For three weeks (7/15 – 8/7), the Garlic Frog, the sturdy caravel captained by Aderian, drifted over the open ocean, propelled by the fickle winds blowing from the south. The trip was uneventful, only occasionally interrupted by the sight of another ship spied in the distance heading east, no doubt carrying goods back to the heart of the empire. There were no stops on lone islands supporting intriguing towers for there were none in the vast expanse between the Western Lands and the Southern Seas.
On the eighth day of the eighth month, Slateholm showed itself on the western horizon, but between it and the Garlic Frog was a magnificent vessel of exotic and advanced design with crimson sails. Aderian recognized it as the Crimson Disgrace, that ship on which he once served as a lowly oarsman. That ship whose bow ever steered under the command of Captain Tawny, her beauty easily visible at the rail of her ship even over many yards of distance.
Her skin, a rich chocolate hue, gleamed under the sun’s brazen glare, as if polished by the salt winds of a thousand voyages. Her curly black hair, lustrous as spun obsidian, was bound in a cascade by a crimson ribbon—a slash of defiant color that fluttered like a battle pennant. Her eyes, sharp as cut sapphires, held a glint of ruthless calculation, tempered by a wry amusement that disarmed as swiftly as it unsettled. Clad in a tailored coat of sea-green velvet, adorned with silver filigree that mimicked the coiling waves, she moved with the lithe grace of a panther, her every gesture a blend of elegance and menace. A rapier, its hilt encrusted with pearls plucked from the depths of the Abyssal Reefs, hung at her side. Her voice, when she spoke, carried the cadence of a siren’s song, laced with an authority that brooked no dissent, yet her smile—rare and fleeting—hinted at a private mirth, as if she alone knew the secrets of the world’s untamed horizons. To cross her was to court ruin, for Captain Tawny was as merciless as the tempests she navigated, her beauty a beacon that lured foes to their doom.
Greetings were made as the two ships anchored beside each other, and Tawny related several items of news, in some ways a warning about the dire conditions in Slateholm. She began with a personal note about Aderian’s growth into a formidable warrior, briefly noting the how some of her crew had resented how he and three others had abandoned them for a life of adventure, a feeling she never shared.
About Slateholm, she said that although the civil war ended more than a year ago, the area around the city still groaned under its lingering effects. The mayor of Slateholm, Haldapon, levied a severe tax on the city following a failed attack on the city by the rebels. The peasants revolted and were rumored to be aided by the father of the local temple. They burned buildings in town and they opened up the nearby prison, setting many criminals free. Many of the peasants fled into the wilderness to avoid the taxes and never returned. The practice of conscripting people—especially demihumans—transformed into a slave trade, not officially allowed but tolerated by the mayor. Haldapon was a halfling who demanded a sort of phony respect, including that citizens greet each other with “Hail Haldapon” (often derisively put as “Hail Halfpint”).
She told them to expect to pay a fee for docking and disembarking, and warned them against putting up a fight over it. The town guards carried devices used to suppress unwanted behavior, rumored to kill on command, though none could say had ever witnessed in action. The citizens were wary and respected the guard.
Docking at Slateholm
They thanked Tawny for the foreknowledge, lifted anchor, and rowed into the harbor. A master greeted them as they tied off. A pair of guards stood by, watching. The harbor master was unimpressed with the elaborate title Jerker used: “His Most Exalted and Sovereign High Grand Admiral Commodore Captain-General of Tienarth’s Raiders, Dread Lord of the Seven Seas, Aderian!” Under the weary weight of turmoil and time, much fame of Tienarth’s Raiders had faded. The master demanded an oath and a fee from all who meant to disembark. Despite some initial belligerence, calmed down the intercourse by giving the oath to the empire and offering to pay the fee for five of them.
Ollie, Leveret and the sailors, all former rebels and certainly worthy of suspicion, all stayed aboard.
After the obscene ritual in honor of bureaucracy, the harbor master had little interest in making further conversation, and anyway, they soon spied Azrak loitering on the dock. They noted a conspicuous belt around his midsection, though none seemed to recognize it as a belt taken by the long-lost Roddy, plucked from a hidden compartment in the vault of Doukreg. And so it was that none of them heard the story of how Azrak managed to acquire the belt for a hefty sum paid by Roddy who decided a retirement was preferable to the endless challenges to wrestling matches the belt encouraged.
Azrak, as it happened, was in Slatelholm looking for three goblins from the tribe he ruled over. The dwarf warrior had retired from adventuring himself several years before, instead ruling as a petty lord over a filthy band of larcenous goblins. It was an odd arrangement, given a dwarf’s natural inclination to kill goblins on sight, but Azrak was never known to be typical in his choices. He explained only one of a gang of goblins he’d sent out on a robbing spree returned to the cave. This nasty fellow claimed the others had been taken by slavers intent on sending them over the ocean. It was known that a robust slave market existed in Slateholm.
The whole lot of them walked the short distance to The Dancing Toad, the alehouse they often patronized in years past who’s operator was Jolar, a portly man with curly black hair. His reputation, remembered distinctly by Ghevont, was one that inspired equal parts of unease and disgust. All this despite Jolar’s jovial manner and plentiful offers of comfort. Ghevont still held a grudge, perhaps, for the time Jolar rented his personal bed and ignored instructions sleep on the floor. Recalling this story inspired ribald jesting from the party over Jolar’s spicy, dark ale that sloshed out of handcarved wooded tankards.
Jolar remembered them well and was eager to offer refreshment and lodging. Jerker asked about his parents from many patrons in the dark inn but found little satisfaction. Many refugees from St. Orlan had come into the city and apparently disappeared into her labyrinthine streets. The best idea he heard was to search The Scar, a neighborhood in Slateholm that bore the brunt of the peasant revolt. It sheltered many buildings damaged by fire, looting and several years of harsh weather. Within this area of blight, some ignorant refugees took shelter despite warnings about ghosts. In more recent times, it was thought to hide the headquarters of a vicious slaver gang.
Searching for Jerker’s Parents
This scant information led Jerker to the conclusion that his folks had been taken by slavers, and he was desperate to find them. He imagined them being held in cages, perhaps set to ship off to toil away the rest of their lives. He hoped to locate them and buy their freedom. With the afternoon burning on, and with senses dulled by many potent pints, they marched straight into The Scar.
The first notable building they came to was the remnants of a blacksmith’s shop. A sign over the entrance still read Cinderheart Anvil. Inside, they found a shop filled with rusting tools and scrap iron. Sunlight stabbed down through soggy holes in the roof. The most unnerving aspect was the irregular ringing of hammers on iron that were heard despite the shop appearing to be completely lifeless. Presently, Aderian began a search, and when he picked up a hammer, the visage of a blacksmith appeared, glowing a translucent blue. “Get out of my shop!” it demanded. The electric touch of fear ran through each of them but passed through and dissipated. They’d each faced ghosts before.
Aderian made to produce his bone of St. Jaludi, but Ghevont bade him wait. He had a different approach in mind. He judged this spirit to be trapped between this world and the next, a soul needing release so that it could progress. A gentle method might work better. He talked to the ghost, eventually turning the conversation to one about purchasing the entire business. The ghost expressed being tired, and he warmed to the idea of trading everything for a sum of gold. He named a price, and Ghevont accepted. The ghost walked out the front door and disappeared. The gold remained, of course, and Ghevont retrieved it before Aderian could take it at the urging of the sentient pouch at his belt. Irenduel the Bag had inspired similar foolishness more than once before.
As daylight was fading, they moved deeper into blighted slums. A quiet hung in the air, and they murmured amongst themselves about not finding any people on the streets. They expected a dilapidated but serviceable neighborhood, not an abandoned ruin. Even hollering overly generous rewards produced no response.
They soon found themselves before a ruined celebration hall that was part of a larger mansion. Azrak kicked open the doors that barely hung on their hinges. Beyond was a large room with a collapsed floor. The narrow perimeter seemed to offer a way past the room, but they agreed to abandon any investigation. They returned the Dancing Toad to speak more with Jolar.
Still fixated on the idea that his parents lingered in a dank slaver jail, Jerker pressed Jolar over meeting with the slaver gang. Jolar thought he might be able to help, but he needed time. They all rested at the inn, and in the next day (8/9), Jolar had arranged a meeting with a broker who worked with the slaver gang. A meeting was planned at night, in a park. They spent the day drinking and mulling. Jerker hauled a keg of ale to The Garlic Frog for the enjoyment of the crew.
At night, they found the broker standing under a tree, encloaked in a black velvet. He was only a middleman, unable to reveal the location of the gang’s hideout, explaining that even if he could, it would surely mean his own death. Some threats of violence were offered to no effect. Eventually, Ghevont offered a sum of gold and pearl as payment to pass along the offer of a meeting. As the rest of the party walked back to The Dancing Frog, Elaria made herself invisible and followed the broker back to his home.
He lived an apartment of sorts. The elven wizard waited and watched. Her first attempt and walking into the tenement produced an exclamation from someone inside, so she waited longer. She saw several people come and go, though the broker never left. Eventually, deep into the night, she crept into the tenement and attempted knocking at each residence door. On her third attempt, she heard but did not see the broker, so that she was sure which was his room. Satisfied, she returned the inn.
Meanwhile, Ghevont and the rest of them had retired to bed. In the morning (8/10), Elaria took them to where the broker lived, and Ghevont attempted to locate the pearl he’d given over. It was not nearby. They wondered about how it could have been removed from the broker’s possession, and there were several explanations. They did not dwell upon this question. Instead, they went back into the Scar. Using location magic, Ghevont soon identified a warehouse now boarded up and fortified.
Eliminating the Slavers
Aderian kicked in the door to reveal what they expected, a slaver’s den, complete with a cage holding slaves. The gang sprawled over the floor, asleep until that moment. Without a word, Aderian and Jerker rushed in to begin bashing heads. Ghevont took a moment to identify who he suspected was the leader, a burly man waking up in his plate armor. Before he could draw his blade, the cleric had frozen him in place. Some of the bandits managed to rush out of the front door where Elaria held most of them in a magical web. One other she chased down and killed with a magic missile. Another slipped from her sight. She returned to the webbed villians and slew each of them in order.
Inside the warehouse, Aderian had killed several and Jerker had tried unsuccessfully to knock the others unconscious. Aderian broke open the cage, setting the slave free. There were three goblins who must have been part of Azrak’s band, though the dwarf had not come along this morning—he’d complained of being tired—so was unable to identify the goblins. Nate, as well, did not follow them into the Scar. When asked later, he explained he was focused on ridding St. Orlan of demons, not in killing slavers.
Jerker’s parents were not amongst the slaves. Aside from the goblins, there were three disheveled women who were gratified to be released. A search was made of the lair. Aided by the bag, they turned up a significant collection of coins and little else of value. The bag demanded Aderian’s attention, bidding him to scoop up the coins by the handful. There were 13,000 gold coins and 1,900 platinum pieces. All were struck recently.
Outside, as Elaria kept watch, a figure in a red jacket clopped up on a warhorse. He dismounted without giving more than a glance to her. Inside, he announced himself as one of the Red Jacket Rangers. He noted the destruction of the slaver gang without revealing definitive judgement. Jerker seemed to take the interchange at a request of a payoff, but the ranger seemed to satisfied to let them do as they would without asking for anything except that they clean up the mess. He left without further word.
Jerker dragged all of the bodies into the cage and slammed the door with disgust. By the time he was done, the leader of the slavers was shaking off the paralysis from Ghevont’s spell. Aderian handled him roughly, and he howled in pain over a too-tight grip. Jerker tilted back the visor of his helmet and leaned in to the captive. Sweat beaded up and ran down the slaver’s greasy face.
“I’m looking for a middle-aged blacksmith and his wife. They may have come this way perhaps two months ago. Did you take them?!?”
Confusion ran across the face of the slave master. His eyes darted about, as if he might find the answer in plain sight tucked between the dingy cobwebs of the warehouse hideout. “I…” he stammered. “I.. I.. can’t say that I have! I’ve dealt mostly in the lower races. A name! Give me a name!”
“Hubert,” Jerker said deliberately, gritting his teeth and conveying imminent violence.
“Uh…” started the slaver, to which Aderian responded with a twist of his arm. “Yow!” he exclaimed. “OK, I might know who you mean, but you must let me go!”
“You are an evil fiend,” declared Aderian, twisting the arm tighter.
“The man you seek pours ale at a place called The Quench Tub! Yes! Hubert Smith! A former blacksmith.”
With a sharp crack, the slaver slumped in Aderian’s arms. Ghevont hooked the loop at the end of his mace back to his belt hook. “We got our answer, and that poor soul’s now released. Perhaps in the next life he’ll not treat people as animals,” explained Ghevont.
“I wasn’t finished! Fetch Ollie and his ring!”
“No. He who pulls the dead back into the land of the living defies the will of the Anointed One, He who command us to shun and destroy undeath.” And before Jerker could protest further, “I will pray for the answers we seek about St. Orlan. If the lord wishes us to know more, then we will know. And about your father, confirming this sad specimen’s words is a simple matter of walking.”
It was a simple matter to find The Quench Tub, and Jerker’s father was behind the bar. The old man did his best chide his son over abandoning his home, but perhaps he was secretly relieved to know Jerker survived. “I thought you’d died.” he muttered.
End Notes
- Days
- 7/15 – 8/7 Garlic Frog sails for Slateholm
- 8/8 – 8/10 Arrival in Slateholm, destroying the slave gang
- Treasure:
- 13,000 gp
- 1,900 pp
- Combat: 3,065 xp
- Ghost 1390 xp
- Thug Leader 1300 xp
- 15 Thugs 25 xp each
- Characters (3.5 shares of 876 xp)
- Aderian (human, fight) 972 xp
- Azrak (did not go to the warehouse)
- Elaria (hireling) 438 xp
- Ghevont (human, wise) 972 xp
- Jerker (human, fight) 972 xp
- Nate (did not go to the warehouse)
- Ollie (present but only on the ship)
- The Garlic Frog (Caravel)
- Hit Points: 75/75 hardness 8
- Crew (10)/Passengers: 10/ 10
- 10 human sailors
- 3 extra human sailors
- Aderian, Jerker, Elaria, Ghevont, Nate, Ollie, Leveret
- Cargo: 54.5 of 75 tons *
- Food: 44 man/weeks
- Water: 5000 gallons
- 22 tons of sugar, 5 tons of cocoa, 5 tons of cotton
* See Ship Cargo for figuring cargo needed for goods and people