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A butterfly dashes through a balmy jungle in far off Cathay. Its gold and black wings fluttering madly as it darts through the dense trees. It dives past screeching monkeys. It flits over and around the occasional oblivious human, elf, or dwarf. Any of those supposedly intelligent beings might wonder why a butterfly would be in such a hurry. Where was it going? Why was it in such a hurry? Why were its tiny eyes burning with such intensity? But being absorbed in their own minor problems these supposedly more intelligent beings were quite uninterested in the butterfly. Thus the subsequent events that changed their entire continent and created lasting effects throughout all of Midgard are allowed to come to fruition. Perhaps if they had paid better attention, they would have stopped the butterfly. Caught it before chaos played its cruel trick upon the world. Waylaid it for a matter of seconds, and by doing so savings many lives. Alas, the world will never know.
The butterfly rushes on. For just a moment it turns to look at the sun and curses with frustration as the yellow orb creeps further toward the horizon. It is this distracted glance that causes the butterfly to run right into the storm dragon’s eye as massive serpentine form casually flies south seeding storm clouds as it glides along the valley of the mightiest river in all Cathay.
”Owww!” Cries the butterfly as its head slams into the dragon’s eye.
”OWWW!” Roars the dragon, blinking rapidly as the butterfly legs and antenna poke and jab his vulnerable eye.
”Watch where you’re going!” The two holler in unison.
”What do you mean, watch where I’m going?” Shouts the butterfly. ”I clearly had the right away.”
”Why do you believe that?” Questions the dragon, eye still blinking furiously. ”Afterall, doesn’t my size and power automatically grant me the right away? Why should I yield to you? Being small as you are, you should yield the way to me.”
”Size has nothing to do with it!” Growls the butterfly while eyeing the scattered storm clouds traveling in the dragon’s wake. ”I am traveling east, which gives me the inherent right of way. But on a more practical matter, and perhaps more relevant to your nature, I am also a great conjurer of storms.”
Having a curious and philosophical nature the dragon found itself intrigued by the butterfly’s response. Conjurer of storms, indeed. He is barely able to suppress the mighty laugh rumbling within his chest, yet he can’t help but feel curious. This feeling is peaked even further by the dragon’s boredom from not really having anyone reasonably intelligent to speak with for months. Just screaming victims and boring pleas for mercy. So rather than simply incinerating the tiny insect, the dragon replies. ”Ah…well. I don’t see how one your size can possibly generate a storm of any significance. Prove me wrong in this and I will forgive your running into my eye. First, I will give you something to strive for.”
The dragon whirls its mighty claws through a nearby cloud turning it from a mild, puffy white cotton ball into a basalt gray rumbling anvil charged with electricity, rain, and wind. Moments later lightning strikes a small village and hail pummels crops causing the villagers to shout their desperate pleas for forgiveness, deliverance, or offers of worship and servitude.
”Now that is power and a good storm my flighty friend. Not only the power of the storm, but power to call up the prayers and force the worship of those with less power.” Says the mighty dragon watching its conjured storm drift down the valley and dissipate.
”An impressive display indeed.” Says the butterfly. ”But a mere trifle. Notice how your storm already loses strength and dwindles to a mere shower.” The butterfly flits over and lands upon the dragon’s large nose. ”If you wish to conjure a storm, this is how you do it.” He adds and then begins fluttering his wings rapidly as he launches himself from the dragon’s nose. Corkscrewing around the dragon, the butterfly spins, swirls, whirls, and twirls all the while its fluttering is wings as fast as a young lover’s heart. Finally he comes to rest again upon the dragon’s nose.
”There. Now that’s how you conjure a storm.” He says panting and trying to catch his breath.
”What do you mean?” Rumbles the dragon looking at the clear sky with no rain in sight except the distant remnants of his own storm. ”You’ve conjured nothing. You’ve proven my point. Your storm is nothing compared to mine.”
”Not true my friend.” Replies the butterfly. ”Do you not see how the wind has been aroused by my dance? How even now it teases and tickles the water in the air, stirring it to greater agitation. Already the wind tumbles down this valley toward the sea. There it will be noticed by Mother Ocean herself. At first the wind will blow upon her surface like a lover in the night stirring her waters. Soon enough the two will join together in a frenzy of passionate fury and glorious, unstoppable destruction.”
The dragon squints down the valley, its practiced gaze picking the delicate air currents. ”Hmmmm….” It rumbles thinking as it watches the winds whirl and spin out toward the sparkling blue of the distant sea.. Eventually he bows his head to the butterfly. ”It seems you have the right of things my friend. Your storm will eventually put mine to shame. But it will take some time to do so. Thus while more powerful in the longer term, one must have time for its potential to play out. And time is not always something one can easily afford.”
Turning its gaze back upon the butterfly, the dragon bows its mighty head. ”However, time aside, you have proven your point and I yield the right of way.”
Returning the bow, the butterfly ponders the great dragon his eyes thoughtful and scheming. ”You are correct about the troublesome dependence on time. If I might be so bold, perhaps you would be interested in traveling together for a while?”
The dragon’s eyes light up at the butterfly’s suggestion. ”Indeed, I was about to make the same offer.”
As thus was born a companionship that would last for the next thousand years and see much of Cathay and the surrounding lands brought under the tyrannical might of the Throne of Storms. But that is another tale for another time.
Instead our interest lies far to the west toward that setting sun. There a small ship sails upon the open waters bearing cargo and passengers north to a destination they may never, ever reach.
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It is another hot , humid Juma aboard the Delightful Rose. Juma being Ceresday to those more used to the Northern calendar rather than the correct Imperial Mharoti reckoning. Born and raised in Harkesh, Captain R.W. Torremark is still more comfortable using Imperial reckoning. Even if it was twenty years since he last set foot upon Mharoti soil.
Thoughts of the dragon empire had him making the sign of Horus. He’d no wish to go back to being among the jambuka. Since his flight from the empire to Nuria, he’d been a free man and he’d prefer to stay that way. Life had granted him many blessings since leaving Harkesh and its slums and slave markets. The biggest and most important gift of Horus was of course the Delightful Rose. He runs a weathered hand gently along the smooth deck rail. She’s a fine ship, and has severed me well all these years. He thinks to himself while keen eyes watch the crew as they go about their duties.
Having completed the harrowing sail around the horn of Sawall and the mysterious mountain jungles of Zobanu, the Rose was sailing north toward the Straights of Zawra and eventually to Mhalmet. That is if they made it at all.
A shudder runs through the captain his eyes shifting east. Unlike the clear, sunny skies to the north, west and south, the east was a towering wall of angry black clouds. Their tops reaching leagues into the sky. The Rose was sailing along the far outer edge of that black expanse. But soon enough there would be no more running. Waves were already hitting her hard and soon enough they’d need to shift course or be capsized by one of the big rollers. He wasn’t going to outflank this storm.
He cursed. His seaman’s intuition told him this was no ordinary blow. He and the Rose survived enough of those over the years. But this was something different. He could feel it in his bones. In the very taste of the wind and ocean spray. This was something darker. Something filled with menace and malevolence. He cursed again, but this time aimed it at whatever hell-spawned god who created such a thing.
”Trim the main mister Coombs and bring her to starboard by fifteen degrees.” Torremark says to the half elf standing stoically at his side.
”Trim the main!” Coombs yells. ”Helmsman! Starboard fifteen degrees!”
”Fifteen degrees, aye!” Responds the burly gnoll manning the ships wheel. Not a moment later the deck sways with the course change and waves break over the bow.
”It’s a big one sir.” Coombs says watching the clouds with his calm, purple-eyed gaze. ”We’re not going to be able to outrun it are we?”
”No. No we aren’t mister Coombs.” With a deep sigh, the captain grabs a stick of tobacco a tears off a chunk with his teeth. He stares back into the ever approaching bank of clouds with heartfelt hatred pouring from his dark eyes as he slowly chews the smelly brown substance. ”Best see the passengers and cargo secured Mister Coombs. And get Malia up here. She’s going to be needed.”
”Aye sir.” The half elf says and turns to a pair of sailors leaning against the rail watching the oncoming storm with concern. ”Faisal, Merrick. Get the passengers below and then let the water witch know she’s wanted on deck.” He orders and begins moving forward seeing hatches secured, cargo tied down, and other preparations for riding out the storm.
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Malia de la Zarkos gazes at the mass of scattered bones while her body rocks and sways with the motion of the ship. With each rolling movement the beads and bones in her long braided hair clatter and clack. The soft cacophony simply adding to the constant creaks and groans of the Delightful Rose as the sturdy trader slogs her way through an angry ocean. And the sea was angry. The bones are quite clear on that point. The jungle born sorceress thinks as she continues to stare at the inauspicious casting sitting before her.
The ancient rune inscribed bones were a tradition passed to her from her mother who received them from her mother and so on since long before the sealing of Sar Shaba. She’d been studying and learning the patterns since the day she took her first steps as a child. They had never let her down. That is until today. The day the eerie towering storm appeared on the eastern horizon.
The runes hadn’t predicted a storm, or at least one of any consequence. An easy passage around the horn and through the straights. That is what all her readings had said for weeks. All except the one. Her eye twitches with the memory of that throw just over three weeks ago. In her thirty years of reading the bones, she’d never seen one so filled with chaos. Chaos and power and doom. But the omens did not stay or return. Subsequent throws revealed all to be well. She had been able to convince herself it was just a fluke. A trick of the toss or poor technique and concentration on her part. She swore. It was no accident or fluke. It wasn’t the bones that had let her down. It was her own refusal to see and believe. Now it was too late. There was no avoiding the reading this time. It’s all there staring her in the face. The jagged pinwheel of chaos, the pointed triangle of the storm, the fell grasping hand of death and destruction. Somewhere, that brutal bastard Set was laughing at her. Her hands clenched into a fist. Or worse, Aposis or Veles. But why? What could she have done to attract the wrath of those dark gods?” A soft snort escapes her lips. What reason do those malevolent beings need to cause pain and anguish? Might as well ask why does a scorpion sting.
A practiced hand grabs the bones from the floor as the ship rolls with a course change. She chants the final stanzas of the reading to close the cosmic links to space, time and the gods. The changing course meant they weren’t running anymore. The bones drop into the aged leather pouch hanging from her belt of jade and silver. The captain would be sending for her soon. The beads in her hair rattle again as she moves with grace and ease around the rocking cabin. She slips a silver bracelet over her wrist, it’s dolphin pattern glittering in the few remaining rays of western sunlight gleaming through the tiny porthole of her cabin.
A knock on her door. A bit sooner than expected. Coombs must be worried. Then the voice of the elfmarked calls her topside. Taking a deep breath she does her best to drive away the fear, the worry, the inescapable sense of doom. With practiced ease she grabs the brightly feathered staff hanging next to the door and steps forth to answer the captain’s summons. A summons for her to help save herself and everyone on board the Delightful Rose from a power far, far greater than anything she’d ever known before.
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”See to your nets, Grumph.” Verrack says, his eye still peering through the looking glass toward the black sky and rough seas to the east. ”There’s sails in the straight. Too far out for a good look, but nothing’s gonna survive what’s brewin’ out there.”The big, green skinned half giant chuckles as he runs a dirty finger along his front incisor to test it’s point. He thought maybe he’d chipped it on that femur from Borq’s stew last night, but all seemed well. ”Fresh meat’ll be comin’ in by morning.”
”Sure, sure boss. Braaaack.” Replies the big eyed frogman next to Verrack. His big eyes set upon his wide head, blink as he looks into the rapidly increasing wind. Even though he can’t see much beyond the immediate shore, he runs his long tongue across wide pale, yellow lips in eager anticipation. ”Crooooaaak. I can’t see ‘em boss. You sure they’re there?”
The half orc, half giant lowers the spyglass and rolls his eyes. ”Of course you can’t see ‘em. You can’t see anything much beyond the reach of that tongue of yours ya slimy skinned fool.” He brings the glass back to his eye. ”But they’re there and soon enough they’ll be here. Storm’ll be blowing the ship...or what’s left of her anyway...straight to us. Captain didn’t clear the straight like he probably wanted to. Now he’s stuck. Much to our benefit.”
”Yep, yep, rrrriibbbit. To our benefit, hssshssshsss.” Grumph answers with his own hissing laugh that sounds more like Borq putting out the fire when he relieves himself of too much ale. ”Should I tell the others boss? Get ‘em ready to hunt?” Wide, sticky fingers touch a rough stone amulet dangling from a pale leather thong around his wide neck. ”Going to need time to pray if there’s to be a hunt.”
Verrick sighs heavily, the sound rumbling in his massive chest. ”Aye. You might as well. There might be a few who wash up alive.” A meaty fist reaches out and grabs the frogman by its slime covered leather vest. ”But see to the nets first. We’ll want them out as soon as the storm passes. Nets first...then your useless damned ceremonies. You hear?”
”Brraack, braaack, braaaaack. S-s-sure boss. Nets first. Then prayers. I’ll make sure it’s all ready.” The frogman stammers back prevented from truly groveling by Verrick’s fist holding him up.
”You better, or best slave tracker in this blighted swamp or not, I’ll get myself a new chief to keep that rabble you call kin in line.”
The frogman’s head bobs up and down. ”You can count on me boss. No need for a change. Grumph isn’t ready to be stew. Braaack!”
”Hmmm...you’re too scrawny anyway.” Verrick adds releasing the frogman and turning to walk back down the narrow path leading to the rough stone lookout. But the mention of stew made his large stomach grumble loud enough to be heard above the angry surf below. ”And tell Borq to cook that Elfmarked up tonight. No sense saving it any longer with new meat on the way.”
Kali giggled brightly and ran along the edge of the surf. The warm ocean water tickling her toes as it sloshes up the sandy beach and over her bare feet. The waves along this stretch of beach near her village were always so much more fun when a storm was coming in. The big rollers crashing with a booming rumble that traveled south to north up the shoreline as they tumbled to shore then hissed their way up the sand. She dashes back and forth trying to halfheartedly attempting to stay ahead of the foamy swirling water.
She waves at the men in one of the small catamaran’s racing for the safety of the cove. One hull was high out of the water as the two leaned far out over the open sea, throwing their weight against the power of the wind. She heard a loud whoop upon the wind and sees the wave back from the smaller of the two daredevil sailors. That’d be old Diego and his son. Mother always says the old minotaur loves to race ahead of a big storm. Says the thrill keeps the old bull’s heart excited enough to keep pumping.
Kali didn’t know the elder Diego very well. He intimidated her too much with his big eyes that had witnessed so much, his long braided beard and scarred body. They say his family went all the way back to the original crew, but she thought that was just a story to tell so everyone would give him the best sweet pies every feast day.
His son on the other hand. Well Kali was quite fond of Diego the Younger. Handsome, kind, sharp eyed and keen of mind. Most importantly, he was always nice to her unlike so many in the village. She waves back, her delicate arm flashing with the copper and silver bracelets dangling from her wrist.
Then she catches another voice calling to her upon the wind. Her mothers. She glances out toward the oncoming storm while slipping back from another wave. This one the biggest of the day so far and crawling all the way up to the grass line. Her mother stood silhouetted against the sinking sun, far up the beach toward the huts. Of course no one would be foolish enough to stay in those tonight. Even without Kali’s vision of Lord Butterfly and Dragon wagering and snickering as they played with the lives of mortals, everyone in the village would have seen and felt the danger those billowing black clouds to the east posed. Everything of value was already moved to the storm shelters and caves on the high ground far back from the shore.
Her mother calls again. Eager to join the others in the shelters. With a reluctant sigh, Kali waves and starts running up the beach. Her long mostly bare legs carrying her swiftly up the big grassy dunes. Her auburn hair stretching out behind her like a knight’s flowing cloak. She didn’t like the shelters or the caves. They were dank and dark and stank of sweat and fear during a storm. She’d rather stay out in the storm, let its power wash over her. Fill her up with all its wondrous might. But the others already thought her strange enough and her mother would never let her do such a thing.
”Coming!” She shouts as she runs. Her ears pick out the distant rumbles of thunder. The sometimes sharp crackling grumbling sound a contrast to the most constant earth grinding rumble of the surf.
Laughter flows from her lips for just a few moments as she keeps pace with the darting sailboat. But under Diego’s skilled hands it seems to leap along the waves and quickly outpaces her before slipping behind the jetty into the relative safety and calm of the cove. It wouldn’t take long for them to land the shallow hulled boat on the shore, drop the sails and drag it to the safety of the storm sheds.
Thinking of the catamaran soon to be safely tucked inside the shelters causes her to think of the second half of her vision. That of another ship. This one bulkier, not nearly as sleek and fast as Diego’s or the other village boats. No, this was one of the mysterious foreign ships from far away to the north according to the village elders. In her visions it is tossed about the open sea like a toy in an angry child's tub. Thrashed and throttled by the violent storm. The sailors struggle to keep the lumbering ship afloat. The red roses on its sails rip and shred as lightning flashes and lashes out with wild abandon upon its doomed deck.
"If it is the goddesses will, there’s nothing to be done." She says to herself between gulping breaths as she runs. At least that is what her mother would say. Kali stops. Turns back to the sea. She wasn't her mother. A simple prayer may not change thing, but perhaps it would ease the suffering of some. Closing her eyes she offers up a quick prayer to Mother Sea and the Wind Lords asking to keep those aboard the little ship safe or at the very least usher them into the afterlife with kindness and warmth.
With that done, she doubles her pace to catch up with her mother who’s already turning to hurry to the shelters. Moment’s later the first drops of heavy rain start to spatter on the sand. She lets out another reckless laugh. Soon the storm would be upon them all.
Hap moves across the tiny galley of the Delightful Rose with practiced ease. His small form rolls and leans with the constantly shifting angle of the ship as it rides the growing waves. The grizzled kobold grabs his large wooden spoon and lifts the lid from one of the pots dangling over the big iron galley stove. Carefully slurping a taste of the bubbling stew, he frowns for a moment and then sprinkles in a bit of salt and ground herbs before dropping the lid back into place.
Three other empty pots are being scoured by the cooks mate, another kobold called Twotoes because he lost a pair of toes to a shark while scraping barnacles off the Rose’s hull four seasons ago. Twotoes winces as another gust blasts the side of the ship just as yet another wave crashes across the bow causing wood to groan and squeal.
Hap places a gentle claw upon the mates shoulder. ”Steady lad. It’s a bad blow for sure, but the captain, the witch, and the Rose’ll see us through.” He turns to the pot meant for the ships passengers and gives it a quick stir and taste. Satisfied, he gives a nod and gestures toward the nine folk who’ve purchased passage for the trip to Khalmet.
”Stews ready folks. Best come and get it now. Storm’ll get worse afore it gets better and believe me, ridin’ it out on an empty stomach won’t help any.” He says gesturing toward those currently gathered in the galley. He looks again at the group. Mostly land lubbers, a few looking a little green in the gills from the rough ride. Still a couple knew their way around a ship and could tell a mizzen from a main. He pours grog from a big barrel strapped tightly to the deck. ”Captain’s ordered extra grog for everyone on board to keep out the chill and drive away the fear.” The first poured mug he passes to the big bearfolk sitting hunched and scrunched in the tight quarters of the galley. He works his way around the galley, chatting calmly as if the constant noise of the storm and protest of the ship were an everyday event. Across from the bearfolk sat another northerner, a human who seemed to know a bit about the sea. At the next table the stuffy dragonkin who watched everyone but the minotaur who couldn't stop watching him. No love lost between those two peoples. Hap can't help thinking.
Then there was the dark skinned Nurian woman sitting near the Kushite. He smiles a yellow toothed grin at the two before moving along to the ratfolk and elf. Finally he looks over at the metallic man sitting near the galley stove. A shiver runs along his spine and he quickly looks away from the clockwork man. Not a natural creature that, but captain said his coin is as good as any other.
He starts to say something more, but before he speaks another wave causes the entire ship to shiver and groan as it heels hard to port. Mugs, dishes and utensils clatter about as the ships lean causes even the best stowed equipment to tumble free. Water goes sloshing down the passage and several shouts can be heard on deck followed by the thumping sounds of feet running back and forth above. Slowly, the ship starts to right itself, but fear even strikes old Hap’s face before he does his best to cover it up by going back to make sure the stew pots didn’t spill too much onto the stove.
Her face covered with the rough salt left by the spray, N'dateh digs eagerly into her bowl. How she missed the land, she thinks to herself. The Kushite from Nuria Natal had been on her fair share of boats, but these were river rides. Comparing these to this was like comparing a cat to a lion.
As she looks over with her good eye at the clouds gathering, she sees an omen, a reflection of her life. The clouds were gathering around her, yes. Getting on this ship was a way to slip thought the fingers of fate, yes, but it felt futile now.
Small and nimble-looking, the black young woman turns to her companions. Some seemed to know the sea, so she asks openly: "What's with the weather and the extra grog? Should this weather be our worry?"
The ratfolk looks completely miserable as the ship heaves and lurches. Despite that, he digs into the food, sitting separate from most of the others, but he takes N'Dateh's question as an invitation to get up and move closer to the group. He seems glad for the company.
Wrapped up at the moment in waterproofed leather, the rat carries all of his belongings with him wherever he goes. He is hardy looking, but small compared to the other, larger races.
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Rilkus stood as still as a statue as the ship tossed and turned. Given how nothing organic was left within the gearforged, it stood to reason that something as mundane as sea sickness would be beyond him. That didn't take into consideration, however, that within the enchanted steel was housed a soul, and a living mind. The memory of motion sickness, coupled with a distaste for water in general, was enough to evoke feelings that should have been physically impossible. Just like the taste of grog was a memory, but was not something which he could physically experience. Somewhat unhappily the gearforged kept to his silent vigil, all the while wondering if he would have to walk the rest of the distance should the ship sink.
CON Save
Lilly looked down at the food, then across from her at the Dragonborn. Why? I don't know why they took our land? He doesn't look that dangerous?
Then the spicy aroma and taste of the food hit her like a Maul. She pushes back from the table, wondering if the Kobold Cooks are in league with the Dragonborn to take her people out once again.
"I...I don't feel so good. I think I'll head up on the deck, and try to lash myself to something that might not wash overboard.
Not again! Please no more shipwrecks!
Tiberius stood as far at the front of the ship as one could with hands clasped behind his back, almost as if challenging the coming storm, or, perhaps, merely forcing himself to stay steady, and his stomach to stay strong. Before being called down to the table. As he sat, he only watched the rest.
Interesting, I wonder... he declines the offered grog.
I need neither warmth nor liquid courage good sir, I am a pedigree above the usual. I thank you for the offer though.
Sorala stands rigid as a Oakabob tree, one hand clenched tightly around a nearby beam. The ship heaves and hurls, as does the Iron Squire's stomach, and Sorala briefly closes her eyes, willing the bile in her throat down. She would not be the first to lose their lunch on this journey. Thankfully, Sorala thinks, a small, flat smile crossing her lips, she had not taken the lunch yet.
Accepting the grog, Sorala tips it back and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she swallows. It was bitter and watery, not unlike the sugarcane chimchi of her home. A flood of memories comes unbidden, and Sorala forces them down, with the liquor and bile.
Looking to the minotaur, Sorala waggles her head, the way of saying no in the Kingdom of Kush. "You lash yourself to something and the ship breaks apart, it could drown you."
For all his time at sea, he should have known better that gorge himself on the food. "But the captain said, "all you can eat", and now I am paying the price. he thinks to himself as he makes his way to the stairs.
Stumbling to the upper deck as wave washes over him as the lets his last meal he ate go to the fishes. Being battered against the railing Dacknar looks out to the horizon and see the storm getting darker and darker and the waves becoming more angry. Wiping his mouth from the sea water and bile, he says to no one in particular "That is not good, we are in for a rough ride and they are going to need all hands on deck for this one." Dacknar looks around to see what help he can be in his current condition.
Beordt drains the grog. "Yeugh that is bitter. Does no one have mead or some cherry wine." The bearfolk takes his stew last. He drains the bowl licking the stew from his muzzle and hands.
He takes the grog offered to Tiberious and drains it with a grimace. He looks at those who wonder why he went for seconds of something he disliked. He shrugged and laughed thunderously.
"I love a good storm."
N'dateh tips her head back and laughs silently. Some seemed to see the storm as a good omen, and some as a bad omen. So it was with all things perhaps, if something as terrible could be so differently interpreted.
To Sorala, she replies: "Seems like sound advice, not lashing yourself, and not just for storms, I gather, yes? Do you know much of seafaring? I'm not sure what to make of this storm, between those who would see the gods' favors in it and the captain offering grog, I remain unclear, except my stomach, which is quite clear about the meaning of all this..." and she gives the woman a faint smile, wondering if she too hails from Nuria Natal.
The wind howls like a thousand screaming banshees as it lashes ship and sea. With the sun having set, lightning offers the only illumination. Each flash highlighting the tops of massive wind torn waves as they roll past the Delightful Rose. Each burst of light is quickly followed by a chest pounding roar of thunder. Beneath the cacophony of chaos are the desperate cries of the officers and crew of the ship. Each doing all they can to keep the vessel from foundering.
Malia stands amidship her eyes glowing a brilliant turquoise as she waves her staff and causes just enough of a huge oncoming wave to part and keep it from swamping the ship in one fell blow. Even still water crashes against the ship spraying high and over the bow and the main deck including the minotaur and elf who emerge from below.
Both rush to the larboard rail, sickened by the feverish rolling and rocking motion of the ship. As they lean over to unload what little is left in their stomach, another wave pummels the Rose and sends it lurching in another dangerous heel. A sailor running past looses his footing as several inches of water slosh across the deck. With barely enough time to scream he tumbles toward the rail grabbing for any hand hold he can whether rope, rail, or passenger. Suddenly Lil and Dacknar find themselves dipping fast toward the churning, furious waters as the ship continues its gut wrenching tilt. While they grab at whatever rope, handhold, or railing they can to keep from being tossed overboard they must also contend with the desperate struggles of the sliding sailor.
"Help me!" Cries out the sailor as he slides toward the rail. Desperately he reaches out and manages to grab a line dangling from the rigging. The move manages to prevent him for slipping overboard immediately, but his grip is precarious at best.
Pots and pans clatter and rattle again as the ship heels hard following another blow from a pounding wave. Twotoes stumbles and falls against the stove causing him to cry out in pain as his shoulder sears against the hot iron. Surprisingly quick for his age, Hap pulls the mate away.
"Blast and damnation! Can't they keep her a little steady up there?" The old kobold says as he tries to look at the whimpering mate's wound. But before he can do much about it another waves strikes the hull and this time something gives way just enough to pop the straps loose on a pair of heavy fresh water barrels. The big kegs break loose and fall from the wall. They tumble across the galley like two hundred pound dice tossed across the tavern table by a giant causing everyone to dive clear or be crushed under their heavy weight.
In the course of the storm lurching and dropping the Bearfolk has reached out to steady those around him often with a quip. He seemed to almost enjoy the situation laughing. During a rather hard lurch the iron rack that hung in the galley full of pots and pans was knocked loose and the Bearfolk was hit with pots, and pans before being pinned to the wall by the rack itself. He low rumble was broken by the sound of the metal rack being bent as he freed himself. He looked at the cook sheepishly, "Sorry." With another wrenching sound of metal being bent he tried to put the iron rack in roughly the shape it started. Not knowing where to put the loose rack where it wouldn't just fly around the churching ship he put it on the floor and sat on it.
Lil is both amazed and a bit thrilled at the ferocity of the storm she immediately feels better after emptying her stomach of the spicy Kobold stew, but has no time to enjoy that as the chaotic bucking of the ship causes her to reel, looking for something to secure herself with.
STR Check (Atheletics)
Then bellows in panic, as here hooves find no purchase on the slippery tossing deck, and she falls prone, and begins to slide towards the rail.
With a crash the gearforged fell over, struck by a two hundred pound barrel. The sound of cracked gears and torn metal hitting the ground reverberated, along with distinctively Dwarven curses. The gearforged put a metal hand to his ruined side, and immediately the jagged pieces of broken steel were reforged, coming back together until his steel frame was as good as new.
”This will not do.” Rilkus muttered, as he considered just falling overboard. He wondered if it would be safer!
Wind and wave slam against Dacknar like an angry lover.
But like the said lover, he stand firm and rolls with each angry lashing of the sea. His hand finds a solid grip and he bends down to get hold of the rope that the sailor is holding onto.
Calling out to the Minotaur, "Hey big fella....I mean lass, can ye give a hand on this rope by any chance?"
Grabbing hold of the rope, Dacknar tries to pull the sailor to safety.
"Hold on lad, this is no weather to go swimming in."
As the barrels come crashing down, tiberius glances around calmly before seeing an opening. He takes to calm steps to the side and watches as the barrel passes merely 2 inches away from hitting him.
okay, so that was a little closer than I thought.
He glances around the below deck room, the torch light flickering off his scales giving the silvery red a slight golden hue. His eyes, one a deep, crystal blue, the other a fluorescent flame red scour over the condition of the others.
perhaps the rest of the items here should be checked so that does not happen again? Someone strong need to grab those barrels so others can strap them back down. Another should make rounds to double check all the strapping for the heavier items. It would not do to have more items thrown our way.
He glances upwards, towards the sound of thunder. A twinkle in his blue eye. this may prove interesting yet.
With a prayer to Bastet, N'Dateh comes alive and moves like a cat as the very ship meant to protect them seems to be turning against them.
She bellows, adding her voice to Tiberius's: "He's right! Secure everything in place that you can find, and keep that stove under control, whatever that could mean, lest this ship kills us even before it goes down!"
She then herself looks at anything that should could be stowed and secured.
"Strong boys should take care of those barrels first! We need strong arms to secure them back. Hurry before they crush all of us!" she adds, her voice like a lion's.
Beordt nods and moves to help with the barrels.
To Sorala, she replies: "Seems like sound advice, not lashing yourself, and not just for storms, I gather, yes? Do you know much of seafaring? I'm not sure what to make of this storm, between those who would see the gods' favors in it and the captain offering grog, I remain unclear, except my stomach, which is quite clear about the meaning of all this..." and she gives the woman a faint smile, wondering if she too hails from Nuria Natal.
Her Oba had many spies, and Sorala had avoided the woman named N'Dateh so far, as a precaution, always finding another part of the ship to be at when the woman was around. Now, however, bound together in this small kitchen, this was impossible. Her accent and clothing marked her more as a cousin, rather than sister, to use the parlance of the Kush when it came to those from nearby lands, those that looked alike.
"Cousin, there's few large ships where I'm from. To be stuck in a flimsy wooden box atop a tempest like this, it is madness." That same, small flat smile crosses her lips again. "Though, when it is calmer, I quite like it. I--"
The barrels break free at that moment, interrupting Sorala, and worse, clipping her as they roll by, smashing the Iron Squire in the back of her leg before bowling down the cabin. Grunting in pain, Sorala drops to her knee, eyes watering. Gritting her teeth, she hears shouted orders, and looks for dangerous objects to secure, the pain and tears clouding her vision.
Unsurprisingly, the rat quickly scurries around the crashing barrels, more surprising though is the fact that the cursing that come from his mouth is in infernal.
"What would you have us do if we are small then, eh? I cannot lift like the rest of you."
The storm blows and sea churns with a mighty fury. Dacknar helps pull the sailor to safety. But no sooner does he get the bedraggled Nurian back aboard and on his feet than he spots LilRothic prone and in immediate danger of sliding overboard. Fortunately the minotaur's precarious position is helped as the ship begins to right itself and rolls back toward port.
Seeing the passenger in a position he was just in, the sailor tosses the minotaur the safety line he was just using.
"Grab on!" He shouts tossing toward LilRothic.
Meanwhile the Rose drops into another trough between the waves, the ships bow dipping deep. A nasty burst of wind whips the ship at the same moment. There's a loud crack and suddenly the top portion of the foremast comes crashing down, snapping lines and sending sailors scrambling and leaping for safety. Two are knocked overboard, their screams quickly lost in the storms overwhelming cacophony.
"Cut the lines! Clear the break afore it drags us under!" Shouts the captain as he and the helmsman continue to try and hold the Rose's big wheel as on course as possible. Within moments of the shouted order, Coombs and several sailors are busy with axes chopping at ropes to try and clear the broken mast.
One of the barrels crashes against the far wall and burst open splashing water everywhere. The second continues to roll dangerously about the galley along with Hap's pots, pans and crockery knocked free by big Beordt. As it creates chaos in the galley the barrel come closest to Tiberious and Beordt but the two manage to dodge away from the heavy barrel before it can cause any real harm.
N'Dateh looks around the galley, first for someone to bless with her magic and then to see what other danger might be lurking.
The gearforged dutifully moved to restrain the barrel. His massive steel frame was perfect for the job, and he wasn’t willing to stand idly by while the wayward barrel harmed more people. Given his weight and strength, it wasn’t all that difficult to stop it from moving once he had his arms around it. ”Help me restrain this.” He intoned for anyone willing to assist.
"Forget what I said!"[b] shouts N'Dateh. [b]"Look! The hull is giving! I can see water coming through. This should be our priority! Let's get this fixed first!!!"
She will invoke the gods to help whoever comes forward first to help with the repairs. She would favour a member of the crew or one of the Northlanders, as they seem to know more about boats.
"Hold on lass, well get ye back here." As Dacknar pulls on the rope to keep the minotaur from sliding over board.
Dacknar spits out some water, as he still tries to get the taste of bile from his sickness out of his mouth.
Glancing around to see how the others are fairing in this storm.
But as he looks up a wave washes over, smacking his face and the water temporarily blinds him to what is going on around him.
Toki laughs as he is thrown about, Tor is rowdy today, boys!
Lil watches the world go topsy turvy about her. Oh no! Not again! Then just before she washes over the edge, the ship decides to toss her about a bit, teasing her with upcoming disaster, and tilts her back the other way. Through her spinning sliding point of view, she sees her puking mate at the rail, pull her sliding mate sailor back to his feet. The sailor then tosses a line to her somehow settling about her horns despite the raging wind, and tossing deck.
STR Check.
And with a heave of her mighty arms she grabs onto this last chance, and pulls herself to her feet. Finally able to get her bearings she nods her thanks to both the soaked sailor and the quick thinking elf as she sees that he had looped the rope around a belaying pin, and helped her pull herself erect.
The then quickly scans the deck to access the situation.
Perception
She bellows out a warning, as she sees the others trying to cut away the mast. Charging forward she attempts to point out the danger. She then looks for a way to help free the halfling before a wave carries him overboard along with the cut away rigging.
"Toki." The gearforged intoned. "Break this barrel or plug the gap. Do something more useful than laughing." His voice, devoid of his accent and with an unnatural inflection, was difficult to read.
Beordt moves to the spot N'Dateh pointed out where the ship was starting to leak he noted one of the boards warping in. He ripped a bit of his own buckskin clothing off laid it in behind the board he roared in a fit of frustration a sad angry sound all his strength and no foe to spend it on. With flat wet slap he struck the loose board wedging it back in place with the patch squeezing in place.
Of course! Toki scrambles to his feet, trying to focus enough to keep it.
Feeling his sea legs kick back in, Toki sets his cup back on the table and move to help, looking for hammer and nails to secure the patch...
Tiberius looks around, wary for signs of other trouble before following behind beordt. When he attempts to fix the planking, tiberius will cast mending on it as well. Hopefully sealing it again.
That is handy magicks, Toki exclaims.
Shaking her head to clear the pain, Sorala sprints to her bunk. Stowed there was her pack, with a sundry of potentially useful items within or attached to it. If nothing else, her rope could be used to lash the rogue barrel in place. As she runs, the Iron Squire scans the ship, looking for tools and other items that may be of use...
"Upstairs! Yes, I may be more helpful out of the way, and I can tell them what is going on! So sorry friends!" The rat runs to the deck, tying a rope to an arrow as he runs.
"STOP!" Mr. Coombs hollers just as Dur pops his head above deck after LilRothic warns about the dazed halfling trapped and tangled in the wreckage of the broken foremast. The sailors stop chopping their way through the mess long enough for another of the sailors to point out the halfling through the pummeling rain.
"I CAN'T STOP IT! HOLD ON!" Booms Malia's voice across the deck. Her magic amplifying the shout so it can be heard even above the storm. The warning is just soon enough to allow everyone to grab the nearest hand hold before another wave overwhelms her arcane defenses. With a wood splintering crash the huge waves washes across the foredeck shifting the wreckage of the mast precariously close to the open sea and straining the remaining ropes and rigging even further.
"Arrrgh! Help me! My leg is broke and my arm pinned. Ahhhh!!!" Shouts the spluttering hobbit who's still trapped.
"Someone try to cut him free but be quick about it! We've not much time." Coombs shouts again barely heard above the noise of wind and sea. His eyes filled with concern and fright and the dangerous wreckage.
Leaving the roving barrel to Rilkus, Beordt focuses his efforts on the growing leak. With some quick thinking and the focused strength of a bear trapped in a tiny wooden box on a churning sea, Beordt stuffs the leak and manages to shift the rib back into place well enough to seal and stop the immediate leak.
Tiberius follows up the bearfolk's effort with a little draconic magic and the patch is as good as if the [Delightful Rose[/i] was just setting sail for her maiden voyage. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the rest of the little trading carrack.
Toki manages to get back on his feet while Sorala ducks down the passage to grab her gear and look for other trouble. More muffled shouts can be heard from above which are quickly followed by a booming female voice.
"I CAN'T STOP IT! HOLD ON!" Hap and Twotoe's look at each other frantically and immediately grab the nearest nailed down bench. As Toki begins to nail down the first rope to secure the barrel, the ship shudders and groans again as a wave crashes somewhere toward the bow. Once again pots tumble and Rilkus struggles to keep the barrel under control.
Sorala dashes down the narrow corridor to where the passenger hammocks hang. As she picks up her pack she hears a shout from cargo hold. Moments later a drenched, panicked sailor comes running up.
"She's taking on water below! Got to tell the captain!"
Moments later there's a booming shout from up on deck.
"I CAN'T STOP IT! HOLD ON!" "
There's barely time for Sorala and the sailor to brace themselves in the passage when a terrible boom and shudder ripples through the ship.
"Oh gods!" Shouts the sailor before running toward the hatch leading topside. "We're all gonna die."
"Hold on little one, help is coming."
Dacknar, having many years boarding other ships in the heat of battle sees a path to get to the halfling. And with some vaulting over some debris on the deck Dacknar lands next to the wounded sailor, with a dagger in hand he starts to cut the halfling loose.
Making short work of the the restraints, Dacknar heaves the hafling over his shoulder and quickly makes his way to safety. Just as he is clear, Dacknar starts to yell
Dacknar carefully lays the ignored halfling down and checks his wounds.
Calling out to another sailor "Ohy, this man is in bad shape are there any potions of healing on board?"
The gearforged stood, immovable, as the sea churned. He retained his grip on the barrel, all the while looking around at the frightened people below deck. It was sad, he reflected, on how they were all almost certainly going to die. And all he could do to help was hold a barrel.
Tiberius glances to Toki. Perhaps to you, it is a rather simple, if useful ability.
he glances up towards the deck at the shouts.
Perhaps we should go to aid them.
N'Dateh braces against the impact, forewarned by the shout above, and manages to keep her feet underneath her. Looking around, she tries to make sense of the situation.
To Tiberius, she replies: "Perhaps some of us should, but the hull is what keeps us above water, if I'm not mistaken, so that matters just as much! Let's keep an eye on those leaks and anything that can come flying or rolling through the skin of us!"
Something booms, the ship convulses, and fear crawls up Sorala's back, while panic rises in her throat. Grabbing her pack, the Iron Squire considers following the sailor up the hatch, before shaking off the thought. Slinging her pack over her shoulder, Sorala sprints back to the galley, pausing at the doorway to take in the chaos.