Cydra: the Early Years
the Jester
Legend
Mutiny on the Twikwakikikak!
“She’s incompetent,” Coric Left murmured softly. “We need to replace her.”
“She’ll never step down,” Vosh said, dangerous steel in his voice. “Are you suggesting a mutiny?”
“Of course not- I’m not suggesting anything.” Coric spoke easily, smoothly. He was at his best that night. “I’m just saying that she’s leading us towards disaster. We should be chasing Dexter, not running away from him. After all,” he added manipulatively, “he basically killed the previous captain and first mate.” Leaving Vosh to chew that one over, Coric moved away to see if he could seduce any of the other crew members into joining him.
Vosh, upon chewing over Coric’s understated proposition, decided that he didn’t like the way it tasted. For one thing, Lyr was Captain. For another, truth to tell, he’d already fallen for her. The thought of her being killed made his heart flutter. So instead of joining Coric, Vosh warned Lyr of his suspicions.
This proved to be a good idea; that night Coric struck, and only the increased vigilance that Lyr had surreptitiously ordered of her companions allowed her to avoid assassination. A small battle between Coric and his two supporters and the rest of the remaining crewmen ensued, ending only when Coric and his last fellow mutineer had been slain and cast overboard.
“I’m glad I got suspicious,” Vosh commented. Inwardly, he was highly relieved that they’d managed to save Lyr.
The ship, almost bereft of crew, sailed onward. Another week and they reached a savage port on Dyshim.
“We have to be careful, but we have to get more crew,” Lyr declared. “We’re out of Forinthian waters now- this is Strogassian territory. Watch yourself- they’re Bleakists, so- although certain of us will fit right in- we can’t really trust them.” She paused.
“And they aren’t known for their friendliness.”
The pirates disembarked.
Next Time: Rajah’s pursuers catch up to him!
“She’s incompetent,” Coric Left murmured softly. “We need to replace her.”
“She’ll never step down,” Vosh said, dangerous steel in his voice. “Are you suggesting a mutiny?”
“Of course not- I’m not suggesting anything.” Coric spoke easily, smoothly. He was at his best that night. “I’m just saying that she’s leading us towards disaster. We should be chasing Dexter, not running away from him. After all,” he added manipulatively, “he basically killed the previous captain and first mate.” Leaving Vosh to chew that one over, Coric moved away to see if he could seduce any of the other crew members into joining him.
Vosh, upon chewing over Coric’s understated proposition, decided that he didn’t like the way it tasted. For one thing, Lyr was Captain. For another, truth to tell, he’d already fallen for her. The thought of her being killed made his heart flutter. So instead of joining Coric, Vosh warned Lyr of his suspicions.
This proved to be a good idea; that night Coric struck, and only the increased vigilance that Lyr had surreptitiously ordered of her companions allowed her to avoid assassination. A small battle between Coric and his two supporters and the rest of the remaining crewmen ensued, ending only when Coric and his last fellow mutineer had been slain and cast overboard.
“I’m glad I got suspicious,” Vosh commented. Inwardly, he was highly relieved that they’d managed to save Lyr.
The ship, almost bereft of crew, sailed onward. Another week and they reached a savage port on Dyshim.
“We have to be careful, but we have to get more crew,” Lyr declared. “We’re out of Forinthian waters now- this is Strogassian territory. Watch yourself- they’re Bleakists, so- although certain of us will fit right in- we can’t really trust them.” She paused.
“And they aren’t known for their friendliness.”
The pirates disembarked.
Next Time: Rajah’s pursuers catch up to him!
the Jester
Legend
Rajah's Relentless Pursuers
It was while they were in Dyshim that the pirates whose adventures we’ve been following fell into their second Elcruche-instigated ambush. This time things were uglier, and they took Rajah. The pirates fought fiercely but couldn’t withstand the assault of Elcruche’s trained WIS troops.
The pirates, beat back but not willing to admit defeat, raced back to the Twikwakikikak to pursue Elcruche’s ship, but the vessel that the half-elf was commanding moved with unbelievable speed, dwindling to a speck in minutes.
“How do they do that?” Lyr demanded. “I want that ship!”
On board Elcruche’s ship, Rajah learned the answer to this one once he became conscious. “It’s called a sea helm,” Elcruche told him. His expression was sardonic. He tied his long thick hair back with a leather thong. “Don’t try to escape, ‘Rajah-‘ you’re thousands of miles from land. Your little dimension door trick will just get you eaten by sharks.”
“Why are you people after me??” demanded Rajah.
”Orders,” Elcruche said. “But don’t worry. We’re not going to kill you. And as long as you don’t try anything, we’ll even make you comfortable.”
Rajah learned that sea helms are a magical means of vastly increasing the speed of waterborne craft. “We can move about a hundred miles an hour,” Elcruche smirked. Rajah also learned that the ship had traversed a seagate somewhere between Dyshim and- wherever it was.
On his way to- what? Prison? Execution?- Rajah faded out of the pirates’ knowledge; but most of them- those who survived to the end of Farenth’s game, when it came- would meet him again.
The pirates, unable to rescue their friend, took on new crew and sailed further east, heading for Strogass, mythical realm of evil, home of the Dark Emperor and the worship of Bleak. And, as Lyr kept saying, as far from Dexter as they could get.
Next Time: I’m not sure what tale I’ll tell next. I have three basic threads to follow here- Rajah, the pirates, and Dexter and Malford; and one of my old players (hi Aaron) emailed me and asked me to write about some of his old pcs, so we’ll see... the next bit it yet to be determined. For, after all, they’re all ultimately related.
It was while they were in Dyshim that the pirates whose adventures we’ve been following fell into their second Elcruche-instigated ambush. This time things were uglier, and they took Rajah. The pirates fought fiercely but couldn’t withstand the assault of Elcruche’s trained WIS troops.
The pirates, beat back but not willing to admit defeat, raced back to the Twikwakikikak to pursue Elcruche’s ship, but the vessel that the half-elf was commanding moved with unbelievable speed, dwindling to a speck in minutes.
“How do they do that?” Lyr demanded. “I want that ship!”
On board Elcruche’s ship, Rajah learned the answer to this one once he became conscious. “It’s called a sea helm,” Elcruche told him. His expression was sardonic. He tied his long thick hair back with a leather thong. “Don’t try to escape, ‘Rajah-‘ you’re thousands of miles from land. Your little dimension door trick will just get you eaten by sharks.”
“Why are you people after me??” demanded Rajah.
”Orders,” Elcruche said. “But don’t worry. We’re not going to kill you. And as long as you don’t try anything, we’ll even make you comfortable.”
Rajah learned that sea helms are a magical means of vastly increasing the speed of waterborne craft. “We can move about a hundred miles an hour,” Elcruche smirked. Rajah also learned that the ship had traversed a seagate somewhere between Dyshim and- wherever it was.
On his way to- what? Prison? Execution?- Rajah faded out of the pirates’ knowledge; but most of them- those who survived to the end of Farenth’s game, when it came- would meet him again.
The pirates, unable to rescue their friend, took on new crew and sailed further east, heading for Strogass, mythical realm of evil, home of the Dark Emperor and the worship of Bleak. And, as Lyr kept saying, as far from Dexter as they could get.
Next Time: I’m not sure what tale I’ll tell next. I have three basic threads to follow here- Rajah, the pirates, and Dexter and Malford; and one of my old players (hi Aaron) emailed me and asked me to write about some of his old pcs, so we’ll see... the next bit it yet to be determined. For, after all, they’re all ultimately related.
the Jester
Legend
Dexter and Malford
About five months earlier...
Malford and Dexter laid low in town. They could smell the smoke from the burning temple of Galador, and Malford was full of dread wondering what had happened.
Dexter was extremely angry, but also somewhat contrite. Should he have done it? Should he have mindwiped Galiger? Well, he certainly had it coming!
But he found himself wondering, Is that how a Galadorian should act?
They kept their heads down for a few days. When they cautiously checked, sending an urchin to scout the docks, they found that the Twikwakikikak had sailed. Malford thought sadly, There goes my ship.
Ah, well. His career in piracy could have ended worse, with him walking a plank above a chud pot surrounded by sharks.
Dexter and Malford murdered another mage for his book of spells, but afterward both were filled with remorse enough that they agreed not to do it again. The two of them seemed to have swung in a new moral direction. A few days passed while they waited for a vessel to sail to the west; it seemed as likely a direction as any.
“Look,” Malford said, gesturing at the maps opened before him and Dexter in the inn they were renting a room from. “The Parrot Isles. They say there’s a dragon that lives there- Arnaud the Copper. That might be interesting.”
Aimlessly, Dex agreed. After all, he had no idea whatsoever of what to do.
“Besides,” Malford added, “from the Parrot Isles we can go to Forinthia or even to Dorhaus, if we want to head farther west.”
“What’s past there?” Dex pointed at the edge of the map.
“Who knows? That’s a far ways.”
***
It was from that last wizard that Dexter got his famous staff of combat. A few other trifles, as well, including an amulet that would let a caster change one of his spells for a protection from evil. Of course, neither of them could use it (Dexter being a psionicist and Malford an illusionist; abjuration, at the time, was forbidden to all such wizards), so Dex held it for sale.
The trip the two made to the Parrot Isles lasted most of a month, aboard a ship called the flying fish. Their time there was mostly spent in a fruitless attempt to spy on the dragon; Polly, Malford’s parrot, overflew the Dragon’s Isle but saw nothing worth noting. Disgruntled, Malford and Dexter decided to leave on the Flying Fish once it was finished in the isles (it was mostly taking on a cargo of wild kocho). But first, Malford knew of one thing perhaps worth taking from the Parrot Isles.
“There’s this tree,” he told Dexter. “It’s called the Tree of Rulva. It’s a palm tree, enshrined by the local tribesmen. The coconut milk grants fertility, and sometimes communion with Galador. It very rarely fruits, but rumor has it that there’s a coconut up there now!”
His plan was obvious. “There’s a guardian, but you can use your mind tricks to lure him away long enough for me to scramble up the tree, then I can get the coconut and we can escape!”
And indeed, it proved to be that easy. The man guarding the tree was not the brightest star in the firmament, and his deception is easily accomplished by Dexter’s telepathic powers. Then Malford clambered up the tree, cut loose the single coconut above, and slithered back down, escaping into the shadows.
Next Time: Remember Sheila the Confessor, the hot young lass that took Dexter’s confession for the Inquisition?
About five months earlier...
Malford and Dexter laid low in town. They could smell the smoke from the burning temple of Galador, and Malford was full of dread wondering what had happened.
Dexter was extremely angry, but also somewhat contrite. Should he have done it? Should he have mindwiped Galiger? Well, he certainly had it coming!
But he found himself wondering, Is that how a Galadorian should act?
They kept their heads down for a few days. When they cautiously checked, sending an urchin to scout the docks, they found that the Twikwakikikak had sailed. Malford thought sadly, There goes my ship.
Ah, well. His career in piracy could have ended worse, with him walking a plank above a chud pot surrounded by sharks.
Dexter and Malford murdered another mage for his book of spells, but afterward both were filled with remorse enough that they agreed not to do it again. The two of them seemed to have swung in a new moral direction. A few days passed while they waited for a vessel to sail to the west; it seemed as likely a direction as any.
“Look,” Malford said, gesturing at the maps opened before him and Dexter in the inn they were renting a room from. “The Parrot Isles. They say there’s a dragon that lives there- Arnaud the Copper. That might be interesting.”
Aimlessly, Dex agreed. After all, he had no idea whatsoever of what to do.
“Besides,” Malford added, “from the Parrot Isles we can go to Forinthia or even to Dorhaus, if we want to head farther west.”
“What’s past there?” Dex pointed at the edge of the map.
“Who knows? That’s a far ways.”
***
It was from that last wizard that Dexter got his famous staff of combat. A few other trifles, as well, including an amulet that would let a caster change one of his spells for a protection from evil. Of course, neither of them could use it (Dexter being a psionicist and Malford an illusionist; abjuration, at the time, was forbidden to all such wizards), so Dex held it for sale.
The trip the two made to the Parrot Isles lasted most of a month, aboard a ship called the flying fish. Their time there was mostly spent in a fruitless attempt to spy on the dragon; Polly, Malford’s parrot, overflew the Dragon’s Isle but saw nothing worth noting. Disgruntled, Malford and Dexter decided to leave on the Flying Fish once it was finished in the isles (it was mostly taking on a cargo of wild kocho). But first, Malford knew of one thing perhaps worth taking from the Parrot Isles.
“There’s this tree,” he told Dexter. “It’s called the Tree of Rulva. It’s a palm tree, enshrined by the local tribesmen. The coconut milk grants fertility, and sometimes communion with Galador. It very rarely fruits, but rumor has it that there’s a coconut up there now!”
His plan was obvious. “There’s a guardian, but you can use your mind tricks to lure him away long enough for me to scramble up the tree, then I can get the coconut and we can escape!”
And indeed, it proved to be that easy. The man guarding the tree was not the brightest star in the firmament, and his deception is easily accomplished by Dexter’s telepathic powers. Then Malford clambered up the tree, cut loose the single coconut above, and slithered back down, escaping into the shadows.
Next Time: Remember Sheila the Confessor, the hot young lass that took Dexter’s confession for the Inquisition?
the Jester
Legend
Lela said:
In the 2e days, it was like this:
Staff of Combat: Crits on a natural 19-20; +2 to hit; +2 to crit severity.
In 3.5 parlance, I guess it would be something like-
Staff of Combat: Quarterstaff +2/+2; crit (both heads) is 19-20/x3.
At the time I used my own (very ruthless) critical hit system; the severity was rolled on 3d6, so even a small adjustment often made a big difference (what with bell curves and all).
Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Just finished reading all four pages. I'm looking forward to reading more about Dexter and Malford.
Cheers!
KF72
Cheers!
KF72
the Jester
Legend
Return to Forinthia
Returning to Forinthia, specifically to the port city of Frodrand, Dex and Malford couldn’t help but be nervous. What if someone tried to collect on the reward on them (for their entire group had had prices on their heads for months)? What if someone recognized them?
They were not quite as infamous as all that, Dexter pointed out, and Forinthia was a big place. Moreover, Malford was skilled in the arts of disguise; so before they disembarked, the gnome used his craft to give each of them a new face.
Malford and Dexter sought a room in a harder, shifty part of town; then Malford easily made contact with the local thieves’ guild. He’d be a fool to attempt anything without paying his dues, after all. His contact, a halfling named Morrin, greasily took Malford’s bribes and expedited the process, so soon our gnome was cheerfully picking pockets in the common room.
Malford also made a point of joining a library. For a 100 gp fee he got access to it for a year. It’s well worth it, he thought.
Dexter meanwhile made contact with his confessor.
She would not turn him in to the authorities, he knew; for he came to her under the curtain of the confessional, to tell her how he was doing. He was honest and frank, and she exhorted him to better behavior and set him a penance. The real penance was her disappointment, however. It stung. He wanted to please her...
And there were the dreams.
Vague, he couldn’t usually remember much about them; but Dexter had been dreaming of the searing power of the Light, Galador. Galador was indeed much on his mind lately.
Depressed, young Dexter returned to the inn they were staying at, rubbing at the terrible scars on his forehead as he walked. He needed to leave Forinthia; he did not think the island would be kind to him.
Taking ship again, this time for fabulous far-off Pesh, Malford and Dexter made an acquaintance: Lochenvar, a terse human warrior wielding a mighty axe. Malford considered that Dexter probably could use some more human company, so the two invited Lochenvar to join them as a companion.
The ship held several other passengers of interest: Lochenvar’s older brother Chekov, a halfling sneak named Setson, and a merchant named Chad, of interest only because of the terrible cargo he was transporting in the hold below.
Within a great crate lay a monstrous construct of orichalcum. It was the size of a man, no bigger, but of fearsome aspect. Ram-headed, gleaming copper in color, the thing lay as if in wait for a signal.
Until, as our protagonists were far out to sea, it began to stir.
Next Time: A construct berserk in the hold of a ship at sea! Hope the boys can swim!!!
Returning to Forinthia, specifically to the port city of Frodrand, Dex and Malford couldn’t help but be nervous. What if someone tried to collect on the reward on them (for their entire group had had prices on their heads for months)? What if someone recognized them?
They were not quite as infamous as all that, Dexter pointed out, and Forinthia was a big place. Moreover, Malford was skilled in the arts of disguise; so before they disembarked, the gnome used his craft to give each of them a new face.
Malford and Dexter sought a room in a harder, shifty part of town; then Malford easily made contact with the local thieves’ guild. He’d be a fool to attempt anything without paying his dues, after all. His contact, a halfling named Morrin, greasily took Malford’s bribes and expedited the process, so soon our gnome was cheerfully picking pockets in the common room.
Malford also made a point of joining a library. For a 100 gp fee he got access to it for a year. It’s well worth it, he thought.
Dexter meanwhile made contact with his confessor.
She would not turn him in to the authorities, he knew; for he came to her under the curtain of the confessional, to tell her how he was doing. He was honest and frank, and she exhorted him to better behavior and set him a penance. The real penance was her disappointment, however. It stung. He wanted to please her...
And there were the dreams.
Vague, he couldn’t usually remember much about them; but Dexter had been dreaming of the searing power of the Light, Galador. Galador was indeed much on his mind lately.
Depressed, young Dexter returned to the inn they were staying at, rubbing at the terrible scars on his forehead as he walked. He needed to leave Forinthia; he did not think the island would be kind to him.
Taking ship again, this time for fabulous far-off Pesh, Malford and Dexter made an acquaintance: Lochenvar, a terse human warrior wielding a mighty axe. Malford considered that Dexter probably could use some more human company, so the two invited Lochenvar to join them as a companion.
The ship held several other passengers of interest: Lochenvar’s older brother Chekov, a halfling sneak named Setson, and a merchant named Chad, of interest only because of the terrible cargo he was transporting in the hold below.
Within a great crate lay a monstrous construct of orichalcum. It was the size of a man, no bigger, but of fearsome aspect. Ram-headed, gleaming copper in color, the thing lay as if in wait for a signal.
Until, as our protagonists were far out to sea, it began to stir.
Next Time: A construct berserk in the hold of a ship at sea! Hope the boys can swim!!!
