Name:Voodoo Danger Samuelson Race: Human Gender: Male Age: 29 Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Classes: Rogue 1/Swash 3/Rogue 5/Swordsage 1
Personality: Brave and curious, but cautious and trepidatious in dangerous environments. Polite but to the point. Sometimes philosophical and open for debate when it comes to major decisions. Serious but knows when to lighten up and let loose.
Description: Dressed in leather pants with a red sash tied to his waist and a short sword strapped to his belt. A glint of a finely woven chain shirt peeks out from beneath his leather vest and overcoat. His shoulder length black hair is tied back in a leather thong and a red bandanna that compliments his striking green eyes. His face is angular and stark but ultimately unremarkable. His most notable feature is the long coil of spiked chain that is wrapped neatly around his torso.
Character Traits: Left handed. Twirls an exotic platinum coin around his fingers on his right hand. Talks quietly. Typically has a serious drawn expression on his face. Continuously chews on ginger and licorice roots.
Character Flaws: Far sighted; wears spectacles when searching for traps and viewing things up close. His hands shake and he squints when searching or examining. Missing ring finger on his left hand (lost it after gambling, presumably the ring went with the finger...).
Background: Voodoo comes from a long line of mages who have varied in the arcane arts for the most part throughout the years. Voodoo however, was not gifted in such a way. Either that or he was too stubborn and foolhardy to give a damn about studying books about magic. He dabbled and played with some of the various wands and scrolls that he acquired from his fathers study, often causing disastrous effects.
His sticky fingers landed him in a great deal of trouble in his home village and over the years his father began to run out of excuses for his son. So, on his 18th birthday, Voodoo was forced to leave the sanctuary of his village in the deep woods.
Although the years he spent on his own were harsh, Voodoo never lost his playful nature. Ever the prankster, he would meet up with random parties of adventurers and convince them that somehow they had left without him. Sometimes it didn't work, but for the most part he had relative success. So it was that he traveled for years with different bands of traveling adventurers seeking glory and fame. His talents came in quite handy over the years as the groups came across the inevitable lock that needed picking and the trap that needed to be avoided.
Voodoo had a crass and cynical side to him that he kept to himself for the most part. No one is really sure where it came from, but it is most certainly there. On one occasion, the band of adventurers he was with had taken down a group of assassins. They had captured one alive and were interrogating him, but he was resisting quite well. Voodoo put a stop to that right then and there let me tell you. He pulled out a dagger and sliced off the man's ear, letting him know that he wasn't fooling around when he asked his next series of questions. The man talked, of course. Most people would under the circumstances. Needless to say, the rest of the group was a little taken aback not so much that he did it, but the casualness that he did it with. It was like it was second nature to him. Like he didn't care one way or another. Voodoo never said a word about it and continued to be his jovial self after the incident was over.
As is the case with most adventures, they all come to an end at some point. That particular one ended rather well and Voodoo made out well enough to have a good solid month on the town. He lived carefree and happy go lucky for a time, that is, until he began gambling. Three Dragon Ante was his game of choice, and he played it well. A little too well from the looks of things. Voodoo had sat down at the table with a hard fellow by the name of Drake. Now Drake was the kind of fellow that people simply lost to in order to save their hides. He would often join games that had already started and roughed up anyone who tried to leave the table. Well, Voodoo didn't care. He put up no fuss and let the brute join in the game. By this late an hour, Voodoo had racked up quite a bundle of cash and people were already beginning to wonder how he was doing it. The fact was that because of the number of players, they were playing with a double deck. This made things a little easier for Voodoo to work his magic, if you catch my drift.
Drake is not the ripest cherry in the bunch, in fact, it would be safe to say he was just plain stupid. Of course no one would dare say that about him because they'd wind up beaten to a pulp and hanging from a tree soon enough. Anyways, Voodoo continued to play the game and his luck ran hotter than oil on a fire. As Drake's pile of gold began to dwindle down to almost nothing, he began to get angry and suspicious. And so, he accused Voodoo of being a rotten cheat. As any rogue with half a brain would do, Voodoo immediately contested and dropped the cards that were up his sleeve down into his boots before he was frisked. Drake didn't care. He challenged Voodoo to some sort of wrestling match that Voodoo had a snowball's chance in hell of winning, so he bolted. He grabbed what coin he could and slipped out the door before anyone could catch him.
The rogue clambered up onto the rooftops and hopped across the buildings trying to stay out of sight. That was when he saw the coach leaving town. A pretty young lass was just hopping into her coach and heading across the border. This was his chance. He made his way down off the rooftops and made a b-line for the carriage and hopped inside. He was greeted by a yelp and a slap on the head by a purse, but he managed to calm the lass down soon enough. Once he had her calmed, he explained the situation and offered her a small amount of gold in exchange for a ride out of town. She agreed and actually seemed to be quite taken by Voodoo and the whole idea of aiding someone on the run.
After a lengthy tryst in the back of the coach, they arrived at the borderlands and Voodoo gave his thanks and set off to find his next adventure. After a few days trek, he happened upon an odd group consisting of four humans a dwarf and a warforged. Despite the odd nature of the group, Voodoo approached them and began to introduce himself…
Those days were long gone now, and Voodoo had been on his own for several years now, spending his garnered wealth and earning anew in the taverns of Asylum’s deepest holes of life. Voodoo had a penchant for gambling, to be sure, and a thirst for alcohol to match. In a tavern called Gren’s Gorge, Voodoo had already drunk himself silly and had been gambling all night. He had been doing quite well for himself, but his luck was about to change. There was a house rule in Gren’s Gorge: no cheating. That was basically the only house rule that mattered; failure to comply meant expulsion, or worse. Often times, it was left to the tavern patrons to decide the fate of someone stacking the deck, or planting cards, and more often than not, the punishment was more severe than a simple expulsion from the bar. It usually ended up in a sound beating and, depending on the severity of the crime, could even lead to an honest lynching.
Well, fortunately for Voodoo, his gambling group had dwindled down to a single fellow, one by the name of Captain Emphemius d'Lyrandar. He was a sly fellow, and caught on rather quickly to Voodoo’s inebriated attempts at sleight of hand. Next thing Voodoo knew, he heard the all too familiar click of a loaded hand crossbow under the table, which could only be assumed was aimed at his belly.
”Put the cards on the table and pass over the gold. You’ve gotten sloppy, Voodoo. You should really learn to control your drink while gambling. It seems to have a detrimental impact on your abilities, which, I might add, are quite impressive until now. I’ve been watching you take these fool patrons for all they’re worth, but I’ll not have you takin me gold like a sod.
“Now, I don’t aim to kill you, nor do I aim to turn you in. What I would like to do is offer you a job. I could use someone with your talents on my ship and so could my crew. I’ll pay you a fair wage and you can have an even share of the take of anything we come across, but if I find you stealing from me or the crew, it’ll be a painful day in your life…
“So,” he continued, ”Do we have an accord? Or would you like to consider the alternatives of having me change my mind?” Voodoo kept a straight face and nodded as he dropped his cards on the table and announced, ”Well, you lucky dog, well played! Well played.” He pushed his sizeable pile of gold over to Captain Emphemius and smiled. ”You bet your ass we have an accord. When do I start?”
Some time later, after a fruitful but brief career with the Captain and crew, Voodoo was struck with the horror of his new friend being murdered before his very eyes. He saw the heroic sacrifice of his newfound friend and a tear spilled from his eye.
And then it happened. The dreadful betrayal of the crew, which brought death upon many hit Voodoo with a storm of rage. He managed to escape the assault and fled to his underground connections of old. He took to drinking and gambling like a fish to water in an effort to drown out the loss of his friends and the Captain who had become as close to a father figure as he had known in years. Indeed, Captain Emphemius d'Lyrandar was a good man and had become a mentor for Voodoo in more ways than one. He had learned a semblance of honor and social code that he never really knew existed. For most of his life he had been left to fend for himself since his family shunned him for lack of the arcane aptitude. Yes, it was truly a loss that would be long felt for Voodoo.
After the remaining crew decided to go their separate ways, Voodoo took comfort in finding his old friends and acquaintances among the underground culture scene of the bustling life of Asylum. He spent most of his time underground slumming it up with the best of them. He took odd jobs, reallocating funds and goods and spreading them out amongst the guild he once belonged to; The Hand. His forays lasted some six years until he resurfaced one day and found a fancy tavern, well, as fancy as they get in the slums of Asylum. There he was presented with a most welcome meeting: the barbarian Jonathon Luck. He strode over to his long lost friend and held out a grimy hand and grasped the warforged’s large metallic hand, then pulled him in for a hug. ”Ah, Jonathan, how have you been? Long time no see, eh? So tell me, what have you been up to these past years?” He motioned Jonothan to sit at a vacant table and requisitioned a waitress to garnish them with a few ales that he was surely to drink on his own, knowing full well that the barbarian had no desire for the taste of alchohol.
They sat and talked well into the night and began plotting their comeback to the life of adventure in the great city of Asylum…
And so it was that Voodoo found himself sitting at the tavern facing off with a dwarf named Mazo over yet another pint of ale...
Quote:
Originally Posted by BraveSirRobin
“Aye, this assignment will be dangerous, I can promise you that.” states the old dwarf sitting across from you at a large oaken table. A long pipe rests at the corner of his mouth, which he puffs on occasionally causing a small cloud of smoke over his head. Mazo was the steward of the dwarven forge known as the Anvil here in the frontier city of Asylum. He had heard of you and your talents from a mutual friend and had sought you out for a special mission. From all accounts the dwarf was a straight shooter and an honest businessman, a rarity in this town. “Then again, danger is nothing new to this city or to you, from what I hear.”
Voodoo sat back in his chair, producing a pipe of his own and pulled out a small leather pouch that was tied to his neck and buried within his tunic. After packing the sweet smelling weed into his pipe, Voodoo produced a match and struck it alight across the rough surface of the table and put the flame to the tobacco. "No, no it's not I am afraid. But go on..."
Quote:
Originally Posted by BraveSirRobin
Asylum was a hustling and bustling city of merchants and traders juxtaposed against the background of dangerous wilderness and mountains overrun by the Horde. It was the sole safe haven on a critical trade route on the Hell’s River, which meant plenty of riches to be had for those brave or foolhardy enough to attempt the route.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about all the raids we’ve been suffering from.” Continued Mazo. “More and more shipments are being lost on a daily basis. Stocks of food and medicine are at dangerous levels and things seem to be getting worse.” Raids were an ordinary part of life in the frontier town but it certainly seemed like their frequency had increased, even against those well equipped and manned. Normally, a well-armed boat would be able to fight off the attacks of disorganized orc tribes or a hungry creature. Lately, however, the attacks have been much better planned and executed resulting in total losses of men and valuables.
“The Master of the Anvil, Gragham Ironbeard, has taken an active roll in making sure this does not continue. We think that traitors within our very own walls are organizing these raids and selling out their own shipments in order to profit from both ends. And that isn’t the worst of it. We think that Vranq and his Horde minions are the ones behind it all and this isn’t the only part of his plan.” Vranq, of course, was the newest Bugbear warlord attempting to organize the various tribes of orcs, goblins and other vile creatures that infested the nearby Soulbreak Mountains, a feat that hadn’t been accomplished in decades.
The dwarf leans in and lowers his voice as if he is revealing something important. “At this very moment Master Ironbeard is attempting to expose these traitors and open up the supply routes once again. But it won’t end there. He is committed to finding out Vranq’s connection to all of this and what other plans he might be forming against us. This is where you come in. We need people of unusual talent and experience to help us. People that are used to a challenge and are looking for the opportunity that it may bring. You’d answer directly to Master Ironbeard and take your fair share of any spoils. You’ll room here with us and we can take care of any smithing you may need. And we expect that you stay on until the job is done. This isn’t some sort of day to day contract. You have to be in it for the long haul or not at all. Those be our terms. Are you in?”
Mazo takes another long drag of his pipe as he awaits your answer.
Voodoo kept a steady face while the dwarf spoke his tale of Vranq and the raids. When it came to the end, when the terms were finally laid out, Voodoo blew out a hefty puff of pungent smoke and leaned back in his chair, resting his boots up on the table. "Aye, I'm in. But I've a few conditions of my own. Firstly, I'll need a new hat." He then looks down at his boots and brushes some dirt and dust from his well worn leather pants and said, "And a new set of leathers as well..."
He took another long thoughtful draw from his simple bone pipe and continued speaking as he let out the smoke. "I'll take no less than ten gold per week. That plus the clothing and you've got yourself a deal," he finished with a wink and a smile.
*Note: Jonothan is expendable and could be replaced with a PC as a joint background attempt or as an NPC. Or he could simply be left behind. I don't mind either way as he is not a necessary element in playing this character.
Questions for Voodoo
1. State your name for the record.
2. How did you become involved in this investigation?
3. What were the series of events that led to the capture of a man named Keeg?
4. Is it true that Keeg was held captive and under the direct control and influence of Gragham Ironbeard before being brought into custody by Walthas Kang.
Voodoo took a long moment as the council began their inquiry of him. "Please state your name for the record."
"Ahem," he began slowly after taking a long drink of water. He reached into his vest and pulled out his ever trusty pipe and loaded it with tobbac, producing a tindertwig to set it alight. Soon, tufts of smoke rose languidly from the pipe and floated gently from his mouth. "My name, for the record, is Voodoo Samuelson. I am one season shy of my thirtieth year and I was born and raised in Divendale. I am five and three quarter hands tall and weight approximately a hundred and eighty-five stones." He took another puff on his pipe and sat back in his chair, resting his feet up on the table.
The council members continued their inquiry, asking, "How did you get involved in this investigation?"
Another puff of smoke and Voodoo replied, "Well, it began late one night at a tavern. I was playing cards and doing quite well, I might add, but the odds were against me that night and an old acquaintence of mine called me on a rather good hand; a little too good if you follow my meaning. Well, he let things slide on account of I gave him his money back and then he offered me a job. Said there was a bloke in town who needed some help. An old dwarf the name of Mazo, so I was told. I said I was in the market for some work and we agreed to meet this Mazo fellow on the next evening...
"The short of it is that this Mazo fellow told me this tale of corruption within the town inner workings and offered me compensation should I agree to help out. Well, after some negotiations were made and other arrangements agreed upon I settled on a price and was given a place to stay and introduced to a few fellows who would be working alongside me.
"Our first assignment was to investigate this house under the assumption that it was rumored to be the safe house for a fellow named Keeg. Well, we all went out and began searching the place and I went around back to check things out. That's when I noticed the rope dangling from the back window of the third story. I made a quick decision to take action and climbed in, only to find a few gobblers and a man lurking about in the hallway. Well, I knew something bad was afoot so I jumped in the window and started swinging my trusty chain. All of a sudden they all turned into these crazy creatures called Barghests. If you don't know what those are, let me tell you they are anything but fun to play with. It took some doing, but I managed to take them down, with a bit of help from my new companions that is...
"The trouble was, when we were done with the Barghest, we went into the room that was suspected to be Keeg's only to find that he had climbed out the window to safety and disappeared. Well, I searched the place and found a fancy mask so we returned to talk to Mazo about what went on. Together we questioned the man who had been leading the Gobblers-turned-Barghest and decided that the mask was a key to a larger puzzle; that Keeg was hiding out at the theatre.
"Well, we wasted no time in going to the theatre and, sure enough, we discovered Keeg and his daughter in the basement planning an escape. Well, his daughter didn't seem to know what was going on, bless her soul. What a looker she is! Keeg managed to run away so I gathered up his daughter and tried to lead her to safety. Unfortunately, when we made it out on to the stage there were several goons waiting for us. My companions managed to hide away Keeg and lead him out of the building unnoticed, but that left me and Katia to fend for ourselves. So, with a bit of quick thinking and fast maneuvering, we were able to evade the goons and make it back to the dressing room to safety. I told the manager of the theatre that there were people looking to kill us all and he raised enough panic for us all to escape unharmed.
"And that's about the size of it. Any other questions or am I free to go?"
The council snuffled and then asked yet another question. "Is it true that Keeg was held captive and under the direct control and influence of Gragham Ironbeard before being brought into custody by Walthas Kang."
Voodoo took another drag from his pipe, then tapped the bowl in dismay as he realized that its contents had dwindled to naught but smoldered embers, then replied, "I really didn't pay much attention to this last part of the goings on. Some folks came and left, but mostly Keeg was kept under lock and key. I spent some time with Katia and did some shopping with my reward money, among other things, so I really couldn't tell you what went on after we captured Keeg.
"Now, if you have no further questions of me, there's a mighty fine bonnie lass who needs some attention and looking after..."
Stuffa
Stuffa is a tobacco that is chemically treated and rolled into small cigarettes called “twigs”, which can be quickly
smoked in several strong drags. The drug has become quite popular with young nobles that smoke it for the
feelings of confidence and euphoria that it creates, as well as sharpening the wit. Smoking a second does while the
first dose is still in effect increases the effect DC by 5 and thus increases the likelihood of it taking effect.
Addiction Level: Low
Price per dose: 50gps
Alchemical DC: 20
Method of dosage: Smoked
Effect DC: 15
Initial Effect: The user receives a +4 alchemical bonus to charisma for 15 minutes. Multiple fails do not stack.
47
Secondary Effect: The general feeling of ease and confidence also slows the user’s reaction times resulting in a -2 to
dexterity and a reduction in movement rate by 5’ for 1hour. Multiple fails stack
Side Effect: The user has a feeling of great confidence and euphoria.
Overdose: None
"State your name for the record please," requested the inquisitor, sitting high on a stool that was almost as tall as he was and leaning forward resting his elbows on the book hovering in front of him. He watched his pen moving across the page and had an expectant look on his face as he waited for Voodoo to answer him.
A special arm chair had been brought into the interrogation room to accommodate the drug infested rogue who could hardly hold himself upright in a normal chair, much less walk or really do much of anything. The armchair helped though. He was able to crumple into the chair and nestle his head and body to one side without falling over. Still, the drug was potent beyond anything he had ever tried and thus the room was a constant blur as it spun around and rippled in waves that were somehow connected to his amazingly slow but deafeningly loud heartbeat. What effects had taken place on the ship were apparently only just the beginning.
"Stars remove your face from the heavens, see," said some disembodied voice that was both far away and all around him. Was this Ha'Mos playing tricks on him? Did he really want his face on the heavens? Was he worthy of having his face on the heavens... And what did the stars have to do with any of this? Voodoo tried to answer, but his body failed him.
"I don't believe you stars, you're trying to trick me into not believing in heaven. And heaven, you should be ashamed for trying to keep me from gazing upon the stars. Stars are the heavenly body of the night, resplendent glory of the noble god-king, silent poets of the journey through darkness; don't go. Don't leave me in this chaos world damned to placate these flaccid creatures or use them for my pleasure. I will not follow; I cannot, not now, not here, but there will be a time for us to meet and I will thank you, stars, for leading me to heaven and I will thank you heaven, for giving me the stars to guide me night after night through the glory of darkness..."
A broad smile etched itself across his face and a faint laugh accompanied by a long string of guttural sounds forced their way through a closed mouth.
The inquisitor set his pen down in the binding of the book and looked up at the well dressed but slouched if not slumped form of the man he knew as Graham Ironbeard. With a sigh he called out, "We have ways of making people talk. Do try and keep this a civil dialogue. Surprisingly, I am in no mood for torture. It has been a long day, I am tired and you are weak. Let us simply get on with things, shall we?"
"Weave ways of the king's people. Talk duty and keep a civilian log. Supremacy is a mood for torture. Long days tired and you are weak. Let's get on with things, shall we? Shall we? Shall we?" The words reverberated in Voodoo's ears and were met with the distorting rhythm of the slow but stead pounding of his heart beat. This latest revelation from the all consuming disembodied voice struck fear into the heart of the rogue and he struggled to free himself from his chair, his skin, his mind, wherever. It did not work. In fact, it only cemented the understanding that he was trapped where he was as he was; in some foreign place under the influence of the most powerful drug he had ever used. Sure it felt wonderful, but that did little to compensate for the fact that he was in the presence of some obvious political figurehead who had delusions of grandeur and was prepared to prove his power by torturing mostly innocent civilians. In fact, this drug was decidedly inconvenient at present but there was nothing for him to do about it other than panic. So that's what he did. His mind took off with images of all the different ways he could think of to torture someone, and those were just the ways that he thought would be viable for him to do to other people. At least he had a modicum of morality, at least he had values and principles on life and the well being of others, if not vague and often blurred. But he was an adventurer, a hero. Things and people hunted him. Things and people attacked him at all hours of the day from all walks of life. His boundaries had to be fuzzy for the simple fact of self preservation... He was a pirate, for crying out loud! Of course his morality loom was more than a little bit skewed and twisted. In fact, it would be safe to say that it was downright warped and damn near nonfunctional. But he got by without killing random innocents. He didn't torture people for pleasure, nor did he go out of his way to torture those who were deserving. But here he was faced with torture and he was completely helpless.
Voodoo's body thrashed around in the chair impotently.
"Very well. I can see that you are still under the influence of your little celebration, so I will leave you in the capable hands of my priests to see to it that you are revived from your stupor and brought to good health so that we may begin again on the morrow. Guards! Remove him. Have the clerics purge the toxins from his body and reverse whatever damage they may have done then put him in a holding cell for the night. Treat him well. I want him to have a good impression of this place on the morrow." He closed his book and climbed down from his stool and began to walk away. "I am going to retire for the evening. It has been a very long day and I have had more than I care to deal with. Remember, he is not to be harmed!"
The Escape
Voodoo opened his eyes in a sudden panic. He had a sudden fright that he didn’t know where he was or whom he was with, if anyone. He sat up and wondered at his ability to do that when it seemed just moments ago that he was caught in a frenzy of some internal whirlwind reaching up to the stars and the heavens, but his body was shackled to the ground. “Not a pleasant feeling,” he thought to himself as he looked around to gauge his surroundings and weigh his options.
He was in a room that much was clear. It was a plain room with white walls, a wooden floor and an iron banded wooden door with a distinct locking mechanism. He knew the type very well, in fact. It was a Trollic model mechanism with seven tumblers and a triple layered lever; new, but based on an old design. Unimpressed, he continued to scan the room. There was a wooden table beside the bed that he had been laying in. He was still dressed, but his boots were on the floor across the room next to the neat and apparently complete pile of his belongings. His heart skipped a beat. There was even a pitcher of water and a ceramic cup on the desk. When he saw it, he realized how parched he was and poured himself a drink. After he finished that he poured himself another. Three cups of water down the pipes and he pushed the quilted blanket off of himself and went to stand up when he heard the tumblers in the lock lifting and the lever sliding back into the door, which opened.
A woman! Why does it always have to be a woman? She was attractive, dark hair, fat lips, high cheeks and a pleasant body. She had a tray of food in her hands and walked casually into the room. ”You might want to close that door, miss. Something terrible may happen if you don’t.”
She stopped and looked over at him. ”Oh, you’re awake. I’ve brought you some supper. I was going to leave it for you since you were sleeping, but now that you are awake… You’re probably right.” She took a step back and closed the door, locking it with the key tied to her apron with a ribbon. Then she moved back into the room towards Voodoo and handed him the tray, which he accepted. He scooted over on the bed and gestured with his hand that she should have a seat next to him. She did. ”Uhm, look, I don’t normally do this. Perhaps I’d better go. I can come back for the tray later…”
Voodoo had just taken stock of the meal in front of him as his hunger pains played a symphony throughout his body when she had decided to be bashful and leave him on his own. ”Excuse me, miss, but with my appetite right now I’m going to tear through this meal quicker than you can leave, so it would really just be a waste of energy on your part. Inefficiency is something that most employers frown upon as far as I recall. At least that’s how it was when I was working back in Divindale. So how does your boss feel about inefficiency here, I’m sorry, what was your name?” He looked at her and couldn’t help but grin. He’d had her hooked the moment she closed the door. The rest of it was just an art and all he had left to do was finesse the situation.
She blushed and looked down as she folded her hands in her lap. ”Ambrosia, my lord. And yes, you are right. They do frown on inefficiency. I appreciate your perceptiveness; you’ve probably saved me some trouble tonight.” She massaged her hands nervously and then asked while looking up at him, ”So what is your name, sir?”
His face drew taut, his angular features stark and imposing. He locked his blue-grey eyes on hers and in a low baritone voice just above a whisper he said, ”Voodoo.” Her mouth opened slightly and she inhaled sharply. Not quite a gasp, but close enough for him to feel satisfied.
She put a hand up to her mouth and bit down softly on a stylishly long fingernail then asked, ”Like the magic that the witches and gypsies use?”
He smiled. ”Very good, Ambrosia. Most people don’t comment on it, but I’m glad that you did. Now, this all smells very good, but I always have trouble with where to start. Where do you think I should start, Ambrosia? Should I go for the dessert, the appetizer or the main course, which appears to be a beef barley stew.”
She hesitated at first, but finally said, ”Well, I always secretly want to eat the dessert first, but it’s not proper, so I don’t. But that shouldn’t be too much of a concern for you, sir Voodoo, as you haven’t any dessert. Most unfortunate, I guess they don’t think about making desserts for the… guests.”
“You mean prisoners, don’t you?” He asked as he set the tray on the bedside table. He turned to her and moved closer. ”Yes, most unfortunate, which is obviously why they brought me you…”
Some time later the two were at the door concluding their gratuitous display of affection. She fumbled for the key to the door while straightening her clothing while trying to fend off the primal urges to stay in the room with the insatiable bewitching prisoner who called himself Voodoo. But she had to get back to work lest she lose her job or worse. Finally, she managed to put key to lock and open the door. Voodoo reached out one last time to grab her hand and pull her close to him for one last embrace and one last kiss. He smoothly pocketed the key and then worked her into a brief hysteria about being late and don’t forget the tray! She ran back into the room and grabbed the untouched tray of food and stole one last kiss on her way out as he plucked the small loaf of bread from the plate. She ran out and had to turn back around to close the door behind her. There was a pause but then the sounds of her shoes scurrying off down the hallway indicated that the key was missed but easily forgotten. Ah, the life of a pirate…
Voodoo glanced around the dark room while he finished getting dressed; musing at how high this ranked with the best escapes he’d ever pulled off. Still amazingly hungry, he tore off chunks of bread and ate them as fast as he could, stopping frequently for more water. He found a box of tindertwigs on the table next to the oil lamp so he produced some dim light via the turned down flaming wick. It was just enough light for him to see by so that he could double check all of his stuff. Basing the fashion style of the town or city on what he remembered of the inquisitor on the boat before he passed out and on Ambrosia’s outfit, he plucked out a different shirt and a spare hat from his haversack and stowed everything else. Man, for being under lock and key, these folks were really trusting. They even left him his chain, his longbow and his bandoleer. It didn’t even appear like they had rifled through his belongings. All of his contraband and paraphernalia was all in place.
He pulled on a new pair of socks along with his boots and stuffed his weapons and everything else inside his haversack. It was time to look ordinary. The hat he wore would speak of his station, mid ranking but not noble, and his newly acquired key should gain him access to most doors in the keep. Well, the doors that he cared about anyway, the cell block and the servant exits.
After making the bed, he turned out the lamp and walked out the door, making a point to close and lock it behind him. This should prove to be an interesting morning for the inquisitor and the staff at the keep. He felt a small pang of guilt for what blame would surely fall to Ambrosia, but what could he do?
Nothing more than he already had… Voodoo navigated the corridors with only mild confusion. He took a couple of wrong turns but nobody seemed to notice. He smiled when smiled at, nodded when spoken to, but for the most part he kept his eyes forward and a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, normal. That was his goal: normalcy. But in his attempt at being normal, he got utterly lost. He stood there in front of a door he had passed at least three times before and tried to reason his way through this small maze of hallways and doors. And then it hit him.
Bread. He could smell bread baking in the kitchen. He remembered back when he was a boy working at the keep in Divindale that there was an exit in the kitchen and usually several corridors leading from the kitchen throughout the rest of the keep. No wonder all of the hallways lead to this door. This door was the way to the exit. With confidence, Voodoo inserted his key into the lock and turned it gently. The tumblers gave way to the pressure and the lever slid back into the door. He pocketed the key once again and went through the door, mindful of closing it behind him, and followed his nose to the kitchen.
He finally reached the kitchen and from the darkness of the hallway, he gauged the state of affairs. There were three people, one older blonde woman with her hair tied up in a bun who was working on sweet rolls at the moment. The other two were younger women, in fact, there was Ambrosia preparing another tray. The other younger woman pulled a tray of sweet rolls down from a cooling rack and set them on the counter saying, ”I think these are ready, Madam Culous, what do you think?” Voodoo jumped at the opportunity and walked out of the hallway quickly and plucked a sweet roll off of the tray on his way past and said, ”I think they look ready, Madam Culous, but I’ll let you know tomorrow. Have a good night! You too, Ambrosia,” he said, pausing to pick up her hand and pull it to his lips in a courtly gesture of respectful adoration. He let go of her hand and the key as he looked up at her and smiled. ”I bid you farewell, madam Ambrosia. Until we meet again. I shall never forget this night.” And then he was gone.
Out the back door and into the night, Voodoo traversed the grounds of the keep quickly and quietly. Once he was clear of the perimeter, he went as far as his eyes would take him in the moon light, but he was heading into the woods, so that would not last very long. He stopped for a while and readjusted his equipment. He pulled out his bandoleer and his weapons and changed his shirt because it was a nice shirt and he didn’t want it ruined by something silly like walking through the forest. Most importantly, though, he changed his hat. A man’s hat was like his signature and his was elegant, flamboyant and utterly masculine; a true testament to whom he was. Armed and ready to kill, Voodoo hooked his lantern to his bandoleer and continued walking. If he had things right, forests lead to streams and streams lead to rivers and rivers lead to boats and ships and ships lead to pirates and where did Gragham say they were going again? Who knows, he would find out when he got there…
Heaven’s Gate: The Lower Docks
His instincts had treated him well. His brief journey through the outskirts of Hell’s Forest lead him to the southern fork of Hell’s River, which in turn lead him to the docks at one of the lesser ports of Heaven’s Gate. His journey through the forest left him thankful that he had taken the time to readjust his equipment and, more importantly, ready his chain, as he found himself being stalked by a small pack of worgs as he traversed the woods. They launched their attack just as the moon was disappearing in the sky in preparation for the rising of the sun.
Voodoo exited the woods early the next morning dressed in his finery, with his chain and other adventuring gear stowed in his pack. He still had his favored hat on, however. He needed to make an impression after all, but bloody clothing was certainly not the kind of attention he was after.
The swashbuckling rogue sauntered warily onto the docking network of what was apparently the ‘lower end docking district’ as it were, or as it seemed to be; the docks that the riff raff and ruffians who couldn’t afford the docking taxes of the upper class merchant docks were sequestered to these lower docks which were further away from the city and thus further away from merchants and buyers. Obviously, this separation from the city proper took its toll on the tradesmen looking to get their wares into town at market value. But for those who weren’t interested in the mainstream market of Heaven’s Gate, the lower docks were suitable enough. Though taxes and tariffs were still high, the search and seizure policies were largely relaxed, and the dock masters were paid well to keep it that way; not by the merchant ship captains, but rather by the buyers who would rather the sales remain discreet and off the books if at all possible. Thus, while the main docks of Heaven’s Gate were the most prominent, catering to the upper class and nobility, more money and goods, mostly illicit in nature, changed hands off the books in the lower docks than anywhere else in the city.
And that’s right where Voodoo wanted to be. He’d heard of the lower docks of Heaven’s Gate for the better part of his adult life, but he’d never had the chance to make it all the way from Divendale. Of course, if the stories were anywhere close to true, this place would be a rogue’s wet dream. After dispatching the worgs in the forest, Voodoo had taken some time to clean up and prepare for his chance at glory in Heaven’s Gate. For whatever reason, he needed passage from this city to Farholme, and judging by the few maps that he had seen, he knew the price of passage would be fairly steep.
Now an amateur thief would simply cut a purse and take off running, get caught and find himself arrested or beaten to a bloody pulp and then arrested. In his youth, the aspiring rogue found both options to be equally unappealing. So he took some time and focused on the art of sleight of hand, finding out that it is more than just being a cutpurse and fast on foot. The true art of sleight of hand took preparation and practice.
Voodoo had taken the handle from the oil lamp in the ‘guest room’ at the inquisitor’s estate and while he was cleaning the blood from his hands and face in the river, he found several stones of varying sizes, but mostly small bits of shale. He always kept a bolt of dark brown canvas in his pack, well, for many reasons, but on this day it was to make some hastily crafted pouches. Some would say that all coin purses were different sizes, but Voodoo knew better. He spent a summer making leather purses in Divendale to pay back his father for selling off his great grandfather’s longsword. He and Kuni had enjoyed themselves quite a lot with the winnings of that antique. But it was not to last. Father found out and put him to work. Night after night he returned home with bloody fingers and a few silvers to offer his pop. Now he couldn’t thank his father enough for the lessons he had given his son.
After making a half dozen purses of varying sizes, he filled them with modest amounts of shale stones and fastened bits of the lantern wire to their strings to make for a quick switcheroo, Voodoo was ready to present himself in the lower docks of Heaven’s Gate. It was just before sunup; the perfect time for his entrance as the bulk of the night’s business would have been concluded and the buyers would be focused on their newly purchased wares rather than their coin purses, which would be much lighter, as the rogue predicted. There was a bit of a chill in the misty air, so his heavy cloak was not out of place. That it concealed his chain hanging from a harness at his back was purely bonus. No matter what you called it, nor how good you were, being a cutpurse was a dangerous game, but tonight, Danger was Voodoo’s middle name…
He eased his way into the thin crowd of people, merchants and tradesmen, smugglers, nobles in disguise, drug dealers, people from all walks of life were tidying up their night’s business. Voodoo looked lost and perhaps under the influence. He garnered a few odd looks and he ran into several people. Several key people, that is. There was a lot to it, really, and it was all about timing. First he had to find his mark, gauge their purse and compare it with one he had prepared. The noise of the crowd easily concealed the sounds of shale spilling out onto the cobblestone streets that lead to the docks. With one gloved hand with a razor sewn into the thumb and forefinger holding the dummy purse concealed by the darkness of the early morning and the shadows of his flowing cloak, Voodoo bumped into a man and apologized profusely after he backed away having cut the man’s purse, caught it in his left hand and then hooked the dummy purse onto the man’s belt whilst pocketing the pilfered purse. It was just as much about the theatrics as it was about the act of thievery. The two combined were a form of art that took years to master. Voodoo had fallen out of the habit of picking pockets, but that morning he discovered that he still had the knack.
Having run out of dummy purses, it was time for him to disappear. With more than a little luck on his side, the sky let down a light rain, giving everyone reason to pull their hoods over their heads. He switched out his glove and headed for the dock master. ”Aye, which one o’ these boats be headin’ nort?”
The grizzled man ducked inside his little wooden cubby to look at the log book but closed it when Voodoo got too close. ”None. They’re all heading south and back up Hell’s River. Least that’s what the book says.”
Voodoo fished around in his pocket full of purses and tried to distinguish the coins by feel. It would be folly to pull out a handful of platinum for such information but almost equally so to pull out only silvers. He finally settled on three coins and pulled them out into the open in a fist then, with a silent prayer to Ha’Mos, he opened his hand with a small springing action and sent the coins flipping through the air. With a sigh of relief, he caught the three gold coins and said, ”That may be what the book says. But I didn’t ask you about no book now, did I? I do believe I asked you, sir, which one o’ these boats be headin’ nort. Now, if’n ye don’t know yer own docks, then I’ll be on me way to find out the hard way. But in the future ye might be more considerate of people’s time. Most feel that time is money.” At that point he opened his hand toward the dock master to emphasize the sentiment that money was indeed involved in the situation.
The man took the three coins and admitted, ”You’re right. You didn’t ask me about no book. And it’s a good thing too; the book’s all backwards anyway. You want north and you’re in a hurry, go see Madame Carvelle over on dock two. She’ll take care of you.” He chuckled. ”Tell her Bart sent you!” He called out with a persistent chuckle that turned into a bellowing laughter that disappeared into the morning rain.
Now Voodoo was in a bit of a situation. He hadn’t quite planned this far ahead, so he wasn’t really prepared to deal with the situation at hand. Here he had six purses of varying sizes with unknown contents in his pockets and he had no real place to check them out before moving on to his obvious destination. For some reason he had a tickling feeling in the back of his brain that he wasn’t going to be able to bluff this Madame Carvelle and that she was going to take him for all that he was worth. He decided he needed to at least know what he had to offer, so he took a segue from the docks to the back of a building where he hastily opened each purse and dumped a handful of coins out into his hand to gauge their metal, to estimate their number and to ultimately come to a conclusion regarding his newfound wealth. There was a small prize in one of the smaller purses; a finely cut ruby near the size of the palm of his hand. He tucked that one in a hidden pocket in a pouch on his belt. Then, guessing that the string lengths of the newly acquired purses would be noticed as being shorter than normal, he dug out a large purse from his haversack and poured a bulk of silver and gold into it. Then he spread the remainder gold into two smaller purses and restrung them with the larger purse strings, and finally, he filled up the smaller purses with platinum and strung those up with the medium strings. Having never been one to wear coin purses on his belt, he organized the various purses amongst the pouches on his belt. This would keep them hidden and protected but still readily available.
He turned back around towards the docks just in time to see two things of major import; the five guards and two merchants closing in on him from either side and the growing distance between dock two and Madame Carvelle’s ship, the Blood Moon Rising, as it set sail northbound on the Argent Ocean. Voodoo hesitated only long enough to grin as he took off running for the Blood Moon Rising. The wood planks of the dock were wet and slick and a couple of the guards slipped off into the water, but they had it coming. That’s what people get for going after Voodoo ‘Danger’ Samuelson.
He ran faster and faster, knowing that there was no chance in hell he would be able to make the leap without help, and that was when the whistle sounded. It came from the Blood Moon Rising, a strange melodic sound with both a high and a low pitch to it. Voodoo thanked Ha’Mos for picking that moment to send a break in the rain clouds so that the sun could shine through and illuminate the long rope that had just been thrown from the top of the main mast. Voodoo jumped. He had no choice in the matter anymore. He jumped up and out and reached with every part of his body towards the Blood Moon Rising and, sure enough, he grabbed hold of a small but highly significant piece of her. He caught the rope in mid air and scrambled to climb up it before gravity began to take its penance. Finally the rope grew taut and Voodoo’s jump turned into an arcing fall that brought him just over the stern of the ship, where there seemed to be piles of rope and netting. He let go before he reached the ship, lest his trajectory land him on the other side in the water. His landing was hard, but he was glad to be dry, away from the law and on board the Blood Moon Rising. After he caught his breath, he let out a sigh of relief.
”One step closer to Farholme. One step closer to Graham and the others…”
Blood Moon Rising
Ever since his landless days scouring the waters of the Trade Bay with the less than ethical merchant sailors, Voodoo had always considered him somewhat of a pirate, if not in practice then in spirit. His most recent events had left him winded and sore, but smiling nonetheless. He had just escaped the inquisition, robbed a bunch of merchants for a sizeable take, run from the law and in a magnificent leap of faith in the name of Ha’Mos, he grabbed hold of a rope intended to assist him in not only running from the law, but in boarding this ship, the Blood Moon Rising.
His eyes still closed, he giggled as he imagined what Madame Carvelle might be like. A sharp jab to the ribs broke his little spell, however. Opening his eyes, Voodoo found himself partially surrounded, well, fully surrounded if you included the stern of the ship. There were five people standing to his left all with weapons drawn. The most striking of the five was a chiseled ebony monument in tribute to the glory of human anatomy. The massive dark skinned, shirtless man wielded a short spear and had apparently been the one to poke him in the ribs. Even as he rubbed the sore spot, Voodoo was thankful that it was the butt end with which he had been poked and not the sharp pointy end of the stick.
Another man wearing black pants with a black sash and a white tunic held a scimitar en guard. There was a dworc who was dressed all in black and held aloft two kukri, a Halfling who seemed perplexed about whether to try and look menacing with his rapier or to begin strumming his mandolin. And then there was Madame Carvelle. It could be no one else, not on this ship not on a thousand other ships, this woman was his salvation.
Her long dreadlocked black hair had bones, beads and other runic items of significance woven into the life’s growth. Her skin was not as dark as the statuesque warrior’s, but it was close enough. Still, she had a mass of freckles upon her puffy cheeks and a scrolling tattoo that wove its way around her forehead and came to a point just above the bridge of her nose and around and under each eye. Two tiger claws were fitted into matching holes in either ear, and her mass of necklaces were adorned with shark teeth, other random claws and animal bones, foreign coins and a vast array of uncut gems and jewel stones.
She wore a tattered smattering of rag-tag clothing full of poorly stitched patches and layers of shawls. The head of her staff was carved to emulate that of a giant claw of a bird of prey with four obsidian talons fitted into the opposing digits. When used appropriately, this staff could prove to be a formidable weapon, but it likely had some other uses as well. She raised her staff and slammed it down onto the floor of the ship, creating a deep bellowing sound that resonated throughout the southern end of the ship. ”Who be ye, and why be ye on me ship?!”
Voodoo found himself suddenly impotent. Whereas moments before he had been daring and stoic, some might even say heroic, he now stared up at the visage of a wild beast, a predator whose very presence gave testament to her successful dominance over all those who would stand in her way. And she had a small retinue as backup. Dumbfounded and speechless, Voodoo found himself scrambling for words, or more importantly, meaningful thoughts to propel those words into some semblance of justifiable reasoning for his being there on her ship at that moment under the circumstances that surrounded his presence… The odds were definitely stacked against him on this one…
Raising his hands slightly in supplication from his already prone position, the swashbuckling rogue pirate licked his lips, forced a smile on his face, offered a weak chuckle and said, ”Me? I’m Voodoo, and I am here to negotiate passage to Farholme. From what I gathered, you’re the one with whom I need be negotiating.” He made a motion to raise up on his elbow but the four armed individuals flanking Madame Carvelle flashed their weapons in a most menacing way, not the least of which was the ebony skinned warrior’s spear flipped from butt end to pointy end in but a blink of the eye.
He flinched and fell back onto the coils of ropes that he had been lying upon. The dark brown tattooed and freckled face of Madame Carvelle lifted into a taut smile showing ivory teeth with pointed metal extensions. A soft laugh emanated from her throat and mouth and as its volume and cadence increased, she tilted her head back seemingly lost in her laughter; so lost, in fact, that Voodoo found himself chuckling as well. He blinked and she was upon him, all laughter killed by the deadly silence that followed. She had one knee in his sternum the other was on his right hip, his right side facing the stern of the ship. Her left hand held his head in place so that his eyes would not leave hers. Her fingers had some sort of clawed gauntlet or glove on and those claws threatened to shred his throat lest he cooperate. Her face was inches from his and so were the obsidian talons of the head of her staff.
She smiled coyly. ”So, him think him name be Voodoo. And we supposed to believe that bollocks. Be we supposed to believe that Ha’Mos plucked him out of them Cos’Mos and send him a runnin’ down our docks just to have him leap across the impossible only to grab a rope that be thrown from our ship by no man which be illuminated by the only hole in the sky that this rainy day has seen? All o’ dat and now we supposed to believe that Ha’Mos send ye in here knowin’ our secrets without knowin’ what it is that ye actually know? Child, me need an awful good reason not to kill ye dead here an’ now, so ye best take a moment ta think about ye words before ye spill ye guts, lest I be the one ta spill dem for ye.” She knelt there poised and ready to kill while she waited for his response.
He eyed the translucent glassy pitch black talons that were so near to his face and eyes as his mind raced trying to figure out where to begin. And then he remembered. ”My given name is Samuel Derringer, but growing up in Divendale I learned real fast that it was good to have more than one name with the occupation that I was pursuing. I won’t trouble you with the other aliases I used because they don’t matter; you are concerned with my present name. Fifteen years ago, I got in trouble for the last time, in my father’s eyes. He sent me to Trade City to work the docks and eventually earn an honest living as a deckhand on some merchant ships or something.
“As it turned out, there was a ship hiring crew once I arrived. I applied and was hired on by Captain James Samuelson. We sailed around the Trade Bay for a year or so and I became pretty good with rope, sails and with life on a ship out on the water. The only thing was that since my given name was so close to his family name, well, he called me Derringer most of the time. Long story short, Samuelson turned out to be a pirate and we eventually moved on from the Trade Bay to scouring the Broken Islands. Between our adventures on the water and our exploits inland, I had picked up a chain and a certain fighting style and, well, a certain flare in my personality that was usually quite bewitching on the unsuspecting. One day he just started calling me Voodoo and, well, it stuck. I thought it was an endearing title that denoted passage from adolescence to manhood, but apparently it meant more than I could realize at the time.
“I have long been a follower of Ha’Mos, though admittedly not very devout. The occasional muttering of thanks or praise or some request for a bit of a lucky break. I will admit that this morning’s events, hell, last night’s events even, have been quite coincidental if not downright convenient. That is, except for the hostility that you and yours are expressing at present; I could do without that. As to the name, like I said, Voodoo just stuck and he was more of a father to me than my father ever was, so I adopted his family name, ergo, Voodoo Samuelson. And in regards to the morning’s events, if you must know, I’m on the lamb from the Inquisition, so I pilfered a bunch of merchants, bribed the harbor master, Bart, to tell me who was heading north and he pointed to your ship. I figured there would be negotiations involved, so I took a moment in an alleyway to take stock of what I scored, sorted and situated myself for negotiations. When I turned around to make way to your ship, I discovered that not only were you underway already, but that there were ten guards staring me down. Until this morning, I have never had a middle name. While I was running from those guards and leaping through the air to catch the rope thrown to me by some unknown someone to swing across the waters and land in the Blood Moon Rising, I discovered that Danger is my middle name.
“So claw out my eyes, rip out my throat and crush my sternum if you want to. Yes, I have money and yes I was planning to part with a large portion of it to compensate you for passage. Circumstances got the better of me this time, however, and we were unable to have a proper introduction. So you’ll get your money either way, but I can promise you that I am a lot better use alive than I am dead. The only thing stopping me from being a full-fledged pirate is the fact that I don’t have my own ship. All I ask in return for my money and my efforts is that I somehow make it to Farholme and that any plundering, pilfering or general pirate like activity nets me a fair share of the take. So, how do you do, Madame Carvelle? My name is Voodoo Samuelson and I would like to gain passage aboard your ship…”
She hadn’t flinched once during his litany, just knelt there poised like some monster ready to devour its prey. ”No one threw dat rope, boy. And even if them had, the chance of ye catchin’ hold o’ them rope is next to nil. Toppin’ dat off, ye didna’ go sinkin’ down into them wake like any o’ them normal folk would do. Ye hopped up and got yerself dropped into me boat like some merfolk lookin’ ta play wit’ them top landers. That ye did all that after robbin’ them merchants and escapin’ from them inquisition all the while havin’ the name Voodoo given to ye by the very one and only Captain James Samuelson makes this a very difficult situation fer you and me.
“On them one hand, ye could be straight from the Inquisition, like you say, only dis could be one o’ them espionage undercover tricks, only ye not be doin’ a very good job o’ bein’ undercover. Still, this could be them tricks and ye could be out ta take us all down. If’n dat’s them case, it would be me duty to rip out ye throat, claw out ye eyes and break ye sternum, in whichever order seemed most fitting.
“On them other hand, ye could be them messiah straight from them hands o’ Captain Samuelson hisself, come to learn the ways o’ them blade magic for yeself so dat ye can take up ye rightful place as them prophet of Ha’Mos… But ye wouldn’t know what I be talkin’ about, so dis decision be mine ta’ make.”
She stared at him for a while, pondering, still poised and ready to kill. Suddenly she called out, ”Bassat! Bring me them bones. We gonna let fate take her toll on ye, boy.” She spoke some unknown language and the massive spearman rested his spearhead on Voodoo’s neck so that the tip of it was aimed at the depression between his clavicles. The dworc returned a moment later with a medium sized copper plate that had been hammered into a mostly flat bottom with flared and rounded sides. She grabbed the dish and started stirring its contents around, occasionally flipping them up into the air like a chef would toss cooking food within a frying pan. She pulled a linen kerchief from her robes and, after tossing the bones one last time she scooped them all up and set the dish down. She closed the kerchief around the bones and held onto the ends to keep the bones inside while she muttered strange words and shook the makeshift bag over his body. Finally, she brought the bag of bones down and let them rest on Voodoo’s head while she continued her incantations. Then, in one fluid movement, she lifted up on the ends of the bag and let go, sending them up into the air where the ends of the kerchief started to come undone. Meanwhile, she picked up her copper dish with her left hand and with a graceful flick of her wrist she grabbed one corner of the kerchief and plucked the cloth away from the bones, leaving them twirling and floating then falling over Voodoo’s face. She caught them in the copper dish with a resonating staccato sound and then pulled the dish slowly away from his face.
Her face was stern and unreadable as she studied her bones in her copper dish. Her clawed staff had been set aside to free up her hands for the ritual and as her jaw went slack and her gaze turned from the bones to meet the suspect rogue’s ever watchful eyes, she grabbed the haft of the spear and slowly pulled it away from Voodoo’s throat. ”Welcome to the Blood Moon Rising, Voodoo Samuelson, chosen of Ha’Mos. It be a pleasure to have ye aboard. We have us a lot o’ work ta do and not much time ta do it in. Farholme ye say? I suppose we just gon’ have ta manage. Ye first lesson o’ the day,” she said as she shooed everyone off to get the boat off and running, ”be a historical one.” She sat down on the shelf the ropes were coiled upon and allowed him some space to resituate himself.
Once Voodoo had accounted for his gear and was seated next to the woman who had just declared him a prophet of Ha’Mos, he listened. Madame Carvelle told him first about the church of No’Mos. He already knew the basics but she told him enough to fill in the gaps. The biggest point being that No’Mos had outlawed magic and was doing its damnedest to enforce that decree. This had subsequently driven what arcane casters remained underground as far from public reach as possible. Some still risked venturing outside of their safe havens, but most that did were captured and subject to the inquisition. For over two hundred years there have been small unorganized groups leading the resistance against the Church of No’Mos, many of which are in honor of Ha’Mos. About twenty years ago, off in the Shattered Islands, Captain James Samuelson pieced together a large group of mages and warlocks and warriors and shared with them his ideas. He believed that, as the stories were told, Ka’Los gave birth to arcane magic and No’Mos gave birth to divine magic. Now, No’Mos, or the people who worship her, has taken arcane magic away. While this may have been amusing to Ha’Mos, it is believed that he is more interested in life with the chaos of arcane magic than without, so he has been helping out in small ways to overthrow or undermine the Church of No’Mos.
Captain Samuelson had a plan. He had gathered the best of the best together, sorcerers, wizards, warlocks and warriors and had found them a safe place to explore their options to come up with solutions to subvert the No’Mos doctrine. He promised to bring them whatever they needed so long as it was within his means. This was twenty five years ago, so they had been at it for a while. The first thing they came up with was the Seer, also known as the Witch. While the Seer had her uses, and they were almost always female, there was not much power involved, so they kept the idea alive but went back to the drawing board, so to speak.
Then the warlocks, sorcerers and warriors got together and things started to come alive. With the warlocks’ use of their hideous blow invocation, this gave everyone the idea of somehow channeling a more diverse display of magic through their weapons. Everyone agreed that it had to be more creative than straightforward arcane arts or else it would be just as scrutinized as everything else. The warriors learned from the mages and the warlocks and began training. Over time they developed nine disciplines of the blade. Each discipline had its specialty, and each class was restricted to certain disciplines.
The mages were pleased because there was no arcane signature on the abilities. The warriors were pleased because this would change the way that weapons were wielded forever and everyone was excited at the idea of having found a way to undermine the Church of No’Mos, however long it would take. Formally, the scholars and warriors called the powers Blade Magic, but the Seers and Captain Samuelson agreed that it was more appropriately termed as Voodoo.
Captain Samuelson still brings people back to the Shattered Islands to learn this Voodoo Blade Magic, but until this past year has felt the group not strong enough to disseminate. Madame Carvelle and her crew are among the first to leave. She explained that she was both a Seer and a Swordsage and that the others each had their own unique talents, some residual from their lives prior to living on the Shattered Isles.
After listening and asking questions here and there, her story seemed to be somewhat completed for the time being. Voodoo took the opportunity to reach into his largest pouch and produce the largest purse of coin. ”Here you are, Madame. It’s not all that I have, but it is a sizable sum. I should hope that this will cover my passage to Farholme.”
She swatted his pouch of coins away and said, ”Put them coins away, boy. There be plenty more where dat come from, ain’t dat right, Bassat?!” A deep bellow came out in reply. ”Aye!” She looked at him again and gathered her bones back in her linen kerchief. ”We got one week ta teach ye what ye need ta know, boy. Let us hope dat ye come to it natural. Don’ worry none, there’ll be plenty o’ opportunity ta practice yer new talents along the way. And one more ting,” she said as she stood up and began to walk away, ”ye don’ need no ship ta be a pirate. Ye sailed under the great Captain James Samuelson for ten years, boy. Dat man be da most notorious pirate in them waters and not only did him give ye the name o’ the prophet, but him let ye take his own name as well. Boy, ye got more pirate in ye than all o’ us together. Don’ talk ta me about not bein’ them pirate. Ye couldn’a done what ye did today if ye were anything else, so be ready for us ta call on them talents o’ yers along them way.”
Voodoo couldn’t help but smile. She was right, after all. He’d been a damned pirate all along. Now he was the chosen of Ha’Mos, destined to spread these new talents throughout the land in an effort to take down the Church of No’Mos. All he was trying to do was get back to his friends, but sometimes life has other plans, especially when Ha’Mos is involved…
Voodoo probably would have gone back to check on what was his name, Mazo? The one we returned the hot actress to. Gosh, been a while but I think that was his name. Well, would have gone back to scope that place out. If it was crawling with the fuzz, he would have disappeared and gotten lost for a while, probably stopping by Divendale to make sure that his old friend Kuni the singer was doing alright on his way out of town. Along the way he continued his personal training as a (gaining 1 level as rogue with +1 Sneak Attack)rogue and then stumbled upon someone or a group of someones in River City who challenged him to a battle of sorts. He had few to no options so he stood his ground, but they Swordsage Martial Maneuversmoved like he had never seen before. While he was confident he could have bested them, there were too many and he was in foreign land, so he conceded.
They tied him up to a chair and questioned him, much like the Inquisitor had. Reminded of the Inquisitor, Voodoo answered in half truths that danced around the issue but still satisfied the requirements of the questions. This irritated them, so they lightlytortured Voodoo for a while, but he was resilient to their methods. The questioning began again and Voodoo continued as he had before, his remarkable intelligence allowing him to remember his answers even under duress and continue to lead them astray on a path of half truths and not-quite-lies.
Frustrated but not quite sure of how to proceed, the group decided to hold onto the slippery rogue for a while. During his captivity he watched them sparring and after a while began chiding them, telling them that they were doing it wrong, particularly to one with a spiked chain. The individual came over to Voodoo and challenged him on his assertions and when he responded, "Tell you what, you teach me how to dance around like you do, and I'll teach you how to use a chain properly, deal?"
The person pulled off their hooded cloth mask to reveal a beautiful elfin female face, the owner of which said, "Sure. You show me yours and I'll show you mine." Voodoo replied, "I haven't heard that line in a long time, but I'll take you up on it! Just untie me then and let's get started..." She did and they started. It was awkward for the both of them at first. Well, it was awkward for a while, but after about a week or so, they had grown more comfortable with each others fighting techniques and had begun the process of dual training, with him teaching her the fine arts of finessing the chain and with her beginning to teach him the secrets of the martial adept.
Together they Shadow Jauntdanced through shadows, went through the motions of tripping battle dummies and finishing off with an attack once they've fallen. She taught him how to Shadow Garrotegather shadows and throw them at other creatures to injure or kill them. Voodoo shared his knowledge of the rogue's ability to sneak attack a foe and she responded by teaching him how to combine their knowledge of shadows and sneak attacks to create a new Assassin Stancevision that enabled him to search for weak points on his enemies by searching for the shadows between plates of armor, which enhanced his accuracy and subsequently increased his sneak attack damage.
They had been training together for over a week and Voodoo's personality and attention to detail seemed to have won her over. Her name was Ambrosia. She told him late one night that she was named after an elixir of immortality, one that the gods and mortals had quarreled over for centuries. She went on to explain that just one taste of Ambrosia was said to give one life everlasting. And with such a gift, one must be responsible with whom she shares it with, but she must also be generous with those she does decide to share for one will never know if they are truly immortal until they die, so it is best to consume a healthy serving on a regular basis... And then the dialogue trailed off into, well...
How do you feel about leadership? I could pull off a leadership score of 12 and have Ambrosia as an 8th lvl partner in crime. Wouldn't all be talk about the immortality elixir or fuzzy luvie stuff either. She would be an 8th level Swordsage martial character there to support and work in concert with Voodoo. It would work well with the idea of him creating a diversion as he would probably need some help in this area.
The character would be too similar as written in the story for her to be an effective Cohort. Please disregard this entry.
Here is Voodoo's new sheet as a Swordsage. The stance and maneuvers are in the spells section. I mentioned in one of my PMs that I was considering Warlock as an option, but I realized what a dreadful mistake that would be, so if you don't like Swordsage, then I will just continue with Rogue. As you can tell by now, probably, I am excited about Voodoo being a Swordsage. I await your response.
Well, that didn't work. So much for doing it the cool way... Time for old school mathematics.
Good thing I wasn't a math major! I flubbed up big time. The first set that I have labeled as a +0 total mod (botch) is actually a +2 overall mod, so not technically qualifying for a reroll. However, the reroll gives basically the same stats with a +3 overall mod, still very low, like a 24pb, so I would think it should still work in your game since your stat method is 4d6 or 23pb... Sorry for the confusion.
Dice Ambrosia Stats:
(as this is an older post, these rolls are interpreted by the older (more basic) dice roller code)
4d6:
6, 4, 5, 5
Total = 20
4d6:
1, 1, 2, 5
Total = 9
4d6:
3, 1, 5, 2
Total = 11
4d6:
3, 5, 1, 3
Total = 12
4d6:
4, 1, 2, 1
Total = 8
4d6:
6, 4, 2, 6
Total = 18
Dice Ambrosia Stats:
(as this is an older post, these rolls are interpreted by the older (more basic) dice roller code)
4d6:
2, 1, 5, 3
Total = 11
4d6:
2, 4, 4, 2
Total = 12
4d6:
4, 5, 4, 6
Total = 19
4d6:
2, 2, 2, 3
Total = 9
4d6:
6, 5, 1, 5
Total = 17
4d6:
3, 3, 3, 3
Total = 12
Dice Ambrosia Stats [rolls will change when post is finalized]:
(as this is an older post, these rolls are interpreted by the older (more basic) dice roller code)