Post/Author/DateTime	Post
PerennialRook 01-06-08, 07:04 AM	Episode 1: In the begining Gnomes and halflings hail from a different land far from the reaches of human corruption, across the open ocean of the eastern seas. Long has navigation to Roquhilndalen been a secret of gnomes, as they were the first to discover trigognometry, they mathematical secret to navigation by the stars. Few non-gnomish ships sail out of the sight of landmarks, hugging to the coastline like a child in the shallows of a great pond. A few lanes of commerce are marked by great fiery orbs in the sky, like that of the run from Galeforge, the great dwarven port, to Westgate, one of the great human metropolises and the largest port in the known world. It is the Port of Westgate that we meet our first hero, a small gnomish faun straight of the boat from Roquhilndalen. The boat she has arrived on is a gnomish craft, outfitted with elaborately geared outriggers, and a complex array of sails, all with winches and pulleys to aid the smallish gnomes in heaving and leveraging the rigging about. Trigognometry is not the only gnomish innovation. The discovery of black powder, a potent alchemical substance, is also attributed to gnomish eccentric ingenuity. This discovery has lead to the most distinguishing features aboard the gnomish ship, two cast iron artillery pieces that sit atop the main deck. Arlen, the gnomish girl, steps off the boat in awe of the spectacle of the human port. Buildings crowd the shoreline, more dense than the thickest jungle, and tall, most of them easily ten times her hight and higher. Docks and gangways wrapped around the peninsula, disappearing around either side of the city into the distance and even in the dark of night, the docks were lit as if it were noon day. Some ships were unloaded by powerful mages who bended the forces of gravity to their will to levitate the vast amounts of cargo onto waiting carts. Other ships were unloaded by all varieties of giants, some by their own will, and others under the loud crack of their taskmaster's whips. The gnomish docks were equipped by cranes built from elaborate pulley systems which allowed minimal effort to lift, shift, and stow their wares. Arlen was in awe of the bright lights and the lightning pace of the big people's city. She had not considered, when undertaking her journey, what she would do when she arrived. She had made no arrangements, tracked down no relatives that might reside in a gnomish sector or the town, or really learned much at all about the city, except that there were all sorts of opportunities to be found in the high life of one of the largest cities in the world. Opportunity was the operative word here. Though good hearted, she was opportunistic by nature, and here skills reflected that, from her quick hands, to her quicker rapier, she knew even before she had sailed that she would be more at home abroad than she would living the quiet life in the rolling meadows of Roquhilendalen. Unsure of her next step, she approached the gnome who operated the crane mechanism, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she interrupted. "Hiya thar lass', and what'd you be need'n?" questioned the gruff gnome. "Do you know where I could get a good meal?" "I're a fan o' the Fillet Skillet. Make a fine fried fish for a fair fare, the' do," he alliterated. "How do I," she began to ask, though the gnome interrupted her, trying to balance his good will with his will to return to his work quickly. "Take that alley thar down 'bout t'ree blocks 'til you meet ta road, take a right, then a' 'mediate lef' a' the next alley. Thar's a sign. Quite obvious." And with that the gnome returned to his work. There were far more crowded alleys than there were streets, as land was at so much of a premium in the densely overcrowded city, and it was not uncommon for a building's only access to be from a narrow alley. Arlen thought that perhaps a market or the like would be cheaper than a tavern, and more prone to her opportunistic nature, but she also needed a place to stay, and the fillet skillet was likely to have more than one or two rooms available, and at a fair price it the establishment was frequented by dockworkers and the like. The light of the docks was a stark contrast to the dark alleys, and even her keen vision barley kept her from stumbling over the plethora of debris which was scattered about the alleyways. As she was about to reach the first street she heard a rustling in the alley just in front of her. Ready for the worst she drew her rapier and stood still, waiting for a fight. She waited a moment, though there was no sign of anyone else in the alley. When she thought she had waited long enough, she sheathed her rapier. Berating herself for letting her nerves get her so worked up. It was just a dark alley. She continued forward, though she had not gone three paces when there was a sudden flash of beady red eyes, a screeching squeak, and the gnashing of teeth just as she dodged back from the lunging mass of fur. She drew her dagger and tried to skewer the rat, which, to her amazement, nearly matched her in stature. The rat ducked past the flashing steel and is lunged forward again, this time snatching her arm in it's teeth and rending the flesh. Unaccustomed to such searing pain, Arlen fled back down the alley, but the rat far outmatched her speed, easily overtaking her and snapping at her with its razor sharp teeth. With nowhere to run, Arlen tried to face the beast again, this time catching a good piece of the rat as she lunged with her rapier. A good effort, the hit was too little too late. She had already suffered a great deal of trauma and blood loss from the first bite, so when the rat finally raked her with its teeth once again she swooned and lost consciousness. Arlen awoke in darkness, startled by fevered dreams of her fight with the beast in the dark alley. Instead of the cold ground of the alley, she lay on a mattress that was not uncomfortable, if not far too large for her, swimming in a sea of cold, drenched linens. Arlen sat up and opened her eyes to find herself in a large room, lined with beds like her own. She could hear coughing from across the room, and quickly surmised that she was in some form of infirmary, though it did not have the obligatory trappings of religious iconography that would have told her that she lay in a temple bed. Having the strength to sit encouraged Arlen, though she was obviously ill. Her chest and forehead burned with a severe fever, and she felt parched as though she had not had but a drop to drink in a few days. Always willing to push her luck, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and hopped down. She was startled when she fell nearly her full height to the ground, though still nimble enough to catch her feet. She had forgotten that she was in a big person's bed, something which she was not accustomed to. The bed was not the only thing that was ill fitting. It seemed that the persons that ran the hospice also did not have clothing for people of Arlen's stature, instead she wore a shirt, which hung on her like a full length nightgown, the sleeves falling nearly to the floor. She rolled up the sleeves as she got to looking around the room. The room she was in was lined with beds, for on each side of the long room, and a door at each end. Arlen walked to the first door, though found it to be locked. It was then that she realized that she had none of her equipment with her. With it this obviously simple lock would not have been a hindrance, without her tools the door became an insurmountable obstacle. Undaunted, Arlen tried the other door, which was unlocked. The room beyond was much smaller, with a desk stacked high with papers, a high shelf of herbs and medicines, a large water cask equipped with a spigot, and another door leading from the room, which was also shut. Arlen rushed to the cask to quench her thirst, filling a bowl with the life giving water, and drowning her lips in the bowl until she had had her fill. Feeling much better, she began a thorough exploration of the room. The herbs intrigued her, as she felt horrible, and thought perhaps one of them might be of some use. Though the majority of the containers where unlabeled, there was one potent herb which Arlen did recognize. Remarkable for its ability to ease pain, the weed was also also known to cause one to become extremely drowsy, resulting in unconsciousness in high or concentrated enough doses. Arlen took a fair amount and stuffed it into her breast pocket, which hung almost at her waist, before moving on to examine the desk. On the table was a maze of unremarkable paperwork, mostly ledgers, receipts, and notes on the care of the patients. The lower of two drawers was filled with more organized papers, which had been filed neatly. The upper desk drawer was locked, which piqued her interest. Looking around the room, Arlen could see nothing that might function as a lockpick, until her eyes came to rest on a fine ink pen resting on the desk. The wooden handle was easily split at the tip revealing a long thin metal tang, which along with the halved handle, would function reasonably well as a lockpick. With tools, the upper draw was easy enough to open, and after a few attempts Arlen was able to turn the mechanism. Inside the drawer was a coin purse and a daily ledger. Balancing her needs with the needs of the proprietor, she lifted a few coins from the purse, which she planned to repay when she had a chance. With her new tools to aid her, Arlen decided to try her hand at the locked door in the other room. Slowly, she crept across the room, trying not to disturb the sleeping patients, keeping her head low under the height of the beds so that none would see her. The lock was a little more complex than that of the drawer, though it opened just as quickly under the skill of her nimble fingers. The room beyond was pitch dark except for the faint light which streamed from the room the was in. Peering inside she could see shelves stacked with what seemed to be the belongings of the persons in the infirmary. Her thoughts were confirmed when she spied her own gear sitting neatly on a shelf. Arlen dashed inside the closet and donned her equipment in the near dark of the room, while looking over the gear of the other patients. There was little of interest, so she left the rest alone and quietly exited the infirmary. It was on to the far door of the office next. This door too was unlocked and lead to a hallway about thirty feet long with a pair of doors along either side of the passageway. At the other end of the hallway was a window which provided the only light, and she could see that the passageway continued off to the left from the end of the hallway as well. Silently she moved down the hallway, seeing that there were numbers on the doors, the first pair numbered "3" and "4" and obviously the next two were "1" and "2". Ever curious she tried door "4". It was locked. Fortunately Arlen now had her expert set of tools and was able to make quick work of the lock. Inside was a sparse bedroom, furnished with only a bed, a desk and chair, and a chest at the foot of the bed. In the bed slept a man who snored softly in his slumber. She pressed her luck again, creeping up to the chest which was padlocked shut, and as quietly as she could manage, she worked the lock until it opened its secrets to her. Inside were the most valuable possessions of the poor man, a small coin purse which was mostly coppers and a few silver, and a belt with a sheathed dagger. It was the dagger that caught her eye, so she lifted it from the chest and quickly and quietly left the room. Brimming with excitement, she tried the next door, door "3". It to yeilded to her skill, and as she peered inside she saw a great ornate bow leaning up in the corner, easily twice her height. This would be much more promising, she thought, though as she crept into the room she stumbled, tripping over a loose floorboard and tumbling to the ground. Arlen quickly picked herself up, but the elf was quicker. As she stood she saw the elf, standing atop the bed, and a look that was none too happy. The elf had a scimitar drawn, and stared the small gnome down. "What are you doing?" inquired the irate elf. "Looking for something to eat?" she ventured. The elf looked down on the feverish gnome, obviously still the worse for ware in her own travels, and granted her pardon. "You'll find that the pantry is down the stairs." "Th- Thank you," the small gnomish girl stammered. "And I expect I will not see you in the morning at breakfast," added the elf. "No," she accepted. The elven ranger followed Arlen to the door, locking it behind her. Scared straight, she skipped the next two doors and ventured down the stairs, where she could hear the bustling sound of plates and mugs, though as she rounded the corner she saw only one matron, who was busy cleaning up the small inn's tavern. "So, you're up," said the elderly woman. "You've been out of it for a couple of days. We didn't know if you were going to pull through." Arlen walked up to the bar were the woman was busy at work. "Are you hungry?" asked the woman. "Yes'm." "I'll get you some stew," said the woman, disappearing into a back room. She appeared moments later with a small cup of stew, though more than enough for a gnome. The stew was short on meat, and consisted mostly of potatoes and a few green vegetables and carrot slices. What small bits of meat that there were seemed to be small game, which she hoped was rabbit and not rat, remembering how she had ended up here in the first place. In payment she laid a gold piece down on the counter. Then finished off the cup of stew. "Hungry are we? I'll get you some more." "No, that was plenty. Thank you," said Arlen, letting the woman take her cup. "Do you know of any jobs in town?" "The city is ripe with cheap labor, so only skilled workers can make a living wage. The town guard is always hiring, though in a metropolis like Westgate, only the brave and the bold take on such a calling. The guard is ridiculously understaffed and underpaid. Many make more for being on the take than they do for being on the force." "Where would I find the Captain of the Guard?" "At the east gate." "The east gate of Westgate?" "Most land trade comes in from the east or out to it, and though there are a few patrols at the docks, the guilds keep better security there than the guard ever could. That leaves the guard to the gates, and a few of the upper class quarters of the city, such as the temple and mercantile districts." "Oh. Is the temple district where I would find better healing?" "At a price. The temple district is on the southern end of the city, far from the smells and noises of the port itself. I wouldn't be too eager to leave just yet. The streets here are much safer in the light of day." "Are there any of the rooms open then?" "No dear, though you are welcome to sleep out the rest o' the night in the hospice bed." "How much?" "Oh, we run the hospice free of charge, for those not well off enough to afford care in the temple district." Arlen sheepishly placed another gold on the counter, somewhat guilt stricken for having lifted coin from a charitable hospice. "Thank you," said the woman, accepting the coin graciously. Though Arlen had slept for a couple of days, she still felt somewhat tired, and knew that rest would do her a world of good, so she politely excused herself and made her way back up the stairs. By now she was feeling much better, and knowing that the other two rooms were occupied, was somewhat curious as to who occupied those rooms. As silently as she could she unlocked and opened the door to room "1". Inside there were people littering the room. A whole family of them. More than a few slept together on the bed, while more lay about the room atop bedrolls. Though there was a chest at the foot of the bed like the other rooms, Arlen decided not to risk it with so many ears. The other room was equally fruitless, though for different reasons. The room was pungent with the smell of pig sweat, a huge double bladed axe rested next to the bed, and the bed itself was almost overflowing with the rotund mass of what Arlen could only guess to be an orc. All things considered, she figured that there was nothing worth the risk in the chest, and shut the door without ever entering the room. Arlen slipped back to the back room and went back to sleep, taking some of the herbs she had found earlier to aid her rest. The drugs worked like a charm. There was a bright morning light before Arlen awoke again. The woman she had met during the night was at one of the other beds tending to the care of another patient. "Need any help?" asked Arlen. "Sure," replied the woman. "If you could replace his other bandage, that would be most helpful." Arlen washed her hands in the other room, and retrieved some linen strips to rebandage the man's wound. When she removed the bandage, she could smell that the wound was going bad, though she knew little more to do than just wash it and wrap it up again, hoping for the best. "Why do clerics not come and heal the infirm?" asked Arlen. "Many reasons," the woman answered, avoiding the question. When Arlen had finished helping the woman, she gathered her things and left. Downstairs there was some commotion, the small tavern was filled with folks just chatting, or grabbing a small meal. Most seemed poor, and a few disparately so. She spotted the elf sitting at a table facing away from her, so she quickly left out the front door to escape his wrath. Outside was something completely unexpected. The slums. Small tents and shacks choked the street down to a small alleyway. Tall buildings towered over Arlen, casting their shadows across the street, leaving it in a gloomy darkness. She checked the sun to make out which was was south, and proceeded as best she could in that direction. Most of the alleyways were blocked off by shanties, those that weren't seemed seedier that she would like, so she stuck to what there was of the street, weaving in and around the tents and shacks that crowded about her. She was making good progress until someone stepped in front of her. A child who was easily a foot taller than her and twice her mass, a mean pudgy looking kid. "Gotta pay tha toll," he demanded, in no uncertain terms. "Toll?" "For walking past my toll booth," he gestured towards a crate from which he conducted the extortion of those he could bully. He thwacked a hefty stick on his palm, indicating his intentions. "How much is the toll?" "How much ya got?" "What do you care?" "Fine. It's a gold piece, or I beat it out of you." This seemed a bit steep to Arlen, and she turned to see what her options were for bypassing the toll. When she had her head turned, the bully prodded her in the side with his club. "Hey I's talking to you. Give me my gold piece 'fore I knock you around." "So if I give you a gold piece then you'll let me pass?" "That's the deal." Not wanting to drop the kid in a pool of his own blood, Arlen pulled a coin from her purse and flipped it to the side so that the kid would have to move to catch it. When he went for the copper, she dashed down the street past him. (to be continued... a.k.a. I'm going to sleep now, k?)
PerennialRook 01-06-08, 07:13 AM	I'm open to feedback, and also questions about my homebrew world, so feel free to comment. This is the last campaign I will be running before 4th edition, and I'm going to be making major changes to my world to fit in with the vision of 4th edition, to include a race of tieflings and dragonborn, the failing of all the great empires, and the downfall of technology (which has slowly crept forward over the years to the current age). It will also be the first campaign that I will have ever taken through 20 levels, come hell or high water. Episode 1: In the beginning (Part 1) (http://forums.gleemax.com/showpost.php?p=14754873&postcount=1)