Rumors of Roaringshore

[kham]

In a dark barely lit sleeping quarter sits a woman seemingly unable to lull herself to sleep. Her thoughts are consumed by an object that has been temporally deprived from her. An object that would normally set her at ease and offer her serenity; albeit a dark, nefarious, corrupted serenity as she would ritually peer deep into the object’s void to soothe her into slumber each night. Now she just sits up at night glaring into the darkened corners of whatever room she finds for the night searching in vain for a serene medium, devoid of any meaningful slumber; wondering what strumpet has their tentacles around her professed Nathan-"poo".

[ShineDown]

As the day grew long and the sun, quite past its apex somewhere in the sky beyond the clouds had fallen low, a rowboat of men made their way across the choppy windy waters of the harbour to find themselves soon on the pier. Three men armed with crossbows and sabres led by a man dressed as a mariner, his broody deeply set eyes and jawline beard quite well known among many of the town, not merely his own crew. Offering little but a raised hand now and again to persons he kept in touch with, he had words with the Enforcers as he came across them on their walk, a rarity for certain, the others in tow doing nothing but listen as the man explained things.
Up the long slope to stand and watch as a few men swung and twisted in the wind, their corpses left to rot until the next would take their place, a strong reminder to all the crews of what justice in Roaringshore can entail. After several uncomfortable minutes the procession led by the man now smiling found their way near the market and offering Bareil, the priest tending the tiny shrine to Umberlee a salute of touching finger to forehead. The large man knelt at the shrines foot briefly and fished out a pair of coins to throw in the seawater filled basin. Turning, an order was given and the men were set off, apparently on patrol. It seemed that the ranks of the Enforcers might have been bolstered.
A long quiet look was given then to the building most near. Over the windows and wooden walls and roof of The Broken Goblet while the sun made its final descent as the wind kept its pace. The man'd smiled, casting his eyes down, head a-bobbing briefly before making his way back down to the waiting boat.

[The Whistler]

A Black Stag corsair with a clean shaven scalp is seen congratulating the well known once-first mate of the Seawolf on his recent promotion to the position of captain of the Hellstorm crew. After a brief exchange of pleasantries the two men are seen boarding a skiff bound for the fearsome brig o' war in the company of a ginger haired half elf woman.

A few candlemarks later, the selfsame corsair pays a visit to the town's shipyard. Following this, his presence among captain Anglo Hellstorm's retinue becomes increasingly common.

[ShineDown]

It was a windy day when the three men and a half elven woman stepped out on the sandy beach below the town of Roaringshore. The Captain, the newly minted Quartermaster, and the chief rigger of The Seawolf all accompanying a tall man dressed in the style of Cormyr. As the captain and rigger stepped away, the pair quickly drew their weapons. It would be a finely polished sabre and shield against a master of the glaive. Words were cast back and forth,whatever those may have been but soon enough those were left behind. Like a lightning bolt the polearm came crashing downward, the man on the receiving end just as quickly raising his defence but to no avail. Brought to a knee but alive the Cormyrian bled from that arm, his wooden barrier split and useless. Few could not imagine what might have come of that fine appendage had it not been fixed in place but that seemed to end whatever had begun with the two. The four began to walk to the docks as the rigger dressed the mans arm crudely, joined by a smaller figure, an elven woman met along the way, a quintet now climbing aboard a boat to be rowed out across the choppy waves toward The Seawolf.

[Urem Dal]

A fat dwarf is seen at the merchants of Roaringshore, asking about a sailor, gruff with brown hair and a beard that supposedly frequents the place.

He wouldn't tell much about his purpose though. Regardless, this dwarf doesn't look like much of a physical threat.

[The Whistler]

An entourage of heavily armed Hellstorm corsairs slowly filters into the market square early in the morning, lead by a physically imposing young man bearing a baneful glaive in his hands and a lifeless look in his eyes. They take up positions beside the various merchant stalls in an orderly fashion, keeping a keen lookout for troublemakers and thieves alike.

Several hours later, as the air begins to cool and the sun starts to fade the men swiftly disperse back to whence they came. However their stony faced leader lingers well into the late night hours, only deigning to leave after the last merchant had shuttered their store.

Following this display, the dead eyed youth and his band of enforcers become something of a fixture in the unswept streets of Roaringshore's marketplace.

[cosmic ray]

A tanned dour-faced blonde man wearing fine seaman's clothes leads a number of Hellstorm crew members, burly men all, through the streets of Roaringshore, forcefully dragging any able-bodied drunkards known to have seafaring experience out of bars and into the street. A while later, a long queue forms at the docks with each man being pressed into the Seawolf crew.

[ShineDown]

//October 1 at 20:00 gmt
Souls of the first mark levels 1-10
second 11-20
third 21-30

Any weapons, any abilities allowed except heals of any kind. Hiding once is allowed. More than once you forfeit//

[The Whistler]

Rumors abound of a pair of battles that recently took place upon the sands of Little Luskan, on a day when the skies wept tears of blood. The first, born of a quarrel of faith between two black hearted individuals; the second, out of vengeance for the death of the man on the losing side of the argument. In both instances corpses were left bifurcated by a baneful weapon, a swirling maelstrom of teardrops daubed in their own blood surrounding them. A sight unseen since the days when the cruel Sunder brothers prowled Roaringshore's streets.

[ShineDown]

A rowboat of four men hauled across the choppy waters of the harbour to the large and tar painted hull of the High Captain Cyrano Ambrosio's infamous flagship, The Black Stag. Rumor is a letter has been handed off from the Captain of The Hellstorm, signed, sealed and now delivered to the High Admiral himself.

[nale]

The scarlet heavens were made all the more threatening by the forking streaks of electric light, followed by a drum-roll that awakened the primal self. The event bequeathed a percussion of rain upon old barrels, wagon canvas and a single tricorn of a figure making her way up the slope.

“Maveric, did you bring them with you?”

“Aye, mistress Bonnie. Each and every one of them, no exceptions.” The cowled figure nodded.

“Well, where are they then?” She motioned impatiently.

“Waiting in the back of the wagon up the hill, till you are all set.”

“Ah, most excellent. The coast is clear. Go fetch them and come down to the beach. I’ve prepared a nice camp inside a nearby cave.”


Finally, the Drowned were united again. Up ahead though the storm grew vast, surging water like a mountain river during spring. Clouds twirled like perfect dancers clad in red about the sky as she descended and made her way to the hideout.


One hour later she went out her makeshift quarters and into the main cave, smiling at the silhouettes gathered around the table, seemingly awaiting her return.

She put her tricorn hat on top of a table that looked as if it had been reclaimed from the bottom of an ocean, and rearranged her hair.

“Gentlemen, like I’ve promised, even it would take me one hundred years, today I managed to bring us all back together. This was a real love cost and a beautiful adventure of which I will spare you the details. More importantly, and you will carefully need to listen to this with both ears… I have saved you, I have saved you all. Each and everyone of you. That means you owe me, and I won settle for less than a lifetime of indentured servitude. You all now have the rights of dead folks. All the plans I make as from now are my business and my business only. You will do as I say, even if it leads to the death. Company policy, but reading your faces I see you all understand.”

Bonnie flashed a grin. “Now, sit tight and wait for my signal to come out.” She had already gotten up again from a chair that didn’t look any better than the table.

As she made her way out of the cave, silence descended over the gathered silhouettes, silhouettes which missed that soul-spark that made them people.

Limited torchlight made hairless, century-old skulls gleam like wet stone…

Hidden: show

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[Re'Drix]

The Sound That Echoed The Morning

The first morning of Kythorn was quiet, The early hour sounded of nothing but the waves rolling against the dock littered with dock workers hard at work, The screeching of gulls overhead and the soft morning breeze as the Roaringshore had brightened up by the morning sun.
The cliff faces being met with rays, The smell of the sea salt on the beach warming up as crabs scurried around.


At the end of the dock would rest The Seawolf, In all its glory- Sails raised and deck filled with deckswabs all manned with mops and rags swabbing at the deck, Some tending to the rigging and ropework, Others just standing around ensuring everyone was doing the job to the best of its ability.

Amongst those men was a lad clad in black, An elegant and confident strike along the deck of the large ship, Picking up a mop bucket here and there, Quickly kneeling to swab at a spot that was clearly missed... It wasn't until the sun had met the highest point in the sky the chatter of the crew turn into silence before one old fellow started raising his voice, And as his voice raised so did each man of the crew as they swabbed.

Now we are ready to sail for the Horn

Weigh hey, roll and go!

Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn

To be rollicking randy dandy-oh!

The crew sang away for time until the job was down, and when the job was done they celebrated with a trip up the hill to The Broken Goblet, as the Sea Wolf looked perfect and ready for whatever voyage as up next..

Re'Drix, A new swabby to the Hellstorm crew took his leave off the ship with his fellow crewmates whilst his mutt of the night darted up and down the beach chasing the crabs that scuttered around on the sand.

[The Whistler]

The deadly glaive was brutally thrust through Ushatar's gut, its wickedly curved blade ripping the the man's flesh and innards as Garon pulled it out in a bifurcating arc. Seeing his victim begin to feebly attempt to crawl away like a slug leaving behind a trail of viscera and blood, the dead eyed youth violently yanked the mask off Ushatar's face and, burying his taloned fingers into his nostrils, dragged him out of the Broken Goblet and into the grimy street outside. This met with no resistance whatsoever, as, by now, the mortally wounded man seemed more preoccupied with keeping his guts from spilling out to enjoy the cool night air, something which his rapidly fading consciousness could scarcely afford him to focus on.

"You have flapped your great big horsey gape of a mouth for the last time, maggot," said Garon as they reached the shrine of Umberlee, forcing his dying victim into a prostrate position. Then, taking ahold of his long gray hair now matted with blood and dirt, he forced Ushatar's neck as far back as it would go, and sliced it open with his knife in one fluid motion. An incomprehensible curse or a mere gargling scream was all that the mage could muster as what remained of his life was offered as tribute to the Bitch Queen.

Men and women alike looked on in horror and, though they whispered to each other about the murderer's identity, they dared speak not one word aloud on account of the man's growing infamy. Moments later, the basin became flooded with the red water which had, until moments ago, given life to Ushatar. Satisfied, Garon dragged the now limp pale body out into the middle of the street, where he cut the garments, leaving the dead man stark naked, and it did not take long until stray mangy dogs made a feast out of him.

[Re'Drix]

What lies below.

Roaringshore might be a beach polluted by pirates, thieves, rowdy drunks and pretty woman in corsets with a vocabulary to make a priest cry, But amongst the chaos there is as serene beauty that is held on the brink of Umberlees domain, Where you can grab yourself a bucket of worms, your finest fishing rod and relax.

That place be on the docks of Roaringshore - Grab your favourite fishing hat and your rod - Pack that hook with a fat grub and toss that line on out into the water and let the sounds of the waves gently crash against the wooden beams holding the docks, The sweet crisp smell of the ocean air and the sight of gulls gliding overhead flush out all your stress.

Be it you want to become a master fisherman and catch the biggest of fish and brag about it to the patrons in the local Tavern or you're simple just a hard working individual that wants to unwind after a long day it would be rumoured that the best place to fish in Roaringshore would be in-between the last two walkways - Where the Red Groupers and White Grunts circle, Hungry for something that isn't scraps tossed over into the sea by drunkards!

[Strago]

The Dragon Awakens

In the port of Roaringshore lives a peculiar woman , a warrior-monk with a growing reputation of drinking heavily before she begins fighting. Locals might notice that for several days shes been seen either studying from several books inside the Broken Goblet or training on the cliffs above the town.

During one of the clifftop training sessions on a clear night a bolt of lightning could be seen shooting up away from the cliff and into the night sky followed shortly after by a triumphant shout from the odd monk.