First post coming soon!
Cassian:
You had recently served aboard the RCN Vigilant before it was nearly crippled in a battle with Cryxian Rakers about a hundred kilometers outside of the village of Renigan's Cliff. The battle had been ferocious despite being outnumbered the Vigilant had succeeded in sinking the Rakers and limped its way to its port of harbor in Cygnus.
You've fought them before, Rakers are the equivalent of a flying sloop. Loaded to the gills with pirates and worse. These ships are fast attack ships, raiding coastlines, old battlefields and abducting anyone they can before returning to their port of harbor in the Cryxian isles.
Rakers despite they're remarkable speed are lightly armed and rely on their ability to grapple with other ships and overwhelm their crews. They are also known for dropping a makeshift Necrotite Bomb on army positions to soften them up before moving in for the kill. A direct hit from a Man-O-War's broadside though, or another major ship of the line, can easily reduce a Raker to splinters and falling wreckage.
It will be a matter of weeks before the Vigilant would be repaired and until then the Captain, Sir Thane has released the crew for a short leave and those that wished to help in the ships repairs could at their leisure.
This aging Man-O-War has served the Cygnus navy for almost forty years, despite its age this ship has fought in more battles then any other airship, other then The Protector. This ship rely's on its broadside barrages and quick maneuverability to take down its enemies. It is manned by over three hundred souls, all loyal men and women of Cygnus, several of which have served on the vessel for a decade or more.
Her Captain, Taleron Thane, comes from a long line of soldiers dating back long before King Rennor's attack and destruction of the Cryxian Port of Blackwater. His family is well known for their loyalty to the crown and anyone caught on board the Vigilant slandering the crown are immediately flogged for their disobedience.
Shoulder to shoulder with the majority of the grunts of The Vigilant as he descends the ramp leading from the hull to the dock, the once captain spares no delay in deciding to take this leave when offered. The battle had been a long and arduous one. The skirmishers who foolhardy enough to drop upon their docks were cowardly and vicious; striking only the weak and under-armed with hit and run guerilla tactics. Staying true to her name never seemed to be an issue for the near four decades old airship though the day’s events was either a show of graying hair or a display of Cygnus’ unflinching bloodlust; either case left Cassian with a bitter taste in his mouth. These thoughts weren’t something he had mind to visit at the moment, the bathhouse and market boulevard on the other had were. He takes a long look at the battered ship before retreating to clean himself and his many bloodied blades.
Perhaps things would have transpired differently if they’d given me command over the old girl.
Clean shaved and anointed with scented oils, the soldier struts across the avenue in his dress garb occasionally making small talk with shopkeepers and browsing the exotic selection of goods. He finally resolves to visit his favorite establishment in any port city: the tavern overlooking the public docks. Where else could a man go and witness the range and panoply of the emotions of man?
From a table outside he sits with his back to the wall and watches a family of Qin immigrants arrive in a transport vessel. The youngest of them with his eyes bright and reddened, filled with high expectations a new start for themselves in a new place while the oldest visibly burdening the sadness of the mysterious life left behind. Four years ago he had himself lived a similar experience. The fact that the name he had made for himself in the Free Cities had no bearing in Cygnus was enough cause for misery but the challenge of rebuilding himself was enough to keep his spirits manageable (and the array of medals decorating his jacket was proof enough that he was on track of doing just that). He flirts a bit with the barmaid when she stops by before ordering an early dinner. “Bring me your darkest ale and anything with almonds. Wait! Actually, a bowl of them will better serve my needs. Thank you, my dear.”
He slips a weathered history book from his bag and begins reading through it while awaiting his modest order; on occasion, peering over top in a vain search for someone or something more engaging.
Di:
You'd been assigned to investigate reports of corruption among Sir Thane and his lieutenants. During your time aboard the RCN Vigilant you rubbed shoulders with many of the crew and witnessed a public flogging of a lainsmen who had spoke poorly of the Crown. In your time aboard the Vigilant you came to discover that most of the crew were life long veterans and had good opinions of Sir Thane and their officers. Even during the dogfight with the Cryxian Rakers Sir Thane and the crew of the Vigilant acted in accordance to Cygnus law and defended the coastline from being raided.
However with the RCN Vigilant being down for repairs, which may be permanent from initial reports of structural damage and stress fractures throughout the frame of the Vigilant. You along with the crew are current allowed shore leave until the airship is repaired...
Mirrianissa:
Nothing could compare to the feeling of the earth beneath your pads or the feeling of shredding something with your claws. The jungle and brushlands were vibrant with game, roots and... enemies. Enemies such as Gnolls and Flinds, of which in recent weeks you had not been graced with many encounters. It seemed your foes were staying closer to their villages and stink holes as a new enemy appeared to be hunting them as well as the Tabaxi. The Dark Ones, who flew through the sky in their dread black ships whose rotting frames reeked of death and spewed a horrible ash in their passing.
In recent weeks you had seen more then one burned village, empty nomad camp and pillaged Faceelaw Farms. The Dark Ones didn't seem to consider anyone a threat and so far all who had resisted were taken anyway. You were tracking some Gnolls when you spotted one of the Dark Ones ships lingering over a burning farm many miles outside the safety of the Faceelaw crumbling city. It was the first time you had seen one at rest and so close to the ground that it almost appear to be touching the earth with its rotted frame.
Aelessaer's:
You awaken in the dark, suspended in the air and your gut twisting with a nauseating feeling, almost like bile sitting in the back of your throat. The air is dry and stale. You can feel something pressing at the center of your back and something, like a mask, covering the lower half of your face from your nose to underneath your chin. Aside from the nauseating feeling in your gut you can feel something in your throat, making it hard to swallow.
Your arms feel leaden, stiff, like you hadn't used them in a long time and as you start to move you feel something moving tightly over your skin. As if something was covering everything but the top of your head. As you continue to come to your sense a low light pulses somewhere nearby, gllowing faintly for a moment and then fading away into nothing several seconds later. After another couple of seconds the light appears again, glowing faintly for a moment and dying once more, plunging you back into darkness.
Leon Cross and Aurora Cross:
Your mercenary work had led you to many strange ports and places, none so strange as the capital of Lyonesse, the White City. The city however had lived up to its name as its stonework was done with Alabaster stones, it paled in comparison to the high walls and strength of Cygnus's castle city. The oddest part about the city was the strange obelisks that dotted the landscape, dwarfing the structures around them or standing alone as the celestial symbols that were carved into them pulsed with a bright blue light. Despite the overwhelming feeling of welcome and dread you felt from the city your stay was thankfully short.
After restocking their airship your mercenary company, The Red Dogs, made their long voyage back to their port of origin in Cygnus. It was a two week long voyage and fraught with the possibility that Cryxian and pirate vessels could be prowling about. Along the journey you admired the many floating isles that dotted the sky as the sea stretched on endlesly in every direction.
Created by an over indulgent nobleman this mercenary group eventually evolved into the company they are today. They are usually tasked with running criminals to ground and capturing those whith bounties upon their heads. They do however enjoy fighting with Cryxians if given half the chance. Their name however is still stained by their previous leaders and has caused the Dogs to struggle along with the odd job every now and again.
They are known to fight armed with their red painted armor, dog head emblazoned shield, over and under pistols and mechanical swords. they are quite fearsome combatants when fighting in pars, using flanking tactics and not unaccustomed to poisoning their blades to paralyze or weaken an enemy to take them down easier.
Thoughts race through my head: Have they found me? Am I back in Cryx? What's going on? What? What?...... calm down, calm down, time... you've always got time...
Feeling weak, I gather myself and draw upon a time of strength:
Num-Rah:
You stood in the Great Hall of the city of Koollat, all of the warrior caste were gathered today to hear more bad news. More farms burned, more Eredhion gone missing, entire caste families gone and those that were found were barely recognizable corpses. Pilfered of every usable organ, bone and picked clean of muscles as well, nothing left but flaps of skin tossed aside as if by a careless hunter. Despite the Dark Ones continued attack on their borders, it seemed that they had no easy way to strike back.
"...Strike at them, destroy their holdings..."
"They have but one holding and it is guarded by the dead..."
"...Attack in force, bring the entire Beleghtor against them..."
"That hasn't happened in over three generations..."
"...It's Too reckless they have the advantage and we would charge headlong to our own slaughter, then where would we be?"
"Eredhion are dying and their fields are being alted with the Dark ones ash, we must strike back... but How?"
As the conversation continued the leader of the people of Koollat stared on through half lidded eyes, it appeared as if he were asleep whilst his generals bickered on. The leader of Koollat was Kel'der'druinidin, one of the strongest Tabaxi ever to live and blessed by the High Ones with a long life. He was known to be over three hundred years old and was still strong and capable, despite his feigned boredom.
Donovan:
Ever since you left the military, you found yourself longing to return to that orderly lifestyle. Civilian life sucked in comparison and Civies continued to surprise you with how little they actually knew about the war abroad. Despite your retirement you continue to see some of the men yo once served with back in your Trencher days and you've met a few of their children as well. Time passes far too quickly it seems and it had thankfully been kind to you in its passing.
You just completed another Private investigation case, another illicit affair. Found a drug smuggling ring and when their latest exchange was going to take place, from their you handed it over to Cygnus's troops and let them take care of the rest. With your earnings in hand you wander down to the dock districts in search of a stiff drink and some entertainment. Once you aquired your drink you took a seat in a dockside bar and watched a bare fisted boxing match in progress. The two men who were fighting, one was fairly young and reminded you of your youth in Croydon, the other was a grizzled looking veteran who had both the deformed jaw and squint in one eye were he was hammered upside the head in years past.
The fight as decent enough, the young buck gave his all throwing punch after punch at the veteran in his vain attempts to batter the old fighter to the floor. Despite the age and stamina of his opponent the grizzled veteran was no man's fool and used his footwork and punches to rattle the young mans cage. It was entertaining though...
Cassian:
Your drink arrives quickly and the barmaid sets a bowl of almonds next to you while leaning over your right shoulder teasingly. Lingering just long enough to distract you before moving quickly on to help another table of patrons. She brushes her long curly flame red hair out of her way as she winks over her shoulder at you and hastens to fill another order of drinks.
As you turned back to your book though you found you were no longer alone, a fellow engineer by the name of Talvin Grey was standing at your tables edge. You knew from personal experiance that the man was intelligent and unnaturally quiet, seeming to appear oout of thin air without making a sound despite carrying an overladen tool bag around his hips. He stood for a moment before waving his hand to an empty seat. "Mind if I join you?"
Thoughts race through my head: Have they found me? Am I back in Cryx? What's going on? What? What?...... calm down, calm down, time... you've always got time...
[dice=strength check]1d20+2
Feeling weak, I gather myself and draw upon a time of strength:
[dice=spending a mote to improve check, original result included]10+1d4
As you struggle your feet tap something hard, stubbing your toes and sending a surge of pain up your leg. You realized now that not only were you suspended but your were inside something with a glass lid that was covered in filth which was causing what little light there was to be nearly blacked out by it. As you continued to struggle the suspension at your back creaks and you hear something snap causing you to fall slightly and giving you the leverage to break free the rest of the way after a few minutes more of struggling.
As you fall your legs give and you collapse in a heap in the tight confines of your 'cell' or whatever it was that you were stuck in. The mask still clung to your face and now you could feel something being forced down your throat, causing you to swallow and barely avoiding gagging at the sensation. Your able to struggle to your feet in the tight confines and had to prop your knees against the dirty glass and place your back against the wall to avoid falling down again.
With boyish smile stretched wide across his face, Cassian nods a 'thank you' and raises his glass and eyebrows in response to her pass. As he turns his attention back to his book he can't help but admire the smell of cinnamon and peppery sweat she left in her wake. It was then that he was taken off guard by Mr. Grey.
"Talvin Grey. By all means, old friend, take your pick," he replies as he gestures to empty chairs surrounding his table. He plucks a pair of almonds from the bowl and tosses one into his mouth; the other he tucks into his book as a page marker. "Just reading up on the better parts of history this country has to tell of," he tells the engineer while chewing away at his meal. "I must say it is an extraordinary one at that. You're a native, are you not?"
"Listen to me, prattling on." he waves an apologetic gesture and clears his throat. "Tell me, what matter of dire importance could have dragged you away from repair duties?"
Di:
You'd been assigned to investigate reports of corruption among Sir Thane and his lieutenants. During your time aboard the RCN Vigilant you rubbed shoulders with many of the crew and witnessed a public flogging of a lainsmen who had spoke poorly of the Crown. In your time aboard the Vigilant you came to discover that most of the crew were life long veterans and had good opinions of Sir Thane and their officers. Even during the dogfight with the Cryxian Rakers Sir Thane and the crew of the Vigilant acted in accordance to Cygnus law and defended the coastline from being raided.
However with the RCN Vigilant being down for repairs, which may be permanent from initial reports of structural damage and stress fractures throughout the frame of the Vigilant. You along with the crew are current allowed shore leave until the airship is repaired...
Sense Motive:
Gather Knowledge (local):
The Longgunner stood for a moment at the top of the ramp leading down to the dock. From her vantage point, the stunningly beautiful woman could see most of the town below her and her first view of any city or town she came to, regardless if it was her first time there or the 100th, was always a special moment for her. Taking a deep breath she also takes in the smells of the town, she inhales the energy of the people in it, and, overall, gets a general sense of the feel of the place, at this moment.
Satisfied, and with a big grin on her face she begins to make her way down the ramp. The fact that she moves with an almost unearthly grace and precision, but does so quite obviously very naturally, combined with her breathtaking looks and unusual height for a woman, all combine to create quite a stir in the populace around her as she passes by. Yet the sensation is one long known to her, having experienced it most of her life, and she, at least visibly, pays it no mind. The trademark Longgunner leather longcoat she wears, occasionally flashing a hint of it's silvery metal lining, flares out fetchingly behind her as she makes her way as rapidly as her long strides make it possible through the crowds.
Badly needing a drink and spying a likely looking tavern overlooking the docks, she makes a beeline for the place. Stepping inside, she allows a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light while she scans the room and looks for a table. Spying a familiar face, and one she had been meaning to catch alone in conversation anyway, she heads straight over. First she draws her rifle out of its shoulder holster and lays it on the table, as sitting with it strapped on was never comfortable. It's a particularily beautiful piece, clearly of the finest worksmanship, and adorning with several details that mark it a one of a kind piece, lovingingly made and used by it's maker. Then, pulling out a chair and plopping down without an invite she drawls "Hullo Cassian! This seat taken?" Obviously not needing or caring about his permission, any seeming rudeness is easily washed away by her looks, warm smile, and nearly overwhelming charm. Leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on the table she continues speaking.
"So! Some fight eh? Damn sure showed those soulless Cryxian Rakers a thing or two! Captain Thane sure does live up to his reputation, don't he. Bit strict for my tastes though. Anyway, way I hear it, the Viligent may be laid up for a time, maybe for good. N' I dunno, but lately I been feelin' a need ta, well, you know, take the fight to the enemy more direct like. You feel me? Heard you used to be a Captian yerself, back in the...Free Cities was it? You ever miss havin' yer own ship 'neath yer feet?"
Bluff:
Although she asks it casually, this question is much more important to Diyeana than she is letting on. Also, although she seems to not be paying much attention, she is very aware of all that is going on in the room around her.
Perception:
Oh no, oh no, oh no... who did this to me? Who?
I thrash against the glass prison and the strange mask.
Again I feel the need to search my timeline for moments of strength...
Miriannissa stalked silently, making sure to stay downwind of the vile ship.She had followed a path of carnge left by these outsiders that had led her here. These vile monsters were a scourge on the land, worse than the gnolls or flinds, taking everything and destroying at will.
What would make one wait over a burned village? she thought, as she lifted her nose to the wind.
Perception/w scent
Aware of his youth and inexperience, Num-Rah stands at the back, watching Kel'der'druinidin and waiting for his reaction. Mighty muscles dance beneath his white pelt while he waits for the decision of his elders. Truly, he has seen the devastation with his own eyes. What is to be done? For a moment, his thoughts wander to the wild cub of his people's ancestral enemy that he rescued. Perhaps the answer lies in unity against the common enemy? What is the honorable way? His inner self remains silent. He sighs and then returns his gaze to Kel'der'druinidin. The old warrior has something in mind, but what?
"Hullo Cassian! This seat taken?"
"Even if it was, Ms. Stormwin, I would surely regain it for you," he informs the ravishing young Longunner with a lazy smirk, scooting his book out of the way as Diyeana lifts her feet to the table.
"So! Some fight eh? Damn sure showed those soulless Cryxian Rakers a thing or two! Captain Thane sure does live up to his reputation, don't he. Bit strict for my tastes though. Anyway, way I hear it, the Viligent may be laid up for a time, maybe for good. N' I dunno, but lately I been feelin' a need ta, well, you know, take the fight to the enemy more direct like. You feel me? Heard you used to be a Captian yerself, back in the...Free Cities was it? You ever miss havin' yer own ship 'neath yer feet?"
"More than you could ever dare hope to know, love." His voice a soft lament.
"In any case, there's little to do in expediting the return to my former vocation. So alas, here I am to work again from the bottom up, even if that means slicing my way through incessant waves of Cryxians to do so."
He takes a hearty pull from his black brew and, with two fingers raised, signals the barmaid to return once more, "If you would be so kind, dear, could you bring my lovely friend a glass of red wine; I think something spicy would suit her." He tosses his gaze over to Talvin and ponders for a moment. "Something tells me Talvin here wouldn't touch his drink even if I were to pay for it. Nevertheless I'd like for you to bring him whatever is most popular tonight and also a pitcher of water, just to be safe. What is your name by the way, miss? You've been such a wonderfully attentive hostess this evening. I want to know who to ask for whenever I'm around the area."
"I'm willing to bet that if Talvin were to find his tongue, he would be happy to let you know how The Vigilant's repair measures are going. Though I can tell you without a doubt that from what I've seen the old gal won't be on her feet for the better part of the month. Gives us all a bit of time to ourselves, wouldn't you say?"
Donovan winced as he watched the older boxer land a particularly brutal blow to the youth's midsection, lifting him off his feet, then follow up with a downward cross that sent him to the floor. That's finished this, he thought, as the various onlookers argued and yammered over bets. As he finished his beer, he felt a brief wash of depression. In the war, he'd fought me that were scarce more than animals, and worse things than that at times...while he had no problem with using violence where needed, seeing men bash each other's heads in for coppers, all for the drunken entertainment of others gave him a bad taste in his mouth. A waste.
Tossing a few silver pence on the scarred tabletop, he got up and headed back out into the streets, deciding to find someplace less raucous. He didn't have fancy tastes, but he did have a fair bit of coin jingling in his pocket, so he decided perhaps somewhere a bit more upscale might make for a nice change of scenery.
He strolled easily along the dockside with his hands in the pockets of his coat, enjoying the view of the various ships. He had served mostly on the ground, but some of his missions had required being dropped behind enemy lines, and that was often best accomplished with a lift in a fast airship. Nothing was quite like riding the skies, and he found he missed it.
Finding a likely enough place--the sign bore the legend "The Brass Anchor" in elegant script, along with a painted sigil--he pushed through the doors and up to the bar. He ordered rum, and when the glass came and he sampled it, he found it to be of excellent quality, and not the least bit watered. "Bring the bottle of that, would you?" he said to the bartender, fishing a platinum circle out of his vest pocket. The other man obliged him, setting down a brownish-glass bottle of what proved to be Bellimont, a good brand from the Free Cities. Thanking the man, he turned around and leaned back on the bar, scanning the room idly.
Most of the tavern's clientele was sailors, of either the air or deepwater variety, but mainly those of slightly better means than the average crewman; a fair number of them military. At first no one in particular caught his eye, but then he noticed a fairly unusual duo sitting at a table...a darkly beautiful woman in military garb (yet with a distinctive touch all her own), and a man bedecked in both fashionable couture and a small arsenal of weaponry. Donovan had only seen him a few times, but there was no mistaking him once you'd met him. Almost too pretty to be a man, Donovan thought with a smirk. Pretty, but not soft...Donovan hadn't met many men who could beat him at arm-wrestling, but that lad over there had done it without much trouble one night after drinks.
What is Cass Vespertine doing in town, and sitting with a tall, gorgeous drink of water like that? Well, he supposed the second question might be self-evident; Cassian had never lacked for success with the ladies. Donovan rolled his shoulders and took another sip of rum, deciding to wait a bit...there was a third at their table, a man in uniform; better not to interrupt if they were in the middle of something. Afterward, he could buy the fellow a drink and ask how life was suiting him...and perhaps get acquainted with his lady friend. Just because Cassian was better-looking than any man had a right to be didn't mean that every woman in the world was involved with him.
Perception, in case I overhear anything.
Di:
You'd been assigned to investigate reports of corruption among Sir Thane and his lieutenants. During your time aboard the RCN Vigilant you rubbed shoulders with many of the crew and witnessed a public flogging of a lainsmen who had spoke poorly of the Crown. In your time aboard the Vigilant you came to discover that most of the crew were life long veterans and had good opinions of Sir Thane and their officers. Even during the dogfight with the Cryxian Rakers Sir Thane and the crew of the Vigilant acted in accordance to Cygnus law and defended the coastline from being raided.
However with the RCN Vigilant being down for repairs, which may be permanent from initial reports of structural damage and stress fractures throughout the frame of the Vigilant. You along with the crew are current allowed shore leave until the airship is repaired...
Other then the floating isles you arre passing through Leon, you don't see anything out of the ordinary, merely endless sea and the over abundant plant life hanging down from the surrounding Isles. Occasionally though you see large flying lizards, with ten foot wingspans, swooping between the isles and shriking in outrage by the loud airships passing.
Oh no, oh no, oh no... who did this to me? Who?
I thrash against the glass prison and the strange mask.
[dice=strength check]1d20+2
[dice=will]1d20+5
Again I feel the need to search my timeline for moments of strength...
[dice=spending a mote]10+1d4
The Mask comes off easily enough, but you gag as you pull a long strange looking set of tubes out of your throat and just as they pull clear you cough up a strange liquid that the tubes are ow slowly leaking onto the floor by your feet. The liquid smells terrible and leaves a linger metallic taste in your mouth akin only to the foulest bile you'd ever experienced in your life. However you focus quickly, desperately searching for a moment in time where you were stronger and succeed in taking hold of it as you seek to escape this strange prison you've found yourself in. In your current state however it takes several moments to force the lid open and with each inch you force it it gives off a loud rusted squeal as the metal hinges protested.
When you finally crawled out from under the strange lid, sliding down to the flat and dusty floor, the lights in the room flash once more and reveal that your prison is only one of nearly a score that line the walls of the square room you've found yourself in. The lights themselves are small hand sized orcs that dot the walls between each of the other prisons and continue to pulse every few seconds. Surging blindingly bright for a moment before fading into complete darkness.
From your position on the floor you can see that the other containers are just as dirty and dusty as the one you escaped from. Nothing in the room reminds you of Cryx, however, despite the darkness and dust the room had a sort of order too it. Which is completely unlike Cryxian prisons, where death, despair and eternal suffering are the norm.
you struggle and squint at each of the prisons and can't seem to make out what lies inside.
The Orbs are removable and once in hand glow more stably then before, sadly though the light they emit is akin to that of weak candlelight.
Contained inside eight of the strange prisons are four humans a pair of elves a dessicated corpse and a strange horned humanoid covered in dark fur. You can't make out much else though because of the dirt and filth clinging to the glass caps. Each of them are in the same state you are, suspended, covered in the same sort of skin and masked as well.
None of them appear to be awake.
In the other nine containers in the room you can make out dark shapes and sometimes large bags stacked neatly inside, but their contents are unknown. Besides the containers you find a depression in the wall, perfectly square and the only depression in the the square room.
Cassian:
Talvin sits and quietly sips at his drink, looking quite grim. Which was unlike him. "Dire importance indeed. The Vigilant is in bad shape, if you had walked through her you would have seen it..." He takes a long drink and swallows it down. "Now i'm prattling on. Yes, I was born here and have served just like my father before me. He was a trencher and then became a naval marine in the twilight of his career, just like my father this country has seen a lot of strife and blood. But who else will fight the Cryxian's? Before no one dared to cross blades with them, not openly and ever since Rennor's time we're the only ones brave or foolish enough to fight them."
When Diyeana shows up he sips quietly at his drink and remains quiet, watching her oddly as she speaks about the fight. When Cassian speaks about the ship he grimaces. "It may be more then a month, it doesn't look good. I spent the better part of an hour inspecting the hull and the damage was worse then we first thought, tomorrow I will return and inspect it further but so far its looking grim."
Donovan:
Your able to over hear the conversation between Cassian and his two associates. You get interrupted momentarily by your red-headed serving girl who smiles at you and sets down a large tankard. "Drinks for you love, from the gentlemen at the bar. Says he knows you, you call if you need anything else."
You easily can tell your serving girl is eyeing you up, before you can respond though she turns and moves to another table of patrons.
Standing at the bar, tall and as solid as a gnarled oak is a man you thought had died in the trenches he so loved to dig. Cedric Redgrave, one of the men among the original press crew who had invited you to serve the crown. You fought alongside him for a time and were trained by him initially before you moved on to become a commando. Cedric though had been old then and he looked ancient now, his tired face was weather beaten from too many days of fighting in the elements.
Cedric smiled though as he noticed you spying him and raised his flagon in salute. As he took a long draw on his drink the old trencher leaned casually against the bar, still clad in his uniform and wearing a battered breastplate.
You can decide however you want on their relationship and I will roll with it. ;) It is your character after all.
Num-rah:
Kel'der'druinidin remains silent as the bickering continues, the weel and woes of the striking at the enemy and not striking them crossing the table more then once. The Beleghtor were not a force of cowards but of strategists and so far everything they had tried to do to these Dark Ones had only lessened there numbers. Several you had called friend had been felled by these puppets the corpse that moved with a semblance of the life they once had. These puppets also hit as hard as your teachers did when you were going through training, more then once you saw a young warrior felled, his life snuffed out in a single blow from these things.
As the bickering became louder and words turned to snarling and threats of honoring dueling, Kel'der'druinidin raised his fist and slammed it down on the arm of his mighty chair. The strike echoed in the room and brought silence down on the generals of the Beleghtor. "Is this what we are reduced to? Sniveling Cubs who are afraid to face the dark? This bickering tires and bores me to no end as I sit here and watch the leaders of our caste act like fools."
Several hung there heads in shame as their leader rose standing to his full height and towering over his generals. His lean, hard muscles stood out as he glared down at those who had been bickering like a father punishing unruly cubs. "In all my long life I have not encountered an enemy we could not defeat, we will increase the patrols. We will open the Great Vault and issues greater weapons if so be it. I will not see us fall to infighting and prideful talk of honor dueling, there is no honor in a battle if it was words that spurred you to it. I am tired of this for now and you will carry out what I have said, tomorrow we will gather again and this time it will be just my generals, the rest of you do your duty and protect the city."
As everyone starts to disperse he looks at you, his eyes are no longer have lidded and his yellow gaze pierces you like a spear. "You, however, will stay."
He sits back in his mighty chair and once the last of the Beleghtor had left he waves you to sit across from him at the other end of the table. "Speak your mind, Tyil Num-Rah, I am not blind enough to not see when a young warrior has something to say..." He sat with his eyes closed now, leaning his chin against one of his clenched fists while his tail lazily flicked in annoyance.
Miriannissa stalked silently, making sure to stay downwind of the vile ship.She had followed a path of carnge left by these outsiders that had led her here. These vile monsters were a scourge on the land, worse than the gnolls or flinds, taking everything and destroying at will.
What would make one wait over a burned village? she thought, as she lifted her nose to the wind.
Perception/w scent1d20+9
As you wait there, watching and smelling the air you witness something you'd never seen before. A part of the Dark One's ship seemed to open up, slamming into the earth and giving those on-board the ship a ramp in which to descend with. First came the puppets, foul and abysmal creatures that moved with a sluggish gait and stared at the world through blackened, dead, eyes.
You'd seen these creatures but never had the (dis)pleasure of fighting them, but from the wreckage they seem to leave behind you know that for all their awkward movements they are quite strong. For several minutes the puppets rummage around and pile the corpses of the Tabaxi Farmers and dead livestock before a new creature emerged. It was a bloated thing, like an over ripened corpse, its eyes were covered by something that shined like metal and the skin of its face was drawn back so tightly that it seemed to be constantly leering and smiling dementedly as it moved around on a six legged platform, almost like an arachnid.
It carried a long black metal rod topped by some greenish stone that wavered and pulsed in the light of the sun. As it moved among the puppets it appeared to be talking and the creatures were quick to obey. At least they were until a sharp cry pierced the air. The backside of a partial burned building collapses outward, revealing a young Tabaxi cub and what appeared to be its mother leaving behind another who was fighting a puppet that appeared intent to crush the life out of the poor farmer.
The mother carried her cub as several of the puppets gave chase and their master cackled delightedly at the sudden entertainment. The once awkward moving puppets were lopping after the sprinting Tabaxi much faster then you ever expected. They look like they may catch up with her...
Over a dozen puppets and their master are on the ground, at the start of the commotion another pair descend from the ship and join their master, apparently not intending to give chase.
Growling in anger, Miri exploded into a run,dashing in a wide arc attempting to get ahead of of the mother and cub, hoping to ambush the attackers.
She knew that her actions would quite likely end in her death but she could not simply stand by. As she ran she could feel the thrill of the hunt filling every muscle and nerve in her body. It was in these moments of action and danger that she felt the Tigress within her come alive.
With a light in my hands I begin scouring the room, searching through bags and looking for ways in or out.
An old proverb of the Free Cities echoed in Cassian's thoughts as Talvin forced his mug to his lips, 'Always listen when a quiet man speaks, for when he does it is not to hear his own voice.' They are hardly more than eyes, ears and brains. They will read the details most will overlook and through their introversion, process them until only raw truths were left. Sitting idly, engaged, he respectfully gives control over conversation to his coworker. That is until a woman of Diyeana Stormwin's beauty adds herself to the table.
"...ever since Rennor's time we're the only ones brave or foolish enough to fight them."
"There is a transparent line that divides bravery from foolishness. I believe that through my experiences I've discovered the disjunctive factor; consequence. A brave man will act with full knowledge of the risks he takes and an understanding of the consequence of his failure. Whereas a foolish man will act without considering the full effects of the risk he's taken or, perhaps worst, he believes that there is no chance that he will be the subject of failure.” He takes a small bunch of almonds from the bowl and washes them down his throat with a flush of ale then pushes the remaining nuts to the center of the table for all to share.
”I would also say that a brave man must have some degree of a fool in his character to achieve absolute greatness. Name for me a single Hero, fabled or historic, who was not considered a fool by his peers. Your father even; would you call him a foolhardily brave man or a brave fool? Trenchers are hard men. Admittedly they must be wise and careful while they're on the lines but what sensible person would willingly volunteer for such a position?”
He pauses to give the engineer a second to consider whether or not his father's honor was being insulted. ”In critical situation, one mustn't weigh action to outcome but rather instinct to ability. Even splinters of seconds wasted in casting doubt on your instincts can be enough to lose the opportunity to perform a truly great act. Our dear Captain Thane is a reserved man. He knows well enough to keep us out of trouble but hesitates to act when we find ourselves in it. He is lucky to have The Vigilant at his fingers, any smaller or weaker ship would be likely to crumble by the time he makes up his mind in choosing which course of responsive procedure the Cygnian handbook has outlined. Of course this is all off the record, mind you.”
With a broad grin creasing his face, Donovan moved down the bar to where the old Trencher was sitting. "I will be damned, Cedric...nobody managed to bury you just yet?" The old man grinned back with tobacco-stained teeth. There was a long-standing jest in the Trenchers, about digging their own graves..."but we don't make it easy for the othern to fill 'em in".
"You're looking fit enough, you pup," Redgrave said in his familiar worn voice, harsh from years of cigars, whiskey, and gunsmoke. The old soldier feinted a blow to the head and Donovan's guard shot up, snatching the fist out of midair, his right drawn back...but both men were still grinning. "Still fast, still fast. You were always handy with yer fists, old son. Good to see you haven't lost your touch."
Donovan pulled up a stool nearby, and the two drained their tankards of ale...Donovan following his with a chaser of rum. They sat for a while, reminiscing old times and sharing idle talk, until Donovan asked him what brought him to town, and how the war was going...
Num-Rah silently stands and waits for the others to leave. This will be his first time alone with the leader of his caste. Never before was he so honored and his heart beats just a bit faster.
The young warrior meets the golden stare with his own ice-blue eyes. "Greetings, Tyil Kel'der'druinidin. I stand before you as a survivor of the fight against the Dark Ones. They can be killed, or killed again - since it seems that they are dead already. But this demands new way of thinking. New approach to fighting. And allies. We can not do this alone. Some would call it dishonorable, but methinks that we must seek allies amongst the nomads, and even amongst the Gnolls. They have been our enemy since the time of High Ones, true. But now, we stand against the raising tide of night, that will swallow Gnoll and Tabaxi alike, city-dwellers and nomads. We must stand together or fall separately. Those are my words, and if you find them dishonorable, I will gladly pay for them with my life. But by my words I am bound."
With a light in my hands I begin scouring the room, searching through bags and looking for ways in or out.
Not that you are up and moving around, your head begins to clear and you realize with a stab of fear that you are sadly unarmed and the only clothing you have is the thin film of material covering your skin. The room is also noticeably colder, especially as the film covering your skin is damp from a mixture of sweat and condensation from being inside that container for an unknown length of time.
Each of the containers are sealed still and looked to be as tough to open as the one you just escaped from. Except this time you are pulling on them instead of pushing. There is no visible tool in the room to pry them open with.
This container holds an odd looking human and a wyrmling dragon, the pair appear to embracing one another and the human bares wicked scars across her body. She also has white hair and is well toned despite how young she appears, the pair appear to be very tense as if they are about to be struck. The dragon has its tiny head buried between the girls breasts and she has a defiant set to her jaw as if she were resisting something or someone.
A set of peasant’s clothes and a pitchfork lay inside this container along with a badly worn and dull machete.
A soon as the container opens there is a flash!
Successful: You barely catch a glimpse of who was contained within, but sadly it was nothing more then a shadow and a pair of violet colored eyes before the flash went off in your face. As the smoke clears the container is empty and the mask and thin film the person was in hangs limply inside.
The gear within this container smells strongly of gunpowder and gun oil. You’d met a few soldiers in your time in Cygnus and you could recognize a long gunner’s gear easily. Especially there one of a kind military rifle. This weapon has a worn stock but its barrel and firing mechanism appear to be in good condition. Aside form his weapon a couple wheels of ammunition, a bag with a soldier’s field kit, a long gunners coat and a battered breastplate lay inside the container
The man contained within is a well built specimen, with rippling muscles and a well built… physique. He stands straight and proud, as if at attention for some odd reason. He doesn’t wake despite your best efforts and twitches oddly with every pulse of light in the room.
The smell within this container are divine, an almost unearthly aroma that brings you too your knees and casts a calm over you unlike anything you felt before. You also hear music, a soothing lullaby that emanates from the container on its own. Searching the container reveals a set of masterfully carved instruments, a harp and a flute. Each of which appear to be playing on their own, albeit very quietly.
A small bag is there as well with some iron rations and replacement strings contained within it. There are some pearls and jewels as well each of which are intricately carved with runic symbols.
Contained in this one is a tall thin, unearthly beautiful woman, with long flowing blond hair tied up in a bun gasps for life and moans in pain. A set of claw like appendages are extended out of the containers wall and, with each pulse of the sporadic light in the room, appear to be working furiously in closing up a seeping wound in her backside. You spot the cause of her injury and cringe, it’s a Cryxian dirk and a black liquid seeps around it. The beautiful woman
If successful: After a few pulses you find out what the claw appendages are trying to do, one holds a tube that appears to be sucking at the wound while the other is trying to pierce her skine with a needle attached to another tube. You help guide the needle into her arm and the liquid packed tube begins to flow seemingly on it’s own, within moments the woman’s moans cease and another set of hands extend. This time though they bare a needle and thread, with each pulse of light the hands start to stitch the injury such.
Contained in here are weapons of an alien nature, a large and immensely heavy rifle sits alongside the strangest sword you’ve ever seen. A pack sits on the floor as well but it is just as alien in nature as it refuses to open no matter what you try. Infact its so heavy you can’t lift it out of the container.
Contained within is a human, although you could barely call him that as most of his body has been replaced by… Mechanical parts. Half of his face appears to be mechanical in nature while the other half is smooth, almost delicate looking. Where his heart should be there is an empty hole, but it appears as if something had been there, as a strange sort of metal hangs loosely from the hole in his chest. Aside from his face he has a mechanical arm and both his legs from the knees down are mechanical in nature as well.
No matter what you do though he doesn’t stir and eerily he appears to be breathing, although his breathing comes and goes with the sporadic lighting in the room, taking a quick gasping breath and exhaling noisily before the next pulse of light. You have no idea though how to help them, even if you could.
A set of Oriental blades lies within along with a a well maintained Yumi (Qin horseman’s bow) as well. A set of saddlebags sit on the floor of the chamber and contain many types of tea that our popular in Qin, some books that are written in Qinese and a several rice balls alongside some iron rations.
A hint of jade and other scents assail you as you open this container just as the lid opens. Once it is fully open however, the occupant lunges forward suddenly and grabs you by the throatA well toned woman with slanted eyes much like that of the people of Qin, struggles to break free while simultaneously squeezing your airway shut. Her glare is like daggers as she squeezes all the harder and tries to drag you closer so she can get her other hand around your throat.
[oocIf Failed: The woman drags you in and tries to get her other hand on your throat, you can feel shes weakening though and you have one more chance to pull free before she pulls you completely into the chamber with her.
A fresh scent of the woods and wilds assails your nostrils and contained inside is the gear of a woodsman or guide. An intricate carved bow lays against the inner wall, along with a pair of curved short swords unlike any you have ever seen. Laying flat on the floor is a hide backpack that looks worn down and appears to have been repaired many times.
The smell warns you that the occupant of this chamber has, sadly, passed on. The pointed eared and tall occupant of this chamber has what appears to be an untreated knife wound in his chest and a strange pair of claws are extended from the wall, one of which has a curved needle like instrument and the other is gripping a tube like apparatus that is dripping a strange liquid onto the floor of the container.
The moist dripping liquid is extremely sticky and the dried amounts on the floor have hardened into a small fist size ball. Strangely though the harden material is flexible in a way that surprises you despite how dense it feels at your touch.
Opening this container floods the air around you with the smell of spices, herbs and cured meats. A large hide pack is contained within and tribal fetishes hang from it, along side of it is a tall club with black stones interspersed along its length and a hide wrapped handle for its grip.
If Successful: The black stones are obsidian and are very sharp, honed to points and easily able to scratch the glass of the container#
Inside the bags are the source of the smell, pouch after pouch of herbs and spices# Many you can't identify, line the inside of the bag along with a large hide sack with cured meat contain inside# The cured meat though makes your stomach rumble, no one would miss a couple sticks of jerky would they?
As you pry the lid open the furred creature’s eyes flutter open and upon seeing you it struggles mightily, bleating and gnashing its teeth at the mask and tubes. In its panic it kicks out with its hooves and shatters the lid in a single desperate strike. The strike causes it to break free and fall off the bar that was suspending it. Crashing almost immediately to the bottom of the container, knocking itself cold as its head impacts first.
Upon closer inspection now that it stopped moving the creature looks to be like a biped goat or ram its curved horns sit even on both sides of its head and it is a well proportioned creature with a stout frame and lean muscle structure.
Contained within are several orange and red tool boxes with a set of clothes neatly wrapped in a strange elastic material that crinkles as it flexes yet clings to itself where it overlaps.
The toolboxes contain various tools. Dc 10 int check
If successful: These are steam workers tools, for repairing various engines and other large mechanical devices.
Contained within this container is the desiccated corpse of a humanoid who had apparently awoke and failed to escape their bondage. They must have died miserably as feeble scratches cover the inside of the lid and the mask you pried from your face lays just out of reach of their suspended bony feet. You don't know if they starved or suffocated first but the air within this container is foul and lingers in the room causing you to be sickened for minutes.
Prying open the lid you discover a small duffel bag, its outer surface is well preserved and not covered in dust or filth. In fact when you pried open the lid you felt a burst of pure, clean, air escape to mingle with the stale air you were breathing now.
Open the Duffel bag you find your gear, well maintained and neatly folded for you.
Num-Rah silently stands and waits for the others to leave. This will be his first time alone with the leader of his caste. Never before was he so honored and his heart beats just a bit faster.
The young warrior meets the golden stare with his own ice-blue eyes. "Greetings, Tyil Kel'der'druinidin. I stand before you as a survivor of the fight against the Dark Ones. They can be killed, or killed again - since it seems that they are dead already. But this demands new way of thinking. New approach to fighting. And allies. We can not do this alone. Some would call it dishonorable, but methinks that we must seek allies amongst the nomads, and even amongst the Gnolls. They have been our enemy since the time of High Ones, true. But now, we stand against the raising tide of night, that will swallow Gnoll and Tabaxi alike, city-dwellers and nomads. We must stand together or fall separately. Those are my words, and if you find them dishonorable, I will gladly pay for them with my life. But by my words I am bound."
Kel's eyes opened at the mere mention of allying with the outside tribes, they were still half-lidded though and he listened intently to Num-Rah's words before raising a hand and waving off talk of dishonor. "Don't speak of dying over speaking the words of truth. In the time of the High Ones it wasn't words that defeated their enemies or ended the days of Dark Sky, it was boldness and acceptance of what many were afraid to face. And we too must accept change, but the outside tribes will not easily accept us, nor we them. We are as unlike as a fish walking on land or our kind trying to breathing underwater. How would you go about gaining there trust? How would you win them over when they would more then likely spear you and take your skin as a pelt young one? The Flind do not ally with anyone and, unlike your pup, most gnolls would slay us on sight..."
Kel is holding back, he seems to know something that he has yet to reveal and is testing you. Why though remains unknown.
With a broad grin creasing his face, Donovan moved down the bar to where the old Trencher was sitting. "I will be damned, Cedric...nobody managed to bury you just yet?" The old man grinned back with tobacco-stained teeth. There was a long-standing jest in the Trenchers, about digging their own graves..."but we don't make it easy for the othern to fill 'em in".
"You're looking fit enough, you pup," Redgrave said in his familiar worn voice, harsh from years of cigars, whiskey, and gunsmoke. The old soldier feinted a blow to the head and Donovan's guard shot up, snatching the fist out of midair, his right drawn back...but both men were still grinning. "Still fast, still fast. You were always handy with yer fists, old son. Good to see you haven't lost your touch."
Donovan pulled up a stool nearby, and the two drained their tankards of ale...Donovan following his with a chaser of rum. They sat for a while, reminiscing old times and sharing idle talk, until Donovan asked him what brought him to town, and how the war was going...
Cedric shakes his head and downs his drink in a series of deep swallows, followed by slamming it down on the table. He smiles at the barkeeps angry expression and waves his hand for another drink. He sighed as he thought and rubbed his grizzled chin as he spoke. "Bloody and in about the same spot as you you left it, although it seems more and more of our ships are coming back broken and in desperate need of repair... They're like me. Worn down and tired Donovan, hell I haven't had a decent lad somce you left, sure their were fighters and many had the guts but they all lacked your stuff. Now they got me training Sword Knights and Storm Lancers. Bunch of pompous little s#$t's if you ask me. Too busy strutting around in what they're daddies bought them and not paying attention to their training. unlike you I can't hit them upside the head and I really want to." He takes another long draft before giving a low whistle in the direction of Cassian's table. "If I was ten... *cough*... Twenty years younger I'd be paying that table a visit at least the service has improved in some respects." He gives a chuckle and smiles broadly.
After looking through the open container I am relieved to find my gear and quickly pull on my clothes and stow equipment about my person.
Keeping the torch in one hand, I activate the light on my sash and take my rapier in the other.
As I move from container to container, I carefully place my rapier and the torch next to each one when I attempt to open it.
2
4
6
8
10
12
14
16
Are these people trapped, like me, or are they dead? They must be trapped, or else why preserve their equipment, why preserve mine?
I start to pace about, peering at the trapped bodies through the glass seals... What if they are taking us back to Cryx, maybe we will become mind-slaves, or grave-risen warriors... maybe that is why our things are here?
I peer intently into the container next to mine. Perhaps I should take a look, perhaps they can help me?
Frustrated, I try container 15 Is this his kit, maybe he can help me?
forgot int check earlier
str
I plunge my arms into the container and try to lift the person out before they drown. It's alive! It's alive!
He pauses to give the engineer a second to consider whether or not his father's honor was being insulted.
If Talvin felt any insult in your words he doesn't show it and continues to take deep drinks of his beverage and doesn't appear to notice the Almonds. "My Father was dedicated, until the day he passed. He loved this country and I share his love. So does Sir Thane, but your right he can be far to... Rigid to details but he shouldn't have engaged those Rakers. The Vigilant is too old to stand alone like that, she may be a ship of the line but her prime is long past and airship construction isn't as quick as it was in Rennor's day..." He trailed off, looking deep into his drink for a moment.
He came back to himself and leaned in his seat to regard the woman who had arrived quizzically for a moment. "Talvin Grey, Miss and I was just leaving. I won't disrupt your leisure time further Cassian. Although I will be on ship if you need me." The man cracked the slightest of smiles and quickly stood and briskly walked away.
Are these people trapped, like me, or are they dead? They must be trapped, or else why preserve their equipment, why preserve mine?
I start to pace about, peering at the trapped bodies through the glass seals... What if they are taking us back to Cryx, maybe we will become mind-slaves, or grave-risen warriors... maybe that is why our things are here?
I peer intently into the container next to mine. Perhaps I should take a look, perhaps they can help me?
** spoiler omitted **
Frustrated, I try container 15 Is this his kit, maybe he can help me?
** spoiler omitted **
I plunge my arms into the container and try to lift the person out before they drown. It's alive! It's alive!
As you start opening up the containers a strange series of beeps at varying frequency and speed start up, repeating every couple of minutes. Until they stopped completely.
".-- .- .-. -. .. -. --. --..-- / ..-. .- -.-. .. .-.. .. - -.-- / .-- .. -.. . / ... .... ..- - / -.. --- .-- -. / .. -. / . ..-. ..-. . -.-. - --..-- / -- .- .. -. / .--. --- .-- . .-. / --. . -. . .-. .- - .. --- -. / ..-. .- .. .-.. ..- .-. . .-.-.- / ... . -.-. --- -. -.. .- .-. -.-- / .--. --- .-- . .-. / --. . -. . .-. .- - .. --- -. / ..-. .- .. .-.. ..- .-. . .-.-.- / .-. . ... . .-. ...- . / .--. --- .-- . .-. / .- - / -.-. .-. .. - .. -.-. .- .-.. / .-.. . ...- . .-.. ... .-.-.- / .-.. .. ..-. . / ... ..- .--. .--. --- .-. - / ..-. .- .. .-.. ..- .-. . --..-- / - . -.-. .... -. .. -.-. .. .- -. ... / - --- / ... ..- -... / ... . -.-. - .. --- -. / ...-- ...-- .- .---- .-.-.- / ..- -. -.- -. --- .-- -. / - .... .-. . .- - / -.. . - . -.-. - . -.. --..-- / ..- -. -.- -. --- .-- -. / - .... .-. . .- - / -.. . - . -.-. - . -.. .-.-.- / ..- -. -.- -. --- .-- -. / - .... .-. . .- - / -.. . - . -.-. - . -.. / .. -. / ... . -.-. - .. --- -. ... / .---- --..-- / ..--- --..-- / ...-- / .- -. -.. / ....- .-.-.- / .--. .-. --- -.-. . . -.. / .-- .. - .... / . -..- - .-. . -- . / -.-. .- ..- - .. --- -. .-.-.-"
Warning, facility wide shut down in effect, main power generation failure.
Secondary power generation failure.
Reserve power at critical levels.
Life Support failure, technicians to sub section 33a1.
Unknown threat detected, unknown threat detected.
Unknown threat detected in sections 1, 2, 3 and 4. Proceed with extreme caution.
Can I save the goatperson?
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Grey. I'll stop in to check on you and our airship tomorrow or the next day... or the day after. Time will tell." Raising his mug, he gives the engineer a warm smile and sees him on his way.
"Such a curious little man," Cassian muses as he watches
Talvin dodge and weave through a crowd of bar patrons. "Though I rather enjoy his company. Clever as a cat and twice as quiet, that one; just as timid too, come to think of it." Shifting the weight in his seat he turns to give himself a better view of the woman opposite him.
"So what brings you to grace me with your sought after company this evening, my lovely Ms. Stormwin? Surely you've not come here simply to becloud my thoughts with temptation?" he asks Diyeana. Whether he was speaking of commanding his own ship or merely bolstering his reputation was for her to decide.
You easily pull the poor creature out of its cell and upon removing its mask it coughs up the fluid being supplied by the strange mask. It takes several minutes though before it comes around and when it does, its reaction is the same as before. It awakens, disorientated, scared and panic stricken. Scrambling to get away from you only to find its trapped yet again.
As you try to calm it down the lights surge and this time so brightly that a couple of the orbs along the wall shatter and spill their contents onto the walls beneath them. Contained within the orbs is an unidentifiable liquid that moves like molasses and glows momentarily, electricity surging across its surface like lightning before fading into darkness indefinitely.
She calms down but continues to look around shakily at the room, being caged is definitely not sitting well with this creature.
I speak softly to the frightened creature: Hey, hey... it's alright... I got you out. Are you okay? Are you wounded?
Growling in anger, Miri exploded into a run,dashing in a wide arc attempting to get ahead of of the mother and cub, hoping to ambush the attackers.
She knew that her actions would quite likely end in her death but she could not simply stand by. As she ran she could feel the thrill of the hunt filling every muscle and nerve in her body. It was in these moments of action and danger that she felt the Tigress within her come alive.
Weighed down as she is, you easily pull just ahead of the fleeing Tabaxi farmer and her cub. The puppets are in hot pursuit and strangely don't seem to see you until its too late for them to alter their course.
I speak softly to the frightened creature: Hey, hey... it's alright... I got you out. Are you okay? Are you wounded?
[dice=diplomacy]1d20+2
The creature remains completely terrified and keeps as much distance between you and it as possible, staring at the walls in confusion and tearing the remnants of the filmy skin that was covering its fur. it mumbled in a language you din't understand, it was fearful and drawing a symbol in the air as it searched frantically for a way out.
As the lights pulse again it grabs its ears and bleats fearfully.
".-- .- .-. -. .. -. --. | .-- .- .-. -. .. -. --. | .-- .- .-. -. .. -. --. | --..-- | | - .... .-. . .- - | -.. . - . -.-. - . -.. | .. -. | -- .- .. -. | .... --- .-.. -.. .. -. --. | -.-. . .-.. .-.. ... | --..-- | | ... . -.-. ..- .-. .. - -.-- | - --- | ... . -.-. - .. --- -. | | | | -.-." Again the indeterminable message echoes in the tiny room.
It turns and looks at you, fear mirrored in its eyes. It mumbles pitifully in the most broken common you've ever heard. "Det is h'ar, scape yow or wea di." AS the lights fade the room falls into darkness, if it hadn't been for the light casted from your sash you wouldn't be able to see at all and the horned creature stares back at you. Its eyes reflecting brightly in the dark room.
Leon and Aurora:
As the Red Dog's Airship passes by the isles a lookout gives a sharp cry of alarm moments before a Cryxian Flesh Galley appears on the far side of the isles. The Red Dog's pilot quickly turns the ship in the hope that they haven't been spotted. The Flesh Galley easily outmatched their smaller airship but the Red Dogs had speed over the bulkier cryxian warship.
"Bloody Hell!"
"...Lyonesse protect us..."
"What is that doing out here?"
"Not good mates, no navy in sight..."
"...Lets bloody ram them, screw this hiding!"
The Red Dogs airship circles around the isle, dispersing its exhaust along the side of the floating isle and hoping desperately that the wind would scatter it before it was noticed. But as they emerged on the other side a curious an awe-inspiring sight came into view. The Flesh Galley was heading towards something strange, something none of you had ever seen before. The air rippled before the massive Cryxian vessel, the very air was like waves in a small pond when someone dropped a stone and broke its surface.
The awe-inspiring part though was that instead of seeing endless ocean on the otherside, you could see endless desert's and barren mountains. The Red Dogs airship veered out of the way of an isle that floated too close, narrowly avoiding dashing itself against the rocky outcropping. As it descended though you lose sight of the Flesh Galley, your view was blocked by a large isle floating in the way. Just as the airship cleared this new annoying obstacle the Flesh Galley came into view once more and surprising the massive vessel was pushing its way into the strange phenomenon. The Cryxian vessel looked weighed down and its sails were burning as it pushed slowly into the apparently unyielding ripple.
The Captain, seeing an opportunity barked out an order to his helmsmen and drew his over and under pistol. "ows our chance, ready yourself you Dogs, we'll take them by surprise and sink them before they can react. Arm the cannons and prepare lads!"
"Gunnery Crew at the ready!"
Some of the dogs seemed to shrink in upon themselves while the majority gave a hearty cry. "Aye Captain!"
He then turned to the pair of you a savage glint in his eye. "We sink this ship and take its spoils and perhaps we can retire from this life, but it does mean we'll visit some revenge upon them!"
As he finishes speaking the Engines begin to grow louder as the engineers below deck coax more power out of the old steam engine. The ship gains speed over the next couple of minutes as it screams towards the sluggish Flesh Galley. As the Red Dogs close the distance a pair of cannons boom on the Cryxian vessels deck and narrowly missed the smaller more nimble Red Dog vessel.