There are many old sailors that say the weathers are omens of things to come...
...Maybe they're right.
One month ago, a Valdemar owned caravel - The North Star - set sail from Magnimar. A ship with a storied past, the North Star has been a pirate's corsair, the personal vessel of a Pathfinder and explorer, plotting out new trade routes to the distant corners of the world.
The vessel now has a much simpler role, serving as the personal ship to Frederick Valdemar. Already well into his middle ages, Frederick has become far more entrenched in the workings of his family's shipping company as his father, Ethram Valdemar, slips further into senility as his years grow ever longer. As such this ship that once carried Frederick's brother - The Pathfinder Joshua Valdemar - to such distant lands as Osirion and Sargava - now tends to only travel regularly from the family estate in Sandpoint to Magnimar, with the occasional venture as far as Riddleport or Korvosa.
Which is just the sort of voyage that the North Star had been taking, a leisurely cruise from Magnimar to Riddleport, then turning around and heading south to Korvosa. The purpose was twofold; a bit of quality time for Frederick with his nephew and neice, Eredin and Emilia Valdemar, to celebrate Emilia's 19th birthday, and to show Emilia the various holdings of her family's company.
The first leg of the journey - north to Riddleport - had been almost divinely favoured. The weather was for the most part excellent, with strong winds and sunny skies, the crew in good spirits and life just seeming excellent. Even the stop over in Riddleport itself - well known as a den of inequity, strife and crime - was mercifully bland.
One night, two weeks into the return voyage, a massive storm came upon the North Star. Sending stories high swells, spitting rain, torrenting winds and lightning the cracked the sky! It was in this fury of nature that the pirates descended upon them. A Ship of similar size to the North Star, it's Grinning Demon's head mast visible in the flashes of lightning as boarding planks were thrown across and brigands swung the gap.
Had it simply been the pirates, the North Star's crew may have prevailed, but it was so much worse. First came a veritable swarm of queer little monters shaped like goblins from the waist up and octopuses from the waist down, who aided the pirates in subduing or killing the crew, howling pitched squeals of glee with every kill.
Worst of all was Eredin. The Elder brother of the Valdemar siblings turned on his people his crew, had signaled to the pirate ship, had drawn steel against his family and friends and then, when confronted by his uncle, ran Frederick through with the man's own sword...
The time since then is little more than a blur, with the majority of the crew executed and cast overboard. The survivors being stripped of all possesions and gear, some of it claimed by pirates, the rest simply tossed after the corpses into the deep below.
Bound, gagged and loaded into a raft - the half a dozen survivors are brought ashore on some unknown cove. A cave can be seen, outlined by the flickering light of a flame, but these bandits have a harsher cell in store. One by one their bonds are cut and they are thrown into a muddy deep pit that's been dug into the sand, a grate of netted branches and sticks placed atop it and held down by large stones. And there they are left, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, as the rain cascades down, turning the pit's sandy bottom to slick mud.
For her part, Emilia Valdemar sits to one side, her long, golden blonde hair stringy and bedraggled,her eyes red from tears mixed with rain water. Her arms curled around her knees and the tatters of her deep blue dress as she stares into oblivion. Her brother's last words to her still clear in everyone's mind.
"Try to find her somewhere nice, no whips... if you can help it."
Lord Starse had joined the little pleasure cruise by his mother's insistence, but that didn't mean he wasn't -enjoying- himself. For a man who's general reputation often includes the phrase "spends all his money on hookers and booze", young Lord Starse is actually a stand-up guy! Like any aspiring bard he has courtly manners, impeccable schooling, and is never short a story to tell. He boarded early to greet long-time acquaintances and family friends, even greeting a few of the Valdemar families long-time sailors by name, and deliver the birthday gift he had selected for Emilia: a set of six darkwood hairpins, each chased with a lattice of beautiful mithril filigree, in a mock-elven style of the sort currently in highest fashion in Taldor.
He had been entertaining Eriden and Emilia since the word go, showing off simple magic tricks, drinking, and dancing when the music permits. He had even thought to bring libations for the party in the form of Taldan cherry brandy, a sweet, fruity alcohol that hardly burns at all. One of those kinds you can partake far too much of without quite noticing you've gotten sloshed. Close enough to have at least embraced Frederick when he boarded the ship, his entire journey had been a singular diplomatic success. Right up until the storm.
As a 'Guest' Lord Starse quickly removed himself from the deck and got out of the professionals way, retiring to his cabin to watch out the little port-hole at the lashing winds and crashing waves, striking up and completely obscuring sight for a few moments. Once he even saw a fish. As the winds howled and the sailors shouted to one another over the din, he was busily just a little sick in his chamberpot, swearing off ever mixing alcohol and boating again. It wasn't until the first screams that he raced out onto deck in a mad rush. Seeing those little squid-goblins, he had drawn components from his pouch to raise a crackling shield of live electricity, hissing and spitting in the rain in it's magically held shape. The heavy scrollwork on the bracer on his right arm turned out to be hiding a rather dangerous blade, snapping free of the housing to protrude out over the back of his hand.
He had acquitted himself well, up on the deck, rallying sailors and fighting with the spot-enchanted blade, until he was nearly back to back with the ships first family, in the very room with Frederick and Eriden. His last stand had been to draw a tiny colored bead of pressed sand from the heavy pouch at his side and crush it in his palm, blowing the sand out like sparkling glass in streamers of red, yellow, and blue. The crowded hallway was suddenly full of the sounds of little thudding bodies, knocked unconscious by the startling display of his magical color spray. He had turned to find Eriden plunging his uncle's own blade through his gut. He had just enough time to cry out "NO!" and dismiss his shield spell to take down a final goblin creature, shocking himself badly with the magical backwash, before one of the pirate marauders took him over the back of the skull with a belaying pin, knocking him cross-eyed and leaving him bleeding in the doorway.
Manacled and gagged to prevent him from casting any spells, his valuable spellbook, the ornamental (and highly functional) kukri taken from his belt, the bracer stripped from his wrist, the genius inventor and Lord of Taldor was stripped of every defense but his courage, and tossed to rot in with the cargo. Pirates drank his brandy, slaughtered the crew, made him impotent in the briny dark and left him to weep for his ineptitude. When he was finally brought food he lashed out, charging and kicking, and actually managed to knock the unruly pirate out, stealing a long-knife and trying to make his way out to free the other prisoners. The other two pirates just outside beat him severely, leaving him bloodied and bruised and in no fit state to try that again, even tying his feet.
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Now, filthy in the streaming sandy mud, he rises to his knees, the blood crusted in his beard finally washing out, and the patter of fresh water dripping through the brambles giving him a spot of much needed drinking water...
Taking a long moment to catch droplets from a little streamer into his mouth, he swallows roughly and coughs, wiping his face and eyes, and turning to frown down at Emilia. He promptly strips off the leather vest he still wears and drapes it around her shoulders like some kind of shield, curling an arm around her and murmering hoarsely "Don't worry, Miss Valdemar. I'll find a way out of this. A pretty thing like you? We're sure to be missed! Chin up! I'm sure the navies are being launched for our rescue even now..." he chafes her shoulders, trying to raise his voice into a lighter tone from his ragged croaking, and hide the favoring of his left side where he was kicked so badly before.
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Sinder had been asleep when the Pirates had hit, more fool him. As such, he had not been of much use. He had been dragged from his corner, stripped of weapons and coin, and tossed aboard the raft with the other survivors, all in all a very undignified way to wake up.
Standing propped against the wall, the young man frowns up at the netted grate above his head. "Bastards... If I had wanted to spend time in a damn pit I would have stayed where I was..." Sighing, he runs his hand through his fringe thoughtfully, before stepping away from the wall.
He turns slowly, surveying the rest of the survivors with interest, his long, thick, waist-length braid swaying as he turns his head slowly. He is dressed in a dark pair of 3/4 length pants and wears a simple pair of leather sandles, which wrap round his calf. 'Well ain't we a lovely group...'
Sighing, he crouches down and scoops up a few fragments of bone. Shuffling them round in his palm, he moves over to a small puddle of rain water and washes them clean, before standing once again. Reaching up, he pushes the thin length of bone through the holes in his ear, where two silver rings should have been. The necessaries taken care of, he sighs and stretches, before turning to the group again.
"So ladies and gents... How in the name of hell are we getting out of here?" he grins, looking up at the grate once again.
'Gods help me...'
He looked towards the young Lord, huddling by the woman and frowned. 'Rescue...? I doubt it but one could hope...'
He sighed softly, chewing thoughtfully on his lip as he begins to inspect the sides of the pit.
"Happy Birthday to me..."
Pursing his lips in a tight little moue of tense dissatisfaction, Eaton nods at the rakish fellow standing opposite. It's clear just by the tense expression on his face and the furrowed brow that he's pretty damn sure there's no rescue coming as well... You can't let the women-folk lose hope though! Wouldn't be chivalrous.
Supposedly answering Sinders question, Eaton rasps This pit is sand. We could dig our way out with our bare hands if need be. Or I can boost you up and you can slide those nettles out of the way and find us something to climb out on. A rope? A log? A ladder? Any guards up there?
Lord Starse makes no move to actually get up and help yet though, trying to comfort Emilia and commiserating with the thunderstruck young half-elf. He's dirty, and smelly, and REALLY has to use the facilities, but he does what he can to make sure she feels protected.
There's a new thought. Add that to the growing list of things you must do. Learn enough, do enough, change enough, so they can all sleep sound tonight...
Phaedra had been inside her cabin since the storm first hit. As unfamiliar as the rocking boat had been beneath her feet for the entire voyage, the rough waves generated by the storm had left her quite ill and unable to do much of anything other than just lying in her bed. Oblivious to anything but her own misery, Phaedra didn't realize anything was amiss until the first pirate burst into her cabin, whom she promptly put to sleep. She then staggered out, only to be grabbed from behind by yet another pirate and before she knew what was going on, she found herself bound, gagged and being tossed into a raft with several other people.
Now she finds herself sitting in the mud at the bottom of this pit. Her once white blouse and forest green skirt both tattered and now the color of mud. This is what I ran away to? I would have been better off had I just stayed where I was. That thought leads her to start softly crying as she looks about her, wondering if she was ever going to get out of here and who these other people were.
Tellar enjoyed the calm of the trip initially. When not working at his duties he would simply sit at the front of the ship, watching the water pass beneath them. There were few injuries on a journey as smooth as this so his load was lighter than it might have been, save helping some of the guests with a hangover.
The stop in Riddleport was nice but it was too long for his liking. Most of the evenings while the rest of the crew lost their coin and their hearts in the dockside taverns, Tellar simply rested on the boat, watching the stars above and the calm waves below.
It was on their return south that the storm hit and Tellar felt that familiar thrill of excitement pulse through him. The guests bundled themselves below decks while Tellar took his place with the other sailors, pitting their strength against that of the sea.
Waves crashed and the rain seemed to blow sideways as the storm broke over the vessel. Men hauled at ropes and cut the sails while the vessel rode out the fury. Tellar could feel his muscles burn as he hauled with the rest of them, a grim and yet content smile playing across his face as he fed off the very energy of the storm that was trying to founder them.
As the first raiders boarded the ship, there was panic. Tellar moved to join the rest of his shipmates as they attempted to repell the pirates yet there were simply too many of them, along with their foul allies. Using the cudgel he kept at his waist, Tellar gave as good as the rest but it wasn't long before most were dead or captured.
The pirates began killing the captured crew, throwing them over the side or running them through with their blades. Tellar waited his turn calmly and as the sword above him raised it suddenly stopped and lowered. He could hear voices over the wail of the winds as the men behind him argued. I've 'eard of this one. Swallowed by the sea and it embraced him like a lost love. I don't care who he is, get rid of 'im. I ain't bringing down that wrath on my head. As if to punctuate the statement a crack of lightning and a peal of thunder rolled over the ship. With a grimace, the second pirate raised the butt of his sword and slammed it into Tellar's skull. Fine, throw him in the hold with the rest then.
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Tellar's eyes open slowly and it's at least another minute before his vision starts to clear. Looking around he sees he's stuck at the bottom of a pit, the remaining survivors from the ship scattered around him.
Rubbing the grit from his eyes he stands and stretches his arms above his head, trying to work the kinks out of his back. With a sigh he settles back and looks to those around him. As the rain pours down on them, he can tell that it's a sorry lot that's left. He spies one of the guests, a Lord Stark or Starn or something, attempting to comfort Miss Emilia. Looking around, Tellar doesn't see the captain or the lady's brother and bows his head sadly at their loss.
Tellar bends down and roots amongst the rising water until he finds a stone big enough for his needs. Cupping the rock in his hands, he whispers a few words and feels the gentle swell of the waves in his soul as the stone begins to glow brightly between his fingers. His voice cracks, his throat raw from the punishment of the storm and his capture. He opens his mouth to drink a little of the rain water and tries again. Is anyone hurt?
Phaedra glances up at the man with the glowing pebble as speaks, sniffling a bit she responds, Just bruised a bit, but nothing serious. Finally standing up, Phaedra tries to dry her face of rain and tears, but with nothing dry to use that proves futile. She ends up just standing there with her arms wrapped about herself, chilled from the rain. Will they be coming back for us? I really hope they don't mean for us to drown in this pit.
Twisting the finger and thumb of his right hand together and rotating his wrist like turning a key in a lock, Lord Starse hisses sharply "Du-kagn armot!" and the water seems to course off his skin, reflecting an inch away and never quite touching him, though he still squelches in the wet sand and his clothes still pick up the grime.
Prestidigitation has always been a hard spell to beat for the pointless comforts in life.
"Nothing that won't heal in a few days..." he mutters, rising to his feet and brushing his hands on his damp pants, the water steaming off him quickly from the use of that miraculously trivial magic. "You're the ships priest, yes? A Gozran?" Eaton adresses Tellar with a nod, even while reaching into his back pocket to pick out his... oh... seems to have lost his handkerchief in the whole 'being a prisoner' process. He clearly frets about not being able to offer Phaedra some sort of comfort as well, since giving her his shirt seems a bit forward of him. His eyes keep flicking over at her and his hand opens and closes in agitation. His wrists are rubbed raw, and his lip is still split and a bit swollen, and he moves with lurch and a limp, but it all seems to be that 'natural healing' effect humans have to put up with when they don't have costly magic to deal with their every papercut and hangnail.
"Our first priority is to get Miss Valdemar and the young lady here warm and dry before they catch their deaths. Is there anything you can do about this rain? I think I can boost this fellow up to the ledge to look around..." He frowns at Phaedra again and pleads gently "Hey... hey there... dry your eyes. It'll be alright. We'll be out of this. What's your name? I'm Eaton." Stifling his chattering teeth and burning cold fingers he nods over at Sinders again.
I'm Phaedra. She tries calm herself and stop crying. Oh why does it have to raining? Excuse me, but do you have any idea who those people were who put us here or what they may want? My family doesn't have any money if it's gold they are after. Still looking quite upset, Phaedra begins to pace around the pit, both for lack of anything else to do and a desire to try to warm up a bit. After the second time that she almost falls in the mud, she gives up even doing that and sits by Emilia.
"Yes, one assumes they would be interested in money... but since it was -Ereden- who invited them onboard..." Eaton seethes, practically grinding his teeth as clenches his hands in justified rage "I imagine it also has something to do with some kind of coup... You're likely just caught up in it, Phaedra. I'll do everything in my power to make certain you get home though, alright? No fears. We just have to start with this mud puddle. I have tricks left, nothing more. If only I had more potent -magic- at my disposal! What do you think?" he passes another glance at Sinders "Can you get out past that lip there with a bit of a boost? If not, I'm afraid we'll be floating till we fill this pit with water... and that's a lot of unpleasant water..."
Looking even more concerned as she glances over at Eaton, Home? No, that wasn't where I was heading. Thank you, but I'd settle for just getting out of this pit. Nice enough of him to offer that, but I can't go back home just yet. Phaedra stands back and looks up at the grate. I wonder if I'm small enough to squeeze through it anywhere?
As the new Navigator of the North Star, Edgar put twice as much effort and energy into his work on the ship. It was strange, he had been on this ship for almost half of his life, but everything seemed so different now that he was "somebody." Wearing his fine navel coat, and his new hat and boots, it seemed like a bizarre dream. He even felt more bold, which was good, considering what he was soon going to do.
At Emelia's Birthday party, there was more people than Edgar dared count, which he expected. He gave he her birthday wishes along with the other guests and left a gift of a rose with a note attached simply stating that he wished to give her gift in private at a later time. Gifting the ring and proposing in such a way would cause a scandal. That was not the gift he wished to give her. Plus, Emelia would probably turn him down anyway, and he'd rather not have an audience for such an embarrassing confession.
The next day, Edgar felt great, despite what he was about to do. He had been nearly traumatized to death by the though of it, but now that he was here, ready to do it, he felt a strange calm, like he was in the eye of a storm. Edgar looked for an opportunity to see Emelia in private that day, but every time he saw her she was occupied, Edgar couldn't even get close. The flowing day, and the day after that, the same result. Every time Edgar got a chance it was ruined. The worst was this "Ettin Starzy" fellow, whom would always pop into the scene at the last minute. It nearly made Edgar's blood boil. Still, there was bound to be a chance before the end of this voyage, where Edgar could let his feelings show for the woman he loved...
Then the storm came. It was really his fault. He was the Navigator. Trying to find time to be with Emelia must have made him lax on his duty. How could he have done such a thing? While trying to navigate the ship, as safely as possible through the storm, the pirates attacked. When Edgar finally noticed, he was flabbergasted. What insane pirates would be crazy enough to attack in a storm like this? It was madness. Even so, the ship was not prepared for such a surprise raid, and the weather made it even worse. He had to get to Emelia!
He ran with all his might, forcing his way through the fighting, picking up fallen weapons and attacking pirates on his way. It had been a long time sense he had fought with a weapon. This time, he wield it against pirates. As he went, he saw the strange octo-goblins, and tried best to steer clear of them.
The fight was lost, it was all to obvious, as Edgar finally made it into sight of Emelia's room, he saw Eaton Starse at the door. Tch! Why is it always him? Still it was no use, Edgar was surrounded by pirates and being grappled to the ground. As much as he hated the thought, he prayed that Eaton would be able to save Emelia. As he was gagged and hauled away he stole one last glance at Emilia's doorway, only to see Eaton knocked out.
There he was again, bound, watching his companions being ran through and knocked overboard. He didn't want to die. He wanted to Marry Emelia and maybe start a family. Nothing more. He just wanted a simple life, and the chance to live it. When it was his turn, one of the pirates gave him a good look and said, "Hey, you be tha' one Eriden talked about. That Ex-pirate... How about it, mate? Wanna join tha crew?" He said through crooked teeth.
A chance? Edgar could join up and free Emelia and they could escape together... Then Edgar thought of all the friends and crew mates he had lost. He thought about Fredrick, who gave him another chance at life.
Edgar said nothing and spit in the pirates face. The next thing he he saw was a sap from one of the other pirates coming down on his head...
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Edgar couldn't breathe. With a start, he pulled his face out of the mud, breathing heavily. His head hurt. Who were these people? Then He saw Emelia. The look in her eyes. The look he feared to see...
"E-Emelia-"
He promptly strips off the leather vest he still wears and drapes it around her shoulders like some kind of shield, curling an arm around her and murmering hoarsely "Don't worry, Miss Valdemar. I'll find a way out of this. A pretty thing like you? We're sure to be missed! Chin up! I'm sure the navies are being launched for our rescue even now..." he chafes her shoulders...
Ettin Starzy... Edgar frowns to himself, clenching a fist.
Standing up, Edgar takes in the others and the surroundings, trying to see a way out or something to use. He also listens for activity above the pit. knowing pirates, probably no guard.
Perception
Seeing Eaton rise and speak to the others, Edgar makes his way over to Emelia and kneels down to look at her. "E-Emelia, are you okay?" he quietly asks, wishing he still had his new coat to offer her.
Excuse me, but do you have any idea who those people were who put us here or what they may want? My family doesn't have any money if it's gold they are after.
"Pirates. I don't wish to scare you, but they are probably planning to sell us to slavers." Edgar says, yet to take his eyes off of Emelia, trying to make sure she is okay.
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"Ain't nothing hurt but my pride, buddy!" Sinders says, in answer to the mans question.
He frowns up at the hatch again, measuring the distance in his head as he does. 'With a boost and some Gods damned luck... Maybe. What I wouldn't give for a nice clean 20ft jump between two rooftops, right about now!' Sighing softly, he crouches down, tightening the straps on his sandles. Running a hand through hsi hair, he stands again.
"Well... I think I can do it. With a boost and a little luck!" Nodding softly, his braid swinging against his back as he does, Sinder turns to look at the man again. "Now fella, as you will be tossing me in to the air here, I guess you should know who I am. Sinders be my name, Sin for short, Sindy if you want a blade in your gullet!" Grinning, Sinders looks across at the young woman who had begun to cry and frowns softly.
'Well hell... Have to get her out of here fast now don't we? Right... Best get to work!' Nodding softly, he faces the man, before taking one last look up at the hatch above their heads.
"Burn me for a fool but... Let's get this done eh?" With a faint grimace, Sin dashes towards the man, before leaping high, using the mans cupped hands as a spring to launch himself up towards the grate.
Seeing Eaton rise and speak to the others, Edgar makes his way over to Emelia and kneels down to look at her. "E-Emelia, are you okay?" he quietly asks, wishing he still had his new coat to offer her.
Flashing a blinding grin and a nod at Edgar, Eaton grumbles "Good show, Crewman. Top notch loyalty. You're a fine officer..." before returning to his conversation with Phaedra.
Even here in this dank, damp hole, he manages a rather coy smirk. "And where -were- you heading, Miss Phaedra?" He looks her over a lingering minute. At first impression, she comes across as a bar-maid, perhaps fleeing home. That low-slung top, that flirty corset, what remains of her dress... Well, other than making him sorry he doesn't have access to a spell like mending to offer her, she comes across as a tavern girl, or baker's daughter. She's clearly not malnourished, she'd fetch more than a silver a day at a cathouse in Oppara, and he's certainly paid for worse!
Still! Not in the bedchamber here! He shakes his eyes loose and splits his lips in another quirking grin, wincing just slightly and tonguing the slice that mars his strong mouth.
Sinders offers his introduction and Eaton turns quickly to face him, nodding. "Up you go then, Sin." Not only hands and a braced knee to leap from, but a shoulder to stand on should he need it, distributing his weight as evenly as he can to keep from sinking ankle deep in the muck.
Phaedra begins to answer Eaton, but instead she freezes in place when she looks up into his lingering gaze and is reminded of someone else. That look in his eyes is just like Kerrick's. Suddenly mindful of the state of her dress and the men present, she retreats to where Emelia is still sitting and notes that her dress isn't in any better shape.
Turning slightly from the group, Phaedra quietly speaks the words to a spell for both herself and Emelia.
Tellar watches the interplay amongst the survivors, smiling at how easily everyone seems to be falling into their roles. Much like on a ship.
Looking around himself, Tellar eases himself down to sit on the pit floor, his ass sinking slightly into the muddy sand and water. He places the Light'ed pebble in the center of the pit in front of himself and then leans his back against the wall.
As Sinders prepares to extricate the group from the pit, some of the men eye him askance, the noble Lord Starse most of all as he sets himself down. With a shrug Tellar pulls up the pants leg on his left leg, exposing the scarred and tattered remains of his limb. While old and scarred over, the leg looks less like a healthy limb and more like a skeleton's appendage, wrapped in ill-fitting leathers.
The sea always claims a price from those who truly appreciate its power. Sometimes that price is higher for some than for others. Tellar tilts his head back, eyes closed as the rain falls across his face. My talents lie elsewhere I'm afraid.
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As he leaps, Sin feels Eaton's attempt drag at him somewhat, only for an instant, before he springs free, leaping up to cling on to the underside of the grate. From his new vantage point, he stares down at the group below.
"Now what?" He barks a short sharp laugh, before he begins to look around for a possible way out.
'How did I even...? Forget it. Lets just do this thing. Okay... Could I dig around the sides maybe? Would that work? Or could I go through it? Would that be too loud? What in the name of hell am I to do up here? Focus Sin, focus!' Frowning softly, he sets to his work, attempting to dig at the edge of the grate, using his feet to kick out some lumps if he can.
Phaedra turns away from him, and he squelches into the muck, ankle deep, spastically gripping at Sinders in that panicked moment for support... and yet the Ninja STILL springs free with no help from him. Impressive.
Was it something I said? The young lord extricates himself from the muck and curses "Absent gods..." under his breath, having to reach in to free his ankle-high boot. Still, that leap is worth a comment and he hisses a congratulatory "Nice jump, man! Guards? Keep your wits about you!" and by the time he turns back around...
Phaedra's dressed! He's about to turn and ask the Salt if he just mended their clothes when he gets a look at that wasted leg as well, wincing visibly before he can gather his wits about him and strap on a stoic face. "A lame priest...? No, wait... stop me if you've heard this one... A lame priest, a bar girl, and a snobby young toff get caught in a pit..." there's that smirk again, Eaton's mouth twitching up on one side to twist in a helpless, self-deprecating expression that has him shaking his shoulders in silent laughter.
Having just finished casting mend upon Emelia's dress, Phaedra looks back up at Eaton's comment with a less than pleased look upon her face. A bar girl? He at least got the snobby young toff part right. Really though, is that what he takes me for?
Sinder vaults from Eaton's cupped hands and quickly grasps the wooden grate - bamboo, laticed together with roughly a foot of space between each pole. He quickly kicks his legs out, digging toes into the sandy walls to hold himself parralel with the cage. He feels blood course through his biceps as they hold him aloft. More importantly he also feels the give of the wood, long soaked from beach and rain and probably at least partially rotted.
Carefully, he pulls his arms in, drawing his head up to a space to peer above the grate.
Just as he does, lightning breaks the sky again, throwing light all around. Sin sees no guards stationed, but spots three figures approaching from the cave he spotted earlier. Taking one last look and seeing an empty beach... and no ship... aside from the trio, he deftly and silently drops to the ground.
Eaton holds his hands out defensively at the tone "You're... not a bar girl? Sorry! You're... a... Cook? Baker? Candlestick maker?" Not. Helping. "I didn't much see you on the boat is all... I assumed..." he puts his hands down to his sides and executes a sharp little bow, about 30 degrees. "My apologies, Miss Phaedra. Won't happen again."
Just then, Sin skims to the bottom of the pit, splashing up a bit of mud and giving something for Eaton to 'conveniently' shift his attention to. "What'd you see? Is it safe?"
"No..." Emilia mutters sullenly to Edgar while Sin hangs from the lattice above. She turns to look at the young navigator and Edgar feels his heart almost break then and there. Her eyes are reddened and bloodshot from tears, reflecting a pool of shock, rage, hopelessness and crushing despair, "How could I be alright?" the last word ends with a mirthless and self mocking laugh. The girl closes her eyes and pushes herself up from the ground, nodding once to Phaedra and muttering a quiet, "Thank you..." for fixing her clothes.
Folding her arms defensively in front of her, Emilia stands beside Eaton - though keeping a fair space between them. On the nobleman's latest joke, she lets out a growl of frustration, "Gods do you ever shut up?! This is some game to you then?" turning away, she mutters - though loud enough for any to hear - "Jonasty has half a leg and he's more of a man..."
whatever else she was going to say is cut off by Sin's tumble back to the dirt, and from a swarthy voice above.
"Oy! Shut yer' bloody yaps!"
Standing at the edge of the pit, illuminated by the flame of a single lantern is a ratlike man, barechested and wearing simple trousers, a curved sword hanging from his belt, and his hair covered with a molding bandana. Two more figures come out of the darkness behind him... Two of the octo-goblins caper along the lattice of the wodden cover, their tentacles wrapping around the bamboo logs as they peer down with glowing red eyes, each hefting a small but viscious looking spear.
"And who said you could have light, eh?!" the pirate, so filthy that he'd probably have flies if it wasn't raining so hard, asks as kneels at the edge. "But maybe you can barain... eh?" his eyes roam lecherously in the flicking light of the flame, moving from Phaedra to Emilia, "I tells you wot... One of you fine lasses accompany me to my bunk tonight, and I'll let you keep the light. It wouldn't be so bad neither," He grins, his mouth showing more holes than teeth... and the ones he has are black, "I promise... I gots a gentle touch.." his tongue licks along his lips, slobber slipping from his gums.
Sin's drop back down interupts whatever Phaedra would have said regarding Eaton's attempt at an apology. I'd like to know exactly what he thought. Spoiled brat. Stepping back a bit to allow Emelia room to stand up and move, she snickers a bit after her comment to Eaton. Guess she feels the same way about that one.
Phaedra flinches when the man atop the pit begins speaking. At his suggestion she visibly pales and moves over to Emelia's side. I'd rather spend eternity in the dark. On the verge of tears again, Phaedra only manages to say, No.
Grimacing, Eaton manages a sort of weak smile at Emilia and murmers "I apologize, Miss Emilia. I was trying to lighten the mood. 'Despair has killed more adventurers than dragons ever have' my father used to say." Looking up at the pirate he raises his voice "You do know my father... right...? The Iron Count? Iocab Erodin? He taught me this..."
Eaton jerks a forefinger upright at the rat-faced man and hisses "Varcaussss!" trailing off in a sibilant hiss as a green streamer sprays away from his finger, skimming up at the man's leering grin. What a lovely target. Hope it makes it through the cover.
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Sin stood slowly and turned, about to answer the young Lords question, when the pirate gives a gruff shout from above. Grimacing darkly, Sin glares up at the man as he begins to speak. 'Ugly bastard aint ya? Wait till I get my mitts round your throat ya runt!'
Thinking quickly, a plan begins to form in Sinders mind, taking it the rotten state of the wood. 'If I wait till...' The green blob speeding up to slam in to the pirates face, causes all of the blood to drain from the young mans face. Swearing wuite forcefully, Sin takes a couple steps back, towards the edge of the pit.
"Now you've gone and bloody done it...!" Sighing, he darts forward and leaps once again, aiming to latch on to the underside of the grate, right below one of the creatures.
Sin grabs the grate tightly, slamming his feet in to the side once again, before heaving downward with all his might, using the side as a brace, attempting to break the rotten wooden structure and bring it out from under the Goblins feet.
Edgar is silent, not knowing what to say. Feeling Emelia's hurt, he slowly stands as she makes her way over to Eaton to let her frustrations out on him. As frustrating he had made Edgar's life the last few days, he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the man.
When the pirate shows up, Edgar moves up next to Emelia. Trying to find something to say, he struggles between anger and something that could help their predicament. Offering the girls up to this pirate might drop his guard, but with how emotionally hurt they were, Edgar couldn't bring himself to mention it.
"Why don't you come down here and snuff this light out yourself then?" He yells up to the pirate, but before getting an answer, Eaton shoots said pirate with some sort of green acid stuff.
acid...
Edgar scoots over to Eaton leans over and whispers. "Etti-er Eaton. Was that acid? Can you do that again? Maybe you can burn a hole into the grate, or weaken it. Is that possible?" Edgar says, never looking away from the pirates.
Edgar scoots over to Eaton leans over and whispers. "Etti-er Eaton. Was that acid? Can you do that again? Maybe you can burn a hole into the grate, or weaken it. Is that possible?" Edgar says, never looking away from the pirates.
"Yes... a thousand times. But it will take *time*."
Phaedra tries to gauge everyone's reactions to the pirate's proposal. Surely no one would actually suggest that Emelia or I do such a thing? Phaedra appears visibly relieved by the others actions which show that they intend to do no such thing. When Eaton sends the little stream of acid up at the pirate she thinks, Well, maybe he's not completely useless. Still a spoiled brat though.
Tellar watched the drama unfold, the pirate's threats, Eaton's acid flying out to strike the man. Mumbling a brief prayer to the seas he shifted his weight and position over. He gently rested a hand on Phaedra's young shoulder and spoke softly to her. None of us will let any harm fall on either of you. You have my word on that.
Phaedra looks up at Tellar as he lays his hand on her shoulder, the kindness in his eyes and his words help to calm her and she murmurs, Thank you.
Eaton's hand flicks out, acid litterally flying from his fingers, splashing into the unsuspecting pirate's face, the man reels back, hands clamping on his own head as he howls in pain, a howl hopefully drowned out by the roars of thunder and the surf, lest the alarm be raised.
Reacting at the first attack, Sinder launches himself into the air. his feet digging into the wall of the pit - seemingly hanging in mid air as he grabs on to a joint of the grate, heavily lashed together, and rips down. rope tears and wood snaps, and the cage breaks in two, collapsing in on itself.
One of the Octo-Goblins tumbles to the ground, letting out a surprised squeal as it slams into the ground head first with a hideous snap. Letting out slow and ragged breaths, black blood pooling in the sand.
The first Octo-Goblin holds on to the remainder of the cage, it's tentacles wrapping around around the broken logs, readying it's spear while howling for its companion.
Tellar draws his hand across his forehead, rubbing the beads of sweat between his fingers. Crooking his fingers, he intones the word Seldrano and points his finger at the still living Octo-goblin. A ray of feeble gray light shoots out of his fingertip and strikes the creature in the chest. Its face goes pale and it looks ready to puke out whatever odditiies it calls food.
Phaedra looks at the smelly pirate and quietly mutters the word, Sleep.
Eaton is a trained unarmed combatant. He steps forward and slashes out at the goblin still hanging by it's wobbly tentalegs from the collapsed grill with a poorly aimed kick, nearly turning his ankle in the sloshy sand. He curses with an angry hiss, left well within reach of that jabby spear and without a solid plate of metal between him and the vicious little beasty. So much for training.
Seeing a window of opportunity, Edgar sprints and jumps at the edge of the pit, hopefully pulling himself out the rest of the way.
Acrobatics
If he has enough actions left, he winds up and belts the pirate with a right hook!
Melee: Unarmed Strike |Damage nonlethal |Crit:20/x2
Sneak Attack nonlethal
Critical Confirmation: |Damage
Using the remains of the latticed cage as a makeshift ladder, Edgar vaults up to the edge of the pit, drawing on skills learned from years of running the rigging of the North Star and other such ships, and hoists himself up to the ground above, landing on his feet.
As he does, the pirate with a melted face turns on him in a rage, the poor sod's face a mess of burned and bubbled flesh, and draws his sword - a scimitar, burred and rusted - and lunges for Edgar, drawing a line of bright red across the young man's shoulder!
Rolling with the cut, Edgar never loses momentum, twisting his body around to grind a solid punch right into the man's kidney. The pirate lets out a small wheeze, eyes rolling back into his skull as he staggers on his feet.
Who, on the wave of Phaedra's hand, slumps to the dirt by Edgar's feet - snoring away.
The lone remaining Octo-Goblin waves his spear menacingly, when Tellar's spell takes out, and lurching on his perch he pukes up bile of sickly yellow.
Seizing the opportunity, Eaton lunges for the Gobliny fish thing, his hand glowing with magical energy, striking hard - but not true. The little octo-goblin, as much a warrior as anyone here, twists his body to avoid the attack while shoving his spear foward, piercing into Eaton's gut, sending a spurt of blood.
We can't let that thing have a chance to call out for help or we will be overpowered again and next time they might not leave us alive. Phaedra points to the octo-goblin and mutters to herself again.
Edgar quickly moves up to the Octo-goblin, throwing his fist at the strange creature. If it is actually possible to flank it somehow, he try's to do so.
Melee: Unarmed Strike |Nonlethal Damage |Crit:20/x2 { +2 to hit, if flanking
Sneak Attack {only if flanking
Eaton obviously isn't doing well. He's favoring his side from the kicking on the boat, and despite slashing his hand against the grate and throwing up a scatter of rotting bamboo chips with the dull-orange halo sparkling around his outstretched hand, and formal martial training, he can't actually hit the goblin. He's bleeding a bit from the flesh-wound to his middle, and altogether too desperate and winded to really contribute.
Happily this little party has a priest ready on hand! One leg or no.
Biting through the pain in his shoulder, Edgar moves over the fallen pirate and out on to the cracked remains of the crisscrossed pit cover. The frame - still braced on the end by large boulders - bows under his weight (Putting the Octo-Goblin at about face level with Eaton) but Edgar deftly keeps his balance, gripping the rough wood with his feet as he drops to a crouch and slams a fist into the Goblin thing's nose as it tries to turn to face him. There's a sound of a wet crunch, and the beast tumbles back, the suckers on its tentacles holding it to the frame even as it slumps to the side, hanging over the edge.
Prisoners only a moment before, the would-be captives find themselves with one dead octo-goblin, one unconscious one, and a sleeping pirate...
Rusty scimitar
worn dagger hidden in boot.
ratty pants
ripped vest
old leather boots
pouch with 5 silver shields(Korvosa's silver piece) and a couple Copper pennies (Absalom's copper piece)
Phaedra looks up at the edge of the pit from her height of 4'11". Uhm, could someone please give me a boost up? It is safe to climb out right now isn't it, no one else is coming? Is everyone ok? Not that we have any idea where to go once we get out of here. Of course it'd be hard to end up in a worse place than a pit as a pirate prisoner.
Eaton nods quickly and braces his whole body up against the rough wood, leaning against it with his back and cupping his injured side with one blood-smeared hand, the other reaching out beckoning to Phaedra. "Let's go... Come on, up you go..." he rasps, grinning mad encouragement "We'll need to find something to bind that pirate with. I'll give him a good kick in the head to make sure he's out once I'm up."
Those hands of his still sparkle with arcane energy, a dull orangey glow that seems half smoke and half light, the lines of energy coursing down the sides of his neck, over his chest, and down his arm to his right hand, even sometimes pulsing in little fits and starts down to the left.
Tellar picks himself up off the ground and tries to brush some of the sand off his pants. Moving slowly over, he leans his back against the pit wall next to Eaton, bracing his good leg under him. Let's get these young ladies out of this and then we'll see about getting you squared away, mi'lord.
Perception
"I don't see anyone coming, so I think it's safe."
Edgar makes his way back down the pit, doing his best to ignore the pain in his shoulder, and moves up to Emelia. "D-do you need a hand climbing up, Ms. Emelia?" Edgar says, offering his hand.
Thank you gentlemen. Phaedra gratefully accepts the offered assistance to climb out of the pit. Well, color me surprised. I didn't expect the nobleman to do anything but cower. Once out of the pit, Phaedra looks around. There's no ship in sight. How are we to get out of this place?
"I'm certain a rescue party will be dispatched for us, post-haste, but until then, as the priest says..." Eaton grins at Tellar and let's the man do most of the lifting, clearly pained more than he's trying to let on. There's a live-fire in his eyes though, a near-mad light of adventure and excitement he only ever really showed before when talking about witnessing his fathers greatness in action. Powerful spells and works of tremendous magic that stun and shock and awe. He's getting a taste of that now, and even the near-brush of death's caress has inspired him. His mind is working on ideas. Flexible armor that can be redundantly shuttered to protect a wound. Ingrained climbing-claws that could double as armor spikes. Flexible multi-socket joints based on the legs of an octopus that could make a golem's grip a dozen times more versatile, more flexible...
"Our first priority is freedom. Then shelter, food, fresh water... We'll pull together, do for each other what each can't do for themselves. Once we're safe and dry and, one hopes warm, we can make plans to either take the pirate boat by storm, or build our own. If we can find some landmarks our navigator may be able to spot us a way home. We can..." he grins at Tellar and Edgar in turn, noting that the priest can do them for fresh water if he's of the clerical persuasion, and that the pirates stupidly left them their navigator and if anyone can find them the way home, it's that young man. But he trails off with a bit of a grimace "Well... first freedom. The rest after."