Continuing Adventures in Kurch

A missive from the proprietor of the Riscauld-owned Pigsticker Bakery, across from the Square House.

"Damn and blast this oppressive reach of blackened skies. When shall this wretched spit of weather stop hounding the good citizens of fair Kurch? Some days ago, as I was crossing the Noble Bridge as I often must to meet with our gracious host family, I was nearly overtaken in some of the worst flooding I've ever seen. It was like the waters of Nazeth's chambers had issued forth from the deepest earth and come to claim the unwary. The cold, dark clawed hands of that heathen spirit seemed to reach out and grab hold of me, and I lost all purchase. I would have plummeted into the Bospher, likely to my death, were it not for my plaids catching on the iron working of a lantern post. I wonder how much of the city you've seen since these rains began, but whatever the case I feel you have gravely underestimated how much ruin they pose to bring to the family.


I cannot express enough that the businesses of the Riscauld need more protection during this hectic, riotous age. At the very least, to prevent your holdings from receiving even more damage at the hands of enterprising villains, a doubling of the guard and escorts for deliveries. The unrelenting downpour drives the mad madder, and instead of righteously drowning them, rather inflames the courage of scoundrels. Not two days ago my cart was thrown to the ground by selfish blackguards, sickly urchins of the most pitifully wretched sort, shaming even parodical depictions of the worst stages. It was pitiful, embarrassing and completely avoidable had more manpower been devoted to keeping the family's business operational and protected. Near all of my breads, buns and baked wares ruined. It would have been worse, I fear, were it not for that Burduni man your grace has placed at the Square House. I hope you pay him well for his services, from what I saw he deserves more than to simply guard the luncheons. Hells, the foreigner who was with the Burduni was of more use than that nephew of yours. Damned child couldn't even keep a loathsome creature from accosting me in my own shop not a moment after the event on the lane.


I need to talk to either you or your liaison personally. Please get back to me as soon as possible, sir.

Your humble servant,
Aved"


Every culture of the world has legends of great floods. It would seem the apocalyptic storms of those tales have come at last to the city of Kurch. The entire city has nearly been swallowed by the rising waters of the Bosphur strait and the massive, crashing waves that beat and pummel the cliffsides. The Lost District has once again become its namesake, floating away in the rushing waters and claiming many lives in the destruction.

In Kurch, the occasional disappearance or grisly dispatch of one or two of the slaves under the Shelter or wastrel from the Lost District comes as no surprise to anyone. It's a matter of fact, for most people. A domestic hazard. For citizens in Kurch, the typified response to news of a similarly grim nature is inordinately flippant, almost nonchalant, about the proceeding. If the bodies of a few bottom feeders go belly up in the Strait, who is supposed to concern themselves with a matter so dull and unimpactful when they have other problems to deal with, like getting this season's crop ready for market, or obliging the heavy rackets imposed by the merchant owners of Kurch?

However, of late the frequency that the usual gossip turns to the "murders" in the Lost is surprisingly high. It's not often that a string of such cases happens in such close proximity to one another, so the Smoke District is abuzz with rumor and speculation as to the cause. Of course, investigators prying into the sordid affair are given few viable leads, though at the same time they are inundated with superstitious nonsense about angered merrows, vengeful nighthaunts, or even will o' wisps. Those charlatans calling themselves priests, shamans and scholars would take special, specific note of the last two, considering these mythic beings would be well out of their typical habitat should the proving of these cases reveal them to be the cause. Of course, the possibility that these disappearances are the result of some creature from the outer dark skulking in the shadows of Kurch is not entirely outlandish, but the exotic nature of such beliefs lends them an air that inspires incredulity. Most who concerned themselves even a little with these rumors floating about the waters in the Lost dismissed anything to do with such creatures as the frightful, childish notions of housewives and storytellers who took to the drink far too often. Myself, I think someone from the Stag probably just has peculiar habits for courting and dismissing his lovers. Olaf, over there, thinks it was a single man who was driven mad after a skirmish that left him wandering the desert to the south. I'm not going to claim any authority on the matter, I just think my theory has a certain mischief to it. I wonder if I could pen a poem about it?

The bodies? Well the bodies that find their way into the netting of the Lost a few days after someone is reported missing are mutilated masses of bone and tattered flesh, stripped of meat by the scavengers. You must have seen them if you've ever been near the waters, you can tell just by the bite marks. Nasty things like the needlemaws, southern Venedi crab, and barracuda swimming about in the strait, they've been known to clean a corpse in moments if they're whipped all a' frenzy. If there's any way to figure out who the poor soul was before their time in the water, (unlikely,) just about the only item of interest tying these seemingly randomly selected victims is their noted proclivity to sullen stargazing as they idly strolled the banks at night. From some, strange, haunting music is said to accompany these disappearances. I like that.
In any case, in the realm of solid evidence is that whatever is butchering these folk and tossing their bodies into the strait seems to pluck the depressed, downtrodden and depraved, of whom there are more than plenty living in the Lost. As of yet, there are no suspects and no clues linking the victims save the locale and this curious aspect of disposition. As well and perhaps most importantly, it is unclear which bodies are the handiwork of the butcher and which are simply unlucky debtors or sneakthiefs who got caught.

Just a few days ago, a trio of disreputables, (I can't seem to find a name that sticks for any of them,)  were seen stalking about the Lost at night. Two of them, a Venedian and a Burduni, were known to frequent the Bazaar of the Bizarre on occasion for business and pleasure.
I've had the strange fortune of having been "handled" by the Burduni during a particularly embarrassing misunderstanding regarding a cartographer and one of my many maps I found or purchased purely out of interest and hobby. I must say he was quite unkind to these old bones. But I bore you, do I?
One of them, a Parthan by appearance according to several witnesses, positively waylaid a fisherman and demanded information regarding the disappearances. Although the fisherman was a drunk and a coward, he relayed what he knew, which was obviously very little. The fisherman, Nikol, claims to have been beaten severely, and eventually knocked unconscious by the madman. I've seen the bruises, and they are quite unsightly. What, if any, connection this Parthan had to the murders before this night or to other two before their observed meeting in the Lost is unclear.
The other cagers and trappers who set their nets off the flotsam in the Lost have been saying that after they saw the Parthan beat and break Nikol to pieces (he still cannot tie a line without help, they say,) they observed the Burduni and the Venedian come to the shore, placing their heads to the water. Some of the fishers then go on to hum a tune they say they heard then, just before the Venedian plunged into the water and came out a moment later, wailing and screaming as though he'd been stuck with a redhot iron, and weeping as though he'd lost a lover. Inexplicably, the Parthan leaped into the waters, and drew steel. None of those who claim to have seen the event can lay down a solid claim as to what the Parthan was attacking, but they all agree that the waters then grew red with blood under the light of the torches and lanterns.

In the morning, the Lost was abuzz with gossip. The twisted, mangled body of a creature out of legend was splayed out on the jetty, just laying in the sun as though it belonged there. How absurd! It was left near where the three had performed their odd cabaret in the night, as best as my sources can place the event. Its face was fish-like, with rows upon rows of sharp teeth bared in a grimace that stretched from ear to ear. Its head was hooded like that of a cobra's, with fins and spiky protrusions jutting out along the hard, bony edges. Its body was like that of a man's, with two overly-long arms that ended in wicked, webbed claws and scaly flesh that fused near the waist into a single, lengthy, fish-like tail. All over it was covered with mottled scales of a range of color that made it look as though it were cast in bronze and left under the corrosive sea waters for decades. As the day went on, it seems the Burduni came along to collect the fish-thing for whatever aim, and no one stopped him from doing so. The Venedian came to the Lost and cast a few lines, and none approached him for his story. No one worth asking saw the Parthan after that night.

As always, it is a fun time to be in Kurch, as far as I'm concerned. The spiced cidar keeps my belly warm and my spirits high and I feel it in my bones: it's only going to get more absurd and interesting from here on, friends. Scoundrels such as myself can ask for nothing more in this life.

Map

Kurch - Life on the Ashen Sea

I ended up culling a large portion of what I had written for this, but regardless here's the bare essentials for the setting. We'll be starting out in Kurch, a city situated on a major aquatic thoroughfare built on top of the ruined legacy of a long-dead people.

In Kurch, you either have or you have not, the stark duality of the city's rich and poor being painfully evident for those without a coin to their name. Many people turn to crime in a bid to make a better life for themselves, despite the indisputable evidence that, in Kurch, crime does not pay and instead "pays back." Nearly everyone who lives in Kurch is dirty, including yourselves. You've lived in Kurch for about 1 year and a month, and the smells of the Smoke District are as welcoming to you as the finest perfumes, and though your friends on Pigsticker Lane are always looking for the blood that's owed them, you simply cannot resist venturing down to the Fountain for a drink and some smoked meats every now and then. Such is the life in Kurch, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HOEPzrrlU3SU2zv2_h61Fs937f6dsm2nTzUGj0gqKTw/edit

Character Sheet

I figured I'd toss up the character sheet about now.
I have maybe two (?) or so Disciplines left to finalize but they're all pretty much done. If you guys have suggestions or ideas for a character you aren't seeing supported, let me know and I'll work on it.
I'm writing up the setting prompt now; I should be done later this evening if I'm happy with the way I'm presenting the core ideas of the setting.

Old Version

New Version

Remember, you gotta download the file to be able to fill in the forms.

Sword and Sorcery Source Document

This is the mechanical source document for the Sword and Sorcery game. I will be updating this as much as I can with new Disciplines and other stuff I haven't gotten around to writing yet.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1e4Co04yQTwpxEGD-3Xit5K-q66vFjJCmpM4sehvotXw/edit