GURPS Banestorm PBBB narrative thread

games
82

Ranar Bolijyr

Ranar considers the shaman’s plan, which sounds good, and Morton’s question. But he doesn’t know what a Wazifi slave would look like, and isn’t particularly pleased by the idea of playing the part of a slave anyway. He’s also pretty busy driving the carriage, as fast as he can in the dark, keeping an eye open for side roads that he could turn down to lose pursuit.

“Jibril, or anyone, c-can one of you just - just pick something simple for me? Maybe a plain human coach driver from a distant land?”

He’s looking at the street, thinking to himself a route that might lose some of the guards “left down a side street, right in case they look down that street, then left to get further away, left again to get going in opposite direction, then right and left to get even further away…” He doesn’t know the city, he’s just planning on making a series of turns to limit the time that they’re visible on a block and get them going the other way.

83

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE/Morton

Morton grins and raises his staff. Muttering under his breath, he first thumps the tip of the staff into the front wall of the carriage, then cracks open the door and leans out.

“Grab my ankles, would you?”

Stretching precariously from the left side of the racing carriage, Morton strikes the ground sharply with his staff. Flames burst into life across the street behind you, and in the middle of the flames appears a burning ten-foot tall monster that appears to be an oversized demonic version of Ranar.

As the demon-Ranar brandishes its flaming hammer, the pursuing Hazi guardsmen rapidly skid to a halt. A few loose crossbow bolts at the monster, most of which miss. However, one hits, and as it does the illusion flickers and disrupts. It soon reforms, but its nature would have been revealed to any observer experienced with magic.

Fortunately, the people of al-Haz are not experienced in magic. The flicker does give a few guards the courage to cautiously approach the flames, but their reactions make it clear that these flames generate heat as well as light. It does not appear that they’ll be coming past Morton’s distraction any time soon, and the light of the flames is sure to spoil their vision into the dark street beyond.

The task of hauling Morton back inside is made simpler as Ranar pulls the reins sharply leftwards, sending the carriage north onto Al-Madina Avenue and the four occupants tumbling into the closed right hand door. Gradually reducing pace as he zigzags through the streets, Ranar guides you further out of sight into the quiet and dark industrial district behind the docks on the Lorian.

Ranar halts the carriage at the corner of Az-Zaabit and Al-Yafiir Streets, where Hawk and Nicolas disembark. Both of them regretfully leave their weaponry in the carriage; it’s a long swim best done unencumbered. At least it’s a warm and pleasant night.

As Hawk and Nicolas exit the carriage, they realise that their driver has somewhat changed in appearance. Where Ranar once sat, there is now an unkempt, obese and balding man, almost a parody of a peasant, who is nevertheless the spitting image of Lord Aronn…or at least how Aronn would appear if he were a human peasant of extremely limited wit and hygiene.

“What are you two gawking at? Get on wit’ya!” he mutters, in Ranar’s unmistakable Dwarvish accent.

[PLAYER CUE: Okay, you’re in the clear and split up. Morton can disguise himself in the carriage on the way to the bridge. Exactly where are y’all going and what are you doing? Carriage crew, who’s sitting where and who’s talking in what manner at which bridge? Swimmers, where are you taking your splash? There are docks on the Lorian where you are, but they’re fairly quiet and there may be a boat. But if you head south beyond the bridge you can find a totally quiet spot to slip in.]

84

Blue Hawk

Hawk turns to watch the demon summoning spell cast, and then quickly turned back as he realizes that is going to be a light show. He blinks his eyes rapidly to try and get rid of the dark spots caused by looking directly at the fire.

It doesn’t take too long to find a convenient place to disembark. Hawk regrets leaving his weapons behind: besides the problem of not having a shield if crossbow bolts start raining down, his excuse to be in al-Haz in the first place is as a Mercenary, and it’s more suspicious for him to be unarmed if questioned.

The shaman turns to de Courcy, and talks in a soft cover that is not quite a whisper. “How good are you with boat? I am not so good, so unless you are, better to swim.”

The tribesman points south. “Water should be not so wide, not so deep near bridge. We should swim there. Should be easy to swim east; just swim at lights and should end up in East Tredroy.”

85

Jibrīl Al-Las’as

I will stay in the carriage, and play owner. I will talk to bridge guards. Wazifi gentleman, visiting Tredroy. Ranar - let me do talking.

Morton…try to…blend in? And keep Ranar disguised (and make sure this carriage doesn’t look quite like Lord Arron’s). If you have anything in reserve, maybe ready a distraction in case the bridge guards do not wish to let us cross?

86

Ranar Bolijyr

As Blue Hawk and De Courcy turn away, Ranar looks down at himself and shakes his head in disgust. Oh well. Nobody would want to look at me twice, and that’s a good thing tonight, he thinks. Shaking the reins and calling quietly to get the horses going again, he turns the carriage east, then left to head northward along Al-Seef road.

He starts to speak, stutters, wavers, then clears his throat and tries again, trying hard to sound a bit less dwarven and more like he looks. It’s some rather bad acting, too high-pitched and warbly, with the vowel sounds all a bit off, something that would sound like a random mix of at least 5 different accents to a human.

“Oi rot, me boss, whea am I - are you - go’n’ agin? A’ve heard tale the north’s a split within a split, but wes’ seems like to be more quiyet tonight, least on this zide of de riva.”

(Clearly, Jibril’s idea that Ranar should let him do the talking is a good one.)

2 Likes
87

Blue Hawk

When de Courcy doesn’t indicate any knowledge of boats greater than his own, Hawk starts to walk down the road towards Southbridge. He doesn’t skulk between shadows, because he knows that that will make him just look more suspicious, and probably trip over something on someone’s front porch. Instead, he just trusts in the darkness of the night to cloak him well enough to make it to his destination.

The tribesman stops just short out of range of the torches lighting Southbridge. “Here,” he tells de Courcy. “Here we swim. Much more light in East Trednoy; swim to the light.” He consumes his rations and water to lighten the load, and then prepares to call on the spirits for their assistance, as he’s not that strong a swimmer. He waits for deCourcy to signal his own readiness to cross.

88

Nicolas de Courcy

Once the pair reach the riverbank de Courcy strips down to his under-clothes. He bundles everything inside his shirt, securing the package by tying the sleeves together and through his belt before strapping it snugly against his torso.

He looks up from his preparations to see the nomad finishing some rations.

De Courcy looks out across the dark expanse of the river at the lights of East Tredroy.
“So, ready to see if fortune truly favours the fool?” he says with a wry smile.

1 Like
89

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE/Morton

Nicolas and Hawk quietly slide into the water, shielded from the lights and noise of the central city by the bulk of Southbridge. It looks like it’ll be around a ten minute swim to make the crossing.

Nicolas, strikes off strongly, steadily powering across the river. Hawk, on the other hand, appears slightly startled by the contrast between the clear wilderness streams of his homeland and the muddy urban water of his present circumstance.

Lagging behind, Hawk struggles to catch up, and increases his exertions slightly beyond what is wise. However, realizing his folly as soon as he begins to struggle and swallow water, the shaman settles back into a patient rhythm that will carry him securely to shore at his own pace.

As Hawk approaches the shore, he notes that although de Courcy is still comfortably ahead of him, the mercenary is himself beginning to struggle. Nevertheless, both men reach the eastern shore in safety and begin to squelch their way back towards the Valley Inn.

–

Back on land, Morton, Ranar and Jibrīl prepare to make their attempt on the bridge. Morton requests a pause while still out of sight of the guards, and goes to work on the carriage. After crawling about between the axles, sadly shaking his head while making “tsk tsk” noises and muttering about workmanship, Morton jumps onto the roof of the carriage and dramatically strikes it with his staff.

The carriage is instantly transformed from a utilitarian Cardien passenger cab into an extremely gaudy example of a young Wazifi gentleman’s urban hot rod. Built for racing, posing and seducing, it sports silver-inlaid wheel spokes, rakish lines and tinted glass in the windows. Banners and horsetails hang from the rear of the carriage in great profusion.

“Jibrīl, are you any good driving a team? No? Oh, well, you’d better sit up front anyway; tell them that you’ve hired Ranar for driving lessons or something”. Morton retreats to the carriage, tapping the door with his staff and crying “Home, Jeeves!”.

On approaching Southbridge, the situation is much as it was when you came west on the Governor’s Bridge, although Southbridge is both smaller and uncovered, and is almost deserted apart from the guards. However, guards are present in numbers; around a dozen Hazis on the west side, and around two dozen Cardiens on the east bank.

The Hazi guardsmen do appear to be rather keyed-up and on edge, and they observe your carriage closely as you approach. However, seeing nothing apart from a rich Wazifi playboy heading into East Tredroy for a night on the town (presumably with a stablehand along to drive him home after he passes out drunk), they wave the carriage through without delay. The Cardien checkpoint is likewise passed with no trouble.

As soon as the carriage passes beyond sight of the bridge, it shimmers and returns to its original appearance, as does Ranar. Driving along the waterfront towards the Valley Inn, the carriage meets and collects the now almost-dry Hawk and de Courcy.

As you park the carriage outside the inn, the barman comes hurrying out. “Quickly, please, come inside”. Leading you into the familiar meeting room behind the bar, you see that the room is already occupied by a skinny goblin who peers at you inquisitively.

“Thwip, these are the other employees of Lord Aronn that I mentioned. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Thwip; he is also an employee of Lord Aronn.”

“However, we have no time for pleasantries. I have just recieved a message from Lord Aronn himself! All six of you are to meet him at the docks most urgently, and take your equipment with you. He is leaving downriver tonight!”

[PLAYER CUE: Well? Seems like a good opportunity to make introductions while you gather your gear and leave for the docks (docks are #75, the Valley Inn is #80). Also, at least one of you has gear stashed somewhere other than the inn…]

90

Thwip

Thwip looks at the people he is supposed to work with up and down. Two tall Pinkies and a Thumb. One of them seems to be a magician of some sort. Very good! Perhaps Twip and the magician together can provide balance to the obvious face-smashers. Not that he has anything against face-smashing Pinkies and Thumbs. He’ll just have to make sure to step lightly around them.

Realizing that he’s been staring a bit too long he turns to his bag to pretend to make sure nothing fell out. A thought hits him. “Uhn.” he grunts and turns back to take a stare at any displays of wealth they might have. A slightly odd stare. Like an old man remembering how to leer at a young woman.

Feeling as if he has successfully played up to the Goblin stereotypes, he grunts out a second “Uhn.” and a nod as a greeting. He turns away again to pretend to make doubly sure nothing rolled out of his bag. He’s feeling lucky that there’s no time for pleasantries because he’s not very good at them.

91

Blue Hawk

Hawk sits, nauseously waiting for the others to be ready to head to the docks. At the thought of the docks, and the accompanying thought of the river water, he has to suppress a wave of increased discomfort.

When he had climbed out of the water, he had knelt, retching, for a full two minutes. Never had he been in water so defiled, and he had had to stop himself from instinctively and illogically jumping back into the water to wash the smell off of him.

The shaman was just glad that he hadn’t asked the spirits to help him breathe the water as if it were air; he really didn’t want to be lung-sick right now, and with the state of that water, he probably would be.

Now, at the inn, he had, with the bartender’s permission, used a towel and a small amount of well-water to scrub the smell out of his skin, but no matter how he tried, the smell lingered in his still-damp hair. Wherever Lord Arron was taking them — if Hawk agreed to go with him, after the stunt he pulled tonight, he hoped he could spot some soaproot or saltbush that he could use to get the smell out. If not, he’d just have to take a blade and shave his head. Better bald than smelling like whatever-is-in-that-river.

When the grey man grunts in greeting, Hawk can barely bring himself to raise his head in response. The new man isn’t very talkative, but the tribesman knows that he can’t judge this new person favorably when he’s in this state, so he decides to postpone judgement until later.

Lord Arron, on the other hand… Hawk is in exactly the right mood to describe him. Hawk spends the time waiting coming up with new and creative descriptions and curses for his patron, always being careful not to actually invoke the spirits to carry out the curse.

At least he’s made one good decision tonight: having been left behind, the shaman’s drum smells exactly as it should: of skin, and of feathers, and of the smoke of old bonfires. He keeps the drum in front of him, not wanting to put it in his still-damp-and-smelly pack, but being carefully not to tap on it. With the mood he’s in, who knows what his fingers would ask the spirits to do for him. Nothing good, at any rate.

And so he sits, starting at his drum, wrapped in his own thoughts and malodor, waiting for the others to be ready to head towards the docks.

2 Likes
92

Ranar Bolijyr

Finally back to himself and back to ‘safe’ territory, Ranar relaxes and sits, leaning his head into his hand, eyes closed. After a moment he looks up. A goblin. Great. “G-G-Greetings Thwip.” he says, with an unintended total lack of enthusiasm.

Internally, he’s wondering why this goblin is here, and why now, not earlier. But there seems to be no time to rest or make small talk. Resignedly, he stands, looks around the room at the others and says “Well, to the docks?”

Internally, he’s still coming to terms with being back to himself. He was never that human, but… for a brief time, he was. And it was kind of relaxing. Now, relaxation is gone. Best to keep moving.

1 Like
93

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE/Morton

As de Courcy heads off to fetch his belongings from his flat in Chinatown (about five minutes away), the rest of you scurry about packing your gear and preparing to walk down to the docks. According to the barman, the ship you’re travelling on is the Sayidat Alzzurqa’, “a lovely riverboat, captain’s a fine man”.

Hawk, Ranar, Jibrīl and Thwip are ready almost immediately. Morton, on the other hand, appears to be searching through his bedding for something that he’s misplaced. After a few minutes of this, he calls down and says “You lot go on, I’ll catch up at the docks.”

94

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE

Hawk, Ranar, Jibrīl and Thwip arrive at the docks, to find the crew of the Sayidat Alzzurqa’ swarming around the ship, obviously preparing to depart. You’re intercepted at the top of the gangplank by a harried looking seaman, who appears to carry some authority given how he communicates with the rest of the crew.

“You’re Lord Aronn’s men? Okay, you can stow your gear below decks up for’ard. Try to stay out of the way down there until we’re underway, yes?”

He indicates a steep stairway that leads down through the deck; you can see from here that there is illumination below. The ship appears to be a relatively clean and competently managed vessel, although at present it is in a somewhat chaotic state of activity as the sailors stow down gear and fiddle with the rigging.

95

Nicolas de Courcy, near the riverside

De Courcy climbs into the carriage, silently. With the danger past his devil-may-care grin had slowly faded into a scowl every bit as grim as the Northman’s.

He’d heard stories of contracts like these, of employers like Arron who kept their men in the dark and leave them
Like that Caithness Baron who’d kept trying to win glory by doing things like raiding enemy lands, but keeping it a secret beforehand by telling his guards they were going out hunting. Kept getting people killed for nothing, until one day he “fell” from the battlements.

When they reached the Inn only to be directed back to the docks de Courcy grit his teeth hard enough he wouldn’t have been surprised the whole room heard it.

The goblin Thwip was obviously yet another thing Arron had failed to mention. He manged to force out a curt but nominally civil introduction before turning to the door.

“I’ll need a time to fetch my things. Hopefully Arron sticks around long enough, I thinks it’s time we have words, him and us.”

Dockside, not long after

De Courcy steps from the gloomy streets into the realtively well lit dock, longshoreman still swarming the boats like ants. Loading and unloading cargo well into the night.

The Aralaise-man approaches the least busy looking foreman he can spot,

“Do you know where the Sayidat Alzzurqa’s docked?”

96

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE

The man approached by de Courcy indicates a ship moored at the dock, apparently preparing to depart. It’s appears to be a well-maintained ship of moderate size, bluff in the bows and broad of beam. The exclusively square-rigged sails and rounded keel makes it apparent that it is a ship designed primarily for cargo capacity and downwind sailing; it would be a very awkward beast on a tight reach.

As de Courcy climbs aboard, the lookout at the masthead shout-whispers to a man standing amidships. “Mickies on the way, Exec!”. The man on deck appears alarmed, and begins issuing orders for the crew to single up all lines and raise the gangplank.

“Another of Aronn’s men? Your mates are down below; it’d be best if you joined them down there until we’re clear of this mess.”

[PLAYER CUE: Wotcha all doing? Below-deck folks: what are you up to? de Courcy: head below, or something else?]

97

Thwip

Lovely! The ride over wasn’t unpleasant at all. The Pinkies seemed to not be the sort for needless chatter. Unlike most of their kind. Unlike most of Thwip’s kind as well, if he was to be honest with himself. Being brutally honest with himself he’d say that they were unlike the rest of his family. Ask what he needed the pots and pans for and then yawn when he told them. That’s why he became known as “Wandering Thwip” during the family reunions that he tries to never be at.

Family. Heading north again into Goblin country is gnawing on the back of his green little head. What if he runs into his cousin “Wandering Piwht”? In some ways he could understand why Wizard Oak preferred him, as charming and as cool as he was. But Thwip knew that he was by far the best tinkerer of the two. And Oak did entrust him with the great closet of secrets and not Piwht after all. Or… Did he? Best not go there. Not in mixed company.

More interesting topics have settled into Thwips mind-space now. The construction of the ship. Now that is something to care about. He doesn’t know much about shipbuilding but there is always a new thing to learn around every corner.

“Interesting jointing…”

98

Blue Hawk

Hawk follows the others down to the docks; he’s still kind of iffy about navigation through a city. As he gets closer to the water, he is able to stop worrying about how he himself smells, as the putrescence from the water overpowers his own smell in his nostrils. It’s not pleasant, but at least it makes him feel a bit better about his own scent.

He’s not carrying anything he wishes to stow, but he decides to go belowdecks anyways. He has no skills that would currently be useful on a boat, so he would do best to follow the boat-leader’s suggestion to stay out of the way.

Besides, Lord Arron might be belowdecks, and Hawk would like to have a conversation with him. Once below, the shaman mercenary goes looking for his patron. If he can’t find the Lord, he’ll find something to sit on and try to get used to the subtle shifting of the boat under his feet as the waves crest and fall below it and the crew changes its balance above. This is not going to help my nausea, he thinks.

99

Jibrīl Al-Las’as

Jibrīl went below decks, but he didn’t stay there after stowing his pack.

Arron wasn’t being entirely transparent about his plans, and his actions in East Tredroy had caused a lot more trouble than one gold mark was worth. Jibrīl wanted to know what was going on, so he went in search of Arron’s cabin, with a mind to either speak to Arron, or to see if there was anything of interest in there.

100

Nicolas de Courcy

“Mickeys, that’s the last bloody thing I need,” de Courcy says under his breath.

Slipping his pack on to one shoulder, de Courcy cocks an eye brow at the riverboat’s exec.

“I hope you’ve got any less than licit cargo stowed tight and out of sight. I’ve no desire to shake hands with St Michael tonight.”

He heads below decks. Dropping his pack by the rest of the group, he pauses a moment as dried river muck settles in some uncomfortable places.

Hopefully the surprises will stop coming long enough to get clean, he thinks.

“So, any sign of his lordship?”

101

@nimelennar @Daaksyde @Mitchell @William_George @daneel

GM SCENE

The space immediately below decks is fairly roomy by ship standards; only Jibrīl and de Courcy need to duck. Under the waist of the ship, the ceiling drops further, to a level that would slightly inconvenience even Ranar.

Three thick masts pass through the deck to their footings in the hold below; barrels and hammocks line the walls. Stacked cargo fills every spare foot, and a sparse supply of magical lanterns provide enough illumination to dimly observe the cargo-stuffed hold through the gratings in the central deck.

The workmanship demonstrated in the ship appears to be of good quality, and the regularity of the cuts suggests that magical tools were involved in its construction.

Towards the front of the ship is a cooking hearth (currently unlit), behind which are a handful of tiny cabins. These appear to be occupied by the ship’s petty officers, a couple of whom scurry about making final preparations.

At the rear is a stairway heading down into the hold and up into the rear of the ship. A closed door stands at the top of this stairway; attempts to pass it are met with a brusque “officer’s country mate, you ain’t allowed up here” from a burly sailor apparently standing guard.

From outside the ship, you hear a voice cry “Stop in the name of St Michael!”. At the same instant, you hear barked orders from the deck and the ship begins to swing away from the docks.

[PLAYER CUE: sit tight, or go talk to somebody? Morton is still on land, BTW]