Tenebris Harbor

Oh my, what a glorious find! An unmanned culverin! It even comes with it’s own set of revolution disks! How wonderful they are portable.

Clearly that means we are able to take it home with us. With this in my possession, Halmar will certainly pay for all the injustice he has leveled at my door!

Now, we will need to secure some sturdy rope, perhaps a pack mule, some urchins to carry the lead shot, some kegs of powder, and a reasonably sober pirate to teach me the intricacies of igniting the fuse.

I love shopping in these quant little towns!

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More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

What a magical land we have stumbled into! Bananas and wheat, two of my favorite things, together! Well, not together actually. That would be foolhardy. And a gastrointestinal nightmare. I think. Banana whiskey? Perhaps?

We must speak with these scalawag pirates about offering a fair price for their goods. I shall bedazzle them with my negotiating prowess. If that doesn’t work, then stern words and the flaming sword.

If that doesn’t work, groveling.

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More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

With the emotional scarring of removing troll toenails quelled by mugs of ale and jugs of whiskey, I stumbled my way to Tenebris Harbor to converse with the Drunken Ritualist and remove these horrid relics from my inventory. Plus, seize hold of my reward.

Not only did the ritualist prove a hard man to find, because so many answer to the call of drunken ritualist in these parts, he conducted business next to some truly unsavory chaps who did more than cast a suspicious eye to newcomers.

Doing my best to avoid the evil eye contact, I dashed into the ramshackle bungalow of the ritualist. But before I could bring up the topic, our business was interrupted by a pole arm wielding miscreant who demanded satisfaction for an injustice I’m quite sure I never committed.

Menacing stares, as well as a barrage of incredibly foul and hateful words were exchanged before the situation escalated to the point of no return.

Many items in the store were broken, including the rogue’s arm, knees and neck. Adding to the confusion was a fire elemental who tried to set me alight for the mere sport of it.

Dispatching the fire elemental brought me no joy, except in regards to my skin no longer blistering with pain. I have regret over the incident as she reminded me so much of Señora Caliente, but my fire elemental would never cause me such harm.

With the ruffians summarily looted and kicked to the side, I engaged in my business with the ritualist, although I confess to a great deal of fear and hesitation.

Is it possible to trust a sober ritualist let alone a drunken one? What sort of man needs the toenails of a troll? What unspeakable horror would be unleashed once he had these trophies in his possession? Further, what sort of reward would recompense me for the horrors I had face in bringing them to him?

With glassy eyes and swaying countenance, he relieved me of the items and declared, “perfection!”

“Egads, man! You really are a drunken ritualist,” I replied. “Have you seen the grime? Have you seen the dirt build up? Have you protected yourself against disease?”

He paid me no heed, swept behind his counter and before I could question his methods or motives, he told me to step forward into the circle.

“Oh nay nay!” I protested. “The last time I stepped into a circle, many bad things happened. Most of which I can’t recall to this date, but I am sure I don’t want to go through them again.”

“Your reward awaits,” he slurred.

“Oh? Is it a magical circle that conjures treasure chests of loot? That would be fantastic!” I exclaimed.

“Step forward to receive the magical incantation,” he said with a gesture.

“Would it be too much to ask to be compensated in coins? I’d also accept a fabulous sword of smiting if you have one. Or even some gauntlets that allow me to crush mine enemies would be nice.”

“Into the circle,” he repeated.

And then it happened. There was a blinding flash of light, a terrible rumble, and the weakening of my innards. But before I could protest to my treatment or offer apology for sullying the floor, it was over.

“There! You are blessed!” said the ritualist. “Come back any time.”

I quickly checked myself for burns, trauma and new appendages. Feeling nothing, I was relieved but stated, “I’m not sure anything has happened.”

“Oh, it has happened. While I am in no fit condition to give you the sword of smiting you seek, I am perfectly capable of instilling combat proficiency. At least for a limited time.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I replied.

“You now bathe in the glow of combat proficiency. You will have the grace of a cat, the stealth of the cobra, the speed of the mongoose.”

“Sorry? A what? What strikes a cat?” I asked.

“You!” he bellowed. “You are the cat! You will cast your combatants aside like peasants!”

“Oh, I am now able to smite mine enemies with great vigor and proficiency?” I asked.

“Indeed. Now go. I have much drinking and conjuring to do, but feel free to fetch more toenails of trolls and bring them back any time you like.”

“I think I would rather die,” I replied.

“I believe the chaps outside are plotting just that,” he countered looking out the window and sipping from his bottle.

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I have to say, I am full of disappointment that we did not get an invite to this little soiree. Looks like they had a fabulous time without us, although from some of the charring, things may have gotten a little out of hand.

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Quick man, make haste! Shut the door, we are under siege! That is the worst place and this is the worst time for a privy break!

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I absolutely will not step inside that circle as you call it. I disagree that is a circle and I’m quite sure that is blood.

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All right you arrow flinging purveyor of villainy, let’s see what these new skills can do!

Oh good gravy! Who told the urchin it was safe to play on the dock when grown ups are hurling fiery arrows at each other? The Oracle is surely going to frown upon this little blunder.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

Realizing my future seaworthy vessels would not be found in Penmawr, I traveled down the road to another seafaring town I had heard about, Tenebris Harbor. There had been rumors of a rough sea life, brawling pirate types and the occasional outbreak of swashbuckling. I’ve been in worse, and even caused worse, so I was undeterred.

Turns out the stories were a dash mild and while they had many fine vessels, most of them were on fire. In fact, many things were awash with flame and I felt my appearance was quite ill-timed.

Thinking I might be of assistance, or at least in time to attend a few going out of business sales, I followed the path which should lead me to the docks. But before I had traveled far, I was met by an old prospector hold up in a make shift trauma center.

Several guards were in a rather sad state with unfortunate wounds and terrible tales of being overrun, assaulted violently, and called some questionable names. They were trying to restore order, but making a bad show of it. When speaking to the guard and asking how I might be of assistance, I was informed I could do my part by slashing the pirate invaders to the ground.

“Beg pardon?” I retorted. “So, you’re saying I have free reign to slash anyone I meet on the street into the ground? And there will be no repercussions? No time in the Clink? No penalties paid out in gold coins?” I inquired.

“Well, within reason,” the guard corrected. “We can’t have a free for all. There will be no assaulting the local constabulary, I can’t condone that sort of behavior. But, if you find scoundrel pirates and ne’er-do-wells causing mischief in the streets and take retribution on our behalf, then yes, I believe we can see clear of pressing any charges against you,” he affirmed.

“Brilliant!” I exclaimed. “Point me toward danger!”

Seeing my enthusiasm, the Prospector offered up my first commission.

“Since you’re in the mood to wave the steel around, I have an offer for you,” he said. “These blasted pirates ran me out of my home before I could my lucky nugget. What say you swing over to my place, rough up a few dirty scoundrels, kick a few of those unsavory chaps right where it hurts and bring my nugget back to me. My house is right over there,” he said pointing.

I looked at the guard for confirmation on dishing out retribution at the end of a flaming sword. His shrug of the shoulders was the very answer I was looking for.

“Very well, I will head that way, slash anyone who gets in my path and return this lucky nugget of yours in due time.”

This proved to be far more difficult than I first surmised as these ruffians travel in packs and fight in a most disagreeable style. As I approached what I believed to be the correct domicile, I was assaulted in the backside by not one, but three arrow wielding marauders. They were debilitating shots and extraordinarily uncomfortable in my still healing hindquarters.

Turning to defend myself, sword carrying ruffians leapt from the shrubs and set upon me. I was immediately and unmercifully outnumbered. But fire is the great equalizer and soon a couple of the roughs were smoldering at my feet.

I struggled to reach the ruffian archers, suffering the sling of their arrows. And when I got hold of them, my revenge was piping hot! We won’t go into the myriad vulgarities that ensued. It is sufficient to note I made my displeasure known and cast aspersions upon them, their family, friends and several other people who they may, or may not have known.

I then traversed the open pavilion and entered the dwelling. More surprises awaited as some undead had come home to roost. I had barely stepped inside when they went for my jugular, swinging like oafs, and smashing up the place.

Since it was already in disarray, I felt little guilt over further adding to the disheveled nature. Some lettuce, a bookshelf and a candelabra were swept up in my fury, but in the end, my Whirling Blades dispatched the entire horde. I will apologize for scarring the counter.

I then began to search in earnest. I marveled at the idea of finding a gold nugget worthy of risking my life, but nothing of the kind revealed itself. I looked in the drawers, under the bed, even in the storage room. I sawing nothing that matched the description. Those mangey pirates had already absconded with it!

But I had fleeced each one of them thoroughly and found nothing. I must be looking in the wrong place. And then, as I upset a stack of crates, and splintered a bookshelf rife with  bunkum novels, I found something.

“Want manner of trinket is this?” I asked finding a mounted rabbit on the floor. The small inscription read, “Lucky Nugget”.

“A rabbit? His lucky nugget is a rabbit? I’ve been hoodwinked! I’ve been flimflammed! This isn’t some outrageously sized gold nugget worthy of this level of destruction and mayhem. It’s a stuffed bunny! And the only good stuffed bunny is that of the Death Bunny!”

In a fury, I scooped up the rabbit trophy, tucked it under my arm, punched a ruffian so hard I looted his gold coins before his body hit the ground, and stormed off to see the Prospector.

But my rage softened as the Prospector was brought to tears at the sight of his lost compatriot.

“Oh, my Lucky Nugget!” he wept, dropping to his knees. “Here have some coins!” he said shoving a purse of coins into my hands. Then clasped the bunny to his breast and twirled like a child on a fine summer day. “Bless you Outlander!” he exclaimed then threw himself into a frenzied dance.

I was without words and watched in amazement as the old man gyrated in a bizarre, but hypnotic dance.

“Well then,” I said composing myself. “I’m glad I could be of service. But, perhaps I should move along and get on with the pirate smiting I shan’t be punished for. A good day to you, and my compliments on the fine dance move you’ve displayed this day. It was truly a sight to behold and something I won’t soon forget, of that I assure you.”

I then readied my sword and plunged into the heart of the city.

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Ah ha! This must be the place. Random shanty, thugs hiding in the thicket, death around every corner. Onward to treasure and fortune!

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What the what? This is no priceless chunk of gold ore! You are quite the trickster Mr. Prospector!

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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