As instructed, you arrive at the docks to find the ship called The Midnight Sky moored at the quay. When you hail the ship, a tall, thin man wearing a blue robe checks your name off against a list, before waving you aboard and asking you to move down towards the bow.
You watch as the crew struggle to load a horse and 4 mules into the hold. The horse goes fairly quietly, attended by a young woman but the mules are obstinate and struggle, but a man with coffee coloured skin and bright clothing hangs around arguing with the sailors and trying to calm the animals. Eventually they are loaded, and are followed by a pile of tents, carrying panniers for the mules and various sacks and packages of goods.
As this is going on, you look around at your companions, and wonder at the group you will be travelling with:
A man wearing furs, with spiky white hair and a thick blue band across his face, who carries an exceedingly large sword. The young woman with the horse, now attending to a suit of chain armour, a shield and lance. A halfling in a smock, and broad hat, juggling with what look like 4 lead sling bullets. The man who helped load the mules, who seems to be adjusting a sword belt, which carries a cutlass and a strange looking dagger. A slight young man with studious looks uncomfortable in what is, obviously, a brand new leather coat. A willowy woman, with long braided auburn hair and a green dress with silver trim, who looks slightly uncomfortable aboard ship. A thin man in a robe, with a large red bead and braided hair, who’s face bears a number of scars, from who knows where. The Gnome leaning nonchalantly against the rail. And lastly, the tall man in leather armour with a large sword and his hair tied back by a leather thong.
After the livestock and goods have been loaded the man in blue, who seems to be the captain, comes forward and asks if you would like any of your gear stowed in the hold, and instructs one of the crew to assist with the stowage. As this is going on you realise that the crew are casting off, and the ship is starting to move away from the dock.
The tall, lanky Norseman (wearing STUDDED leather armor) greets the man in blue, his voice a pleasant bass. "Rolf Leifson" he says, the pale, almost white ponytail flutters in the ocean breeze. Adjusting the massive sword and stave across his back, he boards the boat. His heavily furred boots barely raise a sound from the deck as he makes his way to the bow. Putting his back to the waves, he quietly studies his fellow travelers, paying special attention to the weapons and the lady with the horse. Asked by the man in blue if he wishes to stow any of his belongings, he politely refuses.
The auburn-haired woman nods at the captain, beginning to answer him in soft Gaelic, then switching quickly to accented Common. "All I have is this bag," she states, holding up her small backpack. "My thanks. " Her face is pale as she watches the crew cast the ship adrift to its journey. She manages a smile as the crewmember who takes the bag, then quickly turns to watch the water, her thin hands clenched hard on the rail. It is apparent to all that she relishes little the ocean part of this voyage.
Callum looks around as he senses the motion of the ship, still unsure about all this foul tasting water. The burns of the mountains were rarely too deep to wade, and the cold lochans of meltwater in the high corries were deep, but a strong throw would put a fist-sized stone on the other side. This was new and strange. Nowhere solid to stand and fight, all these ropes to get in the way of a solid swing of your sword.
"All strange" he thought. These people, with their halls the size of whole villages and their strange gods and strange accents, and this "ship". Still, they were courteous enough, in their way, and had offered him bed and food, so at least they could be trusted not to murder him in his sleep.
He looked at his companions, trying to identify their purposes. Perhaps they too would be journeying into the wilds, though they seem a strange assortment. The woman in the iron armour, which makes her shine like a fish - weird to see a woman warrior, like the legends of Maébh come to life - but who can fight carrying all that metal around?. The two little ones, the gnome and halfling. Callum tried not to stare, for even he could count the number of each race he had seen. The halfling must be some kind of bard, juggling like that, but the gnome and the man in the new leather coat look like merchants or scribes, for their hands look soft, with no callouses from sword or plough. The red headed woman he knew, for she had come with him from Dingaic. She had said something, in her strange accent, about studying with the Druids but even Callum knew more of the true Gods than her, so she could not be far into her studies. The scarred man in the robe could be a warrior, but carries no real weapons, so who can say whether he came by his scars honourably. The man with the curved sword (how would you use that? he wonders) has the look of a warrior and there is no mistaking that the man with bastard sword is also a fighter. Callum wonders idly if the sword on his back is what they call a "big sword" in these parts.
The man in blue says something in the harsh tongue that these people use, but Callum doesn't catch it - his understanding of their language is still poor, so he ignores it. Making a decision, he walks over to the warrior in the leather with sword on his back and stands squarely in front of him.
"I am Callum mac Aonghas mac an Each. I have killed many Dog Heads, and one beast which was large and fierce, but I do not know what it is called. I go on a quest to kill a dragon, that I might return to my village with it's head. I would know your name, warrior, so we may fight side by side in battle, to honour the Gods".
The gnome turns from the rail as the captain asks about stowing gear below and responds in Norse, the same tongue that the captain used “If there is sufficient room in our cabins, captain, then I should prefer to keep my gear with me. Otherwise, if your men could provide a sack or a box, then there are some of the more bulky items that I could separate and store below.”
The gnome then surveys his fellow adventurers gathered on deck, noting the dress and when each speaks, the language that they use.
His eyes come last to the halfling, but it is to the halfling that he makes his first move. Walking over to the fellow he lifts his cap and bows deeply “I am Mandrake Underroot of Deep Delve and I have joined this great adventure as an interpreter of some small ability. It pains me though, that the language of our greatest friends the halflings is not one that I have learned. Perhaps if it is not too much of an imposition, you could teach me a little as we journey?”
Turning and nodding at the rest of the travellers he says with a laugh “I had though that I would be the shortest in this crew, but it appears that I have three inches or so on you. I shall have to console myself with the knowledge that I am the eldest, not difficult when the company is considered.”
Rolf looks over the approaching warrior. The torc, among other things, giving clear sign of his Celtic heritage. Rolf had never this close to other than his own Norse folk. He never understood why his uncle had insisted he learn the Gaelic tongue, but he was beginning to see a glimmer of understanding. As the man approaches, it's hard to tell if he's greeting or challenging Rolf. "Bit of both, maybe." Rolf thinks.
"I am Callum mac Aonghas mac an Each. I have killed many Dog Heads, and one beast which was large and fierce, but I do not know what it is called. I go on a quest to kill a dragon, that I might return to my village with it's head. I would know your name, warrior, so we may fight side by side in battle, to honour the Gods".
Rolf puzzles through the mans thick accent. In rusty, but fair Gaelic, he replies, "Greetings Callum. I'm Rolf, son of Leif. Should battle come at my lords order or Norns decree, I will welcome your aid."
Peter reaches up to the collar of his new coat and tries to easy the stiffness, but without success and the next few minutes are spent uncomfortably, leaning against the side rail and trying to look nonchalant, while sizing up his companions.
Most look much more suited to dangerous expeditions than he feels, which should, he suppoosed make him feel safer, but somehow it didn't. However, the Halfling looks vaguely familiar, and and one of the least warlike, which made hima good person to try and introduce himself to. But just as he starts forward, the Gnome moves up and starts and engages the Halfing in conversation, so a quick change of direction, which he hopes nobody notices, takes him to the woman clasping the rail.
"Excuse me Miss, but you seem uncomfortable. If it is the Sickness of the Sea that troubles you, I have some herbs that might help?"
Elsbeth looked up at the stranger. He was a slight fellow, obviously not a fighter- why even her beloved scimitar was more armorment than he had! Still, he had intelligence in his eyes and was being nice.
She shook her head. "My thanks, but 'tis not the sea," she admitted. "My own nervousness, I fear, doth cause my uneasiness." She faced the man, offering a hand. "I am Elsbeth Marva Treveri of the family Treveri. Since we journey together, 'tis only fitting we get to know each other. By what name are you known?"
A diminuative figure, wearing a hat with a brim broad enough to conjure the image of mushroom, strides up the dock, but stops short at the plank. Gingerly he pears over the edge as a man might look down from a cliff. Pausing, lips moving to silent words, he takes a few steps back, then slowly makes for the plank. If it was not right before their eyes it would've been incredulous, for all the world it looked like the halfling, and judging by the hairy feet halfling was the right word, was walking a tightrope. Long minutes it took to reach the ship and if truth be known, his eyes weren't open the whole time. But made it he did, turning about, he scrambled down to the deck; what may be but a step for a human can be a trail for the smaller ilk. Back and hands pressed against the solid rail, his chest heaved. It took time before he gathered enough courage to venture out onto the deck. A gnome approaches, lifts his cap and bows deeply “I am Mandrake Underroot of Deep Delve and I have joined this great adventure as an interpreter of some small ability. It pains me though, that the language of our greatest friends the halflings is not one that I have learned. Perhaps if it is not too much of an imposition, you could teach me a little as we journey?” His question is met with an affable lopsided grin that instantly told Mandrake that though he might exchange a ribald joke or two, philosophical discussion would be lost on the hobbit. Smilo reach for the gnome's hand and pumped hard. While doing so, he rotated his hand to grasp the gnome's thumb, but stops when the gnome, Mandrake doesn't respond. "Spose I could remember a word or two. Names Smilo. Smilo Underhill." The gnome turns and nods at the rest of the travellers he says with a laugh “I had though that I would be the shortest in this crew, but it appears that I have three inches or so on you. I shall have to console myself with the knowledge that I am the eldest, not difficult when the company is considered.” Smilo looks into the gnomes face like he would if he peaking through and interesting knot hole, head moving around. "You know what they say, it's not how big, but how you use it." He laughs heartedly at his own joke and slaps the gnome on the back. "I think I would call you friend, Mandrake." The halfling leans close and whispers, "we don have to work our way across or notin? This is on the up and up?"
Mandrake notes, but does not respond to, the little manoeuvre when Smilo shakes his hand.
"Spose I could remember a word or two. Names Smilo. Smilo Underhill."
“Pleased to meet you Mr Smilo Underhill.”
Smilo looks into the gnomes face like he would if he peaking through and interesting knot hole, head moving around. "You know what they say, it's not how big, but how you use it." He laughs heartedly at his own joke and slaps the gnome on the back. "I think I would call you friend, Mandrake."
Mandrake laughs heartily with his new found friend.
The halfling leans close and whispers, "we don have to work our way across or notin? This is on the up and up?"
“It’s on the up ‘n up right enough.” His expression turns serious for a while as he surveys the crowd once again “Got a feeling that we’ll have our work cut out when we reach the other side though.”
An evil smirk creeps onto Mandrake’s face as his eyes alight upon the awkward man in the new leather and the nervous young girl he is talking to. Nudging Smilo in the ribs with his elbow, Mandrake says “You seem to like a little chuckle, stand before me a minute.”
Assuming Smilo helps, then Mandrake rummages in his pack behind the Halfling (OOC: I assume that material components are being used John) and removes a parchment.
Mandrake casts ventriloquism on the man and then speaks in Gaelic in a loud whispered voice “You are so lovely to look at m’lady do not worry, I am a great hero and I will look after you.”
OOC: That’s a saving throw at –3.
OOC: of course, Mandrake waits until the man is looking away or down so that his mouth is not clearly visible to the girl.
The beautiful, armoured woman arrives at the docks and approaches The Midnight Sky. "Madelyn Thorne-Black" she states, as she approaches the gentleman in the blue robes. She watches as he crosses her name off the list in front of him, then steps aside and gestures her up the gang-plank. She slowly leads Keldon (her horse) up the plank and into the ship’s hold.
Once Keldon was settled, and she had removed his saddle and ensured that he had enough food and water for the journey, she made her way above and strolled gallantly towards the bow of the ship, taking in all around her. When asked, by the gentlemen in the blue robe, if she would like any gear storing in the hold, she thanked him for his courtesy, but politely refused.
Madelyn finds a spot at the bow, opposite a tall, lanky, white haired gentleman that she finds particularly intriguing, and sets too polishing her shield and surveying her surroundings. A short gentleman, with blonde curly hair, is looking very uncomfortable and she watches him walk over towards the gnome like character, but quickly change direction to the auburn haired lady clasping the rail. She watches the gnome like gentleman approach a halfling, bow deeply and strike up conversation. She then spies a tall, large gentleman with tattoo over the bridge of his nose, strolling towards her. He turns and places himself face to face with the gentleman opposite, and she overhears him introduce himself (in Gaelic) as Callum mac Aonghas mac an Each. She watches as the white haired gentleman eyes him up curiously and with a little hesitation introduces himself in return, as Rolf, son of Leif. It is, at this point she realises that the sun is reflecting off her shield into the face of the white haired gentleman (Rolf), seemingly causing him some discomfort. She strides across and apologises, offering her hand, she introduces herself (in reasonable Gaelic) to the two men ‘I apologise for the discomfort that I seemed to be causing you, let me introduce myself as Madelyn Thorne-Black, of The Order of the Great Saga.
As Peter turns to look towards the rear of the ship, he seems to mumble in Gaelic saying “You are so lovely to look at m’lady do not worry, I am a great hero and I will look after you.”
As he's talking to Callum, Rolf notices the approach of the striking woman in glittering chain mail. She seems a bit older than he, but not by so much. Also, the handling of the horse spoke well of her character. Speaking Gaelic a bit better than Rolf, she says, "I apologise for the discomfort that I seemed to be causing you, let me introduce myself as Madelyn Thorne-Black, of The Order of the Great Saga."
He nods greetings, "Rolf Leifson. I'm unfamiliar with your order. He pauses, letting her decide to speak further of it or not.
With Peter's apparent comment Elsbeth blushes bright red. She had hardly expected him to give a compliment, especially not in her home language while she was introducing herself! He hardly seems the hero type, she thought. Still, perhaps this was merely the custom common in his home and who was she to question it?
Still with hand outstretched, she responds. "I thank you most well for your offer, good sir. 'Tis not oft a stranger offers such. Still, I know not your name."
As Aenis sees all the others conversing amongst themselves, he hunkers down in his crimson robe and leans his back against the Crow's Nest in the center of the dock. "I prefer it this way," he continually tells himself as he beats back the cool ocean breeze with his robe. As Aenis wallows in his thoughts, he is interrupted by a blue garbed man asking him for his excess gear. "Nay," he replies in his highly educated but arrogant voice. "I would rather keep it on myself where it is _safe_." When the captain leaves, Aenis pulls his hood over his head and examines the rest of the crew, an uncertain look in his eye. OOC: Sorry I posted relatively late guys, but my roommate dropped a coke on my laptop last week and I just got it back today.
Hearing a voice by his right ear, Peter jumps a foot in the air and three feet away from Elsbeth, turning white in the process. "Its a ghost!" he stammers, while staring intently at the spot in which he had just been standing.
"Honours to your Clan, Rolf Leifson. I have a sight that we will take the heads of many enemies". Callum makes to continue, but at this point the woman in armour steps up and introduces herself. It seems that everyone here has the same strange accent. Callum grasps her hand in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist, and shakes it, introducing himself again. "You have a fine, strong grip!" he says to the woman. Up close, it is obvious that the stripe across Callum's nose is painted on, not tattooed. (OOC: That would really hurt.).
In halting Norse, Callum continues, addressing both Madelyn and Rolf. "We will be after speaking your language? It would be that I need to have the practice on me. Will you be telling me of the monster I killed while I was coming here. It was being of the shape of a man, but bigger, even, than me. And fierce it was, fierce as a wolf in a trap, and strong too. When it hit me, I flew through the air like an enemy's head in a shinty game. Many of them, I saw. Big beasties they are and all. What would you be calling them?"
Rolf nods at Callum's request that they converse in Norse. He listens carefully, working his way through the mans speech. As Callum describes his encounter with the man-beast, a dangerous glint enters Rolfs eyes. His hand, which had been placed lightly upon the rail, whitens as his grip becomes vice-like. In a voice of compressed violence, he asks, "It was in the shape of a man, but stood about 8 or 9 feet tall? Wearing poorly cured hides and wielding a massive club?"
[Assuming Callum nods or indicates assent...] "Odin's blood!" the curse seems strangely out of place for the warrior, "They are called Ogres." The way he says the words makes it sound like a curse itself. Rolf spins, facing the waters, his back to those looking onward. Both hands grip the railing, his breath heavy. After a brief time, he regains his composure and faces the others again. "My apologies. I have little liking for the beasts."
"These beasties, I see that they have harmed you! I am sorry that I cannot give you the head of the one which I fought, but I was pursued by the Dog Heads and it weighed me down" he puts his hand on Rolf's shouder, reverting to Gaidhlig. "I have seen these things and they are an evil upon the land, it may be that your task is to rid the land of them. If the Gods will I will aid you in this task."
Callum looks pointedly at the armour clad woman, and, when he is sure that Rolf does not observe, nods pointedly towards the obviously pained man and says again in Norse "He has a great task on him, you should respect what he is about".
"I now know his purpose, and I have told you mine - what are you about, Warrior Woman. What geas is upon you so harsh as to bring you away from your man and your hearth?"
When Mandrake sees the young man jump so much, he cannot contain himself, first of all there can be heard a sniggering noise coming from the little fellow as he digs Smilo in the ribs again with his elbow. The sniggering soon becomes a full belly laugh as Mandrake enjoys his own joke.
It takes a little time for Mandrake to regain his composure and he then strides towards the couple. He speaks first to the young girl, once again going through the elaborate movement of removing his hat and bowing deeply, almost touching her feet.
“Mandrake Underroot of Deep Delve, translator and illusionist, both of modest ability I’m afraid. Please accept my deepest apologies m’lady, you two looked so difficult, no that’s not the word, um awkward, yes that’s it, I just couldn’t resist. A simple ventriloquism spell and good timing can have excellent comedy effect, yes?”
After the lady introduces herself, Mandrake turns to address the gentleman and goes through the same procedure in Norse.
Kerim finally climbs onto deck, having dealt with the mules and their loads, his scarlet shirt ruffling in the wind. He sees the others, and seeing that they are busy, walks to the side of the ship. He takes a deep breath, obviously relishing the sea air and ship's movement. He looks at the ship's rigging and nods approvingly at the way the sails are set. He says something out loud, obviously to himself, "The fates are good today", and approaches the Captain to discuss something.
Peter hears the explanation to Eslbeth and starts to turn red. Before the Gnome can switch to Norse, Peter speaks in good, but slightly accented, Gaelic. “Is that what passes as good manners in your society? Frightening the life out of innocent people so that you can have a giggle? I had been taught to hold the Gnomic community in some esteem, but I may have to reconsider that view. Where did you say that you came from?”
Stifling a chuckle Mandrake responds “All I can do is offer you is my apologies and perhaps a little advice on my people and I mean no disrespect to your teachers here. We have three great loves, oh and quite a few lesser ones” he adds with a smile and a wink to the young man. “These three are the enjoyment of good food and more particularly drink, trade with our neighbours and friends and playing practical jokes on those same neighbours and friends.”
Taking the almost apology at face value and completely ignoring the wink, Peter replies, “Hurrmph, OK then, still thinks it’s very bad taste and poor manners though. Perhaps you should suggest to your tutors that they include a courtesy and manners element in the training of those Gnomes that intend to leave their own place of residence, others are less forgiving than I and would answer you with steel rather than words.”
The young woman smiles at the Gnomes explanation. As the youngest, she had often been the butt of a good joke. The other's reaction caused her to raise her hand.
"Please, be of a more forgiving nature," she interjects softly. "The little fellow was but having a good jest, mayhap at our expense, but a jest nonetheless. "I'm sure he meant no harm." She manages a stern expression. "Do remember, however, that I am on to you, and won't be so easily fooled next time."
Holding out a hand again to Peter. "Mayhap we should be meeting our other companions? T'would be prudent, since we are all to travel together." She sets a hand gently on his arm as she moves to the warrior trio. "And you've yet to tell me your name, I do believe."
Taking one step closer to Rolf, Madelyn says, ‘Rolf, you apologies are not required, I can see from your discomfort that these beasts have harmed yourself in some way and caused you great distress. I, like Callum, am prepared to fight this war with you, should you require assistance in that quest’.
Turning to Callum. With a touch of anger in her voice and holding eye contact, she says, ‘Callum, I have no man to keep me at home, or by my hearth, my reasons for being here are devised by the Church and my love is solely for the Church and my Gods. I am of The Order of the Great Saga, an integral part of the Norse Church, whose purpose is to support lawful government in troubled areas, which are under the protection of the church. If you doubt my abilities or reasons for being here, I gladly accept your challenge to prove myself worthy, or are my words suffice’
At this point she turns to Rolf and gives him a slight, knowing nod, before making eye contact again with Callum.
In response to the offers for aid, Rolf responds using his native Norse as the man had requested, "Thanks to you both, but my duty is to my lord, my tasks as he commands. Of couse, should that duty allow for the killing of those cursed beasts, I'll accept it as the boon of the gods. But I need no Ogre heads or trophies, their slaying alone suffices for me."
As attention turns to Callum's comments and Madelyn's responses, Rolf splits his attention between the two. Her mail makes an odd counterpoint to his hides and he wonders if he should intervene. The wise choice is probably to nip the dispute in the bud. He sighs, wisdom had never been his strongest suit. Besides, what better way to judge their worth? At the womans glance and nod, Rolf crosses his arms across his chest and waits.
Peter turns and walks with Elsbeth, "I am sorry," he says "my name is Peter and I, too, have often been on the wrong end of this type of, so called, humour. Generally from those of a bullying nature, and find it difficult to recognise the jest. The subject, also, is particularly sore for me, I am not a great warrior, I never have been and I never will be, but have always longed to be so. I am, instead, to accompany the party as cook and occasional medic and, perchance, to advise villagers on agricultural matters. That is my lot in life."
Elsbeth smiles, her eyes twinkling with good humor. "And why is it always a man's lot to wish to be a warrior?" She points at Callum as they draw near. "Like yon there. All a-bristle and bushy, waiting the next battle." She rolls her eyes. "You try bein' the only girl with four older brothers, all ready to be greater than the greatest! Postures and muscles, mostly 'tween the ears. Fie!"
She laughs. "Worry not that you lack what others have, Peter. Heroes come in all sizes and shapes. And the gods know, one who knows the land oft is more useful than all the grand warriors in the village. After all, I'm thinking, you cannot eat oft what a warrior leaves, can you? And would they as well?" Elsbeth looks again with interest at the exchange between the trio of fighters. "An the little fellow's joke aside, it t'wasn't one o' these big burly ones who came to offer me a mite for my stomach, was it?"
Peter smiles slightly, "Oh, the lot is my own and most of the time I am content with it. Although like most I dream of being the 'Stuff Of Legends', but still, I would feel more secure on this journey knowing I were a better warrior."
Smilo tensed as he watched Mandrake cast his spell on the human. Most folk get a bit hostile when spells are cast on them without them asking for it. Just get him alone and give him pointers on how to pleasure a woman. He'd redden to the point of bursting. Now that would be sport! And acceptable in most quarters. But it looked like things were workin out. No weapons drawn at least. "Just like you forgive the kick of a horse, you have to forgive a gnome playin tricks. Just the nature of the animal," says the halfling, walking up to Peter, Elsbeth, and Mandrake. "Names Smilo. Smilo Underhill. Pleased to make yer acquointences." He shakes hands with Peter, pumping hard then sweeps off his hat, revealing a bald spot, and kisses the hand of Elsbeth with great ceremony. His hand is hard and rough.
‘Callum, I have no man to keep me at home, or by my hearth, my reasons for being here are devised by the Church and my love is solely for the Church and my Gods. I am of The Order of the Great Saga, an integral part of the Norse church, whose purpose is to support lawful government in troubled areas, which are under the protection of the church. If you doubt my abilities or reasons for being here, I gladly accept your challenge to prove myself worthy, or are my words suffice’
Callum looks somewhat taken aback by the vehemence of the response. "Calm yourself, lass!" he replies, still maintaining eye contact. "You know for me to doubt your word does dishonour to both of us. Asides from that, I'll no' be fightin' someone I've newly met." The corners of his eyes crinkle, slightly. "Later, as may be. Would it perhaps be the strain o' humphin' all yon metal about that keeps ye so hot and bothered?"
Elsbeth smiles as the halfling kissed her hand. "Well met, Smilo," she replies. "I'll be the first to admit I've little experience with such as you or Mandrake, but the Lady knows, I'm a wee girl yet in the ways of world, especially the wild Norse lands. But as I said, I know you now."
She giggles and moves the last few steps to the trio of tense warriors. "Well now, Mr. Warder, you'll not be makin' ways with the girls if you make them bothered, with or without metal," she interjects with a smile, idly playing with the end of her long braid.
Smiling guiltily, Madelyn says ‘Callum, I apologise for being so vehement with you, but it does anger me a little that people do not take me seriously, and believe me to be in the wrong place. I apologise for suggesting that you be one of these people. I hope that we can put this behind us and start a little better’, she offers her hand as an apologetic gesture.