#seaside writings

[karmaalwayswins]

Writing Prompts: July 7, 2024

A handwritten account of one year's journey.

Rumors.

"They are expecting you."

Old men at the diner.

"The bread is still warm."

Dirty socks.

Clean towels.

"My oven stopped working yesterday."

Beige feelings.

"The weeds are getting tall." / "That's what they do."

Bonus Photo Prompt:

Photo Credit: karmaalwayswins

[writer-by-the-sea]

hello!! may i request something fluffy where a touch starved elliott is visited by a farmer who can’t sleep and wants to cuddle with him? they’re not yet dating, but there’s EXTREME romantic tension between them

Slightly BARELY NSFT, No beta, no spell check lol

The storm raged outside, the lighting illuminating my cabin, each flash of light shortly accompanied by thunder that roared so loudly it shook my bed. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, the rain beating down on the roof and providing me with the white noise I would normally crave; but now I laid there disturbed by the storm and sleep continues to evade me.

I let my thoughts slip to the farmer… Weeks ago they told me how they can’t have trouble sleeping through the night, that they were considering pills to help them through the night. I couldn’t help by wonder how they were fairing this night. Were they just as frustrated as I? Tossing and turning under the covers and considering giving up and waiting for the morning?

All I knew was that tomorrow would be a day with many cups of coffee, perhaps even an espresso or two.

I leaned over, reaching for my bedside lamp, flicking the switch with well rehearsed practice— only for the light to ignore me. I blinked at the light, tapping the switching again, and then once more..

“Lovely,” I mumbled and stood. The power was out.

Near my desk sat an oil lamp, one that I preferred to save for emergencies; I suppose this fell into that category. I considered what I would do with my time now, writing coming across my mind. Although, as of late, anything I’ve written has only been conveying my sappy and desperate need for the touch of another.

For far too long I’ve lived in this cabin alone. Something I thought I would enjoy, but I find myself feeling more and more lonely as each day passes. These days it’s gotten to the point where I find myself starved for attention. I wander around town more often than ever, finding excuses to see the others (mostly the farmer,) and I go on to bore them with tales of my unsuccessful writings.

With my lamp lit, I found my way back to my bed, my new plan for the night to reread over my pages and correct any mistakes I come across. Forever I will misspell at minimum ten words per page.

I may be a writer but I am no expert at spelling, ironic as it may be.

Just as I began to settle back in bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Willy visited in the dead of the night. He might be in need of some snacks if he saw Sebastian earlier in the day, or asking for help to shovel rain water out of his shop again.

I groaned and slipped out of bed, now giving up on my plans and preparing myself for Willy’s visit. A night of fishermen’s stories and tellings of his childhood. Not that I minded it, but I would rather relax tonight..

The knocking came again, urging me to open it and let them in. Part of me was tempted to ignore it, to pretend to be sleeping and leave Willy on his own — as rude as it may be.

But then—

“Elliott?” A voice called from outside my door, helpless and scared.

I ran to the door, flinging it open to reveal the farmer standing there. Drenched from head to toe, but still smiling as I greeted them. “Oh my goodness!” I cried and stepped back, opening the door even further and ushered them inside. “You must be freezing! Please, come inside!”

The farmer quickly ducked in, wasting no time in kicking off their boots and closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry to drop by so late,” they began and removed their jacket. “I just—“

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked and took their jacket. I hung it and then offered a towel.

They gave me a sheepish smile, nodding and accepting the towel. “Did I wake you?”

I waved them off. “No worries, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Is it okay if… I stay here a while?”

I could tell they were embarrassed to ask, scared even as they avoided my gaze. If not for the cold weather outside, I would think they were hiding heated cheeked. But that may have just been wishful thinking. “Of course!” I replied. “Stay as long as you like—“ I paused, looking over their drenched clothes and uncertain on how to phrase my next words. “Do you… perhaps need a change of clothes?”

The farmer looked down again, chewing their bottom lip and twisting their hands in front of themselves. “I don’t want to be a burden—“

“Nonsense!” I rushed to my dresser, plucking a few of my clothes out to present them. Mostly oversized clothing, things I haven’t worn in ages but I knew would be comfortable and warm. It would definitely be better than what they wore now, anyway. “Let me know if these are okay,” I said and handed the clothes over. “You can change in the bathroom if—“

“Thank you!” The farmer replied and took the offered clothing….

And then began to strip before me.

I gasped and spun around, heat flooding my cheeks from what I’d saw so little of. Soft, supple skin… A few minor scars across their body, no doubt from the farm and the mines… How I wished to turn back around and take them into my arms, to kiss every scar, to lick every curve, to worship and adore their body just as they deserved.

I held myself back, taking a breath and moving to my bed to readjust the blankets and pillows. I wasn’t sure what tonight would bring, I wanted to keep my hopes low but—

“You can turn back around.”

They stood there, my sweater hanging off one shoulder and my old pajama pants hanging low on their waist. “Sorry about that,” the farmer mumbled. “I was actually really cold and started changing without thinking.”

“It’s no problem.” I chuckled and took their wet clothes from them, moving to hang them in my bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Once in the bathroom, I closed the door behind me. How could they look so adorable in my clothing….

I slowly hung their clothing, willing down the urge to run back out and pull the farmer into my arms. To compliment them on how cute they looked, to kiss across their exposed skin and slip my hands under the sweater they wore. To lead them into my bed and remove their borrowed clothing piece by piece—

“Fuck,” I whispered and stared down at the shirt I held. I forced myself to hang it up with everything else.

Tonight, the farmer came to me for a place to relax. For a place to hide out the storm. For a place they knew they could trust without a starving writers wandering hands all over their body. Their perfect, gorgeous, sexy, strong body.

I shook my head and stepped out of the bathroom, ready to chat with the farmer about the weather, about the night sky, about everything but my cravings to just touch them. But all of the words fell out of my mouth.

They laid in my bed, under the covers and flipping through one of my books from the library. The light of my lantern dancing across them, their beauty freezing me in place. A fantasy I’ve dreamt of a million times, only now I could do nothing. My breathing unsteady, the palms now sweaty, my throat dry and all words failing me as I let my eyes trail over them.

The farmer noticed me and scooted to the side of my bed, pushing themselves into the wall before patting the empty side. “It’ll be warmer under the covers,” was all they said before they looked back down at the book. A book that only detailed the secret to ‘writing an award willing novel.’ Something I knew they wouldn’t actually be interested in but…

I climbed into the bed and slid under the covers, biting my tongue when my leg brushed against their own. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? There was no storm outside and I was simply in a very deep sleep. If not for the warmth coming from the farmer, I may have actually believed I was dreaming…

The farmer leaned towards me, their head coming to rest on my shoulder, their book now closed and forgotten in their lap. I kept my eyes forward, my hands turning to fists as I let the weight of their head settle upon me. “This is nice,” they whispered and snuggled in a little further, one of their hands going to lap on my arm. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I muttered back, gulping as they shifted even closer, their arm now laying across my chest as they got more comfortable. “I— I don’t mind.”

My body felt like it was being doused in flames, feeling more aware than ever of everything around me. The rain coming back to my mind, softer than before as it fell across the roof, the thunder still rumbling outside but now miles away, the farmers hair as it brushed against my cheek, their arm as it laid over my fast beating heart, their thumb as it caressed my arm.

“I really appreciate you letting me come in tonight…” I could feel their breath across my neck, my body shivering as I let the feeling wash over me.

I took a breath, attempting to form the words. Their legs were on my own now, the farmer pulling me further into the bed and encouraging me to relax and our combined warmth made my eyes grow heavy.

“I’ve dreamt of this so many times,” I said, my voice a whisper as I finally gave me.

The farmer giggled, their laugh light and adorable… and bringing what I’d just said to light. “And? Is it everything you imagined?”

I sighed and wrapped one of my arms around them. “Even better.”

In the morning I would wake with the farmer still in my arms, their nose tucked into my neck and snoring softly. Our first night together that would become one of many.

[galina]

An old friend moved away. At the weekend, we took the train to the seaside to see their new place. When we arrived they were stood in the station and all ten of us ran to place our arms around each other. A passing stranger took a photo of us tangled with the sun streaming in. We walked on the sand, offered each other shells, tenderly held hands and shouted over the sea, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ate chips, sang badly. Standing looking out at the waves, E came up behind me and put their hands on my shoulders. They said, 'we are so lucky'. It was restorative, so documenting it here 🐚

[lust4lore]

i’m back with more joe rantz songs. ignore the cringe and feel out the concept please im begging:

pink in the night by mitski

so it goes… by taylor swift

tear in my heart by top

me and my husband by mitski

work song by hozier

it’s nice to have a friend by taylor swift

it’s nice to have a friend ! 💗

A/N: please ignore the fact reader is technically supposed to be in a dorm 😍 also, i love songfics! hope this was something you were looking for. NOT PROOFREAD 🗣️🗣️🗣️

joe rantz who offers— who insists on walking you home after dinner. ‘it’s dangerous out here this time of night, just… let me take you, please, the walk’s not far’ for a moment, you’re conflicted. you don’t want to impose, you tell him, put him out of his way; but then, he looks down at you with that kind smile and those soft eyes, and, well, you’d be a fool to turn him down.

joe rantz who always has an eye on you, observing the way your eyes light up when you speak about something you love, engraining into his mind the warmth of your smile or the sweetness of your laughter. his gaze is fixed on you like he can’t look away, and so it’s inevitable that he notices the goosebumps that decorate your skin as the temperature catches up with you, the ones that would be invisible to anyone else. joe rantz who slips his jacket over your shoulders when he does.

joe rantz who enjoys his crewmates but enjoys you more, sneaking away from the noise of the post-win celebration to sit up on the roof with you. the two of you watch as the sun sinks into the horizon, the sky a soft pink above your heads. he asks you about yourself— about where you want to go, who you want to be, what you want to do— and you feel like it’s the first time anyone’s taken you seriously. you like him, you decide, and it’s apparent in the way your breath catches when his hand brushes yours.

joe rantz who comes to the conclusion that there couldn’t be a happier man on earth, carrying you over the threshold of the home you now share as church bells ring throughout seattle. you’re wearing a wedding dress and a bright smile, and he’s convinced he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

[midgeo]

[saturnniidae]

I think we should have more httyd or rotbtd horror

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

writing patterns tag game

Rules: post the last sentence from your 10 most recently posted fics (less if you don't have 10 is also fine).

tagged by @philtstone, thanks phil!! 💜

Beside the Seaside [wip]: “Frank.”

Soften Every Edge: [wip]: “Go fetch the logs out back, please.”

Where the Love-light Gleams: All was right in their world again.

When My Love Reaches to Me: “You’re my favorite person too.”

the best by far is you: “It’s good for morning sickness.”

The Lost Ones: He laughed at that and leaned over the console to kiss the smile on her lips, and started the drive home with her hand still clasped in his.

Up All Night: “Aye. Someday.”

Holly, Ivy, Mistletoe: “Just a little bit o’ togetherness.”

no-pressure tagging my buds @walkinginland and @theawkwardterrier!

[forestgreenivy]

A southern coastal setting is often the background to many love stories I’ve watched on screen. I think about the introduction to The Notebook, the birds flying above the Black River. Forest and Jenny. The list goes on and on. Take the people out of the plot, and there’s such a natural romanticism about the Lowcountry coast. It is a ripe setting for love. For me, that love starts and ends here. To feel so deeply connected to an area, and to love it so much. It’s hard to replicate. I fall in love with it over and over again.

When I decided to leave it two years ago, a piece of me was missing and I didn’t feel whole again until I was back. The fear of familiarity and the mundane consumed me. I’ve spent many of these summer days lamenting the cool air of the mountains, missing the summer days spent in the Appalachian creeks. An exciting deviation from the normal. I love it too. The way you love the excitement of an adventure, the rush, the constant of newness. Feeding into an adventurous rush. It’s hard to miss it. But…

I was empty there. I laughed and regularly lived in the awe of seeing places I’d never seen. I lost the familiar love of my life. The beauty in pointing my camera at yet another Egret. Watching the spartina grass finally hit its peak green in August. To then watch it fade to beige again. Seeing yet another lettered olive or little whelk along the beach. I will always pick them up. Watch the sun move over the horizon throughout the seasons.

I sat in my Greenville apartment all alone and decide to watch The Notebook movie because I had nothing better to do. The second those white birds flew over the Black River, a river I’ve spent so much time on, I would cry because I missed my birds. I missed seeing the things I regularly love. I felt like I was missing out on my own life.

Watching the coastal birds fly over to roost at the state park, watching the tide roll in and out. In and out. Who knew I would feel like I was missing out on something that seemingly never ended and something I saw every single day. I ultimately couldn’t take it. I gave up the promise of new sights and adventures to spent my days capturing yet another picture of some birds. To me, yes a waterfall is more magnificent than watching something I am use to. But that’s love. I look out at the cattails and brackish water. I listen to the Blue Herons abrasively honk. Who knows how many times I’ve been out in some marsh to watch it. It truly never gets old.

This area is romantic. At least for me. But not because of memories of lovers. No. This area is full of love for what it is. Something many people here deeply understand. When you see it through that lens, and you love it so much…. You can’t depart from it. It becomes the love of your life. Something I know I will grow old with.

If I make it to 80 or 90 years old, as long as I have strength to walk, you can find me out here among the wetlands. Over and over and over again. I love it more and more every time.

[popsicle-stick]

I don't know anything about England but I'm interested in how the characters' locations inform their characters like Seward's. I'd like to know more about the implications of being from Purfleet/Essex for example (Though iirc Stoker immigrated from Dublin well into adulthood so I don't know how well he knew all the cities.)

there's so much to be said! i really don't think that stoker meant much intentionally, but the placement of the asylum in purfleet specifically is interesting.

long post so i'm cutting this!

the asylum at purfleet, essex, is an example of the common 19th-early 20th century phenomenon of establishing psychiactric hospitals in the rural counties surrounding london - simultaneously serving as a 'tranquil' location away from the city, while also serving the dubious, cruel purpose of squirelling away would-be patients into residences away from the city - out of society, out of sight, out of mind.

in terms of jack seward himself, purfleet is a kind of an in-between, nothing place - things and people pass through, not much stays. (there's a reason why whitby is remembered as 'the dracula place', and not purfleet.) it's quite literally on the edge of london - of society - and in that scene where jack's looking despondently towards the sun setting west over london, his own isolation becomes palpable - from society and from the world as a whole. the endless, transient, liminal feel of the essex saltmarshes just....gives the vibe. this was a scene that felt particularly gothic to me - jack is the custodian of his very own haunted house, here, in all its bleak, isolated glory.

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.

this is an fascinating parallel with the count's situation in transylvania, which is NOT the topic du jour here so i'll stop before i ramble but compelling nonetheless! like the count, though, he's a liminal figure - in london, but not quite in london. in the group, but not in the group. alive, but not really living. wide awake in the witching hour, unsure how to re-integrate with society.

it's also worth noting that the opening of dickens' great expectations has pip in his childhood home on the kent marshes - which would pretty much be the opposite bank of the thames from purfleet. in great expectations, pip's village serves a similar role - the quiet, bleak, nowhere-place directly placed against the bustling cosmopolis of london.

in terms of other characters and locations, i've written a bit before about jonathan (and mina possibly) hailing from exeter, devon, in the south west of england - which is much further from london.

jonathan and mina, in terms of the group dynamics, are outsiders: they're very much lower middle class, hyper-aware of the importance of money and societal etiquette as a means for survival and social betterment. this is a personal hc of mine, but i like to think of jonathan as having the long supressed remnants of a devon accent. south west accents are often the subject of a lot of ridicule and mockery in the UK (akin to a southern US accent) and hiding that regionalism, in both the 1890s and today's britain, would be a means of survival and progress for him - i think the fact that he's always given a standard home counties RP accent in adaptations cuts out a major aspect of his character. he's a devon boy!

in contrast to all this, lucy's hampstead residence shows her affluence. it, too, at risk of breaking my social isolation metaphor, was on the edge of london at the time - but was known more as a wealthy suburb with huge areas of greenery at hampstead heath and highgate. there's something to be said, though, about a place like highgate cemetery - a liminal place between the dead and the living, between city and country, haunted at night by a vampire - and the same could be said for purfleet.

arthur is hard to pin down - for the life of me i CANNOT work out where 'ring' is supposed to be - at first i thought it might be a shortening for ringwood, hampshire, which could work! but i just don't know. his character does scream privileged southern/home counties though, and if anyone has any followups on 'ring' and its wherabouts i would LOVE to know because this has been bugging me for ages. lmao

tl;dr, psychology and sociology as informed by place is SO fucking fascinating to me like it just. it affects so much. from the liminality of certain places lending themselves to the supernatural, to characters being mirrored by their surroundings and vice versa, to the social implications of where you call home. it's just!!! interesting!!

[ro-sham-no]

a poem written carefully on a tissue (unused), a poem by me.

[aperiodofhistory]

As we are approaching the depth of summer, nature is getting ready. The fields are becoming golden, the grass more green. Flowers bloom in the shadowy parts of houses and the air is electrifying.

Does it happen to you also, that you start smelling the sea? My longing for being by the beach grows stronger by the day, as we come into July. I imagine myself walking amidst the pine trees and listening to bugs. Touching the tall grass, while nearing the beach.

Waves crashing into my feet, I'm now free. And the water awaits me.

[karmaalwayswins]

Writing Prompts: November 12, 2023

"There's a bear in the backyard."

Iridescence.

Three dozen Marilyns.

"Crepes give me the creeps."

Useful unsolicited advice.

Joy caused by a fuzzy striped shirt.

Indigo.

"My boss just got indicted."

Apple, bottle, knife.

"There's a dead body in the kitchen."

Bonus Photo Prompt:

Photo Credit: karmaalwayswins

[writer-by-the-sea]

Oh, how I loved Autumn. (NSFT)

As the temperature drops, the leaves turn to yellow and red, and I find myself digging in my closet for my light scarfs and gloves; I welcome Autumn with open arms.

I believe it is one of the most potentially romantic seasons of the year.

An excuse to go outside and find my way to a pumpkin patch, humming to myself and picking up pumpkins as though I am suddenly an expert on the Autumn squash. Gently knocking my knuckles against it's orange exterior, giving an aura of a poor lost soul who cannot possibly choose which pumpkin is the prefect one. The farmer finally making their way to me and taking the questionable pumpkin from my hands, their fingertips softly caressing my own in the process.

"Take this one," the farmer offers with a smile, holding out a new pumpkin for me to inspect. It's wide but short, a light orange with creases of white, and a beautifully twisted stem. I take a step toward the farmer, closing the distance between us as I examine the pumpkin of which I have yet to take from their hands.

"I wanted to try making a pie this year," I lie. "Will this work?"

"Oh," the farmer nodded and gently placed the pumpkin back on the ground. "Then you'll want pie pumpkins, these ones are mostly for display."

I smiled to myself as the farmer led me to another patch, making a mental note to come back another day for the decorative pumpkins. And perhaps another time or two after that.

"See these smaller ones? These ones are great for pie," they explained and grabbed yet another pumpkin for me. This one was very round and a deep orange, similar to a pie I would never make.

I reached out and carefully took the pumpkin from their waiting hands, making sure to overstep and place my hands over their own. To my surprise and delight, the farmer didn't step away. Their eyes held my gaze, their cheeks darkening, and their breath picking up.

"It's perfect," I whispered and finally took the pumpkin from their grip.

Then, I leaned forward, and pressed my lips to theirs. The pumpkin fell from my hands between us, completely forgotten as the farmer stepped into our kiss, their hands sliding up and chest and around my neck.

Tilting my head to the side, I sighed into the kiss, pulling back for a moment before kissing them again even deeper. The farmer let our the softest moan as our tongues came together, teasing one another and forgetting the world around us.

Their hands fisted the back of my shirt, tugging me closer and gasping as they felt my cock stiffening between us. I released our kiss, quickly ducking my head to settle at their neck. The farmer let their head fall back, sighing as I sucked at their tender flesh.

"Elliott," they whispered, one of their hands slipping down my chest and to my belt. I gently grazed my teeth against their neck, my hips shifting forward and into their open palm.

"Want you," I mumbled into their neck, quietly groaning as their hand slipped past my waist and--

"Excuse me, farmer!"

The farmer shoved me back, hard. My bottom falling onto the ground with a loud thud and a small shout.

"Yes, I'll be right there, Emily!" They shouted to the woman standing near the cabin, waiting for help with her own pumpkin. Blissfully unaware of the dangerous game we were just playing.

The farmer playfully glared down at me, tapping their boot into my leg. "Were you ever actually planning on making a pie?"

"No."

They laughed and walked away from me, "Just for that, we're making a pie tonight."

I chuckled, "Yes, dear. Although, I'm not sure we own a pie dish."

They continued walking, not looking back as they said, "wasn't talking about that kind of pie, husband!"

Oh, how I loved Autumn.

(Follow, like, and reblog for more Elliott content. If a writer doesn't receive praise they wither away to nothing ;P)

[seazengreetings]

Greeting cards were the original reason I named my business Sea Zen Greetings. Check out the link below!

-Todd

[dailyadventureprompts]

Mystery: The Inheritance of Old Havoc

 After earning the favour and trust of the up and coming orcish trade magnate Kardin Havelock, it seems your party’s next adventure will be crashing a potentially violent family gathering. Kardin’s aging father earned great renown and a noble title some decades ago for his work as a privateer, but has been cagey about who will inherit the title since the death of his eldest child. Fearing the rash action and jealousy of his siblings, Kardin has hired you all on as bodyguards and passed you all off as servants as he joins his family at a distant coastal fortress. 

Hooks:

This adventure can either be run as a oneshot, with the party made up of sellswords and trusted employees in Kardin’s enterprise, or as part of a larger campaign. With the latter option, I’d suggest having the party run a mission or two for Kardin first to establish their relationship, perhaps defending his cargo from pirates or sorting out the difficulties when a monster decides to make a home in one of his warehouses.

I primarily built this adventure as a living example of my “how to run mysteries in d&d” system, so if you’re interested, pop over there to see how this is run under the hood. 

Secrets, betrayal, pirates, witchcraft, and murder. All these and more await you under the cut as I go into detail about this mystery’s many moving pieces. I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I hope you enjoy it too.

Briefing: Who the party knows, and what they can easily find out.

Kardin is the youngest child of the Havelock family, largely overshadowed by his brothers and sisters growing up, he struck out on his own as a merchant sailor and has done quite well for himself trading in ports both foreign and domestic. Thoughtful, though ambitious, Kardin believes his father sees him as the logical choice in inheriting the family title, and has only withheld from naming him as heir for fear of his sibling’s reactions. 

Kazdak is the family patriarch, a widower of some fifteen years, about whom the title of Count hangs uncomfortably as a fine silk shirt on a grey brindled boar. A born fighter who’s been forced to resign himself to old age, Havelock earned himself the nickname “Havoc” in his younger years, by carving a bloody swath through the pirates who prowled the kingdom’s coasts and tradeways looking for plunder. Kazdak was so effective the crown awarded him with with a title and a generous pension, on which he retired after surviving a pirate raid that killed most of his crew. Since then Kazdak has been cold towards most of his family, distant in person and communicating mainly through letters. In recent months he’s taken to staying up late writing or staring into the fire, having only his new dog for company. 

Akado, Oldest of Kazdak’s surviving children and a captain in the royal navy, described as a swaggering brute by her rivals ( and siblings). Growing up Idolizing her father and wanting nothing more than to continue her family’s reputation as terrors of the sea, Akado became a soldier of the crown and has been collecting scars and trophies from various battles for the past twenty years. Captian Akado believes she should inherit the title by virtue of being oldest, but deep down fears that her father has deigned not to do so because she has failed to live up to his expectations, or the name of Havoc

Zaddak (or Zak to her friends) is the imprudent socialite middle sibling, who used her father’s title to catapult herself into good society and all the bad habits that comes with it. Living for scandal, over indulgence, and illicit substances, Zaddak might be a total writeoff if she was not also a prodigiously talented mage capable of wielding lighting and famously once rending a deadly hurricane in half before it made landfall. Zak doesn’t care much for the title of Count itself, but whoever inherits will control the small fortune Kazdak made in selling commandeered ships to the crown, which means they can cut her off from the money that goes to feed her gambling debts and various addictions. 

Alyo (deceased). Wife to Kazdak, put much of her ambitions as an artist and own life aside to raise their four children nearly by herself while he was off privateering. Beloved by all and encouraged each of her children’s interests while allowing herslef to fade into the background, silently suffering from an illness that took her life a little over ten years ago. Kazdak has the only portrait of her but has kept it covered out of grief.  

Dalyk (deceased). Kazdak’s eldest son who died nearly fifteen years ago while at sea. Born before his father set off in service of the crown, mentored Kardin in sailing and was swept overboard when a vessel the two of them were in was caught in a storm.

Sequence of Events:

Kardin and the party arrive at Breakreef lookout by skiff, the skies promise a storm, as does their employer’s on edge mood.  Kazdak meets them on the stairs as they make their way up from the dock and welcomes his son up, directing him to his rooms and the party to their place in the servant’s quarters.

The party is allowed to get settled and do a bit of nosing around while Kardin and his father catch up, talking to the servants (and potentially being roped into preperations), poking around the fort, and potentially running into the other siblings: Akado is on the ramparts inspecting the old siege weapons used to hold off pirates back in the day, Zak is bored and has sulked off to the foretower, using her magic to doodle on the clouds. 

The Storm breaks. Zak and Kardin have tea together and gossip, during which Kardin encourages the party to go snoop around. Akado, a canny judge of character has sussed that the party aren’t infact servants and goes to see if she can goad the most dangerous looking one into making a move, confirming her suspicions that they’re hired muscle. 

Dinner is a shitshow, Kazdak has the portrait of his wife brought out and hung on the wall making all the siblings feel uncomfortable and Zaddak has gotten high to deal with her nerves and keeps wandering in and out of lucidity. Kardin and Akado quickly grow tired of talking around the reason that their father has invited them there and nearly get into a shouting match over the matter of inheritance as Kazdak gets more and more evasive.

In the middle of all the chaos the dog starts barking and the servants panic, apparently a ship (not a skiff, but a full on brig) has dropped anchor outside the fortress and those aboard are currently climbing the stair. The doors crash open with a peal of thunder and who should walk in but Dalyk, clearly alive, flanked by a dozen or so rowdy pirates sailors, soaking wet from the rain and chastising his old man for starting dinner without him. Kazdak doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that Dalyk is alive, though he does take exception to the crew of armed miscreants currently dripping all over his hall. If the party isn’t careful here, Akado and the frightened servants might just start a brawl, which Dalyk seems more than happy to join in with, though their father will put a stop to things before anything comes to blows.

With a promise by Kazdak that all will be explained in the morning, Everyone retires to their rooms, with Dalyk’s crew posted up in the hall. The servants are all a buzz and the siblings are in an uproar, but Count Havelock is master of the house, and folk tend to follow his commands.  The party will have to be careful if they want to investigate, but creeping about in the dark will let them spy on the secret dramas that play out over the next couple of hours. 

In the dead of night, with the storm not yet abating, those still asleep  will be woken up by the cries of servants. Akado apparently sent them searching after Kazdak half an hour ago when she went to talk with her father but couldn’t find him in his quarters or anywhere else sensible. They discovered him in the disused tower on death’s door, passed out from bloodloss, chilled to the bone from an open window, and with a strange dagger carving a terrible wound in his midsection. The siblings demand to know what happened, blame and accusations fly, and if someone doesn’t start answering questions soon, it’s very likely that Breakreef fortress will see battle once again.  

Some time after the party have become fully embroiled in the mystery and each of the Havelock siblings have barricaded themselves in a different corner of the fortress , the Count’s dog will rise from its place by the fire, stand up, remove his magical disguise, introducing himself to the party as Deacon Riax servant of the witch god, and inform them that unless they want a lot more people to die, they’re going to have to have to ensure Kazdak Havelock dies before dawn. 

Mysteries: Things the party can uncover, with minor requiring only a little snooping but major requiring the party to win trust and gather clues.

 (minor) Both Kardin and Zaddak are terrified of Akado, who bullied them relentlessly as children, once going so far as to nearly drown her sister when she stood up for herself. This latent fear and Akado’s history of military sanctioned violence spurred Zak to learn magic in order to defend herself, and prompted Kardin to hire the party in the first place.  Who knows? All the Havelocks, the oldest servants.

(minor) Kazdak has known that Dalyk has been alive and acting as a pirate for years, having maintained a lengthy correspondence with his apparently castaway son. The Eldest Havelock sibling apparently wants nothing to do with the title, despite his father’s insistence that he return home. Who knows? Kazdak, and anyone who reads the many letters stashed away in his office.

(minor) Alyo was a follower of Wee-Jass, a forign goddess of power, death, and passion, working much of the witch goddess’s iconography into her paintings. This includes a skull-ruby medalion which she wears in the portrait unveiled at dinner, and which Kazdak has carried since her death. Who knows? Anyone with theological training that looks at the portrait or the pendant. The Havelock siblings remember the pendant but don’t know much about religion between them, and their mother was private with her faith.

(minor) Count Havelock has been having terrible dreams this past year or so, and has been in frequent council with a mysterious foreign priest by the name of Riax who comes and goes from the fortress without anyone seeing how. The servants often hear them talking, but enter the room to find Kazdak alone.  Who knows? The servants, though they’ve been sworn by their employer not to speak to the siblings of the red robed priest.

(minor) Both Akado and Zaddak are well aware of Kardin’s ambitious streak, and have a sneaking suspicion that their younger brother had something to do with Dalyk’s disappearance. Ruthless Captain Akado believes it far more strongly than the ever sympathetic Zak does.  

(minor) Though muddled by blood, rainwater, and the actions of hasty servants, the disused tower room Kazdak was found in bears signs of being used for some occult ritual.

(minor) After dinner, Kardin snuck out to talk to his father but had to double back when he say Dalyk walking through the halls. For his part, Dalyk maintains that he didn’t get to talk to his father, hearing him having a stressed conversation with an unknown voice through the door.

(minor) Akado will patch up her father using some field medicine and whatever help the party can offer. In her estimation, anyone else would have died from a wound like Kazdak suffered, but like her, Old Havoc was toughened by many years of combat and held on by a thread. The knife itself is odd, ornamental though still sharp, not her first choice for a murder weapon.

(major) Though most think he made his name and fortune as a hunter of pirates and raiders, Kazdak supplemented his commission by engaging in the crown-sanctioned persecution of a local coastal people known as the Valtal, destroying their villages to push them out of land the kingdom wanted to occupy. An old man no longer proud of the bloody deeds that won him his title, guilt ways heavily upon the Count, doubly so that the navy continues his brutality as a matter of policy. Who knows? Kazdak, Dalyk and Akado, though she takes pride in being the hobnailed boot of the state.

(major) Lost at sea, Dalyk was taken in by the very people his father was set to exterminate, Outlaws and Valtal people forced into piracy through desperation. He rose in their ranks, and eventually married into their culture, renouncing his father’s name and swearing an enmity against the royal navy. Who knows? Dalyk and Kazdak, though the Count thinks he can convince his son to come back.

(major) Kazdak’s dreams are symptoms of a fiend’s bargin coming due, a thing of violence and fear that had been feeding off his evil deeds for years before he was struck down in a clash with pirates. On the edge of death and with a mouth full of blood, Kazdak wished more than anything to see his family again, which the fiend took as terms, driving its talons into his soul to afix it to his body until his flesh could heal. Dwelling on this unwitting pact during his recovery and long journey home, Kazdak developed a fear that if he ever saw his family all at once, wife and children together, that the fiend would take them in his place. Avoidance worked for many years, until dreams of his children’s violent death convinced him that the fiend was tired of waiting for him to fall into its trap.  Finding no solace in local temples, the Count sought out a priest of his departed wife’s god and enlisted his help. Together, he and Deacon Riax formulated a plan, gather his family and subvert the pact by performing a blood sacrifice before the demon could claim his due on the anniversary of Kazdak’s averted death. This likely would have worked had Old Havoc not been so hardy, or had his body not been found. Now time is running out and the only way to avert disaster is for the party to finish Kazdak’s self-assassination. Who Knows? Kazdak (unconsious) and Riax ( disguised as a dog)

From there the story branches: None of the siblings will be on board with killing their father and will likely think that any explination as to why is part of a botched scheme orchestrated by one of the others. Zak or Dalyk could possibly be convinced to help and Kardin might step aside, but Akado will hold out until the end. Right up until dawn breaks, the fiend possesses her father’s exhanguinated body, and snaps her neck.  Unless somehow exorsized, it will persist until it has killed each of the Havelock siblings, then retreat allowing Kazdak see his family one last time before his body gives out from under him.  A tragedy the party will be hardpressed to prevent unless they are lucky, tactful, and act very quickly on the words of a man who was pretending to be a dog for most of the last week.

[midgeo]