Ruins of Pathfinder: The Quest for Arcadia (Inactive)

Game Master Robert Brookes

Grunyar stays in the fortune caller's table a little more grabbing some more food and beer until the gathering starts to disperse and people to leave. Everything has its end, even funerals I guess. He decides not to formally approuch the Skuldafns since he never really meet them and chooses to leave without much fuss.

Turning to Rogath. T-thank you for the reading, it was... something. I must take my leave, its late. Yes. Adressing the other people at the table. G-good night all.

With that the young dwarf stands and leaves the hall returning to the deeps of the city.

The fortune-teller nods a farewell to Grunyar. "You're welcome. Safe travels and good fortune upon you." Assume everyone else who took their leave got a similar farewell.

Placing his cards back into their carrying case, Rogath stands up and looks to see if anyone of interest remains. Seeing as how most of the dwarves are in the process of departing, he briefly stops in front of Vigar to deliver condolences and a blessing of Desna: "May all your choices lead you down fortunate paths," makes another pass of the food table, and makes his way to the door.

As he leaves, his thoughts continue mulling over what the Harrowing showed tonight. Sometimes they're vague, but tonight the cards were exceptionally accurate. Dark times are here, but darker are coming. I wonder if there are any safe places left? Maybe I should go visit the family before I journey elsewhere again...

"Goodbye everyone!" Isoldda waves drunkenly to all the dwarves slowly filing out of the hall. Wow. What a party. I met a princess, boys fought over me, and everyone loved my stout! It's just like a fairy tale.

If you have any problems with the below post Celeador/Mineko then let me know :)

Quint becomes quite absorbed in his discussion with Mineko, the other distractions of the room fading away as they converse. He shares some of his own stories of close calls in trapped Osirion ruins, run-ins with hostile natives and squatters, and tales of the everyday marvels of Absalom. Noticeably absent are any stories involving his mother or Highhelm, and Mineko would be easily forgiven for thinking he was born and raised in Absalom the way he speaks of it.

He likewise listens to the Empress' tales with interest and fascination at some of the more unusual elements of her retelling. It all only fueled his growing interest in the distant land. He only slowly became aware of the other dwarves oaying their respects and making their way from the hall. He pulls out his pocketwatch and appears surprised at what it indicates.

"Rusty cogs, we have been talk a while!" he observes, smiling at Mineko. "I must say you've got me intrigued. I'll be seeing if there's not an open spot on a Pathfinder mission to Tian Xia soon. Thank you for a most enjoyable time. I hope I have made as positive an impression on yourself as you have on me." he says warmly, bowing deeply to the empress. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again, but he certainly hoped he would. Perhaps he'd linger in Highhelm a few days. "If you ever wish to get in contact with me, or are interested in having something made..." he reaches into his pockets, withdrawing a fine looking wallet, pulling out a slightly rumbled card and handing it to one of Mineko's servants to deliver to her. The card simply states:

Gondul Bonechisel and Son
Fine statuary, and stonework since 4557
Granite Row in the Ivy District, Absalom

Once the empresses has excused him from his presence he joins the other departing dwarves in bidding at least a perfunctory farewell to Vigar, before excusing himself to retire to his quarters to rest and reflect. The empress was a fine lady...

As the mourners begin to file out of the hall, Vigar Skuldafn sits at his table with a weary look on his face. Exhausted from politicking with members of the clergy, of the aristocracy and of the banker's guild of Abadar, the stonelord wants nothing more than this day to come to a close. With one hand propping up his chin, Vigar stares down at the table, and a piece of paper than had been subtly left by Halsiig Halfhammer after his conversation.

Tiredly turning it over, Vigar finds writing covering the page in neatly packed dwarven runes. Spinning the note around to read it, Vigar's eyes narrow in suspicion. Something in that note causes his back to straighten and his posture to stiffen. His fingers trace across the words of the note left for him, and he can almost hear them being spoken aloud by Halsiig himself. Gradually, Vigar's eyes grow wide as he reads the missive, and by the end he stands up straight and pushes his chair out with his legs so hard it teeters over and falls with a resounding crash on the floor.

Snatching the note in hand, Vigar looks it over one more time, trying to find some fault in the text that Halsiig had left so deftly. He knew Vigar would not see it until the funeral had come to a close, and now it seems he understands why the kalistocrat would have dealings with him. He needed Vigar, and Vigar needed him. More importantly, all of dwarven society needed what was written on this piece of paper.

For all that Halsiig wrote, one sentence alone is what caused Vigar's heart to race. Hope was a dangerous infection in these dark times, and it wormed its way through Vigar's heart faster than any other blight known to dwarvenkind.

"The axe of the dwarvish lords was not forged alone," Halsiig's words claimed, "and I know where its partner lays, forgotten."

That discovery could change the face of dwarven history forever.

"I simply need a team to go on an expedition to find it."

Vigar crumpled the note up into a ball in his fist, ensuring that the last line's instructions was fulfilled.
  
 
 
"Keep this secret, for all our sakes."
 
 

    "The journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step."
                        - Tao Te Ching, chapter 64.

Dwarven-kin, dwarven-kin, naal ok zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!
Brothers, Brothers by our honor are sworn, to keep family and home at heart!
 
 
 
 

Beneath the flickering glow of oil lanterns, an ancient map is spread across an old, notched table. The vellum surface of the map is stained with age and ink, detailed navigation lines illustrate shipping lanes, coastlines and national borders. The Inner Sea is familiar, though even the shattered mass of old Azlant beyond the Arch of Aroden is speculation. What lies west beyond that is legend and myth, the sketch of a coastline dotted with islands, a supercontinent as large as all of Avistan and Garund combined. What little on the map is not mere conjecture is still hazy at best. Points marked as Elsomare, Canorus, and Anchor's End show tantalizing hints of settlement.

Hunched over the map, Halsiig Halfhammer's face is a map of its own, marked not by lines of ink and water stains, but creases of age and streaks of gray in his beard. The firelight of the lanterns dances greedily in his eyes, and one finger traces the curved title of this new land as if reminding himself of how close it now is. Arcadia, the name has inspired fleets of ship and filled countless watery graves. Halsiig, like all others, feels his expedition will be different -- must be different -- and by all rights is.

No dwarves have ever set sail across the Arcadian ocean en masse.
 
 
 
 

Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, dwarven-kin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout, brothers, for your ancestors we pray!
 
 
 
 

Colossal wooden frames like the bones of dragons rise up from the shipyards of Absalom. Within these drydocks, hundreds of workers hammer and saw through timbers being erected into the forms of three galleons. Towering masts are raised into place as dozens of workers tug upon a rope woven through pulleys. In nearby buildings, hundreds of yards of heavy cloth is being woven into sails large enough to drive these ships on the wind, while oars longer than houses are tall are planed from whole trees. Standing in the shadows of the shipyard, Vigar Skuldafn and Halsiig Halfhand stare up in wonder and amazement at these titanic vessels, the ships that will carry the hope of Highhelm to the new world.

Vigar raises a gloved hand into the air, palm up, and watches as a fat snowflake falls onto the rough leather. Brows furrowing together, the stonelord watches the snowflake begin to melt, then turns his attention up to the cloudy skies overhead. He remembers visiting Absalom as a child, recalls the heat of the summer season. As he closes his fingers around the snowflake, Vigar knows that the snows of summer are a dire sign of things to come.
 
 
 
 
Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod, Aahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!
Hearken now, sons of stone, to an age, long ago, and the tale, boldly told, of our kin!
 
 
 
 
Raised voices call out across the decks of three massive ships. Dwarven men and women tug on lines leading up towering masts, tying off lengths of rope and watching as massive sails embroidered with the anvil of Torag unfurl and catch the wind. Five dwarves at a time work winches that haul up anchors from the depths of the Absalom harbor, drums are struck by skilled hands and those raised voices join together in song. Old salts of dwarven sailors take the ships' wheels, guiding the massive vessels out of mooring with the cry of terns and gulls high overhead.

Three vessels, Torag's Anvil, Kols' Hammer and Angraad's Fire ply the waters of Absalom's western harbor with the rising sun at their backs, silhouetting the city at the center of the world. Two-hundred and fifty dwarves on each massive ship, more than half a thousand dwarves in total along with the supplies to build a lasting settlement set out for the horizon, set out for the future, set out for Arcadia.

Above deck on Torag's Anvil, leaning over the port side railing, Angrin Thronebearer stares in wonder at the glittering waves of the ocean. It isn't out of just adulation and surprise at the experience of being on the high seas for the first time, but also out of a sense of twisted-stomach desperation. A little green around the gills as some of the dockworkers would call it, Angrin watches the waves crash and slide along the hull of the ship, feeling as though the sea's choppy cut is a perfect analogy for the interior of his stomach at this very moment.

The journey was going to feel much longer than he had anticipated.
 
 
 
 
Wo lost fron wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do jul, voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein!
We kin to both stone and steel, with a power to rival the stars!
 
 
 
 

From the forecastle of Torag's Anvil, Mineko Yamauchi watches the waves spread all the way to the horizon as far as she can see in any direction. The cool sea breeze plays at her hair and sea mist stings her cheeks. Overhead, gulls signal that while land cannot be seen, it is not far away. The Inner Sea, vast and deep, is disappearing behind her faster than she can possibly realize. Absalom is but a memory, and the future lies beyond the horizon, just as unknown as the shapes that hide below it.

Though the noonday sun burns high overhead, the springtime air is colder than Mineko expected. Is it always like this here? The migratory flock of birds headed south indicate that it isn't, and any dwarf who has lived on the surface knows the addage that most birds fly south for the winter. But the season is spring, the birds migrate to warmer climates, and the world itself does not seem to know what it is doing.
 
 
 
 
Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod, rul lot Golarion motaad voth kein!
And the steel, we do wield, on that glorious field, when great Golarion shudders with war!
 
 
 
 

From the crow's nest of Torag's Anvil, Quint Bonechisel is transfixed by an approaching sight. Two massive pieces of stone rise up into the air hundreds of feet, taller than the towers of any castle, taller than any building made by the greatest of craftsmen. The stone is ancient, encrusted with vegetation, olive trees bristle outward from fissures in the stone at lower elevations, while flocks of sea birds circle higher. The monolithic construction, the Arch of Aroden, is the gateway to the Arcadian Ocean. While a full third of the arch has long ago collapsed, the two curving pieces of stone still produce a sense of wonder and awe in those who see them.

While Quint isn't the first dwarf to see the Arch of Aroden up close, this is but the first sight of many on the predicted 40-day journey across the ocean. Soon, he will be among the first ever to set foor on Arcadian soil, the first dwarven archaeologist to see the Arcadian hinterlands, or perhaps steamy jungles, meet indigenous people, delve into ancient ruins. The prospect is dizzying. Or, that could just be vertigo from being in the crow's nest.

The half dozen ships waiting at the arch instill less of a sense of awe, and more a sense of worry. Flying black flags with the red wheel cross of House Thrune, these Chelaxian naval vessels control what little the Chelish can muster in the Inner sea, and their strangle-hold on all travel into or out of the Arch of Aroden is a problem for most. But the Prophecies of Kalistrade have seen fit to grease the palms of admirals and captains alike prior to this arrival.

Still, the announcing shot off the prow from a Chelish cannon makes Quint flinch, even if just a little.
 
 
 
 

Sahrot Torag, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah, ol fin dwarven-kin komeyt ok rein!
Mighty Torag's faith, like axe and hammer, cut through enemies all, as the brothers issued their roar!
 
 
 
 

A low and thin fog rises off of the surface of the ocean, and the Steaming Sea assuredly gets its name from this natural phenomenon. Cutting through the ocean waves with oars moving in tandem and the southern winds filling their sails, the vessels of Vigar Skuldafn's expedition are well on their journey. Overhead, a flock of tiny drakes flit about, snapping at one another and diving down towards the sails playfully, while cottony white clouds hang overhead as patchwork cover for the perfect azure sky.

Out a port-hole window in her cabin, Maven Brewbane can see the gossamer mist lifting up off of the sea, twisting in eddies and currents when the air currents around the ship's swiftly moving hull comes into contact with it. The ship groans and croaks, wood straining in natural fashion. The sound is enough to make it feel as though Maven were in the belly of some great beast. Looking down to the polished symbol of Torag in her hands, Maven feels as though the symbol has more weight now than ever. She is carrying it across the Arcadian ocean, where no dwarven pilgrims have ever gone before. Torag's words, his very faith, are to be carried by her into the new world. How others judge the religion will now, and forevermore, be based on her actions.

Maven is not just a representative of her people, but a representative of Torag. The weight of that responsibility fills her symbol, and her heart.
 
 
 
 
Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah, tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!
And the songs have foretold, of dark times and cold, that when brothers wage war come to rest!
 
 
 
 

Blinding snow whips across the desk of Torag's Hammer, snow biting like a thousand teeth at any exposed flesh. Never in his life had Dakún Rabbúhamash felt a cold like this. The seas are turbulent and angry, pitching the galleon to and fro. Across the deck, crewhands scream at one another, trying to break ice off of the lines to draw up the sails before the high winds shred them. Most of the dwarves are little more than snowmen with legs, ice and snow encrusting their beards and clothing, leaving only their warm, ruddy-cheeked faces exposed.

Helping maintain the rigging, Dakún hacks at one of the taut ropes with a wooden cudgel, breaking ice off of the line as had been asked of him. His vision is blurred, though, eyes watering from the cold wind. At times, the winds carry such horrible cold that it seems to steal the breath from Dakún's very lungs. Off the starbord side of the ship, a mass of glacial ice drifts through the waters. Dakún can hea rsomething over the cries of the men, a shriek of something on the iceberg. While the ship narrowly avoids the massive obstacle, something alight from its surface and swoops down towards the deck.

A wyrmling white dragon, wings spread and claws readied to attack snatches a dwarf out of the crows nest and drops him screaming down to the deck below. Dwarves reach for crossbows, pick up axes and clubs as the ferocious predator comes back around. Dakún, unholstering his pistol raises it up and squints against the blinding snow. He hears the shiek again, and sees the arctic predator swooping in once more.

A gunshot rings out through the snow; muzzle flash and acrid smoke.
 
 
 
 
Alduun, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau, voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!
Dark from the depths, shame of old kin, ancient shadows unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!
 
 
 
 

Pillars of rock hundreds of feet high rise up out of the waters here, where few ships dare sail. Farther south than the biting cold, this course has taken the three expedition vessels perilously close to a haunted land. These crumbling rock columns look like jagged fingers rising up out of the sea, but as a hundred feet across each they could be islands all in their own right. What they truly are, though, are monuments to millions of dead.

The crumbling remnants of Azlant are too close. A thousand sailors have warned of venturing this near to the lost land's shores, for even skirting the Azlanti remains may throw a terrible curse upon those who bear witness to its desolation. From his vantage point on the aftcastle, Rogath Silvertarn may be the first dwarf in history to see what remains of once-mighty Azlant after its fall. He can hear the cry of terns in the air, wheeling above in the skies without concern of curses or ill omens. Perhaps there is bliss in their ignorance?

More so than Azlant's crumbling shoreline, the harrow weighs on Rogath's mind. His harrowing of the future, one that at the time he could not have forseen the significance of. But now, the three cards he drew show ominous portent of things to come. The beating, suggesting enemies on all sides. The trumpet, showing a dire situation to be faced head on and potential recklessness in the face of it, and the teamster demanding that the dwarves carry on no matter the cost.

It's that last part that worries the most; no matter the cost.
 
 
 
 

Nuz aan sul fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok, fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!
But a day shall arise, when the dark brothers' lies, will be silenced forever and then!
 
 
 
 

The ocean spreads out in every direction, a constant reminder of the size of the world. Azlant is long behind them, and the three vessels of Vigar Skuldafn's expedition ply calm waters and bright, cloudless days in preparation for making landfall. It has been nearly a week since any sea birds had been seen, a week since any land was on the horizon. Trusting in the ships' navigators has been a difficult prospect for many. For Dwunderbran Vulgarbeard, it has meant many an exercise in patience in the confined space of even a ship as mighty as Torag's Anvil.

Weeks now have been spent on the ship, and while many say the journey is nearing its end, the inability to see land in any direction for so long now has twisted Dwunderbran's stomach in knots and sent a nervous tingle down the back of his spine. Home was now further away than it ever had been, and for all that the Dwunderbran line had fallen from its once heroic station, there were pangs of what felt like homesickness settling in. Before, it had been a choice to travel away from home, but returning had always been an option. Now, there was no going back.

Listening to the raucous sounds of the crew winging, drinking and working was the anchor to Dwunderbran. Out here on the open seas, the camraderie of his kin was home. It was the only home he could have here, and this gang of motly dwarves from all across Golarion had become like a second family. How things might change once there is solid ground underfoot is another question entirely.
 
 
 
 

Paaz Torag fen kos stin nol bein aduun jot, dwarven-kin kos fin saviik do muz!
Torag's sons will be free from foul traitors' weakness, and brothers be the savior of all!
 
 
 
 

The charts had estimated a forty-four day journey across the ocean. It was now day fifty-six, and nerves were fraying. The closer the vessels got to Arcadia, the more perilous the weather seemed to become. First fog, thicker than an urdroot stew, then driving rains, strong winds, and distant thunder storms. Perhaps it was a storm season, it should be summer from Doctor Logem's assessments of the calendar, who knows what that is like on the Arcadian coast.

Above decks, Logem can see Vigar Skuldafn and Halsiig Halfhammer conversing on the forecastle. Wild gesticulations wag to and fro, an argument no doubt. The ships' navigator stands beside them, holding a chart and wayfinder up, pointing off the port bow. Had they become turned around in the fog? A peal of thunder in the distance carries like the sound of a boulder rolling down a hill, a long and threatening roar of the heavens, lighting up the clouds with streaks of lightning. Logem's stomach squirmed uneasily, or something near his stomach at any rate.

Then, he sees Halsiig snatch the spyglass away from the navigator. The cleric of the Prophecies speaks some foreign incancation over the lens, and lists it up to his eyes. Tensing, Halsiig waves wildly off the port side of the ship. Perhaps he had somehow pierced the veil of the fog and rain, perhaps whatever divine power fuels the prophecies had given him some foretelling of future events.

Whatever the cause, it is what Halsiig screamed next that sent a chill down Logem's spine.

"Land! Land! I see land!"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                    R U I N S   O F   P A T H F I N D E R
       T H E   Q U E S T   F O R   A R C A D I A
                           Book I: A Wayward Dawn
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
   << The Arcadian Ocean | Mid-Morning | Cool, Raining, Stormy| Toilday, Arodus 5th, 4714 AR >>
 
 
Chaos spreads quickly along Torag's Anvil at Halsiig's call of land. Going more than a week over planned travel had put many dwarves on edge. Now, though, with that clarion call worry was turning to jubilation. A pair of cooks from the galley were already running downstairs to grab kegs to roll up and crack open in celebration.

Up in the crow's nest, a signaler waved a vibrant green flag back and forth overhead while cheering, signaling to the other two vessels that land had been sighted, and finally Arcadia was within grasp. The navigator quickly departs from Halsiig and Vigar, hurrying towards the aftcastle and the helm to instruct the captain to turn the ship about towards the port side, that they'd been turned around in the storm, but land was nearby.

Perhaps, finally, the long journey was over.

Angrin staggers up from his position in bed, blinking blearily about. "Wha? Land? Where?" He stumbles up on deck, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bloody hells, he hated the ocean. Who's the inbred idiot whose idea it was to fill massive expenses of the surface in water? The trapsmith shakes himself, waking up fully, then looks out over the land that was sighted earlier and trying his best to ignore all the water between him and it. "Thank the gods! Land..." The deep dwarf is almost crying, such is his joy. The time on the water had done nothing good for his health or mental stability, and his quarters were frankly uncomfortable, what with the constant rocking.

He looks about for the familiar faces of the fellow dwarves Vigar had selected, shivering slightly as the cool rain strikes his face. That had been another surprise. The sky (very pretty, despite being so... large) spat on the surfacers! Was it any wonder they were so... odd? Living with things like this, he supposed, would make anyone a little odder in the head. Especially those who lived on the sea. He shudders at the thought. "Pray tha' we won't be living on the bleedin' ocean. Magrim's saggin' sack, that would be... Ach." He hadn't felt like drinking, for the gods' sake! That was saying something for a brewer! Shoving it out of his mind, he goes to Vigar and Halsiig's side, listening and hoping that the two would have something for him to do to take his mind off the troubles.

Maven dozes to the lapping of waves and gentle swinging of the vessel; her daydreams drift from the future to the past. Her first trip aboveground was also her first ocean voyage, her first time away from home, and probably her last time seeing Highhelm...and her forge. It was the hardest thing in the world to douse those coals in the forge; to snuff the fires of the smelter may as well have been like strangling a child, and once the heat faded, the life seemed to seep through the cracks in the walls. It was like watching a kinsman breathe his last.

Her reverie is snapped like a twig, however, at the cry of land. Shaking away her daydream and rubbing her tired eyes made her realize how sleepy ocean travel made her. Maybe tha's how so many ships get lost...bet they fall asleep to the rockin' to and fro.

Standing from her cot also makes her realize how stiff she is from having so little to do. Her joints pop like the crackling of hot coals as she rolls her shoulders and pulls her head to the side with one hand.

Pulling open the door to the cabin, Maven is greeted by gray skies and distant clouds, an agitated rumbling echoing in her ears. Like a cave-in, but...so different. S'pose when the earth's under yer feet instead a hangin' over yer head, the rumblin's not so bad...the sky, though...still a little dizzyin' how it goes on forever...

Focusing on the deck of the ship helps to steady her mind, and Maven makes her way to the rails where others seem to be gathering and pointing. "Land...Is that it, then? That the place we're lookin' for?" She squints and leans on the railing, trying in vain to make out details of the seemingly tiny rock jutting up into the horizon. "Seems so small...still so far away ..."

Before the enormity of the world once again overwhelms her, Maven quickly turns from the waves to the deck, sitting down to breathe and shut out the endless expanse that still made her mind reel. Highhelm was so...contained, so secure...but this world's so...limitless. No walls, no ceilin.' No end to it all. Oh Torag, is this what ye left the earth for? Ooohhhh..... She uneasily stands and makes her way back to her cabin. Ceilin'. Just get somethin' above yer head, ye'll be fine.

The winds blow harder and the sails strain under the pressure. Shouting to the crew, Vigar tries to keep his vessel from tearing itself apart, waving one hand frantically towards the rigging. "This thrice-damned wind's going t'split us in half!" His cape snapping like a flag in the wind, Vigar turns and looks towards the bank of oncoming storm clouds, filled with thunder and lit by lightning.

"Shout all y'want, Gozreh!" Vigar curses to the sky with a fist raised, "Y'ain't havin' my ships!"

The journey had been long... Quint was no stranger to time at sea, but no journey--not even the expedition to Tian Xia he'd joined--had been quit so vast. The first days were always the hardest; he no longer was ill, but found his appetite reduced for some time until the journey got properly underway. He almost was ill after he climbed down from that crows nest, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to view the arch from that unique perspective.

He didn't quite lock himself away in his cabin as many did; the growing cold and inhospitable nature of the journey kept him below decks more often than not true, but he made sure to take a stroll on the decks during the quieter periods when he wouldn't get in his way. It was on one of these strolls that he'd first spied Dwunderbran... or rather smelled him as he almost bumped into the filthy fellow descending from the rigging.

Needless to say he'd removed himself from that as quickly as he could. He saw others he recognized from Highhelm as well, and was pleased to find Mineko was aboard; given the nature of the expedition he hadn't been certain whether her stature would count for or against her joining, certainly she hadn't impressed him with any of her practical skills, but she could likely contribute in an administration role instead.

He'd picked up some of the language of her land while he'd been there--the year-long journey had only been cut short when the news of the expedition had reached him, and he'd returned to Absalom with all haste. He'd sought her out a few times to converse with her, fumbling and likely making a horrible mess of her language in his inexperience. It wouldn't be too difficult for the Empress to realize that the dwarf was rather smitten, as innapropriate as that might be...

The rest of his time, when he wasn't chasing Mineko or viewing local landmarks--he'd barely left the deck when they'd been within sight of Azlant; what he wouldn't give to explore those pillars--he spent in his cabin. He made it known that his talents were on offer--donations of metals, blocks of stone, or other worthy goods accepted, but not required given the circumstances--as a carver of stone, and a tinkerer of devices and locks. He received enough work to keep him busy, his cabin transforming into a tiny workshop--he'd spent the first week or two arranging it to his satisfaction, figuring out how to best secure his tools--the walls now arrayed with countless hooks, pockets, and hoops, as well as more substantial braces and shelves for his larger equipment. What tokens of gratitude he did receive for his work he gathered together, occasionally traded and sold, while he scribbled countless designs. He wished to provide Mineko with a gift, one representative of his talents and his own interests, but also of her homeland which he had had the fortune to visit--with some difficulty admittedly.

He was once again screwing up another parchment when the commotion from above started. He paused as the ship started to toss and quickly gathered up his arrayed materials, placing them carefully into a bag in his trunk, secured his writing implements, and hurried onto deck to squint with the rest. Were they finally here?

Unlike many of the other dwarves in the expedition who were just exposed to the sea for the first time, Rogath took to sailing as if born to it.

Where others spent their time trying to keep food down, especially when the seas were rough, he spent his time climbing all over the ship, bringing another pair of (unskilled) hands and, perhaps, a tiny bit of luck wherever they were needed. Where others idled away hours and days, waiting for the return to land for their skills to be of use, Rogath taught any who were willing the ways of the Travel Goddess. Where others worried about finding land again, Rogath was content to wake up each day having traveled further than ever before... and having not yet found cause for the ominous "endure" warning and its hazards on all sides. And where others were inspired by the call of "LAND!", Rogath immediately started fretting about what would be waiting for them on shore.

Still, he heads out into the storm to help bring the ship in to land. Despite his misgivings about what may be found there, he would be failing his goddess if he were to turn away from doing the finding.

The Granite Empress had decided she did not like the sea, and apparently the sea felt the same way about her. It made sense in a way. Stone could be strong, but enough water over time could turn even the strongest mountain to rubble. It was all a matter of patience. By the time the third week of the voyage had past she had become frustrated at her handmaiden Kaori’s herbal treatments. There was only so much ginseng that one could stomach. In the fourth week, as the seas had picked up, Mineko had watched in horror as her Itamae had thrown up shortly after sampling stew of tubers and broth. For the briefest of moments she had thought that someone had attempted to poison her, but no. It was sea sickness rather then something more insidious.

Aboard the Torag’s Anvil it seemed that each new day held new surprises. As a young girl she had seen the junks that populated her peoples land and watched as cranes few elegantly overhead. But she had never been on a ship before. Thinking back to her people’s nightmare journey in the Darklands, the Empress in the privacy of her own room grimaced. At least there she did not have to contend with the wind and constantly moving flood beneath ones feet. Despite the unpleasantries thus far, the trip had been sprinkled with bits of enjoyment. She had come to enjoy the moments spent with the cleric Brewbane. It was rare in her land for women to be called upon by the gods. The foretellings and omens were done by men, but it had been pleasant. While she suspected that Maven was more enraptured with Komainu-Kun rather than herself, she did not let this small amount of dishonor cloud her feelings for the woman. It was refreshing to have shared moments with someone who did not bow and scrape as many of her people did. Frustratingly Mineko knew that it was part of her culture, but more and more she began to wonder if it was right.

The other ray of light had been the archaeologist, Quint. His attempts in learning the language of the east were both amusing and fulfilling. She looked forward to the day when she could speak to him with the language she was born with. Frowning, Mineko considered that for a moment. She had been taught all of her life that Dwarven was the old language and like the land it was something to be honored and respected, but their people had become civilized. And yet when her people were ruined, who did they turn to? And yet she still clung to the ways of her people when in fact they were becoming something altogether different. Several days before she had heard that Koki her Uruwashii had begun to learn the teachings of Angradd. While she could not fault him for wishing to learn more about her peoples ancient culture, it seemed as if they were abandoning their people’s ways. It bothered the empress and she was not sure what to do about it.

Above on deck she heard the calls for land. Finally! she thought, motioning for Kaori to help her with her kimono. It had been too long since she had felt the stone below her feet. Feeling Minkeo’s anxiousness and jubilation, Komainu-Kun raised his head from the corner that he had been laying in. Looking at the stone lion, Minkeo smiled and knelt down before him, running a hand along the creature’s mane. Looking over he shoulder the Empress motioned towards the door. This one is going to see the new land. she stated, before rising up and walking to the wooden hatch, followed by her protector and handmaiden.

Once everyone has made an establishing post, I will make a post that introduces another element to the stormy scene.

Dakún’s relationship with water was an unusual one and not what outsiders at first believed. In the harsh environment of his homelands, all Pahmet prize water, for it is rare and had to be coaxed from hidden veins in the rock in much the same way as silver or gold. The mountain springs and the discovered desert oasis’s are well kept secrets treasured by the clans. Yet the Ocean was a different beast hiding in the same skin. Dakún had learned this when months ago he made his first voyage North upon the Obari Ocean and across the inner sea. A week into that trip he had unknowingly drank of the almost emerald waters of the Obari. Rather than providing the refreshment he had sought, he found himself painfully sick with diarrhea and dehydration. The sailors of that journey had found his situation amusing and laughed about it often. It had occurred to him at the time that the humans of the inner sea did not think dwarves were meant to ply the waves. During that first trip from Garund to Avistan there were moments when he agreed with them, but during the course of this second much longer and more perilous journey Dakún was shamed by his previous acceptance of the inability of dwarves to sail. They may not love it, they may even hate it, but when put to work on a task dwarves would persevere and excel, even if that task was sailing a massive wooden construct out onto a wide and fathomless ocean with nary a rock or mountain in sight. Unlike the men aboard the lateen sailed dhow he had taken out Quantium, Dakún made certain to warn those he encountered not to drink of the vast water supplied by the Ocean.

Try as he might, Dakún found that the Arcadian Ocean could not be compared to the Inner sea or the Obari. The Obari and the Inner Sea were littered with islands, whereas the Arcadian sea was more vast, empty and hostile than even the desert, yet beneath its churning surface life teemed. Fish had proved to be a meal that held an abundance of flavors. Some varieties were dry, some bitter, some moist and tender. His initial difficulties relating to and conversing with the dwarves from Highhelm began to vanish when Dakún began to prepare experimental meals from the sea life caught. One dish, a rich and spicy stew made from the reddish-brown five finned fish and choice bits of those armored spiders, became so popular he prepared it ever night for a week.

Then there were the storms. Storms that put the worst sandstorms Northern Garund to shame. Though the severe rock and sway of the Torag’s Anvil had not caused him stomach distress, it had on two occasions nearly thrown him from the deck and into the raging sea. The rain had come in buckets, soaking all on deck and more than once Dakún was left to question why the gods had seen fit to give so little rainfall to the deserts yet they supplied an abundance unneeded to the vast ocean waves. The worst storms were those experienced when Torag’s Anvil traveled North past the Varisian coast. There the rain had at times turned to snow or stones of frozen water. Those had been the worst days for Dakún. He had felt his skin burning with its exposure to the frost and his lungs grasping for air. More than once he was forced to retire to his cabin or the infirmary, unable to withstand the horrid cold. Great mountains of ice sailed the ocean in those parts as well, much of their mass hidden beneath the waves, presenting an ever present threat to the expedition fleet. It had been in the icy waters that the dwarves had battled the white wyrmling and sometimes when Dakún closed his eyes to sleep, his dreams were haunted by events of the frigid day; unwillingly recalling the dragons horrible shriek, it’s gaping maw and bristling teeth.

The last week of the long voyage Dakún Rabbúhamash had found himself drawn more and more into thought. Perhaps it was because the fog obscured anything else from view that he delved inward to questions and doubts that still lingered there. Was he doing what was right? Did he go to find this new land to safeguard his people and establish a final holdfast for the dwarves or was he merely running, abandoning his home to the wrath of Xotani? Maybe he should have broken his vow of exile and ignored the words of the ancestor spirit and returned to his people. When Muruka had banished him from Tar-Telúl to a life in exile, had the chief even imagined how far from home Dakún would rove or did he think that Dakún would die in the desert or the wide savannas of Katapesh. Thinking of Muruka and Tar-Telúl brought Dakún’s thoughts inevitably to Ukshala and with her a great sadness began to creep over him like the cold from the glacial North.

It was the cry of landfall that proved a salvation from his thoughts. Though the future remained unknown, it was now here. Thoughts of the past would need to wait. Dakún at once offered his assistance. If the first footsteps into the future were to be made this day, Dakún would not hesitate to plant his feet down on solid ground. He had made this voyage not for himself, and not even for his own clan, but for all the dwarven race.

“The Brothers be praised, they have guided us to our desired lode.” he uttered in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.

For all that Dwunderbran had seen in his time on the surface, and the myriad voyages that had carried he and The Goats to all of the corners of the Encarthan, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Absalom. It was as if someone had taken all of the cities of the world and consolidated them onto one island at the Inner Sea's core. The wonders that city availed visitors could have been a lifetime poorly spent in and of itself. Were the nature of the dwarven assembly's visit under less dire circumstances, Dwunderbran might have obliged and lost himself in the unending tide of vice and lechery the city left at his disposal. The game had changed, however. It was no longer a matter of his own satisfaction. This was about earning his place among kin and ken once more. This was about proving himself worthy of his bloodline. And, perhaps most importantly, this was about proving his father wrong.

As had always been the case, Dwunderbran's departure from Highhelm was decidedly volatile. Tempers flared and arguments lasted on through the night. In the past it had always been Dreyna's reprimanding words to the pair that assuaged their vehement disagreements. This time proved to be different however. As if a man possessed, Dwinderbrew was unrelenting in his criticisms; unwavering in his resolve to put, once and for all, the anomaly of the family in his place. . .

It was no surprise that Vigar had wanted to recruit Dwunderbran, even in spite of his social quirks. A dwarf on the open sea was as rare a spectacle as a drow on the surface, although the adage had lost much of its meaning given recent developments in Kyonin. Nevertheless, Dwunderbran understood well that current circumstances made him a commodity to his people that could not be overlooked. A practiced sailor for a voyage beyond anything his race had ever known or seen, an accomplished slayer for the unknown horrors that awaited them on stranger shores, and a representative (if in name only) of one of Highhelm's more prestigious clans. It was a perfect storm of qualifications that towered higher than the shadow of his unpredictable nature. He was the prefect candidate for the voyage. As his eyes came to behold for the first time the vessels that would carry them to their new destiny, his heart swelled with pride. There rested Torag's Anvil, Kols' Hammer and Angraad's Fire. Each ship was five times The Wormdrink, the small mercenary frigate he had served aboard previously. And at their head rocked the bulk of his new home and the flagship of the trio: Torag's Anvil.

During the initial weeks at sea, Dwunderbran seemed to delight in being one of the small minority of dwarf-kind not afraid of sea nor sky. His grating guffaws and poorly timed jests seems to compound the misery of those whose stomachs were not immediately up to the task. As the voyage stretched on however, even the Vulgarbeard's indomitable spirit and demeanor began to wear thin. As new faces became familiar and duties became monotonous, the overwhelming depression of their situation—his in particular—began to weigh heavily on the dwarf. He had reveled in being necessary; in being needed by his clansmen. Could it last? Even if they found this new land, would it be any different? Vigar was a good man, no doubt, but Dwunderbran worried that their new home aimed to be a facsimile of the old; a home that may not have ever truly been his, whether he desired it or not.

Halsiig's announcement draws little reaction from Dwunderbran initially. Calmly working his way into the rigging, the dwarf strains his eyes against the horizon and oppressing gales. Be it land a'true? Seen nary a sign o' rock what be fit fer standin' atop since we blustered outta port. The knot in Dwunderbran's stomach works its way into his throat, and he forces it back down with a hard swallow. Much to his surprise, the prospect of landfall carried with it pangs of worry and doubt. Would Arcadia find him a home among his people, or would he be yet an outcast in a stranger land? Would it be the salvation for his people, or did their departure only ensure their kind's downfall?

Dwunderbran shakes his head and forces a smile onto his face. He stares into the approaching storm from his tangled perch in the rigging before chiding himself mentally. Tha' be questions fit fer skinny-armed nancies, aye? Yer here now—make tha best o' it, boy-o. Descending from the tangle of ropes in a swift, practiced motion, Dwunderbran trots over to the port side and begins bouncing from foot to foot amid what might be giggles. "Ooooo, ah cannae wait fer ta land, boy-o's! Ah'll gettae bury me axe in somethin' soon, WASSAIL!"

With the dwarves all coming out above deck at the call for land, few in the crowd can actually see it. Maven, briefly, spies land through the bank of driving rain and fog, but it is just the barest glimpse of a distant, and unwelcomingly dark shore. At the forecastle, Halsiig views the land again through the enchanted lens of his spyglass, even as the rumble of thunder draws nearer and the ship pitches violently from the ever-worsening surf.

"I can't tell how far off course we are!" Halsiig calls back to Vigar, who is already descending from the forecastle down to the deck, pushing his way through onlooking, rain-soaked dwarves. Vigar moves to the port side of the ship, looking across the divide of the ocean towards Angraad's Fire, where a crewman in the crow's nest is signaling with his flag that they have confirmed sighting land.

Giving an affirmative nod, Vigarclaps his hands on the port-side railing and begins to lean away, mere moments before a stroke of lightning cuts through the morning air like a thrown javelin, striking the deck of Angraad's Fire as though it were the fist of an angry god. Screams and the sound of splintering wood accompany the immediate crack of thunder. Shielding his eyes with one raised arm, Vigar can see the fire started on the deck of the neighboring ship, see dwarves blown off the deck into teh chaotic tides.

As he turns to screa for the crew to throw life-lines over the port side of the ship, a second bolt of lightning comes down and strikes the center mast of Torag's Anvil, splintering wood and sending smoldering pieces of timber crashing down to the deck below. The sails catch fire, and Vigar's expression shifts rapidly from concern to horror. "All hands on deck! All hands on deck! We're going inta' the storm!"

Halsiig, backing away from the forecastle, looks for Vigar in the crowd of crewmen and servants on the deck of the ship. "Vigar! Vigar! This isn't an ordinary storm!" It took Halsiig some time to recognize the magical effect in place, now he knows that someone or something is directly controlling the weather, trying to attack the ships.

"Vigar, we need to turn the ships around! This storm'll be two miles across!" Waving the spyglass around, Halsiig tries to get Vigar's attention. The stonelord turns, looing at Halsiig with wide eyes as thunder flickers and flashes in the clouds overhead. Halsiig sees Vigar reaching for his axe, and turns a moment too late to see the colossal tentacle rising up out of the ocean. It sweeps across the deck of the ship, casting five dwarves off the side of the vessel. Vigar and the others watch helplessly as Halsiig is swept off of the ship, smashed through the port railing reducing it to flinders, and disappears into the dark waters with the spyglass.

The tentacle crashes back down into the water in a plume of white froth. Rain-soaked and with axe in hand, Vigar bellows a cry at the top of his lungs as lightning strikes down in the distant waters.

"KRAKEN!"
 
 
 
 
 
     << Skill Challenge: King of the Deep | Round I | No Encounter Map >>
 
 
 
 
"By the might of Torag," Vigar begins to cry, drawing his other axe from its sheathe, "by the call of the stone," the war-axes both burst into sizzling flames, boiling off the rainwater that had collected on the blades, "I will not falter!" Leaping in front of his crew, Vigar predicts the movements of another tentacle as it rises up from the choppy deep, brandishing his axe and leaving a wicked gash across the sinuous appendade, knocking it away from the lead mast.

A lightnign bolt strikes the deck of Torag's Anvil, blasting apart the ship's helm and setting the rear quarters of the vessel on fire, even as the driving wind and rain hammers down from the clouds above. The ship pitches to the side, causing the many longboats attached as life-rafts to smash against the hull from their rigging. Another tentacle rises up out of the water, covered in suckers and the color of a bruise striped with a sick yellow.

"Brothers in arms!" Vigar calls, "On me! We'll send this beast back to the black depths!" At the same time, the ships bosun, a portly dwarf by the name of Hollick has been unwittingly thrust into Halsiig's role as captain now that the kalistocrat has been thrown overboard.

"Abandon ship!" Hollick cries, motioning towards the many life vessels hanging off of the port and aft sides of the ship. "Get as many t'the life rafts as ye can! We need t'be-- " Another peal of thunder and flash of lightning erupts as a bolt strikes the deck, leaving an enormous hole where Hollick once stood, his smoldering, blackened remains thrown aside by the blast, now laid crumpled up against barrels tied down to the deck along with smoking pieces of the ship.

Gripping his twin axes tightly, Vigar watches two more tentacles rise up from the depths and braces himself.

 
The beast will suffer its victory.
 
 
___

Just as her head begins to steady from the familiar closeness of the roof over her head, Maven is jolted by deafening crash of thunder, and then again, and again. "Somethin's not right," She wonders aloud. Hesitant to go outside again, her eyes drift to Drowbreaker, sitting on its head against the wall. Steadying her breath and standing firm again, she exhales a sharp breath, hoping to banish the uneasiness with it. She hoists the hammer, slings it over her shoulder, and throws open her cabin door.

She immediately realizes the futility of her attempt at equilibrium.

Her eyes behold the Stonelord Vigar, axes brandished and blazing, facing off against a tentacle the scale of which she's never imagined. Fires burning, lightning flashing, and the panic of the crew spells out the situation instantly, and her clerical discipline goes to work. got to get Dwarves off this ship. Even lord Vigar cannae stop it alone. Feeling the ship rock as the beast continues its assault, she fights to find her footing and makes her way down the deck to the scores of Dwarves frantically scrambling about, Waving arms, guiding passengers to the boats, and desperately searching for familiar faces, unsure whether she fears more for them or herself. The ship rocks her to a wall on the lower deck, jarring her as if she'd been thrown face-first to the ground, but she plants both palms on the wooden wall and shakes off the stun of the blow.

Where are they...DAMN it all where are they?!

A worrisome thought occurs to her as she fails to spy her quarry. Tell me they're not still sittin' in there... Working her way through crowds and damaged decks, Maven's confidence in her choice grows, quickening her pace. Rounding the corner, she spies the door of the cabin intact and movement inside, and exhales visibly, but does not relax as she dashes up to the door and pounds on it with her fist. "Mineko!! Get to the boats!! Tha ship's goin' down!"

------------------------------
Skill challenge: Abandon ship! helping to evacuate Dwarves.
perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15 YES! just barely.

Angrin groans, eyes going wide. "Bolka's Bouncing Bosom! What the Hell is that thing!?" Ugh... He was already feeling ill again... He forces his stomach to behave with an effort of will, before looking around the ship for a way to help out. "Damned beastie! Yer..." Wait a moment. Charging blindly wasn't exactly his cup of stout. "Don' let yer sickness go t' yer head, idiot!" He mutters to himself, noticing Maven's attempts to aid the evacuation. He could do that!

Angrin's eyes fall on a nearby sailor, who continues to do his duties obliviously. The deep dwarf rushes to his side, shouting in his ear. "Torag damn ye, son! Are ye blind?" After a moment, he realizes that the sailor is a greybeard no doubt thrice his age. "Erm, sorry, sir. Let's get ye off this ship, aye?" The old dwarf shakes his head, but Angrin, very aware of the whotsicalled kraken just across the ship, grabs him by the belt and yanks him towards the nearest life boat. However, the time it takes him to do this does not allow him to grab more of the dwarves at this time.

___

Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Dwarves Saved!: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Bloody stubborn dwarves struggling with their saviors. Not letting Angrin save more of their kinsmen.

The fog was thick and the rain was heavy when Dakún Rabbúhamash first heard the growing cries of land. “Land! Landfall! Land, sweet solid land!” dwarves had cried out all aboard Torag’s Anvil and likely on the other two ships as well. For a brief few moments they had let joy swell in their hearts and calm sooth over their fraying nerves. For a moment they had forgotten the treachery of the Ocean. Like a jilted lover, she would make them sorry for their error. The capricious weather shifted, the rain becoming a heavy downpour, as the wind grew to such an intensity that it practically screamed. A storm consumed the fleet, darkening the sky, only to allow for more drastic contrast when a stroke of lightning cut through the morning air and struck the deck of Angraad's Fire. The illumination of that light was soon followed by the loud growl of thunder in the black clouds overhead, seeking to drown out the screams of dwarves and the sound of splintering wood on the deck of the sister ship.

Torag’s Anvil pitched in the choppy sea, lilting to the port suddenly. Dakún’s white knuckled hands gripped the stern railing as the vessel rocked in the angry waves. A second bolt of lightning flashed behind him and in those rough waters he could see dwarves who had been blown off the deck of Angraad’s Fire into the chaotic tides. He shouted for them to swim and hurled a rope out behind the ship, but they were too far and the ocean did not want to release its captured prey.

Dakún turned about to see that the second bolt of lightning had impacted the center mast of Torag's Anvil. Fires were spreading along the sails and splintered timber lay in a mess across the middle of the mighty vessel. The thunder cracked again, but this time he heard Vigar’s voice shouting "All hands on deck! All hands on deck! We're going inta' the storm!" Something wasn’t right.

Dakún heard the destruction wrought by the Kraken’s colossal tentacle, before he ever saw it. The hair-raising shattering of wood, the considerable thud of massive tentacle smashing through the port railing and against the deck, and the severe shift of the vessel beneath his feet. Not knowing what was going on, the Pahmet looked to port, his jade eyes sweeping the frothing, tempestuous waters and glimpsed a tremendous and distressing shape beneath the waves. As Dakún’s blood froze, he heard the leader of the expedition bellow out a word he’d only just recently heard in stories aboard the ship. He’d thought they were just stories and had prayed that he’d never hear the name of the beast described again. The fates were not so kind.

"KRAKEN!"

A knot of fear grew in his stomach like an unchecked mold upon a damp, shadowed rock. It tightened his grip upon the stern-side railing, even as another lightning bolt struck the deck of Torag's Anvil, blasting apart the ship's helm and setting the rear quarters of the vessel on fire. A splintered piece of the ship the size of Dakún’s thumb slashed across his right ear. He felt the hot tingle of blood down the side of his neck even as the driving wind and rain caused havoc with his brown and khaki colored robes, throwing the fabric out wide around him. The heat of one of the growing fires pressed against him despite the cold rain and wind, and yet his feet would not budge.
Over the screaming of the wind, the panicked cries of his fellow dwarves, and the crackling roar of the fire he heard the words of his father’s father. “Fear is inevitable, when it comes immerse yourself in it, but do not let it claim you. Do not deny it, but understand it. Rather than let it shut you down, awaken yourself with it and as it shrinks away you will find courage. Courage is the mastery of fear, not the absence of fear.” Whether those words were truly audible or merely a remembrance drawn forth by his focused will did not matter, for they moved Dakún to purpose. He took the reins of his fear and guided himself to action, his thick-set and solid form dashing through the fire and toward the conflict.

The ship pitched to the side, but the sand dwarf did not falter in his stride. Each step seemed to be placed with an unconscious understanding of the constant back and forth tipping of the storm tossed vessel. Rigging fell from somewhere high above, but Dakún was not slowed and tossed himself to the left, rolled and then got back to his feet. He soon found himself somewhere near to where Vigar Skuldafn faced off with the topside tentacles of the horrid Kraken.

"Brothers in arms!" he heard Vigar call, "On me! We'll send this beast back to the black depths!" Yet at the same time, he heard the conflicting orders of the ships bosun. "Abandon ship!" Hollick cried out, motioning towards the many life vessels hanging off of the port and aft sides of the ship. "Get as many t'the life rafts as ye can! We need t'be-- " Another peal of thunder and the flash of lightning silenced the portly dwarf and sent up a wave of smoke from the deck where he once stood. Dakún looked with horror at the blackened remains of Hollick, wiping the rain from his own eyes as a wave and the Kraken’s tentacles sent the ship spinning.

As a warrior and a dwarven man he heard the call of Vigar like a trumpet and it galled him to not join the brave Stonelord in the battle, but he knew that Vigar fought the terror of the deep not for victory and glory, but to provide time for the dwarves still aboard to get to safety.

"The Brothers protect you, Vigar Skuldfagn. I will join your side soon."He uttered against the slicing wind and the crashing waves. Hastening across the deck of the vessel, Dakún began to clear away the massive amounts of shattered timber that blocked one of the passageways below decks. With a monumental heave and the help of three other dwarves, he pushed aside the burning mast and rushed down below. He went in the direction of the screams and past his own cabin door to find a young female dwarf trapped beneath the weight of an overturned dresser.

Placing his shoulder against the dresser, he waited for the ship to pitch to the starboard side and shoved with all the force he could muster, driving the heavy piece of furniture up and off the maiden. It was clear to the former temple guard that she could not walk and so he tuned out the words that were uttered from the woman and hoisted her unceremoniously over his shoulder like an unfinished block of stone.

She was not a light burden and the exertion of carrying her through the crowded and cramped corridors within the constantly pitching ship began to weigh on Dakún. In a moment of unexpected fortune Dakún heard the familiar 'Hee-HAAaaw' of a braying and near panicked donkey. Swift and sure steps turned in that direction of the ship and soon Dakún was reunited with his donkey Zúzun. Setting the dwarven lady down upon Zúzun's back, he grabbed a handful of the donkey's reins and guided them above deck to one of the waiting lifeboats on the starboard side. Through the disorienting rain he caught a glimpse of Angrin, the deepdweller, working one of the winches to lower the boat. Immediately he moved to assist him.

Thunder roared and waves crashed as he helped lower the small boat into the churning abyss below. "May all our gods look after you." He said to those in the lifeboat.

_____________________________________
Skill Challenge: Dwarves Abandon Ship!
Perception Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16
Dwarves rescued: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Saving my donkey for free
[done editing]

A burst of laughter carries across the deck as Dwunderbran hears Vigar's bellow. Aye, a kraken be it? Ah be thinkin' tha good Stonelordling 'as drank 'is fill o' the... sea... wat... Staring incredulously, the laughter fades as lightning and tentacle rise from sky and sea to visit catastrophe upon Torag's Anvil. Though Vigar manages to rebuff one of the rubbery appendages, the rest of the crew do not seem to fare so well against the kraken's ire. Dwarf and piece of the ship alike are splintered, crushed, and dragged into the roiling depths below. The dancing flames of the sails and the ship's aft are mirrored ominously in the eyes that scowl from beneath bushy, descending brows. Ye asked fer a fight, boy-o. Ye be gettin' one.

Gripping the hafts of Requiem and Lullaby, Dwunderbran presents the wicked curve of his axe blades before him as the maddened expression of one overeager to join in combat against impossible odds spreads over the foolish dwarf's face. Gesturing at a tentacle that rises from the water as if it has ears for listening, he begins bellowing out ferociously, "Ye picked tha wrong ship fer ta be sinkin', ye tw*t-spawned blighter!" As if in response, the tentacle begins another sweep across the ship's deck, explosions of debris and less fortunate dwarf preceding it in a tide of death and ruin. Dwunderbran sails effortlessly over the tentacle's scythe, rolling well beyond its girth and rising to his feet with axes prepared for a vicious arc of their own. The nearby tentacle extends dozens of feet into the air before careening downward at the deck and Dwunderbran, but his axes are ready. Nimbly sidestepping the vicious strike and buckling timbers beneath his feet, the crazed dwarf brings the axe blades down while shouting gleefully over the din of chaos engulfing the ship.

Fraying shrouds and snapped rigging lash across and over the deck with unsettling cracks. As the head of Requiem seeks to find purchase in the massive tentacle on The Anvil's deck, a once-taut shroud line flies errantly into the air and across the deck, and Dwunderbran suddenly finds himself caught in the tangled web of rope as it whips him violently towards the foremast. The dwarf sails for nearly twenty feet across the deck, landing in a crumpled mess on the stairs ascending the forecastle. Though rattled, he manages to find his feet in short order, and seems no less determined to continue leaping into the fray.
_________________________
Skill Challenge: Mind the Kraken
Combat Maneuver Check: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Forgot my "Dwarves rescued" roll earlier, apologies.
Dwarves rescued: 1d4 ⇒ 2

"KRAKEN"

If anything jolted Dr. Logem into action, this was it. Having been lazing around watching other dwarves, mixing various nausea-curing concoctions, and otherwise having a relaxing, if long, voyage, Dr. Logem had enjoyed this trip. He had spent about fifty years of his life in the poorer district of Highhelm, only seeing the light of day a few times a month. Travelling by sea brought back feelings of nostalgia. Memories of how he had traveled hundreds of miles - mostly by boat - from Dongun Hold to Highhelm came back. He had looked forward to this journey - this change - this new opportunity. A Kraken? This was not something he had looked forward to.

Jumping to his feet, Dr. Logem ran updeck to see what the commotion was - he had heard tales of Krakens before, but never had he seen one. He almost wished he still hadn't. "Tusen! Come!" His call for his familiar was unnecessary, as the creature had sensed Dr. Logem's anxiety through their empathic link, and was already detaching itself from his back. "We need to get out of here. And we need to help save these people if we're to have any chance of surviving later on. Go help people evacuate. I'm going to grab our gear and get the donkeys to the boats. GO!"

Though affected by the extreme wind, Sumetusen was agile enough to ride the wind expertly - The little creature flew around, using the wind to his advantage and helped lead people towards the lifeboats. Luckily, Dr. Logem had the intelligence to parade the little guy around during the journey, so that the other passengers and crew would not be afraid of him - many were disgusted and creeped out at the little tumor, but his helpfulness and skill at being a valet soon proved their original opinions on him wrong. Dr. Logem wanted people to trust him and his favored minion - it had worked quite well on the journey so far.

Dr. Logem himself ran below deck and told his hirelings - all six of them - to pack their gear and help him load the donkeys. His five 'nurses' were done first, and went to the lifeboat while Dr. Logem and his driver got the two donkeys - "Onions" and "Stupid" - loaded with all of the alchemical and medical supplies that belonged to the doctor. While the storm and battle were raging on the top deck, the two got the donkeys loaded on the lifeboats, after which the driver joined them. Dr. Logem had also grabbed a random dwarf huddled in a corner babbling like an idiot and threw him on the lifeboat as well.
______________________________________________

Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Familiar's Perception Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Dwarves Rescued: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Logem's Perception Check: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
Dwarves Rescued: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Including Dr. Logem's Hirelings and Donkeys in this.

Not one of my best posts, but at least I rolled well! XD

Quint continued to peer vainly through the fog, but as it began to rain and other dwarves crowded onto the rail beside him, jostling and straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of the new land he gave up. Getting back from the rail proved to be just as difficult, the archaeologist growing wetter and wetter as he struggled against the tide of dwarfity, until he was elbowing and kick just as hard as anyone else.

He had finally won free, taking a moment to straighten his clothes before continuing to the causeway when a crack of thunder resounded above, and a glance showed that one of the other ships had been hit. "Gozreh is not kind..." he muttered, shaking his head and hurrying towards the causeway. IF they were headed into a storm, well... the ship was best served with him out of the way. He had to secure his tools and ready for their arrival besides... He was just about to descend the stairs belowdecks when another crack of thunder, seemingly louder this time impacted, rattling the ship.

The deck beneath him swam slowly into view, he tried to push himself to his feet and pain shot through him, emanating from his shoulder. He looked up in time to see a tentacle disappearing beneath the waves, carrying with it several dwarves crushed in it's embrace. He was... in the lake. The serpentfolk had called something up from the lake, a great... No... He reached up to feel his shoulder. It came back with blood, but he felt not the great gash that he had suffered at Saventh-Yhi, but a spike of wood, piercing his shoulder. He grimaced, taking an awkward hold of the splintered wood and yanked it free.

His head swum again, threatening to send him back into oblivion. He grit his teeth against the pain, grating out the rhythm that would close his wounds, and rolling onto his sides to inscribe the gestures. He gasped as the spell completed, the relief of the healing washing over him. He still felt shaken, bruised and battered, but he struggled on, pushing himself to his feet and hurrying below.

The scene belowdecks was no less chaotic. Some it seemed did not even know what was assailing the ship. So much for the great dwarven discipline that Highhelm lauded... No, now was not the time for such pettiness. He hurries through the cramped corridors, of Torag's Hammer until he reaches his own cabin and pauses before pushing the door open. The attempt causes his recently healed shoulder to twinge, the door having warped but another, harder shove knocks it open.

He finds the place in disarray as he'd expected. A few other times when the waters had been particularly rough his impromptu shelving hadn't quite stood up to the task. Whistling a quick tune he calls a servant into being, one invisible to the naked eye. ”Load everything into here.” he commands it, pulling the pack saddle from it's place beneath his bunk and joining in the packing as discarded tools and half-completed projects float into the air to be placed in the basket. ”Quickly!” he barks.

The basket loaded he orders his servant to drag it behind him as he shoulders his pack and makes his way deeper into the ship. When he eventually reaches the vast hold—what was once an impressive, and orderly loaded area—he finds the place in utter disarray.

_______________
Skill Challenge: ABANDON SHIP!
Perception Check: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Quint continued to peer vainly through the fog, but as it began to rain and other dwarves crowded onto the rail beside him, jostling and straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of the new land he gave up. Getting back from the rail proved to be just as difficult, the archaeologist growing wetter and wetter as he struggled against the tide of dwarfity, until he was elbowing and kick just as hard as anyone else.

He had finally won free, taking a moment to straighten his clothes before continuing to the causeway when a crack of thunder resounded above, and a glance showed that one of the other ships had been hit. "Gozreh is not kind..." he muttered, shaking his head and hurrying towards the causeway. IF they were headed into a storm, well... the ship was best served with him out of the way. He had to secure his tools and ready for their arrival besides... He was just about to descend the stairs belowdecks when another crack of thunder, seemingly louder this time impacted, rattling the ship.

The deck beneath him swam slowly into view, he tried to push himself to his feet and pain shot through him, emanating from his shoulder. He looked up in time to see a tentacle disappearing beneath the waves, carrying with it several dwarves crushed in it's embrace. He was... in the lake. The serpentfolk had called something up from the lake, a great... No... He reached up to feel his shoulder. It came back with blood, but he felt not the great gash that he had suffered at Saventh-Yhi, but a spike of wood, piercing his shoulder. He grimaced, taking an awkward hold of the splintered wood and yanked it free.

His head swum again, threatening to send him back into oblivion. He grit his teeth against the pain, grating out the rhythm that would close his wounds, and rolling onto his sides to inscribe the gestures. He gasped as the spell completed, the relief of the healing washing over him. He still felt shaken, bruised and battered, but he struggled on, pushing himself to his feet and hurrying below.

The scene belowdecks was no less chaotic. Some it seemed did not even know what was assailing the ship. So much for the great dwarven discipline that Highhelm lauded... No, now was not the time for such pettiness. He hurries through the cramped corridors, of Torag's Hammer until he reaches his own cabin and pauses before pushing the door open. The attempt causes his recently healed shoulder to twinge, the door having warped but another, harder shove knocks it open.

He finds the place in disarray as he'd expected. A few other times when the waters had been particularly rough his impromptu shelving hadn't quite stood up to the task. Whistling a quick tune he calls a servant into being, one invisible to the naked eye. ”Load everything into here.” he commands it, pulling the pack saddle from it's place beneath his bunk and joining in the packing as discarded tools and half-completed projects float into the air to be placed in the basket. ”Quickly!” he barks.

The basket loaded he orders his servant to drag it behind him as he shoulders his pack and makes his way deeper into the ship. When he eventually reaches the vast hold—what was once an impressive, and orderly loaded area—he finds the place in utter disarray. Panicked dwarves are grabbing whatever they can find, one seems to have gone mad and is gorging himself on raw grains, two more have actually drawn weapons and are squaring off against each other over what seems to be a chest full of iron.

Quint closes his eyes. In his experience with the pathfinders he's had occasion to deal with supply lines and quartermasters but... nothing like this. He takes a deep breath to center himself and opens his eyes again, already barking orders. "You! With the axe! Stop acting like a thrice damned fool and take that chest up and load it onto a boat. We can't take much, but we'll need iron. The other idiot, with the hammer. Sling that barrel over your back and follow him, and one of you grab that moron and stop him eating all our food." The voice of calm amidst the storm, even coming from the someone as physically unimpressive as Quint seems sufficient to break the dueling dwarves out of their stupor. They seem almost relieved to have someone telling them what to do. Stowing his weapon the axe-weilding dwarf hefts the chest and places his boot to the one still stuffing his face, pushing him along ahead of him with kicks and shoves, the hammer weilder grabbing a hefty barrel full of what seem to be agricultural equipment and following.

Sighing in relief that it actually worked Quint hurries over to the section that holds the animals, finding it already open. He struggles through the crowd of confused and nervous looking animals until he finds his mule, and struggles to strap the pack saddle down onto the beast. Retying the grain sack and adding it and a few more besides on top of his own goods he quickly leads the beast back through the depths of the ship until he reemerges into the wet and cold and terror of the fight above deck. Tucking his head he struggles against the increasingly frightened animal's attempts to flee and drags it over to the boat with the two hard-headed dwarves and the other who seems to have curled into a fetal ball. "Look after him, and go! Don't stop rowing til you hit land!" he bellows over the cacophany of the chaos behind him as he passes the donkey's reigns and helps to push him onto the lifeboat.
_______________
Skill Challenge: ABANDON SHIP!
Perception Check: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Dwarves Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3

KRACKEN!

The words sent a visceral chill shooting though Mineko. Ahead of her she could see tentacles the size of giant bamboo shoots whipping out of the water. They were bigger than any she had seen before, larger even then the age old groves found in the forest of spirits.

Where others shattered, Komainu-Kun gave a roar and launched itself at the many tentacle beast. Following up swiftly behind her, Minkeo dropped all pretenses at grace and nobility. Etiquette was well and good when time demanded, but now was not such a time. Closing her eyes briefly, Minkeo’s clothes changed, shifting from the sky blue kimono she had been wearing, into a dark grey slacks and a top. It would prevent anything from catching amid the chaos.

Pointing to her followers she started to snap out commands. Koki, guard the others. Tokuzo grab any food you can find. Motomi and Kaori gather any others on deck as well as this ones belongings and make it to a ship. I will stay on deck with my protector and cover your retreat. Giving a final shout and a commanding wave, she ran towards the fray.

Snarling and clawing, Komainu launched himself on a tentacle in front of him, the stone claws tearing and ripping with savageness at odds with his usual placid demeanor. Grabbing up a wand from a nearby box of supplies Minkeo ran around the deck healing those who had fallen and getting them back up to their feet. She knew that some would need to remain behind at least temporally in order to fend off the massive aquatic menace.

Ahead of her she could see the leader of the expedition Vigar standing at the front of the ship. It was well that he had stayed behind. It was his duty and a sign of his honor. Minkeo wished she had been able to do the same during the dark times for her clan.

Below Decks…

The ship shook and shuttered as another tentacle slapped its way along the ship. Through the portholes, sickly purple feelers writhed themselves into the compartments and holds. Despite the commands from their Empresses, the retinue of the Granite Empress struggled to follow the commands from their leader. Chaos reigned. Motomi, normally stupid and daft carried bundles of their equipment while Tokuzo gathered handfuls of foodstuffs. Near one of the hatches, Koki lashed out with his blade at a tentacle who began to reach for the dwarves.

With a snort and a stamp of hooves, Cherryblossom neighed loudly causing the dwarves to turn and look at the beast. Prancing nervously, the mule, prodded Tokuzo towards the ladder well up to the top deck and towards the life rafts.
________________________
Skill Challenge: Mineko - TREAT INJURIES - Use Magic Device DC 18 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Heal all vs Mind the Kraken: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Skill Challenge: Komainu-Kun - MIND THE KRAKEN - Combat Maneuver Check DC 18 DC 18 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
1d6 ⇒ 4

Skill Challenge: Koki Hayashi (Guardsman) - ABANDON SHIP! - Perception DC 15 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (6) + 0 = 6

Skill Challenge: Tokuzo Akiyama (Food Taster) - ABANDON SHIP! - Perception DC 15 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

Skill Challenge: Motomi Himura (Maid) - ABANDON SHIP! - Perception DC 15 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Skill Challenge: Kaori Inoue (Noble Handmaiden) - ABANDON SHIP! - Perception DC 15 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Skill Challenge: Cherryblossom (Female Mule) - ABANDON SHIP! - Perception DC 15 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17
Dwaves saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3 Plus all of my followers

AH HAHA! So all of my followers are idots with the exception of the mule!

Some of those 13s could turn into 15s or higher depending on how many people successfully fight the hydra. So far it's looking good! But that is one sharp donkey!

It tells you something about the dwarves if the donkey's obviously much cleverer than them.

Oh this could be fun if the donkey starts to become the hero of this band!
 
 
 
                  C H E R R Y B L O S S O M
                                              W O N D E R   M U L E
 
 
 
Upon iron shod hooves the wondrous mule stomped along the deck...

Heh, used all the good rolls on yourself and Komainu-kun :)

Hah. Somebody get a purple dragon familiar and the dynamic duo is complete.

For one who claims to be able to see the future, Rogath can sometimes be surprisingly blind. All his attention and worry has been focused on arriving in Arcadia and the dangers there. Sure, there were dangers at sea, but none of them rose to the level of a major threat - even the dragon was no match for a ship full of dwarves. Nothing like what was sure to be waiting for them once they landed.

And then, just as land came in sight - but while still most definitely still out at sea - came the Kraken and its storm.

The very large Kraken and its very deadly storm.

Gulp.

"Lady Luck protect us," he mutters as he takes in the size of the tentacles, his usual air of "experienced world traveler" shattered by the beast's appearance. He initially freezes in panic, as so many other dwarves do, but Vigar's call jolts him back into action, as it was intended.

Running forward towards the Kraken, and the few defenders rallying to Vigar's side, Rogath grabs one of his starknives in one hand, as his other begins to glow with the soft white light of healing magics. He throws himself into the battle against the beast as energetically (but much more grimly) as he threw himself into sailing, although he quickly falls into more of a support role than an offensive one: Grabbing dwarves out of the way of falling timbers or lashing tentacles, tying quick bandages on the ones he can't get out of the way, calling warnings, and encouraging the sailors-turned-fighters by the presence of their "good luck dwarf".

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Skill Challenge: Treat Injuries
Heal check: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22
Healing provided: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

  
 
 
    << Skill Challenge: King of the Deep | Round II | No Encounter Map >>  
 
A peal of thunder roars across the ocean, driving rain falling so hard it stings the skin, and flames crackle in muted spread across the forecastle of the ship. "I will not let the sea take my kin!" Vigar hollars, leaping atop one of the tentacles wrapped around the forecastle of the ship. Hefting his axe high into the air, he brings the fiery blade down and chops into the kraken's flesh. It writhes, lashes out and hurls Vigar back, throwing him through a stack of crates that explode into splinters against his stone armor.

Vigar's fall could have been worse, for a gaff hook juts up from the broken wood mere inches from his throat. A hand held out in offer to pull him to his feet belongs to Rogath, and Vigar gladly takes the pilgrim's hand as he is hauled up off of his back. "Lucky thing you were here," Vigar suggests, looking down to the hook he narrowly missed. Quite lucky.

But Vigar's sole moment of relief is a short-lived one, for through the rain and fog, he and the other dwarves can see a horrifying sight. Off the side of the ship, Angraad's Fire shatters like a toy in the hands of a violent child. Four tentacles wrapped around the vessel rend it into large splinters of wood and toppling masts. Screams of the dwarves on board carry over the sounds of thunder, and hundreds are either crushed to death or fall into the tempestuous surf below.

Quin's stomach turns as he witnesses the ship drawn below the waves in broken pieces, his heart sinks and a chill runs down his spine. His sister was aboard that ship. Vigar turns to check on Kols' Hammer, seeing the vessel still on fire at its sails, pitched to its aft side from what is likely a hole in the hull forcing it to take on water. Some life boats look to have made it out, but they are few and far between.

"Rally, RALLY!' Vigar cries, raising his hammer into the air and slamming it to the deck of the ship. From the impact, earth and rock erupts and a ten foot tall dwarf made from solid rock, loose soil and grass is called forth from the elemental planes. "For the fallen!" Vigar cries, charging back at the tentacles with every bit of strength he has in him.

Meanwhile, the evacuation process is a tangled mess. Dwarves, panicked, try to flee on too-full lifeboats that splash down into the rough waters. Yet still there are crowds of screaming, frightened settlers and explorers looking to get off the sinking ship. But the true current of terror hadn't yet arrived, though as the bolts of lightning continue to strike the waters, as the sails of the ship continue to burn and the hull creaks and groans under the strain of the kraken's assault that current grows more swift, threatening to pull everyone down with it.

_____________

ROUND I RESULTS
Maven (Abandon Ship!): Success! (2 dwarves evacuated)
Angrin (Abandon Ship!): Success! (1 dwarf evacuated)
Dakun (Abandon ship!): Success! (1 dwarf evacuated; auto-saved donkey)
Dwunderbran (Mind the Kraken): Failure (6 damage sustained)
Logem (Abandon Ship!): Success! (1 dwarf evacuated)
>> Logem's Familiar (Abandon Ship!): Success! (3 dwarves evacuated)
Quint (Abandon Ship!): Success! (3 dwarves evacuated)
Mineko (Treat Injuries): Success! (5 damage healed)
>> Komaino-Kun (Mind the Kraken): Success! (4 damage sustained; +2 bonus)
>> Koki (Abandon Ship!): Failure
>> Tokuzo (Abandon Ship!): Failure
>> Motomi (Abandon Ship!): Success (with Mind the Kraken mods; [dice=1d4] dwarves evacuated)
>> Kaori (Abandon Ship!): Success (with Mind the Kraken mods; 3 dwarves evacuated used the total from Cherry Blossom's roll)
>> Cherryblossom the Wonder Mule: nope.jpg
Rogath (Treat Injuries): Success! (4 damage healed)
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TOTALS
Evacuated Dwarves: 14/250 (plus Dakun's donkey and Mineko's entourage)
Damage Sustained: 0 after healing

Round II features additional objectives, please check the discussion thread

<< Skill Challenge: King of the Deep | Round II | >>

On the Torag’s Anvil
To Mineko’s left she watched as the Angradd’s Fire shattered like bits of kindling. The sight was as horrifying as it was it was entrancing. To see the massive ship that had taken months by careful and meticulous craftsmen to make, so easily shatter like a child’s toy boggled the mind. The sheer sight of the beasts massive tentacles crushing and writhing made the young empress want to flee. But she could not. Not while others needed her.

Running between the wounded dwarves that lay upon the deck, she continued to heal with her snatched up wand, she cursed as the ivory rod sputtered and faded to black. Tossing it overboard she looked around frantically for a potion or another wand, anything to help, but it would take precious moments to find another source of healing, and time was something she did not have. As she dug through the crates she watched as another dwarf was thrown backward by a lashing purple limb the size of a tree trunk. She cursed again. Shaking he head she scowled. Such behavior was not appropriate for one of her station, but she hoped the gods would understand the circumstances she was present in.

Meanwhile ahead of her Komainu-Kun continued to lash and tear into the beast. The stone foo-lion clawed and bit, it did not fear for itself, but it did fear for the empress. Flee my lady! it sent through its shared link to her soul. Go now! It mewed before launching itself at another tentacle that was nearest to the Empress with a feral roar.

On the Deep Blue Sea…
The life raft rocked in the tumultuous seas. All around them the Tian dwarves could see the floating bodies of the dead and dying. Each of Minekos followers had seen so much death. First it was the loss of their homeland at the hands of the Jade Emperor and his army of Oni, then the nightmare flight through the darklands and now the death upon the great blue ocean. It was more death then any should see. To add to the tragedy was the knowledge that many of the Empresses remaining people had set sail with the dwarves. What had started as five hundred may have been reduced to as little as fifty. Spying a scorched and blacked dwarf, likely thrown overboard from the fires on the Kols' Hammer that was clinging to a piece of flotsam, Koki Hayashi, the last of three brothers to survive the destruction of their homeland dove into the water without thought and swam furiously towards the dwarf to clung desperately to the wood. With a grunt of exertion the dwarven warrior grabbed the back of the man’s tunic and began to swim through the crashing waves back to the life raft.

Meanwhile Tokuzo, and Kaori frantically grabbed any supplies that were still floating in the water. A barrel, chests, even scraps of sail cloth, anything that might be useful if they were to survive on the foreign shores. They tried to block out the screams and the fire and the dead. They had to focus. While the others frantically tried to gather supplies, Cherryblossom stamped and snorted. The mule could see in the distance what looked like another survivor. The mule was strong and carried with it a noble spirit. She knew that she could make it to the dwarf and save her. Making itself ready to leap into the water, Motomi, stupid and daft saw the mule at the last moment ready to leap and quickly grabbed the mules bridal. No! You stay here. She said. Angrily the mule snorted at the woman while looking past her as the dwarf lost his grip on the wreckage and slipped into the churning seas.
________________________

Maven's pounding is answered, but not by whom she expects. A trembling Dwarf, surely not even in his sixties yet, carrying a wooden chest under his arm, manages to pull open the cabin door, surprised and frightened to see her. He quickly looks at her hammer, then the chest, and blurts out "Jus' tryin' ta save all the supplies we can, lass! No one e'en bothered to pick up anythin' here!" Before Maven can figure out what question to ask, he bumps past her, presumably in a dash for the lifeboats.

Hope he's got the rest of us in mind and not just makin' off with Mineko's valuables...

A crash of steel on wood and a clap of thunder draw Maven's eye. From her position, she just glimpes the splinter of wood as the stone champion arises from the deck and joins the battle. Stonelords...Seems Torag doesn't share all his secrets at one time.

Remembering herself as the next bolt of lightning touches down mere yards from her position, Maven rushes to the next section of the ship, towards the crowds trying to shove their way onto lifeboats. The tangled mob of beards and braids are far too many for the vessels hanging on this small section, and the group's bickering is already wasting valuable time. Maven tries to get the attention of the outliers and point them to the next boat, but this particular group seems to have succumbed to a mob mentality, shoving her back and knocking her to the deck when she tries to reason with anyone in the group. Her frustration mounts as the crowd pushes and fights amongst itself rather than actually getting on the boats; realizing her efforts to direct this group are futile, she stomps in exasperation. "ye daft lotta sods! Ye'll only sink that boat with all of ye on it! Bah! To the waves with ye then!"

Can't waste time savin' those who won't be saved. Gotta get to what I can, make a difference instead a fightin' the unwinnable. Hafta make sure no one gets stuck in some parta the ship. Unable to sway the panicking fools, her clerical training kicks in and the idea of triage begins to guide her thoughts. Maven turns on her heels and goes about the wreckage searching for anyone trapped by rubble; the broken masts and shattered decks have left pieces of the ship all over, and the fires have divided sections of the ship from each other. Though aggravated by the apparent lack of rationale of her kinsmen, her thoughts instinctively turn to worry. Dunno how ye made it on this voyage if ye lose yer head so easy, lads, but...Torag protect each of ye.

-----------------
Skill challenge: Abandon Ship!
perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 includes bonus. Speaking of using up all the good rolls...

EDIT: Wow. What timing, Cel. Still not enough, but...go Komainu-kun!

Angrin finally manages to wrestle the stubborn dwarf in just as Angradd's Fire shatters. "Angradd's Bladed Beard! What was... Oh Hell..." He glances to the other side of the ship, seeing Kol's Hammer go up in flames. "This is not good..." Talk about an understatement... Angrin begins to move, but stops shortly as his stomach lurches when a lightning bolt strikes the water nearby. He shudders even as he hears Vigar's cry to rally to him. That was all well and good, of course, but still... evacuees were more important!

Angrin nearly trips over his feet as he tries to make his way to the next sailor. Were storms normally like this? How the Hell did anyone think that living up here was a good idea? Give him a nice, snug tunnel filled with kobolds, goblins, or Hell, even drow were better than this. Not undead, though - No! His stomach was weak enough already, no need to think about - His thought process is cut off by a tentacle suddenly rising up over the edge of the ship, writhing menacingly at him. Angrin grabs at his rapier, but stops when the Empress' stone lion-dog-thing jumps at it, tearing viciously. "Ohp, thank'ee kindly!" He says politely to it, before remembering that he has a job to do! Evacuee's need rescuing!

He starts off, only to nearly stumble again on his way towards the sailor, only to see her vanish over the edge. "Bloody Hell! Dwarf o'erboard!" It is now that he notices there are many other dwarves just barely holding themselves above water. "Well, s&*+." He utters quietly.
______
Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 Fail, even with bonuses!

Yup, same here. Maybe I'll try swimming next, since I somehow got trained in it... xD

Hacking up a gob of blood, Dwunderbran draws a thick, rain-soaked forearm across his busted lip before considering an alternate avenue of approach. Rogath's presence proves a boon in the midst of the chaos that had overtaken Torag's Anvil, as Mineko's surely would have were Dwunderbran a less rabid sort. As the empress approaches the dwarf, glowing rod outstretched before her, he swats the thing away with a look of dismay, yelling angrily into the woman's face, "Get tha' soddin' tw*t-poker outta me face, yer bleedin' highness!" He pays no mind to the look of surprise on her face as he begins slowly and steadily stomping down the crumbling ship's deck once more. The slump in his left shoulder tells plainly that Dwunderbran has dislocated it, but with Rogath's aid, he manages to snap the injury back into place with a dulled pop. Much to the Desnan cleric's surprise, he sprints towards the nearest tentacle immediately, despite his the numb pain that still renders his left arm ineffectual.

Steady now, aye? Cannae carve yerself a cut o' squid if'n ye cannae lift yer axes fer ta carve tha blighter. Though his mind preaches momentary caution, the rapidly unraveling scene on the deck affords him no such reprieve. Even as he considers other methods to contribute to the cause, another massive appendage surfaces from a cresting wave, seemingly intent on smashing Vigar's valiant defiance into the lower holds of the ship he so courageously defends. "Oh no ye don't!"

Sailing over a tumbling pass of loose cannons, Dwunderbran quickly lashes his mostly-limp left hand to what remains of the center mast. His magnificent war-axe, Requiem, rests ready in his right hand as the enormous tentacle soars across the deck and towards an unaware Vigar Skuldafn. At the last moment, Dwunderbran extends his arm in a wicked arc that finds his axe's blade hooked into the tentacle—a vicious wound that halts the attack. The wooden planks secured to the central mast crack and splinter as the mast topples several inches downward, and the scream that erupts from Dwunderbran's mouth is audible confirmation of the crushed ruin that is his left shoulder, wrist, and hand. Fortunately, the axe is torn free as the tentacle recoils and flails about in agony before dragging a blood-spurting limb back into the depths beneath.

His teeth gritted through the unspeakable agony, the dwarf retains enough presence of mind to sever the line holding his left hand to the mast, knowing full and well the creature will likely retaliate on his position in short order. Dwunderbran's staggered steps bring him closer to Vigar, and though injured, the fight in his eyes is yet burning fiercely.

_________________________
Superstitious Drawback (Mineko): 1d100 ⇒ 40 (fail)
Will Saving Throw: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15 (success; healing halved)

Skill Challenge: MIND THE KRAKEN
[dice=Combat Maneuver Check; "Trip"]1d20+7[/dice] (success)
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Addendum to previous post: With Dwunderbran's help, I made a success. xD I will roll my dwarves saved now, and add a post tomorrow about how it worked out. Also, max results this time! Woot!
Saved!: 1d4 ⇒ 4

Onboard the Torag's Anvil

The explosion of the Angraad's Fire makes Dr. Logem's ears ring even worse than the constant thunder had. Fitting that a wooden ship called Angraad's Fire would sink by explosion, of all things. Thats what they get for naming the vessel after that particular god. Dr. Logem shakes his head and chuckles grimly to himself for a moment. Now that he had gotten his personal belongings and staff off of the ship safely, he runs below deck, dodging splinters and flying, screaming dwarves in equal numbers. He heads straight to where the alchemical and medical supplies are located and begins grabbing as many as he can - after quaffing the same two mixtures he had imbibed back during the funeral that felt so long ago.

Muscles and eyeballs bulging, Dr. Logem overloads himself on crates filled with bandages, casting plaster, herbs, and medicines and carries as many as he can top-side. We'll be dead sooner than they think if we don't make landfall with medical supplies. What, do they think their gods will protect them? Much as their gods are protecting them now? This thing - this Kraken - does not care what god or gods they worship. It'll kill them all the same. No.. best we not rely on these gods anymore.. I'll prove that to them.

As he reaches topside, he deposits his load next to a lifeboat being loaded with other goods. "These are a priority! Get them loaded on a boat and away from this infernal mess! Stop filling the damn boat with booze! Taking the two barrels of alcohol the dwarves have already loaded onto a boat, Dr. Logem chucks them overboard, much to the dismay of the evacuees. They dare not talk back to the doctor, however, as he looks as though he's about to throw them overboard as well.

Meanwhile, Sumetusen, Dr. Logem's familiar, continues to fly around and try to direct dwarves in an orderly fashion to the lifeboats. Their frantic attempts at getting off the ship cause his job to be that much more difficult, however, and he ends up grabbing a screaming dwarf by his beard and forcibly dragging him to a lifeboat. Considering the creature's tiny size, the scene would be laughable - if not for the utter chaos and carnage happening around them.

On a Lifeboat in the Water

"Woooahhh Onions, Stupid! Calm down you two! We're going to be ok!" Kol Onolasmel does his best to keep his employer's donkeys as calm as possible while they're on the boat, so as not to rock it anymore than it already is. Once thats done, he spots a dwarf trying to stay above water just a few feet away. "Hold on, I'm comin! I can't swim.. but maybe I can paddle us towards you!" By paddling, he means trying to pull the boat closer by paddling with his bare hands. As stupid as the idea is, there is little surprise when he fails to move the boat closer - in fact, the boat continues to go the other direction, probably since a dwarf is rowing that way. Undaunted nonetheless, Kol - named after the god Kols, whose ship branding his name is currently on fire - cries in anguish when the dwarf he was trying to rescue sinks below the waves and fails to return to the surface.

Meanwhile, Dr. Logem's five nurses - Rith, Edem, Datan, Nil, and Litast - focus their entire efforts on grabbing as many floating supplies as they possibly can. Things ranging from floating crates of food to barrels of alcohol convieniently thrown in their direction, to a single tricorne hat that looked rather fancy. They all but ignore the screams of the dying around them and instead greedily focus on salvaging as much cargo - and loot - as they can, letting numerous dwarves drown thanks to the lack of attempt to save them.
_____________________________________________________________
Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Logem's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 8 + 2 = 25 Success!
Goods Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3
Greed Bonus included.

Skill Challenge: ABANDON SHIP!
Familiar's Perception Check: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 7 + 2 + 2 = 26 Success!
Dwarves Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Eidolon + Dwunder's MIND THE KRAKEN bonus included

Skill Challenge: FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH
Driver's Swim Check: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (7) - 1 = 6 Failure!

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #1's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 5 + 2 = 16 Success!
Goods Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3
Greed Bonus included.

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #2's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 5 + 2 = 21 Success!
Goods Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Greed Bonus included.

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #3's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 5 + 2 = 27 Success!
Goods Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Greed Bonus included.

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #4's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 5 + 2 = 11 Failure!
Greed Bonus included.

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #5's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 5 + 2 = 15 Success!
Goods Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Greed Bonus included.

Total Goods Saved: 15
Total Dwarves Saved: 1

Realized that the MIND THE KRAKEN bonus only applies to ABANDON SHIP!, not all of the other checks, so the +4 didn't help Dr. Logem. Not that he needed it.

Also note that the extract and mutagen were used purely for aesthetic purposes.

Yeesh. DC 20 eh? Well it's the only one that's really appropriate considering...

Quint turns as the lifeboat starts to lower into the water, hoping they make it--if for no other reason than to protect the supplies and his own equipment. He could care less about the mule, it was a recent purchase for the journey and though it was relatively well tempered for it's species he wasn't going to mourn if it got it's neck broke, as long as it didn't tip his gear and tools into the sea. Nethys blast this beast whatever it was. Some eldritch horror no doubt.

He scans across the deck, hunkering down to provide a smaller target to the debris, tentacles and magic flying through the air, trying to figure out what to do next. He had no intention of going down with the ship, but it seemed so few dwarves were managing to keep their heads. He had to save everything and everyone he could from this boat. There would be no returning to Absalom; not now, not unless he discovered how to unravel himself here and reappear there... He may manage it eventually, but he wouldn't it that far on his own, he needed these damned fools, at least some of them.

Something catches his eye near one of the tentacles. He casts his gaze back along the deck, squinting against the driving rain. There! There it was again... Komainu-kun! If he was there then Mineko... The rotund dwarf breaks into a sprint, huffing and puffing his way across the deck. Where was she...

Before he can spot her--the ridiculous outfit she wore should be easily visible--his attention is dragged from the deck, out to sea. He freezes, rocking back and forth as he watches the ship disappear all too swiftly beneath the tempest tossed waves.

Don't mind me, just going to launch into some backstory expedition *whistles innocently*

"She... Shassale..." he groans, staring uncomprehendingly out into the waters where the ship had disappeared. He had only learned of her presence on this trip after they had set sail. She was the one who contacted him in fact, sending a message between the ships. Shassale Belchknuckle; when had that happened? He hadn't seen her since Clostin's funeral, and thinking back there had been a man at her side... but he hadn't thought much of it. Now though... she'd been on that ship. Maybe she'd survived? Impossible...

While Quint's mind is lost in enternal conflict--memories of his sister, his brother, his parents flashing before his mind's eye--his body jerkily continues on it's own. He walks, unconcerned now of the terror around him. A blood spurting tentacle reels mere metres overhead, nearly severed by a viscous axe-wound; not even Dwunderbran's odor, somehow still pungent despite the driving rain break's the dwarf's shock. He stops several feet from the damaged mast the sailor so recently staggered from and turns a slow circle. Without thought his mind measures distances and angles, calculates the tension on ropes and timbers, the flex of the deck, locating the potential points of fail. The situation may be unfamiliar but the excersize is so routine that he could do it in his sleep, as he indeed seems to be doing...
_______________
Skill Challenge: DOWN WITH THE SHIP?
Knowledge Engineering: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15 So... how long does he think we have? :p

Water blinded Dakún, a painful combination of torrential rain and stinging salt water from the waves which crashed against and occasionally flowed onto Torag’s Anvil. He peered down to the waters where his donkey and the dwarven maiden he had assisted drifted away in a lifeboat. They looked like they would make it. That at least gave a little hope. He had been taught not to rely on hope, yet at this moment he clung to it like many of the dwarves he glimpsed clung to shattered timbers adrift in the churning sea.

Sparing no additional glance at them, he turned about to look across the deck. It was in chaos. Thunder roared overhead, drowning out the screams and shouts of the many dwarves abandoning ship. Fires continued to cast an eerie and unsettling glow all about the vessel, seemingly immune to driving rain that stung Dakún’s skin, washed over his eyes and soaked his clothes.

Rushing across the deck, he realized with a sudden worry that most of his steps carried him over or through large puddles of water. Was the ship sinking? While he was not willing to abandon ship just yet, he knew that if the ship went under the waves with him on it, he would likely not make it to shore. Those thoughts, however brief, were punctuated with the terrible sound of wood shattering and the screams of hundreds of dwarves. Angraad's Fire once a proud and impressive vessel was crushed within four horrible arms of the kraken and its crew pulled down into the tempestuous surf below. Dakún did not realize it, but he was screaming out his terror with the dwarves on board the sister vessel. So many fallen. So many drowned. They were to be the safe keepers of all that was dwarven and now… they were dead.

Forcing his mouth closed he looked about the deck. Everywhere there was panic. If this had been a cave in or even a dragon attack Dakún suspected the dwarves would have handled things better. But the sea and it’s terrors were not well known by his race. It’s tales and dangers had not been passed down from generation to generation. None had trained for this, he least of all. Yet when the first dwarf encountered the savagery of the Orc’s, he had not trained for it either. Yet the dwarves had overcome and forced the Orcs into retreat as they journied up in the Quest for the Sky. This would not be the experience which would end the dwarves. This was not how Dakún Rabbúhamash of Tar-Telúl would perish. There were still crowds of screaming, frightened settlers and explorers looking to get off the sinking ship. If it meant he would have to slog through this horrifying mess a little longer to help one or two more survive this nightmare, Dakún would.

There was screaming from coming from down below. Pushing himself forward, Water blinded Dakún, a painful combination of torrential rain and stinging salt water from the waves which crashed against and occasionally flowed onto Torag’s Anvil. He peered down to the waters where his donkey and the dwarven maiden he had assisted drifted away in a lifeboat. They looked like they would make it. That at least gave a little hope. He had been taught not to rely on hope, yet at this moment he clung to it like many of the dwarves he glimpsed clung to shattered timbers adrift in the churning sea.

Sparing no additional glance at them, he turned about to look across the deck. It was in chaos. Thunder roared overhead, drowning out the screams and shouts of the many dwarves abandoning ship. Fires continued to cast an eerie and unsettling glow all about the vessel, seemingly immune to driving rain that stung Dakún’s skin, washed over his eyes and soaked his clothes.

Rushing across the deck, he realized with a sudden worry that most of his steps carried him over or through large puddles of water. Was the ship sinking? While he was not willing to abandon ship just yet, he knew that if the ship went under the waves with him on it, he would likely not make it to shore. Those thoughts, however brief, were punctuated with the terrible sound of wood shattering and the screams of hundreds of dwarves. Angraad's Fire once a proud and impressive vessel was crushed within four horrible arms of the kraken and its crew pulled down into the tempestuous surf below. Dakún did not realize it, but he was screaming out his terror with the dwarves on board the sister vessel. So many fallen. So many drowned. They were to be the safe keepers of all that was dwarven and now… they were dead.

Forcing his mouth closed he looked about the deck. Everywhere there was panic. If this had been a cave in or even a dragon attack Dakún suspected the dwarves would have handled things better. But the sea and it’s terrors were not well known by his race. It’s tales and dangers had not been passed down from generation to generation. None had trained for this, he least of all. Yet when the first dwarf encountered the savagery of the Orc’s, he had not trained for it either. Yet the dwarves had overcome and forced the Orcs into retreat as they journied up in the Quest for the Sky. This would not be the experience which would end the dwarves. This was not how Dakún Rabbúhamash of Tar-Telúl would perish. There were still crowds of screaming, frightened settlers and explorers looking to get off the sinking ship. If it meant he would have to slog through this horrifying mess a little longer to help one or two more survive this nightmare, Dakún would.

Before he had a chance to set himself to purpose the entire ship pitched violently to port and a massive wave crashed down on the deck and swept Dakún backwards. Water flowed over him, dragged him over and around and he felt his shoulder smash into something hard. Still he tumbled, unable to gain purchase on anything. He was certain that he was going to be swept off the ship and out to sea. His movement suddenly stopped and his breath was drawn from him as water flowed around him and away. With a gasp of air, he realized he had been caught on something. Something had tangled around his waist and held him fast.

It wasn't until the water cleared from his eyes that he realized he was gripped by one of the massive tentacles of the monstrous Kraken.
___________________
Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Through all the chaos and confusion, there are certain moments that epitomize Rogath's experience of the fight.

Moment: A swordsdwarf dueling a tentacle. Every time it lashes forward, he jabs at it and it draws back again. So focused is the dwarf on the one piece of his opponent that he doesn't see the other tentacle, which unexpectedly whips around him from behind and begins to drag him off. Suddenly, a thrown starknife embeds itself into the freshly-emerged arm of the kracken, which releases the dwarf to tumble down from ten feet above the deck and land on his head. Rogath hurries over to the dwarf's side as the tentacle whips away with his weapon embedded in it, and, seeing the hard-headed warrior dazedly trying to stand, gives him a push in the direction of the evacuation.

Moment: An axe dwarf is flung backwards towards the ruins of the rigging laying on the deck right by where Rogath is standing. He reaches out to catch the living missile, but only manages to knock it off course slightly, and gets his hand kicked for his trouble. Only after offering his hand to help the dwarf recover, does the cleric realize just who the other dwarf is, and how close they came to losing their leader at that moment. "Lucky indeed. Desna's aid on you!" he returns, and hurries off to the next victim.

Moment: As Dwunderbran stumbles away with mangled arm, Rogath catches the eye of the Empress, and they share a look of incredulity at the crude dwarf's behavior, before they both turn back to more receptive patients.

Moment: While bending over a dwarf suffering from lightning burns, the cleric looks up just in time to see the Angraad's Fire's fate. Watching in awe and horror as the great vessel is torn apart by a greater beast, his vision is suddenly filled with purple as a tentacle comes slamming down inches from his nose, crushing his patient. And then, as the monster lifts it back up for another strike, he sees that embedded in the moist flesh is his lost starknife, the long points of which held the arm up off the deck just enough for the burned dwarf to avoid being crushed. Dragging the unconscious victim off to a marginally safer spot, he momentarily touches the back of his star-marked hand in a silent prayer of thanks.

______________
Skill Challenge: Treat Injuries

Heal: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21
Healing: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

     << Skill Challenge: King of the Deep | Round III | No Encounter Map >>
 
 
 

The sea threatens to be the greater enemy even beyond the kraken, perhaps stirred to life by some sort of foul deep magic or just by the hurricane-force winds blowing in from the storm. Swells press against the side of Torag's Anvil high enough to wash over the deck, sweeping some unaware dwarves over the side in a tumbling mess of tangled limbs and screams. The entire ship pitches towards the port side, wood groaning and stress fractures splitting up through the hull and across the deck.

The kraken, though, cannot find as easy purchase on the ship as it had hoped. Dwunderbran, Komainu and Vigar along with his elemental harry the aquatic nightmare, battering away tentacles as they try to grasp and squeeze at the deck. "Do not give up! We 'ave t'do this!" Vigar screams, swatting an incoming tentacle aside with the flat of his axe before he rolls in, stooping into a low crouch and hefting his blade with horizontal stroke to cut deep into the rubbery flesh. "Do'nae fear this beast! Do'naw fear death! Torag smiles upon us!"

A wave of confidence and reassurance washes over the dwarves at Vigar's words, instilled by some sort of supernatural sense of righteousness and bravery that can only be a blessing from the Gods themselves. As if in counter to that, the storm belches out another stroke of lightning, this one hitting Vigar directly, sending the dwarf flying backwards across the deck of the ship, crashing into the mast before slouching down to the ground. He groans, bloodied and battered, rising up to one knee and spitting blood on the deck. Steam rises off of his stone armor, and Vigar's brows lower.

"These people are under my protection!" The stonelord screams, and his elemental comes barreling in beside Dwunderbran, plowing into a tentacle and pushing it straight off the ship. The elemental disappears over the side of the ship, grappling the tentacle on the way down. Its weight yanks the kraken back from the ship, if only some, but two of the beast's tentacles remain suckered to the hull at the forecastle.
_________________________________
Mineko (Treat Injuries): Failure
>> Komainu-kun (Mind the Kraken): Success (+2; 2 damage)
>> Koki (From the Jaws of Death): Success (1 dwarf saved from the ocean)
>> Tokuzo (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (1d4 ⇒ 3 Goods Salvaged)
>> Motomi (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Fail
>> Kaori (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (1d4 ⇒ 1 Goods Salvaged)
Maven (Abandon Ship): Failure
Angrin (Abandon Ship): Success (4 dwarves saved)
Dwunderbran (Mind the Kraken): Success (+4; 3 Damage)
Logem (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (3 Units of Goods Salvaged)
>> Logem's Familiar (Abandon Ship): Success (1 dwarf saved)
>> Logem's Driver (From the Jaws of Death): Failure
>> Logem's Scofflaw #1 (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (3 Units of Goods Salvaged)
>> Logem's Scofflaw #2 (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (1 Unit of Goods Salvaged)
>> Logem's Scofflaw #3 (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (1 Unit of Goods Salvaged)
>> Logem's Scofflaw #4 (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Failure
>> Logem's Scofflaw #5 (Everything That Isn't Nailed Down): Success (4 Units of Goods Salvaged)
Quint (Down With The Ship?): Failure
Dakun (Abandon Ship): Failure
Rogath Silvertarn (Treat Injuries): Success (4 damage healed)
___________
TOTALS (Including Round 1)
Evacuated Dwarves: 20/250
Goods Salvaged: 16 Units
Damage Taken: Komainu: 2, Dwunderbran: 3
Healing Given: 4

Angrin grimaces at the kraken, even as the earth elemental(?) knocked more of its tentacles free of the ship. "Torag's teeth, it just doesn't give up, does it?" He is reminded of the kobolds he had defeated in his search for his family's secret-name, continuing onwards heedless of their losses, at least until he had managed to kill their leader… Hold a moment… what was driving this beast?

He wonders quietly even as he moves and grabs another dwarf by the shoulder. "This way, lad. That boat's full-up." Continuing his thoughts from earlier, he asks aloud, "What could stop this beastie? Where's it from, tha' it don't' want us here?"

A sudden crack of lightning distracts him, as does the sudden shift of the boat underfoot, which sends his stomach lurching again. "Ach! Gods' damned wooden floor jumpin' about like it's a bleedin' earthshake…" Like the one when Kyonin had been shattered, actually. Angrin pauses, then, hearing a loud curse from behind him. "Ye go on ahead, lad! The safety's thattaway!" He gives the dwarf a good shove in the direction of the lifeboats, then turns and rushes back to the source of the distressed cursing, just in time to see another dwarf, Kolgra Rockshearer, another sailor with whom he had chatted occasionally, clinging onto the railing desperately as the waves crashed over him repeatedly.

Angrin dashes over to grab at Kolgra's arms, holding him fast. "Ye're bloody idiot, aren't ye? Gettin' swept overboard like that? Didn't ye say ye were the best sailor in yer family? Have they e'er e'en seen the sea?" He shouts his mocking jokes at the top of his lungs, tugging back hard. His mind however, goes elsewhere, perhaps prompted by his earlier thought of the earthquakes prompted by Kyonin's demise. At that time, he had been working with another trapsmith apprentice whose name he could not remember at the moment, though under the circumstances, he thought that was rather acceptable. In any case, when the earthquakes had hit Varrok's Deep, they had sundered a rift in the training area that the two dwarves had been using. Angrin had been able to avoid falling, but not the other dwarf. Angrin had grabbed at his arm, but missed... A small failure, a small tragedy, but one that haunted him nonetheless. This time would be different. Hell, it already was since he had a grip on Kolgra's arms.

Unfortunately, it is with this thought in mind that Angrin's hands slip over the soaked wrists of the sailor-dwarf, and that a wave rushes up to grab Kolga and pull him from the ship. "Dammit!" Angrin curses, turning and rushing towards the lifeboat even as the other dwarf he had directed was struck by a falling beam. Angrin turns away. There is no way the lad had survived that... he hopes. He rushes towards the lifeboats, clambering down into one with the plan to save some of the dwarves floating about the sea, maybe even Kolga.

________
Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
Also Angrin's getting off now, onto the lifeboats. I believe one can still do the Jaws of Death challenge from there?

His mind, despite all it's training fails to come to any conclusion, all the precise numbers tangling into a horrible snarl of calculations. No real surprise there with so much of Quint's attention turned inward. He might have remained like that, to go down with the ship--or be swept overboard as the waves seemed to be attempting to do, forcing him to reflexively grab for the mast--had it not been for Vigar's timely arrival. The almighty crack of a stone-encased dwarf impacting the thick wooden mast is enough to shock him back to awareness. Quint finds himself laying on the deck, arms wrapped around as much of the mast as he can reach. He is soaked and shivering, teeth chattering in the fury of the storm, and there on the other side of the mast rises their leader.

He can only shake his head at the man's foolhardyness, but if he wanted to sacrifice himself to let the rest of them reach safety, then Quint was hardly one to reject the offer. Another wave washes over the ship as he lets go of the mast to climb to his feet, sending him sprawling again. "Damn ye ta hell ya viscious c$*!s, let me be!" he yells in fury to the storm and the gods as he watches the side of the ship coming up, bereft of railing. His mouth fills with water for his troubles and he starts to choke and splutter, feeling he was surely about to disappear beneath the waves...

It seems fortune is with him however. He feels a sharp pain in his left arm as something tries to wrench it out of it's socket. It takes him a few moments to realize that it has gotten tangled in a line of rigging, still dangling from what remains of the mast, and another moment to realize he is swinging out over the water. He has a terrifying moment of staring straight down at the storm tossed, debris filled waves, before he turns at the end of the rope, and his momentum arcs him back towards the ship, giving him only a moment before he slams into the side of the ship.

He scrabbles for purchase, and using the rope still tangled around his left arm he slowly drags himself back onto the ship. He may not know academically how long this ship is going to stay afloat, but he doesn't need measurements to know that it will soon follow the fate of Angradd's Fire, and him along with it if he delays. He will mourn his sister, but he has no desire to join her fate...

The archaeologist untangles the line from his upper arm, but keeps a hold of it for a while as he scans around for the nearest unlaunched lifeboats. He spots one, but hesitates from rushing straight towards it, allowing his gaze to continue over the ship, towards the scenes of battle. When he spots Komainu-kun he lets go, hurrying in that direction. Mineko was not wearing her normal clothes it seemed, at least she hadn't been when he'd glimpsed her before. That made it harder but... there!

"Mineko! Mineko we've got ta get offa this ship! It aint gonna hold up much longer" he yells, running up to her and grabbing her shoulders to keep her attention on him. "Please. Come with me?" he begs, still holding onto her shoulders, though after the intial grasp his grip softened and the Empress could easily pull away. Any thought of courtly manners or respecting her customs was gone from the clearly distraught dwarf's features however, and even some of his native accent was returning now that the veneer of propriety was gone. He waits to hear her response, putting himself in the path of the waves and bracing himself against them to shelter Mineko as best he can.

Remaining half of post pending Mineko's response :)

________
Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship!
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15 Ooof, just...
Dwarves saved: 1d4 ⇒ 1

<< Skill Challenge: King of the Deep | Round III | >>

On the Torag’s Anvil
A name was such a simple thing. Quint, Mineko… Komainu. Yet for some it held a special significance. Consider for a moment being born into wealth and prosperity to a measure hardly undreamed. To be told as a child that you carried with you the blessings of your people and the fortitude of the land. To walk among sights that few humans had seen. The majestic rice plateaus of Xhong Xia, the towering citadel of Himeji with its crystal caverns and granite throne, the forbidden jade palace and the rampant snow topped peaks of Mount Yogan; this was the life that Mineko had been born into. Duty, honor, respect and devotion, she had been like a figurine carefully crafted upon a master artisans worktable, sculpted into the woman she was supposed to one day become. And yet it had not been so. In a way that was tragic. Both the crafting and her eventual fate as she looked out across the roiling sea as yet another fractured element of her people died.

All of these thoughts came at her like a bolt from the heavens. She barely had time to consider such things in the frantic maelstrom of battle that had engulfed her. It was the voice of Quint that she focused on. Not so much because of the man. No it was the sheer audacity of being called by her first name. In the time it had taken for the dwarven expedition to cross the seas she had started to learn more about the man, as he had in her. But even now it was a shock to hear an outsider.. a gaijin to speak her name so openly. Yet perhaps in a moment like this, such things could be forgiven. Perhaps..

Knocked to the deck by another slam from a gigantic sucker ridden tentacle, Mineko looked up and shook her head trying to clear the ringing. She could see a dwarf pulled up into the air, hacking away with an axe as he thrashed in the creatures embrace. Wood had splintered and dwarves cried out in rage and terror, barely holding back the savage tide of rubbery limbs.

Empress! Komainu roared pushing her upright with his stony bulk. You must go! Go! He roared, throwing himself in the way barrel that nearly crashed into the dainty woman.

NO! Mineko screamed as she has Hideo Koimura one of her servants knocked into the sea, his skull pulped beyond recognition. I can’t leave them again! Frantically, she felt the pull of Quint, grabbing at her shoulders pulling her back into a waiting life raft. She had left her people behind once before. To do it a second time was unforgiveable. And yet she allowed it to happen. With a cry of anguish, she stumbled along back into the shelter of the boat, Komainu following behind her, protecting her, as he had protected her father. The tears ran down her face. Honor demanded she protect her people, but there was nothing left to protect.

On the Deep Blue Sea…
Bits of rope lashed to barrels and chests trailed behind the life raft in a pale mockery of the tentacles of the beast that writhed about them. The Xian dwarves continued to gather what supplies they could snatch up out of the water, as they listened to the screams of the dying. The world around them had devolved to a simple task. Survive. Floating bodies littered the surface of the water and the dwarves had become more akin to ravens, pillaging the dead, in the weak hope that they might be able to find something of use, rather then the once brave explorers they had hoped to become. The water frothed around them and in the brief moments they were able to gather chests and crates, they did so quickly and fearfully, barely touching the water, scared that their presence might rouse the ire of the great and terrible beast from below. Still, the gathering proved to be some success. Motomi was able to find a large crate of foodstuff and Kaori was able to recover several chests of tools that had somehow been able to float despite the weight. Meanwhile, Cherryblossom continued to stamp and snort, the brave mule watched as sailor after sailor slipped below the waves and it wanted to help, it knew it could help, yet the stupid dwarves refused to let go of its bridle

_________________________

Some of the tension fades from Quint when Mineko agrees to accompany him. He places a protective arm around her shoulders and hurries with her to a half full boat, recognizing Angrin as the Dwarf climbs in ahead of them. He is just helping Mineko in when he spots a young, wide-eyed dwarf cowering from Komainu-kun

"Hold the boat!" he yells, rushing back, past the intimidating lion. "It's alright lad. He won't 'arm ya. Not unless ya hurt 'is mistress." he says with a reassuring smile, or as much of one as he can manage. He coaxes the boy out and hurries him to the boat, climbing in after him as they heave of the ropes and lower the boat down into the water.

_____________
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10 More physical contact from Quint :p
Quint will evacuate this round.

The Ocean was at once terrifying and beautiful, a intriguing mix of blacks, blues, purple and foam white, lit as it was by the glow of the burning ships and dazzling spears of lightning. Like torches burning in the blackness of a cave, the remains of Angraad’s fire floated across the wide expanse, some of its mast, hull and sails still on fire. Mostly submerged just beneath the roiling waves was the awesome mass of the Kraken, illuminated in fierce orange and red firelight. Without question this horrible monster of the deep had become the bane of this expedition, the destroyer of ships, lives and hope.

The Kraken’s arms were extended, two great suckered lengths fastened to the forecastle and hull of the ship, tugging and dragging Torag’s Anvil disastrously to port, even as many of its additional arms slithered across the vessel seeking new victims from the doomed ship and its crew. The exiled Sand Dwarf and thickly bearded Hill Dwarf with a wide mouth and wild eyes were two such potential victims. Dakún’s fists battered and flailed at the rubbery flesh of the great tentacle which had ensnared him, as it coiled about his waist and the legs of another dwarf, pressing them against one another and dragging them across the horribly askew deck toward the crashing waters and waiting death. The crack of thunder and the roar of the waves did not quite silence out the furious screaming of the other dwarf as he buried the tip of a miniature pick into underside of the tentacle.

Punishing the attempt at freedom, the Kraken lifted its arm up and then drove it down, crashing down against the hull and smashing Dakún and the hill dwarf both down onto the remains of a broken life raft. “Fight ye nancy robed bastard! FIGHT!” The hill dwarf roared at Dakún, yanking the small pick free and sinking it into the splintering wood of the ship’s deck. Dakún couldn’t reach his sword, the tentacle firmly wrapped about him. Once more the Kraken’s arm lifted, yanking them both from the deck despite the attempts of the Hill dwarf to secure a purchase. The pick was abandoned in the deck of the ship and both dwarves were lifted near the cracked mast and burning sails. Those greedy, yellow suckers pulled and pinched as they fastened against Dakún’s robes, the pain was heightened. He felt each tug and siphoning strain on his skin. He felt the miserable, wet freezing cold from the waves and the rain. He felt it all, heard all the screams, saw all the bodies floating or struggling in that violent abyss as he forced clarity and focus into the moment. He also saw the rigging the second it was within reach and reached out with his hands, curled his fingers about the damp rope netting and held on with all his might. The rigging was pulled taut and held, causing their descent toward the Kraken and the churning waters to come to a jarring halt. The Kraken tugged again, but Dakún held on, having slipped his arms through the netting and interlocked his hands. The other dwarf, dangling upside down at this point, managed to get one hand on the rigging and struggled to get a secure hold.

“Do not let go, my friend! Do not let go!” Dakún shouted, his voice hoarse and his teeth near to chattering. Letting go of the rigging with his left hand, he felt his body jerk a few inches closer to the Kraken. Reaching quickly beneath a fold in his robe just above where the tentacle curled about his waist, the Pahmet’s fingers touched and then secured the handle of his Alkenstar pistol. Wiggling it free, Dakún extended his arm and blinked against the downpour of rain. What was a few seconds seemed to slow down, his breath coming out as one long exhale as he steadied his arm and fired into the air.

His shot had been true. The rope he targeted split in two and with the line no longer secure, the burning sail was caught between the dual forces of gravity and the wind. It tumbled down and a great section of burning cloth flapped against and wrapped around the extended arm of the Kraken. On reflex, the tentacle straightened, releasing the two dwarves it had captured as smoke rose from its burning arm. The tentacle lashed out wildly, twisting in the throes of pain as it’s arm burned. The Kraken hammered it’s arm against the mast and then withdrew it back into the cold waters of the sea.

Clinging to the rigging with one hand, Dakún slipped his gun back into its hiden holster beneath his robes, and grabbed the other dwarf by the ankle. With a grunt, he pulled the sailor closer to the robes and waited for him to secure himself. Dakún stared down at the ship below, having difficulty accessing the choatic scene on the deck below. Everytime he let his eyes adjust to the darkness, veins of blinding light criss-crossed the distance between the sky and the turbulent ocean below.

"We need to cli" The rest of Dakún's hollared words were cut off as a massive tentacle barreled into rigging Dakún and the other dwarf clung to like a battering ram against a tinder door. The rigging gave way, pulling down a portion of the wooden support with it. Wood, netting and Dakún crashed down upon the bruised and scarred length of slick tentacle. There was no sight of the dwarf.

On instinct, Dakún grabbed onto the rigging that was now entangled about the flailing tentacle, preventing him from being hurled free. Planting his feet against the surface of the tentacle, the Pahmet righted himself and with his free hand he drew free his temple sword. It's gleaming blade reflected brilliantly in the radiance of a nearby lightning strike. With a swift stroke Dakún cut down into the tentacle.

The first stroke was not enough. It took three more hacking swings of the sword before the tentacle was cut free. Dakún tumbled free, spinning through the air before he fell with a splash into the frigid storm tossed ocean.

Water surrounded him as he plunged into the deep. Miraculously maintained hold of his sword, what little good it would do him. Turning about beneath the sea, his robes billowing about him in the swirling waters, he caught an almost maddening glimpse of one of the Kraken's eyes. It was a great white ring, which in the center held a great sphere of blues so dark they were nearly black. Its depths seemed filled with unfathomable malice. The moment passed in an instant.

With a sudden surge, Dakún found himself being hurled upward, carried upon a climbing wave which crashed forcefully onto the port-side deck of Torag's Anvil. The ship shuddered against the waves and groaned beneath the crushing arms of the Kraken.

Realizing his luck, Dakún stabbed down with his sword, slipping the blade beneath two planks in the ships deck and held on as the water rushed back against him, trying to drag him back into the hungry sea. This time it failed. The water poured past him, but he remained on the deck of the floundering vessel. It was time to get off this boat.

Yanking his sword free from the wood, he caught a glimpse of a group of dwarves trying to desperately lower a lifeboat into the waters. The ropes had become tangled and the winches seized. Rushing across the deck, another jarring shift of the ship sent him crashing against the railing. He struggled back to his feet and crossed the rest of the distance.

"All o' you. Get in the the boat. Get in and hold on! Dakún shouted, helping one dwarf after another into the boat with one hand, even as he held his dripping sword with the other.

When the last of the dwarves were in the life boat, the Pahmet took his weapon in both hands and swung it across the tangled collection of ropes. The blade cleave clear through them and the boat fell uncertainly to the waves below. Without looking back, Dakún leaped over the side after the plummeting life boat.

_________________________
[Editing]
Skill Challenge: Abandon Ship
[ddice=Perception check]1d20+7[/dice]
Dwarves saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3
Abandoning ship myself

Dashing from lifeboat to lifeboat was becoming more difficult with the increasing pitch and tumble of the ship. It seemed the tentacled beast was growing impatient for its meal; chunks of rigging and deck were on fire and flying everywhere. It was a testament to Dwarven construction that the craft had held together this long under the unholy monster's predations, but the kraken wanted this ship; it almost seemed to NEED to drag the craft down and claim all life on it. Despite the driving rain, scorching fires, and widespread panic, the air was filled the sense of furious craving, and an almost tangible hatred.

A thrash from the beast pitches the ship sideways, and Maven flails for handholds as she falls and rolls sidelong across the deck. Tumbling from port to starboard, her eyes spin end over end as she twirls, only stopping with the crunch of intact railing. With Drowbreaker strapped to her back, the awkward impact pitches her head back and punches the air from her lungs. It takes her several seconds to force her chest to expand and inhale, and several more to stand and realize the four-foot section of rails she had hit was splintering and flanked by shattered planks and open deck for some yards in both directions. A foot either way 'n I'dve been swimmin'. Ye tryin' ta tell me somethin', Father?

shaking her still rattling head and forcing her lungs to make up for lost breaths, she paces down the deck to the nearest lifeboat with Dwarves loading on, and she spies a familiar face. "Mineko..."Escorted to the boat by what seems to be Quint Bonechisel, the frustration on the young empress's face is clear, even from this distance, but Maven sighs with relief nonetheless as the group finishes loading their boat and slowly disappears over the side.

"HELP!!" A desperate cry spins Maven's head 'round and over the side of the ship. Held in a mass of lines is a struggling Dwarf, a handaxe in a tangled hand, unable to swing or free his other arm. Planting a foot on the railing and gripping the shambled lines, Maven heaves with the muscles sculpted from years of smithery, slowly bringing the length of rope over the side. The rope, however, has seen better days, and Maven's pulse quickens as she hears the telltale creaking and popping of frayed rope. No...no, no, no... Her mind goes nearly blank with denial as she wills greater and greater force into her pull, bringing up the line with an almost immortal speed. She grits her teeth as her muscles strain to maintain the sudden demand. "Hang on, lad...hang....oooonnn...." the rope grows heavier as her burst of strength seems to fade as quickly as she summoned it.

Just as she sees a thick hand appear over the rail, she hears it; the audible, deafening SNAP as the last core of rope finally surrenders to gravity.

"NO!" In one motion, the cleric opens both fists from the rope, leg muscles exploding from her crouching stance. Lunging off the weakened deck hard enough to splinter the very board on which she was standing, she reaches for the Dwarven hand, already plummeting from her reach. Her fingertips make contact with the victim for just over a second; but in the eyes of both Dwarves it may as well have been an hour.

As her stomach meets railing and her momentum stops, the hand, and the ensnared Dwarf attached to it, shrink to nothingness as the foaming waves greedily swallow him. Pushing herself up off the rail, Maven resists the urge to scream in frustration at the sea, the heavens, and the beast responsible for the madness. Instead, she pushes her way past rubble and burning wood to make her way to the aft section where she spies another boat being loaded by too few Dwarves. One of the pulleys has jammed, preventing the boat from being lowered, and the younger Dwarves are trying in vain to pull the stuck rope free. Exhausted, frustrated, and angry, Maven lifts her giant hammer from her back.

"MOVE!" She roars. The youngsters who spy the angry cleric, hammer in both hands, release the rope and scramble backwards, wide-eyed. Venting some of her anger at the stubborn device, Maven puts her left foot forward and pivots completely around on it, bringing the full length of Drowbreaker's haft to bear in her spin. the massive head plows through the ruined pulley with a thundering crash, sending wrenched metal and frayed rope everywhere and freeing the line. Wordlessly, she secures her weapon and shoves the young men into the boat as it pitches on its remaining holds, hopping in after them just as the other weakened line snaps, dropping the boat into the water from its great height with a heavy splash. the others immediately grab oars and begin rowing, as Maven collapses at the aft of the boat, on the verge of tears.

Torag...do I even need to ask...just...please...not like this. Don't let yer people die off like this.

----------------------
abandon ship!: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
Evacuating this round. Maven's havin' a bad day with the dice here, heh. Gonna be a rough expedition.

"OYE, DWUNDERBRAN!" Dr. Logem yells at the top of his lungs as he's throwing cargo to people to load onto boats, "You're the expert with these damnable boats, how much longer can it last against this thing?!" As he finishes yelling at the dwarf, a rogue barrel thrown by the Kraken's tentacle smashes right next to him, barely missing the dwarf.

Unphased by the rampant death and destruction going on around him, Dr. Logem is determined to continue getting more cargo off of the ship - He's not sure how much longer the boat'll last, but he'll be damned if he's going to show cowardice by abandoning the ship early.

Meanwhile, Sumetusen continues leading dwarves to the lifeboats - though many dwarves lie dead on the boat, and even more in the water, the familiar continues to help people until otherwise by his master. If his master decides to go down with the ship, so will he.

In the boats:

"GRAB EVERYTHING YOU CAN!" One of the nurses screams, even though the others can hear her just fine, and don't need to be told twice to continue doing what they're already doing: Grabbing as much loot and cargo as they can get their greedy little hands on. Even Kol has started grabbing cargo instead of trying to save other dwarves, as he failed miserably to save that one minutes earlier. Unlike the nurses, Kol grabs anything and everything, valuable or not.

_______________________________________

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Logem's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 8 + 2 = 16 SUCCESS!
Cargo Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Skill Challenge: ABANDON SHIP!
Familiar's Perception Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21 SUCCESS!
Dwarves Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Driver's Survival Check: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11 FAILURE!

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #1's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 5 + 2 = 18 SUCCESS!
Cargo Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 4

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #2's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 5 + 2 = 12 FAILURE!

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #3's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 5 + 2 = 27 SUCCESS!
Cargo Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #4's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 5 + 2 = 13 FAILURE!

Skill Challenge: EVERYTHING THAT ISN'T NAILED DOWN
Scofflaw #5's Appraise Check: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 5 + 2 = 24 SUCCESS!
Cargo Saved: 1d4 ⇒ 1

Total Cargo Saved: 9
Total Dwarves Saved: 3

Not having the greatest of days, my apologies for my short and not very detailed post.