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kingtycoonAdventure Times - our Adventures happen on Tuesday nights.
When last we left – our heroes were on the very edge of unutterable doom. They’d discovered Captain Castaneda’s terrible secret – the Pickled Men – but had simultaneously driven the ship into a typhoon. Immediately upon the resumption of play the characters faced their doom with a steely, capable resolve.
Rene – the Toulousian swordsman and Esteban the Mallorcan spy immediately cast about for cover while Niklas the Svalbardian giant called upon the runes of lightning woven into his beard. As lightning arced across the deck and the already fiery pickled men spread the burning brandy-like substance that re-vivified them the other crewmen struggled to keep them belowdecks. Indeed, brave, reckless Gunnar threw himself across the hatch to keep the nightmares from overwhelming the deck. In short order Niklas and Rene had destroyed those few of the men who had made it abovedecks and were seeking some way of staunching the ever increasing blaze, all the while the waves and the storm threatened to engulf the ship.
Belowdecks the fire became unbearable for the ship’s heretofore unseen stowaway, a little mouse, who scampered to safety, slipping past the courageous Gunnar who interposed his armored body between the firey frankensteins and the top deck. As the whole scene threatened to erupt once again – the fire ignited the ship’s magazine, or perhaps the explosive brandy cache – and the resultant fireball simultaneously raised the top deck clear of the ship – making it into a kind of raft on the ocean – while launching poor Gunnar into the air – like a blazing comet in the night – he soared off into the typhoon gale.
The top-deck as raft managed to stay afloat through the night, barely, and our heroes only just managed to save themselves by tying themselves to it. Though the storm and the sea took all but the few rags they wore on their backs, it stole none of their lives and they rode the storm out in alternating shifts of waterlogged consciousness and half-drowning insensibility.
When dawn found them the deck of the Madrigal Gallows was perched upon some high rocks overlooking the crescent shaped beach that girded an unknown forest island.
They dove off their aerie and found their way to the beach where a man in a patchwork suit wandered with a cane through the morning’s supply of jetsam. The man and his dog prodded the barrel-staves and the wrecked cargoes with his cane or his peg-leg and hummed a song to himself. He gamely welcomed the survivors in a variety of languages, all inflected with his Bavarian accent. Quickly it was learned that the man would provide help and shelter in exchange for labor and the heroes were quick to pitch in, gathering the remnants of the Madrigal and some other ships besides. Meantime it transpired that the ship’s mouse escaping into the forest – re-emerged in the form of a hulking Baltic man. Kemal introduced himself, indicating that he’d been shipboard the entire time and witness to Castaneda’s wicked-science, and that he’d revealed himself to the others in order to improve all of their chances of survival.
A shape-shifter of the noble tradition of the Russians – Kemal took the form of an owl to scout the forested island – but his bestial senses recoiled at what was to be found there. The animals and plants were all somehow improper, tainted by some source. The Oaks were withered and smallish, their leaves possessing an untoward bluish tint, while the fauna was all diminished and sickly – all giving off a sense of being unwholesome to eat and dangerous to approach. The only creatures, in fact, that seemed to thrive upon the isle were the frogs – which sang with such a roaring presence that the sound of the ocean and of the wind was completely drown out by their chirrups and croaks. And all through the woodlands and marshes of the isle Kemal could see the rudiments of civilization but the babel of languages that permeated the woods were likewise twisted, no normal speech could be heard, but rather the loud and rhythmic cadences of the shouted prayers of madmen echoed on the twisted tree trunks.
Reporting back his diagnosis was confirmed by Stephan – the Bavarian – who claimed that the water of the island was polluted somehow, and that the only way to stave off madness was to drink only rainwater – of which he had a vanishing supply. After sharing the bounty of the day’s wreckage Niklas recognized Stephan as a man fitting the description of a notable ship-builder, an architect of fleets famed in the world. Asking in the halting pidgin that spanned their linguistic gulf – Niklas was able to request of Stephan that a new ship be built. Which in turn Stephan agreed to explaining – “For 7 years I have been stuck here, for one needs a crew to build a ship and a good crew to sail out of these currents- for the island is greedy for the lives of sailors. But I have seen a path in the ocean – a difficult one that will require the work of good sailors and a strong ship. If you can survive here without going mad in the time it takes me to finish a ship – why, then we will all sail out together.”
So a pledge was made and a bargain struck. In the morning the heroes set off to the island’s other beaches to gather more flotsam and gather together whatever others they could find to join their would-be crew.
In the vicinity of the beach they found a little forest, but beyond it a marsh of tall grasses, heated in the morning sun it gave off a thick fog that could barely be seen through. They wandered blindly – only barely avoiding a towering giant, barely visible in the mist, swaying and calling with the voice of 10,000 bullfrogs. The heroes skirted its position and found themselves again on a ridge of higher ground, a forest. Here the sound of the frogs dimished and they could hear, down a well trod-path the voices of men arguing:
“You are the knife of god Sonny. You are the voice of Angels Boy!” A gruff, angry man shouted, while a meek, helpless man replied “What can I do? There’s so many of them, there’s too many.” “Kill them all, strike with the vengeance of heaven Sonny!”
When the heroes came to investigate the scene the found a man and a bear, a tiny island bear, no larger than a badger – wrestling and seemingly arguing. When they made to intercede however, the menacing presence of Niklas, the Svalbardian Giant antagonized the bear and man into attacking. They were quickly cut down and the mystery of the talking bear was left unknown.
Nearby though a ramshackle town could be found – here the crazed men of the island had created what could laughably be called a society. As castaways screamed in incoherent non-languages, shambling, sickly vagabonds tried their best to keep from pawing at their faces and mumbling in a dozen different dialects while they introduced themselves to the heroes. Truly they had come upon the Island of Misfit-Misfits.
Though the people had little to nothing to offer they were not aggressive and expressed a real fear of the rest of the island – which they characterized as being full of monsters – angry clouds and fierce frog-demons that would leap down from off of the mountain to capture up anyone who dared to go alone.
Greedy Kamal, searching for valuables found that one of the huts, an honest house constructed of rock and timber and stucco that contained a finely wrought chair, a throne in fact, and seated upon the imposing thing was a pile of bones, a dessicated corpse with a crown of woven sticks and leaves – but around his neck he wore a piece of jewelry – a shard of some larger piece, made of an unknown material that glowed eerily in the dusky interior. He snatched it for himself and said nothing to anyone.
From there it was back to the marshes while they heroes tried to find their way to the north-beach. In the tall grass once again, but this time without the menacing, encircling fog, they felt more courageous about breaking off to wander alone. Esteban, wary and calculating, set off ahead, having found a creditable track in the marsh he skulked in the reeds just at the edge of it, careful of danger. Hiding well, he was stumbled over and nearly crashed into by another man, wandering in the weeds himself. The man was covered in gold chains and jewels and upon smacking right into the sneaky Esteban, turned and fled at speed. In the ensuing chase the poor man was hunted and successfully murdered by Niklas – who will abide no-one live without his grace.
The treasure, proving to be only a collection of gold-painted beads and almost valueless trinkets, still held enough value to enchant the greedy Kamal, who snatched the man’s possessions for himself, leaving the unfortunate to be eaten by the carrion birds.
From there it was easy to find the beach – whereupon a vast hulk of a freighter seemed to be moored. The ship – or ships, as they discovered – was a collection of hulks rammed into one another and bobbing weakly on the tide. As they gathered jetsam from the several crashed ships they noted a limber figure bounding about on the high decks of the wrecks. The man seemed to signal to them to leave the beach – and he menaced them with angry gestures.
Having none of that - Esteban and Rene climbed the side of the ship and then, barely maneuvered on the shifting deck of the hulks. While Rene and the unknown captain engaged in a daring battle on the ropes and deck, poor Esteban fell down into the watery interior of the wrecks – stymied by the shifting decks – made all the more shifty by the efforts of Niklas – who, indifferent to climbing, chose instead to turn his great might to the task of rocking the boat-parts. The decks danced and the desperate melee between Rene and the Captain was joined by Kamal who relieved poor, stabbed Rene by whipping the devastated body of the Captain onto the deck – only in time for the powerful Niklas to succeed in upending the ship – nearly crushing them all – but only successfully crushing the strange captain.
From there they gathered yet more jetsam and salvage and made their way back to Stephan’s camp – heedless of darkness.
In the pale moonlight they were lost and wandered in the murk and muck of the marsh only to stumble upon the giant – but this time revealed for a hulking object made of reeds – flaming in the darkness. A group of the island madmen seemingly worshipping it as they danced around in a riotous scene. Seeking to skirt the conflagration while taking advantage of its light- the crew continued, trailblazing the grassy-marsh until out of the reeds they spotted the sewn-up eyes and mouths of one of Captain Castaneda’s Frankensteins – soon joined by another, and another. They were alarmed to see, again, the monsters with the hammers sewn into their grip – somehow, once again, coming for them in the night.
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Date: 2012-10-20 02:29 pm (UTC)The Island, Day 1
I thought the Sorte Deck had dealt me the death card for sure this time, but fate has a way of spinning in unusual directions. The cursed ship of that demented necromancer turned into a ball of flaming debris with me and the others still aboard, when the fiery undead blazed out of her holds. The torrent of the ocean storm swept us survivors away and washed us up on some sort of island.
When I awoke, beaten and exhausted, I spotted a strange man, picking through the wreckage of our ship and casually murmuring to himself in Eisen, like this was a natural occurrence to him. This old man was kind to us, and offered us a fine meal if we would scrounge along his beach and give him the best of what was found. The Montaigne told me that this old man was some kind of famous ship maker, but I am hesitant to believe that I am that lucky to have washed ashore next to a man who could build me a way off of this place; but like I said, fate has a funny way about her.
Some of the crew hurried into the islands center, but I find myself among most of the original members; the Vestenmannavnjarn, who has been giving me the "mean mug", the Montaigne, and the armored Eisen, who has been unconscious since landing on the island. A very unusual member is an Ussuran stowaway with the powers of animal transformation. He seems civil enough, but has a look in his eyes that I have seen among cutpurses and muggers during my time infiltrating the Barcelona street gangs. Come to think of it, a similar beast know as the "naked bastard" was said to roam those same dark streets, with features matching our new guest.
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Date: 2012-10-20 02:30 pm (UTC)We awoke and came to the decision to take the old man up on his proposition to collect supplies for him from across the island; in the hope that he will help us craft a vessel to leave this place. He speaks of the inland as an unholy place that will drive sailors mad when they drink from its waters. I find this to be very unlikely, but just the same, I will not take a chance and return before drinking those waters becomes necessary. We entered island center and walked along a beaten trail, which seems odd to me, that so many have found there way to this island that the trails are used so much, but then we found ourselves in the marsh.
An ominous fog had lifted as the grass became taller. Taking point, I noticed a tall figure, maybe even some kind of giant, swaying back and forth in the grasses. The others and I thought it best to avoid this sinister being and kept a distance as we passed. We then came into a clearing, where a strange sight was developing indeed. A man was crouched next to some kind of strange bear, performing some kind of play between himself and the bear. Though I have seen the arts of drama and ventriloquism before, this play was extremely unusual and only to the benefit of himself and possibly his bear companion. When the Vestenmannavnjarn approached the man's "sacred site" he went insane and attacked, a sad and miserable mistake on his part, because between the Northman's fishing hook and the Montaigne's newly acquired pistol, the man and his bear never stood a chance. There was a "putting out of misery" display afterwards that I found quite distasteful and makes me watch my back around these fellows even more.
After the clearing we found ourselves in an even more peculiar setting. It seems that a small town of shacks has been built, which is home to a crew of Avalonians who have all gone mad by the looks of them. I saw the Ussuran walk out of one of the shacks with a weird medallion around his neck, but he seems to be acquiring more and more trinkets as the day goes by, maybe this makes his stay here more comfortable. I will watch my belongings around him. The next part of our journey was just as strange as the first part. As I was walking ahead of the others, I noticed a man laden with jewels. A man so burden with treasure would be the perfect source of information about the locations of the supplies we needed, so I decided to subdue him quickly and quietly. I took my chance and scored two fast hits to his midsection, but before I could finish my moves, the quick bastard took off for his life. The others and I made chase through the underbrush where we caught up to him. Before I could begin to question him the blood frenzied Vestenmannavnjarn fish hooked this one too! I have never seen such atrocities, even in the fighting pits of Madrid.
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Date: 2012-10-20 02:30 pm (UTC)We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering what we could find on the beach and we will make our way back to the old man's camp before dark. I hope nothing else befalls us on our way back, I doubt the others have another battle in them.
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Date: 2012-10-20 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-10-20 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-20 05:01 pm (UTC)As someone who in life has spent considerable time in places haunted by crackheads where I aughtn't have gone - I can tell you - being sneaky is a bad strategy. You're gonna sneak up on someone and then it's bad news all around.
My dungeoneering strategy has come to reflect this - I shout through doors and announce myself. "We're coming in there so just calm down - don't anyone try anything!" The other players don't always like this but it's fine if you don't mind talking to orcs.
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Date: 2012-10-20 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-10-20 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-20 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-20 03:30 pm (UTC)