save

.vscode/settings.json

@@ -1,5 +1,6 @@
 {
     "cSpell.words": [
+        "abustle",
         "Alfie",
         "Almuth",
         "beholderkin",
@@ -33,6 +34,7 @@
         "Iggwilv",
         "illithid",
         "Illuskan",
+        "Illuskans",
         "Karmel",
         "Laeral",
         "mindflayer",
@@ -41,19 +43,23 @@
         "Mindwitnesses",
         "Mithril",
         "Monoeye",
+        "Moonshae",
         "Moradin",
         "Mystra",
         "Necromaniac",
         "nelist",
         "Neverwinter",
         "Northlander",
+        "Northlanders",
         "planeswalker",
         "pranking",
         "Pteey",
         "Ramel",
         "ropish",
+        "Ruathen",
         "Ruathym",
         "Rumbar",
+        "Sahuagin",
         "scrying",
         "Silverhand",
         "teleporter",

acl.cool/site/draft/umbral3.dj

@@ -4,26 +4,38 @@ The island-city of Ruathym lies midway between Waterdeep and the first expanses
 
 Our brave heroes find themselves on a ferry ship, bound for that cold speck of rock, to do the work of their mission's latest leg. In compromise with Almuth's Goddess, the party decided to undertake vanquishment of the Cyclone--- odd even among its eight fellows, and against whom preparation has proved difficult--- on the heels of their victory over the [Witness](/writings/umbral2/). It is something of a blow then that Almuth himself should not be present today[^almuth], engaged as he is, otherwise, with clerical business of a higher priority. Warren too is missing; he tends to obligations[^warren] amongst his dwarven kin under Fourthpeak. The beholder on which the party now sets its sights waits in blue water, west even of Ruathym, where it foments a vortex of thin-drawn thunderheads that hammer spumy, livid coils into the Trackless Sea.
 
-The ferry captain--- a halfling who introduced himself on land as "Ramel"--- ventures a question. What do outsiders seek on the island of Ruathym, so notorious a skerry for its people's disdain toward just such mainland-dwellers? He catches looks of confusion that flits about the faces of the party members and, seeing that they may not quite comprehend the situation into which they will soon disembark, gives a short lesson. Ramel explains that the inhabitants of Ruathym are an Illuskan people who make their way by raiding settlements of the isles and nearby Coast. They believe in their own rightful mastery of the Sword Coast's northern reaches, and long for the day that they can take it _back_ by force. Concomitantly, mingling is ill-advised.
+The ferry captain--- a halfling who introduced himself on land as "Ramel"--- ventures a question. What could outsiders seek on the island of Ruathym, so notorious a skerry for its people's disdain toward just such mainland-dwellers? He catches looks of confusion that flit about the party members' faces and, seeing that they don't quite comprehend the situation into which they will soon disembark, gives a short lesson. Ramel explains that the inhabitants of Ruathym are an Illuskan people who make their way by raiding nearby settlements of the Sword Coast and Moonshae Isles[^moonshae]. They believe in their own rightful mastery over all the lands touched by the sea's northern reaches, and long for the day that they will take them _back_ by force. Concomitantly, mingling is ill-advised.
 
 Though freshly uneasy, the party is--- of course--- not dissuaded; a mission is a mission, after all. They share the immediate tenets of their quest, to see the Sea of Swords ridded of the monstrous storm. As the ship pulls upon the near dock of Ruathym, its captain bids his charges well, but before the party departs, they ask for directions to the nearest place with ships for hire--- this dock is sparely populated indeed--- and learn that a greater port lies north across the island. They receive one last piece of advice: if it is to brave the storm that you desire, seek Hergotha the Storm Maiden, Chieftess of the Ruathym people; none are her equal in the art of conquering storm-lashed seas. Carmel casts "seeming" over the party, working from Ramel's description of the locals, which should lubricate their interactions considerably.
 
-As the bard works his magic, the forms of the party members are like running wax molded into burly raiders by the arcane hand. Carmal is inhumanly muscular; Gottlob gets a handlebar _moustache_. Louisa and Clementine, unfortunately, are beyond the capability of the spell to disguise as human, and so reduced to regular livestock: an unadorned llama and a horse.
+As the bard works his magic, the forms of the party members are like running wax molded into burly raiders by the arcane hand. Carmal is inhumanly muscular; Gottlob gets a handlebar _moustache_. Louisa and Clementine, unfortunately, are beyond the capability of the spell to disguise as human, and so reduced to regular livestock: a horse, and a llama with a perm.
 
-Striding over the gangway and on, to the island proper, adventurers _incognito_ make set their sights on a sharp band of hills that separates the narrow jetty whereby the party laid anchor from the rest of Ruathym to the north and west. Grime and gravel, tiny, abandoned shells, and the dried droppings of seabirds make gritty complaints against boots that trample them into bare stone. Beds of shale turn to tufts of grass, then to scraggly fields that gather like skirts at the bases of the keen protuberances. A half-orc barrels by, his plate armor and stunted tusks gleaming; he reflects a smattering of caustic speckles. The warrior shouts breathlessly to the party, "What are you lot taking your time for?!", before disappearing over the crest of a hill at the base of which our heroes have just arrived.
+Striding over the gangway and onward to land, adventurers _incognito_ set their sights on a band of hills separating the narrow harbor in which the party laid anchor from the rest of Ruathym to the north and west. Grime and gravel, tiny, abandoned shells, and the dried droppings of seabirds make gritty complaints against trampling boots that grind them into stones underfoot. Further on, beds of shale turn to tufts of grass, then to scraggly fields that gather like skirts around clusters of sharp-but-stubby protuberances that form the body of the island. As the party reaches a hill-base and begins to climb, a heavily armored half-orc barrels past at angles; his unpolished half-plate and stunted tusks return stratus-filtered sunlight as a dull gleam. The warrior shouts as he passes, his words punctuated with laboured breaths--- "What are you lot loitering over here for? There's a battle on!"--- before disappearing 
 
-Following the half-orc's path, the party peers tentatively over the crest to see a sort of temporary military encampment below, abustle with the agitations of battle. A second hill lies at the other side, forming a shallow sort of valley that nestles the ramshackle complex in a grassy depression amidst boulders covered with moss--- in other circumstances, the place might be considered cozy. From their vantage point, the party can make out faint sounds of metal clashing on metal and a tenor of conflict described in shouted fragments that circumnavigate the earthen barrier yonder. They investigate, climbing down and up again to crest the second hill{%something other than "hill"%}, whereupon the source of the clamour becomes clear.
+Following the half-orc's path, the party peers tentatively over the crest to see a sort of temporary military encampment below, abustle with the agitations of battle. A second hill lies at the other side, forming a shallow sort of valley that nestles the ramshackle complex in a grassy depression amidst boulders covered with moss--- in other circumstances, the place might be considered cozy. From their vantage point, the party can make out faint sounds of metal clashing on metal and a tenor of conflict described in shouted fragments that circumnavigate the earthen barrier yonder. They investigate, careful steps carrying them down and up once again to the the second hill's crest{%something other than "hill"%}, and the source of the clamour becomes clear.
 
-A skirmish indeed rages before them, fish people[^fishes] and Illuskans at each other's throats. Laeral mentioned something about this, that the beating of the cyclone upon the sea has displaced its people, people who clearly now struggle to find living spaces, deprived as they are of their habitual territories. The islanders, for their part, strike at the newfound foes with relish, an attitude in accordance with their fearsome reputation. Though possessing an impressive array of martial skills and implements of war between them, none of the Ruathen is so conspicuous, in dress or in action, as to be taken for the sought "Storm Maiden".
+A skirmish indeed rages before them, fish people[^fishes] and Illuskans at each other's throats. Laeral mentioned something about this, that the beating of the cyclone upon the sea has displaced its people, people who clearly now struggle to find living spaces, deprived as they are of their habitual territories. The islanders, for their part, strike at the newfound foes with relish, their attitude in accordance with their fearsome reputation. Though possessing an impressive array of martial skills and implements of war between them, none of the Ruathen[^rua-demo] is so conspicuous, in dress or in action, as to be taken for the "Storm Maiden" our heroes seek.
 
-Beyond the party's position lies the sea; to the left and right, more hills extend in lateral rows. Upon a neighboring prominence, a fur-clad Illuskan woman slings bolts of thunder upon her enemies from on high which she seems to pluck from the sky, to mold from the very air itself. This, _surely_, is Hergotha. Voicing the intention to his companions, Carmal "sends" a telepathic message, "I have a team that can defeat the fish and put an end to this storm; meet us on the hill." Gottlob waves his arms about in an effort to draw the storm maiden's gaze and clarify just what hill she is to meet them upon. With surprising composure given the sudden voice in her head, the Chieftess looks about; her eyes find the party's signals, and she bounds clear over the fray in a triplet of mighty leaps to land with no greater impact than a speck of nest-fallen down before them.
+A sandy escarpment gives on from the party's position to the sea; further hills make a row to the left and right. On the peak of a neighboring prominence, an Illuskan woman, clad in steel among a zoo's worth of monster pelts, slings bolts of thunder upon her enemies from on high, plucking hard implements of violence from seemingly empty air. This, _surely_, is Hergotha. Voicing his intention to those near, Carmal "sends" a telepathic message to the warrior. "I have a team that can defeat the fish and put an end to this storm; come, meet us on the hill." Gottlob waves his arms about to draw the storm maiden's gaze, thus clarifying just what hill she is to meet them upon. With a creditable lack of agitation in the face of Carmal's disembodied urging, the Chieftess looks around; her eyes find the satyr's signal, and she bounds clear over the fray in a triplet of mighty leaps to land before them with no greater impact than a speck of nest-fallen down.
+
+After confirming that the party has indeed located the Storm Maiden, Carmel puts to her their plan--- they require a ship and a skilled captain who can master the unnatural storm; in return, they will furnish the expertise and strength of arms to defeat its creator. Hergotha listens, but a pallor of displeasure overtakes her features as the bard speaks. She interrupts. "Why would I or my kin want to put an _end_ to this glorious battle!? We haven't had this much fun in ages! What kind of northlander would even suggest such a thing?" Carmal and the party rejoin.
+
+> Glorious this battle is, but does it not grow monotonous, too? Would it not be still _more_ glorious--- more _fun_--- to vanquish the monster lurking in the typhoon's eye? The people of Ruathym suffer here--- no great tragedy--- but surely their lives would be better spent in righteous conquest of the northern irredenta, better used to crush the armies of Waterdeep.
+
+At this, the Chieftess' skepticism is is gone, and a new vigor suffuses her being. She gives directions to the wharf whereat her warriors moor their ships and bids the party meet her there--- she has some quick business to attend to before they depart. The skirmish seems to be wrapping up--- in the Northlanders' favor, which suits the plan nicely--- but the party does not descend to the battlefield; they head away, yet farther north, whither Hergotha bade.
+
+Arriving at the wharf, our heroes find a vast and varied array of ships. Stately galleons preside over twitching clippers that bob in devolved wavelets of the storm-agitated sea. The vessels and the trappings of their berths enjoy conditions that strike the party as incongruous with the general state of shabbiness that pervades the rest of the island. Perhaps one must learn to be fastidious when sailing is a matter of such necessity as it is for the Ruathen. The party boasts no sailers--- only Almuth knows the first thing about a ship--- but they select a sturdy and fast looking specimen and begin to head aboard.
+
+They are stopped by a pair of loitering crew, who challenge the party about their intentions. Thankfully, they need tender no explanation, concocted or otherwise; objections are interrupted by a sound like a jet liner caught in a tornado. Hergotha lands, this time with a crash, 
 
 {%describe her in some more detail here%}
 
-
-
-[^warren]: Warren's player was sick today.
+[^warren]: Warren's player was sick for the first half of this encounter.
 
 [^almuth]: Almuth's player was, like the character, otherwise occupied.
 
-[^fishes]: I can't remember the exact species. How embarrassing.
+[^fishes]: The [Sahuagin](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Sahuagin) are a race of aquatic/semi-aquatic fish-like humanoids. These examples live in the Sea of Swords at the edge of the continental shelf.
+
+[^rua-demo]: The demonym of Ruathym.
+
+[^moonshae]: A greater cluster of islands to the south of Ruathym. Their people are broadly better liked.