#grabthatgoose

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh

Three idiots and their only sane friend have begun the Ghosts of Saltmarsh campaign. This blog will share the results of that fateful journey. 

Sept. 16

Cleis Elwing, a half-elf sorcerer, was on the run. And she’s broke. Worse than that, she’s sober. 

When she walked into this shoddy port town fingering the meager handful of gold pieces that jingled in her pouch her only thought was to quench her thirst with a frothy ale at the local tavern. The ale was dark and sweet and for a moment Cleis was at peace. 

A lilting voice, slightly slurred, called her name from the shadows. 

Shit.

Immediately Cleis’ left hand lifted to smooth the back of her hair down over her neck. It hung in a thick wall over her back, not an inch of skin was visible. 

Feeling the tension in her shoulders incrementally drop upon discovering it was still firmly in place Cleis turned and peered into the corner. She was greeted not by a Bloodsworn, but rather a smiling face. And a honk. Len waved the brooding pirate over to her table and ordered them both another pint. Her pet feral goose nipped at her boots in greeting and then turned to rest her neck across Len’s feet. As the hours passed they regaled each other with old stories of conquests and adventures before Len leaned in and whispered that she was headed on another voyage that was sure to fill her pockets with gold. 

There was a ship headed to Saltmarsh. From there there was work, though the exact details of said work remained undescribed. She invited her along. Cleis trusted no one, but the temptation of refilling her near empty pouch was one she was too desperate to resist.

The next morning she was strolling toward the lowered gangplank of the Sharkfin when a heavy burst of wind whipped her hair into her face. There was a thud and when she glanced toward the noise she saw an elven woman with auburn skin and copper leaves dangling from vines in her bright orange hair. At her feet was a large sack that had obviously fallen from her grasp. But she wasn’t interested in the least in her dropped luggage. Instead her eyes were fixed firmly on Cleis, a gleeful gleam in them that set the pirate on edge. 

Muttering under her breath Cleis quickly ran her fingers through her wild hair, putting it in place once more before sauntering onto the waiting ship. 

Len was chatting with another human warlock, Talia, below deck and smiled when she saw Cleis toss her satchel onto a bunk. Len’s goose was picking at its feathers at her feet and honked when Cleis settled in. Calls from above indicated the crew was preparing to sail when suddenly the door was thrown open once more. There, panting and clutching a notebook, was the mysterious elf. 

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “I’d worried I’d lost you.”

Glancing around the elf, who upon closer inspection Cleis realized with surprise was an Eladrin, assessed the cabin before striding forward and tossing her bag onto the bunk directly beside where Cleis was sitting. 

“Do you know her?” Len asked, eyeing the newcomer with barely concealed suspicion. 

“Not at all,” Cleis replied before rummaging around in her satchel for a half empty bottle of wine. 

When she pried the cork off with her teeth she heard the rapid scratching of a quill on paper. The Eladrin was enthusiastically writing something down in its notebook and Cleis had the uncomfortable suspicion it was about her. 

“Well? Who are you then?” Len asked. 

The woman continued to write, though the jagged strokes implied perhaps she was now sketching something instead. 

After an uncomfortable silence she glanced up, brow furrowed to find the trio all staring in annoyance. 

“Oh! Were you speaking to me? How interesting. I am Illyria. And who, might I ask, are you?”

“The name’s Len, this is Talia and we —”

“Yes, yes, wonderful,” Illyria interrupted. Her gaze was once more firmly fixed on Cleis. “And you strange half-elf?”

Len scoffed in annoyance at being interrupted and turned a mocking gaze on Cleis as if also eagerly awaiting a response. 

“Cleis.”

“Fascinating, yes fascinating.” Illyria scribbled a few more notes.

Len raised a brow before turning and continuing her conversation with Talia. The wine slowly drained and the gentle rocking of the ship in the waves began to lull her to sleep. With a sigh she stopped the bottle once more and turned lay on the rough cot.

“Wake me when we’re close will you Len?”

Len waved her hand in agreement as she stretched to get herself ready for a quick slumber. 

“Close to where?” Illyria asked. She’d silently been watching the trio for the past few hours, only speaking to ask Cleis several far too personal questions that the pirate repeatedly ignored. The new inquiry caused them all to freeze. 

“Saltmarsh,” Talia carefully replied. “As in the port this vessel is headed?”

“Oh,” Illyria said. “I was wondering where we were going. How intriguing.”

Cleis frowned, but rolled over, choosing to not offer the elf any other barbs she could write in her mysterious notepad. In moments she had drifted off into a fitful slumber. 

Hours later, long after the moon had climbed into the heavens Talia tossed in her sleep, a frown carved into her no longer peaceful face. She dreamt that she was walking on the ocean in the pitch darkness of night. In the distance there was a flashing light and a low rumble of thunder echoed in her ears. The noise grew louder and louder as the storm approached. A deep voice echoed across the now writhing water, “Arise.” Her frown deepened. 

“Arise!” the voice rang out again. The storm was surrounding her. A cloud rose in the distance, stretching far above the surface of the wrathful sea. Lightning flashed again. No, it wasn’t a cloud, but a creature seemingly built from the depths of the ocean itself. 

“Wake up,” the voice demanded once more. 

A gnome bursts into the cabin, screaming at the passengers to wake.

TBC.

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 2

Sept. 16

Illyria glanced up from her novel, a thrilling and eyebrow raising Dwarvish saga, and said hello to the tiny stranger. The goose hissed at the interruption, furious at being woken before dawn.

The gnome, Rackham Byrnne, told them to head toward the deck and lend a hand to the sailors who were struggling to navigate through the burgeoning storm. Cleis immediately sprung to her feet and tossed her satchel around her chest. She was three steps away from the door when Len began tossing on a pair of discarded shoes and a cloak… though as she was lacing the boots she realized absentmindedly that they weren’t hers. 

In moments Illyria was at Cleis’ side, clinging to her arm as if it were a life raft. The pirate scowled and shook the larger woman off as best she could and began climbing the stairs to the deck. Illyria clung tighter and followed her into the night. 

As Len and Talia emerged they heard faintly from the cargo hold, “Where’s my boots? Wait, where’s my cloak?” Len glanced at Talia and shrugged before turning to assess the chaos into which they had emerged. Several sailors that had been sleeping below burst out behind them, one barefoot and cursing his bad luck. 

The sky was black and the waves were rising ever higher, sloshing onto the deck with frequent fury.

They were fucked. 

But the tiny gnome was yelling for them to make themselves useful. 

The wind whipped back and forth and the rain continued to pelt the deck. Illyria let out a soft hum at the sight and then shrugged .

“It’s just, I don’t know, drizzling,” Illyria said. She held up her holy symbol with a smirk, casually remarking that she would be fine before turning back toward the stairs. 

Still clinging to Cleis, Illyria inched closer. She lifted one thin, auburn hand and ran her fingers down the side of Cleis’s face. 

“Bless you child,” she whispered. Cleis stared in rising horror the longer the cheek cupping lasted. Illyria suddenly patted her cheek with a firm pop. The elf cast guidance on her still bewildered counterpart before letting go completely, turning dramatically on her boot, opening her book and descending the stairs back toward her cot. 

Cleis peered up toward the stars, or what few she could glimpse among the rolling clouds. She used her navigation tools and began to quickly calculate a course toward the still invisible shore. Sprinting to the quarterdeck (thank you very much to the roll 17) she was able to discern a familiar constellation. They were 15 degrees too far west. Pointing toward the east she yelled directions and Captain Grendanna Stormbreaker immediately shifted the wheel. Perhaps she was in awe of her confidence, perhaps she had nothing to lose. 

Talia glanced around and with a rising wave of determination she strode toward a barrel at the center of the ship. The warlock knew a riveting prayer would rally the gods toward their plight and boost the morale of the crew. She felt it in her bones. And who was she to let the crew down?

She hefted herself up onto the barrel and eyed the hustling sailors. At the top of her lungs she began. 

“We cal—” and immediately Talia fell through the rotten lid. (You see Talia unfortunately had rolled a three). From within the now cracked and sagging barrel she glanced around and thankfully realized no one had noticed. Though that also filled her with frustration. How dare those peons not listen to her call upon the gods?

Rotten potatoes clung to her clothes and squelched inside her shoes as she pulled herself from the wreckage. At least the rain was cleaning the muck from her. She’d have to give her socks a good washing though. 

Len meanwhile had decided her best bet at being any matter of assistance would be to ascend to the heavens. She headed toward the mainmast, determined to lower the highest sails. (Len rolls a 5) Leaping up she grabbed the first and second handles with ease. 

If only Goose could see this, she thought as pride at her own incredible acrobatic skill rose within her.

As she reached for the third peg her hand slipped on the wet wood and she fell, knocking the wind out of her lungs upon the brutal impact. 

An hour passes. Len climbs over and over and never makes it more than halfway up the mast. She was thankful Goose had stayed below deck after all. Talia prays and mutters — perhaps the words “powers that be” and “eternal darkness” slip through — she’ll never admit just who she had attempted to summon to save them. The sailors start to wonder if she is the cause of their obviously celestial damnation. 

Cleis and the Captain plot course after course and fight the wheel as they attempt to remain pointed toward Saltmarsh. Illyria discovers the next chapter has a saucy turn of events she hadn’t predicted and eagerly turns the page. The thin paper slices at her fingertip and she frowns before sucking the gently bleeding thumb and starting the next paragraph. When she reads what was oh-so-thoroughly described her eyebrow raised. 

The waves are now the size of the mast. Captain Stormbreaker yells to her crew, muscles straining to hold the wheel in place. 

“I’ll need everyone to try even harder! We have to work together in order to —”

A wave crashes over the side of the boat sending Cleis face first onto the floor. She banged her head on the wheel on the way down and saw a new assortment of stars when she closed her eyes to block the pain. Illyria went flying from her perch on the cot. Thankfully her quick reflexes shoved her finger inbetween the pages of the book so despite the tumble she didn’t lose her spot. Len and Talia luckily are able to stagger and remain on their feet. 

Captain Stormbreaker grabs Cleis by her drenched black linen top and lifts her to her feet. “Do. Something.” She growls. “Anything!”

Illyria — as if sensing someone else was touching her new favorite creature — runs from below deck up toward Cleis. She possessively rips her away from the captain and holds her face in both of her hands. Gazing into her eyes she asks, “Do you understand boats?”

Frustration wars with disbelief and Cleis glares back at the elf. Her fingers flex, itching to rip the dagger free from its holster in her boot, but when the orange elf begins speaking again she pauses. 

“Tell me what to say and I can use Thaumaturgy to project my voice across the ship,” Illyria promises with a smile as if she had suddenly solved all of their problems with one compassionate gesture.

Cleis hates the fact that she needs her. But the plan isn’t bad so she nods once and closes her eyes in an attempt to abate the murderous thoughts running through her mind. Tapping into the plethora of stressful fights against the sea she’s been a part of over the years Cleis takes a breath, glances at Illyria and turns to the rest of the crew.

“You will listen to me. Listen!” Cleis bellows. 

Illyria raises to her full height and gestures dramatically toward the crew, her voice ringing in all their ears. 

“You will all listen to me! Listen!” She echoes and sends a wink Cleis’ way.

“Sailors all over the world will be looking to us, to the Sharkfin to lead!”

“Sailors! Blah blah blah… Sharkfin! Leaders!” Illyria yells. Her hand gestures intensify. It’s obvious her years of community theatre are paying off. 

“And what will they see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship? No! No! They will see free men and freedom!” Cleis continues with narrowed eyes glaring at the elf beside her.

“Umm are they going to see rats? Probably. Maybe free men? Freedom? Not sure how you can literally see that, but alright. You’re the director.” 

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Cleis said. “Man the stations to which you were assigned at the start of the voyage.” 

“Do this! Actually wait, I don’t understand what she’s saying right now,” Illyria says with a finger raised to her chin. As she taps she mouths the words Cleis had just said as if attempting to solve some ancient riddle.

“Man the fucking stations you were assigned.” Cleis breaths out through gritted teeth. 

“OK, OK I see. Man the stations you were assigned! At the start of the voyage?”

“Do your fucking jobs or we will die!” Cleis says. Her nails dug into the railing as she dares Illyria with the sheer weight of her gaze to screw up such a simple statement. 

“What is fucking?” The elf asks, voice still booming. She turns to the captain. “What is fucking? I don’t know this word. We don’t use it on my island back home. What does it mean?”

“YOU’RE OLDER THAN ME BY SO MUCH!” Cleis yells. “How do you not know what I’m saying?” “You’re older than me by so much!” Illyria echoes to the now staring crew. 

“I’m ending the speech,” Cleis says as she runs her hand over her aching brow. 

“I’m ending the speech!” Illyria repeats before waving her hand and bowing to the crew. (Cleis rolls a 17)

The crew found the performance...  confusing. However, upon watching Cleis’ face turn bright red and a vein emerging along her neck and forehead they began to get the gist of the message, or at the very least the threat behind it. Lightning flashed in her eyes and Cleis’ skin began to turn green with unchanneled magic. 

To say the least they are terrified and the soaked sailors begin to work even faster at their tasks. 

“I think it worked, but you’ll have to explain what a fucking was for me later alright?” Illyria whispers to Cleis as she passes. The half elf grinds her teeth and keeps moving. 

TBC

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 7

Greed had taken over Cleis’ mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious chests lying in the sand. Talia seemed equally intrigued.

Old rations, mostly soaked in water, were within the first chest. Four days worth — thankfully none were potatoes — were salvageable so each took two. 

The other chest, once Talia pried it open, was full of clothes. Waterlogged, out of fashion, extremely plain clothes. There wasn’t even a single fancy hat hidden within. 

Illyria — on her way to Cleis — stopped at the rowboat. Apparently the overturned dingy struck a chord in her artistic soul so she got her notebook out again and started to sketch. 

Len had wandered back toward her goose and stopped at the corpse Cleis had patted down earlier. The warlock may be human, but her desire for treasure far overcame her distaste for working out. With a grunt she flipped the body over and found his coin purse firmly tied to his belt. Eight silver pieces were within and she pocketed them before headed toward Goose. 

Goose, thankfully, stirred when Len began cooing over it. Its loud honk let the entire reef know the little feral demon was back in action. 

Once her sketch was finished Illyria flipped the boat over with relative ease, everything she did seemed graceful. It was infuriating. She found it appeared to be seaworthy and had both sets of oars. 

Cleis and Talia examined the other corpse. Again, he’s heavy, so Cleis sighed and walked away. Talia, however, was never afraid of weight day so she planted her feet, flexed her biceps and flipped the man in one bumpy turn. A coin purse was fixed to his belt as well. Six silver pieces were within and out of sheer pity she tossed three to Cleis. 

The only way to carve a spot out for yourself in Cleis’ heart faster than buying her ale was to toss her coins that she would — inevitably — use to buy even more booze down the road. Cleis vowed then and there she’s going to pledge friendship to this human, though she does question the intelligence of such a generous nature. 

The groups gathered back at the small dingy and glanced at the now massacred creatures. 

“Any clue what they were?” Cleis asked. 

“A lizard? Komodo dragon?” Len guessed. 

Illyria nodded knowingly and cleared her throat to get the group’s full attention. 

“Guys, be ready, these are creatures that live under water,” Illyria said. Cleis rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think you understand,” she continued when seeing Cleis lack of enthusiasm. “They LIVE underwater. They live in cities where there is a lot of them.”

Cleis looked at the rapidly retreating night and grabbed her navigation tools from her satchel. Doing a few quick calculations she pointed behind them and said, “Saltmarsh is that way… ish.”

They piled into the tiny rowboat and started to row. Goose is at the head honking every 10 minutes. No one got a nap in. 

About three and a half hours later the itty bitty little boat that could rowed into the port of Saltmarsh. The dock workers stopped and stared at the absurd sight of the bloodstained travelers and their hissing goose pulling up in the dingy. 

“I’ll be damned,” came a vaguely familiar voice. 

There, at the end of the dock, stood Captain Grendanna Stormbreaker. 

“I thought you were lost with the others,” Stormbreaker said. “If it wasn’t for you my whole ship would have went down.”

“Most of the others died,” Illyria said. “We saw it.”

Stormbreaker ignored her and leaned down to offer her hand, helping each traveler to climb onto the dock. 

“Welcome to Saltmarsh,” Stormbreaker said when the Goose had flapped it’s way up beside them. “Here, breakfast is on me.”