"Easy.  Put them out of commission."  Maeve grips her guisarme firmly and raises an eyebrow at Zuriel as if just asking him to try and show compassion to the sentries.

Zuriel shoots Baldwin a withering look. "Amongst those of us who are focusing on the task at hand, rather than making pointlessly pedantic grammatical corrections, I would say that the consensus is that we deal with them in the quickest, quietest way possible."

The paladin gazes down the hatchways sadly. "There are too many lives at stake here. We have to be decisive."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:47, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 292):

"Why was it even a question?" Finwë sneers, gripping his two-handed warhammer eagerly. "There's no sense in waiting, either. Might as well clear the deck from its filth while Lord Krall scouts ahead. This place reeks of evil."

He walks toward the source of the footsteps without another word, apparently assuming the others will follow.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:12, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Hold on a moment, if you would please, Finwe, Lyriel murmurs quietly. There will be plenty of time for smiting, but we need to do this in the proper order.

She narrows her eyes as she catches the zealous Knight-Errant's gaze. Believe me, we're going to make these heathens burn, she says in a dangerously low voice, but if we want to maximize the damage, we have to be smart about this.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Maeve, on the verge of springing into battle after Finwe, shifts uncomfortably as Lyriel talks with great zeal about burning heathens.

And this is why I don't get involved in religious matters.

In reply to DM (msg # 293):

Finwë stops, as requested, but looks impatient about it.

"What do you propose, m'lady?" he says, fidgeting with his warhammer.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:42, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Lyriel smiles grimly and extends her hand. Resting in her open palm is a single holly berry. It appears entirely ordinary, except for very occasionally glinting emerald when the light hits it just right.

This will detonate with the force of a naval cannon, when it is called upon, she explains. Before the troops are alerted to our presence, we should place this below the waterline, ideally near the powder storage. Then, once we've deactivated whatever magic shielding this ship possesses, we can blow it sky high .

She nods at Baldwin. One of his gifts, other than grammatical mastery, is to be able to speak very, very loudly. He can trigger the detonation remotely, from a safe distance.

Lyriel raises an eyebrow at Finwe. Is that worth delaying the smiting a bit, Sir Harlindon?

[Private to DM: Spell substitutions

2nd - Bear's > Bull's, Spiritual Weapon > Owl's Wisdom
3rd - Searing Light > Water Walk
4th - Air Walk > Dismissal; 1x Sending > Dimensional Anchor
6th - Wind Walk > Mass Bear's Endurance]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:11, Thu 13 Nov 2014.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 297):

"Perhaps," he responds sullenly. "But it does nothing to prevent the sentries from discovering us here while we wait for your scout to return."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:53, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Zuriel nods. "That is a good point. If there's no side room nearby to hide in, then we should just ambush the sentries and deal with them here and now. We can't  stray too far from the area, or Boreas won't be able to find us when he returns."

Where is he? We don't have much time...

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 299):

There doesn't appear to be a single room big enough to hold everyone nearby, but there are a series of nooks, crannies, and utility closets within about 20 feet of each other that are within easy walking distance.

Baldwin looks over the P.A.R.T.Y. sadly.

"I do believe only Master Keef and myself are dressed for subtle movement. Walk with care."

OOC: Stealth checks for Lyriel, Zuriel, Maeve, and Keef, please. Post about how you're moving accordingly. I'll handle the roll for Boreas's scouting mission.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:16, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Zuriel and Finwe look at each other skeptically. For once, they seem to be in agreement. "That's not going to happen," Zuriel replies simply. "We ought to just take them out when they round the bend."

[Private to DM: Spell List for this excursion - 1st- Devastating Smite, Protective Interposition; 2nd - Conduit of Life, Divine Insight; 3rd; Greater Angelskin, Righteous Might]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:34, Wed 12 Nov 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 301):

Then sentry was a simple man from a small thistle farm in the swampy eastlands of Drynn. He wasn't particularly invested in this war against the Empire, but when the call for conscription went out, there was nothing for it but to enlist. Besides, the pay was decent, the company was impressive, and the promise of wealth and glory was everywhere.

The man acquitted himself well during boot camp, and to his delight, was eventually assigned to the flagship Awe. It was the happiest day he'd had since being forced to leave his friends and family behind in the name of war. He'd allowed himself a sliver of optimism with his new assignment. Maybe -- just maybe -- he could make enough of a name for himself to elevate his family from poverty.

Those hopes and dreams died with him on the cold steel floor of Deck 8, to which he was forcibly hurled with an expert flick from Maeve's guisarme. A sickening CRACK followed as Finwë's hammed forced a column of air, sound, and kinetic energy through the man's head. A ghastly silence filled the air where the regular march of footsteps once reverberated, punctuated by the ebbing tide of blood as it seeped through his useless armor and pooled pathetically on the ground.

Boreas returned a few minutes later, describing what appeared to be a complicated latticework of hallways, hatches, and small rooms dedicated to specific functions. Guards were everywhere, but they didn't seem particularly alert -- clearly no one was expecting the flagship to actually be invaded.

A calculated series of teleportation hops could probably evade most of the patrols, but there's always the risk of discovery during the process. After all, Boreas would need to make six jumps to move everyone a single floor, and during that process the P.A.R.T.Y. would look quite conspicuous. The only areas large enough for seven armored folks to occupy at the same time were common rooms, mess halls, and other places frequented by the crew, and the risk of discovery in such places was fairly high.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:49, Wed 12 Nov 2014.

Zuriel looks away from the expanding pool of blood. "Boreas can port 50 feet in one go. We should be able to clear the distance to the second deck in one, maybe two stops. Even with those limitations, it's still going to be faster, safer, and quieter than using the ladders."

[OOC: Proposed teleport order: Maeve, Lyriel, Keef, Baldwin, Finwe, Zuriel]

"As soon as we get to the second level, we want to plant Lyriel's bombs, and then make as much noise as possible. Destroy the tiller, sabotage the weapons, and then secure a room to port back up to the top. Then we finish this."

The paladin turns to Keef. "Once the bombs are planted, it would be an *excellent* time for lions."

Zuriel takes a deep breath and draws his sword, heart pounding in his chest. "Alright everybody. Are we ready? Let us begin."

May Ma'or shield us all...

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 303):

Boreas executes a series of short hops designed to take the P.A.R.T.Y. down to Deck 2, which is below the waterline of the vessel. The deck seems like an enormous warehouse, with a much wider space available between the various rooms than what was found in the upper decks.

Or there would be a wider space available, if not for the boxes, barrels, crates, and sacks are neatly stacked everywhere, forming a labyrinth of sorts in the bowels of the ship. It is well lit, however, by a series of glowstones nestled into the walls at regular intervals.

The P.A.R.T.Y. congregates in an aft corner of the ship, standing near the reinforced hull.

"If you wanted to plant a bomb, this is as good a place as any," Baldwin advises. "Though I'm not sure I'm clear on what happens next. If we create a racket, won't the crew be alerted to our presence? How will that help us confront Saul?"

"This part is a diversion, of sorts. We can cripple the ship here, and by causing a commotion cause guards to be sent down to this level. Then, once a sufficient number have been drawn off, we teleport back up topside, and begin dismantling the dragonsbreath cannons and breaking the ladders leading back up.Then, we can confront Saul on our terms, with his ship disabled, the majority of his troops trapped belowdecks, and an emergency failsafe of blowing a hole in the side of the ship, if worst comes to worst."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Wed 12 Nov 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 305):

"The diversion won't last long if it's just a couple lions. What if I stayed down here and kept the distraction going while you take the fight to Saul himself? I daresay I'm more useful against large groups of targets -- like crewmen and officers -- than I am against a single, powerful foe anyway."

There's something in Baldwin's eyes as he makes the suggestion that looks unnervingly like fear.

Zuriel frowns slightly before shaking his head. "I don't like it. If we need to leave in a hurry for some reason, you'd be stuck down here. I think it's better that we stick together. Besides, of all of us, you're the only one who has confronted Saul before. We need your help, if this second meeting is to have a different ending."

The paladin gestures to the cargo scattered about. "A few lions and a few fires ought to be more than a sufficient distraction. We have plenty of capacity to unleash both. We won't need to keep them occupied for long, anyway. Just long enough to raise the alarm and draw them down here. Then we can cut the ladders and get to the real work."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 307):

"You aren't going to draw the entire crew down here with a few lions and a few fires. At best you'd get a small portion... fire control, maybe a squad or two. These are disciplined Drynnian elites, and they aren't going to abandon the main deck -- on which their primary weapons are located -- en mass to deal with a little smoke and fire and roaring."

Baldwin steeples his fingers.

"I have faced Saul before. The ease of our infiltration thus far is causing you to become brash and overconfident. We don't need to damage the ladders or disable the cannons if we're going to sink the ship anyway, right?"

"Backups and contingencies. We don't know how quickly the ship will sink. If we just blow a hole and  leave, they might be able to fix it."

Zuriel runs a hand through his hair. "If you don't think that's a good enough distraction, fine. We blow the hole as we leave this floor. Then they have lions, fires, and a hole in the ship to deal with. Worst case scenario Baldwin, you're dealing with the troops you would have dealt with down here, topside instead. Best case, we clear the topdeck, cripple the ships offensive capability, and set it on the path to sinking unless Saul comes out and deals with us."

If we're going to face Saul, we need every one of us there.  We have means of escape if we need them.  So we either need to band together and face him, or disable the ship, then retreat and gather more allies before taking him down.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 310):

"Together, then."

The bard's voice is steel. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, the kindly fire behind them is gone, replaced with determination.

"Once again, into the breach. Let's go."

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 311):

"Why so serious?" Finwë says, hefting his warhammer and leaning it over his shoulder with a casual ease. "The high priest of Kazul dies today, and you'll get a grand story out it. Let's quit jabbering and get the job done."

Zuriel nods, drawing Dawn. The bare metal of the blade shimmers in the dim light, and you can make out faint patterns of waves and whorls in the steel. Those with a keen eye would note a striking similarity in the material to Zuriel's pendant. With a thought, the blade blazes to life, pulsing with a steady white-hot glow.

"Indeed. It's time to end this."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Wed 12 Nov 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 312):

The plan unfolds much as it had been outlined. Lyriel's charged acorns blast a tremendous hole through the lower deck of the ship, creating a tremendous inferno that sweeps across the ship like... well... like a firestorm. The tiller is quickly disabled as well, and anything else important-looking smashed or set ablaze before the P.A.R.T.Y. takes its leave to a less apocalyptic deck of the ship.

Icy river water pours into the gaping hole left behind, pressurized by the crushing tidal wave churning outside. Drynnian soldiers rush onto the scene to control the blaze and patch the hole, only to be confronted with a healthy collection of lions, bears, horses, and even a rhino from Keef's magical bag.

These animals are equal parts hungry and terrified, and trample crates, boxes, and soldiers alike as they attempt to escape the horrible flames and the icy grip of the rising water.

Further information about the ship's status is unavailable, as the P.A.R.T.Y. has transported itself back to the upper decks in order to disable the various ladders, a process that goes rather smoothly, given the general commotion occurring elsewhere.

After much hustle and bustle, the P.A.R.T.Y. materializes on the main deck of the ship. Sailors march back and forth in orderly columns, and gunners stationed at the guns are keeping them trained on your allies on the riverbanks.

You are, of course, spotted the moment your boots hit the deck, but Baldwin's commanding presence (and a few choice words) sow chaos within the rank-and-file. The infighting assures an easy initial victory, clearing the deck of all. Interestingly, the dragonsbreath cannons continue to spew gouts of flame even without their gunners.

For now, at least.

As the alarm is sounded above and below, a rumbling shakes the deck, and a set of double doors near the stairwell leading deeper into the ship is flung open with careless ease.

There, standing in the doorway amid a backdrop of smoke and fire, looms Lord Saul Balaur, the Harbinger, Lord Herald of the Dragon, and High Priest of Kazul.

He does not look happy, and as his angry orange eyes take in the scene around him, all except Boreas and Baldwin get their first glimpse of him.

Saul is a minotaur, of course, with fur as dark as a moonless night. His horns are capped with golden spikes, and look like nothing so much as sharp laurels accentuating his stark facial features. A golden ring is looped through his nose, as well, but the only other ornamentation he wears is a resplendent coiled serpent that dangles from the thick golden chain around his neck.

He is wearing an embroidered dragonscale vest that seems designed for fashion, not protection.  It has no sleeves to speak of, and he has left the front unsecured so as to expose his muscled torso from neck to waistline. He wears a pair of traditional minotaur-style pants embellished by a dragonscale belt and polished greaves, and his shaggy hoofed feet are protected by horseshoes made from what appears to be dark iron.

Those with magical aptitude are aware of a staggering number of magical auras woven around his person -- at least two of which seem laced with permanency -- as well as in his garments and in the iron-shod staff he holds easily in his hands.

In reply to DM (msg # 314):

"Brave," the minotaur booms after a moment's consideration, taking a lumbering step forward to allow a half-dozen Serpentmen to file out from behind him. They fan out before him in an orderly, almost leisurely way, none within 10 feet of the other. Their expressions are unreadable beneath their cowls, but even so they look irritatingly competent. "Arrogant, even. But such displays of Power must be treated with respect."

He regards the P.A.R.T.Y. carefully, his gaze lingering on Boreas for a moment or two before coming to rest on Baldwin.

"I wonder, are you Imperial agents, or merely Choso's pawns? If you've come to defect or offer terms of surrender, know that your pleas do not fall on deaf ears."

He taps his staff against the ground and looks at the group expectantly.

"My time is precious. What do you want?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:16, Wed 12 Nov 2014.