One of us can help for advantage on a check tag team a skill… I have athletics +3 maybe dwarven bowl my way through a small mob (bull rush) maybe Chandle and Octo?
OOC- The HELP action will not be useful in this situation. You are all to busy doing your own thing to assist another in that way.
Chandles athletics post can stand....
That puts you at 4/5 success and 2/3 failures. Hmm, how will the next attempt go, and who is willing to take it?
Chandle takes the lead, sticking to the shadows and guiding her companions into the darkened alleys. With the help of Dornin, throwing up illusionary walls, doors, hay bales, a pile of rock and anything that comes to mind to try and disguise their passage. Deeper into the town they go, dashing down streets and by ways, keeping clear of the mobs of dead. When a group catches wind, Octo throws rocks and large stones to clatter on the roofs a street over.
The first couple streets were easy, but Chandle realizes the fringes of the town are less populated than the center. A glimpse of the docks, several blocks away looks even more crowded. The dead wander to a fro in large clumps of a dozen or more. As Kallith calls to her companions all clear she steps around the corner and smack into a handful of dead. Their faces turn from the shadows, their eyes the only revealing aspect as they regard the Giant woman, then turn and close. Dornin is there again, a door suddenly appearing as Chandle decides to back track a street over.
Clustered behind a shattered stack of crates, your passage has excited the town, clusters have begun to link and join growing larger as they move towards your position from all directions. Octo, secure in his previous attempts grabs a large round timber and shoves it into the street, (Hoping it will roll down the hill), it just smashes into the street with a reverberating boom.
Chandle takes things into her own hands, whispers and points a direction then charges into the widest, busiest street. Grabbing the attention of several large mobs (And hopefully others) she charges into an alley they passed earlier. A ladder still stands against the wall, easy access to the roof she practically hurtles herself upward, the rungs snapping as she goes and the ladder, shattered clatters to the ground behind her. Over the broken roofs she rejoins her companions.
The distraction helped but as she returns, Octo catching her from a three story roof, a dead turns the corner and takes a heel for its intrusion. The four of you cluster within the shadows of a sprawling building, the doors closed and the windows barred as the dead slowly close on your position from all directions.
Deep within the town, the dead swarm, searching for your group, aware of your presence. It would be just as hard to get back the way you came as it would to go forward. Chandle reminds you of the hundreds of dead lining the docks! Here, perhaps a few moments reprieve, but the dead will descend quickly once you are discovered.
Chandle
Racing across the roof tops it provides you a great view of the town and bay. The dead are converging, worrying as that is it is the three Schooners you look to with trepidation. The first Schooner (#2 with Isbiel) has already turned, oars spalshing in the water is it propels throug the 'arms' of the bay towards open water.
Schooner #1 apperas ready to turn as well, the crew scampering on board, setting the rigging and dipping the first oar in the water. A man, heard form your distance begins yelling, "PUSH, PUSH".
Schooner #3 appears to only have a couple sailors aboard, A large burutish man stands at the forerail, his foot perched as he leans over, staring intently at the town. He is watching you!
Molly cradles Nettles in her arms as the doll whispers sweet nothings into her ear, calming her upon the bleak conclusion of her mission. Outside the safety of her temporary refuge, the shades of sorrow, the undead roam freely, their silhouettes everywhere and nowhere.
Amidst the shadows, the Rhinemaidenfinds herself alone with her grief and madness, cradling a ghastly dollin her arms—a sinister figure with soulless eyes that seem to follow the living, its visage a grotesque caricature of innocence lost. This eerie totem, a patchwork of tattered fabric and stained lace, harbors eyes like black abysses set deep within a sea-green face smeared with the dark residue of forgotten playtimes. Its limbs, stiff and disjointed, are adorned with chains that speak of captivity and a silence more haunting than the grave itself.
In a feverish torrent of emotions, Molly oscillates between macabre giggling and the raw anguish of tears. Her voice, a discordant melody of the Common tongue mixed with pure gibberish, fills the air—a twisted lullaby to the inanimate confidant nestled in her embrace.
"Seewölfe schlafen tief im Meer, jetzt umschlungen von Haifischreien,"she murmurs, her eyes fixed on a closed and barred door. Suddenly, her tone shifts to anguished Common, "But only one soul lies fully awake, thinking of witches, of specters, of loss."
Her thoughts, wild and untamed, she giggles as she peeks through the cracks in the barred door into the room on the other side where her sea dogs fell one by one, torn apart by the shades of sorrow. "You promised the kaiserlichen Seehund seinen Preis, a deal is a deal! First I tauche ins Meer. Zweitens suche ich the chest!" she wails, her voice a tempest of fury and despair, challenging the silent grave beyond the door to yield its secrets. "Drittens lege ich den Haken an und die Truhe and the Seehunde do the rest. Next, the kaiserliche Seehund bids me and seine treuen Seehunde seinen Preis zu suchen. Now here I be, der Preis gewonnen but no sea dogs, oh woe is me und mein Fluch dear sweet Nettles."
The Rhinemaiden begins to sing... the verses of her songs intertwine with her demands, a jumbled symphony of words that reflect the chaos within:
"Wölfe schlafen 'midst the trees, bats, dancing im Wind. But one soul lies anxious, wach auf," she sings, her tone shifting to a sinister timbre as she regards the doll with a disturbing tenderness. "Fürchtet Hexen, monsters, and ghosts."
She clings to the grotesque figure of Nettles, her voice a crescendo of mania and melancholy as she pleads and accuses. "Für deine Puppe Polly, sleep has flown, trau dich nicht, sie tremble alone! For the Zauberer, heartless cold, bezahlt in Goldmünzen. He comes, he goes, lässt uns zurück mit nothing but grief and the echoes eines unerfüllten Versprechens."
The grave offers no reply, the doll no comfort. Molly's presence is a portrait of turmoil, her mind a labyrinth with no exit—a soul haunted by the loss of her cruel sea dogs and tormented by the unyielding silence of the unanswered.
Her display, as unhinged as the winds of chaos, serves as a testament before the guild—an unveiling of a force as unpredictable as the tide or the fate of a mind teetering on the brink of darkness. Yet, in the throes of her mad soliloquy, a stark reality emerges: as Molly stands before a thick rope hanging down from the tower above like a serpent, the Rhinemaiden tugs the cord and rings the great bell abovefor all outside to hear. The bell tolls once, twice, thrice, and then without warning, Mad Molly releases her grip on the rope just as Nettles bid her to do.
Listening to the words of the ragged doll, Nettles whispers in her ear, so low only should could hear. No one else is around to listen, her crew mates dead, and she alone, once more. Alone except for her comfort, her power, her constant companion. The doll gives her guidance as she turns and dashes through the silent halls, the darkened rooms beckoning yet ignored as she crosses from one side of the sprawling building to the other.
Clustered in the shadows the dead shuffle back and forth on the street just a stones throw away. Dozens of them, each different from the others, not just gender or age. Some carry weapons, old and rusty or blunt, cracked pitch forks or bent sickles. Some still wear the semblance of armor, a uniform, most plates torn off or lost. Just one to turn and look down the alley, that's all it would take. The way forward looks even less inviting. Two blocks, that's all that separates you from the dock, that and the dozens of visible and perhaps hundreds of unseen dead clustered on the docks and boardwalks over looking the bay.
It might be easier to go back, but then you would only accept defeat, and hopefully not lose your lives for the failure. One of the dead, a thin form of torn and hanging flesh, his death was not pleasant or painless turns slowly, into the alley it strides forward, others begin to follow. Within moments they will see you, in the shadows. A decision needs to be made...now.
An iron bell rings out across the town, its tone clean and clear as the first day it was cast. The sound of life and hope that has lain silent for so long. Three pure 'Bong's' peel across the towns roof tops. The dead coming closer turn to look in the direction of the sound, then turn back the way they came and shamble down the street, away from you. The road behind you has a steady stream of them shuffling past.
The sound of scraping wood, a tumble of a wooden item crashing to the ground, the door you lean upon suddenly opens as the four of you jump defensively backwards. A short mop of blonde hair, a delicate slip of a girl leans out, slightly breathless. She looks to the four of you, surprised only by how close you are, she seems to have known you were around. Without a smile and only a barely comprehensible murmur she steps from the deeper dark within and into the moonlight alley. She makes the slightest of gestures, your not sure it was even a gesture, she rushes down the street towards the docks. A quick glance back is all she has left to give you before crossing the road, and down an alley, away towards the docks and her destination?
Molly
Molly needs to get back to the ship, the bell distracted them, calling the hordes away and to the church. Hopefully thinning the streets and opening the docks. Creating a path back to the row boat.
The rowboat she and her crew used to get to land requires at least 2 to row properly, unless you are ok going in a circle. The ship needs 5 to sail, but only has the captain, navigator and galleyboy. The captain took a chance and now sits stranded and growing with rage and desperation out in the bay.
Lead them to the rowboat, get them on the water at least a little off the docks, and the group will be safe to decide what to do next...
Dornin watches amongst the hoards of undead through the town and how they engage with the tomes from the bell tower. He focuses on their body language to see if the coast is clear. (Insight: 16)
The tolling of the Iron bell has attracted the dead from across the Town, they are descending upon your position. It was a good place to hide and catch your breath, but it is quickly losing its charm. The waif with the mop of blonde hair is quickly disappearing, you charge after. A shock of color against the drab grays of the moon lit desolate town. Not by a direct route but staying a step ahead of the dead you reach the docks. The young woman clearly heading towards a row boat too large for one. The gunnels are over 6 feet across, able to carry 8 or 10 passengers. Most of the dead have moved deeper into the town towards the bell tower, however a dozen are still in the area, shuffling back and forth, looking out to the bay until your group rounds the corner.
In the bay, the lead boat, the one with Isbiel has cleared the harbor, and set sail. The second is rowing towards the open sea, the third has yet to move. A man stands aboard the vessel with spy glass in hand, gazing at the docks, watching your group. You have little time for that now as the dead converge, moving as quick as you and seeming to know the rowboat is your destination.
The row boat (Brown rectangle) is a way out of this town, however a dozen Walking Dead shamble before it, blocking easy passage to its safety.
In the eerie dusk of Port Llast, the Rhinemaiden cradled the silent Nettles amidst the pervasive gloom and a lingering sense of demise. Her shelter, a crumbling structure weighed down by sorrow, offered little solace against the nightmarish scene beyond its walls. With Nettles against her ear, the doll's whispers, a blend of distress and caution. Without hesitation, Molly fled the haunted confines of her sanctuary. The doll's murmurs reverberated through the dim passageways of Molly's mind, their significance obscure but their urgency unmistakable, akin to the faint heartbeat of the town itself.
The streets of Port Llast were a grotesque mosaic of decay and dereliction, thronged by the undead—a macabre parade of souls forever bound to their ghastly existences. Molly maneuvered through the alley like a dark wraith darting through the night, her presence nearly a whisper against the cacophony of the shifting dead. As Molly emerged from the shadowed labyrinth of the town, she encountered a group of living souls. No words of greeting passed her chapped lips; only a frenzied murmur slipped through, a chaotic mix of gibberish and the Common tongue. Her words reflected the turmoil within her fractured mind. "Folgt me, schnell!" she hissed, the urgency palpable in her voice as she beckoned them towards the dubious safety of the docks.
Her gait was erratic, a bizarre dance of someone well beyond the brink of madness. The bell's toll, which had rung out like a beacon of fleeting hope, now echoed in her ears, mingling with Nettles' ceaseless murmurs. The docks loomed ahead, a silhouette against the lesser darkness of the sea. The rowboat, her supposed salvation, bobbed gently in the water, an inanimate spectator to the chaos that had unfolded. As they continued to head towards the docks, Molly's eyes, wide with a mad gleam, scanned the horizon where the ship awaited ahead of them, its outline a promise of escape or perhaps a deeper damnation. „Die Glocke called you to the Sicherheit des Wassers“Molly giggled as she rushed ahead of the group... towards the rowboat! Tittering madly, "beeil dich, beeil dich, beeil dich!!!"
OOC: Molly dives off the deck into the water disappearing beneath the rippling water swimming underwater towards the rowboat... once there she'll seek a spot for clear LOS on the Walking Dear nearest the boat. If able to move, position herself and fire, let me know and I'll roll usingEldritch Blast
@Ssymith
Devil’s Sight: You can see normally in darkness, both magical and nonmagical, to a distance of 120 ft. Eldritch Sight: You can cast detect magic at will without expending a spell slot.
Dornin watches as the stranger rushes past them speaking a language that he has never heard before, however, following her towards the dock seemed like the right move. Seeing the undead crowd here made him uneasy as a fight in these conditions would surely come to a loss, there is simply too many. He watches the young woman plunge herself into the water and disappears beneath its surface towards a rowboat. The time for questions is behind us now, all that’s left is action. Dornin gives the rest of the group a look of uncertainty, as his moment of hesitation expires, he leaps off the dock into the water behind her trying to get to the boat as fast as he can. As the ice cold water shocks his body, he knows he cannot stop to react to anything else other than that boat. (Using the Dash action to attempt to make it to the rowboat)
While Octo has seen a few strange sights during his time above ground, none of them compared to seeing this small girl emerge from a building in the middle of this dead town. What maybe even stranger was that this girl may be their salvation, as she was heading to a small rowboat and likely their only way out of town, and a chance to rescue Isbiel.
What few options there may have been became fewer when Dornin ran by and dove into the water.
“Head to the boat, if you can’t swim, follow me!” Octo yells, and starts heading towards the boat, Sparks in hand.
Octo will dash towards the rowboat along the dock. If he can end his dash next to an undead, he will attack with his goring rush: 7 damage: 8
If Octo can’t get to an undead with a dash, he will instead Rage with his bonus action.
Either way he will let out a war yell, attempting to lure any undead his way.
Kallith comes to a stumbling halt upon seeing yet more undead and a slightly less dead looking girl.
Not understanding any of the mad gibberish coming from this new apparition, the firbolg settles on hurrying after Dornin, straight into the water. She shouts "Octo, don't do anything reckless!", being intensely aware that she might as well tell a rock to stop being hard. She wasn't sure what the plan was or how to get to their target. Perhaps reaching one of the ships would be an option? A remote possibility, as those seemed to be in as much of a hurry as she was.
The cold water envelops her like an old friend, a bizzarre thought in the current circumstances. How she loved to swim, if only no lives would depend on it.
Chandle heads straight for the water but as she quickly gets in over her head it becomes very clear she can’t swim, and her backpack and possessions make this even more impossible. Instead she flounders back to shore. She will have to head for the dock.
Chandle heads straight for the water but as she quickly gets in over her head it becomes very clear she can’t swim, and her backpack and possessions make this even more impossible. Instead she flounders back to shore. She will have to head for the dock.
OOC:@Ssymith
Is it possible for Molly to be aware of the struggling dwarf, or do I need to make a perception roll to detect what is happening so that Molly can turn herself around and help the dwarf swim to the rowboat? Alternatively, if that isn't possible, could she help the dwarf stay afloat by holding on to one of the dock's supports until the others are able to reach the rowboat and row it to pick up Chandle where she is?
Rounding the corner your group barely pulls up. The sight of the bobbing rowboat, a means of escape from this town of nightmares. Blocking your path across the docks, your ability to escape easily fades with the sight of a mob of dead. Molly doesnt hesitate, charging down the sloped ramp, she dives into the deeper water. Her strokes measured with power and grace, she could be mistaken for a native of the waves.
Dornin and Kallith, both practiced and comfortable swimmers follow close behind. The waters of the shallow bay lap gently against the wooden supports, lapping with a steady rythm, a lull of tranquility that guides their hurried efforts. The two close upon the boat, a large vessel designed for a larger crew. Molly turns back, the struggles of a floundering Dwarf call for her aid. The waif, her size and weight no match for the heftiness of the Dwarf, never hesitates. Her legs kicking in a sweeping motion beneath her. If she attempts to pull the Dwarf towards the boat, Chandle's size and weight may force the smaller girl under the waves, Chandle struggling to remain above water.
Molly Roll an Athletics check DC 15 if you fail...
Even as Chandle struggles to stay afloat, gripping your shoulders like Iron, your head dips under more often and longer than should be possible, A gift of the sea perhaps.
Octo charges across the docks, his head down with no regard to what awaits before him. The row boat his destination and nothing to stand in his way. He turns onto the dock, jutting out over the gentle waves below. The railing and lift to his left shudders, rusty hinges groan and screetch as the boom begins to turn. He ran past two of them, the pair descending the rickety stairs quickly to close in behind him. Two more, at first watching the swimmers advance to meet him, Octos horns impact. He slams into the dead like a bull felling a building. Stopped dead in his tracks and surrounded by 4 torn, bloody, vacant corpses reaching to pull him into darkness. The Cargo lift continues to turn, its off balance, not turning, its twisting from its perch. A pair of dead, are pushing the crane over to smash were Octo stands.
If Octo Stands and fights...
Initiative<----You. Take your action, then read the next spoiler
Octo, If directed to do so...
The four dead reach out, their fingers like talons, a rictus grin on one of them reveals itself as the jaws attempt to close upon your forearm.
Walking dead attack against Octo: Attack: 17 Damage: Unable to parse dice roll.
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 6 Damage: 3
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 11 Damage: 4
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 17 Damage: 4
If Octo moves from his position...
The four dead reach out, their fingers like talons, a rictus grin on one of them reveals itself as the jaws attempt to close upon your forearm.
Walking dead attack against Octo: Attack: 23 Damage: 7
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 8 Damage: 3
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 11 Damage: 5
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 18 Damage: 4
The five dead closest to the boat slowly push against the railing, hanging over the water. They could easily force through the rickety structure of broken boards and rotten batten, but seem reluctant to do so. They watch as Kallith and Dornin draw close, within a dozen feet of the gunnels. The Three Walking Dead on the Western side do the same, pushing against the feeble rail, with no rail before it, one of them tumbles headfirst into the water, sinking beneath the waves.
Seeing the rest of the group jump into the water and swim to the boat, Octo will continue to the boat himself. Pushing and ducking past the four undead surrounding him, he accepts a swipe from one of them across his arm (-2) and breaks into a run.
Octo will dash to the boat. If the remaining undead on the dock seem like a problem, he will dive into the water, but most likely, he will just try to run right through them, horns and axe leading the way.
Molly Roll an Athletics check DC 15 if you fail...
Even as Chandle struggles to stay afloat, gripping your shoulders like Iron, your head dips under more often and longer than should be possible, A gift of the sea perhaps.
If Chandle sees Molly’s hand reaching for her she grabs hold desperate for any help, it looked so easy but having never swam before… Chandle paddles and gasps and clings and anyone watching would see her eyes open bigger then ever, coughing sputtering and cursing!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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One of us can help for advantage on a check tag team a skill… I have athletics +3 maybe dwarven bowl my way through a small mob (bull rush) maybe Chandle and Octo?
I have +5 athletics, i can help, give you a push for some bowling momentum.
I also have 1 rage left which gives me advantage on Athletics (should have done that with my first roll in hindsight :( )
That sounds like it's worth a try. I don't think Kallith has any skill proficiency that would be especially helpful here.
Okay Chandle with Octo’s help attempts to strike the zombies that get in the way…
(good thing I had help) athletics 15 ; )
OOC- The HELP action will not be useful in this situation. You are all to busy doing your own thing to assist another in that way.
Chandles athletics post can stand....
That puts you at 4/5 success and 2/3 failures. Hmm, how will the next attempt go, and who is willing to take it?
Chandle takes the lead, sticking to the shadows and guiding her companions into the darkened alleys. With the help of Dornin, throwing up illusionary walls, doors, hay bales, a pile of rock and anything that comes to mind to try and disguise their passage. Deeper into the town they go, dashing down streets and by ways, keeping clear of the mobs of dead. When a group catches wind, Octo throws rocks and large stones to clatter on the roofs a street over.
The first couple streets were easy, but Chandle realizes the fringes of the town are less populated than the center. A glimpse of the docks, several blocks away looks even more crowded. The dead wander to a fro in large clumps of a dozen or more. As Kallith calls to her companions all clear she steps around the corner and smack into a handful of dead. Their faces turn from the shadows, their eyes the only revealing aspect as they regard the Giant woman, then turn and close. Dornin is there again, a door suddenly appearing as Chandle decides to back track a street over.
Clustered behind a shattered stack of crates, your passage has excited the town, clusters have begun to link and join growing larger as they move towards your position from all directions. Octo, secure in his previous attempts grabs a large round timber and shoves it into the street, (Hoping it will roll down the hill), it just smashes into the street with a reverberating boom.
Chandle takes things into her own hands, whispers and points a direction then charges into the widest, busiest street. Grabbing the attention of several large mobs (And hopefully others) she charges into an alley they passed earlier. A ladder still stands against the wall, easy access to the roof she practically hurtles herself upward, the rungs snapping as she goes and the ladder, shattered clatters to the ground behind her. Over the broken roofs she rejoins her companions.
The distraction helped but as she returns, Octo catching her from a three story roof, a dead turns the corner and takes a heel for its intrusion. The four of you cluster within the shadows of a sprawling building, the doors closed and the windows barred as the dead slowly close on your position from all directions.
Deep within the town, the dead swarm, searching for your group, aware of your presence. It would be just as hard to get back the way you came as it would to go forward. Chandle reminds you of the hundreds of dead lining the docks! Here, perhaps a few moments reprieve, but the dead will descend quickly once you are discovered.
Chandle
Racing across the roof tops it provides you a great view of the town and bay. The dead are converging, worrying as that is it is the three Schooners you look to with trepidation. The first Schooner (#2 with Isbiel) has already turned, oars spalshing in the water is it propels throug the 'arms' of the bay towards open water.
Schooner #1 apperas ready to turn as well, the crew scampering on board, setting the rigging and dipping the first oar in the water. A man, heard form your distance begins yelling, "PUSH, PUSH".
Schooner #3 appears to only have a couple sailors aboard, A large burutish man stands at the forerail, his foot perched as he leans over, staring intently at the town. He is watching you!
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
Molly cradles Nettles in her arms as the doll whispers sweet nothings into her ear, calming her upon the bleak conclusion of her mission. Outside the safety of her temporary refuge, the shades of sorrow, the undead roam freely, their silhouettes everywhere and nowhere.
Amidst the shadows, the Rhinemaiden finds herself alone with her grief and madness, cradling a ghastly doll in her arms—a sinister figure with soulless eyes that seem to follow the living, its visage a grotesque caricature of innocence lost. This eerie totem, a patchwork of tattered fabric and stained lace, harbors eyes like black abysses set deep within a sea-green face smeared with the dark residue of forgotten playtimes. Its limbs, stiff and disjointed, are adorned with chains that speak of captivity and a silence more haunting than the grave itself.
In a feverish torrent of emotions, Molly oscillates between macabre giggling and the raw anguish of tears. Her voice, a discordant melody of the Common tongue mixed with pure gibberish, fills the air—a twisted lullaby to the inanimate confidant nestled in her embrace.
"Seewölfe schlafen tief im Meer, jetzt umschlungen von Haifischreien," she murmurs, her eyes fixed on a closed and barred door. Suddenly, her tone shifts to anguished Common, "But only one soul lies fully awake, thinking of witches, of specters, of loss."
Her thoughts, wild and untamed, she giggles as she peeks through the cracks in the barred door into the room on the other side where her sea dogs fell one by one, torn apart by the shades of sorrow. "You promised the kaiserlichen Seehund seinen Preis, a deal is a deal! First I tauche ins Meer. Zweitens suche ich the chest!" she wails, her voice a tempest of fury and despair, challenging the silent grave beyond the door to yield its secrets. "Drittens lege ich den Haken an und die Truhe and the Seehunde do the rest. Next, the kaiserliche Seehund bids me and seine treuen Seehunde seinen Preis zu suchen. Now here I be, der Preis gewonnen but no sea dogs, oh woe is me und mein Fluch dear sweet Nettles."
The Rhinemaiden begins to sing... the verses of her songs intertwine with her demands, a jumbled symphony of words that reflect the chaos within:
"Wölfe schlafen 'midst the trees, bats, dancing im Wind. But one soul lies anxious, wach auf," she sings, her tone shifting to a sinister timbre as she regards the doll with a disturbing tenderness. "Fürchtet Hexen, monsters, and ghosts."
She clings to the grotesque figure of Nettles, her voice a crescendo of mania and melancholy as she pleads and accuses. "Für deine Puppe Polly, sleep has flown, trau dich nicht, sie tremble alone! For the Zauberer, heartless cold, bezahlt in Goldmünzen. He comes, he goes, lässt uns zurück mit nothing but grief and the echoes eines unerfüllten Versprechens."
The grave offers no reply, the doll no comfort. Molly's presence is a portrait of turmoil, her mind a labyrinth with no exit—a soul haunted by the loss of her cruel sea dogs and tormented by the unyielding silence of the unanswered.
Her display, as unhinged as the winds of chaos, serves as a testament before the guild—an unveiling of a force as unpredictable as the tide or the fate of a mind teetering on the brink of darkness. Yet, in the throes of her mad soliloquy, a stark reality emerges: as Molly stands before a thick rope hanging down from the tower above like a serpent, the Rhinemaiden tugs the cord and rings the great bell above for all outside to hear. The bell tolls once, twice, thrice, and then without warning, Mad Molly releases her grip on the rope just as Nettles bid her to do.
Listening to the words of the ragged doll, Nettles whispers in her ear, so low only should could hear. No one else is around to listen, her crew mates dead, and she alone, once more. Alone except for her comfort, her power, her constant companion. The doll gives her guidance as she turns and dashes through the silent halls, the darkened rooms beckoning yet ignored as she crosses from one side of the sprawling building to the other.
Clustered in the shadows the dead shuffle back and forth on the street just a stones throw away. Dozens of them, each different from the others, not just gender or age. Some carry weapons, old and rusty or blunt, cracked pitch forks or bent sickles. Some still wear the semblance of armor, a uniform, most plates torn off or lost. Just one to turn and look down the alley, that's all it would take. The way forward looks even less inviting. Two blocks, that's all that separates you from the dock, that and the dozens of visible and perhaps hundreds of unseen dead clustered on the docks and boardwalks over looking the bay.
It might be easier to go back, but then you would only accept defeat, and hopefully not lose your lives for the failure. One of the dead, a thin form of torn and hanging flesh, his death was not pleasant or painless turns slowly, into the alley it strides forward, others begin to follow. Within moments they will see you, in the shadows. A decision needs to be made...now.
An iron bell rings out across the town, its tone clean and clear as the first day it was cast. The sound of life and hope that has lain silent for so long. Three pure 'Bong's' peel across the towns roof tops. The dead coming closer turn to look in the direction of the sound, then turn back the way they came and shamble down the street, away from you. The road behind you has a steady stream of them shuffling past.
The sound of scraping wood, a tumble of a wooden item crashing to the ground, the door you lean upon suddenly opens as the four of you jump defensively backwards. A short mop of blonde hair, a delicate slip of a girl leans out, slightly breathless. She looks to the four of you, surprised only by how close you are, she seems to have known you were around. Without a smile and only a barely comprehensible murmur she steps from the deeper dark within and into the moonlight alley. She makes the slightest of gestures, your not sure it was even a gesture, she rushes down the street towards the docks. A quick glance back is all she has left to give you before crossing the road, and down an alley, away towards the docks and her destination?
Molly
Molly needs to get back to the ship, the bell distracted them, calling the hordes away and to the church. Hopefully thinning the streets and opening the docks. Creating a path back to the row boat.
The rowboat she and her crew used to get to land requires at least 2 to row properly, unless you are ok going in a circle. The ship needs 5 to sail, but only has the captain, navigator and galleyboy. The captain took a chance and now sits stranded and growing with rage and desperation out in the bay.
Lead them to the rowboat, get them on the water at least a little off the docks, and the group will be safe to decide what to do next...
OOC- We have one more skill challenge check left and Chandle has made 3 it’s up to another party member now… good luck!
(OOC: unsure if I can use insight in this way)
Dornin watches amongst the hoards of undead through the town and how they engage with the tomes from the bell tower. He focuses on their body language to see if the coast is clear. (Insight: 16)
The tolling of the Iron bell has attracted the dead from across the Town, they are descending upon your position. It was a good place to hide and catch your breath, but it is quickly losing its charm. The waif with the mop of blonde hair is quickly disappearing, you charge after. A shock of color against the drab grays of the moon lit desolate town. Not by a direct route but staying a step ahead of the dead you reach the docks. The young woman clearly heading towards a row boat too large for one. The gunnels are over 6 feet across, able to carry 8 or 10 passengers. Most of the dead have moved deeper into the town towards the bell tower, however a dozen are still in the area, shuffling back and forth, looking out to the bay until your group rounds the corner.
In the bay, the lead boat, the one with Isbiel has cleared the harbor, and set sail. The second is rowing towards the open sea, the third has yet to move. A man stands aboard the vessel with spy glass in hand, gazing at the docks, watching your group. You have little time for that now as the dead converge, moving as quick as you and seeming to know the rowboat is your destination.
The row boat (Brown rectangle) is a way out of this town, however a dozen Walking Dead shamble before it, blocking easy passage to its safety.
Initiative:
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
In the eerie dusk of Port Llast, the Rhinemaiden cradled the silent Nettles amidst the pervasive gloom and a lingering sense of demise. Her shelter, a crumbling structure weighed down by sorrow, offered little solace against the nightmarish scene beyond its walls. With Nettles against her ear, the doll's whispers, a blend of distress and caution. Without hesitation, Molly fled the haunted confines of her sanctuary. The doll's murmurs reverberated through the dim passageways of Molly's mind, their significance obscure but their urgency unmistakable, akin to the faint heartbeat of the town itself.
The streets of Port Llast were a grotesque mosaic of decay and dereliction, thronged by the undead—a macabre parade of souls forever bound to their ghastly existences. Molly maneuvered through the alley like a dark wraith darting through the night, her presence nearly a whisper against the cacophony of the shifting dead. As Molly emerged from the shadowed labyrinth of the town, she encountered a group of living souls. No words of greeting passed her chapped lips; only a frenzied murmur slipped through, a chaotic mix of gibberish and the Common tongue. Her words reflected the turmoil within her fractured mind. "Folgt me, schnell!" she hissed, the urgency palpable in her voice as she beckoned them towards the dubious safety of the docks.
Her gait was erratic, a bizarre dance of someone well beyond the brink of madness. The bell's toll, which had rung out like a beacon of fleeting hope, now echoed in her ears, mingling with Nettles' ceaseless murmurs. The docks loomed ahead, a silhouette against the lesser darkness of the sea. The rowboat, her supposed salvation, bobbed gently in the water, an inanimate spectator to the chaos that had unfolded. As they continued to head towards the docks, Molly's eyes, wide with a mad gleam, scanned the horizon where the ship awaited ahead of them, its outline a promise of escape or perhaps a deeper damnation. „Die Glocke called you to the Sicherheit des Wassers“ Molly giggled as she rushed ahead of the group... towards the rowboat! Tittering madly, "beeil dich, beeil dich, beeil dich!!!"
OOC: Molly dives off the deck into the water disappearing beneath the rippling water swimming underwater towards the rowboat... once there she'll seek a spot for clear LOS on the Walking Dear nearest the boat. If able to move, position herself and fire, let me know and I'll roll using Eldritch Blast
@Ssymith
Devil’s Sight: You can see normally in darkness, both magical and nonmagical, to a distance of 120 ft.
Eldritch Sight: You can cast detect magic at will without expending a spell slot.
Dornin watches as the stranger rushes past them speaking a language that he has never heard before, however, following her towards the dock seemed like the right move. Seeing the undead crowd here made him uneasy as a fight in these conditions would surely come to a loss, there is simply too many. He watches the young woman plunge herself into the water and disappears beneath its surface towards a rowboat. The time for questions is behind us now, all that’s left is action. Dornin gives the rest of the group a look of uncertainty, as his moment of hesitation expires, he leaps off the dock into the water behind her trying to get to the boat as fast as he can. As the ice cold water shocks his body, he knows he cannot stop to react to anything else other than that boat.
(Using the Dash action to attempt to make it to the rowboat)
While Octo has seen a few strange sights during his time above ground, none of them compared to seeing this small girl emerge from a building in the middle of this dead town. What maybe even stranger was that this girl may be their salvation, as she was heading to a small rowboat and likely their only way out of town, and a chance to rescue Isbiel.
What few options there may have been became fewer when Dornin ran by and dove into the water.
“Head to the boat, if you can’t swim, follow me!” Octo yells, and starts heading towards the boat, Sparks in hand.
Octo will dash towards the rowboat along the dock. If he can end his dash next to an undead, he will attack with his goring rush: 7 damage: 8
If Octo can’t get to an undead with a dash, he will instead Rage with his bonus action.
Either way he will let out a war yell, attempting to lure any undead his way.
Kallith comes to a stumbling halt upon seeing yet more undead and a slightly less dead looking girl.
Not understanding any of the mad gibberish coming from this new apparition, the firbolg settles on hurrying after Dornin, straight into the water. She shouts "Octo, don't do anything reckless!", being intensely aware that she might as well tell a rock to stop being hard. She wasn't sure what the plan was or how to get to their target. Perhaps reaching one of the ships would be an option? A remote possibility, as those seemed to be in as much of a hurry as she was.
The cold water envelops her like an old friend, a bizzarre thought in the current circumstances. How she loved to swim, if only no lives would depend on it.
(doing the same as Dornin)
Chandle heads straight for the water but as she quickly gets in over her head it becomes very clear she can’t swim, and her backpack and possessions make this even more impossible. Instead she flounders back to shore. She will have to head for the dock.
OOC: @Ssymith
Is it possible for Molly to be aware of the struggling dwarf, or do I need to make a perception roll to detect what is happening so that Molly can turn herself around and help the dwarf swim to the rowboat? Alternatively, if that isn't possible, could she help the dwarf stay afloat by holding on to one of the dock's supports until the others are able to reach the rowboat and row it to pick up Chandle where she is?
Rounding the corner your group barely pulls up. The sight of the bobbing rowboat, a means of escape from this town of nightmares. Blocking your path across the docks, your ability to escape easily fades with the sight of a mob of dead. Molly doesnt hesitate, charging down the sloped ramp, she dives into the deeper water. Her strokes measured with power and grace, she could be mistaken for a native of the waves.
Dornin and Kallith, both practiced and comfortable swimmers follow close behind. The waters of the shallow bay lap gently against the wooden supports, lapping with a steady rythm, a lull of tranquility that guides their hurried efforts. The two close upon the boat, a large vessel designed for a larger crew. Molly turns back, the struggles of a floundering Dwarf call for her aid. The waif, her size and weight no match for the heftiness of the Dwarf, never hesitates. Her legs kicking in a sweeping motion beneath her. If she attempts to pull the Dwarf towards the boat, Chandle's size and weight may force the smaller girl under the waves, Chandle struggling to remain above water.
Molly Roll an Athletics check DC 15 if you fail...
Even as Chandle struggles to stay afloat, gripping your shoulders like Iron, your head dips under more often and longer than should be possible, A gift of the sea perhaps.
Octo charges across the docks, his head down with no regard to what awaits before him. The row boat his destination and nothing to stand in his way. He turns onto the dock, jutting out over the gentle waves below. The railing and lift to his left shudders, rusty hinges groan and screetch as the boom begins to turn. He ran past two of them, the pair descending the rickety stairs quickly to close in behind him. Two more, at first watching the swimmers advance to meet him, Octos horns impact. He slams into the dead like a bull felling a building. Stopped dead in his tracks and surrounded by 4 torn, bloody, vacant corpses reaching to pull him into darkness. The Cargo lift continues to turn, its off balance, not turning, its twisting from its perch. A pair of dead, are pushing the crane over to smash were Octo stands.
If Octo Stands and fights...
Initiative<----You. Take your action, then read the next spoiler
Octo, If directed to do so...
The four dead reach out, their fingers like talons, a rictus grin on one of them reveals itself as the jaws attempt to close upon your forearm.
Walking dead attack against Octo: Attack: 17 Damage: Unable to parse dice roll.
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 6 Damage: 3
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 11 Damage: 4
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 17 Damage: 4
If Octo moves from his position...
The four dead reach out, their fingers like talons, a rictus grin on one of them reveals itself as the jaws attempt to close upon your forearm.
Walking dead attack against Octo: Attack: 23 Damage: 7
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 8 Damage: 3
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 11 Damage: 5
Walking dead attack against Octo:Attack: 18 Damage: 4
The five dead closest to the boat slowly push against the railing, hanging over the water. They could easily force through the rickety structure of broken boards and rotten batten, but seem reluctant to do so. They watch as Kallith and Dornin draw close, within a dozen feet of the gunnels. The Three Walking Dead on the Western side do the same, pushing against the feeble rail, with no rail before it, one of them tumbles headfirst into the water, sinking beneath the waves.
Seeing the rest of the group jump into the water and swim to the boat, Octo will continue to the boat himself. Pushing and ducking past the four undead surrounding him, he accepts a swipe from one of them across his arm (-2) and breaks into a run.
Octo will dash to the boat. If the remaining undead on the dock seem like a problem, he will dive into the water, but most likely, he will just try to run right through them, horns and axe leading the way.
Athletics: 13
Molly Athletics Check Roll:15
If Chandle sees Molly’s hand reaching for her she grabs hold desperate for any help, it looked so easy but having never swam before… Chandle paddles and gasps and clings and anyone watching would see her eyes open bigger then ever, coughing sputtering and cursing!