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4 Lamashan 4714
No person in his right mind willingly goes to Pezzack. The city has been under strict blockade by the powerful Chelish navy for nearly five years, and whatever one may think of Queen Abrogail's mighty fleet, they do not treat blockade runners with much kindness.
Pezzack is the largest city in what is colloquially referred to as Cheliax's "Rebellious West", the hard-to-control northwestern coast that has never completely bowed to Egorian's control. Its countless hidden coves hold smuggler's hideouts, or offer shelter to pirates from as far away as the former colony of Sargava. Its hinterlands are composed of mile after mile of trackless wilderness and jagged mountains patrolled by the strix, the raven-winged men.
Nevertheless, you had all traveled there after receiving the following magical sending: "Bargle in Pezzack. Meet at Madge's. Aleena."
Getting into the city had been the easy part. A long trip to the nearby fishing and smuggling hamlet of Bishofshafen, and then a short overland trek through hidden valleys to the outskirts of the city. The guide who had brought you to Pezzack had not come cheap, but you would gladly have spent your last penny to resolve one of the greatest mysteries of your life: what had happened to Bargle.
You had assumed that the wizard had perished four years ago in Rahadoum. You thought that he might have been betrayed by the people whom he had contacted to help you all dispose of the Night Hag's Amulet, the magical artifact you had taken off a daemonic cultist in the ruins of Rachikan. You had even traveled to Rahadoum yourself in a desperate attempt to track down your lost compatriot, but had found nothing but old clues that led to dead-ends.
..........
After individually arriving in Pezzack, you had quickly made your way to Madge's Noodle Cart, one of the few business that had stayed open throughout the blockade, and which served the best seafood noodles to be had west of Absalom. Instead of finding Aleena, Madge herself had informed you that she had seen the cleric die at the hands of a man who matched Bargle description; a man who had been accompanied by black scale kobolds. A quick canvassing of the town's watering holes had informed you that the man and his kobolds had purchased passage to Warlock Island, a small islet a day's journey from the Pezzack, and that the ship had left the night of the murder, slipping past the blockade in a heavy autumnal fog.
You debated for hours on how best to proceed, and after much disagreement had settled on first giving your fallen friend a proper burial in the local churchyard before tracking down her murderer.
But Pezzack being Pezzack, you had had to wait another week before a ship was ready to brave the blockade and the weather would cooperate. Miraculously, you slipped past the navy with little fanfare and were now bound for open sea. The captain of the Cormorant informs you that you should be passing Warlock Island tomorrow in the mid-morning.
When he gets a chance to talk to the Captain when that gentleman isn't too busy Mandraiv will approach him and say:
"Hello Captain. I was wondering what you could tell me about Warlock Island. Do you have any charts of it I could look at? Do you know if there are any good sources of water there and what kinds of things might be there which could be used for food?"
Captain Lesanne invites Mandraiv into his cabin, and offers him a glass of brandy from an old, crystal decanter. While sipping, he walks over to his desk and pulls out a number of nautical charts. Briefly looking at a few of them, he pulls one out and spreads it out in front of Gaborza.
"This is Warlock Island," he says, pointing to the second-to-last island in a small archipelago off Cheliax's western coast. "It's got a bad reputation, but I'm not sure why. It's been inhabited for hundreds, if not thousands of years, but today contains only a small fishing village on the southern shore. The village doesn't have a name as far as I know, and is pretty cut off from the mainland. Few ships stop to barter with the locals. They're fishermen for the most part, and don't seem too open to strangers. I don't know too much about the island's interior, so I can't answer any more detailed questions. Passing by, I've seen woods and a few hills, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I was planning on dropping you off at the village, but if you'd prefer to be let off somewhere else, I can certainly accommodate that."
Artius glances over the map somewhat casually, glancing at Mandraiv.
"It makes sense to check in with the village," he comments. "I sure don't have any idea where kobolds live around here. Besides, this impostor might be known to them."
Oso typically rises early and bounces out of his hammock with the crew shift so that he can join them at work. The big Garundi has no interest in sitting around he wants to keep active and it hadn't taken the Ship's mate long to realise, Oso was a worker. He may not be the quickest, but for strength and endurance there are few on board that can match him.
Couple that with the man's knowledge of sailing and his naturally positive attitude and it was hard not to like Oso. One of the crew had tangled with him on the first evening, but Scutter told everyone afterwards it was like hitting a brick wall.
By the time the rest have surfaced, Oso is hard at work holy stoning the decks and trying to keep ahead of the others while keeping up a stream of tales and laughter.
Mandraiv accepts the glass of brandy from the Captain. Mandraiv says, "Thanks for the brandy. I think that getting off at the village makes perfect sense. It is also a relief to know that ships do stop there, even if only once in a while. Does the village have a dock you would be briefly tying up to or would we be going ashore in one of your boats?"
Mandraiv looks the map over trying to commit as much of it as he can to memory.
The captain nods at the two men's comments, taking another sip of his brandy. "My men will take you ashore in the launch. The village's harbor is too shallow for ocean-going vessels. As for getting back to the mainland after you have completed your ... whatever you are doing there, you can probably get a local to ferry you back in a fishing vessel."
Mandraiv looks the map over trying to commit as much of it as he can to memory.
The map is a nautical chart and contains mostly information relevant to a sailor, such as depths, currents, and the like; it contains very little information about what's on land. Two things that do stick out, however, is that there is a symbol of a tree on the island's eastern tip, and what look to be two mountains or large hills in the middle. When asked about these symbols, the captain states that the eastern part of the island is heavily wooded, and that there are two prominent hills in the center. Both of these landmarks are used by sailors for navigation.
Mandraiv nods. He says, "That sounds like it should work."
Turning to Artius, Mandraiv says, "I'd be willing to bet that we will eventually find what we're looking for in the mountains. Regardless, we should probably check the forest out first."
Aredhel stands with her hands linked behind her back, silent thus far as she takes her time reading the spines of the Captain's few books and examining his maps.
Finally she turns to the conversation. "Our mutual companion is as intelligent as he is despicable." Her voice is mellifluous, her Common inflected with her fey elven accent.
"Having encountered Aleena, he will assume it possible that the rest of us are en route. A paranoid mind such as his will not rest easy, and he will expect us to discover his destination and give chase to Warlock Island."
Aredhel steps up to the table, and points a long, slender finger at the tiny village. "He will expect us to land here. I would thus not be surprised if he leaves an ambush behind to greet us."
She glances at her companions, each in turn. "It might be prudent to land a few miles away from the actual village, and then approach with caution from inland. Perhaps I am myself being paranoid, but we are dealing with Bargle. I would wrest any advantage I can from this situation."
Imsh joins the others in the captains room. His blood red armor and black flail remain in his cabin, and he wears a wool robe of iron grey, with a heavy metal belt around his waist. The cowl is thrown back, and his shaved and scarred head can be seen. Around his neck, the symbol of Gorum hangs on a steel chain.
"The village sounds like the best place to land. Perhaps we might find some information there as well."
He watches the others closely. Having been a late addition to the original company, Imsh never really got to bond with the others as closely as they did with one another. Aleena had welcomed him as a peer and friend, and it is for her that he is here now. He does remember the friendly banter around the campfires and the way they protected one another, but it seems a lifetime ago, and his battle with the Kellid schism within the order had made him withdraw somewhat from those without orcish blood.
But these were his friends, he reminds himself, and he will do his best by them, as Aleena would want him. He now must care for and protect them as she had, and he takes this charge very seriously. In Aleena's name!
Oso leaves the hard thinking to the brains of the outfit and does not bother the captain. He trusts them to lead him to his "friend" and then they can have it out.
"Yo ho ho, on a big bad..." he joins in with the sailors, approving of the way they look after the ship and care for their equipment.
"Scutter! You see my stone ahead of yours. I finish soon and can watch you. Come on man, not be a halfling girl! Ha ha ha!"
The laughter is genuine and Oso takes a moment to throw more water across the deck and sluice himself down with the brine bucket. His ebony skin shines wetly in the daylight.
She glances at her companions, each in turn. "It might be prudent to land a few miles away from the actual village, and then approach with caution from inland. Perhaps I am myself being paranoid, but we are dealing with Bargle. I would wrest any advantage I can from this situation."
Mandraiv thinks about it for a little bit. Then he says, "Aredhel has a point. Even if Bargle hasn't left an ambush at the village, someone there would almost certainly let him know we had landed. Given that we will be going ashore in the launch that could land almost anywhere, let's pick a spot on the northeast corner of the island where the coming and going of the launch can't be seen from the village. That would also let us move quickly into the cover of the forest where we could plan our next move."
Aredhel nods in agreement. After the others have addressed the issue of where they shall land, she addresses the captain with a new question.
"Captain, the man we seek took passage to Warlock Island aboard a vessel called the [insert name here]. Have you heard of this ship, and if so, can you describe it, and tell us of its captain? Do you think this captain would have willingly transported kobolds?"
"Well then, if you are all set in landing on a different part of the isle, then I guess that is what we shall do. I suppose I should be getting ready then?"
"Captain, the man we seek took passage to Warlock Island aboard a vessel called the [insert name here]. Have you heard of this ship, and if so, can you describe it, and tell us of its captain? Do you think this captain would have willingly transported kobolds?"
The captain's ears perk up when the elf makes mention of the Slippery Serpent. "That would be Captain Wallace. He would transport anything or anyone if paid enough gold."
Artius scowls at Aredhel and Mandraiv's assumption that Bargle is indeed the murderer, but doesn't challenge them directly.
"Whoever we're chasing, he's proven himself ruthless," Artius nods. "plus I don't like the company he keeps. Kobolds have always been fond of traps and ambushes. I like Aredhel's plan."
"Which reminds me," he continues with a slight smile, fishing the potion vial out of his pocket and presenting it to the elf. "A present for you - to celebrate our reunion."
Aredhel watches as Imsh takes a half step past her toward the door, the half-orc easily the largest person in the room, taller than Aredhel by a couple of inches and nearly twice as broad. She reaches out with one hand, pressing her palm lightly against his boulder-like shoulder to arrest his progress, if not by force, then at least by request. There had been a time when she refused to touch him at all, in the beginning. Her willingness now is an affirmation as to how far their friendship had grown before they had all separated.
"Imsh, we should all be in agreement on this course of action before undertaking it." It's been too long since she saw him last, and a new reserve has entered his bestial face, making him hard to read. "Do you have any concerns with this approach?"
Artius then flashes that smile of his which can only be described as roguish, and presents her with a gift. Aredhel for a moment seems genuinely surprised, and blinks her large, cobalt blue eyes rapidly as she glances down at the delicate glass bottle then back up to the gleam in Artius' eye.
It's that gleam which keys her in, and tells her this is less a civilized gesture such as she might expect amongst the elves, and more Artius demonstrating that despite the years, some things never change.
She sighs and takes the gift. "Thank you, Artius. Really, you shouldn't have." With most people such an expression would be empty. With Aredhel, as she contemplates the illicit origins of the bottle, it's quite literal. But then, to her own surprise, she laughs, a sense of returning home to something - friends? her original group? - suffusing her. She flashes Artius one of her rare smiles, shakes her head, and pockets the bottle.
Oso waits by the prow of the ship as the rest try to finish the holy stoning, then he heads up a mast, pulling hard on the rope climb and heading for the nest with a big pot of water and a crust.
"Hey Zuka, water. Must be dry up here all alone. What can you see?" Oso knows his eyes aren't that good but the little halfling has a knack for seeing what's on the horizon.
The amiable man sits crosslegged next to Zuka quietly.
"Truly my only worry Aredhel is that we find a nice, calm beach! Wearing all that armor and trying to disembark on a wild section of the island..well I do not like to temp fate, if you know what I mean!"
He lets out a short bark of laughter at the thought of falling out of the jolly boat into the water while disembarking.
"Your plans are sound and smart...just like I remember! I just hope we can get the drop on whoever this is. They need to pay for what they did...what HE did to Aleena."
The half-orc turns away, his voice now tight with emotion.
"I will go and gather my things and meet you back on deck..."
Mandraiv comments, "Imsh also has a point. Wherever we land should have a nice, gently sloping beach if possible. Unless anybody else wants to argue against it, I would sill like to land on the northeast corner of the island near the forest."
The halfling flashes a weary smile at Oso as he joins him in the crow's nest. "Almost the end of my watch, but the food and drink is appreciated. I try not to drink much while I'm up here, as relieving myself would lead to strange rains on deck." Zuka gives the Garundi man a mischievous wink and tucks into what he's been given.
Looking out across the ocean he suddenly pipes up, "Hey, there's your destination! There's Warlock Island!" Following his outstretched arm, Oso sees a set of hills just coming up over the horizon. From this distance Oso can't discern any detail about the island. It is a bright, if overcast day, turning the sea a steel grey.
"We should be there in just a few hours," the halfling finally comments.
Oso claps a horny hand down on the little fellow's shoulder then starts back down, "enjoy!".
He lets the mate know and heads for the captain's cabin to pass on the news about Warlock Island.
"Zuka's seen it! Zuka's seen Warlock Island!"
Mandraiv looks over the map again. Then he says, "Uh oh. Looks like I read the scale on the map wrong. Going to the northeast corner of the island would take us too far from where we want to be. Let's just get off on the southeast corner of the island, far enough from the village they can't see us landing, but not much more than 18 miles or so away."
Oso breaks in on the conversation, crashing through the door and grinning with the good news. "We is here!"
All further conversation is interrupted by Oso's arrival, the door slamming open with such exuberance that for a moment Aredhel thinks they're under attack - Bargle having pre-empted them somehow, impossibly - and her hand begins to move to her greatsword's hilt where it extends over her left shoulder.
The she recognizes Oso's brilliant smile, and relaxes. Her first year traveling with the Sargavan had been a constant trial, until she had decided to think of him as a symbol for life's irrepressible energy, wild and free of all convention and forms.
"Captain," she says quietly, stepping aside while the others converse. "Do any of your sailors stand out in your mind as particularly well traveled, fond of telling stories, or local to the area? I'd like to learn a little more about Warlock Island before we put to shore." And why it has a bad reputation in particular.
Artius smiles at Oso's boisterous entrance. "You bored, already Oso? We better find you some kobolds soon, eh?"
Beginning to appreciate just how much he's missed adventuring, Artius listens as Aredhel and Mandraiv continue planning out their arrival, content to leave the tactical discussion to the smarter members of the group. Life has been pleasant enough in the last few years, but nothing makes Artius feel as alive as heading into the unknown with nothing to back him up but his quick reflexes and his friends.
Imsh smiles at the man's excitement.
"Well I guess we should get ready. Just make sure we land somewhere nice and calm..."
Mandraiv says with a smile, "We would try to get Oso to knock before he enters, but I don't think there are any doors available that could take the punishment. So it looks like we're settled on landing somewhere on the southeast corner of the island roughly 5 to 18 miles from the village in a spot with a gently sloping beach. With that taken care of I would like to hear anything you or your crew might have to say about the island."
The big Garundi mulatto grins back at Artius and Imsh then he nods to Mandraiv and turns to quietly shut the door. "Sorries Cap'n. Forgot my place. You want me to get jolly boat ready for launch? Must be on the horizon where halfling eyes better than me have."
Maybe get hot food ready still a box full of miles from the island.
Then Oso actually thinks about what was said, "kobolds? Yes I got small knife to stick them with. Ha!"
When answered by the Captain, Oso wrenches open the door and heads off to the next task at top speed. Not graceful more like a dangerous water buffalo on the charge.
One of them kobolds is gonna scream till he tells me if'n Bargle killed Aleena. He did that then he did for Meganri too.
The captain has no problem letting you off wherever you prefer, and anchors his ship 10 miles leeward of the fishing village he had mentioned before. The crew and Oso make the jolly boat ready, carefully lowering it into the sea using a system of hoists.
Meanwhile, Aredhel speaks with Old Tim, who doesn't look a day over forty, but who is one of the most experienced swabbies on board. He mentions that he had heard that the island is generally avoided because it is believed to be cursed, but that he personally does not put much truck in such rumors. He also mentions that he has heard stories of the "Beast of Warlock Island", which is said to attack ships from time to time, but has no personal knowledge concerning its veracity.
The ships bosun and a few of the younger sailors take you all to shore after you pay your last respects to the captain. The beach is abandoned and covered in small, black rocks that clack-clack-clack when you step on them, and provide tricky footing. Inland are large expanses of grass and boulders, interrupted by the occasional stand of trees. Further inland, the countryside becomes more hilly and wooded, with the two prominent hills you saw on the map at least 20 miles in the distance.
Before heading back to the ship, the bosun informs you that the village is to the west around the next headland and should come into view within an hour of walking.
It is now early afternoon and you have not taken a break for lunch yet; some of your stomachs are beginning to grumble.
Mandraiv says, "Let's get off the beach and go to one of the stands of trees. We'll take our lunch and then move towards the village at a slow pace trying to be stealthy. Ideally we're going to want to observe the village for a while without being seen before we make contact with the people there."
"Sounds good to me! I'm now beginning to get my appetite back after being bashed around in that cork you call a boat!", the big half-orc laughs as he fingers the prayer beads you so often remember him handling. The small, silver skull attached on the bottom is almost a welcoming sight to the group, reminding them of the younger, and more nervous cleric from a few years ago.
Aredhel watches as the jolly boat struggles back out through the surf, cresting each wave in an eruption of spray until it finally rows out past the breakers and makes a beeline for the Cormorant. Then she takes a deep breath, sights up and down the beach, and nods to Mandraiv. She strides up to the treeline, slowing as she reaches the shade, and moves cautiously forward, gaze probing the branches overhead as well as the distance between the trunks, breathing in the sea air where it mingles with the verdant smell of soil and rotting leaves.
Unless she spots anything of note, she sinks fluidly into a cross-legged position with a tree to her back, and opens her small pack to draw forth some rations.
The beach and the nearby countryside seem to be wholly uninhabited, and the group quickly makes camp in the shade of the copse of trees. While warily consuming your trail rations, you scan the horizon for any further signs of life.
After about 10 minutes, Aredhel and Artius spot what looks to be a small fishing vessel coming around the headland from the direction of the village. It looks to be a small ship with a single lateen-rig sail, but it is so far away that you can't make out any further detail. Given that it is at least a half-mile away, it is very, very unlikely that you have been spotted.
Unalarmed, Aredhel folds what's left her rations into its binding cheesecloth, ties it off with twine, and stows it in her pack. Each bite had been precise and neat, such that there aren't any crumbs to wipe from her chin.
She rises smoothly to her feet and stares impassively at the distant ship. Are they casting nets? Can she make out any activity on board? Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she studies the sailors carefully, not pointing out the boat's presence but instead allowing the direction and focus of her gaze to alert the others.
Aredhel's elven eyes search the boat, but it is too far away to make out any people on board; certainly no one aboard is standing up. Judging from its angle of travel, she guesses that the boat is headed farther out to sea. Unless it changes course, it will only move farther away from the party.
Mandraiv had been the last person off the beach and into the trees. As he settled down to make himself comfortable he cast Prestidigitation and proceeded to chill the water in his waterskin as well as cause his trail rations to emit a hearty aroma of well cooked food. Seeing that some in the party were looking at him, apparently having forgotten his habits, Mandraiv said:
"No use in making things any rougher than you have to. Does anybody else want me to chill their water, or flavor and heat their food?"
After a while, seeing Aredhel stand up and look out to sea, Mandraiv does likewise. Assuming that he sees what Aredhel does, Mandraiv says: "I doubt they can see us in the trees here. But just to be safe let's wait until they're out of sight before we leave the trees."
Artius gives the ship scant attention, presuming it to be a fishing boat from the village. Nodding at Mandraiv's suggestion to wait for a while before heading to the village, he takes another bite and settles in to give the ship time to pass from view.
"Might as well drink some cool water," he remarks as he hands his waterskin over to Mandraiv gratefully. Giving a rueful look at his trail rations, he smiles regretfully. "I forgot who I'd be travelling with. None of this is going to improve by being cooked more."