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Abandon all hope ye who cross our path.
On a long enough timeline the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
I hereby dot this thread. No, wait, I death touch it.
The problem with my people is that they're not ruthless enough. All these rulesss... pah! I will make my own path, strewn with the bones of my enemies.
Embrace the calmness that death grants you.
Greetings, all. I am Piter, and I love you all. licks lips
Kur'Plugh Loves the Squishy, they taste good... now find Kur'Plugh a gnome to eat
Horrific reality tears the flesh marionette, that you call “you”, free from its slumber as cruel conscious returns.
A myriad of sensations...frozen...screams...ire...hunger...weariness...pain...in the first seconds. It is all you can do to keep yourself from lashing at out the closest warm body. Only then do you perceive the tight grip of the rusted iron manacle, which binds your wrist to a pipe running along the length of the ship.
Perhaps 8 tainted souls sit on your same side of the ship, bound as you are bound, facing the other hull where another group of angry, malnourished, mistreated, filthy, naked, and seasick slaves are similarly incarcerated. Representatives of all the evil races are here, and strangely a gnome are two have been thrown in, perhaps as swanky hors d'oeuvre for the trolls and ogres.
Momentary confusion is the norm, providing you with vague memories of your past, but soon enough you discern what happened to you. Betrayal. The work your were hired to do was so simple, yet the memories taste like ashes in your mouth as you wake in chains, stripped of all your possessions and more importantly your dignity. You had each been enlisted to capture slaves for the iksar gladiator pits, but had been betrayed by soulless treachery, rather than receiving payment. It had all started by drugging your food, and then you went from tormentor to tormented. The ship of goodly races had all suffered under any cruel thought that might have crossed your mind, but then things had turned and you were on the receiving end.
An epic storm tosses the boat about, but there is ungainly heaviness to it, as if the anchor had not been fully retracted in time. Howling winds carve a path through your ears, but even it cannot block out the screams. Something, unseen from your position in the hold of the ship, has gone terribly wrong and from the heavy impacts you are feeling on the wooden skin of the ship you imagine that the vessel has run aground, or is about to.
Ice-cold sea water leaks in from the non-battened hatch which opens to the broken ladder that leads down into the hold. It is this flood of frigid liquid that woke you as it firstly pooled about your feet and has since risen to your sternum. The ship sits dangerously low in the water due to all the extra water weight. The storm’s fury bounces the hatch about, and with each movement you can hear the heavy chain that seals it snap back into place. This filthy hold has not been cleaned out in weeks and the smell of offal and urine are thick in the air.
An impossibly heavy impact casts enslaved bodies about like so many rag dolls. You are airborne for a fraction of a heartbeat and then cruelly slammed back into the unyielding hull as your manacle clips your wings. Blood floods the nearly frozen water from those that struck an edge.
Impact Damage
All is darkness below, save for what is revealed by the flash from the occasional torch beyond the portal when someone stumbles past. Only Piter suffers, for all others can see well in the dark.
The pipe has been affixed to the hull with far a great deal of precision by someone well-suited to their tradeskill. You are attached to it with a 3' length of heavy chain that shows its years with some surface rust.
(please describe your character in your first post)
[Ship's Hull] Gnome (Dead) / Troll / Cakkarak / Kur'plugh / Nogglegrop / Loki / Piter / Zaruksis [Ship's Hull]
Those that choose to do so are welcome to apply their not-so-insignificant sinews to the tast of ripping the pipe free of the wall.
(include STR checks in your next post)
Death is all around him, but the one called Loki seems not to mind.
A dark-skinned elf's slender form has been jammed between Nogglegrop and Piter. Old bruises bedeck his flesh, poor witnesses to the abuses he has suffered lo these many weeks. Pale cyan orbs cooly glide across the chaotic scene, one barely visible through the swelling from a human's pommel strike, until a dangerous smile is fashioned by his starkly pearl-white teeth.
In a jagged rivulet a crimson line carves a line down from a deep forehead gash. The necromancer watches his life's blood flow forth and understands the import of the injury.
Loki watches the plight of the gnome as it futilely tries to draw in a breath to further sustain more moments of abject torture. Extending a finger he releases two invisible tendrils of death to snatch away its life essence. So impossibly perfect is his focus (critical success x2, double expected spell healing) that it is a wonder if he has feelings at all.
Channeling (vs. vigorous motion DC 16):
Channeling (vs. vigorous motion DC 16):
Fort Save vs. DC 18: (fail x2)
Perhaps ending the horror of being devoured alive was his intent, or merely an accidental side product; either way the bleeding stops and the gnome is no more (2x lifetap, 8/8 hit points, 10/14 hits points) and the nigh mindless troll does not even seem to notice that its meal had stopped squirming.
Water rising up to his sternum was unacceptable and the naked necromancer adds his meagre muscles to the job of escape to surprising effect.
Strength Check:
Glancing down at Nogglegrop, hanging limply from his chains and pathetically trying not to draw any further attention from the ogre, he tosses a strangely friendly little wink.
Nogglegrop (Hide):
Diplomacy:
It is not a surprise that the gnome has no clue how to respond and simply dangles wondering what in the name of Fizzlethorp's taut buttocks he had done to get himself into this situation.
The muscular iksar stirs fitfully, twitching in his chains. He wakes, all 5'6" of him, and jerks in instinctive rebellion against his bonds. The restraint yanks him to full wakefulness. "Ikh pien yaluchne jenk!" With yellow eyes, grey scales, and green highlights, Zaruksis would strike a fine figure, if you were a reptile; to anyone else, he's just a cold-blooded, toothy-jawed predator.
An impact against the ship elicits yet another foul curse from his throat. "Jenk!" The pain clears his mind, and he perceives his situation starkly, even as he begins to shiver from the water's cruel cold. "Non." This I refuse. He gathers his will as he bunches his muscles. "RAAAAAAGH!!" The scaled bundle of sinew pulls powerfully against the pipe that holds them against the hull.
A human awakes, in a sea of misery, salt water, and other races held as slaves. He seems out of place - such an innocent face - in his early twenties, blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, which all would see were there light in here. But the fact that he's here suggests he is somewhat like the others. Torturers taken to be tortured and enslaved themselves.
The human, whose name is Piter, can see nothing most of the time. Only when flashes of light come through the hold door. He can smell the foul reek of unclean slaves, though, mixed in with their own feces and the salt water that is everywhere. He can hear the wailing and struggling of others, in the same situation as him. Most of all, he can feel the frigid sea against him, the impossibly strong manacles on his raw and torn wrists and the hard wooden hull of the ship smashing against his skull.
Inside he feels more. A whole lot more. His head clears from whatever drug had taken his consciousness away, and it begins to function normally, considering. And normally, for Piter, means it clicks along like a master Gnome's automaton. The thoughts come quickly, and the first is a summary of ways he would like to deal with the slavers. A greatsword sundering their heads, one by one with the rest watching; a slow poison, causing them immense pain, so bad they beg for death, but he provides it after only a few months when he finally grows bored; simple fists, hands, pounding and strangling them, pulling eyes from their regular localities; drowning in this very foetid water; and so on.
The second thought is fear, for the water is rising and he is trapped in it. Further, the slavers seem uninterested in saving their cargo, which means things are bad for them too. Well, that was good, at least. Along with this fear, the thoughts that raced through: I'm too young! This was not in my plan! I don't deserve this! This can't happen to me, I am destined for greater things!
Finally another thought appears, very shortly after the others. Escape. These manacles much be shorn or the chains must be separated from the ship, or, worst case, the entire side of the ship need be removed, that it will float to the surface. This last seemed unlikely in the extreme, so the others are the current options available. As he hears others struggling to free themselves, Piter decides their combined strength, especially those of the trolls and iksars, would have the best chance of breaking the pipe from the ship.
He doesn't know if they can understand him, but he calls out as loudly as he can, separating the numbers by a full heartbeat or more, "Translate this! Break free together in Five heartbeats! Four! Three! Two! One! NOW!" And by the final count, he has leveraged his feet against the hull and now pulls up with all the strength he possesses.
Strength:
Slammed against the hull of the ship, Cakkarak's cold, green eyes snap open. The pain that pulses in time with his own hearbeat drives back the fog that had reduced the well trained monk into a drooling invalid. Had any of his broodmates still drawn breathe, they might have died from laughter at the sight of the once proud Cakkarak.
Immediately taking stock of room, the slaves and the fact that he was chained as one of the slaves, the iksar struggles to figure out why he was in such a place. It came back to him with a sudden rush. The betrayal that had placed him among the slaves sent to the pits. His vision awash with hues of red, his green eyes scour the room. His natural infravision let him drink in the details of the slave's hold. It was a sight barely worth viewing.
Cakkarak didn't waste any energy on anger, it served no purpose to the monk. The only thing that mattered was freeing himself from the chains. He would not be someones slave, nor would he die uselessly in a gladatorial pit. Cakkarak refuses to even let his mind wander down the thought of being reduced to a slave. He would not be someones captive anymore then their slave.
Calmly, the monk looks over the chains that bind him to the pipe. The bindings appeared somewhat rusted, but designed to hold strong captives. A glance at the rutting pair of ogres or eating troll told the iksar more then he needed to know. The chains where meant to hold strong slaves.
Working calmly to free himself, Cakkarak keeps his earslits open. The storm seemed to be giving the slavers enough to do. Which gave him time toslip out of his bindings. Or so was his plan.
Finly honed muscles shift under the iksar's black-green scales. As he shifts position, his grey-green scales on his chest and underjaw can be seen as a torch runs by the opening. He ducks his head slightly. The bone white horns of the iksar catch the light for a moment. The monk's right horn is slightly longer then then the left horn, giving his horns a somewhat open pincer like appearance.
Kur'Plugh's head clears, as the pain of cold water jerks him into full alertness. Feeling the chains encircling him, he growls remembering the last time he was in chains for another's amusement, that dark elf was dead and he tasted bad as well.
His bald head assures him that he was cold, he hears the voice of his elder spirit whisper to him " Awaken little one, you have much to do, and being a slave and dying here is not in the plan. "
' Aye Zathros, elder to Kur'Plugh you are right .' He thinks back, answering the spirit, the bone through his septum wriggles in agreement. Feeling no shame at being naked, he gather's his resolve, starting to pull on the chains to break himself loose.
The tattoos on his face give him a blue relief but it is not comforting, in face in seems to instill a primal fear in lesser creatures. His green skin start to get flushed as the blood starts pumping, a quiet chant starts to build. He stops pulling for a few moments, recalling the chant as he tries to build the mana for the spell of power, infusing his body with the strength of a lesser spirit. Getting the blessing, he renews his attempt at freeing himself, wrapping the chains around his arms, and pulling using his body weight as well.
[roll=] Strength check [/roll]
Sometimes life does not make a lick of sense.
At nearly 500 pounds the mound of mass that is Kur'Plugh is unable to bring it to bear. The lightest of the nefarious slaves, using brains to offset his slightly better than average musculature, the teir'dal does much better.
Cakkarak tries to squirm his way free, to no avail.
Piter coordinates, but also does little.
Loki draws it away from the wall (STR vs. DC 15, aid another +2) and the impossibly strong Zaruksis does the rest: the first 4 positions are free leaving the hungry troll, Cakkarak, and Kur'plugh still bound.
Piter, Loki, Nogglegrop and Zaruksis stand straight up for the first time in weeks, trailing 3' sections of chain from the shackle that binds their left wrist. The water has risen to their chests, which forces the gnome to swim.
(please include a hit point update in your next post)
Those around you are known to you, at least in a peripheral sense, for you worked side-by-each to torture the goodly races as a unit.
Zaruksis considers his next move, trapped in a ship's hold filling with water. He shivers and realizes that he needs help to escape -- and the more allies/pawns the better. Though the ogre seems ineffectual, he's also tall, and the ladder is broken; and Zaru could use another iksar around, since none of the other races seem particularly friendly. The short, muscular reptile addresses his countryman while giving another tug on the pipe, this time with even better leverage. "Umf! Come brother, I do not like this vessel any more. Let's break out of here and get another one."
Those across from you are unlucky and end up at the bottom of the list. Though they fight and kick they are unable to get free before their air runs out. Their limp forms advise against tarrying too long in this place, and also show how cruel the fates are. It could just as easily be you on that side of the ship.
In other holds, and you remember each of the 3 ships having multiple holds, those that win their way free instantly forget the plight of the next in line and simple re-orient their attention on the next obstacle, and considering that the room is flooding, and there is only one exit, there is a fair amount of attention on the chained portal that leads to the deck. The ladder has been purposefully broken, which makes the process more difficult, but the rising water helps to elevate the effort.
Self sacrifice is not the forte of this dark population, but this group has a wisdom not normally associated with evil.
Finally processing the danger that it is in, the troll explodes into motion, accomplishing less than nothing. It might have something to do with the gnome gruesomely hanging out of its gaping maw.
Strength Check vs. DC 15:
Frustrated the nigh feral troll attempts to grab his neighbour Cakkarak and chew off his face, but even a chained monk is akin to trapping quicksilver using a one-tined fork forged out of frozen chicken fat.
Attempted Grapple:
It is moronic to attack a monk unarmed (incurs an AoO).
Zaruksis throws his not inconsiderable sinews at the task of releasing the others, but requires some assistance to do so.
(require another successful STR check to break the bonds)
It comes back to Piter quickly now. These were his comrades in abusing the new slaves. He recalls their names, mostly: Noggle-something, a Gnome cleric - he would be useful; Zaruksis, an Iksar warrior, and stronger than Piter if he remembers correctly; Loki, the Dark Elf, and surely a Necromancer, dangerous, that one; the other Iksar, Cakkarak, another warrior, but with discipline, perhaps a monk - he might be handy to have if there are no weapons about; and that Ogre, Kur'Plugh, who seemed to be a healer of some kind.
Looking around and thinking there is a small window of opportunity here, he thinks that saving the Ogre might be a good plan, especially considering the terrible bruises and lacerations Piter had just suffered from his unexpected and sudden meeting with the hull of the ship.
In a heartbeat Piter decides to help Zaruksis in releasing the Ogre.
"We must free who we can. Let's work together to save ourselves and make sure the slavers pay for this!" He quickly tries for some footing and then grabs the offending bar, and pulls.
Strength:
HP: 6/13
Cakkarak raises an eyeridge when he fails to escape his chains. The thought of 'I need to train more,' flashes through the iksar's brain. Shifting his position slightly, the monk readies himself to try again.
It took a moment or two, but he slowly recognizes the troll engaged in eating the gnome. Given the fragments of what he could remember about working with the troll, the foul creature was barely worth consideration. He was little better then a savage animal. At least animals could be housebroken.
The language of his people caresses his earslits. Glancing back, Cakkarak nods in agreement with the warrior. The captives in the middle of drowning gave Cakkarak all the motivation he needed.
Shifting his body effortlessly, the iksar grabs hold of the chain and inhales slowly. Reading himself to tear the chain free of the solid pipe that held, the monk spots something moving out of the corner of his eye.
The agile monk moves slightly, the troll's massive, bloody just missing his scales. Cakkarak responds without even sending a curse toward the stupid beast. Fast moving claws proved much more effective then curses. At least in the monk's experience.
Piter's efforts against the pipe remain ineffectual, and it is becoming more important by the second, since they will drown in short order.
Each of the gnomes was brought aboard to do the menial tasks that no one else would be able to stomach. Their small size removed any worry that they would put up a real threat, or at least that was the popular opinion, and they were wonderful to be sent into small holes to clean.
Nogglegrop was found out to be a cleric, which only worsened the abuse he received, for he was forced to use his deity's boons on darkest of dark. For selfish reasons he was glad that each spell was granted, for without use he would quickly join the mounting dead among the gnome ranks, but his secret hope was that Fizzle would stop granting him the strength to heal such horrific beings.
You know the names of most of the fallen across from you, though it is hard to muster up the ability to care.
Tdeu, the ravenous troll that felt that proximity to him was an invitation to dinner, glares at Cakkarak and hisses. For his insolence he receives three powerful blows, moving impossibly fast, resulting in him floating face down in the water afterward. The heavily injured Tdeu is now only a memory, and the only occupants of the hold understand the truth of a monk's power.
For a moment everything stops and everyone stares at Cakkarak. If there was a competition for the alpha of the hold it would be likely that most of the votes would go his way.
The lid of the hold is drawn up about 7", which brings it as far as the chain permits, and standing on deck of the ship is a free gnome taunting the evils with the keys to the lock both for their shackles and the hold. Behind them there is tumult and screaming, and judging by the voices there is a dragon attacking one of the other two ships. The storm Faydedar brought with him is sinking their ship, but the dragon has not physically assaulted their ship yet.
Leaping out of the submerged hold, to grab the little bastard, is not something that any of you could likely accomplish on a good day, but considering that fatigue has set in to your malnourished and cruelly-treated body, just working at maximum capacity to maintain your core temperature, the jump is not happening. You could grab the ledge, but the gnome's dancing eyes reveal its intent to break fingers of any that get too close.
He taunts you and starts peeing into the hold, an impressive feat of acrobatics which he is equal to, while holding the keyring in his clenched teeth.
Loki, ever pragmatic and understanding that he will need the others to get out of this hold, throws in his lot with those trying to tear the pipe free of the wall. His efforts add nothing to the attempt.
Strength check vs. DC 15:
They need the dangerous monk, and certainly could use a healer that weighs as much as a small mountain.
Cakkarak breathes in and holds the breath for several heartbeats, centering himself. Focusing his mental energies, the monk soothes the painful throbbing along his left side.
Releasing his held breath slowly, the calm monk looks around.
"Your aid would be most useful in freeing myself, on a count of three," Cakkarak says to the short, muscular iksar in there native tongue.
The monk turns his head to look at the others.
"We need to free those who are still bound and alive," Cakkarak speaks in common. The iksar speaks in clipped tones, the words sounding clipped, almost bitten off.
"Also, we can use the troll's corpse as a battering ram to break the hatch," Cakkarak glances up at the balancing gnome. His eyes move past the gnome for a moment.
Piter gathers up the chain attached to his manacle into a ball, and holds it at his side. Smiling enthusiastically as he walks over to the taunting gnome, he says, "The ship's going down! Drop the key, friend, so that we can save ourselves, and help you!"
He holds out his hand to accept the key. If he sees the cur glance away, even for a split second, or if he sees him ready to close the hold door, Piter will act: he plans on swinging the chain two-handed up and directly at the little bugger's ankle, hoping it will wrap around so it can be easily pulled down. Throughout this, aside from during the attack itself if there is one, Piter keeps an eye on the key.
Bluff:
If attack with chain (including -4 non-proficiency, but he is proficient in most martial weapons including the spiked chain?) happens:
Kur'Plugh takes another deep breath again, using the chains to tear himself free, drowning was not something that he wanted, his next plan was if free himself would be to burn the gnome with the aid of another lesser spirit, this one made of fire.
" Aye as soon as I get free, I will use the troll's body as a ram. Then I'm eating the gnome who's holding the keys, unless he gives them over." Kur'Plugh grunts as he starts to pull on the chains.
HP:6/11
Kur'Plugh gives a growl as he pulls himself free from the chains, blood pools around his wrists as they were chafed raw from all of the pulling. Standing up he feels his muscles relax in some areas that had been tight for a long time. Kur'plugh moves forward intent on getting to the troll's body, glancing up at the gnome, he gives a wicked smile and licks his lips saying " Little one, I am free, the keys please."
Child, burn the gnome or at least burn the door to weaken it his grandfather spirit whisper to him
How one would be able to lift the troll and move him with sufficient force to batter the portal is anyone's guess. There is still a space of nearly 3' between the top of the water and the top lip of the hold's exit. Even with the ship being akimbo it is a long way up.
While unmatched in unarmed combat, the newly healed Cakkarak is starting to wonder if he should have spent more time doing simple push-ups.
A moment later Zaruksis gets the assistance he required (two successful STR checks) and the rest of the pipe comes free, releasing the dead body of Tdeu. It is nearly 20' long and festooned by broken attachment points. Such an implement would be wonderful for skewering a certain peeing gnome. There would only be one chance at the strike (AC 13), but one must admit that he would not see it coming.
Loki, standing aside from the spray of urine, times the barrage of waves to cast a spell.
It might be the history of torturing the gnome that foils Piter's plan, or the fact that Nogglegrop scoffs openly, but the gnome pulls up his breaches and moves to slam the portal shut after the chain misses him.
(include one action each)
Kur'Plugh starts chanting, letting the spirit of minor flames take the lead, his eyes change from black to the blood red, as the spirit takes his anger and brings it to a head, after the spell is channeled he says " now the door should be more then weak enough to break." His 8'1 frame makes him able to reach the gnome, but unable to get his fingers through to reach the annoying snack.
"Heh. Heh. Heh." Zaruksis bares his teeth in a wide, predatory grin as the ogre's assistance pulls the pipe completely free of the wall. Though he'd barely dared to hope for such luck, when the big guy lets go to cast a spell, the imaginatively practical iksar immediately pivots to jab the pipe between the deck and the hatch.
The taunting gnome makes a handy target for his thrust, though truly incidental to Zaru's intention, in which he'd imagined them using it as a lever to burst the hatch. As it happens, the strike is true and goes clean through the little fool; the ruthless reptile shrugs at his good fortune and braces the pipe against the deck, tilting it up so that the gnome's body slides down (and the keys with it).
Kur'Plugh releases not a torrent of flame (inanimate objects are not a viable target for burst of flame), but something more akin to a spark's older brother, which only has the power to singes the gnome, rather than burning him. Somewhere along the way between spell and reaction (critical failure on fort save) the spell gains strength and burns much more than the ogre would have expected (double damage).
Fortitude Save vs. DC 13:
A wicked gash tears through the gnome's side as the rusty pipe is brought to bear by the powerful iksar. Blood erupts forth to mingle with the creature's urine, and the look of satisfaction on his face it quickly replaced with horror. His agonized scream releases the ring of keys from his teeth dropping them into the hold.
(first to make a DC 10 DEX check will catch the keys, Piter is at a -4 to catch the keys due to his sight issues)
The portal slams mostly shut, leaving a crack open where the pipe sticks through as your small tormentor limps away clutching at his side.
(end of combat)
A boost from the ogre will permit someone to clamber up the pipe (climb DC 5) to slip a key into the lock, or someone could just climb up sans assistance (climb DC 15) to do it as well.
There is a key for everyone's shackles in this hold, but it is filling with water far too fast to worry about such things right now, lest you wish to enjoy your freedom for the last second or two before you drown.
A split second the horror becomes realized.
Your next breath is almost a drink. Each of you grabs a handful of air and jam it into your desperate lungs. The ship is falling to the bottom of the sea with you in it, and the pressure difference presses down on your ears like an anvil. You are positive that your chest is about to cave in and your eyes feel like they are being pounded by spiked hammers.
(may hold breath for as long as 2x CON score)
Piter, right under the gnome when the spell and pipe hit him, sees the keys falling in the dim light and grabs at them. Unfortunately they bounce off his palm as he swipes at them a bit too hard.
Dex:
Feeling more than seeing the water level rising quickly, he decides exiting is more important than the manacles at the moment. He points to where he knocked the key and calls "The key!" as he begins climbing. His head turns to the Ogre, who is tallest and likely strongest, and says, "Give a push, Kur'Plugh?"
Climb:
Kur'Plugh nods, then pushes Piter up, looking around for the keys he hopes to point them out for the closest person, so they could toss the keys up to Piter, or perhaps him.
Mana 1/4
The sharp-eyed Teir'dal plucks the key ring out of the air, seemingly unfazed by the course adjustment that came as a result of the night-blind human's miss.
DEX check vs. DC 10:
Calm is the necromancer, as if ice shards ran through his veins rather than warm blood, as he all but stifles a yawn as he hands the key ring up to Piter.
Piter almost gets thrown through the deck by the ogre's "assistance" (critical succes on STR check) as he scampers up the pipe (successful climb check) and has no troubles unlocking the lock and throwing the hold wide open. Glancing back he sees nothing but water 'neath the rim as everyone is under the frigid water.
Everyone simply swims out. The storm-tossed and heavily fractured deck (Piter -2 to spot rolls due to darkness) is still barely above water, though the holds are not, and your feet kick up water as you move. Mounting the deck you behold a giant tentacle, nearly 11' tall and just as wide, wrapped around the ship. It writhes and shifts as it tears the craft asunder.
You are all tossed into the sea together (require a DC 15 swim check to stay afloat, an iksar can grab a maximum of two people each to help without requiring a swim check from any)
Kur'Plugh:
Loki:
Piter:
Zaruksis:
It is the dark elf's perfect night vision that saves everyone as he points to a ship full of slavers trying to escape. Their course, trying to avoid being eaten by a dragon, will bring them right past the group, as long as everyone can stay afloat that long.
His accent is obvious as he speaks, "I see a escape craf..." The remainder of Loki's sentence is lost in blurbs and bubbles as he succumbs to the harsh treatment of the waves.
Swim:
It is too bad that he never got a chance to point before he went under, since the waves are conspiring to hide the craft, and remaining here is likely to end up with you occupying a dragon's belly.
Kur'Plugh spits water out, makes a grab for Loki, trying too help get his head above water, that and Loki said he saw something, resolving to look again, if he could keep swimming, for what ever the dark elf was talking about. The salt water reminds him of blood, not what he wanted to taste at the moment, his vision a bit of a blur due to what little heat is around him.
Kur'Plugh joins the necromancer under the waves as they start a race for who will find the bottom first.
Kur'Plugh's head goes under the waves, trying hard not to panic, he starts to reach the surface. He feels the salt burn his wounds like liquid fire being poured into his veins, wanting to scream, but knowing if he did he would just lose precious air and drown.
Piter thinks to look for the little (now injured) gnome as he swims up, but soon the water takes all his attention. He holds onto the key as he struggles to stay afloat.
Swim:
He looks around for something floating that would be big enough to help the others float, or some rope.
Spot:
Zaruksis slithers through the water like it's a second home, but the cold bites hard. He needs to get out of the frigid ocean, and so Zaru responds immediately when Loki utters the magic words, "I see a escape craf..." and then disappears under the waves. Darting through the water, the short iksar finds Kur'Plugh near the dark elf, and pulls them both up to the surface. "You were saying?"
Suddenly submerged, Cakkarak floats for a second, wrapped in the cold, uncaring embrace of the salt water. With a stroke of his tail, the monk slices through the water.
Moving out of the hold, using the heat form his own body to see, the iksar almost stops swimming as he spies the massive tentacle. A shudder runs down his spine as fear threatens to grab hold of his mind. The ship creaks and shudders as the tentacle drags it downwards. 'Time to go,' Cakkarak thinks as he gets his scaly hide moving again.
As the monk moves away from the ship that's being dragged to the depths, Cakkarak sees the gnome. The iskar monk remembers the gnome, Nog-something, was capable of healing. That alone, made him worth saving.
Swimming towards the gnome at top speed, Cakkarak snatches him by the arm. Gracefully, the monk swims up to the surface.
Nogglegrop, exhausted from the trials of late, and heartsick at the attack on his countryman, fails to remain above the waves. One might wonder if he simply has given up, if not for his indomitable spirt.
Swim vs. DC 15:
This gnome has value since he is a powerful healer.
Loki had caught a glimpse of a boat, which disappeared behind the waves. It was filled to the brim with slavers fighting each other for spots. Stabbing was the norm and the predators of the deep were being attracted to the lines of ichor flowing behind it, and the occasional limp body casually tossed aside.
Though he is a hated dark elf he has value since he has seen potential refuge. It was not his words as much as how he said them. They dripped with hope, which was something one sorely needed right now.
Piter easily remains above the water, but is all but blind to anything that is happening around him. Whether you love or hate humans this one has value since he holds the keys to the heavy shackles that drag everyone down. There are bits of flotsam about, and he quickly clambers partially up onto what looks to be a crude butcher's block (no further swim checks required).
Kur'Plugh crests the surface of the water sputtering and coughing. He is able to hold his own once he is settled on the surface (successful swim check) and sees Piter on the butcher's block just a short distance away.
Loki finds air again and is able to fill his lungs, though one must wonder if the enigmatic Teir'dal even breathe, since their cold hearts do not appear to beat.
Even with assistance Nogglegrop is unable to continue swimming without assistance, he is just too exhausted (failed swim check).
Swim:
The iksar are perfectly at home in the waters. If not for the sharks, dragon and cold this would be a restful afternoon swim. At this moment it is easy to know why all other races hate the lizardmen.
Triangular fins start bedecking the waters.
Once the Teir'dal finds the surface he is able to continue on his own (successful swim check), and moves to the butcher's block.
Swim:
The butcher's block will not take everyone's weight, but as long as it is only used to occasionally help someone stay afloat it should work for everyone.
"The slavers have a smaller ship. It approaches." His words are spoken between waves working hard to drown him.
Zaruksis bares his teeth in a vicious smile. "Excellent... If we all work together, then we can take it from them. Maybe even keep some alive, so that we can practice the skills that they hired us for." He gives a nasty chuckle at his little joke, then begins to imagine tactics for their assault. "We need equal weights boarding each side; capsizing it would make it easier to remove our erstwhile employers, but would also lose any supplies, and plus it could be hard to right."
The shivering shadow knight considers each of his companions in different combinations. "Perhaps Piter, Cakkarak and I can board on one side, the rest on the other. Ker'Plugh in the middle of his side, so as to not upset it bow-to-stern. Cakkarak can keep the man with the key from drowning while I guide everyone else and the butcher block into position, then I can slip to the other side when it's time to board."
Zaru looks at the little healer. "I don't expect you to fight. I just expect you to prefer the boat to the sharks." He winks unpleasantly.
Piter hangs onto the block of wood and listens to the Iksar. He responds to Zaruksis' suggestions, yelling over din of the waves and the storm. "I like your thinking, especially the part about keeping me from drowning. We take the ship, and it is ours. Where's that gnome?"
Nogglegrop gulps rather obviously and keeps quiet after nodding to show he understood the truth of the most dire situation he had found himself in.
One will need to take the boat at the first opportunity, since its blood-soaked passing has chummed the waters into a literal feeding frenzy.
The human slavers had packed onto the sole life boat that was affixed to the rear of the largest vessel and set sail the moment that Faydedar had grabbed hold of their boat. There were simply too many scared men for such a craft and then the stabbing started. By the time the slavers had closed into range of the party gaining access to the boat there was only 14 of them left.
The voice of one of the dying men is heard by a group of goodly ex-slaves clinging to a piece of decking not far away, but obscured by the storm's fury.
It is all too easy.
Boarding, with respect to balancing the weight, works to perfection and suddenly you are faced with a bared throat presented to you owned by those that turned a traitorous knife in your back. Night blindness was their norm, and by the time they understand the truth of you, it is too late to stop everyone from spilling over the edge, or spilling their blood.
None of you miss the fact that this ship is absolutely packed with barrels of ale and enough food for perhaps a month at sea.
They are clothed and your half-frozen forms are naked. That is likely to change if you get your way.
Initiative
- Piter, Zaruksis, Loki, Cakkarak, Kur'Plugh, Nogglegrop
- 14 slavers
Nogglegrop falls to the ground seemingly lifeless, really not wanting to side with evil, but luckily it is against a shared evil. The gnome is one of the wisest people anyone might ever meet, but even he has his breaking point, and it leads to something utterly foolish in a futile attempt to strike back against an oppressor. He works to stomp on the closest toe (AoO incurred), which does not even come close to landing, and gets a perfectly aimed stab from a short sword (critical success) for his efforts.
Unarmed Strike (Nogglegrop):
AoO Strike:
Critical Confirmation:
AoO Damage: (doubled, unconscious, dying)
Gnomes are made of tough stuff, but not that tough. He drops unconscious to the decking.
8 oars stand in their open oarlocks, and though they are unwieldy (heavy -2 to strike), they will act as decent clubs (1D6 damage, 20/x2 critical, 2HB). Other weapons are your chains, which are still attached to your arms like a dysfunctional mother attaching your mittens to your jacket with a length of yarn, or the heavy chained anchor (improvised weapon, -4 to strike, 1D10 damage, 20/x2 critical, large weapon, 2HB).
Above your head is a sail crammed full of storm wind, which is good because there is a fleet of sharks chasing your every move. Your visibility is down to perhaps 100', and no land can be seen within that distance.
Zaruksis slips under the water and slides under the boat just as it reaches them, timing it perfectly to pivot and lurch out, grabbing the side and pulling himself over. Then he sees the gnome get stabbed on the other side of the boat. "Jenk!" He looses a foul curse. The big guy was using his magic every which way, and so the cold-blooded shadow knight needed a healer that he could bully to keep him alive in this frigid clime; but there are many slavers between him and them. He swings the chain shackled to his wrist high at one, while stabbing low with a stiffened hand at a pressure point on another.
Kur'Plugh pulls himself to the slavers a mad grin on his face and shouts "Finally some decent food, bread and water just don't compare to flesh! Grandpe spirit says eat them all." Hoping to break them, 14 was long odds, even a fully armed ogre would have trouble.
Slamming into the first slaver that is closest to him he gives a crazed laugh, relaying on training to help him out in this fight, if that failed it would be time to use the chains as weapons.
Distractions abound as Loki attempts to release his death magics upon the slavers' heads, and not only is the spell lost (critical failure), but he strangely loses the spell energies as well (8/8 hit points, 8/14 mana).
Channeling (vs. highest DC of Defensive Casting & Violent Motion - DC 16):
A powerful stroke of his tail propels the iksar upwards. Claws sink into the wood of the longboats railing. Effortlessly, Cakkarak pulls himself upwards and swings legs over.
Standing, looking almost bored at the near blind humans, a flicker of a frown finds it's way across the iksars scaled muzzle. He had spotted the fallen gnome and felt a flicker of an emotion. The frown slides off his face like quicksilver running off scales. The monk's annoyance with the gnomes fragile nature was almost as noticable as a suit of full plate.
Turning his attention to the slavers before him, Cakkarak's cold eyes move over the frightened slaver's. He would have to make sure that they didn't all get thrown into the ocean. Their clothing might be useful.
Moving on the longboat, Cakkarak shifts his balance slightly and suddenly lashes out at the nearest slaver. Clawed hands strike out with the speed of an angry serpent.
Piter climbs aboard the ship and immediately set to work. He swings his chain around above him and tries to bring it down on one of the clothed occupants of the boat. It is hard to see, and his attack is less than stellar.
Attack with chain(-2 vision, -2 improvised weapon)
Nogglegrop is dying.
Loki loses his spell.
Kur'plugh works to be scary, but fails to show any discernable effect (unable to do an attack action since an intimidate check is a standard action).
Will save vs. Intimidate:
Piter misses.
Both iksar have a fine showing, and between the two of them are able to kill one of the slavers.
Save vs. harm touch:
The humans would easily be able to repel the naked invaders, considering how exhausted, poorly equipped, unarmed, unarmoured and nearly frozen they are, had they just been able to work together.
Not only do they fail to do that, but they also fail to stop fighting with each other long enough to swing at the new occupants on the raft.
This is a good thing, since these men are very well trained. It appears that they do not deem you as a threat, at least compared to the other slavers.
9 slavers still draw breath, with 4 new bodies having fallen on the deck to join the gnome, and another cast over the side to feed the fishes.
(end of round)
(start of new round)
Zaruksis hisses with frustration at merely contributing to the death of one enemy, even while nodding at his countryman in acknowledgment of their teamwork. "The oarsss... they could make good clubs." He draws one out of its oarlock, and then swings it down hard at one of the humans.