Morrow's Savage Tide Adventure Path

[Morrow]

Reincarnation Musings (Garnham)

From the journal of K. Garnham Seeker translated from the Valossan.

While we were getting our preparations made for the trip to Farshore Dexter, Maggie and I were approached by Elyosha with an interesting proposal. She believes that she is fairly close to a breakthrough in learning a new level of spells. It is possible that she will be able to cast reincarnate sometime after we reach the distant colony and she, quiet reasonably, requested some funds for the very rare components needed to cast the spell so that she would have them available should one of us die on this mission. It's been a long trip and I find myself wondering about what the implications of this are.

How strange would it be to wake up, a sword tearing through your stomach the last thing that you remember, and find yourself perfectly healthy, looking at the world through new eyes. To get up from my grave in clothes that no longer fit, rest my weight on feet that had never walked the earth and breathe in the night air with lungs that had never known the stench of the Burn Houses, the smell of good roast beef or the scent of a perfumed wrist.

Would I still be Garnham?

Would I act differently if I was half a head taller, half a stone heavier, was farsighted, was blond?

Possibly.

What about a more profound change?

What if that virgin flesh coalesced into an orc? What if elven legs lifted me from that grave? What if it was a woman's face looking back at me from the looking glass?

All so different from what I perceive as "me." Such profound physical changes would surely change the way I perceived myself, but how much does that perception alter my core; what it means to be Garnham.

How much of what makes us who we are is defined by the soul and how much the flesh? Will the soul remember the lessons the body has learned or have them fade into some dream?

If the new hands had never spilled blood; would I still be a killer?

 

[carborundum]

If the new hands had never spilled blood; would I still be a killer?

Oooooohhhh - nice one!

 

[Morrow]

Sea Wyvern's Wake Part 1 (Dexter)

Dexter and Urol the gnomish navigator sat on opposite sides of the barrel of coconuts they were using for a table, playing dominoes. "So the captain is so mean to me because of something some other gnomes did to her and her husband a long time ago??"

"That's what she said," Dex replied, laying down a tile.

"But that's not fair!"

"I know but she seems a good sort. She'll come around eventually."

"Well, there's only one thing to do. I'll have to be extra nice to her!" Urol hopped down off the coil of rope he'd been using as a stool and scampered off to find the captain. Dexter watched him run off and scratched his chin in contemplation.

"You know, that's a good idea," he thought to himself. He gathered up the tiles, and went off in search of Rowyn.

He found her hard at work swabbing the foredeck under the watchful eye of the first mate. "Hey Augie," he greeted the sailor, "How's she doin'?"

"She swabs a deck better than anybody called 'Lady' ever did before, I'll give her that." Rowyn shuddered under the strain of not being able to decide who to scowl furiously at first.

Instead, continuing her work and staring at the deck she muttered, "I thank you not to speak of me as if I am not here, you fools."

Augustus reached for the scourge of knotted rope at his hip but Dexter reached out to stop him, "Hey Augie, how about you take a break, I'll keep my eye on her for a while."

"Well thanks Dex, I'll bring you back some grog." Augustus Wendt left Dexter alone with Rowyn and went below deck. Rowyn looked at Dexter as if considering the best places to insert and break off a mop handle. Dex just smiled and took the mop from her, set it down on the deck and sat down, leaning up against the bulwark.

"Why don't you take a break?" The former Lady of the Lotus Dragons was not one to take charity from an enemy, but neither was she a fool. If not for the brief respite offered by this oafish half-orc she knew she'd be toiling under the sun until it set. She sat down a few feet from Dexter and brushed her sweat soaked hair out of her sunburned face.

Until foiled by Dexter and his friends, Rowyn Keilani had been the Lady of the Lotus Dragons, an up and coming guild of thieves in Sasserine. After her defeat at their hands she, "stowed away on the Bronze Dragon, intent on killing the adventurers once and for all. But they foiled me once again and rather than having the common decency to slit my throat and toss me overboard for the sharks, they instead spared my life and put me to work for that cow of a captain Amella Venaklie and her sniveling toady of a first mate, Augustus Wendt, names I'll not soon forget, names I've added to my list, ..."

"Uh, you said that last bit out loud, Rowyn." She only glared in reply. "So, uh... so that last time we fought, well, the time before last, not the time when you dropped me in the water with a shark and summoned that little salt water demon, the time..."

"The time you invaded my lair, killed my henchmen, toppled my guild and left me for dead?"

"Yeah! That time! So that time, I noticed you had a lot of books. Garnham, my brother..." Rowyn laughed. "Why does everyone laugh when I say that?"

"Obviously you haven't stood next to each other and looked into a mirror."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm bigger than him. We have different moms."

"I'd no idea."

"Oh yeah, we do. So anyway, Garnham said you had books about women of questionable something or other, I wasn't really paying attention, I don't like books all that much. But anyway last time we were in port I got you this. I asked the guy for a book ladies would like. I figure its the same thing." He reached into the small bag containing all his worldly possessions, pulled out a small leatherbound book and held it out to her. She took it from him and looked at the title, A Treatise on Wynged Insekts of Freeport and It's Envyrons, Volume 5 of 9, Butterflyes and Such, by Egil Korkim, Tinelian Scholar, Twenty-Third rank. She flipped it open and silently read the dedication, 'To my friend
Lucius in thanks for his invaluable assistance in researching this volume'.

"Thanks. This is right up my alley."

"Great! It has pictures." She looked out at the sea and silently plotted her revenge. Dexter continued to stare at her, grinning from ear to ear.

"WHAT? What do you want? Why don't you leave me alone?"

"Well, I figure if we keep going the way we are, eventually we're going to fight and I'd hate to have to kill you."

"The feeling is not mutual."

"So I figure we could try and be friends. Work it out. You know. You want to hear about my adventures?"

She leaned her head back against the gunwale, "If you don't require my reply, talk all you want."

"Great! So the last time we went to shore the Silver Beetles..."

"Silver Beetles?"

"Oh, yeah, I had a dream. See, Maggie wanted to call our company the Pretty Little Violent Ponies, Garnham thought that was silly and said we should be the Quarry Men, don't ask me why, but then Lady Fyorovna said that it was just like a patriarchal stooge to choose a name with the word 'Men' in it and then I had this dream and so now we're the Silver Beetles. It was some dream."

"What is it with all you adventurers and your silly names?"

"You mean like the Lotus Dragons?" Rowyn snorted at this and leaned back against the gunwale. She seemed to doze as Dexter continued. "So Lady Lavinia wants us to go to the Isle of dread, right? Well, we went and got this boat and I got my old boss to help me shape it up and now we call it the Bronze Dragon. We filled it up with coconuts so I would have something to do and we got all these colonists and this jackass named Avner... that reminds me."

Dexter opened a small keg strapped to his waist. If Rowyn were awake she would have been surprised to see him pull out a live monkey, small, but still too large to live in a keg so small. He held up the small black spider monkey, and looked it in the eye. "Hey, go find Avner, and stuff grapes down the back of his pants," he whispered to the monkey who squealed in apparent delight and bounded off. Dexter continued his story, "Well, we went out to sea an you tried to kill us, you know that bit. Then we stopped off at shore and I got you that book, but then I came back to the ship because I was worried you'd get up to no good. No offense."

A light snore was Rowyn's only reply.

"But you were sleeping. I guess Augie worked you pretty hard that day. So when Bolk came back to the ship and started tugging on me, and Elyosha wasn't with her, I thought maybe Maggie fell down a well again, so I went with her. Turns out there was nothing to worry about after all. Nobody fell down a well, they were just fighting some evil faeries with red hats. So we killed them and took their stuff. That's pretty much what we do. Find evil people, kill them, take their stuff. No offense."

Rowyn continued to doze so Dexter got up to go find Augie. She woke with a start to Augustus gently tapping her foot with his. "Wake up Roe, breaks over."

"I'll have your liver for this Augustus."

Augustus sighed, "Every time you say something like that it just adds days to your time here. If you do your part and work with the crew, the captain could take it easy on you, maybe let you go on the docks instead of the Sasserine Gaol."

She just glared at him, picked up her mop, and returned to the regular boring routine of life on the Bronze Dragon. The gulls wheeled overhead. The sails vibrated like drum skins. The ship creaked and sailed along on calm seas under a strong wind. Avner Meravanchi ran up and down the deck screaming, a brace of monkeys chasing after him with handfuls of fruit. Other than that damned half-orc's clumsy attempts at diplomacy, things were back to normal.

 

[Morrow]

Garnham Goes Out on a Limb

There was a bustle of activity aboard the Blue Nixie. The sun had risen a short while ago and the best tide would be an hour from now. Garnham came on board and asked to see Lady Vanderboren. It was early, but he suspected that she would be awake by now. Half a dozen sailors cussing and throwing their weight around doesn't lend itself to lingering in bed.

In a short while he was lead in to see her.

As he had suspected she was already awake and dressed. She sat in what had been the dining room studying charts and drinking pungent tea.

"Good morning Garnham." She looked up from the charts. "This is unexpected. I hope nothing's wrong."

"No." He seemed distracted for a moment and repeated, "no."

"It's just that it will be some time before we're in port again and I'm not certain when I'll have the opportunity to see you again. I have something that I'd like to get off my chest."

"Go ahead."

Garnham steeled himself.

"What I'm about to say isn't easy. At least not for me. I hit the streets, I find hidden doors, I bypass traps, I deliver quality violence when the need arises. I'm not much of a people person."

She waited patiently for him to go on.

"I'm interested in you. Romantically."

"Ga..

Before she could respond he said, "of course this means that I can no longer accept pay from you. I'm still committed to the cause, but I wouldn't feel right taking your money. I can make do with my share of the spoils the Beetles rake in."

"I.."

"If you've already allocated the funds than you could just give my share to the others. I doubt they'd mind."

"Can.."

"I came across a journal that Avner keeps detailing his conquests both real and imagined. I could get it to you if you're in need of leverage."

"How does that have to do with anything?" She finally managed to get out more than a syllable.

"Nothing. I panicked."

He took the leather bound package off his back and placed it on the desk in front of Lavinia.

"I am Kai Garnham. Son of Misa Garnham and Emil Black. The only thing I have left of my mother is her name; the only thing of my father, this sword." He pulled away the leather to reveal a rapier in it's scabbard. It's hilt was a masterfully wrought iron rose. "If I have even the smallest chance of winning the heart of a lady of your caliber than I would be deeply honored if you would wear this." He removed the sword from it's sheath. It's polished surface caught the early morning light. "It's a good blade and will strike true."

He returned the sword to it's home. "And if you choose not to wear it then I will know that I have no chance and you won't hear another word on the subject." He placed the scabbard back on the table.

"I should leave now," he said and bolted out the door.

 

[Morrow]

Campaign Connections

I have described this campaign as something of a sequel to the Swashbuckling in Freeport campaign. One might reasonably ask how the two are linked. So for the benefit of our readers I’ll try to call out those links when they appear.

The players are responsible for many of the connections between the two campaigns. The player characters represent the first set of connections, obviously. Garnham and Dexter are the grandsons of Nate Black. Margaret Teech is the granddaughter of Catherine Sullivan and Bill Teech on one side and Miranda Swallows on the other. There have been other references as well. Dexter’s most recent recap references both Lucius the librarian and Brother Egil from the Temple of Tinel, both of whom featured prominently in early Freeport adventures.

I have introduced some non player characters with connections to the first campaign. Arlen Huxley, half-elven captain of the Flying Flying, is the son of Huxley, first mate of the Albers when Bronson, Nate, and Sully come aboard at the beginning of the campaign. Augustus Wendt, first mate of the Bronze Dragon is grandson of Wendt, ship’s cook of the Albers during the same period. Lyle Underfoot, a halfling sailor and carpenter aboard the Bronze Dragon, is a member of the expansive Underfoot clan that has popped up in various games I have played in or DMed.

Other events and organizations connect the two as well. The festival of Empires’ Fall celebrates the destruction of the Empires of Atlantis and Cthonia, both of which featured prominently in Swashbuckling in Freeport. (Long time readers will notice the spelling shift from Thonia to Cthonia. Elyosha’s player suggested it. I rather like it.) The story of the downfall of those two great powers will have to wait for another time. In this campaign the malevolent Scarlet Brotherhood seeks to return Cthonia to its former glory. The Crimson Fleet, which appeared in a single adventure of Swashbuckling in Freeport, promises to take on a more prominent role in Savage Tide.

More connections between the two campaigns will become apparent over the coming months. In addition to my own plans I’m sure the players will continue to introduce connections of their own. For example, does the iron rose design of Emil Black’s sword indicate that it is the work of Kushervrick, Arakel’s lover who crafted her an iron rose amulet before his tragic death? Even I don’t know, but I look forward to finding out.

 

[nerdronomicon]

I thought Wendt was the first mate of the Bronze Dragon. If he's not I messed up my recap.

 

[Morrow]

I thought Wendt was the first mate of the Bronze Dragon. If he's not I messed up my recap.

No, you're right. Good catch.

 

[Morrow]

The Caerdel Rose (Garnham)

Sasserine Eight Months Ago

The smithy lay on an unassuming street in the Champions District. Garnham entered through the heavy front door into the weaponsmith's showroom. The walls were covered with common blades of ever shape and description. Furthest from the door stood a line of locked glass cases and the till. A steady pounding of iron on iron could be heard from behind a thin door at the far wall.

A young woman stood behind the farthest case refining the edge on a silvered short sword.

"Hello. Anything in particular you're looking for?" She smiled slightly. Her hair was red and she had both human and elven blood coursing through her veins.

"I have a rapier in need of repairs." Garnham placed a scabbard on the case.

The woman removed the blade from its sheath and inspected the scarred and pitted rapier. An iron rose formed the end of the pommel.
"This has seen better days." She said looking up from the work. "What crypt did you find it in?"

"It just wasn't well treated for a long time. Anything you can do?"

"I'll have to get my mother. I'm just apprenticing. This is a bit beyond my skill." She opened the door and called through. Garnham felt the temperature rise 10 degrees.

The steady pounding ended and the smith came to the door. She stood slightly over five feet. Long black hair with streaks of grey were pulled back and held in place with a leather cord. The points of elven ears were obvious. She wore work pants, a sleeveless black shirt and a heavy leather apron, well creased from where she bent and pivoted. She still carried the heavy hammer. Her shoulders and arms were whipcords of sinewy muscle. She was sweating more than any elf that Garnham had ever seen.

If she was human Garnham would have pegged her as being forty years old. Elyosha was 140 and looked twenty. Garnham did some quick math and came up with old.

"Hello ma'am." he started. "I was told that you could repair my blade. It was neglected for a while and I've finally raised the money for restoration."

The half-elf put on another leather apron, took her mother's hammer and went into the smithy. Soon the pounding resumed. The elven smith turned to Garnham. "My name's Livinda not "ma'am." I was a regular in the third light infantry for more years than your great-grandfather has been alive and I stayed a sergeant. Unlike the officers I work for a living. Don't call me ma'am. This your sword?"

"Yes."

"Looks like you 'plucked a Caerdel rose.'"

"Pardon?"

"Caerdel is a small city two days ride from Octenbrook."

"Where's that?"

"About three days north of Techan."

"And that's...?

"The cartographer's guild is on the other side of town. I'd draw you a map, but I've just established that we aren't the cartographer's guild." She hefted the rapier into the air and juggled the pommel from one calloused hand to the other. "Caerdel is a rustic town built up beside a series of mines. The iron from those mines has a higher than normal sulfur content making it ideal for high quality weapons manufacture."

"And the rose?"

"Making an iron rose is tricky business." She turned the blade pommel up to demonstrate with the iron rose at it's hilt. "To make individual petals that look like the real thing is the work of a master. Any fully trained weaponsmith can craft a blade that will hold a dweomer, but this," she nodded the rose, "this is art."

"Is it worth more?"

"Maybe a few silver. It's art, but few appreciate the difficulty in making it. That's the thing about Caerdel, almost everyone there does." She was animated now. She placed a length of leather on the nearest counter, placed the rapier on the leather and began to pick at the iron rose with a fine tool retrieved from an apron pocket. "Just a bit of build up to pick away and I should be able to tell you the caliber of the master that made this."

"How?"

"The number of petals. The Caerdel masters used the rose to not only signify the place of origin, but to tell the quality of the maker. Six petals was the minimum; the most I've heard of was thirteen maybe fourteen. The more petals the harder to make. This has at least eight, but there's so much crap in here it's hard to say. There's a lot of silversheen build up here and mud." She looked disapprovingly at Garnham.

"I've never used silversheen."

"Well somebody did and they were sloppy with it. Here we are. Twelve petals."

Livinda paused at this for a moment. Garnham caught her looking at the palm of his right hand.

"Nice tattoo."

"Thanks." He turned his hand away from her gaze. He didn't correct her mistake.

"I can take care of this for you. The cost will be three hundred gold."

"Not a problem."

"There is one thing more. My daughter Ressadriand will be joining the Champions District watch after she's finished her apprenticeship with me. I can't be found taking stolen goods."

"The rapier was my father's. He left it behind."

""Every sword that comes in here belonged to somebody's father."
She reached under one of the cabinets and pulled out a small wooden box. She carefully unlatched it revealing a fine pair of white gloves.
"I picked these up a few years ago to save me some trouble. If I hold the sword while wearing them I'll know how you came to own it. I'll also know some things about the people who had it before you. I'll throw in the history of the blade so there's no hard feelings."

"I'm not worried." Garnham said eying the magic gloves as she stretched them across calloused fingers.

She held the sword in front of her horizontally resting the flat of the blade on her extended palms. For a full minute the only sound to be heard was the rhythmic pounding of iron on steel from the smithy beyond.

"The blade was forged by a human named Kushervrick for an adventurer named Khasthyr. It was Khasthyr's desire to one day enchant the blade, but he spent his money on horses and never did. The blade passed to his daughter Nystoir after Khasthyr's death. Nystoir gave the sword as a gift to her lover Emil Black. The rest you probably know."

"That's my father for you," Garnham sighed.

"I'll have the rapier done in two days."

"And the payment?"

"I'll take it when you collect the blade. If you don't come back in a month I'll sell it."

"Fair enough." he shook her hand. "I'll see you in two days time."
Garnham left.



Livinda sat down hard on a backless stool.

She hadn't been completely honest with Garnham. Some of what she learned she uncovered with the glove's magic; other things she had known already.

Memory is strange she thought. The tale of the twelve petal rapier came to mind so easily. Yet she had to concentrate to remember Emil's face, the sound of his voice.

The gloves also told her about the man who now owned Emil's sword. He wasn't evil, but he also wasn't good. Like his father, but less wild. And he was an adventurer, she'd seen the type before. A dangerous job. Very exotic for a young girl.

Should she tell Ressadriand? It was just as well she didn't see the familiar birthmark on the human's hand.

Just then the steady sound of metal-on-metal rang with a sour note.
"RESSADRIAND EMILY BLACK!! If you've just ruined the breastplate I've been slaving over for the last two hours I'll tan your hide!"

Livinda rose to her feet. She'd already decided to tell her daughter the truth once Ressa reached her majority. That would be a little over half a year from now. Until then she didn't need to know she even had a brother.

 

[Morrow]

Sea Wyvern's Wake Part 2 (Garnham)

From the journal of K. Garnham Seeker translated from the Vallossan

Today I witnessed a miracle.

A treasure map sold to a rube on the streets of Sasserine actually led to a real treasure.

Today the Nixie sent a long boat to the Dragon carrying Lavinia, Liamae and Tollin.

We were told that our navigator Urol had made an arrangement with Lavinia to explore ancient Olman ruins that lay on an island en route to Farshore. We were asked to accompany him with the two Jade Ravens.

Urol told us that a one-legged sailor sold him the map. The sailor told him that it was delivered to him by a dying elf who claimed to be part of an expedition that had met strong resistance from a basilisk. He ran before he was turned to stone like his comrades.

As soon as I heard this I was in a good mood. I personally know three people who run the map scam and know of half-a-dozen more besides. The chances of us coming across anything resembling danger or treasure were remote, but I'd grown tired of being stuck on board ship for the last several weeks. The idea of walking on dry, unmoving ground was very appealing.

We made our preparations and departed for the island.

We trekked for a time through the jungle and came to the ruins. Arrayed in the opening passage were a series of very life-like "statues."

The basilisk was drawn out and we defeated it without any of us being petrified. Urol had brought the magical means to restore two of victims and we decided to help our predecessors once we were certain we wouldn't have need of the slave ourselves. Liamae and Elyosha believe that the eyes and liver of the beast may be used in other restorations.

Heavy plant growth and centuries of collapse made all but two passageways impossible to explore in the time available.

We travelled down one until we found a room with a deep well. Something crawled out of that well. Something amorphous with dozens of eyes that darted around everywhere and many mouths that formed a bedlam choir. Tollin called it a gibbering mouther.

It attacked our minds. Some of us froze, others turned on our own, still others attacked it with a beserk fury. Only Liamae proved completely resilient to the madness. In the end we survived ourselves and silenced the strange voices.
Dexter and I spent an hour going through the mass grave that had formed at the bottom of that well. While we were busy with our charnal duty Laimae and Elyosha harvested the basilisk's eyes and liver.

We went down the last remaining passage. It led into a map room warded by the first significant magical trap I've encountered. Liamae confirmed it to be a class five incendiary, possibly mobile. I started with a standard Caldwell matrix. That suppressed the cardinal harmonics allowing me to access the dweomer imprimatur. I wasn't completely certain that the trigger was stripped so I dragontongued the base pairs and Liamae was able to confirm that the trap was clear.

I've enclosed a copy of Urol's paper on the subject of the map room and the other things we uncovered of an historical nature. For all of his eccentricities Urol might make a fine addition to our ranks.

We then came across a room barricaded by a wall of stone spell. Liamae and Dexter provided us access. Beyond we found a burial pyramid and a crazed man-bat. The man-bat launched itself at us and while we fought it was joined by a will o' the wisp. It was a hard battle, but in the end we won.

Exploration of the pyramid revealed a mummified corpse. I was quiet happy to discover that it wasn't the walking, Garnham attacking, type of mummy and was content to lay there all ancient and shriveled.

The man-bat had been guarding the treasure of an ancient Olman bat god. A golden bat statue weighing several pounds apparently made of solid gold. It radiates a slight magic, but we have yet to identify it.

We spent several hours letting Urol take notes and etchings. Before we left we restored two of the adventurers, a dwarven woman and a woman wearing the symbol of the Witchwardens. They seemed healthy enough, but are too disoriented to talk right now. We've secured their friends.

On a personal note I have fallen in love with Lavinia. My objectivity cannot be counted on in regards to her. I can tell you that I have believed for a while that she will make an excellent Seeker. She is a master at statecraft, a steady swordswoman and possesses an indomitable spirit. In my eyes she eclipses all others of her sex.

 

[Morrow]

A Letter to Lavinia (Garnham)

Lavinia,

I have never been accused of being an optimist.

The kind of hope needed for that attitude is rare where I come from and is quickly beaten down when it does appear.

I have found myself hopeful since leaving Fort Blackwell. While my worse, if wiser, self steeled itself for your rejection another Garnham dreamed of other futures.

Then I saw you coming aboard the Nixie wearing your new sword. You are stunning wearing my greatest hope.

I apologize for my behavior in Blackwell. Not what I said, but the way I thrust it upon you. It was rude of me and I'm sorry.

I have been interested in you for some time now. I saw your beauty at the dinner table that first night, your strength as you discovered the truth about your brother, your wit as you dealt with the Dawn Council and your skill while dueling devils. You are amazing.

It took me until Blackwell for my fear of not telling you my feelings to overcome my fear of your rejection. I tried to put this down on paper, but the words weren't right and it was best that I tell you to your face.

I'm writing this in the heart of the Olman ruins. Urol is busy with his etchings and Liamae has agreed to play courier for me so I'm taking advantage of a few quiet hours to write the first love letter I have ever written.

If we were still in Sasserine I would ask you out dancing, but that won't be an option.

I would very much like to walk with you on the beach, share a good bottle of wine and watch the sunset together.

Yours truly,

K. Garnham