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November 22, 2002

One: Back From the Dead

It was weeks before we saw land and I only caught glimpses of it through the part where the oars, but not people, go outside the ship. When I watched Hafcriss hang over the edge, threatening to drop him in, I knew I didn’t want to.

Rumor moved quickly through the ship that we were passing within a few leagues of the Moonshae Isles, home of the druids and other people who strongly dislike pirates. Freedom seems a lot further when it's just out of reach.

(This is from the viewpoint of Foley, a halfling thief, some years later.)

While I'm talking, someone can top off my wine, and none of the watered-down stuff this time. I might not be a lay-at-home hairyfoot but I can tell the difference.

So where was I? Oh yes. The Moonshaes. Apparently they are made up of a number of different islands, the Moonshaes, and that's about all I know about them. Rokellen, that human priest of the dead, made a passing comment that we did not really want to go there lest we be judged, but I'd rather judged on dry land than stuck to an oar.

About this time the wind started pressing harder. Instead of putting up the sails, they were taken down and we were told to row faster. At the end of our shift, the boat was rocking so hard that if I had anything left in my stomach it would be part of my neighbor's bunk. I sure as all six-hundred and some odd hells couldn't sleep, even after the exhausting work.

The storm got worse and worse and we could hear the thunder right outside and see the blinding light out the hatch above. Only "above" was occasionally "beside" and "below" became the wall. If we weren't all chained to our bunks, we would be bruised and broken. Hafcriss was certainly looking nervous. When the water started coming down the stairs in more than a trickle he got even more nervous. When the first shift was unshackled and pulled upstairs, he got more nervous still. The sound of one of the masts leaving the ship didn't help any of us, and our half-orc keeper spent half the time looking up the stairs. Squinting against the wind and ocean water, anyway.

The bulkier members of our shift started pulling out of their shackles best they could. Normally this would earn them a sound beating and a night in the box or dangled over the edge, but with no one paying us attention we felt free to act as desperately as we could. No, I didn't do anything, girl. I'm all of three and a half feet tall, godsblesset. What do you expect me to do against iron bands? What would you do against iron bands? Sing at them? I would like to see you try.

There's a sound that is made by the oars pulling against the wood of the ship in time to the drums, a sound that after a few weeks you don't even hear anymore, but you hear when they stop. Hafcriss must have heard them stop when he went on top, even in the wind and the problems of the floor sometimes being a wall. We heard the single set of footsteps. We heard him praying to his dirty orc gods. Then the world exploded.

Tymora smiled on us and drove the ship onto some rocks, splitting it neatly in half and freeing up, hells, I don't know, the tall elf Dane I think. For whatever reason he stayed around to pull the rest of us out of our shackles. Those of us who survived, at any rate. I haven't wasted your time with the names of anyone who didn't survive, or survived and I never heard about again.

The storm was fading away as the ship settled a bit on the rocks, but did not sink. Tymora doubly blessed us by not only setting us free but putting us on an island not a dozen miles from the Moonshaes. Myself and Kumar, both rather agile climbers, got up on deck and saw what we suspected -- no crew, no Hafcriss and the remains of sails swaying in the wind. We were, completely and utterly, free.

Not utterly. The shackles on our arms and legs were still not helping us move around, but we could move.

Colwyn, Kumar and Sully decided it would be best to go down to the solid ground of the beach and see where we were. Dwarf, half-elf and half-orc, going to make life safe, how kind of them. Me, I could see where we were; a few feet from the captain's cabin and whatever goods he had hiding within. So Dane and Rokellen and I went to take a look.

There was a lot of nothing but a knife and a whetstone and the keys. Now we were free, at least three of us. The other two let me keep the knife, though why I don't know. I handed the keys to Dane and went to the only other thing in here that was of any interest; a hatch in the floor.

Climbing down the ladder was interesting but not too hard. It was wet and at an odd angle from the way our half of the boat landed. In it was the captain's private hold which held ruined grain in ruined sacks, ruined wine in ruined barrels, and a large, unruined chest.

The chest contained many things which I forget, and a few things that I don't. The others were upset that I had forgotten these things but even now I don't completely remember. Maps and some kind of brass thing for finding yourself on a map, for instance, and a large unstrung crossbow and some bolts for it. And the string for the crossbow.

At the time I didn't know it was the string and this caused quite a problem later, but I'll tell you lot about that later. Maybe much later. All you have to know is at the time the crossbow was just a really big club.

Also tied up in a corner, bruised from all the barrels and things bouncing around, was a young human girl who said she was Melisana and that she was the daughter of some rich Moonshae merchant. We were terribly nice to her at that point, because it always does to keep your prisoners from knowing they're prisoners for as long as possible.

Outside, the other three were making the beach safe for ex-slaves everywhere in their own way. Hafcriss survived the crash and was approaching them and ordering them around. Kumar says he was very nice about offering to let Hafcriss live if he let them free of their shackles. Hafcriss didn't take kindly to this, but he didn't have to take unkindly for long when you have three unhappy, mobile and capable ex-slaves and all you have is a whip and a dagger.

As it happened, he also had some keys, so by the time we came down with our new guest in tow, they were free and looking around the wreckage. It was still raining and none of us knew how to build a fire out of nothing. Not even the darkie elf, who at one point during our captivity was going on about his people's oneness with the woods.

We ended up cutting the tatters of sail to make a kind of tent and set up a watch in case. No one killed me overnight, so that's as good as we had to a truce at this point, and that's good enough for me

Posted by jenkins at 4:04 PM

November 15, 2002

Introduction: Who We Are

When I left the farm I never thought I'd end up on a slaver's ship floating just a few miles away from the Moonshae islands. It's not the kind of thing you're likely to think about unless you were born a slave on the western edge of Faerun. No one wakes up one morning and says to themselves or any unfortunate person around that they will go into the slaving profession. Not as product.

Let me tell you how it started.

(This is from the viewpoint of Foley, a halfling thief, some years later.)

It isn't hard for a motivated halfling to break into the import-export business in Baldur's Gate. Just showing up and passing the interview is usually enough. I've heard some wild stories about schools and training that are cuthroat, like other people will cut your throat for a few copper. But in Baldur's Gate, the movers of goods are treated with more respect and have to be more careful. The Flamers, who pass for a city guard, are everywhere. They must drain the coffers of the overtaxed city quite often and make it hard to move these goods.

Looking for goods, or information, is how I came across the raiding party. Every once and a while a bunch of insane pirates hit Baldur's Gate and steal stuff from the docks or from the outskirts before the Flamers get a chance to figure out what's going on. It's a hit-and-run, but it's effective.

But pirates are just common thieves and they know what to look for. It will be the last time I hide in shrub. I thought it would be the last time I'd ever see a shrub, with many promises that I would be rowing boats for the rest of my life, and the shackles were very strong.

I don't know if they thought it was funny to seat me next to some dark elf but it wasn't. The thing kept trying to talk to me and ask me questions, though he was smart enough not to talk to our jailer. See, every shift of rowers got their own keeper, some ugly heighty or other with names like Killer or Butch. Ours was a half-orc named Hafcriss who had about as much loyalty to his species as any half-breed. Hafcriss even had some joy in beating down another half-orc chained to an oar by himself. Some of the less lucky slaves had to row alone. But then, they didn't have to chat it up with some dark-skinned mouthy elf.

No, no he wasn't drow. Look, shut up, not every gods-damned dark-skinned elf in the world is drow. This elf was dark like bark. Drow are black and pretty nasty. Not that I care, but a lot of people don't like drow. He just had dark skin and dark hair unlike any elf I'd ever seen. But he was smart enough to shut up when Hafcriss came around.

After a few weeks of rowing, though, anyone would talk to an elf. Or even the half-breeds. At first I thought the dwarf who had his own oar would be a good conspiritor for escape, but it didn't take long for him to get beat stupid. Oh how I wished for one gnome to talk with.

After three weeks I was ready to conspire even with the half-elf. By this time we had all talked with one another just enough for introductions. I never thought I would be grateful for knowing a human, but among these races humans are the easiest to manipulate.

The half-elf, a creature with noble bearing and odd desert accent, seemed the most eager to escape. He introduced himself as Kumar. He was built like a human, strong by the look of his thighs, and had an oar all to himself. Hey, when you're a halfling in a world of giants, you get to look at a lot of legs and it's not pretty.

In spite of this, Kumar had the usual deceptive cunning of an elf. He talked glib of friends and allies but I didn't trust him. That he said he was almost as interested in importing and exporting as I was, and that made me trust him even less. There's honor among us, but not without a reason.

When he asked Hafcriss what the name of the boat is, the orc-spawn had a fit of creativity with a whip, so we never did find out.

The dark-skinned elf claimed his dark skin was from being of The Wood People. "The People" means elves, boy. Stop interrupting. He said his name was Dane Metrik and from the weeks he tried talking to me I learned he was a slave on a different ship, that the other ship was taken over by the one we were on and that he liked it better over there and other things I didn't care to know. At first he would only tell us he liked the bow, but later we found he also had an interest in the mystical.

Though half-breeds make my skin crawl -- because they're so faithless and got faithless parents, and I know you lot were about to interrupt about that -- I had to put up with them anyway. A half-orc, named Sully see, had another oar alone and Hafcrys kept harassing the creature with promises of fetching a high price for muscle and no brain, yet when talking to the giant half-orc he was quite violent but well-spoken about it.

The dwarf claimed fielty to the god Hoar, or maybe goddess. He said it had to do with justice. Justice! Would he call being beat ten ways to the Planes for opening his mouth justice? I suppose I'd better tell you his name while I'm telling you everyone else's. Colwyn. There it is.

Finally we have Rokellen, Follower of the Dead God Kellemvor. He was very helpful whenever someone's life was threatened and promised to help usher us into the afterlife. It's the life I got that I'm worried about. I don't need help getting there; I need help staying here.

I never thought I would be grateful for knowing a human, but among these races humans are the easiest to manipulate. I was hoping this was the case with this one.

There were some others, but they ended up dead anyway, washed overboard. And after rowing for four weeks, four long ugly disgusting thirsty weeks on the ocean, that's exactly what happened.

Posted by jenkins at 3:48 PM