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[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.” 

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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?"

You wait there, discussing poison and the corpses of these creatures --- until, after a while, you see a large group of torches traveling down the beach towards you. After a few moments, this group of armored figures arrives --- the townsguard, finally on-scene. A captain, distinguishable by his sans-rust armor, steps forward, marveling at the picture: you all --- Tine, horrified, palm reaching out towards the page, while the rest of you mingle, staying clear of the body. 

"What's happened here?" he asks, open-mouthed and confused. "We heard there was a missing person, but...well, you all seem to be in order."

Tine’s hand trembled as she drew it back, sand still clinging to her fingertips. Her breath hitched, the last shivers of that magic surge crawling across her skin like cold brine. She pushed herself upright, brushing sand off her knees, but her eyes never left the scroll half-buried in the ground. “That wasn’t a warning,” she whispered, voice thin, still unsteady. “It was a promise. A countdown.” She pressed a hand against her chest, steadying her breath. The echo of the hourglass, that slow, merciless trickle of invisible sand, still lingered behind her eyes. Whatever lay at the bottom of that spell, whatever would happen when the last grain fell…she could feel the certainty of it tightening like a fiddle string pulled too taut. When Zofsaadi returned with the scattered weapons, she managed a faint, distracted smile. “Keep the daggers if they suit your hand,” she murmured, rubbing her palm absentmindedly. “But the poison…that part worries me more. Something drove these creatures up from the deep. And something armed them.”

She didn’t get to finish. Torches flickered down the beach, a line of light against the darkening sky, and the town guard approached in clanking formation. The captain’s armor gleamed dully, the only set without rust, and he stepped forward with a baffled stare. “What’s happened here?” Tine swallowed, lifted her chin, and met his eyes. Her voice steadied, not calm, but clear enough. “I wish I could say we were in order, sir,” she began, gesturing toward the fallen sahuagin-mutant and the blood-stained sand. “But a man was killed. Three creatures attacked, cloaked, armed, and not like anything I’ve seen.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “And it looks like they weren’t acting alone. Someone let them in. Someone still here.” She pointed toward the scroll, careful not to touch it again. “There’s magic on that. Strong magic. A message that starts a clock, and we don’t know what happens when it runs out.” Her palm hovered over the paper, a tremor working through her fingers. “But whatever it is…” she said softly, almost to herself, “we don’t have long to wait.”

"And how do we know that ye're telling the truth?" a seedy-looking guard replies, lifting his visor and directing his spear-tip towards your heart. "These witches always lie!" He begins to approach, only to be held back by his comrades. His shouts are muffled as they place hands around his mouth, straining to hold him back --- all as the cold moon appears over the cliffs, dimly lighting this scene. 

Although his words are suppressed by his comrades, they still strike true in some of the company --- and now, others begin to question, voices clamoring to be heard in the biting cold. Sensing danger, the captain quickly ushers his soldiers to the body --- coming to speak with you as they lift it away and begin to pursue the others. 

"You'd better be telling the truth," he mutters to you quietly. "Many in this town have had a bad experience with magic. They aren't about to let a mage tell them that their doom is impending." 

Moving away from you, he proclaims to the groaning chorus of a thousand: "This carnival is over! Please return to your homes while we investigate this happening." Children cry, even parents with dour faces as they trudge up the beach. And still, the clock ticks ever down as the cold, starless night begins.

Crumb seeing the captain raise his spear towards Tine keeps a ready grip around one of his hatchets ready to throw to defend his friend. 

"You'd better be telling the truth," he mutters to Tine quietly. "Many in this town have had a bad experience with magic. They aren't about to let a mage tell them that their doom is impending." 

Crumb watches the soldiers leave then walks up to Tine, giving a strong but tender pat seeing her being shaken by the magic. 
“Pay little mind to em Tine… captain of soldiers he may be, but he’s brash and quick to draw his spear  to one not presenting him no harm. Shaken and scared, but the look of these towns folk, they may have they’re reasons.”

Orrin bristled at the guards getting in Tine’s face. He was prepared to fight hell and all in her defense. But then they backed down. 

“This town has a problem. Think we should fix it for them?”

Crumb nods in agreement, “Aye.. a problem indeed.” 

he turns to look at Tine again. “Think your up for finding the source of that magic?” 

"Hmmm... the sailors I talked to earlier didn't mention any problems with the fish folk.  Perhaps we should ask about any previous problems?" comments Leif.

Tine didn’t flinch when the spear-tip pointed at her heart, but the tremor that went through her fingers betrayed her. The guard’s accusation struck harder than the weapon ever could. Witch. Liar. Words she’d heard whispered in darker taverns, but never shouted to her face with steel behind them. She swallowed, jaw tightening as the other guards dragged the man back, his muffled curses still carrying enough venom to sting. The cold moon cast everything in pale, unforgiving light, the blood in the sand, the torn canvas, the fear on every face. When the captain stepped in close, Tine held his gaze, though her shoulders remained tense. His words weren’t comforting, only honest. “I am telling the truth,” she replied quietly. “But I know truth sounds like prophecy when people are already afraid.” He gave no answer, only turned to bark orders and disperse the crowd. The carnival dissolved into shadows and sobs. The laughter and light that had filled the shore only minutes ago vanished like smoke on the sea wind.

Tine exhaled shakily, letting her bow hand drop to her side. When Crumb stepped up beside her, his steady hand on her back nearly undid her composure. She managed a shaky smile, leaning slightly into the reassurance. “Thanks, Crumb,” she murmured. “I’ve played in front of angry drunks, but…that was different. They’re not just scared of magic; they’ve been hurt by it. And now I’m another stranger telling them a storm’s coming.” Orrin’s growled question drew her eyes up. She tried to smirk, tried to match his bravado, but it came out softer. “A problem, aye. One that crawled onto the beach instead of walking through the gates.” Crumb’s follow-up settled the question she’d been avoiding. Tine let her gaze drift toward the scroll lying in the sand, its single word glowing faintly in her mind like a wound that wouldn’t close. She lifted her chin, though fear still fluttered in her chest. “I’m up for it,” she said, voice steadier now. “Whatever cast that spell…it’s old. And powerful. And it’s counting down. We need to know to what.” Leif’s thoughtful comment reached her next. “If the sailors didn’t mention sahuagin trouble,” she mused, crossing her arms, “it means something pushed these creatures inshore, something stronger than fear and hungrier than magic.”

Her eyes swept over the group, lit by torchlight and moonshine. “The town’s not going to trust us. Not yet.” Her grip tightened on her fiddle. “But we’re the ones with the warning. And the ones who lived.” She nodded toward the dark ocean beyond. “So yes. We fix it for them.” And quieter, almost to herself: “Before the last grain of that hourglass falls.”

The dramatic scene --- foes vanquished, heroes conversing about dangerous matters in the light of the moon --- quickly comes to an end. Although you've a problem, you've nowhere to start --- these creatures taken away, the sea rolling as calmly as ever. Deciding to call it a night, you climb the steps back up to the town --- every step surreal, different from what it was before. You've climbed down into the darkness and returned back up, literally, and to rebehold the stars from above is now a confusion. 

(OOC: Sorry, got excited with Dante lines)

Returning to the tavern, you wearily push open the door --- ready for Mae's hugs and happiness, perhaps even a bit of fiery ale to warm your hearts. But it never comes --- and the second shock of the night works its way through your bones as you behold the scene. Chairs and tables overturned, remnant drink being lapped up by a stray canine on the floor. The bar turned to splinters ---- and blood, only a trickle, but still there --- marking the floor with a deep red. No note, no obvious signs of a struggle --- excepting the reddish patch on the wood. Mae. What has happened?

"What? What happened here?" then noticing blood Zofsaadi shouts "Who did this?" and runs around tavern looking for other traces (survival check 4)