#the idiots go to saltmarsh

[rush-wing]

Gonna turn the tables a little bit since you've already asked about mine. I don't know which of your ocs is up for Rotisserie Time, so my question is: Which OC is your current blorbo, and why?

Me?? one blorbo? impossible! I did answer something similar here but ooh I guess I can use this space to ramble further?? [putting this under a read more to save you all from scrolling past the paragraphs]

Eon my blacksmith-with-an-dabbling-in-magic tiefling is currently the itch I can't scratch because I don't know what to do with him; he just resurfaced after watching the CR mighty nein reunion episode and the nostalgia of that time reignited the tiefling again. So he's being rotated on the spit very fast and I'm just screaming into the void while I spin him. I feel very directionless about what to ramble about him but he's there!! Just taking up space in my brain!! Though he would hate that because he's very much the sort who shrinks away from the spotlight but I will kick him out into it whether he wants to or not

I'm also in the process of writing the final prompt of my ""vampire's"" journey through Thousand Year Old Vampire. Madieren's been through it over the years (and I might have cackled delightedly while doing it) and it's been fun using him to develop a whole elven monastery, but mostly I am looking forward to picking up the threads he left behind that may or may not include a new kind of dragon I get to homebrew. And after everything, I still can't believe that his Asshole Rival, Riendar, ended up being his closest confidant. These two have been taking potshots at each other for like a few hundred years!! It was Riendar's fault Madieren's most precious student/daughter-figure ended up fatally wounded and yet!! Yet!!! It was fun watching Madieren's petty-ass little snark at him, though.

Jaise is also kicking around places because I was getting excited to play her for a Saltmarsh campaign but that's not going ahead now so it's a little hard trying to put her back in the box. She's my also-risen-from-the-grave character, though she is a pirate! However, I say she's a pirate but she only really took to sailing because her last scattered memories involved being aboard a ship - we don't really know who she was beforehand. Lady likes her rum and a good ghost story, so a sailor (regardless if it's the legal kind or not) seems like a decent occupation for her, and she can avoid or look into clues about her past as much as she wants. I do have a strong feeling her old occupation wasn't that far removed from being a pirate as you'd think. (And Keats is just always there a little bit because he's my boy, I don't know what to say. Every day is a Keats day. He's an idiot but he's my idiot.) I don't know if I actually answered anything extra on top of what I already did but there you go~

[kim-poce]

Have you ever wondered what is a Friend? I can tell you one thing for sure

It shrugs. “You will be replacing this doctor fairly soon anyway, so it makes sense not to risk anyone else on high risk jobs.”

“Replace you? What in saltmarsh are you talking about?”

The doctor looks at me like I’m an idiot. “We’re filling this ship to capacity,” it reminds me. “This friend is taking up a spot. Right now, that’s good because we’re not at capacity and its services are needed. But eventually, another colonist in chronostasis is going to need the resources that it’s consuming. If anybody’s putting themselves at risk, this friend is the logical choice.”

THIS IS NOT A FRIEND DERIN TREAT IT BETTER

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 4

Sept. 16

Cleis woke up with her mouth full of sand. The throbbing in her head was the only sound she could make out in her stupor. Slowly she cracked an eyelid. A soft haze of light glinted across the calm waters around her, but the majority of the sky was still dark. 

Carefully she opened the other eye and lifted her head. Beside her — far too close for Cleis’ comfort — Illyria was beginning to stir from where they had both washed up on the thin sandbar. One arm was still firmly wrapped around Cleis’ waist, holding her fast to the strange elf’s side. 

Len and her faithful goose were lying inches away from a large rock on the edge of the reef. Talia was already sitting up and wiping clumped sand from her shirt. As she stared Len began to stir, but the goose remained still. In the darkness Cleis couldn’t tell if it was sleeping or if it had not survived the rough tumble through the waves.

It was just after dawn and the ocean was softly lapping at the bank. Looking up, Cleis realized the dark clouds of the massive storm were rolling away, off to torment some other unlucky sailor. 

To their right another sailor lay, but his chest wasn’t moving. With a soft groan Cleis shrugged Illyria off and went to go investigate the washed up body. 

At the sudden loss of her pillow Illyria woke with a gasp.

Cleis peered down at the body and gave it a few firm kicks. 

It didn’t budge so she glanced around to see if her companions were paying any attention. Patting him down quickly she found nothing, not even a ridge of a pocket. The man was heavy, obviously he hadn’t skipped his meals, so Cleis sighed and stepped away. She had no energy to attempt to shove him over to check his front pockets. 

Len had crawled toward her goose and was reaching out a hand to caress its ruffled feathers when a slap rang out across the reef. The shipwrecked party immediately turned to peer down the strip of the sandbar. Voices — though they were speaking a language none seemed to recognize — floated down the sand. 

Two creatures, seemingly born from the depths of the ocean, were walking among the debris on the other end of the strip. More importantly — at least in Cleis’ opinion — two chests had washed up on the sand and one of the creatures was leaning over and prodding at the wood with the end of its trident. 

A lifeboat from the Sharkfin was flipped on the edge of the sandbar. While the majority of the group immediately hunkered down to study the mysterious fish spawn without being noticed Illyria began loudly rummaging in her bag and muttering, “Now where did I put that?”

Len glared from her perch behind the rock at the still standing elf, but Illyria paid her no mind and kept searching. Eventually she pulled out a scroll and unrolled it before slowly turning this way and that while gazing at the parchment. 

Because Cleis never seemed to get far from the woman she was able to depict a roughly drawn map on the paper. It had been quickly sketched and was reminiscent of those maps you saw in children’s adventure novels, complete with dotted lines and oversized icons to indicate a home and where other countries and islands were. Essentially it was pretty, but absolutely useless to any traveler. 

Illyria turned once more before nodding and rolling the scroll back up and tossing it into the bag. 

Everyone’s attention immediately shifted back to the creatures when they heard gasping coming from the end of the reef. Another sailor had washed up onto the sand. The man crawled, gasping for breath, further onto the bank. 

The closest creature took five steps forward and without hesitating stabbed its trident into the back of the barely conscious sailor. He let out a gurgle of surprise before falling limp.

They turned back to the debris and once more began digging through the wreckage. 

No one was going to touch that chest unless Cleis was leading the charge. Without thinking too much about it the sorcerer stepped forward and summoned her magic. 

The tendrils of green beneath her skin began to glow and she briefly touched the black rock hanging from a leather strap at her neck before holding both hands forward, muttering arcane words under her breath and casting Sleep at the closest creature (rolls a 22 to hit). 

The wind whipped around her feet, pulling grains of sand into a gentle spiral as it moved silently across the sandbar. It wrapped around the creature, causing it to face plant within moments.

“Fascinating,” Illyria murmured. She reached back into her bag and pulled her notebook and pencil from within. Ignoring the green scaled murderers entirely she began scribbling. 

The other creature yelled in surprise before whipping around and seeing the exhausted party. Let’s be honest, the hodgepodge group looked far from threatening. He pointed his trident at the party as if to dare one of them to challenge him and screeched in annoyance. 

It was on.

TBC.

[uselessgaywhovian]

oh boy y'all.

so D&D last night.

AKA: The One Where the Party Was Very Suspicious of the Wrong Person.

So the party (minus Yara, but plus my new burglar, Shamys, who's a tabaxi rogue/thief) got hired to get some valuable cargo off of a ship that got fucked up in a storm like... a few years ago i guess? They thought it had sunk, but then someone spotted it with its masts all broken off, still just drifting. So we get hired to see if the original owner's property is still onboard, and recover it if we can.

Good times to be had by all.

Anyway, it's supposed to be a three day journey to where the ship was, ended up taking us five days because of various shenanigans. But when we got on the ship, the captain was like "Crew only on deck, passengers need to stay below in your cabins."

And our gunslinger Bree was Not Having That. She left the cabin like three times on the first day alone and had to be forcibly returned. Eventually, the crew tried to lock us in so she couldn't keep annoying them. And Shamys let Bree attempt to pick the lock without any thieves tools for a while because it was kinda funny, before showing off her Particular Set of Skills™ and unlocking the door effortlessly with my fucking +10 expertise. god i love being a rogue.

So Bree at this point is like.... super suspicious of the crew for some reason. She's like 100% convinced that they are hiding something or they're taking us somewhere that's not where we're supposed to be going or some shit. And the fact that the crew did allow us passengers up on deck in the early evening somehow just made her more suspicious. Like, obviously there's something nefarious going on and it's definitely not just that this crew of professional sailors doesn't want a bunch of idiots who don't know how to sail getting underfoot 😂

And just to further show off, Shamys decided to show them all how sneaking around places you're not supposed to be is done, and stealthed her way to the galley, stole some snacks and booze, and snuck back to the cabins without anyone seeing her. It was great.

So around this time we start getting to actually talking to each other. The party asks Shamys a little bit about her background. She tells them that she's new to Saltmarsh (true), and is from Waterdeep (true), where her family mostly all work in uhhhh "acquisitions" (true), and she ended up in Saltmarsh because she fucked up a job and had to skip town (absolute lie).

And the party, one of whom fairly recently found out one of their friends has been a pirate and lied to them for weeks about it, just accepted this without question. Not even an Insight Check.

In actual fact, the reason Shamys is in Saltmarsh is because she was hired by a mysterious benefactor to get information on the party. Her employer told her that the party stole an important artifact of Umberlee's from him (which, kind of, i guess), and she got 500 gp up front with a promise of an additional 1000 gp for information. She's supposed to find out what their abilities are, and what weaknesses they may have.

So after Shamys gave her brief and unchallenged introduction, she asked how long this group had been adventuring together. At which point the boys proceeded to introduce themselves and tell me what all their talents are. I shit you not. I took like three pages of notes on the things that Shamys learned in that conversation alone, without me having to even ask more than "So how long have you guys been adventuring?" Eoleo who's a level 4 monk, level 1 cleric even mentioned that he had some magic abilities but he wasn't really sure how they even worked like, my dude.

god we're so fucked when this whole Primewater thing comes around again and i've done a very good job of selling a lot of information to our enemy without having to try that hard

I can't believe they gave the ship captain the third degree over not wanting our chucklefuck asses on the deck when he's trying to work, but just spilled their guts to the literal spy in their midst.

this was only the first third of the session y'all.

I need to split my word vomit up into a couple posts for this, there was so much last night 😂

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1826 Friday 14 April

6 3/4

1 3/4

Went downstairs staid sometime talking to Miss Marsh breakfasted at the Duffins’ at 9 - all very glad to see me - at 10 called on the Cromptons - saw them all - sat an hour there - then Mr Duffin and I went over the bridge - spoke to Meyers about the carriage - ordered the lining (drab cloth) and fringe to suit it, with brass door handles etc and a brass cornice round the middle of the body of the carriage like the one to be built for Mrs Norcliffe - Mr Duffin and I called at Dr Henry Belcombe’s in the minster yard - then went to see poor Eliza Raine at Mrs Barker’s in the Lord mayor’s walk - thought her looking thin and aged (Mr Duffin did not observe this) but well and comfortable - neatly dressed - she knew us both but seems completely in a state of idiotism - mentioned to Mr Duffin about her will - I wished him to act for me - he would rather my father acted - I said no - then I would employ my attorney. Mr Duffin has the will - favor of - will let me have a copy of it - we called at Fisher’s - then at Mrs Best’s - She could not see us then, but would be happy to do so in an hour - we had been at Todd’s to see for Mathews’s Diary of an invalid 2 volumes 12m [duodecimo] which Mrs H.S. Belcombe had recommended - he got it for us from the library and we went to the library to speak about it - called at Horner’s - he examined my teeth - quite good - but to call again when next in York - then homewards - called on Mrs Anne and Miss Gage - Miss Yorke came - said I was going to call on her - would not hurry her away, would call by and by - went home - Letter of bad news from Miss Duffin (Bath) - poor Miss Ellen Duffin very low. Mr Duffin always called on for money - Miss Yorke came in sat a long while - then took a turn with her out of the bar, and sat with her and her mother about 1/4 hour - then went to Miss Marshe’s - Rosamond Best there - I had met her when walking with Miss Yorke - did not know her at all, so very fat - Mrs Henry Belcombe came - sat a while - then went over the bridge again to Mrs Best - Rose reading a volume of Tiraboschi’s Storia della Letteratura - asked if there was any English translation of it - would like to know if a translation of it was wanted what Rose could get for making one they were serious and I promised to inquire for them of some bookseller in town Mr Saltmarshe came in while I was with Mrs Best - Got back to the Duffins’ to dine at 4 55/60 - Dinner at 5 - tea at 8 - It seemed from a word or 2 of Mr Duffin’s, he might possibly go with us to Paris in September - came to Miss Marsh’s to sleep at 10 1/4 - we both sat up talking till 1 1/4 -

About their being married at Winterslow but not till the year was up after the funeral Mrs Duffin died on Wednesday the last of August and was buried the Monday following I said they might be married the next day after and get to town that night they had no time to lose if they meant to be in Paris with us we should only stay a week said how delighted I should be yet on the whole threw out doubts about its being the best time of year May the best month not in my heart wishing to have them mentioned their taking a tour to the highlands Miss Marsh apologized for talking so much about herself but she had only told it to Miss Maria Salmond she was away and I was the only one she could talk to on the subject somehow got to Miss Ellen Duffin Miss Marsh had told me the distresses last night no remittances from India etc etc little dreaming I knew it all likes Ellen exceedingly if I had not been giving her credit for the contrary should never have told me how different she was with men she was Irish in this this was her fault mentioned her fancied conquest of Jocelyn Willey etc even Jameson had observed it and Sophia too but all the Irish were so Norcliffe and Philip Taylor both agreed etc etc Sophia never liked her so little as when seeing her with men and Jameson did not like the expression of her eyes to Mr Willey it was a pity he had refused to go with her a second time to the minster at the last festival etc etc how like one woman of another - I said I did not like this in anybody I really cared for and seemed as it had made a deep impression not in favour of Miss Duffin Miss Marsh was sorry she had told me etc etc it struck me she did not want us to be too intimate and at heart I only laughed at the thing -

Miss Yorke was uncommonly civil to me this morning - I had said I was near rapping at their door to inquire after them at 10 this morning - she wished I had - begged I would another time - should have been most happy if I would breakfasted with them - afterwards flattered me exceedingly (tho’ well done) about my bearing my talents so unpresumptuously, and being as all agreed the most agreeable of learned people etc etc. Indeed every body is uncommonly civil to me - Came to my own room at 1 1/4 - made minutes of today - Fine day - but windy and cold - E..O.. [regarding her venereal condition: two treatments, moderate discharge] - the town in a bustle - Colonel Wilson of Sneaton Castle who promises to stand for the next city election (a blue member and anticatholic) made his appearance, and was dragged into the town to the George Inn in Coney Street where he was received by his friends

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/9/0085

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 3

Sept. 16

Talia, brushing the remnants of spoiled potatoes off her pants, positions herself in the center of the boat once more. This time she choses the worn deck as her stage rather than the now suspiciously decrepit looking barrels. Calling to Umberlee, a goddess of the sea, she raises her arms to the sky. 

Using Minor Illusion she focuses on what she imagines the goddess might look like and begins to pray. 

Her voice raises and those hustling around her cringe expecting her to call upon another dark and unknown spirit. Instead they hear the name of Umberlee roll from her lips. A face appears above them in the dark clouds, illuminated by the flashing bolts of lightning and the sailors gasp at the wisps in the darkness. (Rolls an 18). 

“Look upon her face as she smiles upon us,” Talia yells. 

“Umberlee is with us!” A sailor cheers. “Umberlee is here! Go lads, go!”

Illyria mentally runs through a checklist of things she could be doing to justify getting herself soaking wet in the rain. Eventually she decides to peer into the night and attempt to perceive if they should steer the boat in one direction or another. (Perception check is 10) 

“You can do this, you were born to do this,” Illyria whispers to herself. “Ugh. It’s dark as shit out here.” Slowly she pans her head searching for any indication of land or a safe harbor. Unsurprisingly she fails to locate a haven.

Len’s back aches due to her frequent rough descents from the mast’s ladder toward the deck. She eyes the still furrowed sail with sheer determination before biting her cheek and reaching for the crossbow nestled at her side. 

An idea comes to her, almost as if it were whispered into her ear. A dramatic and inventive solution that she normally would need to be drunk to come up with.

Using nimble fingers she ties a rope onto the end of an arrow and loads it into the crossbow. Aiming at the crow’s nest she taps the trigger. The arrow whizzes through the air and disappears into the night. The crow’s nest remains unpenetrated. No rope is dangling to give her easy access to its unreachable heights.

“FUCK!” Len screams before refastening the crossbow to her side.

The ship tosses again in the waves and Cleis, upon hearing Len’s scream, eyes the still furled mainsail. 

Cleis is many things. A mathematician is not one of them. However, she thinks if she can just reach far enough she might be able to summon up a little magic to help. 

She ties a rope around her waist and quickly fastens the other end to the railing at the edge of the quarter deck. Leaning into the night she tips precariously over the deck below and raises her hand toward the sail. Green magic swirls through her skin once more and she casts Mage Hand toward the rope keeping the sail fastened. 

She tenses feeling the powerful magic surge through her when she hears Illyria exclaim from somewhere underneath her.

“I’m an excellent sand crafter!” Illyria says with glee as she leans closer to Len. “How much do you have? I can build entire homes out of sand you know. Seats, art, beds, anything really as long as I have the right sand. There are so many different types and all are used for different aspects of sculpting.”

Len holds up her hands as if estimating the size of the bag of sand she carries with her everywhere and begins suggesting different things Illyria could carve from it. 

Shaking her head Cleis focuses once more and urges the hand to move toward the rigging.

Illyria is holding up her fingers naming all sorts of sand she’s excelled at utilizing in a quick build when a spectral hand appears above them, slicing through the storm toward the rope. It grips the slick, woven latch and tugs. Cleis is shaking with effort and with a final pull the sail unfurls. The wind catches the cloth and the ship rights.

Talia is inspiring the crew with her prayer, Len and Illyria are still discussing the wisdom of bringing a bag of sand with one everywhere one goes and the crew are running this way and that pulling on ropes and bailing water. 

“Well done!” Captain Stormbreaker cheers. Cleis breathes a sigh of relief, unties herself and clasps the captain’s hand. “I think we might actually pull through this!” Almost as if in mockery of her optimism a swell hits the back of the ship causing all on deck to lurch in the sudden chaos. The ship sharply tips and all are tossed overboard. 

Those who survive the impromptu baptism claw their way to the surface, but the ship is nowhere in sight. 

A wave rises far above their heads and begins to rush toward them. 

Cleis takes a deep breath, Illyria teleports to her side and wraps her arms around her, squeezing the precious air from her now burning lungs. Talia mutters to the great old ones and takes a sharp breath, bracing for the impact. Len panics, glancing this why and that in the darkness when she nearly faints in relief upon seeing a white feathery head emerge nearby. Using the precious seconds she has before she’s more than likely drowned she grabs the flailing, honking body with a firm grip. 

Everything goes dark

TBC

[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.”

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 6

Sept. 16

The other creature is still fast asleep. Rummaging in her satchel Cleis tosses Len her rope and the warlock runs to its side, trident just a jiggling from its perch in her shoulder. The rest of the crew follow and the footsteps of the unseen servant plant ominously by Talia’s side as they gaze down at the now tightly bound creature (Len rolled 14 to tie it gently). 

Illyria doesn’t hesitate and whacks the fish/man/thing with his mace right on its temple (rolls a 20 to hit and a 6 damage).  

Cleis follows suit and leans down, yanking her dagger from her boot (rolls a 18 to hit and a 7 damage). While the scaly dude is blinking from the pain of Illria’s blow Cleis stabs him between his ribs. Talia channels her inner Marcus Brutus and pulls out one of her five daggers before stabbing the pissed off sea-creature too (rolls a 16 to hit and 3 damage). 

Muttering under her breath Len yanks the trident out of her shoulder — which probably should have happened earlier but hey they were in a rush — and flips it around with a scowl before thrusting it into his shoulder as a very quick dish of hot karma (rolls a 17 to hit and 2 damage). 

The deep-sea being struggles against the rope before ripping through the thick strands around his arms. Cleis felt her heart crack at the sight of her now ruined rope.

At the smell of Len’s blood the creature rages. Standing up, its eyes roll back into its head and it lunges at Len. She leans back quickly, avoiding its fangs, but was not able to dance away from its sharp claws. 

“She ran into my claws, she ran into my claws two times,” Len murmurs faintly before passing out. 

Luck was not on Len’s side that morning. 

Illyria eyed the pooling blood around their feet and frowned before carefully stepping onto a patch of clean sand. Raising her mace (rolls a 12 to hit with 3 damage) Illyria smacks it again in the face. 

Cleis unravels the whip at her side and shouts “For fucks sake why don’t you die!” 

The thin leather of the whip wraps around the wannabe mermaid’s neck and pulls it to its knees. Using her boot she braces against the creature’s back and yanks again, snapping its neck. 

The last sound it hears is Illyria shouting “For the honor of the Rose!” Which of course, it did not understand. As she’s recoiling her whip Cleis and Talia head immediately toward the chests that were lying in the sand behind them. 

Illyria, meanwhile, knelt over Len’s bleeding and dying body. She lowered her face directly above Len’s, mere centimeters separating them. 

“Do people just fawn over you?” Illyria asked softly while running the pad of her fingers down Len’s cheek. 

The Cleric casts Healing Word (rolls a 7 so Len gains 7HP). Len blinked awake and found her eyes struggling to focus on the face so close to hers. 

“All better?” Illyria asked. Len continued to stare in confusion. “Yay! OK, I’m going to go check on my precious cargo, I’ll be back.” 

Illyria then leaned back and gracefully rose to her feet before walking after Cleis. 

Len slowly sat up and blinked again before patting herself up and down searching for the now mostly healed wounds. Some still oozed and ached, but the majority of the damage had repaired. Thank the gods for magic.

“Where’s the trident?” she asked. But no one was listening.

“Oh,” she said to herself upon glancing down. It was still clenched in her fist as she had fallen with it in her grasp. “Well then where’s my bolt? I’m kind of in short supply over here.” 

So with a grunt she was up and off in search of her bloodied crossbow bolt. 

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh pt. 5

Sept. 16

Cleis — already at the front of the party — hurled a fire bolt at the creature (rolls a 22 to hit). She blames her exhaustion for what happened next (in reality this idiot rolls a 1 for damage). The fire bolt began to dissipate long before it reached the creature. A thin stream of flames licked across the side of its face, mildly singing the flesh. It growled in frustration when Talia stepped forward to take over this operation. 

Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a piece of string and a small stick of wood. Quickly she dangled the wood in front of her and began chanting something under her breath. The stick spun and spun and then a puddle of water in front of the creature splashed and two invisible objects seemed to penetrate the bank. 

Footsteps appeared in the sand as Talia’s invisible servant walked toward the sleeping creature. The footprints stopped right beside it and the trident, which was clutched in the sleeping fish-man’s hand, started to slide free. 

The trident floated through the air back toward the group. Illyria stared for a long moment before quickly writing more notes down in her notebook. 

At the distraction the scaly sea monster that was awake stared for a moment, buying the group some precious seconds. Len quickly leapt to the side and cast Eldritch Blast. (rolls an 18 to hit). Speaking a strange tongue — which sounded vaguely like a Greek chant — sparkling green light traveled down her arm before spidering out toward her fingers and coalescing into a point. A force of energy leapt from her fingertips and hurled toward the creature, crashing deep into its chest (rolls a 4 for damage). 

The green fishy being flinched in pain at the impact and snapped its pointed teeth at Len. He lifted his trident and hurled it toward the ragged crew with an angry cry. It soared, whistling through the air before embedding itself deep in Len’s shoulder. (Len takes 3 damage). 

“Fucking hell!” Len cries. 

“There’s that word again,” Illyria says in confusion. Glancing over the top of her notebook she peers over at Len, who is clutching at the shaft of the trident lodged in her now bleeding shoulder. “Someone really needs to explain what that means.”

“Now’s not the best time,” Len grits out through her clenched teeth. The creature began running toward the group, its sharp teeth glistened in the rising sun as it braces for what is sure to be an epic battle. 

Illyria hums in acceptance of Len’s loose promise and then shifts her gaze to the boulder next to them. She safely tucks her notebook away once more and gracefully swings onto the top of the large rock (rolls nat 20). 

Calmly Illyria gazes down at her shipmates, Talia and Cleis have their hands outstretched, ready to cast another spell at the rapidly approaching enemy. Len has one hand securely wrapped on the handle of the trident, the other flexed angrily at her side. She can’t seem to decide if she wants to rip it out or keep it in place. Goose is still napping, or unconscious, completely oblivious to the chaos it normally would have reveled in. 

Feigning nonchalance Illyria glanced at her nails before eying the incoming creature. Her spine straightened and her strong voice echoed across the reef commanding it the fishboy to simply “STOP!” (Spell Save of 13). Against its will the legs on the nowhere close to human sea-monstrosity slowed before coming to a final stop in the sand. 

Cleis glanced behind her and raised one brow in surprise at Illyria’s battle skills. Who knew the fancy elf would be so useful in a pinch. 

She cracked her neck and cut her eyes back toward the now frozen fish-boy. With a smirk she casts fire bolt again (rolls 21 to hit and 1 for damage). A tiny flash of flames springs forth and singes the creature’s neck. Cleis’ smirk falls and a string of curses start to roll off her tongue in a variety of languages. 

Ignoring her counterparts fit of rage Talia motions for her servant to walk toward the edge of the reef. With a final flick of her wrist it casts the trident far into the depths below where it sunk well out of reach of any of those finding harbor on the sandbar. With her full attention now firmly planted on the snarling Black Lagoon-esque being she casts Eldritch Blast (rolls a 23 to hit and 8 damage). 

A near alien tongue starts rolling from Talia’s mouth. The guttural language makes the hair on Cleis’ arms stand on end. Talia’s shadow seems to condense and then climbs, slowly, up her own leg before wrapping down her arm and pooling at the edge of her fingertip. A ball of dark energy, so black that all light seemed to absorb and disappear in its orb, masses and hurdles toward the creature. It impacts with the scaly chest and a suffocated gasp barely escapes the thin green lips. A thick tendril of blood seeps from the corner of its mouth and its left rib cage seems to slightly collapse. But it remains standing — albeit at a bit of a sag.

Fishboy jolts in fury and pain and just as it opens its mouth to roar at its attackers Len whips her crossbow out, quickly aims and unloads (rolls 19 to hit and 9 damage). Her bolt carves straight through its eye, protruding out the back of its skull. The creature falls forward, dead.