Wexley sucks in another ragged breath, then kicks open a crate wedged by the rudder. Inside lies an old but well-oiled light crossbow. He hoists it, shoulders trembling, and pulls a bolt home.
"Hold fast—old man’s on the way!" he rasps across the deck, voice half-lost in the mist.
Thaelin flashes a weary grin over one shoulder.
"Don’t keel over before you load it, skipper." With that he palms his final throwing knife, blade catching a shard of gray light and tosses it with a flick of his wrist.
Thaelin straightens, hand now empty, and murmurs to himself,
"Last one’s a charm—c’mon, fly straight..."
The slim steel vanishes into the mist, then thuds harmlessly into a drift of river-soaked reeds a handspan wide of its mark.
The orc jerks, eyes widening for a heartbeat before an ugly grin spreads beneath cracked tusks,
"Ghrazh-nib zhurk, titchling!"
He pounds the flat of his vardatch against his chestplate, forgetting about the gnome, he dares Seelah closer. Mud and fog swirl around his boots, eager to swallow new blood.
OOC:
HeroOfSometimes sent a note to WhiteDwarf,WanderOne
@Itami You're up.
[ +- ] Initiative
Azote & Tork
Wexley & Thaelin
Jasir
Petra
Seelah
Varin
OrcE
Ulfr
Eels
Orcs