A young woman of some 17 years of age and her companion, an effeminate-looking human male with a lute, just emerged from the treeline on the Isle of Sphant. Along the beach, the Captain's crew had staged a camp with tents, supplies, food stocks, and other matters. In the distance, their ship was anchored off the coast and two row boats were near it, off-loading cargo, whereas the crew on the beach seemed to be loading some cargo into two more row-boats.
The Bandit Captain had some twenty seasoned men on the ground with him - six of them gruff Berserkers used to rough up local militia if they ever encountered some. This had been an easy voyage thus far. He was enjoying a relaxing, sun-filled day along the coast, and was preparing to depart these waters for his secret mooring place elsewhere in the Shattered Isles when, suddenly, this blond, freckle-faced brat showed up demanding what he and his crew were doing.
"We're refugees," he explained casually with a broad smile, "from Rhackdalia. Escaping the giant onslaught. We're moored here for the afternoon and we'll be departing shortly." His bandit crew drew their weapons, nocked their arrows.
The young woman - Siegride of Isthmeira - wasn't convinced and demanded to know more. She evoked a divine prayer to compel those around her to tell the truth. Llewellyn the Bard (with a shiny new face) stood ready by Siegride's side. Still, the Captain continued with his story. "Look, we don't want any trouble. Why don't you and your ... pretty boy ... just go back the way you came. We'll even clean up around here ... zero impact. I realize that's probably important to some of you cleric-types-"
"We're pirates!", yelled one of his crew who, unfortunately, fell victim to the truthiness spell Siegride had cast, and that sent one of the nearby Berserkers into a frenzy! Pushing a couple of the crew aside, the Berserker came in swinging an awfully large ax.
What happened in the remaining 18 seconds would be hard for the Captain to absorb in just a small amount of time for, as I previously mentioned, he would be dead. Many things happened very fast.
First, the girl and her girly entourage wasn't alone. There were some severe fighter-types (two Dwarves), some sharp shooter in the woods (a Ranger), a spell caster, and a squat spell-casting, stabbing, halfling from the Erenlands. Tactically, he vaguely realized that he had seriously misjudged the situation, and there was a blur of blood and carnage.
Second, the girl was impossible - absolutely, mostly impossible - to hit. He was well-versed in his scimitar and dagger, and viciously tried to cut her. Yet, to his amazement, his sword and knife would miss the waif or pass eerily into the darkness of the cloak she wore - she was some kind of whispy waify jinks! He would have thought, "Just what in the Hell did I get myself in to?", if he had the time. But he didn't. 15 seconds.
Third, the pansy-looking fella was actually a Bard spellcaster. He ended up charming more than a third of his crew in those first few seconds, which meant that his side was going to take a beating by just standing there, listening to him sing and play a lute. There's nothing more embarrassing than that for a pirate, well, THAT and trying to kill a 5'1" freckly 17 year old blond girl wielding cosmic divine energies. 13 seconds.
Fourth, as he was becoming consciously aware of the fact that he should be retreating and running for his life but still - pridefully - convinced that his team could manage this problem, his insubordinate pirate crew member had started spilling the proverbial beans. During the height of combat, the truth-pirate told the girl where they sailed from (the Sagean Coast) and gave her an exact nautical position of his home village and sea port; then followed that up with a confession that they were pirates stealing goods from Sphant and loading them on to the boat so that they may go back to his secret mooring place in the Shattered Isles (which, again, the pirate conveyed precise nautical coordinates for). He would have face-palmed if he had the time to do so, but, really, he didn't. 12 seconds.
Around this time, there was a moment where things looked on the up and up. The priestesses he was escorting for their recent work emerged from their tent and called down some divine wrathyness. Both of them were dark-skinned, very tan, black hair, wearing skimpy outfits, and both of them had these amazing dragon tattoo sleeves down their left arms. The priestess with a green dragon tattoo caused a bolt of flame to descend on Siegride, but Siegride managed to roll well and throw up her shield before being baked by the Sacred Flame. Meanwhile, Elan the Ranger and Ma'yah the Wizard were paralyzed when the second priestess sporting a black dragon tattoo cast Hold Person, and they stopped in their tracks. All very encouraging. In the pit of his stomach, for an instant, he felt a twinge of enthusiasm. 11 seconds.
But that enthusiasm was quickly curbed by a rash of death levied by Tamroohk in a mighty mowing down of four adversaries in a row, and, as Tolman darted up to try to take out the Girl with the Black Dragon Tattoo. He brought her to her knees and she lost her concentration, freeing the two others from the spell. And, as the priestess raised her left arm, the dragon tattoo appeared to writhe as she prepared her spell that would have caused terrible necromantic damage against poor Tolman, she hissed, "Mother Takhisis will take you!" Two arrows from the Ranger silenced her and her petty threats forever.
Now, it was at this moment that the freckled little girl seemed to cast some divine thunderous energy that blasted the Captain and his standing crew back some 15' in the air from a massive concussive force. As his body was hurled backwards and tossed like a doll to the earth, it was at that moment that he thought, "You know, now would be a good time to exit-" ... nine seconds.
Except that, at that moment, Ma'yah unleashed a fireball on him and his crew that was immediately surrounding him. There was a massive explosion, tents immediately upended, stuff went BOOM, and his body was wracked by sering pain - three or four of his crew died instantly. Their blackened, charred corpses littering the beach.
Eight seconds.
Yep. That was the moment. The moment to flee.
In a frustrated gesture of surrender, he ripped off his piratey eye patch (apparently not believing he deserved it any longer), threw it to the ground, and ran. He started to sprint to the row boats in an effort to flee this madness, to get away from the freckled girl and her "tiny killing machines" (a comment yelled by one of the Berserkers before being uber-munched by the pounding from another Dwarf). He sprinted, dashing across the battle map, racing for one of the boats to take him off of the island. Quickly, one of his trusty men ran up with a bow and was providing cover for his escape. He was thinking, "I should reward that guy when I get back-", but that was about the last thing he was going to think. Four seconds.
There was the smell of brimstone and bat guano. He felt the air super-condense and heat all around him. And he knew, right then and there, that the misfortune of meeting a freckled blond on the coast of Sphant would be the last thing he--the second fireball spell ignited the world around him, and his skin - and the skin of most of his remaining crew - burned to a crisp and he died in supreme agony. And that was that.
Meanwhile, the session ended before we could finish things up. The party had yet to dispatch a couple of Berserkers. Next time we meet: the party mops up the beach and likely assaults and acquires the dead captain's ship.
R
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