"Spawn of Humber, thee lady is ready to be born away on a boat on sunrise," says the Elf. "Now, if you will all just excuse me from the half-breed's presence, I can go attend to the fair Gwendolyn and see what she will pay for you to fight the goblins. If mercenary knights you are indeed."
Nazskab turns toward the strange elf, hand on hilt, brow bristling. If he brought about arms now it might not end in his favor. The elf's insolence could not be forgiven though.
"Yes, return to your lady... and let her know she'll need to hire a new servant as well if you bring my heritage up again."
Tristan nods at the healer's words.
"I see. It is well then." He shakes his head at the half-orc's behavior but has a grudging respect for the power behind it.
Well shall we be off?
Its still Christmas Eve night. wait until morning.
Mordechai listens to the exchange between the elf and the warriors. The one called the 'Gardener' interests him, but the Templar keeps him sitting where he is. Anyone who would rob and desecrate one of the holy places of his people was someone he did not want to draw the attention of.
I will gently tap Nazskab on the arm and whisper,
I think he was referring to me, not you.
Nazskab feels something break his focus and peers down at the half-elf touching his arm. Realizing he may have misunderstood set his ire at ease but only somewhat.
"PAH, it matters not who the weakling was referring to. He belittles those whom he seeks aid from in the name of blood purity but it's not the purity that brings strength."
He slaps the druid on the back only slightly but it sends him several feet forward, "Let us show him what strength our blood can bring to battle on the morn." And the half-orc turned to leave and retire for the night.
Amos thinks Nazskab as a good idea. He then heads off to bed.
To all a good night.
Sunrise reveals a cold morning. The field outside is covered with snow, but the docks are busy as ever with people transporting people to England on this holy day celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. Some people, celebrate it by going across the Channel to those in their native land.
So, it is, on an Elven ship you all have passage. Just as sturdy as any human, or orc, ship; but carved with beautiful lines and curves, it reminds you all of the gracefulness of a swan. Not the like the dragon ships of the Viking people, or the sturdy, simplicity of design of the Children of Humber.
"Well, gentleman, the lady fair will help you on your way to England." said the Elf before.
Tristan wakes early to attend morning mass, and make appropriate prayers for their journey.
. . .
He looks over the elven design ship with contempt. "It will do. Let us embark and once more fight off the heathens that threaten the Church."
Mordechai approaches the elf cautiously.
"Good sir. You are travelling to England, yes? Might I purchase passage upon your vessel?"
He keeps his eye on the Templar as he speaks, and stops talking if he approaches anywhere near him.
The elf responds, "Yes, you may," he says. "You can call me Lordenal. So, what brings a good man of Judah to England?"
Mordechai smiles and thanks the elf.
"I am returning home from studies abroad. Unlike some of these others, my time in the Holy Land was not spent in blood and fire, but rather in study and contemplation."
The morning sun rose to greet a warrior already preparing for battle. Cinching straps of leather Nazskab donned his armor. It was not the most sturdy but it allowed him to remain swift. He scraped a whetstone down the blade of his sword and gingerly over the faces of twin handaxes. The enarmes olf his shield would not budge before the shield itself became useless. He strung and unstrung his bow; stroked fletchings and measured the truth of his quiver. Goblins will die today.
The docks were crowded this morning with some familiar faces, some not. The elven ship was unmistakably dainty in the half-orc's eyes but it seemed no less seaworthy. Nazskab approached without hesitation.
"Stranger! Show me which of you ladies is in need of protection so my shield does not get confused in battle," he shouts at Lordenal, interrupting a dark haired man he did not recognize.
I do not like, the sea.
Tristan turns towards the newcomer. "The sea is the barrier between us and our destination, regardless of whether or not it is liked. Strengthen your resolve!"
Mordechai sees the half-orc comings, and quickly bows to the elf and steps aside.
Brian, after eating a hearty breakfast at the inn, clambers onto the ship, finds a comfortable and out of the way spot, and begins whittling with a small paring knife.
With his pack in one hand and a wooden cross in his other, Tristan quickly blesses the ship, prays for its safe deliverance, then boards. He finds a comfortable spot on the prow of the ship.
Amos sets down next to Brian Mac Lugh.
Careful there sir. These ships rock at sea. I once heard a story about a sailor that lost a hand whittling at sea.
"Well, people have been known to get sick. But, we gotta hurry or we will miss the tide," said the elf.
Mordechai boards the ship and finds a seat away from the templar.
"Fear not Amos, I have a steady hand and managed to whittle during the voyage to The Holy Land, so I should be fine whittling back."
"Let us be on our way, then, Elf." Tristan looks over, agitated.
He signals to the other sailors, and they started to release their moorings and brought the sails down. the ship began moving on it's rightful course towards England, gliding over the water.
It took a while, but soon the group's ship is on choppy seas. A squall has reared its ugly head, and the sailors do its best to navigate the ship.
Tristan stays out of the sailor's way as much as possible, though he will help if requested.
Nazskab realized his presence was making some of the sailors a little uneasy so he sequestered himself below decks in order to stifle his mouth. He was better off below than being thrown overboard.
I would not trust this ship to hold together against even such a tiny storm but it seems capable. We'll have to measure its speed on the open water when she's not being tossed around."
Lost in his thoughts, Nazskab looks around the dark cargo hold.
As the storm begins to blow in, Brian will put away his carving materials and find some rope to tie himself off to the ship with.
After loosing his lunch a few times, Amos follows Nazskab down below.
A wave crashes over Sir Tristan, drenching him. Brian should be grateful that he's tied, the same wave gave him a free bath. Nazskab sees the lamps sway a bit.
Mordechai sits scrunched up by the gunwales, wet and miserable, muttering under his breath a short prayer to Jonah.
Why would anyone go above, ever, ever. I'll stay below with my fear of the sea
Tristan struggles against the wave and then ties himself to the ship's railing. "Is that the best you can do?!"
A bigger wave comes crashing down on the ship and on Sir Tristan (and anyone else), pushing two elves over the side.
Everyone on deck, you get to make your first strength check. :) Oh yes, being tied to the ship gives you an advantage.
Sir Tristan, you are no longer tied to the ship and you go sliding to the other side. Next time, don't challenge the Elements.
A ship full of lunatics!
Brian is pushed over the side!
Mordechai stays on the ship's deck. It seems Yahweh is looking out for the jew.
As he slides across the prow of the ship, Sir Tristan struggles to grab onto something, anything to prevent him from sliding off.
Seeing the Templar sliding towards the rail, Mordechai reaches out and attempts to halt his progress.
Still Strength. Your tie to the ship gives you advantage.
Str. check:
So would this be an aid other roll?