The Fare Winds skips merrily over the waves of the Obari Ocean, carried along by a stiff wind that stretches the canvas of her two three-rigged masts. Somewhere ahead lies the fabled Jalmeray, the Impossible Kingdom, with all the wonder mysterious wonders it is said to hold. Around you, sailors haul rope and adjust sails, scrub the deck and scurry about, while Captain Truth Harwood oversees it all from her spot on the quarterdeck, one hand on the ship's wheel and the other resting easily on her cutlass. Thus far, the trip has been, if anything, more comfortable than you would have expected; unlike most merchant vessels, the Fare Winds actually boasts two passenger cabins belowdecks, despite the sacrifice of valuable cargo space. The cost of your ticket was quite reasonable as well, and it has occurred to you to wonder over the two weeks you've spent since leaving Absalom why Captain Harwood seems so willing, even eager, to have adventurers aboard her vessel.
But when the lookout in the eagle's nest high above you suddenly cries out, "Pirates!", you think you might have the answer...
Nesipho breathes in deeply of the sea air. This is... different than the open plains of the expanse. There is a freshness of life here.
At the call from above he checks his weapons, leaving his spear strapped to his back. A missed throw here would leave this sinking to the bottom of the deeps. A sly grin spread across his lips. An approaching fight would be good to eschew some of the restlessness. And a good honest fight, not some of the bone numbing terror that the bizarre creatures of the world induce.
Down below decks, one of the heaviest pieces of cargo on the ship isn't in the form of gold or treasures. Perhaps the pirates themselves would be disappointed to find that the thing that weighs the cargo hold down so is not spices or platinum, but stone.
What stirs in the cargo hold isn't some exotic, caged animal, but rather an entity that prefers times of solitude between the noise and business of travel. An entity that does not sleep on the soft beds of men, does not enjoy the fine wooden chairs of private cabins. They do not abide his weight, his size, or his girth. Instead, the cool and dark confines of the cargo hold provide for his needs.
The cry of "Pirates" reaches these dark spaces, is what stirs the slumbering creature to life. Those still down below decks can hear the sounds of sliding stone on stone and know what it means, know that the passenger that boarded the Fair Winds in Absalom has awoken.
Past cabin doors and down a narrow passage his thudding, steady footfalls give advance warning of his approach. To the passengers that had seen him before he retired to rest and isolation, he appeared like a miniature stone golem; perhaps some curiosity to be sold in the markets in Jalmeray. To those that heard him talk, the few words that were ever said, know he is more than that.
Creaking stairs protest against the significant weight thrust upon them, and each thumping footfall draws closer and closer to the above-deck area. Finally, when one of the bulkhead doors opens, the stone-blooded sentinel emerges like something birthed from the depths of the elemental plane of earth.
For an oread, the creature called "Breccia" is a giant. Towering seven feet in height, his disproportionately elongated limbs show sign that he suffers from a human malady of gigantism. Resembling a stone giant in build, Breccia redoubles that intimidating presence by covering himself in layered sheets of magically hardened stone that must weigh hundreds of pounds. Each shingle of heavy stone is etched with gold-inlaid runes that contrast sharply against the rock's dark surface. Covering Breccia's head is a great helmet of similar design to those worn by the samurai of Tian-Xia, with a glowering oni's countenance made of polished onyx with slate tusks.
Striding out onto the deck, the oread reaches down to his side and tightens his stony grip around a pair of short, wide-bladed punching daggers made of adamantine. Breccia's hematite-colored eyes scan the deck of the ship, then focus out to the ocean beyond.
"પાઇરેટ્સ," Breccia rumbles in the resonant language of earth creatures, reiterating the lookout's warning from the crow's nest.
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Tania stirs from her slumber as the warning is heard. She shudders as the ship does, and Ashaka raises its head, obviously wondering why Tania is troubling its rest.
She shrugs as she would have prefered a quieter trip, but having served for a few years as negotiator, sailing out of Absalom as often as the tides permit, she had come to expect such... Distractions.
Absentmindedly, she creates an arcane force field that shimmered like gold for an instant before disappearing, then puts on a tunic of red and amber.
She then slips her head through the door of her cabin, looking at the crew to see if the threat is serious enough.
The man who called himself Markis boarded in Absalom. Upon learning that the Fare Winds was headed to Jalmeray, he eagerly awaited its arrival in port. After he plinked down the tarnished gold coins into the hands of the ship's mate, they brightened in the old salt's hands as if they were glad to be away from their former owner.
He had few belongings, bundled up in a backpack that seemed to protest the very modest load. His clothes, similarly, looked worn and faded. He bore no weapons or armor, and seemed to flinch from the sailors as they bustled about with their duties. Upon closer inspection, however, he flinched more from the objects they were carrying -- lines, sections of sails, and other tools of the trade -- than the sailors themselves. Mostly, he stayed in his cabin to himself, only coming out for meals, and to apologetically request a new hammock be strung up. Unfortunately, he seemed to go through several of them, finding defects in each one which involve him being pitched to the floor.
When the cry comes that pirates are on the horizon, Markis moves to the deck to watch. He keeps his hands tucked at his sides as he moves around the equipment laying about topside, then stops just short of the railing, taking care not to touch it.
He regards the ship on the horizon for a bit, then shakes his head. Those poor fools, he mutters aloud.
"Captain Harwood, you've sailed these seas before, can you tell me anything about what we might expect from these pirates? Tactics? Numbers? Spell casters? And hopefully we will get some help from the other passengers... ah, here they come now."
Not sure how these fellows can remain below decks during such nice weather as this. Nesipho moves to put one of the masts between himself and any possible archers on the approaching ship.
Tania looks at Nesipho, her blond hair catching the sun as she takes a peek outside: "Pirates? Really? How many ship? Anything serious?"
Ashaka stirs as well behind her, rolls on its back, paws extended, stretching.
Tania sees the sailors hurrying around with new and unusual purpose, but at least for the moment, they don't seem to be getting frantic.
Captain Harwood is a hard-faced woman who has clearly seen many years at sea; although not unhandsome, she is definitely no romantic "pirate wench" from a story but rather a able sailor and, from the ease with which she wears the enchanted cutlass on her hip, likely a skilled warrior. Her eyes do not leave the horizon as she answers Nesipho: "This is one of the hardest hit routes out there, my friend. We get pirates out of Absalom, Taldor, Andoran, Qadira, Katapesh, Jalmeray - I've even crossed swords with a Gebbite pirate screw once. All skeleton sailors and ghoul marines for the boarding; horrible stuff. So it's hard to say until I can see a flag. Mr. Kenway! A bearing, if you please!"
From high above, the lookout calls back, "Five points abaft the starboard beam, cap'n!" Harwood glances over her right shoulder, then produces a looking glass and turns that direction to gaze through it. After a few moments she stiffens. "Bloody hells," she murmurs, then calls out, "Mister Gladfalls!" Her elven first mate, an unusually swarthy man for his people, appears at her shoulder. "Sound general quarters and issue arms to the men. It's Danava."
At the pronouncement of their attacker, Markis shrugs. That doesn't tell me anything, he sighs. He fishes around in his pocket and produces a small stone which he tosses in the air. The pinkish stone begins orbiting around his head as he closes his eyes in a look of concentration for a moment.
He declines any weapon if offered to him, and continues to stay clear of anyone working around vital equipment.
Well then. Are we looking to outrun them, or wait for them to close and make their lives miserable? he asks Gladfalls as he rushes past.
Tilting his head in Tania's direction, "Just one ship, I think."
"Danava? And that means....?" Nesipho's question is blunt with a slight touch of sarcasm to it.
Gaze going back to Tania, a brief smile plays across his lips, "I do think it is series though Miss Teg."
"It means, friend, that there's bad blood between the Captain and this Danava."
The voice comes from behind the group at the rail, as a short Vudrani man approaches. Despite his stature, he is toned, and it comes as no surprise to find a symbol of Irori around his neck. He wears simple clothes, with a white cloak wrapped around his body. He holds a spear in his left hand, with the other kept beneath his cloak.
"I take it Danava has the faster ship, else we'd be unfurling the sails, Captain, and that they aren't willing to parley. Will they offer quarter?"
Harwood shakes her head, turning the ship's wheel as she does so. "No, I've never met the man; you can tell by the way I'm still drawing breath. Sagana Danava has one of the most bloodthirsty reputations of any pirate I've ever heard tell of - he never ransoms or even takes slaves, just leaves burning wrecks to sink into the waves. No one knows how he does it, either, because his ship's far from the fastest around - even from here I can see we've got as much yardage as he does." She stops turning the wheel, holding the Fare Winds on a course directly away from the tiny spot on the northern horizon. "So we'll try running, and if that doesn't work, we'll try fighting... and if you've some time to pray for us, holy man, I wouldn't mind that either."
Standing midship like a silent statue, Breccia keeps his attention focused on the approaching ship in the distance, stoically watching the vessel without regard to what others are conversing about. Seemingly aloof, the oread makes only the subtlest of motions as his head tilts to the side and hematite eyes narrow as he considers the pirate ship and contemplates the potential for coming battle.
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"Ah, I see. No banter; no barter; no quarter." The Vudrani priest says this without inflection, but his face betrays the disappointment his voice conceals. "If that is his code, then let us hope to evade him. Let us hope we can outrun his thirst for blood. I shall pray that this-" The Vudrani stops midsentence, then inclines his head as though listening to music that only he can hear. He quickly drops into a combat stance, throwing his cloak off with a swoop, revealing a silver breastplate etched with the flowing Vudrani script. His dark eyes look back and forth, and he readies his spear.
"We are not alone," he says simply, waiting for the next move.
"That doesn't tell me much captain, but I suppose you know no more than I in this case."
Markis nods, and searches for the ship on the horizon. Well, that's unfortunate.
Tania frowns as she hears of flame. "That's no way to, caught between sea and fire..." With a thought, Ashaka is by her side, and she lays a lazy hand between it ears.
She closes her eyes a moment, as she pinches the tip of her index finger with her nail, feeling the skin tighten and thicken. Her complexion grows a tad greyer as she does.
"Captain, if he gets within a hundred feet, there is a few things I can do to slow it down, but in the meantime, I'll keep an eye for foul tricks."
She moves to the center of the deck, near the mast, and keeps an eye out for incoming spells she could dispel.
Even as the group assembles on deck, a large figure, ten feet tall and with dusky red skin, suddenly flickers into existence about fifteen feet above the deck. A heat haze surrounds it, and a massive curved blade rests on its back, but it is otherwise clothed only in loose pants of golden silk, a black sash and a pair of sandals.
Quick as a flash, the red-skinned giant turns in the air and looks at the Fare Winds' sails. Bolts of flame leap from its hands, searing into the canvas.
While the sailors shout in surprise and terror, only Prashant is able to react with the swiftness required to respond to this attack.
Nesipho shys away from the inferno raging overhead in the sails. "What's the point of sinking a ship to the bottom of the ocean without first looting it of its spoils?"
"Regardless we aren't about to outrun them now."
Having been silent all the while, Breccia remains poised with hands at his side and blades pointed tip-down at the floor. But the moment that he catches the heat-haze ripple around the flying figure that was simply not there a moment earlier, Breccia draws in a sharp breath like wind whistling through a mountain pass.
He has never been schooled in the arcane arts, never taught planar intricacies or the differentiation of planar species. But when Breccia sees that dusky red skin, the all-too-familiar heat mirage and the wickedly curved sword his entire body tenses and his hands begin to tremble in nervous anticipation.
What Breccia has had is over a century of servitude enslaved to an efreeti before becoming a free man.
"ફરી નથી," Breccia rumbles in promise, his voice a distant landslide.
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"Not again."
An efreeti! Does anyone have cold attacks? Use them!
So much fire, destruction... thinks Tania as she keeps a hand on Ashaka.
Markis presses his lips together in concern as the fiery djinn floats above the ship. He glances about at the unfamiliar faces, and holds himself back from some of his abilities, afraid it would be assumed he would be in league with the outsider. Instead, he chants strange, coarse syllables as he entreats entropic forces to draw away fortune from the creature, and spreading it to himself and those he deemed allies -- those aboard the Fare Winds.
Prashant retreats a few steps as the flame-skinned giant appears on the boat, and sets the sails to blaze. "If fire walks with you, giant, then let it walk with us as well!" He chants a sutra in his people's tongue, and a chill washes over the Vudrani warrior. He lays a hand upon all of the people near him, and a similar chill passes over them.
Casting communal resist energy during the surprise round, choosing fire (natch) and hitting as many people as I can around me with it. Not sure if that's all the PCs or not. I can get up to seven people, which should be enough for all PCs, the Captain, and maybe some random guy nearby.
The efreeti looks unamused by Prashant's words, but it raises its hand to hurl another pair of blasts of fire at the sails of the Fare Winds. With massive burnt holes in every section of stretched canvas, the Fare Winds slows to what seems like a crawl, and the tiny dot on the horizon representing the ship of Sagana Danava begins to grow.
Its work on the sails done, the efreeti turns its attention to the mortals that have spoken up in resistance to it. Most of the sailors are simply cowering back from the outsider, and those few who are not are working to undo some of the damage it has already wrought under Captain Harwood's direction. As a result, the efreeti's eyes focus on the five of you, and it reaches for the massive falchion on its back. As it does so, it drops to the deck and begins to grow, swelling outward until its head is well over twenty feet above the deck, and the falchion in its hands stretches the length of the one of the Fare Winds' boats.
A low earthen rumble comes from Breccia when he sees the efreeti make the mistake of landing on the deck. The sliding sound of stone on stone accompanies the oread's movements as he strides forward undeterred by the roar of flames, feeling the warding magic of Prashant washed over his rocky form. With those wicked adamantine blades held in hand, Breccia approaches an efreeti, for the first time not as a servant, but as a free man. It may not be his former master Izah, but this one will suffice.
What comes next, however, is catharsis.
Breccia moves with the fluidity of a landslide, springing to sudden action with stunning alacrity. The powerful adamantine blades extending out from his fists move with the force of an avalanche behind them, and while the blades themselves are not terribly dangerous on their own, in the skilled and furiously strong hands of the man wielding them they become instruments of practiced death.
With each bladed punch in the form, Breccia exhales a whistling breath with all the sound of a breeze howling through a canyon's rocky divide.
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Mindful of the massive sword brandished by the suddenly huge outsider, Markis channels raw chaos, which coalesces into a piercing, discordant howl focused on the falchion in its hands. As the energies threaten to sunder the efreet's weapon, Markis takes a step back, holding his hand over a spot on his shoulder while grimacing.
The massive creature standing amid the crew and passengers brought back a few haunted memories of another place befouled by demonic magic. Nesipho knew nothing of Efreet, but its form and likeness reminded him of demonic spawn.
So much flame, surely it will understand this...
Nesipho taunts the brute in a alien language, "Masa anda di pesawat ini adalah pada syaitan berakhir. Kami akan pastikan untuk menghantar Danava untuk menyertai anda."
Hearing Markis call out to use cold against the demonic looking creature confirms Nesipho's suspicion, his rapier turns an icy blue.
Nesipho begins to move around the massive creature, vanishing from sight as he does so.
The massive falchion explodes in the genie's hands, and it roars in fury.
Prashant smiles as the giant's falchion explodes, and he leaps forwards to strike with his spear. He dives and tumbles to come up close to the large being of flame. He strikes at the genie, the tip of his spear dancing as his nimble thrusts strike the large creature.
Move forward into combat. Not sure if that threatens, so I'll use Acrobatics to move through threatened squares, just in case.
Prashant leaps and rolls forward, but he discovers that the giant is prepared for the assault, and slams a meaty fist down toward him.
Fortunately, Prashant dives out of the way, leaving only the bare wood of the deck to take the brunt of the blow, and stabs out with his spear. The point makes contact, bruising the genie's fiery flesh, and it sways under the onslaught.
Tania gasps as the efreeti grows in size, its scimitar looming over her and Ashaka. She takes a protective stance as she moves her hands in a quick gestures, hoping to stay away from the giant's reach as she weaves the arcane energies surrounding her.
A ball of energy releases from her palms and expands rapidly around her, the tracing flowlines converging on her companions.
She smiles as she releases her bound companion to unleash against the threat to its mistress.
With a leap, Ashaka moves faster than the eye, jumping on the Efreeti.
Ashaka leaps forward, angling for an opening to attack, but the efreeti's massive fist swings toward the tiger at the same time.
Again, however, the tiger's speed outstrips the efreeti's strength, and the blow only sends flinders flying into the air. The tiger turns on the massive hand and rips open the skin, slicing ribbons of smoking flesh.
The distant ship continues to close as the efreeti reassesses its situation, taking a step back and then simply forgoing finesse to try and grab Breccia outright.
The massive oread is not nimble, but he nonetheless manages to set himself enough to easily resist the efreeti's grasping hands.
It is sheer strength and training that allows Breccia to force the efreeti back, a low earthen rumble escaping him as he breaks the efreeti's attempt at grabbing a hold. "No," Breccia gravely intones, sliding the blades of his katars against one another, his hematite eyes reflecting the intensity of the efreeti's blazing aura in their semi-metallic surface.
Though unseen, Nesipho nimbly dances out of the way as the creature steps backwards to avoid being crushed by the brute. Well so much for optimal positioning, but that can't be helped.
Nesipho moves easily into the fluid motion of battle as he appears at the side of the blazing giant, his rapier leaving streaks of icy blue in its wake.
Nesipho flickers into visibility again and drives his rapier into the efreeti's side, aiming for where he thinks the kidneys should be. From the genie's reaction, it seems he is correct. Sparks fly and the skin blackens around the wound like frostbite, and the genie gasps, chokes and topples to its knees, then crumples face-first into the deck, almost landing on Breccia and Prashant as it falls. The shimmering haze of heat fades away, and the body begins the cooling of death.
Up on the sterncastle, Captain Harwood continues shouting orders to her crew, glancing over her shoulder every few moments at the steadily-increasing dark blot of the oncoming pirate vessel. With the efreeti dead, the other sailors begin moving once more, working to try to repair the sails, but it is obvious it is a lost cause - there is likely hours of work to be done on them, and the other ship will be alongside in a minute or two. Captain Harwood clearly knows this, as she begins shouting, "All hands to arms! Prepare to be boarded!"
As the efreeti crashes beside him in a thunderous impact, Breccia watches as his gigantic size shrinks down some and the heat mirage around his body begins to dissipate. With a shake of his arms, the oread flicks the efreeti's blood off of his blades and onto the deck, then slowly turns to look towards the approaching vessel.
Sheathing his katar at his hips, Breccia reaches over his shoulder and withdraws the masterfully crafted bow off of his back, giving an experimental tug on the corded threads of mithral that make up the bowstring. He then proceeds to approach the railing of the midship, reaching back into his quiver to produce an arrow.
There, the towering oread in his stone plate armor waits silently with arrow in hand like a statue of some foreign archer.
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