Taking up his trident, Corwin silently prodded open the cellar door and slipped outside into the night.

Corwin and his mother had known the local canine populations for quite some time, and the relations were often antagonistic. So Corwin had a fair idea of where the local hunting grounds for the wolves lay.





He was not long in searching. A stray roan-haired mare had wandered off the road to Boughbog earlier in the day, and the wolves had found her and brought her down. Two wolves remained at the horse's side, tearing strips of flesh from the cooling equine body and eating their fill.





A loud "pop" struck the grove as Corwin approached. Looking down to his heel he saw that his steps had crushed the skull of a raccoon, one of the wolves' previous meals in the past winter. The two wolves looked up from their feast of horse flesh and laid eyes on the human approaching them, and for a moment the air was wracked with tension.

The wolves sniffed and snapped their jaws, then took their eyes from Corwin and returned to their meal. And the air fell back to a more easy state as Corwin deliberated on what to do.





Corwin >

Corwin will move over to the stump/tree next to him, pick up a rock (i'm assuming that there is one around) and chuck it at the wolves, then prepare for their arrival (readying trident)

Kneeling at the base of the tree to his side, Corwin pulled a fist-sized cobble out from under one of the roots and stood again. For several long seconds he gauged the weight of the rock, rolling it in his hand, tossing it up and catching it again. When he was satisfied that he could hurl it with some accuracy, he settled his weight onto his rearmost leg and whipped his arm at the nearest wolf, hurling the rock with bone-jarring force.





A distinct "Whump!" resounded as the cobble punched solidly into the ribs behind the wolf's shoulder. For a fleeting moment, the injured beast stared at nothing and bared its teeth quietly, stunned, unable to fully comprehend the sudden pain or the reason behind it. Corwin waited for the moment to pass, and he did not wait long; the wolf promptly opened its mouth to bite and leaped a half-circle, then raced at Corwin with a growing snarl and a fire in its eyes.





Corwin (Init 8 ) > Setting his trident against Wolf 2's charge
Wolf 2 (Init 7) > Charge attack on Corwin
Wolf 1 > Taking one last bite of horse....

corwin will set to recieve charge

The sight of the charging wolf was intimidating, but Corwin was well-prepared in mind and in armament. With fury the beast leaped, but no sooner had the wolf's paws left the earth than Corwin, acting without warning, weighed his heel into the earth and slammed the butt of his trident against it, swinging the barbed prongs into the predator's trajectory. A wet tearing noise, rivulets of blood splattering across Corwin's breast, and the weight of the twitching impaled beast bore down on the trident, bending the resolute wood of the shaft into a graceful arc.

The terrified yelping subsided as the other wolf sucked down a reaved strip of muscle. Its sense of caution primed by the disquieting death of its companion, the second beast circled around slowly, looking for its chance to leap in and tear down the slayer of its mate.





Wolf 1 (Init 13) > Moving in and biting Corwin
Corwin (Init 9) > Charging the wolf

corwin is charging the second wolf

Corwin readied his trident overhead in preparation before charging the wolf. Haplessly, the wolf was swifter, and Corwin yelped sharply as the beast darted in low and clamped its teeth around Corwin's calf. The searing pain intensified as the wolf reared on its hindquarters and strained to pull the man's leg out from under him, but the struggle was interrupted when Corwin's free leg swung into the beast's forelegs and rocked its footing in turn. The bite on Corwin's leg was eased, and he expressed his relief by plunging the prongs of his trident deeply into the small of the wolf's back.


Corwin (Init 4) > Domain power: Smite attack on Wolf 1
Wolf 1 (Init 2) > Biting Corwin again

for simplicities sake in translating these my Corwin post content will be in "lime"

In addition so prevent page breaking and possible bandwith hogging i have/will spoiler all pictures.


corwin will use his smite for the day on the wolf and attack




At that moment, the guttural snarl which pealed from Corwin's throat sounded almost inhuman as the trident's barbed points descended. With brutal power the weapon staked the beast to the earth by its neck, and a choked, plaintive howl struck loudly enough to shake the leaves overhead. Corwin yanked his blood-slicked trident free from the wolf's flesh and surveyed his work with a degree of exhiliration...and satisfaction.





And when the heavy breathing of a great, monstrous beast rose behind him, Corwin knew that he was not as alone as he had thought. With trident ready to lunge, he twisted at the waist to face the beast: a great white worg, looking past Corwin and surveying both of the kills with a firm degree of scrutiny.

And satisfaction.

"The killer has begun his awakening, I see," the white worg appraised, "but is he a predator yet? He strains at the leash which his mother holds, just as the townsfolk strain at the leash of their comforts. They know what powers the mother possesses yet will not cut the killer from his leash, for the mother threatens them not. You chose a rather direct way of calling to your benefactor, didn't you?"
"My lord reminded me that I have been remiss in performing my duties, and the wolves needed to remember that all is prey at one time or another." Corwin gestured breifly towards the bodies. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, would you care to join me for an early breakfast?"

"Regretably, I cannot tarry," answered the great worg as it circled closer to Corwin, "though the agreeable thing about lesser lords is that they keep closer eyes on each of their vassals. Even tin and lead would be prized were they rarer than gold. So attend my words with care."
Drawing near, the white beast's snout lapped at Corwin's wound as it passed. To the lad's unexpecting delight, he witnessed the wounds closing beneath the torn rents in his leggings, leaving only small scars to remind him of the encounter in later days. That tongue lashed through its maw and across the beast's lips, as if savoring what human blood it had tasted.



The beast resumed its speech. "Very soon, craven Damaran may be roused to intervene and preserve a band of his devoted rogues and goblins from extinction at the hands of paladins. Soonafter, Ralishaz will personally take from his most devout priest a hand, a small price to pay for the fatal misfortune of a mighty rival. And later still, Doresain himself will guide his serpents into the nest where Wee Jas hatches her young followers, and he will hatch more serpents among them. Would the Devourer not take a spare moment to nudge a new owl from the nest and see if it spreads its wings?"
The white worg passed by the fallen wolves again as its path spiraled away. "Your mother concocts a bitter brew; she should guard it well, lest the fruit of her womb be more venomous than the potion she boils. Will the people of Boughbog continue to avoid the serpent in the woods, or will they finally heed their friend and come for her once they taste of her poison? Looking back, one might even conclude that the wayward broodling harnessed a feud and orchestrated the entire snake hunt to secure his own ends...a more sophisticated destroyer, yes?"

"The time approaches. Your mother's own hidden ambitions are at long last drawing near. If you do not leap forth and spread your wings, you will be trapped in the nest forever. Farewell, young one."

With that, the white worg abruptly turned from Corwin and raced away into the darkness, leaving Corwin alone once more. The remains of the wolves and the horse were stripped away as the great beast passed, leaving only bones which curiously held the marks of being vigorously chewed by the phantom teeth of a carnivore beyond space and time. And not a fleck of blood or a strip of gristle remained.


Well.. Corwin thought looking forlornly at the stripped carcasses I did offer him breakfast

Corwin will take from one of the bodies a leg bone
at any rate, corwin will return home, it wil only be a matter of time before mother wakes up, and I have a suprise for her

The wolf's femur still felt warm as Corwin took it up in his hand and tucked it under his belt. Returning home, thoughts without number raced madly through his mind, plotting and anticipating.

Standing outside the front door of the dismal hovel, Corwin could still hear Mother's soft snores murmuring through glass, timber and stone. A light plume of gray smoke continued to rise slowly from the flue of the crude, blackened chimney. And the crickets remained silent.




The dipper and the staff still remained near the fireplace in the center of the room, and the cauldron still whispered with the frothing, seething pink liquid. Several flat-bottomed flasks and vials stood on the table near the firepit, their corkwood stoppers resting beside them in expectation of the glasses being filled with various potions.

Beyond the wooden partition, down mumbled and straw crunched as Mother turned in her sleep. Leaves, roots and strips of dried flesh dangling from the low rafters trembled softly as the door opened, and the great earthen symbol of the Devourer over the pantry seemed to leer with glinting teeth as Corwin crept inside.

Corwin will scoop up a dipperfull of the "potion of madness" and decides he'd better check to make sure it's done...


the mothers of the villagers always said of their cooking that the had to taste it to tell if it was done... since mothers asleep, it would be a shame to wake her before she trys her brew...

he'll pour the dipperfull down her snoring, bitchy, demanding mouth, and cover it with a firm hand, it'd be a shame if she spit it out...

The potion held a peculiar scent not unlike split melons as Corwin ladled it from the cauldron and brought it to Mother's bed. The aroma met her nose as well, and she seemed to smile pleasantly as she turned again in her sleep. For half a minute Corwin feared that she might wake, but she relaxed and took to snoring again.

That was when he lunged and tipped the dipper, splashing the hot contents into her mouth and holding her lips closed. But then she stirred violently and pushed him away with a violent hand.

"Whhfff...Corwin! You! You..." Mother accused in a loud, waking tone, lunging at him and tumbling from her bed as the concentrated potion took hold. She began rolling about on the floor, tearing at her sheets and her bedclothes as she compulsively cackled like a madwoman. A cold sweat fell from her skin and her eyes flared, searing the ceiling with her sudden spell of lunacy.


well, since she said the watered down version of the potion would make the cattle run mad til they died of exaustion, i figure i have some time before it wears off. he'll grapple her (he's planning on locking her in the basement)


However potent her potion, Gwenlyn's sorcerous power and force of will were very strong, and she might have soon thrown off the potion's effects. Corwin knew this and acted quickly, falling on his mother with vehemence.





"...rrrrRRRRRBASTARD!" Gwenlyn screamed as she hoisted her son from the floor and hurled him against the edge of the partition, splintering the wood as he fell past. Corwin slumped to the floor but returned to his feet as his mother came at him again. Though the poison wore at her mind and her sanity, it would seem that in her madness she did not know her own strength.





"Bastard! Ungrateful...poppy seed eyes! Spit out our cloven hoof tongues! My life, defiled by his lecherous seed! By a grateless bastard! YeaarrrRRRRGH!!!"

Gwenlyn leaped at Corwin with hatred beyond reason burning in her eyes.

Spoiler:

Corwin (Init 13) > Hitting Gwenlyn with the dipper
Gwenlyn (Init 12) > Grab grab grab....

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

3 subdual? corwin should have at least 8 points left of subdual, at lvl 1 he should have 11 hp total, and he's perfectly healthy before his mom jumps him

You've lost your edge, feasting on the leavings of those filthy sheep in town... he'll club her with the dipper. My lord is not pleased




Corwin raised the brass dipper and rang it loudly off his mother's cranium, but her maniacal rush was not abated. Yet she lunged too soon; with half a step back, Corwin allowed Mother to stumble to one knee and furiously battered her head and shoulders with the big ladle as she recovered her footing. Stressed from the violence, the ladle's handle began to bend and twist.

"BLEEERRRRRAAAAHHHHH!!!" she screeched, taking another vicious lunge at her son.

Spoiler:

Gwenlyn (Init 12) > Trying to save the cauldron
Corwin (Init 6) > Taking the cauldron

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

Thinking quickly, Corwin stormed over to the cauldron and lifted it from the fire. Mother was immediately upon him, and soon mother and son were locked in a tug-of-war, each yanking and wrenching the cauldron by its handles. Pink gouts and droplets sloshed around the cauldron's belly and splashed to the floor, and a score of oaths and curses were exchanged between the two.





"Nooooooo!" Gwenlyn screamed as she lost her footing and stumbled to the floor, still holding her handle of the cauldron. Dragging both cauldron and mother, fifteen feet seemed as a mile as Corwin scooted backwards and heaved all the way to the door, nudging it open with a spare heel. Sensing immediate escape, he planted his foot in Gwenlyn's face and pushed her from the cauldron, jerking his leg away as she bit deeply into his leathered ankle.

The door thundered closed and the cauldron was slammed against it. "Hateful bastarrrrrrd!" his mother wailed from the other side, hammering the door loudly with enraged and demented fists. Lifting the dipper from the lip of the seething cauldron, Corwin realized that he hadn't yet had the chance to procure his own sample of potion amid the struggle.

((((who needs a sample? i have a cauldron full... we have to have a well or bucket or something

Corwin will get something heavy to block the door shut, after all, wouldn't want mommy dearest to wander off into the woods and hurt herself.

once that's done it's time to take a trip to town.Corwin thought for a few moments on where to get a container for the potion. The hovel had no well; all of the household's water was drawn from a creek with the pail which was inside. And there were no cups or scoops or bowls to be found accessible to Corwin without returning inside to brave his mother's fury....

"The chamber pot!"

Leaving the cauldron for the moment, Corwin galloped to his wretched room in the cellar and returned half a minute later with a crude clay chamber pot in his hand. Pushing from his mind how he had used the chamber pot for most of his lifetime, he plunged the empty clay pot into the piping hot cauldron and extracted over a gallon of the horrible pink mixture.

"RRRRRRGGGHHH!!!"

The lunatic rage inside the hovel reached a crescendo as the black staff from the fireplace began breaking out the front windows. Clapping the lid firmly over his chamber pot, Corwin slowly rolled a heavy log to the door and braced the door shut, then took the warm covered pot in one hand and his trident in the other as he bolted away into the woods. A tangled mess of magic webbing spiraled from the shattered windows and uselessly ensnared the trees shortly behind him, a none too gentle way of informing him that he escaped not a moment too soon.




The traveller's bazaar offered the most clandestine way of eluding the guards and entering the town unnoticed. And so Corwin did. Slipping into Boughbog was indeed quite easy.

But exactly where to go and what to do with his prize inside the chamber pot...that was the tricky part.

Spoiler:

I was thinking the town well, since the river would wash it away, and the Well is right next to the templ e of Wee Jas

Corwin shrewdly decided that the town well would be an optimal place to dump the potion of madness. Slinking through the shadow-heavy streets and timing his movements to elude the town guards, he soon found himself at the well's side. He acted quickly, emptying the entire chamber pot into the depths of the well and hearing the satisfying splash of one liquid colliding with the other. A translucent steam rose from the well's throat and a wicked hiss followed for a long minute after as the mind poison dispersed into the town's water supply.

Corwin knew that he could not remain by the well if he hoped for his plan to succeed. But he could not return home, either...not just yet.

ok, time to sneak back out of town then, it'll be more convincing if he comes rushing in to the gate guard from outside of town

As furtively as he had come, Corwin slipped out of the town. Boughbog was quiet, save for the clacking of plates and mugs at the taverns or the metallic scraping of steel against steel as the guards made their nocturnal patrols. Taking refuge atop a crag jutting from the lowlands to the east, he sat and watched the drifting stars, resting from his struggle with Mother and his return to Boughbog, and reeling with his expectations of what was to come.

• • •

And what was to come did come.

Pandemonium raged through the crude morning streets of Boughbog! Flames lashed from open windows! Merchant wagons were overturned and smashed with the instruments of violence, puddles of blood slicked the pavestones, people and animals lay injured or dying on every walk and every avenue! A riot had erupted on Mill Lane, and there a thin wall of town guards retreated to the main street, thrusting spears at the advancing throng of commoners who had seemed to transform into madmen as the sun rose.

Corwin's ears beheld the chaos from a half-mile off as he ventured to the North Gate once more, intent on witnessing the harvest of lunacy he had sowed. The woodcarver from Posey Lane stood on the roof of the Lucky Hart tavern, kicking out the chimney bricks with his bloodied and broken feet before tearing the chimney away and violently hefting almost two-hundred pounds of mortar and baked clay over his head.

"AH HA! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA..." he guffawed without the least lucidity as his heart ruptured somewhere within his breast. Shingles were ripped away from their moorings and hurled asunder as both woodcarver and chimney tumbled from the roof and lay broken on the street below.

Everything had gone along ideally with Corwin's plan. Soon, revenge--and the freedom it provided--would be his.

(Corwin's Evil actions have upheld his Alignment. Experience will be awarded later.)

Though Norbitt was nowhere to be seen, Gaston and the ruddy plainsman Kant manned the gate, warding visitors away until order in Boughbog could be restored. With all the surprise that he could feign, Corwin greeted Gaston as the guard ran to him.

"Corwin! Corwin, stop! Whatever you do, do not go into the town! The entire town of Boughbog has gone wrathfully mad, and we have no certain notion as to why it has! Why is this happening? Who could have..."

Gaston focused on Corwin's grim gaze. And Corwin silently stared back, confirming the guard's innermost suspicion.

"...oh, no. Am I only now suspecting what you already know?"

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

I had hoped that i had prevented what she was trying to do... i awoke to a crashing and thrashing sound upstairs. when I went up, she was screaming and cackling about "getting even with sheep" or something like that... when I tried to help her to sleep, she went berserk and attacked me! I grabbed the only thing heavy enough to block the door, her cauldron. she tried to get a grip on it, but ourr cotage doesn't lock from the outside, and then, and then some spilled, and she shrieked something about me being a b.b.b.b.bbastard and then i locked the door and ran for help. I was chased and attacked by wolves back in the woods, and then.. i guess, i sortof passed out.... when i came to, I came here as fast as I could... we have to stop her from doing more harm, but...


Taking Corwin's testamony in, Gaston's eyes narrowed grimly. "It may not be too late, Corwin. Come with me."

Gaston turned and led Corwin hastily through the streets, evading the rampaging lunatics and striking away the ones who would trouble them. With a firm hand, Gaston moved to push open the door to the Gilded Lyre Inn, but the door resisted.

Knowing the cause, Gaston huffed and bit his lip, collecting his patience. "It's me. Gaston the guard. Let me in."

The door--or, rather, the fearful old innkeeper behind it--complied and granted entry to the guard and the troubled lad immediately behind him. Gaston wordlessly stormed into the inn's quaintly furnished tavern, where an itinerant band of adventurer types reclined at rest, though not at ease, awakened as they had been by the cacophony outside. The stoic paladin leaning into the corner on his stool, oiling the blade of his rapier without pausing for sustenance as his silvered icon of Heironeous dangled from the coat hook at his side. The disciplined and topknot-sporting gray elf dressed in the simple garments of a monk, partaking in a simple meal of fresh carrots and rye bread as his exotic ironwood nunchaku lay on the table near at hand. The red-bearded magician, perusing the contents of his leatherbound grimoire and sipping occasionally from his tin tankard of ale. The muscular wildwoman with white primal patterns fingerpainted across her face and along her bare arms, trying to keep the many beads and tassels of her mystic fetishes away from the boar stew before her. As one, the foursome greeted the guardsman with expectant gazes.

"Thank you for remaining here," Gaston addressed them, nudging Corwin forward with the heel of his hand. "Have any other guards reported back here yet?"

"None at all," the paladin replied as he leaned forward, bringing his stool back to rest on the floor with a resounding clunk.

"Then wait no longer. We now know the cause of this infestation of madness. Corwin?"

I think.. that this madness is my mothers fault... remember yesterday Gaston, when I was telling you and norbitt about that farmers fields and what she did to them? well, the farmer came to her last night and asked for something so he could get even, and she said somethign about making a potion of madness or something and putting it in the water and that anyone or anything that drank it would run amuck, I don't know if it was accidental or on purpose, but I think she was affected by the potion too, last night i woke up to hear crashing and thrashing


(corwin will relate the tale that he told Gaston)

I know that we should do something to make it so she can't hurt anyone anymore.. but she may be horrible, but she's still my mother.... I don't know what to do...


"Leave that to us," the wizard nodded. "She need not perish to face retribution for her crimes. It is fortunate that we had chosen to remain here for a spell, for now it seems we are most needed."

"Yes, though it is regretful that we of the town guard of Boughbog did not take action sooner and prevent this crisis," Gaston scowled. "Young Corwin here had given us warnings, but we took no action as we saw no threat. And now I see that we were fools. But I'll see if any other guards will join us, and perhaps our aid will atone for such horrible sloth."

"Do not bother," the paladin refused Gaston's offer as he rose from his seat. "The town guard will be too busy quelling the chaos in Boughbog, but our present party will surely rise to the task. You and Corwin may lead us to the Dark Witch of Ainsley Wood when you are ready."

color=lime]If I could have a moment to catch my breath, I ran most of the way here from home...

I'm afraid in my rush to get to town i didn't grab my pouch... could I trouble you for a drink?[/color]

(joining an adventuing party in a tavern.... how cliche'




"Certainly," the paladin obliged. "Barkeep, I wish to buy this young man the best lager you have."

"Spare your coin," the bartender blurted as he drained a keg of lager behind him into a spare clay mug. "Just stop the madness before it spreads and ruins my tavern, 'tis all I ask."

Corwin gladly took the mug and began to gulp loudly. But the wildwoman, no longer content with silence, came to his side as he drank. "Your mother wields dark magic and cannot be trusted. Tell us, what powers does she have? What sorceries will we face when we go to drag her from her refuge?"

from what little i've seen, well.. mostly she would do potions and the like, with curses and the like thrown in as well.

I think the thing that set this off was i ha told norbert about a spell she had cast on o'craddocks fields, that made a cloud that killed plants and animals... I think she has some sort of dark communion with the wolves around here.. i think she said something about figureing out spells of the fifth circle of wizardry, and there's a strange symbol inside the house I was told to keep away from that i think she prayed to.

dipping a finger into the ale, Corwin will draw the devourer's symbol on the table.

does this mean anything to you?


"Well, Pasha? Esrazel?" the paladin inquired of the wildwoman first, then the wizard. "What of this symbol, then?"





"I am no expert on the religions of civilization," Pasha explained, "but both my native hill-walker tribe and my druidic circle knew of the Devourer, a god of predators, of hunger, of famine. The Devourer is wicked and dangerous and is to be feared, as are his followers. And Corwin has drawn his sigil."

"...a blasphemous deity," the paladin glowered, woefully displeased with the revelation. "And we waste time here? While she summons her beasts and weaves spells of poison and madness? No more! Corwin! Finish your lager. You must lead us to your mother at once!"

Of course sir!

this way please!! (turning to the inkeeper,) tell gaston where we went, he knows the way I think

Corwin will quickly lead them near mothers.

Bringing three other guards with him despite Nigel the paladin's wishes, Gaston quickly rejoined the party not long after Corwin led them out of Boughbog. The clamor of the town being ravaged by maddened, destructive hands soon fell away behind them. Corwin led his new cohorts swiftly through the woodlands beyond the road, though Pasha--gifted with a seemingly preternatural feel for the lay of the land--seemed to almost know the way better than he did.

Before long, the trees parted to reveal the familiar hovel of timbers and stone. Inside, Mother's wails persisted in lower intensity. The potion's effects were surely diminishing.

wow, i'd a thunk she'd have passed out by now.. she really is a tough old bitch

on the one hand, i'd like to help them take her down, but on the other hand... to cast both 5th lvl wizard AND 5th lvl cleric spells.... she would need to be at least a lvl 9 wizard AND lvl 9 cleric


wow, she must have pissed the devourer off seriously for him to take the side of a lvl 1 cleric opposed to a lvl 9

corwin will wave them to stay back

corwin will sneak up to the window and peek in.




Lifting himself to the windowsill, Corwin peered inside and took a grim satisfaction. Mother's bed lay tipped on its side, its bedsheets ripped, dragged from the mattress and hurled across the floor. The floor of the hovel was also clad in a layer of broken glass and shattered pottery, and Mother's skin bled from several places as she rolled wildly around in the flesh-tearing shards, wailing and screaming at the ceiling. Her energy spent, she simply could not find the strength to rise from the floor even during brief moments where she recognized her own injuries and pain.

Vomit streaked the front of her simple gown and collected in small puddles here and there throughout the house. The cauldron and the log still braced the front door closed, though the pink potion of madness had since gone cold.

just to save time.... i'll go back to the NPC's and fill them in on her condition, then... being a first lvl cleric of a god that they don't like, i'll keep an eye through the windown while they take care of business


take it away NPC's

(No braining Mom with something heavy while the good guys have her occupied, then? )

well... now that you mention it... while she's busy taking care of them....

BONK!!!!

Sir Nigel and Ki-Kiro quickly heaved the timber and the cauldron aside to access the front door to the hovel. The grass seemed to curl and blacken where the potion splashed from the tumbling cauldron as the raiding party barged in. As soon as she was clear of the doorway, Pasha's body towered and broadened, warping its features and sprouting black fur until Pasha'a metamorphosis into a black bear was complete. In her addle-minded state, Gwenlyn was little match for the intruders. But she resisted with every ounce of vigor and every craven tactic she could muster.

The bear was hurled against the far wall with a blinding flash and an unseen force. Sir Nigel's mace was denied its strike as the dark witch lunged screaming under his weapon and seized him at the jaw, but worse was promptly realized; Gwenlyn's vampiric touch leeched deeply into the paladin's body, bringing him to his knees. Ki-Kiro tumbled into a leaping crescent kick which lifted their foe from her feet and struck her away, but the monk too fell prey to the vampiric drain as he returned to earth at Gwenlyn's grasp.

"...friends..." the monk gasped, "...please help...."

[SIZE="5"]THWOCK![/SIZE] The loud report of oakwood impacting solidly against bone split the air. The Dark Witch of the Ainsley Woods released her prey as she tumbled into stupor and flopped limply across the floor. Behind where she had stood a moment past, Corwin set the wooden stool back on the floor with a content grin spreading across his face.

After so many years of living wretchedly, sleeping poorly and toiling beneath Mother's roof, Corwin's freedom was close at hand.





"Remember," Esrazel advised, "Corwin asked that we not kill her."

"But Boughbog merely has stocks and a pillory, no prison," Gaston frowned. "We have no place to keep this cruel witch imprisoned, unless we drag her all the way to Bereghel's Green. And they will refuse to imprison her unless she is first subjected to a trial before one of their magistrates. And if I know those magistrates by reputation, they will release her if they themselves have heard nothing of her reputation...slothful fools of judges...."

"The cellar."

All eyes in the room--save for those of Sir Nigel, too busy shuffling through Gwenlyn's belongings for any sign of infernal taint--turned to Corwin, attracted by his words. "Could you repeat that, Corwin?" Gaston asked.

"The cellar beneath the house. Mother used to lock me down there whenever I misbehaved...for hours, for days, however long she saw fit. And no matter how I tried in all those years, I could never force my way out once Mother barred and locked the door from the outside."

Silence prevailed for a moment after. Even world-weary Pasha was given pause for thought. "My word, how cruel. Were it not for your wishes, young Corwin, I would have a mind to tear her head from her shoulders."

"...and I would not allow it," Sir Nigel shot back, dragging Gwenlyn's redwood trunk into the center of the room. Leaving the trunk where it sat, the paladin cupped Esrazel's hand and dropped something small into it.

"Tell us what this is, wizard."

Esrazel peered heavily at the silver-capped ring in his hand. "Why, it is a signet ring...one belonging to Bardosylvania's noble family, House Ainsley. So the witch has stolen from nobility along with however many other crimes."

"And what if the ring were not stolen at all?" Sir Nigel inquired as he paced quickly behind the stout wooden partition, returning seconds later with a large, black-swaddled frame in his arms. "The House of Ainsley has more than their share of black sheep, bastard offspring and skeletons in their closets. She could be one such lost soul who parted ways with the Ainsley residence for any reason. As Corwin testified, the witch Gwenlyn has lived in these woodlands for twenty years or more, and she had stowed a great number of gathered belongings in that time. And I found this family portrait among them, beneath her bed."

The black cloth was then drawn slowly from the finely detailed sepia-toned artwork, punctuating Sir Nigel's point most clearly.

Spoiler:

"Corwin," old Gaston began to ask ere the failure of his tongue, "you are...your mother...you?"

Even had the guard composed his question, Corwin would have had no answer in those unsettled moments. 'How many other secrets had Mother kept from me over so many years?' Corwin gravely pondered in his heart of hearts.

"Even were it not for Corwin's heartfelt request," the paladin continued as all other tongues with him were struck dumb with revelation, "I'll wager that we would all hang by our necks if we murdered one of noble blood...yes, even if she is responsible for so much death and ruin in Boughbog. The privileges of the ruling class endure even in these harsh times."

"...at least among those who honor such privilege," the barbarian druid snorted.

"But who would know?" posed Esrazel. "We stand here in the dark heart of the Ainsley Wood! As brutal as Lord Borogon is, he could never punish his sister's killers if the crime never reached...his ears...."

The wizard timidly fell silent under Sir Nigel's disapproving stare. "You speak of perpetrating a wicked task, Esrazel. Pray speak of it no more."

Gaston and Corwin exchanged thoughtful eyes before the old guard spoke on Corwin's behalf. "The town guard...we would be honored to attend to Lady Gwenlyn's needs during her imprisonment here, once I arrange this matter with our captain. For the safety of our people, she shall not be released, nor shall she perish before her time. But what length of imprisonment would befit her crimes?"

"Nothing less than captivity and isolation for the rest of her days," pronounced the paladin. "Let her take so much time to atone with the gods and beseech their forgiveness. We shall prepare the cellar at once."

Teetering on the verge of consciousness, Gwenlyn's eyes had drifted open during Sir Nigel's speech. [SIZE="1"]"...Corwin,"[/SIZE] she weakly begged of her son, [SIZE="1"]"why is my picture here? Hide it. You must not see it. No one must...."[/SIZE]

Gwenlyn slipped into her mental elysium again as Sir Nigel and the guards ventured outside and went below into the cellar. Corwin suddenly felt something cool and smooth with a rough countenance slip into his hand...his mother's signet ring, placed furtively in his hand as the wizard drifted past him.

"By birthright, the ring is yours. I shall lay claim to all of your mother's arcane trappings, by your leave. Perhaps I and the Radiant Conclave of Stellos can put them to uses far more lawful or benevolent than any intentions your mother ever bore."

Esrazel leaned the family portrait against the partition and pored over its every detail as Ki-Kiro examined Pasha's wounds. For the moment, even among others, Corwin was alone.

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

mother was a noble?!?!? corwin thought. She was a noble and lived in this shithole of a town, acting the part of a common hedgewizard..

for a moment, corwin thought that slitting her throat right then and there might be worth the paladin's disapproval and being brought before the magistrate


well, at least i know one thing they don't... where mother hid the cash box

"All other of Gwenlyn's possessions should be Corwin's inheritance," Pasha declared, a thin layer of coarse body hair still blanketing her skin even though she had reverted to her native half-elf form. "It might be some reward for having suffered under her hand for so many years."

The wizard concurred, turning to leave as he closed Gwenlyn's book of spells and returned it to its satchel. "It is well. I have claimed her arcane trappings, and may they be put to no further malevolence. As soon as you and Ki-Kiro are ready, we shall bring the witch down to the cellar."

Corwin retreated behind the partition as the adventurers conferred with each other. Pulling up a particular loose floor plank beneath Mother's bed, Corwin grasped the hidden strongbox by a handle and pulled it up from its hole. Mother kept the key to her sturdy tin strongbox on a hook behind her bed, Corwin knew, and the moisture-tarnished box bared its contents to him moments later.





With care, Pasha unbuckled Gwenlyn's belt and took the silver Devourer symbol. "Nigel will surely judge it to be a profane thing," the druid grimaced, "and it shall be destroyed. Perhaps the metal can be reworked into something of redeeming value."

"Perhaps," Esrazel offered as he took Gwenlyn by the ankles. "Let us bear her to the cellar, then, when both of you are ready."





The adventurers and the guards, content to see their skirmish won and their deed accomplished, turned from the hovel and returned to Boughbog in search of further duty or adventure, wishing Corwin well as they departed.

The two heavy beams each lay fixed across the cellar door. In a brief errand had Gaston and Reed procured locks and woodworking tools from Boughbog, and four heavy brass locks secured the beams in place at either end. A crude slot just large enough for food and chamber pots had been hacked and shaved through the bottom of the door, Gwenlyn's only contact with the unwelcoming world outside. Scant hours into her imprisonment had already cast her into despair.

"Corwin," she croaked through the door, still shaking off the madness potion's grip on her mind, "why have you done this to me? Am I not your mother? Why did you do this, Corwin? Why?"

For the moment, Corwin was content to keep his silence, smiling in cruel contentment.

Fighting back the sobs of regret, Gwenlyn continued. "I know that relations between us have not always been good, and I am far from an ideal mother. Perhaps I always blamed you and your father for razing my days of comfort and majesty and driving me from my own home into this lowly way of life. But we can be a family, Corwin! Life between us will grow better!"

"You were nobility, Mother. At any time you could have released both of us from this despicable hovel and this disgusting forest...."

"No, Corwin," Mother protested, "I could not. It's...not that simple. I cannot go home again. But perhaps you can, Corwin. You must go. Go to Ainsley Manor! Inform Lord Borogon what has befallen me, and he will surely ride down here with a small army to liberate me and avenge his sister against these townsfolk! Boughbog will suffer greatly for this...inso...lence...no."

Guarding her own words, her voice took an unmistakably fearful tone. "No, do not do that. Borogon is a monster. I do not wish to face him again. Please, Corwin, release me! All will be as it was again...no, better than it was! That I can promise you. We will not need to live in this decrepit house anymore. We can accompish anything you desire, as mother and son! I only ask that you break the doors open and release me from this torment, I beseech you!"

"Now mommy dearest.. why would I do that? after I went to all the trouble to make sure that those heroes would leave you alive to contemplate your sins?" I find it highly appropriate that you'll spend the remainder of your days in the fate you set for me, powerless, locked in the filthy life you chose for me.

I for one look forward to seeing more of this world, Maybe I'll even stop by and see how my dear uncle Borogon is doing, just to let him know how his sister fares.

Now as for one last piece of information you've been holding out, since most of your lies are already undone, it shouldn't cost you too dearly to provide it. If you let me know who my father is, then I won't have to melt down this pretty tiara I've found for the copper to bribe it out of someone.


For one long moment, a heavy, forboding silence was Corwin's only answer. A silence which died with a refusal.

"No."

Corwin spun the tiara around his fingers wistfully. The voice beyond the door detailed the answer further.

"You could threaten to destroy everything I own...burn this home to the stonework...drag my broken body through from Ainsley Manor's courtyard to the streets of Dark Grove Hollow and you would still ask for too much. Knowledge can be dangerous, and your father's identity is one of the most dangerous insights I know. And I have known many insights."

The unsatisfied grimace which crossed Corwin's visage soured further.

"To this hour I am utterly convinced that you and your father are the reasons why I was banished from the court, and for a cause most justified. I left Ainsley Manor, sent into the wood at my father's demand...dark witchcraft was Father's reason, yes, but that was not the reason, for my dabblings in magery had been benign until that day. And so I left the family, and five months later you were born. Take from that what you will.

"It was in those five months that the Devourer came to me, if you ever wondered. The great wolf sensed my anger, my hunger for revenge against your father. He offered me the means to take back what was mine if I would only serve him. And as much as I still love your father for what he is to me, I cannot help but hate him for what he did, infecting me with his seed and manipulating Father into casting me down from our noble House. And so I accepted the Devourer's bargain. And when the time came for you to be born, I was to leave you in the forest for the great white wolf to devour, so that my pact with the Devourer would be complete.

"But I could not do it. I cared for you and reared you as well as I could. And the Devourer was displeased with me. But he was not wrathful. And I could sense that he bore no ill will for you--his prize denied--even as you came of age. I even sensed an air of dark hope or concern for you on those rare occasions when he answered my prayers."

A world-weary sign fell deeply from her lungs. "But from then onward, I was content to leave your father in the past, one bad memory among all the unpleasant memories of my upbringing. And I advise that you do not stir up any old ghosts as well. Were your father's identity to be known to any besides him and me, great turmoil would emerge. I would be finished. You would be finished. He would be ruined. And the House of Ainsley could well be torn in twain. If you are in any way wise, Corwin, then you will pursue your father's name no further than you have inquired here. And may the eternal darkness take us all ere your father's name should ever be known to you."

Well, don't sound so sad, you brought this upon yourself. I'm sure that after living down in that stinking cellar for a few years you'll realise that you should have obeyed my lord's demand.


As for me, I'm leaving. hopefully I'll never see you again, but If I'm in this neck of the woods again, I'll be sure to drop by, just to see how you're doing. Who knows, the sheep who will tend you may treat you better than you treated me.

corwin will leave to go pack for a journey... a journey to the ocean/sea whatever it's called. before he goes he'll do some purchasing in town to get some of his gear that he'll need (his armor and such)

Konegheim it is (for the time being, the training is better there, and what better way for the wolf in sheeps clothing to go than to learn what he can from the konegheims, and then after learning their tactics, go to Windwater and use it against them?)




What strode out of the First Smithy of Boughbog that evening was little like the young man who had walked in that morning.

His new suit of half-plate weighed heavy on his shoulders yet bid him to stand taller and stronger than he ever had, so mighty was his newfound esteem. The shield he bore was taller than the gnomes who had expertly forged it. Confident that he was then suitably armed and armored for the road ahead, he bid his farewells to Gaston and the guardsmen of Boughbog, then turned north and set off to seek his way in the world and to earn his fortunes wherever they lay.

For five days Corwin traversed the land by foot or by hired coach, treating himself to whatever comforts took his fancy, a belated measure of compensation for the wretched years before. He was not by any means at peace with himself in his heart of hearts; there were too many old ghosts, too many lashes and rebukes. And the mystery of his father remained despite the most menacing demands and threats leveled at his mother's heart. That he was confirmed a blood relative of the reviled Lord Borogon of Bardosylvania was another matter to be grappled another time.

If nothing else, Corwin at long last had a surname, a piece of invaluable identity which had been denied him for so long.

The earth aside the road was draped with coarse sand and rankly odored old sea scum from the last autumn flood as he paid the coachman his silvers and stepped down from the humble carriage. The Varstag Privateer Yards were even busier than he had anticipated from hearsay alone. Hearty sailors and skirmish-scarred mariners milled from tavern to tavern, sharing boastful stories or launching into drunken confrontations. Strutting along streets and leaning from brothel windows, harlots posed and called for their attentions, going silent only at the approaches of the occasional pair of watchful guards. Gruff longshoremen moored ships with hooks and ropes as shipwrights crawled aboard, leading great lengths of lumber behind them. Not far from where he stood, the commoners' bazaar rang with chimes and thundered with hundreds of voices as fish cooks, ironsmiths and many other peddlers hawked their wares. In sharp contrast to the grunge and the din, three gaily garbed actors sauntered from the Black Bag Inn, downing bottles of good red wine as they exchanged insights over their roles in the town theater's coming play.

For all those people, Corwin could not feel more alone, and for the longest minute of his life he pondered where in the manic naval town he should next explore.

Spoiler:

well, the whole idea of this side trip is to basically learn lvl 1 fighter, and learn as much of the tactics and strategies of these people when fighting (to use it against them)

he'll head for the naval garrison to look for work.


For being a seaport, the streets of the Varstag Yards were unusually clean and well-kept. What else would one expect from a port which bore the presence and direct attentions of Konegheim's military?

Seeing a quartet of the duchy's sailors armed with brooms and long-handled brushes, Corwin approached to ask directions. The sailors were rather surly and curt of tongue; clearly they had been assigned their street-sweeping duties as a punitive action for some minor crimes committed among their duties. With a few terse insults and slights of character exchanged, Corwin abruptly parted ways with the sailors, who remained unaware that they had inadvertently given Corwin what information he had needed in the first place.

Across a small moat brimming with stagnant salt water stood the fort he sought, its great doors wide open, its archway sporting a granite bas relief of the Navy's seal. Even outside the fort, Corwin heard the outer walls sing with the clamor of mock battle. Mariner training was in session.

But such training was not free, as Corwin soon learned. A line of aspiring mariners formed from the desks where two dapper lieutenants sat with quills and coffers at hand, their blue waistcoats and gold-fibered epaulets lending them a remarkable air of authority in contrast to the milling lines of waiting riff-raff.

A broad wooden placard which stood beside the lieutenant to Corwin's left demanded, "Sailors and mariners needed. Enlist with the Navy of Konegheim here!"; beside the opposite lieutenant stood another placard which proclaimed, "Sign for citizen mariner training here! Two months of training: 50 Gilders."

That lieutenant patiently explained to the lanky, ponytailed man before the desk that 50 Gold would need to be paid before the Navy would agree to include him in their mariner training. Apparently the would-be mariner had never learned to read. At least Corwin's mother had given him that much.

"You, there!" a forceful voice boomed at Corwin's side. "You have the look of a stout-bodied and determined young man. What is your name?"

Corwin turned to face the tall gentleman addressing him, a man whose white and noble manner of dress--white tri-cornered hat, white waistcoat with blue trim, white leggings and cuffed black boots of meticulously shined ox leather--spoke volumes about his prosperity and prominence as a sea captain.

"My name?"

"Yes, yours...though I suppose introductions are in order. I am Captain Smythe Oswald Stillwell of the Saint Alarice, and though I was once an officer in Konegheim's proud Navy, I retired to become a privateer for the Empire. These fine officers have agreed to allow me to find shiphands here in light of my esteemed history of service. So...either you can pay the Navy your 50 coins to become a mariner here, or you can work aboard the Saint Alarice as we make our way around the continent, through the Lamian Strait and then to the port towns of Al Berik, Port Jahalio, Windwater, Meerheim and Visu Meris. We shall be at sea for a mite over six weeks, and I and my chief mariner shall personally train you and other newcomers in the martial trade of a mariner. You shall receive a bunk and food, and during your work aboard the Saint Alarice you will learn firsthand how to work and live aboard a sailing ship. Will you be joining my crew for six weeks, then?"

(Corwin's options here:)

• Enlist with the Navy as a mariner. Corwin will receive 50 Gold (to represent the money he saved by not paying gold for mariner training) and three blue-white-and-yellow Navy uniforms (equal to traveler's outfits) but will be bound by contract to remain a mariner with the Navy for no fewer than two years of service. He may continue his service to the Devourer on the sly (since, being a Lawful sort, he knows how to play by the Navy's rules and avoid scrutiny), and he will gain all of his Fighter and Cleric levels by the end of his service. It may not be the most desirable option for Corwin's tastes, but it's open.

• Pay for the Navy's mariner training. Corwin will train for about 20 hours a week for two months and will walk away with his level in the Fighter class.

• Join Captain Stillwell's crew. Corwin will gain 50 Gold (again, the "inheritance" money saved by not paying gold for mariner training), work continuously aboard the Saint Alarice for six weeks, may debark in Windwater if he wishes and will gain his level in the Fighter class. Any pirates or other seaborne enemies encountered by the Saint Alarice will provide opportunity for Experience gains as well.

I'll take door number three

"Then welcome aboard," smiled Captain Stillwell. "So what might your name be, then?"

"Corwin," the aspirant mariner offered. "Corwin Ainsley."

"Ah, a stately name if I ever heard one. Perhaps onboard the Saint Alarice you may prove your family proud. The Saint Alarice is anchored in the bay, but a dingy with my men is moored at Maple Dock. Be there within the hour and I shall meet you then."

• • •


[CENTER]

(Corwin gains 50 Gold.)
(Corwin is now treated as a Level 1 Fighter / Level 1 Cleric with 20 Hit Points.)[/CENTER]


"Do you truly intend to continue wearing that heavy armor asea, Corwin?"

The past four weeks had passed in grueling days and sleepless nights. Though Mariner Chief Logor was an unyielding and heavy-handed trainer, he was what his duties demanded. And he had made this reason clear to his charges, for were he not relentless in training his mariners, the merciless pirates who crossed blades with them would surely cut them down like stiff reeds before the gale.

And he did not favor Corwin's choice of protective wear.

Looking one way and the other to his fellow mariners, lads and lasses all clad in colorful cloths and tough leathers--as he had always done when confronted thus--Corwin shrugged halfheartedly in reply. "Yes. And no pirate's bolt or blade will ever take my life, I'll wager."

"Perhaps not," Logor snapped, "but the sea herself just may one day. Pray watch your step when crossing ships lest you sink to the ocean's heart and never come up for air."

Captain Stillwell stood on the aftdeck of the Saint Alarice, holding his broad hat level against the evening sea breeze. He always kept his hair cropped close to the scalp; himself a mariner in times past, he knew the value of keeping one's hair shortly shorn in a profession which frequently placed one at close quarters with mortal foes who were never too good for hair-pulling and other dirty tactics.

"Full sails," the captain suddenly ordered as he tasted the wind. "Foremast and rudder, bear ten degrees starboard."

"Bear ten degrees starboard!" bellowed First Mate Licanely as he gave the rudder wheel a narrow, steady turn. On the horizon to the north, Corwin could see the rosy sands of Lebeq against the red evening sky. Sparse clouds sat lazily in the sky, portents to fine weather come the next day.

But the serenity would not last forever.

From the crow's nest came a shrill whistle. Once certain that she had Captain Stillwell's attention, Sailor Jane Blithe called down to him. "Captain! Vessel sighted at half a mile, twenty degrees off the port bow!"

"And what, then? Pirates, merchants or elsewise?"

Sailor Blithe turned her eyes towards Lebeq's shores again before returning with an uncertainty. "I cannot tell. They sail no flags, Captain."

"Very well. Rudder and sails, change course ten degrees port. Steady as she goes."

"Bear ten degrees port and steady 'er good!" barked Licanely to the sailors manning the riggings. Sails and yardarms swung into place, and ropes were forcefully lashed to the gunwales. The nose of the Saint Alarice swung back to a near-perfect parallel with her current latitude, picking up speed as her sails fully bore the wind.

The dark sailing ship to the port bow drew nearer and nearer. Leaning on the port gunwales, Corwin and the rest of the mariners watched as the other ship's crew came to their vessel's starboard gunwales, silently facing them across the expanse. But that silence gave way to shaking fists, shouted taunts and howls of defiance as the black flag rose on the aftmast.

"Skull and crossbones!" yelled Blithe from above. "They be pirates, Captain!"

From the closing distance, the black letters of the name emblazoned over the stern quarters grew legible. The Devil's Hangman began to fold her sails, reducing her speed and allowing the Saint Alarice to close the gap betwixt the two sailing ships.

What was their game?

"Mariners! Ready crossbows!" Captain Stillwell commanded loudly from the aftdeck. "Ballista! Prepare mooring line and prepare to strike amidship!"

Mariner Oraci loaded the tethered harpoon onto the ballista before busying himself with the windlass. Mariner Tamera disappeared below deck; moments later she emerged halfway from the hatch with light crossbows and bands of bolts ladening her arms, bidding her fellow mariners to arm themselves. As other mariners darted past him, Corwin weighed his dependable trident in his hands, wondering if he should take up a crossbow as well.

"Now we may see how well you new mariners have taken to your training!" Logor shouted above the din as he took to the gunwales and nocked his crossbow. "And do try not to fall overboard, young Corwin."

The battle is joined!

The Saint Alarice versus the Devil's Hangman

Spoiler:

Wind: East-by-Southeast at 18 knots

Captain Smythe Stillwell
Mariner Chief Logor
Privateer Sailors
Privateer Mariners
Captain Hethakan Sharper
Pirates


Captain Smythe Stillwell (Init 20) > Ordering ship fifteen degrees port
Privateers (Init 17) > If not manning sails or rudder, attacking with crossbows or harpooning the Devil's Hangman with the ballista.
Corwin (Init 9) > Taking cover and waiting.
Captain Hethakan Sharper (Init > Ordering ship thirty degrees starboard and reduce sails to 10 knots
Pirates (Init 6) > If not manning sails or rudder, readying light crossbows and shortbows and firing on targets of opportunity

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

Corwin is a lousy shot, (as everyone probably knows) he'll duck behind some cover and wait til they get closer (i'll have his memorised spells soon enough)

Remaining stooped behind the gunwale, Corwin waited for the distance between the two ships to draw narrow, his trident readied in his constricting clutches. Leaving her hatch, Tamera offered Corwin a crossbow but he refused it with a brush of his hand. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Logor.

"Fie! Come now, Corwin. You'll never hit anything if you never try!" His mild reprimand voiced, Logor returned his attentions to the Devil's Hangman as the first volley of bolts and arrows took to the winds.





The gunwale's planks shuddered briefly near Corwin's head as a dovetailed bolt struck the wood but failed to penetrate, tumbling uselessly into the sea. The sharp "thunk-thunk-thunk" reports pealed from either ship as the barrage was exchanged; even the crow's nests struck their blows as high above, Sailor Blithe and the vigilant pirate in the opposite crow's nest knelt within their structures, aimed and loosed their weapons, yet so great was the swaying of the masts that neither came to harm and their bolts pierced only the heavens.

Below, a lean and grizzled pirate fell to the deck, struggling to keep his life despite the two telling bolts transfixing his ribs. The ballista atop the forecastle rocked against its securements as the barbed harpoon screamed across the expanse and slammed into the pirate ship's hull, trailing its hemp tether behind it. Reacting quickly, Sailor Callet pinned the anchor's chain and began to wind the harpoon tether around the capstan. Soon, the Devil's Hangman would be dragged to the Saint Alarice and captured...assuming that the pirates did not triumph over their esteemed foes, perhaps.

"Three-quarter sails!" Captain Stillwell howled over the din. "Mariners, prepare to repel boarders!"

Peeking over the gunwale, Corwin saw the captain's concern: already the pirates had begun to climb the rigging of the Devil's Hangman with a choir of silent blades swaying from belts or clenched between teeth. Ropes were unknotted from limp sails and released from their belaying pins, rendering them ideal modes of conveyance for those who would leap from masts or gunwales and swing across the separation, over the lapping ocean to the whitewashed decks of the Saint Alarice.

Spoiler:

corwin will set to receive a charge.


(spells for the day are

0 level

mending
read magic
detect magic

1 level

Magic weapon
Cause fear
Command


[color:c9c1="Cyan"](Thank you. And clever move there! Before I forget....)


[color:c9c1="Red"]The Battle is Joined!

[/center]


Shadows fell across the deck of the Saint Alarice as her ballista drew the Devil's Hangman near. Bravely and cunningly, Corwin rose from behind the gunwale and slammed the butt of his cruel trident firmly against the woodwork between his armored boots as the first such shadow descended on him with a madman's ire.

(Corwin - set against Pirate 2 (AC 11): Hit (12))
(Pirate 2 takes 15 Damage. Pirate 2 is dying.)


(Pirate 6: Charging unarmed attack on Corwin...)
(Corwin - Attack of Opportunity on Pirate 6 (AC 11): Critical Hit (Nat 20); Threat check: 24)
(Pirate 6 takes 9 Damage.)
(Pirate 6: Charging unarmed attack on Corwin (AC 18): Miss ()

Slung by its own momentum, a shortsword clattered loudly across the deck behind Corwin, released from the teeth of the filth-cloaked pirate who gasped for a breath which would not come. With a smug grin, Corwin hefted the trident skyward--its skewered prey still writhing and impaled across its tines--and brutally slammed the pirate down behind him, releasing the sea raider's body from the trident's bite and granting him some small comfort as the pirate waited fearfully for Death's approach.

Wheeling about on one heel, Corwin greeted another swinging pirate's footfirst descent with a flesh-ripping cross slash. His weapon's tines bit deeply into the pirate's calf muscle and tore a bloody furrow through the meat of his thigh. His strike so weakened, the buccaneer's heels stamped loudly into Corwin's iron-plated breast. But he may as well have been kicking a titan, for his enemy's stalwart form did not yield in the least. His swing abruptly halted by the well-armored privateer, the pirate kicked off from Corwin's body and released his rope to alight onto the adjacent stair, yelping in pain as his badly torn leg was forced to bear his weight again.

"Obad-Hai's breath, Corwin!" Logor gasped beside him. "So young you are, yet you fight like a devil! I truly misjudged...."

The mariner chief's apology was cut short, interrupted as the war cries swarmed around them. Cutlasses shed their skins and sang in the salty breeze a brief moment before eight more intruding soles--whether the soles of light leather shoes or of sea-grimed unshod feet--thundered down aboard the Saint Alarice.

Her mariners ground their boot heels into her deck and steeled their nerve. More pirates had landed, and more were yet to come.

(Here, Corwin comes to a dilemna. Though he is a pirate and a despotic predator in his heart of hearts--and he may feel the longing to side with the villainous likes of Captain Sharper in pursuit of his dark destiny--he may also have something to gain from remaining with Captain Stillwell; Captain Sharper's head on the tines of Corwin's trident would surely grant Corwin a generous bounty and some prestige among the Empire's seafolk, just as Captain Stillwell's head would fetch a goodly price among the ocean's criminals. Does he defend the Saint Alarice or does he betray her?)

(The latter, of course, may require some crucial fast-talking on Corwin's part, seeing as he just impaled one of the pirates' swabbies and badly injured another. Fortunately, his Charisma is high.)

Spoiler:
	[CENTER]

(Neither Captain Stillwell nor Captain Sharper has yet been drawn into the fray.)

Chief Logor (Init 14) > Heavy crossbow attack on Pirate 7 in hopes of killing her and disabling the pirate ship's rudder
Mariners and Sailors (Init 10) > Mariners: shortsword attacks on nearby pirates. Sailors: manning the sails, rudder and capstan.
Pirates (Init > Shortsword or light crossbow attacks on any handy target. Some may be manning the Devil's Hangman.
Corwin (Init 4) > Flee dog! or you'll get the same as your friend!

Corwin will stab at the pirate next to him, attempting to stick him against the railing

(Chief Logor: heavy crossbow attack on Pirate 7 (flatfooted AC 10): Critical Hit (Nat 20); Threat check: 23))
(Pirate 7 takes 19 Damage*. Pirate 7 is dying.)
(*Yes, a 10 and a 9 for the crit hit's damage. Honest. The dice are hot for Logor tonight! :look: )

With expert aim honed from years at sea spent sniping pirates across the rocking waves, Logor released the windlass of his great brass crossbow and leveled its nose across the aftdeck of the Devil's Hangman. His fingers squeezed the trigger against the belly of the crossbow, releasing its lethal messenger with a metallic "crack". Immediately, the pirate lass at the rudder twisted from the blow without so much as a pained moan, releasing the rudder wheel and flopping forward across the filthy deck, which was soon slicked with dribbles of blood rolling from the punctures where the razor-tipped crossbow bolt had entered and exited her neck.

"Avast, ye wretched sea-pigs!" Captain Sharper howled through the wailing breeze as the wheel wound hard to starboard under the dying rudderwoman's falling body. Before Sharper could reach the rudder wheel and reclaim control, the horrific thunder of two gigantic wooden masses coming violently together threatened to hurl all from their footing with the tremor of impact.

(Corwin - Reflex save (DC 5): Passed (14))
(Logor - Reflex save (DC 5): Failed (4); Logor is knocked prone.)
(Captain Sharper - Reflex save (DC 5): Passed (15))
(Captain Stillwell - Reflex save (DC 5): Passed (Nat 20))
(Pirate saves: Pirates 1 and 5 are knocked prone.)
(Mariner saves: Mariners 1, 3 and 7 are knocked prone.)
(Sailor saves: Sailor 3 is knocked prone.)

Seafarers on either colliding vessel tumbled and sprawled across finished deckboards and against unyielding gunwales. Among those who maintained their footing, the steel continued to bark and sing, and bolts screamed with their racing stings.

(Pirate 6 - shortsword attack on Corwin (AC 18): Missed (10))
(Mariner 4 - shortsword attack on Pirate 6 (AC 11): Hit (18))
(Pirate 6 takes 7 Damage. Pirate 6 is dying.)
(Corwin - trident attack on Pirate 6 (AC 10): Hit (22))
(Pirate 6 takes 7 damage. Pirate 6 is dead.)
(More attack and damage rolls between the two sides...Pirates 1 and 5, and Mariner 7 are dying.)

"Die, tin-skin!" the gap-toothed pirate up the stairs from Corwin spit as his blade arched downward, catching the edge of Corwin's shield and scraping off with no harm. With smug eyes, Corwin readied his trident to strike, but Maxine struck first. Lunging at the pirate's back, she struck deeply with a blow so telling that the tip of her cutlass emerged from his belly, coated with blood. Conveniently, the pirate howled hoarsely as he slid from her blade and pitched forward, and the trident which pierced his lungs as he fell across Corwin's shoulder eliminated what little chance of survival he may have had.

"Never! [SIZE=16]NEVERRRRR...."[/size]

With a trembling, volcanic voice which could have pealed from Hell's throat, eyes turned to the Captain's deck of the Devil's Hangman. The steel gauntlet which once masqueraded as Captain Sharper's left hand skipped away as the Devil's Hangman bucked and rolled, grinding hulls with the Saint Alarice. Rising from his knee, the studded iron cap which sealed the stump of his amputated hand then sported a wicked scimitar blade locked into the cap's lugs. Raising the scimitar-hand skyward, Sharper thrust the blade across the expanse to Captain Stillwell, then swept the blade in a gesture running the length of the deck as if to cut every privateer low from afar.

"The Barons o' the Hells should claim the bounty on me head a thousand times ere ye timber-cutters should ever claim it once!" spilled Captain Sharper's defiant challenge across the crashing waves. "If 'tis a fight ye wish, 'tis a fight ye shall get!"

With that, he raised his hand-blade with a mighty howl born of desperate wrath and stormed forth to assail the Saint Alarice.

_________________
"Science is the foot that kicks magic square in the nutsack"
Scratch Fury, Destroyer of Worlds

Setting his own leg resolutely behind the knee of the old sea dog, Corwin smashed the heel of his left hand into Sharper's clavicle with all the force he could muster. Stumbling backwards over the insolently brazen lad's leg, Sharper thundered onto the deck planks of the Devil's Hangman, easier prey for Logor's follow-through strike.





To his merit, Sharper offered a desperate resistance from where he lay. A lashing and twisting of his blade-hand attempted to part Corwin from his formidable weapon, but the trident danced out of reach behind its keeper's looming form, as if to taunt him.

Never one to surrender, the old pirate curled his frame to rise. But his defiance was cut short none too soon. With one steely hand on the hilt and the other clutching the quillons, the mariner chief bellowed a bellow articulate only in its exertion. The steel point of the longsword punched violently through Sharper's light leather waistcoat and the breastbone beneath...and again through the waistcoat as the sword exited the other side of the sea devil's mass. Striking the deck with a slick thump, the sword punctuated the end of Captain Hethakan Sharper, whose injured lungs gasped for a breath which would not come.

With burning, accusing eyes boring Corwin's visage, Captain Sharper opened his mouth as if to spell curses against the young man for laying him low so indignantly. Lips and tongue moved as if to speak, but no words came. Defeated, the pirate captain slumped back down the blade, resting on the deck in time to greet eternity.





"Enough!" wailed a young pirate maid, her salt-caked raven tresses crossing her face in the sea wind as she retreated from the two mariners crowding her. "We throw ourselves on the mercy of the Empire!"

"Then throw down your arms first!" Captain Stillwell commanded.

Compliantly, cutlasses fell and clattered across both swaying decks. On the Devil's Hangman, Corwin and Logor marched from pirate to pirate, ensuring that their surrender was honored by both sides.





"Under Imperial law, the sentence for piracy is death," Captain Stillwell glowered, emphasizing the last word as he met a captive pirate eye for trembling eye. "but if you cooperate with us on our return to port, I will argue for your repentance and attempt to have the magistrates reduce your sentences. Be that as it may, your days as pirates have come to an end."

Mooring lines swung from ship to ship and from hand to hand, binding the Devil's Hangman to the Saint Alarice as goods were moved from one hold to the other. Chief Logor, Mariner Corwin and Mariner Strauph marched below the pirate vessel's deck, moving their torches from side to side and taking account of what they beheld. Casks filled with stolen coin and treasures stood chained against the bulkheads, casks which still bore their trader's marks and would make the task of reuniting the treasures with their owners--the ones who yet lived--a far easier task.

"Set the water in the rear hold," Stillwell ordered of the two sailors who crossed the gunwales, lugging a heavy water cask between them. Logor, Corwin and Strauph emerged, bearing a casket of gold coin. The coffer was stamped with the seal of Konegheim and the mark of the Copper Flagon, a merchant vessel which had been lost at sea three months past. Corwin's other hand held a bundle of pineapples, also taken from the hold.

"Exotic fruit from the tropics...and the fate of the Copper Flagon discovered," Captain Stillwell surmised. "Very good. Leave the gold and the treasures aboard the Devil's Hangman, but bring the pineapples and all other trade wares aboard our ship. The Copper Flagon's company will surely pardon us once we bring them information on the destroyers of the Copper Flagon...and the destroyers themselves. Remove the notorious Captain Sharper's head and pack it in salt below, then cast his body and the slain pirates overboard for the sharks."

"And for our own dead?"

"We will arrange a burial at sea tonight, Logor. A pity it is that we do not have a priest aboard, or anyone who can provide a respectable service to those who lost their lives in the endless struggle against piracy."

Captain Stillwell looked again to the living and fearful pirate captives, chained to the masts where they sat.

"As for you, young Corwin Ainsley, I appreciate your courage in aiding Chief Logor against Captain Sharper. Sharper has a large price on his head which should grow larger once we reveal to the Three Griffins Trading Company that Captain Sharper and his crew were the ones who plundered and sank the Copper Flagon. And, of course, there are smaller standing bounties for every pirate brought in alive to face justice for their crimes.

"But I need a quartermaster, someone who will oversee the crew, their quarters, their supplies and their weapons. Chief Logor has been managing such tasks for me, but he is far too busy as my bosun to truly devote his time to both employments. I will also need a first mate, one with a commanding presence to carry my orders to the crew and command in my stead when I am not present; Logor would make an ideal first mate, but I would then need someone to replace him as my bosun. So how shall you be promoted for today's valor: my quartermaster, or my bosun? To which profession are you more roundly suited?"

"To be honest Captain, I never was too good with numbers, so you d probably be better off with someone else as your quartermaster." Corwin said apologetically. "I'd probably be better as a Bosun than that. A hard taskmaster the crew will find me, but fair."

Looking over to the other ship corwin will raise an eyebrow to the captian. "What are your plans with the Hangman? Are you just planning on towing her in to port, or putting a prize crew aboard to sail her? And what about after we get her to port, I'm not all that familiar with the property rights for a pirates vessel brought in under a prize crew. I was thinking that if the law allows it, keeping her would be a better option than just turning her over. After all, two ships moving together seems to me to be a better deterrant to piracy than one sailing alone."

"Your suggestion has merit, young Ainsley," Captain Stillwell conceded, looking again to the dark, barnacle-ridden prow of the Devil's Hangman. "Regretably, my privateer contract with the Imperial Navy states that all pirate vessels captured or salvaged by our crew become the property of the Empire. Therefore, as always, we are to bring the Devil's Hangman to the nearest Imperial port--Port Jahalio, in this instance--along with any captured pirates and any pirated property which can be identified and returned to its previous owners. The Empire will pay our crew respectable bounties for all of these, including the ship and the head of Captain Sharper; we can even include his blade-hand as proof that we are due the criminal bounty placed on his head. And now that you mention it, this bounty may provide enough coin for the purchase of a second vessel, but I would need to hire a suitable lieutenant and a crew for that ship as well. An undermanned ship can be a greater impediment to us than no ship at all."

Logor passed the two, looking to Corwin with a previously unfamiliar glint of acceptance in his eye as he lugged a plundered earthenware statue of a nymph downstairs into the cargo hold.

"Ah, yes," Stillwell grasped a memory, momentarily retreating into the captain's quarters as Logor worked his way past them, then returning to Corwin with a burlap sack heavy with coin. "The bounty of 500 Gilders which I declared on the notorious Captain Sharper! You and Logor together struck the jackal down, and so the reward shall be split between you. Here is your share, then."





Captain Stillwell released the drawstrings, opening the sack as he handed it over to Corwin. Corwin carefully examined the coins and counted their number as the captain continued.

"I shall inform Chief Logor of my decision once we are finished capturing and lashing the Devil's Hangman. Logor will see to it that you are learned in your duties as our bosun before we continue to Port Jahalio. And though Logor will be my first mate and you my bosun, we yet lack a quartermaster. So I will need for both you and Logor to devote some spare time to the absent quartermaster's tasks as well; he and you shall receive an additional fraction of a quartermaster's pay for this, of course...four more silvers a day should suffice, I hope. Do you find these conditions and terms agreeable, Corwin?"

"That is well with me Sir" Corwin said as he looked again into the bag. then with a thoughtful look on his face, he'll turn back to the captain and return the bag. "If you could just hold onto this Captain, you can consider it an investment in the future"


Taking the sack from Corwin, Captain Stillwell nodded. "As you wish, then. Come. We shall speak with Logor about these arrangements, then we must decide on how to divide the crew between the Saint Alarice and the Devil's Hangman. We need only do so long enough to reach Port Jahalio, and I shall be depending on your initiative and your judgement to manage the divided crew until that time. Shall we?"





"Land ho!" the shout sang from the crow's nest, though Sailor Blithe's voice was notably softer since she sustained crossbow wounds in the battle four days past. "Port Jahalio, from the looks of it!"

Corwin had learned well during those days. Though young at bosun's work, his force of personality and keen judgement had already made him a valued asset in that role. "Moss and Creeney, at the foresails! Be ready to put your backs into it! Kaeliss, unpin the anchor but keep it raised and locked...."

He had anticipated the captain's orders truly, and the sailors were ready when those orders came. "All hands, prepare to make port!" Captain Stillwell barked from the stern. "Sails, bear to twenty degrees portside!"

Sailors Moss and Creeney weighed on the rigging lines, swinging the yardarm to the left side of the vessel and drawing the sails fully. The linen sails bloomed with a stiff sea breeze, and the Saint Alarice began her turn towards Port Jahalio.

Aboard the Devil's Hangman, First Mate Logor mirrored the orders loudly to his own fraction of the crew. "Sails to twenty degrees port! Prepare to follow the Saint Alarice into the port, crew!"

The bay was thick with trader vessels and Imperial warships sailing into port and away again. The lineship Gorgon's Revenge rowed slowly against the wind, her Amazonian captain standing tall over the prow. Captain Stillwell raised one of his sabers in salute as the Gorgon's Revenge passed the Saint Alarice starboard to starboard, a salute which First Mate Logor followed. The Navy captain raised her rapier to return the salutes, smiling wryly as she eyed the inverted pirate flag soaring from the foremast of the Devil's Hangman.

"Many more captures to you, privateer!" she shouted across the waves, regarding Captain Stillwell with an approving nod before the Gorgon's Revenge continued on her way.

Finding a suitably open stretch of beach near the shipwright yards on Mare's Island, the Saint Alarice and the Devil's Hangman slowed into port.

"Drop anchor!" came the command shouted by Captain Stillwell, Bosun Ainsley and First Mate Logor, shouted almost in unison, an unspoken testimony to the unity and efficiency which the crew and their leadership had reached even in so short a time together.





"She is a fine ship, I assure you," Captain Stillwell attested, trying to convince the two shipwrights and the Imperial provost that the Devil's Hangman was worth considerably more than the 3,500 Gilders they had offered as its bounty.

One of the shipwrights was vocal with his reluctance. "I have reservations about the impact scrapes along the starboard hull...."

"The pirates engaged my ballista crew directly, which caused the mooring line to slacken and allowed the two ships to scrape against each other and drift apart! I and my crew can hardly be blamed for defending ourselves against the acts of such pirating savages...a moment, gentlemen."

Removing his own presence from the shipwrights and the provost, Captain Stillwell turned to Corwin and the first mate, casting a glance to their crew aboard the Saint Alarice as well as their captives. "Logor, Ainsley...I will be detained here for a short while before I can speak with the port's magistrates on our captives' behalf and hire new seafarers to replace the ones we lost, and I have two needs which either of you can handle. The crew need to be taken into town for a brief furlough; take one of the ferries from Mare's Island to Greater Port Jahalio and direct our men and women to any taverns, cardhouses, eateries or reputable brothels you may find, then keep an eye on them and ensure that they enjoy themselves without growing too rowdy or straying into the untamed wilderness with all its monsters and savages. I will also need one of you to get a few mariners and take the four pirates and the remains of Captain Sharper to the governor's manor, then summon the port authority aboard the Saint Alarice and have them look over the belongings we salvaged from the Devil's Hangman to see if any can be returned to their proper owners; try to haggle for greater bounties if you can, as Port Jahalio is remarkably stingy with their coin...as you may observe here. Excuse me."

Stillwell returned to his barterings over the Devil's Hangman, meeting the impatient provost gaze for gaze and gesturing wildly at the captured vessel, extolling its merits determinedly. First Mate Logor looked to Bosun Ainsley with a weary roll of his eyes. "These people...it's a wonder that Port Jahalio's folk do as much business as they do. Well, then...you're the new bosun. Furlough or bounties. What's your pleasure?"


I'm thinking that babysitting the crew through leave doesn't appeal too much to me. I'll take the bounties in, with... (someone who doesn't deserve leave, either because of disciplinary problems or something like that) and (a crew memeber who isn't the wenching and drinking type) I think between the threee of us we can keep an eye on the prisoners.... especially after I have a word with them about what will happen if they cause trouble."

"One moment please Mr Logor" Corwin will slip on his signet ring and walk over to where the captain and the port authorities are talking and place both hands heavily on the table, leaning forward and looking the provost in the eye and will say in a low dark voice. "Some of my men died to bring that ship in for you, and you insult their sacrifice with a mere 3500?"

Pointing at one of the shipwrights (trying to be intimidating, without being threatening) "You, how much would it cost your yards to make the hangman from scratch?!"

(Corwin - untrained Appraise check (DC 10): Success (13))
(Corwin - Intimidate check (DC 12): Success (15))[/CENTER]


The shipwright's resolve began to wither as Corwin looked him in the eye. "Eh...a two-masted sailing ship of that size? Eighty-seven hundred gilders."

"Rubbish. I have seen single-masted coast runners sell for that much. Ten-thousand gilders is more like it, I think."

The shipwright stammered as Corwin demanded a reassessment of the ship's value. "But you see...the damages reduce the ship's value considerably! The ballista puncture, the crossbow bolts, the impact scrapes...."

"...are all exactly why you do not offer the full value of the ship in the first place. Were this ship sparkling new from another port, eighty-five hundred would be reasonable. With these slight damages and the uncleanliness suffered under the pirates' care, six-thousand gilders would be much more reasonable. The ship is far from sinking, you see?"

"I will not have my shipwrights spoken to in such a manner!" the provost barked, stepping forward to the makeshift table to confront Corwin personally. "I know your ring, sir, and I can only speculate how closely related to nobility you are. But you are far from that devil Borogon Ainsley's domain, and we will not be cowed under your greed-ridden tongue here!"

"Correct me if I am wrong, but Port Jahalio is a small seaport. The population here is certainly not enough to support a vast shipwrighting trade, yet your port seems well-kept and not at all impoverished. How do you collect such profits? By tightening your purse strings, paying people less than a respectable value for their goods--or laying excessive costs on your own wares--simply because you are confident that most people would rather not make the extra journey to Windwater, a larger port with commerce and a population which dwarf those of Port Jahalio. We, however, are heading to Windwater after we leave this port, and we will gladly bring the Devil's Hangman with us if you continue to insult us with your meager offers."

Subtly, the provost's confrontational stance softened. Corwin continued.

"I know Windwater well. And I daresay that Port Jahalio and other ports in the region have lost so much business to Windwater. How much longer do you hope to line your pockets so thickly once word gets around that Windwater will gladly pay seafarers what their goods are worth, while Port Jahalio will not? Bad reputation aside, the House of Ainsley has many friends in the upper class...friends who did not grow to great wealth and power by settling for pittances from skinflints. Friends who will take to heart my testimony that Windwater's commerce is certainly worth the extra four-hundred miles...."

"Enough!" snapped the provost. "Five-thousand and five-hundred gilders, and not a pence more...."

"Six-thousand...or Windwater shall make a profit of three- or four-thousand gilders on the Devil's Hangman by next week. What about you?"

"Fine! Six-thousand!" Provost Raine fumed. "And you will come to Port Jahalio with all your future seafaring needs, agreed? Agreed! Take your gold and leave the ship with us, Ainsley and crew. We'll profit from the Devil's Hangman yet, despite this cost...."

The provost turned and burrowed through his carted coffers, nudging his guards aside as Captain Stillwell turned to Corwin with a content grin. "Well, young Master Ainsley, it seems that you have more talents than I had guessed. Keep at it and you may put me out of my job, eh?"





The pirates did not struggle as Bosun Ainsley and his mariners led them towards the governor's manor. Mariner Rankin had scarcely slept off his drunken stupor--the result of drinking far more than his share of the Saint Alarice's ale reserves--before Corwin dragged him from the brig to make atonement for his previous behavior. And faithful Mariner Gaere had proven his mettle against Captain Sharper; with a spear in hand he goaded the pirates from the rear, reminding them constantly that death would not be swift and merciful if they attempted to escape.

Two chainmail-clad halberdiers flanked the manor's great double doors, keeping close watch on the short, shuffling line of commoners waiting to lay their grievances at the feet of Governor Helmsworth and his court. To the left of the door stood the stocks; of three, only one held any penitents, and its beer-fattened captive looked once to the line with a weary sigh as he faced another short-lived shower of jeers from the fishers. To the right, beneath a boiled leather canopy loomed the board for bounties and public notices, the posts numbering no fewer than eighteen in number.

"Keep an eye on these bastards for a moment Mr Gaere" Corwin said as he goes over to the bounty board and looks over the sheets.

"Yes, sir," Gaere responded as Corwin shouldered through the throng of commoners and seafarers, joining two other likely privateers at the bounty board. Perusing the posted bounties, he committed as much of his reading to memory as he could.





"Oy, down in front, you!" a voice barked rudely from behind Corwin. "O'er folks wanna read the bounties too, you know...."


corwin will pull down the bounty sheet for captain sharper and head over to the guards.

"I need to lay claim to a bounty"

The halberdiers looked across the door to each other before the taller one tightened his bearded jaw and gestured for the line of commoners to stay back.

"Governor Helmsworth and his treasurers will want to deal with you personally. Enter the lobby, then enter the hallway to your left and declare your purpose to the clerks. They should admit you shortly after."





"Ah, yes," the heavyset governor leered, holding Captain Sharper's hand blade against the lantern light and gauging the sharpness of the edge. "The infamous Captain Hethakan Sharper, finally brought to the justice of the seas. Another devil of the tides has met his fate, hmm? And I understand that these are four of his crew...."

"...and the Devil's Hangman is anchored in your port. We hope to receive a fair bounty for the ship as well as fair bounties for Captain Sharper's remains and the lives of these four pirates."

One of the pirates, struggling against the bindings, lost her resolve. "I am innocent, good sir! I have been impugned unjustly by these brutes and savages!"

"Oh?" Governor Helmsworth sneered, setting Sharper's weapon on his broad redwood desk before he approached and seized a fistful of the raven-haired pirate's sleeve, yanking it to her shoulder and baring her upper arm...and, with it, a sepia tattoo, its leering skull superimposed over a pair of crossed cutlasses. "You will find that I am quite familiar with pirates and their customs, my dear. You would not have been accepted onto Captain Sharper's crew without first submitting to receive such a tattoo, a lasting and unspoken oath of your fellowship with such scoundrels."

The male among the pirates sported a similar tattoo on one unclad arm, and the governor gestured to it as he circled around the four criminals, the tails of his burgundy waistcoat swaying rhythmically across his thighs as he went. "But there is a standing bounty of 250 Gilders for each pirate brought live before us to face Imperial justice. It is customary for the captors to plead mercy on the pirates' behalf if the pirates were repentant enough to surrender--especially if they surrendered before blood could be shed--but that custom depends on the tastes of the privateer captain responsible for the captures."

Slowly taking the bounty poster from Corwin's hand, Governor Helmsworth stroked his bald, fattened chin and considered the rewards. Returning to stand behind his desk, he briefly removed the dessicated head of Captain Sharper from its burlap sack, brushing the pebbles of pure salt away and examining the scarred and twisted features of that unsightly countenance before stowing the head away and tying the sack closed once more. "To the privateer crew of the Saint Alarice, the Governance of Port Jahalio awards a bounty of 5,500 Gilders for the remains of Captain Sharper, with an additional bounty of 1,000 Gilders for the arrest of these four pirates; the Port Authority will award the bounty for the Devil's Hangman by their own judgement. Does the sum of 6,500 Gilders meet your approval, bosun?"

As he composed a suitable answer, Corwin also considered Captain Stillwell's wish to speak on behalf of the captive pirates. And there also remained pressing business with the Three Griffins Trading Company, if indeed they had any office in Port Jahalio.

"Captain Stilwell did wish to speak on behalf of these..." Corwin said, gesturing to the pirates. "I understand that normally the penalty for Piracy is death, but these four did surrender, and have been model prisoners since their surrender. Would it be possible for their sentance to be mitigated by this to a sentance of hard labour instead of their lives?"


"You know our laws well, sir," the governor replied. "As customs dictate, these four will be held at trial tomorrow, along with every other pirate and cutpurse brought before us today. Your captain may speak on their behalf then, as may anyone else who wishes to speak for the accused or against them. The magistrate may postpone the trial if any witnesses cannot be present immediately, but otherwise your captain should be in the courtroom below by eight bells after sunrise. And if the sentence is reduced, they might look forward to hard labor, imprisonment, branding or fines, fates dependent on the degree of their determined guilt. And fates which could all be considered gentler than execution by hanging."

Gesturing to the clerks behind him, Helmsworth commanded a sizeable coffer to be brought forth before Corwin and filled from a goodly number of durable leather sacks branded with the Imperial seal, filling the maplewood coffer to the amount of 6,500 Gilders...and not one coin over or under.

"But the Governance of Port Jahalio--and the Empire as a whole--thank you for bringing these criminals before the forces of the law. Might there be any other concerns you wish to leave with me this evening?"

(corwin makes no move to take the chest)

"Yes, we also bring word of the fate of the Copper Flagon, to be added to the crimes of Captain Sharper. When we boarded the Hangman, we were able to recover goods that bore the stamp of the Flagon. due to the additional crime, and the losses taken in bringing him to justice, I'd think between him and his crew an even 8000 would be more in order. after all, imagine the preferential treatment you would get from the Three Griffons Trading Company, being the Governor of the port who put this rogues head on a pike and under who's watch their goods were retreived."

"Unfortunately," the governor explained, "we do not have the authority to handle the affairs of private businesses, nor to offer rewards on their behalf. However, the Three Griffons Trading Company does maintain a branch on the northern shore of Port Jahalio, taking advantage of Jahalio Island's exotic plantain crops. If you have any items or materials which may earn your crew such a reward, bring those to the Three Griffons traders."

Taking a sip from the yellow glass of brandy standing at the edge of his desk, Helmsworth continued.

"Their rewards are typically in the form of coin or goods, though privateer contracts with the company are not unknown for circumstances such as these. Be advised that, while trading companies tend to offer some very lucrative contracts, they offer less stability of employment terms, less authority or merit in nations where the trading company is not present and less support or security of assets than those contracts offered by the Empire."

"Thank you governor for the bounty, and also for the information. I will let Captain Stillwell know about the time to appear for the trial tomorrow."


Corwin will assign Gaere to escort the funds back to the St Alarice, letting him know that once he arrives there, he is to turn the funds over to the watch and then go enjoy what remains of his liberty.

Corwin is heading to the Three Griffons trading company and taking Rankin with him


Rankin followed meekly, knowing that the bosun had no trust for such a scandalous dog as himself and would not permit the penitent mariner to leave his sight. Corwin made his way northward along the docks until his quarry was found.

Many of the surrounding businesses and buildings along the docks were crafted crudely from palmwood--a wood not known for its durability or its fitness for construction--and readily betrayed their ages. It was not so with Port Jahalio's branch of the Three Griffons Trading Company. Sturdy oaken supports--most likely imported--stood blue-stained and precisely cut and shaved among the bone-colored plaster of the exterior walls. The windows which permitted sunlight yet defied intruding eyes were sculpted from colored quartz glass, the company's three-headed emblem boasted openly in each pane. Two of the company's laborers entered ahead of Corwin and Rankin, who stood rigid with surprise as the warm, frankincense-heavy air inside spilled forth from the doorway and washed over them, a brief interruption of the crisp, cool sea breeze which the two knew well.

The brass hinges creaked softly as Corwin drew the stout door open and stepped inside. Tables to the fore of the office buckled under mounds of imported fruits, ironworks and clayware; merchants and seamen haggled over prices and weighed coins upon scales, too occupied with their business to notice anyone walking inside. To the shop's rear resided the desks, ledgers and boxes of the clerks and merchants in the trading company's employ, furiously jotting invoices, contracts, freight permits and more as their concerned customers looked on. Lanterns flickered from the roof beams which stretched overhead, and a great copper censer as large as an ogre's head spilled its tawny frankincense smoke throughout the tradehouse's atmosphere. More dusky, half-lit offices lay beyond the wide, open doorway behind the great censer, and the Three Griffons warehouse lay further beyond them.

"Excuse me!" a short, inquisitive clerk addressed the well-armored bosun. The clerk stood clad in fine and brightly colored blue cotton garb--a silent symbol of his higher Middle Class status--and the sheen of the black silk vest beneath his open waistcoat sported the red-stitched, emblazoned mark of the Three Griffons company.

Straightening his styled horsehair wig, the clerk placed himself directly before Corwin, his stance confrontational even as his words were courteous and gracious. "I do not believe that the Three Griffons Trading Company considers you an established business partner yet. Might I know what has brought you to visit us this day?"

"The fate of the copper Flagon brings me here" Corwin replied, crossing his arms

"The Copper Flagon...one of our merchant vessels, I assume," the clerk sniffed as he gestured for Corwin and Rankin to follow him through the large doorway to the merchant offices. "There is the matter of salvage or merchandise recovered from any vessels in the employ of the Three Griffons Trading Company; a customary finder's fee of 20 percent of the estimated value of any such item is offered upon the item's return to our company, though rarer or more valuable items may command a higher reward, as may items lost under special circumstances determined by our trademaster...."

"Would the rout of a pirate vessel which had plundered a merchant ship--and which was found to have several crates of goods from the Three Griffons vessel in its hold--be considered one such circumstance?"

The clerk paused momentarily in his steps. "Privateers. I thought you had the look of fighting seamen about you. But yes, the company has been known to offer private rewards for pirated or missing vessels and their goods. We must remain profitable with our monetary awards, understand, but alternate or additional rewards may include commissions, territorial privileges and special contracts for those seafarers inclined to do business with us. Ah, here we are."

The secluded office featured a great window of dark green glass, and somewhere within the office burned a single vigilant candle flame. The calligraphy gracefully burned into the door declared this place to be the office of the trademaster. A dark wooden lectern stood just beside the elegantly crafted maplewood door, and upon the lectern lay spread a weighty tome of aging paper and many inked entries on a continuing list.

Pushing the clamor of the adjoining warehouse from his thoughts, the clerk leafed backward through the goodly sized book until he found what he sought. "The Copper Flagon...lost at sea October of last year after sailing out of the port of Weijarandr...captained by Nerris O'Coul with twelve hands aboard. Eight-hundred pounds of copper pots and kitchenwares, two tons of pineapples, twenty bolts of satin and coin in the amount of 2,200 gilders and 800 pfennigs on the manifest when leaving Weijarandr. So the vessel was lost to pirates, then."

"Yes. To Hethakan Sharper and the crew of the Devil's Hangman."

"I see. Well, then, as privateers you would first bring any captured or slain pirates and any captured pirate vessels to either the governor or other Imperial representative of Port Jahalio or--if employed by a private company--to your own company's office to claim any rewards for the pirates. That would be the most legal way to proceed, of course. Afterwards, you would simply bring to us the written marque of receipt for the reward as well as the recovered goods themselves, so that we might reward you properly as well. The trademaster would seem to be busy at the moment, but he might prefer to take audience with you privately when you come to claim your reward."

Inside the dark office, a shadowed figure crept across the gloaming of the candleflame, casting an oddly sinister caricature of the person's appearance against the green glass.

"That said," the clerk concluded, "shall we dispatch our shoremen to remove our goods from your vessel or would you prefer to bring the goods to us yourselves?"

"It would probably be best for us to arrange transport to you, that way we have time to seperate your goods from the rest of what we recovered. We would be wanting to discuss any further rewards or trading concerns at that time. If I can get a copy of that (pointing to the entry in the book) to aid us in seperating out the goods that are yours, I will bid you good day."

Corwin will wait for the scrip, and then head back to the docks. on the way, he'll turn to Rankin with a stern look. "Go find Lorgar and those goat born bastards of the crew that are on leave and get their asses back to the boat. I don't are if you have to scream, curse, kick, bite, or what have you, but get them back and quickly.

If you don't hurry about it, (he grabs rankin and hauls him close) I'll cut you up for fishbait myself... Now GO!"

I don't like the thoughts of the ship with a skeleton crew aboard. [[[[pun intended]]]] That merchant made my "bump of trouble" act up, and I wouldn't put it past them to try something."

When he gets back to the ship, he'll dismiss the watch in the bow and give homage to his lord and master.

(I'm guessing that the wandering around looking for the trading post for the three griffons ate up a large chunk of the day, and I'm hoping it's nighttime)


"We shall await your return, then," the clerk agreed with a bow before leading Corwin and Rankin back to the entrance, "and the copy of the Copper Flagon's cargo manifest shall wait with us. Good evening."





"If you don't hurry about it," Corwin threatened as he drew Rankin close menacingly, "I'll cut you up for fishbait myself... Now GO!"

Without a word, Rankin picked himself up off the dock and bolted across the docks in search of every tavern, every brothel and every crewmate he could find. Dusk had begun to slip away across the horizon, and for vast yards shone the countless glimmers of lanternlights flickering across the undulating water of the bay.

Leaning over the gunwales before the prow, Corwin cast his contemplative gaze to the baywater below, counting its slaps against the hull. And for minutes, nothing more was to be seen.

But then the rolling surface of the waves was broken by the head and dorsal region of a young sea bass, a deep-dwelling fish on an uncommon visit to the wind-graced world above. Opening and closing its mouth in silent breath, the fish seemed to look directly at Corwin in its stance, if not its gaze.

The sea bass idled there for a minute before roaming away towards the open sea, never departing the surface as it swam...never departing the surface until beset by an unwelcome surprise from below. The barracuda's thrashing was brief in subduing its prey, and a flick of the predator's tail was the last thing Corwin observed before the barracuda dragged its quivering meal to the dark depths below.





His focus abruptly shifted to the gangplank and the docks below, where a dozen feet marched and swaggered in approach. Logor ascended to the deck and met Corwin eye for eye.

"Mariner Rankin informs me that you wanted us all back aboard the Saint Alarice, and he said that the matter was urgent. What seems to be the problem here, Corwin?"

"What I actually told him was to get the crew aboard quickly or I'd cut him up for fishbait" Corwin will say with a deadpan expression and a slow wink.

"After speaking with that merchant with the three griffons trading company this afternoon, I thought that it may be in our best interests to have more crew members than just the watch aboard, Just to be on the safe side. If nothing happens, then we just let it be known that the the Bosun was running an emergency board call drill."

Also, I think that we'd best be moving the cargo that we know is the three griffons companies up on deck." Corwin will look around quickly. "Where's the Captain?" he'll take a quick look for Rankin.


"I am here," Captain Stillwell called to Corwin as he emerged from the captain's quarters. "Your concerns about the Three Griffons Trading Company...you suspect them of duplicity or deceit, I presume. And I understand your concerns; trading companies near and far have earned their reputations for placing commerce above benevolence or virtue, I assure you."

Drawing nearer, Stillwell looked over the assembled crew. "Well? Why are you lot standing about? You heard your bosun! Go below, find anything stamped as property of the Three Griffons Trading Company and bring it above deck! Hop to it, ladies and gents...except for you, Rankin."

Rankin gulped beneath the accusing weight of the captain's figure.

"I have not forgotten your drunken escapade. Back to the brig with you. The rest of you, set to your tasks."





"It is a pity that some of the Copper Flagon's goods have been lost...mostly the foodstuffs and other consumables, no doubt eaten or put to their intended purposes by the pirates themselves."

The nightwatch had come and passed without incident, and the clerk of the Three Griffons company pored over the gathered crates and barrels, checking their quantities against the Copper Flagon's manifest. Six of the company's hands leaned and sat about the decks and gunwales of the Saint Alarice, awaiting the clerk's every command.

"Very good, Captain Stillwell," the clerk nodded in affirmation, sliding his copper-tipped quill into an available breast pocket. "Your bounty for these recovered goods amounts to one-thousand, two-hundred and eighty-six gilders. Please come with me to our tradehouse to collect your payment."

"I must remain with the ship," Captain Stillwell stated, taking Corwin and Logor aside as the Three Griffons laborers set to relieving the Saint Alarice of the stolen cargo. "Logor, we set sail this afternoon; ensure that our ship is made ready for the run to Windwater. Ainsley, I want you to take three of our strongest mariners and collect our bounty from the Three Griffons company. Be certain to count the money as soon as you receive it...in their sight, lest they accuse us of deception. And do not let them shy us a pence less than our due. They may be quite willing to deal with us fairly, but do not give them the benefit of our utmost confidence. Go to your tasks now, gentlemen."





"...three-hundred ninety-eight, three-hundred ninety-nine...four-hundred," Gaere smiled, content to finish taking count of his coffer.

"...which, with this sack of eighty-six gilders, comes to 1,286 gilders exactly," Corwin affirmed.

Clerk Ergis clapped his hands with an air of finality. "And with that settled, my good privateers, our business is concluded. The Three Griffons Trading Company once more extends their fondest gratitude for your charitable services. May all pirates fall beneath your scourge."

Astride his coffer of 400 gilders, Gaere bent at the knees and bore the chest from the floor, and the other two mariners did in kind. Corwin leaned against the desk before him, tying a leather thong around the mouth of the coin sack when he felt Clerk Ergis at his side.

"If you would hear our offer," the portly clerk began, "there may be further reward for such a strong and authoritative seaman as yourself. Our trademaster wishes to have a word with you before you leave us."

Turning from Clerk Ergis and slinging the coin sack over his shoulder, Corwin peered through the dusty and incense-laden air to the dark window of the trademaster's office. A tall and lean silhouette flickered and trembled against that green glass, its arms crossing the figure's breast expectantly.

I would be most interested in hearing whatever offer your trademaster would have.

"Very good," Ergis smiled pleasantly with a slight bow of his head. "Please, come with me."

Corwin dismissed his mariners, bidding them to return to the Saint Alarice post haste. "Assure our captain that I shall not be long here. I do have the last 86 coins of our bounty, after all."

As his men hefted their coffers and departed, Corwin fell in behind the clerk. Striding and bobbing past rows of traders and wares, the two made their way to the trademaster's office. With a firm hand, Clerk Ergis opened the door for the young privateer to pass.

"What business passes herein is between you and the trademaster. I shall leave you with him and return to my duties now."

So taking his leave, Ergis sauntered away into the great warehouse. Frankincense washed over Corwin in a heady sepia cloud as the door whispered shut behind him.

The tall and wiry trademaster turned from the window and came to the great ashwood desk between the two, extending a hand in greeting. "Salutations, privateer," the aged trademaster spoke with a tenor tone and a thin-lipped smile framed between tightly drawn cheeks. "My clerks inform me of your victory over the pirates who plundered the Copper Flagon, and the Three Griffons Trading Company is very grateful. I am Trademaster MacCaelris, the trademaster representing the Three Griffons company in Port Jahalio. And you are...?"





"I am Corwin Ainsley, madame."

The two hands hung suspended in the air without meeting as both took measure of what Corwin had just said. The trademaster spoke to break the silence after that brief pause.

"You...recognize me for what I am, then," MacCaelris admitted with chagrin.

"I suppose that I do. But your clerks and laborers referred to you as being male...."

"...some men of whom hail from cultures where I would not be respected as a competent trade officer otherwise. So this more masculine appearance which I assume is quite necessary, I assure you."

Bardosylvania was one such culture, Corwin considered. But those wretched years beneath his mother's roof had demonstrated quite clearly to him how sharp-witted, commanding and authoritative an older woman could truly be. Hence, he realized, had he and the trademaster immediately come to an understanding.

Throwing the tails of her copper-toned waistcoat out from beneath her, the trademaster's white-gloved hands reached below the desk as both took to their seats. A map of the Southern Imperial Coast was spread across the desk between Corwin and MacCaelris. "That said, then, I shall come directly to my proposal, Mister Ainsley. I assure you that it is a promising and potentially lucrative offer, just as I assure you that I and the Three Griffons Trading Company will be nothing but fair and gracious with you in this proposal. You do have me at a disadvantage, after all."

Her finger danced across the map, tracing routes among fourteen coastal cities...Port Jahalio, Windwater, Talon's Reach and more. "Many of our ships have languished in port for months on end; with so many pirate attacks on our vessels as of late, we find more and more of our captains turning spineless and leaving our payrolls. And these trade ships cannot sail themselves."

Skipping across the landmass of Fioriallia, her finger came to rest on Port Jahalio, their current port. "Now, in our experience, the bosuns and first mates of other larger sailing ships may readily become captains of smaller ships, with but a scant minimum of training. And at this time we have a fresh unmanned sloop in this port, a small coastal runner ideal for making swift runs among the coastal settlements. Its cargo capacity is small but, with their speed, maneuverability and small crews, such sloops continue to prove themselves profitable enough for our company's fleet. Were you to agree to enter contract with us and captain this vessel, you would name the sloop as you saw fit, and we would give you a crew of eight men...enough to sail the vessel without being overcrewed. Are you interested so far?"

So far, I am... Intrigued, by the offer, as far as being interested, what besides naming the ship is the captains prerogative? as far as hiring the crew and so forth?


(Though he's not the most seasoned seaman out there, I would say so...especially for a sloop, a lugger, a caravel or some other small sailing ship. Most people wouldn't be able to use a skill like Profession: Sailor untrained, but Corwin can. And Corwin can always take ranks in that Profession later; if he's taking a Leadership or Undead Leadership Feat at Level 6, he's a shoo-in for captain. )

(Would Corwin ever get any practical use out of Profession: Sailor? Absolutely. If Darrovan ever takes territories or expands Bardosylvania's borders overseas, Corwin and any undead crews under him will be crucial to the success of such lordly ambitions...and Darrovan would do well to realize this. And the sea is not without its horrors and dangers, either; enemy ships prowl the coasts and throughfares, storms can dash a ship to flinders without a knowledgeable captain at the helm, and clashes between ships and sea monsters are epic affairs; only a skilled captain will see the ship and her crew to survival, let alone victory over the beast.)[/CENTER]

((((that's weird, i had thought i had taken that skill for him... must have dropped it for some intimidation or something... oh well.. looks like i know what skill i'll be picking up if/when i DING lvl 6)))

"Besides the naming privilege," the trademaster explained with measured cadence, "you would receive a base salary of 100 gilders per month in addition to fifteen percent of all the profits from any trades and sales along your trade route; from the remainder of the profits, you would be responsible for all trade purchases, operating costs, crew wages and other such expenses, as well as the accurate accountings of such. After six months of profitable service, you would become entrusted as a charter, planning your own trade routes and buying or selling goods as you saw fit; there is risk of market failure and lost profits with this privilege--and the Three Griffons Trading Company will not compensate you for losses stemming from your own mistakes, of course--but some great charters have risen to become greater traders after discovering new and very lucrative trade routes. The gold-pottery-amethyst route among Lebeq Prime, Omikoros and the Amethyst Coast was established by one of our most enterprising traders; you might follow in his footsteps one day."

"In addition, our company offers the option of contributing up to half of your pay towards the vessel's cost. Sloops and keelboats cost around 3,000 gilders apiece, and after paying that cost to the company you would become the full owner of the vessel. From there, you might split away from the company and become a free trader--and our company has helped many free traders found their own enterprises--or you may renew your contract with us and continue to rise within the ranks of our company, perhaps eventually becoming a fleet captain or the trademaster for any available port town."

The ink pot and quill were pushed across the desk towards Corwin, and MacCaelris rummaged through her basket of scrolls, searching for the right one for the need.

"You would have ample chance to inform your captain of your decision to leave his crew and sign on with our fleet, of course. And if he has any objections, ask him to come here and speak with me. So...will there be anything else, or do you wish to join our grand and profitable team today?"

do i have any say in the crew of the vessel? there's afew of my mates form the St Alarice that may be interested

"I suppose that you could bring along as many of eight of your most worthy shipmates," MacCaelris conceded, her fingers steepled in consideration. "Though the Three Griffons Trading Company cannot vouch for their suitability, you as their bosun can. That is enough to satisfy me; there are plenty of other ships to be manned with our company's own tenant sailors. But remember that you, of course, will be responsible for their wages. Pay them too much and you cannot remain profitable. Pay them too little and you will invite a mutiny."

With slow, regal steps the trademaster drew near to the open rowanwood liquor cabinet in the corner of her office. The row of small pewter goblets stood at attention along the lower shelf as MacCaelris fetched a crystalline bottle of brandy from among the cabinet's assembly of bottles and stoppers. "I do, however, concern myself with your own captain...Stillwell, was it? He may not wish to lose nine members of his crew in one swoop, including his bosun. How do you plan on confronting him with your intentions?"

Well, it just so happens that the Captain is following pretty much the same route as you had pointed out earlier. Doubtless, he would be interested in forming up with another additional ship for at least part of the Voyage, and even a small fleet would be less likely to attract Pirate attention. If pirates did attack, they'd be more interested in the St Alarice and what's in it's holds than a smaller Vessels.

"A sound proposal for the Saint Alarice and her crew, then," the trademaster appraised of Corwin's reasoning, spreading the retainer's contract across the desk before him. "If you have any other questions of how you and the Three Griffons Trading Company may serve each other, then this would be the time to ask. Otherwise, all you must do is sign on the line and speak with your captain of the matter. Return here and come to Three Griffons' Dock Five with your sailors; we shall be making your sloop ready for your voyage there."

The ruddy brown ink dribbled from the tip of the quill as Trademaster MacCaelris checked its viscosity, then returned the quill to the ink pot and offered both to Corwin.

and as far as pirate bounties and prizes, how would such things be handled? Captain Stillwell has his charter through the Empire itself, would similar documents be provided for myself and my crew? and in the event that a prize ship was brought in, would it be handed by the port governor, or would I be dealing directly with Three Griffons personell?


"Those are good questions," MacCaelris considered. "Your trade sloop is not at all ideal for pirate hunting, I admit, as it is swift and lightly weighted. But were you to clash with the pirates and somehow best them rather than simply escaping them, you would hand over any captive pirates or pirate ships and claim the bounties for such at any Imperial governance. Having a privateer contract with the Empire, our trade company or any other company or body of authority would grant you periodic stipends and salaries for the tasks of hunting pirates or other enemies of the Empire--as well as other benefits such as legal counsel, were you to somehow grate against the law in the course of your duties--but anyone can turn in captured pirates--or their remains--and claim any standing bounties for them. But you would usually do so through Imperial offices; after all, the Empire is arbiter over the laws against piracy, not the Three Griffons Trading Company."

A pewter goblet filled with brandy was slid to Corwin's edge of the desk, and the trademaster took up its mate in her slight yet weathered hand. "So is there anything else I can help you with, then?"

of course, I was just thinking that with the Piracy problems you've been having lateley, there would be a further bounty paid by the company. It would be a great morale boost for your other traders to have one of their own taking down the scum.

taking the brandy, shall we drink to the Woodwitch then?




"To the Woodwitch, then," MacCaelris agreed with a congenial smile, lifting the goblet to her lips. "And do not fear the pirates, Master Ainsley; only the most desperate of their lot would stoop to attacking a mere sloop when there are so many larger wares-laden sailing ships roving the seas. Shall we see to the naming and christening of this vessel, then?"





"Correct. The sloop is to be named the Woodwitch. And be sure to nail the letters up on both sides of the prow this time."

"Right away, Sir."

The two roustabouts then left their trademaster and trotted back to the Three Griffons tradehouse to procure their letters and nails for the task at hand. Trademaster MacCaelris returned to the end of the dock, to her company with Captain Stillwell, First Mate Logor and the newly commissioned Captain Ainsley.

"I do thank you for your discretion regarding my station, good Ainsley," MacCaelris nodded. "And for you, Captain Stillwell, I and the Three Griffons Trading Company extend our gratitude for allowing your bosun and eight of your crew to pilot our newest tradeship. We are prepared to compensate you for the deficit, if you would hear our offer."

Stillwell dismissed the notion with a brush of his hand. "Think nothing of it. Our coffers have grown heavy enough with the bounties for Captain Sharper, his ship and his crew...not to mention your company's reward for returning the Copper Flagon's wares. My first mate has proven himself a very capable bosun in our history together, and I am confident that he shall capably serve that role again."

"You have my word on that, Captain," the half-elf concurred.

"But, Mister Ainsley, I am pleased to report that the magistrate has found a fitting sentence for our four captive pirates: twenty years of indentured servitude as laborers and roustabouts on the docks of Port Jahalio, answering to the office of the governor. Even the three women of the lot should be quite strong of body after two decades of such labor, eh?"

MacCaelris shrugged silently at Stillwell's opinion, then drew a mapcase from her belt. Removing one end of the case, she drew forth a map and offered both to Corwin.

"Here you have the charter for your trade route, Captain Ainsley. Allow me to explain it to you.

"Presently aboard the Woodwitch are forty large barrels of bananas, twenty barrels of oranges and 1,000 gilders of our company's coin to aid with your vessel's expenses; be sure to record all transactions on the ledger in your quarters. Now, our objective with this three-port trade route is to import both iron and meats from the Brustaggen coastal town of Felsenstadt to Port Jahalio. With so many ships coming into this port everyday, iron for nails, ship fittings and weapons is in constant demand here, and our taverns routinely exhaust their supplies of salted meats. And Jahalio Island has very little grazing land for livestock and no iron-heavy mountains, so we cannot satisfy our own needs; hence, trade with Brustagg is necessary. But our chief export is tropical fruits, and Brustagg--a nation whose meat-eating culture takes pride in their meats and their cooking--has little need for Jahalio Island's oranges and bananas. But Nellowswann is a largely agricultural nation, yet their topsoil will not support the growth of oranges or bananas. So they welcome our fruits gladly.

"You will also find that Windwater--Nellowswann's river port--is abundant in river clay and hence has a very strong pottery industry. And Brustagg, with her love of rich meaty dishes and dark drinks heavy in alcohol, has a very strong demand for pottery: clay mugs for drinking their lagers and ales, clay bowls and platters for cooking and eating, and clay jars for storing salt, spices and dried meats. But Brustagg's grassy topsoil and rocky, mountainous expanses make for poor clay and a very weak pottery industry...."

"...so you want me to take the fruits from Port Jahalio to Windwater, sell the fruits, buy pottery, sell the pottery in Felsenstadt, buy meats and iron and bring the meats and iron back to Port Jahalio."

"Exactly!" MacCaelris affirmed with an approving smile. "As always, keep any invoices and receipts from your trades and bring them back to me. You shall receive your fifteen percent of the total profit upon your return, though this may increase to twenty percent if you arrive ahead of schedule; we will be expecting your return in ten days, but you are welcome to make port with the meats and the iron before then. Just take care not to work your crew to death in any rush to come back here; they do tend to grumble so. And the fruits will surely spoil in a week or so, so do not tarry on your way to Windwater."





Brief words were exchanged between Corwin and MacCaelris before the former took the charter map and bade his farewell. MacCaelris began to pace the dock with two of her hands, looking over her ledger and gesturing to the roustabouts with her commands.

"I fear that we must part company amid the coming voyage, young Ainsley," Captain Stillwell nodded with a clap on Corwin's shoulder as they left the trademaster and took to their ships. "Meerheim is our port after Windwater, while Felsenstadt is yours. Both ports lie on Brustagg's shores, but Felsenstadt is a trade port, while Meerheim is a more military one. We can sail with you as far as Brustagg's coastal waters, but beyond that you shall be on your own. Now we shall see how much you have learned about sailing ships under my wing, eh?"

Spoiler:

(One time offer: Just this once, you may take Skill points from any skills which Corwin hasn't used yet and invest them in Profession: Sailor instead. The usual point limits and class/cross-class conversions still stand. Thanks to his Cleric class, Profession is considered a class skill. For Corwin's leve, the maximum would be five ranks, but even one or two ranks in Sailor should be enough to sail the ship in a straight line under a good wind and should do for now. You may have to wait a while before Corwin is a sailing devil with 20 ranks in Profession: Sailor, but the long-term investment could be worthwhile. "That's the ghost pirate, Corwin Ainsley! I heard he once escaped an Imperial fleet by sailing into a hurricane...and he came out the other side in one piece." :yoy: )