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October 19, 2014, 2:09 pm

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Cheka Man

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"Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve." - Smythe Voss, crewman of Siren's Laugh

Both stared off into the sea, simply content in each other’s company for the moment. A fleeting moment, as the young girl spoke up. “Smythe, you've told me many stories over the years but you've never told me how you lost your arm. You promised me you would when I was old enough to have tied every knot on the ship, and today was the Scaffold.” With a sigh the old man re-positioned his worn frame on the crow’s nest with his muscular left arm.

“My little Ami. Not so little anymore. I suppose you are old enough for a story of that nature.” The grizzled crewman tamped some fresh tobacco into his pipe. “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. It started from a tropic port, aboard a tiny ship.” Ami raised an eyebrow, incredulous of the musical tone. “What, you've never heard that song? Youngins these days, won’t spare a coin for a good bard.” Ami rolled her eyes. “Aye, aye. I’ll tell you the story of Avaricious.”

Many years back the waters were rough for several seasons and brought within a day’s sail of the mainland a wondrous floating island. The people called it Magpie Island for two reasons. The first was it was surrounded by birds, and the second is that magical trinkets seemed to follow in its wake. It was not more than a few days before it was swept back into the Dead of the gyre. In that short time it had sparked all kinds of commotion, rumors of pirate treasure, dragon hordes, wealth beyond imagining. Nobles, mages, and merchants alike all decided to mount expeditions, chasing after the island into the Dead. No one returned with any success, if they returned at all. Ours was going to be the ship to change that.

The Dead is a dangerous place for a ship. Without currents or air cabin fever sets in mighty fast, but this was the age of great magic, and we had a very wealthy patron. It was believed such things could easily be overcome with imprisoned elementals, citruses in preservation containers, and a water purification system with enough charges. They were right; sailing through the Dead was as easy as a dream for us. Some sailors claimed to see things in the water but we paid them no mind.

Expectations are treacherous things. When we arrived I could not, did not, want to believe this was the place of wonder and adventure so many of us had spent months dreaming of. The smell was simply indescribable, so laden with decay it was as if the whole island consisted of the bodies every dead fish and sea creature. Stepping onto the treacherous surface it even gave way like a bloated corpse. Perhaps the assessment was not too far off, as the surrounding waters seemed utterly devoid of sea life. Of course, it wasn't. Even in the massive floating pile of human refuse stranded in the middle of the Dead there was life. They had followed us. Skin whiter than cream and faces without eyes that see- they thrust up our discarded food tins, rigged playing cards, a pipe which no longer lit itself, every item of trash thrown overboard followed us to the filthy heap in their webbed fingers.

We couldn't leave empty handed. There was magic here, all of us could feel it in the fetid air, surely there were some artifacts worth saving. So the search began. I was the first to run into them, the crew of the Justification. They had been missing for months and presumed lost at sea but there was their ship, and most of the crew. They all looked in a bad way; salt crusting over their faces and sea-blind eyes staring vacantly out of hunched and withered bodies. Yet each of them, even the lowest crewman, had a pile of wealth beyond imagining. Enchanted music boxes, almost-full wands, ancient swords, things men kill for all discarded and floating in the ocean. The captain was excited, and asked to see what one of the men had found that day. He didn't understand it then, when the fellow pulled off his back the same pipe that had come from our ship. He grabbed the pipe from him and threw it off into the pile in disgust, the man running after it as if it was his most prized possession. Poor sap didn't get a dozen paces when several of his crewmates shoved him aside in pursuit. All of them fell into a soft spot in the debris, a trap created by one of the trash golems the place was infested with. The ones the golem did not get before they went under the water the pale ones did. A life holds magic too, you know.

Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve. How fitting that we should become so enamored of our worthless possessions we do not see the filth we create with it, fighting and killing and bleeding until only one man stands king of the rotting heap. You will remain trapped there as long as you cannot let go, and collecting is addictive. Even the smallest most worthless piece of vaguely enchanted garbage must be relinquished if you are to be set free, otherwise the pale ones will not let you leave. They will hunt you as you lie stranded without magic in the Dead praying for a swift death and drinking their sweet blue blood-

Smythe blinked, clearing the haze of memory from his eyes. He emptied the ashes from within the pipe, cleaned it, and set it within his pocket. Ami sat patiently, waiting for the story to continue. As Smythe began to descend from the nest Ami looked over the edge. "You promised you would tell me how you lost your arm." Smythe did not look up from his footing on the rigging.

"Who do you think was king?"

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Comments ( 11 )
Commenters gain extra XP from Author votes.

Voted Pieh
August 9, 2011, 3:49

Interesting. I enjoyed this tale of a Garbage Hell and its disgusting hoarders. There are a few parts that beg for more detail, like the insidious, trap-laying Trash Golems. Overall, it was a good little tale and moral lesson. It seems like it would be easily placed into many settings, which is nice, and is a perfect way to get your players to relinquish their precious treasures if they happen to get too many. Seems like a lot of sacrifice for little reward, but that is Hell for you.

August 9, 2011, 12:59
Thanks, it is a cross between a scene from Labyrinth (starring a young Jenifer Connelly and David Bowie's package) and the Pacific Garbage Patch. It's not really a place anyone would ever want to go if they knew what it was like, but rumors of a mysterious island full of magic items are sure to draw adventurers. That or the resurfacing of the all-powerful MacGuffin of Evil Slaying, which brings up the matter of how you would leave with it (mwahaha).
Voted Ancient Gamer
August 11, 2011, 18:18

Well done. You created something unique here, and I applaud that. 

Only drawback that I can think of is that my players would murder me if I sent them to a hell in which they had to give up all their earthly possessions. Yes, there would be an uproar, perhaps even riots in the streets.

Voted Siren no Orakio
August 11, 2011, 23:08

This is enjoyable. Also, I feel the need to let loose a mighty roar of laughter, right... here.

Voted Cheka Man
August 16, 2011, 13:27

A horrible Hell. The sort that the London looters deserve to be sent to after death.

Voted EchoMirage
August 18, 2011, 4:37

It's rather interesting, this one!

Perhaps slightly altered, you could leave with something of *true* worth, but not with stuff collected out of greed.

Also, if PCs bother to research a little, they may leave their equipment behind, stored, sail to the Avaricious, and reclaim their stuff upon return! If they don't inquire... well, they should have!

The trash golems and the pale keepers need to be elaborated, though.

Voted Dossta
August 20, 2011, 16:20

This is definitely something special.  The last paragraph, in particular, stood out for its excellent writing.  Don't have much to add, other than you could be a little clearer with the visuals on the crew for the Justification -- the Labyrinth comment really helped clarify that concept for me, because I didn't understand that the crew was carrying the trash piles around on their back the first time through.  Also, I agree that the trash golems and pale keepers could be further elaborated on.

Voted valadaar
August 21, 2011, 19:17

This is very good sir! I have to agree with dossta and it took me two reads to understand the King reference. Perhaps I'm just getting old :)


August 23, 2011, 5:20
It is very subtle, so is his pipe ; )
Voted Murometz
March 10, 2012, 14:12

Trash-golems and pale-keepers! A hell at least partially-inspired by the Pacific Gyre, and of course our debilitating need for "stuff". Great idea! Love Echo's thought on possibly stashing goods here, and coming back for them.

Voted crucifiction
October 17, 2014, 4:49
Very descriptive. I appreciate the storyline behind it. It has just the right combination of drama and exposition about the setting.

Link Backs

Random Idea Seed View All Idea Seeds

Wet Faeries

       By: Murometz

Sages and naturalists frown at the common name given to these strange creatures by the small folk, but sometimes the silliest nicknames for creatures, places and people persevere in the minds of many. “Purifiers”, “Pond Jellies”, “Breath-Stealers”, “Lung-Ticklers” and “River Butterflies” are much less commonly heard appellations for these life forms. Wet Faeries are basically (and simply) a species of fist-sized, fresh-water jellyfish. Several traits steer them toward the peculiar category however. Firstly, Wet Faeries are nearly invisible in the water, much like their marine cousins but even more so. One can swim in a river swarming with these critters and not even notice their presence. Secondly, they possess the unique ability to clean and purify whatever body of water they inhabit. They do this via some sort of biological filtration process, sucking in all toxins present in the water, and releasing it back in its purest form. Needless to say, they are both a blessing and a curse to whichever folk dwell beside the rivers and lakes Wet Faeries inhabit. On one hand, no purer water can be found anywhere than a Wet Faerie lake or pond, and yet, in “pure” water “life” tends in fact to die out, lacking the needed nutrients to prosper. Thirdly, their “sting” is (unfortunately) virulently poisonous to all mammalians. Wet Faeries are loathe to sting anyone or anything, using their barbed fronds as a last line of defense, but if stung, most swimmers will suffer respiratory arrest, and die within minutes, usually drowning before they can make it back to shore.

Alchemists, druids, and less savory characters have studied these creatures over the years, and have predictably found all the ways Wet Faeries could be exploited. Morbidly humorous, some bards find it, that the Poisoners and Assassins Guilds as well as the Healer’s Union, all prize these creatures. The assassins use the extracted venom in obvious fashion, while the priests and healers use the still-living jelly-fish to sterilize other poison potions and to cure those already poisoned on death’s door.

It is known that a certain Earl Von Trumble keeps his vast castle moat stocked with Wet Faeries, the waters so clear that every bone of every one of his past enemies can be clearly seen on the bottom, twenty two feet below.

Encounter  ( Any ) | June 20, 2014 | View | UpVote 6xp

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