After a long journey your ship has anchored on the rowdy shores of Saltmarsh, the thick veil of night is already covering the small fishing town. As dusk slowly fades on the horizon, you and other weary travelers set foot on the ground. From the sparse information you have gleaned during the cruise, most of them are traders from countries far away. The old fishing port has been injected by the ruling king with renewed energy, and has seen an influx of ambitious minds seeking wealth or simply a safe haven to begin life anew. You are one of them.
You are taken aback by the crowd waiting for you at the pier. Their words are mingled in a cacophony of insults and threats. They are blocking your way, although you might be able to fend for yourself, your skills won't match the overwhelming number and animosity of what looks like a mob of angry sailors and townspeople.
As you contemplate your options, you are pushed by the armed crew, setting position in front of the crowd. You see wizards preparing their spells, clerics blessing the soldiers in heavy armor, and you realize you are about to witness a bloodbath. Not intimidated in the least, some courageous rioter steps forward, and yell with a thick regional accent you have never heard before: "Bet' dead now then starve later me say" as he spits his last word on the ground a cheer erupts from the crowd. A powerful voice comes from the back, and a bulky iron clad officier steps out "Disband or suffer the consequences ! By decree of the king these passengers are free to enter the town, I will not allow any of them to be harmed. I won't hesitate to order the full might of my men to be unleashed on you !". A hail of stones and abuse is hurled towards you and stopped by a wall of shields. "We won't be coerced by force, this is our livelihood, our home and our people, we won't back down, we won't let outsiders dictate our future !" Yells a woman in the crowd, followed by a thunderous applause. "Stand your ground or face my wrath !" a sturdy figure shouts suddenly, making its way through the mob. As the figure finally crosses the crowd, you see a slander and tall woman with eyes ablaze with anger. "Are your duties to slaughter innocents now ?! Your oath is to protect them, and I will make sure that Eliander knows about your eagerness to spill blood", she turns towards the crowd and hails them: "Go back to your homes, enjoy your hearth and your relatives, I promise you that your voices won't stay unheard." The mob seems to take those words at heart and slowly retreats further into the docks. The way is now open for you to start exploring the city.
Follow up with a presentation of your character as they leave the boat. Why have they left for Saltmarsh ? What are they expecting of that isolated community ? What is their goal ?
Six characters will be selected for the campaign based on their roleplaying and writing skills displayed in their replies. The campaign will start as soon as all players are gathered and ready to play.
Ragweed hustles forward through the throng of people toward the plank leading down off the boat to the shores of Saltmarsh. Eager as he is to get off the rocking boat and brimming with excitement about his future prospects, the young dark-haired gnome hardly pays any mind as his small and ragged stature is pushed here and about by the jostling and unheeding crowd. Adjusting his cap and pulling his threadbare leathers more firmly over his meager possessions, it isn't until Ragweed squeezes forward through the throng that he catches a glimpse of the rabble of protestors through the legs of another passenger. His green eyes narrow; his brow, sun-weathered beyond his years, furrows. He shrugs and is about to sneak forward unassumingly into the crowd when the armed crew begins to get in position, and Ragweed's concern and curiosity turns to fear as he realizes just what he's put himself into the middle of. In alarm, the gnome darts confusedly through the legs of the wizards clerics and fighters, trying to move laterally away from the clash as the mood turns increasingly violent. A rock, thrown by the protestors and skirting under a soldier's shield, strikes Ragweed on the side of the knee and he stumbles to the ground. Panicking, surrounded by chaos on all sides and teetering on a razor's edge between fight or flight, he is just about to withdraw his blade when the mob stills suddenly. He kneels on all fours panting, eyes wide and limbs shaking, until the crowd begins to disperse. Immensely relieved but full to bursting with questions about what just happened, the gnome stands and brushes off his tattered clothes, looking around and smiling sheepishly at the remaining people on the dock.
Emmeril, AKA "Ragweed", is an orphaned forest gnome from a metropolis to the south. Born in the forests on the outskirts, and orphaned at a young age by an attack on his arboreal village that he only vaguely remembers, Emmeril found himself stuck on the streets of the sprawling city after wandering in looking for food. Given the nickname Ragweed for his appearance and tenacity by annoyed shopkeepers, the gnome survived the best way he could: sneaking and stealing, ever-longing for a more dignified life and burning with a vibrant curiosity about the world around him. Saving up what little coin he could, Ragweed caught the cheapest passage far away that he could find, a boat to the fishing town of Saltmarsh. Looking for any opportunity to escape the means of his life on the streets and devouring any and all tales of the recently royally revitalized town he could from the dockworkers of his hometown, Ragweed boarded the boat for the first leg of his journey, full of excitement and trepidation.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
During the voyage the crew came upon a single young female swimming in the ocean. To their surprise she was a Trition, she explained her name was Feloren. Her father a nobleman, he had sent her to be an ambassador to the surface world. For those few days she wrote everything in a journal given to her by the crew. She couldn't wait to see land, but once they docked she couldn't help but feel fear. The many angered faces; she didn't consider that she was a foreigner in a distant land, her home miles away. If something happened to her who would tell her family, she was no stranger to combat but she couldn't help but feel that way. As the crowd finally disperse, she let out a sigh of relief. It was going to be long and hard road a head of her but, with that woman's help maybe she can bridge a relation to home and the surface world.
Feloren as a young Triton girl was always fascinated by the tales of the surface world. Instead of dresses and corals she instead took up the sword. She trained in hopes of one day leaving her home. Her father a nobleman and a general in the Triton army, always wanted her to stay home and get married. But when he witness Feloren kill a shark in single ritual combat he knew she was meant for greater things. With permission form their king, Her father had given Feloren the chance she so desperately wanted, to see the surface world as an ambassador and knight of the Triton army.
Zebedee Dandolo quickly follows the crowd as they all jostle for position to reach the plank and get off the boat. For the last week he's been living in cramped quarters on the ship, sharing the room with seven other lads who all are hoping to make it rich in the Saltmarsh. Zeb jst shook his head at the thoughts of making money, but he listened to their stories, their dreams, and their fears and jotted them down in his small leather-bound notebook where he keeps all his notes for future songs, stories, and poems. He ended up liking the lads and they exchanges information in case they ran into one another during their times in the Saltmarsh.
He was pushed and shoved by the taller humans and elves as he made his way down the plank. His backpack, with his lute attached to it, is as tall as him, makes the halfling stand out amongst the crowd. A few times he was pushed hard enough to almost lose his balance, but fear of breaking his lute kept him upright. Zeb pushed his way through until he reached the grounds when all of the sudden he and the rest of the travelers were pushed back by the angry crowd. Unable to see what was going on he tried his hardest to listen as the crowds yelled at the soldier's and their warnings. Caught between the two groups, Zeb tried to find safety, as he feared not just for his lute this time, but for his own neck as well.
His fear was subsided by the woman's voice along with her clarity. As the crowd disperses Zeb wanders over where some of the others from the boat have gathered. "I thought this was supposed to a peaceful fishing community. I was plannin' on using this time to write me great epic poem. Anyone here could use drink?" he says to no one in particular.
Night watches the others from a corner of the deck as they depart before finally slinking off himself. The tabaxi looks like he has seen better days, but in reality, he always looks like a ragged alley cat who has had to fight every step of the way for everything he's got. Rumpled fur and torn and nicked ears, broken whiskers and mismatched eyes don't help him garner any friends. Perched atop his head is what appears to be a metal colander or strainer for some reason, which he is glad to talk about if asked. He has never felt welcome anywhere he has been. why should Saltmarsh be any different, perhaps his patron has reasons for guiding him here. As he descends the plank he watches the retreating mob and the interactions between the officer and the lady and says to no one in particular "Night thinks that is no way to make a first impression" and moves towards the woman to whom he introduces himself
"We are called Night, short for The Night Is Dark and Full of Terrors" and he will incline his head in a slight bow to her "We have come here at the behest of our Patron, would you accept the touch of his noodley appendage?"
As the tense proto-riot begins to play out at the end of the pier, Tyrell Whitestone exhales deeply in an attempt to get out from under the rush of a wave of memory washing over him. A lifetime of campaigning under the multi-eyed banner of Savras had left Tyrell scarred. Unlike most of his fellows, who had lost limbs and many even their lives, he had lost a piece of himself. These emotional torrents came in varying severity; while they had become fewer in number over hist past year of travel, scenes like the one playing out before him, were more than enough. His clerical magics could heal the physical ailments he had suffered, but he had discovered only time could assuage the mental ones.
“Move!!” he hears, as a woman carrying two children pushes past him in an attempt to get through the crowd. Collecting himself, he runs his hands over his face in an attempt to fully bring himself back to the present and begins walking down the pier with the other folk who had made the treacherous voyage
Tyrell, was neither a tall man, nor a short one - standing roughly 180 centimeters tall with grey flecks just starting to cut into his brown hair. As he walked, there was a slight glint in the dark yellowish-orange armor with the multi-eyed sigils of Savras on the shoulders and a similarly emblazoned symbol carved into the shield adorning his back. Placing his right hand on the pommel of his mace Tyrell looked around, unsure of what awaited him in this new far flung land.
Through delivery of a uniquely shaped acorn, to assistance with a man who hasn't paid; leading to a boat loaded with far travelers, and anxious merchants ready to peddle their wares. Aze'liva (As - zeh liva)finds himself among them ready to complete a delivery only smugglers would dare doing. Hes always been known to take the more uniquely approached requests, as its the tales of impossible feats that he cherishes about himself. A chipper tiefling at 32 yrs old, 5' 9" in height, broad build. Well dressed, and clean for what clean is considered on a long voyage. Has taken a job to deliver this supposed "key" shaped like a hexagon about 6"w x 6"h x 3"d. The tricky part was acquiring the key, once held in a collectors display box; simply hiring a reliable female talent, and replacing the butler and hiring a new one and watching it all go according to plan and bam!, key in hand. Now he's trying to track the buyer who is known as the Hermit. Saltmarsh was all the contact instructions had, and every smuggler knows thats the final test.
Finally arriving what felt much longer then the crew mates declared it'd be, I set eyes upon the rallying crowd below; as i have heard they would not be to welcoming, i grab my duffel bag and throw it over my left shoulder, as i do im bumped by others and get the strap caught to my left horn, i bow my head down to undo it and properly position the bag. Well stepping onto the pier i take a glance at the water as i allow the crowd to pull me onward, seeing myself a dual horned ash-grey tiefling, wearing a midnight blue tinted vest with matching boots, with 3 piercings in the left ear, and blueish-silver eyes. "Onward Aze'liva" i announce to myself as i see the tension grow and quickly disperse allowing a clearing for us strangers to spread our curiosities further. I feel the back of my duffel bag to ensure i can sense a hexagon-like shape within, as my job here won't be done till im paid.
Emmeril, Feloren, Tyrell, Yngvild and Zebedee only:
A washed out moon dimly shines through a starless, cloudy sky, barely illuminating the passengers as they cautiously move forward, exchanging worried glances without uttering a single sound. The tides gently dabbing the rocky pier offer a sharp contrast to the commotion that is still lingering on everyone’s mind. As you reach what seems like a town square, you see the rest of the travelers spreading out in the gaping void of the night, only the echoes of their feet hitting the cobblestone remind you of the physicality of that empty space. Howling gusts of wind soon fill the plaza, whistling through every crevice, in between the buildings and through the streets bathed in total darkness. Your body shudders as the streams of cold air chills any part of uncovered skin.
Sudden movements flicker in your peripheral vision, startled, your muscles and mind stiffen with apprehension. The night quickly becomes oppressive, like a heavy blanket weighting over your senses. The wind stops blowing, like a broken bagpipe, you hear and feel a few drops of rain exponentially increasing. A flash of light stabs the sky like a knife through flesh. Two human Bandit are flanking you, a human Bandit Captain is right in front of you. The deafening sound of thunder roars across the town and the sea, while the firmament is relentlessly torn by lightning.
Initiative:
Enemies:
Leftmost bandit(1): 7
Rightmost bandit(2): 14
Bandit Captain: 8
Highest score: 14
Min/max difference: 7
Highest - Min/max difference = 7
Allies:
Emmeril: 15
Feloren: 7
Tyrell: 3
Yngvild: 14
Zebedee: 16
Highest score: 16
Min/max difference: 13
Highest - Min/max difference = 3
Order of play:
Rightmost Bandit
Bandit Captain
Leftmost Bandit
Zebedee
Emeril
Yngvild
Feloren
Tyrell
The rightmost Bandit lunges towards Yngvild, slashing in her direction with his scimitar ( 18 ), hitting her for 6 health points.
The Bandit Captain throws a dagger at Tyrell ( 12 ) completely missing the mark 6, tries his luck again ( 24 ) this time successfully piercing Tyrell's flank, inflicting 6 damage.
The leftmost Bandit rushes towards Feloren, using his momentum to slash with his full might ( 12 ), injuring Feloren for 4 Hit Points.
The Night is dark and full of terrors only:
The woman looks at you with a puzzled expression for a brief moment, until it flickers back to a stern frown, and her piercing gaze seem to gauge your intent. “No I don’t,” she responds dryly, “nothing personal, but your presence is someone else’s responsibility, mainly the crown and it’s royal servants. Judging by your appearance, I doubt that you have any official business with me, or any informal one that is of any interest to me for that matter. Now I’ll let you go on your merry way, as you have no doubt a handful of opportunities to seize.” Turning around, her back as the only parting gesture, she continues the conversation with the iron clad officer.
As the strong winds weaken a sudden strike of lightning reveals a group of people a few dozens of yards away. For some reasons they seem to face another group, smaller, that is blocking their path.
Night nods his head at the woman and says "Perhaps another time then, we are sorry to bother you." and he will walk towards the two groups of people (does he recognize any of them?)
(OOC - also is this how you'd prefer individual interactions are posted? if they are separate from the rest of the group?)
Ragweed grins at the fellow diminutive passenger, glancing up at the lute strung over his back. "Haha, yep yep, I could go fer a drink what's not filled with brine,"he squeaks out, looking around at the other passengers who haven't simply moved on into the port town. He shies back slightly from the imposingly tall woman with the impeccably maintained gear, his eyes wandering and pausing, first with an odd mixture of reverence and wariness at the holy-garbed man, then with unbridled and perhaps impolite curiosity at the aquatic woman, before resting with an eyebrow cocked on the colandered cat-man off talking to an important looking woman.
Lightning streaks across the sky as the motley group makes their way through the square. "Errgh..."the gnome snarls in chagrin at the flash of light illuminates just more of the same, everywhere he goes...trouble. He readies himself for combat, reaching behind his back under his cloak towards his weathered and trusty shortbow as his eyes dart wildly around the square looking for any and all potential egress.
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Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Zeb's right hand quickly goes to the hilt of his longsword that's sheathed in its scabbard on his belt. How Zeb manages to not have the sheath longsword drag behind him is a feat unto itself. Squinting through the rain, Zeb looks up at the Captain and then the other Bandits and says, "I'm guessing you're not part of the welcoming committee?" He then unsheathes his longsword and readies to attack the closest Bandit with the swing of his blade.
What to do...what to do..!Ragweed starts out of his momentary indecision as he sees a few of his new companions weather blows from the ruffians, the halfling swinging wide a longsword nearly as long as he is tall. Taking advantage of the bandit's newfound engagement, Ragweed darts back, taking careful aim at the distracted vagabond, easily aiming over the bard's head.
Shortbow (sneak attack): Attack: 13 Damage: 6
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Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
As the assailant strikes Feloren, luckily her chainmail takes most of the damage. She pushes him back and draws her sword with two hands and strike diagonally from his neck to his hip.
Longsword: 10
Damage: 4
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Felix Windfall (Human-V Lv.7 Rogue) killed in ToA,Vallan Houndstrider (Halfling Ghostwise Lv.1 Fighter) in DiA
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Tyrell walks forward in the brisk evening air and feels a chill on the small of his neck. Sadly, this omen from Savras is not enough. With a crack the bandit captain is upon him. Deftly moving his shield into the way of the first attack helps him but leaves him open to the second. Arrrgh he cries out grimacing in pain. Looking forward he raises his mace and takes a swing at Bandit in front of him Attack: 12 Damage: 8
Raising his hand, he casts healing word on himself, healing for 8
He then looks Yngvild and yells Hold on - I will provide you aid in just a moment!
While Yngvild is recovering from the blow, her assailant ostentatiously ravels in her display of pain. "You like the kiss of my blade ?" he chuckles. Zeb's rapid swing cuts his laughter short, tearing his leather armor without hurting him. Reeling from the unexpected attack, Ragweed's carefully aimed arrow misses by an inch, but prevents him from regaining balance. At that moment, Yngvild strikes with her blade swiftly, slicing him belly up. The crooked, unsteady silhouette of the bandit, seems ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, in what seems like an act of ultimate desperation, the bandit disengages and flees as far as he can (30ft) in the opposite direction.
As Tyrell heads toward Yngvild, the bandit captain charges him with the strength of a battering ram: "If you live long enough, pipsqueak". The sharp edge of his scimitar meets Tyrell's sturdy chain mail, hitting him only once in the shoulder ( 16 , 7 ), while his dagger completely fails to pierce through the mail ( 24 ). As he steps back to avoid keeling over, he realizes that he didn't even graze him ( 9 ).
Meanwhile, Feloren, unfazed by her foe, pushes him back and counter attacks, but he promptly finds his footing, rebuff her attempt and reaches forward to try to grapple her ( 16 ).
Night only:
You start hearing a commotion, increasing in intensity as you move closer. As you arrive at the scene, a group of travelers are defending against two bandit and a bandit captain. A human, a gnome and a halfling are fending off a bandit on the right. A triton is in a stalemate with a bandit on the left. And a human is repelling the bandit captain's attacks in the center.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Zeb's eye catches the bandit as he retreats from Yngvild's scimitar and for a moment thinks about chasing after, but Zeb then turns his attention at the bandit trying to grapple Feloren and tries to run the bandit through with his longsword.
Longsword: Attack: 10 Damage: 6
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Ragweed hustles forward through the throng of people toward the plank leading down off the boat to the shores of Saltmarsh. Eager as he is to get off the rocking boat and brimming with excitement about his future prospects, the young dark-haired gnome hardly pays any mind as his small and ragged stature is pushed here and about by the jostling and unheeding crowd. Adjusting his cap and pulling his threadbare leathers more firmly over his meager possessions, it isn't until Ragweed squeezes forward through the throng that he catches a glimpse of the rabble of protestors through the legs of another passenger. His green eyes narrow; his brow, sun-weathered beyond his years, furrows. He shrugs and is about to sneak forward unassumingly into the crowd when the armed crew begins to get in position, and Ragweed's concern and curiosity turns to fear as he realizes just what he's put himself into the middle of. In alarm, the gnome darts confusedly through the legs of the wizards clerics and fighters, trying to move laterally away from the clash as the mood turns increasingly violent. A rock, thrown by the protestors and skirting under a soldier's shield, strikes Ragweed on the side of the knee and he stumbles to the ground. Panicking, surrounded by chaos on all sides and teetering on a razor's edge between fight or flight, he is just about to withdraw his blade when the mob stills suddenly. He kneels on all fours panting, eyes wide and limbs shaking, until the crowd begins to disperse. Immensely relieved but full to bursting with questions about what just happened, the gnome stands and brushes off his tattered clothes, looking around and smiling sheepishly at the remaining people on the dock.
Emmeril, AKA "Ragweed", is an orphaned forest gnome from a metropolis to the south. Born in the forests on the outskirts, and orphaned at a young age by an attack on his arboreal village that he only vaguely remembers, Emmeril found himself stuck on the streets of the sprawling city after wandering in looking for food. Given the nickname Ragweed for his appearance and tenacity by annoyed shopkeepers, the gnome survived the best way he could: sneaking and stealing, ever-longing for a more dignified life and burning with a vibrant curiosity about the world around him. Saving up what little coin he could, Ragweed caught the cheapest passage far away that he could find, a boat to the fishing town of Saltmarsh. Looking for any opportunity to escape the means of his life on the streets and devouring any and all tales of the recently royally revitalized town he could from the dockworkers of his hometown, Ragweed boarded the boat for the first leg of his journey, full of excitement and trepidation.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
During the voyage the crew came upon a single young female swimming in the ocean. To their surprise she was a Trition, she explained her name was Feloren. Her father a nobleman, he had sent her to be an ambassador to the surface world. For those few days she wrote everything in a journal given to her by the crew. She couldn't wait to see land, but once they docked she couldn't help but feel fear. The many angered faces; she didn't consider that she was a foreigner in a distant land, her home miles away. If something happened to her who would tell her family, she was no stranger to combat but she couldn't help but feel that way. As the crowd finally disperse, she let out a sigh of relief. It was going to be long and hard road a head of her but, with that woman's help maybe she can bridge a relation to home and the surface world.
Feloren as a young Triton girl was always fascinated by the tales of the surface world. Instead of dresses and corals she instead took up the sword. She trained in hopes of one day leaving her home. Her father a nobleman and a general in the Triton army, always wanted her to stay home and get married. But when he witness Feloren kill a shark in single ritual combat he knew she was meant for greater things. With permission form their king, Her father had given Feloren the chance she so desperately wanted, to see the surface world as an ambassador and knight of the Triton army.
Felix Windfall(Human-V Lv.7 Rogue) killed in ToA, Vallan Houndstrider (Halfling Ghostwise Lv.1 Fighter) in DiAZebedee Dandolo quickly follows the crowd as they all jostle for position to reach the plank and get off the boat. For the last week he's been living in cramped quarters on the ship, sharing the room with seven other lads who all are hoping to make it rich in the Saltmarsh. Zeb jst shook his head at the thoughts of making money, but he listened to their stories, their dreams, and their fears and jotted them down in his small leather-bound notebook where he keeps all his notes for future songs, stories, and poems. He ended up liking the lads and they exchanges information in case they ran into one another during their times in the Saltmarsh.
He was pushed and shoved by the taller humans and elves as he made his way down the plank. His backpack, with his lute attached to it, is as tall as him, makes the halfling stand out amongst the crowd. A few times he was pushed hard enough to almost lose his balance, but fear of breaking his lute kept him upright. Zeb pushed his way through until he reached the grounds when all of the sudden he and the rest of the travelers were pushed back by the angry crowd. Unable to see what was going on he tried his hardest to listen as the crowds yelled at the soldier's and their warnings. Caught between the two groups, Zeb tried to find safety, as he feared not just for his lute this time, but for his own neck as well.
His fear was subsided by the woman's voice along with her clarity. As the crowd disperses Zeb wanders over where some of the others from the boat have gathered. "I thought this was supposed to a peaceful fishing community. I was plannin' on using this time to write me great epic poem. Anyone here could use drink?" he says to no one in particular.
Night watches the others from a corner of the deck as they depart before finally slinking off himself. The tabaxi looks like he has seen better days, but in reality, he always looks like a ragged alley cat who has had to fight every step of the way for everything he's got. Rumpled fur and torn and nicked ears, broken whiskers and mismatched eyes don't help him garner any friends. Perched atop his head is what appears to be a metal colander or strainer for some reason, which he is glad to talk about if asked. He has never felt welcome anywhere he has been. why should Saltmarsh be any different, perhaps his patron has reasons for guiding him here. As he descends the plank he watches the retreating mob and the interactions between the officer and the lady and says to no one in particular "Night thinks that is no way to make a first impression" and moves towards the woman to whom he introduces himself
"We are called Night, short for The Night Is Dark and Full of Terrors" and he will incline his head in a slight bow to her "We have come here at the behest of our Patron, would you accept the touch of his noodley appendage?"
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
As the tense proto-riot begins to play out at the end of the pier, Tyrell Whitestone exhales deeply in an attempt to get out from under the rush of a wave of memory washing over him. A lifetime of campaigning under the multi-eyed banner of Savras had left Tyrell scarred. Unlike most of his fellows, who had lost limbs and many even their lives, he had lost a piece of himself. These emotional torrents came in varying severity; while they had become fewer in number over hist past year of travel, scenes like the one playing out before him, were more than enough. His clerical magics could heal the physical ailments he had suffered, but he had discovered only time could assuage the mental ones.
“Move!!” he hears, as a woman carrying two children pushes past him in an attempt to get through the crowd. Collecting himself, he runs his hands over his face in an attempt to fully bring himself back to the present and begins walking down the pier with the other folk who had made the treacherous voyage
Tyrell, was neither a tall man, nor a short one - standing roughly 180 centimeters tall with grey flecks just starting to cut into his brown hair. As he walked, there was a slight glint in the dark yellowish-orange armor with the multi-eyed sigils of Savras on the shoulders and a similarly emblazoned symbol carved into the shield adorning his back. Placing his right hand on the pommel of his mace Tyrell looked around, unsure of what awaited him in this new far flung land.
Through delivery of a uniquely shaped acorn, to assistance with a man who hasn't paid; leading to a boat loaded with far travelers, and anxious merchants ready to peddle their wares. Aze'liva (As - zeh liva) finds himself among them ready to complete a delivery only smugglers would dare doing. Hes always been known to take the more uniquely approached requests, as its the tales of impossible feats that he cherishes about himself. A chipper tiefling at 32 yrs old, 5' 9" in height, broad build. Well dressed, and clean for what clean is considered on a long voyage. Has taken a job to deliver this supposed "key" shaped like a hexagon about 6"w x 6"h x 3"d. The tricky part was acquiring the key, once held in a collectors display box; simply hiring a reliable female talent, and replacing the butler and hiring a new one and watching it all go according to plan and bam!, key in hand. Now he's trying to track the buyer who is known as the Hermit. Saltmarsh was all the contact instructions had, and every smuggler knows thats the final test.
Finally arriving what felt much longer then the crew mates declared it'd be, I set eyes upon the rallying crowd below; as i have heard they would not be to welcoming, i grab my duffel bag and throw it over my left shoulder, as i do im bumped by others and get the strap caught to my left horn, i bow my head down to undo it and properly position the bag. Well stepping onto the pier i take a glance at the water as i allow the crowd to pull me onward, seeing myself a dual horned ash-grey tiefling, wearing a midnight blue tinted vest with matching boots, with 3 piercings in the left ear, and blueish-silver eyes. "Onward Aze'liva" i announce to myself as i see the tension grow and quickly disperse allowing a clearing for us strangers to spread our curiosities further. I feel the back of my duffel bag to ensure i can sense a hexagon-like shape within, as my job here won't be done till im paid.
Emmeril, Feloren, Tyrell, Yngvild and Zebedee only:
A washed out moon dimly shines through a starless, cloudy sky, barely illuminating the passengers as they cautiously move forward, exchanging worried glances without uttering a single sound. The tides gently dabbing the rocky pier offer a sharp contrast to the commotion that is still lingering on everyone’s mind. As you reach what seems like a town square, you see the rest of the travelers spreading out in the gaping void of the night, only the echoes of their feet hitting the cobblestone remind you of the physicality of that empty space. Howling gusts of wind soon fill the plaza, whistling through every crevice, in between the buildings and through the streets bathed in total darkness. Your body shudders as the streams of cold air chills any part of uncovered skin.
Sudden movements flicker in your peripheral vision, startled, your muscles and mind stiffen with apprehension. The night quickly becomes oppressive, like a heavy blanket weighting over your senses. The wind stops blowing, like a broken bagpipe, you hear and feel a few drops of rain exponentially increasing. A flash of light stabs the sky like a knife through flesh. Two human Bandit are flanking you, a human Bandit Captain is right in front of you. The deafening sound of thunder roars across the town and the sea, while the firmament is relentlessly torn by lightning.
Initiative:
Enemies:
Leftmost bandit(1): 7
Rightmost bandit(2): 14
Bandit Captain: 8
Highest score: 14
Min/max difference: 7
Highest - Min/max difference = 7
Allies:
Emmeril: 15
Feloren: 7
Tyrell: 3
Yngvild: 14
Zebedee: 16
Highest score: 16
Min/max difference: 13
Highest - Min/max difference = 3
Order of play:
The rightmost Bandit lunges towards Yngvild, slashing in her direction with his scimitar ( 18 ), hitting her for 6 health points.
The Bandit Captain throws a dagger at Tyrell ( 12 ) completely missing the mark 6, tries his luck again ( 24 ) this time successfully piercing Tyrell's flank, inflicting 6 damage.
The leftmost Bandit rushes towards Feloren, using his momentum to slash with his full might ( 12 ), injuring Feloren for 4 Hit Points.
The Night is dark and full of terrors only:
The woman looks at you with a puzzled expression for a brief moment, until it flickers back to a stern frown, and her piercing gaze seem to gauge your intent. “No I don’t,” she responds dryly, “nothing personal, but your presence is someone else’s responsibility, mainly the crown and it’s royal servants. Judging by your appearance, I doubt that you have any official business with me, or any informal one that is of any interest to me for that matter. Now I’ll let you go on your merry way, as you have no doubt a handful of opportunities to seize.” Turning around, her back as the only parting gesture, she continues the conversation with the iron clad officer.
As the strong winds weaken a sudden strike of lightning reveals a group of people a few dozens of yards away. For some reasons they seem to face another group, smaller, that is blocking their path.
Night nods his head at the woman and says "Perhaps another time then, we are sorry to bother you." and he will walk towards the two groups of people (does he recognize any of them?)
(OOC - also is this how you'd prefer individual interactions are posted? if they are separate from the rest of the group?)
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
Ragweed grins at the fellow diminutive passenger, glancing up at the lute strung over his back. "Haha, yep yep, I could go fer a drink what's not filled with brine," he squeaks out, looking around at the other passengers who haven't simply moved on into the port town. He shies back slightly from the imposingly tall woman with the impeccably maintained gear, his eyes wandering and pausing, first with an odd mixture of reverence and wariness at the holy-garbed man, then with unbridled and perhaps impolite curiosity at the aquatic woman, before resting with an eyebrow cocked on the colandered cat-man off talking to an important looking woman.
Lightning streaks across the sky as the motley group makes their way through the square. "Errgh..." the gnome snarls in chagrin at the flash of light illuminates just more of the same, everywhere he goes...trouble. He readies himself for combat, reaching behind his back under his cloak towards his weathered and trusty shortbow as his eyes dart wildly around the square looking for any and all potential egress.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Zeb's right hand quickly goes to the hilt of his longsword that's sheathed in its scabbard on his belt. How Zeb manages to not have the sheath longsword drag behind him is a feat unto itself. Squinting through the rain, Zeb looks up at the Captain and then the other Bandits and says, "I'm guessing you're not part of the welcoming committee?" He then unsheathes his longsword and readies to attack the closest Bandit with the swing of his blade.
Longsword: Attack: 4 Damage: 7
What to do...what to do..! Ragweed starts out of his momentary indecision as he sees a few of his new companions weather blows from the ruffians, the halfling swinging wide a longsword nearly as long as he is tall. Taking advantage of the bandit's newfound engagement, Ragweed darts back, taking careful aim at the distracted vagabond, easily aiming over the bard's head.
Shortbow (sneak attack): Attack: 13 Damage: 6
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
As the assailant strikes Feloren, luckily her chainmail takes most of the damage. She pushes him back and draws her sword with two hands and strike diagonally from his neck to his hip.
Longsword: 10
Damage: 4
Felix Windfall(Human-V Lv.7 Rogue) killed in ToA, Vallan Houndstrider (Halfling Ghostwise Lv.1 Fighter) in DiATyrell walks forward in the brisk evening air and feels a chill on the small of his neck. Sadly, this omen from Savras is not enough. With a crack the bandit captain is upon him. Deftly moving his shield into the way of the first attack helps him but leaves him open to the second. Arrrgh he cries out grimacing in pain. Looking forward he raises his mace and takes a swing at Bandit in front of him Attack: 12 Damage: 8
Raising his hand, he casts healing word on himself, healing for 8
He then looks Yngvild and yells Hold on - I will provide you aid in just a moment!
Ragweed, Tyrell, Feloren, Yngvild, Zeb only:
While Yngvild is recovering from the blow, her assailant ostentatiously ravels in her display of pain. "You like the kiss of my blade ?" he chuckles. Zeb's rapid swing cuts his laughter short, tearing his leather armor without hurting him. Reeling from the unexpected attack, Ragweed's carefully aimed arrow misses by an inch, but prevents him from regaining balance. At that moment, Yngvild strikes with her blade swiftly, slicing him belly up. The crooked, unsteady silhouette of the bandit, seems ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, in what seems like an act of ultimate desperation, the bandit disengages and flees as far as he can (30ft) in the opposite direction.
As Tyrell heads toward Yngvild, the bandit captain charges him with the strength of a battering ram: "If you live long enough, pipsqueak". The sharp edge of his scimitar meets Tyrell's sturdy chain mail, hitting him only once in the shoulder ( 16 , 7 ), while his dagger completely fails to pierce through the mail ( 24 ). As he steps back to avoid keeling over, he realizes that he didn't even graze him ( 9 ).
Meanwhile, Feloren, unfazed by her foe, pushes him back and counter attacks, but he promptly finds his footing, rebuff her attempt and reaches forward to try to grapple her ( 16 ).
Night only:
You start hearing a commotion, increasing in intensity as you move closer. As you arrive at the scene, a group of travelers are defending against two bandit and a bandit captain. A human, a gnome and a halfling are fending off a bandit on the right. A triton is in a stalemate with a bandit on the left. And a human is repelling the bandit captain's attacks in the center.
Initiative: 3
Updated order of play:
Athletics: 18
"Doth, thy think thou stronger than me! I fought creatures twice thy size!"
Felix Windfall(Human-V Lv.7 Rogue) killed in ToA, Vallan Houndstrider (Halfling Ghostwise Lv.1 Fighter) in DiANight quints his eyes a bit at the commotion, straightens out his colander on his head and prepares to enter the fray!
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
Zeb's eye catches the bandit as he retreats from Yngvild's scimitar and for a moment thinks about chasing after, but Zeb then turns his attention at the bandit trying to grapple Feloren and tries to run the bandit through with his longsword.
Longsword: Attack: 10 Damage: 6