OOC:
We’re not strictly in combat rounds, so I can play a little fast and loose with this since it’s all theater of the mind regardless. Did I mention that to people? I’ll sketch and use maps when I need to, when position is really important to understand, but this isn’t a game that uses battlemaps and tokens and such. Theater of the mind, baby. See if this makes things clear enough…
The scene is one of chaos as the flaming, screeching monstrosity tries to make for the water, and the thing is swarmed by people trying to variably hold it in place, or kill it. When the crew swarms up and off the ship to help, Banio is with them, keeping to the back, out of sight. Mace, cudgel and spear strike as Lambert and the two guards helping him are dragged to the edge of the wharf, unable to hold the terrified blob back. The weird flesh lacerates, bruises and ruptures as violence is visited on it, then a number of vile, multi-jointed, many-fingered limbs emerge from beneath the creature to try and ward off further attacks. Foghorn strikes hard, but Rausimod has his weapon seized by a groping hand that possesses terrible strength — and watches as his mace is flung into the dank, deep waters of the harbor.
The road warden, with her hood still up, ends it. She is strong on her spear, and drives it
deep. Forged steel pierces the still flaming flesh, then lances something denser at the very center of the abomination. It shudders one last time, then collapses fully when Trusova pulls her weapon free. Dark purple blood, chunky and sticky, bubbles from the ruined eyehole and gushes from the exit wound on the bottom of the thing. A half dozen mouths wheeze and exhale their last as the quivering mound dies.
"Are ye fuckin’ mad, witch-killer?!" The bald docker shouts as he re-approaches the group, angrily, his meaty fists balled.
"Hauling this thrice-damned freak up onto my dock?! My dock where the fuckin’ Crystal Dra…"
The sound of steel singing free of leather quiets the man, as does the point of that long dagger, pressing against the man’s throat. Tyrinious moved like the wind, drawing the foot-long blade he’s used to gut so many heathens, to murder so many girls and women accused of witchcraft. The docker swallows hard as the edge draws blood and he opens his fists, splaying his hands to show his surrender and helplessness.
With the pile of malformed flesh burning nearby, collapsed just a few feet from the edge of the dock, the Confessor gnashes his yellow teeth and narrows his dark eyes beneath the brim of his hat.
"Go on, dockhand. Go on. Give me a reason to see deviltry in your eyes, to hear it on your tongue…"OOC:
Let’s let Banio act first, then you’re all free to do your thing, whatever that might be. :)