Lazybones
Adventurer
I pretty much just make it up as I go along. I do try to stay loyal to the combat rules of 3e, however, and try to balance the number of hits, crits, sucessful saves, spell failures, etc. with the appropriate percentages based on the character stats. When plotting battles I basically chart out who's involved, and then jot down notes that project how the battle might develop in 3e terms. I try not to do anything that would be wildly improbable given the vagaries of the d20.Thorntangle said:
Plotting the encounters is also a great way to get through long staff meetings.
MasterOfHeaven: the prophecy is just one of several long-term plot hooks I've introduced into the story (I have a list of "unfinished business" in the story lying around somewhere and it's got something like 15 items on it). I already have an idea of who might fit in each "slot" (heh heh) but those events are a long, long way away. I have no idea how long the story will go on but I'm still having fun writing it so it'll probably be a while yet.
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Book III, Part 9
Scattered bits of wreckage floated on the sea, the occasional glint of metal reflecting the light of the fading day. Amidst the debris, the battered hulk of the Raindancer slipped slowly under the waves.
From about a bowshot distant the surviving crew and passengers watched the final demise of their erstwhile vessel. The five companions, plus Ruath, Horath, and six crewmembers of the doomed ship, were crowded into the raider outrigger and the ship’s single remaining ten-foot launch.
All knew that it could have been worse, but that information was small consolation in the face of their losses. Benzan’s acid arrow, a direct hit through the creature’s eye, had finally driven off the monstrous squid, leaving the ship ravaged and broken in its wake. They’d barely had time to gather their injured but surviving comrades and some miscellaneous supplies before the ship, rapidly filling with water through the numerous cracks and breeches in her hull, flooded and sank. They hadn’t even had enough time to deal properly with their own dead—those that had not already vanished beneath the waves during the battle.
“Let’s get out of here,” Horath said, reluctantly drawing their attention back to the very real danger of their current predicament.
What were their chances, alone and seemingly threatened at every turn in this strange land, now without even a ship to carry them?
That thought remained on all their minds over the course of the next few days, as they followed the broad curve of the bay. They rowed in shifts, continuing even through the night, keeping their distance from the looming jungle a few hundred yards to their left. At one point they spotted a stream that trickled down over a rocky ledge down into the bay, and stopped to refill their water bottles. They’d been ashore barely ten minutes when they heard a crashing noise approaching quickly through the dense foliage. They hurried back to their boats and pushed off just before a massive lizard, easily three times as long as their outrigger, emerged from the jungle and regarded them with what Benzan characterized as “a hungry look.” The creature did not follow them out into the water, however, and so they chalked the encounter up to a lucky escape and continued on their way.
The incident did confirm the dangers of the land that they had encountered, however, and helped establish that the natives called this place the “Isle of Dread” for a reason.
It was mid-afternoon on the second day since the loss of the Raindancer when Delem called out a sighting from the bow of the outrigger. The others quickly stood and craned their necks to see what he had indicated.
Ahead, to the east, a black line that extended from the shoreline inland was visible in the distance. As they drew nearer, they could see that the line was in fact a wall that stretched out across the land as far as they could see. Squat black towers were visible at regular intervals along the wall, although none of them could see any signs that they were occupied.
“That must have taken an incredible amount of effort to build,” Dana commented.
“Yeah, but who built it, and why?” Benzan added.
“Only one way to find out,” Cal said, as they neared the massive construct, all of them wary for any sign of danger.
“Maybe the villagers built it, to protect them from the monsters that live on the island,” Delem offered, as they approached within a bowshot of the wall. There were no gates or openings that they could see, and the fortification extended to the very water’s edge, where a jutting cliff dropped thirty feet to the lapping waves below. Beyond the wall they could see places where the cliff was broken by steep but apparently manageable slopes of loose rock, offering them possible access.
“Well, what do you think, captain?” Cal asked, as they drew abreast of the wall.
The elf’s expression showed the same weariness and stress that they were all feeling, his normally smooth features cracked and reddened from exposure to the unforgiving sun. “We’ve gone two days now, and even though Cleric Talasca’s conjured foodstuffs can provision us indefinitely, I don’t think any of us want to stay in these boats for any longer than necessary. I say we go ashore and explore… but be careful.”
“Well, maybe the wall keeps some of the worst beasts at bay,” Lok offered optimistically.
They guided their craft to one of the clefts in the sea cliffs, about a half-mile beyond the wall. There they beached the vessels, securing them carefully and detailing a quartet of sailors to keep watch while the rest of them made their way up the rocky slope to the higher ground inland.
The day was hot but not uncomfortably so, and the sweet smells of flowers and other growing things greeted them as they reached the top of the cleft. Verdant plant life was evident everywhere, from the thick grasses that swam around their legs as they walked, to the stunted trees that dotted the landscape in thick clumps every way they turned. The terrain inland rose and fell in gentle hills, but back to the northwest they could see the looming form of the wall, and it was in that direction that they first headed.
“Remember, we’re not looking for a fight,” Cal reminded them.
“Yeah, but one always seems to find us, doesn’t it?” Benzan quipped, as he checked the pull of his bow and his the readiness of the arrows in his quiver.
As they made their way back toward the wall, they could see one of the warding towers, its summit a good ten feet above the already considerable thirty-foot height of the main wall. A narrow staircase ran up to a dark opening halfway up the tower’s surface, and as they approached, they could see a number of simple huts clustered around its base. Dark horizontal slits were visible in the tower walls near the top, giving anyone up there a clear view of the surrounding terrain in all directions.
None of them were really surprised when a cry sounded out from the tower at their approach, followed by the heavy rumbling of a drum. Five swarthy, muscular young men emerged from the huts, bearing spears and clad only in loincloths. They rushed quickly at the companions, although they held their spears at the ready instead of attacking, and formed a warding half-circle in front of them, about twenty paces distant. One stepped forward and started speaking in an animated fashion. “Wer sind Sie? Was machen Sie hier?” he repeated.
“Dana,” Cal prodded, but the young woman was already casting her spell of comprehension.
“He wants to know what we’re doing here,” she finally said, once the spell was complete. The native leader stopped talking, and his men behind him looked wary, although they made no hostile moves toward the companions.
“You can bet that their friends are going to be on the way,” Benzan reminded them, as the heavy beat of the drum continued to sound from atop the tower.
Cal stepped forward, his hands open in a placating gesture. “We come in peace,” he said, letting his tone replace the meaning of his words to the natives. He gestured to indicate that they had come across the water to the west, moving his hand to mimic the floating of a boat on the waves.
The native’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “Die Angreifern kommen aus westen.”
“He says that raiders come from the west,” Dana translated. One of the other warriors gestured toward one of Horath’s sailors, standing in the rear of their company, and said something to the leader. The young woman was wearing one of the chain shirts that they’d taken from the raiders. “He says that the raiders wear such metal shirts, and use weapons such as ours,” Dana went on.
“Boy, I wish that there was a way to make them understand us,” Cal said in frustration. Still, he made a good effort at pantomime, trying to communicate the story of the raider attack on the Raindancer, and the battle that followed at their camp.
The native leader didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he gestured toward all of them, barking out something that sounded like a command. “Sie werden mit uns kommen. Nach Tanaroa.”
“He says that we should all go with him,” Dana translated. “To a place called ‘Tanaroa’.”
“Tanaroa,” the native repeated.
Cal nodded in assent, and gestured to indicate that they had other companions and their vessels back at the water’s edge. The native warrior, who apparently understood that Dana was translating his words, told them to gather the rest of their group and return here. He clearly wasn’t going to let them out of his sight, however, as he and his warriors followed along behind them as they went to gather the other sailors.
Horath decided that it would be best if they brought their boats to the security of the native outpost, rather than leaving them unattended along the cliff base. Fortunately the craft were of relatively light construction, although it took the combined effort of all of them to maneuver the outrigger up the cleft. The native leader, whose name was Jakra, frowned as he saw the outrigger, but said nothing as he and his companions watched their efforts. By the time that they returned to the outpost with the boats, another ten warriors had gathered at the outpost. Jakra explained the situation to the newcomers, and all fifteen of the natives formed a wary ring around the companions as they headed out to the northeast, following the course of the wall along a well-marked trail.
“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” Benzan said.
