Three days out of Northport, on the sleek ship Bladnir, and you emerge on deck to find a cold wind and flurries of snow biting at exposed skin. As usual, thin, dark-haired Rodrico is at the helm, your Captain, one Bior Gullisson having yet to emerge from his room beneath the quarterdeck since you left port. The village of Srilkind, southern most point of the land called Holmgald, lies almost a week ahead. A week of tossing seas, bone-penetrating cold, and less than wonderful food. Not an auspicious start to your voyage, but then one can hardly expect more when traveling to a cursed land. For ten years now, most people traveling this route have been moving away from Holmgald.
Your reasons for traveling are your own, and thus far your fellow passengers have been as quiet about their reasons as you have about yours. Were it not for Rodrico, you'd hardly have had a conversation in three days at sea.
The ship heaves and salt water sprays onto the deck. Rodrico is hardly recognizable wrapped in wool and furs as he is. Ships hands move about the deck, and a few are even in the rigging, somehow managing to hold on in the cold and wet.
The door to the quarterdeck opens and for a moment a hulking shadow is framed in the doorway. Then a ruddy-faced man with a wild, continuous head and beard of brown lurches onto the deck, bellowing.
"Rodrico, lad, what are ye doin' to me ship?"
"Just a bit of weather, Captain."
"Skeppare!" Bior pulls himself up the stairs onto the quarterdeck. Despite the weather, he wears only a pair of dark, baggy trousers and a rough-spun wool shirt.
"Just a bit of weather, Skeppare," calls Rodrico as the other man approaches. He steps aside when Bior reaches the wheel and the big man begins to guide the ship himself.
"A bit o' weather now," says Bior, "but we'll be seeing ice before we reach Srilkind. Aegir take me if we don't. Whatever possessed us to set north this time o' year?"
Rodrico rubs imaginary coins between his thumb and fingers. Bior's eyes narrow. "Aye, lad, gold. But not enough to buy a new ship if this one's lost. And if we're smashed to bits on the ice, I don't reckon that coin'll float."
"I did say we should wait until spring," says Rodrico.
"And risk missing out on the gold?" Bior rubs violently at his beard. "Them merchants would've just hired another ship. No, lad, you just put yer faith in ol' Bior. I made this run when you were still in yer mama's arms."
The banter between the two continues in that fashion, but even as they talk the seas begin to calm. Soon the lack of spray on deck makes the cold almost bearable.
When the worst of the weather is past, Bior turns the wheel over to Rodrico and stomps back to his quarters, slamming the door behind him. Rodrico looks at the passengers, you among them, grinning. "Don't worry, he just hasn't had time to get in his cups yet." The first mate mimes a drinking motion with his hand. "He'll be right as rain in a few hours. May even come back on deck, now that he's had to come out once."
On that note, your fellow passengers begin to wander below deck, looking for warmth and a little breakfast. It's not a bad idea.
Days pass, and shipboard life settles into a routine. The ice the Captain predicted materializes, but the chunks aren't sizable and the crew do not seem concerned. Most of your time is spent alone, reflecting on the voyage, your destination, and the circumstances that brought you here. Until one morning, two days from port, you push back up on deck, because something is different.
The sun is shining.
((See the maps below and tell me where on the ship you wish to be to start out. You can be on deck, or anywhere below deck. such as in quarters, or in quarters beneath the fo'c'sle. In fact, you can be anywhere you like except for the Captain's quarters. Also, go ahead and relate actions, if any, you want to take aboard ship, conversations, and so on)).
Your reasons for traveling are your own, and thus far your fellow passengers have been as quiet about their reasons as you have about yours. Were it not for Rodrico, you'd hardly have had a conversation in three days at sea.
The ship heaves and salt water sprays onto the deck. Rodrico is hardly recognizable wrapped in wool and furs as he is. Ships hands move about the deck, and a few are even in the rigging, somehow managing to hold on in the cold and wet.
The door to the quarterdeck opens and for a moment a hulking shadow is framed in the doorway. Then a ruddy-faced man with a wild, continuous head and beard of brown lurches onto the deck, bellowing.
"Rodrico, lad, what are ye doin' to me ship?"
"Just a bit of weather, Captain."
"Skeppare!" Bior pulls himself up the stairs onto the quarterdeck. Despite the weather, he wears only a pair of dark, baggy trousers and a rough-spun wool shirt.
"Just a bit of weather, Skeppare," calls Rodrico as the other man approaches. He steps aside when Bior reaches the wheel and the big man begins to guide the ship himself.
"A bit o' weather now," says Bior, "but we'll be seeing ice before we reach Srilkind. Aegir take me if we don't. Whatever possessed us to set north this time o' year?"
Rodrico rubs imaginary coins between his thumb and fingers. Bior's eyes narrow. "Aye, lad, gold. But not enough to buy a new ship if this one's lost. And if we're smashed to bits on the ice, I don't reckon that coin'll float."
"I did say we should wait until spring," says Rodrico.
"And risk missing out on the gold?" Bior rubs violently at his beard. "Them merchants would've just hired another ship. No, lad, you just put yer faith in ol' Bior. I made this run when you were still in yer mama's arms."
The banter between the two continues in that fashion, but even as they talk the seas begin to calm. Soon the lack of spray on deck makes the cold almost bearable.
When the worst of the weather is past, Bior turns the wheel over to Rodrico and stomps back to his quarters, slamming the door behind him. Rodrico looks at the passengers, you among them, grinning. "Don't worry, he just hasn't had time to get in his cups yet." The first mate mimes a drinking motion with his hand. "He'll be right as rain in a few hours. May even come back on deck, now that he's had to come out once."
On that note, your fellow passengers begin to wander below deck, looking for warmth and a little breakfast. It's not a bad idea.
Days pass, and shipboard life settles into a routine. The ice the Captain predicted materializes, but the chunks aren't sizable and the crew do not seem concerned. Most of your time is spent alone, reflecting on the voyage, your destination, and the circumstances that brought you here. Until one morning, two days from port, you push back up on deck, because something is different.
The sun is shining.
((See the maps below and tell me where on the ship you wish to be to start out. You can be on deck, or anywhere below deck. such as in quarters, or in quarters beneath the fo'c'sle. In fact, you can be anywhere you like except for the Captain's quarters. Also, go ahead and relate actions, if any, you want to take aboard ship, conversations, and so on)).
Dark Lord
Mythic Scribe
Shadow Lord
