3/1/2019

The story continues in the lead up to Rising Tide and we invite you to sit back and enjoy, The Guild.

By EM Malachi

“Do you think Young Budo is dead?”

Lord Dalgrin looked down his nose at the balding man wearing only worn breeches who had asked the question. The gentleman pirate normally wouldn’t waste his time speaking to such riffraff, but these were interesting times. He reached into a silk coin purse bearing the heraldry of his disgraced house and pulled out a few gold coins. He bought another round of drinks for those at the Pirate’s Plunder and handed an ale to Mole, who was still waiting on an answer. “Does it really matter? If Budo’s alive, he won’t be soon enough. A gathering has been called. The Guild will choose the new lord of this freehold.”

Mole raised his mug, “To better days then! Has your lordship considered putting his name into the pot?”

Dalgrin sipped his whiskey, “Yes, I will put my name forward.”

“You have my support. I still owe you for saving my sloop from the HMS Dauntless. If your broadside hadn’t hit their mast, I’d never have escaped.”

Dalgrin had forgotten Mole was present when he’d scuttled the Dauntless to settle an old rivalry. He smiled graciously. “I appreciate that, but I thought you would stand behind that friend of yours?”

Mole shook his head. “Blacktooth wants no part of this. He says too much blood in the water attracts the wrong sort of company.”

Dalgrin nodded and thought for a moment. “Do you know who else wishes to lead Buccaneer’s Den? Who has the most support?”

“Minor smugglers and thieves — Scirlock, Daem, and the like. Someone claiming to be the son of Edrick Gravs is demanding votes. I wouldn’t choose most of them to be ship’s powder monkey, but right now, Glenno’s a good bet.”

“What sort of leader would the master of the bathhouse make for the Guild?”

“We all like him. I don’t think he’s serious though. He’s just waiting for someone to meet his price, if you know what I mean.” Mole rubbed his thumb across his stubby fingers a few times.

“That is good to know. I should perhaps have a bath then and speak with the earl of soapsuds.”

“Your lordship. Every thief, smuggler, and bilge rat in the world is coming. There’s an opportunity to buy favor, if you have the gold to spare.”

“A gentleman does not buy friends, but your point is taken.” Dalgrin slid his coin purse down the bar to Mole. “Why don’t you find some like-minded individuals to parley with on this matter?”

Mole grabbed the silk bag with his grubby fingers and gave a small bow. The balding man drained the last gulp from his flagon before scurrying off. Dalgrin finished his whiskey in silence.

*****

Dalgrin headed back to the ship he owned and captained: the Golden Kraken. Bribing Glenno would take more than drinking money, so Dalgrin would need gold from his captain’s chest. Walking down the docks, he noticed the deck of his ship appeared almost empty, save for a man with a parrot on his shoulder. The man handed something to the bird and whistled. The parrot flew toward Dalgrin and dropped what it was carrying. The shadow iron doubloon landed at Dalgrin’s feet.

Drawing his sword, Dalgrin ran the rest of the way up the gangplank to confront this threat. He saw a man wearing a blood-red skullcap and missing the eye Dalgrin’s sword had taken. “Hook? I left you for dead!”

“You were always too honorable to actually kill your rivals. I will show you how this should end.”

“This isn’t the first black spot I’ve received. I learned to duel from the finest trainers in Jhelom.” Dalgrin charged Hook, the first slash of his cutlass coming within an inch of the other man’s face.

Hook grinned as he parried the blow. “I never could beat you in a fair fight. Fortunately, I’m a scoundrel and a cheat.”

Dalgrin felt the cold of the paralysis spell before he saw the mage step out of invisibility. His sword hand stopped responding to his will. Helpless, he watched as Hook stepped up to him.

“Did you really think you would be master of the Den? The pompous lord turned pirate? You are more hated than I am.” Hook plunged a long kryss into Dalgrin’s chest and twisted. Dalgrin slumped to the deck.

The mage, Rankin, knocked on the hatch down to the hold. A group of orcs swarmed from below. They were all covered in blood.

Hook kicked the corpse to confirm Dalgrin was dead. He motioned to the orcs.  “Bring me the chest from the captain’s quarters. Then you can begin dumping the bodies, starting with this one.”

A couple of orcs brought out a large captain’s chest and followed behind Hook and Rankin as they walked down the gangplank. The mage asked, “What now?”

Hook smiled. “Let’s go visit the bathhouse. Glenno is going to find he doesn’t wish to run after all.”

2/15/2019

The story continues in the lead up to Rising Tide and we invite you to sit back and enjoy, Lost Hope.

By EM Malachi

Many years ago…

The rowboat leaked. With soggy boots, Lassorn spent each trip out to the anchored HMS Cape bailing water. They had drawn straws to see who would have to make the slog, and Lassorn now had to make eight trips across Lost Hope Bay to Minoc and back to the ship.

If the sailor’s orders hadn’t been specific, Lassorn might have been able to deliver the cargo in fewer circuits, but the contents of the crates were too valuable to risk. Lassorn had asked his captain what was in the crates, and he’d been told they were the final work of a famed artisan, a set of masterworks meant for the King himself.

A pair of guards, Madellene and Averill, escorted him from the Minoc coast to a small workshop. The door had been replaced recently, and the workshop inside was cluttered with tools, springs, gears, and other bits of metal. Piled in one corner were eight identical crates. Picking up the first one, Lassorn felt warmth and a sense of calm radiating from the container.

As Lassorn walked back to the rowboat, the locals nodded to him and shook their heads sadly. It seemed everyone in Minoc was wearing an orange-and-black ribbon. After each trip out to the Cape, the guards would meet him and take turns escorting him to the workshop and back. After a long day, the task was done.

As Lassorn went to his hammock, the evening watch weighed anchor and started the journey out of Lost Hope Bay. It was almost midnight when the HMS Cape reached the mouth of the bay, and the northern mountains blocked the moon. The ship had been moving at a good clip, when the winds suddenly stopped. The ship slowed, as if caught in a great net.

A crewman clanged the brass alarm bell, waking the captain and crew, while those on deck shined lanterns into the dark sea. The waters were filled with dozens of graceful shadows flitting back and forth. They had the elegant features of elves, but with gills and long fishtails.

“Mermaids!” shouted the botswain.

One of the creatures jumped aboard and pinned the sailor to the deck with a trident.  “We are the Nixies! You disrespect us at your peril!” More armed Nixies clambered up the hull, as a large wave deposited a gangling sea witch covered in slime onto the deck. The other nixies formed a phalanx around their leader, Sycorax.

The captain stepped forward with open hands, “This doesn’t have to lead to violence. Our King has made peace with the remaining fae folk.”

Sycorax sneered. “Did your king’s peace protect my sister, Noxum, when a net dragged her from the shoals off Skull Island? I claim your lives for hers.”

The captain gave Lassorn a look, and the young sailor dashed to protect the cargo in the hold. “Surely you know that wasn’t us. We can resolve this peacefully.”

The sea witch drew a blade made from broken shells and stabbed the captain in the throat. “There is your peace. A pact of blood for blood.”

Before the captain hit the deck, his crew had drawn their swords, and the two sides clashed. The sailors managed to force the other nixies back into the water, but Sycorax held her place. “I’d hoped to take some of you captive.”

With her gills luminescing with strange magic, the sea witch started to sing. Every barnacle on the hull burst forth from their shells in agony. This frantic wiggling tore apart the very timbers of the ship. The chant sounded over the waters, making the dark sea churn. A maelstrom began pulling the broken ship and its crew beneath the waves.

As the ship filled with water, Lassorn desperately cut the cargo net. The crates smashed open. The carved stones inside tumbled out eight different holes in the hull. The sailor took a deep breath as the dark ocean covered him.

When the mayhem ended and the waters calmed, Sycorax smiled and sank back into the waves.

2/5/2019

As we approach the release of Rising Tide we invite you to sit back and enjoy the introductory tale of, The Rune Carver.

By EM Malachi

Julia set two cups of tea on the small table and pulled a second stool over from her workbench. The tinker’s calloused hands brushed a few springs and gears off the table into her apron. She smiled at her friend as she heaped sugar into her cup. Mariah sipped at her own tea and looked around the room. It was far less cluttered than the mage remembered it, with only a lone stopped clock in the corner. “Has work been slow?”

Julia shook her head. “My projects are handed off to other tinkers, smiths, and rune-carvers. I’m glad the artisans I helped train are able to keep Minoc’s forges lit. What about you? Keeping busy?”

Mariah relaxed in her chair and started telling Julia about her studies with the gargoyles and the new spells she was mastering. The story of an unfortunate Flam spell in the Lyceaum made Julia laugh and caused Mariah to casually remark, “Why don’t we do this anymore?” She gasped when she remembered the reason.

Julia went pale, as she was the day she died. A shaking hand touched the shoulder where the troll’s club had crushed her heart. Her fiery red hair dulled and faded until it was ghostly and translucent. The abandoned workshop around them showed years of cobwebs and dust. Julia gave a sad look before answering her friend, “I am sorry for the pain this meeting brings, but there is a reason.”

The shade of Julia floated over to the workbench where there appeared eight uncarved stones. As she ran her hand over the stones, each revealed the sigil of a Virtue. “I made these for my king so he could keep watch over his shrines. So long ago. They are missing and need to be found. You and the others must find them.”

The ghost of Julia returned to the table and gave Mariah a hug. It had all the warmth Mariah remembered. “I miss you too, my friend, but I need to go.”

Mariah woke up sobbing.