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 Upon the Sea of Claws 23rd day following the Harvest Moon, in the 5245th year since the Sundering: The entirety of my self-imposed exile among the children of men has been distasteful to me, but given the recent predictable failure of the others, my sacrifice has proven sadly necessary. The time at last has come for them to recognize that subtlety, not direct conflict, is required to accomplish our ultimate goal. Such vindication would very nearly render all of my sufferings worthwhile. Verily, if they falter, then they shall be made to recognize my wisdom. For have I not been blessed in equal -- if not greater -- measure by the blood of the Justice Seeker flowing in my veins? Indeed, am I not even more worthy to be exalted, in light of the further Power I have taken up for myself? Fortunately, my voyage upon the Merciless Wind is nearly at an end, for I am acutely lacking in the pleasures to which I am accustomed. I very nearly feel for the unfortunate slave-master, for despite his grotesque soul, I see in him a flicker of kinship. Would that I could allow his own desires free rein; alas, the insufficient state of the ship's hold -- despite the raids, and despite our acquisitions in Marienburg -- is still troubling to me. In light of the uncertainty surrounding the Bald One's facility with the Winds, it now seems prudent to me to ensure the cooperation of the crew as well as the cargo in support of his efforts. The irony shall be delicious when I witness them all fulfilling their role in what is to come. And once my present onerous burden is lifted from me, it shall only be a matter of time until all of my desires are fulfilled… ****** The nearly lightless hold is cramped and stinks of more than a score of unwashed bodies -- most notably Ogre, for among the motley assortment of humans, elves, dwarves, and an odd halfling or two there is one of the large brutes as well -- though (a further misfortune for your senses!) there is nary a chamberpot amongst you. Some of you were enslaved in accord with legal sanction and some not, but none of you know much about your captors nor about the vessel's ultimate destination, other than that it is quite far from Marienburg, given how long you have been at sea. Snatches of a guttural, yet strangely lilting, language unknown to most of you are occasionally heard from abovedecks -- Erik recognizes it immediately as one of the Norscan dialects, but he can't actually make out what is being said. The only individual who actually communicates with any of you is one you might wish would ignore you instead. Growt, the slave-master, makes his unappealing presence known once a day to begrudgingly provide a few loaves of moldy bread and a bucket of fetid water -- not nearly enough to adequately feed all two dozen of you. His stench is surprisingly noticeable whenever he enters the hold -- quite a feat, given the aforementioned Ogre's presence and chamberpot's absence. He is also most probably a mutant, unless some twisted yet enterprising dark wizard has managed to cross-breed humans and orcs. After providing you with meager sustenace, Growt has a habit of taunting each of you by jingling the keys to your shackles just out of each your reach. When that fails to elicit the desired response, he invariably launches into details of the gruesome violations he will inflict on everyone -- men and women alike -- as soon as he's sure the captain has his back turned. On one occasion he does in fact steal down into the hold and begins gleefuly leering at you all in turn, apparently deciding who will be his first victim. But, though no one heard him approach the hatch from above, a cloaked figure barks out from the top of the stairs, "Growt!" With a voice hard as steel yet smooth as velvet, the figure continues, "You have already been warned -- any depredations you engage in shall be visited upon you fourfold. The special purpose for these requires them to remain unsullied." Cursing vilely, Growt nevertheless obeys the mysterious figure, and withdraws immediately. Eventaully the days and nights bleed together, and the passage of time is uncertain, though you would swear that Growt skips a feeding every now and then. But eventually, the immediately unsettling pangs of fear and uncertainty give way to monotony -- at least, until a powerful autumn storm begins pitching the vessel back and forth violently. Some of those with weaker constitution swiftly become sick at the incessant yet unpredictable rocking, but all remain securely held to the lower deck by chains at wrist and ankle (as you have all already discovered in your predictably futile attempts to free yourselves). The storm only builds in intensity, and eventually the slave-master appears again to drag several of his charges above decks, starting with the ogre, "because we need your back for the oars." Lightning flashes above while driving rain pours through the open hatch, but the slaver drives each poor wretch ahead of him with his whip, lashing any who falter on the slick steps. Some time later, Growt appears again to call up another group, all the while cursing the waves, the lost oarsmen, and any and every god -- but most especially "that rat bastard Stromfels". It is not long thereafter that a great crash is heard from above, and the deck shudders as if struck by a great weight. The boat continues to pitch as the storm rages. Hour after hour you are left alone in the dark, and almost certainly a full day passes before the violent bucking of the boat noticeably subsides. As you continue to await any sign of life from above, there is another enormous crash followed by a grinding noise and a horrible shuddering all throughout the ship as it runs aground. You are all thrown toward the bow, but remain held fast by your shackles. At the same time, the forward hull of the boat buckles, sending splinters flying through the hold. As the ship finally lurches to a halt, the port bow is torn away entirely, laid open by a huge boulder, letting in a ferocious blast of numbingly cold air and rain. And then all is quiet except for the beating of the rain, the howling of the wind, and the pounding of the surf. Beyond the open bow, you can see a section of beach; you seem to have run aground where a cliff face meets a small cove. Feel free to detail conversations amongst yourselves at any point prior to the shipwreck (neither Growt nor any other crewmember will respond to you, no matter how hard you try to engage them). Subsequently, everyone should attempt a Toughness test to determine how weakened your lengthy mistreatment makes you. Each degree of failure results in a (temporary) -1% to each Primary Characteristic. Next, each of you should attempt a Strength test to determine if you can effectively brace yourselves against the surprise impact of the ship running aground. Each degree of failure results in 1 Wound (Toughness Bonus does reduce total Wounds suffered). Please include your character sheet in your first post. And once any initial conversation has run its course, we'll move on to your plan of action in the wake of the shipwreck. To wit: feel free to move about the cabin -- oh, no, wait, you're still in chains. But things are looking up -- at least you're likely to die of exposure to the elements before the pangs of starvation overcome you! TychoBrahesNose fucked around with this message at 05:54 on Feb 10, 2015 |
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Feb 28, 2014 09:38
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Mathuviel Thylenin After her capture and subsequent sale, Mathuviel quickly begins thinking about a plan of escape. If it were not for being on a ship full of hostile sailors and her lack of tools, she imagines she could eventually pop the primitive chains that bind them all. She's not stupid enough to share this fact; if it was known, someone could sell her out for extra rations, humans are short-sighted like that, and Growt would doubtless take cruel and unusual measures. Better to wait for a good opportunity. As she waits, she gets her own feel of the companions stuck close by her in the hold; of the humans she's initially largely dismissive. The dwarf Kragg seems interesting, however, and the other elf... well, at least it's another elf, though she asks him, innocently, whether he's from one of the few remaining mainland enclaves or from Ulthuan. As the days go by, she attempts to resort to tale-telling to distract from her own slow starvation and also get closer to the other non-humans of the group in hope of fostering a friend or two to help with her eventual escape. "-so I told him, sweetly, if he was so desperate to rut then I knew of a surefire way to fix that and gestured him closer. As he leered and leaned in, thinking he had a shot, the idiot, I grabbed my dagger from behind my back and placed the edge gently along his balls, told him I used to geld bulls back in the day. You should've heard the squeal; I didn't know humans could get that high-pitched and I didn't even cut the guy! Least it got him out of my hair. I saw the barmaids wearing knives at their belt the next day, too; quick learners them." Mathuviel has been focusing on Kragg (and possibly Angran, if he's not from a family with close ties to Ulthuan) as the least human and uninteresting person on the ship (besides the Ogre) and been telling jokes and mildly amusing anecdotes from her life to keep spirits (mostly her own) up. Unless he objects, in which case she shrugs and shuts up. Over time she has, out of boredom, joined a few human conversations. She's not told anyone she's a thief and knows how to pick locks, but it's clear she's pretty independent-minded and has been moving in low-society circles. Toughness 31, 78, 4 DoF Strength 27, 78, 5 DoF She takes three wounds, rather than one, because of her failed toughness test. Almost on the nose, even. Orokos!!  ---- It was a terrible crash to end a terrible journey. Lying in a heap where she's shackled, Mathuviel is both hurt and ragged after the long days of deprevation. Her long hair is a mess and her cheeks slightly more sunken than the usual for elves; clearly free spirits like her do not abide well being emprisoned. Worst is the damage around her wrists and ankles; bleeding and bruised after she was flung forward in the crash and then snapped back forcefully by her chains. Still, her bleary, teary eyes begin to peer about in the hold, searching for anything, splinters or fishbones, that could be small, thin and durable enough to allow her to pick a lock. Perception 27+10, 25, 1 DoS Scribbleykins posted:Mathuviel Thylenin Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at 11:53 on Mar 11, 2017 |
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Feb 28, 2014 13:34
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Erik Through it all, Erik tries to remain calm. Ever since his initial capture, he has been treated like a brute and a savage, taunted in an attempt to show the 'animal savagery' he and his people contain. And by all the gods, did he want to do it. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, a red hot ball of rage that he just wanted to vomit up right into their faces and show them what a Norscan could do when pushed. But he bit it back, swallowed it down, and just let his hair hang in his face and watched them. He wasn't the most intelligent man around, and he never would be at this rate (not that he cared), but he knew that he was going to be struck no matter what he did; what he did would determine how HARD he was hit, and losing his mind to the fury would simply get him killed. Now, on the ship, it's almost like paradise compared to the prisons of Northern Reikland. He was recognized as Norse by the crew and by the slave-master, but he was never goaded into fury. These men had seen it, and it wasn't anything special to them. The Imperials, they wanted to know what caused it, they wanted to study it, learn from it; the Norse just either respected it or ignored it. And so, Erik simply sat, eating his crust of bread and sipping at his water, watching the others around him grow weak from the lack of food and drink. But it was par for the course for him; he had gone weeks without substantial food before, letting his mother and younger brother eat over him, while melting the snow for drinking water. This was a three star hotel in comparison to that. When the storm hit, he was one of the few dragged topside to deal with the oars. They knew he could row; he was Norse. It was in their blood. And he had his time at the oars, before he was sent back down to make room for the ogre. And there he sat, until the ship cracked open like an egg, revealing the beach beyond. Erik does not stir when he sees this; the wind howls and the surf and rain pound against the ship, and there is no shelter out there. He looks around, but from where he sits, he can tell nothing of the weather or how long the ship may hold together where it is now. He sighs, climbing to his feet. He gives the chains a test tug once or twice, looking at where they meet the wood. He might be able to rip it free, if he whipped himself into a frenzy, but he didn't think now was the time or the place. I noticed in the Career Comp I took the wrong starting skills and talents for being from Norsca, and have such corrected them; I was supposed to get Very Resilient and 1 random talent, not two random talents. I would like to do a strength test to see if I can wrench my shackle free from the wood. http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4414181/ Toughness vs 41, 11, success http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4414183/ Strength vs 36, 84, 4 DoF, 0 wounds suffered after TB http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4414206/ Agility vs 36, 40, didn't pass my Sail test pre:Race:Human WS BS S T Ag Int WP Fel 55 31 50 52 38 28 28 26 A W SB TB M Mag IP FP 1 13 3 4 4 0 0 2/3 Skills: Common Knowledge (the Empire, Norsca) Gossip Perception Speak Language (Reikspiel, Norse) Sail Intimidate Performer (Storyteller) Swim Talents: Very Resilient Warrior Born Frenzy Menacing Quick Draw Specialist Weapon Group (Two-handed) Blood Lineage: Manann (Minor) Bonuses Granted: +9 WS +3 S +1 T +2 Int +2 Agi +2 WP +1 Wound Advances Taken: WS+5 WS+5 S+5 S+5 T+5 T+5 W+1 25 XP Career: 1d1000 594 Norse Berserker Career Exits: Mercenary, Pit Fighter, Seaman, Sergeant, Veteran John Dyne fucked around with this message at 04:15 on Sep 23, 2015 |
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Feb 28, 2014 16:08
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Angran Angran swayed with the ship, moving only when he had to or from the pull of the shackles. He found it best to save all the energy he could. Things looked grim, and he couldn't be sure when he would be afforded the chance to get away. Angran was just a young elf biding his time. Through the delirium of the journey, Angran was able to close his eyes and block everything out, or perhaps it faded away because he was too tired and too hungry to hear it, and liken the long, boring journey to the countless others he had taken. Half memory, half dream, it was always shocked away as soon as he heard a chain rattle, or the doors open, or felt a dirty fingernail brush against his own, or the smell... Angran shuddered as the ship started to clash against the waves and the storm grew. He would watch closely as the master would fetch slaves as tools, inspiring their work with the necessity of survival. The storm was only getting worse and worse... Until things went dead, and the curiosity of it all was getting to him more than anything. Never had such a moment seemed so long before a terrible noise screeched out and the boat sounded as if it were jolted and began to grind apart. By surprise, the boat was ripped apart and Angran was thrown. His lanky form and slouched brace thrw him right against the boat itself. Hard. By the time he realized what happened, he is laying on his stomach and feels cold enough to die. His sides hurt too much to stand up and his arms hurt too much to pull himself in a crawl. His eyes, soaked and blurry, can barely make out his surroundings before he is able to wipe them over with his trembling hands, still chained. He immediately shoots a look to the shackles to examine them, to try to figure out what to do. Each movement right now has to be deliberate. Toughness vs 31 : 15 (Success) Strength vs 31 : 00 (5 DoF - 2 Wounds after TB) pre:Name: Angran Thelesian Race: Elf Career: 1d100 64 Scribe Height : 1d10 6: 6'0" Weight: 1d100 85: 150 Hair, Eyes: 2#1d10 4 9: Yellow, Purple Marks: 1d100 88: Huge Nose Origins: 4#1d100 47 69 44 42 Siblings: 1 Star Sign: The Piper (Sign of the Trickster) Age: 70 Birthplace: Altdorf (Changed) WS BS S T Ag Int WP Fel 31 36 31 31 41 41 31 31 A W SB TB M Mag IP FP 1 10 3 3 5 0 0 2 Skills: Common Knowledge (Elves) Int Speak Language (Eltharin) Int Speak Language (Reikspiel) Int Academic Knowledge (Magic) Int Common Knowledge (the Empire) Int Perception Int Read/Write Int Secret Language (Guild Tongue) Int Speak Language (Breton) Int Speak Language (Classical) Int Speak Language (Tilean) Int Trade (Calligrapher) Ag Talents: Aethyric Attunement +10% Channelling and Magical Sense Savvy +5% Intelligence Excellent Vision +10% on Perception tests that involve Sight / Lip Reading Night Vision see up to 30 yards in natural darkness Linguistics +10% on Read/Write and Speak Language opulent fountain fucked around with this message at 21:20 on Feb 28, 2014 |
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Feb 28, 2014 21:16
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Kragg Gehanborson survive ship toughness: 1d100u41 14, 2 degrees of success survive ship strength: 1d100u31 6, 2 degrees of success The voyage was long, brutal, and almost as smelly as Black Jack Slim's bar, but it gave me plenty of time to heal. Heal and recover from being seasick. The way the boat tossed up and down with the waves is still nauseating, but at least I am not spewing up my guts any more. Every day, I stretched and exercised as much as my chains permitted. There was no place to escape as long as we were at sea, but we would have to come close to land sometime. When we do, someone will make a mistake; perhaps that pig Growt will get just a little too close; and then they will pay. They will all pay. I have been trying to lower his guard, spinning stories of Dwarf gold just waiting for him if only he'll release me, but he never responds. That warlock from above decks has some sort of unclean hold on him. I was chained up beside an Elf from the same side of the law as me. Elves are no worse than humans as far as I am concerned, and she tells good jokes. We often swapped jokes to pass the time. I do not think she enjoyed how all my jokes end with "... and then the greenskin died" as much as a fellow Dwarf would. On the other side of me is a mediocre human. Not my first choice, I would rather have been chained next to one of the other dwarves. Humans are unpredictable. I have made the best out of a bad situation, and have tried to win his trust, and draw out stories of where he is from, and how he came to be here with the tale of my own downfall. When we crashed I seized hold of the cleat connecting my chains to the hull of the boat and it took most of the strain, and the chains the rest. Perhaps the crash was violent enough to weaken them? Gazing around at my fellows, I see most of them have been badly shaken and are in no shape to help. Even the grimly silent Norse barbarian does not seem eager to escape immediately so I do not try my chains at once. Instead, I listen for any sign of our captors. Are they still alive? Surely they would have been down for fresh rowers by now if they lived? listen for sounds above deck, unskilled perception: 1d100u15 1, 1 degree of success The dice gods love me today! I hope I haven't used up all my luck  LLSix posted:Kragg Gehanborson
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Mar 1, 2014 00:20
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Otto Otto leans back against the boards, and feels the weight of the chains. He's hungry, ill, and in pain, but his physical discomfort pales besides his emotional turmoil. How did it come to this? It wasn't a week ago, he was at home with his wife, his children, his friends. . .and now this, chained up, a slave, his family and friends gone. Slaves themselves, he hoped, because the alternative would be worse. He closes his eyes and remembers his boyhood. His mother had a song she would sing to him at night, a lullaby. "Shallya's blessings be upon you. May she protect you while you sleep. Have no fear of dark or thunder. She will in her hands you keep." "Oh, Shallya's blessings on my wife and children,", he begs, quietly, half to himself. "Save them, lady, I beg". Then, the whole world seems to shift. Otto is flung forward as the wood buckles and snaps, his chains restraining him, and possibly saving him from certain death. Still, his arms seem to wrench out of their sockets. "What happened?" he calls out, as he peers out in the darkness. He looks at the companion on his left, but the man seems to be dead, his neck broken. Have they crashed? Run aground? Are they trapped here, the ship to be their doom? He looks around, hoping to find some way to free himself and the rest of the slaves. Toughness Roll (Against 36): 1d100 22-Success Strengh Roll (Against 35): 1d100 75 4 degrees of failure, so 1 wound Perception Roll (Against 37): 1d100 47 Failed. Wounds: 10/11 code:Epicurius fucked around with this message at 03:43 on Sep 28, 2015 |
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Mar 1, 2014 02:09
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Ilsa During the journey, Ilsa did her best to eat as little as she could. Shallya taught her followers to not put their own needs before those of others, and the food they had was nothing if not scarce. She knew it wouldn't make much of a difference, but it was all she could do. After a while, it started to show on her. Ilsa spent most of her time in the hold praying, usually in silence. It didn't come as a surprise that she wasn't the only one in the hold praying to the Goddess of Mercy, and a couple of times she regretted not being allowed to lead services almost as much as she regretted not being able to help in a more concrete way. Perhaps faith in the Bleeding Heart could have helped some of the others cope with their shared misery like her faith helped her, and the two dozen people chained to the ship's hold would certainly have made a captive audience. When the ship crashes into something, Ilsa is thrown down and narrowly avoids hitting her head on a beam. She looks at the hole in the hull and wonders whether any of the crew are still alive or if they're doomed to die chained to a shipwreck. Sitting up, she dismisses the thoughts of their impeding death as useless and looks at the others. "Is everyone alive?" The thought occurs to her that since a piece of the ship's hull was gone, someone shackle's might have come free from the ship. Toughness test: 97 vs 37. 6 degrees of failure. Strength test: 49 vs 19. 3 degrees of failure. Toughness bonus is jut enough to soak that. Were any of our fellow slaves chains attached to the part of the hull that got torn away? pre:Name: Ilsa
Career: Initiate of Shallya
Previous: None
Current skill profile
Main Profile
WS BS S T Ag Int WP Fel
26 22 25 42 30 50 41 45
Secondary Profile
A W SB TB M Mag IP FP
1 12 2 4 4 0 0 3
Career Advance scheme
Main Profile
WS BS S T Ag Int WP Fel
+5 +5 +5 +10 +10 +10
Secondary Profile
A W SB TB M Mag IP FP
+2
Skills:
Gossip
Common Knowledge (Empire)
Academic Knowledge (History, Theology)
Charm
Heal +10
Perception
Read/Write
Speak Language (Classical, Reikspiel)
Talents:
Hardy
Sturdy
Lightning Reflexes
Public Speaking
Suave
Savvy
Trappings:
Not much
Advances:
Savvy
+5 Intelligence
+5 Toughness
+5 WillpowerWaci fucked around with this message at 17:55 on Oct 23, 2014 |
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Mar 1, 2014 12:56
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Friedrich Friedrich is not feeling as miserable as he should in a situation like this. Yes, he has been sold into slavery, he understands that now after some heated words and explanation from the other captives. But he is spared from the worst treatment, simply due to the virtue of being completely unremarkable and lacking any distinguishing features that would get him noticed in a crowd. Not only that, he is chained next to a dwarf. A genuine dwarf, and not just a halfling with a fake beard. Friedrich has never seen a genuine dwarf before. Nor has he seen any elves, and now there's two of them! The slavers must have searched the whole Empire to have found two elves. When the ship crashes, Friedrich manages gets his share of bruises but avoids any actual damage. It is cold, raining, and the coast does not look familiar (not that any coast looks familiar to Friedrich). They must have traveled far, maybe even as far as Nordland. Friedrich starts eyeing the two elves expectantly. For the first time in his life, he will get to see magic as the elves blast their way out of the chains. Toughness test 28 vs 31, success. Strength test 50 vs 31, failure, damage absorbed by TB. Lord Hypnostache posted:
Lord Hypnostache fucked around with this message at 13:44 on Nov 2, 2014 |
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Mar 2, 2014 12:50
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Erik's Very Hard Strength Test: Breakin' Out: 1d100 88. Nope. Erik strains against his bonds, only to discover that they are very secure indeed. Once Angran's vision clears, he likewise discovers that his restraints appear to be as strong as ever. Kragg hears no sounds whatsoever from above -- no pounding feet, no shouting voices. Nor can he hear anything from the aft hold, as he could occasionally during the voyage, whenever the off-duty sailors played a particularly raucous game of dice. The same deafening silence comes from Shallya in response to Otto's prayers, though Manann seems to expresses his opinion freely about their predicament, as surging waves send a frigid spray to accompany the wind raging through the hold. For her part, Ilsa may receive some solace from her goddess, but that doesn't change the debilitating conditions in which she finds herself. Faint from hunger and other assorted deprivations, she looks to the area of the hold where the hull was breached, but the space was occupied only by slaves already taken above, from which nothing has been heard since they were sent into the teeth of the Manann's rage. Though it does not help their situation, it is perhaps a mercy that none of those shackles remained occupied, since it is likely anyone chained there would not have survived. Indeed, even one of the men farther away from the breach seems to have by killed by the impact. Unlike the Initiate, the doughty Friedrich seems little the worse for wear. Unfazed by the crash, he waits with bated breath to see what incredible magicks the elves will summon forth to escape their predicament. Meanwhile, Mathuviel casts about for an appropriate tool to work her own particular brand of prestidigitation. There are plenty of wooden splinters about, but the trick is finding one of the right size and shape. There, she discovers, just next to that utterly nondescript human -- but then again, who can tell one Blunt-Ear from another, anyway? As Mathuviel looks more closely, she is unnerved to see the man staring at her expectantly. What had that dullard called himself? Fried Rat? Rot Lick? She certainly couldn't be arsed to remember such a thing when human names were even more confusing than their faces. Her reverie is broken when she realizes he is so intent on her that he has failed to notice that he only just escaped being skewered by flying debris. Instead, the nasty-looking shards have buckled the planking just where the sturdy iron ring secures the lucky bastard's shackles to the deck. TychoBrahesNose fucked around with this message at 01:56 on Mar 3, 2014 |
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Mar 3, 2014 01:49
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Mathuviel Thylenin Luck, Mathuviel muses, is its own reward, and that bland human (Was it Friddle? Ah, who cared.) certainly had his share. Ignoring the Shallyan's query, she focuses on Friedrich. "You. Human. No, not you. You on the left there. With the mustache and the glazed look in your eyes," she says, staring back at Friedrich, not really caring that he was too busy oogling her to make good on his fortune. "Take the splinter by your right foot. The one about yea big," she gestures with her freezing hands, indicating the size. "Toss it to me and I might do something about these locks." Should he comply, she adds, "You might not need it, though. Check your chains where they're fastened."
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Mar 3, 2014 04:43
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Friedrich "The elf spoke to me!" Friedrich whispers with barely contained excitement. He does as he is told, tossing the splinter to the elf, before looking down at his own chains. And what do you know, they were loose. Elven magic was truly powerful. Subtle, yet powerful, Friedrich thinks as he starts pulling his chains loose.
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Mar 3, 2014 22:13
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Mathuviel Thylenin "Fates fortunate," mutters the elf as she snatches up the splint and begins to work on the lock of her chains, prodding at the lock first to get a feel of the interior. Her limbs ache and her fingers are stiff and cold, neither of which helps her in such a delicate task, but considering the alternative she has no lack of motivation. The elf's expression turns to one of deep concentration as she tests the lock. There is a sudden sharp intake of breath as the splint suddenly disappears into the lock almost entirely, held only by two lithe fingers that barely seem like they're grasping it. For a moment Mathuviel's hands are, despite the cold, entirely still. Then the elven thief breathes out a soft sigh and smiles. With a twist of her hand something inside the lock goes... *CLICK* Pick Lock 37, 20, 1 DoS
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Mar 3, 2014 23:16
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Angran Seeing others tug and pull and rip at their chains, Angran decides it best to not waste the energy. He looks around the room at anyone moving and hears some calling out once the room starts to settle. "Alive," he says with a gesture for attention to the as-of-yet unclear person who asked, and then he takes note of the elf picking her way to freedom. A human is breaking himself free, an elf is picking her lock, another humans is trying his damndest to pull his chains out, and Angran is about to push himself into a quiet shadow. "Alive, and in debt to anyone that can get me free," he says, trailing off while making a spectacle of his shackles and what it might look like to pop them off with his hands, just in case anyone was watching. In the mean time, he clumsily examines his lock and looks around for a way to break them himself, barely even expecting to find something. Perception test : 74 (Fail)
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Mar 4, 2014 20:48
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Erik The strength of the wood and iron was frustrating Erik, and he knew what that could mean. With a slow sigh, he sits back down, opening his eyes to inspect the shackles. They were metal, and not likely to be a weak spot; he had no knowledge of picking locks, so that would be fruitless. His inspections were slow and methodical, meant to calm his mind more than to glean anything; as he did them, he looked to the others and spoke, first in his native tongue. Norscan: "Does anyone speak my tongue? Are you Norse?" He waits a moment, seeing no recognition from the others. It was honestly a surprise; he'd heard so many tales of his kind being captured and enslaved simply for being Norse that it was amazing none of the survivors were Norse as well. He shrugs, more to himself than anything, and clears his throat, speaking in heavily accented Reiskspiel*. "Can someone remove these chains?" Erik looks to where the ship has burst open, biting his lip in thought. "We will need to leave soon. The ship is damaged, and the current will drag us out, and in this condition, we will sink, and then we will die." http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4420096/ Erik Sail, vs 36 ag. *Imagine the accent however you like, writing and reading accents is annoying.  e: I just realized I could've used that roll for my strength test and broken free BUT OH WELL John Dyne fucked around with this message at 21:29 on Mar 4, 2014 |
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Mar 4, 2014 21:25
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Kragg Gehanborson I tried again, and failed, to avoid butchering the friendly elf's name. "Mavuvial. Help me out here?" I rattled my chains at her "I hear nobody moving up above. I think they are all dead. Free me and I can check above for keys. The more of us that are free; the more we can carry off this drat boat before it sinks."
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Mar 4, 2014 23:29
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Otto Otto grabs a splinter of wood, and tries to use it to get leverage against his chains where they're fastened to the deck, straining with all his might to find and exploit a weakness. So with one hand, he pulls his chains taut, and with the other, he tries to fit the wood underneath the spot that the chain plate connects to the wood Strengh Roll (Against 35): 1d100 42
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Mar 5, 2014 06:24
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Ilsa Ilsa notices that one of the elves had managed to break free. Excellent, it meant not all hope was lost for her fellow slaves and her. A mercy, and if the Norscan was right, not a just small one. "How many are alive and injured? Can anyone make informed guesses as to where we are?"
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Mar 5, 2014 22:32
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Friedrich watches in amazement as the elf takes up the seemingly-normal piece of wood, and, holding it like a magic wand, inserts it into the lock. After a few moments of concentration, and with a few subtle movements, she casts her spell and the lock springs open! Inspired by her amazing facility with magic, Friedrich tries not to embarrass himself too badly as he applies his merely mortal strength to the task at hand. But the deck is indeed weakened, as the elf declared, and his chains pull free of the planking with ease. Meanwhile the others continue to languish in their bonds, though they are hardly inactive -- some plead for release even as others try to escape under their own power. While the Initiate inquires after everyone's well-being, the Norscan begins to take stock of their situation, and he swiftly realizes that time is not on their side. With improvised tools the lockpicking was actually a Challenging skill test, but Mathuviel's extra degree of success means she opens the lock anyway. Meanwhile, removing his chains from the deck is still a Strength test for Friedrich, albeit not a Very Hard one: Pulling Your Chain: 1d100 6 As luck would have it, he succeeds in any case. That means he has yanked his chains free of the deck, but they're still secured around his wrists and ankles, so he'll be dragging them around until they're unlocked. Which might not be that long, unless Mathuviel decides to set out on her own and leave everyone else to their fate. Erik's sailing test in this instance is Int-based, since it's more of an evaluation of their circumstances than an attempt to tie knots or what have you. In any case, he succeeds handily. Based on how close the waves are to the high-tide marks on the cliff face, he estimates that (if the tide is coming in) they have maybe an hour to get out of their chains, grab what they can from the wreckage, and get off the beach before the tide carries the boat back into deeper waters, where it will indeed sink. Of course, if the storm surge worsens, then they might have considerably less time than that…
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Mar 6, 2014 02:44
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Mathuviel Thylenin Mathuviel discards her chains and stretches properly for the first time in a long while. The moment of freedom tastes sweet as honey; it's just a shame, as the norscan barbarian points out, there is little time to enjoy it. Her smile fades, and she nods at the thuggish dwarf's comment. "You're right Kragg. Might take me a while to get everyone free, finding the keys would probably lead to swifter results. Of course, the keys may be at the bottom of the ocean along with Growt's sorry arse, so I'll at least try to free a few more before starting searching," responds Mathuviel. She takes a moment to massage her wrists and ankles, and wincing slightly at touching her scrapes and bruises, before she walks over to Kragg and kneels down. The splinter is once more inserted carefully into a lock's innards, but the intense concentration she had before seems harder to maintain now that she's free of her own shackles. A good minute passes as Mathuviel fiddles with the mechanism to no avail. "... perhaps it's more rusted than mine was," she comments with a vaguely disappointed look on her face. A glance is cast Friedrich's way if he hasn't left the hold already. "Hey, freed man. Can you go look for the keys?" ---- "It's hard enough getting a feel for one lock at a time, northman. I'll get you once I've freed Kragg here," offers Mathuviel in response to the human barbarian further down the row and remains kneeling by the dwarf. Shortly thereafter a failed twist snaps the splinter off. With numerous swears under her breath, Mathuviel searches for another; while the floor is a mess, the famed eyesight of elves stays true and she easily discerns a second sliver of proper proportions. With her new tool, she carefully scrapes out the remains of the previous and resumes her attempt to free Kragg. Her new pick promptly snaps too. She is swift in procuring a third. "... let's not give up just yet," she says, but when the third, too, breaks after a fair amount of fiddling, Mathuviel is starting to look more than a little dismayed at her repeated failures. "At least there's plenty of these," she says, half-jokingly, after a little searching about produces a fourth fragment of wood, which comes awfully close to snapping the lock open, before a slightly quiver of Mathuviel's hand sends the tumbler out of alignment, and her attempt to make up for the slip breaks the fourth. "Was plenty of them, at least," she says, somewhat deadpan as her eyes search the hold but find no further shards of appropriate size. Pick Lock 37, 51, 1 DoF Should I hurry this along with more Pick Lock rolls per post? e: Edited in some more fluff and rolls. Pick Lock 27, 63, 3 DoF Perception 36+10+20-4, 18, 4 DoS Pick Lock 27, 57, 3 DoF Perception 36+10+20-4, 16, 4 DoS Pick Lock 27, 80, 5 DoF Perception 62, 61, basic success Pick Lock 27, 28, basic failure Orokos, you're killing me. Pick Lock 27, 65, 3 DoF Perception 62, 54, basic success Pick Lock 27, 47, 2 DoF Utterly killing me. Perception, 62, 72, 1 DoF Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at 18:35 on Mar 7, 2014 |
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Mar 6, 2014 19:57
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Erik The Norscan looks around and, once more, tugs at his chains to test them. He glances between Mathuviel and Friedrich. "Yes. Go find the key." He looks back to Mathuviel. "Elf-woman, try my chain next. If I am free and have good leverage, I can pull chains free and free more people; if not, I find something heavy and smash wood. It is what I am good at." He grins, briefly, before turning dour once more. "We have one hour, maybe less if storm surges, so the quicker we are out the more likely we live." He glances around as he talks, looking for just such a thing to try on his chains. I'm looking for anything that I can use to lever up my bracket from the wall, or even bend open a chain.
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Mar 6, 2014 20:29
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Kragg Gehanborson I scanned the hold for additional lockpicks for the slender elf, but didn't spot any. "drat. Looks like they really didn't want me breaking loose." I smiled grimly. "Wise of them. Try to help the others for now." Once the slender elf stopped clumsily fiddling with my chains, I carefully repositioned the links so that the same ones that absorbed the force of the wreck more moments ago were aligned with the bolt holding me in place once more and then strained with all my strength against their restraint. Cold iron digging into my wrists as I pulled and pulled. findin' a splinter: 1d100 72 failed breakin' out: 1d100 11 2 DoS? but still a failure for a very hard test unless I can get a break from having maybe weakened the chains during the crash/my intro post? Or a success if Mathuviel can help?! LLSix fucked around with this message at 23:53 on Mar 7, 2014 |
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Mar 7, 2014 23:42
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Mathuviel Thylenin "Let's deal with one person at a time, eh? Give me a moment to brace and I'll help," says Mathuviel, putting a foot against the wall right to the left of Kragg and taking hold of the dwarf's chains. Pulling with both weight and might, she adds her own strength to the dwarf's efforts to yank the shackles free from the wall. Mathuviel helps Kragg; that was my Plan B, anyway. With a +15 to your strength score, you should pass that handily!
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Mar 8, 2014 02:04
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Angran Hardly useful in this situation, he mostly just watches. There's others to break out that could do more, and there's people that know more about boat crashes and the seas than he. What he DOES do is look around and study everyone, trying to figure out exactly what kind of people he is kept up with. Not the people Angran would expect to be a group of prisoners and slaves. Maybe there's a bond in something as simple as that, though. He then muses himself with thoughts of useful magic for this situation, as if it mattered at all. He continues to pull on his chains and study the room, just to keep his presence known. Today could not be the day he died.
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Mar 8, 2014 05:37
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Ilsa Fully aware that there's little she can do to help before being released, Ilsa sits down and waits. She tries looking for a splinter with which the elf could pick the lock on her chains, but doesn't really know what to look for. Weren't lockpics supposed to be thin metal bendy things? They never really covered picking locks with pieces of wood in the temple's school. Finding a splinter. 61 vs 60. Failed by 1.
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Mar 9, 2014 03:56
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Friedrich Friedrich does as he is asked, and starts searching for keys and tools. He doesn't really know where he should start looking for them, this is his first voyage on a sea-faring vessel after all, but a ship is basically a house but on water. Tools are usually in a tool shed, or a tool boat in this case, which probably has crashed somewhere close by. Keys are usually kept, well, Friedrich has never owned anything that would require a key, so a key can be anywhere. So Friedrich starts searching everywhere.
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Mar 10, 2014 15:50
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Otto Otto calls out as he sees some his fellow slaves start to break free. "Hey! Over here! I'm still alive over here!", and strains at his bonds with all his might, rocking them in an attempt to loosen them. Strength Roll (Against 35): 1d100 36 Dang
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Mar 11, 2014 02:31
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As Angran ponders their common predicament, he notices tentative bonds beginning to form amongst the quartet of humans, the pair of elves, and the lone dwarf. Forced together as they have been by fate, some of them are already beginning to work together to secure freedom for everyone. Or at least those who are already free have managed to spare some thought and effort for those who are not so lucky. Though he might wish for swifter progress on their collective escape, perhaps not being abandoned is the best he can realistically hope for at the moment. As the others wait expectantly, Mathuviel tries and tries again to open Kragg's lock, but she only manages to break several of the most useful of the improvised picks she has found thus far. Precious minutes pass as the shackles refuse to open. Meanwhile, Otto finds to his dismay that his own chains refuse to yield, no matter what force he applies against them. While Ilsa is waiting, she casts about for any tool that could prove useful in facilitating her escape. She eventually finds a length of wood that is vaguely like the one Mathuviel first used on her own lock, but the Initiate is not entirely certain of its efficacy, as she's never previously contemplated the nature of an appropriate lockpick. Similarly, Erik scrounges around until he acquires a length of planking that is narrow enough to fit between the links of his chains, but (hopefully) strong enough to withstand the force he will bring to bear on it. Certainly forged metal would be better for such a task, he realizes. Apropos of which, the dwarf grows impatient with Mathuviel's lack of progress and decides to take matters into his own hands. Lining up the links carefully, he strains mightily against them. Slowly, slowly, the weakened section begins to stretch, and finally it bursts, leaving only a short length of chain dangling from each of his wrists and ankles. As the process of escape proceeds in fits and starts, Friedrich climbs the stairs to begin his search abovedecks. Finding the hatch impossible to open, despite multiple attempts, he instead proceeds to the gaping hole in the hull. As he looks out on the stretch of rocky, windswept beach, he does not immediately see the tool boat that must have accompanied their vessel, but he does notice what appears to be the body of the slaver, Growt, propped against a boulder half a hundred paces or so from the broken ship. From his current position, jumping down to the beach would be easy for Friedrich, while climbing up to the main deck would be slightly harder (i.e., would require an actual Scale Sheer Surface roll, albeit at Easy/+20%, since the boulder poking into the hold could provide some good hand- and foot-holds on his way up). Mathuviel and Kragg can now move on to help the others. TychoBrahesNose fucked around with this message at 06:02 on Mar 11, 2014 |
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Mar 11, 2014 03:15
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Mathuviel Thylenin Mathuviel quickly steps back from her position as Kragg busts his shackles free of the wall, her eyes widening slightly as the dwarf performs a seemingly impossible feat on his own, with no smashed wall to help him. "Haha... don't I feel silly. Clearly, if they wanted you secure, they should've made the wood of their ship less crap. The stuff keeps bloody breaking," she swears bemusedly, half out of frustration with her improvised tools, half relief that the dwarf's finally free. Remembering there's a hold full of people still awaiting release, she swiftly moves over to the next one on her list of people to bust out: the barbarian from Norsca. If he is indeed strong, like the dwarf, then freeing him could hasten the process of releasing others... and Mathuviel is at least loath to leave Angran behind. Reaching Erik, she doesn't bother wasting time, nor words. The elf simply adopts the same stance as she'd been about to use to aid Kragg, bracing one foot against the wall beside the northman. A go-ahead nod indicates that she's ready to help pull on the chains whenever Erik makes his own attempt to free himself. She is somewhat more cautious now, however, keeping an eye on the man to ensure that he doesn't attempt anything hostile with his scavenged length of wood. Aiding Erik. That's +13 (not +15, forgot I was down strength) to your breakout roll, Dyne.
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Mar 11, 2014 18:02
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Erik Giving the elf a glance, Erik nods. He throws his weight to one side, his biceps straining and his teeth bared as he throws all of his strength into yanking one of his arms free. Mercifully, the chain gives, and he quickly turns and plants his foot against the well, heaving back with a growl. He stumbles once free, taking a moment to regain his balance. He rubs his wrists and inspects them, making sure he isn't bleeding, and looks around the ship. "I can help now. Go, we have little time to wait." He wraps what's left of the chains around his wrists and moves towards the man calling for help, giving him a nod as he grips the man's chains. "Pull. Put your back into it, as will I." He gives the man a moment to ready himself and then yanks with him, his muscles straining once more. http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4428254/ Successfully break free! Otto gets +18 on his roll with me helping.
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Mar 11, 2014 18:49
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Friedrich Friedrich jumps down to the beach, deciding to investigate the corpse of Growt. He might have a key, or something else useful. He is not quite sure what the job of a slaver entails, and what are the tools of the trade.
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Mar 11, 2014 22:27
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Kragg Gehanborson "Hahaha! I am free!" My shattered chains rattled and clanked as I cheered and stretched properly for the first time in what felt like ages. "It is lucky indeed that they did not make their ship out of the sturdy trees of your home, Mafuviel. Haha! Come now lads and lasses; if a short fellow like me and a skinny lass like my friend here can escape their chains so can you. Together we can strip this cursed ship of everything of value and survive! Wherever we might be now." I'll help anyone who wants. +15 to your roll.
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Mar 11, 2014 23:04
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Otto Otto groans in disappointment. The chains are just too strong. He's about to give up when the Norscan barbarian comes to lend a hand. With the other man's help, he strains against his bonds, willing them to break, and his despair starts to turn into hope as he sees them start to stretch under their combined strength. Strength Roll (Against 53): 1d100 40
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Mar 12, 2014 00:22
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As the escape attempts within the hold continue apace, Friedrich stumbles across the beach, the cold rain stinging his exposed skin. He begins to hear a voice carried by the wind; it sounds like it's... singing? It is then that Friedrich notices that Growt is not as dead as he had previously assumed. The singing stops as the slaver's eyes snap open and he rises unsteadily to his feet. As he does so, Friedrich can see a length of chain wrapped around his waist with the ends leading around behind the boulder. He has a sword in a scabbard strapped to his side, and he waves the cudgel in his hand threateningly toward Friedrich. His lips move, but the wind carries away whatever it is that he is attempting to communicate. Friedrich is still a good 10 meters away from the chained man, so he is not in immediate danger of being attacked. Though if the wind shifts such that he is downwind of Growt, the slaver's stench will no doubt ferociously assault his senses. Those of you who are free of your chains (Mathuviel, Erik, Kragg) can try again to release the others (Angran, Otto, Ilsa). TychoBrahesNose fucked around with this message at 12:01 on Mar 12, 2014 |
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Mar 12, 2014 04:42
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Angran Angran takes in the situation and is patient. It doesn't seem like there's a whole lot to do for himself in the way of picking the lock or pulling the chain free. Others seem to have it differently, though, so he might as well try to be useful. Despite Angran having a hard time focusing on anything that could be used to pick the lock, he can give a good try at pulling the chain again. It's not like it's going to get stronger. Strength test: 10 (Fail for a Very Hard) "We might be able to just break mine as well... I'm not sure," he speaks out, his voice in unison with the clattering chains while his hands make quite the commotion.
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Mar 12, 2014 17:23
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Erik Despite his help, the one named Otto is unable to break his chains. Erik takes a step back and brushes his hair back from his face and feels sweat sting his eyes. He looks around for a moment and realizes that one of them has wandered off, and still hadn't come back. "Where is the simple one? Friedrich was his name? Do not tell me he wandered off of the ship alone!" The thought of someone fleeing the ship filled Erik's mind, along with visions of running into someone who may want a cargo ship full of slaves who would exchange the freedom of one for the servitude of many. Although he did not believe the idiot would do such a thing of his own volition, he knows there are those who would take advantage of him and all of them. Turning away from Otto, he eyes the elf. "I am going to find Friedrich. There may be trouble; we should not split up or be alone for too long. Yell if something happens, I will do the same." Without waiting for confirmation or to answer questions, Erik makes his way towards where the ship is split, intent on following the simple peasant. Doing what it says on the box. John Dyne fucked around with this message at 19:41 on Mar 13, 2014 |
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Mar 12, 2014 18:04
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Mathuviel Thylenin Mathuviel seems about to attempt to forestall Erik's sudden departure (After all hadn't the norseman been in agreement that the first freedman go look for keys?), but after a moment she instead just scowls after the departing man's back, thinking him afraid that the ship is about to slip off the rocks, and instead swiftly moves over to Angran to help free her fellow elf. If time was short, calling the man back was hardly worth the argument. "Smashing chains is not my strength, but I'm not about to cut and run from a fellow continental," she says, offering Angran a wan smile and without much subtlety heaves on the elf's chains as the scholar makes his own attempt to free himself. Helping Angran, +13 again. Hopefully that will succeed.
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Mar 12, 2014 19:11
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Despite their weakened state, the elves together manage to pry the plank holding Angran's chains free of the deck. If the situation weren't so dire, he would appear rather comical, attached as he is to a long wooden board. But at least he is free to move. Two more to go, though Kragg may yet successfully assist Ilsa. There will be some movement and combat penalties for Angran (as for Friedrich), due to his burden. Though he does have an improvised weapon already to hand, if it comes to that! TychoBrahesNose fucked around with this message at 04:19 on Mar 13, 2014 |
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Mar 13, 2014 04:02
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I don't want to roll for Ilsa, but I/Kragg is still happy to help her. As soon as Erik and Friedrich start shouting about Growt I'll jump down to help them though.
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Mar 13, 2014 22:31
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Otto The chains seemed to start to give for a moment, but still bind him to the hull of the ship. And now the Norscan who was helping him is gone. Frustrated, he slumps back. Bad enough when his destiny was to be a slave. Is he to die on the ship?
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Mar 14, 2014 12:02
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 08:26 |
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Friedrich The wind is too strong, and Friedrich can't hear what Growt is saying. "Sorry, I can't hear you! You'll have to speak louder!" Friedrich shouts. "But I see that you're alive! A cudgel? No thanks, I don't need it! I'm looking for a key, do you have it!" Friedrich points at his chains, in case Growt has trouble hearing him too.
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Mar 14, 2014 13:42
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