Calabria Adventures

Winter was truly upon the city of Triskellian, with the morning bringing a perfectly blue sky and crisp, cold air. The gossip around town was that some northern towns were beginning to see snow. On this chilly morning, the priests of Cathedral Leona celebrated S'allumer's holy day with sermons before even the rising of the sun.

S'allumer's holy day is marked with a day of rest, with construction ceasing and many merchants around town closing shop. However, there is one tradition which is upheld by law. The exchange of money is outlawed on this most holy of days. Early-rising housewives exchange fresh fish for hand-knit socks, ground herbs, or an offer to patch a hole in the fisherman's shirt. It is a day of barter and goodwill.

Having decided to travel to Salento Island, the group gathers at the docks. They travel through the west end of the city. The Hairball is already open... or perhaps it never closed. Drunks are loitering outside, throwing up in the alleyway and catcalling the women who make eye contact with them. Some families rustle up the children and force them to one of the smaller chapels around town, but others decide to sleep in after 6 grueling days of work.

As you get closer to the ocean, the smell of salt lingers in their air. The roads are wider, cleaner and free of potholes. These streets are less dangerous, with the merchant guild hiring mercenaries to protect ships and and their crews from the locals. But it is impossible to forget the slums are but minutes away - beggars litter the streets, their eyes empty. Many have long suffered a grievous injury or hideous illness, and have given up hope years ago. They beg, because it's all they know to do. Their voice is quiet and hopeless, as they moan to pedestrians, holding out their filthy bowl for food - for coins are hardly ever given on the day of rest.

Upon a crate, a bat wearing the white robes of a S'allumer priest, preaches of the end-times. He weaves stories of monsters, the oceans drying up, flames falling from the sky, and only the truly devout will survive. Prove your devotion by donating to the church.

Many ships are preparing for departure. The sharp cry of captains can be heard, and sailors scurry around, making their final preparations.

Johann never did like the cold. The cold made him very sleepy, as it did most Frogs. They were simply better suited for damp regions rather than freezing ones. Still the knight-errant mustered all his willpower to stay awake. He had a good night's sleep, after all. He felt a little sad that he overslept and didn't have time to go to the market to see how people provided their services without spending money, but oh well. Justice never sleeps, so Johann needs to be well rested in order to catch up with it.

That's not how the saying goes, is it?

Flint had, in the last few days, become a common sight around the Hairball. After that one night where he quite shamelessly took advantage of the locals - and still got beaten to it by Vix and Prim, for shame! - he had made a honest effort to make up to them by forcing them to socialize with him. The group would never know how it went, since the only result they could see was Flint smelling more and more like cider each time.

Today's no exception. Though he appears mostly sober - though with Flint, you never really know - it's like the scent of fermented apple juice has stuck to his clothes, intermingling with the odors that he usually carries with him, of sulfur, foreign spices and other exotic reagents. And, of course, unwashed boar.

Either way, there he is, standing at the dock, enjoying the invigorating cold from under his thick robes and staring out at the ocean. Occasionally he inhales deeply, and his breath forms a white cloud that quickly fades into nothingness.

The immediate extinction of all life that wasn't practicing the faith correctly intrigued Prim--she listened from a good distance, taking notes on the details. She'd not heard any reports of sighted falling stars causing harm to nearby astronomers. Perhaps the end wouldn't be as bad as they thought? Couldn't they build shelter for both heathens and devout alike? How would anyone survive without water and the food provided by it? More research was needed. Perhaps Mauricio knew the answer to these questions. Peer review is one of the best methodologies.

Although she was inclined to appreciate the sun, the cat was well equipped for an aggressive chill. Thankful that it didn't involve the insulation of heavy breathing, mad drunks--she was admittedly keeping her distance from the group's drunkard, whose scent did not please her nose--her fur would boast being an extreme measure to the weather, having grown tremendously as a result of the coming days.

She quietly stands idle, arms tucked well into each other and paws gripping tightly onto her bicep. The muffler that she wore would reside above her mouth as a retainer of heat and pure air, mostly because she really was not going to touch liquor, even through second-hand stenches.

Mauricio was used to this type of weather and s'Allumer had blessed his kind by granting him and his kind a coat of thick white fur in the winter. After morning sermons and a half hour of personal prayer the stoat slipped into his red clothes, put on his hat and headed for the docks. Usually it would have been a matter of minutes for him to get there, even with his short legs he could walk pretty fast when he meaned to but today was special.

On holidays like this, with a rule against the spreading of money it was the best time to catch blasphemers who felt their need for coin was more important than the teachings of their fair lady. It was almost unthinkable anyone would break the spirit of this holy day in front of an inquisitor and if he did indeed caught nobody in the act, he'd find his companions at the docks swiftly.

"Looks like we're all here." Johann stated as he notices the whole group together."Then let us not waste any time. Let's find us a mighty ship willing to get us to Salento Island, shall we?"

1= M 2 = F, 3 = J, 4 = P, 5 = V, 6 = I don't know please don't be a 6

The party splits up and asks up and down the docks. Many of the ships are merchants, travelling to a far corner of Calabria. Some are passenger ships, travelling to distant lands of Zhongguo. Despite struggling to make conversation with the rough and dirty sailors, it is Vix who discovers the small Ferry by the name of "Cerulean Mistress"

Its captain, an aging Red Fox with bushy eyebrows and the start of a beard is a fisherman by trade is always looking for ways to make a bit of extra pocket-money. Stroking his beard with his pointed claws, he claims he will take your entire group if you can offer him something interesting.

"Of course," he adds with a laugh. "You could just come back tomorrow and pay me cash."

Neutrality encases her face, masking much of the desire to shave that beard off in its entirety and wringing his tears from the threads of scraggy red fur. She ponders the options--one admittedly being forced control over the sailor--before wrinkling her nose. "Right, right. Per chance, how much are you seeking?"

"Weellll miss," he says with a toothy grin. "It aint a long tip. On any normal day I'd change about 1 Denarii and pop. Of course, this being the holy day I'm willing to settle for a little less. Doin' yall a favour in the name of our good lady. But trust me, this ship," he says, tapping the rustbucket. "sails as smooth as a frog's behind. You aint gonna find a better ship."

Flat, dull eyes skeptically examine the vessel. A ship looked the same to her, though this one wasn't as pretty as the others, in her honest opinion. She'd also not had the misfortune of gazing at Johannes' posterior--and would, rather desperately--prefer it that way considering his taste in armor. Perhaps she could get him to verify this smoothness, with some sort of grater and a poorly thought out experiment. Ultimately, the idea occupied her mind far longer than she'd like to admit. "Right. I'll ask them."

Johann's big eyes turn over to a particular person who seems to be paying very keen attention to the conversation. A sheep girl in tattered clothing. He subtly nudges Mauricio to gain his attention. He wouldn't simply go out and confront the little lady. That might scare her off, but at least the inquisitor should be aware of her.

Prim also notices the sheep. She was filthy. Apparently having a rough time. She glances at the others, only to see that Johann noticed it too. She keeps an eye on her to see if she approaches them first, an ear in her direction, and an ear in the fox's.

Flint, too, seems to notice what's going on, but he is better at pretending he hasn't than the rest.