September Guided Quest A: Treasure Troved

[Skie and Avery]

Closed

The small schooner rocked and dipped on the waves as the vessel made the rough trip to Scara Brae. Meant for cargo, the group of four found themselves in the hold of the long boat, no windows along the sides of the bare room. Four cots, stuffed with straw, had been placed against the starboard side, while a table with a lantern securely fastened to it sat a few feet away from the line of beds. The flickering glow sputtered a soft light on the room, the inhabitants, and a simple box. It had been opened as soon as they'd been ushered into the room by the captain, at least one among their number eager to see what awaited them.

After all, they'd only been told vaguely about their mission. A wealthy antiquities owner Scara Brae city had fallen privy to the location of a map. The map reportedly had been drawn by pirates and would impart the secret to their hidden treasure. The four had been hired through various means, a flyer here, a rumor there, to investigate. If the map existed, they were to continue on and retrieve the treasure. If it did not, or led to nothing, they were to return with their report. Either way, they could be handsomely rewarded although their employer made it no secret that a return with the treasure would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

In the box they found the following:

• 4 small woven cotton packs, empty but folded neatly
• 4 empty water skins
• 3 coils of rope - 10' in length each
• 1 iron grappling hook
• 2 iron throwing knives
• 1 simple steel shortsword
• 1 silver dagger, the edges strangely serrated
• 1 large loaf of bread
• A first aid kit with bandages, suture materials, 2 small single usage healing salves, and a small vial of mysterious poison
• A letter, addressed to the party

The letter was written in the neat script of a man who dealt every day with the need to keep clear, precise records. It said, "Where you are to land on Neverscale Beach you will find a path leading to the northwest. Follow this path until you reach the river and you will find a small cottage. The map is supposedly hidden in the floorboards of the cottage."

[Luned]

One might think after multiple voyages Luned would have the stomach of a sailor, but such was not the case. The scribe had spent most of the rocking and rolling trip to Scara Brae curled up in the fetal position on her cot, the only company she entertained being a sad old scrap bucket donated by a sympathetic seaman for their sick passenger. To her delight said bucket had remained empty today, however, and she managed to sit up and take some broth in what may be one of her last warm meals before their arrival.

Luned had her fair share of adventure in her recent trip to the continent, but after some misadventures and near-death experiences she'd cut her scholarly excursion short and gone home to Corone. Something had spurred her to take on this mission, but in the hazy fever of seasickness she'd conveniently forgotten what. All that was left of the young woman was a grouchy, frumpy husk of her former self, the only composed thing about her being the meticulously organized toolbox carefully stowed under her bed.

As she sipped broth from an old mug the scribe read the letter that was included in the box, admiring the penmanship and coming to her own secret conclusions about the author. Within a couple skims she had its contents memorized and weary gray-blue eyes settled on her fellow passengers, her team mates. They were an unlikely group, that was for sure, and at this point she wasn't sure what to expect of them or this adventure.

If there was one thing she learned in Salvar it was that everything that could go wrong most certainly would, and she'd wait patiently for the first disaster.

[Caelan Bolish]

It was almost relaxing to Caelan how the the small schooner transverse its path through the battering waves of the sea. After his first journey from Salvar to Corone on that revolting Cog where not even a rat would call home, he found sailing almost relaxing to him. Caelan leans in closer to see the beige page of the journal better in the wavering light of the nearby lantern as he scribbles onto the page. As the last slant letter dries onto the sheet in the journal he ties a leather cord around the journal placing it snug against the waterskin that came from the sturdy chest. Along with the pack and water skin he took two of the coils of rope, a iron throwing knife, the steel shortsword and the iron grappling hook which he tied to his belt with a foot of the rope he had in his possession.

As he stood up from the nailed down seat he slung the pack: with the rope, journal, waterskin, and iron throwing knife inside; and grab the steel shortsword leaning against the small table he was sitting at. The shortsword was uncomfortable in his hand as could be. The blade was a different length from his usual weapon, Black Wanderer; which was at least two feet longer than this plain blade; the balance of the weapon was to the spread out evenly where Caelan enjoy the tip heavy blades of the larger weapons. Yet this weapon had to do; he was surprise enough that he found a sword waiting for him in the ship since he had to leave his sword and steel breastplate in the care of Katlin. It would have be unrealistic of him to bring such cumbersome items onto such a long and weary journey as such.

Sheathing the sword Caelan walks up the stairs from the hold of the schooner out onto the deck to a long banister which protects unwary souls from falling into the unforgiving sea. He looks out to the deadly, yet almost beautiful waves roll their way into the horizon and away from his sight. He stood their for two hours in a silent, hypnotizing trance as the morning glow enveloped the world in light. Suddenly there was loud yelling and cheering fill with joy coming from the sailors from the port side of the ship. He runs over to where the noises comes from and looks out at the horizon. In the distant there was a blurry brown rectangle bobbing on the water, yet it was the most beautiful thing Caelan saw since the ship left the port for Scara Brae. It was land.

Overfilled with joy he runs down to the hold where his fellow hired swordsmen and adventurers were at. As he runs down the stairs he yells out, "Land ho! There is land on the horizon"

Caelan claims a small woven cloth pack, an empty waterskin, two coils of rope, the iron grappling hook, one of the iron throwing knives, and the steel shortsword.

[Skie and Avery]

The ship rocked and spilled towards the beach of Neverscale beach. As the schooner's crew moored the ship against a rickety dock, a few large crawlers scuttle away towards the water. The sand on the beach is untouched, piled here and there in dunes. Yet, farther down towards the treeline of the forest, where sand gives way to patches of tall grass, there are the barest hints of a trail. An empty torch-hold is riveted to the thick truck of a pine tree, ivy encroaching from the depths of the jungle slithering up the bark to hang gracefully from the iron holster. The trail is dirt, worn free from plants and packed hard from an ancient procession of feet.

Further into the jungle, the path is obscured here and there by large swaths of webbing. This appears to be the path that should lead to the river - and the small cottage.

Those that have yet to post, you should still state what you've taken from the box in the beginning before leaving the ship. This is the last round in which you have to take items.

[Anke/Varg]

Rouge was hesitant at first to engage with the rest of the group. The circumstances leading up to her arrival on the ship had been at best, dangerous, and worst, disastrous. Her mood was foul, and her demeanour and glare could have scorched wood had it not been salt stained and damp as squid. Only three things in the entire world could appease her smouldering grimace; blood, gin, and artifice. She doubted very much that her companions would appreciate any of them being spilled or indulged in within such confined quarters.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, and the hem of her skirt over the edge of the rickety bunk, the assassin rose, slowly, and bowed politely. She did not wish to get off on the wrong foot, even if she had no intention of leaving this strange encounter on anything but tepid terms of friendship.

“Hello, fellow sirs, ladies,” she paused, only to turn to bow at the scribe, “and dignitaries.” She doubted such titles mattered, or where applicable, but decorum had its sway over the lesser minded peons of the world. “My name is Rouge, emissary of the Scourge, mistress of the night,” she cocked her head, “and a dab hand at making very,” she smiled, “deadly things out of very,” she frowned, “ordinary objects.” She turned her attentions, short lived on her allies, to the contents of the chest that had been provided for them.

As she advanced across the briny floorboards, her heels, tool, elongated needles of steel over mahogany, clipped and clapped a sharp rhythm. Hiding behind a delicate expression of concern, the assassin approached the box, knelt low to reach into it, and almost instinctively produced the serrated dagger from within. The innocuous sense of being out of place amongst such mundane souls vanished, the comforting cool embrace of steel in her slender finders a poultice on the wounds she had been inflicted with when she was instructed to enrol on this so called assignment. She would have questions, many questions indeed for Arden Janelle and Leper when she returned to the capital.

“Dare I ask, my fellows,” she rose, kicking away from the box with care not to cause alarm, “what your names, monikers, and strange introductions are?” she pleated her knee to bow, extended her dagger filled hand, and span it fleetingly through three rotations. The flash of the blade glinted and reflected in her bloodied eyes, stained by long hours in a chordate factory, marred by a decade of plying death as a morbid trade. All the while, she appeared to be nothing more than a frill covered harlot of the upper class red light district. Just the way she liked it.

Anke claims the serrated dagger.

[Itera]

There is a customary position that Itera takes on every sea-going trip, and that is in the maintop. There were many possible reasons for it. Perhaps she liked having the best view on the ship, with no obstructions out to the boundary of water and sky in all directions. Perhaps she, the Fairy of Boundaries, liked to be positioned high above the mortals of this world. Perhaps she prefered to be away from all the odors that suffused the hull of any ship at sea. Whatever the reason, she had spent most of the journey being most violently gyrated around with the mast's movements.

It was fun.

She took her meals at the common times, coming out behind the dividing curtain in the cabin that she supposedly shared with one extremely seasick scribe. No-one had ever seen her go to the head, fueling speculations among the hands that she had a bottomless hole for a stomach. Yet the way that Itera always appeared fresh and well-groomed suggested some magical means of grooming and hygiene. This was not true; she used the usual, mundane methods every time she gapped through to a certain well-maintained bathhouse.

Itera's attendance at the Meeting of the Box was, for lack of a better word, standoffish. She read the letter once through when it was passed to her and she stayed as far away from the box of things as it was physically possible to do without leaving the compartment altogether. The iron upset her, the packs and water-skins amused her, the kit and chemicals confused her, and the lesser said about the rope the better. She needed nothing; a fan, a parasol, and a non-Euclidean, transdimensional house filled by centuries of cacoethic kleptomania should be enough for anyone.

When it came time to do introductions, Itera's was simple, to the point, and explained absolutely nothing at all. It went thus: "I am Itera, Fairy of Boundaries, from Tenger Jerhal. It will have been a pleasure to know everyone here." She said this from her distant position while standing erect and smiling the faint smile of someone who expecting trouble to happen to other people.

Though she should have been the first to see land heave itself over the horizon, she was having a very fat morning indeed. Itera had reasoned that it wasn't likely for the ship to take less than half the morning to cover the distance to the horizon, not at the sedate 9 to 10 knots that it had been doing for the past few days. That meant that she would have time to have a nice soak, get dressed, and have a leisurely breakfast (or rather, very large elevenses) once she heard excited shouting through her tiny spying rift in the hold..

Everything happened exactly as she had planned, save for that breakfast was disappointingly cold and the barley coffee had congealed. Itera was sitting precariously on the port miz chainplate when the ship finally backed sails and threw lines. The day was a bit clearer than the last, with crepuscular rays slashing through to the sea and land below. The lygerastic fish spurned her hook, despite the bit of fat salt pork on it.

In typical fey fashion, Itera took the morning's bout of disappointment in stride. She hopped off onto the pier, landing with the colorful thump of a fashionable cordewainer with dwarfish sensibilities about boots. The worm-eaten wood groaned ominously. On the underside, a very surprised mussel was evicted and plopped into the waves.

"Good morning!" With her offensively frilly white-and-purple dress, her mob cap with the big red ribbon, and pink parasol with the scalloped edge on one shoulder, Itera was a rather incongruous greeter at the bottom of the gangplank.

[Luned]

The peculiar characters known as Rouge and Itera made their introductions and once Luned composed herself a bit, she did the same. Her own was short and sweet: "Pleasure to meet you all. I'm Luned, scribe from Radasanth." She could've elaborated, but she felt that was specific enough for the situation and she wasn't exactly feeling talkative until she had her feet on dry land.

The young woman was near last to select items from the box for her inventory so she'd missed out on some things, but what use would she have for a short sword, anyhow? Luned first went for the obvious comforts as she knelt and looked through the contents, carefully weighing each as she extracted them from the box. She picked up enough skill in carrying stuff to rival any good pack mule in her recent journeys, but was wary of overloading herself after such a miserable voyage.

No sooner than that was settled did they arrive at their destination, and with a sigh of relief Luned bundled everything up and strapped it efficiently to her back along with her small toolbox. She filled her waterskin from the ship's stores on her way to the deck and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The light was harsh to her eyes after hiding in the belly of the ship for so long, but it was a refreshing burn that she welcomed as she walked down the gangway and past Itera onto the dock. The sound of her boots, heavy on wood, coupled with the movement of limbs invigorated her as if they'd forgotten what it felt like to really walk, and she picked up her pace. "Good morning," she offered with a hopeful little smile, then shielded her eyes with a hand and looked around. "Shall we be off that way?" Luned spoke up, gesturing toward the obvious path.

As she waited for their small company to come to agreement on their course of action Luned looked out at the sea and combed tickling strands of chestnut hair behind her ears, wishing she'd taken time to tame it, but settled for tying it into a shoddy braid with a spare ribbon. Her hands ran over the dusty blue skirt of her old-fashioned dress, checking that she had her smaller belongings in her pockets, and she double-checked the rest of her ensemble in one last inventory before they headed into the thick of it. She'd have triple-checked if they'd had time, remembering the mishaps on her first adventure of sorts, but didn't want to impose her own paranoia on everyone else.

Luned claims the letter, a water skin, the first aid kit, the bread, and a cotton pack.

[Skie and Avery]

From the entrance of the trail, a dark shadow moves across. The skittering of long, spindly legs can barely be made out before the creature retreats back into the dark woods. From the tops of the trees, a cluster of birds explodes and takes off for the north, their calls loud and full of warning.

[Caelan Bolish]

The morning went by as a blur; the captain belched out order after order to his sailors as they prepare for the docking on a rickety dock. Caelan spent most of the time sitting upon his cot swiping the whetstone along the edge of the sword in an attempt to make it razor sharp. It was done with a mechanically efficiency with the seconds blending into minutes and the minutes blending into hours. It was a mind-numbing activity he did that would keep him preoccupied for an entire day if nothing interrupted his concentration. His trance was interrupted as he heard the soft Bang of the ship hitting against the dock. Even though the gentle swaying of the ship created a relaxing state of mind for him; the confide space of the small ship was hell.

He places the whetstone away in the cloth pack and fills up the waterskin from the supply upon the ship before he heads up the stairs onto the deck. Once he was out onto the deck he took a deep breathe of the invigorating salty air. Before he left the ship he double-checked the contents of his pack and his belt to make sure everything was were it was suppose to be. He stumbles as he takes his first steps onto solid land. The slowly swaying feeling under his feet instantaneously disappear to a solid, comforting feel. Caelan was red in the face as he join the scholar woman named Luned from the trip he made getting off the dock. That was a first bad impression and he knew he would never get it back.

[Skie and Avery]

As the party spilled from ship to dock, an unseemly calm had fallen over the forest. The movement in the shadows of the trees all but ceased, and the only sound was that of the crashing waves piling onto the shandy shore and then retreating. The smell of salt water in the air was thick. When all the party was amassed on the docks, a murmured discussion of where to go next hanging on their lips, there was finally sound.

Yelling and crashes from the forest started out muffled and then rang out. In but a moment, four giant spiders, the size of horses, came tumbling from the trees. Fast behind them came a small party of five men. They were decked in white linen and leather, swords in their hands and threats on their lips as they chased their arachnid prey from the forest. Sand sprayed from their feet as they dodged and moved skillfully around the spiders.

Feel free to bunny further description and actions of the five pirates. You may also join in the battle with the spiders, and bunny them as well. A note on the spiders: They are not venomous, but at this size, their fangs are easily as thick as your thumb and twice as long. When they rear up on their hind legs, they are over 12' tall.