the Jester
Legend
“What happened next?” the sergeant asks.
“The goblins opened fire with bows. We were caught almost completely off-guard. But we returned fire and soon turned the tide, managing to board their ship and kill their marines.”
“Damn navy pukes. That ship should never have made it so close to shore. But what could one ship of goblins accomplish?”
Kratos frowns. “Well, sergeant, it wasn’t just goblins.”
“Eh?”
“There were kobolds in the galley, rowers chained to their oars. But it was in the belly of the ship that we found the evidence of what they were up to.”
“Out with it! What did you find?”
“The hold was packed full of barrels of sunpowder,” Kratos replies gravely.
The sergeant whistles. “Damn, no wonder. They just wanted to blow up the docks!”
Kratos nods. “That’s how we read it, too, sir.”
“So what did you do?”
“One of the sailors lit the kegs, we kicked the kobolds in the galley into high gear- telling them to row away- and we cleared off the deck.”
“Then, that explosion in the harbor last night...”
Kratos nods.
“Well, well. So the only reason you were there in the first place was the fact that their ship had already abandoned the port. Damned no-balls navy.” The sergeant pauses for a few seconds, chewing his lower lip. Then he barks, “Dismissed!”
***
The forces of the Six-Fingered Hand are closing in. The bloody morning sky shows them in the distance, a seething mass covering the land, destroying the farms, killing those fools foolish enough to remain outside of the city walls. The stream of refugees pouring into the city thickens, as does the stream of refugees leaving, fleeing for some imagined safety.
“Hell,” Vann-La mutters. She is in a foul mood. The soup is thin, the grog is watery and her head aches. He wounds from the battle of the night before have faded to mere aches and pains. What the hell do I do now? she wonders. She glances at her friend Torinn, across the table. He, too, looks at a loss.
The Steaming Clam’s cook, a stubby, scarred dwarf from the Far East, bustles over to their table. The cook likes to befriend his more well-behaved military patrons, and- as they are sailors who have been drinking together with soldiers- Vann-La and Torinn have qualified. The cook smiles broadly at them as he approaches. “Oi, how you doin, my friends?”
“Hey Cook,” the dragonborn says listlessly.
“What da news?” Cook asks.
“Our ship seems to have left without us,” Torinn grumbles.
“Oi, very bad, very bad,” Cook sighs. “Bad luck all over. And da Hand come soon. You have nother drink on da house.”
As the dwarf hustles away to bring their beverages over, Vann-La sighs. What the hell do we do now? she wonders again.
“Well, at least it’s an adventure,” Torinn says.
***
That night, Torinn and Vann-La are joined by Nixie, another of their crewmates who has been left behind. She is an elf- to Vann-La’s eyes, an inferior cousin- and a warlock. Sailors were always chasing after her, but she was quite capable of keeping them at a distance with her unnerving abilities and the whispered rumors of her dealing with demons and worse to gain her powers.
Right now, she’s just worried. No ship, no way out of this city- the Hand is closing in from all directions- and the Hand fleet is moving in as well, to cut off escape from the harbor. The Imperial Navy floats, miles out to sea, ready to intercept and engage them. The battle is in fact probably already happening. Surely the Hand cannot punch through the navy’s lines. Surely the humanoids cannot defeat the Empire, even with orcish sunpowder cannon.
Yet cities are aflame in the distance, and a carpet of swarming figures covers the ground in the distance. They are closing in.
Kratos joins them again, with another eladrin from his platoon with him. This is Sta’Ligir, who is a conscript whose natural talents lean more towards wizardry that to weaponry. In these desperate and chaotic times, however, he has been pressed into service as a soldier. He is clearly less than eager to fight the hordes of the Six-Fingered Hand in a few days, and when the sailors tell him that their boat has already abandoned the city, Sta’Ligir nods. “Yeah, our musters keep getting smaller and smaller, too.”
The next morning it is worse.
Heimall, Sta’Ligir, Kratos, and two other young conscripts are all that muster when the bugle sounds in the morning. Looking around at the empty ranks, Kratos’ thoughts are bleak. Cowards, he thinks.
When the sergeant arrives, he blanches. There are no officers in evidence. Kratos’ fists clenched. So, they have abandoned us enlisted men to our fate, he thinks bitterly.
The sergeant seems to come to a decision. “You men stay here while I find an officer,” he barks. And he turns and begins to hurry away.
He’s not coming back. Aloud, Kratos snaps, “You are a coward.”
The sergeant stiffens and stops. He turns back to face the ranks. “What did you say?” he growls.
“You heard me! You are abandoning us. You know it and we know it.” He turns to face the others and spreads his arms. “You men are all going to die if you keep following this coward. Warriors, stand by me, and we will survive and then triumph!”
The sergeant is flabbergasted. Kratos turns back to face him and sends him a withering glare. “Go on, coward! Flee! We will survive this, and fight to regain the glory you cowards are losing us!”
“I’m no coward!” the sergeant cries, backing away a few steps. He bites his lip. “I- I am getting an officer, and you’re going to be arrested!” He whirls and flees out of the courtyard where the group is assembled.
“Screw this!” one of the conscripts cries. He throws down his helmet and spear and runs after the sergeant.
The other one hesitates, as do Heimall and Sta’Ligir.
“What do you suggest, then?” Sta’Ligir demands.
“You know they can hang you for that, right?” Heimall says to Kratos, shaking his head.
“Nobody’s hanging anyone now. Look at this place. There’s nobody left. The officers headed out of here as soon as things got hot. We need to get the hell out of here. Follow me, and we’ll live to fight another day.”
“What do you want to do?” Sta’Ligir asks again.
“We’ll get a boat and get the hell out of here.”
“We don’t know how to sail,” Sta’Ligir points out.
“We have some sailor friends who are in a very similar position to us. They can help us sail out of here before the Six-Fingered Hand’s ships get here.”
“What makes you think the navy won’t hold?” asks Heimall.
“Are you kidding? Their ships are abandoning us, too. Their morale is probably as low as that of the army. The lines won’t hold.” Kratos shakes his head.
Heimall nods reluctantly. “Either way, we’ll be besieged by this evening. And there are a lot of forces coming our way. Mostly goblins, but there are supposed to be plenty of orcs and gnolls.” He shudders.
“What about you?” Kratos asks the remaining conscript. “Will you follow me?”
The conscript is a boy of sixteen years named Nedyoiv. Doe-eyed, he nods. I want to live! is writ large on his face.
Sta’Ligir sighs, exasperated. “There doesn’t seem to be much choice, does there? We need to find a way out of here.”
“Let’s go,” Heimall says.
***
Meanwhile, at the Steaming Clam, Vann-La, Nixie and Torinn have roused themselves and come to a similar determination. “We have to get out of here,” Nixie says.
“We can’t do that without our boat,” Torinn points out.
“We can’t do it without a boat,” Vann-La corrects him.
Hurriedly, they gather their gear and prepare to depart. The cook stops them.
“Where you all goin?”
“We’re leaving,” Vann-La says. “Hey, we could use a cook. You should come with us.”
“Leaving how? Army all around, too late to go.”
“We’re taking a boat.”
“Let me grab some important thing.”
The cook gathers a few pots and pans, some cutlery, a few bags of meager foodstuffs, and a few coins. Then the group hurries out- and runs into their army buddies coming down the street.
“Oh, good,” calls Heimall. “We were looking for you.”
The two groups quickly discuss their plans, which prove to be quite well-aligned with each other. The conclusion is obvious: join forces. Together, they make their way to the docks. Most of the boats are gone, though there are some fishing boats and similar things tied up to the pier.
“Let’s take a few minutes to look for something fast,” Nixie suggests. “It might be worth it at this point.”
“We can’t spend too much time,” Torinn replies. “Look!”
Black specks are starting to become visible in the distant ocean. Ships, ships of the Six-Fingered Hand that have thrust through the now-shattered lines of the Imperial Navy. Behind them, the sharks are feasting.
“It won’t take long at all,” says Nixie. “Over there- that pleasure craft!” The others follow her gaze to a sleek, quick-looking boat. They hurry towards it, and as they come closer, they can see that there are several guards in front of it. It is emblazoned with the coat of arms of the daVoi family- a notoriously decadent line known for corruption and political power.
“That’s close enough,” one of the guards says with surly authority.
“We’re confiscating that vessel,” Kratos says, walking towards them. “Get out of the way.” And he draws his sword as he advances. As the guards attempt to draw and attack him, he strikes, and the battle is on! Heimall uses a commander’s strike to allow Kratos to take another attack, while the cook hurls a small kitchen skewer into the guard that Kratos has been attacking. Sta’Ligir throws a sleep spell, and Torinn hits the same fellow with a righteous brand, and then the guard strikes back, slicing Kratos across the leg. The warlord grunts and ripostes- and the first guard falls!
The other guard tries to fall back. “Boss!” he shouts. “Trouble!” And then he falls asleep thanks to the wizardry of Sta’Ligir. Quickly, Vann-La moves up and kills the unconscious fellow.
On the boat’s deck, the cabin door opens a crack and a fat head pokes partway out. “What’s going on out there? Ahh!” he shouts in surprise.
“Surrender!” calls Kratos. “We mean you no harm, but we will have your vessel! Come down or we will be forced to take you by force!”
Seeing no alternative, the fat head emerges the rest of the way, followed by a fat daVoi body, draped in silk clothing.
“I’m surprised you haven’t left yet,” Vann-La comments. “I’d have figured you for the kind of rat that would have left hours or days ago.”
”I was waiting for a... lady friend,” the noble sighs.
The party leaves him behind on the dock as they board his vessel and cast off. ”But what about me?” he cries.
”Good luck with your lady friend,” Nixie yells back as the party begins to sail their new ship out into the harbor. She turns her attention to the sails. If only we can catch a favorable wind and get out of here before the noose tightens, she thinks.
The ships on the water are clear now, and closing fast.
Next Time: Can the party get out of the harbor in time? Escape from Chebonnay!
“The goblins opened fire with bows. We were caught almost completely off-guard. But we returned fire and soon turned the tide, managing to board their ship and kill their marines.”
“Damn navy pukes. That ship should never have made it so close to shore. But what could one ship of goblins accomplish?”
Kratos frowns. “Well, sergeant, it wasn’t just goblins.”
“Eh?”
“There were kobolds in the galley, rowers chained to their oars. But it was in the belly of the ship that we found the evidence of what they were up to.”
“Out with it! What did you find?”
“The hold was packed full of barrels of sunpowder,” Kratos replies gravely.
The sergeant whistles. “Damn, no wonder. They just wanted to blow up the docks!”
Kratos nods. “That’s how we read it, too, sir.”
“So what did you do?”
“One of the sailors lit the kegs, we kicked the kobolds in the galley into high gear- telling them to row away- and we cleared off the deck.”
“Then, that explosion in the harbor last night...”
Kratos nods.
“Well, well. So the only reason you were there in the first place was the fact that their ship had already abandoned the port. Damned no-balls navy.” The sergeant pauses for a few seconds, chewing his lower lip. Then he barks, “Dismissed!”
***
The forces of the Six-Fingered Hand are closing in. The bloody morning sky shows them in the distance, a seething mass covering the land, destroying the farms, killing those fools foolish enough to remain outside of the city walls. The stream of refugees pouring into the city thickens, as does the stream of refugees leaving, fleeing for some imagined safety.
“Hell,” Vann-La mutters. She is in a foul mood. The soup is thin, the grog is watery and her head aches. He wounds from the battle of the night before have faded to mere aches and pains. What the hell do I do now? she wonders. She glances at her friend Torinn, across the table. He, too, looks at a loss.
The Steaming Clam’s cook, a stubby, scarred dwarf from the Far East, bustles over to their table. The cook likes to befriend his more well-behaved military patrons, and- as they are sailors who have been drinking together with soldiers- Vann-La and Torinn have qualified. The cook smiles broadly at them as he approaches. “Oi, how you doin, my friends?”
“Hey Cook,” the dragonborn says listlessly.
“What da news?” Cook asks.
“Our ship seems to have left without us,” Torinn grumbles.
“Oi, very bad, very bad,” Cook sighs. “Bad luck all over. And da Hand come soon. You have nother drink on da house.”
As the dwarf hustles away to bring their beverages over, Vann-La sighs. What the hell do we do now? she wonders again.
“Well, at least it’s an adventure,” Torinn says.
***
That night, Torinn and Vann-La are joined by Nixie, another of their crewmates who has been left behind. She is an elf- to Vann-La’s eyes, an inferior cousin- and a warlock. Sailors were always chasing after her, but she was quite capable of keeping them at a distance with her unnerving abilities and the whispered rumors of her dealing with demons and worse to gain her powers.
Right now, she’s just worried. No ship, no way out of this city- the Hand is closing in from all directions- and the Hand fleet is moving in as well, to cut off escape from the harbor. The Imperial Navy floats, miles out to sea, ready to intercept and engage them. The battle is in fact probably already happening. Surely the Hand cannot punch through the navy’s lines. Surely the humanoids cannot defeat the Empire, even with orcish sunpowder cannon.
Yet cities are aflame in the distance, and a carpet of swarming figures covers the ground in the distance. They are closing in.
Kratos joins them again, with another eladrin from his platoon with him. This is Sta’Ligir, who is a conscript whose natural talents lean more towards wizardry that to weaponry. In these desperate and chaotic times, however, he has been pressed into service as a soldier. He is clearly less than eager to fight the hordes of the Six-Fingered Hand in a few days, and when the sailors tell him that their boat has already abandoned the city, Sta’Ligir nods. “Yeah, our musters keep getting smaller and smaller, too.”
The next morning it is worse.
Heimall, Sta’Ligir, Kratos, and two other young conscripts are all that muster when the bugle sounds in the morning. Looking around at the empty ranks, Kratos’ thoughts are bleak. Cowards, he thinks.
When the sergeant arrives, he blanches. There are no officers in evidence. Kratos’ fists clenched. So, they have abandoned us enlisted men to our fate, he thinks bitterly.
The sergeant seems to come to a decision. “You men stay here while I find an officer,” he barks. And he turns and begins to hurry away.
He’s not coming back. Aloud, Kratos snaps, “You are a coward.”
The sergeant stiffens and stops. He turns back to face the ranks. “What did you say?” he growls.
“You heard me! You are abandoning us. You know it and we know it.” He turns to face the others and spreads his arms. “You men are all going to die if you keep following this coward. Warriors, stand by me, and we will survive and then triumph!”
The sergeant is flabbergasted. Kratos turns back to face him and sends him a withering glare. “Go on, coward! Flee! We will survive this, and fight to regain the glory you cowards are losing us!”
“I’m no coward!” the sergeant cries, backing away a few steps. He bites his lip. “I- I am getting an officer, and you’re going to be arrested!” He whirls and flees out of the courtyard where the group is assembled.
“Screw this!” one of the conscripts cries. He throws down his helmet and spear and runs after the sergeant.
The other one hesitates, as do Heimall and Sta’Ligir.
“What do you suggest, then?” Sta’Ligir demands.
“You know they can hang you for that, right?” Heimall says to Kratos, shaking his head.
“Nobody’s hanging anyone now. Look at this place. There’s nobody left. The officers headed out of here as soon as things got hot. We need to get the hell out of here. Follow me, and we’ll live to fight another day.”
“What do you want to do?” Sta’Ligir asks again.
“We’ll get a boat and get the hell out of here.”
“We don’t know how to sail,” Sta’Ligir points out.
“We have some sailor friends who are in a very similar position to us. They can help us sail out of here before the Six-Fingered Hand’s ships get here.”
“What makes you think the navy won’t hold?” asks Heimall.
“Are you kidding? Their ships are abandoning us, too. Their morale is probably as low as that of the army. The lines won’t hold.” Kratos shakes his head.
Heimall nods reluctantly. “Either way, we’ll be besieged by this evening. And there are a lot of forces coming our way. Mostly goblins, but there are supposed to be plenty of orcs and gnolls.” He shudders.
“What about you?” Kratos asks the remaining conscript. “Will you follow me?”
The conscript is a boy of sixteen years named Nedyoiv. Doe-eyed, he nods. I want to live! is writ large on his face.
Sta’Ligir sighs, exasperated. “There doesn’t seem to be much choice, does there? We need to find a way out of here.”
“Let’s go,” Heimall says.
***
Meanwhile, at the Steaming Clam, Vann-La, Nixie and Torinn have roused themselves and come to a similar determination. “We have to get out of here,” Nixie says.
“We can’t do that without our boat,” Torinn points out.
“We can’t do it without a boat,” Vann-La corrects him.
Hurriedly, they gather their gear and prepare to depart. The cook stops them.
“Where you all goin?”
“We’re leaving,” Vann-La says. “Hey, we could use a cook. You should come with us.”
“Leaving how? Army all around, too late to go.”
“We’re taking a boat.”
“Let me grab some important thing.”
The cook gathers a few pots and pans, some cutlery, a few bags of meager foodstuffs, and a few coins. Then the group hurries out- and runs into their army buddies coming down the street.
“Oh, good,” calls Heimall. “We were looking for you.”
The two groups quickly discuss their plans, which prove to be quite well-aligned with each other. The conclusion is obvious: join forces. Together, they make their way to the docks. Most of the boats are gone, though there are some fishing boats and similar things tied up to the pier.
“Let’s take a few minutes to look for something fast,” Nixie suggests. “It might be worth it at this point.”
“We can’t spend too much time,” Torinn replies. “Look!”
Black specks are starting to become visible in the distant ocean. Ships, ships of the Six-Fingered Hand that have thrust through the now-shattered lines of the Imperial Navy. Behind them, the sharks are feasting.
“It won’t take long at all,” says Nixie. “Over there- that pleasure craft!” The others follow her gaze to a sleek, quick-looking boat. They hurry towards it, and as they come closer, they can see that there are several guards in front of it. It is emblazoned with the coat of arms of the daVoi family- a notoriously decadent line known for corruption and political power.
“That’s close enough,” one of the guards says with surly authority.
“We’re confiscating that vessel,” Kratos says, walking towards them. “Get out of the way.” And he draws his sword as he advances. As the guards attempt to draw and attack him, he strikes, and the battle is on! Heimall uses a commander’s strike to allow Kratos to take another attack, while the cook hurls a small kitchen skewer into the guard that Kratos has been attacking. Sta’Ligir throws a sleep spell, and Torinn hits the same fellow with a righteous brand, and then the guard strikes back, slicing Kratos across the leg. The warlord grunts and ripostes- and the first guard falls!
The other guard tries to fall back. “Boss!” he shouts. “Trouble!” And then he falls asleep thanks to the wizardry of Sta’Ligir. Quickly, Vann-La moves up and kills the unconscious fellow.
On the boat’s deck, the cabin door opens a crack and a fat head pokes partway out. “What’s going on out there? Ahh!” he shouts in surprise.
“Surrender!” calls Kratos. “We mean you no harm, but we will have your vessel! Come down or we will be forced to take you by force!”
Seeing no alternative, the fat head emerges the rest of the way, followed by a fat daVoi body, draped in silk clothing.
“I’m surprised you haven’t left yet,” Vann-La comments. “I’d have figured you for the kind of rat that would have left hours or days ago.”
”I was waiting for a... lady friend,” the noble sighs.
The party leaves him behind on the dock as they board his vessel and cast off. ”But what about me?” he cries.
”Good luck with your lady friend,” Nixie yells back as the party begins to sail their new ship out into the harbor. She turns her attention to the sails. If only we can catch a favorable wind and get out of here before the noose tightens, she thinks.
The ships on the water are clear now, and closing fast.
Next Time: Can the party get out of the harbor in time? Escape from Chebonnay!