FLUFF: Jammers: Turn 1 Chapter 1 Part 1

The Past Adventures of my Jammers PBEM game.

For me, one of the joys of PBEM gaming is the ability to revisit the
old adventures by reading the turn summaries. I think they make great
fan fiction.

This game has been going on since September, 1997. I thought folks
might enjoy reading the old turns in order, as fluff fiction. I know
I post the current turns as fluff as well, but the past turns were,
well, six years ago and new list members, as well as some old, may
still enjoy getting the old reads in their mailbox once per week. If
not, let me know and I'll stop sending them.

To give folks an idea of how much is still to come, the game is now
in Turn 21 of Chapter 7. Chapter 1 has 30 turns...

In order to make this a bit more then just a repost, I'm including
some commentary by myself on the turns and what I was thinking, how
things, went, ect.

This has always been my favorite PBEM game, things generally just run
smoother, and I'm not entirely certain why. Perhaps it is because,
despite the game being set in Spelljammer, it has always centered on
a 'typical' adventuring party doing basically typical events.

Ironically, the original idea was to run a city based campaign set on
Bral, one of my very favorite fantasy cities, with spelljamming just
as a back drop. I  didn't plan for the party to leave the Rock at
all. But that plan altered quickly, and though Bral has remained the
center of the campaign there have been plenty of spelljamming
adventures.

I really loved the great variety of PCs the game started out with. I
miss several of those who left, especially Fidalie and Grigree. I'd
still like to have a good tabaxi in the game.

Turn 1 was huge, I had to divide it into 3 parts...

----------- = Meanwhile, elsewhere...
*********** = Later...

IC:

The sign read simply "House Moune requires helmsmen,  navigators,  and
sailors.  Interested,  dependable,  skilled parties should inquire at the
Moune House offices,  corner of Grand Street and Trader's Way in the Middle
City."(#55). Seemed like a good idea at the time.  House Moune is one of
the few merchant houses on Bral with an honest reputation,  and its also
said to treat its employees right.  That certainly seems true enough,  when
hired the sailhands among you were offered a solid 24 gold a month,  nearly
twice the going rate!  Helmsmen were offered 50 gold,  ten more then most
merchant houses offer.  The line of applicants for the positions available
was certainly large,  perhaps 40 spacers had lined up yesterday outside the
Moune offices waiting to be interviewed.  You wonder why your fellow new
hires were chosen,  what skills do they possess?  There certainly appears
to be a lot of you,  nearly a dozen,  almost half the crew of the tradesman
you were told to report to this fine Bralian morning.  You glance once more
at the ship,  the _Flowfish_,  a neat enough looking tradesman,  far from
new and hardly distinguishable from any of the other dozen or so tradesman
scattered about the docks.  The Moune House emblem hangs from the mainmast,
a glittering silver rapier on a black field.  As you wait on the wharf for
the ships captain or mate to greet you,  you begin slowly introducing
yourselves to your new shipmates.

A pair of pointed ears reveals the elven blood in his veins, but the
coarseness of his features show him to be a half-elf.  He is otherwise
unremarkable in appearance with brown hair and green eyes.  The half-elf
stands about 5'6" and has a cheap shortsword sheathed at his waist, but a
glint from a ruby on a pommel on the dagger balancing the sword shows it to
be worth a great deal. He steps forward to introduce himself,
"Greetings shipmates," he begins with a grin, "My name is Talus and I
hail from the direction of Realmspace."

Talus then steps back to stand beside a young blond human whom he arrived
with and murmurs to him with a gesture towards the others, "With a crew
this diverse this is going to be an interesting voyage."

The young man Talus has spoken to gives a quiet laugh.  Debating
whether to speak, he looks back to Talus, giving enough time to make a
cursory inspection of the boy. Not exceptionally tall, he looks to
stand about jaw level with Radick, and while he is slight of build,
he has the color of
health about him.  The boy's curly, shoulder length blonde hair is
held back from his face by a small half inch wide leather band.
Burned into this band are many images of the hunting birds, the
falcons and hawks, in flight.  Facing forward again, his steely gray
eyes become apparent, as they stand out from a decidedly plain face.
Hitching back a dark green overcloak, his clothes and weaponry become
visible.  While simple in cut, his garb appears to be of fine and
sturdy make.  He wears a white linen cote under a green linen jerkin,
the sleeves of the cote gathered at the wrist.  Around his right
finger is a ring of steel, shining brightly against his suntanned
skin. On a brown leather belt are his weapons, a short sword and
dagger.  A matching pair, their well-polished sandalwood hilts
reflect the light on board the ship.  His braies, too, are a shade of
brown, much like the color of good earth, gathered and tied just
above the line of his short cut boots.

Holding onto the rucksack slung across a shoulder, he finally steps
forth and speaks.  " 'Lo all," he says quietly.  Though he can be
heard clearly, it is difficult to resist the urge to lean forward.
"M'names Kain, and I ah...hail from Toril, what would be Realmspace I
guess."  As Kain makes his introduction, he scans the newly hired
men, looking to each, but rarely making eye contact.  "Ah, I've
worked on ships before, mainly sea going vessels, but 't won't be the
first time we've, that's Talus and I, worked on a jamming vessel.
Again, pleased to make your acquaintance," he finishes as he
retreats, allowing others to make their own introductions.

".... then Chicken Hawk complained to Coyote that the new creations did
not speak," the young man was finishing his story.  A group of dockhands
stood around him, some bored, some with obvious looks of scorn on their
faces and some... some were enraptured.  This young savage had a certain
way with a story.  "So Coyote snuck into the private chamber of the Great
Spirit of Old Man Moon and secrets away with a bag of words.  He returns to
the Middle World and distributes the words to the new creation: Man.  And
that is how we can speak.  Of course, Coyote couldn't make things easy, so
he shook the bag before giving the words to different peoples, that is the
origin of the different languages."

Having finished the story to a few laughs and a few sighs and rolling
of eyes, the thin, athletically built man turned to look at the rest of
the assembled group.  He was bare-chested, wearing a pair of leggings and an
immaculately decorated breech-cloth.  He wore beaded wristbands, and beaded
moccasins.  He had dark, coppery skin and long black hair, controlled by a
simple headband and a tie that allowed the pony-tail to hang loose down his
back.  He wore a few pouches and a primitive looking axe tucked in and
around a highly decorative belt.

"Well met, friends.  My name is Italapate, and I was born on the Rock,
as was my father before me," he said.  "My grandparents however, were
from the Plains of Poscadar, or more accurately the Tlingtuan coastal
Nation.  Also on Realmspace, so you see, while not brothers, we are at
least distant cousins..."  His eyes seemed to sparkle at the joke. One
that at least _he_ thought was funny.

Taking a step forward, a young boy, no, a halfling, judging by the
fur on his feet, waves. "Uh... Hi. I'm Billy. Guess we'll be working
together for the next little while, huh." He smiles, almost apologetically.

The halfling is tall for one of his kind. Standing just over the three and
a half foot mark, he is relatively slim, looking like a young human boy of
about 9 years. His head is topped by a mass of curly brown locks
hanging down almost to his neck. This is matched by the hair growing
on the tops of his furry little feet. His brown eyes and tan complexion
completes the impression one gets of a creature emerging from rich
loamy earth: overall "brownness". This impression is amplified by his
method of dress: brown breeches, a tan tunic, all covered in a drab
brown cloak. The only thing that stands out is his bright green vest that
he wears over his tunic. At his belt on the left hangs a shortsword and
slung over his back is a  large sack. A closed bolt case hangs at his
right hip next to two small belt pouches.

He drops his sack to the ground and it falls open. You see the stock of
a crossbow and what appears to be a leather hauberk. Billy absently
kicks the sack closed with one of his feet. He thrusts his hands in his
vest pockets, leaving his thumbs sticking out. "Anyone know who the
captain is?"  he asks rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to
his toes.

"I'm afraid I am as in the dark about the captain as you are,  _woge_"
Italapate said to Billy. Then he folded his arms across his chest and
smiled.  It was going to be an adventure, of that he was certain.

"Woge? What does that mean? I am not familiar with the word." said Billy
smiling up to the man

"Ah," says Italapate, "I am glad that you asked.  "In the Plains, all
heroes, if they are abnormal in size are _Little People_. Villains are
always portrayed as stupid, giant creatures.  The _woge_ are little
people from the legends of the Tlingtuan Nations.  They are helpful,
sometimes mischievous characters, that are sometimes portrayed as
Immortal."  He smiles broadly at Billy. "It really is a compliment."

Already reviewing the rigging is a young man (early 20's) with dark brown
hair hanging loose over his shoulders.  He wears an outfit of leather but
beneath the covering can be seen a very lean and solid body.  The muscles
do not bulge, but they are apparent as there is little fat on his body.  He
moves from station to station with a gracefulness and ease that appears
almost as if he were floating.   Upon his back can be seen a full battle
axe and at his waist are three hand axes.  He reaches overhead and tries
for a rope that is suspended above him, however his six foot frame does not
allow him to reach.  Without even a hesitation he leaps and his arm quickly
grabs hold and suspends his body easily.  Feeling comfortable that the
rigging is sound he turns and moves toward the crowd of newcomers on board.

His face  is handsome and strong, with an air of dignity and pride showing
forth from his gray-blue eyes.  As he approaches he nods, but does not
smile as his manner is strictly for business.  It is obvious he feels
comfortable aboard the ship, and there is no hesitation in his movements
towards the others.

"Greetings Talus," he looks to the others, "men. My name is Radick, but you
may have heard references to me as The Axe or something along those lines.
I come from Realmspace as well, Dragon Rock to be exact." He offers his
hand to Talus (handshake) as his eyes scan the group. He then steps back
into the center of the deck with his arms crossed and looks upon the
others.  At this point a ring can be seen on his hand. Those near enough
see it to be a signet ring with carving of a battle axe with two crossed
hand axes.

One of the new hires, a slightly depressed look on his face, clears
his throat to draw attention, "My name is Holland Wellhouse, I am a
Helmsman," is all he says. Holland stands about 5’11”, and has black
hair with a silver streak running through the center.  His eyes are a
piercing gray and seem to see everything.  He is a normal-enough
looking human.  Around him he wears a black cloak with the hood
currently pulled down.  His hands are at his waist pulling the cloak
apart.  Underneath can be seen more black clothing as well as a
simple looking dagger at his waist.

A young woman walks up the wharf.  She tosses her head in an effort
to keep her unruly light brown hair out of her eyes.  She is clothed
in a vibrant red robe and wears an expensive looking necklace with
matching earrings.  She is by no means unattractive. She pauses and
eyes her shipmates.  A faint smile flickers across her face.  As
people turn to look at her, she speaks. "Well met, shipmates."  She
eyes Talus, and especially Radick. "My name is Leera, and I, too,
hail from what folk here seem to call Realmspace.  In truth, I am
only recently arrived, and lack a full understanding of the workings
of this strange place. It is comforting to know that I share the bond
of a common heritage with at least some of my shipmates." She gazes
up at the riggings that Radick was checking. "I am well versed in the
handling of ships that sail upon the seas, but find myself at a loss
to explain how a ship can sail the very heavens.
Nevertheless, I have been hired as a helmsman. Perhaps one of my more
experienced shipmates <glancing at Radick> will, as they say, show me
the ropes?"

Radick looks directly at the woman's face and then as Holland speaks up he
turns his head towards the man but keeps his eyes on Leera. "Holland, if
you and Raken are willing, please keep an eye on Leera and help her out.
It seems our captain has decided to hire on some grounders for their first
trip beyond.  Maybe we'll get lucky and make it through a journey or two
before her first major mistake." Knowing his words may have hurt her
feelings he smiles at her, but just for an instant, as he quickly looks
again to the others so as not to appear as if he is interested in only her.

Looking down at Billy, Leera comments: "I, too, would like to know
the identity of our captain.  For that matter, it would be nice to
know our cargo and destination.  Both must indeed be important.  I
have been told that this is, in truth, a very good-paying berth."

As the various crewmen introduce themselves, several notice a hooded
figure leaning against the mainmast, his face lost in the shadow of
his cloak.  He seems completely disinterested in the conversation, as
it seems that he is observing a distant nebula.  The crowd eventually
converges upon him, intrigued by the mysterious figure. "I suppose
it's my turn," he says before anyone can speak, "very well."  He
draws back his hood, revealing the unremarkable features of a
handsome human male, barely an adult.  Except for the goatee, there
seems
nothing particular about him.  At his side is a sheathed scimitar,
hooked on an impressive, black snakeskin sword belt.  He wears what
appears to be a black swaye jacket, simple pants, and sturdy boots.
An ordinary duffel bag sits at his feet, with a thick oak staff
placed atop it. "I am Raken, of the Celestrial Druidic order of
Celestian,  Greyspace Circle.  I am both a helmsman and a healer.  I
believe that you will find my services invaluable."  He turns back to
the stars.  "Where is that captain?  I grow weary of this place.  The
stars call, our destiny is before us."

"Destiny? Bah!" booms a deep, loud voice. Behind you stands a tall,
bull-headed humanoid, easily over seven and a half feet tall. His skin is
as dark as the deep brown fur that covers his face and is uniformly
covered with a mat of fine hair. He wears a large, brown leather vest
which is barely discernible over his dark, burly chest. A leather skirt
extends from a black girdle at his waist to the middle of his thick
thighs. His feet are covered by extraordinarily large leather boots. He
carries a large battle axe in his left hand loosely, almost as if he wants
you to think he's not on his guard.

"I am Deigatt, recently of Geb," he proclaims, his voice again booming,
"and newly hired to this vessel. I've served on only one voyage through
space thus far, but it was a lengthy voyage and I have learned much about
navigating the stars. I am looking forward to a good, steady, and safe
voyage, and I hope you are as well."

He glances quickly at the halfling, then adjusts his backpack a little
higher on his back. Silently he eyes each of the crew members who have
introduced themselves and then looks to those who have not. His expression
is unreadable.

"Are you always that bombastic?" a voice suddenly asks from behind
the minotaur's head.  The minotaur turned around to look at the
source of the mysterious voice.  A second later, a being sprang from
the top of the high crate and landed surly on his feet with the
smoothness of... a cat. Standing 5'10", and looking like he was made
of pure muscle, the stranger was wearing a dark brown, hooded cloak
and trousers.  That didn't hide his upright, pointed ears, slightly
clawed feet and hands, and a coat of fine fur that appeared to cover
every part of his body.  His coat was largely dark brown in color,
with black highlights and stripes, like those of a tiger.  His eyes
were a rather disturbing shade of green, and his decidedly feline
face was largely light gray.  Whatever this man was, he wasn't a
human or demi-human. "My name is Fidalie Kymbia," he said in a
smooth, silky voice that was a semi- whisper.  "As for where I'm
from, let's just say it's a long way from here, and I don't plan on
going back there any time soon."

Without another word, Fidalie effortlessly sprang on top of another
crate and joined everyone else in waiting for the captain and senior
crew. As he settled himself down on the crate, he cast a quick glance
at the human woman - Leera - and made a quick, but barely audible
sound that most would call a "purr."  As soon as he looked away,
whatever expression his face might have had quickly vanished behind
the stone-cold gaze of those piercing green eyes...

Eventually the eyes of the group waiting by the ship turn to a
tall -- almost seven feet -- male hadozee.  His fur is a dull orange
color, but the beard-like patch under his chin is dyed russet.  He doesn't
wear any armor or clothes, but has an oddly shaped backpack -- with two
sword hilts sticking out of it -- by his feet.

Sensing the gazes of the others, the hadozee looks up from the
stick he's carving up with a dagger and scans the crowd with his black
eyes.  "I'm Grigree," he says with a bit of a growl in his voice.  "I'm
not from Realmspace, but I've been there."  With that, he goes back to
concentrating on the stick in his hand.  He gazes up occasionally to
watch the newcomers introduce themselves.

The man who introduced himself as Holland earlier speaks again, "If it
would not be too much of an imposition could all of those who have been
hired as Helmsmen come over here.  I would like to talk with all of
you."

Holland then moves a bit away from the rest of the group and awaits the
other Helmsmen who design to talk with him.

Glancing at Radick, Leera moves over to talk with Holland and Raken.

Deigatt stands tall, facing generally toward the FLOWFISH, eagerly
awaiting the arrival of the captain. He mumbles something about "women,
children, and animals" in his deep, resonant voice but looks at no one
directly, although he frequently casts an appraising eye toward
dark-cloaked Holland.

Italapate watched as the (presumably) mages wandered off to be alone.
He turned and saw the cat-man crouching atop a crate, and the huge
minotaur grumbling briefly to himself. "Bombastic,_tabaxi_?"
Italapate laughed, patting the huge Deigatt on the chest. "With a set
of lungs like that, that was positively a whisper!"

Fidalie put on a sarcartic grin. "I just hope he doesn't snore," he said wryly.

As a few people move towards the man who called himself Holland,  a
deep,  booming yet somehow feminine voice echoes across the docks.  "'PON
MY SOUL, LT SABBAGH!  THIS IS THE SORRIEST GROUP OF DIRTKICKERS THEY'VE YET
SENT ME!"  The voice echoes from a 9 foot tall,  600 pound hippopotamus
headed,  female humanoid.  Moving from the doorway of the _Flowfish_'s
forward passage she moves next to the gangplank and stands there, hands on
her hips.  She is dressed in an elaborate purple naval officer's dress
uniform with gold trim.  Her skin is a tannish pink,  her hair course,
black,  and tied in a pony tail beneath her purple tricorner hat.  A large
cutlass hangs from a black leather baldric and two wheellock pistols are
shoved into her belt.  When she snorts you can feel the breeze on the
wharf.  "Well,  come aboard!" she says in a moderately less deafening
voice.  After you've all filed across and assembled before you she snorts
loudly again,  "I am Post-Captain Wilhemina of the House Moune Tradesman
_Flowfish_.  You are joining my crew because I can smell a troublemaker a
mile away and Lady Moune likes problems sniffed out before they move on to
less demanding captains.  There are just two types of people on my ship:
officers and hands.  Some hands work the sails and crew the weapons,
others man the helm.  All take their turn at galley and cleanup duty." She
places her massive hands behind her back and begins pacing back and forth
before you "The _Flowfish_ typically stays insphere,  making the regular
runs to the House Moune farming asteroids.  Occasionally we will be used for
an out of sphere run.  You will get paid each time we make landfall.  We
leave today on the regular route.  I hope,  as instructed,  you've taken
care of any personal business ashore,  there will be no time now.  In
twenty minutes the blasted stevedores will start loading supplies on board,
you are all to be back up here to help stow that gear.  This is Lt
Sabbagh"  she motions to a plain man of maybe thirty,  his dirty blond hair
cropped close to his skull.  He wears chainmail and has a hammer hanging
from his belt.  "He's the first mate and chief helmsman.  Lt Sand is the
2nd mate and navigator.  We are the only three officers aboard.  Each of
you will be assigned to a watch shift,  and battlestations.  Now,  go below
and stow your gear.  Lt Sabbagh will show you where your quarters are."

As the giff bellows her commands to the crew, Raken seems to hardly
take interest.  Noticing his complete lack of attention, the giff heads
over to repeat her commands. "I heard you, Miss Wilhemina.  I would
rather like to avoid the crowd as they rush to find bunks."  Without
turning away from the nebula he had been watching, he reaches down
and picks up his duffel bag.

Before his hand can reach his bag a massive giff hand has grabbed him by
the shirt and lifted him 3 feet off the deck.  Raken finds himself inches
from the captain's face.  "You will call me Captain,  or Captain Wilhemina.
You will call me by my title or you will leave this ship at once.  I do
not repeat my orders."  She lets go and Raken falls to the deck on his
arse.

Raken looks up at the towering giff, and picks himself up and replaces
his hood.  "Aye, Captain," he says.  Unseen in the shadows of his hood,
he smiles at his own humility.  He picks up his bag, and walks to the
cargo deck.  "Women," his lips silently mouth, and he joins the crew
down below.

Favoring you all with a half smile Lt Sabbagh turns and leads the way down
the forward passage,  pointing out things as he leads you through the
passageways below towards the crew quarters.  Once there he says "This will
be your quarters.  Fifteen bunks stacked five high,  work out among
yourselves who sleeps where."  He glances at the minotaur,  "The bunks can
all fold up,  for those who may need one or two of the empty bunks above
them.  Stow your gear and head on back up,  all hands will be piped to load
cargo soon."  With that he turns and strides away.

Date/Time: First half of the 4th Month, 5049 OC
I had not yet started keeping careful count of time.

--
"...And nobody is to be killed at all, if it can be helped. Keep your
tempers and hold your hands until the last possible moment!"
"But if there are many of these ruffians," said Merry, "it will
certainly mean fighting. You won't rescue Lotho, or the Shire, just
by being shocked and sad, my dear Frodo."

Paul Westermeyer,  pwestermeyer@????????.??.com