Luca Blackwell- Episode 0

Captain Blackwell slowly folded the parchment into a neat half page and gently slipped the letter back inside the envelope. He reached for his sealing wax and carefully held the wick of the small red stick over the flickering flame of his desk light.

As he waited, he listened to the woody creaks of the ship, as it flexed and stretched out its great length along the waves like a beast awaking from slumber. The Walrus was a good vessel, sleek and fast, they should make Vicetina by the third day. He wondered if he would rather the journey took a bit longer.

The letter of introduction left him ill at ease. It wasn’t like Dominic to dispatch the Iron Stars without a proper briefing.

Worse again, these were barely Iron Stars. A good group, some had proven themselves in a brawl already back in Fairharbour,  but his hold ship hands had done most of the actual sailing.

These recruits were a green and motley group ( He chuckled to himself at his inadvertent cleverness… at least two were literally green… )and he worried he wouldn’t have enough time to train them properly before their first proper fight. He reflected that a few looked like they had seen their fair share of violence, but fighting battles does not a soldier make. He didn’t want a repeat of last time. Dammit Dominic, what the hell was going on? He was much more comfortable with straight forward objectives. Drive away the bandits from here, clear out the ancient cathedral there. Simple and clean, in and out. But the world was going to shit these days and he was being thrown into the middle of it. He was arriving to Vicetina blind. He felt his heart begin to quicken and he suddenly felt very small indeed. The oppressive vastness of the ocean around him made itself known to him and Luca was becoming increasingly aware of his own breathing, sounding laboured and brittle in his ears. He was a speck now, nameless, and he wondered if the vast unknown oceans around him could somehow suffocate him simply with the pressure of too much space, just crush him like an ant through the greatness of it size and his powerless.

The wisps of smoke caught in his nostrils and brought him back to his senses. Shaking slightly, Luca slid his hand on the underside of the mahogany desk until he felt a familiar indentation. He pushed gently and caught the brass seal as it rolled from its hidden compartment. Dripping the wax over the now closed envelope he waited until the shimmering globs formed into a tiny blood red hillock, before plunging the seal down hard into the body of the wax, enjoying the squelch it made as it billowed, swelled and hardened around the seal. He removed the seal and looked down proudly at his handiwork. Wouldn’t have be able to tell the difference himself.

Well, he was none the wiser after his foray into amateur espionage. He knew that Lorenzo Ordelaffi was expecting them, and recruited them for an unknown reason, and for some reason Dominic hadn’t wanted to include any further details in the letter. He wondered who else would read this letter. Perhaps it was the omissions that were most significant. Perhaps Dominic knew he would read the letter. Perhaps he wanted him to.

Staring thoughtfully at the closed envelope, Luca stood up slowly and reached for his pistols lying next to the stack of yellowed maps and parchments. Sliding the ancient weapons into their leather holsters, he tightened his belt and straightened his jerkin. He began to stride towards the door.

The sunlight illuminated the tall, lean shape of the half orc at the prow,  propped against the foremast and staring and the cliffs as the slowly passed by. He had stood silently like that for many hours today. Luca sighed. He was easily the strangest orc Luca had ever met, and that was saying something.

 

He walked slowly to the half-orcs side , as the breeze picked up  and ran its salty fingers through his beard and hair, cool and refreshing and awakening his weary mind. Throkk tipped his head slightly to acknowledge the captain but otherwise remained motionless. Luca wondered why a gesture of borderline insubordination in a regular crewman felt strangely respectful from the half orc.

Luca said nothing and stared into that same distance alongside his companion. He stared unseeing at remains of the rocky , gorse topped highlands gave way to the richer, softer pastures and croplands of the northern meadows of Vicetina.

He felt the letter sit heavily in his pocket, and wondered what lay ahead.

Tanga

His wooden scabbard bounced lightly against his leather trousers, sitting empty at his hip. Tanga had refused to replace his blade. He wanted to remember everything. He had left his father’s Shotel buried to the hilt in the great beast’s throat, and he felt wielding another sword would somehow rob him of something. The memory perhaps, or maybe simply his revenge. He wasn’t ready to move on. And yet… In his dreams he saw her. Her great skull crushed beneath the Dwarves hammer, caved and broken, eyes comically askew with clumps of pink tissue oozing out of the long, scaled ears. He woke time and again, sweat-slick in the moonlight, and shivering with the cold, her laughter in his ears. The laughter of a dead thing. A laughter tinged with malice, and with pity.

What was left undone he wondered. When would he sleep again. He lay awake, motionless and clammy, and stared at the stars. They blinked and flickered subtly as they taunted him with their permeance, their eternal, distant indifference. He wondered what had become of the Rhode crew after they parted. He often thought of Varak, who had grown increasingly cheery in the days following their victory. It unsettled Tanga to see him so, the fighters wild eyes flashing every shade of green, like a passing forest while on horseback. To the Chultan, he seemed to grow ever taller and bolder with each day.

Tanga still remembered the red glowing embers of his oaken pipe as it emerged thoughtfully from the haze of sweet smoke.

“I need to leave I’m afraid Tanga. I have some…business to attend to”

The Tavern was noisy, a clatter of glasses, raucous laughter and rasping manic shawm. But the words echoed slowly through Tanga’s mind. He was right. It was over. They were no longer campaigners, no longer brothers in arms. They were now just friends. He looked to Guy, calming sipping his ale, breastplate gleaming in firelight and eyes burning with conviction. A trustworthy and true friend. But while they drank the same ale, they all sat with such different paths ahead. Tanga finished his drink in one long swing. He did not enjoy goodbyes. But he had been robbed twice with Casper, he would not be robbed again. He grabbed Varaks hand tightly, and leaned forward, touching his forehead gently off Varak’s scarred brow. He stood and grabbed Guy affectionately by the scruff of his golden curls, falling soft between his callused fingers.

“You know Varak… so do I”

******************

The waves lapped along the shore as Tanga walked the beach, picking his way through he driftwood and bleached shells. He wondered often about his old companions, breathing deeply as briny spray filled his nose, carried along the warm sandy breeze, thickened with the palm-baked  oils and the blue eucalyptoid haze from the southern mountains.

As the water washed over his bare feet, he raised his eyes he saw the crowds of Brynshander, applauding and hooting with glee as Rhode tossed another string of oily sausages into the air, only for them to vanish seconds later into his grinning mouth. Their astounded gasp chorused around him in the evening air and gently mingled with the slow crash and roll of the ocean breaking against the dark Chultan sands. He blinked back the stinging in his eyes as saw Varak’s broad shoulders heaving in the rain, slick leather sliding under glistening chainmail as he shovelled the grey-wet clay in thick sods on the tattered form of Rhode. The dragon bones shone like silver birches in the dusk as the earth slowly covered them, each spaded grunt punctuating his heartbeats.

A shadow melted from the tree line as he moved passed. Tanga eyed the swaying palms, as he silently unslung his bow. He reached over his shoulder smoothly to draw arrow, only to meet instant resistance, the feathers unmoving as he strained quietly.

“Leave it where it is” came a calm female voice behind him. She held the arrow where it was, and her mechanical advantage was complete. Tanga sighed.

Every damn time. Perhaps he needed to start wearing his quiver on his belt he wondered.

“Those are strange looking clouds to the east” the voice mused.

Tanga relaxed his grip on the arrow, knowing Gilly had the best of him. He turned to squint at the horizon, the distant sky illuminated by the setting sun to the west, throwing great arcs of crimson and citrus red across the world like a spray of rum washed blood.

“Brethren, those are remarkably sail like, as clouds go”

He counted carefully the white squares as they chopped and broke the waves in the distance. Six ships. A well-funded venture south this time. Perhaps Amn had decided to restake her claim on the timbers of Chult. Her claim on the temple-riches and secret history of Chult. Her claim on the proud peoples of Chult. Her claim on Tanga’s People.

But Tanga was their chieftain now. He had stalked the greatest quarry, and this time he would not be the hunted. The Amnite ships may crash and break across Chult like great waves, but the people of the coast were the impassable cliffs, they were the ancient rock, stretching up to the heavens to protect this land. When the wave mist falls back to earth, he will remain, standing tall amongst the ruined and broken invader.

Although he had learned a thing or two from his old friends about warfare. And cunning.

“Gilly”

He knew the silence was listening.

“You’ve stolen a lot of things over the years Gilly, of this I am certain. But tell me this brethren…. Have you ever stolen…”

The shadows drew closer. Intent. Eager. Was just a trick of the setting sun? Or some manifestation of the dark, sinister secrets of these lands ? Or presence of the brooding and unknowable Gilly? The shadows of the jungle fronds stretched slowly across the sand and the dark palmy maws chased the waters back as they retreated into the ocean.

“Have you ever stolen a man-o-war?”

 

The Kraken Society Strikes Back

“The mimic octopus… is a noble animal.” Shibol talked as they walked through the moonlit barley field “The mimic octopus is even more noble than the Pacific striped octopus, more noble than even the blanket octopus. The mimic octopus is the most noble of all the octopi, and therefore the most noble of all creatures.”

“See, I prefer to have a wider view of the octopus.” Max clutched the parcel as he followed his master. “The octopus genus is a broad one, so I’m not sure that we can conclusively say that one of them is better than the rest.”

“You are wrong acolyte. You are very wrong. The mimic octopus is the greatest, most noble of all the octopi.”

“It’s not that I disagree with you master…” Max chose his words carefully. “It’s just that I think that we should appreciate each octopus in its own way. To get a broader, more complete picture of the fair creatures.” He scratched his chin. “For example take the Pacific coconut octopus. You know of the Pacific coconut octopus? They walk along the ocean floor on two tentacles like men. They use their other six tentacles to transport fallen coconuts to their lairs. There they use the coconut shells to build massive undersea forts complete with ramparts and a moat. In their forts, they slumber. You cannot deny that the Pacific coconut octopus is also a cool type of octopus?”

“I can and I will.” Shibol shook his head. “You are too young a member of our society, acolyte. You know nothing. You do not know the octopus. If you knew the octopus — you would know that the mimic octopus is the noblest of all the creatures. You do not know this — and therefore you know nothing at all.” Continue reading “The Kraken Society Strikes Back”