MalaKi goes to the door and yells out to Skarsnikt, “Sand storm coming.” He then beckons for the kreen to join the group inside.
"However, I suggest we continue this discussion elsewhere.“Agreed, though maybe we should wait out the storm? Strange, the walls usually restrain this sort of thing.”
Taking another small sip of the tavern’s excellent malt, small sips being almost second nature given the miniscule size of the glasses and large expense of the brew, Illyen says, “I’ve been hearing a lot of news about a new faction in the city. Crazed foreigners with powerful weapons of metal that kill on a whim and attack the nobles at night. I bet if we could track them down there are enough of us to convince them to share the wealth!”
"hrrmmm....my ear itches for some reason;...."
MalaKi follows Faindriac to the bar. After Faindriac finishes speaking to the bar keeper MalaKi silently slides a ceramic coin across the counter.
“Yes, yes, of course…now I remember,” he says, wiping the coin away with a dishrag as if polishing the countertop.
“Your friend was most impatient. Kept pacing back and forth, I’d have given him the toss out if he weren’t such a drunk.”
“He was here almost all morning, muttering to himself and giving every single customer that walked in the stink-eye.”
“Left about an hour before you arrived, all in a big huff, saying he had to get to the arena and that if anyone showed up looking for him, to say he’d be back here tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, and he said something about his friends making good on his tab.” Bluff (1d20+4=23)
Back at the hotel, you have to shout to hear each other above the shrieking winds. Kha-Chik makes a rough landing as the driving winds slam her into the top of the Inn Between (minor bruising, no serious damage, mostly ruffled feathers). Below, stragglers and those with no shelter to flee to begin to tumble about, knocked end-over-end by the gale force winds.
MalaKi goes to the door and yells out to Skarsnikt, “Sand storm coming.” He then beckons for the kreen to join the group inside.
"Coming presently." Skarsnikt skitters inside the bar, happy to get out of the stinging windblown sand.
Someone below you is shouting, it is difficult to tell what is happening through the storm.
Spot DC 15:
Spot DC 20:
An elongated funnel of black sand snakes down from the sky just outside of town.
---
A young dwarven woman slams into the side of the bar, just to the left of the window frame. Her face flattens as the force of the wind crushes her into the bricks, and she begins to scream as the storm scours the flesh from her arms. Several patrons look away, but no one steps out to help her.
A cyclone of ebon dust and grit reaches earth at the edge of your vision, blasting a portion of the mighty Raaman walls to powder and heaving its way into city.
Back at the hotel, you have to shout to hear each other above the shrieking winds. Kha-Chik makes a rough landing as the driving winds slam her into the top of the Inn Between (minor bruising, no serious damage, mostly ruffled feathers). Below, stragglers and those with no shelter to flee to begin to tumble about, knocked end-over-end by the gale force winds.
"Hey, Aso. I betcha can't piss straight into the wind."
Radik silently plots the death of the halfling. This one he won't even eat.
Kirrish sizes up the twister, while still keeping an eye on our "fortunate" elven friend; he's thinking of an emergency plan should the cyclone move closer to the bar.
Knowledge (nature) 1d20+4=5; Survival 1d20+7=19
Good, the wind will clean the stink out of the room. Aso covers the turd garnished Lady Onyx with a rag so she can sulk in privacy. More to come.
MalaKi follows Faindriac to the bar. After Faindriac finishes speaking to the bar keeper MalaKi silently slides a ceramic coin across the counter.
When the barkeep tells them that the man siad he would return in the morning, Faindriac places another ceramic coin on the counter. "Thank you, neighbor."
"He also said his friends would settle his tab."
Fain's Sense Motive Roll: (1d20+1=18)
Faindriac raises an eyebrow at the Bar master, obviously skeptical, but unwilling to call him a liar. He looks to MalaKi with a raised eyebrow, obviously inquiring what he thinks of the claim.
Faindriac observes the building wind with obvious concern. "It is my understanding that the city walls usually keep such winds from entering and damaging the city proper. What makes this storm exempt from that protection?" He muses aloud. When the dwarf is thrown against the window, his frown deepens to a scowl, but like the others he is unwilling to commit what amounts to suicide in order to assist her.
As the wind increases, The tall mentalist turns to Malaki, Zuko, and the others. "We may be here awhile." He says dryly. He raises an eyebrow in lieu of shrugging his shoulders, and begins drinking his nearly untouched drink in earnest.
One of the advantages of a culture as sustained as the Thri-Kreen is the sheer quantity of accumulated lore passed down both as life lessons and racial memory. Though Kirrish has no direct experience with so violent a storm, he’s confidant he knows how to ride it out. He scans the room a moment, then scuttles over to a reinforced archway away from the window, never taking his eyes from the reunited elf.
When the barkeep tells them that the man siad he would return in the morning, Faindriac places another ceramic coin on the counter. "Thank you, neighbor."
“Always a pleasure to help out a paying customer,” the man intones, placing a dark, convex bottomed mug atop the newest ceramic before flashing you what is certainly meant to be a winning smile.
“Making good on his debt would certainly go a long ways towards keeping up your welcome. I’d hate to have to send you out after him in that (nodding towards the tempest on the other side of the window), after all.” “Only thing makes you a guest in this joint... is cash on the barrelhead!“
"It is my understanding that the city walls usually keep such winds from entering and damaging the city proper. What makes this storm exempt from that protection?"
“I’ve been here my entire life, and I’ve seen that wall keep out entire armies. Whatever that storm is, it ain’t natural. I could take cover behind this here bar, but I doubt I’d live any longer if it hits us.”
The twister roars down the street towards the bar, ripping loose great chunks of earth and pavement and pummeling everything in its path into fine silt. The deafening clamor of the storm finally blots out the fever pitched shrieks of the dwarven adolescent pressed into the facade of “Iz Z’tal,” the constant hammering of the saloon doors, and mercifully, that dwarf and his peculiar instrument. Watching the violent weather approaching ever nearer, you can just make out the girl now, as the biting sand flenses the flesh from her horror-struck face. She still lives, but you can’t imagine she’ll suffer much longer.
Meanwhile, the occupants of the Inn Between battle to keep the walls lashed down, each one holding a bone support and throwing themselves down upon the floor in an effort to avoid being blown away from shelter and into the tempest. Below you, you can just make out the faint bleating of human suffering. You can scarcely imagine what this storm would do to the exposed surfaces of those unlucky fools caught in the open.
Good, the wind will clean the stink out of the room. Aso covers the turd garnished Lady Onyx with a rag so she can sulk in privacy. More to come.
The weather is getting harsh. Are all the weapons here in the dormitory? I think we should bail out of this place.
"H...H...H...Holdrus, this p...p...place is g...g...goin' down."
Before he picks it up, Aso is going to wipe the shit off the dagger with the rag he got tearing a hole in the wall to clear the smoke out when he cooked the other halfling. He'll shove it into his backpack. Then he's gonna go get his deposit back.
Are all the weapons here in the dormitory?
Then he's gonna go get his deposit back.
Even an idiot like Aso knows that leather walls don't stand a chance in an Athasian sandstorm.
He starts tossing the rest into his bag, too.
Kirrish quietly states in Thri-kreen to Faindriac and Skarsnikt:
Thri-kreen
Keeping his eyes on the windows as if he is also transfixed by the storm, Kirrish slowly and nonchalantly walks to the archway.
Gathering up the maul, and a few other weapons, Holdrus looks at Aso "we would do well to get below ground. This storm doesn't seem like anything less will hold off it's wrath. Climb little friend. We need haste."
I'll grab my shortsword talkee thing and head down to the lobby.
"Hey, living dead girl!!! Fachs-ache, wearin lies a basermint, you tairt?"
Kirrish quietly states in Thri-kreen to Faindriac and Skarsnikt:
Thri-kreen
** spoiler omitted **Keeping his eyes on the windows as if he is also transfixed by the storm, Kirrish slowly and nonchalantly walks to the archway.
Faindriac nods slightly at the 'kreen, and turns back to the barkeep. "Well, we certainly wouldn't want any misunderstandings to mar our newfound friendship." Faindriac replys dryly, keeping a critical eye on the gruesome sight in the window. For a moment he looks as though he was considering,... then the moment is past, and he returns his serious countenance to the barkeep.
"The weather out there isn't fit for man or slave." The tall human says blandly as he takes another deliberate swig of his drink. "How much did you say my friend's tab was, again?" Faindriac asks in a voice that indicates he is willing to go along with the man, but also that he shouldn't get greedy.
Faindriac slides the coins across the table with what is also meant to be a winning smile, but looks more like he has gas. He turns to the others.
"That 'Kreen said something as it walked past." He says aloud to the others as he indicates Kirrish under the archway. "He was either offering employment, or inquiring about human mating rituals. EIther way, this should be an interesting conversation. Care to join me?"
Faindriac makes eye contact with the ones that he is either sure don't speak Thri-Kreen, or suspects that they don't, then moves towards the arch with a slow but deliberate stride.
The small group gathers the weapons in haste and proceeds down the ladder to the ground floor, abandoning the effort to hold down the tarp covered walls as a loss.
The zombie innkeeper, uncaring in the face of the storm, eyes your party and says, “Non-refundable.”
The stone buildings on either side might provide some manner of protection, if you can convince the occupants to open their doors to you in the midst of the storm.
"Hey, living dead girl!!! Fachs-ache, wearin lies a basermint, you tairt?"
“You’re in it. Fall down a well if you want to get lower.”
She just gave me idea, that well we dumped the elf into. We could hop in there to get below ground level. It's not ideal but we could hold out there if we had to.
Anyone else have any ideas?
The party steps out into the maw of a sandblaster. Hearing is impossible, you are unable to see farther than five feet ahead, and even breathing proves easier said than done. The rough, wind whipped dust begins to scrape raw any uncovered skin as you struggle to remain upright.
init r11+8=19
how far is that fakey-mentioned well?
Spot: (1d20+3=13)
As you walk towards the safer end of the tavern to join your companions, you glimpse the remains of the dwarf woman one final time, polished white bone standing in stark contrast to the murk of the storm.
The bartender isn’t a wellspring of intellect, but he has a certain low cunning and knows when not to press his luck. He collects a quartet of ceramics from Faindrac, grinning from ear to ear. “Good, good! A paying customer is a welcome customer, I always say.” Sliding an unfired clay bowl over to you he adds, “Please, help yourself to some of these free salt-rinsed kernels.”
Picking their way carefully to the perceived safety of Kirrish’s location without drawing undue suspicion, the group braces themselves against the foundation of the building.
Keeping his eyes on the windows as if he is also transfixed by the storm, Kirrish slowly and nonchalantly walks to the archway.
The keeper’s eyes widen in terror, and he dives below the bar as the focal point of the storm rages past, extinguishing the lamps and blotting out all light within the tavern. Before the overwhelming dissonance drowns out any other sound, you can only just make out a sharp ripping echo followed by screams and broken glassware. With your darkvision, you see the doors of the saloon torn away, followed a moment later by the window skin. As the window explodes outward, the pressure builds inside your head, and you have to concentrate hard to focus and remain conscious. Blown from their seats, several tavern patrons fly, silently screaming, into the hellish maw of the twister, though you feel barely any breeze at all where you stand, powerless. The sightless dwarf continues to play his abnormal apparatus, laughing with lunacy as the cyclone propels him, his instrument, and his fettered Halfling retainer out the broken window and high into the heavens.
An eternity of seconds passes, and the storm moves on, leaving only light and supernatural silence in its wake. From somewhere in the distance, several rapid popping noises shatter the calm, then abate, then return moments later.
Brushing wooden slivers, pottery bits, and broken glass from your person, you note maybe a dozen remaining weary patrons clinging to the bolted down tables, some shaking with terror, others sobbing in relief.
init r11+8=19 how far is that fakey-mentioned well?
"That storm highly bad. Highly strange, perhaps Aso-angered ghosts bring it?"
survulval r9 (untrained)
"sputter...cough....pffft.....whar izzer well!"
nope...
Radik grins horribly, the sand making small pinging noises against his gray skin and iron teeth.
wil r4+3=7.
Not Schenker. He's useless.
Initiative 13+4 dex= 17
Kirrish steps steadily out of cover, watching the new landscape of groaning softshells.
"Declaration: Wise thin-shells don't ignore the '..ug'."
"Where is evbody?.....ch! gchllgkk! gnng....."
"hrrmm......"
Aso grabs Shenker and tugs on him.
He's got the elf shirt (that he wore as a loin cloth and never washed) wrapped around his head.
"Is that you, Beatrixe?"
"It's m...m...m...m...m...me!"
Initiative 13+4 dex= 17
Kirrish steps steadily out of cover, watching the new landscape of groaning softshells.
"Declaration: Wise thin-shells don't ignore the '..ug'."
Faindriac's Initiative: (1d20 2=22)
Faindriac surveys the devastation, unusually wide-eyed, breathing quickly, and looking a little like an adrenaline junkie. He turns and gives Kirrish a swift bob of his head in place of his usual measured nod.
"Kirrish, you have proven to be a font of wisdom more than once. I would foolishly choose to ignore you at my own peril. And you may remind me that I said that anytime you so choose." He says as he looks around as if expecting another tornado to drop in on them at anytime.
His Psicrystal flashes from his tightly clutching hand.
"No Cair. Though why you bother to ask permission now when you usually volunteer whether requested or not is beyond my current mental state to comprehend." The tall, thin mentalist replies, apparently oblivious to the fact that he just answered his crystal aloud.
Though why you bother to ask permission now when you usually volunteer whether requested or not is beyond my current mental state to comprehend."
MalaKi shakes off the debris left by the twister. He tries to deduce what caused the popping noise that followed the storm. He also smiles and gives a brief nod and smile at Kirrish-Kreshk-Skiklik as a way of thanking him.
Though why you bother to ask permission now when you usually volunteer whether requested or not is beyond my current mental state to comprehend."
I use my wings to sheild my head which should be better than human hands.; my powerful claws to grip into the wooden floor; I emit high pichted caws for party member to home in upon. With my elf sight; perhaps I can see a smidgeon better than everyone else; lol; like a foot hehe.
Seems natural for me to lead in this natures based situation.
Use my Knowledge nature for syngergy bonus and help on best way to move in the storm;; have use rope; will try to bring sheets or whatever I find as we leave the upper level to bind us together before we leave the rickety building.
use rope; 12+8 = 20
having flown over the city and this building several times; I have perhaps have the best idea of spacial relationships; have knowledge geography +3 maybe a bonus to survival roll; survivial roll is 13+8=21
concentration roll; 8+4; hmm; 12; not sure if that is good enough for a spell.
will save; 14+3=17
Quote
"The sightless dwarf continues to play his abnormal apparatus, laughing with lunacy as the cyclone propels him, his instrument, and his fettered Halfling retainer out the broken window and high into the heavens."
hehe love this image hehe
wil r4+3=7.
Not Schenker. He's useless.
Radik is too arrogant to get out of the way.
wil r4+3=7.
Not Schenker. He's useless.
Radik is too arrogant to get out of the way.
ridslmao!(rolling in dust storm, lmao!)