Horrific reality tears the flesh marionette, that you call “you”, free from its slumber as cruel conscious returns.
A myriad of sensations...frozen...screams...fear.....hunger...weariness...pain...in the first seconds. It is all you can do to keep yourself from curling into the fetal position and crying. Only then do you perceive the tight grip of the rusted iron manacle, which binds your wrist to a pipe running along the length of the ship.
Perhaps a dozen lost souls sit awkwardly on your same side of the ship, bound as you are bound, facing the other hull where another group of scared, malnourished, mistreated, filthy, naked, and seasick slaves are similarly incarcerated.
Confusion is the norm, for you have only vague memories of your past and no idea how you got to this place.
An epic storm tosses the boat about, but there is ungainly heaviness to it, as if the anchor had not been fully retracted in time. Howling winds carve a path through your ears, but even it cannot block out the screams. Something, unseen from your position in the hold of the ship, has gone terribly wrong and from the heavy impacts you are feeling on the wooden skin of the ship you imagine that the vessel has run aground, or is about to.
Ice-cold sea water leaks in from the non-battened hatch which opens to the broken ladder that leads down into the hold. It is this flood of frigid liquid that woke you as it firstly pooled about your feet and has since risen to your sternum. The ship sits dangerously low in the water due to all the extra water weight. The storm’s fury bounces the hatch about, and with each movement you can hear the heavy chain that seals it snap back into place.
All is darkness below, save for what is revealed by the flash from the occasional torch beyond the portal when someone stumbles past.
(please describe your character in your first post)
As the water is rising, the ship is actually sinking. Soon he would be under it. These are the first thoughts of the shivering, bald and naked creature that calls itself Revery.
Way out of his element, this creature looks like a child being bullied by a swarm of others. Revery shakes, and his salty tears are motes in the salt water that assaults his entire person. Thin and frail, though he knows deep in his head he's a little tougher than he looks. A little. His tanned skin and slightly oversized head add to the illusion that he is a child. Fear and desperation envelop his face. Something else is there, though. Has he been through this before? Is there a level of tiredness, even.... acceptance, of his fate?
The chain would be his death.... unless... Magic is the first thing that comes to his mind, in respect to a solution to this problem. Before his family, and friends, before his beloved deity, his mistress Magic presents him with an iota of hope.
His eyes scan the darkness for something, anything, floating on the water.
Ear flat against his skull, Sajeek shakes his head in an attempt to shake his memories back into place. Red, tiger like strips cut the Vah Shir's wet grey fur, revealed in a flash of lightning, whose face is currently twisted in pain.
Opening his green eyes, Sajeek blinks several times, willing his eyes to focus faster. Which meets with no real success. Squinting, the Vah Shir looks down at the manacle and chis jaw drops. An expression of disbelief dances across Sajeek's lean features. He moves his manacled arm and tries to wiggle his clawed fingers.
The matted fur of the Vah Shir revealed that he is a lean creature, mostly muscle and bone. Another flash of lightning reveals the almost feral glint in the naked males eyes as he glares at his bound wrist. It looks as if he is actually giving some thought to gnawing off his hand to get free.
The icy talons of panic was steadily clawing at his mind, Sajeek swallows, clawed fingers exploring the manacle that bound him. Mindful of the freezing water that was quickly rising, the Vah Shir tries to slip his hand free. Sajeek swallows again, struggling to remember what had happened that had brought him to this watery hole.
Closing his eyse for a moment, Sajeek takes several deep breathes. Opening his green orbs, looks down at his wrist and the rising water. Appearing somewhat calmer, the Vah Shir looks at his bindings once again. His green eyes dart around as he feels the pipe that manacles were part of with his free hand.
Free hand exploring the nearby pipe, the Vah Shir becomes aware that there are others around him. He had been so confused, feeling like he had been beaten and then run over by a wagon train. 'My only hope is to only go numb enough so that my body isn't screaming in pain,' Sajeek thinks to himself.
"Hey," the Vah Shir says urgently to those bound to the pipe, "I don't who can hear me, see me or understand me, but we have to get out of here! If we don't were gonna drown, or worse!" Sajeek glances at the hatch, hoping whomever was out there had bigger problems. By the sounds of it they did. 'The spirits know we have enough of our own problems at the moment,' the young Vah Shir thinks as he looks around trying to see those around him.
The sudden crash wakes the thin elven girl by sending throbbing pain through her manacled wrist,she has just the time to come to her senses that she feels her legs immersed in icy water.
She stumbles on her feet and tries to step back from the water, instinctively shacking her manacled left arm in the attempt to break free.
The motion sends new waves of pain across her arm and she utters some moans;her long, light red colored hair are also soaked with cold water, enhancing her desperation.
“What else what do you want to do,leave us here to drown?” she screams, already knowing it will be wasted breath.
She also looks around for the others chained alongside her,trying to cover her privates with her free arm and long hair.
At the words of a vah shir she turns on him “Well said friend,we better start asking what everyone of us here can do, maybe if we join forces we'll stand a chance.”
Revery hears the calls for action, but wonders what can be done by others. He continues to look for something floating in the water, to enable his own plan.
But now he realizes there are others here, and they all want the same thing. There could be other options. Perhaps together they could pull up the pipe they seemed to be attached to.
He struggles to make his voice heard, over the storm and the rushing water. "Pull the pipe! If we all do, the pipe my be dislodged!"
Nodding in agreement with the shouted words, Sajeek repositions himself so that he can his legs to help. Even if he had to push off the wall with his legs, Sajeek planned on being free. Tugging a few time, his head wipes from left to right as the Vah Shir attempts to get an idea of how many of them are attached to the pipe.
"Every one needs to work together if were goig to get free from this!" Sajeek raises his voice over the clatter. Each working seperatly isn't gonna help anyone. With our combined strength, I know we can do it!' the Vah Shir says with a sense of conviction. "Spirits help us if we fail," Sajeek mutters to himself.
"Grab hold of the chain with both hands and use your legs and body weight to push away from the wall, " Sajeek shouts over the storm. "We should be able to pull this pipe from where it is connected! Everyone get up and get ready. We start pulling on the count of three!" The Vah Shir listens intently for the sounds of the others getting up. He had almost fainted himself when he had convinced his legs to unfold and stood up shaking like an old, old man in cold weather.
Sajeek waits a few more moments, he hopes that the others that are chained to the pipe can hear him and share his desire to be free. The rising water throws another wave of panic at the young Beastlord. The sounds of the others moving a bit throws a wall up infront of the tide of icy panic that threatens to engulf Sajeek.
"Right, on the count of three? Ready? One! Two! Three!" Sajeek says after he guess everyone is abut ready. Not being able to see hardly anything was not helping him very much. At the count of three he adds whatever strenght that his weaken limbs can offer.
A bucket and mop, used to keep the hold empty of the slave's filth, float on the water, skipping along with each wave. Revery can reel in the bucket with his toes and Quinaweniel can grab hold of the mop, should they wish to.
The pipe has been affixed to the hull with far a great deal of precision by someone well-suited to their tradeskill. Everyone working together accomplishes a bit of movement on the end furthest from you, and one of the slaves slips free, she stands stupidly staring at her manacled hand, trailing a 3' length of heavy chain, and wondering what to do next. The pipe will need to be moved further so others can escape as well.
The high elf's call for empathy is either lost in the storm, or falls on hardened ears, for no one even acknowledges the words.
Frigid water is up to your chest again, but this time you are standing.
An impossibly heavy impact casts enslaved bodies about like so many rag dolls. You are airborne for a fraction of a heartbeat and then cruelly slammed back into the unyielding hull as your manacle clips your wings.
Impact Damage 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Blood floods the nearly frozen water from those that struck an edge.
The structural integrity of the boat has been compromised, tearing a hole in the side of the hull opposite you, quickly flooding the chamber until an air pocket forms. Onrushing water pulls the ship into a list, which has each of you dangling at the end of your chain.
If there is one advantage that Revery's poor night vision provides, it is that he cannot properly see the faces of the underwater slaves opposite you as they fight for life and then become limp. Beyond them the 6' wide by 4' tall hole reveals the entire ocean beyond.
Your situation is too dire to focus on others, for you and the 11 others will join them if you do not find a way out of this. The impact has provided a boon of sorts, for the pipe has been loosened even further.
Revery tries to move closer to the freed end of the pipe, and encourages other to do the same. If there's another attachment point next to that, that would be the next one to remove; so the closer they are to it the better.
Once moved as far as possible, he continues to yank on the pipe in violent yanks, holding onto the chain to remove the stress on where the manacles are on his wrists.
He wonders if he would be able to cast a spell...
Maruusk is aware... The Vah Shir's sleek, black fur is matted with water and whatever else has been dumped on him or splashed on him from the waters they wade in. The cold is numbing to the body and soul. Shivers wrack his form, even as lithe muscles bunch and stretch as he moves in the dark, trying to warm himself and understand the extent of his entrampment. The pipe seems to be the center of his existence. He is aware of others, but his yellow eyes flash in the dark as stray light glints off his eyes. Anger, fear and hatred burn in him. Confusion will have to reign, and knowledge will have to come to clear the webs that hold his mind.
When he hears a voice scream about drowning, he is shocked from his reverie. At the insistence that the pipe is the solution, he rapidly agrees, as he had already reached that conclusion as well. As the others move to pull their chains on the pipe, Maruusk adds his strength to the effort, loosing a cat-like howl of anger, frustration and determination.
The effort is cut short as the ship strikes something, sending them all crashing into each other, the walls and anything else not nailed down.
The fate of those in the water cannot be contemplated, lest he follow. Seeing that the pipe is further loosened, he yells out in a voice made hoarse by seawater and their conditions, "It is now or never! Pull or we join the meat in the otherworld!" Looking about as he pulls, he says, "Is there ANYTHING here that could be a tool to loosen this?"
He bunches his shoulders and pulls as hard as he can. At the same time, he tries to twist and wiggle his arm free of the hateful binding.
Escape Artist: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Water sloshes over the statuesque woman, to no effect. She could nearly be a giant from her frame, and she must not notice the cold, since she remains unconscious through all the commotion -- until the shock of the ship's hard impact snaps her eyes open. "Tudan!"
Gwendalyn (as she would introduce herself in politer circumstances) is accustomed to calling for her big brother's help when in danger, and he gives no answer; hopefully she's alone, since the alternative is that he was chained to the opposite side of the ship.
The mere thought makes the young woman from Halas panic, scrabbling and pulling on the pipe with all of her strength. She isn't as strong as her size might suggest; but still, at a foot taller than the average man (and rather stockier), the pale-haired, green-eyed barbarian has a lot of leverage to apply. "Raaaaugh!"
Minor Healing on Quinaweniel. Channeling vs. DC 16?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 She has just begun to gather magic around her hands, when a sudden jostling of the ship disrupts her symbolic gestures and causes the nascent spell to dissipate.
Quinaweniel were still trying to find a weak spot in the pipe section she is chained to when another crash against the hull caught her off guard.She slipped, and her manacled arm,as a reaction to the sudden uncontrolled motion pulled her backward; her head crashed into the pipe and she fell on her back where she stays for the following seconds,motionless.
Swimming over to the hatch the half-frozen slave, that you loosed upon the world, glances about until she finds the mop. Snatching it up she starts working on trying to prise the hatch open, while ignoring all of the dead floating 'neath her feet. It is a complete waste of time for the hatch only moves a few inches, but the chains are far too strong and firmly moored to permit an army to escape this way. The slavers were no fools, those that were entombed within the ship's bowels would not easily escape their clutches.
Giving up, the young naked woman glances pleadingly back at the others to forgive her before casting the mop aside and swimming for the hole in the side, now "bottom" considering the significant list to the ship's alignment in space, and disappears outside.
Quinaweniel, heavily injured but far from out of the fight, catches a flutter of movement beyond the open hole in the bottom of the ship. Whatever she saw does not glow, so perhaps it is one of the vicious rocks that have been impacting the ship as of late.
Each of you are near the middle of the pipe, with only a dwarf between you and freedom. Following Revery's suggestion you are able to gain maximum leverage and muscle the dwarf, Revery and Sajeek away from their incarceration.
(pipe order: Quinaweniel, Maruusk, Gwendalyn, a dead slave, 4 slaves, another dead slave, 1 slave)
Your next breath is almost a drink. Each of you grabs a handful of air and jam it into your lungs as the air pocket escapes through the weakened boards. The ship is falling to the bottom of the sea with you in it, and the pressure difference presses down on your ears like an anvil.
Horrible choices need to be made here.
(may hold breath for as long as 2x CON score)
(please include a strength check in your next post vs. DC 15, each success frees another person, aid another will provide a bonus +2 to your roll with up to two bonuses maximum, as will employing the mop as a lever)
Submerged under the water that should be frozen does wonders to bring Sajeek back to his senses. The Vah Shir had turned his head towards the female sounding voice that had asked him for a name when the world exploded. Flung about like a ragdoll tethered to the pipe, he had slammed against the wall and pipe.
Muzzle upturned to the small pocket of air, Sajeek stared stupidly at the ceiling. It could have been the floor for all he knew. Growling, he shakes his head fiercely. The sudden bolt of pain that runs through his mind clears the confusion in a heartbeat. He was free of the pipe. Sajeek realizes others were not so lucky. They were going to drown. The young Vah Shir takes several deep breathes and plunges under, grabbing the mop.
With a sharp tug on someones chains, Sajeek pulls himself to the pipe. Feeling around, he postions his feet against the wall and slides the mop closer to where the pipe is moored to the wall. Gripping the mop tightly in both hands, he swore he wouldn't let others die, chained to a pipe like someone pet. Not if he could do something about it.
Pushing against the wall with all of his might, pulling on the mop Sajeek does something he never thought his pride would let him. The young Beastlord doesn't pray to the spirits for aid. Sajeek begs them for their aid
1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 1 + 2 = 15
(round 1 of holding breath continues, awaiting everyone's first action)
Sareek is able to free Quinaweniel and the new vantage point provides her with another momentary bit of information about the "rocks" outside. The truth of what hit the boat freezes her blood in a way that the frigid water never could.
One scream from above in particular catches Gwendalyn's attention, for it is in her tongue.
Revery's mind races, and when it does that it is like a hummingbird to others' finches. His mind circles the problem a number of times, considering whether a spell, risky at this point anyways, increases the odds more than brute force, which is not something Revery often considers, and every lap it comes up with the one glaring truth: there is no time.
Casting a spell to strengthen one of the bound may help in the long run, but there is no long run now. The option for a spell is submerged as the water level rises above his mouth.
As he holds his breath, he moves to the next attachment point and pulls with all his might, helping the others trying to pull off the pipe.
STR check, aiding others:
1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15
Even though she couldn't be able to follow the last events, due to being half unconscious, Quinaweniel found herself under water and free from the manacle.
The cold water ,if nothing else, helps her staying awake,but when she opens her eyes underwater suddenly she wishes she never did.
Managing to raise out of the water to catch her breath, she screams coughing and spitting water:"A giant sea serpent or similar creature.There were no rocks to hit the hull."
Maruusk feels himself slide free. The water is cold, and the pressure makes things uncomfortable. However, he knows others helped him so he returns the favor, pulling hard on the pipe.
Seeing the female elf failing, he swims to her and tries to aide her out of the ship. Sea monster outside, chained death inside - no good choices today.
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Swim: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Quinaweniel sees the sea creature after the hold flooded and as such finds no way to raise herself out of the water to shout her warning, though the strenuous activity of swimming would be a horrific idea in her state of poor health and inevitably lead to a rapid demise. Floating is about all she can manage.
Maruusk muscles forth providing a momentary opportunity for the pipe to be moved (aid another DC 10 provided to the next roll +2) before offering a hand to the high elf.
Your ship is falling to the bottom of the sea and taking the light with it. In moments the only one that can see anything is Quinaweniel. Everyone else is forced to fumble and feel their way around, which makes the scene even more claustrophobic.
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10
Faydedar? What? Gwendalyn sets aside her countryman's declaration and focuses on survival. No scholar but also no dummy, the practical shaman sees that wall, ceiling, and floor are all relative now; so the tall woman braces her feet against the now-ceiling that the pipe is attached to, and pulls the pipe down with all of the strength in her legs.
Revery feels just one more pull might do it, and he wants to save the Divine caster so that he can survive on the rocks, or wherever they might end up, if they're lucky.
He yanks on the pipe, attempting to free the pipe from the wall
STR aiding another:
1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
Gwendalyn takes advantage of Maruusk's assistance, but cannot gather enough leverage to exploit it, though she has pushed it far enough to help the next person (aid another DC 10 provided to the next roll +2).
(round 2 of holding breath starts)
Quinaweniel watches another slave expire before her eyes. Though the others cannot see anything, they can hear the explosion of air from the slave's lungs, as yet another person dies in this horrific scene.
Revery blindly moves into position and yanks, but then things go horribly awry (critical failure) as Maruusk lets go. The loaded pipe snaps back against the wooden hull driving a bolt through the enchanter's hand (1 damage) and pinning him in place. Suddenly moving the pipe becomes not just an act of altruism, well partial altruism since he is trying to release a healer, but also personal as the whims of chance tie his fates to Gwendalyn's.
Suffice to say that the pipe remains firmly in place and panic is setting in.
(Revery and Gwendalyn include a will save in your next post, will saves will be required of everyone else each round after this one)
Maruusk seeks to get the heavily injured Quinaweniel to the surface, though a question remains whether she will let him. The vah shir is equal to the challenge of navigating the deep waters (successful swim check vs. DC 10), but up near the surface it will be a very different story.
Disorientation is the norm, but Maruusk owes his continued existence to the presence of the bucket as it spills forth from the guts of the hold along with him and assures the vah shir that it knows the way to the surface.
The dwarf's calloused hands momentarily rest on both Revery and Gwendalyn's shoulders, giving them a bit of comfort as he moves into position to assist with the pipe.
The pressure screams in your ears as you plummet towards the bottom. You are positive that your chest is about to cave in and your eyes feel like they are being pounded by spiked hammers.
Quinaweniel is fully immersed so she cannot speak, and Maruusk cannot see her. She resists his attempt to help, even though it is possible that no one will find her in the darkness when they try to leave.
Maruusk is left without a clue why she has resisted, even though it is a feeble effort (cannot perform strenuous activities due to disabled state), so he is left to pull himself to the surface alone, or move back into the falling ship and try to help out. It is a difficult choice, since all present will be able to remember each of the other slaves' horrified faces for the rest of your days: their panicked visages are etched deeply into your brains.
Too many have fallen this day. It is an argument to go back in to save more versus leaving, for then you would not join those that have passed into the great beyond.
No matter what the choice, those that are "birthed" anew into the world, from the descending wreckage, will be ever changed by the experience. Though slavery is legal in many parts of Norrath, it just became very personal to all of you.
You have been forged an unbreakable bond with all those crushed under the heel of oppression.
Revery winces in pain and frustration as his attempt to pull off the pipe backfires, and the pipe pins his hand to the ship. If he lets the pipe beat him, keep him here, he is soon dead, he knows. Trying not to use so much air, he carefully tries to reposition himself for maximum leverage, to get the pipe off his hand, and if possible, break one remaining attachment point.
Then, again, he pulls with all his might, with his one free hand.
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11
Panic claws at the Vah Shir's thoughts he awkwardly shifts himself down the length of the pipe. The desire to stay and try to keep freeing others was being crushed along with air in his lungs. Sajeek was terrified, trying to focus himself long enough to free some more of the captives.
Sajeek tries to ignore the creaking of the ship as it's sinks further, sliding the mop handle into place. As he works to rupture another mooring point, his mind replays the first slave escaping. Out of the rip in the side of the ship. Sajeek didn't want to swim into the walls trapped like an insect by a window.
Once again, Sajeek attempts to free his fellow captives. Trying to do all of this with just his sense of touch was much more difficult then he could have imagine.
1d20 + 1 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 1 + 4 = 12
Will: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
Gwendalyn is used to swimming in the cold water of Halas Lake, but not like this. Sure, sometimes she'd pretend to get pulled under, just to prank her over-protective big brother; but never so far down. She fights the panic that threatens to overwhelm her, using meditation techniques taught in the Church of the Tribunal to shut out distractions and focus on doing what is necessary.
Feeling pain all over from the pressure of the water above her, but especially in her vulnerable eyes and ears and her air-filled chest, the healthy young barbarian nonetheless gives another ferocious tug on the pipe with her powerful legs. If tears form in her eyes from mourning those already dead and fearing for those still in peril, their salty drops are lost as nothing in the briny deep.
hp 5/9, mana 6/6, breath 22/24
You naked bodies cannot remain in this water for much longer before the cold will settle into your very bones, only the barbarian is immune to the caress of the frigidity.
Both Gwendalyn and Revery remain cool-headed despite how dire their situation is (successful will save x2). The others must be working to escape, lest the panic take hold deep within their breast.
The erudite is only able to pull with one hand (-5 to roll), which makes his contribution nearly nil. The pipe pushes out and back in on his tender hand, and though it does not further the damage, the feeling is not pleasant.
Sajeek blindly guides his efforts to help (aid another DC 10 provided to the next roll +2).
The Tribunal answers their favourite daughter's call and not only does the strongest person in the hold free herself and the enchanter, but she rips all but the last mooring free from the wall.
The group has freed the remaining survivors.
The stout dwarf guides everyone to the hole in the hull and pushes people out, then ensures that Maruusk has a firm grip on the magician, before swimming himself. There are many that require assistance to swim, and Sajeek is among their ranks.
Revery: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17
Sajeek:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Gwendalyn: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Fatigue sets in as your malnourished and cruelly-treated body works at maximum capacity to maintain your core temperature in the icy waters while sprinting to fill your oxygen-starved lungs with briny air.
Breaking the surface you draw in your first desperate gulp of air and observe horrors unimaginable. There is another ship and it has been set upon by the same creature that attacked yours, a creature that the high elf had seen a horrifying glimpse of, and the shaman knows the name of: Faydedar.
It is lucky that the storm has stolen much of the light, for the creature does not see you, not that there is anything you could do to defend yourself. It is all you can do to keep your head above water (DC 20 swim check required to move about).
A large chunk of half-submerged decking is close enough that you quickly gather everyone upon it. You cling to your decking and wait for the gods to either snuff your flame out, or permit it to flicker.
All of the other slaves have been lost to the storm and whether they are dead or alive there is nothing you can do about it.
Sajeek understands (ranks in wilderness lore) that unless they gather close and use body heat that they will all perish due to exposure to the elements.
Barely conscious, Quinaweniel let some unknown hands take a firm grip on her naked body and push her ....where to?
The only things she is aware of at the very moment are pain and cold and the burning desire she is having a nightmare, and that she'll eventually awake in her bed, in her house and with her family soon.
When she sees the enormous sea creature crashing the ship she tries to gather what breath she has left "We need to move away, and quickly, but i'm too weak.I'll need more assistance i'm afraid"
in the hope she can speak now of course
Channeling (Minor Healing) vs. DC 16?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Gwendalyn starts at a touch in the blindness of the ocean's depths, then calms at recognizing a gentle hand. It leads her to freedom, and so when she bumps into someone who had gotten confused and was going the wrong way, she passes on the favor and gets the stranger sorted out, going up instead of sideways. Then they reach the surface and she witnesses a nightmare that she's helpeless to prevent: another ship in the same dire straits as theirs. It's all she can do to get to a piece of the ship big enough to use as a raft, joining a small dark-skinned man, and help others aboard.
Though she never took a shine to the family business and didn't learn more about fishing than for fun, fishing for people is different, and Gwendalyn pulls three out of the storm-tossed water: a small pale woman with pointy ears, and two small cat-like men that look especially bedraggled (though more modest) with their sea-matted fur. Then she realizes: if a wall can be a ceiling and a ceiling can be a wall, then maybe it's all relative; maybe they're normal and she's big.
Then she looks at the monster again, and feels small. "Faydedar. A countryman on the deck called it Faydedar." Setting aside philosophical considerations and disasters that she can't do anything about, Gwendalyn is moved to compassion by the concussed elf girl, who looks like she hit her head very hard on something unyielding. "How did you even make it to the surface? No matter. I will see what I can do." Praying to the Tribunal with ritual words and gestures, magic begins to form around Gwendalyn's hands, only to dissipate when a particularly rough wave forces her to abort the spell and hold tightly to their bit of deck. "Blast!"
Your blind passage, from the heart of the sinking vessel, had been barred by the limp bodies of the dead slaves that had been chained opposite of you. A simple twist of fate, in the directional list of the boat, had drowned them and given precious extra seconds for you to escape. Swimming through a forest of hanging limbs and heavy torsos was wonderful for whetting one's appetite for revenge against slavers and those that fund them.
You are subject to the whims of the storm-roiled waters as it tosses the makeshift raft about. Winds, and icy winter ocean waves, darkness, and thick fog that skitters across the water with cruel intentions, all conspiring to reduce visibility to perhaps a hundred feet and in short order you can see no sign of the ship or monster. It is the stuff of nightmares, and the waiting is the worst.
Gwendalyn's healing spell (casting time: free action, no need for channeling checks) repairs the damage to Quinaweniel (Minor Healing: 1d10 ⇒ 10). The spell leaves the magician at full capacity, with no sign of her injury other than the blood caked to the wound.
Revery takes the most satisfying breath ever taken, and then wants nothing more than to place his head down on the small deckpiece he and the others are clinging to. But the scene of the great sea monster ripping apart the other ship has his rapt attention. Soon the waves separate the small but life-filled vessel from the large, doomed one, and the sound of the storm seems almost peaceful to him.
Revery notes with interest the people sharing the chunk of wood. They are quite a diverse group, and he wonders what is next in store for them. He quickly counts and categorizes what he can see of the survivors. He notices the Barbarian woman successfully casting a curing spell upon the much-weakened elf. His private assessment that she was worth saving seems to have been correct. But he realizes they are far from safe, indeed, they were far from... anything beneficial. He looks down at the hole in his hand, and suddenly the bruises and lacerations in his body begin to pulse in pain in perfect time with the beat of his heart.
He tries to think of something else. Perhaps the two downed ships will reveal more flotsam that will be useful to them in whatever their next step is to be.
Maruusk is startled that the elf fought to stay aboard, he could feel the ship dying around him as it plummeted to the bottom. It was all he could do to return and try to help. When the callused hand offered a thin arm to him, Maruusk decided it was time to bring this person up. There's always a chance that he could dive back in once he surfaced.
When he surfaced with the elf lady in his grip, as he discovers when he breaches into the storm, he scans for something to save them. He is about to point out some wreckage when he sees a large human pulling others from the hold to safety. He swims as best he can over to them and with the woman's help, the are safe for a time.
"M-m-maruusk is my n-n-name," he stammers loudly over the storm, the cold stealing his voice for a time. "You?"
Knowing at they were in dire straights, he still cannot wonder at the sweetness of the air he breathes...
Swim: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
Revery, finally a little bit composed, feels ready to speak.
"Well met Ma-marusk, I am called Revery. I must say that despite the horrors we have just witnessed, I am am so glad that some of us pulled together and helped all we could. Good teamwork, well done. We have a tough time ahead of us, though.
I may not look like much, but I might have a few tricks up my sleeve. If I had a sleeve..."
"I am Gwendalyn." The statuesque barbarian nods at Maruusk, then looks at Revery. They were all battered by Faydedar's impact against the hull, but with the elf healed, only the man with a hole in his hand looks a step away from death. "If you kill me a wolf, then I will make you a sleeve to keep your tricks in." A smile plays about her lips, as if she's teasing but could actually do that. "But first..." The light-haired shaman casts a swift spell on the dark-skinned trickster. Minor Healing: 1d10 ⇒ 8
"There." Gwendalyn looks with satisfaction at her handiwork. "You might actually live another day now. The rest of us will have to wait, since I need to keep the last third of my mana for an emergency." She sits down and begins to meditate, communing with Norrath, drawing its abundant magic into her small store. It takes her a bit over 17 minutes of inactive rest to recover 2 mana.
"Thanks everyone,i'm sorry i was nothing more than a hindrance."
To the va shir that tried to help her back in the hold "I was trying to tell to go first help the others pinned by the pipe,but you did well don't worry.And thank you too Gwendalyn,i'ld be dead for sure by now if it were not for your intervention."
Then to everyone "I'm Quinaweniel from Felwhite,artist,jeweler and would be diplomat.Also student of summoning and destructive magic, but for now only things i can create are water and bread,but i suspect they'll come in handy soon."
With the last words, the elf looks down at her belly,and bosom;she blushes or she would if not for the water temperature "Would also be nice to be able to summon some clothings"
An anguished voice screams for aid in the distance.
Flotsam can be seen, but the problem is the size and viciousness of the killing waves. Any that jump into the frigid water, ignoring the creatures that cruise the deep for a moment, will be alone in their struggles (swim DC 20) as the waters pull them further and further from the raft.
Paddling accomplishes nothing. The half-submerged raft, actually an upside down section of the deck with part of the railing acting as a makeshift rudder, weighs hundreds of pounds, and any ground you would make up is lost with the next wave. You will travel in the direction the storm chooses, which might be simply out to sea where you will die of hunger, thirst and exposure.
Food and water would be a miracle at this point. It has probably been days since filthy, mouldy bread was jammed into your mouths and rancid water was poured down your gullets. Casting the spell will be difficult (channeling check DC 15+spell level), but the spell can be cast over and over again until success is Quinaweniel's (no mana expended in the attempt to cast a spell that is fizzled due to distraction).
Gwendalyn's magics seal Revery's wounds, which is especially important since his punctured hand was dripping blood into the water and attracting sharks. She needs to meditate long enough to get back the energies used up after casting two spells (3/7 mana remaining).
Each movement is painful for all save hardy Gwendalyn (the barbarian need not make any rolls to stave off the effects of the cold) and cyanotic shivering is normative.
(please include a DC 15 fortitude save vs. 1D6 of subdual cold damage in your next post, those that sustain cold damage are considered fatigued: -2 to STR and DEX, cannot run/charge and will become exhausted if doing something that would normally cause fatigue)
1d6 ⇒ 1
The cold will slowly freeze everyone into oblivion unless land, shelter and clothing are found.
(DC is 15+1 per previous check fortitude check required every 10 minutes to avoid 1D6 of subdual damage, a successful wilderness lore check can apply bonuses to this check)