales she could in the six months since her arrival; the only places she hadn’t graced were the houses and theaters reserved for the nobility and the idle rich. Formerterans were not likely to get into those, no matter how gifted their talents.

Its time to move on again, she thought to herself as she purchased an apple from a rather confused vendor. Formerterans were known in the Empire and the other human realms, but still rare enough that the sight of a pretty humanesque body surmounted by the long, thin head of a fruit bat was still able to make some people stare. Not to mention the leathery wings she usually kept wrapped safely close to her body.

“Do you know of any ships sailing to the New World?” she asked, her soft, melodious voice evidently surprising the shopkeep. The man took a second before a smirk came over his face.

“New here, are ye? Well ‘den,” he said in his rough accent, “I ken tell you ‘dat there more ships than cobblestone in yonder street headin’ for ‘da New World.” He stopped, and raised an eyebrow “Yous got somethin’ ta run from?”

“Nothing in particular, no,” Viktalia replied cheerfully. “I’m just looking for something new, maybe work.” She put on a disarming smile, and raised her hands. “Nothing suspicious there, right?”

“’Right suspicious,” the shopkeep said, before he shrugged. “But it nunna my business. ‘Dey say ‘dat ‘de Baron Dice be puttin’ togetha a fleet, an’ he be sailin’ to ‘da New World.”

“Baron Rafael Dice?” Viktalia asked hopefully. Her heart leapt upwards slightly when the shopkeep nodded. Adventure at last! Captain Rafael Dice, known since his voyage circumnavigating the world twenty years ago as Baron Dice, was a household name. It had been the Baron, in his small galleon Silver Hart who had single-handedly mauled the Kandoran treasure fleets returning from the New World twenty-five years ago. To this day, cartographers graced their maps of the New World with his picture in the lower corner.

“He been lookin’ fer officers, ‘dey say,” the shopkeep continued. “A Quar’ermaster for one ‘o his ships, I know.”

I’ve done that before... Viktalia thought, remembering her original voyage to the Imperial lands a few years before. The old quartermaster of the pinnace Hopeful Returns had fallen overboard and drowned. Viktalia had been paying her way through the voyage by entertaining the crew with song and dance, and the captain asked her to continue keeping the crew content and occupied as the unofficial quartermaster, though of course he took the duties of distributing supplies. Its a chance to keep my dancing in practice, as well as earn some pay!

“Do you know where one could sign up to be a part of this expedition?” Viktalia asked.

“”De Baron has a great mansion, in ‘de north of ‘da city. Great big, an’ pink. Go ‘dere, ‘dey tellya where ‘ta go next, I reckonin.”



“You call this wine! You got this from the damn latrine!”

The innkeep ducked as his own ale stein suddenly became a projectile, shattering against the wall above his head. The man looked up, his eyes wide with fear as a pair of blazing red eyes, framed by a steel helm, bore down on him from above. The innkeep felt wetness spreading down his pantleg, as the far younger, far stronger man glared at him.

“I don’t have time for you,” Siran Rapp growled, before turning and storming out of the tavern. Damn tavernkeeps, always putting water in their ale to make an extra crown or two! He reached into his pocket, and missed the copper crown he’d spent buying that terrible drink. Not like I have money as it is... dammit.

As he stalked through the streets, the crowds parted, ever so slightly. People touched their caps as he passed, some ducked their heads slightly in reverence. Siran was used to this, it registered in his mind about as much as the incessant clank of the steel pendant of crossed swords against his breasplate. Clerics of the Saints were always respected, even the Clerics that followed the Saint of the plague of this world; war.

War with the Elves. War with Kandor. War with Lees. War with Kubalia. It seemed the list of fights and conflicts was never-ending, a never ending sacrifice of blood as the nobility jockeyed for position, and the ArchHoliness in Iskeldrun renewed calls to destroy the Elves once and for all. Siran had seen much of this world. Since his arrival at seminary eight years before, then only the lowly second-son of a minor noble, he’d seen combat of all spectrums; night raids against elven encampments, full field engagements against the expert musketeers of Kandor. Above all, however, Siran excelled at one thing; war at sea.

In the seminary of Saint Heraclius, Siran learned that chaplains were as much a part of the battleline, as much a warrior, as any sailor or captain, and in his five years of active service, he proved such again and again. Free of his initial term of service, Siran found himself bored with civilian life. Outside of the military, the clerics of St. Heraclius were rarely needed; while the populace showed him respect, they did not possess a single chapel to the Saint in the entire city of 80,000 souls.

Bah, Siran thought as he crested one of the many hilly rises in the city. In the distance a forest of masts and sails seemed to rise directly from the sea, as hundreds, if not thousands, of ships rode at anchor. Great warships sat alongside tiny tartans, bulky galleons alongside sleek corvettes. Siran stopped, and felt yet again that familiar pull as his eyes took in the scene.

I need to get to sea again, he thought wistfully for a moment, before the emptiness in his pocket, and the sour taste of foul ale clinging in his mouth drew him back to the present need. And not just because I miss the rolling deck, he growled. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the last time he’d sipped Formerteran brandy, then
opened then and frowned when he remembered it was a year prior. Fine Caladronan wine, or Formerteran brandy suited his palate, not the rough and often dubious ‘ale’ one found in the taverns he could now barely afford.

“I need work,” he mumbled to no one in particular, before marching down towards the docks, his huge spiked chain jingling and clinking against his armor-clad body. The walk was short, and soon he found himself amidst the smell of salt and unwashed bodies, dockworkers and sailors both swirling about, carrying cargoes and hurrying about business.

Carefully he looked about, watching the cargos. Who was carrying what, and where. Finally, his eyes set on a vessel only five piers down, its wooden hull garishly painted in blues, yellows and greens. Across its old but stout frame, sailors clambered, painting and loading supplies. Siran blinked, before he realized his eyes were not deceiving him.

The Silver Hind... Baron Dice’s ship... they’re loading her full of supplies.

Boy, that would be a dream job. Ship’s chaplain for Baron Rafael Dice? Imagine the size of the prize money when his ship returns...

Nah... they wouldn’t want a cleric like you on board, Siran told himself. Dice has enough money he can probably hire out an abbot from the church to be his chaplain. He wouldn’t need a mere priest... even if I am a better war chaplain that half the abbots of St. Siabrey and St. Tesseron in this damnable city...

There was a growling grumble from below, and Siran touched his stomach. A few seconds later, it spoke again. He reached into his pocket, and once again frowned at its emptiness.

Well, he thought, turning around. I do believe His Majesty, the King of My Body hath spoken. Now, if only I can find where to try to sign up for whatever endeavor the Baron is about to take. Saints Willing, I’ll come back with enough gold crowns to never have to worry about food or lowly ale again.

Silently Siran made the holy passings of The One, followed by the Holy Salute of Heraclius. Saints Willing, he’d have a good voyage.

Absolutely... freaking... awesome! I'll admit that I'm a bit sad your attention will be diverted from the other SH, but I've wanted to see a good ocean-based SH for some time now!

As per request EV

I've posted the "Fomorteran" race details at the thread link in the Rouge Gallery (found here http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2433157#post2433157).

If anyone has any questions or comments, there is a character race thread already created for this race (Note: this thread is a bit old, so please disregard some of the conversations and posts about the race, it has been edited since them - http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2417048#post2417048). Please direct your posts there so as not to mess up the lovely flow of the story hour

The third member of the party, Visiel, is probably going to be the most difficult to write up. As a warforge, his thinks far differently than typical party members, hence the time taken before I put up this post.

Look for another post to be up on Tuesday, perhaps!


In the Beginning, Part Two

Viseil looked at the small children playing in the street, and gave a deep, metallic grunt as one barely leapt out of the way of a careening carriage.

Those cadets should be supervised by their superiors more closely, he thought to himself, as the children laughed at the close call and merely continued skipping and jumping. They are more than likely physically fit, but they need more discipline. The pavement under his immense feet popped and cracked under his enormous weight as he began to walk forward. It is not my place to correct them, however. I am not a part of their chain of command. In fact, I need a new chain of command.

Visiel thought back to his previous three years of life, his only three years of life, he quickly reminded himself. Unlike humans, whose bodies needed exhoribant amounts of time to grow and develop, something entirely too inefficient for Visiel to approve, the warforged came into the world fully developed, fully ready and function to accomplish whatever tasks his superiors set out for him.

The first two years for him were good ones. Purposeful, full of direction and tasks. While Visiel looked the part of a massive iron golem, fully eight feet tall, as well as not requiring rest, breathing or sustenance, he had a mind like a humans. A mind that got bored, that sought, no, yearned for direction.

For his first two years, Visiel had been a salvage worker for the Imperial Navy. The war with Kandor cost the Imperials many ships, ships that often contained cargoes or logs that the Navy wanted back. It had been the job of salvage crews, of which Visiel was usually the center (due to his not requiring to breathe). Along the way, Visiel had learned many of the trades of the soldiers and sailors he traveled with. He had become an excellent shot with a rifle, and was he was proud of the fact he could reload and fire his weapon again in 18 seconds flat, only half the time even the quickest of his fellows could accomplish the same. He’d also developed a fondness for great warhammers... in fact, alongside his rifle, he carried on his back an immense warhammer, fully as tall as a man.

Those had been the good years. He had superiors. They gave him tasks.

They also gave him something to work for. One of the gnome tinkerers had made a metal system, with screws and propellers, that could in theory move a warforged through the water with ease and great speed. Visiel had always wanted one... with that speed, he could salvage quickly, and possibly not even need a ship to transport him. Transportation of the highest efficiency.

And my morale was high, Visiel thought glumly.

Then the war ended, the plans for the 'WarForged Propellant System" were shelved and disappeared to who knows where, and with the Treaty of Cantoris, Visiel was no longer needed by the Navy. His superiors told him he was “discharged,” and that he was “free to find work wherever he wanted.” He’d taken that as an order, but to his distress, he’d found the order very hard to carry out.

Warforged like him were new, and very rare. Outside of the salvage crews, not many Imperials, let alone other peoples, had seen the likes of him. Those that had seen something akin to him assumed he was a mere golem, the guardian or plaything of some spellmaster, and they had treated him as such. Teasing him about his intelligence, mocking his size and strength.

Which hurt. A great deal.

While he knew his mind could not compare with human geniuses, or even those that were semi-bright, he knew was more intelligent than a golem... he was likely more intelligent than some of the commoners that mocked him. Yet his last orders had also included the caveat to not harm humans who did not harm him. The words bit... but he also knew none of the knaves had the nerve to actually strike an eight-foot tall metal behemoth. So, with regret, he had ignored them as best he could.

He searched as far as he could for the gnome that had shown him and his superiors the propeller system, but the small creature was no where to be found. As the project was secret, none of his direct superiors knew who the gnome was, or where he lived. Sadly, Visiel had spent the last year looking for the small inventor. If he found him, he could surely help the tinkerer build the system. Then, he would be the fastest, most efficient salvager in the ocean, and surely people would want to hire him! Then, he would never be bored, he would always have something to do!

All will be better once I get a new superior, Visiel thought as he tramped past the children still playing. A new superior meant metallic pieces, which the humans found valuable. And with enough metallic pieces, he knew he could find out where the inventor went, and perhaps buy the device from him.

The children's voices hushed to silence as he rumbled by, and Visiel paid no notice. Many humans tended to fall silent when he went by. In a way, after the abuse their fellows had laid on him over the last year, it was rather satisfying.

The wagoneer said that a human named Baron Dice is looking for crew for a large expedition, Visiel thought back to the conversation with a rather frightened human minutes before he saw the children playing in the street. Barons are high ranking humans, humans that make suitable superiors, or have lieutenants that would make suitable superiors.

Then, I would be a part of the Navy again.

Then, I would have tasks again.

I'll have metallic pieces to help find the inventor.

And all would be well.

The speed of the enormous crunches increased, as Visiel picked up speed towards the Baron’s house.

Hi Emporer Valerian,

I've managed to avoid your story hours up until this point. The other ones are too far gone to catch up and the praise was somewhat daunting to live up to, so I just passed it over and read up on some crazy little story hour that burnt out after three posts. Sigh.

So, I'm reading this and I'm very impressed. I couldn't get my head round the Formerterans at first - did the player simply want a new race to play out with? - but I guess a woman's body with a bat head takes time.

oh, and the logical warforged thinking was well handled - funny and kinda sad at the same time. It's going to be tough to keep that voice up once the three players are together. Good luck.

The seafaring setting is great - I can't wait till the players cast off and the high seas adventure kicks in. Reading this makes me want to scribble away pages of notes on new campaign ideas.

Anyway. Listen to me ramble on. Suffice to say you have another reader.

Spider J

Awesome stuff Emperor V. This is certainly shaping up to be as good as your "Chinese" storyhour ... if not better.