Feb 30, 1885
When we returned to Tarant Mr Bates was still finalising arrangements for transport to the Isle of Despair – also known as “The Black Isle”. I nosed around for information, and it indeed sounded rather desolate. A penal colony on a barren island selected because the island inherently interferes with Magick. So much so that teleportation to and from the island is considered impossible. And it seems to have been populated over the years with an odd mix of political dissidents, scoundrels, and inconvenient relatives.
As I was investigating, another line of inquiry presented itself. It started simply enough. I struck up a conversation with a well-to-do half-orc man at Kensington Station named Thom Grak. A pleasant enough fellow, who at the end of the conversation hired me to deliver a message to a man named “Sir Matthew de Cesare”. Apparently he was known to frequent the Wellington Club on Vermillion Road, but Thom was not welcome there. I could imagine the reason, and wondered if I would fair any better. But if it it came down to it I could send in Virgil or Jayna.
Unfortunately when we arrived I got into a bit of an altercation with the doorman. It seemed that while he frowned on my heritage, his bigger objection was to my sex! The “Wellington Club” was actually the “Wellington Gentlemen’s Club”! I’m afraid I didn’t quite manage to cover my reaction as well as I should have liked. I did learn that it was possible – if rare – to be granted an exception by Mr Wellington himself. The doorman would not reveal his location, but it was rather trivial to locate his residence.
When I arrived at the Wellington residence I was shown in straightforwardly enough. Mr Wellington was a gnomish gentleman (or so I thought at first), and was willing to hear me out. I did *not*, however, like the way he looked at me as I pleaded my case. And then he had the nerve, the sheer *nerve*, to offer a pass in exchange for a bribe and… an evening of feminine touch…
I certainly gave him a “feminine touch” – if not quite in the manner he desired. And then snatched the pass and stormed out. The *nerve*!!!
The doorman at the Wellington was surprised and dismayed when I returned, but he honoured the pass. Inside the Wellington it wasn’t hard to locate De Cesare by his description – but the man was so drunk as to be nearly incomprehensible.
As soon as I mentioned Thom, however, events took a decided turn. A man nearby pulled out a gun! And De Cesare proved to be far more sober than he appeared – shoving me aside and stabbing the assailant with a dirk before I could even process events! He then hurried me out to a nearby alley to explain in private.
It seems he was working with an un-named group attempting to unmask a conspiracy. He wouldn’t reveal the details – saying it was dangerous to know too much too soon. But he implored us to locate the Skulls of the Ren’ar Siamese Twins. The twins had been minor celebrities on the oddities tours for a time, and apparently there was some mystery attached to their lineage. De Cesare said that the skulls were currently hidden in a warehouse in Tarant, due to be shipped out in the morning. After which they would undoubtedly vanish from the eyes of the world.
I assured him that this was directly in my line of expertise. Indeed it took little time to narrow down the list of candidate locations by examining shipping manifests at the Port Authority. When we surveilled the location we found it lightly guarded – no doubt to avoid attracting attention. There was a particularly surly half-ogre guard who attempted to intimidate us, but Sogg did not find his efforts very convincing.
Afterwards we found the odd skulls without too much effort. I stared at them for a time, trying to discern what secrets they might contain. But for now they imparted no useful information.
De Cesare urged us to take the skulls to a man named Arthur Tyron in Blackroot. But there the trail went cold. I located Tyron’s former residence in Blackroot, but it had been ransacked. All that remained was a rather cryptic note warning “the Crow is in danger”.
Mar 14, 1885
Returning to Tarant we learned that Mr. Bates had arranged for a ship in Ashbury to take us to the Black Isle. Ashbury was some distance away, so he also provided fare for train transportation.
Ashbury was a prosperous port city on the east coast, and the view from the station was quite picturesque.
When we entered town, however, we heard the most piteous yelping. Following it we discovered a rather odious gnome kicking an injured dog!
I was utterly incensed, and let him have it! He slunk away muttering that I could have the “worthless mutt”.
Virgil had the dog feeling better in no time, and it was quite appreciative. I wasn’t sure how we could safely care for a dog given our current endeavours, but until we found a better home for him it looked like we had a new companion. I decided to call him Pilot, after a dog from a loved book.
Exploring town for a bit we discovered that they had been having trouble in the local graveyard. A number of those interred had risen as zombies, and they were having difficulty containing the outbreak!
We met a rather handsomely dressed man standing at the entrance who introduced himself as Geoffery Tarrelonde-Ashe. Virgil instantly disliked him. I found him rather charming and quick-witted – if also with the air of the scoundrel about him. He believed that a necromantic Gem was buried or concealed somewhere on the premises, and that it was the source of the problem. If we could remove that, it should end the affair. He offered to pay us for the gem and take it into safekeeping. I rather suspected he had less than altruistic motives for wanting the gem, but it did need to be removed from the graveyard. And certainly none of us were qualified to secure it.
Inside we found the graveyard had become even more overrun than we had feared. Jayna proved quite capable of assisting with archery, although she admitted this to be her first actual combat experience and so she was a bit shaken up.
We discovered tunnels under the crematorium, swarming with ghouls and even fouler entities.
Eventually we located the gem, much as Geoffrey had described it. It felt foul even to the touch – I was glad to be rid of it when we gave it to him.
Mar 14, 1885
The next day we located Captain Teach, in his schooner the Gypsy Shadow. He was a fascinating man, with tales of travels all over the world! I suspected that there was more than a little hokum in some of his bombast, but his tall tales were so entertaining that I enjoyed them regardless.
He had been expecting our arrival, and the arrangements had already been made. So we set sail as soon as we finished our morning tea. I used the time aboard ship to finish perfecting a lighter version of the sword I had earlier designed for Sogg – allowing me to electrify my own rapier!
Mar 15, 1885
As we approached the island I could feel a palpable air of hopelessness. The Isle of Despair indeed.
When we set anchor we could see a small fort in the distance. I decided to leave Pilot with Captain Teach as we headed out. It didn’t seem quite right to bring a dog with us into the unknown hazards of an isolated penal colony.
A pair of rough men watched us carefully as we approached the fort. They warned us that there was a mysterious beast hunting those who wandered too far north. None had lived to relate its nature or appearance, but several of them had seen its large tracks along the shore. They knew nothing of the Black Mountain Clan. They only knew of one dwarf on the entire island, whom they called Thorvald.
Inside we spoke with a number of residents – some reasonably personable, others less so. We were offered several odd jobs as part of the community’s barter economy. A scavenger was looking for usable artifacts from the island’s northern shores. A distiller wanted us to deliver liquor to an isolated hermit. But the most disturbing was when a young woman motioned for our attention in an out-of-the-way nook.
She gave her name as Cynthia, and she appeared quite poorly treated. She said she had been born in the camp, and reasonably well off while her mother had still been alive. But since her mother had died she had been passed around the camp as little better than a slave. Jayna examined her injuries and helped as she could while Cynthia spoke.
She told us that there was a Women’s Camp in the wastes, where women who could brave the journey gathered as they escaped from the fort. She wanted us to contact them to arrange for her rescue. I was already rather poorly disposed towards the colony, and this did *not* improve my estimation of them. We vowed to do what we could to help her.
Thorvald lived in a wooden cabin at the edge of the colony, and appeared to be someone of importance. A large half-ogre barred entry, whom I assumed to be a rather brutish fellow if he could command the fear and respect of the ruffians here.
He gave his name as Ogdin, and at first claimed that the only way to enter was to win a fight in “The Pit” – a barbaric arena of some sort. However I quickly discovered that Ogdin was far more than he let on, as despite his crude affectation he slipped more than a few obscure literary references into his speech. As it turned out he was quite erudite and well-read! He had been a manservant to a wealthy gnome – as seemed oddly common for half-ogres. And he had been consigned to the Black Isle by his master for asking too many uncomfortable questions.
I eventual gave him a copy of a personal favourite novel from my pack, and he agreed to wave the formal requirement given that we were not really among the criminals it was meant to deter in the first place.
When we entered to speak with Thorvald he was initially miffed with Ogdin for the breach of protocol. But I found him reasonably personable – if gruff. Unfortunately Thorvald had no knowledge of any member of the Black Mountain Clan having ever been at the Black Isle – and he himself had been here for over 100 years!!
He was a member of the Wheel Clan, and had been imprisoned and sentenced here after an altercation with a human merchant had turned deadly. He said if we wanted to know more of the Black Mountain Clan’s fate we would need to speak to King Loghaire of the Wheel Clan ourselves – for he would have been directly involved in any sentence passed upon the BMC. Particularly if elves really were involved. But there was a catch.
The entrance to the Wheel Clan’s tunnels was concealed by clever optical illusions. Specially crafted crystal spectacles were required to see past this and discern the entrance. As a member of the Wheel Clan he had his own pair, but he would only give them to us on one condition – that we inform the Wheel Clan of his incarceration here. This seemed a simple enough request, and we readily agreed. But Throvald also warned us of an additional complication. He believed it quite likely that while we had been visiting the fort penal colonists had attacked and taken our ship as a means of escape!
We hurried back fearing the worst, but what we found instead was Captain Teach cheerfully bonding with Pilot, and a beach littered with the remains of assailants. It would seem that the Captain’s tales of daring-do were not entirely far-fetched!
Mar 16, 1885
We spent the night on the ship – not wanting to trust our fortunes in the colony. In the morning we set back out as I wanted to follow up all possible leads. And I absolutely intended to honour my vow to Cynthia.
We found the “hermit’s cabin” readily enough. The hermit went by the name Max, and proved an engaging conversationalist. He lived by himself due to his disgust with the behaviour of many of the residents of the fort, and I could not help but agree with his assessment. As I probed his background, as is my habit, I made the most extraordinary discovery!
“Max” was short for “Maximillian”. Maximilian Praetor – the older brother of the King of Cumbria! He had been exiled here after his father’s death because the Council of Mages preferred his younger brother’s antipathy to technology to his own open-mindedness. He had long ago given up on his birthright, but I convinced him that his country could still benefit from his leadership. He told me that I should locate Lianna Pel Dar – the daughter of his former sergeant-at-arms – and tell her that he was still alive. I promised to do just that at first opportunity!
Continuing on to the northern shore of the island we made a most remarkable discovery. The remains of an ancient seafaring vessel – with technology beyond anything any of us had ever seen! Sogg and Virgil were not terribly interested, but Magnus, Jayna, and I were amazed!
Further exploration finally brought us to what appeared to be the Women’s Camp. I decided that for best reception Jayna and I should approach alone – leaving the menfolk a distance away. This turned out to be a wise decision, as the women of the camp proved a decidedly suspicious and aggressive lot.
We told them of Cynthia’s predicament, and they were sympathetic. But they would not move to rescue her. They said that only the strong could survive in the wastes, and she would have to prove her strength by freeing herself. They gave us a rusty revolver to give to her, and told us that she would be welcomed – if she survived. I was incensed! Did any of them really expect a barely adult child raised in a camp to fight her way out of a fort full of hardened criminals with naught but an old pistol?!?! But they would not be moved.
On the way back to the colony, we chanced upon some very strange large tracks. I suspected that these were related to the “strange beast” of which we had been told. I was in no particular mood to assist the colony any further. But given that any other women who found themselves in Cynthia’s position would be likely to attempt this trek I felt it my duty to at least remove this hazard in the journey.
The tracks were like none I seen before. Hominid, but not quite. Too large. Too many digits. And with odd differences between the feet.
Eventually the tracks led us to the ruins of an old building – with a most unpleasant resident. It appeared most like a species of giant ape, but with horns, glowing eyes, a misshapen form, and odd growths on its back. And it shimmered and shifted in odd ways as it moved – as if we were seeing after-images rather than the actual beast. Virgil said it fairly radiated Magick – of a sort that he found odd and uncomfortable. When it noticed us it roared, and charged. The time for observation had ended.
The beast proved fierce and unrelenting, and proved difficult for even Sogg to engage. It seemed preternaturally aware of our movements before we made them.
It also interacted with my devices in curious fashion. An acidic solution I had designed for softening up hard targets seemed to do little but enrage the beast.
And when I was finally able to land a blow my electrified rapier interacted with its aura in a most peculiar fashion – resulting in a shower of sparks that seemed to truly harm the beast!
When it finally fell I resolved to study this curious interaction further. If my electrical devices could interact directly with Magick, then that suggested a number of intriguing possibilities!
After we arrived back at camp, we informed our various patrons of our success and collected our promised odds and ends. And then we went to see Cynthia. She asked about the Women’s Camp – and I had had enough.
Instead of relaying their offer I asked her to accompany us back to the ship. Her eyes grew wide with fear of the guards, but I smiled and Sogg flexed reassuringly. They indeed questioned us about her as we left, but I informed them in my most imperious voice that we had been gifted her as payment for services rendered. They looked inclined to argue the point, but Sogg’s leer made them re-consider.
As we sailed away I contemplated what sort of employment we might be able to secure for Cynthia in Ashbury. Captain Teach suggested that he could procure a job for her as a serving girl in a local tavern – and would assist us in arranging boarding for her. As he also appeared to be getting along famously with Pilot, I asked if he would like a permanent ship’s dog. He replied with what seemed to be his trademark wide grin – and agreed to look in on Cynthia whenever he was in port as well. It seemed that we had found refuge for both.
Author’s Notes:
I know lots of folks keep the “Worthless Mutt” as a free companion through the entire game. And he indeed evolves into a powerful companion. But head-canon wise I just couldn’t see Cass bringing an abused dog along on hazardous missions. And when the renders with Pilot and Captain Teach turned out so well… That’s what I did in game as well. Dismissed the Dog on Teach’s ship.
Leave a Reply to ZenoCancel reply