Acqua Alta Finale

The spearman's retort dies in his throat as Konstanz' magic washes over him like blue flame. Seeing his opportunity, Rogur steps in and delivers a quick thrust to the man's thigh. It sinks in and elicits a grunt of pain and a backward stumble. Rogur follows with a quick overhand feint that causes the spearman to retreat again, raising his spear. But the spearman failed to mind his surroundings: his backward steps takes him into the wall. He catches his heel on the edge of the low window and tumbles backward, clutching vainly for the side of the window but unwilling to relinquish his weapons to get a better grip. Rogur gives a sardonic salute as the other falls backward through the window, to hit the water below with a loud splash.

Rogur quickly moves to the door Noxias recently closed and cracks it open, ready to defend himself. He sees only the wizard, crouched beside a window and muttering in some eldritch tongue. "We're clear on this side. What's it look like over here?" he asks the Eladrin.

Noxias looks up and frowns as Rogur's question briefly interrupts his casting. "I know there is at least one gang member across the water armed with a small crossbow. I'm pretty sure I heard some shouting as well, but I don't know if it was someone calling for help or what," he once again brings the words of power to the forefront of his mind. "If you are brave enough to attempt to cross I will try to keep their heads down."

Yrisz gingerly makes her way up the winding stair and arrives just time to witness the spearman meet his inelegant fate. Mindful of her blood slick surroundings she carefully navigates her way towards the lofty wall where Noxias and Rogur are already beginning a protracted campaign against the newly presented advisory.

Rogur looks at the wizard, affronted. "It's not a question of bravery, you git, it's a question of why the hell I would do this in the first place." Nonetheless, he makes his way south across the "bridge." The connecting wall is rickety, uneven, and threatens to give way at the slightest provocation. Rogur comes very close to slipping more than once, but the sailor manages to keep his footing until he gains the far door. The unmistakeable sounds of combat become louder as he approaches, until finally, ducking his head quickly around the corner, he sees Zephyr's familiar grimace, stretched even wider as he smashes the flat head of his war pick squarely into the sternum of the gang member blocking the door. Rogur stows his sword, drops a bullet into his sling and winds up.

This is the sixtieth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Saturday, October 6th. The next OOC main post will appear by 11 am, Monday, October 8th.

To Rogur's right, a column of smoke rises up at a windblown angle to meet the cloudy sky. A wide beam of sunlight shines through it, crossing Rogur's path with briefly dazzling brightness. It makes the room he steps into nearly dark, but, blinking away the afterimages, he perceives what he needs to.

Next to Zephyr, Polon mumbles a spell awkwardly, and shoots a bolt from his hands resembling those Konstansz has hurled to great effect. He lacks Konstansz's aim, though, and nearly receives a knife in his gut for his trouble, as well. It's only after he's jumped back around the corner that he hears the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from nearby.

"Zephyr," he says worriedly, "I think there are others coming."

Still some distance away behind Noxias, Yrisz stifles a near scream as Rogur makes his daring run between the two ramshackle buildings. Soon after Noxias starts his own attempt at crossing the wall, albeit at a much more circumspect pace.

Choosing to mirror the fay's tact, Yrisz finds herself also inching along the wall an even pace behind him.

"Like Bieiriz says, 'Just keep looking ahead like and the goddess will mind the rest," Yrisz says mutters herself searching desperately for conviction and the other end of the wall.

This is the sixty-first Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, October 9th. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, October 11th.

Dashing out in front of Yrisz, Konstansz hopes to catch up with the fray, but her footing betrays her. Fortunately, she slips forward, not to the side, and simply falls to her hands and knees on the slippery wood.

The second fight between Zephyr and his foe proceeds in a much different fashion. In their first confrontation, the man had Zephyr from behind. Face to face, he is no match. Zephyr appears nearly impervious to his threatening strikes, and bludgeons him steadily, using the side of his pick like a mace.

Heedless of his own safety, Polon startles the two combatants by leaning between them. He stretches his arm out so that his open palm is nearly touching the enemy's nose. The man's eyes widen and he stabs down the length of Polon's forearm with his blade, but the apprentice's aim is not deterred. Polon speaks the words of a curse.

For a second or so, the man's head is wreathed in pulsating shadow. It dissipates and the man falls to his knees, then collapses completely, his eyes rolled up and his tongue hanging loose outside his mouth.

Zephyr looks at Polon, surprised. "You weren't kidding about having some skill with magic, friend." He looks up just as Rogur steps into the room, taking in the scene. "What took you so long?" the half-elf asks.

"Boat troubles. Did you find Lywthast?"

"Hmph. Some sailor you are. Anyway, it's been a productive search. Lywthast is safe, and this," he drags the young warlock around the corner, "is Polon." He pauses to savor Rogur's shocked expression before continuing. "We have visitors coming up on us from behind. Is it clear your way?"

Rogur looks behind him at the party carefully making their way across, Konstanz just now regaining her footing, and rolls his eyes. "'Clear' is sort of a relative term, but it's probably better than facing down another gang of thugs." He turns back to his companions and motions them back across. "Back the other way then, let's not dawdle. We've got a rescue to finish here."

A sound like a drunken cat missing a vault stops Noxias about half way between buildings. Turning toward the source of the sound he sees Konstansz laid out; legs and arms hanging out over either side of the narrow pathway. Looking forward again, he sees Rogur and Zephyr loitering by the other door, looks of bewilderment on their faces. "What? Go back? I just got here! Oh, hey Zephyr," he inclines his head in salutation.

Polon rushes up behind the pair standing by the door and begins urging them forward. "Please! We must move quickly they are coming soon! If that crossbowmen I saw on my way here catches up to us it will be a shooting gallery on this walkway!"

As Yrisz returns to the northern room, Noxias turns around to head back the way he came. He sees Konstansz stand up and stand there dully, waiting for him to move out of the way. What are you waiting for? Get out of the way and head back!" He pokes her in the arm to encourage her to move.

Polon calls again from the southern room. "We have to pick a side of this bridge to regroup. You can't fight on the catwalk! We need to attack these thugs and then return to free my fellow scribes!

Yrisz gently helps the tiefling onto her feet, then carefully pads Yrisz way into the north room stands inside the doors frame awaiting the rest of the party's arrival. As she hears the various declartion between its members, she sticks her head back out the window. "Am, we are coming back to this tower," she asks in a voice pitched to carry only along the wall top.

Rogur peeks back out the door and whistles sharply. "Change of plans. We're staying here until we can safely retrieve the scribes. Wizard, you're in charge of setting things on fire. Just try not to burn the place down around us, right?" To Zephyr, he mutters, "I'm really not the rescuing people type, you know? I'd much rather be sitting back somewhere with a pot of ale or seven and a willing woman in my lap."

Zephyr grins fiercely and looks around at his scattered companions. "Looks like you picked the wrong group to travel with then." He rolls his shoulders and pads over to the door, waiting beside it with the pick held at ready.

Noxias whips his head around at the whistle. "Agh, curse them, I wish they would make up their mind." He turns to move farther down the catwalk to the next room.

Again following in the fay's footsteps, Yrisz also starts to gently pad her way south back across the wall, minding to not dizzy herself by looking down the great expanse of space between her and the water far below.

"Should we not grab the scribes and then run back to our boats? I mean by now surely the matchless guys have lost enough close friends at our hands that they are ready to be rid of us, especially if all we care about is more mouths for them to feed," she prattles to Noxias in her same pitched voice.

This is the sixty-fifth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, October 23rd. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, October 25th.

A woman with a crossbow steps into the doorway, and scans the room. She doesn't have enough time to even acknowledge the party's presence, when she's felled by Rogur's slingshot. It hits her squarely in the forehead, and down she goes.

Rogur quickly drops another bullet in his cup and waits for a second intruder. There is some shuffling as the party begins to cautiously file into the room. Zephyr heads close to the southern door.

"You've gone through a fair number of my boys and girls to get this far, but you're not done yet; isn't that right?" A voice calls out from behind the southern wall of the room, interrupting any reply from Noxias or Konstansz to Yrisz's question. With the flimsy construction, it sounds like the speaker is talking face-to-face with Zephyr. Even though you can't see him, everyone but Zephyr and Polon recognizes it as belonging to the large, red-haired man in the mail coat. "When I think of what might have befallen them, here in their own dwelling, why, it makes me want to be a poor host, and I still have some guests left who are beholden to my hospitality."