conversations: human
conversations:  The young man stood in the uppermost branches of the tree, looking out at the weathered old dock, the tall grass around it swaying in the breeze. Strange, there wasn't a sea for hundreds of miles, but there the dock stood, in the small clearing of the forest, slick with seaweed and studded with barnacles, in clear defiance of the woodland about it. A small battered brass lantern, a spyglass and a small tinderbox lay on the slick deck, alongside a strange shell, colored a pale silver. The smell of salt fills the air, but nothing stirred.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler 
  Fostin was a runaway. In his youth, he grew bored and angry at the small village he was born into, and his parents and sister's quiet resignation to living such a mundane existence. So without a word, he just left everything he knew behind and never looked back. A few years later, traveling on his own, has taught Fostin how to survive by himself, how to gather and kill that which is valuable to others so that he might trade and barter with the other settlements he ran into. He made himself quite happy living this way. But he constantly felt called to more.
  
  He heard the wind whisper his name whenever he stayed in one place to long. He had to constantly be on the move, or else he feared he would become trapped in one place forever unable to move.
  
  He would not let that happen.
  
  Equipped with a bow and a small knife, a pack of food and water, and a hammock for rest each night, Fostin traveled the wind-swept plains and mountains in a perpetual state of exploration. And the wind spoke back to him sometimes, teaching him how to control and harness it. The more like the wind Fostin was, the more the winds would teach him...
  
  Skills:
  Speak wind: 2d6
  Archery: 2d6
  Climbing: 2d6
  Sight: 2d6
   
  
  
  Fostin is extremely excited by his find. A part of his mind tells him he should be nervous or afraid, as this is just too strange to be entirely safe... but his inquisitive side takes a stronger stance and demands explanations. He climbs down from his observation perch and makes his way on to the dock. He grabs the most interesting item before him, the spyglass, and holds it to his eyes, gazing through it in a circle around wherever he is currently standing...
conversations: AngryCyc:
conversations: human
conversations:  The sound of crashing waves fills your ears, sea spray dampens your face. For as far as you can see, a blue/gray ocean rolls on to the horizon. A small ship, hardly bigger then a rowboat, pitches and turns, aimlessly tossing and rolling, waves sometimes swamping her. Still, through it all, the lantern at her bow shines unfailingly, a small spark against the stormy sky.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Well... not the strangest thing to happen...  
  
  Intrigued even more, Fostin grabs all the objects on the dock and climbs aboard the rocking boat... waiting to see what will happen next. Should nothing happen, he takes the time to examine closer all the objects he has picked up.
conversations: AngryCyc:
conversations: human
conversations:  As you do so, your boot slips through the ship onto grassy earth. As your one closed eye blinks in surprise, you realize you are still standing in the clearing, the dock to your left.
  As you raise the glass to your eyes again, the ship begins to roll and pitch more seriously, it's lantern flashing imploringly at you.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Fostin feels around trying to see if the ship or the sea have any physical form outside of the vision in the spyglass. He tries to grab onto the lantern as well.
conversations: AngryCyc:
conversations: human
conversations:  Though the spray soaks your hand, the boat seems to dance tauntingly out of reach, drifting further and further away. It's lantern gives a blinding flash, causing you to drop the spyglass to shield your eyes.
  The spyglass rolls to the edge of the dock, coming to rest against the lantern there, the spitting image of the one on the ship. The shells and tinderbox nearby glow gently in the midday sun, and the air is filled with the whisper of the ocean, echoing from the shells.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Fostin starts fidgeting with the lantern, trying to make it shine as brightly as the one in the spyglass.
conversations: AngryCyc:
conversations: human
conversations:  The lantern in your hand flashes brightly, and goes on shining.
  The world is still. No, wait. Far off, you can hear a distant roar, and salt wind whips your hair, whispering in your ear of foreign lands, and the call of the sea.
  Now you can see it. A white crest of foam on the horizon, racing nearer. Gulls wheel and cry, as the sea surges over hill and forest, mountain and valley. The mermaids dance on the crests of waves, calling a greeting to their sisters, the river maidens.
  Onward and onward, the ocean rolls, and just as it seems the breakers will swallow you whole...they stop, curling up around your feet, lapping at the dock, and at the sides of the small boat, tied at the dock, just as if it had always been there.
conversations: D20ragon: