| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Attai smashes into the creature with heavy club, and the monstrosity crumples to the deck, freeing up Túrante for the moment.
Moira must be horrified to see her spell effects THIS creature as a living one.
Moira can see the spell weaken the creature slightly.
Túrante moves from the felled creature to the other with a thrust of her blade.
Her blade cuts again, and she draws some attention away from Moira.
The horrible creature lashes out against Túrante with vicious claw, but the princess holds her ground with shield and ward. So, it turns its black eyes again to the easier target.
Moira fights off this additional dose of venom, but the original still circulates through her veins. Good thing she’s bleeding out everywhere! Oh wait...
Moira, panting heavily, says "This one's... alive?"
Then, if it's still alive she staggers 5ft back from the monster, telling her friends, "I wrote myself a eulogy--it's in my notebook in my satchel, read it for me if I don't make it..."
"Don't talk like that! We will win this day!" Liamae declares, firing a ray of flame to help Moira.
Iagon tries desperately to make a shot that counts, relying on his precise and focused aim to hit the creature while missing Moira.
Moira cuts into the monster again, spilling more purple blood to mingle with her crimson.
This time it withstands the spell and keeps its strength. But all it’s strength can’t keep it on its feet forever. Liamae scorches it from afar, and Iagon redoubles his focus, shredding into the creature with a blast of splinters. This one too slumps to the deck, relieving the tension but for a moment, as Moira feels her muscles continue to tense and seize.
Moira smiles a wan, thin smile. She's haggard, wounded, weak, and clumsy. "That was awful. Let's see if anyone is alive enough to hear us. I'd heal myself, but if anyone's on this side of death they might need my Cure Light Wounds. Anyone want to take point for a while?" She then belts out with her half-trained, booming singer's voice, "HEY SAILORS! ANYONE AWAKE?! MONSTERS? ANYONE?" Then she listens for movement.
If she hears nothing, she lurches to the rail of the ship and checks on the boatman and son, "You guys ok down there?" She clings to the rail, trying to look casual.
Indeed, you rest Moira. Iagon moves in front of her, looking down below and awaiting an answer. He makes sure to put himself in front of her, protectively.
Miro waves back but then startles. His son turns white as a sail. "Oy las! Ye look a fright. Get yerself to some healing!" Miro advises.
Iagon hears some movement from below deck. Muffled voices, and then a door opening. A female voice returns the call, "Aye! Captain Ortego of the Imperial Navy! Is someone there? Is it safe to come out?"
Moira waves to Miro and calls down, "I think it's safe, Cap! Anyone down there need urgent healing?"
Attai looks around. Blinks. Stares at the deck. Blinks again. He leans on the druid club, using the gnarled weapon as a convenient crutch. Arachnid ichor, webbing and blood of his allies litter the boards beneath his feet.
”By the Harrow...” is all he can muster.
Iagon frowns as he looks at the stairs leading down. Right, should be okay now...come on out...slowly. He puts out a hand, palm down, and a small whirlwind of wood chips spins underneath it as he collects particles should he need to blast something with his power.
"Ok! Umm..." The voice pauses, and the door opens. "By the gods..." she whispers to herself.
Iagon can hear the sound of footsteps carefully approaching. Into the light at the bottom of the stairs steps a woman, human at first glance, with blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail. She wears a neatly pressed naval uniform, although splattered with blood and gore, with the insignia of Captain. An impressive great sword is sheathed on her back.
She blocks the sunlight from her eyes as she squints up at you. "My crew are lost..." she states with a breath, "Are there any other survivors?"
Attai smiles grimly down at the Captain.
"None that we have seen I'm afraid..."
Iagon is a bit hesitant as he looks down. He nods in agreement. Seems you've had a tough time of it captain. Please, come on up and we'll get this sorted out up here in the light.
Moira thinks to herself, Impractically long ponytail... sole survivor on a naval vessel... probably a rotten officer. But I'll give her a chance.
Aloud, she paraphrases an old poem, "Many sorrows he suffered on the waves, thirsting to bring himself and his crew home safely, but he could not overcome their fates."
She finally allows herself a cure:
The analgesic action of the good energy sutures her wounds and soothes her like a cool drink on a hot day. Her will relaxes, and her tough grimace turns to a genuine smile of relief.
Not that she's fully repaired, but it's a start.
Túrante sheathes her sword slowly as the fighting subsides and says, "Indeed, no reason to remain in this place now that the chaos is over. Where did you last see any of your crew? Perhaps we might find signs of survivors elsewhere."
The captain treads up the stairs, carefully, gingerly, supporting herself with one hand, shielding her eyes from the sun with the other. She’s injured, but mostly bandaged. Some of the blood on the uniform is her own. From the stiffness of her movements, it’s apparent she’s succumbed to the blighted bite of these creatures.
As she reaches the deck, she looks around, eyes wide in shock. "Where did you people come from?" Ortego gasps, "I thought surely I was dead and in Hell, surrounded by devils."
She looks up into the sky, appreciating life for a moment, then back down to the gory deck. She weakly kicks a purple, bloated body. "Ettercaps," she sighs, "We’ve come across them before, but not in these numbers. They have a hive in the ruins of Dunholme, prey on the occasional merchant now and again."
She gulps, dryly, and begins to recount, "We were waylayed here. You see there was this deep bank of fog, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. It was dark out and we ran aground. There was a breach in the hull and we were taking on water. In the morning the bilge had flooded."
A look of wonder and confusion washes over, "There were... reports. Almost half of my crew were missing when the fog cleared. And then... they... appeared." She points to a twice dead spider. "Out of the woods. Just pouring out of the trees, by the hundreds. Spiders, ettercaps, everywhere. They swarmed on my ship... but... they weren’t... here... for my ship. They were... fleeing.... from something. They crossed the river and went north. But some stayed. And fought. And we fought. And killed. But some of them wouldn’t stay dead." She turns pale with shock, "My first mate and I were backed into a cellar. He died in my arms. I was in there for... I could hear them clawing at the door..."
She blinks.
Attai places a comforting hand on the captain's shoulder.
"It is over. For now. But if they were running from something....odds are whatever they ran from is headed this way."
The sylph turns to his companions, worry evident on his face.
"We must see the captain to safety, else she comes with us further on our journey."
With a nod, Iagon looks to the woods. Something in there chasing such a force is beyond what we can help with, I fear. Yes...Captain, you should come with us. Is there anything you need to get from below to bring along?
Moira, still clinging to the rail, tells Ortego: "Some of those things were undead arachnid fungal humanoids. I guess it's the undead part that was the bit that wouldn't stay down. Come to think of it, some of the ones we fought just now weren't undead... yet."
She lurches clumsily to the monster that responded to the cold damage of her Chill Touch instead of the undead-affecting Fear factor. She observes.
She tries to remember any poems or stories about these things:
She's had a rough day and can't concentrate. Instead of thinking, she weakly hacks the not-undead, but currently dead ettercap into bits.
Panting heavily, she hands Ortego her card. "Hello, I'm Moira Keening. Funeral expert. Sorry for your losses--let's put these sailors to rest. Maybe a flaming ship burial? Or do you think this hulk will sail again someday? Have you got a good lifeboat or longship, maybe with sails, something better than our raft (no offense to the raft) that we can use if you come with us, like Iagon says? Any valuable cargo?"
While she says the above, she scrubs herself with Prestidigitation, again. She offers to tidy up Ortego and her comrades, if they'd like.
"Valuable cargo..." Ortego repeats breathlessly, and smacks parched lips. With a sudden hurried step, she limps to the door of her cabin and steps inside. In a moment she appears again, her logbook and a bottle of brandy in hand. A wild look comes across her, "A burial? I can’t just... no. My crew are dead. I am alive. I can not leave without seeing them honored. The ship can be salvaged, but it’d take an entire crew to do it. The Admiral’d have me hanged for losing one of his ships, but we can’t let it fall into... whatever’s out there. Yes... it’d make as good a pyre as any."
"We have two lifeboats..." she begins, but is cut off by the sound of a signal horn coming from the southern woods.
"Oy!" Miro shouts from below, "I tink it’s time ye aught ta be wrappin’ it up!"
Iagon nods quickly, his eyes on the woods. Right, then...let's go! Everyone, to the boats! Captain Ortego, is there anything flammable below; we may need some additional fuel to create a proper...pyre. He heads to the lifeboat under the tarp and rips away the covering then begins trying to figure out how to lower it down - being fairly unaccustomed to the process.
Moira barely represses her excitement at the prospect of a proper, frigate-sized flaming ship burial-at-river. She turns away from Ortego and blasts some muck and gore off of Attai using Prestidigitation, but her mind is, um, on fire.
Hearing Iagon, she thinks, Hmm, something flammable. She asks if there's more brandy in the cabin.
When Miro calls, she groans, "Can't even burn our ships without being interrupted, can we?"
Attai stands still, a little confused. He looks at Iagon, then Moira.
”So...what are we doing?”
Moira glances at Attai and says, "Uh, we're grabbing a boat, we're lighting a pyreship, and, by the sound of it, we're about to meet some horn-blowing folks who may or may not be the ones who were driving the undead arachnid fungal humanoids through the forest..."
Iagon nods and winks. You know Attai...normal day. Now help me figure out how to get this boat in the water!
Ortego clutches the bottle close to her, "This is the finest brandy from my family’s vineyard in Elsekulp. This is all I have. There’s a store of grog in the galley, if you think it’d help. I’ll show you." The captain begins limping back down into the ship’s hold.
Iagon, as you uncover the lifeboat, you can see it’s fastened in place and tied down with several sturdy knots. A crank mechanism lowers the boat down to the water, and a knotted rope tossed overboard offers descent into the smaller craft.
Barooooooo! another signal horn and the sound of shouting and howling in the woods. Whoever it is, they’re getting closer.
Moira grabs the biggest, most xxxx-laden bottles of grog she can find and rushes to the most tangled, flammable-seeming piles of sails, rigging, crates, what-have-ye, takes a swig, and performs the traditional blessing several times: "Pouring one out for the dead... pouring one out... pouring one for the lads, one for the lasses..." Then she snaps tindertwigs into the fumey liquid.
With her performer's voice booming, she prays, "Sailors, you were ready to die for your people, and... you did. May these flames light your sea-road, wherever it goes. May your souls steer clear from undeath. I'd say more, but horns are blowing in the woods, and we don't want to join you just yet. So, I commit your bodies to the flames. Ashes to ashes."
She hugs Ortego and rushes to the lifeboat. As smoke curls up from the frigate, she asks, "Why would you leave a brandy farm for the navy?"
Iagon works to get the boat into the water.
Attai clues into the hastyness of the situation. Taking hisndagger put he cuts at the boats ropes...
"Well, when you’re the third born daughter of a minor noble, the military’s just about the only opportunity for advancement in life." Ortego uncorks the brandy, pours a splash out onto the floor, then takes more than a swig, before offering some to Moira. "You’re good at this. I don’t know what to say. Other than..." she chokes up, "I failed my crew. I’m a disgrace of a captain. The dead make better sailors than I. I just hope this funeral is good enough to send their spirits to, well, wherever."
Meanwhile, Iagon struggles with the naval knots. By the time he’s got one unfastened, Attai cuts through the other ropes. Now all that’s left to do is lower the lifeboat down using the crank.
Barooooooooo! the commotion in the woods gets louder as it gets closer. Shouted voices call back and forth as they close in on the riverbank. There is a rustling in the undergrowth and a single goblin tracker appears on the shore. Baroooo! Baroooo! it signals again, and a full platoon of mixed goblins and hobgoblins begins to appear from the woods.
"Oy! We gotta get outta here! shouts Miro, as he begins pushing his barge toward the middle of the river.
Moira takes a grateful swig--so much smoother than the grog!--and says, "Steady, captain! The crew's well on their way, and we should be on ours. And there'll be more time for mourning tomorrow morning, if we make it to then. I hope you can take me on a tour of that farm someday, but for now, take a shot at those gobbos or help with the lifeboat? I'd try my hand at one of those ballistae but they are feeling pretty shaky after all that poison, despite the fine liquor."
She calls to Miro and the lad, "Get clear, you two! We're saving a lifeboat. We will catch up with you, if we can! If not, we'll hold them a while. Tell the people our story, if we can't do it ourselves."
Moira tries to help Iagon and Attai with the crank.
Túrante takes in the urgency of the situation and also puts her back into helping to get the boat to water.
"We have supplies in case we are mislaid due to bad weather or tides?" she asks while tossing her pack into the boat.
Iagon curses at the sight of a platoon coming for them. To the boat, then. I can pick some off at range, and I'm betting they can't swim as well as we can row. Apologies Captain Ortego, but there's no more time. Someone, light it up! Iagon points at the brandy, then turns and helps everyone into the lifeboat, planning to get in last.
The boat lies scuttled about 30 feet from the southern riverbank, kind of at an angle to shore, but with the bow pointed toward the riverbank. The boat is listed slightly toward starboard, which is also slightly angled toward shore. The extra lifeboat is on the port side, meaning, as you gather around the lifeboat, you get a slightly elevated view of the goblinoid hoard emerging from the woods. It also means you’ll be lowering the lifeboat on the far side, away from the goblins.
About fifty or so mixed hobgoblin and goblins emerge from the wood and gather on the riverbank. You don’t have the time for an accurate headcount. A beefy hobgoblin commander appears, riding a black worg, and shouts above his troops,
At this, a huge raucous cheer sounds from the goblins. Longbows are drawn.
Meanwhile, Ortego and Liamae get into the lifeboat, as the others operate the crank.
Túrante ends up doing most of the work, but with the extra weight in the lifeboat, it’s difficult to lower it steadily. The boat crashes into the water.
As the boat splashes down, a rain of arrows begins falling around our heroes.
Túrante nearly catches one, but everyone survives the first volley unharmed. The rope is tossed overboard and everyone begins climbing down.
Perhaps a bit shaken by the near miss, Túrante takes her time at first, but quickly accelerates her descent into the life boat. Everyone safely on board, Attai pushes off and oars are deployed in an effort to catch up with Miro’s barge. A second volley of arrows falls upon the ship.
Arrows plummet from the sky and fall around the small craft, but no one is hit. Another raucous is heard as the goblin platoon swarms into the river to claim the ship. However, as you turn to view the Coriander on your narrow escape upriver, you see the first traces of black smoke escaping from the hull’s interior. Unless the goblins can quickly put out the fire, the ship will soon go up in flames.
Moira tucks herself in the prow of the boat, supporting her exhausted shoulders in the angle of the gunwales, and curls up her legs to make room for the others. She'll take a turn rowing eventually, but for now, she looks back over their heads at the column of smoke curling up from her first-ever flaming ship ceremony.
And it was an entire naval frigate!
Professional pride mingles with a deeper sense of the waste of it all.
She also studies the faces of her companions, trying to get a sense of how each of them is holding up.
She taps her drum and sings a song about rivers, waste, hierarchies, and the mistakes that we've made:
"Green river, green green river, how I long to kick my shoes and swim in you... who knows what they're doing with their actions, anyway?"
Iagon grins at Moira's particular way of dealing with situations such as this, then turns to the boat to watch the mass of their assailants charging onto it. He stands by Turante and puts a hand on her shoulder then, perhaps realizing it's a bit too friendly, takes it away. Thank you princess...as usual it seems as if you're much more capable than most of us. We may not have gotten away without your guidance. Please, take a break from rowing...we can handle this.
He sets to, helping as he can with his less considerable strength. Then, stands to hail Miro as they approach. Hey, wait up! We made it...mostly. He glances back at the previous captain Ortego, then shakes his head sadly.
"I contributed two hands, the same as everyone else,"
Túrante says to Iagon. "That we came through this with as few scrapes as we did is good fortune and quick thinking by everybody."
"I'm happy to keep rowing. We shouldn't let up now, in case the goblins have another launch-boat to try to follow us!"
Iagon smiles and looks towards the ship for pursuit as they make their way towards Miro.
It’s true, there was that other life boat already in the water. But, looking behind you, you can only see the growing plume of black smoke that tells you the Coriander is ablaze.
As you catch up to Miro, he throws you a rope to tie the two vessels together. "Aye, tha’ was a close one. Best stick together from now on, eh?"
Ortego seems to slip back into a state of shock once safely escaped from the Coriander. She occasionally sips from her bottle of brandy and doesn’t dare look back to see the aftermath of the attack. Tears flow from her eyes as Moira sings. She mumbles, "So it’s true... a hobgoblin hoard has come from the World’s Edge to the Verduran. I thought Trudos a mad drunk, but... well... now I understand why." she drinks from her bottle again.
Evening begins to fall and Miro posits two choices:
A) push through the night and reach Belhaim by morning.
B) pull ashore and make camp on the riverbank.
"We should push on through the night," Liamae says, staring back at the smoke on the horizon. Her gloved hand finds Turante's, and she gives it a squeeze. "We must report back what we have learned here today."
Túrante squeezes Liamae's hand in return and says, "That launch... could they have someone invisible on it? Or perhaps a magical effect secured to the hull? We should sink it from afar, if we can, just to be sure."
Moira's smile twitches at the thought of rowing through the night, but she knows it's the best plan. Probably.
She notices Liamae and Túrante's closeness. She ponders her humanity:
Those two have something to live for... heck, elves live so long. I could die tomorrow and I'd lose what, fifty years at best? How many hundreds would they lose? But are their lives worth more than mine? I think they are, but not because of that--because they're close, and I'm alone. And the pain will help me stay awake.
She casts her last spell of the day on Liamae:
Attai stays quiet, though it is clear he is tense, never once taking his eyes from the burning ship or their rear. He plays idly with the pouch containing his treasured Harrow deck, but does not draw any cards.
”Through the night and all day beyond if needs be. Much distance...” he trails off.
Agreed...I have no desire to risk another run in with that hoard. Ortego, what have you heard of this hoard from Trudos? We didn't...well, he wasn't fully focused when we spoke to him.
The threat of the hobgoblins and the fate of the Coriander seems to be behind you, and it is decided to press on through the night, put some more distance between you and that terror, reach the promise of safety in Belhaim sooner.
Straws are pulled, and shifts assigned. As on every night spent in the Verduran, after the sun sets, a fog builds on the river and rolls out into the woods. Although, here, this far up the Verduran Fork, there are no Will-o’-wisps, nor dancing red lanterns. However, as the waning moon light pales through the fog at its highest point, Liamae is at watch. What she sees, as the bargemen quietly pole through the water, through the cloudy mist and the dark woods, is a firelight along the northern bank.
Liamae mumurs a spell and pops a coffee bean from her pouch into her mouth. She adjusts her spectacles and tries to peer more closely at the woods to see if she can make out more details.
Whether or not she sees anything, she wakes the others and brings them on deck to decide whether they should investigate further.
Iagon bolts awake, having been plagued by the dreams of what those lost sailors may have experienced in their last minutes. He is almost happy to be jostled awake. Coming out onto the deck, he also sees if he can pierce the veil and see anything else on the banks.
More hobgoblins, you think? I'm not thrilled about stopping for everyone on the bank, but if that isn't hobgoblins, we should probably warn them about what we saw.