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Turn 176.0: The Great River

Posted: 4/23/02

Elloharin shudders in the dampness of the holy place. Elven holy places have a distinctly different bent. They tend to be at natural wonders--waterfalls, great canyons, plateaus or other geological nexi. Elven gardens are holy places, a unity between structure and nature, form and wilderness. El closes his eyes suddenly, pierced by the memory of the family shrine at Allehandjra. The great spires of quartz struck through with veins of gold, signs of the families wealth. The great cypress trees framing the grove at the center of the estate. He remembers his sister, Cyra, kneeling before the central spire, her hands glowing as the monoliths moan with power.

El is too shaken by memory to respond to the priest's words. Instead, he trembles and sways in the holy place, trying to recall his past.

The Cahnrendhurian cleric focuses his eyes on Canter, narrowing them. "And most never return!!" The word "never" continues to echo throughout the temple. "Cahrendhur's fleet stops most indolent captains who would set course for the islands, though admittedly some manage to get past. The fleet stops them...for their own protection!"

"Protection from what? Pirates?" Emma finally joins in, attempting to pass herself off as a traveling and somewhat sheltered noblewoman in need of enlightenment, "I'm afraid my father prefers that I study the social graces more than the geography and dangers that surround fair Caerloon. What can you tell us of the island's legends, kind sir? For we've booked passage upon a vessel and when consulting a map the name of "Vile" caught our attention, of course. Hopefully, our captain will know to steer well away from the place, but if a storm should arise and we somehow get swept ashore, it would do well for us if we knew what awaited. Don't you think?"

Crayne closes his eyes for a small moment whilst Emma tries her best to calm the priest. The cleric's reaction frightened Crayne. He noticed the fear in the cleric's eyes as soon as he mentioned the Islands of Vile. It was a similar reaction to that of Captain Noran, but much worse. He then acknowledged the cleric's words regarding Cahrendur's fleet restraining ships from heading for the Islands of Vile. He hoped that Cahrendur would not hinder their journey to the Islands in any way.

"Indeed!" Crayne backs Emma up, "We will venture near the islands on our journey. So much mystery seems to surround the islands and it always had intrigued why this is the case. Please, cleric, tell us more as to why you would react in such a manner when we mentioned the islands. We will then leave you alone and let you go about your business. Although I would not let you go before giving Cahrendhur a small donation," Crayne says, bowing his head and smiling.

The cleric looks to Crayne and Emma, then notices the five gold pieces in Crayne's hand. He reaches for it slowly, but Crayne holds the coins tightly, waiting for an answer. The cleric's eyes slowly rise from the coins to Crayne's face. Then he looks to Emma, nodding slowly in response to her plea. Finally, he begins to speak: "I can tell you this: A great tragedy happened on the Islands of Vile. Millenia ago, the islands were the site of a godly clash, which devastated the small green patches they are. Foolishly, the priests of Cahrendhur thought that they could return to the cursed islands two hundred fifty years ago, and build a fortress there, and a shipyard from which to set sail across the sea, which was then unknown. For forty years they built, and on the forty-first the men began to die. As if a plague had struck. They grew mad, loosing the ability to tell the real from the unreal. They say only one man was unaffected in the remaining nine years before the islands were abandoned. That man was the resident wizard.

"So you see, my fair travelers, that we must restrain all who would venture to the Islands of Vile. For should they return, they could bring back with them the very madness that infested the fortress there, bringing insanity and death to all of Caerloon!"

For a moment there is silence. Then, Crayne nods slowly, letting go of the gold coins. From a corner of the sanctuary, someone clears his throat, and the cleric looks up, turning. "Just a moment..." Returning his gaze to the party, he says, "I must go now. But heed the warning. Save yourselves! Do not go to the Islands of Vile!"

"What kind of a thief are you, Mouser?!" Puls reacts angrily. "Can you do this simple job and come with me and my men on this adventure? Or are you just wasting my time?!?!"

Hannibal shook his head, angered that he allowed himself to be fooled like this. 'What did you expect Hannibal,' he thought inwardly. 'Fame, fortune? Those things do not exist in the lives of thieves, not real thieves anyway.'

Turning to Storm he nodded for the stout to lead the way off the roof. He was not about to go back down this road, not after struggling so hard to get away from it. As Storm headed for the edge Hannibal leaned in close to Puls and gave him a once over, a disgusted sneer on his face.

"I thought you were talent man; you're just a thug. Any punk kid can kill a man and take his stuff...you, you're nothing but a flat foot." Hatred fueled Hannibal's words now, his past sneaking up on him again and reminding Hannibal of the life he had once lead. He hated those people now, even more than before. Emma and Skandor must be wearing off on him.

To Puls Hannibal increased the heat, digging at the man and insulting him on every level he could. "I suggest you stay home, don't bother with this little treasure hunt of yours. You're not good enough to pull off robbing a fat man without a blade and I couldn't see you fighting your way out of a wet paper sack even if you did know where the Marco switch was."

Hannibal let his eyes wander down to the street below. He saw a scene, blurry with years gone past, of two men knifing a shop keep to death because he couldn't pay his 'security payment.' The man's wife and children looked on in horror from the upstairs window. Tears burned Hannibal's eyes but not real tears, they were tears of the past. Hannibal's eyes narrowed and he leveled them on Puls one last time. Poking the man softly but firmly in the chest the warrior thief smiled a wicked, 'I dare you smile.'

"Stay out of my way whelp or I will teach you what true steel feels like."

Hannibal rose and backed away from the thief, not willing to turn his back on the man even for a moment. Hannibal should never have come here, and he would never doubt the advice of his friends again.

As they leave, Puls breathes heavily, fuming. "You're a dead man, Mouser!" He says loudly, his voice carrying across the rooftop. "You hear me?! Don't ever set foot in Cahren again! Every one of my men will spot you and run you through!"

But Hannibal doesn't listen. When he and Storm reach the street and are a safe distance away, Hannibal mutters to Storm, "Sorry about that. Next time I get a fly in my britches just take me out and get me drunk." He punched the stout lightly on the shoulder and grinned. "Let's go get the others and find that damn ring!"

Arriving back at the tavern and finding the others there having some dinner, Hannibal smiles at everyone and acts as if he had just gone on a stroll or something. "Did I miss much? Sorry, had to take care of some business before we set out."

"Well, I'm glad you're back," Emma replies, smiling and pulling up another chair. Canter grabs one for Storm as well. "Care to know what we found out?"

"Sure," Hannibal says, glad that she didn't ask about his activities for the day. Of course, those questions would surely come later...

"We went to the temple of Cahrendhur..." Emma begins.

"It was my idea," Crayne says, smiling. "A good one, too!"

Emma nods, chuckling. "Well, it was entertaining, if not exactly informative, Crayne."

Skandor smiles, "A bit of a history lesson, too."

"More like a ghost story," Canter says.

"Gentlemen, let me tell the story!" Emma says, smiling to the others, enjoying the camaraderie. Returning to Hannibal, she continues, relaying what the cleric of Cahrendhur said about the Islands of Vile.

When she finishes, Hannibal responds, "Sounds like this little adventure will be easy as finding an Orc 'cross the river Sinele." This elicits laughter all around the table, and the jokes continue late into the night.

In the morning, the reunited Rinder's Six strolls down to the pier, finding Captain Noran and his ship, the Great River. The rising sun is just beginning to peek over the darkened water on the horizon. Noran smiles and welcomes the group aboard, introducing a few of his sailors while giving a brief tour of the ship. The Great River is a moderately sized vessel, probably about seventy-five feet long from bow to stern. There is a lot of deck space aft, which is filled with nets, lines (ropes), and other equipment obviously related to the fishing busines. Closer to the forward part of the deck is a structure, offering some shelter from nasty weather as well as leading to the decks and holds down below.

The ship rocks gently as Noran leads the group below decks. They pass through a small galley and dining area, then arrive at two cramped sleeping spaces. "The trip'll last through the night. Providing we don't run into any trouble on the way, I should have you at the islands by noon on the morrow."

"Trouble?" Hannibal asks.

"Yeah," Noran replies, looking Hannibal over. "You weren't with them yesterday were you?"

"Uh, no."

"Yeah, well. This ain't exactly a simple trip. There's lots of folk who don't like to see people trekking off to the Islands of Vile. So there's risks involved in this passage. That's why I have to charge ya more. Speaking of which..."

There's an awkward silence, and then people get the hint and start coughing up payment: 20 gp each.

Soon they set sail, slowly making their way out of the harbor. The city of Cahren looms on the shoreline, an impressive metropolis with the tall towers of the castle peering out of the city's center. The sun continues its ascent, growing hotter and stronger. The sailors shed layers as the temperature rises and they begin their work, organizing the large, heavy nets and positioning them overboard. On top of the deck structure, Noran stands at the wheel, every so often looking up at his tall mast and sails, and looking down at his crew and passengers.

Rinder's Six sits together at the bow, looking out on the water. They've faired well in their first adventure "on the high seas." Crayne only vomited twice, and Storm's green coloring is beginning to fade. Of everyone, Emma seems the steadiest, which doesn't come as a surprise considering her upbringing in another coastal area, Seden. They are mostly just enjoying the breeze and the sun, and the chance to relax before once again heading into the fray, surely some life-threatening situation in a far-off, unknown land.

There are many other ships also out on the waters this day. None of Rinder's Six can tell what the ships are doing, but Emma's guess is that they are also fishing boats. That is, with the exception of one, which clearly has the flag of Caerloon painted on its huge, white sail, as well as spaces along the side of the hull, presumably for some kind of weapon. "Cannons," Emma explains. "I've never seen them up close, and never actually seen them used. But according to a book I read once, they can be deadly...if you can aim them well enough to hit the enemy's ship."

The Great River continues its journey, and the ocean seems to stretch endlessly in front of her. There are no dots of land, no islands to be seen. But Captain Noran seems to know where he's going. By mid-afternoon the collection of various fishes begins to accumulate on the aft deck, the smell of the sea wafting forward. Not exactly the most pleasant smell, but Storm assures the group that he's smelled worse.

By late afternoon, Noran invites Rinder's Six to stand with him at the wheel, where he invites each to try their hand steering the ship. As he finishes his invitation, he looks aft, peering at the Caerloon-flagged ship. He lets out a sigh.

"Trouble?" Hannibal asks.

"Maybe," Noran replies. "It's not uncommon to see the Caerloon Fleet, or a Cahrendhurian ship--heck, lately they've become one and the same--out on these waters. But he's definitely turned to follow us. Let's see if he says on our course."

Emma squints in the setting sunlight as she looks for the Caerloon ship. "And if he does?"

"Then we have trouble," Noran replies.

"What do we do about that, good captain?" Crayne asks. He looks at the Caerloon ship as well, figuring it's probably two- to three-hundred yards behind.

"Well, we can do a couple of things. I can try to out-run him, though I'm not sure if we can do that--his is a fast ship. But the other purpose to speeding up is that we can get to the islands sooner, though it will eliminate my ability to finish up the night's catch. Still, once we're close, I can put you folk in a row boat and you can finish the trip yourselves. Under cover of darkness, even with a powerful lantern like they often have on those things he probably won't notice ya if you slip off toward the islands. He's likely to keep following me. The other choice is we can change course, make it seem like we're headed somewhere else. Then maybe he'll back off. But that'll cost us time. And you folks seemed to be in quite a rush."

Noran leans over and grasps Skandor's arm musle. "How do you feel about a little rowing exercise tonight, heh? You ever row before, big fella? I tend to doubt the dwarf has..."

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