I was born around the year 1400 (reckoned by local calendar, or “mc”) in a tiny, nameless village in the north of a land called Ymr’hoth; a feudal celtic realm with many nasty creatures living in it, too many adventurers, and, for my money, a lot more gods running around intervening in things than is healthy.
I never knew my father, he was stepped on by a frost giant before I was born
Near our village there used to be a castle - Castle Blackrock; a huge place, full of spirits and beasties, and with a deep and terrifying dungeon beneath it that drew heroes to it like a fresh whore draws fat merchants. Then one day Castle Blackrock exploded. All manner of things poured into the surrounding country and our village was knocked down, burnt, sat on and eaten respectively by a host of monsters. The population quickly decided to relocate and so, when I was only a year old, my mother took me south. I never knew my father, he was stepped on by a frost giant before I was born. I am not sure he was all human, and my mother was part goblin; so it is probably only the fact they were so closely related that I turned out as human as I did, if I understand these things correctly.
The largest city in the land is called Hothian. It is an enormous, sprawling mess that lies at the mouth of the river Nimrant (a poncy elvish name meaning “white river”; also sometimes known as the Siraglar which translates as “bright stream” or literally “glorious flow”; both names obviously date back a long way because it is a filthy brown thing that slithers past Hothian to dump its cargo of sewage and corpses into the sea).
My mother decided that a large city was the safest place to live, owing to the infrequency of orcish raiding parties, and quite low probability of being squashed by someone. She began a promising career as a dockside tart and posed for candid engravings for extra cash, but died three years later of a combination of yellow and scarlet fevers, the pox, cholera and syphilis.
I moved into the gutter, and there met a gang of street urchins that lived by their wits and agility, stealing food and earning money working for the local thieves guild. I was useful to them due to my small size and willingness to pilfer anything I could get my tiny hands on. For several years I lived with them in the city’s elaborate system of sewars and also in an area known as ‘the Nest’ - a chaotic and lawless place made up of many decommisioned ships that had been sent to the riverside work-yards to be broken up, but were instead used by locals as a floating suburb, just beyond reach of what passed for law-keepers in Hothian.
Many of the liberties enjoyed in Hothian are made possible by the ancient laws that govern the whole of Ymr’hoth. Centuries before it had been two warring countries until the northern realm coquered the southern. Imril, the capital in the north, remains the centre for government, bureaucracy, law, the Admiralty, and the residence of the reigning monarch (Ithilios VII has reigned for over two hundred years). In short, a predjudice against the inhabitants of the south means that Hothian city is not trusted to govern itself. But the eyes of Imril are far from Hothian, and the local prefect, Arch-Duke Teregud MacMoren, is more tolerant of indiscretions,as long as they generate profit.
These were happy years, and without even a suggestion of buggery
I spent the rest of my childhood in what seems to me like one continous Summer of practicing back stabbing and increasing the percentages of my ‘hide in shadows’, ‘find/remove traps’ and ‘move silently’ skills. Perhaps I should have spent more time on ‘pick pockets’ because one morning, when I was about twelve years old, I got caught stealing a purse. It belonged to the captain of one of the king’s ships at anchor in the harbour. Ymr’hoth has a large and powerful navy, situated as it is across the narrow Gyralin sea from northern Serrenia, home to the warlike empire of the Pharosi, also known as “Dark Elves”. Not the familiar Drow of other worlds, this race are porcelain-skinned and raven-haired, and their girlfriends are attractive with nice bums.
The owner of the purse, whose name was Captain Kharamorco, gripped me around the throat with one hand and lifted me off the ground. He looked into my eyes and he must have thought he saw something there because instead of breaking my neck he put me to work. Well, what he actually did was tuck me under his arm and carry me to his ship, a 74-gunner called the Bellothwen (or by the men the ‘Billy When?’), where he turned me over to his bosun telling him to train me as a ‘nipper’ and a ‘powder monkey’. I also worked as one of the captain’s servants and was favoured enough to earn a degree of tuition from the ship’s schoolmaster. These were happy years, and without even a suggestion of buggery.
Eventually I became a topman, and a happy member of a contented crew. We fought often with Pharosi pirates, escorted many convoys west along the Belegordic coast to Galeone and the Sentry Isles, and once chased off a giant turtle (armour class: 2/5, hit dice: 15, damage/attack: 4-16, no. of attacks: 1).
Of course it had to end.
In 1418mc the Pharosi launched a full-scale assault on Hothian and all available ships were called to defend the city. During the battle a splinter ripped off Captain Kharamorco’s face and he died on the quarterdeck in the arms of the mage. He had ordered the last of the healing potions be distributed among the gun-crews, and the ship’s cleric had been cut in half by chain-shot, so there was nothing we could do. The Pharosi were eventually beaten, but many of the best officers in the fleet were killed that day. Luckily the Navy never runs out of bastards and many of them stepped forward to fill the gaps left by brave men killed in action. One such man took command of the Billy When - Nam Rennago. An utter bastard.
the infamous Pharosi pirate Fili Ronyon (rumoured to be Eldred’s mum) whose head carried a bounty of two thousand in gold and the guarantee of the king’s favour
A year or so into his command we sighted a ship while on patrol. No ordinary ship though, this was the Seabright, an enchanted bronze ship belonging to the infamous Pharosi pirate Fili Ronyon (rumoured to be Eldred’s mum) whose head carried a bounty of two thousand in gold and the guarantee of the king’s favour.
Now, I still deny it was my fault. I do not remember a lot about the affair after I got knocked on the head during the boarding of the Seabright, but apparently I led a bold attack that cut a bloody swathe across the deck and left many crew dead or horribly injured. It was only as the fog in my mind began to lift that I recognised the deck to be that of the Billy When and the bodies that lay around me my own shipmates, while the party I had taken into battle I now saw to be all pale of complexion with hair black as pitch. The Pharosi were aboard us and some were blaming me. Captain Rennago abandoned his hopes for the prize money on the Seabright and the bounty on Ronyon; he had the bosun sound the recall and got what men he could to the guns while the hand-to-hand fighting slowly turned in our favour. We cut our ropes and broke free, then Rennago ordered a broadside, the 9-pounders sending grape and chain at the rigging while the twelves below put round-shot into her side. The damage was slight, but enough to give us the advantage. The pirates aboard us, not wishing to stay for our dramatic escape, took this last chance to return to their ship and went over the sides. We had done enough to the Seabright to slow her down, but Ronyon knew the day was hers. I was clapped in irons and thrown in the brig.
The punishment that awaited me was severe. At my court-martial I was sentanced to be flogged through the fleet for a total of 600 lashes and then spend ten years in the Churchman’s Gate naval prison. I was sure they were going to hang me, but there was the question of intent. To settle the matter a mage attatched to the Navy Board was summoned (literally) to cast a truth spell on me which proved I had not knowingly led the attack on my own crew. Of course I was still going to be punished, the whole Navy insisted on that, and due to a damning testimony by Captain Rennago, coupled with the extreme feeling against me generally, it had to be the worst punishment possible.
I shall not do the sums here, and I cannot seem to recall exactly what happened at the time, but a grating was taken up from one of the Billy’s hatches then braced up in a ship’s boat and I was tied to it; the lashes were put across my back a dozen at a time, each dozen by a different bosun’s mate from every ship in the harbour. I took two hundred on the first day, then was carried off by the surgeon’s mates (the clerics are not allowed to administer to the prisoners at a flogging) and allowed to rest up for a fortnight before receiving the next lot of two hundred; then after another two weeks I had the the last of my lashes and was sent off to Churchman’s Gate prison where I would have been lucky to survive a whole year among its scorbutic inmates and contagious vapours.
I wouldn’t recommend being flogged. I nearly died of it and I would say the pain was unbearable, but that I had no choice except to bear it. For me the problem was exacerbated by the fact that due to my thief training I was only using six-sided hit dice. I was healed up so that at least my wounds would not become infected in the squalor of the prison, and then I was locked away effectively for the rest of my life.
Needless to say I had to escape or I would die in Churchman’s Gate. I am not going to detail how I did it, but after a short time regaining my strength and getting to know the place I managed to break out.
My bad luck held. I had not been on the run for long before I was picked up by a press gang that knew my profession by the way I walk and by the cut of my trowsers, and I was taken back to a life in the Navy without anyone discovering my identity. I found myself in an uncomfortable situation; at any time I might be recognised and if caught they would surely hang me.
I was put to work in the tops aboard the Tuska, a 44-gun frigate and a damn fine ship. Her captain was a good man, his name was Hoorik and he treated the crew well. I worked under an assumed name and I tried to keep my head down, but this made me unpopular with my shipmates and they thought me a shifty character. To most of the officers I was a good crewman that got on with the work and did not idle, without a friend in the world and in fear of my life I kept busy and stayed quiet. Really, I did. But one midshipman by the name of Bakkish took a dislike to me. We were about the same age and of a similar size, but I knew I could take him if it came to it; or put a knife in his back and lower him over the side.
I do not know what it was that Bakkish disliked about me, but I have noted from time to time one man in a crowd gets it into his head that I would be better off dead, and it has given me a great deal of pleasure to bury them all. On a ship that offered me no comfort I found that he became my enemy.
One fine day we were attacked. It was a pirate ship, but not Pharosi, and that was probably why she got as close as she did before Captain Hoorik knew something was wrong. There are no human pirates off the coast of Ymr’hoth, so when we saw the crew we thought she must be a merchant vessel from one of the western cities, or maybe from Amarin as we could see a number of women on board. In fact it was the Discordia. The Tuska was patrolling far from home at the eastern end of the Gyralin and had surprised the Discordia about her business. I now know that Captain Qin had been investigating the routes to and from the country of Falaserk, fabled home of the Urkan tribes, and not wishing to be discovered (and being in a stinking foul mood) Qin ordered an attack with no quarter. (Ironically Tuska was the name of the Paurgwaith king that, with the Sylvari elven queen Laurelin, began the Urkan race.)
Qin hacking about him at everything in sight and improving his mood enormously
This time when I turned against my crew I did so in full possession of my senses. I worked my way to where the fighting was fiercest and there found Qin hacking about him at everything in sight and improving his mood enormously. I tried to speak to him, but almost had my head parted from my shoulders for my trouble. Unfortunately my momentary distraction gave Captain Hoorik, who was advancing, an opportunity and it took Qin’s full concentration to repell the attack. At the same time midshipman Bakkish got round behind and would have put his dirk in Qin’s back had I not called out a warning. Qin knocked Bakkish to the deck and turned back to the fight, but Hoorik was an expert swordsman and would have had the advantage. I shot him through the throat and received a glance from Qin as my reward. Bakkish got to his feet and came at me in a rage so I put a throwing knife in his right eye at ten paces and he fell dead. I took a moment to strip him of his jacket which I still wear to this day. Some of the Dicordia crew told me later they saw my face split into a wide grin when Bakkish died and knew then I was one of them. The Tuska crew surrendered when all of their officers had been killed, and Qin decided to be merciful as none of the survivors could read a chart nor be sure where they were. There was nothing on board of any value and so the Discordia made ready to disengage and enter the portal that would return her to the isle of Lundy. Qin saw me and for the second time in my life a ship’s captain looked me in the eye and saw something of value there. He offered me the chance to go on the account and I took it; and with that I became a pirate and a member of the Freebooters’ Alliance. I was perhaps twenty years of age.
Temple street is the longest street in Hothian. It runs from Churchman’s Gate in the west to River’s Edge and the Nest in the East. It crosses the river Horta (a tiny tributary of the Nimrant that bisects the city) and the old city walls. At the dead centre of the south end of Hothian it forms a crossroads with Old Gods’ street - which begins at the palace and divides the old city into halves, the Merchants’ district and the Smoke Jug (where all local metalwork is done) - and with the Sea road that ends at Water street and the docks.
I once broke into the temple of Arawn with two friends as a dare
The reason for Temple street’s length is the sheer number of religions represented along it, none of which are indiginous to Gallo-Elvish Ymr’hoth. Local gods are worshipped on Old Gods’ street, where many of the largest and oldest buildings in Hothian are situated, the most ancient ones often being entrances to labarynthine burial chambers to which the more adventurous urchins gained entry through the sewars. I once broke into the temple of Arawn with two friends as a dare, and had my first encounter with the undead. It was only a skeleton, but to three eight year old boys 1-6 damage per attack and 1-8 hit points (all damage from edged weapons halved) can be an intimidating prospect. We ran.
Before I was born the temple of Arawn was said to be the source of a magical protection against attacks from the sea, but by the time I joined the Navy this was certainly no longer true, and hence the reliance on gun ships and coastal patrols. It was rumoured that the temple had been desecrated and the bodies of the ancint kings entombed there had been defiled, no doubt by a party of adventurers.
The religions housed along Temple street come from all over the world (with a few exceptions; for instance the worship of demons is forbidden, if for no other reason, due to the inevitable destruction of property that occurs when the Lawful Good parties turn up and the fighting starts). Two of the best represented cultures are the Nordic and Achean, the temples of Thunor or Aphrodite being the best bet for a Saturday night in town. As part of the thieves guild it was good sense to make offerings at the temples of Loki and Hermes on their holy days, but the place most of us felt at home is a tiny building in the Achean sector that houses the local Eris guild. They never called themselves a religion, and (as you well know) they preffered it if their goddess did not pay any attention to them. At first I was surprised that my new shipmates named Eris as their goddess; and as we passed through the portal making sail for Lundy Qin began the prayer to Eris. I joined in loudly and with enormous pleasure - Qin “Oh mighty Eris,” All “What?”. This was meant to be. I was home.
It was a while before I went adventuring with the crew; I was still getting used to the transition to locational hit points, and because I was new I was quite weak, with only one hit per location I had to be careful! So I spent the first year or two as an NPC, biding my time and remaining fictional. Then one day I got my chance; the crew were about to embark on an adventure and found the shore party to be under-manned. I asked Gussett if he could do with some back-up on point and he was happy for someone to get between him and whatever beasties he surprised en route to the promised treasure. Armed with a knife and a belaying pin I took my life in my hands and followed Gussett into a pitch black dungeon.
Pum