Once I can turn a corner I will slow down to a walk, going perpendicular to the answered whistle blast. I will approach someone who doesn't look too hammered but is drinking/tipsy and is in a relatively crowded area. He grabs a fistful of gold and surreptitiously puts it in the man/woman's hand.
Hey friend, what'd you say your name is? The name's James. I sure have been enjoying myself wetting my whistle with you these last 20 minutes. Haven't you?
[dice=Diplomacy to make "request"] 1d20 + 9 [/dice]
"You want to dance too, eh? Well, too bad." Iscarel spits, gaining a little distance before clambering up the walls.
Once he's made enough distance, he'll quickly glance around to scope out his escape route and drop down the other side.
He also realises though... that if he tarries for any length of time, he's likely to miss the start of the Mad Dash.
Dropping lithely from the roof back to the street, Iscarel looks behind him to find that the orc had no trouble navigating the drop and is still on his tail.
Iscarel scatters a little surprise for his pursuer behind him, turning to goad the orc into a charge. "Come on, Underbite. Catch me if you can."
Sure, isn't that what friends do for each other? C'mon, let's go watch the Dash.
Seeing the guard, Ginger and his friends (not to mention the additional guards soon to arrive), have Bek, Quillin and Tipene outnumbered, Bek decides to back off and head for the Dash. They have a part in the song...we will meet again soon.
Caltrop:
Iscarel's breath catches as the orc ploughs through the caltrops... but his hope is short lived as none of the barbed devices lodge in the orc's feet. Instead he sees the swift descent of the orc's club swung with two handed intent...
Charging Power Attack Club: for
...though the orc overcooks the attack. Still... he's left in a very dicey pickle with no easy way out of it...
Turning to flee again, Iscarel withdraws to gain some distance, taking care to round a corner to prevent his foe from charging and finding somewhere he can employ his superior speed (run action next round toward the main square).
Tipene stands pat, keeping an eye on Ginger and the others and not saying anything.
Yep. Bek will hop into the Dash
Cursing as the orc dogs his heels, Iscarel begins to run up run of the guy-lines of a nearby merchant tent, before clambering onto the rooftops once more.
The orc below follows him towards the crates, attempting to use the same means of rooftop ascension. Despite his bulk and a more agricultural approach, the orc is able to easily power up the crates and make the roof. With his slight speed advantage he positions himself roofward of Iscarel, leaving the elf precariously positioned with empty air behind him... and the orc having blocked off the only egress.
The other orcs and half-orc head out into Lilywhite proper - no doubt on the hunt...
Booted feet thumping along the tiled rooftop, the orc gets level with Iscarel... before launching himself through the air in an attempt to crush Iscarel with his cudgel on the way down - betraying any attempt at finesse for a chance to put the chase to a swift end...
Power Attack DFA: for
...just catching Iscarel upon the upper back as he falls heavily to the deck. Breath comes ragged and painful to his elven lungs as the orc grunts and groans in a heap on the floor and looks to regain his feet.
Iscarel, reeling, will attempt to stumble out of sight while his opponent is face down in the dirt.
Iscarel has a harrowing time of it initially, but seems to have slipped his near pursuit after the orc takes a tumble off some crates. While he's got enough breathing room to take stock... by god the orc looked p1ssed when he couldn't catch the elf...
Iscarel will break into a sprint toward the gathering crowd at the course, hoping to gain some real distance on his pursuer and elude his fellows in the crowd. Realising his flight will make him seem the guilty party, he hopes to throw those that don't recognise him off of his tail. Cupping a hand to his mouth. "Last chance fer wagers on the Dash! Smart money's on Handsome! Too early in the day to be abed! On yer feet, rogues, before you miss the sport!"
Warning them about Ginger is just going to get me dragged off for questioning. They'll be out soon enough. Bek is silent as the orc passes. The Bekyar's black gaze doesn't waver from the scene ahead.
Bek finds the startline of the Mad Dash easily enough, making his way towards the knot of people looking to compete.
Rackham wisely chooses to skirt round the outskirts and miss any chance of re-encountering the makeshift gendarme of the day on the prowl. He makes the starting line just in time - slightly out of breath as he pushes forward.
The starting line is near to coastline and in the middle of Lilywhite proper. A knot of athletic, muscular, mean and ornery looking folks (some half to full cut already) have gathered before a canvas sail that's been hung off the side of a building and looks to be rigged to be easily dropped to start the race. Resting on an elevated platform near to the sail you see a dashingly good-looking gent beside a less attractive bald man with fairly horrific burn scars on his head. The bald man's bellowing "Come on ye bastards... step up step up."
Also near to the starting line are a few of the black armored orcs, watchfully watching both the competitors... as well as the greater crowd a dozen steps back.
James looks at the competitors to his left and right, smiling. Should be fun, huh?
He jogs in place for a few moments and stretches his legs a bit, eying the sailcloth intently.
Not worried about the orcs, Bek makes his way forward, checking amidst the crowd for any sign of Rackham or Iscarel. He smiles menacingly at some of the less inebriated competitors figuring the drunken ones will sort themselves out.
Iscarel keeps his head down, weaving through the crowd with ragged breaths. He curses as he notices the guards surveying the starting line. Vo huilen. This could go sour.
He grins as he spots Rackham, winking at him if he manages to catch his eye but not being foolish enough to draw attention to himself.
Mad Dash:
The bald man continues as the knot of competitors crowd forward... you wager that there's about twenty of you ready to put yourselves at the mercies of the shenanigans "Right, it's easy enough - run the course. The way is marked but your path there is your own. No punches before the whistle, and no blades at any time... 'less ye want to make Gordo's acquaintance." indicating a particularly nasty looking orc nearby "Apart from that it's the first to make the distance and chug the jug. Any questions?" though any detailed response is forestalled by two things unfolding at the same time.
Firstly, the sailcloth drops and a whistle sounds... clearly the bald and burned figured that anyone who didn't understand the rules would need to let the others get a bit of distance on them.
Secondly, harsh toned orcish words sound out from the town whence Iscarel came from... his friend has returned. The black armored orcs and half-orcs snap to attention and listen... but there's a sliver of opportunity to act before they get more interested.
The path ahead beyond the fallen sailcloth reinforces the 'Mad' aspect of proceedings. A hasty constructed set of bamboo scaffold frames out past the edge of the building before turning to the left and over a hefty drop below it into the drink. Within a moment you see there isn't enough room for all to pass easily upon the boards themselves... The path is nominated by a set of red hessian flags and clearly goes out and to the left beyond the edge of the building.
Chase Options:
- Make way - by hook or crook force or dance your way at the front of the line across the boards which mostly everyone else is making for.
- Up and over - there's enough structure to the scaffold that you might risk going up above the common rabble for an easier way.
Tipene is going to just keep his head down at this point.
Rackham leaps onto the scaffold and attempts to bypass the majority of the field.
Bek darts ahead, sharp elbows, threats and hard stares clearing a path through the crowd. His menace is an elemental force, harsh and unforgiving.
Iscarel takes flight, leaping onto the scaffolding above, turning to give a two-fingered salute to his pursuer before clambering down to rejoin the throng.
Quillin and Tipene:
Your silent reflection and reverie is interrupted by a quiet knock upon the door...
Mad Dash:
Bek is stymied by the fact that people are more focused on the race than on each other and Rackham is bustled as he makes his approach towards the scaffold - putting off his leap.
Iscarel however bobs up and traverses the upper supports, pausing momentarily to give a less than savory gesture... which is immediately combined with a couple of the orcish words being yelled to pinpoint himself without a shadow of a doubt as the target of the black armored one's ire. His sight is distracted though by what looms up next...
The scaffold continues on for a short span before growing more sparse and scanty. The angle dips a tad and leads to a small ledge cut into the rock, where a tangle of knotted ropes and a pair of ladders have been affixed - leading downwards towards the sea. His fellow competitors surge main
Take a rope
Take a ladder
No guts no glory
Quillin raises a long feathering blue eyebrow at Tipene. "The guards knock?"
Smudge gets it for him. "COME IN!!!"
Quillin and Tipene:
The door is opened by a middle aged ex-pirate who is missing half of his left arm, and moves with a fairly pronounced limp. Looking beyond him you can see that there is still an orc in attendance, but he's not moving to come in.
The gent closes the door behind him, finds a seat to gingerly lower himself into and then opens with a steady and even "So... explain yourselves..."
You get the distinct sense that he's no yokel, and has heard more than one tall tale in his years. There isn't malice to his eyes - but there is a degree of dispassionate judgement.
"Gladly!" Quillin says agreeably. "We were just enjoying the festival here and spotted that lot hiding in an ally snorting whatever the hells that stuff was. Have you identified it? If it ain't outlawed, it oughta be. Nasty drug made them into madmen. No sooner did they see us then they rushed us with blood in their eyes. Now as you can see these wee legs were not going to be outrunning them so it was most fortunate that I know a trick or two. Just dazzled them for a moment, but it didn't stop all of 'em and next I know- SMACK! right in the chest! Coulda killed me! I already healed it, but here I can show you what it looked like." The gnome opens his shirt and casts a quick prestidigitation to make an UGLY bruise in the exact likeness of the original.
"The pair of us weren't using no deadly force. Lilywhite rules, right? Then those others joined in and things got really ugly. You can't question them 'cause they ran off, but to be honest, they probably saved our lives. That ginger creep's bunch of junkies started the whole thing. If you do catch those others, you should give them a metal for saving us is what I say."
"They did not see us until I turned to fl--to leave. Then they gave chase."
Frustrated with his lack of progress, Bek snarls and tries again to force his way forward through the crowd.
James, hard-headed, tries the scaffold again.
Iscarel grins at the new chance to humiliate his pursuers, and not wanting to dash his brains out on the rocks below opts to clamber down the rope instead.
Quillin and Tipene:
The man distrustfully measures your words before responding "So... you're saying you don't know the two who ran? - the elf that killed and the man?" clearly holding back some of his thoughts and feelings despite the query.
"And if these lads were blood-eyed and frothy... why'd they take a knee at the first of asking?"
Mad Dashers:
Despite Bek's attempts at intimidating his way through again falling shy of being impressive (a few chuckles from the chuckle gallery can be heard as well) he still manages to surge through with the dregs of the running pack. As he does one who tried to swing through the scaffold trips and ends up dangling by a rope-twined leg.
Rackham is similarly aided by the thinning of the crowd and rather than needing to get head height, manages to monkey his way around side like. Both of you notice that a few of the half-orcs break off to take a circuitous inland route - while another pair move up to the edge of the cliff-face.
Iscarel however balances his seeming intent on further burying his prospects with the constabulatory and moving through the course - finding a rope to make his way down. A rotund dwarf barges his way to the ladder and a pair of men end up diving... one more successfully than the other... who judging by the crack is in dire need of some chiropractic help.
The course goes seaward a span before seeming to drop down and under the waves. Squinting you see an upturned and submerged dinghy laid perpendicular to the course and just below the swell's surface. The bow and stern are festooned with spiky protrusions - leaving what looks to just be a pair of options across. The course continues beyond the boat.
Under the surface
Over the top
Long way round
Iscarel tries to catch a glimpse of the man ahead of him before slipping into the surf. Even with the warm bloodgrog coursing through his system, the cold shocks the life out of him. He lurches out of the brine with all the gracelessness and fury of a wet cat, attempting to clamber over the dinghy.
Angered at his initial lack of progress, but stubborn to the core, Bek charges on to the ladder and tries again. This time, he charges hard into the center of the mass of men and women making for the ladder before letting our a fierce growl that is drowned out in the crowd, sounding more like a whimper.
Tipene shakes his head. "I have not seen any of them before tonight, and I do not know their names."