Acqua Alta Finale

This is the thirty-seventh Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, July 10th. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, July 12th.

As Noxias and Yrisz deliver their replies, Konstansz and Rogur are looking ready to deliver their attacks. The speaker claps his arm briefly around the shoulder of the other man and whispers a few words into his ear. The grim-faced man doesn't reply, but takes aim and fires his crossbow before Noxias can finish his spell. His quarrel shoots down from the ramshackle tower in a straight line; the target is Yrisz.

The quarrel is deflected by her mail coat, but even as the miss registers, the man has cocked the one in his hand. The move is made with blinding speed, and the second shot tears a handful of links from her armor. His second reload takes a little longer, as he needs to fish out more quarrels, but with his overhand crank, he can load and cock the bolt at the same time. A moment later, he is already adjusting his aim for a third shot.

The speaker follows suit a moment later. His crossbow bolt splinters apart painfully when it hits Yrisz's armor. Without manually reloading, he simply pulls a lever on his crossbow, and another quarrel is in position, ready to be fired.

A guard shows up at the corner of the northwestern tower, burning torch in hand. She hurls it into the midst of the debris, causing small flock of alarmed creatures to take to the air. Some of them are a little too late, as mere seconds later, the pile violently erupts, and a cloud of fiery garbage rains down on Noxias and Rogur. Amazingly, none of it lands on them or their boat, but they find themselves in the middle of a mass of burning refuse.

"Ouch ouch, oh bother, ouch!" Yrisz screams as a hail of crossbow bolts assault her.

"Get ready to dock us K," she screams over the din of the flaming garbage, as she paddles her coracle quickly toward the North East docks.

Unfortunately Yrisz fails to guide her boat and Konstansz to the awaiting dock. The stream of opposition bolts intensifies both in volume and accuracy and she finds herself quite quickly and soundlessly sliping down into her coracle to begin a new vocation that consists chiefly of slowly bleeding out into the bowels of her shared craft.

"Bloody hells!" shouts Rogur as Yrisz slumps forward into the craft. Konstanz dives after her, attempting to stabilize the girl, but her efforts are hampered by the rocking of the boats and a continual rain of arrows and bolts from the defending thugs. Rogur hears a grunt from behind him and turns to see Noxias, his body sprouting feathered quills, fall to the floor of their own boat. And we're supposed to be a rescue party?

Rogur inexpertly guides the coracle alongside his companions' craft, and fumbles in his pack, his shoulders tense, expecting to feel the sting of arrows at any second. Finding a hard vial, he pulls it from the pack triumphantly and calls to the Tiefling. "Konstanz!" He shows her the healing potion, and then tosses it gently to her. Reaching into the pack again, he retrieves a length of rope and sets about lashing the two coracles together so he can tow the party to safety.

As Konstansz quickly feeds the young cleric the entire content of Rogur's healing vial, Yrisz's eyes pop open as if from waking from some dreadful dream. Her surprise worsens as she surveys the damage to her battered form. With quick whisper to Her Lady a little soft light appears outline the girls body, and only her punctured and blood stained tabard account that anything being amiss.

"Was I out for long?" she asks the Tiefling daring to sit up and peer over the low sides of her coracle. "Long enough, it seems," she says while reaching over to the the adjacent coracle to quickly tighten Noxias's robes around the worst of his hurts.

Seeing that done Yrisz regards Konstansz registering the lady's own hurts, with a quick motion she baths both Noxias and Konstansz in soothing light, her own face beading in perspiration for the effort.

But the snipers are quick to react, one sending his bolt cleanly into Yrisz side punching her mail and making her eyes roll white from pain.

This is the forty-fifth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, August 14th. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, August 16th.

The crossbowmen are devastatingly effective, but there are only three of them. Among the four of you, Rogur is spared their aim. He uses this opportunity to tie the boats together and has his coracle tow the other one. Slowly -- the coracles are flimsy craft that were not meant for such maneuvers -- he leads the party towards the northeastern building.

Noxias, mostly recovered from his wounds thanks to Yrisz's prayers, leaps to his feat and pushes his way inside. The interior is lit with natural light from gaps in the poorly-constructed plank walls, as well as by a row of rushlights mounted on a wooden block affixed to the southern wall. Two crude doors lead from the room, one to the north, and one to the east. There are scattered bits of rubbish here, including a wrought iron tripod tipped on its side in a corner.

Virtually at the same time that Noxias enters the room, the far door is flung open by a powerful kick. A hulking reptilian humanoid wearing a coat of paneled leather regards Noxias from a corridor just beyond the room. It grips a rusty length of chain with both hands, one of the ends leading into a vicious complex of spikes. The mouth on its scaled snout is drawn up into a malevolent rictus.

Noxias pushes the door open and rolls his eyes. "Out of the frying pan..." and prepares to burn down the latest ugly barrier.

As Rogur docks the two rope bound coracles Yrisz bolts awkwardly across them following in Noxias's wake as he enters the rickety hut's southwestern entrance. Passing the still struggling Rogur she squeaks a quick, "Thank you, sir," as she gracelessly maneuvers around the former sailor.

In her haste to escape the onslaught of deadly darts outside, Yrisz is already quite past the hut's threshold she before she registers the giant reptilian that Noxias is already deeply engaging with bitter shouts and his bolts of arcane flame.

Zephyr notices the loose floorboard and think this is his chance to free himself. He scoots over to the board in a way that looks like his is scratching his bottom. The guard seems to fall for it and continues to his post. Using the board for leverage, Zephyr bust out of his bindings and rushes the unsuspecting guard like a wild lion.

This is the forty-sixth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Saturday, August 18th. The next OOC main post will appear by 11 am, Monday, August 20th.

The creature snarls as it is momentarily engulfed in fire, and pauses at the threshold. Rogur takes advantage of this to rush into the room, drawing his sword as he does so. Although Noxias is not as familiar with what they're facing, Rogur and Yrisz recognize it as a dragonborn, a striking one at that, with blue-white scales and red eyes like hot coals.

Rogur does not expect his opponent to resume its advance so soon, and finds his blow narrowly deflected as the dragonborn simply shoulders its way past him. Walking towards the center of the room, it begins swinging its chain around in a wide circle. Rogur ducks under the chain's arc easily, this time.

Outside, the crossbowman on the northwestern tower is still sending quarrels at the boats, but the other two have retreated from the edge of the central structure. It would not take a great leap of imagination to suppose that they intend to confront the party elsewhere within the compound.

This is the forty-seventh Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, August 21st. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, August 23rd.

Fear flashes over the guard's face as Zephyr gets to his feet. However, a quick calculation convinces him that his unarmed opponent can be easily subdued again. Gripping his club firmly, he meets Zephyr's charge and swings. Zephyr crouches low and sidesteps. The club hurtles downwards, connecting with nothing. Zephyr then wraps his arms about the guard's waste and heaves, pushing him backwards across the other captive, whose outstretched leg trips the guard, sending him to the floor on his back.

Zephyr glances over to his fellow captor, "Nice! I'll untie you was soon as I subdue this fellow." Zephyr takes this opportunity to look for a reasonable weapon to bring this guard unconscious.

This is the forty-eighth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Saturday, August 25th. The next OOC main post will appear by 11 am, Monday, August 27th.

Zephyr casts about, looking for something to use. The room is depressingly barren, though, and there is not much time.

The guard scrambles to his feet and tries to land an upswing blow across the side of Zephyr's head, but Zephyr turns his shoulder in time to block it. Better a bruise there than on his temple.

With no weapon forthcoming, Zephyr tries to recall the eldritch power that has come to him since his return from Faerie. Summoning it forth seems easier each time. The surging flames from his body envelope the surprised guard, who collapses in shock.

Zephyr thinks to himself that something must have been in the water back in the Feywild. Maybe that is the true home of the spirits who saved his life so long ago, and the visit strengthened his connection to the spirits.

"Well... that was easy. I'll get you in a sec. Let me tie him up BEFORE he wakes back up. By the way, thanks for your help." Zephyr takes his former bounds to tie up and gag his captor.

Afterwards, Zephyr begins to free the stranger, "My name is Zephyr, what's yours? Why have they captured you? This matchless gang has taken many innocent folks captive and I came here to rescue them. A guard blind sided me when I entered, though, and I woke up here... My friends should be close behind though, so we should try to find them. At least, after I procure a PROPER weapon." After freeing the stranger, Zephyr picks up the club with hesitant disappointment.

"Oh no," Yrisz whimpers while retreating into a corner away from the advancing fiery eyed dragonborn. On trembling lips she forms divine sanction against the blue scaled menace, but they fail to hinder him in the least.

As a last ditch effort Yrisz holds her mace in front of her to ward of the worst of her assailant's blows. Unfortunately, her instrument provides precious little help for her against the flame that ushers from her attacker's mouth and her tearing eyes entirely fail to see the spiked chain that follows quickly after.