Open Chronicles A Treasure Fleet Arrives in Alliria

[childish brandino]

Kishou was aware about a fortnight in advance that there would be some activity around the Western Docks. What he was not expecting, however, was Cortosi warships. Warships. Three of them. Kishou had grown idle since settling in Alliria, but he has grown fond of the prosperous city. It was not challenging for him to find work, but his body yearns for more excitement.

How long has it been since my life has been endangered? Since I have felt the thrill of battle? Since my bones have rattled from the clashing of blades?

Thoughts occupied his mind as he maneuvered through the walkways of Alliria, his destination the Western Docks. The smell of the sea became more prominent the closer that Kishou got. He descended well-laid stone steps into one of many small clearings in the city. Farther ahead were the docks. Kishou remained expressionless, but he was eager from the rare occurrence. Perhaps his thirst for excitement would be quenched, and the source of such a wonderful drink resides where the Cortosi warships have docked.

 

[Azmelqar]

"Naturally," said Hernan, brushing off his caped-shoulder. "Just a few minor details to discuss. How have you... Lady Osillia, are you quite alright? You are flushed."

"Oh, it is nothing," she said, far too quickly. "Pardon me, I may need some air."

Lady Osillia briskly exited, heading for an exit on the far end of the hall, opposite the one that the Brothers Alcantara had so boldly arrived through. Oswald glowered indignantly at Diego, and did not drop the expression. Hernan raised an eyebrow, but Oswald only gave a short, sour nod, wished them good fortune in the voyages to come, and sulked off after his sister.

"Diego," Hernan said, as soon as Oswald had crossed out of earshot, "What have you done to these people?"

 

[Amalric Urahil]

“Me?” Diego asked innocently, stuffing his pipe back into a pouch at his waist, then splaying his hands before him.

“I’ve only shown them Cortosi courtesy.”

Memories of wheeling ravens over a field of corpses. The fires of burning villages. The stench of rot and disease.

Diego smiled winsomely. “We’d best get back to the ships, eh? Come let’s walk and you can tell me how you threw the pearls of your silver tongue before silk covered swine.”

 

[Zufar el Hassan]

"Johnny, wha''s wit' th' big tubs?"

"I dunno, heard they sailed from Cortosi."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But ye best steer clear o' them. Heard a poor bastard got skewered by th' cap'n or somthin' when th' got here o'er naught."

A man sitting at a table set out of a local pub had idly glanced back at the two sailors talking behind him, before raising an eyebrow, a slightly amused expression on his face...but eventually he would turn his attention back to the "tubs" in question. This particular tavern sat on a slope right across from the docks, particularly in the section where the three warships had docked. The grand entrance of the Cortosi fleet had certainly stirred up a lot of commotion in town, what with the flags they flew and the characters that the ships carried. Rumors were already beginning to fly about the reasons and destinations of the fleet...but for this particular individual, it really didn't mean a whole lot.

He stood rather pointedly, maybe even more so then the Cortosians, given the way he dressed. Well, he might have, if anyone bothered to look close enough. Otherwise, he faded into the background like any other character on the docks, minding his own business. Currently, his attention had shifted back onto a set of documents he had been reading...which was accompany with a mug of somthing. The man didn't seem to care about much going about around him, save a couple of times he'd look up at somthing. It must of been a rather fascinating set of documents, for him to be so enamored in...but regardless, a man would be always wise to...keep an ear to the ground.​

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"Check the caulking again"

"But pilot, we've already been over her every last inch-"

"Check it again. By tonight Pesaro or I'll be pissing in your grog".

Ferran left him with that threat. Strong arms grabbed the hatchway's sides and he hauled himself up onto the deck. He'd enough to be worrying about voyaging eastward without adding leaks or shipworm to the list. For the umpteenth time, he let his gaze wander over the lines and halyards.

If it was back home, he'd trust it anywhere. But they were going somewhere else. Not quite into the unknown, he had his rutters after all, but still somewhere his knowledge would be lacking. Any pilot worth his salt would be wary of any common dangers but it was always the unknown ones that would get you.

And besides, his mouth curled in distaste as he took in the sight of the armour, normally you didn't have to worry about your cargo. Taking soldiers was always dicey. He'd transported enough of them to know they were trouble, especially for honest sailors. Anirians, Cortosi, the bastards were all the same. He'd keep his feet on good honest wood, the sea gave him his authority.

He let himself listen in on the talk. Dirty Kasmetran accents intermingled with softer Mantessan, a few other dialects he didn't recognise. Flotsam and jetsam, that's what half this party appeared to be. Freebooters who'd signed on for plunder. Wandering sellswords and mother-killers. He made sure to keep his own sword belted on for show.

Though come back from this and you'll be a wealthy man.

 

[Bodhin]

Bodhin woke up with a jolt at the sound of the fleet horn, rudely waking him from dreaming about a cooked fish of delectable proportions.

It was right in front of him. A steaming, Allirian river fish.

Alas, it was not destined to be his.

"Scram! Old beggar, please do not patronize my restaurant anymore. I've been losing customers because of your rotten stench." The young restaurant owner begged the old, proclaimed monk to leave his fine establishment.

"What? I'm hardly causing a ruckus. I think it's perfectly fine to stay. I'm only asking for necessities for a few days. After all, my hand is not a bottomless basket..." Bodhin smiled deviously.

The owner grimaced. "If I give you a few copper coins, will you leave?"

Bodhin smiled even wider. "Of course I will. Pay up."

The owner let out a sigh of relief. He thought, "Looks like beggars are still beggars. I don't need that old hag to spit any more ridiculous proverbs at me."

After recieving the small payment, Bodhin kept his word and left the resturant. The sound of city bustle, ships, and numerous accents filled the atmosphere.

"The Golden Pearl, hmmmm? I will come to this fine establishment again in the future!" he laughed.

After observing his surroundings for a few seconds, Bodhin did not fail to recognize the large Cortosi warships docked at the port. Although he had only left the his home temple a few years ago, he did not fail to recognize the ships, due to the temple's ridiculous stores of knowledge. He could hear the sounds of sailors talking and shouting.

"A new adventure, perhaps?" With a gleam in his eyes, Bodhin headed for the docks.

 

[Azmelqar]

Cortosi courtesy? From Diego? Hernan judged that neither Osillia nor Oswald seemed to have been stabbed through their necks with a rapier. Perhaps this had been one of Diego's more restrained showings of courtesy. Ah. So old dogs could learn new tricks!

Hernan furrowed his brow, somewhat suspicious, but no more than usual. "I did say to stop calling them swine," he said, "But I suppose I shall take your word for it,"

That was a magic phrase - 'I'll take your word for it.' It was magic because whenever he said it to Diego, misadventure was sure to follow. But Hernan said it anyway, because he had since found that misadventure rose up at roughly the same rate regardless of whether it was said.

This was how magic phrases worked.

They walked from the council chambers, and began the trek back to the docks.

"We can look forward to a few more sponsors from the merchant council," Hernan said, though he sounded more serious than pleased. "They will be covering our lodgings for the next few days. This will be the last civilized port we see, so I intend to make the most of it."

There were no convenient ports near Nagai. It was on the wrong side of the spine. Hernan had heard rumors of Moth-worshiping humans in the Iuk-'U, but he doubted they could service a Cortosi warship.

Once the expedition crossed into Asherah waters, they'd be months out from any aid. But that was a worry for later, wasn't it?

 

[Amalric Urahil]

"Hernan, Hernan, always with the brooding looks. I can tell there are things weighing your mind about the journey, yes? Forget about them all. Tonight, we celebrate! Oh hello, Vasco, Pedro."

The two other Cortosi they'd left behind fell in step with them.

The blonde, Vasco, stroked the curl of an impressive mustache. "What's this about celebrations?"

"Hernan said tonight we will make the most of it." Diego smiled broadly.

Pedro, tall, with dark hair and a nervous pinch to his nose, made a groaning sound and grabbed his belt, shaking it around. "Whores of Alliria, tonight you earn a month's pay. Because the only thing that's spent faster than Cortosi coin-"

"-is Cortosi cock!" They all roared in unison.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou wasted no time in making his way to the Western Docks. He lived on the western side of Alliria, in a humble loft above a blacksmith that he has been acquainted with for quite some time. The blacksmith was positioned in the Inner City. The room itself was simple with enough space for a cot on the floor, chests to store belongings, and space for Kishou to stretch his body or maintain his equipment. He had no real need to live lavishly, and frankly no means to seeing that tasks he has taken lately have been far from profitable. After all, the man was a master with only his sword. However, the location was convenient and allowed Kishou easy access to both the west and east sides of Alliria.

As he arrived on the docks, Kishou could feel the sea breeze clash against his skin. The air was somewhat heavy with moisture, and- goodness- that typical stench.

Should I ever resign myself to working on the docks... That would be unfortunate circumstances.

Kishou thought to himself as he observed today's crowd. The normal dock workers continued with their business, giving little more than interested glances towards the Cortosi ships. What was abnormal, however, was the crowd of non-workers gathered on the docks. It was a crowd large enough to warrant a perimeter to be set by the Cortosi. Kishou observed the men which held the perimeter. Armored, and armed. His mind raced for a moment.

Three warships. The amount of soldiers must be a spectacle to the on-goers, but it is expected. Are they stopped to resupply after a campaign- no, the men look far too fresh. Also, beyond the soldiers it seems that the crews are busy preparing. Perhaps they are embarking on a campaign of sorts soon. A good opportunity, perhaps? Surely I am not the only one who thinks this. I can stand out from most of the amateurs that wave a sword about, but can I make a good enough impression to be hired? They seem staffed enough.

Kishou let out a contemplative huff of air and scanned the perimeter again. He did not spot anyone that appeared significant, aside from a couple soldiers barking orders. He assumed that anyone important would come from the main road, which was almost across from where Kishou had entered. He decided to make his way towards the main road and found a spot of open space to stand, separated from the crowd. His back faced a wall and he could see a majority of the dock. He adjusted his clothes slightly. His appearance stood out for being somewhat exotic, even for Alliria. However, his appearance was not by any means superfluous.

Now, he would just have to wait for an opportunity to introduce himself.

 

[Bodhin]

Bodhin knew too much about first impressions. As a glorified beggar, he knew the second that he asked for something, people would think he was entitled. After all, the world of beggars could not be choosy. Old men like him were especially a liability to most.

In spite of all this, Bodhin still felt an overwhelming need to explore with others.

With all of those soldiers and sailors, their should be lots of food, right? I just need to tell them that I'll be a docile freeloader, they should let me on.....right?

Bodhin knew he was only making excuses. First of all, he knew from his previous experience with the resturant owner that Allirians weren't all that hospitable. Secondly, it was not the money that attracted him anymore. It was the need for adventure. He grew up as a monk, but upon stepping out into a vast world, his blood ignited. He liked to think that he was a wise old sage; he didn't memorize all those old proverbs and carry around a wooden staff for nothing, after all; but the need for adventure, after being cooped up in a monastery, was almost unbearable.

With fast steps, Bodhin made his way to the docks, eager to introduce himself as an adventurer, even though he knew he would be told off.

 

[Muirin]

Muirin was a natural-born stranger to the city of Alliria. While he had spent much time sailing the Allirian Strait and lost an awful lot of coinage in the neighboring Bayou Garramarisma, the only part of the merchant-city proper he'd been to was the far-spread dockyards.

It was on a night like many that he first encountered the Alcantaras. Muirin had spent no small amount of time at various taverns, drinking and gambling until he was invariably kicked out for winning too large of a sum from his fellow customers' savings. As the mercenary wandered the dockyards, his mind was nearly void of conscious thought-- All he knew was that his belly was full, his clothing was heavy with scattered coinage, and his head thrummed with the pleasant feeling of near drunkenness. If he'd just gotten through a pair or trio of rounds before getting kicked out of that last inn, he could've been comfortably unconscious in some barmaid's bed by now- But, no. Instead, he was wandering the stinking dockyards, awash with the all too familiar scents of sewage and saltwater.

One can understand why he was surprised to see a small trove of warships gathered at the docks not too far from where he'd been drinking, and it's only a natural leap from that logic to understand why he had nothing better to do with his day. So, Muirin Mistral, Magical Mercenary Extraordinaire wandered ever closer to the collected ships, swaying far too little for any mortal man who had consumed as many drinks as he had.

 

[Azmelqar]

There had been subtext in saying 'make the most of it', truly. No mistaking that. The mistake had come in assuming Diego and his bosom friends would allow it to remain subtext. And not scream 'cortosi cock' in the streets.

Hernan smirked uncomfortably, not at all relishing the annoyed stares Pedro had attracted.

"You will embarrass our benefactors, carrying on like that. Save it for the port district, yes?"

The nicer parts of Alliria had more active city watchmen than the rest - the kind more likely to take action in response to improper conduct, indecency. Hernan had no desire to waste money arranging for the release of rowdy sailors. These days, he lost more men to constables than pirates.

They returned to the docks in short order, the sailors electing to conduct their lewd talk more covertly. More Cortosi had arrived in smaller boats, and several of the craft were being loaded with supplies. Food, water, livestock, building materials. The things any budding colony would need.

There was no sign of those men from the Solar Choir. Perhaps they had gotten back before them. But seeing out into the bay, where the warships were still anchored, he could see no sign of the craft they would have taken returning. Hmph.

"Here we are," Hernan announced, shifting his shoulder cape just-so.

Now they could scream about whatever they wished, far from where polite ears could hear them.

"I must speak with the quartermasters. I trust you lot will have no trouble finding a good enough tavern for the officers without me?

 

[Amalric Urahil]

“Pfah,” Diego waved a hand dismissively, “The quartermasters know what they’re doing, brother. Come drink with us!”

Behind Hernan, he noted a number of inquisitive persons gathering. Recruits? Investors?

Who knew.

Diego was thirsty for a cup of good wine and an ample lass to sit his lap.

 

[Ermengarde]

As the dashing men came into view, their chatter would not go unnoticed.

As one of the few women in the vicinity, she made her aproach to the coversing brothers.
»Hail. Are you two the owners of these ships?«
»I would not have ever expected to see any vessel trump Allirian ships in grandeur.«

 

[Ferran el Machir]

There were advantages to anchoring at a mooring over the docks. For one it meant they'd have less trouble the night with drunks falling on deck or locals coming 'just to have a look'. On the other hand it meant provisioning was going to require a bit more work from the seamen tasked with small boat duty.

Shipshape and Belari fashion almost. Ferran would happily act like a tyrant where his own life was at stake. They'd be at sea for the gods knew how long and only harsh discipline would keep them alive. He wondered how many of them would actually return.

"Damn your eyes, fend her off!" he barked at the sailors awkwardly preparing one of the boats for another run inshore. They'd been free with the rations since everyone knew they'd be restocking in Alliria. The officers were making sure that they got all of the madness possible out of their system before they were stuck out to sea.

Scum of Arethil but they could surprise you at times. Make them work for every scrap of praise and don't spare the lash when needed. He'd seen ships rot and fester due to slovenly discipline just as he'd seen violent mutiny from a monster of a captain.

The soldiers were no doubt already hitting the taverns like it was their last night on Arethil. No doubt there'd be a body or two floating in the bay come morning.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan scoffed. “Have you met our quartermasters?”

The quartermasters were fine, as it so happened. But Hernan would make his excuses. Fraternizing was good for morale, but if a Captain were launched into the stocks with his men...

A woman interrupted his thoughts. Tall lass, pale skin. The air of a sailor was unmistakable, which was rare in Cortos, but not so much in these parts (as far as Hernan knew). A wicked scar adorned her face, and a part of her arm was clear off.

Either the best sailor or the worst, depending on your perspective.

“Those ships belong to the Crown of Torleón,” said Hernan, raising his head ever so slightly as he spoke to Ermengarde .

His shoulder cape was swept aside, now exposing the rapier at his side. His hand didn’t rest on it, of course. This was a lady he spoke to, after all.

“I am Hernan Alcantara, Captain-General of the Expedition. Who might you be?”

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou observed the growing crowd. While some of the crowd dispersed, many remained. Many were not worth the attention, but there were a number of noteworthy people around the docks- even if their outward appearance did well to disguise that.

______​

Some time had passed. While Kishou was lost in thought, a group of four men arrived from the main road. There were two in particular which caught Kishou's attention. One man wore a short cape. He emanated an air of nobility, or grace. Kishou could not tell the difference, but it was irrefutable that the caped man was graceful.

His partner conducted himself wildly with the other two men. They were clearly soldiers, but the caped man's partner was a cut above the rest. He could tell that those two Cortosi men in particular were noteworthy.

The caped man engaged with a rather tall woman- one of the notable ones that Kishou noticed earlier.

Kishou pushed himself off the wall that he had occupied for quite a while. He used that momentum to carry himself into a long stride. He headed towards the wild Cortosi soldier, who had separated from his caped partner. The soldier headed for an inn.

"Long way from Cortos, my friend!" Kishou called out.

The man turned to the sound of his voice. Kishou's accent was unique to his people, for they spoke in their own language. He came from a place that had a policy of isolationism, so seeing a man like him was a rare occurrence. However, those experienced with the world would have undoubtedly run into Kishou's fellow countrymen at some point. Kishou continued approaching the man, but stopped at a safe distance.

"I fought alongside a swordsman from Cortos in the past for many years- what a lion he was!" Kishou's narrow eyes appeared to shut completely as he grinned at the soldier, "Allow me to buy you a drink, out of respect for your people! Surely your journey has left you parched."

Kishou's opportunity was there, he hoped to make the most of it.

 

[Fennec]

Further down the docks, where the boats were not quite so big and grand, a lone figure meandered with the scuttling of bone, gem, and shell accessories heralding her coming. A strong scent of spices and earth lingered on her path and a curious sense of the esoteric preceded her steps.

While there were not many partaking on the docks in this area, it was plain to note that those in the area were doing well to ... avoid the woman.

"Hasaar," she greeted a man presently directing his crew on a smaller ship while they offloaded its bounty.

"Fair winds, Ziri," he offered her one of the few pleasant smiles she'd seen today and tipped a greeting to her, "I have your shipment, still below deck. Get ya a drink while you wait?"

Black lips skewed a sanguine smile, revealing teeth far too white, "Of 'karse. Yew noh wat'ah lyk."

Never too early for rum, as the sailors like to say.

Muirin

 

[Muirin]

The night wasn't getting any younger, and the steady throb in Muirin's head wasn't getting any more overwhelming. If he wanted to pass out in a haze, as per usual, he'd need to find a drink and fast. But where to go when most of the tavern's this side of the port had already thrown him out for the night?

An idea came to mind. He'd served on a vessel not long ago, 'The Salty Maiden', and he had it on good faith they'd be in Alliria for a few days more at the very least. Some shipment they had to deliver, wizard-shite-- Frankly, he didn't much care, but a well-placed bet meant the Maiden's captain owed him a bottle of the strong stuff.

The mercenary made his way down the docks, swaying this way and that as he went. Fortunately, his occasional stumbles went in different directions from time to time, evening out his gait into a path cut even straighter than usual. It wasn't long before he found the Salty Maiden docked near some similarly small vessels, climbing aboard without being invited and bumping past a handful of crew members offloading some bounty or another. Muirin rubbed the bleariness from his eyes, calling out for the ship's captain.

"Oi, Hassar! Y'there, chummer? Believe y'owe me a bottle o' the sweetest you've got!" The man's voice was nothing if not distinct, a motley collection of worldly slang and accents mixed into a particularly Elbion-esque dialect.

Maziri

 

[Fennec]

"And I says to her, I says: Martha-"

"Oi, Hassar! Y'there, chummer?"

Hassar had just gotten to the punchline of his joke, set on the edge of his stool across a round wooden table from his dark-skinned company. She watched as he hung on the name of his wife ... third wife? She'd lost track by now.

"The devil?" the man looked over his shoulder.

Ziri turned white-rimmed eyes of silver towards the door of the Captain's chamber, a heavy brow lofting in intrigue, "Oh, I doubt tha'."

"Just a mo'," he said, standing from his seat with a befuddled look, "don' you go nowhere, m'dear."

The Captain's chamber door opened with a reproachful creak and out stepped Captain Hasaar. He was missing a boot, his shirt was dingy and sweat-stained, he had one suspender off and the other patched with rope, but to his credit he was sporting a very nice looking belt and buckle. It glimmered in the low light of the evening, "Well, well, Morin," never could say the lad's name right, "look what the seagull shat on my deck."

A hand surged forward for a shake, the other clapped Muirin on the shoulder, friendly-like, "Join me over a bottle, just cracked one open. Yeh can help me entertain my lady-friend."

 

[Muirin]

Muirin couldn't help the grin that spread over his face, even as Hasaar positively butchered his name. Couldn't blame the poor bastard, anyhow-- Hardly anyone could get it right their first try. Granted, this was Hasaar's twenty-seventh 'first try'...

One part of the captain's offer stood out in particular to the ale-addled mercenary, even more than the idea of a freshly-opened bottle of rum. "Lady-friend? Hassar, y' old dog! Di'n tell me y'were lookin' fer number four, then!" The mercenary leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice just a fraction as if only half-shouting would keep his voice from carrying into the captain's chambers. "Tell y'what, f'r a fresh bit o' rum, I'll help ya' land this one-- Old time's sake, all that fa'ff."

Before Hasaar had a moment to object, Muirin easily shoulders passed the smaller man. His coat billowed out behind him as he stumble ran to the door, nudging his way past it a fair shake more roughly than he'd intended to. "Well, 'ello, there, my laaaa--"

The mercenary's voice trailed slowly off into nothing as he spotted the woman sitting just across the room. Dark skin, covered in strange scars and tattoos he couldn't begin to fathom. Silver eyes sat like pools of moonlight, hovering over a smile that was all teeth and far too white.

"Oh, ah-- Ziri."

It was no small feet to stop a lumbering brute dead in his tracks, yet the shaman managed to do it without so much as raising a finger. For some reason or another, the mere sight of her nearly made the hard-nerved sellsword turn and run for fear. He stood his ground, though, paralyzed as he was, and one hand trailed upwards to rest nervously on his forearm.

He could almost feel the knot there growing tighter with time as seconds ticked by, consuming him by the moment.

"You're, ah--... You're lookin' nice." Somewhere, deep in the absence of higher thought inspired by such moments of terror, Muirin's mind defaulted to senseless pleasantries. How charming.

Maziri

 

[Amalric Urahil]

“Did you now?” Diego’s smile concealed his confusion as he took in a man whose face, garb, and even weapon were utterly foreign to him. “Well, we won’t say no to a free drink, will we? Oh, pardon my manners. I am Diego Alcantara, at your service.” He gave a short but courteous and flourishing bow.

“These are my serjeants at arms and fellow countrymen, Vasco de Navarro and my cousin, Pedro Calatrava.”

Each bowed in turn, then they resumed the short trek to the nearest tavern.

“What do you call yourself and from where do you come?”

 

[Ermengarde]

»A pleasure to meet you, Hernan Alcantara.«

»I am Ermengarde, daughter to the fürst of Monterossa,« she bowed briefly. Raising again she briefly chuckled. »Intriguing. In fact, I'm leading an expedition of my own. Are you here only passing or looking for investors and patrons? ... Funny. Seems like Alliria hoards all the wealth of the world.«

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan did not know what a Monterossa or a Fürst was, but it sounded quite exotic to his ears. Some type of noble title, perhaps.

But more importantly, this woman, Ermengarde , led an expedition of her own. Even more exotic than before now. A sailor and a captain! He had never met a woman in Cortos who could claim such a station. Hernan smiled, teeth far too white for a sailor or even a soldier.

“They horde enough of it to make it worth the stop. We are on our way to Nagai, to carve out land and civilize the creatures that live there.”

The captain-general cast his gaze upward, where the trade council chambers loomed far overhead, off in the distance. Like an ever-present parent.

“The trade councilors are happy to see us off. Scores to settle, and all that. What of you? What dangerous climes do you seek?”

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou returned bows of his own as the three Cortosi men were introduced. The way he bowed was more rigid than the Cortosi, but was no less courteous.

His intense yellow eyes followed Vasco and Pedro for a moment as they retreated to the nearest inn. He then focused his gaze back on Diego. Kishou was about half a head, maybe a full head taller than Diego. Kishou could not make an observation on the Cortosi soldier’s physique, but he felt immense pressure from Diego.

“I am called Kishou, I come from islands by the name of Yamatakuni.” As expected, that didn’t mean much to Diego. Kishou held a casual smile as he elaborated on his homeland, “They are to the north of the Taagi Baara Steppes. I must admit, my homeland is rather isolated from the rest of civilization.”