Demons in the Mist (October 9th update)

[Desdichado]

Mademoiselle Castellana di Vicenta welcomed the crew of misfit smugglers and thieves into her boudoir. She smiled as they were shown in by a burly young lady, although not an unlovely one, who looked to have a fair bit of orc ancestry in her veins.

"My lady di Vicenta, I present to you the contractors you asked to see." The half-orc introduced them each by name, and the Lady inclined her head slightly as they are introduced, smiling politely. When her orcish seneschal was done presenting all of them, the lady smiled at her, too, and dismissed her, leaving them alone together. Her boudoir was ornate and covered with filligreed mahogany and gilt and marble. Heavy velvet curtains hung from the high ceiling every ten feet or so, and one of them was open to reveal the setting sun, shining like a blazing lighthouse beacon through the thick glass. The Lady seated herself on a finely made leather daybed in the center of the room, her legs tucked up comfortably under her, and her silk skirts spread out around them like a fan. In her hands she had a number of parchments and scrolls which she set aside to beckon the contractors to sit in smaller chairs in front of her.

"I'm so glad that you've come. I've heard a bit about the exploits of each of you, you know. Making a bit of a name for yourselves across the tablelands." She laughed softly. "And I do so love to employ an up and coming cause célèbre. But I don't know if each of you knows the other. I'm sure you'll become great friends over the next few weeks. I sincerely hope that you do."

As a matter of fact, most of the group did know each other, at least by reputation. Lash and Ricardo had worked together many times before, and were friends from---well, maybe not exactly childhood, but certainly since they were both impressionable youths. Lash was the hobgoblin con artist. Some people said that underneath it all he had a heart of gold. Those who knew him better knew that he had no heart at all, merely a vacant spot in his chest that lusted after gold. Ricardo was a handsome young human. Too handsome, really. He was a magnet for trouble. He didn't care much about gold, but ladies fell to his charms much too often for his own good. Although he and Lash had known each other for years, and stuck together through thick and thin, they often caused each other a great deal of grief; Lash's elaborate plans for a get-rich scheme falling through when Ricardo tumbled the wrong noble's daughter. It wasn't clear if their relationship was a friendship; they were more like and old, shrewish married couple who argued with each other constantly, and yet were almost always seen together.

They both also knew Scritch, the secretive rat-clan shifter. He had been imprisoned with Ricardo and Shautha by the unscrupulous Baron von Herzograf, and the three of them managed to effect a daring escape together. He also came across Ricardo while trying to steal the Boyarinka of Vladistok's birthday present... to find the Boyarinka occupied in the bed with Ricardo. Awkward. And on that terrible night, just a week ago, when Lash's latest scheme to cheat the elder Kirov brother out of an airship through a loaded dice game went very badly; Kirov ended up dead, and the three of them in hiding for several nights in the crawlspace under Kirov's Razine mansion.

Shautha was a burly half-orc lass. She wasn't the brightest knife in the drawer and she had an unfortunate tendency to think that she was sexy and attractive. She was not. At all. Men quailled in fear from her advances, but she didn't notice, and came on to them all the time anyway. At least she was persistent in her lack of success. As well as being locked in the (dark; he never got a good look at her) dungeons with Ricardo, she also knew Vuukran, the hobgoblin ex-soldier, having seen him fight on numerous occasions, including when he lost his youthful idealism and deserted from Xoth-Sarnath's Red Legion. For Vuukran's part, he seemed uncomfortable around Shautha and tried to avoid looking into her eyes.

"I have need of you all," Mme. de Vincenta continued. "A matter of some discretion. I have in my possession a cargo. Of lace, as it turns out, but very fine lace, made with Mistwool, from sheep growing under the Mistline, and harvested by our allies in Samyassa's court. Extremely fine material, and enchanting designs too, if I don't say so myself. And… very profitable at the moment. It has become extremely faddish for the nobility of many kingdoms to wear them, and I need to get them into the market as soon as possible to maximize my profits in the matter."

"Normally, I wouldn't approach such doughty travelers as yourselves to safeguard a ship full of lace, but I'm afraid that I have made some enemies in my mercantile pursuits over the years, and I believe that some of my rivals may well try to hijack this shipment, knowing that enough of my fortune is wrapped up in this venture to set me back considerably and reduce my influence for some time. Therefore, my interest in approaching your fine and upstanding company. I need this shipload delivered to Zin, where my brokers can send it to all the various markets where it will be sold. Upon safe delivery, you will be well-paid by my brother Gaspar who handles that end of the business. Can I, then, count on you for this? I do believe there may be more work of an equally profitable nature awaiting you in Zin should you find this assignment to your liking."

Lash stood, sketched a rough bow and said, "I am honored the Lady would consider me for this task. I will gladly accept and offer whatever service I can, provided your definition of well paid meets mine."

Shautha's eyes lit up at the mention of what kind of cargo it is. "And what would the payment be, Lady?" she asked roughly.

"I see that you cut straight to the chase," the lady answered. "I admire that. I truly do. As I said, this shipment represents a significant expenditure of my capital for this season, so it is imperative that I get it to Zin as quickly and as safely as possible. For that kind of service, I expect to pay very well indeed; six thousand gold crowns to do the job, payable on delivery.

A greedy light flashed in Lash's eyes. The rest of the group merely boggled at the stupendous amount of gold being offered.

"With any luck, you'll be in Zin in no more than a week's time. You can hardly get a better wage than that anywhere else in the Tablelands." The mademoiselle poured herself a small glass of wine and offered the bottle to the contractors.

Ricardo took the bottle with a smile and a charming grin. "My lady, I assure you that I, at least, will value a cargo of fashionable lace no less than I would gold ingots. I am pleased to accept your offer and flattered to have come to your... attention." He set about pouring drinks for his friends, while glancing suggestively at their new patron.

Scritch stood silent amidst the group, nervously trying not to touch anything too terribly valuable. So many glittering things, she has! The shifter gladly took a glass of wine from Ricardo and gulped it down almost too quickly.

"Have no fear, milady; should your rivals intercept us, they will certainly sense lace violence." Vuukran looked around the room a few times, before adding a dejected "...What?"

Shautha smiled at Ricardo in what she hoped was a charming manner and then accepted the glass gingerly, terrified she might break it or spill some of the wine. She smirked at Vuukran's comment, making her fears almost come to fruition as she bobbled the glass slightly.

Mme. de Vicenta smiled up at Ricardo, a small flush covering her cheeks. "Oh, Ricardo! You are such a gentleman." She tapped her chin thoughtfully with a rolled parchment, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps I can arrange to meet you in Zin even. Gaspar is a clever fellow, but I hear he's too besotted with certain ladies of the... er... oldest profession to give this shipment the attention it needs when it arrives."

As she watched the exchange, Shautha's expression shifted rapidly between envy, admiration, and awe. This is how the professionals did it.

While everyone else seems focused on the lady and her conversation, Scritch purposefully removed himself from it to a certain extent. Talking with people of class always made him nervous. Perhaps that is enough to explain why he was apparently the only one who heard a muffled bump and whispered curse from behind a velvet curtain. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly, looking at the curtains. Without pausing, the rodentish shifter slipped towards the sound, drawing the curtains aside as he also drew his kukri. As he moved he captured everyone's attention, and the chatting came to an abrupt stop.

Behind the curtain, looking up suddenly with a very guilty expression on his face, was Vladimir Kirov, the younger of the Kirov brothers, a rather unsavory character to say the least. In his hand a very expensive gold, jade and porcelain vase, and next to him was a narrow podium which was rocking slightly... it's clear that he accidentally just knocked the vase off of and only just caught it in time. His good eye registered a brief moment of shock and panic; his face still bearing the nasty scar that blinded his other eye from the night in the tavern when the gambling scheme went bad. The alcove he stood in appeared to connect to a corridor that turned to the left and headed away from the mademoiselle's boudoir.

"Ahhh... see... I can explain this. You see... Ah, screw it!" Kirov threw the vase directly at Scritch's head and turned around and ran.

 

[Desdichado]

This is the beginning of what is---arguably---one of the most successful campaigns I've ever run, and certainly the most successful play-by post game I've ever been involved with.

Because the game was done via play by post (on another messageboard, not here) I also have a very good, and completely complete archive of everything that happened. This serialized story hour is that record; cut and pasted, and then edited and cleaned up. On occasion I will bulk up a scene or two, on other occasions I'll pare down a scene or two, and at all points I'll be rewriting, editing and modifying to improve clarity, pacing or anything else that will make this game log read better, including removing any "gamisms" from the discussion.

The setting was an idea stolen from Rel. Back when he first proposed his "islands in the Mist" setting idea, I took that basic concept, before either of us could even have much discussion about what that concept would mean, and got this game off the ground. Believe it or not, almost the entire game was made up, on the spot, by me, as we went. Because I had very little plan as we started, the game "borrows" liberally from every single swashbuckling movie I've ever seen, every pulp story I've ever read, a fair bit of Airplane!-esque ridiculous comedy and randy farce, 80s pop culture references, and anything else I could think of on the spot that I thought might possibly be entertaining.

The gist of the setting was that due to some kind of supernatural catastrophe, almost the entire world was covered with a poisonous layer of mist that harbored demons, and was in all respects inimicable to human(oid) life. Human(oid) civilization did continue, though, mostly at higher elevations. The area of the world in which this campaign takes place is one where huge, Dr. Challenger-esque tepuis and mountain peaks stick out from the Mist, creating habitable plateaus. Some of them are quite large, and I envision that the area in which this takes place has at least as much habitable space as, say, the Hawaiian Island chain. Some of the big tepuis, like Mnar and Vogorizov are each nearly as big as the Big Island, while many, many smaller islands make up the remainder of the map (see below.)

I also used D&D 3.5 as the rulebase, but with a twist. Perhaps it's because of the Mist catastrophe, but maybe it's something else, but there is no magic in the world. Nobody knows anything about magic, and if they did, they'd be burned at the stake as a witch by anyone. So, no class with a spellcasting progression of any kind was allowed. Also, there are no such thing as elves, dwarves, gnomes or halflings in this world.

I did, however, open up some other options. I specifically encouraged a few other alternate races and classes, and said that psionics could be a reasonable substitute for magic. That explains the rather eclectic (from a traditional D&D standpoint, anyway) collection of characters I got. I've summarized what they were mechanically, at chargen (2nd level):

• Ricardo Murciélago, human swashbuckler
• Lash, hobgoblin fighter/rogue
• Scritch, shifter ninja
• Shautha, half-orc barbarian
• Vuukran, hobgoblin soulknife

They were later joined by Nix, a human rogue, and then even later yet by Rix, a human alt.bard cribbed from the Dark Sun adaptation to 3.5 (that doesn't feature a spellcasting progression, naturally.)

Anyway, I hope you have fun reading the account of this band of fairly clueless, blundering ne'er-do-wells. Their penchant for charging headlong into trouble and leaving a disaster behind them reminded me vividly of Cugel the "Clever", and I punished the characters heavily for their foolhardiness. However, the players themselves and I were always vastly entertained by their antics and what happened because of them.

Because I'm essentially editing a play by post log, instead of writing this from scratch, I hope that it advances at a fairly steady pace. The biggest challenge I foresee is editing some of the... uh... well, let's just say that if I posted it as is, Eric's poor grandma would probably be in a near constant state of shock. I'll try to step delicately around Grandma, while still keeping true to the spirit of the game, which---as my players were quick to tell me when I suggested I might serialize this for ENWorld---might get challenging from time to time.

Map

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[Desdichado]

Ricardo immediately places himself between Kirov and Madamemoiselle di Vicenta, while giving the exotically attractive (he still thinks, not having taken a good look at her yet) half-orc girl a wink as if to say, "Don't worry, I'm just buttering up the boss."

"Vuukran, can you catch him? I will protect her ladyship."

The hobgoblin nods curtly. "Consider him caught." A two foot long matte black blade appears in his hand, seemingly out of thin air, as he trots off after the fleeing figure of Kirov.

Mme di Vincenta looks on the point of swooning. She is clearly distressed. "I know that man. He is the youngest and laziest son of my worst rival. If he has overheard our conversation..." She grabs the bottle of wine and drinks deeply, directly from the bottle.

Ricardo is missing no opportunity to soothe her ladyship. He settles next to her on the daybed, steadying her shoulders with a strong arm. "My dear lady, please--you may count on my associates and I. We have had dealings with those Kirov characters before." He finds her a glass and helps her avoid the unladylike bottle-tipping. With a glance at the half-orc girl, hoping she'll pay attention, he asks gently, "Where is their estate? Might we not intercept the young ruffian before he can get there?" It's possible his free hand has accidentally found itself resting on her knee.

Shautha looks confused. "My lady... Should we detain him?" She advances in the direction the young man ran threateningly.

Di Vicenta takes another deep drink from her wine bottle. "My dear young lady... YES! By any means necessary, he must be stopped from getting a message to his father."

Meanwhile, Scritch dodges the vase as it flies at him, and then his features change as Kirov attempts to flee. His body grows leaner, hunching over as his fingers grow short claws. Tufts of fur appear across his body and his face elongates slightly. He chitters loudly and lunges after the noble. Scritch takes his kukri between his teeth and bounds forward, moving almost on all fours. As he hits the corner of the corridor, he leaps sideways and lands on the wall, running across it and, ultimately, the ceiling, as he attempts to catch Kirov.

Lash doesn't hesitate, but charges after the fleeing human, pulling his whip free as he does so.

"His father's summer home in Razina is right on the cliff-face, hanging over the north wall on Rue de Marquand," the madamoiselle continues to Ricardo. "If he escapes from my home, you could possibly intercept him if you cut through Tanner's Street. But he may have associates in town and not head back to his father's estate at all! Oh, this is tres terrible!"

Shautha takes one more look at Ricardo and Her Ladyship and then lumbers down the hallway after the Kirov and Vuukran. Ricardo has of course positioned himself so as to have a view of her backside as she lumbers. "Do not fear, your ladyship. I, Ricardo Murciélago, will undertake to protect your interests in this affair." He kneels before her and kisses her hand passionately, trying to recall the layout of the house to see if he can predict the varlet's path. "I am sure he has not yet left your estate, my dear. Perhaps you can direct me, your willing servant, on the best route to intercept him? Believe me, there is no service I would not willingly undertake on your behalf."

Meanwhile, Kirov turns around and curses, seeing the rather bestial crowd chasing after him (two hobgoblins, a half-orc and a shifter. You don't want to meet this crowd in a dark alley, that's for sure.) A pistol is in his hand, suddenly, and he reaches under his arm and shoots backwards towards the crew with a blast of fire and a deafening boom. It's a good hit in spite of the difficulties of firing on the run, and the ball smashes into Scritch painfully, knocking him to the floor and causing everything to go red for a moment. He hisses angrily and leaps back into the chase, eager to take his ounce of flesh from Kirov. Then Kirov's eyes widen as he sees that Scritch is barely slowed, he throws the gun down and runs away faster.

The lady points towards another curtain, saying to Ricardo, "Behind that... my private corridor to the kitchens for midnight snacks. It will put you in the same corridor, but more directly. If you hurry, you might yet cut him off."

"Your ladyship, I exist only to serve your honor." One last passionate kiss on her hand, with a intense smouldering stare into her eyes, and Ricardo dashes from the room, alert for further sounds of mayhem. He rushes past a startled maid, snatching her tray from her as he goes by.

Vuukran's throws his mindblade, and it slams into Kirov's backside. He hops and stumbles slightly with a pained "Oooph!" but regains his footing and keeps running.

Shautha continues to lumber after the young man. She whips her morningstar across her path experimentally as she goes. "Down!" she shouts. Kirov grunts in pain as the morningstar crashes into his chest, smashing his ribs. He coughs blood as he runs, his face pale.

As Scritch reaches Kirov, he pauses for a moment, vanishing into thin air. Scritch suddenly reappears right in front of him, blocking his path. Lash's whip wraps around his feet. He makes a surprisingly graceful pirouette and steps out of the whip's embrace. He glares at Scritch. "You!" Then his one eye widens as he sees Lash, and he instinctively brushes the scar on his face, his expression livid. "You!" He snarls in frustrated rage and suddenly changes direction, breaking out of the chase and dashing through a door to the side.

Between the wild swing of the half-orcess, the gone again/here again rat-man, and Kirov's deft footwork, Vuukran finds himself slowed up a bit. He mutters under his breath as another sword materializes in his hand. He hurtles around a corner and sees the Kirov youth still just ahead of him.

Shautha snarls under her breath, dismayed that her mighty blow didn't stop the human. She veers after him, bellowing. "You will not get away so easily!"

Ricardo comes out of the corridor and sees Kirov running right past him. He sights carefully and flings the maid's tray at the injured young man's legs. He groans as the tray, poorly weighted for such an effort, plows into the wall and only merits a startled glance from the fleeing spy. Ricardo sighs and sets out in pursuit.

Kirov turns back to see Ricardo and his silver platter. "And you too! I should have known!" Shautha manages to turn on a dime and stay right on his tail as he plows through another door and into a room. It's a very high ceilinged bedroom, with the outside wall a gigantic window, overlooking a balcony. Outside, the balcony is very wide with long, ropy ivy hanging to the right. Kirov says, "Pardon me, mademoiselle!" with a slight nod of his head without slowing down as he dashes through the room.

With a squawk of embarrassment, a naked young lady who looks like a younger version of Castellana herself dives behind a curtain. There's another flash of flapping sheets and a man-sized lump with a 7-8 inch tentpole right in the middle of it covers up under the sheets, hiding his face.

Kirov jumps headlong through the glass window with a smash and grabs one of the ivy tendrils, leaping off the balcony and swinging towards the ground far below.

Scritch lets out another angry chitter and claws his way to the nearest section of ivy and follows the nobleman to the ground, scrabbling along the wall like a squirrel, tumbling as he lands to continue pursuit. Vuukran fires off a curt "Excuse me, miss." as he grabs hold of the curtain she's hiding behind and leaps forward, trying to swing out the window to position himself for a shot at Kirov. The younger di Vicenta yelps in surprise. The curtain isn't that long, though, and as he's swinging on it, it rips. Vuukran slides painfully across the balcony grinding glass fragments into his face. He looks up to see the younger girl trying vainly to cover herself, but with the curtain ripped, all she has are her hands. "OK, that's just gratuitous," she says.

Disdaining ivy, or even the balcony railing, Ricardo pours on the speed and the leaps feet-first, twisting to dive between the bars of the railing. Not failing, of course, to blow a kiss to the startled damsel as he goes by. "I can't recall if this was the second or the third story. Hm."

Kirov swings down near the gate, but bungles his landing badly, losing his balance and rolling across the ground to hit the wall, laying on his back with his feet up in the air against the wall near the gate. He groans in pain. Ricardo leaps picturesquely from the balcony and then curses as he realizes the ground is farther away than he anticipated. He grits his teeth and tries to land as softly as he can, but you don't fall that far without some pain. He lands heavily in Castellana's garden, rolling through her prize roses.

Lash snarls. Kirov #2 isn't getting away again, especially if it might cost me this job. He charges toward the window and throws himself through, twisting in midair to lash out with his whip and snag the balustrade, hopefully smashing into Kirov as he swings. Lash leaps off the balcony, swinging his whip out to grap ahold, but misjudges badly. "Yah-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" he shouts as he lands heavily on Castellana's best rosebushes next to Ricardo

Castellana herself follows on the adventurers' heels, and bumps directly into the poor fellow who was trying to hide under the sheets and then sneak out the open door. His face comes free, and Castellana's eyes narrow as she recognizes him. "Mario. Will this nightmare never end? Francesca, how could you?"

The naked girl screams in reply. "You and Gaspar just don't understand! We're in love! You can't keep us apart!"

Castellana calls out to your group. "When you're done apprehending that Kirov scoundrel, could you come make sure this miscreant here doesn't escape either? I'm throwing him in the dungeon. And no, Francesca, you cannot visit him!"

The naked girl screams in frustration and stomps out of the room. Then she stomps back in, her face red. "I forgot! This is my bedroom!" She grabs a silk robe, ties it violently on and stomps out again.

Lash moans in the rose bushes, his entire body one gigantic pulse of pain. Why is it Ricardo always gets the rose, and I always end up with the thorns?

 

[Ovinomancer]

As the player of Lash, I feel it important to note that this is not a story of heroism, and does not feature heroes. The closest it comes is a kind of rough loyalty among otherwise selfish, shortsighted, often willfully stupid people, but even this isn't constant. It's the story of the idiot henchmen of the evil overlord that were fired for incompetence; of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern; of luckless morons caught in a web of larger events they can't be bothered to perceive, much less understand. It is often funny, occasionally hilarious, but never noble.

Enjoy. I know I had a complete blast.

 

[Desdichado]

I love a good Rosencrantz and Guildenstern reference.

 

[Seonaid]

I played Shautha, and agree with every word that Ovinomancer posted. And fear not--it goes only downhill and gets only better as it progresses.

 

[Desdichado]

As a quick preview of some of the things to expect from this story hour in the weeks to come: a robo-elephant, ax-wielding gorillas, the most beautiful and dangerous woman in the world (as illustrated by Luis Royo) and the Lost City of Naked Amazon Hotties Who Ride Dinosaurs (Into Battle. You Perv.)

 

[John Crichton]

This should be a really good read. I read 80% of the original PbP before they asked me to play a chracter due to being short a couple of the original PC's. The last 20% just happened to be more fun because I was interacting not just reading.

I played Rix. Mostly. Someone else played her for a few days before I did.

 

[Desdichado]

I'm still experimenting with tense and a few other things. I like past tense better to read, but the game itself took place in present tense. The last entry I tried to keep as present tense, thinking it would be less work for me to edit (and it was) but... I don't like it as much. So, back to past tense.

Ricardo coughed and spit rose petals from his mouth, unable to muster the sort of volume that would draw the guards' attention, and carried on in pursuit of the fleeing youth. "Guards! Guards! Stop that miscreant! Your mistress' honour depends on it!"

Meanwhile, Shautha managed a quick grin and smirk at the tentpole and the girl in the bedroom before jumping out the window. She grunted heavily as she crashed into the soft loam, painfully stood up and then trotted over to Kirov, morningstar at the ready. Scritch waved his kukri past the nobleman's face and grinned menacingly...before curling up a fist and punching him solidly in the stomach.

Ricardo stood gingerly and brushed off his velvet clothes. Recovering a bit of his aplomb, he bowed to her ladyship up in the window. He then drew his rapier. "You see, your ladyship, we are as good as our word. How shall we dispose of this ruffian?"

Shautha grinned at Scritch almost ferally while standing menacingly over Kirov. Vuukran minced towards Kirov in slow, deliberate steps, his face a tight grimace while picking shards of glass from it. "Oh, he's going to pay for this. Hold him down for me so I can spill his guts all over the street."

Kirov sat up woozily, shaking his head. "You've got me," he says. "I surrenduuurk!" Lash dragged himself from the rose bushes, saw the huddled Kirov, pulled his pistol, and shot him. Lash's shot took him in the chest and Kirov fell over. For just an instant before he went down, everyone saw an odd vision; as if a smoky, translucent mask of someone else's visage was being pulled off his face, then it disappearred and Kirov stopped breathing.

Shautha looked up surprised from her menacing. "Wait, are we supposed to kill him?" Her face was confused.

"Cht. I didn't think so." Scritch checked Kirov's vitals to see if he was still alive or not...and checked his pockets for valuables or clues.

"I can't think of a more effective way of preventing him from delivering a message." Vuukran scratched his blood-soaked chin for a moment. "Oh, wait! would you rather we just cut his tongue out instead? Hmm, but then he might still be able to write a message... Cut off his hands, too?"

Shautha's brow wrinkled in at attempt at thought. "Why don't we just tie him up and drop him at the Lady's feet?"

"Oh, dear," Castellana called down from the balcony. "I suppose I better call for my chirurgeon. And then we need to talk some more. Things have become more serious."

The chirurgeon was a small man with very thick glasses that made his eyes look gigantic. Mousy gray hair poked up crazily from behind his ears. He tsked and shook his head on seeing first to Kirov, who was then dragged away and locked in the cellars, and then he attended to each of the others.

Scritch's features softened and became more human as they waited for the chirurgeon. After the small, ginger-smelling man bandaged the shifter up, Scritch quietly joined the rest of the group upstairs. He sat - squatted, really - as everyone gathered together again.

"This reminds me of the time I was hired to steal the Coruscating Jewel of Emen-Nuhal. I was running down the hallway, jewel in hand and ten score of the Empress's personal guard hot on my heels, when the hallway ended abruptly on a balcony and - Hey, free pistol!" On the way back to the Contessa's chambers, still picking shards of glass from his face, Vuukran stopped to pick up the pistol Kirov dropped during his ill-fated escape attempt.

Shautha rolled her eyes at Vuukran's story. (Note: Ricardo still hasn't seen Shautha from the front in proper lighting.)

Ricardo needed no second request; he was back into the house and, taking a few moments to adjust his outfit (making sure it's clear he played a role in the desperate battle, but that everything's still looking stylish), he followed Castellana back into her boudoir. He refrained from returning to his former seat beside her on the daybed, but appeared helpless to control his smouldering glances in her direction. "Dear lady, now that the immediate threat is gone, perhaps you could explain why the Kirov family would have any interest in a shipment of lace?"

Lash, still pulling thorns from his backside, said, "Yes, good Lady, why would Kirov be snooping in your chambers, and, more to my immediate interest, when can I finish ripping his throat out?"

The chirurgeon tsked again, following them into the lady's chamber. "These field dressings will never do. I'll see if I can tend to you better when we're not so rushed." He shakes his head ruefully again, then packs up his little black doctor bag, mumbling to himself about not trusting people who don't have the good sense to heal right when a doctor's trying to patch them up (as an aside, I had the doctor's ministrations act as if they were a CLW... but almost everyone rolled really, really low.)

By now the sun had finished setting, and the lady's servants had stoked a fire in the fireplace, and lit lamps and candles. Her private security had thoroughly searched the grounds (one guard was found unconscious--no doubt the way in which Kirov entered) and vetted the room for secret meetings. It was dark and shadowy, however, and the flickering flames gave off poor light. Castellana sat in her usual posture and place, very composed as before. Her younger sister Francesca sat quietly in a corner, still wearing the short silk robe and nothing else (that you can see) and still scowling at her sister.

Once everyone was finally seated, she answered Ricardo and Lash's questions. "It seems that some of you have had run ins with the Kirovs before. I did not know before now that you were so well suited for this mission, then. The Kirovs are an old family from Vogorizov, and have been trading rivals of mine for years."

"I should also tell you that the shipment of lace is... if you'll pardon the pun... laced with some other items too. Items that the Kirovs particularly want to get, and sell on the black market to expansionist powers in the north like Xoth-Sarnath and Erau. They are mass poisons and other weapons of terror, manufactured by our allies below the Mistline and their value in the wrong hands is incalculable. My brother Gaspar was to take delivery of these items in Zin and from there make sure that only trustworthy allies had access to these weapons."

"I fear, also, that this younger Kirov may have been able to get a message through after all, in spite of your brave attempt to stop him. I saw from the balcony; that effect as if another face were being peeled off of his skin? The Kirov's have in their employ many powerful psions, and that effect is a trademark of theirs when they are 'riding' someone else; seeing and hearing everything that their host does. For that reason, I fear that the job I initially hired you to do may be more dangerous than I had hoped. I think it wise to send my chirurgeon, Doctor Livingstone, with you in case you meet unexpected dangers. I also advise you to choose a route to Zin carefully; if you fly directly there, no doubt you will meet agents of the Kirovs along the way waiting to ambush you, but if you fly more indirectly through the peaks and tablelands, taking care not to be too closely marked as you go, you may be able to arrive without molestation."

Shautha shuddered at the mention of psions. "Lady, what way do we have to determine if someone is being 'ridden,' as you say, by one of these creatures? And how do we get rid of them once we find them?"

"I don't know. You would have to consult with someone with psionic talent to answer that, I'd guess. It's not been my practice to keep psions on staff here."

Ricardo followed with, "But my dear lady, will you be safe here with no one to protect you? Perhaps you should consider accompanying us where we can be sure of your security -- I promise you I at least will not sleep soundly worrying that you are at the mercy of these unscrupulous Kirovs."

Castellana laughed. "I appreciate your concern, Ricardo! I assure you I will be fine. I am meeting with my chief of security immediately after we are done to discuss how to cover this latest gap in my defenses. It will not happen again.

I do have other things where I need to be seen publically and I need to deal with, though, so I'm afraid I cannot accompany you, as much as I would enjoy the adventure."

Scritch listened intently as Castellana spoke, absently rubbing the Doctor's poultice over his gunshot wound. Politics...always the politics. "When do you expect us to arrive? This will affect our travels plans...sooner better than later would be wise." His vocabulary budget exhausted for the nonce, he returned to examining Kirov's fine rapier, taken from his body, with interest.

"I have no strict timetable. I will begin to worry if you still haven't arrived in Zin in three weeks, but not before."

"Travel to Sènt-Andriu and hire air-ship to meet us at Zin?" suggested Scritch. "That gives us an escape if trouble finds us there, also decoy in case we are followed. We could take airship to Iclezza and then second airship to Zin. Also could split up into groups, throw trackers off scent."

Shautha's brow furrowed in confusion (something that seemed to happen frequently). "I would think that splitting up would not be a good idea."

Ricardo nodded and leered, still unable to see Shautha's features clearly in the shadows. "Indeed, my dear. I believe remaining close will be essential."

Castellana waved breezily. "I leave such details in your hands. After all, you're the ones who will live or die by those details, so plans handed down from me are pointless."

Ricardo bowed. "Then we will do our best to fulfill your desires, your ladyship. When does our ship depart?" And his eyes said, "What are your plans for tonight?"

"I have an airship ready to depart from my private dock at first light. So make the most of tonight, while you can." She turned directly to Ricardo as she said this last sentence, her eyes clearly inviting him to come back later...

Before breaking up the meeting, Lash made a suggestion. "My Lady, surely in light of recent developments, namely that the mission's level of danger just dramatically increased, and the minor matter of capturing a spy your security detail overlooked, perhaps we could revisit the amount of compensation discussed?"

Castellana smiled. "That is reasonable. I will instruct my brother to have an additional 1,500 gold crowns to pay you as a bonus. It will be 2,000 if you arrive inside two weeks."

Lash bowed his acceptance and withdrew.

 

[Desdichado]

Early the following morning, the entire sore crew stumbled out to the Vicenta private dock, to find a small airship tethered on the roof and ready to go (see image below). Shautha, who spent the entire night wooing any males at least moderately attractive, arrived at the morning meeting point hung over, bleary-eyed, and bruised. It wasn't a large craft, but it looked to be sufficient for the need at hand, having a spacious cargo hold, and four small rooms with two hammock-like bunks each. It rose to the aft in a poop deck, and it wa suspended by a large balloon made of heavy canvas cloth. In the spirit of pulp stories everywhere, I'm going to make absolutely no attempt to explain exactly how it works; it just does.

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Castellana was waiting to give the departing delegation a handshake and friendly words of parting. Her chirurgeon, the mousy Doctor Livingstone was also on hand, ready to board and very grumpy about being sent away for several weeks on such short notice. She also lent them a pilot. His name is Gustav Ferrandoz.

After bidding farewell to the Lady di Vicenta they all climbed the rope ladder to board the ship, and Gustav took the ship gently away from her estates, silently winging its way over the rooftops, just barely touched by the glow of the rising sun. Razina was quiet this time of morning, but as the ship sailed further and further away from the city, and the only scenery it could see was the dark, roiling bank of Mist below, the silence became eery, making every creak of the ship sound amazingly loud.

Shautha did her best to be polite and gracious in the morning to Gustav and everyone else, but as soon as discussion turned to topics that were out of her league... such as where they're going, she dropped her stuff in the nearest room and herself into the nearest bunk. Within moments, she was snoring. Ricardo also paid no attention; he headed straight for his cabin and passed out. Mme. di Vicenta had kept him occupied... fairly late into the evening. Vuukran leaned over the railing of the ship, pointing Kirov's pistol at the tiny figures of people far below and making "pew pew pew" sounds to himself. He kept himself entertained for a while.

Once underway, Gustav called out, "Well, sirs, do you want to keep the di Vicenta flag flying? We should have a few alternates packed away. Also; what heading? What's our destination?"

Lash held up one finger to Gustav to silence him, then spent about twenty minutes inspecting the ship, testing lines, examining the envelope, and inspecting the cargo balance in the holds. A rainstorm blew in shortly after embarkation, blowing the ship away from the island with a wind strong enough that Gustav couldn't have made much headway against it anyway (it was blowing almost directly west.)

Lash found a few alternate flags to fly; plague, Razina, and a strange black flag with a skull and crossbones, an eyepatch over one eye, and a weird covering over the lower part of the skull's face. It looked like a ninja-pirate flag, of all things. Gustav was disgusted that there weren't more choices of flags to fly, he gave the impression that he'd been on more than a few smuggling runs. He suggested to Lash that he pick up a few more flags the next time they made port. Doctor Livingstone showed Lash a stash of "special" potions, including some that he claimed were Razina's specialty; potions that provide immunity to the Mist-induced poison (and other) damage for about four hours. There were 12 of those potions in small vials.

Other than that, the ship seemed to be in excellent condition and good working order, it was stocked for two weeks with food and water and the plan was that they'd sail much less time than that before putting down again. The rainstorm blew until late afternoon, leaving the ship temporarily at the whim of the elements for the better part of the day. Gustav gave up on the heading, just trying to keep the ship as steady as possible for the time being.

Oh, and one of the cargo bins seemed to be moving slightly as Lash inspected the hold. Scritch, who'd gone over the entire ship with Lash, scurried around sticking his nose into hidey-holes and crates. He made a point to stop by each of their cabins before heading down into the cargo bay, where the cargo bin that is a-quiver attracted his attention immediately, and he sniffed around it hesitantly. It smelled like perfume.

Lash asked Vuukran to join me in the cargo hold, near the moving crate. Loudly, Lash said, "I'm unsure of what's in this one, Vuukran. Perhaps if you run it through with you blade a few times, it would loosen the nails and we can have a good look?"

Scritch, Vuukran and Lash heard a gasp of alarm, then a female voice saying, "Please... don't do that!" Lash waited expectantly, with a grin on his face, for Vuukran to stab anyway.

However, the other hobgoblin instead hesitantly added, "I've seen a lot of things in my day, but a talking crate is something new, I have to admit."

"I am not a talking crate," the crate said.

Scritch chittered loudly as the voice emanated from the crate. The voice sounded familiar to him. "A talking box? It must be magic. Burn it, not stab it?" The grin on his face belied the serious tone of his voice.

When Scritch made his suggestion, the voice responded with just a hint of panic, "Can anyone help me open this damned thing?"

Vuukran called back, "We don't negotiate with cargo!"

Lash sighed heavily. Killing a stowaway did not seem to be in today's plans, much as he wished it was. "Vuukran, Skritch, would you be so kind as to release di Vicenta the younger from her travel accomodations, find some irons to clamp her in, and bring her to the top deck? I'm going to see if there's some way to Ricardo proof a cabin for the remainder of the journey."

"Okay, fine - one thing at a time, though," the Vuukran answered. "We still haven't figured out what you want us to do with this talking crate."

Scritch laughed as he started moving his long fingers around the lip of the top of the crate, loosening it to allow their stowaway egress. The younger di Vicenta stood up, a bit dizzy from her prolonged stay cooped up on a box, but still sullen and glowering. She was finally dressed by now, although what she was wearing was outrageously absurd; almost a parody of pirate gear. And, extremely immodest. Scritch thought that she almost might as well have remained naked after all. She also looked quite a bit younger than they first realized. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

OOC: Here's a picture of Francesca's ridiculous pirate outfit. The style of the picture itself is a little more anime than I normally like, but I didn't want to spend all day fooling around with GIS to get just the right thing.

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"What you doing onboard?" Scritch asked angrily. Stupid humans, always complicating things! He started to rise, taking the girl by the arm as he did and helping her out of the crate. "No place for you!"

Over the girl's shoulder, they could see the tiny face of a monkey wearing a spotted scarf tied over his head. He was a cute little fella, also wearing baggy little pants. He peeked up shyly over her shoulder at the big ugly hobgoblins and shifter, and gave a funny little salute to them, kinda like Heil Hobgoblin or something.

Vuukran returned the Xoth-Sarnathi legionary salute with a crisp snap, and addressed the monkey. "I wasn't aware that we had a commanding officer on board, Sir. Will you and your servant require any specific travel arrangements?"

Lash whacked Vuukran on the back of the head before addressing Francesca. "On second thought, we probably need to clap Ricardo in chains, also. I'm not going to turn this cargo over to the Lady's representative along with a besotted and pregnant daughter. There's a limit to the number of enemies I'm willing to have at one time.

You, young lady, will follow orders on board this ship, or I will toss you overboard into the Mist and forget you ever existed, are we clear? And please tell me you've brought a decent change of clothes. I shudder at what vapid-minded fantasy prompted that outfit.

I'm going topside to ponder this and check our position. And you," jabbing her in the sternum, "will stay below decks until a suitable resolution is found."

Scritch shook his head at the young lady and settled down in front of her. While Lash lumbered up to the main deck, he offered the small monkey a feral smile and a bit of food.

Francesca hunched her shoulders down even further, her scowl deepening as Lash berated her, but she didn't argue other than to mutter, "Sister, not daughter. Although she's certainly old enough to be my mother. And she certainly acts like she thinks she's my mother."

It turns out that she was a bit more prepared than anyone expected, though: once she'd been discovered, she revealed that the box next to her was full of stuff she brought for the trip. Including a cot, blankets, a nice fluffy down pillow and a dark red satin sheet that she hung up in the cargo hold itself to create a small little "room" for herself to retire to. Which she then did, still muttering to her monkey the whole time. Not that the monkey seemed to be listening. He saluted Scritch again and gratefully devoured the food he gave it in a flash, then looked around to see if there's any more handy.

When Lash got up on deck, things were not going well. Poor Gustav's face was white. The rain still fell and the wind still blew, but the ship was riding much closer to the Mist than it should be. Sharp, rocky peaks poked through here and there; windswept and barren. "Problem, sir!" Gustav said as soon as Lash reappeared. "The wind seems to have damaged the superstructure around the balloon. I can't bring her any higher, and I'm afraid if we don't fix it, we'll keep sinking right down into the Mist."

Lash bellowed, "Hands to the deck! NOW you worthless lubbers!"

Ricardo, used to ignoring Lash's outbursts, simply turned over in his hammock. "Rrrmm... careful not to spill... " His dreams of various exotic women continued uninterrupted.

"My presence is required above deck, Sir. I'll make sure that some of the crew come around soon to see to your needs." Vuukran saluted the monkey and clambered up out of the hold, sliding an eyepatch over his right eye in an effort to appear more piratical. "What's all the commotion up here, are we under attack?" The hobgoblin paused for a second, then his uncovered eye went wide. "Did you find more monkeys?" More monkeys would be so wonderful!

Shautha fell out of her bunk at the shout. "Wha...?" she mumbled groggily as her hand touched her morningstar. When she perceived that there was no immediate threat, she smoothed back her hair from her face and pulled her tunic straight. After glancing around to make sure no one snuck into the room without her notice, she pulled out an ornate silver hand mirror and checked herself quickly. Satisfied with her appearance, she slid the mirror back into its velvet cover and then that into her pack, and then emerged onto the deck.

In a calmer voice Lash addressed the pilot, "Master Gustav, how far is the nearest port of call, no matter how mean? I intend to begin dumping cargo, starting with the food and water, and would like to know exactly how hungry I'm going to get."

Gustav's voice was tight. "I'm not entirely sure where we are yet, and I won't be able to tell 'til the sky clears and I can see some stars or sumpn. No matter where we are exactly, we can't have gone so far West that heading due north won't get us to Tableland, but I don't know how long it'll take to get there. Two, three days? Maybe another two or three to find a hint of civilization.

We might be able to touch down on one of these peaks and fix the balloon, and wait out the storm. We can only pray that we've got everything we need to fix it here on the ship. Depending on how badly damaged we are, I can't guarantee it."

Lash nodded. "Very well, Master Gustav. Pick us a good rock and head for it. I'm going topside to have a look at the rigging. Tell the rest of them to start prioritizing the cargo for rapid dumping, if it comes to that. Most of the food and water can go first, that should lighten us significantly. And, for spite's sake, make sure one of those knuckleheads doesn't toss the box of potions in their enthusiasm. Hopefully, I shan't be long."

Shautha, still yawning and rubbing her eyes, spied below and a bit to the north a rather largish peak. Looking at it more closely, she could see that a ship had recently crashed on it. And looking really carefully, she could even see what looks like a person standing in front of the crashed ship waving at them. "Steer for that peak! We could get supplies and we surely outgun him, even if he does have a band of men with him!"

Her voice caught Ricardo's attention in his sleep. A little deep and a little rough-edged, but definitely feminine. The first feminine voice his sleep-addled ears had heard all morning. He immediately opened his eyes and said, "I'm Ricardo. Hi." He blinked around the empty cabin and rubbed at his face. Looking up as Scritch opened the door with a bucket of water in hand to make sure he was up, he asked, "Who's the doll?"

Scritch's forehead furrowed in confusion, not thinking that a vague sound of Shautha's voice could ever possibly be confused for a doll. "The ship damaged. Boss's sister hiding down below. Repairing now."

Outside, at the very moment Scritch mentioned the "boss's sister", Lash felt a cold wind, like something was set in motion that would lead to a bad end. He shook it off and kept climbing, inspecting the balloon superstructure.

Francesca (and her monkey) rushed up on deck, her eyes bright with excitement and a smile on her face. "What's happening? Are we under attack? Where's the pirates?" She waved around a cutlass and a pistol, and actually looked like she was somewhat familiar with them.

Vuukran glowered at Francesca disdainfully. "You may want to put that blade away and leave this to the professionals, or you're liable to become a cut lass yourself."

Francesca grabbed one of his arms, smiling. "Maybe later you can show me how to use a sword better. I don't have as much experience as I'd like. Plus: I've never seen a hobgoblin fighting style before. I'd love to see your moves sometime soon!"

"You don't want to see them, I can assure you," Vuukran answered "The legions of Xoth-Sarnath teach a group of hobgoblins to fight as one. You don't face one hobgoblin sword at a time: you face ten. Ten hobgoblins march forward, thrusting their swords hilt deep into the bellies of the enemy, howling with rage as their blood spatters across them, then stepping back to allow the next line to step forward and attack in the same manner, until all ten rows of the century have bloodied their blades. No one who sees hobgoblin swordwork lives long enough to tell of it."

Francesca blanched just a bit, unsure whether that was innuendo or not, and if so exactly what it was supposed to mean.

Belowdecks, Ricardo said to Scritch "What happened to the shi-- Wait. Boss' sister? The naked one?" Grabbing his swordbelt and his pistols, he rushed into the companionway. He heard a new female voice up on deck and zipped up the stairs. "Oh, no." He saw the girl eyeing Vuukran. A "gob"-ler. Sigh.

When Ricardo appeared on deck, she let go of Vuukran's arm, although she gave him a shy, uncertain smile still. "Oh, hi! Ricardo, wasn't it? I... uh... caught a little bit of your performance with my sister last night. Most impressive."

Lash took careful note of what needed doing for repairs, and clambered back down to the deck. When he got down and saw the stowaway, he roared, "I told you to stay below decks! Get yourself stowed before I stow you myself!"

Francesca dropped her cutlass in surprise at Lash's bark, then picked it up and hurried back below decks, to all appearances properly intimidated. Shautha raised a speculative eyebrow in Lash's general direction at that impressive display of dominance.

Francesca gave Vuukran and Ricardo a sly smile and a wink on her way down, though. Although she seemed a little unsure in her smile to Vuukran. She wasn't not quite sure if he was trying to hint about a gang-rape of hobgoblins, or just unable to respond to her innuendo in kind. Either way, his answer was sufficiently disturbing to keep her away for the time being.

Lash glared at Vuukran (glaring at Ricardo was never any use) and muttered, "Why do I think that girl is going to have something to do with my agonizing death?

"I see we're all up, now, and that our extra passenger is common knowledge, but we need to deal with more pressing matters first. The storm has damaged the rigging and we can't repair it en route. We're making for the mountainside there, to ride out the storm and effect repairs. Since we don't know what else might be there, I want everyone in combat gear now.

Don't just stand there... MOVE!"

"Certainly, my noisy friend," Ricardo answered with a nonchalant wave. "I'll make sure the young lady is properly stowed away." He turned to go, but not without one more savouring glance at the half-orc girl's backside. If only she'd turn around...

Ricardo was never not entirely stupid; he went to put on his armor before leaving his cabin to go look for Francesca.

Vuukran thought to himself, "Hmm, the girl's commanding officer knew the Imperial salute; he should be familiar enough with hobgoblin swordwork to able to tell her about it. I'll have to remember to mention that to her if she asks me again."

Aloud, he added "Combat gear, got it! Boots? Check. Pants? Check. Shirt? Check. All set!" The hobgoblin thought for a moment, then switched his eyepatch from the right eye to the left. "Now I'm all set!"

The airship descended rather quickly and lurched to a hard stop, hovering just a few feet over the mountain peak. The anchor was thrown overboard to keep it in place. Gustav pulled the ship almost all the way down to the ground, and kept it in the lee of a large horn of rock while the storm blew still. It was still raining, but otherwise everything is eerily quiet. The silent, roiling Mist was only a few feet below, spread out on all sides like a menacing enemy. There was very little space clear on this peak, and nothing much in the way of shelter, plants or anything resembling life.

The ship that crashed previously looked to have done so recently. The wood was still hale and strong (except where the timbers had broken, of course) the bodies strewn on the ground were pale and somewhat bloated, but they couldn't have lain here for much more than about a week. Fat ravens cawed at the ship as it pull up close, poking at soft, rotting flesh with their beaks.

The person who waved turned out to be a young woman, with short hair and dark skin, who ran up with desperate relief in her eyes.

Enter the sixth PC, a slightly late add.