JollyDoc
Explorer
The Thrune's Fang
With Ishirou’s treasure successfully recovered, there was no clear direction for the castaways to continue their exploration of the island. Nessalin and Jack wanted to continue to head further inland, while Arioch and Lyrissa advocated sticking to the coast, arguing that if colonists had established a community on the Shiv, it would make sense that they would have done so near the shore. Ultimately, it was the consensus to follow the coast for awhile longer, though Jack and Nessalin privately placed wagers that the trek would be fruitless.
One thing the Shiv was not short of, they soon discovered, was shipwrecks. It seemed as if they would come across another one at least once daily. Most of these were derelict shells, but on occasion, they happened on one whose crew had not completely abandoned ship. Such was the case with a wreck called the Windwar. As the castaways approached the hulk, they were at first hopeful when they saw the figures moving about on its deck. When they drew closer, however, it became obvious that the seamen had long ago shuffled off the mortal coil. They were nothing more than zombies, still clad in the rags of their clothing. The undead, sensing living flesh nearby, immediately began shambling towards the survivors. It was not really a contest. The living outnumbered the dead, and were more heavily armed. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Agnar, however, added his own wrinkle. In the midst of the melee, the priest managed to enslave two of the zombies to his will. This did not sit well with all of his companions.
“This is an abomination!” Jask protested.
“I didn’t create them,” Agnar pointed out, “but since they’re here, why not use them as a resource? If you prefer, you can take the front line from now on.”
“They should be destroyed!” Jask continued. “These were once men. They deserve better than this.”
“Who’s to say?” Agnar shrugged. “Maybe they were bloodthirsty pirates. Maybe this is exactly what they deserve.”
“If you persist in this, I warn you,” Jask replied, “you can no longer count on my assistance. You know of my healing skills. I’ve tended your wounds, and I’ve protected us all from the tropical blights that plague this place. No more…at least not for you. If you are going to throw in your lot with these unholy atrocities, then you are on your own.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a threat,” Agnar said coldly.
“It’s a promise,” Jask countered.
“Watch yourself, priest,” Agnar warned. “We’ve already seen how dangerous this island can be. Accidents happen.”
___________________________________________________________
“It cannot be!” Jask breathed.
The group had come upon yet another derelict ship. It looked no different from the multiple others they’d encountered before.
“Are you delusional?” Agnar scoffed. “You must be if you think we’re getting off the island on that wreck!”
“It’s the Brine Demon!” Jask exclaimed as he turned to the others, pointedly ignoring Agnar. “When I discovered the evidence that incriminated my superiors, one of the documents indicated that one of their contacts in the Shackles was a man named Avret Kinkarian. He was captain of a ship called the Brine Demon…this ship! I’d heard that it wrecked in the waters near Smuggler’s Shiv, but I never dreamed anything would have survived!
“What’s your point?” Agnar snapped.
“The point,” Jask snapped, “is that if there is any chance some evidence proving Kinkarian’s illegal dealings with the Sargavan officials is still on that ship, then I can prove my innocence once and for all!”
“You’re dreaming, priest,” Agnar sneered dismissively. “That would have been over ten years ago, plus you’re still counting on getting off this island and back to civilization where you could make your case. Two very unlikely scenarios.”
Jask wasn’t listening. He’d already started towards the wreckage.
Everyone except Agnar and Zavasta accompanied Jask aboard the Brine Demon, and at first glance, the priest was afraid that the necromancer had been right. Much of the ship’s hull was missing, and it was obvious that whatever cargo it had once carried was long gone. Yet it seemed that the captain’s cabin might still be intact, and when Jask forced the door open, he saw a skeleton slumped on the floor, its bony hands clutching at a well-made, watertight darkwood coffer which sat in an open secret compartment in a rotting desk. Jask barely breathed as he carefully slipped the container out of the corpse’s hands. It was still locked, but the mechanism was badly rusted, and one blow from the pommel of Jask’s dagger popped it right open. Inside were three objects: a beautifully crafted, softly glowing dagger, a golden locket which contained a tiny, incredibly detailed portrait of a beautiful, red-haired half-elf woman, indentified along the bottom edge as ‘Aeshamara,’ and several fat ledgers and journals. Jask put the first two items aside as his trembling hands began rifling through the papers. His eyes grew wider and rounder as he read the words he’d not dared hope existed. The documents contained irrefutable proof of collusion between Captain Kinkarian and half a dozen Sargavan and Bloodcove government officials who were skimming off the tithes and taxes offered to the Free Captains of the Shackles. Jask covered his face with his hands and silently wept.
________________________________________________________
“So I’ve been thinking,” Jack said as the castaways gathered around their fire that night. “Isn’t it time this little cadre of ours had a leader?”
“A leader?” Zavasta laughed. “What do you think this is, some kind of adventuring party or something? Way I see it, it’s every man for himself until we get off this rock, and after that, I hope I’ve seen the last of you bunch of losers.”
“I’m not talking about a permanent arrangement,” Jack said. “But if any of us hope to live long enough to leave here, then I think someone should be calling the shots, or at least providing some kind of direction. Arioch, isn’t your order some kind of military unit?”
“If you think I’m about to take orders from some murdering Hell Knight,” Zavasta shouted, “then you’re as crazy as the captain that wrecked us here in the first place!”
“I’ve already told you,” Arioch’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury, “that my order does not engage in human sacrifice, you small-minded pyromaniac!”
Zavasta rose to his feet, his hand going to one of the many flasks at his belt. Arioch rose to, his fingers already beginning to weave a summoning. Suddenly, the campfire flared up in a roaring blaze, and a dark figure stepped out of it. Its form was nearly skeletal, its bare bones picked clean, yet it wore the dripping coat and tricorn hat of a ship’s captain. One of its hands was a gleaming, metal hook, and its whole insubstantial form dripped with cold, brackish seawater.
“It…it’s Kinkarian!” Jask gasped.
“Thieves!” the specter rasped. “Scoundrels! You will return my beloved Aeshamara to me!”
“What’s he talking about?” Aerys shrieked.
“The locket!” Lyrissa shouted. “He wants the locket we found! Give it to him!”
Nessalin, who’d taken the locket, fumbled it out of his pocket and thrust it towards the ghost. For a moment, the apparition stood mesmerized, its head cocked to one side.
“Open it!” Lyrissa hissed. “Show him the picture!”
Nessalin undid the latch. When Kinkarian gazed upon the portrait within, he reached for the locket, and then, with a melancholy sigh, he simply faded away.
“Well,” Nessalin said in the silence that followed, “I guess we’ll table our previous discussion for the time being.”
__________________________________________________________
Most of the next day was spent travelling in tense silence, but at mid-day the survivors came upon the remnants of a quickly rigged shelter, and evidence of a small campfire which sat well above the high-tide line on the beach.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Nessalin said as he leaned over to pluck something from amidst the refuse. “It’s the Captain’s hat.”
When he held the tricorn aloft, it was obvious to all of them that it was indeed Korvack’s .
“Look at this,” Lyrissa added.
She held several brightly-colored scarves in her hand.
“These were Ieana’s,” the bardess said. “I saw her wearing them on the ship.”
“So they survived,” Jack said, shaking his head.
“Only until I catch up to them,” Zavasta growled.
“Tracks,” Gorak abruptly announced from the far side of the camp site. “Two people. Many days ago. They go that way.” He pointed south into the jungle.
“Well then,” Arioch nodded, “looks like our course is decided for us.”
_________________________________________________________
They followed the tracks for days, heading ever deeper into the island’s interior. For the most part, the trail led along well-traveled game paths, and though the signs were subtle, Gorak had no trouble following. At one point, near a fork in the trail, the big half-orc nodded to his left, though the path led away to the right. Just visible through the trees was a dilapidated-looking hut. Though Kovack’s and Ieana’s prints did not go there, the survivors decided to investigate nonetheless. The dwelling was partially collapsed, and stood on the banks of a gurgling stream. It seemed to have been built from a combination of driftwood and tree trunks, with a roof of wide leaves and strips of rotten canvas sail. The front door hung partially ajar. Dozens of bones and skulls, quite obviously of human origin, decorated the hut and the surrounding area, each bearing numerous nicks and scratches. Inside, the conditions were not much better. All that remained of any furnishings were bits of an old chair carved from a tree stump, fragments of fabric, and rusted bits of metal. As the group looked the place over, however, Lyrissa spotted something wedged into a small niche in one wall. It was a leather bound journal. She pulled it free carefully. The years and weather had not been kind to its contents, and only fragments of notes remained. She began to read aloud:
“…many survived, the Thrune’s Fang will never sail again. Sargava’s assimilation must proceed without…”
“…fine hunting on the Shiv, but the bugs are a constant distraction. Nylithati’s skills at healing help fight the sickness, but I fear she has…”
“…founded. Nylithati has seized control of my crew. They are hers now, and so I have abandoned…”
“…fine home. Fresh water nearby and I need not endure Nylithati’s ceaseless raving above…”
“…will not be returning to that gray, silent island again. There is nothing there but horror…”
“…crew lurking about the area. They seem strange, almost feral. It has been almost a decade since the wreck. I wonder what strange beliefs Nylithati has…”
“…changed. There was no sign of Nylithati in the camp, but the focus of their ceremony was a cauldron they must have salvaged from the Thrune’s Fang at the base of the ruined lighthouse. It was into this they threw the half-eaten body of the still screaming man…”
“…all around. I can hear them chanting in the green even now. They call Nylithati ‘Mother Thrunefang’ now, and promise me immortality if I lay down my arms and submit. I know what their immortality consists of, and I’ll have no part of that corrupt life after…”
“The Thrune’s Fang?” Lyrissa said questioningly as she looked up from the journal. “Could that be referring to the House of Thrune in Cheliax?”
“Sargava was a Chelaxian colony before Aroden’s fall,” Arioch nodded. “They declared their independence in the chaos that followed. When House Thrune finally consolidated their power, they sent an armada south to reclaim their colony. Only the Sargavan government’s alliance with the pirates of the Shackles saved them.”
“So this must have been one of the Chelaxian ships then,” Lyrissa said. “I guess it shipwrecked here, decades ago. Sounds like their captain came to a bad end at the hands of his own crew.”
“Much like ours will,” Zavasta growled.
“Did none of you hear that part about a lighthouse?” Nessalin asked. “The crew of this ship must have found the remnants of the colony . If they had a lighthouse, then there might be a chance we can use it to signal a passing ship!”
_________________________________________________________
The castaways headed back into the jungle, picking up the path they’d been following easily enough. Twice along the way they encountered the snare/spike traps they’d run into before. The first time it was Nessalin that inadvertently stepped in one. After that, it was decided that one of the zombies Agnar had recruited would take point along the trail, and sure enough, the shambling corpse had triggered another one.
As nightfall approached, Gorak brought the group to a halt.
“What’s the problem?” Arioch asked.
The barbarian nodded towards the tree line ahead. Following his gaze, Arioch saw what at first he took to be more trees, but then saw to be an open-air wooden tower protruding above the palms. Two figures stood within it. He quickly motioned the others down into a crouch, and then called Minion to him.
“Trouble ahead,” the summoner whispered to the eidolon.
“When is there not?” the little creature rolled his eyes.
“I want you to scout,” Arioch instructed, “ but stay hidden. Don’t be long, and don’t take any chances. Come back here as quickly as you can.”
Minion nodded once, and then vanished into the gathering darkness. Several tense minutes passed, with Arioch stretching out his senses, certain he would be able to feel if his companion came to any harm. Then, as quickly as he’d disappeared, Minion was there again.
“Looks like the remains of a village,” he reported. “Several buildings still intact, including a lighthouse. Saw a few humans, savage-looking. All tattooed up and spoiling for a fight. Big lizard staked out where the trail opens up into the clearing.
“So you wouldn’t suggest a diplomatic approach then?” Arioch asked wryly.
“Not unless you want to be the main course at a state dinner,” Minion shrugged.
“You’ve done well, as always, my friend,” Arioch patted the eidolon’s head. “You may go until I have need of you further.”
“As you command,” Minion replied before disappearing in a puff of brimstone.
“What plan?” Ishirou asked.
“I want you, Aerys, Gelik, Jask and Sasha to wait back here,” Arioch replied.
“I fight good as any of you!” the old Tienese growled.
“Exactly,” the summoner said. “That’s why I want you back here. If there are more of these people out here in the jungle, I don’t want them flanking us and hemming us in.”
Ishirou nodded his agreement slowly.
“As for the rest of us,” Arioch continued, “I can create a diversion, and maybe get rid of that lizard. That will give us a chance to get down there and possibly catch them by surprise.”
“Who put you in charge, General?” Zavasta sneered.
“Have you ever been in a military unit?” Arioch snapped. “Have you ever served in a forward position? Do you have a better plan?”
“Just as long as I get to blow up something,” the alchemist grumbled.
“Alright,” Arioch said, “then follow my lead.”
______________________________________________________
The small whirlwinds came twisting down the trail like dervishes. The Shiv dragon, a tropical variant of a giant monitor lizard, turned its head slowly, its three eyelids blinking. The twin elementals hit it like a pair of miniature cyclones, sending it cartwheeling head over heels until it was brought up short by the chain around its neck.
Shouts came from the top of the watchtower as the warriors there sounded the alarm. As Arioch and the others arrived, the summoner commanded one his elementals to break off its attack on the dragon. It zipped away in a blur as its twin continued to pummel the lizard until it stopped struggling altogether. When it reached a large building that the guard tower was attached to, it paused just as the door flew open, and men and women began to pour out. They were all universally tanned, but they were obviously not Mwangi natives. Their hair color ranged from darkest black to whitest blonde, and they were decorated with pentagram-shaped scars. Their teeth were filed to sharp points, and their wild-eyed expressions spoke of deep mental instability. They wore no armor, just layers of animal skins, and the only weapons they carried were notched and pitted scimitars. Arioch recognized their scars immediately: the mark of Asmodeus. Incredibly, these savages were in all likelihood descended from the Chelaxian crew of the Thrune’s Fang! It would bring him no joy to kill his fellow countrymen, but he knew that he would be doing them a favor. No true son nor daughter of Thrune would willingly choose such an existence. His resolve solidified a moment later when they tore his first elemental to shreds.
At least a dozen cannibals emerged from the buildings surrounding the small village square. As his companions moved to engage them, Arioch began opening more rifts between worlds. First came a laughing hyena, which bounded across the square to savage one of the warriors, tearing the man’s throat out as it bore him to the ground. Next came another elemental, this one made of earth. It lumbered forward into the melee, heedless of the overwhelming numbers. Gorak towered over the cannibals as he waded into them, his sword laying about him in a blood-soaked flurry of violence. Zavasta hurled one of his bombs into another group, while Jack tumbled and somersaulted among the savages, cutting and slashing with his rapier and saber. Abruptly, a blood-curdling battle cry echoed across the campsite as a truly huge man stepped from the lighthouse. His hair was fiery red, and his eyes emerald green. He bore a large wooden shield carved with the symbol of Asmodeus on one arm, and a gleaming curved scimitar in the opposite hand. He roared again, and his people parted like a wave before him as he strode purposefully forward.
The pause in the battle was brief, however, as the violence swirled forward once again. More cannibals fell beneath the jaws and fists of Arioch’s summoned thralls, while Gorak, Nessalin and Jack continued to ply their blades with surprising skill. Even Agnar used his dark powers to good effect, sending his zombies into the fray while he chanted prayers that resulted in small pockets of explosive sound that sent several of the savages reeling. Still, the Thrunefang cannibals had strength of numbers on their side, and it wasn’t long before Arioch’s remaining air elemental went down, followed by the hyena. Then, in a far corner of the square a small gate opened in a bamboo stockade. From it shambled a quartet of skeletal warriors, their jaws clacking and their clawed phalanges grasping. Standing behind them was a crone of a woman bedecked in an assortment of fetishes, with a black-furred monkey perched on her shoulder. Her eyes burned with zealous fervor as she commanded her undead minions forward.
“Kill those two!” Arioch ordered, gesturing towards the red-headed chieftain and the old woman.
Basic military strategy said that if you took out an enemy’s leadership, the rank and file would capitulate. The summoner knew they were not dealing with regular troops here, but he thought that fact might actually work in his companions’ favor. In clannish societies, leaders were often viewed as parental, or even divine. Therefore, he hoped, if the cannibals lost their ‘father’ and ‘mother,’ it might demoralize them completely. Or it might drive them into a killing frenzy. Such were the fortunes of war.
Zavasta took the lead, hurling another bomb into the midst of the savages and opening a path to the chieftain. Jack took the opening, dodging among the burning warriors deftly, and then rolling under a powerful swing from the chief’s scimitar to come up behind the big man. Jack slashed with his sabre, opening up a large gash across the chief’s back, but the cannibal seemed not to notice. He whirled on the rogue, leaned forward and actually BIT Jack’s neck with his sharpened teeth. Jack was taken off-guard and reeled back. The chief smiled, his teeth dripping blood, and rushed forward. At that moment, however, Arioch’s earth elemental reared up behind the chieftain and slammed one of its rock-like fists into the back of the big man’s skull. The cannibal’s eyes rolled up into his head as he fell limply to the ground, comatose.
Meanwhile, Agnar had seized control of one of the charging skeletons and turned it back on the others. In the ensuing chaos, Nessalin rushed the witch, his sword crackling with electricity as he called upon his own magic. The crone’s eyes went wide, and her hair stood on end when the young magus thrust his sword into her belly, sending the surge of energy coursing through her nervous system. She continued to twitch and shake as she collapsed, smoldering, to the ground. After that, though the cannibals showed no sign of simply giving up, nor fleeing, what remained of them was no match for the castaways. The battle was over within a matter of minutes, leaving several of the Jenivere survivors bloodied and bruised, but none seriously. Arioch had Minion call Ishirou and the others into the village, while Nessalin and Jack tied up the chieftain securely. As the group paused to catch their collective breath, the realization that the lighthouse did indeed exist, and seemed to be in relatively good repair came to all of them. Perhaps rescue from the gods-forsaken Shiv was not such a remote possibility after all.
With Ishirou’s treasure successfully recovered, there was no clear direction for the castaways to continue their exploration of the island. Nessalin and Jack wanted to continue to head further inland, while Arioch and Lyrissa advocated sticking to the coast, arguing that if colonists had established a community on the Shiv, it would make sense that they would have done so near the shore. Ultimately, it was the consensus to follow the coast for awhile longer, though Jack and Nessalin privately placed wagers that the trek would be fruitless.
One thing the Shiv was not short of, they soon discovered, was shipwrecks. It seemed as if they would come across another one at least once daily. Most of these were derelict shells, but on occasion, they happened on one whose crew had not completely abandoned ship. Such was the case with a wreck called the Windwar. As the castaways approached the hulk, they were at first hopeful when they saw the figures moving about on its deck. When they drew closer, however, it became obvious that the seamen had long ago shuffled off the mortal coil. They were nothing more than zombies, still clad in the rags of their clothing. The undead, sensing living flesh nearby, immediately began shambling towards the survivors. It was not really a contest. The living outnumbered the dead, and were more heavily armed. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Agnar, however, added his own wrinkle. In the midst of the melee, the priest managed to enslave two of the zombies to his will. This did not sit well with all of his companions.
“This is an abomination!” Jask protested.
“I didn’t create them,” Agnar pointed out, “but since they’re here, why not use them as a resource? If you prefer, you can take the front line from now on.”
“They should be destroyed!” Jask continued. “These were once men. They deserve better than this.”
“Who’s to say?” Agnar shrugged. “Maybe they were bloodthirsty pirates. Maybe this is exactly what they deserve.”
“If you persist in this, I warn you,” Jask replied, “you can no longer count on my assistance. You know of my healing skills. I’ve tended your wounds, and I’ve protected us all from the tropical blights that plague this place. No more…at least not for you. If you are going to throw in your lot with these unholy atrocities, then you are on your own.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a threat,” Agnar said coldly.
“It’s a promise,” Jask countered.
“Watch yourself, priest,” Agnar warned. “We’ve already seen how dangerous this island can be. Accidents happen.”
___________________________________________________________
“It cannot be!” Jask breathed.
The group had come upon yet another derelict ship. It looked no different from the multiple others they’d encountered before.
“Are you delusional?” Agnar scoffed. “You must be if you think we’re getting off the island on that wreck!”
“It’s the Brine Demon!” Jask exclaimed as he turned to the others, pointedly ignoring Agnar. “When I discovered the evidence that incriminated my superiors, one of the documents indicated that one of their contacts in the Shackles was a man named Avret Kinkarian. He was captain of a ship called the Brine Demon…this ship! I’d heard that it wrecked in the waters near Smuggler’s Shiv, but I never dreamed anything would have survived!
“What’s your point?” Agnar snapped.
“The point,” Jask snapped, “is that if there is any chance some evidence proving Kinkarian’s illegal dealings with the Sargavan officials is still on that ship, then I can prove my innocence once and for all!”
“You’re dreaming, priest,” Agnar sneered dismissively. “That would have been over ten years ago, plus you’re still counting on getting off this island and back to civilization where you could make your case. Two very unlikely scenarios.”
Jask wasn’t listening. He’d already started towards the wreckage.
Everyone except Agnar and Zavasta accompanied Jask aboard the Brine Demon, and at first glance, the priest was afraid that the necromancer had been right. Much of the ship’s hull was missing, and it was obvious that whatever cargo it had once carried was long gone. Yet it seemed that the captain’s cabin might still be intact, and when Jask forced the door open, he saw a skeleton slumped on the floor, its bony hands clutching at a well-made, watertight darkwood coffer which sat in an open secret compartment in a rotting desk. Jask barely breathed as he carefully slipped the container out of the corpse’s hands. It was still locked, but the mechanism was badly rusted, and one blow from the pommel of Jask’s dagger popped it right open. Inside were three objects: a beautifully crafted, softly glowing dagger, a golden locket which contained a tiny, incredibly detailed portrait of a beautiful, red-haired half-elf woman, indentified along the bottom edge as ‘Aeshamara,’ and several fat ledgers and journals. Jask put the first two items aside as his trembling hands began rifling through the papers. His eyes grew wider and rounder as he read the words he’d not dared hope existed. The documents contained irrefutable proof of collusion between Captain Kinkarian and half a dozen Sargavan and Bloodcove government officials who were skimming off the tithes and taxes offered to the Free Captains of the Shackles. Jask covered his face with his hands and silently wept.
________________________________________________________
“So I’ve been thinking,” Jack said as the castaways gathered around their fire that night. “Isn’t it time this little cadre of ours had a leader?”
“A leader?” Zavasta laughed. “What do you think this is, some kind of adventuring party or something? Way I see it, it’s every man for himself until we get off this rock, and after that, I hope I’ve seen the last of you bunch of losers.”
“I’m not talking about a permanent arrangement,” Jack said. “But if any of us hope to live long enough to leave here, then I think someone should be calling the shots, or at least providing some kind of direction. Arioch, isn’t your order some kind of military unit?”
“If you think I’m about to take orders from some murdering Hell Knight,” Zavasta shouted, “then you’re as crazy as the captain that wrecked us here in the first place!”
“I’ve already told you,” Arioch’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury, “that my order does not engage in human sacrifice, you small-minded pyromaniac!”
Zavasta rose to his feet, his hand going to one of the many flasks at his belt. Arioch rose to, his fingers already beginning to weave a summoning. Suddenly, the campfire flared up in a roaring blaze, and a dark figure stepped out of it. Its form was nearly skeletal, its bare bones picked clean, yet it wore the dripping coat and tricorn hat of a ship’s captain. One of its hands was a gleaming, metal hook, and its whole insubstantial form dripped with cold, brackish seawater.
“It…it’s Kinkarian!” Jask gasped.
“Thieves!” the specter rasped. “Scoundrels! You will return my beloved Aeshamara to me!”
“What’s he talking about?” Aerys shrieked.
“The locket!” Lyrissa shouted. “He wants the locket we found! Give it to him!”
Nessalin, who’d taken the locket, fumbled it out of his pocket and thrust it towards the ghost. For a moment, the apparition stood mesmerized, its head cocked to one side.
“Open it!” Lyrissa hissed. “Show him the picture!”
Nessalin undid the latch. When Kinkarian gazed upon the portrait within, he reached for the locket, and then, with a melancholy sigh, he simply faded away.
“Well,” Nessalin said in the silence that followed, “I guess we’ll table our previous discussion for the time being.”
__________________________________________________________
Most of the next day was spent travelling in tense silence, but at mid-day the survivors came upon the remnants of a quickly rigged shelter, and evidence of a small campfire which sat well above the high-tide line on the beach.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Nessalin said as he leaned over to pluck something from amidst the refuse. “It’s the Captain’s hat.”
When he held the tricorn aloft, it was obvious to all of them that it was indeed Korvack’s .
“Look at this,” Lyrissa added.
She held several brightly-colored scarves in her hand.
“These were Ieana’s,” the bardess said. “I saw her wearing them on the ship.”
“So they survived,” Jack said, shaking his head.
“Only until I catch up to them,” Zavasta growled.
“Tracks,” Gorak abruptly announced from the far side of the camp site. “Two people. Many days ago. They go that way.” He pointed south into the jungle.
“Well then,” Arioch nodded, “looks like our course is decided for us.”
_________________________________________________________
They followed the tracks for days, heading ever deeper into the island’s interior. For the most part, the trail led along well-traveled game paths, and though the signs were subtle, Gorak had no trouble following. At one point, near a fork in the trail, the big half-orc nodded to his left, though the path led away to the right. Just visible through the trees was a dilapidated-looking hut. Though Kovack’s and Ieana’s prints did not go there, the survivors decided to investigate nonetheless. The dwelling was partially collapsed, and stood on the banks of a gurgling stream. It seemed to have been built from a combination of driftwood and tree trunks, with a roof of wide leaves and strips of rotten canvas sail. The front door hung partially ajar. Dozens of bones and skulls, quite obviously of human origin, decorated the hut and the surrounding area, each bearing numerous nicks and scratches. Inside, the conditions were not much better. All that remained of any furnishings were bits of an old chair carved from a tree stump, fragments of fabric, and rusted bits of metal. As the group looked the place over, however, Lyrissa spotted something wedged into a small niche in one wall. It was a leather bound journal. She pulled it free carefully. The years and weather had not been kind to its contents, and only fragments of notes remained. She began to read aloud:
“…many survived, the Thrune’s Fang will never sail again. Sargava’s assimilation must proceed without…”
“…fine hunting on the Shiv, but the bugs are a constant distraction. Nylithati’s skills at healing help fight the sickness, but I fear she has…”
“…founded. Nylithati has seized control of my crew. They are hers now, and so I have abandoned…”
“…fine home. Fresh water nearby and I need not endure Nylithati’s ceaseless raving above…”
“…will not be returning to that gray, silent island again. There is nothing there but horror…”
“…crew lurking about the area. They seem strange, almost feral. It has been almost a decade since the wreck. I wonder what strange beliefs Nylithati has…”
“…changed. There was no sign of Nylithati in the camp, but the focus of their ceremony was a cauldron they must have salvaged from the Thrune’s Fang at the base of the ruined lighthouse. It was into this they threw the half-eaten body of the still screaming man…”
“…all around. I can hear them chanting in the green even now. They call Nylithati ‘Mother Thrunefang’ now, and promise me immortality if I lay down my arms and submit. I know what their immortality consists of, and I’ll have no part of that corrupt life after…”
“The Thrune’s Fang?” Lyrissa said questioningly as she looked up from the journal. “Could that be referring to the House of Thrune in Cheliax?”
“Sargava was a Chelaxian colony before Aroden’s fall,” Arioch nodded. “They declared their independence in the chaos that followed. When House Thrune finally consolidated their power, they sent an armada south to reclaim their colony. Only the Sargavan government’s alliance with the pirates of the Shackles saved them.”
“So this must have been one of the Chelaxian ships then,” Lyrissa said. “I guess it shipwrecked here, decades ago. Sounds like their captain came to a bad end at the hands of his own crew.”
“Much like ours will,” Zavasta growled.
“Did none of you hear that part about a lighthouse?” Nessalin asked. “The crew of this ship must have found the remnants of the colony . If they had a lighthouse, then there might be a chance we can use it to signal a passing ship!”
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The castaways headed back into the jungle, picking up the path they’d been following easily enough. Twice along the way they encountered the snare/spike traps they’d run into before. The first time it was Nessalin that inadvertently stepped in one. After that, it was decided that one of the zombies Agnar had recruited would take point along the trail, and sure enough, the shambling corpse had triggered another one.
As nightfall approached, Gorak brought the group to a halt.
“What’s the problem?” Arioch asked.
The barbarian nodded towards the tree line ahead. Following his gaze, Arioch saw what at first he took to be more trees, but then saw to be an open-air wooden tower protruding above the palms. Two figures stood within it. He quickly motioned the others down into a crouch, and then called Minion to him.
“Trouble ahead,” the summoner whispered to the eidolon.
“When is there not?” the little creature rolled his eyes.
“I want you to scout,” Arioch instructed, “ but stay hidden. Don’t be long, and don’t take any chances. Come back here as quickly as you can.”
Minion nodded once, and then vanished into the gathering darkness. Several tense minutes passed, with Arioch stretching out his senses, certain he would be able to feel if his companion came to any harm. Then, as quickly as he’d disappeared, Minion was there again.
“Looks like the remains of a village,” he reported. “Several buildings still intact, including a lighthouse. Saw a few humans, savage-looking. All tattooed up and spoiling for a fight. Big lizard staked out where the trail opens up into the clearing.
“So you wouldn’t suggest a diplomatic approach then?” Arioch asked wryly.
“Not unless you want to be the main course at a state dinner,” Minion shrugged.
“You’ve done well, as always, my friend,” Arioch patted the eidolon’s head. “You may go until I have need of you further.”
“As you command,” Minion replied before disappearing in a puff of brimstone.
“What plan?” Ishirou asked.
“I want you, Aerys, Gelik, Jask and Sasha to wait back here,” Arioch replied.
“I fight good as any of you!” the old Tienese growled.
“Exactly,” the summoner said. “That’s why I want you back here. If there are more of these people out here in the jungle, I don’t want them flanking us and hemming us in.”
Ishirou nodded his agreement slowly.
“As for the rest of us,” Arioch continued, “I can create a diversion, and maybe get rid of that lizard. That will give us a chance to get down there and possibly catch them by surprise.”
“Who put you in charge, General?” Zavasta sneered.
“Have you ever been in a military unit?” Arioch snapped. “Have you ever served in a forward position? Do you have a better plan?”
“Just as long as I get to blow up something,” the alchemist grumbled.
“Alright,” Arioch said, “then follow my lead.”
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The small whirlwinds came twisting down the trail like dervishes. The Shiv dragon, a tropical variant of a giant monitor lizard, turned its head slowly, its three eyelids blinking. The twin elementals hit it like a pair of miniature cyclones, sending it cartwheeling head over heels until it was brought up short by the chain around its neck.
Shouts came from the top of the watchtower as the warriors there sounded the alarm. As Arioch and the others arrived, the summoner commanded one his elementals to break off its attack on the dragon. It zipped away in a blur as its twin continued to pummel the lizard until it stopped struggling altogether. When it reached a large building that the guard tower was attached to, it paused just as the door flew open, and men and women began to pour out. They were all universally tanned, but they were obviously not Mwangi natives. Their hair color ranged from darkest black to whitest blonde, and they were decorated with pentagram-shaped scars. Their teeth were filed to sharp points, and their wild-eyed expressions spoke of deep mental instability. They wore no armor, just layers of animal skins, and the only weapons they carried were notched and pitted scimitars. Arioch recognized their scars immediately: the mark of Asmodeus. Incredibly, these savages were in all likelihood descended from the Chelaxian crew of the Thrune’s Fang! It would bring him no joy to kill his fellow countrymen, but he knew that he would be doing them a favor. No true son nor daughter of Thrune would willingly choose such an existence. His resolve solidified a moment later when they tore his first elemental to shreds.
At least a dozen cannibals emerged from the buildings surrounding the small village square. As his companions moved to engage them, Arioch began opening more rifts between worlds. First came a laughing hyena, which bounded across the square to savage one of the warriors, tearing the man’s throat out as it bore him to the ground. Next came another elemental, this one made of earth. It lumbered forward into the melee, heedless of the overwhelming numbers. Gorak towered over the cannibals as he waded into them, his sword laying about him in a blood-soaked flurry of violence. Zavasta hurled one of his bombs into another group, while Jack tumbled and somersaulted among the savages, cutting and slashing with his rapier and saber. Abruptly, a blood-curdling battle cry echoed across the campsite as a truly huge man stepped from the lighthouse. His hair was fiery red, and his eyes emerald green. He bore a large wooden shield carved with the symbol of Asmodeus on one arm, and a gleaming curved scimitar in the opposite hand. He roared again, and his people parted like a wave before him as he strode purposefully forward.
The pause in the battle was brief, however, as the violence swirled forward once again. More cannibals fell beneath the jaws and fists of Arioch’s summoned thralls, while Gorak, Nessalin and Jack continued to ply their blades with surprising skill. Even Agnar used his dark powers to good effect, sending his zombies into the fray while he chanted prayers that resulted in small pockets of explosive sound that sent several of the savages reeling. Still, the Thrunefang cannibals had strength of numbers on their side, and it wasn’t long before Arioch’s remaining air elemental went down, followed by the hyena. Then, in a far corner of the square a small gate opened in a bamboo stockade. From it shambled a quartet of skeletal warriors, their jaws clacking and their clawed phalanges grasping. Standing behind them was a crone of a woman bedecked in an assortment of fetishes, with a black-furred monkey perched on her shoulder. Her eyes burned with zealous fervor as she commanded her undead minions forward.
“Kill those two!” Arioch ordered, gesturing towards the red-headed chieftain and the old woman.
Basic military strategy said that if you took out an enemy’s leadership, the rank and file would capitulate. The summoner knew they were not dealing with regular troops here, but he thought that fact might actually work in his companions’ favor. In clannish societies, leaders were often viewed as parental, or even divine. Therefore, he hoped, if the cannibals lost their ‘father’ and ‘mother,’ it might demoralize them completely. Or it might drive them into a killing frenzy. Such were the fortunes of war.
Zavasta took the lead, hurling another bomb into the midst of the savages and opening a path to the chieftain. Jack took the opening, dodging among the burning warriors deftly, and then rolling under a powerful swing from the chief’s scimitar to come up behind the big man. Jack slashed with his sabre, opening up a large gash across the chief’s back, but the cannibal seemed not to notice. He whirled on the rogue, leaned forward and actually BIT Jack’s neck with his sharpened teeth. Jack was taken off-guard and reeled back. The chief smiled, his teeth dripping blood, and rushed forward. At that moment, however, Arioch’s earth elemental reared up behind the chieftain and slammed one of its rock-like fists into the back of the big man’s skull. The cannibal’s eyes rolled up into his head as he fell limply to the ground, comatose.
Meanwhile, Agnar had seized control of one of the charging skeletons and turned it back on the others. In the ensuing chaos, Nessalin rushed the witch, his sword crackling with electricity as he called upon his own magic. The crone’s eyes went wide, and her hair stood on end when the young magus thrust his sword into her belly, sending the surge of energy coursing through her nervous system. She continued to twitch and shake as she collapsed, smoldering, to the ground. After that, though the cannibals showed no sign of simply giving up, nor fleeing, what remained of them was no match for the castaways. The battle was over within a matter of minutes, leaving several of the Jenivere survivors bloodied and bruised, but none seriously. Arioch had Minion call Ishirou and the others into the village, while Nessalin and Jack tied up the chieftain securely. As the group paused to catch their collective breath, the realization that the lighthouse did indeed exist, and seemed to be in relatively good repair came to all of them. Perhaps rescue from the gods-forsaken Shiv was not such a remote possibility after all.
