#CastInFire

[dstickman-blog]

Chapter 1 - pt. 2

Selia: I run and leap onto Sarah, trying to knock her to the ground "EVERYONE GET DOWN!"

DM: Sarah, Selia slams into you and you both hit the deck. The wind is knocked out of you as you see Linsa grab Taylor and dive down as well. A moment later you hear Yero scream from the crow's nest and then the thunkthuthuthunk of bolts peppering the side of the ship.

Skolldin slides against the deck rail and Rashoun presses himself behind the mast for cover, a bolt missing him by inches. Griswald yelps as a shaft passes clean through his calf, and his legs buckle. From behind the mast, Rashoun yells "I am dropping the mainsail! Someone get to helm and push us away from the coast!"

Selia: I cast mage hand on the wheel and turn it while moving as fast as possible to get up there.

DM: Rashoun dives up the mast and grabs a rope, pulling himself up arm over arm. Taylor pushes himself and follows.

Sarah Blackpowder: I aid in getting the main sail down.

DM: Sarah, you pull a rope near the bottom crossbeam of the mast and unravel it, preparing to lash the sails in place when they drop. Skolldin lunges forward to grab Griswald and drag him to the rail for cover. Across from you, Sarah, Linsa's face tightens with fear. "Oh hell."

All along the coast you see small fires light, spreading like a rash across the sand. Five, ten, twenty, forty. The crossbows pivot up and then release, sending a torrent of burning bolts straight toward you.

Selia: I move to the wheel, and drop my mage hand, turning it manually now. I cast magic missile on some of the arrows in an attempt to knock them out of the sky.

I feel strange, like my whole body has centered itself, my mind has gone blank, only focusing on a single goal. I move as if on instinct and force my hand outwards. It feels like I've drawn something from within myself, this pulsing feeling surges out, starting from my gut following through to my arm. For a second, it feels serene--that this is natural. In the next second blue arrows of light fire from my fingertips and just like that, the feeling is gone.

DM: The arrows of light shoot through the air towards the incoming bolts. As they approach the magical arrows seem to stretch and bend to your will, flattening themselves to crash through the flaming crossbow bolts like a bowling ball through pins. Ten of the bolts shatter into splinters and plummet into the sea as your arrows plow through them. About half of the remaining arrows are short or wide. They splash into the sea with a sizzle as the saltwater douses the flames.

But the rest pepper into the ship, slamming into the mast, into the deck, and into the mainsail. The sail catches, and two of the bolts wedged into the deck seem in danger of igniting the pitch that seals the boards together. Linsa cries out and launches herself at one of these spots, stomping at the embers. Skolldin puts his full weight on Griswald's calf, eliciting a howl of pain from him. The dwarf looks up towards you, Sarah. "Need a bandage! Or a tourniquet!"

Sarah Blackpowder: I pull out my rope and tie it tight above the wound, not cutting it now though.

DM: You cinch the leg, and Griswald winces. "I'll keep it tight!" Skolldin hollers. Take it from here to that fire.

Sarah Blackpowder: I run over to the fire, and it resembles the usual stray fire in Papa's shop. i stomp it out with ease like i would any other fire and try to perceive anyone near the fire. on the shore

DM: The sail is catching quickly. Selia , the smell of smoke finally hits your nostrils and for a second you snap back to the horrors of Barelby, a ghost town melting and crumbling before your eyes. Of unbearable heat squeezing you from all sides and choking on ash as you call out for help.

Sarah, you do not see any activity on the coast, and the ship is reeling away towards open water. But you do catch Selia as she locks up. Her eyes seem a million miles away. Somehow, instinctively, you know she is on the edge of something.

Sarah Blackpowder: "SELIA FOCUS STAY WITH US!!"

DM: Selia, you feel the pulse of uncontrollable forces ripple through your body, like a jolt of electricity in your bones. You grow two inches taller in a matter of seconds. You can feel your bones and joints groan as they lengthen and stretch. The constant pain in your hip dulls to an ache, as if you've been on bed rest for a couple of days. The growth spurt seems to have sped the healing process somewhat.

From the top of the mast you hear Rashoun's voice. "HARD APORT!"

The main sail finally unfurls, and puffs outward as it catches the wind. The ship accelerates sharply and the timbers creak to compensate. The next round of bolts, like the first, is unlit and almost invisible as it rips through the dark sky. All of them splash into the water as The Hummingbird lurches out of range. Rashoun slides down the rigging and slices away the smoldering section of the sail, letting it flap over the deck and into the water.

Selia: I run to the nearest side of the ship, hopefully out of view, crouch down and cast minor illusion forming a box around me.

My instincts kick in and the only thing I can think of is to hide, or to run, and I've got nowhere to run nor anywhere to hide. My head aches as I curl into a ball, holding my hands out for an impending shot from the gun and suddenly all around me are wooden walls.

DM: Sarah, you see Selia duck away and out of sight and stay there. Taylor and Rashoun climb the rigging to the crow's nest while Linsa runs over to help pull Griswald to his feet so they can get him downstairs.

Sarah Blackpowder: I run to help Linsa get Griswald downstairs.

DM: You shoulder as much of Griswald's weight as you can. Every step sends a small trickle of blood oozing from Griswald's leg. Dern sees you coming down the stairs and sweeps the table clear, then helps lift Griswald to lay him on top of it.

Sarah Blackpowder: "I wrapped it tight, I gotta get back up top"

DM: Griswald nods, gritting his teeth, but Dern pulls you aside. "I know it looks clean, but depending on who that was those bolts may be poisoned. Or worse. The safest thing to do might be to take the leg at the knee." Dern looks towards the table. "I've seen mere scratches from different lurker weapons turn into the worst of wasting diseases."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Do what needs to be done to keep him alive. He's no stranger to losing appendages."

DM: Dern nods grimly. "I need your help."

Sarah Blackpowder: "W-What?"

DM: "We don't have numbing tincture or ether aboard. Whatever we do here got to be done as quickl. Every second of surgery is another your grandfather could bleed out, or go into shock."

Sarah Blackpowder: I have an appalled look. "Okay.... What do I have to do?"

DM: "Skolldin will have to hold him down, and I'll saw through the joint in half a minute--or hopefully less. But we have to seal that once it's done. I got a pan on the stove, flat iron. I need you to get it hot and seal the stump when I'm done. Ever worked with Smith's gloves before?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah, a lot. I can do it."

DM: You both glance back at Griswald on the table. It hits you suddenly that tonight could easily be the last of his life.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Come on we gotta hurry."

DM: As you turn towards the kitchen you can still see your grandfather in your mind's eye. You are pulled back into a memory, one that shaped helped shape your relationship with him.

**Sarah Blackpowder:s* It's the time that he first showed me black powder. He piled up a small amount of it and with a poof it was gone. The smell was oddly satisfying, and I giggled every time he lit some up for me.

DM: He smiled for you when you did--the first time you ever saw him do it.

You hear the rumble of thunder as you put the pan on the heat. Rashoun's weather has come after all. Selia you are sitting on the deck, knees pressed to your chest, when you see the flash of lightning across the sky. A few seconds later, the deep roll of thunder.

Selia: I poke my head out of the illusion, trying to see what's happening

DM: The illusory wood around you winks out as you put your head up. You can see Linsa's back at the helm, juggling the wheel and some kind of nautical instrument.

Rashoun and Taylor are lowering Nero's body from the Crow's nest down to the deck. Around you, you hear the first few plops of fat raindrops as they hit the deck.

Selia: At first I jump as the illusion dissipates, then I take a deep breath move over to Linsa and grab her shoulder "Is there anywhere I could help?"

DM: She flinches hard, and yelps. "Gods! Running up on someone like that!"

Selia: "I'm sorry, just please, I want to help"

DM: She points towards the deckrail with the instrument still in hand. "Can you see the shore? I have no idea where I'm steering us and if the storm turns us around or pushes us into shallow water we're as good as drowned."

The wind picks up and the ship crests a tall wave, crashing down. For a split second you get the pit in your stomach from the feeling of free fall.

Selia: "Okay, just tell you how to keep the boat straight? I can do that" I move to the head of the ship, facing the shoreline and begin calling out port or starboard depending on if we're too close or too far.

DM: You can just barely make out the waves as they crash against what looks like a cliff face.

Selia: I continue to try to give directions as best I can.

DM: You shout over the wind. The clouds burst, sending a waves of rain down between cracks of lightning.

The ship is pitching back and forth over the waves. You manage to fight off a brief twinge of seasickness. Sarah, the iron pan is red hot. Skolldin is holding Griswald down and clearly feeling queasy while doing it.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Let's start."

DM: Dern nods and his knuckles whiten around the saw he is holding. He pulls the tourniquet around Griswald's leg tighter. Skolldin pushes a wad of cloth into Griswald's mouth. He nods at Dern, who places the saw against the underside of Dern's knee. Griswald starts to hyperventilate, his nostrils flaring.

Sarah Blackpowder: "It's gonna be okay papa, you'll survive I promise."

DM: He grunts. And Dern nods. He begins to saw through the back of Griswald's knee, working fast. Griswald writhes violently, his howls muffled by the cloth.

"Hold him down!" Dern shouts.

Sarah Blackpowder: "You got this! I'm here, just stay with us!"

DM: Skolldin presses down hard to pin Griswald and minimize the trashing. Dern doubles down and you soon hear the sickening squelch of the saw tearing through the ligaments of Griswald's knee. Another five seconds and Griswald's lower leg comes free. Blood oozes freely from the stump as Dern grabs a knife and quickly slices through the tendons holding the kneecap, removing that as well.

He stands aside and holds the thigh in place. "Now, Sarah!"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Sorry Papa." I press the hot pan against the wound hard.

DM: The flesh sears and pops as you press the iron into the stump of Griswald's leg. He screams through the cloth and thunder echoes him. The wound is sealed.

The gruesome task finally completed, Skolldin can't seem to hold back any more. He lets Griswald pass out on the table and runs up the stairs to the deck.

Selia you see him climb the last of the wooden steps as the ship rocks back and forth. He leans over the side and vomits through curses.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm close behind.

DM: The fresh air up here is better than the smell of sweat and blood in the claustrophobic hold below, but up here you can see the fury of the storm and instantly understand why Rashoun wanted to wait it out.

Selia: I move over to Sarah and Skolldin still giving directions and speaking in between "Is Griswald okay?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "He will be when he wakes up..."

Selia: "Shit, I'm sorry Sarah... this wouldn't have happened if I wasn't on board."

Sarah Blackpowder: "No none of this would have happened if we never left Everton. Don't blame yourself over our bad choices."

Selia: "What brought their wrath upon you? You already know why they'd be trying to kill me"

Sarah Blackpowder: "The pistols. Black powder was edging on their wrath, pistols are crossing it. We left so our village wouldn't be subjected to the trials."

Selia: "Oof, you poor things" I wince at the sight of both of them

Sarah Blackpowder: I walk back downstairs, wiping my mouth. I call out to Dern: "Is he okay?"

DM: As Sarah leaves, Skolldin turns to you, Selia. "I'm no poor thing!"

The ship dips wildly between the waves, and the wood groans as a wall of water slams into the starboard side. Sarah, you stumble down the last few steps into the hold. Dern has extinguished the torch down here and it is pitch black Selia, you grip the rail in total reflex, preventing yourself from going overboard. Skolldin is less fortunate, hitting the rail full force and then tumbling to the deck.

Selia: I grab him and help him stand "I suggest you hold onto something."

DM: He nods and winds a coil of dangling rope around his arm.

**Sarah lackpowder: "Dern?"

DM: Dern replies from the dark about 10 feet ahead of you but from below. "We have a problem," he says. You can hear the slosh of water as he takes a few steps.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Oh no. Is Papa Gris gonna be safe down here?"

DM: "I hope so. Can you give me a hand?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah what are we getting?"

DM: A lantern comes to life and you can see Dern standing in an open hatch. The floor you're standing on comes up to about his shoulder. Even from here you can see that the space below is slowly filling up with seawater. Currently the level is about at Dern's shins. "We need to stop this up or start bailing water. Fast."

Sarah Blackpowder: "How big is the breach?"

DM: The ship rocks to one side,and the water sloshes towards it. Dern steadies himself and then lowers his lantern so you can see into the space below. The boards along the starboard side are cracked, and water is seeping through. You may not know ships, but you know pressure, and you know structural integrity. What's happening here? What's going to happen here?

Sarah Blackpowder: The ship is going to capsize if we don't fix the breach. I run and find the boards and tar I found earlier. I grab two boards and slather a large area of both of them with tar. I run to the breach and slam them over the breach, sealing it. Then, I grab a hammer and nails and hammer the boards in place so they add support to the wall.

As I do that I yell to dern "Start getting water out of here!"

DM: You splash down into the small space with your tools. The water is numbingly cold. Dern nods and hoists himself out of the hole to find a bucket.

Selia, up top it seems like the storm is finally breaking. The rain and wind have slowed to a normal feeling rainfall, and the flashes of lightning are fewer and further between.

Selia: I move over to Linsa and call out "Can you navigate solo from here while I check elsewhere?"

**DM: Linsa nods. "I think we'll probably be good to drop anc r soon. Look."

She points, and you can see Rashoun and Taylor calling down to Skolldin. The three of them are working to furl the sails.

Selia: I move over to them and help with the sails.

DM: You do your best to assist Skoll with the rigging. It takes a while, and makes your hip ache. While you're working, Sarah appears from below. She is drenched somehow, and it looks like her hands are covered in oil.

Sarah Blackpowder: "We may have a... sticky situation..."

Selia: "What the hell is going on?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Nothing now, wanna help clear water from underneath?"

DM: Rashoun's feet hit the deck behind you, Selia. He looks stern. "How bad is the breach?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "About the size of our heads together. It's patched now."

DM: He jerks his head towards the hold. "Water?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Shin high."

DM: Rashoun grabs a bucket from the deck and heads downstairs. "Skolldin!"

Skolldin follows, supporting himself along the deckrail.

Sarah Blackpowder: I find a bucket and follow.

Selia: I do the same.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Just form a line it'll be faster!"

DM: Describe the bailout process. It's a tight space, and Sarah's bucket brigade idea is a good one.

Selia: Rashoun, Sarah, and I all form a line equidistant from each other from the currently flooded area to one side of the boat, back and forth passing the bucket until we get most of the water out of the ship.

DM: When it's all clear, Dern gives a thumbs up from the small space and climbs up. He shuts the hatch behind him and Rashoun sits hard on the steps. He sighs in equal parts of exhaustion and relief.

"Well," he says. "I guess it's time for second shift dinner."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Go and eat, we will hold the fort down"

Selia: "Nothing like soup after a near death experience"

DM: "Just the four of us, I suppose," says Dern. "Now that Yero's gone." He mops his brow and heads to the kitchen. Rashoun follows, but Taylor stays behind.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Shall we hold a funeral after the supper?"

DM: Taylor nods. "We will return his body to the sea." With that, Taylor turns and walks up the stairs to the main deck. Rashoun returns with a bowl of stew. "You know, Selia, I should consider your travel paid after all you've done tonight."

He puts a second bowl in front of you.

Selia: "Don't mention it" I push the second bowl back to him.

DM: "But I must mention it. I've never had a magician on my ship before."

[dstickman-blog]

Prologue - Selia

DM: Fire and smoke, heat on your skin and the taste of ash and coal. Slowly, Selia, your eyes open. For a second, you don't remember anything. It takes a moment to realize that you exist. That you have an identity, control over your breath and limbs. For that moment, you just ARE.

Selia: "Oh. Oh gods..."

DM: The words tumble from your lips hoarsely. You don't recognize your own voice.

Your vision is bleary and stung by smoke. Your hearing is overpowered by the roar of fire. You don't recognize your surroundings. Propping yourself up to your elbows you realize that your clothes are aflame.

Selia: In a panic I begin to roll on the ground attempting to pat the fire away.

DM: You beat at the flames and manage to put out your clothes.

As you pull yourself to your feet, the ceiling above you creaks and a small section gives way. The plaster breaks loose and shatters across the wooden timbers of the floor.

Selia: I look for a door, if I can find one I immediately attempt to rush out of the room

DM: You tumble through the nearest doorway, a backdraft scorching your neck and scalp. Reflexively, you touch the back of your head and find that you are completely bald. An image flashes into your mind, unbidden: a friend, braiding your hair. It takes a moment to find her name through the static in your mind.

Selia: "Pora... oh no, PORA!!!"

Frantically I run through the building, shouting her name, hoping for any response whatsoever.

DM: The memory triggers another, and suddenly you know where you are. What this building is.

Selia: "No, NO THIS CANT BE HAPPENING, WHY HOME!? FINALLY WE HAD A HOME!"

DM: Your voice rips at your throat, hitting your ears like a loud, dry whisper. You burst out of the front door and onto the road. What would you normally expect to see across the way? On either side of the house?

Selia: The neighbor's houses, the Tillins, the Burghs, across the road was an small general store run by Mr. Tillin.

DM: The general store is barely standing. Half of it has already collapsed in on itself, charred and blackened by fire. All that remains of the Tillin and Burgh houses are stone chimneys poking above piles of smoldering rubble. The cobblestones of the road are slick with soot and in some places melted together to form pockets of cloudy glass.

The trees nearby are bent away from your own house, leafless and warped.

Selia: I bring my hand up to clasp it over my mouth, only to find that it is searing hot. In pain I reel back, confused. I look for anyone that's still around.

DM: You stumble over it before you even realize what it is. Bones, cooked to brittle charcoal.

From this vantage point you see the pattern--everything burnt and bent away from your house, as if shoved by a tidal wave of flames.

Selia: I begin to run through town, shouting for Pora, praying to any god that I'll hear a response.

DM: You manage to stave off total panic as you round the sizzling cobblestones into the center of town. It takes tremendous willpower to keep control of yourself despite what you are seeing. What do you see looking around the square?

Selia: Rubble, there's nothing but rubble, as if a raid had stormed through and burned the whole town to the ground.

DM: Another flicker of a memory. The town as it should be.

Selia: My head begins to rush with images, of the children that used to play in these streets, mothers carrying babies, tears begin to well up in my eyes, but sizzle away in the heat. Believing myself to have failed finding Pora, I sprint as far as I can from the city.

DM: You run for as long as you can before your side cramps and your lungs sting. Even a mile away you can smell smoke. Utterly exhausted, your body forces you to stop and you stand near a tall tree overlooking Barelby's Pond. This is the outermost limit of town--the place children are discouraged from by monster stories.

Going any further west towards the coast alone is considered risky by most.

Selia: I head down to the water and attempt to wash my face, and clean soot off of me.

DM: Approaching the water's edge, you catch your reflection. Your hair has burned away, and there are holes in your clothes. Aside from that, you recognize your face. Describe what you see before you break the surface with cupped hands.

Selia: I see a young Half-Elven girl, with tanned skin and emerald eyes, though I can't remember who I obtained these features from.

DM: You wash the ash and soot off as best you can. Turning towards the road away from Barelby you see a figure a few hundred feet off. A cart being drawn by a wide, brown horse.

Selia: I run towards the cart "Hello!? Can anyone help me!?"

DM: As you head towards it you can see that it isn't moving. The horse sputters as you get closer, shaking its mane. The man driving it, a human, is standing up in the bench at the front of the cart, transfixed by the orange glow in the distance. He seems not to notice you at all.

"Proqq's blood," he swears quietly.

Selia: "Sir? I would suggest not going in, I don't know if anyone else survived..."

DM: He slowly looks towards you. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he addresses you.

"You... You were there?"

Selia: "I was lucky enough to be on the edge of town, it... it all went white, and then everything was in flames..."

DM: His gaze slides back to the inferno. "Gods..."

"Are you hurt?"

Selia: I speak with heavy breathing in between "I feel- exhausted, I ran as- as far as I could- I... I don't know where to go... that- was my home."

DM: "I overslept... was supposed to be here three hours ago with a shipment of cement..." He seems to be talking more to himself than anything else. He looks at you as if for the first time. "You must be terrified, and exhausted! Hold a moment."

He hops into the back of the cart and as he turns you can see that he travels with a large crossbow on the bench next to him. After a few seconds of rummaging around he returns with a small, hard loaf of bread and a grey woolen blanket.

"Here, miss. You're okay now."

Selia: "T-thank you, Sir," I take the blanket and wrap it around myself, and take the bread from his hand and bow my head in thanks, shaking.

"Though, where do you suppose you'll be headed now?"

DM: "I guess... I suppose back up to Curogan. I don't suppose you saw what happened?"

Selia: "Nothing... nothing that makes any sense anyways... it feels as though I looked up and the town was ablaze and everything... everything was rubble."

DM: His eyes narrow. "Did you see any barrels?  Black powder, like small grounds of sand?"

Selia: "There may have... been some in a shop somewhere... though I don't recall there being a very large number of them."

DM: "I knew it. That sorcerer's fire will be the death of us all. Is there anyone else with you, miss.... what was your name?"

Selia: "Selia... and yours?"

DM: "Devro. Are you from Barelby? Do you have anyone in Curogan? Any money or anywhere to go?”

Selia: "I don't know anyone from anywhere else..."

"And yes, I am from Barelby."

DM: "Well look, I can't let you wander out here alone. It's usually pretty quiet, but every lurker in 20 miles is gonna smell that tower of smoke and come poking around."

Selia: "Would it be possible for me to take a ride to Curogan, I promise it will only be to town and I'll figure something out from there."

DM: "Of course. Ever been up that way? I'm sure the Templars of Redaaq will be wanting to help you. And details of your story.”

Selia: "Well, I don't believe I have, though, could you tell me more about the Templars?"

DM: You know of Redaaq, the God of luck, fate, and chaos. The Templars are an order that follow him most devoutly. They share a ritual based appearance. What is it?

Selia: A tattoo of an eye on their foreheads, supposedly the eye allows Redaaq to peer into their hearts, minds, past, and future, and to always watch over them.

DM: When he says the word "Templars" that is the image that flashes into your mind. You've actually had direct contact with one, who came to Barelby to investigate a horse theft. How do you remember that interaction?

Selia: For the brief time he was here, he was a kind man, though he always seemed busy, having very little time for anything but his job, he was very respectful, though stern, I remember him seeing a few children playing with swords, and scolding the group of them, I remember walking the town, with Pora I wince visibly as emotions begin to climb at the thought of my lost friend.

DM: Devro seems to misinterpret the meaning of your mood. "Not a fan of the Templars?"

He pauses. "If you're a thief, or a debtor... as far as anyone knows, that past died with Barelby. You needn't fear the Temple of Redaaq. But... what happened here, it could happen to others. If the Templars don't look into it, more people could get hurt. Will you let me take you to their doors in Curogan?"

Selia: "I'm no thief, just... my friend. I couldn't find her in the flames... I'll go to them."

DM: "I understand. I know it doesn't seem it now, but it's lucky you weren't killed yourself. In fact, to escape from something like that--honestly, it's something of a miracle."

He clicks his tongue and pulls left on the reins, urging the horse to take a slow u-turn in the packed dirt path.

"In any case, let's put this foul vision behind us for a while. Should be able to get to city walls before midnight if we hurry."

Selia: "Yes, and thank you again, your kindness is very much appreciated."

DM: "If you can, get some sleep. The cement isn't exactly comfortable but there should be room back there to lie down if you like."

Selia: "Yes, thank you, I need to rest a while" I take a cement bag and attempt to use it as a rest for my head and lie with the blanket overtop of me.

DM: If you were awake for it, you would be shocked at how quickly you’re able to slip off to sleep. It is a dreamless slumber, and it feels like barely any time at all has passed before you feel a calloused hand nudge you awake.

"Hey," Devro whispers, "we are almost there."

Selia: "Ngh," I rub my eyes a moment and stand "Curogan?"

DM: It takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust, but you soon make out the crenellations of the stone walls surrounding Curogan. Beyond it, you faintly smell the salt of the sea.

Selia: "So, where do the Templars stay?"

DM: "The temple, of course." Devro points up and past the wall. From here, you can see it: a spiral shaped tower in the distance reaching at least 80 feet above the top of the wall.

To your right, you see a wooden palisade marking a field off for pasture. A small herd of black cows huddle together in their sleep.

Selia: "Thank you, for all you've done Devro, though I can't ask you to help me any more than you already have" I begin walking towards the spiral structure.

DM: "Just a second there, miss! I'll go with you."

Devro pulls the cart up alongside you.

Selia: "Are- are you sure? I wouldn't put any burden on you more than I already have."

DM: "Of course I’m sure. Besides, I need to help make the Templars understand how serious this is. I saw it with my own eyes."

Curogan so far is much bigger and denser than Barelby. What are some things that are sticking out to you on your way to the tower?

Selia: I don't think I've seen a larger group of people crowded in one area ever in Barelby, even though it’s late at night. There seems to be a ruckus around what looks like a merchants square and another stall showing off the use of black powder, most of the buildings are also much taller than those from Barelby.

DM: As you pass by the black powder stall Devro's mouth turns down. He quickly traces an eye on his forehead. "Redaaq save us from that devil's powder," he mumbles.

Soon you find yourself in front of the Temple. For a rare moment, the clouds part just enough to let a brief beam of moonlight down from the sky. It gives the tower a temporary glow.

"Here we are," Devro says. He hops off the cart and hitches his horse.

Selia: "Is there anything I should know before we walk in there, any rules I might accidentally break?"

DM: "Ha, just don't break any laws and leave any cursed possessions out here."

Selia: "Well, then let’s go in" I walk to the entrance and knock.

DM: koom koom koom

After a long pause, Devro frowns and raises his fist. Before he can knock, the door swings inward and a thin, tall woman with a tight braid slides into view.

She glances back and forth between you.

"Ordinary services and requests are handled during daylight hours. As are amenities for the poor."

Selia: "Um ma'am it's an emergency, Barelby has been, well, it's burned to the ground."

DM: She shakes her head. "What?"

Devro takes a step forward. "It's true, Madame. I saw it with my own eyes. As far as we can tell this lady here is the only survivor."

The woman's eyebrows furrow, pulling her eye tattoo into an otherworldly glare.

Selia: Nervous, I interject "I, I don't know what happened, one moment, everything was fine, and then the next, my home was a pile of ash and rubble."

DM: "I see. And where were you?"

Selia: "I was on the edge of town, right outside before, it all burned down..."

DM: "I see. I think we will dispatch some Templars to Barelby forthwith. We will have some questions for you I imagine, when they return. Both of you."

Selia: "Of course, I'll answer anything, though, my memories feel foggy at best"

DM: Devro butts in. "Selia here saw a few barrels of that black powder before the town went up in smoke! Tell em, Selia!"

Selia: "I... I don't know if what I saw was exactly that but, there were barrels in town, but, I don't know if this black powder was strong enough to demolish a city."

DM: She cocks her head. "So you saw the barrels, and you saw the powder. Then you... happened to walk out of town right before they went off?"

Selia: "I didn't see them the day of, I knew that some stores had begun stocking them."

DM: "Barelby is a farming town, is it not? I wonder what use the townsfolk there have for blasting powder."

"No one has a use for it, and now we have proof!" Devro says. "When you see that town you'll know that it's got sorcery written all over it!"

"Well now," the thin woman says. "Sorcery is quite the charge. Perhaps you two should stay the night here until our Templars return."

Selia: "Well, if you insist." I enter the temple.

DM: The temple is mostly bare, as is the custom of Redaaq worship. It's dimly lit from a couple of torch sconces, and the flames cast long shadows across the floor. For a moment the flickering lights send you back to the twisted nightmare of Barelby. You remember something new.

Selia: I'm walking, and I look at my hands, they're on fire, my footsteps leave a trail of flames in their wake and... then... oh by the gods. I immediately run outside, around the corner of the temple and I can't catch my breath, it feels like my heart is ripping through my chest.

Selia: I can't get a hold of her breathing, wildly I hyperventilate.

DM: You feel a ripple across your skin, and for an instant you feel as though you can see the very fabric of reality holding the world together and guiding it along. Just as quickly your mind is overtaken by a stab of white noise: the crackle of fire, the cascade of a waterfall, the buzz of a thousand flies. With a start, you realize you are no longer on the ground. You are slowly floating up along the side of the tower, at about the speed of paper lantern.

Below, you see the thin woman and Devro round the corner. "I don't understand," Devro is saying. "Why would she take off like that?"

Selia: I attempt to push myself off of the spire to a roof nearby where I can hide and hold myself down.

DM: Below you, the woman  responds. "This is holy ground. Sometimes the sinful or the cursed have... reactions. To consecrated places."

Describe your successful land onto the adjacent rooftop.

Selia: Drifting slowly in the air, I am able to bring my feet to the tower and push myself off, propelling slowly onto a nearby roof, gripping at the edge of the building with white knuckles.

DM: It's surprisingly easy to hold yourself in place as you catch the lip of the roof--like keeping yourself from sinking into Barelby's Pond by holding onto the dock.

Below you, the conversation continues. Devro hisses, then says "You think she's cursed? A sorcerer? Impossible."

Selia: I clutch the roof, trying to stay as silent as possible as tears begin to stream down my face, the memory of home is all I can think of, of what I did.

DM: After a few moments more Templars come out of the tower and into the alley. "Search party," says the tall woman. "She's bald, maybe elven. Tan. Burnt clothes, sounds like she's had a bad cough. What's her name again?"

Devro whispers something, too quiet for you to hear.

"Selia," the woman says. The Templars light torches and fan out in pairs with methodical efficiency.

"You brought her here," she says to Devro. "Were you bewitched? Did she touch you? Offer you drink?"

"I... I don't know," Devro stammers.

The woman leads him inside like a wounded animal and the doors close behind her.

Selia: I wait for the effects of the magical surge to dissipate.

DM: In your adrenaline spiked state it feels like forever. But after some time, you gently descend to the rooftop. Your body feels weighted again.

Selia: I sit down on the rooftop, watching for when the Templars return to the Temple.

DM: You try to focus on the ground but for some reason your mind wanders. You find yourself retreating into the memory of a simpler and happier time.

Selia: Sitting on the porch with Pora, we thought it'd always be like that, I'm so sorry. I make my way down from the roof, and begin to make my way to the gates of town, avoiding large roads in favor of alleys.

DM: Describe this fall to me.

Selia: Selia's grip fails her, and she slips, with a heavy shock into her back.

DM: As you hit the ground of the alley below you feel a sharp pop in your hip, loud enough that you can hear it. The wind is knocked out of you, which is the only thing that prevents you from crying out in pain.

Selia: I try to stand, leaning on a wall to move hold myself up.

DM: The pain is excruciating the second you put any weight on your left leg.

You reach down and squeeze at your left hip and thigh. What's wrong with you?

Selia: It's broken, I know it is, shit! Why wasn't I more careful, I'm going to get myself killed. I look for anything I can use as a crutch.

DM: Sure. What do you find in the alley that seems useable?

Selia: Someone has left a broom outside their door. "I'm very sorry" I whisper as I take it and put it underneath my arm.

DM: You limp toward the end of the alley, almost running directly into a wide man with a carefully oiled moustache.

"Whoa ho!" He says. He looks you up and down. "You... You expecting me?"

Selia: I immediately look at his forehead checking for a tattoo. "No, sir, I'm very sorry I'm just in a hurry."

DM: No tattoo. He strokes his moustache. "As are we all. Sure you don't have anything for me?"

Selia: "I'm not from around here, so yes I am quite sure I have nothing for you" I begin to hobble away.

DM: He steps aside for a moment with a quizzical look. "Are you all right? If someone hurt you I can call a guard..."

Selia: "No I'm fine, I just had a bad slip, I may have sprained something"

DM: "Aha. Then maybe I have a Physician aboard my ship who can take a look at it." He does a small bow, and many small bracelets clang together on his wrist.

Selia: I stop. "Where is this ship heading, sir?"

DM: He smiles. "My ship goes where I tell it. Why, I'd take it all the way to Eastcliff for the right price."

"But for now, up the coast a ways, to Flathead Port."

Selia: "Would you mind taking me with you? I may not be in fantastic form as of now, but when I recover I will work my own duty as any other person would."

DM: "So, escaping from something after all, hmm? Well, promises of payment are good, but silver is better. I am already a millionaire in promises."

In your hurry to leave the fires of Barelby you didn't take much of anything with you. But you do have one valuable item, something you keep with you at all times. What is it?

Selia: A golden locket, with what I can only assume are my parents names inscribed on the inside, though there are no last names it says 'Jezara and Wesan' with a heart encircling them.

"Will this suffice?" I hold out the locket to the man. "It holds more sentimental value to me than actual at this point."

DM: He whistles lightly. "I do have a weakness for jewelry..."

As he holds out his palm you hear a voice from behind you, at the other end of the alley.

"What's going on here?"

As you turn you see a pale man holding a torch. The light of it seems to make the tattoo on his forehead come alive.

Selia: "Two old friends, out for a stroll sir." I do not turn around.

DM: The mustachioed man's eyes flit to yours and then back up. He smiles broadly, spreading his arms. "My old patron here likes to take walks at night, when there are less people around to jostle her. I'm still afraid she will lose her way and so I accompany her."

The man with the torch scoffs. "Best head inside tonight. There's evil on the loose in Curogan."

He heads off, the reflecting torchlight fading from the walls of the alley as he stalks away.

Selia: I let out a sigh of relief "Show me the way then?" I put the locket into his hands.

DM: He pockets it and offers you his arm. "Come along then, 'gran.' I don't need to know what evils bring Templars out in the middle of the night."

Selia: "Neither do I" I take his arm and follow him.

[dstickman-blog]

Chapter 1 - pt. 1

DM: It has been two days since Rashoun twirled his moustache and ordered the crew of The Hummingbird to set sail from pier four of the Curogan docks. Now even the spiraling tower temple of Redaaq has shrunk into nothingness on the horizon. For two days now, Selia and Sarah Blackpowder have been keeping busy aboard. It's been two days of awkward eye contact and one word passing greetings. But today, right now, about an hour before supper, is the first time you two have had some space to yourselves.

The forward hold is empty except for the two of you and Selia's new crutch. Selia, what are you up to in here?

Selia: I don't say much, I'm trying to focus on remembering everything. From before Barelby.

DM: As you are meditating you push further back before the incident at Barelby than you've been able to go up to this point. The memory floods back to you vividly and you're five years old again, as if you're reliving this moment all over. Care to describe it?

Selia: Pora, a halfling girl, and I, we were just kids. I start making a fuss in the middle of the street at some strangers, crying that I lost my parents. Meanwhile Pora snuck up behind them and made their pockets a little lighter. Then we both ran like hell. I smile lightly while I pick up my crutch.

Sarah Blackpowder: I am working on my shotgun design. Smooth inside, flared barrel for maximum spread, wooden stock with 5 layers of cloth on the stock to lessen recoil. No firing at all, just designing.

DM: Sarah this is the first time you have seen Selia relax, let alone smile. How do you react?

Sarah Blackpowder: "Has this sea finally quelled the inferno?" Monotone. No feelings of apathy or empathy.

Selia: "Oh, sorry, I was simply reminiscing. What do you mean by inferno?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I saw what you did to that city. Or at least what you're accused of." "I saw the aftermath. This is all that's left." I show Selia the Proqq symbol. "I found it at what must have been your house."

Selia: "Please, did you see a halfling woman? Her name is Pora I couldn't find her in the flames, please tell me you saw someone."

Sarah Blackpowder: I see the pain in your eyes, and pain shows in mine. "Selia... whatever happened... it consumed everything and everyone. If she didn't find the woods, she's perished along with everyone else.

DM: Selia, you recognize this symbol.

Selia: "That... Pora, she always kept it around for some reason, she thought it was good luck..." I say this through tears and a weak voice, dropping to the floor, with my head in my hands.

Sarah Blackpowder: I look at her crying and start to feel empathy for this supposed witch. I scramble around my work desk and find some leather string. I loop it through where there used to be string, and head to Selia. I go behind her and tie it around her neck. "The gods knew that this would make it to you. Wear it in pride and remember of your friend." I go back to my work.

Selia: I look up sniffling. "I... I can't thank you enough for this, truth be told, I did not know I was a witch before, well... you saw what I did. Please, you can't tell anyone, I've already made up my mind to seclude myself. I'll never hurt an innocent person again."

DM: The ship creaks as it crests a wave.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Mostly, because people think me and Papa Griswald are magic too."

Selia: "You're not?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Nope, we're just mechanically smart. We have made weapons that can only be trumped by magic!"

DM: With almost perfect timing you both hear a loud CRACKOOM from above you, on the main deck of the ship.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Annnnd there's my cue." I run upstairs, pistol ready.

Selia: I grab my crutch and hobble as fast as possible.

DM: You both hear Rashoun's laugh before you make it up the stairs to the deck. His double-barreled hang cannon is smoking from the muzzle and he is bent over, clutching his stomach and convulsing with laughter. Papa Griswald is smiling at him from nearby.

Both men are facing the bow, where a plank wearing a shirt stuffed with straw stands about thirty feet away. The shirt has a smoking hole and a large handful of straw is fluttering to the ground behind the dummy.

Selia: I look at them all, shocked. "Is this your, "witchcraft", Sarah?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah. Let me show those fools how it's done. PAPA, RASHOUN, WHATCHOUT!" When they turn around, I'm aiming at the target.

DM: They both move out of the way hurriedly. "Careful, by Qualia! Gods be damned I don't need to lose any more fingers!"

Sarah Blackpowder: I blast the doll's head in half, the bullet taking a path that wouldn't have hit either of them. I blow the smoke off the end. "Better safe than sorry."

Selia: I clutch the hand not on my crutch to my ear. "By the gods that's loud!"

Sarah Blackpowder: Half yelling. "YEAH BUT IT CUTS THROUGH PLATE LIKE PAPER."

DM: It is loud. It's close. And it smells like fire. Selia, You feel a sting like your cheeks are falling asleep and you take a step back. A stab of pain shoots into your left hip, snapping you back to reality. You take a deep breath and suppress whatever was about to happen. You exhale and it comes out a fog, as if the temperature directly around you was somehow fifty degrees lower.

Selia: I look at everyone, seeing if their breath is also visible.

DM: Everyone else seems unaffected. Griswald and Rashoun are so focused on the doll they don't seem to notice.

Selia: I run back down to where Sarah and I were before the crack of the gun holding my breath as much I can until I get down there.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Selia??" I chase after her. "What's wrong?"

Selia: I keep running until backed into a corner. "Just, just stay away, I told you I don't want to hurt anyone else."

Sarah Blackpowder: "You don't have to. you're okay, we won't let anyone hurt you."

Selia: "I'm not scared of you hurting me, just stay back, I don't want to hurt you."

Sarah Blackpowder: I squat down in front of you. "You won't, just take a deep breath and try to calm down and tell me what just happened."

Selia: "Did you see my breath? Impossible things keep happening and I can't control them, I can't, please just stay away this is what happened to Barelby, I did it I admit but I didn't know, I couldn't stop it, I'm a monster." I do not calm down, my breathing gets heavier, my face feels hot. I try to keep away from Sarah as much as possible visibly uncomfortable.

Sarah Blackpowder: I take a few steps back. "It'll be okay. I promise. Do whatever you did to relax earlier. I'll go back to designin' if you need me."

DM: One of the other crewmembers, Dern, appears in the doorway. Selia, want to describe his appearance?

Selia: He's a large dwarf, bald, looks like he's worked mainly lifting the crates off and on the ship, he has a scar over one eye.

DM: His voice is deep and soft, like the rumbles of the earth. "Everything all right in here?" Sarah Blackpowder what have your interactions with Dern been like over the past two days? How would you describe your relationship?

Sarah Blackpowder: He's handsome and I have no clue how to flirt, so I have been catching glances and smiling over the past two days. I assumed he was related to Selia some way. He's way too old for me and I know that.

DM: He glances between the two of you and frowns at Selia. "Is she hurt?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "She's panicking, she believes she is gonna hurt someone."

Selia: "I am fine, just, just give me a moment."

DM: "Hurt someone how?"

Selia: "The loud gun, I... I started messing with it, it made a noise and I thought it'd explode."

DM: He smiles--it’s a winning, brilliant grin. He's shorter than you both, but broad shouldered and thick with muscle that stretches his shirt as he takes another step into the room and spreads his arms wide.

"Don't worry, Selia. Y'can't hurt me none, I promise you that. We're crew now, so your problems are my problems." "C'mere. I wanna show you something that always makes me feel better."

Sarah Blackpowder: "These won't blow up anyways...." I grumble.

Selia: I stand up, ready to follow him. "Sarah would you like to come as well?"

Sarah Blackpowder: I look at Dern. "May I?

DM: He turns his smile to you. "O' course."

Sarah Blackpowder: I smile sheepishly and follow.

Selia: "So Dern, what is this surprise?"

DM: "Not much of a surprise, really," he says, walking back up towards the deck. He stops to help Selia hobble up the stairs.

Selia: "Thank you, I appreciate the help."

DM: He takes you guys to the starboard side of the deck and gestures out to the coast, about a mile away. "Look at that. All the problems and lurkers o’ the world are out there on that coast, and further still inland of it." From where you're standing you can see a frontier town--for now it’s little more than a palisade wall around several buildings. Their chimneys send trails of gray smoke into the air.

"You know, I met an elf once whose grandfather was around during the Mage War. He said that back then, a little town like that didn't need walls at all. Magic made walls useless in war time--just another stone for some magician to blast apart. Besides, magic was better at keeping out enemies than any wall could ever be." He turns to face the port side of the ship, and turns you in that direction. There's nothing there but aimless, endless sea.

"But none of that reaches out there. We could sail a month that way and never see a soul, or a lick of earth. As near or as far away from people and danger as you want to be, Selia. Me 'n you 'n Rashoun. Flitting about the sea on our lil' Hummingbird."

He smiles and puts his hands behind his head. "You gotta find that sea inside yourself, Selia. As near or far away from your pains and fears as you want to be."

Selia: "Dern, why did you become a sailor?"

DM: "Heh. I used to be... well, a bit like you Selia. I'd lose control of myself, end up hurting people or putting myself in danger. Not as smart as you are though. Took me a prison sentence to figure out that being dangerous wasn’t a good thing."

"I dunno what it is you've done, or that you're afraid of doing. But you've got to know what you’re capable of before you can figure out how to use your body and mind the way you like." He lets out a contented sigh. "Sure beats letting your problems use you instead."

Selia: "That... is very good advice. I used to be on the wrong side of the law as well-- nothing big, mostly just pick pocketing enough to get by. But, I can't really do any of that with the hip and all."

DM: "Well. You'll bounce back in no time, I've no doubt."

Sarah Blackpowder: Sarah is looking around and reloading her pistol, knowing she shouldn’t be in this conversation.

DM: Dern rounds towards the stairs. "Well. Back to the stewpot for me. Should be ready for supper in a half hour or so."

Selia: "Sarah." I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, about below deck. I wasn't ready, I didn't think anyone had, known it was me, at least on board the ship."

Sarah Blackpowder: I act like I was zoned out and zone back in. "Oh, it's no problem. I may not be as big and... strong as Dern, but I can take some licks too. And... sorry for being so upfront about it."

Selia: "No worries, though, I have a feeling that most people on this ship are running from something, what about you?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I'm running towards something. Freedom, a new market. Adventure." I smile into the distance.

Selia: "Heh" Selia sits, leaning against the deckrail with her crutch off to her side. "I remember that feeling, you'll make it there, I've never seen anything like what you pulled out there. It isn't witchcraft but... just be careful with it."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Glad you don't think it's witchcraft. A dwarf a few hundred miles from where I live got executed for building a big one of these."

Selia: I cock my head up. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was happening. Though I can't say I wish to ever see a larger version."

DM: "A big one, eh?" Rashoun's eyes are sparkling as he sidles up to the two of you by the deckrail.

Sarah Blackpowder: I glare at him. "Unless you want to end up like the dwarf, you may want to stick to the smaller version."

Selia: "Can't say I disagree, Sarah's pretty much the closest thing you'll get to an expert in these things

DM: "Ah, but I saw what your little fire pipe did to that board. Imagine what a ship-sized one could do to another ship? Or to a wall?" He points towards the frontier town, now well behind The Hummingbird.

Selia: "I don't think I like what you're planning Rashoun."

DM: "Baboom," he whispers. "Sell a single shot for five hundred gold. Seven hundred, even."

Sarah Blackpowder: "The thing itself would be at least ten thousand gold."

DM: His face scrunches up. "Sell such a thing? Oh no, Shelle Sarah. You don't sell the cow for a pound sterling when the milk fetches a copper a day."

Selia: I point a finger, seemingly at the village "You really wanna make something that can blow up that entire town?"

I cast message on Sarah "Don't freak out, but it's Selia, we can only hear each other. I don't trust this guy, if he asks you to make something like that, please, don't, if he threatens you, you'll have my assistance."

DM: Sarah, this is your first true interaction with magic. You have never felt someone else's voice in your head before. You have only heard horror stories about the arcane and those who wield it.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm shocked for a second, but i calm and look strangely at her. "I mean to design. to actually build it, you would need to pay at least 100."

Selia: "You can't be serious, such a weapon would kill so many people" i stand up, crutch under my arm.

DM: Rashoun snorts. "People kill each other every day. If not with this," he pats his handcannon, "with steel. Before steel, with magic. Before magic, it was steel again. And they'd use stones and fists and their own blood to do it without iron."

Sarah Blackpowder: "But a weapon of mass destruction is not acceptable. Me and Papa would never make such a thing."

Selia: "But to indiscriminately murder, 200 people, only something a monster would do, only something a monster could do"

Sarah Blackpowder: I pat my pistol. "These protect, that would just kill."

DM: Rashoun shakes his head. "I hope neither of you ever see a real fight. Protect and kill become the same. At least this way there will be profit and death instead of only death."

Selia: "Profiting off death only leads to more death, friend"

DM: Rashoun smiles sadly. "Only if the death is profitable."

Sarah Blackpowder: "We shall talk if this ever actually becomes evident to me. Until then, Enjoy the boom stick. And by the way, if you try to replicate that or produce a Witch Catapult, You will fail."

DM: "Perhaps. I think your grandfather and Skolldin feel differently than you do...fortunately for me."

Selia: "Skolldin?"

**Sarah lackpowder: "Gris?"

DM: Rashoun spreads his arms, palm side up. "Just a discussion. Selia, go ahead and help set up. Dern will have supper ready shortly, and I am expecting weather tonight so there will be more to do."

Sarah Blackpowder: I glare at him and go back to my work until supper.

Selia: "Hmm, fine" I take a quick glance at Sarah "I'll be downstairs"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Heading that way."

DM: Rashoun turns towards the practice dummy at the bow of the ship as you two head for the stairs.

The pain in your hip flares as you limp towards the stairs, but you tamp it down with a quick wince.

Sarah Blackpowder: Does not notice, being zoned out still trying to figure out the ignition system in the shotgun.

DM: You hit the kitchen, and Dern is setting out tin bowls. There's a crusty loaf of round brown bread on a table nearby, and a bubbling pot over an iron stove. Dern nods at the both of you.

"Want to slice up some bread for me, Selia?"

Selia: "Sure thing" I move to a cutting board and lean my crutch so that I can use my bad side's hand to hold the bread, and the other to cut

Sarah Blackpowder: "Do you want me to do that? You're looking weak Selia."

Selia: "Nope, nope I've got it, you help Dern with the soup"

DM: Dern passes you the ladle, Sarah. For a brief moment your fingers touch.

Sarah Blackpowder: I smile big and stir it.

Selia: I've got no clue what's going on with her.

DM: Sarah, you sip the stew. It's bland as hell.

**Sarah lackpowder: "Salt?"

DM: Dern waves towards a few crates. "The brown sack."

Sarah Blackpowder: I go grab a handful, slowly stirring it in. After a few moments, I take a small taste from the ladle. Not as bland as before; not amazing, but it'll do.

DM: Perfect. After ladling out a few bowls and putting some hunks of warm fresh bread in them, you two have everything you'll need set for dinner.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Looks great!"

Selia: "Great job on the soup Sarah"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I underestimated your bread cutting skills."

Selia: "Hah, I've never been a big fan of knives, so I guess I really outdid myself this time."

Sarah Blackpowder: "You really did."

Selia: "Aha, now you're simply flattering me, it'll do you no good."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Well damn." I laugh.

DM: First dinner shift is Griswald, Skolldin, the two of the three remaining crewmembers (not counting Dern). Sarah Blackpowder who is the first one?

Sarah Blackpowder: Taylor freeman. He's an ex slave who found refuge on a boat. He's a human around the age of 28, and he bears the permanent mark of a slave on his face. Rashoun is protective over him, and that's about the extent of Rashoun's humanity that I've seen. Taylor is the First Mate, if there was one, so it's no surprise that he's on his shift while Rashoun isn't. He's kind of tall and lanky, but stronger than he seems.

DM: Selia who is the second?

Selia: Linsa Palmaren, high elf navigator of the ship, around 300 years old, she's usually standing above deck near a table with a map sprawled out, compass in hand. Bespectacled, she seems a bit more distant than the rest of the crew. She's the newest crew mate before me or Sarah, she came aboard after the first navigator had suffered an unfortunate accident and was lost at sea, something she is well aware of.

DM: You bring them their bowls--as the dinner crew for today Selia and Dern will be eating second shift with Rashoun and the third crewmember.

Sarah, Skolldin looks a bit greener in the cheeks since you helped him load his donkey with blackpowder. What's he look like?

Sarah Blackpowder**

He's a dwarf that looks like he is slightly insane. Him and papa work together a lot. He's obsessed with black powder, and he probably has a lot of it in his beard. He's around 90-120 years old.

"You alright Skolldin? I don't have my sea legs yet either."

DM: Skolldin scowls. "I'm fine. It's Dern's stews what make me sick."

Dern shrugs. He says something in dwarven.

"It's not about giving anything enough time, ya bald sonlover. I'm not seasick!"

Linsa eats quickly. "Rashoun wants us to anchor for the night. I'll have to chart a new course around all this weather we are supposed to be having."

Taylor's voice comes out with the trilling accent of the Teeth. "If Rashoun says weather is coming, weather is coming. He is a good watcher of the skies."

Sarah Blackpowder: I look at Griswald "is all of our powder under deck?"

DM: Griswald grunts around a mouthful of stew-soaked bread, and nods.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Great. Don't get any stew on these, but look at my designs please." I hand him multiple sheets of parchment with the design for a Scattergun on it

DM: Griswald furrows his brow around a few mouthfuls as he looks at the first page. By the second he seems to have forgotten his meal entirely.

Skolldin pushes his plate back and comes around to look over Griswald's shoulder. "Smooth bore won't shoot a bullet too far..."

Griswald flips back to the previous page and Skolldin's jaw drops. He swears in dwarven. "What are you thinking for shot?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Either lots of small iron balls, or any shrapnel i can find. We can pack the bottom with cloth, and put black powder on top of that, then the load on top of that. Should keep the gun from exploding, and launch the load in a big area."

DM: Skolldin nods, and snatches the pencil from Griswald's hand. He starts to doodle some shapes.

"Hollow copper or bronze balls. Lighter, so they'll spread farther. And hollow so they're collapse and bloom on impact, shredding more of the target."

"Won't pierce as far," Griswald says.

Sarah Blackpowder: "But it will hurt like hell."

DM: "Second that," Skolldin says. "Who needs to pierce a target? I'm talking about stopping power. A wall of metal."

Sarah Blackpowder: "A pistol will kill, This will scare whatever off."

DM: "It could work," Griswald says, stroking his chin.

"Need to get to my workshop to forge one for a test," Skolldin says. Excitement has washed away the nauseous pallor on his skin.

Sarah Blackpowder: "HEY THE FIRST ONE IS MINE!"

I quickly eat then follow him to critique his every move to fit my vision.

DM: As you polish off the last of your stew, you hear a shout from the crow's nest. "Starlight above!"

It's Yero's voice, the final crewmember. Linsa and Taylor shoot each other glances and then push back their chairs and rush up the stairs to the deck.

Sarah Blackpowder: I run after them then slow down on the deck to stare in awe at the sea of stars.

DM: Everyone is there, staring up at the sky. A patch of clear sky glittering with the twinkle of starlight. No one speaks or moves for about three mintues. Then Rashoun says

"They say in Eastcliff that the mountains break up the clouds. They sometimes see Qalda's face for three, even four hours at a time."

Selia: "Do you think that Qalda feels the way we do, a blessing to look down upon us?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Probably not, I wouldn't be surprised if she was furious that we are killing innocents just because they have an abnormal ability."

Selia: "Can you blame them? Magicians are extremely dangerous, though I'm sure many are good, the power to level a city with a stroke of your hand? It makes sense in a way."

DM: "The power to level a city is a strong one indeed," Rashoun says.

Sarah Blackpowder: "One that should not be discovered."

DM: Griswald shoots you a quizzical look.

"Bah," Skolldin says. "If I could point a Witch's Catapult at a city and level the walls instead of marching dwarves into murder holes I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Selia: "I agree on that, Rashoun you know my position on that weapon you've got in mind."

Sarah Blackpowder: I shoot a glare at him. "Papa Gris, if this man wants to make a successful Witch's Catapult, let HIM do it. Please don't get executed for making a weapon on the level of magic."

"There's no war, no reason to even think of it."

DM: "I don't know if you recall, Sarah, but we almost got executed for doing far less than that."

At that, perhaps rather ominously, the clouds roll together to mask the night sky once more.

Selia: "Please, don't go getting yourselves killed, especially not for a weapon."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Let's not make a scene, we will talk in private when we get some time alone. I do want to make a prototype of this scattergun though."

DM: "Ah well," Rashoun says. He turns towards Linsa. "Drop anchor and hoist the sails. It's time for second dinner shift."

DM: Selia, you hear a sound. The whistle of something cutting through the air. You turn starboard and your and Linsa's eyes go wide at the same time. From the coast you can see a swarm of crossbow bolts arching in the air towards The Hummingbird. Everyone on board is vulnerable.

[dstickman-blog]

Prologue - Sarah 2

DM: The pouch jingles a little, like keys or coin.

Your father steps back into the doorway and leans against the frame to see you off. Once you're on the wagon, Griswald gently snaps the reins and the horse sets off at a walk.

"Don't worry," he says. "I left the Palles some coin for their wagon. More than it's worth, if you ask me."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Hope it's worth enough to get us where we are going."

"where are we going anyways?"

DM: "Saltline Hold. Remember Skolldin? The dwarf with the donkey?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah, what are we gonna find there?" I open the bag my dad gave me while we are talking.

DM: You pull the drawstrings on the purse. Inside you count 24 silver pieces standard.

"Dwarves, Miss Blackpowder. Levelheaded dwarves who can see the value in innovation without screaming sorcery."

Sarah Blackpowder: "At least they see the beauty in destruction. Thanks for letting me come."

DM: "I only wish your father saw reason the same way. I fear that when the Priests see my house is empty yours is the next they'll visit."

Sarah Blackpowder: "All they will find there is my bow and quiver, so my family is safe."

DM: "But no sense worrying about what we cannot change. If we're lucky my bird will reach Curogan before Skolldin boards whatever ship he's booked to take him north."

He squints out into the dark. "Actually, for starters, if we're lucky we'll make it to Barelby in time to get sleep in a half-decent bed, without having to deal with whatever dreads wander the roads at night."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Hopefully we do. Don't wanna camp out here."

DM: "We're not stopping out here. By Proqq's blood I'll keep this wagon moving if I have to put the bit in my own mouth and pull it myself."

He rummages around and pulls a small slab of smoked bacon from his satchel. "Are you hungry?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Mom cooked a good meal, I'll be full until sunrise."

DM: "Fair enough. Maybe you should get what sleep you can. I'll wake you when we get to Barelby."

Sarah Blackpowder: "I can't sleep, I'll help you look out for any trouble."

DM: Griswald seems to loosen up a little bit as you get outside the bounds of town. After about a half hour's ride in silence, he says "You know, that dwarf in Alhoun Bay wrote me a letter a few months ago. He sent me his original plans for his Witch's Catapult."

Sarah Blackpowder: "What did you tell him?"

DM: "His design was interesting--a much bigger version of our firearms. But it reminded me of a flaw we had in one of our early attempts."

You know what he's talking about--what happened to the second version of the double barreled hand cannon?

Sarah Blackpowder: We bored the barrel out too much: too much pressure in the thin walls of the iron

"He had a big bullet, but the barrel was too thin."

DM: "Exactly right. I wrote back to him to say that he needed to recast the whole barrel. Three weeks later he wrote me back to thank me and tell me he blew a crater the size of a shack into a hillside. ...now he's dead."

Sarah Blackpowder: "He didn't fair well in the trial I am guessing. I'm guessing they expected witchcraft.”

DM: "Until we get where we're headed, perhaps it's best not to mention what we do, or where we're from."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yes sir. What happens if we meet bandits? I don't have my bow."

DM: "Hopefully it won't come to that. But if worst comes to worst, I'd put a bullet in anyone who tries to lay a hand on you."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Not if I did first. I was just making sure I had the go ahead if it came to that."

DM: "Hah." Griswald slices a chunk of bacon off the slab and tears a chunk of it off in his teeth. "Mmmph."

Sarah Blackpowder: I lean back and watch the road, feeling out the pistol. After an hour or so, I ask Griswald, "Have you ever thought of making a weapon that shoots shrapnel instead of bullets?"

DM: "To what use? On armor, it'd lack the punching power of a bullet. For a hunt you'd shred half the good meat."

Sarah Blackpowder: "I've heard stories of goblins, and they don't wear any type of plate armor. Plus, you wouldn't want the meat off of a pack of hungry wolves."

DM: Griswald cocks his eyebrows. "Hmm... that's true. Although shards of metal would rip the inside of the bore apart over time... unless, maybe... with the right rotation..."

He wipes off his greasy hands and rifles through his bag again. He pulls a parchment case and pats his shirt pockets for a pencil.

You get a sneak peak of Griswald's scribbling in the dim glow of the torchlight. It looks like he is trying to calculate the effect of adding rifling to the bore of a weapon.

While you are looking over his shoulder, something catches your eye in the middle of the road. It looks like a humanoid shape with its back to you, breathing heavily.

The horse nervously slows to a stop.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Papa gris, what's that?"

DM: Your grandfather looks up, and his eyes tighten. "An elf, maybe? What's wrong with it?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "It looks winded or something."

DM: He pulls the torch from its clamp on the wagon and holds it towards the figure.

Even in the dim light you can see that something is off. The elflike shape appears to be naked, its skin a sickly gray. Its hands seem disproportionately long, and wicked curved claws extend from its awkwardly angled fingers.

Sarah Blackpowder: "He looks like a feral wild elf...."

DM: "Qualia's teat," Griswald whispers. "That's an Eyeless."

Sarah Blackpowder: "An Eyeless?"

DM: You've heard scary stories about these before, but no one you know has ever seen one in person. What do you remember of those ghost tales?

Sarah Blackpowder: They are kind of like ghosts and ghouls, but in Elf form. They are said to have immense strength, but no one knows what else they can do, because if you see one, you won't live to tell.

DM: Griswald seems transfixed.

Sarah Blackpowder: "What do we do? I don't think we'll get around it,” I whisper as i pull the hammer on my pistol.

DM: Griswald's hand closes around yours and the gun. "Shhhhh... maybe it will leave us be."

DM: The Eyeless' ear twitches, like a cat's. It jerks its head suddenly over its shoulder, and now you can see its face. Care to describe it?

Sarah Blackpowder: Its eyes are black holes, and the bottom jaw is dislocated, making the mouth massive and unsettling. the face is pale, but it definitely has the pointy ears of an elf. it almost seems like an undead elf.

DM: Griswald recoils in horror. You realize too late that the horse has been a hair from bolting this whole time. It rears backwards, whinnying loudly and violently lurching at the wagon.

You pitch backwards but catch yourself, as does Griswald. The Eyeless emits a gurgling, low-pitched screech and charges towards the horse.

Sarah Blackpowder: I fire.

DM: The pistol CRACKS in your hand and recoils into your palm, sending a flash of light from the muzzle.

The Eyeless' head snaps backwards mid-lunge and it rotates unnaturally in the air before crashing into the ground about 6 feet from the horse. At the sound of the gun going off, the horse panicks once more and bolts, wrenching the wagon off behind it.

DM: The wagon pitches backwards again but you lean into one of the wooden hoops that support the canvas cover to keep your balance. The wheels rock over the Eyeless' body, jerking the wagon up for a fraction of a second. The sudden movement knocks Griswald off balance, and he lands flat on his ass amongst his belongings.

The horse is still running as fast as it can go.

Sarah Blackpowder: I take the reins and stay on the road, but I don’t try to slow the horse yet.

DM: Griswald scrambles out of the wagon and grabs your left hand. "Are you all right? Any powder burns? Did the barrel hold?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yes, no, and yes. It's a beauty Papa."

DM: He turns your palm over, gently squeezing different bones around your wrist. "Can you feel all of this? Any tingling?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "My wrist is kind of sore, and the tingling is almost gone. I'm getting better with it everytime I shoot."

DM: He sits back down with a relieved huff. "One of the gods has an eye on us. I thought for certain we were done for. It was an exceptionally nice shot."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Redaaq loves me!" I chuckle. "It's like a bow, you just gotta aim a little lower."

DM: Griswald sighs and wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. "Glad I let you keep it, then. Hey, better slow up on that horse or we’ll end up camping the night out here when it wears itself out."

Sarah Blackpowder: I attempt to slow it now, and look behind us.

DM: You don't see anything behind you except road and hills as you pull the horse back to a trot. It resists at first but finally settles down to a slower pace.

"I was going to try to get some sleep, but I doubt that's going to happen after all that," Griswald is saying.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Let's just get to Barelby and then we can rest."

DM: "Sounds fine by me." You may describe the next three hours of travel if you wish.

Sarah Blackpowder: Silent, ear ringing, and both jerking in and out of a slumber.

DM: As you come around the road, Griswald starts peering out ahead. "Should be almost there by now."

You can vaguely make out some structures in the distance. The clouds that blanket the sky have just begun to lighten with the coming dawn, but you are able to see the outlines of buildings... or at least, what you assume might be buildings. Many appear misshapen, dilapidated. A breeze brings the wafting smell of smoke and ash.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Papa... those buildings are... I mean were, on fire."

DM: Griswald squints. "What do you mean?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "They aren't shaped right. Can you not smell the ash? All that's here is some destroyed buildings."

DM: As you are speaking you get closer to the edge of Barelby, and the smell intensifies. The carcinogens in the air make your eyes water.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Gods, someone wanted this town and everyone in it dead."

DM: You are now on the outskirts of town. What do you see?

Sarah Blackpowder: The ruins of this town are smoldering, and gone for the most part. Where there was once a group of houses is now a heap of blackened chunks. Another branch of town looks like is was a small bazaar at one point, and there are bodies and rubble all over the place.

when we come across the corpses up close, I puke from the smell and the sight. "I can't even tell what started this, but whatever it was, it was powerful."

DM: Griswald rubs your back after you're done heaving. "It's like the inside of a furnace out here."

Sarah Blackpowder: "How far to the Citadel?"

DM: "By ship? A little under a week, I should think. I know it's bad here, but we have to stop for a while. The horse needs rest. We need rest."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yes sir. Go ahead and sleep, I'll keep watch and walk around a little."

DM: "All right. Help me settle the horse a little."

While you're tying up the horse, Griswald peers around. "It's been a few years... but if I remember right, there's a pump in the center of the town square. Think you could bring back a bucket or two of water if it's still there?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah I will." I bring two buckets to the center of town.

DM: It is a smoldering ghost town. In places the stones are still hot enough to scorch your feet, even through your shoes. A large section of collapsed house about forty feet from you buckles and collapses into rubble, sending a shower of ash and sparks straight up into the air.

Sarah Blackpowder: I shield my eyes when that happens.

DM: You piece together that a large, charred field in front of you was once the center square of Barelby. There's some rubble in the way of a cement platform that looks to you like the foundation of a screw pump.

Along the way, you notice a radial pattern to the destruction. As a matter of fact, it seems like all of the force of the explosion and the resulting fires came from a single spot-- the burnt out remains of a modest two story house not far from the square.

Sarah Blackpowder: I inspect the location. Anything special or left behind that's not burnt to a crisp?

DM: Under a blackened beam of timber in the debris you catch the glint of metal in the early morning light. It looks like polished steel, maybe even silver.

Sarah Blackpowder: I touch the metal to test the heat.

DM: It's hot to the point of discomfort, but not to the point of burning.

Sarah Blackpowder: I pull it free.

DM: It comes loose in your hands. Turning it over in your fingers you get a better look at it. Definitely silver, but what is it?

Sarah Blackpowder: It's a symbol of Proqq, a mighty tide with an anchor in the foreground. A sailor was here.

DM: Whatever leather loop or rope this once hung from is long gone, burned away.

Sarah Blackpowder: I pocket it and head to the well.

DM: You heave what's left of a crushed hand cart out of the way, and a warped metal sign that reads "The Bell An." The rest of the letters are melted away. The pump is still standing, but the lever is bent badly. It doesn't look useable at first glance.

DM: You lift the lever and the pin in the hinge audibly snaps. The lever swings freely up and down but no water comes from the spigot.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Well shit." I head back to the wagon.

DM: Carrying the empty buckets back, you hear your grandfather's voice, speaking a little too loudly.

"I already told you. I'm here alone and just passing through."

Sarah Blackpowder: I freeze and look for a spot I can hide and still see. If whoever he's talking to sees me, a bullet is going for them.

DM: You are unable to find such a spot. You do manage, however, to slink forward enough to hear the other voices.

"...believe you," a man's voice is saying. "But maybe just repeat it one more time for my benefit."

Sarah Blackpowder: I wait, listening to the multiple voices.

DM: Griswald clears his throat and speaks again, still projecting louder than his normal speaking voice.

"Like I said, come down alone from Saltline. I have a few friends up there. Just passing through this way west to visit my cousin Skolldin. I don't mean any trouble. If this is a forbidden place by Redaaq, then I'll gladly leave."

A new voice, shrill and nasally, speaks up. "Parrin. Smell this."

You hear a clank, and then a deep sniff. The first voice again: "Fire powder."

"Careful with that!" Griswald says.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm getting ready to burst in.

DM: "What do you know about a young woman?" A new voice. Feminine.

Sarah Blackpowder: I freeze again.

DM: Griswald's voice takes on a tinge of panic. "Not a thing. There's no young woman here."

The female voice speaks again. It sounds like it's moving towards Griswald. "You sound unsure. You don't know a young woman from around here? Shaved head? Sun darkened skin?"

Sarah Blackpowder: I breathe a breath of relief.

DM: Another new voice. The deep drawl of an Elven accent. "Maybe you'd like to come on back to Curogan with us. Some parts of your story will need to be checked in on."

A long pause. You hear the soft rattle of steel.

Then, Griswald says "Of course. I have nothing to hide."

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm whispering "Leave the wagon leave the wagon leave the wagon."

DM: Footsteps towards the wagon, then horse hooves and the same footsteps going west towards Curogan.

Sarah Blackpowder: I look towards the conflict now.

DM: You poke your head out. There are five humanoids in tight gray tunics flanking the wagon. Their backs are to you and they are walking away from your position.

You briefly see Griswald's two fingered hand snap the reins from the front of the carriage. Four of them carry sickies, the fifth has a huge broadsword strapped to his back.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm just gonna tail them far enough behind that they don't know I'm there.

DM: You follow them to the edge of town without seeming to raise any suspicion. At the edge of the fire damage you hit a major snag: the road continuing to the coast goes over flat and low grassland. There's no cover. There's nothing to hide in, or mask your trail.

There is simply no conceivable way to keep your grandfather in sight without getting spotted yourself.

Sarah Blackpowder: I grab some soot, I cover my face and body with it reallllllll good. I put my pistol away, and I start crying fake tears and running after them. "HEYYYYY PLEASE HELP ME!" I fake a stumble and fall.

DM: The five tunicked figures snap around. One draws a sickle reflexively. Now that they are finally facing you you notice that they all have matching tattoos on their forehead.

DM: The tattoos represent the long, open eye of Redaaq, marking them as Templars. Religious officials somewhere between a missionary and a holy warrior.

The elf puts a staying hand over the one that drew his sickle. "Easy, Parrin,"  he drawls. "This poor woman needs our help."

From his seat in the front of the wagon, you see Griswald twist and lean to look at you. His eyes are wide.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm trying to keep tears rolling as I stand up slowly. I don't try to fake a limp, but I still wailing for them to slow down. "PLEASE TAKE ME TOO PLEASE!"

DM: The elf and another Templar, a human, step towards you. "Are you alone?" The human asks. One of his ears is scarred into a small stump and his voice matches the shrill one you heard earlier.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Y-yes I think I'm the last one in the whole town."

DM: "What happened here?" The elf butts in. "What's your name, miss? Are you all right?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I was asleep, I heard a big boom, and the whole time was aflame. I tried to save who I could but it seems as if everyone was caught in it. I'm Sarah Donavan, my dad was a sailor, this is the only thing I have left of my home and of my family." I cry more and pull out the holy symbol.

DM: "The timeline makes sense," the human says.

The elf offers you a waterskin. "Why have you stayed here all alone this whole time?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I was exhausted, staying near this site was safer than in those woods. I have silver if you'll please just take me with you."

DM: The elf waves his hand. "No silver necessary. It's our duty to protect those who live lives of godliness." He points to your symbol. " 'From one God begets another' ” he quotes. Proqq has plans for you, Sarah. Or so it seems."

Sarah Blackpowder: "My Dad has some friends on boats in Curogan, if you get me there you will have protected me. Thank you so so much."

DM: "Just a moment," Templar Parrin says. He pulls Griswald down and turns him to face you. "Ever seen this man before?"

Sarah Blackpowder: I look at him hard. "He may have passed through what was Barelby before... what's ya name?"

DM: Griswald's face is completely deadpan. "Harker."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Hmmmm... I don't know the name, but it’s nice to meet you."

DM: Parrin shoves Griswald back a step so he can get in between the two of you. He puts his face uncomfortably close to yours. "What about Selia? That name mean anything to you?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Selia? Is that the weird bald girl?"

DM: "You friends with her or something?"

The Templar with the broadsword folds his arms. "All right, Parrin. That's enough."

"She been through plenty as is," the elf agrees.

"Witchcraft happened here," Parrin hisses. "There was a magician here, in this town, and now the town is gone. Unless you've all forgotten."

Everyone goes quiet. The shrill voiced man shifts uncomfortably.

Sarah Blackpowder: I let my genuine shock show. "A witch? Here?!"

DM: "Yes," Parrin says. "Or did you think this whole town just fell apart by itself?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I don't know exactly what happened. All I know is I woke up to flames almost licking my toes like a dog."'

"Just know if we find her on our travels I will not vouch for her life if what you say is true."

DM: Parrin backs off grudgingly.

The Templar still by the wagon points to Griswald, but she stays facing you. "Sarah. Do you vouch for this powder merchant? You have not seen him here before? He is not lying before the eye of Redaaq?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "To my knowledge this man is truthful and upstanding. It looks like he can't do much to ya either." I nod to Griswald’s hand.

DM: The shrill man speaks up. "In Eastcliff they take three fingers from any man who breaks contract with a woman."

"We aren't too keen on lawbreakers in Curogan either, " Parrin says.

Sarah Blackpowder: "But he has three fingers, not two sir. It seems he just come across tragedy."

DM: "I'd give two fingers more to have avoided this whole town, I can promise you that," Griswald grumbles.

The elf speaks up. "You are charged of nothing, Shel Harker, on the word of this surviving witness of Barelby. ...that said, fire powder is no longer allowed in our city. Will you turn over what you have?"

Griswald grimaces, then nods.

"Perhaps," says the female Templar, "You will let this poor woman ride in the wagon for our travel back? We have only horses for ourselves."

Griswald scoffs, avoiding eye contact with you. "The contents of my cart are more valuable than three of this burnt girl."

Sarah Blackpowder: Puppy dog eyes.

DM: "Consider that she has just cleared you good sir," the shrill man says.

Griswald throws his hands up in resignation and climbs back up to the front of the wagon.

Sarah Blackpowder: I climb in the back. I wait for a while before coming up behind him and whispering something. “Where's yours?"

DM: Griswald calls down to Parrin. "You gonna keep my powder torch? Even without powder for fuel it has sentimental value to me."

Parrin does not respond.

Sarah Blackpowder: I nod and lean back, taking a nap.

DM: You awaken to the busy sounds of crowded streets and merchants calling from their stalls. From the front flaps of the covered wagon you see a tall minaret towering above everything else in sight. It's designed like a giant upside down bolt, with threads spiraling up and around the cylindrical shape.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Where are we?"

DM: "This is where we leave you, Harker," the elf says from near the front of the wagon. He leans in to get a look at you. "This is the Temple of Redaaq in Curogan. Will you let us tend to you here?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I have no wounds, and you fine men have let me rest and strengthen. are you sure you won't take atleast 5 silver for the ride?"

DM: "Gladly," Griswald says. The elf shoots him a dirty look.

"Keep your silver, Sarah. Do you have family here? If not, perhaps your destiny lies as a Templar. I do not believe it is a coincidence that you survived that arcane horror."

Sarah Blackpowder: "I have family friends on the docks. I shall go serve Proqq on the seas."

DM: "Perhaps that is his will. Stay safe, Sarah, and remember that the doors of the Temple are always open to you."

He and the other Templars head for the steps of the tower. As Parrin starts to leave earshot, Griswald calls after him. "A thief and a Templar?"

Parrin freezes, then turns around. His face is bright red. "I'm no thief."

He pulls the double barreled hand cannon from his belt and drops it in the dirt, then whirls and walks away.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Thank you, Mr.Elf" I walk off.

DM: Griswald glances at you, then hops off the wagon and picks up his weapon. He does not look at you as he gets back into the seat and clicks his tongue to move the horse towards the docks.

Sarah Blackpowder: I head towards the docks in search of Skolldin.

DM: Griswald will beat you there by horse. Want to describe what you see along the way?

Sarah Blackpowder: Tall buildings, diverse people. I take in the busyness of this town and the abnormal beauty of it. The docks seem like a seedy part of town, so I tread lightly. I begin to ask sailors about a dwarf by the name of Skolldin.

DM: A small group of sailors shake their heads but another a few steps away perks up. "Skolldin huh? Now there's a good, Northern name."

Sarah Blackpowder: "You seen him around here?"

DM: "Nah. But there's only four ships going northward today and tomorrow." He points to the fourth pier. "They're all moored there."

Your stomach grumbles. It's been nearly 24 hours since your last meal.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Thank you sir." I flip a silver to him and head to the ship, looking for food along the way.

DM: There are plenty of produce and street food vendors. What's catching your eye?

Sarah Blackpowder: An orange and a stick of beef. "How much for this beef on a stick?"

DM: "Normally one silver and five. But for you? One silver." The merchant smiles, revealing a full mouth of false teeth.

Sarah Blackpowder: "How sweet." I smile and throw him a silver and eat the stick along the way.

DM: Soon you find yourself at the fourth pier. Not far off you spot the covered wagon, the only one around this part of the dock

Sarah Blackpowder: I go to the wagon and look for Gris.

DM: You don't see Griswald straightaway, but at the gangplank to the ship nearest the wagon you see a man with a carefully managed moustache and a pillowlike hat. Tucked into his belt is Griswald's double-barrelled pistol.

Sarah Blackpowder: I walk up to him. "Hey, where's the guy that had that thing before you?"

DM: He cocks his head. "Sarah, then?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I asked something first."

DM: "Your grandfather's below deck, tinkering on something with Skolldin. He said you'd be along. And now that you are, we can finally be off." He grins and steps aside with a flourish to let you on board.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Why did he willingly give that to you?" I wait for an answer.

DM: "I don't make it my business to ask questions of people who seek my particular services. All I ask is what they have to offer. And this..." he passes his fingertips over the firearm. "Well. This is enough to take an old man and a young woman anywhere in the world."

He chuckles. "Whether they're witches or not."

Sarah Blackpowder: I take his hand. "We aren’t witches."

DM: He smiles, and shakes your hand warmly. "I didn't ask."

Sarah Blackpowder: I go down to meet with my grandpa and Skolldin.

DM: You walk onto the caravel, your shoes clunking lightly against the boards of the deck. You descend the stairs to the hold below, giving your eyes a second to adjust to the dark.

You see your grandfather from behind, leaning over a small wooden table.

Sarah Blackpowder: "PAPA GRIS!"

DM: Griswald starts and spins, hands up defensively. "Qualia's teats, girl! Don't scare me like that!"

Sarah Blackpowder: I hug him tight. "Pretty quick thinkin, huh?"

DM: He hugs you back, hard. "Pretty stupid thinking. I thought I was going to have to scream at you right then and there for putting yourself out in the open like that. Idiot."

Sarah Blackpowder: "What else was i supposed to do? I wasn't gonna survive by myself. It worked, and I still have this cool holy symbol."

DM: "It did work, I can't argue with that. But next time, Sarah. Next time promise me you'll leave me be, and look after yourself."

Sarah Blackpowder: "I'll think about it." I smile. "Now, time for me to work on this scattergun idea."

DM: You hear stilted steps behind you, like someone walking on a peg leg.

Sarah Blackpowder: I begin to yell at Gris for trading his pistol, then I turn around at the first footstep.

DM: Behind you, supporting herself on a homemade crutch, is a bald woman around your age. Her ears are pointed and she looks pained. Her name comes unbidden from your lips.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Selia?"

[dstickman-blog]

Prologue - Sarah 1

DM: "Careful with that," Griswald is saying as the dwarf loads another keg of blackpowder into his donkey's pack. "Give him a hand, will you Sarah? Before he cracks the damn thing and spills 14 hours of work into the dirt."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yes sir! At least, I’ll try. You know lifting isn't my strong suit!" I go to help lift the keg by the bottom, digging my heels into the dirt.

DM: Describe this success for me.

Sarah Blackpowder: I push up on the keg, and with ease I hoist it into the pack. "Maybe all the longbow training is paying off. Whatcha think, Papa Gris?"

DM: It's quick, but you catch a smile flash across Griswald's face before he suppresses it and returns to his usual frown.

The dwarf jerks his thumb towards the center of town. "Looks like you got another visitor come to see you, Blackpowder."

Looking up the road you see a figure approach that you recognize as a Priest of Naltuq.

Care to describe this person?

Sarah Blackpowder: I gather my equipment before looking towards the road, and see Barrus; a tall, lean, and pale man. I glance at him and shake my head disapprovingly.

"What’s Barrus doing out this time of day? I thought vampires only came out at night...." I look towards my grandfather. "Can you take care of this? Or do I need to delay my hunt any longer?"

DM: Griswald waves at you nonchalantly, but his face seems tight. "Go on and catch me a rabbit. I'll see what this is all about."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Okay, Papa Gris." I turn to the dwarf and say in Dwarvish, "May your journey be free of bandits and full of ale." Then I string my longbow and head into the woods.

Do I hear the beginning of the conversation as I begin to depart? I get ready slowly to try to hear like the first sentence or two while still in earshot.

DM: The dwarf grunts and tugs his beard in farewell before leading his donkey off. Griswald follows, approaching Barrus.

The only part of the conversation you hear is Barrus' greeting: "Yet another customer for your powder, makemaster?"

Sarah Blackpowder: I continue on, not too worried about it since grandpa said he would be fine.

I check for signs of rabbits and deer while secretly hoping to find a turkey.

DM: You slip on to a game trail leading into the plains, making sure not to venture too far from the edge of town. The breeze is soft and makes tall grass sound like the patter of raindrops. It's a warm, dry day--one of the last of the year, you reckon. After about an hour, you find some fresh tracks and scat. Pheasant.

Sarah Blackpowder: I take a deep breath and take in the beautful day. Then I whisper to myself, "It's no rabbit, but it will have to do." I follow the tracks.

DM: You continue gingerly, keeping your head above the grass to see if you can spot it. Another hundred feet and you hear the characteristic double squawk of a ring-necked pheasant, a little ways off the trail.

It squawks again and you hear its wings flutter.

Sarah Blackpowder: I approach quietly and knock an arrow.

DM: The rustling grass seems to cover your approach--but it also obscures your vision. When you finally spot the bird it's only 20 feet away. Its back is to you and it is clucking to itself as it pecks around the ground. It is alone.

Sarah Blackpowder: I slowly pull my bowstring, and I whistle so it will freeze. As soon as it does I loose an arrow.

It raises its head, and as it looks around I loose my arrow and hit it in the body. It falls over in place and I smile, picking it up and putting it in my knapsack. Then I  retrieve my arrow.

I head back to town another way, still looking for a rabbit.

But I am heading back to town, Specifically to Papa Griswald's house.

DM: You take the long way back, stopping periodically to investigate old tracks, flattened grass, and dried scat. Nothing seems recent enough to point you towards another take. The rolling clouds to the west take on the deep oranges of setting sun as you emerge from the grass at the edge of Palles' pig farm. You've known the Palles for a long time--what are they like?

Sarah Blackpowder: They are humble and helpful. They were just starting their farm when Dad was growing up. Johnathan Palle runs it now with his younger brothers as farmhands. Johnathan has a beautiful son and a daughter, and they are every bit like their parents.

Gwinevere is a few years younger than me and slight, but Dorros is a big, strong 20 year old who's being groomed to take over the farm some day. We talk sometimes, but all he knows is pigs, so it's kinda hard to carry a conversation with him.

I continue on, crinkling my nose at the smell of the massive pigsty.

DM: As you cross the field a couple of the pigs scatter away from you, grunting. It seems strange to you for a moment that none of the Palles are out and about, but you shrug it off. Soon you find yourself back at Griswald's front door. The workshop's chimney is smokeless and the front door is closed and bolted.

Sarah Blackpowder: I knock on the door. "Papa Gris! It's just me!"

DM: There is no answer. It seems like he's not home, though it doesn't look like he left in a hurry.

Sarah Blackpowder: I look in the window, looking into the living room.

DM: It looks pretty much the way you left it earlier today. What's it like in here?

Sarah Blackpowder: It's a simple living room. Papa Griswald did not change his way of living even after he earned his fortune. He has a nice, cushioned chair and couch, and an open space into the kitchen. The door to his bedroom is in the kitchen, and the hatch to his new tinkering room is near the chimney in the living room.

He built a new, secret tinkering room since he started building prototypes. His "normal" tinkering building is an add on to the house, on the opposite side of the chimney.

This house has maybe one more window in his room, but the blinds would be closed right now. My next destination is the temple of Naltuq.

After I check his normal tinkering room.

DM: The door to the tinkering room looks closed. You've never seen it closed before.

Sarah Blackpowder: I slip out my  handaxe, and try to open the door.

"Papa Gris?"

DM: You head for the door when you hear Griswald's voice behind you. "Sarah."

He's standing in the entrance to the house, holding a small parcel. He looks grim.

Sarah Blackpowder: Shocked, I spin around on my heel and ready my axe. Relieved to see him, I relax and begin to say "I don't have a rabbit but I... What's wrong?"

DM: "I was invited to see the Priests this afternoon. Did you know they’re having a trial before Nalduq a few hundred miles from here?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "No. How did you know that?" I hush my voice. "Did they find out?"

DM: He shakes his head. "A dwarven smith in Alhoun Bay launched an iron stone seven hundred feet from some kind of cauldron. The Priest called it ‘the Witch's Catapult.' "

He looks over his shoulder and then back to you. His voice drops to a whisper. "Guess what has the power to fling something that heavy that far?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Blackpowder."

DM: He nods. "Sarah. Will you do me a favor?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Anything, Papa Gris."

DM: He beckons you towards the secret tinker space.

Sarah Blackpowder: I sheathe my handaxe and follow.

DM: He opens the door, revealing the double barreled hand cannon he's been working on for the past year and a half. He holds it gingerly in the three fingers left on his right hand.

You've seen it before but it always fills you with a bit of awe. What does it look like?

Sarah Blackpowder: It's simple in design, iron barrel with wood handle. There's this thing on the back end we’re calling a "hammer" because it does exactly what a hammer does--hit something. The cylinder has 4 holes in a narrow rectangle pattern. You pull the left trigger for the left barrel, the right one for the right.

The triggers are hard to pull, but that is part of the design. The rounds are iron casings with a brass "bullet," like a bullet for a sling. There’s some black powder on the outside of the rear of the round, and there's some between the bullet and the casing.

We have tested this on full plate armor with padding, and it eats through like a hot knife through butter. It's a powerful invention, and we both fear and revere it.

"What do you have it out for?"

DM: Before he answers, Griswald slides a panel in the hand cannon's case away, revealing a small recess you've never seen before. Inside is another hand cannon. This one appears to be shorter, and has four barrels. The metal is dark gray and the wooden grip is rough and unfinished.

He picks it up with his other hand, and turns to face you. He holds them both out.

Sarah Blackpowder: "But... what do you want me to do?"

DM: "Take them home for a little while. Hide them both. Or bury them. I'll be along to get them in a couple of days."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Okay, I trust you. See ya then. Do you want this pheasant?"

DM: He cracks a smile despite himself. "No, Sarah. Take it home for dinner. Go on now. And don't let anyone see these. Not your father, not anybody."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yes sir." I hide them in the bottom of my backpack and hurry home.

DM: How do you get home?

Sarah Blackpowder:

I go between the houses in the usual pattern I go when I'm not wanting to be seen. I pass the Smith's, the Pickle's, and the Cleaver's, and eventually make it to my bedroom window. I go to throw my pack up into the window, but remember the payload I have. Instead, I gingerly step in through the window and hurriedly pick up the loose board in my room where I stash my weapons and diary.

I take the pheasant out of my pack, carefully put my pack in the crevice, and replace the board. Finally, I head into the kitchen yelling, "Mom! Dad! I'm home and I brought a fat pheasant!"

DM: Your parents look like they've been fighting, but they break it off when they see you. Your father takes a step forward to look over your trophy.

"Well now, fat is right! An award winner right here. Might be too big for the pot, even, ay Jori?"

Your mother scoffs. "That's no stew bird. I can cut that down and pan fry that pheasant into something you'll dream about when we're three months into winter potatoes."

"Either way it'll need to get feathered and hung up a day or two." Your father relieves you of the bird and heads outside.

Once he's gone, your mother's face softens a little. "Sarah. Where you been all day?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "I hung out with Papa and went hunting. Helped Papa move some blackpowder." I flex my arm.

DM: "I thought so. Listen. Your father and I disagree on this, but I'd rather you stay away from Papa Griswald's place for a little while. Same goes for your sister."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Why?"

DM: "Some of the stuff he's working on is dangerous. I know you've seen some of it."

Before you can answer, your father returns. "Well? Ready for dinner?"

Sarah Blackpowder: I glare at mom and then smile at my dad. "Yes sir!”

DM: It's not often that your mother cooks-- dad makes most of the meals around here. But tonight is a dish she prepares particularly well. What is it?

Sarah Blackpowder: Roast chicken, season with salt, pepper, a little bit of garlic. Garnish with rosemary and parsley. And sauteed apple slices as a side.

DM: Before you eat, Mother asks that you all join hands. It's unusual for the family to pray before a meal outside of holidays or difficult times.

Sarah Blackpowder: I unwillingly grab their hands and say "Mama what's really happening?"

DM: "Our name is something we carry with pride. But pride can be blinding, too. We must remember that the world survives through the grace of the gods. We can't forget the last time that mortal kind thought to make themselves gods of Trayam, and we suffer for it still."

She makes eye contact with you, and holds it pointedly. "We must be wary of setting down paths that will repeat the mistakes of the past."

Your father grits his teeth but says nothing.

Sarah Blackpowder: "I am proud of my name, and I’m proud of what Papa does. We aren’t trying to be gods--  We are innovators of a new era! This is the greatest invention that was made without magic, and it will be the building block of a new type of society! the gods are good, but they haven't shown themselves in anyone in years."

DM: You catch an approving look from your father, but his voice comes out stern. "Humility is important, Sarah. That's all to be said about that."

Dinner from there on out is quiet. When everyone has finished, Mother stands and begins clearing bowls--a sign that everyone else is excused.

It is now night, and fast approaching normal bedtime hours.

Sarah Blackpowder: I excuse myself, and wait for mama and dad to do their usual thing where they come in my room and say goodnight and all that stuff

I am waiting to play with that new pistol basically.

DM: After a little while of waiting you hear angry whispers back and forth from your parents' room. Doesn't seem like anyone is coming in any time soon.

Sarah Blackpowder: I pull out the pistol and unload it and inspect it.

I lay in bed with it, ready to hide it in the nook between my bed and wall if the door opens.

DM: It fits your hand perfectly.

Inspecting this further, the initial coincidence of the gun fitting your hand melts away. It soon becomes clear that this weapon was made specifically for you.

The loading process works as a sort of break action--a hinge on the bottom of the pistol allows the barrels to separate from the hammer in order to allow for easy access, cleaning, and repair.

Sarah Blackpowder: I smile and put it away, loaded. I begin to fall asleep, thinking over possible reasons Papa Gris gave me the weapons.

DM: You awaken with a start in the middle of the night. It's pitch black and you can hear angry voices out in front of the house. They’re like hissy whispers in the dark.

You recognize the voices. Both sound male but muffled by walls and the haze of sleep. You're pretty sure you know who they belong too but it feels like you might still be dreaming.

Sarah Blackpowder: I close my eyes tight, count to 3, then open my eyes quickly. I'm trying to wake myself if I'm dreaming.

DM: You are awake. You hear the conversation drop a few decibels but move closer to your door, into the kitchen.

Sarah Blackpowder: I quickly but silently get out of bed, carefully grab my bag and bow from under the floorboard, and head to hop out of my window.

My room has nowhere to hide, and my bed is too low to the ground, so the only place I can not be seen is under my window sill.

DM: You hop out of the window and duck down just as you hear your door open. In a harsh whisper you hear your father's voice. "Sarah? Sarah?"

Then Griswald's: "See? Girl's smarter than you already. Hopefully she's miles from here."

Sarah Blackpowder: I wrap around the house and dash.

I'm heading due west, hopefully remembering the trade route to Curogan through Barelby.

DM: As you come around the corner towards the front of your house, you run almost straight into a horse hitched to a wagon. It whinnies and half-rears in fear. You manage to calm it down--how?

Sarah Blackpowder: I walk beside it and pet along its body. As it half rears, I flinch and fear that it's about to trample me, but I pet its mane and it calms down.

DM: It huffs and shakes its head, then nuzzles into your hand. From here, you can see that the wagon is loaded with items from Papa Griswald's house--seems like everything that wasn't bolted down or too big for him to lift by himself.

After a moment, you recognize the wagon, too--it belongs to the Palles.

It's the middle of a cloudy night--the darkness feels like it's on top of you. If there's anyone else nearby, you don't see anything.

The front door of your house flies open and Papa Griswald comes rushing out, with your father hot on his heels.

"Sarah? Are you all right?" Griswald is holding a torch and seems to see your silhouette at the edge of the light.

Sarah Blackpowder: "What's happening? Why is your stuff loaded up?!"

DM: "I can explain along the way."

"She's not going anywhere," your father interjects.

Griswald handwaves him angrily. "Time to tell me where you hid them."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Dad, I wanna go with Papa Gris."

Then, to Griswald: "I don't know what you mean."

DM: "The projects we've been working on. There's no time to be coy about it."

Sarah Blackpowder: "They're loaded up and ready to go. And I am too."

DM: "What? You gave her those death pipes? Father, are you absolutely out of your mind?" Your dad takes a step between the two of you.

"Did you forget what they did to your hand?" He rounds on you. "Sarah, maybe your mother is right. Maybe we should take a step back from this alchemy and think about what we are heading towards."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Dad, I'm 19 now. I've never left this crap hole of a town, and I want to explore the world. Let me go with him, and I promise I'll come back if the world gets too big for me. I want to make my own decisions for once!"

DM: "Innocent people don't run, Sarah."

Griswald snorts. "Your wife is right, Darryn. But not about what you think--people fear what they don't understand, and they take the heads of the things they fear. That dwarf's 'trial' in Alhoun was a farce. He's already been sentenced and executed. What do you think is waiting for us if we stay here? You think that my visit from the Priests today was a coincidence? If you really love your wife, wake her up and get on this cart with us."

Sarah Blackpowder: "C'mon dad. We can go to new places and Get out of this town. Everyone that comes to see Papa tells these awesome stories of Curogan. Let's go and experience it together."

"Papa Griswald isn't guilty of anything except making the best weapon since magic."

DM: Your father's face blanches at the word "magic." He straightens up. "Sarah, your place is here. With your family. I'm going to leave this decision with you, but I'm asking you to think carefully about what you’re doing."

Meanwhile, Griswald holds his hands out for the handcannons. He looks at you pleadingly and nods towards the wagon.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Dad, I wanna go with him. I promise I'll be fine. My place is in the world, translating for Papa and seeing new sights."

DM: Your father nods slowly. He seems resigned.

Papa Griswald's hands are still out.

Sarah Blackpowder: "I love you, Dad. Tell mama I love her too. You should realize why I can't tell her in person." I hug him, and tear up; then I reach in my bag and pull out the double barrel and hand it to Griswald.

DM: Griswald inspects the weapon and nods. "Best you keep the other."

He turns towards the wagon, then pauses for a moment and turns back to you. "As a matter of fact, take this.”

DM: He slides a sack of powder and a leather cylinder rattling with bronze bullets into your hands.

Sarah Blackpowder: I smile. "We think alike."

DM: "We do." Griswald turns towards the cart and hoists himself up to a seat on the front of it.

Before you can climb up yourself you feel your father's hand on your shoulder.

Sarah Blackpowder: I turn to face him. "Yes?"

DM: He hugs you, and you feel him press a small leather pouch into your hands. "Keep each other safe."

Sarah Blackpowder: I take it and hug him back. "I will, thank you."

[dstickman-blog]

The Background History of Trayam

Background

It started with a War. The Mage’s War, they call it now, as if no one else was involved.

According to the histories that are left, if they're even to be believed, the population of the whole continent has still not recovered from the war that tore the earth and boiled the seas 2500 years ago. Accounts vary but only one thing is left for certain--after years wracked by scorching balls of fire, rips in the fabric of time, and the conjuration of horrific monstrosities, the war finally came to an end. What magic users were left in the world were charged for war crimes and ultimately executed. When all was said and done half of the continent was gone, either blasted into nothing or swallowed by the sea.

It took the world a long time to adjust to a life without magic, especially with the armies of Trayam decimated by war. Without the swords or spells needed to hold them, vast tracts of land were abandoned to monsters and roving hordes of goblinoids. Without the land to produce from, entire cities disappeared to famine as the winters grew long and sunless. Without the aid of magic on production and the economy, civilization has been forced to slowly relearn processes that were once as easy as an incantation: smithing, architecture, mining, shipbuilding. Any suspiciously big leap in technology was almost immediately followed by inquisition for fear of sorcery. Slow going, and slow again.

Now, it's dangerous to venture more than 20 miles from the walls of any town or city, and trade is more dependent than ever on the sea. City-states have their own government, their own codes of laws, and independent customs. Religious worship varies from place to place but typically revolves around one of the Six Temples, religious hierarchies devoted to each of the six gods of the pantheon.

Qoth, the mother god. Creator of the land and of sound and dreams. Often worshipped as the goddess of art and music as well. It is said she sleeps every hundred thousand years, and during those slumbers she dreams another of her children into existence. Proqq, Qoth’s firstborn son. He bled himself to make the sea and pulled the clouds from his lungs. The god of the ocean and of storms. Qalda, Qoth’s eldest daughter. Goddess of the sun. Turns her radiant face on the world to provide it light and at night turns back to the other gods. Worshipped as the goddess of the harvest and light. Naltuq, God of life and death. Planted strands of his hair, which grew into the first trees. Cut the animals of the world from his own flesh. Worshipped as the God of nature and the hunt. Qualia, goddess of knowledge. Created the sentient races and bestowed their intellect on them. Cast the dwarves from iron, carved the elves from trees, molded humans from the salt of the sea, the dragons from starlight and the Halflings from the dune sand. Some believe she also created other races that have either died out or disappeared. Redaaq, god of fate. Some believe he knows all that is to come and that has been, others that his mood swings cause the great upheavals of history. Worshipped as the God of luck, of chaos, and of Destiny.

Though the others vary by custom, there is one law that is universally true, between all governments, all races, and all Six Temples: those who attempt to practice magic or use cursed relics are condemned to death.