Round 4
A plan sudden takes shape in the teifling's mind.
"An incredibly stupid and dangerous plan." He chides himself evan as he drops his pack and pepperbox. Pulling the double-barreled pistol he has taken apart and put back together numerous times, he quickly separates the barrel from the stock. Tossing the barrel aside with his pack as his tail fishes a thunderstone from his pouch, he takes the stone in hand and wedges it into the chamber space. Tucking the pistol stock into his holster he turns to his pack and pulls the waterproof bag from it.
The creature shudders as Xavorin's spell strikes against his shell, splintering tiny fractures across it's surface. This meal is becoming too expensive, but yet it remains so close. The alien crustacean jerks spasmodically from the force missiles, jostling Angel still held firm in it's grip.
D'witt, rushing his preparations, realizes his plan is risky, with a small margin of success. The alchemist's fire vials in his pack will need a sufficient supply of air to fully ignite and burn, with little concussive force beneath the surface, but should detonate as he desires. Will it all be enough? Perhaps the detonation of the thunderstone against the creature's shell, focused a conical barrel, may bring more pain and suffering to the wounded beast, causing it to flee to give up it's fight for a meal too holy to digest well anyway.
As Conner reaches shore, he realizes he will have little time to grab his bow and resume shooting, but alternately, he may have enough time to secure himself to the bank and sink down his coiled rope to Sir Gareth, that together they might bring their companion to the surface more quickly. Once free of the beast, little time will remain to bring her safely back to the surface.
Sir Gareth, face to face with the beast and the cold dark deep, feels the gentle tug of a current upon him, taking but the briefest moment to notice there is a small undertow. He spies a shallow trough along the bottom of the moat, one that flows back and away from the keep, one not as old and worn down as some flow channels he has observed.
Angel, realizing her companions are trying, casts her thoughts to Sarenrae, but finds them focused upon her beloved instead. As her mind passes into numbness, her mind lights upon a dark and shadowy place, a scene before a twisted altar, pale lithe forms cloaked in ebon darkness linger over a bare-skinned man lain upon a stone bier, it is her husband. JOIN US Red flashes brightly but briefly, warmth splashing across her, smashing her consciousness, then all is back to the cool welcoming darkness of the moat.
With light now provided below, Conner uncoils his rope, takes a deep breath, and dives below so that he can aid Sir gareth in the retrieval of Angel.
Round 5 The creature, seeming more uncertain of it's standing, lashes out at Sir Gareth with a claw as it spies Conner returning, swimming 10' above it's head. The claw strike gashes Sir Gareth for damage, the claw reflexively clamping onto him around the left thigh. The creature's mind struggles a moment with what to do, balancing holding Angel and now having another morsel to attend, deciding instinctively to use the man in it's claw as a loose club, swinging him in warning at Conner above.
Round 5
Sir Gareth gets anchored to the creature with its tentacles. He struggles to hit it with his spiked gauntlets. He sure wishes that he knew what it is, so he could use his new bane ability.
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Putting every once of strength into his swing, free hand firmly gripping ahold of the beast's tentacle maw, Sir Gareth crashes his steel spiked fist into, then through, the cracked shell over the monster's right eye, smashing brain, meat and matter as his fist fully sinks into the cavity beneath the elongated cranium. The beast twitches and jerks spastically as it tries to make sense of a multitude of sensations as nerve clusters misfire in contact with the mail and steel. The abnormal crustacean lurches back from it's prey, releasing both as it's claws flex and snap, listing to it's left, before slipping into the narrow channel and coming to a rocking rest along the bottom of the moat. It disappears from sight into a shadowy cloud cast up by it's movements. The silt hides it from view to all but Conner and Sir Gareth. Even to them, it fades into a darkened shape, a lump much like any other resting in the fetid, murky, morass.
Xavorin and D'witt stand along the bank, watching as the images below change, the creature disappearing into a murky cloud. One end of Conner's rope lays along the bank near Xavorin, the other grasped by the deep ranger. The air surrounding the pair seems too quiet, too still, sounds of D'witt's previous shots no longer echoing amongst the stones and trees of the area. All is still, the clouds unmoving, though still it seems the shadows lengthen, a shudder creeping at the back of their necks.
Round 5 continues
As the monster lets go of d'Orionus and the unconscious Angel, the noble knight reaches out to grab his companion.
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Round 5
Pulling the bag from the pack D'witt dismisses it immediately. "Damn, I remembered it being bigger." He chides himself even as his tail retrieves the barrel. He quickly jury-rigs it into place and drops his belts.
Without another thought the tiefling flings himself off the ledge and into the water.
Looks around to see if there is a place to anchor the rope to.
If nowhere to anchor will try and hold.
Xavorin looks around the area by the wall, finding nothing significant to secure the line to there. He spies the rusted chain of the drawbridge, still anchored after years of neglect. He might use that, but how strong is it really? His other option is to sit down, back against the wall, the rope secure around his shoulders, brace his feet upon the shore, and hold for the others. Hmmmm
Round 6 begins now
Round 6
Sir Gareth swims to the surface and bank as soon as possible with Angel attempting to get her mouth above water.
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Seeing that there is not much time as the creature can come back and go for another attack, throws the rope over his shoulders and puts his back to the wall and digs his feet unto the ground.
Alone, Sir Gareth is not able to hoist Angel far, her weight and stiffness a hindrance to his swimming ability. He will need assistance to haul her three hundred pounds of wet weight to the surface. Struggle as he may, he manages to get her into an upright position, forcing her limbs into a less obtrusive formation. 10 rounds of breath remaining.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sir Gareth notices the creature remains still, or somewhat so, the water's current in the trough twisting leaking bloody tendrils of gore out into the flow, alerting heavens knows what else that may lurk in the darkness.
Conner, D'witt, and Xavorin remain to act in Round 6. Xavorin should be ready to pull should someone tug on the rope, to assist in lifting Angel. Strength roll at that time, assisting their swim checks.
Conner swims on a bee-line to aid Sir Gareth. He holds the end of the rope as he dives.
Conner can make the swim distance in a single move, so has an action remaining, if he wishes to try to loop some of the rope around Angel's body. Or he may try some other plan, as desired. 11 rounds Breath remaining.
I will loop it around angel and give two quick tugs.
As far as Xavorin knows, yes someone has tugged on the line, and he feels resistance if he pulls on his end.
Xavorin feels the tug on the rope and starts to pull on the rope trying to pull what is attached out.
When the rope goes taught, Conner will aid Sir Gareth in pulling her up.
Conner's actions were used up in swimming to Angel and wrapping the rope around her. Sir Gareth has used his Round 6 actions. Xavorin's pulling alone is not enough to lift Angel much off the ground floor.
D'witt is the only one left to act in Round 6.
Round 6
D'witt attempts to position himself by Conner and Gareth. Jury-rigged pistol in hand he watches for any movement that may be hostile.
Round 6 redo
Sir Gareth calls on the Light of the Sword to give Angel more time. He casts cure light wounds on her. He then gets behind her pushing in the direction of Conner's pulling.
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Seeing the others struggling with Angel's armored weighted D'witt tries to help pull the paladin to the surface with the duo.
Feeling the rope loosen Xavorin pulls the rope in hopes that its his comrades and not something else.
Sir Gareth mutters a prayer to Iomedae, watching Angel's eyes momentarily flutter before never quite opening. She continues to drown as the others pull heartily on the rope, arms lifting as legs kick strongly against the bottom, lifting the group slowly towards the faint light at the surface.
The group struggles desperately to get their companion to the surface. As the light grows stronger, as the surface grows nearer, Sir Gareth struggles, but not only with the physical toil, his mind awash with doubt. Can we make it in time, will we get her there? Hold on Angel, hold on. Iomedae, guide me, show me what to do. Angel's rigid form offers only a little solace, her arms crossed, palms flat to her armored chest, Conner's rope coiled round to keep a firm grip upon her. With her eyes closed, her hair flowing in the murky water, she seems at peace, her burden's eased for the moment. Conner and D'witt swim upwards, powerful kicks almost in unison walking them all ever closer to the goal, the air burning in their chests even as it does for Gareth. No, now the burden is mine, the decision mine. Push or pause, swim for dawn or heal for the moment.
Conner continues to pull and swim as best he can to break the surface with the aid of his companions both above and below the surface.
Round 7
Angel is close to the surface but not quite there. Iomedae has blessed d'Orionus with the power to keep Angel in the realm of the living, so he does. When he said "I'll get her, or die trying," he meant alive.
He calls on the power of the Light of the Sword and heals Angel again. Then, he attempts to help push her body to the surface.
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Feeling the rope loosen again he pulls thinking to his self Hope everyone makes it and says a prayer
Round 7
As he continues to pull/push with the others, D'witt glances back in search of anything coming after the group in the murky waters .
As the group nears the surface, Angel's body begins to go into convulsions, spasming against her restraints, her lifeline to the surface, as her body enters the final stages of drowning. Blonde hair flows brightly in contrast to the deepening blue tint of her lips and hands. Red splotches mar the corners of her eyes as she involuntarily blinks from the energies Sir Gareth pours into her, blinks as her own life slips away. The men alongside her struggle those last few feet, throats raw and aching, lungs screaming against the unnatural stresses, desperate to open wide and release fouled air, yet sealed tight, the watery threat around them bringing on instinctive panic. It seems ages pass in those last few lengths then, in glorious relief, they breach that dark and algaed surface. The light of the sun, dampened still in dark and gray shadows, seems as bright as a noon day desert. The men gasp and gulp in cool damp air, oblivious to the foul stench of the muggy swamp breeze, celebrating the fact they can once again just draw a breath. They together push, pull, and prod Angel's still minutely convulsing form to the bank, there and into Xavorin's waiting hands, together forcing her onto shore.
In moments, the men themselves are out of the stagnant flow, crowded around the woman, her body still and limp in the near noon light. They stare at her with bated breath. Were we too late? Is she gone? Oh Gods, was it all for naught?
As first a fateful six then twelve then eighteen seconds pass, the men's hearts slow a beat, fearing to face reality. Angel is no more.
Carlson left the group in a rush, faster even than he joined, and in that he still had life. Angel had been with them for days, weeks in travel together. She had been a companion, had become a shared confidant, even a friend and boon ally in a world suddenly larger, more sinister than what had been considered before. Now she was no more. The men had lost before. Who lives a life this long, travels a road this rough, without considering the chances, without pondering their own mortality? They had all seen death, dealt death even, that was nothing new to them.
This, this was different, this was something they had not considered. Death in battle, swift, bloody and violent, that was how they had all expected to go. Drowning, the life crushed from them, their friends crowded around in futile battle against the inevitable. No, this none of them had seen, it was nothing they had ever prepared for, imagined. Tough and morose as they all could be to the hardships of life, this struck them hard. A few tears welled up as they looked down upon Angel's still blue face, her armor dirtied and stained from the ordeal in the depths below. Angel was dead, her spark diminished, and they had failed to save her. The world seemed darker now, the air still, the sounds of nature stilled. Angel was gone.
As the men reflected upon her passing, their minds trying to process it all, a faint twitch, a soft stir, a fluttered eyelid, then the coughing, hacking, and vomiting began, as Angel rolled onto her side, spewing volumes of green and blood specked gouts of swampy gore onto the ground. Angel was alive, just barely, and they were all, in that moment, happy to be alive.
Coughing up nasty swamp water and struggling to catch her breath Angel looks back on what just happened.. "I was lost, gone to the depths and my companions saved me.. What an honor to be in the presence of such heros.. Everlight be praised! But what of Geirheart.. Was that him on the alter?" After a moment or two Angel catches her breath and you see her hand glow with light as she touches her breastplate..
Looking around and standing.. "Yall saved me! I'll forever be in your debt.. I've been on the front lines fighting orcs and undead for years and only a few times have i witnessed such valor.. May the Everlight forever shine upon you all.." She moves to each of her party members and gives them a kiss on the cheek.. Afterwards she goes over and retrieves her sword.. Turning around her face has a more serious look.. "In my struggle I was very close to death and while on the stairs to Oblivion i saw a vision.. I saw a dark and shadowy place, a scene before a twisted altar, pale lithe forms cloaked in ebon darkness were lingering over a bare-skinned man lain upon a stone bier, it was Geirheart! They wanted him to join them.. This evil must be stopped.. I am glad to be in your company for this.. Come, lets us not linger here any longer.." She'll pull out a wand and heal herself some more before departing..
Sir Gareth wipes the moisture from his eyes, face, and hair with an edge of his cloak, which slowly cleans itself after a few seconds. Any grime and stain of the swamp can no longer be seen on the knight.
After silently saying a solemn prayer to the Light of the Sword for saving Angel, he stands up checking his gear in habitual motions. Again the residue of the swamp slowly disappears from his knees and lower legs. As an afterthought, he lets the light on his brooch expire with a wave of his hand.
Hearing Angel motivating them to advance, he takes his place in the line against the wall. His head silently spins indicating that he has not fully digested this morning's events. He will pray on it when he returns to the tower. Now, he focuses on the mission.
Conner stands, and smiles at Angel, then turns and picks up his Bow and places the helm on his head. He gathers and returns the rope to his pack.
Shall we move on, then?
The quiet is broken as Angel and the group gathers themselves, bringing their thoughts back to what lies ahead. They shake off for the most part the darkness of the last several moments, though not entirely. The nature of these dark grey stones seems almost malevolent, as if some dark purposes holds to them still.
The surface of the moat remains still and calm, only the gentle movement of the wind stirring up a lapping current. The creature and it's threat seems well and truly over. Your skin prickles now more from the anticipation of what lies ahead than what sinks beneath.
A sudden bird call and flapping wings startles everyone, as a large grey bird sweeps into view. Long legged, with a wingspan larger than a man is tall takes to flight from the grove beyond the waters, gliding over the marsh. It's red rimmed eyes, almost demonic, watch you as it dips a moment before soaring high off over the trees, disappearing from sight.
The silence resumes, broken only by the droning of the midges and the occasional plup of the swamp, a stray gaseous bubble breaking the scum patched waterway.
Wary of just about everything Angel will sheath her sword and pull out the bow lended to her and kncck an arrow..
D'witt's head bowed as his shoulders rose and fell. The silence hanging over the gathering for too long as they tried to catch their breathes, all the while hoping that their fallen comrade would take one with them.
His head snapped back up when Angel suddenly began choking and vomiting. "Oh, thank the gods." The tiefling muttered as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees for a moment.
When the paladin thanks them D'witt waves dismissively. "The others did more then I. Water and me don't get along too well." He says, managing a wry smile.
He moves off the reclaim his gear, holstering the rigged pistol as is. "I can fix it later." He thinks to himself when a bird's sudden appearance startles him.
Pepperbox suddenly in hand and aiming in the direction of the disturbance he relaxes after a moment when the creature flies off again.
"I'm really starting to not like this place."
After the last pull Xavorin is relieved that everyone is up on the shore. But then notices Angel's lifeless body and slumps his head thinking Are we too late is there anything we can do now.
He says a prayer for Angel.
Then she begins choking Is this the last life the is in her and death grasp is at hand then she begins to move and gets up.
"Thank the Gods you are alive!"
Then he falls to his knees in exsaultion. Out of breath he manages to say "Lets...move....on.....before...anything...else...happens"