Lyra, Gendry, and Amara

Lyra gestures towards Amara. “Pardon the interruption, but his niece has just arrived in Phlan, and is looking for him.”

The man in the monk robes stops to correct a student’s posture before turning to respond. “A blessed Tyrsday to you sirs…and ladies,” he pauses and looks you over, “fresh off the boat are you? You would do well to direct such questions to the administration desk in the future. If you do not mind waiting, Professor Aumry is currently leading a practicum on advanced tactical invocations—second floor, third door on the right. He is normally accepting of observers, but I would recommend that you wait down here, given the high probability of being struck by a stray lightning bolt if you were to open the door at the wrong time. His class should be out within the hour.”

Amara takes off, following the instructions, running flat out.

Gendry’s arm shoots out as soon as Amara starts and grabs the back of her dress. “Ummm…lightning bolts.” He lifts her easily back onto his shoulder. “Sorry miss, but maybe a more orderly approach would be in order.” He walks up the stairs, keeping ahold of Amara, lest she bolt again. He heads to the door indicated, kneels down cups an ear to the door, listening for tell-tale crackling sounds before opening it.

Amara pulls Whiskers to her face and whispers to the cat. The cat fades out from tail to teeth, purring the whole time.

Lyra comes up the stairs a bit behind Gendry, not trusting the construction with the weight of a minotaur and two girls. “Should we knock?” She looks at Amara “Or perhaps wait for your friend to get back?”

Amara shrugs, “We could wait for Whiskers, but it takes a while sometimes.”

Donovan

As the others go running up the stairs, Donovan walks over to the registration desk. “Good morning Taleah [she’s the administrator right],” he says to the woman behind the desk, smiling approvingly at the stylishly fake glasses. “I just got back in town and was wondering if you knew of any jobs that might be available?” He looks up the stairs after the others. “I met some promising youngsters on the boat over and was thinking about trying my hand at a few commissions. Any word from the students on where the action is these days?”

He sits on the edge of the desk and leans over it slightly, not disguising the fact that he’s looking down the front of her shirt. “Also, I saw a job posting by Professor Aumry out front. I understand that he’s with a class right now. Do you know when his office hours are?”

Taleah, who is indeed the woman behind the desk, rolls her eyes at Donovan and undoes the top button on her blouse so he can have a better view. “G’morning Don. And that’s Professor Loughgren to you. You never did turn in your final report on Pre-Turcassan Cormyrian Symphonies, you know.” She gives him a wicked smile and pushes the glasses tighter onto the bridge of her nose. “Professor Aumry doesn’t keep office hours—he says they cut into his already limited research time, plus he’s starting renovations on that old tower in the slums. If you need to speak with him, your best bet is to catch him between classes, or look for him at the tower. If you’re just looking for work, Joyce is hiring some folks to guard the new crypts. Just the thing for you, long, late nights sitting alone in the dark while people have fun above your head…”

“Crypt huh? The notice I read said it was guarding the new temple—figures it would be the least desirable part.” Donovan discreetly lays a small bag with 20 silvers in it on her desk. “Thanks Taleah, that was unusually helpful of you. Any chance you can give me directions to this tower? Oh, and may I just say, the sexy-librarian thing looks good on you. Though I miss the tail.”

With a flash of silver fur, a long fox-like tail curls around the legs of Taleah’s chair briefly, then vanishes. “Everything looks good on me Don, and if you ever want to take a class here again, you’ll remember to call me Professor.” She grabs the bag of coins and slips it into a desk drawer without looking at the contents. “To reach Aumry’s tower, just head out the Parkside Gate and stick to the main road. It’s right past Ernst’s Stables. An ugly old lopsided thing, three-stories tall, you can’t miss it.” She gives him a less caustic smile. “Do take care if you insist on going after the easy-money like this. The town would hate to loose such a talented recruiter.”

“Thanks professor, I didn’t know you cared.” Donovan slides off the desk, sneaks one last peak at the priestess’ copious assets, and heads up the stairs.

“Hey guys. It looks like we might have a better chance meeting the professor if we just went to his home. Apparently he’s renovating an old tower in the slums.” He looks at the door with distaste. “I took this class ages ago. The good brother wasn’t lying about those stray lightning bolts. I say we just leave a note that we’re looking for him, go get a bite to eat, and then meet him at his place later.” He turns to head back downstairs. “Oh, and the night watchman gig at the temple of Sune sounds like a total bust.”

Lyra, Gendry, and Amara

Lyra smiles at Amara. “Maybe we can wait just a little while longer, ok?” Lyra walks over to the railing, observing the swordplay below and seeming lost in thought. Her mind reaches out to professor Aumry. “I apologize for any interruption, Professor Aumry of Umber. Your niece Amara is newly arrived in Phlan, and rather upset that she did not see her father at the docks. If you’ve a moment to spare, she wishes to see you.”

Professor Aumry responds almost instantly, “…now draw the glass rod over the wool like so and pronounce the final…Oh? A telepath? Interesting. You say Amara is here? I’m afraid I am rather busy at the moment. This class should end promptly in thirty-seven minutes. Please bring Amara to the common room of the Cracked Crown at that time. Oh, and do be careful with the girl, she can be quite dangerous if she gets upset.” The message ends abruptly as the contact is terminated from the other end.

Lyra looks up from where she was staring off. “Let’s eat at the Cracked Crown.” She hesitates, just for a moment. “I think I remember seeing it on the tour earlier, and I liked the sign.”

Gendry, still keeping a, hopefully reassuring, hand on Amara, peeks into his purse. “You buying?”

Lyra considers for a moment, looking over the very well dressed minotaur with a very nice sword. “You can pay me back out of our first job. My purse isn’t that much heavier than yours.”

Amara’s eyes get a little big. “But he’s right behind that door!” Then her stomach rumbles. “I guess I could eat, but we can come find him right after, right?”

Lyra crouches so she is eye level with Amara, her long dress pooling around her feet. “We’ll find him right after, I promise.” She stands up, smooths her skirt, and heads downstairs to join Donovan. “We should have time to eat before class is out. Now which way was the Cracked Crown from here?”

Everyone

“Do you you think they have Behir steaks there?” Amara asks. “I love Behir steaks.”

Donovan looks at Gendry and Lyra, “Don’t worry, this one’s on me. And the Cracked Crown is right next door.” He heads for the exit. “I’m sorry Amara, I doubt they have behir. The Bitter Blade occasionally buys exotic corpses from adventurers to add to the menu, but that tends to be a whatever they find in the ruins kindof deal—imports of exotics into the city are still pretty limited. The Crown only deals in local meats—mostly pork since that is what the proprietor raises.”

Shuddup seems to perk up at the prospect of leaving the training house and eating, “Food sounds great.” Then adds under his breath, “as does not being in this building. The only thing more dangerous than a magic user is an untrained magic user.”

As if queue by Shaddup’s comment, an explosion rocks the Training Hall. One of the doors on the lower level bursts open, sending sparring warriors toppling and spraying the atrium with flaming shards of wood. A huge cloud of steam billows out of the opening, followed by a stream of heavily singed gnomes carrying scorched tools of all kinds. At the end of the string of fleeing gnomes comes a gnome wearing a leather apron, a broadbelt, and a welding mask, walking as calmly as anything. Once clear of the steam, she flips up the mask, revealing a face that would be beautiful even by elven standards, and shouts “Alright. Good work. Take the rest of the day off…”

Gendry turns his body to shield Amara from the blast and runs for the exit. “The fuck?!” He pauses, ever so briefly, just across the threshold, and stares awestruck at the very idea of a gnome being that beautiful, then runs for the Cracked Crown, telling himself that if a gnome is involved it must be some kind of trick or illusion. Maybe some side effect of that ‘science’ that Shaddup has been blabbering one about…

“So much for science being safer than magic. Power, magic or otherwise, without responsibility is a great destructive force, and the repercussions of its misuse unknown until far too late to rectify.” Lyra takes on her mother’s tone a bit as she recites the warning from memory.

Lyra looks around, making sure no one is seriously injured before following the others out.

Shuddup begins walking toward the stunning gnome, mouth agape, then proceeds past her trying to peer into the smoke, “Ooooh, what are you working on?”

The gnomish woman pulls out a strange-looking iron box with a large lever on one side and seemingly hundreds of raised keys. She doesn’t so much as glance at Shaddup as she begins typing into it with one hand, creating a deafening clacking noise, punctuated by the occasional shrill whistle. “A class project. We’re building a steam engine that should perpetually generate its own energy by smashing together magical stones from the deep Underdark at high velocity, collecting the energy released by the impact, which is then converted to heat, which runs the boilers. The pressure from the steam is then used to propel the stones towards each other again, thus repeating the process. Only 0.0000001% of the stone is fractured off by each firing, and the energy released is tremendous. Once perfected it could run for several million years on only the two stones. According to today’s experiment, I think we need to attach a third cam-shaft to the secondary torsion sprocket on the quarternary accelerator and then reinforce the…” She continues talking as she walks up the stairs towards the far room, continuing to clack away on the box in her hands, and then slams the door behind her.

Lyra, Gendry, Donovan, and Amara

Donovan follows Gendry out the door and turns left towards the Cracked Crown and walks in. Scanning the crowd gathering for lunch for any other familiar faces, he walks up to the bar, orders five plates of sausages and mash, four pints, and a glass of milk, then looks for a table that will seat them all.

Amara looks at her plate and frowns. “But I wanted bacon!” she whines.

Amara sits down and starts eating her mash and drinking her milk. “When can we go to uncle’s tower?”

Lyra sits at the table with her back to the door, taking one of the plates. She prods the sausage gently, as if weighing odds on the meat composition, then takes a bite. “He should be out of class by the time we’re finished eating. We’ll find him after that.”

Amara starts shoveling food into her mouth, talking around bites. “If I eat faster, will he come out faster?”

Lyra sighs. “It takes more than eating quickly to make time move faster.” She takes a sip of her pint and makes a face, clearly unused to drinking.

As everyone tucks into their food, another chair appears at the table out of nowhere, occupied by a rather portly middle-aged man in dark robes. “Amara! Welcome. You’re a little late…” He sticks a finger in the air and a waiter hurries over with a large, steaming plate of roasted vegetables and a glass of rose-coloured wine as if expecting him. Aumry looks hard at Lyra, “I suppose you are the one who interrupted my class?”, then around the table at the others. “Are these friends of yours Amara?”

Lyra shrinks a little under the scrutiny. “Would you rather she interrupted class by running into it? Because that’s what she was getting ready to do.”

Donovan very deliberately ignores the whining from the girls and eats his meal in as much peace as can be had. He carefully slices his sausages into bite-size pieces, makes a nest of mashed turnips on the back of his fork, piles the sausage bits on top, and then douses everything heavily with pepper before taking a bite. When Aumry appears, Donovan is so startled that he chokes, gasps, spits, and sends a spray of sausage and turnips across the table. He looks back and forth between Aumry and Lyra, curious about their brief exchange, then interjects, “Are you Aumry of Umbar? My companions and I met Amara unaccompanied on the ship over and agreed to escort her until a suitable guardian could be found. When her father did not appear at the docks, we thought it best to seek you out.” Recovered from the surprise, he takes another bite. “We also wished to speak with you about the job you had posted outside the Training Hall.”

“No miss, your approach was quite appropriate. The students were not disturbed and no damage was done.” Aumry sips the wine, but pushes the plate of vegetable across the table to Amara. “Thank you all for bringing my…niece here, and welcome to New Phlan.” He looks gravely at Amara, “My dear, I’m sorry to say but your grandmother in Melvaunt is unwell. She has asked for your company in these, which might be her last, days,” then turns his attention to Donovan. “Actually, if you are interested in the job I posted, it would be most fortuitous. Its difficult getting quality spell components out here, so I had a large supply shipped to some relatives in Melvaunt. While mostly worthless to common-folk, they are extremely valuable to my work, and I would pay you handsomely to fetch them here. I say fortuitous, because if you would also escort Amara there to see her grandmother, I would be willing to double the advertised payment.”

Gendry, who hasn’t really touched his food either, perks up. “Double you say? Would the half-up-front still apply?” He downs his beer in one gulp and begins drumming his fingers on the table. “Where should we pick up these components for you? Do you have an address for these relatives? Have the items already been payed for? Need signed for?…”

Lyra finishes her last bite of sausage and delicately dabs her mouth with a napkin. “Am I correct in assuming that we will need to acquire our charter before being able to accept the job? Other than that, if expediency is an issue…. How long does the journey typically take, and what volume of goods will we be retrieving? Are any of the reagents perishable?”

Aumry smiles, “All good questions. I’m glad you’re all so interested. I, personally, do not care if you have a charter, your safe conduct of Amara here is enough assurance of your good-faith for me. You will need a charter from the Council in order to leave the city gates, however. The trip overland usually takes three days—baring incident or bad weather. I will provide a wagon and team to aid in transporting the goods. The reagents should all be properly preserved, but many may be in fragile containers and you will be responsible for their safe conveyance.” He looks Gendry strait in the eye. “And, yes, you will still receive 50% up front to help cover any expenses you incrue on the journey or any personal supplies you may need.”

“Well, Amara, if you’re going to go visit granny on her deathbed, it sounds like you’ve got an escort. Lyra, Gendry, Shaddup—shall we go get ourselves a charter so that we can get through the gates?”

Gendry looks across the table at the empty chair and uneaten sausages. “Umm, I think Shaddup is still at the school investigating that explosion…”

Lyra giggles and sets down her empty pint glass. “Or the pretty gnome that caused it. Either way, he prob’ly needs to be there when we get the charter ’an we need the charter to get back in through the gates.”

Amara tucks into the veggie plate with nom nom noises. As she finishes and the conversation winds down, she says, “Thank you Lyra, that would be good.” Turning to Aumry she says, “I suppose grandmother will need her medication? Where is the apothecary shop?”

Aumry finishes his wine and stands up. “I think your smiling face is all the medicine your grandmother will need, and, sadly, there is not a proper apothecary in town yet. However, if you did want to take along something to cheer her up, you might stop by Wollaeger the Chandler in the Slums Market, I hear tell his scents are quite remarkable.”

“I have another class to attend to. This afternoon need to meet with the contractors overseeing the restoration of my new tower. Its in the northwest corner of the Slums, right on Parkside Gate Road. You can find me there once you are all cleared by the Council to use the gates.” He walks around the table and kisses Amara on the top of her head, then turns to leave.

Lyra looks over at Amara. “Don’t you want to see your father before we have to leave?” She looks back to Professor Aumry before he goes. “She said her father has a shop here. Could you give us directions? Unless of course he’s traveled ahead to Melvaunt to care for your sick grandmother.”

“A shop? Really?” Aumry chuckles. “You could say that I guess. Hasan does have a stall in the Slums Market, but he’s seldom there. You’ll most likely find him in the company of Councilmen Mondaviak arguing about import tarrifs, or else in one of the shops in the city or the slums trying to drum up support for his ’Merchant’s Council’. Maybe if he were more concerned with tending to his business than with organizing the other shopkeepers politically he might actually be able to afford a storefront of his own…”

“He’s a very busy man,” Amara explains helpfully, “He won’t have time to visit grandmother with us.”

Donovan finishes eating, places a gold piece on his plate, and rises. He gives Amara a quizzical look, “…Weren’t you just crying about him not meeting us at the docks?” then shrugs and heads for the door. “Alright, it sounds like we’ll have to go slumming as soon as we’ve got our papers. Lets go collect Shaddup and get in line to face the bureaucrats…”

Amara says, “Well of course I want to see him, he just can’t go with us silly.” She gets up. “Let’s go to the market, maybe he’s there!”

Gendry grabs the uneaten sausages off of Shaddup’s plate and shoves them in a pouch before following Donovan out. “Gnome’s gonna be hungry…” he mutters to himself.

GM

You are all awakened by a loud clanking noise and the more vigorous rocking of the ship, as Nat and the captain crank the windlass to haul the anchors in. The sun is just cresting the ridge of the Galena mountains to the east, and the air is cool and moist. A light breeze blows from the west.

The other passengers also begin to rouse themselves. A few look like they’ve been up for a while. The farmers and settlers in the stern, especially, look like they have been up for a couple of hours at least—they’ve cleaned themselves up to the best of their abilities given the situation, their gear has been re-stowed, and their belongings ordered in anticipation of reaching land. Now, they bustle about tending to their animals; replacing their water and forage, shoveling the last day’s waste over the rail, and calming those startled by the noise of getting the ship underway. If they’ve noticed that a few coins are missing, none of them has acted upon it.

Eddie’s mother, decked out in the full rose-coloured regalia of a ranking priest of Lathander, stands in the prow of the ship, which has drifted to face the east, and recites her morning prayers. A number of the other members of that group sit or kneel behind her, listening and participating in turn—though the lizard man and the halfling appear to still be quite deeply slumbering.

With the anchor weighed, Captain Donal returns to the aft-deck, unlocks the rudder and begins to tack into the wind, turning the ship north-west around Thorn Island and into the bay.

Amara

Amara wakes, snuggled up to a small blue pony about the size of a small cat. It has a flowing white mane which she begins to brush as she wanders the ship. She picks up some leftover chalk and draws on the deck a little stable for her pony to play in. She picks up a piece of Shaddup’s charcoal and fills in details. From a bag tied around her waist she pulls a blue stick and draws curlicues around the edges of her make believe barn.

When the Minotaur wakes up she addresses him, “Mr. Donovan, I’m sorry for being rude last night, I was just so tired I fell asleep. Thank you for being so nice. I would like it if you and your friends helped me find father. Lightning here,” she points to the horse prancing around in the stable. “Says you are nice and that I can trust you.” She smiles shyly. “Maybe father will be able to help you with your adventures.”

Donovan

Donovan looks hard at the pony. “I’m glad Lightning likes me, but, where did it come from?” He yawns widely and sits up, looking around the deck. He stretches and stands up slowly—looking worn, bedraggled, and much older than his thirty-some years. He stretches again, does a couple of deep-knee bends, twists a few times to pop his back, then does a cartwheel across the deck. “Ah! That’s better,” he says, running his fingers through his hair and beard to straiten them. “Now, tell me about this remarkable friend of yours.”

Lyra

For the first time in a week, Lyra awoke in the same spot she’d gone to bed. Or close enough to the same spot as the boat lazily drifted as far as the anchor would allow. She placed one hand on the railing and stood in one smooth motion, barely hindered by her long dress and cloak after years of getting used to her mother’s insistence on ‘proper’ attire.

She’s a little surprised that Donovan is spry enough for a cartwheel, or that there’s even enough room for one with several of the settlers still sleeping.

Lyra rummages through her pack for something to eat. After yesterday’s grand entrance, she didn’t think she could wait until they reached shore. Dried apples from somewhere in Cormyr, two days ago. A loaf of sourdough from … somethingdale, the day before yesterday. It would do.

With her own meal finished, she turns her attention to Amara and Donovan. Lyra crouches next to the ‘stable’ and holds out an apple. “Are you hungry? I think I have enough for Lightning, too. I’ve heard that ponies like apples.”

Gendry

The ship is well under-way by the time Gendry wakes. He throws a long, heavily muscled arm across his face to shield his eyes and tries to roll over, away from the sun, but his horns keep getting in the way. “Frack you dad!” He says to no one in particular. “Bad enough that you curse me with this bull’s head, but now I’m forced to sleep on my back forever?!” He grumbles and rises, trying to work the stiffness out of his neck.

He opens his small belt pouch, hoping to find a bar of soap, but has no such luck. He then takes a look at the sails and notices that the boat is sailing at a good clip and realizes that a bath would be out of the question anyways. His stomach grumbles and he yells over the deck, “Hey Nat, I thought you said we’d be in town in time for breakfast?”

He sits back down and looks at his new companions. “So, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m flat broke right now. If we get into Phlan early, what are the chances we can bust up some of those monsters in time to pay for a place to sleep tonight?”

Donovan

Still watching the clearly magical miniature pony. “You have a good point Gendry. I’m not sure how long it takes to get a license and commission from the Council, but I suspect it shouldn’t take too long, given the liberal policies—nothing like in Cormyr. Really though, all we need is the license. There are usually enough goblin gangs and general ruffians in the slums and other uncivilized districts near to New Phlan that its not that hard to acquire beer money just by taking a stroll out the gates and bashing some heads. There are also usually a few private opportunities as well—merchants, temples, and shopkeeps who have business that they need done.”

“If we’re talking about going out and getting ourselves in a fight this afternoon, it might help to discuss tactics…” He reaches into his bags and pulls out two large spellbooks. “I have a substantial arsenal of spells and incantations designed to weaken, tranquilize, or incapacitate foes, and always carry several such magics ready at any time. So, I can take care of crowd control—though you may want to hold your advances until after I’ve disabled as many as I can, as such spells are not, by nature, precise.” He looks around at the others.
“Lyra, you mentioned that you could scout for us?”
“Gendry, are you confident enough with that sword of yours to keep any assailants away from those of us who are more mystically inclined?”
“Shaddup, what can you tell me about this ‘flaming chain sword’ of yours?”

Amara

Lightning nibbles on the proffered apple and whinnies, then unfurls iridescent wings from her sides and flies around Amara’s head. Amara smiles at Donovan. Lightning is my friend! Like Susalia, but she’s a horse. Lightning and Susalia tell me secrets. Lightning told me how to make myself pretty. She rubs her fingers over her eyebrows, spreading the coal dust, chalk and blue powder on them, then rubs it on her cheeks like rouge. She prances around waving her arms and sings,

Sune will make me pretty,
if I sing this ditty!
All the other girls,
will be jealous of my curls!
Everyone will love me,
and think that I am pretty…
…Too!

She trails off, and her eyebrows and cheeks sparkle like they’re embedded with little sapphires. “Isn’t Lightning the best?” she squeals.

GM

Everyone on the ship pauses and turns to look at Amara, as if seeing her for the first time. For a moment, at least, she seems to have the undivided attention of everyone on board.

Amara

Amara curtsies and says, “I would be ever so grateful for your help in finding my father.” Her eyes brighten and exclaims, “I forgot my uncle is also in Phlan! He’s a wizard! we could look for him!” She smiles brightly.

Donovan

Donovan does a double-take and smiles, recognizing the components of one of his favorite spells. Despite realizing the effect is magical, he is no less impressed, perhaps even more-so, by the lovely little girl. “Well done Amara! Your uncle isn’t the only wizard it seems.” He bows to the girl. “We would be delighted to help you find your father and uncle, and assist you in any other way we may.”

Gendry

Gendry nods to Donovan. “I was taught to fence by some of the best pirates in the Dragon Reach, and the added reach from growing a foot doesn’t hurt. I should be able to hold my own against anything we come up against, but I’m used to fighting with a full crew and a couple of bombards at my back, so I’ll need you keep the numbers in check. Luckily this body doesn’t bruise easily.” He pulls a small strip of black cloth out of his pouch. “Also, by the grace of Mask, I am able to perform some small miracles, to heal us or bless our actions. I’ll also volunteer for lookout duty—this body’s not exactly inconspicuous, but it’s senses are superb. I hardly ever get lost any mo…”

He trails off as he sees Amara. He had been convinced that she was just a little girl, but he suddenly realizes that she is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. He considers proposing to her on the spot—surely she’s old enough… Then he realizes what he’s thinking and remembers that a pirate should never let himself be tied down, especially to a child bride. “Ummm…” His normally genteel tongue stumbles a bit. “Miss Amara. We were talking last night…before you fell asleep, remember. Parents suck. You don’t need your father. Just stick with us, it’ll be perfect!” He pauses, watching her for a reaction, then adds, “Please?”

Shaddup

Shuddup huffs and sighs, “lt’s called a self cauterizing bone saw. Once I get it running a small engine runs a bladed chain around a bar and there’s a trigger to inject fuel onto the chain which both lubricates it and causes it to ignite, but in a fight I typically either use a hammer or an arquebus.” He looks around at everyone either displaying magical abilities or spell books, “Is everyone else here a magic user? You know that magic is dangerous and unpredictable. Science is by far the safer option.”

Lyra

Lyra interjects, “But magic is science, kind of. The bounds of understanding expanded through rigorous research, and experimentation. It’s just that when an experiment goes wrong it can go REALLY wrong.”

Lyra shuffles her feet. “I haven’t exactly finished my magical studies yet. I mean, I can identify spells pretty well.” Lyra inclines her head, subtly indicating Amara. “But I can’t actually cast any yet. Like I said, I could scout. And sing. And play the harp, although I don’t actually HAVE a harp here.”

She sighs heavily, and thinks for a moment. “If it takes a while to get our charter, there are less glamorous ways to work off lodging. Mending clothes, chopping firewood, helping in the kitchen, or whatever other chores an innkeep or farmer need done. I’m not very good at darning stockings, though.”

She turns her attention back to Amara. “Do you know where your father and uncle are in Phlan? Was he going to meet you at the dock? That’s probably the first thing we should see to.”

GM

The other passengers begin to crowd towards where you are situated, clearly fixated on Amara. The crowd murmurs as they approach, “Awww…” “Dear child…” “I’ll take care of you…” Just as it seems like you might be crushed by the press of adoring would-be parental figures, Nat’s voice rings out over the deck, “Phlan ho!”

His voice seems to break whatever enchantment was laid upon the crowd and they instead turn and crowd against the port gunwale to get a first look at the city which will be their home.

Amara

“Thank you Mr. Donovan,” she replies. “That is most gracious.” She curtsies again.

Amara flashes a sparkly, dimple-filled smile at Gendry, “Well…maybe father will let me come play with you while you’re in the city? I’m sure if I had friends to keep me safe he wouldn’t mind.”

Turning back to Donovan she says, “I’m not a wizard like my uncle. I just ask my friends for things and they tell me secrets that help!” She holds her hand out to Lightning, who prances to a stop on her hand. She leans down to whisper to the blue pony, “Remember when we made those pretty fireworks? Let’s show our new friends.”

The pony, rears its legs, whinnies and trots around Amara’s head. A small blue disc about the size of a coins appears in front of its head, and the pony is sucked inside – its shape being distorted as if pulled through a wormhole. The hole collapses upon itself behind the pony’s rump with a small pop.

Amara replies to Lyra, “Father said he or uncle would meet me at the dock. Uncle is an important man here, father says. I think he counsels people or something.” She shrugs. “Father will be there I am sure of it!”

Lyra

Lyra looks over to where the throng of settlers are crowding, then up, to the gulls that should be wheeling over the docks, then turns back towards the railing, closing her eyes and gripping it until her knuckles turn white, chanting the words to her mother’s divination spells almost like a mantra under her breath to help her focus.

GM

As Valkur’s Wake swings around Thorn Island and into Phlan Harbor, you get your first view of the city. The harbor is surprisingly quiet, the gulls, jaegers, and dolphins that had been following the ship abandon it as it passes into the sound side of the island, and dead fish can be seen floating on the water’s surface. Wisps of smoke drift up from various parts of the city, whether from forge, or chimney, or arson is impossible to distinguish. The skyline is dominated by a massive castle of white stone,. a few spires lean precariously in places, but the whole is still gleaming in the early morning light. Donovan explains that Valjevo Castle is the heart of “Old Phlan”, deep within the monster-occupied sections of the city. Around the castle, the once-great city sprawls broadly, split down the middle by a black, mist-cloaked river. The area of the bay near the river’s mouth is a sickly gray color. The buildings that you can see are in various states of disrepair—with a number of large, ancient mansions visible on the north side of the river.

Donovan directs everyone’s gazes away from the river and the old noble’s district towards a small section of the city, not more than a four or five blocks across, near to the water’s edge, which he identifies as “New Phlan”. A high, wooden palisade wall, reinforced in areas by the remnants of much older looking stone towers, has been erected around three sides, with the fourth being the docks. Several large buildings are visible, and, judging from the scaffolding surrounding most of them, a significant amount of construction is still ongoing. The wall appears heavily guarded, with men stationed in twos and threes every thirty or fourty feet along its top. The docks, which you now approach, look like they comprise at least half of this section of the city, with buildings built almost haphazardly on the piers and pilings extending out into the bay. Even now you see signs of construction happening on the outer edges of the docks, leaving only one or two moorings available—not a problem since you see only a small handful of boats, and no ships other than your own.

To the west, just past the palisade, you see that a massive shanty-town, easily ten times the size of “New Phlan” has grown up, filling what look like some of the oldest and most run-down sections of the town and spilling out of the ruined walls of the old city and along the shore.

Donovan

As Donovan finishes pointing out landmarks and the boat begins pulling up to the dock, he addresses his new companions. “So, step one once we dock, find Amara’s father and or uncle. Step two, talk to the Council about commissions and making sure we aren’t going to get arrested for carrying weapons or throwing spells in town. Step three, PROFIT! Step four, find lodgings.” He grabs his walking stick and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Actually, before we deal with all that, would anyone like a tour of the city…the safe parts at least?”

Gendry

Gendry looks at the dead fish in the water, the sludge pouring out of the river, the black cloud over Thorn Island, the fleeing sea-birds, the ruined walls—“Nice place,” he remarks. He turns to Donovan, “Yeah, a tour would be nice. I heard that the Shadowlord has a temple somewhere in the city. If you have an inkling of where it is I could probably score us a place to sleep for the night.”

“Also,” he looks down at his feet, as if contemplating how far away they are, “how open minded are these Phlannars? You said they’d give me amnesty for being a pirate…does that extend to overlooking my head problem too?” He cocks his head and points meaningfully at his horns. “What’re the chances that I’ll start a riot just by stepping off the boat?”

Lyra

Lyra’s eyes widened as the flying pony disappeared. She’d never dreamed of seeing one so close, even if it was not quite what she was expecting.

Wonder quickly gave way to confusion as birds and dolphin turn aside as the ship approached Phlan. “Surely there should be gulls at the dock, or crows picking over those who have fallen in the attempts at reclaiming the old city. How long has it been like this?”

She looked over at the animals on the ship, waiting to see if they showed signs of unease or distress.

GM

Sure enough, the animals start to cry and kick at their stalls as the ship tacks into the sound. Nat, hands on the mainstay, shrugs. “It’s the river. It stinks of death. The animals just smell it from farther away. You’ll find some birds—rooks, pigeons, and the like—deeper into the city, and in the woods, but they won’t go near these waters.” He points at the dead fish floating on the water. “Parasites or no, no self-respecting gull’d eat that, and no fisherman in his right mind would take a fish outa the sound—like to find yourself sprouting an extra head or something.” He spits over the side yet again. “Cleaning up the river and the sound is top priority for the Council—anyone who could figure out how to do that ‘ll be swimming in gold. Of course, the Council has been saying that since day one, and no one’s managed to do a thing about it.”

Lyra

As the animals grow increasingly agitated, Lyra’s brow furrows in concern. “Mr. Donovan? You said you have spells to tranquilize, didn’t you? Would you be able to put them to sleep so they don’t hurt themselves?”

Lyra approaches the panicking animals, singing softly to calm them.

Well, it’s not far down to paradise, at least it’s not for me
And if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility
Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see
Believe me

It’s not far to never-never land, no reason to pretend
And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again
Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see
Believe me

Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free

Fantasy, it gets the best of me
When I’m sailing
All caught up in the reverie, every word is a symphony
Won’t you believe me?

Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free

Well it’s not far back to sanity, at least it’s not for me
And if the wind is right you can sail away and find serenity
Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see
Believe me

Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free

Shaddup

Shuddup eyes the murky water pondering exactly what’s contaminating it, and begins sketching a pumping system on the deck rail with soot on his finger. “So what’s in the water?”

Gendry

As the animals begin to calm down, Gendry walks to the rail and takes a big sniff. He stumbles back, nearly gagging. “Talona’s Tits! That’s awful.” He goes to cover his nose, then realizes it takes both hands to cover his large, bovine snout, and looks chagrined. “Remind me to look for a place selling satchets once we have some money.” He turns to Shaddup, “Smells like a mixture of dead fish, sewage, brine, sulfur, and bad vinegar. There must be some monstrous pickle-factory up river…”

Shaddup

Shuddup’s impromptu sketch moves on to include large sequential holding tanks, "Do we have access to any dragons, red or gold would do. Dragon fire makes the best charcoal, really burns away impurities. What’s the source of the pollution? " Anyone who can read Gnomish notices Shuddup writing “Project Purity” on the rail.

Amara

Amara runs to the rail looking expectantly towards the docks. A purring noise starts coming from inside her cloak, and she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small kitten that looks like a miniature blue and white tiger cub. “Oh hello Whiskers,” she exclaims. Amara holds the kitten up to her ear and listens for a moment. She twirls her dress and laughs delightedly and says in a singsong voice:

And now it’s time do do our chores,
And when we’re done something more!
Sing a morning work song,
To help the chores get done!

She begins giggling as little blue lights travel from the top of her head and crawl over her body, cleaning up dust, dirt and grime. They leave a lemon-fresh scent behind. She dances and twirls around her new friends as her little lights begin to crawl up their bodies one by one, repeating the same process.

Lyra

Lyra smiles and curtsies to Amara as several distinct colors of mud disappear from her boots as the light travels upward. “Thank you, Amara.” She looks at the kitten and curtsies again. “And thank you, Whiskers.”

Donovan

Donovan shrugs at Gendry’s question, “Given that the Council is willing to let goblins, ogres, and lizard-men in the city, I doubt a minotaur would create that much of a stir.”

He then looks over at the animals, “It seems like you have them well in hand, miss.”

Then back to Shaddup, “If anyone knew what the source of the pollution was, I’m sure the Council would have done something about it by now. If you’re that interested in the problem, maybe we can take a hike up-river and see if we can find whatever is causing it. Of course, that would mean being in close proximity to the river for an extended period of time, and going through some of the worst sections of Old Phlan, AND then tracking through the Quivering Forest. All of which seem like bad ideas at this juncture.” He looks at the plans the gnome is sketching, “What we really need is a boat that could safely traverse the river itself—and some way to protect us against the vapors coming off the water. Then we could just sail right up river until we found the source, and avoid most of the monsters.”

Lyra

Lyra starts to speak but is cut off by a sharp look from her mother. She sighs, thinks for a moment and then looks over at Donovan. “What about circling around the city and heading upriver, not following the river directly? I understand the old city itself is still quite dangerous, but what about the surrounding area?”

GM

Captain Donal steers the ship towards the wharf, as Nat tosses the mooring ropes to men waiting on the wharf. The ship is soon comes to gentle stop and is tied off. Nat removes a section of the gunwale and secures several planks to make a wide gangway extending down to the wharf. A half dozen men stand below and the settlers begin passing them the crates filled with their belongings, building supplies, and trade goods over the rail. Captain Donal passes the board with the passenger manifest to an officious looking halfling wearing a blue waistcoat. Nat motions that its okay to disembark and the other passengers begin to shuffle down the gangplanks, being careful to give Shaddup and his drawings wide berth on their way out.

The halfling stands examining the manifest for some time, occasionally making little humming noises to himself. Nat comes over to where you are conversing, “You folks are free to disembark at any time.” He walks over and extends a hand to Shaddup and Gendry. “Thanks for your help. If you want that drink I owe you, stop by the Bitter Blade around sundown this evening. It’s in the north-west corner of the new part of town, right by the Parkside Gate.” He then turns and heads down to speak with the halfling and the captain, leaving the five of you on a mostly empty ship.

Donovan

“Yes, m’lady, the old city is extremely dangerous—adventurers return daily with tales of vicious tribes of gnolls, bugbears, and even giants in the deeper parts of the old city, not to mention trolls, basilisks, and other horrors. Going around isn’t much better though. Attempting to land to the west we’d have to contend with the pirates in Stormy Bay, the Zhentarim, and the various things that prowl the Grass Sea—mostly thri-kreen and prairie tigers. To the east, we’d basically be landing in the swamp, where we’d have to deal with man-eating lizard-folk and the undead that have been coming out of the old cemetery north of the city, not to mention the mosquitoes. They’re worse than anything.”

“I suppose if we wanted to circumnavigate the river and the forest that our best bet would be to sail west. If you don’t mind dealing with buccaneers and slavers,” Donovan looks meaningfully at Gendry, “then we could try landing in Stormy Bay and using Master Gendry’s pater-familias’ reputation to get the pirates to leave us alone. Then cut strait north, sticking to the edge of the forest until we reach the Dragonspines. Borrow a boat from one of the villages along Dragonden Pass, then sail south down the river until we find where the pollution starts. Such a circuitous route could easily take a month or more though.”

Gendry

Gendry looks at Donovan and shakes his head. “Pirates aren’t a ‘leaving us alone’ kindof lot. My own dad turned me into a minotaur after all. Using his name with the locals would just be asking for trouble.” He shakes Nat’s hand and then follows him off the ship. “How ’bout that tour Don?”

Lyra

Lyra looks over at her mother, now disembarked and speaking with the halfling.

“There are faster ways, but not entirely less dangerous.”

“Nevermind, Mr. McPillflup. It’s … complicated, and we’d have to know exactly where we’re going first.” Lyra looked around at the settlers making their way off of the docks and moves to disembark. “Amara, do you see your father or your uncle? What do they look like?”

Donovan

Donovan nods, “Yes, we can finish discussing our plans while we walk.” He rummages in his bags and hands a sheaf of paper to Shaddup. “Here, you might want to make a copy of your drawings. I don’t think we can take the Wake with us.”

He walks down the gangway, looking around at the people on the dock. “Yes, Amara, which one is your father?” Seeing only a halfling and the handful of laborers, he begins to suspect that finding the girls father might take longer than he had planned. He mutters something under his breath and takes a harder look at everyone here.

Shaddup

Shuddup quickly copies his sketch into the paper and follows the remainder of the party down the gang plank whistling a Lantanan sea shanty

Amara

Amara stuffs Whiskers back into her cloak pocket and runs down the gangplank, looking around wildly. “Father?” Her voice rises an octave. “Father!?” Then her voice becomes tiny as she sobs out, “Father?” Her eyes get round and her lip quavers, and like a flood gate opening, tears begin streaming down her face. She covers her eyes with her hands, her shoulders shaking. A purring sound starts rumbling in her cloak as if to comfort her. “I don’t see them!” she wails to Lyra and Donovan.

Shaddup

Shuddup taps Gendry on the leg, “Perhaps you should lift her up, sometimes it harder for people like us to find someone in a crowd.”

Gendry

Gendry stoops down and lifts Amara up onto his shoulder, tilting his head to keep his horns out of her way. “Don’t cry, Amara. Maybe your dad just didn’t get the news that the ship was coming in. I grew up in a port—there isn’t really any way of knowing what day a ship will arrive, and if he’s a merchant, he’s probably too busy to come down and stand on the docks every morning.” He begins shoving his way through the crowd so that she can get a good look at everyone. “Did he give you any kind of address or way to contact him?” Gendry asks, assuming the answer is know and thinking to himself parents suck, why should she even bother.

Amara

Amara sniffles, “Maybe…” My uncle is, “Aumry”. She snorts, “Of.” She gasps in a ragged breath, “Umber.” She takes a shuddering breath, “Beholderven”. Sitting on Gendry’s shoulders, Amara pulls Whiskers out of her cloak and holds the cat up to her face to snuggle.

Donovan

Donovan looks up at the girl and smiles. “I know this Aumry. He’s an instructor at the Training Hall. If we’re taking a tour we should go right past there.” He steps into Gendry’s wake and follows him through the crowd. “Actually, the Training Hall should also be one of our stops if we’re looking for work, since they have a jobs board. We’ll look for your uncle while we’re there.” He thinks for a bit and then says, half to himself, “Aumry. Amara.” He looks up at the girl again, “Were you named after your uncle?”

Amara

Amara shrugs. “Dunno,” she says in a little voice.

Lyra

Lyra and her mother fall in with the others. “Mother will be needing to go to the Training Hall as well, if she’s going to be offering her services as an instructor.”

GM

Donovan scans the crowd with his spell, noticing that most of the dock workers do not appear to have any strong affiliations. The halfling appears to work for the Phlan Council, perhaps as a member of the Port Authority, and the two dwarves, Captain Donal and Nat, appear to be devout worshipers of Valkur, and closely aligned with that church.

Gendry finishes pushing his way through the crowd, the rest of you in tow. Just as you step off the long wharf, Donovan steps into the lead and points to the right, “We are now on Parkside Gate Road, one of the two major thoroughfares through New Phlan. On our right is the Port Authority, which governs all ships entering or leaving Phlan Harbor, and most smaller vessels as well. If we ever need to catch a boat out of town, this is the place to go.”

He turns a sharp left and walks along the docks. “As you can see,” he says, pointing to workers hammering pilings into the bay, “much of the expansion of New Phlan has happened dockside. Due to the monstrous occupation of the old city, most of the settlers have been forced to build their homes out over the water, so the active docks keep getting pushed further into the bay. Luckily lumber is readily available from the forest.” He sweeps an arm to the right, taking in a large pavilion containing an open-air market, “Here you can see the Dockside Market. Most merchants who haven’t yet constructed their own premises can be found either here, or in the market in the slums outside the wall. Like Nat said on the boat, be wary of the fish-sellers, they don’t always put out as far from the river as one would like.”

You walk another few blocks past several wooden tenements and one large tavern, your feet echoing on the boards making up the road. “That’s the Laughing Goblin. Probably the quietest dockside tavern in all the Realms, partly because no ships ever come to call, but mostly because they have a huge hulk of a bouncer. I stayed there last time we made port—the soup’s not bad.” Donovan then takes a right onto another broad boulevard, “This is Traitor’s Gate Road. Parkside Gate and Traitor’s Gate are both on the far west end of New Phlan and open into the slums. I usually prefer to take this way, as the orcs have been known to fire volleys of arrows across the river from the ruins on the north side. I don’t think anyone has ever been seriously injured, it’s a long shot, but you do want to watch your head if your take the Parkside Road. Many of the newer temples are on that side of town—including a temple to Gond which they were just breaking ground on when I was here last.”

Two blocks to the west he stops in front of a large, impressive stone building. All of the stones look like they have been recycled from older edifices, but the building itself appears relatively new and well constructed. “This is City Hall. This is where the Council meets and most of the business gets done.” You see the lizard-man and his companions standing outside the large double doors waiting to get in. “We’ll need to stop by later to get our commission, but for now…” He waves his hand towards the wall beside the gates, where numerous officious-looking scrolls have been tacked up. “…we can at least see what they’re paying for.” He briefly reads off the various proclamations posted.

“Just behind it you can see the House of Justice, where the Council and the priests of Tyr try criminals and malcontents. Punishments range from fines (which are then used to pay adventurers), to being forced to perform a mission for the Council for free, to being thrown over the wall at night with no weapons (for the worst offenses). The Temple of Tyr is on the other side of that, not a great place for fun-loving folks like us, but the Bishop of Tyr is the only one in town able to perform major miracles—in case we ever have need of such.”

Donovan walks you across the square from the City Hall to a large, ornate building, the old stones covered with new bas-relief carvings, and numerous fountains flanking the steps, which are strewn with flower-petals. You hear singing from within, “…that can’t be saved. Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time. It’s easy. All you need is love…” Donovan rolls his eyes, “This, of course, is the temple of Sune.” He hangs a right and walks behind the temple to a long, low building that looks rather haphazardly put together, the walls patched and stuccoed over in several places, “And here, is our destination.” He walks up to the large barn-like doors. “The New Phlan Public Training Hall. Inside you’ll find instruction in all manner of dangerous professions…and hopefully Amara’s uncle.” Several signs have been tacked to the door. He stops and reads those aloud before entering.

Gendry

Gendry listens as Donovan reads the job postings, then perks up. His head snaps around to look at Amara, almost skewering her in the process. “Hey! Did he say Aumry? That’s your uncle right? Fifty gold a head isn’t quite the thousands we were talking about on the boat, but half up-front will pay for a place to sleep tonight and a good meal before we take on any dangerous stuff…”

Lyra

Lyra looks over the job postings as well. “Melvaunt? That’s … east? How far is it, and what lies between for guards to cost so much? The graveyard thing sounds easy; from the posting you just have to get close enough to look around and come back alive. Why hasn’t anybody just tried scrying it or something?”

Donovan

Donovan nods, “Yeah, Melvaunt is about fifty miles to the east. The road between here and Melvaunt is pretty well maintained, since its our nearest trade partner, but they go right through the swamp. The paladins of Iniarv’s Tower patrol the road regularly, but caravans are still attacked by swamp monsters and bands of goblins or ogres from Thar. So, yeah, caravan guards make good money, usually around 20 gold for a one-way trip. This one sounds like two-way—go there, pick up whatever it is, and bring it back—and it seems reasonable that whatever a professor of arcane arts would be shipping would be of greater than average value.” He pauses, thinking to himself, “The promise of payment in magical scrolls is pretty tempting. More spells we could learn, or use in a pinch, would be very nice.”

“As for the graveyard, the coming back alive part seems hardest. I don’t know about the rest of you, but most of my best spells won’t work on ‘formerly living entities’. And we’re not talking just a few zombies here. Reports about attacks from the graveyard always involve packs of ghouls and wights, things cunning enough and hungry enough to attempt to stalk you, surround you, and ambush you, not just shamble forward and let themselves be chopped up.”

Donovan looks over at the temple next door, and a lecherous gleam comes into his eye. “You know, it may only be 3 gold a night, but making friends at the Temple of Sune wouldn’t be a bad thing…”

Gendry

Gendry smiles, “Getting into Sune’s temple at night could certainly be profitable, though probably not in the way advertised. Seriously though, we have to go find this Aumry guy for Amara anyways, we might as well talk to him and see if he has any more details about the Melvaunt job.” He opens the door and heads inside. “If it doesn’t sound like a good idea, we can always fall black on plan A and go knock together some goblin heads to pay for our supper. Or heck, maybe we can get Nat to take us over to the evil island of creepiness—sounds the Council would pay a ton to know what’s going on over there.”

Lyra

Lyra seems completely and utterly oblivious to Donovan and Gendry’s intentions. “Helping an order dedicated to spreading joy in the world certainly seems preferable to knocking goblin heads to me.”

Faelana breaks off from the group with little more than a stern look at her daughter, to go see the council about a position in the training hall.

GM

The large barn-like doors open onto a large, open-air atrium. Around the yard, two-dozen students, armed with a variety of swords and dressed only in their street clothes, are sparing in pairs, practicing a variety of parrying techniques. A pair of instructors wander amidst the students. One, an older man stripped to the waist to reveal impressive muscles and a mass of graying chest hair but wearing a bucket-helm with a large crest of red feathers, shoves his way between a pair of sparring partners, such that you’re afraid he’s going to get skewered. He shouts at the students for about a minute, for what you aren’t sure, as they appeared to be doing quiet well, then moves on. The other instructor, a slight man dressed in a monk’s habit, though with the cowl and scapular removed, comes in quickly behind him, praises the students and borrows the sabre from one, showing him an alternative grip and demonstrating a few cuts before moving on.

At the back of the atrium you see a large desk. A sign hanging over it reads “Registration” in common and several other languages, and a bespectacled woman sits behind it, looking up from a stack of papers rather vexatiously at the shouting instructor. Doors lead off from the Atrium to the left and right, and a rather rickety looking staircase runs along the far wall, leading up to a balcony surrounding the atrium, from which a number of other students appear to be watching, with more doors off of that.

Donovan

Donovan waits until the shouting man is at the far end of his circuit of the room, then walks and strides up to the monk. “Excuse me Brother, do you know where we might find Professor Aumry of Umber?”

Donovan

The sound of clattering dice followed by a loud whoop are heard from the back of the ship. Everyone looks back to see one of the farmers leap up from his seat and punch the air. “That’s it Leitch! Tymora has spoken! You lost!” The other farmers also stand and join in the hollering, “Aye, Donovan, you lost, give us a song!”

“Alright, gimme some space.” The crowd of settlers parts to reveal a plainly dressed man of middle years sitting staring at a pair of dice showing snake-eyes. He brushes the dice aside with the back of his hand, then pulls a large bag towards him from the stack of luggage. He unpacks a thing that looks like a fiddle with a keyboard mounted on the neck and a handcrank attached to a wheel on the soundboard. He begins to turn the wheel, creating a drone like a set of bagpipes and begins to sing. (Playing this)

By the end of the song, all of the settlers have fallen asleep, slumped wherever they were listening, sprawled over crates, sheep, and each other. The man, Donovan, packs up his wheel-fiddle and begins riffling through their pockets for loose change. The captain glowers at Donovan from his perch above the taffrail, but seems used to this sort of thing and goes on about his business.

Shaddup

Shuddup watches Amara’s doll, “What type of power source does your doll use? Something that compact could have a wide variety of applications.”

Donovan

Done retrieving his “winnings”, Donovan wanders forward to where the girl and the gnome are talking. Overhearing them, he laughs. “Come now Sir Gnome, that doll is clearly no device, but a work of arcane artifice. It looks to me like one of the Bisque dolls popular in Halruaa. Notice the realistic, skin-like, matte finish. Clearly you are not familiar with the thaumaturgical novelties of the deep south.” He smiles and kneels down to be on their level. “Where did you get such a lovely doll, little girl?”

Gendry

The deckhand stands looking distastefully at the performance, then walks to the rail, presumably to fiddle with some other ropes, or perhaps just to look at something other than the passed-out farmers. As he gazes out at the sea he suddenly coughs, sputters, then shouts, “Man overboard!”

Everyone watching the lizard-man at the prow rush to the rail to see a tall, slender man with the head of a bull floating on a piece of driftwood a good thirty or forty yards off the starboard bow. The lizard-man stops his soliloquy and dives over the rail, vanishing under the water only to resurface next to the floating minotaur. The two are quickly hauled onto the ship and the deckhand gets to work stripping the rescuee of his waterlogged and rather brightly coloured doublet and pantaloons, checking his breathing, and calling for blankets and towels.

GM

Nat wraps the minotaur in a towel and shakes his head, muttering to himself again, “Lizard poets and minotaur fops. What’ll they think of next.” He bends an ear near to the thing’s nostrils to check its breath, then, satisfied, walks away. Ss’thek’niss, the lizard-man,climbs back up on the rail over the sleeping minotaur and perches there, gargoyle-like, looking a bit peevish at having been interrupted by the old man with the hurdy-gurdy.

Gendry

The minotaur begins to stir, snorts a few times, then opens his eyes. He jumps slightly on realizing that all he is wearing is a towel, pulls the thing tighter about himself and starts looking around wildly for his belongings.

Lyra

There is an audible pop, a thunk, and a slight yelp of surprise as an elven woman and a pretty, half-elven teen appear on the deck. Or rather, very slightly above it. The copper haired elven woman in a simple grey traveling cloak rolls up the paper she was holding and tucks it into the scroll case held in the crook of her elbow as she looks about the ship.

Meanwhile, the girl rushes to the railing, leaning over and heaving violently.

Gendry

The minotaur startles the rest of the way awake and jolts to his feet, forgetting the towel. Standing there in his altogether, he isn’t bad looking, from the neck down at least. He makes a couple quick steps towards the young women who has suddenly appeared, forgetting that he is a stark-naked, 7-foot-tall, bull-headed monstrosity. “Are you alright miss?”

Lyra

Still holding on to the railing, she brushes a strand of hair caught by the wind behind her pointed ear. “Mother thought a spectacle would make it easier to attract students. But I’m far better than if we’d appeared IN the deck. Or a crate. Or one of the … cows.” She trailed off as she turned towards him. The minotaur. And turned bright red. “OH GOD I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT I’M SO SORRY.” As she nervously stared at her feet, she also realized what the minotaur was wearing, or rather, not wearing. She was now red to the tips of her ears.

GM

Eddies mother makes a scandalized tsking noise and turns away, shielding the boys eyes from the minotaur’s nakedness. “SIR! There are children present. Please do cover yourself!”

Gendry

The minotaur looks down at himself, looks around frantically for his clothes, then begins pulling on his still-wet hose with the speed and agility of someone who has clearly had to vacate a lady’s apartments in a hurry on more than one occasion. He pulls a dripping satin shirt over his head, “So sorry miss. I didn’t realize my state…” He grabs a doublet and begins buttoning it up. “Last thing I remember I was falling off a ship.” He reaches down and pulls a pair of ballooning pantaloons over his hose. “Now I wake up and find myself naked, on a completely different boat, with beautiful women appearing out of the sky…” He grabs a belt with a once fine scabbard, now rotting from the moisture, hanging from it and buckles it on. “You can imagine my shock…” He carefully draws the sword from the scabbard, a beautiful basket-hilted sabre with a silver-chased blade, being careful not to appear too threatening, and dries it off with the towel before re-sheathing it. “I meant no disrespect by my ill-garbed appearance.” He gives the maid a sweeping bow, almost skewering her with his long, bovine horns.

Amara

Amara looks at Shaddup and Donovan and gives them the stink eye. Susalia is NOT a device! She’s a real person! She leans down and whispers to the doll. It nods, shimmers like heat rising from the desert, and disappears.

She walks over to the girl who just appeared, puking by the rail. She holds up a piece of chocolate. “Here, eat this. It helps you feel better after you teleport.”

Donovan

“What’d I say, Sir Gnome, that doll is clearly a magical device…”

Donovan looks after the girl as she walks off then turns back to the gnome, “Kids these days! Someone needs to teach that little girl some manners.” He shakes his head. “This is what comes of giving children too much autonomy. When we get to Phlan I’m going to give that girl’s father a piece of my mind!”

His eyes scan the deck, taking in the naked minotaur, the puking girl, and, more interestingly, the elven woman who has just appeared out of thin air. He smiles broadly and practically skips over to the woman. “Madam! That was a truly impressive display of the science of thaumaturgical, transdimensional transitory transubstantiation. Landing aboard a moving ship, quite the remarkable feat.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pencil and a thick tome. He rifles through the book until he finds an empty page, then begins to babel out questions, his pencil hovering over the paper like an eager grad-student in a lecture. “Tell me, how did you do it? What was the incantation? How did you manage to anticipate the target location? Have you ever read the Elminster of Shadowdales discourses on Astral Travel?”

Lyra

The half-elven maiden gracefully sidesteps a horn as the minotaur bows, revealing a simple dress the color of good wine, a black belt, and black boots with the telltale outline of a knife sheath under her hooded grey cloak. She’s slender, and a full two feet shorter than the minotaur.

She smiles warmly and accepts the chocolate from Amara. “I thank you for your concern—both of you. I am Lyrathwen Alethiel Beragaion.” Her name was in lilting Elven, but judging by her common accent, she hails from one of the cities along the Sword Coast. “But really, no one but Mother calls me that. You can call me Lyra.”

The elven woman regards Donovan thoughtfully for a moment. “It seems that I did not err in my estimation of demand for quality thaumaturgical education in Phlan. The calculations to safely arrive at a a moving destination are rather complex. One must account for not where the it currently is, but where it will be at the time of arrival. If you wish for more detail than that, perhaps you should come by once we are settled in.”

Both mother and daughter seem to be traveling lightly compared to the other settlers’ sacks and packs and crates stuffed to overflowing with their worldly possessions.

Gendry

The minotaur stands up. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Gendry, son of Teldar the Pirate King.” He pauses and cocks his head in profile, raising his chin a little as if silently saying ‘perhaps you’ve heard of me.’ When no answer to his unspoken question is immediately forthcoming, and it becomes disappointingly clear that he has no reputation at all outside of his hometown, he looks around again, and asks, to anyone within earshot. “Say, what ship is this and where are you headed?”

GM

Nat, the dwarven deckhand, bustles down from the taffrail with a clipboard and over to where the new arrivals have congregated. “You three,” he points a stubby finger at the the minotaur, elven woman, and her daughter. “Welcome to Valkur’s Wake. We’ll be making port in the city of New Phlan tomorrow morning. So long as you disembark in New Phlan, you will not be charged for your, albeit short, voyage.” He extends the clipboard. “If you would be so kind as to sign our passenger registry? Just your mark on the line here. Captain Donal will fill in the other necessary details.”

“Oh, and as for you, mister ‘my dad is the Dread Pirate Teldar.’ I’m not gonna ask how you got them horns on your head or why you were in the drink. Your dad is wanted in every port from Cormyr to Thay, and is none too popular around here either. You’d best keep your patrilineal to yourself, or you’re likely to be shipped back to your ‘ol dad on a Zhentish freighter in a pine box. Lucky for you the New Phlan Council offers universal amnesty. When we make port, make sure to present yourself to the Council and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just don’t go making any trouble on this ship or you’ll be swimming back to daddy…”

Lyra

The elven woman takes the clipboard and signs Faelana Beragaion in precise Elven script before handing it to her daughter. The girl has a more flowing signature with an artistic flourish.

Lyra glances sidelong at the minotaur pirate and holds up the clipboard for him to take.

Amara

Amara look at the minotaur’s horns and asks, “Are those real? Can I touch them?”

Gendry

Gendry takes the clipboard and scrawls a rather wobbly looking ‘G’ on the remaining line—well, mostly on the line—then hands it back to the dwarf. “So how does this amnesty thing work?”

Seeing the little girl, he replies, “Yes they’re real, I guess, and they’re stuck as far as I can tell.” He kneels down and lowers his head, trying to cock it so that the girl can reach one of the tips. His horns are nearly three feet long, as big around as his forearms, and slightly recurved. Very short, white hair covers his head, face, and shoulders, and the back of his neck and shoulders has a large muscular bulge (to help hold up the horns). A mane of thick, white hair tops his head and hangs slightly over his eyes, looking like it would be naturally curly if it weren’t so wet.

Donovan

Donovan leans on the rail, watching the sunset and looks around at the other passengers, trying to gauge their reactions to the sudden new arrivals.

GM

You look around to see the captain sitting in his spot above the taffrail, one hand on the rudder, the other shielding his eyes against the late-afternoon glare on the water. Below him the livestock bleat and low in their enclosure and the settlers still lie asleep, whether from boredom, or tiredness, or the magic of Donovan’s song matters little. The Beshaban priestess has apparently given up on converting the passel of teenagers, and has seated herself back by the sleeping farmers where she is now praying over and “blessing” Donovan’s loosing dice, her wig falling slightly askew as she bows her head.

The teens now stand against the port rail, still near the mast, the five of them surreptitiously taking swigs from a very large wineskin one of them has brought—the two girls especially look like this might be their first time drinking. One, a boy wearing a pair of heavy overalls who looks like his hair has been burned off, stands a little away from the group and watches the newcomers intently, his attention seeming split between Gendry and the elven woman.

The two elven ladies, Rietta and Teldicia, have seated themselves on the starboard rail across from the teens. Unlike the boy, They seem to be actively avoiding looking at or otherwise acknowledging the presence of Faelana. The two red-cloaked, chainmail clad soldiers have moved to a position where they have a clear view of Lyra’s backside, without being clearly visible to the girl, and are talking, grinning, and staring (you can easily surmise that most of their conversation consists of phrases like “I’d tap that” and similar appellations), apparently not picky about whether their lewd gazes are directed at full or half-breed elf-chicks.

The lizard man and his spectators have returned to the prow. Eddie sits by himself, watching Amara with unconcealed envy as she courageously touches the minotaur’s horns. The adults (his mother, father, the lizard-man, the halfling, the gnome, and her girlfriend) sit in a circle staring at something the white-armored elven man is drawing on the deck with some chalk and speaking in hushed tones. You can hear Eddie’s father occasionally make rather sharp objections to whatever they are discussing.

Donovan

Looking over the passengers, Donovan thinks to himself:
This herald gig doesn’t pay nearly enough, but the council shell’s out piles of cash for adventurers. BUT they only give commissions to groups of three or more. AND I’d probably get killed if I went into the ruins alone anyways. So I need to recruit. Who’s available?

The guys in the front of the boat are clearly already a group. As are yonder teenagers. I might be able to hook up with one of them, but that seems unlikely, and I probably can’t convince one of them to bail on their groups to join me. Might have to try those options in a pinch.

The farmers are out. The simple fact that so many of them fell for the Sleep spells I cast means that they are way too weak to be of any use.

Who’s that leave?

The Beshaban—seems like she wants to hook up with the pimple-squad, also not sure I want to have a priest of bad luck following me around.
The two elf girls (hey, that one has a nice rack)—they’re recruiting, and the one with the mace looks impressive.
The two soldier-boys—might be an easy hire if I can get the elf girls first.
Nat—he’s due for some shore-leave, right, and I know he’s good in a bar-fight.
The minotaur fop—if nothing else he’s big and brawny, and he has to go fight anyways if he wants to take advantage of the amnesty.
The gnome—for all that he seems quiet, unresponsive, and easily distracted, he talked a good game.
The little girl? Nah. She’s definitely more than she looks like, but I’d hate myself for even toying with the idea of taking a kid into a dangerous situation like that.
Faelana? If she can teleport to a moving ship she’s waaaaaaay out of my league, but if I can talk her into it…WIN!
The daughter maybe? She’s got a weak stomach. Would probably feint at the sight of blood. But maybe she inherited some of her mother’s magical talent.

It seems like Minotaur-Pirate boy and the two elven ladies are my best bets. I’ll start there.

Having seemingly come to a decision, Donovan walks over to Gendry. “You were asking about the Amnesty, right?” He extends a hand, “My name is Donovan Leitch and I’m a herald for the Council of New Phlan.” He uses his ‘herald-voice’, projecting so that Faelana and her daughter can hear him clearly as well, “The Amnesty is actually quite simple. The Council is looking for able-bodied people to help fight against the goblins, orcs, and the like that have taken residence in the ruins of Old Phlan. They offer full political asylum, a promise from the clergy of Tyr to ignore all past misdeeds, and large cash rewards as well, to any individuals who take up this cause. Anyone seeking employment with the Council in this capacity must present themselves to the Clerk of the Council promptly upon their arrival in New Phlan. However, adventuring contracts, licenses, and commissions (and therefore the legal amnesty) are only given to groups numbering three or more…for reasons that the Council has not bothered to tell me, though I suspect its to limit the traffic of possible lone spies or saboteurs into and out of the city gates.” He smile wryly. “Speaking of which, I was hoping to take on one of the Council’s commissions and would be more than happy to stand witness to your good character. If you get my drift?”

Gendry

Gendry shakes the man’s hand, then shakes his head as the man lays out the situation. “So, this city that you’re all headed for is so overrun with monsters that the church of Tyr, old Mr. Grimjaws, God of Justics, is offering full pardons?! Wow.” His hand instinctively goes to his sword. “So my options are to get off the boat at Phlan and become an adventurer, get off the boat in Phlan and probably get arrested by Tyrrans for crimes my dad committed, or get thrown off this boat? Not much of a choice is it?”

He removes his hand from the sword hilt and extends it to Donovan again. “So, Mr. Donovan, exactly how large are the cash rewards involved?”

“Also, it looks like we’re going to need a few more swords.”

Lyra

You can feel the disapproval radiating off of Faelana as her daughter begins to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mother. YOU’RE the one who picked Phlan. And you’ll have no shortage of research assistants after today.” Lyra looks back to Donovan and Gendry. “I may not have a sword, but I can help, really. Even if it’s just scouting for now.”

Faelana does seem to relax a bit at that. She, a bit grudgingly, trusts her daughter’s ability to see to her own safety.

Shaddup

Shuddup finishes a detailed schematic of the ship or rather how it would look were it stream powered running multiple paddle wheels and looks around, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden arrival of so many new passengers. He stands up depositing a small charcoal stick in his pouch and wipes his forehead absentmindedly leaving a long black smear.
Shuddup walks over to where Donovan and Gendry are conversing. “Hi! My name’s Shudrigan Nishal Aribostos McPillflup, but my friends call me Shuddup. Did I hear you say that your the son of the Pirate King? I remember the battle of the Long Cay when the old pirate king was killed. I mean I was really young at the time, working as a deck hand. My Uncle, Gond rest his soul, was the pilot of the ship that sank the old pirate king’s, the explosion could be seen for miles.” Shuddup finds himself smiling reminiscing, before his eyes widen as realization appears on his face. “Er… You may not appreciate that story like I do, huh…. Well what’s something 19 years, 4 months and 7 days ago among shipmates, eh?”

Donovan

“Well, it’s been nearly two months since I’ve been back to Phlan, so I can’t be sure of what the Council might be hiring for right now, but most jobs pay several thousand, usually in gems for ease of transport. When we reach port we should check in with the clerk. There are also usually jobs posted at the Training Hall.”

Donovan turns and shakes Lyra’s hand. “Excellent, that makes three.”

He turns to the gnome. “Mr. McPillflup, what business do you have in Phlan? Could we possibly interest you in joining us in taking on some profitable commissions of a militant nature?”

Shaddup

Shuddup grins excitedly producing a hand bill that with a very loose interpretation could be interpreted as a party invitation, “I received an invitation to a party in one of the guild halls and I was hoping to acquire patronage for my research there. I’ve discovered that by altering the diet of orcs you can change the chemical properties of their emissions which can then be further refined into chemical accelerant for combustion engines more efficient than simple steam engines. I’ve currently got several prototypes I’ve been working on, all utilizing this technology.” He pauses seeming to realize he’s rambleing. “I typically consider violence to be wasteful, but considering the costs of my prototypes, not to mention anything in a production line and free field testing…. I’m in.” He proffers a small soot covered hand to seal the deal"

Donovan

Donovan shakes Shaddup’s hand, apparently not at all bothered by the soot stains. “The four of us then.” He looks around the ship, then back to the gnome. “You’ve had a chance to chat with the other passengers, do you think any of the others might be interested in joining us?”

Shaddup

Shuddup thinks for a moment, “Well, I’ve been helping on deck so I haven’t spoken to everyone. Nat is the good sort, hard worker salt of the earth type. Súrion is kinda creepy and antisocial, and he hasn’t spoken to anyone since he climbed the mast. There are the two enthusiastically cursed elven women but they make me nervous. Then there’s the little girl, Amara, She’s traveling unescorted, well except for her clearly magical doll. I’ve told her that until she finds an appropriate responsible adult I’ve informed her that it’s unsafe for someone who hasn’t reached their majority to travel alone so I’ve insisted on continuing to escort her… but she’s not listening to me, probably because she’s taller than I am. Either that or it’s adolescent girl thing. I’ve been told they can be ‘complicated.’ Kind of like my old partner, Hengus, he didn’t appreciate reapropriating his ale casks for my research. I mean he was fine emptying them out until he tried to drink one that I had refilled with my rendered orc urine. But we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, he was always renaming my prototypes. Like my field medic’s self cautarizing bone saw he always called it that ‘flaming chain sword.’ I don’t know how much that helps, a lot of the people on the boat behave illogically, but those are the ones I’ve directly interacted with.”

Gendry

Gendry looks down at the little girl, Amara, then looks around. “Are you on this ship alone? Who’s looking after you?” He sits down on the deck beside her, putting his horns back in reach. “You’re definitely a brave little girl, to be sailing by yourself, and also for not being scared of me, but where are your parents?” He sounds genuinely concerned. “Are you an orphan? Or are your parents just jerks like mine?”

Donovan

Donovan looks over at where Gendry is sitting, trying to talk to the child. “Then we’ll make sure the girl gets wherever she’s going safely. Who knows, maybe her parents can offer some kind of reward for her safe arrival” He gives another look around the deck, then plops down with his back against the gunwale, arranging his bag as a pillow. “As for the rest, it sounds like it’s probably just the four of us then. Probably good, we won’t have to divide the profits too much that way. We can always hire more in town if a job seems particularly tough.” He leans his head back and begins humming quietly to himself. “If you three end up staying up later than me, can you make sure to give me a shake if the bumpkins in the back wake up before I do? Thanks.”

Shaddup

Shuddup, looks quizically at the sleeping, “bumpkins,” shruggs and makes his way aft positioning himself to where if any of them were to move to the fore deck they would have to disturb his resting place. Then curls up and begins muttering his nightly prayers to Gond.

Lyra

Lyra kneels with her back against the railing, and sets her simple sack backpack, seemingly containing little more than a book and a few small items, next to her. Chin down and sitting demurely with her hands on her knees (not all that far from the knife sheath in her boot), she settles in for the night.

GM

As all of the passengers begin to bed down for the night, Nat and Captain Donal begin securing the ship. The captain sets the rudder and locks it in place with a chain, then comes down to the deck to help Nat untie the sail and haul it up. The two then throw a large anchor overboard. The ship gives a hard lurch as the anchor catches, then settles, rocking slowly on the waves.

Gendry

Gendry looks at the fading sun and everyone getting ready for sleep and shrugs, “Whatever little girl. Parents suck. Stick with us and we’ll make sure you’re alright.”

He watches Nat and the captain struggling to cast off the anchor. He walks over, lifts the anchor in one hand, and drops it over the rail. “Hey dwarf, what’s all this for? Didn’t you say we’re supposed to reach Phlan by morning?”

GM

“Thanks for the help, Mr. Gendry.” He points to a smaller anchor, “Mind helping with the kedge too?”

He finishes hauling in the brails and trices them off.

“As to your question,” He points to a black spot on the horizon, maybe a mile off the port side. “See that? That’s Thorn Island.” He practically growls the name and spits over the rail for emphasis. “Phlan is right around the sound side, and has a great harbor, but there ain’t no lighthouse and that island is a plague. That cloud over the island makes these waters blacker n’ Phlegethos, even when Selune is at her brightest. If the shoals and rocks around the island don’t get you, the pirates will. If neither of those get you, the walking corpses of all the ships that sank there before will. So, we always put to a few miles out and make for the channel at first light. You all get a good night sleep and we’ll have you in New Phlan in time to break your fast.”

He and the captain wave to the last few passengers still awake, climb up on the stern deck, and start rolling out their bedding.

Donovan

Donovan sings himself to sleep…

“Thrown like a star in my vast sleep
I open my eyes to take a peep
To find that I was by the sea
Gazing with tranquillity.
Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Came singing songs of love,
Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man…Snoooooooooooore”

Lyra

Lyra shifts slightly as the ship lurches to a a halt, not quite awake and softly mumbling “S’posed … keep moving …. safer.”

Archivist’s Note: Logs from the PBM game will be arranged as a digest of all the posts made (mostly for the sake of keeping everyone’s individual voice and not trying to reformat things to read as cohesive prose).

---

GM

It has been a few days since you boarded Valkur’s Wake. You are glad that you got on at the last stop, and that the voyage should be short, as the old flat-bottomed, single-decked, single-masted cog is quite crowded. The stern of the eighty foot ship has been fenced off and converted into a stable, carrying four horses and a handful of other livestock, with a small, raised deck above the taffrail where the captain or his one assistant man the rudder and sleep. The deck was already filled with people when you boarded, and no one disembarked at your stop. At least the trip is free. The captain, an old, gray-bearded, dwarven merchant named Donal Stormhammer, informed you that as long as you disembark at New Phlan, the council will be paying him ten times his normal passenger fee, so you get a free ride as long as that’s your destination and you give a hand with the lines if a storm blows up.

The thirty-odd other passengers are a motley mix of treasure hunters, monster slayers, a few farmers brave enough to settle in a city known to be plagued by orcs, and those exiles from distant lands with no where else to go. Everyone, at least everyone who’s talking, has their own story of why they are traveling, but they all have one common theme—the promise of free land, fame, and riches in the ancient city of Phlan. During the night, everyone spreads out communally on the well deck, sleeping together cheek-to-jowl. During the day there is a little more space, with people standing most of the time, or else sitting on one of the crates or barrels of stores cluttering the deck or perching on the gunwale.

It is a bright day and the ship makes good speed ahead of a brisk southerly wind. Tomorrow morning, Donal has informed the passagers, you will reach the port of New Phlan. A pod of dolphins splashes alongside the cog.

Chatter on deck today is more lively than usual, with the promise of landfall tomorrow. Near the bow of the Wake, half a dozen people stand about listening to a surprisingly articulate lizard-man doing a dramatic recitation of some poetry, or perhaps a monologue from a play—judging from the spectators’ dress, there is a direct correlation between the number and quality of weapons the passengers are carrying and their level of racial tolerance. Abaft of the performance a pair of elven women—one has pale green skin and bearing a large mace strapped across her back, the other is much taller and more curvaceous than your typical elf and dressed in a simple peasant’s shift—stand watching the dolphins at their play. Across from the elf-girls, a pair of human men in chainmail stand watching their backs, talking in low tones and making the occasional lewd gesture. Near the mast, a woman wearing the stark-white wig of a priestess of Beshaba stands talking to a quintet of teenagers in peasants’ garb, trying to convert them to the worship of the Maid of Misfortune—judging from their wide eyes you suspect that this is their first time away from the farm, though their makeshift-looking weapons set them apart from the actual farmers and settlers who are all huddled in the stern playing a game of chance.

Shaddup

A flustered deck hand passes by you followed by the faint scent of oil and singed hair. as you look down you see that the deck hand is being trailed by a gnome with tussled blond hair and slightly singed eye brows. “…If you would just put the ship in dry dock I know that I can.”

As he passes you he pauses and turns eying your gear appraisingly. After a moment, when he realizes you are staring at him, he looks up at you, smiles, rubs a grease stained hand on his shirt and thrusts it out to you. "Hi I’m Shudrigan Nishal Aribostos McPillflup, but my friends call me ‘Shuddup’ I couldn’t help but notice that you are a prime candidate for my services.

“Looking over your gear suggests to me that I could make improvements for you in some very valuable ways. Obviously I can’t do as much as I could in my shop but thus are the perils of taking your business on the road. I love to travel though always new places to see and people to meet and there are so many people who could use upgrades to their stuff. Yeah, I’m excited. Criers came to Lantan inviting people to join a great party here in New Phlan. One came into my shop and gave me this one. I hope I can find someone to fund my research….”

Surion

Súrion Belaralas is roughly 175cm in height and dressed in a thick Dark cobalt robe with a hood. A large seven string lute is strapped across his back. Despite the seas, wind, sand, and aggregate multifarious passengers, about him is the distinct smell of sweet cinnamon-like spices. He takes no notice or concern of the gnome rambling on; playfully tossing the past week’s meat (which was mostly gristle) overboard to the deilf-cairde and looking over the vast waterway. “So much water…”, he thinks. He had tried three times to toss the meat to the ships bitch but each time the bitch’s hackles raised and she retreated to Donal’s cabin.

GM

The flustered dwarven deckhand, perhaps more flustered for being the ONLY deck hand, turns and stiff-arms the gnome. “Ok, Mr. Shaddup, could you please shut up. I’m working here.” He reaches behind Shaddup and grabs the mainsheet to frap the sail. As he ties the rope off, he gives a stern sideways look at Súrion. “And you there. Mr. Creepy. Them dolphins have plenty of fresh fish, they don’t need your stinking leftovers. You don’t want it, Ratcracker don’t want it, them dolphins certainly don’t.”

He hauls one more time on the mainsheet to make sure it’s secure, then turns to the shrouds and martingales. He begins untying one of the lines and then looks back at the two of you. “Hey, you don’t look busy…If you don’t like your food, how ‘bout you give me a hand and I’ll buy you a pint when we make port tomorrow.”

Surion

“Old salt ties the hawser that seek to bind the wind… but wind has no master.” Súrion gives a notably distant and disdainful look that indicates only displeasure, but whether that is toward the mention of alcohol or toward the suggestion of helping is unclear. Súrion continues to stare at the dwarf perhaps waiting for an explanation.

Shaddup

The gnome cocks his head quizzically at the dwarf and begins untying a line. “Would I please what? Anyway this system is horribly inefficient. If you would put in a steam jenny you could use it to run a master cog into a gear transfer box and with a few pully systems you could run all the lines from one central location. That would make you much happier in your work.”

Despite his constant prattle the gnome appears to be a compitent hand on deck. “My uncle Horatio, Gond rest his soul, made an entire trireme run from one steam engine and a bank of cams. …”

GM

The dwarf braces a foot against the strake and hauls hard on the shroud before tying it off. He pauses again in his work to give Súrion a hard look. “Ok, Mr. Creepy, I’m thirty-seven, I’m not old by any stretch. If you want to wax poetic about me, the names Nat, and if you want to go anywhere, we’d best be mastering that wind.”

He gives an approving look at the gnome’s knotwork. “From Lantan, eh? I’ve heard ’bout you Gondsmen. Captain Donal could use someone like you. Especially once the port gets opened up for real…”

Surion

Súrion smiles and moves up the dolphin spar to check the cordage.

GM

The sound of less-than-enthusiastic clapping comes from the fore of the ship. You look to see the crowd shuffling a bit as the lizard-man leaps up on the prow and begins gesticulating grandiosely with his tail, his hands clenching a roll of parchment. In a booming voice, surprisingly clear of the sibilant lisp normally expected of his kind, the creature begins to exposit:

Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There’s no harm done. No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than S’thek’niss, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
’Tis time I should inform thee farther.

Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch’d
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul—
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.

The hour’s now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance…

The two elven girls turn to watch and Nat, the deckhand, shakes his head and mutters, to no one in particular, “Reptilian play-writes? If that’s the best that’s coming along, I weep for Phlan…”

Surion

For the first time, Súrion catches notice of the elf girls and stares
awestruck at them.

GM

Súrion looks around and notices 36 people on the ship, excluding himself of course. Nat, the deckhand, and Shaddup the gnome stand nearby, making some small adjustments to the ship’s rigging, while Captain Donal stands in the aft-deck, manning the rudder, with the bitch, Ratcracker, sleeping at his heel. Near the mast, a woman wearing the stark-white wig of a priestess of Beshaba stands talking to a quintet of teenagers in peasants’ garb. Just fore of the mast are the two elven women, and the pair of red-cloaked warriors watching them. At the front of the ship the performing lizard-man is being watched by an elf in brilliant white scale armor, a halfling in a tunic that seems to change colors with his mood, a gnome woman holding hands with a human woman in a way that makes him feel a little uncomfortable, and a woman in the robes of a priest of Lathander with her arm around a man in shepherd’s garb on one hand and an eight-year-old boy on the other. In the stern, near a section of the deck converted to serve as a stable, are a number of humans in peasant’s garb, eight men and six women. The men are presently engaged in some game involving several dice and a bottle of schnapps and the women seem to be spending most of their time casting concerned looks at the Beshaban chatting up the teenagers and even more concerned looks either at the lizard-man or the gnome and her girlfriend (its hard to tell which disturbs them more). Súrion distinctly remembers seeing a young girl on the ship as well, but she seems to have made herself scarce somehow.

Amara

A petite young girl sits on a box, swinging her legs and playing with a doll painted a deep cerulean. She wears a blue dress with white lacy frills. A piece of grey slate hangs around her neck with the smudged red handprint of a child on it – perhaps hers. Her hair is elaborately braided down her back. “I hope father is at the dock when we get there Susalia.” She hums a soft tune to herself and brushes the doll’s fine white hair with a small brush.

GM

As the girl sits there, the boy watching the lizard-poet peeks over his shoulder repeatedly, stealing sheepish several glances at her. Finally seeming to have made some decision or screwed up his courage sufficiently, he lets go of his mother’s hand and walks over to where the girl sits, stumbling only once on the gently rocking deck as he makes his way. Barely raising his eyes from the deck, he addresses her “Hi!” The greeting comes out as a startled squeak, and there is an awkwardly long pause before he continues in a rapid tumble of words. “I’m-Eddie-I-like-your-doll-what’s-your-name-where-is-your-family-I-like-your-dress-and-what’s-that-handprint-mean-oh-I’m-Eddie…” He stops for breath and looks ready to bolt.

As the boy wanders off, the lizard-man continues his exposition. You notice a few stifled yawns from those watching, but they keep listening to the rather broken poetry, in the way that only good friends are want to do.

By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Thou hadst, and more. But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember’st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

Twelve year since, twelve year since,
Thy serpent was a Duke of Hlondeth and
A prince of power.
Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Hlondeth; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.
By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heaved thence,
But blessedly holp hither.

My clutch-mate and thy uncle, call’d Extaminos—
I pray thee, mark me—that a brother should
Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself
Of all the world I loved and to him put
The manage of my state; as at that time
Through all the signories it was the first
And S’thek’niss the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother
And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—
Dost thou attend me?

The elven girls quickly loose interest and begin to wander aftwards, speaking in low tones, easily drowned out by the canting lizard and the lapping waves. They shiver noticeably as they pass Surion and cast him quick glances that are equal-parts curiosity and fear before determinedly moving to the other side of the deck.

Amara

The girl looks up, her chestnut hair elaborately braided in a wreath around her crown, allowing the rest of her hair to flow freely. “I’m Amara”, she says softly. She holds up her doll, “This is Susalia.” She then adds, “We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Amara slides down from her perch, and walks over to the elven women. “Excuse me,” she says to them, “Does that man scare you too? Susualia here will protect you too if you want.” She holds up her doll to show the women.

GM

The boy, Eddie, his worst fears apparently manifest at being thus rebuffed, walks back to the front of the ship crestfallen.

A shiver travels up Amara’s spine and she feels a distinct sense of foreboding as she approaches the two elven women. At her question, the taller of the women laughs and speaks in beautifully lilting Common. “Yes little girl, he does scare my friend here, but in a way that seems all too common for travelers on this craft.” She waves a hand at the green-skinned woman. “Rietta and I were just discussing the self-selecting nature of travelers on this ship, and the unusually high concentration of freaks,” she cocks a meaningful eyebrow at the lizard-man, “would-be heroes,” she waves a hand at the group of haphazardly armed teenagers, “and cursed individuals such as ourselves…”

At this, the green-skinned women, Rietta, breaks in with a sharp laugh, unusually deep for an elf. “Aye. Just before you came up here, Teldicia was inquiring as to which category you fell into?”

Shaddup

Shuddup finishes tying the last line and turns to observe the ither passengers. Upon noticing the young girl speaking with the elven women he approaches the girl, “Excuse me, young miss, but you appear to be human. Judging from your appearance you haven’t reached your age of majority in any of the human cultures I’m familiar with. As such I have to ask, where is your responsible adult? It is unsafe for someone of your age to travel unescorted, therefore I must insist upon escorting you until a more suitable adult is found.”

He pauses for a moment apparently deep in tuought before continuing, " I’m Shudrigan Nishal Aribostos McPillflup. I was just thinking if we can find a hand crank, billows, a cam and a steam whistle we could make you a personal alarm should you find yourself in peril."

Amara

Amara cocks her head, considering the question posed by the elves, “You were cursed? I’m just meeting my dad in New Phlan. My mother put me on the boat. He owns a shop!”

As the gnome comes up, the eyes of her doll seem to track him. Amara looks at the gnome and holds her doll up. “Susalia is my protector. Mother gave her to me to keep me safe.”

GM

Rietta laughs again, “Not were cursed, child, are cursed. A good curse is not the kind of thing one gets over. Even our kind suffer unfortunate side effects when delving too deeply into the magical arts.” She smiles and looks very closely at the doll. “If you’re dad is bringing you to Phlan, then I think you must be in the latter category as well.” Her eyes drift to the boy, Eddie. “No sane parent would bring their children to Phlan…and a parent willing to put his children at risk is its own kind of curse. You’re best off not setting a foot off this boat, plopping yourself up by Captain Donal, and taking the first available trip back where you came from.”

The other women gives you a condescending pat on the head and your stomach clenches up. “If you don’t believe us, take a look over there.” She points in the direction you are heading, and you see a small island in the distance, a speak of utter blackness in the otherwise clear, sunny sea, with no light touching its shores.

Amara

Amara’s eyes widen at Rietta’s comments. Then she says, “Daddy and Susalia will keep me safe!” She nods her head firmly at her doll, and it nods its head back in return.

GM

Nat the deckhand steps up to the rail, keeping well away from Teldicia, and spits over the side. “Don’t let these elf-wenches scare you, little girl. Thorn Island might look scary, and the Council talks about it being a problem, but nothing scary ever set foot off the island to trouble us. Now the river, that’s another matter.”

Shaddup

Shuddup looks wide eyed at the deckhand, “What comes out of the river?”

GM

“That rivers as black as the island and twice as foul-smelling. Nothing grows on its banks and the only fish that come out are huge things just as likely to eat you as be eaten. The Council’s been offering a hefty pile o’ coin to anyone that can find out why the river’s like that. Won’t do no good though. No one could sail up the river even if they wanted to. The waters’d eat yer planking right out.” Nat steps a bit farther away from the elves and spits over the rail again. “If Valkur was paying any attention I’m sure that he’d be right pissed.”

He pulls Shaddup aside and lowers his voice. “I know you’re here for a party, but keep your wits about you. There’s a lot of money to be made in Phlan, but the Old City is a dangerous place. You don’t want to go sticking your neck under an orc’s axe, if you know what I mean,” he casts pointed glances at Surion and the elven women, “…and you want to be careful about who you take along to watch your back.” He raises his voice. “Besides, I still owe you that drink when we go ashore tomorrow.”

Rietta gives the doll a double-take. Teldicia grabs her elbow and the two walk towards Surion. “Hey, half-breed…” she starts. Rietta interrupts her, “No offense sir. We just had a proposition for you.”

Teldicia starts in again, “Word from the Captain is that the Council has rules about not giving adventuring charters to groups of less than three. Something about keeping spies out. If you haven’t already linked up with someone, we could use another sword-arm to round out a charter, and you smell like the right kind of creep that wouldn’t mind being seen with the two of us.”

Rietta rolls her eyes, “Again no offense intended. What do you say? You wanna hook up?” She gives another backwards glance at the girl, and in a somewhat mocking tone says over her shoulder. “You too Susalia. Care to join us when you’re done babysitting?”

Súrion turns away from the girls, climbs up the rigging, and broods by himself.

Amara

Amara replies, “We’ll have to ask Daddy when we get to the city,”

Amara runs to the rail and leans over the side. “Is that the city? I can see the dock!”

GM

The two elf girls shrug and walk off, resuming their hushed conversation. Nat the Deckhand walks over by the little girl, “Strange folk,” he mutters. “Sorry little girl, that’s just the Island. We won’t be in sight of the city until we cross the sound tomorrow.” He mutters something under his breath about unaccompanied minors and this being no place for children, then speaks up again. “So, who’s your father? Given how few ways there are to get into the city, I’m pretty sure I know every shop-keep in Phlan.”

Remember when your character found his or her first platinum coin or that chest of 500 gold pieces? Then there were the hundreds of thousands of coins in the dragon’s hoard. At some point in your character’s career, coins become more of a problem than they are worth. Large numbers are difficult to transport, and a significant fraction of a coin’s weight could be lesser metals.

When large values of metal are needed for trade or crafting, something besides coins is essential. Ingots, quantities of nearly pure metal cast into a variety of shapes, are a common solution.

Assumptions

Value of Metals: The standard exchange rates of 100 cp = 10 sp = 1 gp = 1/5 pp are still valid.

Purity of Coins: Coins are assumed to be an alloy with 20 percent worthless metal. The value of a pound of gold coins is 48 gp. The value of a pound of gold is 60 gp.

Rounded Weights and Dimensions: Weights and lengths are rounded to be easier to use in play.

Ingot Shapes

Roughly rectangular or trapezoidal bricks are the most common form for ingots, and these bricks are created by pouring the molten metal into a mold. A standardized mold is better for a variety of reasons, including ease of use and transport, but a campaign setting might have variations in the molds to serve world-building purposes. A mark of the ingot’s purity, manufacturer, or ownership is sometimes stamped into the top. Ingots of denser, or more valuable, metals will tend to be smaller.

The value of an ingot is its weight in pounds multiplied by the value per pound of the metal. Table 1 shows the values of precious metals commonly found in fantasy settings.

Table 1: Metal Values

Metal	Value per Pound
Iron	1 sp
Lead	2 sp
Copper	6 sp
Silver	6 gp
Gold	60 gp
Platinum	300 gp
Mithral	1,000 gp
Adamantine	10,000 gp

 

Trade Bars: In civilized lands, copper and metals such as lead and tin are often poured into a common mold that is about 3 inches x 5 inches x 12 inches. These trade bars are used to transport and exchange metals for use in craft and industry. Trade bars of different metals will have different weights; a lead trade bar is 70 lbs., while a copper one is only 55 lbs.

Bullion: Bullion ingots are smaller than trade bars and are intended as currency rather than crafting. Because of this, bullion is measured by gp value instead of weight.

Bun Ingots: These squat cylinders, flat or slightly concave on one end and rounded on the other, are not unusual. This is because they can be made easily by pouring molten metals into depressions dug in sand.

Hacksilver: Perhaps the most expedient way to distribute loot is to take an axe and hack the jewelry, utensils, and other items into portions of equal weight. Historically Vikings left many hacksilver hoards behind and at least one Saxon “hackgold” hoard has been found.

Oxhide Ingots: These ingots get their name from their distinctive shape: They are large, flat rectangles with a “handle” sticking out of each corner, resembling a spread out ox skin. Researchers have speculated these handles make it easier for two or four people to carry the ingot. They could also offer lashing points to attach the ingot to a camel or donkey’s packsaddle.

Rods: The high melting point and small quantities of adamantine make traditional ingots impractical. Adamantine can be drawn into a thin rod that has a 1/8-inch diameter. Decorative finials are sometimes applied to the ends of the rod to show who owns it or to indicate from where it came.

Many of the above ingot types have a historical basis, though standardized trade bars and decorated rods of a rare metal are fictional creations. Table 2 shows some common fantasy ingots with their values, weights, and dimensions.

Table 2: Common Ingots

Ingot	Value (GP)	Weight (lbs.)	Size (in.)
1 gp Copper Bullion	1	1-2/3	5 × 2 × 1/2
5 gp Copper Bullion	5	8-1/3	7 × 3 × 1-1/4
Large Copper Bun	11	18	6″ diameter and 2″ thick
Copper Trade Bar	34	58	12 × 5 × 3
Copper Oxhide	50	84	24 × 11 × 1-1/2
Iron Trade Bar	5	51	12 × 5 × 3
Lead Trade Bar	15	74	12 × 5 × 3
5 gp Silver Bullion	5	3/4	5 × 1-1/4 × 1/4
Small Silver Bun	36	6	4-1/2″ diameter and 1″ thick
100 gp Silver Bullion	100	16-2/3	9 × 4 × 1-1/4
100 gp Gold Bullion	100	1-2/3	5 × 1 × 1/2
100 gp Platinum Bullion	100	1/3	4 × 1/2 × 1/4
500 gp Platinum Bullion	500	1-2/3	5 × 1-1/4 × 1/4
1 oz. Mithril Bar	63	1/16	2 × 1/2 × 1/2
Adamantine Rod	600	1/16	6″ long and 1/8″ diameter

In Your Game

Given the convenience of ingots when dealing with big values, characters should see them in any large treasure hoard. This is particularly true of treasure collected from merchant caravans or trade ships. Even humanoid tribes will hack looted jewelry up to allocate shares or melt it down into crude buns for bartering.

Characters with metalworking skills could readily buy the material they need. In contrast, those characters with magic item creation feats will need to acquire rare and expensive metals. These metals are available only in cities where you can buy magic items that are worth the cost of one pound of the metal. As a result, characters may have to travel to a larger city or go on specific adventures to acquire the raw materials for their latest project.

It is possible to cheat and make ingots out of alloys or use a core of a lesser metal. Anyone trading in improper ingots would have to be stopped. Additionally, the characters might get annoyed if the creation of an expensive magic item failed because the mithral they used wasn’t pure.

Further, don’t forget mines aren’t the only source of metal in a fantasy setting. Melting the coins from a dragon’s hoard into bullion not only reduces the weight by 20%, it would also help mask where it came from in the first place. A small boomtown might even spring up around the entrance to a particularly large hoard, as the gold and silver are carted out and processed for trade.

Proclamation I

Be it here by known that the parties of Ulrich Eberhard, Werner von Urslingen, Karistos Mondaviak, Porphyrys Cadorna, and Bishop Braccio of Tyr do hereby formally claim ownership of the city of Phlan and all its attendant lands and districts, on this the 21st of Eleint, The Year of the Turret, 1360 DR, and do hereby appoint themselves as the Council of New Phlan, and apportion to themselves the power to lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts, and Excises, to pay the Debts and to provide for the common Defense.

Proclamation IV

Be is here known that the Council of New Phlan, finding it necessary to hire and retain exceptional talent in the fields of murder, magic, and the acquisition of property, do hereby agree to ignore and expunge all records of misdeeds from all jurisdictions outside of New Phlan for all individuals who, hereafter, shall become citizens of New Phlan. Likewise, let it be known that no citizen of New Phlan shall be extradited on charges from any jurisdiction outside of the bounds of New Phlan.

Proclamation V
Be it hereafter known that the following offenses shall constitute capital crimes against the City of New Phlan, punishable by confiscation of all property and banishment from the limits of New Phlan by method of being thrown from the walls of New Phlan between the hours of the Second Dog Watch and the First Watch, regardless of the jurisdiction under which they were committed:

1. The killing, be it willful or accidental of any member of the Council of New Phlan, its clerks, its agents, or its soldiers. This shall be read to include all members of the Red Plumes of Hillsfar operating within the walls of New Phlan, all members of the Church of Tyr operating within the walls of New Phlan, as well as Councilmembers, Clerks of the Council, and Council-appointed agents operating either within or without the walls of New Phlan.
2. Maliciously causing bodily injury to another by any means with intent to maim, disfigure, disable, or kill, and knowing or having reason to know that such other person is a member of the Council of New Phlan, a Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, or a Soldier or Law-enforcement officer in the employ of the Council of New Phlan as defined under article 1.
3. Any “Act of terrorism”, defined as any act of violence as committed with the intent to influence the conduct or activities of the Council of New Phlan through intimidation.
4. Penetrating the walls, gates, or harbors of the City of New Phlan without express written charter issued, registered, and notarized by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan. Accepted charters for passage into and out of the City of New Phlan are limited to the following: (i) a document of citizenship in the City of New Phlan issued by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, (ii) a Charter of Adventure issued by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, (iii) a Charter of Passage issued to a ship in the service of the Council of New Phlan and passengers thereon, or (iv) a Writ of Diplomacy issued by the Council of New Phlan to a foreign dignitary. If the document be not in one’s possession, or be not notarized by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, the bearer shall be in violation of the Law Capital.

Proclamation VI
Be it hereafter known that the following offenses, when committed within the walls of New Phlan, shall constitute capital crimes, punishable by confiscation of all property and banishment from the limits of New Phlan by method of being thrown from the walls of New Phlan between the hours of the Second Dog Watch and the First Watch:

1. The willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing of any citizen of the city of New Phlan, as registered with the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
2. The willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing of any human by another for hire.
3. The willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing of any human under the age of 14.
4. The willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing of any witness in a criminal case after a subpoena has been issued for such witness by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, when the killing is for the purpose of interfering with the creature’s duties in such case.
5. Participation in a mob. A Mob shall hereafter be defined as any collection of non-humans, assembled for the purpose and with the intention of opposing the will of the Council of New Phlan, or committing any act of assault or a battery upon any citizen of the city of New Phlan, as registered with the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
6. Abduction of (i) any citizen of New Phlan with the intent to extort money or pecuniary benefit, (ii) of any human with intent to defile such person, (iii) of any human child under twelve years of age for the purpose of concubinage or prostitution.
7. Use or display of a deadly weapon (see Weapons for a list of devices legally considered deadly weapons) by any person not in possession of a Charter of Adventure issued, registered, and notarized by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, unless said person is a Member of the Council of New Phlan, a Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, or a Soldier or Law-enforcement officer in the employ of the Council of New Phlan as defined under Proclamation V, Article 1.
8. Having sexual intercourse with a complaining witness, whether or not his or her spouse, or causing a complaining witness, whether or not his or her spouse, to engage in sexual intercourse with any other person and such act is accomplished against the complaining witness’s will, by force, threat, or intimidation of or against the complaining witness or another person, if said complaining witness is a human or a citizen of New Phlan as registered by the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
9. Burning, or by use of any explosive device or substance (i) destroying, in whole or in part, or causes to be burned or destroyed, or (ii) aiding, counseling, or procuring the burning or destruction of any dwelling house whether belonging to himself or another, or any occupied inn, hostel, hospital, or mental health facility, or any occupied church or occupied building owned or leased by a church that is immediately adjacent to a church.
10. Breaking and entering the dwelling house of another in the nighttime with intent to commit larceny.
11. Commiting larceny from the person of a citizen of the City of New Phlan of money, goods, or chattels of value of 5 silver pieces or more.
12. Stealing or fraudulently secreting, or destroying a public record or part thereof, including a copy thereof, unless one be the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
13. Cutting down, pulling up, girdling, or otherwise injuring or destroying any tree growing in any public square or grounds of the City of New Phlan, nor willfully and maliciously injure the fences or herbiage of any such square or grounds, including, but not limited to the City Hall, Council Hall, Training Hall, Justice House, the Temple of Tyr’s Waiting, and Valhegen Park, without the consent of the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
14. Maliciously shooting, stabbing, wounding, or otherwise causing bodily injury to, or administering poison to or exposing poison with intent that it be taken by a dog, horse or other animal owned, used, or trained by the Council of New Phlan, the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan, or any Soldier or Law-enforcement officer in the employ of the Council of New Phlan as defined under Proclamation V, Article 1.
15. Any person knowingly preparing any obscene item for the purposes of sale or distribution; or having in his possession with intent to sell, rent, lend, transport, or distribute any obscene item; or possession in public or in a public place of any obscene item, as defined by future statutes or by writ of the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan.
    • Obscene items shall include:
      • Flutes, including but not limited to fipple flutes, transverse flutes, penny flutes, skin flutes, whistle flutes, bamboo pipes, coronets, gemshorns, ocarinas, pipes, recorders, and thelarrs. By order of Priestess Joy of Sune. See Writ of the Clerk of the Council of New Phlan w.CLXXVII

Proclamation XI

Be it here known, that, notwithstanding any other provision of law, the Council of New Phlan, its clerks, its agents, and its soldiers are not liable to pay punitive or exemplary damages in any action brought directly or indirectly against it by any injured party or third party that is not itself a Councilman of New Phlan. In addition, no public official of New Phlan is liable to pay punitive or exemplary damages in any action arising out of an act or omission made by the public official while serving in an official executive, legislative, quasi-legislative or quasi-judicial capacity, brought directly or indirectly against him by any injured party or third party.