by Karen Hertzberg on Mar 21, 2006
By Orogurath
Cailag scratched his forehead and
sniffed the air. It was close, he knew. He barked and waved
his arms, signaling his companions to summon their courage.
Stormreach was near! The excitement crested and broke among them,
stirring newfound zeal as the crew surged with renewed effort.
The small, battered vessel had weathered rough seas and worse, but the
promise on the horizon was great enough to motivate the determined few
across the sea and into the bustling ports of Stormreach.
~~~
On shore, a sweating, bedraggled longshoreman assaulted the door to
Harbormaster Zin's abode. Zin! Zin! He pounded harder as his
ragged breath stuttered through clenched teeth. As the Harbormaster
opened the door, the man lunged forward in desperation, grabbing the
master by his tailored vest and pulling him close. They're here,
they're here! Gods help us, they're here. Captain, what are we to
do?!
Dislodging the sweating dockhand, the Harbormaster straightened his
clothing. He retained his cool and addressed the panicked man.
Calm down. It's true, the kobolds are crippling us and we need any
help we can get. We put a call out for adventurers; what are you
worried about?
The longshoreman gathered himself and handed an eyepiece to Zin. The
harbormaster gazed thoughtfully through the glass, smirking at the
other man's lack of composure. Suddenly his lips went slack. The
mirth drifted away and a stern frown manifested as his focus arrived at
the cause of the commotion.
Ah, shit.
~~~
In Stormreach Harbor, mighty vessels dotted the water, waiting for
their chance to dock and unload their cargo. Here and there, the sounds
of song and laughter called out to the weary ships, choruses of sailors
long awaiting the haven of a dockside tavern and the company of a good
woman. The typical cacophony was pierced by cries of fear and
chaos near dock fifteen, where four figures erupted from a sandy spot
beneath one of the massive wooden gangways. The nightmarish beings were
clad in fur and leather, and tattooed and scarred from head to
toe. The Talenta Halflings had arrived
and a tremor ran through
all of Stormreach.
Cailag Beastrider leapt from the sand onto the dock proper, muttering
something unintelligible to his crew and beckoning to them. One by one
they scaled the dock from below, snarling faces twisted in a peculiar
combination of curiosity and rage. They obviously represented a bad
stretch of trouble for everyone in the Port City.
Pigface, Gurblebag, Preston, and Cailag spent the next day savaging the
shoreline proprietors and terrifying tavern wenches until finally they
were directed to Lord Goodblade and a chance to enter the city proper.
The innkeeper of the Waveside Tavern breathed a sigh of relief as they
exited, counting himself lucky to only have a few broken tables and
scattered gnaw marks on his bar.
Goodblade reluctantly spoke with the ragtag group, wary of their
sharpened teeth and shifty eyes.
I know someone who needs a favor done. His heirloom daggers are now
protected by an undead guardsman who will not go to his rest, and he is
willing to pay for their safe return. Are you
gentlemen
up to the
task?
The one called Pigface leapt around excitedly, shrieking something
sounding like Skelebash! Skelebash! Mekill wanna thumpthump
skelebash! They barked and shook their tiny fists, until Cailag, who
appeared to be the one in charge, nodded and reiterated to his friend:
Yah yah, killkill skelebash.
Goodblade breathed a sigh of relief and handed the crypt key over,
hoping desperately he would not be held responsible for any collateral
damage. He pointed the way, and the crowd parted as four leaping,
snarling halfling raiders set off to make their way into Stormreach
history.