Rumors of Roaringshore

[nale]

The floating, blue-white light bobbed a few times and then began its travel towards the cold body on the altar.

“Yes… that’s it. Come closer as you are the only one entitled to this possession. I know it’s been hard to find your way back, and I imagine you’d likely lost all track of time.”

A horse somewhere in the back snorted. Cordan raised a hand and gestured for the spectral appearance, not a single moment interrupting the flow of magic that sustained the convocation.

There was something in the summon like eyes that offered him a lifeless gaze. Then it began to move restlessly about, like as if what Cordan was offering were unreasonable.

“What? No desire to live? Or to feel?”

The movements became more sluggish before the appearance approached the body, unable to leave tracks or footprints. Cordan crouched and waited patiently.

“You saved me once, now allow me to do the same. Allow me to do my work, what I’m good at.”

The spirit began to hover above the body. Pale skin reflected the icy, electric light.

“Yeah, it was a lot of labour after all that time, but I hope you like the result. C’mon Annabel, go love yourself again…”

Cordan suddenly snapped his fingers and a shaft of something that looked like sunlight, hit the spirit.




“AAAHHHHHHhHhh!!” Bonnie shot up from her bed in cold sweat, her heart thumping loudly in the dark of her cave.

She could swear she heard Cordan’s voice in her head telling her : “...At least it’s still thumping…”

Bonnie muttered to herself. “Foc'ing knight in black armour…”

[Blackhorizon]

A rumor has been circulating around the Shore the past few days. Some say a suspected elf was accosted by a band of drunk pirates on the streets while others have insisted it was at the harbor or the tavern. Some mention bottles being tossed and maybe a few jaws being broken. The common thing is that some commotion took place but the outcome is left for question. It is said that someone intervened and the accused individual eventually left while others tell that the one must have been shipped to Calimshan or fed to the fish. The proportions of the story appears to grow with the amount of drinks the taleteller has had.

[ShineDown]

As word spread of the altercation one of the many Captains probably asking questions made his way ashore. Little brooking he gave for them not in the know, speaking with his own hand picked Enforcers he'd set among the others months and months before. Hearing of no deaths and the occurrences that led to the conflict he was known to speak up and spread his own words around.

"Soun's t' me that no man died, nor blade was pulled. Let them womanly kin's of a man cry afoul, bein' in a fair an' square fight. I'll ask m' questions up on the hill in the Goblet m'self for I've heard not a whisper of what's gone on this tenday past nor a reason. If I find my wife or my Chief of the shrouds accosted cause of their blood, let it be known t' any bastard tha'd do, the beatin' these men got is a far better for their health than what I'll dish out for their suppin'. Mark my words."

[Deragnost]

Rumor is two drow have wandered normally around Roaringshore, despite the rumors and risk of death and enslavement. In fact, that was probably the reason the two have wandered defiantly. After the walk, they would have grabbed a drink, where apparently even other drow and elves arrived nonetheless in defiance of those rumors spreading. Wether it is an exaggerated rumor or truth is unknown, but it's clear their stance was to defy the pirates and to show them they were not afraid - for freedom is all they got. And where else can you find a place of freedom?

[Re'Drix]

The recent rumours within the dark misty streets of Roaringshore and the Broken Goblet with words of outsiders have started getting all the more interesting, One late and foggy night words would be gossiped around the deck hands and sailors which within no time reached the goblet that there was sightings of an infernal individual dressed with their hood up, lower portion of their face covered aswell as simple traveling attire..

"I seen him, his full face.. It was as red as anythin' I've eva' seen before"

"I heard his eyes were a fiery blue and looked like flames!"

"Yeh lads smell that? Rum and brimstone."

"He be headed ta' the goblet, Damned outsiders"

[kham]

The downward trajectory of the seagull’s putrid refuse took direct aim at Rose Wintertal’s feathered hat as she performed in Roaringshore’s open market. However as fate would have it an adherent to the Frost Maiden, proudly waving the banner of her faith, elected to stand directly next to Rose. Fortunately that banner would serve as the sole bulwark protecting the minstrel from the defecation otherwise bearing down upon her from above. Unfortunately for the bearer of the banner her day was effectively soured seeing her beloved banner desecrated by a filthy seagull.

[selhan]

"The Shore"

Roaringshore - This isolated village of Roaringshore nestles in a small deepwater cove on the coast about a third of the way south from the mouth of the Winding Water toward the city of Baldure's Gate. The reputation of the bold, lawless Roaringshore has spread far up and down the length of the Sword Coast.



The traveler should be aware that many pirates here are runaways, local thieves, and adventurers all out to make an impression, and perhaps attract some business as mercenary hirelings. A lot of posing goes on. This can make Roaringshore a very dangerous place for the visitor who isn't in a large, well-armed group, or obviously powerful.

Two establishments of note have lasted long enough to garner well-deserved reputations:

The Swordarm Inn



You'd expect the only inn in a pirate hold regularly rocked by brawls and open fighting in the streets and often raided by mercenary armies,
too to be a crumbling, filthy, vermin-infested ruin of a place, on the verge of falling down. Well, the Swordarm was, until a powerful evil wizard decided to make it an investment. He devised a mysterious spell of great power that entrapped his three apprentices, binding them in a mystic web of forces linked to the old stone-and-timber inn building.

and The Broken Goblet.



When pirates and lawless folk come to brawl and carouse, their first thought is to roll into the Goblet’ swords drawn, and swagger as they promenade along the raised entry dais and down toward the bar. It's the place to be seen and the place to be killed in, if the body count of the last few years is any indication. Don't go here unless you're very good with a blade, alert, have a lot of well-armed friends with you, and are protected against poisons.



In recent days, there's been minor activity of materials and supplies being brought in. Local pirates , thieves, and smugglers might share drunken chatter with the assumption something is being built. What is being built is unknown for now by outsiders and locals alike. The bartender of the Broken Goblet and the Minstrel Rose has been seen more often of late by the locals of Roaringshore with strides of purpose.



"If yer a lad or lass that likes their freedom, then come over to the Shore. Just don't go crossing the High Captains.."



"...Or pissin off the crews.."



'....or ye might have a leather faced, mean muggin, ocean smellin, rum burpin, pirate ready to gut ye..or hang yer high."



"..and they feed their dogs man flesh too."

[Deragnost]

Rumors slowly begin to spread in Roaringshore about a new shop in town called "Run a Rig". It was under construction for a while and now it seems to have reached completion. However like any activity in that place, it faced already a few challenges. Stolen items, swapped old lanterns with new ones, trespassing of private areas and broken doors. One of the owners seemed to have groaned as that happened, thinking she'll have to order new doors and work on security... Again.
"I guess I should have expected it from Roaringshore."

[ShineDown]

Winter has passed and with it the ice in the harbour of Roaringshore. Crews of dozens upon dozens of ships have made about their business. Canvas is tested and at times replaced or patched, tar is set to timber and goods are moved. As with each new season come fresh goals. The prize of ship or goods, prisoners, ransom, slave. No one captain holds any prize sacred, despite what any one of them could say at any given time. The seas change and so will their eyes on what matters most, depending on the time, of course. Each sailor, freeman or pirate if you choose, knows his place though. In these past weeks the knowledge of the fate of the High Captain, Rensby Caine was the talk of all the town in the shattered state it had been for decades. No quarter had been given The Pious. Not question, not a ransom and the sailors knew. They spoke in hushed tones with one another as to their own fate if they were taken.
The Captain of the Seawolf's crew, broad in shoulder, thick legged and bearing his curved blades strode the streets, blue eyes blazing to see on his men, the ones he'd personally set as Enforcers. He had no gain at the time, all Enforcers but his were men of the High Captains yet he'd done so, perhaps out of respect for his former lead, High Captain Karn. Or maybe he had thumbed his nose at Karns replacement, that woman of no repute and never spoken of by himself or, if one wanted to dig through archives, anyone. The newest High Captain had not only never earned her stripes once, she was as irrelevant as a fly on breakfast. Waveable. Search as one might, she was unknown, the same as her crew. No tell was there she had even once taken a single prize. But this writer strays.
Up the incline he'd lurched to the market with passing word to the men he'd set to the shrine of Umberlee and was his way, cast a coin in the small seawater filed basin with a glance to Bareil. It was this time though he did not go further and began calling out to those near and passerby.

"Hear!" he called. "Hear this! Men 'f Roaringshore, hear! You're marked an' Rensby Caine is our sign! No more can y' hope f'r a trial! Trials're given by them that're weak! Them laws as made by the Gate Town Men serve only the weak! Not because they'd be trampled, but 'cause they're corrupt! You see anyone thrashin' our merchants? No! They know their place! An' we know ours!" His outburst left him staring, wild eyed at any onlookers. Thumbs were stuffed in his belt at the fore as he leant forward.
"Know this, men. For this year shall no man of Waterdeep fin' pleasure of ransom aboard my ship. I'll cut the throat of every Davian man captured an' that is my word. They've chosen their fate, so shall we! I've given quarter to hundreds 'f souls but this year'll be different! Hone those blades, boyos, they'll be needed. Cut every Waterdavian throat, gut them like fish! If they show no mercy, recall now, how many're alive 'cause we did! This is war. There is no other word for this! This is war! Death to Waterdeep. Death to every man of that city. Burn their ships, clip their rudders, cut down their masts. They've made their watery bed. Let 'em sleep in it! Let Rensby Caines death mean their own!"

[ShineDown]

With the passing of the grand proclamation by The High Admiral before a veritable sea of sailors and their captains at The Broken Goblet, no doubt could one imagine the celebrations, the innumerable toasts, swearings, and jubilancy. Prides and cunning minds fed by drink at a prospect for a seat on the High Council for their captain with a guaranteed cut of every ships take for every successful voyage for every year they could live. The High Captains knew the good life and so did their crews, though it came with amounts of responsibility and their own sea, filled with politics and navigating one anothers plans while lacking knowledge of them. Intuition separated the top from the bottom. Some stood apart, some had allegiances and one, The High Admiral, seemed even to stand above.

The Seawolf buzzed with activity though her captain appeared late that morning with few words except to the bald man, a former boarding leader for Ambrosio himself, the half elven woman who was named Chief Rigger and a trusted red skinned tiefling, Able Body. Rowed ashore as his crew toiled away he was seen not long after, his face shoved in the basin of Umberlee at the Wavelords shrine, scrubbing his face with the seawater, likely to horrified surprise. As water dripped from his chin strap beard, a coin was thrown into the remaining water with a "Keep the rest". The very real unnerving presence he exuded marking him as a man of Umberlee seemed manifest to any approaching or unlucky enough to be near.

To the merchants he went and spoke and the Enforcers he'd set. Coins were handed out with half candied words as he grinned, deep voice and smiling eyes carrying over not just requests but demands, and by the rumours, well paid for.

As the town flourishes with orders for crewmen and supplies the man now called Captain 'Seawolf' Hellstorm, a name unspoken for years, takes himself around town, at times shoving, sometimes laughing, oftentimes sipping a flask among those below his status. Even crews of other captains were afflicted. Good or ill, the mans presence was made known as he came upon them and as the sun rose upward and began to dip, the clouds covering the sky and spilling their cold spring rains down, his steps found the trails downward to the docks to be rowed back to his ships there, joining his crew amongst the crews of that ill-reputed harbour.

[Deragnost]

There's been an increasing activity at the Run a Rig, in Roaringshore. Some people were seen going in and out. Some were just merchants bringing in new merchandise for the shop. Others, instead, were maybe potential customers? However they seemed particularly well-armed, and considering the satisfied look on their face when they got out, perhaps some deal was sealed. The owners were seen going out and spread eventually some flyers around the village. Clearly they were trying to let their locale known to most people, to have their business going!

[ShineDown]

In the early hours of the day The Seawolf's anchor is weighed, her sails unfurled slightly to turn her about and sail past the other ships into open waters. Dark figures scurry around the deck and in the shrouds above while the sun rises. The brig can be seen now and then from the highest places in Roaringshore, cutting the waters and running drills, no doubt the fresh sails and rope as well as crew being tested. With the final waning of the sun, light growing thinner and a long day over with, she finds her way back with the coming of the high tide, into the protective harbour among her sisters. Claiming the usual spot once more, orders are given. Anchor dropped, sails tied up tight to yards and mops brought out, it's plainly noted by the sailors around that this crew is getting ready for a new years hard work.

[ShineDown]

With six days passing since her trial, The Seawolf pulls her anchorage in the deep water harbour. The men run around the decks, shrouds are climbed, sails are furled as the big brigantine sets underway. The black hull cuts a swathe through the harbour path made between ships, a foam left in her wake while other crews can only look on as at least one Captain sets his and his mens eyes on a new seasons prizes. Passing into open waters her shape is lost in the distance. Brig, frigate, merchantman or the largest of carracks beware. The hunt of this year is underway with promises of gold and glory unvisited in ages. The ship with the greatest take, as spoken by the High Admiral will be offered a seat on the High Council, a station to be won by the greatest take of the year but unspoken, only kept by one that can navigate the council and it's varying personalities. Few can state they have they have stood among their number, seated in their chairs as the High Captains meet but The Seawolfs current is remembered to have stood and even given his chin to Kharguths first officer, a wild eyed half breed, during the great argument some years ago between the High Captain Jordan Reynolds and High Captain Karn Bjarngrim, then Captain of The Seawolf.
Those days are still revered .
As the parlay between Captain Karn and High Captain Reynolds was set upon dry sand on an island, Reynold's ship had taken maneuvers suddenly. Reynolds had drawn before not one or two but three crews and was given return Captain Karns axe at his neck, that lovely melon of his a-rolling the sand. How Kinane must have bled by his soul at his former quartermaster being brought so low and yet that day had not been finished. Expecting the so called 'High Captains' double-cross, within moments of sign, The Seawolf had begun her own moves.
The First Mate in her error had thought a classical fight. Boarding with planks and grapnels. Even as the minutes passed onward, The first Mate hoping to get the upper hand in the fight, a man, second in command, set himself to the helm of The Seawolf. A call of full sail he ordered as he threw the wheel wild with hand pointed at the other ship.
A single man was pulled from between ships by that mans wife on the helm, Hellstorm and an elf woman. The First Mate was crippled and sinking, The Seawolfs prow having broken Kinanes old flagship.

Sail with us, fearless and strong,
The Seawolf crew, singing our song.
With hearts ablaze, we set our sights,
And sent The First Mate to endless nights.

With wind in our sails, we cut through the foam,
Braving the tempest, finding our home.
No bolts fired, just blades gleaming bright,
We claimed victory in that fateful fight.

Sail with us, fearless and strong,
The Seawolf crew, singing our song.
With hearts ablaze, we set our sights,
And sent The First Mate to endless nights.

In a clash of wills, we fought with might,
Boarding their ship, under moonlit night.
No quarter given, no mercy shown,
The Seawolf crew left their legacy known.

Sail with us, fearless and strong,
The Seawolf crew, singing our song.
With hearts ablaze, we set our sights,
And sent The First Mate to endless nights.

Now raise your voices, sing out with pride,
Of the Seawolf crew's daring ride.
Our legend echoes through the briny deep,
As The First Mate's memory, forever asleep.

Sail with us, fearless and strong,
The Seawolf crew, singing our song.
With hearts ablaze, we set our sights,
And sent The First Mate to endless nights.

[Deragnost]

A new set of flyers seem to roam around Roaringshore. While one kind seem to be aimed more toward adventurers and their ilk, the other is obviously for the locals who seek an employment. The minstrel Rose Wintertal would now be roaming around Roaringshore spreading those sheets, and when they weren't keen to get them she would just spread word among the sailors.
"...are you sure that's a good idea?"



"Absolutely! The top hat on the jolly roger with fetch a chuckle from most!"
"Bah, if you say so. Bloody, cheeky minstrels..."

[Louvaine]

For whatever reason, the same posters are appearing in Soubar and Roaringshore.

Amidst the construction work, messengers are once again sent out from the Selmiyeritar estate to Blue Lantern Keep, Undrek Vallanar, and Sshamath, putting up posters in public spaces:

To all interested traders, artisans, and anyone else of a mercantile persuasion; to all adventurers looking for new equipment,

Qu'ellar Selmiyeritar of Sshamath is pleased to once again invite you to visit us at our estate in Undrek Naudal for a trade fair on the thirtieth cycle of the sixth turning (30th of Kythorn by surface calendars), both to peddle and peruse each others' goods, and to participate in another auction of magical items overseen by our new matron.

As was the case last time, proceeds from the auction will be shared between the sellers and expanding Naudal's infrastructure. Other trade during the fair is encouraged, but not required, to contribute to Naudal's treasury as well.

Described below is a sampling of the items we are contributing to the auction:

---- Champion Assassin's Shortsword: An exemplary blade undoubtedly custom-made for its forgotten owner, this shortsword bears numerous enchantments to secure a swift yet stealthy kill.

---- Champion Boots of the Sun Soul: Thought to have belonged to a great Netherese monk in ages past, these masterfully enchanted boots enhance the wearer's coordination, offering an almost unnatural ability to anticipate and evade the blows of one's enemy.

---- As before, a multitude of diamonds and other rare reagents.

We look forward to seeing you soon,

--Qu'ellar Selmiyeritar

The fair formally starts outside the Selmiyeritar estate in Undrek Naudal, on Saturday, July 1, 1600 GMT, and lasts until 2000 GMT or until everyone leaves, whichever is first.