Dramatis Personae
Player Characters
46 Dunuvaks southwest of Nmaska
The instruments on the workbench were divided into conventional and arcane. On one end were the sextants, compasses, barometers, thermometers, and hygrometers -- devices designed to detect the subtle changes in bearing, pressure, temperature, and humidity that could herald a storm or suggest a change in the winds. On the other end were a collection of truly strange objects: gilded crystals that seemed to emit a low humming noise, a tiny cage containing an equally tiny lizard with a third eye on the top of its head, orbs filled with colored smoke that seemed to move independently of the ship’s rocking, and other bizarre sundries.
They were, by all accounts, quite well taken care of: dusted, polished, and meticulously arranged such that, despite the number of objects, the onlooker was left with a sense of order rather than clutter. Perhaps most curious of all the items was a brass pen that flitted about an open notebook in some exotic language seemingly of its own accord and a leather bound notebook whose pages turned at the appropriate time. The most discerning of observers would notice a small spider dancing atop the pen in time with the pen’s motion and upon completion of a page, hurriedly leaping from the dance floor to attach a thread of silk to the pages edge where the spider would pull and turn the notebook’s page with surprising precision.
In the corner of the room, slumped on an old stool with a bag over his head, sat Lazaryk. A dark blue mantle decorated with elaborate purple embroidery of the world’s continents and oceans was draped over his shoulders and a pair of black trousers hid his long spindly legs which ended in a pair of ancient looking leather boots. A series of pouches hung from his belt and his hands held a second brass pen and notebook. He sat motionless and silent except for the rise and fall of his chest and a quiet snoring. His grip weakened as he dozed until the pen slowly slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a thud.
With a gasp, Lazaryk jolted awake and ripped the bag off his head. His eyes were wide green orbs with pupils enlarged from the darkness of the sack and the thick round glasses that managed to cling to his nose and his hair was a wild tangle of mostly brown hair— though blonde, black, red, and white hairs seemed to weave their way through the frizzy milieu. Lazaryk shot out of his chair stumbled and fell onto his workbench, upending it and scattering the instruments across the floor.
Spitting curses, Lazaryk righted the table and fumbled with the equipment setting it back on the bench just so. After a glance at the pen and notebook Lazaryk crouched to peak below the table, fished a dead mosquito from a pouch on his belt, and began coaxing the spider toward his hand. “I’m sorry my friend, I did not mean to upset you.” he said as the spider walked onto his open palm. Gently, he placed the spider on the table and handed the morsel over. “Nothing new to report from headquarters, I’m afraid Theodore” He said to the spider as he motioned to the bag which lay on the floor. “I fell asleep again... but I’m sure you gathered that. Anyway, how have the logs looked?”
The spider flipped the notebook back several pages as Lazaryk took a sip from a nearby tankard, and nearly choked as he read the scribblings. “Were you planning on mentioning this?” Lazaryk shouted at the spider. The mage ran up the stairs to the upper deck where a crowd of sailors were gathered against the starboard gunwales. He jumped atop a box, craned his neck over the group, and saw the storm hanging over the ocean like an executioners axe above a man on the chopping block.
“By the gods...” Lazaryk thought to himself. “This was impossible: the readings were all clear and the sky should be clear as glass. The captain would not be happy, but at least he would understand. Afterall, even in the best of circumstances predicting anything in this stretch of ocean was more guesswork than Lazaryk was comfortable with.
Still, a system of this magnitude could not have gone completely undetected as it had. The only explanation was magic and thus two inconvenient facts were likely true: First, the ship they had been chasing had a mage on board, and a powerful one at that. Summoning a thunderhead from a blue sky in a matter of hours was no apprentice’s feat. And second, their quarries knew they were being chased.
The crew would probably be even more put off by these revelations than the storm, but the information might save their lives. Lazaryk just wished they didn’t have to sail directly into the storm.
The instruments on the workbench were divided into conventional and arcane. On one end were the sextants, compasses, barometers, thermometers, and hygrometers -- devices designed to detect the subtle changes in bearing, pressure, temperature, and humidity that could herald a storm or suggest a change in the winds. On the other end were a collection of truly strange objects: gilded crystals that seemed to emit a low humming noise, a tiny cage containing an equally tiny lizard with a third eye on the top of its head, orbs filled with colored smoke that seemed to move independently of the ship’s rocking, and other bizarre sundries.
They were, by all accounts, quite well taken care of: dusted, polished, and meticulously arranged such that, despite the number of objects, the onlooker was left with a sense of order rather than clutter. Perhaps most curious of all the items was a brass pen that flitted about an open notebook in some exotic language seemingly of its own accord and a leather bound notebook whose pages turned at the appropriate time. The most discerning of observers would notice a small spider dancing atop the pen in time with the pen’s motion and upon completion of a page, hurriedly leaping from the dance floor to attach a thread of silk to the pages edge where the spider would pull and turn the notebook’s page with surprising precision.
In the corner of the room, slumped on an old stool with a bag over his head, sat Lazaryk. A dark blue mantle decorated with elaborate purple embroidery of the world’s continents and oceans was draped over his shoulders and a pair of black trousers hid his long spindly legs which ended in a pair of ancient looking leather boots. A series of pouches hung from his belt and his hands held a second brass pen and notebook. He sat motionless and silent except for the rise and fall of his chest and a quiet snoring. His grip weakened as he dozed until the pen slowly slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a thud.
With a gasp, Lazaryk jolted awake and ripped the bag off his head. His eyes were wide green orbs with pupils enlarged from the darkness of the sack and the thick round glasses that managed to cling to his nose and his hair was a wild tangle of mostly brown hair— though blonde, black, red, and white hairs seemed to weave their way through the frizzy milieu. Lazaryk shot out of his chair stumbled and fell onto his workbench, upending it and scattering the instruments across the floor.
Spitting curses, Lazaryk righted the table and fumbled with the equipment setting it back on the bench just so. After a glance at the pen and notebook Lazaryk crouched to peak below the table, fished a dead mosquito from a pouch on his belt, and began coaxing the spider toward his hand. “I’m sorry my friend, I did not mean to upset you.” he said as the spider walked onto his open palm. Gently, he placed the spider on the table and handed the morsel over. “Nothing new to report from headquarters, I’m afraid Theodore” He said to the spider as he motioned to the bag which lay on the floor. “I fell asleep again... but I’m sure you gathered that. Anyway, how have the logs looked?”
The spider flipped the notebook back several pages as Lazaryk took a sip from a nearby tankard, and nearly choked as he read the scribblings. “Were you planning on mentioning this?” Lazaryk shouted at the spider. The mage ran up the stairs to the upper deck where a crowd of sailors were gathered against the starboard gunwales. He jumped atop a box, craned his neck over the group, and saw the storm hanging over the ocean like an executioners axe above a man on the chopping block.
“By the gods...” Lazaryk thought to himself. “This was impossible: the readings were all clear and the sky should be clear as glass. The captain would not be happy, but at least he would understand. Afterall, even in the best of circumstances predicting anything in this stretch of ocean was more guesswork than Lazaryk was comfortable with.
Still, a system of this magnitude could not have gone completely undetected as it had. The only explanation was magic and thus two inconvenient facts were likely true: First, the ship they had been chasing had a mage on board, and a powerful one at that. Summoning a thunderhead from a blue sky in a matter of hours was no apprentice’s feat. And second, their quarries knew they were being chased.
The crew would probably be even more put off by these revelations than the storm, but the information might save their lives. Lazaryk just wished they didn’t have to sail directly into the storm.