Scree, Scrapers, Baggers and the squalley

Here are my entries for the nautical challenge at Hill Cantons. It's the coastal locale and weird ship, and maybe a seafaring culture or cultures in the Scrapers and Baggers, but there's little more than hints on who or what they may be.

Contest aside, there are hopefully enough details to inspire some roleplaying sessions or skirmish games using whatever system you prefer. 

Oars in. Can you hear above the lapping waves?

The former Scree

Dread Scree, Grizzlipool, the Bearstrand - all are names for what was once a small Scraper outpost on the west-facing slopes of Stopover, a large mountainous landmass lying deep in temperate waters. The slopes are well watered and an evergreen forest runs down through mists from the high tops, undulating over rocky foothills to the water's edge, dark and silent. The streams were once alive with fish, but now trickle silted and stagnant, while the shrouded glades fester, devoid of birdsong and calls.

The town itself is located on overgrown rock debris in the shelter of a former glacial valley, overlooking a natural harbour sheltered by cliffs. Its ancient drystone dwellings stand alongside timber lodges of varying age and design, the rot and creepers suggesting generations of occupation, perhaps by more peoples than just the Scrapers; for the Scrapers follow the flocks and their guano and seem not to stay long in any one place. The square, boardwalks and quays are empty, tumbledown in appearance.

The visitors who put ashore here are most often those desperate for shelter or water, or men and creatures with something to hide - or those who have never heard the stories; they are perhaps drawn by the odd-hued smoke rising from the boulders at the feet of the northern cliffs. Many believe they will find a small trading post, market for wares and a warm bed. Others understand what the smoke represents and seek this knowlingly.

Their first discovery are usually the mountain bears who have overrun the town in numbers, scrawny and feral. They are hungry, for the larders have been exhausted, the stores long ago broken into and even the dead exhumed from the sprawling cemetery. Foolish mariners, or unwary supplicants, face becoming a feast, and are the prime source of sustenance. Why the bears have migrated is a mystery, but some tie it to the poisoning of the woods, and thus to the swarming flies and the absence of birds.

And out beneath the waters of the harbour lies the greatest mystery of all. From the smoking rocks below the cliffs run weathered leathery pipes, pulsing, flexing and creaking. Further out, bubbles break the surface to a regular beat. At low tide dark shapes loom beneath the waves, and in the night pebbles grate under cautious steps...

For here resides a colony of Baggers, those fluidic seers and mages, scryers of the wind and masters of the gaseous. Their magic compresses and shapes the air, and their homes are bulbous magically-sealed tents, clustered together on the cold shingle, safe and secret. Their technologies take the breath away and their clients arrive on the four winds. In the temporary absence of the Scrapers and their guano cargoes, this band draw their fuel from the waste of the coast here, gathering and drying the rotting plant matter at the stream mouths and collapsed promontories undermined by erosion.

Sites of interest

• Harbour front   Scattered with detritus, the crates and barrels here are occupied by sleepy bears awaiting their next meal. A variety of exotic vessels are moored, all abandoned, although the most recent arrival may yet hold a wild-eyed crewman barricaded in a cabin or the hold.

• Market square   Emptied of stalls, and utterly devoid of life beyond perhaps a wandering bear, the square is overgrown with weeds and watched by boarded-up windows; a bustle of sorts returns after dark.

• Fletcher's   Locked securely from within and never again entered, this building is well-stocked and a significant armoury; though long dead of plague carried by forest flies, the fletcher and his fellows remain within, decomposed but animated still and patiently awaiting their final battle.

• Treeline   Biting flies infest the shade here, many pestilential and some even venomous; gloom and mustiness both lie up the slopes beyond. At a certain point a glade just within may be seen to hold a will o' the wisp, who will seek to lure onlookers deeper, and yet deeper...

• Quarry   A low-technology, small-scale operation; the foothills and cliffs of the region are riddled with passages etched by glacial meltwater, and quarrying has uncovered entrances to several. Evidence of present occupation may be observed, and indeed isolated clans of survivors do occupy reinforced holds deep within, believing hope may one day return.

• The Beak   A lonely peak of rock standing between trees and sea, home to a hermit who calls tirelessly at intervals for the flocks to return. He has called other creatures however, and the base of the rock swarms with his audience, sprites of water and tree who take him in his devotion and attunement to the skies as a lord of the birds, one who may yet renew their realms.

• Putrid cove   Accessible from the sea alone and marked by a long jetty, this deep hollow of land conceals great mounds of dredged rotten plant matter and latticeworks of pulp laid high up the beach to dry. An enormous number of crabs of fair size and a high degree of sentience scuttle back and forth, cutting and carrying, defending the enterprise and capturing intruders if need be. The caves at the back of the cove have served as a fine last redoubt far back in history, and are now a store for fuel awaiting squalleys.

• Northern cliff base   Obscured by a swirling, debilitating gas, the wrecks of a number of seagoing vessels are shattered on the rocks here, cargoes and treasures both rightful and illicit scattered. Interfering with the barnacled and mossy pipes - which move as if alive - will prove eyes are watching...

• Bagger cluster   Barely visible to those unaware of its presence, this underwater settlement is composed of dozens of globular, air-filled tents, swaying in the current. These are formed of a thick treated hide and range in size from compact sleeping quarters to a repository and meeting chamber. Entrance is via one of a number of magically-operated vestibules.

The squalley

Should visitors survive and choose to remain nearby, they will before long be met with the arrival of a squalley seeking fuel from the store held and replenished at the cove.

Seen first as an unnatural cloud upon the horizon, the squalley is a vessel feared on the high seas far more than the ill weather it might appear to be. It is an exemplar of Bagger technology, a large leathery craft with neither mast nor oar, most often fuelled by the dirty work of Scrapers, crewed by slaves and overseen by a bubble of Bagger adepts.

The hull is formed from balloons of thick treated hide, squeezed and compacted by the magic of the Bagger masters into the form best suited to prevailing wind and wave, here round and nimble, here narrow and swift. The hide contains flammable gases extracted from organic waste held by eldritch forces under extremely high pressure. Propulsion is effected by controlled combustion in special chambers and release of the explosive gases along a network of pipes. The same pipes can in battle produce deadly directed streams of flame, akin to the breath of sea drakes. The foul odour taints the sea lanes.

In battle and storm a squalley is all but unsinkable for the magical fluidity in the hull and redundancy in the hide compartments, and for the instant repairs of the Baggers should such be required. In fact, the sole sure manner of driving a squalley off or sinking it is in the destruction of the Bagger complement, far easier spoken of than done.
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