“Ugh...” Damien grunted in pain as he took the slice across his pelvis. Whipping his rapier out in a defensive slash, the bard held his free arm over his injury, bending himself at the waist with the discomfort. He could feel the warm blood seeping onto his bare hand, and readied himself for a follow-up attack from the barbaric raider. Fortune was with him, though, and the huge marauder dropped to the ground after being shot-through by the curving blade of Scourge’s massive scythe.
Giving a nod in appreciation for his life being saved, Damien had little time to do else, for a huge, hulking figure descended to the deck. The gaze of the dark man was suddenly drawn immediately before him, though, as another marauder rushed forth, blade raised into the air.
Reacting quickly to the situation, Damien raised his slender blade to meet the threat, though he had an alternative plan set deep within his twisted heart.
“Hey, does your face hurt?” The bard called out to the raider, working the threads of magic into his words. “’Cause its killing me!” It was a bad joke, but it was all he needed as he spun the spell patterns into a complex fabric and hurled it towards the onrushing barbarian.
Let’s see how you like that. He thought to himself as he prepared to launch a downward thrust towards the barbarian.
(OOC: Damien has used Tasha’s Hideous Laughter against the oncoming barbarian, then assuming a fencing stance before hoping to execute him with a Coup de Grace, if possible. If the spell fails, he’ll fight with Scourge until one of them can locate the reason. If he can discover that it is the magic-users on top of the cabin, Damien will try to Countersong, and vault his way up to the roof (Possibly through means of leaping over the stair rail or something.))
It was one thing to be some thousand feet in the air, where he could refrain from being outside, to quietly reside in his room, and work on the project for Elandor. It was a completely different thing to be dealing with Mauraders and drakes and men that even dwarfed his considerable size.
Trading blows with the first enemy he encountered, Dawnbringer noticably proving the more effective as the sky pirate was cut down before him, Scourge's eye couldn't help but catch the twin spellcasters and the massive man who led the attack board the ship. He thought about wht spells he could cast, and he had more than a few, but he instinctively knew what they were there for by the way they sized him up.
He could risk trading spells, but it was two against one, and he would better be set for healing those in need. Instead, he shifted to the bard, for he knew those of lyrical skills could often interfere with e fabrication of magic, and foil spells. Orion, perched above on the staircase called out to Damien. "Master Bard, there is need to prevent the enemy casters from finishing their ministrations, if ye can weave a tale or spin a song to interfere whilst ye fight, then sing till ye voice fills the skies!." With that Scourge will press the attack against the attacker, moving to flank if at all possible, assisting Damien in his attacks.
Should Damien's spell render the maurader defenseless, Scourge will waste no time in approaching the spell casters to deal with them instead. Without spell support, the crew of the Naussicus could better contend with the giant of a man who was intent on the extinction of the crew.
As battle was engaged, Vilyamar was glad to be one of the first out the door. The confines of the small cabin were too much to get any real damage done, though now that he thought of it, any battle done in there would have been to his general advantage rather than any sword- or hammer-wielding opponents. Thoughts of retreating back inside evaporated as he flew to the deck, pain flashing through his thigh.
He cursed allowed, but finished the fight (I'm not going to recount it). He stuck his nunchaku at ready under his left arm and said a few words. Few characters would be recognizable by mortals, and Vilyamar did not understand what they meant, only what they did. It was far older than the language of the arcane masters, perhaps it was divine in nature. Vilyamar had never let any one person look at his weapon of choice in any great detail lest he be placeing one end between their eyes.
The ancient words carried across the windship, possibly attracting any attention, possibly not. They seemed to always have that penetrating quality, that forced the sounds through the air, like the tone of a bard, both of which came to his ears now. Soft light, of the kind that did not penetrate, begin to flow up through the etchings in the weapons' hafts and chain links.
The monk turned, leaving most of his weight on his good leg. He had felt the bone fracture in his hip and knew that in a short time it would stiffen and become almost useless. He glanced around, looking for those who needed his aid. There were two strange savages adorned in black robes who seemed to be staring intently at Scourge and Damien while the two did battle with another barbarian. Vilyamar could hear Damien bark something at the barbarian, but didn't watch the outcome for he had turned and saw Teros dueling with a massive man that was the desert knight's match. Both had cuts, but Teros seemed able to hold out. Others could aid him if he so needed it.
Vilyamar saw the man who must be the barbarian leader standing at the entrance to the cabin. Thoughts did not run through his mind, only the desire to kick the man, hard. He thoroughly ignored the pain of his shattered hip as he began to pick up speed across the slick deck. He was careful of his footing, falling would not only be embarrassing, it may very well be fatal, as so many had already proven.
It only took 4 steps to be within range and it only took 4 steps to be at the proper speed. Few things were like flying through the air to strike a target with enough force to break through a single layer of brick and mortar. One of those things were flying through air to strike a man that could very well be a brick wall. The monk jumped off of his good foot, and brought it up to strike with his good foot.
Hopefully it would take him out long enough for the two inside to deal with him.
((Uses another stunning strike in the kick. Will attempt to land on one hand and two legs to take the pressure off his hip (which is currently facing down. Gotta get to school...Hope I haven't taken things too far. Should he be interrupted, he will strike with flurry unarmed, nunchuks, unarmed...same as if he gets the chance after the kick.))
Somewhere over Arnakia
The raid had been so unexpected that, even now, with the clash and cries of battle, and a glossy coat of dark crimson pooling the deck from a now gruesome terrain of corpses and fallen weapons; it was hard to accept that this was happening. Yet the cries of death, and the sound of harsh, guttural curses in a language unheard before, kept the party very much in check. This attack was real. Their lives were very much in danger.
Across the deck, several, separate battles raged. There were still 8 marauders, not counting the newly arrived warrior and his two spell casters. The party outnumbered them, and though several of the battles consisted of two crewmen and one northman, the battle was still a struggle. Had the giant barbarian and his two magic men just arrived, the party would surely have felt they were getting the upper hand. However, just the presence of the great warrior was enough to cast a very dark, shadow of doubt over the deck.
In his own section of the battle, Teros found himself suddenly inspired with an idea. He was neither as strong or as savage a fighter as his opponent, but perhaps he could use the barbarians strength against him? With a newly found strength, he parried the warriors blows with a series of weaving, elegant swipes of his sword, before backing up to the rail, and grinning at the warrior.
Yes he was a barbarian, but he was no fool. He knew full well that the little man with the dark skin was trying to send him over. He would not fall for it, but he would give the desert dog his charge. With a roar, the warrior charged forth, and as Teros went to sidestep, the man tried to come to his anticipated stop. Two things happened at once. As he went to stop, he swiped, hard with his sword at the desert warrior. The blood underfoot had not been part of his calculations, and he lost his footing. His sword cut deep through Teros’ armor, and he felt the sword slice deep through his right side, beneath his ribs (12d). At the same time, the warriors feet kicked out infront of him, and he found himself on his back, sliding, sliding against his will straight overboard. With a yelp, the man spun and latched onto the railing. Beneath him, the silk wings of The Nausicaa rippled on their stiff supports in the wind.
Teros leaned against the rail, gripping his oozing side, and gritting his teeth against the burn that ran across his torso. The warrior dangled from the edge, just three feet from him, and as Teros moved to stand over him, the warrior did not plead, did not whimper. No. Gripping the railing in one hand, he swiped viciously at Teros’ legs with his sword. Blending two, motions into one, very fluid move, Teros parried the mans blade so well that it slipped from his hands and clanged across the bloody deck, readjusting the direction of his swing, he brought his sword back, slashing open the mans face. In sudden pain, the man screamed, and, in his pain, let go of the rail. For a moment he tumbled across the wing, before sprawling over it’s edge, and falling through the open air, to the blue waters several hundred feet below. Pushing himself off the rail, and away from the edge, Teros forced a glance down, and saw that the brown leather of his curaise was slit, cleanly open. Blood covered his hands, and ran down his side, staining his hip. He could feel the warmth of his lifeforce as it soaked at his thighs, and dribbled down his legs. The pain was intense, but he knew necessity could force him to fight on. It would take more than this to kill him…at least right away. He knew he would need to stop the bleeding soon after the battle though…should they survive.
Turning his attention to the battle at hand, he saw that a warrior, the biggest and most fierce man he had ever seen, stood, looming in the doorway to the cabin. His long, blond hair and white, fur cloak billowed over black chain and leather armor. Vilyamar was about to charge him from behind. Pressed against the wall outside wall of the cabin, Scourge and Damien were in battle with a single warrior. Atop the cabin stood two, black fur draped, barbarians. Their heads were shaved and tattooed. Across the deck, against the opposite railing Derak was standing over the body of a freshly fallen warrior. Blood spouted weakly from it’s neck. Several smaller battles between crewman and northman raged across the deck, between Derak and Teros. At the nose of the ship, Darrad and another crewman were busy battling a barbarian with a shortspear and a dagger.
As the marauder charged them, Damien was quick to rummage through his pockets, but not swift enough. The marauder reached them, and swung hard at the bard, taking his opportunity, Scourge stepped to the side, freeing himself from the corner of the stairs and the cabin wall. Now they could flank… Scourge was unable, however, to defend Damien from the vicous swipe from the northman’s shortsword. Damien’s focus was drawn from the spell he had hoped to cast. Frantically, he brought up his rapier, deflecting the man’s first blow. Taking this opportunity, Scourge swung hard with his massive scythe. It was a terrible swing, however, and the man barely needed to duck, to dodge it. Retaliating, the northman turned and, in a flurry of swings, nicked the cloaked half-orcs left forarm, cutting it deeply(4d), and landed a devastating slash through his robes and across his chest (18…sorry). Crying out in pain, Scourge staggered back.
The warrior would have followed up, had Damien not hastily taken his opportunity. Bouncing two darts off the warriors back, and waggling a bright red feather in the air, the bard hastily made his joke. The warrior could not even understand his words, but magic transcends language barriers. Unable to resist, and overwhelmed with confusion, he began to laugh, hard, and violently. Not waiting, Both Scourge and Damien attacked, brutally, and dropped him with a series of tears and slashes. Having heard Orion’s request, Damien started up the steps, towards the two magic users. Forcing himself to focus, he tore the lyrics of his particular Countersong from the battled-fogged confines of his mind. Reaching the top of the steps, he began to sing, while settling into a fencing stance.
Kender are indeed, immune to the emotion of fear. The hormones responsible for causing the reaction of “fear” in other races, seem to have long ago, lost effect on the minds of Elandor’s people. But the cold in this man’s eyes brought a chill up the little kender’s spine, and a strange feeling of extreme unease overtook him. Backing up, frantically, he found himself pressed against the door of the Heart Room.
Turning from the windows, the jaws of both Mahuo and Marie dropped. The urge to leap through the windows and run surged overwhelmingly within both; but they were warriors. They suppressed it, and, shaking uneasily, prepared for combat. Gemi, fearless and sensing the danger of his master, charged the giant in the doorway. Sneering, the barbarian pulled back his leg, and with surprising speed, pounded his black boot into the ribs of the little animal. A terrible thud, and a shrill cry pierced the cabin, and with immense force, the wolverine crashed against the back wall, 4 feet from Elandor. It crumpled in a pile and did not move. Marie drew her sword, and Mahuo drew two daggers.
The barbarian smiled, coldly, but staggered suddenly forward, and spun around fiercely. Vilyamar stood in the doorway, crouched, leaning one hand against the deck. Hefting his massive axe, the warrior started towards the monk, just as Marie and Mahuo charged him. Elandor bounced a nut off his back with his hoopak. With yet another astonishing display of speed, the warrior deflected both their attacks, and turning towards the satyr, retaliated, violently. Gripping his massive axe, he swung horizontally. His axe tore across her chest, splintering chain mail, and guisering blood (15d). His axe returned, diagonally, casting more bits of metal and fountains of blood from her torso (12d). Marie, desperate to save her friend, brought her sword down hard on the warriors back. The sword glanced off his armor, but nicked his shoulder. He did not seem to notice. Turning his diagonal swing into an upward lift, he held the axe on high, for a brief moment, before slamming it, hard. The blade bit into the satyr’s collar, and the force of the swing tore her to the ground, where she lay, face down. The warrior removed his axe, and a spout of blood soaked his boots.
Elandor launched another nut at the man, but it glanced off his shoulder. Standing over his victim, the warrior turned towards Marie and Vilyamar. Blood spatters dotted his face and beard.
Suddenly, A terrible lurched rocked the ship heavily, and a ripple ran from bow to stern. Teros slipped in the blood on deck and landed on his back, Derak gripped at the railing, Scourge also stumbled against the railing, 10 feet from Derak and at the base of the stairs to the roof of the cabin. Damien, atop the stairs, stumbled into the railing, and nearly toppled over. He clung to it for dear life. Both magic users fell as well, and scrambled to their feet, beside the wheel. On deck, the battle lurched starboard (the right side of the ship..I think..if not, then it is now), and several crewmen and northmen hit the railing.(The same railing yall are leaning on.) Inside the cabin, Vilyamar fell into the right side of the doorway, and clutched at it’s frame uneasily. Both the great barbarian, and Marie stumbled to the rightside of the room.
Marie was unlucky enough to topple over the (soon to be) corpse of Mahuo, and smashed into the solid chest of the massive warrior. Sneering down at her, he lifted one great arm, and backhanded her, hard with one of his spiked bracers(9d). She fell back into a wall. Cracking his neck, the warrior started towards Vilyamar.
“The Ship! She’s too low!”
The voice was captain Darrads, near the bow of the ship.
“She’s hitting mountains!”
Derak, Scourge, Damien, and many a northman and crewman peered overboard. Indeed they were over an island. Great, rocky mountains jutted from emerald forests and valleys, like gray teeth. On either side of The Nausicaa cliffs and peaks rose. Her belly had scraped the crown of a toothed mountain. The sudden interruption that had sent Damien into the railing, had forced his beginning countersong to end.(failed save).
Grinning vily, one of the two magic men, lifted one hand over the wheel they stood beside. Damien pushed off the rail and started for him, but was too late. Ignited by arcane words, a bright and terrible flow of fire poured from his hand, completely encompassing the wheel. When the flow ended, the wheel and it’s base were burning fiercely. The magic user who had done this, completely ignored Damien, turning his focus back on Scourge. The other, grinning slyly, pulled two, long white dagger's from his cloak. Without hesitating, Damien took to his fencing stance, and lunged at the magic user, several times. He was quicker than he seemed, however, and either dodged or parried each blow, before countering with his own swipes. Damien had the upper hand in this battle however, with his distancing stance, and long blade. He easily manuveired out of reach, before continuing with the attack...
Teros had pushed himself off the deck, and had just returned to his feet in time to see the wheel ignited. He had no time to react, however. For he also witnessed two crewmen who had slipped in the blood, slain by marauders. As soon as he had finished with his crewman, one of the two turned on Teros, and charged. The desert warrior was able to either sidestep, or parry all of his swings, and retaliated with a slash across the mans shoulder. This becoming old! The party never had an opportunity to free themselves long enough to plan a strategy. They were on the constant defense! Angrily the man tried to knock Teros to the ground, but failed, and caught another slash, this time across his flank….
Everyone who had been thrown against the starboard railing was frantically fighting their way away from it. Yet it seemed the lurched had given the marauders the advantage. Bigger and stronger, they had little trouble sending the crewmen overboard. Scourge, terribly wounded as he was, standing at the base of the stairs, witnessed not only the burning of the wheel, but the tossing of 3 more men overboard. Aside from his party, only five men remained, including Darrad, who was fighting violently to break free of the battle and get to the wheel…as hopeless as it was. 6 Marauders, plus the terrible leader and his two magic users remained.(You do have time to heal yourself before witnessing this. You had time when the magic user burned the wheel, and Damien was trying to stop them.) Nearby, he could see both Vilyamar and Marie attacking the gargantuan in the cabin. Glancing back up, he could see that one of the two magic users had returned his gaze on him. The other had drawn a dagger and was preparing to do battle with Damien, staying between the bard and his magic companion. Derak was also fighting viciously, trying to get away from the railing. It seemed everyone was engaged save him, and he was under constant surveillance.
The Shudder that ran across the ship, knocking he and everyone else off balance, didn’t seem to effect the leader in the least. Backhanding Marie so hard that she fell against the wall, he started towards Vilyamar. The monk pushed himself off the doorway and readied himself once more. The warrior stepped before the body of Mahuo and paused. Before the monk could react, he brought the axe down, once more, severing Mahuo’s head. Bringing one massive foot down on it, preventing it from rolling, the warrior stooped down and, grabbing it by the bloodcaked, auburn hair, lifted it high. Showing her pain-frozen face to the monk.
“Will you stand before me, worm?”
His voice was like gravel, and laden in a heavy, strange accent. Suddenly lifting it, he shook the cabin with a booming roar.
“I am Thrundier. Dreaded slayer of the Skall and hunter of the Minotaur. I cannot count the men I have slain, nor clean my blade of their bloodstains. You will die like those before you, and I shall return to your ruins. I shall claim the stone, and pick your eyes.”
Not having it, the monk charged forward, furiously, kicking and punching, striking for the nervous systems he knew this man must too possess. Several blows landed, but the man never seemed to daze. Angrily, Thrundier grabbed at the monks silver/blond hair, and snapped his head back. Still ignoring the nuts, that continued to barrage him, he gripped the half elf hard, easily overpowering him. Leaping to her feat, Marie slashed at him again, drawing much blood from his back. Thrundier staggered, only a little, before dragging Vilyamar the five feet out the door. Turning around, he roared viciously, before throwing his arm forward with what seemed like all his might. The monk could do nothing, as his body was flung forward like that of a rag doll. The wall of the cabin shuddered and seemed to crack, as the monks head smashed, hard into it (13d). Marie leapt at the warrior, but he parried her blows. Vilyamar, trained to retain consciousness, staggered forward. His nose was broken, and his face was already swollen and bloody (Stunned). Hefting his axe, Thrundier swiped once at Marie, slicing open her side (16d), before bringing two, massive blows at the monk. The first tore across his chest, gushing blood (14d). The second ran cleanly across his stomach(17d). Thrundier turned to face Marie as the monk dropped to his knees. He clutched his stomach for only a moment, before passing out, and slouching on his side. Blood, and intestines spilled beside him. He was dying quickly…..
Captain Darrad-low health
Derak-49/62-cut shoulder/cut forarm, minor bleeding
Vilyamar- -7/48 HP-Fractured hip/broken nose/ punctured lip/sever facial brusing/ slit stomach, major bleeding
Scourge-17/47 HP-Sliced Left upper Arm, minor bleeding/slashed right pectoral, moderate bleeding
Teros-39/61 HP-Deeply Cut left Shoulder, moderate bleeding/slashed right flank, moderate bleeding
Damien- 35/40 HP-Cut Hip/Minor Bleeding
Mahuo- terribly gouged chest and shoulder/decapitated/...DEAD
Marie-27/52 cut and severly bruised cheek/slashed right side torso, moderate bleeding
The jolt that shook the entire ship nearly sent Damien careening over the edge and down towards the island, far below. His years of acrobatic training helped him stay his ground, though, but it was not enough in his effort to halt the strange magic-wielding men who stood before him. Darting forth, he was just too slow to prevent the wheel from becoming a pile of cinders.
His grey eyes locked onto the caster’s, and he lifted his rapier at a slight angle towards the man. Using his off-hand for balance, he lunged forwards, feeling a slight thundering beneath his feet, as well as being able to pick out the low sound of a forceful smash against the wheelhouse. Light feet carrying him towards the magician, Damien threw a feinted swipe for the head before whirling the blade into a long thrust for the midsection. Thinking it an easy victory, he was thoroughly surprised by the unexpected speed of his opponent. Not letting it faze him, the bard continued his assault. After a few blows launched at one-another, he found that he was paired with an opponent of talent.
I’ve got a few tricks under my hat, yet. He thought to himself as he danced backwards, away from the precise knife strokes his opponent threw. I just need to fall back into my days in the menagerie.
Though still in his easy fencing stance, Damien lunged forwards, his slender sword leading the way. However, just steps before meeting his foe once again, he kicked off with his back leg, casting him up into the air. In a complex maneuver he had often exploited atop the tightrope, the nimble bard twisted his body in a tight rotation, lashing out in mid-spin.
This had better work, He hoped as he pivoted in midair to land on his feet, facing the same foe, though he now stood closer to the pile of cinders.
(OOC: Attempting to use my tumble skill to perform a Flashy Attack (Which adds my Charisma modifier to attack roll). Trying to envision the battle in my head, this should land me on the edge of the wheelhouse, closest to where Vilyamar is getting his ass handed to him. Landing, Damien will continue to fight the same magician before moving on to the other. I am not using Countersong due to the complexity of his attack.
If anything is wrong or needs changing, let me know. I just wanted to get my post done before your set deadline.)
((gonna appologize ahead of this post. I don't think it will be all that great, but I've been busy this week, and very tired so here it is.))
Teros watched the man slip on the blood and soon tumble over. Although Teros had taken a nasty wound he could see that the man's fingers holding on, and carefully he looked over at him, failing to be cautious even though something inside of him told him he should be. These men were not the same as most.
Almost immediatly he was greeted not with the sight of fear, but anger and determination. The man swiped at him with his axe while trying to hold on, but Teros was too skilled for that. His foe's blade clatterd away and Teros gave swiped down in rage, cutting the man's face open. He watched him plummet off the ship before turning around and seeing the battle and checking his own wounds.
No sooner had he grasped the situation, a terrible shock rocked the ship. Slipping he landed on his back, and let out a slight cry in surprise and pain. After a moment he heard the captain's yell and for a second the battle seemed to stop. All looked over the edge of the ship and saw what was happening. As if to compact the situation he watched the wheel burn in the hot flames that the mage used. Dosn't look like a safe landing will be happening.
Regathering himself he prepared to aid an ally or two when yet ANOTHER northman charged him. Both warriors were battle weary, although now Teros was furious. The pain of his wounds was forgotten as adrenaline rushed through him. He injured the man several times and knew he could not relent. He kept up his harsh assault, pressing forward and cutting as fast and hard as he can, letting the firey blade cut his opponet apart. Still he watched his opponets eye's, prepared to dodge at the slightest hint of an attack.
Scourge was in pain, many of the companions he could make out were similarly not fairing much better by the looks of it. The being tossed around on the ship as though he were nothing more than a rag doll didn't help his already evident disdain for heights. Steadying himself by the stairs, he took what he hoped was as much confusion for everyone else was as his own, and settled into spontaneously converting his prepared Spiritual Weapon spell into a Cure Moderate Wounds which he let flow into himself to close some of the wounds which wracked his body.
His position afforded him a view of seemingly all the action going on on deck, and his mind raced as to where he could most effficiently be put to use.
((now this is where I have to hope my placement of characters is right. This is presuming up by the deck, there is Damien, the dagger wielding Mage and the spellcasting mage focuses on me at the base os the stairs, placing the one watching me farthest back.. so, if I move back into the corner of the wheelhouse and stairs or with my back to the wheelhouse he shouldn't be able to see me.))
Moving into such a position, A couple thoughts ran through scourge's ,mind. He could turn invisible and perhaps assist Damien, or place a curse upon the one proclaimed as Thrundier.
He began casting and Orion left his side, flying over to Thrundier and placing a Blindness upon him. before his flight would carry him up and to safety. As this was done, Scourge will move (since your updates cover more than one round of combat) A) Towards Thrundiere Scythe raised for a flanking attack if it looks like the spell has taken effect or B)Towards Assisting Teros with his Maurader in a similar flanking attack if it looks as though Thrundier was not affected by his Blindness.
Somewhere over Arnakia
The once eloquently grand Windship that was The Nausicaa had become a death ship in moments. The once clean, neatly ordered deck had become a bloody corpse-field. Still, men remained locked in mortal combat, staggering over fallen comrades, and slipping in blood. Over both railings, crimson beads rained a bloodtrail over the jungles below, yet The Nausicaa flew on, like some dying monster, refusing to succumb to it’s own mortality.
Having taken the opportunity shown to him, Scourge delved deep within his own spiritual prism, establishing a connection with Erenall, and allowing himself to withdraw the proper celestial strings of energy to cast his spell. Almost instantly, a holy glimmer of white light washed over him. His bleeding ceased, and his wounds began to close. However, not perhaps as much as he would have liked (6first+2second+3caster level=11hp). The wound on his forarm completely closed, leaving not the slightest mark. The slash across his chest however, remained nearly the same. Only the bleeding slowed…slightly.
Now, the party found themselves in a most desperate predicament. Mahuo was dead. Her pain frozen face lay near the doorway to the cabin, just feet from the body of Vilyamar, who was perhaps also dead. He lay on his side, very pale. His hands were entangled in the mess of his own intestines. He had passed out during the battle to keep them within. The crew was quickly dropping. Thankfully, they were doing a decent job of taking the enemy with them, but with the introduction of the warrior known as Thrundier, the tides seemed to have turned completely against them. Worse yet, the ship could not be steered, and was sailing through the toothy maw of the most rocky, mountainous terrain any of the party had seen.
Standing over, now the body of Vilyamar, Thrundier turned to face Marie. His blood spattered beard billowed in the wind, and a slight sweat had broken on his tattooed forehead. His eyes were cold, and gleamed fervently. He was enjoying this. Involuntarily, Marie backed up, towards Scourge, who stood, perhaps 15 feet back, against the starboard stairs. The warrior started towards her, slowly, almost leisurely, when suddenly a raven swooped down from above, tapping his shoulder with it’s small, black feet, before swooping back away. A strange, purple mist sputtered with the contact, and was swept away with the wind.
Scourge, who had attempted to blind the warrior, using Orion, glared up at the wheel-stand. Not 5 feet from where Damien was engaged in combat, the bald spell caster grinned at him. There was no way Scourge could get out of his sight, unless he entered the cabin…which would mean passing right by the barbarian.
Thrundier hesitated, and glanced sidelong at his shoulder, and followed the raven with his eyes for just a moment, before continuing towards Marie. He swung once, almost teasingly at her, and she batted at his axe frantically. The barbarian grinned, and Marie tried to steady herself, raising her sword defensively once more. Suddenly, with a snarl, he lunged forward with one, treetrunk arm, and closed his fingers around her throat. Gasping, Mary swiped at him once, before gripping at his hand in a struggle for breath. Her one swipe cut deep through his black, chainmail. Blood seeped from his shoulder.
Snarling something in his own language, he slammed her against the cabin wall, lifting her off her feet by her throat. Marie could not speak, only gripped helplessly at his stone-like hands. She dared not let go, even to swing at him, for fear of her larynx breaking. Through watery eyes, she could see that Scourge had gone to help Teros fight the northman in the midst of the deck. A blurred battle raged along the starboard rail of the deck, but she could not make out details..she didn’t try.
Thrundier held the lanky, ranger girl against the wall by her throat for but a moment, before yanking her back, and slamming her hard, back into it(9d). Something snapped in her upper back, and a myriad of colors swarmed before her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she had hit her head or not. Nonetheless, a terrible lurch ran across the ship, and she could feel herself falling, and air rushing back into her lungs…
Damien, far more agile than his opponent, and trained in the art of agility for years, turned to this advantage, in the hopes to quicker rid himself of this foe, and help his companions. With a well trained, acrobatic spinning leap into the air, swiping at the magic user in mid air, he landed on his other side, and in a stream of smoke from the wheel. Directly behind Damien, the other spellcaster stood beside the remains of the wheel, peering over the deck. The smoke changed it’s angle just slightly with the wind, and he was able to see that he had landed a blow across the magic user’s side. Angrily, the mage came at Damien, who skillfully parried every, wild swing, before turning his defense around, and with the slight alteration to his swings, came back at the magic user. With a series of lunges, he pierced his enemy’s chest and torso. Gasping for air, the magic-man dropped to his knees, before slumping onto his side. The gaze of a dying man was on his pale face. As Damien looked up, and prepared to go after the second magic user, his eyes widened. Thinking only with reflexes, the bard dropped to the ground to prevent getting flung. He had seen a tall, slender pinnacle of rock right as it struck the left wing of the ship.
A terrible shudder ran across the ship, and the bard could feel the deck tilt heavily to the left. Staggering back to his feet, he saw two things. The magic user 5 feet from him, getting back to his feet(the still alive one), and a shattered wing. Only shreds of silk and bits of wood hung from the left side of the ship, and she was beginning a very sharp, left hand spiral.
Angrily, Teros activated the magic of his blade and, even before it was encased in flames, he was swinging violently at the northman before him. Adrenaline and adrenaline alone was what pushed the desert warrior. He would need to end this battle now! The warrior parried the first of Teros’ blows, but caught the second on his already bloody shoulder. Teros did not notice, but the towering figure of Scourge now stood beside him, and as the northman came back at Teros, he caught a heavy gash across his chest by the crystalline scythe the midnight blue garbed theurge bore. His own swings were off the mark, however, and Teros, in his anger, lunged forward. The satisfying slide of his blade through flesh, and the stench of burning flesh greeted his senses. The northman gasped, and dropped to his knees. Teros and plunged his blade deep into his chest. Withdrawing his blade, the desert warrior finished his enemy with a hard swing to the neck. A fountain of blood caught the wind and splattered Teros’ face, and the warriors head rolled across the deck.
Seeing a very bloody Captain Darrad, leaning against the railing of the nose of the ship, desperately fending off two marauders, both Scourge and Teros started for him, when, out of the left hand corner of their eyes, they glimpsed a giant, stone tooth just as it shattered the wing of the ship. A terrible shudder ran across the ship, knocking not only Teros and Scourge, but many other fighters off their feet. Almost immediately, the deck tilted heavily towards the left. The two could feel themselves sliding through the blood, towards the edge. With a wild glance, they could see one of the two marauder’s that had been fighting Darrad had tumbled overboard. Darrad had slipped, and was hanging half overboard, gripping at the rails. The second marauder was leaning against the rail, not far from him, trying to gather his balance. 2 Crewmen and 3 Marauders were sliding across the deck with Teros and Scourge, slightly behind them….
The shudder that tilted the ship, had sent his opponents sliding across the deck. He had gripped the Starboard(right) railing, and thus, had been freed from combat. Immediately, his attention shot towards the cabin, where the behemoth that was Thrundier had dropped Marie, and staggered into the doorway of the cabin. The ranger girl had fallen in a slump, 5 feet from the body of Vilyamar. The barbarian was starting towards her cowering form once more. Not if Derak Riggwall could help it. He did not care how big this man was. Derak could not allow him to beat a woman to death. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend, Teros, along with Scourge, sliding helplessly towards the left side of the ship. For a brief second, Derak thought of running to his friends aid, but he withheld. Teros could handle himself…Derak was sure.
Tearing his eyes from his friend, he raised his trusty bastard sword high in the air, and charged Thrundier.
This battle had become…uncomfortable. Thrundier had been enjoying himself; but this new problem with the ship was just that-a problem. In moments the ship would crash into either the sea, or the jungle below. He would need to be off the ship by then. First, however, he would finish with this little wench. The bitch had cut him, and she would pay dearly for it.
Yet just as Thrundier started for her, he was assailed violently by a rather chubby man in shining scalemale. A gleaming bastard sword came down hard across Thrundier’s bicep, and he gritted in pain. Lifting his axe, the warrior spat through a bloodied beard.
“You will die for the whore.”
Those were his only words, Viciously, the barbarian swiped at Derak, who parried the first blow, staggering back with it’s force. Swinging again, Thrundier’s toothed axe tore into his shinning armor, tenting it like thin foil, and tearing open Derak’s side (16d). The fighter gasped from the pain, but kept his composer, parrying Thrundier’s third swing, and staggering into mid deck. The blood and the tilt of the deck almost forced him down, but he remained standing.
Marie knew exactly what she must do. She had never spoken to the man named Derak before, though he seemed a jolly man with a passion for food and alcohol, but he had saved her life. She needed to take this opportunity to save another. Crawling the five feet to Vilyamar, and cradling his head, she didn’t bother checking to see if he was alive or not. Clearing her mind, she called out to the life force that was everywhere, unseen and unsensed. Crying out to nature, she lay her hands on Vilyamar’s neck. Instantly, she could feel the familiar tingle of magic, as nature coursed it’s life force through her, and into the dying monk (+7+2=9hp=0hp). As if by their own will, his spilled intestines slide back within his slit stomach. It seemed to close just enough to prevent them from spilling back out, but blood still gushed from the slit. His eyes fluttered open, and, peering through a dark haze, he tried to focus on Marie’s face. He could not. He needed another casting...
Both Teros and Scourge flailed desperately as they slid towards, and over the edge of The Nausicaa. Only just in time, did they grab the rails, and saving themselves from a very long drop. Almost immediately after, the 2 crewmen and 3 marauder’s fell into them. One Crewman grabbed the rail that Scourge gripped, and was swung into his right side. The rail creaked, and both gripped for dear life. 2 marauder’s and the other crewman fell overboard, and screamed helplessly until they were cut short, far below. Teros was lucky enough to have the third marauder, a rather stocky, gray bearded fellow, plummet overboard, and latch onto his thigh.
Teros cried out in pain of his stretched back, and hugged tightly onto his rail. The man below him…perhaps petrified of heights, hugged Teros’ thighs in a death grip.
Staggering in the midst of the deck, Derak gripped Jilly, and came back at Thrundier, violently. The barbarian parried his first blow, but caught a low glance across his thigh. As if the glance to his leg had struck a switch, Thrundier lifted both arms wide at his side and, as the wind swept though this beard and hair, roared like some terrible animal. Punching his chest, he hefted his axe, and came and Derak like a hurricane. Taken by surprise, Derak staggered back, trying desperately to defend himself. Thrundier’s first swing sank deep into Derak’s ribs, puncturing armor and flesh(18d). Derak cried out in pain, and the barbarian withdrew his axe. Staggering, and gripping his already pouring side, Derak would not give in. Lunging at the barbarian, he swung violently, tearing through the warrior’s curaise, and drawing blood from his chest. Swinging again, his sword tore into Thrundier’s shoulder. Blood spattered, but the barbarian did not seem to feel it. Blood poured freely down his arms, chest and legs, and his once white cloak was now stained crimson, yet he seemed tireless. Completing his swing, Derak staggered forward in exhaustion.
Thrundier returned at the warrior with a violent swing so hard it seemed it could take down a tree. Derak put his sword up weakly, and was helpless as it was tore from his hands. Jilly clambered across the deck and lay beside Vilyamar and Marie. Defeated, Derak dropped to his knees before the monster that was Thrundier. Teros watched, helplessly from his gripped position over the edge, as Thrundier lifted his massive axe, and clove the head of Derak from his body. In a fountain of blood, the body dropped, convulsing violently at the barbarian’s feet. Stooping, Thrundier Lifted Derak’s head. Reaching for his waist, he withdrew a long, black and white horn; seemingly that of an ox. Putting it to his lips, the warrior blew a thundering blast. Overhead, the drake skiff began to lower a rope ladder to mid deck, where Thrundier stood.
Taking this opportunity, the barbarian, clear of battle, strolled towards where Mahuo’s head had rolled, cradled against the fallen body of a warrior on deck. Lifting it by the hair, he returned to the lowering rope.
In a panic, Damien leapt to his feet, and hurled himself at the remaining magic user. The shaman had been focusing on Scourge, below, and hadn’t seen him coming. As Damien’s rapier tore into his flank, the magic-man gave a howl, and spun around, only to catch a second slash from his rapier. This one across his chest. His fur robes split open, and blood poured freely. Reaching into his robes, the shaman tried desperately to withdraw his own weapon, and Damien would have taken the opportunity to finish him, had he not been suddenly struck, very hard on his left shoulder blade(9d). Stumbling forward, and dangerously close to the lefthand rail of the ship, Damien spun around and saw, to his dismay, a red haired marauder gripping a warhammer in bloody hands. The Marauder stood, hunched over, and bled from somewhere under his curaise…
Desperately, Damien lunged at the magic user, hoping to kill him before his weapon was drawn, or before he could cast a spell. His aim was true, and his rapier sliced open the mage’s stomach, dropping him in writhing agony. The marauder charged him, and swung heavily with his hammer, but Damien dodged the blow. Steadying himself on the angle of the deck, he prepared to return the favor, when a great horn blast erupted on deck. Both he and the marauder paused, and glanced to the deck below. Damien was horrified to see the headless body of Derak, laying beside Thrundier. In the barbarian’s hand, was his companions head. A rope was being lowered to him from above. Angrily, Damien swung hard at the marauder, who parried, and swung back, missing Damien in turn….
Derak was fighting valiantly, and Marie wished she could help him. However, Vilyamar needed her more. Laying her hands on his neck once more, she channeled the energy of nature into him once more (5hp). The wounds on his chest and stomach closed ever so slightly. The monk could feel strength returning…enough to stand. Yet as Marie and Vilyamar were rising to their feet, they were forced to witness, in utter horror, the falling of Derak Rigwall, to the monster that was Thrundier, Slayer of the Skall. Vilyamar and Marie watched in horror as he blew his great horn, and a rope was lowered to him. Darrad was on his other side, engaged with a marauder. Another marauder battled the final crewman on deck. Thrundier stood in their midst. And lay his hand on the rope, steadying it. To their left, Teros, Scourge, and another crewman dangled overboard, and clutched desperately at the rails of the ship. Behind them, and atop the cabin, they could hear the clash of steal, as Damien still battled….What would they do?
2 marauders-low health
Captain Darrad-low health
Derak- Gouged chest and side/decapitated/...DEAD
Vilyamar- 5/48 HP-Fractured hip/broken nose/ punctured lip/sever facial brusing/ slit stomach, major bleeding
Scourge-28/47 HP-Sliced Left upper Arm, minor bleeding/slashed right pectoral, moderate bleeding
Teros-39/61 HP-Deeply Cut left Shoulder, moderate bleeding/slashed right flank, moderate bleeding
Damien- 26/40 HP-Cut Hip/ heavily bruised left shoulder bladeMinor Bleeding
Mahuo- terribly gouged chest and shoulder/decapitated/...DEAD
Marie-16/52 cut and severly bruised cheek/slashed right side torso, moderate bleeding, broken rib, concussion
Marie stood stock still with horror, her eyes wide and skin paling with every passing moment. He’s dead….he saved my life and he’s laying there dead. Thoughts rushed through her head faster than she had thought possible until this moment. The man that killed Derak was getting away, but on the other hand her friends were dangling precariously off the side of the ship. She turned to Vilymar clasped his shoulders, looking him in the eyes to help focus her wavering attention and his as well. “The others must be helped, you go to them now and I will be there in a moment.” She blinked then and turned around to face the murdered. “Call me a whore, and then kill my friend?! What kind of Lady do you think I am?! Do you think I will let you get away with this you pathetic excuse for a living man!” She hurled the insult at him vehemently, not caring what was going to become of it….the concussion was obviously in play. She drew one of her daggers as throws it at him with all her might, aiming for whatever vital part was open. “Disappear from this life like the bastard you are!”
If she hits and knocks him down she will advance…if she thinks there is a slight chance she might kill him. If she still does but does not believe in her chances she will run to top of the cabin, hoping the extra advantage will improve her odds.
If she misses she will throw another and then rush to help Vilymar before it is too late.
Smiling as his slender blade licked inwards to penetrate the chest of the shaman, Damien’s mindset quickly changed to panic when the great spire appeared in his vision. Throwing himself flat, the bard was able to avoid the worst of the shock that rumbled throughout the entire ship as it collided with the pinnacle, tearing away the left wing of the craft.
Feeling like his brain had become unhinged within his skull, Damien quickly leapt to his feet, hanging onto his rapier with a secure grip, and trying to keep his balance. Wind was powerfully rushing around him, and he saw that it was the result of a huge downward spiral from the ship.
Time was running out. He needed to quickly kill the remaining man before he could exit the ship and get away. It was because of them that the ship was no longer able to be maneuvered, and they would pay the ultimate cost. With a powerful lunge, the bard lanced his sword into the flank of the shaman, landing a second quick stroke across his chest when he turned. On the offensive, Damien was readying for a finishing shot when his body suddenly erupted with pain, originating from his left shoulder blade.
He stumbled forward, and looked behind to see that he had been slammed in the back by one of the barbarians, gripping a large hammer tightly. The attacker bled from somewhere Damien could not see, though, and this gave him something of an advantage. He was hurt, and probably weakening from the blood loss.
The one chance he had was not about to be taken from him, though. Damien twisted about and hurled himself forward, rapier snaking ahead of him. With absolute precision, he twisted his wrist to bring it horizontally, opening up the shaman’s belly and dropping him to the deck. He barely had enough time to react to the marauder, who pressed onwards. With honed reflexes, he nimbly dodged the attack, and had his arm cocked to thrust when he was interrupted by a horn blast. Both himself and his opponent stopped, looking to the deck below.
Damien’s gut wrenched as he saw the headless body of Derak laying in a pool of gore on the wood planks. Towering above the warrior was the leader of the raiders, holding Derak’s head like some sort of trophy.
They could not be allowed to escape! In a fury, Damien launched a fierce swipe for the marauder’s head, though he was halted short by the haft of the battle hammer. Drawn back for a return blow, the bard leapt out of the way, twisting in midair to clear the impact zone. Landing gracefully, Damien pulled his cloak around his body, hiding all but his face. Though he kept his rapier at the ready, his free hand worked at the clasp, undoing it with an inaudible click, lost in the sounds of battle. Slender fingers gripped the collar tightly, and he made his move.
Acting as though he were intent on throwing another slash, Damien twisted about at the last moment, whipped his cloak forth instead. The dark material sailed forth, flaring out into a large shroud which he hoped against hope would envelope his foe’s head.
(OOC: Damien has thrown his cloak for the marauder’s head, hoping to blind him. If successful, he will quickly dispatch the barbarian (If possible). If unsuccessful, he will try to kick for the crotch (One attack, not two), and then next round, attack with rapier.
Having nearly effortlessly killed the foul barbarian before him, Teros turned to get a breif over look of the situation once again, sword already up for the barbarian that would take the dead one's place.
But he never came, instead he was met with a lerch, and suddenly he found himself slidding over to the edge of the ship. Men desperately tried to hold onto anything they could, but sure enough some of them slid over and down to the horrible death that awaited them below. Thinking fast Teros reached out for a piece of the rail, and immediatly felt his hand connect. With desperate reflexs he moved his other hand around the rail and held on as tightly as possible, he was secure for now. That thought was soon put to rest as a barbarian latched onto his thigh, gripping it tightly.
The pain was nearly blinding. The man held on tightly enough, but his wounds were being stretched by this man, no doubt making them worse. Grinding his teeth he tried to pulled himself up but soon found it hopeless, and looking down he could see that there would be no way to get the man off without some major risk to himself. Instead he held on as tightly as possible and watched the remains of the battle.
He soon wished he had not. He caught the end of a battle between two giants, between some huge barbarian and Derak. Unable to aid his closest friend in the group he watched as the man deliverd the killing the blow, cutting Derak's head from his body. A cry of defiance and rage ripped from his throat as he watched the man take Mahou's head and begin his cowardly retreat. All physical pain was in the background now, all he could feel was his urge to punish and inflict pain upon these people who dared to call themselves men. They were monsters, nothing more. Fingers white from holding on he tried once more in vain to lift himself up, but soon returned to his slumped position. It was up to his friends to save him, but just in case they were too busy he said a prayer out loud in Ralnarian to his goddess...
Riveting, burning pain coursed through the half-elf’s body. Thrundier was strong, so very strong. Even a man who’s training in resoluteness could be overcome by pain. Ignoring as much of it as he could, Vilyamar launched himself at the barbarian. There was little fight to begin with, let alone in the end.
He fought as well as he could, with a fractured hip and pain now coursing to his mind from everywhere imaginable when he heard the barbarian speak. Vil was surprised that he had still regained conciousness. He knew very little of what had just transpiried, and he could see nothing but stars and darkness. His suspicions lay in the direction of the cabin wall and once he finally removed himself from there he saw that he had been thrown, like little more than a doll, at the wall. Marie was desperately trying to fend off the huge man’s axe when he turned towards the monk who was still attempting to regain control of his own limbs. Vilyamar could do nothing save hold his breath when the axe cut across his chest. Fear had made his legs let go, and that alone had saved him from being cut fully in two, but he could now do nothing to ward off the axe that sliced open his stomach. Blood and horror filled Vilyamar’s vision as his own intestines became entwined in his hands.
“…I shall claim the stone, and pick your eyes.”
For this line was the final words the monk expected to hear, his eyes widening not in the horror of his own death but in the implication in the those words.
Darkness consumed his thoughts, and he knew no more…
Blurred light was the next thing Vilyamar remembered. He felt something, a natural force, giving him strength again, but as he tried to sit up, or move at all, the world seemed to go black again.
Again came the force, this time Vilyamar felt energized enough to stand. Every muscle in his body still screamed as he moved them and his hip burned bright in his mind. It had been a while since he had felt so damaged, but still he remembered his training. He leaned against the damaged cabin wall, concentrating on his hip. The muscles moved in specific movements, working the bone together, setting it properly. The pain eased a little in his mind. He still had many cuts, and now he stilled or at least slowed all blood flow from them as much as possible and used his will to close a few small slices on his hands.
Opening his eyes and feeling much better, though not nearly perfect, he saw Thrundier calling his horn. Rage entered his heart then, but wisdom also filled his brain. This foe was not one to be taken lightly ever again. He saw, though, two heads in his hands and the monk’s gaze fell gravely to the sight of Derek Rigwall. He sighed only, there would be time to weep later.
“Do not entertain any thoughts of taking the uuvanimo down from his perch,” Vilyamar said in a relatively calm voice to Marie and completely ignoring the pain from the facial bruising he had sustained. Bruises would heal in a short time. “Saving three will be better than avenging two, for we shall have another chance at redemption and vengeance. Let us help the others first, lest we all die.”
With that, Vilyamar drew his hand away from the shuriken, which he had been holding on to. Time was of the essence and the half-elf did not know how long they others could survive. Rushing as fast as he could out of the cabin, Vilyamar entreated himself to a glance about the deck of the former windship. His first instinct was to help the captain, whose life force must surely have been dimming. His movement seemed slower than before, and he looked exhausted. But the monk knew that Scourge and Teros would require his help now.
“MARIE! Assist the captain and his final crew. They did not deserve to die this day.”
With that Vilyamar moved as fast as he could to the edge of the ship, beginning to help Scourge up and over the rail. His wounds seemed much more critical to the task of holding on that did Teros’s but both would need help.
((Healed 16 health as per “Wholeness of Body” = Wounds healed in priority 1) Major Bleeding 2) hip 3) nose 4) bruising
Assisting Scourge over the rail first, then Teros and the man. Vilyamar will try to save the marauder to, but to keep as a prisoner. Should a life debt be not enough for the man, he will assist in killing him, then move to help Darrad and the other crew member and finally Damien if it gets that far.
PS I have no idea how we will survive this thing FALLING!!))
Somewhere in Arnakia
The next few moment’s were a blur in the minds of the survivors. A torrent of rage, sorrow, and guilt flooded the party members as they watched, helplessly, as the killer of two of their party began climbing the rope ladder back to his ship. There was nothing they could do. Marie’s thrown dagger whipped by him, and, before hooking over the starboard railing from the curve of the ships decent.
Scourge scrambled back on deck, and blasted a fireball at the belly of the ship, just as Thrundier disappeared over it’s edge. The white hot explosion scorched the skeletal belly of the ship, but did not seem to damage it.
Damien, in desperation, tried to fling his cloak over the face of his opponent. The wind had intensified a great deal since the loss of The Nausicaa’s wing, but in the heat of battle, he hadn’t noticed it. His cloak fluttered up, and was snatched out of his grip, before billowing over the stern of the ship.
As Marie ran to the nose of the ship, to help a bloodied and desperate Darrad, Vilyamar rushed to Teros’ aid. Wrapping his arms around Teros’ shoulder’s he pulled with all his might. Teros cried out in pain. The marauder was too heavy. The bar Teros gripped creaked louder, and the half elf peered over the edge. The marauder had lost his weapon and was clinging helplessly to Teros’ legs. He had no choice. Either get the marauder off of Teros, or they would both die. Muttering for the desert warrior to hold on, Vilyamar leaned back and began to rummage through his pockets, but stopped…
The entire battle seemed to halt, as the ship suddenly swooped like a diving bird of prey from a mountainous ravine, and over a harbor city. For but a second, the city was a whitewashed blur just below. Teros closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as a building suddenly wizzed towards him. A sudden impact yanked him into a swing, but he held onto the bar, which creaked even more, and revealed a visible crack. The marauder had struck the building. Teros hadn’t any time to climb though. Another building rushed towards him, and he lifted his now very light feeling legs. The building struck the ship….
For but a moment, the ship was skating the rooftops of the city, causing terrible shutters to run across it’s length. Damien could see behind the ship, a trail of both white, and wooden debris as it was kicked up. The shutters knocked Vilyamar back, into the outside wall of the cabin. Marie fell against the railing, and Darrad gripped it tightly. His opponent also gripped the rail as they stared over the nose in frozen dread. Damien and his opponent toppled over one another, and tried to scramble to their feet, but before any could react, the ship hurled over the city, skated across the harbor, and with terrible force, smashed into a large, anchored ship.
The few, bored members still aboard Arnakian’s Pride had watched in shock as the crumbling windship skipped across the harbor once, before smashing like a terrible torpedo into her side. Most of the members had leapt overboard just in time. The Nausicaa had skipped once, and, had collided with the ship on a descent. Thus, her nose smashed the deck of the ship, not its side.
The nose, where Darrad, his opponent, and Marie stood, disappeared in an explosion of wood and rope. Teros was yanked from the side of the ship, and hurled, helplessly through the air. As was Damien, his opponent, Scourge, Vilyamar, a random crewmate, and Elandor, who had just appeared in the doorway of the cabin. All aboard were flung helplessly through the air, and shower of lumber.
They came to in the belly of a rescue canoe. Damien tried to sit up, but the piercing pain in his ribs pinned him down. Rolling his head to either side, he could see an unconscious Teros, a red faced and very shaky Elandor, Vilyamar, also unconscious, and pouring blood from his soaked robes, and Scourge, sitting beside Elandor on a nearby bench. All were soaking wet, and at both the nose and the stern of the ship sat 6, dark skinned and bearded men in brightly colored pants. 4 were shirtless and very well toned. Even the older two, who appeared to be in their 60’s. All 6 were paddling furiously. The other two wore sleeveless tunics. Try as he might, he could not sit up.
Scourge and Elandor sat on one of the middle benches of the canoe, staring at the wreckage they were quickly leaving behind. The Nausicaa had snapped in two, and it’s nose had already sunk beneath the waves. It’s stern seemed molded into the shattered deck of the anchored ship, and both were already halfway sunk. The harbor was littered with lumber, and as the canoe made it’s way closer to shore, two longboats filled with men in turbans, and shiny armor passed them, on their way to the wreckage.
(Sorry for the crap post…I’ve been having a rough time, and just wanted to get the game going. If there is any confusion just ask. You all remember flying quite a ways, and Scourge and Elandor remember hitting the water. Scourge…do you still have you’r hood up, despite being soaked? Elandor and Scourge are the only two that did not go unconscious, and realize that the men in the canoe rescued you all..though they do not speak your language, or common.)
When first the Nausicaa started falling down Elandor’s head got bumped into the door of the “weapon” room. For a moment he considered going in and getting the Elberiel Stone, even if it were just to keep it safe for the captain. He realized that with the shaking of the ship he would never manage to pick the lock in time. He had time, however, to ensure everybody’s luggage was safe on the deck. As the airship skimmed over the tops of houses of the harbor city Elandor hauled bags and sacks up the stairs.
A little later, just as Elandor reached the doorway of the cabin he was a victim of the enormous crash that snapped the Nausicaa in half. He was flung into the air along with all the luggage he dragged behind him. He landed on his back and though the water broke his fall the impact also slammed all the air out of his lunges. As he frantically fought to get to the surface a big sack landed on his head. Dizzied he felt himself being pulled out of the cold and into a small boat. As wind tugged his drenched cloths he shivered. A big figure got seated next to him and he recognized Scourge. He looked for Orion, the raven, but couldn’t find the bird right away.
Slowly they rowed the canoe back to shore, talking amongst each other in strange tongue. The strange words would normally roused an optimistic burst of exciting energy in the little kender. As he was now, this did not happen.
For the largest of the remaining companions, Scourge was tossed about the deck of the crashing Naussica as though he were nothing more than a pint sized Kender. The Large Theurge was flung over the broken rail from which he had just arisen, and swore he skipped across the water at least once before the world went black.
His mind raced in the blackness, Orion's caw's were what stirred him from the void of unconciousness, and he found himself splayed in the belly of a foreign vessel, flanked and surrounded by 6 strange men.
Orion flew overhead his mind aflutter with worry, but for now even as he raised slowly, making sure his bandana / cowl still covered his features, he would simply have to wait