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January 21, 2003

Five: The Castaways

There are things about boats I know that no one who's not sailor should ever have to. I can't splice anything, but I know what it means. One of the things I know about boats is there is never any good food on them, ever. I know you're all thinking I'm pandering to the halfling stereotype by complaining about food but having something good to eat is how you know you're somewhere you want to be.

The food is simply another reason why I don't want to be on boats.

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

Another thing about boats that I just do not like is everyone knows who and what you are unless you don't tell anyone anything. Word spreads on a boat, and at port word spreads onto a boat like bad food, cargo and rats.

I can't remember the name of the ship but I remember most of the people on board. The Small Merchant's Guild said it was a law-minded, well-armored merchant ship that made the trip between Baldur's Gate and the Moonshaes on a fairly regular basis, stopping in a mid-way point known as Mintarn. The trip took us nine days, which to me is about two weeks too long.

The captain was a surly, homely human woman with some orc in her ancestry. This actually seemed to put off Nosmo from hitting on her, but did nothing but draw Sulley's gaze throughout the voyage. He was smart enough not to do anything to her, though, or at least nothing to get himself thrown overboard. She did wear an amulet with Tyr's symbol on it, though, and nothing frightened off Sulley like a religious woman.

Her first mate was an actual priest to some god or goddess I forget the name of, but had something to do with water elements. This was only a start to the ship's magical power as they also had three magi on board, two human males and one green-tinted blue-haired web-fingered elf I was told was a "sea elf". If there's anywhere elves aren't I'll be grateful.

We made our goodbyes to Melisana and her father days ago, though he was keeping tabs on us anyway. Any good businessman will keep an eye on his investment, and we cost this one around five hundred gold. It seemed like everyone was keeping an eye on us because it wasn't more than a day on board before the purser sent someone our way asking if we were "the ones they call the Castaways".

If any of you start talking about "the Castaways", I'll break your fingers. I can hear you sniggering in the back; don't think the shadows protect you from being heard.

It didn't help that Dane Metrik was looking for a spell and saw these people as his way to get to it. He thought that he'd start with the sea-elf woman only to find himself blacklisted from even speaking to her. She kept to herself throughout the voyage, though said something to me passing in the halls to the stairs. I think it was meant as a compliment but I wasn't listening at the time. There's little an elf has to say that's of interest, and an elf woman less so. I could get started talking about drow in this regard, but I'll save that story for when you lot can afford it.

Eventually Dane did find the youngest mage amiable to an exchange of money for spells, which lead to our first discussion as an actual group. The discussion was about money and that we didn't actually have any that wasn't silverware sets and a crown. But when we got some, we decided, for the time being, that money earned by all would benefit all. I wasn't used to the vague nature of money ownership, but it made sense. If we all could benefit from getting some spells for the elf, then the elf should have some spells.

The other benefit to this is the elf then owes us all for chipping in for his spells. Loyalty through obligation is one of the best kinds of loyalty there is.

This was the time Duke Nocens came by, asking for "the Castaways". He had heard, through our historian friend Fflewdder, that we were looking to unload some a spoon or two from the Pirate King Viadel. He was, he said, something of a collector and was interested in seeing if what we had was genuine.

Sully kept trying to ruin the transaction by talking. Fortunately not even he could make the day less profitable when the Duke saw just one spoon and he just started talking from there, talking in good ways about how long he'd been trying to make just one place setting. We eventually dropped that we might have one and he was ecstatic. We then hinted that we might have eight and he was probably more excited than an eighty year-old human can hope to get.

After seeing the set and the box, the good Lord offered twelve hundred gold for the lot, on the spot, which was almost twice the value of the metal and craftsmanship itself. I didn't need to remind anyone that this is just the reason why we didn't sell it earlier; we were all seeing and thinking riches, however fleeting.

Payment was in gold and gems back in the Duke's high-priced cabin, a smart move instead of bringing the gold to us. We mentioned the crown and he laughed, saying he had two fakes already. Sully then said something that will haunt my memory forever. He said, "It might'a been a fake, but he looked pretty upset when we took it off his head."

Even so, we got the Duke to come back to look at it and authenticate its ... authenticity, though he was disappointed at the gems. Beggars can't be choosers, we said, or something like it, and we made another five hundred for the crown. This was a lot of gold for one day so, to cover all bases, we got the purser to observe and record the transaction. Few things can ruin your day faster than a good deal going sour.

Then he mentioned the mace.

There is a point where the lure of money is just sated, when one knows your luck is being pushed and it's time to back off. We, and when I say "we" I mean Kumar and I, tried to play it cool but it is hard to ask about things for long without letting your true motives be known, especially when you have people like Dane and Sully making deals harder. It was only a matter of time before Duke Nocens asked to be paid for his consulting services.

We learned some things about the mace, then sitting in Rokellen's pack, but of all the important things, I'll tell you it was named Gathering of Storm. He teased us with such prices as three thousand gold, and I briefly entertained taking it from the cleric and selling it, but by this time we were all business partners to a limited extent and you don't stab a man in the back then expect him not to stab you in the front. Besides, business is sacred. It's more binding than religion, and better for you. Upsetting gods is less hazardous than upsetting a loan agent, though not by much.

The purser was a paid-up member of the Small Businessman's Association here and there within the Moonshaes and was also happy to be paid from our now much fuller coffers to teach me some things I was curious about. In fact, several of the others took the opportunity of the voyage and increased cash flow to do the same.

In the middle of the voyage, we reached Mintarn, which wasn't as exciting as you might think. It had a half dozen whore houses, two or three dozen bars right up against the docks, and an extensive bazaar which featured little more exciting than tiny houses made from seashells and art drawn with stained sands. Dane did manage to unload some crossbows we lifted from the goblins. Rokellen and I had a few overpriced drinks and we all met back on the ship.

A few days later and we were in Baldur's Gate the usual way. Sail up to Ohm's Ford, take on a navigator and make the rest of the way up the river to the stench and racket of the Baldur's Gate docks.

It was good to be home.

Posted by jenkins at 3:12 PM

January 18, 2003

Four: Trolling for a World of Hurt

A few days ago, one of you know-it-alls came to me to challenge my telling of my instructive life history. What he said was true; Caladeer is the trade capital of the Moonshaes. The Halls of the High King are on top of the hill overlooking the city, a mile and a half long sprawling along the ridge of the hills. So that’s going to be today’s target lesson. The boy who corrected me thinks he already knows about this, so he won’t be with us for a while. At least not until his fingers heal.

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

The first thing we found out about Caladeer was there were no wizards on the streets and no supply shops. Even though magic's for those weak-kneed wizards who use it, it's never bad to get an idea on the lay of the land. These wizards and their apprentices all worked for the High King up in the fortress. The others, mostly Nosmo and Dane, went out one evening being obvious about their magical interests trying to, I don't know, stir up trouble. But Caladeer was a wholesome town with hardly a cheap tavern with dwarfs falling off their stools at all hours of the day. They didn't bait anyone.

They call this kind of thing "trolling" after some kind of old fishing custom. They used to take a troll, you see, and give it a few cuts and dump it in the water waiting for the big fish to come by and take a nibble, then they'd try to catch the fish. Because it was a troll, it was like getting free bait until the thing escaped and killed everyone. I'm sure not many people used trolls but the saying must have stuck.

There was an independant businessman's council, though. It was --

It's a Thieves' Guild, girl. Now shush.

It was not too difficult to find. First we hunted down a historian to better price some of the more artistic items brought with us from the island, the one we crashed on just a few days earlier. Sully was giving me a hard time about it, but that's the way of orcs, always thinking that a thing is a thing. But when a thing has history, you can sell the history along with the thing. It's like being a bard, eh? Business is like that.

The were eventually pointed to a man named Fflewdder, a tall hawk-nosed man who we were told did some bardic work but I couldn't stand listening to him for more than a few minutes. It was our pleasure to feed him beer while he looked over one of the spoons. I'd like to have played poker with the guy, though, because he got immediately excited, going on about how it was from the Fortress of Viledel, the Pirate Prince who later tried to go legit some ninety years ago.

So we disturbed the grave of an infamous local legend and stole his son's boat, but we weren't going to tell anyone, certainly not this guy. He already knew, before we even met, that we were newcomers to the island. He didn't think anyone in Caladeer would be interested in the historical value, but he would let us know if someone did.

By the time I made it to the businessman council's headquarters, thanks to a helpful beggar, we were being called "the castaways". Dane had some trouble accepting this and, for some elf-brained reason, was trying to come up with a name like we were some kind of touring circus. We were about one dancing bear short of it, though, so I can't say I was surprised.

By the next day, even the messenger who came to fetch us was calling us "the castaways". Even a law-abiding city benefits from a criminal element, remember that.

We were asked to come down to the docks and talk with the dock master who had a job for us, such as it was. The next boat for Baldur's Gate wasn't leaving for another five days so what were we going to do? So for the not-too-paltry fee of ten gold, half now half when we returned, we agreed to take three bolts of silk up to a nearby castle owned by a Duke Blackthorne. The dock master was even kind enough to provide horses, and a pony for myself.

We packed up and set out immediately. Dane was quite bold about his knowledge of horses, but Sully only grudgingly admitted to knowing a thing or two. I think he was a stable boy, though I don't know how they kept him from frightening the horses. The rest of us knew just enough to hold on to the reins.

The ride was pretty boring until we were just going around the mountain. I'm sure the thing was called "Blackthorne Mountain" or something equally unimaginative. Sully's horse tripped on a vine and he fell right off, whatever swearing on the way down cut off by the sudden stop at the end.

Something unseen chuckled from nowhere and told us that we were being robbed, whether we wanted to be or not. I don't know if it was the idea of losing money or hitting his head on the ground, but Sully didn't like this idea. He closed his eyes and waited as the rest of us threw things at the empty air, not entirely sure anything was there at all. But Sully closed his eyes -- this is how insane half-orcs can be -- and took a swing so hard I was sure the sword would fly out of his hands. Instead there appeared a half-orc (how many of these damn things are there and how do we stop it?) with all his insides becoming his outsides. From invisible to dead in one swipe, and Sully just grinned.

He did some talking to his sword, who he named "Susan", but wouldn't explain that.

The unknown half-orc had friends, though, and a rain of crossbow bolts shot out from the nearby underbrush. A few hit Sully and took him down, but the Priest of Kellemvor, Rokellen, decided it wasn't his time yet and helped him with bandages and words of healing.

It was the magics of Nosmo, who magically shot, and Dane, who enchanted the crossbowmen to sleep, that saved us from another volley. I and then Sully went out to take care of the slumbering bowmen, goblins all. I was almost there when the saplings behind the shrubs started to shake, then parted to a large, green thing with long teeth and longer claws. It doesn't take a bard to know a troll when you see one, even if you've never seen one.

There's pretty much one thing you can do when you see a troll: Run. Until you know you can take it, you can't. They're big, strong, fast and angry, and this one probably was upset we just took out his leader and bow support. And I was the closest.

I did get some new scars cross my chest, though. Look, you can see this one cut made it to my ear. Eventually Sully limped close enough to be the new target. Him and again Nosmo's gleeful destruction eventually took the thing down, but Sully fell down from the blows, again. Nothing is better than the feeling of healing when you get in a scrap, but avoiding a scrap is better still.

We killed sleeping goblins and burnt the troll for some reason and talked for a moment about going up the trail the large creature made through the woods. Fortunately better heads prevailed (that is, mine) and we continued on our journey to the castle. We almost weren't let in because of our state, but having the silk they wanted made us guests of honor. Estate rooms and comfortable beds and food was made available to those of us who were still in pain.

The morning we all felt much better and collected our steeds and went out back to Caladeer. At the site of our fight, all the goblin corpses were gone but the half-orc remained. Not far into the woods was obviously an encampment one day and a clearing the next. I guess the goblins were being browbeaten into servitude by the half-orc and were glad to see him die. Then again, so was I.

We didn't even bother to explain to the dock master what happened. We just returned the horses, got our pay and got some rooms for the night.

Posted by jenkins at 3:08 PM