Welcome to Conspiracy Coast: The First Morning

Morning in the Restless Wharf came early, with shouts and calls of fishers cutting through the still silence of night.

Though Maal and Bastien were used to early mornings, after their night in the bar below, both nursed tender heads.

Or at least Maal assumed they both did. Maal was never really sure how Bastien could hold his alcohol that much better than they did, and apparently this morning was no exception.

Maal heard Bastien’s feet hit the floor beats after the first fisher calls woke them up. A groan; they pulled their lumpy pillow over their head. “Good morning!” Bastien whispered, far too close to Maal’s ear.

Maal released a low, “Noooooo,” and tried to tuck themselves deeper into the thin cover, unwilling to face the early morning light.

Seconds later, the sound of the shutters cracked against the Cove’s wooden exterior, followed by Bastien’s contented sigh of happiness. “Maal, come on, you’ve gotta see this!”

Maal had witnessed more sunrises in their months travelling with Bastien than they had in the previous thirty-five years, even despite being a fisher’s child. Or at least it felt that way, they thought, as they slowly dragged themselves limb by sleepy limb from bed to join their friend at the window.

As far as sunrises go, this one was pretty incredible. The sun’s rays broke through the night, streaks of pink and orange piercing the darkness. The rolling sea spread out before them, fishing trawlers bobbing their way out to the morning’s work.

Maal rested their head against Bastien’s, enjoying the view and last moments of easy friendship before they faced whoever sent that letter.

A slow morning, because that’s what you get when you’re up at the crack of dawn, let them relax, eat, and muse over the meeting at 9. Finally, it was time to make their way from the Wayfarer’s Cove to the Dawn Treader.

“Seamus was right,” Maal said, as the pair passed yet another group of the Righteous Brand, eyeing them disdainfully.

They were almost to the Dawn Treader when a Captain from the Brand called to them. “Come! Join the Righteous Brand! You look like a couple of brave lads; this city’s protection is your duty.”

Maal shot him a disgusted look. “Go back North, you’re not wanted here.”

Bastien quickly grabbed Maal’s elbow. “Not the time, Maal,” he reminded them, steering them away from the Righteous captain. “We’re due at the Treader now, you can’t get into it.”

The Dawn Treader appeared before the pair; a much more upmarket inn than the previous night’s accommodation. A fresh coat of paint brightened the front, the sign blowing gently in the fresh sea breeze.

As the door closed quietly behind them, they stopped to look around the inn. The Dawn Treader was shiny wood and cosy corners, with an atmosphere of joy and luxury missing from the Cove.

Music drifted to them from the bard standing at the far end of the room, harp in hand. His long hair caught the Treader’s light, seeming to give off its own ambience, his fingers plucking out the opening notes of Zan’s Coming Back. Maal acknowledged him with a nod before noticing the figure beside him.

A classy and well-dressed man beckoned to Maal and Bastien, impatiently waving them towards the back of the bar. When they approached, he greeted them with almost a disdained flourish and indicated a door into a back room.

Before they entered, Maal noticed a drunk patron passed out at a table beside the door. Her soft snores a stark contrast to the early hour of the day.

A halfling sat with his legs up on the huge wooden table that took up most of the room. Maal nodded to him, noticing his scruffy face and the cloak pooling on the floor behind him.

Bastien and Maal made their way around the table so their backs weren’t against the door. They sat, Maal next to the halfling, and introduced themselves.

“Ratatouille,” the halfling said, nodding in their direction. He was young, but the lines on his face and set of his eyes betrayed a life of hardship and a cunning mind.

The door opened. A short, lithe, teal blue elf walked in, barely glanced around at the other people in the room, and relaxed against the wall right beside the door. His smooth black hair was pulled back by a bandana, his blue eyes sharp. Maal got the impression that despite his carefree posture, he didn’t miss a thing. A strange shield was strapped to his back, a thin rapier at his hip.

“Qwillin.” He introduced himself after catching Maal’s eyes on him.

Barely a breath passed before the door opened again. Two figures entered together, their companionship evident, despite their differences.

First, a young elf with fair hair, almost the colour of liquid silver, tied back in an intricate plait. She held herself with grace and poise, looking around the room critically at the other people gathered. “Adira,” she said as she quickly found a seat around the table.

Her introduction was overshadowed by the gigantic man following in her footsteps. An imposing figure topping 7 feet tall, at least 450 lbs, and draped in long robes. Despite his menacing size, Maal was surprised by his jolly face, covered though it was in thick mutton chops. “Moros,” his voice boomed while he took his position behind the seated elf.

The doors opened again and in walked the well-dressed man who greeted them all. “Thank you for coming,” he said, addressing the group before him.

“You have all been identified as people capable of great deeds and your successes so far have been noticed. My employer would like to hire you to retrieve a special package. You will be awarded 50 gold pieces each on your return.”

Moros was the first to speak. “What is the assignment? And who is your employer?”

The man looked down his nose at the large man. “You will enter the employ of Marquis Zhafe Uludan, I am his butler.” He paused, Maal thought, for dramatic effect. “If you accept the job, all of your belongings will be brought here to the Dawn Treader, where they will be safe until your return. The journey will be by sea to a private island, taking two days there and back.” He stopped speaking while Bastien interrupted him. “No, you will not know this island, it is private,” he stressed the word, “unnamed and unmapped.”

Silence settled upon the group while they digested the information. Maal thought it sounded mysterious, and while they were wary of entering into a Marquis’ employ, they also knew the value it could bring.

“I’m in.” Qwillin’s lazy voice broke the silence. “When do we go?”

“You’re to be at the dock at dawn,” the Butler said. “I will be going with you and you’ll be given more details whilst on board.”

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving the six strangers to look at each other quizzically.

Bastien leaned close to Maal and whispered, “What do you think about all this?” But before Maal could reply, the door opened again.

“Aha!” It was the drunk woman from the table outside. “I had you lot fooled. You thought I was asleep, but I heard everything he said.” She stood triumphantly before them, dressed in knee-high boots, leggings, and a tunic.

“Who are you?” Qwillin asked, first to open his mouth.

“Why, I’m Bloody Maggie! And I’m here to give you with a counteroffer. My crew will board your ship to retrieve the cargo, and all you need to do is stand down. Do you understand?”

Maal bristled. “No.” They shook their head at the pirate before them. “We won’t allow that to happen.”

Bloody Maggie pierced Maal with a look full of daggers. “We don’t want any trouble. Think about it,” her voice was persuasive. “Be ready when the magpie crows. You’ll know.” She didn’t wait for an answer before turning and leaving the room.

“I won’t lay down arms,” Maal said to the rest of the room in the silence that followed. “I don’t care who our employer is, I will not stand down to pirates.”

Bastien put his hand on Maal’s forearm, but before he could say anything, the door opened a third time.

The bard walked in with a flourish, smiling from ear to ear. “Hello there!” he greeted the room, making eye contact with each of them.

“You may call me The Passenger. I know you’ve already received two offers of employment, I would like to extend my own.”

Maal felt, rather than saw, the young halfling beside them shift.

“My offer is simple. I would also ask that you retrieve the package and that you bring him back alive. The cargo is a person. A certain Lord Brendley; he is the bastard son of a Dwendalian noble whom I’ve been following for some time. This is a good opportunity to gain his affection, attention, and favour.”

“And why do we want to help you with anything like that?” Moros’ deep voice cut The Passenger off.

“My request will not take away from your initial employ,” The Passenger said, warmly. “I believe it would do some good. Think about it. Maybe I will see you at the College of Glamour this afternoon.” He turned and left the group to ponder their options.

Sly and curious looks passed between the motley group. Qwillin and Ratatouille looked intrigued and up for the adventure, Moros and Adira seemed pensive.

“I don’t know about this,” Maal said, leaning close to Bastien and dropping their voice. They didn’t notice the halfling scooch closer to the pair to eavesdrop. “I can’t say I’m comfortable doing work for the Marquis.”

Bastien’s voice was low, Maal struggled to hear his response. “Three offers? Six of us? I honestly don’t know, Maal. It seems strange.” He understood Maal’s reluctance to work for any of the Marquis, however, and added with a frown, “As The Passenger says, maybe gaining favour with the Marquis will have benefit further down the line.”

Maal knew their friend was right, but it didn’t make it feel any better.

With their heads together, whispering, they weren’t aware of the dirty looks the rest of the room were shooting them.

“Well, I’m in,” Qwillin said, interrupting their private whispers. “Sounds like fun to me.”

The halfling added his voice, too. “Yeah, I’m up for the adventure.”

It took Moros and Adira a minute, but they, too, agreed to the quest. Finally, it was just Maal and Bastien. Another look passed between them, and Bastien nodded.

“But no pirates,” Maal said, cementing their position.

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This is the first part of the first session of the Dungeons and Dragons campaign: Conspiracy Coast