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April 25, 2003

Nine: Keep Off the Grass

There are times, or will be, or would have been maybe I should say, where everyone works together toward a common goal. This is always preferable if the goal is one you want. If not, change the goal, or the rules, or go along and when you have an advantage, take it.

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

We debated whether or not we should have gone. From the shed, Shelly. The shed at the keep. Do I have to rehash things every time we get together? I and the others, bent on revenge against the pirate slavers who captured us, had followed the directions we found in the journal of the ship we were enslaved on to this island where the slaves were dropped off. Are we good, now? Yes? Thank you.

Though it wasn't the smartest of ideas, and we were quite used to those, we decided to press on into the keep. Sully was still damp and upset from his time spent, head-first, in the shallow moat and the rest of us had scratches and bruises, even after Colwyn called upon powers to heal us. Hoar seems quite amiable toward keeping us fit, probably because we were doing her duty of vengeance. Or his. Whatever.

The first room we discovered inside the keep was a well-made set of doors, wood and metal with a lattice letting us peer inside. Though there were torches along the walls of the keep, which was not a comforting thought, there was none in the open courtyard beyond the doors. We could see trees and grass, some kind of orchard.

The door, for some reason, was trapped. It was trapped badly, fortunately, with nails peeking out of the wood, arranged up and down the edge of the doors. Should some brute try to bust the doors in, they would not only get a shoulder filled with old nails but with whatever tipped them, as well.

We bypassed the door for the time being, as I had not the tools to hammer the nails back into the door and not the skill to overcome the rusty padlock. Again troubling, the padlock was on our side.

The hallway went quite a ways, down the edge of the courtyard we couldn't enter. We checked out a door near the hall's far end and, in the usual process of my looking for traps, all the lichen on the wall beside me turned to stone. Now that I come to tell you kids, I think it was probably the intended purpose of the trap I found, though I found it the hard way. The trap wasn't against us, I think, but what was inside the room. A trap against violent plants.

We did get inside the room which had nothing much more than stairs up and a rather large pile of dirty, sticky rags. The rags had a sickly-sweet scent to them and more than its share of flies.

While we debated whether to head upwards (these kinds of discussions go on far too often without a proper leader), Dane poked at the pile with an arrow. Then the pile attacked, throwing out a sticky something, something like a frog's tongue, and then another, hitting Dane square in the chest and sticking to him.

Unpleasant surprises are usual in a hostile place, but this isn't one I expected. As the seconds rolled by, we trying to hit it and it not moving from under the rags, more of these tendrils lashed out and attached itself to more of us, oozing out something that stung and burnt at the same time, as well as leaving an unsavory mark on my armor. Nosmo, between struggling against the thing and throwing magic missiles into it, must have known what the feeling was because he cried out that we could rub chalk on it. If any of you are in the middle of combat and remember that chalk is good against acid then you're probably not panicking quite enough.

Eventually it was dead, almost us all stuck to the thing and we eventually discovered that it was a plant. See, a trap against violent plants would not have been a bad idea. Dane, scolded by the rest of us, was eager to make some good out of this so he went to get some of the stoneworking tools found back in the shed and he and some of the others hacked the thing apart to get at the gooey acidy center. Dane certainly had the Goddess of Luck on his side, for there were, in fact, many shiny items of precious metal, including a ring, and some gems worth quite their fair share. This was, of course, more money than we've seen since selling off precious pirate artifacts on the boat back to Baldur's Gate.

Badly hurt (again, even with Colwyn's assistance), we fled to the stonecutter's shed, or the shed of holy symbols, and prepared to sleep. We did give the orc guards outside a decent burial, dumping them in the moat and jumping up and down on the bodies until they could not be seen. It was, at least, a better burial than they deserved.

That night, we all had nearly the same dream. Sully even drifted off to sleep during his watch; I suppose the collective power of so many consecrated holy symbols in one place gave them the power to do whatever it is they want to the people within. Minor henchmen of deities I did not particularly remember came and told me things I don't clearly remember. This isn't because I'm old but because that's how the dream was. Maybe gods like to keep some mystery, or maybe I'm not devout enough to have that privilege. Whatever the case, at least the higher beings in my dream were halflings. Maybe they were in Sully's dream, too, as that would explain his reluctance to talk, but he really didn't like the gods anyway so it could have been anyone.

All of us learned something that night, depending on what we did. It was as though the gods were whispering instructions straight into our memories, letting us know things we were ready to hear. We all came out of it better than before. I decided about then I'd been too harsh on the gods, though I wasn't ready to worship just one. After all, asking things from as many gods as possible keeps your options open.

We got the door to the orchard open the next day, or I should say night as we were doing all our sneaking around in as much darkness as we could afford. The torches along the halls were lit, either again or still we didn't know, but there was still no light in the orchard beyond.

There was just enough light from the stars to see the path, the scraggly bushes and the black fruits on the trees. We debated for far too long about the significance of a locked and trapped orchard having black fruit on its unkempt trees, but fortunately down the path was something more interesting: a mausoleum.

The door wasn't locked but it did make a hideously loud screeching noise. There was no light below, though, so I went off to grab some torches.

While I was away, Dane made some light, everyone saw giant ants, which were blinded, burnt and, in one case from Kumar, thrown at one another. I missed the excitement on my return, but it wasn't excitement I was disappointed in missing. We opted not to go down until we finished taking a look around the corridors we would have left behind us.

We went all the way around past the plant room to a door that smelled faintly of manure. The stables? Yes, very good, the stables, complete with overturned card table and guys with bows shooting at us. In such an action, it's always good to let the more physical people go first.

They weren't carrying anything else impressive, though as Dane scanned the room for items of useful magic he sensed one in the hayloft. It's clear the hay hasn't been renewed for years, but there were plenty of places to hide. When the item started to move, he summoned a ball of heat and threw it up into the loft, which quickly caught on fire. If this boy was exiled from his tribe or group or whatever, now we knew why.

There was, in this stable, a large pair of doors leading out, covered by a field of magic. I had been cautious about it, in part because it could have been a trap and in part we didn't see any large doors on the back of the keep, but now we had an urgent need to leave. Most of us, anyway. There was the sound of a woman in the loft which sent Nosmo up there like a shot to rescue the damsel in distress. It actually was a damsel in distress, and a naked damsel, too. Nosmo said, "She's mine", and started calling her Maria, even before he could usher her down the ladder and out of the room. The bag she was holding, though, was on fire and the boy had a few seconds to collect the goods (one of them was our precious magic item) and flee the burning room.

Outside, there was nothing but a blank wall, clearly an illusion. I took some of Dane's chalk, the chalk from earlier, and marked where the door was so we might find it again. We closed the doors to help smoke out whomever else was inside and turned our attentions to the girl.

She wasn't too attractive for a human, but at my height I have something of an angle where only some very attractive humans are interesting to look at. Sure, if you can look a woman in the eye then look /down/, that's one thing, but a naked walking torso isn't attractive. Dane gave her a cloak in exchange for her name, which was Diane and not Maria. Diane sounded like quite the twit, claiming to not know where she's from (just "the castle") or the name of the castle's guard (having a standard of red and yellow checks with a white hawk on it). It was clear she could be rescued, from the island if not from herself, and possibly returned for a reward. Nosmo clearly wanted to be the one who was her hero-figure and I think we let him play this role. The poor boy was so desperate to be laid it was at the same time amusing and disturbing. I wanted nothing of it.

She also claimed there were more than twenty men here, herding slaves into a main courtyard before shipping them off elsewhere. She knew almost nothing of the orchard but knew more of a third courtyard, which she called "icky" and "filled with statues". She also claimed to escape by seducing an orc. It turns out all this information was suspect, which is really too bad because if there were only twenty men in this entire compound then it would be an easy, if lessened, revenge.

We next discovered the "icky" courtyard, after walking clear around the side of the keep and through the holy stonecutter's shed and down the small maze of hallways. It was huge, and open to the sky so it was hard to see how large. The stench of latrine was clear, though, and even some areas near our side of the courtyard had swampy, murky spots. It also had quite a few stone statues. Upon close examination of one, we found it was rather well detailed. Remarkably detailed, as well. Either the holy stonecutters here had tools that could show every pore and dimple on the various creatures' skins, or there was something wrong. Even I, who was trained to be a security specialist in the cities, knew that overly lifelike statues meant get the six hundred and odd hells out of there quickly.

Colwyn cast a spell, at first, to see if anything nearby had unkind intents for us. Now this would have included myself. I admit that I would have cut the hamstrings of the first people who worked against us, and for all his skill I was eyeing Dane's legs, but it was Maria who attacked us, arms turning into blades. She was evidently playing us for fools all along, or at least playing Nosmo for a fool and the rest of us came along for the ride.

I meant Diane. Right.

So instead of asking what she was doing, I think everyone else decided to make her bleed first and ask questions later. She did bleed, too, though swings of her sword-arms put Kumar under right quick.

What we got when she was dead was more of a gray, mostly featureless thing. We stuffed her -- or it -- into the dangerous statue-heavy courtyard and quickly went on our way. What's worse is I don't think Nosmo was disturbed that he was trying to sleep with it.

Posted by jenkins at 3:55 PM

April 24, 2003

Eight: The Company You Keep

Where was I? Oh yes, sailing again. Or, at least, sailing and not rowing. Look, you can see where my back has freckled over from the number of times my back was burnt. Not even the cold hand of death could take these freckles off. I did have a loving tryst once with a girl who tried to count them all. No, she wasn't a gnome. If she were, she would've gone off and made a bloody freckle-counting machine or something. I would've had to untie her from the bed first, though, heh heh. Ahhhh.

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

Hmm? Oh, all right. Give a man his happy memories for a moment, wont you?

In the Moonshaes we stopped at Kings Bay, the capital city in the central isle. It seemed off to me that a rag-tag boat of ruffians and us was to land at the port in the Moonshaes with the most rules against living in the alternative lifestyle. To wit, us, boys and girls. The rental sailors stayed well away from the docks. I had heard there was a halfling quarter and went to check it out. Unfortunately it was depressingly filled with the folk who make happy farmers, tinkers and tradesmen. Still, they had some pretty good ale.

It was near the middle of the night on our second night away from port when Sully heard a voice in the darkness. Now, Sully was just as theatric as any boasting half-orc, and this is how the conversation he relayed to us later sounded.

There was a voice in the darkness that called, "Stand and deliver!" This is the kind of thing an amateur says because when you're on the ocean, there's nothing to stand on. See, its supposed to mean "get off your horse, carriage or whatever and give me all your loot". So that some imbecile said it on the high seas, well, we were all smarter after a few months of pirate slavery.

Sully, or so he says, called out with, "Who called?" to which he was replied, "Your nemesis." Sully then, it is said, yelled back, "Long list." See, this is orc humor. The implication is that Sully has too many enemies to count but this very well could be any number above five and likely includes his own horse.

Actually Im being unfair. Whatever house of whatever god he was raised at got him to think. He tended to think always about cutting into things, but at least he was thinking about interesting ways to do it.

The mysterious voice in the darkness announced itself as the "Bone Baron" and ordered us to slow. This was the option instead of putting all our valuables in a rowboat and lowering it down. In retrospect we should have admitted that we had no such thing on board, but then how would we bolster our scurvy sea-dog credibility?

Sully then ordered the sailors increase speed, so faster we went. Sully had also sent someone to wake the rest of us up, possibly thinking that the more people there were the less of a chance he would be hit. This is a good strategy.

It was about this time that we all discussed things quickly and remembered that the "Bone Baron" was a long-dead but powerful sea captain. Very long dead. Rule number two for establishing yourself is to not hide behind the name of someone you're not. Not only do you look even more like an amateur but eventually someone will take offense.

What we forgot was that we were amateurs, too. I, at least, remembered this about the time the ballista hit the deck. It missed nearly everyone, but the tip was a small barrel until it hit, when it became fragments and not a small amount of oil that burst immediately into flame. We got desperate and started firing into the distance, where we thought the voice of the so-called Bone Baron to be.

Dane hit the mark not once, but twice. The jaunty rebuffs from the Baron were strained, but his lingo was good. "You cannot kill what does not live!" It turns out that you can kill what doesn't live, anyway.

By the time we got some light on the pirates deck -- the other pirates deck, anyway, the pirates that weren't us -- another ballista shot tore our mainsail to ribbons. We could at least see bone. There was bone rowing the ship, bone working the ballista, bone in the form of skeletons, the aforementioned skeletons that, while dead, could indeed be quite killed.

Thanks to the vengeance of Colwyns god, the skeletons manning the ballista were urged to flee, and flee they did right into the sea, proving you didn't have to kill the dead. We, at least, would not lose more than a sail and half our deck. At least now I knew why we were carrying a barrel of sand.

To put out the fire. You smother it. Good gods, hasn't anyone taught you how to deal with fire? What will you do if you have to come down a chimney? "Don't?" Very good, Toral, I'll have a special assignment for you later.

I finally saw the Bone Baron cowering behind a low wall, though by the number of arrows around him you would guess he'd been in clear view since he started talking. That he could be seen just meant he was more of a target. Eventually, through the mortal mans own magics, he turned into a seal and slipped into the sea, leaving his bone crew rowing without a captain. We had won; the ship was ours.

Such as it was. The boat was on fire because the skeletons, and we did take care of a few skeletons, tended to explode into flame when shattered much like the ballista that hit our deck. How convenient, a crew and a siege weapon. We had to get there before the ship went down, and getting there meant possibly upsetting the skeleton crew.

The solution of jumping was Sully's first and probably only idea. Problem was, he missed. Wearing the armor he was, he started to rapidly sink. We got a rope for Dane to hold onto (the elf shied away from armor, as magi usually do) and he dove in afterwards.

Nosmo too dove in, though I think he was trying to reach the other boat, and also disappeared beneath the waves though eventually he returned and climbed the ladder that hung down the side of the ship and was back on deck by the time Dane and Sully resurfaced. Eventually after all this tomfoolery, which you will notice I was having no part of, Nosmo simply swam to the other ship and the rest of us roped it and pulled it over.

The skeletons did not respond without their master and were easy to push overboard.

Out of the whole embarrassing ordeal we ended up with some ballista bolts, including a few of those that exploded quite nicely, and the spell book of the false Baron. No actual gold or booty, as it were. We could not even salvage the ship, though we did move far enough away that it did not catch us on fire.

Much of the next day was in repairing the mainsail and making our way to the last, westernmost port in the Moonshaes, a dirty, nervous little port on the isle of Flamsterd. The port was so small and uninteresting that I cant remember the name. One of the largest attractions, however, was a shrine to Umberlee, the cruel goddess of the sea. Everyone pitched in something of value, though in the case of the crew they seemed to have more of value than us. It is always good to try to get on the good side of an angry goddess.

When we left, we left the rest of civilization behind and headed toward truly lawless waters. There was supposed to be an elvish land out here somewhere, but thankfully we didn't run into it. Instead, with the knowledge of Rokellen and Nosmo, the notes left by our original captors and an expensive nautical device helped keep us on course to Gull Rocks, the drop-off point of the orc-and-human pirates that roamed these waters.

There were a lot of gulls when we finally saw the island, and one rock sticking up as a hill in the middle, but the same can be said for nearly every bit of land in the ocean. It was a small island, little more than the hill and a dock and a worn-down fort at the top.

From our vantage point we came up with a quick plan: We, those who were suicidal enough to want to come here, would row ashore and do some basic reconnaissance. Every night a few hours after sunset, our ship would come near the back side of the keep and pick us up, if we were indeed there. This would go on for a week or thereabouts before the captain would cut his losses and return to Baldur's Gate. But as his cut was up to us, he was being very helpful in helping us come up with this plan. I don't know how he thought about working for novices, but he was being patient about it.

We landed the rowboat near the back of the island slightly after sunset, giving us some light to explore by. The island itself was flatter than I could tell from at sea and had more grass and trees (though everyone else called them shrubs) than most small ocean islands. It also had, around the fortress, a shallow but murky moat, easy to jump and near impossible to drown in.

At one corner of the keep was a common grave area, no doubt to have some place to raise undead from. At another was built an extended structure that came out almost to the moat and had a door of its own. We might make our way over here, but we wanted to see the gated door first. Dane leapt across the easy reach, long elf legs carrying him across only to slip on the far side and land in the murk with a loud splat.

Whatever it was that stuck its head out of the door in the corner shed soon lost its head from a sudden magical blast from Nosmo, but this only brought out more. Orcs, two then three. I was not going to risk the jump so I rounded the keep to make sure others weren't coming out the front. Sully leapt the moat to engage them, but he tripped on a root and landed head-first and went limp. This moat even I could cross with a running start, and did. Dane, already covered in the slimy water, pulled out the half-orc. Unfortunately the brigands were armed with pikes and could easily reach across the moat, though before I knew it Nosmo was on the other side with them. Perhaps he jumped without knowing they were there.

It looked, for a moment, bleak. Nosmo, with little proper training to fight, was cornered, Sully was unconscious and Colwyn was trying desperately to wind up his crossbow. But with luck and skill, not to mention a number of arrows, rocks and magic, we killed them quicker than they could react. Nosmo was rather shaken, but not a scratch on him.

Sully did lose his sword, Susan, for a moment and dove back into the murk to fetch it. Thus dirty, he simply walked the rest of the way across the moat. The rest of us jumped.

So we ended up in this room, like a gardening shed with shovels and backhoes and some stone-working tools and the walls covered in nearly every kind of god and goddess holy symbol that at least I knew. I didn't have much solid trust in gods back in those days, but even I was impressed by the collection. None of them were worth prying off the walls. I don't know anywhere I'd rather hide against undead, though, and the thought was shared among us as we faced the doors that lead deeper into the keep.

Posted by jenkins at 3:52 PM

Seven: Now You Sea Us ...

Orcs are not the most annoying and crude of species, but they do try to mimic civilization, to no real success. They might live in some large settlements, but they breed like rats anyway so who's to say they don't just fill up space, like rats. Some like the nomadic life, but some humans and most elves do, too. I've never heard of nomad halflings, but the world is bigger than even giants can understand so I wouldn't be surprised if they were out there.

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

Thinking this -- about the orcs, not about halfling nomads -- that the others asked the caravan master to wait a few hours while they went to look for the nest. Rokellen and I stayed behind with the caravan on theory that someone would have to get paid for this trip in case they walked into a trap. I wasn't in the mood for walking into any.

It happened that they did walk into a trap, but it was a sorry thing little more than a pit covered with some leaves. The orcs who ambushed us took over an abandoned homestead or hunting lodge not far off the road. They built some huts for themselves and had a few small sheds and a cabin left over from the previous owner. There were basic traps (rusty knives and ancient crossbows) on the huts, which guarded nothing much but perhaps some spare weapons in case they needed them. There was a pond with a plank hanging over top, so I suppose that even orcs like having a little non-bloody fun. Though there could have been bloody fun involved in that, since the others never explored the pond. Maybe there were spikes stuck randomly in it and it could have been some kind of game of bravery to jump in and survive.

Yeah, these are the kinds of nasty things that you've got to think of when wandering through a tribal encampment.

What there wasn't was more orcs ready to rush and kill anyone coming into the camp. There were more orcs, one wounded in the cabin and killed before it could say a word; when you're waiting for ambush I guess you can strike first and ask questions later. The other was a teenaged thing hiding deeper in the cabin. It couldn't speak Common but Dane could speak Orc, possibly in case he had to explain to his enemies just how he was going to slaughter them. He was at least useful to say that they came from a larger orc village to the east by three or four days.

They brought the boy back because he surrendered, which some of you might disagree with but is the thing you do with people who surrender. If nothing else, you could sell them off later. Kumar offered him as a gift to the caravan master, which is about the same thing. Just because you follow a strict code doesn't mean you cant take advantage of people who don't. The master lost the boy in a card game in the next town.

We finally made it to the fortified trade post called the Friendly Arms Inn, a dusty and uninteresting building in the middle of practically nowhere. The people were just transient caravan crews and people who were unfortunate enough to be born and raised in this dusty crossroads along the Sword Coast, a situation similar to mine before I decided to leave and make my own fortune. Some of you didn't have choices in becoming rogues and cutthroats but most of you did. You who did know what I mean.

Now I was still a young and largely inexperienced businessman at the time, so Ill tell you all that we all make important mistakes with this little story. When we were at the Friendly Arms, I looked around the rooms of other patrons and found some nice gems. Not wanting to raise too much suspicion, I took only one -- it's obviously theft when all your moneys gone but when only a little is then it might be simple absent-mindedness. Always keep them guessing.

To be safe, I stored the gem on the caravan, where I could pick it up in the morning when we were well away. This way, if we were stopped we all could say that we had no gem on our persons, and it would be true. But caravans don't always unload their goods and pick up the new goods for a return trip. No, instead they sometimes trade entire wagons, probably with those from the same trading coster. This is what happened, and my newfound gem and I parted ways as it went further south with the wagons we were in the day before.

Kumar gambled quite a bit of coin from other caravan masters and Colwyn nearly caught himself a social disease. Social disease, boy. You know, the rockets, unfriendly itch, guests in your breeches, an unwanted gift down below. Good goods, spotted dick. Yes! May I please continue?

Around midmorning, Kumar realized the caravan master didn't have the orc we gave him, which only disappointed Sully and Dane who wanted the creature to make a mistake so they could pull his arms and legs off. Instead, the master lost the boy in a poker game. The wheel of civilization turns, and everything turns out for the best.

The trip back to Baldurs Gate was uneventful. Sully and Dane amused themselves by trying to guess where we were ambushed and talked boasts about going to find the main village and causing more pain to orcs. This stopped when we saw the site, difficult to miss with the remains of bloodstains and trampled wheat. I don't know what it is about some who need to gloat and brag about the times they've died, or come close. I've done both with these people more times than I care to remember and all it has ultimately done is bring me here. Lucky for you lot, isn't it.

Isn't it? A little louder from the back, there. Good, good, that's what I like to hear.

No new jobs awaited us back in Baldurs Gate, but none of us were surprised. Dane went out and about to find someone more experienced to tell us about some of the mysterious magical items wed found. Normally this would be a job for Nosmo and Dane himself, but their record for success was not high at all and we all felt better paying someone off. We still had some sizable pearls, the main component for such a feat, so the rest was relatively inexpensive. We did not have a lot of money as it was, but it ended up being good for all of us to spend what little we did.

Afterwards we broached the subject of the ocean, again. The brutes of the business were eager to go out and knock the heads of anyone together, especially the slavers who captured us, and we did have the accurate location of one of the slaver ports but we didn't have what was most important, a boat and a crew. Nor could we afford such things.

Fortunately it was the Thieves Guild who gave us the means to fulfill our plan. At the mere risk of transport, we would give the Thieves Guild two full shares of anything we brought back with us, which would supposedly be shared more or less fairly to the crew. Rokellen, much to our surprise, was adept at navigation. He was a quiet sort, much like the dead he was charged to help pass to their just rewards, and we didn't know a whole lot about him. He had held onto some of the navigation tools from the shipwreck of our captors ship when it dashed on the rocks almost a month before. I was a little upset, as those tools could fetch a good price, but it also meant the Guild did not have a chance to fleece us for more shares for rental of more supplies.

I did not, by any means, want to go. We had just survived the ocean once, but if I were to repay my monetary debt to these people I had to participate and no discussion was swaying them.

"The Brethren of the Waves" was a sizable sloop of questionable age and quality. Its crew knew what they were doing, for even though the Guild did not submit to piracy lest they upset some of the Sea Kings, Baldurs Gate was a port town and its impossible to swing a dead cat without hitting a few dozen sailors. And sometimes you just want to move some goods quietly by sea without inconveniences of city taxation taking hold.

I myself found myself a cork vest in case I was dumped overboard and an oilcloth cut to fit over my head to keep off the rain, something I remember there being more than enough of out around the Moonshae islands. The sailors made fun of us for going around wearing our armor, in cases of the brutes it would drag them under without mercy, cork vest or not. I don't blame them for not riding the waves without some kind of protection, but I was glad I am both small and light.

On our second day to Mintarn, the island equivalent of Friendly Arms Inn, a sleek but small sailing vessel running the black flag infamously known as pirate colors approached us. I don't know why black except maybe it is the opposite of white, being the color, at least in civilized lands, for surrender. Black must mean something like, "You have no chance, so you might as well surrender."

Some beefy brute standing on the pointy end, the prow or whatever its called, had a similar olive-skinned look as Kumar and boomed out, "In the name of the Duke Valaa, surrender your goods!" Now the ship was such a poky little thing that I don't know where they were planning on putting the goods if we had any. If we were on a large merchantman with our hull filled with spices and food, would he just take whatever he could fit and let us go? We would never find out, though, since our own captain recognized him, paid the oceanic version of a toll (and I could hear "extra charges" for the trip adding up in my head) and the little sleek ship sailed off at speed.

When we finally made it to Mintarn, I had won most of the money back I had lost at cards the previous days. There is almost nothing to do on a boat unless you're running it, and I finally understand why sailors are so antsy to get drinking and to places like the Blushing Mermaid when they finally see land. This lot wasn't as rowdy as most, but we were only gone from land for a few days. A few days too long, if you ask me.

There we learned a little more about the pirates who picked us up, a group of new slavers from further west of the Moonshaes. These, unlike most the pirates around these parts, were mixed humans and orcs and, of course, half-orcs, which is what you get when you mix humans and orcs. Even the honest sailors were wishing for just the old pirates, these new folk being backed by some unknown power, probably someone with gobs of money stretching out their arms, but there isn't much out past the Moonshaes but more shards of rock and eventually some other continent. What I meant to say is nobody liked this new group much, so I was hoping we could drum up support from merchants and local pirates alike to deal with them, if someone isn't already doing just that. Actually I was hoping I could make it back to mainland in one piece.

The night out of Mintarn, where not even Nosmo dared try getting a disturbing social disease, we had more ocean versions of a toll, but with less gold and more blood. Late at night, on the middle watch, something started crawling over the railings. It was huge, easily eight foot tall and ugly with scales. I didn't know, at first, because like most of the others I was below trying to get some sleep, but the watchman up the main pole has a loud bell that could wake the dead. But not Dane, who needed kicking to get him awake, though he later tried to tell me he never really sleeps anyway. Elves try to pull this kind of mystic shit on you all the time.

The fight was brutal and ugly, and the large greenish seamen were as rough as any battle wed faced yet. I, fortunately, was finally not so much a target as Kumar and Sully were. Kumar, especially, was bitten and torn into, but not so badly as two of the crew who fell in a single swipe of the monsters claws. But the large desert man was eventually struck down by the seamen and remained down until Colwyn could get to him and bind up his wounds then use his divine powers to heal. Kumar stood in time to get hit by the Brethren of the Waves ballista, sending him right back down again.

He didn't die. At the time, I was thankful, because its always a pain when useful people die.

Afterwards, we had a brief ceremony for the fallen and we went back to sleep. It was getting a little easier to sleep after this excitement. You just become jaded to it after time, used to the frenzy of activity and blood. It helps if you aren't gored by some ugly giant man-thing from unknown depths.

Posted by jenkins at 3:48 PM

Six: Home is Where You Pay Off the Officials

It was good to finally get home to Baldur's Gate, to the familiar sights and smells. Dane looked ill when we got close enough to them, but that's just an atmosphere with body and experience, air that's been really lived in, air that's completely unlike the air of a farm if only because stables are eventually mucked out.

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

Now I know some of you have never been to the big city, and you're just going to have to muddle through it and listen. Now that I've got you kids quiet for most of the story I'll entertain questions if they make sense. Ask me questions that don't make sense and I'll think of something entertaining for your next training. Something involving blades and pits and lemons.

So we were being led into Baldur's Gate on the ship, guided by the experts in the eddies and flows. The city must make a mint on these people, the dozens of boats coming into and out of the harbor to the sea every day. The docks look like a forest of masts on ships almost as large as the merchantman we were on. While standing on deck, impatient to get home, I easily counted sixty merchant ships.

I neglected to tell the other guests of the Gate, which was everyone else but Nosmo who was just a street rat anyhow, about what the city does to visitors. Instead of building outward of the city, which is dangerous and expensive, they discourage visitors. The Flaming Fists keep tabs on everyone and visitors can be denied entry into some quarters without the right kind of pass. Some visitors aren't even allowed out of the Adventurer's Quarter by night. My slave-ship companions were almost marked as adventurers without some fast talking and warnings from myself and Nosmo.

As dangerous as the lands outside Baldur's Gate is, adventurers could be better welcomed. Trolls, hill giants and bands of orcs and goblins infest the countryside and threaten caravans. They must, like the mercenary Flaming Fist, be important for the city's survival. Instead, this works against them, because there are so many opportunities to do whatever it is adventuring companies do there are so many adventurers. As many of you might not know, adventurers are usually not interested in their civic duties or willing to wait for reasons before acting. Sully is a perfect example of an adventurer.

I also neglected to tell my companions about the Adventurer's Quarter. There was no reason too, anyway, since these people were just folks who helped me get back to the city. I had no plans on sticking around with them as they were simply ragtag and violent tallers. Sure, they saved my life, but I also saved theirs. I was just hoping they didn't realize that of the spoils of the adventures, I had the most advantage of it. They did not forget this, which is a surprise from the minds of most of them, but they surely did forget I bartered a better price on almost all of it. It is important to know, for all of us independent businessmen, to try your very best not to get caught getting the advantage over others until it's too late for them.

The Adventurer's Quarter is one of the ways Baldur's Gate accepts their necessary burden without having to put up with them disrupting trade and little old ladies. This works in the favor of the Thieves' Guild that has a little freer reign to access the rest of the city without loincloth-wearing grunts getting in the way.

It is the Thieves' Guild that we ran into just off the docks, staring at people and signaling other members further down the way. It's a good way to get information flowing to the Guild and if there's an easy mark the collector down the street would get someone working on the guy. Pointing Dane at them to start a scruff may not have been a good idea, but I was about to fade into the background and pick up my life where the slavers so rudely interrupted it, but one of them said right to him, "You with Foley?"

Some of the others talked to the pair while Kumar confronted the collector, or at least distracted him.  I was trying to remain small, but I owed the Guild twenty gold for yearly dues. Kumar was smart enough to ask where to pay and we were directed to the Blushing Mermaid.  This is good because I'd never paid in person before and had no idea where to go. This was bad because the Mermaid was in the Adventurer's Quarter.

Okay, it looks like Makar has a question about what I've got against adventurers. This isn't too stupid a question coming from someone whose parents spent their lives walking the rim of Anuroch looking for secret caves. It's because adventurers disrupt the normal lives and laws of civilization. As a thief, you bend the rules and expectations, but this is in the dark when nobody's looking. Without us, civilization wouldn't properly work. Adventurers have their place, but that isn't in the city.

The Blushing Mermaid was even worse. Not only was it a silver just to get inside, but it was nothing more than a constant party and brothel. No wonder the Guild claimed the tavern as a place to meet. Mark my words, a lot of the time the noise keeps anyone from overhearing conversations.

Everyone came with me. Kumar remembered how much money I owed and was coming along to protect his investment and to talk with the Guild for joining up. Nosmo was interested in spending what little coin he had. Everyone else, I think, was just interested in a good honest drink except for Rokellen who just sat around looking uncomfortable.

We lost track of Nosmo almost immediately. I saw his legs push through the heavy crowd toward the rooms in the back. Kumar and I asked the bartender where to find the man for payment. The Mermaid was a good place to be obvious because if you ended up talking to someone you didn't have to talk to you could probably be found out back the next day without even a pair of breeches to keep you decent. This passes for security where hushed voices can't be had.

We were directed to a senior man named Robert near the back. Sully had disappeared and some disturbing howling noises were coming from one of the rooms up above, to the amusement of everyone else in the bar but put me off my drink. Robert gladly took my gold and answered questions from Kumar, who was not doing a very good job at asking about joining the guild without admitting to being a practicing pickpocket, but paid for a half-year's membership all the same.

The largest drawback to the Blushing Mermaid is there were no rooms to actually sleep in, at least not those that aren't rented by the hour. This probably wasn't so bad since with all the noise it'd be impossible to sleep anyway. Instead, everyone else went to a small, strict and dry inn called the Blade & Stars.

I went back to the securities group that I was apprenticed to and crashed there. Fanmar, my mentor, simply noticed I was back, which was a relief. I didn't want to answer questions, and he probably knew the answers already.

What I did next was perhaps the biggest mistake since being captured by slavers. I went down to the Blade & Stars to tell them I was quite all right. I should have stayed and disappeared into the city until they got bored and wandered off somewhere, but instead I showed up and that's when they mentioned how much of "their money" I had spent while training and traveling. I may be a thief, but I'm honest, and it was clear they needed help if they were going to stay in Baldur's Gate.  It also helps to have other targets around.  I agreed to stay with them, but only if we did not market ourselves as adventurers and if we agreed to have nothing to do with the name "the castaways".

This meant we would have to get a small office space somewhere in the city proper.  For this, we returned to the Mermaid once again, though Nosmo was going there anyhow to pick up an embarrassing disease so it was not a difficult decision. Kumar and I talked to Robert about finding some rental space and a believable and trustworthy man to watch it should we travel out of town. He got us a third floor space about large enough for one halfling to live near the Temple District.

Then we went out to look for work.

I'll make the long story short, since it is such a long story filled with quite a lot of walking around and occasionally being followed by the Flaming Fists, probably under suspicion of being adventurers. Kumar and Rokellen almost got hired on by an ancient human woman to protect her allegedly precious storefront of string and thread. Dane was desperately looking for a woman who offered to sell him a map, which right away is suspicious but that's wood elves for you.

We didn't find a job but we did find the woman. The map was a dud, leading right up to a pit of undead in the mountains to the north of Baldur's Gate. Everyone knew about it, and nobody went there. Except for Rokellen, who for the first time sounded excited. Yes, the Judge-God of the Dead, Kellemvor, believes dead things should stay dead. For once, I have to agree with the opinions of a god.

We met again that night at the Mermaid, partially out of habbit but mostly because of Nosmo's squeaky insistence. There we asked around (after the incident with the map) and were pointed in the right direction by the honorable men of the Guild. We were instructed to go talk to a man at the south merchant's gate who offered us a job as lowly guards for a caravan of rope and fabric and other inconsequencials, but it paid and we went. They even provided horses for the length of the trip.

Honest work is often not too dangerous, but by the gods is it boring. Up until the second day when an orc -- a full-blooded orc for once -- told us to give up our goods or be killed. And instead of learning in previous experiences with this situation, we went ahead and attacked, risking blood and life for what was basically somebody else's stuff. Learn from my mistakes, kids, gold can be stolen but you've only got your one life. The gods have a few more spare that can be loaned to you, but gods are fickle about that as you all well know.

At first it seemed to just be the leader and bowmen in the bushes to the side until we were hit with magical effects. No one else seemed to notice, and magi tend to be both annoying and easy pickings, so I went off by myself, on foot, through the high grass to confront the orcish spellchucker.

I don't remember a lot of what happened next. There were caltrops, nasty things but easily spotted in everything but high grass, and there was flashes of power and quite a bit of pain. When I came to, it was all over and we were all rather battered. That's when I learned that you should always negotiate a hazard portion to our agreements.

Now go away, I'm tired.

Posted by jenkins at 3:15 PM