Eberron: The King's Men

[Leviathan]

Eberron: The King's Men

Part I: New Beginnings


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24 Sypheros, 998YK

There is a frosty chill in the grey Lhazaar air today, with winter's cold slowly encroaching on the relative warmth of autumn. A dusting of early snow has settled over the squat timber roofs of Regalport, and a whipping sea wind blows this in gusts out over the narrow streets of the town. You've come for Granos Karl, following his promises of work for those bold enough to accept it. He's left messages for those seeking after him at the city gates and with the ruddy-faced man who works Regalport's only public airship dock. The would-be mercenary captain has taken rooms at Seadragon Lodge, an inn near the city's wharves.

Making the trek through the city streets and along wood-planked jetties, a distant rumble of thunder shakes the sky like a long rolling drum-beat. The cloudy grey sky overhead opens up in a shower of cold rain that pounds relentlessly off the city's buildings, streets, and everyone outside.

You reach Seadragon Lodge at last. Rainwater pours in a curtain down from the large building's sloped thatch-and-timber roof, and smoke curls up from a large central chimney. Thick support pillars carved with impressions of dangerous sea creatures hold up the roof, while large rain-splashed windows let out a warm, beckoning glow. Above the threshold hangs a wooden sign in the shape of a coiled green snake, the words "Seadragon Lodge" painted onto it. Slightly under this, connected to the sign above it by a pair of chains, hangs a woodcut painting of House Ghallanda's sigil.

The door opens with a creak and you step inside. The establishment is bustling with patrons seated around long, squat tables. Behind a counter, seated on a high stool and scribbling in a ledger, is a middle-aged halfling woman, her mousy hair pushed up under a bonnet, and a white apron covering her dress. Half the tables are full, and most of these are occupied by Lhazaar locals: a few rough men with swords, a group of merchants, a gnome and a dwarf smoking on pipes. Behind the inn's main room, a stairway leads up to the inn's second story. Ascending the steps if a halfling man in a simple white coat and black cravat, a carrying-case held under one arm.

This is the place to which Granos Karl has asked you to come, but as of yet, no one seems to be paying any attention to you.

Alright, off you go! The order in which you post will be the order in which you arrive at the Seadragon Lodge. In your first post, please give a description of your character for those who haven't read over the sheets yet.

[NobodyMuch]

At last, Grim had arrived. He didn't enjoy the voyage, filled with petty annoyances. The last fiveday was the worst part of the trip here. The small merchant sloop he'd booked passage on was becalmed just off the shore of Speartip. Convinced that it was his fault (an impious complaint about the wind Grim'd coincidentally made just before) and leery of pirates, they'd tossed him overboard to try to regain its favor.

He'd had to walk the rest of the way. On the bottom. The seafloor was tedious without a light.

He was almost in a good mood being back on land. Almost. Pushing in through the door to the Lodge, leaving the cold weather outside. He doesn't feel the chill. Can't feel it, really, not in any way that would make sense to the people that fill the room, that cast looks at him.

What sort of warforged has just stepped into the Seadragon Lodge? Grim towers at near six and a half feet, bulky and broad. A careful eye could spot the field-patches on his left hand, his right temple. His forehead bears a mark, as do all of his brothers and sisters. His own is three dots, placed at the vertices of an equilateral triangle. The military uniform he wears is thread worn, having seen hard use for years and years. Its style suggests an origin in Breland, and on the left shoulder the insignia of a sergeant is displayed. A great two handed blade is strapped to his back; its pommel is plain, its style unremarkable.

Having come so far for a job, Grim isn't about to faff about and subtlety isn't a talent of his to begin with. He walks up to the woman who is otherwise occupied with a ledger, and 'clears' his throat, gravel grating on gravel. " Granos Karl? " He inquires, looking left, and right with eyes that glow a dim red, seeing if anyone is reacting to the name. " Anyone by that name registered here, ma'am? "

[AquilaRift]

Ashard Wright steps through the door of the Seadragon Lodge, rain dripping from the hem of his cloak and puddling on the floor. He pushes his hood back and shakes his head like a dog drying itself off. The face thus revealed is broad, freckled, and friendly, surrounded by wild red hair and beard. Beneath his cloak, he wears a linen shirt, breeches, and sturdy boots. A small wooden hammer and tongs hanging on a cord around his neck proclaims him a follower of Onatar, the smith of the Sovereign Host. The much larger hammer and shield slung across his back proclaim him a warrior.

He stands near the doorway for a brief moment, casting an appraising eye over the woodwork of the support columns and rubbing his callused hands together for warmth. Then he overhears the warforged speaking and approaches the counter.

"Hope you'll pardon me, but I'm looking for the very same man!" He shivers. "And a room for the night, if you please. It's powerful nasty weather out there."

[Karl Prosek]

~Thank Selavash for watertight boots and rainproof cloaks,~ Kirin thought to himself as he shook the few beads of rain off his cloak and onto the open floor just inside the door. He lifted his hood, as was only polite on entering a sanctioned Ghallanda establishment, and looked around curiously at the tavern.

The young, long haired man certainly looked out of place. He was younger than most of the locals by a decade, at least, and his fine clothes stood out like a sign that said 'Please Rob Me.' Ghallanda verified or not, this place was not the kind of place young noblemen liked to gather.

And he clearly was just that- a young nobleman. His cloak was no more than a month old, procured especially for this weather, and made of wool treated with some sort of alchemical concoction to make rain bead up and roll off, much like a duck's feathers. Not to mention that the dove grey outer side was lined with sky blue silk. Expensive stuff, and that was just his cloak.

His boots were worn in- he wasn't silly enough to go on a journey halfway across the continent in boots that chafed- but until recently they had seen the daily attention of someone whose job it was to keep the black leather shining. And the rest of his clothes were just as... not ostentatious, as they were designed with function in mind, but not the sort of thing a typical mercenary or even merchant would buy.

They were, in fact, from last fall's 'Extreme Explorer' inspired line from Kahlon, one of Sharn's most in-demand fashion designers. Though the colors had all been tweaked from the khaki, grey, and black to the House Lyrandar colors of sky blue, grey, and black. It was high fashion mimicking clothing designed with extreme function in mind, and as such it fell somewhere in the middle. A normal person could have bought those pants, shirt, belt, and vest for a few silvers. This young man's outfit had probably cost as much as a good horse.

Of course, the incongruity wasn't lost on Kirin. He just chose to ignore the looks he was getting and soldier on. He crossed the floor from the door to the counter, finding two others already there. "Hello, then. I'm here for the same man." As he spoke, he fiddled with the bone-white clips in his hair, taking them out, gathering up stray hairs, then replacing the clips to reveal the tips of his pointed ears.

[RocketMan]

A slender figure, hooded and cloaked, stands outside the Seadragon Lodge, seemingly unbothered by the driving rain. Lieris d'Phiarlan surveys the inn with unblinking violet eyes, his expression serene. The young elf had arrived in Port Royal earlier that same day. He had taken care to travel inconspicuously; the lightning-rail to Krona Peak and hence on to Tantamar by caravan. The sea air, salty and fresh with the scent of the coming storm, revived Lieris's spirit after his dark years in Sharn. And now, outside of the inn, faintly illuminated by the glow from the windows, he smiled softly to himself. Strange that such a simple place holds within such change.

Lieris steps forward, coming out of his reverie. He pulls it open, feeling the warmth of the heath greet him. He pulls down his hood to reveal a beautiful, elven face characterized by deep purple eyes under raven-black hair. He scans the crowd quickly before stepping toward the halfling, surely the Ghallanda innkeeper. In front of him stands a towering warforged, whom he glances at dispassionately as he waits his turn, as well as a pair of others. The young elf waits stilly behind them.

A ghost of a smile plays on Lieris's lips as he realizes the other three are here for the same man. "How strange," he comments, his voice soft and lilting. "I too am come in search of this Granos Karl. You also answered his call." It's not a question. The elf gives the other men a piercing look before turning politely to the halfling, waiting a response.

[Minerva]

Khaana Ashuun'zar holds her head high, even as the rain begins to fall. It runs in beads down her sharp hobgoblin features and across her fine metal armor. She would seem impervious to the downpour, except for how she turns her head skyward and lets out a low growl, as though she can scare away the storm.

Khaana pushes open the doors to the Seadragon Lodge. Standing on the threshold, she cuts a powerful figure, draped in a heavy fur cloak of obvious quality over her etched armor. Her goblinoid face is marked with ritual symbols, and her ears are pierced with what looks to be real gold. She seems uncomfortable, her eyes glancing about suspiciously, even as she peers over the room imperiously.

She steps inside, her ears pricking up and her head turning sharply at the discussion she overhears. "You are the others who are to be warriors for this Granos Karl?" she asks in a way that is more a statement than a question, her voice coming out with a heavy rolling goblinoid accent, though otherwise her Common is quite good. She takes a look at Kirin, her red eyes flickering with contempt as she scans his garments, then throws a similar look at Lieris. "And you must be here for Granos Karl because you wish of him money for taxes, or to paint his picture, or change his linens," she says harshly of both men at once; "for it is clear in but an instant that you are no warriors."

[Mathemagics]

The door opens once more, though someone of average height might not immediately notice the small gnome who slipped in through the gap. Her dark blue hair hangs limp and slightly tangled past her shoulders, heavy with salt and water, and her pale green robes are likewise drenched. She stands about in the doorway dripping, making no attempt to dry herself off yet, with an unusually cheerful expression for one who has just come in from such inclement weather.

A small thrush perched on her shoulder shakes itself a few times in attempt to dry itself. Oddly enough, she looks down at it and begins speaking to it.

"Hey! Hey! Mr. Featherbottom! Isn't it amazing?! The rain out east tastes like salt!"

The bird gives a small exasperated sigh, and in the tone used by parents and teachers when talking to small children replies.

"Mila, that was sea spray. It was salty because it was blown in off the ocean."

The gnome ponders this for a moment.

"Oh... But it was still great, wasn't it?!"

The thrush lowers its head in defeat.

"Let's just try see about finding this Granos Karl fellow, alright?"

"Who?"

Mila looks genuinely perplexed at the bird's suggestion. Then, after a good ten seconds of awkward silence (the awkwardness of which was completely lost on her, of course), realization dawns.

"Oh! Ooooooooooh! Yeah that's right! That was why we got on that airship, wasn't it? Uh, let's see... maybe over there then?"

Mila begins trotting across the floor of the common room towards the counter where a small crowd has already begun to develop. By the time she's reached it, her robe has managed to shift color to a bright burgundy. Walking up behind the others, she tugs at the fur cloak of the one nearest to her (completely oblivious that the owner of said cloak is of the hobgoblin persuasion).

"Hey, you know where we can find Granny Kall?"

"Granos Karl!"

"Yeah that, that guy."

[Winterfell]

"Six take your mother!" Markus Kraal bellows at the top of his lungs, making a very rude gesture with one arm as he stands up. He grunts as something hits his side - his own backpack. The man starts to stride forward, but the gangplank is already being raised. The sailors are laughing derisively. Grinding his teeth angrily, he storms away from the docks, hauling his pack with him as he trudges through the muddy street. The cold rain helps him clear his head. Maybe antagonizing the crew of the Daring Devil hadn't been the best strategy. Sailors should learn to brawl better if they don't want their arms broken.

He treks for nearly half an hour before he finds the right place. The Seadragon Lodge. The gladiator stops for only long enough to read the sign before he is pushing open the door. He wipes his wet hair out of his face, pushing it up and over his head. He looks around the inn. It seems comfortable enough, in a rural sort of way. I'll be damned if it has some of the 'amenities' of a good tavern in Khyber's Gate but at least this one won't have lice. He grimaces as he spots a gathering crowd of strange-looking folk - a huge warforged, a gnome girl, another man, two attractive men of the pointed-ear variety, and of all things a hobgoblin. The competition.

Markus steps out of the doorway and into the firelight. It throws his handsome, if scarred, face into shadows. He is tall and muscular, his chest bare, wearing thick hide armor with an enormous sword slung over his back. He joins the group. "Where's Granos Karl?" he says, his voice deep and hard-sounding. "You all want this work too?"

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam reaches his destination just in time to hear something of an uproar coming from inside. Hood up and oversized cloak drawn tight against him to try and keep the torrents of rain from soaking him to the bone, a mostly futile gesture by this point, he almost considers waiting outside for a few minutes until whatever's going on inside quiets down. It only takes a few seconds of the rain pounding on his head and the cold seeping through even his heavy clothing to disabuse him of that notion. Just his damned luck that the airship he hitched a ride on would get here in the middle of a torrential downpour like this. The way things are going, he'll probably run into some sort of piratical bar-brawl inside. Still, at least that'll be inside, which is endlessly preferable to outside, even in this quaint little city that would have fit wholely into some of Sharn's bigger towers.

Stepping inside slowly to take in the situation, Tam lifts his hood away from his face and begins unwrapping his cloak to hang it up on the rack near the door, revealing what looks quite convincingly like a clean-shaven young Human man with light grey eyes, blonde hair and soft features, wearing a simple if bright green shirt and trousers of a lighter green. As much as Tam prefers not to wear a guise when he doesn't need to, from the rumours he heard on the ship there aren't a lot of Changelings in this neck of the woods, and the last thing he wants is to get lynched as a monster or something like that. Hence the human face, one he's fairly used to and can keep up without thinking too hard about it. Taking in the rioutous mix of humanoids currently badgering the inkeeper about the same precise man he's here to see, Tam suppresses a snicker and finishes hanging the wettest of his clothes up to dry, the rest clinging to him in such a way that an alert observer might even notice the leather armour clinging tightly to his torso underneath. Oh well.

Without bothering to join his own voice to the clamour, Tam simply sidles in to the edge of the accumulation of hard-bitten warriors and what look disturbingly like spellcasters. And... Wait, is that a Hobgoblin? Damn, maybe he could have gotten away with his natural skin-tone here after all. Oh well. He can introduce himself properly once the prospective employer shows up. Save time. Besides, this whole thing's starting to look like a fight waiting to happen, and in that case he can just wander on out of the way and pretend he was coming up to order a beer or something.

[Karl Prosek]

She takes a look at Kirin, her red eyes flickering with contempt as she scans his garments, then throws a similar look at Lieris. "And you must be here for Granos Karl because you wish of him money for taxes, or to paint his picture, or change his linens," she says harshly of both men at once; "for it is clear in but an instant that you are no warriors."

Kirin chuckles. "Changing linens is their job," he gestures at the various halflings bustling around the common room, "and any picture I'd paint for the man wouldn't be worth the canvas it was painted on."

"But if you can helm an airship or navigate with a sextant, though, I guess I'll just go and let you warriors take care of things." If the young half-elven man is at all offended, it doesn't show in his body language or still-friendly expression. "If not, I'll make sure to let you stand in between me and any crossbows while I do my job."

[Gwynfrid]

The flight hadn't been long enough for Mech, for all the questions that needed asking, for all the incredible sights there were to discover, all the new experiences to be had. The first view of the ocean, from above. The first sunset, over the sea, no less. The clouds, up close, and sometimes, from the inside. The effects of the wind on the airship's balance. The storm!

The only thing that had made the mood a little less happy was the annoyed responses from the ship's crew, tired of the incessant queries. At first they had been flattered by the interest, happy to satisfy the warforged's thirst for knowledge, but by the end of the trip, they had made it clear they wanted to be rid of the nagging questioner. Mech also realized, too late, that some of the questions had been rather moronic. Hopefully, in this new land it was about to discover, folks were going to be more easy-going. Still, Mech began to think, possibly, a slower rate of inquiry would be warranted, especially with the impatient humans.

Upon arrival in Lhazaar, Mech doesn't head straight to the Seadragon Lodge. It wanders the streets for a while, taking in the town's atmosphere and the look of its most interesting buildings. The weather doesn't bother the warforged, who in fact finds the feel of droplets running through mechanical joints oddly enjoyable. Finally, it finds itself in front of the Lodge building. A new life waiting behind. Fascinating. Why am I hesitating, then?

Mech eventually pushes the door open. The tavern patrons see a slightly larger than average, finely crafted mechanical version of a human, albeit one with very few facial features other than squarish eyes, a triangle-shaped mouth, and tiny round holes for ears. It is made of a darkwood structure, with a mix of steel, mithral, and copper parts for the finer pieces. The construction boasts two special features: One is a third, smaller arm protruding on its left shoulder, which doesn't seem to be really functional; the other is an overly complex set of reservoirs and pipes, mounted on its chest. The whole body has a very fine finish and looks like it was an expensive construction, but it is unfortunately marred by a number of stains and burn marks and looks like it has been through an explosion, or perhaps more than one.

The construct steps in, looks left and right, listens, notices the throng of people apparently looking for the same man, and walks toward them.

"Interesting. Did all of you read the notice, back in Sharn, then?" Its voice is very metallic, with a slight musical slant that's not unpleasant to the ear.

[Leviathan]

The halfling innkeeper looks up from her ledgers as Grim, first to arrive, asks after Granos Karl. "Oh my, by the Five Kingdoms, we don't see many of you around here," she says, though it seems more a remark driven by surprise than any special distaste. She opens her mouth again, about to answer the warforged's query, when Ashard arrives at her countertop. She smiles at him. "It is that," she replies, looking out at the storm. "We can fix you up a bed if you'll be staying then night. Now about this Gr--" She stops as Kirin approaches. "Good evening, good sir," the halfling says, her head bobbing deferentially. She proceeds to open her mouth again to speak, but no sooner has she done so than it is the quiet elf, Lieris, who interrupts. Then Khaana. Then an exuberant gnome. Then Markus. The innkeep's face is taking on a pinched quality, annoying flitting across her face. Another warforged enters and asks his question. Then, seeing her chance, she jumps to her feet to draw attention to herself. She clears her throat, then looks toward the door, as if expecting another unusual patron to enter and cut her off. When none is forthcoming, she clears her throat again. "Granos Karl is upstairs," she says quickly. "Now see, he came here, but one night he came back with some blood on his arm. He wouldn't get it looked at, but now it's infected and he's come down with something besides. There's a healer with him, arrived before you did." She frowns. "You can go up and see him if you'd like. His room's at the end of the hall."

[Minerva]

A long, slow hiss escapes Khaana. "If he dies, I will curse his soul to the blackness," she growls. She gives a brief look at the innkeeper. "I will speak with him. He has promised much, and I wish to know if he will pay what is his debt." She casts a daggerlike glare down at the annoying creature babbling at her feet and tugging at her cloak. But then her look softens somewhat, though with hard hobgoblin features, it's hard to tell. "I am Khaana Ashuun'zar of the Rukhaan Taash," she intones formally. "If you may be my fellows, I will hear your names with respect."

[NobodyMuch]

With the continual arrivals interrupting the innkeeper each time she's about to answer his question, Grim's tension slowly ratchets up. When the young warforged asks it's question, he snaps out," Nah. Traveling musicians. Hobby the Goblin and her Seven Merry Men." The sarcasm hangs there, and the explanation of the current state of Messer Karl has been relayed by the beleagured innkeeper.

He gestures towards the staircase, a sweep of the arm that includes all of them, a stabbing finger pointing where he'd seen the medic ascending just as he'd arrived. " Name's Grim. Now, single file. Hop it. Let's not keep the man waiting." And he starts moving, a wall of metal and wood falling forward with each step.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard has been looking around him with a baffled expression as the crowd of prospective co-workers grows. When the innkeeper speaks, he directs a reassuring smile at her. "I ain't a Jorasco guildsman, but I got some skill at healing. I'll do what I can do." He turns to answer Khaana's question. "Brother Ashard Wright at your service, ma'am. And at all of yours."

[RocketMan]

Lieris turns toward Khaana as she insults him. The elf's expression is unreadable, his face an impassive mask. He stares right back at the cleric for a moment, unblinking. "No," he says simply. "I am no such thing. Perhaps in time you will come to a deeper understanding of things. Appearances often conceal the truth, not reveal it." He stops again, standing quietly as he listens to Khaana's name, and then the names of the others.

"Khaana Ashuun'zar. Grim. Brother Wright," he repeats slowly in his lilting voice, giving a slight incline of his head with each name. "I am called Lieris d'Phiarlan, though my name carries no weight here or anywhere now."

"Yes," Lieris intones, responding to Grim. The elf quickly makes for the stairs, following the warforged with rather more grace.

[Karl Prosek]

The halfling innkeeper .... stops as Kirin approaches. "Good evening, good sir," the halfling says, her head bobbing deferentially. She proceeds to open her mouth again to speak, but no sooner has she done so than it is the quiet elf, Lieris, who interrupts. Then Khaana. Then an exuberant gnome. Then Markus. The innkeep's face is taking on a pinched quality, annoying flitting across her face.

Kirin nods back to the woman with significantly less deference in the motion, as if her sudden change in attitude were entirely expected. He opens his mouth to say something, then a small smile grows on his lips as the rest of the visitors pile on. Instead of annoyance, the Lyrandar seems amused by all the interruptions.


He gestures towards the staircase, a sweep of the arm that includes all of them, a stabbing finger pointing where he'd seen the medic ascending just as he'd arrived. " Name's Grim. Now, single file. Hop it. Let's not keep the man waiting." And he starts moving, a wall of metal and wood falling forward with each step.

The young half-elven man doesn't immediately move to follow Grim's order. Instead, he produces a silver sovereign from his belt pouch and sets it on the counter in front of the halfling woman. "Thank you for your directions, Miss...?"

Once she provides her name, he reciprocates. "Kirin d'Lyrandar. We may or may not need rooms for the night." Kirin gestures at the group retiring up the steps and smiles warmly at her. "If you could see to preparing them, I would appreciate it. Of course, if we don't end up using them, I'll see that you are compensated for the trouble."

That small task taken care of, and friendly contact made with the apparent manager of the establishment- never underestimate how much an inn's manager can make your night, even without doing anything overt- Kirin turns and follows the others up the stairs.

[AquilaRift]

"How much for a room, ma'am?" When the innkeeper tells him, Ashard lays down some of his own money beside the Lyrandar's. "Much obliged. I'll go see to Karl. When that's done, I'll see if I can do justice to some of that Hostelers cooking." He grins and follows the crowd upstairs.

[Winterfell]

"He's sick? Or dying?" Markus asks the innkeeper with a scowl. He crosses his arms over his chest. There goes my work if the man dies. He looks around at the assembled crowd. "I'm Markus Kraal," he says with a hint of a smirk. "Pleased to meet you all."

The gladiator listens to Grim speak. "Who died and made you king?" he glowers at being barked orders to. "Now if you had asked nicely..." the warrior says, laughing a slightly menacing laugh. "Damn it, Grim here is right, we might as well all turn around and head back to Sharn or wherever the bloody hell you're from unless Karl is alive." He sets off across the room, his boots clomping on the wood floor muddily, ignoring the looks he gets from the patrons, and bounds up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

[Mathemagics]

"Oh? We're making introductions?"

Mila turns around excitedly as one person after another introduces themselves.

"Hiya everyone! Milavana Tolten! But you can just use Mila, since it takes too long to say otherwise!"

Her hand darts out and grabs hold of the small thrush on her shoulder before it can react and fly off. Holding the bird in front of her like a proud child, she continues.

"And this is Mr. Featherbottom! He's my bestest friend!"

"For the love of whatever gods you people worship, help! Save me from this madwoman!"

The familiar thrashes about wildly, trying to escape its master's clutches.

"Isn't he awesome?! He can talk and everything!"

"She's insane I tell you! She named me Mr. Featherbottom! What more proof of a deranged mind do you need?!"

"And he's always making jokes, they're so funny!"

Eventually she lets go of the thrush, who then flutters off toward the rafters to sulk. When Grim orders the group up the stairs, Mila falls in line with the others, but walking in what she probably imagines is a military march, though it looks more like a child's imitation of such.

Also her outfit somehow managed to change to light blue in the meantime when nobody was looking.

[Leviathan]

The halfling innkeep smiles politely at Kirin. "It's Mrs. Calversam, if it please you, m'lord. I'll have my girl set some fires in the rooms." She looks to Ashard next. "It's five silver sovereigns for the night, and that'll include your supper if you want it, Brother." Her face grows darker at Markus' question. "Oh, I hope he doesn't die here," she says with a superstitious murmur. "I don't want to bring a curse down on the inn, you see. But he hasn't died yet," she goes on, optimistically, "so I'm hopeful he'll make it, with the Host's favour."

With their business complete, the strange assortment of people troop up the stairs, led by Grim, under whom the stairwell creaks and groans. At the top is a long hall, lit by merry candles, with bronze-numbered doors lining it on either side. A brown haired human girl in a maid's smock and apron enters one, but it's not your destination.

Entering Granos Karl's room, you're hit with a scent sweat and blood. The room is lit by a flickering hearth against one wall. Opposite it is a long, wide bed, and here, propped up against the headboard, is a man of perhaps fifty years, wearing a loose white shirt, stained with blood around one of his right arm near the shoulder. He has a grey beard that looks a day or two out from its last trim, and shoulder length steely hair. His nose looks like it's been broken before, and he surveys you all with a grimace. At his side is a prim looking halfling in a neat white coat and cravat, with black hair neatly combed back and tied in a ponytail. He looks up as you enter, a look of mild annoyance on his face beneath round spectacles.

The bedridden man groans. "Nnn, Granos Karl," he says in introduction, gritting his teeth slightly. "And you must have seen my posters." He grimaces, half from pain, half from displeasure. "Wish you'd come at a better time; this isn't the proper way to greet you." He takes a long look over each of you. "So you want to earn some coin then, hmm? I've got some work; impatient client with some 'important business'. That's how I got this." He gestures to his bloodied arm. "Tried to handle it on my own. Ahh! Damn it," he says, wincing again. "Damn fool thing to do. Now I'm here with a fever and a useless sword arm."

Granos pauses. "If you don't mind risking the same, I could surely use some folk who can get out of their damn beds. And who aren't too squeamish about a little bit of looting. This client wants us to bring back artifacts from an old barrow a few hours out of Regalport."

[Gwynfrid]

Grim's sarcasm is completely lost on Mech, whose face would register bemusement if such a thing was possible from a featureless piece of steel, as it watches the larger warforged stomp across the room and up the stairs.

"I don't think it looks like a musician... And you, Madam, if I am not mistaken, you are no goblin," it remarks, its square wrought copper eyes turned towards Khaana.

"Ah. Yes. It's customary to recognize each other through the use of a name. I understand. Er... I didn't think much about acquiring one yet, I must admit. I have been known as Mech, before. Now that I think of it, I never liked that moniker very much. I don't mind if you call me anything you wish, for the time being." It reflects for a moment, as if trying to assess possible implications. "I hope it's not inconvenient."

It then turns to the innkeeper. "I'll gladly give you five sovereigns for the privilege of visiting your premises, Mrs. Calversam", it tells her. "I shall not require supper, however, but I thank you for offering it." It waits for a possible answer. I hope that was polite enough. I didn't read anything on the proper way to address a host.

It then follows the rest of the group up the stairs.

[AquilaRift]

"Brother Wright, at your service," Ashard says again. "Since you're getting straight to business, so will I."

"Squeamish is one thing, but I ain't going to rob a grave without some whys and wherefores. I'd like to know who our client is, and what it is he wants from that barrow." He peers closer. "That arm don't look too good. Was it a sword cut?"

[Winterfell]

"So you're Karl," Markus says, sounding unimpressed. He narrows his eyes as he looks closely at the older man. "I'll take your coin quick enough, old man, but first there are some questions you need to answer. Who's the client, where's the barrow, and what's in it? It can't be that dangerous, whatever it is," the barbarian says with a smirk. "Or else you'd be dead. Or armless. Oh, and the most important question: how much are we getting paid?" The hulking human crosses his arms again.

[Leviathan]

Granos nods at Ashard. "A fair policy, though if you came all this way, you can't afford to be very choosy." He winces again, glancing down at his bloodied shirt. "Almost right about my arm, Brother. A trap at the entrance gave it a good slice."

He looks towards Markus, meeting the barbarian's eyes for a long moment. "Or it could be very dangerous, and I'm not dead because you're underestimating me," he replies simply. "We'll see how you fare. As to your questions, you might be disappointed with the answers. The client wishes to remain anonymous to my associates until you've proven yourselves useful. What I can say is that he's very wealthy and very keen on history. I've worked with him before, a long time ago."

"As for the barrow itself, it's old. From what I've been told, it dates to the first days of Galifar, and belonged to one of the northern lords, some relation of Galifar himself. What's in it? Well you'd never go wrong to expect undead, it being a tomb. And I know there's at least one trap: spiked door at the entrance. As for what you're after, it's ambiguous. The client is offering two hundred golden crowns for each intact artifact you can recover, and four hundred for any bearing any heraldry, mark, or sigil on them. My advice is: search the barrow top to bottom, then cart out everything you can find."

[NobodyMuch]

" I'm in. There a map, or something?"

Grim looks over at the man who calls himself a Brother, and says, " The dead don't need trinkets, Ashard. One thing they needed, they didn't get. That's good money. And medics aren't cheap." The red eyes are back on Granos, the warforged shakes his head with a touch of rue to it. " Try not to get into another fight with a door while we're gone, yeah?"

[Minerva]

Khaana sniffs the air, as if hunting for a scent on the wind. "This man wants things of the past, to know himself perhaps. As for the dead, I will not sully myself to steal from corpses that lie at their rest. To take from the dead is the work of the Keeper. There will be other things of value, not adorning corpses, and these may be taken." She sniffs again. "And if these corpses rise against us, then they have given up their claim to peace. Then we take what we will, as if they were any foe."

[AquilaRift]

"Aye, that's true enough. If it's that old, then like as not their kinfolk who might care are all gone too." Ashard laughs, a little ruefully. "I can handle a fair few of the dead if they come walking. As for traps, my god didn't give me the cunning to pass them by, but he gave me the strength to break them." He interlaces his fingers and cracks his knuckles. "I'm in. Like you said, I ain't got a lot of choice. Want me to have a look at that wound?"

[Mathemagics]

"So it's basically hunting for treasure?!"

Mila's eyes sparkle with what could only be described as unadulterated joy.

"In a real tomb?! With coffins?! And chests?! And cobwebs?! And dust?! And skeletons?! And zombies?! And traps to keep out intrepid adventurers like ourselves?! This'll be awesome! Isn't that great Mr. Featherbottom?!"

While her first questions were either directed to Granos, or perhaps the room in general, her last question is aimed at the currently empty spot on her shoulder. She seems to have completely forgotten her familiar is hanging out in the rafters of the common room. She simply stares at the vacant perch for a moment.

"Huh...? Where'd you go Mr. Featherbottom-oh yeah... that's right. He's downstairs isn't he... Oh well, I can tell him about it later!"

[RocketMan]

Lieris gazes intensely off out the window as Granos Karl speaks. He watches the rain run down the glass pane, each droplet sparkling for an instant as it is illuminated by the flickering candlelight. "A wealthy employer who wishes to remain nameless and traceless." the young elf summarizes. "And we shall be collecting relics for them..." he trails off, looking pensive, his words laden with unvoiced suspicions.

"I will accompany whomever else will go. We would be wise to proceed with caution," Lieris continues a moment later, perhaps having resolved his thoughts in the meantime. "Granos Karl, we will have need of a map, or directions, to this tomb."

[Winterfell]

"Hah, boy if you're looking to find mercenary work that isn't shady as Dolurrh, you're a damned fool who's going to starve to death waiting for it." Markus ends his tirade with a grin at Lieris. "Never fear, Markus Kraal knows all about taking other people's money - he'll show you the ropes. See, here's how it goes - it's very simple," the man says, pacing closer to the elf. "We get payed damned well and in exchange we don't ask questions. Now, Karl, you can sign me up, undead and spiked doors be damned."

The barbarian's eyes fall upon Milavana, and he looks momentarily concerned. "When we go into that tomb, this one better not touch anything," he says in a low growl to Grim, whom he obviously takes to be the next most competent person.

[Karl Prosek]

"I'd ask you to define 'artifacts', but it sounds like you want us to cart out everything in there that has a layer of dust on it." Kirin shrugs. "That's fine, as long as you're providing us with pack horses or porters to carry all that junk back here. We can only carry so much on our own, given that we'll also be transporting our gear."

"A more interesting question is just how impatient is your client? Impatient enough to pay more if we come back within a certain time frame or just impatient enough to make you try the barrow yourself without any helpers? I've never explored an ancient Galifaran barrow before, but from my understanding they can be quite extensive. Is there a bonus in it for us if we come back in a day or two instead of, say, a week?"

[Gwynfrid]

Mech listens to the conversation with interest, trying to figure out the various points of view. It appears some people have qualms about taking things from a tomb, or from the dead, but they're able to rationalize why that would be acceptable. An interesting philosophical debate and an opportunity to learn, then.

Thinking aloud, it voices its musings : "Aren't the bodies of the dead just objects in the first place? As such, taking other objects from their grave couldn't qualify as stealing from them, don't you think? Unless of course they become animated, then maybe they would mind..."

[Karl Prosek]

Thinking aloud, it voices its musings : "Aren't the bodies of the dead just objects in the first place? As such, taking other objects from their grave couldn't qualify as stealing from them, don't you think? Unless of course they become animated, then maybe they would mind..."

Kirin smiles at Mech. "Many people find it disrespectful to the memory of the dead to steal from them. Since they are dead, it's unlikely that the majority of them care much about whatever they were buried with, but it's also disrespectful to their descendants to steal from the tombs of someone's ancestors." He smile turns wry. "And there's always the odd ghost you have to watch out for who actually would care about things getting stolen from their tomb."

[Gwynfrid]

The big steel and copper head nods gravely, the tone of the voice is all seriousness. "Thank you for improving my understanding."

[Leviathan]

Granos nods, stilling up a little straighter in his bed. Meanwhile, with a courteous nod, his halfling physician bustles off, having prepared a greenish herbal tonic.

"If it wouldn't trouble you, Brother," Granos replies to Ashard, "then I'm not one to refuse help from the Host if they're feeling generous."

The mercenary shrugs at Kirin's question. "You might be able to convince him to pay extra for speed when you meet him, but I think he'll be happy enough once I tell him I've got my people on it."

"As for directions, it's a half day's ride out of Regalport, heading northeast along the trail to Farlstones. That's a little nothing spit of a fishing village out by the ocean. Just north of that, a few hundred yards out from shore, is a mean, craggy old island with a big hill on top and some stones up on top of that. When I headed over, I left a rowboat on the shore. Though I'm not a 'forged, and there was only one of me. Might think about hiring one of the fishing boats from Farlstones to take you across, seeing as you're there anyways."

[NobodyMuch]

The blocky warforged nods in response to Markus's concern. "Yeah. When we're in the field, she's going in the middle of the column. For safety." Grim doesn't elaborate on safety for whom.

" The rest of you probably want to spend the night here instead of beating feet to the north. Can we agree we leave at dawn? Leaves us some light when we get to Spit, take stock of the situation."

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin nods at Granos. "A rowboat may be a little small for all 9 of us but I'm sure we'll be able to figure something out. You did say half a day's ride, though, bringing us back to the issue of horses. Do you have mounts and pack animals for us?"

The young nobleman smiles at Grim. "Farlstones, I think you mean. We'll have more luck getting one of them to take us across if we don't refer to their village as a little nothing spit of a place in front of them."

[AquilaRift]

"It ain't going to be much more than field medicine, mind. But I won't charge you. Think of the warning about the door as my payment, eh?" He turns from Granos to Grim. "Dawn is a good time. I'd like to sleep in a proper bed before walking into danger again."

While the others conclude the discussion, Brother Wright busies himself fetching water, cleaning Granos Karl's wound, and applying a fresh bandage. He finishes with a murmured blessing.

OOC
If possible, I'll make a Heal check to treat disease, for the infection: [roll0] Followed by a spontaneous Cure Light Wounds for the physical damage: [roll1].

[Mathemagics]

"Awwwww, we're not leaving until tomorrow?"

Mila's ecstatic expression is almost immediately replaced with one of utter dismay.

"But... but that'll take forever!"

She slumps forward with a heavy sigh. Her outfit has now also changed to a sad sort of gray to reflect her mood.

[Minerva]

Khaana nods at the mention of resting here. "Through the gale outside, the Devourer has spoken his will," she remarks with an air of complete certainty in her harsh voice. "We will travel when he has decreed it shall be so. The storm's end will be our sign."

The hobgoblin takes a look over Granos Karl. "We will do what you could not, human," she says to him. Then, to the others, she goes on. "I wish some food after my journey. And the heat of a fire will enliven the spirit. I shall see you downstairs." She gives Granos a slow, stiff salute, curling her brownish-orange hand into a fist, and striking this against her breast. Then she turns on her heels and begins to return to the inn's common room.

[Gwynfrid]

"I shall join this expedition, and be ready come morning. This ought to be interesting", intones Mech. Noticing Mila's sad expression, it makes an awkward attempt to cheer the gnome up.

"But we could also have an interesting evening here... er... Miss Milavana Tolten. Think of all the things we could learn during a dinner in a place like this."

[Leviathan]

"Our client is providing us with some horses and a wagon to carry the stuff in. I'd imagine you can use them to get out that way if riding suits you," Granos says. He lapses into a contented sigh as Ashard's healing light floods through his arm, the wound closing up slowly. It's difficult to tell, though, how much effect the priest's ministrations to Granos' injuries have done to quell the infection, though.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin nods. "We'll make do, Mr. Karl. Thank you." With their employer apparently ready to lapse into sleep, Kirin turns to go back downstairs to talk to the lodge manager about their rooms.

[Mathemagics]

Mila follows Khaana and Kirin downstairs in a somewhat subdued state. Mech's attempt at encouragement seems to have helped improve her mood a bit, but she's still not anywhere near as hyperactive as she was before. (Though some would probably call this an improvement.) In any case, it seemed that she at least had the sense to realize she also was still in need of procuring a room for the night.

[NobodyMuch]

" A prompt start in the morning, then. For... fah, Farlstones. Feel better, Granos."

Grim will be passing the night walking a perimeter around the outside of the lodge, keeping his eyes open. He reckons the odds of an ambush here are low but as he knew well enough, low wasn't none.

[RocketMan]

The elf gives Markus a curious, penetrating look. "It is likely as you say: a simple task, easily accomplished, promising plentiful rewards." Lieris smiles at the taller man. "Still, it is wise to be mindful such possibilities, and to take precautions."

Lieris nods as the others announce their intentions to return to the common room. "I shall join you," he says softly, stepping toward the door and retracing his steps down the stairs. The elf sits over in one corner of the room, his thin frame ensconced by a large armchair, staring into the fire.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard joins the increasingly large crew downstairs in the common room. He approaches Mrs. Calversam first. "Well, you needn't be worried: I reckon Granos Karl will live a good while longer. I'd be most grateful for a mug of ale and something hot to eat now, ma'am."

Once he's made this request, he sits down at a table near the fire. He drops his pack and shield beside the chair with a satisfied sigh (though he keeps his hammer in easy reach, leaning against a table leg).

[Gwynfrid]

Mech comes down, back to the common room. Looking around for somebody who might be willing to talk, he picks Ashard, not knowing why, exactly.

"Have you ever gone on such a quest before? How does it go? And these creatures of the tombs, are they dead, or are they pretending?"

[AquilaRift]

"Can't say as I have. I been in a few fights, though, before the War ended. Most of them, everything went so fast I didn't know what was happening till it was over. If we do run into undead..." Ashard's brow furrows for a second, as he ponders the peculiar question. "They ain't pretending. They ain't alive but they ain't dead either. Some follow a master, some just kill."

He looks at Mech with a quizzical expression. "How old are you? If that ain't too personal. Your folk, it can be hard to tell."

[Winterfell]

Markus stomps down to the common room, looking around at it with a pained expression, as if hoping that some of his preferred entertainment might suddenly manifest. When it doesn't, he seats himself heavily in the nearest chair and waves his hand for a drink. He takes a long swig of the ale.

"Good, this. Not watered down for the city-folk," he says, setting his mug down. He looks around the room, and seeing the rest of his companions otherwise engaged his gaze falls on Lieris. "So tell me, what exactly is so interesting about that fire?" he says loudly, ignoring the fact that the elf is several chairs away.

[Minerva]

Khaana glides over to Markus as he asks his question, a certain martial grace to her movements. "The gods are in the fires, human, as they are in all the hard, fierce things of the world. Perhaps the elf prays for victory." The fixes Lieris in her gleaming eyes. "If that is so, elf, then you should know that the gods who dwell in the flames will favor only the strong. When you pray to them, bare your fangs, and do not look away."

[Mathemagics]

Mila has been spending some time sitting at one of the tables, picking at a bit of a food in a halfhearted and distracted manner. It's pretty clear that she's bored and anxious to get going, even if she does realize that it would be better to rest the night then leave in the morning. By now, Mr. Featherbottom has come down from the rafters, though he's making sure to stay more than arm's length away from her on the table.

After a while, she tries wandering around to see if any of the other patrons are talkative, but it doesn't seem to be too terribly successful as she returns to her seat not long after. She then begins to "casually" sidle over towards one of the conversations being had between the others in the group. The end result of this being she is now leaning in between Ashard and Mech right in the middle of their talk with an expectant smile on her face.

"Hi."

[Gwynfrid]

Looking back into Ashard's eyes with its own, inscrutable metal gaze, Mech considers an answer for a while. "You mean, how long have I been in existence? I don't remember precisely. I didn't maintain a calendar until recently. I would say, more than two years, but less than three." It pauses to think about it, reflecting on past readings about the matter, while casting a glance at the interrupting Mila.

"I understand this probably makes me inexperienced by elf... human... gnome... er... by most standards. What do you think, Brother Wright?"

The metal face turns downwards. "Salutations, Miss Milavana Tolten. How old are you?"

[Karl Prosek]

When he came downstairs, Kirin had gone over to Mrs. Calversam to arrange food and drink for the party and make sure their rooms were being prepared. Once that was done, he turned to see who was talking to who, then walked over to Mech, Ashard, and Mila with his customary smile on his face.


The metal face turns downwards. "Salutations, Miss Milavana Tolten. How old are you?"

Kirin chuckles. "If I may, Mech. One doesn't generally ask a woman her age; it's considered impolite. For some reason, it's different with men, but hardly anyone ever wonders how old a man is." Kirin shrugs. "Just one of the many idiosyncrasies of polite society, you'll find."

He gestures at a nearby chair as if to ask if it was taken. When no one waves him away, the young nobleman sits and sighs contentedly, as if the common wooden chair were the most comfortable chair in the world.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech listens to Kirin's explanation. "Really? Oh, so sorry, Miss Milavana Tolten! I apologize.

But, Mister Kirin d'Lyrandar, if I may, I do wonder about your age. And yours too, Brother Wright. If I may. If that isn't too personal, of course."

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin shakes his head. "No, I don't mind. And it's just Kirin, please. We can keep honorifics and family names out of things, between friends. I'm all of 22 years old, so. Young enough to get in trouble, old enough to know better." He grins at Mech and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs comfortably as he relaxes.

[Mathemagics]

Mila runs off to drag another chair over towards the group, then hops into it. Once she's comfortably settled, she rejoins the conversation.

"So why are you guys out here anyway? Any fun stories? Preferably filled with excitement and/or misadventure?"

[AquilaRift]

"Hah. Polite society has so many... what did you call them? Idiosyncrasies. All this fussing about which fork to use. You can't keep track." He looks at Mech. "I just try to treat folk kindly, and like as not they'll do the same for me. It's easier to remember. Aye, three is young for us. I'm twenty-five, and you can call me Ashard if you like, or just Brother."

He responds to Milavana next. "Oh, I'm here to bring the light of Onatar to these godsforsaken rocks. Might be I'll earn enough money to build a chapel, someday. For now, I'll stick to protecting and helping them who need it."

He brushes past the subject, perhaps a little too quickly. "What of the rest of you? What brings you out here to Lhazaar?"

[Karl Prosek]

"I'm just here to see what there is to see." Kirin shrugs, a wry smile on his lips. "I have a few stories. It's hard to go to Stormreach and not come back with a story or two."

[RocketMan]

"I do not see gods in the fire," Lieris says, looking up at Markus first and then Khaana. "Perhaps they are there despite this." The elf shrugs. "No, each of us sees different things in the flame. I see the past and the future, intertwined, connected. There are possibilities in the fire, choices made and unmade," he finishes carefully.

"So tell me, Markus Kraal, what do you see in the fire," Lieris says, looking at the gladiator.

[Leviathan]

The halfling proprietor of the inn comes by with a collection of pewter cups and a few drinks: mulled wine, a strong and nameless liquor with a slight acidic scent to it, and a hearty honeyed mead. She places a cup beside each person, leaves the three bottles on the table, and then scurries off to the other patrons, leaving a courteous smile in her wake.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam happily picks up the proffered cup and pours himself a good amount from the wine bottle, sipping at it slowly and smiling at the taste. A bit too heavily spiced for his liking, and the grape clearly wasn't the best in the world, but it's still a damn sight better than he can usually afford. Unfortunately, it looks like his policy of silence has been a little bit too effective, and nobody seems to have noticed him at all. Perhaps he should have spoken up a little bit sooner...

When he does speak, it's in a rich tenor, confident if a little bit quiet. "I guess I should introduce myself as well. Name's Tam, and if we're planning on going into a tomb of some sort you'll probably be grateful to have me. Getting into places people don't want you getting into, finding things people don't want found and figuring out things people don't want figured out is my job." He looks around the room, pretty sure that nobody else here shares his particular skillset, at least based on the holy symbols, spell pouches and swords. "If there's any traps down there, I'll make sure they don't crush you, poison you, drop you in a hole or whatever. Oh, yeah, and one more thing you should know."

Holding up his hand for everyone to see, Tam focuses for a moment and its pale, human flesh tone changes first to the dull grey of a Changeling, then to a riotous red and a deep purple, fingers elongating slightly, before he returns it to the shape he's been wearing before. "I'm a pretty good mimic, let's say. So don't be surprised if you see someone a bit different wearing my clothes, eh?"


There's about a dozen more things I'd like to respond to, but I think at this point it would be unfair to post six or seven paragraphs of talking without giving anyone a chance to respond, so I'll just have to let it go and try not to get into this situation again... :smallsigh:

[AquilaRift]

"Good to hear." If Ashard is fazed by the changeling's transformations, he doesn't show it. "Maybe we won't end up like Mr. Karl with you at the front, eh? Join us."

To Kirin, pouring himself some mead: "Aye, I should have figured you for a traveler! All the others were for Granos Karl, straight off, no dallying, but you made sure of all our lodgings first." He raises his brimming mug. "Sensible, that. Generous, too."

[Minerva]

Khaana is about to reply to Lieris, her mouth half open, when the changeling speaks up. She turns to him in time to see his transformation. "A changeling, then," she mutters to herself. "You are as the Traveller," she states, louder, at Tam. "It is your blessing if you make use of it. Only see to it that your heart does not change along with the skins you put on," she adds in a grim intonation, her lower lip drawing back slightly to show her lower fangs.

If he were a slave of mine, she thinks as she reaches out a clawed hand to pour some of the acidic-smelling liquor into her cup, I would cut off an ear, or perhaps a finger, such that he could not make fools of his betters with his tricks. She shakes her head. The world here is different. Let that one prove himself.

[Mathemagics]

As Tam is giving his display, Mila stares in wonderment. After he returns normal, she's even more excited.

"That was so cool! I wanna see it again! What else can you turn into?! How do you do that anyway?! Is it real or just a trick?! Can I learn it?!"

She begins hopping around the changeling excitedly, her attention for things other than her new fascination momentarily suspended.

[Winterfell]

"Hmm, I'll drink to gods with fangs," Markus says with a loud, deep laugh, tilting back his head to take another swig. He looks over to Lieris, his brow furrowed. The man crosses his thick arms over his chest and furrows his brow. "I see fire in the fire," he says shortly and defensively. "Maybe if I get drunker you can ask me again."

"And speak of the devil," the man says, standing and turning as the halfling innkeeper brings out the tray of drinks. He refills his mug with the strongest liquor present, downing a large gulp, wincing and sighing as he swallows it down. He opens his eyes just in time to see Tam's shapeshifting performance.

"Heh, a changeling," he says, sounding amused. "Your kind are always useful."

[NobodyMuch]

Grim remains outside, in the weather and the wet. He doesn't feel the chill in the air as night falls in earnest. His legs don't tire as his vigil unspools, hour after hour, circling the premises. Grim thinks about what is to come. The mission is simple; it even feels right to him. Certainly far better than some of the things he'd done in the war. Honestly, what need did the dead have for baubles? None. None whatsoever. He almost feels a sense of purpose stirring in his chest.

And Grim laughs, not a happy sound. He would roll his eyes if he could. But he can't, so he just continues his rounds. Honestly. The King's Men. Who does he think he's fooling?

[RocketMan]

Lieris smiles faintly but doesn't press the issue. "Perhaps," he murmurs. He stands and follows Markus over to the drinks. The elf takes a glass and fills it partially with the wine. He hardly seems to drink it however, taking the occasionally sip and nothing more. Lieris shows no sign of surprise as the blond human called Tam morphs suddenly into his changeling form. "I am sure your skills will be of great use to all here," he says. Another who is in the business of secrets, it seems. One to be cautious arounds.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam swirls his wine glass for a moment, unsettling the sediment at the bottom, and takes another sip, smiling at the others. He sounds like he's on the verge of laughter when he replies. "Goodness, such support. I'm rather more used to a slightly less welcoming reaction. Traveller forfend, we've got some open minds here for once." He grins at Mila for a moment, playing it up for all it's worth. "Yes, I can do it again. No, I'm not going to, because we're in public right now and I'm no two-penny illusionist. No, it's not an illusion. And unless you're a mage you can't learn how to do it, and even if you are you won't be learning it from me. Accident of birth, you see."

Taking another sip of his wine (glass nearly half empty already; clearly, the Changeling is enjoying it), Tam leans back and shrugs. "But I digress. Didn't mean to cause a stir, just wanted to make sure we'd have no surprises down the road, eh? Not sure if people around these parts know too much about my kind, so I'd appreciate it if you kept this on the down-low, if you know what I mean."

[Gwynfrid]

Mech is greatly impressed with Tam's display, and leans over to watch it closely, a level of attention more appropriate, perhaps, for a lab experiment. "So that's what a changeling is! I had read about it, but I had never seen one. How do you do this? Is it something to do with your environment? Or your mood, like for some animals?"

[Karl Prosek]

To Kirin, pouring himself some mead: "Aye, I should have figured you for a traveler! All the others were for Granos Karl, straight off, no dallying, but you made sure of all our lodgings first." He raises his brimming mug. "Sensible, that. Generous, too."

Kirin smiles and raises his cup in a return salute. "We aren't all blessed with the ability to heal, Brother. Those of us with fewer gifts have to make do. And it never hurts to make friends with the people who bring the drinks and warm the beds."


Taking another sip of his wine (glass nearly half empty already; clearly, the Changeling is enjoying it), Tam leans back and shrugs. "But I digress. Didn't mean to cause a stir, just wanted to make sure we'd have no surprises down the road, eh? Not sure if people around these parts know too much about my kind, so I'd appreciate it if you kept this on the down-low, if you know what I mean."

The young nobleman had been among those who hadn't seemed shocked by Tam's display, but he chuckles at this. He gestures at the rest of the common room- with its roughnecks, merchants, and Ghallanda halflings. "We might have sailed that sea already."

[Minerva]

Khaana's red eyes pass a short, withering look over Markus. "Your glib tongue does you no good, human. You are a warrior" – she casts a brief nod down at his armor – "And all warriors not infants to battle have seen much in the fire. It is a question that draws forth your fighting spirit for all to know. The elf sees mistakes and caution: he has seen many mistakes. You claim to see nothing, Markus Kraal." Her glinting red eyes fix on his. "What am I to make of that?"

[Mathemagics]

"Yes, I can do it again. No, I'm not going to, because we're in public right now and I'm no two-penny illusionist. No, it's not an illusion. And unless you're a mage you can't learn how to do it, and even if you are you won't be learning it from me. Accident of birth, you see."


"I am a mage though! Well... even though I don't actually know a lot of spells yet... But look, I can do this!"

Without thinking, Mila ends up launching a jet of garish clashing colors directly at the changeling...

(OOC)
Yes, I am casting Color Spray in Tam's general direction.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin flinches away and throws up a hand to shield his eyes from the dazzling cone of clashing lights. "Whoa! What are you doing!? Don't do that in here!"

[Gwynfrid]

For the first time in its life, Mech is sampling a variety of interesting drinks. While participating in the flow of conversation, it tries everything: The honeyed mead, the mulled wine, the liquor. It wonders about the wide array of tastes. Then it experiments with mixing a bit of two of them. How about all three?

"This is really very g..." The multicolor flash from Mila interrupts the line of thought. All of a sudden Mech sees all sorts of visions, fireworks, psychedelic shapes, entirely new colors... Wait, is that a sound, or a smell?

Mech lurches back and forth, babbling something incoherent. After a while, it comes back to its senses and shakes its cube of a head.

"Wow! That was quite a drink. I never had anything like this before. Tasty and certainly enjoyable, although the clinical effect is a little overdone, perhaps. Still... Mrs Calversam, would you mind sharing your recipe?"

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam assumes that the little Gnome is just going to show off some sort of parlor trick, maybe make a little flash of colour or similar. When he realizes that this is altogether more dangerous he barely has an instant to throw his hands in front of his face before the glaring, blinding swirl of brilliant light washes over him, knocking him decisively out of it and sending his glass of wine tumbling to the wooden floor, spilling what remains across his attacker's shoes if nothing else.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard is about to reply to Kirin when Mila fires off her "parlor trick." He's on his feet the moment the changeling's glass hits the floor. In a few seconds, he's at Tam's side, checking for injuries. "What did you do?" he snaps at the gnome.

OOC
Of course, the spell did no physical damage and Ashard has nothing that can dispel the effects, but he doesn't know that.

[Mathemagics]

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!"

Mila runs over to the inadvertently knocked-out party member as soon as she realizes just how badly she screwed up. Amidst her sudden flood of apologies, she apparently manages to pick out Ashard's question.

"Uh, it's-it's just an illusion, a bunch of color and light and stuff. It shouldn't be able to hurt him or anything though."

Mila looks to be almost on the verge of tears as she gently tugs at Tam's arm.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm really really really really sorry!"

[Leviathan]

"'EY!" The rough and tumble voice splits the inn, drawing all the conversations to a close. It comes a few seconds after Milavana's unfortunately aimed spell, as she rushes over to Tam's side. The speaker is an angry looking man at the table beside yours, with a bushy black beard and scars all over his bare, muscled arms. He's standing, palms planted on the table in front of him, glaring at you. "Your magic blasted me mate, gnome." He makes a rapid, aggrieved gesture towards one of the fellows at his table, who had his back to yours. He's slumped over, arms limply dangling from his sides.
"So I think ye shouldn't jus' be sayin' sorry ta yer freak changeling, little brat."

[Mathemagics]

"Wah! I'm sorry! I didn't realize how bad it would be! It was stupid of me and I'm sorry! He'll be alright in a minute, I promise, so please forgive me!"

The gnome frantically lowers her head in apology, hoping that the gesture and her words are enough to appease the man.

OOC
Not sure if it's alright to try something like a diplomacy roll here or not, but I'll go ahead and try one.
[roll0]

[Minerva]

Khaana turns away from the fire, drawing herself to her full height, her unfriendly face becoming downright hostile, nostrils flaring, eyes glaring. "She is a fool," Khaana growls at the angry man. "But she has apologized to you in accordance with her foolishness. Go back to your business, now."

Intimidate: [roll0]

[RocketMan]

"Your friend will recover, and soon. The magic is merely an illusion, one of limited power and no permanence," Lieris says coldly to the man, his violet eyes slightly narrowed. "If your intention is violent, such a course is inevitably going to fail." The elf says nothing more, but keeps his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the man.

[Winterfell]

"She didn't mean any harm," Markus growls, glaring at the thuggish man. At once his temper, extinguished by the rain, comes roaring back. "But I will when I break both your arms. So sit back down." The barbarian flexes his muscles menacingly.

Aid another on Khaana's intimidate.

Intimidate roll: [roll0]

[AquilaRift]

"No call to start a fight over this," Ashard says, stepping between Markus and the scarred man. "She didn't hurt his mate, he ain't hurt anyone yet, so less talk of bone-breaking. Look... " He turns around to placate the stranger. "The elf's right. Tam's got no mark on him, and your friend ain't either. Nothing hurt but his pride, and if that still smarts we'll stand him a drink when he wakes up."

Aid another on Mila's Diplomacy check, though she already got an excellent result: [roll0]

[NobodyMuch]

Having satisfied his paranoia, the warforged wheels back around to the front of the guest house. The door bangs open, admitting Grim one last time. The rain has evidently kept up its interminable drizzle, as the clothes he wears are soaked. Squelching with heavy menace, he stomps over to the tables where the others are. Grim takes a seat with the slow, ponderous care of someone who is used to chairs collapsing underneath him.

Noticing Tam sprawled out on the floor, he tilts his head to the side and looks around at his notional compatriots.

"Problem?"

[Leviathan]

"Aye, the gnome didn't mean any harm," the bearded man says, shaking his head. "We'll let it go this time, little lady."

The unconscious man groans, slowly coming-to. He's a wiry, unpleasant looking human, with a long goatee on his chin, and shoulder length blond hair hanging down around a gaunt face. He stands angrily, if somewhat shaky on his feet, as Khaana, Lieris, and Markus talk. "Ain't a fair fight to beat on a stupid little gnome," he spits. "But I ain't gonna take no disrespect from a bunch of foreigners." He grins malevolently, as if he's just hit on something brilliantly devious. "If you folks mean what you say, then you'll pay up some coin for the insults and injury you done me. Otherwise, we're gonna give you foreigners a thrashing."

The black bearded man looks at the other one with a shake of his coal-coloured mane. "Give it up, Rast. They said sorry."

The skinny one, Rast, shakes his head and spits on the floor. "That ain't enough. Not the way they was talkin'. Not for any Lhazaar man what's got a bit of pride." His voice rises; he's playing the crowd and he knows it. Many of the other patrons are standing, and some are muttering crude slurs about the many races that compose your group.

The big, black-haired man shrugs his shoulders. "It's good enough for me," he rumbles. "C'mon boys." He and several other men make for the exit, leaving one by one through the doors.

The rest of the inn, save for a trio of halfling merchants sitting at one table, seems hostile, glowering at you...

Map
http://img600.imageshack.us/img600/932/4dh.png

For those of you who haven't played with me before, my map annotation is as follows:

Your map marker is your character's first initial in your speech colour.
The enemies are in black, with an alphanumeric. For this map, I've given seemingly-hostile figures a larger font size than ones who haven't gotten involved.

P1-13 are the angry patrons.
MC is the halfling proprietor.
H1-3 are the halfling merchants.

Additional rule: I generally haven't drawn chairs on this map. Any spot which a table partially is assumed to have a chair in it. This will count as difficult terrain for movement purposes.

Oh, and Grim should be seated at the table now. I hadn't read his post when I was making the map. NobodyMuch, feel free to pick any unoccupied spot at the table.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin stands, his usual smile gone as he turns to hiss at Markus and Khaana. "You aren't helping. Back off!" He turns and puts himself in between Khaana and the angry man, much like Ashard had for Markus and the man. "Your friend is just asleep. I'll be happy to pay for your drinks for the night, and we'll call it even."

The young half-elf looks around at the hostile common room and smiles winningly. He gestures at the manager and waves a hand at the entire room. "Let's not have this little accident ruin everyone's night. A round of drinks for everyone!"

Aid Another on Mila's Diplo check. [roll0]

OOC: Ninja'd by the DM. ETA the second paragraph and we'll convert Kirin's roll into his own Diplo check, hopefully with a modifier for offering to buy drinks.

[Gwynfrid]

Still a bit dazzled from the shock of colors, Mech shakes its head, looking left and right at the suddenly hostile room, puzzled at the turn of events.

What's going on? Everybody looked like they were having a good time? Was it the wine?

[Winterfell]

"You haven't dealt with blighters like these, boy," Markus hisses at Kirin. His next words are spoken louder, loud enough for the men to easily hear. "Hells, back in Sharn, everyone from the goblins to the Cogs workers thought they were the toughest ones in the room once you put some drink in them. These men," the grunts, nodding at the bar patrons, "they're just the same. Spoiling for a fight. Best thing is to give it to them - to one of them, hard. The others won't be so brave then, no, not so eager to piss on those weaker than them once they see their friend's head bashed in."

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin half-turns to Markus long enough to hiss a quick response. "Just stop talking, for the Host's sake!" He turns back to the crowd of hostile tavern-goers, hands half-upraised apologetically and an embarrassed smile on his lips. "But at least that gives us two clear choices. A free drink and we all finish our evenings pleasantly and go home hale and whole, or breaking your knuckles on our friends' armor here." He gestures at Markus and Khaana. "I know which I would choose."

[Minerva]

A look of pure and utter contempt fixes on Khaana's features when the second man, Rast, starts speaking. It's like she is looking at dirt instead of a man. She looks sideways at Kirin. "Why do you still delay this?" she demands with incredulous bluntness. "This thing" – she gestures at Rast – "has questioned our honor and demanded that we make repayment for his own frailty. My courtesy is at an end." She turns to fix Rast in a sharp glare. "One more word and I will throw him to the mud outside to sully himself with the pigs."

With apologies to anyone who didn't want to have a brawl :smalltongue:

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam comes to with a throbbing headache and a white blur where he's supposed to be seeing things, and the fact that things seem to be shaping up for a bar brawl don't help at all. Stumbling to his feet and rubbing at his eyes, he looks down at Mila and whispers angrily. "Apology accepted. For now. We will have words later."

Looking around the room at the better part of a dozen people clearly up for violence, Tam sighs to himself and looks the seeming leader of the bunch straight in the eye, letting his left hand come to rest on the sword at his him for emphasis, not that he has any actual intent of using it in a situation like this, and growls at him in a hostile baritone, the clear accent of a lower-level Sharn thug. "Look, pal, it's not like you're the only one got hit. Whole thing was clearly an accident. Now, you can take the apology, take the free beer and go back to your drinkin', or you can press this. That case, I gotta prove a point, and that means you leave this bar beaten bloody, short an ear. An' that's assumin' I get to ya first. We got a Hobbo and a priest o' the Six here, and either a' them'll kill ya soon as look at ya, get it? So drop it, and we'll all get back to our fun."

At the end of the day, the threat of disproportionate retribution usually does about as well at dissuading hostilities as actual retribution would. And if that doesn't work, he's still got a Blackjack up his sleeve for this sort of situation...


Is this a bluff check, since Tam has no intention of actually carrying through on that threat to collect ears, or is it Intimidate because he's trying to scare the piss out of everyone in the room? They're both at +6, so you decide.
Bluff/Intimidate: [roll0]

[AquilaRift]

"I don't think we're getting out of this without a fight, Kirin," Ashard mutters to the half-elf next to him. "Good on you for trying, though."

[Gwynfrid]

Mech, slowly, comes to its senses. It hasn't found itself in such a situation ever before, and the exchanges of insults, interleaved with laudable attempts at diplomacy, leave it somewhat confused. The head turns around, well over half a turn in a bit of a disturbing feat that no human could pull off, the copper eyes blink and dart across the room to assess the potential for violence. Even in its semi-dazed state, the warforged realizes its position perilously lies just between people with a burning desire for a fight : Khaana and Markus on one side, Rast and his friends on the other.

Mech's mind quite coldly evaluates the last words spoken. Tam either just tried to intimidate them into backing down, or provoked them for good, not sure which is which. If that was intimidation, a change in appearance might help. If that was provocation, a change in external shell rigidity is warranted. Either way...

The living construct puts hand to chest, pulls a tiny lever, then turns one of the taps in the complex construction embedded in its body. A liquid pours from one reservoir to another. Some loud clicking noises are heard from inside the metal body. The plates of steel that make up most of Mech's exterior become duller and darker, with a white-grey glow to them. They also look like they're thicker, and the overall bulk of the artificial body noticeably increases. More clicks. The construct hasn't said a word, nor has it moved in the least, but all of a sudden, it seems like it takes more space in the room.

"Drinking" a prepared Strength mutagen.
Status : Str 20 Int 14 AC 15

[Mathemagics]

With attention momentarily diverted somewhat towards the more bellicose party members and a fight ready to break out any second, Mila tries to crawl under the table and hide...

[NobodyMuch]

It doesn't take him long to pick up on the fact that his cohorts have started some trouble while he was outside. "Problem." But a sort of problem he knows how to handle.

Up from the chair he comes, hardly having had a real chance to take a load off. Strolling over to Rast, Grim nods to the man and... follows through with a snarl, slamming his forehead into the face of the belligerent patron, a practiced movement that he has clearly executed before. Shaking his head, looking around the taproom, Grim grins, and his mouth moves with the word,"Meatbag."



And Grim'll be kicking this off. I'm guessing from the direction of where Mila, Tam, Mech and P13 are that P13 is the guy who ate the spell and who is currently talking trash. Is that right? In any event, Grim is walking north from where he is next to Mech up to P13, starting a rage and if Grim gets an attack in because he's the one pulling the trigger, a Slam attack doing non-lethal damage...
[roll0]
[roll1]
If it is just time for initiative, ignore those rolls. :D

God I hope it isn't actually time for an attack; can you critically miss with a natural weapon? D:

[Leviathan]

Kirin's last minute plea for peace seems to sway a few more of the Lodge's patrons, who head for the exit, shaking their heads. Much as they'd doubtlessly like a free drink, it seems that Tam's threat and the many weapons sheathed and holstered by the group have convinced them they're better off leaving.

As Milavana scrambles under the table, Rast's eyes narrow in response to Khaana's remark. "I'm gonna--" Whatever he would do to the hobgoblin is cut off by Grim as he stands and launches his metal head towards Rast. But the man jerks back before he's struck. With a laugh, he smashes his mug on Grim. "You stupid suit of armour," he croons.

6 damage to Grim (that's his own critical failure, but hitting oneself with one's own head seems dumb, so I fluffed it up).

Round 1
See the OOC thread for initiative instructions. The short version is that normally I'll roll here for you, but I can't right now.

Map
http://img268.imageshack.us/img268/7857/793j.png
P2 is Rast, in case you're wondering.

[Mathemagics]

EDIT: (Posted initiative roll in IC instead of OOC by accident. I'll just reroll it there.)

[AquilaRift]

Ashard opens his mouth as if to say something to Khaana, but stops when he hears the mug break. The priest sets down his drink and throws a punch at Rast.

OOC
Unarmed strike: [roll0] If it hits, it deals [roll1] nonlethal damage.
Ashard's current AC is 10, since he's got no armor or shield on.

[Mathemagics]

As the fight erupts, underneath the table Mila tries to fold herself into as small a space as possible. She's so panicked that she doesn't even notice her familiar landing on top of her until the tiny beak jabs itself into her forehead.

"What are you doing?!"

"I- But they- It-"

"Look! You helped cause this mess, so you have to help fix it! Now do something!"

"But, but what?!"

"How should I know?! I'm a bird! You figure it out!"

Mila hesitates in indecision, and for a moment it looks like she's ready to go back to trying to curl up into nonexistence again until an idea occurs to her.

"Uh um... ok! I got something... maybe!"

Outside the table, a section of the floor shimmers from wall to wall as the wood vanishes, only to be replaced with a gaping pit that cuts the room in two. The roughly half dozen patrons on the southern side of the room suddenly find themselves cut off by a gaping void.

Of course that's just what it looks like. From Mila and the other party members' perspectives, the floor is still perfectly present and intact, with nothing amiss whatsoever.

Casting Silent Image to create the illusion of a bottomless pit on the floor. At level 1, it can occupy up to 5 10-foot cubes, so I'll use it to extend all the way from the left to right walls. I'll run it through the row occupied by Kirin and the one just below it (assuming each grid square is 5x5). I'll also leave a small chunk of visible floor in the space Kirin is standing as well as where P1 is so that it doesn't look like they're levitating to the enemies.
DC of the saving throw to disbelieve is 16 will.
This should slow them down and let the fighty characters pacify the other half of the room, then deal with the other guys at their leisure.

[RocketMan]

Brawling in an alehouse, purpose forgotten amidst clashing egos... Lieras sighs to himself. He steps smoothly out from behind the table and begins to weave a spell, his slender hands moving sinuously to cast a pall of slumber over as many of the ruffians as possible.

5-foot step north. Casting Sleep such that it will hit P1, P3, P10, and P11. DC 14 Will Save or fall asleep.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam takes just enough time to duck out of the way as shards of shattered mug scatter at his face, jumping back and clutching at the blackjack in his hand tightly, muttering to himself. "Damn. Well, 'guess we're goin' for the bar fight then." Immediately singleing out the lone patron in the northern section of the bar as an easy target, Tam leaps over his own chair with a flourish, tossing it on the ground behind him to cover his back, dashes over and goes for the sucker-punch, soft truncheon swinging for the Lhaazarite's head in an attempt to take him out of the fight before it's even really started. Tam's never been much for a fair fight to begin with; the less people actually get a chance to take a crack at him the happier he'll be, especially if the rest of the new-formed group keeps the rest of them busy...


Since the patrons other than Rast have yet to act in this combat, they should all still be flat-footed thanks to losing Initiative. So, Move action to the square immediately south of P13 then Standard action to Attack him with my Sap, dealing Nonlethal damage.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] plus [roll2] Sneak Attack.

Edit: Crunch. :smallbiggrin: Almost certainly a hit against Flat-footed for an unarmoured foe, and unless he's a Warrior or has a crazy-good Con that hit should drop him nicely.

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[Winterfell]

Markus contemplates for a moment unslinging his greatsword and really teaching the drunkards a lesson. He manages to control himself and instead simply smiles sadistically as he charges into the fray. He moves around Lieris to cover the elf's casting, running toward the man there and taking a mighty swing at his head.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Nonlethal damage roll: [roll1]

[Leviathan]

The sound of Rast's mug crashing off Grim's metal head rings across the inn. Then everything fills with the sound of roaring men as the brawl begins.

Ashard lobs a punch at Rast, his blacksmith's hands connecting squarely with the Lhazaarite's gut. Markus meanwhile charges from his seat by the fire towards one of the hostile men, a scruffy human with three days black stubble on his face. A gauntlet-clad fist from Markus cracks into his nose, and he crumples to the floor. The nearby halflings shuffle backwards nervously in their seats, trying to avoid the fray.

Tam leaps up from his seat, taking a few steps forward before bringing his blackjack down on the unsuspecting head of a man too caught up watching the more obviously threatening combatants. He's barely stood up from his seat before the changeling's blow sends up slumping back onto it.

Lieris casts his sleep spell where several men in leather jerkins and rough cotton shirts are rising to their feet. Three of the floor's eyes clamp shut and they topple over. The fourth looks at them incredulously. "They've got magic!" he cries.

This point is made even clearer as the floor appears to fall away into an endless canyon that cuts across the inn's floor. The barroom toughs universally gasp, and the halfling inkeeper lets out a little wail from behind her desk.

The two remaining thugs on the far side of Milavana's "chasm" rush over to their fallen friends, shaking them awake. Two of them thus arise groggily, groaning.

Rast swings his mug again, at Ashard this time, using the thing as an improvised pewter weapon. It goes far wide, leaving a dent on the table behind Ashard, but nothing else. The other patron, on the other side of the table, looks around with frantic eyes, suddenly aware of just how in over his head he's become. He turns tail and runs out the door.

Round 1, Continued
From here on out, everyone will post all at once.

Map
http://img855.imageshack.us/img855/8439/qt9o.png

[Minerva]

"Whose magic is this that rends the earth?" Khaana cries. "It keeps us from our foes." But then the hobgoblin's head turns, and her eyes glimmer happily. "But the frail one yet remains, and I have promised to throw him in the mud." She steps up onto the table, knocking plates and cups aside as she crosses it. Pushing past Ashard, she reaches out a hand for Rast's throat, her hand glowing slightly with a faint red light of pain.

Unarmed strike with channel smite and destructive smite: [roll0], damage: [roll1]+[roll2]

...That miss was probably for the best, but ARGH. The dice roller hates me.

[Gwynfrid]

Standing to its feet without any particular haste, Mech shakes its head, looking at Rast. "You are not supposed to use your mug to hit people. And look what you did to Mrs Calversam's nice table!" it says, in all earnestness, before grabbing Rast with its wide, gleaming iron hands.

Move action - stand up
Standard action - grapple attempt (provoking an AoO) [roll0]

[Mathemagics]

Focus. Gotta stay focused!

Mila tries her hardest to concentrate on maintaining the illusion, not an easy task given the circumstances combined with her personality, but she somehow manages for now. From the sounds of it, the chasm was convincing enough that most of her friends ended up believing it was real as well which was... kind of neat in its own way.

So, if they all think they're trapped, they should be bunched up...

Hoping she continued to go unnoticed, Mila crawls beneath the table towards the southern end, right next to the edge of the false pit.


Spending a standard action to concentrate on the illusion and extend duration.
Spending a move action to crawl down to the opposite end of the table, the space currently between Khaana and Ashard.

[DaedalusMkV]

Seeing Rast still swinging at the main group of his allies, Tam decides he might as well take advantage of the distraction. Given how well that last little trick worked, taking down the guy who started the whole mess might just nip this whole fight in the bud. Plus, sucker-punching the arrogant ass will be decisively satisfying, and a hell of a lot safer than jumping that huge pit that seems to have shown up out of nowhere in the middle of the room.

Turning around, Tam uses one of the chairs still littering the inn as a stepping-stone to leap onto the table Rast and his buddies had been sitting at, the Changeling runs across it and does his level best to use the terrain advantage, and Rast's preoccupation with smashing a mug across his allies' heads, to send an overhand blow from his bludgeon at the crown of the barroom thug's head.


Going to attempt to Move to a flanking position against Rast, leaping onto the table to do so. I'm fairly sure it'll require an Acrobatics check of some sort to accomplish in one Move action, so I'll roll that up. If it fails, feel free to just say "it took more effort to get onto the table than Tam expected, so you don't get an opportunity to swing."

Then Standard Attack from said flanking position.

Attack: [roll0] (+3 Dex, +2 Flank, +1 high ground)
Damage: [roll1] plus [roll2] Sneak Attack

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[AquilaRift]

Ashard ducks under the swinging mug and aims another blow at Rast.

OOC
Attack: [roll0] Damage: [roll1] nonlethal.
If Rast's got a Dex bonus to AC, hopefully Mech's grapple will deny it to him.
EDIT: Doesn't matter. If only I'd rolled higher for damage.

[NobodyMuch]

Sure, its possible that Rast is firmly held in hand by Mech. Sure, he's probably out of commission. But he cracked one over Grim's head, and that won't go unanswered. Once the other warforged has him wrapped up, the larger construct lunges forward, shoving his shoulder as hard as he can low, into the gut of the mouthy human.


Slam for non-lethal
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Karl Prosek]

"Whoa!" Kirin windmills his arms and fights to maintain his balance as the chasm suddenly appears, yawning endlessly at his feet. Even if he had time to consider the impossibility of it, his eyes surely believed it and they were firmly in charge at the moment.

Once he's sure he wasn't about to fall for the rest of his life, he turns to see who's still on this side of the pit. There were, unfortunately, still several hostile locals who seemed bound and determined to hurt his new... friends was definitely not the right word. Crewmates was about the closest he could come on short notice.

He whispers into the air and sweeps his hands at the far table, calling a rime of slippery, frozen salt spray out of the humid air.

Casts Grease on the floor of square in between H1 and H2, flavored for his Stormborn bloodline.

[Winterfell]

"Time's up, Rast," Markus calls darkly, eyes flashing ominously as he flexes, giving the fallen man next to him a final kick before he charges into the fray, aiming a punch right at the instigator's gut.

Charge and attack Rast.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]

[Leviathan]

Markus' fist lays Rast out cold, his head thunking against the tabletop as he collapses with a thud. The remaining men, still trapped beyond Mila's illusion, scramble back away from the edge fearfully, slipping and sliding on Kirin's frosty mist that carpets the tavern under them.

Seeing half of their number beaten, and potentially deadly magic unleashed against them, the barroom toughs opt to surrender, raising their hands in defeat. "Hey, you won. We don't want no more trouble," one of them says fearfully from his position against the far wall.

Mrs Calversam bustles up, jabbing a finger around at everyone. "We're not this kind of establishment," she barks. "Oh we get the occasional fistfight, but... Well I never," she mutters, looking at the rift in her floor. "If that's permanent, you'll need to pay for it!"

Congratulations on handling that unexpected encounter. I'll be out of town until tomorrow evening, so I won't be posting. Feel free to deal with the innkeeper and go back to your talking. I'll move things along to tomorrow morning when I get back.

[DaedalusMkV]

As the last of the local ruffians make it clear they've got no more will to continue the fight, Tam takes the opportunity to dismount from the table as gracefully as possible, tucking his blackjack back into his sleeve where it belongs, and dusts off his sleeves. Not that they're actually appreciably dirtier than when he came in, but appearances count for something. Turning to the Inkeeper, ignoring the rest of the formerly rowdy patrons, he responds as calmly as he can. "Apologies, Ma'am. We didn't start the fight, and I'll point out we did our best to end it as soon and clean as possible." He looks around for the lurking figure of Mila before giving her a pointed glare. "And I'm sure whatever magic that is will be gone in a jiffy." Walking around the table he'd been standing on a few moments prior, the Changeling stops to pick up the chair he'd thrown down at the beginning of the abortative fight, restoring it to his place at the table, then scoops his abandoned wine glass from the floor and sets it back in place, pouring another measure of wine into it, then slumps down in it and leaves the final resolution of things to the rest of the group. Between the blinding magical light and the fighting, he seems to be developing something of a headache.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin nods at Mrs. Calversam. "We will, of course, pay for all damages." He glances briefly at Tam, Khaana, and Markus. "The continued goodwill of House Ghallanda is our prime concern after this regrettable and avoidable incident."

He glances at the men who had refused his multiple offers for a nonviolent end to this. The smile that had barely left his lips before the fight was nowhere in evidence. In fact, Kirin looks cold, just this side of sneering at the men. In other words, he looks and sounds like a nobleman passing judgment on commoners who had misbehaved in front of him. "I think that you ought to leave, though. In order to avoid any possible further misunderstandings this evening."

[Mathemagics]

With the fight winding down, Mila finally begins to relax a bit and allows the illusion projected onto the floor to fade. Pulling herself out from under the table, she stands to her feet and idles around guiltily, trying to avoid eye contact with the others.

"I... I'm sorry. It's all my fault... If I hadn't done that, there wouldn't have been a fight..."

The gnome sniffles a bit, clearly upset over the whole affair.

[Minerva]

Khaana looks around, surveying the damage. "Calm yourself, halfling," she says to the innkeeper. "We will pay for the damage to your inn. But first, I have words to make good on." She gives Rast's unconscious body a kick, rolling it over until it reaches the door. Then, with a slight grin, she pushes it down into the muddy street outside.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard watches her go with a rueful look on his face. "We ain't even been working for Karl for a day, and we get in a bar fight. I'm right sorry about this, Mrs. Calversam." He looks around, assessing the damage.

[RocketMan]

"And so our company begins," Lieris whispers to himself as his violet eyes sharply watch as Markus knocks Rast into unconsciousness. "But is the start auspicious?" he muses quietly. The elf surveys Mrs. Calversham calmly.

"Most of this damage you see never occurred," Lieris replies, seeming to enjoy his own crypticness. "Milavana Tolten," he says, turning now to the gnome and studying the girl for a moment. "I think perhaps in time your talents will prove formidable, the awe of many," he says slowly and deliberately.

[Leviathan]

Milavana's illusion flickers and fades out of existence, to Mrs Calversam's palpable relief. A touch of Ashard's magic has the few broken plates and dented table back to their state prior to the brawl. The rest of the evening is uneventful, and with the fires of the inn's hearth burning down to embers, you make for your rooms.

The next morning floods in early, through the inn's bay windows that face out over the town's harbour, where a dozen ships rest at anchor. The worst of last night's storm has past, leaving the sky grey and cloudy, and the ground darkened from drizzling drops of rain.

Outside the Seadragon Lodge, horses and a sturdy, well-built wagon are waiting for you. Granos Karl comes out to see you off. "Let's hope you do as well recovering artifacts as you do beating up tavern toughs," he comments laconically. Fingering his arm, he adds: "And don't forget the trap." You mount up on one of the horses or in the wagon, and set off. The streets of Regalport are waking up slowly, and your progress is interrupted only a few times by stuporous men ambling across the pathways.

Passing beyond the town's limits, you ride along rocky, mist-shrouded coastline and fields of tough brown shrubs dotted with copses of scraggly pines. An hour out from Regalport, the road is little more than a rutted wagon track; the Lhazaarites have never been great builders, and they prefer ships to roads regardless.

Past noon, with a pale sun fighting the banks of grey clouds for dominance, your procession comes to the top of a hill. It slopes downwards, right to a sandy shoreline. Around the beach, a collection of jetties and small docks have been built on wooden struts, and small houses are similarly raised up, smoke curling from holes in their roofs. On one of the docks, a toothless old fisherman, his skin ruddy and wrinkled from age and weathering, sits in a chair, sewing at a fishing net.

Past the village, to the north across the water, you can barely make out the shape of an island rising from the mists. It's two or three miles across, you guess, mostly flat terrain, but with a large hill rising at its center, topped with propped-up boulders. This is Farlstones, and the island across from it must be your goal.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin had come downstairs looking substantially less wealthy. The silk-lined cloak was packed away in favor of a good but well worn sailor's coat in Lyrandar navy blue with big silver buttons- the kind of thing a prosperous but not wealthy sailor might wear. His long hair was kept out of his face by a pair of braids held back with intricately carved scrimshaw clips- again, something a sailor who had money to spend might buy while in port. With his broken-in boots and stout explorer's trousers he looked less like a nobleman slumming and more like a sailor who had done really well on his last voyage.

As they approach the village, Kirin takes off even his coat, revealing nothing more than a white shirt underneath. He rolls up his sleeves, displaying almost complete sleeves of tattoos on each arm, and unlaces the top of his shirt to show off more tattoos- including the edges of a tattoo in the vibrant purple and black of a dragonmark.

He walks over to the old man on the dock. "Ahoy, there, bucko. We're lookin' fer a cap'n ta take us over ta yonder island. D'you know of any man who'd like a pocket'a silver fer a few hours work this mornin'?" The young Lyrandar spoke like an old salt, nothing like the Sharn born and educated nobleman who had tried to talk down the toughs last night.

[Leviathan]

The old fisherman looks up as Kirin approaches. "Oh aye?" he says in a heavy brogue, "That isle o'er across th' way, eh? Ye'll be a brave un then, ta go there. That isle's cursed!" He jabs a bony finger at it accusingly, point at the boulder-topped hill shrouded in mist. "But I've got sum strong lads an' a boat she'll get ye 'cross. Course I'll be needin' t' see that coin a-glintin' afore we set sail," he adds shrewdly.

[Mathemagics]

Mila has been rather subdued for most of the morning, likely still upset over how the events of the previous night ended up. As the group nears its destination, however, she seems to brighten up a little bit. Perhaps the newness of this experience was helping to dispel her gloomy state of mind. As the wagon came to a halt, she hopped down and began curiously exploring the immediate vicinity around the docks (taking careful measures to avoid straying too far or being too intrusive).

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin nods at the old fisherman. "We'd be turrible 'preciative. First, though, point me out yer boat, cap'n, if ya would." OOC: Just to keep things moving along, as long as the boat looks large enough to transport them all and seaworthy enough to not sink on the way to the island, Kirin continues. Kirin gives the indicated vessel a quick look then young Lyrandar nods again. "She looks jus' righ' ta do tha job, cap'n. Whaddya say ta... a sovereign a head?"

[Winterfell]

"Your boat had better be good, old man," Markus says with a grin, yet his eyes gleam fiercely. "We've got some heavy cargo," he says with a laugh, clapping both Grim and Mech on their metallic backs, one with each hand. "And if we don't get killed over there, we may have more stuff to carry. If you tell us your boat is good enough and it's some blasted dingy, well..." He pauses, smiling unpleasantly, one hand drifting to his sword.

[NobodyMuch]

Grim shakes his head and laughs at the tack that Markus takes, amused and pleased at the mindset of the barbaric man. Cut straight to the chase and all. He observes," Kirin is generous. Nine'll go a ways in a... well, a place like this." Looking around as he speaks to Markus and Mech, clearly labeling this place Spit in his head, he spots Milavana nosing around.

" Oi, short stuff." The construct is surprisingly fast on his feet; Grim is next to the illusionist before he's even finished the sentence, startling her as she's poking an interesting rock (such being the limit of the fascinating hereabouts). Scooping Mila up, Grim deposits her on his left shoulder with a pat on her head. " You'll get a better view from up here. Such as it is."

[Minerva]

Khaana looks imperiously around the ramshackle fishing village, a contemptuous look on her face as negotiations with the villager proceeds. "We are no cowards," she states when he suggests that the island is cursed. "We shall see what magic lies over the island, but," she adds with a slight snarl, "it is the way of cowards to see curses where ever danger is."

[Mathemagics]

"Huh? Woah!"

Mila squirms in surprise as she is lifted up by the warforged, but suddenly calms down as she is settled on his shoulder. Looking around from her new seat, she seems to have regained much of her happy and carefree attitude prior to last night's incident.

"Wooooooow! It's so high up! I can see forever! Hey, hey, Grim! Is this what it's always like when you're so tall?!"

The gnome begins to bounce around excitedly, turning to look first left then right. It seems she intends to take every opportunity she can from her newly found vantage point.

[AquilaRift]

"Ease off, you two," Ashard says casually, looking at Markus and Khaana in turn. "Ain't no one trying to cheat us or call us cowards here." Seeing the excitable gnome lifted onto the grumpy construct's shoulder, he lets out a hearty chuckle. "You sure you know what you got yourself into, Grim? Now she's tasted being tall, she ain't going to want to come down."

[NobodyMuch]

" Nah. Sometimes it gets cold up here. And sometimes, the air gets a mite thin. Hard to breath, then," sayeth the Grim, blithely skipping past the fact that he doesn't have to breath with his heavy sarcasm, seeing if Mila picks up on it.

" Keeps her from pulling levers." Is the metal man's answer for Ashard, pronouncing the word 'lee-ver' without looking at the man, keeping his gaze on the not-so-distant island. " She's a born lever puller. I can smell it."

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam follows along with the group quietly, still wearing the same guise he did the night before, responding as pleasantly as he can to anything anyone says to him but otherwise basically keeping to himself. The headache from the previous night is gone, at least, but he may have found himself drinking slightly too much wine to drown it out. Which may have led to a slight hangover in the morning. One that he's doing his best to conceal, and given how practiced he is at dissembling he's pretty sure that the others haven't picked up on it.

As he looks over the water at the island off in the distance, he comes to a somewhat strange realization. Disregarding the airship that brought him to Regalport in the first place, this will be his first time ever actually using a boat. He's swam, to be certain, in pools both man-made and natural, but never used a boat. Hopefully the rest of the bunch know a bit more about sailing than him. "I've got to agree, Mr. Grim. Given that the poking, prodding and examining of unknown things is mostly going to be my job, I'd appreciate it if nobody comes running in halfway through with touchy hands, aye?" The statement isn't addressed to anyone in particular, but the Changeling's tone and the direction of his gaze makes it abundantly clear exactly who he's talking to.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin doesn't flinch at Markus's unexpected intervention. He just shakes his head sadly and drops his voice as if sharing a secret with the old fisherman. "Don' mind 'im, cap'n. He ain't been right since he met Miss Siff down Port Verge way. Told 'im that a doxy chargin' so little warn't on, but some people y'just can't turn they heads."

"Miss Siff" = syphilis. I couldn't work out who the "French" would be in "the French disease" so I went with a different nickname. :smallsmile:

[Gwynfrid]

When Markus touches its back, Mech hardly feels anything : A refined sense of touch was never part of its design. Still, the young warforged is developing a sense of distaste for the invasion of private space, a notion it never knew it had, in its time in Alerios's lab. It gives no outward sign of this, though. Instead, its reply and matter-of-fact tone betray a definite lack of understanding about human humor.

"Technically, Grim and myself are not objects. So, we can't be cargo, right?"

[Leviathan]

The fisherman scratches his beard, shrugging philosophically at Kirin as he apologizes for Khaana and Markus. "It don't bother me none that sum strangers like to show off. I always tell me boys: the worst o' gales ne'er did so much mis-cheef as loose womenfolk t' a man. An' after sixty years on the waves, sum queer 'un with a loud mouth don't frighten me none."

The old man indicates a flat-hulled vessel resting off one of the jetties, a single-masted longboat rigged with fishing nets over its sides, its wide hull packed with buckets and slippery with fish guts. In it, a trio of strapping Lhazaar boys lounge indolently, until the old captain calls over to them. "Ey laddies, time t' git offa yer rears an' get her ready to go a'sailin'. Got sum strangers be needin' a ferry."

The boys stand and begin to work the sail, unlashing it and letting it fall. They haul up long oars from the deck of the boat, as the vessel strains at its moorings against the stiff sea wind blowing in. "Bad day," the captain comments darkly as he leads you down towards the ship. "I can feel it in me bones." Of course, more likely is that he can see it in the black clouds gathering in the sky overhead.

The boat wobbles precariously from side to side as Grim and Mech climb aboard, and both get strange looks from the deckhands. With the wide-hulled fishing boat loaded full of people, the captain climbs aboard, spry and limber for his age. The ropes holding the boat to the dock are pulled away, and you slip out to sea.

Waves smash against the bow of the ship as it cuts out to sea, sprays of salty cold water splashing up against you. The ship banks slowly to the side as the deckhands haul the sail about to catch the wind. The waves become choppier still, the wind lashing in with forceful gusts. The black clouds overhead open up in a vengeful torrent of rain: it seems the storm of the past day has not left after all. Lightning cracks through the sky, striking somewhere close by, and rain sheers across the vessel.

The captain hollers something over the wind; you can barely make it out as the gale tears the sound away with it. "Hold steady! Brace ye!" The ship shudders precariously, rocked about by high waves. The reason for the captain's warning becomes clear soon: a large swell of black water crashes over the side of the boat, and it throws itself sideways. For a moment, it looks as though it's going to capsize, and you're thrown to the port side by the force of the wave.

I'll need balance checks DC10 (or you can substitute another skill/ability check if you can justify it) from everyone. If you succeed, you can try anything else to help the ship out.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin braces himself against the smashing wave and the bucking hull, trying to read the wind to gain some insight into the storm that he could share with the captain and his crew. Unfortunately, the dark sky and unpredictable gusts stymied him and kept any possible insights from being anywhere near helpful.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard, tough as he is, has never been a seafarer. He seems to be holding onto his breakfast through sheer determination and prayer as he reels across the deck.

Acrobatics check, complete with armor check penalty: [roll0]

[Gwynfrid]

"Isn't this magnificent!"

In awe, Mech looks at the skies, the sea, feels the smell of the waves and the powerful caress of the wind on its face. Mouth open, it tastes the salty air... All these incredible phenomenons of nature are nothing like the paltry, artificial experiments of a laboratory, those lame attempts pretending to mimic reality.

When the huge wave comes, the warforged admires it so much that it very nearly ignores the warning, and only braces itself at the very last second to avoid being thrown overboard.

[NobodyMuch]

The rolling wave stumbles the artificial barbarian, and its three steps from where he stands to the edge of the deck, wire-wrapped wooden fingers gripping the railing hard as he regains his balance. Looking around at the utterly awful weather and the precarious situation his breathing fellows are in, he says," Sod it... Mech, go overboard! Lets lighten the load on this damn tub! We can walk the rest of the way." And with a sarcastic salute to the others on the small ship, Grim tumbles backwards over the railing he'd just caught himself on down into the briny blue.

Gods above he was starting to hate ships.

[Mathemagics]

Luckily for Mila, Grim had taken her down from his shoulder when they got onto the boat. Unluckily for her, this also meant that she now lacked the vantage that some of the others had and barely saw the wave in time to brace herself. Somehow, she manages to hold on as the wave sweeps over her, coughing as she tries to breath amidst all the rain and flying seawater.

"Uh... are all boat rides supposed to be like this...?"

[RocketMan]

Lieris remains quiet as the party arrives at Farlstones. The elf seems uninterested in the old sea captain, instead gazing out to the horizon, as if trying to memorize every undulation of the sea and all the shapes of the dark clouds. The boards the boat nimbly.

"Magnificent, yes," Lieris replies to Mech, for he too is looking up at the skies, torrential rain stinging his face but provoking no reaction. "Here, a lone vessel against all the furies of the earth..." he muses.

The huge wave suddenly hits the boat. The young elf seems to jerk out of his trance, brow furrowing and the misty expression leaving his eyes. He catches himself with grace, barely stumbling. He quickly turns to look for the rest of the party.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech looks in astonishment at how Grim sinks like a stone. Well, maybe something heavier than a stone? Some material density calculations automatically move into gear inside the crystal brain, before more practical considerations take over.

"That's actually a pretty good idea! Besides, it's a golden opportunity for..." The others don't hear the rest, interrupted as it is by the loud splash of the metal body boring a large temporary hole in the water.

... exploring the sea from underneath! Fantastic!

[Winterfell]

"Technically, Grim and myself are not objects. So, we can't be cargo, right?"

Markus smiles at Mech and nods slowly. "It was a joke. But spend enough time in the world and you'll find pretty quick that people can be objects. They can be cargo, goods, bodies, just things to be bought and sold." The grimaces, expression grim.

Markus smirks at Kirin. "Miss Siff and I go back a ways. The things you pick up from the whores in Sharn..." he shakes his head with a sigh, long hair swaying. "Ah, but that's why they invented priests," he says with a booming laugh, this time clapping Ashard on his back. He guffaws as the party makes its way to the dock.

This is suddenly broken off as the gladiator lets out a short, harsh laugh. "Hah, you 'felt it in your bones,' did you?" he says, looking down at the old sailor. He looks at the rest of his group and doesn't press his incredulity, but gives the black sky a significant look.

The boat ride is uncomfortable. Markus glowers at everyone, looking half angry and half sick. "Hells," he hisses as he spots the wave approaching. He grunts as he grabs the side of the boat with his muscular arms, bending his knees to absorb the shock.

Acrobatics roll: [roll0]

[Minerva]

With the storm rumbling in, Khaana's head turns skyward, fixed unwaveringly on the black clouds and lightning wracked horizon. Her nostrils flare from her militant face, breathing in the scent of the salt and rain. She works her way to the prow of the boat, a grin on her face, showing her sharp canines.

"The Devourer has come," she proclaims, raising her arms. "He tests us with the terror of the storm. But our mettle is steel, and we will not fall." Khaana raises the strange metal grid, the symbol of the Dark Six up into the air, looking directly at the boat shaking wave as it comes in. "We will not falter... Argh!" With her hands in the air instead of prudently holding something, the hobgoblin goes flying as the wave crashes into the boat.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam is better equipped than most to deal with the massive swell crashing into their hired transport. After all, unfamiliar as he is with the rocking and crashing of a ship on troubled waters, he was already hanging on tight to the sturdiest handhold he could find, and if his face wasn't grey with the telltale signs of seasickness it's only because of the oddities of Changeling biology. Seeing the huge wave coming, he braces himself and rolls with the impact, gracefully coming up to his feet in the middle of the deck. "Gods damn it, how do you people do this all the time? Anything I can do to help?"


With no ranks in Profession: Sailor of his own, and no experience with boats, the best I can do is offer to Aid Another anything that someone else does to help the situation.

Man, we could see the island we were going to... This is either poor planning or hostile magic, no doubts about it.

[Leviathan]

The white-capped wave breaks over the ship, an icy spray of water splashing across the deck. The captain, seated at the stern, holds fast at the rudder to stay in place. His deckhands clutch at the sidings and mast to keep from slipping, and most of the party is able do likewise: Milavana, Kirin, and Markus all hold to the ship's edges. Lieris barely seems to feel the wave, his elven grace lending him balance. Tam likewise is able to deftly hold on.

Ashard, however, is thrown violently to the side of the ship as it lurches. Fortunately for the priest, he feels a sharp shock to his back as he collides with the starboard hull of the boat. He's barely able to cling to that as the ship rocks and tosses on the waves.

Things go worse for Khaana. Standing at the bow, holding nothing, the hobgoblin is thrown right off the ship into the stormy waters off its prow. One of the fishing boat's deckhands points down to her. "MAN OVERBOARD!" he shouts rather pointlessly.

By this point, the boat has crossed half of the channel separating Farlstones from the island; the water beneath is black and deep, giving away nothing...

Grim and Mech
The noise and clamour of the storm is halted abruptly as the pair of warforged drop from either side of the boat, plunging like a pair of sentient anchors down into the sea. Kelp and algae floats on the water, which is dark from the storm clouds above. They fall for a few long, slow moments, perhaps one hundred feet, before their metallic feet make contact with the muddy seabed. A few bottom-feeders flit away from them as they land, bringing up a cloud of silt and muck in a dense fog that dissipates after a second or two.

Looking up, the pair can barely make out the silhouette of the vessel's hull above them. But more ominously, they can see eight dark shapes, vaguely humanoid, swimming up from the depths towards the boat...

[Minerva]

Khaana feels the sudden rush of the water all around her. Her eyes widen as she feels its cold all around her, and then she sees the boat nearby. "This is a test," she growls over the biting chill. "Rrrr!" she growls, all speech turning into a gutteral growl as she starts to swim toward the boat, attempting to keep her head above water.

Swim: [roll0]

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin drops to knees to start digging through his pack. He gestures in the direction Khaana had fallen. "Keep an eye on her! Don't lose sight of her!" After a frantic moment of searching, the Lyrandar pulls out a coil of silken rope and starts fastening it into a safety line with a self-tightening slip-knot at the end and staggers over to the gunwale.

"Where is she!?" Once he spots her, Kirin whips the rope at his side and tosses it to Khaana.

Thankfully PF doesn't have Use Rope as a separate skill, so I'm going with Profession (Sailor) again to make the safety line. [roll0]

And a ranged attack roll, if necessary. [roll1]

[Gwynfrid]

Going down, Mech discovers the mysteries of watery depths with great interest, impressed with the sudden near-silence and the feel of water all around, but disappointed as it realizes how little light there is down here. This leisurely exploration doesn't last, though.

Uh oh. Aggressors? I should warn the boat. Er... How do I get back to the surface?

While it ponders how to pull itself up, Mech turns some taps on its chest as a precaution against a possible attack from these creatures of the sea.

"Drinking" a Shield extract.

Mech hasn't been in water in its life, ever. So, no matter what the character sheet says, I think it doesn't have the first clue about swimming.

[NobodyMuch]

Even if it is a bit soggy... Grim likes being on solid ground again. The floor of this channel is far preferable to the heaving deck of that dinghy. It is at the precise moment that he thinks this that it becomes clear that he'll have to leave it almost immediately, spotting the unknowns underwater. The red embers of his eyes vanish momentarily as he shuts them, sighs, opens with renewed aggravation. He hates swimming.

Clapping Mech on the shoulder to get his attention, the sergeant points very firmly skyward in case the," "Up," distorted and garbled by the water isn't understood. Kicking with unceasing vigor, the warforged rises against his negative buoyancy. Would a normal man find this tiring? Certainly. Exhausting? Without a doubt. But, no heart beats in Grim's chest to falter. And so he rises towards the unknown exceedingly slowly.


Swim: [roll0]
There's no way he can beat them to the ship, but at least he'll be able to flank them? I don't know. I'm secretly hoping they're the rare Inlet Dolphin, arriving to save Khaana from drowning.

[RocketMan]

"She will not stay afloat forever," Lieris says, sounding cool and full of energy. He dashes easily across the deck of the storm-tossed ship to where Markus stands. He places a slender hand on the barbarian's arm to gain his attention over the roar of the sea.

"The priestess may require aid," he says quickly, soft voice barely audible over the waves. "Let me be of help to you," the elf says. "If you wish it, I will secure one end your rope to the mast of this vessel and the other end to you." The young elf turns his head, watching Khaana struggle against the waves. "Come, we must be quick!"

Since Lieris has all of +0 to Swim, so he's offering to tie Markus's 50 ft. of rope around the mast and then around Markus's waist. If Markus accepts, here is his roll:

Escape Artist: (seems a reasonable proxy for use rope) [roll0]

[Leviathan]

While waves still batter the vessel, mercifully, none are yet so strong as to give the boat another vicious rocking of the kind that threw Khaana overboard. Still in the cold water, the hobgoblin cleric manages to keep afloat and alongside the boat, a feat of strength considering the metal she's clad in. Kirin's rope comes sailing in, landing with a splash made inaudible by a clap of thunder. Khaana is able to reach out and grab it; at least now she won't get left behind as the boat cuts its way steadily through the stormy sea.

Grim and Mech
Down in the depth, Grim attempts to rise back up towards the choppy surface. But the water pressure and his own weight is too great; he succeeds only in raising up another cloud of silt.

When the brown muck settles again, though, it becomes clear that it hasn't gone unnoticed. Two of the silhouettes, which are swiftly approaching the boat from below, turn off abruptly, cutting shark-like through the sea, straight towards the pair of warforged. They close rapidly, and it becomes apparent that they're vaguely humanoid, with murky blue-grey scales and a face somewhere between a lizard and a shark, row upon row of pointed teeth extending in aggressive snarls. Long tails slice the water behind them, propelling them forward. In their clawed, webbed hands, they hold jagged metal, three-pronged spears.

As the struggle to survive the storm continues, the old captain lets out a call that is something like a wail. "It's them sea devils!" he cries over the storm. "Come to come to drag us dun be-neath th' waves!" Sure enough, through the rough waters, the shapes of creatures just below the surface can be made out, their heads occasionally breaking it with a splash.

Round 1
Everyone feel free to act.

Map
http://img39.imageshack.us/img39/7115/xcg.png

Notes:
The wind and rain gives you a -2 to ranged attacks past 30 ft, and -2 to perception checks.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard lurches to his feet and begins a blessing, praying aloud into the storm. One hand passes through sacred gestures while the other clutches the symbol around his neck. "Onatar, guide our hands..."

OOC
If these things are what I think they are, we're in trouble...
Anyway. With no ranged weapon, the best thing I can do is improve the chances of the others. Getting up is a move action, followed by a standard action to cast bless. All allies in range (that is to say, everybody) get a +1 morale bonus to attack rolls and saves against fear for the next 10 rounds.
EDIT: Just realized Grim and Mech are a hundred feet down, and the spell radius is only fifty. So they don't get the bonus. Khaana still does, for all the good that will do her.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech looks at Grim's failed attempt to reach back to the surface, and notices the approaching creatures, the intent of which leaves very little to doubt. It turns to Grim, and attempts to shout at him, wondering how much can be understood: "Battle?", and backs up this limited speech with the unambiguous gesture of a closed fist, while pointing at the two approaching opponents.

It then calmly proceeds to pull and turn some more of its built-in levers and taps.

"Drinking" the strength mutagen.

Status: Str 20 Int 14 HP 12 AC 19

[Mathemagics]

Regaining her balance, Mila tried to take stock of the confusion around her. She managed to spot Khaana still in the water, but at least with the thrown rope in hand. However, she also saw the shapes that were closing in on them and quickly beginning to gather around the hobgoblin.

"Oh no! Nonononononononono! That's definitely bad! Uh um, think!"

The gnome desperately wracked her brain, trying to come up with a plan that might possibly slow their attackers down long enough to allow Khaana time to get back into the boat.

"Wait! I got it!"

Trying to focus under the trying circumstances, Mila conjured up a mental image, much like she had last night during the brawl. However, instead of a chasm, this time the illusion took the shape of a large chunk of floating ice, effectively a wall juxtaposed between the boat and its occupants and the encroaching enemy. Naturally, the image lacked the freezing temperate that real ice should have, but she hoped that this wouldn't be noticed right away and at least buy some time.


Casting Silent Image to create the illusion of an ice floe in the water, basically forming a "wall" starting at the top of the map and running 10 squares vertically down (assuming that each square is 5 feet) in the column immediately to the right of Khaana and S6. Since the image occupies cubes of space as well, it appears to go below 10 feet under the water.

[RocketMan]

Lieris looks startled as the old captain yells out his warning. The elf looks warily at the circling creatures. "We have no choice; to pass we must send our newfound foe back to where they came from," the elf hisses. He immediately springs to action, weaving his arms in the same sinuous motion as in the tavern, casting a sleep spell once more.

Sleep (Will DC 14) on S1 and S6.

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin quickly moves to tie off the rope to something solid inside the ship. "Khaana, you're going to have to pull yourself in! Enemies in the water!" He unslings his crossbow and rolls a crossbow bolt in between his hands a few times before dropping it into the channel.

Thunderstaff on his crossbow bolt. The current plan is to shoot at the enemies while they're still in the water. If anybody who looks more competent with ranged weapons pulls one out, he'll use Thunderstaff on them instead.

He'll cast Grease on the side of the boat if any of them get close enough to scale the side and board.

[NobodyMuch]

After it becomes obvious that he ain't getting back up to the surface that way, Grim resigns himself to sitting and waiting for the fish-things to reach him and Mech. The greatsword comes off his back. It's weight feels... really weird underwater. Never fought in the ocean before. Once, in the War, he'd spent three days doing cut and thrust work in a trench that was neck deep in water... Not quite the same thing, though.

[Minerva]

Khaana looks behind her to see the creatures approaching through the water. Seizing the rope in both hands, she attempts to pull herself up onto the boat. "Ready yourselves," she growls over the noise of the rain and waves. "Battle comes." She gives another pull on the rope, hauling herself up as best she can.

Climb (hopefully the right skill and hopefully with a bonus for the rope :smallbiggrin:): [roll0]

[Winterfell]

"F--king hell, this is just what we need," Markus curses as the forms of the sahuagin appear under the steely waters. "Damn it, she's going to get eaten," he shouts over the rain, pointing at Khaana. The barbarian sighs, closing his eyes. "Yeah, tie that thing around me, quick," he says, nodding at Lieris and raising his arms to facilitate the rope going around his waist. He claps the elf on the shoulder as he finishes, half a compliment for a job well done and half a push out of the way. Markus's gaze if fixed on the approaching sea creatures as he takes a running jump off the boat into the cold water, landing with a tremendous splash, his hands on his sword.

Running jump off the boat in a horizontal line to the right!

Acrobatics roll: [roll0]

That should result in a 15 foot long jump :smallcool:.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam takes one look at the shadowy figures rising from the waves and curses to himself. "Aww, damn it all. Looks like it was magic..." Unslinging his crossbow from his back (and cursing that he hadn't really expected to be fighting some sort of sea-monsters...), the Changeling levels it at the nearest of the dark shapes and opens fire, hoping that whatever they are they aren't immune to crossbow fire.


Apologies for the delay. Not much else I can do, so draw my crossbow as a Move action and fire. Not sure if I got Thunderstaff'd or not, so I'll roll that electricity damage up seperately.

Attack (within 30 feet, so no penalty): [roll0] Edit: Bah. Many Bahs.
Damage: [roll1]. Possibly plus [roll2] Electricity.

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[Leviathan]

Ashard's blessing courses across the battlefield in a momentary flare of golden light, like a burst of warm thunder somewhere nearby. It washes over his nearby companions, bolstering them with the Host's favour.

Milavana's magic conjures up the false image of a wall of ice, its body sinking down into the water, cutting off the oncoming monsters from the boat. Lieris weaves an enchantment over two of the creatures as they swim rapidly toward the boat. One of them stops abruptly, its fast-moving body going limp, floating on the waves.

Tam fires down into the water with his crossbow, but the bolt is knocked astray by the wind and rain. Kirin's crossbow crackles with the energy of the storm around them as he nocks a bolt in it, calling down to Khaana. But the hobgoblin is yet unable to pull herself up, but still maintains a firm hold on the side of the boat.

Khaana won't need to make swim checks, provided he only uses actions that require one hand.

As Khaana tries to get out of the water, Markus has other ideas. The gladiator hurls himself off the ship in a ferocious jump, landing with a splash of water beside one of the creatures. It lets out a startled hiss, but manages to dodge the swinging greatsword that Markus brings to bear on it.

Mech and Grim
Mech's armour floods his warforged body with one of his mixtures, making him stronger still. Grim, meanwhile, unsheathes his sword, the motion sluggish and clumsy under water.

The creatures hiss and shriek violently, swarming toward the boat, spears held high. Two of them swim at Markus, stabbing violently at the barbarian. Splashing and bobbing on the waves, he's still able to deflect the first blow, while his armour takes the brunt of the second.

Another of the creatures swims straight for Khaana, diving down under Mila's wall of illusory ice, and then surfacing on the other side. As it approaches, it hurls its pronged spear through the air. The weapon sticks into the hull of the ship, missing the hobgoblin entirely. The creature swims in close, brandishing long claws.

One of the creatures swims around the bow of the boat, leaping half out of the water with a hiss. As it jumps, its trident stabs over the side of the ship, right into the chest of an unfortunate deckhand, who collapses to the floor, glassy-eyed.

Another comes up under the ice-wall, attempting to jab at Ashard over the rail of the ship. The priest is able to jump back, letting the spear scrape against the hull.

The captain and his remaining hands scramble about in terror. The old man seizes on a rusty old crossbow lying by the rudder, firing it at the nearest of the creatures. He manages to graze the beast that tried to strike Ashard. The deckhands, meanwhile, back away toward the middle of the boat.

Grim and Mech
The pair of creatures swim toward the warforged, silent and deadly. They come in close with their weapons, stabbing, showing sharp fangs on display. As they close, Grim swings his sword through the water. Even dampened by it, the blow is a mighty one, and a mist of blood spills from one of the creatures. One of them lands a hit on Mech's plating, though.

Since Grim only unsheathed his sword and didn't use up his whole round, I thought that it'd be fair to say he delayed his attack. In mechanical terms, he hit S8 for 6 damage.

As for Mech, that's 6 damage.

Round 2

Map
http://img853.imageshack.us/img853/796/dyyv.png

[AquilaRift]

Ashard grasps his hammer and swings overhand at the creature that tried to stab him, letting out a wordless roar of defiance.

Move action: draw a weapon. Standard action: melee attack against S4. [roll0] :smallsigh: Damage: [roll1]

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin leans over the railing and fires at the sea creature attempting to skewer Ashard.


Shooting at S4: [roll0]
Damage, in case it hits: [roll1] + [roll2] electricity damage.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech is startled by the blow and the sizeable dent in its metal skin, a first in its young experience. Hey, it hurt me. Does it hope to eat me?

It responds with a slam of its steely fist, an attack that's unfortunately hampered by all the water around it.

Slam [roll0] (includes increased Str and -2 for a bludgeoning weapon underwater ; damage [roll1] /2 due to water = 4... if it hit :smallsigh:

Status Str 20 HP 6/12 AC 19

[NobodyMuch]

With blood in the water, the warforged gets into the swing of combat by letting loose a blood-curdling roar of inchoate rage. Grim strikes again, hoping to connect a second time with the sea-thing.

He, of course, misses.


Raging!

Attack:[roll0]
Damage(hah!):[roll1]

[Mathemagics]

Still trying to maintain the illusion (despite the lack of good it appears to be doing, considering the enemy just dive under it), Mila fumbles around and pulls out a crossbow.

Wait, since when did she have a crossbow? Where was she hiding that this whole time?!


Standard Action: Concentrate on maintaining illusion.
Move Action: Draw light crossbow.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam angles his head slightly, inwardly cursing the awful conditions. He only really carries the crossbow as a backup and to intimidate thugs, and he's never claimed to be the best archer in the world, but by the gods how hard can it be to hit a target at ten paces. He begins shouting out at the rest of the group, since nobody else seems to have any intention of taking charge. "Nobody go in the water! That's where they want you! Stick together, we might be able to clump them up and hit them with that spell of the gnome's." Even as he yells above the roar of the storm, he reloads his crossbow with as little fumbling as he can, takes aim and opens fire on his original target, though the bolt flies wildly off-course. With any luck he can land a decent hit before things close to a melee fight. Then, shot expended, he steps back to close with Ashard and Lieris.


Move Action to reload, Standard to fire and then five-foot-step in between Lieris and Ashard to make the lot of us a little bit harder to take out piecemeal. Targetting S5. Eight Bolts left...

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[Minerva]

The sahuagin's trident stabs into the side of the boat that Khaana holds on to, coming dangerously close to her hand. She snarls in defiance, her red eyes blazing with fury as her enemy comes closer. It will not stand against me. Fury, lend me strength! Letting go of the boat with one fist, she murmurs an invocation. "Keeper devour this one..." She reaches out with her free hand, which smolders with a smoky red glow.

Casting Inflict Light Wounds (sacrificing bane) vs S1. Channel smiting through the touch attack, with destructive smite attached.

Touch attack (with an action point, because miss miss miss): [roll0]+[roll1], Damage: [roll2]+[roll3]

[RocketMan]

Lieris turns quickly, his raven black hair whipping as he spins. An arrow is knocked in this bow, ready to be loosed. "Behind us," he says, taking aim.

Attacking S5.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Winterfell]

"Goblin, get yourself out of the water!" Markus roars, blood pumping as he splashes in the water, swinging his sword at the nearest creature. He kicks his legs as he flails his blade, pushing himself back toward the ship.

Rage and attack S3, taking a 5 foot step back to the boat.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]/2

[Leviathan]

Ashard and Kirin wield their weapons, leaning over the starboard side of the tossing boat. Ashard's mace swings wide as the sahuagin falls back down into the water, and Kirin's bolt doesn't connect either. But the lightning that infuses the projectile arcs out across the sea, crackling through the creature anyways.

As Milavana draws her mysteriously-hidden crossbow from out of nowhere, Lieris and Tam fire off a volley at the sahuagin that just speared one of the sailors. Tam's bolt goes high, but Lieris' strikes home: an angry lizardlike shriek erupts from the creature.

In the choppy waters, Markus thrashes about with his sword, managing to tread water and keep himself afloat, but not to hit any of the sahuagin. Recognizing the ice for what it is, he backs away, feeling a strange tingle on the back of his neck as he passes through the illusion. Khaana's divine spell has more effect, however. Though the intended target thrashes back away from it, she barely manages to plant her palm on it. Its thrashing turns from escape to pure pain as it is overloaded with negative energy. It stops abruptly, tensing and going limp.

Mech and Grim
Neither of the warforged manage to land a successful blow on their foes, the water making their attacks sluggish. The sahuagin Grim wounded is wary, and darts away from his sword at the first sign of it swinging in. The other's hide absorbs Mech's attack, dampened as it is by the water. Silt and mud flies up around them, darkening the seabed all around the mortal struggle.

Despite a death and a few wounds amongst their number, the 'sea devils' are undeterred. The one which had killed the sailor manages to claw its way up onto the ships deck, Lieris' arrow still sticking out of its shoulder. It hurls its trident in retaliation at the elf, but Lieris easily ducks the projectile, and it sticks into the deck of the ship behind him.

The sahuagin in the water beneath Ashard and Kirin leaps up again, unable or unwilling to board while facing staunch opposition. It jabs at Ashard with its pronged spear; the blow misses the priest by mere inches, coming dangerously close to his bearded face.

The two that had attacked Markus before look momentarily confused, or as close as their hellish shark faces will go to that emotion. After a second, they pursue, showing their maws again, thrusting with their spears. Both of them sink into the swimming warrior through his armour, blood seeping into the stormy waves around him.

That's 11 damage to Markus.

The deckhands keep backing away towards the safest end of the ship, namely the stern. The old captain hollars something. "Git em off me ship afore they be a killin' us all!" He fires his crossbow again, but the bolt is lost amidst the storm.

Grim and Mech
The pair of sahuagin lunge simultaneously forward, their tails scattering muck from the sea-floor. Grim parries aside the thrust that comes at him, and Mech manages to deflect the other trident against his thick metallic plating.

Round 3

Map
http://img689.imageshack.us/img689/7871/d3i5.png

[RocketMan]

Lieris's training as a dancer kicks in as the sahuagin hurls it's trident at him. The elf elegantly manoeuvres out of the way, spinning as he dodges and turning with another arrow ready to fire. The whips across his face as he frowns, aiming and firing. "You ought never to have left the deeps," he hisses.

S5 again.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Mathemagics]

As the monster climbs onto the deck and begins taking failed stabs at Lieris, Mila finishes fiddling with her crossbow and tries taking a shot at it. Frankly, she has no idea what she's doing and this is the first time she's even used one of these things, which is why she promptly forgets about her fake ice wall.


Standard Action: Taking a shot at S5. Attack- [roll0] Damage- [roll1]
Move Action: If this drops S5 (hahano), moving forward into the space that was occupied by it. If it's still alive, staying put. Edit- Looks like Lieris might get a kill on S5; if he does, Mila will move to that spot all the same.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard catches the trident on his shield and takes advantage of the opening, lashing out again with his hammer. Then he spots the creature that's already boarded and steps back, moving closer to the center of the heaving deck.

Attack S4: [roll0] Damage: [roll1] Regardless of whether this hits, follow it with a 5-foot step away from the gunwale to stand between H2 and the mast.

[Winterfell]

"ARGH!" Markus bellows as the two creatures' weapons slice into him. His voice is a roar of pain and rage as he attempts to retaliate, slashing madly with his sword as he swims backward toward the ship. He can feel his blood spilling out into the water quickly...

Markus is going to need some healing! Yikes! So he'll swim back one five foot step diagonally toward Ashard.

Attack roll (vs S3): [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]/2

Swim roll: [roll2]

HP: 5/16

About time... wishing that weren't halved.

[Gwynfrid]

Hmm... Water is a measurable mechanical hindrance to the efficiency of a direct blow. Yes, I should have realized that.

Seeing how its opponent easily escaped its attack, Mech changes tactics. Dropping its guard, it lunges forward in an attempt to grab the sea-devil and bodily restrain it.

Grapple attempt provoking AoO,hopefully the AC19 will help deflect that.
[roll0] (I'm assuming there's no water penalty for this as it's not a bludgeoning or slashing weapon; if I'm wrong, deduct -2 from the roll).

[NobodyMuch]

Tromping forward through the murk, Grim is an implacable menace to the defensive sea creature. Past victims dragged to the deeps choked, struggled, tried in vain to make for the surface. Not escape; no, Grim's only desire in this moment is the end of the sahuagin, and once more he tries again to achieve that end. The great blade in his artificial hands parts the water with an audible rush, bubbles trailing behind its sharpened edge, the strength behind it fueled with frustration and anger and hate. Thirty years service and this is where he is, locked in a mucky melee with man-sea-beasts.

The vicious, victorious roar that fills the deeps as his greatsword connects with the beast's shoulder is the furthest thing from human.



Attack:[roll0] + Action Point [roll1]
Damage:[roll2]

[DaedalusMkV]

Once again Tam reloads his crossbow, installing another of his dwindling supply of bolds and taking aim at the monstrous sea-creatures. They're boarding the little ship now, so this might well be the last shot he gets before things close to sword-range. Best to make it count...


Move Action to reload, then fire. If S5 is still alive, target him. If not, target S3 to take some pressure off Markus, maybe. In the interests of not continuing to be utterly incompetent, I'll get in on this Action Point business.

Attack: [roll0] plus [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[Minerva]

Khaana gives a grimly triumphant smile as one of the sahuagin dies to her spell. The first kill of the day, she thinks. But the fight is far from won. She hears the big, angry human shouting at her. "I am no mere goblin," she starts to shout, but then she sees his blood in the water where he is fighting two of the things.

"Flee in terror," she shouts commandingly across the water. Whether the creature can even understand is irrelevant. The Shadow will fill its mind until it can see only the blackness of defeat... Her arms straining, she pulls herself up onto the boat. "Run, coward," she growls under her breath.

I don't think my climb check was done last round, so if possible, I'll use that result. If it failed or something, she'll climb onto the boat and cast Cause Fear on S2.

Climb if necessary: [roll0]
Cause Fear is Will DC13.

[Leviathan]

The sahuagin that has made it up onto the deck dies in a hail of missiles: Lieris' arrow strikes it in the neck, Kirin's in the stomach, and the captain's in its leg. Tam's crossbow bolt snaps on its scaly hide and Mila's whizzes by it, but three arrows is enough to bring it down into a pool of blood and salt water.

Down in the water, Milavana's illusory ice wall fades out of existence as the gnome loses concentration. Where it had been, Markus lashes out with his greatsword. His blade cuts a great gash through one of the sahuagin, the water around it turning red with blood. But the creature is not yet dead. Meanwhile, Khaana hauls herself up onto the ship's deck, before weaving her malediction on Markus' other, unhurt foe. The thing lets out a terrified animal shriek, turning tail. As it flees, Markus strikes it with his sword, giving it a gash like its companion, before he tries to swim towards the ship. But his armour weighs him down, and the gladiator starts to sink downwards, his head going under the rough water.

Markus got an AoO on S2 for 6 damage (counting it being half for underwater), but is also now 5 ft below water.

Ashard still engages the sahuagin on the ship's starboard side as it attempts to climb up. He smashes at it with his hammer, but doesn't manage to land a solid blow. Finally, he takes a step back, shield held in front of him.

Grim and Mech
The warforged battle on amidst the inky water and churning muck. Mech lays one metal hand on the sahuagin he is fighting, gripping its arm. Then his other hand grabs it. It tries to stab at him, but its spear scrapes harmlessly off his plating. It thrashes wildly, but he's got a grip on it.

S7 is now grappled.

Grim draws back his greatsword for a mighty blow. The unfortunate sahuagin on its receiving end doesn't see it coming until too late: the heavy blade cleaves it in two from one shoulder down across its stomach.

Only two of the sahuagin on the surface are still fighting, with one fleeing and another still bobbing motionlessly on the waves off the ship's bow. The one in the water with Markus jabs its trident at him. The prongs of its weapon catch on his greatsword, but he manages to pull his sword back out of the threat of disarmament. The other one pursues Ashard with a growl, lifting itself out of the water, stabbing at him with its spear. Its blow is deflected off the priest's shield, though, leaving it alone in the middle of a crowd of land-dwellers.

Mech and Grim
The sahuagin which Mech has caught thrashes in his grip. It's fierce enough that it almost escapes, but can't make it. Instead, it desperately bites at the warforged with its shark-like teeth. The move is a last resort, and woefully unsuccessful.

Across the darkening sky, a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates the stricken ship and its battling occupants. A violent gust of wind catches the ship's sails, throwing those on it about.

If you're on the boat, you'll need an acrobatics check DC5 to stay standing. Failure means you're knocked prone.

Round 4

Map
http://img15.imageshack.us/img15/5971/l4lh.png

[Gwynfrid]

Relieved to see Grim dispatch the other sea-devil, Mech maintains as tight a grip as possible, while wrapping a metal leg around its opponent's lower body, aiming to immobilize it as completely as possible.

Grapple check to pin [roll0]. If that works, even a weak roll from Grim should be enough to finish it.

[AquilaRift]

Through the storm and wave, Ashard spots the grievously wounded gladiator sinking below the surface. He points to Markus, then to the rope, yelling, "Haul him in!" The priest raises his hammer, fending off the sahuagin with his shield, and a momentary warmth rushes through his allies.

Channel energy, using selective channeling to exclude S4 and S5. Everyone else injured within 30 feet is healed for [roll0] HP. Mainly to keep Markus from passing out and drowning.

[Mathemagics]

Mila's first shot goes completely off course (really not surprising considering she has absolutely no idea what she's doing with it). But that alright, she's sure the next will do better!

Reloading her crossbow, she turns and points it in the general direction of the remaining enemies. With a completely amateurish manner, she takes another shot.


Move Action: Reload.
Standard Action: Shooting at S2. I don't know if Khaana counts as being in the way or not, it looks like a really close thing. And I don't know if the guy has cover... Attack- [roll0] Damage- [roll1]

[NobodyMuch]

Grim continues his forward movement, his head slowly and smoothly swiveling on his neck, watching as Mech wraps the remaining slippery beastie up. Vanishing in the miasmatic cloud of muck that's been kicked, only his red eyes remain visible throughout, a malevolent low glow in the murk as his greatsword reappears, plunging down to finish off the helpless fish-thing.


Moving Diagonally south-east twice and then south once to flank S7, taking ruthless advantage of the extra-movement a barbarian gets to make it there despite the slow movement in water.
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Minerva]

Khaana shakes the water from her like a lion shaking its mane. She stalks across the boat's deck, drawing out her straight-bladed sword, its edge engraved with the lineage of her family. She pushes aside one of the deckhands wordlessly, sinking into a low stance as she closes with the sahuagin on the boat. She lunges aggressively at it with her sword, slashing eagerly.

Move down to the square H2 is in. I assume he'll move.

Attack on S4 (flank and bless): [roll0], damage: [roll1]

Edit: Of course.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam looks down at his crossbow, then at the bolt which simply splintered against the shark-man's hide. Tossing it to the deck of the boat in disgust, he mutters to himself as he draws the sword sheathed at his hip, a weapon he's at best passingly comfortable with. To say that his various knives and bludgeons see substantially more use is somewhat more of an understatement. "Useless piece of crap... Fine, you scaly bastards, try this!" Turning around to face the creature which had just proved kind enough to step foot onto the floating deathtrap he was assured was safe earlier, he keeps his footing with ease as it rocks again in the wake of the wind, taking the opportunity to stab his weapon at the creature.


Tam passes a DC5 Acrobatics check on a 1, so I won't even bother rolling. Dropping the crossbow (fat lot of good that did...) and drawing his Rapier as a Move action, then a standard attack against S4, who should be Flanked right now.

Attack: [roll0] (+2 if Flanked)
Damage: [roll1] plus [roll2] Sneak Attack if Flanked.

Summary:

HP: 10/10

AC16 FF13 Touch 13
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0 (+2 vs Sleep, Charm. +2 vs Compulsions)

[Winterfell]

Markus kicks his legs, but even as his sword makes satisfying contact with one of the sahuagin he feels himself forced down below the surface of the water by an oncoming wave. Instantly, the sounds of the battle are muffled and distant in his ears. The water is cold and foggy with the rest mist of blood. The gladiator gives a powerful kick with his legs, trying to force himself back up. At the same time he swings at the injured fishman.

5 foot swim-step up.

Attack roll (vs S3): [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]/2

Swim roll: [roll2]

[RocketMan]

Lieris smiles faintly as the tide of the battle begins to turn. One of the creatures falls with two of his arrows embedded in it's scaly skin. The elf easily keeps his balance as the gale rocks the ship, lithely stepping toward the bow as he fires another shot at the fleeing monster.

Lieris will take a 5-foot step to the spot where Khaana was and fire at S2.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Leviathan]

Ashard's prayer unleashes a wave of healing light across the battlefield. In the bloodied water below the boat, it washes over the injured Markus. Bolstered by the healing, the gladiator cuts down the remaining sahuagin attacking him as he swims back toward the ship, his head rising above the water, victorious.

On the deck, Khaana shoves aside one of the deckhands, though the frightened human makes no objection to being further from the fray. Her sword is parried by the sahuagin, which spins and whirls frantically, backed into a corner as it is. But as the monster's trident blocks Khaana's sword, Tam steps deftly in behind it, his thin blade piercing a hole through its back, extending out its chest through its heart. It collapses off the blade in a messy heap, the puncture wound pouring blood onto the deck.

Milavana and Lieris take position on the starboard side of the ship's bow, taking aim at the fleeing sahuagin. The elf's arrow splashes into the water, while the gnome's crossbow bolt stabs into its leg.

Grim and Mech
Mech's heavy metal arms brutally maneuver the sahuagin he holds into position, bent forwards, its head outstretched, helpless. It continues to slither and writhe right up until Grim brings his greatsword swinging down on its exposed neck.

Since it was helpless, I converted Grim's attack into a coup de grace action. It worked.

The remaining sahuagin swims away, disappearing beneath the waves as it is lost from sight in the storm, unwilling to fight alone and wounded against the boat's stubborn defenders. Its sleeping kinsman is quickly dispatched in a hail of projectiles.

For now, it seems that the most imminent danger has passed. But the lashing rain and trembling vessel serve as a reminder that the storm is still raging all around. But land is not far off: you are perhaps a hundred meters out from the island's shoreline: rocky ground made marshy by the weather.

The boat's captain shakes his head disbelievingly. "Well, by all the gods, I thought we was done for. Not many who survive the sea devils." He looks, grim-faced, down at his slain crewman. "Shame about the lad, but no time to mourn now." He starts directing the two hands who remain, and the ship's sail turns, catching a new wind, heading toward the island.

Mech and Grim
You can see the boat's hull above you pulling away from where it had sat above you in the water, heading toward where the sea-floor slopes upward above the waterline.

Grim
The Lhazaar Princes don't like threats to their domains, but sahuagin aren't a common one. There's likely no instituted bounty, but perhaps a few words with someone of authority could get you rewarded.

[Karl Prosek]

Huffing and puffing from the exertion of the fight, Kirin points at Ashard pulling Markus up out of the water alone. "Somebody help him pull Markus up." He stows his weapons and goes to assist the captain and his deckhands. "I ain't never sailed a longboat, cap'n, but I know lines an' sails. Put me ta work."

OOC: It's more fluff than anything, but Kirin will use his Profession (Sailor) skill to help get them to the island.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech would sigh in relief if this wasn't the bottom of the sea - and if it had the lungs to do any such thing. Discarding the wrecked body of the attacker, it looks upwards, to greater relief, as evidently the surface fight was won as well. With a nod of thanks towards Grim, the younger warforged walks away, following the direction given by the boat above.

[RocketMan]

"We have done it," Lieris says in his lilting, lyrical voice, now slightly tinged with happiness. "Perhaps we may yet have a chance of success at our greater task – we shall see." The elf walks over to one of the sahuagin corpses on the ships deck. He looks down at it contemplatively for a moment, then he extends one foot and rolls the body off the boat and into the waves. "Land is in sight," he intones simply, pointing to the now-visible shore.

[Minerva]

"The beasts are slain," Khaana growls as she pulls Markus back into the boat with his rope. "We have fought well today, and perhaps shall do so again." She looks to the captain. "Bring us to shore."

[NobodyMuch]

After a quick looting of the two fish-beasts, Grim considers the pro's and con's of cutting off some portion of the things to present for a reward and decided against it; he can already hear the others complaining about the smell, and the money isn't worth the aggravation. A pat on the shoulder of the younger 'forged, and he trudges along towards their destination through the muck and mire.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard removes his hood, despite the still-pouring rain, and stoops to close the fallen sailor's eyes. Then he moves away to find something solid to cling to. The captain's right; there will be enough time for mourning when he's sure they aren't going to sink.

He does a careful head count. "The warforged! They went over in the storm. I hope the sea devils didn't get them..."

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam shoves the Sahaugin off his blade, giving it a kick for good measure after it hits the deck of the ship, then looks around at the carnage and fleeing sea-creatures. "Huh. I guess they didn't have much stomache for a fight." Giving his sword a shake and letting the rain wash the gore off it, he quickly strips anything that might be valuable off the creature he killed, then kicks it over the side. Hopefully the blood in the water doesn't attract any actual sharks, or if it does they don't have much of a taste for Warforged. In response to Ashard, he replies. "Yeah. Don't know about Mech, but that Grim fellow jumped right off the boat. Crazy bastard. Hopefully they can make it to the island on their own."

[Leviathan]

Those who search the dead sahuagin find that many of them have ornamental jewellery, or personal items stashed away in watertight scale satchels.

Loot:
-Seven tridents
-Silver pearl worth 100 gp
-Whalebone bracelet worth 50 gp
-Shark tooth necklace worth 50 gp
-200 gp in slightly rusted coins (but still functional)
-A greenish potion of cure light wounds in a bone flask.
-Cruel, well-made manacles, with sharp barbs preventing escape (masterwork barbed manacles worth 75 gp).

The boat limps the final distance to the island through the rain, but the storm seems to be dying down. By the time the fishing vessel's flat hull grinds against the sandy shore, the sky has returned to greyness, becoming still and calm. Water drips from the boat's sail as you disembark and have a look around.

The shore is a pebbly, sandy beach with larger rocks protruding from it every so often. Driftwood and a few metal and wood planks litter the edge of the water. Then, with a pair of immense splashes, the two warforged, Grim and Mech rise up above the waterline, tramping up onto the beach, water pouring from their armoured forms.

Past the beach, the island is swampy and wet, partly from the storm. Long bullrushes line pools of stagnant green water, and gnarled trees reach overhead. A narrow path, overgrown from misuse and muddy from the storm, leads through the swamp off into the distance, where the island's central hill sits, topped by its circle of standing stones.

I wasn't sure if you wanted to rest and recuperate before setting out, so this is as far as I could take you.

[AquilaRift]

As the boat makes landfall, Ashard says a short funereal prayer for the dead sailor. His words are more formal and archaic than usual, as if he's repeating something he learned from someone else. "Boldrei hold and shelter thy family through their grief. Onatar grant that the works of thy hands remain after thy body is dust. Dol Arrah send thee rest untroubled by hate and hunger..."

He smiles in relief as the warforged emerge from the ocean. "Sing out if you're hurt," the priest advises the group generally. "If any of those wounds go poison you'll end up like the man who hired us."

[RocketMan]

Lieris leaps gracefully from the ship onto the rocky beach and taking a few steps toward the forest. He quickly scans the trees, head slightly tilted, before turning back to his companions. "We should rest here," he says, nodding at the shoreline. "We do not yet know what awaits us under the shadows of these trees. Nor will the cairn be devoid of its own defenses."

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin lingers to talk to their ship's captain. "I've got a full gold piece a head fer ya ta come back t'morrow morn', cap'n. Them sea devils won't be lookin' ta start a fight wi' anyone fer the next day or two. An' I'll make sure ta cover any repairs ta yer vessel an' see ta yer man's arrangements." He puts out his hand to seal the deal. "Agreed?"

[Winterfell]

Markus scowls as Ashard recites his prayer. He hops down from the boat, wincing as his feet hit the ground. He grimaces, holding his injured side as he looks over the beach warily, watching darkly for new enemies to appear. "If you're finished with the dead," he says brusquely, "maybe start making sure there's not more of us going to join them?" He tilts his head up, looking at the hilltop with the stones crowning it. "So that's the bloody grave, is it? May as well get this done quick. In and out."

Perception check just in case: [roll0]

[Mathemagics]

Mila half-climbs, half-falls out of the boat. Picking herself up on the shore, she staggers around unsteadily. She looks a bit pale and it seems the boat ride might not have agreed with her very well...

"H-Hey guys... I... I don't feel too good. I think- urk!"

She suddenly turns around and leans over a convenient boulder.

"Bleeeeeeeegh!"

The entire incident only lasts a few seconds, after which she suddenly leaps back up with her usual smiling expression as if she had never been feeling ill in the first place.

"Better! So this is where the tomb is? Oh hey! There's Grim and Mech! Heeeeey Grim and Mech!"

The gnome waves to the approaching warforged duo and dashes over to run circles around them.

[Leviathan]

The old sailor and his two slightly traumatized deckhands disembark slowly. The old man wrings the water out of his weathered hat and hesitantly shakes Kirin's hand, seeming more comforted by Ashard's prayer than by anything the Lyrandar scion says. "Aye, we'll be back t'morro. An' if ye aren' there, light a big ol' fire on the shore when ye do come. But even as ye ended them sea devils, I'll not be leavin' here afore you've paid for the journey." He holds out his hand expectantly.

[Gwynfrid]

Mech walks out of the sea, a puddle of saltwater left in its every step.

"These creatures were aggressive, were they not? Luckily, Grim was down there with me", it says, pointing to the large round hole the spear made to its abdomen. "I will need a bit of private time to look after this." Mech sounds mildly embarrassed discussing personal physical matters such as this.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard presses a sovereign into the man's outstretched hand. "Arawai send you fairer winds on the way home, I pray."

He looks over Markus and Mech with a practical eye. "I know healing magic don't work so well on your folk," he says to Mech. "Might be I could fix that by hand another day, but with no forge and no proper tools there ain't much I can do. Everyone hurt, stay close." He touches the hammer-and-tongs symbol hanging from his neck, and warmth pulses through the injured once again.

Channeling energy three times over, just to be certain our frontliners are back to full HP. [roll0]
EDIT: Yup, that does it for both of them, I think. Mech only gets half benefit, if I'm remembering warforged correctly, but 7 still heals him entirely.

[NobodyMuch]

Stumping up the beach next to Mech, the warforged warrior looks none the worse for the wear despite having leapt from a boat in the midst of a squall and engaging in startling violence beneath the waves. " Fish. Fah. Bloody stupid things," is Grim's own opinion of the scuffle they'd just pulled through, delivered with crossed arms, his jaw unmoving.

Observing that Mila is tearing around in top gear, and sussing out that they'll be spending the night out here, Grim steps into the path of the illusionist to get her attention and says," Ease up, short stuff. Got a job for you." He gestures at the undergrowth with an expansive sweep of an arm," See if you can find any dry leaves or twigs out there, for kindling. Need to check underneath things with the rain. I'll sort out some proper firewood."

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam looks around at the rest of the group. Looks like the Warforged made it through okay, which means that nobody actually died. Well, definitely better that than the alternative. Once the sailors are freshly out of sight, he stretches and states. "Alright, if we're gonna camp out, I'll go ahead and slip into something more comfortable, then check out the area. Better not to risk sleeping right next to a stingfly hive or whatever." Concentrating for a moment, he sheds his disguise now that it no longer matters. Blonde hair turns to ashen-grey and his facial features return to the distinctive smooth, half-formed visage of a Changeling, while limbs elongate slightly. Balling up his cloak, he removes the garish green shirt he's been wearing to reveal contoured, blackened leather armour beneath, fitting snug against ash-coloured skin. Nodding to the rest, he simply says, "Be right back.", then wanders off to scout the area.


Might as well take a look around and see if I can find anything interesting in the immediate vicinity.

Perception: Take 10, for a 14. If he spots anything interesting, Take 20 to check it out for a 24.

Stealth: Take 10 for a 16. If things look dangerous enough that he'd have to roll it, [roll0], then attempt to slink off before any trouble can start to go get the fightier people.

[Mathemagics]

Mila watches as Grim stalks off after giving her instructions, then shrugs. She then begins to start materializing a number of small logs out of thin air, which clatter to the ground, quickly forming a small pile. After a minute or so of this, she gathers up the collection and runs over to where Grim currently is.

"All done!"


Casting Prestidigitate 10 times to create just as many small logs to help get a fire started.

[Leviathan]

The fisherman and his boys set off again, raising their sail as they make for home.

Grim sets about erecting some shelter. He manages some crude tents that will serve to keep off moisture or rain, but don't provide much in the way of comfort beyond that. Still, Milavana's magically-induced fire has everyone drying out before long.

Tam
You head off down the muddy path, keeping low to the ground in a half crouch to avoid any unfriendly eyes. The path winds through the island's marshy interior, where small ponds have flooded over their banks in the recent storm. The Lhazaar Principalities are a harsh, cold place, and around the pools of water stand bunches of tall, hardy reeds, some still coated in a thin layer of frost. Lichen covers large portions of the ground, along with several large piles of detritus: fungus, fallen needles from the scraggly pine trees that dot the landscape, and mud.

You don't see anything that you deem threatening, and the only noises you hear are the occasional croak of a frog or caw of a bird, and the omnipresent sound of dripping water.

The island isn't large, and in perhaps fifteen minutes, you come to the bottom of it's central hill. Here, you spot ancient stone steps, split and cracked, cut into the hill. They lead up to a stone archway cut into the mound, flanked by the ancient boots of stone warrior statues, the rest of their bulk lying in pieces around the entryway. On top of the hill, a circle of flat stones, weathered over the ages, has been erected, the rocks jutting upwards like a crown from the hillside.

Having seen nothing untoward in your scouting, you return to the party on the beach.

The sun sinks beneath the horizon soon after you make camp. Through the night, the warforged stand guard, sleep being unnecessary for them. The morning breaks slowly, with rays of light peaking out from behind the grey clouds that still linger in the sky.

[Winterfell]

Markus stays up late, hunched over by the fire, alternately sharpening his sword unnecessarily or simply glowering at the flames. Every so often he looks over his shoulder at the statue-like warforged standing sentinel. The man almost gives the appearance of wanting to compete with the constructs for endurance when he finally sets off to bed with a grunted "night," to Mech and Grim.

He wakes the next day with the rest of the party, pulling himself out of his bedroll. He pulls on his loose linen pants before leaving the tent, the cold air prickling at his skin and causing the warrior to scowl. He relights the fire and wolfs down a portion of his rations before donning his armor.

"If we're going to go," he says, belligerently considering he only just finished preparing, "we might as well do it. Get a move on." He crosses his thick arms and stands by the edge of the trees, waiting impatiently.

[Mathemagics]

As the others begin to awaken and move about, Mila stirs in her sleeping bag. Sitting up, she gives a deep yawn while wearily rubbing her hands against her eyes in an effort to properly wake up. Having revived somewhat, she continues to sit in place while making a halfhearted attempt to fix her long and rather unruly hair.

The thrush familiar accompanying Mila emerges once more, having spent most of the voyage, battle, and subsequent camp time hiding itself on its master's person. As she begins to tend to her appearance, the bird flies off forage around the camp for breakfast.

Having gotten her hair as presentable as it was going to get, Mila then moves on to her clothing. Having been quite thoroughly soaked in yesterday's storm, along with the usual dirt encountered while camping out out, and then being slept in, the robes aren't exactly tidy. However, this turns out to be a problem which is remedied with surprising quickness as the gnome begins to prestidigitate the outfit clean. Then for good measure, she decides to make it a pleasant springtime yellow.

Extracting herself at last from the sleeping bag, Mila hops to her feet and begins poking around the edges of camp, apparently searching for any small distraction to entice her interest for a few minutes.

[AquilaRift]

Through force of long habit, Ashard wakes up early to pray. Dawn finds him sitting outside his tent, hands clasped in his lap. As the sun rises, so does he, pulling on his boots and buckling on his armor.

The priest moves to stand beside Markus's fire. He rubs his hands together, unenthusiastically chewing a mouthful of hardtack biscuit. "No ngrmph--" He swallows. "No need to hurry. They'll all be ready in good time, I'm sure."

[Minerva]

Khaana is up early, sitting upright, back straight, on a rock, drinking only water and eating only a portion of her rations. Her hands are clenched ritualistically together, her claws showing in the lattice of fingers. She tilts her head upwards, eying the sky, then down again at the earth. "We have been tested, and prevailed", she says after a time. "The weak perish and the strong thrive. It is the way of the world, and so will it be today." She speaks with relish and growling eagerness. "Come. It is time."

[AquilaRift]

"Might be the way of your world, but not mine," Ashard comments, donning his gauntlets. His tone is more thoughtful than argumentative. "I can't figure that lad deserved to die on a sea-devil spear."

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam returns to the camp in a slightly more cheerful mood than he left it, being reasonably sure that the area is safe. "Looks clear, folks. I've found the entrance to the tomb, too, so we can start out well enough first thing in the morning." Wrapping up in his cloak, and now reconsidering not purchasing some sort of bedroll or tent before leaving the city, he finds the most comfortable position he can on the hard ground and lets himself fall to sleep, reasonably confident that the two Warforged will make sure nobody stabs him while he's out.

He also wakes early in the morning, as much a result of the rising sun's glare as anything else, and quickly starts a series of stretches and exercises, warming up for the day ahead. If they're going to be going into a cursed tomb, limber muscles might be the difference between life and death. "Right. Once you're all ready I can lead you right to the entrance. It's only a few minutes from here." He replies calmly in response to Markus' growled impatience. To Khaana he grins lopsidedly and says quietly. "Strength ain't everything. You've made mention of the Six more'n once, which means you know the Traveller's lessons as well as I do."

[NobodyMuch]

The ex-sergeant passes the night in a silent vigil; if Mech was hoping for conversation to pass the long watches with, it is in for a disappointment. For the most part, he spends his time sharpening his sword and staring into the darkness that surrounds the small fire they'd managed to cobble together.

---

Morning wheels around, and Grim is already prepared to depart. The straps of his backpack tightened and his sword sharp, he awaits the more fleshy folks as they shake off their nightly semi-deaths.

" The boy's death is on their own hands as much as it is on the sea-things. That so-called captain, most of all." Grim's tone is, appropriately, grim. " Hostiles in the area, and not even a whisper of it? And not more than a solid stone's throw from their own homes, to boot. Surprised Spit hasn't been wiped from the map, yet."

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin, just rising, nods at Grim. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Makes you wonder how they keep up their good relations." The young nobleman doesn't have to do much to prepare, just roll up his bedroll and run a hand through his hair and he's ready to go, munching on a bar of pressed dried fruit and oats.

[Gwynfrid]

After thanks to Ashard for the marvels of divine healing ("I am very impressed with your technique for bodily repair, Brother Wright"), Mech sets out, walking around the tents to check out the surroundings, unconcerned by the weather - or rather, enjoying it.

It spends the night admiring the star lights, listening to the cries of forest animals, marveling at the sounds of the waves. It's not so watchful as deeply interested, studying everything around, from the grandest view of the sky down to the minute details of the tiniest grain of sand on the beach.

As the morning nears, the warforged sits down in one of the tents, takes out a few glass containers and instruments, and mixes some strange-smelling liquids before pouring them into the containers embedded in its chest construction. The place is nowhere as comfortable and organized as Alerios' lab, but Mech is satisfied that its cautious work will result in a properly functioning extract.

[Minerva]

A throaty chuckle escapes Khaana's mouth when Ashard challenges her. "I did not speak of 'deserving', human. The weak die, and the strong live. Call it justice, call it injustice, call it whatever you wish. It is simply the way the world is. But," she continues with a slight grin, as if enjoying the verbal sparring (though likely only she sees it that way), "when a true warrior spirit is faced with the blackness of the afterlife, he does two things: he demands through great deeds that the Keeper take note of him; and he rages and struggles against all that would end him until his sword is shattered, his shield is sundered, and his fangs are cracked. As far as I could tell, the boy did neither. He simply cowered until he died."

Khaana looks squarely at Tam as he whispers to her. Unlike him, she makes no effort to keep her voice low, at least, not beyond its usual gravelly tone. "Strength is not the lifting of things alone. The storm was strength. A sword, yes, is strength. As is deception. On occasion." She snorts slightly. "If there is reason to fear it, then there is strength in it," she summarizes. These outsiders are mere whelps, who must be taught, she thinks sourly.

[RocketMan]

Lieris is awake well before dawn. He slips quietly out of the makeshift tent and makes his way down to the beach. A cold white mist is drifting in off the sea, wrapping the shoreline in a cloudy blanket. The elf on one of the many protruding rocks, looking out over the ocean, so still that condensation forms on his cloak. This place, he thinks sombrely. It would never have crossed my mind, once, that I would find myself here. I am on the edge of the world, yet even here... he stares into the mists. Even here things are concealed, obscure, my path invisible to me. The young elf sighs, crossing his arms and bringing them to his raised knees. He sits for a while longer, watching the pale sunrise cast rays that sparkle on the water.

He returns to the camp as the others are rising, and silently helps with the preparations to leave. His own gear as already packed, a habit, perhaps paranoid, developed over the years. He listens carefully to Tam. "And yet still we must be cautious. The island may hide more than it reveals at first sight." The elf slings his pack over his back and moves to stand beside Markus. "When you are ready," he says simply, indicating his own desire to leave.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard clearly doesn't think much of the Dhakaani's theology. "Strength ain't the only important thing in the world, lady. A warrior might be able to slay a dozen farmers and weavers, but with no farmers and no weavers, a warrior will get mighty hungry and cold." He pulls his hood over his head and walks to join Markus and Lieris. "Don't look for hope in the Keeper's claws, I say. You'd be as dead as that boy if we hadn't hauled you in. No one's strong forever."

[Mathemagics]

Completely oblivious to the theological debate going on between the pair of diametrically-opposed priests, Mila runs up to the group.

"I found a bunch of rocks!"

A couple of the rocks are hovering in the air behind her, affected by yet another of her whimsical cantrips. However, almost as quickly as she announced this "accomplishment", she seems to lose interest. The rocks drop to the group as she notices people getting ready to depart.

"Oh! We're leaving? Ah! Sleeping bag! And Mr. Featherbottom! Heeeey! Mr. Featherbottom! We're leaving! Don't get left behind!"

The gnome rushes over and begins trying to roll up her sleeping bag (and failing several attempts in the process) before finally giving up and shoving the entire thing into the nearest tent. Meanwhile, the familiar seems to have finished foraging for now and returns to her shoulder as she hurries over to where those ready to set out are waiting.

[Leviathan]

The arguments and conversations are forced to wind down by the necessity of the task ahead. The morning is sharply cold, with a biting chill to the air. The tents remain where they were built, the fire is doused, and you set off on your way.

Tam leads, following the muddy trail that yesterday took him to the barrow's entrance. The long grasses and reeds are coated in the morning's dew turned to a thin layer of delicate frost, and the ponds and pools you pass are cold and placid. As you push northward, heading for the island's middle, you come to a patch of fallen leaves, fungal growth, and tundra shrubs that mat the ground. Unlike the rest of the island's foliage, they're clear of frost. The reason why is soon apparent as patches shift and slowly move. You can see that, under the layer of natural camouflage is are two separate roiling masses of dark green, oozing acid, squelching their way toward you. They don't have any observable eyes, but they seem to fix on you... hungrily.

Round 1
Tam, Milavana, and Khaana beat the monsters on initiative. Go ahead and post, ideally pretty quickly.

Map
http://www.imageshack.com/scaled/large/203/ct6b.png

[Mathemagics]

Mila decides that now would be a great time to get out of the big peoples' way and let them play with the gooey slime blob oozey... things.

At the same time, she can't resist trying to fire a crossbow bolt at them, largely out of curiosity to see what would happen when you poke a giant ball of slime with a pointy stick.


5 ft step up and left.
Move action to draw crossbow.
Standard action to fire at O1. Attack: [roll0] Damage: [roll1]

[Minerva]

"The ground itself moves against us?" the hobgoblin barks incredulously. She shakes her head with a snarl. "Let it." She pushes up the path, sword in hand.

Khaana will move up 3 and right 1. She'll ready an action to attack with her sword and a channel smite if one of them gets into range.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam takes one look at the bubbling, oozing masses of slime and blinks in definite surprise. "What on Eberron are those things?" Shaking his head to dispel the surprise, he draws his thin sword with one hand and looks uncertainly between the creatures and the better-trained warriors of the group, then takes the opportunity to step back out of their line of attack. Better to let the soldiers take up the front line and just... Support them when the fight starts. Especially if that acid starts eating people's swords.


Move action to draw my weapon and again to move down one and right two, to behind that log. Hopefully I can get into some kind of flanking position next turn, even if Oozes are immune to sneak attack...

[Leviathan]

Mila's crossbow bolt whizzes by the oozes, disappearing into a pool of water with a splash.

Tam and Khaana both move, the one darting back behind a fallen, moss-covered log; the other with sword drawn in the direction of her foes.

The foliage-covered oozes squelch toward Khaana leaving trails of viscous slime in their wake. Khaana, with sword ready, takes a swing at the first. Her blade buries itself in a patch of mushrooms sticking out of the ooze's "back", but doesn't get through to the thing itself. Then the slimes rear up like waves, lashing at Khaana. The hobgoblin's shield takes the brunt of them, slick with mucous but otherwise unharmed.

Round 1 Continued, and 2
Now everyone can act.

Map
http://www.imageshack.com/scaled/large/571/vt1n.png

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin takes a step to his right to get a clear(-er) shot at the monsters and fires his crossbow.


Moves 1 square to the right and shoots at O2.

Attack:[roll0]
Damage:[roll1]

[NobodyMuch]

"Goo," is the warforged warrior's obvious answer to Tam's question. Noting the unscathed nature of the hobgoblin's shield, Grim decides to gamble that the gross globs would likewise be ineffectual against his wooden frame. Lurching forward, he pushes ahead with speed despite the treacherous footing of the marsh.

Sliding around his target, doing his level best to avoid its lurching splashes, Grim finds himself on the far side of the oozes from the rest of the party. With a metallic bellow his greatsword rises up and falls in a dull gray crescent towards the right-most of the monsters.


Grim is moving up-right three times and up left once, placing him such that he's flanking O2 with Khaana.

Drawing an attack of opportunity from O2, then raging and attacking it.

[roll2d6+7

And I biffed the damage roll, not that it matters with my luck back. Aside from the critical hit, I'm fairly certain that most of my attacks are in the one and two range. Lovely.

[Winterfell]

"What in the hells are those?" Markus demands angrily. He snorts derisively. "First fish-men, now plant-blobs. Fine." He grimaces at his misfortune, unslinging his sword and grasping it firmly. He charges into the fray, bringing his blade crashing down at one of the oozes.

Charging O2.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]

[AquilaRift]

Ashard wordlessly unslings his hammer and moves up behind Markus.

Draw a weapon and move 20 feet, to the square down and right of Khaana.
I'm going to try to conserve my spells until we reach the dungeon, unless these things turn out to be tougher than they look.

[Mathemagics]

As her first crossbow bolt sails past the slime creature and murders a menacing shrubbery, Mila shrugs and reloads. After all, she really wants to find out what happens when you poke the moving goop ball with a pointy stick.


Move action to reload.
Standard action to attack O1. Attack- [roll0] Damage- [roll1]

[DaedalusMkV]

"Well, obviously. I was kind of hoping for a more useful answer..." As the rest of the group rushes to join the battle, Tam makes his own move. Sure-footed in the damp terrain, he dashest around the log and around the fight, coming up on the opposite side of the modly ooze-creatures and makes a sweeping thrust with his rapier, hoping to at the very least distract it and maybe see if his weapon isn't capable of hurting them after all.


Moving diagonally up and right two spaces around the log, then up and left two spaces to a flanking position against O2 with Khaana, then attack as a Standard action.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]. If by some miracle they aren't immune to Sneak Attack, [roll2] extra damage.

[Gwynfrid]

"Er..." Surprised by the suddenly moving landscape features, Mech finds itself at a loss. It would be interesting to experiment if such oozy creatures are susceptible to fire, but any attempt at a test in the field would surely result in hurting one or more group members.

The hesitating warforged is left wondering what to do at this juncture. There was nothing in the books about such creatures...

No action. Sorry, I'm stuck here. As far as I can judge there are no spots left for melee, and I don't want to throw a bomb that will singe everybody. And I failed the knowledge check, too.

[Minerva]

Khaana draws her longsword back to swing again, thousands of years of military tradition behind the attack, trying to ignore the goop dripping from her shield. "What to call your enemy only truly matters when the chroniclers carve it onto your tomb. So unless you wish to make yourselves ready for death, then fight!"

Attack: [roll0], damage: [roll1]

Edit: I hate you too dice roller.

[RocketMan]

Lieris's violet eyes widen as the earth seems to move, the strange creatures - if they can even be called that - lunge into battle. Then they narrow. The elf knocks an arrow into his bow, raising it. My aim must not falter; if must strike true into the whirl of battle.

Curse firing into melee. Attacking O2.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Leviathan]

Kirin, Mila, and Lieris unleash a volley on the creeping oozes. Kirin's arrow flies over one, his aim thrown off by their proximity to Khaana. The other two strike home, however. Milavana's bolt would, had the target been human, have struck it dead centre. Lieris' arrow tears a blob of acidic ooze from its target.

Up close, Grim moves to circle around the things to take up a position opposite his allies. A tendril of slime lashes out at him, but the warforged is able to dodge back. His distraction proves invaluable as Markus charges in, cutting right through the creature, while Tam leaps at it, stabbing into it with his sword. Its jelly trembles and shudders, then starts steaming, boiling off into the air and sinking into the wet soil. Khaana cuts at one of them, but her attack is shaky and doesn't get much traction.

Ashard moves up into the fray, drawing his mace, while Mech lingers toward the rear.

The remaining creature is mindless, and simply tries to gobble up Khaana again. Again, the hobgoblin's shield interposes between her and the ooze, batting it away.

Round 3
You're all up again. Because there's just one left, and I don't have access to my mapping program now, I won't post one. Assume you can attack it in melee if you're close up, because technically you could do some fancy 5 foot step stuff to make space.

[AquilaRift]

Ashard closes in and brings down his warhammer on the remaining creature.

Move and attack. Not sure what space I'm taking, but I'm pretty sure oozes are also immune to flanking bonuses anyway. [roll0] Damage: [roll1]

[NobodyMuch]

Breaking into laughter, Grim is notably less his name while taking part in the violent destruction of the oozes. With the evaporation of the first one, he turns his malefic mirth to the second. With a massive windmilling windup, the greatsword comes crashing down towards the center of the remaining ooze's shifting mass.

" Sploosh!"


Oozes totally are.

Stupid oozes. I hate them. Why can't we fight some molds? Grim and Mech can just eat them. :smallfurious:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[DaedalusMkV]

Huh. Apparently whatever the slime-things are, they're every bit as vulnerable to being stabbed to death as the fish-men were. Normally his rapier is more for show than for actual use, but it certainly seems to be effective enough out in the wilds. Stepping ahead cautiously, entering into the best imitation of a fencer's stance he can without any kind of formal training, he stabs again at the second mushroom-covered sludge pile, hoping that it will go the same way the first one did.


5-foot-step into flanking with Khaana again, then attack. Obviously they are oozes, so I'm not gonna bother with Sneak Attack.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Gwynfrid]

As everybody surrounds the strangely aggressive patch of ground, Mech finds an opening in the crowd of its comrades. Stepping in, it strikes with a bare fist.

Slam [roll0] damage [roll1]

[Karl Prosek]

Kirin quickly pulls another bolt from his quiver and reloads his crossbow, keeping a suspicious eye out for other threats, perhaps attracted by the noise.

[RocketMan]

Lieris draws back his bow again, loosing another arrow at the blog creature that remains. "These denizens will fall swift," the elf hisses.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Mathemagics]

Mila hops up and down, trying to get a look at what's happening to the ooze creature while a literal mob made up of most of the party surrounds it. Unfortunately, her efforts are quite in vain as she is too short.


Yeah... I don't really have anything to contribute at the moment. That thing is sooooo dead lol.

No action!

[Minerva]

Khaana cuts again with her sword, drawing it back and then slashing with ferocious speed.

Attack:[roll0], damage: [roll1]

[Winterfell]

"That's it, kill it!" Markus crows, slashing at the ooze with his own greatsword, lauding Grim's prodigious stroke. The gladiator's sword likewise slams in to the strange creature with fury.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Damage roll: [roll1]

[Leviathan]

The remaining ooze is sliced to pieces by the party, notably by the pair of greatswords that come crashing down on it. The fight is won, and the remainder of the journey up to the tomb is uneventful.

Up close, the hill is steep and green with wet grass. Worn stone steps run up to an archway of stones that form a gateway into the hill. Shattered statues have fallen to either side of it, only their feet remaining upright, while frightful visages lie cracked and worn in the mud. Standing stones ring its top, each larger than a man. In the middle of the hill, a small hole has been cut down into the earth. It's square shape testifies to its artificial construction, a foot wide on both sides.

With your eyes primed for the trap that Granos warned you of, it's apparent that on either side of the doorway are small holes, each big enough to fit a few fingers at once.

[DaedalusMkV]

Tam holds up a hand as he looks at the holes placed around the entryway, eyes narrowing. "Hold up. Those might be some sort of dart-shooters or arrow slits. Give me a sec, let's see if I can't find some sort of trigger mechansim..." Dropping into a low crouch near the entryway to the tomb, he slowly creeps towards it with dagger in hand, feeling out the path ahead and tapping on any hard surfaces with the weapon, constantly on the lookout for any sort of trap mechanism.


Taking 20 on Search checks looking for traps in the entryway gives me a 25 on Perception to find any hidden traps in this area.

[Leviathan]

Tam

Your assessment is that the holes on either side of the stone doorway house some sort of spring-loaded mechanism, probably sharp and pointy.