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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Celebrim" data-source="post: 5428669" data-attributes="member: 4937">People run madly up the streets, their screams being drowned by the thunderous approach of the wave.  The wall of water impacts the city at twice the speed of a running horse.  Those buildings nearest shore disintegrate faster than the eye can follow and become part of the grinding monster of timbers that chews through the city.  The roofs of buildings shudder and collapse into each other until they become a solid mass moving behind the wave.  Walls of foam bristling with wooden spears rush up the streets devouring everything in there path. The fleeing of the elf is futile.  Facing down death, the elf turns to the wave and briefly considers the arcane tools at his disposal.  Nothing can save, the powers now at his disposal are too limited, and still too untested.   The wave eats him and he disappears.Back on the other street things are less desparate.  With the wave still some few hundred yards behind them, they have a brief but all important time to put additional distance between themselves and the harbor.  With luck and speed they might still get far enough up the long sloping hill of the city to escape it entirely.  The big Mokoheen is now the rearmost of the six strangers, but he's closing the gap on those ahead, pushing his way through and over the crowds with brute strength and wilderness honed speed.   The champion of Aravar Traveler's Friend is in even better position, as he not only has passed the Mokoheen, but bearing his burden is quickly catching up to the other three, who are now having to leap and dodge a bunch of crockery overturned from a stall and smashing and wheeling down the street.  A few of the other runners don't make it, and go down hard onto the cobblestones.  No one stops to help; the wave is coming fast.  A dozen seconds latter and it overtakes the barbarian.  But by now and at this height, the wave is no worse than that of a bad winter storm.  It rolls over the barbarian, slaming him down, and then up again.  But the barbarian grabs ahold of a bit of floating building and manages to keep his head up.  He's soon swept up to the cleric of Showna, but now the wave is only waist high.  It knocks the cleric over, and drags him roughly over the cobbles, but without its earlier power.  The big barbarian picks up the floundering man out of the water and says, "Ha!  Too cold for bathing, father."  Soon the wave carries them into only knee high water, where they manage to grab ahold of some still standing beams and wait out the inrushing and outrushing of the tide, before struggling through the water to the barricade of broken beams and roofs that marks the waves high water mark a few yards on.  There they find the other three, as well as a few other survivors who managed to out run the wave or who were not so close when it began.  Not that far away several other survivors push themselves painfully out of the murk, or clamor off the makeshift rafts that brought them to safety.   Many others were not so lucky.  Motionless limbs lie bleeding into the fading sea water all around you, some of them severed from their bodies.  The quiet is broken by moans and occasional screams.  One of the survivors nearby, a great burly seaman is quietly sobbing.  He turns his back on the carnage and starts to clamor up the wooden barricade.  As one lifts their eyes from your nearby surroundings back out toward the beach, one is able to see that the sea is slowly receding, leaving flotsam and jetsam to lie where it may.  The buildings nearest you are skeleton frames, their lower stories washed out.  Only a few buildings nearer to shore still stand, poking up through the water like scattered islands.  Chief of these is the great temple of Shalamyr the sea goddess.  About 40 yards ahead, a great hill giant – the one you saw earlier working as a stevedore -- pulls itself out of the slime and swirling water.  He lifts his head up and stares for a moment before bellowing, “Frrieeends!”,  “Friieeends!”  Then still bellowing, the giant starts to wade out into the receding water.For a while, everyone near the barricade stands stunned staring out at work of a disaster of scarcely imaginable proportions, and feeling - unlike the giant - quite too small and feeble to deal with such a problem.  It is the young fair skinned sailor that first finds his courage, "We should look for survivors."  "No", says the barbarian, "We should look for the dead.", and without bothering to debate leaps down into the standing pools and wreckage begins to go to the nearest body.  Recovering from his grief, the older and burlier sailor speaks up, "Are you daft?  This isn’t the only wave.  There will be more in a few minutes.   No one can tell whether they will be even greater than this one!  Count yourself blessed that Great Nuati has spared you and leave the damned to their fates!”  Several of those around you shudder at this pronouncement, and one or two turn to follow the veteren seaman away from this apparantly damned place.The Champion of Aravar turns to one, "See that this child is taken to the Temple of Aynwyn and sheltered there until her parents may be found.", then turning to the others gathered there, he says, "Come, there is work to do.  Dead or living, both need our help."  He then turns his back to the city and heads down into the wreckage.  The younger sailor, the cleric of Showna, and the laybrother of Aymara follow him as well as about half of the company gathered there, and they begin the grisly business of searching through the wreckage of home and body for survivors.  Trouble breaks out almost immediately.  The big Mokoheen is unashamedly looting the purses of the dead he finds, and it is not long before one of the men see him.  "You, beast!  By gods what are you doing!  Have you no respect for the dead?"  The big Mokoheen looks up unconcerned, "Garrr.. these don't have any need for coin, and I've lost my belongings, my ship, and my passage out of this place.  What is it to you?"   The man though in his grief and anger doesn't bother to consider this answer or the situation, but charging through the damp seaweed and muddy water, strikes the big man on the chin.   The Mokoheen snarls and throws the man down in the water, "Fine.  You can have these to yourself, I've no desire to kill you on a day such as this whether you deserve it or not.  The spirits have drunk enough blood already, and will have to be content."  He then stomps off under the watchful eye of the champion, who came over to intervene should it be necessary.  The dead clearly number in the many thousands.  You can barely go 10 yards without seeing signs of a body, crushed, mangled, or simply lying face down in the water.  Signs of life are much rarer though.  A few survivors in the distance have freed themselves and are wandering or wading aimlessly.  Some are calling out for friends or loved ones.  A few other smaller figures can be seen far away, drifting back out to sea on floating debris.  Hope is quickly fading toward despair, when the young sailor calls out, "It is the elf from the cafe."  He frowns, "Dead I think.", and he bends down to apply what leechcraft he knows, "No, alive, if just barely.  Some one lend me a hand to move this beam, I don't think she'll live much longer without aid."  The champion and the cleric both come running over, but even the three combined can't clear the wreckage needed to remove the elf.  The cleric kneels down, and calling upon the power of his sun goddess, closes the wounds with a nimbus of pale yellow light.  The champion calls out, "You!  Big man!  Come over here and add your shoulders to mine."  The barbarian shrugs and shuffles over, and soon the four together clear away the debris, and pick up the still unconscious and badly battered body of the elf.  "I've met her before.", says the young sailor, "Lythen, I think is her name.  At least that is how she is called."  "I'm Gareth.", says the champion extending a gloved hand.  "I'm called Mandible.", says the young sailor with a smile.  "Don't laugh.  My parents are fur trappers, and thought it was handsome and masculine name.  I'm lucky they didn't name me Jaws."  The champion grins, and the cleric laughs at this old joke.  The cleric of Showna says, "I'm Brother Maruth, an acolyte as you can probably see, of the Light Lady, and friend - as he will allow it - of this young runaway."  Turning to the brother of Aymara he says, "And you I've seen before in the temple quarter, though I don't believe we've been introduced."  "I'm called Jarl, and we've crossed paths even before that.  I was also a student in Talernga until just a few weeks ago, and I remember you from when you were an initiate in the temple there."</blockquote>

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