The Cloudreaver principality is based on the island of Krag. It is a blend of dwarves, orcs, and half-orcs – traditionally enemies in the Mror Holds, these races have found common cause on the seas. The Cloudreavers have always been wild and unpredictable, prone to violent feuds and acts of savagery. They never gave up the practice of piracy, even during the height of Galifar’s power; this has cost them dearly over the generations, and their power has waxed and waned with the luck of the sea. Currently the Cloudreavers have a fleet of six vessels, but these ships are remarkably swift; the Cloudreavers possess a number of windsails, which are magic items imbued with a permanent wind’s favor. These treasures allow the Cloudreavers to range far from their homeland and to match the speed of elemental galleons. Typically, the Cloudreavers prey on the southeastern shores of Galifar, striking at Q’barran, Aereni, Darguun, and Zil vessels and villages; occasionally Cloudreaver captains even head into Brelish shipping lanes, attacking ships en route to Stormreach or Trolanport. The Cloudreavers prefer to strike at night, taking full advantage of the darkvision possessed by most of their sailors.
Prince Mika Rockface is an aggressive and boisterous woman with remarkable strength and an uncanny ability to inspire terror in her enemies. She believes that she has been blessed by the Devourer and that she gains strength for every vessel she sends to the bottom of the ocean. Whether this is true or simply a delusion remains to be seen!
The Cloudreavers are mostly chaotic dwarves, orcs, and half-orcs, with a few humans. Most Cloudreavers are warriors or barbarians, with a few fighters and rangers. Many Cloudreavers worship the Devourer, and some develop druidic abilities as a result of this devotion. The principality takes its name from this practice; tales speak of Cloudreaver pirates calling lightning from the sky to shatter enemy sails and ships.
-From Dragonshards
Port Krez is a squat, wide town huddled along the ocean, its piers and quays clawing outward hungrily toward you. When you make this approach leeward of the port, the smell hits you not long after the silhouette: spice, rum, and mortal stench. One sailor’s home is another sailor’s filth.
There are no channel pilots coming to Port Krez. Of course there aren’t. You probably wouldn’t want one anyway. Fortunately, the shallows here aren’t very dangerous, and it’s not very hard to berth, especially since you’re the largest ship on the move right now and nobody’s going to try to muscle you out of their way.
Port Krez is a thriving and grimy place. Sailors drink, sing, and scrap with each other all along North Port Row, while prostitutes take calls and longshoremen muscle through the crowds with cargo. The buildings here are squat, hearty limestone buildings, built to bear the abuse of drunkards careening into every corner every day of every week of every year.