Post by Sunday on Oct 9, 2019 14:46:15 GMT
With a deafening crash, the white-hot metal of an enormous portcullis slams into the obsidian rock lining the tunnel floor leading from the Fire Giant’s lair. Rolling through, Sunday and Traavor turn in time to see Ghesh, Varis, Baine, and Markas caught under the weight of the construction. Behind them, down the length of the glowing tunnel, they can hear the roar of anger and frustration. All eyes shift for a split second to the massive sack slung over Baine’s shoulder, before efforts are redoubled to lift the gate and flee.
“Come on!” Baine yells, rushing into the lead. “I can see our ship!”
The party clatters down the winding stone steps carved into the side of the volcano and out onto the makeshift jetty where Nigel, their Azer pilot, is waiting aboard his brass-hewn airship. Scrambling aboard, the ship casts off and begins to pick up speed, churning its way through the magma sea that makes up the majority of the Plane of Fire. The ship hasn’t gone more than 200ft when a second roar causes them to turn. The Fire Giant has made it to the edge of the jetty and, stepping unhurt into the roiling furnace, starts to chase after them.
As the party moves to various positions on the ship in preparation for the ensuing fight, the Giant, gaining swiftly, plunges a hand into the magma and pulls out a huge boulder. It hurls the projectile directly at the ship. Nigel tries to turn but the throw is too good: the rock crashes through the stern of the ship, crushing the Azer captain to death. Snarling in fury, Varis leaps from the shattered stern, night-black wings snapping out from his armour and carrying him directly towards the foe. Terrified by the sight of the onrushing figure, the Fire Giant turns and retreats to the safety of his forge-island.
Confidently, Baine steps up to the helm of the ship to keep the party on course. Meanwhile, Sunday sits by the body of Nigel and takes out a diamond from inside her robe, placing it on the forehead of the fire-dwarf. She sits cross-legged by the side of the lifeless body and, thrusting one hand into the ball of burning magma embedded in the deck, rests her other hand on Nigel’s chest. She draws heat and life force from the huge stone and, passing it through her body and down her arm, transfers it into the corpse before her. Nigel coughs embers and ash, opening his eyes and sitting up. A man of few words, he retakes his place at the helm and the party continue their journey to the City of Brass.
A few hours later, caught in the middle of a furious sand- and firestorm, the ship is forced to detour into a canyon for shelter; a likely place for ambush, as they are descended upon by two boats of scavenging fire salamanders. With Ghesh and Sunday manning a giant ballista, Markas and Traav providing covering fire from crows' nests, and Varis and Baine going toe-to-toe with the boarders, the ragged bunch were soon repelled. Varis requested the party keep hold of one of the flying boarding boats.
The journey continued. Sunday and Markas started some training together, with Markas showing his adroitness and dodging the brunt of Sunday's ranged magical attacks.
The City of Brass came into view and the party were starting to feel relieved that the dehydrating, exhausting heat could soon be left behind. But they were set upon by six boatloads of rogue Azers. A frantic chase began, with the party doing what they could to hasten their speed or slow the enemy. Ghesh and Baine berating the air elementals powering the sails to speed up; Varis kept an eye out for suitable paths through the firey sea; and Traav used a new-found item to create a screen of mist to throw the enemy off... And Markas decided to try and gain the party valuable seconds by repainting the stern of the boat as a disguise...... and it somehow almost worked - unfortunately, the seemingly forgotten giant burning stone that the Giant had hurled into the ship meant they were greatly slowed and the pursuers soon drew alongside.
Sunday, spiting the elemental forces around them, called forth a torrent of ice and snow to severely damage the passengers in the closet boat - leaving Varis to leap across into the boat and despatch the wounded survivors in a clinical display of mismatched power, robotically cutting them down one-by-one, aided by the deadly long-ranged accuracy of Traav and Markas. Baine and Ghesh stood on the port side, waiting for the second-closest boat to draw alongside: grinning, the two warriors waited for the eight occupants to attempt to cross the dangerous gulf, easily slaughtering the six that made it across. Not without having to avoid the misguided efforts of Sunday, though, as she misfired the ballista between the legs of Ghesh and into the decking of the already-damaged ship...
Two other boats, full of Azer, caught up to them and came aboard. The party engaged and were holding them off, mindful of the other two boats yet to reach them. Sunday, finding a calm space in the middle of battle, drew on her last reserves of strength and, slamming a fist into the decking, sent a shockwave of golden-green energy rippling across the ships, killing or severely damaging the many enemies surrounding them. The rest of the party made short work of the few survivors. The other two boats turned tail at the sight of the slaughter, fleeing empty-handed back into the reaches of the magma sea.
The party returned to the magical enchanter in the City, and Sunday - enquiring about the cursed greatsword she had recently acquired - learned of the convoluted process to destroy it. She decided to leave the sword with the enchanter as part-payment, satisfied that any and all connections to Daring and those she cared about had been removed. Finally, Baine handed over the contents of the sack - full of the ingredients needed to imbue his weapon with magical potency - and was told the weapon would take no more than a few days and would be sent to him in Kantas.
Elated, exhausted, and thirsty as all f-, the party returned to Daring and a well-deserved drink (or six in Traav's case) in the Ettin.
“Come on!” Baine yells, rushing into the lead. “I can see our ship!”
The party clatters down the winding stone steps carved into the side of the volcano and out onto the makeshift jetty where Nigel, their Azer pilot, is waiting aboard his brass-hewn airship. Scrambling aboard, the ship casts off and begins to pick up speed, churning its way through the magma sea that makes up the majority of the Plane of Fire. The ship hasn’t gone more than 200ft when a second roar causes them to turn. The Fire Giant has made it to the edge of the jetty and, stepping unhurt into the roiling furnace, starts to chase after them.
As the party moves to various positions on the ship in preparation for the ensuing fight, the Giant, gaining swiftly, plunges a hand into the magma and pulls out a huge boulder. It hurls the projectile directly at the ship. Nigel tries to turn but the throw is too good: the rock crashes through the stern of the ship, crushing the Azer captain to death. Snarling in fury, Varis leaps from the shattered stern, night-black wings snapping out from his armour and carrying him directly towards the foe. Terrified by the sight of the onrushing figure, the Fire Giant turns and retreats to the safety of his forge-island.
Confidently, Baine steps up to the helm of the ship to keep the party on course. Meanwhile, Sunday sits by the body of Nigel and takes out a diamond from inside her robe, placing it on the forehead of the fire-dwarf. She sits cross-legged by the side of the lifeless body and, thrusting one hand into the ball of burning magma embedded in the deck, rests her other hand on Nigel’s chest. She draws heat and life force from the huge stone and, passing it through her body and down her arm, transfers it into the corpse before her. Nigel coughs embers and ash, opening his eyes and sitting up. A man of few words, he retakes his place at the helm and the party continue their journey to the City of Brass.
A few hours later, caught in the middle of a furious sand- and firestorm, the ship is forced to detour into a canyon for shelter; a likely place for ambush, as they are descended upon by two boats of scavenging fire salamanders. With Ghesh and Sunday manning a giant ballista, Markas and Traav providing covering fire from crows' nests, and Varis and Baine going toe-to-toe with the boarders, the ragged bunch were soon repelled. Varis requested the party keep hold of one of the flying boarding boats.
The journey continued. Sunday and Markas started some training together, with Markas showing his adroitness and dodging the brunt of Sunday's ranged magical attacks.
The City of Brass came into view and the party were starting to feel relieved that the dehydrating, exhausting heat could soon be left behind. But they were set upon by six boatloads of rogue Azers. A frantic chase began, with the party doing what they could to hasten their speed or slow the enemy. Ghesh and Baine berating the air elementals powering the sails to speed up; Varis kept an eye out for suitable paths through the firey sea; and Traav used a new-found item to create a screen of mist to throw the enemy off... And Markas decided to try and gain the party valuable seconds by repainting the stern of the boat as a disguise...... and it somehow almost worked - unfortunately, the seemingly forgotten giant burning stone that the Giant had hurled into the ship meant they were greatly slowed and the pursuers soon drew alongside.
Sunday, spiting the elemental forces around them, called forth a torrent of ice and snow to severely damage the passengers in the closet boat - leaving Varis to leap across into the boat and despatch the wounded survivors in a clinical display of mismatched power, robotically cutting them down one-by-one, aided by the deadly long-ranged accuracy of Traav and Markas. Baine and Ghesh stood on the port side, waiting for the second-closest boat to draw alongside: grinning, the two warriors waited for the eight occupants to attempt to cross the dangerous gulf, easily slaughtering the six that made it across. Not without having to avoid the misguided efforts of Sunday, though, as she misfired the ballista between the legs of Ghesh and into the decking of the already-damaged ship...
Two other boats, full of Azer, caught up to them and came aboard. The party engaged and were holding them off, mindful of the other two boats yet to reach them. Sunday, finding a calm space in the middle of battle, drew on her last reserves of strength and, slamming a fist into the decking, sent a shockwave of golden-green energy rippling across the ships, killing or severely damaging the many enemies surrounding them. The rest of the party made short work of the few survivors. The other two boats turned tail at the sight of the slaughter, fleeing empty-handed back into the reaches of the magma sea.
The party returned to the magical enchanter in the City, and Sunday - enquiring about the cursed greatsword she had recently acquired - learned of the convoluted process to destroy it. She decided to leave the sword with the enchanter as part-payment, satisfied that any and all connections to Daring and those she cared about had been removed. Finally, Baine handed over the contents of the sack - full of the ingredients needed to imbue his weapon with magical potency - and was told the weapon would take no more than a few days and would be sent to him in Kantas.
Elated, exhausted, and thirsty as all f-, the party returned to Daring and a well-deserved drink (or six in Traav's case) in the Ettin.
