Quote from chrisbodmann >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

[did my attacks hit at all? I didn’t see them in the narration]

 ???

(OOC: huh. I thought I put them there, sorry! I'll add them.)

 [ooc: not a huge deal, it's just not the first time I've been ignored. I feel like there are maybe too many folks in this game. I know it is a lot to keep up with everything.]

(OOC: No, super sorry! This is my fault) 

Tine lowered her bow slowly, her breathing still sharp and uneven from the fight. The last flickers of starlight faded from her fingertips, drifting into the salty air like dying fireflies. Her gaze swept the scene, Orrin’s halberd gleaming with blood and seawater, Zofsaadi’s axe dripping crimson into the sand, the crowd of townsfolk now edging cautiously from the tents. The cheers that followed hit her like an echo, distant, muted, hollow. She didn’t feel victorious, not really. Kneeling briefly beside one of the fallen creatures, she frowned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Not pirates,” she murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else. “Not men either.” Her eyes flicked up to Orrin. “If that’s what you wanted to sink your blade into, I think you’ve had your wish.” As Aspen lifted the scroll, Tine straightened and crossed over, curiosity already stirring in her eyes despite the grimness of the scene. “Careful with that,  looks half-drowned,” she said, stepping close enough to peer at the soggy parchment. The faint smell of salt and decay clung to it, sharp and wrong. “What would creatures like these be doing carrying something like that?” Then, catching her own tone, she gave a small, shaky laugh and nudged Orrin lightly with her elbow. “Well, big heart — guess the carnival did end with a show after all. Just not the sort any of us were hoping for.” She glanced toward the sea, its surface dark and restless under the moonlight, and her expression grew distant. “If they came from the water,” she murmured, almost to herself, “then whatever sent them might not be done yet.” Her hand drifted back to her fiddle case, resting on it like a priest might a holy symbol. “Best we find out what’s written on that scroll before the tide decides to bring us more company.”

OOC: We do have a lot of quoting and OOC chats in this forum, might I suggest a message group for OOC stuff and leaving the posts to purely RP/rolls?

Crumb hurry’s over by Tine and Aspen, seeing the work his friends made of this cloaked figure. “Aye, Yall made quick work of whatever this thing is..” curiously tapping the creature with the edge of his hammer. “Strange looking ain’t it..” 

“But I think Tines right, best check that scroll before much else.” 

Quote from Hambergler >>

Tine lowered her bow slowly, her breathing still sharp and uneven from the fight. The last flickers of starlight faded from her fingertips, drifting into the salty air like dying fireflies. Her gaze swept the scene, Orrin’s halberd gleaming with blood and seawater, Zofsaadi’s axe dripping crimson into the sand, the crowd of townsfolk now edging cautiously from the tents. The cheers that followed hit her like an echo, distant, muted, hollow. She didn’t feel victorious, not really. Kneeling briefly beside one of the fallen creatures, she frowned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Not pirates,” she murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else. “Not men either.” Her eyes flicked up to Orrin. “If that’s what you wanted to sink your blade into, I think you’ve had your wish.” As Aspen lifted the scroll, Tine straightened and crossed over, curiosity already stirring in her eyes despite the grimness of the scene. “Careful with that,  looks half-drowned,” she said, stepping close enough to peer at the soggy parchment. The faint smell of salt and decay clung to it, sharp and wrong. “What would creatures like these be doing carrying something like that?” Then, catching her own tone, she gave a small, shaky laugh and nudged Orrin lightly with her elbow. “Well, big heart — guess the carnival did end with a show after all. Just not the sort any of us were hoping for.” She glanced toward the sea, its surface dark and restless under the moonlight, and her expression grew distant. “If they came from the water,” she murmured, almost to herself, “then whatever sent them might not be done yet.” Her hand drifted back to her fiddle case, resting on it like a priest might a holy symbol. “Best we find out what’s written on that scroll before the tide decides to bring us more company.”

OOC: We do have a lot of quoting and OOC chats in this forum, might I suggest a message group for OOC stuff and leaving the posts to purely RP/rolls?

(OOC: Will do. I'll create a PM) 

“Are these the sea creatures the townsfolk were talking about? I see why they have been a trouble. What does the scroll say?”

Orrin is still shaking off the effects of the poison, but it doesn’t seem to have affected him nearly as much as last night’s drink. 

After a moment of deciding amongst yourselves, you cautiously open the scroll, holding it as far away from yourself as you can. Averting your eyes, you gently pull the papyrus open --- and you hear a loud zap, followed by a shout and the sound of the scroll landing in the sand. 

Now open, you're able to behold the words upon the scroll...or word, actually. Written in an ornate, regal font stands one word, seven characters in all --- 

Beware.

Hearing Orrin's words, a circus-worker comes over --- tall, slightly stout, and dressed in an ornate red vest, gold-buttoned. He places his hands on his hips, staring at the creature's body. He clears his throat, then pauses a moment, allowing his eyes to run over the body that killed his friend --- the grotesque, contorted face, the rivulets of blood staining the sand, and its strangely bulbous, extended appendages. Then, he motions for two others to take the body away, and begins to speak. 

"Those...aren't the same as what we've found. Definitely not - I saw the others with my own eyes, the beasts." Here, he stops, cursing under his breath --- whether it's directed towards these creatures or the others, you don't know. "But friend - I'll let you in on a secret, 'fore the Guard arrive. This wasn't of their own volition - I reckon someone here let 'em in. We've plenty of defense against these sorts of creatures, and there's no way they could have gotten in on their own." He walks away, face grim, and begins shouting at stagehands to fetch him a strong ale. His words stay with you --- what if someone let them in? Is there a traitor in your midst? Is there someone who might cause this again --- but worse?

Tine winced at the zap, instinctively stepping back as sand scattered around her feet. The scroll landed with a soft hiss against the wind, still faintly smoking. “Well,” she muttered, voice low and edged with dry disbelief, “that’s one way to get everyone’s attention.” Her words faded into breath as she hummed a single note, one that lingered far longer than any sound should. Another followed, gentler, weaving into a quiet melody that rolled through her chest and into the uneasy air around them. As the tune deepened, faint wisps of silver-blue light unfurled from her hands, drifting motes like echoes of starlight. They shimmered around the open scroll, then spiraled outward in slow circles, seeking any trace of hidden magic.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded as the hum continued. The magic rippled, brushing soft light across her features. She knelt, brushing sand gently from the scroll’s corner without touching it. “‘Beware,’” she repeated, the word heavy on her tongue. “Simple…but it feels heavier than it ought. Like whatever it’s warning about remembers us more than we remember it.” Her humming faded, the last wisps dimming. She looked up at the others, eyes bright but uneasy. “I don’t think this is the last message we’ll find. And I don’t think this was meant for just anyone to read.”

Before she could say more, a circus-worker approached, tall, slightly stout, vest bright with gold buttons that didn’t quite hide the grief weighing on his shoulders. He took in the dead creature with a grim expression: the twisted face, the pooling blood, the warped limbs. Tine’s eyes followed him, a chill creeping down her spine that had nothing to do with the sea breeze. “Do you think someone let them in?” she whispered. 

OOC:
Casting Detect Magic and looking to see if the note has any magic radiating off it

(OOC: Neat.) 

Tine reaches out her hand, fingertips gently brushing the slightly frayed paper. Out of instinct, her hand leaps back --- but no wrathful flame has burnt her, no scar yet mars her palm. Reaching carefully out again, she whispers quietly under her breath, a familiar tune to her absentminded plucking of the viol. The words stare back at her as her magic begins to suffuse the page --- an ultimatum. Not a warning. 

A turbid sea of magic erupts from the tiny page, sending Tine stumbling backwards, sinking into the sand. Attempting to sift through it is nonsense --- she can only dive deeper, fall farther into the abyss. Enchantments to protect, to harm --- the little fire-spell, intricately hidden inside the complexity --- and there. At the bottom of it all, radiating outwards from the regal message. Time, slowly ticking away --- an hour-glass, sand trickling down its shape. And when the time ends? You can't tell, but it won't be good.

After Zofsaadi manages to calm himself he goes to collect weapons: handaxe he has thown, sword the performer was killed with and 3 thrown daggers. Then he returns to his companions "I could use trick or two with daggers but I'm not so sure about sword. So do any of you want it or to look at poison?"