Glass of Water Quest

[Nevill]

Dark Attunement
Who can say no to Dark Prophecies at random inopportunate times?

B. Head straight to the capital, Da Feilong

 

[vazha]

Globetrotter and D.
Also, fantastic LP, well done!

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

So far D wins but Globetrotter and Dark Attunement are tied for the feat. The next person to reply to this thread can pick one of those two feats to break the tie with their choice, even if you've already voted.

 

[vazha]

Trottah

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

Globetrotter and D.
Also, fantastic LP, well done!

Thanks bro, I will try to update this on Wednesdays and Sundays after today.

Option D is selected. Globetrotter is now active.

n the era before man and iron, compass and pot still, ere the decadent wiles of the financier, a grand ox slept beneath the Shatlantic Ocean which then had no name and was without tides. But the rain was unceasing, and the ox was calmed by its melody on the surface of the water. That was until Uncle Moon appeared in the sky, and disturbed the waters with a cacophany of waves that crashed against the rocks. When the ox awoke, it snorted at the heavens.

"Why did you wake me?" said the ox.

"Because you are a beast who must work. It is the natural law." smiled Uncle Moon.

This enraged the ox, who for seven hundred years swam as fast as he could and vaulted from the water at the moon with his horns. But each time Uncle Moon was just a little too far away. Finally the ox climbed on the rocks whose sounds had woken him for a greater vantage point. But still the moon was too high. So the ox swam north to what is now called Alfalfia to find a mountain range to jump from. Again his jump came up short. He swam northeast, then southwest, then further south, and in each land his rage was further fueled by goring the moon children who lived there. Finally the ox collapsed on his belly, but still he would not work.

"I will swim to the deepest bottom of the sea where I cannot hear your tides." said the ox.

So he swam for one thousand years to the blackest trench in the ocean and waited. Uncle Moon's light could not pierce the waves into the trench, so the moon moved closer to the earth to see the ox. And closer. And closer. When the ox saw that Uncle Moon was now within reach, he sprinted to the surface and leapt at the smiling moon with all his might. His horns knocked a massive chunk from the smiling orb, who was sent spinning back to his rightful place in the heavens. The ox climbed on the chunk that had fallen into the ocean triumphant, and was delighted to see that it had formed many high mountains.

"I have slaughtered your children from north to south and all those who would force me into bondage know my wrath. The next time you awake me, I will ram you until you are nothing but sand. This piece of your body will be my land, and my people will prosper here beyond the chains of the taskmaster."

So the ox rested on the surface of the moon chunk, and eventually petrified into the stone behemoth that is called Mount Touro Raivoso today. The sap of the ox's blood formed new people who were not of the moon, but people of stone, who climbed out from the caves in the ox mountain and have never known slavery since. Thus was the founding of the continent of Sudacantis.

That's all horseshit but this is what some nationalist boomers in Sudacantis actually believe. The apocryphal nature of the story remains unknown to modern scholars, but it is thought to be an account of prehistoric wars that could have spanned much of the globe, which is surprising considering the international scope of these wars without a worldwide trade network or even accurate maps. Which brings us to today. Grizgul and his Greenmarsh companions have arrived at the pier in Rio de Sopa. The booming capital city teems with lively music and exotic spices, but the streets vibrate to an uneasy beat. Buildings are decorated not with the peacetime flag of Sudacantis, but the raging ox banner of war. Grizgul's party decides to relax at the taverns and peruse the markets before setting sail to Courdeland with its "giant problem". It's probably best if you avoid the Stalson & Sons company headquarters.

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Masterwork arming sword (+1 to combat rolls)
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x2 Rations
x1 Unidentified small green gem
x664 Gold

FEATS:
Golden Boy, Globtrotter

At the smithy, Grizgul gets into an argument with an apprentice who says it's illegal for commoners to purchase weapons, and selling any items deemed necessary for the war effort is treason. Grizgul explains that pipsqueaks denying him service can be lethal. The smith shows up and shoos the apprentice away. He offers to sell you a battleaxe under the table, but it's going to run you 350 gold for risking his hide. Grizgul talks him down to 200 gold plus a trade in: you offer your masterwork arming sword. You now have a steel battleaxe which gives +2 to all combat rolls as a favored weapon. You also purchase 10 days rations for 10 gold at a general store on Cerveja Street. A jeweler further down the road identifies your small green gem as a trapiche emerald and buys it from you for 250 gold. Globetrotter - And last, Grizgul picks up a stuffed albatross for a mere 50 gold from a cabinet of curiosities located downtown by the entertainment. In the right foreign markets, you could sell this common local bird for quadruple that or more.

Since you're already downtown, time to hit up the nightlife. You meet up with Cob, Miplastri, Orgil and Su-bostoon and head into the Oito Prefeitos (Eight Mayors) Inn. Radomir has stayed in the sloop this entire time asleep, as his visons kept him awake on the trek here. This is more like it. In the lamplight of the inn you spot many a fine barwench, and sipping this Sudacantean concoction called caipirinha, which is made from sugarcane liquor, more sugar, and limes mixed within, has got you nice and buzzed. You consider filling your magic beer stein to keep the party going, but that can wait while you try these new drinks. Your tranquility is soon shattered by a gang of ruffians who swagger into the inn.

Reavers. A crew of four dog-headed miscreants slide up to the bar and demand free tsipouro, then smash some casks when the barkeep has never heard of their native beverage. These dogs wear the banner of the Sudacantis ox, possibly mercenaries under employ of the governer. They spot you and your friends and spit on the ground at the sight of your tribal markings.

"Greenmarsh bespawlers, out! Ánte sto diáolo! What a flophouse to host these miserable roaches. I ought to light this dump on fire." says their captain, judging by his fancy insignia.

"Bad call, churl." says Grizgul as the party stands from the round table.

"You would fight us? Geloíos! No weapons then, we'll see what you're really made of."

A. It's not worth it. These mutts walk around like they own the place, and given their apparent endorsement by the government, they might as well. There are plenty of bars downtown and pissing off the authorities is a bad idea when you just got here. Bow out now or face criminal justice at the hands of the notoriously harsh Sudacantean courts. (Cost: ????)

B. Start a brawl. At least if you don't butcher them it won't be a capital crime and the owner won't have to clean gut spatter off his floors, only fur and teeth. These dogs are probably already drunk so you should have the jump on them, being merely buzzed. Still, they are muscular and seasoned. Cob already has his club out. Su-bostoon jerks his head and whispers venomously, "Let's go!" Roll 1d6 for combat, the DC = 5 x the number of votes. Add +1 to your roll from the lamellar armor's protection. (Cost: ????)

C. You just got a new battleaxe and you're ready to rock. Anybody who takes shit from these fleabitten canines is a punk, and you'll make sure everybody knows it. You're not leaving this inn until those Reavers are decorating the galley in pieces. You'll definitely have to flee the city after this, so if you had any plans for sightseeing those are out the window. Roll 1d6 for combat, the DC = 5 x the number of votes. Add +3 to your roll from the lamellar armor's protection and your favored steel battleaxe. (Cost: ????, Sudacantis infamy)

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Steel battleaxe (+2 to combat rolls)
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x12 Rations
x1 Stuffed Albatross
x604 Gold

FEATS:
Golden Boy, Globetrotter

World Map:

Spoiler

Uncle Moon's face 0.3 seconds after hovering too close to the trench to spy on the ox of Sudacantis.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

B

 

[vazha]

B of course since C means eviction

 

[Azira]

I've been away on holiday, so couldn't vote on the 'trotter thing, but I'm a bit miffed we didn't get eldritch insight.

So I'll pout out of this vote.

 

[Nevill]

DC5 is an incredibly hard roll to make. Even though it's effectively a DC4. A d6 will average towards 3.5

Wouldn't want to spoil the good thing we have going by voting B.

Hence C.

 

[hello friend]

C

Let's go boys

1+3 makes for a total of 4 versus a DC of 5. Does not Git them Gud.

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

I've been away on holiday, so couldn't vote on the 'trotter thing, but I'm a bit miffed we didn't get eldritch insight.

So I'll pout out of this vote.

Welp, it's a tie again so you could break it.

 

[baud]

I'll go with B

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

B wins with 3 votes. Combat is successful with a dice total of 17, wew.

And so it happens that the Reavers' barks were indeed worse than their bites. They are outnumbered five to four, and Grizgul almost feels guilty about ganging up on them like this. Or at least that's how you think people are supposed to react in times like these. Actually it was pretty hard not to laugh when their captain slipped in some spilled beer and bounced his snout off an overturned bar stool.

You grab the Reaver captain and hold his long nose down into a glass of rotgut for a few seconds. After some sputtering and screaming about the burn, you smoosh his face against the table.

"What was that you called us? Bespawlers? What the hell does that mean?" Grizgul says.

"Se gamiso! You'll pay for this you inbred sacks of shit!"

A few more seconds in the liquor tempers his smart mouth.

"Pay? Now there's a fine lark. See, I heard about this queer custom in the east, the draconese like to eat dogs over there. Can you believe that? And my tubby pal Cob here, well he's something of a gourmand I think it's called, he'll try anything once. Or thrice. So he's going to be powerful annoyed if we let this perfectly fine dog flesh go to waste when we could just fry it up right here in the kitchen. It might take some money to calm him down when he's hungry, say one hundred gold pieces?"

Cob nods and hefts the club in his enormous hands. That dumb lug probably thinks you're halfway serious.

"Give them nothing!" spits the Reaver pinned to the wall by Orgdil.

You push the defeated captain out of the way and let him dust himself off. He reaches into his purse and dumps 100 gold onto the table.

"Nice ring you've got there, care if I try it on?"

The captain slumps, then hands you his golden signet ring. The ring's face bears the initials "D.M." While not a student of literature or even basic literacy, you can tell some Common letters at least.

Su-bostoon and Miplastri send the four frazzled Reavers stumbling out of the front door. Orgdil is already at the table counting up the coins to split evenly. You take your share of 20 gold. By now the bar is mostly empty since everyone ran outside when the fighting kicked off. The barkeep peers over the edge of the counter, a visage of pure terror.

"Do you know who those guys were?! They're the Don Martell's men! You need to get out of here. Please, just leave." he says.

You tear off a piece of cloth from a dirty rag on the bar and stuff it up your nose to stop the bleeding. One of those curs socked you good. A crowd of rubberneckers backs away as your party exits the front door into the cool night streets.

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Steel battleaxe (+2 to combat rolls)
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x12 Rations
x1 Stuffed albatross
x1 Golden signet ring marked "D.M."
x624 Gold

FEATS:
Golden Boy, Globetrotter

"Halt! You are under arrest!" yells somebody a few buildings down. There must be a dozen of them, guards from the governor's office all on horseback. They dismount outside the bar and whack a few onlookers with their blackjacks who were too slow in minding their own business.

"Put your weapons on the ground and form a gaggle in front of the horses. You're coming to the magistrate's chambers for offenses against the admiralty. That ship of yours has phony papers. And for assaulting auxiliaries under the employment of the Don Martell himself." says one of the guards. "But do me a favor and run. I'd rather just break your necks than walk you all the way over there."

There are too many of them. You lay your axe down in the street and assemble in front of the horses. Looks like it's hard labor in the mines, until you can escape at least.

###​

"Bailiff, the tall one with the hair has something of mine."

The magistrate Don Martell idly sips wine behind a great mohagony table and glances over the six of you chained up behind the defense bench. They grabbed Radomir off the sloop and the boy looks significantly worse for wear. You notice the Don wears the livery of an Alfalfian official, including the silver lion, not the raging war ox of Sudacantis. He speaks with a dignified air and foreign accent for this place, his black beard dappled with bits of gray and shaped by expensive wax. The whole office smells of luxurious perfumes and frankincense.

The bailiff marches to the bench and wrenches the signet ring off your finger. He carefully places it on the table by the Don who smiles and tosses back the rest of his wine.

"Five drunken Greenmarsh savages and a Nralite. What brings you to our fair metropolis? Besides the caipirinha I mean." the Don says.

"We are men-at-arms on our way to Courdeland. I hear the lowlanders pay a fair bounty for giant carcasses." says Grizgul.

"Men?" says Don Martell, leering at Miplastri and Radomir, "The lass looks scrappy at least," then he turns to Radomir, "So you know your way around a polearm boy?"

Radomir looks too spooked to answer. In other circumstances you'd bet Cob on how soon it was until he wet his trousers, he's always a sucker for bad wagers.

"They keep our accounts. The rest of us can't read." says Grizgul.

"Nobody asked you!" The bailiff bats you in the arm with a blackjack.

"Enough. I see the problem here," says the Don, "but it is immaterial. I'm of a mind to throw you in the dungeons until you cooperate, but there are some other options." He motions the bailiff to fill another glass of wine.

"You put the quite the whipping on my men in the Oito Prefeitos, so you can fight. That is good. As we speak, Nralite frigates are sailing west, and they're not carrying fine linens or crumpets. To your homeland. The politics of all this are above your heads but suffice to say this is very bad for Sudacantis. As such, your sloop is currently being measured out for the addition of a few swivel guns. So here is my offer: I will grant you a letter of marque and you will fly the flag of the raging ox. Harrass the Nralites as a privateer for Sudacantis, and the rewards will outstrip any bounties you might have made in Courdeland. I don't expect you to sink a frigate with that tiny sloop of course, just harass the enemy any way you can. Try intimidating lone merchant ships. And you'll need this," he holds up the signet ring, "so people know who they are dealing with."

"Or if you're not interested in a new career, you could attend to a personal matter of mine. What I'm about to say does not leave these chambers. The mayor of Posh City, an insolent fop whose day is well past due, has refused to send his taxes here to the capital city for the last quarter. He thinks to renegotiate the rates, but worse, he has insulted me in several ways that do not bear repeating in the process. I happen to know that he owns both a winery and a gristmill not too far outside the city. When both have been scorched to the ground, report back to me and I'll forget you ever broke the law in my jurisdiction. I might even have some sweetmeats for you when you get back."

A. Fly the banner of the raging ox. Impressment into the navy usually goes a lot poorer than this, but this way you get to be your own boss with your butthole intact. You're not sure how Radomir's going to take raising arms against his own countrymen, but if he doesn't like it he's free to fuck off any time. Hopefully the magistrate will be happy if you can score a few victories and let you continue your quest to Courdeland. Besides, if those Nralites are sailing west to Alfalfia, Greenmarsh and your clansmen are in the way. This is a matter of duty. (Cost: ????, Nral infamy)

B. Arson. Burning down a couple industrial buildings shouldn't be too hard, plus you can quickly be on your way down south afterwards. Getting mixed up in a full blown war between softie nations ain't your style. You've always been a brigand-on-the-outskirts-taking-advantage-of-things kind of guy. Globetrotter - You could jack those stocks of wine and flour to sell on the market too. (Cost: 4 days, 4 rations)

C. Refuse both and get chucked in the dungeon. Come on now.

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x12 Rations
x1 Stuffed albatross
x624 Gold

FEATS:
Golden Boy, Globetrotter

World Map:

Spoiler

An alfaia or maracatu-drum which is strapped over the shoulder, used in traditional Sudacantean music.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

B>C

 

[hello friend]

B

 

[vazha]

B and if possible, fuck this magistrate guy over. He seems to be a right dick.

 

[Azira]

Seems like a no-brainer. Of coures we're all for the arson.

B

 

[baud]

A, just to be a corsair

 

[Nevill]

B.

We should look into a way to aid Nralites burn this place to the ground. But let us start small.

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

Damn I'm too drunk to barbarianpost right now. RIP.

 

[vazha]

Sober up and tell us a tale, bard.

 

[ExposedBrainMatter]

Sober up and tell us a tale, bard.

No can do, but I'm gonna poast anyway.

*ahem*

B is overwhelmingly selected at 5 votes.

Finally you've made it through the winding mountain passes and sheer cliffs of central Sudacantis. Cob and Orgdil have not ceased arguing since before the trek started, and now that you've emerged into the plains around Posh City, they're getting worse. Miplastri suggests a break. Grizgul and Radomir set to work boiling a pot for some snarlweed to keep everybody moving. Su-bostoon makes you all take off your footwear.

"Grizgul, tell Cob goblins ain't real." says Orgdil.

"I know what I saw." says Cob.

"So you're telling me you saw a little brown man with hooves eating mushrooms off a rock, and not a little brown mountain goat like we've seen five damn times already?" Ordgil looks to Cob.

"This ain't about that and you know it. You always contradict me to make yourself look the reasonable type, because you're a damn cheat. At the sorcerers' camp, at the docks in Rio, and now out here. You're a burgscirster (city-born) down to the bone and can't even play an honest dice game. Just stay out of my way from now on."

Grizgul rolls his eyes and sips some of that sweet medicine on the fire from his magic beer stein. As far as you can tell, pouring other liquids into this vessel doesn't do anything besides turn them purple. You are now all jacked up on snarlweed tea. Still, seems suspicious that it would just change the color and nothing else. From this plateau you can spot Posh City a few hours downhill, but being seen is out of the cards. You need to do this quick and quiet. Radomir is a Nralite, so once again the scouting falls to him.

Globetrotter - "Boy, take this albatross and sell it on the market, and buy yourself a curative for those dreams and headaches. Try to find the mill and winery. If anybody asks, you're a Nephite pilgrim there to visit the temple. Which means you have to look like it."

You give him the stuffed bird. Radomir groans as you cut his hair into the tonsure of the eccentric Alfalfian cultists.

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Steel battleaxe (+2 to combat rolls)
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x8 Rations
x624 Gold

FEATS:
Golden Boy, Globetrotter

You are hunting for lizards for the pot a little ways downhill when you're jarred by a woman screeching. Miplastri. Grizgul runs uphill to see Orgil and Cob squared up by the campfire, the former's knife drawn.

"You just had to push you dumb bastard, have at me then!"

Cob is circling the fire pit with his club firmly bound at the belt, but you still don't like the odds for Orgdil. Just as you're about to jump into the fray, the fire roars to life by itself, a demonic muzzle amidst a horned burning aspect. The face in the fire squints its eyes at the quarreling bucks and yells "BEGONE!" before fizzling back into embers. The party freezes.

"Still don't believe in goblins? They've got hedge witches all around these mountains, I warned you." says Cob.

"Is that so?" says Orgil, "We'll just have to find our goblin and wring his neck then. Ten gold to the one who grabs it."

"Don't start."

"Stop! It was me!" yells a bush in the distance. Globetrotter - Radomir steps out and hands you 200 gold profit from the stuffed albatross, sans 50 for the medicine he bought. "It was all I could think to do. Anyway, I found the mill and winery. If you two stop bickering we can get there before sunrise."

Radomir leads the group downhill and into the plains under cloak of twilight. Soon enough, you arrive at a small enclave of peasant shacks outside the walls, with a sign Radomir says reads "Repouso do Tenro". A great tower with a fan turns slowly in the evening breeze. The gristmill. Radomir says the winery isn't far away, but you should split up in teams to steal the wine and flour stocks. There are enough wagons and horses here to outfit an entire merchant caravan. There is no lock on the door, and you manage to pack a cart and horse full of sacks. Now for the spark. A dog starts barking from somewhere in one of the shacks. Then you hear a baby cry. The hamlet is waking.

"Shit! Shit! Radomir, use your magic tricks! Fire now!" whispers Orgil.

"No," says Cob, "we can take a village full of starved serfs. We'll round them up and send them to the plains before the city watch is any the wiser."

"Are you daft?! We need to get out now! We still have to hit the winery you snarlbrained oaf!"

A. Side with Orgdil. The peasants will be too busy fleeing the fire to worry about blame just yet, but some of them will almost certainly die. Like that baby in the shack. You've seen the effects of fires before, the Winnowing of '81 in Tilmach was one of the worst. The carcasses curled up by heat, the blasted homes with planks all fanned out as if draconese artillery went off in the town square. Mules reduced to skeletons on the side of the road. On that day you sent a prayer to the old gods, though you had nothing to do with the blaze. (Cost: ????)

B. Side with Cob. You can browbeat one or two of the townspeople into going door to door for an evacuation. Maybe even pretend you're the mayor's men. But that will eat up time you don't have. All it takes is the wrong set of eyes to send your plans spiralling into chaos. Plus there's the ordeal between the two clansmen: Cob is strong but stupid, and Orgdil is squat but sly. Unfortunately we live in a moon-spirited era where cunning trumps the noble warrior spirit. Whoever's plan you pick, the other is sure to be resentful. (Cost: ????)

INVENTORY:
x1 Enchanted beer stein of Burundy the Elder
x1 Steel battleaxe (+2 to combat rolls)
x1 Lamellar cuirass (+1 to defensive combat rolls)
x1 Soiled worsted wool skirt
x1 Pot helmet
x1 Sling
x19 River stones for the sling
x8 Rations
x824 Gold

Golden Boy, Globetrotter

World Map:

Spoiler

The Speyer wine bottle, unearthed from a Roman tomb near Speyer, Germany. Dated 325-350 AD.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

B

 

[hello friend]

A

 

[Azira]

We're here to torch the place. No time to get second thoughts.

A