Voyage to Nessardine

General Summary

The Ladies' Hiking Club set off for Nessardine from the Wandering City on the 28th of Winterfall, 866WA. They broke through the city's blockade, led by the Selangor, on board a light cargo sloop staffed by a handful of Halflings.  Vega Spritzer managed to persuade her diminutive crewmates to save the remainder of the group in large part due to the fame of Beulah Garland around the Shell.
Upon rendezvous with the Gutterpunk, there was a heartfelt reunion between Beulah, Torwall Ignus and Lucida Baldelli. The ladies holed up in the Officer's Mess aboard the Gutterpunk and prepared for their three-week journey. It took a full month to arrive.
Over the course of their journey, the Ladies managed a number of interactions with the crew, the fleet and other encounters at sea. The results of those interactions follows.

Overview of Fleet Status

The crew of the reaver fleet became bitterly disillusioned with the fleet's leadership over the few weeks they were engaged in this escort mission. They felt that the Admiral had misallocated their faction's resources and vastly overcommitted them to a non-event against an neutral, ramshackle navy. The trip was immensely unprofitable.  Many good men and ships, years of effort and progress towards becoming a true force at sea were wasted in a few short weeks. While they are not yet at the stage of mutiny, Lucida will have to watch her back from this point forward. Fortunately, her chief rival for power was humiliated below decks in a bar fight with Clytemnestra "Fanny" Glitters such that there is no heir apparent to force the issue. (-4 Morale)
The crew was not particularly sympathetic to the Ladies' mission. While they liked Ch--- / Chantrelle Pittypat / Charity Milkbath / Cherry Merrybottom quite a bit, and the priest turned out to be okay in the end, not much of an effort was made to justify the trip and encourage them to join the cause. Which was just as well by them -- they didn't really want to hear it. (-1 Sympathy)
Even the most mutinous sea-rat would have to admit that despite everything else that went on, the Ladies did try to earn their keep. They learned new techniques for sail-rigging from Ch---.  The slutty one at least tried to help with the adhesive situation.  The singer was clearly an old salt, and the cleric was non-judgmental in respect of their bloody business, in addition to being a little comfort to some of the more distraught men. (+1 Skill, +1 Endurance)
Nothing else that occurred above or below deck mattered nearly as much, however, as the toll the voyage took on the fleet. Although the Colossal Squid was dealt with much more handily than could have been reasonably expected, the War Pig, Red River, Traitor's Treat, Banshee and Hollow Tear were consigned to the deep with all hands.
More critically, however, a perfect storm of incompetence conspired to decimate the fleet just on the last leg of the journey. Beulah proposed a defensive strategy far too complex and integrated to be gainfully employed by the independent-minded criminals and brigands cosplaying as sailors on the bridges of the reaver fleet.  The exercise was doomed to fail. Admiral Baldelli, trusting in her mentor's advice to a degree so far beyond recklessness as to be indistinguishable from indifference, ordered the entire fleet to attempt the exercise --- over the grumblings of her captains. The exercise was an unmitigated disaster.  Ships cut sail out of confusion when they had to keep pace; those stalled craft became obstacles for other vessels; larger ships plowed over smaller ones, and the entire fleet generally failed to navigate around one another in such close quarters.
This all might have been a standard fiasco if not for a crucial third layer of incompetence. The fleet's shipwrights had used acidic paint that acted as a solvent on its sealant on most of the ships. Upon being notified of the risk by Fanny, they tried to quietly fix it themselves but were unable to come up with a good solution and did not report the issue up the chain of command. The ships were left in a precarious situation, more inclined to take on water in the event of a collision.  And boy, were there events of collision in their future.  In the end, fully half of the fleet was wrecked or left out of commission, and nearly a third were sunk, either by one disaster or the next. The floating lumberyard remaining at the site of the exercise is now guarded by a skeleton crew.  That crew, staffing the few manned ships that could be spared to vouchsafe the wreckage, is making whatever efforts it can to drag salvageable hulls to port. It is impossible to imagine that the fleet could have been in worse condition after the journey. (-5 Fleet)
Lucida was, of course, disconsolate at these losses.  She was nfuriated with Beulah to the point of truly jeopardizing their quasi-familial relationship. Reminded of Beulah's quick thinking in saving the fleet from the squid, however, and hearing the counsel of Bishop Spritzer, Lucida revisited her rage over the course of the last few days out of sight of land. Eventually she came to recall the times the Ladies brought concerns with her ships or crew directly to her attention, or snuffed out disloyal talk below decks. With no small amount of bitterness, she came to realize that Beulah had committed only one error: assuming Lucida had trained her own fleet to the standard of the Mercy's. While some adolescent resentment frothed at the thought, she did have to admit that in no small part the fault was her own. (-1 Lucida)
In sum, a bitter and angry crew steered a hobbled shell of its former fleet into Nessardine on 26th Winter 866WA. The crew themselves had gained some useful experience on the voyage, traumatic as it might have been, but had no inclination to assist the Ladies any further than seeing them to the docks.  They were generally grateful to see them go. For her part, Lucida would never fully forgive the catastrophic losses inflicted on her fleet -- but in the end, she was contemplating retirement anyway and was unusually mindful of things that are truly important, like the love of the mother she never truly had.
The fleet and crew of the reaver faction are not at the Ladies' disposal for the next leg of their adventure, and Lucida will not accompany them ashore. She will, however, welcome correspondence and may potentially offer more aid in the future if she is able to stabilize her leadership role.

Individual Outcomes

Beulah Over the course of the journey, Beulah managed to reminisce with Torwall and -- to the extent possible -- with Joshua and Lucida as well. It warmed her heart to be around trusted friends once more. Some long, inconclusive nights were spent talking through Torwall's wanderlust, and how his current adventure somewhat mirrored his original conversion from a Tenth farmhand to a skilled first mate charging across the continental divide. In leaving his family so abruptly, was he being true to himself at last?  Seeking out the sea and the adventure that is as much a part of him as his own eyes? Or, in truth, was he a bloodsoaked pirate and instrument of a glabrezu, running from the contentment he didn't feel he deserved?
Beulah's conversations with Lucida were similarly inconclusive. Lucida knew to trust her own instincts and to keep her options open, but she never did get a solid idea as to what to do if another ten years pass with her heart crying out for... nothing?
After a few long nights casting his "eyes" over the blueprints, Beulah apprehended that Joshua was trying to indicate that he'd figured it out. Unfortunately just as Beulah was trying to sort out some kind of Ouija approach to extracting information from him, the ships' exercises began.
Fanny His name was Zie, pronounced somewhere between Jai and Zhai. He liked hearing Clytemnestra work through that consonant, like her teeth were closed tight on him. He used her formal name, always, luxuriating in its meter like he was handling a fine jewel. Zie was a common name among his people in the East Marches, he explained to her. They spoke a language of fricatives and flat vowels like they were trying to keep the flies out of their mouths. He'd taken the measure of the brooding loner, Oswen, with clarity since he'd come on board, knowing at some point the two would draw steel. This is how it is with men, he told her, no different than hounds. Something inside us needs the certainty.
They'd spent a fair amount of time below decks off-shift.  They tended one another's wounds, describing the sights they'd seen on opposite sides of the Black Range and generally kicking his bunkmates out into the hall for extended periods.
He gave Fanny an admiration that didn't seem cheap or put-on. He was a man of accomplishments himself, and after much cajoling and bargaining, he learned of her true age and thought it made her exotic. Half-elves looked pretty good at 39, he thought.
One evening at sunset, just as the artificial lights of Nessardine came into view, Clytemnestra lamented that their time had come to a close so soon. Zie seemed genuinely shocked, even hurt. After the time they had spent together he'd thought -- he was certain -- that he was coming along to stay at her side, to protect her. Did... she feel differently?

Chowder Clamlubber Rivalling Fanny for the most pleasant voyage with the reaver fleet, Ch-- broke in with the crew in a matter of days and became 'one of the guys' in the first week. She learned so much about rigging and seamanship that she became proficient in those skills in the short month she spent there. She might not be able to navigate like Beulah, but she's at least a competent hand now.
Ch-- heard plenty of completely credible sailor's tales about treasure and treachery on the high seas, and devoured them whole. The Yishanim Heart in the Sunken Temple... the yogi in the Elder Swamp with secret knowledge of the Tarrasque... the great treasure of rubies buried at The Singers on the Western continent... each one sounded like an incredible adventure to undertake.
After the first few days, she started getting pestered by the rescued/hijacked halflings sailing alongside them in the Revenant. They really really wanted to seem to want to make friends.  Ch-- wasn't rude or anything, but she hadn't come all this way to the southeast shore of the civilized world to hang out with neighbours from back home. Still less from Gwynab. The captain in particular, Flin Harefoot, was a particular pest.
After sending the big octopus, "Squidsy", away, Ch-- found herself in possession of an eight-foot Yishanim claymore. Much to the amazement of the crew, Ch-- could lift it as though it weighed nothing at all, spinning it around like a straw broom as even the burliest men on deck failed to budge it. She kept it close for a few days thereafter, trying to get a sense of it. Certainly it was magical somehow. It definitely wasn't very sharp anymore, so it wasn't much good as a sword or even a carving-knife (as it turns out). It had some faint markings up and down both edges of the blade, but even Vega couldn't make out if it was writing, or runes, or maybe just imperfections.
Ch-- had the sense that it was a good thing, not haunted or an evil artifact from the deep. But it seemed kind of sad, like it was left behind and forgotten. It had the sense of a mining town after the nickel runs out. Hollow, empty, almost desperate.
Vega
Badly wracked by seasickness, Vega largely kept to herself for most of the voyage. At one point she emerged above deck, and gave Lucida implicit assent to engaging the lawful authorities of Tenthun, thinking it was none of her business. Taken aback by the sheer savagery with which the Tenth pirate-hunters were executed, Vega returned below decks.  She was determined not to spend any more time than necessary with pirates.
Most of her time thereafter was spent in meditation. Her time in the jungle of the Wandering City had affected her deeply. As a fledgling follower of Eldath leaving the Grand Mausoleum, it had only seemed natural to engage in that pursuit alone. Now that she had encountered the elves in quiet worship on the Shell, she began to feel as though she had been missing something in lacking a community of faith. Even at the Grand Mausoleum, most of the residents there were servants and retainers; or otherwise members of the strict social and clerical hierarchy of the Kindly Ones.
After much pacing and fretting, Vega finally built up the courage to cast a Sending out to the Shell to Theodemar, checking on the status of his community in the wake of Anthur-Ro's raid. The reply was short, of course, but it appeared as though her departure had been sufficient to draw the mages away. The pleasantness of his response encouraged her to reach out again... and again. And daily! She doesn't think she's being smothering. He would say something if she was. Right?

Shortly after her first missive to the jungle, Vega was called upon to speak kindly to a colossal squid and encourage it to stop smashing the "loud" ships it resented for scaring away whales. In the course of their conversation, the minimally intelligent squid held up wrecks of old ships in a threatening manner. Vega spotted Yishanim artifacts on the most dilapidated wreck it raised, and she, Ch-- and Fanny dove in after it to salvage what they could. While Ch-- made off with a huge sword of some description, Fanny and Vega ended up with a large, heavy chest set with runes. Only after dredging it to the surface did they realize that the chest might not have a lid -- the top seemed to be more of a ridge. Certainly it seemed that it could be opened, but the precise mechanism for doing so was, for the moment, beyond them.
Two-thirds of the way through the voyage, the worst storm of the season hit and the Gutterpunk was being smashed by rain, in such volume that it seemed the water intended to devour the ship whole. Vega was holed up in one of the cabins midship, watching silently with frightened sailors as the porthole dove under the sea and struggled to come back up again. “We’ll be all right,” came a mousy little voice tucked up in a corner. It belonged to a stick-thin little waif whom she haven’t seen before. A sailor’s daughter, perhaps? Vega asked herself. “I’m not anyone’s daughter,” she said, and goosebumps rose on the cleric's neck. “We get through this fine, it’s two storms from now that I intend to be on land for.”
She turned to face her, and Vega could see a thick streak of scar tissue across her face and neck: a reminder of a brutal scalding that she was clearly lucky to survive. Her eyes were milky and only the left seemed vaguely capable of focusing on her. “My own fault,” she said. “I was a hungry little girl.”
Lightning cracked outside. The waif didn't flinch and kept her eye fixed. “Would you like me to tell your fortune?”
At this question, two sailors sitting behind her urgently shook their heads at Vega. Don’t do it. Vega demurred, stating that only her goddess could reveal the future.
"I see," said the stripling, stretching like a cat to move past Vega and back into the corridor. As she passed, she leaned down into the cleric's ear and whispered, "But has she? You will drown, Vega Spritzer, but not today."
The sailors cowering in the bunk searched Vega's face, reading her reaction to whatever premonition was uttered to her. Was it about the ship? Would they survive?
Days later, the waif's words still echoed in Vega's ears.  This supposed fortune only bolstered her inclination to spend the trip in meditation and contact with her newfound community. By the time she spoke to the crew following the disastrous navigational exercise, she was in a different mindset. She was spending hours a day meditating on the state and meaning of peace... and learning a bit, 25 words at a time, about what it might mean to live in that condition. By the time the Spithouse came into view, the cleric was practically itching from the proximity of the sailors and squinting against the harsh glare of the arcane lamp at its peak. She found herself, more than ever, missing her little hut in the woods outside of Bridlip -- but now feeling for the first time that even 'home' couldn't be home ever again.
As the glaring, incandescent light of the Spithouse draws nearer, the Ladies have some questions to answer:

• How will they approach? With the fleet or in a separate ship or rowboat?
• With whom will they dock? Joker Dith? Will Joba be watching?
• What, if anything, is to be done with the names on the back of that interrogation slip? Some mention Nessardine locations.
• Is Zie coming? Is he to be trusted?
• What if Beulah’s premonition was right, and Joba has been stationed in Come-by-Chance as an insurance policy? Can anything be done to safeguard the family?
• What’s to be done with this massive chest? No, Fanny, the treasure chest. It takes all four of you to lift it.

Report Date

05 Jun 2023