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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 3104445" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><em><strong>7/26/372 O.L.G., 10 a.m., the Mustard Sargasso</strong></em></p><p></p><p>“Promise me,” says Naomi.</p><p></p><p>“All right,” Nara sighs, “I <em>promise</em> we won’t miss elevensies today.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine!” Naomi’s fat face ripples into a smile. She coos and gurgles with contentment as she leans back in the boat, her grubby hands digging into the folds of her cleavage and coming out with a piece of greasy bacon. She starts munching on it with delight. </p><p></p><p>“The next ship’s just up ahead,” warns Erasmuz over his shoulder. Queffe grunts agreement. Naomi mutters around her snack, but everyone perks up and begins to check armor straps and loosen their weapons in their scabbards. This strange sargasso has already proven itself to be unpleasantly dangerous. </p><p></p><p>“I wonder if we can eat any of the seaweed,” Naomi reflects.</p><p></p><p>“Eww!” squeals Dandy. “Well, maybe.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t know- remember, the dolphins said that it made the water all nasty. I bet we don’t find any mermaids here, either.” Erasmuz frowns slightly. </p><p></p><p>The hulk they are approaching is clearly old. It has been mired in the Mustard Sargasso for a long time- long enough to be almost completely coated in muck and seaweed. Rot has set in; many of the planks squish slightly beneath the fingers and toes of our heroes as the party climbs up. Rats scatter away from the adventurers as they clamber onto the deck. Tron poops on the deck, and for once nobody objects: it actually seems to freshen the air a little, if you can imagine that. Nothing of obvious value is visible.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t think that this is our ship,” Ari grumbles. “It’s been here a long time.”</p><p></p><p>“Listen!” barks Rock. The party hushes for a moment, and they can all hear the tell-tale squeaking of rats: lots of rats. Certainly, there are plenty on deck. They scamper away from the party’s feet, but not too far. Many of them look hungry, almost feral. Some are as long as a halfling’s forearm. Black, grey and brown, some festering with obvious disease, some with seeping wounds upon them. </p><p></p><p>“Let’s get out of here,” Ari suggests. The others quickly agree, and our heroes drop back down off the ensnared vessel and return to their launch.</p><p></p><p>“Still want elevensies?” cracks the druid, and Naomi’s face lights up.</p><p></p><p>“Oh yeah! It’s about that time!” Cheerfully, our heroes pause to scarf down some cupcakes and jerky (though Ari, strangely for a halfling, instead eats only dry salt crackers). Then they resume their journey, heading for the next derelict.</p><p></p><p>By the time they reach it, it is early afternoon. Again, this ship is covered by muck and slime and stripped of obvious valuables. This time, however, they can clear the muck from her name: the <em>Favorable Trade Agreement.</em></p><p></p><p>“Well,” states Erasmuz, “this ain’t the <em>Vast Explorer,</em> that’s for sure.”</p><p></p><p>“Right,” agrees Ari, “let’s move on.”</p><p></p><p>Slightly less than an hour later they find an abandoned launch mired in the sargasso. Whatever people rowed it are long gone, and no clue as to their fate, origin or mission can be discerned.</p><p></p><p>“I hope it isn’t the very last one we check,” mutters Nara.</p><p></p><p>“With our luck, it probably will be,” sighs Ari.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p><em><strong>5:10 p.m.</strong></em><strong></strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>The next ship has the tatters of a vibrant white sail still fluttering in the occasional wind. Its deck has listed at a noticeable angle, and the slime and sea growth has grown onto the ship in many places. Clearly, however, it is of a more recent vintage than the rat hulk ship, and as our heroes pilot the launch around the edge of the mat that has engulfed the vessel they spot her name.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong><em>The Vast Explorer.</em></strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“It’s her!” Ari exclaims. </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Our heroes whoop in joy. They can get out of this place soon! </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Soon the group is on deck. They begin searching the ship- an old-style caravel. If there are any clues to the Promised Land...</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>They turn up a clue, all right.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>The ghostly form of a halfling woman, dressed as a ship’s captain, appears on deck. Our heroes gasp. She lets out a moan and then a terrible cry: ‘My ship!’</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“She must be the captain!” cries Erasmuz. He initiates a <em>force screen</em> in the name of prudence. </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>‘Halflings,’ the ghost says suddenly, looking around. She gasps. Spectral tears flow from her eyes. ‘My kind.’</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>The party is rapt. </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>‘My ship! My quest! The Promised Land...’ she moans.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“We, too, seek the Promised Land,” declares Ari boldly. “Can you help us?”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>She looks at him, her spectral face in torment.* ‘Don’t know. Yes!’ She gestures impatiently at the deck. “Book! Book!”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“There must be a book on board somewhere- her journal or log,” Nara says. She smiles. “Did you <em>find</em> the Promised Land?” she asks the ghost.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“Book!”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>***</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Below decks are the undead remains of several sailors. The leader seems to be surrounded by some sort of drowning aura, and he is surrounded by a bit more than a handful of lacedons and a pair of wight lieutenants. It doesn’t take long for our heroes to overcome them, though; and in the end Erasmuz has seized control of some of the lacedons with his ur-priest powers. </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>After the battle is over, the ship is eerily quiet. The only sound, within or without, is that of our heroes searching the cabins- until they find the captain’s. And within- a book. The captain’s log. The log has a long set of entries detailing the halfling, Dorelle’s, scouring of the oceans for clues after receiving a prophecy: </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong><em><strong>Long have your kind sought your way to the Promised Land. Know this: it is not your island, yet you must make it so. The homeland of biscuits that make their own, the place of juice and wine, the fields of corn and pipe weed, the cows that give cream, the orchards of apples from which springeth pie- all these things are there, waiting to be plucked like plums from the tree. But first the isle must be freed by small hands for small hands, which can work the isle to paradise in but three years. Blessed is it, for it is the home of your rightful gods. Their breath is upon it, causing berries to spring forth. The fountain of wine makes the land drunk, and drunk it has gone defenseless; and there are those that would leave you all hungry. Drunk it was seized, drunk with power, and only drunk and with drink can it be freed from the dregs that hold it. Only the fountain of wine can set it free. And know that you shall fail, and die at sea; and you shall not rest until the feud is put to rest and the families drink together, and the island comes to your folk again. </strong></em></strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“Similar to ours, but different,” Nara muses.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“Anybody got any rocks?” asks Tron. “Where’s that gnome at?”**</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>According to the log, Dorelle was put off by the line about failing and dying at sea, and the next few entries detail her struggle over whether to continue her quest. In the end, she did so, seeking out a sea witch who tricked the <em>Vast Explorer</em> into the sargasso. The last thing the witch said, mockingly, before she swam away is detailed in the log: <em><strong>”The answer is right in front of you, and has been all along! The only problem is that you wrote down what you heard, not what was said!”</strong></em> Following this, Dorelle wrote: <em><strong>I think I have figured it out, and I am ashamed at how simple it was all along. It is right there, on the charts, east of Dorovex. Now if only I can break free of this sargasso! </strong></em></strong></p><p><strong> </strong></p><p><strong>“Right on the charts...?” mutters Ari. “Where’s Dorovex?”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“I know,” says Dandy. “It’s a province in northeastern Strogass.”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“Well, but- <em>that’s</em> where the Promised Land is?”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“It says it’s <em>east</em> of Dorovex,” Ari points out. “Where are the charts?” </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>A few moments more of searching turns up the captain’s book of maps and charts. Hurriedly, the party pages through it, until- “There!” exclaims Rock. “Dorovex!” </strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>And east of it- off the coast-</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Nara starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. “We wrote down what we heard, not what was said, too!”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>There it is, right on the map, just as the weird told them so long ago, behind them: Natchoor Island.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“Well I’ll be damned,” Ari murmurs.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> The return of Beau!!</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>*She was bound by spiritual forces that restricted her ability to communicate about her quest and the reasons for her existence as a ghost- actually, if the party can finish their quest, they will lay her to rest for finishing hers for her (although they probably wouldn’t even know it).</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>**Tron befriended one of the sailors, a gnome willing to smoke anything.</strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 3104445, member: 1210"] [i][b]7/26/372 O.L.G., 10 a.m., the Mustard Sargasso[/b][/i][b][/b] “Promise me,” says Naomi. “All right,” Nara sighs, “I [i]promise[/i] we won’t miss elevensies today.” “Fine!” Naomi’s fat face ripples into a smile. She coos and gurgles with contentment as she leans back in the boat, her grubby hands digging into the folds of her cleavage and coming out with a piece of greasy bacon. She starts munching on it with delight. “The next ship’s just up ahead,” warns Erasmuz over his shoulder. Queffe grunts agreement. Naomi mutters around her snack, but everyone perks up and begins to check armor straps and loosen their weapons in their scabbards. This strange sargasso has already proven itself to be unpleasantly dangerous. “I wonder if we can eat any of the seaweed,” Naomi reflects. “Eww!” squeals Dandy. “Well, maybe.” “I don’t know- remember, the dolphins said that it made the water all nasty. I bet we don’t find any mermaids here, either.” Erasmuz frowns slightly. The hulk they are approaching is clearly old. It has been mired in the Mustard Sargasso for a long time- long enough to be almost completely coated in muck and seaweed. Rot has set in; many of the planks squish slightly beneath the fingers and toes of our heroes as the party climbs up. Rats scatter away from the adventurers as they clamber onto the deck. Tron poops on the deck, and for once nobody objects: it actually seems to freshen the air a little, if you can imagine that. Nothing of obvious value is visible. “I don’t think that this is our ship,” Ari grumbles. “It’s been here a long time.” “Listen!” barks Rock. The party hushes for a moment, and they can all hear the tell-tale squeaking of rats: lots of rats. Certainly, there are plenty on deck. They scamper away from the party’s feet, but not too far. Many of them look hungry, almost feral. Some are as long as a halfling’s forearm. Black, grey and brown, some festering with obvious disease, some with seeping wounds upon them. “Let’s get out of here,” Ari suggests. The others quickly agree, and our heroes drop back down off the ensnared vessel and return to their launch. “Still want elevensies?” cracks the druid, and Naomi’s face lights up. “Oh yeah! It’s about that time!” Cheerfully, our heroes pause to scarf down some cupcakes and jerky (though Ari, strangely for a halfling, instead eats only dry salt crackers). Then they resume their journey, heading for the next derelict. By the time they reach it, it is early afternoon. Again, this ship is covered by muck and slime and stripped of obvious valuables. This time, however, they can clear the muck from her name: the [i]Favorable Trade Agreement.[/i] “Well,” states Erasmuz, “this ain’t the [i]Vast Explorer,[/i] that’s for sure.” “Right,” agrees Ari, “let’s move on.” Slightly less than an hour later they find an abandoned launch mired in the sargasso. Whatever people rowed it are long gone, and no clue as to their fate, origin or mission can be discerned. “I hope it isn’t the very last one we check,” mutters Nara. “With our luck, it probably will be,” sighs Ari. *** [i][b]5:10 p.m.[/b][/i][b] The next ship has the tatters of a vibrant white sail still fluttering in the occasional wind. Its deck has listed at a noticeable angle, and the slime and sea growth has grown onto the ship in many places. Clearly, however, it is of a more recent vintage than the rat hulk ship, and as our heroes pilot the launch around the edge of the mat that has engulfed the vessel they spot her name. [i]The Vast Explorer.[/i] “It’s her!” Ari exclaims. Our heroes whoop in joy. They can get out of this place soon! Soon the group is on deck. They begin searching the ship- an old-style caravel. If there are any clues to the Promised Land... They turn up a clue, all right. The ghostly form of a halfling woman, dressed as a ship’s captain, appears on deck. Our heroes gasp. She lets out a moan and then a terrible cry: ‘My ship!’ “She must be the captain!” cries Erasmuz. He initiates a [i]force screen[/i] in the name of prudence. ‘Halflings,’ the ghost says suddenly, looking around. She gasps. Spectral tears flow from her eyes. ‘My kind.’ The party is rapt. ‘My ship! My quest! The Promised Land...’ she moans. “We, too, seek the Promised Land,” declares Ari boldly. “Can you help us?” She looks at him, her spectral face in torment.* ‘Don’t know. Yes!’ She gestures impatiently at the deck. “Book! Book!” “There must be a book on board somewhere- her journal or log,” Nara says. She smiles. “Did you [i]find[/i] the Promised Land?” she asks the ghost. “Book!” *** Below decks are the undead remains of several sailors. The leader seems to be surrounded by some sort of drowning aura, and he is surrounded by a bit more than a handful of lacedons and a pair of wight lieutenants. It doesn’t take long for our heroes to overcome them, though; and in the end Erasmuz has seized control of some of the lacedons with his ur-priest powers. After the battle is over, the ship is eerily quiet. The only sound, within or without, is that of our heroes searching the cabins- until they find the captain’s. And within- a book. The captain’s log. The log has a long set of entries detailing the halfling, Dorelle’s, scouring of the oceans for clues after receiving a prophecy: [i][b]Long have your kind sought your way to the Promised Land. Know this: it is not your island, yet you must make it so. The homeland of biscuits that make their own, the place of juice and wine, the fields of corn and pipe weed, the cows that give cream, the orchards of apples from which springeth pie- all these things are there, waiting to be plucked like plums from the tree. But first the isle must be freed by small hands for small hands, which can work the isle to paradise in but three years. Blessed is it, for it is the home of your rightful gods. Their breath is upon it, causing berries to spring forth. The fountain of wine makes the land drunk, and drunk it has gone defenseless; and there are those that would leave you all hungry. Drunk it was seized, drunk with power, and only drunk and with drink can it be freed from the dregs that hold it. Only the fountain of wine can set it free. And know that you shall fail, and die at sea; and you shall not rest until the feud is put to rest and the families drink together, and the island comes to your folk again. [/b][/i][b][/b] “Similar to ours, but different,” Nara muses. “Anybody got any rocks?” asks Tron. “Where’s that gnome at?”** According to the log, Dorelle was put off by the line about failing and dying at sea, and the next few entries detail her struggle over whether to continue her quest. In the end, she did so, seeking out a sea witch who tricked the [i]Vast Explorer[/i] into the sargasso. The last thing the witch said, mockingly, before she swam away is detailed in the log: [i][b]”The answer is right in front of you, and has been all along! The only problem is that you wrote down what you heard, not what was said!”[/b][/i][b][/b] Following this, Dorelle wrote: [i][b]I think I have figured it out, and I am ashamed at how simple it was all along. It is right there, on the charts, east of Dorovex. Now if only I can break free of this sargasso! [/b][/i][b][/b] “Right on the charts...?” mutters Ari. “Where’s Dorovex?” “I know,” says Dandy. “It’s a province in northeastern Strogass.” “Well, but- [i]that’s[/i] where the Promised Land is?” “It says it’s [i]east[/i] of Dorovex,” Ari points out. “Where are the charts?” A few moments more of searching turns up the captain’s book of maps and charts. Hurriedly, the party pages through it, until- “There!” exclaims Rock. “Dorovex!” And east of it- off the coast- Nara starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. “We wrote down what we heard, not what was said, too!” There it is, right on the map, just as the weird told them so long ago, behind them: Natchoor Island. “Well I’ll be damned,” Ari murmurs. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] The return of Beau!! *She was bound by spiritual forces that restricted her ability to communicate about her quest and the reasons for her existence as a ghost- actually, if the party can finish their quest, they will lay her to rest for finishing hers for her (although they probably wouldn’t even know it). **Tron befriended one of the sailors, a gnome willing to smoke anything.[/b] [/QUOTE]
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