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[Rolepgeek]

Daethwin pauses a moment, considering. Bastard did have a point. He didn't bring those books with him, after all. "I wrote a book about it. Don't have a copy, unfortunately. But it contains most of my findings. Not all. There's some stuff people are better off not knowing. But here's a question for you. I'm going to treat you like an equal, as you say you're an archeologist, instead of a talentless wannabe priest with fancy robes and an over-sized mouth. So, I'll ask you this, and I would like you to answer me, as a theologian. If you get angry, it'll prove I was right about your lack of manners. Do you really want to prove me right? I like being right. But anyway, here's my question; where is your proof for all of this? After all, the entire world, practically, except for your church, says your wrong, basically. The burden of proof is on you, not them." he takes a deep breath, having barely stopped to do so during his speech. "Oh, and by the way, calling someone a heathen, a liar, any of that, isn't actually good manners. It's bad manners, in point of fact. Also, I despise lying and liars, and you can be pretty much assured I will never lie. Not in such a way that it wouldn't be obvious, at least." he turned as the half-angel fumed and thought of a response, to the newcomer from below-decks. "Daethwin Riesston. I mostly focus on legends, myth, ancient stories, archaeological finds with runes or the like. Anthropology, you might say, though psychology is something I use constantly. I can tell your emotions just from looking at your face. That means the zealot, too. Not that zealotry is necessarily bad, mind you. I knew this guy, he was a zealot of his people's god of generosity and agriculture. Refused to accept gifts, gave pretty much everything he grew away. I actually saw him weep the one time he was forced to not help someone; we were fleeing the guards. Anyway, that's a long story for another time."

[Remuthra]

((Ah,wrong thread.))

[Ross Vernal]

Morgrod wasn't entirely sure they understood who they were dealing with here. It wasn't just some two-bit zombie-raiser. Morgrod was a Spellwright, a lich of the highest order, privy to some of the secrets of the Nine. This curse was hardly worth the name - a simple trick of forcing Life itself into the body Morgred inhabited. As if the lich hadn't already figured out how to purge such an unnecessary burden from their body at this point. One would think that the skeletal form would be evidence enough, but no. It was simple to simply redirect the flow of Life into a ghoul. Its mewls of pain and death were interesting, although not aesthetically pleasing enough. This was a mistake to be rectified at the earliest possible opportunity.

"ENOUGH! MINGAN, DARSHENDROS! HEAR MY PLEA! I ENTREAT YOU TO GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO DESTROY THESE FOOLS!"

Mingan turned and winked, then dove into an attack against Coranthiir, who was forced to turn to parry, allowing Darshendros to catch him in another gout of dragonfire. Morgred would feel a very strange sensation that quickly became an excellent one. If it were possible to laugh, Morgrod would have done so - they felt immortal, the outer edges of the lich's aura nearly visible on the material level. The sudden insight of no longer needing to fear the weapons of mortals was tempered by the uncomfortable trickling-away sensation and the knowledge that said boon was not without limits.

Tarana, newly awakened with experience of combat, studied the scene, weighing her options. The easiest way was a lunge, but that placed her too close to the Warpriest; better to advance and threaten, then spit. Keeping her sword up, the divine maiden slipped between the entombed warpriests and towards their leader.  After taking a quick, quiet breath, she thrust forward and up with a thrust to the Warpriest's lower back. As expected, the man turned by half, whipping the folds of his cloak, then throwing it off in a single motion to catch her acidic spit. The garment smoked and dissolved, but the attack had been deflected. As a junior warpriest slid to the side to continue the assault on the Savokian priests, the Warpriest finished his turn, planted his feet, casually tossed his dagger and sword between hands, and whipped forward impossibly fast, the point of his blade aimed directly for Tarana's heart.

Tarana moved.

She turned to the side, sword flashing out a measured response. As the sword narrowed the gap to where her chest was a moment ago, the point tearing through the front of her armor for the briefest moment, she turned her blade sideways and dealt a hammerblow to the front quarter-point of the Warpreist's sword with the back-quarter part of hers. With a flick of her wrist, the stroke was deflected to her left, and she seized the opportunity to attack,  striking forth at the Warpriest's underarm. Any lesser warrior would have been disarmed by the technique; the Shinpriest was made of tougher stuff, and jerked his blade up while pulling back in an attempt to cut at her neck or jaw, whichever was closest. By reflex, Tarana's attack shifted, and she leaned back on her heels to avoid the stroke, arm swinging to deflect the blow away. With the two up close and personal, the Shinpriest shifted his feet and moved to kick at her, then snapped his head forward and down in a vicious headbutt. With her free hand, Tarana made a fist and rocketed it directly into the Warpriest's nose, shattering it. Rocking back down onto her toes, she pulled her leg up and snapped out a kick to the Shinpriest's chest, forcing him to stumble backwards while making a warding slash. It was to no avail, as the woman had already edged back, blood dripping from her hand and guard up. The Priest looked her in the eye and grinned, banged a hand against his chest, and reset his nose in a quick, painful tweak as his knife clattered to the ground.

She returned the gesture and risked a quick glance at the damage to her armor. While it wasn't a particularly large break, it was, regardless, a weak point and a target. She'd have to keep it in mind for future reference.

The dwarf bent a knee to his god and rose to his feet, feeling the dark gift of power flowing through him. With his inner eye for stone, Neun cast about into the ground, sifting through dirt and floor to find hard stone. Upon finding a source, he smiled and clenched a fist. The existing stone prisons of the Shinprests tightened and shifted, followed moments later by a flow of stone up and over the heads of one of the trapped priests. Having understood that there was no longer any point to the prohibition on killing people on pains of offending the gods, Neun simply reasoned that a nice sacrifice was an excellent payback for his gift. And then, of course, there was the practical side.

Cue the firestorm.

The first one flew wild, air currents whipping the lash of flames about the room, striking more of Morgred's pets and friendlies than enemies. Concentrating hard on pushing his magic to a level he hadn't reached before, Neun focused and aimed his flames, trying again. This time, controlled tendrils of burning fire struck out from above the party, sweeping the ground around them. The Gods paid little attention to the flames, Neun's power barely registering as much as you'd note a gnat attack, only less so. Likewise, the flames fizzled against the armor of the Warpriest, who looked unimpressed, blood quickly drying on his face from the heat and winds.

Myrln, with hardly a thought, tapped his party members quickly, restoring their sense of hearing, and muttered a quick prayer to his God. A ghostly chuckle assured him that he had been gifted with the power to halt the High Priest's attempts to turn the battleground. Noting the need to do so after taking immediate steps, the half-sidhe threw healing power into Zoah and Neun, keeping the damage dealers healthy. Next, mind whirling, the mage cast veils and illusions at the High Priest, calling on every fiber of his heritage. It was to no avail - without hardly an effort, the Defender of the Faith glanced at and through the illusions, blowing them away in a stream of gold dust.

With a feral snarl, Myrln retaliated, hammering the Initiate with glowing flames until the blackened figure stopped moving. With a quick spin, the Sidhe fired off another, quick fireball at the freshly-ensconced Shinpriest, searing flesh from the man's face. With a loud, tortured scream, the dying priest unleashed his death curse. The earth rumbled, and the stone cage holding him in place exploded, heavy chunks of stone flying every which way, electric-blue trails following immediately after. Even the Gods paused to defend against the attacks; the only one to escape unscathed was Shin himself, who ricocheted a chunk of stone off of a shield directly into the Corpriest's rib cage, shattering bones and dropping the priest into an uncontrolled spin against the ground. Seeing a rock hurdling towards Zoah, the swordsman leapt into action, moving to intercept the shard of stone with his body. It punched through his torso like wet tissue paper, barely glancing off Zoah's armor as the swordsman dropped his sword, trying desperately to push his innards back inside before collapsing with a final sigh. All around the battlefield, people dropped dead, struck down by flying stone.

Up close, at point blank, the target of the Shinpriest's fury, Myrln had no chance at all to even think about dodging. A slab of stone flew forth and impacted Myrln in the side of the head, immediately knocking him to the floor in a deep coma, blood oozing from the large, fractured dent in his skull. Shards of bone poked out at a sickening angle - even someone with no medical training would realize that something was very, very wrong. Despite the traumatic head injury, the Sidhe's chest nonetheless rose and fell, breath rattling. It was a miracle he hadn't immediately died from the injury - it seemed Fate had decreed it was not yet his time to die.

[Fate roll: 1d100 + 40 = 131. Not your time to die.

As a consequence, you now have a new trait acquired: Traumatic Brain Injury (Critical). I leave it to you to decide what sort of damage Myrln would take from having his head bashed in.]

Zoah, naturally, would immediately step in front of Myrln, preventing a badly burned Corpriest from finishing the job then and there. Tomahawk flashing, the angelic warrior neatly hewed a hand off the offending priest with the sharp end, then reversed and whipped the gunstock end right into the priest's Adam's apple. The priest dropped with gurgling noises, grasping at his throat.

***

Round 9

The numbers had shifted in favor of the Party.

The Corpriest, groaning in pain, channeled his power into himself, then rose to his feet, fully cured. He opened his mouth and spoke a Word. Morgred would experience the Word rather like a set of scissors across the strings leading from its mind to its minions; all but two wolves would return to the dust from which they had been created. He wasn't, however, the main target; the Defender of the Faith had aimed to hurt the Divine Undead. Bolstered by Coranthiir's power, Mingan's minons shuddered, then continued their advance, the whirling malevolent chill about them increasing in intensity. The Warpriest and the Angelborn looked at each other, and stepped away from the battle. Shin, with a gesture mirrored by his brother, simply banished Sanoci, then turned to attend the combat. Darshendros, having spotted an opportunity, took his chance to roast the surviving Priests with dragonfire, leaving only the Defender and the dueling Shinpriest alive for the Party's attention. For some odd reason, the party would understand that the duel was not to be interfered with, rather as though Shin himself had expressed the thought quite clearly to them,

Blades whirled as the contestants squared off. The winds whipping the air from all the fire died down, causing the barely-muted scents of death, burned humans, and stale magic to start growing.

Without hardly a thought, Tarana slid into Zoah's former place, the remaining two wolves at her side. The fight had clearly gone to its final moments - if the party didn't finish the High Priests before much longer, they'd lose their chance.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Myrln -9 HP / 40 MP (Dying)
Tarana 46  HP / 35 MP (Mage Shield)
Neun 34 HP / 33 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Zoah 36 HP / 33 MP (Shin's Blessing, Attuned)
Morgrod 27 HP / 42 MP (Unkillable)
Animated Wolves 5, 11, - Full Health / Full

High Corpriest - 93 HP / 51 MP (Shin's Blessing, Holy Conduit)
High Shinpriest - 58 HP / 16 MP (Shin's Blessing)

Coranthiir - 67 Divine HP / 40 God Power
Darsh - 73 Divine HP / 48 God Power
Shin - 150 Divine HP / 29 God Power
Mingan - 126 Divine HP / 70 God Power

Greater Necroangel - 100 HP / 150 MP
True Wright 1 - 50 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 2 - 50 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 3 -  50 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 4 -50 HP / 100 MP

Savoki Priest 1 - Dead
Shinpriest 3 - Dead
Shinpriest 4 - Dead
Corpriest Initiate 6 - Dead
Corpriest 6 - Dead
Corpriest 7 - Dead
Swordsman 1 - Dead
Archer 2 - Dead
Corpriest 4 - Dead
Archer 1 - Dead

Savoki - Banished

[Ukrainian Ranger]

Tarana was PISSED. It was so pleasant, so fun to duel against the high shinpriest... Maybe it's the new personality that was temporary inserted in her, maybe something else, but that swordplay was the best experience in all her life and now Shin banned her from another round of fencing. "Damn you Zoah, for taking my fun away!" she shouted before switching her attention to something else

She briefly considered attacking the Defender but decided against it. She may be not a dedicated follower of Coranthiir, but she liked him way more than other gods present and she had more than enough Corpriests killed today

Besides, while her party leader annoyed her, he annoyed her less than any other party member, so decision to save his life seemed like a right... Without further planning she rushed to unconscious Myrln, formed a defensive light bubble around herself and her companion and started to drag him away from the battle

[Xantalos]

[Alpha Party | Myrln's Mind (what's left of it)]

Myrln was still. It was only to be expected when one's head had been crushed. But contrary to his body, Myrln's mind was running furiously on the last dregs of consciousness not bashed out of his head.

Owhurst.
Hurts ow. Head.


Head damaged.

Head damaged dying. Dying heal.

Heal.

Magic flowed out of Myrln and into the wound on his head, desperately binding, healing, restoring what it could.

Heal as much health as possible as fast as possible. Put self in a healing coma if necessary, but heal as much damage as is possible.

[Gamerlord]

Morgred spared a glance around the battlefield, evaluating where they were needed most. Myrln needed repair, Tarana seemed to be handling herself well enough as was Neun. Only problem was that Defender...

Raise more corpses to support me and take on the Defender blade-to-blade.

[Chink]

Desecrate this Holy ground as much as possible, and spew hellfire at any remaining enemies.

[Ross Vernal]

Tarana made quick gestures of warding and denial, then studied Myrln's body with dismay. As if the sound weren't enough, it was evident that he wasn't going to be walking anytime soon. After suppressing a shudder and securing his head, she hooked an arm and dragged, feeling the burn in her legs from the dead weight. Somehow, Myrln was already growing cool, heart rate slowing. Pushing aside her curiosity, Tarana braced herself and HAULED, only to lose balance as Myrln simply vanished.

Within himself, Myrln faced down his mortality and found that it was decidedly not to his taste. For what seemed like an eternity, he sluggishly pushed the sparks of his magic at the great ruin of his skull, only dimly aware of a sensation of motion. It soon faded, replaced with a sudden coolness that quickly grew unpleasant. There was a brief agony of pain that felt like his psyche had taken a pick to his frontal lobes, and then something deep and cold awoke inside of him. There was a Choice to be made. He'd always known it but at the edge of his awareness; now, however, it was clear.

Immortality or death.

Time froze. Tarana remained in half-fall, senseless eyes open with surprise. A skeletal hand rose from the ground in front of Morgred, while a hellacious bolt of flame  halted in the air.

***

Myrln would be aware of a general, unpleasant cold, a frozen kiss, points of ice against his chest, a very pleasant warmth between his legs, and something that could only be defined as a really good massage combined with being stuffed with noodles that was disturbing and satisfying at the same time. He came to, alive in a way he'd never been. He could feel the fabric of the clothes several feet away just from the way the air moved against it, hear the infinite rush of cold blood through his body. Rising to his feet, the Winterfae examined his body, familiar yet unfamiliar. Absentmindedly donning the clothes (he could almost taste the Winter colors), he studied himself in the mirror, noting that he had a patch of platinum-white hair where his skull had been caved in, and was, in general, considerably more SHINY than he didn't remember being. There were lots of things he didn't remember, and he didn't remember how much he didn't remember. He didn't really care about it, though; he was ALIVE!

Something called.

Myrln followed, and emerged in a grand audience chamber. Had he time to properly describe the surroundings, he would spend a dozen years composing an epic poem to describe the utter luxurious perfection of the stone floor, streaked as it was with all the colors of Winter. However, Myrln was blind to the wonders around him, and all of his attention was focused on those before him.  On the lowest tier sat jaguars, leopards, tigers, lions, a Sphinx, and a grinning feral feline that could only be a Cat Sith. All had collars of glimmering metal and enormous gemstones, and they watched him in much the same way they would watch any other prey. Above them stood a grim-faced Knight, a leather-clad man covered in hoarfrost, and someone who was obviously a Wizard from his hat.

Upon a throne carved from a single diamond on the third tier sat a girl with golden hair in an elaborate bun,, pale skin a contrast to the scarlet dress she wore, a perfect match to the crimson in her crimson/black/grey eyes that smouldered at Myrln with a lustful, burning hate.

The final tier held two thrones - one of a blue-white ice, the other of green/silver flowers. Although both were at the same height, the Frozen Throne of Winter was somehow higher, more prominent than the Living Throne of Spring. Upon the former sat a black-haired, alabaster-skinned woman with a wicked smile and orchid/lavender/violet eyes, dressed in frost and gemstones; upon the latter, a redheaded man with moving tattoos across his body, a sharktooth necklace, and emerald/cerulean/silver eyes. The Queen of Winter and King of Spring, of Unseelie itself.

Myrln swallowed.

"Ha! I win, darlings. Pay up."

The Erlking sighed and stuck his hand in the throne, withdrawing a box Myrln wasn't capable of describing aside from "It makes my shiny white teeth itch from the inside when I look or think about it" and tossed it to the Mab.  The Maeve beneath them reached into her hair and withdrew two hair sticks, the bun falling into perfectly-placed curls of sparkling gold. These were tossed up and behind at the same time as the box; both were caught and set on the ground.

"And now that the game is near completion - We welcome you to the Winter Court, sidhe."

She gave him a smile.

"And now, you have another choice. We desire to know who you choose to serve to serve Our purpose. The Maeve? Jack Frost? Or the Winter Wizard?"

If there was only one thing Myrln remembered, it was that Wizards were absolutely not people you wanted to fuck with. The choice was obvious - to follow the Wizard. Words umprompted came to his mouth.

"If it please you, my Queen, this servant of Winter woulf serve You through the Wizard."

And then, because he was still Myrln, despite being a full Sidhe now, he said something else.

"If I may ask, what did you bet on me?"

She laughed.

"A summer home in a seaside castle on a beach with purple sand in my cousin's private retreat."

Myrln nodded. The Wizard made a gesture.

***

Myrln reappared. Time unfroze. Tarana recovered her grip and hauled Myrln up as he rose to his feet. He could feel the thrum of Power as he watched the scene unfold. Corpses and skeletons rose from the ground and rushed the Defender as Zoah and the Shinpriest blooded each other in the background. Most of them died in sweeping beams of Holy light powered by the God locked in combat yards away, but those that didn't die before reaching the man tore at him. This burning light did nothing to stop the advance of Morgred, who paid the deadly beam as much attention as he would a flashlight.

The Hellfire tore through the air and struck the priest. He flinched as the side of his face burned, a claw catching at the skin of his hip. A flare of light, and the undead powdered. The light that had been growing suddenly halted as the Desecration countered it, and the Defender paused again, raising a warding hand against the blade Morgrod had slashed at him. The edge struck his hand, and the Defender grinned, tightening his grip. With a jerk of his hands, he disarmed his undead opponent, and bent the sword in half before it shattered.

"No."

Morgred's mind stirred with a black hatred even as its hand went to the robe to withdraw a certain dagger. With one smooth, practiced motion, the black priest thrust the weapon up under the Defender's ribcage, tore the wound wider, and then shoved a skeletal hand up into the wound. One quick tear, and Morgred withdrew the heart of the Defender, holding the ritual dagger up next to it.

"Yes."

Were the skeletal priest capable of grinning, he would have done so as he spoke, and drove the blade into the heart of the Defender.

Nothing happened for a moment, until the Defender laughed, reached out with both hands, and grabbed Morgred by the head. Light began to glow from the hollowed eye sockets and teeth. It would feel to Morgred as though its head were being stuffed full of gas until it found something hot enough to make it explode. That cold hunting instinct told Myrln that the particular clean scent he detected was the last bit of Divine power keeping the Defender alive; with a smile quite unlike those he didn't remember making, Myrln kneeled and sunk his fingers into the ground, sending tendrils of Winter's energy through the ground and clearing away the energies of the Light, reducing the graveyard to its original status.

The burning, explosive light coming from Morgrod's head dimmed. The body of the Defender fell to the ground at the same time the head of the Shinpriest went flying off in the darkness. There was another earthquake, and the gods vanished, bricks and stone falling. With the last of his energies, Morgrod cast the preservative spells and raised a few corpses to haul the important corpse of the Defender.

Zoah was gone.

The party searched the bodies (and zombies) for loot, found none, and by unspoken consent, moved on. The assassination was an anticlimax compared to the battle that had come before it - hide in the closet, wait for a drunken old man to come to bed, and then set the whole place on fire. It would go un-noticed in the town, where several other buildings were on fire and angry mobs roamed and battled in the streets. On their way out (and back to safety), the Party was not attacked - said mobs had noted the weapons and blood, and decided to look for easier prey.

A week passed as the Party holed up with their co-conspirators. Amusingly enough, an Adventurer had been working solo in the area; when they returned to the manor hosting the followers of Aphilam and Ingram, the wolfkin had taken one of the rooms.

[This is where I leave Alpha Party to roleplay among themselves. But first, levels!]

Victory music

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Zoah has ascended!
Zoah has left the party!

The party has gained a level!
The party has earned feats!

Groupmind: The Party members have fought and lived together long enough to bond. As such, they have a minor degree of understanding and telepathy, allowing each member a +1 to communicate strategy/timing attacks/etc when working with other Party members. All.

Shared Power: The Party members are able to share mana at a reduced rate; instead of the usual 5-to-1 ratio, theirs is closer to 3-to-1. All.

Black Winter - Tier 9 AoE, dealing up to 15 points of Fire damage, 15 points of Cold damage, and 15 points of Magic damage - 45 person /450 total, does not target friendlies. 20 MP, 5 of which must come from one person. Myrln/Neun

Quicksand - Tier 9 area debuff/doom. Turns target terrain into quicksand; those caught within the effects have their feet bound in solid, heavy rock. 25 MP, 10 of which must come from one person. Myrln/Neun

Elemental Undead - Tier 8 elemental/necromancy/divine spell. Imbues target undead with fire or earth and an Unholy Word. Earth undead resemble their original species, but look to be made of clay. Fire undead cause additional Fire damage when attacked due to flaming aura. 10 MP to summon, 5 MP to convert existing. Must have at least 1 MP from each person. Neun/Morgred

Feytouched Undead - Tier 7 elemental/blood/necromancy spell. Imbues target undead with Winter powers. Earth undead resemble their original species, but look to be carved of ice and covered with frost. Feytouched undead cause additional Cold damage upon atacking. 10 MP to summon, 5 MP to convert existing. Must have at least 1 MP from each person. Morgred/Myrln

Dragonfire - Tier 10 area divine/infuse/debuff/necromancy spell. Casts a black fire that burns MP from its victims and aligns the battlefield towards Evil/Darsh correspondingly.  20/200 MP, 30 MP, costs shared. Neun/Morgrod

Hold The Line - Whenever acting in a defensive capability (guarding someone, preventing someone from passing, shieldwall, etc) while with the party, both members gain a reaction bonus to all actions. Tarana/Any

Tarana has gained a level!
Tarana has earned a new feat!

Neun has gained a level!
Neun has earned a new feat!

Morgred has gained a level!
Morgred has earned a new feat!
Morgred has gained a level of Priest of Darshendros! (+1 HP, +2 MP)
Morgred has gained a level of Priest of Darshendros! (+1 HP, +2 MP)
Morgred has earned a new feat!

Myrln has gained a Critical Flaw! (Brain Trauma)
Myrln has gained a Critical Virtue! (Winterfae)
Myrln has gained a new feat! (Glamour)
Myrln has gained a level!
Myrln has earned a new feat!
Myrln has gained a level of Winter Mage! (+1 HP, +2 MP)
Myrln has gained a level of Sidhe Paragon! (+4 HP, +4 MP)
Myrln has earned a new feat!

Arana has joined the Party!

[Gamerlord]

Who's fucking awesome? I'M FUCKING AWESOME.

Raise more undead until I have eight ghouls. Use my previous method of driving people to suicide and nicking their souls. Pump said souls/soul fragments into my ghouls. Repeat.

[wolfchild]

((Slightly lost here, but maybe someone should initiate the convo with me?))

[Gamerlord]

((You'll need to do it, Morgred doesn't talk to people much. What classes are you anyway?))

[GrizzlyAdamz]

[Beta|Skyship]

[Rurail gets to his feet & saunters over to the other half of the party]
(Glancing at the other two, he addresses daethwin)
"Hello, my name'ss Rurail. I don't think we've met yet."
[Rurail holds his hand out]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

52

[Ross Vernal]

[Alpha Party | Abandoned Manor | Sometime Within The Week of Hunkering Down]

For the sake of convenience, everyone happened to be in the same room, eating, drinking, or, in the case of Morgred, feeding the first of his pet ghouls table scraps and whispering blasphemies in their horrid pointy little ears.

"So I've come to a conclusion, and that conclusion is that it's time we shake the dust of this town off of our cloaks. When this gets settled, there's going to be a sweeping up, and we'd all rather not be around for that, hmm?"

Rochelle gave an almost-charming smile to accompany the words.

"Now, it's just a question of whether we of Garrison join with your merry band, or go our own way. It seems we have a functional working relationship, and that it would be mutually profitable to continue it."

***

[Beta Party | Airship | Dramatic Bad Weather O'Clock ]

The man in the floppy white hat returned, looking rather nervous.

"The... er... the captain has asked that you please follow me to the rear of the, erm. Ship. With haste, to evacuate. The weather..."

Flop sweat.

The airship shuddered and jerked as what sounded like a cannon exploded just outside, then started to list slightly to the side, rumbling and shaking. Floppy Hat NPC decided he had enough of this shit and booked, not sparing a moment of concern for the adventurers. There were plenty of smaller aircraft, for assorted definitions of plenty.

[Remuthra]

I'm afraid I will have to postpone our conversation. I must discover what that noise was!

With a mighty beat of his wings, Thales, brandishing his glowing broadsword against the storm, in full shining armor, flies off to go see what's happening.

((See you later, foolish wingless comrades!))

[Ross Vernal]

[Beta]

Thales would first notice that it was cold, grey, windy, and the rain was at that annoying not-quite-frozen level. There was also an unpleasant static-electricity feeling to the air.

Most importantly, however, was the oncoming wall of a storm, blackening the sky like the world's biggest tidal wave. The airship was beginning to descend, but it was obvious that there'd be no time to complete the landing, and more obvious that turning the ship around wouldn't even delay the inevitable.