Tales from Beyond the Spider Moon

 I have not stopped writing. I encountered a problem in my outline, between where I intended the story to go and where it's going. I'm working it out. Next post will be Thursday, June 16th. In the mean time, here's a picture of some tortoises. and a Quokka

 Most of the crew leapt to their feet, chains rattling. Alina seemed to pull her sword from the space between the bars, and Turok dropped into a low, unarmed fighting stance. Only Dox remained calm, barely moving from her seat against the wall. Delamagne cursed, and Covey pressed himself into a corner.     The tortle looked around at them all, then relaxed, standing from his attack posture, though his staff continued to glow. “This doesn’t seem to be my ship,” he said. “And, you folks all seem to be in chains.”     “Your powers of deduction are astounding,” Alina said. She allowed her blade to drop when the tortle relaxed, but held it at the ready.     “Well, we’re in the hold of a ship, and you are quite a motley bunch. I suppose it would be ridiculous to ask you whether your incarceration was legal, or at least, just?”     Dox laughed. Turok stepped as far as his leg irons would allow. “We’re the crew and passengers of the Reizoko no Tsuma,” he said. “We were attacked by praedaren pi

 When the assassin came to, she was lying on her side in the corner of a small cell in the dank hold of the ship, she was in chains, and the survivors of the Reizoko no Tsuma were huddled against the far wall, watching her warily.     Turok was tending to Alina, helping her to sit up. It had been the commanding voice of his magic that woke the assassin, and she sat up at the same time. Everyone turned to watch her, a mixture of curiosity, anger, and fear in their expressions.     It was Delamagne, one of the able seamen who was nursing a broken arm and a black eye who spoke up first, “what are you doing down here, shark?”     The assassin chuckled, “yeah. You’re probably as confused as the sharks are.” She shifted in her seat and propped her meaty arms up on her knees. This was distasteful; but not unheard of. When the faceless men revealed themselves, it generally only added to the mystery and the legend; but she would have to survive for the story to be of any real benefit. She sighe

 Chapter Three: Repel Boarders Turok burst onto the deck, sword in hand and fire of the righteous in his war cry. He briefly considered the damage his magic might do to the ship, but put his trust in Kuyutha and Bahamut. Speaking the divine language of his ancestors and the great wyrms who watched over them, he charged into battle and smote a pair of praedaren with a mighty clap of thunder that issued forth from his raging yawp.     Galaine charged in behind him, armed with a spear and shield, skewering a third shark in the shoulder and taking a position behind his lord.     One of the praedaren at Turok’s feet was still breathing. A hideous goblin shark in a black leather vest that accentuated his wiry, muscled frame, he twisted with a jolt and snapped at the dragonborn’s sword arm without standing. He then rolled just out of reach and drew a dagger with his left hand. The carver with a hole in his shoulder charged at Galaine, grabbing the squire by his neck and running him through wi

  (Temporary Placeholder Image) A Quote. Black Maw of the Red Wake Black Maw is captain of the Night Howl  and one of the most feared and respected captains in the Red Wake Fleet. He is a pirate through and through, loyal to himself, his crew, and his fleet in that order. Like all praedaren captains, Maw is constantly on the look out for the best way to enrich himself and his crew - plundering treasure; capturing worthy ships; and raiding coastal cities that are large enough to provide a bounty, but not so large as to put up a real fight. Maw is more interested in winning than in the challenge. Maw never learned to wield a sword and he doesn't care to.  His favorite weapon is the massive club he carved himself, with surprisingly artistic and intricately detailed images from his life, including his massive maw with rows of sharp teeth, the death of his father, and sinking of the Battlestar , a massive Quelyan galleon captained by a rogue praedaren crew who tried to make a living sai

 Chapter Two: Blood in the Water Dox was sitting in the rigging, low enough to the deck that she could continue her conversation with the dragonborn. They were discussing the difference in alertness at sea versus space, when she glanced off the port bow and the color drained from her face.      “Pirates!” she screamed. “Pirates off the port bow!” She was already untangling herself from the ropes and dropping to the deck. As she ran past the cleric to get a better look, she added, “there’s going to be a fight, priest. Best suit up.”      Before he could respond, she was up the ladder and on the forecastle. Turok stared at the approaching ship for a half a moment before bolting back to his cabin. “Galaine,” he cried, “my armor!”      Galaine came stumbling out of the head, with a wide-eyed look on his bronze-scaled face. Like his master, the squire Galaine was brass dragonborn. A low-level acolyte in the Order of Kuyutha, Galaine was tasked with aiding Turok in his duty to the Council of

 Part One - Pirates Chapter One: The Lady and the Dragon The Dragonborn’s name was Turok. Like all of his kind, he was tall and stout, larger than human or orc, though he resembled nothing more than a wyrmling dragon made to walk upright and wear clothes. Turok was a noble dragon, and a priest, and so he might have been a little more stout than his kin. The clothes he wore this morning were the loose shirt and breeches of a sailor, though over these he also wore the tabard of his faith. Dark purple with silver trim, it bore the holy symbol of his deity, Kuyutha; Exarch of Bahamut. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and the metallic brass scales that covered him shined in the morning sunlight when he stepped out of his cabin and onto the deck of the Reizoko no Tsuma .      The salt wind of the WorldSea filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He squinted against the morning sun, but there wasn’t much to see beyond the deck anyway. Nothing but horizon in every direction

Chapter Fifteen: The Walker in Flames Bob stood from his seat by the cook pot, staring off in the direction of the errant campfire, which had indeed gotten quite a few miles closer since the last time they’d considered it. He was shaking when he said, “it can’t be.”      Before anyone could react, he dropped his plate and fork and sprinted off in the direction of the flame. The rest of the crew called after him, and a handful stood up to watch, but no one followed. Even the workers stood and watched him as he ran full bore into the night.      It wasn’t a campfire. The eagle-eyed among them could just about make it out now. Bob was running toward a man, perhaps a giant. Tall and gaunt, and all in black, and wreathed in flames that seemed to burn up the ground around him.      Everyone was standing, when Carver cursed. Even the Elf and the Captain had been called from their duties below and were out on the deck. The Elf leaned over the railing to get a better look. Captain Coalbrand was

  The Tomb of Orgoren Brightstone on DeviantArt

Chapter Fourteen: The Fall of Moradin’s Forge With the death of the mummy priest and its wights, and the scattering of the Forge Beetles, the excavation of the Temple of Moradin complex was relatively straight forward. All manner of artifacts and antiquities were salvaged from the ruin. Everyone was instructed in the best way to transport such delicate rarities, and back at the camp, Adovar reviewed and cataloged everything.      Impressions were taken, and charcoal rubbings. With the aid of the warforged, Adovar noted it all in his journals, having become suddenly very interested in the dwarven ruin. The elf was revealed to be an exceptional artist as well, rendering the Complex in fine detail. Hulk, the Axe, its previous wielder, and even the party that discovered it were all sketched out and annotated.      “Not so bad after all,” Ceru asked one evening while watching him copy a record of Tormund’s tattoos and the family history which they represented both to the dwarf and the warfo

Weapon (Battleaxe), Artifact (Requires Attunement)  Seeing the peril his people faced, a young Dwarf prince came to believe the Dwarves needed something to unite them. After many decades of honing his Forge-craft, meditating on the stone and the meaning of Dwarf-kind, and praying to the gods for the proper direction he set out to forge a weapon that would be such a symbol.      The prince ventured deep under the mountains, deeper than any Dwarf had ever delved, until he came upon the blazing heart of a primordial volcano. With the aid of Moradin, the Dwarven god of Creation, he first crafted four great tools: the  Brutal Pick , the  Earthheart Forge , the  Anvil of Songs , and the  Shaping Hammer . And then he set about the task for which he felt he had been born. He forged  the Axe of the Dwarvish Lords .      Armed with this powerful weapon, the prince returned to the Dwarf Clans and brought peace. His axe ended grudges and answered slights. The Clans became allies, and threw back th

Chapter Thirteen: The Temple of Moradin The Temple itself was spartan, after the manner of the dwarves of old. Smooth stone walls, without decoration. Four pillars held up the flat ceiling, each carved in dwarvish with the names and deeds of the builders. The floor was polished stone, carved into a tile-like pattern around the pillars, leading the eyes up toward the altar and the raised dais upon which it stood. The altar was also carved stone, but decorated with gold and adamantium, and marked with the Hammer and Anvil symbol of the Dwarf Father.      It was impossible to enter the Temple quietly. The massive stone doors were worn with age; the weight of them strained against their hinges. They groaned as they scraped along the carved tile floor.      Hulk spoke the dwarven word for firelight and her eye shone golden with magical light. Four figures lay at the base of the altar. They seemed to have been sitting or crouching there and simply fallen over, but as the magical light fell a

  Adovar on DeviantArt "The elf stepped out onto the weather deck and surveyed the battle. From within his robes, he drew an ironwood staff that shouldn't have been able to fit there.     "He strode calmly across the deck, the staff spinning in his hands, his eyes darting from ship to ship. Finally, he picked his target - hands flying in a complicated dance of power and a nearby vessel exploded in a fiery burst, stopping dead and drifting through the void.     "The elf turned his attention to the next ship, and it too burst into flames and began to drift." Adovar Adovar Oriven is a Sage and an Adjunct Professor of History at the Alliance Academy in the city of Citimeonen on Perianth. His first love is archeology, however, and he generally only spends a single season out of the year teaching.      Adovar is not well liked in the Royal Courts of Fleuris, because of his stance on the prehistory of the 'Verse and his fascination with the ancient race known only

Chapter Twelve: Hulk “There is a chamber at the end of this hall,” the Forged Woman said. “If it has not collapsed, it should provide safety so you can recover from your injuries.”      “We don’t understand you,” Ceru replied; but Tormund offered to translate. Her Dwarvish was halting, and of a dialect that was difficult for him to understand; but passable in those dark hallways. They made their way to the stone door and entered what appeared to be a stonemason’s workshop. Everywhere there were tools, mostly rotten with age; half-finished etchings and piles of hand-chiseled brick. The warforged lay Tormund on a stone workbench and sat beside him. The others gathered around, and with the door closed, they rested a moment.      “I am called Hulk,” Tormund translated for the warforged. “I was taught the dwarf tongue by the dwarves who found me and woke me in Avungar - the ruin of a city far to the east.”      “Would you be able to locate this Avungar,” Adovar asked. He was scribbling furi

  Chapter Eleven: Ruin Tormund was the first into the crevice, followed by a pair of genasi marines. The dwarf staked down ropes as he went, leading the way for Oquee, Ceru, and finally Adovar to descend into the darkness. The going was slow and treacherous. Ceru and each of the genasi wore small lanterns tied to their belts, while Oquee’s staff gave off an unnatural white brilliance. These played and competed with each other, causing long shadows that danced around them,  if the darkness itself was fighting for dominance, trying drive them back out.      They dropped through a hole in the roof of a squat, square chamber covered in dust. The walls were finely chiseled stone carved out of the hard rock and reinforced with brick and mortar. The room was barren, except for a single stone door on the south wall. All decoration and design was worn away by the harsh environment that had been allowed to creep into this dark place, scouring the room's every surface.      Adovar studied the

  Chapter Ten: Preparation No one needed to wake Ceru in the morning. The change in her sleep schedule kept her up for most of the night, but even so, the unrelenting heat of the morning sun and glare of the Pyre’s light on the pale and dusty ground was enough to shift her from her slumber. Even in the lee of the Black Ophelia , with the sun behind her and the long shadow of the ship to keep her cool, she and all her fellows were roused at first light.      She dressed for the heat, fetched a tin mug of coffee from the cook’s impromptu kitchen, and joined the others at the map table. The scouts had returned a little while before sunrise and were lounging in the sand nearby, eating breakfast in silence.      “The scouts put our target just beyond that outcropping,” Adovar said, pointing to a jagged trio of rocks in the distance. “We’ll find a small crevice leading to what is - apparently - a remarkably intact dungeon.” He indicated the spot on the map. “It’ll be a few hours march throug

  We know Cerulean Crowe  hates them. We know they're probably all pirates or - at least - she thinks they are. But they don't appear in most D&D worlds, and they're not in any official supplement (yet - man, I'd love to put one on D&D Beyond, but I don't want to jump through the hoops to get it to work right). But I'm on a tangent. Sorry about that. The Shark Men haven't shown up in the story yet, but they've been mentioned - and they play a large role in Crowe's backstory, so I know they'll be coming up again, and you might not know who they are. The Praedaren were created by Anthony Vallozzi , and I first came across them back when this Spelljammer campaign was just going to be Pirates of the Dark Water, but D&D. I was looking for interesting things to populate my Aquatic campaign with, when I came across this post: [Race] Player Race: Praedaren (The GMBinder Link) It was great. Like that top comment said, it's Street Sharks;

  Chapter Nine: Desolation Descriptions of the barren world did it no justice. Ceru stared, and in every direction, she saw only ruin. Jagged rocks and dust, with the Pyre in the sky, not quite as large as Bob had made out; but massive, and brighter than anything Ceru had seen before.      All hands congregated on the weather deck and were given instructions. The Black Ophelia was secured, exactly as if it were moored to a dock back home, only it sat in the loose sand, which gave Ceru the uneasy feeling that the ship was scuttled. It was pointless, but a life at sea filled her with the inescapable dread that they were stranded. Anchor posts were driven into the ground at even intervals around the ship, and tents were erected over the anchor lines. Gear and equipment were hauled down from the hold and by nightfall the Black Ophelia resembled a small village.      As the Pyre sank slowly past the horizon, Ceru was eating with Mookee and some of the other Quelyans, by Cook’s campfire. T