[Game Thread] --> Chapter 1: Into the Storm <--

[Fil kearney]

--> Chapter 1: Into the Storm <--

Southern Darguun: Off-Shore, Below Horizon; near dawn

In a few hours the sun would rise in the east. the Endless Sky stretched out into the night, seeming to bleed into the black cover amongst the stars beyond.
Below, The Mourn emanated a soft red radiance that was more a feeling than color, setting an eery tinge to the underlit sails and deck of The Dancing Breeze
The ship was hugging along the Darguun walls off the starboard bow as the smuggling ship glided quietly miles Below Horizon, the dead silence of the massive space was interrupted by the faint whistling of sharp autumn winds weaving through knotted rigging and aging planks.

High overhead, the lead pennant sewn atop the Main Mast fluttered and snapped askew to the air currents The Dancing Breeze rode; Sasha, the elemental bound to The Breeze, was in good mood as it habitually fluttered the pennant much like a hunting dog would wag its tail when going for a run in the woods. The winds were picking up as the ship traveled west and downward; a sure sign a storm was brewing below. The current course was taking them straight towards it. as the smuggler ship crawled along the route traced on the crude, blood-stained map furnished by the former, former, assistant navigator to Prince Alutan's Seige barge.

Assuming the map is accurate, at their destination the crew of The Dancing Breeze would find Prince Alutan's fortress. Far ahead the lookout could already see the lingering precipitation caused by the southern waterfall known as the Tears of Woe-- run-off from the Southern Darguun river basin far overhead, Above Horizon on the surface of the war-scarred badlands that are the ancestral home of the hobgoblin clans, The Darguun.

Somewhere beneath the tears, Alutan's fortress was nestled amongst the naturally forming stalactites and stalagmites that stretched for hundreds of yards, like massive toothed maws of some frozen earth demon, screaming at the intruding sky it faced every day.

It would still be some time before they would be able to slow to do a thorough search.... the storm would likely arrive before The Dancing Breeze does, which made Sasha give a sharp, snapping of the ships' banner while the lookout chuckled to himself at the spirit's enthusiasm. She'd hold true as long as the captain or the witch navigator stood firm in conviction to stay the course... otherwise the fool ship was likely to pitch keel and roll the hull with the updraft currents, like some basking air whale. At least if she held pressure, no one would immediately fall to their doom.
Below on deck, the night crew began adjusting the rigging to compensate for the rougher winds ahead. The first-shift deck crew were already funnelling topside for the morning routine before all hands would be on alert for spotting the fortress after sunrise. Hopefully with the dawn's sun at their back, getting close would be easier than at mid day or dusk.
The men were tense and on-edge, knowing they would likely be spotted before they found their prey, and that the day would likely end with much bloodshed if the captain was to succeed at slaying the 7th Prince....

 

be welcome to take some posts establishing your characters amongst the crew, your roles on the ship, and contemplate the upcoming mission... to bypass Alutan's defenses and seize the Prince for extortion, information, and primarily-- execution.

[Admin Dirk]

Rhoma sat on the wooden deck, below the ship's rails, out of the wind, and sighed. She enjoyed the night time, the darkness, for it was her time to slip out of her cloak, and take in the stars, and let the cool air flow across her scarred skin. She turned her head, and saw the glimmer of light that indicated the coming dawn. It would bring light soon, and with light, the stares of people around her.

The witch didn't lie to herself, she knew her features were considered hideous by most, her countenance 'something to curdle milk', it had been said. In the dark of the starry night, it mattered not, for most of the crew's eyes could not see her where she hid, and those that could always pretended not to. She closed her eyes, feeling the skin pull at the scar near her brow, and drifted in her thoughts for a while, preparing for the day. Today might be the day we find the prince, she thought. Or the day we die. Or both. She smiled, her lip pulled sideways as she did, giving her a crooked, leering grin. Nothing says it can't be both.

"Maybe I should divine which," she said aloud, her voice raspy and low. The demon fire that scarred her face had taken her voice as well, leaving her with something that sounded like two rocks being ground together, over a wagon wheel needing oil. Her mother had taught her to cast auguries, to read stones and bones, even decks of cards. Rhoma had excelled at that, when she was young, but had soon given up the practice when she learned that there was no magic inside her working the fates, but just superstitious people's desires to bend and twist reality to make whatever she predicted seemingly come true. She had lost her faith in Ghypi magic, and found it in herself, later.

She thought about taking up the stones again, for some of the crew were superstitious, and she knew she could tell them what they wanted to hear, and they would believe it. A pretty young Ghypi girl could tell a boy anything, and he would pretend to believe if it meant he could spend more time with her. She smiled a the memory. You can make them do anything, to make the chance come true, she remembered. Buy gifts, come courting, leave a bit of gold here and there. Rhoma shook her head as she recalled. But, a scarred, withered, wizened old witch could tell anyone; man, woman or other; anything at all, and they would believe with all their heart, and make it come true whether they wanted to or not. Fear is a more powerful emotion.[/I]

She stretched the fingers of her bad hand, the knuckles cracking as she moved them. Pain lanced through her body, and she drove it to the side, to deal with later, as always. Her fingers touched the pouch at the side of her hip, and she could feel the small stones, and pieces of bone, that lay beneath the thin leather. Maybe she would, she thought. Do a casting, an augury, and give the crew hope. Some would argue false hope, she thought, then argued again with herself. Is there any other kind?

The witch sat in the shadows a long time, while the ship woke up around her. People bustled here and there, the last watch chores giving way to the needs of the day. With her good hand, she pulled the cap of her cloak forward, covering her hairless head, and settled herself deep within the warm confines of the wool.

Let's see what the day brings, she thought from deep inside her cloak.

[Grenadier]

The burning sensation of warm rum washed over Captain Thornton Ward's tongue as smoothly as The Dancing Breeze rolled through the skies. It was hard to say that the rum had a pleasant taste, but Ward was pleased to taste anything at all. After two hundred years of suffering from an unrelenting thirst which had been stoked by the flames of Hell, the taste of anything was a welcome sensation.

The captain was a man of great insight. He had seen more of the Ether than most men ever would of their own world, having ventured beyond death and then back again, and he understood far more than he had seen with his own eyes. As such, deep reflections such as those regarding a matter as simple as the taste of rum were simple preponderances that Ward used to occupy his mind while he was otherwise engaged in smoking cigar at the ship's helm.

Since the early morning hours, the captain had impassively steered the ship, as if he were wholly detached from the crew's activity on the deck. Guided by a bloody map and a scholar's council, he had navigated the ship around the wall of Darguun's crust until they came upon a place where drainage for the surface rained down into the Mourn in a mighty torrent.

“Take heart, lads! And behold the Tears of Woe,” Ward called out to his crew with a puff of smoke, drawing attention to his dark figure stationed behind the helm. He wore a heavy black leather coat and a wide-brimmed hat of the same material. Despite his fresh garments and his youthful sinews, there was a ragged air about the man. His beard was scraggly, his locks were long, and the whole of his appearance was wind-tossed. Beyond that, his eyes had a certain weary quality that was quite noticeable if one managed to catch a glimpse of them beneath the brim of his hat.

“Not long now 'til we look the devil in the eye.” The truth of those words words seemed to bring a fiery glint to the captain's eyes. He spoke not of any fiend, but rather of the pirate Alutan, who was of flesh and blood. However, in Ward's experience there was little difference between the two, and he would know better than most men.

The captain's thoughts were interrupted when the Breeze snapped under his control. Ward found it hard not to admire Sasha's spirit, as he was fond of skirting the storms of the Mourn himself. Still, it made him want for his days at the helm of The Wayward. “Settle, Sasha,” he ordered calmly in Auran with another puff of smoke as he guided the helm with a firm hand, “Another time perhaps.” The very thought of it cracked a smile across his face, and the captain took another swig of rum with a laugh.

[Eviltedzies]

The constant ebb and flow of the ship played an unsung lullaby that filled the background as men and women went to work to keep the ship steady and ready for anything that might come their way. Every now and then amongst the commotion, a crewman would accidentally nick themselves while severing a line or perhaps bruise themselves after dropping a cargo crate. The disruption caused by such a splash tended to send only a tiny ripple through the pond that was the crews health. Yet if one ripple where to become two and two to become three that pond would become unstable. Such an instability would prove fatal should the crew engage in a battle without warning. For most amongst the crew all they could do was accept the splash and move on. A sore leg or a scabbed wound were not uncommon. Yet a few amongst the crew knew that if left unchecked, such disruption could become their undoing.

So it was to none of the crews surprise as a lone man made his rounds about the ship offering healing to those who needed it. As one of the ships main doctors it was indeed his job and his preference to seek out his patients and prevent further disruption amongst the operations of the ship. Marius laid his hands along the back of a fellow crewman and let his healing magics flow into him. Just like that the man's back pain was gone. The lesser blooded assimar offered a faint smile and a bit of wizened council. "That should fix it. Next time lift with your legs and arms, not your back Bruticus." The bulky sailor cracked a grin, a few teeth missing from bar fights years ago. "Heh, I was having an off day. Can usually toss them barrels around like nothin, but thanks for the healin. I'll buy you a drink next time we make port." Marius patt his friend on the shoulder as his voice teetered between genuine interest and mild amusement. "I'll remember that Bruticus."

Seeing his fellow crewmen healed and back to top shape always held a small amount of joy for Marius. It came not so much from knowing that he had done the "good" thing, but more so from the fact that he knew his crew would be that much safer having another member in good health. From across the way Marius could hear another sailor cursing about something or another. Experience had taught Marius many of his crew mates habits as well as the ability to understand the difference between a sailor cursing in pain and a sailor cursing in anger. "It seems another is in need of my aid."

As he made his way along the deck, Marius stared out into the vast expanse around them. The sight often allowed his mind to wander which was both a good and a bad thing. When times were good his thoughts often wondered to what wonders lay out in the open skies. Yet when times were bad his thoughts wandered to darker times. Betrayal, lost friends, and lost love never seemed to fully go away no matter how much time had passed. At the moment Marius could not seem to decide whether things were good or bad. "Perhaps the end of today shall answer that for me...."

[Sir Alex]

The wind was alive for folks who knew how to see her soul. She had a joy in her, and a temper on the flip side. A smell that carried bits of all the lands, the rains, and the spirits of the Mourn itself to tickle a nose with undiscovered places. She was a Lady with grace to take the breath away. Ay, the wind was all that and more.

And she got a temper this morning, thought Aribel, inhaling sharply. I reckon we’ll see the sharp side of her tongue come daybreak. The emanations from far beneath the ship were obvious enough. That, and the gusts blowing in from every direction. The paladin grinned and tugged the brim of her hat down. Shifting her hips, she found a perfect seat in the saddle. The motion was accompanied by the jingle of harness, the creak of oiled leather, and the whispered rustle of feathers longer than a man was tall. “Get y’up there, old girl,” said Aribel.

She and the griffon tipped off the Breeze, falling into space.

Moments later, the wings snapped open and the pair was up alongside the ship. Even in the dimness, Aribel's armor was a bright beacon. A white felt hat sat atop her head, tied under the chin and greased for proof against the rain. The brown hair that billowed out behind it was lustrous and full of green highlights, no less exotic than the green eyes that shone beneath the hat’s brim. Those eyes gleamed in the predawn darkness. A wolfish stare. The eyes of a hunter.

A shield lay across Aribel’s left forearm, and a massive sword in her right hand dragged alongside the griffon like a rudder…not that Princess needed any help steering. Sure, the griffon was a bit long in the beak and more than a bit worked over. Countless battles could do that. Patches of feathers hung loose here and there, covering old scars from arrow, sword, fire, or arbalest bolt. But Princess was prouder for all that; her red and white feathers cut the air in crisp lines.

Aribel swooped over the figure at the helm. “Oh, I’m takin’ heart, Captain!” She flashed a grin and banked to starboard, dropping like a rock. “But save some of that grog for me or you’ll wish you stayed dead, you son of…"

And her voice trailed away on the wind.

[spikehed]

The pre-dawn crimson light was caught in the long flowing silver hair of the silent being. It danced loosely about his frame, giving the appearance of a flame struggling to live in the wind. White canvas robes, once a piece sail from the Breeze, followed suit and protested in vain against the simple rope belt that held them to his tiny body.

There was a serene feeling about Daegrel. There was no hurry in his step as he moved passed the Witch and her divining, nor did he look up as the griffon dove off from the make-shift roost that had been constructed for it's presence. As he sat on the rough-hewed wood of the deck, the cold chill dampness of the coming storm, or perhaps the closeness to the shadowy waterfall, sank into his bones. It was met head on by an intense heat that pulsed from his body, washing away any discomfort that he might have felt.

"May the Flame burn brightly through me in the darkness of the coming battles, to illuminate the path we must tread and purge the taint that would have us fail."

Daegrel continued to sit with legs crossed and eyes closed, despite the business of readying the ship happening around him. He was no sailor and even if he was to help, it would only hamper the crew's effectiveness. He knew that even the most pure of the crew waivered and they feared him as a judgment sent by the heavens. Perhaps I am just that. His mind focused on that possibility. There were many who had come to be crew members that had seemingly overcome their past mistakes. Perhaps I am meant to purify them through example as much as the mounting evils through combat. Only time will tell. His thoughts washed away once more as he focused on the steady flame that burned in the core of his being.

[Battlechaser]

The slowly rocking back and forth movement of the ship had sent Brunner off into a dreamless slumber. He knew he needed it as soon as they found their bounty. But as they neared their destination and the Breeze's rolling got heavier the hunter slipped down into a fitfull sleep, the subconcious excitement surfacing.

And when that bloody Ward started to yell, Brunner shot out of bed, wide awake, purplish claws extending one feet from his knuckles and ready to tear his attacker from xiphoid to pubis. Idiot! Relax! Brunner scolded himself as the claws retracted under his skin. He went over to the washing bassin and splashed cold water on his face and torso. The coldness numbed his skin but did chase away the vestiges of his bad dreams.

Pulling on a shirt the monk made it up to the deck, shooting Ward an angry glance. Creating a pair of translucent feathery wings Brunner ran towards the edge of the deck and jumped off. He barely stiffled a cry of pure joy as the winds lifted him high and helped him sore towards Princess and her rider. Brunner remained silent as he flew ten feet behind and superior to her, keeping a watchful eye on his companions.

[spikehed]

Daegrel stood, or more correctly, unfolded from his seated position as the hunter joined the griffon in the air. Perhaps I should ensure a safe lane of passage. They seem overeager for direct conflict. He moved toward the starboard side of the ship, currently closest to the cragged walls underbelly walls of the Darguun continent.

A moment was all it took to Swift Action: Dance of the Spider stancecenter himself to the task at hand before turning to face Ward's direction. Despite the captain's exhilarated outburst, Daegrel remained unfettered by emotion, his cold silver eyes hardly blinking despite the wind and mist. "Captain, may I request you take me within Jaunt distance to the wall. I will scout behind the Tear to ensure a safe landing for our aerial support and the Breeze." He did not wait for a response, instead focusing on the formation of the rock, searching for an appropriate place to place himself.

[Sir Alex]

Aribel sighed in contentment as she circled the Dancing Breeze. It had been an odd and twisty path that led her to this ship and these companions. Hardships had cropped up. There'd been more than one disappointment. Put it all on the scales, though, and I reckon the price was right.

The gods had seen fit to stick their thumbs in her pie. Sure, no one could stop a god’s thumb, it being godly and whatnot, but it hadn’t all turned out bad. Doing right always felt right to Aribel, even before she joined the Collegium and learned what the gods were about. Ay, and the good gods aint half bad. She chuckled at the old jest, recalling the thwack of the ruler when she’d said the same to one of the old cleric instructors. In the end, four walls had been a few walls too many. Even the Griffonriders' discipline had chafed at her spirit like wet britches.

The sky’s my home now! She glanced at the ship, then rolled her eyes. Still, nothing wrong with standin’ on two feet now and then. Don’t mind using a sit-down crapper neither, now that I think on it. The sky may be an outside house but it makes for a poor outhouse.

Yep, the Breeze had its charms. The ship's chain of command was…up for interpretation. Discipline was fair, with no nonsense or politics thrown into the mix. They were doing good work, even if half the damn world didn’t see it that way, and she couldn’t pray for better folks to have by her side.

Spotting Brunner, Aribel clucked to Princess and leaned back in the saddle. Soon the lean turned into an upside down position as the griffon looped straight up and over the floating monk. She came right side up again to drift over next to him.

“Mornin’,” she called. “My, but you're up early.”

[Admin Dirk]

As the sun rose above, and through, the horizons, Rhoma cinched her hood down further. The crew would be out and about, and she typically tried to spare them the sight of her scars. She watched as the ship came alive, and her compatriots came to the deck, many to throw themselves off almost immediately and fly through the skies. The witch shook her head inside the shadows of her cloak.

Silly people. If you are thrown off, that's one thing. But to leave the security of footing voluntarily? A small shudder ran up her spine, and she stooped a moment, faltering in her steps, as the pain followed. A quick gasp escaped her lips, and then she breathed more deeply, and moved onwards towards her small cabin.

As she moved, she made a mental inventory of component parts, and what she would need for the upcoming adventure. Most she already carried, but some she shuffled through small boxes stored carefully under the hammock she slept in to find. She also took time to check and sharpen the small daggers from another box, before securing them in leather scabbards around her form. Satisfied that she had everything, she returned to the deck, to observe the activities.

She found herself standing next to Daegrel, who sat in a contemplative pose on the deck. She admired him for that, for his will was nearly as strong and trained as anyone she knew. He was not a fanatic, but an aesthetic, and he knew his place and his limits. When the small man nodded to her, she nodded back, but had no words to say. Luckily, none were needed between her and Daegrel, at least at this time. He stood, and moved to the quarterdeck, to stand next to the captain. She watched as he said something to the much larger man, and then stared in concentration at the huge mass they were approaching.

[Fil kearney]

The sun was now rising through the mists at The Breeze's stern, casting eery, long shadows across the face of the immense wall. The crew became palpably more tense as the Tears drew close enough to practically taste as more of off-duty crew came top deck, nervously holding the haft of spear and gaffs in hand, knowing soon they would be needed to storm Alutan's private fortress.
Aribel could feel her steed tense as well... sniffing at the air, Princess balked for just an instant-- making the hairs on the back of the knight's neck raise reflexively as the griffon chose to rise and ease back nervously.

From below on deck, the Aft watchman barked out to cast eye below-- the gathering storm was rising ahead, mingling with the drafty mist from the Tears of Woe. The dark clouds rumbled ominously, shaking the sky itself as they rose. looking past the ship, peels of lightning flickered through dense cumulus--Green Lightning.
the crew and captain immediately knew the unnatural signs of a Spell Storm coalescing from the ill clouds-- there was no telling what the storm would do to anything entering it's charged depths.


As daunting as the phenomenon was, there was something more... Princess snorted in protest with a slight buck, giving Aribel a firm bounce in the saddle, forcing her to shift her hat-- and there they were. Overhead, descending fast, were two iron-banded scorpion ships gouting plumes of dirty smoke.
The Darguun warships were on an interception course-- the Breeze would be forced to retreat, dive into the storm, or chance against the notorious scorpion grappling claws!

 

some skill checks you can make:
survival: DC 20 and 25
perception: DC 15 and 25
local knowledge: DC 12 and 20
failing the low DC yields only what I've posted so far.
first tier DC will yield some extra information not posted.
2nd tier DC will provide Great Insight in some aspect to the current situation
Feel welcome to roll off any other skill checks you wish and they will be weighed in consideration.

I'll have tactical maps up on roll20 in the next 24ish hours along with the Rules-Light ship combat procedures... in the meantime, the scorpions are at least a half-mile up, so no real combat will happen until further update-- certainly time enough for a few rounds of buffing etc.

[Admin Dirk]

Rhoma heard the shouts of the crew, and followed their gestures to see the other ships coming their direction. She easily motioned with her withered hand, having adapted the taut muscles there over years of practice to make the arcane symbols she needed for casting her spells. "Imure," she said aloud, and the weaving of spell energies was complete, manifesting as she had long practiced in her mind. Her father's lessons, decades past, had served her in that regard.

"Bladework with either hand, Dota," he would say, and flip his knife casually from one hand to the other in a flashing instant. "You never know when someone might grab your good hand." After her accident, the lesson set in place harshly, for she knew that if she relied on her good hand to be both a spell caster and weapon holder, she would be easily overcome in a fight. All it took was someone grabbing her good hand, and she would be defenseless, both with weapon or magic. She worked hard to make sure that couldn't happen.

As she spoke the word of the spell, a thin, shimmering glow surrounded her body, and then shrunk down to envelope her, fading into her clothing, giving her a slight sheen where it settled on her cloak and gloved hands. She felt more protected then, with her arcane armor, against any errant ballista or bolts that might come her way. With another thought, she manifested her familiar, a dark black segmented centipede, which magically appeared to be flying just above her shoulder. With a squiggle, it snaked its way inside her cloak, and down around her throat, seeking safety and comfort inside her clothing. A hundred sets of tiny pins tickled her skin, and she marveled, as always, that somehow, even her burned and thickly scarred shoulder and throat could feel the movement as well as her undamaged skin. With anything else, she could barely feel anything on her scars, but her familiar scuttled across it with her feeling every motion.

With a shiver at the sensation, she focused her mind. There was little she could do to the enemy until they were much closer, so she focused herself on what she could see of their predicament, to see if any clues jumped to mind. Instinctively, she stepped to one side, and towards an unusual shadow that lay on the wrong side of a crate. Roughly man sized, the shadow shifted, as if moving towards her as well, and she pressed herself into the darkness against the crate, and let the shadow wrap itself around her cloak.

 

Casting mage armor (1 round).
Manifesting familiar. 1 round. This gives her +2 on her perception checks while it's around. 5 minutes, 8 rounds or so remaining.

Move action, essentially hiding in shadow. Her shadow. Not her shadow, per se, but the shadow she summoned as a shadowdancer, and serves her. If needed, HIPS roll:

Dice Roll:

d20+14

(1)+14

Total = 15

Knowledge local

Dice know local:

d20+9

(15)+9

Total = 24

Perception

Dice perception:

d20+11

(1)+11

Total = 12

any other knowledge check (all the same), engineering, etc..

Dice Roll:

d20+9

(4)+9

Total = 13

.

This is also a check for LORE, per the cloistered cleric (like bardic knowledge).

Dice Roll:

d20+5

(17)+5

Total = 22

[Battlechaser]

Brunner rolled his eyes as the griffon looped around him. Show-off. He snorted. But at least a reliable show-off. "Blame Ward." The captain's not-really undead status sometimes irked the hunter, but Ward had proven himself as a stalwart, albeit crazy, companion so Brunner swallowed his irrational dislike.

Admiring the emerald lightnings crossing the spellstorms' clouds the monk noticed Princess' unusual behaviour belatedly. "Why... Ah, Darguun. Time to play." An almost feral grin split Brunner's face before he disappeared from sight and sped forward on an intercepting course.

 

cast walk unseen.

Dice Perception:

1d20+13

(3)+13

Total = 16

Dice Survival:

1d20+8

(14)+8

Total = 22

[Sir Alex]

"Boldrei's beard..."

Two separate threats had blown in like fiends out of hell. First there was the storm. It'd be nice if it was full of Blessing or Healing magic, but something about the cloud had a nasty look. Maybe it was all that green lightning. Aribel squinted at the ships. Smoky. And mostly metal. Right...

 

I'm holding off on any specific actions pending the results of the skill checks...

 

Note: If the survival check is not weather-related, subtract 2 from the roll.

Dice Survival:

1d20+11+2

(10)+11+2

Total = 23

Dice Perception:

1d20+12

(2)+12

Total = 14

Dice Know Local:

1d20+10

(1)+10

Total = 11

Dice Lore as per Bardic Knowledge:

1d20+7

(4)+7

Total = 11

[spikehed]

Even with the looming threats, Daegrel did not seem overly concerned. "Captain, my last request must wait. I recommend engaging the ships, for they remain the known calculatable threat."

The tiny man then moved toward the open portion of the ship that allowed Princess to land aboard the Breeze. He gave a sharp whistle and hand signal for one of the two air-borne companions to pick him up. So many see this size as a disadvantage. He couldn't help but smile and be reminded of how easy Brunner could carry him aloft because of it. He looked up at the approaching ships and scowled at the interruption they caused to his journey down the path that the Flame had illuminated.

 

Dice Perception:

1d20+17

(2)+17

Total = 19