Emperor Valerian
First Post
Monster update this time. Enjoy!
At Sea, and First Blood
Viktalia closed her eyes, and relished the smell of salt in the air. Salt meant sailing, and sailing meant she was headed somewhere new, somewhere she hadn’t been before.
As she nibbled on the dried apricot in her hand, she noise of the sea washed about her, as it had for the past week since they’d left Erelion. Around a half mile ahead of them lay the bulk of the Silver Hart, the Baron’s fast galleon plowing through the waves as an iron golem would plow through a mere bush. They had set a course of east by northeast, intending to sail around the warzone surrounding the Imperial enemy of Kandor, then change course to east by southeast, before stopping at the port of Tarnpool.
She’d found herself with very little to do, for the most part. The crew was well behaved, and thanks to her persuasion of the captain, healthy food on board meant that they wouldn’t likely be expecting disease.
Siran was on deck this day too... mercifully, as the ship’s carpenter, she hadn’t had much time to see him, as he was going out, constantly looking for leaks, checking the masts, and other jobs, usually accompanied by Visiel, whose patience as a warforged meant he caught many small, tiny things that humans were to busy to spot.
Among the rest of the crew on deck this day, Viktalia saw one figure that stood out. Standing on the starboard side of the ship, roughly amidships, was the ship’s lone passenger. The woman had been on deck every day, staring out to the sea since the ship had left the port of Erelion. While that alone might have caught Viktalia’s attention, there were even stranger things about their passenger.
For one, she had not said a word since their putting to sea. While Viktalia hadn’t really made an effort to get close to her, she had expected that over the course of an entire week at sea, the woman would have said something to someone, yet no one claimed to have ever heard her voice. Just as strangely, she was clad head to toe in fine linens, and despite the summer’s heat, over her face she wore a silver mask carved and etched to resemble the countenance of a beautiful woman. Not a single piece of skin was visible, save her eyes.
Viktalia had only caught sight of them once, and their blue depths seemed to stretch on and on into seas of melancholy. While her linens hung close to curves that undoubtedly would drive most men crazy, there was something about her that caused most of the sailors on board to stay away... something Viktalia couldn’t place.
“You noticed her too?”
Viktalia bristled slightly on hearing Siran’s voice behind her. He’s probably been leering at her. No wonder she put on a mask...
“She seems really sad,” the cleric said as he stepped beside her, “I’m guessing she wears the mask to hide it.” As Viktalia’s jaw dropped, the cleric turned and looked at her for a moment, before he frowned. “What? I can’t express a little emotion here?” He gestured off towards the woman again. “She seems sad, that’s all! Why do you assume I’m always oggling people?”
“Because you always are oggling women,” Viktalia shot back, before looking at him, surprise still on her face. “I’m more than a little surprised that you noticed anything about her other than her curves.” The Siran of last week would have leered and commented on her body, or something.
“She walks like a noble, but slowly and with a slight slouch, that’s how I know she’s sad,” Siran pressed ahead. Viktalia gave a slight humph at him ignoring her comment, yet he didn’t notice that either. “Though like I said, I’m wondering about that mask.” He looked back at Viktalia, and frowned again. “Come on! Don’t give me that look! You’re wondering too!”
“I am,” Viktalia said, before turning towards Siran with an iron gaze. “I’m wondering why you are such a shallow, drunkard, skirt-chasing fool.”
“I knew we got off on the wrong foot,” Siran replied with a sigh. He walked over to one of the railings, and stared off into the sea. “Do you want to hear my explanation for my actions, or do you wish to be like so many others and give a lecture that I likely will immediately forget?”
I wonder what his excuse is going to be... Viktalia wondered, before nodding to him.
“Well, my dearest Formorteran, I am, as you know, a cleric of St. Heraclius. As such, I find myself in situations constantly that most would describe as dangerous, many as foolhardy, and still others as daft. Therefore,” he turned to her, “I have no idea when my life might suddenly end, or when I’ll catch a whiff of bad luck and find myself so horribly mutilated that I wish my life had ended.” Viktalia looked into his eyes, and for once, she didn’t see a leering gaze in return, only a sad one, as Siran fidgeted with the ship’s railing.
Viktalia nodded. The clerics of Heraclius had a reputation, but she’d never heard one explain why his order acted so roguish on a constant basis. Not until now.
“So, I live hard, drink hard, play hard, and try to enjoy the most I can. That’s all,” he sighed, before looking back out to the sea. “I don’t ever want to be laying on the deck one day, the ship’s doctor reaching in my ribs, and my poor brain squeezing through the pain one final thought of: ‘I wish I knew what would have happened if...’” An ironic laugh later, “You know, they say its a miracle that the Abbot of St. Heraclius in Erelion has reached forty. I’m a little over halfway there.”
He’s twenty-five... still very young for a human... and he thinks constantly of death? The thought confused her, confounded her. Formorterans were a peaceful people, death short of old age was considered a tragedy, not the norm. Sure, they knew of the elves and humans and their constant wars against each other, but knowing of death was one thing... seeing it passively reflected in someone’s eyes was something far different.
“So,” he said, turning back to her, his back straight and the cockiness back in his eyes, “that’s my sob story. Not much of one, I know, and it can’t be converted into a bard’s song or a play, but it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “Just don’t try to pigeon-hole me before we’ve done much, alright?” he winked.
Viktalia had been about to open her mouth to issue an apology, of sorts, until she saw that wink. Instantly, a frown came over her face again, though it wasn’t nearly as dark as the one’s prior.
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” she said.
“Incorri-what?”
“Incorrigible. You can’t be changed,” she rolled her eyes. She deftly avoided the uncomfortable previous topic when she added, “and yes, I was curious too. Leering didn’t cause me to acquire my curiosity, however.”
“No harm, no foul,” Siran raised his hands. “Though someone should go over and talk to her.”
Both he and Viktalia immediately looked at each other, and he flashed a smile.
“If I go over there, you’ll accuse me of flirting,” he said simply, with another wink. Viktalia rolled her eyes, and groaned.
“Fine... I’ll going to go over and talk to her.”
“Hello?” Viktalia asked cautiously, to no reply. Well... she’s going to be difficult then. “My name is Viktalia, Viktalia Starwynd.” She proffered a friendly hand in front of the woman, and finally the shrouded creature turned, those same blue eyes looking sharply at her from behind their silver shield.
“Rowena,” the woman said simply, her voice wet and heavy, as if she needed to cough up a piece of phlegm. No hand was offered, and the blue eyes flashed annoyance.
Still not welcome... there seems to be a lot of ice to crack here, Viktalia thought, before slipping alongside their passenger and looking out to the sea for a moment. After a few moments of silence, she turned. “I’ve noticed you’re the only other woman on board. On a ship full of deprived men, it might be a good idea to get to know each other, watch our backs.” While Viktalia flashed a rather humorous smile, she had heard some unfortunate stories...
“You seem to be the one that needs guarding,” the woman rasped, looking at Viktalia for a moment before returning her gaze to the sea. “The men stay away from me, and rightfully so.”
’Rightfully so?’ Either this woman has a low opinion of herself... or something’s happened here that has to do with her looks, Viktalia thought. She let silence reign between them for a few more seconds, before speaking again. “If you don’t mind me probing...”
“Why the mask?” the woman answered her question, turning to face her again. There was a noise that sounded something like a sigh mixed with the noise of a person blowing bubbles underwater. The blue eyes looked past Viktalia for a second, before looking down at the deck in sadness. “This is what happens when you’re cursed.”
Cursed? How? Why? A thousand questions burst into Viktalia’s mind, yet she restrained herself. Let her open up slowly... don’t rush her. Another few moments silence. “Its awfully hot out... aren’t you hot?”
“Dreadfully,” came the simple reply.
“Whatever is cursed, I’m sure its not bad enough to put up with this heat!” Viktalia said hopefully. Or is it?
“It is,” the woman replied. “I’m afraid if the crew saw what I really look like, they would jump overboard in fear... and loathing.” Viktalia thought she saw the woman’s form give a slight shudder.
So even she loathes what she has become... this must be a rather gruesome curse...
“Really? I can’t imagine anything that would be bad enough for you to put yourself through a furnace,” Viktalia said simply. “I’ve been to many places, and I’m sure no matter how bad you look, that I’ve seen worse and grinned afterwards. You’re only torturing yourself by wearing all those heavy linens and that mask out here in the heat,” she said gently. Get her to open up more out of concern...
“You really wish to see what... what she, no, they did to me?” the woman asked.
“Why not? I’m sure you look better than you think,” Viktalia said confidently.
“You promise you won’t run and leap off the ship, or go mad?” the woman asked.
“Of course not!” Viktalia laughed, even as her mind worried. What could be wrong with her that is that bad? Is she a medusa of some kind? Cursed with a disease that spreads madness? “You can’t be uglier than a Formorteran cave troll!”
“Very well,” the woman sighed, pulling back the thick linens covering her arm with a silk gloved hand. For a moment, her glove hovered there, indecision plain in her movements, until finally, she pulled her hand away, and Viktalia fought her hardest not to gasp.
All the woman revealed was a tiny section of her skin, no more than an inch across, yet it was awash in a sea of festering sores and oozing blisters, its entirety either sickly shades of yellow, angry shades of red, or nauseating black ulcers. Viktalia immediately felt the woman’s eyes boring into her, and only a second later, the linen had been replaced.
“It was frightening to you,” her voice rasped, as she looked down towards the now covered arm. “I should not have shown you.”
“No, it didn’t,” Viktalia lied, as she swallowed hard. Who, or what could have done this to her? Why would someone do something so horrible as to curse someone like this? “I...um...” the bard stammered, for the first time in a while flummoxed. Finally, she forced her brain and mouth into sync. If this is a mere curse... maybe Siran could help? Or maybe at least heal some of the sores? “I...have a friend. He is a cleric, of St. Heraclius. Perhaps maybe he could help you?”
“I would be surprised if he could,” her voice grated in reply. “I only left my home in Tarnpool because it was said there was a man in Erelion that called himself Hephastion who could heal anything... for a price.” Her dripping voice became acidic. “Your friend does not charge twenty-five thousand gold pieces for a sham?”
Twenty-five thousand gold?! Viktalia had to once again keep her jaw from dropping in shock. This woman is either fabulously wealthy, or a part of the nobility... hmm... Tarnpool... what do I know about Tarnpool...
“No... he won’t charge,” Viktalia said confidently. If he does, he is no true cleric.
Siran watched as Viktalia and the strange woman walked over, side by side.
Hmm... I wonder what is going on here? I highly doubt Viktalia put in a good word for me... maybe the woman was curious about me? Maybe she needs healing or something...
...a chance to make a good impression, either way! Siran cracked his neck, shuffled his clothes, and rubbed a dull spot off his armor just before the two were directly in front of him.
“Miss Rowena of Tarnpool, I would like you to meet Siran Rapp,” Viktalia said.
“Sir,” the woman in the silver mask said as she bowed, her voice sounding heavy and wet. That alone started to ring alarm bells in Siran’s head... beautiful damsels, even those in distress, didn’t have voices that sounded as if they were speaking almost underwater.
“Milady,” Siran said after a second, raising a hand as if to take her glove and kiss it. When she hesitated, he gave a slightly gruff nod. I see Viktalia talked to her ahead of me. “I am please to make your acquaintance,” he quickly added.
“And I yours,” the woman said, before the bright silver mask flashed momentarily towards Viktalia. “Your friend says you are a skilled healer, and I, as you can see, have need of one. Can you lift curses?”
“Curses?” Siran said slowly. “Um... what kind of curses?” She’s been cursed... something disfiguring, I guess, from all the clothes she’s wearing to cover herself. “I can heal wounds, call on creatures from the deep, but curses...” he raised his hands in honesty, “those are beyond my abilities, madam. I am sorry.” Dammit! If only I’d paid some more attention at seminary! He honestly felt bad... whatever was wrong with the woman, it required her to cover herself completely, which he guessed wasn’t that comfortable at all by itself...
She sighed, and he saw her blue eyes look down, as if another tiny flicker of hope had been crushed. “At least you are honest... that’s more than I can say for the last cleric I went to. He pocketed my money before pronouncing me incurable.”
“Its too bad there are charlatans about,” Siran said quietly. “I sincerely hope that your condition finds a cure, madam, though I am curious... what is this curse, exactly?”
“Siran!” Viktalia snapped.
“If he is curious... he can ask,” the woman raised a hand to quiet the bard down. “I am the daughter of a noble from Kubalia... the human kingdom just across the Straits of Erelion. I used to be beautiful... they said I was the most beautiful girl in the land... and sadly I got the attention of the already married Prince.” She sighed again, her hand reaching for her sleeve again. “His jealous wife did this to me.”
When Siran saw the puss and ulcer filled section of flesh, he wasn’t as strong as Viktalia. He did recoil.
“I understand your recoil. Its repulsive, and extremely painful,” she said quietly, replacing the clothing. “For the past two years I have sailed all around the Kubalia Sea, looking for cures, bleeding my father’s purse dry in the process. And as of yet, nothing but, as you say,” her voice turned acidic in its murk, “charlatans and con-men. So now that the purse has run dry, I have no choice but to sail home,” she shrugged, the movement making sickening slurping noises.
“Well, let me tell you this, at least,” Siran said, this time elegantly taking her gloved hand and administering a kiss, “no matter what your skin looks like, you still have very pretty eyes, as blue as the sky above!”
“Why thank you!” the eyes lit up for a moment, a smile from the past that now was invisible.
When she had left, returning to her post on the starboard side of the ship, Viktalia turned to Siran, and administered a death glare.
“You are a scoundrel!” she whispered.
“I am nothing of the sort!” Siran raised his hands in defense. “I’m guessing with a condition like that, it has been two years since someone has paid her a compliment. And I don’t know about you, bell-ears,” he gestured to Viktalia’s jewelry, “but every now and then I feel better when someone says something good about me.” If its impossible to heal the body, it is usually possible to heal the mind, at least...
Visiel blinked for a second and sighed.
It is good to have direction again, he smiled, even as his eyes keenly looked over the distant flashes of white-topped waves under the full moon six hours later. Carefully he kept looking for the lights, or flash of a sail that would signal another ship, a task he threw himself into with glee despite having spent two hours already staring at the empty sea. I’ll gladly do this all through the night.
“Hey Visiel!” he heard the cleric call, but Visiel did not turn around. He could talk to the cleric while his eyes watched the water.
“Yes, companion?” he asked.
“You sure got the captain angry back an hour ago,” the cleric chuckled. He, as well as Viktalia, had agreed to stay up with Visiel during the first watch of the night... not at Visiel’s request, but the captain’s.
“I do not understand why Lieutenant Kaled grew so frustrated with me,” Visiel replied morosely. I try to do my best, and I do not understand what I did wrong. “All I did was request a new assignment. After eight hours of scrubbing, I am very sure the deck was clean down to the most minute speck of dust.”
“I don’t think it was the fact you wanted a new assignment,” Siran laughed, “but that you asked him a thousand times in the space of five minutes for a new assignment!”
He did not hear my original request, I assumed, so I thought it appropriate to ask again until I was sure he received my request. On the battlefield, it is always important for the officers to know the situation, even if their subordinates must advise them repeatedly on conditions. If he had been human, Visiel might have scratched his head, but instead, he gave his standard metallic grunt. “I only advised the Lieutenant that the battlefield situation had changed, and I only spoke to him until I received acknowledgement my message had been received.”
“If you call cursing up a storm acknowledgement,” Siran said, “and there you go again with the battlefield talk. We aren’t in a war right now... not until we see some vessels from Kandor or Lees. Then we’re heading to war.”
“The lieutenant advised me to watch the ocean for enemy ships, which is what I shall do,” Visiel replied simply. “I have no need for restive maintenance, unlike you humans, so I can keep this watch throughout the night. Now,” Visiel changed his tone to one he had heard many officers use to younger subordinates, “you should return to your patrol over there. Your companionship is welcome, but you are distracting me from my mission, companion.”
“My patrol?” Siran said, before walking back to starboard amidships. “I suppose, if you call me watching the sea a patrol.”
Visiel ignored the comment. Humans always loved to argue the semantics of orders, which only delayed their enactment. Viktalia does not question orders like this... though since Siran used to be a ship’s officer, he is still adjusting to being a carpenter’s mate.
“He’s certainly uptight,” Siran whispered a few moments later, only to hear Viktalia give a snort. “What?”
“He’s trying to do his job, yet you’re bothering him,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t think the same way we do. I’ve got the feeling that he needs order, he needs hierarchy and assigned tasks...”
Quite dull, if you ask me. “So anyway,” Siran waved his hand, changing topic, “I overheard some stuff from the crew. Being a mere carpenter’s mate, they trust me more than you pseudo-officers.”
“What sorts of things?” Viktalia turned and looked at him. “About who? Visiel?”
“Oh, no no!” Siran chuckled. “At first, most of them were rather afraid of the big metal guy, but now... they seem to appreciate having someone willing to swab the decks for eight hours straight, and someone that can carrying two of those huge cargo barrels at the same time. Nothing about him... only two people. You, and Cecil.” Siran enjoyed the momentarily look of confusion, then the darkening of her face as one implication of what he said came to her mind.
“They think... gods no...”
“No! Not that!” Siran laughed. Though I would die a thousand deaths from laughter if that were true! “There’s two different things I wanted to tell you that I overheard. First, the crew thinks you’re a godsend, though there’s been some wonderings as to when they’ll get to see that performance...”
“They want a performance?” Siran once again enjoyed the emotions coming from her, this time glee. “Well, we have been at sea for an entire week... and I do want to give them a performance... hey,” she suddenly stopped. “You don’t have that lascivious look in your eyes that I expected!”
“You aren’t human.” Siran executed an ornate mock bow. “Thus, you are free from my designs.” Count yourself fortunate... I know many clerics of my order that would have no qualms about chasing down a creature as yourself, human, elven, or goblin...
“Yes, whatever,” Viktalia grinned, her golden eyes shining in the moonlight. “Now, what do they say about our good friend Cecil? Were they upset at his calling the bow of the ship the front?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t be the place to start.” Siran said, his voice lacking as much mirth as his friend. “He called the masts the ‘ship’s poles,’ the ship’s keel its ‘wood spine,’ and it’s deck a ‘floor.’ Though, I don’t think you realize how deep this ‘upsettedness’ goes.” Sailors as superstitious by nature, and the sea is an unkind mistress...
“Oh.” Viktalia’s own mirth quickly ended, and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “That hate him that bad?”
“I overheard some of them praying to St. Porus that they won’t be taken before their time on account that their captain has not learned the ways of the sea,” Siran said. To his surprise, Viktalia did not look at him askew, as he expected. Most ‘landlubbers’ had little idea of the culture of sailors and their views of St. Porus, their patron.
“So they feel their captain doesn’t respect the traditions of the sea?” she said slowly, and Siran nodded. Her face grew very grave. “So are they talking about...”
“I’ve heard rumblings, yes,” Siran nodded darkly. When St. Porus... the god Neros to the uncivilized, becomes offended by a ship’s captain, he’ll take vengeance on the entire crew... “’Better to rid oneself of an anchor, than sink to the bottom of the sea,’ they say.”
“That bad?” Viktalia said quietly, causing Siran’s eyebrows to raise. She knows more of the sea than she lets on...
“They want Lieutenant Kaled as their captain... and unless something is done soon, I am sure things will reach their breaking point, very very...” He suddenly stopped in mid sentence.
What was that? From the side of the ship, where normally there should be the lulling wash of waves against wood, there instead was a slight noise... a scrape, a scratch. When Siran looked up, he saw Visiel had turned from his position at the bow, and was already stalking towards one side of the vessel...
What was that? Visiel asked at nearly the same time as Siran, his own ears picking up the scrapings and scratchings. He turned his head slightly, and listened again, his mind rushing pieces of information together, searching his memory for anything that sounded like this. Only a moment later, he had come to a conclusion.
“Something is climbing up the sides of the ship,” he said, his deep metallic voice now a hissing whisper. Something equipped with claws, which is causing the scraping as it grips the wood to climb. Old thought patterns, long unused, now rose to the front. Immediately, Visiel pointed to the starboard side of the ship, then raised two fingers. Two enemies, that side. His hand the slashed towards port, then raised a single finger. One enemy there. Three altogether. His eyes then flashed up towards Viktalia and Siran, who nervously continued to look at both sides of the ship.
My companions are confused as to what to do. I must give them direction, Visiel thought, a finger flashing towards each, then pointing towards the port side. I do not know their combat abilities in a concrete manner, though I suspect the priest of St. Heraclius can fight. Together, the two of them should be able to handle one of whatever is climbing up the side of the ship. For a moment, Visiel considered his rifle, before leaving it on his back. There was not enough time or distance, so instead the warforged reached for his massive warhammer, its hammerhead pitted and black from the acidic magic it had been treated in.
Someone should alert the rest of the crew, Visiel thought, before looking at the ship’s bell. Lieutenant Kaled said I should ring the bell if something goes wrong. He then looked back at Viktalia and Siran, and quickly decided that since the cleric could likely fight, Viktalia should ring the bell. A finger lashed out towards her, then towards the bell.
When she nodded, Visiel expected her to dash across the deck and begin ringing the bell madly, but instead she got a strange grin. She reached into her cloak and in a flash, she had a crossbow out, dropped into an aiming crouch, and fired a single bolt.
The ship’s bell clanged, loud and hard, and from down below, Visiel could barely hear the sounds of a crew coming awake, the noises of the alarm spreading.
Creative, Visiel mused, Adaptability on the battlefield is always good. She could be far more useful than I originally thought, he decided, just as his eyes caught sight of a clawed hand reached onto the railing. While a less trained sailor might have struck the hands, Visiel waited until an ugly, reptilian head, fins and gills spreading from its neck, peeked over the railing.
With all the might his metallic 500 pound body could muster, Visiel brought his warhammer down on the creature’s skull. There was a large crash, as the creature’s head disappeared in a spray of blood and bone, its clawed hand suddenly letting go only seconds before its remains splashed into the sea...
“Sahuagin!” Siran called, his spiked chain already out from around his waist. He’d heard Visiel grunt, as well as the crash of the warhammer hitting something, but he had no time to look. In front of him, the port side sahuagin had leapt onto the ship’s deck, its claws outstretched and mouth wide.
There was a flash, a loud crack, as Viktalia whipped out her pistol and opened fire, yet in her hurry, she missed the creature entirely. Without thinking, Siran lifted the chain high, and began to slowly swing it around his head, faster and faster as the creature eyed him warily.
“Ah... you don’t want to play...” Siran said, hoping to goad the creature. Some of these bastards understand Common... let’s see if this one does and if he wants to play... It growled at him, baring a mouth full of fangs as it circled. Siran watched its movements, until somewhere in his mind, he recognized the creature pause for just an instant. He flicked his wrist forward, and the spiked chain lashed out, snagging the creature by the shoulder, slashing part of its neck, then whipping it over the edge of the boat. It landed in the water with a splash, its angry cries of pain echoing in the night.
Siran immediately dropped his chain, and fell on his knees on deck. Visiel said there were two... and he took care of one. I don’t want this one coming back. He closed his eyes tightly, and began to murmur a prayer. ”Saint Heraclius, I ask thee to intercede with the saints of nature for me. Your humble servant sadly cannot swim like one of these sahuagin, creatures that this servant knows you despise as abominations. I pray that instead that the creatures of nature would help rid us of this one abomination, cleaning their water as we clean your world...”
No thundering voice from on high answered Siran’s prayer, but somewhere deep inside, the cleric felt a calming presence. When he opened his eyes, he immediately looked towards the still screaming sahuagin, just in time to see an immense shark from the deep swallow the hapless monster whole.
Visiel waited patiently. This one saw what happened to his friend. He is trying to be clever. He waits. So will I. He could see two clawed hands holding onto the edge of the ship’s deck, sliding back and forth slowly. Yet Visiel waited, with infinite patience. You may drop back into the sea from whence you came, or you can leap onto deck, and I will send you back by force...
After another minute, just as Visiel heard the noise of the crew clambering up from below onto the deck, the sahuagin leapt over the railing, a snarl on its lips. Just as it landed, Visiel spun his entire massive body, putting all the weight and force behind his swing. The massive hammerhead caught the sahuagin in the belly, and the creature sailed over the railing and for another forty feet or so, before its crushed body landed in the water with a splash.
As the crew oohed, aahed, and gasped at the spectacle, Visiel pulled out his cleaning kerchief, and calmly cleaned every speck of blood and bone from the hammerhead. Afterwards, despite cheers from the crew, he quietly walked again to the front of the ship, to continue his watchful stare out to sea.
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Lady Rowena is yet another NPC... I got the original idea for her from King Baldwin's character in Kingdom of Heaven[/]i, including the debilitating disease and the silver mask. Now, as to what she can do, and how this relates to the party... that comes up more in the second session...
The sahuagin were a test run, to see how this party measured up, and they turned out to be a little more powerful than I guessed, hence their easy time dealing with the targets. With this known, I'm now modifying some later challenges that they will soon meet.
At Sea, and First Blood
Viktalia closed her eyes, and relished the smell of salt in the air. Salt meant sailing, and sailing meant she was headed somewhere new, somewhere she hadn’t been before.
As she nibbled on the dried apricot in her hand, she noise of the sea washed about her, as it had for the past week since they’d left Erelion. Around a half mile ahead of them lay the bulk of the Silver Hart, the Baron’s fast galleon plowing through the waves as an iron golem would plow through a mere bush. They had set a course of east by northeast, intending to sail around the warzone surrounding the Imperial enemy of Kandor, then change course to east by southeast, before stopping at the port of Tarnpool.
She’d found herself with very little to do, for the most part. The crew was well behaved, and thanks to her persuasion of the captain, healthy food on board meant that they wouldn’t likely be expecting disease.
Siran was on deck this day too... mercifully, as the ship’s carpenter, she hadn’t had much time to see him, as he was going out, constantly looking for leaks, checking the masts, and other jobs, usually accompanied by Visiel, whose patience as a warforged meant he caught many small, tiny things that humans were to busy to spot.
Among the rest of the crew on deck this day, Viktalia saw one figure that stood out. Standing on the starboard side of the ship, roughly amidships, was the ship’s lone passenger. The woman had been on deck every day, staring out to the sea since the ship had left the port of Erelion. While that alone might have caught Viktalia’s attention, there were even stranger things about their passenger.
For one, she had not said a word since their putting to sea. While Viktalia hadn’t really made an effort to get close to her, she had expected that over the course of an entire week at sea, the woman would have said something to someone, yet no one claimed to have ever heard her voice. Just as strangely, she was clad head to toe in fine linens, and despite the summer’s heat, over her face she wore a silver mask carved and etched to resemble the countenance of a beautiful woman. Not a single piece of skin was visible, save her eyes.
Viktalia had only caught sight of them once, and their blue depths seemed to stretch on and on into seas of melancholy. While her linens hung close to curves that undoubtedly would drive most men crazy, there was something about her that caused most of the sailors on board to stay away... something Viktalia couldn’t place.
“You noticed her too?”
Viktalia bristled slightly on hearing Siran’s voice behind her. He’s probably been leering at her. No wonder she put on a mask...
“She seems really sad,” the cleric said as he stepped beside her, “I’m guessing she wears the mask to hide it.” As Viktalia’s jaw dropped, the cleric turned and looked at her for a moment, before he frowned. “What? I can’t express a little emotion here?” He gestured off towards the woman again. “She seems sad, that’s all! Why do you assume I’m always oggling people?”
“Because you always are oggling women,” Viktalia shot back, before looking at him, surprise still on her face. “I’m more than a little surprised that you noticed anything about her other than her curves.” The Siran of last week would have leered and commented on her body, or something.
“She walks like a noble, but slowly and with a slight slouch, that’s how I know she’s sad,” Siran pressed ahead. Viktalia gave a slight humph at him ignoring her comment, yet he didn’t notice that either. “Though like I said, I’m wondering about that mask.” He looked back at Viktalia, and frowned again. “Come on! Don’t give me that look! You’re wondering too!”
“I am,” Viktalia said, before turning towards Siran with an iron gaze. “I’m wondering why you are such a shallow, drunkard, skirt-chasing fool.”
“I knew we got off on the wrong foot,” Siran replied with a sigh. He walked over to one of the railings, and stared off into the sea. “Do you want to hear my explanation for my actions, or do you wish to be like so many others and give a lecture that I likely will immediately forget?”
I wonder what his excuse is going to be... Viktalia wondered, before nodding to him.
“Well, my dearest Formorteran, I am, as you know, a cleric of St. Heraclius. As such, I find myself in situations constantly that most would describe as dangerous, many as foolhardy, and still others as daft. Therefore,” he turned to her, “I have no idea when my life might suddenly end, or when I’ll catch a whiff of bad luck and find myself so horribly mutilated that I wish my life had ended.” Viktalia looked into his eyes, and for once, she didn’t see a leering gaze in return, only a sad one, as Siran fidgeted with the ship’s railing.
Viktalia nodded. The clerics of Heraclius had a reputation, but she’d never heard one explain why his order acted so roguish on a constant basis. Not until now.
“So, I live hard, drink hard, play hard, and try to enjoy the most I can. That’s all,” he sighed, before looking back out to the sea. “I don’t ever want to be laying on the deck one day, the ship’s doctor reaching in my ribs, and my poor brain squeezing through the pain one final thought of: ‘I wish I knew what would have happened if...’” An ironic laugh later, “You know, they say its a miracle that the Abbot of St. Heraclius in Erelion has reached forty. I’m a little over halfway there.”
He’s twenty-five... still very young for a human... and he thinks constantly of death? The thought confused her, confounded her. Formorterans were a peaceful people, death short of old age was considered a tragedy, not the norm. Sure, they knew of the elves and humans and their constant wars against each other, but knowing of death was one thing... seeing it passively reflected in someone’s eyes was something far different.
“So,” he said, turning back to her, his back straight and the cockiness back in his eyes, “that’s my sob story. Not much of one, I know, and it can’t be converted into a bard’s song or a play, but it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “Just don’t try to pigeon-hole me before we’ve done much, alright?” he winked.
Viktalia had been about to open her mouth to issue an apology, of sorts, until she saw that wink. Instantly, a frown came over her face again, though it wasn’t nearly as dark as the one’s prior.
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” she said.
“Incorri-what?”
“Incorrigible. You can’t be changed,” she rolled her eyes. She deftly avoided the uncomfortable previous topic when she added, “and yes, I was curious too. Leering didn’t cause me to acquire my curiosity, however.”
“No harm, no foul,” Siran raised his hands. “Though someone should go over and talk to her.”
Both he and Viktalia immediately looked at each other, and he flashed a smile.
“If I go over there, you’ll accuse me of flirting,” he said simply, with another wink. Viktalia rolled her eyes, and groaned.
“Fine... I’ll going to go over and talk to her.”
“Hello?” Viktalia asked cautiously, to no reply. Well... she’s going to be difficult then. “My name is Viktalia, Viktalia Starwynd.” She proffered a friendly hand in front of the woman, and finally the shrouded creature turned, those same blue eyes looking sharply at her from behind their silver shield.
“Rowena,” the woman said simply, her voice wet and heavy, as if she needed to cough up a piece of phlegm. No hand was offered, and the blue eyes flashed annoyance.
Still not welcome... there seems to be a lot of ice to crack here, Viktalia thought, before slipping alongside their passenger and looking out to the sea for a moment. After a few moments of silence, she turned. “I’ve noticed you’re the only other woman on board. On a ship full of deprived men, it might be a good idea to get to know each other, watch our backs.” While Viktalia flashed a rather humorous smile, she had heard some unfortunate stories...
“You seem to be the one that needs guarding,” the woman rasped, looking at Viktalia for a moment before returning her gaze to the sea. “The men stay away from me, and rightfully so.”
’Rightfully so?’ Either this woman has a low opinion of herself... or something’s happened here that has to do with her looks, Viktalia thought. She let silence reign between them for a few more seconds, before speaking again. “If you don’t mind me probing...”
“Why the mask?” the woman answered her question, turning to face her again. There was a noise that sounded something like a sigh mixed with the noise of a person blowing bubbles underwater. The blue eyes looked past Viktalia for a second, before looking down at the deck in sadness. “This is what happens when you’re cursed.”
Cursed? How? Why? A thousand questions burst into Viktalia’s mind, yet she restrained herself. Let her open up slowly... don’t rush her. Another few moments silence. “Its awfully hot out... aren’t you hot?”
“Dreadfully,” came the simple reply.
“Whatever is cursed, I’m sure its not bad enough to put up with this heat!” Viktalia said hopefully. Or is it?
“It is,” the woman replied. “I’m afraid if the crew saw what I really look like, they would jump overboard in fear... and loathing.” Viktalia thought she saw the woman’s form give a slight shudder.
So even she loathes what she has become... this must be a rather gruesome curse...
“Really? I can’t imagine anything that would be bad enough for you to put yourself through a furnace,” Viktalia said simply. “I’ve been to many places, and I’m sure no matter how bad you look, that I’ve seen worse and grinned afterwards. You’re only torturing yourself by wearing all those heavy linens and that mask out here in the heat,” she said gently. Get her to open up more out of concern...
“You really wish to see what... what she, no, they did to me?” the woman asked.
“Why not? I’m sure you look better than you think,” Viktalia said confidently.
“You promise you won’t run and leap off the ship, or go mad?” the woman asked.
“Of course not!” Viktalia laughed, even as her mind worried. What could be wrong with her that is that bad? Is she a medusa of some kind? Cursed with a disease that spreads madness? “You can’t be uglier than a Formorteran cave troll!”
“Very well,” the woman sighed, pulling back the thick linens covering her arm with a silk gloved hand. For a moment, her glove hovered there, indecision plain in her movements, until finally, she pulled her hand away, and Viktalia fought her hardest not to gasp.
All the woman revealed was a tiny section of her skin, no more than an inch across, yet it was awash in a sea of festering sores and oozing blisters, its entirety either sickly shades of yellow, angry shades of red, or nauseating black ulcers. Viktalia immediately felt the woman’s eyes boring into her, and only a second later, the linen had been replaced.
“It was frightening to you,” her voice rasped, as she looked down towards the now covered arm. “I should not have shown you.”
“No, it didn’t,” Viktalia lied, as she swallowed hard. Who, or what could have done this to her? Why would someone do something so horrible as to curse someone like this? “I...um...” the bard stammered, for the first time in a while flummoxed. Finally, she forced her brain and mouth into sync. If this is a mere curse... maybe Siran could help? Or maybe at least heal some of the sores? “I...have a friend. He is a cleric, of St. Heraclius. Perhaps maybe he could help you?”
“I would be surprised if he could,” her voice grated in reply. “I only left my home in Tarnpool because it was said there was a man in Erelion that called himself Hephastion who could heal anything... for a price.” Her dripping voice became acidic. “Your friend does not charge twenty-five thousand gold pieces for a sham?”
Twenty-five thousand gold?! Viktalia had to once again keep her jaw from dropping in shock. This woman is either fabulously wealthy, or a part of the nobility... hmm... Tarnpool... what do I know about Tarnpool...
“No... he won’t charge,” Viktalia said confidently. If he does, he is no true cleric.
Siran watched as Viktalia and the strange woman walked over, side by side.
Hmm... I wonder what is going on here? I highly doubt Viktalia put in a good word for me... maybe the woman was curious about me? Maybe she needs healing or something...
...a chance to make a good impression, either way! Siran cracked his neck, shuffled his clothes, and rubbed a dull spot off his armor just before the two were directly in front of him.
“Miss Rowena of Tarnpool, I would like you to meet Siran Rapp,” Viktalia said.
“Sir,” the woman in the silver mask said as she bowed, her voice sounding heavy and wet. That alone started to ring alarm bells in Siran’s head... beautiful damsels, even those in distress, didn’t have voices that sounded as if they were speaking almost underwater.
“Milady,” Siran said after a second, raising a hand as if to take her glove and kiss it. When she hesitated, he gave a slightly gruff nod. I see Viktalia talked to her ahead of me. “I am please to make your acquaintance,” he quickly added.
“And I yours,” the woman said, before the bright silver mask flashed momentarily towards Viktalia. “Your friend says you are a skilled healer, and I, as you can see, have need of one. Can you lift curses?”
“Curses?” Siran said slowly. “Um... what kind of curses?” She’s been cursed... something disfiguring, I guess, from all the clothes she’s wearing to cover herself. “I can heal wounds, call on creatures from the deep, but curses...” he raised his hands in honesty, “those are beyond my abilities, madam. I am sorry.” Dammit! If only I’d paid some more attention at seminary! He honestly felt bad... whatever was wrong with the woman, it required her to cover herself completely, which he guessed wasn’t that comfortable at all by itself...
She sighed, and he saw her blue eyes look down, as if another tiny flicker of hope had been crushed. “At least you are honest... that’s more than I can say for the last cleric I went to. He pocketed my money before pronouncing me incurable.”
“Its too bad there are charlatans about,” Siran said quietly. “I sincerely hope that your condition finds a cure, madam, though I am curious... what is this curse, exactly?”
“Siran!” Viktalia snapped.
“If he is curious... he can ask,” the woman raised a hand to quiet the bard down. “I am the daughter of a noble from Kubalia... the human kingdom just across the Straits of Erelion. I used to be beautiful... they said I was the most beautiful girl in the land... and sadly I got the attention of the already married Prince.” She sighed again, her hand reaching for her sleeve again. “His jealous wife did this to me.”
When Siran saw the puss and ulcer filled section of flesh, he wasn’t as strong as Viktalia. He did recoil.
“I understand your recoil. Its repulsive, and extremely painful,” she said quietly, replacing the clothing. “For the past two years I have sailed all around the Kubalia Sea, looking for cures, bleeding my father’s purse dry in the process. And as of yet, nothing but, as you say,” her voice turned acidic in its murk, “charlatans and con-men. So now that the purse has run dry, I have no choice but to sail home,” she shrugged, the movement making sickening slurping noises.
“Well, let me tell you this, at least,” Siran said, this time elegantly taking her gloved hand and administering a kiss, “no matter what your skin looks like, you still have very pretty eyes, as blue as the sky above!”
“Why thank you!” the eyes lit up for a moment, a smile from the past that now was invisible.
When she had left, returning to her post on the starboard side of the ship, Viktalia turned to Siran, and administered a death glare.
“You are a scoundrel!” she whispered.
“I am nothing of the sort!” Siran raised his hands in defense. “I’m guessing with a condition like that, it has been two years since someone has paid her a compliment. And I don’t know about you, bell-ears,” he gestured to Viktalia’s jewelry, “but every now and then I feel better when someone says something good about me.” If its impossible to heal the body, it is usually possible to heal the mind, at least...
Visiel blinked for a second and sighed.
It is good to have direction again, he smiled, even as his eyes keenly looked over the distant flashes of white-topped waves under the full moon six hours later. Carefully he kept looking for the lights, or flash of a sail that would signal another ship, a task he threw himself into with glee despite having spent two hours already staring at the empty sea. I’ll gladly do this all through the night.
“Hey Visiel!” he heard the cleric call, but Visiel did not turn around. He could talk to the cleric while his eyes watched the water.
“Yes, companion?” he asked.
“You sure got the captain angry back an hour ago,” the cleric chuckled. He, as well as Viktalia, had agreed to stay up with Visiel during the first watch of the night... not at Visiel’s request, but the captain’s.
“I do not understand why Lieutenant Kaled grew so frustrated with me,” Visiel replied morosely. I try to do my best, and I do not understand what I did wrong. “All I did was request a new assignment. After eight hours of scrubbing, I am very sure the deck was clean down to the most minute speck of dust.”
“I don’t think it was the fact you wanted a new assignment,” Siran laughed, “but that you asked him a thousand times in the space of five minutes for a new assignment!”
He did not hear my original request, I assumed, so I thought it appropriate to ask again until I was sure he received my request. On the battlefield, it is always important for the officers to know the situation, even if their subordinates must advise them repeatedly on conditions. If he had been human, Visiel might have scratched his head, but instead, he gave his standard metallic grunt. “I only advised the Lieutenant that the battlefield situation had changed, and I only spoke to him until I received acknowledgement my message had been received.”
“If you call cursing up a storm acknowledgement,” Siran said, “and there you go again with the battlefield talk. We aren’t in a war right now... not until we see some vessels from Kandor or Lees. Then we’re heading to war.”
“The lieutenant advised me to watch the ocean for enemy ships, which is what I shall do,” Visiel replied simply. “I have no need for restive maintenance, unlike you humans, so I can keep this watch throughout the night. Now,” Visiel changed his tone to one he had heard many officers use to younger subordinates, “you should return to your patrol over there. Your companionship is welcome, but you are distracting me from my mission, companion.”
“My patrol?” Siran said, before walking back to starboard amidships. “I suppose, if you call me watching the sea a patrol.”
Visiel ignored the comment. Humans always loved to argue the semantics of orders, which only delayed their enactment. Viktalia does not question orders like this... though since Siran used to be a ship’s officer, he is still adjusting to being a carpenter’s mate.
“He’s certainly uptight,” Siran whispered a few moments later, only to hear Viktalia give a snort. “What?”
“He’s trying to do his job, yet you’re bothering him,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t think the same way we do. I’ve got the feeling that he needs order, he needs hierarchy and assigned tasks...”
Quite dull, if you ask me. “So anyway,” Siran waved his hand, changing topic, “I overheard some stuff from the crew. Being a mere carpenter’s mate, they trust me more than you pseudo-officers.”
“What sorts of things?” Viktalia turned and looked at him. “About who? Visiel?”
“Oh, no no!” Siran chuckled. “At first, most of them were rather afraid of the big metal guy, but now... they seem to appreciate having someone willing to swab the decks for eight hours straight, and someone that can carrying two of those huge cargo barrels at the same time. Nothing about him... only two people. You, and Cecil.” Siran enjoyed the momentarily look of confusion, then the darkening of her face as one implication of what he said came to her mind.
“They think... gods no...”
“No! Not that!” Siran laughed. Though I would die a thousand deaths from laughter if that were true! “There’s two different things I wanted to tell you that I overheard. First, the crew thinks you’re a godsend, though there’s been some wonderings as to when they’ll get to see that performance...”
“They want a performance?” Siran once again enjoyed the emotions coming from her, this time glee. “Well, we have been at sea for an entire week... and I do want to give them a performance... hey,” she suddenly stopped. “You don’t have that lascivious look in your eyes that I expected!”
“You aren’t human.” Siran executed an ornate mock bow. “Thus, you are free from my designs.” Count yourself fortunate... I know many clerics of my order that would have no qualms about chasing down a creature as yourself, human, elven, or goblin...
“Yes, whatever,” Viktalia grinned, her golden eyes shining in the moonlight. “Now, what do they say about our good friend Cecil? Were they upset at his calling the bow of the ship the front?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t be the place to start.” Siran said, his voice lacking as much mirth as his friend. “He called the masts the ‘ship’s poles,’ the ship’s keel its ‘wood spine,’ and it’s deck a ‘floor.’ Though, I don’t think you realize how deep this ‘upsettedness’ goes.” Sailors as superstitious by nature, and the sea is an unkind mistress...
“Oh.” Viktalia’s own mirth quickly ended, and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “That hate him that bad?”
“I overheard some of them praying to St. Porus that they won’t be taken before their time on account that their captain has not learned the ways of the sea,” Siran said. To his surprise, Viktalia did not look at him askew, as he expected. Most ‘landlubbers’ had little idea of the culture of sailors and their views of St. Porus, their patron.
“So they feel their captain doesn’t respect the traditions of the sea?” she said slowly, and Siran nodded. Her face grew very grave. “So are they talking about...”
“I’ve heard rumblings, yes,” Siran nodded darkly. When St. Porus... the god Neros to the uncivilized, becomes offended by a ship’s captain, he’ll take vengeance on the entire crew... “’Better to rid oneself of an anchor, than sink to the bottom of the sea,’ they say.”
“That bad?” Viktalia said quietly, causing Siran’s eyebrows to raise. She knows more of the sea than she lets on...
“They want Lieutenant Kaled as their captain... and unless something is done soon, I am sure things will reach their breaking point, very very...” He suddenly stopped in mid sentence.
What was that? From the side of the ship, where normally there should be the lulling wash of waves against wood, there instead was a slight noise... a scrape, a scratch. When Siran looked up, he saw Visiel had turned from his position at the bow, and was already stalking towards one side of the vessel...
What was that? Visiel asked at nearly the same time as Siran, his own ears picking up the scrapings and scratchings. He turned his head slightly, and listened again, his mind rushing pieces of information together, searching his memory for anything that sounded like this. Only a moment later, he had come to a conclusion.
“Something is climbing up the sides of the ship,” he said, his deep metallic voice now a hissing whisper. Something equipped with claws, which is causing the scraping as it grips the wood to climb. Old thought patterns, long unused, now rose to the front. Immediately, Visiel pointed to the starboard side of the ship, then raised two fingers. Two enemies, that side. His hand the slashed towards port, then raised a single finger. One enemy there. Three altogether. His eyes then flashed up towards Viktalia and Siran, who nervously continued to look at both sides of the ship.
My companions are confused as to what to do. I must give them direction, Visiel thought, a finger flashing towards each, then pointing towards the port side. I do not know their combat abilities in a concrete manner, though I suspect the priest of St. Heraclius can fight. Together, the two of them should be able to handle one of whatever is climbing up the side of the ship. For a moment, Visiel considered his rifle, before leaving it on his back. There was not enough time or distance, so instead the warforged reached for his massive warhammer, its hammerhead pitted and black from the acidic magic it had been treated in.
Someone should alert the rest of the crew, Visiel thought, before looking at the ship’s bell. Lieutenant Kaled said I should ring the bell if something goes wrong. He then looked back at Viktalia and Siran, and quickly decided that since the cleric could likely fight, Viktalia should ring the bell. A finger lashed out towards her, then towards the bell.
When she nodded, Visiel expected her to dash across the deck and begin ringing the bell madly, but instead she got a strange grin. She reached into her cloak and in a flash, she had a crossbow out, dropped into an aiming crouch, and fired a single bolt.
The ship’s bell clanged, loud and hard, and from down below, Visiel could barely hear the sounds of a crew coming awake, the noises of the alarm spreading.
Creative, Visiel mused, Adaptability on the battlefield is always good. She could be far more useful than I originally thought, he decided, just as his eyes caught sight of a clawed hand reached onto the railing. While a less trained sailor might have struck the hands, Visiel waited until an ugly, reptilian head, fins and gills spreading from its neck, peeked over the railing.
With all the might his metallic 500 pound body could muster, Visiel brought his warhammer down on the creature’s skull. There was a large crash, as the creature’s head disappeared in a spray of blood and bone, its clawed hand suddenly letting go only seconds before its remains splashed into the sea...
“Sahuagin!” Siran called, his spiked chain already out from around his waist. He’d heard Visiel grunt, as well as the crash of the warhammer hitting something, but he had no time to look. In front of him, the port side sahuagin had leapt onto the ship’s deck, its claws outstretched and mouth wide.
There was a flash, a loud crack, as Viktalia whipped out her pistol and opened fire, yet in her hurry, she missed the creature entirely. Without thinking, Siran lifted the chain high, and began to slowly swing it around his head, faster and faster as the creature eyed him warily.
“Ah... you don’t want to play...” Siran said, hoping to goad the creature. Some of these bastards understand Common... let’s see if this one does and if he wants to play... It growled at him, baring a mouth full of fangs as it circled. Siran watched its movements, until somewhere in his mind, he recognized the creature pause for just an instant. He flicked his wrist forward, and the spiked chain lashed out, snagging the creature by the shoulder, slashing part of its neck, then whipping it over the edge of the boat. It landed in the water with a splash, its angry cries of pain echoing in the night.
Siran immediately dropped his chain, and fell on his knees on deck. Visiel said there were two... and he took care of one. I don’t want this one coming back. He closed his eyes tightly, and began to murmur a prayer. ”Saint Heraclius, I ask thee to intercede with the saints of nature for me. Your humble servant sadly cannot swim like one of these sahuagin, creatures that this servant knows you despise as abominations. I pray that instead that the creatures of nature would help rid us of this one abomination, cleaning their water as we clean your world...”
No thundering voice from on high answered Siran’s prayer, but somewhere deep inside, the cleric felt a calming presence. When he opened his eyes, he immediately looked towards the still screaming sahuagin, just in time to see an immense shark from the deep swallow the hapless monster whole.
Visiel waited patiently. This one saw what happened to his friend. He is trying to be clever. He waits. So will I. He could see two clawed hands holding onto the edge of the ship’s deck, sliding back and forth slowly. Yet Visiel waited, with infinite patience. You may drop back into the sea from whence you came, or you can leap onto deck, and I will send you back by force...
After another minute, just as Visiel heard the noise of the crew clambering up from below onto the deck, the sahuagin leapt over the railing, a snarl on its lips. Just as it landed, Visiel spun his entire massive body, putting all the weight and force behind his swing. The massive hammerhead caught the sahuagin in the belly, and the creature sailed over the railing and for another forty feet or so, before its crushed body landed in the water with a splash.
As the crew oohed, aahed, and gasped at the spectacle, Visiel pulled out his cleaning kerchief, and calmly cleaned every speck of blood and bone from the hammerhead. Afterwards, despite cheers from the crew, he quietly walked again to the front of the ship, to continue his watchful stare out to sea.
====================================================
Lady Rowena is yet another NPC... I got the original idea for her from King Baldwin's character in Kingdom of Heaven[/]i, including the debilitating disease and the silver mask. Now, as to what she can do, and how this relates to the party... that comes up more in the second session...
The sahuagin were a test run, to see how this party measured up, and they turned out to be a little more powerful than I guessed, hence their easy time dealing with the targets. With this known, I'm now modifying some later challenges that they will soon meet.
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