"I like your plan Psalm. You have my support, and I'll go and see about renting us a wagon and horses. I trust the rest of you to work out the plan by the time I get back, since this might actually take a bit. Please don't start without me."
"Do we want to send someone in the front to shop around to see what happens while we are getting our goblin. Or do we assume at this point we are known to Galador? Who has any experience driving a wagon?"
"Seriously does anyone have any animal handling or vehicle experience?" He looks around at the others. It sounds like we have several who want to climb and dive. But we also need people watching out on the ground. I did not go to Galador's before is it worth it sending someone inside to try and keep them distracted? Those on the street and not ready to drive the cart it might be worth while to have something that can seriously slow persuers down.
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Quint walks down the street, the weight of his share of the mayor’s coin in his pockets threatening to rip apart the seams of his tattered pants. He comes to a shop with formalwear in the window. A sign above the door that looks old, but recently repainted, reads, "Reginald’s Raiments Clothier, Tailor, Cobbler".
The place seems more upscale than he would expect to find in such a small town, and he hesitates for a moment, worrying that he might need to be dressed better just to enter such an establishment. The cool metal that he can feel through a small hole in his threadbare pocket steels his resolve, and he dips his head and brushes his hand through tangled strands of greasy hair, pushing them back from his face as he steps forward.
When he looks up again, he’s inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the rack of fine outerwear to his left, and glancing only briefly at the melange of silk, lace, and floral patterns that make up the colorful rack of dresses to his right. Left it is, I guess. Turning left, he works his way toward the rear of the store. Further back, he discovers wares closer to what he had in mind.
He’s looking through a rack of sturdy but stylish breeches, trying to find something with an inseam that doesn’t come up to his neck, when a young woman wearing an intricate embroidered bodice contrasted with a plain muslin overskirt with unfinished seams spots him from the other side of the store.
’Ey! Where’d you come from, boy! She calls, as she moves toward him. She jogs the first few steps before settling into a quick walk. She’s short for a human, but still stands head and shoulders above Quint. Her long, dark hair is held up in a tight bun with knitting needles, and she tucks a few loose strands behind her ear. Out with you!
She’s clearly taken Quint for a young child, probably a farm hand or worse by the way he’s dressed. When he looks up at her with his huge green eyes, she takes half a step back. Quint can’t help looking slightly guilty, as the girl’s impression of him would normally be dead-on. He digs into his pocket making the coins tinkle audibly and holds up a pair of them, pinched between his fingers. The yellow metal catches a ray of light and shines brightly. I can pay! he blurts out, a little too quickly.
Oh, she says, quickly reevaluating him. I thought... Sorry. The girl blushes, momentarily fascinated by her own shoes. It’s hard to tell which of them is more embarrassed. Then the girl hastens to add, Can I help you find anything?
Are you Reginald? Quint asks, a little skeptically.
Lira, she says, re-tucking the hair behind her ear that was already firmly tucked there, Lira Reginald. My pa owns the shop. She reaches her hand down toward Quint in greeting.
Quint begins to reach for the hand before realizing that he’s still holding the coins. He deposits them back in his pocket, discretely wiping his palm clean of any sweat or grease as he pulls it back out. When he grasps her hand, her slender fingers are cold, and he can feel the calluses of a seamstress on her fingertips. Quint. he responds, then looks down, acknowledging the sorry state of his current attire. I need a new outfit or two, but I can’t find anything my size.
Lira looks to the rack, as if there might be something there that Quint didn’t see. We don’t get a whole lot call for halfling sizes... She says apologetically, but hemmin’ and takin’-in is easy. Pick anything you like, ’n’ I can alter it for you right-quick!
Quint decides against correcting her about his race. In fact, as she helps him look through the racks, he habitually changes the subject whenever she seems like she’s about to ask him a personal question. By the time he’s made his selections, she knows his name, his measurements, and that he needs significant help in matters of fashion, and that’s more than he likes to let most people know about him.
When all is said and done, he’s chosen two pairs of dark, sturdy breeches with leather belts, three shirts in various shades of tough linen (which Lira says will soften over time, and last for years), a vest that matches one of the pairs of pants, a pair of leather boots with soles soft enough to allow Quint to feel the texture of the ground beneath him, and a warm but lightweight hooded cloak made of dark cloth that Lira agrees to sew a bunch of little pockets into. When he hands over the gold, she tells him that the alterations will take an hour or two, and Quint goes to see about the other things he needs.
"No, no, no." Lindaer shakes his head, and Boddynuck chimes in immediately afterwards. "I agree with our paladin, this whole thing is just an awful idea. Rescuing a goblin who was dumb enough to get himself captured twice, for what? To prove our paranoid conspiracy theories are right?" The gnome wizard paces the muddy-grass area next to one of the town's small manicured parks, the one that happens to sit in direct view of Galador's Goods, the shop everyone is talking about breaking into. "Count me out, in fact, count me out of all of it. This whole adventure has just proven to me that I never should have left my home in the first place." Boddynuck takes off at a quick-step down the road toward the docks. Lindaer huffs loudly, and then says, "Boddynuck, wait up. You're going to leave just like that?" Boddy offers only a shoulder shrug and keeps walking.
Lindaer looks at the steeple of the Temple of Light in the distance. He looks at Hack, then Jun, Nikeisha, Luna, Quint, and finally Psalm. "I have to say, for my own part, I am kind of in agreement about this adventure not being my cup of tea. When they were training me in Order of Faith, I never had such moral conundrums. Perhaps, for me, for a while, going back to that training is what's best...?" Even though the half-elf paladin phrases it as a question, everyone can tell it's not. He's made up his mind. "I wish you all the best, truly, but, this," he waves his hand around the waterlogged town, "it's not what I thought it would be, and... it's not what I wanted. The Light bless you all." Lindaer says, and then gives each member of the party a handshake or hug as they see fit. Afterwards he says, "Please split my share of the earnings among you. The Order has always provided for me." Then he too walks down the road, away, and out of the adventuring life, perhaps for good.
So, the rest of the group, some with newfound goods, some with newfound resolve, stare across the street at Galador's sturdy almost three story shop of fine goods. All of them have a niggling doubt in their minds, a soft whispering voice that says, "is this really the right thing to do?"
Luna looks with some despair at the two leaving the group ... and back to the group, and back at the pair walking away, and back at the group. "They are right you know. This is a foolish plan that we should not go through with, but I will still go along with the majority decision."
As Hack walks away saying he's going to buy a healing potion, Luna calls out, "Wait for me Hack! I want to buy one of those as well." And she walks away with Hack.
Quint’s next stop is the smithy that he found across the alley from Galador’s. The shingle above the door has the words "Vadela's Vestments" burned into the wood. Quint isn’t entirely sure what "vestments" are, he thought he’d heard the word used to refer to clerical robes, but the unmistakeable sound of a heavy hammer ringing as it strikes an anvil inside that can be heard from two streets over tells him this must be a smithy. As he approaches, a breeze wafts warm air that smells of coal and sweat into his face. There’s another scent there, too, and that’s the one that tells him that this is the establishment that will have what he’s looking for.
Quint steps through the open doorway and takes in the room. The walls are covered with swords and shields, and tall racks displaying more varieties of polearm than he knew existed. A gleaming suit of plate armor stands in one corner, with an armature inside holding it in a battle-ready pose. Turning further to the right, he spots what he seeks, a rack of defensive leather garments in a variety of shapes and sizes.
Through a doorway behind a counter to his left, he hears the distinctive hissing sound of glowing-hot metal being quenched. Moments later, a burly woman with green skin covered in black smudges enters from behind the counter. She wears a loose-fitting linen shirt left unbuttoned to somewhere below her raw leather apron, and wipes sweat from her forehead as she slips off a pair of thick leather gloves. Her hair is as red as Quint’s, and is tied back in twin braids. While both braids are more functional than elegant, the one on her left is noticeably tighter and tidier than the one on her right. Her boxy lower jaw juts out slightly, revealing tiny tusks that he might have called cute if the woman didn’t look like she could use him as a toothpick.
Help you with something? The half-orc, who Quint can only assume is Vadela, has a guttural voice, and she speaks with a heavy accent.
I’ve found myself in a couple of scrapes recently, Quint replies, vaguely, and I figured I should find something a little more protective to wear.
What you need protection from? she asks, holding up her gloves before slapping them down on the counter.
Stabbing, mauling, people and things that wish to do me bodily harm. The usual. Quint says with a smirk. Nothing too heavy though, I need to be able to move.
Vadela gestures past Quint toward the leather accoutrements he has already discovered. Small ones on bottom shelf.
After sorting through the disorganized heaps of tough, boiled leather, some mixed with plates of metal or woven rings, most of which either wouldn't allow enough freedom of movement for his purposes, or would be far too noisy in doing so, Quint stumbles upon a unique piece. It is striped with hard bands of burgundy boiled leather with singed edges, each individually riveted along its length to a softer hide that had been tanned and dyed black without removing thin layer of fur from what would become the inside of the armor. Besides added warmth and softness, the thin layer of fur muffles sound, allowing it to flex and slide without making a sound.
Quint slips his shoulders inside the protective coat, to see how it fits, and his spirits fall. Its cut is all wrong. It's loose in all the worst places, and the tough bands make it bulge awkwardly, holding itself away from him as if it was trying to escape. The result makes him look like an obese child, and move about as gracefully as one. Still, everything else he has found has been even less suitable, and he was about to give up the search when he came across it. He slips out of the armor and carries it back to the counter, behind which Vadela has grown tired of awaiting his decision and returned to her work.
Excuse me Quint calls to the back, where the half-orc woman is meticulously wrapping a thin band of leather around the hilt of a sword to form its grip. Do you have any more like this? he says, as he hefts the armor and flops the armor down atop the counter. When her stoic eyes look up from her work, they widen just enough to show surprise. She drops the blade and covers the distance to the counter in two brisk steps, then pulls the armor behind it.
Shouldn't be there. Not for sale. Bad design.
She has already begun to turn away when Quint protests. It's fine work, it just needs a few alterations, maybe some grommets and gut along the seams to make it adjustable.
Vadela stops in her tracks and looks down at the armor in her hands, considering Quints words for a moment before turning back to look down at the gnome. You know how to do this?
Quint nods, quickly.
Vadela steps to the side of the doorway to the work area. Show me.
Quint hesitates only a moment, then quickly circles the counter and slips past her through he doorway, his head barely reaching up to the tall woman's belt. He stops just inside taking in the space, and taking stock of the tools available. To his right, he spots a hammer and a set of punches handing above a workbench. I'll need those, first. he turns to Vadela and holds out his hands, wordlessly asking her to hand over the armor. Vadela hesitates a moment, looking down at the armor, then meeting Quints eye with a discriminating gaze. After a moment, she slowly extends her hand, holding out the armor to him.
Quint takes it in both hands, then scurries over to the workbench, raising it over his head to slide it on top. He pulls over a stool and climbs atop, but even standing on top of it, he can't reach to the other side of the workpiece, much less grab the tools behind it, so he climbs on top of the workbench and straddles the armor.
Vadela doesn't leave her place by the door, nor does she take her eyes off of what Quint is doing as he cuts the armor into pieces, punches holes and hammers in metal rings to reinforce them, then weaves the pieces back together with tough animal fiber. Her expression is impossible to read, not that Quint is trying very hard to do so. He is absorbed by his work as he scrapes through his memory to remember his father's lessons. When he can't remember how his father used one of the tools, or needs one that he didn't have, he is forced to improvise, but he never lets his uncertainty show. His father's words echo in his head, Knowing what you're doing is not as important as LOOKING like you know what you're doing whenever the customer is looking.
Eventually, Quint stands and takes a step back toward the edge of the workbench to survey his work. Without looking over to Vadela (whose height he almost matches, standing on the elevated desk), lest his eyes betray his uncertainty, he hops down and shrugs on the armor once again. Help me out? he asks, as without looking up, as he studiously begins to adjust the new seams.
Vadela continues to stand there for a moment, and Quint begins to think she hasn't heard him, when she steps slowly over and wraps her thick fingers around the gut dangling under his arm. He almost loses his balance when she gives it a surprisingly firm tug.
Once the adjustments have been made, Quint performs a few calisthenic movements to test his mobility, then performs some pantomimed swordplay. He shifts into a tuck and roll maneuver, then laughs as he springs back to his feet. Finally, he looks confidently up at Vadela. See? Just like I said. he says, as if he had never been uncertain of the outcome.
Following her back to the main shop, Quint haggles with Vadela over the price of the armor, which he gathers had been something of an experiment of hers; one she had considered a failure until he figured out how to alter it to make it work. Now that it worked, she was reluctant to part with it, wanting to use it as a pattern for her next attempt. As they went back and forth on the terms of the sale, Quint surprised her when he begins offering prices not only for the armor, but for some of her tools as well. Eventually, they arrive at an arrangement that is agreeable to both parties, and Quint hands over the majority of the gold that he's earned and draws Vadela a diagram of what he's done in exchange for the armor and an assortment of small tools, some scraps of raw materials, a bag of bent or broken brass buckles, and an iron ring that fits snugly below the knuckle of his thumb.
When their business is concluded, Quint turns to leave, then stops when he has a thought. He turns back and picks up the stick of charcoal again. On the corner of the paper, he draws the maker's mark he found inside the chronometer, and asks Vadela if she's ever seen one like it.
Vadela shakes her head blankly, without speaking a word. Quint tears off the corner of parchment, folds it in half, and stuffs it in his pocket (which is not nearly as heavily-laden as when he entered the shop). With a nod, he turns again and walks out, heading back in the direction of Reginald's. He's not sure exactly how much time has passed while he was engrossed in his work, but leather and metal are quite a bit tougher to work with than a needle and thread, so he figures there's a chance Lira will be finished with her work.
--River of the Republic, just south of Daybreak Bridge, 10:00 PM, aboard the Sea Slipper. Vikaday, Ilsa 6, 146 R.R--
The days aboard ship since leaving Blueblossom Haven have passed quickly. Captain Kyngral's skeleton (which might be giving it too much girth) crew have been somber, serious, and exhausted, as they work double-shifts just to keep their Sea Slipper on course down the wide and mighty River of the Republic. The party's summons to board the ship came hastily and unlooked for, but the captain's story drew much sympathy. Carrying a shipment of, the both rare and expensive, ironwood, harvested as deadfall by the Elves, Kyngral's ship was savaged by Sahuagin barely out of port from Weissewold, and they did everything in their power to stay the course and land safely at Blueblossom Haven to seek aid. Mayor Camatil sent his messenger boy running all around town to find you all, since he had promised you free passage to Rydwyrna. Since Kyngral was willing to pay capable people fifty gold coins just to remain aboard and alert, with another fifty gold if (hopefully when) the ship reached the wharf in Rydwryna, the party was the perfect choice to add some flesh to the skeleton crew. No strangers to ship travel, having done just that to get to Blueblossom, the adventurers took to helping in every way they could. Psalm and Quint scrambled up the ropes to the crow's nest atop the main mast to serve as lookouts, Hack and Nikeisha both did much and more heavy lifting, rope tying, and general sailor labor. Jun, much more accustomed to supervisory roles, oversaw, directed, and, when appropriate entertained with his music. Still, everyone aboard has had to work double-shifts, and the adventuring party of Akassa's volunteers volunteered to be the night guards, so sleeping rhythms were askew for the first couple of days, and took getting used to.
Passing underneath Daybreak Bridge, at night, as the party were awoken to take their first shift of work, was quite a bit less awe-inspiring than seeing it at the break of day for which it is named. The massive crystal aboard the towering center arch reflects starlight in prismatic rainbows as well, but it is nowhere near the visual spectacle of the light display that happens when the sun crests the eastern horizon and slams its radiant rays into it. Of the four moons, only Laureoth still sits heavy and full in the southern sky, guiding the Slipper ever southward. Durragaim, the Dwarven moon, is in its last quarter; Thgol, the moon of the D'rak in its first, but being a broken husk of moon it is nothing more than an ominous orange sliver. Sylgja, the moon whose first appearance always warns of impending winter in the northern regions of Iewiuf, still sits new and dark, a black hole in the otherwise star-blasted sky.
Though Kyngral warned of ever increasing attacks on ships all up and down the river, corroborated by his own survival against some Sahuagin, and the party's remembrances of Bullywugs and their own run-in with Sahuagin, travel to this point, thankfully has been attack free. Thus it was that when the hulking and monstrous trio of Merrow leapt splashing out of the water on deck right at change of shift, the alarm call sounded shrill and blaring in their ears. The three massive amphibians, easily twice the size of a man, corrupted evil cousins of the mostly peaceful merfolk, all have strange and unique colored stripes that mark their scales. The first aboard, he that jumped onto the main deck right among the party has stripes of raging red. The second crashing aboard by the steersman, stripes of orange. The third, splashing aboard on the forecastle deck, has stripes of bright yellow. Their colored bodies might even be considered beautiful if it were not for the razor sharp teeth and claws slashing and hashing about trying to grab and eat everyone in their long reach.
... the adventurers took to helping in every way they could. Psalm and Quint scrambled up the ropes to the crow's nest atop the main mast to serve as lookouts, Hack and Nikeisha both did much and more heavy lifting, rope tying, and general sailor labor. Jun, much more accustomed to supervisory roles, oversaw, directed, and, when appropriate entertained with his music. ...
Slightly surprised by the sudden attack, but usually at the ready, Luna suddenly wirls into a blinding whirl of hands and feet striking out at the monster with the red stripes.
Psalm gets alert when Luna calls after Hack and rushes to follow. "I think I need some heartier armor as well."
Psalm responds to the alarm readying his scimitar and shield slashes at the horrific red striped creature.
"Oh, bloody hell. What is it about boat trips that is damned dangerous? We never get into these situations when we're in a nice town with decent paving and no bloody rocking." Nikeisha ignored the attacker amongst them, on the theory that Shenkt and Luna would reduce it meat with the others aid in short order. She didn't want the steersman going down and crashing the bloody boat, however, since she couldn't pilot the thing.
Moving away from the monster to let the melee fighters focus, she tapped her staff and murmured a word, sending a searing bolt of Eldritch Energy.
Jun was nothing if not a consumate businessman, and by the time he had returned to the group with an explanation that he couldn't find a place to rent a wagon, he was unceremoniously told in no uncertain terms that the plan was not taking place.
He had often relied on his ability to read people to close deals, and looking around, it was clear that there was to be no discussion on the issue. Sighing internally, Jun didn't say anything, but instead just nodded. While the group waited for the ship, Jun did a bit of shopping: again, he purchased a small cask of brandy for the captain, and when presented with the ship's captain, offered to share it with him.
The first few nights of the trip, Jun and the Captain spoke of trade routes and distant ports. Jun knew, of course, that most honest merchant captains talked to each other, and spending a little money up front was worth it on the back end, for word of mouth, if nothing else.
Jun was up early, as he tended to sleep less than most Humans, although more than even the youngest and most tired of Elves.
Thus it was that he found himself on board when the rest of the group came staggering out to join him for first watch.
As the creatures leapt from the water onto the deck, Jun reacted.
Seeing his allies handle the two creatures to the rear of the ship, Jun moves to the forecastle to engage the creature there, drawing his Katana as he goes.
Jun also called out his support for Nikeisha, reminding her of her great power.
Riding atop the rigging, with the bracing river breeze blowing through his hair and sending an exhilarating chill down his spine, Quint feels like the swashbuckling protagonist from some heroic fable. With his pristine breeches tucked under the soft, virgin leather of his boots, and his new leather coat worn open at the front, revealing his crisp linen shirt beneath, he certainly looks the part. He knows it won't be long before his costume begins to fray and stain, like the well-worn garb of the ships few remaining sailors, thereby pulling him out of the myth and back to reality, but he resolves to enjoy the storybook quality of his disposition while he can.
Day in and day out, Quint keeps a careful watch, enjoying the view and the solitude of the Sea Sipper's mostly-intact crow's nest. Sometimes he assists the boatswain with some necessary repairs to the ship's rigging, or climbs out on the yardarm to reinforce a damaged sail that won't see a proper mending until the ship gets a much-needed stint in dry-dock. That's assuming they can keep her aloat that long. When not on his shift, he passes the time playing games with cards or dice below decks, or using his newly-acquired tools to build some trinket, or perform long-needed maintenance on his weapons, until the silent call of his bunk becomes too enticing to ignore. If someone is in the mood for song, he might sit on the deck for hours listening, until he drifts off to sleep beneath the stars.
This night, he is roused from a dream of traveling to the seven corners of the globe to learn the spells and find the components needed to re-forge a magical sword. He carefully dismounts his hammock and stretches lazily, then climbs the stairs to the ships deck as he dons his armor, more out of habit than any anticipation of peril. He's halfway up the rigging when he hears an unusual splashing from the water below, and he has to hang on for dear life as the small ship rocks and sways under the shifting weight of not one, but three massive aquatic menaces as they hoist themselves up over the railings and flop their piscine hindquarters down uninvited on the ships already ill-repaired deck.
Luna unleashes two quick punches followed by a kick, all of which take the massive amphibian off guard and leave him reeling and bruised . Her barrage of strikes unfortunately moves the creature right out of the way of Psalm's scimitar strike, and he hits only air. Nikeisha repositions herself for the best tactical advantage to use her immolating magics, just as Jun strides by drawing his katana and slicing at the huge beast on the forecastle deck. His sword, like Psalm's, slices only air as the Merrows are much more agile than their massive bulk makes them appear.
In absolute horror everyone on the deck, by the shifting light of all the lanterns that keep the deck lit throughout the night, watches as the orange striped Merrow bites the head off the steersman, and moves his bulk down onto the main deck to attempt to do the same to another foe. As the creature slithers its disgusting bulk down the stairs, it becomes entirely obvious that these creatures do not move well out of the water . Which would be a bit of good news worth minor celebration if it wasn't for the fact that without a man holding the wheel, the Sea Slipper begins to turn, drifting west, out of control! Thankfully another of the crew, the man that was backing up Psalm runs to the wheel, just as the huge creature leaves the rear deck.
Quint grabs a loose rope and slips Windsong from its place at his side. Pushing off from the mast net he had been climbing, he swings down to the deck and thrusts his blade toward the watery monstrosity.
He then takes a quick hop back, out of the creature's reach.
Quint's swinging poke drove deep into the fish-man's flesh and purple-red blood poured out the hole. The Merrow's pupils shrink and then blast wide-open, he sways for a moment, clearly unstable, but then grits his teeth and steels his resolve, lashing out at Luna with his razor sharp claws and pointy teeth. Simultaneously the yellow-striped Merrow on the forecastle deck slashes at the party's merchant, half-elf bard.
Luna blocks the huge beast's claws, but his teeth chomp down on her forearm in the block. Jun suffers the worst, razor sharp claws rend his flesh and pointy teeth sink into his shoulder. The half-elf bleeds profusely and threatens to fall over, but maintains his feet.
Psalm hacks at the red merrow before him. He looks in Jun's direction, adding a prayer to the lady lion on his behalf.
Psalm's scimitar steals all life from the massive fish-man-beast, and the weight of the dead monster's inert body pulls it overboard into the water, leaving nothing but a few slick blood stains on the deck to prove it was ever there. In the same moment as Psalm steals life from the Merrow, he gives the same, via his deity's healing magic, to his friend Jun. Some of the half-elf's wounds close up, the bleeding staunched, and he feels a renewed vigor.
Hack steps forward in front of Luna, as he tells in rage and attacks the orange creature.
Back you big piece o' chum!
Yes, we must protect the crew so as to keep the ship from crashing. I had better try to draw this one's attention back toward us. Though, I cannot take another bite like that! Luna steps over towards the ugly orange striped creature and kicks out with her foot as she swings around.
And then tries with an open palm strike hoping for better results,
"Nice job Psalm! Healing help anyone?" she yells as her arm bleeds out badly from the creature's bite.
Jun staggers under the sheer power of the creature's bite, yet even though he can feel his life's blood ebb from his body, he stands firm, as his father would expect nothing less.
Spinning his blade in an arc, Jun resolves to hold the line or die in the attempt. He chooses to heal himself first, however, hoping to buy time for the others to join him.
Quint steps lightly across the deck, giving the orange-striped Merrow a quick jab, before again slipping back out of its reach .
Quint also yells to Jun and the crewmember on the forecastle, Get out of there!
Nikeisha took a shot at the yellow one with her magic.
Beyond all reason and logic Hack swings his massive axe at a massive and slow moving target but misses. As his axe slams into the gunwales a Krakooom! of some thunderous magic is heard far far off in the distance, perhaps some wizard in battle. Luna's kick likewise misses but her open-palmed strike catches the fish-man on his soft belly, leaving a swelling welt. Behind her, Jun summons healing magic to staunch even more of his bleeding, and he appears strong enough to endure whatever comes. Nikeisha, worried about her half-elf bard friend, fires off some of her eldritch force into the creature, and sends scales and flesh flying with the power of the magical blast. Even so, the two remaining Merrow are incensed by the death of their leader and the orange striped amphibian strikes out with claws and teeth at the barbarian whose axe is lodged in the ship's gunwales.
The sea creature lands its teeth and on Hack's upper arm and its claws slash through the meat of his thigh, but the barbarian simply pulls his axe blade from the railing of the ship and spits on the deck, while hoisting the axe for his next attack.