peteyfrogboy
Explorer
Fee Fi said:
Thanks!
I think I'll hold off on posting stats for a while. Everyone started as brand new characters, so there's not much of interest yet on their sheets.
-
NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Freeport Forever [3/6 - Company Of Heroes] FINAL UPDATE!
- Thread starter peteyfrogboy
- Start date
Thanks!
I think I'll hold off on posting stats for a while. Everyone started as brand new characters, so there's not much of interest yet on their sheets.
peteyfrogboy
Explorer
Interludes
Rachel poked her head in the door. "Still in bed, eh?"
"Yup," replied Parika, rubbing her temples. "Remind me never to read strange books that I find in evil temples again."
"It's a deal." Rachel deposited a large rucksack on the other bed. "Well, we went to see that sage that Delthic told us about."
"What was his name? Derwood? Damien?"
"Darius," said Rachel as she laid out the items they had found. "Darius the Wise. Lived up to his name, too." The magical items from the Brotherhood temple included Milos's protective ring, the ash shafted spear, some curative elixirs, and the steel shield Rachel took from the treasure room. Rachel picked up the shield. "This one is interesting. throw something at me." Parika tossed a shoe toward Rachel. The symbol on the face of the shield flickered with dark red light, and the shoe suddenly changed its trajectory away from Rachel.
"Nice," agreed Parika. She kicked the chest at the foot of her bed, causing the gold candlesticks and other loot within to rattle. "I may go try to sell some of this today." As it turned out, the address Delthic had given her earlier was that of a pawn broker by the name of Snick Coincatcher. If he was a contact for the local underworld, he would no doubt deal in such trinkets without asking questions.
***
Nevroth stood in the temple library, idly examining the statue that dominated its center. St. Uller was depicted in his traditional pose: gazing upward with arms lifted, hands cradling a sunburst as it descended from heaven. According to church tradition, St. Uller was a pagan priest who was granted an epiphany directly from the Bright Lord Tavion. He went on to spread the word of the new faith among his people, which grew into the modern Church. It seemed an unlikely story, but Nevroth had never taken religious doctrine too literally.
"Sir?" A monk had appeared behind the Manhunter. "Monsignor Thuron will see you now." Nevroth followed the man back through the narrow halls of the temple to Thuron's office. This time Milos was not there to stop him.
The monsignor's office was small and neatly kept, though every available inch of wall space was filled with shelves of books and scrolls. Thuron sat behind his desk wearing the blue robe of his office. The Ulleran vow of poverty seemed to be observed even at this level, as Thuron's robe was simple woad dyed wool embellished with white embroidery.
The white haired priest looked up from a stack of papers on his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one long fingered hand. "Brother Edwin tells me that you were instrumental in finding Lucius and unmasking Milos. For that, I thank you. I have also looked into the books you were sent to find. They were in fact among the volumes Lucius donated to the temple. I have arranged to have them returned to their proper place." He pushed a sealed scroll tube across his desk. "This message will convey as much to the temple in Crevia."
Nevroth thanked the monsignor and made his way back out to the Temple District. Considering the fact that nearly every building in sight was dedicated to the Bright Lord, the architectural variety was surprising. The Ulleran temple had wide doors leading to a vast public atrium, while the dark and narrow entrance to the temple of St. Fargoth made it clear that no one was welcome without serious business. Nevroth passed under the stern visage of the saint, making his way through the small chapel. The pews were nearly deserted; the faithful came to St. Fargoth to pray for justice, and few in Freeport expected to find any.
The red robed priest at the altar raised an eyebrow as Nevroth approached. "Can I help you, my son?"
Nevroth held up the scroll tube. "I have a message I need to have delivered."
For a moment the priest simply looked back blankly, but then realization dawned on him. "Ah, another manhunter." He took the scroll and examined it. "This is related to an investigation, I take it?" The Guild of Manhunters had a close relationship with the Fargothan Order, including access to a broad range of magical services.
"It is," replied Nevroth. "The Ulleran temple in Crevia hired me."
"Interesting." The priest set the scroll down on the altar. "Where can I contact you with a reply?"
"I'm staying at the Goodhearth Inn."
"A fine place. Are you planning on remaining in the city long?"
Nevroth nodded. "I have no reason to leave anytime soon."
"That's good to hear."
***
Snick was a gaunt man with a trim black beard and a raspy voice. He examined a waxy cube of incense, rubbing it with his thumb. "Hmm, not sure what this might go for. I'll give you five for it."
Parika nodded. She was happy enough with the haggling she'd done on the larger items that a few crowns weren't going to concern her at this point. "Sounds good." She glanced around the small shop; no one else was there. She lowered her voice anyway. "Delthic told me you're the man to talk to about getting employment."
"Ah, I thought that might be you." He scratched his beard as he shuffled through the papers on his desk. He extracted a small piece of parchment from under a teetering pile. "There's an antique dealer named Gurik that moved in up on Hudson Street a few months back. He thinks he doesn't need insurance for his business. He's hired some private security, but I don't have any specifics." He handed Parika the parchment, on which was a Hudson Street address.
She pocketed the address. "So what do you need me to do?"
"Show him the error of his ways. Rumor has it that he has a coin collection, but anything valuable that goes missing should send the right message. If you can't get your hands on anything, bring back information on what security he has in place. If you get caught, you're on your own, but that's the risk you take."
Rachel poked her head in the door. "Still in bed, eh?"
"Yup," replied Parika, rubbing her temples. "Remind me never to read strange books that I find in evil temples again."
"It's a deal." Rachel deposited a large rucksack on the other bed. "Well, we went to see that sage that Delthic told us about."
"What was his name? Derwood? Damien?"
"Darius," said Rachel as she laid out the items they had found. "Darius the Wise. Lived up to his name, too." The magical items from the Brotherhood temple included Milos's protective ring, the ash shafted spear, some curative elixirs, and the steel shield Rachel took from the treasure room. Rachel picked up the shield. "This one is interesting. throw something at me." Parika tossed a shoe toward Rachel. The symbol on the face of the shield flickered with dark red light, and the shoe suddenly changed its trajectory away from Rachel.
"Nice," agreed Parika. She kicked the chest at the foot of her bed, causing the gold candlesticks and other loot within to rattle. "I may go try to sell some of this today." As it turned out, the address Delthic had given her earlier was that of a pawn broker by the name of Snick Coincatcher. If he was a contact for the local underworld, he would no doubt deal in such trinkets without asking questions.
***
Nevroth stood in the temple library, idly examining the statue that dominated its center. St. Uller was depicted in his traditional pose: gazing upward with arms lifted, hands cradling a sunburst as it descended from heaven. According to church tradition, St. Uller was a pagan priest who was granted an epiphany directly from the Bright Lord Tavion. He went on to spread the word of the new faith among his people, which grew into the modern Church. It seemed an unlikely story, but Nevroth had never taken religious doctrine too literally.
"Sir?" A monk had appeared behind the Manhunter. "Monsignor Thuron will see you now." Nevroth followed the man back through the narrow halls of the temple to Thuron's office. This time Milos was not there to stop him.
The monsignor's office was small and neatly kept, though every available inch of wall space was filled with shelves of books and scrolls. Thuron sat behind his desk wearing the blue robe of his office. The Ulleran vow of poverty seemed to be observed even at this level, as Thuron's robe was simple woad dyed wool embellished with white embroidery.
The white haired priest looked up from a stack of papers on his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one long fingered hand. "Brother Edwin tells me that you were instrumental in finding Lucius and unmasking Milos. For that, I thank you. I have also looked into the books you were sent to find. They were in fact among the volumes Lucius donated to the temple. I have arranged to have them returned to their proper place." He pushed a sealed scroll tube across his desk. "This message will convey as much to the temple in Crevia."
Nevroth thanked the monsignor and made his way back out to the Temple District. Considering the fact that nearly every building in sight was dedicated to the Bright Lord, the architectural variety was surprising. The Ulleran temple had wide doors leading to a vast public atrium, while the dark and narrow entrance to the temple of St. Fargoth made it clear that no one was welcome without serious business. Nevroth passed under the stern visage of the saint, making his way through the small chapel. The pews were nearly deserted; the faithful came to St. Fargoth to pray for justice, and few in Freeport expected to find any.
The red robed priest at the altar raised an eyebrow as Nevroth approached. "Can I help you, my son?"
Nevroth held up the scroll tube. "I have a message I need to have delivered."
For a moment the priest simply looked back blankly, but then realization dawned on him. "Ah, another manhunter." He took the scroll and examined it. "This is related to an investigation, I take it?" The Guild of Manhunters had a close relationship with the Fargothan Order, including access to a broad range of magical services.
"It is," replied Nevroth. "The Ulleran temple in Crevia hired me."
"Interesting." The priest set the scroll down on the altar. "Where can I contact you with a reply?"
"I'm staying at the Goodhearth Inn."
"A fine place. Are you planning on remaining in the city long?"
Nevroth nodded. "I have no reason to leave anytime soon."
"That's good to hear."
***
Snick was a gaunt man with a trim black beard and a raspy voice. He examined a waxy cube of incense, rubbing it with his thumb. "Hmm, not sure what this might go for. I'll give you five for it."
Parika nodded. She was happy enough with the haggling she'd done on the larger items that a few crowns weren't going to concern her at this point. "Sounds good." She glanced around the small shop; no one else was there. She lowered her voice anyway. "Delthic told me you're the man to talk to about getting employment."
"Ah, I thought that might be you." He scratched his beard as he shuffled through the papers on his desk. He extracted a small piece of parchment from under a teetering pile. "There's an antique dealer named Gurik that moved in up on Hudson Street a few months back. He thinks he doesn't need insurance for his business. He's hired some private security, but I don't have any specifics." He handed Parika the parchment, on which was a Hudson Street address.
She pocketed the address. "So what do you need me to do?"
"Show him the error of his ways. Rumor has it that he has a coin collection, but anything valuable that goes missing should send the right message. If you can't get your hands on anything, bring back information on what security he has in place. If you get caught, you're on your own, but that's the risk you take."
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peteyfrogboy
Explorer
It Takes A Thief
Gurik Rostov Praefis stood as the door opened. "Good morning. How may I be of service to you today?"
The woman's eyes swept across the various display cases in the front room of Gurik's house. She was dressed in fine, yet sober clothes. She clearly had some money, though it was hard to gauge how much. "I'm looking for a gift for a friend," she said. "He's a coin collector. Might you have anything of that nature?"
The antique dealer smiled. "Of course." He walked across the room, opening one of the cases. He withdrew a padded case holding a variety of coins. "Here is a selection of coins from the Far West. Not antique, but a curiosity popular with many collectors."
"Hmm, not quite what I was looking for. Do you have anything else?" Gurik showed her a variety of ancient Kufriti coins, Ahandrian trade chits, crusade tokens, and Dhevril moon disks, but none of them piqued her interest. "No," she said, "I was looking for something a little more special."
"Well, this is all I have in the way of coins." That I'm willing to sell, he thought. "Is there anything else your friend might be interested in? A particular region, perhaps?"
The woman frowned slightly. "He does have some interest in Kufriti metalwork."
"Ah, I can certainly help you there. I can select some pieces from my collection and arrange a viewing for you this evening, if you like."
"Tomorrow morning would be more convenient."
Gurik nodded. "Tomorrow morning, then. I look forward to it."
***
Parika tossed her new gown on the bed and bean changing into her old traveling gear. She had hoped for more success posing as a customer, but if Gurik had a coin collection worth stealing he had either sold it already or it wasn't for sale. At least she had gotten a look inside. The front room of the house had one door leading back further into the house and one locked door leading into a corner room that had a curtained window facing the street. There was one guard by that door, heavily armed. The display cases in the front room weren't even locked, so there probably wasn't anything of great value in them.
She finished lacing her boots and headed back out. There wasn't enough traffic on Hudson Street for her to easily blend in. The street emptied into the collection of tents in Drac's End, however, which would give at least a view of the street. It wasn't the most pleasant place to stake her target out from, but it would have to do.
***
Eight hours is long enough. Since she had started watching the street outside Gurik's house, Parika had seen one man she didn't recognize leave with a basket and return, and after sunset she saw another man leave who had not yet come back. That brought the total number of guards she had seen to three, two of whom were presumably still inside.
She strolled down the street, taking a good look at the house as she passed. It was a two-story structure, attached to a cabinetry shop on one side and open to an alley on the other. There was the front door and one curtained window on the ground floor, and another window on the second floor. There was no light to be seen through the windows.
After passing by, she doubled back and returned under the cover of shadows. She crept down the alley, easily opening the locked wooden gate that blocked access to the courtyard beyond. The courtyard was empty save for a public pump house like the one behind the Goodhearth Inn. The rear of the house offered much the same access as the front: a door and window on the ground floor with another window above. Again, there was no light to be seen.
Working by the light of the moon, Parika tried the lock on the back door. It didn't yield easily, so she tried the window. The lock on the window was easier to defeat, but when she tried to lift the sash it creaked loudly. She quickly lowered it again as she heard footsteps moving from the front of the house toward her. She dashed back into the alley and waited quietly. No alarm was raised, so she waited a hundred heartbeats and went back to try the door again. This time she was able to pick the lock, and she carefully eased the door open. Beyond was a kitchen, dark and empty. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
There were two doors leading out of the kitchen, one across from the courtyard door and one opposite the alley wall. She opted to check the latter first, opening the door a crack and peering inside. She caught a brief glimpse of a dining room lit by a single dim lamp, with stairs across the room from her. As she opened the door, however, she heard the sound of a chair scraping on wood from inside the room. She went back out to the courtyard only seconds before a guard poked his head into the kitchen.
As Parika crouched behind the pump house, she heard the laughing voice of someone coming in through the front door. As if she weren't having enough trouble, there was likely a third guard to deal with now. Forging onward, she slipped into the kitchen again, this time opening the door across from her. She could barely make out the shelves of a larder inside before she heard the guard in the dining room moving again. She ducked inside the pantry, closing the door behind her. The guard made a circuit of the kitchen as Parika held her breath, but he left again without finding her.
I think I've pushed my luck far enough, she thought.
***
Snick scratched his chin as he studied Parika's rough drawing of the house. "Three guards, you say? That's pretty tight security for such a small place. It's probably for the best that you got out when you did. It's a wise thief who knows when to cut and run."
The mild compliment did little to ease Parika's sense of failure. "I think I could do it with some help, but I don't think I could round up enough by myself." She had, in fact, tried to subtly recruit both Rachel and Nevroth, but neither had been very interested.
"I think we may take another approach to this," Snick mused, then shrugged. "It's not really my decision, though. Keep in touch; if there's any other work for you that comes up, I'll let you know."
DM Notes:
* This episode was actually played after the next post.
Gurik Rostov Praefis stood as the door opened. "Good morning. How may I be of service to you today?"
The woman's eyes swept across the various display cases in the front room of Gurik's house. She was dressed in fine, yet sober clothes. She clearly had some money, though it was hard to gauge how much. "I'm looking for a gift for a friend," she said. "He's a coin collector. Might you have anything of that nature?"
The antique dealer smiled. "Of course." He walked across the room, opening one of the cases. He withdrew a padded case holding a variety of coins. "Here is a selection of coins from the Far West. Not antique, but a curiosity popular with many collectors."
"Hmm, not quite what I was looking for. Do you have anything else?" Gurik showed her a variety of ancient Kufriti coins, Ahandrian trade chits, crusade tokens, and Dhevril moon disks, but none of them piqued her interest. "No," she said, "I was looking for something a little more special."
"Well, this is all I have in the way of coins." That I'm willing to sell, he thought. "Is there anything else your friend might be interested in? A particular region, perhaps?"
The woman frowned slightly. "He does have some interest in Kufriti metalwork."
"Ah, I can certainly help you there. I can select some pieces from my collection and arrange a viewing for you this evening, if you like."
"Tomorrow morning would be more convenient."
Gurik nodded. "Tomorrow morning, then. I look forward to it."
***
Parika tossed her new gown on the bed and bean changing into her old traveling gear. She had hoped for more success posing as a customer, but if Gurik had a coin collection worth stealing he had either sold it already or it wasn't for sale. At least she had gotten a look inside. The front room of the house had one door leading back further into the house and one locked door leading into a corner room that had a curtained window facing the street. There was one guard by that door, heavily armed. The display cases in the front room weren't even locked, so there probably wasn't anything of great value in them.
She finished lacing her boots and headed back out. There wasn't enough traffic on Hudson Street for her to easily blend in. The street emptied into the collection of tents in Drac's End, however, which would give at least a view of the street. It wasn't the most pleasant place to stake her target out from, but it would have to do.
***
Eight hours is long enough. Since she had started watching the street outside Gurik's house, Parika had seen one man she didn't recognize leave with a basket and return, and after sunset she saw another man leave who had not yet come back. That brought the total number of guards she had seen to three, two of whom were presumably still inside.
She strolled down the street, taking a good look at the house as she passed. It was a two-story structure, attached to a cabinetry shop on one side and open to an alley on the other. There was the front door and one curtained window on the ground floor, and another window on the second floor. There was no light to be seen through the windows.
After passing by, she doubled back and returned under the cover of shadows. She crept down the alley, easily opening the locked wooden gate that blocked access to the courtyard beyond. The courtyard was empty save for a public pump house like the one behind the Goodhearth Inn. The rear of the house offered much the same access as the front: a door and window on the ground floor with another window above. Again, there was no light to be seen.
Working by the light of the moon, Parika tried the lock on the back door. It didn't yield easily, so she tried the window. The lock on the window was easier to defeat, but when she tried to lift the sash it creaked loudly. She quickly lowered it again as she heard footsteps moving from the front of the house toward her. She dashed back into the alley and waited quietly. No alarm was raised, so she waited a hundred heartbeats and went back to try the door again. This time she was able to pick the lock, and she carefully eased the door open. Beyond was a kitchen, dark and empty. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
There were two doors leading out of the kitchen, one across from the courtyard door and one opposite the alley wall. She opted to check the latter first, opening the door a crack and peering inside. She caught a brief glimpse of a dining room lit by a single dim lamp, with stairs across the room from her. As she opened the door, however, she heard the sound of a chair scraping on wood from inside the room. She went back out to the courtyard only seconds before a guard poked his head into the kitchen.
As Parika crouched behind the pump house, she heard the laughing voice of someone coming in through the front door. As if she weren't having enough trouble, there was likely a third guard to deal with now. Forging onward, she slipped into the kitchen again, this time opening the door across from her. She could barely make out the shelves of a larder inside before she heard the guard in the dining room moving again. She ducked inside the pantry, closing the door behind her. The guard made a circuit of the kitchen as Parika held her breath, but he left again without finding her.
I think I've pushed my luck far enough, she thought.
***
Snick scratched his chin as he studied Parika's rough drawing of the house. "Three guards, you say? That's pretty tight security for such a small place. It's probably for the best that you got out when you did. It's a wise thief who knows when to cut and run."
The mild compliment did little to ease Parika's sense of failure. "I think I could do it with some help, but I don't think I could round up enough by myself." She had, in fact, tried to subtly recruit both Rachel and Nevroth, but neither had been very interested.
"I think we may take another approach to this," Snick mused, then shrugged. "It's not really my decision, though. Keep in touch; if there's any other work for you that comes up, I'll let you know."
DM Notes:
* This episode was actually played after the next post.
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peteyfrogboy
Explorer
The Phantom of the Opera: Part 1
Between the coinage they found at the temple and the sale of their excess items, the three companions had amassed a sizeable amount of money. Much of it was spent at Blackhammer & Sons replacing some of their old weapons and armor with more finely crafted gear.
Parika sat in the common room of the Goodhearth Inn, working her way through a bottle of thirty-year-old Disanne red. Her performance at the antique dealer's shop had left a bitter taste in her mouth, but the fine vintage was helping to wash it away.
The thief watched as Delthic came in from the street, dressed in his normal flashy attire. He was usually out performing this early in the evening; the absence of the tools of his trade piqued Parika's curiosity. The sight of Rachel descending the stairs diverted her attention, however.
Gone was the heavy sailor's coat and breeches, replaced by a blue silk gown fit for any aristocratic debutante. The cut of the gown was less restrictive than the current fashion among the elite, but quite popular among sea captains and well heeled warriors. Parika guessed that there were matching breeches beneath the voluminous skirts in case the excess fabric needed to be jettisoned. A finely wrought sword hilt shone at Rachel's hip -- the perfect accessory for such an outfit.
Floating behind like a shadow came Nevroth, clad in undecorated black doublet and breeches. The only ornament in the sea of dark velvet was a round copper pendant with a pierced uncial "M" -- the badge of a new-minted Journeyman Manhunter. The reward for finding Lucius was mere pocket change next to the treasures they had liberated, but the successful catch brought a boost to Nevroth's status. Parika smiled to herself; it amused her that the pirate hating lawman's closest companions were a buccaneer's daughter and a career thief.
Rachel approached Parika's table. She looked just as natural in her finery as she did in her warrior's mail. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"
Parika had forgotten about the "cultural event" the others had planned. She had little desire to sit through hours of dramatic monologues. "You go on," she said. "You can give me the highlights when you get back."
***
The Freeport Opera House had been bringing entertainment to the city for almost a century, including plays, operas, and orchestral performances. The current production of The Jolly Bootmaker was far from the best ever to grace the stage.
"It's a new play," explained Delthic during the intermission. "You have to allow for a few rewrites as they work through the rough spots."
Rachel shrugged. It was enough for her just to mingle with people more civilized than common sailors. Even so, she smiled as she looked down into the cheap seats. Sailors and laborers talked and laughed among themselves; they seemed to enjoy the ribald tale of the philandering bootmaker despite its questionable artistic value.
The intermission seemed to stretch on for a long time. The audience began to grumble as they wondered about the delay. The complaints were cut short by a piercing scream that seemed to come from backstage. After a few moments of confusion, a small man -- no, a gnome -- stepped out from behind the curtain.
"Ah, due to some, uh, technical difficulties tonight's performance will have to be cut short. Please come back tomorrow night; I assure you that everything will be back in order by then." As the grumbling began anew and the word "refund" began to float in the air, the gnome blanched and rushed back behind the curtain.
Delthic frowned. "That doesn't sound good. I should go talk to him. I hope it's nothing serious."
The bard trotted backstage, followed by Rachel and Nevroth. Actors and stage crew huddled together in tight groups, talking worriedly among themselves. The gnome was pacing back and forth, pulling at his hair. As he caught sight of Delthic, he hurried over. "Oh, Delthic, it's awful! This sort of thing shouldn't happen to an honest gnome."
"Calm down, Gorsky," said Delthic, kneeling so he could look the gnome in the eye. "What's going on?"
The gnome pointed toward an area that everyone else seemed to be avoiding. Lying there was what appeared to be a body. "The leading man is dead, and on opening night! As if it wasn't enough to have that murderous ghost creeping around..." He seemed to notice Rachel and Nevroth for the first time and paused. "Uh, not that there's a ghost. Nope, no ghosts here." He turned back to Delthic. "What am I going to do?"
"That's horrible! Do you have any idea who did it?"
Gorsky threw up his hands. "Who knows? I can't keep track of the comings and goings of actors. It's enough work just trying to keep this place from going bankrupt without having to worry about murders as well."
"Maybe we can help you figure it out. Nevroth here is a Manhunter." He made brief introductions all around.
The gnome peered at Nevroth. "Good heavens, I didn't know we had any of those around here. If you can solve this mystery , I'll pay you, uh, fifty crowns." The thought of parting with that much coin seemed to pain the gnome far more than the loss of an actor.
Nevroth nodded. "I'll do my best." As Gorsky went off with Delthic to find something alcoholic to drink, Rachel and Nevroth went to examine the body. After a moment he stood back up. "I'd say he was strangled. Most likely with a rope."
Rachel looked around at the various ropes and cords hanging all around. "That doesn't narrow things down much. We need to figure out who would have wanted to kill him."
Between the coinage they found at the temple and the sale of their excess items, the three companions had amassed a sizeable amount of money. Much of it was spent at Blackhammer & Sons replacing some of their old weapons and armor with more finely crafted gear.
Parika sat in the common room of the Goodhearth Inn, working her way through a bottle of thirty-year-old Disanne red. Her performance at the antique dealer's shop had left a bitter taste in her mouth, but the fine vintage was helping to wash it away.
The thief watched as Delthic came in from the street, dressed in his normal flashy attire. He was usually out performing this early in the evening; the absence of the tools of his trade piqued Parika's curiosity. The sight of Rachel descending the stairs diverted her attention, however.
Gone was the heavy sailor's coat and breeches, replaced by a blue silk gown fit for any aristocratic debutante. The cut of the gown was less restrictive than the current fashion among the elite, but quite popular among sea captains and well heeled warriors. Parika guessed that there were matching breeches beneath the voluminous skirts in case the excess fabric needed to be jettisoned. A finely wrought sword hilt shone at Rachel's hip -- the perfect accessory for such an outfit.
Floating behind like a shadow came Nevroth, clad in undecorated black doublet and breeches. The only ornament in the sea of dark velvet was a round copper pendant with a pierced uncial "M" -- the badge of a new-minted Journeyman Manhunter. The reward for finding Lucius was mere pocket change next to the treasures they had liberated, but the successful catch brought a boost to Nevroth's status. Parika smiled to herself; it amused her that the pirate hating lawman's closest companions were a buccaneer's daughter and a career thief.
Rachel approached Parika's table. She looked just as natural in her finery as she did in her warrior's mail. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"
Parika had forgotten about the "cultural event" the others had planned. She had little desire to sit through hours of dramatic monologues. "You go on," she said. "You can give me the highlights when you get back."
***
The Freeport Opera House had been bringing entertainment to the city for almost a century, including plays, operas, and orchestral performances. The current production of The Jolly Bootmaker was far from the best ever to grace the stage.
"It's a new play," explained Delthic during the intermission. "You have to allow for a few rewrites as they work through the rough spots."
Rachel shrugged. It was enough for her just to mingle with people more civilized than common sailors. Even so, she smiled as she looked down into the cheap seats. Sailors and laborers talked and laughed among themselves; they seemed to enjoy the ribald tale of the philandering bootmaker despite its questionable artistic value.
The intermission seemed to stretch on for a long time. The audience began to grumble as they wondered about the delay. The complaints were cut short by a piercing scream that seemed to come from backstage. After a few moments of confusion, a small man -- no, a gnome -- stepped out from behind the curtain.
"Ah, due to some, uh, technical difficulties tonight's performance will have to be cut short. Please come back tomorrow night; I assure you that everything will be back in order by then." As the grumbling began anew and the word "refund" began to float in the air, the gnome blanched and rushed back behind the curtain.
Delthic frowned. "That doesn't sound good. I should go talk to him. I hope it's nothing serious."
The bard trotted backstage, followed by Rachel and Nevroth. Actors and stage crew huddled together in tight groups, talking worriedly among themselves. The gnome was pacing back and forth, pulling at his hair. As he caught sight of Delthic, he hurried over. "Oh, Delthic, it's awful! This sort of thing shouldn't happen to an honest gnome."
"Calm down, Gorsky," said Delthic, kneeling so he could look the gnome in the eye. "What's going on?"
The gnome pointed toward an area that everyone else seemed to be avoiding. Lying there was what appeared to be a body. "The leading man is dead, and on opening night! As if it wasn't enough to have that murderous ghost creeping around..." He seemed to notice Rachel and Nevroth for the first time and paused. "Uh, not that there's a ghost. Nope, no ghosts here." He turned back to Delthic. "What am I going to do?"
"That's horrible! Do you have any idea who did it?"
Gorsky threw up his hands. "Who knows? I can't keep track of the comings and goings of actors. It's enough work just trying to keep this place from going bankrupt without having to worry about murders as well."
"Maybe we can help you figure it out. Nevroth here is a Manhunter." He made brief introductions all around.
The gnome peered at Nevroth. "Good heavens, I didn't know we had any of those around here. If you can solve this mystery , I'll pay you, uh, fifty crowns." The thought of parting with that much coin seemed to pain the gnome far more than the loss of an actor.
Nevroth nodded. "I'll do my best." As Gorsky went off with Delthic to find something alcoholic to drink, Rachel and Nevroth went to examine the body. After a moment he stood back up. "I'd say he was strangled. Most likely with a rope."
Rachel looked around at the various ropes and cords hanging all around. "That doesn't narrow things down much. We need to figure out who would have wanted to kill him."
peteyfrogboy
Explorer
The Phantom of the Opera: Part 2
"Oh no, we all loved Albert." Catherine Lowery's makeup was streaked by tears. She had played the bootmaker's wife opposite the murdered actor. "He was the heart and soul of the troupe. It was his idea to come here, even. He used to work here years ago. There would be less competition, he said." She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. "I don't know anyone who would want to do this."
"What about the crew?" asked Nevroth. "Did he have any problems with them?"
The actress shrugged. "Not that I know of. But you just learn to ignore the stagehands, you know?"
"I see. Can you show me his dressing room?"
***
In her silk gown Rachel stood out among the stage crew. She was talking to a boy named Bruce who ran errands for the cast and crew. "Did any of the crew have anything against Albert?"
"Oh, is 'at what 'is name was?" Bruce scratched his head. "I don't think so. You just learn to ignore the actors, you know? Pull the ropes, move the sets, that's all you gotta do."
A burly man sidled up to Rachel, flexing his arms. "It's tough work, but no problem for guys like us. You get used to seeing weird stuff like this, too."
"Oh?" Rachel batted her eyes prettily. "Tell me all about it."
"Well, there's the ghost, o' course." There was a general mutter of agreement among the other crew. "But this weren't her. She scares 'em to death, she don't use a rope. Then there was that lady I found that one time, stone dead on the couch in her dressing room. What was her name?" He scratched his stubbled chin. "Ethel. That was it. Ethel Warwick. That was about six months back, I reckon."
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Dead? Murdered?"
"Not that I could tell. Just lyin' there dead as a fish."
"Was she part of this acting troupe?"
"These guys? Nah, they ain't never been through here before."
***
Gorsky Glitterlights looked much calmer with a few glasses of brandy in him. "So, have you found anything out yet?"
Nevroth shook his head. "There aren't any suspects in the cast, and I didn't find anything out of the ordinary in his dressing room."
"No enemies in the crew, either," said Rachel. "I did find out about another death, though. Ethel Warwick. Do you remember her?"
The gnome rubbed his nose. "Warwick? Hm, let me think. You just learn to ignore the cast and crew, you know? Uh, yes, I think I remember her. Lovely lady. Pity about her dying, especially in the middle of a production."
"So this sort of thing happens often?" asked Nevroth.
"No, of course not. This isn't some Scurvytown flophouse."
"No other deaths or disappearances?" inquired Rachel.
"Not that I can... well, there was Roland. Never did figure out what that was about."
"Roland? Who was he?"
"Roland Honeystack. Fine actor, but he just stopped showing up in the middle of rehearsals. About a year back; didn't think much of it at the time. I figured he had some gambling debts that caught up with him or something. Freeport can be a dangerous place."
Nevroth shrugged. "Well, that doesn't help us much. There's no connection I see in any of this."
"No, wait," said Gorsky. "There is a connection. I remember now. Albert, Ethel, and Roland were all in a production together a few years back. Winchell's Winerack. I only remember it because it was an utter failure. Cost me a lot of money, it did."
"Maybe someone blamed them for it?" theorized Rachel.
The gnome shook his head. "No, they were fine. Did the best they could, considering. It was that bum Lario Dupioni. He was fine during rehearsal but froze up like ice on stage. He was the lead, too. Three nights running they tried to drag him through that play before I had to shut it down."
"Have you heard from this Dupioni since?" asked Nevroth.
"Not a whisper. Not that I mind, of course. You think he might be involved?"
The manhunter nodded. "It's a good possibility. What does he look like?"
"Tall guy -- taller than most humans, I mean -- with greasy black hair, big teeth. Hard to miss. You know, now that you mention it..."
"I saw him," said Rachel. "Larry the stage hand."
***
Bruce looked around. "No, he left a little while ago."
Nevroth growled. "Any idea where he might have gone?"
The boy shook his head. Nevroth and Rachel started asking around the rest of the crew. One of the men recalled Larry complaining about where he lived. "Said he hated waking up fifty feet in the air. I bet he's staying at the Hammocks." Seeing a lack of recognition, he explained, "It's a converted warehouse with hammocks hung on columns up to the ceiling. It's not much, but very cheap."
The two investigators headed for the Warehouse district. Rachel loosened her new cutlass in its scabbard, looking forward to a little excitement. It wasn't hard to find the Hammocks, and soon they were standing inside the dimly lit building. The proprietor, a retired sailor by the name of Tyler, couldn't recall anyone matching Lario's description. Nevroth jogged the man's memory with a gold coin and he pointed to a hammock slung up near the ceiling. They could see a man up there, hurriedly packing a bag.
Rachel and Nevroth slowly drew their weapons, taking positions directly below their quarry. There was no other way for him to go but down. After a moment Lario started climbing down, then stopped as he saw people waiting below. He reached into his bag and pulled out a slender wooden wand. He tapped himself on the head with the wand and vanished.
Nevroth cursed. He and Rachel watched the spot where Lario had been, hoping to see some movement in the hammocks. Several of the other residents watched the scene, but seemed uninterested in interfering one way or the other. Listening carefully, Nevroth heard what sounded like off key singing from above him. A few heartbeats later he heard soft footfalls between him and the door. He sprinted toward the door, shouting at Tyler to close it. The manhunter swung his sword as he ran, but made no contact. Rachel stayed where she was, unsure of which way to go.
As he reached the door, Nevroth heard footsteps running toward the back of the warehouse. He ran that way, but didn't hear anything else. He made his way back toward the barred door, watching the dark corners of the warehouse. Suddenly, the door burst open. Nevroth turned and saw the bar on the floor. As he looked hopelessly out at the wharf, he saw a strolling longshoreman get knocked off his feet by an unseen force. One man fell down, but two got up and the now visible Lario took off running.
***
The chase wound its way most of the way across the city, first between the looming bulk of warehouses, then through the evening dockside crowds, and finally into the winding streets of Scurvytown. Lario ducked and wove, but couldn't avoid the keen eye of the pursuing manhunter. Rachel raced along in the rear, cursing her cumbersome skirt but unwilling to discard it.
Twice, when the hunters were within arm's reach of their quarry, a quick limerick from Lario confused his pursuer long enough for him to gain the lead again. In the end, however, the ex-actor was run to ground. Two quick strikes from the flat of Nevroth's finished the job. Rachel and Nevroth dragged the unconscious Lario back to the Opera House, fending off a few curious locals who tried to get in their way. By the time they returned to the scene of the crime, a few Guardsmen were performing a cursory investigation.
"Who's this?" asked the sergeant in charge.
Nevroth dropped the groggy murderer on the floor. "He's the killer."
"Is that so?" The sergeant motioned to two of his men, who dragged Lario to his feet. "Did you kill this man?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The sergeant buried his fist in Lario's stomach, not hard enough to do real damage but with the promise that he could if he wished. "Don't play dumb with me. Did you kill him?"
Lario gasped as he tried to regain his breath. He glared down at the body. "Yeah, I did it. He deserved it for what he did to me. I was the greatest actor of my generation, but they ruined me! They all deserved to die."
"They?" asked Nevroth. "Who else did you kill?"
"So easy," said Lario, as if to himself. "Ethel, that talentless cow, she never saw me coming. All it took was a pillow over her face as she slept. Hardly even a challenge. Roland wasn't much harder. A knife in the back; simple, clean, classic." He glanced over at the manhunter. "The body's in Prop Room 4, in case you're curious."
The prop master blanched as Gorsky glared in his direction, explaining that that room was only used to store old sets and moth eaten costumes. The Guardsmen had heard enough. They hauled Lario away, presumably to rot in the Tombs if he was lucky.
DM Notes:
* This was based on a plot hook in the Freeport Opera House entry in Freeport: City of Adventure.
"Oh no, we all loved Albert." Catherine Lowery's makeup was streaked by tears. She had played the bootmaker's wife opposite the murdered actor. "He was the heart and soul of the troupe. It was his idea to come here, even. He used to work here years ago. There would be less competition, he said." She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. "I don't know anyone who would want to do this."
"What about the crew?" asked Nevroth. "Did he have any problems with them?"
The actress shrugged. "Not that I know of. But you just learn to ignore the stagehands, you know?"
"I see. Can you show me his dressing room?"
***
In her silk gown Rachel stood out among the stage crew. She was talking to a boy named Bruce who ran errands for the cast and crew. "Did any of the crew have anything against Albert?"
"Oh, is 'at what 'is name was?" Bruce scratched his head. "I don't think so. You just learn to ignore the actors, you know? Pull the ropes, move the sets, that's all you gotta do."
A burly man sidled up to Rachel, flexing his arms. "It's tough work, but no problem for guys like us. You get used to seeing weird stuff like this, too."
"Oh?" Rachel batted her eyes prettily. "Tell me all about it."
"Well, there's the ghost, o' course." There was a general mutter of agreement among the other crew. "But this weren't her. She scares 'em to death, she don't use a rope. Then there was that lady I found that one time, stone dead on the couch in her dressing room. What was her name?" He scratched his stubbled chin. "Ethel. That was it. Ethel Warwick. That was about six months back, I reckon."
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Dead? Murdered?"
"Not that I could tell. Just lyin' there dead as a fish."
"Was she part of this acting troupe?"
"These guys? Nah, they ain't never been through here before."
***
Gorsky Glitterlights looked much calmer with a few glasses of brandy in him. "So, have you found anything out yet?"
Nevroth shook his head. "There aren't any suspects in the cast, and I didn't find anything out of the ordinary in his dressing room."
"No enemies in the crew, either," said Rachel. "I did find out about another death, though. Ethel Warwick. Do you remember her?"
The gnome rubbed his nose. "Warwick? Hm, let me think. You just learn to ignore the cast and crew, you know? Uh, yes, I think I remember her. Lovely lady. Pity about her dying, especially in the middle of a production."
"So this sort of thing happens often?" asked Nevroth.
"No, of course not. This isn't some Scurvytown flophouse."
"No other deaths or disappearances?" inquired Rachel.
"Not that I can... well, there was Roland. Never did figure out what that was about."
"Roland? Who was he?"
"Roland Honeystack. Fine actor, but he just stopped showing up in the middle of rehearsals. About a year back; didn't think much of it at the time. I figured he had some gambling debts that caught up with him or something. Freeport can be a dangerous place."
Nevroth shrugged. "Well, that doesn't help us much. There's no connection I see in any of this."
"No, wait," said Gorsky. "There is a connection. I remember now. Albert, Ethel, and Roland were all in a production together a few years back. Winchell's Winerack. I only remember it because it was an utter failure. Cost me a lot of money, it did."
"Maybe someone blamed them for it?" theorized Rachel.
The gnome shook his head. "No, they were fine. Did the best they could, considering. It was that bum Lario Dupioni. He was fine during rehearsal but froze up like ice on stage. He was the lead, too. Three nights running they tried to drag him through that play before I had to shut it down."
"Have you heard from this Dupioni since?" asked Nevroth.
"Not a whisper. Not that I mind, of course. You think he might be involved?"
The manhunter nodded. "It's a good possibility. What does he look like?"
"Tall guy -- taller than most humans, I mean -- with greasy black hair, big teeth. Hard to miss. You know, now that you mention it..."
"I saw him," said Rachel. "Larry the stage hand."
***
Bruce looked around. "No, he left a little while ago."
Nevroth growled. "Any idea where he might have gone?"
The boy shook his head. Nevroth and Rachel started asking around the rest of the crew. One of the men recalled Larry complaining about where he lived. "Said he hated waking up fifty feet in the air. I bet he's staying at the Hammocks." Seeing a lack of recognition, he explained, "It's a converted warehouse with hammocks hung on columns up to the ceiling. It's not much, but very cheap."
The two investigators headed for the Warehouse district. Rachel loosened her new cutlass in its scabbard, looking forward to a little excitement. It wasn't hard to find the Hammocks, and soon they were standing inside the dimly lit building. The proprietor, a retired sailor by the name of Tyler, couldn't recall anyone matching Lario's description. Nevroth jogged the man's memory with a gold coin and he pointed to a hammock slung up near the ceiling. They could see a man up there, hurriedly packing a bag.
Rachel and Nevroth slowly drew their weapons, taking positions directly below their quarry. There was no other way for him to go but down. After a moment Lario started climbing down, then stopped as he saw people waiting below. He reached into his bag and pulled out a slender wooden wand. He tapped himself on the head with the wand and vanished.
Nevroth cursed. He and Rachel watched the spot where Lario had been, hoping to see some movement in the hammocks. Several of the other residents watched the scene, but seemed uninterested in interfering one way or the other. Listening carefully, Nevroth heard what sounded like off key singing from above him. A few heartbeats later he heard soft footfalls between him and the door. He sprinted toward the door, shouting at Tyler to close it. The manhunter swung his sword as he ran, but made no contact. Rachel stayed where she was, unsure of which way to go.
As he reached the door, Nevroth heard footsteps running toward the back of the warehouse. He ran that way, but didn't hear anything else. He made his way back toward the barred door, watching the dark corners of the warehouse. Suddenly, the door burst open. Nevroth turned and saw the bar on the floor. As he looked hopelessly out at the wharf, he saw a strolling longshoreman get knocked off his feet by an unseen force. One man fell down, but two got up and the now visible Lario took off running.
***
The chase wound its way most of the way across the city, first between the looming bulk of warehouses, then through the evening dockside crowds, and finally into the winding streets of Scurvytown. Lario ducked and wove, but couldn't avoid the keen eye of the pursuing manhunter. Rachel raced along in the rear, cursing her cumbersome skirt but unwilling to discard it.
Twice, when the hunters were within arm's reach of their quarry, a quick limerick from Lario confused his pursuer long enough for him to gain the lead again. In the end, however, the ex-actor was run to ground. Two quick strikes from the flat of Nevroth's finished the job. Rachel and Nevroth dragged the unconscious Lario back to the Opera House, fending off a few curious locals who tried to get in their way. By the time they returned to the scene of the crime, a few Guardsmen were performing a cursory investigation.
"Who's this?" asked the sergeant in charge.
Nevroth dropped the groggy murderer on the floor. "He's the killer."
"Is that so?" The sergeant motioned to two of his men, who dragged Lario to his feet. "Did you kill this man?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The sergeant buried his fist in Lario's stomach, not hard enough to do real damage but with the promise that he could if he wished. "Don't play dumb with me. Did you kill him?"
Lario gasped as he tried to regain his breath. He glared down at the body. "Yeah, I did it. He deserved it for what he did to me. I was the greatest actor of my generation, but they ruined me! They all deserved to die."
"They?" asked Nevroth. "Who else did you kill?"
"So easy," said Lario, as if to himself. "Ethel, that talentless cow, she never saw me coming. All it took was a pillow over her face as she slept. Hardly even a challenge. Roland wasn't much harder. A knife in the back; simple, clean, classic." He glanced over at the manhunter. "The body's in Prop Room 4, in case you're curious."
The prop master blanched as Gorsky glared in his direction, explaining that that room was only used to store old sets and moth eaten costumes. The Guardsmen had heard enough. They hauled Lario away, presumably to rot in the Tombs if he was lucky.
DM Notes:
* This was based on a plot hook in the Freeport Opera House entry in Freeport: City of Adventure.
peteyfrogboy
Explorer
Red Flags On The Horizon: Part 1
Parika came downstairs late in the morning. She made a mental note that good wine felt the same as bad wine the next day, no matter how it tasted. The old man at the desk waved her over. "There was a man here earlier looking for you. I thought it best to let you sleep, so he left a message." He tapped a bony finger on his chin. "His name was... ah, yes. Burton Lund. He wanted to invite you and your friend to a party tonight at the Block and Tackle to celebrate the birth of his daughter. I'm not sure which friend he meant."
She thanked him and slid a silver noble across the desk. Gambumbo wouldn't be able to attend, but perhaps her new friends would be interested. Who could pass up free beer?
***
Evening found the three companions in the Warehouse District. They strolled between the hulking structures, following the directions they had gotten from Delthic. The bard seemed to know the location of every source of alcohol in the city.
They finally came to a two-story building that was dwarfed by its neighbors. There was a small sign outside that read "The Block And Tackle", dangling from its namesake. They could hear loud voices from within as they approached; apparently the party had started without them. Just as they reached the door, a brightly clad sailor came crashing through the window into the street.
From his mismatched finery and excessive jewelry, Nevroth quickly guessed that the defenestrated mariner made his living at piracy. The manhunter rarely passed up an opportunity to take his aggression out on buccaneers. He grabbed the dazed pirate by the back of his coat and threw him back through the window.
Parika opened the door onto a chaotic scene. Tables and chairs were overturned all across the bar. It looked like a battle between bears and peacocks, with burly longshoremen slamming their meaty fists into garishly festooned pirates.
Rachel and Parika saw the bartender still calmly cleaning mugs, so they threaded their way through the melee in his direction. Meanwhile, Nevroth had climbed through the window and was joining in the brawl. The longshoremen seemed to have the upper hand. Three of them were ganged up on one unfortunate sea dog, while Burton himself was lifting a struggling lass over his head.
Nevroth had sent his first opponent to the floor and spotted another who was not engaged. The manhunter strode his way. He took in the pirate's gaudy costume with disdain. Amidst the clashing colors and sparkling gold, Nevroth's eyes were drawn to the bandanna on the man's shaved head. It was blood red, emblazoned with a white fist wreathed in black flames. The blood drained from Nevroth's face as he reached for his sword.
***
As the black fog began to clear away, he could see the red flag flying from the mast of the pirate ship. He tried to move, to hide, but the stinking black fog had insinuated itself into his limbs, rendering him motionless. The fog must have had the same effect on the grownups, as there were only a few screams and shouts heard as the raiders boarded their ship.
Pirates streamed in and out of the hold. They emerged bearing chests and crates, carrying them back to their own ship. The boy recognized some of the cargo as the silk that his parents were taking to sell in Cahiedra.
Mother? Father? He strained to move his eyes, searching for his parents among the frozen passengers. He saw his father near the aft of the ship, apparently unaffected by the fog. The cloth trader was trying to defend himself with a belaying pin, but could not stop the thrusting pike that pierced his chest.
As he tried vainly to scream, the boy caught sight of his mother as well. She was stiff as a board, being carried by two pirates onto their ship. Rage burned within him, slowly melting the ice in his arms and legs. As he felt himself able to move, he ran at the nearest pirate, swinging his fists blindly. The pirate laughed and struck him cruelly with the hilt of his cutlass.
***
The pirate leaped backward as Nevroth's sword jabbed at him. He fumbled at the bandolier of throwing knives across his chest. The surprised pirate dropped one of the knives in his haste, but sunk the other one in Nevroth's shoulder.
The manhunter ignored the pain, answering with a stab to his opponent's arm. The freebooter jumped up onto a table. "We've got a live one here, mateys!" After the initial shock at seeing live steel in a friendly bar brawl, the pirate had regained his composure. He grinned as he sent two more knives into Nevroth's flesh. The rest of the fight was essentially over. The bruised pirate girl was moving warily toward the door, while the longshoremen had formed a circle around the bizarre duel. Rachel and Parika shared a worried glance, but opted not to get involved unless they had to; they hadn't started this fight.
The knife-throwing pirate jumped back off the table, putting it between him and his attacker. As Nevroth jumped onto the table himself, two more knives pierced him, one in the thigh and the other just below the collarbone. Covered in his own blood, he fell to the floor.
Rachel's hand went to her own sword, but the pirate made no more to finish off his unconscious opponent. Parika kneeled beside the fallen manhunter and began binding his wounds.
The two pirates collected their own casualties and headed for the door. The knife-thrower seemed unconcerned about his own wound. "If your friend wants some more, we'll be in port." He left laughing.
Burton shook his head. "What was that all about?"
Satisfied that Nevroth would survive, Parika stood. "I have no clue. Who were those guys, anyway?"
"New in town is who they were." Burton chuckled. "Pirates in a longshoremen's bar. Not very bright." His eyes lit up as he remembered something. "Oh yeah, I didn't get a chance to ask you yet. I'd like you to be my daughter's godmother. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have a daddy."
Parika blinked, stunned. "Uh, I'd be honored."
He grinned broadly. "Good!" He looked around. "Where's Gambumbo?"
"He's... not around anymore."
The longshoreman's brow furrowed. "Hm, that's too bad. Ah, well. I'll let you know the details later. The baptism's next month."
Parika came downstairs late in the morning. She made a mental note that good wine felt the same as bad wine the next day, no matter how it tasted. The old man at the desk waved her over. "There was a man here earlier looking for you. I thought it best to let you sleep, so he left a message." He tapped a bony finger on his chin. "His name was... ah, yes. Burton Lund. He wanted to invite you and your friend to a party tonight at the Block and Tackle to celebrate the birth of his daughter. I'm not sure which friend he meant."
She thanked him and slid a silver noble across the desk. Gambumbo wouldn't be able to attend, but perhaps her new friends would be interested. Who could pass up free beer?
***
Evening found the three companions in the Warehouse District. They strolled between the hulking structures, following the directions they had gotten from Delthic. The bard seemed to know the location of every source of alcohol in the city.
They finally came to a two-story building that was dwarfed by its neighbors. There was a small sign outside that read "The Block And Tackle", dangling from its namesake. They could hear loud voices from within as they approached; apparently the party had started without them. Just as they reached the door, a brightly clad sailor came crashing through the window into the street.
From his mismatched finery and excessive jewelry, Nevroth quickly guessed that the defenestrated mariner made his living at piracy. The manhunter rarely passed up an opportunity to take his aggression out on buccaneers. He grabbed the dazed pirate by the back of his coat and threw him back through the window.
Parika opened the door onto a chaotic scene. Tables and chairs were overturned all across the bar. It looked like a battle between bears and peacocks, with burly longshoremen slamming their meaty fists into garishly festooned pirates.
Rachel and Parika saw the bartender still calmly cleaning mugs, so they threaded their way through the melee in his direction. Meanwhile, Nevroth had climbed through the window and was joining in the brawl. The longshoremen seemed to have the upper hand. Three of them were ganged up on one unfortunate sea dog, while Burton himself was lifting a struggling lass over his head.
Nevroth had sent his first opponent to the floor and spotted another who was not engaged. The manhunter strode his way. He took in the pirate's gaudy costume with disdain. Amidst the clashing colors and sparkling gold, Nevroth's eyes were drawn to the bandanna on the man's shaved head. It was blood red, emblazoned with a white fist wreathed in black flames. The blood drained from Nevroth's face as he reached for his sword.
***
As the black fog began to clear away, he could see the red flag flying from the mast of the pirate ship. He tried to move, to hide, but the stinking black fog had insinuated itself into his limbs, rendering him motionless. The fog must have had the same effect on the grownups, as there were only a few screams and shouts heard as the raiders boarded their ship.
Pirates streamed in and out of the hold. They emerged bearing chests and crates, carrying them back to their own ship. The boy recognized some of the cargo as the silk that his parents were taking to sell in Cahiedra.
Mother? Father? He strained to move his eyes, searching for his parents among the frozen passengers. He saw his father near the aft of the ship, apparently unaffected by the fog. The cloth trader was trying to defend himself with a belaying pin, but could not stop the thrusting pike that pierced his chest.
As he tried vainly to scream, the boy caught sight of his mother as well. She was stiff as a board, being carried by two pirates onto their ship. Rage burned within him, slowly melting the ice in his arms and legs. As he felt himself able to move, he ran at the nearest pirate, swinging his fists blindly. The pirate laughed and struck him cruelly with the hilt of his cutlass.
***
The pirate leaped backward as Nevroth's sword jabbed at him. He fumbled at the bandolier of throwing knives across his chest. The surprised pirate dropped one of the knives in his haste, but sunk the other one in Nevroth's shoulder.
The manhunter ignored the pain, answering with a stab to his opponent's arm. The freebooter jumped up onto a table. "We've got a live one here, mateys!" After the initial shock at seeing live steel in a friendly bar brawl, the pirate had regained his composure. He grinned as he sent two more knives into Nevroth's flesh. The rest of the fight was essentially over. The bruised pirate girl was moving warily toward the door, while the longshoremen had formed a circle around the bizarre duel. Rachel and Parika shared a worried glance, but opted not to get involved unless they had to; they hadn't started this fight.
The knife-throwing pirate jumped back off the table, putting it between him and his attacker. As Nevroth jumped onto the table himself, two more knives pierced him, one in the thigh and the other just below the collarbone. Covered in his own blood, he fell to the floor.
Rachel's hand went to her own sword, but the pirate made no more to finish off his unconscious opponent. Parika kneeled beside the fallen manhunter and began binding his wounds.
The two pirates collected their own casualties and headed for the door. The knife-thrower seemed unconcerned about his own wound. "If your friend wants some more, we'll be in port." He left laughing.
Burton shook his head. "What was that all about?"
Satisfied that Nevroth would survive, Parika stood. "I have no clue. Who were those guys, anyway?"
"New in town is who they were." Burton chuckled. "Pirates in a longshoremen's bar. Not very bright." His eyes lit up as he remembered something. "Oh yeah, I didn't get a chance to ask you yet. I'd like you to be my daughter's godmother. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have a daddy."
Parika blinked, stunned. "Uh, I'd be honored."
He grinned broadly. "Good!" He looked around. "Where's Gambumbo?"
"He's... not around anymore."
The longshoreman's brow furrowed. "Hm, that's too bad. Ah, well. I'll let you know the details later. The baptism's next month."
peteyfrogboy
Explorer
Red Flags On The Horizon: Part 2
It was three days before Nevroth was feeling well enough to leave the inn again. Parika and Rachel watched him go as they were eating their lunch.
"Think he'll be all right?" asked Rachel.
Parika shrugged. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he won't do anything stupid."
"Hm." Rachel sounded unconvinced. She chewed thoughtfully on a chunk of bread. "So those were the pirates that killed his parents?"
"Yep. Well, killed his father and kidnapped his mother, anyway."
"That was, what, ten years ago? Most of those guys were barely out of diapers by then."
"It's the same group of pirates, though. Revenge isn't always logical."
Rachel thought of all the stories of pirate vengeance she had heard in her youth. None of them had happy endings. She shook her head. "It must be awful, losing your parents like that. And with no other family left to take care of you."
"Family's overrated." Parika gestured toward herself with one hand. "I grew up without parents or anyone, and I turned out just fine."
Rachel smiled. "More or less."
***
Nevroth stood in an alley between two warehouses, obscured by the afternoon shadows. His eyes were fixed on a small cutter tied up at a pier nearby. The red flag flapped in the wind, taunting him. Painted on the ship's bow was the name Severed Thread. Perhaps they preyed exclusively on cloth merchants.
The ship looked smaller than he remembered, but he had only been eight years old then. Part of him wanted to storm the ship and slay them all. The other part of him, the part that had helped him survive on the streets of Cahiedra, knew that there were too many. Worse yet, the one from the bar sat at the top of the gangplank, happily juggling knives.
He growled as he fingered his sword hilt. It was a cruel fate to be so close to taking the revenge he had sought for so long, yet to be unable to do anything about it. Frustrated, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
***
Rachel opened one bleary eye. The sun was barely up, and someone was knocking on her door. She had one guess who. "Hold on, I'm coming," she yelled, and searched around for a pair of pants to throw on. It had been a week since Nevroth had first gone to look at the pirate ship. He'd been going crazy ever since, seeing them wandering around the docks and unable to do anything. Last night he had asked her to go talk to some of them and try to find out any useful information. That had, of course, involved a lot of drinking.
She went to the door and opened it a handbreadth. "Can't this wait?" The look on Nevroth's face was answer enough. She left the door open and went to sit on her bed.
Nevroth came inside and shut the door behind him. There was a chair, but he remained standing. "So? What did they say?"
Rachel smiled as she recalled some of the bawdier comments the sailors had made to her. "They said a lot of things. What exactly do you want to know?"
"Did they remember my mother? Did they know what happened to her?"
"I told you," she said, shaking her head, "They wouldn't have even been on the crew back then. They're just kids, most of them. Most of the people who would be old enough to remember are on the other ships."
Nevroth blinked. "Other ships?"
"There are two others, anchored out in the harbor. The one in port is the smallest of them."
"I see," said Nevroth. His hopes of revenge seemed to dim more with every revelation. "What else?"
"Let's see. Well, they don't target cloth merchants. They just go after whatever's available. Pretty typical strategy. The captain of the Thread is one Moira Atropos. Ever heard of her?" Nevroth shook his head. "Me neither. Not surprising, since she's got the smallest ship in the fleet. The fleet commander is Robert Stackpole -- the name is a little familiar, but nothing I can put my finger on."
"Why are they here? How long will they be in port?"
"Ah, right. Did you notice how many pirates are in port right now? Every three months representatives from the various major nations come to Freeport to sell Letters of Marque." Seeing Nevroth's confused expression, she explained further. "Basically, a particular nation will hire a captain to attack and plunder their enemies, giving them protection and legal status while in the sponsoring country's waters. It's more restrictive in some ways than freelance piracy, but it also gives a measure of safety in some situations and a possibility for more profit. Pirates who have Letters of Marque are called privateers." Her father would call them "gutless sellouts", but that was another matter altogether. "At any rate, they'll only be in port another week."
"Okay. Thanks a lot, Rachel."
"No problem." She had actually enjoyed carousing with pirates; it was like being home again.
There was a knock at the door. Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Who is it?"
A familiar young voice replied, "It's Julio, Miss Rachel." The boy did various odd jobs around the inn. "Have you seen Mister Nevroth?"
"I'm here," said the manhunter. "What is it?"
"There's someone downstairs looking for you."
Nevroth and Rachel shared a look, but neither seemed to have any idea who it might be.
"Tell them I'll be right down."
***
Nevroth went to his room first, not wanting to meet any strangers unarmed. Rachel went and woke Parika, and the two women tagged along behind to see what was going on. Coming down the stairs, Nevroth saw a red-haired woman wearing a pirate captain's finery.
"So you're the one who's been drawing steel on my men and sending your friends to squeeze them for information? Just who do you think you are?"
Even after ten years, even with red hair and scars, Nevroth couldn't mistake her. "I'm your son."
Moira cocked her head to one side. "So you are. You seem to be doing well."
"As do you. I assumed you were dead all these years. Why else would you not come back for me?"
"Oh, I was doing you a favor. I was never cut out to be a mother. I certainly ever wanted to be one. Not that I had any choice in the matter." She smiled. "But you turned out fine without my help, didn't you? A Manhunter, I see. That's a good career. I'm impressed. And you've got a lovely girlfriend there." Rachel and Parika looked at each other, wondering which one she was talking about. "You know, I could always use another good strong lad on my crew, if you're interested."
"I don't think so." Nevroth's voice had grown cold. He was beginning to prefer the idea of his mother being dead to the reality. "What about Father? Don't you care that they killed him?"
"Well, I admit I was pretty upset by it at first. But I soon realized they had done me a favor. I could have spent the rest of my life shipping bolts of cloth back and forth, making babies, and being utterly miserable. Instead I got freedom and excitement, and became independently wealthy. Not a bad change, if you ask me."
Rachel spoke from her seat on the stairs. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you get from being a prisoner to being a captain?"
"Well, it's a long story, but I can tell it short. After I got captured, the ship -- there was just the one back then -- hit a storm going through the Twelve Sisters."
"The Twelve Sisters?" interjected Rachel. "When, in the winter?"
Moira grinned. "Indeed. It was a fool's risk, but they had someone chasing them. At any rate, they lost the other ship but also got their sails torn to shreds. There were a lot of repairs to be made, and not enough supplies to go around. I offered to help with the sewing; it was better than being thrown overboard. Once we were all working together, I got to know the crew. A finer bunch of sea dogs I've never met.
"Now I'm guessing by your accent that you're from Jal Kufri." Rachel nodded. "Well, it may seem normal to you to have women on a ship's crew, but I was a naive Midland girl. The thought had never occurred to me. I was brought up to be a wife and mother and do what I was told, and that's the only life I knew of. By the time we finally got enough canvas patched together to get moving again, I was a sailor, free to do as I pleased. The rest was just time and ambition."
Nevroth simply stared. "So that's it? You're a pirate now?"
"Well, in a week or so I'll be a privateer, if it makes you feel any better."
Nevroth's sword hand twitched. Part of him wanted to put a blade through this creature that wore his mother's face. That other part of him reminded him that she could probably fillet him with the rapier at her hip.
Moira sighed. "Well, I don't know what you expect from me. If you want blood money for your father, I'll gladly pay it." Her voice took on a harder edge. "If it's blood you want, you'll have to take it yourself."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
It was three days before Nevroth was feeling well enough to leave the inn again. Parika and Rachel watched him go as they were eating their lunch.
"Think he'll be all right?" asked Rachel.
Parika shrugged. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he won't do anything stupid."
"Hm." Rachel sounded unconvinced. She chewed thoughtfully on a chunk of bread. "So those were the pirates that killed his parents?"
"Yep. Well, killed his father and kidnapped his mother, anyway."
"That was, what, ten years ago? Most of those guys were barely out of diapers by then."
"It's the same group of pirates, though. Revenge isn't always logical."
Rachel thought of all the stories of pirate vengeance she had heard in her youth. None of them had happy endings. She shook her head. "It must be awful, losing your parents like that. And with no other family left to take care of you."
"Family's overrated." Parika gestured toward herself with one hand. "I grew up without parents or anyone, and I turned out just fine."
Rachel smiled. "More or less."
***
Nevroth stood in an alley between two warehouses, obscured by the afternoon shadows. His eyes were fixed on a small cutter tied up at a pier nearby. The red flag flapped in the wind, taunting him. Painted on the ship's bow was the name Severed Thread. Perhaps they preyed exclusively on cloth merchants.
The ship looked smaller than he remembered, but he had only been eight years old then. Part of him wanted to storm the ship and slay them all. The other part of him, the part that had helped him survive on the streets of Cahiedra, knew that there were too many. Worse yet, the one from the bar sat at the top of the gangplank, happily juggling knives.
He growled as he fingered his sword hilt. It was a cruel fate to be so close to taking the revenge he had sought for so long, yet to be unable to do anything about it. Frustrated, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
***
Rachel opened one bleary eye. The sun was barely up, and someone was knocking on her door. She had one guess who. "Hold on, I'm coming," she yelled, and searched around for a pair of pants to throw on. It had been a week since Nevroth had first gone to look at the pirate ship. He'd been going crazy ever since, seeing them wandering around the docks and unable to do anything. Last night he had asked her to go talk to some of them and try to find out any useful information. That had, of course, involved a lot of drinking.
She went to the door and opened it a handbreadth. "Can't this wait?" The look on Nevroth's face was answer enough. She left the door open and went to sit on her bed.
Nevroth came inside and shut the door behind him. There was a chair, but he remained standing. "So? What did they say?"
Rachel smiled as she recalled some of the bawdier comments the sailors had made to her. "They said a lot of things. What exactly do you want to know?"
"Did they remember my mother? Did they know what happened to her?"
"I told you," she said, shaking her head, "They wouldn't have even been on the crew back then. They're just kids, most of them. Most of the people who would be old enough to remember are on the other ships."
Nevroth blinked. "Other ships?"
"There are two others, anchored out in the harbor. The one in port is the smallest of them."
"I see," said Nevroth. His hopes of revenge seemed to dim more with every revelation. "What else?"
"Let's see. Well, they don't target cloth merchants. They just go after whatever's available. Pretty typical strategy. The captain of the Thread is one Moira Atropos. Ever heard of her?" Nevroth shook his head. "Me neither. Not surprising, since she's got the smallest ship in the fleet. The fleet commander is Robert Stackpole -- the name is a little familiar, but nothing I can put my finger on."
"Why are they here? How long will they be in port?"
"Ah, right. Did you notice how many pirates are in port right now? Every three months representatives from the various major nations come to Freeport to sell Letters of Marque." Seeing Nevroth's confused expression, she explained further. "Basically, a particular nation will hire a captain to attack and plunder their enemies, giving them protection and legal status while in the sponsoring country's waters. It's more restrictive in some ways than freelance piracy, but it also gives a measure of safety in some situations and a possibility for more profit. Pirates who have Letters of Marque are called privateers." Her father would call them "gutless sellouts", but that was another matter altogether. "At any rate, they'll only be in port another week."
"Okay. Thanks a lot, Rachel."
"No problem." She had actually enjoyed carousing with pirates; it was like being home again.
There was a knock at the door. Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Who is it?"
A familiar young voice replied, "It's Julio, Miss Rachel." The boy did various odd jobs around the inn. "Have you seen Mister Nevroth?"
"I'm here," said the manhunter. "What is it?"
"There's someone downstairs looking for you."
Nevroth and Rachel shared a look, but neither seemed to have any idea who it might be.
"Tell them I'll be right down."
***
Nevroth went to his room first, not wanting to meet any strangers unarmed. Rachel went and woke Parika, and the two women tagged along behind to see what was going on. Coming down the stairs, Nevroth saw a red-haired woman wearing a pirate captain's finery.
"So you're the one who's been drawing steel on my men and sending your friends to squeeze them for information? Just who do you think you are?"
Even after ten years, even with red hair and scars, Nevroth couldn't mistake her. "I'm your son."
Moira cocked her head to one side. "So you are. You seem to be doing well."
"As do you. I assumed you were dead all these years. Why else would you not come back for me?"
"Oh, I was doing you a favor. I was never cut out to be a mother. I certainly ever wanted to be one. Not that I had any choice in the matter." She smiled. "But you turned out fine without my help, didn't you? A Manhunter, I see. That's a good career. I'm impressed. And you've got a lovely girlfriend there." Rachel and Parika looked at each other, wondering which one she was talking about. "You know, I could always use another good strong lad on my crew, if you're interested."
"I don't think so." Nevroth's voice had grown cold. He was beginning to prefer the idea of his mother being dead to the reality. "What about Father? Don't you care that they killed him?"
"Well, I admit I was pretty upset by it at first. But I soon realized they had done me a favor. I could have spent the rest of my life shipping bolts of cloth back and forth, making babies, and being utterly miserable. Instead I got freedom and excitement, and became independently wealthy. Not a bad change, if you ask me."
Rachel spoke from her seat on the stairs. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you get from being a prisoner to being a captain?"
"Well, it's a long story, but I can tell it short. After I got captured, the ship -- there was just the one back then -- hit a storm going through the Twelve Sisters."
"The Twelve Sisters?" interjected Rachel. "When, in the winter?"
Moira grinned. "Indeed. It was a fool's risk, but they had someone chasing them. At any rate, they lost the other ship but also got their sails torn to shreds. There were a lot of repairs to be made, and not enough supplies to go around. I offered to help with the sewing; it was better than being thrown overboard. Once we were all working together, I got to know the crew. A finer bunch of sea dogs I've never met.
"Now I'm guessing by your accent that you're from Jal Kufri." Rachel nodded. "Well, it may seem normal to you to have women on a ship's crew, but I was a naive Midland girl. The thought had never occurred to me. I was brought up to be a wife and mother and do what I was told, and that's the only life I knew of. By the time we finally got enough canvas patched together to get moving again, I was a sailor, free to do as I pleased. The rest was just time and ambition."
Nevroth simply stared. "So that's it? You're a pirate now?"
"Well, in a week or so I'll be a privateer, if it makes you feel any better."
Nevroth's sword hand twitched. Part of him wanted to put a blade through this creature that wore his mother's face. That other part of him reminded him that she could probably fillet him with the rapier at her hip.
Moira sighed. "Well, I don't know what you expect from me. If you want blood money for your father, I'll gladly pay it." Her voice took on a harder edge. "If it's blood you want, you'll have to take it yourself."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
pogre
Legend
Ah my favorite ending of every Murder She Wrote episode. Sadly, it is pretty true to life in my experience. If it were not for confessions, the job of law enforcement would be much tougher. And we do not even get to punch them in the stomach.
I like how Nevroth's background played out, but I wonder if the player was dissapointed/frustrated. Was this a joint decision or just part of the adventure?
Great stuff - keep it up
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peteyfrogboy
Explorer
pogre said:
I decided to streamline the process in this instance. We're playing D&D, not Law & Order.
I don't know about the player, but the character was mighty put out by it.
I take full responsibility for the outcome of Nevroth's backstory. I'm not sure how much of a surprise it was, though. The players were coming up with a variety of theories, including "maybe she became a pirate".Great stuff - keep it up
Thanks! I'm only one scene behind the game now, but I'm going to wait on the next update until some more of the plot plays out. We're playing tomorrow, so hopefully it'll be soon.
Note: We didn't get to play after all, so no updates until next week.
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