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Bastards & Broadswords Origen's D&D 5E campaign.

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Old 12-18-2013, 10:46 PM
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Origen Origen is offline
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Default Morgana of the South Seas [Season 1: Episode 2]

Hard, tall leather boots strike the wood on the platform overlooking the courtyard where the trainees lay moaning in the sun. Even though there is much noise about - as stretchers carry those unfit for further testing outside for a bucket of water in the face, or a slap, or simply a helping hand back out into the stinking streets - still, the sound of those boots is what most people remember about Morgana. Particularly those who work aboard her ship, the Fire Rose.

Or her hair. Red-headed elves are said to be impossible, but there she stands, powerful and beautiful.

Her sleeves are loose-fitting and puffed, giving the trim and lean muscled arms the appearance of size. But they are a dancer's arms. Or a duelist's. And with a thin, elegant elven longsword on one hip, and a rapier-thin parrying dagger on the other hip, Morgana strikes an imposing figure.

"I hear they have an underworld scum thinning the herd in this courtyard," she says, spitting on the ground. Her red hair is pulled back by a strip of black silk. "It must have been a raw batch of recruits, indeed."

The thing that moves up behind her is more monster, than man. Though it wears clothes of a human being, it stands almost nine feet tall. Moving with a quickness that belays its size, the thing scans the audience, and stands ready to move on anything that threatens his captain.

It is obviously a troll, though none like you have ever seen before. Mog Bloodscalp is Morgana's first mate. His skin is bluish-green. His stinking, coral-grey hair hangs in a thick braid down his back. His belts - three of them, at least - hang heavy with weapons: axes, daggers, 2 swords, and a heavy 2-bladed axe. His fists are covered with heavy gauntlets studded with iron and sharp spikes.
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Old 12-24-2013, 03:10 PM
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Rhakir Rhakir is offline
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Hard, tall leather boots strike the wood on the platform overlooking the courtyard where the trainees lay moaning in the sun. Even though there is much noise about - as stretchers carry those unfit for further testing outside for a bucket of water in the face, or a slap, or simply a helping hand back out into the stinking streets - still, the sound of those boots is what most people remember about Morgana. Particularly those who work aboard her ship, the Fire Rose.

Or her hair. Red-headed elves are said to be impossible, but there she stands, powerful and beautiful.

Her sleeves are loose-fitting and puffed, giving the trim and lean muscled arms the appearance of size. But they are a dancer's arms. Or a duelist's. And with a thin, elegant elven longsword on one hip, and a rapier-thin parrying dagger on the other hip, Morgana strikes an imposing figure.

"I hear they have an underworld scum thinning the herd in this courtyard," she says, spitting on the ground. Her red hair is pulled back by a strip of black silk. "It must have been a raw batch of recruits, indeed."

The thing that moves up behind her is more monster, than man. Though it wears clothes of a human being, it stands almost nine feet tall. Moving with a quickness that belays its size, the thing scans the audience, and stands ready to move on anything that threatens his captain.

It is obviously a troll, though none like you have ever seen before. Mog Bloodscalp is Morgana's first mate. His skin is bluish-green. His stinking, coral-grey hair hangs in a thick braid down his back. His belts - three of them, at least - hang heavy with weapons: axes, daggers, 2 swords, and a heavy 2-bladed axe. His fists are covered with heavy gauntlets studded with iron and sharp spikes.
Malek approached the fire-haired captain and her gruesome first mate respectfully, neither too eager to appear obsequious, nor too hesitant to be considered weak-willed. He presented himself confidently as he studied both, keeping a sensible arm-and-a-half's length away from the draugen.

"I am Malek," he rumbled when they acknowledged him. His bald head shone brightly in the morning light, and the loose ends of the scarf covering his jaw fluttered in the wind. He wore a simple sleeveless leather jerkin that freed up his heavily muscled arms and shoulders. His whip and daggers were evident on his belt, and the bastard sword was slung across his back for ease of movement, but he kept his thumbs hooked on either side of his heavy belt buckle.

"I've signed on for Lord Starhawk's expedition, but I wish to pay my respects, captain. I'm no sailor yet, but I know the use of ropes and knots, and am no stranger to hard work. I am at your service." He met their eyes evenly for a moment, but bowed his head respectfully to show he meant no challenge or defiance.
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Old 12-25-2013, 04:30 PM
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Selsdrin saw a cargo net being hauled up to the ship and leaped aboard, hanging on with one arm, his dunnage hanging from the other. *He jumped to the deck as it passed into the hold, going to one knee at the beautiful red haired elf's feet, then standing with a cavalier flourish and a bow.

The wind whipped silver white hair from his eyes, and the cloak framed his gold-embossed and fancifully tooled leather armor. *His sword hilts, eyes and teeth all glittered in the sunlight that shined off his ebony black skin. His feet were planted firmly on the deck, his arms akimbo.

"Selsdrin Everhar!* At your service, Captain!"
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Old 12-27-2013, 11:40 AM
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Selsdrin saw a cargo net being hauled up to the ship and leaped aboard, hanging on with one arm, his dunnage hanging from the other. *He jumped to the deck as it passed into the hold, going to one knee at the beautiful red haired elf's feet, then standing with a cavalier flourish and a bow.

The wind whipped silver white hair from his eyes, and the cloak framed his gold-embossed and fancifully tooled leather armor. *His sword hilts, eyes and teeth all glittered in the sunlight that shined off his ebony black skin. His feet were planted firmly on the deck, his arms akimbo.

"Selsdrin Everhar!* At your service, Captain!"
Gronk watched his new companion's flamboyant show-offy ascent to the deck of the ship as he walked up the gangplank. He shook his head in disapproval. "Douchbag." he grumbled to no one. He wasn't exactly sure what the word meant but for some reason it seemed appropriate.

Once on board he approached the troll that served as first mate. Gronk felt the half dozen or so weapons were overkill meant to impress the new recruits. Not for practicality. Gronk adjusted his armor so that handles of his war hammer and bastard sword on his back in a criss-cross fashion were clearly visible to the monster.

Gronk spoke in troll. "Nice gauntlets. Good for crushing bone."
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Old 12-27-2013, 03:24 PM
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Gronk spoke in troll. "Nice gauntlets. Good for crushing bone."
Malek heard the exchange, but didn't understand a word of it. His respect for the half-ogre went up another notch, and he chided himself for assuming the mountain of a man might not know any other languages.
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Old 12-27-2013, 06:28 PM
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Xiong Fan estimates that the troll and its master would deter any particular pursuit. He means to ask about amongst the crew of the Fire Rose for the name of the second mate, cargo master, or whomever might accept a few coins and the services of a chirurgean for rough passage on the deck.
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Old 12-27-2013, 10:09 PM
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Origen Origen is offline
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Once Morgana and Mog arrive, the training and thinning of the mercenaries begins in earnest. Most of the men and women, of various races, are dismissed after just a disdainful glance and a dismissive gesture from the red-haired elven duelist. Mog carries a large, thick oak chair from somewhere within the keep, and sets it with a thud on the ground at the center of the training square.

"Wine," says Morgana, as she seats herself with a leg kicked over once side of the chair. A page brings a flagon and a jeweled cup, and she drinks as the last remaining recruits are brought before her.

"No," she says. "No, no, yes, no."
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"The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne." - Chaucer

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - John Steinbeck, East of Eden

"Be orderly in your life, and ordinary like a bourgeois, in order to be violent and original in your works." - Gustave Flaubert
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Old 12-27-2013, 10:24 PM
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Origen Origen is offline
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[OOC:To just wrap things up, I'd like to hit a bit of the fast-forward for Rooker and Fan. Basically, the way I'd like to portray it, there are hints in the texts you review, Rooker, that indicate the north islands probably contain a clue in the next step on your journey to find the 3rd Way.]

Murgol Darkscribe will tell you that the best way to reach the northern islands is probably on the mercenary ship headed north. Everyone has heard of the interrupted shipping and mysterious disappearances, and the lost navy ship of Lord Starhawk, so paid vessels are difficult to find and often expensive.

Fan, you choose to stay with your new-found friend for the time being. In the market, as you walk through it on the way to the recruitment center, you see a man selling fish. He stares at you in that long, uncomfortable way that servants of the Master always stared. His lips are stained dark, and his eyes do not blink. It is probably too far for remote viewing, but with the book in your pack, it is probably best to put some distance between yourself and this city.
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"The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne." - Chaucer

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - John Steinbeck, East of Eden

"Be orderly in your life, and ordinary like a bourgeois, in order to be violent and original in your works." - Gustave Flaubert
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Old 12-27-2013, 10:49 PM
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Origen Origen is offline
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Originally Posted by Archaelos View Post
Xiong Fan estimates that the troll and its master would deter any particular pursuit. He means to ask about amongst the crew of the Fire Rose for the name of the second mate, cargo master, or whomever might accept a few coins and the services of a chirurgean for rough passage on the deck.
You find your way into the line, Fan, and find yourself standing before Morgana.

After explaining your skills, Morgana nods.

"We have one cleric," she said. "A drunken, obese dwarf who worships Marthammor Duin, although from his size and the way he drinks, I think he worships only the flagon. Clerics have their uses, Easterner, but sea battles don't always allow a full day to rest and pray. I could use someone who can patch a man together and put him back in the fight, and keep working after his spells are gone."

She draws her dagger, and gestures to a man in the line.

"Come here," she says. He walks forward, a little nervous, his eyes going to the blade in her hand.

"Show me your arm," she says. He holds it out. She lashes, quick as a whip, and the man cries out as his blood falls in droplets to the ground. She steps back, wiping her blade on a cloth.

"I assume you have silken thread and a needle," she says. "Show me your knowledge."

As you draw a spool of silk thread and a steel needle from your pouch, Fan, you see Morgana watching carefully. Mog watches the rest, always guarding his captain.

You stitch the wound with a practiced hand, and Morgana nods. She quizzes you on dealing with various wounds: arrows and how they must be drawn out, or left in the wound, sword cuts and axe cuts, and how the eyes of a man struck over the head with a warhammer or a mace appear as he is dying.

Finally, she nods. To a man with a goose quill and a scroll, she says, "Add our Eastern friend to the list."
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"The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne." - Chaucer

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - John Steinbeck, East of Eden

"Be orderly in your life, and ordinary like a bourgeois, in order to be violent and original in your works." - Gustave Flaubert
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Old 12-27-2013, 11:09 PM
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Origen Origen is offline
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Rooker, you wait your turn in the line. Most are dismissed. Some are invited to cut on wooden dummies or spar with blunted swords. Even many of these are dismissed.

Finally, you find yourself standing in front of Morgana. She notes your staff, and your lack of armor.

"You move in a warrior's way," she says, taking a bite out of a leg of roast chicken. "But you don't wear a warrior's armor, or carry a warrior's weapons. Are you a dishonored knight? Or did someone steal your gear?"
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"The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne." - Chaucer

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - John Steinbeck, East of Eden

"Be orderly in your life, and ordinary like a bourgeois, in order to be violent and original in your works." - Gustave Flaubert
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