Prelude - Making Waves

[loren]

The stockade buzzes with activity the day after the Merchant Princes' arrival.  Hiring for miners has been frozen, and guards are being shifted towards the mine.  All work has stopped following the inspection tour by the Merchant Prince.  Rumors run rampant through the town, some speak of a shaft cave-in, others that a buried plague was uncovered from a terrible blight from aeons ago, some whisper that a gold vein was found amongst the zinc ore.  At the Barking Spider guards pile in to escape the heat and toss back a few cold beers before they return to their barracks. 

Soon they begin to talk boisterously, "That Company man, did you see the iron in his eyes!  I swear, he nearly had Gerol pissing himself when he caught him dozing.  I heard he's been sent to the kitchens as a dish-washer.  Do the same to you if he catches you!"  The Guards mate laughs loudly, "You know, we're all better off for that.  I once saw Gerol drop his practice sword while picking up his shield.  To think they ever took him as a guard.  Those Southerners, they're all lazy and soft."  "Not all of them," his companion counters, "I saw Beran nearly run a man through with his practice blade the other day.  Hit the poor sap so hard he broke a few ribs!  They say Beran used to be a Sergeant in the army.  Wonder what noble whore-son he pissed off that he felt he should move north."

In another corner of the public house another group of guards talk in furtive whispers occasionally glancing about.  They are covered in road dust, and something clearly has them spooked.  One of them leaves out the back door while the others stay behind.

[loren]

As night sets in rumors persist about activity around the mines.  Two ships have anchored outside the harbor, one flies the flag of the Dragons Flame sect, a powerful religious order that employs hundreds of witch hunters in the civilized south.  The other appears to be a large flyut come to trade.  It flies the flag of a southern city-state, but careful observers would note that the men aboard are too fair skinned to have come from such a city-state.  Neither ship sent in any longboats, nor sent any messages by semaphore.

Throughout the night an uneasy quiet fills the streets.  Arrests have risen and many would be trouble makers rot in the prisons.  As dawn breaks on the new day a pair of plague riddled corpses are found in the trading square formed by High and Bellflower.  Both bodies wear the simple tunics of the miners, grit covered and dirty.  None of the street rats have dared step close to the bodies lest they themselves get sick.

Pestilence has occasionally swept through the colonies, and fear of it runs deep in the populace.  As the news spreads of a potential outbreak, the guards move quickly to secure the town gates.

[Nathan]

Anton sat at his desk on board the Dragon's Song, its great flag of the Dragons Flame fluttering in the breeze. He had spent the last few hours since arriving getting acclimatised to the climate of this new land but now he wished he hadn't, a bird had dropped a report from his contact on the land and reported of two dead men. This set his blood running, he knew that such a death must be down to one thing: black magic. He must start investigating immediately so that no more innocent souls can be tainted by this blight. By the Gods he swore that those spellcasters would have their insides strewn across the land if he found them - and he would find them, of that he was certain.

[Forbes Family]

Word had made it's way back to the Blind Pig that there was trouble in town. And it was not the sort of trouble that they were known for causing. Some of the newer members to the organization had been arrested and there seemed to be quite a change in the attitudes of the guards. Where prior they may have looked the other way now they were being hard nosed. There was also rumor that the new Merchant Prince had arrived. Could this be the reason for the guards acting the way they were?

There was nothing strange about the trade ship but he was a bit more worrisome about the Dragon's Song. He had narrowly escaped the sect ages ago when he was but a boy by stowing away in a ship that brought him here. It was only through his talents that he was able to coerce the captain into hiring him instead of throwing him overboard when he was eventually captured. As he sat in his chair stroking his beard he thought to himself that it felt like an eternity, a past life. Since arriving he had built his organization using coercion but he had become known enough in certain circles that it was hardly necessary any more. People came to him looking for employment.

The other thing settling on his mind were the two deaths in the street. Granted there were accidents in the mine. Or the occasional tavern fight that got out of hand. However in this case it didn't seem like either. Instead it seemed that they just died and nobody knew why. Rumors were circulating that it was the plague. But not even the grave diggers would touch the bodies for fear that they would catch it themselves. And so the bodies stayed in the street rotting. This caused panick throughout his organization. The pickpockets didn't want to steal money for fear that touching someone would make them sick. The thugs would only use intimidation to extract protection money from the small shops and the whores. All except the extremely desperate had closed their legs until they could be sure that they would not die.

This was more concerning to him than the Dragon Flames. He was far stronger now than he was at the age of seven when he escaped them the first time. But everything he had worked for. Everything he had built over the last 15 years was falling apart. Something had to be done but he wouldn't be able to do much while the Flames were around.

[Forbes Family]

The earth shuddered beneath him and some books fell off the shelves in the back room of the Blind Pig. At the first feel of tremors he cursed.

Blasted idiots! This will bring more of those Dragon fools to town to hunt us.

After the tremors stopped he changed into some pants and a tunic so that he wouldn't stick out and grabbed one of his thugs before slipping out of the Pig. It was evening but the sky was not dark yet. He would be able to see the ship when he got to the Docks. He could hear the people talking about the shake as he made his way. They were quite scared. Dead bodies, shaking earth. What next?

When they arrived at the docks he made out which ship was the Dragons Song and waited. He waited until the sky was dark and the watch lanterns were lit. Looking around to make sure nobody was near he looked out to the ship once again and focused his attention on one of the lanterns nearest the sails.

Demons from below make that fire grow!

ooc: spell [3,5,2 fire, growth?] not sure if I'm doing this part right but my intent is to enlarge the already existing flame to catch the ship on fire and burn it to a crisp.

[Nathan]

"Fire!" Came a shout from the deck, followed by orders being bellowed about putting it out, saving various things.

Oddly it seemed the crew had forgotten about Anton until he emerged from his cabin. "The ship just caught fire sir!" a sailor said, before throwing water over an ever growing fire. But ships don't just catch fire, there had to be someone around - a damn spellcaster. Anton's training kicked in, look for the culprit before saving yourself because if you don't, they won't miss next time. Running towards the port side the flames roared greatly around him, burning Anton's left side. Then he saw him, a lone figure on the docks.

Anton grabbed a cutlass from a passing sailor and then jumped into the sea, his robes flapping as he fell. Then the cold and harsh bite of the sea hit. But Anton didn't care, he was blind with rage, all he cared about was reaching the shore and catching the spellcaster!

[OOC: Do we have derogatory names for spellcasters? I can't for the life of me think of anything.]

[Iltaran]

Plague was the great leveller, striking terror into every soul from the most pathetic savages in the north to the mightiest princes of south. Plague could not be bargained with, not threatened, not bribed, not fled from. Entire neighbourhoods might be struck down, yet others a mere street away would go untouched. Parents would turn against their children, wives against there husbands, all in a vain effort to escape from the death they could not understand. There was nothing that man feared quite as much as plague, save for Devilry of course. Even then, the similarities between the two let many to believe that the great sicknesses were but symptoms of worse evils. A lifetime of war had left Raelwyn inured to most horrors, but even he had to fight to supress a shudder of fear as rumour gripped the town.

The Drowned Shark was scarcely more than a block from the docks of Soupat; close enough that the stink of dead fish gave an extra pungence to the usual cheap tavern odour of vomit and piss. The beer was watered down, the vermin ubiquitous, the whores dirty and the fights bloody. But even the drunkest mobs of dockworkers and sailors somehow avoided him and Raelwyn had lived through worse. Besides, the deeper irony he felt behind the dive's name appealed to him. He sat alone in a corner, idly running a thumb over the plain metal bracelet on his left wrist, comforted by the familiar feel of the marks engraved into it.  The mention of bodies lying in the street and the whispers of pestilence had subdued even the Shark's crowd. More than one ship would sail early Raelwyn suspected.

When the shouting began outside it seemed certain that the worst had come to pass and plague had been confirmed. Even when the cry of fire went up, most thought the two calamities were linked; burning the homes of the diseased was a radical measure, but far from a rare one. If anything though, the panic was even greater when the news that a ship was on fire broke. The seamen, those with the most to lose, were out first, followed by the dockworkers and whores. Even amongst the the locals though, the nervousness only left when it became clear there was no chance of the flames spreading into the city. Only once it was clear that misfortune had befallen someone else entirely did the atmosphere change, becoming almost festive as the folk of Saupot strained to see the tiny figures scuttle about desperately, backlit by the very flames that they fought. The sailors amongst the crowd cursed their unlucky brethren as fools, for taking care around flames was an iron rule beaten into every one of them. When the mob realized that was the vessel of the Dragon Flame that burned they were split; some fearing the dark arts, others happy to see the harsh witchhunters laid low.  Someone even thought they saw a man leap overboard.

Amongst it all, Raelwyn slipped through the crowd, eyes not on the burning ship, but on the men and women around him.

[OOC: Witch? Sorcerer? Abomination? I imagine that for southerners, virtually all terms for spellcasters are used in a derogatory way.]

[Forbes Family]

He watched to make sure that the fire had caught. Shouts rang out about the fire and a great mob began to appear. A small grin crossed his face as he slipped back through the crowed and made his way back to the Blind Pig.

After arriving at the tavern he made his way to the back room and collapsed exhausted. He would need sleep after the energy he used to cast that spell.

[Zane]

As the fire spread on the ship, the ever-present rats aboard do what rats have done since men learned to sail - they scramble over the rail and begin to swim for shore.  Hidden between the pilings below a dock, Mirwin croons quietly to them,  "Come to me my children ... come to me ... yesss ... more ..." as he reaches out to their tiny little minds [2,3,2,mind], enticing them into the huge basket sitting on the rocks next to him.  The filthy young man doesn't seem to notice the foul harbor water sloshing over his bare feet and wetting the bottom of his beggar's rags - it was still cleaner than he was, anyway.  His matted brown hair and scraggly beard frames pale blue eyes burning with the intensity of a zealot.

Mirwin had placed an old moldy loaf of bread in the bottom of the basket as an added incentive, should his mental call go unheard or unheeded.  "Come, my children," he whispers to them, "We have much work to do.  The pestilence is afoot, and we must spread it among these arrogant southerners."  Mirwin rubs his hands together in gleeful anticipation as the tiny wet forms scrabbled ashore.

[loren]

It takes several minutes for the rats to swim to shore.  Some even manage to beat the cutlass wielding Anton.  As Anton reaches the shore and the crowds swell the basket is full of rats.

[Zane]

Mirwin slaps a lid on the basket full of squirming rats, ties it down with a quick twist of frayed rope he picked up on the docks, muttering to himself, "Lucky timing, my children, that fire.  I have so many more of you now than I'd hoped to catch today!"  He looks up with alarm as the dripping wet Anton reaches the shore.  Cowering in apparent terror at the cutlass-wielding apparition, Mirwin prostrates himself and cries out, "O, great lord! I beg of you, do not take a poor beggar's dinner!"

[Nathan]

"Tell me where that abomination went!" The rage was clear in Anton's eyes, "The one who set fire to the ship."

Anton lifted his cutlass and pointed it at the basket. He didn't know what was in it, or why this... thing... cared about it, but a threat was a threat.

[Zane]

Mirwin gibbers in seeming terror, clutching the squealing basket to his chest, "I kkkknow nnnothing, mmmmm'lord! I wuz just catchin' these rats for m'dinner under thisshere dock. I heard 'em hollerin' about that fire."  He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Ya know, m'lord, methinks I heard someone run off the dock and up High street toward the market at Bellflower.  Mebbe that'd be yer 'abomination'?"

[loren]

The prelate in charge of the Dragons Flame contingent looks on bemused as Anton flies over the railing of the ship.  Uttering a prayer to the Dragons he calls upon their power while clutching at an amulet around his neck.  The flames die down as a sudden burst of moisture ridden air gusts over the ship.  In all several sailors will likely die because of their wounds, all of the rigging has been destroyed, and the mast and mizzen are severely damaged.  Perhaps the most grevious loss was that of the inquisitor trained in the arts of 'persuasion'.

The Prelate orders that the sailors remain aboard, the rest of the Dragon's Flame contingent, all 50 of them will be heading towards the shore in full battle dress.  Several spells had been felt by the Prelate over the past few days which either meant a very powerful spellcaster, or several lesser ones.  He only hoped it was the latter, it might mean his death if were the former.

If Anton found their attacker so be it, the matter of the plague interested the Prelate more.  Bodies found on the street in the morning were always a curiosity, more so in a busy square.

[Zane]

Mirwin slowly backs away from Anton and deeper into the darkness under the dock, all the while thinking hard at him, "The beggar is uninteresting. The beggar is harmless. Forget the beggar." [2,2,2,mind]

(OOC: if he succeeds, Mirwin scampers off into a back alley to hide)