Content Note: Violence, Alcohol, Threats of Sexual Violence, Themes of Slavery; It'd still have been Rated R in the 90s...
Or at least those who could be brightened. Holden had come back a changed man. He had experienced something worse than death, and it had warped his body and mind in ways he did not yet fully understand much of the knowledge that had crawled into his skull in his contact with the antimatter entity was gone.
His flesh, much like Benne's, had been stained purple. Although in his case, it was all over his body and none were certain it would fade.. His eyes had been replaced by a pair of twin black star fields. When asked if he could still see, is only reply had been "I see too much."
Mord's joke, asking him if he could see through clothing, then, at least it caused him to crack a smile in spite of himself. That joke seem to draw him back to Earth far better than anything else they had tried.
As they walked, sand dunes, then craggy bluffs rose up on their left. The beach became narrow and Rocky, scattered with thin trees with ragged bark that none of them could name.
The trees look sickly, and swarmed with fish flies, choking the air with their stench. Because of the diseased appearance, they thought nothing of the huge amber colored nodule growing on the side of one until Neela stepped next to it and it exploded. She screamed as acidic sludge sprayed all over her, searing her neck, ear, the left side of her jaw, and bleaching her armor in patches. Jamart was quick to grab some unguents from the small alchemy kit of his he'd managed to retrieve from the Athumns' cart, and splashed it on her, causing the acid to become a foul smelling chartreuse foam that he swiftly wiped off, before rinsing the wound with seawater."
I have never seen these nodules before," Korl said. "They are not part of the tree that I know of. We must be careful and look for more nodules like it."
Soon, they saw them everywhere. Where the flat beach extended a distance from the cliffs a little further on, the trees were covered in them. And they did not seem natural, the pattern was such that it was nearly impossible to walk through the wood without stepping between them. When they saw a few of the nodules growing on the cliffside rather than on trees, they were certain they had been placed with malice.
At first they tried shooting them with Mord's crossbow, but when they watched a bolt dissolve into pulp, they realized how wasteful this would be. Instead, they gathered stones and allowed Jonas to sling rocks at nodule after nodule clearing the way. The stench between the fish fliehe acid sap made them banish all thought of food, despite the growling of their stomachs.
Just after noontide, they came around a bend into a gentle cove, and there they finally set eyes on Broken Cliff.
Massive stone pylons stretched out from the base of a tall stony cliff crowned with a watchtower. Between these pylons was woven amaze of docks, bridges, and platforms. Stilted huts lined the beach, while a flotilla of houseboats ringed The wharf. Ships, both wrecked and intact lined the docs. The older, rotted ones closer to the cliff have been converted into workshops
Caves in the cliffside we're reachable by a set of ramps and stairways. The highest ones had winches and lifts hanging down like a mass of vines.
At the center of the wharf, on a platform twice as large as any of the ships, was a market of stalls in a riot of colors and sounds. The smell of cooking meat reminded them once again of their hunger, and they hurried along the beach side.
There were no guards, no challenges, no assays as they entered. Just the curious stairs of a few old men who gossiped as they mended nets, and the cautious assessment of a few armed bravos, who thought better of picking on these new arrivals.
"Welcome my friends at last, to Broken Cliff. The gold market here is the only place you will find your coins of value perhaps in the all the islands.
"It is governed by an assembly of cultists, smugglers, pirates, and black sheep nobles from far off lands. Those it is said by some that it is truly ruled by the high priestess of Mother Hydra. She maintains the shrine at the farthest wharf.
"The only law here is the law of Respect. You respect the hospitality position of those around you. One does not insult a counselor, or disrespect a captain. One does not attack a person who is enjoying the hospitality of a powerful person. Nor cause trouble at an inn or brothel here. None will protect you if you are drawn into a duel over an insult.
"And it is here that they dictates that I should leave you," Korl bowed. "I have business to attend."
"Before you go," Jonas held up a string of coins, "Perhaps you would take this as a down payment on future services? Neela and I both have need of crystals. And I should very much like to see this 'Face of God.'"
Korl bowed again and took the string of coins.
"You are most gracious, my friends. I shall recommend to you the Blue Gator for a place to rest your heads. The innkeeper there is a man who earns his respect."
The Blue Gator was built in the hulk of an old trireme, long since capsized so that the scuppers served as a roof, Much of it was cordoned off by sailcloth curtains, and it was lit by greasy-smelling tallow lights. The common room felt more like a den for conspiracy than an open forum to relax, although the one-legged musician played his mandolin beautifully.
Neela immediately felt on edge. The patrons here leered and compared notes in raspy whispers, sizing up the arms of the group and licking lips. The scant clothes on the rest of the women in the group suddenly a great liability. Alil pressed herself close to Mord, and Bene sat in Jonas' lap and asked pointed questions about spells that could kill. Jonas looked alarmed and confused at the sudden attention. Tarrant did not. He ignored Sarra's arms wrapping around his. He scanned the room with the intensity of a man who killed for a living, and knew his god approved. Most who fell under his gaze put their eyes pointedly in their cups.
"We stay together until dawn. Men closest to trouble."
The sounds of Drunken pirates muttering their notes and fantasies about the women who'd just wandered in to their haunt.
Hammocks and woolen cots were so welcome after ruins and sand for beds, they all slept deeply except Holden, who spent much of the night brooding over his purple-stained skin, and the strange - things - he could feel writhing beneath it.
The common room of Blue Gator looked no better in the morning as they staggered down owly. A group of the drunks from the previous night were still sprawled across tables drowning hangovers in more alcohol, gazing sullenly at the women of the group.
The breakfast was greasy Island pork and tropical fruit served by the innkeeper, a grizzled man with a cavernous gouge missing from his face and fingers missing from both hands. The food was passable, the coffee decent.
Tarrant ate his food swiftly, then volunteered to get supplies at the market. Neela offered to go with them. A lapidary by trade, she offered to trade the least of the stones they had collected for spies, and to buy clothing for Sarra, Alil, Benne, and Wene that might attract less unwanted attention.
Alil, Wene and Sarra chose to confine themselves to the upper rooms with borrowed daggers.
Mord and Holden sat at coffee over one of the battered winch tuned into a coffee table, while Benne and Jonas cautiously covered the Chant of the Ninety-nine Names to prepare the mind for magical study. Their rhythmic a intonations barely-audible mutter over the surf and Cries of the gulls.
No wonder they use it f'r screwin' their minds up proper f'r magic, Mord thought, I'm half t' sleep just listenin' to 'm...
The stench of an unwashed body and the reek of rum hit him before he saw the Pirate. The scruffy, heavily scarred man wobbled, still Drunken from last night's bender. Even Drunken, he was quiet. A practiced predator. Mord didn't have time to shout a warning before the man grabbed Benne from behind and pulled her out of her chair. The stench of alcohol flooded the room.
"'Allo', Luv, less' 'Ave sum fun!"
Jonas lept out of his chair with white knuckles.
"Let her go!"
"Neh! I'm jus' gettin' acquainted!" A bony hand squeezed her breast through her shirt causing Benne to shriek in outrage.
"Yeh' ain't showed no respec' to my boys an' I, yet, traipsin' in here wi' all this fine flesh. See, me an' me lads," he nodded to a table where several men, looked up blearily and fumbled for knives and belaying pins, "we're part of Sturge's fleet, an' he dem well owns this town. It's proper custom to offer us a roll or two with yer slave gels. Especial' as ye've taken up rooms in our berth."
Jonas fought a pit of fear down in his gut. Somewhere, a voice screamed "You're just a cobbler, not a hero! This man will gut you!" He drowned it as best as he could. Seeing the pirate tighten a hand around Benne's throat, helped crush it down.
"Get your hands off of her right now, or I will cut it off!"
There must have been a waver in his voice, because the pirate lunged at him face first, expecting Jonas to flinch.
Instead Jonas' fist crashed into the Pirate's face. A pop and a spray of bright blood came as the drunk's nose was crushed by the blow.
Benne dropped to the floor and rolled away as the pirate swung wildly at Jonas' head. He ducked and threw a hard punch into the pirate's kidney, causing him to double over.
The other pirates had started to rise, but Mord was suddenly over them with Scarlett half-drawn. "If I was you, I'd let my drunk-ass friend sort things out for himself. So far, this is a fair brawl, I'd keep it that way." His voice was cold and dangerous. For those who had any doubts, Holden sat impassively in the corner staring at them with his black, glittering eyes. They settled.
The pirate's knuckles crashed into Jonas' eyesocket knocking him temporarily off balance, as he toppled onto the table. The old drunk lunged for his throat, but caught the cobbler's stone hard boots in the gut. He vomited rum onto the floor and then caught Jonas' incoming fist, and took advantage of the gap where Jonas' finger once sat to get a painful grip on the hand and twisted. Jonas' face hit the table face-first onto an inkwell. Glass cut his skin and clouded his eyes. And then the whole world was pain as a gnarled fist tangled itself in his hair, jerked his head up, and slammed it down onto the inky table once, twice, three times...
The blow to the gut had sobered the man, Kask, up. He knew he was lucky to be in a fist fight with honorable men. The big man could have cut him down. The magician here probably could have had him eaten by cockroaches. And if he'd actually had his way... well, the innkeeper pays well to make men who harm his guests die begging. This whelp had chosen fists, and it had probably saved his life. Damn his cock for dragging him into this. But now? Now his mates were watching, and if this scrawny bastard came out of it with all his teeth... well... you don't want to be seen as a weak man on a ship of thugs weeks out to sea. No, he had to see this through. And he'd be damned again if he wouldn't enjoy making the boy less pretty in the process. And then there was a shout, a blur from the corner of his eye, pain, and darkness.
Benne panted as the lunatic collapsed. The wooden mug in her hand now dribbled stale rum where the impact had cracked it as she drove it into his face. She stared for only a second and then leapt to catch Jonas as he began to slide off the table.
She studded his bloody, swolen, ink-spattered face as she helped him gently down. He smiled stupidly before he slid into unconsciousness.
The bartender roared in incoherent fury as he drove the remaining pirates at the end of a cat-o-nine from the bar dragging their unconscious companion.
"If Kask ever wakes up, you tell him Captain Sturge and I will be having words over the the value of his hide!"
She tuned it out and studied Jonas. Then cursed herself for falling in love.
Behind the Screen: I decided to give the PCs one day in town that would end with them landing the hook to explore the Grotto of the Ape-Men. On that day I rolled randomly to see if they would have an encounter: I did, and it turned out to be a violent drunkard. I checked on his motivation using the Oracle and got a picture of a beverage, a kiss, and some kind of horned monster. Lusting after one of the women causing him to become a dangerous belligerent seemed par for the course on the Purple Islands. Random rolls showed that he was going to harass Benne... this made the rest of the encounter easy to imagine. Jonas is no white knight, but he is a basically good person and no coward. And he is in love with Benne. He has no clue her first seduction was a ruse to avoid being caught trying to rob him, or that later interactions were manipulation.
I also rolled a d6 on the GM simulation die to see who would be available to help: Holden and Mord were "Yes", Neela was "No" and Tarrant was "No, And..." so I decided to give him and Neela a separate dangerous encounter all their own.
As this was a barroom brawl, the battle was fought using non-lethal combat. Three quarters damage disappears after 2d6x10 minutes, and a character reduced to 0hp would be knocked unconscious for 1d6x10 minutes. Jonas gave pretty good at first, but the pirate was just tougher than him.
After the battle, I rolled a new Loyalty test for Benne. After each encounter in the wilderness that I have rolled for Benne since she started travelling with the PCs I have rolled 11s or 12s adjusted for Jonas' Charisma. I have interpreted this to mean that she has feelings for him in spite of herself. I consulted the Oracle about what she would do next about Jonas, and got a Heart and Crown icon... its' funny how some things the dice have just pushed. Benne is now deeply in love with Jonas. I have decided that Jonas will propose to her if he earns decent enough treasure to be able to provide for her in the next adventure or two.
A Witch-hunter did not not live long if he failed to listen to the creeping sensations on the back of his neck. He'd lost track of Neela in the riot of colour and sound of the marketplace. No... The feeling was not he. She could handle herself. This was a familiar feeling of being hunted.
He paused to inspect a booth of gaudy felt hats and doubles, and scanned the crowd for a moment from the corner of his eye. It took him only a moment to catch glaring eyes and a familiar face.
For a moment he was transported to that same stare several years earlier. He'd been staring up at a face, bloated and purple on a corpse swaying from a tree. One of several swaying in a row. A Grim habit of his, to face a man after he'd delivered them from his judgement to that of the gods'. A moment of reflection before he blessed the bodies against returning as the undead.
He'd turned his eyes down from the corpse to begin his holy work when he fixed on it, pale and furious, but vetu much I've from the crowd. Well, not his exactly. This was the brother he didn't catch, the one who hadn't left enough evidence at the last few ritual sites to warrant his capture.
The young angry face had melted into the crowd. Tarrant had watched his back for days after that, but he had disappeared; flex aboard a merchant ship, he had learned later.
Here he was again, the same angry stare. The same young face, but weather-beaten. Tarrant turned his eyes back to the has he had been inspecting. His helmet had been like an oven on the one day that they'd had weather Korl claimed with seasonal. It seemed a fair purchase. Or at least, worth the price not to give the game away. He turned his back on the face and pushed through the crowd toward the edge of the dock. He moved in a trance, tuning out the babel.
He heard the rasp of a blade from a sheath, the drumming of fast-footfalls on the wharf.
Tarrant's glove slapped the wharf as his tentacle sprang free from it's prison. He whirled and caught the wrist of the arm with upraised dagger. Twisting in ways no normal arm could he bent his attacker low, controlling his momentum, and send him whirling into the water below and on the left.
The man spluttered and cursed as Tarrant stood over him at the edge of the dock, dagger still coiled in his tentacle.
"Tom Oryck," he addressed the man, "I'd hoped to never see you again.. Your family lost enough sons that day."
Oryck, spat and pulled a device from his pocket. Whatever it was, he had no chance to use it. A dagger sank into the side of his neck. He choked and thrashed for a moment, then sank under.
Tarrant looked around dumbfounded for a moment and then saw Neela standing just a little further down the dock. The crowd pulled back from her far enough that she could walk casually up to Tarrant.
"I'll take that dagger. I seem to have lost mine." she held her hand out. Tarrant handed it to her, a Grim smile cracked his face. "It's a rough town. A body can't be too careful."
Behind the Screen: This is one of those moments where the dice created something very unexpected. When I rolled that Tarrant not only couldn't help Jonas, but has troubles on his own, I rolled a separate encounter for him and Neela.
I got a Cultist encounter, and decided to ask the Oracle if it related to Tarrant's past, which I got as a "Yes." The lone Cultist's NPC Reaction roll was snake-eyes... So, not a reformed Cultist praising Tarrant for setting him straight, then. Someone with an intent to flat-out murder him in broad daylight.
Tarrant, oddly, is not surprised, but somehow the homicidal Cultist is. How to play this? I decided that Tarrant's free round will take the form of him being prepared for the attack and striking first when it came.
BECMI has wrestling rules, but they are needlessly complex, so I improvised something simpler: Tarrant got to make ant attack roll. When he hit, in lieu of damage, I will give him a chance to trip his enemy: the Cultist must Save Vs. Death (a good Universal "Oh, Crap!" roll,) with a penalty equal to Tarrant's Strength bonus. If he fails Tarrant can swing him into the water. If that happens, I gave Tarrant a 2 in 6 chance of keeping the dagger.
This, by the way, is why I love the Mighty Deeds of Arms rules in Dungeon Crawl Classics RPG, they simplified things like this beautifully.
Given the vulnerability and confusion of the target, I let Neela do Backstab, even with a short-range throw. 8 damage was more than enough to let her finish him.
Tarrant's prayers were able to bring down the selling and bruises on Jonas' face. Think places where the ink pot cut him now bore permanent marks in his skin, however; an unintentional tattoo. Benne had not left his side except to fetch him water, until Tarrant was able to perform his ritual of healing.
After the day they had so far, none saw an argument against beginning to drink early, and were most into their second cup of rum when a man came to the group, and politely handed them a small ivory token, telling them that Kodaz, high priestess of Mother Hydra, requested an immediate audience.
The temple to mother Hydra was one of the most beautiful buildings in Broken Cliff, although because of its position almost invisible until one was at at the heart of the ragged shanty. Hidden among the ships, it was an irregular isosceahedron of polished coral in magenta, pink, soft blues, and fiery reds, all in a living tangle resting upon a great rock that Broken Cliffs' docks were built in a ring around
Where the strange building had caps in the coral, they were stoppered with Amber resin, and it was hung with banners from which dangled little brass bells. The building seem to sigh and chuckle in the breeze.
Within, a floor was made of old ships figureheads, mermaids and sirines, elven madonnas and dragons all trapped in more of the yellow resin, which added a warmth to the light of the dozens of scented tapers that perched in various nooks in the walls. At the center of the chamber was a well dropping into the flooded caves below, surrounded by a rope of braided leather dyed in many hues. The altar at the far side from the entrance was piled and pillows under a statue of a pregnant mermaid-goddess with tentacles rather than hair, and surrounded by the heads of many eels that spread from her back like wings.
"Welcome to the temple of Mother Hydra," her tone carried a hint of amusement. "Most people who arrive here come by sea. It is very rare that people make it on foot through the Jungle. You must be very brave."
She made a simple gesture, and a pair of bare-breasted acolytes rose from where they kneeled at her feet and brought goblets of wine to the guests.
"I am Kadoz the Fishwife, priestess of this temple."
Tarrant spoke first, a mix of caution and courtly graces. "If it pleases you, I am called Tarrant of the House of Cuthbert, squire of Lord Cuthbert, and Blade of the Order of the Crow, these four are my companions: Holden, Monk of Benedetti, Neela, freewoman adventurer, Mord the sell-sword and bearer of the blade Scarlett, and Jonas Grol, the sorcerer. His apprentice Benne. Lady Alil of the house of -- Corbett, was it?," Tarrant cast an uncomfortable glance at the alleged princess, "Wene the amazon, Sarra or Pwyll, minstrel, and Jamart the Alchemist,"
"I have been told about your arrival in our town. It is most unfortunate that you were greeted so poorly. I wanted to start with a gift of conciliation."
One of the acolytes retrieved two objects from beneath a cushion on the altar. The first was presented to Neela... her lost dagger. The second to Benne was a human hand in resin. The bruised and ink-stained knuckles left no doubt of whom it belonged to.
"Is he..."
"Oh, have no fear. I am not a barbarian, and my goddess is not unforgiving. Kask still lives, he serves the barman of the Blue Gator for now, until he learns some manners. And the bosun of his ship has applied a few strokes over the dereliction of his duties. Perhaps for now, he is wishing he had was not."
Benne hesitated for a moment, then accepted the gift.
"We were told you were the real power in town," Holden said, his voice dull and soft rather than the booming and joyous one he had once been known for. "Now we know it is true."
"And I have been told much about you. That you are brave warriors, and cunning. That you have killed some of the corrupted ape-men that wander the jungle. That you are favoured by not one, but two gods. So many impressive stories."
"I that see our coin regrettably did not buy Korl's... discretion." Tarrant gave her a courteous nod.
"Do not be ashamed of brave and bloody deeds. They are what Mother Hydra loves best in Men and inspires in Women."
"Is it bloody deeds y'r wantin', then?" Mord was already weary of fine speech.
"To the point. Yes, I am in need of a group of people who are ready to do brave and bloody deeds." The priestess passed her icy eyes over each in turn as she sipped her wine. "In a grotto only a few miles from town dwell more of the ape-men you faced. They are the decendents of the colonists who first built this town over a century ago, Free of the Theocrats of Garold, many fell to the worship of Older Gods, after they rebelled against their faith, they fled into that cave with an ancient book, one older than Man, called the Necronomicon.
"The book is the revelations of the Great K'tulu, a Prophet of Apocalypse, and patron of madmen and twisted sorcerers. Its very presence tainted and twisted them. They cannot read the book, but they worship it like an idol.
"Want that book taken from the cave, and the more of these debased -- things you kill the better. Once I have learned but a single thing from that book, I will have it sealed in resin and lead, and sunk in the deepest trench in the sea."
"Forgive me, my lady, but what possible thing could you wish to learn from such a book."
"Only this... where and when the cultists of K'tulu plan on murdering my Aunt and my Sister, whom they have taken prisoner."
"A noble goal, then."
"And the pay?" Mord asked, glad that Tarrant was not inclined to further flog the conversation.
"When this town was built, the Garols built a watch-tower. You have likely seen it atop the cliff. I have used my resources to have the tower rebuilt and furnished. This town needs protectors. Man and women, brave and bloody, who are willing to fight rather than flee. If you fetch me the book, I will know you are more than fit to take it as your own. And I will give you a dozen slaves, carefully picked, to staff it."
"We're t' be y'r vassals, then?"
"No, don't need vassals. Mother Hydra prefers all come to her willingly. I will give you the tower. And the slaves. The Necronomicon is worth almost as much itself. And the lives of my family far more."
"I was a slave until recently. Sold by a captain with great influence here in Broken Cliff," Neela said boldly. "I don't believe in slavery. If we said e would free the slaves you gave us and pay them a wage, what would you say?"
"I would say that is your right, and it matters little to me. Keep them, free them. I only care for my family."
"Then, I am in," Neela said,
The others nodded their assent.
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