The Calhoon

Letter to the Archpriest at Korsk

Father Dolenei;
I want to tell you the story of my life. I have been silent on the subject until now, meekly accepting the guidance of the church as my one opportunity for salvation. Again, the winds of my soul are shifting, and I feel I must be more forthright. Have mercy on me in your reading, as yet I am young, but I pray for the guidance of the Ascendants and Morrow Himself.

Although it is clear to me that I am no Khard, I was nonetheless raised in the port city of Vladovar. I have few memories of my early childhood, pinned to my mother’s chest or back in a sling as she spun thread and string in our tiny hovel on the spinning wheel that took up most of our living area. My mother smelled like wool and sweet milk and spoke Khadoran with an accent I now recognize to be Cygnaran, though I never heard her speak that tongue. She called me Nana, a pet name short for something which I have forgotten. When I was old enough to walk, she procured employment for us both, manufacturing ropes and cloth in that city’s great factory of looms and wheels. Because I was too small to operate the machines, I stood in the loading docks beneath a great chute, collecting premeasured lengths of cord and tying them in bundles. I have no memory of a father, or even an idea of fatherhood as I now know exists for many lucky children. My only education concerning men came from the factory overseer and his patrons – men of every kind and shape that examined my coils of rope and hauled them away to be used on boats and farms and prisons and any number of professional pursuits. They were stronger than I thought should be allowed and I found them quite mysterious, altogether different from my gentle mother. She was also a devout parishioner of the Morrowan church and we attended services whenever we were able.

But all things must come to an end, isn’t it so? One day at the factory, there was some accident. It is likely I will never know what really happened, because I was quickly ushered into the streets before I was able to ask any questions. I stood at the gate of the loading dock for two days before I began to believe the stories of the men who came and went: that a foreign woman had died a terrible and painful bloody death in the factory, leaving her child an orphan. Even after I accepted this fate, I stood there, not knowing where else to go. Then the kind-eyed man approached me. He smelled like salt and sweat and copper and steel. I had seen him before, examining my bundles and buying them in cases that had to be wheeled to the docks by his assistants. He stood at the other side of the gate, arguing quietly with his men, and finally shouted, “Hey! Little sister! Look sharp!” When I lifted my eyes a bundle of rope beaned me on the forehead. His companions snickered, but he looked sternly to them. When I met his eyes they were again kind. “Did you tie this?” he asked, moving his boot to indicate my rope. I nodded. “Untie it.” I did ask he asked. “Can you tie other knots?” It happened that I could, ropes and strings being my only playthings. I could make a doll with nothing but a length of yarn and tie any of a hundred different knots. I nodded again, slowly. The kind-eyed man smiled and looked meaningfully to his men, then back at me, “Show me.”

I tied all the knots I knew: some for sailing, some for line-tying beasts, and some for binding up captives (his accomplices stood in to demonstrate, to the kind-eyed man’s great amusement). Finally, at the end of the rope, I tied a noose, and at this he frowned. But thoughtfully, he nodded, and without another word hoisted me upon his shoulders and carried me to the sea, dragging his crew behind him, still bound by my knots.

This is the story of how I became the pirate Little Sister. With great patience Captain Kind Eye taught me many things: the Ordic tongue, how to fight with a cutlass and pistol, how to mark the ships with the most cargo and plunder, which of my knots to use for what, how to swim in the cold salty ocean and how to climb the rigging to the crow’s nest and keep a lookout for enemies and land. He was a good captain. The rumours said he’d lost a daughter, and that was why he kept me as a pet. We had too few adventures. I must have been twelve when our sloop was boarded and commandeered by an enemy captain, who keelhauled poor Kind Eye for the entire length of the Immoren coast.

After that my life at sea became more desperate. I learned through hardship what it meant to be a woman of the water. Without the captain to protect me, my innocence was lost. But I grew strong. I learned what men find value in, how to protect it, and how to use it to protect me. I never took coin for favors, but I lived drunkenly, debaucherously, taking lives and fortunes on a whim and squandering them for momentary pleasures. Yet still they leave their scars, as I’m sure you glimpsed my tattoos when I came to you. There is much I do not remember, for the wine and liquor ran thick in those times. What I do remember, it would be imprudent to share with you, a holy man. It could only have ended in disaster.

And so it did, some years later when the ship to which I had pledged service was capsized by squalls that seemed a hundred yards high. By some miracle of Morrow I washed ashore unconscious within a league of a tiny Cygnaran village. I found a small house on the outskirts of the village and watched its darkened windows for many hours, hungering and thirsting, but the cottage was as silent as a grave. Finally I stole inside and set myself upon a few gourds from the larder. But just then the man of the house seemed to return home, alarmed, there was a deal of scuffling behind me and I fired my pistol into the darkness. And then I heard the child scream. One loud cry, and then she fell silent, except the sounds of our breathing. She looked upon the corpse of her father with a despair in her eyes so familiar that it chilled me to the bone. I pointed my pistol at her, but it was I that was moved. She waited silently for death, but I could not kill her. I cast the pistol to the floor and have not touched another.

She did not speak Khadoran, nor Ordic, but I managed a few Cygnaran words. “Hungry” I said, and then the word for sorrow. She shook her head and showed me her tiny broken body. The man I had killed was her father indeed, but also a torturer. I knew his kind, and had bedded with them many times, if you will pardon the imprudence of such a detail. So together we travelled silently for a long time, and she brought me to the cathedral in Caspia, where I left her and with the help of a scholar who translated, devoted my life to the priesthood in service of Morrow. They sent me north by boat to Ohk, and then by rail to the Khardic monastery cathedral in Korsk, as you know, where your kind servants taught me of my gift, and began to help me refine it. I took the name that you suggested and devoted my life to the study of medicine. I made my former skills useful by tying prayer ropes to give and sell day and night. But at the monastery when you asked for volunteers for a mission of mercy to the region of Port Vladovar, I knew that I must come. We began administering our salves and prayers among the poor in the city where I was once a child. But it, too, was changed. I was able to visit the looms only briefly to purchase woolen yarns, but I recognized no one, and the story of accidental death was too common to be remembered, I am afraid. While praying our simple vespers with a group of fishermen at sunup I was inspired, drawn by the scent of the salt and sweat. My hands ached to tie another knot to secure my way forward for the greater good. Surely as a fellow seaman, you must understand. I am sorry, Father, I must continue alone. I must return to the sea.

I have advised my accompanying fellow priests of my decision and have found passage to Ord with a fishing vessel crewed by pious simpletons. I will seek a more permanent arrangement of employment there. I will make payments for the girl, which I will send directly to the Synod in Caspia, where I hope she remains in good care. These fisherman largely speak Cygnaran amongst themselves and I find myself hanging on every word in hopes of writing the child a letter of encouragement and perhaps one day making pilgrimage to Caspia for the purpose of collecting her. Of my earnings I will keep only what I need, distributing as much as I can to the poor, and the remainder I will send on to you, Father, with what prayer ropes I can make. Please distribute them as you see fit, and pray for my strength amid these tempests of my heart. If you wish to offer me a missive or any advice, please direct it to the parish in Five Fingers, which I will check as often as I am able. The words you spoke to me at our parting, Father, I will not forget. I will heed them with all my will.

Yours Ever,
“Little” Sister Solovia

When Demon and Pirates Meet.

Today we went down to the prison to talk about the bounties on the board. Aside from Dirty Uncle Daddy, who was on the board the last time we checked there was another one as well. The second bounty was cheaper, and we could returned the body dead, but the high price for Dirty Uncle Daddy seemed to make the Captain’s eyes twinkle. He was able to procure some information on Dirty Uncle Daddy. While we waited for the informant back at the ship, I dropped back into town for some gambling.

Eventually we were to meet for more information. It seemed like a trap, but we could probably handle it. We entered the warehouse together and were immediately ambushed. After a rough fight, we were able to defeat them all. Thrak smashed some of the jack equipment and we went back to the ship to sleep.

The next day, we discovered that the warehouse belong to House Mateu. Oops. The Captain talked to the House and it turns out that we were spotted leaving the area. Guess I won’t be going back there for a while. Thrak and I decided to stay back at the ship while Raz and the Captain went back to investigate. House Mateu thinks we want to help find out who did it. Once the Captain finally returned, he decided we should try for the smaller bounty so we set sail for Khador following the information he obtained in town.

The first island we arrived at seemed empty so we moved on to the next. There we found an encampment of pirates. We were able to defeat them all without too many casualties but as luck would have it the pirates’ ship arrived with the rest of them. Raz and I climbed to the top of one of the building to get a better shot. Just as we did, some strange demon like creatures emerged from the forest where we had come in. The demons fought charges the pirates and they killed most of each off. We easily handled what was left.

The Breaking Points

The Jailers are cruel. They did things. No one came to help. Me and Raz left in the morning. I went to get clothes cause I didnt have any. I was told I do because it isnt proper. I got back to the ship about mid day. Put my stuff near the bed and rested. Got up to go to the tavern with the crew. The plan was mean shoving things in places they shouldnt be. The captain told me to get rid of the body. Then tells me to mop. Why me? I didnt cause it. It isnt my fault. I am helping by moving bodies. I grab the body and leave. I do my job. The captain follows and yells at me. For not listening to him. I get angry because the reason I had to before he told me I had to because it was my fault. I need to do it all cause I did it.He tells me I need to listen to him cause he tells me to. I listen because of Myriss, she has proven she can be my better. the captain once said that he doesnt take orders from people who arent as strong so why should he not prove himself worthy? I say it and he says fine but it is my ship so do what I say or leave. I remind him that he was voted. He just keeps walking. I go back to the ship and get my stuff and hop off. I go to the tavern and ask for work. I get yelled at again. I need to clean it up and bounce for the tavern. I get paid for cleaning it up and go to bounce. I begin and Myriss comes in and starts yelling at me. We get told to go outside and be quite. Myriss like the freedom and money that we can get on the ship. Says that we do better in that crowd. I believe in her so I go back. I want her to talk to the captain. She says she will. I get back and I am put down below decks now. Captain says it is better. It is tight but out of the way. I sleep and roll about. We have a new job. Going to free a town from people. The plan is easy go to them and take it. We go in at night. Sneaking about and going to a cave . We had to uncover the front and go in. The night was long but nothing happens. We got up and attacked. The fight was tough. Dancing with jacks is hard.Got all the stuff and left afterwards. Heading back to get paid.

Once More, into Combat.
An entry from Razakael's journal.

Combat’s been good for me these last few days. I’m still alive, and I honestly don’t know how I feel about that, but the heat of battle has been cathartic for me. This time I’ve spent recovering from my injury has kept me below decks longer than I’d like, and the lack of time topside has been detrimental to my mood; of this I am most certain. It’s about that time though; another milestone since I’ve left the service. The days drag, the weeks crawl more slowly than a man dying of thirst in a seemingly endless desert. Every minute has the potential to turn into its own special torment, threatening to bring back another memory, whether a happy one tinged with nostalgic despair, or a horrible one that echoes on for hours. I’m thankful that my watch only keeps track of the hours, as dreading each minute would likely be the end of me. And yet, I cling to this watch like it means something. I check the time enough that it probably appears to be important to me. “Not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then…” Like I give a damn about the time; like time is what I’d be blessed to forget for a moment. It’s not the watch that I wanted.

A face etched with discipline, and a jovial (if biting) comment now and again hopefully does the trick for my comrades; I may not be the champion of the battlefield, but I still feel that my leadership amid the fray is helpful to those around me, and a good leader does not show his weaknesses to those he aims to lead. I feel that it’s the least I can do to make up for the casualties of the past, to assist this group to the best of my ability.

I’ve noted a drastic increase in my own aggressiveness lately; that will need to be reined in. I’m still coming down from the anger of my lost eye, I know that, but this crew has enough violent tendencies without my help, and bloodlust in too great an amount, I fear, may detract from my use in combat; cold, efficient, and mechanical… these are where my strengths reside during such moments; besides, anger and despair are too closely tied for me, and the last thing I need to do is find myself actively trying to die. As much as a death in battle would feel like a sweet release, to seek it is too dishonorable, and as much as I’d like to curl up in a ball and just let it end in the darkness of my cabin, there are moments of my days that I still retain the desire to keep trudging forward, so I suppose I’ll cling to those; perhaps I’m sensing something worth staying around for that I’m not yet fully aware of? Either way, this is still mostly a “curl up and die” kind of moment; I think I’ll take to searching for a strong drink to take the edge off, and hopefully I’ll be able to find peace in the view & feel of the sea again soon.


A Letter to the Captain
Methods of Punishment & Torture

It’s very likely that you don’t need to read any of this, but the time spent in recovery has left me little left to do but research. I’ve finished all I need to in regards to mechanika for the time being, so I thought something practical, beneficial, and to be quite honest, cheap would be a good use of my time, as I’ll be saving up for a replacement for my bad eye; the blood-red look is intimidating and all, and a covered eye isn’t an uncommon enough thing to bring me unwanted attention, but I do miss being able to properly judge distances, etc… I’m boring you, I apologize. Herein lies my research into methods of punishment & torture used by pirates (and privateers, likely) to keep things running smoothly on board. I doubt that you need my help in this area, but I needed to familiarize myself with the subject, and if you’re able to find use in any of my findings, so much the better.


Flogging & Its Variants

Flogging as punishment is either loved or hated; it’s one of the most common for breaking ship’s Articles, but has also been a relatively long-standing naval method for enforcing discipline, and for that reason has been “outlawed” on many pirating vessels; whether or not you find the method acceptable (or whether or not you define us as a pirating vessel) is your judgment, and yours alone; I’m merely supplying information.

FLOGGING (Basic): Whipping the victim with a simple rope end, sometimes with one or multiple knots.

A CAT ON THE BACK: Whipping the victim with a cat-o’-nine-tails across the bare back; while the standard cat-o’-nine-tails consists of nine tightly-wound & knotted strands of cord, attached to a piece of wood & bound in leather, I’ve found record of some less-than-popular men weaving fish hooks into the cords. I would trust your judgment of what is appropriate for whatever crime this would be intended for, but I could not in good conscience recommend adding hooks. (At least to anyone you were planning on keeping alive for very long.)

KISSING THE GUNNER’S DAUGHTER: This is quite specifically a Naval “tradition,” as opposed to a pirating one, but it remains quite brutal, and the metaphor makes for a more theatrical affair, which can prove useful at times. The victim/perpetrator of misdeeds is bent over & sometimes tied to the ship’s gun and lashed with a cat-o’-nine-tails.

Standard lashings (with the ‘Gunner’s Daughter being the exception) involve securing the receiver of punishment belly-up against the mast, or lying prone on the deck grating. In extreme cases, the entire crew sometimes participates, offering a stroke or two apiece, though depending on how many you’re employing, this may turn out to be a death sentence. The pain of the flogging is usually intensified by adding salt or brine to the open wounds.

Walking the Plank

A “classic,” if ever there was one; not included because I think you’re unfamiliar, but because I hardly think the list is complete without proper credit being paid. The offender may or may not be blindfolded, their hands are tied behind their back, and they’re made to walk overboard. Not actually as common a method as most think, but to call it well-known is quite the understatement.

Getting Clapped in Irons

We have manacles aboard, and this is a straightforward enough method of punishment.


Generally this is reserved for deserters, cowards, and their ilk; those who would flee during battle or perhaps steal or defraud the crew of a proper share of a reward. The offender, sometimes stripped naked, is abandoned without fresh water on a desert isle. A token of mercy is to be given- a firearm or knife; to withhold a means to a swift end is a special insult for the worst of offenders only.

Dueling by Sword & Pistol

The punishment for fighting between crew members is usually settled on land, where the antagonists are instructed to fight a duel with pistols at ten paces. If both persons miss their first shots, they are to immediately resort to swords, and the first party to draw blood is declared the winner.


This is one of the most feared punishments I’ll be mentioning here: a rope is passed under the ship from side to side as would be used for scraping barnacles off the ship’s keel, but the offender is attached to the rope and thrown overboard; the rope is pulled, forcing the offender underwater, beneath the ship’s hull, and finally back up the other side. Razor sharp barnacles will cut into the sailor like a saw’s edge, causing great pain, worsened by the salt of the sea. The victim might surface, gasping for air while being taunted by those on deck, and then be keelhauled again, returning the way he first came. This would likely be one of the slowest & most painful ways to be killed aboard ship, and I must tell you that someone surviving for more than a few days is a rare thing indeed; if drowning, hungry wildlife, or loss of blood don’t finish the victim off, the plethora of infected wounds likely would.


We’ll steer clear of discussion about this method; there’s not much to say, and it’s not a favorite topic of discussion for most. “It’s better to swim in the sea below, than to swing in the air and feed the crow,” as they say, but again, your call & yours alone.


This is not an area I will pretend to be comfortable with, but considering the benefits and the lack of innocent parties in our line of work, I can see how it may come to be too useful to ignore from time to time. That said, I must admit that I would still refrain from bringing it up at all, were I serving under the type of man to take more pleasure from the means than the ends.

Benefits Include:

  • Fostering a ruthless reputation
  • Making it clear that if surrender is not immediate, no quarter will be given, and no pain shall be spared.
  • Assists in locating hidden valuables among the passengers, and the main goal, should there be one.
  • In extreme cases, can be used as punishment or vengeance upon those harming the cause.

“Talk or be tortured” is best known as an irreversible truth, and all parties should be fully aware that no one is immune, should information be refused or withheld; this helps avoid unnecessary injury & damage to the crew, the ship, and the main goal or prize. It would be highly advisable to leave at least one survivor to spread the word, assuming that the talk of such things would not hurt our reputation with the wrong people or mar our backing.

Dunking from the Yard Arm

This was once a traditional ceremony when crossing the equator, and had hygienic benefits as well, considering how standard a procedure bathing tends to be on most ships; however, it could be repurposed quite easily into a method of interrogation or torture. A sailor (or in this case “victim”) is attached to a spar, which is hoisted high above the ocean & dunked repeatedly into the water; the victim is tied or somehow attached to the spar, so that their grip doesn’t have to be relied on when the shock of impact against the water comes into play.

Tying to the Mast

A very theatrical, but no doubt effective method of torture involves tying the victim to the main mast, their arms & legs extended at full length, putting them on display while also exposing them to the harshness of the elements. This has technically been used as a punishment, but I can’t imagine what it would rightfully be used for that doesn’t have an easier, but equally effective counterpart. The only practical downside you might find with this method would be seeing other ships on the open water; it seems to me that the colors we fly won’t grant us much favor if we’ve got a dying man at half-mast beneath them.

I found this one in described in a court transcript; the details were rather graphic, and I won’t be getting into them here, but an 18 year old male signed on to a merchant ship and was assigned duties as the Captain’s cabin boy. He was accused of stealing rum from the Captain’s quarters, and was whipped and pickled in brine before being tied to the mast for a total of nine days & nights; a bit drastic, if I might say so myself.


Fast and effective, though one of the most brutal methods in these pages; this technique is named for the binding of cords around the mast, as It requires only a short length of rope or cord positioned around the victims head. The ends of the rope are secured onto a length of wood that is continually twisted in a clockwise motion, thereby pulling the cord tighter and tighter against the victim’s temples until their eyes burst out of their skull. If information is not extracted before the end is reached, the next person in line for it is not likely to hold their tongue quite as fervently as their former colleague.

There you have it, Captain; I hope that it was an interesting, if not useful, read.

- Raz

Just Cause I Can, Doesn't Mean I Want To.

When we got to bed after the ambush I slept peacefully. That was until I was shouted awake by the captain. He was sitting there yelling at me saying that he was told that I was to blame for the damage to the ship and crew. Why is it they always blamed me? The only thing that I could say was that it wasn’t me.

When the hullabaloo was settled, the captain went into town to do something and I went about getting ready for the day. In a short while the captain came back with a cart and rickshaw and loaded the weapons up in the cart after the rickshaw was stowed below deck. We departed (and by we I mean me and the captain and the only reason I “got” to go with was for me to pull the cart). The captain then spent a good amount of time looking for a place to sell the arms, medallions and bodies of the trollkin. The taxidermist was found pretty easily, the following shops we needed to find were simple but the captain seemed to not be familiar with the city.

We ended up at my metalworking teacher. He bought the weapons to resell and directed the captain to another shop for the medallions. I stayed at the shop to work and the captain left telling me to bring the cart back. When I left I brought back the cart and went to bed. When I woke up we had gotten a job to do and we were waiting to hear back from the drunkard who showed up a little while later.

When we had cast off, it was a regular day and our friend Jerry had to come with due to the death of the other sea dog. It was without incident for most of the trip. There was a point when we were stopped by a Kadoran vessel. Their captain came aboard and was talking with the captain about what we were doing; he foolishly believed that the drunkard would be able to explain or talk about what we were doing. Unfortunately the captain doesn’t know about the issues that the Kadoran people have with Iosans. That is why when the search party found Myriss while the Kadoran captain was beating the drunkard, I was ready for a fight: no one is to harm her. The captain was immediately alarmed by it as well. He knew that the drunkard was a person who hadn’t made any friends but knew I wouldn’t allow Myriss to come to harm. They took the reasoning to heart and hit the drunkard and left.

We made landfall shortly after and as it was getting dark we went ashore to meet our contact. After we met him and he told us what we needed to do, it became troubling. We were to get in and get out with a girl. There was no info on the fort and the captain and the ex-military went to scout while there was still some light. After a little while, they came back and had no sure fire way to get in safely and didn’t want to have a fire fight with them. After a while, I came up with the idea to assault them from both sides with rifle fire and we go in the front gate while they are distracted. We then went about the getting ready and waited. As the first shot was fired we started running, getting fire from the man above the gate. Luckily we made it in before the gate closed; unfortunately we got in without a way out.

As soon as we got in, we were peppered with shots. I tried as hard as possible to keep up the others I was near. Then this large man wielding two weapons charged me and the captain. We both attacked him and he was haggard but he was still there. The next volley of shots took its toll on me and the captain but we also noticed that the person who foolishly charged us had fallen. The captain went forward and as he did I took the man on the side, and afterward went towards alcoves. I ran into a couple of people coming down the stairs. I felled one but was immediately dropped by the second’s sword. I started coughing blood but was met by Raz who helped me up and we had secured the courtyard. We waited for an hour then preceded into the inner fort. After a little searching, we came upon a large double doo. Raz and the captain opened it and immediately got hit by a thrust of spears. They were waiting for us and we fell for it. Right away Raz backed away and took some shots while the captain went in. Mryiss fired into the room and a return volley came from the room in pistol shots. I moved up and was too far away to do anything. We pushed our way into the room, the pistol wielding man kept dodging us and firing back but then Myriss shot him down.

We searched the room found some weapons and stuff. We also found a woman in the rear: the objective of us being her. Raz went to her and she didn’t want to go. The captain ushered me to get her. I tried but I don’t want to force a woman with excessive force. The captain came and grabbed her, then we went about searching the area and got what we needed, loaded up the cart they had and I was told to pull it. I wasn’t able to do that alone, luckily we found a donkey and we got things moving. We made it back to the ship and loaded it up and left. The woman was chained in the captain’s cabin. Our elf hating friend pulled up upon the ship. The fool was just a lackey trying to get a cut of whatever we are getting. He didn’t even search us again. We made it back and guess who had to carry everything and unload it: me!!! Afterwards I went to learn more metalworking while we wait to hear from our employer. We got paid after a few days and now we wait to see if we get more work…

Concerning the Two Bounties and the Accident
A series of entries from Razakael's journal.

Felt better today. Stood on night watch with the trollkin after my last entry- he didn’t seem to mind the company, silent as it was; I should look into learning some conversational phrases in his tongue, if I can find some time between my work and my current mechanika studies. Myriss & the Ogrun were awake long before I was, considering my heading to bed near sunrise; they used that time to pick up a few items in the market, and suggested a couple jobs they’d seen on the bounty board.

The two options were Slippery Floyd & a prison guard turned-deserter named Valerie, but Floyd was worth more and requested dead, which in my eyes seemed to be somewhat more cut & dry than the deserter bounty, where the option was not only given, but the reward halved should she be returned dead. We split up to try our luck at gleaning some information concerning his whereabouts, Myriss & the Ogrun opting to ask around town, while I chose to see what I could gather through eavesdropping at the seediest bar I know; I ended up getting very little in the way of useful information, which made what happened next much less irritating & much more humorous, though I don’t want to think of how things could’ve turned out had the barflies been less drunk- the two thieves had had better luck than I, and it was apparently decided that the Ogrun would be the one to walk into the bar to fetch me. “Raz!” he roared, silencing the rowdy group of drunks and even making a few brawlers forget they’d been fighting just moments before, “time to go!” With a different crowd, it might have been amusing watching all eyes go from the imposing figure in the doorway, tracing the line between us all the way back to the corner I sat in. “Time to go” indeed. In the end, I’m glad that the only negative results involved the now-certain failure of my gleaning attempts.

Myriss pried some information out of one of Floyd’s ex-crewmen (with the help of her massive friend, and the threat of massive fists, I’ve come to expect), which led us to the Market Street docks; an old friend of Floyd’s had set anchor there for a time, to pick up some supplies for a run. Upon finding the ship (after an odd sort of reverse-bribing of the dockmaster, and Myriss posing as the ship wench of our vessel), the Ogrun took it upon himself to take point, which turned out just as one might expect. (Poorly.) He attempted to blend in, pretending to be a crew member; he picked up a bag of flour, took it on board, and was almost instantly stopped by the captain. I can’t imagine what might have tipped him off first… given the options of “towering Ogrun I don’t remember hiring” or “crewman with bloodied armor and an even bloodier warhammer.” The whole crew had weapons drawn; first on our companion, and shortly thereafter on Myriss & myself as well, as we were near the bottom of his gangplank at this time. With some luck, and some previous experience with men of the captain’s nature, I was able to straighten things out; our lives will be at least another day longer, and it happened that the captain, while a good friend of Floyd, did have some bad blood with the man- it should be noted that even those that could be seen to have a more despicable nature do still have a code of honor & ethics, and that when dealing as, or with, such individuals, one should avoid fraudulent business transactions.

The plan went as follows: We were allowed passage on the captain’s ship, one-way; once he met up with Floyd’s ship, we would board & commandeer the vessel, sailing it back to port, keeping the body for our bounty and handing the ship & its contents over to the captain who gave us passage. My companions thought that the deal was unfair, and while a part of me heartily agreed, it was reason that held power over my tongue; better to split the five hundred gold from the bounty, than to split nothing at all- without this arrangement, we would not only be unable to travel to Floyd’s location, but we would be unable to discover it as well. The captain made out “like a bandit” (nauseatingly fitting, or I would have avoided the phrase altogether, I assure you), but it was that deal or none at all, and all of this was worked out after our lives had just been spared, making things seem just a bit sweeter. This did require us to find someone who can sail, but that worked out rather well actually- we found an ex-captain, running a failing business (sailing instruction, but some fool crashed his ship) who was willing to come along for a price. I ended up offering him twenty gold crowns up front, twenty more upon our arrival back at Five Fingers, and to put in a good word for him with Captain Kage, in case he’d be interested in some steady, seafaring work afterwards. I was careful to bring each of these things up in a specific fashion, so I might see what made the man tick; this turned out to be a good idea, as the money, nor the ship seemed to phase him, while the mention of steady work at sea made him lose composure for a brief moment. (Nice when these things actually prove to be beneficial, and not just worthless precautions.)

Ordic military vessels escorted us for the first two days, likely due to the bounty having been placed by one of their number. Such a waste of resources can only mean that Floyd managed to piss off some aristocrat’s whelp who thinks he’s earned his uniform.

For the length of the three day voyage, the Ogrun & his “handler,” as the captain & crew began to refer to her as, were forced to stay below deck, due to the poor first impressions they’d made. The only exceptions to this rule were made on the final day when preparations for the commandeering of Floyd’s vessel required some very heavy lifting, and of course during the attack itself. I was (thankfully) given as close as one can get to free-roam of the area, and while I did make sure to check on the two forced to stay below, I was able to spend a good deal of time on deck, feeling the breeze & the salt-spray, and finding what solace I could in the view of the open water. Every trip below deck ended up involving the examination of the Ogrun, I regret to say; he’s been sleeping in his armor, which led to the development of some serious sores- I recommended he take off the armor while sleeping, which I’m happy to add has fixed the problem almost in its entirety. He needs some new pads to replace the worn ones in his armor, and more than anything, he needs some damn clothing; every time I examined him, he was wearing a dirty loincloth and nothing else- I’ll be bringing up the need of at least a pair of pants to Captain Kage when he’s done sequestering himself in his quarters.

For the attack & commandeering, we smuggled our warhammer-toting cargo over to the other ship’s deck, planning on giving him some heavy covering fire where it was needed once he’d surprised the crew & jumped into the fray. My appetite for battle was, however, quite quickly soured once I saw the Jack on board. “Shit,” I muttered- what else was there to say at this point in the plan? Looking back, I do wonder if anyone heard my cursing as the head of the first crewman’s head exploded into bone shards & bloody mist on Floyd’s deck- Myriss had taken the first shot, and made it a magically silenced one (apparently she can do that), so the sounds of the shot itself & all of the aftermath, up to & including the thud of corpse-on-deck, were as absent as a politician’s good intentions. It was a hard battle, and I almost fell when Floyd himself came within melee distance of my person (NOTE: Purchase a bayonet before sundown), but we made it through in the end without casualties- even our ex-captain friend did quite a bit of fighting, and he hadn’t even been paid to do so. We made it back to port without incident, and while our hire put forth a goodly amount of effort attempting to train me in the ways of sailing, I had a bit of a struggle taking it all in; ironic, as I can easily do anything but the actual sailing. I’m going to learn this. (Next on the list after I finish my research on mechanika.)

We lost one hundred crowns on the bounty, due to his condition on arrival; though he was only specified as needing to be dead, his head was unfit for the wall of the man who was offering the bounty, the desk clerk said- I still wish this statement had phased me. Glad to have my honorable discharge… The three of our crew took equal shares of the bounty, after the removal of the twenty crowns for our sailor with an extra five as a bonus for his assistance in combat (and to round out the figures for the rest of us); he’s currently in his shop awaiting my appearance, as I’ve agreed to inform him when the captain has a moment to discuss the possibility of employment. I’ll be wrapping this up for now, so I can make my purchases in town.


It appears that Myriss has done some homework, and come up with some information on the other bounty- the prison guard-deserter Valerie. She’s apparently a long-haired brunette, now working in the red light district. She says she has an idea that would allow us to capture her alive with minimal risk; I’m off to hear this idea and discuss the details. More later.


That took several hours longer than expected, and I’m still less than pleased with the outcome. Myriss’s brilliant plan: I solicit Valerie’s “services,” tell her that I wish to chain her in manacles before ravaging her, and then instead, escort her over to the prison. The most obnoxious thing about this detestable plan is that, once I’d heard it, I couldn’t think of anything nearly so likely to work- bloody ingenious, and planning is supposed to be my area of expertise. I tried to explain to the two of them that I wouldn’t be able to play such a part in the plan, but I don’t think they understand the concept behind a personal code of honor, or at least they were unhappy to hear that it would throw a wrench into the best plan we had available to us; I’m already not the type to go chasing skirts or visiting the red light district, so the notion that I would be able to do such a thing and then propose the playing out of a bondage fantasy- real or not- would be akin to a walk in the park was indescribably absurd. We’ve… well, we’ve settled on another plan that… it at least involves our offering a helpful service with the benefit of an ulterior motive, but if everything goes to plan, the only one benefiting from our services will be our target. Tomorrow we head over to enact our clever ruse.


I do not wish to discuss the events of today. Two brothels, twenty eight ladies of the evening, and the only one named Valerie has been practicing her trade for nearly a decade. I have seen and done things today… that I do not wish to discuss. I have sanitized myself using the hottest water I could stand and as much alcohol as I could spare from my medical supplies. I am going to bed.


We tracked our target to a warehouse being patrolled by a pair of Trollkin, and stayed all of last night waiting for an opportune moment to strike; around twenty minutes after sunrise (after watching a large number of armed men find their way to the warehouse doors), Myriss spotted Valerie walking out with a trio of Trollkin; we tailed her to Beggars Cove, until she climbed up an embankment and went out of sight. Myriss tried to climb up after her, but was apparently spotted or heard; I quickly aimed & shot twice at Valerie’s arm, in an attempt to break her grip of Myriss or at least give my ally a window of opportunity to remove Valerie’s blade from her throat. Regrettably, the blade was removed by Valerie herself as she slit her own throat; Myriss said, soon after making her way back down to us, that she had said “I’m not going back- I’d rather die than go back” before she had taken her life. Two hundred gold it is; quite a shame that it turned out this way- for us, certainly, but for her as well. We split the bounty seventy-seventy-sixty, as the Ogrun didn’t do much but wait around on this one. (Myriss seemed irritated by this, but accepted the proposition with only a sarcastic remark of disapproval, so I’m guessing the extra few crowns were tempting- I believe she’s made plans to purchase better armor, so that would make sense.) That brings our second bounty to a full close. I could definitely use some rest, so I’ll likely be staying on board if those two decide to look for another job tomorrow.


Shouldnt be writing right now, need to wrest & avoid straning my eyes. riting witheyes closed- Need to make a log of this. Trollkin attacked tonight, ’avenging Valerie" they said. Bullshit they know she took her own life the Orgun said so to Myrisamintue ago. Felcaller was last left` I was beaten, bloodied, dazed, but had Myris traped below. Got an angle, shot the bastard shriieked loud enogh to knock me out. Dont remmmber falling just standing & then on the ground. Peice of shit burst a vessel in my rght eyee. Was awake to watch half the world go blakc. Hope hell existss so Val & her friends can fucking rot there.


Concerning the Ruins, the Gatormen, and the Crew.
An entry from Razakael's journal.

So. “Things have been getting more interesting” is a great way to understate the events of the last several days, and as I have no better all-encompassing statement coming to mind, that will be the one I’m going to stick with. Just finished with the second (of what will hopefully be many) jobs aboard The Calhoon, this time serving with its new captain, one Theradin Kage; a bit blunt, and quite cold at times, but he certainly fits the role well (and honestly, the coldness is usually warranted). The mechanika housing that the cutthroat & I found is still being kept safe in the captain’s cabin at this time; Capt. Kage & I had it appraised at a local shop, who gave us a market value of 120 gold and let us know that the maker, “T.C.,” whoever that happens to be, is a master craftsman, so now we know the quality of the item is impeccable and have decided to hold on to it for the time being.

One particularly important thing that I learned on our outing together is that I know next to nothing about mechanika- I’ll be making a point of researching it between excursions, especially if it can help my accuracy or damage in combat; thus far, I’ve only seen things relating to melee, but if there are ranged weapons or perhaps scopes, or even sets of light armor of greater benefit than my current custom set, I would have more to save for than ammunition & rations. After that “rifle & ammo” business last week (which I shan’t be discussing in detail due to its embarrassing nature), I’ve found that my only failing seems to be the ability to deliver the killing blow. Many were greatly injured thanks to my marksmanship, but after three battles (an ambush in a bog, an attack on some Gatormen holding the ruins our drunkard “friend” needed access to, and an attack later that night through which I still managed to successfully cook everyone’s fish-dinner), only two fell to my shots; not anything to fuss about, considering the benefits gained by my leadership skills in combat & the effectiveness of my marksmanship in general, but still a slight blow to my morale, though I’d never voice that to the others. The custom greatcoat has now been tested & proven to be quite useful, at least. Ten shots, last time… some damned military professional- never again. Well fantastic. Just spoke of it after saying I wouldn’t… Ink has hit paper though, so there it stays, I suppose.

Perhaps I should write about our somewhat motley gang… I hesitate to call it a crew at this point, though I know the term is technically accurate; we work well enough together when fighting for our lives or hunting for valuables, it seems, but we don’t know each other well enough yet to feel like a real team. The gunmage & the Ogrun mostly keep to themselves (as do I, to be entirely fair), the captain has a ship & the so-far strangers on board to be concerned with, and the drunkard has thus far wandered away alone during our first mission together, openly mocked the Ogrun, and led us into an ambush; that one may have a deathwish, or at least that’s what his every interaction with our group has led me to believe.

Captain Kage & I have spent a good deal of time together thus far; partly this is because of my skills as a navigator and my interest in the details of my work, but I do believe that I’m leaving a good impression on him- I’ve been made privy to what seems to be a great deal of sensitive information (especially for such a small vessel), and most of it wasn’t due to my expertise. The man is clearly not the trusting type, even when compared to the wisest of Five Fingers’ residents, so I choose to take this as a compliment- even if I were not the man of honor that I work so diligently to be, I would not betray this man’s secrets, even to quill & page (or especially to quill and page, given the two thieving-types on board- one of which I’m sure can read). Then again, even if I were the type to be tempted to make an opportunity of such sensitive, possibly lucrative information, I fancy myself as intelligent enough to know the type to hold a grudge when I see them, and I’ve seen this man fight- even the “explorer” would be hesitant, I’d wager.

Speaking of… the drunkard saved my life during our first fight in the bog, this last trip; a Gatorman dazed me and brought me dangerously close to falling unconscious (in a bog, with water up to my waist- perhaps one of the last places I would choose to be unconscious, were I ever to so graciously be given the option), and yet, I found myself protected by a translucent shield of some sort when one of our attackers tried to take a bite out of my face; I’m all for character-building battle wounds, but I’m more grateful than not to have cheeks & a nose after that incident. …However, I feel it should still be noted that the one who saved me is also the one who lead us into the ambush that almost ended my life in the first place, but I did survive to fight another day. I can forgive it considering who, exactly, I put my trust in to lead us safely through such a place (as much my own fault as his), but I won’t be forgetting that ambush, and I won’t be letting my guard down when the lush is taking point. How I could allow myself to make poor choices such as these, I can’t begin to fathom… but then again, my old leadership left much to be desired, so perhaps it’s because I’ve become too used to following fools into dangerous situations with less-than-adequate supplies? Hopefully, if this is the case, it won’t take long to wake myself up & remember the training I worked so hard to master.

The Ogrun. I believe his name is Thrak, but until I hear it confirmed, I refuse to refer to him by name- it seems rude, I’m sure, but I feel it to be less demeaning than calling him by the wrong name. Some might disagree (as “some” are always wont to do), but it’s not as if we have a large group at the moment, and if there’s going to be a misconception, I’d rather it appear as if I don’t care to learn his name or anyone else’s, rather than that I know it, but purposely say it wrong to disrespect him- the lesser of two evils, as it were. At least this way, when I start calling him by name, the perception will be that I care more than I did before, instead of it appearing as if I’ve decided to stop being some sort of arrogant prick- avoiding the repeating of past mistakes, etc. It likely works well enough, as I don’t really call anyone by name outside of these pages at this point. Oh- the two of us had a “knife throwing competition” recently… when he first suggested it on deck, I asked him if he had any knives, as I had none; he rather quickly realized that he didn’t either, and wandered off for a time. When he returned some time later, he carried with him an over-sized butcher’s knife- blunt, silver-plated, and I would have thought clearly decorative in nature. This cleaver which was almost immediately sent flying in the direction of the mast; he missed by a few feet, in his excitement, and the cleaver flew past the mast and the bow as well, landing somewhere in the moonlit water, lost to its owner for good and all. He was rather distraught, and though I feel a slight pang of guilt recalling my relief, I don’t believe that I could have thrown the massive decorative piece very well, and I don’t know that I would have wanted to do any damage to the ship even if I could have made the toss. I called after my distraught opponent, congratulating him on his win, which I’m happy to say, cheered him up quite a bit for a moment… I would continue to say that I’m glad that in the end, the ship hadn’t taken any damage, but alas, in his haste, the Ogrun broke a section of railing in an effort to keep himself from falling overboard. (I’m guessing he can’t swim, or he would have taken a running dive to save his newly-found prize, and I would have found it much more difficult to forfeit.) The ruckus brought the gunmage and the captain above deck in turn and started the drunk with his mocking laughter, and after taking a moment to check on the Ogrun & see if my medical kit would need to be brought out of my quarters (luckily unnecessary), I bade everyone present a good night and excused myself for a rest and a good chuckle at the whole situation- our large friend isn’t the brightest on board, but he certainly has the build required to handle whatever he gets himself into, whether that means close-quarters combat or running headlong into ship’s railing.

The gunmage’s name is Myriss; I’ve heard the Ogrun say it before, and he’s not exactly quiet by nature. I call her “miss” at this point, not only because of the scarcity of our interactions and my admitted (here, at least) social ineptitude with women in general, but because the Ogrun is very attached to her (as she is to him) and I’d rather not risk ruffling any feathers, especially considering the likelihood of a violent end, should my intentions be misunderstood (given the tempestuous nature of the large metaphorical bird involved). Again, I call no one by name at this point, and it seems awkward & improper to start with her, of all people, rather than someone like the captain or the Ogrun himself, whom I’ve had much more social contact with. Hell, as far as these people know, “Raz” is my full name, and not something shortened for the sake of efficiency, should we need to relay information during combat- it doesn’t seem quite right to call others by name when they don’t even truly know my own. (Not that anyone gets the damned pronunciation right once they know it, so this is best for now, I say.) We had one conversation on the rigging as we travelled to the bog & ruins, another after the cleaver incident, and I believe a third at some point, though I can’t recall when; what I can say with great certainty, is that they were extremely short (though not curt) and mostly pertained to the asking & answering of questions (usually one per conversation, such as “where, exactly, are we going, and when will we be arriving?” or “what happened, and why is he laying on the deck howling!?” et cetera…) I don’t know much about her, other than that she’s a good shot and her ammunition costs one hell of a lot more than mine. Also, she’s not the typical girly-type; if I believed in any gods, I might be thanking them for that. Oh! Almost forgot to mention- I don’t trust her. Mostly because I don’t know much about her background, but also because what I do know is that she’s of a thieving sort- a good eye for valuables & opportunities, it seems to me, though hard evidence may be lacking. Note: If you’re reading this right now, you have absolutely no right to be offended, for what should be made fairly obvious by your current actions & whereabouts, miss. Private journal entries generally being private and all.

The cutthroat’s name is the only one that I legitimately have no idea about. So far, I’ve managed to get away with “hey” and “you,” and other such things; if he volunteered his name at some point, I missed it. He went missing a few days ago, so he wasn’t present for the last outing, and I’m not entirely sure he’s even going to be part of the crew at this point, but as he & I have arranged to take equal shares of any profits that come of the mechanika housing’s sale, I feel he’s significant enough to warrant a few lines of description here. Hopefully we’ll be working with him in the future, if we see him again; from what I remember of the fight in the chamber that said housing was discovered in, I’d rather have him fighting with us.

Captain, Drunkard, Ogrun, “Miss,” and… the cutthroat. That leaves myself, still, though it does feel a bit selfish to even take a bit at the end, given that everything here is written from my own perspective with what would seem to be enough information to suffice upon my re-reading of what I have so far. Still, recent events and social happenings aside, I feel the need to write about how I’m doing- how I’m feeling; in short, more serious & pensive than usual… more angry & hopeless than usual as well. It’s a relief to be out of the military, at least; to be with people who can take care of their own damn survival, with someone of a higher rank that earned it with talent instead of “a generous donation to the cause”… I won’t have to etch the captain’s name onto a damned gold piece to remember how he reached his position, and it’s been far too long since I’ve been able to say that; if I had no other reason to stay aboard, a worthy commanding officer would still be enough. It’s great that I have the talent that I do when it comes to leading others in battle, and it’s great that I’m the marksman that I am, but only a small fraction of that is due to the initial drive that brought me to service in the first place… all of those people. All of those damn people who died under my leadership until I got it right. All of those thrice-damned people who died after I got it right… the orders came from the know-nothing assholes above me, sure, so why does it feel like it’s my fault those young men who died before knowing the love of a woman? Why does it feel like I’m to blame when a father never sees his son again? Why do I have to be the one who carries all of this? I was the one who tried to keep them alive, not the one who sent them to die, and I sure as hell didn’t do what I did on the chance that I’d get to brag about it if I succeeded. I don’t think I refuse to call the lush by name because I disrespect him, so much as because I’m envious; I wish I could numb myself to this hell that I put myself through, day after day. Through all of this, I can’t bring myself to drown in alcohol, and for some reason I don’t want to end my own life, and for all of the academia or all of the training I have, I can’t figure out why I want to be here so badly- why I haven’t just let it happen in one fight or another, at the very least. The only two things I have left that keep me sane- the only places I feel alive anymore, and the only places where I don’t feel like I’m going to think myself to death- are on the deck of a sailing ship and, in what I can only think is a sick twist of irony, on the battlefield. Killing the living to forget about my being responsible for the deaths of the living? It’s fighting to find peace. What a sick joke…

This turned darker than I’d intended- now I really hope no one’s reading. In any case, I should wrap this up. Just as well, the ink is running low. Late now, and the dimness of the light in here isn’t helping my mood. Not sleeping tonight. Heading up on deck, more later.


We go where the work is.

When I awoke the next day, the newly elected captain and the rest of the “crew” had left to some place. Myriss wanted to go into town to try and find a shop to get a new magelock weapon; she had gotten too close to the fighting for the both of our liking. It took a while but we found someone that needed to get a rifle with a scope off his hands and was looking for a pistol. We then went to get myself a smaller hammer; the maul that I was using was too large for confined areas and I need to make sure I was able to protect her in any situation. I found one pretty quickly due to the fact that it is a common commodity.

By the time we had gotten back to the ship, the rest of the crew had gotten back and the captain was in his quarters. So Myriss went to talk to him while I was left alone on the deck. I walked over to Raz and challenged him to a throwing contest. Unfortunately both of us had no items capable of being used, so I went to collect one that we could use. As I wandered about, I realized that I wasn’t sure where I should get it and wandered into a store that had a exquisite throwing sized cleaver that was completely made of silver. The tag said it was five G so I immediately went to purchase it and the store clerk told me that it was labeled wrong and that the price was 25G. I was upset that it was so much and I showed my displeasure at this, then was told that he would give me a deal on it if I promised to be there the next time that he asked me to be. I took the deal and left to go win the contest.

When I had returned to the ship, everyone had went to bed except Raz and the drunk. So I went to him and said that the target was the mast. I threw with all my might and it flew by the mast. I ran to chase it and then I saw the water and tried to stop as I slid into the railing. Next thing I knew, the crew was around me and the captain was yelling at Myriss about making sure that I behave, the drunk was laughing and Raz was saying that he didn’t have anything to do with it. Myriss yelled at me about following her and to not do anything else that would be a problem.

As everyone left, the drunk was still there laughing, so I walked over to him and pulled him up to talk to him. He tells me I should have used a rope. If that was the case, why not tell me. He then starts to not make sense and was just making me angry. If he wasn’t the reason for us having a job and I wasn’t already in trouble, he wouldn’t have been laughing for long.

I was awakened by a couple of sea dogs walking the gangplank up to the ship. I went and stopped them at the railing and they said they were here to crew the ship for us. I told them to wait till the captain got here and called out for him. He came up, greeted them, told them where to bunk and that we were about to set out.

We went to the island that was to be our destination. We made it there without incident and we had to be rowed to shore. When we started walking, it was just a bog. Not pleasant to walk through. A couple of people almost fell into deeper parts of the bog as we walked, so we had to start being more careful. The next thing we know the drunk leads us into a trap set by some lizard men. Luckily Myriss spotted them before we had fallen in completely. Between the two of us, most of the lizards fell. We found a couple things that we could use or sell. We decided to move into the island interior and after awhile we made it to some ruins. This time we were the ones that had the opportunity to use surprise to our advantage and we moved into position and attacked. After a frenzied battle, we looked around the ruins with the rest of daylight and made camp in the sturdiest of the structures.

After about an hour a group of lizard men attacked us. We quickly dispatched them and went to bed. The next day we left the island and returned home. Myself and Myriss went to restock our supplies after we got paid. We then set off towards the bounty boards.

Our First Mission
Never smile at a crocodile

When I returned to the ship from shopping in town, the new Captain had accepted a job offer from someone I didn’t know. He agreed to take Thrak and I on as temporary crew with the possibility of earning a permanent position. I spent the night down in the crew’s quarters replacing the ammo I had used during our job for the now dead ex-captain. The next morning I awoke to the ship moving. I went to the deck and asked Raz where we were headed. He explained that Vasquief had an employer that wanted him to retrieve something. We were hired to escort him. How Vasquief had an employer was beyond me, but a job is a job.

Eventually we arrived at a boggy island. With Vasquief and the Captain leading, we marched through the bog. It was hard to see and we often lost our footing in areas with deceiving deep water. Suddenly we heard a loud crack in the air and decided to investigate the cause. As we moved closer to where the noise had come, from we discovered a shrine and I spotted an alligator approaching. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by alligators. Although many of us, including myself, took a few hard hits, we managed to defeat the gators. The others searched the corpses and discovered on of the items we were looking for. We only needed one other now.

We continued on until we saw a small town in ruins. Only a gate between two crumbling towers still stood in one piece. The Captain pulled out his spyglass and spotted a few more gators lurking on the outskirts of the ruins. Raz and I fired the first round, injuring two of the alligators. The rest swarmed forward, with more appearing from behind the ruined buildings. We were in for another tough fight. The Captain made a strong swing with his weapon, slicing the alligator that Raz had shot clear in half. The battle was fierce and many of us almost fell unconscious. Somehow we managed to defeat them all.

We searched the ruins and found the second item that Vasquief was looking for. But other than that we didn’t find anything useful. We ate and rested for the night but were ambushed by more alligator’s. There were only five and we easily dispatched them and rested for the rest of the night. In the morning as we packed up, Raz noticed that the shield the alligators were using all had the crest of Cygnar. I had heard there was a country by that name, but didn’t know anything else.

The trip back to Five Fingers was thankfully uneventful. I already used to much ammo on this job. When we got to port, the Captain, Vasquief, and Raz took care of collecting payment for the job. Afterwards, the Captain came back to collect some things to price in the market as well as pay us. Thrak and I went into town to buy more ammo materials and look at the bounty board.


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