Worlde Arcane: The Eastern Shores

Worlde Arcane: Thapelel: The Eastern Shores

The eastern shores are a wide expanse of white sands and tropical trees - a paradise by any means. The warm waters of the Vericul lap on the sands, the clear waters beckoning any who wishes to bathe. The remains of many small shelters are scattered along the tree line.

In recent years this area has also gained fame as a battleground, as it was here that a group of travellers, lead by Chamomile, defeated Lamia Lacerta, the first Lamian Queen and the one who brought the Lamian ancestors to this land.

A Rocky Cove May 12, 2009 - 8:50 am

Forest Creek September 2, 2004 - 12:41 am

Archive through November 9, 2004 February 16, 2009 - 10:52 pm

Archive through September 15, 2004 August 21, 2008 - 11:50 am

By Emir Malik bin Jawhar al-Na’il (Malik)

Monday, December 1, 2008 - 7:51 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Herus of Sumbura gasped for air as the mid morning sun beat down mercilessly upon them. He had been bent over wheezing for the last two minutes as his body tried to marshal itself, and his lungs desperately fought for more precious, life giving air. He had been a professional athlete not so long ago, whose fast feet and quick reactions had finally landed him his current position. Considering the activities of the Brotherhood he hadn’t expect he would need to push the limits of his capabilities so soon. With clear effort he wiped away the stagnant sweat that poured down his dirt-ridden face like a river heavy with monsoon rains. Finally taking in his surroundings he noted they had fat last cleared the interminable depths of the Wilds and now they stood, or more truthfully collapsed, onto one of the many long pristine beaches of Thapelel’s Eastern Shore.

Wave after wave of dazzling aqua blue sea swept lazily over the ivory beach and in the distance a ship could be seen sailing on the horizon. Not comprehending the vessel’s significance at first he turned his weary brow to survey the rest of the motley group. To think that just two days ago this handful of exhausted men were over two dozen strong, and mounted on fresh horses. Those horses had long since been abandoned, having fallen foul of exhaustion, and it was not long before the riders too began to succumb to the relentless pace that was being set. What the fugitives had done to engender such a pursuit he did not know, but it was doubtless a terrible thing, that or incredibly stupid. For the Laestrygon himself to lead the hunt and to ride and run non-stop to reach them spoke a thousand words in itself.

As his thoughts turned to his terrifying master, a chillingly realisation crept in: they had reach the coast and their quarry was nowhere to be found. Dear Gods they had arrived too late. Immediately a flood of adrenalin pumped into his system as his eyes feverishly whirled around the beach. Where was he?

He spotted the figure standing at the water’s edge, his voluminous cape whipping about him like it had a mind of its own. Herus could see the man’s head and hands were twitching in what he could only assume was barely controlled rage. A rage with the fugitives disappearing into the horizon that would seek new outlets to unleash itself on. For only the second time in his entire life Herus felt truly afraid.

He had to admit to himself that what he thought he knew about the Brotherhood barely scratched the surface and what he did know was often inaccurate or entirely false. However concerning the near mythical leader of the brotherhood, the Laestrygon, the rumours were supposedly just the tip of the iceberg. Not many seemed willing or eager to talk on the subject, as though somehow their tales might get back to him and they would become the next in his long line of victims, but there always some talk.

While technically the Brotherhood had no single leader, the Laestrygon was its undisputed un-elected overseer, and he was the main reason no one broke the code or ever cheated the brotherhood, at least more than once. The only clear thing known about the man was that he was highly unstable, violently so supposedly, and that being within a mile of him was generally considered very unhealthy. He possessed a grim reputation throughout Thapelel’s criminal underworlde, so much so that Herus honestly hadn’t believed most of it.

It was sobering to find that, when he had jokingly inquired about him the night after he joined the brotherhood, the stony and decidedly cold face of the man he had asked whispered tales that made the rumours seem like pale, watered down reflections of the truth. Supposedly the Laestrygon once had a family, but when he realised someone might try use them to exploit him it was said he took them to the courtyard of his home, lined them up, eldest to the youngest, and slew them all.

Herus began to wonder whether he should run before they paid the price for their failure and whether truthfully he would get far, tired as he was. However, before he could act the master span on his heels and stalked towards them, the sand beneath his boots crunching with a sickening finality. Any fleeting hope of escape had gone. He kept coming till he stood but a foot from Herus, looking down with barely concealed contempt. The hollow voice that issued forth from the Cloak resounded along beach, gaining force with every syllable

“Had yew run harder we might have caught them, but they are beyond even my reach, at least for the time being. Yew have failed me and I do not tolerate failure”

The last words were delivered with ice. Suddenly a mocking laugh erupted from the cloaked figure and the ice changed to a sneering rant.

“I am half tempted to kill yew where yew stand for yer incompetence, however, there is only so much fun to be had from gutting a pig. As yew may, or may not, know I enjoy gambling. Should we set the stakes, say heads yew live and tales, well we go over that when it comes to it. Can’t ask for better then that, can yew?”

And with snake like speed the Laestrygon’s arm shot out and sent a large golden coin spinning through the air. The two seconds it took to land in his palm were among the longest in Herus life. A dry sardonic chuckle ushered forth from the gaping blackness of the Laestrygon’s hood.

“What a pity. It seems that yew will get to keep yer worthless skin after all.”

Herus could hear the palatable relief around him as the Laestrygon’s arm returned among the folds of his robe. Silence hung in the air a moment before he spoke again. This time the ice and heat were gone, replaced by a commanding tone that expected obedience.

“Fate has spoken and yew have been spared. Yew are to be given another chance to prove yer worth to the Brotherhood; to prove yer worth to me. If this task is done to my satisfaction yew may have a bright future in the Brotherhood after all.”

Letting his words sink in for a moment the Laestrygon reached once more into his cloak and pulled out an old, sealed missive, holding it out to the nearest man:

“As soon as yew are able this message must be carried to Tokar. Yew will find him inspecting the Docks at Bolpol two days from now. Yew will be well rewarded for yer loyalty if yew can make it there before he leaves”

Herus gaped for a moment not reacting before the man added:

“I should remind that Bolpol is a good two days hard travelling from here, and by my reckoning yer already three hours behind. Of course, if yew think it might be safe to wait a few hours, the choice is yers.”

Before he knew it Herus had picked himself up, and despite his body’s protests, found strength he didn’t know he had, and began to run as though as his life depended on it.

By Emir Malik bin Jawhar al-Na’il (Malik)

Tuesday, December 2, 2008 - 9:00 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

As Herus’ footsteps melted into the distance Malik’s anger bubbled to the surface once more, though his cloak obscured it from the worlde around him. Not anger with Herus, that he had made it this far was testament enough to the man, that he never complained spoke volumes. No, he was angry and disgusted with himself, at the Laestrygon, at how it came to him so easily now. He only hoped that Herus would survive the journey. How he hated himself. Was he so scared they might see through him by showing compassion or even Umanity that he would risk an innocent man’s life to uphold this monstrous guise? He would reward the man when he had time to, it was the least he could do.

Turning his attention to his personal guard, he wondered, not for the first time, why they willing risk their own lives to save him. Not in the literal sense for within the Tulkani blood oaths were never broken and these men were all sworn to his service, but figuratively. He didn’t deserve their protection, far from it. He should have been condemned long ago, left to die for his sins at Bolpol. His reputation might be largely fabricated, a cunning ruse to ensure that no one challenged his position, and that he could influence the Brotherhood’s activities for the better, and have the resources to avenge his beloved, but it was not without basis. In any fair worlde he would have been hauled to the gallows years ago, but when was this worlde ever fair? The ship slowly fading into the horizon was example enough of that. Was it fair that he could get so close to finally killing the man who had stolen everything from him, who destroyed everything that he held dear, only to see him slip away? Fate was a fickle mistress and try has he might he could not slip her leash.

The shakes came back stronger than before. The others had mistaken it for rage rather then what it truly represented. He had been holding back all morning, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to much longer. The after effects of Jogul, a combat stimulant that had sustained his body long after it should collapsed, were beginning to take control. He would be seizing within ten minutes. He needed to move fast. The guards were sworn to his service by blood oaths they would never break, but he could ill afford any rumour to spread that he was not as strong as he seemed. He had shown them inUman endurance earlier, that is what they must take with them, not some rumour of a drug sodden wretch who needed to take rare and extremely dangerous combat enhancers just to keep up.

Turning to them he told them to leave him and ensure Herus got to Tokar safely with the message. He told them the scroll was important and must not be lost. He smiled inwardly at his own quick thinking, in one stoke he would be able to hide the secret behind his endurance and ensure that Herus would make it. He didn’t need another face waiting for him in the dark; too many already stalked his dreams. At first the guards were hesitant; not wanting to leave their chief unprotected, especially outside Tulkani territory, but Malik repeated his order in a tone that brooked no disagreement. Not wanting to test the Chief’s patience, nor ignore a direct command, they reluctantly departed leaving Malik alone on the beach.

Alone for the first time in a month all his fears, frustrations, anger and pain bubbled to the surface. Ignoring the shaking in his hands and legs he looked upon the ocean and began to weep as the culmination of the past week hit him. He had failed again. Another year had passed and his beloved Shlaenna and Jaresh were not avenged. He reached, almost without thinking, to one of the Kukri’s at his belt and slid it out of its sheath, turning it so the point of the blade stood but an inch from his chest. If he could not achieve even this what good was he? He could end it here now. End the lies; end the Laestrygon. With every year he felt the Laestrygon grow within him like some dark evil parasite that he feared one day might consume him. It was getting ever easier to act the part of the genocidal tyrant, so much so that he feared one day he might truly become him. He could once more be with his family and the hole where his heart once was would be gone forever.

He tensed himself and prepared to strike the blow, but it never came. Dropping the blade to the sand below as he wept again. He couldn’t do it. There were a number of good reasons he shouldn’t, firstly the brotherhood and more important those who came into contact with them needed him. If he died he had no illusions as to what would happen: either the Brotherhood would fall apart, or it would return to the days when the rebels were in control. People suffered, he could not change that, but he could try to limit that suffering. Under his control the Brotherhood’s impact on the lives of people was minimal, under others they would once more go back to slaving, extortion and murder for the sake of it. Also his family would never be revenged, that man still lived and his breath was an insult to their memory. He needed to pay for his crimes and only he could see to it. However, he begin to fear that over all these reasons was a third: that he was simply too scared. Not of the pain, but of what awaited him. He feared that when he died, far from joining his loving family, he would sent dwell in the underneath for all eternity. To be separate from them in life he could barely stand, to be separated in the next he could not bear.

The shudders had got worse and he knew it was not long now. Sheathing the fallen blade he dragged himself, his legs no longer properly working, a little inland to ensure he would not be swept away with the tide when it struck him. By the time he got there his entire body was shaking and pain lanced through him. He knew he shouldn’t have taken that much Jogul. It would have killed a normal man already, and it may yet kill him, but he had needed all the strength he could to catch the man, although it had not been enough.

Ripping open a large leather pouch with great difficulty, he pulled a large bag containing white petals and like a fish leaping for water he picked a handful and stuffed it into his mouth. The Datura, the most powerful commercial drug available and the source of the Brotherhood’s near unlimited wealth, would help off set the worst of it, though it was not without its own side effects including profound delirium and, given the size of the dose, extreme paranoia and hysteria. The pain all but vanished, although it did not stave of the shaking. Still clutching the large bag of petals, Malik began to convulse. Consciousness drained away, as his body fought to save his life.

By Emir Malik bin Jawhar al-Na’il (Malik)

Saturday, January 24, 2009 - 2:34 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Malik awoke from his stupor when the first drop of rain struck him in the face. He gasped for air, only to splutter as the raindrop’s friends followed in its wake with a constant and heavy downpour that characterised Thapelel’s Monsoon storms. Blinking for a moment he wondered if he had died and the rain god Volkanonikt had come to judge him, but a glance here and there told him he was very much in the worlde of the living. Oddly he felt no pain and he was strangely energised, as though the Jogul had passed through his system days ago rather a few hours.

Staggering up he mused why his body seemed so heavy, why his cat like reflexes now felt so drawn and leaden. That’s when he caught sight of the puma not twenty feet away looking at him intently and, to his growing concern, hungrily. It would be useless to run; he wouldn’t have been able to out run it when he was fit, and with his body as sluggish as it was the action would be pointless. Fate was, as ever, a fickle mistress and still royally doing him over it would seem, allowing him to survive the overdose only to be turned into din dins for some over grown pussycat. He felt strangely calm and almost at ease as it began to close the distance with silent grace. That said he could not help but flinch momentarily as the black nightmare lunged for his jugular.

When the pain didn’t come he opened his eyes only to find the area devoid of the salivating feline menace. Despite himself he chuckled dryly, and noticing that water was now dripping down the back of his neck rearranged his cloak, pulled up his hood, and turned with a smile to look towards the sea.

The waves he expected, the thunder was normal, but the group of what he could only assume were rainbow dragons frolicking on the beach wasn’t precisely reassuring. For one thing he had never seen one before, they were not native to Thapelel, secondly they looked exactly how he imagined, and common sense told him that his conception of them was likely to be accurate. The cat’s disappearance and the silence of its approach began to make sense. Datura when taken in its raw form in high enough doses was exceptionally powerful and induced severe delirium. Most users never realise this difference but Malik had experienced it enough to know that where logic failed imagination began. It explained why his body felt so tired but painless, the effects of Jogul hadn’t faded, they were just buried for the moment. The soundless panther was just a figment of his imagination stemming in all likelihood from his general self-loathing. As for the dragons currently twirling before his eyes oblivious to the rain pouring about them they were a reminder of the time Shleanna used to tell little Jaresh stories about them to help him fall asleep. Behind them he saw the distance lights of what must be a ship fighting the sea for survival. Whether that too was a drug induced illusion was anyone’s guess, though if it was he wondered what buried part of the psyche it had come from.

Slowly and with difficulty he made his way to a more sheltered spot, under the canopy of particularly large tree which was doing a reasonable job of holding back the downpour to get some much needed rest and with any luck evade those memories given life. It was only a matter of time before his mind would dwell on the past and what he had done and in this state the experience of delirium was less then pleasant.

It wasn’t long before he saw the first out of the corner of his eye, a young woman, barely 21 years of age, her face wracked in agony staring from the shadows. Soon enough she was joined by more and more people, all sporting festering wounds or missing limbs, looking at him with revulsion and hate filled eyes. His predisposition to self loathing for his actions both at Bolpol and since, for the actions of the Laestrygon, provided fertile soil in this hallucinogenic state and there seemed to be no way he could avoid their knowing stares.

Closing his eyes and praying to Volkanonikt for redemption he tried to get to sleep; tried to forget; tried to ignore the growing army of drug induced hallucinations staring at him as if they could see into his very soul.

By Captain William J Flinders, of the ship Daybreak's Bell (Flinders)

Monday, February 23, 2009 - 8:06 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

A Rocky Cove)

Striding rapidly up the beach away from the cove the Captain kept a sharp eye out for anything that might be of use. Their rescuer had said he’d been here a couple of week, so surely he would already have scouted out the area for potential rescuers, but the Captain felt that he wanted to evaluate the situation for himself. He had been shipwrecked before, whilst the man looked a little odd, and definitely not like he’d spent any significant amount of time surviving outdoors before now, and even if he did seem to be doing rather well by himself the Captain got the distinct impression that it was only by pure luck.

So, he continued up the beach, looking for anything useful, as well as larger shelter, which perhaps the man would have overlooked, having no use for it, but which would be extremely useful to them if they had to spend the night down on the coast and the rain didn’t stop. He was also pleased to see that once the usual Thapelelian sun came back, there would be a ready supply of firewood for making a signal fire, not to mention plenty of sustenance in the form of fruits and berries, in addition to the fish they would be able to catch.

A little distance away from the cove the Captain was distracted from his evaluation of the area by the sight of something suspiciously uman shaped lying under a tree not far from the shoreline. Surely it was not another person shipwrecked in the storm? They couldn’t have been there long; otherwise surely their rescuer would have seen him earlier?

Signalling to his crew to make a cautious approach the Captain advanced slowly, hoping on the one hand that this was not some sort of trap set by the savages he had heard lived in these parts, but also hoping that they were not going to discover a dead body washed up by the waves. The closer he got the more it became clear that the man’s clothing was far too civilised for him to be the former, and as he got even nearer he could see that the man’s chest was still rising and falling, so he was not the latter either. How odd. He was definitely not a passenger from Daybreak’s Bell, and the Captain had not seen any other ships in the area before it had grown too dark to see anything at all, so how had this man got here? His bedraggled looking appearance and rather unhealthy complexion certainly suggested he had been washed up by the storm, rather than having arrived here by his own means.

Giving a glance at his two men, which warned them to stand ready for anything unexpected, the Captain gingerly prodded at the man with one foot. When there was no response he bent over to shake him more vigorously. “Yew there! Wake up! Are yew all right?”

By Mars Steele, Mercenary (Mar)

Saturday, February 28, 2009 - 6:02 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mars trekked a little distance away from the cove, following the Captain, whom seemed distracted from his evaluation of the area by the sight of something suspiciously uman shaped lying under a tree not far from the shoreline.

Mars watched with interest as the Captain poked the body with one of his feet. Was the man still breathing? Mars could not tell from this distance.

By Mars Steele, Mercenary (Mar)

Friday, March 6, 2009 - 6:32 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mars continued to stare at the Captain as he continued to prod the seemingly dead man with the toe of his feet. Was the man dead or alive Mars wondered as his eyes was glued to the form propped up against a tree trunk.

By Captain William J Flinders, of the ship Daybreak's Bell (Flinders)

Monday, March 9, 2009 - 12:25 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

After some time and rather a lot of prodding the man showed no signs of awakening. He was definitely alive though and the Captain wasn’t in the habit of leaving people abandoned on the beach whilst they were still alive. “Right then, let’s get him back to the caves,” he announced, “Yew there,” He pointed a finger at the man he recognised as being one of the passengers from Daybreak’s Bell, “Come and give us a hand with getting him moved.”

Immediately his men set about picking the man up, with the Captain issuing directions. Once they had him secure they began to move slowly back in the direction of the cave.

(TO:	Rocky Cove)

By Mars Steele, Mercenary (Mar)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009 - 8:32 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mars noticed that the Captain pointed a finger at him and yelled out. “Come and give us a hand with getting him moved.” Mars hastened to their side and helped hoist the man up and began back in the direction in which they came from.

Mars after a few minutes looked up and were surprised to see that Storm, his horse, and the two colts had reached shore safely and were all three standing on the sandy shore in front of them.

(OOC; To the Rocky Cove)

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