The captain holds very still, paralyzed in Mel's grasp.
”Sorry lad...” Kazador muttered. He stepped forward to the man who was being held still by Mel, and head butted him. With the Helmet of the Defending Warden. It was the kind of hit that would even put down and Orc.
Fyrtor, unaware of the details of the plan ,stays on deck and keeps an eye out for trouble.
Melia supports the captain and keeps his stiff form from toppling over under the force of Kazador's blow. Then she lowers him to the floor.
"My. That was headstrong of you," she says, innocently.
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Mel gently lowers the captain to the ground, carefully not cutting herself on any of the weapons concealed in his belt.
"Heh. Well done, lass." Kaz said. "Let's lay him out with some empty bottles. If anyone comes across him it'll look like he drank himself into a stupor. It'll help us keep the element of surprise. I'll set up the scene while ye two search the place, see if there is any information here we don't know already."
Sadly, Kazador had more than enough experience to know what a person looked like when they drank themself into oblivion. Setting up the scene was something that came far too easily.
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You hear the sailors moving about on deck right outside. Soon, they will wonder why their captain is taking so long.
Kazador confidently the cabin as if though nothing was wrong. Should anyone notice him, he would look at them and say with a laugh "Yer captain's a good sort, aye? Though he thought he could outdrink a dwarf."
"That transfer crew better get here soon," Mel says. "I'm going aloft to see if I can spot them."
Mel climbs up to the crow's nest and peers out, looking for the "transfer crew", i.e. Turick's people.
The idea that their captain was drunk under the table so quickly at such a critical juncture strikes some of the crew as odd. Their eyes narrow in suspicion and several converge on Kaz simultaneously shouting things like "What'd 'e do wit the captain!?!"
”Troll brew.” Kaz said with an embarrassed look on his face. ”I...ah, said that manlings only know how to drink milk and he took offense. Bet him fifty gold that he couldn’t finish a bottle of brew in one go. It’s made with the blood of trolls, so it’s bloody hard to finish. I didn’t tell him that, thought it would be easy coin. The mad fooker must have had some pride as he did it, but he passed out at his desk. I’m gonna owe him some coin when he wakes up.”
The lie spilled out, made all the easier because it was based on a true story of how he had lost a bet against a fellow Rune Warden back in the days before his home and honor were lost.
Several of the sailors roar "Something's up lads! Get them and ask questions later!"
"Ah!" Mel says, thwarted in her attempts to reach high ground. "It looks as though the jig is up."
And so saying, she steps back into the cabin door, clicks her heels, pulls out her bow, and fires a shot at the closest crewman.
nonlethal
With a sigh Kazador muttered ”Coulda been easy.” As he did this his clothes shimmered, morphing into a suit of plate armor, covered in gently glowing runes. Where once he had a torc around his arm, now he held a massive silver two handed hammer. A sure sign that he was well and truly done with subtlety.
All eyes were drawn to the cabin door, and Hal felt his heart in his throat. He had little doubt in his allies ability to fight, but out here, separated, he wonders at his own chances. Taking advantage of the momentary lack of attention, he vanishes.
It's clear these men have been in a fight before. They leap quickly across the gently pitching deck, converging from all angles. Some draw hatches from their belts while others strike with knee and fist. Kazador is punched hard in the jaw (9 dam). Turion is punched hard once and a hatchet slashes him on the arm (26 damage total). Then Turion narrowly dodges another blow, Kazador blocks several attacks, and Fyrtor deflects a throat punch.
The men were good, Kazador gave them that. But unlike them he was fully armored, he had a hammer, and using it was his identity. They were certainly good enough to handle a fight, but they were not the blood crazed orcs that he and his people had fought for so long. His hammer lashed out, as he sought to bring their numbers down one by one, confident that he could outlast them.
Seeing Turion struck, Fyrtor curses and moves to defend him. Using is still shrunk scimitar I wished he'd known a fight was coming.
His first slash goes wide; he hadn't fought with a dagger in quite while. His second slash is more careful, and draws blood. "well, well, well, this should be fun."
Mel steps quickly away from the scrum and begins lofting shafts into the brawl. Her first shot lands solidly, and the next two feel almost as good. I haven't shot a bow since coming to Bannerhold, she thinks. I should find a way to do that, or I'll get out of practice.
Then she returns her attention to the fight.
nonlethal, x3 if confirmed
nonlethal
nonlethal
Hal pauses a moment, trying to see whether his new friends were striking to incapacitate, or kill. Plans ran through his mind, and he discarded most of them. 'They certainly seemed competent enough earlier. Can I take the pressure off them? Anything serious I do has the risk of hurting them, or damaging the ship... Hmmm... '
Hal's staff appears on the stairs and from near the prow he announces "I'll scuttle the ship!"
A few moments later there is the sound of eldritch chanting, and then an ongoing sound of splintering wood and rushing water sounds from over the side of the boat's prow.
Melia gapes for a moment, but then notices something not quite right about the sound. She's heard the sound of shattering ships before, and it had more bass to it.
Playing along, she blurts out "You madman! You'll take us all down!"
Fyrtor realizes that Harold's spell is not what it sounds, and catching the drift from Melia piles on. "Hope you boys can swim...
As the Sailor strikes him and he finds himself surrounded, Anger flares up in Túrion. He had tried to resolve this amiably...with as few casualties as possible. And now this. He reached for the other Rod on his belt while addressing the man in front of him: "You imbecile. You don't strike a mage unless you can strike him down."
All of a sudden, most of the main deck was covered with a sticky spiderweb extending between the masts and the reeling, covering all but Mel in its sticky mass.
"I suppose you will go down with the ship, then, and drown. Farewell."
With a Sylvan syllable finishing the intonation of a second Spell, Túrion disappears from view, only to re-appear in the crows nest a moment later, ready to sling spells at his adversaries from up above, but not making his presence known just yet.
All but one of the sailors is caught in the web while several look concerned about the odd noises. Nearly all of them give Fyrtor a skeptical look. Kazador kills a sailor and wounds another with Fyrtor while Mel knocks another out with one lucky shot from her bow and wounds another one.
One of the burlier sailors (blue) bursts the strands of webbing holding him while the other two struggle in the sticky mass without success. The two nimbler sailors slip carefully out of the webbing, eyes darting around in terror at the quickly deteriorating situation.
Not entirely sure which sailors are a danger and which aren't Harold holds himself ready, looking for an opportunity to strike.
crit threat
nonlethal, x3 if confirmed
nonlethal
nonlethal
Mel peers through the mass of webbing, and can barely make out the one burly soldier there. Shrugging, she focuses on that one. The first shot sails true despite the interposing webs, and the next two feel pretty solid as well.
The arrow clocks the sailor on the side of the head and he falls back, his head lolling as his upper body is supported by the web. Then Mel has no one left to shoot at.
Seeing him go down and lacking other targets, Melia clambers up the stairs to one side, heading to the upper deck where she has a better vantage point.
Noting that one of the more agile sailors seems ready to flank Fyrtor, Harold strikes. A massive wave of water jumps the bow, sails over Harold's head and strikes at the ready sailor. As it passes overhead, Harold becomes visible again.
Fyrtor really believe the ship is going down, but tries to keep a level head. He takes the chance to make his scimitar full size again and to study the man north of Turion, getting a sense of his fighting style.
"Bloody fookin'-" Kazador's curses rang out long and loud. The ship was being scuttled, and *nobody* had told him about that plan. Now Turion's spells had caught him as well, and rather than swinging his hammer he was caught up in webs...while the ship was sinking! Unable to really put a coherent thought together given the two situations put together, all the dwarf could do was curse and struggle against the spell.
Túrion observes from above, ready to lend assistance to his allies where needed.
Harold's wave pushes one of the free sailors (nimble blue) into the webbing where he gets stuck again and remains there, struggling. One burly sailor bursts free (blue) while another (green) remains stuck. Two of the free sailors lash out at Kazador many times but the dwarf dodges and blocks each blow, trained to withstand much more than this.
Fyrtor, his scimitar returned to full size, lashes out at the burly sailor north of him.
The man furthest to the left is struck by Turion's spell and is incapable of attacking, reduced to laughter and tears. He laughs so hard, he keels over unconscious.
Unfortunately, Fyrtor trips a little in the webbing on the slightly pitching ship. His strikes reflect less skill than normal and his blade fails to find purchase in his foes.
Looking for a target, Mel stalks along the upper deck. Catching sight of one, barely, through the webbing, she nocks an arrow -- and promptly loses the shot. The ship rocks in a passing wave as she looses the arrow, spoiling her aim. The arrow hisses past its intended target and embeds itself on the deck somewhere under the webbing.
Túrion, up at the Crows nest, observes the Battle go well in their favor. Assuming that any that got free might try to flee, he prepares to scorch any who make the attempt with fire.
Kazador's curses were ended as a flurry of blows came at him. His training took over, and at that moment all that mattered was the combat. He was fortunate to have his armor, for while he dodged and parried most of what came his way, it was also the protection of his ancestors which kept him unscathed. The man before him couldn't quite say the same, as Kazador's hammer got a hit in against his thigh. He would have followed up with a second blow, but hesitated given that moving in the thick mass of webbing would mean risking getting caught once more.
Kaz strikes a hard blow but the man still stands.
Harold, now visible, hesitates as he looks down upon the chaotic melee. He looks to Melia, then shakes his head. After some internal debate he simply retrieves the staff rolling across the deck.
Melia notes Hal's hesitation. This must be hard for him, she thinks. I shall have to speak with him later.
One sailor (burly green) breaks out of the webbing while a slimmer one (slim blue) struggles. A quick fellow (red) scrapes his axe against Kazador's shield (miss) while his burly ally (blue) strikes hard at Fyrtor.