Torden's hands wring the grip on his hammer.
"C'mon let's get moving," he says. "They can't be that hard to follow, that is unless we stand around here flapping our lips."
He moves toward the tree line, but at a pace that would allow anyone to take the lead from him.
"Oh, and someone remember where this wreck is parked, we should probably come back to check it out.
"Fair enough." Origen follows.
|
Yuuwa takes inventory of hwat she has on her person, regretting yet again leaving without her chainshirt... Barnacles and scuttlebutt! Weighted Fishing net, half-dozen fish, couple of pretty rocks and shells, one trident. And you're gonna try to save Bran from a stewpot with this?
Yuuwa smiles grimly, "Well... What are we waiting for? The sooner we get Bran, the sooner I get to see whats left in this wreck."
Isandril follows right behind Jonagher and down the mast to the beach, joining the rest of them before taking a look at the tracks as well. At the sight of Origen crouching down to smell them, the elf does raise an eyebrow and cracks a little smile, but does not comment. 'Not a bad idea I suppose, as zombies would certainly leave a smell behind,' he thinks to himself.
"Into the jungle we go then," he concedes after the half-elf has had his say, as he crouches a little to check the tracks a little better and see if he can track them. "I will do my best Origen, though I have to admit I have not had much practice lately. After all, I was in a ship for quite some time."
The sky is filled with driving rain, making long distance sight next to impossible. Sheets of rain are coming down, as the wind blows fiercely.
The trail is visible in front of you, and you can hear tree branches snap in the distance as Bran is moving further away from you.
Origen follows, trying to keep his eyes open for any signs of passage.
His nervous energy makes him more perceptive than usual, and he helps Isandril more than he expects.
"Well, the noise they make should help us follow their trail, I should think," Isandril comments in a low voice, his eyes on the tracks.
Torden follows, rain in his face, "faster, faster, we need to get to Bran before they do something horrible. Where are the tracks. Find the tracks. Can you hear them in the woods?
Blast this weather!"
His anxiety mounts as his efforts to assist the group are frustrated.
|
|
Yuuwa's hair whips about her face, obscuring her view while simultaneously keeping the rain out of her eyes. Talking aloud to herself, "If I were a cannibal, with Bran as next course, and future prey in hot pursuit, where would I go? Shelter from the shoreline, near a fresh water source, forest thinned out for supplies, and all trails should lead back to..."
"Probably that way..." Jonagher offers, lifting aside a large palm leaf that fell between a couple of bushes.
As the group heads into the jungle in hot pursuit, they hear thrashing ahead, indicating where their prey is ahead of them. Initially the group comes on strong, making up a lot of ground. They can hear the group ahead of them start to pull away in the jungle...the noise they are making through the underbrush!
Origen struggles through the jungle, focused on catching Bran's kidnappers.
Jonagher does his best to apply his keen ears to track the direction they should go.
Isandril keeps on trying to track the ones that have taken Bran, using not only his eyes but his ears as well.
"Faster, let's go, clearly they are straight ahead," Torden presses on, focused only on the sound of the thrashing in the jungle ahead.
As Torden starts to head off in the wrong direction, Jonagher steers the redoubtable dwarf back on track. "A shortcut," he offers with a wink.
"Shortcut, eh?" Torden grips his hammer and looks up at the half-elf.
"Good thinking."
As the group crests the hill, they find themselves on one side of a deep draw, the party carrying Bran, scrabbling up the opposite side. The drop is perhaps a 7 foot near vertical drop with a 15 foot wide flat bottom, submerged beneath a small creek, which is perhaps 4 to 6 inches deep at the deepest. The other side of the bank is also steep with vegetation sticking out all over it, perhaps an 8 foot rise.
Judging the distance, Origen moves close to the edge of the drop and casts a spell.
"There! They're right over there! We've no time to waste."
Torden jumps down the 7 feet to the stream below.
Isandril rushes across the creek, trying to get to the men carrying Bran away as fast as he can. Seeing a path up the other side, the elven warrior starts climbing, the vegetation providing adequate support for him to pull himself up the other side.
|
|
Gasping for breath and footing in the rain-slicked draw, Yuuwa's eyes are drawn to movement across the way. In a hissed whisper, "I see them survy dawgs, over there. They still have Bran!"
She looks for the best path over, not paying attention to the others's actions.
She notices the actions of the others now, "Path! Follow Me!" Not bothering to see if the others do, she hustles along the observed path, thinking she could at least delay the cannibals...
As Origen's spell goes off, a slick coating of grease suddenly manifests around the unconscious Bran. Two of the combatants drop him suddenly, and the third keeps his grip.
They look back at the group fast approaching, and silently nod at each other. They drop Bran, and start running into the trees, dropping down a ridge with the sound of moving water behind them.
Torden, Isandril, and Yuuwa make it to the top of the ridge soon thereafter.
Bran is in a greasy heap, with three friends coming close, Origen and Jonagher are across the dry creek bed.
Origen smiles in satisfaction as the attackers drop Bran. He tries to follow in Yuuwa's footsteps down the steep, slippery slope.
"Come on, Jonagher! They're getting away!"
However, he loses his footing and slides into the creek below, nearly falling on his face.
"Don't wait for me!"
|
|
Yuuwa collapses next to Bran, catches her breathe and performs a heal check.
Regardless, when the rest of the crew show up, she'll call out to her god Gozreh for a healing burst.
Yuuwa makes the strong suggestion "We've plenty of excitement for the day. My resources are stretched thin and I was unprepared for the first bit of Zombie combat, much less a confrontation with armed and alert cannibals, in thier backyard, during a rainstorm, at night. I'll assist Bran and head back."
"Although I enjoy a good fight as much as the next person," Isandril remarks with a smile, "I have to agree with Yuuwa. Running after them into an unknown jungle, which they probably know all too well, does not seem particularly wise to me, especially considering the weather."
Despite his words, there is a hint of regret at not going after the would-be kidnappers. "We have Bran back. I say we double back, maybe finish our examination of the shipwreck?"
Origen regains his balance, but doesn't start climbing up the vines on the other side. "I suppose you're right, Isandril. I hate letting them get away, but we do have to warn the others back at camp."
"Let's heal Bran so that he can walk by himself. Then, we have a ship to finish exploring."
A flash of lightning illuminates the area, temporarily blinding Origen to the path that Yuuwa took.
The thunder from that lightning bolt rumbles as Yuuwa gets to Bran, and checks him for damages. He is bleeding from several cuts, and has a few nasty bruises already forming.
Calling out to Gozreh, the storm calms for just a moment, as a column of gently blowing wind covers the area around Yuuwa, bringing the savory smell of the sea on a fine day. All those within 30 feet of Yuuwa receive the healing blessing.
Bran catches his breath sharply, inhaling suddenly, sits up. He sits there, just breathing for a moment, and lays back down in the mud, looking over at Yuuwa. He nods, and pats he hand near him, in a quiet gesture of thanks.
Origen and Isandril have a quiet discussion, and then get the group moving. Bran walks with a slowly at first, but gains speed quickly. Soon, he is back to his normal self, quiet and reserved.
Once again, the party finds themselves standing before the Tattooed Lady, her mast clinging onto the shore, like a sailor lost at sea to a piece of flotsam.
"Good to have you back, old friend!" Jonagher claps Bran on the shoulder, "You gave us a bit of a scare there for a bit."
He helps lead the team back to their campsite and cautions all the castaways against venturing inland alone, retelling the tale of Bran's abduction.
"At least we know we're not alone," the half-elf tells everyone, "But we aren't surrounded by friendlies either."
***
The next day, he travels along with the others to the Tattooed Lady. When they reach the ship, he draws his blade with the theatrical flourish of a pirate.
"Well, friends? Shall we try this again? Second time's the charm and all..." He flashes at grin for Origen's sake. "And perhaps we should stay a bit more on our guard so no more of those natives come sneaking up behind us?"
Origen has a rough night, with dreams of his sister being carried away by ogrish natives with poisonous snakes for fingers. However, in the morning, he tries to follow Jonagher's lead by emphasizing the party's success in saving Bran.
On the way back to the ship, Origen tries avoid making a trail, following Isandril's tips.
"Well, friends? Shall we try this again? Second time's the charm and all..." He flashes at grin for Origen's sake. "And perhaps we should stay a bit more on our guard so no more of those natives come sneaking up behind us?"
Origen shakes his head, but can't help smiling at Jonagher's infectious bravado. "I have to admit, I've been wondering what else is on the ship all morning. But this time, let's keep the guard on the ship where we can support him. I'd rather meet our new neighbors as they come over on the mast, one by one."
Isandril takes care to cover any tracks the group is making as they make their way back to the Tattooed Lady. Once there, the elf gets on the wrecked ship using the broken mast to get himself there.
"Since yesterday's experiences taught us that separating is not a good thing, let us avoid such things this time," the warrior quips with a smile, drawing his blades as he speaks and preparing himself for anything, or at the very least that being his intention.
In their return to camp, Torden makes his rounds to the various castaways, telling them not of zombies or shipwrecks or Bran's brush with death, but of the safety of everyone who went on the excursion.
Unfortunately his efforts are not all that he hopes for, but he keeps a smile on his face.
**** At the shipwreck****
"Well lads, what say we try this again. But let's all try and stay dry."
Gripping his warhammer, Torder prepares to once again board the Tattooed Lady
Isandril starts exploring the shipwreck, looking for anything of interest or use. He does not let his guard down, however. Last time, they were greeted by the undead. 'Perhaps more are still waiting within this wreck,' he thinks to himself as he moves about the ship.
"Right, Torden. Isandril, catch the end of this rope. We don't want to go swimming today."
Origen uses a safety line as he crosses over to the ship.
|
|
Yuuwa brushes her hair out of her face, using her hand to protect her eyes from the morning glare and refraction from the water. She watches approvingly as Origen secure the line to this side of the broken mast. She turns to Bran "You gonna try defending the beach alone again or are you crossing over with us?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, she grins and grips the safety line and crosses over as well. This time aware of the irony that, even though she donned her chain shirt and backpack with gear, she'll likely not need them today.
She casts Guidance on each crewmember prior to crossing.
She jumps down onto the canted deck with a loud thump. "Knock knock. We are back." She turns to see if Bran is crossing, believing that any free ranging zombies were dealt with yesterday, and today should be a mop up and scavenger hunt.
The day dawns on the fourth day, a slight breeze blowing into the camp, and the rather subdued behavior of the other cast-a-ways.
After informing the rest of the group of what happened to Bran, most of the group seems rather skittish in the morning. They often seem distracted and startle easily. They can often be seen checking the tree-line around the camp.
Sasha, while skittish like the rest, works up her courage and approaches the hero's during their morning meal.
"Can't say as I have been the more agreeable sort recently, but after that attack on Bran, I think I need to help. My skills are...varied...but I can certainly help by hunting for food, or perhaps setting traps to assist in defending the camp."
Bran nods, "If she is throwing in, maybe I aught to stay around and help Frik defend these folks. You go check out that ship. Take a signal horn or whistle with you. You run into any trouble, blast three times. We'll do the same."
Sasha nods at the suggestion of a signal, "While you are out...I have heard of these flying lizards on this island. I saw some flying specks in the sky yesterday before the storm, both south west, and south east of here. If you happen to see any, I would love to have one as a pet! Get an egg for me if you have a chance?"
The ship is quiet. The surf and cry of distant birds the only sounds. The ship is in the same condition that you left it. The zombies and skeletons looked obviously picked over, perhaps a flock of seagulls came in?
The doors to the cabin hang precariously on their hinges, blowing ever so slightly in the breeze.
When Origen wakes up, he looks a bit flushed and unwell.
- Fortitude Save: vs. 15
- You wake up, tired, feeling as if you had not slept at all last night.
The door creaks in the breeze, as you enter into the cabin. It is roughly 20 feet wide, perhaps 15 feet to the rear of the room. It is irregularly shaped, as it follows the curve of the aft of the ship.
It is richly appointed, or it was at one point. Weather and time have eroded and corroded any niceties or fancy and delicate things that could have been grand.
You can see out of the windows in the rear of the ship, unto the vast and endless vista of the ocean. Some of the windows are cracked, some are missing, but for the most part, it creates an effective windbreak.
There is a rotted table, fallen over the remnants of some chairs, a bed with soiled bedclothes that have certainly seen better days, and a chest on the floor near the foot of the bed. It is closed, with a lock about its hasp.
There is a rotted table, fallen over the remnants of some chairs, a bed with soiled bedclothes that have certainly seen better days, and a chest on the floor near the foot of the bed. It is closed, with a lock about its hasp.
Origen looks around the room, poking tentatively at its ruined finery. "Looks as if the Lady was elegant once. I wonder how long it's been wrecked here."
He coughs. "Jonagher, do you think that chest has any unpleasant surprise for anyone who fiddles with the lock?"
"Jonagher, do you think that chest has any unpleasant surprise for anyone who fiddles with the lock?"
"I have no idea," the half-elf answers, distractedly staring around at the opulent finery, "Someone should probably check it before anyone opens it, though..."
::pause::
"Oh! You meant me!"
"Of course. No problem." He approaches the chest and squats down to examine it.
Satisfied it doesn't appear to look dangerous, Jonagher draws one of his narrow blades to pry at the lock. He reaches into his boot and withdraws a smaller file to aid him.