A Coldspray in Hell - Annabelle Dahbern

[Mathias]

Description:
You are a new recruit of the Bluecloaks Adventurer's and Mercenary's guild. En route to your assigned headquarters, the Coldspray, a simple merchant vessel, is attacked by pirates. Your character will have to help fight off the pirates initial attack, help evade their pursuers, and eventually reach port, hopefully intact. How, you might ask, will one low-level character achieve this amazing feat? There's only one way to find out. Roleplay!

Roles:
This story will be written by Mathias the Dungeon Master (DM) and Kelene the Player Character (PC).

Roles - DM:
The DM will create the majority of the Non-Player Characters (NPCs) which includes monsters, allies, and everything in-between. The DM will control the personalities and actions of the NPCs. The DM will keep the PC's personality and actions closely tied to the PC's posts to date.

The NPCs will not be killed or harmed in any manor not approved by the DM. The DM will not kill the PC without approval of the PC.

The DM will create the setting. The DM will describe the action and give a general idea what is happening at the moment and in the storyline. The DM will end his post open for continuation by the PC. Instructions, or suggestions may be given to help move the story along in a fun and engaging manor, though the story will remain flexible at all times.

Roles - PC:
The PC will create the main character of the story and control his personality and most of his actions. The PC will provide a vivid description of the PC and slowly develop the character's personality, physical attributes, and further details as the story progresses.

The PC will be given plenty of opportunities to write the character's interactions in the world, and with NPCs. The PC will use his best judgment on how NPCs should be portrayed and show each proper respect, down to the lowly commoner. The PC should feel free to use any NPCs available in his post. The PC should not kill or harm any NPCs unless the DMs post suggests the option.

[Mathias]

"Then I'd have ye rub down me mast, and" Regil was slapped across the face. The bar wench stormed away, her feet stomping heavily across the wooden floors of the bar aptly named the Three-legged Stool. All of the sailors nearby laughed heartily at their captain.

"Aww, cap'n. Ye los' anot'er pr'ty 'un." His slack-jawed, goblin cook, Carl Maaters groaned. "Yer salte tong' be drivin' 'em aw'y." Several of veteran sailors elbowed the new recruits in anticipation of the captain's response.

Captain Regil Walker massaged his cheek gingerly and said with a straight face. "I only told the lovely lass what her duties would be upon the Coldspray." The sailors chuckled uncontrollably. Ale splashed the nearby tables as they swayed their mugs in excitement.

The captain spoke the utter truth. The bar wench was flirting with the captain, suggestively asking what he would have her do aboard his 'ship' as a 'crewman'. Unfortunately for her, though she got the provocative answers she desired, it took her no time at all to figure out that he wasn't interested in her in that way. In fact, he was merely interviewing her like so many other potential new recruits that came by the inn in the large town of Saltmere to try and sign up for the ship's next voyage.

When the laughter died away, first mate Travis Polst waved the two latest recruits to the side. He pressed a fresh mug of ale in their hands and motioned for them to sit on the three-legged stools nearby. "That there be the Captain Regil Walker of the Coldspray. Take a good look at the man as I weave ye a tale."

The deeply tanned merchant captain bore several well-worn scars, the most obvious one on his face. His shoulder-blade long, black hair was tied at the end with a simple brown cloth. He twisted the end of his nearly half-foot long mustache in thought as he began to interview another potential recruit. The triangle-shaped, tan-brown leather hat he wore was pulled back at the edges with a crease down the center. He wore rings of various types on most of his fingers, but many were simple, thick bands giving the impression that they were used more like brass knuckles instead of decoration.

"Long ago, when the captain was merely a cabin boy upon the Coldspray, a fierce storm nearly wrenched the ship asunder. Wave upon wave the ocean tore into the ship. The helmsman and captain were thrown off the ship, lost to the 'Currents Below'" All of the sailors nearby made a hand sign to ward off evil.

"The cabin boy clawed his way to the wheel while the rest held on for dear life. He lost control at the first strong wave. The wheel jerked him forward, catching one of the pegs under his chin. He lost two teeth and broke his jaw." Travis' listeners grimaced. "Though his jaw eventually healed, he still bears that U-shaped scar around his chin. It won't grow hair, leaving him with that goatee split into three parts.

"At this point, you're asking just like I did when I first met him, 'what the hell does that matter?' and for blimey sakes go on man." The young men nodded eagerly, their voices drowned away by another swig of liquor. "Well here's how." Travis leaned in close, the new recruits and several nearby sailors now listening did likewise.

"Tis rumored, at that very moment his very being was split in thrice by the command of the very ocean herself. His emotions seeped into the black hair on the left, the right his mind, and his soul down the middle. He's grown them long and braided, but always separate. He dare not have his hair cut less he lose a part of himself.

"It was this separation of his being that lent him the strength to grab wheel regardless of the pain, and bend the ship, nay the ocean herself to his very whim. He saved the ship that day and everyone left aboard. He's been captain of the ship since then, from the age of 15."

The veteran sailors nodded, though having heard the story before, hearing it again renewed their respect for the captain. The new recruits simply sat there in awe. "You see men, the captain you see before you is merely a shell of his full glory. Aww, wait until you see him behind the wheel. It's only at that moment is he truly alive and one with himself and the ship."

The bar wench freshened their mugs until the foam spilled over. "How do you know the story's true at all?" She snuffed her nose in anger and frustration. She was the 'lovely lass' from earlier and was still red in the cheeks in embarrassment. She was simply interested in a one night stand with the legendary, at least around these parts, captain. "He could just be making it all up." This left a sour face on the sailors.

Travis stood up defensively, startling the young woman back a few feet. He responded in a soft matter-of-fact manner. "Well ain't that the best part of the story. The captain ain't the one telling the story now is he? It'd be me." She blushed and looked away. "And I'd heard it from Carl Maators, the cook of the Coldspray now, and back then now twenty some years."

The first mate smiled crookedly. "Of course, if you want to hear it from him, it may take you a few years aboard the ship to understand him with his accent and all, but I'm sure you'll eventually figure it out." The goblin cook, Carl, licked his dry lips slowly. He winked at her before pouting a sultry kiss her way. Flabbergasted, she stomped her way to the kitchen, out of sight for the rest of the night. The crew of the Coldspray roared in laughter.


See the following post for what I need from you next.

[Mathias]

Okay <insert writer's name here>, this is where you come in. If you like the story so far and would like to continue writing it with me, then I need you to answer a few questions. If not, post a message under the Bluecloak's Role Call thread to see if Wolflord is interested.

Assuming you're interested, I'd like you to start with a simple introduction that answers the following questions. Try to work the answers into your storyline post, but if it doesn't fit, or you don't know yet, then don't force it. Ask questions, or put notes outside of the quotes.

Who is your character?
a. Name (pick a first and last name)
b. Gender (choose one: male or female)
c. Race (choose one: dwarf, elf, half-elf, halfling, human, or gnome)
d. Class, level 1 (choose one: Cleric, Fighter, Rogue, Wizard, or ask me for more options)
e. Physical description (simple equipment, armor, weapons, visible stuff, not every item)

Character Background
At this point your character is a new recruit of the Bluecloaks guild. Your character and your Bluecloak's recruiter have been assigned the delivery of a special item to be determined from Saltmere to another location to be determined. Don't give out your entire background, personality, character, and whatnot in one post. We'll develop the characters and the story over many posts.

Don't describe the recruiter in your post. I'll do that after I get a feel for your character.

Story continuation
I would suggest that you write a small introduction between your character and Travis Polst sometime after the events above. You can leave it after that introduction, or carry it on further.

Perhaps after leaving the bar, your character is attacked by what you assume are a pair of human thugs. After giving chase, you find that they won't give up, and eventually you have to fight. They fight to the death, which is bizarre for street thugs. As you investigate the bodies you discover something of significance. Of course, I would post a continuation from there.

The above are suggestions. You can fudge around the details and carry the story another way. Please take my suggestions under advisement and try to follow the INTENT of what I'm suggesting, not necessarily taking it as the LETTER of the law.

[Kelene]

Who is your character?
a. Name (pick a first and last name)
Annabelle (Belle for short) Dahbern
b. Gender (choose one: male or female)
Female
c. Race (choose one: dwarf, elf, half-elf, halfling, human, or gnome)
Human
d. Class, level 1 (choose one: Cleric, Fighter, Rogue, Wizard, or ask me for more options)
Monk
e. Physical description (simple equipment, armor, weapons, visible stuff, not every item)
She carries a simple quarterstaff, black in color, and wears no armor. Has a backpack that holds common equipment, mirror, silk rope, five sun rods, ink, pen, and notebook. She wears her long mid-back length hair in a simple braid tied with a black string with a silver ring tied into it. Her clothes are pristine black and blue in color with simple looking black type hard sole shoes.

Character Background
At this point your character is a new recruit of the Bluecloaks guild. Your character and your Bluecloak's recruiter have been assigned the delivery of a special item to be determined from Saltmere to another location to be determined. Don't give out your entire background, personality, character, and whatnot in one post. We'll develop the characters and the story over many posts.

Annabelle is new with the Bluecloaks. Living on the ocean shore has taught her respect and love for the ocean. She knows how to swim, fight,and sail. She has been assigned this missions because of her knowledge of sailing.
Annabelle is the third daughter of a very minor noble and had always been adventurous. She entered a monastery on her sixteenth birthday and has been learning physical, mental, and spiritual talents for eight years. Now she is ready to put her training to use to help others.


Story continuation
I would suggest that you write a small introduction between your character and Travis Polst sometime after the events above. You can leave it after that introduction, or carry it on further.

WILL COME LATER!!!!!

Perhaps after leaving the bar, your character is attacked by what you assume are a pair of human thugs. After giving chase, you find that they won't give up, and eventually you have to fight. They fight to the death, which is bizarre for street thugs. As you investigate the bodies you discover something of significance. Of course, I would post a continuation from there.




Here is a small start. I will develop her more after I have more time to think about her.

[Kelene]

She knew that the bar would be filled with sailors and wanna-be sailors. As she swung the door open her hearing became assaulted with laughter. “Sailors, sailors, and more sailors. Robyn, how ever are we to find this man?” A young woman in a blue cloak asked her companion.

Robyn shrugged her shoulders. “Just ask around. I'm sure a man as well known as him should be easy to locate.”

“Hey doll face, wanna come with me?” a dirt covered drunk asked the two with an inebriated slur.

“No thank you,” Robyn said as she pushed past the man.

“Hey, that's no way to...” the drunk started as he grabbed the other woman's arm. He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. She elbowed the sailor in his side as she turned in place and delivered a light jab across his jaw.

“We said no.” Holding his aching jaw the drunk shakily slipped away from the two women. The on-lookers cheered and laughed at the scene.

“After a display like that miss, you get a drink on the house. I've never seen anyone take care of old Brenour like that before.” The friendly bartender grabbed a clean cup from the counter, well at least a cup without any dried food on it. “What will you and your friend have?”

“Just water and some information.” Robyn and the other woman sat on the barstools that two men recently vacated.

“Water is easy. Information might be expensive. Name is Drake,” the bartender said as he filled two cups with clean water. “Now what sort of information will you be needing?”

“We are looking for a man by the name of Travis Polst. Do you know him?”

“Now that is an easy question.” Drake leaned on the bar top toward the women as if he wanted to share a secret with them. “But first,” he whispered, “you need to tell me your name, miss.”

“Annabelle,” she answered as she pulled her hood off. Her braided black hair slipped over her right shoulder. “Now that information.”

“He's the first mate on the Coldspray. Look for a man in blue pants and a white shirt.” He gave her a once over with an eye for detail. “Ouch, if looks could kill,” Annabelle's look of pure irritation had Drake clutching his chest with a mock wound and a snort of a chuckle. “He's over by the fireplace telling stories about the Coldspray. He's the man next to the goblin cook with his hair tied back in a red thong.”

“Thanks,” Robyn said as she tossed the barkeep a coin.

Annabelle led the way to the fireplace crowded by sailors. As she passed by upended mugs of ale, half-eaten food, and some unidentifiable residue she grew grateful that she had elected to wear her black shoes, even though she preferred to go barefoot most of the time. “Mr. Polst,” she said as he stopped his storytelling to take a drink. “We need to have a word with you, please.”

Polst looked up and found himself lost in a sea of blue eyes. He quickly stood up and sized up the woman in front of him. Her 5'7” height came to his shoulder but she held herself with self-confidence that his height advantage did not intimidate her. Her black hair was braided with a simple blue string and a silver ring near the middle. She was lithe and lean, but Travis could almost see an inner strength. She wore a blue cloak over top of black pants and a green tunic. “I'm Travis Polst. How can I help you?”

“I'm Annabelle Dahbern and this is Robyn Trulin. We're from the Bluecloaks. We wanted to make sure all preparations were ready for the voyage tomorrow.” Annabelle replied, speaking softly.

“Yes, of course. Everything will be ready and we'll leave early. Do you need help loading your cargo?”

“No thank you, we will handle that. See you tomorrow then, Mr. Polst.” Annabelle turned around and left the bar.

“You did very well in there, Belle.” Robyn said as they started down the street,. “I know you aren't comfortable around strangers; you did well.”

They continued walking down the street toward their boardings for a few minutes in silence. Robyn gently gripped Annabelle's wrist in silent communication. She had figured out that they were being followed by the distinct footsteps that kept pace with them. Annabelle nodded her head in understanding. She had the feeling of being followed since they had left the bar.

Will post the continuation in a few days. But this is a start.

[Kelene]

With simple hand gestures, taught throughout the Bluecloaks, Robyn and Annabelle decided to split up. Annabelle would quickly slip into a dark alley while Robyn would continue walking down the road. Annabelle made her disappearance and, sure enough, two thugs passed by her hiding space.

"They are definitely up to no good," Annabelle thought to herself. As noiseless as a ghost, Annabelle ducked out of her hiding place and began to hunt the human thugs dressed as sailors. The gait, though, did not remind her of the experienced ship-hands her father employed. They didn't wait long to attack. With a weak sounding war cry the thugs began to run toward the lone Bluecloak.

Robyn was ready for them. With a quick turn she unleashed a magic missile right into the chest of the closest thug. Annabelle was behind the other thug and with a quick sweeping kick he laid on his back. A low swinging club caused Annabelle to jump back. This guy had strength, she noted. While Robyn attacked the other man with another magic missile, Annabelle feinted to the left allowing him an opening to her right side. With a spin to the right, she was suddenly on the thug's unguarded side. A lightening quick punch to the soft underside of his armpit took him down to the ground.

"What was that?" he groaned in pain.

"A stunning fist attack," Annabelle answered as she kicked aside his club. "Need any help, Robyn?" She called to her friend.

"Nope," she answered as she smashed the thug's own club against his face. "He's not going anywhere."

"Now who are you and why were you following us?" Robyn asked the thug who was still conscious. Impatient and infuriated, she nearly screamed, "Answer us!"

Mathias's turn.

[Mathias]

“So, you know what I said to the double-crossing lass?” Henry Helsh belched out as they walked down the street, beer bottles in hand swaying in an uneasy balance. An ear grating set of short laughs, already amused by the answer before it was even said, caused a few more respectable members of society to quick step away.

“No, Double-H, what?” Kelton Wagoner asked jovially, his portly beer-belly jiggling in a rhythmic dance non-too attractive.

“Just remember baby, you gave up this militiaman for that minuteman!” The bony man slapped his knee with a large guffaw. Looking up from the ground, his addled mind finally realized that he knocked his bum knee out from under himself. He laughed uncontrollably, ignoring the pain with another swig of beer.

Kelton couldn't stop pointing and laughing, eventually causing himself to enter a coughing fit. When he regained his composure, well at least when he could breathe easily again, he held out a hand. Double-H took the hand of the well-muscled compatriot of the Coldspray with a smile.

“I don't get it.” Kelton said in pure innocence. They both started laughing and pointing at each other.

“Clever Kelton, simply clever.” Henry patted him on the back. “You know, I was the one who nicknamed you 'Clever Kelton', because you always know the right thing to say.”

Their reverie was disrupted when they heard the howl of a man experiencing extreme pain. A glimpse of sobriety engulfed them as adrenaline cleansed their senses, if only temporarily. Henry took off immediately, while Kelton tarried for just a moment and thought out loud in confusion of his friend's last statement. “I don't get that, either.”

They ran to the nearby alley, Henry's long legs carried him a few feet ahead of Kelton. In the darkness of the alley, a light, probably from a lamp, shone from behind a large dumpster. A pair of shadows danced against the wall opposite the disturbance. Double-H and Kelton inched closer until they could glimpse the entire scene.

“Now tell me Grit of Tuurzun's Ruffians, why did Darnold send you after us?” Annabelle stood next to the kneeling thug, pulling one of his fingers back almost to the breaking point. Two bruised fingers were already swelled up, the result of earlier lackluster responses. He screamed in excruciating pain as she pulled back slowly.

“Please, please, please, stop. I'll tell you.” He panted, sweat beading down his face. She gave him a little slack, her beautiful face stern and unforgiving. “He told us to kill you and take the box.”

“What box?” He stammered incoherently. Belle pulled Grit's finger back quickly.

“The gem-encrusted box made of large teeth.” She nearly released the man in surprise

“Robyn, what is he talking about?” She whispered loud enough that Henry had to lean in just a little closer to hear. Belle then noticed how pale Robyn had become. The sorceress supported herself against the wall with one hand and held her fast beating heart with the other. “Are you okay?” She worried.

About a minute passed as Robyn seemed tormented by some unseen demon within her. “I've been so careful. No one could have known.” Finally, she opened her eyes and marched over to the thug. With little effort she tore his shirt off, revealing three deep claw wounds made by some huge creature. She took a step back, bringing her hands to cover her mouth.

“It can't be.” She gave an exasperated pause between each sentence. “They've found me. How could they...” Grit took advantage of the tear-stricken woman's distraction to pull away from Belle, cutting Robyn's belt with a hidden boot dagger. A simple cloth bag fell to the ground and split open. It revealed a tiny chest, the size of two fists, made of curved teeth as long and sharp as the dagger that nearly gutted her.

Kelton went slack jaw. What the hell was that? He thought himself simply having another hallucination brought on by the drink, but the whole episode had such a sobering effect that he couldn't deny what he was seeing. Kelton swallowed hard in disbelief. Henry would explain it to him later, he hoped, because he didn't feel very clever at that moment.

Anabelle berated her lack of focus and quickly stunned Grit with a few quick thrusts of her fingers to pressure points on his body. She yanked back on Grit's hair, his face to the sky. “Is Darnold here? How did you know she had the box?” She looked down the alley and up to the rooftops half expecting to see the brigand leader appear before her.

“No,” Grit stammered between bloody lips, “our contact...” he shut his lips tightly.

Belle could stand for it no more. “Who?” she demanded angrily. His lips parted for nearly a moment before a simple crossbow fletching lodged itself into Grit's chest. The feathers on the tail of the bolt flared up and slowly burned towards the head. The women's attention were glued to the abnormal piece of ammunition. The thug looked down at his chest and then stared Belle straight in the eyes in triumph.

“Burn bitch, burn.” He smiled, spilling blood from his lips like a snake's venom.

Kelton had witnessed this scene once before. He rubbed his burn-scarred arm, memories flooding his mind. The Bluecloak's had only moments to survive. He ran out from their hiding place, waving his hands wildly. Double-H followed instinctively behind, unsure of what was happening, but trusting that Clever Kelton knew what he was doing. “Run!”

It's been a while, but I'm ready to get these stories rolling again.