Karibbean Dawn

To see what the hell he's talking about, see the "Sartosa Locales" that Kurst wrote. It's the first link on the Sartosa page: https://sites.google.com/site/styroheim/sartosa

You should have put your post above within the following tags...

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I prefer [shameless] [/shameless]

I mean, I drop it all the time, but in this case, it was Von Kurst referencing something that only the people who've seen the site would have any idea what he was talking about (all 3 of them.)

Oh come on there are at least 5 of us in the current group!

Now I need some help making this work. I need to turn the Lure of Fortune into a more nautical, piratey kind of a thing.

Quote :

The Lure of Fortune
Black market traders moving ‘hot’ product, registered merchant houses boasting opulence in quantity, and cut-throat denizens who crawl from their smugglers haunts in the dead of the night to solicit the latest in contraband. Tilean Merchant Princes and Strigany peddlers are likeminded enough to recognise the potential for profit that lies at the end of the Silk Road..

Warbands: Merchant Caravans, Maneaters, Chaos Dwarfs*, Norse Explorers, Shadow Warriors, Dwarf warbands, Pirate warbands and Mercenary warbands may choose this objective.
No Alliance with: – [Well we don't allow alliances anyway.]

Objective progress
+1 Playing a Scenario. Whenever the warband plays a scenario it gets +1 CP.
+1 Winning a Scenario. If the warband won the battle, it gets +1 CP.
+ D6 Enterprise Expanded. Whenever the warband introduces an additional coach or wagon to its land train during the campaign, it gets +D6 CP. Replacing destroyed or lost wagons does not count.
+1 Riches Accumulated. The warband gets +1 CP whenever their amount of stored Cathayan Silk items reaches the following: 3, 6, 9 and 12. Note that each bonus applies only once per warband.
+D3 Chaos Artefact Found. The warband gets +D3 CP for every Chaos Artefact it can get hold of. Note that the bonus applies only once per artefact.

Achievements
CP Achievement
5 Land Train: If the warband maintains a Coachman, his upkeep cost is reduced by –1 gold crown for each Cathayan Silk item stored. If the warband does not maintain a Coachman, then a Hero is appointed as the driver and gains the Academic skill Skilled Driver .
10 Silk Trader: From now on the warband treats Cathayan Silk items as a Common item and ignores the Clothes’ variable cost.
15 Famed Travellers: The warband may pay the upkeep cost when hiring a new Hired Sword instead of the normal hiring fee. The upkeep cost must be paid as usual.
20 Trading Post: Whenever the warband’s exploration dice score a five of a kind you may choose to replace them with “11111” (Abandoned Trading Post).
25 Volume Discount: The warband may purchase Cathayan Silk items at a discount of –1 gold crown for each piece of Clothes they already have in their storage.
35 Trade Routes: After lots of traveling the warband has learned some of the best trade routes of the area. In every scenario where there is no given order for setting up the warband the player may choose where they are placed before any other player.
40 Journey Home: From now on the warband may choose to play the “Journey Home” special scenario.
Winning the scenario will cause the warband to win the entire campaign. Note that the scenario may only be played if the warband also has a wagon and the required amount of 12 Cathayan Silks in their storage. For this purpose each Lesser Artefact replaces two silks and each Chaos Artefact replaces three silk items.

To replace Chaos Artifacts the Lustrian setting has Minor and Major Artifacts as noted above.

Wagons will be replaced by ships. Perhaps instead of receiving CPs for buying wagons they are awarded for capturing ships (D3+3) or boats (D3), while losing ships or boats deduct similar CPs.

Cathayan silk replaced by?

Final scenario replaced by? I already have the Lustrian Treasure Ship scenario...

Thoughts?

Turn Four: Weather Quarters

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

Busheribama, Late Summer, 1785 IC
The death of Tupac Amatari in Cabos at the hands of the Estalians had come after the Festival of the Coming Harvest and before the Feast of Tilling. The surviving Karibs and those across the region had mourned the chief’s passing, as well as that of the others who had died during what was now being called The Taki of Cabos. But the Month of Purification had arrived, and this year the Karibs weren’t just planning to purify their fields and their leaders.

All the other local chiefs had come to Busheribama from across the Cabos area. Everything had been put on hold until after their meeting, and what the chiefs called The Retaki of Cabos. The Estalians would call it something else.

Huallpa Rimachi had shown up at the meeting hut first. He was the Busheribama clan’s great builder, and he laid out all the seating stones around the edge of the spacious building. Then he went to the center, drew in the sand, placed small pebbles in various locations, and a map of the village of Cabos was created.

Then came young chief Tupac Cuchipuma from the east, the elder chief Tupac Viracocha from the west, and from the deep in the southern jungle there came the chief Tupac Manco with his general Ata-Yuma. The last to enter was the chief of the Karibs on Busheribama itself, Tupac Pahuac-palta. And all of them wore their headdresses of war feathers.

Outside the place of meeting, the village of Busheribama was quiet. This was despite having the largest assembly of Karib warriors that had collected on Cabos Island in recent times. Everyone knew the war discussions had begun and there was to be no interference.

Inside the Chiefs shared a small meal and drink, along with a smoke of the finest lasheesh available. Their speech was cordial at first, with talk of how the growing season had been, what sons had married what daughters, and remembrances of years gone by. But when the flow of words had seemed to collectively pause, Tupac Manco’s impatience had gotten the better of him and he rose to initiate the more serious discussion they had all come to have.

Initially each chief expressed their views of the Estalians and their attack on Cabos. As one can imagine, there were no favorable opinions of the massacre. Then Tupac Pahuac-palta asked Huallpa Rimachi to share with them the plan that had been devised for driving the Estalians out of Cabos.

The map on the floor then became the center of attention. Huallpa Rimachi used a long thin stick to notate what things were, why they were important, and where the enemy’s troops were usually located. And in turn each chief made small comments or questions along the way.

In the end the plan was most criticized by Ata-Yuma who all knew was by far the most experienced fighter of all those present. He voiced his concerns, shared his own ideas, and in the end was able to persuade all present that his way was the way to go. Once consensus had been accomplished, Tupac Pahuac-palta clapped his hands and that signaled the end of the meeting.

Now all that remained was to mobilize the warriors, and then make for Cabos. The leaders all stood, joined in prayer to their Gods, and preceded one at a time out the door towards their destiny.

Domingo Sound, Late Summer, 1785
The gulls screeched high above Donatello’s head, the boy sitting on a moldering pile of detris some hundred yards distant from the bustling port town of Domingo Sound. The boy had a makeshift skiff that he punted out to the pilings everyday just before dawn, a short pole, a sack of cheese and bread and a polished glass jar he had found in the trashed-filled alley behind the Piping Gull tavern, the small crack marring the otherwise perfectly polished glass. Donatello spent many a morning filling the jar with roaches, night crawlers and the occasional bloodworm he found among the kitchen trash in Shantytown. All made excellent bait for the rock fish that frequented the Sound, and Donatello was sure he would make a fine catch today. Bulging with insects, alive and dead, the jar strained with its contents, rocking back and forth between the bare feet of the boy as he baited the hook and cast it into the murky waters.

A loud cheer woke the boy from his unplanned nap, his neck and back sore from leaning against the pilings. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he could see a large crowd had gathered near the dry-docks, where the keels of several new frigates were being laid. Priests of Mannan, in their sea green vestments, moved among the wooden constructs, blessings intoned over the application of holy oils. The crowd, mostly consisting of the perfumed and pompous wealthy of the port had assembled near the “Northumberland”. A massive Man O War recently completed and put to sea. The ritual launch had been postponed because of recent pirate activity in the region, which had been put down by the combined efforts of the local navy and a number of Privateers.

Many of which were on hand to witness the launching ceremony, quests of the nobles and much fawned over. Captain Alfonso Vinta, of the Indomitable and Captain Sebastian Guildemont IV had been the toast of the balls of late, many seeking to wed their fine daughters to men of grit. The Captains had been winded, dined, danced and bandied over for a fortnight, and it was of great importance that they be on hand to see the launch of the Northumberland.

The Governor had been speaking for some time now, the crowd growing uncomfortable in the fierce morning heat. Wigs were beginning to droop, makeup was starting to run and the fanning motion of dozens of jeweled fans looked as if a flight of giant insects were moving among the crowd. As the Governor neared the end of his speech, he started to climb the platform built behind him; the scaffolding abutted the hull of the Northumberland. He concluded his speech as a Karib servant hoisted a bottle of wine to the Governor.

“And so ladies and gentlemen, friends, countrymen, honored guests. I present to you the Northumberland, may her sails be forever full of breeze and her guns every hungry for pirate scum!”

As the Governor shattered the bottle against the hull of the vessel, a sea of hats were thrown upwards from the crowd, cheers and clapping intermixed with good natured jabs at pirates and sharp oaths from the crew as to their resolve. Following the crowd sat down to a repast of succulent boar and other delicacies, livered servants rushing back and forth with buckets of melting ice, umbrellas and other necessities.

Turning back to his pole, Donatello stifled a yawn as he drew forth his pole once more and cast it out again, only then did he notice the Schooner entering the harbor…

Somewhere in the Karibbean Sea, 1785 IC
The chase had gone well. When the fast frigate’s lookout in the crow’s nest had sighted a black flag emblazoned with a white dragon, and yelled down to the captain, the hunt was on. The frigate’s first mate was given the order to steer north east, and the boat sailed far out across the path of the slower moving quarry.

Then the frigate was turned north-north east, allowing the ship to slow a bit. The enemy would now know they weren’t going to get off easy, and sure enough the pirate ship swung northward in an attempt to evade. But it was too late, and the frigate captain then ordered his vessel to zigzag across the back side of the prey, slipping back into the wind, and closed on the vessel of thieves.

The pirate captain now knew that he would have no choice, and the small hulk of a pinnace turned easterly while significantly reducing sails for allowing the crew to aim their guns in their defense. Through his spy glass the frigate captain could see a barbarously dirty human with a scar across his forehead, yelling at his crew. He had his own ship mirror the actions of the other, yet not quite as much sail being trimmed to still be able to close further.

As frigate began to run up and alongside the enemy, each ships was now barely moving, and the frigate’s captain yelled “All cannon aim and fire low.” The objective was to kill as many of the opposing crew as possible before attempting to board and capture, but it seems the pirate captain had the same idea as explosion’s of smoke emerged from each ship’s port holes, and the first cannon balls came crashing into both vessel’s hulls.

The command came, “Begin to tighten down the distance”, and the first mate of the frigate begun the process of lessening the gap between the two ships further. And as the cannons continued, and the distance continued to become smaller, a menagerie of bows, crossbows, and handguns begun to let loose their arrows, quarrels, and small iron balls as the crew members of the two boats not manning cannons began to inflict their own injuries upon the opposing sides deck hands. It wasn’t much longer before a few others sent grappling hooks over the edges and towards the other, one pirate even leaped across the gap to get a head start on the fighting, and then all engaged in a mass scramble of fierce hand-to-hand combat.

It was the first fight of the season for the frigate’s crew, and they significantly outnumbered the pirates who had already suffered in a previous engagement. There had been enough others killed and wounded in the approach, making the situation worse. The pirates fought with brutal resolve, their captain being wounded, yet most of the rest died as they were overwhelmed by those that fought for … the most accomplished local Privateer in the Karibbean … Captain Tavish McBride.

Pirazzo’s Garden, Vera Cruz, Summer 1785
The jungle vines parted before the Karib natives as their machetes rose and fell. The jungle so thick here that no light invaded from the canopy above and the small party of explorers had actually been forced to utilize several lanterns to provide light to see, even though somewhere above the bright Karibbean sun shone down brightly!

Bernard Stiglyxt leaded against a mossy giant, tilting back the ocelot-skin hat he wore on his balding pate and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. The Talabecland hunter and tracker looked about at the maze of green around him and wondered what ever possessed him to make the trek from Marienburg to this Sigmar-forsaken land. Then he remembered. The Estalians had paid in gold, half in advance, to lead the expedition and provide the Padre with a capable escort. Plus he would have the chance to hunt and kill one of the fabled monstrous reptiles he had only heard tales about.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he sighted down the weapon through its targeting sights, gathering bearings as the Karibs continued to hack at the underbrush. Padre Estaban and a pair of his acolytes came upon the hunter, the Padre bowing his head in greeting.

“Good morning Padre! Though by the looks of it, ye think it was the dark of night!”

“Myrmidia’s blessings are upon you Lt. Stiglyxt, how are you faring this morning? Your bout of sickness I trust is much improved?”

Remembering his violent reaction to the native food he shared the previous morning, Bernard felt a slight rumble in his bowels before lowering the rifle and turning his gaze to the revered priest of Myrmidia.

“Thanks in no small doubt to yer tender ministrations lad. Fer that I be mighty grateful.”

A shout came from the Karib’s before the Padre could answer. Rushing to the source of the commotion, the group bore witness to a most heinous alters. Carved of some sort of glossy black mineral, the pillar was no more than seven feet tall, and carved with all manner of foul and obscene carvings, at least obscene to the sensitivities of the more civilized party members. Upon closer inspection, the remains of some sort of rusty material should be seen streaked across the surface of the dark pillar. Bernard had seen enough dried blood in his time to realize what the smear was and he took a step back, bringing his rifle up into a defensive stance even as Padre Estaban knelt before the alter, his hands probing its base where he found a number of bones, dried, brittle and ancient.

A flock of butterflies, a cloud of bright color and fluttering wings, burst suddenly from a clear pool beside a fallen tree to their left. They looked like a spray of jewels flashing into the air, as bright as the brilliant orchids that dotted the trees around them.

As Estaban turned to speak to Bernard, the first of a dozen barbed darts pierced his flesh, the poison coursing through his veins even as he fell into the brush before the alter. The Karibs screamed a warning to their fellows as a number of biped reptiles lumbered out of the brush, scaly demons bearing weapons of stone. The creatures fell upon the bearers with a savage bloodlust, none of the creatures making a sound as their weapons rose and fell, slashed and thrust. Bernard stumbled over a root as he stepped backwards, his rifle flying from his grip as his arms pin wheeled and tried to stop the nobleman from falling. He landed in a heap among the foul pool of water where the butterflies had erupted mere moments ago, and he heard his rifle discharge as it hit the ground.

Struggling to his hands and knees, the Imperial’s eyes darted about the brush, seeking his rifle. A loud thrashing could be heard from behind him, followed by a tremendous splash. The force of the splash pitched the nobleman forward, where he landed upon his own discarded rifle. Grabbing it in his hands he rolled onto his back and brought up the weapon to defend himself. His blood chilled.

The Salamander was enormous, a large frill of skin covered in stretched leather, grew from its broad back, its tail equaling twice as long as its body. Massive forelegs ended in gleaming ivory claws that chewed up the mud as it splashed towards the downed human, a number of smaller lizard creatures goading the beast forward with barbed hooks and spears.

Bernard drew aim on the beasts head and pulled his trigger. The hammer fell upon metal and did little more than click, its shot having already discharged when the famed hunter had fallen. Bernard threw up his arms in futile defense as the beast opened its jaws, revealing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, even as a gout of flame burst froth from its gullet, incinerating the Imperial in an instant.

As Padre Estaban struggled in the paralyzing grip of the poison, rough clawed hands reached for him the Saurus picking up the Estalian with ease and leaning his limp form against the alter stone. Harsh hands tied thongs around his wrists, which were savagely pulled tight behind him and secured to the altar from behind. He was unable to even utter a scream as the Skink priest thrust the jade dagger into his chest, shattering ribs and piercing his heart in one fluid motion. He was still awake as the Skink’s clawed hand reached into his bloody chest, seeking and finding what it wanted. He had a brief second to see his own heart ripped from his chest before oblivion overtook him...

Remas, Tilea, Late Summer 1785
Someone nudged Hector roughly on the shoulder and he turned his head. Who was it, grinning from the dark with teeth as large as tombstones? Yes, yes Augustus, his curly blonde hair made him look like a child still, curled so tightly to his scalp that it looked stitched on. And beside him in the smoky taproom the morose, brooding Ariakas. Everyone at their cluster of tables was drinking, laughing and shouting; the sounds came from everywhere at once, tankards clinking, someone cursing drunkenly, others singing a bawdy mariners song about ladies left behind.

“Hear, hear me lovelies!” shouted Paris, the big-shouldered Master Carpenter. “Bring on the dancing wenches!”

A roar of laughter, platters clattering, chairs scraping the polished marble floor. A serving wench placed a steaming platter of crabmeat upon a bed of vegetables before Hector, which he dug into with gusto, for tomorrow would be sea rations, hardtack and sausages that would rapidly collect fungus from the dank sea air!

“And so there was Master Lomax, you remember the pompous ass, standing on the whorehouse balcony holding his privates out and parading around so the good people of Remas could see! The patrol wasn’t long in coming, I can tell you that, and they hauled him off in a wagon with his privates still hanging out of his trousers. And to think we thought of him as a saint!” continued Ariakas.

“I say we pay the tab for this swill and make our way over to the Blushing Mermaid lads!” said Augustus.

“Why mate, you have need of something then?”

“I admit it, then! The Mermaid! Yes there woman there are snaggle- toothed and not worth crossing the street for but they are gregarious and throw themselves on the laps of good sailors and sing bawdy tunes! I want to fill my lungs with perfume before I have to endure the stench of whale oil and piss!”

They continued to laugh and took no notice when the armored warrior entered the taproom. Well over six feet tall, bearing the scar of battle upon his right cheek, his steel blue eyes could be see beneath the crested helm he wore. Removing the helmet once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he addressed his crew.

“My name is Quintus, General Quintus. So, you are to be my crew then? You seem to get younger with every new command. But you shall age quickly enough. You’ll age. Some of you may be old men when we return. Some of you may die. Some of you may be heroes. But rest assured there will be no cowards.”

As he let his gaze fall across the assemble Tilea sailors, he noticed none of them had wavered in attention since his entrance, such was his reputation among his peers.

“Some of you I know from previous commands; some of you are under my command for the first time. What I require is simple; you will carry out your duties as seaman under the Tilean flag, and you will obey my orders without question.”

Augustus lifted his tankard, and Quintus immediately sensed the movement; Quintus stared at him in silence, and Augustus lowered the tankard from his lips.

“We are sailing in the finest naval vessel the Tilean navy has ever built, “Quintus continued.” And as long as you sail under my command each of you will be a vital part of that vessel. You will breathe with the ship; you’ll roll with her, you’ll feel the sway of her decks deep in the pit of your guts and you’ll know her like a lover. The Emperors Fist will be more of a mother to you than that bitch that brought you screaming into this world!”

The General rested his fingers on the back of a chair, long and delicate fingers, as delicate as the short sword sheathed at his side.

“I regret I will be unable to join you for the evening, but I am to be at the Emperors request. Enjoy yourselves tonight; do whatever you like with whomever you like, but be warned. We leave harbor at first light, and any man unable to report will be whipped and pickled. Is that understood?”

Quintus reached down for a pitcher of red wine, filling a goblet and holding it up. For an instant Hector saw the Generals face through the polished glass, distorted, something barely human floating in a sea of blood.

“A toast gentlemen!” Quintus said.

Tankards and goblets were hurriedly filled, lifted in silence.

“To our good hunting! The natives of the New World shall feel the wrath of Reman resolve.”

Quintus drained his goblet in one gulp, the wine trickling out of the corner of his mouth before slamming the goblet down on the trestle. The rest of the sailors stared at him as he left the room, many of them silently sipping their drinks.
Drawing forth a map from his pocket, Hector spread it open before his friends, a series of islands showing amid a far away sea.

“What do you all know of the Karibbean?”

Port-au-Prince, Late Summer 1785 IC
Mathias von Anderstadt extended his arm forward to the Lord Governor with the newest correspondence to arrive, and it was taken from his hand.

Langston Hughes began to read . . .

Greetings Your Honor;

It is good to hear of your wise watchfulness. Pirates banding together and on the move are as cutthroat as Karibs in rebellion, and we must continue to be diligent and dutiful in our efforts to weed out what seems to ever grow at our end of the world.

You’ll be encouraged, I’m sure, that I have continued my ongoing pilgrimage of purging. My forces will mobilize and we shall strike such a blow, luring the devils of the Karibbean into our jaws, and then close the trap upon them with the same beauty and swiftness of the deadly pink flowering Gooahgoua fly trap. And then once they have met their end, we shall move on to our next target.

If what you watch and fear for Port-au Prince comes true, do not hesitate to inform me as swift as the fastest frigate can fly for my fleet, and you can count on my support, of course, and as long as my own means have accomplished my desirable ends, then I pledge my support in co-operation with your ideas. However, know, as I’m sure you do, that war has once again come to those who bring such to the Olde World, and know that I’ve heard both Bretonnian and Estalian fleets have been dispatched and arrived in the New World, and such threatens to influence the way our own goals are achieved.

For the first time since men have come to the Karibbean, the Olde World is threatening to bring their disagreement here as well, and we must be prepared for how this might affect any joint actions that we co-operate with one another upon. So, how say do you stand should regarding those who have brought with them foreign troubles to our fair islands, should they seek to obtain another ally to achieve whatever currently unknown goals that they intend to act on, if they present themselves to you for such?

May your thoughts not linger long, and your choice be guided by the all powerful.

Respectfully your friend, . . .

. . . , and he let one hand drop with the letter, and then looked directly towards his scribe, “Mathias, you need to leave and go usher General Von Gruberheim and Admiral Von Hallenhof to my office immediately.”


Mathis gave a brief nod of his head, and stated, “Yes, Lord Governor”, before turning to leave quickly through the door of the Langston Hughes’ office.

Petite-Goval, End of Late Summer, 1785
No relief had arrived. Sources for fresh food and water were running out, and the Lord Mayor Francois de Goval’s oldest son and youngest daughter had both passed away. It was beginning to feel like he now had no choice, but to a decree that all healthy citizens and those that could walk were to evacuate the island.

At first his wife Ophelia had refused. In her mourning of two children they’d lost, she wasn’t fully acting her usual self. Yet after the handful of vessels had begun to load up, and the Lord Mayor would not order them to leave until she and the remaining children got on board, then she gave in.

The Lord Mayor would stay behind; hoping that those who sailed in the ships headed for Basse-Terre would be successful in convincing the powers that be to send back the supplies needed in time for the rest of them to survive. Hopefully tales of the Cholera epidemic wouldn’t keep those who could decide from being too afraid to make the return trip. And in the meantime, the Lord Mayor had urged the captains of the boats that were transporting the refugees, to once again spread the word that he was willing to spend large sums of his treasury to anyone aiding the remaining Govals.

However, it was entering the storm season. The time when large swirling rains, and the winds of mother nature gathered strength, building into hurricanes that became one with the sea as they approached the Karibbean. All the Lord Governor could do now was hope and pray.

Off the Coast of Nordlund, Cayman Straits, Late Summer 1785
The Adventure was moving under sail, her nets dragging the straits for a catch to bring back to port. Whaling had become more difficult as the war erupted in the Karibbean, honest fisherman caught in the maelstrom of warring forces, their usual fishing shoals choked with burning vessels, bloodthirsty pirates and worst. It was the lucky Captain that returned to port with a full hold and set the market.

The schools of sperm whale were no longer following their usual routes and the Adventure had spent several weeks at sea now, dragging the Cayman Straits for bulls, cows or shark, whatever their nets could capture.

The sailors went about their task under the stern gaze of their Captain, decks were swabbed, and the holds that weren’t full were scrubbed clean as a whisk by those sailors in disfavor at the moment, when the crew had thought to question the Captains orders. He was a stern man not given to mutinous talk or having sailors question his resolve.

The skies were overcast this morning, the smells of frying meats coming from the galley and promising at least a hearty meal, which would help liven spirits. Wind snapped the sails taunt and the helmsman continued to guide the Adventure through a series of turns, dragging close to the shallows and letting the nets deploy. The Captain watched from the forecastle, his hand movements being deciphered by the helmsman as the vessel sought prey for her nets.

Suddenly the Adventure jerked hard to the left, the wood crunching as the lines from the nets were ripped out of blocks, several sailors injured by the flying pieces of wood. The ship lurched to the side, throwing everyone not holding onto something to the hard deck, the mast groaning under the sudden motion hard to starboard.

“We must be caught on something helmsman! Though I know of no reef in these waters! Trim the sails lads, and be quick about it!”

As the crew scrambled to slow the passage of the vessel, more ropes snapped, one whipping out and severing the hand from a sailor caught unawares, while the wood continued to groan and buckle under the pull of the nets. The Captain scrambled to see over the rail and spied the topmost part of the nets hanging limply while something below the surface pulled them taunt.

“Cut the damned lines lads! Axes!”

Several sailors leapt to the rails and began cutting the lines even as the nets went limp and the Adventure up righted herself. The sailors could swear they saw the gleam of green eyes in the murky waters, and a dark shape gliding off into the depths, but shook their heads collectively and decided to keep that information to themselves.

Below the surface of the water, the strange metallic fish continued on its way, the tattered remains of nets flowing from the hull of the vessel like dark hair, her glass portholes a gleaming emerald in color, much like a pair of eyes of some sea monster. Thing-Thing continued on its way…

Domingo Sound, Late Summer 1785
As the strange Schooner approached, Donatello could tell she was under full sail and streaking for the docks at dangerous speed. Her sails were dyed a deep black and the strangest of icons was painted on in crude colors and renderings. As the vessel drew nearer, the boy could see no crew on the deck of the ship and he was forced to leap into the sea as the vessel ran over his skiff with a crunch of wood and shower of debris! In the wake of the vessel was a bloody ruin of what had once been a small human…

Screams erupted from some of the crowd as the schooner drew near the party-goers. As the wealthy tried to ascertain what was going on, the schooner swept past, sideswiping the Northumberland and taking a large chunk out of her part side as it passed. Wood buckled, windows shattered and the scream of wood on metal drowned out the scream of the people below.

As the Northumberland tore from her moorings and spun sideways, the schooner continued onward, heading straight for the yard where the new keels were being laid. It showed no signs of stopping and warning bells echoed in the air as workers scrambled to get out of the way of the runaway vessel.

At the mouth of the harbor stood the Asp, a pirate sloop recently out of Torktuga, Planks had been hammered across gaping holes in her hull, her mast sat at an odd angle and her hull bore the signs of cannonball strikes. Her ancient prow cannon stood ready, crude welds holding it together, as well as a series of metal bands and rope bindings. Captain Nazbin looked through his crude telescope at the Bleedin Rhinox as she bore down on the hapless shipyards.

He could make out the crew of Gnoblars clinging to the wheel, even though it was sternly roped into place and looked forward; a great chunk of metal had been jammed into her rudder as well. The Gnoblars didn’t seem to care; they stood shoulder on shoulder so as to see what could be seen. Far above in the rigging several more could be seen yelling at the ones below and pointing frantically.
Nazbin smiled as he saw the human child pulverized under the vessel, more so as she struck the new Man O War!

He watched as the schooner struck the shipyard dock, dozens of workers were smashed in an instant as the momentum of the vessel drove her past the docks, wood disintegrating and raining down upon more humans as they sought to avoid the crushing bulk. Over forty feet of pier and pilings were ground under the impact, one of the keels shattering as the Bleedin Rhinox struck it, the priest unable to save being rolled over by the keel as it tumbled away from the schooner. Masts collapsed, throwing Gnoblars into the water below, the ship tipping to port as she came to a stop.

Screams were everywhere, from injured workers to terrified party goers to the jeering Gnoblars left on board! Once more Nazbin smiled, his sharp teeth pulling up into a satisfied grin, He lowered his telescope and looked at his Master Gunner, with plenty of rotting fangs visible beneath his captains hat.

“Make it count git!”

Swallowing hard, the gunner sighted the bulk of the Bleedin Rhinox and touched his brand to Old Bez. The cannon shuddered under the blast, the bands barley containing the power discharge. The cannonball soared through the air and plummeted into the decks of the Bleedin Rhinox, the impact throwing sparks onto the oil soaked decks. The fire roared to life, crisping the remaining Gnoblars before the holds full of whale oil, black powder and shrapnel exploded! The Bleedin Rhinox went up like a comet, showering the docks with flaming debris, several buildings catching fire as the flames roared ever higher.

Spying the waterline near the Northumberland, Nazbin saw the Ogres emerging from the water and clambering up the mooring lines, which promptly broke under their weight! In the end they had to settle for using grapnels as climbing devices, crude but effective. As Magg got to the foredeck, he jumped up and down with glee at the sight of his new vessel, and promptly broke through the deck board and fell forward. Soon the Northumberland was under way, the crew that had not been slain shouting curses as their charge sailed away under the growing smoke cloud from the burning shipyards.

“Datz gitz gotz to be da worst zoggin Pirate evva...”

Ille de Muerta, Summer, 1785
The Indomitable dropped anchor, the heavy metal casting breaking the clear surface of the water with a resounding splash, the grating noise of the chains falling through their brackets and following their charges into the depths. Soon the ships boats were filled and the remaining crew lowered away, pulling tight on ropes to ensure the passengers didn’t end up in the drink!

As Captain Pierce polished boots touched down upon the glittering sands of Ille de Muerta, he glimpsed a brightly colored parrot emerge from the thick underbrush and sweep across his crew as they drew their longboats onto shore, strapping on weapons and other equipment while Pierce continued to stare past the beach and into the tree line. As the landing party gathered, Pierce drew forth a map from his sleeve and unfolded the ends. The map was ancient by all accounts, something that had come into his possession some time back and now he had been able to utilize it. If the tales were true, then there was a fine treasure at the end of this journey, a treasure that would enable the Captain to retire in luxury.

He turned to face his twelve crewmen; each of them knew of their objective, all had agreed it was worth the risk. And so drawing his sword, Pierce and his men marched across the white sands and plunged into the green nightmare beyond…

Pierce ran, ran as fast as he could, branches reaching out to grip him as he passed like a throng of beggars, slowing his retreat. All along he could hear the screaming, the screaming of the men that had fallen behind, the screaming of the monsters pursuing the rest! He tripped over a fallen log, pitching forward in his flight and falling hard on a deadfall. The chest rolled from his grasp as he hit the hardened wood, wind exploding from his lungs.

As he struggled to draw air, one of the beasts swung into view from above, the albino ape a mass of muscle, rending claws and gnashing teeth. As the monster circled to his left, Pierce drew forth his pistol and cocked it back. The ape seemed to hear the sound and roared its defiance, beating it chest with its massive hands and roaring. Pierce didn’t wait; he shot the creature full in the face, blasting it back into the bushes, where it did not rise again.

Snatching up the chest, Pierce ran onward blindly, he could hear the monsters pursuing him in the tree tops above, swinging on the vines and leaping from branch to branch at breakneck speeds, but with a subtle agility belaying their seemingly unending bulk. Sudden Pierce burst through the underbrush into a small clearing, where a pair of the beasts were busy rending young Rory limb from limb. They worked with a bloodlust not derived from hunger, but for the mere pleasure of ripping apart the struggling man. One of the beasts tore its gaze from the slaughter to Pierce, a bestial scream erupting from its blood flecked jaws.

The ape charged on all fours towards the Captain, lumbering from side to side. Grasping the handle of the chest Pierce swung it at the ape with the force of a morning star, the heavy wooden chest impacting with its head with a sickening crunch, felling the creature in a one blow. As its mate reared up to charge, Pierce fired his second pistol, spinning the creature around in mid air where it fell, its ruined chest pumping dark blood into the rich earth.

Pierce’s arm was a bloodied mess, tattered strips of flesh hanging from his left arm from where one of the beasts had wounded him. He thought back to the ambush, the almost human cunning that allowed their own greed to draw them in and then the apes closed their trap like a pair of jaws. He shuddered as he remembered the first wave of albino monsters, their screams, their inhuman screams! Several of his men were taken down under an avalanche of fur and claws, Johan ripped to pieces before his eyes and he could do nothing, he had grown up knowing Johan, the man had crewed with him for some time now. He shared many a winter feast at the man’s house, his wife and children always listening to his tall tales.

More screams jerked him back to the present. He could hear more of the monsters in the brush nearby and he knew only that he had to run and run now! Grasping the chest under his armpit, Pierce once more plunged into the jungle, leaves swaying from his passing, his blood leaving behind a trail a child could follow! He ran and ran and ran until he though his chest would explode. And still the screeching apes pursued him.

Night had fallen during the pursuit and his pace slowed lest he fall once more on some unseen obstacle. Then he was upon the beach once more, the boats still beached where they had left them but a day before. The glow of the campfire was the most wonderful sight he could have imagined, tears streaming down his bloodied cheeks. He stumbled into the light of the fire and fell forward. He could feel the hands of his crew moving to help him before he lost consciousness; the chest lay near his outstretched hand…

Busheribama, Late Summer, 1785 IC
The thunderous roar of the mortar shell landed heavily among the scattered huts of the village, the explosives roaring to life and blowing several of them to pieces. Straw, wood and human remains rained down upon the gathered warriors, many of them stunned from the blast and wondering why the gods where raining down upon them! As more of the shells streaked out of the sky and landed among them, the central hut was hit, wiping out many of the tribal leaders within in an instant, the inferno of flames roaring through the interior and burning them alive. It was chaos now as the Karibs girded for battle thought the foe was unknown. Clusters of warriors armed with spears ran off towards the sugarcane fields, the easiest avenue of attack while others stood around looking for the source of the falling fireballs.

The heavy cavalry broke from the jungle and swept into the camp, scattering Karibs before its thunderous charge. The Karibs had never before seen horses, let along horses bearing skilled warriors. The slaughter had begun. The Estalians swept like a grim tide, hacking down men and weapon alike. Even children were not spared; the Inquisitor had been very specific on this issue. No quarter was to be given, no heathens left alive.

As Karibs fled in all directions, Tupac Manco and Ata-Yuma emerged from the ruined leader’s hut screaming at the fleeing warriors in their thickly accented tongue to hold and fight back. Drawing their knives, the two Karibs moved to engage the foot soldiers of the Estalians that moved in from the jungle to cut off the fleeing natives. Roaring their hatred, the two leaders and over two dozen warriors jogged towards the soldiers, spears and knives raised. The retort of gunfire and smoke broke across the ground, the Karibs mowed down under a hail of gunpowder shot and shrapnel. The dark blood of the fallen Karibs mixed with their bright feathered headdresses and body paint, limbs and torsos shattered under the fulisade. As the Estalians reloaded, a number of warriors gathered once more to charge but were broken up by the heavy horse and brought to task. Even as Estalians were pulled from their mounts, the infantry moved up, sword and axe and shield against spear and shield. The two forces clashed the skill of the Estalians against the primal rage of the Karibs. The 3rd Karibbean Swords had been fighting the natives for some time and learned a lot of the tactics, in addition to training to fight in the jungle terrain. The 16th Pikes moved into the clearing, the 22nd Crossbows in support. Stragglers were hunted and put to the blade, while auxiliaries moved in to torch the buildings. Soon the village was a carnal house, the bodies of the Karibs piled into a cleansing bonfire or crisped in their dwellings.

Inquisitor Alonso sat on his horse on the small hillock overlooking the sugarcane fields beyond the village, his Knights of the Blazing Sun gathered below. Gunther, Chapter Master, sat beside the Inquisitor, watching the Karibs moving through the fields towards the Inquisitional Halberds deployed at the edge of the field. At a signal, the Arquebuziers opened fire and showered the Karibs with shot, while many fell; many more charged the invaders, shields and spear held high. As the Arquebuziers reloaded their weapon, a shower of arrows and spears erupted from the high grasses, Karib scouts and hunters attacking from the flank and forcing the Estalians into a rough circle. As they realized their folly, the trapped soldiers drew forth their weapons, prepared to sell their lives dearly.

Gunther looked at the Inquisitor, whose steel eyes narrowed as he saw the Karibs charge his men. Gunther shook his head as he knew the Inquisitors plans. Alonso ignored his General and dropped his hand. Fire pots were uncovered and dozens of archers dipped their arrows into the flaming pitch, drawing bowstrings taunt. As the remaining Estalians fell to the Karibs, Alonso signaled once more and the arrows were loosed.

Streaking across the sky, several of the flaming missiles hit Karibs, felling them as their bodies started to smolder. More hit the ground and the sugarcane started to burn. In a matter of minutes an inferno of flames engulfed the remaining Karibs, their screams music to the Inquisitors ears…

How's this:


Note: In the spirit of the original BTB system, it is recommended that any Karribean Dawn / West Ind Campaign have a cap of 6 Major Artefacts. Any further discovered artefacts are always Minor Artefacts.

Objective progress
+1 Playing a Scenario. Whenever the warband plays a scenario it gets +1 CP.
+1 Winning a Scenario. If the warband won the battle, it gets +1 CP.
+X Armada Expanded. Whenever the warband first buys or permanently captures a boat, it gets CP based on its size. Replacing destroyed or lost boats does not count. Rowboat +1 CP, Sailboat +3 CP, Sloop +5 CP. No points are given for rafts.
+1 Riches Accumulated. The warband gets +1 CP whenever their amount of Special items reaches
the following: 3, 7, 12, and 18. Special items count as: Gromril items, Ithilmar items, Cathayan Silks, Elven Cloak, Elven Wine, Treasure Map (unused), Hunting Rifle, Double-barreled gun, Swivel Gun, Minor Artefact. Note that each bonus applies only once per warband.
+D3 Major Artefact Found. The warband gets +D3 CP for every Major Artefact it can get hold of. Note that the
bonus applies only applies to the first 6 Major Artefacts found.

Achievements
CP Achievement
5 Trading Web: If the warband maintains an Old Smuggler (from Sartosa campaign) or Arabyan Merchant Hired Sword, his upkeep cost is reduced by –1 gold crown for each boat or raft you own.
10 Specialty Trader: Once per post game, you may pick one Rare item that you are searching for- you do not have to pay additional fees for it (i.e. only base price), and may reroll the rarity roll if it is failed.(Alt: pick one special item from above / any rare item, and may buy that one item as common).
15 Famed Travellers: The warband may pay the upkeep cost when hiring a new Hired Sword instead of the
normal hiring fee. The upkeep cost must be paid as usual.
20 Trading Post: Whenever the warband’s exploration dice score a five of a kind you may choose to replace
them with “11111” Abandoned Trading Post (see Border Town Burning pdf 3).
25 Volume Discount: The warband may purchase Special items at a discount of –1 gold crown for each piece of Clothes they already have.
35 Trade Routes: After lots of travelling the warband has learned some of the best trade routes of the area.
In every scenario where there is no given order for setting up the warband the player may choose where
they are placed before any other player.
40 Journey Home: From now on the warband may choose to play the “Lustrian Treasure Ship” special scenario.
Winning the scenario will cause the warband to win the entire campaign. Note that the scenario may
only be played if the warband also has a boat and 15+ Special items. For this purpose each Lesser Artefact replaces two special items and each Major Artefact replaces three major items.

Yeah! That's what I'm talking about. I wish I could get the ladz to commit to warbands. A couple are being cagey. I have 2 pirate bands for certain and then it becomes cloudy. I doubt we will get a warband per faction, but that is not important so long as they have a reason to compete.

If I knew what the mix of warbands would be I could focus on objectives to fit.

Next up The Sourge of the Seas....

Scourge: don't need to change much.

Traces of Chaos - replaced with:

"Fierce Rivalry" - Whenever you encounter an Evil Warband or NPC (this means Chaos, Ogre, Orcs & Goblins, Chaos Dwarfs, Dark Elves, Undead warbands and Skaven, or a fellow follower of the Scourge objective), roll 1D6: on a 1-3 Nothing, 4-5 Frenzied leader, 6 +1 CP.

SCOURGE OF THE SEAS
5 I am the Scourge: The warband's leader hates every other leader with the Scion of Chaos or Scourge of the Seas objective. He must charge them when they are in reach.
10 Remarkable Duellist: The warband’s leader is a well-trained fighter. When using a weapon that has a Parry special rule, he parries successfully if he beats or matches his opponents highest ‘to hit’ roll, not just if he beats the roll.
15 Irrepressible Hunger: The warband’s leader is able to take on several opponents at once. If he fights against more than one enemy at a time, he gains one extra Attack per enemy model that is not knocked down or stunned in each hand-to-hand combat phase (e.g. +3 Attacks while fighting three enemy models). In addition, the warrior is immune to ‘All Alone’ tests. Note that he must always assign at least one Attack to each enemy model in close combat.
20 Furious Charge: The warband’s leader gets a +1 bonus on his ‘to hit’ rolls in the first turn of a hand-to-hand combat when charging.
25 Furious Assault: The warband’s Heroes get a +1 bonus on their ‘to hit’ rolls in the first turn of a hand-to-hand combat when charging.
35 Infamy: The warband’s Heroes each cause fear in enemy models.
40 Raze to the Ground: The warband plays the scenario Gunpowder Plot, using the “Let the Damned Burn” rules. At the very beginning of the game, nominate one building in the center of the board as the Governor’s Mansion- if that building catches fire and remains on fire three turns later, and was ignited by a “Scourge of the Seas” or “Scion of Chaos” warband, than that warband wins the scenario. If the Scourge warband has 40+ CPs and manages to burn down the center building, then they win the campaign. Any cask of gunpowder exploded within 1” of a building will immediately set the building on fire. Fire may spread from building to building as normal, but will not spread automatically to the Mansion- that must be ignited intentionally!
(Note: In Sartosa, it is not the Governor’s Mansion, but the Pirate King’s Mansion… in which case, Celestrial Protectorate warbands may win by destroying the mansion, as they are burning the wicked!)

The first time a Scourge player gains 40+ CP, he may immediately play the Gunpowder scenario as his next scenario. If he doesn’t win, he must wait till he has rolled it again, or picks it (from a Mordheim Map or rolls a “pick the scenario” roll)

Will work on the others soon

EDIT: As an alt to the Special Items, it could easily read:
+1 Riches Accumulated. The warband gets +1 CP whenever their amount of unused Treasure in your treasure reaches the following: 5, 8, 11 and 15. Note that each bonus applies only once per warband. These stored Treasure are not discarded, and thus, may be spent if the need arises- however, as the treasure is spent, the CP earned will drop accordingly.
(Thus, it's not about the fancy items, but the idea that the warband is storing up treasure for their retirement.)

I was almost done! I'll post mine:

Quote :

The Scourge of the Seas


Warbands: Maneaters, Orcs & Goblins, Norse, Chaos Marauders, Dark Elves, Undead, pirate warbands and Skaven warbands may choose this objective.
No Alliance with:

Objective progress
+1 Playing a Scenario. Whenever the warband plays a scenario it gets +1 CP.
+1 Winning a Scenario. If the warband wins a battle it gets +1 CP.
+X Armada Expanded. Whenever the warband first buys or permanently captures a boat, it gets CP based on its size. Replacing destroyed or lost boats does not count. Rowboat +1 CP, Sailboat +3 CP, Sloop +5 CP. No points are given for rafts.

+1 Accomplished Leader. The warband gets +1 CP whenever the leader's total Experience reaches the following: 30, 45, 60, 75 and 90. Note that each bonus applies only once per warband.
+1 Captain Out Of Action. The warband gets +1 CP for taking the leader of a warband with the (To Be Determined?) objective out of action.

Achievements
CP Achievement
5 I am the Scourge: The warband's leader hates every other leader with the Scourge of the Seas objective. He must charge them when they are in reach.
10 Remarkable Duellist: The warband’s leader is a well-trained fighter. When using a weapon that has a Parry special rule, he parries successfully if he beats or matches his opponents highest ‘to hit’ roll, not just if he beats the roll.
15 Irrepressible Hunger: The warband’s leader is able to take on several opponents at once. If he fights against more than one enemy at a time, he gains one extra Attack per enemy model that is not knocked down or stunned in each hand-to-hand combat phase (e.g. +3 Attacks while fighting three enemy models). In addition, the warrior is immune to ‘All Alone’ tests while fighting Marauders or Beastmen. Note that he must always assign at least one Attack to each enemy model in close combat.
20 Furious Charge: The warband’s leader gets a +1 bonus on his ‘to hit’ rolls in the first turn of a hand-to-hand combat when charging.
25 Furious Assault: The warband’s Heroes get a +1 bonus on their ‘to hit’ rolls in the first turn of a hand-to-hand combat when charging.
35 Infamy: The warband’s Heroes each cause fear in enemy models.
40 Duel to the Death: From now on whenever the warband’s leader and the enemy leader are moved into base contact the scenario “ends” and they fight a duel to death instead. All other models can be removed from the board.
Resolve the combat as normal, using rules for knocked down ,stunned or out of action as usual (remember which turn it is). If either side is taken out of action , roll for Serious Injuries and apply the result immediately.
Treat the following results as Full recovery: Captured, Sold to the pits and any “Miss the next (or D3 or whatever) games” effect. Note that Old battle wounds do not work at this point. After applying the Serious Injury the model counts as knocked down and the duel continues until one of them dies permanently.
Note that neither side may escape from combat willingly. The only way to leave the duel without killing the opposing model is at the beginning of the first turn after a Serious Injury has been applied to the model (after the Recovery phase but before the Shooting phase) and only if he is neither knocked down nor stunned . If one side chooses to end the duel this way, their warband counts as having failed a Rout test and they lose the game (but not the campaign).
If the enemy leader is killed, this warband wins the campaign. If enemy wins the duel, his warband wins the current scenario. The defeated warband must determine a new leader and try to initiate another duel in the next scenario.

Just so you know where I'm going:

Scion=Children of the Old Ones or something. Lizardmen/Amazons who are reclaiming artifacts.

Let the Damned Burn=Hang 'Em High. The pirate hunters/Monarchy faction in Karibbean Dawn

Also, note that "The Damned Shall Burn!" objective in BTB actually has subsitute objectives for Amazon and Lizardmen already thought out at the bottom of the page (in the section called "The Strangest Tribes"). This probably will work without any changes.

I like the option of warbands being able to choose between a couple of objectives though so a new "Children of the Old Ones" objective also sounds good.

@Styro... I like Scourge of the Seas. You are right that it needs very little changing and sounds perfect. Especially Remarkable Duellist as it just drips with flavour for a swashbuckling pirate captain who is fierce and savage and seeking infamy. Is playing the Gunpowder Plot to win at 40 CPs too easy though? Should there be some extra rules such as the Governer's Mansion is made of stone so it is harder to catch on fire or the fire can go out?

As for the Lure of Fortune... I think it is a good start but probably needs more refinement. It doesn't fully catch me yet but I don't know why (maybe just me). For the Lustrian Treasure Ship would it work as a twist instead that the Lure of Fortune warband is actually the Lustrian Treasure Ship trying to get home and the other warbands are trying to raid it? It may not need any changes of course as I don't know how difficult the Lustrian Treasure Ship scenario is when played against others.

Scion = dude, same wavelength. However, I kinda want to include High Elves, Dark Elves, and Undead... any magic heavy band that's hunting the plaques and the artifacts for their power (as opposed to the Treasure hunters, who want them because they're shiny.)

Hang Em High!: Agreed. Replace "Chaos" with "Outlaw/Pirate" or "Scourge" progress:

Warbands: Witch Hunters, Tilean, Mercenary, Pirates (Only Bretonnian, Wasteland, and Estalian- they count as navy, not pirates) may choose this objective.
No Alliance with: All Pirate or Scourge warbands

Objective progress
+1 Playing a Scenario. Whenever the warband plays a scenario it gets +1 CP.
+1 Winning a Scenario. If the warband won the battle, it gets +1 CP.
+1 Captain Out Of Action. The warband gets +1 CP for taking the leader of an Outlaw/Pirate or Scourge warband out of action.
+1 Slain Outlaw. Whenever a Hero of any Outlaw/Pirate or Scourge warband taken out of action by the warband dies
permanently after a battle the warband gets +1 CP.
+1 Foiled Prophecy. The warband gets +1 CP for every Major Artefact it can wrest from the clutches of The Scourge, Pirate, or Scion warband. Note that each bonus applies only once per artefact.

5 Pigeon: The player may re-roll any one dice roll during a battle, or alternatively during exploration.
10 Insight: The player may re-roll two dice rolls during a battle, or alternatively during exploration.
15 - Contempt for the Wicked: All of the Heroes in the warband suffer Hatred against Pirates / Outlaws and members of a Scourge warband.
20 Power of the Law: The warband may now hire 0-3 of the following Hired Swords at half the hiring cost, and only 10gc upkeep. You may hire more than one of the same Hired Sword: Roadwarden (EiF), Beasthunter (EiF), Bounty Hunter
25 Informants: The player may modify any one dice roll by +1/–1 during a battle, or alternatively during exploration.
35 Cleansing: Each outlaw warband that is routed by the warband is now eliminated from the campaign!
40 Eradication: If all outlaw warbands have been eliminated from the campaign then the warband wins
the campaign.

I'm thinking an alternate version of "lure" for slavers would be good too... based on the Chaos Dwarves, but applicable to swabbies.

Scion & Lure - I think the major problem is that the focus on Artefacts for the former and on Silks for the latter. We need to make either a Lustria specific one, or a more general one (maybe involving focus on Treasure/Cargo/Wyrdstone... I mean, that's treasure in it's purest form.)

@Styro--Great! I think the pirate hunters should get a CP bonus for capturing pirate, scourge or scion shipping. (Everybody needs a nudge toward the water,)
And a last scenario rather than elimination? (I don't like encouraging my ladz to stay home. They might not get out of the house again.)

@RL--Amazon and Lizards aren't fighting chaos per say in this setting. They are trying to prevent Outsiders from looting the land. Chaos would not be welcome either though.

Quote :

I think it is a good start but probably needs more refinement. It doesn't fully catch me yet but I don't know why (maybe just me).

The Lustrian Treasure Ship--I'll re-read the Journey Home scenario. The Treasure Ship can be a bear to win, but as written it might not have the right story line...

I'm thinking that Amazons might show up, since both Playtable and Smalls have warbands and the willingness to use them. But despite the success of my last warband no one seems interested in the Scaled Ones.

The Silent Threat--not too much that needs re-writing.

"Journey Home" - Don't think it will work with normal pirates. Works for these guys though:

LURE OF THE LASH
An adaption of “Lure of Fortune” for Slaver Warbands. Other warbands still consider them “Lure of Fortune”.

Warbands: Pirates, Araby Smugglers, Ghost Pirates, and Orc Pirates warbands may choose this objective. Dark Elves, Chaos Dwarves, Arabyan Tomb Raiders, Slavers (from Relics), and Skaven Clan Skyre may also choose this objective – if so, they immediately gain the “Pressgang” ability as described in the Sartosa Errata pdf.
May Not Ally with: Pit Fighters. Likewise, they may never hire Pit Fighter Hired Swords, and any Pit Fighter hero or hired sword will suffer hatred of any Lure of the Lash hero.

+1 Playing a Scenario. Whenever the warband plays a scenario it gets +1 CP.
+1 Winning a Scenario. If the warband won the battle, it gets +1 CP.
+D6 Enterprise Expanded. Slavers need ships to expand their forces. Whenever the warband first buys or permanently captures a boat, it gets CP based on its size. Replacing destroyed or lost boats does not count. Rowboat +1 CP, Sailboat +3 CP, Sloop +5 CP. No points are given for rafts.
+1 Captive Accumulated. For each 3 Pressganged members of your crew or Slaves in your warband, add +1 to your Campaign points. This only lasts for as long as the model is within the warband- If the model dies or runs away, you do not receive points for them. This includes slaves, Swabbies and members persuaded to join. You cannot receive more than 4 CP points in this way.
+D3 Captured MVP. The warband gets +D3 CP for every enemy Leader or Lost Prince (variant: Governor’s Daughter) captured. If you the captured leader dies (or becomes a Swabbie and runs away) you do not lose the CP, but you WILL lose CPs if he rejoins his original warband. Note that the bonus applies only once per leader/Lost Prince.

Achievements
CP Achievement
5 Slave Train: Pressgangers and may have 0-5 Swabbies, and may buy them for 12gc each. Arabyian Smugglers, Tomb Raiders ,and Dark Elves may buy Slaves for 12gc each (see Arabyan warbands for rules and stats) . Slavers & Skyre (from Relics) and buy slaves at -1gc. Orc Pirates and Chaos Dwarves may buy Goblin swabbies for 10gc or Gnoblar slaves (from BTB) at the normal price.
10 Slave Trader: You may have any number of slaves in your warband, up to your maximum warband size. In addition, if you have more slaves than the maximum size of your warband, any extra captives are kept as equipment in your treasury. They are not physically brought onto the battlefield and don’t count towards your warband size, but remain in “storage”. Nominate one heroes as a jailer- the “stored” captives are added to that heroes equipment. If he is robbed or killed, the stored captives are robbed/die with him (think of it as he owns their key and knows their hiding place.) You may allot each captive to a single jailer, or nominate more than one hero as a jailer, spreading the slaves between them.
15 Famed Slaver: The warband may pay the upkeep cost when hiring a new Human Slaver, Ogre Slaver, or Dark Elf Assassin Hired Sword instead of the normal hiring fee. The upkeep cost must be paid as usual.
20 Trading Post: Whenever the warband’s exploration dice score a five of a kind you may choose to replace them with “11111” (Abandoned Trading Post). If you restore the Post, you receive +1D6 campaign points, as if you are a Lure of Fortune warband.
25 Massive Storage: The warband may purchase a Prison Wagon as described in the BTB Chaos Dwarf warband. If so, they may find recruit captives using the Prison Wagon’s rules. If they own a wagon, they may also use Mancatchers (require Weapons Expert as normal) and may use the “Rewards of Hashut” special rule. Alternatively, you may make the Prison Wagon a Prison Barge (treat as a Rowboat, but with T6, W3, and the capacity to carry only two people, not including the many captives in the hold).
35 Turncoat: A minion of the warbands spy network reports back. The warband may hire any friendly Hired Sword that is currently with another warband. Remove the Hired Sword from the originating warband list. If no friendly model is available then choose a non-friendly model.
40 Journey Home: From now on the warband may choose to play the “Journey Home” special scenario. In order to Winning the scenario will cause the warband to win the entire campaign. Note that the scenario may only be played if the warband also has a Prison Wagon or Barge and 12 Swabbies/Slaves/Captives locked away in their storage (they may not be fielded on the board).

The Chaos Dwarfs
Achievement 25 is different for Chaos Dwarves
25 Curse of Stone: As the Sorcerer’s body is afflicted by the curse he suffers –1 to Movement. If a Chaos Engineer is with the warband, then a Mechanical Suit can be purchased at the reduced cost of 125 gc.

Scion - I'm thinking of switching this. Change it to "Scion of Prophecy". It represents any outsider warband that is actively seeking the Major Artefacts - High Elves, Dark Elves, Undead, Arabyan Tomb Raiders. If your group reads Letters of the Damned, Sorcerous Society works too. Magical warbands that seek the knowledge from the artifacts and the power trapped inside. No lizardman- as Celestial, part of their job is to hunt & protect artifacts, so they wouldn't use the Scion path.

Enemies
- the Scrouges. Vandals who despoil any temple they see, destroying vital information. That's why the two are opposed.
-The Lure of Fortune. These greedy sources only see the artifacts for their monetary value, not their knowledge. Enemies.

"Let the Damned" used to be enemies with Scions, but not in this version- they have enough enemies!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hang 'Em - I did a natural "color" pie of enemies to the Hang 'Em... and found that they have three natural enemies (four, if you like the Lash objective). If they hate just one group, it'll be exclusive. What we let them pick?

Hunters Paths:
Devout - against Chaos, Undead, and followers of "Scion of Chaos" objective (aka default "Let the Damned" rules. Not very useful in Karribean, but works.
Xenophobes - Against Skaven, Dark Elves, and anyone of the Scions of Prophecy objective. Lizardmen only.
Lawmen - Against Pirates, Outlaws, and anyone of the Lure of the Lash Path.
Protectors - Against Norse, Marauder, Greenskins and anyone following the Scourge Path.
Silencers - Against Skaven, Dark Elves, and anyone of the Silent Death Path.

Thus, each path gets 2+ races that they are opposed to (regardless of objective), as well as an entire objective to oppose (regardless of race.) That way, they're bound to find SOMEONE who fits the bill.

Good nights work,

Hang 'em--for my immediate purposes limiting them to pirate hating monarchists is fine, although there is an iquistion active in the campaign as well. While it would be useful in a larger sceam of things to have multiple paths for Lizards, etc to chose, I only need one.

As to Lizards they really do fit the Celestial path in this setting.

And I'm too tired to make sense...

If the Celestial Protectorate objective is adjusted for Lizardmen then the final scenario to win could involve putting the artifacts back into a Lizardmen temple in the middle of Lustria rather than burying chaos artifacts in Ghartok's (sp) Tomb.

Yeah. Although I think for my purposes just re-naming the Tomb will be enough.

I'm hoping that I will find out more warband choices tonight so that I can prepare a more focused set of objectives for this particular campaign. I need to finalize locations and scenarios as well. Lots to to.

Locations: Here's a thought- why not pick locations in balance with what you want the games to be?

Ex.
1/3rd City/Port Town locations
1/3rd Lustria Wilderness
1/3rd High Seas locations (the location isn't so much as a port or a temple, but a sandbar, a current, a lagoon, a straight.)

that way, it's an even split.

Or, if you're not playing with boats, cut out the last 3rd.

My group play without boats! The idea!

I did just have an idea for a defend the find scenario on the open seas. Not too original but one side has captured a merchantman, the other side arrives with its ship and boat(s)... hmmm. A little cannon fire, some sharks, might work.

Locations: mainly its just formating the lists and such. Cut and paste, but tedious and time consuming.

Tenative warband participation:
playtable--skaven or Ghost pirates
Smalls--skaven! (Big departure from the usual Elves or Mercenaries)
EvilTed--pirate orcs
Chadwicc--orcs
grtbrt--humans, probably pirates (Really wants to do the Vodoo warband...)
me--Arabyan Smugglers

So I do not need any law objectives or lizardman objectives.

Defend the ship - "King of the Hull" would be a great basis- the defender start stationary in the middle (or theirs or a stolen boat), and have to defend it against ships that are boarding. In two playe,r lowest rating starts on the ship, in multi, the highest.

Voodoo- Hows this for a quick throw together-

Ghost Pirates as base (for sizes, equipment, etc.)

Replace Ghost Captain with a Voodoon (Same as Magister, with access to Necro spells.)
Replace Screaming Ghosts with Human champions (from mercenary band), access same skills as ghosts.
No Sea Singer.
Henchmen - exact same.

Or, if you want a more Islander feel, use the amazon list instead. Can make any hero a skeleton for 5gc, losing -1BS and WS and gaining can't run in the exchange. Add on Zombies (alt - bloated) and Dire wolves to the henchmen list.

He's thinking about a pirate band with one of Werekin's priests, which won't be vodoo but will have a different feel. We'll see...

Objectives. Now that I have some idea of who is playing I'm thinking that I REALLY like the Lash variant of Fortune. It gives more choices to the various warbands and I don't have to worry about what to do with Inquisitors or natives... Unless I run a second warband...

The Lash - I suspect Smugglers would probably be the easiest to run with them. More stable than swabbies, and less crazy a$$ rules than Relic's slavers or chaos dwarves.

If grtbrt wants something tailor made for him, let me know- you know me, I'll have a prototype ready in an hour.

Speaking of prototype, let me know how the Orc Pirates run. Untested.

Turn Five: Articles of War!

“Ye hearty Mariners
That ply our native seas!
Whose flags have braved a hundred years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe;
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow!
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.”


Torktuga Sea Region, Early Autumn, 1785
“Fire!” roared Captain Pierce as the Indignation moved along the enemy vessel and unleashed another round of broadsides.

The crisp morning air once more filled with the sound of thunder and a cloud of smoke, the polished guns sending another series of iron balls into the unnatural Tomb Ship, the timbers cracking under the salvo as the mast began to creak and snap, twisted rigging falling upon the deck of the Jewel of Vitae like giant spider webs. Small fires began to spread as the stern groaned and began to collapse, yet the skeleton crew continued to ply their oars and move around the small wooded island ahead.

From around the bend of the island came the Epine du Sang, her banners snapping in the breeze, her full sails billowing out like cerulean clods as her gun ports were pushed open, batteries of fresh guns gleaming in the morning sunlight. The Man O War moved to intercept the fleeing sloop, while the Indignation made sure there was no escaping, tacking across her port side and readying another volley.

Prince Sobek, from his shattered stern, glared at the hated human vessels, cursing his own ship for failing to bring him to safety from this peril. The ancient Tomb King coldly regarded the Indignation as she changed course, his ruined throat silently mouthing orders to his loyal crew to unleash the remaining catapults. Ancient sinews stretched back and the lever arms drew taunt, Sobek’s scimitar rose and fell and a battery of rocks whistled through the air, the crude missiles crunching into the newly painted wood of the Indignation, the impact causing the forecastle to buckle and casting several crewmen into the cold sea. Silently the skeletons moved to pull back the firing arms of the weapons once more, even as debris continued to topple down from above, the mast finally groaning one last time. As the wooden shaft pierced the decks below, the stern collapsed as the doomed vessel snapped in half, the cold waters streaming in through the rent and consigning the ancient war galley to an icy grave. Prince Sobek himself pitched into the ocean, his vestments flowing around him like gossamer wings in the dark waters as he sank into the cold depths, his glowing eyes open and staring upward with burning hatred as the Karibbean opened up its maw and swallowed the ancient king…

Nordlund, Early Autumn, 1785, Gallows
Ned stood silent as his shipmate Vigo was led; arms and legs shackled, to the rope dangling next to him by a pair of Imperial soldiers, the tight-corded noose swinging in the stiff breeze as rough hands forced the rogue into position. A hooded figure of the hangman stepped forward once more and stretched down the noose until it was level with the convict’s neck, pulling the rope over his head and savagely yanking it into place with a grunt.

Staring across his left shoulder, Ned locked stares with executioner two sets of cold uncaring eyes, until Ned snorted and hacked a stream of phlegm at the feet of the hangman.

“Looks as if ye gonna earn yer boots today Jack Ketch, ain’t ye? The crew of the Barnacle Belle ain’t gonna go lightly, I can ensure ye of ‘hat.”

The hangman regarded the pirate for a few seconds more before the next crewman of the Barnacle Belle was dragged into position before a third noose, his legs having left him, forcing the guards to drag him by his shoulders. Blood trickled from his swollen feet, splinters of wood having pierced his skin by the rough handling, as he too joined his brethren with a sharp pull of the noose. Tears of grief and fear ran down the dirty cheeks of the pirate, this one not quite ready to leave this mortal coil.

“Well mates, I be thinkin this be our final voyage, the voyage into the great salt brine. The Captain was crazy to trust Tremonte, I told him as much when we first met that effete snob. Led us right into the hands of Jack Ketch it did!” intoned Ned, defiant to the last as he had promised himself he would be.

As more crewmen were brought forth from the jail, a crowd began to gather below the gallows, the people of Nordlund had suffered the depredations of the pirates for far too long. The new Governor had pledged to rid their sea lanes of all buccaneers and lawless rogues, that part of this pledge came at the expense of pardoning a known pirate made the spectacle of today lose some of its luster.

A hush fell across the crowd as the first group of eleven pirates had been secured in the nooses and the judge came forward to list the charges against the crew of the Barnacle Belle. As his voice boomed across the square, Captain Tremonte listened to the charges with keen interest. The dandy sat on a cushioned divan that overlooked the square, sipping mulled wine from Nassau. He marveled at his fortunes of late, the current surroundings most fitting to one of his stature, the Governor’s house merely an extension of the fortress that surrounded the town. As he chuckled to himself, he cast his gaze at the Governor and his wife, both of whom watched the events unfolding below.

Madame Greta was a fine figure of a woman for sure, a seed of youth blossoming into the full flower of her young womanhood. She wore the style of the times, a tight corset that drew her ample figure tight and highlighted all of her delicious curves. Her curled brown hair was set with ribbons and seedlings, falling well past her perfect waist. Tremonte could not help but to return his gaze time and again to the beauty, he found she regarded him back beneath thick lashes, a hint of playfulness clearly there. He returned her gaze with a roguish smile, even as the scene concluded below.

“And so,” finished the judge “we find you seadogs guilty on all accounts. You are hereby commanded to hang by your necks until ye be dead!”

A motion to the hangman, a lever pulled and the eleven sailors fell into oblivion to the roaring approval of the crowd, as Tremonte contemplated his next move…

Torktuga, Bottom of the Sea
Prince Sobek stared into the darkness of the ocean, the preesure having little effect on the Tomb King. Tangled in the mass of rigging and sails, his cherished weapon just out of reach, Sobek was trapped. Small schools of fish swarmed around the trapped Monarch, the temeprature of the water as cold and dark as the hatred that festered in his ruined breast.


Petite-Goval, Early Autumn, 1785 IC
“Admiral Le Fevre, I am so glad to see you.”

Marcel nodded, “Yes, it seems we Bretonnians here in the New World are having a year fraught with …”, and then he paused before saying, “… challenges”
, before proceeding, “My men have just arrived from Isabella Sound, where we’ve had repairs being done from our entanglement with the local Estalian fleet, heard of your predicament here, and have sailed to provide the supplies that you’ve been requesting.”

“I can pay you well, good sir.”

“And I’m glad you can, for it seems the war back home has spread to the Karibbean, and I suspect what you pay us from your treasury, can help us get what we need here without worrying about whatever may or may not be sent to us from back in Bretonnia. And that is why I’ve already started to have the things we have brought unloaded, we will finish before the day is out, but we will be gone in the morning.”

“Is it possible, you are traveling past Basse-Terre, and can perhaps bring word of your good ways to my wife, as well as the rest of the refugees that have gone there?”

Marcel turned his head away, and then turned it back again towards Lord Mayor de Goval, “I was not planning to put into port there, but I can have a couple of my ships make a side trip to Basse-Terre, and deliver your message.”

“Thank you again, good sir. And when your men are done unloading the supplies, I can point them in the direction of where the gold is.

"That sounds very suitable."

"May the Lady look favorably upon you, and yours, and your travels.”

"Now it is my turn to thank you," which saw Marcel give a short bow before finishing with, "And I bid you adieu."



At Sea, End of Early Autumn, 1785 IC
The wind was providing just enough lift to the sails of the Estalian fleet to propel it in the direction of where Admiral Hector Guerra would be looking again for the Bretonnian fleet here in the Karibbean. And when the sea provided fresh air as it was now, Hector’s adrenalin flowed.

The Estalian admiral’s last battle with Le Fevre’s armada had been a minor victory. It had started out with low visibility making it hard to discern the enemy’s plan of attack, and as the enemy vessels sprung their move, Hector’s defensive line held, exchanging cannon fire which took out both sides’ sailors and sails.

However, Hector’s own ship had gotten lucky when a cannon shot had penetrated one of the Bretonnian Man O’War with an explosion that had been so large, it had even spread fire to another nearby enemy vessel. The ship that had its armaments explode quickly come to a crawl, and the other one’s fire spread rapidly as it veered from the battle line.

Then the wind changed, and suddenly it had occurred to Hector that here was a good moment to do something that he’d never tried before. As both fleets continued to exchange broadsides, Hector had his signaler send messages down both ends of his line for each of his own vessels to follow the ship directly next to them that was towards the flag ship.

By the time confirmation was received back up through the line and had reached the flag ship, one end of the Bretonnian line had already begun to try to close down the hole that had opened where the two seriously wounded ships had been holding, but the Hector had already started La Boehm for the gap. In moments Hector had his vessel steered to block a union of Bretonnians, and as his own ship stalled to barrage and delay the closest enemy ship, the closest Estalian sister ships floated past his own helping keep the enemy fleet divided as they began to stream beyond and let the Estalian ships through the hole as well.

Another hour and it was over. With the continued low visibility, the Bretonnians had become confused and disorganized, while the Estalians had succeeded in continuing their movement through the line and then beyond. Hector’s fleet had done a bit more damage than the enemy had to them, and at another time perhaps it could achieve a better position in future fight.

And it now, having finished with various repairs, Hector’s sailors were back at sea and the search was on for the right time to strike.


Basse-Terre, Autumn, 1785
The bayou stretched before him, patient as an open grave. The Lord Mayor’s shirt clings heavily to his skin, channeling rivers of sweat down his back as he poled the pirogue further into the swamp. A slight breeze stirs and the swamp whispers words no man can understand.

Adjusting his wide brimmed hat, Maurice Boudreaux drew his arm across his forehead, the sweat and mass of insects swarming there displaced with a shake of his hand. It was often his custom to rise before dawn, drawn forth his prized hunting rifle, and go forth into the swamps to hunt the native predators. Maurice had been quite good at this for many years, as the number of stuffed heads adorning his trophy room could attest. He had even on occasion hunted the native Karibs, the thrill of that hunt unlike anything he could have hoped for! Maurice was a vicious man, one that periodically ordered the extermination of Karibs he deemed dissidents or trouble makers, the power afforded him by the Crown of Bretonnia all the justification he required.

He pushed the small punk under a moss-laden cypress, its ancient branches clutching at his arms and tearing his regal cotton shirt. A cottonmouth, angry at the intrusion, dropped into his boat from the tree. Maurice was quick to ply his pole, flipping the deadly serpent out of the boat and into the water in one fluid motion.

“You won’t take me so easily Old Man, “ he rasped, “not while I be breathing still,”

A web of rotting vegetation suddenly bubbled up under his pirogue, forcing the boat to an abrupt stop. The Bretonnian struggled against the pole, but the snag held fast. Wearily, the Lord Mayor knelt in the boat and submerged his arm to help free the boat.

A slimy hand suddenly grasps his own! Before he can pull free, a second takes his arm. The stench of centuries old rot assails his nostrils, choking his lungs and draining his strength. His struggles become desperate as he realizes he is beyond help and likely to be taken into the murky depths without as much as a whimper. Pulling against the grip, he begins to beat at the entangling arm with his own good arm, letting the pole drop into the waters of the swamp. One good yank and he topples back into the boat as the grip is broken, the suddenness of it causing the pirogue to capsize, his rifle slipping into the muck with a splash.

Kicking to the surface, Maurice struggled to find a patch of land. Spying a small hillock to his right, he began to swim for it, fear propelling his legs and arms as he desperately sought to get out of the water. As he paused to draw in air, he saw a dark shape slip into the water ahead of him, a crocodile for sure! The reptile slid into the murky water and powerful legs and tail propelled it towards the swimmer, who threw forth his buoy knife and made ready to strike the reptile. As it reared out of the water, its mouth rimed with sharp teeth, Maurice thrust forward with his knife, taking it in the throat and forcing it back. Raising the knife over his head once more, his arm was grasped once more by the slimy hand; this time the pressure on his wrist caused him to drop the weapon into the muddy waters. Staring back in horror, Maurice saw the creature, its biped body covered in moss and swamp detris, water dripping from its open mouth as Paramalfait smiled through rotted teeth, holding the struggling man as the crocodile moved in for the kill. The screams of the nobleman stayed trapped in his throat as the monstrous reptile once more opened its jaws wide…

The empty pirogue rocked in the current and floated free, drifting into the channel, no sign of anyone being on board. Decades later the mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Lord Mayor Maurice Boudreaux would be debated over campfires on hot summer nights…

Of Letters, Beginning of Early Autumn, 1785 IC

- - - The Governor, Port-Au-Prince - - -
Mathias von Anderstadt entered his employer’s office for the umpteenth time and spoke as he walked, "Lord Governor, I have brought the draft of the letter that we discussed.”

Langston Hughes stood quickly, reached, and once it was in his hands and in front of his eyes, he read.

Your Eminence,

General von Gruberheim and Admiral von Hallenhof have reminded me that no leader in the Imperial provinces has openly sided with either Bretonnians nor Estalians back in the Olde World. My home responsibilities, as I’m sure you are aware, lie with Nordland, and I’ve spent considerable finances strengthening Imperial Defenses in Port-Au-Prince and Nordlund. In order to further our protection from Pirates and rumors of Karib rebellion, there are plans for more.

My previous correspondence, although including a request for co-operation, did not foresee all of the developments that are happening now, and I suspect will only grow by the time you have received this note. At the same time, there is no reason for intervention by those Imperials that reside here in the Karibbean, between the those here who might choose to emulate the Olde World activities nor between those who might bring them here. My co-operation request is the same as before, and if there is no interest in this because of my expression of neutrality, then neither of us stands to gain from what otherwise might be possible.

Since last writing, I have been working with the joint Fleet Captains of the Monarchy towards the progress I have previously suggested we work towards. I hope you will join us.

Sincerely and respectfully,
Lord Governor Langston Hughes

“That looks well done, Mathias, and I want you to be certain that who we discussed previously is the man to deliver it. I don’t want to risk it not getting there and he’s likely the best man for the job.”

“Most certainly, Lord Governor, most certainly.”


- - - The Lady, Domingo Sound - - -
The day was overcast, with a slight bit of humidity in the air, like the kind that happens before a storm arrives.

Lady Ellsabeth de Coranado had just finished reading the letter that she now held in her left hand with the ink facing Harlow Montigarreo. Her other hand reached for a small white hand kerchief.

“My, oh my, this is what you were referring to?”

“Yes, my lady, that is it.”

The Lady spun, turning completely away from her assistant and chief plantation supervisor. She seemed to take a deep breath, and then used the hand kerchief to wipe her brow ever so slightly. There was a long pause of silence, and Harlow hadn’t obtained his position by speaking to her until she spoke to him again.

The moments ticked past, and then she slowly came back around to face Harlow, “Take heed and listen good, my dear Harlow. I have an idea, and I want to know what you think of it.”

Harlow knew not to speak next either and listened to the Lady, as she expected.

- - - The Inquisitor, On Board “El Justeriero”, Cabos - - -
The Inquisitor sat at his small desk inside his cabin, and Brother Miguel stood in front of it.

“I see this letter says here that they are looking for help. You’ve read it, and what do you think?”

“It could be an opportunity that takes our mission in a new direction or …”, and then there was a slight pause, “… it could delay us from the rest of our plan.”

“True.”

Inquisitor Alphonse Rodriquez Cabrillio raised one hand to his chin and he stroked it like he had a beard even though he did not.

“We need to consolidate our efforts here first, and that means taking out Crab Key next. There can be no more resistance here in the Cabos region of any kind. If we intend to move on, whether or not we help them, that means every last Karib in this area needs to be taken out. Completely.”

“That sounds very reasonable, and I can inform the others for you. We could be under way, tomorrow morning.”

“That sounds wonderful. But we’ll take only the El Justeriero and the Lanza Punta with half the soldiers. The Crab Key doesn’t hold nearly the number of Karibs as Cabos itself, nor the gathering at Bushiabama. And additionally maintaining a decent garrison here seems obligatory.”

“Most definitely, and I will see to your instructions.”

“Excellent, and be certain to return with a favorable update.”


Domingo Sound, Autumn, 1785

“Incoming!” yelled the sailor as the cannonball hit the deck, exploding timbers and shredding flesh and the same time. The aft mast groaned under the impact, jerking the Lion of Lashiek to port as the thunderous barrage of cannons from the Indomitable continued to pound the frigate.

“Aft cannons fire!” roared Captain Achmed Al Kuds, “Lest In flay the skin from your unworthy backs!”

Smoke and flame shot forth from the gun decks below, ripping into the amidships of the Indomitable, pitching men into the air amid several explosions as the Lion’s gunners proved true,

As the two vessels traded shots, the sleek form of the Capricious Maiden slid into view through the smoke, Captain Guildemont at the helm as he sought to bring his vessel to the aide of the Maiden. As he cleared the smoke, Guildemont was horrified to see the massive bulk of the Great Glutton lumber into view, blotting out the sun with her massive sails.

“Me bully-boys, unleash the guns! Let em speak fer us as we drive these dogs into the cold embrace of the Locker!”

Dozens of cannons roared into life, smashing into the Maiden and tearing apart her gun decks. As her cannons returned fire, the timbers of the Glutton shuddered under the impact, Master Gunner Demote targeting the weaker stern of the Man O War. He was allowed a grim smile of satisfaction as the Glutton continued to shudder, explosions from below decks ripping through the ship/

“Run out all canvas! Run out all canvas!” Guildemont screamed to his men as the Glutton continued to approach. “More speed!”

As the Maiden lurched to port, the bulk of the Glutton slammed into her amidships, the crunching of wood drowned out by the screams of sailors that were crushed to a pulp in an instant. The Maiden lurched sideways as the Man O War threatened to drive her over on her sides, the cannons of both ships taking heavy tolls at this close range.

The Indomitable changed course, bringing the winds back into her sails as the Lion circled back to catch the wind as well, both ships circling each other like two predators. Captain Alfonso ordered his men about smartly; the cannon exchange had done little real damage to the Indomitable, more cosmetic than anything else.

“Take heed lads, she comes from port once more! Lock the tackles and reload. She truly is a big fish, but my Indomitable will see us through the day!”

The Lion had reloaded her guns and once more a broadsides volley roared towards the Indomitable, many falling short but several more taking the Schooner in her amidships. The Bow groaned under the impact but failed to slow the Privateer vessel.

“Aim for her sails you dogs!” roared Achmed once more, the damage to his own vessel slightly more telling. Several cannons had been blown apart by the last volley, and the crew reported the lower decks were flooding.

Ghostpaw gazed through the series of glass prisms that made up the scope, the vast bulk of the Thing-Thing sliding through the waves unnoticed. The crazed Captain thrashed his tail as he watched the humans exchanging fire, the burning wrecks of several ships locked in their death struggles.

Drawing forth one of the talk-speaker tube from the side of the scope, the Skaven ordered his crew.

“More speed slow-slows! We get close now to big Fat-belly ship now. Firing tubes at the ready-go!”

The Maiden’s hold began to fill with water as her amidships broke apart. Dozens of crewman pitched into the water only to be ground into red smears as the vessel relentlessly pushed forward. Her masts toppled, her cannons slid into the murky depths as the Maiden finally surrendered to the bulk of the Ogre crewed Glutton and broke apart. Captain Guildemont fell screaming from the helm of his beloved vessel as the sails tumbled onto the wheel house, smashing the helmsman flat before sinking, her yards of canvas trapping ailors in the water and drawing them into the depths like a death shroud.

Magg roared his approval as the Maiden sank beneath the choppy water, his crew joining in. Their joy was short-lived however as a spread of gyro propelled torpedoes struck the vessel below her waterline, a jagged hole ripped into the hold and took out her mid cannon deck, dozens of Gnoblars were incinerated in the blast, though later on they would provide ready cooked delicacies for the crew!

A second spread of torpedoes struck the Lion in her starboard, her gun decks obliterated in the blast. A chain reaction of explosions ripped into her hold as the Lion spun away from the blast. The dark form of Thing-Thing roses form the dark water, the jagged metal and wooden vessel covered in rivets and patchwork repairs.

“Blow hatches, let in air-air slimy seadogs!” bellowed Ghostpaw into his talk-speak tube.

The hatches on the main deck were flung open as the foul air of the submersible wafted out through a series of mesh covered tubes. A swarm of Skaven clambered onto the deck, many gasping for air, others moving to man the chaser guns on the bow of the strange vessel.

Achmed pondered his choices at this point, the fires still raging below decks. Reports came in that there were creaking and groans coming from the bowels of the Lion, her cannons a twisted wreck of metal and human remains. He ordered his helm to tack across the bow of Thing-Thing, the sails straining against the sharp turn as the Lion, trailing thick smoke, moved to the starboard of the Skaven vessel.

“Make the shots count dogs! Destroy the infidel weapon; send it to the cleansing depths!”

The Lion’s cannons spoke loudly, the broadsides raking the deck of Thing-Thing, blowing apart the crew on deck and throwing fire into the open hatches. Ghostpaw was livid!

“Hot-hot! Close the hatches quick-quick!”

As the Lion drew closer, Achmed cast a glance to the horizon, where the form of the Great Glutton drew further away. The flaming wreckage of her sails poured thick smoke into the air, the damage great and the maneuvering of the massive vessel unable because her rudder had been destroyed. To make a turn in time to help the trapped frigate would take far too long and so Achmed ordered the signaler to send a message to Captain Magg that to return was foolish, the Lion would accept her fate with honor! So be it thought Achmed, the battle has raged past and now we are alone. He silently vowed that he would take the infidels with him.

A new barrage from port took the Lion unawares, the Indomitable moving back into position. Caught between the two enemy vessels the crew of the Lion of Lasheik vowed to sell their lives dearly, Achmed drawing his cutlass and uttering curses to the Indomitable crew and her captain! His monkey mimicked the move, raising its toy wooden sword into the air and shrieking!

The fire in the hold spread into the powder stores and the Lion exploded in a fireball that roared into the sky, raining flaming debris down upon the Indomitable and Thing-Thing alike. Her crew was sent screaming into the next life as the fires incinerated many of them, the blast having done the most damage though as crew were ripped apart by flying debris or smashed against the wooden bulkheads. The Lion sunk rapidly, no sign of her captain since the explosion, the fires fizzling out in the cold waters as the frigate disappeared into the depths of Domingo Sound…

Nassau, Early Autumn, 1785
“Heave lads! Out your backs into it!” shouted Fritz von Weaver, Master Engineer late of Nuln. “I want those braces in place before we load the cannons!”

Dozens of workers grunted and groaned with their burden, heavy stone braces supported by a cunning series of block and tackles, which rose some fifty feet into the warm Karibbean breeze. From the upper levels of the fortress, Fritz stared down as the workmen pulled harder, the smoothly greased ropes sliding through his specially crafted pulley locks. Making several scribbles onto a notebook, the engineer moved back to his sexton that rested on a tripod. He sighted along the instrument and out into the harbor.

His calculations had been extensive but now the project was coming together. The Lord Mayor had requested a new battery of cannons to defend Nassau from possible attack and he had showered the engineer with gold and land grants to complete the project. Fritz remembered fondly the bartering phase of the project, where he had negotiated a large land grant, including miles of sugarcane fields, in addition to the gold coins he had asked for in advance for the new weapons. Shrewd bargaining with the Dwarf and his rum-drunk cat had yielded the needed weapons and braces at a discounted rate and Fritz had pocketed the difference.

The first stone mounting brace appeared over the walls of the fortress, and Fritz snapped out of his daydreams and rushed forward to make sure his minions knew where they went!

In Port, Early Autumn, 1785 IC
Captain Tavish McBride had The Wandering Falcon lead his captured prize into the harbor and up to the docks. The remains of the pirate pinnace had been placed in behind his own at the same spot in port. And then harbormaster came forward from his post to meet the Captain as he walked down the narrow gang plank.

“Well, well, well, I’m sure he’ll be quite pleased when I bring him the news.”

“Sure he will. In da meantime, I be auctionin’ da remains of da Dusty Doberman …”, as McBride thumbed his right hand over his shoulder in the direction of the wrecked ship that had stowed in behind his own vessel, “… and hope da next owna has anuff sense to change her darned name, eh?”

The harbor master looked over at the forecastle of the soon to be sold former pirate ship and chuckled, “Yes, that there seems to be an unusual one. Any former crew to report?”

“Oh ya, dems down in da hold chained to dare own ship. Six of dem, and da forma Captain, he’s in my own brig. Understand you here can get me da reward for dem dare souls?”

“I most certainly can. Was there any cargo on board?”

“Nope, nothin’, mostly lots of junk, da usual stuff, a parrot, a plush chair dat has holes in it, half dozen silva mugs, couple uh crystal watchama call its, a chest uh clothes, and lots of useless stuff dat might sell in da local shops somewhere. Udder den dat, nothin' else.”

“No pirate's treasure?”

“What da yuh dink? And if dare was, I’d give it to my crew.”

“Yes, of course, ok. One more thing, I got something here for you from him.”

The harbormaster handed over a sealed piece of parchment.

McBride looked at the side opposite of the seal and said, “I see.”

Domingo Sound, Beach, Midnight, 1785
Achmed awoke to sand being kicked in his face, his monkey trying to raise his amster from his slumber. He knew not how long he had lain on the ebach, save his skin was burned on exposed places, some from the sun, some from the inferno of his exploding vessel. His face a ruined mass of scar tissue, the corsair rolled onto his back with a groan...


Middle Plantation, Sandy Cay, Autumn, 1785

The sounds of trees being felled woke Dungree from his slumber, the carpenter was weary from the pace of the past weeks, The project was ambitious and enormous at the same time and Dungree and his fellows regretted accepting the project from the start. It had seemed reasonable enough; modify the existing buildings and docks into a working shipyard. That seemed a reasonable enough request, and the Halflings paid extremely well! The ships arrived bearing tons of lumber, nails, tools and over three hundred workers. And it was the workers that caused the regret, for they were little more than savages, Karib warriors with stern gazes and ill intent.

The Halflings left the project under the care of one of their adjuncts over a week ago, setting forth in immense catamarans, taking hundreds of Karibs with them. The Karibs left behind could barely hide their contempt for the overseers and carpenters, and that situation led to open fights from time to time, the Karibs quick to unleash their anger. Since the project had begun, nearly a dozen carpenters and overseers had been wounded or killed in these fights, but the project continued despite this.

The Chameleon Skink lay among the pile of lumber, its sleek form changing color to match the wood and braches that lay near the pile. Its cold alien eyes moved to and fro, watching the humans as they went about their daily worker. He had remained thusly for well over a week now, moving occasionally to different positions so as to get a better vantage of the activities going on below. Its tongue flicked out from behinds its fangs, tasting the air and sending messages to its primitive brain, messages it sent forth to its kin. Its kin that even now gathered in the depths of the jungle under the banners of the Old Ones. A new generation of Lizardmen was spawning in the sacred pools, sleek Saurus and mighty Kroxigor answering the primeval call of their progenitors.

Domingo Sound, Port, 1785
Captain Guildemont sailed into port aboard the good ship Dandy, having been plucked from the seas by the passing merchant vessel. A provedn sailor, Guildemont had crewed with the merchants in exchange for passage back to Domingo Sound. It had been back-breaking work but he had relished the chance to work out the pain at the loss of his ship and crew, and to fester a new hatred for the Pirates of the Karibbean.


The Karibbean Sea, north of Tezcatipocas, 1785

The Thing-Thing churned along under the cool waters of the Karibbean, its damaged warp engines straining to keep the screws turning. The damage had been severe at the hands of the Lion of Lashiek, forcing the Skaven to withdraw from the battle at Domingo Sound before it could search for scrap.

Diving far beneath the surface suddenly showed the extent of the damage, several crew rats were killed by water pressure related accidents. At the depths the Thing-Thing had fallen too the water forced through the small rents in the surface of the ship became deadly, the lets severing limbs and torsos better than a sword blade. Forced to travel above the surface of the sea while repairs were being made, Captain Ghostpaw continued his journey south towards the Karibbean Sea.

Under the cover of night, the submersible chugged along the mirror surface, nary a hint of a zephyr broke the placid surface. Many leagues off in the distance was the rugged outline of an island, a craggy mesa thrusting up from the unimagined depths of the Karibbean. And upon that island perched a man-made edifice of stone, Hidalgo’s Perch lighthouse. The clear beam of the mirrored lights shone brightly in the gloom this night, and it was as well as the Thing-Thing glided slowly towards the island, for the numerous reefs that surrounded the island were clearly pointed out.

Suddenly the night sky was lit by an explosion, the tell-tale flash of a cannon muzzle to starboard. Seconds later the water around the Thing-Thing was pierced by the cannonball, spray and salt raining down upon the decks of the Skaven ship.

“What! Lookout-Seer, where did that come from?” roared Ghostpaw. “Empty-clear you said these water-wet places were!”

“Captain-leader! The shot came from ahead, not seen-discovered though. Maybe we send slave rats on deck-deck and look out?”

Considering the option of sending the slaves on deck, as fun as that could be, Ghostpaw gnawed on his tale as he considered. The Thing-Thing could not dive so escaping was not an option. But with the damage already taken, it wasn’t up to fighting an enemy vessel either!

“Cut-cut engines scum! Dose all lights! Run dark-dark we must!”

All across the vessel Skaven hurried to dose their lights. All repairs stopped, the engines were shut down before their glow could be targeted, and even the interior lanterns and torches were put out. The Thing-Thing continued to move forward, though the incoming waves began to slow its progress and it was at the mercy of the waves now. Not a single squeak could be heard on the vessel, as all the crew waited for the tell-tale shriek of another cannon blast.

Aboard the Green Thunder, Captain Marbaruck signaled to his charges, waving his makeshift scepter at them in menacing fashion. Chocolate Biscuit, his dark brown monkey perched on Ted’s shoulder, his every move watched by the hundreds of natives aboard the giant catamaran.

“Say conga wanna degonna, savvy, “ordered Marbaruck, telling the natives to reload their pillaged cannons and ready their harpoons.

“Looks as if we had a sea monster, eh CB? Did you see how it dived when we dropped a cannonball in its flank? I wonder if it would go well with a dry white wine and fig salad.”

Looking to his sister ship, Captain Marbaruck could see the Filet Mignon sailing to his starboard, the litter bearing Captain Buzz Moleman clearly visible by the burning torches surrounding the Halfling. Both Halflings bore the paints of holy men upon their arms and faces, the Karibs natives treating them like the deities they believed they were. When the Halflings had arrived among the Karibs, they were almost put in the proverbial stewpot, until the Karibs saw their hairy feet and bodies and took them to be messengers sent by the Great Monkey. Since, the Halflings had been treated as cherished prisoners, taken on raids, taught the magic of the tribesmen by their shamans and taken into battle as good luck charms. Under their leadership, the tribes had grown in wealth and size, plundering the lands of the Karibbean and amassing a fleet of warships, including the two Man O War that they presently sailed upon.

Buzz waved his scepter back in greeting to Ted and continued to usher his vessel forward. The strange ship, he was sure he had seen lights, had disappeared once more into the darkness. Curiosity had gotten the best of him and Buzz would see what manner of vessel it was, for the brief image did not reveal sails. Perhaps a war galley?

From the rough timber decks of Morkz Stabba, Wizgit Bonecruncha urged his ladz forward, the Orc shaman using his powers to find the image of the vessel in the darkness, his eyes closed in concentration as the vessel coalesced in his mind, he could see it as it moved with the waves and snapped out of his trance.

“To port ladz! Da zoggin fing be right off our portside!” bellowed Wizgit as he drew forth a wad of foul smelling detris, which he cast into the darkness with a powerful throw. A brilliant flash of green light lit the darkness as the hull of Thing-Thing began to glow with eldritch light, a beacon to the rest of the Castaways fleet that clogged the narrow strait.

“Crap-crap! My eyes!” wailed a suddenly blinded Ghostpaw. “The enemy cans see-spy us now, foul magic it is!”

As soon as the flash revealed the strange vessel, Buzz drew back in his chair and screamed to his subjects to let fly their ballistae. Taunt arms jerked forward as the massive sharpened palm trunks tore through the air and impacted upon the Thing-Thing. Most of the wooden missiles shattered upon the metal hull of the Skaven vessel but one pierced the wooden skin of the gun deck, smashing aside the chaser gun and driving into the hull. The prow groaned under the impact of the weapon, wires showered sparks across the command cabin and she began to take on water.

Not to be outdone, Wizgit threw up his arms amid a chanting song and suddenly a giant green foot materialized out of the darkness and descended upon the Thing-Thing, smashing apart the forecastle and further damaging her gun decks.

Crippled and nearly weaponless, Ghostpaw ordered the crew to diving stations, the Skaven Captain knowing full well they could not win this battle. The giant foot rose once more above the Thing-Thing as the submersible went under in foaming mass of water, the cold waters pouring in through the damaged forecastle even as the water tight doors ground close, trapping dozens of the crew between the bulkhead and rushing water.

Wizgit cursed loudly as the Foot of Gork fell upon empty waves, for the Thing-Thing was no longer there…


Coquina Harbor, Autumn, 1785
The square shouldered Karib fisherman rattled the cup in his club-like hands, the curved and polished bones inside bouncing around, waiting for a chance to tumble forth, the central table in the Landfall Tavern occupied by four other players, the place a maelstrom of noise and movement. The days catch had been bountiful and the locals were now enjoying the fruits of their labor, a night of drinking and wildness, tall tales, and an occasional fight to blow off steam, and with tomorrow being market day, the crews would not have to be to work until two days hence. Tobacco smoke swirled above the patron’s heads, drawn by the lazy breeze that drifted in through closed shutters, for the fury of a coming storm was on the air and relentless winds drove before it.

The ships bell hanging on the front of the tavern chimed eleven times, as the night wore on and the seas grew darker. On the horizon there was a brief flash of lightning, followed by the hollow, still-distant rumbling of thunder. The ocean was churned high and white, and somewhere out to sea a storm was building…


Cayman Straits, Autumn, 1785
The Indomitable struggled in a short wind, her sails billowing awkwardly as Captain Alfonso fought to tack with the wind. Having left Domingo Sound a fortnight ago following the battle with the Pirates of the Karibbean, and had pursued the Great Glutton with abandon. Pierce was not about to let the loss of his friend, Captain Guildemont, going unsettled. He knew the Ogre’s vessel was wounded and he followed in hopes of delivering the final blow.

“Heave to lads! We needs to tack faster and catch the breeze!” he ordered and his men fought to bring about the new heading, the damaged rudder working on makeshift repairs. Alfonso gave the wheel to his helmsman, who was immediately turning hard on the wheel, wood groaning as he forced the wheel to turn, the protesting rudder fighting him every step of the way. Training his eyes forward, Pierce looked through his brass telescope, where he could still see the dark profile of the Great Glutton on the horizon, just beyond a series of small jungle-covered islands. Sliding it shut with a click, he turned to his lieutenants.

“Gentlemen, to stations.” he said calmly.

The Indomitable cut through the waves like a warm knife through butter, gaining the distance between the foundering Glutton with ease, the Schooner gaining speed as she closed. Alfonso moved among the gunners, observing placement of cannons, clapping men on their backs as they readied the weapons for one more battle. He clambered up the stairs to the forecastle where he could see the burned wreckage on the stern of the Great Glutton. He allowed himself a smile as his vessel drew close to the Ogres.

His heart sunk in his gut when he saw the Glutton tack starboard, revealing the masts of two more pirate vessels, the Asp and the Widowmaker, that were closing on the Indomitable. Already their cannons spoke, cannonballs whistling through the air, tearing into the Indomitable as the Glutton tacked right and brought its remaining broadsides to bear.

“Left helm, left!” screamed the Alfonso as he saw his folly. The swift Asp approached from aft while the Widowmaker changed direction to cut off the Indomitable to starboard. The Indomitable was trapped, her speed her own enemy as the helmsman struggled to turn the rudder with the help of several other crewmen. A sickening snap followed as the damaged rudder broke loose and slipped into the dark water of the Straits.

The gun ports of the Glutton opened fire, the report of the cannons echoing in Alfonso’s ears as the forecastle exploded in a mass of wood and iron, pitching the Captain into the sea even as the Asp took down the Indomitable’s mast with a blast of chain shot. The Captain disappeared into the depths with little more than a splash and did not rise from the cold depths. Meantime the greenskins massed on the deck of the sloop as she drew close, small weapons fire erupting between the Indomitable’s marines and the Orc pirates.



Scores of salt water crocodiles slid into the churning waters of the Straits, as the blood of the dead and dying drifted like clouds in the crystal blue water. A feeding frenzy erupted amid the flailing arms of the crews bobbing in the water as the monstrous crocs closed in for the kill.

While repelling the Orc boarding parties, the crew of the Indomitable was taken unawares by a blast from the bow cannon of the Widowmaker which had tacked to port and came up on their blind side, the shot destroying the gun deck and sparking a series of roaring fires that swept across the decks as Orc and human alike leapt from the burning wreck and into the sea, the crocodiles ensured that the struggling crew did not struggle long. Captain Kera stood upon her prow, her wild eyes flashing at the carnage her vessel had, as she sheathed her axe, thoughts of boarding gone when the extent of the damage caused by the Widowmaker’s cannon were revealed.

As her masts finally collapsed in a raging inferno, the Glutton put another broadsides into the stricken vessel, her hull splitting apart as the waves rushed in, drowning the crew trapped below decks and pitching her colors into the blood-filled waters. A final round from the Widowmaker shattered the stern of the Indomitable, the mass breaking off the front of the vessel and plunging into the waves, finally putting the Indomitable out of her misery…

Weeks later, the body of Captain Alfonso was found by a group of fisherman out of Nordlund, battered and torn with no sign of life in the savaged form. It appeared that every little creature from Domingo Sound to Nordlund had taken a bite out of the Captain, and it took several priests of Mannon over a fortnight to breath life back into his body. And so it was that Captain Alfonso returned from Morr's Garden, somewhat less than whole for the priests had been unable to save his left arm, instead a stub of bone and muscle remained where a healthy arm had once been...