Prologue: The Jolly Wanderer

The burst of water ends nearly as quickly as it began. The deafening sound of rushing water, splintering wood and screaming humanoids is soon replaced by the peaceful glugging of the river Galfer and the occasional call for help. A nearly surreal calmness just a few minutes after the sudden deluge.

You all manage to reach the shore, the swampy area that you noticed earlier. The last few feet were a smooth transition from swimming to crawling as you dig your hands into the muddy ground here. Many others seem to have managed to swim ashore too but it's difficult to see in the decreasing sunlight.
As you look up you notice that trees are spreading out their roots over the area forming small "islands" of traversable ground in the swamp. It reeks of decaying plant material and resin, the latter probably because of the destroyed ship.

Just as you all more or less get your bearings you hear a voice screaming on the right.
Come her' ya beasts! I'mma rip ya a second ugly mouth. Freackin' cowards. Huargh!
That's Rada's voice! And she seems to be in trouble!

Melianne, who had just managed to fish out her personal belongings out of the water and was trying to orient herself in the encroaching darkness while lamenting over the probably poor condition of her playing cards, jumps at the sound of Rada's war cry. She twirls in place, almost losing her balance on the unfamiliarly mushy ground in the process, and squints towards the rows of trees. It sounds like the fierce woman is in some sort of combat, perhaps with whatever destroyed the ship...

Melianne nervously bites her lip and clutches her pack as she considers what to do. She is not going to be useful in battle, she's sure of it - what can a dancer do besides inspiring the troops, and on this unstable ground? Maybe distract the opponent, should they be of human variety - certainly her soaked clothing will be quite distracting... But Firebird also knows a few spells which she learned years ago to use in her shows: pretty light summoning ones, and a simple charm for healing burns. If not as a fighter, maybe she can act as a healer instead?

Before she doubts her own decision further and bows to her lack of conviction, Melianne heads towards where she thinks Rada is. Jumping from root to root in an attempt to avoid treacherous patches of swampy grass and keeping an eye out for any other passengers of the destroyed ship, the dancer hopes that she won't get lost in the dark. On the way, she also reaches into her satchel and pulls out a heavily decorated horn - maybe not the best weapon, but it seems more appropriate for a battle than her lyre... and probably less disrupted by the water.

Rotten eggs tickles at his nostrils, a foul odour. Rhys retches—His eyes snap open to a darkening sky, skeletal branches swaying overhead. He rolls onto his knees, the last of the river water splattering black mud. He scrambles in a moment of panic, a sense of loss swallows him, but the comforting weight of the backpack wrapped within his arms provides immediate relief. The outlander buries his head within it; its faded leather hide his face. Rhys lets out a soft sob.

After a moment, he raises his head to survey his surroundings, a defiant expression on his face. Rada's scream splits the air. She has information that he desperately needs.

Rhys unties his backpack, reaches inside for his weapon. Armed at last, he stalks in the direction of the voice, a bolt readied on his hand crossbow.

The squelch of mud follows him.

Annika is lying flat on her back on the muddy riverbank when she hears Rada yelling. She briefly considers just pretending to be dead and letting other people deal with the situation, but... What if this is the reason you're here?

With a groan of effort and annoyance, she staggers to her feet and slogs her way through the cloying mud to firmer ground. Then she draws her rapier and heads in Rada's direction.

Still catching his breath, Raskell peered across the beachhead for any sign of his colleagues. He caught a glimpse of Annika, flat on her back from the ordeal, as well as Rhys and his satchel off in the distance. Even the mysterious dancer had washed ashore, drenched but alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, the taste of pungent water lingering on his tastebuds as he exhaled. That relief was soon replaced by concern -- where was the captain, or Phann and Rada? For that matter, where was Solra?

Already tense from the ordeal, it reached a new crescendo as someone shouted from across the coastline. He recognized that voice; it was Rada, and it didn't sound good.

"Oh, no," the half-orc mumbled to himself, his heart thumping hard in his chest. Torn between the immediacy to render aid and the dread of not spying his friend amongst the survivors, he cast his eyes to the river one last time. Debris from the Jolly Wanderer dotted the current, but Raskell saw nothing in the light of the setting sun. No captain. No Solra. Just flotsam, wreckage and the churning water beneath them. Steeling himself, the young adventurer knew the time to search for survivors wasn't now; it was time to make sure everyone else who'd made it ashore survived.

"Hang on, Rada!" Raskell shouted, throwing his pack over his shoulder with a clumsy jangle as he sprinted towards the sound of conflict as quickly as he could, slipping on mud and detritus awkwardly before finding purchase on sturdier earth as he hurried to catch up with the others. As he unslung his shield and drew his sword, the half-orc inhaled sharply, a wave of pain shooting up his side along his ribs. It had all happened so fast, he hadn't even noticed how hard he'd hit the deck as he was forced under the river. But he could worry about that later -- after the scout was out of danger!

Korrin found the water barrel floating next to him when he surfaced and luckily it was only filled about a quarter of the way with what was now smelly muddy water, he had his pack in his hand when the ship went down. And as much time as he spends out in nature, he has learned through trial and error how to keep his pack dry.

He has yet to have a boat up and disappear from underneath his feet, but he has had to swim across a creek or even a narrow part of a river and still come out with at least one set of dry clothes to change into.

So he is thankful that he did bring the iron pot hanging from the back of his pack, since the lid is still secure and he now needs to bail out some water from the S.S. Hairyfoot, so he can make it to shore. Who knew the big thing would come in so handy?

He proceeds to do so until he is only ankle deep in his new luxury cruiser. And he has balanced out nicely, so unless a big wave comes at him he will be able to stay afloat indefinitely. The luck of the little people! Who says I'm too short? This barrel fits nicely!

As he shakes his head at the circumstances be sees that most of the people he saw on deck are already on shore except for the pipe smoking dwarf lass that was giving the human lady dirty looks.

She looks terrified clinging to the wreckage and does not seem to be making any effort to get to shore, and he seems to be the only one close enough to drag the floundering dwarf to safety. So reaching for the shovel and rope strapped to the sides of his pack he starts paddling her way with his makeshift oar. This isn't going as planned and his gear has been put to use in new and unusual ways, but things could be far worse.

He yells to the Dwarf "HANG ON I AM ON MY WAY...CATCH THE ROPE WHEN I THROW IT TO YOU!"

Solra hears a voice and internally thanks the gods for help has arrived and then they go an request the impossible. `Grab a rope, with what my teeth besides how am I supposed to see the rope its really dark,' She thinks to herself not realizing it was extremely dark because she had her eyes closed. Instead she just croaks out, "I can't"

"Okay then just grab it... I can't pull you ashore unless ya do." He looks at her as he winds the rope back in and makes another throw

Korrin throws his rope at Solra and even though it lands directly beside her, Solra clinches to her precious piece of floatsam without any attempt to grab the rope.
Maybe he threw it in the wrong direction? Korrin looks extra carefully.
He can easily spot her, a dark sillouette among various pieces of debris, not too far away. Maybe 60-70 feet away. He can also notice that there is some kind of commotion going on at the shore.
Korrin throws the rope another time and it lands directly next to Solra again.
She still doesn't grab it unfortunatly
The flow of the river isn't very strong and so Korrin should easily be able to paddle to her position.

---

Meanwhile the rest of the group is scrambling towards the position from where Rada's screams could be heard. Rhys has troubles to hold his eyes because the scramble for the shore was so exhausting and so stumbles forward without much foresight.

While Korrin is busy rescueing Solra the rest of the group arrive at Rada's position nearly simultaniously.

You see Rada, drenched and muddy waving a longsword with her right hand and a long iron dagger with her left. You can see blood running down from her left shoulder. About 10 feet behind her are a few people, huddled together and clearly terrified. She waves both weapons in wide arcs in order to scare off her attackers:
Three creatures that look like giant frogs stand about 15 feet away from her, in a triangle shaped formation, with the base pointing at Rada.
They are about as big as an average human, wielding spears and wearing crudely crafted hide armors.
The middle one's skin is yellow and it's wearing a tattered shield in addition to the spear. The other two are muddy green.

Rada and the creatures notice you almost at the same time.
While Rada barks Ey, go an' get those ugly bast'rds at you, the yellow monster just lets at a loud Croak! and gets ready to face its new adversaries

Melianne stops her advance right away when she notices the creatures, remaining on the edge of an improvised battlefield, balancing on an especially big tree root and ready to use it as a cover should blades and spears go flying. Peeking from her safe position, she eyes the frogs skeptically, noting their vaguely humanoid shapes. "Are you sure we can't solve this peacefully?" The dancer calls out to Rada, but it serves to make the amphibians all look her way; Firebird squeaks and hides behind the tree before they choose her as an easy target.

"Alright, not swinging a sword - no blood on my hands," she mutters to herself nervously, lifting her horn to her eyes and inspecting it critically. She shakes it a bit, a few stray droplets adding to the already wet and swampy ground, and looks around to see others move into the fight. "Yes, right, only providing inspiration! Ah, I wonder if these mercenaries like marches..."

Korrin paddles over and ties the rope around a jutting piece of wood and starts paddling for shore "Hang on Missy we'll be covered in mud in a few minutes, we aren't too far from shore." and he paddles on.

Rolling onto the scene with all the grace and finesse of of a drunken oaf, Raskell positioned himself between the others and the weird frog-things. Caked in mud, grime, soaking wet with sword and shield in hand, he was quite the sight as he eyed the situation nervously. Never in his life had he seen anything like these bizarre frog creatures, crudely armed and armored as they menaced Rada and the other survivors.

"Guess it's time to really put those drills to work," he thought to himself, swallowing hard at the prospect of actual life-or-death combat. Until now, the rowdiest he'd gotten was having to toss the local drunks after bopping them one with a club. But this? This was the real deal, and there was no room for mistakes. Lives were at stake -- lives that could be snuffed out if he and the others didn't intercede. Focusing himself for a moment, he breathed deep as his body grew tense, muscle and sinew flexing slightly as he tightened his grip on his armaments.

No. If nothing else, he wouldn't sit idly by and do nothing. Perhaps he didn't have the experience, but he had the skills and the training, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least do his best to try and protect the folks being waylaid by these amphibious jerks.

"Don't worry. Everything'll be okay," Raskell said as assuredly as he could muster, the young warrior putting on his best facade of bravado and courage. Whether this statement was specifically directed at his fellow adventurers, Rada and the survivors, or just himself wasn't very clear; what was clear, however, was the aggresive stance he took, narrowing his focus towards the yellow frog creature in the center as he positioned his shield in anticipation for the coming melee.

Fatigue wears Rhys like a well-worn cloak.

The edge of his vision blurs, a hindrance as he threads across the treacherous terrain toward Rada's voice. Fortunately, he's not the only one on their way to lend aid. The half-orc is a lodestone; his chainmail the star that guides the outlander across this darn swamp.

The dancer's caution alerts Rhys; her flowing silks blooms like a flower set against the roots of a tree. Past her, he sees Rada's bloodied and beset by strange creatures. Without hesitation, he takes up position beside Melianne under the cover of another tree. He leans against its gnarled bark; a brief reprieve from his exhaustion.

The outlander pokes his head out, examining the targets. Raskell seems well-equipped to deal with their leader, so he shifts his focus to the unshielded hostiles. They're easy pickings - he'll make 'em pay.

"They're not friendly. Ain't that a shame."

Solra remains desperately clinging to the floatsam, eyes tightly closed and softly says over and over, "Thank you, thank you, ..."

The leader of the beasts makes a gesture with his head and croaks in a dismissive way, as if it's saying "We'll deal with her later"
The three frog-like creatures begin to... waddle into your direction in a way that is almost comical if it weren't for the recent shipwreck and the spears in their hands.
Apparently not fully suited for movement on land they have difficulties to move forward. They approach Raskell very slowly and in the end the leader and one of the green monsters are facing him from about 10 feet away while the other one ist standing behind them.

Rada meanwhile just stands there, squats down lightly while tensening her whole body, apparently waiting for the right time to get a jump on the creatures

Rhys waits with the infinite patience of a natural hunter for those creatures to come into range of his crossbow. As soon as they do, a bolt fires toward the closest unshielded hostile. Before it has penetrated its target, he swiftly loads another bolt and fires once more, taking extra care to avoid hitting the half-orc.Rhys | HP 12/12 | AC 15 | Bolts 18/20

"We just survived a shipwreck, and instead of helping, you attack us?" The evening shadows seem to deepen and twist with Annika's anger. She draws her wand in her off-hand and points it at the closest frog-person. "I will make you s̷͓͑u̷̬̙̾̈f̶̞̃̃f̵̼̓e̷̡͈̓̇r̸̦̈́."

The frog-person is surrounded by a sickly, greenish-black glow as Annika strides forward to strike with her rapier.Annika | HP 9/9 | AC 14 | Spell Slots 0/1

Blood racing and heart churning, Raskell stepped into the fray as the amphibious menaces turned their attention towards he and his comrades. There was no turning back now -- the time for bravery and steel had come, and it looked like the others already had the right idea.

Stepping forward to face his foes, the half-orc gave his blade a light flourish to assert his grip, followed by a broad, powerful stroke towards the frogman wielding the shield, his strike primed with deadly intent!