Iagon spends the majority of his time being a general nuisance and asking everyone available if there's anything he could help with. He's a bit young and inexperienced, but has always been a hard worker and able to pull more than his weight. Having been largely turned down and sent away by those who know their own jobs quite well "thank you very much...", he sits next to his new companions.
Well, with what we've seen from the goblins and hobgoblins that we encountered, I fear we won't be lacking for things to do. I'd only hope that we're significant enough to keep our charges safe. As for surviving on a frontier, well that I do have experience with. We'll have no problems finding crops and game, and these new settlers are no doubt a hardy folk.
"Is it too much to ask for a fancy party to celebrate our arrival?" Liamae asks with an impish grin. "A girl can dream, can't she?"
The elf had stood out in the rain, enjoying the cooling water falling on her body. Now, her scant clothes cling to her lithe form in...interesting ways.
Although the two young polemen are equally distracted by Liamae’s figure standing in the rain and Iagon’s insistence on ‘helping’, early into the night you finally make it to the Isle of Arenway. A number of shouts can be heard from the clipper ship escort as sailors prepare for port. Up ahead, through the darkness and the rain, you can make out the light of torches and beacons lit upon the ramparts of the naval base. The boat driver expertly guides his craft around the clipper ship and finds a space at one of the smaller piers to dock.
As deckhands help secure the keelboat an officer jumps aboard and checks Hans’ papers against the cargo. When everything checks out, Hans let’s you know, “Alright, if y’all follow me, let’s check in wit the headmaster and find us a place ta bunk fer the night.”
You follow Hans to the main gates of the naval base, where he shows the guards some papers, has some words, and points to all of you, before the guard waves you in. Within the walls of the garrison, you find sailors of varying ranks milling about, trying to stay dry and avoid the mud. Several watch you for a moment before going about their business, a few whistles are aimed at Liamae from the darkness. Several barracks and mess halls are lined up past the garrison campus, and at the far end, a large three storied building, the only stone structure, rises above the rest. Hans leads you there, where he, again, shows a guard some papers and has a few words before being granted access inside.
Finally out of the rain, another guard escorts you to the headmaster’s office and announces your arrival. Hans leads the way in, and behind a large desk sits a well decorated bearded noble. He laughs as he steps around the desk and grasps Hans by the forearm, “Aye, Hans Marosa, ye ol’ bastard, how are ye?” He then glances at each of you, “I take it these are the Marquis’ new men, eh?”
“Aye,” answers Hans before making your introductions, “Men, and lady, lemme introduce ye to Rear Admiral Trudos of the Imperial Navy.”
Iagon casts more than one anxious glance at the base, both for his hope for the future and for the hope that he can drift under the notice of the druids there. He makes an attempt to look professional as he follows Hans, but has to cast several angry glances at the men who inevitably ogle their lone female companions.
He clears his throat at the introduction - a bad habit in these professional circles, he knew. Sir...Admiral Trudos, a pleasure to meet you sir. He half bows, then puts out his hand for shaking...as he seems unable to figure out the proper greeting for one of his station.
Wiping the rainwater from his brow, Kytes remains aloof with the naval officer, regarding him with a slight nod when introduced by Hans. Again, he defers to those with credentials and authority, not quite trusting them until they prove otherwise.
Liamae giggles at the leers and whistles directed her way. She curtsies elementary when introduced to the Admiral. "Pleased to meet you!"
Trudos lifts a brow at the group, then chuckles. He steps up to Iagon and gives him a friendly slap on the back. “Relax lad, yer not one of my men, though I appreciate all the help I can get in this gods forsaken forest. The Marquis a good man, a good man I say.” He sways a bit, his speech is slightly slurred, and Iagon can smell a tinge of whiskey on the Rear Admiral’s breath as he stands near. “Good ta have a noble take interest in tha backwaters. Hope he can sway tha rest of Oppara ta remember all us out on tha frontier.” Trudos laughs, but there’s a slight hint of resentment in his tone.
As the Admiral lets out a sigh, there’s a knock on his door and Captain Rodrigue is ushered in. Rodrigue hands over some scrolls of parchment, “Reports from Cassomir, Sir,” then stands by, rigidly at attention.
“At ease, Captain,” Trudos leans against his desk as he lazily reads over the reports. Occasionally, he glances up and around at each of you, his brow raised. “Looks like ya lads ‘ave already made a name fer yerselves, and with Vice Admiral Montagne, nonetheless. And wot’s all this about hobgoblins?” Trudos looks around the room, expecting further information.
Kytes clears his throat, and while he hesitates for a moment, he plows ahead anyway. "It's true, Admiral. We had an unfortunate run-in with some goblins on the trip up river. It seems they were led by a hobgoblin who spouted on about Crimson Bow and something called Sog the Conqueror. We captured a goblin prisoner, but he was of little use. He was given to the Captain as we followed them the remainder of the journey." He watches the Admiral closely for any reaction to those names. "None of that sounds good to me, sir. If the goblins already are attacking riverboats, it can only get worse from their, if they are directed by hobgoblins."
Attai nods.
"They took livestock, provisions, tools and...prisoners. I'm sure the first three are new to their dalliancies, the last is not. The prisoners...met their...fate on the dusty road, and were in fact deadweight distractions for an ambush with us as the fools to spring it. Unfortunately for the goblins it takes more than two archers to best us, and their fellows in a small cabin fared no better despite being urged on by the aforementioned hobgoblin..." Attai trails off, perhaps mindful that the specifics of their mission weren't exactly asked for...
Iagon, glad that Kytes took the lead, chimes in after. Yes sir, we helped the Vice Admiral with some local cutpurses and thugs - it was quite the send off for us before our trip.
He doesn't mention that they had helped not knowing exactly that they were helping, and were it not for the Vice Admiral's men and the employees of the establishment, they may well be dead.
“The prisoner is being questioned as we speak, Sir,” Captain Rodrigue chimes in about Umrok.
Rear Admiral Trudos’ countenance grows dark the more he hears about the goblin raiders, but with Iagon tacking on the bit about the capture of Tattlin’ Thom, he smirks. “Aye, Montagne ‘has been chasin’ down a smugglin’ operation in Cassomir fer some time now. Our spies in Absalom report Garundi firearms bein’ loaded onto tradin’ vessels headed north. The nobles ‘ave responded with heavy tariffs on Garundi goods, but our officers can’t find tha contraband. But, looks like Montagne caught a break, thanks ta ye.”
His smile fades as he turns and moves back around his desk, pulling out a large map and laying it across his desk. The map is a fine one, of strategic quality, and details the entire Empire of Taldor.
“Let me lay out tha situation fer ya lads. Wars a’comin’.” He gestures with his hand across the southeastern border with Qadira, “The nobles of Oppara ‘ave their heads up their own asses. Their loaded with b~~!~&*&e notions of glory an’ destiny an’ all that nonsense. All, and I mean ALL our armies ‘ave been stationed along tha border with Qadira. Even the bulk of our navy is runnin’ blockades b’tween Qadira an’ Absalom. Tha’ leaves the River Guard and you-know-who ta protect tha rest o’ tha Empire. Our entire flank ‘s exposed ‘cause of their single-mindedness.”
The Rear Admiral spits on the floor, Hans leans over the map, and Rodrigue still stands rigidly at attention. Trudos continues, “About a year ago, we got reports of hobgoblins movin’ down from the World’s Edge Mountains,” he gestures now to the mountains which define Taldor’s eastern border. “Huge war bands. They made a right mess of Faldamont. Called themselves The Crimson Bow. But then tha reports stopped, until today. Ye probably encountered a forward raiding party, stealin’ supplies fer tha main force. If they’ve moved this far west, I only hope they keep movin’ ‘cause I don’t ‘ave tha forces ta take ‘em on.”
Trudos looks up from the map and into each of your eyes, “Tha Marquis’ a smart man, a good man I say. He knows tha situation. Wars a’comin’ with Qadira, and the Verduran is gonna be all but forgotten about. He’s hired you on as his security force, eh? Yer gonna be a right busy lot.”
"Then it sounds like I came to the right place!" says Kytes with emphasis. "Righting wrongs and helping the defenseless will be out stock and trade if your prediction is right, Admiral. Iomedae give me strength to hold the line and all will be well!"
Kytes doesn't understand the geo-politics of the situation. He's just a farm boy from a backwater after all, but when it sounds like he and his allies will be the main barrier to keep the riverlands safe, he is certainly up for that challenge, hobgoblins or not.
Attai looks at the map, but like Kytes, the larger forces at work either don't interest him or go way over his head.
Qadira? I thought that was far away to the south...
Attai yearns to draw a card from the Harrow right here and now, but stays composed, unsure how to answer the intensity of a caught eye and impassioned statement...
Admiral Trudos grins at Kytes, “Atta boy! We’ll need all tha Gods’ help ta see this through. The Marquis sure knows how ta pick ‘em.”
The Admiral winks at Hans, who chuckles in return, “Aye, ye shoulda seen this lot take out them goblins.”
“Captain, show Hans and his men to tha guest lodge, make sure they have what they need ta feel comfortable.”
“Aye Sir!” Rodrigue, still at attention, salutes and leads you out of the Admiral’s office, out of the command building and back into the rain. You make your way across the campus again and towards a small cabin just behind the rest of the barracks. It’s dark inside but the Captain lights a lantern for you. The place is spartan, a few bunks, a fireplace, and that’s about it.
“There’s a chaplain at the back of the stockade, Brother Ayred, a cleric of Erastil, if you need,” Rodrigue informs you before shutting the door and leaving you be for the night.
Iagon picks a bunk at random and sets his pack down by it before setting to gathering up wood for a fire. It was part of his nature to always have a fire nearby - something he brought up from his youth living in an old drafty wooden cabin.
As he sets to the task, he makes chat, hoping to disguise his worries with idle conversation. So...bands of hobgoblins...could be worse I guess. But, those are substantially worse than goblins from what we saw today. Does anyone else feel like they maybe should have sent a slightly...I dunno, larger force?
Attai stows his gear and nods in agreement. There doesn't seem to be much more constructive to say, and besides, he's been holding his side too long now.
"Still feeling...somewhat...slashed. So, I'll find this Brother Ayred...see if he can heal me" the sylph says through slightly gritted teeth. He heads out to the back of the stockade, as directed. He takes note of the mien of the settlement.
Sailors and marines hang out in the barracks doorways watching the rain and eyeing you curiously, but no one approaches. You see a few soldiers milling about what appears to be a gallows, but no one else is out and about.
You locate the chaplain's lodge next to the mess hall. There's a pair of elk's antlers mounted above the doorway, a sign of Erastil's favor. As you knock there's a loud squawk sounding from inside. But soon enough the door opens and a tall, lanky elf stands before you, straight platinum hair falls to his shoulders and he's dressed in very fine green silken robes. He observes you for a moment while puffing on a long pipe.
"I see you are injured," he finally states before stepping aside to let you in. "Erastil's blessing can see to that. Come inside and I shall tend to your wounds."
Attai considers the elf a moment while standing in the rain, then smiles warmly and steps inside as he was bid.
"Many thanks Chaplain. They said you were named Brother Ayred. I am Attai Kah, in the service of the Marquis. A follower of the Harrow's teachings. I have little in the way of coin to give, but if it not offend Erastil I might consult the deck for you?"
Attai starts the lengthy process of removing his parade armor to allow Ayred to examine his wound. He continues conversationally.
"I am aware Erastil's benison can cure without need for consultation, but the goblins we bested were a filthy lot and I would be assured I am not infected with some pustular crepusculence..."
Kytes shares his meal with Hans. He decides to take advantage of the man's presence to ask some questions. "Hans, what can you tell us of the Marquis himself? Why would he be concerned about protecting the riverlands, if there is a war on with Qadira?"
“There, there, Clever Girl,” Brother Ayred coos to it and it shakes its head, ruffles it’s feathers, and settles back down in its nest of hay and twigs.
“Now let’s see to this wound...”
Ayred puffs on his pipe as he takes a look, “Looks to be a clean cut... sharp blade... no jagged edges... no signs of infection, that’s good.” He spokes slowly, in the drawn out, detached, bored fashion that elves are known to have. He lays a hand over the wound and begins whispering an invocation of Erastil’s blessing. His eyes flash with a divine light that travels down his arm and hand and washes over the gash. An instant later and all that’s left is a fresh, white, straight scar across Attai’s abdomen.
When it’s over, Ayred leans back and puffs contemplatively on his pipe, “We do not normally hear of goblins this far north, but strange winds have been blowing from all directions. Revolt and chaos continue to trickle down from Galt, the fey continue to battle the Lumber Consortium of Andoran, and the druids whisper of a dark blight growing east of the Verdant Slopes.”
The cleric continues to puff contemplatively, then raises a brow, “Do not worry about compensation. I see many a traveler in need of healing, and the military pays me well enough. But, there is much to be gleaned of the strange winds of fate, and I would be interested very much in what the Harrow has to say. If’n you would consider it a fair trade, I am happy to strike a deal.”
Hans snorts and laughs at Kytes’ question, “Ha, ‘bout time one o’ ye lads showed some interest. Markus Lambert and I go way back. I used ta be a foreman for ‘is family’s tradin’ company, y’know. Aye, the Lambert’s were of noble stock back in the day, escaped the bloody revolution in Galt an’ landed in Cassomir. ‘is pappy ‘ad ta rebuild the family fortune from scratch. But young Markus went off ta bard school in Oppara, married a senator’s daughter, and returned with a title and rights ta a plot o’ land in the Verduran. Our Lord is a master o’ wheelin’ an’ dealin’. He’s struck a deal wit te Navy an’ te Wildwood Lodge ta sell lumber rights ta te Andorans. So, why’s he doin’ it? Fer te profit, o’ course. Ta reclaim ‘is family honor, I s’pose. But, if ye ask me, and ya did, when s#!& goes down, te Marquis Markus Lambert is gonna come out on top.”
Attai near jumps at the waaarking of the axe-beaked avian, but his smile returns.
He listens with interest to Brother Ayred's news/rumors regarding the prevalence of goblins, and is careful not yo move under the elf's caredul ministrations. The sylph sighs as the healing power washes over him.
"Many thanks, Brother." he says as he dons his shirt anew. Attai thumbs open his leather deck-case and calls on the Harrow.
"Hmm. The Rabbit Prince. He hops into our lives in and around war and battle - he represents the vagaries of combat. We may not all survive such engagements, and luckily you - and Erastil - are here to aid. Then again, he can be a sign of royal youths - if that has an especial meaning for you? I am sorry - the deck is an imperfect tool, or rather divining its greater meanings can sometimes elude me. In time perhaps I shall be as adroit with vaticination as you are with the healing arts..." Attai finishes lamely...
Liamae is quiet as she listens to Kytes's conversation with Hans. For now, she's content to observe.
Iagon nods slowly. A good return on investment I guess, should we prove successful. So, the Marquis would gain a profitable new avenue for trade and a fair investment into a new and upcoming settlement. Not of ton of risk either. He looks around at his companions with a macabre grin. Just our lives, is all...
Kytes nods along listening to Hans. The Marquis struck him, from the description, as a practical man. One who valued profit and trade. That was good, but not really what Kytes wanted in a leader. He wished for a liege that would follow a more noble path, ready to defend the rights of the downtrodden and do good for Good's sake, rather than for coin. He sighed, a bit disappointed but nonetheless ready to take advantage of those same traits in himself, when the opportunity arose.
"A small price to pay for keeping the ravaging hobgoblins at bay," Kytes says to Iagon. "Or worse."
Iagon turns back to the fire, then grunts in agreement. Anyone have an idea of what would bring the hobgoblins down from the World's Edge? I mean...I'm sure they want to plunder, expand, and such, but is there something else driving them?
He shrugs, doubting that anyone else had more insight than he did. Guess we'll find out.
After a moment of silent contemplation, he adds, "The hunt is oft fickle, as you say. Our quarry alludes us and most ventures return empty handed. On other days, when Erastil's favor is at hand, we return with bounty. Yet, Erastil blesses both the huntsman and the stag. It all equals out in the end, nature strives for balance, as the druids say."
He stops for a few more ruminative puffs of the pipe before continuing, "Perchance the reference is to your Marquis. As I've heard it, he's come into his nobility just recently, a young buck, so to say. Do not disparage your abilities, good sir. It is not for us mortals to directly understand the will of the Gods. Our understanding will come with time, experience, and clear hindsight."
As you discuss and contemplate your new position and the days ahead, Hans, who has been warming his feet by the fire, falls asleep on a bearskin on the floor and begins snoring loudly. Roger, who has been weirdly quiet since your successful handling of the goblins, finds a quiet bunk in the far corner and also falls asleep. The night draws on, the steady fall of rain on the shingled roof the only noise audible in this corner of camp. For now, you are safe, the uncertain future and all it's inherent dangers lie on the far side of the night.
Kytes quickly follow suit, grabbing some shut eye while he's in the relative safety of the naval base.
Iagon drifts off in front of the fire, unfortunately giving little thought to a shift at watch or any precautions whatsoever.
"Whatever the hobgoblins are up to, we'll be sure that it doesn't interfere with our task here," Liamae attests.
She joins the others in sleep, eager to see what the next day will bring.
"You may be right Brother Ayred. In any case, may we both survive the coming conflagration - if it be Erastil's will.
Attia thanks Brother Ayred for his treatment, and nodding sagely to the waarking bird steps out into the rain.
Attai returns to the cabin, bringing the sound of rain as he enters. The sylph appears healed and restored. He finds his bunk, removes his armor as softly as he can, and beds down for the night.
Brother Ayred bids Attai a good night and a safe journey in the morning. As Attai makes his way through the rain back to the guest lodge, the base has quieted down for the night save for a group of officers milling about the gallows under torchlight.
The rain continues through the night and begins to drizzle out at dawn. Hans groans loudly as he wakes, "Oy, me back!" He rolls around on the floor for a bit before stiffly getting to his feet. He makes sure that you are all awake before ushering everyone back to the boat.
"Oy, wot's all this then?" Hans discovers that Roger is missing from his bunk. In lieu of the halfling, he finds a quickly scribbled letter and the clavicle bone brooch from Cassomir. Hans reads over the letter and exclaims, "That lil' rapscallion ran off in tha night!" he hands the letter and brooch to Liamae as he grumbles his way out the door.
The letter reads:
Dearest Friends,
I'm terribly sorry to leave you, but I've decided to find my fortunes elsewhere, perhaps Andoran, I don't know. I guess I didn't know what I was signing up for! Out of the fryin pan, into the fire, as the saying goes. Best of luck to you. Perhaps we'll see each other again somewhere down the road.
Best Regards,
Roger
You find the morning once again misty as a bank of fog has rolled off the river. You start to gather that this may be a common occurrence on the Sellen. As you slosh your way through the mud, you encounter hungover sailors making their way to the mess hall. The tantalizing smell of freshly baked biscuits and pan fried bacon has your tummies rumbling but Hans pushes you forward. Through the veils of morning mist, out of the corners of your eyes, a slight movement catches your attention. Hanging from a noose on the gallows is the small figure of Umrok, swaying in the breeze.
The boat driver and polemen greet you gruffly as you once again board the keelboat. Maneuvering out of port and around the large Isle of Arenway, you catch your first glimpse of the Verduran Fork which flows into the Sellen at this juncture. Slow flowing, the waters of the Verduran Fork look to be clogged with green algae and floating lillies. The darkwood oak trees seem to loom larger over the green waters, dripping heavily with moss. The boat driver shudders as you move past the confluence, muttering something about the Curse of the Rusalka.
You have a full days journey before you reach the trading post. Hans encourages you to just relax, but the boatdriver asks that you stay alert, his eyes continuously darting along the shorelines.
Kytes acknowledges the disappearance of Roger with consternation. "Starting a man down doesn't seem very fortuitous. I may not have always agreed with the little fellow's methods, but he will be missed all the same."
Ready to get on with it, he bypasses the appetizing smells, but stops short when he spies the dangling corpse of Umrok the Goblin. "By the Holy Blade!" he cries. "Probably what the little cur warranted, but i was prepared to let him go. Justice comes swiftly here, it seems. Take it as a warning, should we fall to the other side. The Inheritor stand with us! That shall not happen!"
He is a bit more spirited as they board the keelboat once again, but the fog and the nearly stagnant river begins to depress the mood once again. Kytes catches the pilot say something about Curses and wonders what that is about.
Kytes volunteers to take the first watch so the others can get rest and relaxation.
.
It was just three days ago that a few of you heard a sad song about said curse.
Iagon can only shake his head and grit his teeth at the loss of another capable part of their team. He can only agree with Kytes, and sigh as they move on.
Hearing the discussion of the Curse, Iagon stays close to the boat driver, attempting to keep his spirits up and to keep the man on task.
Attai is philosophical about the loss of Roger.
"Better that he leave now than when we are in the midst of the forest or near the enemy..."
He draws a card to see Roger's fate:
Attai looks over the card, humming a tuneless ditty to himself...
It seems the panic was Roger's - and he has freed us from the disaster of his change of heart - I hope he can avoid his own destruction...
On the way past the hanging goblin Attai frowns, and nods when Kytes speaks.
"Aye, perhaps if we weren't so wuick to dispatch them, they might not be so quick to kill us. Then again, they are goblins..."
Attai boards ship and makes himself comfortable, and alert.
Liamae makes a face when she realizes Roger's run off. "Not again! Perhaps the marquis should have done more thorough background checks on his new hires! Ah well, nothing for it, I suppose."
She grimaces again at the sight of Umrok's corpse, but refrains from commenting. The elf is mostly silent throughout the day's journey, watching the scenery pass by.
Much like the day before, the morning is thick with fog, and the lack of visibility adds to the tension of the meager keelboat crew. But, as the sun rises, the fog begins to dissipate, revealing the grandeur of the Verduran. This deep in the forest, the Darkwood oaks are towering, their heavy boughs twisting through the air forming a dense canopy. With the last remnants of fog, you swear you see strange lights flicking through the undergrowth, but you also recall the boatdriver’s warnings from the day before and you try not to let your eyes linger too long.
When the sun has reached it’s zenith and the overcast sky has burned off to once again reveal blue, Hans exclaims, “Who’s ready fer some lunch!? I tink we got some o’ dat jerky you confiscated from dem goblins, eh?”
He steps into the hold of the boat and begins rummaging through the cargo. “Oy! We got us a saboteur!” he shouts from the hold, then steps out holding a sack of grain that’s been ripped open.
Just as he’s about to spout out more profanities, a wicked jackal-like laugh sounds from within the hold, and before your very eyes, a thin sheet of water seems to condense out of the very air around Hans. His eyes bulge as he suddenly holds his breath, drops the bag of grain and tries to scrape the water from his face. The maniacal laughter continues to sound from within the cargo hold.
Hans continues to claw at the congealed water around his head, trying to break free.
“Gremlins!” calls out the boat driver, having seen this sort of thing before.
Kytes only knows the wives' tales of gremlins, and the tricks the little buggers play. Having them on board the boat cannot be a good thing, and by the looks of the trouble Hans is in, might be very bad indeed.
"Where are they?" says Kytes moving to the door of the hold quickly and looking inside before acting. He has no weapons drawn at present.
The door slides open and Kytes pokes his head in to assess the situation. Inside the hold he sees two strange tiny creatures, about a foot and a half tall each. They look like feral dogs walking upright, save for the oversized lobster-like claws for hands, and crustacean-like carapaces on their hunched backs. Their bodies are draped in aquatic plants, seashells, and rusted coins.Their maniacal giggling stops as Kytes opens the door and they begin yipping and yapping at each other.
Attai's musings are cut short when Hans appears, yelling. As the sylph watches, Hans appears to be in great danger - Attai leaps to the attack, not knowing how to assist Hans except by ending the threat. Calling on the Harrow to protect him, Attai rushes in past the struggling Hans and swipes at the northern gremlin with his morningstar.
Round 1
Swift Action Judgment: Protection.
Move Action: Move to just inside the doorway.
Standard Action: Attack northern gremlin
[+2 Str]
[+3 THF]
Hans, hang on!. Hearing the man's struggling from the gremlins' attack, Iagon rushes over to his side. He steps in front of the man and into the room, his powers already causing wooden splinters to rise into the air. With a shout, he hurls the slivers at one of the gremlins' like a spear.
He calls back over his shoulder. Liamae, can you help Hans?
"I'm on it!" Liamae rushes to Hans's side, trying to help him disrupt the water globe encasing his head.
As everyone springs into action, the crewmembers driving the boat curse and swear in very sailor-like fashion.
Attai is the swiftest to react, but not swift enough to catch the nimble menace of a creature.
Kytes sweeps around the other side of the boat and blocks any escape, while Liamae helps Hans try not to drown.
Iagon finds plenty of material to use on the wooden boat and blasts one of the gremlins with a barrage of splinters. For a brief moment, the blast seems to have no effect, but then breaks through whatever resistance the strange small creature has, tearing through its wet fur and shell covered physique.
The gremlin sways, seemingly staggered from the hit. It's eyes glow a soft blue light as it incants in its strange language. The three of you within view of the gremlin creature begin to feel your eyelids get heavy.
Using it's spell-like ability, the gremlin overexerts itself and falls unconscious. However, Iagon and Kytes follow suite, succumbing to the creatures magic and falling asleep.
The other gremlin yips at Attai and snips at him with it's lobster-like claws.
One claw catches the sylph, but i'ts no more than a painful pinch.
Meanwhile, with the help of Liamae, Hans struggles to free himself from the congealed water bubble.
He succeeds, and after gasping for air shouts, "I'll get them lil' varmints!"
Glad that Hans is safe, Liamae turns to see Iagon passed out on the deck. "Hey, wake up! This is no time to be sleeping on the job!" She kneels down and shakes Iagon awake, leaning over to make sure that he's okay--and giving the young man quite an eyeful when he wakes up!
Liamae shakes Iagon by the shoulder, and the young man wakes from his magical slumber to see her lithe elven figure, draped loosely in fine silks, hovering over him. No time for distractions though, past her, he can see Attai is still engaged with one of the strange gremlins and Kytes is snoozing in the doorway.
Attai countenance becomes grim as he shrugs off the languorous effect. Noting Iagon's blistering blast and its amelioration, Attai adjusts his judgment to hopefully provide efficacy to his own attack.
Swift Action: Change judgment to: Smiting -
Standard Action: Attack!!!
After suffering a mighty snip, Attai counters. A brief glimmer of divine light trickles over his morning star, and this time he wallops the gremlin directly on the head. CRACK!, the pesky fey is driven down into the wooden plank floor of the cargo hold.
Strangely, before your very eyes, the slain creatures begin to fade away, their bodies evaporating in sparkling light. All they leave behind are their seaweed rags and a few worthless shells and rusted old coins.
"Blast!" Hans pushes his way back into the hold, "I wanted a go at the buggers." He breathes heavily, scraping off the last remnants of congealed water from his face.
