Ollivor considers what's asked of him, "My magic? Mmm... I could send a jolt at it, might light it if I hit, but the reach isn't that far. I'm willing to chance it though. I could even preset things by making the wood drier with a simple prestidigitation but HOW much that would help I don't know. The spells that come to my blood don't seem well inclined towards trickery."
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Quietly contemplating the situation at hand, John wordlessly shrugs off his weather-worn pack and riffling through it dug out Iabobs powder-horn. Feeling the functional, tooled leather under his fingers, John felt a pang of sorrow. I'm not sure how much gun powder is left, but if will help then I'll offer it up.
”A minuscule flake..or is it a twig...of lightning can cause combustion,” Vrunyar says dipping a wick in more alcohol. ”I’ve seen it. Concentrate on getting the...sliver? of lightning onto this improvised wick and it should start a fire. It won’t look spectacular like alchemist’s fire. This will be more like a cooking fire that just leaps into existence after about five seconds of smoke — at least that’s the plan.” He finishes tucking the wick into the second bundle. ”Good thinking, but next time John. Let’s save the black powder for now.”
Wiping his forehead, he asks ”Do you know much about lightning? We should discuss it later of course. Start with the definitions and concepts of it. Is it a chain, a branch, a fork, an arc? Work from there to subdivisions.”
The dwarf hands the two leaf wrapped combustibles to Doran. ”Place them at the base of the tower’s legs. Or wherever you think is best. If it were sticky I’d recommend the floorboard of the tower.”
"The base of the tower sounds like a good idea. If the legs go, the tower will most likely follow and that would certainly cause quite the commotion, not to mention the distraction," Aaron offers. "Heh... distraction, destruction... funny little thing that," he adds in the end, though the words are spoken softly and quietly and mostly to himself.
"Not that much yet, I guess a short arc would be the best description for what I've done so far, less you count the touch which hurts more but obviously doesn't allow range," Ollivor looks slightly in over his head as things get a touch academic.
The minutes trail away as the group sets up the fiery trap. Doran sneaks through the brush to the wooden tower, placing Vrunyar's makeshift alchemical bombs near the legs. The rest watch from the trees, with Aaron's crossbow and Thorn's longbow trained upwards to put a stop to any guards that might peer away from the sea. John keeps an eye on the trail to prevent anyone from coming upon them from the village, but no one comes. Doran stealthily runs from cover to cover, naturally finding spots to hide himself in. As he sneaks away from the tower, he leaps into the air as he hears a loud horn bellow. He hisses a loud whisper, thinking that he has been found. "Now, Ollie!" Doran breaks into a sprint, zig-zagging so that the lookout can't shoot at him.
Ollivor points at the base of the tower from his hiding spot a dozen paces away, sending a spark of fiery electricity from his hands. The explosives burst into flames with a flash of light and heat, quickly running up the sides of the tower's legs. Doran runs as quickly as he can, leaping into the trees to find some cover. Thorn and Aaron both keep their weapons trained upwards, but they saw no one come out. "I don't think he saw you," Thorn volunteers without taking his elven eyes off the tower.
A second horn blast sounds from the tower, now aflame from the bottom to the base. The lookout emerges from the top, looking out back at Rickety's. "It's the Bonadventure! It's--" His warning is cut short as a crossbow bolt hits his throat and two arrows bury themselves in his chest. He tumbles out of the side of the tower, falling onto the ground in a heap as the flames start to fully engulf the structure. The sounds of pandemonium rise up from Rickety's Squibs as the pirates, thugs, and slavers ready themselves for battle.
"What in the hells?" Doran asks as he peers out from the bushes, watching the lookout tumble to the ground. He takes in the chaos that has suddenly engulfed the docks and asks again, "What in Besmara's name is goin' on here? Looks like Rickety's is under attack, just as we're about to attack! Well, time and tide wait for no man, we'd better grab this opportunity! I'm for the halflings, in case someone's locking them in! You all can join me or meet me at the docks!"
With that, Doran slips off toward the building where the slaves are secured in emergencies. Hopefully it's all gone off too fast for them to get 'em penned, and I can just lead 'em to the barkie. And hopefully this new ship, the Bonadventure, won't just take us all captive. Not sure I wouldn't just fight to the death rather than be a slave again.
As he moves, he draws his blades and keeps his eyes peeled for any slaves who have managed to avoid being locked up. He does his best to stay under cover, his situation made a bit easier by the uproar of the approaching battle.
Hot damn, I hit it! Ollivor thinks with satisfaction as the tower lights up instantly. Wooo... He thinks, surprised at how quickly it caught and backs up a bit to keep from the heat.
"What in the hells?" Doran asks as he peers out from the bushes, watching the lookout tumble to the ground. He takes in the chaos that has suddenly engulfed the docks and asks again, "What in Besmara's name is goin' on here? Looks like Rickety's is under attack, just as we're about to attack! Well, time and tide wait for no man, we'd better grab this opportunity! I'm for the halflings, in case someone's locking them in! You all can join me or meet me at the docks!"
"You lead, I'll follow and maybe distract..." Ollivor says, and for a moment scales seem to dance along his skin, while they fade quickly, the magic protection they invoke does not.
Should he see a guard or slaver covering the halflings from escape, he'll bellow at the fellow, and hope that the chaos creates enough smoke and shadow to obscure his features "Captain has orders... leave these runts to me and go watch the water, we got something swimming under there, likely rise up and slit our throats!"
Crossbow in hand and ready to be fired against the first man that impedes their progress, Aaron moves to join Doran, the pale Chelaxian's movements almost as quiet as the halflings.
"Lead the way, Captain Tidewrack," he says in his usual tone combining mirth and perhaps a mere hint of madness past. "Let us add a bit of our own chaos in what appears to be a fine start indeed, yes?" Despite his almost flippants remarks, he keeps his sharp eyes focused on his surroundings, his goal to notice any trouble before it reaches them.
Vrunyar’s pride in his creation burning so effectively is broken by the eruption of the chaos. Who would attack here? Pirates? Bonadventure doesn’t sound Chellish. Doran, Ollivor, and Aaron practically bolt to free the slaves as he’s still processing the chaos. Should I go with them? ...We also need to seize our ship!
”John, you, Thorn, and I can start taking the ship, yeah? Any tactics you have in mind? You want me to cut the ropes? Uh, mooring lines?” The dwarf stands crossbow cradled in his hands.
"You've made a huge mistake," growls the big man coming out of the smoke. He drops the chain that secures a half-dozen halfling slaves to one another, keeping their hands bound and keeping them together. It hits the ground with a heavy metal clink as he pulls his warhammer up. He growls at the slaves, who shuffle without being told towards into the ramshackle wooden building. "Ain't no captains 'round here, Andoran. You think you can come from the Bonwhatever and get the drop on me?" It takes everything in Ollivor's power for him not to glance over from the path to the trees where Doran and Aaron are lurking. "I'm gonna beat your skull in with this," he slurs menacingly. He is probably the one who keeps the slaves in lines with threats and worse.
Doran sees the slavemaster menacing Ollivor, and notes the cruelly casual way he treats his shackled charges. Though he is seething with hatred for the man, Doran keeps his fury under control, knowing he’ll do the Halflings more good if he focuses rather than striking rashly.
He slips through the screen of bushes, Envy in his hand, and drives the blade into the man’s back.
Bleeding badly from the slashing laceration in his back, carved around the breastplate that he wears, the slavemaster turns in fury. When he sees the halfling standing before him with his knives in hand, he has a malicious look in his eye. "You little bastard. You should KNOW YOUR PLACE!" With a surge of strength, he swings his warhammer with both hands and smashes it hard into Doran. As the pain of the impact radiates through his body, Doran reflects that the slavemaster has the experience and talent to really make a hit like that hurt without doing permanent damage. As he staggers back, Doran feels a fear grip his heart, a fear of every master whose whip he has known. Almost by instinct, his blades feel a little heavier and the man looms a little bigger in front of him.
Taking a moment to better study the slavemaster's movements and the way he holds and uses his weapon, Aaron fires his crossbow once before letting it fall to the ground and drawing his twin swords. Almost without waiting to see whether his bolt found its mark or not or what damage it inflicted as it did, piercing the man's shoulder, the pale Chelaxian rushes to lend his aid to the halfling bard-turned-captain. The moments he took to better see the way his opponent fights prove worthwhile as he bypasses what defense the other man musters and slides his blade under the breastplate and buries it into his abdomen almost to the hilt.
"And what place would that be, dear fellow? Do elaborate," Aaron quips, certain that he has the big man's attention.
Move Action: Hold position
Standard Action: Magic missles
"You've made a huge mistake," growls the big man coming out of the smoke. He drops the chain that secures a half-dozen halfling slaves to one another, keeping their hands bound and keeping them together. It hits the ground with a heavy metal clink as he pulls his warhammer up. He growls at the slaves, who shuffle without being told towards into the ramshackle wooden building. "Ain't no captains 'round here, Andoran. You think you can come from the Bonwhatever and get the drop on me?" It takes everything in Ollivor's power for him not to glance over from the path to the trees where Doran and Aaron are lurking. "I'm gonna beat your skull in with this," he slurs menacingly. He is probably the one who keeps the slaves in lines with threats and worse.
"Bring it on, Lash Lover, after done with you I'll free those good halflings and ask them to wrap you in your own chains before they throw you into the brine!" Ollivor sneers, his heart full of contempt for the man. He doesn't know what the attacking ship is, and this man likely thinks he's a part of it, but even if there were no battle raging, he'd want this bastard dead. Is that how I'm put together now? Seems I am. Andoran to the core... my brother's be pleased
Then Doran and Aaron spring to the attack, and Ollivor joins in a moment later, though in his case two almost serpentine streaks of light lash into the neck of the slaver, "How do you like THAT lash, you son a Cheliaxian brothel hound!"
The slavemaster grunts as Aaron appears out of nowhere to stab him in the back. He turns his attention from Doran to Aaron, swinging his heavy warhammer with a powerful overhead smash as he tries to get his back to the wall of the wooden structure that the halflings entered. It doesn't look like he is pulling his swing as he did when he struck Doran; it looks like he is trying to crush Aaron like a bug. Aaron deftly dodges out of the way when Ollivor's force missiles strike him squarely in the chest, giving him an opportunity to spin quickly away as the heavy hammer slams into the dirt of the pathway.
Doran is staggered by the slavemaster's mighty blow, and deeply shaken by the man's powerful presence. He's a strong a whip-hand as any Doran has served under, and the halfling is rattled by it in spite of himself. At the same time, his outrage at the man's contempt for Doran fuels the sailor's fury. Stepping closer to the slavemaster, Doran says, "Shouldn't turn your back on the me, you monster, not when I've got a knife in my hand," and once again slips Envy between the man's ribs.
"Man does have a point," Aaron quips as he smiles a thin little smile right before he brings both of his swords to bear, each blade almost dancing in his hands before deftly finding its target, first the one and a mere moment later the other. "No pun intended, I am sure," he adds in the end, his head tilting to the side as he observes the large and loud slavemaster breathing his last.
Move Action: Ready crossbow
Standard Action: Fire crossbow
"Head's up, Buttercup," Ollivor fires his crossbow at the man this time. Not just to preserve his spell, but figuring the switch might distract him while Aaron positions for a better shot.
His shot goes high and vanishes.
The hulking man collapses to the ground, bleeding heavily from the flurry of quick wounds that the attackers caused him. He gurgles for a moment before settling into the eerie stillness of death. The combat had been quick and brutal, but decisively in the favor of the slave-freeing group over the slaver. The chained-together halflings peer from the doorway of the buildng, looking out at the man from whom they have cowered in fear for so long. He doesn't seem nearly as dangerous laying dead on the ground as chaos reigns around the rest. "The rest are inside the building," quietly says one of the halflings. Doran gives him a nod, still shaking a little from the adrenaline and fear from confronting a man like all the rest who once controlled him.
The three of them enter to find the cellar, finding the doors locked. Doran pulls out his tools to open the lock. "Doran, is that you?" Marina's voice sounds muffled but hopeful from inside the locked cellar. She has been expecting his arrival, it seems.
Doran waves to the chained slaves to follow him inside, saying, "I'll get those chains off you in a trice."
At the door, he responds, "Aye, it's me, Marina," his hands still shaking a bit from the ferocity of the recent encounter, "and with the slavemaster's blood on my blade. Give me a moment to open this door and we'll get you all out of here."
He takes a calming breath and sets to work, the crude lock no challenge for one of his skill. Once the door is open, he says, "Listen, everyone. My name is Doran, and this is Aaron and Ollie. Rickety's is under attack, I'm not sure by who. We killed that bastard of a slavemaster and we've got a chance to get all of us out of here. My friends are at the docks looking to steal a ship. I've weapons for some of you if you want to fight for your freedom."
Sheathing his bloodied knife, Doran begins producing daggers from his sleeves, inside his shirt, along the back of his pants, more blades than any would have imagined possible, and handing them out to any slaves willing to fight for their lives. He then takes a moment to unlock the manacles on the chained slaves and asks, "How many of you can fight? How many have killed before?"
Once the slaves are armed and he's got a sense of how ready they are for battle, Doran says, "Let's go, follow me. Stay out of sight if you can." Alert for any trouble, he then leads the way back outside and toward the dock, curious what the newly-arrived ship portends for their plan.
As the second horn sounded off from the watch tower, Thorn could hear an all to familiar sound in the faint distance. Three rapid thumps followed by a fast whistling through the air and ending with another three Thumps as the crossbow bolt and two arrows find their marks to silence the guard in the watch tower. Thorn held his knocked arrow at the ready as he quickly scanned to see where the arrows came and from who.
As Thorn peered out across the docks, he could see their target ship, The Empty Lighthouse I believe is what they called it and another ship with a familiar appearance he could not put his finger on as it made its way to the docks next to The Empty Lighthouse. The last words yelled out by the watch tower guard just before he met his demise still hummed in his head as he knew the name. The Bonadventure, The Bonadventure, where have I heard that name before and all of a sudden it was like a spark igniting on a stack of dry straw, Thorn remembered all the stories the other slaves told as he spent several hours manning an ore on The Hellsmouth. Thorn began to quickly review the conversations in his head The Bonadventure is a famous Andoran privateer led by Merrill Tantrey, a former captain of the elite Gray Cosairs fleet. Captain Tantrey reportedly had a falling-out with the leadership of the fleet following the death of his first mate, resigning his commission by stealing the ship that he commanded. He now acts as a privateer in the Shackles and Inner Sea, attacking pirates and freeing slaves wherever he can. Thorn quickly yelled to Vrunyar and John "Well it looks like the gods favor us today, It's Captain Tantrey of The Bonadventure and they are here to free the slaves like us! Lets give them a helping hand and then get our ship, The Empty Lighthouse you called it, right?"
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Giving a beaming smile at Thorn, John nods in agreement, feeling the currents of fortune shifting. Aye! Capt. Tantrey was a good man when I knew him. Hard fighter, dedicated to anti-slavery. Turning quickly to the others, John pointed with his boarding axe at the Empty Lighthouse The alarm is raised, and The Bonadventure is going to garnish the wealth of attention. The Bonadventure is a full ship-of-the-line and they are going to have more men and better armaments then us. I say we try slipping over the side of the Lighthouse and take her while the attention is elsewhere. Once we take the Lighthouse back we can see about putting whatever weapons are onboard to good use against Ricky's and send up a signal to the Venture' that we are allies. Savvy?
Just ‘cause it’s the same ship doesn’t mean it’s the same captain does it? Vrunyar thinks. At least they’re attacking, but wouldn’t a brave (or crazy) pirate with enough wrath attack here? A ship-of-the-line? What line? Latitude?
”Aye! I savvy...enough I think. Is there a standard signal?” The crossbow’s stock pressed against his shoulder, Vrunyar hurries alongside John and Thorn. ”You know I should have asked Doran to look for medical supplies. Fresh bandages are always good. But they have enough to do. Too much really!” Despite the chatter, he keeps his focus sifting through the chaos on the docks. ”To the Empty Lighthouse!”
Thorn trailed slightly behind John and Vrunyar, so that he could cover their flanks as they made their way towards The Empty Lighthouse. Thorn had his bow lowered slightly to his chest and horizontal to keep his line of sight clear. The arrow still knocked and his hand on the string, ready to draw and fire quickly at the first sign of trouble.
"Aye! Using the side of the ship during the skirmish will grant us the element of surprise and aid in taking back the ship. Should we make her ready to sail or prep for a battle? Either way is good for me, but the faster we can leave this miserable place the better."
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Pointing swiftly to the mooring lines, John mimics a cutting motion with his boarding axe in the other hand. Aye Thorn, we can use the hull itself to cover us as we approach. Once aboard we can sever the mooring lines and push off to prevent reinforcements arriving from the pier. After that we will need to make a quick survey of what armaments are aboard before deciding how to proceed. If the Lighthouse is bare then we won't be much help to those ashore, but that's a bridge we will cross when we come to it, aye?
Ollivor greets the halflings, "How do, folks. I may not hide as well as some of you, but don't worry about me, just keep following Doran."
Ollivor makes his way parallel to the halflings rather than among them so not to draw attention should he mistep.
And judging by the creaking board , it was prudent to do so.
The pirate town is in total chaos, with crewmen from the stolen Empty Lighthouse running towards the ship to ready it for an escape while the guards gird themselves for a fight with the incoming ship and its marines. A small handful of the guards run towards the beacon of the burning tower to investigate and put it out. No one seems to be in charge, though the old man - Rickety - seems to be ineffectually yelling out orders to anyone within hearing range.
As quickly as a dwarf and a one-legged man can, the trio run towards the Empty Lighthouse with an eye to commandeering it. They stop and take a look at their objective: the ship floats in its mooring spot next to the pier, lifted slightly out of the water by a rigging system that the squibbers use to access the bottom half. It seems that they even managed to get most of the barnacles off the hull. John takes a moment to admire the craftsmanship that went into the changes, though that is secondary to getting the ship free.
The pirate crew seems intent on fulfilling the goals that John and Thorn outlined earlier, pulling down the rigging and posting up the sails. In a few minutes, the ship will be ready to sail away. Harrigan's flunkies - led by Rommen, whose bellowing rage seems to be fueling a desperation in their speed - don't look ready or willing to fight the incoming ship. They won't be able to make a run for the ship until the men are off the docks, as the only path with any cover has a half-dozen pirates working furiously to free the ship on it. Once they board, they may be able to run along the side of the ship with no one on board able to see it - but in that case, it will be just three versus an entire crew.
Inside the town hall building, Doran frees the slaves and passes out knives to as many of them as he can. He notices that none of the halflings look to be over fifty years old; while halflings have a longer lifespan than humans, there is not one identifiably middle-aged halfling in the group. He grimaces as he ponders on why this is the case, and comes to the grimmest of conclusions. They can't think about it for too long, as they must make a run for it and head to the Lighthouse and meet up with the others.
"Hey, stop! They killed Klinken!" Ollivor looks surprised to be discovered when he tries to creep out of the building. The guard that he nearly crashed into seems just as surprised, though it shouldn't have been nearly as much of a surprise considering the body of the slavemaster a few feet away. While Ollivor is slow to respond, the freed slaves aren't. Like ants pouring out of a stepped-upon hill, they surge from the door and leap atop the guard. Years of pent-up rage and hate come from their throats as they stab and slash furiously at the man, who collapses quickly under their weight and attacks. The commotion quickly gains the attention of several of the guards, who look up from their preparations to see the halflings rushing out.
The realization that any halfling working in this hellish places dies in the prime of life, before they've a grey hair on their heads, fuels Doran's determination to get them all out safely. The fury with which they attack the lone guard makes it clear that they're determined to find their freedom as well. I just hope the taste of freedom can wash some of the hate and bitterness from their souls, as it did mine. If so, we can make a proper crew of 'em, sail somewhere where we can give them the choice of sailing with us or finding a different life, of their own choosing. For now, though, better keep an eye on the wind and tide and get us out of here.
"Listen up, crew," he says in a voice of quiet authority, "you've shown ye can handle yerselves, and that's a fine thing, as you'll need to if we're to get out of here. My friends are headed for that ship you've been working on, The Lighthouse, which is our old ship. We'll head that way as well, and try to avoid trouble on the way there. We kill any that get in our way - exceptin' a one-legged swabbie with red hair, a tall elf with a bow, and a dwarf with a thoughtful look to his eye, got it? If we see someone who doesn't want a fight, keep moving, no killin' out of a thirst for revenge - we need to keep our eyes on getting out of here. The best revenge you could have is a life free of this place."
He looks at each of them to be sure they understand, then nods. "Let's go."
Aaron
Doran
John
Markis
Ollivor
Rickety
Thorn
Vrunyar
The rest of the guards are upon them mere moments after the halflings pull down and kill the guard caught alone. John, Vrunyar, and Thorn start running towards the rest of them to help them make their escape; the Empty Lighthouse will take at least another minute before it will unmoor, giving them the time that they need to cover the breakout of the slaves. At the same time, the rest of the guards drop their preparations for battle and move to head off the group of freed slaves. Doran ushers out the nearly thirty slaves - his estimate, not a specific headcount considering the dire circumstances - led by Marina towards John and the others.
The group is halfway through a clearing between the buildings, with the other trio skirting between buildings when they hear a loud crack. Two guards - small in number compared to the six fighters and thirty slaves, some of whom are now armed - are heading them off in the clearing, but they are not the biggest threat to the privateers: the head of the guards, called Markis by Marina, is heading their way from one side with his chained alligator sprinting alongside; and Old Man Rickety holding a smoking musket between the group and the docks, while flanked by another pair of guards. A splintered hole from his errant shot mars the timber building a mere foot from Thorn. "Who the f!~$ are you lot? Doesn't matter much to me. You cut your own throats," the old man spits out at them with venom. He starts reloading the musket, hands shaking with age and adrenaline. "Markis, kill them!"
The big pirate moves considerably faster than they would except for a man of his size. He is an imposing figure with short-cropped red hair and an eyepatch, though the spear he holds deftly in both hands and the alligator make a frightening impression. The gator, chained to a belt around his waist, snarls as it darts forward and twists to bite Ollivor in the leg. His armor of force holds back some of the pressure from the beast's powerful jaw, but blood spurts from his leg. If not for the magic, it would likely be severed and he would have to ask John for peg advice. At the same time, Markis stabs over the bushes at Aaron but misses the nimble Chelaxian.
Seeing the guards charging down on them, Doran knows he's got to keep the slaves from bolting or they'll all die. Over his shoulder, he calls out, "Take 'em down, and we'll get out of this damned place!" Turning back to the fight, he takes a quick step along the edge of the building, beginning to sing as he moves, a song of racing over the waves, as free as the wind, to inspire them all to make the song's dream come true.
Ollivor screams in pain as the damn lizard tries to tear his leg off. Blood flows to such a degree that the Andoran's face grows pale, and he attempts to stagger away from the beast's teeth and his master's spear before tapping at the scaled beast muttering something about payback.
The results are nothing short of spectacular, as the alligator's whole body lights up with a surge of lightning that sets its very eyes to glow. A smell not unlike burnt chicken fills the air.
And both Ollivor and the Alligator have something in common, both are barely standing, but it can be honestly said the great reptile looks worse than the young sailor now.
"I'll have you know that I once bested the Bonefist when he was barely more than a swab at a duel," the old man mutters to himself as he finishes reloading his intricately-made musket. He pours in the gunpowder with the steady pace of a practiced gunner, stuffing the bullet in smoothly. He draws it upwards to his cheek and takes a bead on the figures in front of him. His aim wavers as his hands tremble, but there is enough of a marksman left in him that he hits his target - Thorn. The elf grunts in pain as the musket ball tears through the muscle above his collarbone, spurting blood out of the wound. The pain is excruciating, but stays on one side; it appears that the bullet did not pierce his back as well, and must have come to a rest inside him.
Still reeling with pain from the gunshot wound, Thorn's incredible reflexes send him ducking backwards as he starts drawing his arrows. One of the guards accompanying Rickety Hale darts forward, swinging a thickly-bladed cutlass in a two-handed horizontal slash, but Thorn is already down below its angle. He has been bloodied once in this battle, and that is more than enough for him.
The latter of Rickety's personal guards rushes past Thorn to assault John, bringing his sword to bear upon the Andoran sailor. Slow to pivot on his good leg, John takes a slashing strike against his side. Besmara's fortunes are with him - what could have been a fatal blow turns into a glancing one with his decision to turn left instead of right.
From between the buildings, the guard behind Markis brings out his crossbow and brings it up. From a few feet away, he looses a bolt at Doran, grazing him in the process. Doran grits his teeth but doesn't let the pain interrupt his singing, quickly adding a verse about the painful death of a slaver's ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean. The words come to him naturally without thinking, energizing all of the free men and women fighting with him.
The final of the guards carefully aims at Aaron, sending a crossbow bolt straight into his left side. His dark blood drips out of the wound near the shaft, slowly as if it's already congealed. The guard drops the crossbow, not bothering to go through the cumbersome process of reloading it, and grabs his cutlass to finish him off.
In a few quick seconds everyone suffers an injury by a bolt, bullet, cutlass, or alligator’s bite. Vrunyar has three extracts to heal wounds. Not enough to go around. Too many to fight here and on the ship...One hammer blow, one reagent at a time, he thinks, moving away from the pirate who just slashed John in the side.
Too many targets! sighting along the crossbow, aiming for the alligator. It looks near death, he unintentionally sings to himself matching Doran’s song. But he needs to lose some blood, thinking the man’s exposed skin looks a much better target than the alligator’s leathery hide. Perhaps the dwarf didn’t spend enough time aiming as the bolt hurtles past the man’s head and into a wall next to an empty cage. He hears an indignant squawk and sees a vibrant, iridescent parrot flapping its wings but unable to achieve flight.
Letting out a groan of pain, Aaron turns to look at the one who hurt him, anger clearly evident in his golden eyes. Still, he does not let the rage cloud his judgement as he chooses to ignore the man and instead focus on the beast. With blood dripping ever so slowly from the wound at his side, the pale Chelaxian steps forward and brings both swords to bear against the crocodile. Although his right-hand blade misses, probably a result of the pain and loss of blood, the one in his left hand strikes true and pierces the beast's head, finishing the job Ollivor started and ending its life.
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Some things have to be done. It's better to do them, than to live with the fear of them.
The thought bubbled up from the back of Johns mind as he gripped his Falchion in his scarred and bloody hands. John was tired, sweaty and wanted a warm bath and a cold drink. He wanted to sleep well at night. He wanted Iakob to still be alive. Shaking his head infrustation, John grimaced. Life should have a worth to it John thought again as he saw Doran leading the freed halfling slaves down the dirt packed street, but as the guards, Markis and Rickety appeared, shouting theats, bearing dark deeds in mind, John felt something go hard inside of him. Life should be worth something.. but right now it's not. It's as cheap as dirt.. no its cheaper.
There was a heat rising in Johns chest. It bubbled and boiled. It was the slow, simmering rage that always lurked at the back of his mind. It was the rage that kept him alive when other men might die. It make him fear-quick and hate-strong.
The guardsman's blade slicing deep into his left side, John grunted but he felt no pain. It was a sign. A message in a secret tongue, that only he could understand. His queen told him where the next dead man was standing.
There was no thought, only action. A quick step to the right, putting the dead man between John and Thorn, then a powerful overhand chop that left a screaming man and a spray of blood.
Thorn felt the burning pain before he heard the sound from the musket as the bullet ripped through his skin. The pain sent Thorn into a white hot rage of fury as he turned in a snap to see that old man Rickety had fired the shot. Thorn yelled out YOU DAMN DIRTY OLD MAN, YOU WILL DIE FOR THAT YOU MEDDLING FOOL! just as he dodged out of the way of the wild oncoming attacks from Rickety's over excited guards. Thorn quickly drew two arrows from his quiver and let them fly expediently one after the other in the direction of Rickety before he could reload his musket. The first arrow narrowly missed Rickety's head and dug deep into the wooden wall behind Rickety. The second arrow found its home and buried itself deep into Rickety's old shoulder.
"Thanks, Aaron, I realllly wanted that thing dead," a blood drenched Ollivor confesses
"NOOO!" Markis's wail of anguish is immediate as Ollivor blasts his alligator with lightning and Aaron finishes it off. He takes a few steps back into the brush, dodging ill-placed attacks from Doran and Aaron in the process. "You want to see power? I'll freeze your blood!" He summons an icy tempest in his free hand, holding his spear to the side. A freezing wind gusts from his outstretched hand, followed a brief second later by a flurry of ice and snow in a wide cone. The sudden freeze is directed mainly at Ollivor and Aaron - vengeance for the death of his animal companion. They feel the ice and cold pelt them, searing their skin with the suddenness of the cold snap. Doran leaps out of the way, ducking underneath his hand and catching only a mild cool breeze that is mildly refreshing on a warm day. The cone of cold catches Vrunyar, who is able to step backwards quickly to avoid the worst of it. Several of the freed slaves are also caught in the blast, but the building soaks the worst of the snow. When the flurry clears, one of them lays dead and three injured - but the rest are safe for now.
Doran nimbly ducks under the deadly spray of ice and snow, and casts a quick glance over his shoulder to see the damage it has done. Seeing Ollie and one of the slaves fall, Doran grits his teeth, knowing he’s going to have to risk all to get any of them out of this alive. With a look to Aaron, he tips his head quickly in Markis’ direction, his message clear, Let’s take him down!
Still singing his stirring song, Doran ducks his head again, continuing the movement into a rapid tumble past the man’s feet. Doran springs to his feet, but closer to Markis than he had intended, and the cruel sailor attempts to drive his spear through Doran. Fortunately, Markis is surprised by Doran’s aggressive approach and his strike is a poor one. Doran strikes out in response, his snake-pommeled blade flashing, but he also misses. He flicks his eyes toward Aaron again, hoping the man will come and flank Markis before Doran falls to the blade and spear of the two large foes he’s facing.
Already seriously injured from the bite he took earlier, Ollivor is in no condition to withstand the icy onslaught that bombards him. Indeed, he recklessly tries to shelter one of the slaves from the brunt, and pays for it, his body crumbling over the smaller halfling who maybe dead anyway.
Doran and Aaron find themselves one ally down, as Ollivor's ice blistered back lays exposed with sections of skin frozen over.
Ice....odd....he wasn't wearing much white is the thought that consumes Ollivor Myles even as the cold drags him down into unconsciousness.
With the frost making his already cool skin colder still, Aaron knows that it will not take much for him to fall if another enemy strikes and does not miss. Thus the decision is hardly a difficult one for him to make.
"If I fall, if I am dying," he calls out to Doran, "do not use your potions or the wand on me. Use one of my own vials. But they will only heal me; they will only harm you. Yes?"
”Ollivor!!” Vrunyar calls out as half the group is caught in a blast of snow and ice, and the sorcerer goes down.
Aaron 14/36 Damage by rounds: 10/12
Doran 26/28 Damage by rounds: 2/0
John 34/40 Damage by rounds: 6/2
Ollivor −2/26 Damage by rounds: 16/12
Thorn 20/31 Damage by rounds: 11/
Vrunyar 26/32 Damage by rounds: 0/ 6
"You little s#@%! Learn to respect your elders!" With Thorn's arrow piercing his shoulder, Rickety nearly drops his musket. His old habits and discipline hold, however, and he quickly finishes reloading the musket. He brings it up and fires the musket with deadly aim. The lead ball flies through the air and tears through Thorn's lower torso, sending a spurt of blood out his back. The shot isn't immediately fatal, but it might cause him to bleed out if he doesn't get to safety quickly.
Even with two gunshot wounds, Thorn manages to keep his feet steady and his wits about him. The pirate attacks him again, trying to take his head off with a two-handed strike. Thorn ducks down, even as he draws more arrows to return fire with, causing the guard to miss him.
Badly wounded, the guard nearly killed by John attacks him desperately. He manages a nicking wound on John, who bats his attack out of the way with his own sword. John barely notices the cut to his arm, bloody as it is.
The other guard runs to assist Markis, taking a downward swing at Doran. For a moment, it looks like it is going to slice clear through his skull and cleave through his brain, but he moves aside at the very last moment. The cutlass slices a deep but ultimately superficial wound across Doran's face. The blood blocks his vision for half a moment as it drips down his neck and chest.
The last of the guards carefully approaches Vrunyar, attacking the dwarf with his sword. The stout alchemist ducks with a shout, taking a grievous cut to his left forearm from the guard's strike. His mind quickly races through the anatomical consequences of the attack, testing his fingers to ensure that none of his tendons were severed. It doesn't seem like there will be any permanent damage, though the guard seems intent on changing that.
"FREEDOM! We have to earn it for ourselves! We can't expect these strangers to die on our behalf if we aren't willing to do the same!" Marina's voice carries from behind the melee. The rest of the halflings join hers in a high-pitched cry as they begin to charge forward. The shell-shocked slaves, frozen with fear for a few seconds, swarm out from behind the building to help their saviors.
Blinded by the pain searing hot pain of the bullet ripping through his guts. Thorn yells out in a furious roar Today is a good day to die... before coughing out a massive amount of blood from his mouth covering his chin and running down his chest. Thorn gives Rickety a terrifying gaze just before revealing a wicked grin from his blood covered mouth.
The first guard had swung for Thorn's head yet again trying to finish the weakened elf but just like the first attempt this one swung empty as well. The second guard standing behind Thorn while engaged with John took the opportunity to slice wildly at Thorn as he drew his first arrow. The second guard was successful and landed a strike to Thorn's right forearm used to draw the bow string back. The fresh new cut caused Thorn to release the arrow prematurely sending the arrow skipping across the ground before he could ever take aim at his target. Thorn's vision began to blur in and out of focus as he could feel the blood flowing freely from his body.
In his failed attempt to use his weapon properly, Thorn's rage boiled out of control and he dug deep inside his will to call out to Erastil, "Give me the strength to overcome my foe and may my arrows fly true!" Thorn grabbed two arrows from his quiver and knocked them both as he used all his might to draw the bow string as fast and as far back as possible. Thorn stood tall while concentrating intensely on the colorful feathers of the arrow still protruding out of Rickety's shoulder. Once Thorn was in the void of concentration and all he could see was the arrows end he let the arrows fly. Thorn repeated the delivery almost exactly the same as the first time only this time the two arrows zipped through the air and buried themselves almost exactly on top of the already protruding arrow. Thorn could now see all three identical arrows touching as they had buried themselves deep inside Rickety's shoulder and chest. Thorn yelled out to Rickety as he collapsed "I may fall here today but not before I take you with me!"
Vrunyar drops his crossbow as he draws his battle-axe and shifts the majority of his focus to the guard who just attacked him. He wants to run to Ollivor but he knows leaving himself defenseless won’t benefit anyone. Thorn and Aaron need some bandaging as well. One or two more hits, he thinks.
Vrunyar drops his crossbow as he draws his battle-axe and shifts the majority of his focus to the guard who just attacked him. He wants to run to Ollivor but he knows leaving himself defenseless won’t benefit anyone. Thorn and Aaron need some bandaging as well. One or two more hits, he thinks.
He reads the body language of the guard who just sliced open his left forearm for a few seconds. Maybe the man has unintentionally let a small opening in his defense, facing a nearly beardless, bald dwarf who clearly doesn’t look like much of a fighter. Vrunyar lets out a yell as he swings the axe down in an overhead chop. There’s a spray of blood and bone chips as the dwarf cleaves into the man’s clavicle. The man cries out in pain and shock.
”You’ve lost here!” Vrunyar shouts. Don’t get cocky. He’s not down yet.
Aaron 5/36 Damage by rounds: 10/12 (not with full hp at fight’s commencement)
Doran 23/28 Damage by rounds: 2/0,3
John 31/40 Damage by rounds: 6/2, 3
Ollivor −2/26 Damage by rounds: 16/12
Thorn 3/31 Damage by rounds: 11/15, 2
Vrunyar 21/32 Damage by rounds: 0/6, 5