Completed Play-by-Post: In Search of the Sorcerer

[nikolokolus]

And so it begins ...

On the tenth day, of the fifth month, in the year of Brigid (Spring)
(N.B. A full solar cycle is four earth-years long and seasons pass in 364 days - 13 months per year, 28 days per month)

map

Twilight is settling in; the lurid, red, sun sinks low on the southwestern horizon behind the massive Haemus Mons range, stretching its shadows like fingers over the land, first shrouding Odessos then Zelkor's Ferry. As the day's heat begins to recede a light mist can be seen rolling in from the bay.

The ferry, with its great timber longhouse and various outbuildings, sits on a small tor of rock that juts out into the mouth of the river Don. This evening, the compound is abuzz with activity and energy; Zelkor's slaves toil hurriedly to finish their labors, the last ferry of the day is about to make landfall, a caravan from the distant north just arrived today, and two trading vessels have been forced to dock here - a rumor spreads quickly that Odessos has closed its harbor for some unknown reason.

Whatever your destination and wherever you have come from, it seems as though this is as good a place as any to bed down for the evening. Perhaps you will exchange stories with fellow travelers, catch up on news, or just get out of the brisk cold of the coming night?

OOC

(From this point, I'm sort of counting on folks to introduce themselves into the game by describing your character at the ferry and what they are doing. I fully expect you to pepper me with questions - what do you see? who is around you? etc. The main point is that I want you guys to drive the action - I guess the only thing I would say is, try not to get into any fights with each other, otherwise it could make for a very short campaign)

 

[ERYFKRAD]

As the caravan master paid Borric his dues and left, Borric cast an eye at the harbor. He heard snatches of conversation, something about Odessos' harbour being closed. With the prospects of work dimming, he figured he'd have to ask around and find out what happened.
Easier said than done. Most people took one look at his gruesomely bitten face, his scowl and his Maul and kept a wide berth.
He looked around for the closest thing to an inn the dump had, walked in, and paid for a night's stay.
Lodgings settled, he took a walk around, hoping to gain information by casually overhearing people talking, which wasn't hard to do once you got the hang of it.
He was particularly interested in hearing something about the rumours floating about, but any news of someone else wanting a caravan guard was welcome too.
If all else failed, he figured he'd find someone drunk enough to talk the ears off whoever sat next to them.

 

[nikolokolus]

The squat, pock faced Illryian barkeeper quickly takes Borric's silver coin, bites it and then spits it into a soiled leather pouch. "It's one silver mark for the night. Bed's are o'er there." He jerks his thumb indicating one end of the longhouse, where a fur curtain hangs from the ceiling half-open; straw pallets can be seen in a common sleeping area. "Beer is one silver as well." He looks Borric up and down with a slightly sour, distasteful expression written across his face, he sighs, "I don't suppose you'll be able to afford much more than that will ya?"

 

[Smashing Axe]

A sickly looking short man covered in the weathered rags of long travel orders himself a cup of the longhouse's cheapest whisky after ensuring his accomodations and makes his way to the fire with the loudest speakers, kneeling down amongst the circle with a wince and a click of the knee. He drinks silently for a time, listening for rumours of the troubles befalling Odessos. If the circle greets him with something other than utter disdain or contempt, he will eventually warm to the company and occasionally join them with a few short tales of his own travels across the breadth of Theia. He makes his intent to travel to Odessos' known, and seeks for a drinking companion amongst the wretches of the longhouse to while away the long hours of the night with forced good cheer belying a discontent that lurks beneath the surface.

 

[nikolokolus]

Heron slides near the small group that has gathered around firepit in the center of the longhouse. He notices the captain of the merchant vessel he took passage with conversing in low tones with another sailor (and judging from his clothes and his mannerisms he seems a peer and not an underling - perhaps a captain of the other merchant vessel?), "... I tell ya there's something big going on over at the port. Harbor master comes out in his little dingy with this real pallid look on his face when he waves us off, shouting at us to steer off. Well I tell you one thing, this is bad for business, I've got a hold full of dates and olive oil that aint gonna keep forever." The other fellow shakes his head softly, "Well when Zelkor gets off the last ferry maybe he'll have something more to tell us? In any case I need to get back to my ship, I've heared ill tidings for this side of the river and I'll be damned if anybody catches me sleeping in this pox infested shithole."

Smashing Axe the captain you recognize is a Stygian named Dadagos

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Borric glowers at the innkeeper and takes out two silvers from his pouch.
"How about you keep your piss to yourself and let me have some news instead?"

 

[nikolokolus]

The sallow-skinned barkeep licks his rotted teeth and his eyes flash with greed as he quickly snatches up the silvers, "News you say. Well what do you want to know?"

 

[ERYFKRAD]

"What is Odessos like? If I were looking for work, who would I approach? Is there anyone in Odessos you'd name as trouble to stay away from? Who holds the power there? And what's this about the Harbour closing?"

Borric pauses for a second, then bares in teeth in what he hopes is a smile. "Now, a closed harbour might not exactly stop a... resourceful person from getting in to the city, would it?"

Spoiler

1 Gold= how much silver? 10? 100?

 

[nikolokolus]

Spoiler

1 gp = 10 sp

The barkeep seems somewhat taken aback by Borric's staccato line of questions and furrows his brows a bit.

"Oh ... Odessos? I dunno, it's a city I guess, much like any other." He pauses and looks you up and down, "I mean ... you've been in a city before right? In any case, I'm sure there's always somebody who could use another sword arm - the merchant families seem to find ways to keep thinning each other's ranks often enough. Then again you say you want to stay out of trouble, in which case maybe you'd be better off indenturing yourself to some merchant or trader? You'll be a slave, but you won't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from." He flashes a rotted, toothy grin and winks knowingly and then leans in and begins speaking in a conspiratorial half-whisper. "Other than that, it's no secret to say the Exarch is old-family Hyperborean; threaded stock through and through, but he must have pissed off the Autarch something fierce to get his governorship in such a backwater, hick town? But make no mistake, the real power is in them merchant families; cross one of them or the bravos that serve 'em you've got real trouble." Finally, the barkeep takes a long pause and hesitates before speaking, "As for the harbor closing, I don't know why ... that's new. Zelkor should be tying up the last ferry of the day pretty soon, maybe he'll have answers?" After a few moments, the barkeep leans back and smiles, "Say, you know what? Yer alright friend. Let me put in a good word with Ol' Zelkor when he gets in; you might be just the kind of berk he's looking for."

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Borric smiles back. "Right, I'll keep that in mind."
That out of the way, Borric settles down in front of the firepit at the center of the longhouse to warm himself for a while, keeping his ears open wide.

 

[Siveon]

After a three day long trip, Marcán makes it to the Ferry. He always knew it was a dump, but it was the only way to get into the city and he's definitely not gonna try the ford the river. He waits for the ferry to make it's stop. Marcán looks to Ker, who accompanied him along for the trip. "It's been a while Ker, but Zelkor should take us to Odessos by tomorrow. My father always took his ferry, so perhaps he'll recognize me from way back when."

When Zelkor finally hits land Marcán will talk to him to see if he knows where his father went, and perhaps see if there is any way to get to Odessos.

 

[nikolokolus]

Márcan and Ker stand near the dock watching patiently as it comes near the shore. When the ferry is about 20 yards out, it starts to pivot drunkenly in the swift current. Zelkor shouts and curses at his slaves from the deck of his slow-moving paddle barge, "You idiots, throw the line!" He tosses an anchor off the stern of the boat and cracks his whip over the heads of his oarsmen "Dagon take you! I've never seen such mutton-headed, dolts!"

Eventually the slaves plunge into the frigid water from the dock with a towline trailing behind them, scramble up a rope ladder hanging from the gunwales and methodically pull the heavy-laden barge into dock. As the ferry makes landfall, Zelkor leaps off to the dock, runs over to a cleat and quickly lashes the bow of the boat. The grotesquely fat Illyrian is huffing and sweating profusely and does not appear to have noticed Márcan and Ker.

 

[Siveon]

Marcán furrows his brow. "Aye, that's Zelkor. Wait just a moment, friend." Marcán walks up to Zelkor, hoping to get his attention. "Hey! Zelkor, you fat sod! You recognize me? I'm Fionnghall's son, Marcán!" He stretches his arms out wide for emphasis. "I wanted to ask if you've seen my old man as of late."

 

[nikolokolus]

Zelkor struggles to his full height and turns at the sound of his name, his face shows a scowl, that gradually turns into a mask of confusion, before slowly softening with a light smile. "Ah, Márcan my lad I almost didn't recognize you. It's been what, six months? And wait what's this about yer old da? He passed through here with your brother Aodh maybe a week ago." A look of consternation and a deep frown settles on Zelkor's features. "I ... " He suddenly cuts himself off at the sounds of heavy boots thudding against the dock and turns towards the source. A massively tall man with streaming white-blond hair, clad in a great bronze coat-of-plates, a black sable cloak and high peaked silver helm strides past Zelkor, Ker and Márcan with nary a glance. Zelkor's expression turns a little "odd."

 

[Siveon]

Márcan looks at the tall figure. "Who the hell is that?"

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Borric heard someone yell for Zelkor, and turned to see two men speaking to a fat Illyrian.
He observed the conversation break as a man in plate walked past.
Well. This could be interesting.
He gets up and moves closer to Zelkor, hanging back so as to avoid drawing attention, but close enough to charge at someone if things did get interesting.

 

[Grimgravy]

More than a month at sea and now the Harbor is closed? Annoying. I hope Koren Ghul can wait another day for his box. Hopefully he'll tell me why exactly why I had to come this far north.

"Captain, thank you for the safe trip. Any guesses as to why the harbor is closed?"

 

[Helly]

Ker Gwez watch the man's features a bit as he walk around, trying to identify its birthplace, then turns back towards Zelkor and remove the hood from his robe, letting his braided hair take a last bit of red sunlight.
"Say, Zelkor, do you know where Márcan's dad and Aodh left for? We expected them home last week but have yet to hear of them."

 

[nikolokolus]

30 Minutes Earlier at the Merchant Vessel with Rhenmyr and the Captain:
The captain is busy moving about his ship directing his crew, but lifts his head at Rhenmyr's questions. "I wish had an answer for you sahib, the harbor master would not explain when he rowed out to meet us. Perhaps there will be news at the ferry?"

At the Ferry with Zelkor:
The lean giant in plate interrupts Marcán, Zelkor and Ker Gwez, "Zelkor, when you get done with . . . these, come find me so we can resolve our business." With that he turns away and strides towards the longhouse at the top of the short hill, behind him a slave leads a large, black, warhorse off of the ferry and towards the stable.

Ker has never seen anyone like this, but he's heard tales: Standing nearly 7 feet tall, with pale, elongated features, a tapering skull and jet black eyes flecked with silver you're almost certain this man is Hyperborean and a rich one at that.

When the man in jet and bronze reaches the longhouse and is out of earshot, Marcán and Ker hear Zelkor let out a long heavy breath before answering them, "That's nobody important, just a passenger. But I'm glad to get him off of my boat and I'll be gladder still when he gets the fuck away from here. Now as for Fionnghal, I'm telling you, he passed through here with Aodh maybe a week ago - I dropped him off on the other bank and I assume he's been in Odessos since."

 

[Siveon]

Marcán, still eyeing the strange man, nods."Thanks Zelkor, you've been a great help. If you don't mind me asking, could you take us there tomorrow - the other bank? My father never takes this long for a simple order, and I'm a bit worried. Especially with this talk of the harbors closing."

 

[Helly]

While he check the stranger, Gwez mutter to himself "Was that really a hyperborean? Here?"
Upon hearing the news, Gwez turns towards his friend. "I guess it's safe to assume they are still in Odessos, unless they tried to cross the river by some other means than the ferry. But why would they do that?"
He then accosts Zelkor again before he goes back to more urgent matters: "By the way Zelkor, is there something going on in town? Something that could have kept Fionnghal stuck on the other side? Like this nasty 'harbor closing' rumour for example."

 

[nikolokolus]

Zelkor nods at Marcán, "Of course lad, we'll depart perhaps an hour after first light." He then turns to face Ker before continuing, "The town? Aye something happened. I hear there's some sort of plague down in low-town and the docks, although somebody else I talked to, mentioned it might be a rash of murders. Anyways, the guards are awfully jumpy and they've shut down the staircases that lead down to the harbor. You can still get into the bazaar and high-town easy enough."

 

[Grimgravy]

"Thanks again, Captain"
Rhenmyr begins walking toward the longhouse trying to take in the surroundings and catch glimpses of Odessos while staying alert for pickpockets or anyone paying too much attention to him.
"Best be careful all the way up here. Not sure if I can trust these northerners" the thinks to himself. "A warm meal and a drink would do me well too."

 

[bert]

Turn..turnip. Sokrates helped himself to more of the turnips that he had taken with him by the handful. He did not know why he was not dead when the arrows started flying at them. He had slipped into the bank and he was sure that the bad men would have kept on peppering him regardless, but Mitra always watches over her followers. Sokrates wondered if it wasn't all a bad dream because he woke up at a turnip cart the next day. He had been recovering from his injuries since then, subsisting off of turnips and regaining his bull's strength by helping out with chores and simple labour around the ferry.

On this day however, Sokrates knew it was time to go. He had to find his lost friend and Odessos will be his best shot at it. They mentioned Odessos a lot too, so it sounds important. Grabbing his gear and suiting up, the six foot five hulk in full loadout commands presence. He wears the symbol of Mitra on a simple rope around his neck, and as he is about to leave he holds it gently to his lips and mutters a few words in prayer, reciting the pronounciation just like Zalogul had taught him.

He made his way to where Zelkor was, noting a few figures by him. Some were very big, like him, but others were more normal sized. Sokrates could see just through a look at their faces that they were experienced, people who have gone through things like him. They did not look like they would be ambushers from the week before, so he ignores them for now. Facing Zelkor, he raises a finger and points across the river in the direction of Odessa. "Pe..Pelagia. Pelagia!" He says in a confident manner as he tries to recall syllables. To the others, it seems that this strapping young lad, built like an ox, chest broad with muscles and shoulders wide as barn doors, with a chiselled, attractive symmetrical look cannot seem to call on his words to save himself. Where a patch of hair should be, there is a deep scar on the back side of his head.

 

[nikolokolus]

Zelkor, Ker, Marcán, and Borric all notice the hulking youth (probably Kimmerian from the looks of him) walk up, point to Odessos and stammer a single word that sounds like "Pull-ajee-Uh." Zelkor shakes his head ruefully, "No lad. A turnip farmer found you floating in the river and last I saw, you and your mistress were headed upriver two weeks ago." Zelkor smooths the front of his tunic with his hands and clears his throat before turning back to Marcán and Ker, "Poor simple bastard, he must have taken quite a wallop on the head. Now if you'll excuse me I need to get inside."