Prologue: The Jolly Wanderer

"Ooh, great question. And if you know the name, then you must have some sense of the history of the place." Annika leans forward, eyes bright with anticipation. "Phann, tell us everything."

As the sun inches ever so closer to the reeds and the murky water of the swamps on the right side of river Galfer, Firebird emerges from below the deck, summoned by the sunset and sounds of lively conversation between other passengers. Having spent a good amount of daytime lounging back in her tiny but private cabin, the dancer now comes to taste the questionably fresh air of the evening and entertain herself by something other than playing cards and practicing her music. It was delightful to have a bit of rest on this journey, but she missed the adoration and praise of her public - perhaps, she might yet find an audience on this ship, even if serious faces and sharp blades would suggest otherwise.

Making her way up the narrow stairs with all the grace of a natural dancer, Melianne Windstride reaches the deck and gives a sweeping look to the gathered public, her eyes glinting with mischief behind her dark blue locks as Firebird considers which target she shall choose first. Her gaze pauses on the captain for a long moment, and the woman watches him with interest, intrigued by the goings of the ship and his fashionable jacket. However, she doesn't approach him - yet, - instead opting to flutter into the conversation happening nearby, confidently striding towards Rhys.

"A lovely evening, isn't it?" She slides herself closely to his personal space, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes at the man, a playful smile on her lips. The decorative beads woven into Melianne's hair clink against each other at the movement, and many of golden coins attached to her waist join in this improvised chorus when she leans closer. "No wonder so many of us have gathered here to talk and dine, as I see. Say, sir, did I miss anything curious?" She twirls in place slowly, but nevertheless dramatically, and clasps her hands together. "It seems like nothing happens upon the waves of this river, and I earn for the moment I can step on the solid ground again."

Completely oblivious to the discussion she is actively interrupting, Firebird then cheerfully inspect everyone else gathered around, taking the stock of potential conversation companions should the handsome man in the immediate vicinity refuse to chat with her. She beams at anyone who catches her eyes, while absent-mindely playing with a silk scarf wrapped around her middle, and displaying absolute lack of concern for any rumors or speculations of dangers ahead.

Rhys stills his breath as she approaches. His eyes narrow slightly with a challenging glare at the woman and for those with keener sight - his folded arms clench a smidge tighter. The decorative beads remind him of the kind his brother used to make, and the memory is a painful one.

He exhales slowly in an attempt to gain control before replying.

"Got some betting going on if you're so inclined," he says, jutting his chin toward Phann and Rada. "Waiting on some answers about what lays ahead."

Seems he left out one more to keep an eye on. The boat sure had some strange types.

Keenly invested in how Rada seemed so insightful about the goings-on surrounding the ruins, even Raskell had a raise an eyebrow when Rhys and Annika pointed out Phann's own foresight into where the motley lot were headed. It seemed some of the crew knew more than the recruiter who'd hired him had deigned necessary.

Then came the woman from below decks, festive and twirling and full of life and seeming very much out of place amongst the cut of the crew present. If the young lady was trying to get the attention of the folks above decks, she was certainly doing a good job on Raskell, distracting him from the body language Rhys was exuding. The chef-turned-sellsword couldn't help but feel a strange sense of deja vu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something about the way she moved seemed oddly familiar, something he'd seen before. Staring perhaps a bit longer than he ought to have, the half-orc shook the thought from his mind, realigning his focus on the current goings-on for the time being.

"See, Solra? Someone else shares your enthusiasm for getting off of this deathtrap," Raskell chimed playfully, giving his pipe-enamored friend a coy glance in an attempt to improve her mood. After the moment had passed it was back to the business at hand, a more composed disposition coming to rest against the young adventurer's face.

"But yes, he's right, and that about sums it up except introductions. I'm Raskell, and this is Solra," he began, motioning again towards his dwarven counterpart before sweeping his hand towards the others one-by-one. "The well-dressed lady is Annika, and the one over there is Garith. Our two insiders here are Phann and Rada. The guy next to you, miss, is... someone." Raskell met Rhys' gaze for a moment followed by an honest shrug, not really sure how else to address him before he turned his focus back to the lass who'd pranced into their conversation. "He seems a capable sort."

Raskell returned his gaze to Phann and Rada, his arms still folded placidly as he leaned against his crate, face stiffening slightly into a passable professional facade whilst he waited patiently for the scout and sage of the Jolly Wanderer to hopefully share what information they'd gleaned for those assembled topside.

"Yeah, well try not to drool so much they just swabbed the deck not to long ago," the tone was a bit more sour if possible perhaps his staring at that other female overly long did not sit well with her or the boat ride was just making her all-around irritable.

Rada wants to start talking when Melianne comes from under deck and starts talking of her own. Rada's eyes narrow to slits as she gazes at Melianne while Phann raises his mug and greets her Welcome young lady! I was just about to tell what I know about our destination, the ruins of Surbanipal.
Unfortunatly though there isn't much information available.
Only a short mentioning on the fragment of a map that was found in the archives of Surtiskali.
Surbanipal, a place of many wonders and powe... was written next to the position but nothing more.
Even the exact age of the map is unknown but we are sure that it is at least threehundred years old, maybe more. The curious thing is that the city isn't mentioned on any other map we know of. The city council sent a scouting team to the described position and found the ruins.
It is now that you notice that Phann's cheeks are becoming increasingly red. Maybe from all the beer he drank or maybe from the presence of the flirty bard.
So this means that there is much to be discovered like...

Like hoards of beasts, orcs and whatever else the area here has to offer. And we don't even know what monsters might lurk in the ruins itself Rada rudely interjects.
She looks at Raskell. You asked about weth'r I've been 'round here. You bet I've been. Twentythree summers and winters I've been working as a scout for the Four Cities. If all the monsters that dwell 'round here united the Four Cities would be nothing but a memory in a matter of a year.
If you want my advice: That's a nice axe you have here. Always keep it on your body.
Don't get me wrong. I don't consider this a suicide mission, else I'd be in a tavern in Bridgeton drinkin' the day away. But it sure as the nine hells is not a jolly ol' trip to the archives of Surtikali and you better be very careful
Rada points at her eyepatch. Got this beauty a few years ago when I entered a grove with a beautiful silvery tree. Didn't pay attention because everything seemed to be so peaceful and nice and then out of nowhere *PAM* a hail of arrows. Lost half of a scouting team and my eye back there.
'his taught me a lesson. Complacency is the first step towards certain death.

The roaring of blood drowns out other sounds, as he's snatched back in time at the mention of a silvery tree. A moment he does not care to revisit surrounded by strangers on a strange journey. It takes an almighty effort to return to the present moment, akin to wading through thick mud whilst cold hands grasp his legs, pulling him down into the dirt, unwilling to let the living be.

It couldn't be possible - not here!

Rhys feels his heart hammers his chest with great thumping blows, and his sense of control begins to spiral out of his grasp. His arms drop stock-still to his sides, hands clenched tightly into balls of fists - his knuckles whiten with tension.

There's nothing more he wants than to stride right over there, grab Rada and demand that she tell him what she knows but not now, the timing isn't right.

He's barely able to respond to Raskell.

"Rhys."

For just a moment, the half-orc's face grows a few shades darker in an amalgam of shame and embarassment, miming a silent "Solra!" as he gave her a mortified look. He wasn't even staring that hard at the mystery woman! At least, he didn't think he was.

As Phann gave his side of the goings-on, Raskell had time to recompose. The information was useful, if not a bit dull and dry for his liking. Rada, on the other hand, definitely knew how to tell a good story, earning the half-orc's rapt and undivided attention as she detailed one of her ventures into the wilds the Jolly Wanderer was barreling towards. Depressing, yes, but also riddled with excitement and a wealth of information regarding the dangers the group might end up mired in. It sure sounded like he'd backed the right horse when it came to the wager now, though it certainly also put an uncomfortable pit in his stomach; the unmistakable feelings of fear and uncertainty.

He started to say something about condolensces for Rada's friends, followed by a slew of questions regarding her further adventures abroad, but Rhys' voice caught his attention.

"Nice to know you, Rh--" he began, but whatever mirth was in Raskell's voice disipated faster than warmth in winter. When the armored cook turned to properly greet his new coworker, he'd expected the man to be poised and aloof or some such, not white-knuckled and looking like he was about to clock someone for spitting in his ale. Maybe Raskell had unintentionally struck a nerve in the way he'd introduced him to the woman.

"You, uh... you okay there, Rhys?" Raskell inquired, his voice low and tinged with an odd degree of concern. "Didn't mean to offend you or anything. Just didn't know how to address you is all."

Seeing Rhys tense up slightly and hearing a hint of weariness in his half-sigh - one that reminds her of old mercenary veterans she'd sometimes observe at inns and tavern, - Melianne takes a step back to give the man more room, finding no joy in causing disquiet with her chattiness. Instead she turns her attention to a polite half-orc who introduces the ragtag crew, and thanks him with a bow and words of gratitude, brief so she doesn't interrupt the meeting further, for Rada seems to be staring gloomily at her already. Ah, some people were all work and no joy...

While Rada and Phann weave their tales about the expedition - frankly, Firebird doesn't pay attention; something about the archives with a hard to pronounce name and ruins full of beasts? - Melianne leaves her spot besides the railing and drifts closer to the group, more intrigued in the people themselves than vague speeches of treasures and dangers. She passes by Annika, subtly brushing the woman's arm with her silks, circles Garith while noting his pointy ears and regal posture with an intrigued but fleeting gaze, and finally stops close to Raskell and Solra. She chooses to remain here for now, so she can send flirty looks at Phann while also observing the odd pair of... mercenaries? Guards? She doubts they are scholars.

Engrossed in her musings and the goal of making Phann increasingly more focused on herself, Melianne only starts paying attention again when Raskell calls out to Rhys. Her eyes snap to the man in question, who seems to be holding back either panic or rage if his sudden stillness is to be judged. She saw that a few times when tavern brawls erupted in places she performed at, and that often ended in flying chairs not of the magic variety.

"Are you alright, dear?" Firebird offers an inquiry of her own, turning on her heels to face Rhys again, tilting her head at him in a bird-like gesture - true to her namesake. "I'm sure our friend over here only meant the good with his words."

Annika tends not to notice much of the emotional state of other people, at least insofar as those feelings aren't directly related to her getting what she wants. But even she picks up on the sudden change in tone and the shift in focus to Rhys' apparent tension.

Curious to see what the man would do next - whether he would master himself, or perhaps explode - she watches him silently.

Rhys stare lingers on Rada, unmistakably the focus of his attention.

His mind is a whirl of turmoil at the implications of another who'd stumbled upon the grove and survived, living and breathing right there.

During his travels he has yet to meet those who have the faintest inkling of his homeland, a place of wild beauty and danger punctured by the few scattered pockets of stubborn settlers trying to eke out a livelihood. He can truly make the claim that he knew the surrounding wilderness of that place like the back of his hands, scars and all. He'd spent fruitless years searching for it.

He's drawn to the eyepatch, a memento of Rada's encounter - a reminder that she's also a victim.

"I'm sorry for this odd turn." he says, uncomfortable as he waves off their concerns, retreating back to his previous posture of folded arms. "Got nothing to do with y'all. Rada's not the only one who's seen that,"

He grinds his teeth, struggling to force the words out.

"Silver tree."

Solra quietly sits smoking her pipe and casually accidentally on purpose blowing the smoke in Melianne's direction. She did not like her standing so close to Raskell who had already been nearly drooling over her when she made her appearance. It was not that she was jealous, I mean how could she be as they were not a thing. I mean a Dwarf and Half-Orc... really... no way. It was just because she wanted to protect Raskell from obviously manipulative women like her. Besides it gave her something else to focus on other than being in a leaky bucket with all that water beneath them.

"A silver tree?" Melianne puts her hand to her chin, tapping it in an expression of deep thought - certainly deeper than it actually is, seeing as she can only guess the context of its mention. "Is it a species? I've seen some very beautiful silver pines back around Habrook, they make for such a lovely sight in the mornings..." She frowns, glancing at Rhys with searching eyes. "But I suppose it must be something more sinister that you are recalling. If you don't mind me inquiring, what is this tree? Something magical? Is it-"

She abruptly stops herself, wrinkling her nose as a puff of smoke passes by it from the direction of Solra. Firebird is by no means a stranger to smoke - with how much her shows incorporate fire, smoke is just as familiar as music and applause, - but this particular one is too sharp for her senses, unfamiliar in its intensity. Ah yes, the dwarf lady is smoking a pipe! She really should've expected an assault on her senses... Melianne sniffs and coughs a little to clear her throat, then side-steps a few paces away from the group just to make it harder for the smoke to reach her.

Rada raises her eyebrow as Rhys mentions that he has seen a silver tree by himself.
Oh r'lly! You've seen that too? I came back to t' place where it was. With reinforcements f'course. But I only found a regular patch of forest.
And don't gimme that: "Oh you probably got lost in the forest"-crap. I know this area like the...
Rada doesn't get to finish her sentence.

Suddenly you can feel the whole ship dropping as if the water was pulled away from under it. For a very short time you feel weightless, then you can feel how the ship hits the river bed. The whole deck twists and you can see and hear how the planks and timbers of the ship crack because of the impact.
Captain Forsberg says "What?...." but the rest of what he wanted to say is drowned out by masses of water that come crashing down onto the ship.

Suddenly you are submerged in a mixture of water, debris and air bubbles. It is difficult to see but you think you can swim back to the surface and possibly to the river shore

You take 1 damage from the ship crashing down. With a successful DC10 Dex check you take no damage. In order to swim to the shore I need a DC11 athletics check from everyone. If it's not successful you suffer a level of exhaustion

EDIT: Because I was asked and it wasn't clear: You can keep your equipment. You either have it on your body or find it on your way to or at the shore

Rhys splutters and coughs, trying to avoid swallowing water - unable to comprehend what just happened.

In an effort to stay afloat amidst the chaos, he kicks out with his legs - the pull of the current threatening to drag him away. His first thought as he begins to stabilise is that of his hand crossbow, the last thing his brother had crafted before his untimely demise, a present for the outlander.

Panic fills Rhys as he beholds the splintering ship, the crew and passengers hurled into the river Galfer. He wants to help them out but the coldness clings to him, makes him heavier. They will have to survive on their own.

Rhys begins to swim to the nearest shore but out of the corner of his eyes, he spies his backpack bobbling upon the surface. Without a second thought, he turns away and swims toward it - eventually, he's able to wrap his arms around the backpack and use it as a floatation device.

His eyelids close for a moment; he feels utterly drained of energy. It would be so easy to just give up and let himself be pulled away into the deep.

Melianne yelps as the deck quite literally disappears from under her feet and the dancer is submerged by a rushing flow of cold river water. She instinctively tries to resist the current, breaking through the water surface with a gasp for breath, clinging to a random piece of a ship nearby. She is not good at swimming, for all that she travels by water routes often, but at the very least her clothing is not heavy enough to pull her under...

Slightly - or more than slightly - panicked by the situation, she looks around for any other people or a way to get to safety. The shore isn't that far away, but with all the debris and water currents she is slightly apprehensive of trying to get here on her own. Still, survival instincts win out in the end, and the woman leaves her saving anchor and makes a swim for the shore, hoping to get here before whatever destroyed the ship makes a re-appearance.

It proves to be easier than she expects, and despite her hair getting into her eyes every other second and her general disorientation from the shipwreck, Firebird manages to avoid any unfortunate collisions with pieces of the wood twisted around by the river or underwater rocks that it tries to pull her towards. She emerges from the river soaking and shivering, but still with enough energy to turn around and frantically scan the riverside for anyone else in need of assistance.

Solra's eyes go wide and she is already scrambling for something she had made sure would float should anything happen upon getting on the boat. The boat hits bottom and her solid stout bad bounces and she has gotten a hold of that floatsam with a death grip powered by extreme fear. When the waters come roaring in she takes a deep breath and prayers. Once the torrent ends she is bobbing on the surface thoroughly drenched, eyes closed praying, and holding like her life depended upon it.

In the span of what only felt like moments, the tide of the conversation had turned from concerning to dire in a very literal sense. Panic gripped the half-orc as the ship lurched, his body feeling lighter than air for the briefest of moments. It was a surreal and terrifying sensation, but whatever opportunity there might have been to figure out the source was drowned out in a deluge of water, wood, and desperation as Raskell came tumbling down into the drink alongside what was left of the splintered Jolly Wanderer.

The taste of river water filled the would-be adventurer's mouth, sputtering and coughing as he rose to the surface against the sudden roil. From the watery vestiges of the ship, he could see the shoreline, eyes blurred and breath sharp as he began the dogged swim back to solid land, eventually finding purchase on stable ground before falling to his knees to catch his breath, wheezing and spitting foul-tasting water onto the sandy loam.

As he peered up from his wretching position, there was at least one small boon: his pack! Somehow it had made its way onto shore itself, perhaps a little more waterlogged than originally intended, but it appeared relatively unscathed.

"Tymora smiles upon me," joked the chef to himself semi-sarcastically as he stumbled to his feet, trying to fight off the gnawing sense of panic even as the adrenaline from the wreck that had fueled his escape began to wane. This was bad, but the first thing Raskell needed to do was help make sure everyone else made it back ashore in one piece.

The sudden sense that things were about to go very wrong strikes Annika, and she's on her feet and braced to absorb the impact before the boat crash-lands on the riverbed. Unfortunately, there's nothing she can do to prevent the water rushing in over her head, and her fine silks and linens are instantly waterlogged, dragging her down. She struggles ashore like a drowned rat and lays on the bank gasping for breath.