Photos from the Anniversary Party

The anniversary party was a huge hit. Thank you to everyone who contributed to the evening. I am still amazed at the outpouring of creativity and humour. Check out the photos, and if you have more, please upload them. Oh, and please come get any gear that you left at my place; there is a centaur rear in my driveway, in addition to other odds and ends.








Update: Lauren has added more photos to the pool. Check them out!

Rampage

The following illustration by Klayton depicts an encounter from Fire Group's latest episode in their Rampage Across the Borderlands.
And here is Fire Group taking solace in ice cream:

The City of Trowe

Trowe’s ascendancy to the political capital of the South is rooted in the city-state’s place at the geographical center of the allied Southern states as well as its fierce lobbying to become so. Following the Southern Wars, Trowe was quick to mollify its neighbors and the otherwise more influential other cities (such as Courte and Rygge to the east and Eshton and Eastring to the west) by providing the materials, space and labor necessary to construct the lavish Senate buildings and the grounds. This project, spearheaded by the Blooded families of Trowe, each of whom wanted a stake in the idea of a pan-Southern republic, effectively moved the center of the city from the riverside and the coast to the Senate, turning it from a somewhat minor trading town to a city re-founded on its nascent political importance.

Geography
Trowe is constructed of a walled ellipse around the mouth of the Harpath River as it drains the lands to the north of the city. Old City, as it’s called, represents the walled boundaries of Trowe as it was before the boom that arrived with the construction of the Senate and the larger city that now surrounds it. The city is laid out for the most part in a neat grid—although Old City’s streets are not—and falls mainly on the eastern side of the Harpath, with the western portion of the city being devoted, by and large, to the military. On the eastern side falls most of the actual goings-on of the city proper, from the houses of the Senators and those that serve them to the merchants and citizenry at large of Trowe. The public docks on this side, or Guildocks, serve Trowe’s mercantile needs.

Directly east of the Senate lies the district known as the Gardens, in which the quaestors, or Blooded members of the Senate, keep their estates. Because of the distance between cities (and the increasing danger on the Aedoc) most quaestors, and indeed, most praetors, live in Trowe year-round, with only brief trips back to their home states when the Senate is not in session.

The Four Walls, the large pan-Southern military academy, is on the western side of the Harpath, as are the majority of the military buildings. The navy, both of the pan-southern militia (or as it’s now being increasingly called, the Republican Army) and Trowe’s own militia, has access to the sea through their own naval docks. While each state in the South maintains their own militia, the Pan-South militia is headquartered in Trowe and so the city’s naval and armed power dwarfs that of any other state.

Recent history
In the early autumn, Trowe’s quaestor, Petrus Bound, was named Senate Imperator, a till-now only theoretical position granting him and his committee sanction over the pan-Southern militia. This appointment came in the face of increasing violence on the Aedoc peninsula, where a coalition of orcs and centaurs (and, rumors say, even dwarves and renegade humans) had begun an escalation of the hostilities there against the Aedoc Southern States. Senate Princeps Milo Alder of Courte still retains his position, which is now however largely ceremonial, and many of the Senators have since reversed their previous misgivings about naming an Imperator, falling in line behind Bound as the threat grows in the west.

His position as Imperator has allowed Bound to mobilize the Republican Army and even absorb the members and resources of individual state militias under that banner, and the Southern troops currently march toward the Aedoc. Formal war has not been declared—as the exact nature of the enemy isn’t even yet known—but it cannot be far off.

—Excerpted from Notes of Interest, Nils the Recordist, Library at Eshton

Happy Anniversary, Succession RPG.

July 2009 will mark the one year anniversary of our role-playing game! Can you believe it? You are probably thinking "WTF! It's only been 2 or 3 weeks in Saros..."

In order to celebrate we would like to have a party in July or August. Please let us know if there are days in July or August that DO NOT work for you. We'll try to announce a date for the celebration on May 31st.

All players and past NPCs are invited. Kids are welcome. It would be very fun to make this a costume party (come as your character), so we can get a group picture. But I would think that is fun, 'cause I'm a very cheesy dork.

Very Important Post!

We've had some crazy gaming in the past two weeks. We've seen desert peoples, vampires, unicorns, trolls, necromancy, owlbears and creepy, fireball-wielding, elf twins. We've had two deaths: Korrigidor, the Deranged Ranger, and Ruby, the Histamine-challenged Cleric. What could possibly happen next?

Oh, just you wait...

Here's the Important piece of the Very Important Post:

May is looking to be a difficult month for some in Mandala group. However, all hands need to be on deck for the next game, soooo....

Mandala group: How does May 31st at 1:00pm sound? If this does not work, let us know immediately, so we can nail down another date.


Fire group: I propose that you all play again before Mandala group. How about the 16th or 17th?

How's about a picture of an owlbear?:



Also: Yes, I know the recaps have not been happening. Again, the recording is always available to you for your group only. Please take notes during the game on important points. I will send out snippets here and there when I have time. And now here's a unicorn:

Mandala Group: Oasis Recap, The Rescue of Gorthag (Again)

The group stood a few yards away from The One-Eyed Ranger. It was a very large, dark log structure. Along the front, it was almost entirely lined with windows, some of which had been throw open to let in the summer breeze. A few women sat in the window sills, languidly fanning themselves with ornate fans, their bright silk dresses dancing around their legs and allowing glimpses of the smooth flesh beneath. There were many tables full of patrons and a long bar. The party watched as Ceffyl sidled up to the bar and flashed the bartender a cheesy grin. The plan was that Ceffyl would be inside the bar, just in case the exchange went sour. Blacklock's men did not know that he was part of the party, so he seemed the most obvious choice.

Parke emerged from the entrance to stand guard with another. It was time to make their move. The party walked toward the entrance and stopped about twenty feet from the door.

"We've come for our friend," said Arantxe.
"You keep strange bedfellows, miss," said Parke with a grin. "Well, come on in."
"No," she said. "we do this outside."

Parke scowled. He motioned to the other guard to stay there and went inside. Just then they could hear Ceffyl laughing loudly through the open window and pointing at the group. He had an arm around a pretty auburn-haired woman. "Look dear! And they say I'm a walking freak show. Elves and orcs and fancy ladies! I'd like to see that show..." and he finished by whispering something in her ear. She shrieked with laughter.

The guard leaned out away from his post at the door so he could see who was talking. "Heh. Just you wait, Ceffyl. The show is about to get freakier." Ceffyl raised his eyebrows and smiled. He drew the woman closer and whispered in her ear again. She took his flagon and moved off to the bar. Ceffyl crossed his arms and and watched the scene with an expectant expression.

The leprechaun emerged from the front door along with a couple other men holding a bound and gagged Gorthag. They threw him to the ground. One of the men was a massive brutish looking person.

"Gorthag. We're here to save you," said Arantxe.

The leprechaun took a long pull on a jug and wooped loudly. He regarded Arantxe for a moment and then said, "Hello there, pretty lass. I see you got rid of some unwelcome company. Well, I wouldn't worry about those maggots. Where they're headed, they'll find nothing but agony and death."

Arantxe shrugged, "It's what I would expect."

He flashed fake smile, more ferocious than friendly. "Well, I was just checking in on ya. I asked the apes here to pick up a bogger. I guess I should have asked for one who's head isn't a marley." He condescendingly patted Gorthag on the head. "No matter, I found out what I sought. The Dragon will never see the light of day. The serpent brothers will get you nits soon. BWAHAHAHA! And you poppies are walking right into their lair," he belched. "Those strange serpent brothers!"

He took another long pull on the jug, shuddered, and howled. He then looked for a moment at Arantxe and said, almost sadly, "Tis such a pity to lose such a fine bird." Then he vanished. Millicent thought to herself, Skin and hang it, I wanted to talk to him!

"What in Saros Balls?" said Parke. "He promised us loot. No matter, we found out that YOU have something interesting," he said, pointing at Nim'ohtar. "Hand it over to ole Parke, now."

"How much money were you promised, Parke?" asked Artanis, stepping up next to Arantxe.

"He said that you were sitting on a lot of gold and that trinket you got is worth a fair coin to the right people," said the man.

"I know nothing of trinkets," said Nim'ohtar. "I'll give you 100 gold right now."

Blacklock's men laughed. "If you want your idiot back, you'll hand over the trinket right now." Parke said. He and the big brute moved towards the group. Five other men came from around the building with long swords bared.

Millicent peered at the large man focusing all her mind to his. All she felt was greed. She turned her thoughts to Gorthag and had an immediate craving for buttermilk. Well, that's at least reassuring, she thought. Millicent watched as Arantxe moved towards her, shuffling protectively to the back of the group and out of harm's way. As she passed, Millicent touched her arm to stop her for a moment and whispered, "We need to negotiate with them."

"What's up with the freak redhead and her girlfriend?" asked Parke. The men laughed.

"Bring the half-Orc forward and we will bring the trinket forward," Nim'ohtar ordered.

The big man and another roughly dragged Gorthag forward. Parke smirked, "Let's not have any rash moves, now. We just want all your gold and the trinket."

Arantxe, feeling sick and tired of this whole thing, threw down a purse. One of the men slid over to retrieve it. Nim held out an ornate plate, "This is what you want." The large man stepped up and grabbed the plate and then handed it to Parke. The decoy plate was a great idea, but they were taking a chance. Their hopes rested on the fact that none of these players actually knew what the mandalas looked like.

Parke stared at the plate, then smiled to himself. "This is good but, but not enough. All of your gold. To me. Now."

Nim and Girt both begrudgingly threw down their purses. The men hastily counted the coins. "225 gold?" said Parke. "Not enough, surely you have more."

"Do we look rich?" asked Millicent. She was idly wondering if she should try to disarm these men with her new spell.

Artanis was motionless except for her lips which subtly moved in silent prayer. She closed her eyes...

Parke tossed his head in frustration, "Shit! That freak told us these people were rich," he said to the big man. He waved he hand carelessly in there direction, spun on his heel and started walking away, calling, "Take your idiot and get out of here." He men exchanged bewildered looks, then dispersed shaking and scratching their heads.

Arantxe moved over to Gorthag, drew her rapier and cut the ropes on his wrists. He drew the gag down from his mouth and looked up at her with simple adoration. Then he stood and looked at the rest of the group and smiled broadly, "I like friends. I like happy." He began to sob. "I not get stolen, again. Will stay with friends, forever. Gorthag promise."

The Minotaur Isles.

’Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the monster with point of sword,
with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea
was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

Located off the Rygge/Court peninsula, roughly 1,000 miles at sea, lie the three Minotaur Isles of Tohyilhal, Naelahi and Bahasahm, known collectively as the Seiskeyah. On these three small islands is the entirety of the minotaur population of Saros, a community of 20,000 individuals.

The minotaurs, or dehnastsosi, as they call themselves, are of uncertain provenance. Their creation myth tells of the deity Ne’ol, who, upon seeing the imperfect beings of other deities, scoffed, and molded an ideal race from the flawed creations of his peers, demonstrating his ability to improve upon the work of others.

The minotaurs of Saros, although a successfully seafaring race, are otherwise confined to their islands and are almost never seen on the mainland. This is due in equal parts to their distance from the mainland and their universal disdain for the humanoid races, along with the unwillingness of men, elves, dwarves and halflings to deal with such a difficult race. Because of their rarity on the mainland, the very existence of minotaurs is often relegated to legend, and among the residents of Saros, minotaurs are not uncommonly the villains of bedtime stories and fairytales, bogeymen that frighten children into behaving.

Minotaurs are large and well-built, standing close to 7 feet tall. Their heads, shoulders and upper chests are furry, with bovine snouts (although with forward-facing eyes), long muzzles and pronounced prognathism. Below the neck, minotaurs are similar to muscular humans. Both males and females sprout short horns as adults, and both primary and secondary sexual characteristics are similar to that found in humans, requiring adequate clothing for both sexes.

The Seiskeyah is a tropical region, in which food is plentiful. Minotaurs subsist on a mixture of hunting, fishing, gathering and rudimentary horticulture, the majority of the subsistence work being performed by the females or by slaves.

Society
Minotaur society is a loose theocracy, founded upon the teachings of Ne’ol. Within this system, minotaurs are the select and sole perfect race on Saros, an elite group whose domain should, ideally, include the entirety of the world and its lesser residents. Anything and everything done to accomplish this goal is fair game; legend says that after creating the minotaurs, Ne’ol left them to their own devices, trusting that they’d be smart enough, strong enough and ambitious enough to work his will without—as opposed to the case of most deities—constant interference. Why tinker, after all, with a race that is already flawless?

In that sense, religion plays both a major and minor role in minotaur society; while all minotaurs strive to take advantage of the perfection granted to them by Ne’ol and their rightful dominion over lesser races, they’re also unbound by conventional religious obligations and devotion. Ne’ol says nothing about interpersonal behavior, morality or ethics, allowing his race to figure it out for themselves, and there are no temples of Ne’or nor books of his teachings.

Minotaur society is organized as a collection of regional tribes who answer to a larger tribal council. Within each tribe is a number of family groups, each being a harem of females bound to a dominant male. Such a male might have as many as 15 wives, and has earned this through a series of ceremonial bouts, bloody and usually fatal battles. In many cases, a male may assume a harem by challenging and besting a superior male, often killing his predecessor’s offspring as part of his new standing. In minotaur culture, only the strongest and most dominant are allowed stature—and with it, breeding rights.

Because of this, the Seiskeyah are overrun with males devoid of tribe or family group. Some of these submissive males form itinerant tribes of their own, groups of submissive males who bide their time until they are able to strike at a vulnerable dominant male and take over his harem. Most, however, take to the sea.

Minotaurs at Sea
Minotaurs have a vibrant maritime culture and are skilled shipbuilders, sailors and navigators. This arose as a necessity for contact between the three islands of the Seiskeyah and has resulted in a thriving pirate culture in which minotaur crews prey on ships sailing from one Southern city to another.

The rise of the Southern Empire and the resultant explosion in trade only honed the skills of minotaur pirates, who have since refined their knowledge of shipping routes as well as their talent in naval warfare. Minotaur ships, well-built and staffed by a small crew, are fast and very nimble, able to outmaneuver and outrun Southern merchant galleys and warships.

A typical minotaur pirate vessel is equipped with trebuchets or catapults armed with pairs of massive iron weights strung together with steel wire, designed to destroy the masts of their prey and prevent them from moving. Once a merchant ship is dead in the water, the minotaur crew will board, raiding the merchant ship’s wares and often executing the highest-ranking of the crew. Common sailors are often captured, later sold as chattel, who become fieldworkers, personal servants or, in the worst case, food. Then, payloads of flaming tar or oil are thrown, sinking the merchant ship.

The city-states of the South responded to minotaur piracy by increasing the capabilities and number of warships, which prowled the coastal waters and often chaperoned merchant vessels from port to port. Despite this, dozens of ships were attacked every year, most of which were vessels who did not adhere to Merchants Guild guidelines or operated outside of governmental oversight. Vessels of the Southern armada, and those they escorted, were usually avoided by minotaur ships, being large, well-armed and well-crewed. Instead, pirates took their pick of the many smaller, unescorted ships—one or two masts being easier to topple than three or four. This translated to an increased danger for non-Guild commerce by sea (and yet another incentive for Guild membership).

The minotaur threat came to a head 30 years ago, when a well-armed pan-Southern armada cornered a fleet of the best-known, most-feared and largest minotaur ships around the Seiskeyah. This armada, numbering several dozen Southern ships, faced off against hundreds of smaller minotaur vessels, with the intent of wiping them out and then invading the Seiskeyah, forever ridding the South of the minotaur threat. The attack was aborted, however, when a particularly horrible storm blew in, sinking most of the armada and most of the minotaur ships. Piracy has been nearly nonexistent since, and the South has not seen any reason to take action against the minotaurs.

Goals
Minotaurs desire the subjugation of every non-minotaur on Saros and are aghast at how little credence is paid to their race among the inhabitants of the mainland. Because their maritime dealings are mainly with humans, it’s with that race that they have the biggest quarrel, but they are aware of and hate equally the dwarves and elves, the halflings and orcs and amazons. They’re shocked that even the centaurs, a lesser, less intelligent and weaker race but one that is most similar to themselves, fail to notice them and recognize their place.

Despite the inability of the mainland races to acknowledge their superiority, the minotaurs are indeed feared, albeit trapped on the Seiskeyah, vastly outnumbered and far-flung. Ironically, their least respected members, the submissive males, are the ones who have forged a reputation for the race.

Sub Rosa Recap: Aboard the Amity, Part Two.

ABOARD. Inside or upon a ship; the act of residing afloat; to hug the land in approaching the shore.—To fall aboard of, is for one vessel to run foul of another.—To haul the tacks aboard, is to bring their weather clues down to the chess-tree, or literally, to set the courses.—To lay an enemy aboard, to run into or alongside.

CAT'S-PAW. A light air perceived at a distance in a calm, by the impressions made on the surface of the sea, which it sweeps very gently, and then passes away, being equally partial and transitory. Old superstitious seamen are seen to scratch the backstays with their nails, and whistle to invoke even these cat's-paws, the general forerunner of the steadier breeze. Cat's-paw is also a name given to a particular twisting hitch, made in the bight of a rope, so as to induce two small bights, in order to hook a tackle on them both. Also, good-looking seamen employed to entice volunteers.

Their second day at sea dawned clear, and despite the lingering effects of the jiu, the crew and the group were in decent spirits. Rapchil, who’d spent most of the voyage so far above the deck in the riggings, was becoming proficient with his fishing, pulling in a few fish to give to the pleased Harry to prepare.

Constant noticed Cragge poring over the map of Trowe he’d bought at the Nordock market.

“You’re getting off in Trowe?” he asked. “Why? What are you going to do when you get there?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Cragge snapped.

“Don’t you have a sermon to give somewhere else?” said Rydley.

“Like the acrobat said, it’s all about money,” said Cragge.

“Money?” said Constant. “My purse is getting a little light.” He looked at them pointedly.

Ennecus pulled Cragge and Rapchil aside. “This preacher seems interested in money,” he said. “I think it might not be a bad idea to make him an offer. He’s a healer, and obviously we’re getting ourselves into trouble.”

Rapchil, especially, had problems with this, and Cragge pointed out that their employers, the companions, seemed to not get along with the Eldroite.

“Well, even if they dislike the man,” he said, “We could use someone who could heal us. Even they would see the wisdom in that.” The others nodded. The fight in Courte had, after all, been brutal, and they could only expect more bloodshed. They decided to broach this idea to their employers.

The group found the companions, who were busily fending off the advances of Danne, one of Reed’s crew who was particularly taken with them. “Can we speak to you?” asked Ennecus. Bisha nodded, glad to have an excuse.

“You’ll excuse us,” she told Danne.

“No problem at all,” Danne said, winking. “I’ll catch up with you ladies soon.”

Danne walked off and Scarlet looked to the group. “What is it?” she asked.

“The dwarf and I were talking, and we were thinking that we should bring the cleric along with us,” said Cragge. “We know you’ve got your problems with him, but he’s already done a lot for us, and you saw what kind of danger we got into back there. He could be a lot of use to us. Do you want to find this Edulf or not?”

Bisha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not joking,” said Cragge.

“Do you know what he stand for?” asked Bisha.

“I don’t.” said Cragge. “But is that more important than finding this guy?”

The companions went silent.

“You saw how easily those thieves tore us up back in the city. We’ll need him to help patch us up,” Ennecus insisted.

“You realize that, in the East, the priests of Eldro would have us sold, or burned at the stake. We’d be indentured or dead if he had his way.” Bisha said.

“I don’t want to be indentured to anyone,” whined Scarlet.

“Do you want to lose all of us?” asked Ennecus. “You might have noticed that we’re lacking anybody that can help us keep on fighting.”

The companions looked at each other, and excused themselves to talk. Although the group couldn't hear what they were saying, the conversation seemed animated, and when they returned, both companions were red in the face.

Bisha tossed her hair, and said, “If he comes along, you realize we will not give a single gold piece to the Eldroite. We simply will not.”

Rydley looked up, suddenly paying attention. “Do you want me to kill him?”

Bisha couldn’t tell if he was serious behind those half-lidded eyes. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

“It seems to me that all this cleric wants to do is wander and preach his word,” said Ennecus. “If we provide him a vehicle to do that, he might come along, and he might help us.”

“He’s getting away from something,” said Cragge, shaking his head, “But he’ll come along. He’ll jump at the chance.”

“Either way,” said Rapchil. “Either way, he’ll come along.”

“If you want him to come along, he’s your responsibility,” said Bisha. “He’s your charge. If he’s to be paid, he’s paid out of your pockets, not ours.”

The group agreed to this, and decided that it should be Rapchil that approached Constant. He wound his way down to the hold, Cragge in tow, and found Constant in his bunk, reading. Constant sat up immediately.

“Hello, Rapchil, Cragge,” he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

“Rapchil has a proposition for you,” said Cragge, nudging the half-elf forward.

“So,” said Rapchil, “We’re going to be heading out of the city once we hit the port, and we were wondering if you’d like to come along. We could use the company, and we think you could use the company, as well.”

“I’m positively honored to be asked,” said Constant, “And, to be honest, I’d be quite relieved to get off this boat. I’d very much—”

“Of course,” said Rapchil, interrupting, “we’d want a little money for our protective services.”

Not missing a beat, Constant said, “Failing that, you could take it out in services that I provide to the group. And,” he said, looking at Rapchil, “to you, personally.”

Rapchil drew back, and Constant continued. “May I interpret this as an interest in the way of Eldro?”

“We’re really looking for just your help,” said Cragge. “In all fairness, I should tell you that there might be some danger, the way we’re going. We could use your expertise if one of us is injured.”

Constant thought about this for a moment. “I’d certainly be interested in lending a hand where I could,” he said, looking pointedly at Rapchil. “But I’d also be interested in speaking with each of you more about the way of Eldro, because you seem like people who would benefit from it.”

“One thing, first,” said Cragge. “How do you feel about the women with us, the companions?”

Constant took a breath. “Well,” he said, “while I can’t condone the profession that they’ve chosen or the life that they live, I believe that the way of Eldro is the path to true salvation, and that path is open to all. I look forward to speaking with these companions, and perhaps, if they are willing, sharing my love of Eldro with them so that they, too, can find the way of Eldro.”

“The more pointed question, preacher,” said Ennecus, “Are you going to cause problems with these two women? Because that’s something we can’t have.”

“We won’t allow you to hurt them,” added Cragge.

Constant was taken aback. “Why, I’d never hurt anyone. I would never hurt any of you. I am not here to hurt—I’m here to help. And I vow, I will endeavor to be respectful of the choices those two have made.

“But, I can’t emphasize enough that the path of Eldro, the path of purity and righteousness, is the true path. And, while I can’t say that these companions will ever find that path, I can say that I mean them no harm. There’s a saying among those who follow Eldro. It says that if you grasp the hand of salvation with absolute confidence, you’ll be embraced by truth, and by goodness. If you grasp my hand, I’ll grasp yours.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Cragge, growing weary of the Eldroite’s sermon. “You’ll disembark with us at Trowe.”

Constant nodded, smiling as the group left him.

Their second day was as calm as the first, favorable winds and calm seas treating Amity well. The late-summer sun was pleasant, and Rapchil, having escaped to his place in the rigging, caught more fish to give to Harry. The crew was pleased by the ease of the voyage, they sailed on through the second night.

***

Constant tossed and turned, sweating through his hammock. Eldro was peeling away the layers of darkness, revealing, as he sometimes did, events yet to come. The vision was cloudy, but Constant could see wind, and waves, and thunder—and, though the murk, the dull shine of exposed teeth.

He awoke with a start. It was morning, and the ship still cut through calm seas. He splashed water on his face and climbed the stairs to the deck, where he saw Reed and Bull at the wheel, consulting a map. From above, Rapchil, the half-elf, cast another line into the ocean, already fishing for his breakfast.

Constant dallied for a moment, talking to Rydley, who seemed remarkably relaxed.

“What’s your name again?” asked the assassin.

“Constant Miscagive,” said Constant. “And you are Rydley, yes?”

“Miscavige? Sounds like ‘mischievous’,” slurred Rydley. “I don’t like mischief. Mucks up plans.”

“It can, yes,” agreed Constant. “Where’s the captain?” Rydley, slumped against the gunwales, waved his hand laconically toward the bridge. Constant nodded and headed that way, seeing Reed and Bull near the wheel.

“Captain,” said Constant. “I don’t want to pry, but what does the weather look like today?”

Reed regarded him for a moment, wanting terribly to yell but deciding to tell him the truth. “Bull here,” said the captain, “says he doesn’t like the look of the skies.” In the west, a tinge of black smudged the horizon. “Why?”

“I just have an inkling that there might be some bad weather on the way,” said Constant. “Do you think maybe we should—do you think there’s something blowing in? Is there a different route to take?”

“This is the only route,” said Reed. “We’re on the Sucurrent. We’ve got a tailwind. Much as you and Bull don’t like things, we’ve got no choice but forward.”

Constant nodded and retreated back to the deck, where crew muttered and the group watched. By now, the clouds on the horizon had drawn everyone’s attention, and Constant began to preach, invoking his vision and the gift of sight that Eldro had provided.

“We’re in for bad weather, you say?” said Rydley, still reclined. “My god,” he said, pointing to his eyes, “told me that, too.”

The clouds were moving in quickly, and as they did so, an argument erupted, with Cragge defending Constant and Rydley mocking the Eldroite. Constant, shouting above the noise, said, “I came to the captain early! Eldro showed me this!”

The storm hit.

The storm was strong, and it was violent. Even with everything belowdecks secured, the group were tossed about like rag dolls. Many of the crew, too, were below, praying and mumbling litanies to themselves. Some of them began to gather around Constant, who prayed to Eldro to keep them safe. Looking up the stairs to the deck, they saw Roz, who had lashed herself to the mast, staring intently ahead and seemingly unbothered by the rain and the winds.

Suddenly, the heaving ceased. All noise surrounding the ship stopped, and all that could be heard were the drips of rainwater falling from the sails and the creaking of the Amity. Many of the crew embraced each other, or cheered. Some looked to Constant with newfound respect.

The group emerged from the stinking hold to find Bull and Reed involved in a vigorous discussion. To the cheering crew, Reed snapped, “Shut your mouths. How long you been sailing? Not long enough to know that this is even worse. We’re dead in the water!”

And indeed, as the storm moved eastward, there was no wind in its wake. The ship floated, completely still, in the water, the sea in every direction like glass.

Bull grunted again and nudged Reed, pointing to the south. There, a tiny speck moved toward them. Reed paled.

“What it is?” asked Ennecus, craning his neck.

Reed swallowed. “Sea cows.”

Burning of Markindale Part 2, Act III

Richard, Pearson and Sionel left the clerics to their squabble. As they were leaving from the east, Richard turned to look back over his shoulder across the market and into the town hall square. The peasants had resumed beating the door with a battering ram. Excellent, thought Richard.

The general store was just a block away from the market. A couple of young men darted out carry a large crate. When the three adventurers entered they found it already looted.

"Hmm, well, all we really need to do is get the fire started," said Richard.

Sionel looked around at the inside of the store. There were many wooden crates with packing straw. "Maybe we should start by burning this place down," she said.

The door banged open and a peasant woman ran into the store. She dropped to her knees and started pulling on Richard's cloak. "Please, sir, please! Strange men are raping my sister! Please help! Help!"

Richard looked at her in with disdain, "I don't have time for this."

Sionel's nostrils flared. "The Amazon will not abide the violation of any woman." She drew her dagger. "I must go take care of this."

"My house is down here," the woman said through her tears, and she led the way out the door and into the street. Richard and Pearson followed.

"In there!" The woman pointed to a modest one story dwelling. The door was ajar. There were shrieks coming from within.

Sionel entered silently and cat-like. On the floor a man was holding a knife to a woman's throat while another man was forcing himself on her. She was screaming. The man suddenly recognized that they were not alone and jumped up, alerting his friend to Sionels presence. They both turned on her with dagger drawn. They were scrawny and unkempt and had the look of Xain addicts.

Sionel tossed her own dagger aside and drew her two handed sword. The sword blade descended in a heavy downward stroke through one rapist from shoulder through sternum. He wobbled and blood gurgled up and out of his mouth. He sank to the floor. He companion screamed in horror as Sionel grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor with one hand while holding the point of the sword to his neck.

"What in Saros Bowels is going on, here?" she asked the man.

"I-I don't know," the man cried. "I just lost control of myself."

"I need information," Sionel demanded. "What has happened in this town."

"We were looking for some easy scores," said the man. He was sweating profusely and he reeked.

"Do you know a woman named Farroe?" asked Sionel.

"We're just from a village in Courte. We were wandering north looking for easy money, you know," he tried to shrug. "This was just the next town--"

Sionel skewered him and tossed him on the floor. She extended her hand to the woman on the floor who stood sobbing and holding herself.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Sionel said. The sister came running into the house. She was pawing at Sionel's clothes and thanking her over and over. Sionel began to feel uncomfortable.

"Can you pay us for our trouble?" Sionel asked.

"Yes. Yes!" the woman said. She ran to a room in the back and returned with 7 silver pieces and 16 copper pieces. "This is all we have."

Sionel took it.

**************************************************************************************************************

Richard and Pearson were waiting outside. Richard was growing impatient and wondering why he had taken up with these people. They saw Sionel emerge from the house. She looked unusually pensive.

"Are we done ridding the world of loathsome men?" asked Richard in a patronizing manner.

Sionel ignored him and started walking back to the general store.

As they neared the general store they saw the Clerics of Andro coming from the market. They were down to five clerics. The paladin was of course still among them. Richard motioned for Sionel and Pearson to head back to the market. "Search the bodies," he whispered.

One of the clerics of Andro caught site of them and approached, "What do you know about our shawl?" he demanded. Richard noted that like the witch, he wasn't quite looking at him but over his shoulder.

"I thought the Hro Clerics took it," said Sionel and she sauntered towards the market.

The Androites eyed her up and down and then kept walking towards their temple, muttering to themselves.

After finding nothing on the bodies in the market the threesome returned to the general store and set to work, making it as flammable as possible.

***************************************************************************************************************

"...the town is being swallowed by blackness and it blinds them like the sun," finished the mad-woman. She had been trying to describe to the lesser beings the remarkable events currently going on in Markindale.

"Yeah, sounds bad," said Farroe, turning to Zagros and spinning her finger around her temple. "But I already know it's a dangerous place. I watched my friends get murdered there."

"That was death by flesh and desire. How banal. Now there is death by cosmic fear and the people howl," the mad-woman explained. "But I care not for these soul filled beings. I like this tree better. It dies and returns, dies and returns." She began to spin around the tree.

"Watching a bunch of Markindaler's get murdered sounds great to me!" said Zagros. Like the guy who took my saddlebag and the kids who tried to get me to give them pony rides....

"You need a plan!" said Farroe. She had been harping on the need for a plan for the past hour. "You don't seem to like Markindale much. Why? Or does Markindale have something against you?"

"Well, there is that thing where the Mayor sent us to kill some people for money," Zagros said slowly.

"And!?" asked Farroe. "What about it?"

"Well, we didn't kill them so well," Zagros said. He shrugged.

"Who was it?" said Farroe.

"Remember those guys that just cut you down from the tree?" said Zagros.

"Oh," Farroe recovered quickly from this. "Well, even better reason to have a good plan."

"I can gallop really fast," offered Zagros.

"That's great," said Farroe, sarcastically. "I'll go with you. You obviously need a fighter. You are both pathetic. Hammers for brains over here," she pointed at the mad-woman. "And the door to door salesman."

"I know this gravesite nearby we can loot. You see, there was this dryad..." Zagros continued the story as they headed towards the town.

***************************************************************************************************************
Back at the mayor's residence, Khiyra was getting bored. The townspeople were bashing away at the door with slow progress. They had not heard anymore from the mayor. The window in the tower from where the bolt of fire descended was dark, the curtain blowing in the breeze.

Khiyra decided to take a look around. He walked to the back of the building to survey the structure more carefully. The ground floor was windowless stone and about 8 feet tall. The second floor had windows, but these were all barred. At the very top and center was a tower with either two small rooms or one large room. Khiyra could not be sure. At the very top was a belfry like structure with no bell. It was open air beneath a peaked roof.

Khiyra rummaged through his pack and pulled out a length of rope with a grappling hook on one end. He knew he could not hook the belfry, but he could definitely get to one of the barred windows, and from there make his way to the belfry and why the hell not not? This was high adventure, right? Waiting for things to happen wasn't much different than sitting in prison rotting, and he had experienced too much of that already.

He tossed the grappling hook. It landed with a click of steel on iron. Solid.

He easily climbed to the barred window. Holding himself steady with elbow hooked into a wrought iron bar and one foot on the window ledge, he tied the rope to his wasit so as not to lose it and tossed the grappling hook again. He missed the belfry ledge and the grappling hook went swinging to the ground, making a disturbing clanking noise as it hit the side of the building.

Khiyra hauled up the length of rope and tossed again. This time the grappling hook landed true. Satisfied with his skill, he slithered confidently up the rope. He was nearing the belfry. He looked down, redistributed his weight and hand over hand took the next couple feet to the top. As he looked up, feeling particularly pleased with himself, he was dismayed to find the faces of two men looking down at him.

But Khiyra was quick and he hadn't got this far just to give in. Setting his face in his most earnest expression possible he said, "I hear the mayor needs my help. Take me to him immediately. I have important information."

The two men looked at each other. They were both in their late 20s. One had a steel helm and one a leather one. The one with the steel helm pointed at Khiyra and said, not too kindly, "Climb over."

"Of course, of course," said Khiyra very politely.

"Drop your weapons," the steel headed one continued.

"Of course, absolutely," Khiyra said. "I would have come through the front, but as you have probably noticed, that is not the easiest route to take at the moment."

"Stay there," said the man in leather and the two guards went walked a little off to the side and started whispering to each other fervently.

Khiyra picked up that the steel helmed guard was all business and did not like the looks of Khiyra. The leather helmed guard was very nervous about the crowd.

"I don't know," muttered steelhead.

"That's my uncle down there," said leatherhead urgently, pointing at the front of the building where the mob was busy at work.

Khiyra interrupted. "Look, I have news that the Mayor must hear immediately! They are going to breach the gate any minute. There isn't time!"

"We better take him down," said steelhead.

"Ok, Jackson," siad leatherhead. "But I don't know. I think we should just get out of here."

Jackson opened a trap door in the floor that revealed some stairs leading down into the manor. He pointed from Khiyra to the stairs. "After you mister," and he drew his weapon to demonstrate how serious he was about his job.

Khiyra sighed. "Well, if I must enter like a common criminal, I must." He descended the stairs with his hands above his head.

Sub Rosa Recap: Aboard the Amity, Part One.

The Amity crept out of Courte Harbor at dawn. The group were gathered abovedeck, watching the city disappear. After their long night, the thief attack, the drunken dwarves, the insane Bound woman, and the two bits of disturbing news they'd heard at the docks, none were particularly sad to be leaving. “She’s a pretty city, Courte, ain’t she?” commented Captain Reed. “Not my hometown and she’ll never be, but a good place for a furlough.” Reed motioned to his first mate, a massive, bald, shirtless half-orc at Amity’s wheel. “You meet Bull? Bull, meet stowaways. Stowaways, Bull.” Bull looked at the group and grunted. Reed grinned. “My favorite thing about Bull is that he’s a good listener. You know?” Bull grunted again.

Reed waved his hand at the rest of the crew. “And that’s the rest of the crew. Not good for much, most of ‘em, but they keep Amity more or less afloat and me in girls like your Aileen back there. Most of ‘em running from something—and you met the cleric already, so you see what I mean—but who isn’t these days?”

Reed recommended they stake their quarters in the hold, a corner of which his crew had cleared and hung hammocks in. Making their way carefully due to the unfamiliar motion of the ship in the water, they tromped to the hold. On the way, they brushed by a striking woman, clad in leather boots and a torn, sleeveless silk shirt. On her hip was belted a cutlass. “Out of my way, lubbers,” she said. “You think just because you have gold you can come aboard and stink up our works?” She shoved by them rudely, stalking to confer with Reed and Bull.

In the hold, as they stowed their belongings, the cleric Reed had referred to, the odd, earnest man who had repaired Ennecus and Rydley, approached them. “I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but I was wondering. Do you know Eldro?” he asked. The group demurred, and the man introduced himself. “I am Constant Miscavige,” he said, looking the group up and down.

“Hi,” said Ennecus.

“Hello,” Constant said, shortly, barely looking at the dwarf, and turned his attention to Rapchil. “What’s your name?” he said, softly. Rapchil immediately felt uncomfortable and scurried out of the hold to climb the rigging.

Constant watched him go. “A pity,” he said. “So where is it you’re heading? Would you like to learn about the Way of Eldro? I have much to tell you, if you’d like to listen, and to pray with me.” The group was silent, and Constant changed tacks. “What is your story?” he asked Cragge.

“I don’t have a story,” said Cragge, already feeling a little sick from the motion of the ship.

“What’s your name?” Constant asked.

“Cragge,” replied the ranger.

“Cragge! What an interesting name!” Constant exclaimed. “Where are you from? What brings you here?”

“I’m from around,” said Cragge.

“I’m Ennecus,” volunteered the dwarf. “I’m just a wanderer.” He hoped he sounded mysterious, too.

Constant ignored him. “And who is this?” he asked, looking to Rydley, who looked terrible, pale and increasingly seasick, scowling in the shadows of the hold. “He’s not very sociable,” volunteered Cragge.

Bisha and Scarlet were comfortable at sea, but the stink and clutter of the hold were new to them. They also did not like this Constant, this priest of Eldro, whose eyes skittered across them. As ladies of Karre, they had no love for Eldro or his people.

“How did you find yourselves all together?” asked Constant.

Rapchil poked his head into the hold, grabbing his staff and a length of twine with which to fashion a fishing pole. “Money,” he said.

“Why, what a delightful little comment!” Constant exclaimed, beaming. Rapchil shuddered and left for abovedeck again.

Constant sighed. “I’ve always dreamed of being in a group like yours, all those brotherly bonds, a shared goal, working together. What is your objective?”

“I don’t think we’re at liberty to say,” said Ennecus. “What brings you aboard this boat?”

“I am spreading the great, good and righteous word of Eldro through the world,” Constant replied. “Making for the Way of Eldro among the peoples of Saros.”

“You’re a long way from home,” said Bisha coldly, addressing the cleric for the first time.

“That is true,” said Constant. “But as you know, the worshipers of Eldro are scattered throughout the world. And those that wish to know him are, too.”

“Maybe you should go back,” snapped Bisha. She turned on her heel and stomped up to the deck. Scarlet followed her.

“Well, that was rude,” said Cragge. “Do you want some wine?”

The cleric nodded, and Cragge poured two cups from the barrel of wine she’d bought at the Nordock markets. They drank a while, Cragge trying to battle his queasiness with alcohol, Ennecus stumbling clumsily around the hold and Rydley watching them with half-lidded eyes.

“Are you people of faith?” Constant asked them.

“Nah,” said Cragge. “That never helps.”

“I’ve travelled long and far and have seen many peoples,” said Ennecus. “I find it hard to believe there is only one true faith.”

“Well, you would,” said Constant. He turned back to Cragge. “The Way of Eldro might surprise you,” he said. “If you have emptiness in your life, a place that, shall we say, needs to be filled, I’d be happy to speak with you.” He looked to the pale young assassin, whose wounds he’d healed earlier and who watched them silently.

“And how are you faring?” he inquired gently. Rydley shrugged. “Do you follow a religion?” Rydley shook his head.

“Well, one of my roles on this ship, and one of my greatest joys,” said Constant, “is that I hold regular services in the name of Eldro. I’d be happy to minister to any of you.” He raised his voice, calling to abovedecks, where he could see Rapchil casting a line from the rigging. “And that goes for you, too,” he shouted. “No matter what you’ve heard, I am interested in ministering to all races!”

Rapchil looked down. “Not interested in ministering!” he called back. Constant smiled.

The group spent the day battling their seasickness; although the waters were calm, none but the companions had spent much time asea. As they watched, land receded and the Amity caught the Sucurrent, the westerly shipping lane that ran along the Southern coast and expedited trade between the cities of the South. It was, except for some nausea, a pleasant late-summer day, with the sun beaming, favorable winds and smooth waters.

In the early evening, when the sun was dipping below the horizon, Reed called to them. “Everyone abovedeck!” The group gathered on the deck, where the entire crew was massed, opening bottles of jiu, the fiery rice-whiskey of the South, and pouring themselves cups, toasting.

Reed was himself drinking, and raised his cup as the group arrives. “Best thing about the Amity is, first night at sea, we’ve got Harry there to put together a good meal. Can’t fix rigging to save his life, but Harry can cook up a storm. Got some mudbugs from Courte and spices from the East, thanks to the cleric there, and I intend to start this trip right. So dig in!” The crew cheered.

Harry, a grinning, slight man, dumped out the contents of several pots onto makeshift tables, a steaming concoction of mudbug, fish, rice, herbs and vegetables that smelled delicious and made the stomachs of even the seasick group rumble. The crew of the Amity descended upon the food immediately, everyone digging in and making appreciative noises. Harry slapped backs and performed a bit of impromptu food-themed comedy, pulling eggs from the ears of the delighted Companions, who were in much better spirits now that they were away from the creepy Eldroite.

The crew ate and drank and sang, everyone passing around bottles of the jiu, which even Cragge wrinkled her nose at. Ennecus, who’d had a bad day due to Constant’s snubbing and the unfamiliar rocking of the ship, took a proffered glass, downing it. It tasted like lantern oil and burned his throat, but it improved his mood considerably. The companions began drinking, chatting amiably with Reed’s, crew, enjoying the chance to flirt and the pleasant evening.

As the evening wore on, Reed became more loquacious, the jiu loosening his tongue. Reclining comfortably on a barrel, he began to tell them about Trowe, where he’d grown up, where he’d attended the Four Walls, the famed military school, and in whose militia he’d served.

“Didn’t mind the military life so much. It suited me well, in some regards, as long as I was the one giving the orders. But you’ve got cases like Bound there, born officers don’t do their due, folks who’ll send men to die without knowing what it’s like to draw blood. Listen: I was at the Walls with your Petrus, your to-be Inquisitor, he has his way. Wants to kill all the orcs, the centaurs, the Easterners.” Constant looked up from the prayer service he’d been trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold. “Wants to because he can, because ain’t his blood being spilled. Easy to send a man to die if it ain’t your man.” Reed spat. “Garbage.”

“Captain Reed?” said Constant. “May I just say a few words? It seems wrong to eat without saying a few words in honor of Eldro.”

“Do what you want,” said Reed, motioning dismissively. Over the din, Constant intoned a prayer. A few sailors watched as he spoke. “Eldro is the source of all justice,” Constant began, “Wishing to have us join him in his pure land, showering his light upon us in order to make us grow in wisdom, and to become conscious of sinfulness and falsehoods, whereby we might come to imitate the desire of being born into a land of truth and righteousness.”

One of Reed’s men listened intently, and as Constant finished his prayer, said. “My grandfather followed Eldro.”

“Oh? Do tell? Are you a worshiper? Have you been to worship recently?”

The sailor thought for a moment, quite drunk. “He was run over by a calvalryman.”

Cragge, deep into his barrel of wine by now, burped and wiped his mouth. “And that’s what happens when you believe in the gods.”

The sailor continued, softly, “It took about eight months for him to die. That horse did a number on him.” Constant began to approach, but was interrupted by Reed.

“That reminds me! Did I ever tell you about Gayle? This girl Gayle I know? She was run over, too! You think she would charge less, with just the one leg, but she managed to have a line of men out the door, and at such prices you’ve never seen.” Reed then launched into a long and disgusting story about the One-Legged Whore of Haddon, which managed to divert most of his crew’s attention from the Eldroite.

Beneath the roars of laughter, Constant attempted to speak, first with Cragge, then with the assassin, who had emerged from the hold sweaty and weakly smiling. He brushed aside Ennecus, who was trying to tell him something, and was in turn brushed off by Rapchil, who scrambled back up into the rigging to drink and escape Constant. This would be a lot of work, bringing these motley people around to the Way of Eldro. But such are the mysteries, and the challenges, of Eldro, and he must never blink in receiving them.