Miroslav goes to his sea chest and pulls out a linen shirt and hands it to Barmak..."This should work. I am sure I will be able to replace it when we get in the city."

He then turns to Alyna and points at the small chest lying on the deck amidst the coins and gems and a smaller chest and says..."Something in the lock stuck him when he opened it." He then points to the big Norseman on the bench..."Pyotr was able to extract some of the poison from the puncture and he is still alive but I am not sure for how long."

Alyna nods towards the captain and crouches down over the scene. She does not touch anything, instead she just observes, concentrating on it. She makes out a few tiny specs of blood quickly, and there is another liquid there. Taking one of the coins, she carefully dips it into the alien liquid and then she holds it up in front of her lips, tasting the liquid with the tip of her tongue. Her face turns sour and she spits out a few times, then she gets back up, proclaiming: "It's Sharduvaak!"

She rushes to her chest, opens it and does something at the cover. She then withdraws her hand, holding a small flask. Again she rushes over the deck, this time to the norseman on the bench, yelling back to the captain: "Who's Pyotr?"

Reaching the norseman, she stops. Another Norseman. She then opens the small flask, takes a sip herself and drips some of the flask's liquid out of her mouth onto the wound. Then she opens the mouth of the Norseman and instills some of the liquid into him. Coming back to the Captain, she sais: "Your crewman should awake in some minutes. Now, please make sure this big spewer of vomit is held down securely."

Again she moves to her chest, doing something, and instead of the flask she now has a small package in her hands. She kneels down beside the fallen Norseman, opens up his shirt to reveal the wound and produces a curved needle and some thread from the package. She then starts stitching the wound together.

Dyanna watches the immortal go about her business and murmurs, "Handy, this one."

To the others she says, "I'm a traveler and a student, if you will...though a master of no particular subject.  I have learned to take care of myself, and find that first impressions are most often the least important, as the former Captain of our enemy found to his chagrin.  I have no particular loyalties, unless it is to the folk of the Evratos Valley, in the region where Sparta once stood.  There are few there now, and the once proud city has faded into dust over time..."

She looks around as Pyotr declares his weariness.

"Like our diminutive companion, I find myself weary as well.  Is there a place to rest awhile, perhaps privately?"

Barmak gives a nod of gratitude toward the captain, returning to Gultunga's side with the dry linen shirt.  He rips the shirt into shreds, making bandages enough to tend to the wound in the Stridesman's side with more besides.  He applies pressure to the wound as per Alyna's direction, and then remains by her side as she goes about her work.  He places his hands down on Gultunga's shoulder, intending to hold the larger man down, though he has little doubt the Norseman could fling him off like a bug were he at full strength.

As he crouches there, he listens to Dyanna's introduction.  He nods toward the aft of the ship, where the Greek sailors string up sailcloth as a crude curtain.  "Privacy is a hard-found thing on a ship," he says.

        Gultunga remains still as the stranger begins to see to his wounds
. . .

        "By the balls of Thor!  Your treatment of Gultungas wound tis much the more preferrable than that of the young lads red hot searing blade.  I must ask
forgiveness as the battlelust still boils within my very blood, and my wounds
doth not allow me to see as clearly as I should.  I shalt lay my suspicions
aside, and will do as thee bid me to do in order to get well."     

"Well, you certainly have some vomit to apologize for.", Alyna mutters under her breath, only Barmak might hear it. She sends her big patient a smile, saying: "You should be careful with movement in the next days, or the stitches might open up again. Also pray to your gods that your wound does not get infected."

Alyna then gently washes the blood away and applies bandages, hiding the sewn up wound. Turning to Barmak she sais: "I think Gultunga should rest now. Could you see to it that he gets into his bed or hammock well?" With a look down her dress that still clings tightly to her form she adds: "You do not happen to have a clean and dry dress in my size on board per chance, do you?"

Glad that he poured cleansing wine into the wound before the bossy old lady showed up, Pyotr wondered if the big man would fare better or worse for the absence of infection purging fire in his belly. It would be interesting to watch and see.

He turns to Dyanna, and listens to her tale. She gave the impression of being someone who had led a hard life, but buried her bitterness under a layer of humor.

When she finishes, he offers his own story...

"I am a child of the courts of the Kiev Rus, though I was born of forbidden lusts, or so my nurses always told me. Though I was raised in the moors of the motherland, I have been told I do not fit in there. Funny, being as small as I am, you would think I could fit in a cupboard, or under the bed, but it is not so."

Sadness fills his face, for he is, in truth, a lonely child.

"My mommy sent me to live with the Romans; she thinks a war is coming, and her father always taught her that it was wise to know your enemies ways. I am supposed to stay there but I missed my mommy, so I took my savings and I am heading back to visit her, for as long as she will have me."

He glances out to sea, where his previous transport had vanished beneath the waves.

"I guess she will have to hire a new tutor though..."

Dyanna laugh, a gentle sound, and she smiles at the boyish figure.

"Your humor is dry, Pyotr, and hides mas much as perhaps my own does," she says, pushing away from the ships railing and making her way to the sailcloth.

To the newcomer she says, "If you find some garb, I shall stand watch as you change."

With that, she slips around the sailcloth and out of plain view.

Barmak notices Alyna's downward glance and smiles at her question.  "Would that we had reason to have such a thing," he says, chuckling.  "I do not think our Jaleh has much of a wardrobe, even if she is near your size.  And if she did...well, I should prefer not to answer to her as the man who lent out her clothing!"

He offers Gultunga his hand, preparing to aid the man in standing and readying himself to support his weight with an arm around his back.  "Come, my friend," he says, "let us trouble this lady no further."

        Gultunga rises to his feet with Barmacks help and mumbles,
"My thanks Nymph . . . Barmack."

        The Stridesman searches out a place aboard the ship that is
out of the crews way and won't be jostled much.

        The Northman speaks aloud . . .

"Gultunga feels like clothing, stitches and all!  I could use
some strong spirits to raise that of my own."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Fri 08 Jan 2010.

Miroslav goes back to his sea chest and produces another long linen shirt and offers it to Alyna..."I am afraid this is the best we have to offer."

He then goes and stands at the rail looking out over the waves. The Rus fleet is almost all back, the Byzantine makeshift fleet is in ruins or fled and the ships of the city still remain safe in the harbor.

He then turns and speaks to the entire crew in a loud voice..."It looks as though our work tonight is over and the Zorya (Goddess of the day star in Slavic myth) will make her appearance in a few short hours. I suggest we turn in for the night and keep our regularly scheduled watch and see what the morning brings."

Just a note to the new comers...this is naught but a dragon ship, no going below, no cabins, now beds:) Just benches and oars for the most part. Luxury is not an option nor is comfort.

       Gultunga goes back to his rowing bench and lays down upon it to sleep.
The Stridesman dreams of past battles and romantic conquests.  Think-
ing to himself, hopefully I'll feel much better with the rising sun.


  How do you work healing from rest?

Reaching into his diminutive pack, Pyotr pulls out a small bedroll, and curls up against a railing near the back of the ship. He pulls out a small pouch, and nibbles on some dried meat and fruit, then falls asleep, quite concerned that when the morning comes he will have to drop his drawers and hike his white little butt over the railing to divest himself of tonights meal, with everyone watching.

Not much he can do about it now though...

Alyna accepts the shirt and thanks the captain with a smile that usually turns hearts into liquid and legs into jelly. She walks behind the sailcloth and climbs out ot her dress with some difficulty, as it is wet and she does not want to damage it. Wearing just her briefs, she then throws the shirt over her body. It only reaches down to about the middle of her thighs, but it is dry and it will have to do. Her kind does not feel the cold as humans do anyways.

Laying her dress and her shoes out to dry, she then walks back out from behind the sailcloth, moving over the benches with natural grace. She stops where the poisoned norseman is resting and checks on him. His breathing is regular and his heart beats strong. Satisfied she stands a while, letting the wind blow through her hair. It has been quite a day. One more thing to do.

She walks over to the place where the boy has curled up in his bedroll, strokes gently across his hair and carefully pulls up the covering, so that he will be warm. Then she goes back over the benches, her bare feet not making much of a sound, and disappears again behind the sailcloth. There she asks the Greek woman: "Would you mind sharing your space with me? We can keep each other warm."

"Aye, Ageless one," smiles Dyanna, her book away and her eyelids half closed.  "I am weary - 'tis been a long day."

Deep asleep, Pyotr smiles at the caress, and snuggles deeper into his covers.

His dreams are oddly pleasant, considering the days activities, but few others would be comfortable in a world made up of textured fields of power, merging, melding and dividing sentient numbers, and the occasional charges of multi-hued chess pieces riding to and fro.

It all turns to a cooler shade at Alyna's intrusive gentleness, and in his mind it is his mother who is stroking his hair. Slowly even his dream fades to shades of gray and green, and he sleeps peacefully, until awakened..

With the dawn comes healers from Sviatoslav's retinue on a small ship. Soon all who were injured the night before feel much better, perhaps not fully up to strength but close. Even Ulfr is up and moving about but slowly and he is still green around the gills.

Once the healers are done Miroslav asks Oleg to start heading to the other side of the city to meet the expedition and then tells Barmak to take a look at the chest so the contents can be determined.

A still and favorable wind catches te sail and Oleg has no problem piloting the ship as the Greek sailors throw together a makeshift feast for their new passengers...bread, cheese, dry sausages and green wine are layed out in one of the rowing benches near the front.

The big Norseman makes it to his feet but still feels a bit shaky. He manages to wolf down a bit of the food laid out on the bench before finding the small man and Elven woman.

"I thank you both for your assistance last night. I was a fool opening a chest I did not have the knowledge to open. Thanks to the both of you I am still alive." After speaking he finds himself a spot on one of the benches to lay down again.

Barmak feels a sense of relief when the healers arrive; while he felt somewhat confident in the bandaging of his wound, he much preferred the attention of someone who had studied such things.  Even if they were superstitious barbarian wise-men instead of educated physicians.

His thigh wound properly attended to, Barmak turned his full attention to the chest whose lock had somehow poisoned Ulfr.  He gingerly examined it, using the tip of his dagger to probe it, trying to figure out its workings in order to disable any traps and unlock the chest.


15:19, Today: Barmak Mahvand rolled 19 using 1d100. Locate/Remove Trap (35%).
15:19, Today: Barmak Mahvand rolled 6 using 1d100. Open Locks (48%).  Sweet!

Dyanna is up now, having awakened with the dawn.

"Clear skies - sailor's delight," she mutters the old adage to herself.

She makes busy behind the curtain, careful not to disturb Pyotr if she can help it - Alyna she knows hears her, and is awake despite her quiescent attitude.  Gathering her belongings, she dons her cloak and makes her way forward to watch as the healers ply their skills...the wounded attend happily, each looking better with the ministrations than before.

Passing forward down the center aisle between benches full of men, she makes her way to the bow.  Once there she watches as the ship navigates toward their destination.

"I'll be happy to see dry land once again, though there is peace this morn for a change."

Her words are murmured absently to herself.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:18, Tue 12 Jan 2010.

Barmak has no trouble with the chests that poisoned Ulfr...a simple trap but deadly.

Miroslav stands at the Persians shoulder and the man empties the contents out onto a cloth spread on a bench...the captains treasure! The big Rus immediately goes about sorting the loot into piles with the aid of Barmak.

1000 Gold pieces
1 gold ring inscribed with a flame
1 fine dagger
1 ruby with  a sigil incised
In the smaller inner chest a small faceted cube of greyish metal

         The Stridesman sits upon his bench, smiles at his companions, and
then takes a deep breath.  Almost healthy and hale once again, Gultungas
voice bursts forth to be heard by one and all . . .


            The seas tis the Norsemans unforgiving mistress.
            Its mercurial waters whether raging or calm,
            Our mighty resinous steed doth lithely and enduringly tread.

            To the beat of the drum doth our oars stroke e'vr forward.
            With great hope we look to the horizon for the sails of our foes.
            May we wonce again test our valor against their iron most deadly.

            To be found worthy is our utmost desire.
            Looking always forward to the greatest of rewards,
            To one day celebrate within Valhallas most hallowed Halls.

            . . . . etc., etc, etc. . . .

Dyanna's brief tranquility is disturbed by the uproar of the northman's singing.

"Better he'd remained unconscious," she muttered, with a glare over her shoulder.  Seeing the glint of gold from the overturned chest sparks her interest, however, and she makes her way aft toward the discovery.

"What have we here, gentlemen," she asks softly, her eyes alight with delight (nice!) at the stash...

Awakening a yawn, the young mage sits on his bedroll, his tousled hair in his eyes, and begins his morning studies. Several oddly large tomes, and even an ancient clay tablet, kept carefully wrapped in Egyptian cotton. While he studies, he nibbles on some dried fruit, and sneaks a sip of the wine that had been given to him the night before.

At the sound of the opening chest, he slips on his pants, puts away his books, and pads over to the others in socks, one big toe poking out.

Nibbling on a slice of dried apple, his eyes sparkle, though not at the coins.

"If you will give me a moment, I would like to examine the  additional items."

If there is no protest, he will pull out a handkerchief and lay the gold ring, the fine dagger, the sigil-marked ruby, and most carefully, the small greyish cube.

Once they are displayed to his satisfaction, he will begin to chant, and gesture over them, watching them closely, in an effort to learn even a little of their secrets...

Miroslav nods at Pyotr and helps him gather up the four items.

Pytor works his magic over the items and the following happens...

The ring begins to glow warmly with a faint light.
The dagger seems to do nothing.
The gem glows slightly but there is no other outward sign.
Finally the metal cube glows and begins to hum. This lasts only for about ten seconds. It glows brighter than any of the other items.