[4e] The Balestar Rises - Chapter 1: Sorcerer Isle [Full]

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The Balestar Rises​

Chapter I: Sorcerer Isle​

Starring...​

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OOC Thread
[Map] Encounter 1: Gray Men, Grim Fate

[4e] The Balestar Rises



[sblock=OOC][Link to combat map. I'll keep this updated as we go.

Quink is, unsurprisingly, the one screaming. Any actions will be resolved in initiative order. You may also choose to wait your turn to post combat actions, but you can still post 'coming to' type stuff while waiting your turn - I'd encourage you all to do so. The ship was at 'battle stations' as much as a merchant scow can be, so you probably had as much of your gear on you as you could care to have. (We'll need to discuss livestock)

Also note, everyone will start prone. Standing requires a move equivalent action.

And now I get to use the magic DM words: What do you do?][/sblock]

[4e] The Balestar Rises

The intrepid ship-wrecked party fought off an attack of undead sailors. They did this on another board. These are the actions round by round.

[sblock=Round 1, Wherein the Party Gets a Rude Awakening]Kirr is glossy eyed as light returns to him, shaking his head.

He was wet. He already didn't like boats, wasn't a fan of baths – especially against his own will – and now he was waking up on a beach.

And in all this, his first thought: 'What was last eat?'

Instinct soon enough takes over, and the young half-orc quickly reaches for his great axe and looks around for a familiar face.

[sblock=ooc] [umm, so what's really going on? Do we know each other? Sounds like we were on a ship - got a bigger map??] [/sblock]
Aarlin would normally have been perfectly happy to stay down under these circumstances.


Having seen it prudent to tie his equipment to himself at the first sign of the storm, the young fire mage certainly paid for it shortly thereafter, when a particularly vicious rogue wave rocked the ship, and therefore sent his saucepan into a tethered, elliptical arc directly into the base of his skull.

Aarlin hadn't even had time to express his extreme irritation before everything went black.


Divine Providence tasted like scum, sometimes.

And much like an extra 15 minutes of sleep might be well-deserved after a hard shift in the kitchens, so too might an additional five minute rest be as merited under these circumstances. After all, Aarlin hadn't seen anybody else get up, yet.

But Aarlin figured everybody would be hungry, and out of a sense of duty, he lifted his head carefully from its perfect cast in the sand, and, standing, scanned the terrain to see what might be growing, or meaty.

What he saw did not meet his expectation. Facing it, his hands went up as if to stop the thing in front of him, falling into him.

"Hello, you seem to- Pyrephisto!"

[sblock=ooc][Stand (move action), cast Burning Hands at the ghoul in K17.] [/sblock]
Wet timbers hiss and pop as the heat from a sheet of orange-red flame twists from Aarlin's outstretched hands and shivers toward the gray figure rising from the waves. The figure writhes in momentary agony as its flesh smolders.

Down the beach, Rinneth calls worriedly to Cahad as he rolls groggily to his knees. The young mercenary gropes for a weapon and rises unsteadily. Xannet struggles to his feet and comes face-to-face with groping gray dread. It lunges at him as he scurries back past the pillar; his eyes are wide with shock, moving by instinct rather than reason. The mercenary stops when he catches sight of Rinneth and Cahad. Ornlu rolls backward over his shoulder and comes to his feet near Xannet, shedding sand and curses as he skids to a halt.

The gray men advance... one clambers over the timbers after Ornlu, the man pales visibly as it closes, but he dodges the gnashing teeth. Another lurches up to Micken, its hands groping toward warm living flesh, the mercenary is miraculously unscathed and his mouth is moving rapidly in silent, feverish prayers. Still another gray man rounds the pillar after Xannet, drawn by the scent of fear and blood. It lunges and Xannet's scream cuts off in a wet gargle. The gray man hisses and bares bloody teeth at Rinneth.

[sblock=ooc][Wyte and Draas are up next for the folks on the southerly part of the beach.

The map is up.[/sblock]
Draas rolls and struggles in the wind and swells of water along the beaches edge. His bulky cloth outfit and backpack (hastily gathered as the storm worsened) are now sodden and heavy. Draas tries to stand and stumble inland. As he puffs vigorously with the effort, all the gnome can think is of how fortunate he is to be alive, and have washed up on shore with little effort, saving him a dying admission of his inability to swim.

As the gnome stands, a scream echoes behind him. Draas whips his head around and stares goggle-eyed at Quink. Then, he notices the red-eyed humanoids.

With a brief yelp, Draas doubles his efforts of standing and scurrying directly east towards the safety of the dark rocks and recesses just within sight, all the while glancing over his shoulder at Quink, Aarlin, Brom and Yorel. He squints as fire erupts from Aarlin's hands, and then breaks into a full run across the wet sand, slipping between a rock and a tree for cover.

[sblock=ooc][Stand (move action). Move at run to Q14. 3 squares total.] [/sblock]
Is this ascension? Laurn thought in those few moments before consciousness.

No, for if I had I would not feel this lump in my back nor would I be... His thoughts paused as he tried to understand the sensation, Wet?

Then the peace was broken a nearby piercing scream, and reflexively Laurn was sent to his feet. Though if not for the staff he was gripping in his hand, the combination of jumping up, turning toward the scream, and the wet beach would have sent him back down to the sand. Instead he used the staff to brace himself and was standing with best footing he could expect and saw several figures stirring on the beach amongst wreckage.

Feeling his weapons and pack still on his person, he remembered Yorel's call to battle stations. Then questions began to race through his head; Ship wreckage? What had happened? Where are we?

But when he saw the gray figure reaching for the screaming Quink, followed by a burst of flame up the beach behind the Halfling, he realized his questions would have to wait. There was a more immediate problem; they were under attack.

[sblock=ooc] [Stand (move action), I will post the other half of my action after "gray figures" go] [/sblock]
A gaunt figure stands, wet clothes clinging to his body, half-tattered. His legs are wide and his balance spread unevenly, like a drunkard. It seems natural for him.

He checks his hands, first. They are scratched and marked with ribboning lines of blood, but every finger still moves in all the ways it should. A wave crashes around his boots; he reels, but does not fall. He turns toward the sea in defiance – never wise – and kicks his head back, knocking his dripping hair away from his eyes.

Which then go wide.

He backpedals, almost stumbling. He stutters through words and his hands shape out gestures, but none of them have any meaning but panic. As he collides softly against the cliff face, under the shade of a near tree, he seems to gather himself a bit. Enough, at least.

“άσπρη ελαφριά, άσπρη θερμότητα”

[sblock=ooc][Move to S19, Magic Missile at nearest gray man.] [/sblock]
Quink's scream trails off as he looks into the gray man's glowing eyes. The thing lurches at the halfling sailor with unseemly speed and Quink's shivering stills. For a brief moment the gray man seems torn between feeding and killing.

Another gray man scrambles over the wreckage at Aarlin, skin and clothes burnt and steaming from the blast. He lunges awkwardly, teeth sending a bone-deep chill where the pierce the skin.

[sblock=ooc][Awesome. Great stuff so far, here and in the OOC.

GuiltPuppy, Wyte will get that Magic Missile off next round, standing from prone is a move equivalent action, so he'll have to double move to get to S19. Let me know if you want to change that action, since we're all getting a hang for the flow – me especially.

Quink is down, Aarlin takes 2 hp. That Toughness Feat may pay off after all.

The map is up.

Laurn and Galloran are up.][/sblock]
My book...

The thought races through Galloran's mind before he realizes that his own life is in danger. Scooping up his bag from the oncoming waves, he rises and heads for the group of people nearest him.

Sand coats his clothes and boots as he runs toward Aarlin.

"What's going on? Who are they?"

As he approaches the gray men, the mixture of burnt hair and flesh crosses with the drowned stench of death.

[sblock=ooc] [Move to O-16, Knowledge skill to identify the Gray Men. (Religion if Undead)] [/sblock]
Laurn saw Quink fall and wanted to shout ,but in that moment all he could muster was a solemn, "Quink." Again his training and reflexes took over and while he could not get to a full speed run, he was moving; his destination the gray creature that dropped the Halfling.

As he made his way Laurn kept his eyes focused on the creature watching for clues of a possible attack and as his dance like approach finished he cocked back his staff, as if readying to swing an axe.

[sblock=ooc] [Move to O-20 (move action), and dodging creature in M19; Justice for Quink will have to wait until next round]
[Edited to add mention of dodge.] [/sblock]
Kirr see's the small one go down, and gets himself up and draws his axe, but can do little else other than snarl at these grey things that are seemingly attacking the people who had been feeding him of late.

Galloran's mind races, years of safe, sheltered study groping to square with the confusion, fear, cold and the threat of death. A dim memory stirs, a long time ago...


Kirr snarls, stepping forward as he raises his greataxe high, bellowing as he brings it down on the Gray man. The blow is a vicious one, hacking down through the creature's neck through rotten bone into it's chest and belly. A hideous odor wells out black, viscous blood and loops of bluish-black entrails. The creature buckles under the force of the blow and lays still, black blood oozing into the sand with Quink's own red beneath the half-orc's feet.

Quink's screams rouses Natt from his stupor. He struggles to his feet shaking his head in distress and denial of horrors come to life. Eyes wide with fear, he draws a slim sword with trembling hands and freezes, uncertain of what to do.

Cahad rolls to his feet with a growl, reminiscent of one the lion whose sodden pelt he now wears might have given. His left arm hangs strangely at his side. Rinneth is the first of his crew that he spots and his face flickers with fear and relief at the sight. His head whips around marking those down and those of his company. Xannet, fallen. Micken, beset. Rinneth, safe for the moment. Urgar, no Urgar. Kirr, just... fine. Taalorousshka, safe for the moment.

He raises the wicked spiked mace worn throughout the voyage, and steps in to protect his fallen comrade. "Burn!" he shouts. The mace head bursts into flame and he swings a wicked, but off-balance strike at the gray man.

Eddard comes to battered up against a stony outcropping, he takes a deep sucking breath and shivers, fumbling to bring his rapier to bear. He cowers against the stone, teeth chattering with fear and chill.

[sblock=ooc]Updated map. Brom is up. [/sblock]
Once Wyte's spell completes, he takes a look back, assessing the steepness of the cliff behind him, and climbing tentatively upwards as seems appropriate.

[sblock=ooc][Spell for sure, then climb toward T20 if its shallower than 45-degrees, or has enough handholds to be of reasonably equivalent ease as a 45-degree surface.] [/sblock]
The familiar and soothing sounds of the waves wash over Brom as he drags his sleep-drugged mind from the nightmare's visions of screaming men and a ship's deck splintered apart on the sea. Only the screaming hasn't stopped. He opens his eyes, only half aware of the grit of sand on his face and the rawness of his skin in the salty water, barely able to take in the sight of the charred and rotting human form advancing on young Aarlin.

"Olch!"

He staggers to his feet in the uneven sand, clumsily drawing his rapier and wobbling slightly amidst the torn wooden planking of what remains of the Sorrow's Plenty. He notices that despite dripping with brine, the figure somehow looks as though it's been burned. He wonders fleetingly, Did the young pup do that? Trying to overcome his utter revulsion at the wet gray flesh, he swings his sword at the creature.

[sblock=ooc] [Stand (move action); Draw weapon (free action due to BAB +1); Attack with rapier (standard attack action, +4 attack, 1d6 +2 damage)]

I adopted bolded bright green for the Folli language, if that's all right. "Olch!" is pretty much just an exclamation that translates roughly to "Holy crap!"] [/sblock]
Water shimmers on the rapier blade as Brom swings it in a swift crosswise cut that thunks solidly into a shattered timber of The Plenty the panic-fueled fury of the blow sending it wide. Brom wrenches the blade free.

'Olch' indeed.

Micken's mouth continues to move in silent prayers as he scuttles backwards like a crab, coming awkwardly to his feet. The gray man hisses and bites again at the elusive mercenary. Micken yelps and turns, half-running, half-falling his way towards Cahad and Rinneth.

The good Captain surges to his feet with a shout, swinging his blade overhead and rushing into the thick of things.

[sblock=ooc][Round 2 begins. Aarlin's up. The map is updated.[/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Round 2, Wherein the Party Fight for Their Very Lives]Ah, nothing felt quite like a good solid axe hit. The simple things in life...

Kirr couldn't really help himself, and so he made sure everyone and anyone on the beach knew he was somewhat please with as loud and guttural a grunting war cry as he could, seeming to scream at the grey remains.

[sblock=ooc] [Free action] [/sblock]
This is not acceptable in the least, thought Aarlin as the now-charred figure advanced toward him and struck him with a raking claw.

But if discretion was the better part of valor, so too was it the better part of righteous indignation. Thinking the better of repeating the Pyrephisto curse with his now-risen allies in close proximity, Aarlin found an avenue of escape, and took it.

As he reached the spot next to Galloran, he answered the half-elf in panicked, breathless bursts.

"The gray ones - they harm us."

[sblock=ooc][5' step to N15 (free), move 10' to P15.] [/sblock]
Kirr's battlecry bounces off the rocks, echoing strangely against the cliff face. The wind answers with a cold, shrieking howl that blows in over the waves.

Rinneth steels himself and steps forward, concern for his captain etched on his young face. The dark-skinned veteran glances over as the younger mercenary steps up beside him. "High-- Get back!" shouts Cahad.

Rinneth makes a brave swing at the gray man confronting Ornlu, but misses badly. Cahad curses when Rinneth's blow fails to connect.

Wyte's utterance is sibilant and swift, his outstretched fingers glow briefly as a shimmer of energy builds before launching from his fingertips in a crackling dart. The energy discharges into the singed horror's side, further singing him. The smell of burning rot is renewed. The young sorcerer turns to ascend the cliff face. Handholds are plentiful, as is sap from the evergreen whose branches brush the cliff. He climbs swiftly and is soon lost amongst the stone and branches.

Wiry Ornlu drops into a roll again, past the gray man and up, weight balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. He aims a savage cut and feels the not-quite-right bite of blade in rotted flesh.
[sblock=ooc] [New map. Wyte's Magic Missle did 2 pts to the now-really-put-off-by-magic Lacedon at L16. He also climbs 7' this turn.

Draas is up, then the gray men.] [/sblock]
Draas' rolling sprint pulls short just oceanward of old tattered wreckage. Staring at the shattered remains of what he can only assume is from a previous shipwreck, he ponders for a moment on their fate. How many ships and crews have wrecked here to be picked apart by these viscious grey men? In a moment's flash, he imagines dozens of helpless sailors screaming and writhing as the sea reclaims her toll.

The half-orc's cry rouses Draas from his contemplation, and he releases the wreckage, which he had been clutching tightly with his small hands. It is as my uncle says, kya. To be brave, to be bold -- this is Taalorousshka, kya. It will be MY way, Draas thinks.

With a deep breath, the gnome spins around, dramatically flipping back his cloak to face the sea winds and the combat with the grey men. Stepping slighly forward and away from the wreckage, the gnome swells himself to his greatest heighth (or greatest width, in Draas' case) and begins to speak in a surprisingly deep and rich voice for a gnome, though heavily laden with the thick Taavgorodian accent...


The gnome's voice rolls over the waves, emotion clearly infused into his oratory. As he speaks, he looks from crew member to crew member, trying to make his words heard by each of them over the conjoined tumult of battle and sea. As he speaks, he slowly draws his dagger from his belt.

[sblock=ooc][Bard song (standard action): Inspire Courage (+1 morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects and a +1 morale bonus on attack and weapon damage rolls for all who hear the performance). Draw Weapon (move action)] [/sblock]
Brave words fly, bringing courage and resolve to the sons of Sorrow's Plenty.

The gray men press a savage attack. Claws open gashes on Rinneth's chest. Cahad is beset at both hands, front and back, teeth snap and claws fall, blood flows from several wounds. Cold leeches into the limbs and bodies of Rinneth and Cahad. The gray man menacing Brom snaps and claws, a blackened fingernail tears off lodged in the chestpiece of Brom's armor.

[sblock=ooc][Map.

Laurn and Galloran are up. Followed by Kirr.] [/sblock]
As he to tried to get to Quink, Laurn saw the half-orc rise and, with a battle cry, chop the halfling's attacker down in a single blow; as if pruning a dead branch. The site of the Quink's attacker downed satisfied Laurn and as he moved he turned his eyes and ears to the rest of the beach. Time seemed, for a moment, to stand still allowing him, to take in the scene.

Sounds of fighting and action taking place up the full length of the beach.

A burst of fire, and a magic bolt had both hit the gray figure by Brom.

The tubby gnome had moved himself up to drier beach out of the combat. Saving himself? Laurn wondered for a moment. No, the little one had simply moved where we could all better hear his rallying words. As Laurn heard the gnome start to speak, he felt his own confidence rise.

Remove the threat in front of you, before you worry about threats you can not see, he recited to himself to stay focused. His new target was the Gray man near Brom. He pressed forward, giving Kir a quick nod of satisfaction, and using his momentum turned toward the waves. Then with with long, high strides Laurn jogged between the edges of the incoming waves and some debris.

If a single axe chop can fell such a creature, then that burned and blasted one should not be able to take much more. He reasoned as he closed on the creature and twisted himself around into a spin. Halfway around, he extended his arms and swung his staff with all the built up momentum. Then confident in his strike, he took one more step into the swing, braced for impact, and let out a sudden, "Jah!"

[sblock=ooc] [Move action: Move 30 feet total to K17 (10' to M20 > 5' L20 > 10' K18 > 5 ' K17), Dodge gray at L16]
[Standard action: Attack (+3) gray at L16, with 1 end of staff using 2 hands dmg (1d6+3)+1)]
[AC:15 (vs that gray) HP:10] [/sblock]
Wyte keeps on climbing, not bothering to look over his shoulder much. If he can get on level ground quickly enough, he'll throw another missile at whatever gray man is nearest, but otherwise it's all climb.

Around Galloran the battle rages, his first instinct is the tighten his grip upon the quarterstaff and protect himself. Writing the details of this encounter would have to come later. As his fingers tighten around the coarse wood, the tips find the carvings of holy words and scriptures.

If one's faith is true, it can drive the evil and unholy from you. The mightiest of priests can destroy the undead with such faith.

Holding his book in his left hand, the half-elf thrusts the staff into the ground and raises up his holy symbol.

"Eto kuram na smekh"

The words pour out of his mouth, taking a piece of his faith and making it tangible for the briefest of instants.

[sblock=ooc][Move Action to put Staff into the ground, Standard action to Turn Undead] [/sblock]
"Jah!"

...Thud.

Laurn experiences a moment of disorientation when impact comes later than expected. The end of his quarterstaff sinks with a crunch into the sand by the gray man's unshod foot. The singed gray man turns to hiss, cold beating from hateful blue eyes. Laurn raises the quarterstaff quickly and water fills the hole gouged into the sand.

Staff planted, slim Galloran raises his Book aloft and utters an ancient prayer. He feels the power gather and focus, but as it is about to release it dissipates suddenly. Like a great sighing. Glancing up, Galloran notes that the Book is... upside down.

[sblock=ooc][Bishop96/Galloran, did I make the correct assessment that the book is Galloran's holy symbol?

Kirr's up. ] [/sblock]
Kirr grabs at whatever part of Quink as he can crab from the surf.

"No time swim now." he mutters, hoping to get an arm or leg, but settling for just about anything.

He pulls the halfling up out onto the beach, cuts between some plankings, and then releases the grip behind a couple others as he steps to a better position.

He then looks up to see where he might be most needed.

[sblock=ooc][Move action to grab Quink, drag him N19 - O19 to P18 to P16 (20 feet) drop and continue movement to O15 [assuming dropping a dragged person is free like dropping a weapon]. Total 25' out of possible 40' movement.] [/sblock]
There is scant warmth in Quink's little body. He's bleeding from nasty wounds. Kirr hefts him like a doll and deposits up further up the shore. Natt's indecision vanishes, he swallows his fear and the young man moves to the water's edge to take a feeble swing. His blade wobbles toward the gray man, but makes not good contact.

Up the beach Cahad's macehead burns in a strangely stilled hand. He gurgles in frustration as the chills seeps from his wounds into his bones.

Eddard gapes at the ebb and flow of the unfolding battle. He sees the rustling branches of the scrubby evergreen tree where Wyte is climing. Up!The sailor scrabbles to his feet against the rough stone of the cliff face and then turns and begins climbing, years in the shrouds lending him agile strength. "Up.. up..." he mutters mindlessly as he climbs.

[sblock=ooc][New map.

Brom is up.] [/sblock]
For an instant, Brom stares in horror, transfixed, at the oozing broken fingernail clinging to his breastplate. From somewhere behind him, a richly accented voice drifts across the beach, telling of bold warriors and sharp blades. Drawing strength from the words, he forces down a wave of sickening nausea and turns his eyes to the hideous creature now hissing at the half-elf. "I'll not die this day," he vows silently, swinging his rapier with renewed determination.

[sblock=ooc][Attack gray in L16 with rapier (standard attack action, +4 attack, 1d6 +2 damage)

Would like to reserve my move action until after I see the result of my attack] [/sblock]
Brom's swing goes wide as it occurs to him that he has not seen his brother. Amongst those fighitng along the shore, none appear to be the determined Folli shipsinger.

Micken moves up beside Rinneth, his brow furrowed, eyes riveted on the rotting men. He swing and misses, eyes cutting distractedly to Rinneth's freezing face, widening when he sees tears welling in the young mercenary's eyes.

Yorel rushes the gray man at Cahad's exposed back, he's shouting something in Nethek.

[sblock=ooc][Map updated. Round 3 begins. katybear/Brom, let me know what you want to do with your movement action.

Aarlin is up.] [/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Round 3, Wherein the Tide Turns]As the fog of war dissipates, and the carnage moves away from Aarlin, he begins to focus.

Save your fire, Aarlin, he thinks to himself.

Do not yet run away - you may still be of use - think.

Looking around, he sees it - a piece of driftwood. Pointing at it, he then thrusts his arm at the ghoul that menaced him.

"Pellijectia!"

[sblock=ooc] [No movement, casting Mage Hand at a piece of debris in N17 to throw at creature in L16. Not expecting to damage, but possibly to distract.] [/sblock]
After missing the blasted creature for the second time, Brom scrambles to the side to get clear of the ship's wreckage. Perhaps having clearer ground to stand on will improve his swing...

[sblock=ooc] [5' step to M16] [/sblock]
Brom side-steps, moving up next to Natt. A strange syllable shivers in the air and piece of Sorrow flies over Brom's shoulder. The splintered timber bounces off of the gray man's chest and begins to buffet it about the head and shoulders. The gray man gargles frustration and swipes at the floating wood with grisly claws.

Tears well in Rinneth's eyes as the bone-deep cold steals in. Muscles grow tense, joints freeze. This is the end. Rinneth's breath is a shallow gasping sob between clenched teeth.

The rock is cold under Wyte's hands. He climbs with an eye to the toward the top of the cliff. He's blocked. But, no, there, there's a way. With effort the young man creeps steadily up the cliff face.

Ornlu nods at Micken as the mercenary moves up. The Chill was seeping into Cahad and young Rinneth, he could see it. Shaking his head, the quiet man girds himself, teeth baring in a feral half-smile, half-snarl as he strikes and strikes well. Something is damaged deep in the sinews of the gray man, his eyes flicker, but he remains standing, black ooze pouring from the wound in his back.

[sblock=ooc][Pelican/Aarlin - the wood fragment doesn't do any damage, but the gray man will have to succeed at a Reflex check to use all his actions next turn.

GuiltPuppy/Wyte - the cliff is 20-ish feet tall, so 3 climb increments (climb rate of 7', don't now recall how I arrived at that). He's travelled 2 increments up and has one more to go.

The Ornlu attack text is flavor. There was no crit or special damage. Just in case anyone wondered.

Draas is up.] [/sblock]
Draas' voice trails off, watching his allies swing and miss again and again. For a moment, he is dumbfounded.

"Ze verse of Taalorousshka noyat be moving Zese allies", mutters Draas. "We die, if noyat Draasnovich helps. Perhaps zese raman learn to fear ze magic, dah?"

Stepping forward at a fast waddle, Draas moves so that he can see the gray man dodging blows from Brom and Laurn, but keeps himself positioned behind Kirr as much as possible. Lifting his free left hand, Draas points it at the gray man.

In his best imitation of Wyte's voice, Draas shouts:
"Ahspray elathria, Ahspray thermotayta!"

[sblock=ooc] [Move action: forward to O14, trying to stay mostly behind Kirr.]
[Standard action: Cast Flare at Gray man in K16, attempting to dazzle it.] [/sblock]
Light blazes in the gray man's face and seeps into his eyes. The buffeted, singed creature claws at its eyes before making a weak swing at Brom. The new footing serves him well.

On the north side of the beach, the gray man that attacked Cahad turns to the nearest living warmth, Ornlu. The lithe man glances over his shoulder at the cliffs, clearly considering his options. The gray man's attack draws blood. Ornlu has time to register fear and disgust before the chill seeps out into his flesh, freezing him in place.

Micken is slashed down by a savage attack that leaves him bleeding on the ground. Yorel takes a slash from the hulking mass of rot and stink, a gash on outstretched sword arm.

[sblock=ooc] [Map updated.

Laurn, then Galloran, then Kirr.] [/sblock]
Laurn recovers from his miscalculated strike, takes a breath, and evaluates the situation. When he sees the tactical advantage he now has with Natt flanking the gray, the dazzling lights, and the creature's attention drawn to Brom, he smiles. Then in a single fluid movement Laurn takes his staff from the defensive vertical position, spins it several times like the hands of clock. After the creature lashes out at Brom, Laurn sees an opportunity, changes the staff's spin into a swing and targets the exposed side of the gray man.

[sblock=ooc] [Standard action: Attack+5 (+2base ,+1song, +2flank) gray at L16, with 1 end of staff using 2 hands dmg (1d6+3)+1)]
[AC:15 (vs that gray) HP:10]
[Going to reserving move action until attack outcome] [/sblock]
Laurn's swing crunches into the gray man's shoulder and chest, spattering thick black blood and gobbets of spongy flesh. The gray man drops, hissing and clawing one moment, inert and silent the next.

[sblock=ooc][Galloran, then Kirr.] [/sblock]
As the creature drops in front of him, Laurn gives a nod of approval to Brom and Natt before he pauses to look up the beach. As he sees the captain and some others under siege, then points up to Drass and Kir and says, "We should regroup."

Then he pulls is staff away from the fallen gray and begins to scurry up the beach to the others.

[sblock=ooc] [Move action: move to P13] [/sblock]
Kirr was already looking up the beach. The fight had moved, and that's why he had. He wasnt' about to let someone else have all the bashing fun.

So cutting among the beach rock and debris, he deftly found himself a clear way. As he moved, he instinctively moved his great axe to his left hand, and with the right unstrapped one of his smaller throwing axes.

Coming to the end of his walk, he looked straight at one of the grey's, hoists the axe and lets it fly with as much vigor behind it as he can muster.

And with a snort, he returns his right hand to the heft of the axe, knowing that very soon he'd be right up against this foe, able to feel the crunching his axe would cause.

[sblock=ooc] [Move to M8 (40') Throwing Axe +6 (+5 STR, +1BAB), 1d6+4,x2, Range: 10' (2nd increment, so -2), Target the grey H8] [/sblock]
With a sheepish grin, Galloran turns the book upright. Raising it high above his head, the half-elf takes a deep breath and focuses his mind.

"ETO KURAM NA SMEKH!"

The shouted words echo in his mind, his faith must take hold. Quickly looking to his companions, he sees a few gashes and bruises. With a healer's eye, he tries to ascertain if any would prove fatal and needed his immediate ministrations.

[sblock=ooc][Standard Action Turn attempt, hopefully it'll work better this time. Move Action Heal Check to triage the party.] [/sblock]
Galloran's words echo off the rocky cliffs - each syllable returns, greater, louder, stronger. A trick of wind and stone? Or the voices of the elders helping their brother in a time of need?

Kirr moves up the beach, long-legged strides moving him swiftly. He flips a hand-axe to a throwing grip and and draws a bead on the massive gray man menacing Captain Yorel.

As the final echo of Galloran's voice returns, a wave of concussive force breathes out across the beach radiating from the slim young cleric.

The gray man in Kirr's sights begins to keen and wail, writhing in agony. It turns to flee into the water. Kirr's throws. The axe flies end over end, whickering through the air. It bites deep in the gray man's neck and muscled, ropy shoulder, pinning him to a jagged spur of spar and sheet. Black blood splatters onto the pale canvas. The gray man struggles against the blade, shrieking and clawing, maddened. It wrenches free with a wet crunch leaving the axe and a hunk of flesh and blood behind. It takes a staggering step, face twitching, blazing eyes fluttering. The keening drops to a rasp. A wheeze. A rattle.

The light goes out of its eyes as it collaspes to to the ground. Out in the surf, several voices rise and fall in wails of pain and fear.

Natt, the foe in front of him defeated, looks at a loss once again. He is gray-faced and ill. At Laurn's directive he straigtens, glad to follow orders and trots up the beach. He takes all of three steps before he drops to his knees and vomits.

Eddard scrabbles left and right, but can't seem to make any progress up the cliff. "Up, up, up..." he mutters.

Quink is bleeding profusely from a gash in his neck. His color is bad and his breathing shallow.

[sblock=ooc][The tide turns. Map upadated. Quink is the closest wounded (for Galloran). The others are either fine, or not showing signs of damage.

Brom is up.] [/sblock]
Brom pauses only a half-second to watch the black goo spill sickeningly from the inert gray creature in front of him. Then, taking a deep bracing breath of sea air, he turns to pick his way northward along the wreckage-strewn beach to defend his captain.

[sblock=ooc][Move (x2) to L6 (60'); rapier still drawn] [/sblock]
Aarlin, at last able to think calmly, surveys the carnage around him.

Spotting Brom in combat with a gray man, Aarlin continues his Mage Hand spell, directing the piece of wood into the gray man attacking Brom.

It isn't much, thinks the ex-Burrower, but I don't see anyone else helping him, either.

[sblock=ooc][Stay in place, continue with Mage Hand spell as before, this time at the gray man in melee with Brom.] [/sblock]
Micken lies awkwardly on the ground, stiff, bleeding. Yorel gapes as an axe flips end over end past him and bites deep into the gray man. He whuffs out a breath as the force of Galloran's turning thrums past. He gives a shout as the gray man falls before looking toward the remaining gray men in doubt. The combatants are frozen, and the gray men turning their baleful hungry stares towards him. Yorel is reckless, foolish... yes, even foolish. But, stupid, no. Not stupid.

The Captain falls back, with a fierce nod at his cook as he takes up a position next to Brom and prepares himself for the next attack.

Wyte is reaching to the next handhold when the rock under his foot gives, he tumbles down the cliff face, pine boughs whip and stones scrape. He lands at the base in an unceremonious heap, with a bone-rattling crunch.

[sblock=ooc][Round 4 begins.

Pelican, the gray man fighting Brom has fallen, if you wish you can revise your action.

Wyte takes 3pts of falling damage (missed the DC15 Jump check to make the damage non-lethal in addtion to the failed Climb check).

Draas is up.] [/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Round 4, Wherein the Party Rallies Mightily]The disappointment is almost evident on Aarlin's face as the gray man in front of Brom is turned. Devoid of an immediate opponent, and approaching the apex of its duration, Aarlin's Mage Hand fades, and the young Southron is once again at a loss for ideas.

Looking at Quink bleeding out next to him, Aarlin barely registers above the pounding surf, and the inhuman noises of the grey men.

"Should someone not be seeing to this man's wounds?"

[sblock=ooc][Full defense, then. Aarlin isn't particularly anxious to get into combat with the rest of the grey men.] [/sblock]
Wyte lays on the ground for a moment, unblinking. The air has been knocked out of his lungs, and for a moment it feels as though he won't be able to pull it back. But no - after a beat it comes, almost on its own, inflating his chest abruptly.

He takes two sharp breaths, not looking eager to stand. His head rolls to the side, eyes unfocused. He looks across the short span of beach, down to the water. Squints, looking out across the water.

His eyes go wide again, and he stands.

He motions with his hands immediately, but has a false start, letting out only an aching hiccup where an incantation should be. He grits his teeth, rests some of his weight against the cliff face, and speaks it slowly this time, and this time, it comes as clearly as the first.

[sblock=ooc] [Magic Missile again, nearest standing gray man.] [/sblock]
Draas wheezes uncomfortably, his face mottled with splotches of red. The song, the run, the quick action... all have conspired to exhaust the fat little gnome.

For a moment, Draas catches his breath, watching several of the grey men begin to slink back into the see and the rest faced by Kirr and Yorel.

Wheezing again, Draas blinks realizing that the pudgy young human nearby has just spoken. Draas looks down at the ashen form of Quink, reels for just a moment at the pallid color of the halfling's skin. He glances up and sees Galloran, holy symbol just lowered from some powerful invocation, also looking around at companions as for the first time.

"Healer!" Draas voices towards Galloran. "Zis one, it be he what needs of your care. Azuit, azuit! Quick, now."

Draas waddles over towards Quink seeing what aid he might give Galloran in the cleric's efforts.

[sblock=ooc][Step south, to 015. Assist Galloran with Heal on Quink, if needed (wis bonus +1 to Heal).] [/sblock]
There is a great thrashing ruckus in a tree near the cliff. A hiccup and a shout. A shimmering bolt of energy flies across the beach, weaving improbably between stone pillars and people alike to strike and scatter into a sparkling cascade whose heat bleeds off with a hissing that blends with the gray man's last utterance as it falls to the ground.

Draas moves next to Quink. Leaning over causes stars to swim before the fat little gnomes eyes - slategray-black fireflies just for him. They'd be pretty to look at, if it didn't mean he was close to fainting.

Quink is gray and clammy.

Out in the water there are three wails and three splashes.

One gray man remains. The lone gray man's eyes blaze hungrily as he advances with gnashing teeth and reaching claws. The gnashing teeth connect, a grazing snap into Brom's upper arm as he struggles unsuccessfully to keep the gray man at bay. Cold steals into Broms bones, as swiftly as if he were dunked into the drink. His limbs stiffen and he cannot even swivel his eyes, but he can still hear and see and smell and think. The grisly gray man fills his sight. It snarls hungrily as its swings its head back and forth, like a beast scenting prey.

He cannot turn to see them, but Brom can sense the Captain at his side, and and not far beyond him, the great behemoth Kirr.

The statue garden on the northerly part of the beach grows by one more figure.

[sblock=ooc][For clarification - the gray man that Aarlin was harassing wasn't turned, Laurn finished him.

Four gray men were turned over all, the one that Kirr critted, and the three on the wreckage. The remaining two were just out of range.

I moved Brom, forgot to update his position, and have adjusted Yorel's response accordingly. Sadly, the gray man liked this new tasty morsel. Brom is paralyzed (can see and think and all that) for 5 rounds. If combat ends, his paralysis will resolve quickly.

Laurn is up.] [/sblock]
Laurn glances toward the sea upon hearing the splashing sounds, then turns back to look up the beach; 'They still threaten the captain'.

He looks over to Drass, the fallen Quink and the others as he calmly states his intentions, "There is still a battle being fought, and if the captain still lives I must help him. I suggest you all gather up the wounded and move inland, since these creatures seem to be rising out of the water."

A moment later he is running north attempting to charge the last gray man. Sadly as Laurn begins to close the distance the rocks and trees thwart his focus, and so he adjusts he stance to defend himself against this new enemy.

[sblock=ooc][Standard + Move action: double move to J7]
[AC:15 (vs that gray) HP:10]
[ I wanted to charge, but after looking at the map I am assuming my LoS is blocked. If you rule I can charge I can easily edit the action] [/sblock]
Laurn moves up the beach without incident. Smokeless flame from Cahad's macehead flicker off of the faces of the figures that square off against the remaining gray man.

In the distance, the cry of a hunting bird splits the air.

[sblock=ooc][Galloran, Kirr] [/sblock]
The big half-orc started to smile a sickly toothy grin. This was starting to be fun - not that the impromptu bath had been mostly forgotten.

Kirr looked for a gap, and as he walked up the beach with a quick stride he returned his other hand to the pommel of his great axe, and made a swing at this new target.

[sblock=ooc] [Moving to attack K6 from the square directly south. +6 attack, 1d12+4 dmg] [/sblock]
Galloran begins to hum lightly. Soon words as old as creation are heard almost like a lullaby. The half-elf places his hands near Quink's wounds, being sure that they would soon close.

"This shall keep him alive for now. Later we will see to the more lasting injuries."

With his prayers complete, he pulls the staff free of the loose sand.

[sblock=ooc][ Cast Cure Light Wounds d8+1 Move action to draw the staff from the ground.] [/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Round 5, Wherein We Reach the Exciting Conclusion of Gray Men, Grim Fate]Galloran's lullaby humming sends tingles through those nearby. Quink's wounds knit, his healthy palor returns, though he is yet covered with his own blood. The nasty gash in his throat is still tender and painful looking, covered by raw, pink flesh. He takes a great gasping breath as consciousness returns, his body arching in the sand as it tenses. He relaxes at last, panting, eyes wide with fear and remembered pain, not comprehending what has occurred, "Are you come to take me home?"

Up the beach, Kirr moves deftly into position, the gray man's blue eyes reflect off of the blade as it turns in time to see the axe on its downward stroke. The impact makes Kirr grunt. The blade bites deep, and black, foul-smelling blood wells out around the blade, sucking as he draws it free. A mighty blow to be certain, but the gray man keeps its feet.

Natt spits and wipes his mouth sheepishly. He gets to his feet and staggers up the beach toward the cluster of those still fighting.

Eddard struggles up the cliff face failing to make any progress. In his desperation he misteps, and, like Wyte - though without quite so far to fall - tumbles into the sand at the foot of the cliff. He twists as he falls, turning to land better which he does, but in the twisting he grazes his head against a rock. Eyes fluttering he hits the ground and slumps over in the sand.

Brom's thoughts are his own as the chill in his bones deepens. It seems like the cold is wrapping tendrils around his very heart.

Micken would shut his eyes if he could, to better concentrate his prayers. But he can't. He flails mentally against the utter helplessness, fear growing as his mind makes dire images of what he can hear behind him.

Yorel is startled by Kirr's appearance, and by the ferocity of his attack. The Captain moves to the side, to give Kirr's axe plenty of room. Thus distracted, the Captain's own attack fails to connect. He clenches his teeth.

[sblock=ooc][Woot. Day off after a long LONG crunch. So, update time!

CLW roll maxed out. Quink is healed up to 1pt shy of his max. Brom is frozen. Aarlin's up.

Begin Round 5] [/sblock]
Aarlin was feeling useless, and running out of options.

Looking out past the cluster of people around him to the nearest gray man approaching, the fire mage bit his lip, and avoided saying the thing on his mind. Instead, he continued his scan, to see Wyte and Eddard prone at the base of the cliff.

"We are vulnerable, here, and so are those men at the base of the cliff. We should move to them."

Making himself an example, Aarlin covered the distance to Wyte, and then faced the grey men again.

While on guard, Aarlin heard Wyte stand up behind him. Looking at the mage briefly, it registered that this man did not need protecting. Aarlin continued on to Eddard.

[sblock=ooc][Double move: Aarlin to R19, then to P21 (ftw!) taking a protective position next to Eddard, Burning Hands spell readied to cast at any gray man who closed within 10' of his position.] [/sblock]
Laurn shook his foot as he took up his defensive stance loosening the wet fabric off his leg. Then, as reset his grip on his staff, and began to study his opponent one of the gray men, though less man and more animated flesh, he recalled a sparring session when he was a child.


"No Laurn!"
The instructor shouted and then paused to take a deep breath. After he exhaled in a much calmer tone he started to speak again. "Before you strike, before you even choose a stance, and if possible before a conflict even starts; study your opponent."

The instructor pointed his cane at the elf standing on the opposite side of the sandy practice area and continued his scolding. "In this case do not simply look at Zal'in, study him. See the weapon he chose, see his grip, see his stance, see how he looks at you, see how and where he moves, see even the clothes he wears." He paused a moment, to let the statement sink in.

"Every opponent has a weakness; every conflict has an advantage that one side can take advantage of. You may only have a moment in time to look for such things, but doing so should be the first action you take in a conflict. And yes Zal'in , before you correct an old man, even before a conflict you should be studying those you face in order to find the best way to avoid any conflict."

"Now Laurn get back on your feet, and enter the sand. This time your goal is to avoid all strikes Zal'in makes at you until the bell rings. I know you have it in you boy, though if you forgot the basics again I doubt Zal'in will miss after I knock you to the sand again."

*******​

The basics. Study your opponent.

Laurn sighed. This was the first time he has actually studied his opponents in this conflict. Instead he had been basically striking blindly forgetting the basics. He would not do so again so easily, Zal'in never could hit him and neither will this gray man. Well at least not without Laurn knowing all he could about the creature.

Eddard is lying inert in the sands. At a glance, he appears to be sleeping, with no greivous wounds.

Tears fall from Rinneth's eyes, the young mercenary's hand twitches. For his part, Xannet heroically oozes blood into the sand at the feet of the mercenary captain. Ornlu is positioned well to see down the length of beach and the battle as it winds down. When this one falls, what then?

[sblock=ooc][Wyte and Draas. Technically, Wyte THEN Draas. But no worries.] [/sblock]
Hesitantly, Wyte jogs to keep up with the rest of the group. His hands begin the same motion he'd made before, but stop; he glances out over the water, blinks some more salt from his eyes, and makes a different incantation, gesturing about himself.

[sblock=ooc][Move to Q15, cast Resistance on self.] [/sblock]
Draas stands straight up, looking around and noting that things seem to be well in hand. Hands on his hips, he arches his small back until several vertebrae crack. Then, rubbing his hands together, Draas begins peering through the nearest detritus in search of his rickshaw.

[sblock=ooc][Move action: to N17]
[Standard action: Search] [/sblock]
The gray man, despite grievous wounsd, hisses its hunger for the life in Kirr's veins. Black blood sprays in stringy strands from its mouth. It snaps at the tall half-orc's arm and sinks its teeth into the bunched muscle. Tasting blood, it slashes at Kirr with its claws, scoring long scrapes that begin to ooze.

To his dismay, Kirr feels a chill prickle across his skin. At first it seems the wind, but it spreads under his armor, into his chest... deep. His movements slow and cease. The gray man's eyes blaze and it yanks its mouth away, trailing bright living blood from the wound. The rotting man growls and stretches its claws at those still moving.

[sblock=ooc][Kirr is frozen. He takes 7pts of damage. Laurn, Galloran, Kirr... and a heads up to Brom] [/sblock]
Despite the attack the creature just made on the half-orc next to him, Laurn allows himself a small grin. Quickly he pulls the stave back,as if tugging on a rope, and then with two forceful steps forward he plunges the weapon forward, toward what he believe is a weak spot on the side of gray man.

While not a flashy display of martial prowess, Laurn hope the simple jab is effective enough to finish off the gray man. Though suspecting the creature to be invigorated by its own successful attack on Kir, Laurn does not drop his guard, and instead continues to study his opponent preparing for its next attack.

[sblock=ooc][Standard action: Attack+2 gray at L16, with 1 end of staff using 2 hands dmg (1d6+3)]
[AC:15 (vs that gray) HP:10] [/sblock]
Kirr suddenly finds that he muscles will not respond to him. Thinking this is something he can out-muscle, he struggles against the affliction, but against his best efforts his limbs remain still.

If he could have wrinkled his lip and growled, it would have been a low, ominous, and disturbing sound. As it was, he was just a big statue, with the usual glossy eyes that were the norm for a creature such as he.

Laurn jabs and connects with a squelching crunch. The gray man's eyes blaze and a blast of cold radiates out from him. It hisses and claws about itself feeling unlife draining away before falling into an unceremonious heap in the ring of combatants.

[sblock=ooc][Initiative ends] [/sblock]
At the north end of the stony beach, the passenger, some of Sorrow's crew, the mercenary captain and his some of his band are standing frozen by the touch of the gray men.

Many of those left alive are wounded, but only a few appear to be in immediate danger. Micken is startlingly pale; the only thing keeping him upright is the gray man's touch. Xannet is not much better off.

A cold wind blows inland. Torn sails flutter and wreckage groans, scraping along the sand as wind and waves stir the remnants of Sorrow's Plenty.

Not all the groans sound wooden...

[sblock=ooc][End of our first combat! Time for some XP!

Aarlin: 310
Brom: 300
Draas: 300
Galloran: 280
Kirr: 320
Laurn: 530
Wyte: 300

I've been really happy with the writing. Really, really happy!

Rinneth will be the first to shake off paralysis, followed by Kirr, Cahad, Micken (unconsious), and then Ornlu... all within about a minute of one another, so pretty quickly.] [/sblock][/sblock]

[sblock=Wherein the Party Takes Stock and Gathers Itself] As he stands suspended, Brom marvels that while his senses take in the horrific battle around him, his body fails to react in even the slightest way. No involuntary flinching of muscles. No sharp intake of breath. Not even the blink of an eye. It lends a certain sensation of unreality to the whole situation and his mind begins to slip backwards. It slides past images of a life filled with sails and sunbrowned faces, hearty food and lusty songs, fragrant spices and exotic ports. And of course, the sea. The sea where his people had made their home and found peace.

The Folli people had always believed that there was an unseen hand holding the awesome forces and mysteries of the deep in check. The mighty sea-god, Balogh, maintained balance so that the same oceans that claimed the lives of men might also aid others in a speedy journey home or offer sustenance to hungry mouths. But then… something had happened and the sea had turned vicious somehow. Sure, there had always been storms to be weathered and a fair number of lives lost to watery graves. But this was different. It was as if Balogh had let go the reins, loosing the full destructive might of the sea.

Since then, Brom had seen over half of the Folli fleet fall prey to terrible storms, storms of such intensity that they lasted for days and swept men from the deck of a ship as though they were no more than dust. All told, they had lost nearly three hundred brothers and sisters and forty-odd ships from the fleet. So many lives lost, all in the space of a few days. It was wrong, unnatural...

*******​

The sickening, wet crunch of Laurn’s staff on the oozing gray man before him snaps Brom back to the present. He watches in mute relief as the disgusting creature falls at last. His frozen limbs itch to turn about, seeking any other attackers on the beach.

As the stiffness leaves the big half orc's frame, and the axe begins to sway slightly under his own movement, a rather loud burst can be heard to emit from him.

Once he has full movement, he takes a step and swings the axe into the lifeless form that was the last foe, just for good measure, and to release the pent up aggression that he'd held while immobilized.

He then looks around, to see where the others are heading.

Wyte swallows hard, his face still pale. On rubbery legs he begins to retreat up the beach. "Can we get away from the water?" he cries out with a sense of urgency. "We should find a place to hide!"

Laurn pulls his staff back from the pile that was once the gray man. Careful to not let the end which sank into the creature touch himself, or those around him, he thrusts the end into the sand and twists it. Once Laurn is satisfied that any remnants of the creature have been cleaned off the wood he turns to survey the battle ground the beach had become.

Quietly while catching his breath he says, "I suggest we should gather the wounded together, and then if possible move some place off this beach to treat them." He pauses looking down the shore and then out to the water, "This beach does not feel... in balance."

Over half of the survivors bear wounds. Xannet is grievously wounded. Kirr, Rinneth and Cahad are still on their feet, but are sporting nasty oozing gashes. Aarlin, Brom, Ornlu, Quink and Captain Yorel sport shallow scrapes and bites. While Wyte, Draas, Laurn, Galloran, Eddard and Natt got through unscathed.

Cahad looks at Wyte and Laurn when the two speak. He nods sharply and looks down the beach for Draas to see if his employer had any orders. When no commands are forthcoming - the gnome is quite busy pawing through the wreckage muttering in his native tongue - the mercenary captain surveys the beach.

Rinneth looks up from Xannet's side, "Healer!" The young mercenary's eyes are wide with fear, "I need a Healer!"

Cahad ambles over and winces as he goes to his knees beside Xannet. He works for for a few moments, lips moving with prayers, touching Xannet's brow and lips with oil from an ornate flask. He sits back, his face tight, and after a brief rest, struggles over to Micken. The mercenary captain's eyes grow hard as he works and prays more and more feverishly. He sits back exhausted, sweating profusely despite the cold, "He's gone. I'm sorry, Rin."

Cahad labors to his feet, wincing at the wound in his own side. He leans against a pillar of rough stone and looks at Rinneth crouched at Micken's side. Ornlu appears next to the pillar, "Get what you can off of him."

Rinneth turns to snarl at the ship's enigmatic passenger but Cahad holds out a hand. He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone. His jaw muscles bunch as he says, "He's right. Get what you can."

Captain Yorel is standing at the water's edge, foam swirling around his boots, face slack, eyes staring blankly out over the water.

[sblock=ooc][The cliffs are 20-30' high with good handholds. It would be relatively easy climbing for hale sailors. Not so much for rotund merchants, wounded mercenaries and the unconscious. To the north the beach disappears around an outcropping of stone. There are three other clefts in the cliff, two to the northish-eastish, and one south. See the map. There are some small reef-islands off shore festooned with wreckage (not pictured on the map), some might be the Sorrow.

Chime in with what you want to do next - find somewhere to move, search the wreckage for your rickshaw, tend to the wounded, go quietly insane, etc][/sblock]
Kirr looks at the cliffs when they're mentioned, and smiles a little. He grinds a few teeth and tilts his head until an audible crack is heard from a vertebrae.

"Easy." He stammers. "Rope climb to pull up."

He looks at the wounded and unable to move.

"Kirr carry?" He says in a tone implying a question.

The rigid chill melts away from Brom's limbs and he turns a full 360 degrees around to look about and re-assess the situation. His eyes quickly scan the shoreline again and again, squinting at the rocks and wreckage - hoping to find the one face he does not see. He closes his eyes briefly in acknowledgment of his lost brother. That is all the time he has, however, to think of the dead. They must get off this beach.

Instinctively, he seeks his captain, coming up beside Yorel. The man looks broken, lost. Brom knows that look; has seen it more and more often lately. A captain who has lost his ship is like a man who has lost his woman. He has no heart, no soul.

Placing a hand upon Yorel's shoulder, Brom gazes out at the windswept wreckage.

"Sorrow's Plenty," he says softly, reverently. "She held fast to her course and fought hard in the storm. I, for one, was proud to have served aboard her, sir."

When the captain does not respond, Brom gives his shoulder a hard squeeze and says firmly, "We got other fish to gut, sir. This beach is not safe. Let us bid her farewell and live to sail another day."

With that, Brom turns away to join the others. He had heard the big fellow mention using ropes to get the wounded up the cliffs.

"He's right. If we're going to get up those," he calls, gesturing to the cliffs, "we're going to need to find some rope. And if we can find enough among this mess, I think I can even fashion a kind of sling to hoist those unable to climb up the side of the cliff."

Gritting his teeth, Brom sets about searching the wreckage for any stray lengths of rope that might still be in good enough shape to use.[/sblock]

[4e] The Balestar Rises

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