I’ll be describing the game from the point of view of my character Black Jack Barcelona. Black Jack is a former sailor who found religion after his former shipmates were slain and he was left to die. He has an axe to grind with a one-eared elf responsible for the incident… Black Jack talks like a pirate and I am sure the rest of the players are getting ready to keelhaul me for it. I’ve kept it up in the letters he’s written. Note that Friar Ignatius is the name of the cleric I played in our last D&D game a year or so ago.
Dear Friar Ignatius,
‘Tis months since I last be settin’ pen t’ paper t’ apprise ye o’ me doin’s. Your sure to be recollectin’ me last missive, in what I informed ye o’ t’ perishment o’ me captain and crew by that murderous one-ear elf. I got wind o’ his whereabouts somewhere in t’ southern continent and signed on as a hand on a leaky tub o’ a caravel bound for that benighted land.
T’ early part o’ t’ voyage be unremarkable. We took on a smelly half-orc (who I set t’ work pumpin’ t’ bilges), some noble ponce what kept askin’ about the promenade deck and a pair o’ hobbits (one o’ whom be t’ ugliest little bugger I ever set eye on – some dwarf in him?). Found me another blasted hobbit stowaway in a barrel o’ Pleasoning. Bleedin’ thin’s are worse than rats says I. At least no elves took passage with us. I be knowin’ how the one what keeps doggin’ your heels vexes ye so.
Sometime later, t’ weather started gettin’ rough. T’ tiny ship was tossed. If not for t’ courage o’ – mainly me – t’ caravel would be lost. We was set upon by a ship o’ kobolds o’ all thin’s! Dagon only knows how t’ blighter’s came upon us in the middle of the bleedin’ sea, but there they was. I called t’ half-orc up from t’ bilges t’ earn his keep and promptly fell down into t’ hold when their ram struck. It was like I’d not been trained in any o’ t’ skills a jack tar should know…
T’ bloody kobolds spilled on board and begun layin’ about with their daggers. Me and t’ half-orc gave a good account o’ ourselves. Perceivin’ that our tub be sinkin’ smartly, I called for t’ remainin’ crew t’ take t’ kobold ship. We cleared her decks o’ t’ nasty little blighters and came up against a trio o’ orcs. T’ nob was blatherin’ somethin’ at ’em and convinced t’ smaller orcs t’ move off and take a hand at t’ oars. Cleverer than he looks that one (of course if he weren’t they’d have t’ feed him). Once t’ smaller orcs moved off, I laid into t’ big one, but was smartly knocked t’ me knees.
When I came t’ me senses, t’ foul lookin’ hobbit was pourin’ some bilge water down me gullet. “Healin’ potion” says he, “Would do better with a mug o’ grog” says I. T’ nob and t’ half-orc was debatin’ on how t’ get into t’ cap’n’s cabin. One in favor o’ lookin’ for a key, t’ other was keen t’ put his axe t’ t’ hatch. Suffice it t’ say gained entrance we did and found us a chest. I busted it open with me hammer and set eye upon t’ booty. Gems and gold, not a rich haul mind ye, but worth t’ effort. We also be findin’ a right foul statue. T’ nob claimed it for hisself and it seemed only fair t’ give it t’ him after t’ way he bamboozled them orcs.
The storm had abated and I took a bearing. I spied an island with some type of ruin on it. ‘Twas not on the charts. A pretty place to weigh anchor and take stock of our provisions it be. ‘Tis a sure bet them ruins be crawlin’ with somethin’ ready to eat t’ face off a man, so I plan on leadin’ them hobbits down there if it be apparent we lack the hardtack to see us to t’ southern continent.
With the Sea o’ Prosperity crawlin’ with kobolds and a lubberly crew, Dagon and Hydra only know if survivin’ this voyage be in t’ cards, so I be committin’ this note t’ a bottle and trustin’ t’ their tender mercies that it finds ye.
May the wind at your back never be your own,
Black Jack Barcelona