Karibbean Dawn

Karibbean Dawn: A Warhammer Campaign

Philosophers say that war is born of desire- the desire for power, wealth and fame. Desire for gold, for slaves, for conflict on a grand scale. Such a conflict is brewing even now in a little known corner of the World Pond. A blossoming war where heroic warriors, oppressed servitors, valiant clergymen, black-hearted pirates and gold-hungry explorers will clash in bloody warfare, with the fate of the Karibbean at stake! The Light of Myrmidia is burning brightly over this tropical paradise, but there are those that would see that light falter…



The Olde World’s interaction with the Karibbean began in 1481 with the Estalian sponsored voyages of Tilean explorer and braggart Marco Columbo, a full decade before his "discovery" of the New World (Lustria). During his fateful voyage of discovery, Columbo came across the island chain of the Karibbean and immediately claimed them in the name of his investors from Estalia! Along a newly established trade route between The Olde World and Lustria, Columbo made numerous trips to the islands with to refit for his journeys to and from Lustria and under orders to plant the flag of King Geraldo II on her shores and establish trade with the local Karib natives.

His primary goal became the conquest and eventual settlement of new lands for the purpose of long term exploitation while his investors cautioned that only through military action could the new lands be “settled” once the population had been brought to heel and the lands portioned out to land owners. The difference between these two traditions created expectations that brought Columbo into immediate conflict with the Estalian settlers who accompanied him. The Estalian Crown was called on in several occasions to mediate between Columbo and the settlers, usually deciding in their countrymen's favor. By his death in 1506 Columbo had already fallen to the wayside of Estalian exploration because he was a poor governor in the old tradition. Once the islands of the Karibbean were fully under the yoke of Estalian rule, econquista was implemented to its fullest.

On the island of Hispania a group of native Karib tribal leaders joined forces to drive the conquistadors from the island. The Estalian’s, who had the benefit of muskets, cannons, armor, and savage dogs ruthlessly put these uprisings down and took captive the tribal leaders to ensure native co-operation. Once native resistance was crushed the Estalian nobles forced the villages to grow cash crops, pay tribute, and mine for their precious gold. The Estalian’s regime was brutal and violent. Mass burnings of religious zealots were overseen by the sinister Inquisition while the remaining native Karibs were forced into servitude.

The Estalian ventures in the Karibbean had to recoup their sponsors' initial investment and this led to an obsession with discovering gold deposits. Once these deposits were found the Estalian’s had to secure sufficient labor to mine it so the encomienda system was instituted by the Estalian Crown to regulate the new settlements. An encomienda was a grant of land with a number of indigenous slaves given to a settler, whose only obligation was to bring the light of Myrmidia to his slaves. Unfortunately for these slaves the spread of Olde World disease (some whisper these were manufactured by the vile Skaven and sent aboard the Estalian merchant ships), a harsh labor regime, and brutal mistreatment decimated the Karib population. This led to a number of short but bloody slave revolts where whole tribes perished or were driven into the jungles to escape Estalian justice. The Estalians were soon forced to send out expeditions to neighboring islands to capture slaves to replenish their exhausted labor supply. And it was here that the Estalian conquistadors ran into an unexpected foe. For the outer islands of the Karibbean were once home to the Old Ones. And where the Old Ones dwelt, so too did their ancient children!

The Lizardmen had sat by idle as the conquistadors dominated the trade and peoples of the Karibbean. Though many of the Saurus cohorts thought it prudent to attack the invaders before they spread out and found the ruins of the Old Ones, their leaders cautioned on the side of diligence. Isolated for centuries from the wisdom of their Slann masters, the Lizardmen of the Karibbean islands are far from passive. Experts at fighting in their own environment, savage and without compassion, they care little for the stifling humidity of the jungles or the savage creatures that dwelled within. They sit at the foot of ruined temples and vast store houses of ancient gold treasures, determined to drive off the invaders should they find their secret charges!

None of these hazards has seemed a deterrent to invaders, the gold rush is on now and the island chain is at war! Sworn to protect the relics of the Old Ones, the Lizardmen began waging a hit & run war with the invading Estalian armies, their allies and other races bent of stealing their gold and artifacts. Bloodthirsty, greedy and vengeful, armies from across the Olde World have begun to descend on the islands of the Karibbean, the clash of steel and the thunder of black powder ringing even now as enemies old & new engage once more. The light of Myrmidia is rising over the Karibbean and its accention will be written in blood of the fallen…

The Karibbean Kourt

The Karibbean Kourt is an elected ruling body that governors the various Pirates fleets operating in and around the Karibbean, Ind, Cathay, Estalia, Tilea and Lustria. A Pirate King in principle, rules the Kourt, though now such King has ever been elected! The Kourt is comprised of seven Pirate Lords each hailing from a different part of the Olde World, elected to their station through either wealth, treachery, reputation or audacity! While the system of the Seven is in place to ensure no hung voting, the system is flawed in the sense that the Pirate Lords commonly bribe, backstab & belittle their fellows for personal gain and favorable vote! This is the main reason no Pirate King has ever been elected, as not one of the current or past Lords saw fit to extend greater powers to one of their fellows!

The members of the Karibbean Kourt each carry a symbol of their status, usually some sort of gaudy piece of jewelry or bejeweled weapon that would be instantly recognizable and linked to the individual Lord. It is rumored that the first Karibbean Kourt was broke and unable to afford expensive trinkets and thus substituted various personal effects including a pair of eye glasses, a rusted chastity belt key and even a loaded pair of bones (dice)!

The Karibbean Kourt is convened once every three years, the meeting place is known only to the current members and their crews, taking place in a different location each time to ensure the authorities and rivals don’t catch them with their pantaloons down! This meeting place is voted upon at the end of the current gathering, and often takes weeks to decide upon as each Pirate Lord would rather be the one to travel the shortest distance from their home bases to attend!



During these meetings all sorts of issues are addressed, each Pirate Lord able to put forth their own agendas for a vote. The first Karibbean Kourt set down a series of rules that were to be followed in all future meeting, consisting of a collection of rules and guidelines penned in a massive tome known as La Pintura base de Piratas. Simply translated from Estalian it means the Pirate’s Primer, or Codex. Another immense volume of antiquity is El Diario de los Mares de Ancinet. This tome contains an ancient collection of incantations; religious references, spells, demonic rituals and heathen practices collected by members of the Kourt over the decades. As more and more lore is added to the tome, it is obviously incomplete. A well regarded legend says that once the tome has had its final page filled, the end of the Kourt’s dominance will come to an end. So it comes as no surprise that as the years go on, the Kourt members are not in any great hurry to report new findings.

Since one of the rules in the Pintura base de Piratas is that all members are responsible for expanding the contents of the Diario de los Mares de Ancinet, it has resulted in a diminished desire to explore new lands or interact with new peoples. These two tomes are sacred to the Kourt and none of the members would dare speak out against their wisdoms, lest the Keeper of the Tomes is not in earshot. Doing so in the presence of the Keeper will result in their execution by beheading, for no one is above the “Code”. The Keeper of the Code was the title given to a specially appointed member of the Karibbean Kourt, and is a position of honor in a den of honorless individuals! The Karibbean Kourt is in its sixth incarnation. Here are the current members that make up the Rogue Gallery of the Karibbean Kourt:


Kaptain Irongob BlackSquig, Pirate Lord of the World Pond

Physical Description: Imposing height of nearly 7’, darkened green skin signifying extreme age, sports a rusty hook on his right wrist and walks with a noticeable limp.

Ethnic Origin & Race: Wherever he was birthed, the Kaptain is an Orc, despite his mode of dress and fighting!

Place of Origin: Rumors abound as to the birthplace of BlackSquig, anywhere from the Lustrian jungle to the slums of Marienburg to the hold of an Ind slaveship

Flagship's Name: Da BlackSquig, a scuttled Bretonnian Galley acquired during the Crisis in Marienburg.

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: A golden earring set with matching rubies.

Common Saying or Quote: “Move yer zoggin bumz ya lazy Gitz!”

Other: BlackSquig is an obsessive brute that pursues even the smallest slight or undertakes impossible quests. He lost his hand in a battle with the Great White Squig Gnasha Git and obsesses over slaying the beast! BlackSquig is cunning for a race that is stereotyped as brutish and gruff, and maintains a network of spies, informants and fences in numerous ports across the Olde World.

BlackSquig is wanted dead or alive by the Thousand Heads Trading Coaster for crimes including sacking and pillaging countless villages, cutting off ears for souvenirs, running numerous brothels and gambling houses, drug smuggling, rum running, the sacking of Fort Nuln, piracy, murder, sadition, subjugation of native tribes, theft of Imperial treasures, destruction of Estalian property, and collaborating with secret societies to systematically extort local merchants. Current bounty is well over 6000 guineas at last count, and climbing!


Amador Santos, Pirate Lord of the Middle Sea

Physical Description: With a sly smile, this handsome pirate lord has managed seduce many lady travelers as he plies his trade throughout the Old World and Lustria. A lover of fine clothes and fine wine, he makes a dashing figure. The most notable feature is a large scar across his left cheek that was given to him by the famous pirate hunter Count Picquet de la Motte during a duel. Though shorter than most men, he is strong and also quite quick.

Ethnic Origin & Race: A true Estalian, Amador Santos is of a swarthy complexion with a small mustache. He has long raven hair and a chiseled build. He often sports a mustache and has been known to have a pet parrot as a companion.

Place of Origin: Amador was born in a small town in Estalia that was known for the number of ravens in the area. Amador had never been to the sea before he tired of his life as a tradesman apprentice and answered an ad for a company traveling to Lustria. He learned his trade quickly and quickly rose through the ranks of sailors. When Amador returned with riches from Lustria, he found his native homeland at war with Bretonnia. He used his new wealth to purchase a ship and a Letter of Marque against the enemies of Estalia and plies his trade across the Middle Sea.

Flagship's Name: The Raven, names for the bird that is the symbol of his home town. It also sails a red flag with a black raven upon it. This and his well known scar have earned him the name of “the Ravenscar”. While sleek, the Raven is not the fastest pirate ship. It is sturdy and has large cargo holds, perfect for holding many men or much booty. The Ravenscar is known to attack small towns with a large number of men and carry away many goods in her holds.

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: A perfumed handkerchief, often stuffed in his sleeve when he is wearing his regal garb.

Common Saying or Quote: “Let us dance!” said before dueling with enemy captains when boarding, or “Senorita! This is no place for a lady of your grace and beauty. Please, allow me to take you away from this unpleasantness and enter my….personal quarters.”

Other: During the Estalian-Bretonnian war, Amador sacked many trade ships and attacked the coast of Bretonnia in many quick raids. This earned him fame and fortune in the courts of his homeland. Amador became a national hero and soon swept the king’s niece off her feet. Unfortunately, his actions caused him to become infamous in Bretonnia, where he was feared and hated. The famous Count de la Motte, a hunter of pirates, waged a campaign against the Buccaneer, but the wily pirate always escaped. The most famous was a duel with de la Motte on the walls of a burning coastal fort he had raided. The Count gave Amador his famous scar, but the Buccaneer leapt off the castle walls and into the sea.

When the war ended, part of the peace agreements were to hand over Amador Santos to the Bretonnians to pay for his crimes. The Estalian king saw little use for the man and also wanted to keep him away from his niece. Though betrayed, the Ravenscar escaped and made it to his ship. Now, the Buccaneer takes his revenge by attacking the treasure ships he once protected.

Prior to being given a letter of Margue, Amador was wanted by the Thousand Head Trading Coaster for crimes including impersonating an officer of the Imperial Navy; impersonating a clergy of the Church of Myrmidia; arson; kidnapping; perjury; piracy; pilfering; and deprivation of a Cathayan Celestial! Current bounty is currently 3500 guineas.


Kap’n Gubgit, Pirate Lord of the Black Gulf

Physical Description: Gubgit is a rangy goblin with an air of what passes for sophistication amongst the greenies. His left eye socket is covered by a velvety patch; Gubgit emptied it himself after his first kill, keeping with the local traditions. He wears a tattered greatcoat and wields a slender Tilean dueling blade in combat – if he can’t pick a foe off with a well-aimed pistol when they aren’t looking! Gubgit also possesses a fine selection of garments looted from various merchant ships that have run afoul of his fleet. They have grown considerably less fine after he appropriated them, but the fancy clothes do nothing to staunch accusations of “bein’ a poncy git!” from the more belligerent greenskins of the Karibbean.

Ethnic Origin & Race: One-Eye Goblin

Place of Origin: Blind River

Flagship's Name: Da Basilisk

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: The beak of a monstrous squid, gaudily covered in gold leaf. Gubgit keeps it on a chain around his neck and claims he killed the beast in a battle that took two days and nights to finish. If some of his veteran crewmembers have too much grog, they have been known to hint that their Kaptain soiled his pantaloons at the sight of the beached leviathan, only approaching after he had discharged several cannons into its carcass!

Common Saying or Quote: “Ya finks I’z a pirate, eh? Why’s dat? Is it ‘cause I’z missin’ me eye? I’z will ‘ave yer know dat not every grot wot don’t ‘ave both glims is a pirate. I’z one o’ da One-Eye Goblins. We puts it out ourselves ter show we’ez proppa ‘ard! No stinkin’ ‘umie wit’ a cutlass could do dat ter me, no way! Wot? O’ course I’z a pirate too, ya stoopid git, didn’t yer see me coat?”

Other: During his early career, Gubgit circumnavigated the World Pond, traveling the sea lanes as far north as the Sea of Claws. His travels and pirating endeavours pitted him against fellow Pirate Lords, Kaptain BlackSquig and Kera the Pirate Queen, both of whom he battled in his powerful flagship, Da Basilisk. Kera often raids the coasts of Tilea and whenever her ships venture into the Black Gulf, they come into conflict with Gubgit’z personal Goblin Black Gulf Corsairs!

He also developed a heated rivalry with Kaptain BlackSquig during the conflict known as the Crisis in Marienburg, and he came to dislike the Orc Lord immensely.

Gubgit is wanted dead or alive by the Ind Trading Coaster for crimes including pilfering gold, slavery, insurrection, genocide, rum running, instigating and participating in over three hundred taproom brawls, forgery, and piracy on the Estalian seas. The bounty is currently worth 4,000 guineas.


Kera the Pirate Queen, Pirate Lord of the Great Southern Sea

Physical Description: Stunningly beautiful in face, form and voice, Kera lustrous hair is often braided and thrown over her shoulder to deny opponents a chance to use it to grapple. She dresses more for function than form and is most comfortable in pirate garb.

Ethnic Origin & Race: Those who have met her face to face have stated that she may have a Dwarf in her heritage but she is definitely more than just a Dwarf.
Place of Origin: Unknown

Flagship's Name: The Glory

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: A gold inlaid skull drinking cup (rumored to be that of one Tobias Dreamweaver, but not confirmed).

Common Saying or Quote: “Why can’t men treat me as a Lady!?”

Other: Kera’s love of rum and good fight became well known, any that tried to beat her in single combat found that she is a formidable warrior. She holds grudges against all whom have betrayed her, and very few have survived very long. She became a pirate to survive after being betrayed during an expedition to Araby. After finding some ancient artifacts her former friend Tobias Dreamweaver put her under a spell and sold her to a Sultan. When she awoke she found that she was in the harem’s quarters and was expected to service the Sultan when he called. She saw the treatment of the women and figured the Sultan didn’t deserve her service. She also declared that Tobias would pay for his part and she formulated a plan.

After a week in the harem the Sultan called for her. She came before him and he wanted her to submit it his will. She stood tall and wouldn’t allow this man the satisfaction. After many minutes he started screaming and then he made the fatal mistake, he slapped her. Moving with a speed that he didn’t expect she grabbed him and with her bare hands she broke several of his bones but stopping short of snapping his neck. She grabbed a dagger he had sitting on an altar in the room and carved a “K” into his chest, deep enough to scar but not enough to kill. She did it to force him to remember no to harm a woman again. She left the Sultan’s bedroom and made her way to the stables where she found several wagons loaded for shipment to a Tilean captain. She persuaded the wagon masters to allow herself and several of the harem girls to travel with them to the seaport; Kera seemed to have a magical talent for persuading men do whatever she needed them to do for her.

After reaching the port she used her charms on the Pirate Captain Wilhelm Eckstein to allow her and the women to join him as crew. She served him faithfully for nearly a year and they became friends because he treated her and the woman with respect and in turn she helped him increase his holdings and gold in his chest. As a reward the captain purchased two larger ships and appointed Kera to be Captain of the one he called Glory, he called his flagship Pride and appointed himself Admiral of his fleet. On the first voyage a rival Pirate captain who was jealous of Wilhelm and his recent increase of fortune followed the Admiral’s fleet. The rival captain happened to be Tobias Dreamweaver and he attacked the Pride while a second ship attacked the Glory simultaneously. He shortly took control of the Pride, taking Wilhelm captive but his troops were quickly repelled from the Glory. Kera seeing the trouble on the Pride and Tobias striking his colors filled her with immense hatred. She readied her crew and went on the attack.

She had the Dwarfs on her crew firing their handguns laying covering fire while the rest of the crew prepared to board the Pride. Once the Glory was alongside the Pride she unleashed the firepower on to Tobias’ Flagship the Rapier. Within minutes the Rapier was heading to a watery grave and Kera’s crew were now onboard the Pride. She saw that Tobias has tied Wilhelm to the mast and was torturing him. Kera’s eyes flashed with rage as she waded through the fighting to get to Tobias. Tobias saw her and his mind was reeling that she was here. It took him a second to comprehend that the woman he betrayed and sold into slavery was here now. He barely got his sword up in time to fend off the first blow. He and Kera started to go after each other, Tobias with reckless abandon and Kera with pure hatred. The clash of swords was heard throughout the ship and all fighting stopped to see this beauty and beast going after each other. After 20 minutes of fighting over the entire deck they were back at the main mast. Tobias thought he saw and opening and pressed an attack but Kera got her sword up to defend the blow. They were locked with swords above them; Tobias was about to release one hand from the sword when Kera did so first. They were off-balance for a second and with blinding speed Kera’s free hand took a dagger from her belt and pushed it deep into Tobias’ heart. He felt the pain stepped back and looked down not believing that a woman could beat him. He pulled the dagger out and the blood flowed from his body and his heart quickly stopped pumping. He dropped the dagger and fell backwards over the side of the ship. None bothered to go after the body; all felt that his body would better be served as shark food.

The sun peered though a cloud and fell upon Kera and all that looked upon her thought that she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. This beautiful warrior went back to Wilhelm to find him badly injured but still alive. She ordered the ships to return to Wilhelm’s homeport. After seeing Tobias’ body fall off the Pride the remaining of his ships waited to see what the outcome of the battle was. Kera sent the first mates of the Pride and Glory onto those ships and had them follow the Pride back to port.

Once back at the unmarked homeport of Wilhelm she arranged for medical attention for the injured. Wilhelm’s injuries were so bad that he decided to retire with the riches he had and gave the ships to Kera for saving his life. He vowed to spend the remainder of his days maintaining the port for Kera and her fleet.

The crews on the ships that were of Tobias fleet were brought before Kera. She was wondering what to do with them but to a man when they came before her they swore loyalty to their Queen. Kera never thought of herself as beautiful let alone as royalty but after a few prostrating former combatants she grew to like it. She accepted their oaths and assigned them to duties, mixing them with the crews of the Pride and Glory. She had the wisdom not to allow them all cause trouble on one ship. This happened many years ago and she has since increased the size of her fleet to over 30 ships, and some of those former combatants are now her most loyal subjects and serve as captains on ships in her fleet.

A current bounty of 5500 guineas is on her head, placed by the Ind Trading Coaster, for piracy in the Estalain seas, attempting to steal from the Banko Grande in Remas, and defacement and destruction of Tilean property both on land and at sea.


Jeanne Bonet, “The Crimson Rose of Cathay”, Pirate Lord, Sea of Nippon

Physical Description: A young woman in the full bloom of her woman-hood, Jeanne cuts a figure that makes most men, and some women, melt! Slight of build, bountiful of charms, possessing a flowing mane of red hair, piercing blue eyes where a man can get lost gazing into!

Ethnic Origin & Race: Human female

Place of Origin: Brionne, Bretonnia

Flagship's Name: The Fancy

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: Bejeweled garter laden with gems and Elven gold.

Common Saying or Quote: “The hunts the thing darling!”

Other: Jeanne was born Jeanne-Louise de Parthenay, Dame de Montaigu, the daughter of Maurice Degare and Létice de Parthenay. At the age of 12, she was married to 19-year-old Geoffrey de Châteaubriant, by whom she had two children, Louise and Geoffrey. But her life of comfort changed with the death of Châteaubriant during a jousting tournament in Brionne a mere four years later. Jeanne was forced to marry soon after to Olivier III de Clisson. This union was an especially close one; Olivier and Jeanne were of an age and seemingly content, as they had five children together: Maurice, Guillaume, Olivier, Isabeau (who died in childbirth) and Jeanne. Olivier was also a wealthy knight, holding a castle at Brionne, a manor house in the countryside and lands in Araby, therefore he was honor bound to Charles de Blois in defending Araby against the Imperial claimants from Nordland, and the forces of Estalian sympathiser Jose de Montfort.

During the conflict, known as the Breton War of Succession, Olivier came under suspicion and criticism from Charles de Blois for failing to hold Vergesh against the Imperial forces, and so he defected to the Nordland faction. In the following summer , while he was attending a tourney in Estalain territory, Olivier was arrested and taken to Brionne for trial. Fifteen of his peers, including his friend Charles de Blois, found him guilty of treason and he was executed by beheading at Les Halles, on the orders of King Leon. Olivier's head was then sent to Vergesh and displayed on a pole outside the castle of the Jaffar. Jeanne de Clisson, enraged and bewildered over her husband's execution, swore revenge on the King, and Charles de Blois in particular. She sold off the remnants of the Clisson lands to raise money, whereupon she bought three warships, relinquished her titles in Bretonnia, left her children at an orphanage and took to a life of piracy!

The ships that Clisson purchased were painted all black on her command, and the sails dyed red. The 'Red Fleet' took to the waters and began hunting down and destroying the ships of King Leon VI, and were merciless with the crews. But Clisson would always leave two or three of Leon's sailors alive, so that the message would get back to the King that the “Lioness of Brionne” had struck once again. and it is very likely that as a privateer in the service of Tilea she had a hand in keeping supplies available to the Imperial forces for the Battle of Crécy. When King Leon VI died, it was not the end to Jeanne's revenge. She continued to wreak havoc among Bretonnian shipping, and it was reported that she took on a new-found joy in hunting down and capturing the ships of Estalian noblemen, as long as they were to be found onboard. She would then personally behead the aristocrats with an axe, tossing their lifeless bodies overboard and sit down to watch with a child-like glee as their vessels were scuttled and consumed in flame.

Forced to take her fleet East to avoid the wrath of the Estalain and Bretonnia warships pursuing her, she set up a base of operations in the Sea of Nippon.
She soon began to prey on the noble fleets of Cathay and Nippon, carving a bloody swathe through their aristocrats in a never ending thrist for blood. Jeanne is fully capable of using her charms to get what she wants and she has no moral values when it comes to achieving her goals, as many men have found much to their dismay! A dagger between the sheets and a rose on the pillow afterwards are halmarks of her calling cards.

The “Crimson Rose of Cathay” is presently being sought by the forces of Bretonnia, Cathay, Nippon and Estalia for crimes against the church of Myrmidia, theft of church of Myrmidia property, assaulting several nuns, piracy, gun running, rum running, sadism, child abandonment, theft of property, insults against the Celestial Dragon Navy, destruction of several Nippon villages, theft of fish harvests, spitting, prostitution and behavior unbecoming a “proper” Lady! The Ind Trading Coaster has set a bounty of 7500 guineas on her head, and the House of the Celestial Dragon has promised 4000 gold coins for her death!


Sri Khandar Madu, Pirate Lord of the Ind Sea

Physical Description: A giant of a man, Khandar bears a massive full-face blackened beard, that he occasionally twists with flaming wicks to cast an air of smoke around his face. While giant of stature and strength, Khandar suffers from a squeaky voice and bouts of uncontrolled flatulence. Wears expensive robes along with a blue sash and a black turban. His mustache is heavily curled and ends in golden beads.

Ethnic Origin & Race: Arabian Human Male
Place of Origin: Unknown

Flagship's Name: The Wastrel

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: Ornate brooch set with a single black/blue sapphire

Common Saying or Quote: “And now we go to war (often told through a translator)

Other: The tale of the “Maddog of the East” begins with the death of Bartholomew Portugues, whom he succeeded as captain. After leveling the settlement where Portugues was killed, Khandar sailed west towards the Karibbean, right into the midst of a Nordland treasure fleet at anchor near Sartosa. His approach was so brazen that the Nordlanders didn’t realize what was happening until he had escaped with over 40,000 pieces of eight, sugar, tobacco, furs and an ornate holy symbol of Mannon that he has worn since that day forth.

Khandar is a ruthless killer, rumors say he is a sorcerer that consumes human flesh, merely adds to his fearsome reputation. He is harsh with his crew, but he routinely encourages prayer among his men and rewards them when they have preformed well. Khandar carries a pair of dueling pistols on a silken cord around his neck, and always has a knife or two somewhere on his person. His list of crimes fails to do justice to this most inglorious bastard!

The Ind Trading Coaster has placed a bounty of 4700 giuneas on his head, dead or alive, for crimes including piracy in the Ind Sea, levying his own taxes, blockading the port of Bombay, drug smuggling, consorting with demons, forging false documents, child slavery and creating his own currency.


Captain Jak’h “The Heartless” of Boagh, Pirate Lord of the Sea of Claws

Physical Description: Tall, and imposing. Striking, rugged features. Lethally charming and utterly captivating. Clad in a long, tattered leather overcoat, and adorned with various Chaos trinkets and baubles.

Ethnic Origin & Race: Former Imperial Citizen, now full fledged follower of Chaos

Place of Origin: Little known port city on the Boagh Peninsula on the Nordland Coast

Flagship's Name: The Thood Crow

Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: Severed hand in a jar of formaldehyde – the embalmed, and ensorcelled right hand of his former chief physician.

Common Saying or Quote: “I’m hunting down the pathetic humans of the Imperial Navy, tracking down every last one of them on this world. I’m coming for you, are you ready?”

Other: Captain Jak’h was once the Rear Admiral for the Imperial Navy. However, his arrogant demeanor proved to be his downfall, and he was demoted to the Captain of a lowly medical ship renamed in his dishonor: The Admiral’s Reviled Demotion in Imperial Service.

His time spent as Captain of this ship caused him to become far more violent and angry than he already was, until one day, in a fit of rage, he slew his entire crew in an orgy of violence and sailed the ship north. Several months later, when he returned to Imperial waters at the head of a small fleet of Chaos galleys, they were seen flying the colors of the Ruinous Powers. His flagship was a refashioned and twisted parody of The Admiral’s Reviled Demotion in Imperial Service. Dread banners of Chaos flew from the masts, and the prow now bore a massive ram modeled in the face of some monstrous beast with long tendrils flowing from its brow. Of course, it had also been renamed: The Thood Crow.

His first target was the prison island of Vargulf where he engaged a superior force of Imperial ships and a shorefort. Loosing his galleys in the ensuing battle, the casualties inflicted on the Imperial fleet were far worst! Half a dozen Wolfships were left ablaze, a Hellhammer had been completely sunk and the crew of the two Ironfists had been crippled beyond repair. Although The Thood Crow had been severely damaged, she had sent a clear message to the Imperial Navy. Jak’h set sail once more with a new crew, most of them prisoners from the penal colony, a twisted band of murders, thieves and despots.

Over the course of the following months, Jak’h returned at the head of ever increasing fleet of Chaos vessels, each ship and crew more cutthroat than the previous. In time, too, it became apparent that Jak’h had garnered the affections of each of the major Chaos Gods. From Khorne, Jak’h earned a cold fury, prodigious strength, and great martial ability; Slannesh blessed him with a heightened sense of depravity in addition to extremely striking facial features alluring to men and women alike; Nurgle bestowed upon him god-like resilience; and Tzeentch provided him with the ability to alter the prevailing winds.

Most worrisome of all, was the fact that Nurgle’s blessing had seemingly transformed Jak’h into an immortal monster. Grievous injuries would heal within moments, and he was also reported to have walked away unscathed from the epicenter of a massive explosion upon the Dwarf Ironclad Grimir’s Fury.

Frustrated with the ineffectiveness of his inexperienced crewmen, Jak’h soon resigned himself to tracking down hard bitten sea dogs to hire, or press gang, into his service. In order to do so, he has had to relocate to the waters of the Karibbean and adopted a cruel manner of piratical life.

With no desire for monetary wealth, Jak’h allows his crew to keep whatever gold they can pillage from defeated foes. His only request is that survivors are sacrificed in the name of the Dark Gods, in order for him to gain more favor. Perhaps, one day, these sacrifices will result in the completion of his ultimate goal – the destruction and humiliation of the Imperial navy.

He is wanted for crimes including piracy, consorting with demons, leading a slave revolt, assaults against the Priests of Sigmar, temple desecration, murder, arson, rape, drug smuggling and profanity! The country of Nordland, as well as the Thousand Head Trading Coaster has place bounties of 3000 and 4570 guineas respectively for the capture and/or death of Jak’h!



Ogre Tyrant Sarnak the Bouyant:The Keeper of the Tomes: This job is ceremonial and brings with it a great deal of comfort, prestige and wealth. Called upon in cases of dispute or when the Kourt convenes, the Keeper is a figure of both respect and fear.

Physical Description: 11 feet tall and some 8 feet wide, Sarnak carries his most prized trophies on him wherever he goes. A brilliant white feather from a griffon that he throttled single-handedly when a high elf prince attempted to pick him off the poop deck adorns his hat. Two handguns that he looted from an engineer that had shot him from the crow’s nest of an Imperial Man-O-War are tucked on either side of the enemy Captain’s shield. Finally, he is seldom seen without his favorite Gnoblar Shingles who Sarnak dresses up as a parrot ever since the tyrant ate a string of the real birds and acquired a taste for their stringy meat.

Ethnic Origin & Race: Ogre Tyrant of the Great Leviathan Tribe

Place of Origin: Cathay (Though he was born into slavery, he and his fellow ogre captives quickly took over their slaver ship and have been raiding the seas ever since. Of course, they're steering clear of that enlightened land!)

Flagship's Name: De Krak’ Em
Karibbean Kourt Membership Item: A rusty anchor (both as a sign of office and as a handy tool to “encourage” his crew to tow the line).

Common Saying or Quote: “Avast ye BUURRWAAAPPPP!”

Other: Sarnak earned his title (both his rank and his epitaph) one fateful afternoon. He challenged the former Tyrant to a duel upon the deck while they were deep in the middle of the ocean. As the crowd gathered and bellowed their approval, Sarnak stood impassively as the Tyrant charged at him with ferocious speed. As the Tyrant crashed into Sarnak, the challenger revealed the anchor and chain he was holding behind his back. As they both tumbled over the rails of the ship, Sarnak wrapped the chain around the Tyrant’s neck. Too late his startled opponent realized what was happening and let Sarnak go as he grappled with the chain and the weight dragging him down. Sarnak calmly swam to the surface and boarded the ship.

Once the crew realized that the Tyrant was not coming up, they roared their approval for their new water-logged leader! Sarnak, to further cement his position, dived down deep for several minutes; when he finally surfaced, he held aloft the anchor he used to kill the Tyrant as a reminder for those thinking of mutiny.

Wanted in Cathay for crimes including leading a slave revolt, gluttony, piracy, rum running, illegal use of firearms, theft of state property, smuggling, assault with intent to maim, assault with intent to kill, assault with intent to consume and reckless endangerment. Current bounty is 3400 guineas.

Aw man, the character profiles are awesome!

I am loving this setting so far! MOAR.

Please delete me!

Still putting together all the notebooks worth of stuff that I have for the setting but here is a short list of new warbands I want to use for the campaign:

Estalian Conquistidors
Skaven Clan Moulder (think Island of Dr. Moreau but with Skaven twisted monsters)
Brethren of the Sea (a modified Pirate Warband)
Karib Headhunters (based loosely on the Amazon Warband)
Estalian Inquisitors
Nordland Marines
Baku (think Hatian Voodoo & Zombie Masters)

More to follow as I transcribe from my notes....

Da Kaptain

Rise from the depths I command you!

I just started PMing the Kaptain for information about this aspect of his campaign world. I am playing in his online campaign of the same name and as usual when I do this I am going to drag the local campaign along with me.

Map

Prologue

… from the epic novella “My Time in the New World”



Call me Peiter. Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. I took up work on the good ship Intrepid, a Nordland whaler, in the year 1783 and set out on the first leg of what would become a voyage of redemption.

I was a young man back then, 23 winters old, but in that time I was a man not a boy. I had inherited a thriving farm from my father and married a good wife who blessed me with a child. I had been to sea times before but never aboard a whaler and I looked forward to the time spent away from land for I buried my wife and son there scant months before, victims of the fever. They were fine one day and in the ground the next; my faith in Sigmar buried with them. I had worked hard all my life, been a boon companion and a devote follower and for this my family was taken? I soon went looking for Morr, my holdings, my wealth, all were spent with reckless abandon as I tried to fill the void in my heart, but to no avail. I watched as the moneylenders took every stick or furniture, every rug, the livestock that remained, all were taken to pay debts I could no longer pay. I was left with nothing.

The Intrepid arrived in the Karibbean in the summer of 1784, the winds of change following us from the Olde Worlde as news of war once again filled the tavern talk, the Estalians and Bretonnians are once more at arms. The Treaty of the Sheathed Blade has been broken, with the naval forces of Bilballi launching punitive strikes against Bretonnian shipping in retaliation for some slight that is beyond this simple man’s thinking. Estalia has declared war on their northern neighbors and all across the Olde World armies gather, naval forces gird for battle, and honest whalers are caught in the middle.



The climate was hot to be sure, both from the weather and the coming conflict, for we knew in our heart of hearts that the war would reach our sandy shores soon enough. The warm emerald waters proved treacherous, reefs and sandbars nothing compared to the warships that prowled the sea lanes. Already the port of Trinidad was closed to all Bretonnian merchants and their vessels, the ones that made their homes upon that island were forced to flee the soldiers of the Inquisition or face imprisonment for the duration of the war. Taking on a supply of stores, I saw a wealthy Bretonnian lass, full of bosom and spirit, berate the Estalinas as they seized her home in shackles and took her household staff of Karibs. She didn't’t look so fine and upstanding when she was sent sprawling into a hog trough, her cultivated good looks marred with mud and pig shite. All they soldiers did was laugh as she fought to stand up, tears of rage streaming down her face. I could only feel the slightest pity for her as Captain Krause ordered us on board with our cargo, leaving port under the shadow of an Estalian gunship, with more arriving as we left her tall buildings behind and took once more to see.

My last glimpse of the woman was her being dragged away, kicking and screaming, by mail clad soldiers, her bearing and dignity left on the docks as she realized her likely fate. Soon the salt tang of a warm breeze left the incidents at the port behind, the waters parting before our proud vessel like a hot knife through butter.

Five days out from port we sighted the first spouts, a magnificence herd of fifteen beasties! We dropped anchor and lowered the longboats, our harpooners jumping at the chance to fill our holds with whale oil! The pursuit was swift, a mother and three cows were taken by our blessed harpoons and soon the Intrepid drifted along side and the work of striping the beasts began, the pools of blood attracting schools of sharks as the crew merrily continued to carve up the kill.



Apparently our blood attracted sharks of another kind as a pair of ships appeared on the horizon, our lookout shouting out that they were sloops. While the men continued their work, Captain Krause ascended the forecastle, his telescope trained on the approaching vessels. Soon enough he saw them hoist their colors, as the pirates ran up their flags! Our cannons were meager, more bow chasers than anything else and thus the Captain yelled at the crew to make ready, leaving our longboats to their own fate. Sails billowed out as the shouts of our companions were drowned out by the first roar of cannon fire. But the shot did not impact near us, instead it had come from starboard!

A trio of Frigates had emerged from behind the Intrepid, flying the colors of Nordlund. They continued to close with the sloops, that had decided that taking on four vessels was not in their best interests and so made their escape, the Captain of the lead Frigate doffing his cap as they sailed past us and took up the hunt. We shouted at the passing frigates before reversing course to pick up our stranded mates. On stranger tides, we recovered our company and took in a goodly supply of oil that day.

The winds of fate continued to follow as we made our way to the Imperial stronghold of Nassau, where our cargo was as in demand as was our need for a strong drink. Our leave turned into a more timely one as damage was discovered just below the waterline, suren that meant a fair month at least in drydocks while the good Captain paid out his silver one piece at a time, as if he were giving droplets of his own blood over to the carpenters.

I took this shoreleave as a chance to mingle with the local Karibs, of which I had heard many things, fanciful and respectful at the same time. Among the natives I came to learn of the Lao, of the shamans that possessed the gifts of foresight and spirits that dwell in remote parts of the islands. I do not believe in apparitions but the strange spirits of the Karibbean seem to be a tangible force, an energy I could feel on the hairs of my skin as the Karibs brought them to their fires to dance to the tune of their drums, a sort of primal energy that the Lao say is pent up and destined to be unleashed upon this tropical paradise in defense against the white man. Perhaps the coming war is such a valve? Fortune favors the foolish though, and we were all foolish men back then…

http://z15.invisionfree.com/Old_Grey_Beards/index.php?act=idx
Have at it Ladz!!!! The Campaign is underway!!!!

Turn One: Opening Salvos
Dark waves break on the wet, black shore,
In a thunder of shattering spray,
But what care we if the storm Gods roar,
And lash at the pane and claw at the door,
And we sail at the break of day.
A lone gul cries like poor, damned soul,
That the waves has washed away...

Port Sigmar, 1785


“Damn the Estalians! Their lust for conquest once more interferes with the ability for honest merchants to make a living! The world is creeping upon itself, the lines of the map connecting and still we are forced to bow and caper when the Estalians feel the least slighted and make war once more upon their neighbors. Their greed is boundless! It is time we curb their aggressions and offer sanctions against their leadership!”

The assembled merchants broke into a mass of chattering, each one trying to outdo his neighbor for voice, the walls of the chamber reverberating with the sounds of dozens of conversations. Lord Decker wiped his brow with a linen embodied hanky, his eyes ringed with dark circles from sleepless nights and too many meetings in the smoky chambers of the Thousands Head Trading Coaster. Leaning with one hand on the oaken podium in the front of the assembly, Decker tried to remain calm amid the suffocating heat of the cramped room.

All around his fellow investors argued with one another in a madhouse of sound, threats and shouts the common coin of trade this day as each sought to establish their position or talk down dissidents and shouts for war mongering. Raising his hands to try and establish silence, Decker was ignored as the din of shouting grew louder. Seeing no other recourse, Decker reached out with his hand and scratched his nails across the piece of slate his scribe was using to record details of the meeting upon, drawing them slowly across the rock with deliberate action.

Across the chamber, one by one, his fellow merchants put fingers to ears or stared angrily at the source of the noise, the irritating grating slowly bringing the chamber to attention.

“My friends, declaring war is not the answer. Armed conflict will avail none of us and it only serves to drive down the markets. We are on the cusp of opening vital trading routes through the Karibbean and the looming conflict between Bretonnia and Estalia casts dark shadows over this venture. I am of the mind that we send delegations to both Bretonnia and Estalia and ask them to consider more peaceful avenues of negotiations. Use our considerable influence to broker peace.”

More shouts of yea were heard above the sounds of dissention as the merchants once more resumed their…negotiations. Lord Decker could only dab his forehead more and grind his teeth at the absurdity of it all.

Canaqueen Archipelago, 1785



…communiqué written by Captain Felipe de los Reyes…found in the ruins of the colony guildhall.

To the Captain of the Bretonnian Corsair, off the colony of Canaqueen.
Sir,
I am convinced that you are a warship of the Bretonnian Navy, ordered by your government. I have therefore deemed it proper to inquire into the cause of your living before this port without communicating your intention. I shall by this letter inform you that Canaqueen belongs to and is in the possession of the kingdom of Estalia, His Royal Majesty and was colonized some nine months previous.

And whereas the kingdom of Estalia has found it proper to appoint me Governor of this place, in consequence of which, if you have any demands on said government, or persons belonging to or residing in the same, you will please send an officer with such demands, whom you may be assured will be well treated with the greatest politeness, and receive every satisfaction required. But if you are ordered, or should attempt to enter this port in a hostile manner, my oath and duty to Estalia compels me to rebut your intentions at the expense of my life.

To prove to you my intentions toward the welfare and harmony of your government I send enclosed this declaration of several prisoners, who were taken in custody yesterday, and by a court of inquiry appointed for that purpose, were found guilty of robbing the good people of Estalia of slaves and specie. They have been sheltered and fed while awaiting further trail and should they be found innocent of their charges then they would be free to return with you to Bretonnia. The gentleman bearing this message will give you any reasonable information relating to this place that may be required of you. It is my sincerest hope we can avoid any further unpleasantness and await your answer.

Yours,
Captain Felipe de los Reyes
Governor of Canaqueen

Domingo Sound, Early Spring, 1785


"A piece of mail has arrived for you, my lady.”

Lady Ellsabeth de Coranado spun around from brushing her hair in the mirror to reply, “Yes, yes, put it over there on that table, and I’ll get to it shortly.” She pointed with the hand not containing the brush, and then posed her question, “What news do you have for me today, Harlow?”

Harlow walked a couple of quiet and smooth steps to the small side table that had been Lady de Coranado’s instruction, placed the letter down gently, and then he turned back towards her for his reply, “There’s much happenin’, your Lady. It seems there is an increase in reports of misbehaving Karibs in the region, and there seems to be a new fleet of pirates that has formed near Nassau.”

“Are we having an increase in problems with any of the Karibs on my plantations, Harlow.”

“No, not yet, my lady, and its been heard most of the increase seems to be well south of us on the otherside of the Karibbean Sea.”

“Good, but if you’ve heard this already, then I suspect the slaves have all heard to, and even if the rumors have become exaggerated like they always do, we need to make sure that all the supervisors make it clear that we aren’t going to cater to such actions as what might be happening elsewhere, is that understood?”

“I will pass the word, my lady.”

“And what of this new fleet of Pirates, they all know better than to mess with our local Estalian fleet, so they mustn’t be heading in our direction, am I correct Harlow?”

“I’ve never known you to be wrong, my lady.”

“Harlow, you and I both know that flattery from most is acceptable, but I count on you for the truth. Are they or are they not headed in this direction?”

“Unfortunately, since they seem to have banded together north of us, and there ain’t much civilization north of that, they have headed south, my Lady. However, it seems they are content to mettle in the affairs of the Nassau region, at least for now.”

“Well, no matter, I have nothing of value here for them. After all, I grow sugar, tobacco, and cotton, none of which is much use in large quantities to a pirate. Even the orange trees and the mixed vegetables aren’t really what pirates are after anyway. They’d rather strike after gold, and silver, and baubles, and gems. Things they can purloin while in port, and this here port ain’t got anything friendly for them, especially not the main Estalian fleet anchored here. So let’s not worry too much about them, ok Harlow.”

Then the Lady turned back towards the mirror, signaling, as she often did when a conversation was coming to an end.

“But my lady, if we aren’t aware, if we don’t stay alert, might it not be at least wise to put a Privateer on the payroll, just in case we have problems with our shipments over the seas?”

The Lady then quickly looked over her shoulder, “My dear Harlow, you are most astute. See what you can come up with for a bit of increased security, and they need to be good, not some upstart, unproven neophyte, but instead a tried and true bounty hunter with plenty of experience. Now go, and as usual keep me posted on how it goes, and don’t agree to their pay until you’ve talked with me, understood Harlow?”

“I won’t my lady, I won’t”, and then Harlow moved back through the open doors to continue his duties.

Sandy Cay, Tilean Army Headquarters, Early Spring, 1785


A strong breeze rippled the curtains inwards, the scent of sweat mingled with oiled mail wafting through the stone chamber, among the assembly of men and women. All were dressed in their armor and carrying their weapons.

“Where is Captain di Tolio?” demanded General Alfonso di Deo.

Captain Cesario Clementio’s second in command whispered into his commander’s ear, and then commander of the Middle Plantation’s small garrison force reluctantly spoke next, “I’m afraid sir, that he died in defending the raid on Cayona.”

General di Deo’s face grew redder in anger, “How did this all happen?”

Captain Palu Monterro mumbled the truth, “We do not know sir.”

The General slammed his fist down on the table that he and his officers were assembled around, “Of course you don’t know, otherwise it wouldn’t have been a surprise. Find out!”

This time Captain Eduardo Luca answered, “It appears that they were not so daring as to attack Ringot.”

“Well of course not! That’s just a stinking swamp full of bugs and water. Even the Karib’s are not that stupid. I want every Karib in the area questioned. Every last one of them. We can’t have Karibs, and what did you say you saw leading them, a Halfling, not even a troublesome Halfling, all running around stealing and killing, and then fleeing on their ships to places unknown. And I want letters of Marque drawn up, and Privateer’s hired. These creatures need to be tracked down, and they will not be tolerated. And while you are at it, make sure the watches are doubled, so this does not happen again. That’s it. Enough here. All of you get to it, and now!”

The half dozen or so Tilean officers did not ignore their opportunity to escape their leader's wrath, and rapidly exited General di Deo’s front meeting hall.

Sea of Nordlund, 1785
Clouds swept across the yellow oval of the moon, one moment obscuring it, the next opening chasms so that it’s other light could stream down upon the plain of the black ocean beneath. The moon hung motionless, while around it the clouds roiled. It was if they possessed a life of their own, whirling upon themselves, breaking into pieces and attaching themselves, leechlike, onto others. Two lanterns were panning across the surface of the sea, hung on the wooden stern of a whaler, her holds full of rich oil.

And one hundred yards beyond the schooners’ wake was something else. Smoothly a dark cylinder rose up from the depths. The metal had been painted black to avoid reflection, the viewing lens of chipped crystal focused on the rear of the schooner.

Sheltered in a hidden cove, Captain Pierce watched intently through his telescope as the Estalian schooner sailed to her fate. He had been told by his fellow Captain that tonight was something special, a new weapon in the war with the pirates had been purchased.

The periscope turned to port, the hidden cove coming into sight, a soft hisssss of foam rushing around the dark cylinder, before turning back on the schooner. Moonlight reflected off the metal of her porthole rims. Easy prey.

The cylinder descended. A gurgle of water and it was gone. Then, with a noise like the challenge threat of a gargantuan, a black torpedo left its forward tube, trailing a green wake behind it. Powered by compressed warpstone gas, it left a thin trail of silvery bubbles on its course toward the schooners stern. It gradually rose to within five feet of the surface and hurtled onward towards its rendezvous.

When the torpedo slammed into the schooners rudder, it pierced the wooden skin and halted. The schooner shuddered from the impact, sailors on deck grabbing railings and looking over to see what they had stuck.

“Damn, damn!” screamed Ghostfang. The Skaven smashed a large wrench into the crude firing control panel, a shower of sparks erupting before he turned and smashed in the head of a slave rat with the same wrench, caving in its head as it fell to the deck with a stunned look on its face.

“Clan Skryer wonder weapon, my hairy arse, arse! It didn’t explode!”

His crew, used to his rages, quickly found other places to be at that time, even as a pair of Stromvermin removed the corpse of the slave to the galley. The crude Skaven submersible shuddered as its engines strained to continue forward movement. Here and there a crack in the hull burst open and water rushed in, only to be patched by engineers using crude welding torches and spit!

Looking back with clenched fangs, Ghostfang watched as the schooner dropped anchor, its sailors lowering several more of their crew down on ropes to inspect the strange object lodged in their stern. The screws of the torpedo continued to spin, throwing out sparks. One of the men got too close and suddenly burst into flame as his clothing caught fire, the warpstone flame spreading rapidly along the body, consuming it in a flash of bone and seared flesh. The fire spread to the ropes and burned up the rails as Ghostfang thumped his tail in excitement.

Pierce watched in amazement as the fire burst upon the deck of the schooner, many of the crew consumed by the witch fire. One of the crew flung himself forward to avoid the flames, his burning body falling through the main hatch as the fire began to burn across the deck.

An explosion lit the night sky as the hold of oil burst into flame. A great goat of black smoke rose above the sails as burning men leapt over the shattered deck and into the sea. Flames spread along the lower deck, greedily chewing its way towards the mizzenmast. Below deck bulkheads moaned, split, burst as the sea gnawed its way through, wooden beams snapped like kindling, men clawed at each other as they sank, drowning. Some, above the inferno, were quickly burned into stiffened crisps as the sails burst into flame and fell upon them. The dying schooner, filled with the hideous racket of screams and moans, of shattering timber and glass, lurched sharply to starboard and began to sink rapidly at the stern.



Closing his telescope, Pierce turned for the burning ship, the sight of that greenish fire burning its image into his memories. Meantime Ghostfang cackled with unchecked glee, a puddle of urine forming at his feet, the excitement of battle apparently getting the better of him...

Church of Mannan, Nassau, 1785
The ancient priest, stooped from the weight of his heavy vestments and ornamentation approached the pulpit, the raised dais carved as if a ships foredeck, the lectern a carved wooden ships wheel. Climbing the worn wooden steps leading to the dais, Father Rand steadied his hands on the wheels to draw in a deep breath before straining to his full height, the trappings of Mannan no longer weighing his down.

“Shipmates! These be trying times, ye know. The evils of the world have bubbled up from the briny depths and threaten to engulf the faithful. Our Lord Mannan preaches that times such as these are trials to overcome, yardarms to be fought with and secured, by the sweat of ye backs and the resolve of ye faith. The time of the beast shall pass and the faces of the beast are always become known.”

Murmors from the congregation arose as the parishioners squirmed in the heat. The pews were packed this day with hundreds of faithful, the horrors of the past month driving them to seek solace in the arms of their priest. Many had lost family and friends in the savage raid upon Antigua, and many more knew not the fate of their loved ones.

“I have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that Mannan teaches to all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for I am a greater sinner than ye. And now how gladly would I come down from this mast-head and sit on the hatches there where you sit, and listen as you listen, while some one of you reads me that other and more awful lesson which Mannan teaches about loss of faith. Fer the loss of faith is like a loss of the days catch. Ye come home with empty nets and curse yer misfortune. All the while knowing that by ye own hand the nets remained empty, ye could have done more but yer heart be not in it. Empty be yer hearts I know shipmates, for we all have kin on Antigua…”

And so it continued inside the church, while Karib fisherman sat outside the stone building playing at bones.

“Dem white man Rand, he talk a lot of bull”, remarked Boniface while he shook his cup of dice before slamming it upside down on the rotten top of a tar barrel.

“Oui. Dem talks about der fishin nets being empty. What a jumbie of words” chimed in Kip. He could barely contain a smile as he had seen what the dice had come up as under his cup. Lady Luck, with her flowing golden hair and tantalizing form must surely be standing behind him!

Both men lifted their cups once more at an angle, so neither could see what the other had thrown. As the gulls screamed loud over the port today noticed Boniface, ships coming and going as usual, but many more warships had set out for the island of Antigua. The island had been sacked by pirates they said, the sloops of the fleet, numbering dozens if accounts were correct, had attacked at dawn, sinking the only warship in port and stormed the port under the barrage of cannons. Orcs, humans and more supposedly. The people were caught in their nightgowns and many were savaged by the greenskins wile the port was plundered and burned. Dozens of survivors fled on private ships or were forced to flee into the jungles to escape enslavement by the invaders. In a manner of hours the port was sacked and the forces of the Brethren sat upon wealth and rum, claiming the township under their brutal aggression.

“Wot you ante Boniface?”

Returning his attention to the game, Boniface once more looked at his bones, and then pushed a small pile of coppers into the pot.

As the doors of the church opened, the parishioners moved past the Karibs, many of them still bearing gaunt and hollow faces, their faith apparently not refilled by the fiery sermon. Father rand was the last one out of the church, and he moved to the Karibs, drawing forth his purse and dice, taking a seat near Kip.
“So mates, wot hear ye this day? Indeed Antigua be burned and pillaged and the godforsaken pirates be roosting in the mizzenmasts even now.”

As the game continued, a fishing vessel slid into sight, her nets packed full with a catch. Dripping forth all manner of foulness, the catch was emptied onto the docks, dozens of fishermen rushing forward to collect the catch.



“We heard dat bandie Le Hook be missin still. He dun cheated dem Karibs of nails I hear. Sold em rusted nails and whatnot couldn’t even secure dem houses against dem storm last month. Dozens of dem be killed when der huts collapsed.”

“Ye be knowin Le Hook is a cheat mates. He dun been seen for some time now, maybe he finally faced Mannan’s wrath.”

“Or dat wrath of King Willie” muttered Kip.

Screams came from the dock, forcing Kip and Rand to leap to their feet to see what the commotion was. Boniface quickly looked under Kip’s cup. Shite mon! How he be so lucky!

A giant shark lay dead in the middle of the dock, the scattered catch all around it. The shark was dead, likely strangled in the fishing nets. One of the bolder sailors moved forward to the carcass and drew forth his bowie knife. I a manner of seconds he had gutted the beast, its innards running across the dock and into the sea. Stifling a scream of his own, the fisherman jumped back as a human corpse rolled out of the severed belly, its left arm missing and the body mangled and mauled.

“See mates, Mannan’s wrath. Like Johann in the belly of the whale…”

Even as the corpse settled into a fetal position, its belly burst open amid a shower of rusty nails and gore that rained down upon the corpse of the merchant Le Hook…

El Citadel, Early Spring, 1785


Two Inquisitorial soldiers and Captain Guardizo stood near the entrance to the chamber while the Inquisitor, Alonso Rodriquez Cabrillo, conducted what he liked to call “business” with the Citadel’s whip master.

“You need to repent your sins.”

“I have not sinned.”

The Inquisitor nodded his head, and the whip master struck hard five times, but the Karib only winced and did not cry out.

“If you deny it again, it will strike again.”

“I have not sinned.”

The Inquisitor nodded his head again, and the whip caused five more marks on the Karib’s back. This time the Karib was less than silent with a few moans, and his breathing had become a bit heavier.

“Let us just say that if you answer my questions, then there will be no more pain, and your sins will be forgiven.”

The Karib turned his angry eyes to meet those of the Inquisitor.

“Ah, I see you are at least listening to that. Very good, who put you and the other’s up to not attending services at the Mission?”

The Karib dropped his eyes.

The Inquisitor again nodded his head, and the whip began to streak across the cellar again, with the Karib losing a scream, some loud cries, and in between yelling, “Ok, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you.”

The Inquisitor bent down to the small bucket below the whipping post and picked up a ladle filled with water, before speaking, “Open your mouth and once you’ve drank, then you can tell me.”

After the answer, and some more questions and answers, the Inquisitor again nodded his head, and even Captain Julio Poncio back on the warship El Justiciero, could hear the Karib's screams this time.


Isabella Sound, Many Years After 1785


“Father, what is a Privateer?”

Landscomb lifted his glass, took a swallow, and looked at Eva, his wife, who was just sitting down across the table from him, after having finished preparing the meal now resting in front of the family.

“Well son, where did you hear that word?”

“From the boys down at the school house, father.”

“I see. Well a privateer is a ship’s captain that receives what are called Letters of Marque from a government permitting them to attack ships of another country who the first government is at war with.”

“What are Letters of Marque?” said the son.

The father had taken his first bite of food, and finished chewing before he answered, “Well, Letters of Marque can be different things depending on who writes them, and they can cover different eventualities, depending on what the two parties, the issuer and the receiver, agree upon. However, very often Letters of Marque are for permission to raid the opposing government’s ships of commerce, and granting them permission to sell the ships and their contents once they’ve returned to a port of the issuing government.”

“Are they sort of like pirates, father?”

“Well, there are those that call them such, but it’s also a job that provides a sense of patriotism and honor, which isn’t something pirates hold as values.”

“Well father, have you ever met a Privateer?”

Landscomb was slightly surprised by this question, “Well, yes, now that you mentioned it. When I was a boy about your age or so, there were a collection of them that showed up here in the Karibbean, right here at Isabella Sound, around the time of the Bretonnian and Estalian War of 1785, if I recall correctly the year.”

“What were they like, father?”

Now Landscomb decided it was time to continue his dinner, “Well son, lets finish what your good mother has prepared for us here, and then talk about that after dinner, and I’ll tell you the story, ok?”

The boy wasn’t happy, and it came out in his drawl of “Yyyesss, father.”

Isabella Sound, 1785


The deck of the Capricious Maiden bucked and rolled under the relentless pounding waves. To the port of the Maiden plowed the Indomitable and Adventuring Rose. To starboard the Red Moon sliced waves with elegant ease, the fleet of warships was churning across the Karibbean, with port Isabella Sound rapidly disappearing on the horizon.

Above the sails snapped taunt in the wind, the fleet pushing forward at a rapid pace. The crew set about cleaning the decks, an army of men armed with thistle brushes and buckets continued to scour the deck of debris, similar work being done on the other ships of the fleet.

Captain Alfonso sat in his cabin, the ream of papers and missives before him shoved to the side as he stared at the map before him. Proctor Donner sat in a padded chair to his left, staring out of the window to the rear of the vessel.

“The scum have been unleashed it seems Donner. The Karibbean Kourt and its lackeys have struck at Antigua and Cocas. They were both ill defended and I told Langston that it was folly to not improve the defenses. My spies tell me the Bleeding Rhinox and Dancing Cloud aided in the sacking of Antigua. A shame that, I loved the pies Geppeto made! The Asp and Widowmaker were leading the attack upon Cocas I understand. Kraken takes them all, damned pirates!”

Alfonso swept clean his table of all papers, the rain of parchment fluttering into the lap of his Proctor. Standing forth from his table, Alfonso swept past Donner and stomped up the stairs to the main deck.

“Come now lads! Were changing course, draw on every rag of canvas the yards will hold. Be quick about it or it will be place and rank for the lot of you!”

The Indomitable began to tack to the northwest, the rest of the fleet moving to follow...

Turn Two: Dark Waves

"The stays crack like glaciers, the beams give moans
& buckheads buckle with a wooden oath
the timbers ache with twisting & they lean
to the spars & deck, bent like ribs to the breath
& hatches gape at the fury cast in brine
as the storm comes in with its teeth, teeth, teeth"



Chocolate Hole, Late Spring 1785

The dark wave rose from the black ocean water, cresting higher and higher as it closed in on the shore some miles distant. As the crest reached a height of over twenty feet, it gained in speed as well, rolling faster towards the raging bonfire that could be seen on the sands ahead.

Sitting before the fire on a small wooden chest, barefoot and cross-legged, was a lone figure with its head raised to the sky, arms outstretched. The dirty dreadlocks on the Karib’s head fell to one side as he continued to chant while in the outstretched arms was a large snake, its tail coiled around the wrist of the Karib’s left arm while he held the reptiles head it his right hand, pinched between thumb and index finger. The serpent moved as if in a trance, its tongue flicking out to taste the air at a steady beat. Long shadows fell away from the figure, in the bonfire’s blaze, stretching back to the dark edges of the jungle. From beyond the jungle undergrowth came the rhythmic pounding of drums, three or four separate patterns intertwining, louder and louder, each beat accompanied by a scream or shout as if the drums themselves were crying out in either pain or ecstasy.

The wave continued to gain more speed, rushing towards the fire as if to extinguish it. But as it drew into the shallows before the beach, it was broken upon the rocks, its brief spawning ending in a spray of emerald water that fell upon the sands like green blood.

The Karib continued to sit before the fire, the death of the wave failing to break the chanting, as it continued to grow in volume.

“Serpent, serpent-o, Damballah-wedo papa, you are a serpent. Serpent, serpent-o, Damballah-wedo papa, you are a serpent, I will call the serpent!”

With this the Karib lowered the snakes neck to his teeth and savagely tore threw it in a spray of crimson gore, the lifeblood of the snake flowing out and down across the chin of the Karib, pooling in a bowl that rested before him. The sand took on a darker tone as the blood flowed out of the bowl and onto the white sands. Casting the drained carcass into the flames, the fire flared into the night, in its glow the eyes of the Karib had become slanted, much like the serpent he had just killed.

Standing upright with fluid ease, again very serpentine in motion, the Karib turned and knelt before the chest, falling prostrate before it. The chest was an ornate wooden thing carved in bas relief and fixed with rusty brass hinged and an intricate clasp. A slit was carved in the top of the chest, a narrow scar that marred the surface of the chest. Drawing into a kneeling position, the Karib made a series of hand motions before the chest before reaching into his robe and drawing forth an enormous wheel of gold, shaped as a large disk carved with some sort of figures and characters. He held the disc high into the air where the flames danced macabre patterns across its surface, before he slipped it into the slot on the top of the chest. A dull metallic clang followed as the disc settle into the interior of the chest.

The Karib turned bent forward and picked up the chest, returning it to the hole in the sand nearby. Placing it within the cavity, the Karib used both arms to draw sand over the chest once more, burying it from sight once more even as another dark wave formed far out to sea.


Domingo Sound, Late Spring, 1785

Captain Sebastian Guildemont had very good air behind his ship's sails as he made his way into port.  There had been a sighting of a black flag with a skull and bones flying from its center mast as the wind favored his movement towards his destination, but beyond that his trip had been uneventful.  However, the greeting he received once he'd lowered the gang plank and made his way down, wasn't nearly as warm as the weather had been.

The Estalian harbor master stood tall in his fancy black and red shirt, green pants, while wearing the traditional Estalian helmet on his head, and a pair of black boots on his feet.  Behind him was a squad of soldiers carrying halberds, all on guard and keeping close eye on the movements of the man before them, as well as the crew back on board The Capricious Maiden.

“Captain Guildemont, you realize there are reports of Bretonnia being at war with Estalia back in the homeland, correct?”

“Yes,” and Guildemont’s eyes moved back and forth between the harbor master and the soldiers, “but since when has that ever rubbed off into the Karibbean?”

“Captain, your point is well taken, but I’m the one asking the questions here, and if you expect to be permitted to stay, we’ll need a good explanation as to why you are here?”

“I’m interested in seeking employment and I have here a letter with just such a request,” and  then Captain Guildemont reached into his breast pocket unfolded the parchment, and holding it in both hands displayed it for the harbor master to read.

“I see”, the harbor master turned his head and then back to address Captain Guildemont again, but before he spoke a scuffling of shoes along the boards of the dock was heard, and a man in a white cotton shirt and cream colored linen trousers made his presence known.

“Our town’s fine harbor master was unaware of my correspondence, but we just received your reply Captain Guildemont, and here is another from me”, as an arm was extended to hand over another sealed piece of parchment, “and although you’ll see that further discussions need to be first handled by myself, hopefully we can come to a suitable arrangement.”

The harbor master’s face had been one of surprise that neither the Bretonnian Captain nor the newly arriving Estalian had seen, but he regained his usual demeanor and immediately spoke again, “Well I see you are a man of your word Captain Guildemont and so the two of you can continue your discussion, but I’d like to have my men review the contents of your ship, as we do with all who seek port here in Domingo Sound.”

Captain Guildemont bowed and replied, “May your men be my guest.”


In the Dark, Somewhere in the New World, End of Late Spring, 1785.

While the moon was full, occasional stray clouds sometimes crossed its path. Below in the dark sea was a rowboat, making its way through the darkness towards the lights of the harbor distant. Five men sat within the boat, oars sweeping through the dark waters, propelling the craft closer and closer to the lights.

Cloth had been wrapped on the ends of the oars and two men paddled inside the large row boat, while two more men sat in the back, and Captain Tavish McBride sat in the front.

The large rock jetty came into view, and McBride gave a signal for the boat to turn and be brought down along the seaward side, not the harbor side, and all the men knew enough to keep their heads low.

When the boat was getting close to shore, a voice from the tower that formed the start of the jetty yelled down, “Halt, who goes there?”

Captain McBride looked up at that and replied, “He who owns Ye Wandering Falcon.”

“Ah, I see. Captain McBride, long time since your last visit. Bring your boat up against the portcullis, and then we’ll bring you and your crew inside.”

The two rowers slowed their pull and guided the craft, so that it bumped slightly into the metal bars of the entry to the tower from the water.  Within seconds a dull cranking was heard, and an opening was provided for just enough head room for the men to not bump their heads on the sharp ends of down ward pointing spikes of the iron.

Then with a couple of soft rows, the small dock inside was reached, and a soldier dressed in officer’s cloths was standing there to meet them.

“Welcome, Captain McBride.  We had no notice of your arrival, but I’m sure our leader will be happy to see you.  He’s wondering why you haven’t been in touch lately.”

“I’m sure, since dare are rumors of war in ye Olde World, reports of unruly natives, Letters of Marque being issued, which is why I’m here, and even a new fleet of pirates emerging in my home waters.  But, I must see him now, for I intend to leave before the dawn breaks again over this fine town.”

“I’ll bring you to his quarters immediately. We’ll wake him, most assuredly, but once he’s heard it’s you, I suspect he won’t be displeased.”

“Why’s dat?”

“Because he’s been a wanting to talk with you.”

“Very well, then let’s we get a move on, eh?”


Vera Cruz, Late Spring 1785



The chameleon Skink hung motionless beneath the palm tree fronds, overlooking the bay that served as docking for the Estalian mission known as Vera Cruz. The creature’s eyes moved independent of one another, one looking one direction while the other kept watch on the ship that had sailed into sight not a scant half hour ago. The Skink had been handing upside thusly, for over a week now, motionless and attentive. Dozens of humans and thrice as many animals had passed beneath the Skink, yet its coloration was so perfect, so complete that none had been alerted to its prescience. Its eye snapped back to join its other as a noise from the harbor attracted its attention.

The anchor fell from its sleeve with a satisfied groan, the heavy chain following its master into the depths of the placid water with a horrendous splash. The short stocky sailors aboard the Casa Maria scrambled to secure the rigging as Captain De Porto moved to the forecastle, his hand covering his eyes as he looked at the settlement before him on the rocky beach. A few scattered huts, a number of lean-tos and a pair of wooden buildings, likely a storage building and a meeting hall, dominated the small stretch of beach. Beyond, in the light brush of the jungle, he could make out the stone walls of the mission.

“Snap to amigos, we have sails to trim and cargo to unload! I want the stores on shore before nightfall. Senor Denigo, I am taking five men and going on shore to meet with Padre Estaban. I want you to wait for my signal to bring ashore the cargo. If I have not signaled in an hour, weigh anchor and take leave of this place, for I will not have the crew put at risk if this turns badly.”

“Oi Capitan, it shall be as you order.”

As the skiff was lowered from the aft deck, the landing party hunkered down on board; the chameleon shifted ever so slightly, a single fly that had been nesting on its horned brow darting away at the movement. It didn’t get far as a lightning quick tongue shot out and snatched it from the air, drawing it into the toothy jaws of the Skink, where it disappeared in a crunch of teeth.

Below on the jungle path travelled a party of humans dressed in long sleeved shirts, with puffy sleeves and high ruffled collars. They wore strange crested helmets and bore halberds and formed a makeshift guard around a figure that the Skink had determined was a leader. They moved in clumsy haste towards the tree line and the waters beyond.

“Padre, who are these strangers?”

“Manuel, I am expecting guests from the north, representatives of the ruling Monarchy in Hispania. They claim to be coming at behest of their leaders and with much needed supplies. I have sent word to his Majesty in regards to dealings with these humanitarians but have yet to receive word back. I am somewhat perplexed by this as I sent the documents with Captain Guerra, and he is to be trusted above all others.”

“What should we do Padre?”

Looking at the distant ship and the small shape of the approaching skiff, Padre Estaban twirled his holy symbol between clenched hands.

“We shall treat them as guest and benefactors of course, at least until we know their intent. Inform the men to make ready their arbalests and let nothing escape their gaze.”

“We see everything Padre, nothing shall be missed!”

The Skink shifted ever so slightly, its grasping claws pulling it more elongated along the branch as it blended in further with the foliage. It resumed watching the humans below him while his other eye rotated slowly to observe the strange craft breaking through the waves and coming to rest upon the beach.


Middle Plantation, End of Late Spring, 1785

Captain Cesario Clementio had his second in command tightening the sling that was supporting his arm, after having taken a shot from a Karib arrow during the retreat from Middle Plantation. They lay in a small hollow area just behind a fallen tree while a handful of other soldiers were on high alert close by and watching to see if other Karibs would be following their escape.

The Captain tested the sling and said, “Seems like that will do it,” and then he turned his head to peer off into it the trees to see what he could see as he considered their options.

“Captain, if I may speak freely sir?”

Clementio made eye contact with his second, and said, “Go ahead”, but quickly turned his eyes back to watching the jungle as he listened.

“Well sir, there’s six of us, which means we got two crossbows, two pistols, two halberds, and even with all our swords, there’s no way we are going to be able to overcome all those Karibs nor those goblins, heaven knows why they’re in league with the two Halfling leaders, but we ain’t no match for the lot of them at this point, and instead I recommend we go over to the coast and get ourselves a small fishing boat so we can get to Sandy Cay and make a report to General di Deo.”

Captain Clementio turned again to his second, “I’m not too thrilled about telling the General of our defeat, but I think your suggestion is the best we can do at the moment because we really are outnumbered here", and then he rose to his feet in a crouching position, “Alright men, let’s keep our heads low and our weapons from banging, and follow me.”

La Grotte de la Galerie, 1785



“Put yer zoggin backs into gitz!” yelled Wizgit Bonecruncha. “I wantz dat shiney outta der ground and I wantz it now! I'll be avin yer gutz fer garterz iffin yose dont git dat zoggin fing moved!”

The dozen or so Goblins before their fearsome Orc shaman scrambled harder with crude levers and bars to pry loose the top of the stone bier. All around them lay a series of jungle covered ruins, the undergrowth so thick that at times it appeared more solid than the rocks of the tumbled buildings. Scores of Orc & Goblins, bedecked in feathers, bones and other detris, moved through the underbrush, searching through the rumble with crude hands and weapons.

The bier was an ancient edifice of stone, carved on all sides with images of serpents and crude bat wings. The cover was enormous, yet time had not eroded it from its perfect fit along the seam of the lower cavity. Wizgit had sensed a dim glimmer of eldritch power coming from the bier and knew that something of power nested in the cavity of stone.

With a final groan of effort, the Goblins wedged up the corner of the bier, a blast of foul air bursting forth from the cavity like the long held breath of some forgotten god. Pushing the lid sideways and allowing it to pivot, it hung at an angle above the open cavity. Several Goblins jumped upon the eschewed lid, toppling it over to fall upon one hapless Goblin that failed to roll out of the way. Following the sickening squish, a lake of blood began to pool form under the stone, a stone upon which leapt an exalted Wizgit. Peering into the opening, the Orc reached in with a massive clawed hand and drew forth a weapon.

Looking at the weapon in his hands, Wizgit held it with some trepidation, getting accustomed to the weight of the weapon, an axe of strange wood and polished black glass. The serrated edge of the axe was formed of some strange ebony glass, pierced through the middle of the blade by a single blood red gem, a gem the size of a fist, a gem that twinkled in the sunlight with a life of its own. The weapon felt electric in his hands as Wizgit played through the air with the magnificent weapon, the feathers on the haft moving in sway with the motions of the blade. Turning to his tribe, Wizgit thrust the axe high into the air.

“Wauconda Watoso!” he screamed. And his tribe of greenskins as one fell to their knees before their leader and his new weapon.

World Pond, Late Spring 1785



“Hells teeth,” cursed Admiral Hector Guerrera, dourly surveying the approaching Bretonnian fleet from the forecastle of La Boehm. “What insane plan do you follow now, Le Fevre?”

Guerrera’s Man O War sat among two squadrons of Frigates, each one deployed in implacable lines port and starboard, their batteries of cannon resolutely pointing at the oncoming Bretonnians. A stiff breeze blew in from ahead, whipping the fleet’s pennants and flags against their masts. A thousand yards in front Hector had placed his War galleys, their aim was to intercept and punch holes in the approaching formations.

Even with his years of experience, it was this moment that Hector feared the most. He knew that the two fleets would clash within minutes, and that there was no turning back from this point. He had committed himself to the fight, and must now trust that the fates would see him through it alive.

The Bretonnian fleet, the wind in their favor, was moving apace towards the waiting Estalian warships. It struck Hector that their formation seemed unconventional, if not suicidal. He had faced Le Fevre’ and the might of the Bretonnian navy on a number of former occasions, often at the cost of a sizable number of Estalian warships, but hadn’t seen a maneuver like this before.

Le Fevre’ had a fearsome reputation, as was the subject of a number of books on naval tactics, and even more so as an object of speculation. His contempt for Estalian seamanship was made plain by the regular letters of insult and scorn he sent to the Estalian Naval Commandants, and it was rumored his life was charmed. Even aboard La Boehm, Guerrera had heard the mutterings about the “invulnerable Sea-demon” who guarded Le Fevre’; more than one man had been flogged soundly for such treasonous outbursts.

All Guerrera could see of the enemy from his vantage point, high on La Boehm’s forecastle, was a wall of sail-undoubtedly Buccaneers, sailing in a line abreast to shield the rest of the Bretonnian fleet from view. All Hector could see of the other ships was the occasional topsail or pennant.

The War galleys sat patiently, their Captains waiting until the Buccaneers were at point blank range before firing. At that range the iron cannonballs would wreak the most damage upon their foes. But it was these very Wargallies that led to Admiral Guerrera’s present concerns. By now they should be under fire from the trebuchets of the Buccaneers-an acceptable risk at this stage of the battle. If the Bretonnians left it much longer, the Wargallies would be too close to be shot by trebuchet, and then what would the Bretonnians do? Surely Le Fevre’, a notoriously cunning opponent, would never make such a blunder?

I’le Del Muerta, Late Spring 1785



Torches, billowing in the breeze, preceded the skiffs, a dozen or so boats moving slowly towards shore under the wavering light of the smoking torches set in their prows. The waves crashing against the rocky coastline pushed back upon the skiffs and drove them back. Corded muscles groaned in the oar banks as the landing boats drew near shore. Soon the bottom of the first skiff kissed the sand near the shoreline. Plunging into the waist deep freezing water, the pirates swarmed forth from their boats, swords drawn as they gathered on the beach, the dark jungles beyond beckoning…

…somewhere back in the jungle interior, something began to move, something that caused flocks of birds to take flight, something monstrous and evil that did not belong in the land of the living stirred once more, as if the pirates very feet upon the island caused it pain, something hungry…

Port-Au-Prince, Late Spring, 1785 I.C.

Lord Governor Langston Hughes was again sitting at his desk as his scribe Mathias entered his employer’s office chamber.  Mathias noticed he hadn’t finished his lunch yet with half a bulky roll, a slice of roast beef, and a hunk of already started cheese still sitting on his plate.

“Lord Governor, sir, some mail has arrived for you.”

“Ah, and what’s in it for me today, Mathias?”

“There’s a return letter from Lady de Coronado.  Seems she’s sensing the need for some extra security and making inquiries into such.  She doesn’t seem overly concerned about the newest grouping of Pirates that have been claiming territory up in the Nassau Sea area, yet at the same time the chief supervisor of her plantation has been active in seeking additional sea vessels to provide some extra strength.”

“And she’s asking us for help?”

“Not directly, sir, but she does seem to be looking to confirm that possibility just in case.”

“Well then, let her know that we might be able to aide her, but not until after we finish the plans that General Von Gruberheim has begun to implement for strengthening our land defenses around Port-Au-Prince with increased artillery positions from the new guns being the Baron back home in Nordland has sent us.  By the way, have General and the Admiral confirmed their attendance for dinner this evening to update me on how everything is coming along?”

“I’ll be certain to mention what you’ve said in drafting a reply to her, and yes, both the gentlemen have responded, intending to be here this evening, sir.”

“And what else do you have there, Mathias?”

“There is a letter from Captain Pierce, and also another from one of the three we sent back in early spring, the latter informing us of his intentions to set sail for the Sandy Cay area to deal with what has been said is a significant uprising of Karibs.”

“Excellent news there, and what of the letter from Captain Pierce?”

“I’m thinking its best you read that one and this other unusual one as well,” then Mathias moved forward handing both to the Lord Governor.

There was a period of silence as the two were reviewed, and the Lord Governor spoke, “You spoke well regarding the last, and here’s how we’ll be replying to both.”

Samara Bay, Late Spring 1785



It had never been more than a desperate gambit. The Imperial trade fleet had been in port when the pirates struck, battered by cannon fire before many could even weight anchor. The Karibs fled into the jungle as the burning wrecks of the Intrepid and Wolfram set the harbor ablaze, the primitive grass huts and flimsy wooden buildings of the settlement going up in flames. Survivors had split as the pirate fleet, led by the Bloody Rhinox and its cursed Ogre Captain, surged into the harbor under the cover of a fog bank. Soon the harbor was veiled from sight under the blanket of fire and thick smoke, the screams of the dying drowned out by the roars of the pirates and the thunder of their cannons. Several of the ships were able to retreat from the harbor under the cover of smoke and fog, with the pirate vessel Widowmaker in pursuit. None of the pirates saw that one of their own, the Stripling, had been engaged and sunk by the privateer Alfonso Vinta!

The cagey Captain had been sailing to Samara to do some trading with the locals and came upon the battle to late to warn the Imperials but he didn’t let the chance to sink a pirate vessel slip through his fingers. It had been an easy task to sink the Stripling, taken unawares and nearly crewless since many of the pirates had gone ashore to raid and pillage. Sinking the craft with a single broadside, Alfonso slipped away during the chaos of the battle and sailed in relief of the fleeing Imperial traders.

Captain Daniels, commanding the Pride of Nuln, found himself the sole protector of no less than five heavily laden merchant ships, as the makeshift fleet fled the sacking of Samara Bay.

Heading for the safety of Nordlund was their only hope, and they had made good speed for an hour now. Since then the Widowmaker had remained at a safe distance, Pirate Queen Kera apparently weighing her chances. Daniels had seen smoke and sails on the horizon and knew the jaws of a trap were closing on them. The gulf south of Nordlund was already narrowing into little more than a rock laden strait; perhaps five miles wide, with sweeping jungle covered islands to hide enemies from view. Daniels knew the area and knew they were less than a day away from the Imperial port. If they weren’t attacked, they could reach Nordlund under the cover of darkness.

“Ships ahead!” The cry went up from the fore lookouts, even as an identical warning came from the lookouts aft.

“Damnation!” cursed Daniels, making for the foredeck.

As he reached the prow, he saw the problem for himself. A sloop, flying the colors of the Asp, had emerged from the cover of a large island. Resembling a floating scrap yard rather than a warship, it was nonetheless a threat to the unarmed merchant craft. A breathless messenger informed Daniels that the Widowmaker had started to close.

“Make for open waters Helmsman! Single the merchant vessels that they are to make for Nordlund as best they can, while we deal with this pirate scum!”

Daniels’ orders were rattled out at speed, and his well drilled crew responded with the precision he expected of them.

“Ready on the guns Mister Cobb! Break out the grapeshot and prepare for boarding. Helmsman, new heading, starboard at speed!”

As the merchant ships made for the freedom of open waters, the Pride of Nuln began turning about towards starboard to place her broadside cannons where they could be brought to bear on both the approaching pirate vessels!

Torktuga, Late Spring 1785



The two men struggled under the weight of the wooden box they carried, their trek along the rocky cliffs slowed by the need for caution, their charge heavy in their hands.

“How did we end up with this chore chum?” muttered Stoink.

“Must be yer charming wit mate. Did you really tell that royal that his wife had a wart on her arse?” responded Binky.

“I don’t think that was what zogged him off mate, I think it was when I told him she had showed it to me once!”

Both men burst into laughter, Binky slipping on the rocks and shifting the weight onto Stoink.

“Take it easy ya blasted oaf! You trying to get me killed or what?”

“Sorry lad, it just struck me as funny is all.”

As they redistributed the load back to equal, they moved down along the trail towards the drop-off below. Waves crashed high into the air as the surf slammed into the cliffs here, the spray of water making the rocks glisten like diamonds. The pair struggled down the sharp incline, more waves pounding the rocks, tossing pieces of wood into the air, the remains of several vessels that had been sunk during the invasion of Torktuga by the forces of the Monarchy.

The livered guard behind Stoink pushed his halberd tip into Binky’s ample rump.

“Move your arse scum, there be plenty more work to do this day.”

Swinging the load they bore to and fro several times, they cast the coffin out over the edge of the drop-off, watching as it splashed into the water, before bobbing back up and joining the seemingly endless procession of coffins floating away from the former pirate haven of Torktuga...

If you're looking at turning this into sa full mordheim campaign setting, may I suggest you break into different threads?

One for stories, one for fluff, one for each warband, one for rules and what not. The story is great and all ,but if I have to scroll past it every time I want to look at the stats of a skaven rat-monkey, it'll get a little annoying.

As one of the co-authors of the Sartosa Campaign, I am at your service should you need anything!

(Be sure to recruit Von Kurst, he sparked the idea of a piratey-lustria campaign... although, I dubbed his work, "The West Inds".)

This looks very promising.

Nice story so far

Kaptain BlackSquig wrote:

Karib Headhunters (based loosely on the Amazon Warband)
Baku (think Hatian Voodoo & Zombie Masters)

Really interested in these 2 if you have anything to share Kaptain?

To be honest, I wonder if they can be merged... The idea of a headhunter warband with several flavors:

~ Guardians - Simple fishermen and hunters who honor the land. Weakest combat bonuses, but access to Amazon-style super weapons. Caster has Amazon spells.
~ Headhunters - furious flesh eaters. Human stats, savage orc abilities. Super crazy. Caster has ? spells. (Dark Emissary? Orc?)
~ Baku - voo doo. Special access to undead. (Maybe one of the existing troops on the list is a zombie-fied version). Necro spells.

Three completely different warbands, using the same frame. (Although, each warband would probably need a more intense mod than the simple Merc changes.)

Merging them might be something to go with SK

In the campaign now there are the Savage Karibs (headhunter, cannabils, whatever) the Freeman Karibs (modernized, civilized, peaceful) and then there are the Vodoun Cults. So I can see where it might be easier to allow a general Karib Tribesmen Warband and then allow upgrades to dictate the type. One thing about the tribes though is that they dont all have spell casters. In fact only the Baku have spell casters. The Savages have Werekin (Jaguars) while the Freeman have skills more attuned to trading, etc.

I will boggle over this and get the lists posted here that i have and we can see what you all think.

Da Kaptain

Neato. Freeman - like the angle. Most of that is reflected in the equipment & hs hiring, I bet.

As I mentioned before, it might make sense to post that under another thread- easier to talk about one thing at a time.

Not sure that they can make a 3 in one warband with out a large range of hero choices.

Also the Baku could have ties to Luthor Harkon and the Zombie Coast.

Sure you can. Example:

Special rules:
Isolated: All Islanders suffer -2 to all rarity rolls for any items that aren't on their Equipment List.
Tribes: Pick a tribe, Freeman, Headhunter, or Bantu.

HEROES
1 Chieftain
Freeman: May use Freeman equipment list, ignores "isolated".
Headhunter: Crazed- each turn, roll 1D6: on a 1, if there is an enemy within charge range, you must charge. If so, he ignores all fear and gains +1 attacks this turn. If the headhunter is crazed, he does not roll for being crazed (meaning, he can't be both at the same time).
Bantu: causes fear.

0-1 Medicine Man
Freeman: Ignores Isolated. Bone casting: once per game, you may have any hero learn the skill "Dodge" or "Step aside" until the end of the turn. Alternatively, you may add +1 to any existing dodge or step aside rolls instead. Once granted, the bonus cannot be granted again until the next game.
Headhunter: Blood brew: the medicine starts each game with 1D3-1 doses of Madcap Mushroom, he can take or distribute to other heroes. If not used, they are discarded. If playing a One-Shot game, it will not start with less than 1 dose.
Medicine Man: Learns Necro spells.

0-3 Sons of War
(base human stats)
Freeman: May access freeman weapons.
Headhunter: Crazed
Bantu: Start with -1WS, -1BS, "No Pain", and "Immune to Psychology". They are not technically undead, but rather, humans that have all emotion and sensation removed from their bodies.

Good quick example, but still kind of unsatisfying.

The fictional vodoo cult is always run by a person of great magical power. Others in the cult my have less power or other talents, but rarely are they zombies. The zombies are servants and enforcers. Creation of zombies is the threat or the danger of the cult not the aspiration of its members.

As for head-hunters, they do not have to be frenzied although like the Amazons, some of them might be. A medicine man is certainly fitting for them, but not necessarily the chief.

The freemen could be represented by a mercenary warband in a counts-as kind of way.

Bah! Your face is uninspiring! (shoot, already used that one on Lemming... curses).

You have a point. The thing I always found about houdoun (aka voodoo) was the self-possession. The idea that you dance, pray, sacrifice, whatever, with the goal of being taken over by past ancestors, spirit guides, saints, or the loa (gods). It's like the peasant stew of religions, and one of the few examples of necromancy for purpose of gaining physical strength as well as mental/spiritual.

HA! Elderberry! Hamster!

I do think a warband that reflects the horror movie vodoo needs to be a stand alone kind of project. There are spells that sort of fit, but it would be nice to have one or two that reflect the possession aspect as well.

Turn Three: Exchanging Pleasantries
"Karibbean Sea! Whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality!"

"And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Karibbean Sea?"


Off the coast of Domingo Sound, 1785
“Stand to’t, my bullies! Clear the guns, baw-cocky boys; ‘tis our turn next-but stand by till she comes about!” roared Magg.

Da Bleedin Rhinox came about, her sweeps run out as the Schooner sought to circle about her prize and come up under the starboard. Sailing ripping in the wind as she tilted in the water, the roar of The Capricious Maiden’s polished cannons peppering her timbers with shrapnel, casting Gnoblar and Bull alike into the air as more explosions raped her gun decks, the powder from one barrel igniting under a lucky shot.

“Sweep her fo’c’s’le and poop, so shall we make ‘em like corn before the sickle!” roared back Captain Guildemont of the Capricious Maiden.

As the Bleedin Rhinox drew up closer to the Maiden, the crude Ogres onboard shouted challenges over the noise of cannon and swivel gun, more of her deck crumbling under the pounding. Great gaps appeared in the stern of the Rhinox, rigging began to buckle as small fire broke out. As the schooner drew up alongside the Maiden, brigades of bucket wielding Gnoblars rushed to extinguish the glowing embers even as the prow of the Rhinox crunched into the starboard side of the Maiden, causing her to lurch.

“Grape lads! Grape now hot and heavy! The brutes come and I will not abide their vileness to defile my Maiden!”

As small arms fire erupted, a half dozen Bulls reached across and grasp the rails of the Maiden, muscles rippling as the drew the mammoth vessels broadside. Small squeals of angry broke from a party of Gnoblars armed with bottles and belaying pins as they rushed across the still outstretched arms of the Bulls, a flurry of empty rum bottles forcing back the first human sailors moving to greet them.

“Takes em whole lads! Its man flesh on the menu this day!” bellowed Magg as he and his Bulls jumped onto the slightly lower deck of the Maiden, the impact of the Ogres shattering a hatch and breaking apart several deck planks. Magg himself found his leg wedged into the gap of a broke plank, the human he landed on little more than a gory smear.

As Magg fought to free his enormous bulk from his wooden prison, the Gnoblars were scathed down by several blasts from blunderbuss, his Bulls caught between a whirling circle of swords and pistols, several falling to the blasts of the weapons, others taking shots that would kill a normal man and still swatting aside more humans by the dozens. As Magg pulled himself free at last, his Sword Gnoblar struggled to hand his master his dropped club, a small cylinder rolled across the deck and detonated. The crude grenade was full of filed metal ingots and the force of the blast drove Magg over the rails and onto the deck of the Rhinox. He lay there shattered among the broken beams and snapped rigging as smoke poured across the deck as the fires burned out of control.

A few minutes later, Magg regained his faculties and realized that the Rhinox had withdrawn into the growing smoke, her timbers weakened and her crew depleted. The roaring in his head was nothing compared to the roaring his crew endured when he was able to see straight once more…


Sandy Cay, Tilean Army Headquarters, End of Early Summer, 1785
As Captain Caesario Clementio, with his wounded arm still in a sling, stood with the other Captains around planning table with General Alfonso di Deo, Caesario couldn’t fail to notice the General’s calmer demeanor now that the seas around Sandy Cay didn’t have Halflings and Karibs in small canoes, outriggers, and a shambling schooner full of greenskins, paddling around..

“Captain Monterro, you’re saying they haven’t been seen in weeks?”

“That’s correct General, everything they took has been abandoned by their fighting forces, although there are some natives and a few of their guards remaining in the locations they ravaged, but the last we heard, they set off north into the sea”, replied captain Palu Monterro.

General di Dio looked puzzled, “North?  That seems odd, wonder where they’re going?”

“There’s no telling, sir”, said Captain Eduardo Luca.

General di Deo rolled his eyes and then stated, “Alright then, take heed, we need to be certain all the defenses here in Sandy Cay are in order.  I want as many of the troops as possible organized here in our main location.  We have an opportunity to increase the local strength and thus decrease the likelihood if they come back that they can take it.  Which means we’ll be reducing defense of other areas, but increasing the ability to hold out here until we can find a way to get additional support for putting these rebellious natives down if they return?”

Captain Clementio sensed the General giving a slight pause and so he spoke next, “General, my second had an idea regarding where we might get some support, but it might be a controversial suggestion, sir.”

The General focused his attention on the Captain Clementio before saying, “Well if it’s as practical as his idea for getting here from Middle Plantation, it can’t be unwise, so let’s hear it.”

“It involves getting aide from Estalians, General.”

“Under the circumstances, in that we aren’t scheduled for replacements to arrive until next spring, I’d say such an idea is worth hearing the details on, so do proceed, Captain Clementio, please do.”

Isabella Sound, Late Summer 1785
The breeze had turned cool last evening, a harbinger of possible bad weather. The steady winds blew across the Sound, the smell of fish pungent this day. The fleet had returned with a dutiful catch and most of the town had set off to the docks to begin the unloading of the six vessels.

The Shattered Jack Tavern overlooked the shipyards below and that suited the Dwarf fine as he had a need to watch the comings and goings of the vessels making port. From his seat in the midden, he could watch events unfold as he emptied the remnants of the barrel and a half of grog into the simple bucket, chuckling to himself that the boy whose job it was to change the buckets, would earn his wage today!

Beyond the midden was the taproom, stocked with dozens of racks holding potables from all across the Karibbean. It was amazing to Rik that Henry managed to maintain such a well stocked cellar. The tables that littered the taproom were crude but elegant, polished barrels capped with wide rimmed rounded tops, with stools scattered in all corners of the room.

Henry was polishing a number of crystal candle bulbs when the door opened and a dandy entered, the fop sporting an enormous feather cap and the dress that only the wealthy would consider wearing. He took a seat near the wide windows overlooking the harbor and ordered a glass of elegant red. As he sipped the vintage once it arrived, the dandy motioned for the serving girl to join him. Knowing it unwise to decline an invitation from a nobleman, she joined him at the table where they struck up a short conversation. Soon she was pointing to the midden door, a wrinkle of disgust coming across his cultured features. Drawing a deep breath, the dandy moved to the table near the midden, where he observed some curious belongings. A faded logbook lay upon a pile of maps and other charts, a bumper of mead sat cooling next to a bowl of some dark liquid.

“I say, Master Rik. Pray, I have need to speak with you on a matter of great urgency.” He said in a load voice to the closed portal before him.

Straining, Rik thought he heard the dandy.

“I’m be a tad indisposed at this precise moment lad. Take yer leave and bother me at a more opportune moment!”

A massive bundle of black fur chose that moment to alight upon the table, a ratty looking beast with feral green eyes and sharp claws. The feline hissed at the dandy as he blanched before the aggression of the beast. Drawing forth a hanky from his perfumed pocket, he waved it threateningly at the beast.

“I am afraid, Master Dwarf that my employer demands I shall not take my leave. It is well known you have a number of long guns on market and my employer wishes to wishes to enter into the bidding for them.”

Grumbling as he continued, Rik thought about the offer. He already had over a dozen bidders for the cannons and he wanted to make sure everyone had a chance to bid for the right to pay him! Letting another boat go, he shouted back through the door.

“Alright Lad, does yer employer know what a “lucky number’ is?”

Shooing at the cat, the dandy responded.

“Yes Master Dwarf, he does indeed know that exact term. I am to respond by telling you that General Franz fornicates with alley cats!”

Smiling, Rik knew he had another one on the hook.

“Alright then lad. Tell your employer I will make sure he is in the know. You can leave yer token with General Franz there. Mind, he brokers no persons to touch his rum!

The dandy was unsure what he meant by that last, but he withdrew a rolled piece of cloth and placed it next to the bowl. At that, General Franz moved to the bowl and began lapping at the rum, its pink tongue moving so fast the dandy became uncomfortable and moved to leave. The cat let out a loud belch as the door was pulled closed behind the dandy, Henry couldn’t help but laugh. That Dwarf and his rum pot cat were a pair of lucky numbers, to be certain!


Off the Coast, Domingo Sound, Late Summer 1785
The foredecks of the Asp were littered with debris, the mast having been shattered under the impact of the L’Epine Noirs guns, the Monarchy Schooner overtaking the Asp as she set off to Tortuga. The battle had been brief, the Sloop sighting the Schooner as she rounded a small island along the coast. Using the shallows, the pirates moved under the cover of a light fog and were able to take the L’Epine Noirs unawares.

“Aloft Gitz! Clear the braces ya scurvy dogs. Dreg, take da zoggin wheel! The rest of you ladz dry yer eyes and ready yer powder, weze boardin fer sure!” shouted Ca’pt Nazbin as he drew his blade.

The Sloop drew closer to the Schooner when the lookout saw them through the swirling fog.

“Pirates lads! Fire the guns to port, port side guns fire. Heavy shot and don’t stop! They are upon us!” commanded Captain Gastion. Bells rang out as the Asp unloaded her bow cannon, shot ripping through the soft underbelly of the schooner and blasting its way up through the lower decks, toppling the mast as the main hold caved in. The cannonball continued its upward trajectory, before loosing speed and plummeting back down on the schooner, smashing into the stern with a sickening crunch. As the sails twisted inwards upon themselves, the wreckage rained upon the Asp, snapping rigging and throwing the smaller vessel off course. Even as the sloop sought to right her course the crew of the L'Epine Noir rushed to the gunwales to repel any boarders. Her cannons spoke loud and true, smashing into the timbers of the Asp, raking the deck with hot lead balls. The gun deck of the Asp blossomed into fire as the powder kegs of several cannons exploded under the rain of shots. Fires swept many of the greenskins into the ocean where they sizzled as they sank below the waves, the crippled mast crashing to the deck and setting the vessel adrift. As the L’Epine Noir was at full sail, she swept past the wreckage and was once more lost in the swirl of fog.

Snarling at the damage to his ship, Nazbin shouted at his crew.

“Pull you last worthless gitz! Arms and legs and backs, pull ‘ard ye lubberz an’ git us to safety in da cove!”

Meantime, aboard the L’Epine Noir.

“Bring us about Mr. Mate! I want that pirate vessel resting upon the ocean bottom! I made a bargain and I would see it honored!” Even as the Schooner came about, the fog had started to thicken and the Asp was soon lost among the mists.


From … A Biography of Inquisitor Alphonso Rodriquez Cabrillio by Sergio Quantillio

page 171 …
After his trip to El Citadel, and having acquired some additional troops, artillery, and munitions along with a ship to transport them, Cabrillio first returned to Trinidad where he collected more of his forces and two more ships, and then set sail for Cabos.  Brother Miguel’s diary provides a surprisingly detailed list of units of the expedition shown below.

“- 3rd Estalian Karibbean Swords, from Trinidad
- 16th Estalian Pikes with attached Arquebuziers, from Trinidad
- 22nd Estalian Crossbows with attached Halberds, from Trinidad
- 2nd Inquisitional Halberds with attached Arquebuziers, from El Citadel
- Section B of the Karibbean Chapter of Knights of the Inquisition, from Trinidad
- 5th Karibbean Inquisitional Battery, from El Citadel
- 1st Karibbean Scouts”

The last unit on the list is of interesting note because this is the first mention of an organized unit of Karibs fighting alongside Inquisitional troops in the Karibbean.  Little is known about the unit, but from the few references made in various archival accounts it is believed that it was a way to provide a sense of inclusion for the local Karibs that remained on Trinidad after so many had fled to Cabos.

Additionally, Cabrillio’s flag ship, El Justerio, was escorted by the two Pinnnaces, “El Amarillo Rosa and the Gaviota di Libre, as well as the frigate Lanza Punta from El Citadel.  The small fleet headed for Cabos about a quarter of the way into the summer, and upon their arrival, they disembarked just east of the settlement before marching through a short stretch of jungle and fanning out into formation to attack the town.

Brother Miguel’s diary provides a small map (see Appendix C) where it shows that the pikes formed on the right, closest to the water, the center was occupied by the crossbows, and the swordsmen had moved south of the town to sweep in from there, while the Inquisitional Halberds served as the reserve on the slope of a slight rise behind the crossbows.  The map does not show the Knights, or the Karib scouts, and the diary only makes mention of the artillery (two cannons and two mortars) and the horses being left behind because there wasn’t a clear path through the jungle.

From there, Miguel tells of the advance upon Cabos seemingly being unopposed until the troops entered the town.  Apparently there were token organized efforts from the Karibs who had weapons, small fights breaking out here and there.  Various huts on the outskirts of Cabos were torched, which led to many natives running through the streets and being slain by the Estalians.  Closer to the center and down by the docks, most of the buildings were purposefully untouched to be used in the future, and this is where the resistance from Karibs was encountered.

The most significant fighting seemed to occur near the Chief’s large round meeting house.  Miguel describes a scene in which arrows were fired across a large courtyard area, and there was even a charge of “viciously yelling natives with spears” that evidently was no match for the trained soldiers being led by Cabrillio.  Miguel even writes of seeing Cabrillio standing at the ready, pistol aimed, hand on sword, and firing with the Inquisitorial Arquebuziers, while the Inquisitorial Halberds stood firm after having reached the center of Cabos in their attempt to capture what Miguel refers to as their “King”.  Instead, it is recorded that their Chief was not captured, and he died alongside his guards, all fighting to the last man.


From The Port-au-Prince Monthly Journal, 1785

New Cannons Ready, More Soldiers Wanted



Local residents who donated some high ground overlooking Port-au-Prince’s harbor across the water from the town, dressed in fashionable Karibbean summer wear, showed up for the test firing of one of the many new cannons delivered from Nordland as part of Lord Governor Langston Hughes effort to increase defensive emplacements around the town.  Landward side fortifications have also increased with several smaller field cannons being located in those positions.

With increased pirate activity being reported in the Nassau area, and it being rumored that a new so-called “pirate kingdom” is arising, General Ludlow Von Gruberheim is encouraging the Lord Governor to request more troops from the homeland, while at the same time increasing the size of the militia as well.  Another suggestion under consideration is to create a local unit of pro-Imperial Karibs as both a way to grow the size of the army, and make any inland Karibs who might create issues for local peace and prosperity, need to think twice before deciding to act in ways that might hurt some of their own.



Vera Cruz, Late Summer 1785
The sounds of hammers and saws echoed across the wide beach and deep into the interior of the jungle. The wooden frame of a mission was taking shape upon a solid rock foundation, a veritable army of workers and supervisors’ working day and night to fortify the fledgling colony.

The harbor beyond served as anchor point for several ships flying the colors of the Monarchy, their pennants whipping taunt in the winds, her sails stowed and her crews serving as masons and carpenters now. Gentle waves rolled upon the pristine sands, the noise of children playing in the waves drowned out by the industry going on around them.

The Skink continued to watch the progress from its lofty perch, its cold alien eyes moving of their own accord, its tongue sniffing the air and taking in the scents of the newcomers. It made subtle movements occasionally, more to adjust its camouflage than to stretch, for it could remain motionless for months at a time if need be. It watched and it waited.



Torktuga, Late Summer 1785

The ominous Tomb Ship rowed into view, the wooden oars moving in unison and showing no loss of speed. From his deck aboard Silic’s Ire, Captain Pierce watched the vessel approach through his spyglass, the morning sun rising behind the Khemrian war galley as she cleared the mouth of Torktuga bay. No noise came from the vessel, no shouts of sailors, no pounding of pacing drums. As he moved to dodge a sweeping beam, Pierce cursed.

“What are you, a bunch of over-bosomed maids? Secure that beam or it’s the ballast for you!” he shouted at the nearest sailor, who scrambled to do his bidding.

Turning back to the approaching galley, he sighted along its gun deck where stood a number of catapults, small scorpions or some similar machine. His blood chilled further when he saw the deck filled with ranks of unmoving skeletons, skeletons clad in ornate armor and bedecked in jeweled coverings, bearing spears that glinted in the morning sunlight. The ship was perfection, and it brought a tear to Pierce’s eye when he ordered his cannons to fire.

The single mast sail crumbled under the impact of the Ire’s cannonade, falling to the deck and smashing whole ranks of the skeletons poised there. The unearthly vessel continued to move forward, the oars rising and falling as she drew closer to the Ire. Panic started to flow through Pierce as the ship ignored his cannons and closed despite the withering fire. More shot fell upon the galley, one of the catapults crumbling under the barrage, the wreckage falling upon the aft starboard oar banks, smashing them into kindling and bringing the vessel around.

The remaining catapults opened fire and soon the rocks came crashing down upon the forecastle of the Ire, her stern crumbling under the impact of the stones, her figurehead pitching into the ocean even as the galley drifted closer.  As the skeleton gunners moved in silent unison to reload, Pierce ordered his gunners to target her remaining oar banks, which again shattered under the impact of the heavy shot, her motion now governed by the swell of the waves.

As the two ships passed, Pierce ordered another broadside but his order froze in his throat as he saw the form of Prince Sobek upon the decks, the witchfire burning behind his gilded deathmask, his arm raised in silent salute to the Captain as the Ire moved beyond cannon range and took up a flanking course. The Tomb Ship bobbed in the waves and began to be pushed away from the rocky coast of Torktuga and out to sea…

Petite-Goval, End of Early Summer, 1785
In all Lord Mayor Francois de Goval’s entire life, birth to now, he and his town had never experienced anything like the Cholera epidemic that was occurring presently.

Francois recalled when he was a child, his father, the then Lord Mayor, had to combat the effects of a couple of hurricanes, and even the year of the Big Tidal Flood as it was called and remembered, but nothing like the disease that was now afflicting most of the population.  Two of his sons, including the heir to the local throne, and three of his daughters were all confined to their beds with the nastiness of the symptoms hitting them all hard.  He and his wife Ophelia, had so far managed to avoid the catastrophe that was occurring, she knowing how to avoid, any food or water source that wasn’t likely healthy to eat or drink, counseling her husband to do the same, and providing the best help to their children, while the only side effect so far was that the two had begun losing weight from their wide girths.

However, among the populace death was becoming an everyday thing, and there was no longer enough fresh water to help those stricken with the dehydration that the diarrhea and vomiting was causing.  People who were acquiring the sickness would develop the look of sunken eyes and wrinkly skin and before long, without neither the right treatment being available nor in many cases not known, would reach the point where they wouldn’t see another Karibbean Dawn.  The Lord Mayor had put out word that he was willing to pay significant sums for whatever help that he and his community could obtain, like barrels of fresh water, fruit, and other food stuffs, but none had arrived over the last month and a half, and so the deaths continued, and no relief was insight.

As Francois paced in the hall way outside his and his family’s bed chambers, he could think of nothing else that he could do.  He wondered if enough of the Petite-Govals could make it past this problem, and enough to bring some sense of normality to their homes and the town.  Or would instead the community cease to exist, with any survivors forced to evacuate in hopes of avoiding what was already tearing their lives apart as is.  And he would need to make a decision to order such soon.

The Graveyard of Ships, Coquina Sea
A flock of gulls, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, swarmed in the crisp morning sky, their cawing drowning out the lapping of waves on the hulks of ships marooned in this Mannan forsaken patch of ocean. The wrecks, over three dozen in number, were beached on the sandbars that riddled the shallows here, broken masts like crude grave markers, tattered and rotting sails more like shrouds covering the bodies of the ruined vessels. Birds’ nests riddled the upper rigging and masts that still stood upright, the decks and sterns likewise sporting heaps of driftwood, cloth and straw.

The hull of the Red Moon scraped the upper mast of a sunken Galleon as it passed over the sunken wreck, the rotting wood snapping under the weight of the schooner to fall in slow motion to the debris littered floor, joining the tons of sunken wood and metal on the ocean floor. A school of sharks, hammerheads, changed course as the rigging fell by in the dark, moving with speed towards the surface, where the prow of the schooner Sigmar’s Wrath ran starboard of the Red Moon.

Holding tight to his holy symbol, the silvered image of a mighty Warhammer, Captain Luther Siegfried stared straight ahead, the scenes of devastation around him not even drawing an errant eye. His focus remained on the vessel before him, Captain Johann of the Red Moon could be seen yelling orders at his men as their schooner slid between half sunken wrecks, her upper sails shredding as the gap narrowed. An inattentive sailor cast screaming from the upper rigging fell into the water and quickly disappeared under a sea of hammerheads, the water turning gore while high pitched screams ripped the air, stirring a cloud of gulls into action, the decks of the Red Moon soon lost to sight beneath the flock of avian.

“Damn birds!” screamed Johann, “away and to a watery grave with the lot of you, may the sea gods take your worthless souls!”

Luther cast a cold glance at his helmsman, who immediately shrank under the gaze of his Captain. His lieutenant ordered his men forward, armed with long poles to help push the ship away from trouble, as Luther barked orders to his helmsman.

“Cut yer speed Mister Helmsman! I shall broker not a scratch to me fine vessel, and ye being doing a proper if you make sure to follow me orders to the letter.”

Ahead in the debris of wrecks was a mountain of seaweed and kelp, growing over the sunken wrecks like a green carpet, so thick it was impossible to see through. The tell-tale sign of a series of masts could be determined by the lookouts, who shouted information down to the sailors on deck.

“Wreck ahead Captain! Her keel looks sheared and she is sitting on her side in about 30 feet of water.” shouted Hugo.

“Sails Captain, worn but still colored in the shades of Estalia”, added Bruno from the prow.

Signaling to the Red Moon, both ships drew slower and the clattering of chains followed by splashes could be heard above the screaming gulls. Both ships slid to a stop amid the wrecks, as boarding parties prepared to be lowered in the longboats…


Sea of Torktuga, 1785
The lookout spotted the sails before the Officer of the Watch, the early morning fog playing havoc with vision for those still on deck. The sun was cresting the horizon, spilling orange and gold light across the decks of the Indomitable.

“Ship Lieutenant! She is flying the colors of Nassau, a Sloop by the looks of her!”

“To order men. Spread the word along lines and wake the Captain…”

“I am here Mister Crowe, it is impossible to sleep under the gauge of your voice!”

Drawing on his coat, Captain Vinta moved to the poop deck and gazed out towards the silhouette of the ship on the horizon, her single sail snapping in the wind as it tacked to and fro.

Captain Alcuds, from the deck of his pirate sloop The Dancing Cloud, peered at the schooner as it drew closer, his hand shielding the rising sun from its glare. It looked a fat enough prize he mentally noted, and he and his crew were hungry. A series of silent hand motions ordered the crews to man their guns and make ready. His crew followed orders quickly and efficiently, the Captain having flogged men that were too slow in the performance of their duties.

As the two vessels approached one another, neither made their intentions clear. Vinta ordered his men into position with a series of verbal commands, each smartly moving to their stations. Both Captains drew forth spyglasses at this point, the distance between the two close enough now to indentify individual faces. As this became apparent, Alcuds turned to his second and bellowed.

“Hoist the colors! Let’s send these devils to the cold embrace of the sea!”

Seeing the pirate flag ascend the mast, Vinta turned and yelled.
“Fire the guns! Fire the guns! Let this pirate scum know their time is over!”

Cannon fire erupted from both vessels, covering them in a blanket of smoke as the balls found their targets. Both ships were raked with fire, the accuracy of their gunner crews on display. The twin masts of the Indomitable were shattered, the main mast toppling to the deck, the rigging dragging the aft mast down with her, crashing into her deck and killing dozens of sailors. Meantime the aft mast of the Dancing Cloud toppled overboard, dragging more sailors to their deaths as they became tangled in the sails and rigging. Time and again the Indomitable gunners targeted the cannon decks of the Dancing Cloud and time and again the heavy timbers of the sloop deflected the balls, until their cannons started to glow from the heat. Sailors were thrown into the sea as more fire was exchanged from both sides, the bow of the Indomitable crumpling under the weight of the attack, while the Indomitable gunners succeeded in smashing apart the gun decks of the Dancing Cloud, forcing the pirates to withdraw and prepare for boarding. But the Indomitable had since moved beyond pursuit and the Dancing Cloud turned north.

With sails down and a number of fires burning below deck, the Indomitable was unable to give chase and instead broke out oars and began to limp back toward Torktuga bay. A fortunate day indeed that the pirates were unable to pursue...


Karakas, Late Summer, 1785
The canoe slid forth from the surging surf, the single occupant drawing the boat upon the sandy beach of the deserted island. The figure, a human of some girth, made sure to retrieve a bag from the boat and moved towards the jungle. The figure, a female, walked with a slight stoop but made tremendous time as she plunged into the dark jungle, making for a small mangrove swamp beyond. As the jungle became thicker, the ground became muddy before turning into a morass of dirty water and mud, a place filled with insects and snakes, dangerous to all but the figure of Mama Regina. The animals seemed to shy away from the aged Karib as she made her way to a mound in the middle of the swamp, a hillock covered in mosses and mangroves.

Climbing forth from the sucking bog, Regina mounted the top of the little island and drew froth a blade from her sack, breaking the soft ground with the hand held spade, sweeping aside handfuls of dirt and moss with apparent ease. While she dug, Mama Regina recalled the woman as she came to her, her burned and mangled infant in her arms…

“Mama, they say you have powwa, dat you can help.”

“I can’t bring em back from da other side Maritza, I so sorry you lose your little boy.”

Shuffling her burden onto the mat on Mama Regina’s hut, Maritza burst into tears.

“Mama, dey come in da night and dey take my boy from me. Dey don’t care, dey leave him dead and dey sail away as quick as you please.” Sobbing now, Maritza falls to her knees.

Regina shuffled before the Karib woman, her grief clearly clouding her mind. She knew what Maritza wanted, what she would ask for. And she knew she needed to change her mind.

“Dey said in mon village dat if a person be wronged, you can help, you make that magic and dat person dey be avenged. Dey took my boy, I want dem to suffer.”

“What you want Maritza, come with a powerful price. Betta you take you boy home and bury him propa.”

Dropping a handful of pearls and odd coins, Maritza continued.
“I don’t care none about no price Mama, I want me revenge on dem white men.”

With a heavy sigh, Mama regarded the tear streaked face of the grieving mother and could only shake her head ruefully.

“OK Maritza, you gonna wait here. I need go collect a few things, bring em back here and do some things to em, before dey be of any use to you.”

The dark earth fell away from Regina’s hands as she dug deeper into the mound, finally unearthing a great heap, a dark bundle of moss and bones wrapped in a worn net. Drawing forth the bundle, Regina allowed a single tear to run down her cheek, before she hefted the burden and moved back through the swamp towards her canoe…

Woot! Al Kuds and the Dancing Cloud score their first victory! (The only pirate to force its enemy to withdraw from the fight! Also the most damaged of all the engaged pirates. The Indomintable was/is a tough nut.

All
Here is a much sexier version of the camapign map:



Da Kaptain

I have a couple of weeks left before our campaign shifts to the Karibbean. What to do?

In the past I have run Lustria as a quest. Explorers or Outsiders leave thier bases and fight through the jungles and up the rivers to find the Lost City. Natives hope to delay the dispoilers and to raid the Outlander ports to recover lost treasure or loot the Outlander's new weapons.

When we campaign in Sartosa the crews spend a week in port and a week out of port cruising the islands and surrounding seas or exploring the hinterlands (the Osso Hills and the Cave of the Damned).

Either way the narrative is shaped by the locations fought in and the scenarios rolled.

It occurs to me that if I replace the Osso Hills with the Untracked Jungle and the Cave of the Damned with Ancient Ruins, I can easily run a Sartosan style campaign with a different feel. This kinda depends on the mix of participating warbands, but so far it seems reasonable.

Another aspect of campaigning that I am interested in is the Campaign Point system of BTB. How does that work? Could I apply it?

As the information provided in Da Kaptain's posts explains, there are 4 different factions involved in the campaign. The factions could be assigned objectives as per BTB and warbands could earn points for fulfilling them... Thoughts?

I am a big fan of the BTB campaign point method. One of the highlights though is how CPs are integrated into the scenarios and exploration chart in addition to the warband objectives. This makes CPs feel like a core part of the game rather than being bolted on as an after thought. This integration may be hard for you to do in only a couple of weeks. The concept may still work well for you though as factions are already defined and it would add something different to this campaign for your group. If objectives are done well then it would also give warband in the same faction reason to occasionally work together and add additional reasons for factions to fight.

Thanks RL.

I've had a quick read of the BTB Objective file. The first thing that strikes me is that the Celestial and the Lure of Fortune objective would be relatively simple (famous last words) to modify for the Karibbean. All this talk of wagons would have to go. Something about ships! Perhaps rather than ships owned it could be prizes taken, cargo delivered, etc. Points could be lost for losing your ship...

The nice thing about Lustria is that it has the Minor and Major Artifacts already covered and my scenario tables are already keyed toward discovering them...

Just need to think about other possible paths...