Just then, all up and down the thoroughfare, loose shudders flapped and whapped violently into their buildings and broken window panes, smacking wildly over and over, as if desperately trying to beat their way unhinged and flee. Piercing, blood-curdling screams filled the streets, shrieks that shattered souls like wine glasses. Windows blew apart as the wailing came closer. A chill breeze gusted down the street that carried the despair of thirteen elven maidens of ages past. From over top of buildings came swooping banshees wielding swords of ice, keening in hatred over their fates and riding in bone chariots pulled by wyverns. The banshees flew wildly through the air, swooping down through the thoroughfare, spreading fear and death.
Sir Darvig, along with Bhatair and Tarsis, trembled from head to toe, and ran faster than before. Echo stood mouth agape, wondering how fun it would be to ride in a bone chariot. Cariannan kept Echo moving. Last to round a corner into an alley to escape the Reaper Army approaching in full force, Cariannan Oafleaf, after making sure Bhatair (who was the slowest) and Echo (who was still curious), had made it safely around the bend, stopped and turned. She took one last glance back down the thoroughfare. The elven paladin had witnessed, and battled, many ghastly sights in the Silvanesti forest during Lorac's Nightmare, but she had seen nothing like this.
She saw Lord Soth advance on Tanis Half-Elven, his purple cape fluttering. Swords clanged in the street as they clashed, causing the banshees to wail with evil glee. Soth thrust his sword into Tanis’s stomach. Tanis buckled, staggering to one knee. The death knight withdrew his sword. Tanis slumped to the street. Cariannan Oakleaf turned her face away, and moved to catch up with the others when she almost stumbled over Echo instead. Unable to suppress the urge for a last bit to the story, the kender had paused to peak around the corner still, scratching notes feverishly. Having witnessed Tanis’s ignoble death, both turned and ran after the others.
It was several minutes later*. The five had made it to the north end of the city and regrouped along the side of a large warehouse that sat on a small hill overlooking the docks. There were none of the Blue Lady’s warriors or draconians present at the moment and, all had time for a quick breather as they surveyed the harbor - and to decide what to do next. There were no Solamnic Knights around, Sir Darvig noted with disappointment. Only the few that rode upon bronze dragons out over the bay could he see, wielding their dragonlances as they battled over the bay with black dragons carrying riders of their own.
The docks were in mayhem. Palanthas had perhaps the largest and busiest harbor in all of Ansalon. Many ships had left yesterday at the first sign of invasion. Some, for one reason or another, had waited until today. Some of those could still be seen out in the bay, embarking on their voyage into Zeboim's Deep, and ultimately to safer lands. An unlucky few, for one reason or another, had become casualties of the fierce dragon battle, floating shattered and adrift in the bay or keeled over, inching their way to complete submersion to sink to the bottom.
Four ships remained docked in the harbor. The surly crews stood in ranks on deck, cutlasses and knives drawn and crossbows readied. Captains and first mates argued with hundreds of shouting, desperate citizens of Palanathas trying to board and flee the city, while at the same time, trying to get their anchors hastily pulled up to set sail. A lucky few had made it on the ships, crowding them over capacity, but that had happened an hour ago. For those who hadn’t reached the docks in time, it was too late. Angered, the citizens were rioting, throwing whatever they were carrying - apples, hats, knives, tomatoes, expensive shoes - at the boats and their crews.
Then Cariannan and Darvig both spotted a lone ship, not anchored in at the loading docks, but further out some three hundred feet. They could see a chain still stretching into the water - it was still anchored, for the moment. There was bustling activity on board. A few crewman were standing on deck in a line, pointing into the bay at a swimmer approaching the boat. One of the crewman reached for a rope, and was preparing to throw it out toward him. Cariannan alone noted that no flag waved upon the mast to indicate allegiance or station, but she did catch the title of the boat, painted across its side - The Merchant Monsoon.
Fear saves vs. banshee wails (6 of the 13 get close enough for the party to be in range)
Darvig: d20+8 (w/ protection from evil)= 20, 18, 14, 17, 21, 28 frightened. must flee, but holds onto what’s he’s holding and to his wits.
Cariannan: immune to fear
Bhatair: d20+9= 25, 22, 17, 14, 24, 29 frightened. must flee, but holds onto what he’s holding and to his wits.
Echo: immune to fear
Tarsis: d20+5= 15, 15, 11, 12, 9, 8 frightened. must flee, but holds onto what he’s holding and to his wits.
OUT OF INITAITIVE - POST AT WILL. take a moment here to meet/plan, if you like.
*fear effects from the banshees have worn off by this time.
Perception checks (sight-based): Bhatair 18, Cariannan 23, Echo 10, Darvig 20, Tarsis 16.
Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 08-22-2010 at 02:56 PM.
The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."
“I will,” Darvig uttered.