15th Annual Stjordvik Regatta

There's little time left before the presentation and our friends visit Herr Galaktik to find out what he has planned for it, they hadn't asked about this yet. The Otteun explains that he does what he does every year; oil up his fighters and show off their muscles. Our friends decide to go with it and enhance the presentation with some spells.

The Presentation

The president of the Buel Vitta Society stands upon a towering podium above the crowd, smiling vaguely, flanked by two other members and the new harbor master. Their backs are to the docks. Behind them, the ships wait for the presentation to begin. "Eight of the most esteemed contenders take part this year," declares the president. "Who will be up the challenge? The Cove Cup, ladies and gentlemen!" The president talks (at lamentable length) about gamesmanship and honor.

Then the famous bard Ian Gaff takes the stage and begins his monologue. "My friend Danny was going to be presenting today but due to an unfortunate medical emergency he couldn’t be here with us today. Now, due to privacy concerns I can’t go into details. But what I can say; if your erection lasts over six hours, go see your alchemist."

• "Let’s hear it for our organizers, the Buel Vitta Society. I went for a meal at Norbana’s the other day. I said to the waiter: 'There is no chicken in this chicken soup.' He answered: 'And there’s no horse in the horseradish either.' I kid, I kid; best meals in town!"
• "When we go out, my wife and I always hold hands. If I let go, she shops. Her favorite? Caeles Emporium. Did you hear about the two thieves who stole a calendar there? They both got six months."
• "So I was out in the Harbor district and an Abraxis wagon ran over me. Just as I was getting up, the driver shouted: “Look out!” And I said: “why, are you coming back?"
• "Now, House Ditta, they got a lot of crate-ive thinkers there. All my puns are crate. What, you don’t appreciate my puns? Bunch of in-crates!"
• "I went to the House of the Awakened, wanting to get blessed. Guess what they told me? Do it yourself."
• "Do you know how they separate the men from the boys at Against the Grain? With crowbar!"
• "And then there’s the Pearl. I should be careful what I say or I’ll lose my frequent visitor discount. One day I was up this mountain, walking down this narrow pass, there wasn't room for two people to pass. A beautiful girl from the Pearl came down. She was so beautiful I didn't know whether to block her passage or toss myself off."

A warehouse next to the podium has been cleared for the teams to prepare their presentations. One by one the competitors go up onto the stage. As they step up, the crowd roars, cheers, boos. Fistfights break out between rival supporters.

• Against the Grain brings up their oiled fighters, Harpin moves around with a buckt to keep everyone shiny. Call Lightning, Shatter, and other spells by Regius make it quite the spectacle. And they have not one but two songs: The Waves’ Judgement Day and Pompen of Verzuipen.
• The Companions of Elric do a rather dry presentation, just like every other year. There are testimonials both about what good they’ve done and how nice it is to be a member. Their song: Good Company.
• Next, the Buel Vitta Society themselves. They come out on stage carrying drinks, and just smile and wave with their walking canes and hats. All accompanied by their song: La Vie en Rose.
• Abraxis Combine are quite dry as well, they don't care much about this part of the proceedings, they are purely focused on how they are going to get from A to B.
• Caeles Emporium soon becomes the crowd favorite, like most years. Floating over the crowd are halflings in colorful outfits hanging from balloons, they drop tchotchkes and candy to the crowd below. All while some of the best bards in town are playing their song: Sale is Sale! Lala lalala.
• House Ditta is normally also not to concerned about the presentation but this year they are showing off a new innovation; a front rudder. And their song is House of the Rising Son, an anthem to Princ Ratik Meloi.
• The House of the Awakened are first time participants and focus on their people, who will be bringing victory. "You, too, can be a winner, if you accept Ancev’s tennets!" They are very much using the presentation as a way to convert people to Ancev. They also brought a full choir of children to sing their song: The Champion.
• Last to go are The Pearl, another perennial crowd favorite and they do not disappoint. There's a chorus line of some of their best people and then a striptease and poledance up against at ship mast, enlarged via a spell. Everyone had bodypaint steering wheels on their breasts. Their song: Never Gonna Give You Up.

Final Preparations

The days before the Cove Cup are chaos. Signs in shop windows proclaim proud support for their team. A man is tarred and feathered for claiming that the whole regatta is faked. Effigies of one competitor or another are burned in the streets, and bookmakers stop posting odds for fear of their betting-shops being burned down if they favor one side too highly.

Harpin still needs his fist-sized gem and fortunately a missive from Zilgim Zebbleck arrives. They go to him and he has a wooden box for them that contains a very large sapphire. He warns them though; he wants it back, intact, as soon as they are done with it. With that, he hands it to them. The warlock goes to visit his old friends Elna en Orwin Twistshield. Together they manage to attached the gem in a metal cage to the bottom of the hull of their ship. Once the regatta is under way, Harpin disappears below decks every so many hours.

Now all they need to make sure of is that they will be in charge on the ship and not Herr Galaktik. They go and see him and claim that they had a vision from Ulaa that said that the party should be the one to guide the ship. They are quite persuasive but it's not quite enough to tip the scales so they suggest that a drinking contest between the weakest of them, Harpin, and the Hetman should be all the proof needed that Ulaa is truly with them, if they win.

Thanks to the judicious use of some spells, including Neutralize Poison, and good acting by the gnome the contest is won and Herr Galaktik concedes defeat; he'll allow our friends to be in charge during the race, he'll still be on board, of course. The party is fine with that and Butch goes to make some hangover food for the Hetman.

The Race

[Some of the above and much of the below courtesy of Fallen London.]

The day of the regatta comes as a relief, like a fever breaking. Magical fireworks sparkle above Stjordvik streets. An immense crowd descends upon the docks, waving flags and singing drunken songs. Then it’s time and everyone makes their way to their vessels. You wait aboard your ship. The crew have fallen silent. The crowd, draped across the docks like a shroud, hush.

"Cast off lines!" declares the president. (Your crew untie the mooring-ropes.) "Ready sails!" (Your ship's sails are hoisted.) The president raises a flag. "Let the Cove Cup"⁠—he drops the flag⁠—"begin!"

Sleek as a seal, you glide out onto the water. People throng on the docks, cheering the ships on. Patrons spill from the Medusa's Head, waving blunt instruments encouragingly. Someone flashes an enigmatic lantern from the light house.

As you pass The Bank, the Sarodin Sea opens up ahead, blue and endless, like an incomprehensibly vast mouth intent on consuming you, your ship, and the city behind it. Your vessel begins a slow, wide turn, following a route outlined by brightly-painted buoys. Your ship cuts through the water like a vengeful shark, sails rippling like fins. "Now's the time to get early licks on the Dennis," says the captain. "But no bones, 's'early bells." The Helpful Bosun translates: "Now's a good time to establish a lead!"

The House of the Awakened are tragically bogged down in a patch of kelp and netting. "Slice o' bonny!" shouts the captain triumphantly. The cheerful hubbub of the city is soon lost amid the flapping of the sails, the groans of the hull, the unceasing thunderous pulse of the sea. Eventually all you can see is Fort Gunnlaeif on its hillock. Then even that is gone. A brightly-painted buoy bobs past, bell clanging mournfully. This will be the last route-marker you see until you return. You are truly at sea.

You hug the coast for a time, as you make your way south. The rocks are sharp as knives out here, and barely-hidden beneath the waves. Your progress is, necessarily, painstaking. Once you curve away from the treacherous shore, you're able to test the limits of your ship. "Spitcher's distant," she says. "Plenty o' time left. Everything's on a split yarn." "The finish line is a long way off," translates her Helpful Bosun. "Anything could happen." The captain nods sanguinely, and fills her pipe.

After the initial excitement, the hours bleed into each other. You gradually gain your sea legs, and learn the names of most of the crew. With your course set and the sails raised high, there's not much to do but play cards and swap stories.

As the sea-miles unfurl beneath your hull, bedraggled pigeons arrive from Stjordvik: messages of support, offers of sponsorship, questions from the Gazette. You send back notes on your progress.

The Salt Lions loom ahead, twin monuments that emerge from the morning fog with the ponderous majesty of mountains. Pennants stream from the north Lion's visage. Crowded on the scaffolding, ant-like figures wave their tools encouragingly. The stonecutters have assembled to cheer your progress.

Our friends decide to take a risk and sail between the two lions.

Sails to full! Throw anything heavy overboard! Ignore the ominous groans of the hull! You, there—hop to it, no lollygagging! All hands! All hands! With a sudden burst of speed, you power through the water as though hurled by Osprem herself. Startled schools of fish explode in a thousand directions. A stunned seal spins aside. You pass between the Salt Lions, perilously (but not too perilously) close to dashing your ship to pieces against a basalt paw. The crew cheer.

All is quiet. Island after island rolls past, shadowy landmasses that seem ominously vast as you approach and laughably small as you leave them behind. A spiral of seagulls follows you for miles, circling and keening. You are in safer waters again. As safe as the sea ever gets, at any rate. Card games and friendly fistfights break out among the crew. The hours roll on.

In the dark of night Mutton Island looms, pin pricks of light dotting the shore like fireflies. Skirting close around the isle will save valuable time but the it’s easy to run aground in these shallow waters, even more so at night. The party decides to risk it.

As you draw closer to Mutton Island, you realise that the lights are actually lanterns swinging in the hands of dozens of villagers, all standing knee-deep in the dark water. They watch you glide past without noise or expression. You put on a burst of speed, glad to gain an advantage.

You gaze out to sea as the fog settles lovingly into your bones. Abbey Rock slides past, a monstrous island-cathedral of jagged spires and razor-wire. Baleful lights glimmer behind stained glass. Something flutters above, then alights on your shoulder. A messenger-pigeon, hunched and shivering, with a rolled envelope tied to its tiny claws. "Whassat?" asks the Captain, appearing at your side.

"My inimitable nemeses," begins the letter from the House of the Awakened ship, with whom Regius is having a friendly(?) rivalry.

The rest of the letter is an increasingly desperate attempt to get under your skin. Yes, says your rival, maybe they're behind right now—but just you wait! They are merely biding their time! Soon you'll be the one trailing in last place! The handwriting throughout is copperplate. The language is achingly cordial. "This don't change a thing," says the Captain, squinting over your shoulder. "'E should be focused on winning, not writing fancy letters."

"Pirate territory." The two words ripple among your crew with awed dread. And indeed, far in the distance, the mass of Threepwood Isle slowly become visible. Fortunately, this is as close as the Cup will take you to the corsairs' nest. Your ship turns in a wide arc and heads away. The Isle, threatening as a raised knife, drops over the horizon. Your crew murmur with relief.

"Troublesome rocks in these waters," the Captain murmurs. Peering ahead through a spyglass you spot a few jagged black stones, spray-slick, barely poking above the surface. Giving them a wide berth would be the sensible move, of course, but would cost valuable time. Once again our friends decide to risk it.

The Captain chews her pipe for a few moments, looking sorely tempted. Finally she turns and starts ordering the crew to push through Rowena's Rocks. "Heave out! Show a leg there! Show a leg! Must I send a hauling-line down for ye neversweats? Stop kyactin' and full sail onward!"

Your ship navigates expertly through the jagged rocks. There are a few close calls: a painful screech here or there, as an unseen hazard delivers a scratch or two to the hull. But nothing devastating. Once you're in the clear, your crew raise a cheer. You've surely lengthened your lead over your rival even further.

The gates of the Cumaean Canal loom on the distant coast. Gathered at the foot of the gates is a small flotilla: a trio of clippers, a schooner, a great galleon and a gaggle of fishing-boats. All have turned out, it seems, to cheer you on. The crews whistle and stamp as you glide past. As you draw close to the Canal, the sea trembles. The gates yawn vastly open and a cascade of water floods the Sarodin Sea, sending your vessel washing back like a bathtub toy.

Fortunately the captain is quite skilled and manages not to lose time to the cascade. As you leave the great Cumaean gates behind, along with the friendly lights of the ships, the oppressive darkness of night rushes back with twice the weight. The crew speak only in whispers. Even the sea is quiet. The loudest sound for miles is the weary creak of your hull.

Harpin has secretly been casting a spell every four hours and suddenly there is a result, a sound only he can hear, indicating a direction the ship should go in. He relays the information to the others and keeps casting the spell, zeroing in on their target.

After untold silent miles, the Sea in your path begins to rise. An enormous curved shape—big as your ship—ascends terribly from the depths, seawater streaming from its carapace, pincer raised and quivering. A sea-crab, vaster than any you've seen, its shell maggot-white, its eyes a delicate red.

A King Among Crustaceans

Scars line its pallid shell. Its right pincer is as big as a lifeboat. The left one is missing, where it should be, is a copper ring inscribed with runes, constricting the stumped limb. Luminescent feelers wind sinuously through the darkness, curling around the rails of your ship. As it nears, you feel an enormous, oppressive power radiating from it, almost enough to knock you out cold.

The Captain vanishes below-deck and emerges moments later holding a harpoon almost as long as she is. "It's the bloody beast that took off me foot!" she shouts, stumping toward the railings. "I'll scupper ye, ye scurvy louse!"

The fight is on!

It's a tough fight as the creature turns out to be immune to Regius' maximized Call Lightning spell. Fortunately his Spiritual Weapon spell fares better. Butch jumps onto the creature, following the captain's example. The both of them hitting any soft spots they can reach. Reb uses the Tecuani Tecpatl to good effect as he charges at it.

Harpin's eldritch arrows are also hitting home but then the voice in his head tells him to touch the copper ring. A Misty Step spell brings him onto the crustacean and he touches the band. The moment he does so, an immeasurable power not meant for mere mortals courses through the gnome's body. His skin feels like it’s on fire and turns almost see-through. His hair floats like a halo around him and his teeth chatter so hard in his skull that he's afraid he’ll break all of them. His heart hammers in his chest, loud enough for those around to hear.

It happened to fast to notice but the copper ring now sits more than snugly around Harpin's neck. He breathes haltingly, less and less air makes it into his lungs. It's all been too much and the warlock loses consciousness, falling into the cold sea water. Reb immediately dives in after the unfortunate gnome and manages to swim over and hold his head up above the waves.

Not much later the killing blow is struck; the vast crab screeches in agony, relinquishes its grip on the vessel, and sinks hastily back to the depths. The crew applaud furiously as the captain jumps back on-board. Butch remains a little longer to collect as much crab meat as he can. Reb and Harpin are pulled up onto the ship and once everyone is back on board the Seafarer asks if she can resume the race. Regius and Butch immediately tell her to do so. Harpin takes some time to recover and with the ring around his neck he remains quite exhausted all the time.

As the sea-miles unfurl beneath your hull, bedraggled pigeons arrive from Stjordvik: messages of support, offers of sponsorship, questions from the Gazette. You send back notes on your progress.

Your ship weaves a path between the swampy isles of the Sea of Autumn. Insects teem at your lips, your collarbone, the corners of your eyes. Unidentifiable birds squawk overhead. You are nearing the Reuel Woods. This is, perhaps, your last chance to change the outcome of the Cup. Going through the shallows could save some time but it's not without danger. Our friends decide to go for it.

Sails to full! Throw anything heavy overboard! Ignore the ominous groans of the hull! You, there—hop to it, no lollygagging! All hands! All hands! With a sudden burst of speed, you power through the water as though hurled by Osprem herself. Startled schools of fish explode in a thousand directions. A stunned seal spins aside. The waters here can be treacherously shallow, but your ship steers out of reach of the tangled mangrove-roots and clinging mud. Soon the swamp-isles are behind you, and you're making good time.

Into the Storm

Mystic forces beyond ken wreak the Reuel Woods every so many years. These result in a rolling bank of repealed, misbegotten and self-violating laws of magic rolling out from the shore, reshaping everything in its path. The sea churns fleshwise. The air is a mist of soup and tar. Hands of light rise from the depths, clawing weakly. The storm is nearly upon you.

The voice in Harpin's head tells him to steer the ship into the storm; a very, very bad idea according to every other person on the ship. But considering how much help 'Ulaa' has been so far, the gnome manages to convince everyone to follow his suggestion. Everyone will go belowdecks to hopefully not be exposed to the storm.

But the voice has told the warlock that the storm can bring new abilities to those strong enough to resist it. He tells his friends and they all decide to risk exposure to the storm. The assemble on the deck, dressed in nothing but their underwear. Harpin moves to the prow.

You stand at the prow of your ship and raise your voice, and revolution pours out. The ringing of the guillotines! The thump of fallen heads! The noise a status quo makes as it rips irrevocably in half! The storm sings with you. You spit lightning and fire. Your ship rebels against the sea and sails through air instead, majestic, unbounded. When the scoria-storm finally dies down, your ship plops unceremoniously back into the water. Your throat aches dully. The revolution is over. The status quo reasserts itself. But you will remember the time you flew.

The runes on the band around Harpin's throat light up, one after the other, the light so bright it becomes impossible to look at. Quickly the metal flakes away, slivers scatter on the winds until only a tiny fragment of copper remains embedded in his neck. He drops to the deck with a thud and fall into a fitful coma.

The gnome is lucky to be alive; these powers were not meant for mortals. He actually did very well and gained the Facsimile ability [which works exactly as the Tomb of Levistus invocation]. Not only that, he can now also spit up a frog which understands him and obeys, this will work three times. The others were also able to resist the storm, the effect on them was less severe, not wearing the ring or having to steer the ship. All three gained a new ability, though fate had to interfere multiple times. Regius gained Simulacrum, Reb Ringer, and Butch Spit.

Through all this they nearly lost the lead but eventually join the race with the slimmest of margin possible still ahead of Caeles Emporium who are in second place.

The rest of the voyage is uneventful, you close your eyes and listen to the creak of the hull; the sails flapping; the slow, murmuring heartbeat of the sea. Then Stjordvik opens up ahead of you. Your crew cheer. You've won the Cove Cup! As you approach, you see the docks are thronged by a crowd of citizens, officials, anyone who could get the day off. They're yelling and stamping in approval. Fireworks explode overhead as your ship slides triumphantly into port.

[The above very much inspired by Fallen London Exceptional Story The Icarian Cup.]