The appointed time arrived, and at the appointed place, a cloaked figure snaked through a narrow passageway to stand on a precipice overlooking the ocean far below. The moon hung high in the sky, providing the only light on a clear night. The cloaked figure stood motionless, awaiting the messenger that no doubt had already seen their approach. The massive wingspan crossed the light of the moon, momentarily flashings its shadow across the whole of the precipice. In broad lazy circles, the messenger spiraled down to come to a rest before the figure. From this distance, they could see it was a clockwork albatross — perhaps a little larger than they were normally found but to a casual observer it would pass as natural. The construct sat still a moment, cocking its head back and forth while the eyes dilated to see the figure more clearly.
“Agent Hawk, provide verbal authorization,” a voice from within the albatross demanded.
“Folkor,” the cloaked figure responded.
The albatross made a soft click sound, and a chest compartment slid open to reveal a folded piece of parchment sealed with a complicated wax glyph. Hawk carefully extracted the parchment, the glyph responding to their touch and dissolving away. They had always wondered what would happen if someone else touched the parchment, but they never missed a messenger to find out.
Free of the enchanted seal, the paper unfolded to reveal a simple message: South Port. Usurp Adventurer’s Guild. Village of Wellington. Torgarians. Secure Vault. Terminate survivors.
It was a surprising amount of information despite the brevity, and Hawk assumed the “Vault” in question was of high importance to their benefactor. Committing it to memory, they refolded the parchment and placed it back into the clockwork albatross, where a brief flash of fire confirmed its destruction. “It will be done, masters,” Hawk said, bowing their head slightly before taking their leave.
The clockwork albatross took flight once more, embarking on its journey South back to, Hawk assumed, Crescent Isle. It would be a long journey by their reckoning, and speculated it would arrive home by the time they had left the Republic and arrived at South Port in the Confederacy. Hawk gently clasped the emerald pendant around their neck as they made their way down the winding pass back towards their awaiting transport. The farmer they had passed on the way and had offered them a ride on his wagon gestured in greeting. Hawk largely dismissed the gesture, plopping down onto a small stool awkwardly positioned between the farmer’s cargo of produce.
“Hope ya found what you were lookin’ for up there,” the farmer said casually as the wagon gently rocked along the rural road headed towards whichever market Hawk supposed they were closest to. They hadn’t quite bothered to ask yet, as it would be fairly irrelevant to the next step of the plan. Hawk offered no response to his inquiry.
“Don’t say much do ya? Eh, it’s fine. We can just enjoy the rest of the night. Strange though, albatross don’t usually head out to sea to the South. Far as I know, there ain’t no land out that way,” the farmer quietly mused to himself, giving up on the conversation. He shrugged and started to hum some Republic folk song about the harvest season.
Hawk twitched slightly at the words. He had seen the clockwork albatross? No, he didn’t know what it was exactly. He had seen something though, and made him a liability. They exhaled a slow sigh — it was time for a new performance starring The Farmer.
Dawn broke over the bustling port city of West Bend, the striking waves on the docks slowly being drowned out by the awakening population. The bells of fishing vessels echoed along the coastal road, signalling their launch for the day’s activities. Through the morning mist, a simple horse-drawn cart rattled up to the Western gate of the city. The gates were wide open to travellers, the guard on duty leaning heavily on his spear as he lazily observed the sparse morning traffic passing through his post.
“Ah, mornin’ Jas, didn’t expect ya for another day’r’two,” the guard said with a slight smile.
Jas looked down from the cart, considering a response briefly, “Mornin,” he replied cheerfully. His floppy sun hat obscured most of his features, but the smile was at least visible to the guard.
The dirt road lined with stones slowly gave way to the cobbled main thoroughfare of the city proper. Jas brought his cart down towards the docks, following one of the paths that twisted alongside the river as it made its way to empty into the Tranquil Sea. Once there, Jas spotted what he assumed to be a local merchant.
“Good mornin’ lass,” he called to the merchant as he dismounted the cart.
“Ah, mornin’ goodsir! Lookin’ to barter are ya?” she replied in an accent typical of the region.
“Well, ya see, I reckon this is prob’ly my last haul o’the season,” he replied, “and perhaps ya’d be able to offer me something for the lot, cart, and horse.”
The merchant cocked her head sideways, mouth slightly open in surprise. “It would certainly make haulin’ my goods up and down the dock a lot easier, goodsir, but I’m ‘fraid I wouldn’t be able t’offer ya something fair, I’ve got maybe ten gold in my purse ‘n not much more than that in fishin’ goods –”
Jas cut the merchant off as she stumbled over the offer, “Ten gold is more’n fine for it all, don’t ya worry about the rest.” He reached his hand out expectantly.
“But goodsir! That’ll barely cover the goods ‘n cart, say nothing of the horse,” she protested.
“It’s been a good harvest, lass. What’s the sayin’? Don’t judge yer net ‘fore the mongers cut?” he smiled cheerfully, hand still outstretched.
“I suppose you’d be right about that, well, if’n you’re sure,” she hesitantly reached into her purse and gently placed the coins into Jas’ hand, “consider it a deal Goodsir…?”
“They call me Jas, lass,” he said, pocketing the coins, “put it all to good use!” he called over his shoulder as he walked off towards one of the docked vessels, humming a folk tune cheerily to himself.
The merchant watched him walk away, still in slight disbelief. Such a good deal was sure to turn her craft around — she had plenty of product for the coming winter, and now she had a cart she could use to carry some heavier weave nets down to the docks with. “Gods bless you, stranger!” she managed to blurt out before Jas had disappeared into the growing crowds on the docks.
Jas barely heard her as he slipped into the crowd, and smiled slightly, and said to himself “Yeah, don’t know if they’re the same ones you hope will be blessing me though.” As he said the words, he absently twirled the emerald pendant around his neck. SNapping back to reality, he turned back to the task at hand. Ten gold was slightly more than he thought had been in her coin purse, and it would be more than enough to charter one of these vessels to the Confederacy. The only question that remained was which one would do it with the least amount of questions?
That question resolved fairly quickly, as Jas found a vessel crewed by dragonborn miners from the Confederacy. After a brief exchange with the crew foreman on the docks, Jas was brought to meet the captain of the vessel to discuss the arrangement. Walking up the gangplank, Jas noted the name of the ship, “F.C.H.S. Scute” — regardless of questions, this couldn’t have been more fortunate. For a Confederacy Shipwright’s Guild vessel to be in harbor was beyond fortunate, but one constructed by Hillon? Maybe Jas would arrive at his destination sooner than he expected.
“Captain Ironscale,” the ruby-scaled escort called out as they walked the deck, “Got a charter for us!”
Standing on the quarter deck, a gray-scaled dragonborn surveyed the deck hands preparing the ship for the day’s voyage, turning his attention to his crew foreman and guest, “Ah, Mr. Aegir, bring him on then and let’s have a chat!”
Once they were but a few paces apart, Jas quickly produced seven gold pieces from his pocket and offered a curt introduction in the regional accent, “Name’s Jas, Cap’n. Harvest has been good t’me, so I was lookin’ t’winter in the East. Seven gold for seven nights would be a fair price?”
The Captain considered the man, staring down over his broad, short snout. “Aye, I suppose that is a fair price. Seven nights though?” The Captain paused briefly, turning to a nearby map he had been working on. “That will put the vessel near to South Port, give or take. Barely in the Confederacy, but if that’s agre–”
“That’ll be perfect Captain! Thank ya,” Jas said, placing the coins on the table, “I like t’travel light, so ya mind if I go ahead and find a bed?”
The Captain’s transparent haws flickered across his eyes, showing perhaps confusion or shock. “Aye that’ll be fine, Goodsir Jas. You’re not one for dealing eh? I can respect that — just make sure you don’t get in the way of the crew. You’ve more than paid your passage that far.”
Jas bowed slightly to the Captain, and made his way to the forecastle to settle in for the long voyage.
Around noon, the Scute had set sail with the favorably Easterly winds of the season. By the Mr. Aegir’s navigation, they were on course to reach East Bend some time early in the morning. The Avar Delta would have a lot of traffic for the next several hours of the journey, which could potentially slow them down, but once the sun had set and they had cut further off the coast, the waters would be more than clear to open full sail. Once they got underway, Jas kept his word of staying out of the crew’s way, but he took the opportunity to stay on the deck and monitor them as they conducted their duties.
Jas watched their every move as discreetly as possible: the way they gestured as they bantered, the way their haws flicked across their eyes to convey more subtle emotions, the range of their tones, and even more subtle things like how they postured themselves as they worked or carried loads back and forth across the decks. Jas doubted that he would need to put the knowledge to use, but it could prove useful down the road.
When the dinner bell rang, Jas joined the rest of the crew below deck even though he wasn’t particularly hungry. It would be a good opportunity to better understand their relationships to one another, and perhaps learn a few of their names. Dragonborn were a little harder to remember individually than most other humanoids, since their draconic features tended to be more subtly different. Scale and eye color were the easiest way to tell them apart quickly, but once you had two green-scales next to each other with the common yellow eyes, you would have to look at things like how the scales lay over one another, or if one had different colorations towards the tip of the scales. Especially considering the sailors didn’t wear much at sea to help differentiate them by style.
Originally, Jas had assumed the whole crew had been male but closer observation revealed it was a near even match between the sexes. There wasn’t much to differentiate them — it might be possible that females had longer horns in the event they had them, but the major give away was the widened hip stances since they were an egg-bearing species. He wondered if there was a tell that only other dragonborn could detect, but that would be fruitless speculation for now.
To the crew’s credit, they also tended to stay out of Jas’ way. At dinner, though, more than a few tried to goad him into conversation. He entertained when possible, often making up folksy sounding legends about the Lakeland Republic. This had been the vessel’s first trip after Captain Ironscale’s brother’s mining firm had struck up a contract with the Congressional Armory in West Bend to provide a shipment of unusually pure iron they had recently unearthed and had been courting buyers for. The Captain was particularly boastful, and was liberal with the details of the successes of his ship and his brother’s mining firm. It seemed as if many of the crew were workers in the mines in addition to crewing the ship, and were very loyal to the Ironscales. Jas wondered if that was their real clan name, or if they had simply fashioned themselves to be what they wanted the world to perceive. Perhaps they had something in common in that regard.
After being forced through one bellowing sea shanty as dinner passed into recreation, Jas was able to slip away and retire to the relative silence of the forecastle. It would be relatively impossible to escape the loud draconic singing, which sounded to Jas like a chorus of roars more than a stringing of lyrics, but something resembling sleep soon took hold.
When Jas awoke, the Scute was drifting lazily into port at East Bend. As his senses came to, he could hear the Captain shouting orders, and Mr. Aegir relaying them to the crew. Stepping onto the deck, he saw what was basically a sister city to West Bend. From what he understood, the two cities were the main ports of entry into the Republic, and as such had been founded and roughly the same times and were both about equally prosperous. He decided he would stay on the ship while they took on supplies. Approaching the quarter deck, he found the Captain and Mr. Aegir in discussion.
“– around noon again. It’s okay if we’re a bit delayed getting as much onboard as possible though, this is our last stop until South Port unless we want to sail upstream of the Serpent River to Forkshire.”
“Aye Cap’n,” Mr. Aegir responded, “I’ll see to it so we can cover as much sea as possible while the winds are favorable.” He saluted, and hurried down to the docks to oversee the resupply for the longest leg of their journey.
“Mornin’ Goodsir Jas,” the Captain said, approximating a grin for the human’s sake.
It didn’t particularly phase Jas, but he supposed had he been anyone else he might be slightly terrified by the smile. Instead, he took it as another observation. “Mornin’ indeed Cap’n,” he replied in the cheery accent expected of him, “this is our last stop for awhile I heard ya sayin’?”
“Aye, being that we’re a Confederacy ship, East Watch Keep would only take us in if our ship was in danger, and the East coast of the Republic is sparsely populated. The life of a farmer really keeps you tied to the land, eh?”
Jas chuckled as he thought one might in this type of situation, “Yessir,” he said between laughs, “that’d be why I decided to take this li’l trip o’mine!” Hopefully that would suffice for the Captain, Jas wasn’t sure how much more he could hold up under this line of thought. In reality, he had extensive knowledge of the fishing villages between East Bend and the massive fortress that marked the border to the Confederacy, Fort Eastmarch. Indeed, that’s why he was relieved he had found a Confederacy vessel. They would be far less scrutinized than land traffic.
Content with their progress, Jas took the opportunity to evade further conversation by humming a tune and jaunting to the bow of the ship to “sight see”.
The morning progressed uneventfully, and the dragonborn made swift time loading the supplies onboard. True to his word, Mr. Aegir had made the most of their stop and it was still at least an hour or so until noon, the Easterly winds still blowing strong. Jas was well aware, however, that they would be travelling mostly South until they had rounded East Watch Keep. Jas was not aware, however, how that may impact their vessel. Hillon vessels had long held a reputation for cutting edge technology, and in the twenty years following what was known as the Slaughter of Sentinel Point their shipyards had endeavored to rival the fleet of the Sargok Empire. By his own reasoning, they hadn’t made the trip to East Bend in any sort of Avar-wide Record, but they also restrained themselves due to the traffic around the delta. The rest of the journey would be relatively sparse seas until they entered the Golden Strait.
Underway once again, the Scute sailed swiftly past the scenery of the Eastern partition of the Lakeland Republic. Jas knew the partition well — it held the majority of crossroads through the major regions of Avar. From Forkshire, built around the fork of the Serpent River, one could rent or purchase the finest horses of Avar to explore the Stonefields far to the North, or trek through the increasingly hilly terrain to the East and enter the Confederacy of Eastmarch after passing through the impenetrable Fort Eastmarch. The temperate region held numerous lakes, forests, and sweeping grass plains. Forkshire was the Southernmost city in Avar, and consequently suffered the most mild winters as well. Despite those facts, it remained far less populated than the central partition crowned by the capital of the Republic, River City. Jas much preferred the less claustrophobic region though.
By the third day, Jas had stopped reminiscing of times spent around Forkshire and grew tired of the seemingly infinite stretch of coastal plains with nearly identical fishing villages scattered hours apart. It was a welcome, if imposing, relief when East Watch Keep appeared on the horizon. Nestled between the forks of the Serpent River, the keep sat upon one of the few pieces of elevation in the Eastern partition. The sea-facing walls of the keep gave way to a sheer cliff. A make-shift harbor had been carved from the cliff face, but from their current position it was well hidden so there was no telling if they would face any harassment from the Republic fleet authority. They had nothing to hide of course, but ever since the rise of the Sargok Empire, tensions between the now three great nations had been high. The predominantly human Republic had suddenly found itself in a demographic minority as the more multi-species Confederacy and predominantly goblinoid Empire created a demographic rift that hadn’t quite existed in the previous conflicts.
Jas sighed heavily and pushed himself off the rails he had been leaning on. What was the point of it all anyway? One day his masters would be able to operate in the open, and they could be done with these petty conflicts. Emperor Sargok was another in a long line of annoyances that perpetually held Kalladon back from the zenith of power. He knew it was a radical future for them all to consider, but it was a truth Jas had known since he was old enough to remember. He thoughtfully clutched at the emerald pendant around his neck — it was the only reminder of who he truly was, and whom he truly served. All they needed to do now was make it around the keep, and the predictable weather of the East coast would pave the way for the next step of his plan.
Surprising to everyone, from the Captain to Jas, the fortress sent no vessels to even observe their passage. Several large galleons were barely visible in the secretive harbor, and no ships patrolled the waters around the keep. As the East coast came to sprawl ever-onward before them, it became apparent why: a bank of dark clouds was rapidly enveloping the skies over the Golden Strait. Jas had expected this though, as the tropical winds of Torgar often blew North-west during this season to mix with the chilly winds bleeding off the East coast of Avar.
The seas grew increasingly choppy as the Scute heaved along them. Even at an idle, the sea current and prevailing winds would continue to push them up along the coast, but Captain Ironscale was determined to tame the storm to his benefit. Jas certainly thought him up to the task, as the vessel was solidly constructed and well balanced. Indeed, the crew expertly went to work and despite the competing squalls and churning seas, they held course and drove forward. Visibility, however, had tanked. Thick sheets of rain obscured figures, and the swelling waves cresting over the vessel at times ensured everyone walked with a deliberate pace lest they be swept out to sea. The speed they rode the waves with guaranteed anyone falling overboard would be unrecoverable, say nothing of the dangerous conditions of the sea itself.
“Man overboard!” A roar washed over the din of the vessel. Captain Ironscale fought against the storm to the source of the voice behind him on the poop deck. No one should have been back there during the storm, yet the voice was certainly one of his crew. His claws gripped into the slick planks of the ship as he came upon the green-scaled Ixar Veridius hunched over the rear of the Scute.
“Ix,” he called out over storm, “do you have them?”
The dragonborn slowly rose, keeping her balance. In her hand, she clutched an emerald pendant. Her expression carried uncertainty, but Ironscale knew what it truly meant.
“Jas?” His voice trailed as he said the man’s name. He had grown fond of their strange new friend, but wasn’t terribly shocked he hadn’t made it through what was probably his first storm at sea, especially lacking the biological advantages of claws to grip the sleek vessel. He could see where Ixar stood the rails had snapped slightly — Jas must have been thrown against them.
“Aye Cap’n,” she said with sorrow, and lowered her gaze to the pendant, “I tried to grab him, but all I managed to save was this.”
By now, a few more of the crew had gathered around them and had picked up on what had happened.
“There’s naught to be done for it then,” the Captain said at last, “come on you lot, let’s get back to our posts or you may be next!”
The next several hours saw the storm start to slowly break, and there had been no further incidents. The foresails had suffered some damage from the duelling winds, and a few of the deck planks had some deep scoring where the crew struggled to resist being tossed by the vessel, but the Scute was in otherwise great shape. Once the seas had calmed, the Captain gathered the crew to inform them all they had lost Jas during the storm. Ixar seemed to have taken it the hardest, and did her best to explain what all had happened. She blamed herself for not seeing him losing balance sooner. They all agreed to feast that night in the honor of their cheery if rather aloof guest’s passing.
The next morning, they aroused from their night of celebration and made what repairs to the vessel they could. The Captain’s experienced commands had resulted in them using the storm the traverse much further than they had anticipated by now, and the dawn of the sixth day saw the sprawling Fort Eastmarch catching the rays of the rising sun, it’s main keep rooted into the heels of the Eastmarch Mountains, with miles of wall rising and falling with the terrain like a mountain range of their own.
Mr. Aegir spoke up as the Captain gazed at the fortress, “Two-hundred miles in a day is probably a record for the Scute Cap’n.”
“Hm, yes I suppose it might be Mr. Aegir,” Ironscale responded without averting his gaze, “however, we’ll probably lose that much extra time re-rigging in South Port.”
“Too true sir, I’ll make sure we make her safe for the rest of the voyage once we’ve safely harbored.”
Ixar was nearby, and approached the pair, still clutching the pendant. “Excuse me, Captain, Mr. Aegir…” her voice trailed, as if finding the words. “May I have some leave when we arrive in South Port? It’s about Jas. He said he had heard of a quiet fishing and mining village — Wellington, he called it. If you don’t mind I’d like to take his pendant here.”
The Captain spoke almost immediately, “Of course that’s fine, Ix, I think he would appreciate the gesture. It would honor his spirit well. Poor lad.”
She nodded, her haws fluttering slightly. “Thank you Cap’n, Mr. Aegir.”
The sun had just started to set when the Scute drifted into South Port, the first harbor vessels could berth in arriving from the West. A Torgarian vessel was moored at a special dock separate from the others, the hobgoblin crew making an overt presence to prevent anyone from snooping on their vessel. Dwarven ships from the Forge Islands far to the North sat in a small cluster, presumably on a journey West to trade their jewels and steels for the bounties of the more temperate South. The Scute was met by a smaller tug, and lead to the main docks used by citizens of the Confederacy. The dock traffic was far less chaotic, as most of the people darting about were local crews preparing their ships instead of foreign merchants looking to offload merchandise. Mr. Aegir set the crew about their repairs, and Ixar made leave from the crew.
She twisted her way through the cramped warehouses of the darkening docks. Although she had been through these streets many times, South Port was rapidly expanding and it seemed every visit she made a new building stood where an alleyway once cut through. Eventually, with a minor struggle, she found the Ruffled Feather — an inn of relatively good reputation nestled between the harbor district and the city proper. The patronage was a healthy mix of adventurers, sailors, and merchants with the former being her primary focus. For now though, she would would need a room to be well rested for the next phase of the plan. She clasped the emerald pendant around her neck, the chain stretched nearly to its maximum length to accommodate the thickness, and entered.
Rampant Swan 